a/n- I've finally finished this chapter. Honestly, the build up to Here Lies the Abyss is honestly one of my least favorite parts of this game. I dislike Crestwood. I know its meant as a leveling area, but it generally falls flat to me. It's rainy, its dreary and its maybe marginally pretty once you drain the lake, but even then you get the impression that everything is squishy. I hate undead. About the only thing I truly enjoyed was interacting with the spirit of command. I mean, what can I say, I love spirits and I find them fascinating. All in due time, I suppose. I wrote most of the conversation with Hawke and Stroud from memory and a sheet of paper on which I outlines key points of the conversation. I find it is easier for me to come off with somewhat natural dialogue if I do it this way. Also, Oriana is a diplomatic Hawke, but I found that she came off as whiny in the in-game dialogue. I wanted her to be a bit fiery, but not vengeful, so I went my own way. I'm also struggling with Solas right now, if that isn't evident. He is a character that either writes himself or just gives you absolute hell for no reason and right now he's giving me the latter. Its probably because I'm trying to build up to future scenes without being pedantic about it and its just not working for me. I also struggle because I'm writing in deep third person, and there is so much that I know post-Trespasser that Enya does not know, and so I'm conflicted on how I should write him. It's irritating. This story was much easier to write before I played Trespasser.
Anyway, sorry for my rant. Read on and perhaps review.
Any credit for Elvhen goes to FenxShiral. What a wonderful resource.
Oh, one more thing, I do not translate the Elvhen in this chapter because Enya does not know it. Just a little thing I'm trying.
In Darkness Eternal
Crestwood's dreary rooftops faded into view as they summited the last hill. Below them, a vast, wide lake stretched. Though not nearly as large as Lake Calenhad, its farthest shore disappeared beyond the horizon. A heavy rain drenched Enya's dark hair until it could be wrung from her braid in a great stream. Her cloak, often useful in such extreme climbs proved ineffective at keeping the persistent drizzle from reaching her skin. She hunched over Theneras' neck, for all the good it would do. A sigh of relief slipped between her lips when she spotted Scout Harding's survey camp at the bottom of the road.
The party of eight came as a surprise to the Scout, whose eyes widened when they dismounted.
"I apologize for not having more tents prepared Inquisitor. I wasn't expecting so many and, well." The ginger dwarf gestured toward the lake, "We've had some issues since we arrived."
"Issues?" Enya asked as she removed her stallion's tack.
"Well, how to you feel about undead, your worship?"
A chill ran down her spine, "I'll admit they're not my favorite thing."
"Then I'm sorry to tell you that we've had a problem with corpses rising from the lake since we arrived," The scout beckoned for her to follow, "They emerge from the water at night. We figure it has something to do with that rift."
Enya looked to where Scout Harding pointed and her heart sank. The watered boiled green, hissing and spitting as the energy of the Fade seeped through it. There was no way for them to fix it as things were.
"Oh."
"During the Blight, the old town of Crestwood was flooded. Hundreds of townsfolk died in the flood. I'm not sure how. We've only been here short while, but I imagine someone in the town could tell you how it happened. If you're going to get to that rift, you're going to have to get rid of the water somehow." Scout Harding crossed her arms, "And, not that I want to rush you or anything, Inquisitor but… maybe don't let yourself get too sidetracked on this one. I almost stepped on a corpse last night. It was…"
The dwarven scout shuddered, "Eeeeuh."
Enya laughed, "I promise I won't. I don't want them hanging around anymore than you do."
"You said it." Scout Harding backed away, "Anyway, I have a lot of…scouting stuff to do for Lady Nightingale. Good luck out there."
She pointed at the green light coming from the lake again, a grimace wrinkling her chin.
Iron Bull, Dorian, Blackwall and Cole hung back at the camp. Scout Charter promised to fill them in on the situation at Caer Bronach, the fortress Cullen had suggested they might obtain for Inquisition use. Enya travelled on with her old companions at her side. It wasn't that she disliked her other comrades. On the contrary, she found them all the utmost of enjoyable to be around, the last night notwithstanding. There was, however, something to be said for the comfort of familiarity with which Cassandra, Varric, Solas and herself shared. Cassandra and Solas were not likely to ever be close friends, but when battle fell upon the four, they'd grown accustomed to each other's fighting style. Enya could predict where each of them would be before they even stepped into the fray, and she felt the same could be said for them. It was good to feel such trust again.
Crestwood village was a sad sight to behold. Like the damp home of the young elven woman they'd saved and persuaded not to join the Grey Wardens, it was shadowed and sodden, a sad pile of dilapidated wooded houses and grass rooves that dully gleamed in the weak moonlight. The undead had no doubt heightened the problem, but the air Enya drew into her lungs was heavy with the weight of something older than the rift in the lake.
Enya heard the fighting before she spotted it. The dull thud and clank of swords and arrows rang up through the darkness like an alarm bell, drawing her company to the town's lower gate. A few men from the village struggled with demons and undead, swinging at them with a butcher's cleaver, a farrier's hammer and an old, rusted farming scythe.
The four made quick work of the creatures, laying waste to them before these tired men. The townsmen's fight sunk in deep script on their brows and in the inkwells above their cheekbones. Enya wondered when the rift had appeared for it had been months since the Breach had been opened and the rifts began to spread. Crestwood was a good deal further away than most places Enya had been with the Inquisition so it had perhaps been spared for a time, but the shattered crow's feet at the corners of their eyes, and the ghosts that roamed their visage told a lengthy tale.
How had the Inquisition not seen this sooner? A stab of guilt filled Enya. The men thanked them for their help, and when asked for who could tell them about the dam, they directed the Inquisition party to the mayor's home at the top of the village hill. The village was quite small and the journey subsequently short. Nonetheless, irritation boiled in the pit of Enya's stomach by the time she reached the mayor's house, for the sucking mud tugged at her worn boots with each step.
Mayor Dedrick's home was clammy, but a bright fire burned in the hearth. Dedrick himself was the opposite, dry-skinned cheeks sunken with distant expressions. He stood in his home with feigned contentment. Even as his village was slowly overrun with the undead, he smiled politely at her explaining the breaking of the dam by the darkspawn. The undead that plagued the town had once been its people. His gaze never met hers, nor did his stance ever change. He insisted it wasn't the Inquisition's job to fix the dam. It took all of Enya's patience and her best 'Herald of Andraste' act to convince him that it was no burden, and still he hovered on the balls of his feet, a halla ready to flee. They bid him farewell and slipped from the cottage into the rain again. The little sod roofs about them wept.
Many villagers came forward with their plights as they walked and the mud tugged all the harder at the soles of her boots. One man was worried about a woman who lived outside of the town's borders, up in the rocky hills. He was sure some ill would beset her. Another wanted them to ensure the bandits in the nearby fortress would not come any closer to the village. They take from anyone on the road, he said. Still others barred their doors entirely. One of the men they'd saved offered them coin. Enya closed his hand over the copper pieces. He needed them more than anyone the under the Inquisition's care.
Blasts of magic and the clashing of blades met Enya's ears as they approached the overtaken fortress. Dorian had lit a perimeter of fire about the bandits, penning them in for Blackwall, Cole and The Iron Bull to deal with them. Sword in hand, she made to join the fight, only to pause as the slam of a door echoed about the courtyard. A rogue dropped from above Dorian and knocked him from the roof where he stood. Enya ran toward him, but was waylaid as a behemoth of a man stepped through the door to the courtyard, bringing with him reinforcements from the keep above.
Casting a final glance at the Tevinter mage, she changed course to defend Cole from the enormous man's maul. She ducked behind the blunt edge of her blade to catch the swing, but there was no need for a bright barrier absorbed the blow. Relief flooded through her and she nodded thanks to Solas for the prompt intervention. Surprise awarded her the upper hand and she pressed the bandit back, away from the spirit.
The fighters Dorian had caged with his fire were now free, and she felled three as they rushed her. With a yell, she ran forward toward the enormous man. The flat end of the maul rushed forward to meet her small frame, but she dove to the ground, slashing out with her sword at his cracking leather boots. Under her blade, they split and his agonized roar shook the very stone of the fortress beneath her feet. He dropped to one knee. Enya leapt back. The edge of the maul whizzed past her cheek, close enough to brush the skin. Ignoring the lasting sting, Enya swung her greatsword out before her. Though it missed the man, it forced him to stumble back onto his injured leg and subsequently falter as he brought his maul down. Solas' barrier redirected the blow into the cobbles, and she lunged again, this time aiming for his mostly bare torso. The bandit leader, however, was a quick study, for as quickly as she lunged, he parried, catching the tip of her sword with the wooden handle of his maul. Enya, let out a surprised cry as he wrenched her forward, body following blade. It slipped free of her hands, clattering onto the stones.
On his knees, the highwayman was eye to eye with her. Through the slit in his helmet, his eyes glimmered with victory. Each of her companions were engaged in their own battles, and there were more bandits that there were her friends. Even if they had torn themselves away from their fights to save her, she imagined it would be at the expense of their own lives. She turned back to her enemy as he raised his maul above his head and then thrust her hand forward.
The green magic burst from her palm, a focused knife of magic slicing open the veil above the bandit captain's head until it fell open and consumed him. He screamed, and his men faltered. Enya companions took advantage and finished the remaining bandits.
Panting, a smile wavered on her lips as she met her companion's gaze. This magic was not new to Cassandra, Dorian or Varric, for they had seen her use it once before to banish a particularly strong pride demon back to the Fade. Alone among her other companions, Cole seemed unphased by this development, which was unsurprising. Blackwall looked afraid, and perhaps he should have been. Until now, the Anchor had been something that healed the Veil, not sundered it more. Though, Enya noted to herself that she could sense no lasting weakness where she had opened the hole, she could not be certain that would always be the case. The Iron Bull had expressed a distaste for messing with the Fade, though the upturned corner of his mouth suggested that this development did not frighten him in the least.
Solas stood poker straight, back taut as a bowstring at full draw. She met his searching gaze and The tension dissipating as quickly as it had arisen until the only traces could be found in the rigid angle of his jaw. Enya blinked at him, lips parted to speak, but her words were silenced by Cassandra's.
"Now we've taken the fortress from the bandits, we should mark it as our own."
From a pouch at her waist Enya hadn't noticed her carry before, the Seeker pulled a folded black cloth. Upon unfolding, however it revealed itself to be a flag, emblazoned with the standard of the Inquisition. Cassandra handed it to her and gestured to the stairs down which the bandit leader had approached. A tall wooden pole with a rope and pulley stood beyond the door and a great parapet of crumbling stone protected the flagpole. How much of Thedas had fallen into similar disrepair? Everywhere they went, the cracks of civilization peeked through a veil of normalcy. Enya tied the flag onto the aging rope. It caught the damp breeze that blew through the rain and billowed, declaring to all who could see that this fortress was free of those who would take, protected by the Inquisition.
Enya waited patiently as Varric picked the lock to a room on the other side of the fortress. Burning candles melted to little more than stubs, dripping wax on a graying wooden table that sat at the far end of the room. Rows of short bookshelves jutted out from the walls too. Odd for a band of highwayman. She lifted a book lying face down from the floor and sighed as a leave of pages fell from the spine. "A Study of the Early Divide of the Chantry: How Tevinter Came to be Andrastian" one page read at the top. Eyebrow raised, she fitted the leaf back into the book and set it on the shelf. A raven crooned in the far corner. Cassandra pressed past her and drew a small roll of parchment from her belt, scrawled a short message and tied it to the raven's leg.
"Scout Harding should know we've taken Caer Bronach. We'll need forces here to hold it."
The Seeker left them, raven clasped in her armored hands.
The benches alongside the table tempted Enya to rest, even if only for a moment. Varric left to recover the iron bolts from his crossbow and went with him. Taking a sip of water from her waterskin Enya closed her eyes. She could have died. Without the Anchor, she would have. Perhaps Varric, or Dorian, or Solas would have noticed in time to save her, but she doubted that. Had she not opened that rift, that Bandit would have cut her in two. Her hand shook as she lifted her waterskin to take another sip.
"Well you're a cheerful one." Dorian dropped onto the bench opposite her.
With a rolled of her shoulders and neck, Enya turned to the Tevinter mage, "I'm fine, Dorian. Just shaken."
"Hmmmm…" He leaned on the table, "Well if you ever need a distraction, we can always talk more about cattle dotting the skies of Minrathous. I know how fond you are of Tevinter myth."
Unbidden, she found a smile tug at the corners of her lips. Dorian reached out and squeezed her forearm before leaving the room. Enya took one more long draught of water and then rose from the bench.
Outside, the skies had grown clearer and the rain dwindled to minuscule droplets the clouds spit on their heads every few seconds. Solas, Cassandra and Varric waited for her at the gate, ready to head East toward the hills beyond the lake. As they set off, Enya could almost feel the anticipation that fueled her dwarven rogue's hurried strides. He kept pace with her at the front of the quartet, a far cry from the man who often asked her to slow down. Ten years was a long time, and she wondered at the depth and strength of the friendship Varric and Hawke had forged under the pressure of Kirkwall's unrest.
Their meeting spot was well hidden in the curve of a rocky ridge, tucked away in a cavern that tunneled deep into the hill. Hawke sunk low, blades drawn as they rounded the remnants of a rockslide. Enya's stomach tightened. The wariness of years spent without trust was easy to recognize, and this fugitive champion crouched low like a lion cornered by hunters at even the suggestion of an enemy. Oriana straightened, however, and sheathed her weapons over her shoulders.
"Inquisitor," she crossed her arms before her, "My contact's just inside the cavern."
The Champion of Kirkwall's gaze fell to Varric, and a smile split her solemn, scared face, dark eyes dancing, "I hoped you might come along."
"And miss having your back again? Never."
"There were other Wardens on the road, Hawke."
Cassandra's voice was even, professional, but her hand formed a fist about the hilt of her sword. Enya chimed in.
"He's lucky he hasn't been caught. They're hear looking for him specifically."
Hawke nodded, "Warden-Commander Clarel has branded him a traitor to their order. I overheard them when I was passing through the docks on Lake Calenhad."
"In any case, the longer we discuss the matter, the more time your friend remains in peril."
Enya glanced back at Solas, for he'd said nothing since they took Caer Bronach, and the edge of impatience was most unlike him. Had it been the rift she'd created that gave his words such edge, or something more?
"You're right, of course."
Either unphased or choosing to ignore the pointed comment, Hawke bowed her head and gestured for them to proceed ahead of her. The cavern narrowed until finally they came to a wooden wall on which was painted a skull with a red streak of paint covering its eyes. The champion then held up her hand.
"Stroud is a good man, but he's being hunted by his own order, and they are not far away," she met Enya's gaze, "Only the Inquisitor and I should go in. News of the Inquisition, and it's marked Inquisitor have traveled across Thedas like dragonfire. The rest of you should keep watch."
Enya nodded her agreement to Hawke and then turned to her companions, "Hawke's right. It will be easier if its only me. If he is suspicious, I have the Anchor to prove my legitimacy."
Cassandra and Varric unsheathed and loaded their weapons in response. Solas met her with the usual consideration and then nodded. She had almost turned fully around when she heard him add.
"Nuva shalas, lethallan."
Enya glanced back as her three friends made their way back down the cavern toward the source of the sunlight that glimmered off the slimy walls. She searched for a meaning in that short phrase but it beyond 'lethallan' the words were completely unfamiliar.
The cave at the rear of the tunnel seemed empty as she walked inside. The ceiling dripped murky water down long stalactites into little pools that rung out like tiny, high-pitched bells each time a drop fell into them. The floor was pitted from these little drips. She tread across the pitted stone, over ages written beneath her feet. Her examination of the fugitive Warden's hideout halted with a blade stayed dangerously close to her throat.
His mustache was of the Orlesian style, which she supposed made sense. Even now, 10 years later, Cullen informed her there were few Wardens in Ferelden, aside from the Hero and King Alistair. It framed his mouth on three sides, thick, brown and fastidiously combed for a man hiding in a cave. His face was laden with deep shadows and dark circles, his cheekbones hollowed with poor nutrition. His gaze roamed her presence for subterfuge.
"Easy, Stroud. She's alright," Hawke's feminine voice echoed from the wooden barricade, where she slipped a wooden plank door back in place.
Enya drew herself up as the Champion drew even with her shoulder.
"Inquisitor, this is Warden Stroud. We've known each other for many years," She crossed her arms.
"Inquisitor?"
Stroud's gaze still bore into her, searching for falseness, but he sheathed his blade.
"Then you are also who they call the Heralds of Andraste."
Enya nodded, "Though it is not a title I bear willing, Warden Stroud."
"I was investigating another unrelated matter when Warden Stroud contacted me. He was concerned that after Varric and I slew Corypheus, the Wardens were too quick to declare him dead. I explained him everything that had happened at that tower, but he remained unconvinced." Hawke paused, her arms still crossed.
Enya cocked her head at Stroud.
"Unlike the rest of Thedas, some of the inner circle of Wardens were told of Corypheus' existence. We knew what he was," The Warden paced toward them, the griffon emblazoned on his chest glimmering in the light of the torch burning in a bracket on one of the stalactites, "Or at least what he claimed to be. I was afraid that if it were true, then he might not be so dead as the Champion claimed he was."
Hawke frowned at him, "I had little reason to think otherwise. When I left him, he was so full of arrows and holes there was little left to recognize."
"I don't blame you for your misconception, Hawke," Stroud's mustache grew more severe as he pursed his lips, "An Archdemon can survive wounds that no mortal could. As powerful as Corypheus was, especially if his claims were true, I feared the worst."
His watery grey eyes fixed on Hawke and herself, "I do not relish being right on this account."
Enya crossed her arms, "If you suspected this, why say nothing? Why not tell someone?"
"Corypheus' power, whatever it might once have been, is tied to the Blight, as are the Wardens. It made it a Warden matter, but I don't believe we could have told anyone, let alone have them listen. Without a Blight, most look at Wardens as madmen sitting in great fortresses babbling about fairytales."
Enya nodded, the tension in her shoulders dissipating with her irritation, "I understand."
"By the time I had truly realized the danger Corypheus presented to our order, it was too late. I brought my concerns to the Warden-Commander and she cast me out as a traitor. The Wardens of Orlais are no longer in control, though they are blind to it."
The Warden paced the room. His hand gutted the air about him with his gestures. Enya watched, her hand inching toward her sword. Was he not under Corypheus' control as well?
"How are you not affected?" She asked.
The twitch of her finger drew his attention and his eyes flicked to where the tips of her fingers brushed the hilt of her blade.
"I am. I can hear him even now, faint whispers in the back of my mind, the hiss of a snake as it slithers toward its prey."
"The Calling. We all hear it in the end," he gestured, "Every Warden undergoes a ritual at his or her initiation that ties us to the darkspawn. This ritual binds us, forever, to the Blight, and eventually, it catches up to us. Most Wardens go to the Deep Roads when we hear it, join the ranks of the Legion of the Dead and fall in battle against the darkspawn horde."
"So the whole Order is hearing this and thinks they are dying?" Enya's heart pounded, "Are they? Is the Calling you're hearing real?"
Stroud's gaze fell to the ground, "I cannot say for certain, Inquisitor," he sighed, "Real or not, the Wardens believe they are dying. It is our worst fear, that we will die before the Blights have ended."
If these past few months had taught her anything it was that desperation breeds foolishness.
Hawke gave voice to Enya's own concerns, "So the Grey Wardens pull together some desperate and foolish plan to end all Blights."
Kirkwall's champion shook her head, "And Corypheus gets exactly what he wants."
Stroud nodded, "Before I was branded a traitor, Clarel and the other Warden mages spoke of a blood magic ritual to end all Blights. I don't know what they truly planned, but for Warden-Commander Clarel to turn to blood magic…"
Enya stepped forward, toward the Warden and her voice was soft when she next spoke, "It sounds as though you admired the Warden-Commander. I take it Blood Magic is not something she would normally turn to for help."
"Certainly not. She could be a formidable adversary, but our Commander was always fair and reasoned. Fear has driven her to such lengths. Fear in the face of duty." He paused and fixed Enya in a stern, melancholy gaze, "Only a Warden can end a Blight. Only a Warden can slay an archdemon. Without us, the next Blight will consume the world. I understand her fear."
"I've been tracking the Wardens as well as I could since I left, your worship. Once Hawke sent word that you were coming, I did my best to determine where they had moved. There is an ancient Tevinter ritual tower in the Western Approach. It overlooks the Abyssal Rift. It is well known to the Wardens as once they used it to surveil the chasm for emerging darkspawn. My sources indicate this is where they are going to attempt this ritual. Meet me there, Inquisitor."
"As soon as we are able," Enya bowed her head, "Thank you, Warden Stroud. You risk a great deal to help us."
She moved to the wooden plank that covered the entrance to his hideout. Hawke clasped Stroud's shoulder in her hand.
"Take care when you leave here, Stroud. The Wardens are here in Crestwood."
"I will meet you in the Approach, Hawke."
There was finality, certainty in the Warden's voice. Enya admired his confidence, for while optimism often drove her affirmations, she had not uncovered the secret to stoic certitude. Hawke joined her and together they made their way out into the muggy countryside.