a/n- Maker's Breath an update. I am seriously sorry to all who follow this story. Life and writer's block have made it very difficult for me to keep going on this story lately. It isn't that I don't love it or even that I don't know what happens next, I've just had one heck of a time dealing with writing in a location that makes me want to scream with frustration. So, without further ado, here is chapter 39.

The Burden of Command

They parted ways with Hawke as the party rejoined the main road. The Champion bid her farewells, promising to meet them in the Approach in a fortnight.

Caer Bonnach boomed with activity upon their return. Even in the short time they'd been gone, some Inquisition's people had moved from the camps into the small fortress seeking refuge from the rising dead. The blonde elven scout who'd filled them in on the details of the fort's history helped Scout Harding directed men about the structure. Brontos laiden with supplies gathered in the courtyard. Their groans and grumbles echoed off the high walls as they dug into the corn one of the soldiers lay out in front of them. Enya narrowly avoided a sharp knock on the head by a table leg as a pair of soldiers removed it from the back of the beast of burden. Both grunted apologies, either too tired or too preoccupied to care to whom they were speaking. Relief tingled beneath her skin, far from the irritation she should have felt. It was good, for even a moment, to be just a Dalish nobody. Scout Harding and the blonde elf eventually spotted them and hurried over.

"Your Worship. This castle, it's amazing. A bit small, but these walls are a lot more solid than our tents and there are roofs we can hide under if the rain gets too bad," Scout Harding wrung her hands together, "Really. I can't thank you enough for these big, solid, thick stone walls around us. Really. It's quite nice."

Enya laughed, "It will be nice not to worry about undead creeping into my bedroll tonight."

The dwarven scout nodded heartily. Next to her the elven scout cleared her throat. Unlike Harding, she wasn't the type to have a laugh with her leader.

"It's Scout Charter, right? I've read some of your mission reports. Leliana tells me you have been instrumental in obtaining some of our most important intel."

"Just Charter, Your Worship," She corrected curtly, "Sister Nightingale placed me in charge of these holdings. From here, I will conduct operations under the direct purview of our Spymaster and ensure that our agents are well-trained and well-informed across all of Ferelden."

Enya stood a bit taller, suddenly aware even for an elf she was on the short side. Charter, on the other hand, stood almost as tall as a human woman. Her countenance itself was likewise imposing, yet Enya felt certain that this self-assured spy was fiercely loyal to their cause.

"Crestwood sits on the main road between Denerim and Orlais. Any merchants who passes through can be counted on to have a loose tongue with the rifts about. If they have the coin to stay in their cities, they will. We'll have a constant flow of new intel and we have access from here to just about anywhere in southern Thedas without the fear of being seen. Anything my people learn will be reported back to Sister Nightingale with the utmost of speed and care."

"Thank you, Sc-Charter," Enya bowed her head. She was tired, hungry, and she had referred to this woman as scout for so long it was difficult in her current state to break such a habit.

"Is there anything you find yourself wanting? I know we've only just taken this holding, so I doubt you have a good idea of what is lacking."

"As you say, Your Worship. Though if it were possible, faster birds would be appreciated. The ones our scouts use are only bred for speed over short distances, and that was all that was truly necessary when we were disparate camps spread across the region, but if we are to become a permanent installment in Crestwood, expedient communication is key. If Sister Nightingale hadn't appointed me to this post before we left, I would not know it was I who should take it."

"I'll see that it is done, Charter," Enya agreed, "If that is all?"

"If you and your companions wish to rest, we've set up several tents within the fortress and there are also several cots that have been moved into the various rooms. When you are ready, Scout Harding tells me that you plan on draining the lake to deal with that Rift. There is a tunnel below this fortress that leads out onto the dam." Charter stepped together and placed her right fist over her heart, "Inquisitor."

Enya gave a curt nod and retreated to the upper levels of the keep. Her travelling companions had since disappeared. She imagined they'd gone to find food and a fire to chase the chill from their bones. The stairs were steep and slippery with moss and rain. She spotted the door Charter had spoken of, nestled below the awnings the Inquisition soldiers had erected. Perhaps they would venture out this evening, but that seemed foolish. Already, the sky darkened with the waning sun, hidden behind the thick grey clouds. Rolling her shoulder's, Enya felt the ache of battle settling into the muscles. A night's rest would do her some good.

A soldier near the fire stirred a pot of something. Though the smell left quite a lot to be desired, Enya's stomach gurgled, reminding her that since she broke her night fast that morning, she'd had nothing to eat. They'd still been on the road too, and the meal had been little more than hard bread, some water to soften it, and an apple. Upon her approach, the soldier ladled a bit into a bowl and handed it to her. Despite her best efforts to stay non-descript, her branching sage vallaslin gave her away.

"Thank you," she smiled at him and turned on her heal to leave.

Enya clutched the steaming bowl between her hands, careful not to let the stew escape from its rough-hewn sides. The chill of the night sent a deep ache though her bones, which abated where the warmth of her food touched, and the thick, greasy scent wafting to her nose brewed only more anticipation, promising the same warmth to the rest of her. Away from the fortress' naked walls, Enya settled under the flickering firelight of a torch.

The stew was none too tasty, but to a battle-worn traveler, any food was worthy of eating, and years of unreliable meals, had wrung the pickiness from the elvhen Inquisitor's bones. She ate as quietly as she could, enjoying this small escape. With her tiny frame pressed against the stones of the wall, Enya avoided the passing glances of the soldiers that roamed the battlements, bringing in supplies from bronto-drawn carts below. For a long while, no one cast her a second glance.

"I am quite certain the Inquisition Scouts had not intended for you to sleep in a shadowy corner."

Enya started, and blinked her sleep-dampened lashes. Solas stood over her, lips curved into a faint smile. The Inquisitor unfolded her limbs, grimacing as the cold spread, aching, through her body. Though the boiled wool of her cloak held heat about her shoulders, it could not protect the rest of her from the cloying chill of the aged stones.

"Perhaps they will forgive me on account of the battles we've fought of late. I'm afraid warmth and a good meal far outweigh the comforts of wherever they intended I sleep."

The mage said nothing, but his smile deepened to something that might actually have been recognizable to more than the Inquistion's inner circle. Still, the fondness of her elven companion's amusement filled her with some warmth, owing to a brightness in her cheeks that could easily be attributed to the cold. Enya smoothed the wrinkles from her leather breeches and tightened the laces on her boots.

"Shall we?" Solas stepped to the side, gesturing for her with the hand that did not currently hold his staff for her to proceed before him.

Enya mockingly bowed her head to him, "I suppose we shall."

A very alert Cassandra met them at the base of the Keep's many steps. Her dark eyes shone like obsidian in the watery morning sun.

"Inquisitor," The Seeker turned away from her dusky grey steed, "I have been informed by Charter that the dead rising from the lake have increased in number over the night. I suggest we waste no time in making our way to the dam."

"I had little intention on tarrying this morning."

Enya, fell into step next to the Seeker as she moved back to the stable.

"Is there anything else?"

Cassandra fastened her last bag to her horse's saddle while Enya pulled the tall bay she'd been given from the stable.

The Seeker pursed her lips, "Perhaps. But for the moment it is of little import. When I am certain of the situation, I will inform you further."

Masses of soaked boards littered the town of Old Crestwood. They slipped and slid on the algae-strewn streets. Water plants with nowhere to float clawed at their ankles, demanding a reason as they baked in the weak sunlight that dappled the abandoned village. Enya knelt but the doorway of one home as she spotted a waterlogged doll limp and greyed by years in the depths of the lake. Varric laid a hand on her shoulder.

"The town was empty, Clover. What they lost was far overshadowed by what they gained."

She nodded, uncertain why this sudden sadness. It wasn't as if she had ever had a true home; the Clan had moved far and often during her life. That was the Dalish way. Then again, her belongings, few though they were in a family of five, had always stayed with them, as well as their aravel. Perhaps it was the thought of the loss of her aravel that planted the salty burn behind her eyes as she journeyed on with her companions, leaving the doll behind, still forgotten.

They met a spirit of command, fiery in nature and form. Brought through the Veil by the tragedy there and called closer to the rift, it was perplexed with their world, frustrated by the lack of impetus displayed by the elements of it. Nothing would bend to her will. Enya watched as Solas spoke to it, attempting to convey to their angered audience that this world was fundamentally different, separate from the Fade, but it paid him little mind, dismissing his reasoning with the casuality of the turn of a page. Instead, it turned to Enya.

"You, you share my spirit. I feel it in you, sense it. You have the bearing of command, and something…"

The Spirit of command drifted closer to her, hovering just out of reach and peering at her face. Though why Enya felt this is what it was doing, she had no idea. The spirit had no eyes, and Solas had explained that spirits as a whole did not see as the races of Thedas do, but nevertheless, she felt scrutinized.

"There is a creature in these caverns that irks me. A demon of rage. It destroys all in its path with no concern for my commands otherwise," The Spirit cocked its head, "You will deal with it for me, and tell me when it is done. Then, perhaps I can leave this cursed world."

A metal-clad hand grasped Enya's shoulder. Cassandra's brown gaze stared back at her when she turn, commanding caution, though the Seeker did not speak. Varric with furrowed brow and crossed arms echoed the Nevarran's concerns, but Enya heeded neither of their warnings.

"Very well, when I've dealt with this demon, I shall return to you," Enya agreed.

From the corner of her eye, she thought she might have seen Solas smile, just a little.

"Finally, something obeys my wishes."

They left the spirit drifting about the waterlogged ruin, searching instead for some indication of where these caverns might me. Enya theorized that if there was a powerful rage demon somewhere then perchance the rift waking the dead was likewise close-by. In their search, they stumbled upon the old residence of the mayor of Crestwood. It was empty, laid bare as though everything had been removed with care.

"Where is everything?" Varric asked, opening a water-filled but otherwise empty chest.

A creeping dread clawed its way through the inside of Enya's skin. The place was clean. Not just washed empty by the rush of the floodwaters receding but as though the owner had packed anything important to leave before the flood. She bit her lip, and her hands found a resting place on her hips.

"He knew."

Cassandra agreed: "Mayor Dedrick must have been the one to flood old Crestwood, not the Darkspawn as he claimed."

The Seeker's face filled with a frown as she bent toward a small Andrastian idol on the floor. She freed it from the mud that had been swept into the house and smeared away the debris that had covered the small carving. Enya approached her to look at the little gold Andraste. The remnants of a jute cord hung limp from the small loop at the top, disintegrated after a decade under water. Shadow had covered Cassandra's face at the disregarded statue.

"Perhaps he didn't want his gods to watch him."

Cassandra never hid her devotion to her faith. Even more so than the Keeper of the Dalish, the Seeker was devout to her core. Every choice, every step, guided by her belief in the Maker and Andraste. Enya admired this conviction, for often she questioned her own gods' will. As soon as she'd said it, she knew she'd said it wrong, but Cassandra, who had once suggested she should believe in the Maker, simply looked up with a smile and slipped the idol into the pouched on her belt.

"Perhaps he did not. Nor would I wish the Maker to watch if I single-handedly chose to displace my entire village."

Varric, standing by the door with his crossbow drawn, added, "If I'd destroyed my entire village, I wouldn't have wanted anyone to know. Blight or no."

Enya nodded in agreement.

"If I might remind everyone, while no doubt we shall need to place some of our attention toward Mayor Dedrick's deed, I do believe the more pressing issue is the rift that has been reanimating corpses."

As if in agreement with the mage, a dull ache spread through Enya's arm, throbbing in time with her heartbeat. Solas cocked his head as she joined him at the door. Unconsciously, she had grasped her forearm with her other hand in a vain attempt to halt the pain that blossomed under the skin.

"I'm fine," she murmured to him as the other two approached.

She didn't miss as his lips tightened, unconvinced, at her words. Enya lead them onward, moving and searching quelled the pain as she wandered through the ruined village. Finally, tucked under a rock outcropping and shrouded in a veil of slowly browning kelp, they discovered the entrance to an old mine. The cavern went deep, sloping gently but insistently downward under the hill.

Enya hated caves, the constant drip of water, the endless smell of damp clutching her lungs, the oppressive ceiling, always too close when over her head there should be sky. She shuddered as some water dripped down through her chainmaille and reached her suede shirt, tickling the skin of her back with a single, ghostly finger. Varric commented, off-handedly, that not all dwarves liked to be underground and she took some comfort in his shared dislike of their situation.

There were no sounds beyond themselves in this part of the cave, though eerie whisps, flaming in color drifted silently past them. She'd seen whisps like this before when they travelled along the edge of the Dales, but what had thinned the Veil here so. And then Enya spotted it, a pile of verdant skeletons at the edge of a timber ramp that swirled down into the dark.

She lit another of the torches and knelt near the remains, her emerald eyes tracing the line of every bone. They were unmarked, no damage, only the ragged tatters of frayed cloth clinging to their forgotten forms. Their skeletons had mingled but the hunter in her saw they had died clutched together and the whisps now made sense to her. As she rose, she spotted more bodies littering their path forward dozens, huddled together, or lying alone as though they had fallen in some desperate attempt to escape the water. Varric had been wrong.

"They were…" Enya rose, disgust boiling a sickness in her stomach, "They must have been trapped in the caves when he flooded the village."

"Didn't Dedrick say they had moved the Blighted into the caves to help stop the Blight spreading?" Varric recalled.

Solas tightened his grip on the staff in his hand, his voice coarse, "He culled his own people. Herded those with the Blight, perhaps even their families, into these caves and then drowned them."

"Maker," Cassandra breathed.

The four stood together for a long moment, silent horror bubbling in their chests. Without another word they continued. Deeper and deeper into the cavern's depths they delved until the bulbous, slimy stone was replaced by glowing pillars and dark smooth walls.

"Ah, the Deep Roads. This brings back memories," Varric's commented.

He shared a glance with Cassandra that eluded Enya's comprehension.

Enya had never seen the Deep Roads, nor had anyone ever described them to her. In fact, beyond Varric and Scout Harding, she knew no dwarves by name. If Clan Lavellan had few dealings with humans, they had had even fewer with dwarves. There had been no prejudice against them, but they'd had little occasion to cross paths with the race they called the Durgen'len. Afterall, the dwarves spent the majority of their time in the cities of the Free Marches and not wandering about in the forests and hills. There was no commerce to be found where her Clan's aravels stopped to rest. All the same, upon Varric's gruff proclamation, she had little doubt that these could be anything else.

This hall was carved well, though time had taken its toll, and rubble claimed patches of the floor, the structure appeared sturdy and finely honed. Her gloved hand brushed along the smooth surface of the wall, and she marvel that it had been carved from the solid rock and not placed there from elsewhere. She wondered how far this path lead under the ground. Could it lead her to the Durgen'len capital, Orzammar that about which she had learned from Josephine so recently? Could it lead her to Orlais under the roots of the great Frostbacks? Fear pierced her at the thought of journey under those great peaks, the immense weight of them pressing down upon her…

Enya shook her head and hurried on through the faint light of the columns, wondering what brought such light to their carving. Dwarves had no way of using magic, and their light was not that of lyrium which Dagna used for runes. Of course, there were sconces as well, which Solas lit with a flick of his wrist. Cassandra, Enya noted, no longer seemed perturbed by his casual use of magic.

An eerie light at the end of the corridor halted her rambling thoughts. Enya hefted the length of her steel greatsword over her shoulder in preparation for the coming fight. The orange glow culminated in the igneous form of an enormous rage demon that bellowed its fury at them as they approached. However, they were beset by two shades before Enya could even consider attacking her quarry.

Cassandra let out a yell as she swung her shield to knock away one of the shades whose talons narrowly missed her jaw before ducking behind it to avoid and onslaught of fire from the rage demon. Enya dispatched her shade quickly, with a few deft swings of her sword before opening a small rift that dragged the shade and the rage demon's essence through to the Fade. The act tore a small gasp of pain from her but she bit her lip and forged on. The shade that had first attack Cassandra fell to Varric's crossbow, pepper with arrows as it slipped through the Veil back from whence it came. Solas warded all of them, fade stepping about the room to avoid the streams of fire that flowed from the rage demon now it was alone. The rift Enya had opened closed, slowing their foe no longer. Rebolstered by this, the demon grew larger till it stood yet half the height of the cavern and broke upon them like wave of lava. No one was unscathed when it finally fell. A deep cut dripped rivulets of blood down Enya's arm, hissing as they made contact with her mark. She sheathed her blade and hurried to Varric's side. He lay, face-down on the stones, but groaned when she touched his shoulder.

"Varric?"

Another groan answered her followed by, "Maker's balls, Inquisitor. Can we stop fighting demons for just a day?"

His statement shook loose a light chuckled from her, as she helped him back to his feet. The dwarf rubbed the side of his head, where Enya now noticed, blood dripped from his ear. He seemed unphased by this, however, and his ability to walk straight and stand tall, as well as Solas' reassurance that he felt nothing severely wrong, quelled her worry. Cassandra, lip swollen and bleeding, massaged one of her shoulders.

"Perhaps Varric is right."

"Chuckles, mark the calendar. Seeker just agreed with me."

Solas laughed as he limped closer to them, "I think, Varric, you'd do best not to antagonize or it might never happen again."

Enya searched him for an injury. A nasty burn laced its way around his calf on around his foot. Fade stepping had not entirely saved him from injury. Nearby his leg wrap lay, smoking in a singed heep. Her stomach clenched.

"Solas."

She reached out and grabbed his staff as he made to lean against it for another step. The blood dripping from her arm stained the wood. The elven mage prized her fingers from the old keeper's staff gently and turned it the rent skin upward so he could better observe the cut.

"I haven't the time to fix this as I should, da'len. However…"

A pale blue-green glow filled the wound, but she pulled her arm from his grasp, "Forget this. It's nothing. Your leg, Solas."

He cast his eyes downward toward the livid burn. She wondered whether he'd been trying to ignore it for as Solas' eyes set upon the boiled skin, pain sprouted in his face and he closed his eyes.

"Fenedhis," he breathed only loud enough for Enya to hear.

"Here," Cassandra held out a health potion, the mixture of elf root and embrium glimmering red-brown in the tiny bottle, "It'll at least dull the pain."

Solas took the bottle and upended it, "Thank you, Seeker."

They rested for a moment, and with Solas' insistence, Enya and Cassandra allowed their wounds to be partially healed before continuing on. A few corpses shambling toward them served to remind them of the dangers of lingering in one place for too long with the rift still open.

Demon cries pierced Enya's skull as she whirled her blade, doing her very best to ignore the terror demons. Their screams were as bone-chilling as the penetrating damp, but they fell under her blade all the same. Enya flung her hand before her, blood again dripping from her armorless forearm as she closed the rift with a snap resounding whine. Cassandra lifted herself from the ground where she'd been knocked flat by the powerful blow of one of the terror demons. Solas downed another healing position and then limped to help Varric up. Though the dwarf claimed to be fine, Enya doubted his assessment by the paleness of his visage.

They made their way forth from the caverns stopping only to activate an ancient elven artefact that Solas explained would strengthen the Veil. Enya looped Varric's arm over her shoulder and the four companion's made their way through the drizzle back to Caer Bronach, stopping only to take health potions and nurse their respective injuries.

a/n- Read and review please. And thank you for coming back if you did.