Fear is Power
Sand buffeted Enya's cheeks, hot and fine as they road over the rocky ridge and down into the red desert dunes. In all her life, Enya had never encountered a land so beautiful and foreign. It was winter in Thedas. Now the days grew short and the skies loosed whisps of snow, but news of this seemed not to have reached this remote corner of Orlais. The dry air parched her throat with every breath and she took another sip from her waterskin to sooth it. The sun's rays radiated up from the russet soil, shimmering like water. Enya learned quickly: the desert lied.
Scout Harding ran a hand through her chestnut hair and then gestured at two other Inquisition soldiers who'd handed her a papers.
"Go, go," she shooed, "I don't feed and house you so that you can stand around and stare at the Inquisitor! She has more important things to do than have you leer at her like an animal in an Orlesian menagerie."
The two scouts ducked their heads, for indeed, Enya realized, they had been staring. At her approach, they bowed murmuring 'Your Worship.' She returned the gesture with a small inclination of her head. At the very least, she could graciously accept their reverence rather than reject it all together, whether she wanted it or not. They hurried off. Scout Harding shook her head, and though her demeanor was light, Enya noted several red hairs sticking out at odd angles from her bun and shadows darkened the skin beneath her eyes.
"Sorry, Your Worship. When we move into new locations, there are always folk who want to join us. I hadn't thought to find any out here but we passed nearby a town just before the edge of the Approach and those two thought they'd come along. They're good hunters and fair fighters, but I think they just wanted to see if it was all true."
"If what was all true?"
Harding let out a soft sigh, "Oh you know, you, the mark, rifts. You're a legend after Haven, Inquisitor."
Enya shifted. An Orlesian zoo animal indeed, "You look tired, Scout. Is everything alright?"
"The Rifts here are bad, your worship. In fact, I was hoping you might help with that. One opened not half a mile along the road and we've had to reroute all of our people. If you could close it, it would be a great help."
"Of course," Enya nodded, "but that can't be all. You've had rifts to deal with everywhere we've gone."
"On top of the rifts, the desert is crawling with Venatori. They've been disrupting merchant caravans, slaughtering travelers and they've taken over a fortress near the edge of the Abyssal Reach. Then there is a high dragon flying about. It hasn't come anywhere near us, but you can find bronto carcasses all over the dunes. It's only a matter of time. Grey Wardens have been spotted though they haven't caused any trouble, and the local wildlife… The sooner we leave this place the better, Inquisitor. Varghests, Phoenix. Hyenas try to take our food nightly and they're tough to kill. Why anyone would…"
"Just please be fast here Inquisitor."
Enya smiled, crossing her arms, "Of course, Scout Harding. Wouldn't dream of keep you here longer than you needed."
Weary relief crept over the young dwarf's face and she sighed, "If that is all, Inquisitor, I need to get out of the heat. There are some notes we've collected on the Venatori over there on the table."
Harding bowed and departed, wiping sweat on the back of a gloved hand. Enya was glad she had changed her armor for had she worn the heavy maille to which she had grown accustomed, she had little doubt she would be overheating in the midday sun. Dorian returned from the small pond near the camp holding the party's waterskins. They set out without further discussion.
"Now this is more like it: the sand in your eyes, the sun baking you in your armor like a fresh tart in an oven, rifts popping up from the dunes whenever you please, crazed Tevinter mages attacking you at a moment's notice," Dorian commented as they closed yet another rift, "It's almost like being back at home."
"Just a typical Tuesday for you is it?" Varric quipped, throwing Bianca back into her holster over his shoulder.
"Is it Tuesday? I've lost track." Dorian spun his staff a few times before twirling it over his shoulder into the sling in which he carried it, "More like a typical Wednesday. Tuesday is when the cows fly."
"Touche," Varric climbed back aboard his pony, grimacing as he settled into the saddle.
"I don't suppose either of you could focus."
Like Scout Harding, the heat and sun wore on Cassandra. Her already thin patience dwindled to an impossibly small thread. From the back of her elegant grey steed, she glowered, dark eyes narrowed and brimming with irritation. A hand served to shield them from the sun, but she squinted no less. Predicting and explosion if she remained silent, Enya gestured toward the far horizon.
"Cassandra's right: we should keep moving if we want to reach Hawke and Stroud before dark."
Her companions made no argument. Though Dorian had undoubtedly been complaining, his softened expression betrayed his delight at the milder climes. The sun crept toward the crest of the red dunes unceasingly. It hung low in the sky, peering around a tall outcropping of rock that lead into a deep valley. As they made their way westward of that pillar of stone, they were all forced to shield their gaze, for the sinking sun's rays were unrelenting. Obstinate, the desert refused any aid to ease their journey.
Like Dorian, Enya rather enjoyed the desert. Though it was dry and inhospitable, it was unlike anything she'd ever encountered. Her emerald eyes danced about the sunset landscape, the Watchtower a blackened silhouette against a fading azure and ochre sky. Long shadows formed canyons in the sand, impenetrable and immeasurable. A fennec ran before them, narrowly avoiding Theneras' hooves as they descended over a small rocky rise. Enya ran her hand through his sweat-matted fur and apologized for the difficultly of their journey. No doubt the ever-changing landscape was punishing for her steed's legs.
Hawke stepped forward from the blackness at the edge of the bridge and bow to Enya, "Inquisitor, you made it. When you hadn't arrived, I thought the worst."
"Have you so little faith in me, Waffles?"
A smile split the Champion's face and she stooped to envelope Varric in a hug. The dwarven rogue, for his part, looked deeply surprised, but returned the favor. It was a fleeting gesture, but Enya couldn't help but be cheered, even for a moment, by their friendship.
"Never, Varric. I would never doubt you," Oriana drew away and then pointed at the crossbow, "Or Bianca's aim."
"Hawke," Cassandra approached stiffly. The Nevarran warrior's eyes were narrowed, but power straight and guarded as she stood, there was less acrimony in her expression.
"Seeker Pentaghast. I expected I'd see you again." The Champion straightened, as well, defensive, but unconfrontational. "But we have work to do. Stroud."
She turned as the Warden stepped from the shadows. His mustache hung limply on his lip and his face was the color of tallow. Jagged mountains jutted from his cheeks beneath reddened eyes. Was he even strong enough to help them? His voice, however, held within it the conviction to overcome his seeming weakness, and Enya sensed that his loyalty to the Wardens served to strengthen his resolve. This was a man who'd seen some of the worst the world could offer, continued on, no matter the cost to himself, no matter the persistence of The Calling. She bowed her head in greeting.
He explained what he and Hawke had uncovered: a Tevinter magister had arrived from the imperium along with the Venatori and convinced the Wardens that a blood magic ritual would help end the Calling. The Wardens were to gather at the Watchtower presently, but they had learned nothing further.
A ribbon of yellow and orange remained at the line of the horizon, far beyond the Abyssal Reach. It faded up into the brightest midnight blue bedecked with stars. Fires burned in large baziers around the exterior of the watchtower, orange sparks mingling in the gentle wind with the pungent odor of oil on kindling. The stream of glimmering embers flowed out over the great chasm until they died against the fading light of day.
With the sun below the horizon, winter returned to the land. Enya shivered in her light armor as the cool air chilled the metal, but she kept low and silent. Hawke settled into the shadows just behind her, and Stroud on the other side of the bridge. Enya's ears caught a faint whisper of ironbark as Oriana drew her Dalish daggers from their sheath.
The ritual had already begun, lead by a man whose greasy hair was restrained by a band of leather behind his head, freeing his face for the world to see. Pasty and yellow-pale in comparison to many of his more olive-skinned Tevinter countrymen, the sharp edges of his face glowed with pleasure though he bore no smile. One warden stood before him, begging for mercy while another, a mage, restrained the man.
"Remember the oath you swore, warden. In war, victory, in peace, vigilance, in death…"
He trailed off as the Warden mage before him slit his comrade's throat. A fountain of blood bathed the stones and the sacrificed man's body crumbled to the ground. Enya's gaze fell to the murdered Warden's ghostly face. Firelight reflected in the sticky red pooling on the stones and in his empty eyes. A demon arose where he fell.
The magister paced forward, armored footsteps echoing through the twilight. He commended the Warden mage bind the creature. The demon and Warden retreated to the edge of the Watchtower. Enya noticed after this ritual, a pool of pale red light appeared in the bags of skin under his eyes.
"Wardens!" Enya cried out, emerging from the bridge and squaring her shoulders, "This man deceives you. He speaks of a ritual to end all Blights, but his methods call on you to murder your comrades. He is doing nothing more than using you for his and the Venatori's gains."
The magister threw his head back, and the pleasure that saturated his features increased tenfold, "Inquisitor, such an unexpected honor. And I see you've brought friends. The Champion of Kirkwall, I see. And is that Seeker Pentaghast lingering in the shadows? Such auspicious friends for an elf."
Enya ignored him. The Warden mages had not moved when they arrived, nor had their attention left the magister. Their faces remained blank and impenetrable, their eyes as hollow and empty as the corpse and below all of their eyes, she now noticed, a pale red glow emanated. Was he controlling their minds?
"Magister Livius Erimond of Vyrantium." He bowed with a flourish, though there was no doubt in Enya's mind thatit was anything but a false gesture.
"You're no Warden!" Stroud barked.
Erimond let out a bark of laughter, "No, I am not. But you are. I believe the one Clarel let slip, foolish woman. What did you suppose you were going to do, bring the fabled 'Herald of Andraste' here to intimidate me? Maybe the infamous Champion of Kirkwall could strike fear into my bones. You Grey Wardens are all the same. A little bit of The Calling, and you all run about hatching hairbrained schemes. It's enough to make one laugh if it weren't so convenient."
Enya threw her arm out as Stroud's blade entered her peripherals. Her fingers trembled on the flat side of the Warden's steel weapon.
"No," Her eyes flashed at the Orlesian before she turned back to Erimond.
"What do you think of my display, Inquisitor? Are they not a charming edition to the army of the Elder One?" he drew his chin up and set his eyes on the blank-faced mages surrounding them, "Hands up." All the Wardens raised their left hands, "Hands down." They lowered their arms to their sides.
The blood magic ritual was a binding spell, but not the kind he'd led the Wardens to believe. Enya felt her heart sink. Once performed, the spell bound the caster not only to the demon they'd drawn through the Veil, but to him, and presumably Corypheus.
"You see, as I said, Wardens are predictable where their precious oaths are concerned. Provide enough leverage and they will stop at nothing to find a way to fulfill their duty to Thedas. Luckily, my master was armed with The Calling to provide all the panic they needed."
"Even going so far as Tevinter for aid," Dorian interjected darkly.
"Yes, and we of the Venatori were ready. Clarel came to me, begging for aid and with sympathy, I was happy to oblige."
"You lied to them. Manipulated them!" Enya accused, her emerald eyes burning in the firelight.
He paced before them each step filled with what Enya could only describe as arrogant glee.
"But of course, Inquisitor. Together the might of the Wardens and the knowledge of Tevinter would raise a demon army and go to the deep roads to purge all darkspawn and the Old Gods once and for all."
Ice gripped Enya's stomach. Leliana, with sunken haunted eyes and cheeks scared by burns, spoke with an angered yet weak voice. And without the Herald of Andraste, Thedas lost faith in the Inquisition's cause. We could not accrue the numbers we required to oppose his demon army. The memory came unbidden and unwanted, filling her with dread. Her mark tingled at the recollection of the Breach consuming the sky, Redcliffe castle floating in the air. The determined finality with which Leliana recited the Chant of light as demons overtook her. One final glance back as Solas and Cassandra left the throne room, sacrificing themselves so that she might live…
She shook her head, "I am well aware of your demon army, Erimond. Far more than you can possibly imagine."
That seemed to take the wind from his sails for a moment. His superior glare deepened, "Then you will know, that there is little you can do to stop it. This was merely a test. With the might of the entire Warden order, the Elder One will conquer these mewling empires for the glory of Tevinter. We will take back what is rightfully ours."
She had no reason to love or hate the Wardens beyond an understanding that they were a necessity. To see their belief, their faith in their cause perverted and bent to sow seeds of destruction. Surely their leader hadn't realized what her decision had wrought when she agreed to it. Creators, was it possible she knew and did not care?
"Why go to the trouble of summoning demons? Why not simply bind the Wardens? Why would the leader of the Grey Wardens agree to dangerous blood magic rituals when her own men are better fighters than the rest of the soldiers of Thedas combined?"
"Demons require nothing and question nothing. When given the chance to have a soldier who has free will and one who will never question, the more loyal and more useful will always be the latter. As for Clarel, I am afraid the numbers were all the persuasion she required."
"Fear is an excellent motivator, Inquisitor. Clarel may have fought at first but now… Thedas will remember the Wardens a bit differently than their legendary tales demand."
"You would use the Wardens as fodder in your war but what of the Blights. What happens when the Wardens are gone and a Blight arises once more?" Stroud's fury flooded from him. Though his sword was lowered, he looked no less murderous.
"My master commands the Blight. The Wardens are but one of this pathetic world's attempts to control what they do not understand. When the Elder One has dominion over the Blight, only his enemies need fear its return."
"And what's in this for you," Enya replied, "When the glory of Tevinter is restored and Corypheus is heralded as a god, what do you stand to gain?"
The Magister paused in his pacing and met her steady gaze, "What does anyone stand to gain from a position at the right hand of a god? The answer is everything. The magisters of the Venatori shall serve as his God-kings here among the world while he rules from his seat in the Golden City. The Elder One will not forget those who aided him in his quest for power."
"You're mad," Enya replied, "Corypheus seeks to become a god. Do you really imagine he will remember those who helped him there, or do you suppose he will wipe them clean away so that victory is his and his alone?"
"You know nothing of his might nor his intent, Inquisitor. But I shall waste no more breath on you. You were a mistake and the Elder One will reward me greatly when I deliver your corpse."
"It will take a lot more than some demons and a Fade rift to kill me, Erimond."
He smiled, a cruel smirk that twisted, thin and colorless across his face, "Oh but this ritual is not the only thing my master has taught me, Inquisitor."
He held out a hand which boiled with a familiar red light. A cry tore past Enya's lips as the Anchor sprung to life in her palm. This time, she did not fall, but grabbed her wrist with her opposite hand in a vein attempt to stop the knives that raced through her arm. Enya closed her eyes, the sickly scent of blood rushing through her nostrils as she drew deeper breaths to withstand this onslaught. The magister lowered his hand and she felt herself lowering with him, until she was prostrate on the ground, greaves digging into her knees. She could hear his voice but his words did not register as the pain filled her with noise and fire. One breath, two breaths, a calm settled over her unlike any she'd experienced, and the magic running through her no longer burned but instead flowed. Whatever Corypheus had taught him was not enough to match with the power of the Anchor now that it was bound to her. She felt certain of it. And even Corypheus possessed little understanding of this magic.
Enya rose to her feet and thrust her hand forward, releasing the energy he'd tried to control from her like a tidal wave. The green light exploded as it touched him, throwing him back with an electric snap of Fade energy. Satisfaction swelled in her chest as she spotted the expression of utter fear on his face before he stumbled to his feet and retreated.
"Kill them," He bellowed, and the Wardens attacked.