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The Spectral Breath
~~o~~
Chapter Eight: Unfair Trials
In the hall of the War Council, grand torches flared over the central oaken table in yellows and blacks. Orlais lay near consumed in holy catastrophe, with daggers and chest pieces scattering the fields and cities. The Kingdom of Ferelden lay bare faced, though while the flags dotting the Free Marches grew in number for noble allies, the iconic starburst pawns of the Inquisition were swept away by a fist. The very reality of a losing war became the fixed centre of attention.
"Our post at Hillbreach is lost," announced the Inquisitor, thumbing the snatched pawn within a shaken grip. He sighed, pressing the sun to his lip so hard that the spiked corner split his lower lip in two. Blood trickled down his chin, but he did not seem to care for the iron souring his tongue.
"The village was a small steading. Newly built, in fact. It began as a plan of sorts between myself and my adviser, Miss Montilyet," he informed, pacing steadily across the table, "to connect the northern edge of Lake Calenhad before it breached the sea. The village would supply our eastern outposts with timber, fresh fish and any barley that could be reaped. In turn, they were guaranteed our protection. An oath I dare say was not blindly declared on my part. I even gifted the village folk with two goats for their generosity, as is the old Ferelden custom. I can only presume the goats perished in the fires along with Hillbreach's people. I can only lay blame on those that survived and stand accused."
He paused mid-step, twisting the blood-cursed pawn to the elvhen maiden held captive by the shadowed wall beside the doorway. His lips curled back, sinister. "What misery hath your people not caused in the last few hundred years, elf, that could possibly save you from the headman's axe now?"
The elf did not respond, for she could not. She had not spoken in three days.
Instead, she ringed the head of a potion dangling from her waist-belt. The promise of speech it was supposed to have granted her, had she taken the liquid as prescribed. No, it only staved the notion to lash her magic upon the Inquisitor and let the council rain in the blood of their herald. For she had not felt such hatred in a very long time, but it began as soon as Jaras was sentenced to the gallows, and she made to explain herself before a tribunal of shemlen, all who probably already had come to an answer.
But she was not alone, not truly. Though her only brother-in-arms lay chained in an unmarked cell waiting execution, another elf had come to be her attorney. For in that time she was close to being as cruel as a hare cornered, while he only continued to be as composed as a wolf in sheep's clothing.
"Ah, and so the mighty Inquisitor finally shows his hawk-like self. Pinning blame onto any that strikes his eye, instead of rationalising the evidence lain out before his majesty. Has this truly all of what the Inquisition is to become, Inquisitor? Or is it just yourself that has warped it so?"
The Inquisitor pinched the bridge of his hooked nose hard, mumbling curses that eagerly struck the edges of his moustache like serrated knives. "We have never had the same views, Solas. But even you must see that the elf is in the wrong!"
"This elf as you put it, previously warned of the incoming peril that followed her during her last trial, had she not? Or are my own ears at fault as well?"
The Spymaster, Leliana, drew in from her own basking shadow, tapping her pale ivory chin with a finger.
Solas continued. "You knew what was at stake the moment you spared her from public execution. You sent her to me to find an answer to her power-"
"And have you? Found the cause?"
The apostate sighed. "These matters aren't so simple, Inquisitor. We have barely broken the surface but we are making progress. To blame her for the perils that happened at Hillbreach is madness at best, tyrannical at worst! Just as you would be at fault for all the deaths Corypheus has caused. Just because the matters are related does not mean she is the one who should be accused."
The Inquisitor braced the table with eight veined knuckles pulsing, leaning daringly over the map of Orlais. "The people demand blood. They will continue to sing at my door until those that have caused the destruction are put to justice. You know how much we rely on the people, Solas. I have starved their lust for justice once, but to do so again-"
"And was it not long ago that those same people lusted for your own death when they thought you were the cause of the Breach? Were you not wrongly accused back in Haven?"
"That is entirely different-"
"It is entirely the same! Only you cannot see past your own sense of pride!" Solas pinched the bridge of his nose, just as the Inquisitor had done, only differencing with a much calmer mien reaching the surface. "Your people forgave you for all your wrong misdoings. They could do the same for her, if you willed it."
"So what will you have me do, Solas? Let her walk free?"
"She is already as much a prisoner as you have had her believe. The least you can do is let her prove to you that what she says is right."
"We should look into this matter before coming to conclusions," interrupted the Spymaster, carefully collecting the letter previously found at Hillbreach. "I'll consult with our elven linguists. Maybe they can find a match to the writer. I'll consult with my scouts as well. No one disappears entirely, Inquisitor. We will find who is responsible."
"To which I have no doubt, Leliana," the Inquisitor agreed, waving his hand for the meeting to be adjourned. "But what to do with the elf now, I wonder…"
"I would suggest must needed rest," Solas mumbled, carefully taking Lahris by the shoulder and guiding her towards the door. "I will see to her, Inquisitor. I would suggest releasing her friend as well."
The Inquisitor slowly nodded. "For now." He eyed Lahris' back thoughtfully, loudening his tone so that she could hear his next words very, very clearly. "But it serves a purpose. A warning for them to know what will happen should they ever think to cross the Inquisition. And I will not be so merciful should the truth prove otherwise."
~~o~~
"So you have survived another encounter with the Inquisitor. Bards will sing of such comings, I assure you."
Lahris stared into the herbal brew settled within a porcelain cup. Her hands curved loosely around it. The sweet smell of honey flittered into her nose, yet still she did not speak, even when the fumes wafted from her mouth like dragon breath.
Solas retired to his desk, though he glanced over his stacks of assorted memoirs when she did not rise to the jest. His fingers flicked over another page, but his ears quirked to her seating. "Ah! Here we are. I wondered where I had placed this."
Shifting between parchment and scrolls, the apostate quickly strode over to the couch by the left-wing doorway and sat by her side. "You wished to know more of the Fade, if I remember correctly. There are few present day authors that seem to grasp what it has to offer. Most are simply the poorly written ramblings of a Chantry cleric. Few truly understand the nature of spirits. That is where we should begin. This tome is one of the few least prejudiced I own. I would be happy to share it with you…"
His smile faltered. The elf beside him continued to stare into the brew he had poured, with little of his words being heard.
She had not changed since leaving Skyhold. Muteness was only part of her problem. The plain white gown the maids had dressed her in when she had first awoke had begun to sag across her chest and waist, seeming to some a skeleton of what she had first been. Her raven locks once in perfect braids had matted into crossing stitches with bits of straw and dirt from her tower peaking out all askew. Her skin was still a ghostly pale, so remiscient of the crystal grace bunched in the vase behind her that it had his brows drawn worryingly close.
She just continued to sip her tea. It was only when his gaze caught the vial at her belt that he began to speak again. "Were you a slave once?"
The cup shattered instantly. Solas cursed, snatching a rag from the nearest table and draining the herbal residue from the bloodied cuts crossing her hands. She watched the wounds pour almost therapeutically, as the traces of green leaf mingled in a red river. She winced when the rag dug too deep.
Her gaze swept over Solas with a curious lift of her ears. He did not seem to even notice her change in focus until she parted her lips to whisper, "once."
His hands faltered, his head rising ever-so-slowly. "Was it he who burned Hillbreach?"
She nodded yes.
"Why didn't you explain this to the Inquisitor?" he asked, dabbing her hands once more. "Why didn't you defend yourself?"
"Why did you defend me?"
"I would be a poor mentor if I didn't protect the words of my student. And… I was there when you fell. I have seen much in my travels. Pure terror is one of the hardest reactions to mimic, and I have seen my fare share. The Inquisitor may see it as he likes. I believe you."
Lahris smiled warily and opened her hands. Solas returned her smile, dabbing the last remaining wounds. He then set the rag down and collected her hands, bringing them close to his lips. Soft, warm breath tickled her during the long murmur of a spell, his eyes of grey never quite leaving hers. The warmth continued to spread into the injuries, flushing the skin pink and lightly soothing the prickling pain. In a flare of blue the magic faded, seeping deeply into her skin.
He closed her hands, cupping them over her lap. The cuts had been newly healed.
"Mas serannas," Lahris whispered, before the apostate's tome settled in her lap.
"None are necessary, da'len," he reassured, nodding to the book. "Read it. Study it. Make your notes and tell me how you feel in the morning."
"I'm still not sure I understand. Why are you being so kind to me?" At his frown, she continued. "Vhenan sul a vhenan. A heart for a heart. All I have come across wish something from me. Nothing is given freely. Why is it that you defend me, keep me safe, wish to teach me magic that has no benefit to you? Is it simply the power I harbour that commands this curiosity about you?" She sighed, shaking her head. "I'm so confused."
Solas lightly snorted, clapping his thighs as he stood. "You overthink much, da'len. Go, get some sleep. We will discuss more of this on the morrow when you are well rested."
"And what is to prevent the Inquisitor from locking me in my tower and throwing away the key?"
"His honour. He may seem ruthless, but he holds his honour quite highly. That cannot be said for all their kind. Do not worry yourself. You have nothing to fear."
If only that were true, she thought, shaking the notion from her mind. For that night the Fade plagued her with nightmares. From the midsts of her tower screams rung over the battlements, but it was an unkind evil that caused a blizzard to take over the entirety of Skyhold just as suddenly so that her torture mingled with the wind, leaving her bare and naked in the wake of true fright.
Lahris had liked the gloom winter brought, with the icy tinge to the air around her and the grey rattle of sleet adorned on roof to roof, pane and shutter. The way hearths warmed the bare stone from wall to floor and the way her frozen abode in the castle flickered in many tapers. Snuggled in furs with a tome in hand. There was no calmer time. But in her dream that had twisted, just as the tapers had melted and froze in their pallets, and that there was only snow and shadow to greet the newly awaken elvhen.
Lahris had passed down the iced steps of her tower with a spell illuminating the cracked walls lilac. She curled her gown tightly around her with her other hand, but her breath continued to fog the way ahead. Until the final doorway parted on its own accord.
On the parapet walk winter stole her breath, leaving her fingernails snapping against the balustrade and her legs dropping to the floor.
Tarasyl'an Te'las was a graveyard.
Dark with age and grey with the soot of what could only have been a war of fire, the fortress once teeming with life now gripped its half of the mountain with decrepit bones. Walls were gouged from the west corner. Towers teetered on the edge of the cliffs, almost rocking with faded banners in the heavy gail of the wind. The stables no longer had rooves, only a mark of black timber rising from the snow where the remainder of a foundation managed to survive.
Lahris cupped her mouth, and sobbed. Not because of the devastation that had ended the lives of over a hundred people, or even the end of an empire before it had the chance to take wings and fly. But of the pattern the bodies made in the courtyard. Worst of all. She knew them.
Over stone her bare feet padded. Passed stilted grass and wilted trees with branches curling down as if to catch her with thorned fingers. The red sails of aravels flared from snow mounds. The wagons themselves too lay several feet under white, and lain in circles were the heads of halla wretched from their antlers. The bodies of her Dalish were in the inner circle, half-charred and eaten by wild critters.
In the centre of the courtyard a fire burned. Crafted from the missing antlers, twisting from the ice like a many-branched willow lacking leaves. The stench of sorcery filled the air around her. Only it was not a musty stench like old tomes, but of iron and burned meat; flesh that still cooked.
Lahris' eyes, first a shimmer of green, flecked in yellow and red. She screamed with her heart battering her chest bloody; with fingers raking the snow into clumps. Heads decorated the spikes. The top flared in the locks of brown, caught on the head of an arrow that had been lodged straight through the eye-socket. Jaras, decapitated, had been sewn onto the dead antlers of her Assan. And the fire continued to burn.
"Var'sulahn," He uttered; a sweep of black in the dark that did not dare stray into the firelight. "Var-sul-ahn."
Leave me, she whimpered, closing her eyes so tight her sight burned white. Leave me. Leave me.
"Var'sulahn. Ma da'len."
Dirthamen no, you promised me-
A slow clap sounded over the whaling of the wind. Steps trudged steadily through the snow, nearing her shivering hair and flaying gown. Leave me. Leave me. Leave me.
Lahris held her breath, stilling under the watchful gaze of He who breathed ragged pants over her naked collarbone. Far from the sickly light of the fire, the shallow pants only grew more heavy, and her mind clouded in the vision of a jaw cracking in a grin so wicked, it shook her very core. She clutched the snow tight, did not dare breathe even when a nose slunk over her skin, trailing a row of half-kisses to her ear.
"I am waiting."