A/N:
Per advice, I'm going to start using "Fereldan" as an adjective or in reference to someone from the nation, "Ferelden." I was also going to delineate "grey" wardens from "normal" wardens by capitalising the former, but looking through my published and unpublished content, fixing this would require a lot of rework to make it clear where I reference the Order or just a plural count of Grey Wardens. Woops. We're just going to roll with treating the Wardens' capitalisation the same as the Qunari's. Thanks for understanding, everyone!
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Carver caught Ellana as she lost her footing, while Dorian straightened up with a quirk of his lips.
"You're going to have to do better than that," Dorian taunted.
The three of them were back in the throne room of an uninfected Redcliffe. Gereon fell to his knees at Dorian's seemingly immediate counter of his spell. The magister's last resort had failed.
Ellana stood up and turned to Leliana's agents that had ambushed the venatori in the throne room. "Take him in."
The agents apprehended Gereon while Ellana checked over Dorian and Carver. The latter waved her attention away with trembling hands to see Dorian still preening and standing proudly despite the bloody claw mark on his back. The wounds must have felt like razors in Dorian's skin, but whether smug he had seized victory or pleased he was still the prettiest in the room, Dorian didn't betray his pain. Fiona and her mages began trickling into the throne room in confusion just as Shielders parted the crowd and marched in.
Carver shook away the past hour he had experienced and straightened at attention.
King Cailan strode in with glittering golden armour and removed his helmet to reveal a royal circlet around his head. "Here I expected to forcefully eject Tevinter invaders from Redcliffe Castle."
Fiona and the patriotic Fereldans in the crowd bowed their heads. "Your Majesty," Fiona greeted in surprise. "We are no invaders, but victims of servitude."
Cailan held up a hand. "My uncle has rescued you from my first response to these detestable matters, and for that your debt to him has deepened. Arl Eamon wishes only for me to help him free the rebel mages from Tevinter hands. However, given you and your people's contribution to the current circumstances, I can't permit your people's presence in my lands any longer."
Fiona lifted her head, agape. "Your Majesty, where will we go?"
Ellana descended from the dais to set her staff down and place a hand over her heart. "Andaran atish'an, King Cailan, it is an honour to meet you. I am Ellana Lavellan, an agent of the Inquisition."
"The Herald of Andraste," Cailan recognised. "I've heard of –– you!"
Carver awkwardly coughed.
Cailan gestured. "Anora and Commander Nigel are in a fit because of you!"
"Apologies, my king," Carver replied. "To help restore public order to Ferelden, my squad and I are cooperating with the Inquisition and its allies."
Cailan stared at him, then sighed. If Carver hadn't known the king well, he wouldn't have recognised the small signs of a distracted mind. Carver couldn't tell if Cailan understood that the faint whispers in the back of his head were signs of the Calling.
Cailan straightened. "Far be it for me to reject the advice of the soldier who discovered the Blight." He turned to Ellana. "You have the good opinion of one of my most loyal soldiers, Herald of Andraste. The Inquisition's involvement in Redcliffe shall be dismissed as the welcome, but final remedy to the Tevinter problem."
Ellana understood. "We will withdraw, Your Majesty – and with the mages' alliance if they accept."
Fiona blinked. "We would be honoured to stand by the Inquisition."
"Gather your belongings and depart immediately," Cailan declared. "Ferelden's monarchs will respect our ancient treaties with the late Lady Machen's line, and recognise that Haven's land belongs to those she has granted it to."
A nominal ownership, given the late Lady Machen's charity to Divine Justinia for the conclave. However, it was legally feasible all the same. The Inquisition left Redcliffe with rebel mages and captured or killed venatori.
When they returned to Haven, they learned that the scouting mission in Therinfal Redoubt had quickly collapsed into a nightmare. Varric, Sera, and Leliana's agents had snuck into the fortress and discovered that Templars in upper ranks had been feeding red lyrium to Templars beneath them, until only the rank and file and scattered knight-captains remained untouched by the substance. The scouting party had broken stealth to rescue Knight-Templar Delrin Barris from an infected Knight-Captain Denam's ambush, sparking a wave of red Templars to sound the alarm and execute the nearest uninfected Templars in a fervent purge.
Leliana's leading agent, Charter, had managed to raise the fortress gates and allow Thom and the troops to storm in, but the Inquisition's forces had been overwhelmed. They had urgently evacuated Therinfal Redoubt with only a handful of uninfected Templars: those the Inquisition could grab while fleeing the fortress. A number of brave Templars had stayed behind to buy them time. Thom, Sera, Varric, and Leliana's agents grew close from the horrifying experience, while tales spread honouring the Inquisition and uninfected Templars' heroism.
Knight-Templar Delrin Barris credited the red Templars' change in behaviour to the red lyrium, unable to confirm if Lord Seeker Lucius was an envy demon in disguise. Since improved lyrium with supposedly less side effects was regularly administered to Templars, the Order hadn't known to reject the new, red lyrium or where it had come from. When Delrin had begun noting the correlation between consumption of red lyrium and his superiors' incongruous conduct, Delrin had feared spreading sedition and withheld his suspicions from others. Now he regretted it, and worked tirelessly with the Inquisition as an allied Templar.
When Leliana sent agents to track down the red Templars, dead bodies answered her efforts. The bard withdrew her remaining spies from the task and refocused them on more immediate concerns.
While Carver had been escorting Ellana to Redcliffe, some of the Inquisition soldiers issued under him had been captured by Avvar in the Fallow Mire, a rainy uncharted marsh in southernmost Ferelden. The Hand of Korth, leader of the Unders tribe, had inherited Hargrave Keep after his father Movran the Under had retired to Edvar Hold deeper south in Avvar territory, leaving his son in charge of protecting the main tribe from enemies. Upon learning of a Herald of Andraste, the irrationally haughty Hand of Korth had since issued a challenge to Ellana that they might embody a showdown between their stewards, the Maker and Korth the Mountain-Father. The soldiers that had been captured were composed of one of Carver's lieutenants — Speechless, a Shielder — a sergeant who answered to Speechless, and sixty mixed corporals and foot soldiers who had followed the sergeant to the marshes.
The fact that people under Carver's command had become prisoners of war incensed him. After submitting his report on Redcliffe to Cullen, Carver readily received Cullen's order to escort Ellana to Hargrave Keep in the Fallow Mire.
In charge of monitoring the Mark and its pain in Ellana's hand, Ellana requested Solas' presence, along with Dorian's as a quiet declaration of trust. If the Herald approved of a Tevinter altus in her company, then the Inquisition had no reason to suspect Dorian of duplicity. Ellana carried herself as a Keeper with a chosen First, somewhat isolating Dorian from the Inquisition through her focus and favour of him. It was a quick-witted compromise.
To avoid treating Ellana as a tool to seal rifts, the Inquisition's inner circle had originally been requesting Ellana's opinion at the war table as an exercise of politeness and acknowledging free will. Nowadays, the Inquisition depended on Ellana for her final say. Her word alone caused space to be made for Dorian in Haven. Regardless if she was aware of it, Ellana naturally possessed great influence over the Inquisition.
Contrastingly, Ellana seemed uncertain of this fact once the party of four arrived at the Fallow Mire. The Dalish woman thanked Scout Lace Harding for her directions to Hargrave Keep, and the moment the party moved, Ellana breathed a sigh of relief.
"Tired?" Carver asked.
Dark green eyes blinked, a dimmer shade in the marsh's gloomy atmosphere. "Pardon?"
"Or rejuvenated," Carver amended, determined to ignore the muck sticking to his boots and cloak. "I suppose one may consider the Fallow Mire a breath of 'fresh' air."
The remark startled a laugh out of her, drawing Solas and Dorian's attention. Ellana's eyes crinkled. "The privacy is somewhat welcome. As are the invigorating views."
Carver spluttered, blushing, while Dorian tittered. "I knew you were a woman who could recognise quality!"
"Andraste has blessed my duty with perks," Ellana teased, "surrounded as I am by good-looking people."
Carver turned to the flirtatious Dorian. "Look what you've unleashed."
Solas softly snorted. "Ellana has been playful since the start."
Far from the eyes of the world, the pressure of helping the Inquisition, and from overflowing red lyrium, Ellana resembled more of the free-spirited grown woman she must have truly been, content to explore nature with the small group of people she trusted. Clan Lavellan and the people of Wycome were isolated denizens of their corner of the Free Marches, previously satisfied to ignore each other and the rest of the world. The Mage-Templar War had separated time into something before and after its eruption.
"Though I must ask, Solas," Dorian prodded, "what is that?"
The man blinked. "Sorry?"
"Your outfit is sorry," Dorian deplored. "What are you supposed to be? A woodsman? Ellana, don't tell me this is a Dalish thing."
The woman responded dryly, "Solas dislikes the Dalish."
"A statement, then," Dorian decided, "for 'apostate hobo.'"
"I'm comfortable," Solas drawled, "though I can't say the same for you. Your attire is ill-suited for a bog."
Dorian tugged on his collar. "I've enchanted my wardrobe with stain and water resistance."
Carver dragged his boots through the marsh. "I don't suppose you can share the wealth?"
"You mean enchant your armour?" Dorian hummed. "Pay me in gossip."
Carver shook his head. "I wouldn't know any."
"Nonsense," Dorian immediately accused, peering at Carver's features. "You've been covering the entirety of Ferelden for a long time. You must have been sixteen when you discovered the blight."
"Seventeen," Carver corrected, affronted.
"Yet you can perform a smite, which I understand is a southern Templar ability, no?" Dorian waved a hand. "Supposedly, they keep their methods to themselves."
"Over my years as a soldier, I've had many teachers," Carver deflected. "One of them was a former Templar recruit, turned Grey Warden."
"And your ability to throw blades like spears," Dorian continued. "Did a qunari teach you that?"
"Yes."
"Since I–– yes?" Dorian parroted.
Carver snorted. "The look on your face."
"Oh, I see how it is!" Dorian's brows raised challengingly.
A gust of wind slanted the rain, slamming the party with an overpowering stench. Carver tripped backwards in bodily disgust. Ellana lit the tip of her staff aflame and held it aloft, revealing the decaying evidence of a recently passed plague ahead of them. Corpses in wagons and a charred heap on the ground suggested that the marshwater hid countless more bodies. With rifts riddling the Fallow Mire, the corpses contributed to the danger of roaming demons as shambling undead.
Ellana swept her staff in front of her, and a curtain of fire drew across the corpses.
The firelight revealed a stone marker for the only path through the Fallow Mire, and on the marker was an iron torch head that lit up with green flames at Ellana's display of magic, like a magical reaction. The party approached it, recognising more unlit markers dotting the path ahead of them.
Dorian ran a hand through the green flames. Ellana immediately whacked him.
"It has no heat!" Dorian defended. "I recognise it; Tevinter mages discovered this marvel."
"Veilfire," Solas smoothly identified. "I've heard of this, but never seen it before. It's a form of sympathetic magic, a memory of flame that burns in this world where the Veil is thin."
An unnatural screech echoed from the distance.
Carver drew his sword. "Nowadays, that means demons."
Terror demons, rage demons, and undead flanked the party as the green flames grew stronger, and by the end of the fighting, the stone marker resembled a lighthouse, or a beacon. Ellana peered at a rune etched into the marker, now revealed by the green light.
"It seems that enhanced veilfire dissuades demons from approaching the path," Ellana interpreted, moving on. "We should light what beacons we find on our way to Hargrave Keep."
Halfway to the keep, the party encountered one of the towering, big-boned Avvar lugging a warhammer over his shoulder as tall as Ellana. The Avvar caught their approach and awaited them beneath a dormant rift, before introducing himself as Skywatcher Amund and a recent outcast from the Unders tribe. The Hand of Korth was, apparently, a squealing nug.
"Kicked me out once I read the portents to him from the Lady of the Skies," Amund scoffed. "He can't be bothered with mending anything. Only thirsts for a good fight — and won't stop boasting about his skill in it. I'll rejoice when you cease his squealing."
Ellana's brows furrowed. "You want me to win?"
Amund heartily bellowed. "If you're sent by the Lady of the Skies, you'll trounce him, easy. The brat's barely a warrior."
Ellana opened the dormant rift and tapped her staff on the ground, sprouting a ring of fire mines around the party. The demons that fell from the sky couldn't resist the close prey and instantly ended up in flames while Ellana was already hurling flashfire at a terror demon. Carver and Amund struck down a passing undead before Solas launched a cluster of their foes into marsh water with a stone fist, and Dorian raised his staff to the air, emanating electric bolts that branched in the water. The mages fried their enemies in seconds. Ellana sealed the rift, and the green current in the air vanished with a last sputter of energy.
Carver raised a brow at the efficiency.
"We're in the elements." Ellana beamed. "Combining spells and nature is like cooking."
Ellana was reducing the Fallow Mire into a soup.
In a small party and a deserted natural environment, she didn't have to worry about her spells accidentally catching an ally or bystander. Dorian and Solas evidently felt the same way, given Dorian had manifested his static energy into a passive lightning storm and Solas had summoned a boulder from the Fade that had exploded on impact. Amund interpreted Ellana's Mark as a sign from his Lady, and followed them to the front steps of Hargrave Keep. Carver, Dorian, Solas, and Amund stood by to witness the Hand of Korth and Ellana confront each other. Carver watched the tribe leader crater the keep with one swing of his hammer and shrug off Ellana's fire spells.
Barely a warrior? What did the Avvar consider as genuine strength, then!?
Suddenly, like a mountain goat, Ellana sprung up the Hand of Korth's hammer when it struck the ground, and darted up her enemy's body to whip a flaming staff across her enemy's head. The Hand of Korth stumbled back into a stone wall, cracking it. Ellana rode the momentum to kick off the tall man and roll to her feet on the ground with a tug of her staff. A vermilion circle drew itself under Ellana's opponent just before a pillar of fire erupted from the Hand of Korth's feet.
The tribe leader howled, lurching from the damage and dropping his hammer. With a snarl, he commanded tribesmen to ambush Ellana.
Carver drew his sword just as Ellana struck her staff against the cracked wall.
The wall buried the Hand of Korth.
A tribesman's battle cry then demanded Carver's focus, and he met every strike from an Avvar at the last second, blowing his enemy's weapon away with redirected energy. Carver had witnessed Sten and Zevran employ similar techniques before, and had developed a surgical art with Sten's blunt guidance. The qunari in Kirkwall had recognised the touch of a Sten in Carver's bladework. Overhead, spells flew and downed the rest of the tribesmen. When Carver caught his breath, Hargrave Keep was clear of enemies.
Carver fell to his knees and rooted the Avvars' pockets for a key. Upon finding one, Carver hastily ran for the closest door and tested the key down the row of doors, one by one, before finally unlocking the storage room his soldiers were imprisoned in.
Carver shakily exhaled in relief. They were blessedly alive.
Ellana stepped up behind his shoulder and peered in, eliciting bewildered cries.
"The Herald of Andraste came to save us?"
"Of course she did!"
"Thank the Maker, thank the Maker…!"
Carver helped his soldiers rise, dismissing their salutes. They had been locked in a room without light or open ventilation for days, surviving off of the dry food that had fortunately been stored in the room. They couldn't have known that the Inquisition knew where they were.
One of Carver's soldiers — the captured sergeant — leaned on him with silent emotion when he pulled them on their feet.
"You told the Herald about us, Captain?"
"Commander Cullen did," Carver murmured. "I failed you, and for that I deeply apologise. It won't happen again."
"You've seen the size of them Avvar," Speechless weakly chirped from aside. "No amount of training 'n advice from you woulda prepared us for that. No offence, ser."
A ripple of laughter followed.
"I should have secured the Fallow Mire alongside you," Carver lamented, earning him a punch to the shoulder from one of the soldiers.
"Watch it, you're hitting a legend," Speechless teasingly warned.
"Quiet," Carver embarrassedly whispered.
"You came for us," the sergeant murmured gratefully, "and with the Herald. Don't kick yourself, Captain. We're several soldiers out of the hundreds under you, and you can't hold all our hands. We can stand proud knowing you'll always have our back."
After escorting the soldiers back to Scout Lace and her people who would move them back to Haven, Carver found a tree stump and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes with a shuddering breath. He hadn't allowed himself to process anything since the conclave explosion, and the journey to the future had scraped at old wounds. After being tortured by Solas' agent, Carver had finally cashed in his owed holidays and taken time off for himself. Nails had checked in on him every week and had only asked questions when Carver had been ready. The commander and a few other people in Denerim were the reason why Carver had been able to leave his long holiday feeling whole again.
Some of said people had perished in the conclave explosion, because Carver had arrogantly thought he could outmanoeuvre Corypheus and enthralled wardens.
In a way, the explosion was his fault.
Carver knew what it meant to lead soldiers, he knew what they all signed up for. He had lost Shielders to the Tower of Ishal, after all. Still, Carver wasn't ready to lose anyone in his care again.
Ellana eventually found Carver and heel-turned back around the rock outcropping he hid behind, the woman instead distracting Solas with questions about the Fade. When Carver recollected himself and rejoined the party, Ellana was perched on a log with Solas, engrossed in an ancient memory Solas had seen in the Fade. They looked up at Carver's arrival, before Ellana tossed her voice over her shoulder at Dorian vainly seeking shelter from the rain under a leafless tree.
"Dorian, it's time to move," Ellana said.
The altus shivered. His enchantments couldn't shield his exposed hair and skin from wind and rain. "To a dryer, less smelly place, yes?"
"That will be in the Hinterlands," Ellana decided, turning to Carver. "While you and Scout Lace discussed recruiting Amund into the Inquisition, Solas, Dorian, and I tracked the veilfire runes down to a nearby apostate's camp. The apostate attacked us on sight, but we disposed of her quickly. Near her camp was an ancient elven artefact that measures the Veil."
"Activating the artefact effectively strengthens the Veil in the immediate area from tears," Solas shared. "There are several of such artefacts scattered across southern Thedas, but I have seen in the Fade that many must be in the Hinterlands."
"Solas knows a great deal about these artefacts." Ellana beamed. "The Hinterlands are just north of here. What say we recruit Amund then finally leave this bog?"
The Hinterlands were modestly civilised lands southeast of Redcliffe and far west of Ostagar. Honnleath, the village that Carver had met Shale in, sat on the southern edge of the Hinterlands. As the party followed Solas' memory-driven dowsing for the artefacts' locations, they explored more of the quaint, rocky countryside than Carver had seen before. With mage-Templar fighting rooted out of the area, Carver found himself soothed by the sight of simple people finding a way to return to their peaceful lives.
The party encountered a few bandits on the road, which they either drove away from someone's farm or cornered into submission. Most of the remaining criminals in the rural lands were merely desperate. Ellana intimidated them as a lady herald and ordered they submit to the nearest Inquisition patrol.
Carver noticed her wording. "You mentioned Andraste before, Ellana. Do you believe in the Maker?"
"And the Creators," Elissa confirmed. "My clan roams near the city-state of Wycome, which prefers to leave us alone so long as we don't camp near their roads. Many of our members over time have been former city elves who brought Andrastianism with them."
"How does that work, exactly?" Dorian asked, curious.
"You believe in the Maker," Ellana pointed out. "You consider the Tevinter and Orlesian chantries as outdated institutions that have forgotten the heart of the Chant, and have instead lost themselves to an obsession with rituals. Yet there must be a higher power, whether or not Andraste was a divine bride or a mortal mage. Recorded history and Chantry practices are inspired by true events, even if we can't easily see it."
"Then the question of Andraste is…?" Dorian encouraged.
"To you what the question of the Maker and Creators are to me," Ellana finished. "I believe the truth of the universe is too wondrous and complex for me to grasp, and that the intricacies of the Maker and the Creators merely give me an idea of what that truth is. I can't tell what parts of them are real, but I believe something about them is. And I deeply love and respect it. Thus when I seek guidance, I pray to the Maker and Mythal."
"Your patron," Carver deduced, gesturing to Ellana's vallaslin.
The woman's cheeks flushed with joy. "I admire her. Born of the sea, calming Elgar'nan to return the sun to the sky, and creator of the moon, Mythal is the reason why the People have a guiding light every day and night. The watchful, fair-minded mother is someone whom we may only endeavour to embody. When I meet a Dalish who is just and secure in their beliefs, unruffled by the opinions of outsiders, I compare them to Mythal. It is one of the highest honours. I hope to resemble Mythal even a little one day."
Solas tilted his head at Ellana's dual faith. "Your reasoning is oddly open-minded."
"Because most Dalish aren't," Ellana intoned.
Solas' lips thinned. "I did not mean…. Forgive me, at times I forget that I have not lived in a culture deeply rooted in community. I realise now that my suggestions can offend."
Ellana deflated at Solas' honourable admittance. "You've never offended me, Solas. Just…do not be so quick to dismiss the Dalish as they have in the past with you. Consider that you might have approached them to seemingly declare you knew better than them."
Solas inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I only meant to offer insight."
"Perhaps next time, you can warm them up with stories from the Fade." Ellana's eyes crinkled, teasing. "You're exceedingly more tolerable when you talk about what you like."
Carver looked at him. "Has Ellana asked for your insight on what happened at Redcliffe?"
Solas subtly perked up in interest. "The three of you evidently travelled to the future, and are completely confident it hadn't merely been an illusion, a trick of the Fade. Fascinating."
Dorian chuckled. "Yet you've swallowed another lemon since, Ser Carver."
Carver blinked, certain he was making no such expression, then belatedly realised that his pause had betrayed him. "I'm simply still processing what happened."
Ellana glanced at him in concern. "What specifically?"
Carver hesitated, cracking under Ellana and Dorian's gazes. "…We were lucky, Ellana. The only good people we met in the future consented to our reversing time and possibly erasing a timeline."
Dorian spluttered. "You would have stayed to fix a world consumed by the Breach?"
"Had Leliana, Cassandra, Vivienne, and Solas not chosen to die for our escape?" Carver returned. "Certainly. No one has the moral authority to rearrange reality just because it 'isn't right.' The repercussions would be incalculable, particularly on people's lives. Don't take this the wrong way, Dorian, but I hope not to witness your peak brilliance anytime soon."
Dorian waved a hand. "I've fulfilled my time-travel quota."
Solas shot Carver a dry look when Ellana and Dorian weren't looking. Yet as the party drew close to activating all of the Hinterlands' artefacts, Carver noticed Solas' gaze would sometimes stray in the direction of Redcliffe, then Ellana. Solas' contemplative regard of her seemed to indicate that he was indeed mulling over what she had told him of the event. Carver reviewed what of Ellana's account of Redcliffe might have inspired the thoughtfulness. Her sorrow over the infected members' fates? Her ability to merely flee the situation?
"The past year might have been the blink of an eye for me, but I'll not waste the months you endured without me in vain."
Or Ellana's reaction to the year that had passed by without her. She was set on preventing the party's – and the world's – future of suffering. Like a moon in a lake, Ellana's loyalty resembled Solas' commitment to elves. At what point would Solas cease walking a world of Tranquil, and realise he was in the company of real people? Carver didn't know how he would be able to tell.
When they returned to Haven, Vivienne confirmed that Fiona and the mages were ready. It was time for Ellana to seal the Breach.
;
A/N:
When I have more mage companions beyond Solas upon encountering veilfire for the first time, all my mages have something to say about it. Just interesting to note that though rare, it's possible for resourceful and smart mages like your DAI companions to have heard of it before.
It fascinates me that DAI involves a time travel quest if you choose to side with the mages! The quest forces the Herald to see things from Solas' perspective: in a world fallen to ruin, why would you not seize the chance to reverse its fate?
I pity the mages' inherent lack of freedom in Orlesian Andrastian society. I also pity the Templars' forced addiction to lyrium, and their desperate search for stability through their faith and the Order's brotherhood. However while I sympathise with both equally, I usually end up recruiting the mages in DAI just for the time travel quest. My Inquisitor thus later feels conflicted over hypocritically defying Solas' plans. The trickster god becomes a man the Inquisitor can relate with – and for Solavellan Inquisitors, one they consider their other half – which makes opposing him even harder.
Just a bittersweet observation of mine :D
…Of course, it would've still been so interesting for Ellana to visit Therinfal Redoubt, if only so she could outmanoeuvre an envy demon's cunning where Lord Seeker Lucius had "failed." In the eyes of the Inquisition, Templars, and Orlesian nobles, Ellana would've technically passed her Harrowing. The perceived mental fortitude of Dalish mages would've then had an impact on the Dalish's public image, however accurate. Regardless, there are aspects of Templars I wish to explore by removing the Inquisition's chance to completely recruit them :)