Chapter 4
Then-Justinian
"Why do they always carry the incriminating documents with them? Shouldn't the creepy-secret-cave stay a secret?"
Meryn Lavellan says pointing to the extremely detailed map she's pulled from the inner pockets of a fallen enemy. It may as well have a giant X on it pointing to the "secret lair" they'd been trying to locate for the last two weeks, and causes a huge feral grin to cross her face.
"Leliana never believes me when I tell her I literally-" gesturing to the map- "just pick these things up off the ground," she finishes, shaking the map for emphasis, startling Tadwinks who's ruffling around in the bushes.
"That's not entirely accurate Inquisitor," Dorian chips in.
"How so?"
"I have, on multiple occasions, seen you pick them off of desk tops." She chuckles, a more genuine smile crossing it.
"Corypheus' men were courteous that way," she replies with a shrug. "It took much less effort- you didn't even have to bend down."
For the first time since arriving at the Exalted Plains, Meryn feels hopeful, and it's a delightful contrast to how she was before the solid lead. A visible shudder passes through her as she recalls how irritable and frustrated she's been lately (lots of shouting), and how she's been taking those feelings out on everyone (with lots more shouting)-except Cole of course. She's not a monster.
Tadwinks darts out from bushes, carrying something in his mouth as he trots over to her.
"Find anything interesting?" she asks the fox. He sits on his haunches in front of her, dropping a large piece of wood at her feet. It resembles an oak branch, and besides a slight tingle of magic, is unremarkable.
"Not your best find young one," she says tossing the branch back into the forest. Tadwinks looks on, an unexplainable forlorn look in his brown eyes.
Using the map as a guide they set out for the cave.
Meryn peruses the map, wondering why there is a sudden interest in Elvhen ruins-not just here but across Orlais and Ferelden. If the recent reports from Leliana's scouts were accurate, then Tevinter as well.
Tevinter.
Even saying the name in her head makes her skin crawl. She casts a searching look behind her, eyes landing on Dorian. It never ceases to amaze Meryn where her life leads-how she's become so close to a resident of such a despicable place. But Dorian's proven time and time again he is nothing like her mother's captors.
Angry at herself for even thinking about that unpleasantness, Meryn pulls a small, leather bound book from her utility belt, nearly stabbing her thumb on a lock pick. A quill rests between the pages, marking her place. Shaking the painful jolt out of her hand she opens it, and unfolds the new map, comparing dimensions and landmarks.
After estimating the proper scale Meryn transcribes the location of the thieves "secret lair" on her own rough map, just in case something happens. She stops walking abruptly, mind suddenly paranoid over everything "just in case" encompasses, and how terrible her luck really is. Violet casts around for any cliffs, ledges or rabid feral cats, then shoves the original map more firmly then necessary into her utility belt. Just in case.
Feeling the need to organize her thoughts and calm down, Meryn passes over pages of her work- unpolished maps made up of incomprehensible scribbles and shorthand, but which is perfectly legible to her. She thumbs to a blank page then turns the book so the page is running horizontally. She draws a solid black line the length of the page, with smaller tic marks breaking the line into increments, creating a blank timeline. With a mental sigh of relief, as if she can already feel her scattered thoughts becoming blissfully organized, she tries to figure out where to start.
"First thing, first thing," she mutters to herself, idly running the feather of her quill across her lips. "Oh!" she exclaims, scribbling down Reports of unusual sightings in Temple of Mythal. Meryn remembers when Leliana's scouts first brought the reports back- she thought nothing of it initially. Elvhen ruins had strange sightings all the time, usually humans who didn't factor old magics into their pillaging and ended up crispy. And dead. If that wasn't a strange sighting she didn't know what was (besides Sera in a dress and garters). She shivers at that mental image but shoves it aside.
But strange sightings at the Temple of Mythal-which was all but abandoned (Sentinels included) except for Inquisition soldiers and researchers. The fact that these reports came in at all (with no mention of crispiness) meant raiders were clever enough to get past her men and latent magic.
Since nothing appeared to be defaced or missing, she'd dismissed it for the time being to focus on the routing out the remaining pockets of Venatori, leaving Leliana to keep her ears open for any news.
"Next...next..." she asks aloud, tapping the quill against her teeth, not paying attention to her surroundings until she steps forwards and foot only hits air. She stumbles down the small hill, nearly biting the quill in two. Her face scrunches in disgust as the taste of ink fills her mouth when she lands at the bottom.
Gagging, she throws the book and quill to ground, hands flailing desperately for the canteen in her pack. She drags it to her lips, roughly gargling the water to clean the foul taste from her mouth before spitting it out on the ground. She opens her eyes, wiping her arm across her mouth, to find her companions are ahead of her, not even bothering to stop, though Tadwinks yowls at her from Cole's shoulder, his way of asking if she was alright.
Wondering if she should be offended Meryn scoops up her dropped items and trotting back up the hill to catch up, pulls leaves out of her ponytail.
The next event comes to her.
"Increasing reports of strange activity in Elvhen ruins," she murmurs as she writes the words with a flourish, well, tries to write with a flourish as the broken quill leaves dribbles of ink across the page. Seeing how similar it is to the first event and how long it took her to figure it out makes her question herself with a shake of her head.
The reports started coming in from around Ferelden-ruins in the Korcari Wilds and the Brecilian Forest being raided, but not destroyed, as if the perpetrators were searching for something without really knowing what it was.
Her concern grew at this point. Leliana's agents informed Meryn what types of magics would be needed to get through the ruins completely undetected, as well as to open the hidden chambers the agents found afterwards. Those could only be opened with knowledge of the Old Ways and a sophisticated grasp of Elvish-and she's positive a Dalish would never give that knowledge away to humans willingly.
The next entry is easy.
Missives sent to Dalish clans in Orlais and Ferelden. Assuming they continued
the same pattern, it was only a matter of time before activity was reported in Orlais. Hoping to get ahead of them, Meryn sent runners to the clans scattered throughout the south-which brings them to the Exalted Plains.
Keeper Hawen Seithan and First Taven Seithan abducted.
Hahren Melani had been distraught, explaining Hawen, Taven and the clan's best hunters went to drive out the pack of shems fooling around in the ruins, but only one hunter returned, shortly succumbing to his injuries.
Hearing the story made her more determined then ever.
This confidence must have showed on her face as she spoke with the hahren, because the panic gradually left his eyes and he seemed to notice her for the first time. Her as Meryn the Dalish and not her as the Inquisitor.
His cries of "Ghilan'asan En'an'sal!" made her suspicions a certainty and drew the attention of most of the camp. She cursed herself for being so foolish and forgetting to darken her hair before entering the camp- attributing her carelessness to spending so much time around humans, where she doesn't have to worry about Dalish superstitions. He started reaching for her hair, and Meryn, extremely grateful for her habitual ponytail backed away, bumping into someone's chest.
She turned around quickly, but not before losing a few loose strands.
Her companions must have sensed her discomfort with the sudden flurry of activity because they barked out apologies and swift good-byes, grabbing her on the way out. The shouts of Ghilan'asan En'an'sal! had barely faded before Dorian and the other were plying her with questions she refused to answer- humans rarely understood Dalish "eccentricities".
Meryn was happy she could help raise the morale of the camp and reassure the hahren, but she was definitely not returning to camp without scrounging for the black walnuts necessary for the dye first.
Hahren Melani had been right to panic-not about her lucky hair-but about the missing Keeper and First. Without a Keeper or First the clan was virtually leaderless.
There was an even more pressing concern.
Keepers and their Firsts are the guardians of Dalish culture, tasked with carrying on the ancient traditions. The stories, the magic, even the very language; Keepers being the only ones to know how to write in Elvish. The loss of both leaders at the same time could cripple the clan, and the loss to Dalish culture as a whole is immeasurable.
Even Meryn-who is a terrible Dalish, barely able to hold a bow let alone use one, and who rarely agrees with them on anything-she understands the magnitude of this potential loss. It was what fueled her determination when every lead they'd followed since arriving here had fallen apart.
Her mind had started running rampant in speculation-what could they possibly need the Dalish for? And why now? What state would she find them in? The questions were letting her mind conjure up horrible scenarios, most of them involving blood magic and nugs, so she cuts off that train of thought, focusing on the positives.
The map.
She would find them. She may not always agree, or even like her people, but she did respect them and the care they'd given her after her father left her with them. She could protect them as they protected her.
With a renewed determination, Meryn pulls herself from her thoughts. She glances at the timeline, jotting a note in the margins about the black walnuts, and attributes her newfound clarity to it. Everything was easier for her to process when she could see all of it-see the forest instead of the individual trees. It's why she loved maps so much, and spent so much time creating her own-they were instrumental in helping her determine priorities and importance.
It doesn't hurt that they're beautiful to look at.
Finally noticing how far behind she's fallen she tucks the atlas and quill away and runs to catch up, eyes searching the forest for walnut trees.
"Dorian! Your flank!"
"Wait-why me? Isn't that your job?"
"Not when- COLE! Watch it!"
"Could we focus on killing these bastards and not-oof!"
"Cole! No!"
"Don't you do it-"
"Sylaise's fiery nips! DON'T HIT THE DRUFFALO!"
With a renewed sense of urgency (and the fact that shouting completely gave away her position), Meryn leaps out of the shadows onto the back of a spellbinder, plunging the twins-Syl and Targen- into his back. She twists the daggers roughly, severing his spinal cord, letting him drop-boneless- to the ground.
The druffalo Cole accidentally hit is running free around the battle field, charging violently at any who comes in his range. The corpses of two of the "looters" are already trampled at his feet.
"Blackwall! Grapple that thing!"
He rushes to follow her orders even though he's already holding two other men. She drops back to the shadows, re-checking her blades, ensuring they remain coated in deathroot serum. The acidic green sheen reflects back at her, so she slips behind the nearest of Blackwall's opponents, slicing across his back in a wide arc, then attacking with a flurry of fast-but shallow-precise cuts, the length of his torso, arms, and legs. The brute finally notices her as she nicks his femoral artery, but she's already skipped away, moving on.
Reaching into the back pocket of her utility belt, she grabs a throwing knife coated in the anti-serum, tossing it at the large laceration on the brute's back as she drops back into stealth to finish off the last of Blackwall's nuisances. The small knife flies true and the reaction is instantaneous, the dozens of previously ignored injuries erupting as the anti-serum combines viciously with the deathroot in the cuts, spreading fire through the brute, blood pouring out of him.
"Ugh-would you kindly keep the mess away from my robes please! The dye is new!"
Cackling at Dorian's revulsion (she being the one to gift him with the puce colored robes, necessitating the new dye job), Meryn focuses on Blackwall's last opponent, a skirmisher with a similar style to her own, though his footwork could use some improvement. He steps before every attack, broadcasting his intentions-and if she's being completely honest-his awareness could be better too. She should definitely not be able to sneak up behind him, impaling him on one blade while slitting his throat with the other-he should be watching for stuff like that. Err-she corrects herself-watched for stuff like that.
With a disappointed shake of her head, Meryn casts her eyes around the field, assessing quickly and locating her companions; Blackwall feints and taunts the enormous bull, drawing it's attention. She can't find Cole, so he must be sneaking around somewhere, and Dorian is freezing a particularly mouthy red head-the curses she's flinging could almost make Sera blush. (Only almost. Meryn's certain Sera purposefully lived in a gutter for time just to learn some extensive and exotic vulgarities.)
"Dorian! Save that one!" She shouts at him, knowing they'll need information sooner or later. And what better source then a chatty red- head? She wished Bull was here. He loved chatting up prisoners-and with that thing he had for red heads...
"Oi! You lot going to help or you planning on leaving this beast for me?" Blackwall yells, leaping to the side again. He's doing quite well actually, moving as nimbly as the heavy plate and cumbersome shield will allow-but it's only a matter of time before the acrobatic maneuvering takes its toll on his endurance.
The druffalo, angrier now, is taking his turns more sharply, wildly swinging his head, horns grazing dangerously close to Blackwall's chest. Blackwall-startled- stumbles slightly, rolling his ankle, and takes his eyes off the large beast as it shifts once again. The druffalo stamps his hoof, preparing to charge, until Cole appears-leaping at it, blades extended-landing roughly on his back.
The bull's cry of pain gives Blackwall a well needed moment to recover, and the warrior tries to draw his attention again but the beast is obsessed with the nuisance on his back-bucking wildly, trying to dislodge his unwelcome passenger. The bull charges into a nearby tree, dazing himself but sending Cole flying through the air, only to crash on the ground, knocking the air from his lungs. The bull recovers first and rushes toward the kindly spirit lying prostrate on the ground.
"No! Cole!"
Meryn sprints to the spirit, pushing her body to the limit, but it's too far. She watches the scene as everything seems to slow, knowing the inevitable collision will kill the gentle spirit, and shouldn't she be crying or in shock or something? But all she can feel is pissed.
She's toppled kings (well, saved a queen), traveled through time (not by herself but still), and, oh yeah-saved the world!-without losing a single person (or spirit). A measly two thousand pound druffalo and thirty feet are not-
...Move...
...MOVE...
-a roaring sound fills her ears, following the mental shove of the Well as a green flash of light envelops her, leaving her chilled and covered in goose bumps even as her body is propelled forward. The roar turns into a loud rip, and with another burst of light she is suddenly running past Cole, instantly covering the remaining distance, the druffalo almost on top of them.
Without losing momentum, she spins, shoving Cole with the remains of her strength, knocking him safely out of the way. She throws herself to the side, sending a plea to the Creators-who must still be offended because the druffalo nails a glancing blow to her ribs-cutting through her leather armor, tearing the skin.
Meryn cries out in pain, fully expecting to meet her end and freakishly pleased it's not at the claws of the demon in her dreams-when the tingle of magic flows past her and the druffalo is suddenly encased in a thick layer of ice, unable to move.
Never more grateful for the mage (except maybe that one time he told Josephine that he was the one stealing all of the diplomat's quills and ink), and curious why it took her bleeding out to catch his attention, Meryn watches as Dorian, Blackwall, and a recovered yet worried Cole make short work of the beast, and-when sufficiently vanquished-Dorian and Cole rush to her side, the latter with an apologetic and guilty look on his face. Which Meryn images makes sense since the only thing holding her insides on her insides is her hand, and it is doing very little to staunch the wound. Far too small.
It was times like these she wished for Solas's hands; he was really good at things like wound holding and really good at other, not wound holding things -things that make her blush instead of gush. Heh. She rhymed.
"Hands. Large hands built for cleverness. Cleverness in caressing. Especially-"
"Cole!" Dorian cuts him off, reaching into his pack for the medical supplies and health potions. The potions he shoves roughly in her hands and she swallows them blearily, head cloudy as he applies a poultice to the wound and wraps it. The potion works its familiar miracle and she feels clarity returning, and with it, a mountain of pain.
"Ow...ow ow owowowow!" She breathes out through her grimace as Dorian finishes.
"We need to head back to camp," he says, assessing his handiwork. "You need a healer to close it properly."
"What! But we can't lose the time-we're so close!" she exclaims, arguing. "We've already wasted weeks tracking the looters here, and who knows what's happened to the Keeper and the First! We're running out of time." Frustration leaks into her voice, Meryn being unaccustomed to being helpless or useless.
"No. You used the last health potion, and we can't go into an uncharted cave anyway," Dorian counters, putting his foot down (literally and figuratively in this case).
She reaches delicately into her utility pouch-minding her ribs- and pulls out the atlas. She flips through the pages, finding the one she marked earlier.
"There. See? It's charted! Let's go," she says, pointing to the rough illustration, displaying it proudly.
"You're so cute when you think you're being clever," Dorian replies, patronizing her. "But since no one can actually read your scribbles it hardly counts."
He leans down to scoop her up, holding her gently to avoid exacerbating the wound. Blackwall returns from rifling pockets and searching the looter's camp for valuables and Dorian plunks her in Blackwall's arms, muttering something about a "sensitive spine".
"Back at camp to recover and re supply. We'll come back in the morning," he says marching away, avoiding her eyes after usurping her authority. The remaining two follow, seemingly at a loss for something else to do though Cole hovers over her closely, ringing his hands.
"Wait! Hey! Aren't I the one in charge here?"
Her protests are promptly ignored the entire trek back to camp, giving her ample enough time to ponder teleporting and the fact that when the Well spoke to her, she clearly understood two distinct voices.