[Warning - some strong violence ahead!]
The Inquisitor was in a foul mood. Travelling through heavy mud for days on end was bound to tire anyone, but fighting with an unfamiliar weapon, along with three other people? Dane raised the longsword to fend off a clanging blow, his arm aching with the impact.
'If I am to become a Knight-Enchanter, I have to know how to use these damned things.' He reminded himself with a growl, not for the first time that day.
Thankfully, the waves of shambling corpses they faced had not retained much strategy upon reanimation. They wandered towards the group without any survival instinct. The lack of skill allowed the Inquisitor to practice his swordsmanship without too much fear of death or dismemberment.
The walking skeleton fell with a dry groan as the Inquisitor plunged his sword into its eye socket. He pulled the sharp blade from its skull, followed by a sickening leak of rotten brain fluid. Dane grimaced at the sight, but did not get the wave of nausea like he might have a few weeks ago. Death had become one of the only staples in his life at present.
'A far cry from my days back at the Circle.' He reminisced with a frown.
With the fall of the last few corpses, the beacon blared into the darkness of the swamp. Each time they cleared out the ominous monuments, the corpses seemed to fade back into the depths of the Mire.
The Inquisitor lowered his weapons with a weary sigh, wiping the clammy sheen of sweat from his brow. Everything was damp in this place - his armour, his skin, his bedroll at night; no matter how much wood they piled on the campfire.
"Anything of interest?" Blackwall grunted, coming to stand next to the Inquisitor.
"I'm not sure," Dane muttered, fighting against rolling his eyes. He lit the veilfire torch and held the whispering flame up to a string of runes carved in the monument. "It's leading us to something. But I don't know what."
"I don't like the sound of that." Sera complained, leaping down from her perch.
Sera was not fond of magic at the best of times, let alone glowing runes inscribed on a creepy set of beacons. She wandered around the fallen bodies, pilfering through them for any usable loot while she retrieved her arrows.
"In any case, we must keep moving. Those soldiers aren't going to save themselves."
The Inquisitor nodded in agreement to Blackwall, putting thoughts of the runes aside for the time being. He gave his blade a cursory wipe down before sheathing it. The scabbard was another annoyance that soured his mood; bumping and clinking against his thigh whenever he took a step.
Dane turned his scowl from his weapon and up to Cassandra. The Seeker had been distant and aloof the past few days, much to his frustration. He had tried to coax her into their usual sarcastic banter a few times, never earning anything more than a grunt in response.
Sera had needled him that she was why he had been in such a grumpy state. He had glared in response, knowing somewhere deep down that she was right.
The group continued on towards the next beacon, their only guide being the Inquisitor's shadowy familiar. The direwolf had made a sudden return to the party; never more than a few paces away from his master. Dane had noticed his companion's unease around his beast. Cassandra was even more tense than usual, Blackwall made sure he was never too close to the wolf, and Sera had moaned and whined about it whenever she could.
If he was honest, the Inquisitor was not too sure what to make of it himself. No tome in Skyhold's library had answered his questions, nor Dorian or Fiona. Nonetheless, he trusted his furry companion. The wolf never lead him astray; never showed any demonic traits.
'I should give him a name..' Dane thought, hearing a low rumble of agreement from his beast.
They continued on in silence. Dane pondered different names for the wolf in his head, allowing a smile to pull at his lips with each disapproving growl he got in response.
Soon enough the group stood before a crumbling fort; home to the Inquisition's missing soldiers and the fearsome Avvar he had been warned about.
"How are we going to approach this, Inquisitor?"
"What do you suggest, Seeker Pentaghast?"
Dane did not turn around from his view of the fortress, missing the frown Cassandra gave him. She had noticed the Inquisitor's apparent refusal to speak her name. Any time they spoke, serious or no, he called her 'Seeker', or some variant of her formal title.
Their time in the Mire had become strained, with Cassandra fighting between staring at the man or ignoring him altogether. Ever since she had discovered the collection of flowers Trevelyan had not-so-subtly gifted her, she had become acutely aware of his attention.
It had been a long time since anyone considered the small whims and wants she might have. Most people saw her as brash, self-sufficient and tough. They did not often remember that she was still a woman underneath the glaring Seeker of Truth logo emblazoned on her armour.
Instead, he asked her advice at every turn, listening with an attentiveness that was so honest it was endearing. Not to mention all his small gestures of care; the ever-present hand he offered, helping her with any and every task, even offering to carry her pack for her when they travelled. She had refused each time, a scowl on her face that had to be forced.
And when their elven companion had cuddled up to him the other day, there was no denying the jealousy that caught in her throat. While Cassandra knew Sera had no romantic interest in the Inquisitor, the part of her that had been nourished by his gestures ached to be the one warm from his embrace.
'It is ridiculous!' The Seeker had thought with an angry grunt when she had stormed away to wash her bowl.
They had known eachother for mere weeks, maybe months; and yet here she was. Confused and yearning for the man beside her.
"I would suggest you fight with magic inside those gates. The Avvar are a skilled tribe of warriors, Inquisitor."
Dane nodded, still keeping his gaze fixed ahead. Cassandra wasn't sure if she was relieved or annoyed at his distraction.
"I doubt they are looking to negotiate. You and Blackwall take the front and Sera and I will cover from the rear."
As soon as the group entered the gates of the dilapidated castle, they were met with fierce resistance. They managed to fell every enemy on their way to the main hall, where they now battled with the most seasoned of the warriors.
'Cassandra was right,' Dane thought as he finished off an archer with a deafening crack of white lightning. 'These bastards are hard to kill.'
"Lordy!"
Dane heard the warning in Sera's voice from somewhere behind him. He looked up, spying a warrior no shorter than eight feet tall advancing towards him.
"So be it." He muttered, drawing the longsword at his hip with a flourish.
The warrior let out an ear-splitting laugh; amused at the puny human wielding what might have been a toothpick in his eyes. Dane circled his opponent, filtering out the sounds of steel clashing and the whizzing of arrows; focusing all his attention on the foe in front of him.
"So you are the Herald of Andraste?" The man sneered, his voice booming in the hall. He dragged a gargantuan maul along the cobbled floors of the castle; as casual as day.
"Face me, Herald. For I am the Hand of Korth himself!"
The man swung the maul up effortlessly, smashing it into the ground only inches in front of the Inquisitor with enough force to shake the foundations of the hall.
Dane leapt backwards, tapping into his will and feeling the gentle warmth of a barrier envelop him. The warrior roared and surged forward, swinging his weapon with raw strength. Dane ducked and darted around the Avvar's fearsome blows; his barrier deflecting what would have been a life-ending strike more than once.
His usual magical attacks seemed to have no effect on the Avvar, so he slashed at the warrior's exposed torso with each dodge, criss-crossing the man with long, but shallow cuts.
'I'll die of exhaustion before any of these slashes even begin to bother him!' The Inquisitor realised, stumbling backwards as the Avvar's fist connected with his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs.
Dane scrambled back to his feet before the warrior could snatch him up from the ground. He eyed the gaps in the man's armour, spying a fleshy scar where the shoulder and neck joined.
'There!'
The Inquisitor thrust out his free hand, a burst of black smoke showering into the Avvar's face and blinding him. Dane took his chance and leapt towards the man, celebrating the satisfying squelch as his sword found home deep between the warrior's shoulderblades. His victory only lasted a moment before a massive hand ripped Dane from his perch, flinging him into the solid walls of the fortress.
'Cassandra was definitely right..' The Inquisitor groaned as sparkles of bright light flashed behind his eyelids.
He heard the arrival of his wolf before he saw it. The shadowed creature growled loud enough to rival thunder from the heavens.
"Of course! The lowly dog comes to defend its master." The Avvar rumbled in amusement, cornering Dane where he lay against the wall.
The wolf nudged something burning and hazy in Dane's consciousness, the instinct to fight, to destroy. The Inquisitor braced himself against the rippling muscle of his beast's body, coming to his feet with a manic grin.
"Not a dog.." He voiced with a low growl of his own. His fingers curled against a loose chunk of rock from where had collided with the wall.
"A wolf!"
Dane and his beast launched towards the Avvar at the same time. His beast sunk long, vicious fangs into the meat of the warrior's leg, while Trevelyan barrelled into the man's chest. The combined attack succeeded in toppling the giant. Without hesitation, Dane raised the heavy rock high over his head, and smashed downwards.
The Inquisitor's vision blurred into a red haze as he pounded down against the Avvar's skull, not noticing the warrior had long gone limp underneath him.
"Trevelyan!"
Dane ignored the pull of something on his shoulders and the shouting from somewhere nearby. Again, and again he bashed. Flecks of gore splattered him with each strike, splashing against his skin, his hair, even into his mouth.
"Inquisitor! Dane!"
Dane felt the haze slip away from his vision as he was wrenched off his prey, the rock crumbling apart in his hands. He looked up, realising he was being restrained by Blackwall's significant strength.
The Warden was staring at him with.. 'Fear? I.. What?'
Dane frowned in confusion, feeling the familiar taste of coppery blood as he licked his lips. He looked around; his gaze settling on what had been the Hand of Korth. All the fire drained away from the Inquisitor in that instant.
The Avvar had been reduced to pulp, in the most literal sense of the phrase. Nothing remained of the warrior's head except a gory puddle, smattered with chunks of brain matter and bone.
The final night in the Fallow Mire was the worst of them all. After the Inquisitor's violence in the fight against the Avvar tribe, no-one was quite sure how to proceed. Blackwall had tried to reason with him; telling him it was okay - that it was the heat of battle. Dane had said nothing, only staring between the dead Avvar and his own blood-stained hands.
They had freed the trapped soldiers; all of them rejoicing at seeing their Herald conquer their fearsome captors. Many of the men had even marvelled and cheered at the body of the fallen leader, complimenting the power of the Inquisitor.
Dane had left in the buzz of it all, wandered out of the castle, and retched into the murky waters. He had wiped the sick from his mouth with his sleeve, only to taste the metallic blood soaked there and heave once more before stumbling off into the dark.
Blackwall lead Cassandra and Sera after Trevelyan when they realised he had gone. Cassandra chastised herself on the trail of the Herald, muttering "How could I have just let him walk out of my sight." The Warden wasn't sure if she meant it in a good way or not.
Just as the true, inky darkness of nightfall encroached and they were about to retire their search, they spotted the Inquisitor. He was huddled underneath a small outcropping of rock where they had camped a few nights previous.
Blackwall said nothing. He approached the circle of blackened rocks from their old campfire and set about making a fresh one. Sera chewed on her lip as she joined the Warden, content to sit and watch the more experienced man at work.
Cassandra, on the other hand, stood rooted where she had first seen the Inquisitor. Her hand had instinctively wrapped around the hilt of her sword.
'He is no threat..' She had to remind herself, the mantra repeating in her head since the first time she had seen his marked hand.
It was a lie, and she knew it. The Herald was dangerous, more dangerous than anything she had faced in all her years of adventure. Not only the mark, him being a mage, but now.. this. Dorian had spoken to her of the Inquisitor's rage in their future back in Redcliffe. Cassandra had shrugged it off, attributing it to the nature of battle.
'Now I see what he meant.' She thought, taking cautious steps towards the fire Blackwall had sparked into life.
Dane did not move from his distant spot for the rest of the night. Blackwall had offered the Inquisitor some of their rations for that evening's meal. When the Warden returned, he still held the full plate in his hands and wore a grim look.
"How is he?" Cassandra found herself asking, looking up from the dancing flames of the campfire.
"Not good, Lady Seeker." Blackwall grunted, settling back onto his bedroll. "He hasn't spoken a word. Just has this.. far-off look in his eyes. Like a soldier come back from the wars."
Cassandra sighed, removing her sword from its usual place at her hip and cleaning off the grime and gore of the day's battles.
"Who knew he could do somethin' like that." Sera said.
The elf was already wrapped up inside her bedroll. Cassandra noted she still had not relinquished her possession of Trevelyan's jacket. The Seeker turned from cleaning her blade, looking towards where Dane had been all evening.
"Where is he?" She asked, pushing herself to her feet when his usual silhouette against the sky was gone.
"Prob'ly just gone to take a slash, Cass." Sera mumbled with a yawn.
"Just wait a few, Lady Seeker. I'm sure he'll be back soon."
Cassandra sat back down, but did not remove her gaze from where Trevelyan was. When those few minutes turned into dozens, even Sera joined Blackwall and the Seeker as they headed towards where Dane should have been.
"Oh, Maker's Balls.." Blackwall muttered.
The Inquisitor's longsword was jammed into the soft ground, footsteps around it leading away from the campsite and into the suffocating dark of the Mire.
[A.N] Long Author's note after this regarding the future of this story, which contains spoilers for endgame of Inquisition. Feel free to skip ahead if you aren't bothered with my ramblings or haven't yet finished the game. And of course, thank all you wonderful readers and reviewers!
So, for those that are wondering about Dane's wolf companion, here you go.
Originally the wolf was going to be a pretty important plot piece for this story, regarding Solas (him being a dreamer, and his connection with Flemeth at the endgame), Dane's powers, and my plans for a sequel once this is finished. Since then I've sort of felt that the wolf as another OC is a bit distracting from the actual plot of Inquisition, and what this story should be focusing on, which ultimately, is the Cassandra/Inquisitor romance.
I'm debating whether or not to write out the wolf character, or perhaps bring him in as a background companion - like a homage to the mabari from Origins. I'd love to hear what any of you readers think of this, as I'm still undecided. Feedback very welcome! [/A.N]