***** In the last chapter Astlyr and company solved a riddle and found a key.
So excited to share this chapter with you all! Be warned, I really should have titled this chapter: "Gore and Lore"... yeah. There are graphic depictions of gore in this chapter. Aaaaand I take another run at the lore. This should be intense!
Before you tuck in: here are some quick sketches of previous scenes, including dear Varric and Myfanwy, ultimate partners in crime!
art/Partners-in-Crime-541118552
art/Always-a-Big-Sister-541116461 *****
Part 30
The Ritual of Secrets
"MAGE!" Astlyr shouted, louder than she needed to in the closeness of the cave. Another spell flew and struck her shield, deflecting handily off of the smooth surface. "Here, pass Cole back for healing," she instructed Cullen who was standing directly behind her. She moved the spirit boy, still tucked behind her shield and managing to keep his feet without help, into the templar's waiting hands.
"It's alright," Cole said, his voice soft, "I'm not badly injured."
"Healer. Now." Astlyr snapped, returning her focus to the dunes where the magic had originated. She squinted, all but her eyes and horns covered by her shield as she took up the entire doorway of the tunnel. If someone wanted to get at her people they'd have to blast their way through her. "Varric, get up here," she ordered without turning her head.
There was a scrabbling sound behind her as the group rearranged. "What do you need?" Varric asked, pressing a hand to her elbow so she knew he had reached her.
"Lay down on your belly with Bianca and take aim between my legs." she said, still eying the surrounding dunes with distrust.
"Alright, but won't Cullen get jealous?"
"I'm right here, dwarf," the man said, testily. Varric's proclivity for wit in dangerous situations sometimes rubbed the templar the wrong way.
"How's Cole?" Astlyr questioned as she felt the crossbow bump her ankle.
"Mending," Fen'Harel, who was in the rear of the group, called. "It was not a serious burn. His armor took the brunt."
"Cole, could you tell how many there were?" asked Myfanwy, her voice anxious. It was obvious she hated feeling useless standing behind Cullen and Varric. There was no way she could aid in the fight.
"Not as many as last night," the boy piped up. "Their thoughts all jumble. The fear and the hate get mixed like blood and mud. They want Astlyr dead, but they don't want to die themselves."
"Which is why they're sniping from behind a sand dune," Astlyr grumbled, wishing they would work up the nerve to take another shot now that Varric and Bianca were in position.
"I think I can find them,"Cole offered.
"No," Astlyr replied, firmly.
"You're worried I'll get hurt," the boy said, matter-of-fact.
"I worry any of you will get hurt, which is why we're waiting. I can out wait them." she gritted her teeth.
"Patience isn't a common qunari trait," Varric pointed out.
He was right, and she knew that in this she was no exception to the rule. She ached to charge the dune. To run up on them and slay them all like rats in a nest. Only the thought of Cole being struck by magic moments before stayed her. Her warrior's mind grappled with her tactical skill and tactics was winning. "You still with me, Varric?"
"Right here with you, Pointy," the dwarf answered from below and behind her. She almost smiled at how absurd they must have looked. Her blocking the doorway with shield and armor, Bianca peeking out between her ankles.
Sweat beaded on Astlyr's skin and rolled down her back, soaking the light padding she wore beneath her armor. Where other warriors had to wear thick gambisons, she got away with only a thin padded layer under her plate; tougher qunari hide coming in handy once again. Astlyr's vision blurred. She blinked and sweat made her eyes sting. "Are they still there, Cole?" she asked.
"Yes," the boy answered. "They're scared, but they're getting braver. I can feel their fear ebbing, just a little. A leak slowing to a drip."
"Do you have a plan, Inquisitor?" Fen'Harel asked, his voice tense. She could feel the magic he had called to himself making the air sing with static.
"When they strike again we'll know where they are for certain, but I'd like them to get closer. To get cockier, if we can. Let them think they have us at a disadvantage."
"Will you open a rift?" the mage questioned.
"I'd like to avoid it. I've fought enough demons already this week. I will if I have to. If we can't get them to come out, a nice Fade rift might send them scurrying."
"Perhaps we should try communicating with them," Cullen offered.
"I am not negotiating with Venatori," Astlyr growled.
"Not that," the man clarified. "I mean, goad them. Get them to show themselves."
"He has a good point," Varric said. "Remind them who you are, maybe? Remind them who you slew."
Astlyr pondered this. Could she appear to be a weakened foe and also rankle them into attacking foolishly? She had little skill with words. "Alright. We'll try this. If it works, wait for my signal to attack. Varric, you'll take as many as you can in a first volley then get yourself clear and quick because we're going to rush out of here. Tigerclaw formation."
There were grunts of understanding from behind Astlyr and she heard her people situate themselves. Cullen before Myfanwy with Fen'Harel in the rear. Cole was technically behind them all, but would not remain so for long. The boy would teleport to his position in the formation when the time was right. Astlyr cleared her throat. If there was one thing she could be, it was loud. "We know you're still out there," she said, her resonant tones rippling over the dunes. Nearby the tethered dracolisks made loud thrums and chortles in answer. "You all remember me, I'm certain. I'm the one who killed your god. I have to say, he must not have been all that impressive if you lot were able to get me trapped like this. Do you sometimes stop and think how stupid you must have been for following that old windbag, Corypheus?"
"You're actually not too bad at this," Varris whispered. "Throw in something about their mothers, if you can."
"Shh," she hissed, still eying the dunes with a practiced eye. "Cole, is it working?"
"They're angry," the boy reported. They don't like what you said, but they're still afraid. Now they're thinking they'll split up. Try to catch us by surprise from either side."
"Oh they do, do they?" She smirked. "Alright, new plan. As soon as Cole can sense the Venatori in position for their attack we're going to swing right and hit that element hard. Varric, Myfanwy, you'll cover our flank, but by the time the second element reaches us most of their buddies should be dead. We'll go with hammer formation for this one." She raised her voice again, making a show of aiming her words at the dune behind which she guessed the foe no longer cowered. "You're afraid to face me? Really? You've got us trapped in this hole in the ground and you're still afraid? Is it truly because of what I did to Coryphius? How I used MY powers that I TOOK from him to rend him to pieces? Do you suppose he wants this anchor back? I've grown so attached to it."
A sound caught her attentive ear and her head snapped to the right. She was ready for the spell when it flew, striking her shield with ice. She felt the cold fingers of the magic crystallize their way over the metal, then recede. She smiled. No need for Cole to tell her that the Venatori were in position.
She gave no verbal order, merely struck her sword against her shield with a resounding clang. Then she surged out of the hole towards the flank she had chosen. Hammer formation was a simple one. She was the hammer. Cullen kept pace as best he could, but Astlyr was the one to smash into the foe first. They were not expecting her, especially not with such ferocity and force. Ill aimed spells went awry and an arrow glanced off her shield as she tore into the small group. There were only five Venatori and Astlyr cut a swath through them as easily as a sharpened blade through cloth. Striking with shield and blade alike she shattered a skull here, slashed an arm from a body there. She brought the sharpened edge of her shield to bare and slashed one across the chest.
With Myfanwy and Varric covering the rear, Cullen and Cole found they had little to do as the qunari contended with the small cluster of foes. Cole teleported after one who tried to flee and slaughtered him with a three neat stabs from his twin blades. Fen'Harel settled for aiding in her massacre when he could. He tripped the enemy up but tugging the sand from beneath them like a rug. Once he even raised a pillar of sand to force an unlucky foe towards Astlyr's waiting blade.
It took mere moments finish the slaughter. The other element had rushed in to attempt to aid their dying comrades and was met with Astlyr's ready force instead. The Venatori were completely outmatched and cut down. The last tried to flee, only to be struck in his retreat by a crossbow bolt in the back. He staggered a few steps, hands grappling behind him as though he might remove the offending bolt, which had buried itself to the fletching in his flesh. This failed and toppled to the sand and lay still.
"Are there any others?" Astlyr asked Cole urgently, instinctively forming up with Cullen to shield the mage and rouges as best they could.
"No," Cole replied after a moment. "No others are hiding."
"Good." Astlyr said, flicking her blade in the air and splattering the sand with blood. Her shield was dripping with red as well. She would have to give them a good cleaning as soon as this was over. "Make certain they're all dead."
"Wait," Fen'Harel stayed the group. "Leave one alive. I have an idea," he held out his hand, the silver key of Dirthamen resting on his palm, glinting in the desert sun.
"The host must be willing," Myfanwy reminded him.
"He will be," the god spoke darkly, eyes hooded.
"Fen-" Astlyr hesitated, uncertain. He was right, of course. They needed a host for Dirthamen, and a dying man could be just that. Fen'Harel could heal the man as soon as he was imbued with the god. Yet the idea tasted foul in her mouth. To force another, through torture, to give himself up to an entity?
"These are Venatori," Myfanwy reminded her. "They've tried to kill us twice in as many days, and almost succeeded once."
Astlyr cut a glance towards Cole. She couldn't help it, it was instinct. "One will die no matter what," the boy answered her thoughts as easily as if she had voiced her concerns aloud. "But this way one will die so another may live. Good can come from bad."
"Alright," Astlyr sighed. Count on a spirit to see it like that.
"Only one is still alive," Cole announced. "Hot blood pooling in my hands. Cutting pain like shards in my chest. Every breath is a fresh wound and I die a thousand times with each gasp." He read the dying man's pain, pointing him out.
It was one of the Venatori Myfanwy had downed. An arrow protruded from his chest. Cole's new bolas were wrapped around the man's legs. He twitched slightly, eyes open and staring, glazing over with coming death. It was clear he did not see any of them as he fought for each hard-won breath. Pink foam bubbled up from his mouth and his face had gone as pale as parchment. His fingers still plucked uselessly at the arrow shaft.
"He's almost gone," said Cullen with concern, kneeling beside the man and checking his pulse. "Will the god be able to take him?"
Astlyr took a moment to marvel at Cullen. This whole situation must have run so painfully counter to his faith, yet he pressed on. Able to understand the truth of what was happening before his eyes and not falter, as another of the faithful might have. She supposed that dealing with self proclaimed Elder Gods and their dragons had hardened the man to such oddities.
Fen'Harel dropped to his knees at the dying man's other side, extending healing magic over him. "I can keep him alive, though it will be difficult. He is in a perfect state for Dirthamen to take him. His will is nonexistent. However, I will need to heal him fully and immediately once the god has claimed him. Dirthamen will not have the strength to mend his wounds himself. It will be highly difficult. Mortal wounds are challenging to heal in the best of situations, and I will be weary from sustaining his life."
Varric strode over to the dracs, who stamped and huffed grouchily at him as he rummaged through a pack and returned to his friends with two lyrium potions. "I think you'll need these," he said, setting them at Fen's hip. The mage ignored them for the moment, focusing as he began to cast in earnest.
"Myfanwy," Fen spoke without looking up.
"Lord?"
"I will need your aid. There is a ritual that must be completed. It should be one of The People that leads it. I will instruct you. Astlyr, please take the foci for the moment."
Astlyr reached down and gently lifted the key from where Fen'Harel had set it beside him in the sand. Her mark prickled with excited energy as she held it. "What is this ritual? Is it dangerous?"
"Hardly," Fen'Harel said, still laying waves of sustaining magic over the dying man like blankets of mist. Cole knelt as well, though he did not use his gift on the Venatori, but rather watched Fen's down-turned face intently. "We shall need veil fire. A lamp would be best, but a torch will do."
Varric stood willingly and returned to the entrance of the cave, which still gaped like a solemn mouth, not yet returned to its hidden state. He brought one of the veil fire torches they had been usuing and stabbed it into the sand before Fen'Harel and the dying Venatori. Fen raised a hand and lit the torch with a hasty motion before returning both hands to his work. "What else?" Varric asked.
"An offering and a song," Fen'Harel said, glancing up at the torch to ensure it was still burning. "We have no alter, but I believe the ritual will still succeed without."
Cole scooted back and dug his hands into the sand, making a small divot, like a bowl. "Here. Like in the temple."
"Excellent, Cole. Thank you," Fen flashed a quick smile. Then he reached for the first lyruim potion and downed it. The dying man made a sad, gurgling sound and Fen had to struggle to keep him alive with another rush of white magic.
"An offering and a song, eh?" Varric pondered. "What sort of offering?"
"Dirthamen always favored secrets." Fen'Harel said.
"Secrets?" Cullen's brows came together. "So we do what, write a secret down and lay it in the 'alter'?"
"No. The foci goes in the basin. The secret must be spoken to it. Myfanwy, if you would..."
The elf took the key from Astlyr and gently settled the key into the sand. Astlyr watched this and thought for a long moment. What secrets had she? She assumed it would have to be something she had not told anyone in the group. Her friends all knew her well, what could she tell the key that would be new to them?
"I'll do it," Varric spoke, low and tense.
Everyone looked to the dwarf, falling as silent as the sands that surrounded them. Astlyr knew that there were parts of his life that Varric guarded fiercely and did not share with anyone. Her friend's face was set, pained. "Varric, you don't have to. I'm certain that one of us-"
"No. It's time." Varric sat down, folding his legs he rested his hands on his knees and stared at the key. Coils of Fen'Harel's white healing magic reached out and touched the foci on occasion, as if drawn to it.
Sensing the seriousness of Varric's intent everyone else settled themselves to sit as well, as though Varric was going to share one of his usual tales. Even Fen'Harel looked up, though he frequently had to return his focus to his patient. Once the group was quietly seated, Varric cleared his throat. "Mmmm. I...I once told you all that there was one story I would never tell."
Astlyr felt her skin prickle. Her eyes darted to the crossbow resting in its special sheath on Varric's back. Her heart gave a little stutter. "Varric, please don't tell this if you don't want to," she offered him another out, extended a line in case he changed his mind.
He shook his head, his eyes finding each of theirs, a fierce expression in their depths. "I won't bore you with the details of how I came by Bianca. We don't have the time, and a few mysteries have to remain mysteries for the sake of others. But I can tell you how she got her name."
Astlyr wondered at this. She had assumed the bow was named for the dwarven woman they had met during the war. The one who had been studying red lyruim and broken Varric's heart, probably more than once. This did not seem to be the case. Well, Varric had once told her that 'Bianca' was a common dwarvish name.
"Alright, key, are you listening?" Varric gave the object one last glance and began. "You all know I have a brother, Bartrand. What no one knows is that I have a sister too. She isn't my blood sister. Just a child my mother adopted after she was banished, like my parents were before I was born. Little Bianca was a bit...odd. I'd have called her lyrium addled, if dwarves could be affected like that. She spoke in circles, when she spoke at all, but I loved her. She annoyed pretty much everyone else. Busy hands, always up to trouble. She'd habitually steal anything that wasn't nailed down. I spent a lot of my time returning things she'd taken. I got to know a lot of merchants that way," his eyes twinkled. "I could keep Bianca still though. All I had to do was tell her a story."
No one dared to speak, all eyes watching their friend. His head was held high, he still met each of their gazes in turn. There was sadness behind his eyes, but also determination. Cole moved closer to him, as if drawn by an unseen force, but the dwarf raised a hand to stall the boy before he could speak. "After a while Bianca started to have... fits is all they could really be called. She'd fall to the ground and shake, and I'd have to hold her or she would hurt herself. My family was starting to grow worried about her. My mother regretted rescuing her as the healers fees began to mount. I was getting myself deeper into the merchant business and had less time to take care of her. I think she missed me. It was hard to tell. I only saw her smile twice in the entire time I knew her. Anyhow, around that time I got my hands on this beauty," he reached back and patted Bianca the bow fondly. "I brought it to show to Bianca one day when she was feeling sick after a bad fit. I set it beside her on the bed and I asked her what she thought it should be called. Like any true sister of mine she insisted that I name it after her," Varric chuckled, remembering.
"She made you promise," Cole couldn't seem to stop himself. He leaned forward, hands wringing together as Varric's pain washed over him as clearly as any magic.
"Yeah, Kid, she did. She made me promise to be good, and to protect people with my new crossbow."
"People and kittens," Cole corrected him.
"Yeah. And kittens. She had a thing for kittens, though they didn't have a thing for her. She wasn't always gentle about pulling tails and fur. Anyway, I promised."
"Did she die, your sister?" Myfanwy asked, her face filled with concern.
Varric heaved a deep, cleansing sigh, "that's not part of the story. This was the story of how my crossbow got her name. Is that secret enough for you, key?" Varric looked down at the foci, raising an eyebrow. He seemed to be able to shrug off this memory, and its telling, as though it were no great burden at all.
Astlyr let out a steadying breath herself. She was once again awed by her friend. Would he regret sharing his story later? He must have known that this group would never retell the tale. Not even Cole. The boy could certainly sense Varric's feelings on that matter. The spirit already kept the continued secret of what became of the original Bianca.
The key made no indication that it has 'heard' Varric's story, but Fen'Harel spoke, "That was perfect. Thank you, Varric. Now, Myfanwy, you're turn has arrived. Are you familiar with In Uthenera?"
Myfanwy's brow creased as she thought, "I believe I am, yes. My father taught Daveth and I."
"In Uthenera?" Cullen asked, clearly baffled, but also intrigued by the entire situation.
"It is a Dalish funeral song. A song to encourage a soul to pass on to the next life. It is intended for those who die of old age specifically," she clarified.
"Do you know its true origin?" Fen'Harel asked, his eyes flicking up from his work. His finger trembled as he struggled to keep the healing magic at the correct level. Cole moved gingerly around the dying man and lifted the second lyrium potion to the mage's lips, helping him to drink.
"It has been passed down by the people for generations." Myfanwy offered, watching her god with her intense, brown eyes.
Fen swallowed the last of the lyruim and explained; "What we know today as In Uthenera was once a song created by Dirthamen for his brother, the god of death. A song for his brother to call to the dead and dying. To ease them on their journey. Over time it changed, as songs and tales so often do. Falon'Din may have even amended it himself, when his people began to die of old age rather than in battle. Do you believe you could sing it now, Myfanwy?"
"I-" she hesitated, casting her gaze skyward as if the fading blue might offer an answer instead.
"I can help," Cole said. "Your mind wants to remember, and your mouth knows the words, but they're concealed, captured, caught on a memory. I can tug it, tease it free. If you'll let me."
He reached a pale hand towards the elf and she flinched away. The moment she did she looked ashamed, but she did not draw nearer to Cole. She chewed her lip, watching Cole warily.
"You don't need to be afraid," Astlyr reassured in her steady, leaderly tone. Even she was impressed with how logical and calm she sounded. "He's helped me with his gift a few times and it has only been helpful. He can tug just a little. Get that memory free."
In the end it was Fen who decided her. He made a small sound of exertion as he toiled over the wounded venatori. Sweat was steaming down his face, dripping from his hair and the end of his nose. A look of determination came over Myfanwy's face and she nodded, just once. Cole moved to her and touched her cheek with his fingertips. Myfanwy was obviously surprised by how cold they were because she jumped, but recovered herself quickly. It took Cole mere seconds to do what he intended and withdraw his hand.
Myfanwy stood silent for a long moment, then, quietly at first, began to sing. Her voice was surprisingly Beautiful and strong. Astlyr smiled to herself. About time they got someone around the place who could sing. The words seemed to tumble unbidden from Myfanwy's lips, riding a lilting, sad melody that filled Astlyr with an odd sensation of longing and a sharp memory of her parents' faces.
"Hahren na melana sahlin,
emma ir abelas.
Souver'inan isala hamin,
vhenan him dor'felas,
in uthenera na revas.
Vir sulahn'nehn.
Vir dirthera.
Vir samahl la numin.
Vir lath sa'vunin."
When Myfanwy's melodic song had ended everyone looked expectantly at the key. Astlyr wondered if it needed something more. Didn't these rituals usually require blood, or a sacrifice of some kind? Would the dead Venatori scattered about the area do in that regard? Then something rose from the key. Black smoke, suddenly gushing with surprising volume from the tiny object. Everyone, save Fen'Harel, drew back. Astlyr had to fight down the instinct to grab the elf and pull him clear as the smoke billowed. It roiled as though tossed by the wind, even though they were mostly sheltered from it by the mound of sand in which the cave mouth nested.
Then the smoke slowly took on a vague shape. Human, well, elvish, Astlyr assumed. There was a definite head and torso. Ragged arms kept forming and blowing away, or rejoining the smoke body. "Maker's breath," Cullen exhaled.
"I wouldn't advise anyone breath that stuff. Even the Maker," Varric snarked, backing away further and eying the smoke person with clear distrust.
"Is that...?" Astlyr squinted at the smoke man, who seemed to be looking about himself as best he could with no discernable eyes.
"Yes," Fen'Harel answered tightly. There was obvious strain in his voice and his shoulders were rigid as he continued to use his magic to keep the fallen Venatori alive. He panted in a few quick breaths, "he needs me to guide him." Carefully Fen lifted one hand from the wounded man and extended it to Dirthamen. The smoke god seemed to see this and extended a limb, which was more tendril than arm, to meet Fen's fingertips. Once the smoke had engulfed his hand, Fen guided it down to rest on the Venatori's chest. The smoke followed, losing shape once again as the cloud flowed down like water into the man's chest.
The foci stirred, twitching as though it had a life of its own. Green light lanced from it, following the smoke like tiny arcs of lightning. Astlyr was alarmed, but Fen did not flinch, so she guessed this must be intended.
The Venatori gasped and Fen'Harel redoubled his healing efforts. "Someone take out the arrow. Now please!"
Astlyr was the first to move, the others still taken aback by the scene. She knelt and grasped the arrow shaft lodged in the man's heart. She was careful to pull it cleanly, straight out the way it had come. As it was, the arrow's tip was not meant to be easily dislodged. It would tear its way from the man's body no matter what she did. She could only hope Fen'Harel had enough power to restore the damage. He had no choice but to keep the man alive now, she guessed. If he died the mage would be unable to bring him back and who knew what that would mean for the god now inside the body.
Astlyr thew the arrow aside and watched as the last of the smoke vanished into the man, passing through his skin as though it were not even there. The green lighting from the foci thrummed into the man a bit longer before finally going still. She glanced sideways at Fen. His face was tight with concentration and exertion as he worked, forcing magic into the wound, binding internal organs back together. His breathing was labored and sweat streamed from him, staining his tunic. Astlyr felt tense, wishing she could help, but uncertain how she would. She considered the anchor, but she had no idea what the sudden application of another magical...whatever it was, would do. She felt a hand on her shoulder. She knew it was Cole's without looking. He was keeping her steady and reining her in before she tried something stupid. She flexed her left hand absentmindedly, the mark dormant for the moment. She could feel the veil at the ends of her fingers, waiting for her to stir the still surface. Not yet, she told it.
The dying man made another choked sound, though this one sounded closer to a healthy breath than he had achieved in some time. Then another, and another, until he was dragging in ragged, but effective gulps of air. His eyes were wide and gazing, looking everywhere like a frightened animal. His lips were bluish, but color was returning. The wound on his chest now looked superficial.
Fen'Harel withdrew his hands, white magic sliding away from the man in the sand. Cole moved in a flash, catching Fen as he toppled to the side. "My Lord!" Myfanwy rushed over, kneeling as Cole arranged the obviously unconscious Fen'Harel into a more comfortable position. "He's alright," the boy assured her. "He needs water and lyrium."
Cullen fetched these from the saddles. He knelt, gently pouring each in turn into Fen's mouth. Most of it ended up on the elf's tunic front, which was already drenched with sweat, but some did find its way past his lips. He coughed, opening his eyes fractionally he sought Astlyr's, asking her a silent question.
"He's alive. I think it worked," Astlyr said, turning her attention back to the god in a man's body. She winced as she looked the man over. She found herself wishing they could have chosen him a better host. Not only was he a human, but he was also highly unimpressive. He was of seemingly average height, with a stocky build and rounded features. His skin was caramel colored, like Dorian's, though he was not blessed with Dorian's handsome jaw, or proud brow. The man's face was marked with pock scars, as well as the scar of an old wound that pulled the corner of an eye downward slightly, giving him the look of one constantly depressed. He fit right in with Cole, she thought as she leaned the prone figure.
Dirthamen was breathing more easily, though his chest still oozed blood. Astlyr reached into a small pouch at her hip, finding what she sought instinctively. A bit of bandaging. "It's alright," she said to the man, leaning down again, hoping, as she shaded him with her body, that her appearance wasn't too alarming. His eyes didn't seem to be focusing on anything yet. Gently she pressed the bit of bandage to the wound on his chest, feeling his heart beating below her hands. His eyes found hers for the first time. At least those were alright, she thought. A deep, creamy brown the color of good chocolate.
A pain sliced up Astlyr's left arm. She had used both hands to hold the bandage in place and her anchor mark had reacted. She inhaled sharply, trying to withdraw, but she couldn't. Already she could feel her energy being drawn away by Dirthamen. "Fen!" she gasped, uncertain.
Fen'Harel, still leaning against Cole and allowed himself to be fussed over by Myfanwy and the others, looked up, alarm on his features. "The foci!" he attempted to stand and didn't get far before toppling back into Cole's arms.
Varric acted, rushing to the man's other side and scooping the key from the little sand bowl Cole had made. "What do I do with it?" the dwarf asked urgently.
"Place it on his chest," Fen'Harel said.
Varric did this. For a moment nothing happened. The god continued to draw power from Astlyr through her hand. He pulled greedily, his eyes fixed on her. Already her arms and legs were tingling with fatigue. Then Dirthamen seemed to realize what was happening, or at least to notice his own foci resting against his chest. He gave Astlyr one final, searching look with his liquid-brown eyes, then let her go.
She fell back into the sand, rubbing her hand. "Fuck," she muttered. "What is it with you gods and taking my power without asking?"
"It is my fault," Fen'Harel said, sitting up a bit, still taking long swigs of the water he had been offered. "I should have given him the foci immediately. I foolishly used all my energy in healing him when I might have spared some. I overestimated my abilities."
"This world is finite. Only so much power, only so much life. I cannot give more than what this body can hold." Cole mumbled, more to himself than anyone.
Astlyr rocked back, resting her hands against the sand. The sun was making serious inroads towards the rolling horizon. The air would be getting cold and quickly. She glanced down at the god-man-whatever he was, still laying in the sand, his eyes now fixed on a point somewhere beyond her left ear. "Cullen, Varric, Myfanwy, we need shelter. Can we get the big tent up? I'd like us to be together tonight."
"Right," Cullen stood from where he had been kneeling beside Fen. He brushed sand from himself to little avail, and crossed to the dracs to pull the tent form where it was bundled. The tent poles had been hung on either side of Thorn's saddle, like long spears sticking out before and behind the creature. The drac little seemed to notice, except to 'accidentally' prod her fellows with the hefty poles.
Astlyr moved to aid in the tent building, but her legs weren't cooperating. "The god took your energy," said Cole, who was still kneeling with Fen. "Sit for a little longer," the boy urged.
Astlyr watched grouchily as her people set up the big tent some distance from the gory scene of battle. It did not take Astlyr's limbs long to recover themselves, but by the time they had, she was of no more use with tent construction. She stood carefully, testing her long legs. They still felt sore, as though she had been running, and her arms were a bit heavy, but all told it was not as bad as when Fen'Harel had stolen her energy. A good meal would have her back to normal. The man in the sand, whom she had been attempting to shade with her considerable shadow, was still partially catatonic. His eyes unfocused and unseeing, staring at the darkening sky as though it held some great secret.
Fen'Harel recovered himself slightly as well, though he still seemed less steady than Astlyr, and he consumed an entire skin of water. Lucky thing they had raided the Venatori's stores, she thought as she watched the elf drink greedily. If they had still been rationing the water they had come with, Fen would not be allowed to refresh himself so thoroughly.
"The tent is ready," Cullen said, striding over. "Feeling better?" he asked Astlyr, giving her an encouraging smile.
"Much better," Astlyr bounced on the balls of her feet to demonstrate. She moved to the prone form on the sand, bending to pick him up.
"No, I've got him," Cullen gently gripped her arm to stay her. Then, before she could protest, he hoisted the god onto his shoulders and carried him easily towards the tent.
Astlyr sighed and turned to Fen'Harel, "can I at least help you?" she asked.
"Cole and I can manage," Fen said, standing with the spirit boy's aid and leaning against him.
"You can take his other arm," Cole encouraged.
"You don't need me to," Astlyr pointed out.
"I don't need you to help," Cole nodded, "but you need to help."
Astlyr bit back a smiled as she took Fen'Harel's other arm with a gentle but firm grip. He was even good enough to lean some of his weight against her. Astlyr didn't hate much in life, but feeling useless was something she could not abide. Even if her help was merely a token gesture, it was better than being the strongest person around and not being allowed to use that strength to assist her friends.
"One day, you're going to be strong. The biggest and toughest of those around you. Never waste that, Astlyr." Cole was doing a fair imitation of her father's voice, though it slipped a little as the boy's voice cracked marginally. It was difficult for a human to mimic a voice that had been so deep.
"It seems your father was wise," Fen'Harel said, quietly, obviously surmising who Cole quoted.
"He was," Astlyr agreed as they achieved the tent and went about settling in.
Cullen had laid the limp form of Dirthamen on his own bedroll. He knelt beside the deity looking perplexed. "is there anything we can do for him?"
"Give him time," Fen'Harel instructed as he was lowered to sit by Astlyr and Cole.
The friends were quiet that evening. Dirthamen laying in their midst felt like a spy. They kept cutting uneasy glances in his direction, even as he lay motionless save for his breathing. His foci had been placed back on his chest. Myfanwy had found a leather cord and made a necklace of it so that once he came around he could keep it with him easily. His eyes remained open, but staring at the wind rippled ceiling of the tent.
Everyone ate in silence, then moved to take their watch. Varric wrapped a warm cloak about himself, picked out some extra kindling out to light a fire, and took first watch with Cole. Once again Astlyr found herself in Cullen's arms for sleep. It was a strange and not unwelcome feeling, to have another wrapped around her, even if the size difference did make it a slightly awkward affair. Carefully she turned around so she was nose to nose with her man. He blinked hazel eyes at her, sleepily. The light in the tent was once again provided by veil fire, though this time the torch had been stuck into the sand so that Fen'Harel did not have to maintain the flame.
In the dimness the shadows of Cullen's features were more striking. The strong lines of his cheekbones and brow. The set of his jaw, adorned with a substantial stubble. Aboard The Griffin he had managed to shave, but in their desert travels he did so with less frequency. He never allowed a full beard to grow. She imagined that would be quite warm in this climate. She preferred him clean shaven anyway. Blackwall's beard seemed a hassle, and food was always getting caught in it.
"What is it?" Cullen asked, brows coming together to form a familiar crease between them. She wanted to trace it with her finger.
"I was just wondering how you feel about all this elvhen god business. Does it conflict with your beliefs? Does it try your faith?"
"You tried my faith more than this business," Cullen said, a little smirk flicking across his scarred lips.
"I did?"
"A qunari mercenary the Herald of Andraste? That put me on shaky ground there for a bit." the man admitted.
"You recovered I assume. I see you praying sometimes. When you think no one is watching." she hooked one of his legs with hers, entwining them.
"Yes," Cullen looked slightly embarrassed, but didn't deny it. "I still pray often. But not because I'm in crisis. I like to keep up my relationship with the Maker. He's gotten me this far. He deserves my trust," his brows furrowed again, "I'm sorry. I know you don't believe in the Maker. I try not to go on about him too much."
"It's alright," she smiled, "I like that you have faith. Faith is like loyalty, and I value that above almost anything. I can't begrudge you your faith merely because I don't share it. I have seen no proof of your Maker, but I can't go around telling you and the other faithful that you haven't seen proof. That you're wrong because my experiences don't validate yours."
"Yet another reason I love you," he said, moving to nuzzle her neck with his lips.
"Love me?" she pushed back slightly, a sudden feeling of alarm gripping her.
"I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean...well I did mean, but not if you...Maker," Cullen looked suddenly terrified.
Astlyr struggled to rein in her thoughts. So loud she knew Cole must be privy to every one. This made her all the more uneasy. "Cullen I-"
"I didn't say it so you'd say it back," Cullen reassured her hastily.
"I'm sorry," she said, and she meant it. Her heart was pounding fast. Loved her? He loved her? The word was like an arrow. So much meaning it was heavy against her. What was expected? What was desired? Did she love him back in the same way?
"Astlyr," Cullen looked sad, but firm, "this happens. Sometimes one person is ready to say it before the other is. It's alright. We can go at whatever speed you like."
"Using my words against me," she muttered, recalling what she had said to him when they had sex for the first time.
"Always," he smirked, though it was shaky. Obviously trying to make her feel secure again.
Astlyr opened her mouth to say something else. She had no idea what, it merely felt as though words should be said, but another voice cut her off. Dirthamen began speaking. Loudly and quickly in what must have been ancient elvish. It startled the others awake. They all sat up and stared around at the man, still laying on Cullen's bedroll.
***** Whoa. Lots happening. Let's take it one thing at a time.
I have long wanted to have a go at telling the story of how Bianca got her name. Now some of you may be crowing that Varric would never tell it, etc etc, BUT (spoilers) he'll reveal in a later chapter that he left out a lot. So yeah. We still have a mystery. No need to murder the poor author *Hides anyway*
*From hiding place*
Yes, you do remember the "Song of the Dead". A certain Dalish bloodmage "sang" it in a certain game ;) Except she got away with chanting it, and no way was I gonna let Myfanwy go so easily. Singing or nothing, girl. You belt it out! (Plus more Cole being helpful with his gift)
Astlyr is being used as a battery again. Some gods are so rude.
Ok, let's get to those final lines. Aaaangst. Well, not too much, really. Astlyr and I are the same when it comes to that infamous L word. We don't take it lightly and we're never ones to say it unless we're certain. Poor Cullen. I think he'll recover though. He's an understanding dude.
Well, see you all next time! I hope you're as excited as I am!
Next: 7/2/15*****