A/N: Hello lovies. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed/faved/followed. I am blown away by the support for this story. I try to reply to every review, but I fear I may have missed a few. If I have, I apologize deeply, and please know that I love that you take the time to read my words.
So Ffnet seems to be working again (fingers crossed!). Hopefully this go around my chapters and followers wont magically disappear!
Thanks for sticking with me through the last chapter. I'm my own worst critic and it was nice to hear that not everyone thought it as dreadful as I did.
R&R lovies! Reviews are my drug and I can't get enough!
"Why do you always get to be father? I'm sick of being the archdemon," the boy whined, kicking a foot into the dirt.
"Because I'm older," his brother replied.
"Are not! We're twins!"
"Are so! Mother says I'm older by two minutes!"
"Boys," Elissa called out, her voice a blend of amused tolerance and firm reproach. "Do play nice." The children muttered less than sincere sounding apologies and the queen suppressed a grin. "Duncan, you must take turns. It's your brother's turn to play hero."
It was an unusually warm day at Skyhold and Evanthe was enjoying the refreshing turn of climate alongside Elissa Cousland and her twin boys. The two women were perched upon deep wooden chairs in the fortress' garden, a table strewn with cards and half eaten refreshments standing between them. When the queen had invited Evanthe to join her in her relaxation she had initially balked, thinking that there were far more important matters she should be attending to, but the woman was insistent, evading the herald's every excuse with logic and bribery. And so Evanthe found herself teaching elven card games to royalty and watching two young princes happily reenact history.
She had been at Skyhold for over a week now and found herself slowly settling in to a routine. Each day brought with it new headaches and problems, the least of which involved sending missives to the few resistant enclaves left in the land. It amazed her that in the midst of hell politics still played a vital role, and Evanthe missed Josephine with every breath in her body. Leliana tried her best to help her wade through the steps of favors for favor, but she lacked the finesse her Antivan friend had possessed in spades. Still, the two women, assisted every now and then by the queen, would wade through letters and schemes, each seeking to bolster their strength with any tool available to them. It was a slow frustrating process and more than once Evanthe had stormed out of her war room, angry beyond all reckoning with some rebellion leader's sense of self importance.
When not dealing with the headache of politics, Evanthe would spend much of her time with a sword clenched tightly in her hands. Every morning she would join Cullen and her troops in the practice yard and spend hours learning how to battle with a blade. It was a discipline so unlike magic that she often grew frustrated with her lack of progress. Cullen continually assured her that she was doing remarkably well given the circumstances and that, like any skill, it would take time to master. None of which helped her when she found herself flat on her back in the dirt, her commander's sword hovering over her throat for what felt like the thousandth time. That too was a routine in and of itself. The two would spar, Cullen graceful and controlled, Evanthe awkward and rushed. Blades would clang together, feet slipping against the ground to find purchase, and then suddenly Evanthe would find herself staring skywards, trying to relearn how to breathe. Cullen, to his credit, never preened about his endless victories against her, simply helped her to her feet with a gentle hand and bit of advice. The time spent together in training had done wonders for their relationship. There was a familiarity that had been lacking, an ease with which they spoke to one another. To be sure there were still disagreements; Cullen was slow to trust anything that involved magic or the fade, and Evanthe could be blunt in her reasoning to the point of rudeness. And yet the two managed to spin a friendship from the discord, eliciting laughter and smiles from one another with ease. Perhaps too much ease, if Evanthe stopped to think on it long. True, there was a friendship between her and the commander, but there was always something else hovering on the edge of their interactions, a keen awareness of the other to the point of absurdity. It did not escape her notice that the two often found themselves engaging in less than platonic banter. Evanthe could not even pinpoint how such conversations would begin, so subtle was the shift from commander to friend to...something else. One moment she would be speaking with him of trivial matters and the next she would find herself a fraction closer, voice gone a bit throaty and every word spoken as if it had a double meaning. Such situations never lasted long, for as soon as Evanthe was aware she would change the subject, put distance between them and act as if nothing was out of place. It was a less than convincing act but her commander never called her on her retreat, simply played along as if nothing were amiss, a small grin on his lips the only sign he was amused by the situation.
It did not help matters that her dreams were becoming infuriatingly vivid as the nights wore on. When not plagued by her commander, she was plagued by Solas, or worse yet, a faceless Corypheus mocking her in the darkness. She could not decide which she loathed more; the dreams of men or the dreams of would be gods. It mattered little, for no matter the intruder, she would wake each night gasping for air, her mind tangled and her body tensed. She spoke to no one of the dreams, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Solas knew exactly what she suffered in the cold dark of night.
For her part she saw little of her fellow elf, due mostly to her fervent avoidance of the man. Being in Solas' presence brought up too many emotions she was unprepared to deal with, and as such she sought to put incredible amounts of distance between the two. But Skyhold was only so vast, and eventually the two would cross paths leading to tense and awkward encounters. Evanthe would try to remain cold and indifferent, but without fail Solas would remark upon something that would rouse her anger or play upon her sentiment and she would storm off, fair running to be free of him. It wasn't so much that she was angry with the man, though that was very much a part of it. No, it was that she was afraid of what would come from being in his presence for any prolonged stretch of time. Despite his betrayal, a part of her still yearned for him, cried out for the contact of his hand on hers or her endearment upon his lips. More than once she had caught herself softening towards him, speaking to him with the practiced ease of someone who had once cared a great deal for his person. Such instances were made all the worse by his reaction to them. The smooth and calculating wall he had erected between them would begin to crumble, giving her a glimpse of a man who ached just as fiercely as she. It was so hard to turn her back upon him in those moments when his eyes would seem to stare straight into the heart of her. For all that lay between them it did not erase the fact that Solas had, for a time, been one of the few who had truly understood her. He had somehow seen the disconnect she had felt from her clan, a feeling that had plagued her all her life, and urged her to embrace it, never once admonishing her for such treasonous thoughts. Even now, knowing his crimes, she had been grateful for that acceptance and it made it hard to hate him, though she tried most fiercely.
As for the rest of her companions, they too seemed to settle into Skyhold with little hardship. Leliana continued to heal with everyday that passed, Cesare over seeing her care with precise dedication. Cole would haunt the many pathways of the fortress, chasing down stray thoughts and offering comfort to those he could. He still had the habit of making those he helped forget, but upon Evanthe's urging he had begun to let more people see him for a time, testing the waters of their acceptance.
Varric and Bull adjusted a bit more everyday to their altered state of living. True to his word Bull had massacred more than a few practice dummies, earning him a fearsome reputation amongst the soldiers. He seemed to relish this, playing the part of the wicked Qunari with gusto, the image broken only by the odd grin of amusement. Varric was much as he'd always been; easy going, quick with a joke, and bestowing nicknames upon everyone he happened across. In the last seven days Evanthe had been named Slim, Branches, Dales, and Bruiser, on account of one very intense black eye she had suffered during training, but none of them stuck. When in doubt he always returned to Goldie, a name she was slowly but surely coming to like. And yet, despite his outwardly jovial state, Evanthe could tell that something pained the dwarf. She would catch him singing low beneath his breath when he thought no one was looking, harmonizing and humming along with the song that echoed through his skull. It was worrisome but when pressed Varric would simply smile and tell her off with a joke, unwilling to discuss it in even the slightest way.
So passed a week in Skyhold, and Evanthe felt no more settled or comfortable in her life than when she had arrived. The constant pulse of green in the sky made it hard for her to pretend that the world was anywhere close to normal, and normal was something she found she missed most passionately. It was why, in the end, she had accepted Elissa's invitation to join her in the garden. The whole thing was as close to some semblance of normalcy as she would find in this world, and after a few stiff moments she had found herself relaxing and simply enjoying the moment.
"But I don't want to be the archdemon," Duncan whined, pleading with his mother to change her mind.
"Then you must find some other game to play," Elissa countered. "For you've had your turn playing out your father's heroic deeds, and it is Lucas' turn to do so."
"I know," Lucas cried out, yanking upon his brother's arm. "Kieran can be the archdemon!"
"Then who will I be?" Duncan asked in confusion.
"You can be uncle Zevran," Lucas answered with a shrug before running off to gather their absent playmate. Elissa watched him go with an expression of pure adoration up her face. It made her all the more lovely, her honey skin fair glowing with motherly pride.
"Your boys are quite spirited," Evanthe murmured once Lucas had returned, a boy a few years his senior following behind. The three quickly fell into their play, running about in carefully constructed chaos as they battled one another to dramatic and lengthy deaths. For all that they had argued about who was the villain in their drama, it seemed to matter little, as did history it would appear, and Evanthe giggled upon seeing "King Alistair" run through "Uncle Zevran" with a wooden sword.
"They are, aren't they?" the queen replied proudly. "They are exhausting, to be sure, but in the best possible way. They are much like their father in that, possessed of boundless energy and rash action. Sometimes I wonder if any part of me beyond their coloring managed to make its way inside them, and then they argue with me and I have my answer." Upon hearing the queen mention coloring Evanthe could not help but turn an assessing eye upon the children. It was true that they both bore the lightly tanned skin of their mother, and each held a mirror image of her deep, dark, fathomless eyes. But there was a lightness to their hair that spoke of a different parentage, and a bone structure that was far less delicate than that of the queen's. When she compared the twins with their playmate, the elder boy name Kieran, she was shocked to discover that same bone structure in the child's pale face.
"Is he your as well, your majesty?" She inquired and was surprised to find the Queen tense at the question, her countenance turning chilly and withdrawn.
"No," she replied tightly, "he is not." Evanthe could tell that she had over stepped some unspoken bound of propriety, and she quickly looked away. In her clan children gotten on the wrong side of the blanket, as it were, was a common practice. To be sure the bonds between mates were everlasting and sacred, but that is not to say that indiscretions never happened. Duty to the clan was above all when it came to import, and as such any child born to the people was welcomed with joyous tidings, dubious parentage or not. Evanthe was certain that the pale, dark haired boy was kin to the Queen's sons, but it seemed as if the acknowledgment of such a thing carried a vastly different weight for the shems than it did for her people.
"How are the boys adjusting?" she asked eventually, pretending for all the world that naught was amiss. Elissa relaxed at her inquiry, grateful for the change in topic, and adjusted herself slightly in her chair.
"As well as can be expected with all that has happened," Elissa replied, letting out a weary sigh. "They are young enough that they can still believe in everything working out for the best. Children have an infinite capacity for believing in the good of the world. They miss their father something fierce, and their life in Denerim. But despite the rather abrupt changes, they retain their happiness."
"That is good," Evanthe murmured, watching as the boys argued a bit over the fairness of a play tactic.
"Is it?" Elissa questioned. "Duncan and Lucas are but five years old, Herald. They should be chasing one another under a clear blue sky and training to be knights and kings. Instead they play at war under a veil of the demonic, training for the day when they will take up blades to defend their long lost kingdom. I fail to see any part of this that is good."
"You fear for their safety," Evanthe murmured, hearing the weight of a thousand worries in the queen's voice.
"Of course I do, what mother wouldn't?" Elissa replied with a shake of her head. "But I fear for their innocence more."
"In my clan we begin training for our life's path at their age, some even younger," Evanthe offered quietly. "From the time that we can hold a blade or summon flame we are thrust into what our fate demands of us. This is our way; to train and grow into what the the clan needs of us. What is unsettling to you is natural and expected to me."
"My children are not Dalish," Elissa countered firmly.
"I am aware of that, your majesty," Evanthe replied dryly. "I merely mention it to offer perspective. Perhaps you see them as too young to embrace what the world asks of them, but I see two fine, strong boys from an impressive lineage, each with a destiny awaiting them. Perhaps they are young, but we all must grow up someday, and it is best to meet the hurt of adulthood as best prepared as we can. Your children were made for great things, regardless of the world in which we find ourselves. They may be but five years, but it is never to early to begin growing into who we are meant to be."
"They will always be too young to me," Elissa murmured. "No matter how they grow they will forever be the squalling infants I held close to my chest, whispering lullabies in the settled darkness of the early morning."
"Kieran," a voice echoed out into the garden, bringing a halt to the childrens' play. A moment later a stunning and all together dangerous looking woman stepped into the garden, her amber eyes honing in upon the elder boy. "Come along. You have tarried long enough with your companions. Tis time for your lessons."
"Coming mother," the child replied dutifully. He gave a quick bow to the young princes before dashing off to join his mother, who watched him with prideful, protective eyes. As the two turned to take their leave, the woman's gaze fell upon Evanthe and time seemed to slow for a moment. Try as she might, Evanthe could not look away. There was something about the woman that demanded her attention, a power that pulsed around her with every measured breath. Whoever she was, Evanthe knew without hesitation that this was not a woman to be trifled with.
"Who is that?" Evanthe inquired watching as the pair disappeared back into Skyhold.
"Lady Morrigan," Elissa replied. "Former adviser to Empress Celene."
"The Empress kept a mage at court?"
"Yes. Not that it did Celene much good."
"She's powerful," Evanthe murmured offhandedly, more to herself than anything else.
"I do not like her," Elissa replied tightly. "Be wary of her Herald The woman has secrets, not all of which are worth knowing." Evanthe had nothing to say to that, but she could not wrench her gaze from where Morrigan and her son had departed. Regardless of the queen's feelings, she had a sneaking suspicion that Morrigan would have an integral part to play in what she was trying to accomplish.
"Mother, Mother!" Duncan called out, racing up to the pair, his brother following close behind. "May we go watch the mages and soldiers train?"
"Yes, please!" Lucas begged.
"You may not," Elissa replied gently. "Those men are about serious work and I won't have you distracting them with your endless questions."
"But we want to see magic," Lucas whined.
"I can show you magic," Evanthe offered, glancing over at the queen. "That is, if it is alright with your mother." The boys whipped their heads around so fast to gaze at their mother it was a wonder they did not hurt themselves. Elissa sighed theatrically but was hard pressed to keep the smile from her face.
"Very well," she answered and the boys responded with joyful whoops. Evanthe grinned and slid from her chair, landing softly upon her knees. She motioned for the boys to join her, turning them about until they were facing into the garden.
"Tell me," she whispered as she raised her hand, "do you like dragons?" The twins nodded emphatically, eyes glued to the garden, eager to see just what she could show them. Evanthe took a deep centering breath and sent out the faintest tingle of her magic, directing it towards a bush that had begun to bloom with pale blue flowers. At first nothing happened, earning her a few impatient protests from her audience, but slowly, each petal from the bush began to float upwards, carried there on a soft current of air. Faster and faster more blossoms joined in, swirling about and coalescing into an unknown shape, until, at last, a great blue dragon hovered over the ground, its body made up of gently quivering petals. The boys let out squeal of happiness and Evanthe smiled, raising her other hand to complete the illusion. When a burst of fire spewed forth from the flower dragon's mouth the twins gasped before applauding madly, demanding that she do it again and again.
"I was unaware Skyhold boasted a dragon," her commander's voice commented from behind them.
"Cullen!" the children cried, Evanthe and her tricks completely forgotten. Duncan and Lucas rushed to intercept the commander, peppering him with questions and tidbits about their day. Evanthe smiled and gently let go of her power, allowing the once mighty dragon to dissolve into a shower of periwinkle petals falling upon the ground.
"Did you bring us anything?" Lucas asked excitedly as the man lazily strode over to join them.
"Lucas!" His mother chided. "It is impolite to demand presents from people."
"It is my fault, your majesty," Cullen replied with a laugh. "I set the precedent, after all." Evanthe watched as he reached behind his back, withdrawing two small lumps of something she had never thought to find in this world.
"Chocolate!" Duncan cried, reaching greedily out to steal his share.
"Brilliant!" Lucas chimed in, grabbing at his own.
"Now, now," Cullen admonished as the boys were just about to stuff the sweets into their mouths. "A gentleman shares with his lady." Instantly the twins sobered, obeying without thought, and began to break off small chunks from their bounty. With a regal and serious air they presented the small bits to their mother, each bowing deep. Elissa received them with all the grace and royal bearing she could muster, but Evanthe could see that the woman was close to dissolving into fits of laughter. When it was done they looked to Cullen for confirmation. The man nodded, earning a smile from the boys before they ran off to savor their gift.
"You spoil them," Elissa chided, though the words were said without any true heat.
"Where on earth did you find chocolate?" Evanthe inquired, baffled. That was the far more interesting topic as far as she was concerned. Luxuries such as sweets were scarce in this future, the time and effort required to create such things having been put to far more practical uses.
"There was a bit tucked away in the kitchens," Cullen replied, reaching behind him once more. "And I may spoil them, you're majesty, but they are not the only ones." He punctuated this statement by presenting the Queen with her own lump of chocolate, larger than those given to the boys. Elissa laughed and accepted the gift with a gracious nod. Evanthe watched the woman daintily nibble upon her gift with scarce disguised longing. She could practically taste the slightly chalky texture, imagining how it would melt upon her tongue. Chocolate had been a rare treat when she lived with the clan, available only when the elders would deign to trade with the few shem merchants who ventured to their part of the forest. Evanthe use to hoard as much as she could, rationing the confection out so as to better prolong her enjoyment.
Cullen cleared his throat pointedly, and Evanthe turned, only to find the commander's hand out stretched in offering, her own bit of sweet resting in his palm. Evanthe gaped reaching out to grab at the morsel, but she hesitated, her fingers lightly hovering over Cullen's hand. Glancing slowly upward she met her commander's stare, and was surprised to find a bit of uncertainty in his gaze, as if he were afraid she would reject his gift. It was important to him that she she found value in this bit of frippery, special in a way that it rightly shouldn't be. Evanthe swallowed hard and slowly took the chocolate, blushing as her hand rasped over his. Cullen smiled softly before she could look away, satisfaction and fondness lingering in his gaze.
"Cullen!" Duncan demanded, breaking the spell that had woven between them. Evanthe quickly turned, the bit of chocolate clutch tightly in her hand. She could feel the heat of her skin melting it down, leaving a bit of sticky sweet coating upon her flesh. She hurried to place it upon the table, loathe to ruin it more than she had. Making sure her back was to the man who had given her such a thoughtful gift, she quickly licked at the sugary smear, quietly moaning as the sweetness lit upon her tongue.
"How may I be of service, my prince?" Cullen asked grandly, dropping to his knee.
"Mother won't let us watch you train the mages," Duncan pouted. "She says we'll be a distraction."
"And she is right," Cullen agreed.
"But we want to see magic and battle!" Lucas protested.
"Do not wish for such a thing," Cullen replied softly, suddenly serious. "You are too young, my princes, to want that. Be children while you can, play at war for as long as is afforded you before you are thrust into the real thing."
"Then show us without all the bad parts," Duncan countered, completely oblivious to Cullen's melancholy
"Duncan," Elissa warned.
"Please, mother," he whined. "There doesn't have to be any blood. It could be a skirmish! Like when Father would practice with his guards. And the Herald could help! She's a mage."
"The commander and the Herald have far more important things to attend to then satisfy your curiosity."
"Would it be so bad to give them a bit of a show?" she murmured to Cullen, watching as Duncan argued his mother about in circles.
"I suppose not," he replied, "though I don't know how entertaining it will be for them to watch me put you in the dirt after only two minutes."
"How very amusing you are," she remarked with a roll of her eyes, "but in this I will not be hampered by an unwieldy blade. This is magic versus might, commander. You have yet to see just what I am made of."
"Then I look forward to finding out," he replied with a wicked grin.
"Your majesty," Evanthe called out, her gaze still locked with Cullen's. "We accede to the prince's request."
"Herald, you don't have to-"
"Trust me, Elissa, it will be my sincere pleasure to knock the commander's legs out from under him," Evanthe assured her, flashing Cullen an insolent grin. Cullen merely bowed, eyes alight with mischief, before unsheathing his sword with an echoing ring. Lucas, eager to see the sport, rushed over to Evanthe, her staff clutched awkwardly in his hands.
"Thank you my prince," she cooed, kneeling down to take the weapon. Lucas flashed her a toothy grin before leaning in close and whispering in her ear.
"I hope you win. That dragon was brilliant." Evanthe smiled and mussed the child's hair before rising to her feet in one smooth gesture. Cullen waited for her in the open garden, his sword twirling in his right hand, a shield clenched tightly in his left. Evanthe swung her staff in an arch as she strode to join him, allowing a bit of magic to crackle in the air as she did so.
"No cleansings," she demanded. "That would be cheating."
"As you say," he replied with a nod. "Let's give the boys a show."
The two began by circling each other, each calm and waiting for the other to strike. Evanthe could feel the twins watching them intently, whispering to each other in excitement. She tuned it out, despite how amused she was by their interest. If she was to have any hope of winning this she would have to concentrate. For all her bluster, she knew Cullen was a seasoned opponent, trained for decades in how to counteract her attacks. It would take a great deal of skill to come out on top in this match.
They each struck at the same moment, as if this were a dance and the steps had been agreed on long before. Cullen rushed her, moving faster than she had thought possible, and she spun away, leveling a blast of cold at him as she did so. She was too slow and the spell merely brushed him by, but she was already readying another, calling it out before she had fully faced him. Cullen raised his shield at the last moment, causing the magic to spark outwards in a burst of color.
And so it went. Her frantically calling spells from every discipline imaginable and him blocking or dodging away. They were quite evenly matched when it came down it. Cullen may have been well educated on the use of magic, but Evanthe was quick, barely giving the commander even a second to strike back. She had put him firmly on the defensive, but gained little to no ground against his skill. She had even used a few tricks from her clans bits of magic thought lost to time that the elders had secretly taught their firsts, and the spells had surprised him, but still he deflected, and it drove her mad.
Her victory came at last when she heard Lucas call out a shout of encouragement. His comment about her dragon wafted through her mind, teasing her with possibilities. As she continued to weave her staff through the air she thought upon the trick she had created for the children, and a smile spread across her face. Cullen may be a templar trained warrior, an expert in how to battle offensive magic in the field, but she would bet everything she possessed that his training did not extend to parlor tricks and amusements. Her grin firmly in place she continued her assault, quietly calling the now crushed petals of her dragon to her on a gentle puff of wind. They slithered along the ground, barely noticeable when compared to the light show she was putting on with the commander. When every last petal had returned to her she willed them once more into the form of a dragon, unleashing a new assault upon the commander to distract him. It was Lucas who caught on first, his quiet gasp of surprise nearly giving her away. Thankfully, Cullen was too focused to notice and Evanthe quickly finished the spell. Sending one more blast of power at her adversary, Evanthe dropped to the ground, leaving Cullen thoroughly confused. That emotion was swiftly replaced with one of surprise as the flower dragon surged forward, roaring silently as it made a beeline for the commander's head. Cullen stumbled back and Evanthe took advantage, barreling into the man and riding him hard into the ground. The two landed in a breathless heap, petals falling all around them, and she could hear the boys whoop with joy at the display.
"I think dragons made of posies constitutes cheating as well," Cullen laughed, staring up at her.
"Pity for you that you did not think to make that a condition," she replied with a grin. Cullen returned the smile in kind, his hand reaching up to remove a petal that had gotten trapped in her pale blonde hair. His fingers lingered, toying lazily with the strand, and Evanthe held her breath, suddenly aware of their position. Their legs were tangled, a mess of limbs and knees, and her chest was pressed tight to his, her hands resting lightly upon his shoulders. She could feel his breath fanning out against her lips and try as she might she could not glance away from his hazel eyes.
"Are they going to kiss, Mother?" she heard Duncan ask and Evanthe flushed at the very thought. She made ready to untangle herself from her commander, but the sound of a horn blasting through the air had her freezing where she lay. Cullen tensed below her, his expression hardening instantly. He began to squirm his way from underneath her and she leapt to her feet, freeing him.
"No," Elissa whispered, all together horrified. "Not again."
"What is it?" Evanthe demanded, confused at the sudden tension that filled the garden.
"Get them to safety," Cullen snapped at the Queen before hastily bending to retrieve his weapons.
"Cullen?" she pressed, a knot of fear settling in her throat.
"We're under attack," her commander replied grimly, tugging harshly upon the straps of his shield Evanthe cursed low and closed her eyes. It appeared as if her stolen moment of normalcy had come to an end. Reality, cruel and persistent, had once more claimed the day.