A/N: Hello lovies! Sorry for the delay but school started last week and now this thing called homework has taken over my life (apparently a degree in the social sciences requires a crap-ton of reading).
Thank you so much to everyone who has faved/followed/reviewed. I am so grateful for your readership and support.
Many thanks go out to the DA Fanfiction writers group on facebook. You guys feed my fanfic addiction in the most delightful way possible.
This is where I really start getting into the AU of this fic. I.E. artifacts and locations not in the game (but still in cannon, no worries on that front. I'm not making shit up, merely adding).
Also, Morrigan in this chapters. I don't usually write her, mainly because I'm not her biggest fan, so this is sort of an experiment with that.
After this, deep roads! Or at least journeying to them (took me a while, but we're getting there!).
Lastly I posted a one-shot companion to Brandy and Remembrance last week, entitled "Take Me To Church." Check it out if you are so inclined!
R&R lovies, reviews are almost as good as kisses from Cullen!
As far as distractions went, Lady Morrigan was quite adept. Evanthe needed to put the almost kiss out of her mind, and she prayed fervently that whatever the strange, wild woman wanted from her would be enough to bury the memory deep. Her desire for such a thing was rewarded when, after some embarrassingly stiff attempts at small talk, Morrigan laid out her request.
"You want me to find a mirror?" Evanthe asked slowly. "In the deep roads."
"If it was a matter of simply finding a mirror, as you quaintly put it, I could simply walk across the hall and steal one from Leliana's quarters," Morrigan replied with exasperation. "What I am asking you to seek out is a relic, Herald. A bit of lost history."
The two women were seated in Morrigan's private quarters, surrounded by decaying bits of glamor and frippery. The broken elegance of the room seemed to suit the woman, Evanthe noted, as if she too were a bit of finery gone rough around the edges. Velvet curtains worn down to the nap, a fraying rug upon the floor, candelabra's with veins of tarnish along the gilt arms; it gave the space an air of trying too hard to be regal. And Morrigan, for all that she had lived at the Orlesian court, had the same aura of effort about her. There was a wildness to her, an echo of primal nature that lurked deep in her glowing amber eyes. Something about those irises seemed familiar to Evanthe, though she could not put her finger on it.
"I don't suppose you know the location of this mirror of lost history," Evanthe murmured in displeasure. She didn't fancy the idea of being turned into an errand boy. Her venture into the deep roads had a purpose, mad as it was, and she didn't need to be distracted finding what amounted to a misplaced antique.
"Indeed. It's location is, in fact, on your path to finding the dim witted king and his companion."
"That doesn't really answer my question," Evanthe noted.
"If you are asking for a precise location that I cannot give you," Morrigan replied with a bit of irritability. "Suffice it to say the mirror is in Ortan Thaig, near what was once a smithy. That is what I have been able to glean and what I remember from my own journeys deep below ground."
"A lost dwarven Thaig and a smithy...yes because neither of those should be in abundance in the deep roads, thanks ever so for the clarification."
"You are quite witty for one who is commanding the losing end of a war," Morrigan remarked dangerously.
"And you are quite demanding for one who needs assistance in retrieving her next bit of decoration," Evanthe countered. "As you noted, I'm trying to fight a war, I don't have time for personal errands people can't find the time to accomplish on their own."
"The eluvian is part of your war, Herald," Morrigan murmured as her amber eyes flashed with annoyance "Were this a simple matter of fetch and carry I would not be asking someone of your...talents to see it through."
"Eluvian?" Evanthe instantly shook her head and leaned back in a gesture of refusal. "Absolutely not. My people heard what befell clan Mahariel. What that girl, Merril, called up in her foolishness. I will not invite a similar disaster upon the inquisition."
"Merril was a child, playing at grand importance, dabbling in magics she could never hope to comprehend," Morrigan explained, seemingly unconcerned with the possible catastrophe she was courting.
"Magics, I'm assuming, you claim to comprehend. Forgive me if I am less than confident in your skill."
"Mother?" a voice interrupted, and both women turned to find Kieran hovering the in doorway. Morrigan's face instantly softened from its perpetual state of superiority into something that resembled unconditional love and sacrifice.
"Come in Kieran," she murmured, gesturing him inside with a gentle hand.
"Lucas says the seedlings are starting to flower. May I help Sister Angeline tend to them?" the boy asked with precise and flawless manners.
"Of course, my love. Have a care with them; seedlings are fragile, delicate things."
"I will. Thank you," the boy flashed a soft, sweet smile and bowed slightly to Evanthe before hastily running off to attend to his childhood. Morrigan watched him go with a fondness etched in worry, and Evanthe was fascinated by the tenderness that seemed to encase her. It was so at odds with the untamed and unflinching manner with which Morrigan interacted with everyone else in Skyhold. This small boy, somehow, gave light to something the rest of the world did not have cause to see.
"Where is his father?" Evanthe asked, once more thinking of the similarities between Kieran and the royal twins. She enjoyed Elissa's company, wanted to spin a friendship with the displaced queen...she had no such desires with Morrigan, and as such had no need to temper her inquiries with double speak and propriety.
"The better question is, why should he need one?" Morrigan replied firmly, turning back to face Evanthe with a familiar echo of annoyance. "I am all the child requires. Kieran is well cared for, educated, and destined for great things. The presence of a man in his life does not change these truths."
"They will figure it out eventually," Evanthe argued. "You don't give them enough credit to think that they won't."
"Do not seek to meddle where you are unwelcome, Herald," Morrigan snapped, a faint crackling of magic pulsing out from her in warning. "The ties that bind are of no concern to you. Kieran is the result of planned circumstance, that is all you, and his father, need know." Evanthe could plainly see that if she continued to push, it would earn her no favors with the mage, not that she particularly wanted them. Even so, she could see how Morrigan could be of use to the Inquisition. The woman was powerful, trading in magics many thought lost to time, and had made her worth known when Erimond and his troops had attacked Skyhold. Morrigan could lay claim to fifteen corpses all on her own; Evanthe knew the value of that, and as such had to do what was necessary to keep the woman content to fight on her side.
"What happens when I find the eluvian?" she inquired, turning the conversation back to its initial purpose.
"Why, you bring it here," Morrigan explained sweetly and patiently, as if to a child. "'Twas such a thing not plain?"
"What do you intend to do with it?" Evanthe ground out.
"I intend to restore it to its purpose."
"Which is?"
"Have you no sense of your own history, Herald?" Morrigan sighed in exasperation. "The eluvians were once the dominion of the elves, and yet you blink doe eyed and useless when presented with one."
"That's it," Evanthe declared standing upright and fully intending to storm out in indignation. "Find your own blasted mirror.
"Do you not wish to know how Corypheus wrestled godhood from the heavens?" Morrigan offered, still smiling placidly in that smug, satisfied way of hers. Evanthe closed her eyes and clenched her fists. She so badly wanted to storm out, refuse this impertinent woman and go about trying to save a dying world. But Morrigan had played her gambit well, and she knew she could not simply turn away the opportunity to find a solution in all this madness. When she swiveled slowly back around to face the mage she let all of her disapproval and menace shine through in her eyes, lest Morrigan think she was choosing to come willingly to this endeavor.
"How?"
"Find me the Eluvian, and I shall show you," Morrigan answered, and Evanthe wanted to smack her.
"How about you show me now?" Morrigan let out a long, theatrical sigh, as if Evanthe's persistence in this matter was some sort of social faux pas.
"I cannot show you without the mirror, but if you insist on an explanation than I shall endeavor to explain as best I can." She motioned for the Herald to sit and when Evanthe made no such move to acquiesce Morrigan narrowed her eyes and pointed forcibly to the empty chair. Somehow the two of them had been reduced to bickering young girls, maturity and comprise having been lost long ago. Evanthe rolled her eyes but flopped down petulantly into the chair, every line of her limp body telegraphing her displeasure. A glare was all she received in response before Morrigan cleared her throat and began her recitation."It was not enough for Corypheus to tear the heavens. The breach was merely a gateway to that which he desired. Once free to roam the valleys of the fade Corypheus had access to secrets and magic those that dream could never grasp. Access he used to discover the one true eluvian the fade lays claim to."
"One of those mirrors is anchored in the fade?" Evanthe breathed in horror. She was still unsure just what function the ancient mirrors served, yet an entire clan of elves had been murdered in bloody sport due to one's existence. To have one so close and unguarded to demons and vengeful spirits? It was a thought that did not sit well. In her mind it mattered little that they came from her ancient kin; some things were better left forgotten.
"Aye. 'Tis the only one of its kind. All eluvians are doorways, dual thresholds occupying space both in our world and another. This other is not the fade...it is both more and less than that dark valley that the demons call home. I have named it the crossroads, though that is not its true title. There the ancient elves were free to travel from temple to palace to forest unburdened by roads and time. That is where the twin of every eluvian resides, though most lie dormant and broken."
"And Corypheus found his way to the crossroads through the fade?" Evanthe inquired, mind spinning as this new bit of her history unraveled itself. Not for the first time she marveled at all that had been lost her to people. The rites and ways of life that were at one time commonplace now seemed as fanciful as one of Varric's novels. She had never been one to wallow in the past, to dredge and mourn over her people's loss of immortality and power. The way Evanthe saw it that which had been reduced to foggy memory and myth had little purpose. Her people had become gypsies, forever roaming the forests searching for a unrealized sense of home. To her there were far more important things to tend to than dredging up hidden artifacts and bits of language. Still...the knowledge that Morrigan was causally reciting was fascinating, and she found she could not tear herself away from the entrancing tale. She also wondered how a human, no matter how much a product of nature and wild things she seemed, could hold ownership of such priceless information.
"No," Morrigan answered delicately. "As I said the eluvian residing in the fade is unlike its kin. Its twin lies not at the crossroads...but at the gates of the black city."
And there it was, the deadly and catastrophic linchpin of Corypheus' rise to power. Evanthe could see it clearly now, could see why one such as him would rend the very sky and bring hell upon the earth. Leliana had told her Corypheus was one of the fabled magisters responsible for the blight. The story of the golden city turning black beneath the foot falls of man was shared across cultures, a cautionary tale of what havoc the never ending thirst for power can wreak. It seemed as if Corypheus was not satisfied with his failure those many centuries ago, and had at last succeeded in his attempt at wresting control of divinity.
"How?" Evanthe demanded. "How is any of this possible? If there truly was an eluvian in the fade then any and all manner of demons could have used it to access the black city. There would have been chaos and gods reborn raining down upon us long before Corypheus."
"All eluvian's require a key to activate. I can only assume Corypheus is in possession of it."
"This is too much," Evanthe muttered before leaping to her feet and pacing about the small room. "Bad enough that there is no barrier between our world and the fade, but now my enemy has access to that which unleashed the very definition of nightmares upon the earth." Morrigan was quiet as she mulled over this new development. Try as she might, Evanthe just could not make space in her reality for so great a monstrosity. It was as if her mind rejected the concept; tried to keep sanity intact by barring the door to anything that would make her world that much more unbearable. "How do you know all this?" she demanded after a time, whirling about to pin the other woman with her accusations. "You. A shemlan. How is it that you are privy to things kept hidden from the people, things only a would-be god should know?"
"I am no mere shemlan," Morrigan countered. "There is more to what we are than the skin we wear. Elven history is easily found...if one knows where to look. As to my knowledge of the eluvians? I was in possession of one...for a time. Before Celene was executed. It is lost now, destroyed along with a great many other possessions. The Venetori are thorough in their destruction."
"And is that why I am to seek one out in the bowels of the underground?" Evanthe inquired with a bite of anger. "Am I to replace your broken toy?"
"You are to seek it out because it will be of use, Herald," Morrigan clarified, pushing herself to standing in one, smooth liquid motion. "There is a power to be had in the looking glass. Will you dare to look? Or would you rather it fall to Corypheus' hand?" Evanthe didn't bother answering. They both knew that such an outcome was unacceptable. Suddenly feeling twenty years older and tired beyond measure, all of Evanthe's anger and disbelief drained out of her. This was once more the reality she was forced to live in, but gods was she getting tired of just accepting all the decay that surrounded her. For one moment she had wanted to fight back, to refuse to accept a new way of life that seemed to take so much and give nothing in return.
"If the mirror is so important to you, why not go to the deep roads yourself?" she asked after a moment, her last half-hearted attempt at refusal.
"Were I able to, I would. But Kieran keeps me tethered to this place."
"Why?" It was Morrigan's turn to pause, to grow silent and reflect upon the twists and turns of life that had brought her to current circumstance. A haunted look seemed to ripple beneath the woman's skin, and for a moment Evanthe saw her transform into that of the hunted. Morrigan had been, and possibly still was, prey to someone...and it made Evanthe wonder who...or what...was the hunter.
"Corypheus is not the only enemy I can claim, Herald," Morrigan said at last, voice gone uncharacteristically soft. "It is safer if I remain in Skyhold. There are creatures of this world far more terrible in their power than he." Evanthe could tell that she would be receiving no more information beyond that cryptic confession and so she chose to let it go and instead turned them back to the topic at hand.
"I'll find the eluvian," Evanthe offered, agreeing, as they both knew she would, to this errand of madness. She was not happy about it, but Morrigan had a valid point. Regardless of whether or not she could use this mirror to her benefit, she knew she must take it far beyond Corypheus' long reach.
~oOo~
A week later Evanthe found herself staring out into the world through the rusted bars of Skyhold's great portcullis Though she had gazed upon the land and the horizon a hundred times from the fortress' crumbling ramparts, this instance felt different. The world, already devastated and bleak, seemed dangerous and never ending, and the sky seemed to darken with every passing second.
She was going to the deep roads, and to say she felt less than prepared was an understatement.
Over the course of the last seven days she had immersed herself in meetings with those that could offer her council for this reckless endeavor. Troops were sorted and tallied against the needs of the fortress and the needs of the expedition. It was agony for Evanthe to weaken Skyhold's defenses but she knew that it would require more than her party to survive this mission into the underground, and so she had been forced to play a game of chance with her soldiers, hoping that the numbers on each side were great enough to ensure that everyone under her command would live to see another sunrise.
This venture into the deep roads would take some time, no matter how fast they hurried through the mountains and the underground maze that lay beneath. Evanthe had worried that such an absence would be devastating should Erimond and Corypheus attempt to attack Skyhold again. Leliana had managed to sooth her fears by laying out a plan that Evanthe could only call tactical annoyance. While she and her party were searching for Alistair and Harlow, scout Harding, still alive and as sarcastic as ever, would lead continuous and carefully planned assaults upon Corypheus' various strongholds. They would provoke, antagonize, and then retreat as fast as their legs could carry them. With such a sustained level of skirmish there would be little time or resources available to launch an attack upon Skyhold's walls. Evanthe thought it brilliant, but also suicidal. She knew that not everyone of Leliana's agents would come back from these attacks alive, and while war requires casualties of all kinds, it still did not sit easy upon her shoulders.
When not engaged in tactical discussions Evanthe worked tirelessly to master the discipline of wielding a blade. Zevran was a relentless, if somewhat flirtatious, instructor, and under his tutelage Evanthe's skills flourished. Cullen had been right, a sword was too unwieldy for her, but daggers suited her well. They were light, balanced, graceful even, and Evanthe eventually became proficient enough in their use to ward off an attacker. She was by no means an assassin, or even a rank and file soldier, but it was more than she had ever been before and she took great pride that. And it seemed Cullen did as well. Two days after he had been run through with a sword Cullen ignored Cesare's command for bed rest and limped out into Skyhold's courtyard, one hand pressed tight against his wound. Almost immediately he began barking out orders, correcting one man's technique and praising another's. He may have been too injured to actively participate in the drills, but he nonetheless refused to be absent as a commander. As such he was present for her growing success and Evanthe could see the pride he held for her shining in his hazel eyes.
For Evanthe's part she had steadfastly avoided the man every chance she got. Whenever it seemed the two would be left alone she fled, an excuse called out over her shoulder as she breezed away. It was unfair, and cowardly, but Evanthe could not bring herself to face him. It was not out of any sort of embarrassment, although after her less than graceful dismount from his cot that was most assuredly there as well, it was simply about not wanting to risk the outcome of such a situation. She was all too aware of the fact that she still owed him a forfeit, in fact she managed to think of little else at times. And yet, logic dictated that she stay away...despite how very much she wanted to tell logic to take a piss in the wind.
Her days were filled with training, tactics, and trying to outrun feelings she had no business having, and eventually the day came when it would all be put to use. Evanthe was at last venturing into the deep roads to save a king and a legend...and hopefully some small bit of the world in the process.
As she stared out into the land beyond Skyhold her party began double checking that all was in place for their adventure. Elissa and Leliana were quietly conferring over maps and troop placement, while Varric, Solas, and Zevran saw to their supplies and weapons. And all around them soldiers murmured their excitement and trepidation, their words mingling to a low and persistent hum.
"Sure you're ready for this, Boss?" Iron Bull asked, lumbering over to stand at her side.
"Ready as I'll ever be," she replied. "I've never seen a darkspawn before. Can't say I'm looking forward to it."
"You know, in the middle of all this crazy shit I'd almost forgotten the little bastards existed," Bull mused, one hand reaching up to stroke at his scarred chin. "Things must be pretty bad to forget something that can destroy the world."
"Thanks for the pep talk, Bull," Evanthe replied with a roll of her eyes. "Very helpful. I feel much better now about our chances."
"Anytime, Boss," the Qunari replied with a grin before slapping her heartily upon the back. Evanthe stumbled forward from the force of it, earning her a deep rumbling chuckle from the Ben-Hassrath. It was good to hear that bit of wicked in the man's voice again. For all that he had sought to take his own life, he was acclimating fairly well. So well in fact that she had ordered Cullen to take him as the commander's second. She could tell that Bull missed ordering men about, and Cullen's brush with death had only served to underscore the need for such a position. As such the Qunari would stay behind and begin the slow process of earning the respect of their troops.
"Evanthe?" She turned at the sound of her name and found Cullen striding towards her, a tightly wound bundle cradled under his arm. The man had healed completely, or near enough at least, and there was no more tight and careful stiffness to be found in his gait. He walked with a purpose, confident, and straight towards her which caused her stomach to do all manner of strange and unpleasant things.
"Yes?" she squeaked out, instantly wincing at the embarrassing noise.
"Is everything made ready for your departure?" he asked, and Evanthe let loose the breath she hadn't been aware she was carrying. Cullen was formal, professional, nowhere near the tempting man he had been sprawled out upon his cot a week before. It made this easier, and Evanthe let slide a small, relieved smile.
"As ready as it can be," she answered. "Honestly, I'll be surprised if we manage to make it back with our shoes on our feet, but I'm at least confident that we'll make it back."
"However shoeless and covered in frostbite you may be," Cullen laughed, gently easing the bundle out from under his arm. "I'm curious as to what situation you could possibly encounter that would warrant such a thing."
"Running away. Fleeing. Walking very fast in a cowardly manner."
"Ah yes, Very easy to lose shoes in such a situation," Cullen grinned, proffering the bundle to her with a shake. "Here. Perhaps this could help you retain your foot wear."
"Presents?" Evanthe inquired with a raised eyebrow, her hands reaching out to grasp at the offering. "I wasn't aware foolish endeavors into the deep roads warranted such a thing."
"They don't," Cullen answered with a shrug. "You on the other hand..." He trailed off then and Evanthe's hands froze in the process of unwrapping the bundle. It appeared as if her commander was not in as professional a mindset as she had hoped. For all that he was concerned about the details, he was concerned about her as well, on a level that had nothing to do with her title and everything to do with who she was. "Open it," Cullen remarked quietly after a time, shaking her from her hesitation and forcing her to quickly, if clumsily, focus on the present. When her hands unfolded the linen that surrounded the gift, Evanthe sucked in a breath at the sheer beauty that lay balanced on her hands.
Two gleaming daggers of pure stormheart winked up at her under the breach cloaked sky, the greens reflecting against one another in a dazzling ballet of light. The hilts were veridium wrapped in gurgut webbing, the texture perfect for grip and aim. Such a set of blades would have been rare in the past before resources had become scarce; to see such a pair now was unthinkable.
"Cullen," she breathed in wonder as she held one up to the light. The sun refracted off the blade in a starburst of rays, and Evanthe could hear a string of jealous Antivan curses be directed her way as Zevran caught a glance at the weapon.
"They should be a good balance for your hand," Cullen offered happily, pleased that she was so awestruck with his gift.
"This is too much," she insisted, even as she hastily unsheathed her old, battered daggers from her hips and began to gently replace them with the new ones. "I'm nowhere neared trained enough to do these justice. Zevran should have them-"
"If you insist, mi cara," the elf called out innocently. "Be a dear and hand them over, yes?"
"Not a chance," she shot back, and the man made a crude, though humorous, gesture in her direction. Cullen cleared his throat, dragging her attention back to him, and Evanthe once more felt breathless, though this time it was not exquisitely made blades that rendered her so. The intensity with which Cullen was regarding her made her nervous in the most amazing way possible, and she felt her feet poise themselves to run, instinctively knowing that if she tarried any longer in his presence bad, life altering, wonderful things would transpire.
"You may not think yourself proficient now, but you will be. Soon. And you'll need a decent set of blades when that time comes," Cullen explained, guiding the remaining blade into the right sheath at her waist. Evanthe swayed a bit upon her feet at having him so close and swallowed hard, willing herself to remain passive and unaffected. She only hoped she was succeeding
"Thank you, Cullen," she managed to get out, voice steady and professional. "They are remarkable. I can only hope-" It ended up mattering little what she hoped, and for a moment Evanthe clean forgot the meaning of the word. Forgot the whole damn world as a matter of fact, for when Cullen cut her off with his lips upon hers, everything went still and silent. With one hand pressed firmly to the back of her neck and the other gripped tight about her hip, Cullen urged her closer, pressing the line of his body against hers. Evanthe complied, even went so far as to raise herself up on tip toe so as to closer meld them together. Mouth parting with a gentle sigh, Evanthe could feel every brush of Cullen's lips send shock waves through her skin. He seemed to hold dominion over her for that brief moment in time, making her numb to everything but the feel of his hands holding her tight and his lips moving wickedly against hers.
When Cullen eventually released her from his spell she blinked up at him with glazed, unfocused eyes. Distantly she could hear Varric whistling in encouragement and Bull making all sorts of single (not even double) entendres.
"Was that my forfeit?" Evanthe whispered, gazing up into her commander's eyes.
"No," he replied kissing her once more, a merely brush of lips that enticed more than it satisfied. "That was in case you don't come back. I'll claim the forfeit later." Evanthe blushed furiously at this, earning her a dark chuckle from the man who's hand still rested upon her hip.
"I should go," Evanthe muttered, hastily stepping away. Cullen let her go, a satisfied smirk painted across his lips. He looked as if he had just won a battle, and in a way, Evanthe supposed he had, though truth be told she didn't mind losing in the slightest.
"Are you ready, Goldie?" Varric called out in impatience, "Or are you and Chantry Boy going to play kissy face some more? Come on, hell's a'waitin'." Evanthe spared Cullen one more shy smile before turning away, one hand rising unconsciously to press against her swollen lips. As she did so her gazed landed upon Solas and she felt any lingering elation evaporate instantly. The man's eyes held the psychic embodiment of pain in their cerulean depths. It had cost him something dear to watch Cullen kiss her, to watch her succumb without a second thought, and say not a word of protest against it. Unbidden the memory of his voice swelled in her head and she closed her eyes against the hurt of it.
I should be doing everything in my power to drive you into the commander's arms.
It appeared he was doing just that through passivity, and Evanthe could see that it was killing him.
Glancing quickly away, Evanthe swallowed hard around the sudden lump in throat and began to walk towards the now open portcullis
"Let's go," she commanded softly, feeling a guilt she should logically no longer feel.