A/N: Hello lovies! Yes I know, it's been too long, but second half of the semester is always a bit bonkers. I actually managed, through dumb luck and planning, to find some writing time these past three days and voila! New chapter!
Also...100 follows! First time I've ever hit triple digits. Everyday I am eternally grateful to my readers for your support. The reviews and favs/follows that come my way are a constant source of joy and inspiration. I truly, truly love you all.
Lastly, before I get any freakouts about what Harlow tells Evanthe in this chapter, please make sure to read the A/N at the bottom. I may be playing merry havoc but I'm not completely changing cannon lore. Read before judgment, then if you still feel the need to yell, by all means let it out.
R&R lovies, reviews keep me sane in the midst of homework!
The mood around the campfire was one of celebration that night, and laughter could be heard amidst bawdy drinking songs and tales of remember-when. It had taken them a week but the group had finally made their way back to the surface, and Evanthe had never been happier to see the green tinted sky. Finally free to breathe fresh air and feel a breeze upon her skin Evanthe had cheerfully agreed to an early end for the days travels, even going so far as to order a few scouts to pilfer casks of ale from Orzammar's empty taverns. So much about life in this brave new world had been about bloodshed and loss that it was necessary to celebrate the small victories that had been achieved, even if those victories came in the form of the last remaining wardens and an ancient looking glass.
Evanthe stayed to the outskirts of the celebration, more than content to simply observe the camaraderie Despite the happy ending of this endeavor she couldn't quite shake the feeling of foreboding that had become a familiar companion to her these past weeks. There had to be more to her part in this war beyond the catch and carry of a mirror, it would have been too simple otherwise. And despite not ever having laid eyes upon her adversary, Evanthe knew there was nothing simple about Corypheus. Being privy to such worrisome thoughts is what kept her from participating in the sport laid out before her, but it did warm her heart to see those under her command freed from their burdens, however temporarily.
"You and I need to talk," Evanthe heard commanded from over her shoulder and she turned expectantly to find Harlow Tabris leaning against a splintered pine tree. The woman had cleaned herself up a bit since their initial meeting, and Evanthe could see the feral beauty in her. There was a wild danger to be found in the high planes of the elven woman's face, and the stark contrast of milk pale skin and liquid ebony hair only sought to sharpen this effect. But it was the dark emerald of her eyes that spoke to the true, untamed nature of Harlow Tabris. This was a woman who did not suffer fools, who saw the world in terms of battle, and who had no compunction about killing if it served the greater good. Evanthe was immediately impressed with the woman, and a bit envious of her nature. There was a strength there that came from having been forced to make the hard choices, and Evanthe could only hope that she would find a similar strength when faced with her own difficult dilemmas.
"Of course, Lady Tabris," she replied once she had finished her assessment
"Please don't," Harlow snorted, "I haven't been an Arlessa for over five years. And even when I was I always hated the title. Seemed to much a shem word for my liking."
"You've held so many titles I don't know what to call you," Evanthe admitted, "It's not everyday I meet a hero, a commander, and a noblewoman, much less all three in one person."
"Call me Harlow, everyone else does. Unless that goes against your stiff and proper Dalish sensibilities," Harlow answered as she pushed off the tree to join the woman.
"I'm not so proper...or Dalish you'll come to find. Harlow it is." The hero smiled in reply and took a moment to look out at the celebration taking place not twenty feet in front of them. Near the massive bonfire Varric regaled the crowd with one of him many stories, bawdy laughter erupting from his listeners upon hearing the tale. Leliana, Elissa, and Zevran were grouped nearby, joined by Alistair who had slung a protective arm over his wife. He hadn't left the queen's side since their reunion, and Evanthe could practically see the love shared between them. Indeed she could see the deep emotional ties between all of them, bindings made of battle and loss and good times shared years before. They seemed to exist in their own world; a private echelon of memory.
Solas and Cole sat to the foursome's right, heads bowed and deep in conversation. Evanthe had often wondered what the two conversed about, finding it an odd friendship. There was little in the way of laughter and fun between the two men, but nonetheless she could see that each bore a sincere fondness for the other. It made her happy that so many under her command could claim friendship and love of one another, and even though she had elected to remain apart that night, she knew without reservation that she had begun to spin a few friendships of her own. She had never intended such a thing, having thought her presence in this world would be fleeting at best, and yet it had happened headless of her planning. It was both wondrous and heartbreaking.
"You lead good men and women, Herald," Harlow murmured after a time. "You can always tell when it comes to ale and campfires. There's a health here that not all armies earn. It's a credit to your leadership."
"You would know," Evanthe replied. "I wanted to thank you, for saving my men. Giving them the joining, I mean. They'll lead full lives now thanks to you and the King."
"Call him Alistair, I beg you, and it was no trouble. And their lives may not be so full as you think. Zev and Elissa told you about the calling, they had to. Why else would you have traipsed down into the scary dark to save us?"
"They did, but thirty years is more than those men would have been granted if you hadn't offered them assistance. Seems a fair trade."
"That's what everyone says..." Harlow answered on a sigh. "Until they hear the call."
"You should speak with Varric," Evanthe suggested gently. "And Bull too, once we return to Skyhold. It may not be quite the same, but they can hear the song...Varric says it never stops."
"It doesn't," Harlow agreed. "Or at least the real one won't."
"You knew the calling was false?" Evanthe asked in surprise.
"Figured it out eventually. Kind of hard not to when you aren't decaying like you were promised you would," Harlow laughed bitterly. "It took us over four months to figure out something was amiss, and when the song suddenly stopped two months later amiss quickly turned to wrong."
"If you knew why didn't you turn back?" Evanthe asked.
"We did, in fact we turned back sooner, calling be damned."
"Why?"
"That's what we need to talk about it," Harlow answered, face turning hard. "How much do you know about the blight, Herald?"
"Evanthe, please, and only what everyone else in Thedas knows, plus some Dalish legends that probably aren't worth much of anything when it comes to accuracy."
"Then you know enough to follow, even though you may not want to."
"What is it Harlow?" Evanthe asked, dreading whatever answer was coming.
"There were seven old gods, each imprisoned deep underground. Five blights and five corruptions later there are only two left, and Maker willing they'll rot down there for the rest of eternity," Harlow explained with a weary sigh. "Or at least that was the plan. Somewhere between me sticking my sword in the archdemon's skull and the sky splitting open the plan went cockeyed and we are all well and truly fucked."
"Harlow?" Evanthe prodded, not wanting to believe what the woman was alluding to.
"One's missing, Evanthe. Lusacan to be exact. Dragon of night...stupid poetic crap if you ask me. Urthemiel was supposed to be the dragon of beauty...didn't look that pretty to me when it was trying to bite me in two. But who knows, maybe rotting flesh is what passes for beauty in Tevinter."
"An old god is missing?" Evanthe gasped out, suddenly feeling as if she couldn't breathe. She had heard nothing beyond that one word, for it alone spelled out a world of trouble she was in no way prepared to face. "How is it even possible? And how can you know?"
"Don't ask me questions about possible because it rightly shouldn't be," Harlow explained. "As for how we knew...the wardens have always known where the old gods were kept, one of our many dark secrets. Not that the information did us much good. The darkspawn discovered their cages long before we ever did and they have fortified those areas with thousands of their brethren, to the point that we can't even get close enough to catch a glimpse of those imprisoned"
"Then you can't be sure this...Lusacan is really missing," Evanthe replied hopefully.
"I'm sure, Herald," Harlow retorted in a hard voice. "Before, when we thought death was calling to us, Alistair and I decided to take out as many of the bastards as we could, and what better place to find a darkspawn army than the place where they guard their greatest weapon? But when we arrived...well, to say our ballad inducing battle was a let down is an understatement"
"There was no army," Evanthe replied, the words more of a statement than a question.
"Because there was nothing to guard...nothing but the residual feel of a being who had long outlived their purpose," Harlow sighed. "That's why we turned back, even with the call still sounding in out veins. We thought another blight had laid siege to Thedas. It was Alistair and mine's worst nightmare come to life. And even though I left the wardens behind some five years ago and even though Alistair is King, neither one of us could let something like that lie." Harlow paused to glance across the circle of celebration, her eyes landing upon Alistair. Something in her softened upon seeing the man, and Evanthe could see a veritable library's worth of history written in the woman's emerald gaze. There was something deeply personal between the Hero and King of Ferelden, something woven with pain and love, and above all complications.
"We stopped a blight once, him and I," Harlow muttered after a time, her voice laced with fond memory. "What's to say we couldn't stop another?"
"But there isn't a blight," Evanthe argued, politely ignoring the obvious subtext of the moment."In fact the darkspawn have been positively quiet given all that's going on."
"That's because they're going crazy in the deep roads. Alistair and I couldn't quite figure out what had gotten them so riled up, but when we found Lusacan's empty prison we figured it out pretty quick. I suspect they aren't exactly pleased that one of their precious gods has gone missing."
"If Lusacan isn't an archdemon, then where...oh, gods." The answer cut straight through her like a heated blade and Evanthe felt her skin go numb from horror. She had thought their situation dire, it turned out she hadn't even come close to the true nature of it all.
"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news," Harlow offered quietly.
"Corypheus," Evanthe breathed, and the word was a curse that sat heavy on her tongue. "He took Lusacan."
"Nothing's certain," the other woman argued, though it was half-hearted at best.
"Oh? Is there another all powerful villain rampaging across Thedas that I'm unaware of?" Evanthe spat, frustrated at the weak optimism.
"Look at the spine on you," Harlow murmured in appreciation "Didn't think you had it in you, Evanthe."
"I'm sorry," she sighed, shaking her head, "I'm...I'm overwhelmed and it's made me touchy as of late. Apologies."
"Don't apologize," Harlow insisted. "I've been at this hero out of legend thing a bit longer than you. Trust me when I say you've got to have a healthy bit of snark to survive. Touchy simply means that all this matters to you, and sarcasm just means you're witty enough to frame it right. If you were calm I'd be worried...it would mean that your heart doesn't belong to the cause."
"It does," Evanthe whispered. "More than you can know."
"Leliana told me about your predicament, a woman out of time and all that, so I have somewhat of an idea. Just remember, blaming yourself for all this can very easily lead to martyrdom, and that's not what these people need from you," Harlow warned with the wisdom of someone who had once walked the same path Evanthe now found herself on.
"What would you have done if it was a blight?" Evanthe asked, unable to stop herself.
"What I had to," Harlow answered. "Even before Clarel disgraced the wardens with her cowardice, leaving me and Alistair to shoulder the burden, I would have done what I was oath sworn to do seven years ago."
"It would have been suicide," Evanthe replied. "Wouldn't that go against your advice about martyrdom?"
"I've been living on time not rightly owed to me for years now, Evanthe," Harlow said softly as she slowly made her way back to the celebration. "It's not martyrdom if you were supposed to die the first time around."
~oOo~
There was much fanfare surrounding the group's return to Skyhold, though much of it was owed to the return of Ferelden's king. The inhabitants of the fortress were a veritable patch quilt of nationalities and races, but quite a few could trace their roots back to Denerim or Honleath, or any number of towns and villages that had peppered Ferelden's countryside. As such Alistair's return from the deep roads resonated deeply with many people, and it seemed they had spared no expense to celebrate the occasion. Evanthe could see banners strung from the ramparts, their fabric dyed a dazzling crimson and gold. Someone had even managed to scare up an old shield and paint the twin mabaris of the Therin line upon its cracked surface. The armament hung proudly atop Skyhold's entrance, an announcement of welcome that was clear as day.
As the party made their way through the portcullis they were showered with rose petals and cheered on with joyful hearts. Everyone was hard pressed to keep the smiles from their face at such a wonderful display, despite the exhaustion that sang in each one of their bones. When they had all finally made their way into the courtyard they were greeted by those who had elected to stay behind, and standing at the front were Cullen and Iron Bull.
"'Bout time you made it back boss," Bull offered with a smile and a bone-jarring pat on the back.
"We would have been back sooner were it not for the darkspawn, the demons, and every other enemy you can name. Terribly sorry to have dawdled so," Evanthe replied with a roll of her eyes.
"Bah! Child's play," the Qunari scoffed. Evanthe smiled before turning her attention to the man that stood at the Ben Hassrath's side. She felt her heart quicken pace and the breath in her lungs still in anticipation as she locked eyes with Cullen who stood patiently by, waiting to be acknowledged. She was overjoyed to see him, relieved that he and so many others had managed to survive in her absence, but she felt strangely shy to be standing in his presence. It was as if she was once again a young woman, barely out of adolescence, treading the waters of romance and unsure as to how to act.
"It is good to see you, Evanthe," Cullen offered softly, his voice uncharacteristically husky.
"Cullen," she whispered, taking a step towards him.
"Cullen?" Harlow echoed from just behind her, bringing Evanthe up short. "My, but the people you'll run into when the world's about to end."
"Hello Harlow," Cullen replied smoothly, nodding his head ever so slightly.
"You two know each other?" Evanthe asked in bewilderment.
"We've met," Harlow answered, eying the commander up and down. "You're looking well. Last time I saw you you'd gone a bit 'round the bend."
"Yes, well, things were quite bad off then," Cullen answered.
"And they aren't now?" Harlow asked with a laugh.
"Point taken," Cullen replied, smiling slightly. When Elissa and Alistair strode over to join the trio the commander straightened before bowing deeply from the waist.
"Commander," Alistair said warmly, "It's been a while."
"You're majesty," Cullen replied, "It's good to know you are safe."
"You've done well," the king observed, "stuffed full of duty and in charge I see. You've come a long way from your days of hiding from the reverend mother's wrath."
"Don't mistake it, I still would be if the wretched shrew were still alive," Cullen answered with chuckle as he reached out to shake the other man's hand in fond greeting.
"And it appears you and the king are well acquainted to boot," Evanthe remarked in bemused wonderment. "I had know idea you had kept such esteemed company, Commander."
"Cullen and I trained to together as templars," Alistair clarified, "long before pesky things like blights and crowns got in the way."
"I hate to break up the heartfelt reunion," Varric called out from his position near the portcullis, "but there's a spooky mirror that needs unloading and I don't think it quite matches the courtyard's motif."
"Right, the eluvian!" Evanthe answered. She had forgotten about it in all the chaos of coming home. "Solas, this is more you bailiwick than it is mine. What do you think? Should it be kept under lock and key?"
"It's not dangerous, if that's what you're asking," Solas replied, "From all we were told the mirror lies dormant. There is little mayhem it can cause in it's current state. Though I would not simply prop it in a corner where anyone can meddle with it."
Frowning Evanthe looked around at Skyhold's crumbling walls, running through each room and hallway in her mind as she thought of a suitable place to store the blasted thing. A part of her still thought the mirror dangerous, stories of slaughtered clans and parables about the folly of curiosity ringing loud in her head. Morrigan had insisted that the eluvian would be a powerful weapon for her cause, but weapons were meant to do harm, and they care very little for who wields them. She wished she could barricade the thing with chains and heavy doors, but such paranoia was impractical and she would have to settle for out of sight instead.
"There's a storeroom near the gardens I believe," she at last conceded "Perfect place as any I suppose."
"We will see it done," Solas murmured, "I shall enlist help in clearing it a place." The man began to walk away, only to think better of it and turn back to address her once more. "We must continue your lessons, da'vhenan. Perhaps tonight. We cannot let them fall by the wayside, no matter how...complicated they become."
Evanthe blushed at this, both in memory and in anger. The memory of their last lesson still resonated deeply in her mind, and she felt a warmth suffusing her at the intimacy they had shared. She did not think he had meant it as a pointed jab to Cullen, but the fact that he had brought up such a personal moment in the presence of her commander had her feeling irrationally angry. Irrationally because Cullen had no possible means of deciphering the coded meaning of Solas' words and could therefore not take offense, but it galled her nonetheless.
"We've only just returned," she answered stiffly in reply. "Surely 'complicated' can bide its time."
"As you wish, da'vhenan, but take care not to let your time bide for too long. Complicated only gets more so when given space to grow," Solas answered quietly, before taking his leave, eyes sweeping over Cullen one last time. The look of bitterness was there and gone in a flash, but Evanthe caught it nonetheless. Sighing deeply she rubbed her temples and refocused on the tasks ahead of her.
"Varric," she called out, "see to the eluvian, if you would."
"Whatever you say Goldie," Varric answered before motioning for a few soldiers to begin unloading the relic. "Hey Horns! What say you use all those rippling muscles to help us out here?"
"Rippling muscles?" Bull roared back, "Are you flirting with me, Tethras?"
"In your dreams," Varric retorted, "You know I'm a one-crossbow kinda guy."
Evanthe chuckled a bit at the display, happy to hear such merriment and lightheartedness amongst those who served her. Perhaps it was simply the long journey, or the fact that she had actually accomplished something in her efforts to fight Corypheus, but for the first time she felt as if the future wasn't so bleak as it had once appeared. She had vowed to fill Skyhold with laughter, and while there was still much sorrow to be felt, it appeared as if she were well on her way to doing just that.
Feeling a hand fall upon her shoulder, Evanthe turned around only to find herself standing mere inches away from her commander. Cullen stared down at her with a guarded expression, though his eyes shone with hopeful anticipation.
"You made it back," he murmured, his hand moving from her shoulder to run a light path up and down her arm.
"With shoes on our feet, even," Evanthe joked, earning her a breathy chuckle.
"That you did. I take it the journey wasn't too fraught with danger, then?"
"It was...difficult, but not in the way I had imagined," Evanthe replied cautiously.
"Are you hurt?" Cullen asked with a worried frown, his eyes sweeping over face and torso as he looked for injury.
"No," she whispered, reaching out to brush at set of healing scratches upon his neck. "But it appears you are."
"It's nothing," he assured her, reaching up to hold her hand in his. It caused her fingers to press against his skin, and she could feel his pulse flutter beneath her touch. "There was a skirmish. A few venetori and some demons that were easily put down. Retaliation, I suppose, for our many assaults."
"How did Harding and her scouts fare?" Evanthe asked, worried for all those men and women who had risked their lives to buy her some much needed time.
"Surprisingly well," Cullen reported happily. "Harding was having the time of her life antagonizing the enemy. To hear her talk you'd think the woman was on holiday as opposed to picking off demons."
"And the dead?" Evanthe prodded.
"Not a single one," her commander answered with a broad smile. "Quite a few injuries, but they're all accounted for, Herald."
Evanthe was shocked by the news. She had prepared herself to be greeted with a new list of the fallen, names scrawled across sheet after sheet of velum like a black prayer. To know that no such list of mourning existed cheered her beyond measure and she let out a joyful whoop before launching herself into Cullen's arms. He caught her with ease, wrapping his lean arms around her waist and holding her upright as he laughed at her display.
"I'm not used to having women throw themselves at me in such a fashion," he remarked and Evanthe giggled in reply.
"Keep feeding me good news, commander, and I'll leap into your arms anytime you want."
"Is that so?" he asked with just a hint of wicked, and it made things deep in Evanthe's abdomen clench tight in response. She looked down at him, still held high in his arms, and swallowed hard, eyes unconsciously making a journey across his face to land upon his lips. Cullen, sensing the tension that had crept between them, slowly began to lower her to the ground. When her feet touched upon the dirt Evanthe found herself pressed close to the man, their faces mere inches apart. A resounding crash from high upon the ramparts, followed by raised voices and arguments had her pulling back, remembering their surroundings. Cullen looked disappointed at the retreat, as disappointed as she felt, and suddenly Evanthe found herself being uncharacteristically reckless.
"Come with me," she whispered, clasping his hand and leading him down into the lower courtyard. Cullen followed with nary a protest, trotting a bit as he sought to keep up with her hurried pace. When they had reached the bottom, she led him around to the curved archway carved below the stairs. Without a moments pause she quickly rounded on him and shoved him against the white stone. Cullen gasped lightly in surprise and Evanthe took advantage, surging forward to press a crushing, wholly passionate kiss upon his slightly parted lips.
Everything seemed to stop in that moment, and the world became blessedly quiet. For Evanthe nothing seemed to matter beyond the feel of Cullen's lips moving slowly and softly against hers. This is what was meant when soldiers spoke of homecoming; how it wasn't so much a place but a person, someone you had a left a part of yourself with and the only way to reclaim it was with breathless kisses and flirtatious sighs.
"Was that your forfeit?" Cullen asked on a breathy moan when she broke apart from him.
"No," she replied, nipping at his bottom lip, "That was a proper hello."
"I very much doubt there was anything proper about it," He replied reaching up to cup the back of her neck.
"Then it appears I did it wrong," she murmured. "Shall we try again?" Cullen flashed her a wicked grin before crushing her to his chest and claiming her mouth with his own. Evanthe whimpered in pleasure and arched her back, seeking to press herself closer to this man who had occupied far too much of her thought process as of late. Cullen responded by wrapping his free arm around her slender waist, hoisting her upright. He spun them about, switching their places so that it was Evanthe who was now pressed to wall. She could feel the cool touch of stone through her clothes, a stark contrast to the warmth of the man who gad begun to feather kisses along her jaw. When he reached her neck and bit down ever so gently, Evanthe cried out and moved to wrap her legs around Cullen's waist. She knew she should put a stop to this, they weren't exactly secluded behind closed doors after all, and too much of their lives were in flux for any of this be considered a good idea. But it was hard to think of such practicalities when Cullen claimed her mouth once more and she could taste him upon her tongue.
"Herald?" Leliana's voice rand out through the courtyard, causing both her and Cullen to freeze where they stood. "Herald?"
"That woman has the most appalling timing," Cullen grumbled on a whisper, causing Evanthe to snort out a laugh before quickly slapping her hands over her mouth in an effort to stifle the sound.
"Has anyone seen Evanthe? Or for that matter Commander Cullen?" Leliana cried out in frustration. "No? Well, should either of our esteemed leaders deign to show themselves would someone please inform them their presence is required? There's still a mad magister to be dealt with after all."
Evanthe tilted her head upwards, listening to the sounds of the bard's footsteps echo gently against the stone above her. When she was certain the woman had gone, she looked down to find that Cullen having the good grace to look slightly sheepish.
"I suppose we should return," he remarked as he gently set her down upon the ground. "I imagine we are both needed elsewhere."
"You're right," she sighed, "though I wish..."
"What?"
"I wish that, for a moment, I wasn't needed. That there wasn't mirrors and meetings to attend to," Evanthe remarked with wistful sorrow. "I wish I could have five blasted minutes beneath the stairs and not be called away for some bit of pressing business."
"You will, Evanthe," Cullen replied, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair away. "I promise. Though you deserve better than under the stairs."
"It's not so bad," she countered with a smile. "A bit cozy actually."
"Even so," her commander replied, "I let my emotions get the best of me. I allowed it go farther than it should have in that moment. Forgive me."
"I'm not complaining, Cullen," Evanthe insisted, "I'm not some damsel who needs to be wooed lest her reputation suffer."
"I would never mistake you for a damsel, Thee, but you deserve better nonetheless."
"That's the second time you've called me 'Thee'," she murmured in reply, causing Cullen to blush ever so slightly.
"Do you like it?" he asked, voice uncertain. Evanthe answered by standing on tip toe and placing a lingering kiss upon his brow.
"I do," she whispered against his skin.
"Herald!" Leliana cried once more, her voice bellowing out from the threshold of Skyhold's throne room. The bard was clearly becoming impatient, and a thousand unvoiced, yet all too real consequences were uttered in that one word. If Evanthe didn't hurry, there would be hell to pay, and so she stepped away from the commander rather reluctantly.
"I have to go, and so do you," she sighed, turning away and beginning to make her way back into the lower courtyard.
"Thee," Cullen called out when she had gone about twenty paces, and she turned around expectantly. "It may not be five minutes, it may be three, but we'll find the time," he promised, and Evanthe smiled.
"I hope you're right commander," she offered with a quirk of her brow. "We still have a forfeit to settle."
A/N 2: Before y'all freak on me. No, I'm not making Corypheus' dragon a true archdemon. Pinkie promise. I have other plans for Lusacan. Mwhaha!