All Fall Down
By: SurreptitiousFox245

Disclaimer: I do not own Elder Scrolls or Dragon Age. All rights go towards their respective people.

Quick Author's Note: Another ungodly long chapter! Hooray! Took me a bit to get this finished, but school hates me, apparently.

It does appear that I have a guest review with a question to answer. Questioner asked when Lorkhan is going to show up. It's...complicated to answer. He will later on, somewhere around chapter 20 if my outline is followed to-the-letter, but it won't be in the way you're probably thinking. Plate of virtual cookies to anyone who figures it out ahead of time. Seriously. If you do figure it out, become a detective.

Well, on that note, I'd say more, but I don't want to give anything away, so ENJOY!


"So I divide the blackened sky
to try to find the light.
It's been so long.
I'm still searching for the sun.
My world is growing numb.
But I will overcome,
because I know that I'm right where I belong.
You think my days are done,
but I will prove you wrong.
Because I know that I'm right where I belong."

-The Veer Union, "Divide the Blackened Sky"


Chapter 7


~Thedas – 9:41 Dragon~


You kicked a rock out of your way as you climbed the steep, winding path. The air around you was humid due to the close proximity to the coast and the fact that it was early in Kingsway, barely the end of what had proved to be a sweltering summer. Your mask and hood were practically smoldering on your skin, as well as the long-sleeved black cotton tunic, trousers, and loose boots you wore. Raising a hand to mess with the oh-so-shockingly black dyed strips of samite that swaddled your slim neck, you sourly regretted using the thick fabric for the purposes of hiding the golden skin of your throat. Being honest, the fact that it was durable and enchanted so as to be resistant to tears only made the heat trapped by the cloth slightly more bearable.

Your hand slipped from the samite to the shoddy serpentstone brooch that was holding the ends of your cowl together and to the front of your tunic, fiddling with it absently as you continued to climb the path one final time that day. Hiking had never been one of your favorite pastimes, but as you held a bundle of dawn lotus flowers in your other hand, you were reminded of why you were suddenly making the endeavor. It had been four years – you had delayed long enough.

With each step you took, your heart seemed to sink just a little further in your chest. Seeing the half-rotted remnants of the Dalish aravels littered alongside the skeletons of a good half-dozen people on the small area of Sundermount where the camp had been had already pained you. You hadn't spent long there with the Dalish, maybe only a month, but the time had still meant something to you purely because of the company. The Dalish elves were misunderstood more often than not, but they were good people. They had beengood people – the thought made a lump rise uncomfortably in your throat. That was it, though, wasn't it? Marethari, Ilen, Pol, Fenarel, all of them – they had been good, decent people just trying to abide by their religion, their cultural identity. You glanced down at the flowers clutched in your hands. They had deserved more than the wholesale slaughter that was handed to them.

Ducking into the cave that led to the top of the mountain, you noted the lack of live spiders and the rotting corpses of the giant arachnids. Hawke's work, you supposed sourly. You stamped the ire down. It would not spoil the sentiment you were trying to make – not that day, at least. The clan deserved to have their memory honored, purely and not clouded by hate or vengeance. It was the least anyone could do for them.

You regretted only slightly not having been there. Consciously, you realized that there hadn't really been anything you could have done. Most likely, if you had been there when Hawke had killed the clan, you probably would have been dead, too. Exactly how events had played out was a bit hazy, but you had gotten the general understanding that something happened with Marethari and the clan attacked, causing the human and his companions to unleash a can of unadulterated wrath. The rumors may have pointed to the elves attacking first, but you liked to think that you had known each of them well enough to understand it wouldn't have been without reason. Dalish were wary of outsiders, but who could blame them? Outsiders scorned their way of life, often the only way of living they had ever known.

The Sabrae clan wasn't the most welcoming of the Dalish, true, but they wouldn't have attacked unless threatened. So that led you back to the only logical conclusion that it had entirely been Hawke's fault. You jammed the toe of your boot a little harder than necessary into the small ledge you had to climb to emerge on the other side of the cave.

The barrier that should have barred the entrance to the graves was absent, and this time you only had Merrill to blame, wherever she was. The field of energy had been erected by Marethari to keep the souls of the ancient, resting elves away from any that may have sought to disturb their slumber, and you knew the only way to undo it without blood magic had only been known by the elder Keeper who had vehemently refused to the one time Merrill had asked. Those in uthenera, she had argued, did not take being trod on lightly. As one remained quiet so as to not disturb their neighbor's rest at night, the living should hold the same respect for the dead. You remembered Merrill dropping the subject with a somewhat childish pout. She never had elaborated why she had wanted to pass through the graveyard, but you had always suspected Marethari had known the reason.

Sending silent prayers to Auri-El as you passed each marker was probably a futile endeavor, but you supposed the gesture was more of respect than actually asking your god of time to guard their souls from anything malicious as they wandered to their afterlife, Beyond, or whatever it was that they experienced. Your concept of the gods had been scattered and shredded after your little debacle with the Thalmor that had landed you in Thedas, but old habits didn't rest easy.

It wasn't until you got closer to the altar resting before the cliff face that the mass of fresh graves became apparent. The markers, a little over twenty in all, were small, not nearly as prominent as the ancient ones preceding them, but the designs carved reverently on their surfaces made them all the more special. You had spent the better part of the day and the night before collecting the remains of the clan and giving them a proper burial. Since you had no way of knowing which bones belonged to which elf, you had opted to keep the stones void of such things as names. You had been gone for seven, eight years when they had been killed – a few had probably been born and died in that time, too. The etchings were crude (you were no artist) and had a few sayings in Ehlnofex meant to ward off necromancy, but mostly the images depicted Dalish tales you had recalled Ilen and Marethari telling you in the long hours of the night when your then-newfound disability had hindered your ability to sleep. As you laid a single flower in front of each headstone, every bloom carrying just as much meaning as the last, you allowed yourself to entertain the notion that the two elders would have approved of your choice.

Placing the last lotus down atop the final, small mound of dirt with a frown, you wondered not for the first time since you had found the camp why the corpses had been left to rot. Though you didn't know where she was, you knew that Merrill had left the clan shortly after you had, her use of blood magic causing the others to become so hostile, Marethari had urged her to leave out of fear for her safety since the First wasn't going to give up her use of dark magic without a fight. She had been hanging around with Hawke that you knew of and the book "The Tale of the Champion" that had been circling around said she had fought with him against the Templars and then gone her own way. Merrill, despite her difference in opinion with Marethari, had loved the clan deeply. You couldn't fathom why she hadn't immediately returned to administer funerary rights. It just wasn't like the bubbly, naïve mage you had known all those years ago.

Sighing, you pushed the thought out of your mind. It didn't matter. The fact was that Merrill hadn't returned, for whatever reason, and the deed was done. You lowered yourself to sit cross-legged before the graves, bowing your head and paying your respects once more. A breeze blew, warm and smelling of salt from the Waking Sea almost as if trying to comfort you in your grief. The realization that the emotion was, in fact, sadness welling up behind your eyes didn't strike you as difficultly as you had thought it would – you did not, after all, make it a habit anymore of becoming attached to people. Friends were too easily lost. Nirn had proven that the hard way. But the Sabrae clan had seemed to weasel their way in soon enough after the disaster, had nurtured you and cared for you in a time when you had been drowning yourself in mourning, confusion, and self-hatred. While it had been subtle and not overt by any means, they had cared for you and you for them. And it seemed that just like with every other important epiphany you tended to have, it took you too long to realize it.

"Hahren na melana sahlin. Emma ir abelas. Souver'inan isala hamin. Vhenan him dor'felas. In uthenera na revas," you whispered, recalling the eulogy Marethari had taught you when you had inquired about their funerary customs out of curiosity. The words were elegant, and their translation was just as beautiful. "Vir sulahn'nehn. Vir dirthera. Vir samahl la numin. Vir lath sa'vunin." Your voice broke on the last word, and it wasn't until a sob heaved forth and you felt a heavy wetness under your mask that you noticed you were crying. A shuddering gasp tore from your throat. The grief was crushing, you observed absently. Your heart constricted painfully in your chest, and you raised a hand to clutch uselessly at the fabric over where the muscles furiously beat against your ribs. The pain, raw and emotional, was something you hadn't felt since before Nirn.

You hadn't really allowed yourself to grieve after appearing in Thedas. The months had been spent hating yourself for making a mistake, of all things. It had been spent hating the Thalmor, the gods, the Godhead – you had been angry, though you really couldn't fault yourself for it. But of all the wildly untamed emotions you had felt during that time, sorrow had been the one least virulent. You had pushed it down, deemed it of no use to you, and buried yourself into your work, and for what? To return and find the only people that had helped you and accepted you for whom you were in Thedas dead, slaughtered for a reason you were probably never going to know?

It was quick. For a moment, the memories of the clan raced and blurred together before morphing into memories of the people you had known before. Jarl Idgrod, Falion, Undilar, Agni, the Stormcloak soldier you had been seated next to when you had gotten caught up in their skirmish with the Empire – everything from the beginning to the end flashed in front of you. Too quick, too much, you were dimly aware of thinking somewhere in the back of your mind as your breath started to come to you in gasps. No matter how much air you sucked in to your greedy lungs, it wasn't enough. Were you even breathing? You didn't know. It hurt. You were starting to become dizzy –

As soon as it started, it stopped. A sense of calm enveloped you, and you realized that you had shifted to your hands and knees, gloves caked with dirt where your fingers had dug unrelentingly into the earth, trying vainly to find purchase. Some tears had slipped to the bottom edge of your mask and dripped forlornly onto the soil. You pondered the image of it behind your eyes. It had been so long since you had seen your own tears – it gave you a sort of morbid feeling of fascination.

"Well, now. What have we here? Someone come to pay respects to the departed? That's something that hasn't happened in a while." You started. The voice came out of nowhere – you hadn't heard footsteps or any other indication of there being another person in the area. Your emotions had been too haywire. The feeling of Aedric magic suddenly hit you like a brick wall, and you knew instantly that your sense of calm hadn't been naturally evoked.

Quickly rising, your hands embarrassingly fumbled with your daggers as you whirled around on your intruder, "Who are you?" You cursed the lack of anything close to you that you could conspicuously touch to try and see. The person was female, if the voice counted for anything, and older. She had to have a sleight build to be able to sneak up on you, or possibly she was using the magic you could practically smell radiating off of her. You gripped your dagger tighter.

"I have many names," she said evasively, following up with a knowing chuckle that put you even further on edge. "You'd be one to know, wouldn't you girl?" You froze.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you bit out defensively.

The woman laughed, and you momentarily thought her insane, "Names are pretty, but useless all the same. Call me Flemeth, if it pleases you. The Dalish sometimes refer to me as Asha'bellanar. Either will do, though I must wonder what you would like me to call you."

Your eyes widened, but you tempered your shock. You had certainly heard about the woman. While the Dalish revered her as a long-lived, almost god-like being, you had never been so sure. The power around her also helped cement your opinion of her into one of wary caution.

"I'd prefer you not address me at all until you tell me why you're here," you replied finally. You winced when your voice wavered a bit.

There was a moment of silence as Flemeth seemed to think for a moment, "Your caution may serve you well in the days to come, but take care not to let it rule you."

You growled a little, "That's not an answer."

Flemeth laughed again, probably raising an eyebrow, "It isn't? Answers are in everything, if one looks deep enough."

"You're being cryptic and I don't have time for it," you accused.

"Yes, yes, time is of the essence," acquiesced the witch quickly, but something was shoved into your hands before you could question what she meant. "I place this in your care until a time I deem appropriate to come and retrieve it. You teeter on the edge of a cliff – this will be your safety net when the time comes."

You prided yourself on being a fairly articulate mer. Really, you did. That still didn't stop you from tilting your head towards your hands for a moment and turning your gaze back towards Flemeth confusedly, "…huh…?"

She probably gave you an amused look you could almost feel, "The characters have aligned, dear girl. And as the play began, imagine my shock to find you have rewritten the script. I have a vested interest in your success. As for the bauble, little flower – do take care not to lose it. It's a…family heirloom."

Without another word, you heard her take a few steps, a rush of air laden thickly with magic, and then the beating of…wings? Very large wings, if you were hearing correctly. Was she a shapeshifter? Once you heard the…whatever she had turned into fly out of your sensory range, you glanced down at the piece of jewelry in your hands, placing your fingertips to the metal. Silverite was the first thing you noticed. A large circular brooch about maybe an inch in diameter, inlaid with a cracked amethyst. You ran a finger over the deep gouge that stretched diagonally from the top right to the bottom left quizzically, wondering why a damaged gem was used for the pin before dismissing it. The whole encounter you had just experienced was probably one of the strangest things to have ever happened to you. A piece of jewelry made with poor-quality gemstones didn't even make the list of weirdness.

Flanking the larger circle were two smaller ellipses on either side. They both were a solid silverite and about a half the size of the main one, completely devoid of markings. It was very…simple. Too simple, almost. Cautiously, you sent a spark of magic into it. There was no reaction, and you nearly tossed the pin off the mountainside then and there.

Suddenly, something seemed to explode from behind you.

"What in Oblivion?!" You sucked in a surprised breath as a powerful wave of too-pure magic accompanied by a thunderous roar actually caused you to stumble. You hissed as you felt it burn against your back, leaping around and scrambling to your knees to touch the ground in case there was something to see. At first, you worried that sending the magic into the pin had been a bad idea, but upon further inspection, you realized that the wave of magic had actually come from somewhere to the southwest. Far to the southwest, you evaluated, and whatever it was, it was centered on the sky. Of course it would be the one thing you couldn't see since you couldn't touch it. You grumbled obscenities to yourself.

Taking one last glance down at the brooch in your hand, you decided quickly to just stuff the thing into a pouch before scurrying your way back down the mountain. Whatever had happened spelled trouble, and, naturally, where there was trouble, you were going to go investigate.

Almost like magic, your conversation with Flemeth was pushed to the back of your mind. You never realized as you took off towards Kirkwall that the witch had called you a nickname you hadn't heard in decades.


Justinia was dead. Then entire village of Haven was frantic and alight with simultaneous bustle and mourning, but unlike when Beatrix III had passed, you completely understood the commotion. Divine Justinia hadn't just died; she'd been murdered at her own Conclave. A Conclave swarming with Templars, mages, mercenaries, and Chantry clergy and historians – and only one person had walked out of the explosion alive. You had snuck into Haven's Chantry and had found a perch atop a rafter, invisibility spell cemented in place as you eavesdropped. From what you understood, the Conclave had been called in an attempt to settle the feud between the mages and Templars, and the peace talks had only barely begun when a massive explosion had ensued. The Veil that separated Thedas from the "Fade" had torn and left a gaping hole in the center of the sky above where some Temple had been located. The blast that had caused it had been what you felt all the way across the Waking Sea on Sundermount. If the sheer force behind it had been staggering that far away, you understood wholeheartedly why you had passed several massive, ancient trees close to the small Fereldan village that had been toppled like twigs.

All of the major players in the Chantry, every single cleric who could have potentially replaced Justinia, had perished in the blast, which begged the question of who had caused it and why. A chaotic Chantry would have benefitted any number of people, and the handful of officials who had reported to Haven to attempt to sort out the mess of the newly-dubbed "Breach" seemed as unsure as you as to where to point first. You yourself had several theories simmering in the back of your mind. They ranged anywhere from the obvious mages or Templars, to the unsure possibility of Tevinter involvement, to the search for horrifying-yet-thankfully-resoundingly-absent signs of potential Thalmor influence, but you needed more information to be sure.

You needed to see this Breach up close and personal, feel the magic pouring out of it and see if you could feel any traces of Daedric energies. Thalmor involvement was what you feared the most despite not having found one scrap of evidence in your eleven years of digging that even suggested any other people from Nirn had been…pulled to Thedas.

Paying little attention when the Divine's Left Hand passed underneath your hiding spot and exchanged a few words with the terse-faced Right Hand, you began to shimmy your way silently down the stone columns with practiced ease. As your booted feet soundlessly touched the floor, the two women disappeared through the door you had deduced led to the cells beneath the building, undoubtedly intending to go and question their survivor. You were skeptical if the man had really been the cause of the explosion. From what you'd heard, he had emerged from a Fade Rift near the Temple and collapsed, some strange mark on his hand sparking and spreading in time with the Breach. Sure, it seemed suspicious, but you had a strong feeling that it was all circumstantial evidence. Deep in your gut, you just knew that there was more going on than met the eye and that thought in and of itself caused you to hesitate for the briefest seconds. Questioning your decision to become involved only momentarily, your falter lasted barely a breath before you were confidently gliding over the snow-covered paths towards the base of the mountain where you knew the few relief forces had scrambled to establish a camp. If the sky ripping apart was able to be felt as far away as Kirkwall, and if minor tears spewing demons, of all things, kept appearing at random all across the continent like you'd heard hinted, you knew that it spelled trouble for everyone. That included you and your information network and your determination to figure out why you hadn't died eleven years ago that you were still no closer to solving than you had been the day you work up in that forest.

Looking out for your own interests, you reminded yourself. That was all it was.

Still, you had to wonder when looking out for your own interests had somehow morphed to look into potentially saving a world you didn't even belong to from an insofar very twisted yet eerily similar version of the Oblivion Crisis. Fate, it seemed, was strange no matter the world.

It wasn't particularly difficult to dodge through the throngs of people running between Haven and the forward camp, but you had a few close calls where your invisibility spell had wavered between castings and elicited an odd look from several soldiers and even a short dwarf speaking to a vallaslin-less elf you passed on one of the many bridges. The short, beardless rogue had given the space of wavering air a curious look, but thankfully not mentioned it to his mage companion. Your spells were undetectable to most Thedosian mages in a passive sense, but if a mage was actively looking for something out-of-the-ordinary, you had found they could find you fairly easily. On your end, you supposed it was one of the benefits to being versed in illusion magic – your magic unconsciously tried to hide itself.

Thankful for having not run into any demons, you reached the camp without further incident and immediately made a bee-line towards where several maps and stratagem were decorating a rickety wooden table. You had to avoid the male chancellor who was pouring over the information and relaying orders with a haughty tone, but once he had moved away to take care of some problem that had been brought to his attention, you made your move. Ghosting your fingertips over the various pieces of parchment, you frowned as you deciphered the dwarven runes Thedas used for most of their writing slowly. There was a main path up to the Temple where an army was apparently holding their own, and there was a little-known, more roundabout path that cut through a mountain that had once been a mining shaft. Scouts had been sent through, and from the conversation buzzing around you, they'd lost contact with them half a day ago.

You traced the path highlighted on the map several times, committing it to memory. It was a bit of a hike, but you felt you could manage it. If you were already investigating the Breach, you didn't see why you shouldn't investigate a handful of missing scouts, as well. It was, after all, on the way.

Choice made, you darted off of the bridge and began scurrying your way through the thick blanket of snow, grateful you had a decent sense of direction. It was hard for you to "see" with how loosely the snow had packed together, and you shuddered to think of where you possibly would have ended up without being rather positive you were heading in a more eastward direction. You were about three-quarters of the way up the mountainside, however, when you were abruptly thrown backwards.

Poorly stifling a yelp of pain, you smoothly transitioned your wild flailing into a back flip as your invisibility spell faltered and died. There was an inhuman roar accompanied by the bubbling of a harsh, tainted version of Aedric energies. The feeling you were getting wasn't quite Daedric, but more as if someone had twisted Thedas' magic into a powerful bastardization of its previous, pure form.

A demon. The thought hit you with a groan of exasperation. You had been so damn close to making it to the Breach without meeting one of the fiends, too. Drawing a dagger, you dodged a clumsy hit from the creature you were suddenly fighting that sent snow and rocks flying in every direction. You whirled so you were behind the creature, grateful that you tentatively could sense only one, and firmly grasped at where you estimated its shoulder to be.

"Oh gods, gross!" you cringed as the texture of the skin beneath your glove was the first thing that registered, before that revulsion was increased tenfold by the image of the creature that blossomed behind your eyes. If that was a demon, you could have very easily gone the remainder of your life never having seen one. It looked almost as repulsive as a falmer. The thing was sinewy, ropy muscles hidden beneath leathery skin that was somehow also slimy to the touch. The term "oily shadow" was the first thing that came to mind, and you felt it appropriate. Straps of a thick, dark, hide-like material you were not interested in accurately identifying draped around its form and held something akin to tattered robes about its body. Its hands tapered into five long, thin, claw-like appendages you were hesitant to call fingers. Fingers as a whole did not look like they could rip someone's face off.

The hunched head, if you could even call it that, was what got to you the most. Its face was small and skeletal, almost, and made of the same skin as the rest of its body while the hide-like material was draped loosely on top of it like a hood. Its eyes glowed ethereally, promising something horrifying to any foolish enough to get in its way.

Nope, you thought grimly as you brought your dagger around to stab it in the shoulder. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. I'm a moron for getting involved in this…whole bloody heaping pile of everlasting NOPE

Hissing at the uncomfortable ringing in your ears when the thing screeched in pain, you felt the sentiment double. You were a moron. There was a nice, cozy little cave you knew of near Cumberland you could probably run to and hide in until the whole sky-hole thing blew over. Screw playing hero –

CRUNCH! Blinking, your head tilted down habitually to where your right arm was hanging limply. The pain radiating from your collarbone was dull, but you knew that was just the adrenaline keeping you from sensing it for the time being. The demon roared in victory, bringing its hands up again for a second blow that you deflected with an absentminded warding spell, still transfixed with your shoulder. Your broken shoulder – the dismay the demon screamed with when its attack was hindered by your magical defense was nothing compared to the irritation boiling in the pit of your stomach. Your face fixed itself into a scowl that put the eternal one etched on your mask to shame.

The thing had broken your gods-damned collarbone!

Drawing your second dagger with your good arm, you let your ward fall before expertly dodging around the creature's next blow and landing one of your own where its heart should have been…if it even had one. It appeared that it did, though, as it fell over dead with the rush of cold, bubbling, greasy blood that covered your left hand when you retrieved your weapon. Your face contorted, upper lip curling back as you held your blood-soaked hand out in front of you as if bringing it any closer to your body would poison you. A grunt rose from the back of your throat. You shook the excess liquid from your hand and dagger as best you could.

"Never should've even gotten out of bed this morning…," you grumbled to yourself, lowering slowly to the ground and using the snow untainted by blood to clean what of the oily substance remained. Once your weapon and arm were satisfactorily clean, you hunted for your other dagger which you had dropped when the demon had struck you and sheathed it deftly. Now all that remained was your shoulder. A healing spell centered on the fractured bone that was actually protruding from your shoulder made quick work of it, though the feeling of the bone shifting and knitting itself together, followed by muscle and skin sealing made you grimace. The sensation never hurt, per se. It just felt rather odd and always tended to deplete your magika reserves a great deal. Recovering quickly from magika deprivation came with being Altmeri, but you still never liked the vulnerable feeling having no mana gave you.

You skirted around the demon blood, corpse having disintegrated back into the Fade, and continued the short distance towards where the ladders to the mine's entrance hung precariously. As your luck would have it, they were drenched in snow and you couldn't feel your fingers by the time you had completely scaled their entirety.

You hated snow with a burning passion.

More demons akin to the one you had fought on the mountainside were scattered through the caverns, but knowing how they liked to attack made it easier for you to avoid their blows. The decision to forego invisibility was somewhat a painful one, but you had reasoned that calling on your (admittedly weak for your race) highborn power to regenerate your magika just to cast one spell was somewhat redundant. Adding in the possibility that you didn't know exactly where in the pass the scouts were cemented the choice. If you were going to help them, showing your face was the least you could do, and you knew it would be strange if you suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

It actually didn't take you too long after stumbling across several corpses to find the scouts that had survived admirably holding their own against a Fade Rift that was spewing demons quicker than you could count. For every one that was cut down, you observed at least two taking its place. They were hopelessly outnumbered as you joined the fray with a flurry of finely-tempered glass.

"Who're you?!" The voice of the lead scout shouted over the falmer-esque shriek of a tall, lanky green demon that looked almost like someone had taken a bunch of tree roots and just stuck them together into something vaguely humanoid and given it far too many eyes.

You didn't spare the woman a glance as you narrowly parried a blow meant for a young male scout whose knees were trembling worse than a newborn calf's, "Someone taking time out of her day to save your ass from the freaky demon-spewing tear in space-time! Quit complaining. Soon as there's a lull, take your men and get out of here! I'm backup, but I'm not an army." She shouted something in agreement, but you barely acknowledged it as you had to leap out of the way when one of the green things swiped an agile limb at you. It let out a terrifying cry again, this one sounding almost like the whirl of a Dwemer automaton before it…disappeared? You didn't have much time to ponder it when another of the shadowy demons from earlier came up behind you and tried giving you a good thump on the back. How in Oblivion had it managed to completely drop off of your sensory radar? It just crouched like it was going to jump, and then - !

For the second time that day, you fell flat on your back as a swirl of tainted magic erupted below you only seconds before the demon reappeared with a victorious wail that sent your head spinning, "Xarxes' bloody beard, what the - ?! Oh that is so not fair!" You were covered in demon guts, bruised, drained, and really wanted a nap, not to suddenly discover that demons had the ability to vanish and then reappear directly under you at will. To say you were pissed would have been an understatement.

"Yeah, the terror demons do that!" snorted one of the scouts. Between rolling out of the way of a blow from said terror demon and attempting to stab it in the leg, you sent an angry scowl his way. No shit, genius

Finally managing to land a hit where its heart should have been, you yelled, "Would've been nice to know that before it jumped me…literally!" A muffled "Sorry!" was your response and you rolled your eyes.

Once the higher-level demon was gone, the remaining shadowy ones and ghost-like wraiths seemed to be drained of their resolve, as they went down quickly. No more spewed from the Rift, but you could feel the magic swirling and pulsing. It was preparing for something big.

Turning to the scout leader, you choked out, "Go on! Get out of here – the path back to the camp should still be clear! I'll cover you." She looked at you for barely a heartbeat.

"Thank you," she muttered before quickly gathering the remainder of her scouts and scurrying back the way you had come. You yourself hurried over to the ladder that led down to the Temple, albeit at a slower pace. Once you heard the scouts disappear into the mine, you gripped the wooden construct just as the Rift's tainted magic gave a warning pulse. With no one too close to bother it, you theorized that much like with a bee, the tear wouldn't lash out unless provoked. You had done the best you could do without actually closing it and that wasn't an endeavor you had any inclination to try your hand with. Your teeth gnawed at your lower lip as your gaze turned in the direction where the entrance to the mine would have been visible could you see.

Still…

Purple and black magic swirled in your palm almost instinctively, and the rush of conjuration magic that rolled over you along with the oddly combined scent of lilac incense and sea air was one of the most comforting things you had sensed in a long while. You couldn't help the small smile that spread across your face at the euphoria that came with being momentarily immersed in your element. The larger summoning orb crackled and whirled, though it was still quieter than the Rift's hissing, before your familiar appeared in the area in front of you. Familiars, you knew, took the form of an animal the caster was most comfortable working with. That tended to be a dog or a wolf, canines being the most recognizable for many mages to interact with. You, however, had grown up a Dominion citizen. Birds were commonplace as pets for many young Altmer, and so your familiar took the form of a translucent crested eagle.

The exact form had always marginally confused you, as the particular breed was not one you had ever had much contact with, but eagles had always been a type of bird you had admired as a child. Though she was faded and colorless, you knew that had your familiar been real, she would have had gorgeous inky feathers with white on the underside of her wings and a stripe of the pale color across her tail feathers. Her piercing, predatory eyes would have been a striking, rich golden, accented by the plume of charcoal feathers that crested the top of her head. Her wingspan was small for her breed, around forty-five inches across, however Nia proved to be small for a crested eagle. Or, well, a projection of one, you amended.

Knowingly, the bird didn't make a sound and settled for staring you down as she shifted slightly in the snow. As it was since becoming blind, you couldn't actually see her since she technically wasn't able to touch or be touched, but Nia was an impression of your own magic, your own soul. You knew what she was doing about as well as you knew what your left arm was doing.

"Follow the scouts, discreetly," you mumbled, knowing the order was unneeded but feeling more confident voicing it. "Make sure they reach the forward camp without incident, then dismiss yourself. Do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be seen." It was not a tall order. The paleness of the surrounding area all but ensured that the familiar would be hard pressed to be sighted beyond the contrasting darkness of the mine. She trilled in acknowledgement before spreading her hazy wings and hopping soundlessly into the air. Nia was completely silent as she glided away towards the mineshaft, and you found yourself grateful the summon hadn't lost any of her stealth in the seven years it had been since you had called on her for recon. Technicalities had required you stop summoning the bird, and while the thought that her skills would have ended up rusty was completely illogical as she was merely a projection, you worried anyway. Nia being seen never ended well.

She was useful, sure, but the panic incited by Thedosians seeing what had once been colorfully dubbed a "demonic bird-ghost" tended to render any information gathering…difficult.

Sighing, you grasped the ladder once more and slid down its length carefully, doing so once more with the second and final one before cautiously sprinting down the wooden walkway. The snow-covered stone steps that you came across reminded you only barely of the steps that led up to High Hrothgar, but you pushed the thought away as soon as it appeared. It would do you no good.

When you got close enough to the rocks jutting out of the earth, you had to pause before you ran your hand along them in an attempt to see. Their very presence screamed Aetherial magic, the air so saturated with it that it burned your lungs slightly to inhale. You grit your teeth and pressed a hand to the rock anyway, not shocked to see the green swirling along with the dark stone.

What did shock you, however, was the slight, blurry glow of red you saw faintly off in the distance when you swung your eyes around to survey the area. You froze, recognizing the feel from the one time around two years prior you had allowed Dagna to present you with her red lyrium shard. One question flew through your mind as you ripped your hand away and darted off down the path towards the Breach.

How in Oblivion had red lyrium, something so rare you had only ever seen a tiny sliver of it, appeared in such a copious amount so near to the site of a massive, devastating explosion? Why was it there, above ground, where none had ever been previously? You were feeling so much of it in the area, hearing its sparking crackle around you, cringing against the tainted evil that pressed so harshly against your skin. You stumbled once, and the fact was only due to the oppression of the magic leaking out of the Breach and the maliciousness you felt from the mineral. Until that moment, you hadn't realized just how weak being surrounded by the combined energies of both made you. You felt pathetic.

You reached a crumbling stone banister and gratefully slumped against it, breath coming in pants as you struggled to hold on to consciousness. Swallowing thickly, you forced your own magic to settle just under your skin, a desperate move you wouldn't have tried had you not felt like you were going to pass out. It alleviated the pressure only slightly, but it was enough for you to force yourself to gain some semblance of composure.

The Breach was clearly not Daedric in origin. Had it been, your reaction to the Aedric magic pouring out of it wouldn't have been so severe, tempered by the familiarity of the chaotic energy. Your hands clenched around the stone railing so tightly you were sure your knuckles were white under your gloves. That fact alone meant you had no further business within the ruined temple. It was not something you could help with. You could leave.

A hazy outline of the ruins formed thanks to your skin against rough stone, and the green glow that bathed everything made your breath catch. The sight of broken walls and utter devastation that met you weakened the resolve you were trying to build and you leaned more against the rail than you were previously. A voice in the back of your mind that you thought had been silenced after Nirn's destruction whirled to life, whispered incessantly at you that you could help. Maybe you yourself couldn't fix it, but you could be a key factor into sealing the hole in the sky and catching the monster who would dare try and rip a world asunder. You started at the conclusion that doing such was the intention of creating the Breach, but the shock of the illogical conclusion barely registered and it was enough. The voice (your conscious, you almost snorted) reminded you gruelingly that you had failed Nirn. You could not allow yourself to fail Thedas as well, not when you could help.

"Now is the hour of our victory…" a rich voice rang out from seemingly nowhere, causing you to jump and look around bemusedly. You didn't quite know why you looked – habit, perhaps – as you could tell by the otherworldly resonance that struck through the baritone that the words were projected.

The decidedly male monotone sounded again, "Bring forth the sacrifice."

"…What in…?" you trailed off, a quizzical look on your face under the mask. Staying frozen, you tried to analyze what could possibly be going on, but only gathered that the half-sealed Breach was pulsing with energy before each sentence.

"Keep the sacrifice still…" The voice sent shivers down your spine that had nothing to do with the pulsing of Thedas' magic. Sacrifice…there was more going on than met the eye, and you damned your curiosity for wanting to find out more.

You barely registered feeling that Nia had successfully seen the scouts back to the camp and dismissed herself before an Orlesian accented, feminine voice called out that you unfortunately recognized, "Someone, help me!" Your blood ran cold. That had been Divine Justinia. The very much dead Divine Justinia – you recognized her voice from the few times you had been in Val Royeaux when she had been conducting a ceremony or something of the sort that involved her speaking publicly. If you were hearing the Divine…

…then you were hearing what had happened to the temple…

Shuddering again, you forced yourself to stand up straighter. Sensitive ears caught the sound of fighting somewhere in the direction behind you where you knew a handful of troops were trying to hold off some of the demons spawning from minor rifts. Your brow furrowed in shock when you felt an area dripping with tainted magic…vanish. No, not vanish, heal, and it unnerved you.

It wasn't until several sets of footsteps approached behind you and stopped dead around twenty minutes later (during which the strange…memory loop, for lack of a better term, had repeated itself thrice) that you remembered the Chantry's prisoner had been found with a mysterious mark on his hand that seemed tied to the Breach. Dulled hope bloomed in your chest for a moment. Maybe…if those smaller tears had been closed, then just maybe…

No…hope was too far at the moment to reach for blindly. Your lips twitched at the irony of the statement.

"Who are you?!"


Final Words: I really don't like how I portrayed Flemeth, but after trying to rewrite that scene five times, I just went with it. Writing cryptic characters is harder than one would think. I also hope the whole thing with Lys returning to bury the Dalish didn't seem too strange. I think we have already established that All Fall Down-verse Hawke is an ass, so I don't really think it's too far-fetched to believe he wouldn't bother to give any sort of funerary rights to the clan.

Also, Lys' panic attack seemed...appropriate in that situation. I think it's gone without saying that she's got some PTSD, but I picture her as having a sort of "I'm fine, bugger off" type of mentality about it all. Sort of a denial. She's strong, but as someone who also suffers from PTSD, it doesn't matter how much you try to pass things off as meaningless, hurt is hurt and grief is grief and memories can be suffocating.

I sort of cut this off, but it was getting lengthy, even for me. Sorry 'bout that...

R&R!
~SurreptitiousFox