To my readers, thank you for reading my story. I am sorry that I have taken so long to publish this chapter but I have been trying to improve my craft and I have gotten busy with Real Life. I have two more chapters in process and hope to have them out soon.
Thanks go out to CherryJamOnToast, Shadeslayer113, and Efion63, who have encouraged and supported my meager efforts.
There is course language.
In Hushed Whispers
Red Cliff Village
'Shite, the water is cold,' Serrada felt the chill; it was biting cold.
The sensation did not evolve into thought but more a reaction to stimuli. "Gliril, why is my bath so cold?"
A nauseous, Serrada felt herself being lifted and shaken.
"Herald, wake up!" A distant male voice spoke in time with the shaking.
Her eyes slowly opened, and she looked around, only to see her bath was an ankle-deep wash of filthy water.
"Dorian, is that you?" She whispered while firmly pressing her palms on her temples, trying to keep the drum beating druffalo inside her head. "What happened?"
"Alexius used the amulet; I think he was trying to trap you in time, to wipe you from existence. I had only a moment to think and counter his spell," Answered Dorian.
The flamboyant mage then waved his arms around them, "and found myself here with you, in this lovely place. But, to be honest, I am not certain if I made things worse or better."
Just as he finished with his non-explanation explanation, the room was filled with the complaints of very rusty hinges coming from behind a column of what? Red lyrium! Serrada jolted fully awake now; the druffalo would have to play on alone.
"I don't care what you say; I heard something," a female's voice with a note of command, "I know that all the prisoners are dead or dying, but I heard voices."
The sound of tentative sloshing footsteps warned Serrada and Dorian that they were soon to have company.
"I tell you now; we are going to check; I don't want his Arseholeness to feed me to the crystals or worse, his ghoul," the woman's voice continued, the hiss of a sword leaving its scabbard. "just cause you was havin' your lunch!"
Her deeper voiced companion, added, "Fine if it will settle you down, but they can't be much anyway; no food been down here for days."
For the Venatori jailors, the discovery of Dorian and Serrada being well-fed and well-armed was quite a shock or would have been if either had been allowed time to react.
Between Dorian's magic first froze the leader, then blasted her into little gooey pieces of partially cooked meat. As all this happened, Serrada's shadow-shrouded daggers carving up her hungry companion, both guards died before either understood what or who had made the noise in the empty cells.
"Well, that certainly warms the blood and gets it pumping," Dorian commented, in his ever-optimistic pessimism. "Grab the key and let us see what we might, shall we?"
"Dorian? Where are we?" Serrada looked around the cells while getting angry, and she found being angry was unpleasant. "What happened?"
The hinges to the cell door did not like being opened the second time any more than the first.
"I already told you," Dorian answered in a tone and manner he used for very young children or very old Magisters. "Alexius tried to use his amulet; I stopped him, but only just, his spell rebounded, and here we are."
While Dorian gave his non-explanation explanation, Serrada strung her bow; it was lucky she had expected rain and waxed the string, and trouble hence the particularly full quiver at her hip.
"I think he planned to rip you from time altogether. You remember those areas of faster and slower time, yes?" He asked; used to the much more pedestrian intellects of others, he tended to wait for them to catch up.
Serrada surprised him, something he enjoyed.
"He planned to snare me in either one running much slower or much faster; I would be trapped in a moment of time or age to death instantly." She responded while she pied a doorway trying to see if someone was hiding in the shadows, she did not see Dorian's eyes widen.
"Very good," Dorian responded, "I knew you were clever."
Dorian was genuinely surprised; he knew several mages who would have understood the basics if they had not scoffed at the idea but would have missed its implications or simply not comprehended it. He was impressed, but of course, he would never admit it.
"But not quite right. Alexius planned to rip you from time itself as if you had never existed." He liked the dramatics of his pauses and the way the stone around them made his voice resonate.
"But that makes no sense; if I do not exist, then there would be no need to parley and hence no need for him to trap me." Serrada felt her head begin to swim again. "Hence no reason to cast the spell at all."
"Exactly, I don't think, for all his brilliance, Alexius ever truly understood the paradox." Dorian quietly placed a barrier around them both. He was not sure how the Herald would react to having a spell cast on her, he did not know her that well yet, and some people do not willingly submit to magic, no matter how benevolent.
'I have to be careful; I am already tired, and that counter spell took a great deal from me.' He looked around and checked his pockets; he could not recall if he packed a vial of lyrium; he assumed not. It was expensive, and although he did not let on that he might be the scion of house Pavus, he did not have the family purse. Without the wealth, he learned to be imaginative.
'Well, I will have to look around for some if I can find it.' Dorian's eyes were scanning everything as he moved.
They used a Tevinter coin to choose stairs, he did not find lyrium, but he did find a passage down to more cells. Both were horrified at what they saw, more bodies in locked cells, red lyrium crystals growing from them.
"Varric told me that red lyrium turned someone into lyrium itself." She spoke in low whispers. "I thought he was exaggerating. We have seen it a few times, but this, this is beyond all of that."
The horrors kept coming; first, a young mage who only wanted to help people, he had seen such drama that his mind was gone. Then another and another, either dead or dying, being consumed by red lyrium.
That were shocks enough, but more was to come.
"Hey Boss, is that really you?" Bull looked horrid. His usual grayish pink pallor was now ghostly white with tinges of red and blue red veins running through his torso.
"Bull, are … are you okay?" Serrada asked; she knew it was stupid, but the shock of seeing the once brawny quinary now reduced to a shadow of himself … it was brutal.
"Well, I have been better," The much-diminished side of beef stood to his full height, a man most humans would have aspired to, but not what he once was. "How did you get here? Fuck, it was Vint magic, wasn't it? That fucking shit will be the death of everyone. How much innocent blood do you bastards want?"
Bull looked at Dorian, a look that every Tevinter on Thedas would be dead if it were able to kill.
"Yes, and no, but mostly yes," Dorian answered without a hint of apology. "Just as many a Tevinter child is a now a mindless beast with the bad luck to have been a mage and falling into the ever so tender clutches of the Ben-Hasserath and their poisons."
"Touché," Bull moved to the door of his cell. "So you going to let me out?"
Shaken from her stupor, Serrada opened the cell door.
"They put my stuff right where I could see it and not touch it," Bull dressed in his armor but had to cinch it much tighter than ever before, even using a boot knife to cut new holes in some places.
"I don't know how much use I will be, but maybe I can catch an arrow or two for you, boss." Then he headed out the door, with Serrada and Dorian following swiftly behind. "Let's find some food. I am starving."
Next, they found Vivian; she, like Bull, was a shadow of her former self. She was kept naked, only steps away from the elegant clothing she had worn so well. Although her comments and observations were much the same as Bull's, what was there to say? They had lived the horror of the past months since the Herald was thought dead.
"Well, after you … disappeared, the Inquisition sort of got stuck." Bull wanted to impart all he could.
"Without a leader, they had no idea what to do. So with Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana arguing all the time, John took charge. He had a plan, he somehow got Varric and some dwarf chick named Bianca to help, and John got all the alchemists together, and they started playing with some shit that smelt of rotten eggs. All the time, Josephine and Cullen fought over how to tell the Orlesian's that Empress Celine would get offed. I mean, who would believe a demon, right? So, anyway, they didn't, so Celine gets offed a day later, so does her cousin, Gaspard, or somebody."
Vivian would not allow Bull to give the entire account. "Oh, of course, the court blamed everyone but themselves for Celine and Gaspard's assassinations. They cast about for weeks and finally settled on the Inquisition as the source of the problem since they forgot that the Inquisition had warned them, or perhaps they remembered …."
"Celine and Gaspard's forces decided to unite if only to destroy the Inquisition." Bull carried on the conversation, but in the middle of the talk, they found a locked door that hid some Venatori guards sitting down to eat.
Bull waded into the shocked guards, not even breaking his explanation, just shouting over his shoulder. After all, he had no idea how much time he had, he wanted to talk, and there was food to be had. Both he and Vivian worked together with practiced ease; it was good to see Vivian had not lost her skills. So, with hunger as a motivator, the battle was short, and soon eight more guards lay dead. He unceremoniously shoved two corpses to the side as Vivian and Bull sat down to eat.
Then ironically, Vivian was just as enthusiastic and vicious in her assault on the food as she was on the guards; Serrada thought it best not to delve into the mage's reasons.
In other situations, the meager portions of mean-looking food would have been ignored, but it was a feast beyond the table of kings for two starving people.
Between mouthfuls, each added their details.
"Vipers surrounded poor Celine; one must have killed her, but we never discovered who, and they were particularly good at making the Inquisition seem guilty." Vivian was trying to maintain some decorum as she wolfed down something that might have once been ram? Wiping her mouth and hands on the cleaner part of a guard's shirt, who no longer needed it anyway.
"Fools that they were, the remnants of both sides decided to attack the Inquisition at Haven." Vivian continued, checking to ensure her nails were clean of bits of food.
"Josephine was magnificent as she tried to talk sense into them and broker a peace, but they would not listen." Vivian's voice showed genuine admiration for the ambassador; Serrada wondered at that since she had shown little respect for anyone. "Somehow, they had become convinced that the Inquisition had something to do with their respective patron's death, and neither would hear a word against that belief," Vivian added between pieces of what might have been cheese if not for the mold.
"So we meet them on the valley below Haven, Cullen did a good job of command, but if it were not for the new stuff," Bull took a drink of something that smelled of alcohol.
"Wait," Serrada could restrain herself no longer, "how did you get here, Bull? Vivian and Solas came with me…." Serrada stopped hard, remembering the elf who saved her life; she was embarrassed at forgetting him. "What happened to Solas? Do you know?"
Vivian and Bull froze, then shared glances, but were silent.
"Tell me" Serrada's voice was harder than she intended. Her friends had been through so much.
"I do not know for certain" Vivian's voice was softer, lower, and her eyes darted nervously, so much so that Serrada was deeply shocked by the change in this once fearless woman.
"It was made clear that the Elder One does not… he is not kind to those without magic, but more evil and brutal to elves with it." That was all she would say and not another word.
"All I know is he is dead, along with all the other elven mages, or tranquil, that is all I know," Bull added and refused to add more.
"Fine then, back to my point. I know that Vivian and …, well, they were with me, but you were in Haven." Serrada took a breath to continue, trying not to watch the two eat or think about what they might be eating.
"How did you get here, and for that matter, Vivian, what happened when Dorian and I disappeared? Did Alexius imprison you here? What happened?" Serrada asked, a bit impatiently by this time.
"He let us go, darling." Vivian stopped in mid-bite and looked at Serrada like a child who just realized she had feet.
"Alexius became quite pleasant and polite once you were gone; he immediately told Fiona to pack and prepare to leave. I believe they left Red Cliff within the hour. Much to the relief of its inhabitants and the Ferelden dog lord it belonged to." Vivian returned to her meal.
"That still does not explain…." Serrada tried to ask.
"Getting to that," Bull stopped his gorge, producing a tremendous belch, then returned to answering her question. "So there is this pissing match, the Inquisition is outnumbered like five to one, but the Orlesians did not attack cause Gray has all this shiny new stuff on the field and the Orlesian's were not stupid enough to start a fight without knowing what the enemy has."
"With all his enemies out on the same field, the Elder One could not help himself." Vivian smiled, ignoring the bits of meat between her teeth, "To destroy all the forces that might oppose him? All in one location? Too tempting. Especially when we had the Templars."
"The Elder One had the mages, but Templars in force with lyrium might make it a fair fight," Vivian added, then took a drink of whatever it was.
"Wait, John managed to get the Templars? How?" Serrada had lost the thread of the story and was just trying to keep up. She had sent John to try and recruit the Templars, but she thought it was likely just a gesture to them as much as anything, especially after the Val Royeaux fiasco. She had sent him on this dangerous gamble to show the world that the Inquisition was not playing favorites. She hoped that John and his people would be able to bring back some of the Templars, if for nothing else than to close the Breach. After that, they could all go hang. She had made the gamble knowing none of them might come back at all, Templars or Newcomers. She had sent Cassandra and Blackwall in hopes that they would bring some of them back.
"He had a fight with some demon asshole, and he had to kill most of their leaders, corruptions or spell or some such bullshit, so the junior officers and men followed him back to Haven." Bull summarized the events and Therinfal as quickly as he could.
"You mentioned the Elder One; Alexius said that name; who is he?" Serrada hoped to gain something out of this entire conversation.
"Don't know, never seen him myself. Just hear about him" Bull sopped up gravy with a piece of gray bread; his color was starting to come back; she hoped it was not from the bread.
Serrada turned to Vivian, hoping for an answer; she got only a shrug.
"I have no idea, darling; he did not seem overly interested in meeting with us," Vivian responded in her usual manner. "And the horrid person did not even provide tea."
"For shame," Dorian added, smiling at Vivian for the first time, and for the first time, she returned it.
"Precisely, horrid manors." She smiled for a moment more, then it disappeared.
"I still don't understand how you got here if he let you go," Serrada added.
"We were getting to that, darling, be patient," Vivian added; she sounded much more herself as well.
"The armies met on the valley floor below Haven, at the foot of the mountain. It was too tempting a target because we were all hit at once. Mages, a few red templars, Venatori, and worst of all, an army of demons at the center."
"Yeah, I mean, as if magic isn't bad enough, but an army of demons?" Bull ripped a loaf of bread in half and stuck it in his pants pocket; the other half he gave to Vivian, who thanked him for it.
"Well, the Orlesians saw which side their bread was buttered, and suddenly we were all good friends." Bulls face seemed to almost liven up again with the enjoyment of telling the story; if it were not for his gauntness and the pulsing of the lines of red lyrium around his chest and neck, he might have been The Iron Bull again.
"It was ugly though, and it looked pretty grim; I thought we were dead but then when we threw up lines and the demons attack… BOOM."
"Darling, it was marvelous; those things the Newcomers made just barked into life." Vivian's voice was filled with admiration and perhaps joy.
"Yeah, it was something; they tore holes in the demons like tissue, and whole lines were gone, thousands ripped to shreds and disappeared back in the shit hole fade," Bull added, then leaned in.
"One of my guys said it was likely gaatlock. Thankfully, I did not have time to send any report, not that it would have mattered." Bull began to stand, looking around. "Best we just talk as we clean up this place. From what I heard, not many guards left but still…."
They moved out, searching again, but the halls were largely empty. They continued to explore the cells for survivors but found none.
"They called them field artillery, which perked up my ears, I can tell you." Bull listened at a door while whispering. Then knocked it down rather than letting Serrada pick the lock. "Hey, you are the only one that has to get back so that I will be your lockpick."
"The battle was going remarkably well; the Newcomers used more of their weapons and even tree trunks filled with their alchemical concoctions, and the battle turned in our favor. The Templars did their duty, and much of the mage assault was thwarted; I must say I and the loyal mages did our part, but not without much loss." Vivian looked contemplatively at that. "It was carnage, darling, dead and dying everywhere."
"Hey, we won, at least for a while." Bull brightened a little, wanting the victory not to be ignored. "But it did not matter, though. Without you, we could not close the breach. Things got worse as more and more rifts appeared, and things went bad."
"Your consort had long insisted that an effort be made to find you. He refused to believe that you were dead and would not hear of it," Vivian's eyes were locked on Serrada's to the point the Herald felt almost naked, and it was uncomfortable.
"Well," Serrada desperately wanted something clean to drink, "wishful thinking I should expect."
"No, he said he had a feeling and would not let it go. So he kept at us, and when the battle was over, Alexius retreated to Red Cliff again and took over, then held up there. Then the Elder One disappeared, probably off to regroup and rebuild." Bull added as they worked down yet another broken and twisted hallway.
Bull found a locked door and unlocked it with a gentle tap which broke the thick wood into small splinters and hanging iron straps. Beyond were yet more cells and carnage.
"The leaders argued, but Leliana was with Josephine against assault until" Bull took a deep breath, "until a message arrived."
"It was as if all the light was gone from her," Vivian continued; Bull seemed unable to. "It was shortly after we discovered that King Alistair and his Queen had been assassinated, along with their children. Their last defense was the Hero of Ferelden."
"Denerim was laid waste, razed to the ground. After that, Leliana was … different. She fully supported the assault, volunteering to lead her scouts in the attack." Bull seemed to have found his voice again.
"John and Cullen led the assaults in two different directions, Leliana tried the passage, but it was blocked, I guess. I never saw her after she left; I heard she was captured, I don't know." Bull's joy from the earlier victory was gone now. "We assaulted the fortress, John with the rest of his people went high, the Chargers and I went down into the dungeons in case you were there. We got attacked by Vint mages, and well, I woke up in a cell. So, I have not much more to add, pretty much a cell, a little torture, and questions, but it was the same until you showed up. I don't even know how long."
"We assaulted the upper levels of the fortress together," Vivian added; she sounded wistful more than tired. "The Breach had grown so large it was difficult to rely on footing, but we managed. We got as far as the courtyard when we were attacked in earnest. Commander Gray and his people were fearless; they fought until their weapons were useless, and still, they fought."
Her voice trailed off; she would not look at Serrada. "I did not see him fall, but I know he and those with him died. They fought bravely, my dear, till the end, for you. A Red Templar disrupted my spell, and the backblast knocked me unconscious. After that, I never saw anyone again."
Both went silent; Serrada and Dorian exchanged looks, and they all went on in silence.
'So much death and destruction for what? What was this Elder One's game?' and 'Who was he or could it be a she?' Most of her thoughts were along these lines. Around and around, she went but never made any progress. Finally, her thoughts were interrupted by turning a corner and finding yet another cell, but this one was not empty.
"Fiona? Is that you?" The torso of the once noble and confident Grand Enchanter was now half slumped and half leaning against the wall of her cell, her lower extremities encased in red lyrium, which had consumed her calves and feet. She was naked; a puddle of filth lay at her feet, and a bucket of feted water hung near her head. She was being allowed to starve to death while being eaten alive by the red lyrium.
"Fiona, is there anything.…" Serrada wanted to do something.
"What is the date?" Dorian was a pragmatic sort.
"Harvest Mere, 9:42 Dragon" Fiona was exhausted by saying just that.
"9:42?" Dorian was incredulous; his voice was sharp enough to cut through the bars. "Then we have missed an entire year."
"Only a year, I thought it more than that," Bull added almost with humor.
"Indeed!" Vivian could not refrain from her own
"We must get back before all this happens," Serrada stated the obvious, but it had been before all this, perhaps two or three hours before Alexius's spell.
With her final breaths, Fiona gasped out, "Your spymaster, Lilliana, she is here. Find her quickly before the Elder One learns you are here." The last, little more than a whisper.
She breathed her last, no more could be gotten out of her, and Serrada watched in horror as the red lyrium quickly consumed the body of the once-mighty Grand Enchanter. Her magical and physical defense both collapsed with her demise.
Serrada finally turned away, "Fiona said Leliana is here. Let's go find her."
The search was quick, with a few more guards to dispatch, but essentially, the place was empty compared to the bustling warren it had been, with servants and guards coming and going. Now, one might explore an entire floor and find no one. They finally found Leliana, with the sounds of another interrogation rolling through the hallways.
Again, Bull 'knocked' on the door; the shower of splinters and associated roar must have distracted the questioner who stood to face them. Beyond him, Liliana hung from her wrists; she was naked as Vivian had been. The questioner held a flogger dripping with Liliana's blood. The woman was so abused she looked as if she wore a dress made of welts.
As abused as she was, the distraction bought her what she wanted, a chance. She somehow found the strength to act, grabbing her tormentor about the neck. Under other circumstances, the embrace might have been pleasurable, but this time it was terminal as he ended his life between the muscular thighs of his prisoner. Serrada watched Leliana break the man's neck near her most private places.
Serrada was brought back to her senses; she rushed forward along with Bull. They lifted Lilliana and unlocked her shackles. They lowered her to the floor. The body before her shocked Serrada; the woman looked nothing like the woman she remembered. She had never seen Leliana nude, but this woman was, and her body was a patchwork of horror. Long rectangular patches of skin seemed to have been carved from her body. The muscle sinews could be seen through the thin scars, but other scars were clearly from torture, burns, and deep bruises from flogging, untreated by either salve or magic, and had been allowed to fester.
When Leliana finally turned her face up to look at those who saved her, it was shocking; her once lovely face was gone, replaced by a skeletal mask of destroyed features.
"You're alive," Her voice was weak but still the same, "How?"
Serrada found she had no voice, but Dorian was undaunted and wanted to show his intelligence as usual. Leliana listened carefully, only responding with a much-changed opinion about mages. Serrada was surprised, Leliana had been one of the most stalwart defenders of mages and their freedom, and now her views seemed quite different.
All this took place while Bull searched for something for her to wear, and Vivian used her magic and what healing potions and poultices they could find. There were several; clearly, someone wanted to keep at least her body alive, if not her spirit.
It took surprisingly little time to get Leliana back into her gear; like Vivian and Bull, her clothing was stored nearby, and like Bull and Vivian, it did not fit as it once did.
"It is an old Ben-Hasserath trick, breaks the will, you see what was, then are shown what is. Add some mind-bending potion, and most break in a few days." Bull explained. "Normally, they don't heal those they torture, though, and well, the carving her up like that…weird."
"They were taking samples, new ones regularly, blood too." Leliana sounded stronger; Bull gave her some bread which she took, and Vivian brought forth some moldy cheese which surprised Bull.
"I planned to produce it as a treat, darling," Vivian did not meet his eye, "later." Bull laughed, which brought a smile to Vivian's lips.
"We must hurry; Alexius is somewhere in the castle; we must get to him before the Elder One comes." Leliana started through the destroyed door, passing out into the hall without looking.
"Leliana be careful," Serrada rushed after her, whispering, "you are not well."
Serrada was surprised when Leliana wheeled around and slapped her across the face. "Don't tell me to be careful! You were supposed to be careful, and instead, your lover and mine are dead; everyone died! I don't care what happens to me; I do care about your asses back to where this whole mess started to stop it before this shit happens."
The others gathered around, watching the shadows, "To you, this is just bad dream an illusion, but to us, we have lived this nightmare, watched those we love die. I watched the world die. Now move before the Elder One comes!"
They did move; they moved as quickly as one could. Clearing and checking, but no one was ever there. That is until they found the door to the castle's courtyard.
A cohort of demons immediately attacked. Serrada and her friends focused on the monsters, with time twisted and torn, islands where time moved faster and others slower, sometimes just steps apart.
Serrada found a sweet spot time moved faster for her; it was strange to see that everyone moved slowly around her, and her arrows found their marks as if shot from the Maker's bow.
Soon all the demons were dead, and the rifts closed.
"Well, I suspect that closing those rifts will alert this Elder One if nothing else does." Serrada returned to her group, "How is this possible? We are…"
Serrada saw her companions pointing up; Dorian stood stupefied.
"The rift grew, and you were not here; the little rifts spread; they are consuming the world." Yet, Liliana's report was as neutral of emotion as if they had been in Haven, which had once seemed a distance but now was far too close.
Where they were looking at the gigantic rent in the sky, but Serrada did not see it.
Her eyes were on the walls. She turned slowly, mouth agape, tear-filled eyes focusing on the atrocity all around them. The walls of the courtyard were covered in bodies.
Some of the corpses were only just identifiable as once-living beings. Serrada couldn't recognize most, but some she knew or thought she knew them.
Leliana came to stand by Serrada; both women simply looked at the corpses and said nothing. They glanced at each other, and the hardness Serrada saw in the woman's eyes chilled her. Bull and Vivian joined them on either side. Dorian stood back, away, keeping guard and trying not to intrude; those bodies were their friends.
"They fought so bravely, Serrada, for you," Vivian spoke softly to her, with a voice of compassion that the mage seldom used save for genuine friends. "There were no cowards here. If only I had perished with them."
"Me too," Bull's voice seemed to crack, his eyes on one specific piece of shredded Tevinter armor and its withered body.
Serrada could not process their words, she heard them, but they were whispers in the wind.
Her eyes scanned the row upon row of corpses. Some were bound to trees, others impaled on pikes, yet others were nailed with spikes to the courtyard's walls. Finally, two twisted bodies caught her eye.
Both bound to boards by rope along their outstretched arms, the boards fixed to the wall high so all could see. But even in death, they seemed to be reaching for each other, and their heads turned to face the other, the poorly cut hair of an elf girl on one; the dark-haired woman was the other.
"Rachelle insisted on coming to help find you, and of course, Sera followed." Bull started this time, "They went with John. I don't know what happened."
"I heard a little from the guards; the Elder One tortured them. They loved each other and died together. He is cruelty and malice incarnate." Vivian had always fenced with Sera, sometimes bitterly, but both had fought at each other's side, Serrada could hear the notes of grief in Vivian's voice, but she knew the woman would never admit it.
"Yet another crime to lay at that monster's feet." Vivian turned and headed up toward the courtyard door. She had seen enough for many lifetimes.
Serrada followed, Leliana searching shadows, as did Dorian with Bull as rear guard.
Serrada tried, she desperately tried not to look, but it was hopeless; her eyes kept searching for a sign, some sign of … when she found what she had tried so hard not to find. Frozen and staring at the figure hanging above the very door she had to pass through.
Across the rear wall hung the bodies of the Newcomers who had fought to the death.
"From what the guards said, John tore through the Vints like shit through a mellinar," Bull sounded proud, almost like his old self. "I heard they killed most of Alexius's guard, a hundred or more, and as many abominations and demons from what was left of the mages…."
Serrada stopped listening; eyes were locked on the row of corpses above the door they had to pass through. Several she could recognize, some she thought were missing, primarily those not soldiers.
'Why is this such a shock?' She looked up at the dried husk in an Inquisition uniform; she could see its hand been hacked and cut torn and rent nearly to pieces. The body within it was similarly damaged. She hoped it was all after he had died, but she knew somehow it wasn't, 'I knew he must be dead; they told me he was, but ….'
"Herald, we must go soon!" Dorian whispered, "We have little time, and you're closing the rifts will alert Alexius at the very least."
Serrada tore her eyes away from the bodies up to the gaping maw of the rift high above them.
Leliana just remained silent; she understood the pain of leaving what one loves. The Nightingale and Serrada shared a glance; Serrada saw compassion there and the pain of loss.
"You're right," Serrada's voice was level, quiet and stern. "I would like to have a word with our host; his manors are atrocious." She moved through the courtyard door back into the fortress itself.
Strangely enough, the rest of the castle was rather anticlimactic. The Inquisition had done a remarkable job killing Venatori.
"Looks like they were having trouble recruiting" Bull put Serrada's unspoken thoughts into words.
"Probably poor benefits, or perhaps not enough holidays, yes?" Dorian added without any of his characteristic humor.
"Will you two shut up?" Leliana added, moving past the group.
The words shook Serrada; she wondered what horrors Leliana had endured having destroyed the woman she had known.
"This is all a fantasy to you, a horror you hope never comes; well, we lived it, you Tevinter bastard. We fucking watched those we love — die. We watched the world die! So shut up!" She turned and walked on.
"More likely poor dental," Bull whispered to Dorian, who could not suppress a chuckle.
The door slowly silently opened. It had been a horror to find all the pieces of shards needed to open it. The shock was not the fighting or the dead; it was its totality. It was events like Connor sacrificing himself to remain Connor or others willingly submitting to demons to become abominations to feed Alexius more power. This futile gesture of obedience ended at the tip of Serrada's blades.
Leliana seemed more distant with each battle, more fragile and willing to take risks; Vivian had become quiet, more reserved, and Bull? He was changed most of all; in the past, he always seemed so jovial, so devil may care, but Serrada suspected a deep heart, a man who deeply cared for those around him. But this The Iron Bull was desperate to find an end, one worthy of the sacrifice of those who fell with him, those she could sense. Those, he thought, he had failed.
"Okay, what now?" Bull asked in a whisper as they entered the vast central hall of the devastated Red Cliff castle, the same one they had entered months ago, where it had all gone wrong.
Serrada signaled for silence, directing them to fan out, checking for hidden dangers as quickly as possible.
The drama of their approach to the dais would have been comical in another time and place. But combat had convinced them to take their time and be sure it was safe.
Two figures stood before the fire, alone. There were no guards or servants, just two men; one Serrada knew all too well.
"Was it worth it, Alexius? All of this death and destruction? For what?" Serrada wanted to know; she needed to know.
"For my country, my son, but it means nothing now," Alexius responded; he did not even turn to look at us. "I knew you would appear again, not that it would be now, but I knew I had not destroyed you. My final failure."
Serrada wanted to vomit. All the destruction, and he was whining about his failure. The damage and death all meant nothing to him; it was just a side effect of his failure.
"Was it worth it, everything you did to the world … to yourself?" Dorian sounded disgusted and perplexed.
Serrada was surprised by Dorian's confusion but then realized that he had known the man in better times, been his student, and had been a close friend with Felix; this all must be more deeply unsettling to the mage, even than for herself.
"It doesn't matter now; all we can do is wait for the end." Alexius sounded forlorn himself, defeated and empty. He seemed to long for death.
"It does matter; we can undo this." Serrada found herself responding, her voice showing more conviction than she felt. Her mind flashed to all she had seen, but it was a blur save one body nailed to a wall. 'I have to undo all of this!'
"How many times have I tried? The past can not be undone." Alexius sounded despairing — again, "All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, what have I wrought? Ruin and death, there is nothing else. The Elder One comes, for me, for you, for us all."
'Maker! I hope he is wrong.' But unfortunately, Serrada had only enough time to complete the thought when Leliana's patience had reached its limits.
She spy master snatched up the broken figure that was kneeling beside Alexius. The creature showed no reaction to being ripped from his groveling. Initially, Serrada had thought of him as yet another of Alexius's victims, but there was a resemblance to someone.
"Felix!" Alexius reached out in despair; the strength was gone from him, as was the arrogance; the only thing left in him was anguish.
Serrada heard the words, but the sight of Felix tore away her thoughts. The vibrant young man she had met only days before, who she had seen pleading with his father for sanity. This? This husk, this carcass both gray and lifeless, unknowing, unfeeling, was that same man?
"That's Felix? Makers breathe; Alexius, what have you done!" Dorian was angry now; his voice told his companions that he suspected Alexius was at fault for even his son's frail and ghoulish state.
"He would have died, Dorian!" Alexius was pleading, pleading for mercy he did not give to others. "I saved him. Please, don't hurt my son. I will do anything you ask."
"Turn over the amulet, and we let him live," Serrada said what she had to, but the words made her stomach turn. Bargaining with an innocent life, she somehow knew that Felix would approve.
However, it meant nothing.
"Let him go, and I swear you will get what you want." Alexius was still trying to negotiate, even when he had nothing with which to bargain.
"I want the world back," Liliana drew the dagger across the wizened throat. The creature did not even wince but merely bled and fell. It did not die so much as surrender to a fate long delayed.
Serrada's eyes riveted on Alexius, her mind racing. It was never wise to enrage any mage, but to deliberately destroy the object he had sacrificed so much for and provoke a Magister this way? There was little doubt about how this would end.
The death of Felix, the ultimate failure of all his efforts, broke his mind. Rage exploded on his face, and his fury washed over them as he struck out at first Liliana and then the rest. The death of Felix, the ultimate failure of all his efforts, the failed father, the absent husband, all that he loved was dead, and so the man himself sought death, but not before he dealt it to others in his rage.
The battle was fierce. Alexius may have been exhausted, but he had not lost any of his abilities. If anything, they had grown with the power of the breach. He seemed to draw upon it; his amulet glowed as he drew power from it, as small fissures appeared warping time, faster in some areas, slower in others, but the demons died all the same.
The battle was fierce, but one mage alone is not invincible, no matter how powerful, and Serrada was not without mages herself. Vivian had a score to settle; Dorian was not to be outdone, he had loved Felix, and his rage at Alexius was written on his face. Even with that, Serrada was not a warrior, and Bull's strong arm and hammer saved her life several times, as had Liliana's bow.
The battle was done in the end; it was a predictable result. Dorian fought back the tears for Felix and the Alexius he had known in his youth.
"He wanted to die, didn't he. The lies he told himself, the justifications, he lost Felix long ago" Dorian took the amulet, his voice with his grief, "oh, Alexius."
"This Alexius was too far gone, but the Alexius of our time still might be reasoned with," Serrada wanted to get Dorian to focus on saving Alexius, Felix, and, more importantly, Thedas.
Dorian searched Alexius's body; they found the amulet; Dorian seemed relieved to recognize it.
"Give me an hour to work out the spell he used," the mage added.
Serrada stood stunned, staring at Dorian, he seemed to be unaware of the situation, but Serrada knew that time was what they did not have.
"An hour! That's impossible. You must go now!" Liliana's voice emphasized the need to use the amulet and depart.
It was then that something made its presence known. The ground shook, and dirt and dust fell around them as the floor shook.
"The Elder One." The Nightingale whispered.
Serrada saw Vivian and Bull glance at each other; no words were exchanged, but none were needed.
"We will buy you what time we can, darling; please do not waste it." Vivienne stepped close and kissed Serrada on the cheek; Serrada fought the initial impulse to pull away. "Don't worry, Inquisitor, the disease takes time and exposure; that was not enough."
Bull just laughed, but both he and Vivienne were shocked when Serrada returned Vivienne's kiss, but on the lips. She then turned and kissed Bull on the cheek.
"Thank you both; we will not fail you; we can't" Serrada felt tears slowly make their way down her cheek; she could hear Dorian working behind her.
Serrada watched her friends walk through the door, and Liliana shut it.
"Cast your spell; you have as much time as I have arrows." The Nightingale began her chant, not a prayer but more a statement of fact. She would walk in the light, that fire was her water, and she was prepared to drink.
The door burst open, and Bull's body dragged through and dropped, but Liliana was undaunted. Her prayer continued, as did the rhythm of her bow and the death of the beasts.
Then it was over, and the room swirled; Serrada was glad for the spell. Her scream of anguish at Liliana's death was more than she could repress, but the swirling mass of the magic swallowed up the sound. Nevertheless, it did fortify her resolve.
'I will not fail them, any of them. I will not let them die, Maker; I will die first.' Serrada only later realized that she had made a vow that framed the rest of her life.
The swirling shadows and sickly green light faded. Alexius, the robust but ill Felix, and a healthy Bull and Vivienne stood where she remembered them. It was all she could do to restrain her desire to hug them both.
"You are going to have to do better than that," Dorian quipped; at another time Serrada might have smiled, but with all she had seen, it took all her restraint not to kill the magister.
Alexius sank to his knees.
"Is that the best you've got?" Serrada was in no mood to be gentle or respectful. "Surrender now, you bastard."
"You've won; there is no point extending this … charade," Alexius was broken; all his hopes were ashes. "Felix.."
"It is going to be alright, father," Felix, the living Felix, comforted his despondent father.
"You'll die!" An already grieving father, his agony written across his face, painted with his words.
"Everyone dies," Felix replied with the voice of a person who had acknowledged and accepted their mortality.
"I am glad that is over with," Dorian was happy, to the point of being giddy, until the sound of armor could be heard clearly within the keep. "Or not?"
A phalanx Ferelden heavy knights marched into the hall and took up positions. Leading them was a resplendent King Alister, his sword stained red; he wiped it on the livery of one of the dead Venatori lying about. He did not even acknowledge those who stood on the dais of the hall.
Serrada had no intentions of challenging the king, the leader of a nation a part of which they were 'borrowing'; besides, he might be a valuable ally. She was about to address him while he was cleaning his sword, the sword of his dead brother. He did not even lookup.
"Grand Enchanter, imagine how surprised I was to learn that you had given Red Cliff castle away to a Tevinter Magister," The tone of voice Alister used surprised Serrada; she had always heard he was a generous and gentle soul. But, unfortunately for the mages, the man who addressed Fiona was neither. On the contrary, he sounded every bit the angry king he was.
"King Alistair," Fiona bordering on groveling; her face was a portrait of desperation.
"Especially since I am fairly sure that Red Cliff belongs to Arl Tegan," he was no soft king now; his voice was steel–tempered, shaped, and sharpened to a deadly edge.
"Your majesty, we never intended," Fiona moved from one foot to another; Serrada could imagine her, once a young elf girl at a circle tower, caught by the cook with her hand in the cookie jar.
"I know what you intended," Alistair started, then his voice softened; he became the man Serrada had always thought he was, a kind and compassionate king. "I wanted to help you, but you have made that impossible."
Alistair seemed to wrestle with the words he would say as if they were sour.
"You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden," Alistair finally spat the words, bitter as they were.
"But King Alistair, we have hundreds who need protection … shelter, where can we go?" Fiona was desperate now, but the look on her face was not wholly concern for her followers. Something in her tone pricked Serrada's interest, something did not fit, but she did not have time to consider it.
Shifting to one hip, Serrada crossed her arms. 'What am I invisible?'
"Do I need to remind anyone of the giant hole in the sky?" She sounded firmer and more confident than she felt. "You will be coming with us."
"But … but …may I ask about the terms of the agreement?" Fiona was quick to recover herself, back to business, but only when she was not looking at Alistair.
"Hopefully better than the terms Alexius gave you," Dorian could not keep his mouth shut, "The Inquisition is better than that, yes?" He seemed to enjoy painting Serrada into a corner, well, it was his paint, not hers, and she was delighted to tread it all over the carpets.
'Interesting…' Serrada filed away Fiona's change in manner. 'There is something there. I wonder what it is?'.
Serrada, pulling herself up to her full height, her shoulders and back ached from use and combat. However, her chin was held high, her eyes were clear, and a fire burned in them; she remembered her father's stance when pronouncing judgment.
"The terms are simple; the Inquisition is not the Chantry; I don't give a shite about the Circles!" Not entirely true; she could remember Erin and feel Vivienne's displeasure even without seeing it. "However, you can not exactly show yourselves in public without some sort of oversight. Nor have all your brothers and sisters engendered confidence and trust by the masses."
Serrada knew she would have to deal with Vivienne; Viv certainly wanted the circles back, likely to get Fiona's previous job, if not the Sun Burst throne itself. The woman was nothing if not ambitious. But for now, Serrada needed the mages, and she needed them on a leash, if not as willing participants.
"You will join the Inquisition like any other member once we have closed the breach, re-established order, and brought those responsible for the chaos to justice; then and only then will we return to the topic of your freedom. Perhaps the circles will be needed, perhaps some other solution can be found, but until then, you will serve the Inquisition."
The collective relieved sigh was audible; Serrada almost laughed but managed to swallow it.
"It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer." Fiona sounded defeated and hopeless.
"We would prefer you see yourselves as allies rather than prisoners. Regardless, you have a great deal to prove and even more to repair. Remember, even the crimes of mages not in your charge, will likely be laid at your feet. Certainly, by many, if not most of the peoples of Thedas. Rightly or wrongly, it does not matter; what does, is what you do with this chance. It is likely your last one." Serrada paused in a speech she had not intended.
"The breach threatens all Thedas; I have seen what happens if we do not close it, we can not afford to be divided now. We can not fight it without you. The effort requires your full support." Serrada added, feeling more confident.
"I would take that offer if I were you," Alistair the Stern was back now, "One way or another, you are leaving my kingdom."
Serrada saw a look Fiona gave the king, something more than just thoughtfulness; was that a tear? No, it could not be.
"We accept; it would be madness not to." Fiona was back in charge of her emotions, "I will gather my people, and we will begin the journey to Haven; you will not regret giving us this chance."
And with that, the mission was accomplished. Alexius was placed under heavy guard, but he was a broken man. Felix and Dorian talked, sometimes wept, and even laughed. It tore at Serrada's heart to hear him laugh. Felix was older than she, but somehow, she felt like his big sister; she wanted to lift the burden from his shoulders.
'Such a man should not die before his time,' she thought, but she looked around her soldiers, for they were her soldiers, at least to her.
'How many will I lose?' Her eyes were awash; the realization was jarring.
Some were younger, some older, and many had children of their own, and that is why they took up arms — to protect them.
Serrada had left a contingent of soldiers among the mages to help them travel. They would arrive a few days after her; she needed to prepare for their arrival. There would be hell to pay in Haven, and she wanted it all settled before they arrived. In the Inquisition there would be enough ruffled feathers to smooth, without adding magical ones.
Serrada was pleased overall; other than the freedom issue, Vivienne and Fiona had worked well together. They had screened the senior mages to find a dozen powerful enough to assist with the breach. Fiona made the situation clear to all and that they must obey Vivienne as if she were Fiona herself. Still, to everyone's surprise, Vivienne and Fiona ordered the mages to follow the Herald of Andraste personally and faithfully.
Perhaps more astonishingly, there had been little grumbling.
Most of the assembled mages and tranquil were happy to leave Red Cliff; only Connor was mixed in his feelings. He went around each and every home, apologizing for his actions as a boy, and gave away what little he owned to the orphans who were left by his actions. His sincere contrition seemed to help heal many wounds, there were a few holdouts nursing grudges, but given who he was, they kept their feelings to themselves. The parting between Conner and the king brought many tears; the king knew of abandonment and had tried to foster a close relationship with the boy, their parting was bitter.
The single dark spot was the treatment of the tranquil. It had become a very sore point, one which Vivienne made very clear. She held Fiona personally responsible for their deaths. Although Fiona, for her part, swore she knew nothing of the fate of the helpless among her charges, she was horrified, as were all assembled. Most were told that the tranquil had been relocated away from Red Cliff, the where was not disclosed. With the fear of a templar assault looming, many envied the tranquil for their safety, that is until the truth was known.
However, as a sign of true strength, Fiona publically offered herself up for trial and punishment once the Breach was sealed. She would accept any verdict and sentence the Inquisition thought appropriate; this seemed to mollify Vivienne; Serrada could not help wondering what use Viv had planned for Fiona's skull.
Those issues resolved that left the Tevinter agents and saboteurs.
Tevinter agents who were identified, found their opportunities cut short at the end of a rope. Many of those that joined the mages at Red Cliff simply disappeared in the night and were assumed to be agents of Tevinter, but Serrada privately wondered if other forces were at play and as yet unknown players.
She pondered who the Elder One was as they made their way back to Haven. Fiona had been left behind to organize the relocation; King Alistair had been happy with that as long as he saw packing. He stayed in Red Cliff castle, and he allowed Fiona to maintain her room there as well. Something that Serrada noticed brought a genuine smile to the elder mage's face before she quickly concealed it, returning to her usual taciturn continence.
That look stuck in Serrada's mind like a stone in her shoe, 'I will have tea with Leliana and chat about this; something was off there, and mysteries bothered her more than me.'
They saw the long climb toward Haven when she passed over the ridge. The Herald realized she considered Haven home; the revelation brought happiness and sadness. Her home had been her father's house, a home she had missed terribly for weeks, and she even missed her mother.
Now, those longings were overshadowed by her desire to see Gliril, her little cabin, and although she would never admit it, John Gray.
Time and again, she wanted to turn to him and ask his opinion, like what he thought of her decision to conscript the mages, with a promise of a fair hearing and perhaps changes if they earned another chance.
Serrada sighed heavily; thinking of John's judgment brought her back to what others might say. She expected a beating by Cassandra, perhaps literally. Somehow, she thought Solas would approve. However, snakes might appear in her bed from Sera, although she doubted the elf would try that again after the last incident. The memory brought a smile, but the others noticed her look. She was causing coins to exchange again.
Gliril never admitted it, but Sera was scratching for days after a bucket of water had appeared over Serrada's door. Serrada could not hold back a chuckle at that memory. Sera had said she deserved it over some decision or another, and after thinking about it, she had agreed with Sera, which caused the elf to spit her ale across the Maiden.
"What? Ya' say you deserved a wet head?' Sera wiped her mouth off on her sleeve, which was not unusual; mustard stains ran from wrist to elbow.
"Yes, I should have handled that differently," Serrada had not been happy with the outcome, but she had been taught to think as a noble; she had never had to feel like a peasant. She shuddered. 'I have to be more careful with words like that; it might be maggots in my stew next time.'
"Sera, when you have an opinion, tell me. I promise to listen, I don't promise to do as you think I should, but I will explain my reasoning." Serrada took a drink of the ale while Sera sat mouth agape.
The memory was good among so many bad; Serrada was lost in her thoughts and overlooked how much progress they had made up the trail; she was lost in thought.
The image of the withered corpse nailed to the walls of Red Cliff castle haunted her dreams, causing her to wake screaming, but they also intruded into her waking thoughts as well. Dorean and Vivienne had worked together to create a sleeping draught that kept her nightmares private, and she could get a good night's sleep, but they could not remove her waking visions of the man and those who died with him.
"You charged Red Cliff?" She wondered to herself, yet again trodding the same well-worn path she had been on since they left Red Cliff village. "What could you hope to achieve?"
She went over and over it, but the constant result was always returned. Why had John gone to Red Cliff?
There was no strategic advantage; there was no tactical hope for success; the only possibility was that he hoped that she might be alive somehow, somewhere in Red Cliff castle, all evidence to the contrary, he had said he knew she was alive. How?
True, they could not succeed without her mark; the breach would grow to swallow the world, but still, to throw away one's life, not to mention those of his men? It was not logical; it did not make any sense. They could have tried to find a way back to their world, but they fought for the Inquisition, for her, and John had led them to find her. Why?
Only at the outer gate did she hear the cries of greeting and another who was more boisterous.
"Herald of Andraste! It is the Herald! Mama! Look, it is the Herald!" A small boy was jumping up and down, pointing.
"Hush, don't disturb her!" The boy's mother tried to swat at him but missed; her eyes were on 'The Herald of Andraste,' and Serrada groaned inside but smiled and waved to the awe-struck child.
'Oh John, help me, give me strength,' Serrada prayed for help. If she had known who she invoked, she might have blushed; however, the Maker and Andraste might have both smiled.
The horse seemed to know its way; she did not even acknowledge the greetings of the guards as they passed through the outer then inner gates of the Pilgrim's Path, nor did she hear Master Dennet's greeting as she dismounted, nodding to Cullen's somewhat strained greeting. She walked toward her cabin, passing Charter, who simply watched her go by, then leapt to find her songbird boss.
The door to her cabin opened, and she was finally alone for the first time in days. She hoped it would stay that way for at least a little while.
Two heart beats later, Gliril burst into the cabin.
"Mistress, you should have sent for me." The girl was a blur of activity, and soon Serrada was wearing only her small clothes. A moment later, wrapped in a blanket, she was sitting while Gliril shouted for water and straw bossed the army of servants bearing pitchers of piping hot water.
"I just don't understand it, Gliril; why would he do it?" Serrada had long since lost her modesty around the elf she thought of as a daughter. Gliril guided her to the bath, then slipped in with her mistress and began washing away all the accumulated grime gathered since leaving Haven for Red Cliff.
"Who did what, mistress? I don't understand?" Gliril had heard many stories, most more ridiculous than the last, something about time travel and meeting an undead Leliana in the future, all nonsense.
"John Gray, he attacked Red Cliff to try and rescue me…." Serrada started to explain, then realized that she had not even reported to the leaders of the Inquisition. "I am sorry, Gliril, I was just…."
"He loves you, of course, well we all do, mistress, but he loves you," Gliril's tone was that of a patient teacher instructing a slow-witted child. "Well, of course, he does not know it yet, but he does."
The hot soapy water melted the pains and aches that had been more bothersome than the dirt she carried. Gliril's words cut through the haze of relaxation Serrada was enjoying.
"… and of course, you love him, but you don't realize it either." Gliril's latest declaration was more jolting than the previous one if that were possible, and it certainly was jolting.
"Don't be ridiculous; I do not even know the man. We have spoken a handful of times" Serrada knew it was ridiculous.
"Seventeen meetings, eleven meals, one meeting lasted most of a day, Charter labored all of the evening distracting Cullen and Cassandra, Josephine and Leliana were most helpful keeping them busy though …" Gliril reached around and began to wash Serrada's breasts, which usually elicited a blushing rebuke, of 'I can do that myself.' However, not this time, Serrada simply allowed the girl to wash her while she tried to remember.
"All day? When? Oh, was it? No, it could not have been that long; we just started talking, then it was lunch, then there was tea, and …." Serrada blushed then; she remembered coming in to meet over planning their respective operations. She - Red Cliff. He – Therinfal. She could recall the morning air when she entered the Newcomers barracks; then it was well into the night with Gliril and Charter helping her back to her cabin, too much wine, her hangover...
"Oh, Maker, it is true." She was blushing now down to her stone hard nipples, likely from Gliril's thorough cleaning, not for thoughts of John Gray.
"Gliril, please tell me that this is not the talk of Haven?" Her pleading was pathetic even in her ears.
"Well," Gliril hated to lie, especially to her mistress. "Some have noticed the way he looks at you."
"Oh, Andraste's tits!" Serrada hated to swear, but it was out of her mouth before she could stop it. "I have to nip this in the bud before it becomes a problem."
"Shite! This just gets better and better." Suddenly remembered what she had told Cassandra to say if needed to gain entrance to Therinfal. "This is a disaster!"
She fell back into Gliril's breasts, not trying to keep from touching the soft, yielding flesh. The feel was comforting as the girl wrapped her arms around her mistress.
"You are worried what others will think of you? Mistress, recall that Andraste had a worldly husband but also the Maker…." Gliril was trying to be helpful but realized what she was saying. "John Gray is a strong man, stronger than..."
"Gliril," Serrada, shaking her head, "please stop. I … I can't, I just can't."
She raised the marked left hand; it was quiet now. To anyone other than her inner circle, it looked quite indistinguishable from her right hand. However, Serrada knew better; she could feel the draw of the Breach. She also knew she 'felt' less; her sense of touch with it was diminished; it was just that little bit less nimble than it once was. It was not the hand that she once had. Worse, the prickling sensation which had started in her palm now ran past her wrist. Somehow, she knew that the mark would eventually consume her hand, if not the whole of her. Cassandra had said the mark was killing her, and she saw the looks that Solas and the others, they told her more than their words. She was dying, slowly, yes, but dying nonetheless.
"Just long enough to close the Breach and finish my work…." Serrada did not realize she had spoken aloud.
"My lady?" Gliril stiffened, Serrada had just started to relax into her, and the elf girl enjoyed the intimacy with the woman she loved so much.
"Nothing Gliril," Serrada realized she was lying entirely on her servant, she sat up, trying to regain some composure. "The Newcomers have lost enough Gliril; they have homes, families, lives, back on their… Earth. Yet more Breach victims, we must find a way to send them home. John has a daughter and a wife-ex, and he must return to them, and I … well, we shall see."
"Yes, mistress," Gliril did not argue; she was no fool, and disputing such things would only set her mistress deeper into her rut, but she knew better, knew different. Her master and mistress needed each other.
The knock on the door ended the conversation regardless. Serrada was safely behind her curtain; Gliril swiftly exited the bath, wrapped herself in a servant's towel, and approached the door. Serrada could hear hushed whispers, then the door closing.
"Miss Charter has delivered a note for you, mistress," Gliril held the paper like a snake.
"Read it to me, please." Serrada began to wash her hair, 'I am so glad Gliril cut it before the trip to Haven.' She remembered the haircut, it seemed a lifetime ago, and in many ways, it was.
"It is a scout report about Master John's mission to Therinfal Redoubt," Gliril's hands were shaking so badly that the paper was rustling; Serrada felt ice running down her back. "We have mixed information; a large contingent of templars, recruits, and junior officers are moving to Haven. Their intent is unknown. We can identify our party leading the column but cannot determine if they are leading or prisoners." Gliril's voice caught. Her eyes glanced toward her mistress; Serrada could see they glistened with restrained tears; finally, Gliril continued.
"As per instructions, we avoid contact until intent is determined. We cannot identify all members of the Inquisition with absolute certainty. However, we have a high degree of confidence that Commander Gray is not, repeat not, one of those in the Inquisition party." Gliril managed to read without losing her composure; although her voice broke, Serrada hid her face in dripping hair. She had to admire the Gliril for her strength, a strength she did not have herself.
"Commander Gray's condition is unknown, and the intent of the templar column is also unknown. However, they are taking no hostile action against those they meet. Please give further instructions." Gliril put the report down, steadying herself on the nearby table. A moment ago, Serrada had been admiring the girl's composure; at this moment, she had the sudden awareness that her bath water was freezing.
Her debriefing with the Inquisition leadership went better than she expected; Liliana was supportive of her decision; however, Cullen was not. The arguments went round and round. But, in the end, it was decided that she had made a good decision and a better deal, and more importantly, they had the Mages.
Then the discussion turned to the dragon in the room—the approaching column of templars.
There was simply no good information on the outcome of the Therinfal mission. Without sending scouts to engage with the slow-moving column of Templars, there was no way to precisely determine their intent. Liliana was not supportive of sacrificing more of her scouts since she had already lost many around Therinfal. Messages had been received; they bore the proper markings and in the appropriate code, but Liliana pointed out they could be faked or forced. The scouts reported seeing figures like the Inquisition group, but they still could not decide if they were prisoners or leaders.
"Let them come; their intentions become clearer each day, and we can position our forces around them if they are hostile." Liliana was firm, sure that the column was a threat. "Let us not hinder their progress or aid it either."
Josephine disagreed, "But what if they are in need? The reports say that there are wounded with them. What if they are friendly? How many will die if we allow them no assistance?" The ambassador was nothing if not compassionate.
"Let's do both." Serrada broke the stalemate, "Send some of the merchants to offer supplies, have them return with what information they can, and if they are attacked, well, we will have our answer. Moreover, we can aid their efforts by subsidizing the merchants. Even in wartime, merchants are given safe passage; it is tradition."
"Many things have changed, Herald," Cullen countered, "But in this, we concur, send merchant with healing goods and food, nothing more. Then we shall see."
The next few days passed slowly; everyone seemed to be preparing for a funeral. Which initially worried Serrada, but then it annoyed her.
The scouts said the column from Therinfal was moving slowly hindered by its wounded; it would take a week to return to Haven. The merchants returned empty; their healing supplies were gladly and gratefully welcomed.
Mother Giselle wanted to send her healers, but leadership vetoed that.
"Mother Giselle, we will need your healers, and besides, they have the Newcomer healer and those that went with him." That truth did not mollify the Mother, but the knowledge that there were wounded and injured she could not help, "Besides, Mother, the merchants say they are not asking for the healers, but for supplies."
All seemed settled; there was nothing to do but wait. The birds had stopped, with the column still days out. Leliana had checked and counted her birds; all had returned, which explained the silence, but they had not requested replacements. The final message sent to the Inquisition was, "Almost home, all is well."
Her frustrations had to go somewhere.
The Herald took to practicing her skills, hours on hours when not in the war room—shooting arrow after arrow into the pincushion target. A target set at thirty, then sixty, and finally at seventy paces away.
"Almost home; all is well," Serrada muttered repeatedly. Then, nocking another arrow, letting it fly, imagining John Gray's pants hitting where she aimed. "What the Maker does Almost home, all is well, bloody mean!"
"Does all mean everyone, the mission, your people, you, what!" Another arrow flew; there would be no more children for John if it had been John's britches. "Home soon? Where? Haven, Earth, what? Are you trying to tell us something or not!" She was furious and threw down her bow, aiming her wrath at a carefully padded cloth-covered pad that Gliril called Serrada's brooding nest.
As quickly as she threw it down, the best bow in the Inquisition, she snatched it back up, checked it, and slung it over her shoulder, marching back to her cabin with a look that would curdle fresh milk.
Her march took her through Cullen's training area, causing the recruits to scatter. Next, passing through the mages with much the same results. Past the Chargers camp, up through the new reinforced main gate, past the merchants, finally turning to her cabin.
Everywhere Serrada went, people stared at her until she had passed. She had noticed that all conversations had become hushed whispers when she was near, even in the Maiden.
Practicing more and more, until her fingers were bleeding from the release. Finally, she rested with the bow, and began to throw her daggers till she was better than all but Liliana.
Still, it did not keep her mind from worrying.
The hours passed slowly; by the fifth day, her badgering of Leliana for news had the spymaster hiding, and Charter would run when she saw the Herald coming.
By the seventh day, Serrada was almost impossible to be around for all but Gliril. Yet, the elf seemed unruffled by anything, especially her mistress's moods. She knew Serrada was simply worried, and Gliril would bear any burden for her Serrada.
By the second bell, the Herald was pacing back and forth across the floor of John Gray's quarters; everywhere she laid her eyes, she either wondered about the objects past or what they did.
Of course, she felt oddly voyeuristic being in his rooms; who wouldn't, but John was dead so did the dead feel offended by such invasions?
'I know I would,' as she picked up a heavy silver framed image, so faded it was impossible to see what it once had been. She thought she could barely make out the outline of a girl child and an adult man. 'What is that on the child's head?'
"Mistress, don't worry, he is fine. I am sure there is an explanation," Gliril commented while making Master John's bed; the mattress was new, and she had rolled it out herself. She was sure that not a single piece of straw stuck through the canvas. Over that, she fitted the padded cover she had sewed using the finest wool. It was both comfortable but functional; John tended to bleed when wounded.
Gliril was proud of her work; there were dog lords who did not have as comfortable and certainly not as large a bed.
Impulsively, mainly to have something to do, Serrada grabbed the far end of the sheet; Gliril was stunned but continued to spread it across the new mattress; they worked together well, spreading and flattening, tucking the corners; it was larger than needed, but would stay where it was put.
"He is dead, Gliril" The words caught her throat when she said them, but she got them out. "You have to accept it. We will have a memorial service when we know what the Templars have planned, and we have dealt with it…."
The bells of the outer gate signaled that the column had finally arrived. Serrada headed for the door, but Gliril got there first, blocking her exit.
"Gliril?" Serrada stopped, more from shock than concern. "What?"
"I am sorry, Mistress, but Mistress Nightingale and Commander Cullen were very firm; you must be kept safe until they know what the templars intend," Gliril took her daggers from their sheaths and, with a flourish, bent to her knee and bowed her head while offering the blades. "You may feel I have betrayed you. But Charter and the other scouts will block the door to ensure you are safe."
Serrada just looked at the kneeling elf. 'Where is the scared elf girl who was so terrified at my waking that she dropped a tray of potions? The girl who others called Rabbit?'
"Get up, Gliril," Serrada took the girl's arm and helped her to her feet, then sheathed the blades. "They are probably right, but this waiting is killing me."
It was just a few moments till they heard the sound of a great commotion, and Serrada was sure it was the sound of combat. But when both she and Gliril looked through the window onto the practice grounds, she saw only joyful greetings.
Men and women were hugging, and some seemed like long-lost friends. Lysette was standing beside a handsome, tall black Templar; they were surrounded by other young templars. Then, abruptly, the handsome one saluted Lysette, then turned to Cullen. He drew his sword, presented the hilt to the Inquisition Commander, and went to one knee, along with those behind him. Then, like a wave, they all knelt, Cullen said something that she could not hear, and they all stood again.
Before Gliril could react, Serrada was out the door and headed down the stairs; Charter and the other scouts had their noses pressed to the glass on the bottom floor.
Serrada made it through the exit before her 'guards' realized she had moved. The door closed on the shouts of those within.
She moved through the throng, searching the faces; some of the faces were familiar, most were not. Then, finally, she saw Cassandra speaking with one of the mages and a templar she did not know. The trio seemed agitated, but as she watched, they shook hands grudgingly, but at least no weapons were involved.
Further along toward the bridge, she was jostled back and forth through the long column.
'John, you did it! You brought them in,' Serrada was near tears, whether of joy at his success or sorrow at his loss. 'Maker, he did it!' In the future she saw at Red Cliff she knew of this outcome, but upon returning she had not allowed herself to hope he would still be successful. But he had been!
"Herald!" A voice called behind her; Serrada tried not to notice, but this seemed to cause further commotions. "Herald of Andraste!"
The crowd was suddenly silent; all eyes turned to her, "That is her, the Herald of Andraste!"
"Herald" … or "Great Maker, it is her!" … some whispered quiet prayers, but all were looking at her.
'This is all that I am now,' she felt the loneliness wash over her; she almost drowned in it, the eyes, the faces, expectant the needing — always needing.
Serrada was moving, moving as quickly as she could. In no direction, just away, away from the eyes, away from all that, away from The Herald.
She barely stopped herself from breaking into a run, just passing the Chargers camp. Bull must have sensed her desperation, for the Chargers fanned out, holding the crowd back. She moved past the corrals toward Harritt's smithy.
She could see some people gathered there; Blackwall waved at her, and beside him was a laughing Sera.
'How can they be laughing' Serrada was furious; bile rose in her throat.
Sera saw her and pointed wildly with a smile at ….
Serrada stopped dead. There was the armor Harritt had made on her order … for John. She had hunted the bear and druffalo, with her bare hands she had dug, then carried the silverite.
The armor lay across Harrit's worktable, torn and bloody. The bearer was one of Liliana's scouts, one taller than usual. Serrada did not know him, but there were so many new recruits. Besides, she could not have identified her father with her tear-blinded eyes. Her knees buckled and she fell.
"He really is gone," Her words would have been choking sobs if they were indeed words.
She wanted to fall forward into the mud and die there, but powerful hands were lifting her free of the muck. Like a small child with skinned knees lifted clear off the ground.
Her eyes searched her surroundings; all she saw was pain and loss.
First, her family to the obligations of duty which tor her away from her dreams of in Orlais. Then young Lian lost at the conclave. Finally, her freedom, her anonymity taken by the mark, so little was left to her. What good was it if she could not save her friends … those she loved?
Her ears heard a sound, a voice. They were words too garbled to comprehend. The tones were deep; they rolled over her — sinking deep into her, down to her shadow-swathed soul.
"Serrada, can you hear me?" She knew the voice; it came through the darkness, thunder in the night, a rope to a drowning Serrada.
Her eyes flew open; she was above him, his hood was thrown back now, it was him, the voice was his.
John's handsome face beamed up at her, his eyes filled with concern and something else.
Serrada had no idea where it came from, nor could she explain why she did what she did.
The need to do it was overpowering, more potent than she could withstand. Her resistance to the desire was overwhelmed, just as a sandcastle holding back the tide; her resistance was washed away.
Her arms flew around the man's neck, pulling him to her lips, tears flowing, his hood thrown back, John returned the kiss.