Indomitable Focus
Ennaly's staff had been waiting for her when she returned to her hut. Though she didn't know who brought it there, she was thankful to have it back again. Over the next day, her ankle healed well, and she was relieved to be able to run around again with regained freedom, for there was lots to do. The entirety of Haven and the encampments surrounding it were jittery with anticipation. In two days, the mages would arrive, and with them, the Breach would be closed. And the Breach closed would be the first step to a normal life again.
Closing the Breach.
It sounded so easy, but being the one who needed to do that, wasn't easy. Ennaly felt responsible for showing outward confidence, regardless of her true feelings. And as the Herald, she felt another responsibility to go around and be seen. Josephine said she had a positive influence on the people at Haven, or at least on most.
So, there she went. She chatted with civilians, hosted a snowman building competition, was present at one of Cullen's soldier trainings and assisted Josephine with answering letters that requested a personal message from her.
It was exhausting. In the evenings, if she saw the chance, she sneaked away into the forests surrounding Haven. Her conversations around the last campfire made her realize how much she was missing her dancing. Her hut was entirely too small to dance in, and at the same time, she didn't think her specific dancing would be all too suitable for potential spectators.
The forests offered privacy and solitude to clear her mind. She remembered her Keeper's lessons well. Focus on your surroundings, Deshanna always said to her. Dancing used to be the first way how she was thought to control her magic, by letting the nature around her guide her steps. Snow or rain were better teachers, but in the absence of both, she could create her own tunes to dance to. It had taken her a long time to perfect, but by now she could effortlessly create small strands of magical music, soft, only audible to those nearby. Dancing to them allowed her to practise her magical and physical abilities at the same time.
The night after the mages arrived, Ennaly felt like she was being watched. She opened her eyes and without her active concentration, the thin strings of magical light dissipated into the air. A little distance away, Leliana sat on a fallen tree, observing her quietly.
"Don't stop on my behalf," the woman said softly.
A faint blush of embarrassment grew on Ennaly's cheek. "I thought I was alone here," she confessed.
Leliana smiled softly. "I am the Spymaster. It is part of my duties to know what is going on around here, for your own protection as much as all of us. We're not deep into the forests, but there can still be dangerous wildlife. Please consider your own safety. You are important, especially now."
Ennaly's embarrassment grew into shame. "I am sorry," she said in a low voice. Forests were home to her, more than Haven was, and she had never considered her own safety. This place was like a sanctuary to her, the only place she could wind down and gather the strength needed to face the next day. "I didn't mean to sneak off or endanger myself. I just didn't think everybody would agree to me practising my dance."
The image of the gaunt Leliana, tainted by Red Lyrium, swam into her mind. That woman had made the ultimate sacrifice, and Ennaly was unnecessarily endangering herself. She owed her to take care of herself.
"It is quite a lot, isn't it?" the real Leliana asked, not without compassion. "I have travelled with the Hero of Ferelden for a long time. I remember how he disliked people staring at him. He was a mage, too. He showed me I don't always have to fear magic." Leliana averted her eyes and sighed mournfully, clearly lost in memory. "I see the beauty in your dance."
Ennaly returned a faint smile. "I'm glad to hear you say that."
"People so often fear what they do not understand, yet rarely take the time to learn," Leliana replied before her smile faltered. "But please, harsh as it might be to bear the burden, you are our only hope now. Don't gamble it away."
And the spymaster was right, wasn't she? Ennaly was the only hope they currently had, because of the mark she carried on her palm. "I will be more careful," she replied solemnly.
Leliana got to her feet. "Then let us speak no more of it. Come, let us return."
Together, they found their way back to Haven. Ennaly might dislike it, but she saw the hope reflected upon the faces of the people they passed. They were looks of reverence, open-mouthed awe, and they made her uncomfortable. Did they really believe she was the Herald of a woman she never revered?
Back at her hut, Ennaly stared out over the busy path to the Singing Maiden and the crowd of laughing people. If they all put their faith in her, she could do more to prepare. And there was one person who knew more about this than anyone else. Having little desire to pass the large group of people, Ennaly asked Leliana for a favour.
"I shall ask him. Good night, Herald," the Spymaster replied.
"Please, call me by my name."
Leliana smiled. "Alright, Ennaly. Daylen also has a passionate dislike for people forgetting his name."
They bade goodnight and Ennaly entered her hut, her tiny little haven within Haven. It was dark and cold, but with a movement of her fingers, fire ignited in the hearth and lit the candles. Warm light flooded the hut, transforming it into a comfortable space. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for her resolve.
A grimy mirror above the dresser reflected a dishevelled image. Her hair had suffered during the dancing, and that wasn't the image she wanted to present. Wanting to redo it, she removed the hairpin from her bun, letting tangled curls cascade over her shoulder. The hairpin was simple and wooden, just a stick she whittled down, more utilitarian than decorative. She still mourned the loss of her former pin, carved by her mother in the shape of a flower. It had gotten last during the events at the conclave, like some other personal belongings from her Dalish life.
It proved quite a task to detangle her hair. She wasn't able to braid it and pin it back up before a knock on the door indicated the arrival of her guest.
"Herald?" Solas' voice sounded. "The Spymaster told me you asked for me."
Ennaly threw the brush back onto the dresser and opened the door to let him enter. "Yes, I did. Thanks for coming," she said, not quite knowing what else she could say. He had never been in her hut before, like she had never been in his. She offered him the chair at the table while she grabbed the only other chair at the desk for herself.
"You have been busy, these last few days," Solas said. "I have seen you around camp, inspiring, comforting, and entertaining people. That is an admirable thing to do."
Ennaly smiled faintly. "Keeping busy is a good distraction from what's about to come," she replied, gesturing upwards to indicate the Breach. "That's… why I asked you here. Knowledge, wisdom, guidance, anything you know that might help with the Breach. You seem to know things no one else knows, and you've helped me close the very first rift I ever encountered."
"You closed that one yourself," he stated, returning her smile. "I merely held up your hand to show you that you already possessed the ability. You willed the rift to close, and so it did."
That almost made it sound easy. "But without you, I wouldn't have thought to do that," she said. Telling herself she did it to inspect the mark rather than to avoid his piercing gaze, she looked away at her hand. "I remember, when we first met, Varric said you kept the mark from killing me in my sleep. And you helped a few days ago, when it ached again. Will it do this more often?"
It felt odd to think that he'd been sitting next to her in the dungeon, just studying her hand, keeping it from killing her. What had she been doing? Had she been asleep, locked in a fever dream, screaming?
"Not if I can help it," Solas said and Ennaly glanced up again.
"You once told me it seemed I held the key to our salvation," she remarked. "Seems you hold the key to mine."
The words were said in jest, but Solas seemed to take them sincerely. "I will offer whatever assistance I can," he said with a severity that made it sound like a promise.
Ennaly couldn't help gazing at him. He was always a mystery to her, rarely sharing his emotions. It surprised her that out of everything, her little joke apparently caused him more sorrow. "Thank you," she said as she collected herself. "Do you have time now? Anything you know that can help me make sense of this. How does this work?"
After granting her an appraising look, he gave in. "I theorize that the mark was instrumental in the catastrophe that we witnessed at the conclave. Some spark must have detached itself and latched upon you, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Since the Breach was evidently created in the same catastrophe, your mark is likely the only power that can stitch the rifts. You, the bearer, merely needed to will it enough."
Relaxed now, he leaned back, the sadness replaced by a careful smile. "Luckily for all of us, you were a mage, and one that has mastered the ability the shape your will. Your control over this mark seems to have come naturally for you."
He gestured for her to hold out her hand. She did, palm up. He took it, his hand comfortably warm. Intrigued, he observed the pulse of light, and sent a small wisp of green magic onto it. It was a similar soothing sensation as when he calmed her hand a few nights before. Apparently pleased with the result, he ran a finger over her palm, right over the scar.
Startled, Ennaly gasped. It might have been a simple touch, but it sent shivers right through her body. Perhaps amplified by the mark, it felt like Solas had touched her soul. There was a strange connection with the magic within, almost a familiar one. It wasn't painful, but it did awaken that nervous spark in her stomach.
"I apologize," he said, a little startled himself, and pulled his hand back. His curiosity and eagerness were unmistakable as he looked back at her. "How does it feel like?" he asked in a whisper.
She had to think about an answer. "It tingles constantly, but it doesn't really hurt. When we're near a rift, I can feel demons pulling on it, as if there's some sort of force connecting us. And the rifts themselves… feel magnetic, almost, like they want to connect. Sometimes it feels like it's calling out to me, this mark, and I can't quite seem to figure out what it wants."
She had Solas' full attention, and the spark of nervousness increased. Awkwardly, she looked away. "I suppose I should be glad I was there at the wrong place at the wrong time. Considering the alternative, I mean. At least someone has this thing now. I didn't quite want this, but it proved quite useful."
"That it did," Solas agreed, relaxed again. "But I have to disappoint you, there is not much else I can tell you about the mark. You have already used it successfully from the start, closing rifts around Ferelden. There is no reason for you to worry about this next one."
His confidence in her was unexpected. Yet, confidence wasn't what she needed. There were already too many depending on her, and he would just be one more to disappoint if she didn't succeed.
"What if it fails, this time?" she whispered. "What if it fails and they'll execute me as a false prophet? I am an Elf, after all, and the majority of the people around us are Human. It won't just be a small group this time, there'll be hundreds of mages and what feels like a thousand eyes looking at me, expecting me to perform miracles, using their power…"
Solas contemplated, then leaned over. "We can practise," he suggested. "If that will help settle your mind."
"How?" Ennaly said, disbelieving. "There's no rift here."
"I am here. You can draw will from me and channel that through your mark."
His gaze was serious. She could see his eyes wander to her cheekbones, to her Vallaslin, and for once, he didn't frown. Perhaps her words had made him realise his previous reaction.
"Will that work?" she asked.
"Only if I allow it, and focus on doing so," he said. "Without additional power, I cannot maintain that long, but long enough for you to try and familiarise yourself with the feeling."
He gestured for her to place her marked hand on the table once more. Its soft glow bathed the room in green light. Solas appeared as a spirit in the illumination, ethereal and strangely beautiful. Ennaly kept looking at him, entranced by the effect.
"Focus on manifesting power," he began resolutely, pulling her out of her thoughts. "But instead of reaching within yourself, try reaching outward, to me. Gather whatever power you can, and funnel that through your mark."
They shared a glance, before Ennaly closed her eyes and tried to concentrate.
It was as Solas said. Usually, Ennaly focussed deep within herself to perform magic – she imagined a pit of dense, compacted energy at the centre of her chest, next to her heart, pure will – but this time, she reached outwards. It felt unfamiliar at first, and she couldn't find anything to latch onto. Frustrated, she searched faster, reaching out, and then she found something, a spark of energy. It felt familiar yet otherworldly. She could recognize it as Solas and an unwitting smile formed on her lips.
Carefully, she tried to pull from it, its rhythm out of tune to hers. She waited for approval, and it seemed happy to submit. It flowed through her body, warm and pleasant, and connected with her own magic. She could imagine two strands of energy, slowly harmonizing together, starting out as a soft melody. This she could understand, rhythm and time, like a dance.
She pulled harder on the strings with her will, turning the beat to a crescendo, the soft melody now a powerful roar. She tried to guide it back to her mark and with a gasp –
Both opened their eyes. The mark hummed with light and energy, blowing a soft wind through the hut. It pulled on Ennaly's hair teasingly, and scattered papers on a nearby surface.
"Just like that," Solas said with pride in his voice.
Ennaly dropped the concentration and the wind fell still, leaving her flustered and short of breath. "That was amazing," she declared, looking up. Solas' cheeks had a soft fluster that she imagined she shared. Gods, had his magic really flowed through her? It felt like a whole new experience of intimacy. And now she had to have the magic of all mages flow through her? She wasn't sure how that would be.
"I did not doubt your abilities," Solas said pleasantly. "You have trained your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit, and that will help you succeed with the Breach."
"Indomitable focus?" she repeated, surprised by this praise.
"Presumably," he responded, his voice almost suave. "I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine that the sight would be… fascinating."
Oh. Whatever she expected him to say, this was not it. It was delightfully wicked and she'd never imagined Solas, stoic Solas, to say words like that. He looked at her with a casual half-smile, but behind that, he was still so calm and collected. She felt her ears turn pink, that flutter inside, and collected herself to give a witty response, when –
A knock on the door.
"Who – who is it?" Ennaly asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Your favourite mage!" exclaimed Dorian's voice from the other side of the door, before he opened it and entered. "Second most favourite," he added, when he saw Solas sitting at her table. "Ah, do – do I need to leave the two of you alone?"
He narrowed his eyes to appraise the scene. Ennaly could only imagine what it looked like to him. Both she and Solas were flustered, her hair was wind-swept and loose, and an undeniable tension hung in the air. Remnants of the magic... Or remnants of Solas' remark.
"I was just helping our Herald practise with the mark," Solas said, his tone conversationally. He nodded to her left hand, still lying on the table, the mark glowing softly in her palm, as if that proved it. "I consider the training a success. You have nothing to worry about." He granted her a final smile and got to his feet. "I will take my leave, I think we could all use some sleep."
"Thank you for your help, Solas," she said. "And sleep well."
He gave an approving nod to Dorian as he passed him when exiting the hut. Ennaly's eyes followed his every move, until the door shut behind him.
Dorian took place in the now-empty chair and waited a moment to speak. "So…" he said teasingly. "Are you going to talk about it, or do I need to fill in the blanks myself?"
Ennaly turned to him, still flustered. "What?" she said, feigning ignorance.
"Don't tell me that was nothing," Dorian replied amusedly. "I could practically taste the tension in the air when I walked in. Enjoying some broad Elven shoulders? I saw you looking."
"He just helped me with my mark, as he mentioned."
"Sure. You mark. Is that what Elves call it? Well, I'm learning more about you and your types, Ennaly. Is it the shoulders or the smarts? Don't tell me you like the whole quiet and mysterious thing."
Ennaly grabbed a nearby scarf and threw it towards him, but Dorian ducked and laughed. The scarf was thin and flimsy and darted sideways to flutter lazily to the floor.
Dorian was wrong, wasn't he? But Gods, her eyes had trailed Solas as he left.
"And you have your hair loose," Dorian continued. "It looks good. Did you do that for him?"
Abashed, Ennaly reached through her tresses. "I didn't have time to pin it up," she argued, which was the truth.
Dorian smirked gleefully. "Sure. But I bet he noticed your looks this evening. He has eyes, you know."
She just stood there, feeling confused, but that small flutter in her stomach stirred.
"Fine," he said at her silence, still grinning. "Keep your denial. I came here to see how you were holding up. Lots on your shoulders these days, all the expectations. It must have clouded your judgment. I still think I should have won the snowman competition."
Ennaly shook Solas out of her mind. "You cheated," she accused. "Really, a life-sized halla, with those thin horns and legs? I saw you using frost magic, Dorian. It was more like an ice sculpture than a real snowman. A very pretty ice sculpture, of course," she added when she saw the despondent look on Dorian's face. "But really, the boy won fair and square, he used his actual hands and hard work."
"Magic is hard work too," Dorian sulked, and for the next hour they joked and laughed, and there was no pressure or expectation to worry about.