Edited June 2024

12

Talia was in front of the Lucky Old Lady Statue. The figure was pushed to the side, and the trap door beneath it was unlocked and swung open for everyone to see. Her fist clutched Bellamont's journal, and her mind raced at the implication of its existence—another traitor.

There was a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach as she descended the steps to Mother's crypt. The air was heavy with the smell of blood, and she slipped the familiar weight of the Blade of Woe into her right hand. She froze in her steps as she passed the bodies of people she recognized—her family. Arquen was the first, and though she held no love for her, Talia couldn't help but grimace at the sight. Her other Speakers and their Silencers, Jarah, Flavius, Keer-Das, Brynn… Talia raced down the remaining steps, uncaring of the noise she was making, as the one body she was looking for did not appear.

She slid to a stop as she reached the Mother's crypt, where a figure in black stood facing away from her. The dunmer's heart clenched as the man turned around, and the grip on her dagger slackened.

"Lukas?" Her voice broke at the sight. The man was cradling the Night Mother's body and was trailing a hand across her face. Her Speaker looked up at Talia slowly.

"Listener," he said in that low tone that reminded her so much of Lucien. Talia swallowed thickly as she tried to find her voice.

"Why?"

Lukas looked away. "Bellamont was a fool, he had the chance to end it all, but he did not understand what needed to be done."

Talia could not move. No, Lukas could not have done this...Lukas was loyal to the Night Mother, loyal to her.

"It was so easy to gain your trust," he chuckled, and he casually tossed the Night Mother's corpse aside. Such disrespect, such arrogance; Talia could not associate any of these actions with Lukas.

"You killed them all," she said tonelessly, and Lukas threw his head back and laughed, as if she'd told him the greatest joke of the century.

"Me? Not I, dear Listener...why, you did."

Talia froze, her eyes going wide as he spoke.

"Not unlike the way you massacred your entire family." Lukas started walking towards her slowly. "You remember their names, don't you? Gogron, Telaendril, Vicente, Antoinetta-Marie, Ocheeva, Teinaava, Mraaj'Dar?"

With a cry, Talia readied a spell in her hand. But with a manic grin, Lukas snapped his fingers, and the Night Mother's body was set aflame. As she stared in horror at the display, a feeling of wrongness settled around her, and made her blink in confusion.

Lukas was an archer, he had absolutely no talent in magic. He even had trouble with the most basic flame spell, and everybody knew how to cast that. As soon as she realized it, she glowered at the person in front of her, and it was then she noticed the cracks. Small crevices appeared on the fake-Lukas' face, and when it glowed green, his image flickered.

Talia attempted to push herself away as the image of a creature—a demon with a distorted face and thick black spines protruding from its back—appeared and latched on to her. The demon's face kept on flickering—it wore Lukas' face, then Lucien's, Martin's, Antoinetta Marie's, Gogron—

"WAKE UP," a familiar voice boomed and echoed around the chamber, and Talia woke with a start. She gathered a spell into one hand and summoned a dagger in the other, and surveyed her room, breathing heavily.

What was that? Her mind raced even as she tried to calm herself, dissipating the spell and wrapping her arms around herself. Since she'd arrived in Thedas, she had not dreamt about anything, which was strange considering how often she relived Martin's and Lucien's deaths back home. She didn't notice it at first, with all the excitement and confusion her arrival had caused, not until the past few days, when bursts of green light invaded her dreams and woke her up. They never showed anything, but there was a familiar voice that kept on calling out, though she couldn't understand the words.

Until now.

She couldn't place the voice in her dream, but she knew that it was familiar at least. Why and how did he wake her up?

Still, she was quite certain that wherever her mind was, it wasn't Vaermina's realm. That creature—Talia could recall its distorted features and reaching spindles—was a demon, she just didn't know what kind. But why now? Her mind wasn't connected to the Fade before.

Talia looked down at her glowing hand. Did it have something to do with her mark? She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, anger adding to the multitude of emotions swirling in her head. How did she get into this entire mess? Why her again? Didn't she already do her part in saving the world?

Although she knew it was nothing but dreams, fear still wrapped around her, coiling into her heart and would not allow itself to be forgotten. Unable to wash away her anxiety, Talia pushed herself out of her bed and stepped out of her cottage. The bitter wind stung her eyes, and seeped into her bones, but being out of the small room made her feel calmer. There was something soothing about staring at the dark stretch of the horizon; the vast emptiness lulled her warring thoughts. She stayed there until the sun rose, emptying her mind and repairing her defenses piece by piece.

When her hands no longer shook, Talia decided to make her way to the training grounds. While there was no need for her to practice, she needed something to focus on, and the repetitive movements would at least allow her to empty her mind.

Inquisition soldiers saluted her when she arrived, and she dismissed them with a small smile and a nod. Cullen was already there overseeing their training, barking out commands and when he caught her eye, he acknowledged her with a nod, before going back to his work. Cassandra was on the far end of the grounds, massacring a dummy with her shield and longsword. She seemed more upset than usual, if the two other dummies on the ground were any indication. Perhaps it had something to do with Talia still not informing Josephine and Cullen about her being a thief despite saying she would. It simply didn't seem to be the right time, though she was sure Cassandra wouldn't be able to resist telling them in the near future.

The trek back to Haven had been awkward to say the least. Without anything urgent to discuss, Cassandra and Talia's rapport deteriorated into a frosty silence that could be felt all the way back to Mundus. The woman had obviously not forgotten their spat, and she alternated between glaring at Talia and glaring at the distance. This had continued all the way from Orlais to Haven, and Talia couldn't contain her sigh of relief when they finally arrived.

The surprises that Cullen and Josephine had sprung on her, however, were another matter.

Talia picked up a bunch of throwing knives from the basket and positioned herself as far away as she could from the target. She tested the knife's weight and after a few moments of deliberation, flung it forward. The knife hit the target, but was a few inches away from the center.

Her lips twisted into both a nostalgic and bitter smile as a memory came to her unbidden. When she was younger, it always upset her when her knives didn't hit the mark straight on. It was Ocheeva, motherly and wise Ocheeva, who had taught her that it was useless to be upset over these things when you could simply accept the minor failure and continue getting better. The Argonian had helped her out with training, until Talia's accuracy had improved immensely.

Telaendril and Gogron had had a betting pool going on if she would be able to defeat Ocheeva in a knife-throwing contest, and she remembered being incredibly offended when everyone in the sanctuary bet against her. Sadly, they were all right, and she'd lost, but it was a close thing.

They were her family, and she'd never felt more loved and accepted in her life than when she'd become a member of that sanctuary. Her throat tightened and a feeling of despair washed over her.

How could I have done that to them? They were my family, I loved them so much—

Talia was nearly panicking when she realized what was happening. She hadn't broken down in a while, and now was not the best time, or place for it to happen. Talia stood still and shut her eyes, emptying her mind. Suppressing it had never helped; she'd regret it later, when everything would come back to her even worse than it was now, but she didn't have any calming potions on hand, nor did she have the ingredients to create one in this world.

Clamping down on her thoughts, she shakily grabbed another knife and threw it, not surprised that it missed the mark completely. Talia didn't pay it any mind and continued throwing until her entire focus was on the blade, her movement, and the target. When she finally allowed herself to breathe, the target was littered with knives, and a few of them had fallen to the ground.

She breathed in heavily, carefully only thinking of Thedas, her current problems, the templars—

"Hey boss," the voice from behind startled her and she only just managed not to hurl another knife at the offender, however, she did whirl around quickly to face him.

The Iron Bull blinked at her. "A little jumpy today, eh?"

Talia managed a small, albeit, still shaky laugh, and she cursed herself and that Sithis-forsaken dream. "Forgive me, there is much on my mind."

The qunari and his band was one of the surprises that had waited for her when she arrived at camp. He seemed like a typical mercenary at first sight, with his large, hulking figure and equally large battleaxe, ubiquitous shirtlessness, and leather breeches. However, despite his appearance and easy-going attitude, Talia noticed that he observed her very carefully, but quickly enough for most people not to notice. When Cullen awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck during their debriefing, Talia narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him until he blurted out that the Iron Bull was a spy for the Qunari.

It had taken all of Talia's patience and willpower not to strangle Cullen there and then. She'd managed not to voice her opinion on the matter too, which was a great feat in itself. Idiocy was not a strong enough word for what he and Josephine had done knowingly. Were they naive enough to believe the Bull when he said he would forward all his reports to them first before sending it out to his leaders? He's a spy. This should have been obvious, but it seemed she and Leliana were the only ones to think of it.

"It's understandable." He rubbed his jaw, "You're the leader and all, of course you have a lot on your plate."

While his presence should have heightened her anxiety, it gave her something else to focus on, and her mask was slowly, but firmly slipping back into its place. "Leader?" she echoed. "The Inquisition doesn't really have a leader. It's a four-way split between me, Cullen, Leliana and Cassandra."

The Bull gave her a small smile before looking over to where Cullen was teaching his men how to block properly. "Cullen seems like he was a fine templar before becoming Commander."

The offhand comment was an attempt to fluster her, Talia knew, but she'd play along. "I suppose—wait, how did you know he was a templar?"

He pointed at Cullen and his shield. "Look at the way he angles his shield. Templars always carry their shield that way to block off any attacks from mages."

"You managed to know he was a templar just from looking at his shield?" Talia tried to sound suitably impressed, and the Iron Bull grinned at her.

"You'll learn a lot about somebody just by watching them." His tone implied something, and Talia crossed her arms and gave him a look. She already knew what he was trying to make her ask, and she allowed it.

"So what did you observe in the incredibly short amount of time we've met?"

"I see the way they all gravitate towards you. Leliana and Cassandra both look to you for instructions. Cullen defers to your judgment. Josephine asks your opinion for everything. The townspeople adore and respect you, and the Chantry sees you as the one person they need to remove for the Inquisition to crumble. But I know you already know all these things."

Talia raised an eyebrow at him.

"You always speak on behalf of the Inquisition, and everything you do and say is measured carefully. You even walk ahead of people, and you expect and know that they will follow you. You know you're the boss, but when someone points it out, you try to act oblivious to it."

The Bull said all this nonchalantly, but Talia could see that he was observing her, waiting for a reaction. It didn't take a genius to notice what he did, but Talia was impressed nonetheless, seeing as he'd only interacted with her for less than a day.

The corner of Talia's lips twitched upwards into a faint smile. "I suppose you'd be a pretty bad spy if you weren't observant."

The Bull shrugged. It didn't surprise him that she already knew. "Ben-Hassrath training."

"Why tell us you're a spy in the first place? Doesn't that defeat the purpose?" She already had her guesses. Similarly to how Conall had volunteered information about the Lord Seeker and the Tevinters, the Bull was trying to win them over by being 'truthful'. Well, it didn't work for Conall, and it won't ever work for the Bull.

"Nah." He waved his hand. "Makes my job easier, don't have to hide anything from you guys, and they get their reports. Everybody's happy."

I'm not, Talia thought sourly.

"Anyway," he digressed. "Saw you killing that dummy. Want to get all that aggression out? I'm looking for a sparring partner. What d'you say?"

Talia observed him as he looked at her expectantly, grinning widely as if in excitement. There would only be one reason he'd be asking to spar with her—to find out her fighting style, and consequently, any weaknesses he could exploit in the future.

So she gave him an apologetic smile. "I don't feel like sparring right now though, maybe some other time."

The Bull looked disappointed, but he recovered. "Well, as long as there's a next time."

Talia nodded and half-turned, making her exit, when The Bull spoke again. "There was another thing I wanted to ask," he said, and Talia closed her eyes in annoyance briefly before looking back at him with a neutral expression.

"Yes?"

"I heard that you're part qunari. Was it your mother or father that was the Tal-Vashoth?"

Tal-Vashoth. She'd heard about that term before. Qunari that turned away from the Qun. "It was my mother," she lied.

"And your dad was the elf eh? Strange combination, but I'm not about to judge," he commented.

"I know," Talia said simply. "Was that all you wanted to ask?"

"Yeah." The Bull nodded slowly.

"I'll see you around then." She turned, but paused in her steps when the Bull spoke again.

"Did you know," he said casually, as if he were discussing the weather. "That qunari can't procreate with other races?"

He knows, Talia thought. So that was the reason the Qunari sent the Bull to observe her. They wanted to know who she was, what she was. They were determining if she was a threat.

"Well," she replied after some time. "I must be a miracle child then." Without another word, she strode away, leaving the Iron Bull with his thoughts and observations. He was dangerous, very dangerous. Talia would have to be extra careful around him.

Deciding that the Iron Bull was enough social interaction for the day, Talia holed herself in her cottage. The clamp which she'd placed on her memories was slowly straining, and every so often a tendril would reach out, and her heart would seize, or her eyes would sting with tears. And when she could not suppress them anymore, the dam broke.

Horror, guilt and despair seized her heart and refused to let go. Talia stumbled onto her bed, brought her knees to her chest, and buried her face in her hands.

You...I...Lucien, they're my family. You can't expect me to—

You will address me as Speaker, assassin. The Black Hand has already spoken. Are you not a loyal servant of Sithis?

Her mouth was dry, her eyes were hot.

His face was stern, his eyes were dead.

I live to serve.

Antoinetta Marie didn't even think twice about eating the apple.

Ocheeva eagerly handed over her knives.

Gogron decided it was a good time to get out of his armor to clean it.

Teinaava slept soundly for a murderer.

M'raaj-Dar taught her a spell that killed painlessly.

Telaendril rested peacefully, her neck at an odd angle.

Vicente gave her a look of pure understanding, spreading his arms in a show of love and surrender.

She was like the Void; numb and unfeeling. Only after the task was done, when their bodies were strewn across their home, now their tomb, did everything come crashing down. It was not gentle—it did not come slowly.

She felt as if a thousand knives were run through her body, but believed she'd deserved more. Her throat was raw from crying, from screaming their names, from pleading—asking for forgiveness from bodies that had already gone to the Void. She was soaked in their blood, and no matter how much she'd wash, how hard she'd scrub, the stain could never be removed.

Every sob that tore from her throat echoed in the emptiness of their tomb. They were supposed to be safe there—it was their sanctuary. Becoming their executioner was the last thing she wanted to be.

But how? How could she have denied Lucien? Denied the Black Hand? Denied Mother?

A loud knock on her door interrupted her train of thought, before she could shout at the intruder, tell them to leave her alone for once in their lives, the door was thrown open, and Varric entered, carrying food.

Talia froze, very aware of her disheveled state, the tears flowing freely, the red marks across her arms where she'd dragged her nails—

Varric wasn't looking at her when he entered. "Andraste's ass! If you don't haul yourself to the mess one of these days, I swear, I'll drag you there by your pointy ears." He shut the door and turned to her, only to pause in shock.

"Varric…" Her voice was hoarse, and pleading—pleading for what, she didn't know. Her humiliation was complete, she shouldn't have been seen in such state. She was weak, pathetic; how could she lead when she was like this? More tears leaked from her eyes, and she hid her face in her hands.

There was the clinking of plates and mugs being set aside. She felt her furs dip, and a warm hand was gingerly placed on her knee.

"What happened?" Varric asked, his voice low, but surprisingly free of pity or disgust.

"I'm," she whispered shakily. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what, sweetheart? You didn't do anything wrong," he said soothingly, and his hand transferred onto her back and he rubbed lightly.

"I'm so tired, Varric," she said wearily. "I can't do this anymore."

"I know you are, Rubes. You should be able to rest and forget about this entire Herald of Andraste business. You don't owe them anything."

"It's my fault, but I couldn't—there was nothing I could do, you have to believe me," she said desperately, clutching at the dwarf's arms like a lifeline. Martin used to be there for her—but he was gone as well, wasn't he?

"Hey, hey, I believe you," he sounded bemused, but still reassuring, and after some hesitation, he gently pulled her into a hug.

How long had it been since she was comforted in any manner? Lukas was the only one, and she hadn't seen him for months. Varric was warm, and in his arms, she felt safe. Lucien couldn't give her orders anymore; she was far away from him.

"Fucking Lucien," she murmured viciously against Varric's coat, and she felt the dwarf tense slightly, but seemed to force himself to relax. "This is all his fucking fault. How could he—?" She shuddered, but no more tears seemed to want fall.

"Yeah," Varric muttered back. "Fuck that Lucien guy. What an asshole," he agreed, and Talia couldn't help the watery chuckle that escaped her.

She'd never broken down in front of anyone but Lukas before, she was so caught up in acting strong, that she'd almost forgotten just how weak she really was. The Oblivion Crisis had left her with so many scars both physical and emotional that would not go away no matter how hard she tried. The memories always lay lurking behind her, and Talia couldn't stop them from suddenly taking over her mind. Sometimes they would be triggered by words, or object, but on rare occasions, they would spring on her without warning. The pain and the cold were chased away by Varric's firm embrace, and Talia allowed herself, just this once, to rely on someone who wasn't herself.

"Varric," she murmured, already feeling her eyes drooping. She was tired...so very tired.

"Yeah?"

The panic had passed, but the pain was still there. "Tell me a story, please?"

The grip on her shifted but still remained steadfast and warm. "I can do that," his voice was calming as he started telling. "Have I ever told that time when me and Hawke went to the Bone Pit to figure out what was happening and ended up having to fight a high dragon? That was probably the hairiest fight I've ever been in. Luckily, we were with Blondie and Broody, though I could have fed them to the dragon with how loudly they were arguing. So, Hawke and I were standing there talking..."

Varric's low voice lulled her to sleep, and another, different, but still familiar voice spoke.

"Sleep, I will keep them at bay."

And when she slipped into the Fade, it was the Void, black and quiet, and she slept in peace.

When she woke, alone, it took a moment before everything that happened crashed back down, and Talia groaned in mortification. It was bad enough that she'd regressed, but for it to have been witnessed? She'd bet her dagger that Bull also noticed the beginnings of her breakdown in the training grounds, and she could hit herself for being so foolish. She knew Varric would never tell, he was too thoughtful to do anything as vicious, but it didn't make the idea any less uncomfortable.

Talia splashed water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror. She still looked tired, but didn't look half-crazy as she was sure she did earlier. It was early evening, and Talia realized that Varric must have asked the others to give her time to rest. The dwarf really was too considerate for his own good. She grimaced at imagining his reaction if he ever found out just why she had gone half-mad.

There must be a way to rid herself of this burden, but she already knew the answer to that question. They said that time healed all wounds, but it had been two years, and the guilt did not lessen, nor did the memories fade into nothingness. They haunted her constantly, and sleeping was always a battle she consistently lost. But she deserved it—this sorrow, this guilt; this was her atonement for killing her family.

But once again, she'd wallowed in self-pity enough; she still had a job to do.

With a sigh, Talia turned away from the washbasin and dug through her pack for her Black Hand robes. From their discussion yesterday, Leliana had mentioned that Korrim was being held in one of the empty cabins instead of the cells, drugged and tied up, since she didn't want word to spread that an agent had betrayed them. Talia never told the woman when she planned on speaking with Korrim, and Leliana never asked. It suited her interests; she didn't want their questions when she got around to actually torturing the man.

She slipped on her Black Hand robes and gathered her magicka. It was highly likely that someone would see her leave the room, and she would need to make sure everyone thought she was back in the cabin. Talia stepped out of her cabin, and quietly cast two spells: an area-wide Illusion spell—one that would have them see her walk towards the training grounds, and an Invisibility spell on herself. While she had a masterful grasp of Destruction, Illusion had always been her area of expertise, and she allowed herself a small smile when the people are the area nodded their greetings at the figure only they could see.

It was a moonless night, and Talia stuck to the shadows as she silently made her way to where Korrim was held. She bit back a curse when she saw a few mages in the area. She had planned to cast another area-wide illusion spell, but she remembered that while her magic was different, the mages and templars could still sense it to some extent. Still invisible, Talia crept up to the door of Korrim's cabin and rapped on it. The guards on either side glanced at each other sharply and tensed. When they did nothing, Talia knocked louder, and the guards threw an annoyed look at each other before thudding their fists against the door.

"Oy! Shut the hell up in there!" One of them called out in irritation.

Talia took the opportunity to bang on the door louder, and as she predicted, the two guards growled and threw the door open. She smirked to herself as she slipped inside quietly, as the guards roughed up Korrim.

"You think that was funny?" one of them hissed, and Korrim looked back at them in confusion and defiance. He was gagged, so Talia knew the guards weren't truly waiting for an answer. They slapped the side of his head before shaking their heads in disgust.

As they locked the door behind them, Talia took the time to observe Korrim. The man had been kept there for days—his shoulder-length hair was dirty and unkempt, his face smeared with dust and soot, and his clothes stained with blood and oil. He looked sleep deprived and weary—the bravado he showed in front of the guards slipping away as soon as they left. Talia cast a muffling spell before she dispelled the invisibility.

"So," she said softly and Korrim started so badly that he almost toppled his chair. "You're the traitor."

Korrim watched her with wariness, and—she noticed with glee—a touch of fear. Her Black Hand robes were appropriate for the situation, and she knew that it made her appear more mysterious and dangerous. She reached out and pulled the gag from the man's mouth, and was not surprised when he coughed.

"Who—?" he rasped, and Talia pulled back her hood slowly.

The fear in his eyes disappeared when he saw who it was, probably thinking she was who she portrayed—a naive, kind, and merciful woman. He would soon find out how wrong he was.

"Your Worship," he said neutrally and respectfully, as if it would help his case, and Talia decided to play along.

"Korrim, right?" she asked as she pulled up a chair and took a seat in front of him.

"Yes, Your Worship. If I may ask—how did you get in here?"

"The guards let me in of course." Talia cocked her head to the side. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I—yes. Perhaps one too many hits on the head."

Talia leaned forward and passed her hand over his head, healing his superficial wounds. When her hand glowed, his eyes grew impossibly wide.

"Th-thank you. But...you're...a mage my lady?"

Talia simply gave him a smile before leaning back. "I would like to hear your side of the story, Korrim. I'm not in the habit of detaining people when there isn't any proof."

Korrim looked supremely relieved at her statement, and Talia knew that he thought he had a chance to manipulate her.

"Why do they suspect you? They said you were passing information to the enemy?"

"I—I would never do that, Your Worship. I've been Sister Nightingale's most trusted informant, we've known each other a very long time." He licked his lips nervously, and Talia cast a calm spell on the man, ensuring that he would feel safe with her. His shoulders relaxed. "I only want to save my family. This Breach is a frightening herald of things to come—I just...want them safe."

His posture, the shining of his eyes told her that at least his last statement was true. Talia already knew this from Leliana's dossier on him, but it was better to have him confess it to her.

"You have a wife and child?" she asked softly, in gentle tones, and she cast another calm spell, creating an illusion of safety.

"Yes, Your Worship. My daughter...is only five. I don't want her dreams to be crushed because of this entire tragedy."

"Perhaps," Talia said coldly. "You should have thought about that before betraying me." Blood seeped from his face, his face frozen in a picture of fear as he realized what she said.

Talia smirked as she subtly cast another spell to heighten his anxiety gradually.

"Did Leliana ever tell you just who found out you've been passing information to the Templars?" she said in feigned nonchalance. When he didn't speak, she leaned forward, placing her hands on the arm rests of his chair.

"It was me, my dear boy. And I do not take kindly to those who betray me." She finished dangerously.

He remained stubbornly quiet, and Talia pushed herself away and paced around the room. "So why do it, Korrim? Did they offer you money? A better life for you and your family?" she sat back down on the chair in front of the man. "Or did they threaten to kill your family?"

Korrim tensed, and Talia's lips widened into a predator's grin. "You don't know what I'm capable of, Korrim." She toyed with her dagger, and saw that Korrim's eyes followed its every movement. "How do you think I hid being a mage all this time?" She smiled. "I suggest that now is the best time to tell me what you know."

He looked into her eyes and his jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Talia gave a mournful sigh. "Such stubbornness. I suppose the life of your wife and child really do mean nothing to you."

The man paled as she spoke, and he growled. "You can't touch them! The Templars have people watching. If you attack them—,"

She interrupted him with a cold laugh. "Do you really think that a few templars can stop me?" She loomed over him, looking straight into his eyes as she cast a more potent fear spell. "I know a hundred ways to kill a man, but more than that, I know a thousand ways to hurt people without killing them."

Korrim's fear was palpable. "You wouldn't."

"And what would you know about what I would and wouldn't do?" she asked in amusement. "Your daughter, she's very beautiful isn't she? Your pride and joy. You can listen in while I drag this knife down her abdomen, I'm sure her screams would sound absolutely delightful."

The man was now struggling against his restraints, anxiety and anger mixing as he listened to her. Talia knew that for him to break, she had to keep pushing. Removing that wrath and replacing it with more fear would be the key. "Nothing I couldn't heal of course. Slavers generally won't pay for broken goods." She smiled dangerously as Korrim started shouting obscenities.

Talia closed her eyes and gathered memories; a little girl in Kvatch—she cried and screamed for her father, but he never came, and it had been up to her to save her. She projected the illusion into Korrim's mind, a little girl being tortured, screaming for him. In his confused state, Talia was certain he would see his daughter. When she finished casting her spell, Talia sat back down and watched him.

She felt nothing as she watched his face crumple, the picture of helplessness and misery. He shouted until his voice broke; he pleaded for her to stop, but Talia didn't, and she let the spell run its course. When it was done, the man was a sobbing mess, and Talia knew that she'd succeeded.

As she was about to continue, she heard voices outside and cursed when she recognized Leliana's. She cast a sleep spell on Korrim, kicked the chair back to the side of the room and enveloped herself in invisibility.

When Leliana stepped into the cabin, she narrowed her eyes at Korrim before looking back at the two guards who were on duty.

"Who took off his gag?"

The guards shrugged at each other. "No one, ma'am."

Leliana, as the smart woman that she was, surveyed the room, and her eyes passed over Talia, who had situated herself in a corner near the door.

"Leave us," she instructed the guards. They saluted, and when they opened the door, Talia took the opportunity to slip out as well. While she wasn't able to pry anything out of Korrim, she was certain Leliana would find the man to be more pliant now. She found a dark alcove and shrugged out of her Black Hand robes, gathered them into her arms and strolled back to her cabin. She stowed it back into her pack before walking back out.

They were leaving for Denerim in the morning, but with how long Talia had slept, going back to rest seemed incredibly unappealing. She caught sight of Solas and Varric by the fire, and she almost turned around and walked away, except that the dwarf had seen her and waved her over. Varric wasn't good at hiding his concern, but Solas was thankfully looking at her and not at him.

"It's been a while." Solas gave her a gentle smile as she approached them. "How have you been? Have you finally grown accustomed to being called Herald of Andraste?"

Talia chuckled, and Varric shot her a look that she ignored. "I would still prefer to be called Talia, but I think their hearts won't be able to take it."

"The faithful would die of shock. 'Gasp, she asked me to call her by her name?' Oh, how I swoon!'" Varric commented. He gave her another meaningful glance when Solas wasn't looking, and Talia was resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be able to just let it go.

"I have to speak with Varric, Solas. We'll just be a moment." She flashed Solas a smile and dragged Varric to a relatively secluded area. For a moment, neither of them spoke, and awkwardness radiated from them both.

"So..." Varric said and he bounced on his feet uncomfortably.

"What are the chances of you simply forgetting about what happened?" Talia asked, half-serious.

"Not likely, Rubes." Varric crossed his arms.

She looked away, unsure of what to say. Sighing, Varric reached over and patted her on the arm, Talia starting at the light touch.

"Look, I don't have any idea what happened to you Rubes. And I won't ask for an explanation. I realize it's really none of my business, but I just—," He gave a frustrated sigh. "Seeing you in that state is difficult, and I'm not entirely sure what to do—,"

"I appreciate it, Varric, I really do. But it's not your job, nor anyone else's to look after me—,"

"Well someone has to!" Varric's outburst caught her by surprise, and she blinked at him. "You have too much to do to worry about yourself and your state of being. You always have this Herald of Andraste persona around you that you turn on when there's somebody around. I saw something that isn't that, and it—," He looked like he could tear his hair off, and Talia resisted the urge to smile.

"My point is," he continued. "I consider you a friend, hopefully a close friend someday, when you trust me enough to let your guard down."

Talia, despite herself, felt her throat constrict, touched by Varric's words. "You are my friend, Varric," she said quietly. "Probably the only friend I have in this world," she placed her hand on Varric's and gave him a small, but genuine smile. "Thank you, for taking care of me last night."

Varric coughed uncomfortably and he flushed, and Talia grinned at how flustered he was. "Well, I—uh—you're welcome. Andraste's tits, this is the reason I don't give heart to heart talks," he muttered.

"I'm not a fan of them either," she said solemnly, then added, "But you started it anyway."

Varric let out a bark of laughter. "I did, didn't I?"

Raised voices could be heard, and the two shared a look before making their way to the front gates. Talia could see that the Iron Bull was there, as well as Cullen and Cassandra. Four guards were manhandling a dark-skinned male—a mage by presence of his staff—and were dragging him towards the entrance.

"Unhand me, you cretins! I come here in peace, and this is the treatment I receive?" the man had an accent Talia hadn't heard yet. Perhaps he was from another country?

The guard behind him snorted. "In peace? We know your kind, Magister—,"

"What is going on here?" Talia cut in authoritatively, and the guards immediately straightened and saluted.

"Your Worship! We found this mage skulking around Haven—,"

"For goodness' sake, man! I was not skulking. I came here in hopes that I would be able to speak to the Herald of Andraste. I have information for her that I am certain you would be interested in."

"A likely story! We—,"

"Release him," Talia ordered, and the guards blinked at her. She narrowed her eyes, and for fear of her wrath, they cut his bindings, returned his staff quickly and pushed him towards her.

The man brushed and straightened his robes. "Well, got myself a taste of Fereldan hospitality. If this is how you treat your guests, I worry how you treat any of your prisoners."

Talia raised an eyebrow. "You are?"

"A Vint," the Bull grunted as he stepped forward, looming over the mage. "I've seen your kind around before. Altus?"

"Well—I—yes. Dorian of the House Pavus, recently of Minrathous." He bowed with a flourish of robes. The greeting sounded so much like Dunmeri ones that she'd almost responded in kind.

"Talia Indoril." She gestured to the side to let him in, and Cassandra and Cullen all immediately protested.

"Herald—,"

"Talia—,"

She silenced them with a look, and Dorian looked suitably impressed as he stepped forward.

"You said you had information for us," she prompted.

Dorian nodded and reached into his robes. All three—the Seeker, Commander and the Bull—tensed, and the mage noticed. "Oh honestly." He retrieved a piece of parchment. "I am not about to blow up the entire Inquisition with my wily blood magicky ways." He wiggled his fingers, and Talia suppressed a grin as the Bull's gaze narrowed further. He turned back to Talia and said seriously. "I have information on the Tevinter group that has taken over Redcliffe."

The dunmer frowned, worried that this was another agent trying to mislead her. "And how can we trust your information to be true?"

"It is natural that you would not believe me. My former mentor, Gereon Alexius, along with several other Tevinter mages, were sent here to Ferelden to sway the free mages to their cause. They call themselves the Venatori."

"The Venatori?" Cassandra spoke up. "What do they want?"

"Did they succeed in recruiting the mages?" Talia interrupted. They were in trouble, Conall's information had turned out to be more accurate than she'd thought. She'd believed that if they were in trouble with the templars, they could recruit the rebel mages, but if they were already working for the enemy…

Dorian twirled his moustache. "Partly. Grand Enchanter Fiona couldn't be swayed, some of the other mages, however could. The Arl of Redcliffe has opened his castle to the remaining loyal mages, and those who have joined the Venatori are devising ways to lay siege to his castle." He handed over the parchment to Talia. "This is a letter from Alexius, seeking your help in exchange for information."

"Our help? Surely you must be joking," Cullen said incredulously.

"His son was taken hostage by the rebel mages, and there is nothing more important in the world to Alexius than Felix," he explained. "He would have wanted to come here himself, but he didn't want the Venatori to suspect anything."

"We need to know he actually has information before agreeing to help him—,"

Cullen and Cassandra immediately reacted.

"You can't be considering this!"

"This is madness, Talia!"

She raised her hand to stop them from speaking. "Well?" she gestured to Dorian, who simply smiled.

"Have you ever heard of the Elder One?"

"We have," Leliana, who seemed to have come out of nowhere, answered. "Do you have any information on him?"

"Alexius does, but he's given me one thing that you can start looking into. But I must have your word, that you will aid him."

It was risky, could Dorian be telling the truth? And what if this Alexius didn't actually have information? What if they were being played for fools? But perhaps...she looked over to the Bull.

"So what do you think, The Iron Bull?" Talia asked, and his eye swiveled towards her. "Is Dorian telling the truth?"

The Bull was silent for a moment before squinting. "He is…surprisingly."

Dorian looked distinctly ruffled at Bull's comments, and Talia bit back an amused grin. "Very well, Dorian. Let's hear what you have to say."

"I have the Elder One's name," he said, and Talia's eyes widened.

The entire group looked at Dorian expectantly and after a brief, and tense silence, he spoke.

"Corypheus—,"

"What? No!" Of all the people Talia thought would react to that statement, Varric was not one of them. His face grew ashen, and he looked horrified. "That's not possible!"

"Why? Who is he?" Talia frowned.

Dorian looked affronted. "I assure you, I am not lying. His name may be a bit strange, but—,"

"I'm not saying his name is funny! I'm saying it can't be him 'cause he's dead! Hawke and I already killed him!"

"Well, I assure you, he is quite alive—,"

Talia felt a headache coming and she gestured for all of them to be silent. "Let's head to the war room and discuss this new development." She started walking away towards the Chantry, the rest of them on her heels. She paused once, to look over her shoulder and say,

"Welcome to the Inquisition, Dorian Pavus. I hope you're worth all this trouble."

Dorian scoffed and flicked imaginary dust off his robes. "I am more than worth it," he sniffed.

Well, Talia thought. Perhaps the Maker was actually Sheogorath. It would explain why the world was mad.

Although, perhaps, she was the one growing mad instead.

A/N:

Wow! I'm back! I just came from a trip to the US. And the jetlag is strong with this one.

I decided to show more of Talia's weaknesses in this one, since she's always been so strong in my past chapters. This is meant to show that she does have a chip on her shoulder, and while she is a hero both in Mundus and in the DA world, she is still mortal. I did mention in the first chapter that Talia is unstable, and may occasionally have emotional breakdowns. I hope you didn't see it as too OOC. Of course I also had to introduce Dorian AND Bull in the same chapter. Hehe, those two deserve each other. Anyway, please tell me what you think! Thanks!

Response to reviews:

toplelnopekek: Nope, not yet. : I haven't introduced that aspect yet.

Sacchin: Thanks so much! I was worried that I may have overdone it, but I'm glad you liked it.

Guest & Questioner: Thanks guys! I appreciate it!

Cyclone160: Sorry it took so long! Here it is, I hope you like it!

Vinyl Scratch 3: Nope, she hasn't :)

goodpie2: Wow thanks! I appreciate it. I'll try to get a beta, though I've never really found anyone I like working with.

Horizon Unsheathed: Wow thanks so much! If you only knew how much joy your review gave me :)

Nightingale: Thanks for the reviews! Yep, I never abandon stories, don't worry ;)

Guest: Here's the next update! I hope you like it! Thanks so much for reading my story! It's much appreciated!