Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Something like a flash of lightning. Blindingly green. And then her whole body electrified, coming apart at the seams. Unraveling like someone had pulled a loose thread in a tapestry.

Then, her feet on strange stone floors, unfamiliar boots. And a large wooden door with an old woman calling for help on the other side of it.

She threw them open and --

Cosima opened her eyes.

Dazed, confused. Her head felt stuffed with cotton. How had she come to be laying down? And where was she? She’d certainly never seen the floor she was currently staring at before. Complex patterns of interlocking wood. And… massive looping piles of very thin red ropes trailing over the ends of the table above her. Almost like yarn, but she could tell by looking the texture was completely different.

She sat up, feeling slightly more awake. Above her, at the table, she could hear a low susurrus of voices all talking at once. Or… no. Not talking. Weird clicks and cackles of sound. Frowning, she got to her knees and peered over the top of it.

Bodies.

Men, women, children. And -- not just that. But alien shapes and figures not quite human. And Elves. Dwarves. Horned giants. And more she couldn’t see because the table stretched on and on for ages, disappearing into a strange red haze of darkness at the other end of the hall.

Every body lay in the fetal position but also cracked open like hollow shells. But rather than viscera, they spilled threads tightly braided into red cord.

And sitting around the table were birds. Black of feather with long necks that stretched and swayed like serpents. Sharp beaks clicked, and spewed caws, and ducked into opened ribs to pull spools of thread. Holding them before one another’s eyes for examination.

One, she noticed, had taken the newly braided ropes of two bodies, and was carefully tying them together. Another, in a sudden burst of violent motion darted forward and snapped another thread in half. The body it stretched from shuddered and curled in on itself even tighter, losing some of its color and vibrancy.

Cosima sat very still, and tried not to breathe.

Okay, she thought. Okay, so as far as nightmares goes, this one is moving to number one.

“Do not be afraid.”

She stiffened at the voice in her ear. Elderly, and somehow -- Parasian? And while she knew what was being said, there was a queer echo behind that knowing. As if the words weren’t exactly the ones she was familiar with.

A golden light spilled over her shoulder where the voice spoke. Cutting through the flickering reds and pinks that illuminated the birds, and their strange feast.

“Stand up,” they -- no, she -- said. “Slowly, child. And walk from the table. Do not run. You must never run from something that frightens you.”

She swallowed, turning her head oh so slowly, wanting to see what was speaking to her, to know why the voice had the vaguest trace of familiarity. But then she saw it.

Naked and curled on the table as if asleep was a young woman. Half her head was a close cut, the other a long spill of strawberry blond hair. She was naked and short, and full-figured. And from her opened ribs unspooled a rope that stretched across the table, and into Cosima’s chest.

It was her. Or some version of her.

Cosima didn’t have the slightest desire to test what would happen if she moved away from the table, and broke that thread.

But then one of the birds turned it’s eye to her. And that eye seemed to smile. It made her blood run cold and drain from her face. Her heart skipped a beat.

“If you do not move soon, they will choose you.”

“Choose what?”

And now all the bird-things were silent and staring at her. The one with the threads held a single one aloft, it’s sharp claws clicking as it pondered whether or not to cut it.

All at once sitting still didn’t seem like such a good idea. Cosima took a deep breath and pushed away from the table. Though it took her a few tries because her hands had gone numb with terror, and her legs felt like waterlogged wood. Heavy and useless.

One of the bird-things cawed at her questioningly. And she was faced with the horrible realization that beyond the feathers, and the beak, and the glowing white eyes there was something else. And that these things weren’t birds at all. But something her brain might splinter over if she could see it properly.

The questioning bird stood. Or -- at least, it was no longer sitting at the table. But gliding toward her in its strange feathered cloak.

A horrible sound filled her head, like the blast of a trumpet. Not musical, merely deafening.

She threw up her left hand to hide her eyes and turned away, gasping.

A gentle brush of feathers across her shoulders, the chill pressure of talons and --

Green light blinded her.

There was a sense of falling. But not freely. Tumbling over a long, spiraling staircase that at any moment might creep up and bite her.

She landed hard, face first. Into gray, dusty earth dim with fog.

Her left hand sparked and fizzed like a broken powerline. But the bird-things were nowhere to be seen. There was only a barren landscape of greens like she was living inside sea-glass.

Chitinous clicks.

She took off running before the noises could get any louder. And was surprised at how fast she moved. In most nightmares trying to run didn’t work real well.

Her heart gave an awkward little leap to the left.

This was a nightmare -- wasn’t it?

Familiarity pressed down on her with such weight as she ran that she almost tripped and fell.

This isn’t a dream.

Scrambling up the steep incline, feeling rocks cut into her palms, and her nails tear -- it was real. Real.

A familiar golden light above her. A hand reaching to help her.

Cosima jumped the last few feet between them -- had a moment to wonder if this was some sort of trap -- if she would once more feel feathers rather than flesh --

But then golden fingers slid through hers, and her hand felt like a miniature explosion. She arched, screaming as if an electrical current had slid down her spine. Images flashed in her head. The face behind the light, an old woman, the brighter green surroundings, the sight of an inhumanly tall being rotten with red crystals, something like a spider, but so much worse and impossibly huge, reaching delicate claws through her skull --

She fell again and landed on fractured flagstones. And when she tried to push herself up, she collapsed.

It felt like floating this time. Or maybe drowning.

Like waking up after surgery, she thought. Only I’m not waking up, I’m sleeping more I --

She drifted away, too heavy to fight the current of unconsciousness.

And in her less horrifying darkness, she heard voices. Clipped and masculine. Rough and female. Another -- soft, lilting, but cutting all the same. The murmur of men ill at ease. All at a vague distance. All in words that almost made sense.

She ached, and even sleep couldn’t wick away the pains that ripped through her. They followed her down.

Until all at once, the fever seemed to break.

---

She felt cool air on her face. Flickering light against her eyelids. There was the distinctive scent of damp stone and woodsmoke.

Cosima groaned softly and forced her eyes to open. Her arms felt too heavy. And when she tried to push her hair out of her face, she found they’d been manacled to an iron bar.

“Wha --?”

Her left hand exploded into light, sending a thrill of agony spiraling down her arm, into her shoulder, neck, and head. She gasped and grit her teeth around a shout, watching as her fingers twitched and her hand refused to relax.

“She’s awake,” hissed someone to her right.

“Send for the Seeker!”

The sound of someone spitting. “Filthy criminal! We oughta--”

“Not before the seeker talks to her Hal,” said another.

Cosima looked up, then sat up straight, abruptly able to focus on something other than the pain. There were people all around her in a circle. All armored, all pointing at her with unsheathed swords. Like she might leap at them and start breathing fire.

“I’m -- what? What’s going on?”

She had the vague idea that she’d been dreaming before. That she’d been asleep for a long time. But then if she was sleeping before, why did she feel so awake now?

Before any of the people around her could respond, a heavy wooden door before her burst open with a clatter. She winced at the light and watched two vague, female shapes stride into the room. One radiating righteous fury, the other deadly calm.

As her eyes adjusted to the pale sunlight, and she took in their faces her mind went blank with shock.

They didn’t look the same as they had when she’d last seen them. How could they? She’d only seen them as animated figures on her computer screen. These were real people.

Leliana looked older but still lovely. Cassandra had a scar she didn’t remember from the interrogation scenes.

None of this changed the fact that they were from a video game franchise.

“Are you real?” she asked -- feeling stupid even before she finished speaking.

Cassandra and Leliana exchanged a look. The barest thread of doubt slithering in through the gaps of anger. But only for a moment because then the full force of Cassandra’s glare was trained on her, and Cosima actually flinched away from it. It was a hundred times worse than any look of silent fury her mother had sent her way.

How in the hell had Varric been so calm and collected under that stare?

Breathe, Cos, this isn’t real.

“This sword I carry is very real.”

The way her blood thrummed and sang under her skin, and her heart pounded in her throat tended to agree with that no matter what her head was insisting.

Cassandra circled her like a shark, making Cosima’s shoulders hunch and her skin start to crawl. She could feel the cold edge of the woman’s sword, even though she couldn’t see it, and it wasn’t touching her. Something she hadn’t known a person could sense.

“Tell me,” said Cassandra, leaning close to her ear, “Why we shouldn’t kill you now.” She straightened and paced around her, each step like a bullet in the sudden silence of the room. “The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.” She lifted her lip in a snarl. “Did you think the Divine a dream as well?”

Cosima stared, brown eyes flicking between Cassandra and Leliana. “Uhhh,” she said. Mind absolutely useless. Normally she could make conversation with anyone about anything, hide her fear in mindless chatter and compliments. But then normally, she didn’t have sharp pointy things aimed at her, nor the threat of actual death hanging over her head.

“What… I’m sorry, but what was the conclave, exactly?” A gathering? A meeting? She had an excellent vocabulary but sensed she was missing some greater context here.

This prompted an actual growl from the Seeker. She snatched Cosima’s hand quick as a viper and half yanked her from the floor. Cosima gasped in pain and the green light flared out from between her fingers. For one horrible moment, her hand went fully green and almost transparent. Like some illuminated, dusky gemstone.

“Explain this!”

“I can’t!” she gasped, terror taking over. “I can’t! And let go of me! This -- it’s not happening, you are not -- oh, god, this has to be a nightmare --”

Cassandra dropped her, and Cosima tried to cradle her hand and scoot away, still babbling things she would probably be embarrassed about later. But then an actual sword poked her between the shoulders when she moved too far back, and the manacles prevented much movement due to the bar between them so she stopped.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

Her breath began to come and short sharp little gasps.

That felt real. Everything about this feel’s real!

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I… I really don’t… I don’t even know how I got here!”

“You’re lying!”

And then Cassandra lunged and had her by the throat. Cosima now had intimate knowledge on how it felt to be totally helpless because her legs were caught under her and her hands were a no go and oh my god I’m going to actually be murdered by a video game character because I don’t know how to lie when I’m flustered --

Leliana to the rescue. She darted between them and pulled the Seeker away. “We need her, Cassandra.”

She looked over her shoulder at Cosima, who was now on her side, staring back at them with wide frightened eyes.

Cosima curled up under that stare, trying to make herself into a smaller target. Panic eating away at her logic. Personally, she would have preferred a little dissociation right about now. It would make things a bit less aggressive. Maybe.

“I’m. Sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t have an answer? I’m. So confused… please, just… just tell me what’s going on, and I’ll… I’ll try to help.”

Leliana frowned at her. And there didn’t seem to be even a sliver of compassion to her as she stepped forward. Her manner was less aggressive than Cassandra’s, but she felt no less threatened. This Leliana was very far from the bard she’d recruited once-upon-a-never in Lothering’s tavern.

“Do you remember anything of what happened? How this began?”

Cosima struggled upright, face twisting in thought. The stone beneath her was so cold. Hardly a step up from ice. And she could feel the way her clothes settled on her skin with a clarity that was starting to seriously disturb her.

“I remember…” somehow, the memory of the birds seemed like something she ought to keep to herself. She didn’t think she would ever be able to articulate the terror of it, and this didn’t seem like the place to try. “It was green. I woke up someplace strange, there were… things. Chasing me. And a woman…”

Her gaze was distant. There had been something very strange about that woman.

“Made of light… she sounded very much like you…”

“A woman?” Leliana’s brow furrowed. “She sounded Orlesian?”

French, actually. But Orlais was the equivalent here, wasn’t it? “She reached out to help me, but then…” Cosima made a frustrated sound. Then she fell out of a hole of some kind. But what had come before that? Before the spiders, or the birds?
“Someone called for help?” In the back garden...

Cassandra was speaking again, but not to her. So Cosima tried to focus. To think back before the first nightmare.

She knew who she was, of course. Cosima Durand, a twenty-six-year-old Librarian toying with the idea of being an English teacher. She knew her family, mostly European, but with one Mexican grandmother on her dad’s side.

Every summer she went hiking and camping with her friends -- family by now, really -- in Colorado. She read (mostly fantasy) and she played video games (ditto), and she ran a Dungeons and Dragons game every Tuesday. She was always drawing, given half the chance. And guess what she drew? Fantasy. Usually ladies with swords, even. Irony.

And now you’re in a fantasy setting and you’re waiting to wake up.

Right, well, she didn’t actually know how to use a sword. And she was well aware of her soft body and its incredibly stabbableness. Stabability? The point was, it would be very easy to stab her and then she’d be bleeding all over the flagstones and what would that get her?

Okay, focus.

“It was… raining…” she muttered to herself. “When I went outside…”

She noticed a moment later that the room was silent. Her eyes sprang open and she looked up in time to see Leliana leaving, and Cassandra kneeling before her.

Cosima flinched and held her breath, wary of another altercation, but not sure what she could do about it. Cassandra made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and glared at her. “Do not look at me like that.”

Obligingly, Cosima closed her eyes. Couldn’t look at anyone in any particular way if your eyes were closed.

She couldn’t decide if the fact that she’d barely made it past the character creation screen before her computer crashed was a good thing or not. Would knowing more be helpful, or just make her more suspicious?

The manacles fell away -- though they were soon replaced with loops of rope at her wrists. Which was… sort of an improvement.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked plaintively, cracking one eye to look at her captor.

Cassandra pressed her lips together and looked at her. Searchingly. “It…” her voice was almost a sigh. “It will be easier to show you.”

This time when Cassandra touched her it was almost gentle. Not exactly kind, but she was helped to her feet without any unnecessary squeezing or shoving. Skittish as a deer, she followed after her. Up a set of stone stairs and through a Chantry hall.

She paused for one moment to stare at a small statue of white stone. Of Andraste, she would guess. And she would have kept on staring if she hadn’t noticed the people in the shadows behind the pillars glaring at her. Cassandra hadn’t waited for her. Probably guessing that any one person in the Chantry would gladly tear her to pieces given the chance.

Cosima darted after her, teeth sunk into her lower lip, and staggered into the freeing outdoor air. She lifted her hands to shield her eyes, squinting as they started to burn and water in the sunlight. She felt Cassandra’s presence just a little to the front and side of her.

“We call it ‘The Breach’.”

Cosima lowered her hands and followed Cassandra’s gaze skyward.

Thunderous gray clouds swirled around a massive green void in the sky. The mountain below was bare of snow, and massive monoliths of rock speared away from it, being pulled in parts and pieces into the void.

In the vaguest sense of the word, she recognized it. It had been part of the advertising for the game. But this was somehow so much worse than any illustrated rendering.

Because even miles away on the ground she could feel it. A low hum, vibrating in her bones. Louder, and louder, making her feel like any moment they might shatter inside her. And beyond that, there was the inescapable crush of hundreds of people terrified for their lives.

Again… she began to doubt this was a dream at all.

“What… is it?”

Cassandra turned to look at her. Almost serene in her seriousness. “It is a massive rift into the world of demon’s that grows larger with each passing hour. When we first found you, it was only a light behind the clouds.”

How long ago had that been --?

“It is not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Cosima frowned and tore her gaze away from the rift. “An explosion? That… that really doesn’t make sense. How could there be one so powerful it tore a hole in… in reality?”

A hole in reality… one she’d fallen through, perhaps?

“This one was.” Cassandra was before her again. Staring steadily into her eyes. Under less terrifying circumstances, this might have made her blush. “Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

As if it heard her a sudden bolt of energy crackled from the mouth of the void, shattering rocks and spilling screaming streams of something to the world far below. At the same moment, her hand reacted. Feeling as if a bomb had gone off under the skin of her palm and blown it apart. Splintering bone and blood. A scream tore from her throat and she hit her knees hard enough to skin them.

But that was unimportant in the face of the pain. It radiated. From her blasted fingertips all the way to her jaw in one cursed spiral of agony.

She curled around her hand, forcing it to close around the light. But still, it sparked and fizzled and dragged the breath from her lungs.

Cassandra went to one knee before her, speaking quickly now, voice cracking ever so slightly with some emotion she wouldn’t yet voice. “Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you.”

Yeah, somehow she’d guessed that. A horrible nightmare image filled her head of the rift in the sky pulling her apart like it had the mountain. Only worse, because a mountain had no mind to quake in terror over its divisions.

“Your mark may be the key to stopping this. But there isn’t much time.”

Cosima looked up, teeth grit against the lessening waves of pain. And for a moment she didn’t quite understand. But then --

I can help them. And she’s asking me to.

“None of this… feels real,” she admitted. Driven to honestly. “But… I understand. I can’t just… let people hurt. Even if this is a dream.”

Cassandra made a face, something between disbelief and gratitude. “You mean --”

“If I’m dying anyway I’d like to be able to meet the eyes of my maker when I go. I’m not letting people suffer,” she said, feeling a little stronger now.

And if it killed her, and everything was real… well, it was a little hard to be too upset over that at the moment. Real, and she’d already lost everyone she’d ever known before. Dreaming… and maybe death would reawaken her.

“Thank you. I think.”

Cassandra helped her to her feet and led her through a small, snowy collection of buildings. Too small to be called a village, but sturdily built with permanence in mind. Scattered people milled about. Most of them dressed in what passed for casual. But there were still quite a few in armor. Not full plate, and not anything like the things she’d seen at renaissance fairs, but still heavily armed.

Because, and let’s not forget the context, Cosima! In this setting demons and monsters and magic and monstrous magic, zombies are commonplace.

Her own clothes, thick, with some sort of hardened leather vest, felt woefully inadequate when she remembered the sort of things she’d fought in the games.

As she stared at a passing guard, she came to realize he was staring daggers at her. Everyone was, in fact. She flinched when she noticed and tried to walk closer to Cassandra. “Um,” she said softly.

Cassandra blinked, looked to her -- and then the people. “They have decided your guilt.”

Well that wasn’t very democratic. Or maybe it was. Public opinion mattered in courts back home, too. It wasn’t like people were ever totally objective. Issue here was that she might be dragged off by an angry mob and torn to bits before the green light in her palm did it for them.

“They need it,” Cassandra went on. Almost apologetic. Which was interesting because she’d just recently been trying to strangle her. “The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars.”

Ah, right.

The last game had sort of implied something of the sort. Though the conclave was new. And Haven was…. Wasn’t that where there’d been all the cultists, in the first game? It didn’t look at all like it had before…. But then, neither did anything else. Not exactly.

“She brought their leaders together,” Cassandra continued. Sounding choked with sadness. Cosima’s heart twisted uncomfortably in the face of real grief. “Now, they are dead.”

Cosima trekked beside her, barely keeping up as her feet kept slipping in the snow. Ahead a gated bridge of some kind was pushed open by more soldiers. Who shot her looks full of hatred. She skittered past them with a grimace, head ducked.

“We lash out like the sky --” and somehow she thought this comment may have been directed at the soldiers as much as her. “But we must think beyond ourselves. As she did. Until the Breach is sealed.”

Cassandra walked past her, and came to a stop midway across the bridge, gesturing with one hand for Cosima to stop. Obligingly, Cosima did so. Though where she was gonna go otherwise was a good question. Unless she planned on tossing herself off the bridge her options were limited.

Then Cassandra pulled a dagger from the back of her belt and she started to reevaluate swimming in subzero temperatures because she really didn’t want to be stabbed.

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes and pointedly reached for Cosima’s hands -- no less startling, given how one of her hand spat green light -- but the Seeker merely cut her bonds.

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” Cassandra tossed the severed rope aside, ignoring the choked sound of the closest soldier. “Come. It is not far.”

“We’re going to the Breach?”

It sure looked far to her, what with being in the sky and all.

Cassandra shook her head. “Your mark must be tested on something smaller first.”

The two of them began to move again. But faster, now. Not quite a run. “Open the gate! We are heading into the valley!”

The soldiers did so -- but only after receiving a serious glare from the Seeker. As she passed them, she heard venomous whispers something like a low growl. One of them actually spat on her.

Cosima resolutely kept her gaze forward. After all, she had no idea if a middle finger meant the same thing in Thedas. Besides, given how ‘persistent gore’ was a setting she had this feeling she’d be covered in worse things soon enough.

“Cassandra?”

Quickly, through the snow. Wind whipping her hair, biting at her skin. Distantly, the sounds of screaming, and rallying cries. Someone crying, ‘it’s the end of the world!’ Already, just feet beyond the bridge gate it felt like a different world.

“What?”

“I… don’t think I know how to -- augh!” She staggered as the breach pulsed and once more sent her to her knees with the pain of it. “Fuck!”

Let go, let go, let go, let go.

It was like her arm was caught in a vice. And on fire. And being bent against its joints. And -- lightning lit up the sky. Purple before dawn. Rain on slick concrete. Bolt after bolt crashing down in the distance -- then one that was almost green. Another striking the ground at her feet.

“Oh, fuck,” she muttered to herself. “I think I died.”

“You are not dead.” Cassandra hauled her to her feet yet again and clapped her on the shoulders. “The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demon’s we face.”

Right, there was no time to keep falling every time her hand rebelled. Cosima swallowed down a quiet little scream at the sudden truth of the world around her.

“If I was in the blast --”

“If?” Cassandra sounded interested rather than combative, but her gaze was slightly narrowed.

“If. I don’t remember it? But -- how could I survive it if no one else did?”

Cassandra made an unhappy sound. “We are uncertain. They said you… stepped out of a rift. Then fell unconscious.”

Stepped, ha. She’d absolutely fallen out of one because she remembered that part. Sort of.

“They say a woman was behind you. No one knows who she was.”

The table of things dressed as birds. That wasn’t anything that belonged in this setting. Yet the woman she’d seen had been there. Coaxing her to move.

“She was… kind. She tried to help me,” Cosima offered.

“Hm,” was all Cassandra said.

Together, they opened the next gate, any soldiers that may have stood guard gone to fight, or amongst the corpses she could see in the snow.

“Everything in the valley beyond this bridge was laid waste,” Cassandra said as they pulled. “Including the Temple of Sacred Ashes --” the doors swung open revealing live soldiers all with their backs turned, staring up at the Breach. “Do at least try to be careful.”

Rude. But fair, considering.

“I’ll do my best,” she said dryly.

Of course, right after saying so, a verdant streak of something came screaming out of the sky, and the bridge collapsed under their feet, sending them sliding into the gap below. Cassandra quite literally landed on her feet. Whereas Cosima’s face made an intimate acquaintance with the frozen river.

But there was no time to grumble. Before she’d even managed to get snow, and hair out of her eyes she felt it. That vibrating hum under her skin. The pulse of promised pain in her hand.

The ice shuddered under her, making a sound like horribly strained glass as cracks ran crazily across its surface.

A pulsing being of tar welled up out of nothing, dragging the air out of her lungs and filling the air around them with fiendish heat.

Cassandra, ever the warrior, had her sword out and moved protectively in front of Cosima. “Stay behind me!”

Cosima scrambled to her feet, watching Cassandra charge the thing -- and watching the steaming pile of green rock and sludge stir a second time.

“Please don’t…”

A scaly hand thrust through the surface of the sludge. And with a hideous groan she felt more than heard, a second tarry creature mottled with rags pulled itself into the world. It paused, then. And stood silently. As if it was enjoying the bite of the wind, and the sun on its not-quite-skin. Blue whorls of light rippled around it, almost beautiful in their strangeness.

Then it noticed Cassandra and began to glide towards her back.

And while it still looked the same, the weird current of energy around it changed. Abruptly all jagged, red edges and dripping purples where the red consumed the blue and spat it out acidic.

“Hey!” was out of her mouth before she had a chance to think. Cosima snatched up a rock and lobbed it at the thing’s head. Surprised when it actually connected.

It snarled and didn’t so much turn around as inside out so that its head was now facing her. Which, Cosima realized, was not ideal.

“Oh, right.”

Cassandra had a sword and a shield. Cosima had a sadomasochistic glowy hand. It wasn’t hard to see who would fare better against the demon.

She darted back along the dubious shelter of the fallen bridge, actually hoping to find a corpse because all the men and women above had been armed.

Something hot and horribly liquid splashed against her back, knocking her across the ice and into a supply crate. It rattled, and broke open, tumbling with her into the snowbank.

The demon loomed above her, thick ribbons of tar spilling from its head while the red crackles around grew even bigger -- and blackened.

But there, at the swirling vortex of darkness that served as ‘feet’. A staff.

That’ll do!

Cosima dove for it, and lifted it in front of her just as the demon struck out a second time, arm and hand gone all sharp and intent.

THWACK!

The treated wood began to hiss where bubbling black ooze met it, and the demon shrieked in her face, blowing her hair out of her eyes and revealing weird, green crystals for teeth.

“Bad demon!”

She yanked, rolled into the snow, somehow managed to find her feet and staggered toward Cassandra, eying the demon as it didn’t so much lunge as surge forward. Like a tidal wave.

No! Bad! Dislike! Fuck!

Dimly, she was aware she was probably screaming those words.

But this time, when the demon tried to attack, the world went weird and wobbly around the edges. She was intimately aware of the chill air in her lungs, the snow catching in her hair, the ice under her feet.

A little thread of -- something -- pale blue and sharp flittered past the end of her staff. Reacting in instinct she thrust the metal head of it forward, catching that sharp, cold energy -- and redirected it at the demon.

The demon broke around her, like the tide around a lighthouse. Only once the cutting edge of cold had gone through it, the two halves of its body went hard, and crumbling, like old, weathered asphalt.

Cosima stared at it, eyes wide, breathing hard. The staff still outthrust.

Did I really do that?

“Drop your weapon!”

A pathetic little squeak came out of her as she startled. Badly. Nearly dropping the staff in her surprise. She flailed a little, fumbling and just barely catching hold of it a second time, and spun to see Cassandra. Pointing her neatly bloodied sword at her, all intense eyes and command.

“Now!” She growled.

Her hands were lifted over her head, staff clattering at her feet in a heartbeat.

Oh very good, she thought with disgust. Do just exactly as you’re told, Cos’, don’t stand up for yourself at all.

“Um,” she said, feeling her cheeks fill with blood. “So. Just so you know. I would feel better if there was perhaps, maybe, something I could whack demons upside the head with available to me.”

A long tense moment as the two stared at each other. She had time to wonder how many more times she would be lucky enough to be held at sword point and then not run through with it. Time for her arms to get tired.

Cassandra frowned, sighing. She sounded very much put upon. “I suppose you will need something more than your innate... talents to defend yourself with. I cannot protect you.” And the sword went away.

“See, I feel like you are grossly overestimating what I’m capable of with a stick," She jerked her head at the fallen staff. " -- a very nice stick! But still. Stick.”

And this garnered a whole new expression! Something between disgust and (extremely reluctant) amusement.

Laughter was often Cosima’s best defense. Well, in a world without magic and monsters and very possibly death-by-religious-mob.

Nevertheless, she picked up the staff again. There would be no 'power of love' type solutions here. Dark RPG was one of the tags after all.

“You are a mage,” Cassandra said. And though it wasn’t said like a question, it sure felt like one.

“Ahaha,” she laughed nervously, trying to buy herself time. And then -- an idea! “You see when I said I don’t remember…”

Cassandra’s expression went flatter and sharper than a sword. “Please tell me that you are joking.”

Cosima smiled in a helpless sort of way. “I know my name?”

A long-suffering sigh. And, surprisingly, an expression that was -- if not sympathetic -- in the same country. “We will muddle through one way or another. Try not to blow yourself up in the meantime.”

Realizing that it would be in very poor taste she held back a joke about having a good track record surviving explosions.

---

Somehow, she survived another three encounters. There was quite a lot of terrified cursing and she was covered in troublingly human-like viscera, but she was alive and more or less whole. Trembling from the chill and the constant strain of adrenaline, but alive.

“I… really wish… I knew… how to kill things… efficiently,” she wheezed, bent over with her hands on her knees. Fighting against the urge to vomit.

“I am becoming more and more skeptical of your involvement in this chaos,” Cassandra muttered.

“Probably should… feel offended by that… but I’d prefer not to be… murdered. So my pride… will just have to buck up.”

“You are a civilian,” Cassandra said. “It is unsurprising you would have little experience fighting. Though how you survived the two years of fighting in the wild is becoming a brand new question.”

She didn’t want to lie. She was tired and stressed and chances were she wasn’t going to remember anything she made up right now. “I did say I didn’t remember much.”

Cassandra grunted. “Come. We must keep moving.”

Cosima took a breath and followed the other woman up a winding snowy stair cut into the hills. Above she could already hear the distant sounds of battle. More fighters meant she wouldn’t be the only backup Cassandra had, which would do wonders for her stress levels.

“Who's fighting?”

“I cannot say -- hurry! The rift is ahead!”

She almost hadn’t noticed the painful pressure growing under the palm of her left hand. But now that she knew there was a tear in the world ahead it was impossible to ignore. It spread, humming in her teeth.

Naturally, the rift was the first thing she saw. A floating cluster of green crystals, hissing and spitting like it was alive. Dripping with electric light, and pulling bubbles or blackened ooze from nothing below the feet of the people fighting the demons below it.

As she watched, a very familiar dwarf went down under a thing that looked like it was formed entirely of mottled rags and sharp juts of green teeth.

Once again, Cosima didn’t even think. Clutching her staff she ran, and threw herself off a steep ledge, right into the demon. She and it both went crashing to the ground, several feet away from its intended victim.

Her staff clattered away from her, somewhere, and the thing let out a deafening shriek of outrage. But then --

Then the tracery of light around its head pulsed, slithering away from sharp reds to muted gray and green. It had her pinioned under it, and was staring at her from the blank space of its head where there should have been a face. It was.. Curious.

Cosima snatched the familiar thread of cold out of the air and blasted it in the face before she had to wonder what that meant.

And immediately regretted it because the spiky reds of rage came rushing back and it screamed in her face and slammed her into the stone hard enough that she saw stars.

Oh, okay.

She pulled her legs to her chest under its bulk, rolled back and kicked with all the force she could muster. Giving her just enough space to scramble to her feet and clumsily claim a broken sword.

She lifted it -- grunting at the unexpected weight and charged.

Naturally, this worked about as well as she could expect.

The demon batted the sword aside, and her. Claws tearing across the side of her face in an explosion of blood and pain. Cosima said something fairly foul and threw more ice in its direction before hitting the snow. On her feet this time!

Hallelujah!

The demon that had given her such trouble was now a rather hideous ice sculpture with more than a few crossbow bolts sticking out of it.

“Quickly!” and then there was a strange man in green -- one that made her newfound magic surge under her skin in recognition -- lifting her left hand toward the rift. It had gone all blowsy and drifting, like a soap bubble, or a gauzy curtain. “Before more come through!”

And… something happened. It was like pulling a needle and thread through the skin of the world. Like there was a connection shot through the core of her whole arm -- the thread? And a bolt of invisible energy, hooking through the hole. A needle.

She gasped, yanking her hand back. The rift sealed itself in one smooth ripple. And somehow, the ache of pain in her arm lessened.

Cosima cradled her hand to her chest, very wide-eyed. Staring where the cluster of crystal had been suspended. It was gone. Startled, she stared at the stranger. A bald and surprisingly tall elven man. “What…? How did…? Huh?” So articulate. She blushed, frustrated. “What did you do?”

He smiled at her. More with his too-sharp eyes than his mouth. And she had this horrible sense of being tested. For the briefest of moments, she saw something glittering over his skin. Something iridescent and beautiful and frightening all at once.

Curious.

“I did nothing,” he said, stepping into her personal space and ignoring the oh-so attractive way she attempted to turn into a turtle. “The credit is yours.”

“Uh,” she said. “I? I didn’t do that. Did I do that? I would have liked to have done that, yes, but I’m pretty sure it’s not a thing I’ve done.”

And then his hand was lightly on her face -- which she realized felt increasingly weird. Too loose and numb and wet…

Oh, right. She’d been hit there at the end. And it was probably bad if the sodden state of her scarf and the lightheadedness was anything to go by.

“Whatever opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand,” he said, in the calm measured tones of a lecturer.

There was a flare of pale green light, and the numbness became stiffness and a brand new ache that made her wince. The worst bit was the sudden itch, though.

Having healed her, he stepped away.

“I theorized that the mark may be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake -- and it seems I was correct. In which case, yes, you did close it.”

Cassandra, having finally prised her sword from where it had been stuck approached. “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”

Solas inclined his head. “Possibly.” He looked to Cosima, eyes still bright, voice even and rather pleasant. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Cosima laughed nervously at the word ‘salvation’ and could feel herself begin to grimace. “There was already one cult in Haven…”

A loud ‘Ha!’ from behind her. Reminding her of the whole reason she’d played ring toss with herself and a demon.

“Good to know, Chuckles. Here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.” Varric looked up from adjusting his gloves and grinned at her. “And I mean your asses, not mine. Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasional unwelcome tagalong.”

He winked at Cassandra for that last bit, making Cosima snort. Almost in unison with the Seeker’s disgusted groan.

“I know you,” she said excitedly, bright-eyed and nursing a tiny bubble of joy in her chest. “I adore your stories!”

Cassandra groaned feelingly this time.

“Oh? Well, that explains why you threw yourself dramatically off a cliff and into a demon for me. Keep that up and I might have to write you into one of them.”

“That was no cliff,” Cassandra muttered.

“Glad you have you along, Varric,” she said. And meant it.

The elven man laughed. “You may reconsider that stance, in time.”

“Aw, I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.”

“Absolutely not!” Cosima jumped, surprised by Cassandra’s sudden vehemence. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but --”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

“Ugh!” She didn’t quite throw up her hands, but she came close. And in that motion, Cosima saw trailing threads of color that looked almost like guilt. Somehow.

“Well. It’s good to know there's a heaping helping of sexual tension to keep us warm on the way to our deaths,” she muttered under her breath. Not intending to be heard.

But then the one person she didn’t recognize -- the elf -- made an amused little huff. “My name is Solas if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

“Oh. Like ‘Solace’.” She smiled, a little awkward. It was a fitting sort of name for a healer. “I’m Cosima.”

“That’s Chuckles' way of saying ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,’” said Varric. The gleam in his eye suggested he’d also heard her comment. But if he wasn’t going to acknowledge it, neither was she.

And, wait -- he had?

It hadn’t occurred to her to wonder how she’d survived. That it was even an issue, really.

“Thank you,” she said seriously. “I’ll endeavor not to render your efforts completely wasted over the next few hours.”

He inclined his head. “Please do.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about this?” She wiggled her fingers at him. Right then it looked very much like a normal left hand.

“Unlike you,” Cassandra cut in. “Solas is an apostate.”

“Technically all mages are now apostates, Cassandra.” He spoke without venom. It was enviable, actually. She didn’t think she’d heard him as anything but calm the entire time. Which was weird, right? Even here, a place where demons were known and more common… shouldn’t there be some hint of stress?

And now Solas was looking at her. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade. Far beyond the experience of any circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed. Regardless of origin.”

Circle mage, right. Shit.

“I think that would be true regardless. And especially applied to me.”

Solas tilted his head questioningly. “Why?”

“She does not remember,” said Cassandra, sounding tired. “Anything.”

“I know some things!” she protested. “I just… nothing… personal… or not very much anyway.”

“So you know neither how you came by the mark, nor your own life before you had it?”

Well, she definitely remembered her life from before. Thing was she didn’t think there was ever going to be a right time to bring it up.

Solas had an expression of open curiosity now. One that left her feeling oddly exposed. “That’s… about the gist of it.”

“Shit, you can’t catch a break,” said Varric.

She tugged nervously at the long end of her hair and met Solas’ gaze. “So. I’m pretty sure an untrained mage is a pretty bad bit of baggage…”

“I will do what I can to help you,” he agreed, not even waiting for her to form a proper question. “Though first we must survive.”

Cosima smiled, relieved. “Thank you.”

“Knowing this,” Solas said, “I find it even less likely that you were responsible. Cassandra, your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to believe a single person, mage or no -- could have done this.”

“Understood,” she said. “We must get to the forward camp, now.”

And then she was striding ahead with Solas, both of them radiating something like grim determination.

Cosima stood, staring. Fighting a sense of vertigo.

The longer this went on…

I’m not sleeping.

Varric nudged her as he passed by. A lopsided smile on his face as if to say ‘who comes up with this shit?’

“Well,” he said. “Bianca’s excited.”

Cosima smiled back. “Let her know she can have as many of the demons that try and eat me as she wants.”

Varric laughed. “I think we’re gonna get along just fine, Lucky.”

Lucky. Well…

“Bad luck is still luck,” she said.

"Yeah, I know. Come on. We don't want to let the lady with the sword get too far ahead of us."

And so they went deeper into the valley, toward the remnants of the temple.

Chapter Text

May attract attention from the other side…

That means Demons!

And so on.

Cosima forced her eyes open and took in the support beams and the flickering yellow light of a fire. It didn’t even surprise her this time. And that was… worrying.

This time, at least, she also remembered everything. Such as the horrifically embarrassing way she’d screamed and ran around a fragment of stonework while trying to disrupt the rift and weaken the Pride demon. Frankly she hadn’t known she was capable of running that long.

So when she’d tried to close the Breach and felt her heart pounding too fast and hard in her throat, and her lungs close, she’d figured it was the cardio. And not, like, her newfound magic sucking the life out of her like she was a delightfully busty packet of capri sun.

Apparently passing out was her new method for dealing with difficult things.

She sighed -- and then jerked upright as she heard someone else gasp, and the clatter of falling glassware.

Cosima and the elven woman both stared at each other, frozen.

Scattered in the space around the elf there was a vague, faint outline of blackened veins. Edged in green light, not quite making contact with the woman. Some sort of weird, broken connection. If she turned her head this way, it vanished. And after a moment of staring at it, it dissolved into nothing. As if it only wanted her to see it was there.

She shook her head.

“Um, well. Hello?” She tried for a smile and was sort of disturbed by the way the other woman flinched away and looked at her.

“I -- forgive my intrusion, my lady I, I am so sorry --”

Cosima stared. My lady? When had that become a thing? She swung her legs off the bed. The elf squeaked and nearly fell over herself trying to retreat. Which was unfortunate because Cosima did actually fall over because her knees buckled.

“Mother… balls,” she bit out. “I am so tired of introducing myself to the floor --”

A startled noise that wasn’t quite a laugh. And footsteps. The elf woman was worrying at her lower lip and skittishly approaching. “Are… are you alright?”

“Probably not but hey that’s life, right? Could you help me up?”

A blank but somehow fascinated stare. “You want… me to help you up?”

Right, this weird worshipful vibe was starting to creep her out. “Well I mean, unless you have better things to do?”

“I… no.”

There came an awkward few moments of Cosima using her for support and also being scared to put any weight on her because she was just so spindly she looked like she might break. And then she was back on the bed and sweatier than she thought she should be.

“Thanks. I’m Cosima by the way.”

“It’s, um, Finn,” the elf said, still goggling at her and now twisting her hands. Somehow even standing still she gave off the impression that she was about to bolt.

“Finn. Okay. So -- why are you scared of me?”

“I’ve… I’ve never been so close to someone touched by the divine, my Lady.”

Aha, what?

“All anyone’s been talkin’ about for the last three days is how you closed the hole in the sky! They’re… they’ve called you the Herald of Andraste!”

No, wait, hold up -- what?!

“I… thought there was going to be a trial?” she said faintly.

“You saved us! We aren’t gonna string you up after that!”

“Oh. Well, that’s. Comforting.”

She’d already gone through the whole ‘this can’t be real’ and ‘I must be dreaming’ phase. But she still had an incredible urge to pinch herself and see if she woke up. Instead she lifted her left hand and stared very hard at her fingers. She’d read once that hands and words and such were never right in dreams and --

Her hand crackled like a powerline. And very faintly she saw a glimmering pattern of swirls embossed on the skin of her palm. The squirmed and shifted, while also remaining locked in place.

Aw, hell this denial thing was actively giving her a headache. Or maybe that was just her hand.

“Lady Cassandra… she did say she wanted to know when it was you woke, My Lady…”

“I’m sure she did,” Cosima muttered, massaging her aching legs. “I think I’ll probably need a couple minutes to unfuck myself. I’m super not used to running around.”

“Is it…. Is it because you grew up in a tower?” Finn put forth cautiously.

Cosima considered this for a moment -- then decided amnesia was still her best bet. “Probably. I don’t really remember much before I woke up in manacles below the chantry.”

“Ah.”

Finn looked visibly disappointed -- but a little bit less skittish. Which Cosima considered an improvement.

“What were you coming into the --” she glanced about herself, taking in the details. “-- cabin for by the way? I noticed you dropped something.”

“Oh! Well I -- Adan thought you might need a health potion. So I was bringing in a few. And. Just. Supplies.”

Cosima frowned. “Um. Is it... okay to take one if i’m just sore and bruised? I mean. I don’t want to be taking it away from someone who has like. An actual life threatening injury.”

She was pretty sure these things were less like tylenol and more like a doctor visit in a bottle.

“Adan wouldn't have sent none if he thought they’d be best used elsewhere, My Lady.”

Cosima thought about telling the other woman her name again, but figured it was probably a lost cause. “Well. I’d best get to it then. Where is Cassandra anyway?”

“In the Chantry. I should… I should go.”

“Wait --”

And Finn paused, vibrating like a bow string at her bedside.

“Thanks. For bringing those potions. And helping me off the floor.”

Finn gave a small awkward little smile. “‘Course. I’ll -- I’ll see you about the camp!”

“I’d like that.”

And then she was gone, and Cosima was alone to figure out how to dress herself in old fashioned clothing. It was interesting. Because she had never been a particularly thin girl. Over the last few years she’d reached a healthy weight, but her stomach was soft, her bust was large, and her hips quite wide. She’d fully expected to find clothing a nightmare.

To her surprise it wasn’t. There was more lacing and tucking and folding and tying of sashes and belts. And the clothes -- while very odd -- fit her well. Were even comfortable. Certainly stays (once she figured them out) were less of a bitch than an underwire bra. Nothing had stabbed her yet anyway.

Her mood only improved when she threw back one of the health potions Finn had brought. It tasted green. Minty. With just the faintest hint of citrus. And immediately she felt the too-tight pull in her legs, the burning and the bruises shrink and fade away.

She eyed the empty bottle appreciatively.

And realized that she was incredibly thirsty. Hungry too.

Well, finding Cassandra is probably a good start on solving those.

She pulled open the door to the cabin -- and saw lines and lines of reverent people making a horrifying parade route away from her door. All the blood drained out of her face and she slammed it closed again.

“That’s her! The Herald of Andraste!”

No.

Moving on stunned autopilot she went to the window above the sort of desk she had and shoved herself out through it, crashing inelegantly into the snow. But even here she could hear the murmur, the reverence.

It wasn’t that she was a particularly shy person, really. Yeah, anxiety, but who didn’t have that these days? No, she’d been a theater kid, and being on stage was something she’d enjoyed. She worked a customer service based job (though as a Librarian she had ever so slightly more of an ability to tell people when to fuck off) and her free time was spent putting on a show for her Dungeons and Dragons friends.

But she had never, ever had people look at her with the bright unmistakable fire of holy fervor in their eyes.

It was disturbing and she wanted to run for the hills immediately.

But of course, who knew what was in the hills? Giant spiders, probably. And if she ran into one of those she’d die. And not even because of the spider. Her terror and disgust would just hit the off button on her brain. Life deleted.

Also, there was the whole. Pokey swordy people. And the hole in the sky spitting demons. And also Cassandra would probably find her in a week trying to eat pine cones and covered in dirt.

So she didn’t run, just carefully made her way behind the rows of cabin houses in the snow, heading for the high, steeped roof of the Chantry.

There was a bad moment when she realized the front entrance as the only entrance, and she had to come through a row of vestment clad Sisters and Brothers from behind, but no one even looked at her funny. Unless one counted ‘with awe and reverence’ as funny.

Her heart seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her throat. It would be nice if it went back to her ribcage where it belonged, but she didn’t think she’d be so lucky.

The heavy, intricately worked wood doors of the place took some doing to open by herself, but she managed to wedge them open enough to slip inside.

Immediately the muffled sounds of shouting reached her ears. An angry, rather posh sounding man -- vaguely familiar? Roderick? And Cassandra.

“- to Val Royeaux for execution!”

Mmm, tasty fear, her favorite.

Acid boiled in the back of her throat. Her heart began to beat off kilter, half strangling her.

“I do not understand how I can tell you what I have seen and have you reach a different conclusion, Chancellor. She was not responsible!”

Cosima crept a few feet forward. Then noticed the Chantry was entirely empty. She straightened, looking around herself at the soot-stained stonework and heavy wooden beams under the flickering torch light.

Dark alcoves and bronzed statues of a holy figure watched her as she passed. It sent shivers down her spine. Somehow now, in the dark of the Chantry, it felt fully real for the first time. The elastic stretch of her ability for denial snapped. And he was left standing before another door, listening to a man demand her death, feeling cold.

The reality of the world around her made her feel like the illusion.

Actual amnesia might be better for my mental health.

Cosima pulled open the door and strode inside with a confidence she didn’t feel. “Please don’t talk about murdering me to assuage your need to be seen doing something without me in the room.”

Three, not two people reacted. Leliana, who she hadn’t realized was there by snorting and covering her mouth. Cassandra with something torn between amusement and aggravation.

“Chain her!” was what Roderik said. “I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

Cosima flinched, looking behind her at the helmed templars guards she also hadn’t realized were there.

“Disregard that, and leave us,” Cassandra commanded casually. And they did. Roderik looked affronted, but really between the two of them, Cosima would have listened to Cassandra first too.

He drew himself up like an offended bird, and dropped his voice into a softer register. One she imagined he considered more threatening. “You walk a dangerous line Seeker.”

Mistrust hung in the room thick enough to cut.

“The breach is stable but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

Unlike you, went unspoken. Though from the expression on his face, Roderick knew it.

And then -- then Cassandra produced a huge snaggle-paged tome, and slammed it on the table between herself and the chancellor. And Cosima at last heard ‘Inquisition’ and felt her heart wobble and sink down past her queerly swooping stomach.

Everything went just a touch blurry for a moment. Religious wars. Fuck, and the Spanish Inquisition, and the torture, and the crusades. A wave of American and European historical horrors crashed over her.

“- her survival, that thing on her hand -- all a coincidence?”

The Salem Witch trials. Married women murdered in their own hearths. Children left to starve out of fear for them being something only pretending at childhood. Holy, holy, holy and dead -- so many people. Because only in death are the sinners cleansed, and oh the righteous are only doing their duty.

“-- Restore order, with or without your approval!”

Roderik left. Cassandra turned, batting at the air in frustration, breathing harshly with her back to the door, the book, and the other people in the room. But only for a moment, only until Leliana spoke in her lovely, accented voice.

“This is the Divine’s directive. Rebuild the inquisition of old, find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader… no numbers. And now -- no chantry support.”

Considering the Chantry she knew from playing, perhaps that was for the best.

“But we have no choice,” said Cassandra, voice less harsh. Tired, but determined. “We must act now. With you at our side.”

For all that it made sense, what with the thing on her hand…. it was no less frightening.

“You’re trying to start a holy war?”

Leliana’s gaze sharpened, pinned her like a butterfly. And Cassandra straightened, shoulders back, head high. Beautiful, both of them, in the flickering torchlight. Righteous. The light of faith, but -- but not insanity in their gazes.

“We are already at war. You are already involved. Its mark is upon you.”

It’s not real, a tiny, stubborn, wailing part of her insisted.

“As for whether the war is holy… that depends on what we discover.”

Dazed, numb again. She couldn’t feel her fingertips. When this was only a game, it was easy. She had finite options, and one of them had to be the right one, the kindest one. It was so easy to save everyone when you could look up the right dialogue tree and know, for certain what the future held.

“I’m… I’m not… I don’t want to kill people,” she said -- voice coming out in a gasp. “Demons are one thing but war is -- it’s --”

Her face was cold, her lips felt like they belong to someone else. A rushing blackness was starting to boil at the base of her skull, and her stomach swooped abominably.

To her surprise Cassandra approached, setting both hands on her shoulders. Cosima looked up, swallowing until her throat clicked.

“I will not lie to you,” she said. “If you are with us, you may kill people. Some of them may even be innocents who did not deserve it.”

A laugh burst out of her, sounding like bullets. A few harsh ‘ha!’s cracking through the air. “That is not remotely reassuring.”

“No. But I will not lie to you, and you will not be alone in this.”

“Cassandra is entirely too honest,” Leliana added. An odd gleam in her eye, something between irritation and fondness. “You will hardly have to worry about deception from her.”

She hadn’t been. Cassandra had already proven herself more than willing to do the difficult thing, if she thought it was right.

“I’ll need someone to teach me,” she said, a little calmer. Her shoulders weren’t up around her ears anyway.

“If Solas will not consent to train you, there are other mages within our camp.”

“How can I walk away from this?” She waved her hand. It crackled, sending a spiral of agony into her shoulder. She winced, but ignored it. “This, I mean -- that this closes those rifts? Every demon I didn’t put back where it belonged -- it would be like it was my own hand doing the harm.”

She closed her eyes, shoving the panic down.

“Thank you,” Cassandra said, pulling away. And when Cosima opened her eyes, she saw her hand was out.

A smile crossed her face. Wry and vaguely disbelieving.

“Help us fix this before it is too late?”

Cosima took her hand in a firm clasp, and nodded. “I won't ignore this either.”

That was all it took for Leliana and Cassandra to start the wheels of war spinning. There wasn’t much she could add to it. Only watch as writs were posted to the doors very Martin Luther style.

For a moment, watching -- she couldn’t read them. The alphabet was entirely foreign, more like futhark runes than the roman alphabet she was familiar with. And this more than anything raised a horrible panic in her bones she couldn’t place --

Until, under her eyes the letter shimmered, and seemed to change --

No. Not the letters. If she forced herself to concentrate, they were still the same. It was her perception of them that shifted. They still looked like runes -- but now they also formed words. As clear as english.

Her vision doubled and she squinted, clapping a hand to her temple and looking away. Later, she promised herself. I’ll… I’ll think about this later.

She wandered from the Chantry, hand clasped before her. Ignoring the reverent gazes that tracked her progress.

Haven -- which looked absolutely nothing like it had in Origins -- was small, and packed with people, but the area near the apothecary was mostly deserted. Save for the lithe pale figure of Solas where he stood holding his elbow in one palm and his chin in the other.

Unlike the rest of the people she’d come across he did not stare at her. Didn’t even seem to notice her. It made something in her unclench, and her bitterly cold breath come easier.

“Solas,” she greeted. Studiously ignoring the awkwardness she felt. Like she was a kid sitting with the grown ups.

“Cosima.” He inclined his head to her. “The chosen of Andraste. A blessed hero sent to save us.”

She blanched, automatically taking a step backwards. But noticed a faint gleam of magic around him. Like before. Flickering amber light. Mocking amusement. A knife’s edge from cruel, though his tone had been anything but.

Ignoring the terrifyingly religious bent… “Well, I suppose someone has to do something about the massive demon spitting hole in the sky.”

“Spoken nobly indeed,” he replied, finally looking in her direction.

Cosima’s brow lifted without her permission. “Are you making fun of me?”

He snorted. “This age has made people cynical. I was not mocking you.”

Not that time, anyway. The odd crackle of magic over his skin had gone quite, sunk into the air invisibly around him. And the hum in her hand had grown stronger again -- though not painful. Was it because he was another mage.

She sighed heavily and ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know if it’s the age as a whole as much as it’s current circumstances. It’s. Somewhat overwhelming, really.”

“Only somewhat?”

A faint smile cracked through her exhaustion. “Very, then. I -- well. I’m not sure how I feel about being a hero. A holy hero in particular.”

“Oh? Were you not a part of the Chantry?” He was watching her now, hands held behind his back.

“I mean, logically, yes. I was probably a circle mage.”

“Ah, yes, your memory.” A vague flick of color at his cheeks. An emotion she couldn’t read.

“It’s still gone, if you’re asking,” she said dryly.

“Hm.” He stepped past her, looking out over the sea of tents and beyond, to the green glow of the sky. “Perhaps it was your being physically in the fade that cost you your memories.”

It was a decent theory. And not even entirely wrong because she was missing some time, even if it wasn't as much as she claimed.

“I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

She blinked, realizing she’d leaned a little closer. He had a wonderful voice. And what he was describing sounded a little like the labyrinth of the Fade that the Warden has been banished to. But… also not. To play it had been frustrating. But then, to play it was innately combative…
“How did you find them? I mean -- places like that? Where things from the past played out? During the Harrowing it’s nothing so… so much like a mirror. Or if it was, it wasn’t in any obvious way…”

“You remember your Harrowing?” He said, gaze lasering in on her again.

“I remember a Harrowing. I couldn’t say if it were mine.” Which was true. “But -- still. How?”

“Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

Once more she found herself fascinated. “That is… so much cooler than any kind of library. And I adore libraries, for the record.”

God, she was such a nerd. But that was basically time travel.

Solas peered at her with a faint smile and what seemed to be a hint of real warmth in his gaze. “Thank you. It is not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand year old dream? I would not trade it for anything.”

“Would you teach me?” she blurted. “I mean! I -- I don’t really. I do need to learn. Again. But um, I mean…. That sounds so interesting. And. I like learning things. And.” Words, woman. “I don’t really have anything to offer in exchange other than to have your back better in a fight but --”

“Breathe,” he admonished.

Her mouth shut with a snap, and she could feel blood rushing to her face again. But this was magic. And not just like, elemental, but extradimensional -- which, now that she considered it, might be a ticket home someday.

“I will stay, then. To teach you, if nothing else.”

She blinked. “Were you not going to? Stay, I mean?”

“I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you, I do not have a Divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

She stood up straight, eyes flashing. She didn’t believe Leliana, or even Cassandra would try anything. But they were two people in a camp of the faithful. “I’m the one with a Divine mark, like you said. If they try to use your magic against you, I’ll be right beside you shouting them down.”

“And if your words did not affect them?” he returned, face carefully blank.

“Then I’ll have to start hitting them with my stick,” she huffed. “Or throwing that flashy fire you mentioned. I’m not going to let them lynch an ally.”

He stared at her for a moment, seeming surprised. “Thank you.”

She nodded back, smiling crookedly. “It won't be the first time I cause a ruckus trying to do the right thing.”

“And what do you consider the right thing?” He’d taken a step away, hands once more behind his back as he looked on her with sharp eyes.

Oh this was for sure a test. But then, she had an answer. Right or wrong, it was how she felt. “Kindness. Equality. -- When do we start?”

A silent, watchful moment. Magic hissed and spun around him, flickering in patterns her strange Knowing could not parse.

“If you truly do not remember the lessons of the circle...” he began, effortlessly picking out what she meant.

“I really don’t.”

“Then it is best we start this evening. I will meet you in the Fade. For now… let us hope either the mages or the templars have the power to seal the breach.”

Cosima hummed thoughtfully, then decided to ignore what seemed to be a dismissal. “The Fade. It’s another world, isn’t it?”

“In essence.”

“Do you think there are even more worlds? Beyond that one?”

He turned his head to look at her fully. “Why?”

Pressure. Against her palm. Iridescent colors surged around his eyes for a moment, betraying a keen interest in this topic.

She worried at her lower lip, sensing the knife edge she’d stepped upon. But then, if not him, who? He seemed intelligent. And he didn’t set her ill at ease the way most of the men she’d interacted with in her life had.

But do you know that, Cosima?

The instinct to keep her cards close to the chest was strong, and in the end won out. “No reason, really. Just -- it seems to me that if there is one other world, there could be more. Like -- nothing is ever wholly singular. Is it?”

He continued to watch her, those same colors dancing around him. “Possibly.”

“No one expected the Breach,” she went on, tentative. “It stands to reason there’s more out there that no one expects.”

“I believe you will make a passable student,” he declared.

“Thank you.”

This time she took her out, walking quickly away from him. Which was probably suspicious but what else could she do, if she wasn’t going to spill the beans?

She hated being deceptive. She really did. But how did you go around dumping impossibilities on people? Let alone revealing their world was only a game in hers? She certainly wouldn’t like to hear some invisible something was deciding her fate, purely for kicks.

Though I suppose that rather defines how a lot of people see god.

Ohhh boy. Yeah, this wasn’t something she could go and spill on a whim. She needed to be careful, to plan out every word.

And then, she thought, maybe I can tell someone.

Maybe she could go home….

Home to a crowded ground level apartment full of books and art supplies. Home to a bunch of broken connections in her broken family, and friends who had never quite made it past the ‘casual’.

Oh, don’t mope. At least you’re safe there.

Anonymous. Safe.

Why did that feel so hollow?