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Chapter Text

Mi’Dirtha opened her eyes amid the haze as she stood.  All around her swirled a fog of ash, smoke, and embers.  Where was she?  How did she get here?

I have to get up.  I have to get up and move!

Her head spun and whirled, but she found her footing and straightened to her full height.  Though Mi’Dirtha could see very little around her, the keenness of her elven senses prickled strangely, and she had the distinct feeling that she was being watched.  Somehow, she could feel the weight of eyes---too many eyes---everywhere, watching from just beyond her line of sight.  Bearing herself in a slow circle, she scanned the desolate scene in which she found herself, searching for some way forward.  As she turned, a brilliant light cut through her peripheral vision, too bright and painful in the dark, and making everything else seem so much darker and more sinister by comparison.

Mi’Dirtha shielded her eyes, pausing as she turned to face the origins of the light. Perhaps it was daylight or a way out of wherever she was.  Her eyes began to adjust to the luminescence tearing clearly through the haze, and she saw the glowing outline of a figure through her fingers and her eyes narrowed in on the source.  The glowing woman floated as if by magic several feet into the air over the ground, atop a dias above her, a long stretch of craggy stairs leading from where she was up through the smoke rising to the spot where she hung.  If she was lucky, Mi’Dirtha could speak to this woman---the only other figure around her in the dark.  In her gut swam a mix of suspicion and uneasiness, but also relief and curiosity.  She took a deep breath and stepped toward the base of the stairs.

Wary and resigned, Mi’Dirtha waded through the claustrophobic darkness and made her way up toward the light.  Just as she was beginning to clear the worst of the nebulous miasma, she froze.  Behind her, a chattering sound erupted from the blackness, first one, then many, until an entire chorus of clicks and whines of a legion of insects sounded as though they were scurrying toward her.  They were loud---too many in number to be anything but a swarm.  Whatever it was a swarm of, Mi’Dirtha absolutely didn’t want to find out and certainly didn’t want to catch up with her.  Dread flooded into her, pure survival instinct and fear taking over her body as she scrambled.  She turned toward the glowing, hopeful figure and ran.

Without stopping, Mi’Dirtha looked back over her shoulder to see a horde of impossibly large spiders rush toward her from the shadows.  Her breath caught and she gasped, stumbling over the uneven and rocky steps.  She was on all fours now, dragging herself forward toward the top of the dias, reaching out desperately for the glowing woman just ahead.  A cascade of undulating light rose from around her, and the figure reached back.

So close!  Almost there!  Help me!  Mythal ar halani!  By everything holy and good, please!  Help me!

Mi’Dirtha’s mind raced with terror and she strained up, up, up toward the only hope for escape from this awful and evil place.  A sudden warmth filled her as the woman’s fingertips reached her hand, and she lifted up and out of the darkness.  In a flash of searing light, she found herself delivered from the horror.  A pulsing whirl of bright, green energy consumed her awareness for an instant and faded.  She was still on all fours, but the ground had changed beneath her.  It was more even, but far from flat, and as her vision cleared, she perceived a scattering shamble of warm bricks all around her.  She shuffled forward, only making it a few feet at most and she felt all of her strength fully drain from her as she toppled forward.  Her body suddenly heavy with boneless exhaustion, she let out a deep, full exhale and slipped closer and closer to unconsciousness.  The last things that came to her awareness was the cacophony of shouting men around her and a pair of heavy boots landing on the stones in front of her face.  Then, she surrendered to the darkness, and everything vanished.

Chapter Text

When Mi’Dirtha found the world again, she was strangely sitting upright, her legs folded beneath her, and on her knees.  Heavy irons clamped tightly over her wrists and fixed to the cold floor by chains came into her vision first.  She blinked slowly, shaking the cloudy fogginess from her mind, and did her best to take in the room around her.

Another strange place.  Perfect. . .

A flickering light of fire washed along the stone floor, but all else was cold darkness around her, and the clear sound of dripping water echoed against the walls.  A sudden cracking of green light burst from Mi’Dirtha’s left hand, and she hissed a little, turning it over in the shackles to see a mark of magic spilling light out from her.  It was abrupt and stung as much as it surprised her, glaring against her still-adjusting eyes, and making it even harder to refocus on trying to figure out exactly where she was.  She could tell so far that she had been taken prisoner, but by whom?  Why?  What had happened?

Mi’Dirtha’s last memories of the Conclave were dim at best.  She could remember some kind of explosion, then. . . the sound of chittering spiders. . .  Shuddering involuntarily, she tried to banish the thoughts as the mark flared again, casting a strange and sickly glow over her dark, bronzed skin.  It was not quite what she would call painful, but it also wasn’t at all pleasant.  She grunted in discomfort and squinted against the pointed and shearing light, trying to see it better.  It looked like a long, thin gash across her palm, starting at the base of her thumb and streaking up toward the base of her pinky, and similar in shape to a knife cut.  Had something magic cut her hand?  When did that happen?  What was going on?  What was this thing?

A door in her field of vision suddenly burst open, slamming against the stone wall behind it, and Mi’Dirtha looked up.  Light streamed in from the corridor beyond the door, and she perceived all at once that she had been completely surrounded by armed guards.  Two silhouetted figures came toward her from the light, and it wasn’t until she heard the familiar clamor of sheathing swords around her that she realized that the guards had all been training their weapons on her, ready to strike had she made any wrong move.  She took a deep breath and swallowed hard, keeping her head low and trying to appear unassuming at the same time that she continued to take in every detail that came to her vision about the room now there was more light.

The shemlen must have discovered her.  They had to have figured out that she had been sent with a small team of elves from her clan to spy on the Conclave.  She was in very deep trouble, that much was certain.  Just how much they knew was a mystery, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with concern for her team.  If the shems knew, where was everyone else?

Josvel and Taehorn?  Adava?  Hariel?  Fiothra?  Shanowen?

I swear by Mythal’s swift justice that if these fucking shems have hurt any of them, in any way, there will be blood!

The two figures came into view in the light.  One was a woman in armor with short-cropped, dark hair, a shield on her back, and the bright white eye on her dark breastplate standing out as if to indicate that she was a member of some sort of official fraternity, Order, or military.  The woman circled her, expression dark and foreboding, every bit like a wolf circling prey and readying to strike at her with the sword that rested at her hip and under her tight grip at its hilt.

Another woman became apparent as the second figure, melted out of the shadows almost silently.  She was tall, slender, and cloaked, a lavender hood draped to cover over the faintest bit of brilliant red hair as her crystal blue eyes held her in their sight.  She was threatening in her own way, standing over Mi’Dirtha and managing to be imposing even from a few feet away.  She shifted her weight to stand firm in her heavy-plate greaves while her arms held at her sides.  This woman could strike at her as well, perhaps even more brutally than her heavily armored cohort who was now at Mi’Dirtha’s back.

Lowering her head even further and attempting to gaze back to gauge the predator behind her out of the corner of her eye, Mi’Dirtha began to calculate the weight of the shackles, the positions of the guards around her, and the heft of each opponent’s armor.  If she had to die, she would go down fighting for her life.  These shems would get nothing from her.  Least of all a clean or satisfying kill.

Say nothing.  Mi’Dirtha bolstered herself.  Say nothing at all.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” the armored woman snarled in a commanding voice from behind her as she began to circle further to Mi’Dirtha’s side.  “The Conclave is destroyed.  Everyone who attended is dead.  Except for you.”

The crack of emotion in the woman’s thick Nivarran accent flared with anger and grief as she wagged her gloved finger at Mi’Dirtha, the other woman joined now in circling her like a trapped halla. 

Don’t say anything!

The armored woman, enraged at her impudent silence, reached out and snatched her left arm.

“Explain this!” she demanded as the mark flared and crackled again in Mi’Dirtha’s hand.

Taking in a hissing breath, she held her tongue and gritted her teeth against the gnawing across her palm.  When the mark had subsided again, the armored woman forcefully shoved her hand away.  The heavy irons pulled at Mi’Dirtha’s wrists, biting into her forearms, and making her crack.

“I can’t!” Mi’Dirtha snapped, warily casting her eyes up at the two women.

“What do you mean ‘you can’t’?” the woman boomed, her face twisting into a deeper rage.

“I don’t know what that is or how it got there,” Mi’Dirtha spat defiantly, her eyes narrowing on the woman’s.

“You’re lying!” she lashed out, one hand gripping Mi’Dirtha’s shoulder as she jostled her, the other tightening on the hilt of her sword, ready to draw and kill her where she sat.

She’ll likely go for the chest to run me through.  I can hit the flat of the blade with the shackles, redirect, and trip her.  It won’t do much to slow anyone else, but it will---

“We need her, Cassandra!'' The other woman rushed forward to stop her angry colleague, her voice ringing in an Orlesian lilt, gripping her shoulder and standing between the two of them to back her assailant aggressively away.

The armored woman--- Cassandra--- scowled and stood down, looming instead between Mi’Dirtha and the prison door though her hand was still fixed tightly to the hilt of her sword and never loosened.  The other, unarmed and unnamed woman turned back to face Mi’Dirtha, and she noticed the hints of firelight catching across the pattern of chainmail that was sewn into her robes as her piercing eyes caught her own and burrowed into her.  The look of the woman seemed to betray nothing, but the slightest hint of something flashed there for a moment as she swore that her eyebrows fought against the twitch of a pull to knit together over her eyes in the same angry anguish that this Cassandra also wore plainly.

Then, the words really hit her. . .

Everyone who attended is dead.

Everyone.

Everyone is dead.

That’s why none of her team was here with her.  They were all dead.  Mi’Dirtha’s mind careened in shock that she didn’t try to hide, casting her eyes down in wide-eyed disbelief at the stone floor.

An explosion, and then. . .

“Mythal ar halani!  Dian, ma harel lasa!  I can’t believe it,” Mi’Dirtha swallowed back hard against the grief and pain that seemed to strangle her of all breath and reason.  “All those people. . . dead.  Surely not everyone. . . ”

“Do you remember what happened?” the hooded woman asked urgently.  “How this all began?”

Mi’Dirtha searched her mind silently, desperately reaching for memories that seemed just out of reach.

Memories.  Where are they?

She shook her head, trying to physically jostle her memory into recollection.  This was not the first time that she had lost bits and pieces of reality to the all-consuming pit of forgetfulness.  So much lost. . . so much gone forever.  Always it seemed to lurk somewhere in the most obscure part of her conscious periphery.  So close, and yet miles and miles away from her grasp.

“I remember. . .” Mi’Dirtha spoke slowly, piecing together the fragments and flashes as they started to surface.

Focus!  Try!  You must try.  For your kin. . . you must try to remember!

“Running.  Things were chasing me, and then. . . I don’t know. . . a woman?” Mi’Dirtha churned out the words, knowing that none of it made any sense to her while hoping in the same breath that some of it made sense to them.

“A woman?” The hooded woman folded her arms over her chest and her gaze narrowed intently on Mi’Dirtha as she brought her eyes back up.

“Yes.  She reached out to me, but then. . . spiders. . . the sound of chittering spiders. . .” Mi’Dirtha strained to remember more, but there was nothing but a gaping black hole in her memory.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana.  I will take her to the rift,”  Cassandra was stern and stoic, weighing her with suspicion.

The hooded woman--- Leliana--- nodded, shot Mi’Dirtha a sharp look, and turned to stride out of the prison.  Cassandra hastily unchained the shackles from their mount in the floor and Mi’Dirth raised her head, worry creasing her brow.

“What did happen?” She begged sharply.  “What’s going on?”

“It. . . would be easier to show you,” Cassandra lifted her, raising her to her feet, the shackles still solidly in place over Mi’Dirtha’s wrists.

Following the imposing shem woman from the holding cell and out of the prison, Mi’Dirtha noted that the guards who had been watching her followed them closely.  Though silent in their watch over her, she knew that they would attack if she made any move toward escape.  A part of her desperately wished to run, break free, and make for freedom, but she thought better of it and chose instead to bide her time.  There were too many targets to take into account, and she had no idea what lurked outside the doors that made everyone seem so tightly wound that they would accuse her of mass murder.  Mi’Dirtha took everything into account as she was led up from a basement level and up through the main hallway of what looked to be one of their Andrastian Chantries.  To either side of the long corridor, women in their strange white and red robes were kneeling, lighting candles, and weeping as they whispered prayers to their gods.  Whatever had happened, it couldn’t have been good.  Ahead of her, two more guards scowled at her, malice radiating from their tense frames as they opened the heavy double doors, and as the two women stepped out into the brisk night air, Mi’Dirtha looked up.

A loud crack split the air outside, drawing her immediate attention to the sky.  Everything around her was cast in a sickening green glow, much like the one that poured from her left hand, coming from above.  It was too dim to be the sun, but piercing and bright all the same.  Mi’Dirtha shielded her eyes again and adjusted to the source, staring dumbfounded at a looming, malevolent vortex swirling in the clouds above her.  Tendrils of the same eerie light stretched out from the vortex toward the ground in a column of magical energy, sending out smoking hunks of jagged earth into the landscape before her.  She paused for only a moment to take in the sight as the imposing woman ahead of her stopped and followed her gaze up as well.

“We call in ‘the Breach’,” Cassandra explained, a darkness in her voice that reflected Mi’Dirtha’s own fear.  “It’s a massive rift into the World of Demons that grows larger with each passing hour.”

Mi’Dirtha sucked in a steadying breath.  She knew of the Fade from her Keeper and the other mages she had crossed paths with.  Though not a mage herself, she knew that this was the place that fueled their power and that it also hosted spirits and demons that forever threatened to enter the physical world through possession of even the most skilled and disciplined mages.  All of the horror stories coalesced in her mind as to the dangers she had been warned of around campfires and in dark corners.  So this was what had made the shemlen cower and grind their teeth at her.  Given the mark on her hand and the unfortunate resemblance that it bore to the great maw of demonic power, she could understand why.

Fenedhis!

“It’s not the only such rift, just the largest,” Cassandra turned to face her, earnest in her explanation.  “All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

An explosion. . . and then. . .

“An explosion can do that?” Mi’Dirtha balked, unable to tear her eyes from the horror.

“This one did,” Cassandra walked back toward her, the anger on her face evidently clear as she drew down Mi’Dirtha’s eyes with her threatening proximity and held them fiercely.  “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

This is why we suspect you, the steely grey eyes seemed to scream at her.  This is your fault!

As she finished speaking, another thunderous boom emerged from the vortex as it flared, splitting the air.  At the same moment, a burst of energy flared in Mi’Dirtha’s hand, more painful than the other times before, and she cried out as she fell to her knees.  Though she tried to pull it back, her left hand stretched out toward the Breach against her will. It pulled at her, aching, tugging painfully at something inside of her that seemed to hook into the very core of her being.  She clamped her fingers tight over the mark and fought to tuck it back into herself, doubling over until the pain subsided though her hand continued to glow with the unnatural green light.

“Each time the Breach expands, the mark spreads, and it is killing you,” Cassandra dropped to one knee, commanding Mi’Dirtha’s eyes to her own as she stretched a pointed finger to the gaping hole in the sky.  “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

“You say it may be the key,” Mi’Dirtha managed through her tightening jaw at the slight thread of pleading in the woman’s voice.  “To do what, exactly?”

“Closing the Breach, Maker willing.  Whether that is possible is a thing we will discover shortly.  It is our only chance, however,” she paused, doubling down on the seriousness as her eyes bore into Mi’Dirtha, “and yours.”

Now it was Mi’Dirtha who was angry.  All around her were these accusers that would kill her if she so much as flinched in the wrong direction, yet they knew that this mark---this thing--- was killing her.  Still, their suspicions bore into her, icy and unrelenting.

“You think that I did this?  To myself?” Mi’Dirtha ground her teeth in her outrage.

“Not intentionally,” Cassandra insisted coldly.  “Something clearly went wrong.”

“And if I’m not responsible for this?” Mi’Dirtha shot back, sticking out her jaw defiantly.  “What then?”

“Someone is, and you are our only suspect,” Cassandra’s voice was unshaken by her rebellion.  “You wish to prove your innocence?  This is the only way.”

“I understand,” Mi’Dirtha scowled.  If this is what it would take, then she was willing to do it.  The sooner this mess was done with, the sooner she could get the fuck out of here and back to where things made sense again.

“Then. . .” Cassandra’s face flashed in shock.

“I will do what I can,” Mi’Dirtha swore to her.  “Whatever it takes.”

Cassandra’s face softened, but only for a moment before her brow set hard again and she walked around behind Mi’Dirtha, gripping her armored shoulder plates to jerk her swiftly back up to her feet.  This time, she didn’t let go but urged her forward as she gripped tightly to her back to both hold Mi’Dirtha up and to keep her from running.  As they strode quickly through the makeshift camp, the eyes of a hundred angry shemlen bore into her.  Some whispered threateningly to one another at their passing, and her elven hearing picked up on their threats and curses of death to this “heathen knife ear” that they believed to be the cause of all their woes.

“They have decided your guilt,” Cassandra spat venomously.  “They need it.  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 the mages and templars.  She brought their leaders together.  Now they are all dead.”

The grief burst from the angry Cassandra as she pushed Mi’Dirtha forward on the path through the camp.  In her observations, Mi’Dirtha had caught sight and even heard words from this “Most Holy'' mother prophetess of the Andrastians.  The old woman was known to be wise and shrewd, drawing the attention of even her Keeper in the Free Marches.  There had been word that this Chantry woman was going to do something about the war that threatened even the elves across the face of the land.  None of them had wanted to be caught unaware as to what that solution was going to be---that was why she and her team were here in the first place.

Now, it seemed that Mi’Dirtha had gotten a lot more than she bargained for if the prophetess was dead and the wounded shemlen believed her to be the cause.  It could lead to another purge or Exalted March against her people if she was confirmed to have been guilty of this most heinous crime.  If there was any hope for escape at all, it evaporated from Mi’Dirtha’s mind immediately as the puzzling mystery of her capture began to come together.  Of course, they would blame the elf.   That she had this mark just served to justify their hatred and suspicion.  Had she been human, they might have put her in a bed instead of irons to await her waking and speak to her with some sense of clarity or reason when she finally came to.  Now, she was being paraded before them all, subjected to their dark eyes and murderous glares.  In a very real way, she should be grateful for this magic gash that had opened on her left palm.  Without it, she would likely already be dead.

On the pathway ahead of them from the camp, a barred and gated structure split the forest, and the doors creaked open as they approached.  The guards continued their barrage of damning looks as they passed, the way opening out onto a long bridge with another barred gate on the other side.  All along the way, more armed men and women guarded the way, and Mi’Dirtha swallowed hard against the tightening knot in the back of her throat as they proceeded.  There was no point in counting the targets or planning her defense should they fall on her.  This wasn’t going to be over until they had achieved whatever goal Cassandra was pushing her toward.  Maybe once that was done, she would be released.  It could happen.  It certainly wasn’t going to, but it could.

“We lash out like the sky,” Cassandra implored as she finally let go of the back of her padded armor and shoulder plates.  “But we must think beyond ourselves, as The Divine did, until the Breach is sealed.”

The two of them took a few more steps out onto the bridge and the guarded door shut heavily behind them with a dull thud.  Cassandra halted Mi’Dirtha there, walking around to face her, and unlocking the shackles from her wrists.  She stretched and rubbed the cold, sore skin and sighed heavily.  She hadn’t fully realized just how heavy the irons had truly been until they had been removed.  Cassandra discarded them mindlessly and they clanged against the stones of the bridge.

“There will be a trial.  I can promise no more,” Cassandra’s voice was flat and devoid of any assurance.  “Come, it is not far.”

A trial.  Great.  That should be delightful.  At least they will take their time shouting their slurs and spewing their hatred at me before they summarily execute me.  How comforting.

“Where are you taking me?” Mi’Dirtha asked warily as she followed Cassandra closely across the bridge.

“Open the gate!” She shouted to the guards and they complied.  “We are headed into the valley.  Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.”

Tested.  May be the key.  Might.  Maybe.  Maker willing.  Whether that is possible.

For people who all seemed so terribly assured of her guilt, Mi’Dirtha scoffed incredulously at how little they all seemed to actually know about what was happening, yet here she was, in a frozen wasteland, surrounded by shems who’d all be more than happy to kill her.

And she was their last and only hope.

The two women picked up their pace as they hurried into the wild and dangerous land ahead.  They passed by more armored soldiers and pointed hafts rammed into the ground to form menacing barricades beyond the gates.  Whatever they had been fighting off must have been great in number for them to try and create a bottleneck to thin out their numbers as they approached.  It had to have been akin to an army or a swarm.

Demons.

Mi’Dirtha shoved the thought back in her mind as she focused on trudging ahead through the forest on the snowy path.  The air around them swirled with dancing snowflakes all cast in pale green hues as they approached the pointed downward spiral of energy that twisted like a cyclone from the Breach above.  Around them, burning carts and wagons littered the path, shoved aside to clear the way, along with the occasional charred remains of bodies that lay unattended in their wake.  It felt to Mi’Dirtha that they were passing through some kind of tortured warzone given the catastrophic level of destruction, but in the pit of her stomach, she knew that these were all just innocent people who had been caught in the flurry of chaos as it descended to destroy them.  The decimation was horrifically recent, and so was the smell.

All those people. . . Dead. . .

Mi’Dirtha tried to push everything she saw from her mind as well as she and the heavily armed and armored woman made their way past crumbling stone fences and the remains of a hundred fresh skirmishes that littered the countryside as far as she could see.  It all seemed so overwhelming and beyond hope of repair.  Could she, a feared and hated Child of the Dalish, truly be the answer to all this destruction?  Could she and the brutal mark really somehow stop the onslaught of forces that were ripped from the Fade to invade the entire world?  Mi’Dirtha barely had a moment to sit with the possibilities as the Breach above them cracked again and exploded, the pain even worse the closer they drew to it, brought again to her knees with a sharp cry.  She bared her teeth and cradled her aching hand to her chest as Cassandra stooped again to help her up.

“The pulses are coming faster now,” the gruff woman explained flatly.

Mi’Dirtha heaved and loped to keep pace behind Cassandra.  There just had to be a way to stop this madness.  She just had to keep going.

Don’t stop.  Just don’t stop!

“The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear,” Cassandra spoke to fill the silence, “and the more demons we face.”

“How did I survive the blast?” Mi’Dirtha shot back.

“They said that you stepped out of a rift then fell unconscious.  They also say that a woman was in the rift behind you.  No one knows who she was,” Cassandra explained softly.  “Everything farther in the valley was laid to waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes.  I suppose you’ll see soon enough.”

The two women rounded a corner on the path to look out across another stone bridge and were joined by a small group of soldiers.  All of them pressed forward in their haste toward their shared destination when the sky split open again.  This time, it was not a mere flare in the Breach, and the mark didn’t react in reply, but a whistling piece of it broke off from the menacing cyclone of energy to strike at them from above.  It collided with the bridge just ahead of them, killing their small complement immediately upon impact, and sundering the bridge apart to send her and Cassandra down onto the thick ice of the frozen river below them.

It was a mercifully short drop and the two women rolled into their fall.  It was Cassandra who righted first and stood, drawing her sword as a second impact struck the ice ahead of them.  Mi’Dirtha shuffled up to look on in amazement as a demonic shade rose from a swirling pool of malicious energy that had formed on the spot where the errant piece of the Breach had collided with the earth.  First, one appeared, then a second.

Shit! Fenedhis! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra shouted the order as she rushed forward to attack the two demons.

Mi’Dirtha searched desperately among the rubble, suddenly urged on in her plight as a second mass of energy began to appear between her and Cassandra---her only defense.  She rolled over the bodies and scrambled across the ice.

They were going into battle.  It should be here!

Mi’Dirtha’s thoughts raced in growing panic as she hastily searched for something--- anything--- to defend herself within the pieces of the shattered bridge.  At her back, Cassandra let out a bellowing war cry as she clashed with the demons, still oblivious to her plight.

One of them must have had. . .

Then she saw it---the thing that she had been looking for.  On the ground and next to a pile of smashed crates, a sword, long and broad, the handle large enough for two hands.

That will do!

Mi’Dirtha gripped the enormous blade’s hilt, ripping away its strapped sheath as she set both hands and made a quick judgment of its weight in her grasp.  Steadying herself for a second, she focused her eyes on the target ahead, and with a raging roar, threw herself upon the closest of the now three shade demons that were swiftly gliding across the glassy ice toward her.  She lifted the blade overhead and brought it down with force, crushing it into the ice with a strike so powerful that the river cracked under the blow.  Again, she raised the blade out to the side, bringing it to bear in a sharp swing from the left to split the second demon’s head from its shoulders.  It evaporated like the first into a swirl of black and green smoke, revealing the last shade behind it, and Mi’Dirtha swept the greatsword up in a diagonal slash from her low right to split the creature in half.

Cassandra spun in shock to bear back on her, eyes flashing as she strode back toward her, sword drawn and pointed directly at Mi’Dirtha.

“It’s over,” the woman insisted harshly.  “Drop your weapon!”

Mi’Dirtha reflexively tightened her grip on the greatsword to defend herself, plans for the possible clash raged in her mind.  She could take this woman---her armor was easy enough to bypass and would crush under about three solid blows if she could land them in the sides of the cuirass.  But then where would she be?  In the middle of hostile terrain, two factions of enemies set upon her, the death of what seemed to be some kind of leader on her hands, suspicions around her intentions already high, and no idea what to do about the menacing force overhead that literally threatened her life so much more than this one woman with a longsword.

“All right,” Mi’Dirtha ground out through her gritted teeth, relaxing her hold on her weapon and readying to drop it.  “Have it your way, shem.”

“Wait,” Cassandra heaved a heavy sigh and sheathed her weapon.  “I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless.  That you can fight at all  is a blessing from the Maker, and I should remember that you agreed to come willingly.”

Mi’Dirtha nodded, hiding her surprise and feeling a great sense of comfort at the presence of the weapon.  She knelt down to retrieve the harnessed sheath and jabbed the sword’s tip into the ice as she belted it on.  The ease settled into her bones as she lifted the sword and slid it home across her back, and she cracked a small smile as Cassandra pulled out three glass bottles from her hip pack.

“Here, take these,” she pressed the bottles into Mi’Dirtha’s hands and she stowed them in her side pockets.  “Maker knows what we will face.”

Mi’Dirtha nodded and continued to follow as Cassandra led on.  As they slogged forward through the valley, she learned quickly that while she likely could take the imposing shemlen woman, she would have to fight bitterly to do it.  She was well trained and her movements with the longsword were tight and clean, used in symphony with the round shield.  She would make a tough opponent, and Mi’Dirtha was glad that she had thought better of making her an enemy as they fought through pockets of demons that dotted their advance.

“Where are all your soldiers?” Mi’Dirtha asked between battles, genuinely surprised that they were fighting through as much ground as they had been, completely unassisted by any further guards or militia.  

“They are either at the forward camp or fighting elsewhere,” Cassandra responded abruptly.  “We are on our own for now.”

Mi’Dirtha’s gaze hardened on the terrain ahead of her and let it take her focus.  There were worse things.  If this particular path hadn’t been heavily fortified, it did mean that it was relatively safe.  That wasn’t of any particular comfort given how hard they had fought as they went.  If it was worse in other areas nearby, Mythal help them all.  As they approached yet another stone stairway along the path, Cassandra’s hopeful voice rose as the sounds of a battle ahead of them came clearly through the air.

“We are getting close to the rift,” she hurried her pace.  “You can hear the fighting.”

“Who’s fighting?” Mi’Dirtha managed through focused breaths as she took the stairs two steps at a time.

“You’ll see soon,” Cassandra assured her.  “We must help them.”

The two rounded the top of the stairs to another, shorter bridge littered with more burning carts and barrels, and Cassandra veered left through the carnage, dropping a short way down off a ledge that was once the first level of a building as Mi’Dirtha followed suit.  Ahead of them, between two decimated buildings, lay a paved road dotted with enormous stone bricks from the broken structures to either side.  Beyond that, a writhing and pulsing mass of green and black undulated in the sky a few meters above the ground.  It very much looked like a smaller and less menacing version of the Breach, and as they approached it, they could hear and see the struggle ahead with growing clarity.

Mi’Dirtha set her focus on the demonic targets but noticed what seemed to be four allies also in the fray.  Two were humans equipped with steel and shields, one was a dwarf with a crossbow nearly the size of his entire body, and the fourth was an elven mage.  She charged and drew upon the demons, roaring when the greatsword broke through the body of a Rage demon that was closing in on her kinsman on the field.  Without meeting his eyes, she rushed forward to engage another, bringing the sword up to block, flexing through both arms as she held against its claws threatening to rip into her.  A sudden tingle of magic washed over her skin and distracted her only for a moment as she thrust the sword forward and away from her.  One claw passed through her block, coming to glance across her shoulder.  Surprisingly, though the Rage demon made contact with her body, a burst of shimmering blue light broke across her skin to protect her where the claws would have caught across the face of her armor to pierce and draw blood from her flesh below it.

Magic!  A magic barrier!  This must be the mage’s doing.

Mi’Dirtha smirked wickedly, emboldened by the barrier, and brought her sword back to her right and lunged straight and forward to ram it through the demon’s body.  It screamed, gripping at the blade as it heated under its mangled claws, then went limp as it swirled away in the familiar burst of energetic smoke.  She stopped a moment to catch her breath, the sounds of battle falling to the crackling and popping of the rift so near them as she slung up her greatsword.  She took a quick mental spin of the battlefield to quickly assess those in the immediate area.  One of the shemlen had fallen to their enemies, the other kneeling near the body to mourn.  The dwarf levied his astonishing mechanical crossbow, which he collapsed with a loud click.  His blonde hair was tied back from his un-bearded face, and thick golden hoops graced each of his ears.

Just beginning to search her surroundings for the other elf, Mi’Dirtha felt her left wrist gripped urgently and tight as she spun around.  A breath away from reaching out to snap the arm of whoever it was that had grabbed her with such force, her hand landed on the forearm as her eyes came to bear on her kinsman and she paused.  She had only a moment to register his features.  Cold grey eyes locked into hers with intention below a furrowed brow.  His head was cleanly shorn of hair, not as if it were routinely cut or shaven so much as that none likely grew there, and his ears were unusually low, flat, and broad---almost droopy compared to any elven ears she had ever seen before.  He was tall for her kin and his figure was imposing as the staff jutted from over his shoulder from his back to remind all who saw him of the danger he held to command at his fingertips.  Surprising her the most in those brief seconds was that this fully grown man was unmarked by the vallaslin.  There were no discernable markings whatsoever on his clean and angular face except a small scar on his forehead.  Mi’Dirtha had never seen another adult elf without their mark, and he was remarkably striking despite its absence.

“Quickly!” he shouted over the sound of the mass overhead, shaking her from her trance.  “Before more come through!”

In one swift and smooth motion, he thrust her left hand up toward the mass and nearly pulled her off her feet completely.  A violent flare of green light burst out of her hand, setting her entire arm into a tremor as it felt that all of her nerves raced with pulsing energy, and snaking through the air as it connected with the rift.  It expanded, whined loudly, and exploded with a deafening crack.  Ashen remnants of it fluttered to the ground and dissolved as the sky where it had been stitched closed, and all traces of the thing vanished as if it were never there to begin with.  Mi’Dirtha ripped back her hand, snarling as she forced the man’s hand from her wrist and pushed him away with a sharp shove to his chest.  He let out a small complaint as he turned to face her, steadying himself from falling over at her forceful thrust as she cradled the left palm open and up for her to see.  Slowly, the tingle faded in her arm and she twisted her face up to the elven mage.

“What did you do?” She demanded.

“I did nothing,” the man’s voice evened out and he smiled at her with a small wicked shine behind his eyes as he gestured at her.  “The credit is yours.”

“Mine?” Mi’Dirtha marveled.  “I closed that thing?  How?”

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark on your hand,” he explained coolly.  “I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that opened in the Breach’s wake---and it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra’s face lifted from her scowl into hopefulness.

“Possibly,” the elf responded thoughtfully, then turned back to Mi’Dirtha with a smile.  “It seems that you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Good to know,” the dwarf interjected, drawing her attention as he holstered his crossbow across his back.  “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

He leapt down from a pile of rubble that he had been standing on and stopped next to her side, smiling as he adjusted the cuffs on his gloves.

“Varric Tethras,” he said ruefully as he threw Cassandra a jesting wink.  “Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.”

The woman scowled and made a small, strangled sound of disgust in response.

What a strange assembly.

“Are you all working with the Chantry. . . or. . .” Mi’Dirtha paused, taking in their faces.

“Was that a serious question?” the elf scoffed in his response in amusement.

“Technically I’m a prisoner, just like you,” the dwarf--- Varric--- added, his smile fading a little as she shot Cassandra another sharp look.

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine,” Cassandra insisted defensively, her scowl darkening again.  “Clearly, that is no longer necessary.”

“Yet, here I am!  Lucky for you, considering current events,” Varric bantered back.

“Nice crossbow,” Mi’Dirtha mused, her eyes scanning over the impressive piece of equipment.

“Ah, isn’t she?” the dwarf sighed wistfully and looked back at it over his shoulder.  “Bianca and I have been through a lot together.”

“You named your crossbow Bianca?”  Mi’Dirtha chuckled softly.

“Of course!” Varric threw up his hands gleefully.  “And she’ll be great company in the valley.”

“Absolutely not!” Cassandra interjected sharply.  “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but---”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” Varric cut her off.  “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore, if they ever were.  You need me.”

Cassandra made another sound of disgust in protest, shrugging her shoulders and gesturing off with her hands and she turned and took a few steps away to mutter under her breath about dwarves and the like.  She knew---as they all did---that Varric was right.  Any of them alone would be dead by now.  Together, they would have much better odds of success in surviving long enough to make it to safety and plan their next steps.

The Breach

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” the elf added politely, seeming to make himself somehow shorter than he had been only a few moments ago.  “I’m pleased to see that you still live.”

“He means ‘I kept that thing from killing you while you slept’.” Varric scoffed.

Solas.  Mi’Dirtha pondered silently as she looked him up and down.

Pride.

“You seem to know a great deal more about what’s going on here than anyone else,” she mused with forced neutrality.

Solas grinned wickedly, taking her words as a compliment, and she saw it: Pride.  It was clearly written across his face.  A fitting name for this particular elven mage who seemed quite pleased with himself at having all the answers in his fist while the rest of them stumbled around for clarity.

“Solas is an apostate.  Well-versed in such matters,” Cassandra explained, her voice as dark and untrusting as it had been with her at their first meeting.

“Technically, all mages are now apostates, Seeker,” Solas’ polite and knowing smile didn’t crack or break as he turned toward Mi’Dirtha again.  “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 could give with the Breach.  If it is not closed, we are all doomed regardless of origin.”

“That’s a commendable attitude,” Mi’Dirtha responded with a sort of tentative appreciation.

This shem nonsense about apostasy was every bit as ridiculous as the rest of their Andrastian absurdities.  All of the mages she had ever met were apostates by their backward definitions, and she knew many.  While it was often the practice of most Dalish clans to keep only two or three mages at hand at any given time---Keeper, First, and a healer---there were those that did retain more than that.  It was a small danger when any one of them were inherently vulnerable to corruption by demons, but the mages of her kin were also wholly invaluable as protectors and healers against the shemlen that so often set upon them.  As her clan’s Defender and Head Hunter, she knew the benefits and risks of keeping these powerful assets at their backs and had petitioned her Keeper and First to allow her to keep two of them among their hunters for tactical use and advantages.

This unmarked man---this Solas--- was here amid the aftermath of the shemlen Conclave and their questionable intentions doing his best to share skill, magic, and much-needed guidance and knowledge.  All this he did despite the reality that could lead him to a painful death whether or not they were ultimately successful in healing the torn sky.  Even if he seemed a lofty prick about it, there was something admirable about him, maybe even noble.  Perhaps the lack of vallaslin meant that he had been turned out of his own clan at a young age and left to wander the wilds alone.  He certainly didn’t seem the sort to have come from an Alienage in one of the shem cities, though that also could be used to explain the blood writing missing from his face.  She had never met a city elf as far as she could recall, so it really could be either.

“It is merely a sensible attitude,” Solas assured her.  “Although sense appears to be in very short supply right now.”

Edhis!  What a dick.

“Cassandra, you should know, the magic at work here is unlike any I have ever seen,” Solas turned from her and back to the Seeker.  “Your prisoner is no mage.  Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

Mi’Dirtha tightened a little as she felt his eyes on her out of her periphery.  He had clearly been sizing her up this entire time, as she suspected anyone with half a brain would have done.  She had assessed him as well, and the understanding between the two of them in their silent distrust of one another was the closest they were ever likely going to get to anything resembling affinity.  It was always the quiet and unassuming ones that were the most deadly and cunning among their kin.  It was how they all had managed to survive this long, and both of them knew that truth well.

“Understood,” Cassandra nodded and they all shifted to follow her lead.  “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

“Well,” Varric sighed deeply.  “Bianca’s excited!”

“This way, down the bank,” Cassandra sternly ordered them aside.  “The road ahead is still blocked.”

“Then we must move quickly,” Solas added, shooting Mi’Dirtha a sharp glance as they fell into formation behind the others.

Cassandra took the lead with Mi’Dirtha directly behind her as Varric slid back in the ranks to walk just behind Solas at their rear.  The four of them turned down the steep and narrow embankment toward the frozen river and moved with hurried expedience as more massive chunks continued to strike the ground ahead of them on their path.

There are bound to be---

“Demons, ahead!” Solas’ clear voice rang from just behind her, finishing her thoughts and alerting the rest of them to the danger that broke into their field of vision.

Sure enough, there they were, sprawled out along the riverbanks, and making their way toward them all. 

“Glad you brought me now, Seeker?” Varric jabbed, loading Bianca with a loud click and letting a bolt fly ahead of them to strike one of the handful of Shade demons.

Cassandra and Mi’Dirtha waded into the host while Solas set his magical barrier over them all.  In her charge, she caught a glimpse of the mage out of the corner of her eye as he thrust his staff into the ground, the air in front of him lighting up in green runes that burst into a magic projectile that whizzed through the air to make contact with its target mere seconds before her greatsword fell upon it.  The air around her sang with bursts of light and crossbow bolts as she wove through the motions of her foes.

This is so much easier with four people.   Mi’Dirtha smirked as she brought her sword through the last of the pocket of demons.  We might just stand a chance out here.

“You’re certainly useful,” Mi’Dirtha commented wryly as Solas came back up behind her to follow along their push forward.

“As are you, it appears,” Solas bantered back, continuing to speak in the absence of any direct threat.  “I had taken notice that the calluses at the base of your fingers indicated a familiar grip on larger, more brutish weapons.  The even disbursement of the use between both hands and toned musculature of your shoulders showed a predisposition toward swords in particular.  I suppose double-sided axes and mauls were also likely---though secondary candidates based upon culture and availability.  You also seem to make good use of left-leading attacks as well as right, meaning that you are unusually ambidextrous.  Fascinating to see my theories all confirmed in the span of a few minutes.”

“A pleasure to serve,” Mi’Dirtha scoffed.  “Has anything else in your observations of my sleeping body been confirmed?”

“You are Dalish, are you not?” Solas prodded.

“Too easy,” Mi’Dirtha grinned, the white lines of her facial markings coming into her mind.  “I wear our vallaslin.   You very obviously don’t.  That’s hardly a stretch.”

“Though you are clearly away from the rest of your clan.  I would say very far away,” Solas replied nonchalantly.  “Peculiar that an elf of your ilk would bear the vallaslin of Mythal representative of more southern clans.”

Here it comes.

“What would you possibly know of my ilk or my clan,”  Mi’Dirtha scowled as the four of them scaled another set of stairs along the riverbank and back up to their winding path.

“You are from quite far north,” Solas insisted, an edge of accusation barely noticeable in his voice as he fished for more information to continue sizing her up.  “Antiva or Tevinter, perhaps.”

“Excellent guess, but no,” Mi’Dirtha huffed coldly.  “I’m from Clan Lavellan in the Free Marches.”

“That is surprising given your---”  Solas’ voice caught as Mi’Dirtha halted abruptly in front of him and whipped around to set herself directly in his path.

Solas very nearly ran into her, and she was braced to grab and redirect him through her space to throw him on the ground as she planted her feet defiantly.  Lucky for him, he pulled up just short of her, stopping only a few inches from ramming into her at full force.  Mi’Dirtha jutted out her chin and crossed her arms over her chest as she stared him down though he was notably taller than her, and came up once again to his full height to bear over her with displeasure gleaming in his cloudy grey eyes.

“Given my what, exactly? Hm?” Mi’Dirtha held him squarely in her sights.  “What was it again?  Solas, right?  Were you going to make some kind of ‘brown elf’ joke next?  Am I to be saddled with your bigotry and colorism in addition to your arrogance?”

Solas’ dark eyes narrowed on her, but he said nothing.

“Can’t you elves just play nice for once?” Varric complained as he and Cassandra stopped just ahead of them.

“Maker, help me,” Cassandra huffed in her clear upset.  “We need to get moving.  Enough of this posturing.”

“This woman is lying, Seeker,” Solas broke from her eyes for a flash just long enough to acknowledge Cassandra before refocusing on Mi’Dirtha.  “The Dalish clans of the Free Marches are fair-skinned and pale of eyes and hair.  Elves of lineage bearing darker complexions, hair, and the rarest green eyes such as our new companion here are from much farther to the north.  Her unwillingness to be truthful to such a query surely hides maligned intentions and dubious purposes at best.  She could well be a spy from Tevinter, or an Antivan Crow assassin.”

“Nuva Fen’Harel pala masa sule’din!” Mi’Dirtha spat her curse at the mage, seeing rage flicker behind his stormy eyes.  “Na solas delavir!  Te’olathe’len tas ma eolasa banal em.”

“That is enough of both of you!” Cassandra pushed the two of them apart.  “We can discuss the finer points of elven origins once we stop the Breach from consuming the entire world!  Agreed?  Solas?”

He looked away from Mi’Dirtha again, nodding his head and saying nothing further.  A slight flush of anger had crept up the base of his neck and his shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath to stay his outburst.

“And you,” Cassandra gripped her shoulder tight and physically turned Mi’Dirtha to face her.  “If I discover that you are lying to me, I swear on the holy name of Andraste that I will find out and I will kill you myself.  Understood?”

Mi’Dirtha huffed again and pulled back away from Cassandra’s grip with a nod and a dark, piercing glance at Solas before they all continued forward.  They had only managed a few more yards in terse silence when the Breach snapped and cracked again, the mark in her left hand flaring even more painfully, confirming that it would continue to burden her with greater pain the closer they got.  Mi’Dirtha winced and ground her teeth, holding herself up from collapse this time as she willed her own pride to keep herself upright in front of Solas.

“I know that it is difficult, but we must keep going,” Cassandra slowed a little to keep Mi’Dirtha at her side while she strode through the pain.

“Yes,” Solas’ voice was grim.  “My magic cannot stop the mark from growing further.  For your sake, I suggest that we hurry.”

Chapter Text

“So, are you innocent?” Varric teased, huffing through his hurried breath as he raced to keep up the rear of their column over another flight of upward stairs.

“I don’t remember what happened,” Mi’Dirtha responded flatly, keeping her eyes ahead to judge Cassandra’s reaction.

“That’ll get you every time,” Varric chuckled.  “You should’ve spun a story.”

“That’s what you would have done,” Cassandra huffed in her audible displeasure.

“It’s more believable,” the dwarf insisted.  “And far less likely to result in premature execution.”

He’s not wrong.  Mi’Dirtha mused, kicking herself for losing her cover story somewhere between racing away from the huge spiders and waking up in chains.

As the group crested the ridge ahead, another rift came into view on their path, a barred gate beyond it, and more shemlen soldiers doing battle with the demons that had sprung up through the rip in the Fade.

“We must seal it quickly!” Solas urged, setting his barrier over them again.

The four of them met the soldiers, again falling into their quickly familiarizing pattern.  Between the stairs, crags, cliffs, stairs, demons, and the gnawing at her left palm, Mi’Dirtha was growing more tired and more angry as they went.  Her sword swung wide, leaving her entire right side open.  Luckily, a well-placed crossbow bolt struck into the face of the demon preparing to take advantage of the opening and it screamed.  In a wide arc, she brought the sword down upon it with a booming growl, and it dissolved into nothing.

“Quickly!” Solas shouted the order.  “Seal the rift!”

No, I think I’ll just leave this one open for fun.  Mi’Dirtha scoffed inwardly at the rapidly grating voice at her back.  Of course I’m going to close it, you fuck!

Mi’Dirtha raised her hand and poured all of her rage into the rift, pulling the energy back toward herself as she snarled and the glowing mass exploded and vanished as the other had.

“Open the gate!” Cassandra ordered, sheathing her sword as the heavy doors opened to a chorus of agreements from the men above them.

“It appears that we are clear for the moment,” Solas managed through his winded, but evening breath as they all shuffled in and the doors closed again behind them.

“Whatever that think on your hand is, it’s useful,” Varric laughed dryly, slinging up Bianca again and catching his breath as well.

Mi’Dirtha didn’t respond to either of them as she looked forward across yet another bridge.  This one was lined with tents and crates, supplies in good repair, and tables set along the way.  This must be the forward camp that everyone had told her about, and she was seriously unimpressed.

What a mess.

Cassandra broke away with her authoritative stride toward a table a few yards away where Leliana and a strange, elderly man stood in his Chantry robes.  They were arranged to either side of a wide table that had been placed outside of the largest of the tents on the bridge and were speaking heatedly.  Though she couldn’t quite make out what was being said above the din and at that distance, she could tell that it wasn’t good.  Cassandra stopped at the table as well, and turned to gesture her forward.

“They are waiting for you,” Solas’ voice was cold and so close at her back that it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on edge.

Mi’Dirtha scowled and restrained herself, not turning to acknowledge him in any way as she balled her hands into fists and strode away.  Taking a long, even breath, she walked proudly across the bridge with her head held high.  She might be the smallest among them in stature, but she’d be damned if she was going to let them make her feel small.  As she approached them, Leliana’s voice came through clearly first.

“We must prepare the soldiers!” the red-haired woman insisted.

“We will do no such thing!” The man protested, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The prisoner must get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes!” Leliana exhorted him with her clear blue eyes.

“Haven’t you caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility?” the man shot back harshly.

“I have caused trouble?” Leliana scoffed, indignant and her impatience flaring in the face of the man’s accusations and slander.

“You, Cassandra, The Most Holy.   Haven’t you all done enough already?” The man was growing angrier as a deep flush set on his pinched-in face.

“You’re not in command here!” Cassandra shouted and gestured at the man as Mi’Dirtha came to her side.

“Chancellor Roderick, this is---” Leliana chimed her introduction.

“I know who she is!” The Chancellor cut her off, thrusting his finger out at Mi’Dirtha.  “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!”

“Order me?” Cassandra spluttered, crossing her arms and cocking her hip to one side.  “You are a glorified clerk---a bureaucrat!”

“And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry,” Roderick fired back, his face growing hotter in his bluster.

“We served the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know,” Leliana scowled at the enraged man coldly.

“Justinia is dead!” The Chancellor boomed, throwing his hands into the air.  “We must elect a replacement and obey Her orders on the matter!”

All three of them turned to stare at Mi’Dirtha, making her deeply self-conscious at the sudden attention.  This circular shem political nonsense was making her head spin, bringing a harsh light on the reality at hand and making it evidently clear that this was no mere argument or heated debate.  This was a messy picture far worse than she had imagined and painted out in broad strokes for her to see.

“So none of you are actually in charge here,” Mi’Dirtha laughed in her incredulous delirium.

The chaos of survivors fleeing a catastrophe as huge as this was always bound to wind up in a mangled and absurd calamity, but this. . . this was ridiculous.

“You killed everyone in charge!” the man in the stupid hat all but cursed at her then turned to Cassandra.  “Call a retreat, Seeker.  Our position here is hopeless.”

“We can stop this before it’s too late,” Cassandra insisted, taking a deep breath to steady her voice as she spoke across the table at the Chancellor.

“How? You won’t live long enough to reach the temple even with all of your soldiers,” Roderick scoffed and turned his head away from them all.

“We must go straight to the temple.  It is the quickest route,” Cassandra ran her gloved finger along the line of a beaten and weathered map that Mi’Dirtha assumed was the path indicating the mentioned route to the temple.

“But not the safest,” Leliana insisted, interjecting as she also looked down on their map.  “Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains here.”

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path,” Cassandra snorted.  “It’s too risky.”

“Listen to me!” Roderick pleaded.  “We must abandon this before more lives are lost!”

The ground beneath them trembled and lurched as the Breach so near overhead flared and thundered.  It sent out more and more waves of falling rock that would make way for more demons wherever they inevitably fell nearby.  The mark flared as well in Mi’Dirtha’s hand and it shook against her will to hold it steady.  It subsided after only a moment and she was strangely surprised at how quickly she had grown accustomed to the pain.  Or did it hurt less now?  Was using the mark to close the rifts actually making the pain lessen somehow?

“How do you think we should proceed?” Cassandra’s voice brought Mi’Dirtha back into the urgency of the moment, her steely eyes locked on her with resolve.

Is she seriously asking me?

“You’ve got to be kidding.  Right?” Mi’Dirtha chuckled mirthlessly.  “You want me to decide how we get up there when all of you are down here already planning my summary trial and execution?  This has to be some kind of fucking joke.”

“You are the one who bears the mark,” Solas inserted himself from where he had come up from behind her with Varric.  “It is ultimately you that we must keep alive.”

The heavy silence from all five pairs of intensely trained eyes burned into her.  Yes.  They were serious.  Mi’Dirtha scowled again, ignoring all of them to focus on the map before her and leaned over the table.  If this were a hunt, some kind of strategy for recovery of her kin, or a plan to meet aravels on top of the mountain ahead, how would she act?  What would she do?  The strategies started to unfold, and she took in a deep breath as the tactics solidified in her mind.

“We take the mountain pass,” she insisted after a moment.  “Feinting a charge will give us greater control over the battlefield and cost fewer lives than a complete forward push into territory where we are outnumbered.  If we move quickly, the soldiers can pull back to safety once we are above the treeline and on the path through the pass here.”

Mi’Dirtha gestured along the map where she intended to lead them, scanning the route clearly.

“We have already proven that the four of us are more than capable of moving with haste and efficiency through pockets of enemies along our way.  If that squad was lost due to an encounter with a rift---which is very likely given our proximity to the Breach---we have the means and practice to close it where they did not,” Mi’Dirtha found what she was looking for along the path and pointed it out.  “This mining passage is faster than a wandering shot up through the ridges and is our best shot at getting me up to the temple without wasting time.  Even if I’m the only one to make it, I will do everything I can to stop this madness.  If it’s anything at all like closing the other Fade rifts we have come across thus far, one way or another, this will be done today.”

Mi’Dirtha looked back up from the map, assessing the faces of those around her and gauging each one for objections, but saw none.  Unexpectedly, they all looked visibly impressed with her plans and not one of the five of them offered any questions or opposition.

“Leliana, we will signal you when we are clear and you can call off the attack,” Cassandra straightened and nodded her agreement.  “Varric, Solas, and I will escort her to the temple.”

“Mi’Dirtha,” she insisted as she also straightened to look the shem woman in the eyes.  “My name isn’t ‘she’ or ‘her’ or ‘prisoner’.  It’s Mi’Dirtha---Mi’Dirtha Lavellan.  If you’re going to make me steer this basket of cats and lead you up there through an actual army of demons, the least you can do is call me by my name.”

“Well, Mi’Dirtha Lavellan,” Leliana smirked at her broadly, pulling her eyes away from Cassandra, “I wish you luck.”

Mi’Dirtha nodded and followed Cassandra away from the table as the others fell in behind them.

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker!” Roderick shouted at their backs.  “Fools, all of you!”

Mi’Dirtha smirked soundly and she bore away from the table as the gate on the far side of the bridge opened and then closed again behind them.  Men who swore at tables only to hide under them later while others shed their blood were worth less than the air they breathed when it came to battle.  If her plan worked, then the Grand Chancellor should be kissing her feet by daybreak by all accounts.  That, or he would be dead along with all the rest of them.  Either way, it was going to be a solid win if she never had to subject herself to his naysaying again, and Mi’Dirtha prayed that she would be so lucky.

* * *

“The tunnel should be just up ahead,” Mi’Dirtha gestured and shouted over the sounds of the wind.

“What manner of tunnel is this?” Solas asked gruffly.  “A mine?”

“It looked to be a part of a whole mining complex,” Mi’Dirtha moved her hand from where she had been shielding herself to see ahead more clearly.  “There were several scattered across the cliffs up here.  This one looked to be our best option.”

“Yes,” Cassandra followed closely behind her.  “The path to the temple is just beyond it.  We were hopeful that we could use these mining passages to move our soldiers around the worst of the fighting in the valley.”

“And your missing squad is in there somewhere?” Varric added in nervously.

“Along with whatever may have detained them,” Solas’ voice was flat and matter-of-fact in his reminder to them of the potential danger ahead.

“We shall see soon enough,” Cassandra confirmed, determination thick in her expression.

The dark opening in the cliffs appeared through the snow and wind as the path below them changed from rock and snow to a wooden platform that creaked under their feet.  The closer they drew, the more the wind broke and calmed around them, blocked by the face of the cliff.  Mi’Dirtha smiled to herself, glad to have her theory confirmed.  The way looked open and they passed into the tunnel quickly.  Torches along the walls around them still burned, freshly lit from the missing squad’s passage through here.  They must have come through very recently, and Mi’Dirtha could feel the tension grow in herself and her three escorts behind her.

“Keep your eyes open,” the dark elf ordered, scanning the path as it opened through the rock, supported by wooden beams and trusses.  “If I’m right, there should be another one of those rifts nearby.”

They made their way quickly, loping at a steady pace to keep the dwarf at their back.  True to her assessment, the further they went, the more demons they ran into.  Luckily, they seemed to be staggered throughout the tunnel in small pockets, and their well-practiced pattern of battle made quick work of each group of their foes.  As the light from the exit of the tunnel came into full view, Mi’Dirtha found herself stepping over four charred bodies.  The smell of their recent death hung in the air and she scrunched her nose.

“I guess we know what happened to your soldiers, Seeker,” Varric’s voice was grim.

“This can’t be all of them,” Cassandra insisted in confusion as they moved back out into the snowy landscape.

“So then the others could be holed up ahead?” Varric pondered hopefully.

“Our priority must be the Breach,” Solas pushed forward to stand at Mi’Dirtha’s side, drawing up her gaze to meet his dark eyes.  “Unless we seal it soon, no one is safe.”

“I’m leaving that to the lady with the glowing hand,” Varric chuckled dryly, also shooting Mi’Dirtha a quick glance.

No pressure or anything.

Mi’Dirtha led ahead again, moving down from the pass to a copse of tall fir trees below them.  The clear sounds of fighting rang ahead, and she rushed their pace as she drew the greatsword from her back.  The treeline opened and the sight of another handful of soldiers engaged with a group of demons, the rift she had expected just beyond them.

I knew it!   She smiled to herself, letting out a roar as she charged into the fray.

Quickly making an assessment of the field, she could make out that there were four of the shemlen soldiers that were dressed in the same uniforms that she had seen on every other soldier so far, but among them was another, taller shem.   He was wearing a bright breastplate with a red and gold surcoat, and a band of fur trim circled his shoulders and neck.  His golden hair caught in the wind, and he brought a large heater shield to bear in front of him to block an attack from a Shade as he struck out his longsword in a wide sweep to slice through another.  Locked into the enemies in front of him, he was wide open to attack from behind.  As if conjured by her thoughts, a Rage demon, melting the snow as it glided across the field, rushed at the soldier.  Mi’Dirtha struck down the Shade that she was contending with and charged the demon.

Letting out another loud battle roar, Mi’Dirtha brought her greatsword down to her left and brought it up in a direct line, ramming it through the body of the rage demon from behind it.  It screamed, lurching as it dissolved.  The soldier turned to her, a look of shock in his bright golden eyes as they met hers.  She gave the man a small nod and rushed away, toward the rift at the heart of the battle, released the grip on her sword for a moment, and reached out to connect with the rift.  It whined and exploded as the others had, but strangely hung open in the sky.  Surprising her, the demons around them all froze as if they were suspended in time and everything in the battle stopped.

“We must dispose of the demons first!” Solas shouted from the far side of the battlefield, sending out a flare of green energy from his flourished staff to slam into one of the motionless wisps.  “Their presence tethers the portal.  You cannot close the rift until they are all dispatched!”

Mi’Dirtha made a small sound of displeasure and growled as she broke from the spot she stood to fall upon the closest demon.  Though it hadn’t been what she had expected, it was still good to know that she could stun their enemies by disrupting the rift, if only momentarily.  The effect did wear off after a few seconds and the remaining demons resumed their assault as if nothing had happened.  She would have to bear that in mind if they ever needed that in the future.  Cassandra had said that many rifts had opened.  If she was the only one with the means, she would have to close them all personally.

With the last of the demons dead, Mi’Dirtha held out her hand again to close the rift and it complied, popping, screaming, and vanishing into nothing as the others had.  She let out a deep breath and slung up her greatsword.

“Sealed, as before,” Solas remarked as he and the others came back to surround her.  “You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

“Yeah, let’s hope that it works on the big one,” Varric mused out loud as he collapsed Bianca’s arms and holstered it across his back.

“Lady Cassandra,” the man Mi’Dirtha had seen on the field earlier ran up to the group of them, his Ferelden accent filled with relief, “You managed to close the rift.  Well done.”

“Do not congratulate me, Commander,” the Seeker replied with a gesture toward Mi’Dirtha.  “This is the prisoner’s---Mi’Dirtha’s---doing.”

“Is it?” The Commander’s golden eyes shifted to meet hers, a mix of gratitude and hope shining through them as he spoke.  “I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try my best,” Mi’Dirtha replied, somewhat unsettled that this veritable fortress of a shem was smiling at her with such geniality.

All these shemlen. I’m literally surrounded by them. . . why me?

“That’s all we can ask,” the man nodded his agreement with her and turned to Cassandra as he gestured down the valley.  “The way to the temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

“Then we’d best move quickly,” Cassandra took a few steps in the direction that the Commander had pointed.  “Can you make your way back, Commander?”

“I can, thanks to you all for clearing the way,” he took a few steps to turn and slide his arm under the arm of one of the soldiers who was limping away the way they had come, helping him to stand as they walked.  “Maker watch over you–for all our sakes.”

They had no time to lose, and Mi’Dirtha steeled herself as every moment began to weigh on her.  Every delay could mean that more of these people were dying to get her to their destination and every life lost was another on her head.  With the very real possibility of a trial lingering in her future for crimes she couldn’t even remember happening---let alone any potential role she had played in them---the less blood they could pour on her hands, the better.  Dropping down yet another ledge on the path and able to move faster now in the absence of demons, Mi’Dirtha began to pick up their pace.

“So,” Varric chimed from behind her in an attempt to break the tense silence, “holes in the Fade don’t just accidentally happen, right?”

“If enough magic is brought to bear, it is possible,” Solas added, speeding up to keep at Mi’Dirtha’s side.

“But there are easier ways to make things explode,” Varric shot back, becoming slightly winded as he attempted to keep up with the rest of them.

“That is true, Master Tethras,” Solas answered grimly.

“We will have the time to consider how this all happened once the immediate danger is past,” Cassandra huffed, moving swiftly along the snowy path, a touch of hope in her voice.

They came to another drop, Mi’Dirtha slowing just a little as they all leaped down once more, coming to a huge, scorched ruin of walls ahead that lined a heap of sundered and shambled stone bricks.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas murmured sadly as they all slowly approached the ruins.

“What’s left of it,” Varric grimaced, his brow creasing under the strain of the grim scene.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you,” Cassandra noted, gesturing toward the only opening in the sundered walls that rose around them.

Walking slowly over the spot before the passage, Mi’Dirtha slowed, staring down at the bricks as they went.  She vaguely remembered it, though it had been somewhat darker before, and the heat from the ground had mostly dissipated.  It felt like something out of a hazy dream that she reached for, but couldn’t quite solidify in her mind.  She had been here, that much she knew, but what had come just before she found herself on all fours, struggling to get away from the horrors behind her was still mostly empty in her mind.

An explosion.  A glowing woman in the air.  Giant spiders racing toward her.

And then. . . here. . .

The memories were broken into brief flashes like too many pieces of broken glass strewn on a floor.  Mi’Dirtha shook her head as if to physically jostle the memories into their place at the back of her mind.  As Cassandra had said, there would be time to recall more later if they survived.  Either way, they had to keep moving toward their goal, and she reminded herself of this as they shuffled again, passing over the stones and past more charred bodies.  Each one had tried desperately to protect themselves in their last moments, frozen now in death into positions of horror and fear as they cowered on their knees and tried to shield themselves from the impossibly massive blast that had killed them all.  Trying to notice as few of them as possible, Mi’Dirtha’s heart sank as they passed a dozen or more distorted forms, their lifeless faces all wrenched up in terror as if to look at her.  Looking up, the Breach had come to be fully overhead, but down was the carnage that its creation had wrought.  There was nowhere that her gaze was safe except straight forward as she picked up speed again, making her way toward the opening in the damaged wall, and pushing on.

“You’re here!  You made it!” Leliana’s voice caused them all to pause just inside the temple’s main passage, a small contingent of soldiers and the Commander behind her.  “Thank the Maker!”

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple,” Cassandra ordered and Leliana gave her a sharp nod.  “Commander, follow us down.”

The red-haired woman turned off to delegate locations for the archers, unslinging her own bow to go with them.  Mi’Dirtha turned to gaze out over the awful sight before her.  The one-proud sanctuary for their Andrastian demi-goddess’ remains was completely torn apart from this point.  A huge crater sank down below them at the heart of what must have been the enormous explosion.  Every wall that may have once existed in the structure was blown to pieces, leaving only a huge towering obelisk in the center of the crater and the outermost wall barely intact up to about twenty or so feet where the stones vanished entirely to leave the entire building open to the air.

The rift that everyone had been talking about was at the heart of the crater and about fifty or sixty feet into the air above the shattered floor, undulating and churning, fed by snaking green fingers of light that came from the Breach in the sky directly above it.  Mi’Dirtha could see now how Solas and the others believed that closing this particular rift could potentially stop the growth of the ominous vortex swimming above them in the clouds, if not seal it completely.

“This is your chance to end this,” Cassandra spoke from behind.  “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Mi’Dirtha took a deep steadying breath.  “I have no idea how I’m going to get up there, but I will do my best.”

“You must,” Solas urged her sternly from her side.  “This rift was the first and it is the key.  Seal it and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

“Then let’s find a way down, and be careful,” Cassandra hurried away from them, finding a path to their right that looked like it might lead them down at least a part of the way into the crater below.

The four of them made the winding descent with the soldiers and the Commander at their backs.  If there was any chance to run at all before, it was gone now.  Surviving this would be Mi’Dirtha’s only way back out of the smoking and melancholy ruin and she steadied herself.  Preparing as best she could for the looming possibility that her body may not make it back out of the crater ahead, she huffed as she scuttled down the path.  Feeling the warmth still in the earth below her bare feet, she dodged between scattered stones, more scorched bodies, and jumbled rocks.  As they continued, a loud booming voice seemed to crack from the sky slowing them all in their tracks to look up and around them to see---if they could---where the voice was coming from.

“Now is the hour of our victory,” the eerie male voice seemed to ring from everywhere around them.  “Bring forth the sacrifice.”

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra marveled, speaking all of their thoughts aloud.

“Just a guess,” Solas answered out of habit.  “But it must be whoever created the Breach.”

Rounding a corner in the rubble, huge spikes of red crystal rose from the ground to hedge along their path.  It glowed with a strange power, almost singing softly as it whined in her elven ears.

“You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker,” Varric sucked in a gasp and recoiled.

“I see it, Varric,” Cassandra replied darkly, continuing their increasingly cautious push ahead.

“But what’s it doing here?” the dwarf growled.

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple,” Solas answered with a hush in his voice.  “The explosion may have corrupted it and drew it up to the surface.”

“It’s evil,” spat Varric, recoiling again as he moved around one of the larger clusters and made eye contact with Mi’Dirtha.  “Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

Mi’Dirtha nodded her silent acknowledgment, making sure to take the dwarf’s advice, and gave the red singing crystals as wide a berth as she could.

“Keep the sacrifice still!” The voice boomed again, rumbling against the sundered stones that rose higher the further their group went.

“Someone! Help me!” Cried a woman’s voice in response.  It was panicked and hurried, almost as if in pain, and somehow strangely familiar to Mi’Dirtha’s ears.

“That’s Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra slowed casting her eyes up again.

“Someone! Help me!” the voice cried out again.

“What’s going on here?”  a third voice joined in the unseen conversation, freezing Mi’Dirtha’s blood.

That’s my voice!

Hearing the similarities for themselves, every one of the three of them shot her knowing and dark glances.

“That. . . that was your voice!” Cassandra’s confusion and stunned amazement coursed into her heart, making it race as she held the woman’s dark eyes.  “Most Holy called out to you, but---”

The rift cracked open overhead, spilling light into the air around them.  In it, the figure of the Divine was captured in a distorted image.  She was being held, restrained by some unknown red energy that held her hostage.  A dark figure melted into the image, approaching the panicked, old woman.

“Someone!  Help me!” she screamed, repeating the same plea as before.

“What’s going on here?” the image of Mi’Dirtha flashed into the vision, throwing open some kind of door into the place where the woman was being held.

“We have an intruder,” the dark figure loomed, pointing at her.  “Slay the elf.”

“Run while you can!” the Divine shouted at her.  “Warn them!”

The sky cracked again, exploding out in another burst of light and the images faded again, leaving nothing but the menacing rift once more.

“You were there!” Cassandra stopped, spinning to meet her eyes again.  “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she. . . was this vision true?  What are we seeing?”

“I don’t know!” Mi’Dirtha shouted, doubling her hands into fists and shaking her head as she squeezed her eyes shut.  “I told you!  I keep telling you that I don’t remember!”

“Echoes of what happened here,” Solas mused with a sort of reverent awe.  “The Fade bleeds into this place.”

Mi’Dirtha opened her eyes, meeking the Seeker’s gaze again to see her brow creased and pulled up in silent anguish and pain.  Cassandra was searching her face for answers, something, anything to cling to, but she had nothing to offer her.  A moment of understanding finally passed between the two of them until all that remained in the air was regret.  Mi’Dirtha genuinely didn’t remember and wished for the sake of her own life that she had the answers Cassandra sought.  But there were none.  There was nothing.  The shem woman turned from her and led the rest of them slowly to one more drop about ten feet down and finally to the heart of the ruins of the temple.

Solas carefully approached the base of the rift and stood for a moment before turning back to the rest of them as their soldiers and the Commander started to set up tactical positions around the fringes of the crater.

“This rift isn’t sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily,” the mage said with authority, his face setting in a hard and dark expression.  “I believe that with the mark, it can be opened and then sealed properly. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons,” Cassandra shouted, readying her sword and shield.  “Stand ready!”

Around her, everyone seemed to be in position.  Bows were knocked with arrows, swords unsheathed, shields readied, and Cassandra gave Mi’Dirtha a sharp nod.  She turned to Solas and shot him a tense look as if to ask what to do and he nodded as well.  With one more steadying breath, Mi’Dirtha took a few steps closer to the rift, lifted her hand, and prayed for the Creators to be merciful upon her as the huge rift exploded open.  The force almost knocked her cleanly off her feet, but she held as a bright column of light poured from the center of the rift.  Where it ended in the air a few feet away and behind her, a form began to materialize and grow bigger than all other demons they had faced or the huge chunks of blackened earth and rock that had brought them into this world.

Mythal ar halani.  Mi’Dirtha unslung her greatsword and set her feet.  Goddess, be with me.

As it stopped abruptly, the form at the center of the light solidified and descended to the ground to reveal a hulking, twenty-foot-tall, grey demon covered in spikes along its skin, and eight sinister eyes set in black slits on his huge head.  It rose to its feet to stand over them all, stretched its arms out, and focused on Mi'Dirtha as it let out a shattering roar.

“Now!” Cassandra ordered and everyone leaped into action.

The air all around her filled with arrows and bolts that flew at the demon.  It lifted one huge arm and knocked away many of the arrows destined for its head, and it roared again, lumbering forward toward Mi’Dirtha.  She growled a response through gritted teeth and roared back as she charged the creature, lowering the greatsword in both hands to her side.  A barrage of green orbs of Solas’ light impacted its chest along with another volley of bolts from Varric.  Some bounced off the rugged hide of the demon while others struck true, biting in as they found purchase in its skin between bony spurs and spines rising from its flesh.

Mi’Dirtha moved toward the left side of the demon, striking a blow in a sweep out front of her to catch the back of its knee as she passed to take position behind it and to the side.  No doubt it could still see her at this angle, and she reminded herself of that as she came up to meet the cluster of three eyes on the near side of its head.  It screamed out in rage and lifted its arms, lashing out in two tendrils of lightning that snapped around to catch her like whips as it turned.  She dodged the first of the two, moving closer in a leap around the demon’s side as the other flailed wide, and she struck another blow to the creature at its gut as it turned to face her.  It roared again, but not from her blade, and she snapped her eyes across the hulking form to see Cassandra taking back her sword from where she had plunged it into the demon’s skin on its other flank.

“Hurry!” the Seeker cried out, deflecting a claw with her shield and stepping back.  “Disrupt the rift!  You must slow it!”

Mi’Dirtha nodded, rolling away from the melee and turning to set herself at the rift, again lifting her hand as she came up on her knees and connecting to it through a long swirling tether from her left hand.  It tore open, complaining and cracking, and as with the other rift they had passed, stunning the demon and it came down to its knees.  More arrows and magic flew at the frozen demon, and Mi’Dirtha charged it again, gritting her teeth and putting all the force she could muster into a blow at its chest, stepping through with its momentum, and swept back to strike along its head to take out three of its eight eyes.  The creature screamed, lurching back, bringing clawed hands to cover over the bloodied eyes.  Enraged at the relentless attacks, it lashed out again with its whining and snapping lightning whips, Mi’Dirtha stepped again, spinning back to miss the blow as one whip passed only inches in front of her chest.  Following the line of the attack, she noticed that the other was traveling at speed toward Solas, who had tucked into a roll to dodge a Shade demon from his side and was just coming back up as the whip tore through the air toward him.

Mi’Dirtha ducked as the first tendril pulled back and snapped her greatsword down on the second, shouting to warn Solas as she forced it down onto the ground.  Her kinsman leaped back on his feet and the whip stopped just short of its target.  Licks of lightning burned up and across her armor as it leaped from the demon’s whip up to her arms.  She cried out and gripped the sword even tighter, more enraged at the biting of the lighting as it searched through the padded leather and cold steel plates to find her skin than in any actual pain.  The mark in her hand pulsed and flared, and she released the whip, turning again to dash around the demon’s now empty peripheral vision and disrupt the rift again.

Another barrage of arrows, magic, and flurries of blows landed on not just the enormous demon she was contending with, but about another dozen or so that were strewn around the crater.  Many twisted into smoke and were sucked back into the rift, and the giant contender fell again to a knee.  Mi’Dirtha let out a bloody scream and brought her greatsword in a wide arc across the demon’s face and it roared back to life, pulling back from the blow, and landing prone on its back.  Seeing her chance, she took a spinning step to bring both legs astride the demon’s head as it laid back on the shattered stones, and thrust the blade into the ground.  In a single fluid and powerful motion, she dragged the sword’s tip along the ground at the level of the creature’s neck and smote its head from its shoulders.

The demon screamed and dissolved into black and green energy as it was pulled back into the rift.

“Do it!” Solas shouted, urging her back to face the huge rift.  “Do it now!”

Mi’Dirtha raised her hand to the malicious tangle of Fade energy above them and a brilliant shot of light burst out to connect her to it just as she had with all the others. The power was immense as it poured from her, and she set her feet with intention, dropping her sword completely, and bracing her left hand with her right as the mark battled to close the giant rift.

“Do it!” Cassandra’s voice joined in urging her on.  “Don’t give in!”

 Mi’Dirtha summoned all of her willpower and strength, slamming her eyes shut and letting go of everything else around her.

Creators, if you can hear me, please close this rift.  Close it now!

The swirl of energy writhed faster and whined impossibly loud, shrieking as she let out a thunderous shout.  Miraculously, it exploded open as she snapped her eyes back open and pulled back her hand to see a burst of light shoot out, racing up from where the rift was disintegrating to pulse inside of the Breach in the sky.  Mi’Dirtha covered her eyes for a moment against the bright light, lowering her arm again to see the swirling tethers that had connected the Breach to the huge rift were also evaporating.  They pulled back as they dissipated until all that was left was the vortex itself, silently rolling in the clouds overhead.

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out in a shaky exhale, the ruins around Mi’Dirtha began to blur in a fuzzy twist.  Behind her, she could make out the dim noise of people cheering, but it ended in a soft ringing in her ears as she felt herself drop to her knees, slumped forward, and the world went black.

Chapter Text

Mi'Dirtha woke slowly, half expecting to be surrounded by armed guards and back in chains, but neither was true.  It was warm and quiet and she was completely supported by something thick and soft as quilted blankets covered her over to stave off the cold.  As her vision began to clear, she took in the surroundings, blinking a couple of times, and sat up.  The hovel around her was alight with the warm glow from a fireplace nearby that churned heat into the room.  Crates, small empty animal cages, and barrels were stacked haphazardly around the walls amid bookshelves and a small table near the bed.  This space was clearly used for some kind of storage but had been rearranged to accommodate the comfortable shemlen bed that she found herself in.

Well, at least this is a better strange place to wake up in than the last two.

Mi’Dirtha heaved a deep sigh to shake the sleep from her body, rubbed her face, and threw off the blankets from her lap to stand from the bed.  Just as her feet hit the floor, the door across the hovel opened and closed, and the thin frame of a young elven woman came from a smaller antechamber at what she guessed was the front of the small building.  She turned to face Mi’Dirtha and her eyes lit with shock and she dropped the small crate that she was carrying to the floor.  Something glass shattered inside of the crate as it hit the ground.

“I-I didn’t know you were awake.” the young woman yelped, startled and with fear in her voice.  “I swear!”

“It’s okay,” Mi’Dirtha assured the woman, rising to her feet.  “Don’t worry about it, I only---”

She stopped short of asking where she was as the young woman standing in front of her dropped and threw herself to the floor on all fours, lowering her head to the ground, and bowing in deference at Mi’Dirtha’s feet.

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing,” the young woman pleaded, then raised her head slightly.  “I am but a humble servant.”

An elven servant girl.  How wonderful for me.  I almost wish I was in chains again.

Mi’Dirtha reached out a hand to tell the woman to stand---to stop bowing as if she were a slave, but caught a glimpse of her sleeve as she did and stopped.  Looking down at herself, she noticed that someone had changed her clothes between falling unconscious at the temple and waking in the hovel.  Gone was her familiar, albeit damaged and worn armor.  Instead, she was wearing fitted garments made of grey silk, buttoned at the front and sleeves with golden fasteners.  By the feeling, at least they had let her keep her braes and hadn’t shoved her small chest into one of those ridiculous breast bands, but they had shoved her feet into a pair of leather boots that felt strange, cutting her off from feeling the ground beneath her.

“You are back in Haven, my Lady,” the young woman at her feet continued, bringing Mi’Dirtha back from her thoughts.  “They say that you saved us.  The Breach stopped growing just like the mark on your hand.”

Mi’Dirtha raised her left hand and turned it over to examine the mark stretched out along the ochre skin of her palm.  True enough, though it remained glowing softly, the thing was no longer painful.

“It’s all anyone had talked about for the last three days,” the young woman went on again, answering questions Mi’Dirtha didn’t even know that she had.

“Then the danger is over,” Mi’Dirtha sighed with a soft relief.

“The Breach is still in the sky, but that’s what they say,” the elf woman rose meekly to her feet, still bowing her head and meeting her eyes with submission as she picked at her fingernails nervously.  “I’m certain that Lady Cassandra will want to know you have awakened.  She said ‘at once’!”

“Where is she?” Mi’Dirtha asked gently, trying not to further frighten the young elf.

“I-In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor,” she began to back away slowly, then turned to rush out of the hovel.  “‘At once’, she said!”

The young woman very nearly ripped the door off its hinges and didn’t quite manage to close it all the way as it slammed against the doorframe and popped open slightly.  Outside, Mi’Dirtha could hear the sound of her voice carrying on until it faded in her mad dash toward wherever the Chantry was from here.

“She’s awake!” Her voice was met with hushed chatter and mumbling.  “The Herald has awoken!”

The chatter rose into a clamor of people outside the hovel, breaking the peaceful quiet.  Mi’Dirtha sighed and rubbed her head with the glowing left hand.  Then she straightened and walked to the door.  Opening it, the sun streamed into her vision and it took a moment to adjust as she stopped in place.  Before her, on both sides of a forward path from the small building were throngs of people that stood, all of them staring at her, bowing, and falling to their knees as she stepped forward down the path.  Between the pavers and the people were a row of armed soldiers on either side and she walked slowly past them all, expecting an attack of some kind as she went.  Instead, as she moved through the crowd, the soldiers also lowered their heads and saluted her with arms crossed over their bright silver breastplates.

Uncomfortable, but intent on discovering what had happened since the encounter with the demon in the temple, Mi’Dirtha balled her hands into fists and held her head high as she picked up her pace a little to stride proudly past them all.  As she moved forward, a handful of people to either side whispered in reverent awe as she passed them.

“There she is!” one young man hissed excitedly.

“That’s her!” whispered another.  “That’s the Herald of Andraste.”

“Praise the Maker!” an old woman gasped as she bowed her head.

“Hush!” said a woman at her side, “We mustn’t disturb her!

This was perhaps the furthest thing from the reaction that Mi’Dirtha had expected.  The same shemlen who had cursed her called her slurs, and whispered for her death were now falling all over themselves to show her adoration.  They were practically worshiping at her feet.  The violent rush that she had prepared for never came, and as Mi’Dirtha approached the Chantry, groups of clerics and priests in robes and hats marked by the Chantry’s sunburst that stood to either side of the large double doors came to also fix their gazes upon her.  Some fell to the snow on their knees, whispering their prayers and refusing to meet her eyes, while others stood and turned away, biting their tongues and shaking their heads.

“Chancellor Roderick wants the Chantry to have nothing to do with this,” one robed and hooded woman urged the woman to her side.  “We cannot be seen to disagree.”

Holding her nerves, Mi’Dirtha heaved open one of the doors and walked into the Chantry, remembering it to be the same building that Cassandra had led her out from after unshackling her from the cold stone floor.  Someone else rushed to close it behind her and bowed lowly out of sight.  More clerics and guards along the sides of the corridor saluted her and prayed at her passing, some weeping as they muttered hushed praises to their gods.  She rushed down the corridor toward a door at the far end, hoping to find somewhere away from all the strange people who would throw themselves at her feet if she stood in one place too long.  As she neared the door, voices speaking heatedly beyond it came to her attention.  Mi’Dirtha halted, lowering her hand from the door handle and leaning in to listen silently.  She wanted to know what she was walking into, or if she wanted to walk in at all.  

“Have you gone completely mad?” Roderick shouted from behind the door.  “She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately to be tried by whoever holds authority there!”

“I do not believe that she is guilty,” Cassandra pushed back.

Well, at least someone is on my side.

“The elf failed, Seeker,” Roderick barked back.  “The Breach is still in the sky.  For all you may know, she meant it to be this way.”

“I do not believe that,” the Seeker bantered back, standing her ground.

“That is not for you to decide,” Roderick insisted again.  “Your duty is to serve the Chantry.”

“My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours,” Cassandra was incensed, and clearly, so was she.

How dare this man still claim the right to accuse her!  She would never bow to any shemlen judge, let alone one that wore their authority under the banner of this Chantry’s gods.  Anger rose in her chest and she took hold of the door handle and thrust it open.  Inside, Roderick, Cassandra, and Leliana all circled a large table set with a huge map of the south of Thedas, torches were lit along each wall, and a few scattered bookshelves lined the back wall of the small space.  Guards in heavy templar armor stood to either side of the door inside as she passed, though she barely stopped to take notice of the fact that they were there other than to note them as targets in her mind.  They didn’t move as she stepped toward the table, and neither did anyone else.

I would rather die here in a bloody heap than let some shemlen priest decide my fate!

“Chain her!” Roderick thundered at the templars.  “She is to be prepared for travel to the Capitol for trial!”

“Disregard that!” Cassandra boomed in opposition.  “Leave us!”

The templars saluted each and turned to leave the room by the door that Mi’Dirtha had left open as she came in, closing it fast behind them.  The look in Roderick’s face was one of outrage and disgust.  He may have believed himself to be in charge of the room, but it was very clear that Cassandra’s authority superseded his when it came to guards and troops, and that fact made him pace in anger at the far side of the table.  That was good and comforting to know.  The list of her allies was growing for a change, and it made her lift her chin proudly as she stood at Cassandra’s side.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” Roderick threatened, his eyes narrowing on Cassandra, seething at the woman who stood with her arms folded across her breastplate.

“The Breach is stable, but still a threat,” Cassandra’s cold voice stopped the Chancellor’s pacing.  “I will not ignore it.”

“I did everything I could to close the Breach,” Mi’Dirtha asserted, her hands balling into fists at her sides.  “And yet, you still believe this was somehow my fault.  It almost killed me!”

“But you live!” Roderick scowled.  “A convenient result insofar as you’re concerned.”

“Have a care, Chancellor,” Cassandra warned, lowering her arms.  “The Breach is not the only threat that we face.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave,” Leliana inserted, her eyes also narrowing on the man in the chantry robes.  “Someone that Most Holy did not expect.  Perhaps they died with the others, or they may have allies that yet live.”

“I?” The Chancellor balked, his brows shooting up as he gestured wildly.  “I am a suspect?”

“You and many others,” Leliana insisted, her blue eyes piercing and cold.

“But not the prisoner?” Roderick scoffed and returned to his pacing.

“I heard the voices in the temple,” Cassandra’s voice was resolute and firm as she scowled back at the man.  “I heard the Divine call out to her for help and I saw her answer that call.”

“So, her survival---that thing on her hand---all a coincidence?” Roderick spat, his anger growing as he stopped pacing again and crossed his arms indignantly.

“Providence,” Cassandra declared loudly.  “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

“So, you’ve changed your mind about me?” Mi’Dirtha perked up, asking the Seeker hopefully as the woman’s eyes softened on her.

“I was wrong,” Cassandra spoke slowly.  “Perhaps I still am.  I will not pretend, however, that you were not exactly what we needed when we needed it.”

“The breach Remains,” Leliana added as Cassandra turned away from the large table to another one at the far side of the room.  “And your mark is still the only chance that we have of closing it.”

“This is not for you to decide!” Roderick tried to regain traction in the room with the three women but drew only their ire as he spoke.

Cassandra returned to the table, slamming down a thick, leather-bound book with the same Chantry sunburst heavily embossed on the cover.

“Do you know what that is, Chancellor?” the Seeker asked, resting a gloved finger on the cover.  “This is a writ from the Divine granting us the authority to act.  As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn!  We will close the Breach!  We will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval.”

Cassandra circled the table, closing on Roderick as she backed him into a corner of the room.  Withered and defeated, the man charged past her and out of the room, slamming the door behind him.  Cassandra pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and let out a deep, resigned sigh.

“This is the Divine’s directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old.  Find those who would stand against the chaos.” Leliana spoke almost reverently, her words lingering in the air as she looked down on the tome.  “We aren’t ready.  We have no leader, no numbers, and now. . . no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice.  We must act now,” the tall woman turned to Mi’Dirtha.  “With you at our side.”

“But. . . I. . .” Mi’Dirtha’s eyes went wide as the reality of the last several minutes settled into her mind.  Everything was happening so quickly.  “Me?  I can’t!  What if I refuse?”

“You may go if you wish,” Leliana gave her a small sad smile, folding her hands neatly behind her.  “We will not stop you, and we will not hold you prisoner here.”

“But you must remember that while many believe that you are chosen, others still defend your guilt,” Cassandra’s voice was somewhere between a plea and a lecture.  “The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us.”

“We can also help you,” Leliana added hopefully.  “Every bit as much as you can help us.”

“It will not be easy if you stay, but you cannot pretend that this has not changed you,” Cassandra continued, her brow knitting together in desperate worry.  “It has changed all of us.”

Mi’Dirtha scowled, resting her hands against the edge of the table as she thought long and hard about the implications of the words coming from both women.  The mark on her hand was the only thing that could close the rifts and the Breach.  To run away home now and condemn the rest of the world would be selfish if she ever even made it that far.  They were both right and as much as she hated to admit it, Mi’Dirtha did actually care and did want to help.  Stability here would mean more stability back home, and maybe---just maybe--- she would be able to do something about the stability of elves everywhere if she managed to do what they all said that she could.

“If you are truly attempting to restore order. . .” Mi’Dirtha spoke slowly and cautiously.

“That is the plan, yes,” Leliana assured her with a small nod.

“Help us fix this before it’s too late,” Cassandra lifted a hand and offered it to her with respect.  “Please.”

Mi’Dirtha smirked at the woman, lifting herself back to her full height, and taking her hand in agreement.  She would do all that she could to see the damage around her to be undone.  It may take all of her will to do so, and the task felt impossibly huge and immediate, but she had to try.  For all of their sakes, it had to be done.  With this Inquisition, maybe it could be done.

Only time could tell.

* * *

What have you gone and gotten yourself into, girl?  Mi’Dirtha sighed as she walked back out into the small, snowy town.  Mother always said that your optimism would be the death of you.  She might actually be right this time.

She looked down at her left hand to see the green energy pulsing in her veins, quiet like the Breach above, and just as deadly.  A sudden chill on the breeze set goosebumps racing along her skin.  Whoever had chosen such thin silk to dress her in had to have had some strange sense of humor.  Sure, it had been kind, but the thought of someone undressing and dressing her in her sleep was unsettling, and she longed for something warmer.  Rubbing her arms, Mi’Dirtha began to head back toward the hovel along the path that she had come up here by.  She was doubtful that anything of the supplies that she had brought from home were recovered in the aftermath of the calamity, but maybe something else would be there that would suffice to protect her better from the cold.  She was about ten steps toward her goal when a familiar voice rang from behind her, calling her to turn.

“Pardon, your Worship,” the young elf woman bowed again slightly, dropping her head in respect.  “Lady Cassandra has asked me to attend you and guide you around Haven’s camp to see to your needs.  I am deeply honored to be of service to you.”

Mi’Dirtha smiled.  Of course, they would send someone after her.  Whether the young woman was meant to keep an eye on her or to wait on her was yet to be seen, but she could think of worse things in the world than having a companion here.  She could help her familiarize herself with the surroundings when everyone seemed to gawk at her uncomfortably as she passed, and could perhaps tell her more about what was happening beyond the lofty realms of founding orders and saving the world.

“That is very kind of you,” Mi’Dirtha answered gently.  “What is your name?”

“Nolanna, your Worship,” the young woman spoke shyly.

“Well, Nolanna, if you’re to come along and show me around, you will have a hard time doing it with your head down like that,” Mi’Dirtha chuckled softly.

“A-apologies, your Worship!” Nolanna snapped her head up and straightened stiffly, her voice tense, and fear was in her young eyes.

“Calm yourself, lethallan,” Mi’Dirtha urged her, placing a hand gently on Nolanna’s shoulder.  “There is no need to stand on such ceremony all the time.  I need a friend here, not a servant.”

“I will do my very best, your Worship,” Nolanna softened a bit, blushing and nodding her agreement and Mi’Dirtha patted her shoulder.

“Your first order of business is one of great import,” Mi’Dirtha smirked.  “I’m freezing!  Is there somewhere around here that I might find a coat?”

“Oh!  Yes!” Nolanna burst, shuffling happily in the snow.  “Right this way!”

The young woman walked alongside Mi’Dirtha, leading her down the steps toward the great gate that divided Haven and its encampments from the sprawling wilderness beyond.  Just to the left of the gate, a lone merchant had set up his shop, lucky and happy to have survived the madness, he gladly handed Mi’Dirtha a long, fleece-lined, and hooded, leather coat that hung down below her knees.

“No charge for you, Herald,” the man beamed.  “Just tell your friends about me and put out a good word.  I could use the business.”

Mi’Dirtha thanked him heartily.  Warmer and much happier now, she gestured and Nolanna was more than happy to lead the way.  She showed Mi’Dirtha where the blacksmith, requisitions officer, and potions master had all set themselves up and provided her a general layout of where everyone else that she had met was lodging.  She took it all in as she internalized tactics for the lay of the land in which she found herself.  While a great deal of their primary operations and tradesmen were safe behind the walls of Haven, she realized quickly that much of it was indefensible and that their current standing force was too small to halt and serious assault from outside threats.  It was a relatively good thing that everyone else seemed to be too busy fighting with one another and scrambling for their own defenses, otherwise, it would prove exceptionally difficult to protect the fledgling Inquisition much less to keep it on task toward their goals.

They would have to gather support quickly in the race for resources that had been made increasingly scarce in the wake of the Conclave and they were starting off with a very serious handicap.  Mi’Dirtha kept all of this to herself and made the decision to bring it up to the others later.  For now, they all needed time to process, rest, and recuperate from the recent events before planning any of their next steps, herself perhaps more than the rest of them.  With everything culminating into an unknown future, and pieces of her memory still missing, she felt a deep disquiet that twisted her gut the more she thought about it.  So, she planned tactics, examined supplies, noted the needs of the growing encampment, and let that be enough for now.  It was all that she had any control over at present and she was content to take what peace she could from that.

Next, Nolanna showed Mi’Dirtha to the makeshift mess tent.  The food was bland and also in short supply, but Mi’Dirtha was happy for the first real meal that had eaten in nearly a week.  Hushed voices repeated the same sentiments awe mixed with tight-lipped chagrin. It all pressed in on her from all sides. She moved quickly from the tent once they had both eaten with Nolanna on her heels.  At the entrance, soldiers approached them, bowed, and saluted.

“Begging a moment, Lady Herald, but you have been summoned to return to the Chantry by Seeker Cassandra,” he insisted and Mi’Dirtha sighed heavily.

“I suppose that’s my duty calling,” she turned to Nolanna and smiled weakly.

“I will see to your quarters while you are engaged, your Worship,” Nolanna nodded slightly and left her company to break in the opposite direction of the Chantry.

The crowd of Clerics and priests had dissipated, making Mi’Dirtha feel a little more comfortable approaching the building, but her jaw was still set tight as one of the doors opened before her.  She cared for the shem’s holy spaces every bit as much as she cared for their gods, which was not at all.  That they were using this place as their headquarters made her skin feel too tight around her elven bones.  Hopefully, it wouldn’t be the case for too much longer.  Even the incense that they burned freely now was stifling.

Another guard in bright templar armor greeted her at the door to the rear of the long corridor with a salute and she stepped inside.  Around the table were the familiar faces of Cassandra and Leliana, along with the towering shem Commander, and a new person that she had yet to meet.  She was a slight woman of middle stature, robed in fine gold and purple silks, with dark hair done up into braids and pins and skin like her own.  She was graceful and met her gaze first, lowering her head a little and setting down her candle-lit tableau and pen.  The Commander leaned against the table on the far side between Leliana and Cassandra, one hand scanning the map with a gloved finger while the other rested at the pommel of his sword.  Mi’Dirtha eyed him, perhaps a bit more suspiciously than she should have.  Still, she could scarcely believe herself to ever come into full trust of such a tall and broad man who always wore armor and never left his sword.  Such men were akin to the type that had raided her caravans more times than she could count.  They were the kind that she fought more often and more bitterly than any other, and she’d be an absolute fool to forget that.

“Here she is!” Leliana chirped happily, grinning across the table and bringing everyone's eyes up to her.  “Lady Lavellan, I believe that you briefly met Commander Cullen Rutherford, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“It was only for a moment on the battlefield,” the Commander--- Cullen--- smirked slightly at her as he straightened, a tiny scar curling up across his lip on the right of his mouth.  “I am pleased to see you survived.”

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our Ambassador and Chief Diplomat,” Cassandra introduced the new woman to the table.

“Adaran atish’an,” the graceful woman curtsied slightly, her warm Antivan accent making Mi’Dirtha smile.

“You speak elven!” Mi’Dirtha cheerfully lit up at the familiar words.

“You’ve just heard the entirety of it, I’m afraid,” the Ambassador--- Josephine--- replied courteously.

“Leliana you know of course,” Cassandra continued as Leliana bowed her head slightly at the formal introduction.

“Our position here involves a degree of---” the beautiful, blue-eyed woman spoke gently.

“She is our Spymaster,” Cassandra finished the sentiment, cutting Leliana off in her explanation.

“Yes,” Leliana replied curtly.  “Tactfully put, Cassandra,”

“That’s certainly a lot of impressive titles,” Mi’Dirtha scanned the faces of her newest cohorts.  “I am pleased to meet you all.”

“I mentioned earlier that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,”  Cassandra circled the table to stand next to her.

“Which is why we must approach the Rebel Mages for help,” Leliana cut in insistently.

“I still disagree,” Cullen argued, his golden eyes flashing in displeasure.  “The Templars could serve just as well.”

“We need power, Commander,” Cassandra rejoined the conversation.  “Enough magic poured into that mark---”

“Might just destroy us all,” Cullen interjected again.  “Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so---”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana overrode the Commander.

“I was a Templar.  I know what they’re capable of,” Cullen was resolute in his exertion, locking eyes with Leliana to set against her.

“Unfortunately, neither group will speak to us yet.  The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition,” Josephine broke apart the verbal sparring and gestured at Mi’Dirtha.  “And you specifically.”

“Well, that didn’t take long at all, did it?” Mi’Dirtha sighed heavily.

“Shouldn’t they still be busy arguing and tripping all over one another about who’s going to be the next Divine?” Cullen added sourly with a huff.

“Some are calling you---a Dalish Elf---the Herald of Andraste,” Josephine continued.  “That frightens the Chantry.  The remaining clerics had declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

“Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Cullen scoffed and shook his head.

“It limits our options at any rate,” Josephine urged.  “Approaching the mages or the templars for help is currently out of the question.”

“Wait,” Mi’Dirtha’s head was spinning at the circular arguments around her.  “Just how am I supposed to be the Herald of Andraste?”

“People saw what you did at the temple,” Cassandra explained, gesturing at her.  “They saw how you stopped the Breach from growing.  They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift behind you when you were found.  They believe that was Andraste.”

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading,” Lelina started back in.

“Which we haven’t,” Cassandra inserted with a sharp look at Leliana.

“The point is, everyone is talking about you,” Leliana finished, ignoring Cassandra’s interjection.

So they’re playing at religious sympathy.  This just keeps getting better and better.

“Now that is quite the impressive title,” Cullen chuckled, his honey eyes shining with mischief.  “How do you feel about that?”

“To be honest, not well,” Mi’Dirtha answered cautiously.  “It's a little unsettling for a follower of the Creators to suddenly be rumored and believed to be a prophet of sorts for your Maker.  It hardly makes any sense.”

“I’m sure that the Chantry agrees,” Cullen smiled broadly.

“People are desperate for a sign of hope.  For some, you are that sign,” Leliana pensively folded her hands in front of her, clear blue eyes speaking to a sort of hope of her own behind them.

“And to others, you are the symbol of everything that has gone wrong,” Josephine added gently.

“Either way, it is beyond us now.  There is something you can do, however,” Leliana assured Mi’Dirtha.  “A Chantry Cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you.  She is not far from here, about a week’s travel into the Ferelden countryside to the Hinterlands.  She knows those involved far better than any of us here and her assistance could prove invaluable to our cause.”

“Alright,  I’ll see what she has to say,” Mi’Dirtha answered with a huff.  “It’s a place to start, anyway.  Better than nothing.”

“Good,” Leliana straightened, dropping her arms and smiling at her.  “You will find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.”

“You should also look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence and good name while you're there,” Cullen advised avidly.  “I don’t think that I need to tell you that our position here is under-equipped and impossible to defend at present.  Any recruits or supplies you can manage to bring back with you would be a boon to our cause as well.”

“We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley as well,” Josephine added.  “And you are better suited than anyone to recruit them.”

“In the meantime, we will remain here to think of other options,” the Commander sighed.  “I will not leave this all to the Herald.  There is much to be done, and we need to get to it as soon as we are able.”

“It’s settled then,” Mi’Dirtha nodded in her agreement.  “I will take a team to the Hinterlands tomorrow morning.  I will need a handful of soldiers and the other two---Solas and Varric.  Can we spare them?”

“I will go as well,” Cassandra added with a smile.

“I already have some scouts in that area,” Leliana nodded as well.  “I will have them get word to Mother Giselle when you are on your way.”

With all of them finally in agreement, each took to their tasks.  They had their marching orders for the moment, and it was a good start.

Chapter Text

Mi’Dirtha stood in the late afternoon sunlight in the peaceful silence.  She had finally managed to find a quiet spot outside of Haven’s gates and far from the impromptu training grounds on a small pier that looked out over the frozen river.  Behind her, every sound that had battered her senses had fallen quiet, muffled by the falling snow, and she finally felt like she could breathe for a moment.  Closing her eyes, she lifted her head to the sky and raised her hands to trace along the soft lines of the white vallaslin that stood out against her dark, ochre skin.

Creators, I don’t know why you have led me here.  Her heart beat and she felt tears begin to sting softly behind her eyes in her silent prayer.

I don’t know what lies ahead of me.  I am so uncertain, left to feel my way in the darkness with all my clan-kin dead.  I can do nothing to stop the word that I serve another god who is not of our own, and I feel the blasphemy in my bones.   She let out a long, thin sigh, feeling the snowflakes fall on her face, clinging to her eyelashes and dissolving on her cheeks.

Yet, I am grateful.  Ma serannas for my life.  I will do what I can, and I ask that you lead me through this.  Mythal ar halani.  Mythal ar ghilana.   Mi’Dirtha raised her hands to her brow, and then away up toward the sky before coming back to rest over her heart.

“Ma nuvenin,” the soft elven voice came from behind her, married with the softest sound of snow crunching underneath the fall of feet.

“Solas,” Mi’Dirtha acknowledged him without turning.  “Everyone seems to be in the habit of following me around today.  Afraid I’m going to run?”

“I imagine that if you were going to flee, it would have been somewhere between the mine and the Pride demon,” he answered coolly, and the two of them stood in silence for a long moment.

“So, you are declared The Chosen of Andraste, the blessed hero sent to save us all.  What would they say if they were to witness you praying here to heathen gods?”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Mi’Dirtha turned to face him as Solas came to stand at her side, leaning on his staff and holding her wounded gaze.  “But someone has to find a way to seal this Breach.”

“Spoken nobly, indeed,” he shifted to face out across the quiet snowy landscape.  “You may think that I am mocking you, but I do not.  This age has made people cynical, but I have 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 of wars, both famous and forgotten.”

There was a slight pause in Solas’ reverent voice and he turned back to face her again.

“Every great war has its heroes,” he focused on her, his stormy grey eyes exploring hers.  It was strangely intimate---searching and pondering.  “I just wonder what kind you’ll be.”

Mi’Dirtha didn’t quite know what to say.  She was not often at a loss for words, but here she was.  The burning intensity of those eyes branded into her.

“Hopefully,” she started slowly.  “I will be the kind of hero that lives beyond usefulness, retires into old age, and becomes the sort of former hero that everyone has to beg to stop retelling stories about my old glory days.”

“There are worse fates, I suppose,” Solas chuckled softly, a hint of surprise in his intense eyes.  “One can only be so lucky.”

“What did you mean, ancient ruins and battlefields?”  Mi’Dirtha prodded gently, hoping to redirect the conversation.  Solas seemed the type to enjoy answering questions and she genuinely would prefer a normal conversation as opposed to the general hero worship that this particular elf seemed so happy not to give her.

“Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history.  Every battlefield is steeped in death,” Solas answered with a smile, his lyrical voice warming to her ears.  “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 that no other living being has ever seen.”

This unmarked man was far more than he seemed.  Beyond just a mage, he was a storyteller like her Keeper and it made her think of home as it lightened her heart.

“So you fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins?  Isn’t that dangerous?” Mi’Dirtha probed, happy to be discussing something other than the menacing and impending future.

“I do set wards,” Solas chuckled.  “And if you set out food for the giant spiders, they are generally content to live and let live.”

Mi’Dirtha shuddered and made a small sound of disgust.

Giant chittering spiders. . .

“I don’t know if I could ever do that,” she smirked softly.  “I don’t care for spiders.  Especially the giant ones.”

“Most don’t,” Solas laughed back, his voice ringing like a bell.

“Still, that is impressive,” Mi’Dirtha added with genuine praise.  “I’ve never heard of any I've'an'virelan going so far into the Fade.”

“Thank you,” Solas seemed to be softly surprised, perhaps at her elven, or maybe at her geniality, and smiled.  “It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons.  It’s certainly not as flashy as throwing fire or lightning, but the thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream?  I would not trade it for anything.”

Mi’Dirtha couldn’t help but smile back.  They stood for a few more moments in shared and comfortable silence.  The snow fell peacefully, and Mi’Dirtha took in a deep breath of the clear, crisp mountain air.

“I also owe you my thanks for your actions during our encounter with the Pride demon,” Solas sighed heavily and deeply.  “I do not forget my debts.  Though I do not yet know what to make of you, I will stay.  At least until the Breach is closed.”

“Was that in doubt?” Mi’Dirtha asked idly, pondering out loud.

“I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces in the middle of a mage rebellion,” Solas chuckled darkly.  “Cassandra has been accommodating, but I am certain that you can understand my caution.”

“You came to help, Solas.  I won’t let them use that against you,” Mi’Dirtha insisted, feeling her own brow set with resolve.

“And how exactly would you stop them?” The question was sincere but lit with a pessimistic deflection as his brow drew up in sorrowful disbelief.

“However I had to,” Mi’Dirtha focused on him in turn.  “They may call me a Herald for their god’s woman, or whatever else they wish, but I have no tolerance for their backward shemlen ways.  I have always believed magic is a gift---our legacy from the Creators and the time before Halam’shiral.  You have chosen to share that gift for the good of the world in saving us all.  If they wish to brand you as an apostate and enslave you into one of their awful mage prisons, they will have to go through me to do it.”

Solas’ face was a mixture of surprise, disbelief, and gratitude.  He may be stubborn, assumptive, and perhaps more sure of himself than she believed was wise.  They absolutely would clash again, and Mi’Dirtha was positive that neither of them actually trusted one another.  No matter their own personal state, she would rather die before witnessing the shems drag another of her kin into their Circles.  Not when she could stop it, and certainly not when that mage was sacrificing his own security and endangering his life to help them.

Mi’Dirtha also knew that she could not have come this far without his help.  She may not even be alive if not for his aid and watchful eye on her as the shemlen held her prisoner in their dungeon.  They all believed that she was what they needed when they needed it.  Solas had been exactly what she needed when she needed it.  If they could claim divine interventions, then so could she.

“That is. . . Ma serannas,” Solas said at last, his expression softening as he looked away and up at the Breach.  “For now, let us hope that either the mages or the Templars have the power to seal the Breach.”

“Indeed,” Mi’Dirtha spluttered out a sigh.  “Let’s hope.”

“Cassandra has informed me that you are to head out to the Hinterlands of Ferelden at first light tomorrow and that you requested that I accompany you, Varric, and herself by name,” Solas grinned wide, making her feel suddenly warm.

“Yes,” Mi’Dirtha smothered the slightest touch of a blush that threatened to sneak to her cheeks.  “That is correct.”

“I am flattered by your glowing endorsements and would be glad to provide my assistance,” Solas gave a small deferent nod of his head.

“Good,” Mi’Dirtha pulled up the collar on her new coat.  “I have a feeling that we will need your help.”

“Then I will make my preparations,” Solas turned back toward Haven.  “Tomorrow then.  I will see you at daybreak.”

Mi’Dirtha watched him go, following him until he was out of sight, and then standing in her peaceful spot for just a few more minutes before relenting to the icy cold of the air began to bite at her face.  Nothing could ever make her like the snow or the cold.  She hated it the further south they had traveled from the Free Marches.  She had now been in the Frostback Mountains for three weeks, and it had already been too long.  Sighing deep and shuddering inside of her coat, she set her feet back on the path toward the main gate and let her thoughts carry her.  As she grew closer and the sounds of the training ground came back to her awareness, one voice rose above them all in her rage.

Cassandra was just outside of the rest of the cramped area where the soldiers were smashing their swords against shields in their drills under the Commander’s watchful instruction.  She was unleashing her fury on a training dummy, lunging and stabbing, the grunts and roars of her exertions rising over the rest.  Seeming perhaps more upset than expected for one who had just come from their operations headquarters, it was fairly clear that she was taking that righteous anger out through her blade.

“I think you need practice dummies made of sturdier stuff,”  Mi’Dirtha joked lightly as she approached the shem woman.

“That would be nice,” the Seeker replied, not turning to face her and a look of disdain creasing her face.

“Like maybe iron,” Mi’Dirtha went on, finally drawing a small smile from Cassandra.

She sheathed her sword and turned to face her, walking toward her and toward Haven’s main gates a short distance, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a troubled sigh.

“Did I do the right thing?” Cassandra’s voice was pierced with doubt and she pushed her short-cropped, dark hair from her sweaty brow. “What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life.  One day, they might write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool.  They might be right.”

“If that’s what they write about you, I can only imagine what they will write about me,” Mi’Dirtha said with a small, sad chuckle, her heart going out a little to the woman at her side.  “What does your faith tell you?”

As a woman of great faith herself, Mi’Dirtha could understand the tearing of confusion that her first ally here was contending with.   She felt it herself, and it seemed better to share her compassion than her doubt.

“I believe that you are innocent,” Cassandra replied softly.  “ I believe that there is more going on here than we can see, and I believe that there is no one else who cares enough to do anything about it.”

“Other than those who are gathered here, I hope,” Mi’Dirtha focused on the wall that surrounded Haven.

“They will all stand in the fire and complain that it is too hot, like fools,” Cassandra huffed, casting her eyes down and bringing her hands to her hips as she shifted her weight between her legs uneasily.  “But is this truly the Maker’s will?  I can only guess.”

“So, you don’t think that I am this Herald of Andraste?” Mi’Dirtha emplored, hopefulness shining in her soul.

“I believe that you were sent to help us,” the Seeker responded thoughtfully and with care.  “I certainly hope that you were.  The Maker’s help takes many forms, but it is sometimes difficult to discern who it benefits and how.”

“I can sympathize with that more than you know,” Mi’Dirtha crossed her arms and stared down at her boots in the snow.

“I just see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail,” Cassandra looked back up, focusing on Mi’Dirtha again with a tense expression on her face.  “ But that has made me more brash than I ought to be.  I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not?  I thought the answer was before me, clear as day.  I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

“There seems to be a lot of that going around,” Mi’Dirtha chuckled darkly, coming to meet the Seeker’s eyes.  “But I can understand how it must have looked.  You had every reason to suspect me, and I cannot say that I would have acted any differently were I in your place.”

“That is a kindness you do not need to give me,” Cassandra huffed with a thin smile.  “I was determined to have someone answer for what happened.  Anyone.  I wanted. . .  Well, I suppose that it no longer matters what I wanted.”

Mi’Dirtha nodded in silent understanding.

“And what of you, Mi’Dirtha Lavellan?  You’ve said that you don’t believe that you are chosen.  Does that also mean that you don’t believe in the Maker?”

The question caught her somewhat off guard, and Mi’Dirtha had to stop for a moment and think.

What would they say if they witnessed you praying here to heathen gods?

Solas’ words echoed in the back of her mind.  Mi’Dirtha sighed heavily.  She could not--- would not--- conceal her own faith.

“I’m Dalish.  I believe in our own elven gods,” she said slowly and with intention.  “Perhaps I believe that it is they who chose me.”

“And is there no room among your gods for one more?”  Cassandra asked pointedly.

“Perhaps they are the same,” Mi’Dirtha shrugged.  “Perhaps they are not.  I don’t care for any god who claims to be above any other, but yes, I suppose that I could make space for your Maker.  I am always open to new ideas.”

“I suppose that doesn’t matter now, either,” Cassandra nodded wistfully.  “I can do nothing but believe that we were put on this path together for a reason.  Now it simply remains to be seen where it will lead us.”

“Indeed,” Mi’Dirtha agreed soundly.  “It certainly should be interesting, if nothing else.”

“Very interesting,” Cassandra smiled in her agreement as well.

Mi’Dirtha reached out and set a hand to pat Cassandra on the shoulder before turning back up the steps toward the main gate.

“I will see you tomorrow, and together we will see just how interesting this all turns out to be,” she said with a chuckle.

“By your leave, Herald,” Cassandra gave her a slight salute and turned away to walk back toward the training grounds to resume her training against the dummy, hopefully feeling somewhat better and more at ease.

As Mi’Dirtha ambled up the steps, she rolled Cassandra’s words over and over again in her mind.  Did she really believe that the Creators had chosen her?  She was a hunter, not a priest, healer, or First.  She had been faithful, yes.  Devoted certainly, but how and why would the Creators have chosen her?  Plenty of the shemlen seemed to think that their prophet and their Maker had a hand in their miraculous salvation from the Breach.  It was quiet now, if not still menacing in its slow and almost silent rolling in the sky above them.  They believed that He had sent her to be a hand to deliver them up from the darkness.  Did she really feel the same?

As she reached the top of the stairs, Mi’Dirtha looked up at the Breach.  Chosen or not, Maker or Creators, she had to find a way forward.  She was here now and that was what mattered the most.  Though it weighed heavy on every part of her, she would do whatever it took to heal the sky.  She was the only one who could, whether she liked it or not.

“Now, that’s a look that could depress a nug,” Varric’s voice cut through her somber thoughts to draw her attention to a small campfire surrounded by tents a few feet away.

Mi’Dirtha looked up and met eyes with the mischievous dwarf.  She hadn’t noticed before, but he was actually quite handsome for one of his kin.  True, he had no beard, but whatever he lacked in the traditional facial hair, he made up for it in chest hair that showed through his red tunic, unbuttoned down to his solar plexus despite the cold.  She couldn’t help but smile a little at the playfulness in his voice.  Varric was undeniably fierce in battle, but unlike the others, and even herself, he was cheerful almost to a fault and wickedly charming in a dashing scoundrel kind of way.

“Hello to you as well, Ser Tethras,” Mi’Dirtha smiled, joining him at the fireside.

Varric scrunched up his nose, making a face at the formality.

“Just Varric, please.  I insist,” he insisted.

“Make you a deal,” Mi’Dirtha laughed loudly as she put out her hand to the dwarf.  “I’ll call you by your name if you promise to call me literally anything other than Worship, Lady, Herald, or ma’am.”

“Deal,” Varric chuckled softly, shaking her hand and turning back to the fire.  He took a deep sigh and held his thoughts for a moment.  “So, now that you’re out of Cassandra’s earshot, are you holding up alright?  I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful.  Most people would have spaced that out over more than one day.”

“Honestly,” Mi’Dirtha heaved a deep sigh.  “I’m just grateful to still be standing after all that’s happened.”

“Yeah,” Varric chuckled softly and looked up toward the sky.  “I still can’t believe that you survived Cassandra.  You’re lucky that you were out for most of her frothing rage.  For days now, we’ve been staring up at the Breach, waiting and watching for demons and Maker-knows-what to fall out of that thing.  Bad for morale would be an understatement.”

“If it was that bad, why did you choose to stay?” Mi’Dirtha asked with a laugh in her own voice.  “Cassandra made it pretty clear that you were free to go.”

“Look, I like to think that I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy.  But this. . .” Varric gestured up at the quietly swirling vortex.  “Thousands of people died on that mountain.  I was almost one of them.  Now there’s a hole in the sky.  Even I can’t walk away and just leave that to sort itself out.”

Varric looked pensively up at Mi’Dirtha, the mischief fading from his honey-brown eyes as he held her gaze.

“It might be lost on you, Handy, but you might want to consider running at the first opportunity.  I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going.” his dark tone spoke to the fear already seated deep in Mi’Dirtha’s chest.  “Heroes are everywhere.  I’ve seen that.  But a hole in the sky?  That’s beyond heroes.  We’re going to need a miracle.”

“Who are you trying to convince here, Varric?  Me?  Or yourself, perhaps?”  Mi’Dirtha poked the dwarf, trying to bring some levity back into the exchange.

“I don’t know,” he looked down, straightening the cuffs on his overcoat again.  “Maybe both.”

“Does that mean that you’re not coming with us to Redcliffe tomorrow morning?” Mi’Dirtha asked with gentle sympathy.

“Nah!” he gestured toward her, the gleam returning to his eyes.  “I’d never let Bianca down like that.”

“Perish the thought!” Mi’Dirtha smiled and they shared a loud laugh.

“Pardon me, your Worship,” Nolanna’s voice interrupted them from behind Mi’Dirtha, bringing her to swing around and look at the young woman.  “There are some things that we need to put together for you to depart tomorrow if it’s not an intrusion.”

“Go ahead,” Varric urged her with assurance.  “I’ve got to pack my stuff too.  I’ll see you in the morning, Handy.”

Mi’Dirtha sighed in resignation and followed Nolanna back toward the hovel.  The team was ready to go, and that gave her a great sense of comfort.  What they would find in the Hinterlands was anyone’s guess, but at least they would be going together again.  She hoped that this Mother Giselle would be worth all the effort that they were likely about to spend on just trying to reach her.  Mi’Dirtha tried not to dwell on the possibilities of the struggle---that was a problem for tomorrow.  For now, all that she could do was focus on the tasks at hand.

Just one foot in front of the other.   She thought solemnly to herself, taking peace in the simplicity.

One day at a time.

* * *

Up early as was her habit, Mi’Dirtha enjoyed the soft shadows of the hovel.  She had always enjoyed the early morning hours, finding it peaceful and blessedly quiet to be on her own for a time before the sun rose.  Often she would have found the time to train, pray, and meditate before her kin would find her at sunrise.  Here, it gave the chance to steel herself for whatever the day would bring them.  They would be setting out for the Hinterlands soon, and she wanted to take some time to prepare in her own way.  The hovel itself was almost completely silent except for Nolanna’s soft snoring from her own cot in the corner of the room.

Poor thing.

Mi’Dirtha mused with a silent acknowledgment.  Yesterday had to have been perhaps the most exciting day of Nolanna’s life as a faithful Andrastian.  Friend and guide to the Herald of Andraste!  She must have been completely exhausted when she finally fell asleep the night before.  Mi’Dirtha hoped that she was sleeping well, and didn’t want to wake her, but she was growing cold with the gray morning light beginning to stream into their small living space, and it seemed that it would never stop snowing outside.

Rising from her bed, Mi’Dirtha clung to the blankets to keep them wrapped around her, trapping in what heat remained from her own body inside, and making her way to the small fireplace across the room.  It was low but still alive, and she blew across the embers to bring it back to life as she prayed silently in gratitude to the Creators for another day.  Then, she slid one log onto the fire followed by a second just after the first had caught.  She warmed herself by the fire, poking at it with the iron that had leaned against the mantle for a few minutes.  When she was finally pleased with the state of the firelight for dressing, she took a deep heaving sigh and stood.  Whether it was because the day’s tasks were starting to press on her mind, she realized that a pool of anxiety was growing in the pit of her belly.  Everything that she had to do was officially a “today” problem, and there was no time to waste.

Mi’Dirtha shook her head and dressed as quickly as she could to conserve as much heat still clinging to her skin as she could.  She tightened her leg bindings from where they had shifted overnight, and strapped on the shin braces that she had taken the evening to repair for herself from the pile of her things that had been taken to the smithy for recycling.  She thought for a moment about the shem boots that had been tucked under the edge of her bed and grimaced.  They would protect her feet from the better part of the cold, but at what cost?  She ignored them promptly and moved on to the rest of her garments.  Cotton trousers pulled up over her linen braes with leathers over that, as well as a shirtwaist that she had cut down to fit better, a quilted gambeson over that, belted into place, gloves, and finally the long, hooded leather coat with a head wrap that she had made from the trimmed pieces of the shirtwaist to cover her sensitive ears and face.  She carefully opened the door only so far as she needed to slip out so as not to wake Nolanna with either the sound or the cold and quietly latched it behind her.

Outside, she was met with the glow of a campfire near the door to the hovel with two soldiers standing near it to keep warm while on their guard shift.  They spoke softly to one another---the general banter of soldiers and the like---and didn’t notice her presence until she came to stand next to them both by the fire.

“My Lady Herald!” One of them exclaimed, fumbling over his words while the other’s mouth hung open in shock at seeing her.

“Please,” Mi’Dirtha urged, gesturing to keep their voice down.  “People are still sleeping.”

“Y-yes, your Worship,” the young man stammered, and the two of them tried desperately not to stare, choosing instead to look at one another, to the fire, and back again.

“How goes the watch this morning?” Mi’Dirtha asked as cheerfully as she could, given the cold, desiring to break the uneasy silence.

“All is well, your Worship,” the one who had excitedly greeted her answered softly.  “Nothing to report.”

She nodded happily, noticing then that they both held small metal cups that were steaming gently against the cold air.

“What do you have there?” Mi’Dirtha asked with excitement.

“It’s a hot drink,” the shy one replied this time, softly as well and with mischief in his eyes.  “We found some in the stores of the Chantry.  It’s called coffee, from Antiva.”

“May I have some?” Mi’Dirtha asked with a glow in her voice.  “It looks so warm and I could use it with this awful cold.”

The two soldiers laughed softly and hurriedly poured her a cup from their small metal pot resting in the embers near the edge of their watch fire.  Mi’Dirtha wrapped her hands eagerly around the cup and smelled the contents.  It was rich and earthy---the perfect thing for a frigid morning.  She lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip, letting out a deeply contented sigh as she shut her eyes peacefully.  The coffee was delightfully bitter and the warmth of it settled into her bones, and when she opened her eyes again, both of the men were staring at her expectantly.

“Oh,” Mi’Dirtha grinned, “that is really fucking good!”

The shy one of the two bumped his comrade’s arm with his elbow happily.  The three of them stood in the soft morning silence, gazing at the fire and sipping their coffee with content, and for a few fleeting minutes, Mi’Dirtha felt almost at home.

Almost.

“My Lady,” the more vocal of the two men cautiously approached her.  “Begging your pardon, but. . .”

“Yes?” Mi’Dirtha asked gently, not entirely certain what the man was going to say next, and prepared herself for something strange.

“Is it true, my Lady?  Did you really see Andraste?” His voice was soft and reverent.

“Yes,” the other added with eagerness.  “Did you see her?”

Mi’Dirtha weighed the question in her mind.  She wanted to say no---to balk and laugh off the silliness of the request, but the pleading in the two shem men’s eyes spoke to hope and it made her take pause.  Truth was that she honestly didn’t remember.  While she was having a hard time coming to the plausibility that the Maker and his woman---this Andraste--- even existed, it would likely be terrible for morale to outright deny it to these simple men of faith.  She was also silently expected by the others among their leadership to embrace the official story, as it were, to keep what little forces they had at their backs together and unified toward the completion of their cause.  This was likely not the last time someone was going to ask her this question either.  Mi’Dirtha had to decide here and now just how she was going to respond going forward and committed to the most neutral answer that she could give.

“I may have,” she mused pensively and reached for her honesty.  “To be entirely honest, I’m Dalish, and I know next to nothing about your Andraste, but I did see a woman in the Fade---a glowing and beautiful being of light.  She took my hand, and I was lifted out of the darkness.”

The two soldiers released audible gasps of reverent awe and smiled at one another.

“It had to be her!” the quiet one exclaimed in a hush.

“I knew it had to be true!” the other responded with excitement as he gripped the other’s shoulder.  “We stand on the very edges of glory!  This is truly a holy cause.  These are dark times, but with you by our side, Lady Herald, I just know that we can do this.”

Mi’Dirtha smiled and nodded at them both in turn, taking another deep sip of the warming and beautiful coffee.

“My Lady,” the shyer one spoke again sheepishly.  “I know that you are to leave this morning, but. . . before you go. . .”

“Yes?” Mi’Dirtha curled an eyebrow at him.

“May we. . . may we have your blessing, my Lady?” he finished slowly, a glint of hopeful begging in his eyes.

“Yes,” the other added.  “The clerics will not care for us.  They say we are heretics and hopeless in the eyes of the Maker---destined for the Void itself.  But you. . .”

Mi’Dirtha’s eyes went wide and she looked down for a moment to consider the request again.

They want me to give them a blessing?  I don’t even know how to do that.  What would I even say?  Creators, what do I do?  How many more will ask me if I do this now?  Should I?

The silent pleas from both men stung at her heart.  Mi’Dirtha couldn’t say that if their roles were reversed she wouldn’t ask the same.  If she had a chance to ask a true and bonafide priest of her own gods for a personal blessing like this, she absolutely would.  It would give her hope and courage.  Why should she deny them that?  Stretching out the hand that she wasn’t holding the cup by, she urged them both to take it.

“What are your names?” Mi’Dirtha asked quietly.

“My name is Brandt, Your Worship,” the shy one answered first, his voice barely above a whisper as he laid his hand in hers.

“And I am Edrick, my Lady,” the other said, following suit.

“Bless you, Brandt and Edrick,” Mi’Dirtha murmured reverently.  “May you both be brave for the days ahead and may you be safe in your faithful service.  May you too be delivered from the darkness to rise above the hardships, and may you find peace in your hearts.”

When she opened her eyes again, both men were staring at her intensely, tears on their cheeks, and gave their hands a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you,” Edrick bowed, taking back his hand to sniffle and wipe away his tears.

Brandt followed, sniffling and nodding, words escaping him completely.  Somewhat cheered, but also becoming more uncomfortable in the shadow of their hero worship, Mi’Dirtha quickly finished what was left of the coffee and smiled warmly at them.

“Thank you for the drink,” she set the cup back down and turned away toward the path that would lead her to the main gate.

“Andraste go with you today, Your Worship!” Brandt’s voice was bright and full of hope.

“Safe travels, Herald!” Edrick joined in, and she smiled at them both and waved before setting her feet and heading away down the path.

The grey morning was growing lighter, though the air was still chilly, and as Mi’Dirtha made her way toward the gate, the sounds of more soldiers training outside started to rise from the silence.  It was not unusual for training to be happening this early, and she was glad to know that she wasn’t the only morning person around.  Following the sounds of swords banging on shields, she passed through the gate and came to the training grounds just outside, and stopped to take in the sight.  A somewhat smaller group of soldiers were at their drills again this morning in the cramped area fitted between tents and burning campfires outside.  Cassandra was again at the work of smashing the training dummies for her own practice, but she seemed more focused now and less emotional than she had the day before.

“You there!” The sudden and authoritative voice rang out above the clamor of the trainees clumsily ramming at one another with their swords.  “There’s a shield in your hand!  Block with it!  If this man was your enemy, you’d be dead!”

Her eyes trailed the training grounds finding the source of the voice to be their Commander Cullen.  Of course, he would be out here training the forces.  She walked toward him, pulling her coat hood tighter around her ears as the breeze bit at her face.  As she neared him, another officer approached and stood at his side proudly, joining him in looking out at their soldiers in their drills.

“Lieutenant, don’t hold back.  The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one,” he commanded with resolve.

“Yes, Commander!” The soldier replied tersely with a salute, then walked off into the group, taking the tall shem’s orders to the men and correcting them on their form.

Cullen looked over in her direction, the fur trim along his shoulders and neck catching in the cold wind and fluttering about his face like the mane of a lion and making him look more imposing for his crossed arms.  The gold and red fabric draped around him, barely showing off the plates of his cuirass.  He also wore spaulders, couters, and vambraces over his padded leather jerkin as well as dark leathers and plated boots that rose above his knees.  It certainly wasn’t the heaviest armor that Mi’Dirtha had seen such a man wear, but on him, it all seemed feather-light.  His bright, whiskey gold eyes met hers and he smiled broadly, that scar lifting on his lip again to make him look more menacing for the brilliant look on his face.  This man was a strange juxtaposition of seemingly kind and obviously well-practiced at the art of violence, and both made her more than a little bit nervous.

“Lady Herald, good morning!” He greeted her with cheer in his voice.

“Commander,” Mi’Dirtha replied politely with a nod of her head as she came to stand near---but not too near---at his side.  “How go the drills this morning?”

“Well enough, it seems,” Cullen scoffed softly and smiled at her.  “We’ve received a number of recruits---locals from Haven and some pilgrims.  None of them made quite the entrance you did.”

“I just hope that I can help,” Mi’Dirtha insisted.

“As do we all,” the Commander assured her, taking a tableau from another soldier who had rushed up.  He scanned it quickly and returned it with a nod.  “It’s enough that you would try.”

He stepped forward and Mi’Dirtha followed him as he examined the men at their practice.

“I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall myself,” his voice was smooth and polite.  “I was there during the mage uprising.  I saw firsthand the devastation it caused.”

Another soldier ran up to him from behind, handing him yet another report that he glanced over to read it.

“It was Cassandra who approached me.  She sought a solution.  When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause.  Now, it seems we face something far worse,” he handed the report back to the soldier.  “This looks good.  Keep me informed as we progress.”

“The Conclave destroyed, a giant hole in the sky,” Mi’Dirtha sighed.  “Things aren’t looking the best, are they?”

“Which is why we are needed,” Cullen insisted, gesturing at their soldiers, his eyes growing bright and resolved as he spoke.  “The Chantry lost control of both Templars and mages.  Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains.  The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot.  Our followers would be a part of that.  There’s so much that we can. . .”

The Commander paused, his face shifting through surprise, embarrassment, and settling on a sort of thin and sheepish resignation.

“Forgive me,” he chuckled softly.  “I doubt that you came here for a lecture.”

“Perhaps not, but if you have one planned out, I wouldn’t mind hearing it,” Mi’Dirtha smiled back at his youthful exuberance.  “You’ve obviously given this a lot of thought.”

“I just know from experience what happens when order is lost and action comes too late,” Cullen heaved a heavy sigh, his expression falling a bit.  “There is still a lot of work ahead and not much time to do it in.”

“Commander!” Yet another soldier approached him urgently, handing him another report for his approval.  “Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines.”

“As I was saying,” Cullen smirked wryly and took the report, following the soldier away from the drilling recruits before turning back to her for a moment.  “Good luck in the Hinterlands, Herald.  We will be here to support you as best we can.”

“I expect nothing less,” Mi’Dirtha assured him.

The Commander nodded, and turned away again, excusing himself as he walked with the soldier to discuss the contents of their supply report.  Mi’Dirtha watched him go for a moment as he continued through the drilling soldiers.  She may not ever come to trust such a man personally, but she did feel a slight rush of relief that he was going to be here to do his best to reinforce their position and improve their shaky tactics for defense in her place.  She had been afraid that it would be solely up to her to decide how best to defend Haven, and she was happy to know that it was not her job alone to see to.  With a resolve and skill like that, he could be trusted at least with the troops, and maybe, by the time they returned from the Hinterlands, she could return to a force ready to be reckoned with.  The ease of that settled into her mind and she smiled a little as she made her way over to Cassandra to speak about their imminent departure.

“Good morning,” Cassandra managed between lunges at her favorite training dummy.

“And to you as well, Seeker,” Mi’Dirtha replied earnestly.  “Will we be ready to go soon?”

“I am certain that Solas and Varric will be prepared to depart in the next few minutes, as will the last of our soldiers,” Cassandra assured her, sheathing her sword.  “Leliana’s scouts sent scouts out ahead of us about four hours ago to assure that there are no surprises along our path.”

“Good,” Mi’Dirtha gave a small nod.  “How long will it be once we set out?”

“Eight days on foot,” the Seeker said, beginning to walk with Mi’Dirtha back toward the gate.  “We would move faster on horses, but we are sadly lacking.  All that was here when we arrived were two farm horses, an old, lame mare, and a mule.  The mule is especially unpleasant.”

“Ah, well,” Mi’Dirtha chuckled softly.  “I suppose we will just have to make due.”

“I will see to the others,” Cassandra smirked back.  “You should go and check with Leliana to see if there are any last-minute updates and have her send word that we are underway.”

The two women parted ways, Cassandra headed toward the tavern that they were currently still using as a makeshift barracks for the soldiers who had not been lodged in tents, and Mi’Dirtha headed up toward the Chantry.  If her memory served, Leliana was generally posted outside the main doors of their Chantry near the requisitions officer’s tent, and she followed along the mental map that Nolanna had helped her with to get there.  Snow flurried and danced in the thin, grey light, still catching the pale green light emanating from the Breach overhead.  She passed by Varric’s tent and heard him shuffling around inside, swearing at his gear, and she laughed a little as she continued up the steps.  The small circle of tents erected across from the Chantry was peaceful and quiet except for the crackling of a small campfire, and as she drew closer to the largest of the tents, Mi’Dirtha could make out a soft voice whispering in the dark.

“Blessed are the peacekeepers.  The Champions of the Just.  Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.  In their blood, the Maker’s will is written,” the voice hushed for a moment and she halted at the entrance to see Leliana on her knees just inside, illuminated dimly by the firelight and a small lantern that was at her side on top of a crate.  “Is that what you need from us?  Blood?  To die so that Your will is done?  Is death Your only blessing?”

Leliana stood, no doubt hearing Mi’Dirtha stop at her tent flap, bringing her prayer to an abrupt end.  The tall shem woman turned to face her and beckoned her in.  The chain set in her robe and the heavy greaves caught the firelight and glinted almost as ominously as the dark look in her pale blue eyes.

“You speak for Andraste, no?” Leliana’s voice was dark and soft.  “What does the Maker’s prophet have to say about all of this?  What’s his game?”

“I speak for no one but myself at present,” Mi’Dirtha replied, matching the ice in Leliana’s eyes.  “If anyone would know the will of your gods, I imagine that it would be you and your comrades.”

“You probably don’t even worship the Maker,” Leliana retorted sadly, her brow setting heavy in the lantern light.  “Lucky.  He asks a lot.  The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us.  He demands repentance for our sins.  He demands it all.  Our lives.  Our deaths.  Justinia gave Him everything she had, and He let her die!”

“I’m sorry,” Mi’Dirtha answered with sympathy.  “Her death has clearly hit you quite hard.”

“Not just me.  All of us.  She was the Divine.  She led the faithful.  She was their heart!  If the Maker doesn’t intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He?” Leliana scowled harder and cast her eyes to the ground.  “I used to believe that I was chosen, just as some say you are.  I thought I was fulfilling His purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people.  But now, she’s dead.  It was all for nothing.”

A long silence stretched between them and Mi’Dirtha shifted in her coat, searching for the right words to say.  Already she had been asked to speak on behalf of this Maker and his Bride twice this morning in under an hour, and she honestly didn’t know how to wrap her head around how this was who they all expected her to be.  What could she say?

“I’m no one to understand the will of gods beyond me,” Mi’Dirtha sighed heavily.  “I ask myself why my own gods would place me here to speak for another that I know nothing of---a Herald of all things.  Perhaps, like me, you have some other purpose than what you expected.  There are good people here who can help you to find it if that is your wish.”

“No,” Leliana sighed as well, lifting her eyes to bear on Mi’Dirtha again, but softer now.  “This is my burden.  I regret that I even let you see me like this.  It was a moment of weakness.  I won’t let it happen again.”

“If you must,” Mi’Dirtha scowled back, meeting Leliana with a steel of her own.  “I can understand the sentiment.”

“Come now, to work,” the woman insisted, the familiar neutrality settling into her features again.  “What can I do for you this morning?”

“Cassandra wanted me to check with you for the latest information from the scouts and to have you inform Mother Giselle that we are on our way presently,” Mi’Dirtha insisted succinctly.

“Good.  I will inform our people in the Hinterlands,” Leliana paused to look over a small piece of paper near the lantern on the crate at her side.  “The latest reports say that the way ahead is clear of rifts and demons beyond the valley.  You should have no trouble making good time through the valley and down the slopes from here to the east.”

“That is assuring to hear,” Mi’Dirtha smiled slightly, happy to have at least a few days of relatively peaceful travel ahead of them.

“Good luck.  We will continue to keep you updated as you move closer toward the Hinterlands,” the Spymaster resumed her work of sorting through papers on the crate as if it were her desk.  “If there is anything ahead of you, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you,” Mi’Dirtha gave her gratitude not expecting Leliana to turn to face her again, and she didn’t.

Clearly, she could be here for hours trying to press Leliana for more, try to reach out to her, and make some kind of sense of her doubts, but it would be a waste.  She very clearly didn’t want to talk about it, and honestly, neither did Mi’Dirtha.  Leaving back out of the tent, she made sure to stop by the hovel to grab her things before making her way back down to Haven’s main gate and found Nolanna awake and preparing her gear for the journey.  Mi’Dirtha happily slung the greatsword across her back and slipped the pack up on one shoulder.

“Best of luck to you on the road, Your Worship,” Nolanna bowed slightly and gave her a big smile, and Mi’Dirtha patted her on the shoulder before ducking back out into the cold morning.

She ran into Varric next as she was headed down toward the gate.  He was bundled up near the fire at his tent and had just secured Biana on his back over the top of his pack when she had walked up to greet him.

“I just love being up at the ass-crack of dawn in the freezing cold to wade into a hostile wilderness,” Varric grumbled.  “It’s my favorite thing.”

“Good morning to you as well, sunshine,” Mi’Dirtha smiled and gave him a wry chuckle.  “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Varric assured her flatly, scowling and making his way with her toward the gate.  “But I refuse to be cheery until the sun is up.”

“I have a feeling that won’t be too long,” Mi’Dirtha assured him as she gauged the ever-brightening sky overhead.

“Long enough,” the dwarf huffed.  “Why do the heroes always set out at dawn?  Why not mid-morning or early afternoon?  You know, like sometime after breakfast.”

Mi’Dirtha laughed but didn’t answer.

“It is good to see you in bright spirits this morning,” Solas remarked with his own small smile as he joined them on the path toward the gate.

“Solas,” Mi’Dirtha greeted him with a small nod.

“I take it that our departure is imminent,” he surprised her with his cheerful tone.  “Shall we then?”

“Yes,” Mi’Dirtha pulled her pack up over both shoulders and the greatsword at her back.  “Cassandra is likely waiting for us near the gate with our escort.”

Turning down the last of the stairs, they met up with the Seeker and three soldiers all in their gear and ready for the journey ahead.  It was a smaller complement than she was hoping, but she reminded herself that smaller groups always moved faster across the frontier, and they would make for a smaller target along the way.  Everyone made their greetings and took a few moments to make their final checks.  Then, the gate doors groaned open for them, and they all walked out into the frozen landscape together, Cassandra leading their way.

Chapter Text

It took them four days to run into their first Fade rift and another two days for the soldiers to stop calling Mi’Dirtha anything but her name.  Cassandra disapproved of dropping the formalities---fraternization she called it.  Mi’Dirtha was insistent and refused to back down in the face of Cassandra’s pushback.  This was the closest thing that she had experienced to being with her clan-kin since the destruction of the Conclave, and despite her reservations about the shemlen in general, she wasn’t above at least trying to make this team work together.  It honestly didn’t take much effort as she got to know the soldiers one at a time through the week that they traveled together.  This was especially true in the early hours of the morning when she and one or another of them were alone for hours at a time on watch.

The first to crack was a young, blonde boy named Demend.  This lad was barely old enough to be considered a man at sixteen years of age but had taken to the sword rather quickly.  His family were farmers and worked the fields to the northwest of Haven.  Both of his parents and his older brother had died in a fire set by one of the larger errant pieces of the temple when it had exploded.  He was in their field nearby seeing to his daily chores when the fire had started, and he would have perished with the rest of his family had he been inside their farmhouse with them.  Demend had tried desperately to save his family, but his parents had been trapped inside and his brother succumbed to the inhalation of smoke that poisoned his lungs only moments after Demend had dragged him from their farmhouse.

With nowhere else to go, Demend had made the harrowing walk to Haven, managing to avoid demons along his path.  He didn’t believe in Andraste for most of his young life, but like the others, had been impressed when Mi’Dirtha had sealed the enormous rift at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.  He had been so moved that he had volunteered for the Inquisition---deciding to make something of himself in the chaos to honor the memory of his family.  For everything that had happened, Demend remained the jovial and mischievous boy that one would expect a farmboy to be.  One day, they all had a good laugh when they discovered that he had taken to slipping increasingly larger and larger stones into the bottom of everyone’s packs without any of them noticing.

The second soldier to give in was Alorha.  She had been one of the faithful her entire life---having almost half of the entire Chant of Light memorized.  Alorha shared this often both with them as they traveled and with the others in Haven’s Chantry before they had left to make their way east.  The young shem woman had always aspired to become a Chantry sister, but never quite made it.  She had been set to take her vows as an official initiate a few days after the destruction of the Conclave with her Revered Mother in their small Chantry in West Hills when the Breach had appeared.  The older woman had attended the Conclave and was killed in the explosion, and upon hearing the news, made her way to Haven as quickly as she had been able.

Smart and practical, Alorha had a soft spot for field mice and nugs, and while she never wanted to kill anyone, she had decided that becoming an Inquisition soldier was the right thing to do.  She prayed often and still spoke of wanting to become a Cleric one day, much to Cassandra’s delight.  The two women decided together that she would be given the opportunity to take her vows when they all got back to Haven from their mission, and this filled Alorha with hope and great excitement.  She was prepared and earnest, ready to give her life to their Maker, and that was more than enough for her.

The last of the three soldiers that Mi’Dirtha got to know on the road was an older elven man, about ten years her senior, named Faryn.  He was quiet and reserved, keeping to himself for most of the trip, and had been a particularly tough nut to crack given his reservations about Dalish elves specifically.  As it turned out, Faryn had quite a colored past.  He had been born in Denerim’s Alienage where he lived a life of crime and poverty.  Having survived the Fifth Blight by sheer luck itself and other subsequent atrocities in a similar fashion, Faryn was less than forthcoming about what he had done or where he had been.  There was no mention of family outside of having a younger sister who had been taken to the Circle Tower when the gift of her magic manifested at a young age.

What Faryn did say was that he had been traveling through the area around Haven when the Breach had appeared after the explosion.  The Inquisition’s soldiers had saved him from demons and offered him a place in their ranks.  After the initial shock of the events, Faryn had seen the chance to join as a means to create a new life for himself, and while he had never been Andrastian, his help was most welcomed.  His primary struggle thus far was in being an atheist amid an army of theists, and finding his place when all around him seemed to push against the reality of the life he had lived.  He also had a few shady habits, and it was almost certain that he had spent time in one prison or another, but he was excellent with a blade and continued to train both Demend and Alorha in their downtime.

Together with Varric, Cassandra, and Solas, they moved through the countryside at a relatively good pace, and on the eighth day out of Haven, they crested a large hill along the canyon they had been following to look down over the rocky landscape that opened up before them.

“Ah, the Hinterlands,” Varric said cheerfully, happy to be done with walking.

“I believe that our established outpost is to the east,” Cassandra gestured out over the hills, covering her eyes to get a better bearing on the land.

They had come around through a southwestern route under the advisement of Leliana’s scouting party that was about a day ahead of them now.  There was apparently quite a bit of hostility in the area, and this route had been meant to help them skirt the worst of the fighting.  When they finally arrived at the Inquisition’s forward camp, they were greeted by a perky dwarven woman who came immediately to speak with Mi’Dirtha as she set her gear down.

“The Herald of Andraste!  I’ve heard the stories.  Everyone has.  We know what you did with the Breach,” the dwarf’s bright blue eyes lit up as she spoke.  “It’s odd for a Dalish elf to care about what happens to anyone else, but you’ll get no backtalk here.  That’s a promise.”

Mi’Dirtha nodded and gave the small woman a smile.  She was shorter than Mi’Dirtha had expected a dwarf to be in comparison with Varric and her long red hair was pulled back into a braided bun from her lightly freckled face.  She wore the same Inquisition armor that they had seen on the other scouts, though she didn’t wear a hood, and a bow hung at her back with its quiver.

“Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service!” she went on.  “I---all of us here---we’ll do whatever we can to help.”

“Harding, huh?” Varric chuckled brightly with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.  “Ever been to Kirkwall’s High Town?

“I can’t say that I have,” Harding replied, perplexed at the question.  “Why?”

“Then you’d be Harding in. . . oh, nevermind,” Varric trailed off and Cassandra made a small noise of disgust from her place next to him while Solas and Mi’Dirtha exchanged looks and shrugged.

“I’m starting to worry about all these stories that everyone seems to have heard,” Mi’Dirtha mused cautiously.

“Oh, there’s nothing to worry about,” Harding assured her.  “They only say that you’re the last great hope for Thedas.”

“Wonderful,” Mi’Dirtha sighed heavily.

No pressure, right?  Just out here to save the entire fucking world, I guess.

“So, what’s the situation out here in the Hinterlands?” Mi’Dirtha asked, redirecting her discomfort back to their mission.  “We’ve heard that there was some serious conflict in the area.”

“Well, we came out here initially to secure horses from Redcliffe’s old horsemaster,” Harding explained, gesturing as she spoke.  “We figured that the Hinterlands was as good a place as any to start gaining support and fixing things.”

“I see,” Mi’Dirtha’s face lightened a little.  “Horses would be great.”

“I grew up here,” Harding continued.  “People always said that Dennet’s herd was the best this side of the Frostbacks.  But with the mage-templar fighting getting worse every day, we couldn’t get to Dennet and had to fall back.  Maker knows if he’s even alive.  Then there’s Mother Giselle.  She’s at the Crossroads helping refugees and the wounded.  Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to protect people, but they won't be able to hold out for very much longer.”

“Sounds like a lot to do out here,” Mi’Dirtha mused with a scowl.

“You had best be going then,” Harding urged, her voice thick with tension.  “No time to lose.”

“Thank you, Harding,” Mi’Dirtha nodded and turned back to face Solas, Cassandra, and Varric.  “Let’s get moving.”

The four of them and their three soldiers left the camp urgently, making their way down from the hilltop camp on a rocky and worn path.  They had only just left sight of the camp when the sounds of battle below them split the air.  Instinctively, they all rushed ahead and through the line of the trees alongside the path to spot where the battle was raging.  Templars were clashing with Inquisition soldiers, a few scattered civilians among them screaming for aid and attempting to break from the fighting and run.

“Inquisition forces!” Cassandra shouted, drawing her sword and levying her shield to bear.  “They’re trying to protect the refugees!”

“Looks like they could use a hand,” Varric pulled Bianca over his shoulder and set his sights from atop a nearby rocky outcropping, shooting into the mass of the templars below.

Mi’Dirtha followed Cassandra, heaving out her greatsword and taking it in both hands as she rushed in, Solas at her back.  His magic barrier went up just as they all met the fray, and Mi’Dirtha took heart as she moved through their defense.

“Praise the Maker!” One of the beleaguered soldiers shouted.  “It’s the Inquisitor!  We’re saved!”

“Hold!” Cassandra shouted, clashing with one of the templar knights on the field.  “We are not apostates!  Stand down!”

“I do not think that they care, Seeker!” Solas’ shouted from behind Mi’Dirtha, bright blue and green magical orbs flying from his staff to barrage the templars among them, taking out two archers and setting up to reinforce their efforts against the knights.  Mi’Dirtha made short work of one knight, knocking away his kite shield and bringing her sword back to crush him into the ground.  Another came upon her, and she dodged the woman’s sword as she brought all her strength through to attack her.  Mi’Dirtha swept the greatsword in a swing to connect with the templar woman’s backplate, knocking her off balance in her over-committed charge.  Then, she brought the huge blade up to shout and lowered it down with great force, crushing the templar’s entire cuirass in as she smashed her into the ground.

Expecting more, Mi’Dirtha looked up just in time to see one of Varric’s crossbow bolts strike through the keyhole slot of his helmet meant for the eyes of the last of the rogue templars, and his body dropped, his sword and shield clanging against the rocky ground.  They all took in deep breaths as the Inquisition soldiers gathered up the civilians and started to rush them up the hill and back to their camp.  Mi’Dirtha had almost slung up her greatsword when a barrage of fire lit through the air past the trees to strike at Cassandra.  She lifted her shield just in time to block, shouting as a bright white light rose around her, and a wave of mages---who had likely been following the templars they had just slain---charged out at them from the treeline.

“We are not templars!” Solas shouted, flourishing his staff to attack and reaching out his hand to reset his barrier across their small team.

Varric leaped from the outcropping just inside of Mi’Dirtha’s peripheral vision to dodge a missile of magical ice and shot out a round of bolts as he moved to find another spot with more cover behind her.

“Doesn’t look like they’re listening, Chuckles,” the dwarf shouted gruffly, shooting out from his new cover to take down the mage that had started to take aim at Mi’Dirtha.

Solas made a sound of disgust between his grunts of effort as he flourished his staff to send out orb after orb of magical energy to meet the attacks of their enemies.  They were still locked into battle with the mages as a second round of templars emerged from their flank and entered the fighting.  They had been drawn by the sounds and sensation of magic in the air, or so Mi’Dirtha guessed.  This was getting out of hand; they had only been here for a few minutes!

Enraged, Mi’Dirtha struck down the last of the mages and charged one of the templar archers.  The man gasped audibly and let an arrow loose.  She stepped to dodge it, the arrow glancing across her left forearm just below the spaulders set on her shoulders, and fell on the archer with prejudice.  The broadsword made quick and messy work of the helmet and the head underneath it as the archer’s limp body dropped to the ground.  Caught off guard by the mixed force of their attacks, the rest of the bewildered templars fell quickly, and they all stood expectantly, waiting for yet another wave.  After a few tense moments, Mi’Dirtha let out a deep sigh, and relaxed, the others following her suit.

As the others assessed themselves and one another for wounds, Mi’Dirtha slung her sword and knelt down by one of the fallen bodies of the Inquisition soldiers, her brow furrowing and belly tense with anger.

What a waste.  Mythal, preserve us.

Standing and wiping either mage or templar blood from her forehead, Mi’Dirtha let out a thin sigh.  Someone grabbed her left arm, and she yanked it back out of habit, protecting the arrow cut and hissing before registering that it was Cassandra who had gripped her arm.

“Tel telsila.  Na da’vian,” Mi’Dirtha insisted, quickly remembering to translate for the confused look in Cassandra’s eyes.  “It’s fine.  Superficial.”

“If you say so,” Cassandra sighed, looking down over the fallen soldier as well.  “We came as quickly as we could.  They knew the risks.”

“Let’s just find this Mother Giselle,” Mi’Dirtha scowled, trying to swallow the sudden and strange sympathy rising in her chest.

What did Mi’Dirtha care if these shems shed their blood or not?  Half of them would kill her on sight if not for the abrupt proclamation of her divinity.  She shouldn’t care---didn’t want to care.  If that was so. . . why did their deaths sit in her chest like such a heavy stone?  She tried to put the thought as far as she could from her mind as they pushed forward carefully across the terrain and made their way north.  They had only come a couple of miles when the sight of people beginning to cluster along the roadsides came into view.  First only a few, but more and more the further they went.

This must be the Crossroads.

“Just look at them all,” Varric mused with a sharp scowl.

“Hopefully, the Inquisition can find some way to help these people,” Solas paused, shooting Mi’Dirtha a dark and insistent glance.

“We will find a way,” Cassandra replied assuredly.

Yes.  We absolutely will.

Mi’Dirtha came up to the closest of the refugees and asked for Mother Giselle, carefully avoiding disclosing herself as the Herald that everyone seemed to be whispering about among themselves.  One of the men in the group pointed her further up the roadway, and she thanked him before continuing her push on into the crowded heart of the gathering.  Ahead of her in the crowd, a small tent was set up, and a group of people laid out on makeshift cots, a woman in one of the tall white and red Chantry hats kneeling among them.

“I’m going to go speak with our friend here,” Mi’Dirtha let out a deep breath.  “I want everyone else to spread out.  I want to know about how many people we have here and where our people are.”

Varric, Cassandra, and Solas all broke from her company and even Alorha gave her a small nod as they went out to fill their orders as if to silently wish her good luck.  Mi’Dirtha nodded back, then turned again, and made her way toward the woman wearing the Chantry sunburst.

“There are mages here who can heal your wounds,” the woman’s soft Orledian accent cooed to a young man in one of the cots at her side.

“Don’t. . . let them touch me, Mother,” he pleaded, clearly struggling to speak against his pain as Mi’Dirtha noted that his lower leg was bent ever so lightly at an odd and painful-looking angle.  “Their magic. . .”

“Turned to a noble purpose, their magic is surely no more evil than your blade, soldier.” the woman asserted gently.

“But---” the man tried to sit up.

“Hush, dear boy,” she pushed him back gently against the cot by both shoulders.  “Let them ease your suffering.”

He nodded warily and she returned this small gesture, then turned to wave over one of the women nearby in mage’s robes as she stood.  The woman was easily thirty years her senior, her dark skin wrinkled from age around her dark, shrewd eyes.  Though she was well over sixty years of age, the woman stood taller than Mi’Dirtha---proud and strong.

“Mother Giselle?” Mi’Dirtha asked, coming to the side of the Chantry woman.

“I am,” she responded with a soft resolve, standing to face her with exhaustion and effort clearly settled into her old bones as she steadied herself.  “And you must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste.”

“I’m told that you asked for me,” Mi’Dirtha redirected, avoiding confirmation or denial of the pressing question in Mother Giselle’s voice.

“I know of the Chantry’s denouncement, and I’m familiar with those behind it,” the old woman’s eyes focused on her as the words came out with cool neutrality as she neatly folded her hands in front of her.  “I won’t lie to you---some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine.  Some are simply terrified.  So many good people, senselessly taken from us. . .”

“And that’s supposed to be some kind of validation or excuse?” Mi’Dirtha tried and failed to hide the disgust in her voice.  “They’re making everything worse, and for what?  Political power.”

“They don’t know that,” Mother Giselle implored matter-of-factly.  “They believe that they are doing what is best for the future of the Chantry.  This is my point.  You must go to them.  Convince them that you are no demon to be feared.  They have only heard frightening tales of you.  Give them something else to believe.”

The absolute resolution in the woman’s face was sharp and strong.  She wasn’t asking, begging, or pleading.  No doubt it had been a very long time since this wisened cleric had begged anything of anyone.  Her advice was gentle but clear, succinct, and firm.

“You think that I should appeal to them?” Mi’Dirtha asked with an edge of disbelief in her voice.

“If I thought you incapable of this, I wouldn’t suggest it,” the old cleric shrugged and led Mi’Dirtha away from where the wounded were being treated to speak a few steps further away.

“I doubt that they will even listen to me,” Mi’Dirtha wasn’t convinced.

Why would any of the shemlen leaders of their religion listen to her---a dark-skinned, Dalish elf?  She couldn’t even get Solas to believe that she was who she said.  The only reason that she hadn’t been shipped out for execution was the sheer dumb luck of having been able to close the giant rift at the heart of the Temple of Sacred Ashes instead of failing miserably or dying in the process.  These Chantry shems that this old woman wanted her to speak to weren’t even convinced by that even though it had very nearly killed her.  There was no way. . .

“Many of them still want to execute me, and you think that I should just walk up to them?”  Mi’Dirtha scoffed mirthlessly.  “Then what?  Plead for my life?  Watch over my shoulder for their arrows and barbs?”

“You are no longer alone,” Mother Giselle reminded her gently.  They can't imprison or attack you as they might have wanted to do.”

“They certainly could try,” Mi’Dirtha fired back.

“Let me put it this way: you needn’t convince them all,” the old woman smirked gently.  “You just need some of them to doubt .  Their power is in their unified voice.  Take that from them, and you receive the time that you need.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Mi’Dirtha could feel the creases on her brow deepen just thinking about this plan.

“I honestly don’t know if you are touched by fate or sent to help us, but I hope” Mother Giselle’s face tightened.  “Hope, more than anything, is what we need right now.  The people will listen to no other.  You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us. . . or destroy us.”

The old woman turned from Mi’Dirtha, looking out at the sea of displaced and suffering faces around them.  Try as she may, Mi’Dirtha couldn’t force herself not to care.  As Varric had said back at Haven, she too couldn’t just look away and let this problem try to sort itself out.  Like everything else that was being heaped at her feet, she had to try.  She had to find a way where no one else could.  These people were all counting on her, and as much as she hated that fact, she wasn’t going to walk away from them.  She wasn’t that heartless.

“I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana with the names of those in the Chantry that would be amenable to a gathering,” Mother Giselle lifted her head to the sky, then turned to Mi’Dirtha as her deep, brown eyes held her intensely.  “Andraste go with you.”

Mi’Dirtha nodded and turned back toward the others to find all three of them beginning to gather back nearby as Mother Giselle’s words churned in her belly.  She hated the idea, but the old woman was likely right.  If her most evil and terrible nature was what the Chantry expected of her, she was going to refuse to be the villain that they painted her as.  That way, when she did arrive at their doorstep to make them all see her, there would be nowhere to lay logic or reason.  She would start here.  They would fix things here.   It was as good a start as anywhere else, and there was plenty of work to do.

“What do we have?”  Mi’Dirtha urged the others.

“A hundred and sixty-four refugees in total, sparse supplies, and most are carrying the last of their worldly possessions,” Solas’ voice was grim.

“We need to do something about this,” Mi’Dirtha heaved a deep breath, looking around at the refugees.  “Alorha, Demend, and Faryn---see if we can get these Inquisition supplies handed out any faster, would you?  These people need it.”

“Agreed,” Cassandra replied flatly.  “What we can do exactly though. . . I’m uncertain.”

“Our good Corporal Vale is over on the far side of the Crossroads,” Varric joined in.

“We should speak to him,” Cassandra insisted as she followed in Mi’Dirtha’s footsteps and the others behind her.  “We will have some difficulty moving so many to a safe location.”

“Someone has to do it,” Mi’Dirtha quipped sharply.  “This is why you brought me, isn’t it?  It might as well be us.”

Varric led the way up the switchback of a small rocky pass just beyond the junction of the Crossroads to find four of their Inquisition soldiers all hurriedly moving crates and attempting to fortify the pass above them.  One among them stood looking on, reading a report and shaking his head, a thin set of blue rings under his eyes spoke to the stress and exhaustion that he was combatting, and his face lit up as they came up to speak to him.

“Corporal Vale?” Cassandra asked coolly.

“Yes, Lady Seeker,” he responded, the thickness of relief in his voice was palpable.  “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

His eyes locked on Mi’Dirtha’s and went wide with an abrupt recognition.

“My Lady Herald!” The Corporal’s loud exclaim brought the other soldiers all to a halt in their work to stare at her.  “It’s an honor, Your Worship!  Thank the Maker.”

“Good man,” Mi’Dirtha steadied him, his smile lightening his face with hope.  “Corporal, what would it take to get these people prepared to move to Haven?”

“My Lady?” his face fell into confusion.

“We need to get them away from the fighting,” Mi’Dirtha folded her arms and looked up to assess the reinforcement that they were attempting to build on the pass.  “They also could use every person that we can send that way.”

“Y-yes, Your Worship.  That does make sense,” the dazed Corporal agreed hastily, his scowl deepening.  “We are sorely undersupplied.  These people have little more than the clothes on their backs.  Our food alone wouldn't last them all three days into the trip back even with severe rationing, and many of them would likely freeze near to death as we got into the mountains.”

“So what I’m hearing is that we would need food, warm clothing, blankets, probably potable water, carts, and the horses to pull them,” Mi’Dirtha took mental stock of the requests.  “Anything else?”

“Uh, n-no, Your Worship,” the Corporal looked a little flabbergasted.  “That should be enough to get everyone back to Haven.”

“Alright,” Mi’Dirtha rubbed her chin with one hand and spun slowly to take in the terrain.  “The other thing we absolutely need is a better staging area to consolidate and keep these people safe while we stock up on supplies and prepare them all for the journey.  This valley is practically indefensible, but only so many could be escorted back to Scout Harding’s camp.”

“A good point,” Solas followed her train of thought.

“Yes, Your Worship,” Corporal Vale agreed with a deep sigh.  “We have had a challenging time fending off the templars and mages.”

“Are there any more defensible positions?” Mi’Dirtha asked with authority.  “Preferably somewhere near our other camp.”

“There is, Herald,” The Corporal nodded and pointed.  “There’s a spot that would suffice to the southwest, but. . .”

“But what?” Mi’Dirtha asked pointedly.

“Well, we did have it under our control, but it has been overrun by templars and is currently being used as one of their forward camps,” the Corporal cast his eyes down and balled his fists.  “We lost too many to be able to take it back.”

“Leave the templars to me, Corporal,” Mi’Dirtha grabbed the man’s shoulder and brought his eyes back up to hers, seeing the hope there at her words.  “Once it’s cleared, we will begin evacuation.  After that, we will need directions to wherever this horsemaster Dennet is located so we can see about procuring horses for the Inquisition.  Anything that we can get our hands on between here and there can be brought back for the refugees and our people so we can prepare everyone to move back out to Haven.”

“By your order, Herald!” Vale saluted, a broad smile on his face.  “We will begin our work right away.”

Mi’Dirtha turned to the others and began to head back toward the Crossroads below.  Tense expressions were painted on all three of their faces, and she could tell that there were questions behind them that no one had wanted to ask in front of the soldiers, but as they drew away from their men, Varric took a deep sigh and played nervously with the cuffs of his gloves.

“Not to be a dark rain cloud on your parade, but how exactly do you plan to take out an entire fortified templar camp and find all the stuff that we need to make this bonkerballs plan of yours happen, Handy?” the dwarf asked quietly, speaking all their minds out loud.

“I’m a Dalish Hunter, Varric,” Mi’Dirtha smirked and kept walking in the direction that the Corporal had pointed her in.  “This is what I do best.”

“What, getting killed?” Varric chuckled darkly, his scowl twisting with a hint of mockery.

“No,” Mi’Dirtha insisted, turning to the southwest.  “Take what you can, strike quick and clean, and anyone between you and your prize is already dead.”

Mi’Dirtha led the three of them quietly and without incident back along the path they had taken up from the southwest, happy to see that none of the enemies that they had already worked their way through had been reinforced.  She noted that this was likely due to two things: the first was that not enough time had passed for the nearest templar encampment---the one they were headed to take---had been informed of their passing yet.  The other was that given the current state of the conflict, this encampment was probably just as undersupplied and undermanned as their own positions were.  She was hoping that they were lacking the manpower to send anyone else out from where they were holding up to discover what had become of their missing knights.  That would make it easier to take the spot that Corporal Vale had described to her.  It would likely be on higher ground to be so desirable, and would very likely be guarded the most heavily on the most direct path up to allow the templars to stop any mages that made the attempt at an uphill assault.  They had been prepared and planned for rebels.  Good for their small party, their foes were about to get a lot more than that.

Sure enough, they approached the bottom of a narrow ridge that nearly matched what Mi’Dirtha had imagined in her mind’s eye.  From a hidden spot among the trees below, they could make out the red templar standards above that claimed their territory.  She found it awfully bold of them to declare themselves so brashly and smirked again as the tactics unfolded in her mind.  Keeping to the trees around the ridge, Mi’Dirtha led them up and around the main approach path.  It certainly took much longer and was more difficult of a climb than the direct path would have been, but that merely meant that it wouldn’t be guarded.  The templars would never see them coming.  Amid the dark shadows of the tallest of the pine trees, Mi’Dirtha called all of them to a crouch as they looked down at the camp below them, the wheels in her head already moving as she counted their tents and enemies.

“Looks to be ten,” Cassandra whispered, coming to the same count that Mi’Dirtha had.  “Five knights, four archers, and a Lieutenant.”

“Do you think that we can take ten trained templars?” Varric hissed his displeasure.

“We can if we divide and conquer,” Mi’Dirtha assured them quietly.  “Solas, do you have any fire spells at your disposal?”

“Yes,” Solas answered flatly.

“Good,  on my signal, I need you to hit a handful of those tents.  The big one for certain, but another two or three at your leisure would make for a great deal of panic to cover our advance,” Mi’Dirtha gestured to the areas of the camp as she spoke.  “The chaos will give Cassandra and I time to rush in from the center and divide their forces, pushing them to opposite sides of the camp.”

“I can manage that, I think,” Cassandra nodded, gazing down at the camp to determine her own strategies.

“Varric, your job will be to take out those archers as quickly as you can and give Cassandra support as she pushes their knights forward.  I will push the others back against the treeline here where Solas will hit them from behind.”

Both Varric and Solas also nodded their agreement to the plan of attack.

“This is so insane that it might actually work,” Varric chuckled softly, unslinging Bianca and setting his gaze on the camp below to mark his targets.

“Very well,” Solas huffed, also deciding his initial targets.  “I will wait for you and the Seeker to provide your signal.”

The four of them shared knowing and steely glances once more before breaking apart.  Mi’Dirtha and Cassandra made their way down nearly to the edge of the trees that overlooked the camp.  There was going to be a short drop for them to come in at the side down a sort of natural wall that the templars had expected to protect them from a rear assault, but that would be easy enough to clear.  Unslinging her greatsword and looking back at Cassandra with a grin, Mi’Dirtha raised her hand to her mouth and gave a loud, chirping whistle through the trees.  In the shadows above them, she could barely make out the dimmest glowing of the orb at the top of Solas’ staff, and all havoc broke loose.

Four brilliant, green fireballs shot out from the trees, impacting four of the tents simultaneously and setting them alight.  Mi’Dirtha and Cassandra rushed out from their spot at the drop, and Mi’Dirtha rolled as her bare feet hit the ground below, springing up and meeting Cassandra’s eyes again for a moment to nod.  Turning her back to the Seeker, Mi’Dirtha let out a loud war cry toward the rear of the camp and rushed forward to drive back the two templar knights and the Lieutenant as they scrambled to draw weapons, and their archers screamed as they died from Varric’s crossbow bolts.

As she pushed forward to meet one of the knights, she deflected his shield and brought back the greatsword to impact with his left shoulder to crush in the spot where his helmet met his neck.  He went down but wasn’t dead.  The other knight charged her from the right, and the Lieutenant approached her from directly ahead, cut short in his advance as Solas sent three more bright green fireballs to strike at his back.  Mi’Dirtha raised her greatsword to block a blow from the knight on her right, forcing him back on his footing as she swept back to catch a stabbing blow from the knight who had risen from the ground to her left.  She deflected the jab up and brought the sword back to the same spot she had struck before, the plate at his neck caving in under the second strike to crush his collarbone and the shoulder of his sword arm. The knight screamed out, dropping the sword from his useless arm and taking two steps back.  Behind her and to the side, Solas had emerged from the shadows of the treeline to occupy the Lieutenant, and Mi’Dirtha turned again to bring her greatsword up to halt the other knight as he charged to bash her with his shield.

She held him there, baring her teeth and snarling into the faceless helmet.  Then, summoning all her strength, she forced her greatsword forward, flexing through her arms to shove the knight back.  The knight behind her screamed an instant after she heard another of Varric’s crossbow bolts whizz through the air.  Another bolt struck and rang against the side of the helmet of the knight she was facing down herself, and he ducked reflexively behind his shield.  Mi’Dirtha pushed forward, sweeping out with the greatsword to knock away his shield.  He took a step back and stabbed out with his longsword to thrust it through her chest.  She took a step to the side to dodge the attack, and brought the pommel of her sword down on the knight’s forearm with a shout, forcing him to drop his sword as the bones beneath her strike to snap.

Mi’Dirtha snarled, and leaned into her left shoulder to bash into the templar’s chest, forcing him back again, and bringing her sword down in a blow to crush in his helmet as he landed squarely on his back below her.  Bringing the greatsword back to bear, she spun quickly around the camp to assess any further targets and found none.  Smiling wide, she slung up the sword across her back as the others rushed to meet her at the center of the camp.  

“Are you certain that you’re not blessed by some higher power?” Cassandra smiled, gripping Mi’Dirtha’s hand.

“Just lucky, Seeker,” Mi’Dirtha smirked back.

The tents around them were still burning, sending black smoke up into the air, no doubt broadcasting their position, but they had been far enough away from any others so they let them burn.  No sooner had they heaped the bodies of their fallen enemies outside of the camp, three Inquisition soldiers rushed up to them through the fortifications on the approach.  Their swords were drawn from having slain a handful of guards from behind as they had tried to make their way back up to discern the fate of their camp.  They had been called by the smoke and Corporal Vale had sent them to discover whether or not she and the others had been successful.

“Tell the good Corporal that this spot is clear and to begin moving the refugees up with all haste,” Mi’Dirtha ordered and the soldiers saluted her before rushing off again to carry out their orders.

“The smoke will no doubt have alerted the other templar forces in the area,” Solas smirked slightly, leaning on his staff.  “What is to prevent them from retaking this position as we have?”

Mi’Dirtha smiled and patted Solas on the shoulder.

“Templars don’t have fireballs, Solas,” she laughed and made her own way toward the mouth of the camp.  “And lucky for us, they seem to have done an excellent job of fortifying our position for us.  We should also have a runner inform Scout Harding of our success here, and see if she and Corporal Vale can distribute our soldiers a bit more efficiently in the area.”

“Excellent observations,” Solas agreed, following her toward the pathway up from the valley below.

“I’m pleased that you approve,” Mi’Dirtha huffed, resting her hands on her hips.  “Then, once we have the first of the refugees up here and word out to the scouts, I need to see a man about a horse.”

Chapter Text

The four companions moved quickly and skillfully through the landscape, falling into an easy battle rhythm as they became more and more familiar with the ley of the land.  The opposition continued to be so divided and more focused on one another, making their passage easier.  Both the rebel mages and the rogue templars were scrambling enough between their attacks on one another, that the small pockets that Mi’Dirtha and the others came upon fell quickly.  As they made their way to the farms that they had been directed toward by Harding, they managed to locate several potential resources and caches that had been stockpiled by the enemies that they encountered.  Mi’Dirtha marked each one on a small map that they had given by the scouts for retrieval later and made good time on their path.  That was until they rounded the top of a hill that overlooked a huge valley below, only a few of miles away from their destination, and were halted in their tracks by the sight below.

The cacophony of battle was inescapable as it rose from the entire valley as buildings and entire copses of trees burned in the raw chaos.  A large force of both the templars and mages were locked into skirmishes everywhere ahead of them and she couldn’t see any realistic way through the mess.  Harding had been right to question whether or not the people out at the farms were even alive.  Hopefully, they were, and hopefully, there would be a way to get to them.  Mi’Dirtha sat back down from the ridge and pulled out the map, finding their location and trying to suss out a better way to get to the farms without getting them all killed.

“What a shitshow!” Varric swore loudly.

“Despite your obvious tactical prowess, Swordswoman, I would very much recommend that we go around this particular battlefield,” Solas’ eyes were dark and insistent.

“We could not possibly take them all,” Cassandra pressed a gloved finger to the map.  “We can shift here, to the direct west.  There’s a gap here between the higher ridges for the river.  We should be able to make it through there.”

“Then let’s go,” Mi’Dirtha agreed, tucked the map back into her heavy breastplate, and they set off again, avoiding the battlegrounds.

As they neared the bottom of the western slopes from their location, a familiar crackling boom broke through the trees from a  clearing up ahead and the green mark flared on Mi’Dirtha’s hand.

“Demons,” Solas huffed gravely.  “They must be alerted by your mark when we are near.”

“That means a rift ahead,” Cassandra halted, pulling out her sword.

“Oh yeah, that’s right!” Varric chuckled incredulously.  “With the Mage Rebellion in full swing here, I had almost completely forgotten about the legions of the Fade pouring into reality because someone tore an enormous, gaping hole in the sky.  Silly me.  The fun just never ends, does it?”

“There’s no real use in hiding if they already know that we’re here,” Mi’Dirtha heaved a sigh and unslung her sword.  “Let’s see what we have.”

The rift exploded as they approached from the treeline and poured out about a dozen wisps that they took out in short order, and Mi’Dirtha genuinely thought that this wasn’t going to be so bad.  With the rift closed quickly, she turned, and the farm valley came into view just as four giant, giant black wolves rushed up from the far side of the hill and set upon them.  One howled and lunged directly at Mi’Dirtha, catching her before she could draw the greatsword again, and she put out her right arm to stop the wolf as it clamped down on the offered limb with its jagged teeth, and pulled her to the ground.

As the creature thrashed and chewed at her forearm through the leather bracers that she had worn in the absence of plated vambraces, Mi’Dirtha raged and cocked back the fist of her other hand, let out a deep roaring growl, and lashed out to punch the wolf repeatedly along its head and neck.  It snarled and she could feel its claws scrape across the face of her breastplate, and she moved her head to dodge one paw as the wolf attempted to land its claws into her face.  Denied its target, the wolf bore down on her arm harder, dripping drool onto her face.  A deep and eerie green light burned in its eyes, and the more she hit it, the more determined it seemed not to let go.  This was no ordinary wolf.

Mi’Dirtha gripped a chunk of its fur in her left hand and fought furiously about what to do,  resigned to hold the creature at least in check until it gave out a sudden and loud cry and collapsed motionless over her.  Mi’Dirtha looked up to see Cassandra pull her sword out of the wolf’s back and she helped her to roll the beast off of her.  With its jaws slack, Mi’Dirtha pulled back her arm and cradled it against her chest, rising to her feet and hissing against the pain, and Varric pushed an open potion bottle into her free hand.  She took it happily and chugged the contents, watching the flesh on her arm knit back together, the pain ebbing to a strange sort of tingling sensation that coursed through her entire body.

“It’s a good thing that we have these.  We’re out here in the ass-end of nowhere,” Varric smiled smugly.  “I thought for sure that you were a goner there for a second.  Then you started punching that thing in the head!”

“Yes, well, that’s what I get for being assured and unobservant,” Mi’Dirtha scoffed at herself, flexing and rotating her arm, elbow, wrist, and fingers.

“There was no way you could have done any better,” Solas commented with a dark scowl.  “No normal wolf would fight with such determination.”

“That is exactly what I was just thinking about myself,” Mi’Dirtha agreed.

“It is possible that the presence of the Breach may have driven them mad,” Solas’ voice was grim, his lightly freckled brow creasing.  “Or perhaps a demon took command of the pack.”

“I certainly hope that we don’t need to stick around to find out which,” Varric huffed and began to lead their way back toward the ridgeline that would lead them to the farms.

“Yes,” Mi’Dirtha agreed soundly, following with Solas and Cassandra behind her.  “The sooner we can get everyone out, the better.”

Continuing warily forward, they made their way down the slope of the hill and toward the farms on a slim, rocky path.  It wasn’t difficult to spot the horsemaster’s farm among the rest.  Most of them had been abandoned, and Mi’Dirtha made a note to mark this on their map as well for later.  There could be quite a lot of left resources here that could be used to better their refugees, and if it had already been left to the wilds, they had better make sure to get in and get their pick of what remained before looters, criminals, and bandits beat them all to it.

Dennet’s pastures were fenced well and filled with beautiful ruddy horses that looked hardy and of good stock.  These were the kinds of horses that her Dalish clan could only dream of---exactly what she and the Inquisition needed to head in the right direction.  Hopeful and resolute, Mi’Dirtha strode confidently to the door of the main house on the property and knocked solidly.  The door was answered by a tall, older black man, his closely shorn hair was peppered grey and he wore a sour expression on his face.

“Horsemaster Dennet?” Mi’Dirtha asked politely.

“Aye,” the old man squinted at her and then took in the others.  “What can I do for you?”

“We’re with the Inquisition and have traveled from Haven to speak with you,” Mi’Dirtha emplored the old man.  “May we come in?”

He smirked and opened the door beckoning them inside.  It was a small and simple house but filled with the cozy comforts one imagined a farmhouse to have.  It was warm and welcoming, and Mi’Dirtha and the others all seemed more at ease coming in from the fields.

“I hear that your Inquisition is looking for mounts,” Dennet spoke clearly and crossed his arms over his chest.  “I served Al Eamon as his Horsemaster for twenty years, so I’m not surprised that you would come looking here for aid.”

“We are absolutely in need, and your reputation precedes you,” Mi’Dirtha appealed to the man with a smile.  “I hear that they are the best horses this side of the Frostbacks.  Would you be willing to help us?”

“Not for the moment,” Dennet scowled, locking eyes with her.  “I can’t just send a hundred of my best horses down the road like a letter.  Every bandit between here and Haven would be on them like flies on crap.  You’ll have your mounts when, and only when, I am certain that they won’t end up as a cold winter’s breakfast.”

“I, well, I suppose that you have a point there,”  Mi’Dirtha’s eyes narrowed on the battle-hardened man.  “I certainly would like to know if you have a problem with me specifically coming to ask for your aid.”

“What?” the old man asked, perplexed.  “No.  I’ve got no bad blood with you Dalish Halla-riders.  Maker knows that you lot have enough to worry about.”

“Halla rider?” Mi’Dirtha’s brow strained and her jaw tightened.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I meant no insult,” Dennet smiled, gesturing defensively with his hands.  “Those Halla are damn graceful, majestic beasts.  I’ve always wanted to ride one.  Your kin make it look so easy.”

“Oh,” Mi’Dirtha couldn’t hide her shock.  “Well, thank you.  I guess.”

“Look here, Inquisition,” Dennet continued, uncrossing his arms.  “My wife Elaina manages the farms and my man Bron is in charge of my guards.  They’ll tell you what they need to move my horses safely for you.  In the meantime, you will probably need something better than the knock-kneed plow neck they gave you.  The chestnut just outside is a pure-bred Ferelden Forder.  Take care of him, and he’ll take care of you.”

“That is very generous of you,” Cassandra inserted herself, filling the gap of Mi’Dirtha’s stunned silence quickly.  “We appreciate your help and will speak to the others about what we can do here for you.”

“Yes,” Mi’Dirtha recovered.  “I’m sure that we can help in some way.”

They all made their farewells and headed back out the main door.  Dennet had told them that Elaina was likely in the kitchen garden just outside and that his man Bron was in the guardhouse back down the path toward the hills.  Outside again, Mi’Dirtha sputtered a deep heavy sigh and rubbed her eyes a little, letting her fingertips rest on the white scrolling marks on her dark cheeks for a moment before opening them again and looking back up at the others.

“Thoughts?”  She asked, resting her hands on her hips.

The others thought quietly for a moment, and it was Cassandra who broke the silence first.

“He is correct, of course,” the Seeker insisted.  “It is a practical request and it would show our good faith to meet it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Varric chimed in.  “How about Chuckles and I go see what this Bron has to say while you two go butter up the Mrs.”

“Alright,” Mi’Dirtha scoffed.  “We’ll meet at the gate afterward.”

Everyone agreed and they split off.  Turning to the left of the door to the large farmhouse, Cassandra and Mi’Dirtha found the small kitchen garden and the older woman working at the clearing of weeds from the vegetables and herbs in the small, fenced-in area.  She was muttering to herself and stood as they swung the gate closed to speak with her.

“I heard what my man said,” she responded gruffly, wiping her hands over her apron.  “If you want our horses, then we need our field hands back safe in the fields.  Since the Breach appeared, the wolves nearby have gone mad.  They come after our men like beasts with the water-sickness.”

“Yes,” Mi’Dirtha responded flatly.  “We were unlucky enough to run into a handful of them coming down into the valley.”

“You deal with those wolves, and our men will be safe,” Elaina nodded sharply, a steely look in her fair eyes.  “Usually when you go after a wolf with a blade or torch, but these wolves. . . it’s like the Darkspawn during the Blight or when the dead rose to attack us.  They must be possessed or something like that.  I’ve lost too many men and I won’t endanger them or our horses anymore.”

“Understood,” Cassandra assured the old woman.  “Do you know where these beasts den?”

“You’ll have to cross the river and go northeast,” the old woman pointed in the general direction of the den.  “The cave is not far from the banks on the other side.”

“Thank you,” Mi’Dirtha nodded her head slightly and both she and Cassandra left the garden to meet up with Solas and Varric.

The two men were standing at the spot where the rocky path met with the passing road just beyond the stretch of pasture and farmland.  Varric had another map out and Solas was standing over him, pointing at the scrap of paper and saying something when the two of them walked up.

“I take it that you were successful?”  Cassandra asked, running her fingers through her short dark hair to push her bangs back from her face.

“Sure were, Seeker!” Varric chimed happily.

“The Guardsman has requested that we set up fortified watch points in a few locations just beyond the farming area.  Here,” Solas pointed to the marked spots on their map, “then, here and here.  This third spot is near our new refugee staging area.”

“The way I figure it,” Varric added in, looking up at Mi’Dirtha, “we can mark these locations and have some of the refugees help with the actual building of fortifications.”

“That’s a good idea, Varric,” Mi’Dirtha assured him, beaming from ear to ear.

“It sure seems easy enough,” Varric folded the map and tucked it away.  “We might have some pockets of mages, templars, or demons here and there, but I think we can do this.”

“Were you successful as well in getting direction from Lady Dennet?” Solas asked politely.

“Yeah,” Mi’Dirtha huffed.  “And you’re not going to like it, Varric.”

The two men looked at her intently now, worry showing on the dwarf’s face.

“It appears that we get to examine Solas’ theories about those crazed wolves after all,” Mi’Dirtha finished, shooting the mage a look.  He lifted his hand and ran it over his scalp, pausing for a moment and sighing heavily.

“We are going to need some help with that task,” Cassandra insisted.

“Likely,” Mi’Dirtha agreed.  “Let’s focus on the watch points today and getting those supplies that we located on the way over back to camp.  We can tackle the possessed demon wolf den tomorrow.  Maybe we can even get our military escorts to help us with that.  We’ve already proven a good team.”

Cassandra nodded and Varric suggested a plan of action to start making the locations nearest to them and working their way back toward the camp.  Then, they would meet up with the others for updates and plans to make both of these tasks come to fruition.  Agreeing heartily, Mi’Dirtha set back up the path to grab that new Ferelden horse, silently praying that they would have more than just this one to take back to Haven by the time they were done.

* * *.

The four of them walked into the refuge of the camp about an hour before dusk, worn, tired, bumped, scraped, and low on potions.  The Hinterlands had proven to be more to the task of taking them on than any of them had hoped with the days tasks of marking the watch points and moving supplies had brought them one rogue mage attack, two templar bands, three Fade rifts, and a really unfortunate encounter with a bear that none of them escaped without at least one major wound.  Varric had a grand total of three crossbow bolts left in Bianca’s backup pouch and Solas looked weary from being pushed to the limits of his magic over the past several hours.  All that being said, the crazed demon wolves were starting to look as though they may be the easier job now by comparison.

Though everything in her sore body begged for rest, Mi’Dirtha downed her pack and sword to seek out Corporal Vale to give a status update on their unpleasantly eventful day.  The soldier took down furious notes, wide-eyed and admiring every word as it came out of her mouth.  She patted him on the shoulder and made her way back to where the others had set up around one of the several campfires that were roaring and welcoming in the new refugee camp, and sat down to stretch out her legs.  Leaning back on her hands, she let her head drape back over her shoulders, let out a deeply satisfied huff of breath, and let herself enjoy the warm feeling of the fire near her toes.

“We did good work today,” Cassandra said, unbuckling her cuirass and setting it on the ground over her shield and at her feet.

“I haven’t used Bianca this much since 9:37,” Varric mused under his breath, laying the crossbow over his lap and running a rag over her hinges to clear out any debris.

“We do seem to have thinned our opposition some,” Solas laid his staff across his lap as he sat with his legs crossed.  “Let us hope that tomorrow bears fewer unpleasantries for us.”

“Mythal’enaste ma nuvenin, Solas,”   [May Mythal bless us, as you say, Solas.] Mi’Dirtha sighed again.

Some of the starstruck refugees brought them some bread and watered-down beer as well as a couple of potions to share around.  Many of them had volunteered to go out with the Inquisition’s soldiers to claim the resources that Mi’Dirtha had marked on their map, and there seemed to be a lift in spirits all around the camp.  The people murmured about the blessed Herald and her entourage, giving them all a wide berth.  Only Alorha, Demend, and Faryn seemed brave enough to approach them without fear or awe, but that was expected given the past week they had spent together in the wilds.  All three of them agreed to join them to attend to the matter with the wolves the next day and seemed both eager and excited to have a chance to fight again.  Mi’Dirtha thanked them all, sending them off with a reminder to rest up for the coming day.

“I’m going to hit the sack too,” Varric stretched his hands overhead and rose slowly, his voice sounding nearly as worn out as he looked.

A very weary Cassandra followed soon after, and as the bustle of the camp died with the sinking of the sun, the two elves found themselves sitting silently by the fire for some time in one another’s company.  Mi’Dirtha laid back, hands coming to brace the back of her head against the ground, one knee up, and the other leg curled across the grass.  Gazing up at the stars as they began to peek in through the velvet darkness of the night sky, she contemplated the events of the day silently.  She had done many of the same things she had done today, but never all of them at once.  Though she had every right to be proud of herself and trust in her abilities as they carried her forward, a deep uneasy feeling still sat in her gut.  She couldn’t see it from here, but the green, pulsing mark in her hand and every rift she had closed that day served to remind her that the Breach itself still swirled maliciously in the sky above Haven.  Could she actually do it?  Could she close it?  Could she seal it and lock away the danger?

“Are you not going to take your rest as well?” Solas’ voice broke her away from her thoughts.

“I might sleep here, actually,” Mi’Dirtha muttered softly, not sitting up as she turned her head to meet his eyes.  “I would prefer the ground tonight, I think.  Nuvenan alas mith’em.” [I want to be near the earth.]

“Master Hunter,” Solas chuckled.  “I am unsurprised.”

“Says the man who sleeps on the stone floors of ancient ruins.  Oh, yes, very dignified,” Mi’Dirtha sat up, propping herself up on her hands and looking squarely at him.  “We’ve not spoken much at all today, and the first chance you get, you mock me.  Why?  What have I done to offend you so?  Please, do tell me.”

“My apologies,” Solas murmured, somewhat surprised as he met the steely anger in her eyes.  “I am. . . unused to the company of others.  I have no desire to mock you.”

“But. . .?” Mi’Dirtha prodded him, sensing more behind his words as his dark, grey eyes lightened a little.

“It would appear to reinforce the general stereotypes if the ‘uncivilized’ Dalish heathen were you to sleep on the ground when comfortable accommodations are but a few feet away from you,” Solas insisted.  “Are you unafraid of their judgment leading to label you as a brutish savage who sleeps in the dirt?”

“Should I be?” Mi’Dirtha retorted with a scoff.  “I was not aware that I was meant to sacrifice my own comfort to still the wagging of their shemlen tongues and insult at the cost of my sleep.  Has it not occurred to any of you that before coming to this Inquisition, I had never slept alone---isolated in a tent by myself, lifted up from the ground on a cot or one of their straw-filled beds?”

A look of recognition passed through Solas’ eyes as he considered her words.  He hadn’t lived his life in the sort of communal lifestyle that she had.  It was strange and lonely for her to be so cut off from her people, sleeping alone, trying to still her mind in the silence and absence of her kin.  She had slept in tight quarters with her clan in their aravels and tents for as long as she could remember.  They only kept cots or the like for the wounded and sick, and none of them had ever been so heavily padded or plush as these soft things that everyone else insisted on resting their bodies upon.  It hurt her back, angled her neck into uncomfortable positions, and made falling into a restful sleep a challenge.  Against all of that, Mi’Dirtha was much more likely to rest well on the ground in the open air, and she absolutely would prefer it after the long and labor-intensive day behind them.

“You make an interesting point,” Solas’ face softened and he let out a long and heavy breath as he also laid back, lacing his fingers together as they rested on his chest, eyes exploring the stars overhead.

“Oh?” Mi’Dirtha asked, looking down on him as he lay at her side, awaiting a criticism that never came.  “And that would be what, exactly?”

“You are right, of course.  I had not fully taken into consideration that you must be burdened with a longing for your clan and culture,” his eyes seemed to glow in the firelight as he scanned the stars.  “I do have my own criticisms of the Dalish, given interactions I have had with them, but the attitude of such a closeness and familiarity is not one of them.  Your demeanor over the time we have been acquainted has not betrayed your discomfort if that is a consolation.  Rather, your obvious intellect, skillfulness, and discipline had given me the impression that you were more in your element than expected, given recent events.”

“Oh,” Mi’Dirtha’s head spun as she tried to process the number of compliments that Solas had just paid her all at once and she had to look away.  “I. . . Ma serannas.”

“De da’rhan,”   [It is a small thing.] Solas assured her softly.  “How are you faring, if I may ask?”

“Ir telom i sashun,”   [I am feeling unwell and isolated.] Mi’Dirtha swallowed back a knot of emotion in her throat, speaking softly and trying to avoid showing her pain as she relied on her elven for the fear of too many shemlen ears.  “Mi’nas’sal’inan.  Nuvenan lethal  amahn.” [I feel the knife in my soul.  I wish my clan was here.]

“Ir abelas,” Solas whispered after a long pause.  “Ar eolas mar’nu.”  [I understand your pain.]

“Ara suledin nadas,” [I must endure.] Mi’Dirtha sighed, letting her eyes fall closed for a moment before laying back next to Solas, her eyes fixing on the stars overhead.  “Vir’dirth’ara em halani.” [Our language helps.]

“Sathem,” [Happy to be of service.] Solas sighed, and Mi’Dirtha rolled her head to look over his profile, cast in the light of the fire at their feet.  “Sar’dirth’mala ir’on.  Ara sathem hartha Elvhen dirthem gasha.” [Your grasp of the language is very good.  I am pleased to hear Elvhen spoken so completely.]

“Ma serannas.  Ir esayal,” [Thank you.  I am trying.] Mi’Dirtha allowed herself a small smile at Solas’ compliment.   “Ara lethal, ar’an shiem vyr Arlathan Adahlen ga’eir’melana dirthala.  Banal’halam.”   [My clan has traveled close to Arlathan Forest every winter to learn and study. Everything -- in a small way -- remains.]

“Re’hellathen,”   [That is a noble struggle.] Solas assured her, continuing to gaze up at the stars as he sped up his speech to challenge Mi’Dirtha to keep pace with his Elvhen.   “Mala lethal Targen’i’manvhen rys solasun.”  [Your Antivan clan must be very proud.]

“Na’tua tel’druelan ara’anor Revas’virelan?”   [You still don’t believe that I’m from the Free Marches?] Mi’Dirtha rolled up on her side, resting her head on her hand as she propped herself up to scowl down at Solas.

“Te,”   [No.] he rolled his head to look up at her, his intense grey eyes piercing her and making her heart beat faster as he held her gaze.   “Tel’dhrua ma.”  [I don't believe you.]

“Sule’vi’in.  Mar melin neal’gaelathe,”   [So certain. Your name is perfect.] Mi’Dirtha laid back down abruptly with a huff and grumbled. “Dhrua’ma sast’rhan nuvenan, Solas.  Tel’isalor enastal.  Ir esayal ara on’ala!”  [Believe whatever you want, Solas. I don’t need your approval. I’m doing my best!]

“Vin,”  [Yes.] Solas chuckled dryly.   “Dhruelan rhan.” [That, I do believe.]

“Ahnsul ara’harellan?”  [Why do you think I am lying?] Mi’Dirtha gestured up at the sky in frustration.   “Thu Ir venal enaste harellan’ast?”  [How would I gain any goodwill by lying?]

“Thanun na’harellan’ast, tel’suleva,”   [Whatever reason you have for lying doesn't matter.] Solas’ words caught her off guard and she rolled to see him looking at her with that same, unsettling intensity.   “Ar’an roga nadas i ara halam’shivanas diana Elgar’vhen’an Genivian.  Ar dhrua em ena’sal’in.”  [We must survive and do our duty to close the Breach. I believe that you will succeed.]

“Elgar’vhen’an Genivian?” Mi’Dirtha furrowed her brow, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar chain of words and fumbling against the embarrassing heat rising in her face.

Focus! ‘Elgar’vhen’an’ means the Fade and ‘Genivian’. . . hole?  Fade Hole?

  “You’re talking about sealing the Breach?”  Mi’Dirtha asked, refusing to break from Solas’ intensity and give him the satisfaction of flustering her.

“Vin, you seem to be catching on,” Solas smirked, following her lead as she dropped out of speaking their tongue first.  “Your linguistic adaptability is quite impressive, for a Dalish Hunter.”

“Another back-handed compliment,” Mi’Dirtha huffed, squinting at Solas with incredulity.  “How very kind of you. Nuvas ema ir’enastela.   [Thank you so very much.] You do mock me and my people.”

“Your people mock themselves,” Solas sighed sadly, turning back to look up at the sky.  “Remember, I have walked the memories of the Fade.  I have seen the history that the Dalish imitate.”

“We Dalish are trying to restore elven history,” Mi’Dirtha asserted bitterly, a barb of venom in her voice.  “If you know something new, share it.”

“Would your clan listen to what I had learned in my studies, my travels?” Solas bantered back with his own disdain and bitterness.  “Or would they mock the ‘flat-ear’ and his stories, and go back to worshiping shadows and weeping in their ruins?  You at least are intelligent, well-trained, compassionate, and well-spoken.  The overwhelming majority of those with whom you claim to share a profession are about as educated as the trees they sleep under.  You are an anomaly, making your story all the more far-fetched.”

“Wait. . . are you seriously implying that I’m too smart to be a hunter?” Mi’Dirtha balked, blinking a few more times in shock, not entirely sure whether she should be insulted or flattered.

“That seems to surprise you,” Solas chuckled a little at her, furthering her confusion.  “You have met other hunters, have you not?”

Mi’Dirtha flushed and all rebuttal vanished from her mouth.  How could this absolutely enraging, frustrating asshole of a man manage to give her the absolute worst of all insults and the most flattering of all compliments all within the same sentences?

“Either way,” Solas went on in the wake of her chagrin.  “What I do believe about you is that you are far from home and lonesome for your people and their ways.  If it suits you, I would not mind foregoing my own tent and cot tonight to keep you company.”

“That’s not necessary,” Mi’Dirtha sputtered.

“No, but I offer it nonetheless,” Solas rose on his elbows to look down at her again, scanning her face as she tried to look anywhere but back in his eyes.

“You can sleep wherever you like,” Mi’Dirtha scoffed, closing her eyes and rolling over on her side to face away from him.

“Good,” Solas murmured his agreement, and Mi’Dirtha heard him shuffle in the grass behind her, half expecting to hear him get up and walk away but hearing him take a long deep breath instead.

Is he seriously. . .

Mi’Dirtha rolled further onto her stomach, laying her head over her arms on the plush grass and twisting slightly to clandestinely peek up at her side.  To her genuine surprise, Solas had settled completely on his back, his long legs stretched out toward the fire, and his staff tucked into the crook of one elbow as he folded his arms across his chest.  He had actually shuffled a little closer to her than he had away, and his chest rose and fell softly.  Her eyes flickered over the profile of his body and came back up to his face to see that he was watching her out of the corner of his eye.  The unexpected eye contact made her flinch and flush harder for having been caught, and she scowled at him, quickly tucking her head again to face away as she huffed.  Behind her, Solas chuckled softly.

“On nydha,”  [Good night.] his voice was soft and barely above a whisper meant only for her elven ears to pick up.

Fenhedis. . . edhis. . . prideful. . . smug. . . ugh!

“On nydha, Solas.” Mi’Dirtha groaned back.  “Dian vanadirth.” [Shut up.]

Chapter Text

Mi’Dirtha woke to the sounds of the crackling fire and the pale gray sky before dawn.  She sat up and stretched the sleep from her body, taking in a deep lungful of the crisp morning air.  Solas was still on the ground next to her sleeping quietly, and the thought temporarily passed through her mind to be evil and elbow him or cough loudly until it woke him, but decided better of it and just scowled at him instead.  She would write to Deshanna when they got back to Haven and he would eat his words.  Until then, she would have to put up with his smug assumptions and accusatory looks.  Telling herself that it would all be worth it in the end, she shuffled forward to warm herself by the fire, meeting Alorha as she walked up with some fresh logs to lay on it.

“Good morning,” the bright-eyed young woman spoke softly so as not to wake Solas.

Mi’Dirtha got up and walked around the fire to sit on the far side next to her.  They spoke in hushed tones about their adventures from the day before, Mi’Dirtha often looking back across the fire to assess the state of their other companion.  If he woke up at all during their conversation, he hid it well from both of them.  Alorha and Faryn had chosen to help with the moving of the refugees from the Crossroads and later volunteered for two separate teams to retrieve resources that Mi’Dirtha and the others had located for them throughout the day.  Demend had been tasked with moving arms and other gear between the camps and acted as a runner to move information between Corporal Vale and Scout Harding as their missions progressed.  Aside from moving from place to place, Alorha and Mother Giselle had spent time between her tasks raising spirits by singing their various favorite parts of the Chant to comfort the refugees.

The rosy fingers of daybreak started to stream between the trees as the sun peeked up over the edges of the mountains, and they watched together as it lit everything up.  If it weren’t for the awful things beginning to stir in the valleys and hills around them, this really could be one of the most peaceful places in all of Thedas.  Just as they were beginning to plan the rest of the day, the elf across the campfire from them woke and they were soon joined by Cassandra as well with both Demend and Faryn in tow.  They had all but finished their breakfast of bread from the night before and some chicken eggs that had been procured from one of the abandoned farms an hour later when Varric finally showed up.  Being accustomed to spending late nights in some tavern back in Kirkwall called The Hanged Man, the blonde dwarf was easily the one among them who was the least amenable to mornings in general.  They hadn’t minded it for the most part, being ready most days by the time he appeared at the fireside to take the portions of breakfast they had left for him.  Today was no exception, and they briefed him on their general plan over his bread and eggs before breaking camp.

Everyone among them had agreed that they needed to take care of the problem with the wolves as early as possible.  There was much more to do to get the refugees ready for their trip to Haven.  More supplies had to be procured---blankets, hides, food, and water.  They also needed to make sure that the watch points were completely constructed for Dennet’s guard, Bron, and his men to take over before the old man would release the horses.  Aside from being the primary reason that the Inquisition had come to the Hinterlands in the first place, there was no way they were going to get all of the injured, elderly, and children among their new charges back to Haven without at least some carts and horses.  With the possessed pack out of the way, they could get down to the real work and everyone would rest easier.

Sticking to the passages that they had cleared the day before proved to keep their encounters with dangers to a minimum, but the battlefield that they had seen from atop the hillside just outside of the farmlands was still alive with the sounds of too many battles raging on below them.  Both sides had somehow found it within them to keep fighting, perhaps bringing in reinforcements and consolidating their combatants from other parts of the Hinterlands, but there was no way to be entirely sure, and none of them wanted to take the time to find out.

“Templars and mages. . . fighting all over,” Varric muttered with a dark edge in his voice as they skirted the war-torn valley.  “Good going, Blondie.”

Cassandra gave him a knowing look but said nothing as her anguished eyes came to meet Mi’Dirtha’s.

They cut west to the river and used it to move directly north and made good time upstream when the sickening and familiar sound of cracking ripped through the air, sending the mark along Mi’Dirtha’s hand to erupt in light.  The pull from the rift ahead of them was stronger somehow, tugging harder at her and making her heart beat faster as she drew her sword.  Only a few steps further down the river, the rift came into view and the demons began to swarm.

Among them were the shades and wisps that they had become all too familiar with, but a new demon appeared as well.  It lurched up, the ground below it churning with an ominous flash, impossibly tall, and its long, uncanny limbs, spiked and spindly hanging to its sides.  The most horrific was the distended face that hung low and open as if it were locked into some terrible, eternal scream.  The demon let out a shriek that made Mi'Dirtha's stomach twist, freezing her in place, and it wasn't until Varric let loose a round of crossbow bolts from behind her to impact the screeching creature that she was able to shake herself free.  Trying to stave off the unexpected wave of horror that had gripped her, she rushed forward at the demon, bringing her sword down to the side.  It reached out to grab her with one sharp, slender hand, leaving itself open, and she swung her greatsword in an arc from her side, knocking the grasping claws away.  Allowing the momentum of her strike to sweep her into a spin, she struck the demon in the crook of its distended torso and forced the blade through its flesh with a deep grunt.  The creature screamed again, doubling over as it sprayed black ichor over the ground, and she stepped behind it to bring the greatsword down in its back, crushing it into the ground.

The demon swirled into a mist that pulled back into the rift, and Mi’Dirtha followed it, reaching out her hand to disrupt it and immobilize the flood of wisps that were barraging the others around her.  Behind her, the paralyzing screech rang again, and she spun on her heels to see another of the terrifying demons rushing toward her.  Just as she was about to release the hold on the rift, Alorha leaped in her line of sight, cutting off the demon and deflecting a blow to send the creature stumbling wide past her.

“Maker take you!” Alorha shouted, thrusting her longsword forward to knock the menacing demon away.  “Hurry, Herald!  Interrupt the demons!  I have this one!”

Mi’Dirtha turned back, redoubling her efforts and focus.  They were completely surrounded and she could see them being overrun quickly.  Even the momentary freeze that came from disrupting the rift would buy them enough time to stem the tide, but she had to do it now!  Trying to keep her mind on the stream of green energy rushing out of her hand, Mi’Dirtha shouted against a stinging burst that broke across her shoulder from one of the wisps, and the tear in the Fade popped open and exploded, stopping the demons all in place.  Taking the time she had bought for them all, she spun again, turning to face the strange, lanky demon, and threw herself at it.  Connecting with a blow through the chest at the same moment that Alorha struck at its side, the two women’s swords converged and the creature screamed out, dissolving into nothing as it swirled back into the Fade.  Only a second later, Cassandra dispatched the last of the wisps and turned to shout across the river for her to seal the rift.  Mi’Dirtha reached out again and ripped the air open, closing the Fade rift, and sealing it shut.

Aside from her, Solas had also been struck in the chest and once in the shoulder by blasts from the wisps and Demend had been burned badly on the forearm that gripped his sword as he had deflected a burst from his face.  Faryn and Cassandra both were unharmed and blessedly, Alorha had only taken a few minor cuts to the side from the shrieking demon that they had slain together.

“What the fuck were those things?”  Mi’Dirtha asked pointedly as she unstopped the last of her potions and handed it to Demend.

“Terror Demons,” Solas hissed back, assessing the damage to his padded overcoat.  “Lesser forms of Fear Demons.  They feed off of the fears of their enemies and have the ability to paralyze their prey before delivering their killing blow.”

“Awful is what they were,” Cassandra scowled.  “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Yes.  This rift was more powerful than the others we have encountered,” Solas met Mi’Dirtha’s eyes with a sharp look of disdain.  “Such a powerful pull makes it possible for greater demons to pass through to our world from the Fade.”

“I did feel a stronger pulse from it as we got closer,” Mi’Dirtha passed her eyes from Solas to the others then down to the pulsing green light in her hand.  “It was like. . . a pull.”

“Then we should be on guard for that if it happens again,” Cassandra insisted, her steely grey eyes set with authority.  “We can better prepare ourselves if we have a similar warning in the future.”

“Agreed,” Mi’Dirtha smiled at their soldiers.  “It’s good that we had backup this time.  That would have been an ugly fight without you three.”

Alorha nodded and met her smile with her own, and they gathered themselves to continue their path up the river.  A path opened to their right at the spot that Elaina had pointed out on their map.  The seven of them readied their weapons and moved warily toward the craggy mouth of a cave a few yards from the river’s edge.  All was deathly quiet as they passed into the shadow of the cave.  Not even the sounds of scurrying rodents seemed to penetrate the abyss ahead, and Mi’Dirtha felt the tension between the group rise.  They were in the right spot, all right.  Ahead of them, the roof of the cave split open and sunlight poured in from above, streaming through the darkness to illuminate a way forward to a small grotto at the heart of the cave.  Mi’Dirtha had only barely set her foot into the light when a loud howl echoed against the walls, seeming to come from every direction at once as it tore open the silence, and the wolves were upon them.

Solas had just enough time to plant his staff and reach out his hand to place a glowing barrier over the seven of them before the first wolf broke into the party, leaping through the air toward them.  The cave erupted into chaos with blasts of magic, crossbow bolts, and shouts of the five swordsmen rang out amid the snarling and snapping of the wolves as they all collided.  Mi’Dirtha struck first, smashing in the ribcage of the first wolf, and stepping into the full light of the grotto.  The terrifying screech of more Terror Demons pierced the din of their battle with the wolves, and her eyes lit up in shocked fear as three of the malicious creatures snapped their necks up, and charged her.

“Shit! Fuck!” Mi’Dirtha shouted, bracing herself for the coming strike.  “Three of them---more Terror Demons!”

Mi’Dirtha planted her feet and roared as the first of the demons smashed toward her through the grotto.  She swung her greatsword back and lashed out in a wide sweep that caught all three of the terror demons at once, sending them crashing into one another in a column as they collapsed over each other to her right.  The one on the end smashed into the cave wall, the second stumbling on its long and twisted legs to fall over the other.  The last of them recovered faster than the other two and righted to rush at her again, and she raised the sword in both hands to block the demon short of hitting her at full charge.  Mi’Dirtha gritted her teeth and dug her feet in as the demon gripped her sword in its jagged claws and screamed at her.  Out of her peripheral vision, another of the creatures was about to fall on her from the right when a blast of bright green energy impacted its chest from behind her and exploded throwing it back into the grotto.  Faryn ducked in from her left, thrusting back the third demon with a strong jab from his sword.

In the tangle behind her, Mi’Dirtha could hear the others still engaged with the wolves, and her heart hardened.  She let out a bellowing war cry and flexed through both shoulders and arms to shove the demon at her blade back on its feet.  It recovered quickly again, blocking a sweep from her blade directed at its torso, and reaching out to stab its sharp, gangly fingers into the meat of her left shoulder.  Mi’Dirtha gasped, trying to pull her shoulder back, her left arm going slack for just a moment long enough for the demon to levy the power of its arm to throw her across the cave grotto.  She curled her injured arm over her head as she slammed hard into the cave wall with her back, feeling several of her ribs snap in her chest as all the air went out of her before dropping again to the ground.  Ears ringing, and vision narrowed, Mi’Dirtha managed to roll herself over onto all fours, bracing her left arm over her broken ribs as she sucked in a painful breath.

Get up!  Get up right now or you’re dead!

Forcing herself up against the nagging stab wound and the pain in her chest, Mi’Dirtha rose to her knees and tried to lift her huge sword with one hand to defend herself as two of the Terror Demons screamed toward her at sickening speed.  The first exploded into a barrage of brilliant red fire orbs, screeching as it evaporated before it could reach her, but the other picked up speed, racing at her over the stones and through the smoky black and green mist of the other.  Mi’Dirtha could almost feel time slow as her eyes went wide with the realization that she was likely about to die.  Cutting through from the darkness, Alorha leaped upon the demon rushing at her, thrusting at it with the longsword, catching the sunlight across the edge of her blade as she plunged it deep into the creature’s flesh.  The Terror Demon spun up just as Alorha had struck to make contact with its distended and screaming head.  It reached up with a snap, and to Mi’Dirtha’s horror, drove its long, slender hand cleanly through her breastplate, her chest, and out through her back.

Screaming against the deafness still swimming in her head, Mi’Dirtha felt the rush of her hammering blood in her ears.  The Terror Demon evaporated, dropping Alorha’s body to the ground where she lay motionless, the longsword rolling from her hand as her eyes locked on Mi’Dirtha’s.

No, no, no, no, no! Creators, no!

Mi’Dirtha pushed herself up from the ground, stumbling forward toward Alorha.  She dropped her sword as she fell back to her knees, and straining through her wounded shoulder as it gushed blood down across her chest, rolled Alorha over onto her back.  Blood poured from both the wound in her chest and her mouth, her breathing erratic and strained as her dim eyes held onto Mi’Dirtha, and she smiled faintly up at her.

“M-my Herald,” Alorha gasped, wincing as Mi’Dirtha scooped her up into her lap.  “Th-thank. . . the Maker.”

“Potion!” Mi’Dirtha screamed, forcing the sound out of her aching lungs.

Cassandra rushed to her side, also dropping to her knees, and popping open a glowing green bottle to pour down Alorha’s throat.  The fluid rushed back out with a flood of gurgling blood rising from her throat that the young woman choked against as the color drained quickly from her face.

“No, no, no!  Alorha, stay with us!” Mi’Dirtha and Cassandra propped her up to stop the choking stream pouring from her mouth.

Mi’Dirtha’s eyes shot up to the others standing around them in horrified silence.

“Solas, your magic!  Can you---” she pleaded, searching his cloudy grey eyes for hope, but only finding grief as his brow drew up in helplessness as he shook his head.

“Herald,” Alorha gasped weakly below her, bringing her attention back to the woman in her arms.  “Please.  Please. . . will you. . . pray with me?”

“Okay,” Mi’Dirtha fought back against the emotion rising at the back of her throat and nodded gently.  “Yes.  I’ll pray with you.”

“Blessed are they. . . who. . . s-stand before the wicked. . . and do not. . . f-falter,” Mi’Dirtha did her best to follow Alorha’s weak words as the young woman’s eyes fell closed.  “Blessed are. . . the. . . the peace. . . peacekeepers.  The champions. . . o-of the. . . . just.”

Creators, please.  Sathan.  Not Alorha.

Alorha strained and cried out as Mi’Dirtha choked in her repeating of the shemlen prayer.  If only she knew the words. . .

“Blessed are the. . . the. . . righteous,” Alorha’s eyes lost all focus and Mi’Dirtha lifted her head as she muttered along with her words.  “The li-lights. . . in the. . . shadow. . .”

Alhora’s body went completely limp in Mi’Dirtha’s arms as a last gush of her frail breath fell from her lips.  Mi’Dirtha froze for a moment, then burst into tears, tucking Alorha’s lifeless form into her chest, rocking back and forth as the sobs wracked her very soul.  Cassandra sighed, hanging her head next to her, and Mi’Dirtha squeezed her eyes shut as she lifted her head again.  Standing over them, the others were frozen in shock and grief until Varric lowered his head and let out a deep sigh.

“In their blood,” Varric continued, his voice low and reverent as he closed his eyes,” the Maker’s will is written.”

* * *

After using up what was left of their potions, the six of them were sullen and silent as they carried Alorha’s body back to the refugee camp on a makeshift carrier made of shields and coats.  She was given to Mother Giselle to be laid to rest with the other fallen soldiers and innocents they had lost.  Looking over the dozen or so cloth-covered corpses at the base of the hill up to the camp brought Mi’Dirtha to complete numbness.  Just how many Alorhas had they lost?  How many more were they going to lose?  How many deaths would she mourn before the madness was ended?  It was all a senseless waste.  What undeniable devastation she had fallen into, and nowhere was there anything or anyone who could make it all make sense.

Needing desperately to be alone---to think in silence somewhere that people weren’t staring at her amid their whispers and prayers, Mi’Dirtha grabbed a long strip of fabric that had been ripped from one of the unusable blankets near the healer’s tent and strode out of camp.  Near the base of the upward path, she found a small meadow to the side and out of sight of the road and dropped all of her gear.  She angrily undid the straps and buckles of her heavy armor, cursing softly in elven as she threw down the bloody heap of the quilted padding over the blood-caked metal plates.  Trying to set her mind to the task, Mi’Dirtha examined the hole in her undertunic where she had been stabbed and the blood that she had shed into the tattered fabric before Cassandra had forced her to choke down a potion.  She tore off the undertunic, thoughtless to her toplessness, and ripped out the useless and stained section along the cross threads before tearing the rest of the garment into its base rectangle and square pieces along the seam lines.

“I know that you want to be alone,” Cassandra’s voice came from across the meadow as she emerged from the tree line, but Mi’Dirtha didn’t pause in her work or look up to see the Seeker.

“Then why are you following me?” Mi’Dirtha growled flatly through her clenched teeth.

“You’re obviously distressed, and---” Cassandra explained, moving toward her with purpose.

“And what?” Mi’Dirtha cut her off, still refusing to look up.  “Are you worried that I might run?”

“No,” the Seeker woman approached her and stood at her side.  “I. . . I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m healing up fine,” Mi’Dirtha spat, ripping the cloth in her hands down to usable sizes.  “The potions worked. . . on me.”

“You’re clearly not fine,” Cassandra insisted, her voice assured and commanding.

“I should be.  This is a war after all.  People die in war,” Mi’Dirtha sat down with a thump, piling the fabric scraps over her thigh as she sat cross-legged on the grass.  “Shemlen, elvhen, durgenlen ---we all die.  This was just another casualty.  Many more will die, and those that live will also die one day.  That is the way of things.  We all go to Falon’din.”

“We both know that this was personal,” Cassandra’s voice was low and heavy with her own grief.  “I’m every bit as shocked as you are.  Alorha was a good and faithful child of the Maker, taken too soon from us.”

“And that’s supposed to assure me?” Mi’Dirtha scoffed, pulling the breastplate of her cuirass onto her lap and beginning to violently scrape the dried blood from it with one of the scraps of her undertunic.  “Me--- your blessed Herald.   How can you possibly know the weight of these strangers all hanging their hopes on me?  The weight of their lives and deaths. . .”

“I don’t,” Cassandra admitted, her voice soft and pained as she lowered to sit at Mi’Dirtha’s side.  “What I do know is that you care.  You would not still be here if you didn’t.”

Against all of her will, tears welled up from the empty pit in Mi’Dirtha’s chest.  She lifted one shaking hand to cover her face while the other clenched the scraps of her undertunic so hard that her knuckles went white under her dark skin.

“Alorha’s loss is one that we all grieve,” Cassandra lifted a hand to rest on Mi’Dirtha’s shoulder.  “She was faithful and true to the very end, and the Maker knows that she would not want you to punish yourself for her sacrifice.”

“Fenhedis, Ir ema gelal.”  Mi’Dirtha managed through her broken sobs.  “What am I going to do, Cassandra?  I never asked for any of this.”

“I don’t know,” the Seeker murmured in her soft reassurance.  “But I believe that whatever the Maker has planned for you to do, you will not be made to do it alone.”

Mi’Dirtha bobbed her head, more comforted by the sentiment than she thought she would be, and scrubbed her tears away with the scraps of torn tunic in her hand.

“What do you really need right now?” Cassandra lowered her hand and asked gently.

“I need what I know,” Mi’Dirtha sniffled, blinking away her tears as she fixed on the breastplate on her knees.  “Clean the weapons, patch the armor, sharpen the blade.  This I know how to do and it gives me comfort.  If there is nothing else that I can control, I can at least assure that I am ready when the next demon or templar or mage or whatever else attacks us.”

“Then I’ll bring us a kit,” Cassandra grunted a little as she rose again.  “I believe that I have one in my pack, and I have armor to clean and repair as well.”

Mi’Dirtha nodded again, going back to wiping the blood off the armor plates with her tear-soaked rags.  Cassandra was only gone for a few moments and returned with a small bucket of water and her kit with a sliver of leather soap, animal grease, and other bits for sewing.  She also tossed a new undertunic at Mi’Dirtha from where it hung over her shoulder, and she pulled it on before going back to her work.  Next to her, Cassandra downed her sword, and shield, and stripped off her own heavy armor.  The two women sat in one another’s company and the simplicity of their menial tasks.  There was an ease to it---a soothing that Mi’Dirtha sought.  Though she would have been calmed to do the upkeep on her own to arrange her thoughts as she set things to rights, she was silently grateful for the woman who sat cross-legged across from her.  They were together in their pain, coping as their hands moved skillfully through their warrior tasks.

After everything was cleaned, they oiled their leathers, sewed gashes closed, refilled the padding with linen and cotton scraps, and sharpened their blades.

“I really need better plate mail,” Mi’Dirtha commented idly, assessing a dent in her backplate from the impact with the cave wall.

“As do I,” Cassandra chuckled.  “We should see to that back at Haven’s smithy.”

“Agreed,” Mi’Dirtha nodded, not meeting the Seeker’s eyes as she set down the backplate and continued.

A comfortable silence passed between them for a few more moments.

“This leather can take quite the beating,” Cassandra muttered as she pulled the large needle and waxed thread through to close the gash in the side of her hauberk.

“Makes it hard to sew though,” Mi’Dirtha stuffed a piece of shredded cotton into a burst pad on her leather gambeson.

Cassandra hummed an agreement, and they fell into contented silence again.

“I never feel as though this sword’s edges are keen enough,” Mi’Dirtha held her greatsword up to catch the light, spotting several deep nicks along the cutting edges on both sides.  “What do you think?”

Cassandra ran a thumb over the flat of the blade near its edge and grunted in approval.

“It doesn’t need to be so sharp,” she assured Mi’Dirtha soundly.  “This is a cold steel blade.  It will crush better if you don’t over-sharpen it.”

More silent work.  Hours passed like this as the two women shared in banter about their tasks and commented on the state of their gear, content to speak only of their work in brief punctuations of their comforted silence.  Outside the meadow, Mi’Dirtha could hear movements and the continuing work from the camp, but they were not disturbed or interrupted until Varric finally stumbled across them in the early evening.

“So this is where the party is, huh?” the dwarf chuckled jovially.  “I was looking for you both---worried that you might be off in separate corners of Thedas moping.”

“Grab yourself a seat, Varric,” Mi’Dirtha invited their companion with a gesture of her chin to a spot on the grass nearby.  “We’re doing some upkeep.”

“Lucky for me that I don’t have anything to repair,” Varric said, groaning slightly as he sat down with them, rubbing his thighs.  “I already tuned Bianca.  She’s singing like a dream.”

“How is Demend?” Cassandra asked, looking up at Varric.

“Boy’s shaken, that’s for sure,” Varric let out a deep and heavy sigh.  “Shady is with him though.  They’ll be all right, Seeker.”

Mi’Dirtha paused for a moment in gliding the sharpening stone over her greatsword to dig out the deeper nicks and smooth out the scrapes in its fuller.  Lifting her head, she looked up into the evening sky, and took a deep inhale of the soft breeze that danced across the meadow.  It seemed brutally unfair that the day would be so beautiful when the sorrow that sat in the back of her mind was so heavy, but she was grateful for the purples and oranges of the setting sun against the soft clouds all the same.  The three of them fell into more idle chatter with Varric there, but it was warmly welcomed now as the tension had worked its way to a lull in Mi’Dirtha’s belly.  They were just beginning to gather up the bits of their gear and pack up the repair kit when Solas melted out from the treeline with his staff in hand and leaned on it.

“Good,” his voice was warmed by the small smile that he gave Mi’Dirtha as he met her eyes.  “I see that everyone is together.  Our evening meal is just about ready.”

“More beer and bread,” Mi’Dirtha huffed flatly.  “I love it.”

“On the contrary,” Solas’ smile grew as he turned to walk next to Mi’Dirtha back through the trees.  “Due to our tireless efforts to acquire resources and secure the general area, some of our charges took up a few of the discarded templar bows for a hunt earlier this afternoon.  We have some goat and beet stew to pair with our bread and beer tonight.”

Mi’Dirtha hummed her approval and let out a small chuckle.  It wasn’t much of a victory, but she would take it.  Tonight, everyone in camp would sleep better on bellies filled with warm stew, piled with warm blankets, and despite the lingering sting of Alorha’s loss, it was enough.

* * *

They spent the next four days helping their refugees to build and reinforce the watch points to both Bron and Dennet’s approval.  They promised to send back more soldiers from Haven to help build actual watch towers and fully secure the entire area around the farmlands.  True to his word, the Horsemaster gave them a hundred of his finest beasts, and Cassandra even convinced him to join their cause by appealing to his faith in the Maker.  Dennet’s heart filled with resolve, meeting them on the fifth day with the promised horses to assist in gathering everything between the two camps, and even bringing what he could in terms of saddles and carts to help bear supplies.

On the sixth day, everyone rose early, breakfast was quickly dispensed, and they all set out back to the northwest.  Mi’Dirtha, Cassandra, Solas, and Varric didn’t see much of one another on the ten-day trek back into the Frostbacks.  Each of them took charge and watched over clusters of the refugees as they passed through the wilds with a handful of soldiers apiece for support.  It was slow going compared to their trip down, but they were careful and wary as they backtracked along the cleared paths that had led them out from the mountains.  They had to halt the massive convoy three times for the four warriors to gather at the front of their train to clear the path forward of demons and bandits looking to rush them for supplies.  It was all worth it when the tenth day brought the first of them through the pass down into the valley, and Haven came into sight at last.

Mi’Dirtha was riding out front with the first group as they came to the main gate, and she smiled as she watched everyone in the training grounds suddenly stop and look up to see them.

“Herald!” Cullen greeted her excitedly as she slowed, his honey-brown eyes beaming as the scar across his lip lifted with his smile.

“Good afternoon, Commander,” Mi’Dirtha dismounted and pressed the reins into one of the eager soldiers waiting hands.  “It’s good to be back.”

“So many,” he turned to look out over the ongoing train as the refugees pushed forward now with greater hope and speed, their horses and carts streaming steadily up from the road behind her.

“Most are from the Hinterlands and the surrounding areas, but we did pick up some along the way back,” Mi’Dirtha huffed as she looked out over the group with the tall shem man.  “There were two hundred and nineteen souls at our count this morning.  We’ve also managed to bring back some additional provisions, a hundred of the best Ferelden horses, Horsemaster Dennet himself, and a handful of other tradesmen who are eager to pay back our kindness in service to the Inquisition.”

“Well done,” the Commander chuckled and congratulated her heartily, turning back to the soldiers and gesturing an order toward the main gate.  “Let’s get these people inside!”

The gates creaked open and the soldiers helped people up into the safety of the complex.  Many murmured blessings and their gratitude to Mi’Dirtha as they passed her.

“Bless you, Herald!” One old woman leaning on her cane and leading a she-goat on a lead nodded to her.

“Andraste be with you!” A young man rested his hand over his heart and spoke with tears in his eyes.

“Walk in the light, Herald,” a man saluted her as he passed.

Varric came in with the second cluster of people, pushing into the complex as he and a much older man pulled a cart laden with blankets up to the main steps.  Cassandra came up next and immediately took charge of the number of carts that were beginning to back up near the gate, moving them away from the entrance toward the smithy where they would set up a stable and keep the carts after they had been unloaded.  Mother Giselle came up with Solas behind the last group, and she was met by Leliana and Josephine who had also come out to see what was going on.  Their Spymaster led Mother Giselle up toward the Chantry and Mi’Dirtha followed close behind them with Josephine.

“You have done well, Herald,” Josephine’s voice was almost as warm as her smile, and it made her blush a little.  “I do not doubt that there will be several interested parties that will wish to support these people.”

“I certainly hope so,” Mi’Dirtha sighed, hanging back with Josephine as Leliana and Mother Giselle parted from them and vanished into the room at the back of the Chantry.  “We could use the support, right?  That’s what this was all for.”

“Absolutely,” Josephine beamed.  “We are off to a good start.”

“Pardon me, Herald, Ambassador,” one of the older women tending incense in the Chantry came up to them and bowed, turning to Josephine as she came back up.  “Lady Montilyet, I was asked to inform you at the first opportunity that there is a nobleman in your office.  He wishes to speak with you immediately, my Lady---a matter of some urgency, I expect.”

Josephine tensed for a moment, then thanked the woman and let out a thin sigh.  Mi’Dirtha followed her to the office, genuinely curious about this nobleman and what might be so urgent.  As she opened the door, they were met with the man’s impatient greetings, and his appearance nearly stopped Mi’Dirtha and sent her into a fit of laughter at his ridiculousness.  The nobleman was Orlesian, both from his thick accent and his ostentatious attire.  He wore a bright yellow and brown suit that seemed both too large and too small for him all at once.  His face was covered by a mask that sported another painted face, and Mi’Dirtha couldn’t help but find it strange that this shem would hide his face with another, painted and plastered, worn to hide him when he obviously welcomed attention.  He looked deeply agitated and the very sight of him reeked of the worst kinds of entitlement.

“Ambassador,” he greeted Josephine, his voice only barely this side of rudeness.

“Marquis Du Rellion,” Josephine’s entire demeanor changed as she politely nodded her head, then straightened into a posture of authority as she squared up to the man.  “So good to see you, your Grace.  I am at your disposal.”

“My Lady, we must be frank,” the Marquis gestured with his white-gloved hands at the door.  “The Inquisition cannot remain here if you have no ability to prove that it was founded upon Justinia’s orders.”

“This is an inopportune time, Marquis,” Josephine stood her ground, cocking her hip slightly.  “More of the faithful flock to our doors each day.  Not more than an hour ago, we received over two hundred refugees from the Hinterlands.  We cannot simply turn them away.”

A short and tense pause passed between their Ambassador and the Marquis before she smiled politely and gestured at Mi’Dirtha.

“But allow me to introduce to you the brave soul who risked her life to slow the magic of the Breach,” Josephine flourished her slender pen and turned to make eye contact with Mi’Dirtha.  “Mistress Lavellan, this is the Marquis Du Rellion, one of Divine Justinia’s greatest supporters.”

“And the rightful owner of Haven,” the Marquis interjected sharply, crossing his arms over his chest and puffing out as if to make himself appear more important than he was.  “House Du Rellion lent Justinia these lands for a pilgrimage.  This Inquisition is not a beneficiary of this arrangement.”

“Demons are pouring from the sky and you’re concerned about land claims?” Mi’Dirtha asked, trying to hide the venom in her voice.

“Haven is the Du’Rellion’s rightful property!” the Marquis blanched, shouting as if he had been deeply wounded at her words.

“Has Empress Celene officially acknowledged your possession of Haven, then?” Josephine shifted slightly and smiled sweetly at the nobleman.

“The Empress. . .” he paused, his eyes fluttering and a fluster obviously passing through his voice as he rubbed one gloved hand over the top of his shaven head.  “She has not yet had the opportunity to do so.”

“We face a dark time, your Grace.  Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us,” Josephine’s voice was soft and convincing.  “She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they may seem.”

The Marquis sighed heavily and turned back toward them, resigned and deflated.

“I will think on your words, Lady Montilyet,” he paused for a moment as he took a few steps toward the office door.  “The inquisition might stay in the meanwhile.”

Josephine bowed her head slightly to acknowledge the Marquis’ decision and he nodded back, turning to stride out and closing the door behind him.

“I’m relieved that the Marquis isn’t tossing us all out into the cold,” Mi’Dirtha scoffed and let out a deep sigh.

“His Grace is one of the first of many dignitaries we must contend with,” Josephine said matter-of-factly as she circled her desk, set down her tableau, and took her seat.

“You expect more people like that in Haven?” Mi’Dirtha’s brow knit in displeasure.

“Undoubtedly,” Josephine scooted in her desk chair and set her elbows on the edge of the desk, fingertips coming together at the level of her chin as she looked up at Mi’Dirtha.  “And each visitor will spread the story of the Inquisition.  We must ensure that the tale is as complementary as possible if we are to garner the influence we require to draw the attention of the Templars and the Mage Rebellion to our cause.”

“The Inquisition is lucky to have you as an advocate, Lady Montilyet,” Mi’Dirtha smiled brightly at the Ambassador.  “Where would we be without you?”

“Thank you,” Josephine smiled back, her soft green eyes genuine and sparkling under her praise.  “Let us hope that I may serve us well.  Thedas’ politics have become agitated as of late. I hope to guide us down smoother paths.”

“I have nothing but the utmost faith in you,” Mi’Dirtha assured her as the woman let out a tiny, satisfied huff.

“I am grateful for your support, Herald.” Josephine lowered her head, took out a piece of paper from her tableau, and picked up her pen.  “Now, if you will excuse me.  I’ve much work to do before the day is done.  We must spread the word of your deeds in the Hinterlands at once.”

Mi’Dirtha nodded and took her leave to let their cunning and beautiful Antivan Ambassador return to her work.  There was much to do, and they had all better get to it.

Chapter Text

“May I speak with you for a moment?”  Solas’ voice startled Mi’Dirtha as she walked out of the Chantry doors and she bristled.

It had been nearly a week since their return from the Hinterlands with the refugees and he hadn’t spoken to her aside from common greetings since they came back.  To be honest, she hadn’t gone out of her way to find his company either.  She was under the assumption that he was deliberately avoiding her and she was more than happy to oblige.  It was clear that he didn’t trust her, but was resigned to help her as she navigated the reality of the mark’s presence on her hand and its connection to the Breach and the Fade.  She also hadn’t missed the mixed insults, flat compliments, and the way the storm in Solas’ eyes made her stomach leap.  For him to approach her now made her wary and uncomfortable, but he obviously had something important to say.  He wouldn't be here otherwise, right?  With a small scowl, Mi’Dirtha gestured ahead and they walked out of the Chantry entryway together.

“I wouldn’t do that often,” Mi’Dirtha growled.  “I’ve injured lesser men for lurking behind doors and stalking me in hallways.”

“I shall endeavor to bear that in mind,” Solas' voice was bright and he laughed softly.

Mi’Dirtha tried and failed to hold in a smile as she followed at Solas’ side down the wide steps ahead of them and toward Haven’s main gate.

“So, what’s so urgent that you would spring on me outside the Chantry doors like an eager halla?”  Mi’Dirtha urged him as the steps passed below them.

“It would seem that I owe you a sincere apology,” Solas stiffened slightly, pulling a slip of folded paper out from his robes and handing it to her.

Befuddled, she unfolded it and scanned the first two lines, her face immediately lighting up and her feet freezing in place under her.  It was from Deshanna!

“I received this missive via Sister Nightingale's couriers this morning,” Solas huffed slightly and her eyes came back up as they resumed their walk.  “Of course, it confirms all of your claims and your identity, Mi’Dirtha Lavellan, but I’m certain that you already assumed that given the sender.”

“When---?” Mi’Dirtha kept reading as they cleared the steps and left the gate.

“I wrote to your Keeper after the events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes to inform her of your claims,” Solas explained with as neutral of a voice as he could conjure despite his obvious fluster and embarrassment.  “She writes quite fondly of you---naming you her daughter and expressing gratitude for the Inquisition’s care of you despite the nature of your mission at the Conclave.”

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes as she excitedly read the letter, pouring over the praise that Deshanna had written back to Solas, and her heart breaking over the questions about the rest of her team’s survival.  She had written of her fondly and it made her heart ache for home.

“I do not often get to admit this, but I was mistaken in my assessment of you at our first meeting.  I marked you a liar and declared you a fraud to your peril,” Solas hung his head, his eyes focusing on the ground just a bit out in front of his feet.  “It was wrong of me to assume your dishonesty before providing you an independent opportunity to prove yourself.  Your actions have been above reproach and I---”

“You’re forgiven, Solas,” Mi’Dirtha cut him off, folding the paper closed again and turning to hand it to him.

His eyes went wide and he slowed a little, softening as the reality of her acceptance of his apology settled into his expression.

“Thank you for your pardon, Lavellan,” Solas nodded, pushing back the paper with silent insistence that she keep it---a little piece of home to ease her heartsickness for her kin.

They walked a bit further into the snowy landscape, turning away from the training grounds as they made their way toward the frozen river through the gentle flurries that danced in the air.

“This does beg the question that has been vexing me all day,” Solas mused after a few long minutes of shared silence.  “Several in fact.  I would ask them if you would permit me.”

“At your leisure,” Mi’Dirtha chuckled loud and bright.  “I imagine that it’s nothing I haven’t been asked before.  The first, I imagine, will be the question that you ask while trying not to sound like a bigot and has something to do with the color of my skin.”

“Yes,” Solas responded flatly, clearing his throat slightly and discomfort on his face was apparent.  “I have never met a Dalish with dark golden skin that hails from the Free Marches, but beyond that, your dark green eyes are especially rare to the elf-blooded, having not been seen with regularity since before the Exalted Marches of the Dales.  Clans are insular, in as much as I have been made aware.  You are an anomaly.  Striking, certainly, but a puzzlement nonetheless.”

“Oooh!  Golden skin!  Striking!” Mi’Dirtha scoffed, rather enjoying Solas’ discomfort.  “That almost didn’t sound entirely colorist.  Well done!”

The smallest hint of red colored his pale and softly freckled cheeks and his brow furrowed slightly in frustration.  This was too good!

“No, I can understand your assumptions.  Everyone in my clan is far more fair than I am.  Were I even half their blood-kin, I wouldn’t look so much like a northerner, but I do.”

“Not even half-kin,” Solas repeated.  “So you are adopted then.”

“Yes,” Mi’Dirtha smiled sadly.

“And directly by the Keeper, no less,” Solas mused, turning his head to look down at her from her side.  “You must have been very unique when you were taken in.”

“I was, or so I’m told,” Mi’Dirtha let out a deep sigh, slowing her pace a little and intentionally swinging her arms harder as she looked down at her feet now.  “You said once that I was from either Tevinter or Antiva.  I’m unsure, to be honest.  I might be, and it would make some reasonable sense.  I may even be mixed-blooded as well, but I don’t remember.”

Solas stopped and leaned on his staff, his intense eyes finding hers again as she huffed, her breath curling out in mist as it burst from her lips.

“You were quite young when you were adopted?” he asked gently, holding as neutral a face as he could in his curiosity.

“No, I wasn’t,” Mi’Dirtha huffed.  “I was nearly a woman, perhaps even past my coming of age.  It’s impossible to tell for certain.  I don’t recall anything from before the time I came to Clan Lavellan.  That was ten years ago.”

“Intriguing,” Solas bantered back, leaning his chin on his hands over the top of his staff.  “Does that also explain your unique name as well?”

“As if you have room to talk!  A man literally named ‘Pride’,” Mi’Dirtha smirked up at him.

“It was not an. . . uncommon name among my people,” Solas flustered slightly but composed himself quickly.  “Though other Dalish have been quick to comment more or less the same.”

It does suit him though. Mi’Dirtha smiled and the flush in his face deepened slightly.

“That doesn’t serve to answer the question of how a young woman with no past comes to be named ‘Swordswoman’ by her own people,” Solas reasserted the query, his eyes narrowing on her in that intensity that she hated.  “Not that it isn’t poetic in its application---you are quite apt with the blade.”

“Ma serannas,” Mi’Dirtha chuckled lightly.  “It was the first thing that returned to me.  I couldn’t even speak for months, though I generally understood what was said to me most of the time as a child would.  But the sword. . . that skill came to my hands within a few days of waking.  I was also told that a sword was all I had when the hunters found me half-dead and drowning in a small branch off the Minanter.  No trinkets, nothing to identify me, no vallaslin, no clothes even.  Just a greatsword.  They tried to take it from me, but I couldn't be parted from it, even in my sleep.”

“That sounds grim,” Solas’ face drew together in a small scowl.

“I imagine it was,” Mi’Dirtha looked thoughtfully up at the clouds.  “I didn’t truly wake until several days later, and when I did, there was nothing.  It was as if my mind were an empty well sealed over with stones that couldn’t be moved.  Even now, I can only recall the vaguest flashes of what I think were my very youngest years, but they are less images and more feelings.   Warmth, safety, joy, peace. . . that sort of thing.  I have the impression that I was cared for--- loved even.  What came between is a mystery.”

“I see,” she could see the wheels in Solas’ mind spinning, every bit as puzzled as any other person she had ever told her story to had been.

“I still have it---the sword.  I have kept it but left it with the rest of my possessions when we came down across the Waking Sea,” Mi’Dirtha resumed their walk.  “I once had it examined at the Hahren’al by a handful of other Dalish Keepers and Firsts, but the only thing the Dalish seem to know well about shemlen swords is to run from them.”

“A shame you left it.  I would be happy to examine it for myself to help you discern its origins,” Solas inserted good-naturedly, keeping a close pace at her side.

“Oh really?  Would that have been before or after you finished snooping into my life and writing my mother secret notes while glaring at me across campfires and insisting that I was lying?” Mi’Dirtha laughed, looking up at Solas.

“Point taken,” he smirked back at her.  “Though, in my defense, I did apologize.”

“Does this make us even, then? Hm?” Mi’Dirtha prodded him playfully.

“Does it?” his genuine smile caught her off guard as he chuckled lightly.  “Or am I to grovel?”

I do believe that he is being charming on purpose!

“We’ll see,” Mi’Dirtha tucked herself deeper into her hooded coat, trying to hide the color that she could feel rising into her own face as she laughed lightly.  “I have a feeling that we will be at the business of sealing the Breach for some time yet.  Could make it awkward to work together if I were to insist that you get on your knees and beg forgiveness, though I must admit that the mental image isn’t wholly unpleasant.”

“That is. . . well. . .” Solas cleared his throat and looked away for a moment.  “Then I thank you for the consideration.  I imagine that you are correct about the Breach and propose that we make a manner of truce in the meantime.  I will refrain from commentary about your people and profession if you are willing to give me the benefit of the doubt as well.”

“I can agree to that,” Mi’Dirtha nodded, stopping and extending her right hand to him.

Solas grinned and took her hand.  His grip was surprisingly firm, though his hand was both softer than her own and warmer.  He must have been managing to keep himself from freezing or showing signs of discomfort in the snow due to some kind of passive magic, and though she was jealous, it also wasn’t as unpleasant as she thought touching him would be.

Trying not to linger too much and give her private thoughts away, Mi’Dirtha let go of Solas’ hand much faster than she secretly wanted to and again sank into her coat as they looked out across the snowy landscape together and talked as they slowly made their way in a circle around Haven’s walls.  Though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, Mi’Dirtha was glad of his company.  It seemed that just about every other of the few elf-kin in the complex was either too afraid or too in awe of her to form any real connection.  Many were either displaced city elves or Andrastian converts, and she found that they had very little in common.  Even Nolanna had yet to stop falling all over herself in Mi’Dirtha’s presence, and it bothered her in a way that she couldn’t even begin to express.  She longed for home and the people to whom she was family.  After all of this was done, she wanted nothing more than to sprint, swim, climb, and ride as fast as she could back to the trees and aravels.  Until then, Solas would likely be the only of her kind that she would come across for a while that didn’t say her name as if she were some kind of demigod.  Perhaps, now with their truce in place and the air clear between them, she could get to know this unmarked man.  Maybe they could become friends after all.

“I have been thinking,” Solas murmured thoughtfully after a moment’s pause.  “Closing the Breach is our primary goal, but I hope that we might discover what was used to create it.”

“Oh?” Mi’Dirtha prodded.  “I suppose that seems reasonable enough.”

“Any artifact of such power is dangerous,” his brow creased a little with a dark concern.  “The destruction of the Conclave proves that much.”

“You don’t think that whatever created the explosion was destroyed in the blast?” she asked intently.

“You survived, did you not?” Solas insisted.

Good point.

“The artifact that created the Breach is unlike anything seen in this age,” he went on, lifting his head to look pensively out across the frozen river.  “I will not believe it is destroyed until I see the shattered fragments with my own eyes.”

“If that’s the case, then I agree,” Mi’Dirtha nodded.  “We would do well to try and recover whatever created the Breach if we can.  Aside from securing such a thing, it might also provide us answers as to who used it to start this mess.”

“Leliana’s people have scoured the area near the blast and found nothing,” Solas mused darkly.  “I can only theorize that whatever the artifact was, it is no longer there.”

“That’s disheartening,” Mi’Dirtha sighed heavily.  “The others: the Commander, our Ambassador, and Seeker Cassandra all seem intent on discovering how this happened, what caused it, and why.  I’m sure that if this dangerous artifact is out there still, we will find it eventually.  We won’t stop until we do.”

“It is reassuring to hear that,” Solas sounded deeply relieved.  “In the meantime, it seems that we will continue to be working closely together.  Whatever knowledge or advice I might be able to provide is at your disposal.  You have only but to ask, Mi’Dirtha Lavellan.”

“I intend to take you up on that,” Mi’Dirtha scoffed slightly.  “These Andraste shemlen seem a fairly decent bunch for now, but they are unpredictable at best and unworthy of trust.  I am resigned to play the pawn in their political games and pretend that I am their Herald without complaint whether I want to or not.  I’m certain that you can understand my caution every bit as much as I do yours.”

“I am doubtful that they will become violent with you given that your mark is the only thing that can seal the rifts and the Breach, but yes, I can understand your apprehension,” Solas smiled sadly at her.  “If it provides you comfort, I will return the sentiment that you shared with me when this all began: if any one of them does wish you harm, they will have to contend with me to do so.”

“Ma serannas, Solas,” Mi’Dirtha smiled brightly up at him.  “That does give me comfort.”

“Then I am glad to offer it,” he lifted his head again to look out ahead, his face dropping somewhat as she watched him and he gestured with his chin behind them.

Mi’Dirtha turned quickly to look back, seeing Nolanna rushing toward them from the gates, a severe look pulling her eyebrows together as she very nearly sprinted across the snow toward her.

“Fenedhis, etunash, edhis, pala ma. . .” Mi’Dirtha murmured under her breath, bringing her hands to her hips.  “This can’t be good.”

“Doubtful,” Solas agreed solemnly.

“Your Worship!” Nolanna shouted with ragged breath from a few yards away.  “Come quick!  There’s a commotion at the Chantry.”

Mi’Dirtha snapped up to look at Solas who met her hard gaze with his own, exchanging a silent agreement before he flourished his staff up onto his back and they took off back toward Haven.  They broke past Nolanna as she spun and tried to keep up, already breathless from running to find her, and made their way up the steps to the Chantry.  A large crowd of people had gathered outside the Chantry doors, discord rising in angry voices and shouting as they approached.  Especially notable were two familiar groups of people who had separated themselves from one another and stood to either side of a slowly closing circle just outside the Chantry.  Unsurprising, one set bore their staves and robes while the others each wore the Andrastian, flaming sword on their breastplates.  Her mind flashed back to the battlefield in the Hinterlands that had slowed them more than once as they went out of their way to avoid it, the devastation too much to battle back against.

Mages and Templars.  Haven’t they had enough?  Why do they have to bring their nonsense war here?  We save them all and now. . . the fucking gall!

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!” A dark-haired man in the templar’s armor yelled across the crowd at the mages.

“Lies!” One of the elders among the mages shouted back.  “Your kind let her die!”

“Shut your mouth, mage!” The Templar growled, his hand flying to his hip to draw his sword.

No!   Mi’Dirtha screamed internally and was in the motion of leaping forward to charge between the two men when Cullen burst out from the Chantry doors and stepped between them, his face twisting in a snarl as he held up his arms between the two groups.

“Knight-Commander!” The Templar paused, replying in shock.

“That is not my title!” Cullen boomed, scolding the Templar as if he were a child, turning back to the mages and scorning them as well.  “We are not templars any longer.  We are all part of the Inquisition!”

“And what does that mean, exactly?”  A familiar man in Chantry robes prodded the Commander with disdain while Mi’Dirtha ground her teeth at the sound of his voice.

Roderick.  Son of a bitch. . .

“Back already, Chancellor?” Cullen scoffed, dropping his hands and focusing on the man with chagrin and looking like he wanted to rip the cleric’s throat from his neck.  “Haven’t you done enough?”

“I’m curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its Herald will restore order as you’ve promised,” Roderick sneered.

“Of course you are,” Cullen relaxed slightly, his scowl deepening as he turned back to the others.  “Back to your duties!  All of you!”

Mi’Dirtha’s heartbeat slowed and she rested her hand over her chest to take a deep and settling breath as the crowd murmured in quiet compliance, breaking up and leaving Cullen to deal with Roderick.  She felt a hand rest on her right shoulder and looked up and back just a little to meet Solas’ eyes again.

“I will speak to you later,” he looked up at the Chantry, then back to her again.  “They likely need you to help handle this.”

Mi’Dirtha nodded sharply and took a step forward as Solas’ hand slipped from her shoulder and strode to the two men who were still arguing in front of the Chantry.  The Commander held his arms crossed over his chest and Roderick tried to meet his energy by doing the same.  The attempt was laughable with the elderly Chantry man standing nearly an entire foot shorter and almost as much narrower than the hulking tower that led their army.  She may trust the blonde shem about as far as she could throw him, but at least he was on their side.

For now.  

“Mages and Templars are already at war,” Cullen boomed.  “Now, they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death!”

“Which is why we need a proper authority to guide them back to order,” Roderick insisted.

“Who, you?” Cullen scoffed, his honey gold eyes lighting up in his mockery of the man.  “Random clerics who weren’t even important enough to be at the Conclave?”

“The rebel Inquisition and its so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’?  I think not,” Roderick’s eyes flashed to eyeball Mi’Dirtha as she came and stood at Cullen’s side, also crossing her arms over her chest and planting her feet.

“So far, you’re the only one who keeps insisting that we can’t work together,” Mi’Dirtha looked him up and down, angrily.

“We might, if your Inquisition would recognize the Chantry’s authority,” the Chancellor sneered at her, his face twisting with his obvious hate for her.

“There is no authority until another Divine is chosen,” Cullen interjected sharply.

“In due time,” Roderick’s eyes held on Mi’Dirtha as if to challenge her to duel with him.  “Andraste will be our guide, not some dazed wanderer on a mountainside.”

Mi’Dirtha held his cold gaze without flinching, staring straight back into the angry man’s awful face.

“Remind me again, Commander, why is it that the Chancellor is being allowed to stay here on the good graces of our charity, thieving meals from the refugees, and taking up a bed that could be given to the wounded?” Roderick’s eyes darkened and she growled.  “It seems a mismanagement of our resources to feed and shelter instigators who cause violence in the middle of camp.  Someone could have been seriously hurt.”

“Clearly your Templar knows where to draw the line,” Roderick spat venomously.

“Did you not hear him speak?” Mi’Dirtha hissed back.  “Commander Rutherford is not a Templar.  He’s Inquisition.”

“And he’s toothless,” Cullen scoffed at Roderick’s barb, smirking at Mi’Dirtha as he ignored the man’s wroth.  “You needn’t worry about the scuffle, Herald.  I will take care of it with absolute certainty, I assure you.  There’s no point in turning the Chancellor into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth.  He is a good indicator of what to expect from Val Royeaux, however.”

“Comforting,” Mi’Dirtha sighed heavily and shook her head, mocking Roderick with a sarcastic gesture.  “Let’s hope that we are able to find a solution with the Chantry Mothers and not just a cathedral full of Chancellors.”

“The stuff of nightmares, to be sure,” Cullen smirked back at her, continuing to poke their fun at Roderick while he fumed.

“I will stay here and keep the peace while you and the others appeal to the Chantry in Val Royeaux,” Cullen’s lip scar pulled up at his genuine smirk.  “You had best go speak with Josephine about what you will say to them when you arrive.”

“Yes,” Roderick interrupted angrily.  “And you had better ready yourself for all of the blame that you will be rightfully assigned.”

Mi’Dirtha’s eyes flared and she thought back on their first conversation, remembering that this man had screamed for Cassandra and Leliana to escort her to Val Royeaux for her execution.  Now, she was preparing to walk into that city under her own power, and the thought of what might await her made her throat tighten a little more than she wanted it to.  They all could still be facing down the possibility that they would be mobbed and she could be dragged off to be executed.  They might never make it to meet with the Chantry leaders as planned, or worse, it could be a trap.

Why, Creators?  Why me?  Ugh. . .

Mi’Dirtha turned toward the Chantry doors, her hypervigilant eyes making a quick sweep of the area for the mages and Templars, landing on a spot between a large fir tree to her right and one of the small buildings that had been turned into lodging across from the Chantry’s main entrance.  In the shadow of the tree, Solas stood, looking out over the scene from a distance, the orb on the top of his staff slowly dimming of its magic as she saw him.  He met her eyes for only a moment and she froze, then he nodded, turned, and stepped around the corner of the building as he whipped his staff up onto his back, and vanished from her sight.

If any one of them does wish you harm, they will have to contend with me to do so.

His words echoed in the back of Mi’Dirtha’s mind.

Well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen.

She took a deep breath and turned back to walk into the Chantry and speak with Josephine as Cullen had advised.

We haven’t even really gotten started yet.

* * *

Mi’Dirtha took a long, deep breath of the morning air, up yet again before the rosy fingers of dawn stretched out over Haven’s gates.  They were going to be leaving for Val Royeaux later that day, and she had made a special request that they leave after the morning meal---a gift for Varric and a little for herself as well.  Few things had brought Mi’Dirtha as much peace as her morning’s training sessions did, and she had been reminded of that as she and Cassandra had sat in the meadow cleaning and repairing their armor together.  Again, she needed the things that she knew and like mending armor, training was a comfort that he had come to miss sorely in the time she had been away from her hunter routine.  It had taken her a couple of days to figure out something that would fit her needs, especially for the blade.  True, she was using it more now than she probably ever had, but there was still a need to keep the hilt comfortable in her hands on a daily basis.

None of the trainees would spar with her for fear of either breaking or being broken by their blessed Herald, but Cassandra had offered to fill the gap, and even Cullen had offered to train with her, reciting a need for his own warrior upkeep with a seasoned swordsman.  Neither of them were a disappointment to fight, and she silently made notes in the back of her mind should there ever be a need to do more than just spar with either of them.  Those were fights that she would never willingly choose, as it turned out.  Both would be much easier to evade than to face directly if the situation aligned in such a way that they were serious for her blood.  Could she take them in a fair fight?  Absolutely.  Did she want to?  Absolutely not.

Other than that, a couple of the soldiers had been more than happy to find her a sizable stone that she would have and roll from the training grounds, down to the smithy, and back again.  Then she would run.  The six laps that she would do around Haven’s walls was her favorite part of the morning, so she left it for last to bring her mood up for the day ahead.  Mi’Dirtha especially loved darting through the trees to the west behind the Chantry as it reminded her of home and the laps she would make the rest of the hunters do each morning through the trees around their camp.

Knowing that they would be traveling by horse for a week, Mi’Dirtha had decided against the stone and sword for the day and focused on the run, knowing that her legs would thank her later.  She resolved that she might even throw on a couple of extra laps today for good measure and to keep things interesting as she stretched, loosening her muscles and warming her body against the cold.  Then she tightened the ties at the top of her leg straps, squared herself down the path past the smith, and took off from the gate for her first lap.  The brisk air filled her chest and her bare feet gripped the ground through the snow to help her tear through the path.  She imagined that if there was a feeling that anyone without wings could ever get that was close to flying, this had to be it.

Mi’Dirtha rounded to the south and sprinted toward the trees, breaking into the miniature forest in the semi-dark.  Birds lighted from the branches and shrubs, and the underbrush opened up as she moved over, under, left, and right through the evergreens, bare maples, and bald birches.

Beautiful.

The treeline broke and she turned north, picking up speed and finding her wind.  As she came around again and the gate came into view for the second lap, Solas came into her view along the path.  Mi’Dirtha smiled deviously and sped up.

“Only on lap two, Solas!” Mi’Dirtha called ahead to grab his attention.  “If you want to chat, you’re going to have to keep up!”

Tearing toward him, she was surprised that he fell beside her without skipping a beat, and the two of them ran toward the smithy.

“Good morning to you as well,” Solas’ voice was bright, if not a little surprised as his breath broke through to find pace with his stride.

“On dhea,” Mi’Dirtha grinned.  “Sleep well?”

“Fair enough,” he bantered back, “The Fade is still recovering here, but it wasn’t an unpleasant night, all things considered.”

“Good to hear,” she huffed, keeping her pace as she glanced briefly over at her running companion.  “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, the usual,” Solas panted softly.  “Plans, schedules, camping, sleeping arrangements, and the sort.”

“Actually, it’s funny you bring it up,” Mi’Dirtha kept Solas to her right as she turned south.  “I was actually hoping. . . Well. . .”

“Yes?” Solas prodded, glancing over at her in return.

“Do you think Cassandra would be willing to let us stay at an inn along the way this time?” Mi’Dirtha asked with a whiny huff.

“What’s this?” Solas cracked a grin.  “Has our proud hunter had enough of sleeping on the ground?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Mi’Dirtha scoffed.  “No.  It’s just cold.  Hard to get comfortable anywhere when it’s this fucking cold.”

Solas laughed back, clearly amused at her admission.

“Also,” she went on as they closed on the treeline, grinding out another admission as they went.  “I admit that I’ve never stayed in one before.”

“Surely not!” Solas chuckled through his steaming breath.

“Surely yes!” Mi’Dirtha asserted.  “Not many inns around Dalish camps.  Too many shems.”

“A fair point,” Solas smirked.  “You are right, of course.  Silly me.”

They dove into the wood, slowing only enough to rush through.  The light had not yet begun to fully illuminate the ground, though foggy bits were starting to emerge as the grey sky brightened.  They made their way mostly by feel, just two elves, dashing through the trees.  Mi’Dirtha was impressed that he was indeed keeping a steady pace with her.  Probably more impressed than she really should have been.  Solas did look the sort who could run for days if pressed.

“I imagine that our Seeker might be open to that,” Mi’Dirtha heard Solas more than she could see him, and she gripped the trunk of a tree to push herself forward.

“Good,” she let out a small satisfied huff.  “I’ll ask her then.”

“You could just tell her,” Solas jabbed, laughter still in his voice.  “You are in charge here, after all.”

“I certainly am not!” Mi’Dirtha insisted, pushing off another tree and lifting her feet up to clear a thick root.

“Then, pray tell, who is?” Solas prodded her mischievously.  “I would be pleased to know who, if not you, is at the helm of our fledgling Inquisition.”

Mi’Dirtha scowled now, thinking for a minute and almost losing her focus on the ground.  Her foot gripped another thick tree root and she leaped forward through the trees, catching air, and landing immediately next to Solas in the brush.

Who indeed?

“I don’t know,” she spluttered in her exasperation.

“I think,” Solas grunted, dodging a branch, “perhaps you do.”

They broke from the trees and Mi’Dirtha refocused on her feet in the lighter terrain around the north side of the complex.

“Cullen,” she mused aloud.

“In charge of troops and training, certainly, but little else,” Solas contended flatly.  “Who does he report to?”

Damn!

“Leliana then,” Mi’Dirtha offered with a small certainty.

“Spymasters don’t run organizations like the Inquisition,” Solas asserted the fact.  “They work for them.  Who does she report to?  Hm?”

Fuck!

“Cassandra.  It has to be,” Mi’Dirtha almost growled.

“She obviously defers to you more often than not, or had you not noticed?” Solas scoffed, pushing ahead by a hair.  “Remember, I was there on that bridge at the forward camp.  I saw what happened with my own eyes.”

How do you think we should proceed?

So none of you are actually in charge here.

“Josephine?” Mi’Dirtha knew the answer before she spoke and Solas didn’t dignify it with any response other than more laughter.

“That leaves only one,” Solas smirked down at her, catching her eyes, his face lit up with genuine levity.  “Unless I am to assume that Varric is your next candidate.”

“But I’m not their Herald! Why me?”  Mi’Dirtha asked, flustered, but relieved to have finally said it out loud to someone that she knew wasn’t going to correct her.

“Almost assuredly, but your humility is a moot point here, and the posturing is necessary,” Solas panted as they rounded east and back toward the gate past the training grounds.  “The ‘why’ is also unnecessary, but I think that was meant to be rhetorical.”

“How very astute of you,” Mi’Dirtha scoffed again, gritting her teeth as she strained to push herself faster toward the gate.

“Thank you,” Solas chimed happily.  “I certainly like to think I am.”

The reality of Solas’ words sank in as they sprinted past the gate and ripped by the blacksmith.  He was right, of course, and Mi’Dirtha didn’t like it at all.  She hated it.

“But I know nothing of their Chantry, their wars, their kingdoms, and politics,” Mi’Dirtha groaned, trying to build back a case against his logic.

“Irrelevant,” Solas’ retort was abrupt.

“Ugh. . . You’re just. . . so infuriating!”   Mi’Dirtha sputtered.

“I cannot imagine that you are this insecure about the matter,” Solas replied flatly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mi’Dirtha huffed as they rounded past the smithy and started back for the trees.

“You are confident, well-educated, and well-trained, as I said,” Solas huffed back, driving home his argument.

“For a Dalish,” Mi’Dirtha scoffed.  “Not a shem.”

“You have led teams, spearheaded missions, built autonomous hunting groups, trained initiates, and defended your people for years,” Solas insisted.  “Leadership is by no means a skill set restricted by race.”

“That’s hardly the same thing, Solas,” Mi’Dirtha all but laughed again.

“It is exactly the same,” he shot back.  “I have witnessed empires and villages grow and thrive in my travels into the Fade.  The tactics for success are the same, and you already know them well.  Only the scale changes---populations and numbers.  Nothing more.”

They leaped into the trees again, a little more of the wood visible now than even a few minutes ago.

“Numbers are intimidating,” Mi’Dirtha spat, rushing forward between the trees.

“Are they?  Or are you simply intimidated by the numbers?” Solas probed, digging for something.

“Is there even a difference?” Mi’Dirtha asked, genuinely wondering where this was all going.

“Of course,” Solas lighted up off a root in front of her, landing with her only a foot or so behind, and she veered to the left to pull back again.  “Labels of definition cannot be changed without the meaning also changing.”

“Yes?” Mi’Dirtha listened intently, swinging past another tree to gain momentum.

“If a thing, by its nature, is intimidating, then it will always be intimidating,” Solas went on.

“Uh-huh,” she grunted, gripping the ground and darting past a low-hanging branch.

“But,” Solas also grunted, trying to keep ahead of her with effort.  “If it is you who are intimidated , well, that can change--- you can change.  The thing remains as it was, but you bend it to suit you.”

Mi’Dirtha was caught without words as the sentiment rang true in her mind, settling in as it took up her awareness.

Damn!  Right again.

They broke back out of the trees again and back out on the path, Solas one second ahead of her.  Creators, he was fast!   Mi’Dirtha opened her stride again, helpless but to smile at the welcomed competition.

“Okay,” she heaved.  “So what if I am?  What if I am intimidated---scared shitless even?”

“Then you are,” Solas was panting harder and she took some satisfaction that she was at least pushing him as much as he was pushing her.  “You would be a fool not to be.”

“Well that’s entirely unhelpful,” Mi’Dirtha huffed sharply.

“It is a heavy thing that should not be discounted,” Solas glanced down at her again.  “You carry the weight of half of Thedas, perhaps more.  It is wise to be afraid and to be cautious.  It is very heavy, but so was your sword once.  So were your feet once.  Now, here we are.”

They turned again, headed again for the start of the next lap, and Mi’Dirtha was speechless again at his words.  Solas did have several good points and had somehow managed to tell her just what she needed to hear.  How did he keep doing that?

“So, you came to give me a pep-talk?” she smirked, not allowing him the satisfaction of admitting defeat and relinquishing her lost argument.  “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but why?”

“Val Royeaux is imminent,” Solas smiled back down at her again for a moment.  “I wished only to be helpful.”

“Well, I am enjoying the run,” Mi’Dirtha smiled back.  “You should come and give me pep talks more often.”

They both turned again, flying once more toward the trees.  The sun finally crested over the peaks of the mountains around them and its light streamed through the branches in the clear, bright air.  Mi’Dirtha took a deep breath and pushed herself harder and faster through the trees to find her way ahead of Solas, happy that he continued beside her.  Their race lasted for another five laps, and on the last round, they both stretched out their gait as wide and fast as they both could, neither wishing to be second place. Next to her, Solas leaned into his sprint and pulled ahead at the last moment, passing the huge gate first with a loud victorious laugh.  In the training grounds behind them, a handful of soldiers whooped and cheered.

Mi’Dirtha let out a loud groan and slowed her pace as he did, resting her hands on her hips, breathing hard, and sweating pleasantly.  Solas also slowed, letting her come to his side as they walked one more pass to cool down along their well-established path in the snow.  Looking up, she noticed that his head was beaded with sweat as well, and she smiled.  At least she had given him a real run for his money.

“Thank you,” Mi’Dirtha murmured as her breath steadied and she took a long deep breath, straightening to look him in the eyes.  “Perhaps you are right.  It gives me a lot to think about, but I’m grateful for the change in perspective.”

“Then you are welcome,” Solas smiled softly down at her, lifting a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow.  “I should thank you as well.  It has been some time since I have met someone who can keep up with me.  A bit of healthy competition is good for morale---myself included.”

“Anytime,” Mi’Dirtha patted him lightly on the back with a breathy chuckle.  “Though, technically I still won.  You were a lap behind me the whole time.”

Solas’ eyes went wide for a moment and he slowed, realizing that she was right.  Then he hung his head with a small smile and looked at her deviously.

“A thing I will have to rectify when we return from Val Royeaux,” his stormy grey eyes locked onto hers with a glint of mischief.  “I like to lose about as much as you do.”

“I’ll take that challenge,” Mi’Dirtha returned his devilish smirk.  “You’re on.”

Chapter Text

It took three days on the road for Cassandra to relax again into a soft kind of familiarity with the rest of them.  Mi’Dirtha could tell that her nerves were wound just as tightly as hers were for their journey, and it made her worry that Val Royeaux would be every problem that she was building it up to be in her head.  Seeing the Seeker woman smile and laugh around the fire during their morning meal made her heart lighter, and she finally galled up enough to tell both Cassandra and Varric her plan.  If they had enough coin to allow it, they would stop at an inn that night as she wanted to.  Varric practically erupted in joy, beaming from ear to ear at the prospect, and volunteered to pay their way himself.  It was about half an hour past sunset when they arrived at their destination, and Mi’Dirtha had difficulty containing her excitement as the inn came into sight.

La Dame Piquante was a countryside Orlesian tavern and inn about ten hours just outside of Montsimmard proper---the closest possible stay they could find that wouldn’t lead them too far from their route.  As they arrived, Cassandra bristled silently and stopped them all before they walked in the door.

“All right,” the Seeker huffed with resignation, eyeballing Varric specifically as she spoke.  “We are only a couple more days away from Val Royeaux and we do not need any unsavory rumors traveling ahead of us.”

“Seeker, I’m surprised at you!” I would never---” Varric lifted his hands and feigned insult at her singling him out.

“We keep a low profile.  Understood?” She insisted, pulling off her left glove and pressing it into Mi’Dirtha’s hand.  “We don’t know what the views of the people are about the Herald here.  It may be dangerous, and I don’t want any commotion.  If anyone causes a scene, they will get to explain it to Josephine personally.   Got it?”

“All right, all right!” Varric agreed sullenly.

“You will have no quarrel from me, Seeker,” Solas interjected with a nod.

Mi’Dirtha nodded as well, slipping the glove onto her hand to cover the mark, and taking a full deep breath to steady herself as they all filed into the inn.  Whatever this Marcher elf had expected a shemlen inn and tavern to smell like, it was not this.  The wood of the walls, floors, and ceilings smelled old and seasoned with the hazy and beautiful scent of meat, smoke, and lavender.  It permeated everything, settling into her senses in a comforting way that she hadn’t expected.  The interior of the building was lighter than she had expected as well---filled with the illumination of fires blazing warm and bright in fireplaces around the great open room before her, but there were also small orbs of glass that hung from the ceiling that hosted more soft lights that cast their glow on the scene below.

The far wall was a giant wine rack filled with bottles arranged neatly with green and gold bottles.  In one of the corners next to a fireplace, a tall, slender, and dark-haired shem woman sang and played a jaunty tune on her lute, filling the air with music though the language was one that Mi’Dirtha didn’t recognize.  Around her, clusters of people were rowdily milling around between the tables, laughing and speaking as they drank.  More than a few of them were elf-kin, and though none of them wore vallaslin, it lifted her hope that this would be a good experience all around.

“Bonsoir et bienvenue, mes amis!” A tall, busty, and blonde elven woman in a simple dress and dirty apron greeted them warmly as she approached.  Her big brown eyes sparkled youthfully even as the signs of middle age creased around her eyes and mouth.  “Comment puis-je vous aider tous?”

Uhhhhh. . .

Mi’Dirtha froze, as did Varric and Cassandra.  None of them seemed to know what the woman had said, and they were at as much of a loss as she was.

“Bonsoir, madame,” Solas stepped forward after a moment’s pause as the woman’s eyes lit with the understanding that the others didn’t speak her language.  “Nous sommes-allez au Val Royeaux ce demain, et nous avons besoin des chambres pour la nuit, d’accord?”

“Ah, oui!  D’accord!”   The elf woman darted off.  “Un moment.”

Everyone stared at Solas, flabbergasted and even more at a loss for words.

“Surely I am not the only one of us here who speaks Orlesian,” Solas smirked at Cassandra, singling her out among them.

“It has been a long time,” Cassandra flustered, a blush rising to her face.  “I was still translating when---”

“Pardon,” the woman came back with a large keyring in hand.  “C’est comme ca, s'il te plait.”

Solas followed her and they all kept close behind him as she led them to a long bar-like table near the door where she and Solas spoke.  Mi’Dirtha watched him intently, enjoying the sound of the Orlesian language as it fell masterfully from his lips.  Of course, the man had to be multilingual to have survived on his travels across Thedas, she knew that had to be true, but it was another thing entirely to see confirmation firsthand.  Solas ordered their rooms with his usual politeness and Varric paid.  The woman opened and closed a large lockbox with the huge keyring, securing their payment and stowing it back away before showing them to their rooms.

It had apparently been quite some time since anyone with coin had stopped to spend the night, Solas told them.  Their group had been the first non-refugee patrons to stay the night at La Dame Piquante in weeks.  Most of the people they had seen come through were their usuals and other locals, many of them farmhands in the lavender, barley, and beet farms nearby.  While their hostess and several others spoke Orlesian exclusively, some of their staff also spoke King’s Tongue and would be happy to serve them for their stay.  Their excitement at having some new patrons made the entire staff seem to lift their spirits, and the inn’s owners were especially genial.  They were given their rooms, food, and drink all at a reduced cost in return for spreading the good word that their humble establishment was open for business while they were on the road and when they reached Val Royeaux.

The rooms were small, simple, and clean, with a sizable bed and a small fireplace in each with their own separate keys that the hostess pressed into each of their hands with a grin.  They were all lodged together along the back wall of the inn in a row and close to a communal toilet and washroom for their convenience.

“Merci beaucoup, Madame,” Mi’Dirtha echoed the simple words after Solas when the beautiful inn hostess gave her the key to her room, nodding her head.

To say that Mi’Dirtha was awestruck would have been an understatement.  She quickly changed out of her traveling clothes, and sped out the door, heading back to the main area that held the tavern as quickly as she could without actually running.  She stopped for a moment at the entryway from the hall to take it all in.  A handsome, young shemlen man with scrubby red hair and freckles walked up to her, bowing slightly as he wiped his hands on his apron.

“Good evening, your Ladyship,” his thick Orlesian accent cheerful as he shoved one rolled sleeve up and over his elbow.  “You must be one of our overnight patrons.”

“Yes,” Mi’Dirtha practically sang.

“We don’t get many Dalish in these parts even when business is good,” he smiled.  “But several of our regulars and staff are elven farmhands, and Madame and Monsieur run a fair bar here, so you’ll get no insults from us.”

“Thank you,” Mi’Dirtha beamed.  “Merci beaucoup.”

“Would you like a table, or are you going to sit at the bar?” The young man gestured toward the room.

Mi’Dirtha thought for a moment, humming as she debated the choice.  She didn’t want to invite the possibility of strangers sitting with her at a largely empty table without the others.

“Bar, please,” she nodded and the young man agreed heartily, leading her over to the half-full bar.

Taking a seat near the end of the bar, Mi’Dirtha perched on a stool several seats away from the next patron and ordered an ale from the ruddy-faced elven bartender.  Thanking him kindly, she lifted the mug to her lips and took a deep gulp, swallowing it with a smile and a satisfied smack of her lips.  The bartender chuckled lightly and nodded to her, returning to his duties and leaving her to her mug.  She was about five gulps in when Varric pulled up and sat on the stool next to her.

“You look like a kid in a pastry shop,” Varric laughed, his gold-brown eyes gleaming.

“Varric, ma serannas!  Ir sha!” Mi’Dirtha gripped the dwarf’s shoulder.  “This place is amazing!”

Varric laughed again and ordered an ale as well, settling next to her comfortably.

“Is it everything you had hoped for?” Solas asked softly from over her shoulder as he sat on the stool at her other side.

Mi’Dirtha nodded happily and continued her work on the ale.  Solas ordered a glass of their house red wine, swirling it in his hand before taking a mindful sip and letting out a small satisfied hum as he set it back down.  He laughed quietly at the sight of her and she bumped his arm playfully with her elbow.  Cassandra joined them shortly after, ordering a beer before they all moved to one of the unoccupied, circle tables nearby and settled in together.

“I am sorry,” Cassandra’s face drew in with sincerity as they all sat.  “This place isn’t--”

“It’s so beautiful!” Mi’Dirtha cut her off, blurting in her excitement and smiling so hard that it made her cheeks ache.

Cassandra looked confused at first, puzzled by her joy.  Then she sighed and gave Mi’Dirtha a small smile back as Varric clapped her on the back.

“Are they all like this?” Mi’Dirtha asked, looking around at everything and still taking in the sounds and smells all around her.

“More or less,” Varric answered, taking a swig of his ale.  “The mage lights are a nice touch.”

“There are. . . nicer establishments than this one,” Cassandra said softly, hoping that none of the staff were close enough to hear her.

“Nicer?” Mi’Dirtha perked up in her disbelief.  “Really?”

Solas smothered a laugh into his glass, his shoulders shaking slightly as he took a sip of his wine.

“If you’re this excited about a dive bar in the Orlesian countryside then you might just faint when you see Val Royeaux, Handy,” Varric chuckled, throwing his head back a little.

“Mmmm,” Mi’Dirtha hummed around a mouthful of her ale and swallowed.  “I’ve heard that it is big and grand, but I don’t really have the context for what that means exactly.  The closest city to my clan’s caravan route is Wycome, and I’ve only ever been there twice.  Both times were for business and trade, but I never stayed longer than a couple of hours.”

“I assure you that Val Royeaux is much larger and far more opulent than Wycome,” Solas assured her with a sly smile.

“Why do shemlen live in big cities, anyway?” Mi’Dirtha asked in genuine curiosity, cocking her head slightly.

All three of them turned to look at Cassandra who was in her suds and almost choked on her beer as everyone’s eyes landed on her.  She straightened, a general look of confusion in her clear grey eyes.

“What?” she asked sharply.

“She means humans, Seeker,” Varric chuckled softly, translating for Mi’Dirtha.  “She asked why humans live in big cities.”

“Oh!” Cassandra’s face lit with the realization that she was the only human at the table.  “Well, we don’t.  Some do, certainly.  Mostly for safety from the wilds and access to amenities, trade, and work, but many humans don’t live in big cities.”

“Hmmm,” Mi’Dirtha hummed as she took in Cassandra’s words and rolled them over in her mind.  “I suppose that makes sense.”

She had just about finished her ale when the red-haired, young man appeared again, holding a big, circular wooden slab.  He set bowls of steaming stew in front of each of them along with a large plate that held a huge hunk of cheese and a warm loaf of country bread that he placed in the center of the table.  They all thanked him kindly and set immediately to their dinner.

“Even the food is amazing!” Mi’Dirtha sighed, lifting a spoonful of the rich and delicious stew to her mouth and following it with a bit of the bread.  “What is this?”

“Beouf bourguignon,” Solas answered again out of habit, reaching for some of the cheese.  “It’s a rustic country dish here that they make with cattle meat braised in red wine.”

“How’s the cheese?” she asked excitedly.  Cheese was one of her favorite foods and she hadn’t had any for what felt like ages.

“Milder than you’re likely used to,” Solas handed her a bit to try.  “It’s also made from their cattle’s milk.”

Mi’Dirtha popped the small piece of cheese into her mouth.  It was harder and more mellow in flavor than the halla cheese she was so used to back home---salty and strange.  It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t particularly noteworthy either.

“Yeah, no, you’re right,” Mi’Dirtha went back to her stew and bread.  “You can keep that.”

Solas chuckled around a mouthful of cheese and bread, and Mi’Dirtha caught his eyes.  They were intense as always as he watched her with great interest, but this was a warmer look than she was used to---almost affectionate.   It made her pause, keeping eye contact with Solas long enough to notice for the first time that a small circle of pale lavender circled his pupils just as rings of gold circled hers amid the rare, dark emerald.  He turned away from her again to focus on his meal and she did the same.  Mi’Dirtha could feel herself smothering her own interest, fighting down a slight heat that she felt rising to her face, and denying with every part of her being that she actually liked the warmth in his stormy grey eyes.  With nothing much more than happy hums and sighs of satisfaction, they all finished their meal and the young human man had brought them a second round each of their drinks, whisking away the empty dishes faster than Mi’Dirtha had even noticed that they were gone.  Varric pressed a few extra coins into his hand and thanked him generously while Solas and Cassandra chatted idly as she asked him about his solitary life as an apostate.  Amid the conversations floating around about her, she noticed that most of the elves in the tavern were gathering near the bard and she watched on, wishing silently that she was back with her people as well.

“Are you well?” Solas asked gently in a voice so low that only she would hear it with her enhanced hearing.

“Homesick,” was all she managed, blinking back against the well of emotions raging in her gut.

Only a moment later, the bard finished her song and the tune changed into one that she knew.  Mi’Dirtha perked up immediately at the sound---an old elven festival song!  Everything else melted away as she watched her kin start to dance, and she was up on her feet and halfway across the room before she realized what she was doing.  Deciding to keep going, her face lit in a smile that she couldn’t contain.  The other elves cheered and welcomed her in, one older man with short grey hair taking her hand and bowing in respect.  They joined hands and began to move through the slowly rising tempo of the song.  Together with the others around her, she sang and danced, caught up in the euphoria and completely forgetting everything else.  The past weeks shed from her mind and she was just another of The People again.  Bobbing to the music and weaving patterns over the floor, they switched partners and took hands in circles as they moved.  One song ran into a second and then a third.  They all whooped and took one another's hands to form a long chain that snaked around the room between tables as they laughed and hopped, lifting and bowing down in sync until they all came back to form a spiral.

Mi’Dirtha was laughing and happy, so beyond words that she barely registered the other people in the room until the music stopped.  She hugged a couple of the people nearest to her and exchanged greetings and thanks for their kindness in including her in their revelry.  Solas came up behind her, also sharing thanks in elven and landing his hand on her shoulder.  Completely uninhibited, breathless, and blissfully delirious, Mi’Dirtha swung around and hugged him, crushing herself into his chest and taking in a deep breath as she wrapped her arms around him.  Solas smelled like campfire smoke, seasoned leather, and bright herbs---rich, earthy, comforting, and just like home.  After a moment, he rested one arm across the back of her shoulders and patted her head while the other gripped her arm gently.

“Perhaps that is enough dancing for the evening,” his cool voice shook her back into reality and she looked up, horrified at herself, and pulled back sharply as she cast her eyes to the floor.

A thick blush rising in her cheeks, Mi’Dirtha nodded in embarrassment and let him lead her away from the other elves, turning back to wave goodbye to them sheepishly.  When she finally lifted her head to see where they were going, Mi’Dirtha caught sight of Cassandra and Varric standing at the entrance to the hallway that led back to their rooms.  The Seeker looked severe and tense while the dwarf next to her laughed wildly.

“That was the best thing I have seen in a while!”  Varric managed through his hardy laughter.  “I’m going to put that in my next book!”

“So much for a low profile,” Cassandra huffed in a hushed tone as she approached, and Mi’Dirtha could feel her chest squeezing tight in her anxiety.

“I’m so sorry, I just---” Mi’Dirtha stammered, reaching for the words to explain herself.

“There is no need to apologize.  No harm was done,” Cassandra sighed, turning to lead the rest of them down the hallway.  “You have been through much of late.  You deserve to let yourself be joyful.”

“Ma serannas,” Mi’Dirtha murmured, sighing deeply and giving her a small, thin smile.  “I really needed this.”

“Then I’m glad that we came,” Cassandra returned the thin smile softly.

They came to the back hallway and their rooms, bidding one another a good night and making plans to meet again the next morning.  As Solas opened his door, Mi’Dirtha opened her mouth to try and apologize to him, but no words came out, and she kicked herself a little for losing all of her discipline and bearing as well as her nerve as he vanished from her sight.  Closing the door, locking it, and throwing herself onto the bed, Mi’Dirtha huffed and let out a loud exasperated groan into the mattress, muffling her shame and burying her burning face into the cushion.

Mythal ar halani!  What a mess that was!  Holy fuck!  I can’t believe that I did that.  I just got up, like a fool child.  Then I went and. . grabbed him.  Ugh!   How dare he smell that good!  What an arrogant ass!  He’s not my friend.  He’s an ally at best.  You don’t even know him.

Letting herself sink deeper into the bed,  Mi’Dirtha groaned again as she tried to banish the pilfered smell of him from her mind completely, and reminded herself of the reality of the situation she was really in.  She cursed herself for getting carried away, flipping herself over in the bed and staring up at the ceiling until the fire began to die down across the room and her bones started to grow heavy.  There was nothing more that she could do tonight to make things right, and she needed sleep to make sure that she wasn’t a burden tomorrow either.  It seemed that exhaustion was winning over her self-loathing and she let out a deep sigh, tucked herself into the soft shemlen bed, and forced herself to sleep with the smell of wood smoke, leather, and herbs still fresh in her mind.

* * *

Mi’Dirtha was awake again before anyone else and sat on the bed cross-legged as she stared out the window at the brightening, pale grey sky.  The sting of embarrassment from the night before was still fresh in her mind and she rubbed her face with both palms to try and shake it from her mind.  Then she patted her cheeks and got out of bed, tidied herself up in the communal washroom, and left the comfort of hiding in her room for the reality of the world outside.

The main room of the tavern was empty except for the red-haired young man who was stoking fires in the fireplaces for the morning.  They exchanged silent nods of greeting and a smile before Mi’Dirtha got her bearings, and made her way to the main door to step outside.  She stretched her arms overhead and took in a deep breath of the fresh morning air, happy that it had been growing warmer the further north they went.  The air was still crisp in the early hours here, though, and she was grateful for that in its own way too.

“Aneth ara, da’lan,” a deep voice interrupted her thoughts and she turned to see the elder man that she had danced with the night before sitting on a bench near the door, smoking a pipe in the early morning light.  The pale grey tendrils of smoke framed his old face and the creases at his eyes crinkled as he smiled at her.

“Aneth ara, ha’hren,” Mi’Dirtha greeted him back and walked over to sit next to him on the bench.  He offered her his pipe, and she accepted graciously.  The rich smoke was delightful across her tongue, tingling as it calmed her blood almost immediately at the warm familiarity.

“Hemp?” she asked, passing back the pipe.  “Good stock, too.”

“Mmm,” the old man responded in the affirmative, taking a long, deep drag off the pipe.

“My clan cultivates it for trade in the Free Marches,” Mi’Dirtha smiled and sighed happily.  “My Keeper also smokes it to ease her old bones.”

“As do I,” the elder nodded gently and handed her the pipe again.

They smoked together in silence for a few moments, the only sounds between them being the birds as they chirped and sang.  Then, the old man let out a deep sigh and looked out over the rolling hills that were starting to become visible under the infant sunlight.

“I know who you are, da’lan,”  he spoke quietly in his deep voice and Mi’Dirtha tensed for a moment as she watched him through the corner of her eye.  “Word has come to us in Orlais of the Inquisition and the northern she-elf who closed the Breach.  They say that she is a wild Dalish hunter who wears the vallaslin of the ancient ones and that she is Andraste’s Herald, sent to save us all from the greatest evil of our age.”

So much for a low profile indeed.  Cassandra’s gonna just love this.

“Are you traveling to Val Royeaux?” The elder asked quietly.  “That seems a dangerous place for even you to go.  Perhaps especially you, da’lan.”

“Yes,” Mi’Dirtha nodded solemnly.  “I am to meet with the shemlen Chantry leaders to plead for aid to our cause.”

“Then, my old heart is happy to meet you.  A child of The People and a hero to the shems--- if you are successful, it will give my soul some sweet hope for us all,” the old man smiled brightly at her, passing his pipe again.  “And you dance our dances and sing our songs still.”

“I got so swept up in the spirits of the moment,” Mi’Dirtha took a drag and rubbed her face again as she blew out the smoke and passed back the pipe.  “I’m certain that my companions are cross with me for my indiscretions.  We were hoping not to draw too much attention on our journey.”

“They may be cross, but dancing with our hero?” the elder chuckled softly.  “It was good for us all, I think.  You needn’t worry about us though, da’lan .  No one keeps a secret like an elf in Orlais.”

Mi’Dirtha rubbed his shoulder and took back the pipe to breathe in a deep inhale, letting the breath rush out of her and taking her fears with it.

“Never in all my long days could I have foreseen smoking and dancing and singing with one such as yourself,” he smirked.  “I am a poor farmer and always have been.  I began years ago working here as a kitchen hand in the months that our fields lay fallow to care for myself and buy my hemp.  I am a simple man with simple pleasures, and I feel my life is blessed to have known you for even a day.”

Mi’Dirtha felt a deep rush of relief and contentment at the old man’s words.  While she didn’t believe herself a hero or holy in any way, she was glad to know that she could give hope to her kin amid the disasters around them all.  The shame at her abandon lifted and she let herself laugh a little.

“I have been away from home so long and I fear some days that I will never see them again,” she smiled sadly.  “I hope to return to them as soon as I can, but my heart is sick with grief and longing for my clan.  When I heard the music, it raised my soul from loneliness and I couldn’t stop my own feet.  You may feel blessed by me, but it is I who am blessed by you.”

“Then we are blessed together,” the elder smiled, resting a hand over hers.  “The Creators are kind to us both today.”

“Yes,” Mi’Dirtha smiled and nodded.  “Yes, they are ha’hren.”

They sat quietly again in one another’s company, smoking and watching the sun rise over the farmland.  It wasn’t until the golden rays of light spilled out onto the land that Solas found her and walked over.

“Aneth ara,” he greeted them both then turned to Mi’Dirtha.  “I knew that I would find you here.”

The old elf rubbed his thighs, clamping the pipe in his teeth, and rising from the bench.

“I must be back to my work, da’lan, but may all the luck of our people go out with you to your journey’s end.  Dareth shiral i on asahngar,”   the elder beamed at her and patted her hand one more time before giving Solas a polite bow and walking back inside.

“You look well this morning,” Solas mused, taking a seat next to her on the bench.

“I am,” Mi’Dirtha sighed and smiled back.

“Good,” Solas returned the smile and looked up to take in the sight of the rolling hills and farmstead around the inn.

Mi’Dirtha searched her mind for a moment, trying to gather her words and her courage.

“Ir abelas, Solas,” she said at last, tracing the lines of her leg wrap where her leg curled up under her.  “I was caught up by the levity last night, but I still shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

“An apology is wholly unnecessary,” Solas chuckled softly.  “I could tell by your state that you were overcome and couldn’t help yourself.  As our Seeker said, there was no harm done.”

“Still, I promise not to do it again without your permission,” Mi’Dirtha asserted with a wry smirk.  “Unless there's a matter of death or something.  Then all promises are null.”

“I appreciate it,” Solas nodded and smiled politely at her, the sentiment not quite making it to his intense eyes.

Mi’Dirtha looked away and let out a deep sigh, then burst into raucous laughter.

“I can’t believe I did that!” she gripped her ribs with both arms.

“I certainly can,” Solas laughed with her.  “You seemed to be enjoying it though. Varric nearly laughed himself out of his chair, and Cassandra---”

“Oh holy fuck, Cassandra!” Mi’Dirtha covered her mouth over a loud gasp.  “Mythal ar halani! She must have been so shocked and scandalized!  You must tell me what I missed.”

“She almost got up to grab you, once the shock wore off of course,” Solas chuckled, rubbing his forehead and shaking his head with incredulity.  “I had to tell her to sit down and remind her that it would look far more strange and draw even more unwanted attention if she were to tear you away from your sport mid-song.  She had to practically grip the bottom of the chair with both hands to keep herself down.”

They both laughed, Mi’Dirtha throwing her head back and snorting unceremoniously which made Solas laugh harder, and then her harder in return.  They had both finally managed to stop, and Mi’Dirtha was wiping her watering eyes when Cassandra walked out the door to join them.  Mi’Dirtha saw her, covered over her mouth, and spluttered into laughter again as Solas bit his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut to try and keep his own laughter down.

“What?”  Cassandra stood and asked, puzzled again.  “What’s so funny?”

Chapter Text

It was the last day of their trip, and Mi’Dirtha’s stomach knotted as they approached Val Royeaux.  The section of the Imperial Highway that they had been traveling on opened up into a wide, cobble-paved road to accommodate more and more people heading both to and from the giant city ahead.  They had to slow the horses to keep a polite pace with the other travelers and hooves clacked everywhere against the stones, making it hard to pick up on just about any other sound in the din.  She could feel her nerves tighten and stretch thin as she repeatedly went over the talking points that Josephine had crammed into her head for the three days before they left, trying to commit them to memory should she get the chance to use them.  It took everything in her willpower to stay though she desperately wanted to turn the horse into a gallop, bolt, and run as fast as she could to literally anywhere else.

Telling herself that this had to be done, one way or another, Mi’Dirtha held the reins tight in her hands and did her best not to appear as if she were slowly losing her patience and her mind with every click-clack that the Ferelden chestnut made below her.  Though she was certain they all noticed her unease, none of them remarked on it, and let her have the last vestiges of her sanity in peace as she focused on the task at hand.  Everyone was counting on her, and she lingered on the sentiments that the elder had imparted to her back at the inn.  If she was successful here, then there would be hope for everyone.  That had to be enough to try, right?

The road curved, and as Mi’Dirtha looked up, she could feel the air rush out of her in an audible gasp as the great city of Val Royeaux finally came into full view.

It’s enormous!

Mi’Dirtha was shocked beyond words.  How were people---mere mortals---capable of this?  The huge city sprawled across the land and it looked like there was no end to it in sight as the giant spires of white and gold rose from the heart of it.  Brilliant banners of all colors danced in the breeze and she could both see and smell where the city split down the center to stand proudly around the foremost tip of the Waking Sea.  People were everywhere as far as she could see.  Elves, dwarves, shemlen, and even a handful of Qunari here and there flooded across the path toward the coming gates.  It was opulent as Solas had said---the very manifestation of an excess that she didn’t even know could exist in one place.  It was everything she had heard it would be and more.  So much more!  Her gut twisted again in a mixture of awe and anxiety and a part of her was expectant and even excited to witness the sheer, mind-boggling size of it all.

The part of Mi’Dirtha that wanted to run leapt, immediately searching for any combination of routes and methods for escape.  There were only four of them.  How many people would be gathered to hear her speak?  How many of these Chantry mothers would there be? Tens? Hundreds? Thousands?  And every one of them would be far more of a threat than not.  She had no words and found herself moving as though she were caught in the deadly undertow of some menacing and unseen force that she just couldn’t break away from.

“Don’t pass out, Handy,” Varric’s chuckling voice snapped her back to reality.  “Welcome to Val Royeaux.”

“The Seat of the Chantry,” Cassandra added with reverence.

“And the Gem of Orlais,” Solas finished, with more confident assurance in his voice than the other two combined.

Cassandra happily pointed out the tallest of the buildings as the Grand Cathedral, the White Spire, the University of Orlais, and one or two others.  They came to the city’s edge and boarded their horses in the most ridiculous and impractical stable Mi’Dirtha had ever seen, then set out on foot, making their way to the Sun Gates at the southern side of the great walls that enclosed the behemoth behind them.

“The city still mourns,” Cassandra noted as solemn bells rang in the distance.  They walked cautiously down a long pathway lined with white marble statues set into tall alcoves of stone to either side and a young couple whispered, then cowered and ran at the sight of them.

Well that’s not a good sign.

“Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are,” Varric’s expression tensed and he looked up at Cassandra.

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric,” Cassandra retorted, clearly anxious and wary.

Mi’Dirtha’s jaw clenched and she started to assess the surroundings.  How many paces to the gate?  How tall were the buildings? Open windows, heights of walls, balconies, side passages, and alleyways---anything and everything that she could see that would be useful to know if they had to fight their way back out.

“My Lady Herald,” a young woman in Inquisition scout armor just like Scout Harding’s and a hood ran up to her, saluting and bowing in deference.

Mi’Dirtha’s body tensed and she shot her eyes around.  She wanted to yell at the scout to stand, to stop drawing attention to her.  It was uncomfortable to salute and bow to her at all, but it was especially dangerous to do it here.  Instead, she stopped herself, balling her hands into fists to contain the anger as it mixed with fear.

This stupid girl is going to get us all killed!

“You’re one of Leliana’s people,” Cassandra’s eyes lit up in surprise.  “What have you found?”

“The Chantry mothers await you, but. . .” the scout rose, pausing as her eyes darted between Cassandra and Mi’Dirtha with a look of anxiety, “so do a great number of Templars.”

“There are Templars here?”   Cassandra’s surprise spiked.

Varric frowned at her side and in her hypervigilance, Mi’Dirtha saw Solas’ grip tighten on his staff.  She growled softly and gritted her teeth.

“People seem to think that the Templars will protect them. . . from the Inquisition,” the scout went on.  “They’re gathering on the far side of the market.  I think that’s where the Templars intend to meet you.”

“They wish to protect the people?  From us?” Cassandra turned to the rest of them and huffed.  “Only one thing to do then.”

“Delightful,” Solas growled, his eyes darkening and the muscles in his jaw twitching as he too gritted his teeth.

“Let’s remain calm about this,” Mi’Dirtha’s words were meant to soothe herself every bit as much as the others, rolling tactics over in the back of her mind for the possibility of a confrontation.  “We don’t want a pitched battle in the middle of the city.  We knew that there would be some kind of reaction to our presence when we got here.”

“But I didn’t expect the Templars to make an appearance,” Cassandra sighed heavily, her gaze hardening with a scowl.

“The people may just be assuming what the Templars will do,” the scout assured them.  “I’ve heard of no solid plans.”

“Whatever happens, we must maintain control of the situation,” Mi’Dirtha’s gaze passed between the three of them.  “Keep your eyes open for any exits or high ground that we might be able to use to our advantage.”

They all nodded gravely and followed her toward the market beyond the long, gated corridor, Mi’Dirtha trying to force her breath to even as the clamor of the crowd awaiting them started to rise through the air.

“Do you think that the Order’s returned to the fold, maybe?”  Varric asked idly.  “You know, to deal with us upstarts?”

“I know Lord Seeker Lucius,” Cassandra said the name as if it were a curse.  “I can’t imagine him coming to the Chantry’s defense, not after all that has occurred.”

“So the potential for trouble has increased twofold,” Mi’Dirtha added, sharing a severe glance with the Seeker.

“Perhaps,” Cassandra stopped for a moment and turned back to the scout who was following behind them.  “Return to Haven.  Someone will need to inform them if we are. . . delayed.”

“As you say, my Lady,” the scout saluted again, shot Mi’Dirtha one last look, and ran off toward the gate entrance.

Delayed.  Right.

Varric, Cassandra, Solas, and Mi’Dirtha took a collective deep breath and set their sights forward as they proceeded into the market.  Following her own order, Mi’Dirtha was immediately at the business of scanning everything around them.  The shops that comprised the wide circular bazaar were mostly closed, and signs hung to deflect customers in their windows.  A second level of the market rose above them, complete with walkways.  All of the roofs were sharply sloped with turquoise slates, so scaling them would likely be a challenge as a means of escape.  A woman in a fancy dress emerged from one of the four tall, blue doors at the corners of the space, and she noted the hint of stairs behind her as she closed the door.  That would be their way up to the second floor if they needed to move to higher ground.  A taller building than the rest sat at the center of the circle, five long banners draped from the point at its top and sweeping out to where they were likewise anchored to the second level of the market.

They followed the path, rounding past the central structure to skirt the edges of the crowd that had gathered to witness their spectacle.  Just beyond the ocean of masked and ostentatiously dressed congregation was a raised platform and three women in familiar Chantry robes stood at the center, their Templar reinforcements coming up to the right of the stage as they approached.  Ahead of them, the people at the rear of the huddled mass turned to see the four of them, gasping and parting to stand away from them.  As they scattered, bumping into others and their exclamations carried, those in front of them also moved, horrified and hissing whispered insults at the ‘blasphemous knife ear’ that dared to declare herself the Herald of their beloved Andraste.

Mi’Dirtha did her best to ignore them, seeing the real threat in the heavily armored and armed men and women casting their angry stares back at her and her three companions as they moved through the parting crowd.

Ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five. . . Mi’Dirtha silently counted the potential targets, her heart sinking as the number climbed.  Twenty-eight.  Fenedhis!

They may have been able to take about half that many.  Maybe.  Solas would be the most vulnerable if there was truth in the stories she had been told that these Templars could nullify magic with their Maker’s will.  His barrier would also likely be useless, so they would have to count on their own armor and skill to protect them.  Mi’Dirtha was suddenly very grateful that Harrit---their skilled blacksmith---had made both her and Cassandra new heavy armor despite the limited resources at his disposal.  They had managed to bring just enough Onyx and Iron from the Hinterlands and the areas around Haven to make them new defender mail.  Solas had also been fitted with a thick chainmail shirt that peeked out from his padded wool overcoat, and Varric had been suited with a padded leather gambeson that he wore open at the chest with his red undershirt to continue showcasing his chest hair.  She hoped that they wouldn’t have to rely on the armor, but at least they had it.

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!” The oldest of the three women on the raised platform spoke loudly over the chatter, everyone falling into a hushed quiet as she stretched her arms out over the crowd.  “Together we mourn the Divine---her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery!”

The woman’s Orlesian accent bounced and flowed with an almost lyrical quality and Mi’Dirtha could tell almost instantly that she had rehearsed this speech well.

“You wonder what will become of her murderer.  Well, wonder no more!” She thrust a hand out and pointed at Mi’Dirtha and their eyes locked.  “Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste!  Claiming to rise where our beloved fell.  We say that this is a false prophet!  The Maker would send no elf in our time of need.”

Mi’Dirtha bit back the desire to bare her teeth at the woman like the savage and feral beast that they had told everyone she was.

“Enough!” she bellowed, her voice louder than she had expected in her own ears.  “I will not listen to these self-serving lies!  We came here under the promise of peace to talk, and this is what you do?”

“It’s true!” Cassandra added, stepping to Mi’Dirtha’s side.  “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

“It is already too late!” The old woman shouted back, redirecting her hand to the armored men as they approached the stage.  “The Templars have returned to the Chantry!  They will face this ‘Inquisition’, and the people will be safe once more!”

As the intimidating soldiers rose up the platform steps and came to the Chantry mothers, one young man cocked back his arm and punched the old woman in the face as she turned toward him.  The entire crowd let out a synchronous gasp of shock, suddenly silent as she fell, knocked completely unconscious before she even hit the stage.  Mi’Dirtha sucked in a deep and angry rush of air, her entire body locking up in her sudden and unexplainable rage as she came up to her full height and stared at the dark men.  Their leader---this Lord Seeker Lucius---turned to the man and put out his hand.

“Still yourself.  She is beneath us,” the Lord Seeker ordered in a low, gruff voice.

The young Templar looked unsure for a moment and nodded, cracking his knuckles loudly as the Lord Seeker turned away from him sharply to take the spot at the center of the stage.

“Was that display supposed to impress me, Lord Seeker?” Mi’Dirtha managed through her tight jaw as her eyes narrowed on the man.

“On the contrary,” he snarled.  “It wasn’t for you at all.”

“Lord Seeker Lucius!” Cassandra shouted, her anger and disbelief coloring her voice.  “It is imperative that we speak with---”

“You will not address me!” Lucius boomed back angrily.  “Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet.  You should be ashamed!”

Cassandra went still in a shocked rage that mirrored Mi’Dirtha’s.  The rest of the Templars gathered around their Lord, flanking him as some kind of holy general as he commanded the attention of the crowd.

“The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages!” The Lord Seeker shouted at them all.  “You who’d leash out righteous swords with doubt and fear.  You are the ones who failed!”

Lucius’ eyes dropped from the crowd to narrow and single in on Mi’Dirtha specifically.  She could feel her rage welling up uncontrollably as she shook, meeting the shemlen in their silent battle of wills.

“If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late,” he sneered at her.  “The only destiny here that demands respect is mine!”

This shemlen is everything I have ever hated about his people.  Proud, rude, violent, and arrogant.  How such a man can command loyalty out of anything but fear is sickening.

“Templars!” Mi’Dirtha turned to the crowd of armored soldiers around the Lord Seeker, noticing looks of unease on some of their faces as they stood and watched on, helpless and silent.  “One of your own Commands the Inquisition’s forces!  Join us, as he did!  Leave this madness---this fearmonger.”

Some of the Templars whispered among one another, shifting uneasily and meeting her eyes with a sort of silent hopeless begging.

“Who? That whelp Cullen?” Lucius scoffed and chuckled darkly.  “A staunch and loyal member of the Order.  So loyal that he abandoned them for a false Herald.  He is every bit the failure now that he was when he allowed the mage’s destruction of Kirkwall.”

“But Lord Seeker,” one of the Templars at his side implored nervously, his dark brow creasing with anxiety.  “What if she really is sent by the Maker?  What if the Knight-Commander is---”

“You are called to a higher purpose!” Lucius growled darkly at the protest.  “Do not question.  I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void.  We deserve recognition.  Independence!  You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition less than nothing.”

He left Mi’Dirtha’s eyes one last time and gestured out to the other Templars.

“Come.  Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection,” Lucius turned to walk back down from the platform gathering his men to him.  “We march!”

Mi’Dirtha hissed a snarl at them, passing from several of their eyes to the others.  Still, they followed, turning a blind and submissive eye from the crowd as it erupted in protest and shock.  Everyone was agog with the abruptness of their retreat.  She could feel the weight of their eyes on her as they shouted and whispered.  If she was going to do something--- say something --- it would have to be now.  Allowing her indignation to take over, everything that Josephine had coached her on fell out of her brain, and she heaved herself up on the stage before any one of her companions could stop her, standing at the edge and looking out over the expectant eyes of the hundreds still reeling from their amazement at all that had just happened.  Taking a shaking breath, she clenched her fists harder and stuck out her chin proudly.

“People of Val Royeaux!” Mi’Dirtha shouted, her voice once again louder than she had expected, and ringing from her chest as the crowd fell silent once more.  “There go your mighty protectors!  See their backs as they turn from you and see who remains!  Those who you had called to protect you from us have abandoned you to certain death to chase their own glory.”

The faces behind the masks grew uneasy, several hung heads while others whispered nervously to one another as they stared up at her.

“I may be an elf.  I may be no holy hero or divine prophet, but I will stand!  When your closed-fisted saviors bend to their desires for power---when all else turns away from you and the Breach as it spills out demons and chaos across all of Thedas, I will stand!  Even while your beloved Chantry sits in cloister behind their golden walls to watch on in silence as everything else falls apart around their Grand Cathedral, I will stand!” Mi’Dirtha gestured up at the spires of the huge building that rose above their city.  “The Inquisition will stand against the chaos!  If you will not help us, even to your own peril, that is your choice.  But know that I will not stop until I find someone who will!  Worthy or not, we will defend all the peoples of Thedas.  Call us heretics if it serves to soothe your broken hopes and shattered expectations.  Call me ‘knife-ear’ and ‘rabbit’ and ‘liar’ if you must.  Just remember that when you lay your heads down in peace, protected from the scourge that tears across the south, that it is this knife-ear that protects you!  We will do what is necessary, with or without anyone’s approval.  You can count on that.”

Mi’Dirtha held a moment, staring out over the crowd, shocked herself at everything that had just fallen out of her mouth and unsure where the words had come from.  Had she gone completely mad?  She had made her point though.  Hopefully, someone had heard her.  With that thought nestled back into her mind, Mi’Dirtha leaned forward and jumped back down from the platform.  Cassandra was speechless as she fell in at her side and the crowd parted to let them pass and they made their way to where Varric and Solas were standing at the back of the crowd.  Her eyes locked into Solas’, a bright smirk lighting up his features as she strode up to him.

“That was sure something, Handy!” Varric’s golden eyes glinted.  “You’ve got balls of solid steel.”

Solas said nothing as his smirk spoke everything for him.

Proud hunter.

Mi’Dirtha took a deep breath and stepped forward, heading back across the market toward the Sun Gates.  She didn’t want to stay one more second in this Creator’s forsaken place.

Fuck these shems, their Chantry, and fuck Val Royeaux!

About ten paces into their walk away, a stray arrow impacted the ground a few feet in front of them, and Mi’Dirtha locked in place.  Her hand flew to the hilt of her greatsword as her guard went up, but Solas gripped her shoulder to stay her hand and bring her eyes back up to his.

“I am quite certain that if someone wanted you dead, they would have shot you while you were standing on the stage,” his voice was soft and cooling, calming her and pulling her back out of her defense.

Cassandra crossed to the arrow and pulled it out from where it had struck between the pavers.

“It looks like a message,” the Seeker read the small slip of paper that was fixed to the arrow with a red ribbon, puzzled as she scanned the words.  “From the. . . Friends of Red Jenny?”

“This victory must please you greatly,” a voice came from behind them, setting Mi’Dirtha’s teeth on edge.

They all turned to see the old woman in her Chantry robes hobbling up to her, one of the other mothers holding her arm over her shoulders to help her walk.

For fuck’s sake! Mi’Dirtha bristled and folded her arms across her chest.

“We came here only seeking to speak with the mothers,” Cassandra seethed, her face twisting in disdain.  “This is not our doing, but yours.”

“And you had no part in forcing our hand?” The old woman scoffed bitterly.  “Do not delude yourself.  Now we have been shown up by our own Templars in front of everyone and my fellow clerics have scattered to the wind along with their convictions.”

“That is also not our doing,” Mi’Dirtha insisted.

“Just tell me one thing,” the Chantry woman turned to her.  “If you do not believe that you are the Maker’s chosen, then what are you?”

“I’m just an elf from the Dalish clans,” Mi’Dirtha asserted, glaring at the woman.  “I can help to close the Breach, and I intend to do just that.  Whatever more you think of me is your business.  Not mine.”

“That is. . . more comforting than you might imagine,” the old woman sighed and hung her head in resignation.  “I suppose it is out of our hands now.  We shall see what the Maker plans in the days to come.”

“Finally,” Mi’Dirtha scoffed.  “Something we can all agree on.”

The old woman lowered her head, and Mi’Dirtha dropped her eyes as she watched her go.  Huffing out a deep breath, she turned back to the others.

“I’ve seen enough,” Mi’Dirtha barked.  “We’re getting out of here.  Now.”

“Shouldn’t we at least---” Cassandra spoke up insistently.

Mi’Dirtha stopped and looked up at the Seeker, locking her gaze on her bright, grey eyes and seeing a shock course across her proud face.

“I said we’re leaving.  Now,” Mi’Dirtha repeated her order, slowly and with a stab of authority that rose like a growl from her throat.  “I want to get off these streets before anyone else tries to pick a fight with me.  We can stay the night in the city.  I don’t care where, but the more distance we can get between us and those Templars, the better.”

The Seeker nodded, agreeing silently and accepting the demand as she stood down and took point to lead them through the streets.  Mi’Dirtha’s gaze caught Varric move up to Cassandra’s side as the two of them bantered about where would be the best place to find the lodging that Mi’Dirtha had demanded.  At her side, Solas was silent as they walked together behind Varric and Cassandra.  She tilted her head up to see him watching her again and that smirk returning to his lips as her eyes met his.  Mi’Dirtha squinted one eye closed, reading his thoughts as they churned behind his smug look as she squished her face in a little to cover the smile that threatened to confirm his unspoken words.

You are in charge here, Solas’ smirk congratulated her wordlessly.  And now, everyone knows it.

Chapter Text

The sounds of flesh impacting flesh.

The way she cried out.

The sound of her body hitting the platform.

It felt like it was her.

So real.

Familiar. . . too familiar. . . an echo. . .

No one had ever hit her like that.

No one had ever dared.

Right?

Still the hands were there.

On her.

All over her.

Inside of her.

No, no, no, no, no!

Stop!

Pain.

Blood.

So much blood.

Aching in all the places no one’s body should ever ache.

Creators! Make it stop!

A whip snaps.

A hand strikes her face.

No one had ever hit her like that, right?

Then why?

Why did it feel so familiar?

She screams in the darkness.

Hands over her mouth shoving the screams back inside.

Fingers in her mouth.

No one will hear you scream.

No one cares.

Scream again. . .

Mi’Dirtha shot up from the mattress with a sharp gasp, sweat beading down her face, her heart pounding in her chest so hard that she could feel it in her ears.  It had been so long since the nightmares came for her.  She had just recovered from the nightmares of watching Alorha die over and over again, but this nightmare was older than her memory.  It had been years and Mi’Dirtha had forgotten that they were still swirling somewhere in the back of her mind where her body remembered what her mind couldn’t.  Voices screaming out from the black hole in her memory--- her voice screaming back at her from inside the Void.

Everything that had happened the day before was still fresh in her mind as it laid out over the top of the glossy and horrible remnants of her nightmare.  Mi’Dirtha was angry.  Undeniably angry.  Unreasonably angry.  So many little things were stacking up on her, weighing her down, but none of them had the power to set her off individually.  Maybe it was just the enormity of it all that pulled her down.  Still, she had been afraid before the Lord Seeker and his “display.”  Irate even, angry, upset, but then. . .

The sound of flesh impacting flesh.

Sitting here ruminating was going to get her nowhere.  Mi’Dirtha needed air.  She needed out.  She draped her legs over the bed and rubbed her face with both hands, trying to scrub away the feeling of dread curling in the pit of her stomach and stopping to focus for a minute on the eerie green mark in the darkness of the lavish Orlesian room.  The fire had died down to embers and she didn’t want to go through the effort of raising it again, but anything would be better than sitting here with only the thing on her hand to see by.  She pulled on the cutoff, short linen trousers over her braes and leg wraps, tugged the sleeveless, woven vest over the cotton undershirt that she had ripped the sleeves off of, and got up out of the bed.  The stones felt unnaturally even under the balls of her feet as she walked to the balcony window and threw the doors open.  Met with the sight of the enormous city once again, she cursed loudly that there was likely no patch of unmanicured earth anywhere within a reasonable walk and that even in the darkness of the night, lights still burned across all of Val Royeaux.  At least Varric and Cassandra had chosen an inn that overlooked the bay.  Seeing the moons reflect off of the surface, broken in ripples as the water danced below her was somewhat more calming than the alien landscape around her.

Creators! How she missed home.

Suddenly overcome with her exhaustion as it paired with the horror of feeling trapped in the shemlen monstrosity that was the city, swallowing her whole, Mi’Dirtha fell to her knees at the railing that held the edge of the small, third-floor balcony, bracing one hand against the iron bars while the other came to her mouth to smother her violent and broken sobs.  How had everything gone so horrifically wrong?  How did she get here?  What was she even doing?

“Mythal ar halani!  Mythal ar ghilana!”   The words leaped from her lips through the tears.  “Please, make it all stop!  I’m begging!”

Silence.  Just like it always is.  Why do I even bother anymore?

Mi’Dirtha curled up on herself, turning to rest her back against the iron railing and folding her arms around her ribs as she wept.  None of the gods were going to save her from this.  She was alone again, left to fight monsters and demons that she couldn’t even see.

All alone. . .

The sound of the next balcony to her right opening barely caught her ears through the deafening drum of the sobs and whines that she fought to squash down into her chest, and she turned her head, sniffling and looking away.  The soft padding of nearly silent feet stopped at the edge of the next balcony about ten feet away and everything was silent for a few moments.  She sniffled quieter, trying to swallow the tears and hoping that the shadows were adequately hiding her from whoever it was that had come out.  She hadn’t heard them go back in again, and something primal in the back of her mind bristled as she felt the weight of eyes on her.  She lowered her head a little and looked up to her right, catching the silhouette of the person there out of the corner of her eye.

Of course it would be him.

Solas stood silently, leaning over the railing of the balcony with his arms folded and elbows resting on the edge.  The light of the moons overhead caught over his smooth head and his shoulders, the blousy linen undershirt loosely hanging off his slim frame and his blackened wolf’s jawbone dangling from his neck.  He was staring at her, and knew that she had seen him as well, but still said nothing.  He just. . . stood there.  After another long pause, Mi’Dirtha let out a rush of quivering breath and relaxed, pressing her back into the railing, releasing her knees from her chest, and lifting the glowing hand to rake up through her long black curls to lift them from her face.

“Solas,” she let her eyes fall closed as she struggled to keep her voice flat even as the tears refused to stop pouring from the empty well in her aching body.

“Mi’Dirtha,” he answered smoothly, his voice as neutral as she wished hers was.

Another silent pause stretched on between them and she looked up again, facing him fully this time and dropping the hand from her hair.

“Can I help you?” Mi’Dirtha swallowed hard and found the slightest sliver of light catching in his dark grey eyes.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” the tone of his voice shifted to one of almost soft reassurance.  “I am not the one crying on a balcony and supplicating to ancient gods.”

“Apologies,” she spat bitterly.  “I’ll try to keep my weakness to myself.  I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That is wholly unnecessary,” Solas shifted, hanging his head a little and lifting his hands to lace his fingers together over the balcony’s edge.  “I could have chosen to ignore you, rolled over, and gone back to sleep.  Yet, here I am.  Call me feeble-minded and soft, if you must, but I do have a tendency to move toward people who are in pain when I hear them calling for help.”

Mi’Dirtha sighed, blowing out another quivering breath and kicking herself for her defensiveness.

“That’s. . . thank you. . . ma serannas, for your concern,” she swallowed again, clearing her throat and trying to sound as assured as she wanted to be.  “I’ll survive.”

“A good thing,” Solas’ voice lifted brightly.  “It would be most unfortunate if you were to succumb after giving such a marvelous speech about sealing the Breach in front of all of Orlais today.”

“You mean Val Royeaux?” Mi’Dirtha sighed and let out a weak chuckle.

“No, I said what I meant,” Solas reiterated almost dismissively.  “Val Royeaux is Orlais.  It would not surprise me in the slightest if the Empress herself has already heard of your proclamation.  So many tongues will be wagging across the south that, come daybreak, our Ambassador will have more work on her hands than she knows what to do with.”

Mi’Dirtha tried to squash another, more genuine chuckle and failed as Solas mimicked it with his own soft laughter.

“That was not what she told me to do,” she sighed and rested her head back against the bars.  “Poor Josephine.  I’m going to have to apologize to her when I get back.  I don’t know what came over me.  It was just---”

“The Templars,” Solas cut her off gently but firmly.

The thought choked Mi’Dirtha and the air went out of her again.  She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head as the tears came rushing back.  Biting her lip and trying to hold in the whimper that rebelliously rose in her throat, she held her breath in the hope that it would stop the way her shoulders were shaking.

The sound of flesh striking flesh. . .

So familiar.

The sound of a small grunt of effort and feet landing on the stones next to her made her head snap up in surprise.  Had he really just jumped over like that?  Solas sat down next to her, his back also against the railing and resting one arm over a raised knee.  He looked down on her, his features more apparent now that he was so close.  His brow drew up in concern, wrinkling the fair and freckled skin of his forehead around the tiny circular scar over his brow, and his eyes focused on her for a moment before he looked down at his hand, took a deep breath, and said nothing.  Mi’Dirtha curled up again, pulling her knees to her chest and circling her legs with her arms.  There was a comfort in having someone close like this, even if it was him.  It was enough to make the sobbing stop, even though she could still feel the trails of cooling tears on her face, she took a deep shaky breath.

“All of this senseless infighting,” Solas mused gravely.  “It is. . . disheartening to witness.”

“Yes,” Mi’Dirtha sniffled again, her voice muffled by the way she pressed her face into her knees.  “It is.”

“When the Lord Seeker struck the Chantry mother,” he paused for a moment and looked back down at her again.  “I saw a change in you.  I know better than to ask if you are unwell, and I can understand the difficulty in speaking of such things.  However, if it would unburden you, I am willing to listen.”

Mi’Dirtha let out a deep rushing sigh and sat up again, scrubbing the tears from her face as she tried to steady herself.

“There is so much beyond my reach,” her voice was barely above a whisper as she scowled down at her feet.  “No one has ever dared to strike me like that.  I would cut their hands off if they tried, but. . . I don’t know.  It’s all shadows and secrets.  I was warned by my mother not to press my mind into remembering---that my past was likely taken from me for good reasons.  Better to live here and thank the Creators for the blessing than to beg for ghosts.”

“How very un-Dalish of her,” Solas scoffed darkly with a derisive snort.

“Maybe it’s the Breach, this mark, spending so much time in setheneran , spending so much time in the company of death. . .” Mi’Dirtha’s voice stabilized as she spoke.  “I don’t know, but something is pulling at me, dragging me back to a place best forgotten.  There is a rage and a pain there that I cannot fight, and. . . I am afraid of it.  At times like this, when the demons scream at me from the Void, I remember why.”

“Ir abelas,” Solas’ voice softened slightly and he also scowled at his feet.  “I can imagine your distress.  This was certainly not the way things were meant to play out, and I am sorry for your burden.”

“It’s all such a mess,” Mi’Dirtha huffed, chuckling darkly at herself.  “You’re kind to say it, but this is no more your fault than it is mine.  I was just doing what I thought would help, and maybe I did, but whatever was meant to happen, we’re here now.  I want more than anything to run back home where life is simple and things make sense.  I was even thinking the other day that the ram ewes will be moving to the grasslands with their new lambs soon and that I will need to make sure that we mark their paths back to find the studs for hunting, but. . .”

“But?” Solas urged her in her pause.

“There won’t be any ewes, lambs, or studs for very long if I don’t stay here,” she looked up at him with a sad smile.  “Ar suledin nadas.   My mind is ripping to shreds, and I’m probably going to go mad if I don’t die first, but no one is coming to save me from this fate,  After seeing that shem today in all his aggrandized self-importance, I realize that there really is no one else who is going to do anything if I don’t.”

“No,” Solas agreed after a long pause.  “There is no one else.”

“By that truth, no one will be able to mark the ram paths if I don’t stay here to save the mountainside, the grasslands, the rams, and the people first, but fuck me if I knew how to do that instead of beating my fists against my own brains.  It’s like I’m fighting more demons in my head than I am out there,” Mi’Dirtha gestured incredulously with both hands into the air.  “Which is no small feat because they are literally raining from the sky.”

“Were,” Solas chuckled a little and broke a small smile.  “There are more demons simply passing through the Veil now than they are raining from the sky anymore, which may not sound like much of an accomplishment when phrased that way, but certainly is an improvement.  You took care of that problem already.  Rather handily, I might add.”

“Well, yes!” Mi’Dirtha scoffed, smiling at herself and folding her arms.  “You may add that, Messere.  The pun was a nice touch too.  I’m going to have to warn Varric that you’re coming for his humor.”

Solas’ eyes went wide for an instant as he truly grasped what he had said, and then he lifted a hand to cover his face and laughed softly as he shook his head.  He had been right again, as Mi’Dirtha was slowly getting used to.  Her burden had been lifted by letting him listen.  In the sharing, everything that she had been fighting against in the dark seems so much more ridiculous now in the light of their irreverent laughter.

They sat a while longer mostly in silent reflection of how they had come to this point.  After a few more minutes, Mi’Dirtha could feel her eyelids start to droop and a loud yawn escaped her as she slumped.  She was half out when she registered that Solas had picked her up, walked her into the room, and was tucking her back into the soft bed.  She sleepily rolled over, pulling the blankets tightly around her as she sank into the stupidly comfortable mattress and yawned again.

“Solas,” Mi’Dirtha called out, more asleep now than not.

“Yes?” The quiet response came from near the balcony door where he was slipping back out again.

“Ma serannas, lethallin,” she muttered softly.  “On nydha i sha’eral.”

If he said anything back, it was too soft to hear as she snuggled further into the blankets and let herself drift off dreamlessly into the Fade.

* * *

Feeling better and somewhat more patient with their trials, Mi’Dirtha turned her attention to the note that had been delivered by arrow the day before.  As it turned out, the note was one of several, leading the four of them on a wild scavenger hunt throughout the marketplace where they had confronted the Templars and Chantry mothers.  It eventually led them to the outskirts of the city and ended in giving them a map to follow, a key to something, and a time to meet early that morning.  Whoever these ‘Friends of Red Jenny’ were, they were trying---in the most obnoxious way---to lead them to an unnamed ‘baddie’ that they insisted was intending the Inquisition harm.  Whether it was at the behest of the Chantry, Templars, or some other unknown party was anyone’s guess, but Mi’Dirtha had decided that it would be foolish of them to leave such an enemy to fester and grow here in Val Royeaux after the previous day’s events.  They should settle the matter and discover this ‘baddie’, settling the matter before they set out on their way back to Haven.

The notes and map took them to a large back alley in the slums of the city near the Alienage, they key opened the passage, and they opened the barred gate to find themselves stumbling into some kind of secret meeting of a handful of City Guards.  The men all whipped around to see them and set immediately to attack them.

“It’s the Inquisition’s Herald!” One guard shouted, drawing his sword.

“Can’t be!  Not here!” Another added, also unsheathing his sword and charging at them.

“Well, they know who I work for at least,” Mi’Dirtha grinned, pulling her greatsword down over her shoulder and squaring up to the guards.

Confused and darting for cover as the four of them descended on them, another guard called for their hounds, upset that they didn’t respond.  Another one went to draw his sword to protect himself from Mi’Dirtha’s sword, only to scream that his gauntlet had been covered in grease as the hilt slipped through his fingers.  It appeared that whoever had called them here had arrived beforehand and set the guards at a disadvantage, making them all easy targets and they disposed of them quickly, moving through the alley to unlock a second door on the far side and forward.  As Mi’Dirtha stepped out of the passage from the other section of the alley, two fireballs impacted the ground directly in front of her.  Solas’ barrier was up in an instant, and she looked up to see her enemy.

“The Herald of Andraste!” A masked, slender man said, flourishing his hands and leaping atop the edge of a small fountain behind him as more guards emerged to close off their exit points.  “How much did it take you to discover me?  It must have weakened the Inquisition’s resources immeasurably!”

What the fuck?  Mi’Dirtha paused for a moment and scoffed.

“Who the fuck even are you?” Confusion and amusement colored her voice.

“You don’t fool me!” He snarled back.  “I’m too important for this to have been an accident.  My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!”

In the corner of the open area, a guard let out a grunt and dropped, killed from behind.  Into her view stepped a young elf woman with short-cropped blonde hair and in tattered red and yellow clothes.  She knocked an arrow into a powerful-looking bow and aimed for the unnamed masked man before them.

“Just say ‘what’!” She shouted, her accent more Ferelden than the Orlesian that Mi’Dirtha had expected.

“What is the---” The masked man was cut off---quite literally in this case---as the woman let her arrow fly to strike him in the face, passing into his open mouth and out the back of his head.

He dropped into a bloody heap on the ground from the water fountain and the young woman slung back her bow, walking toward the body with a scowl on her face.

“Ew!” She exclaimed, leaning over the body to rip the arrow back out of his head.  “Squishy one.  You heard me, right?  ‘Just say what.’ These rich tits always try for more than they deserve.  It’s just blah blah blah!  Obey me!  Arrow in my face!”

Mi’Dirtha sheathed her sword and curled her eyebrow up, glancing briefly at the others and sharing in looks of confusion as the young woman approached them.

“You followed the notes well enough.  Glad to see you’re. . .” She paused, looking Mi’Dirtha up and down, scowling again, “Aaaand you’re an elf.  Well, hope you’re not too elfy.”

“Huh?” Mi’Dirtha grunted, feeling somehow insulted by the young elf woman’s assessment of her.

“I mean, it’s all good, innit?” She smirked a little.  “The important thing is that you glow.  You’re the Herald thingie.”

“Yes.  Some certainly seem to think so,” Mi’Dirtha answered cautiously.  “Who the fuck is this guy?  What’s all this about?”

“No idea,” the young elf woman scoffed, poking the dead man with her foot.  “I don’t know this idiot from manners.  My people just said that the Inquisition should look at him.”

“Your people?” Mi’Dirtha perked a little.  “You mean elves?  From the Alienage?”

“Hah!  Good one,” the young woman laughed a little, her bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief.  “No.  I mean people people.  Little people, like me.  You’re a strange one, Lady Herald.  The name’s Sera.  I’d like to join.”

“Join?” Mi’Dirtha scowled a little, shaking her head and gesturing around them.  “All I know about you and your people is that we followed a trail of random notes only to fall directly into a trap in a dirty back alley in the slums.”

“What trap?  You knocked, he crapped.  It’s. . . look, it’s like this,” the young woman--- Sera ---took a deep breath, clearly searching for the words to explain herself.  “I sent you a note to look for stuff hidden by my friends.  The Friends of Red Jenny.  That’s me.  Well, I’m one.  So is a fence on Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall.  There were three in Starkhaven---brothers or something.  It’s just a name.  It lets little people, Friends, be a part of something while they stick it to the nobles they hate.  So here I am, in your face.  I’m Sera.  The Friends of Red Jenny are out there.   I used them to help you.  Plus arrows.”

“So spies then,” Mi’Dirtha mused, trying to make sense of everything that Sera was saying.  “The Inquisition already has spies.  What makes you different from them?”

“Here’s how it is.  You ‘important’ people are up there, shoving your cods around.  ‘Blah blah, I’ll crush you!  No, I’ll crush you! ” Sera made annoying kissing sounds, “Oh! Crush you.”

Mi’Dirtha stifled a snicker.

“Then, you’ve got the cloaks and spy kings.  Like this tit,” Sera kicked the dead body at her feet.  “Or maybe he’s one of the little knives, all serious with his little knife.  All those secrets, and what gave him away?  Some houseboy who don’t know shite, but knows a bad person when he sees one.”

Sera landed her hand on her hips and squared proudly up to Mi’Dirtha.

“So, no.  I’m not Knifey Shivdark, all hidden and the like.  But I do know that if you don’t listen down here too, you risk losing your breeches.  So. . . look, do you need people or not?  I want to get everything back to normal like you do, but without the speeches.”

“Okay, okay,” Mi’Dirtha rubbed her forehead and thought for a moment.

She could absolutely see Sera’s good points, and she had made several.  The Inquisition could use all the ears at doors that they could get, and their list of allies was short.  Support from these Friends could come in handy.  In the grandiose machinations of war, the little people---as Sera had put it---were always the first to suffer and the first to know what was coming.  She had lost sight of that, and it took this city elf to remind her of that.

“Alright, Sera,” Mi’Dirtha extended her hand to the young elf woman.  “I can use you and your Friends.  Welcome to the Inquisition.”

“Yes!” Sera shook her hand and pumped her fist victoriously.  “Get in good before you’re too big to like.  That’ll keep your breeches where they should be.  So, Haven, yeah?  See you there, Herald.  This will be grand!”

Without another word, the giddy young elf bounced and took off out of the alley back the way she had come, melting into the shadows to disappear just as quickly as she had shown up.  Mi’Dirtha sighed and turned to the others, assessing all of their faces for reactions to her decision.

“Well, you did say that you would find people to help us,” Varric shrugged, sensing her question before it was even asked.  “This isn’t exactly what we had in mind, but---”

“Indeed not,” Cassandra scowled in her obvious displeasure.

“I do believe that this Sera made a great deal of sense,” Solas mused with a small smile.  “We can ill afford to forget that powers rise and fall, but it is the people who persist through each ruined empire.  I think that this was a worthwhile endeavor.  We dispatched an assassin and managed to recruit an entire underground organization to the Inquisition’s cause in a single day.”

“Agreed,” Mi’Dirtha nodded and started to lead them back out of the alley.  “Now, if there are no protests, I believe that our work here is done.  Let’s get back to Haven and rally with the others.  I’m sure that Josephine will want to know what has happened so that she can take advantage of our new notoriety.”

Cassandra nodded, albeit sourly, and followed behind her.  She was still stinging from their failed attempt to gain help from the Chantry and were leaving instead with connections to an underworld group of snitches and silent rebels.  Still, it was better than nothing and more than they had hoped for after the incident with the Lord Seeker and the Templars.  Val Royeaux had no more to give them, and they would do well to meet up with Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine to plan their next course of action.

The four of them stopped near the stable where their mounts had been boarded to gather supplies for their trip back through the Frostback Mountains and ate quickly before leaving the city by the route they had come.  About two miles outside of the city on the road back, they were flagged down by a hooded figure---a woman mage in circle robes---and halted by the side of the passage.

“If I may,” the woman’s Orlesian voice rang politely as she lifted her hood and leaned on her staff, revealing her short, dark hair and long slender ears.  “I would beg a moment of your time, Inquisition.”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona!” Cassandra’s eyes lit up in shock and recognition, drawing Mi’Dirtha’s earnest interest.

“Leader of the Mage Rebellion,” Solas nodded his head at his fellow elven apostate mage.  “Is it not dangerous for you to be so close to Val Royeaux?”

“I heard of your gathering and I wanted to see this fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes,” the Grand Enchanter looked up at Mi’Dirtha on her mount and she steadied the beast rolling under her. “That was certainly quite the speech that you gave.  If it is truly help with the Breach that you seek, perhaps my people are the wiser option.”

“The mages weren’t willing to speak to us before,” Mi’Dirtha insisted, suddenly suspicious of the woman’s intentions.  “Why come to us now?”

“Because I have seen what you are,” the elf woman smiled softly.  “I have seen the Chantry for what it is as well.  Consider this a formal invitation to meet with our mages.  We have taken shelter in Redcliffe and would be more than interested in discussing an alliance that could help us both.  I hope to see you there at your first convenience.”

“Your offer is an intriguing one, Grand Enchanter,” Mi’Dirtha nodded, taking Fiona’s words into serious consideration as the woman lifted her hood again and bowed slightly in return.  “I have business at Haven, and I will present your invitation for discussion.”

“Very good,” Fiona sighed heavily.  “Now, if you will excuse me.  Au revoir , my Lady Herald.”

She turned and walked back up the road in the opposite direction they were headed on the Imperial Highway, melting into the crowd and vanishing from her view.

“It seems that our time had proven rather fruitful, indeed,” Solas practically beamed from atop his horse as they returned to their route.  “The Rebel Mages finally seem to have seen reason and are eager to speak with us.  That is what we came for, is it not?”

“We still should not write the Templars off so quickly.  There are certainly those in the Order who see the madman that the Lord Seeker has become,” Cassandra insisted, a touch of worry in her voice.  “Either way, we should inform the others.  I’m sure that everyone will be interested in these new developments.”

“Looks like you did well, Handy,” Varric chuckled and gave Mi’Dirtha a broad smile.  “I always knew you had it in you.”

Chapter Text

“It’s good that you’ve returned,” Josephine’s voice rang with relief as Mi’Dirtha and Cassandra walked into Haven’s Chantry to meet both their Ambassador and Commander.  “We heard of your encounter.”

“I had expected as much,” Mi’Dirtha gave the Ambassador a small apologetic smile.  “I know it wasn’t at all what we had hoped, but we seem to have been successful.  More or less.”

“Yes,” Leliana added, joining them as Cullen came to her side.  “My agents sent word ahead of you.  It seems that you have caused quite a stir.”

“I also heard that you gave quite the speech,” Cullen smirked at her for a second, folding his arms across his breastplate.  “Well done.  It’s a shame that it didn’t sway the Templars.  They appear to have abandoned their senses as well as the capitol.”

“We had to do something,” Mi’Dirtha asserted, leading the group of them back to their impromptu war room.  “And now we have an opportunity to move.”

“Yes,” Josephine added, scribbling something on her tableau as she followed.  “Due to your efforts, we have the opening to approach the Templars and the mages.”

“Do we? Truly?” Cassandra mused, crossing her arms as she stopped at the war table and stared down at the floor for a moment with a dark and concerned voice.  “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

“That is true,” Leliana mused thoughtfully.  “He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what?  My reports have been. . . very odd.”

“We must investigate,” Cullen insisted, setting his brow with a hard scowl.  “I’m certain that not everyone in the Order supports the Lord Seeker.”

“Or the Herald could simply go to meet with the mages in Redcliffe instead,” Josephine suggested, shifting her stance toward Mi’Dirtha from across the huge table.

“Do you honestly think that the Mage Rebellion is more united?” Cullen asked with incredulity.  “It could be ten times worse!”

“Not to steal your thunder, Commander,” Mi’Dirtha winced a little.  “The Lord Seeker openly mocked you to the Templars.  I’m not so sure that it would be best to beg them for anything after that.”

“He did what?” Cullen’s shocked eyes darted to Leliana and then back to her.  No doubt that was mysteriously missing from the scout’s reports.  “What did he say, exactly?”

“He called you a disloyal whelp and a failure,” Mi’Dirtha huffed.

“And he mentioned Kirkwall,” Cassandra added through clenched teeth, meeting Cullen’s eyes to share an unspoken moment of solidarity.

The Commander’s face darkened and the muscles in his jaw tightened and flexed as he fought to bite back his sudden anger.

“Whelp indeed,” he spat venomously.  “Where was he when this ‘whelp’ was left to defend Kirkwall as it all fell apart?  Where was the mighty Lord Seeker when the Chantry exploded and killed half the population?  Where was Lucius when Knight-Commander Meredith needed to be brought to heel?”

The rest of the room went quiet as Cullen turned away from the table to bristle, attempting to pull himself together.  Being from the Free Marches, she had heard about what had happened in the city on the coast.  When Cullen had mentioned that he was recruited in Kirkwall, Mi’Dirtha hadn’t completed the mental acrobatics to make the connection that he would have been the Templar in charge there.  What must it have been like when the mage destroyed the city and the madwoman tried to execute all their mages?  She didn’t want to think about it, and it made her hate the Lord Seeker that much more.

“There’s no room for bickering here,” Mi’Dirtha inserted sharply.  “Given the circumstances, I say that we shouldn’t discount Redcliffe.”

“They are powerful,” Cassandra huffed, bringing her eyes up to lock on Mi’Dirtha’s as she leaned forward against the table.  “And more desperate than you realize.”

“So it’ll be dangerous,” Mi’Dirtha shrugged her shoulders.  “I’ve been in danger for as long as I can remember.  Even more so since I walked out of the Fade.”

“If some of the rebel mages are responsible for what happened at the Conclave. . .” Cassandra let the sentiment hang in the air for a pause.

“The same could be said of the Templars,” Leliana asserted, joining in to add her assessments.

“True enough,” Cullen agreed, coming back to the conversation with less heat in his voice and expression as his hands curled over the pommel of his sword.  “With all that happened at Val Royeaux, I’m not convinced that we have enough influence to approach the Order safely.”

“The Inquisition needs agents in more places,” Cassandra looked up sternly at Mi’Dirtha.  “That’s something you seem to have quite the knack for.”

“In the meantime, we should continue to consider our other options,” Josephine nodded assuredly.

They all could agree on that much at least.  Cullen left the war room first to update his troop reports and seethe in solitude while Josephine followed him out, saying something about needing to get on top of all the correspondence she was being inundated with from across Orlais.  Cassandra was the next out, more stoic than usual and Mi’Dirtha imagined that she needed the time and space to try and make sense of all that was happening to her own Order under Lord Seeker Lucius’ control.  As she went to follow the Seeker out, Leliana caught her attention and took her aside, closing the door so that they could speak in private.

“There is one other matter,” the Spymaster’s concerned expression tightened her beautiful features.  “Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished.  I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared.  I wouldn’t suspect or even consider the idea that they’re involved in all this, but the timing is. . . curious.”

“Aren’t the Grey Wardens that Order that combats the Blights?” Mi’Dirtha scowled, taking concern as well at Leliana’s words, as she crossed her arms and leaned back against the large table.

“Yes.  Ordinarily their Order is neutral in political affairs.  I know this because I fought with two of them to end the Fifth Blight in Ferelden some years ago.” Leliana sighed and closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again to fix hard on Mi’Dirtha’s in their severity.  “They do have a habit of appearing in strange places, and the fact that they haven’t been seen since the Conclave. . .”

“That is strange,” Mi’Dirtha hummed her agreement, seeing the distress that this revelation was causing their Spymaster.

“The others have disregarded my suspicions, but I cannot ignore it,” she turned toward the table at Mi’Dirtha’s side, looking over the map that draped over the table.  “Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall in the area.  I know that you may not want to go back there after what happened the last time, but if you can manage it, please seek him out.  Perhaps he can set my mind at ease.”

“And if he can’t?” Mi’Dirtha straightened from the table and turned to the woman.

“Then there may be even more going on than we thought,” Leliana’s brow drew up in pointed concern.

Mi’Dirtha stiffened.  Leliana had a good point.  If something was happening beyond their current scope and focus, it was in their best interest to investigate it at the very least.  To have such a noted and powerful force just vanish in total silence and mystery just as the rest of Thedas was falling into chaos was suspicious.  Mi’Dirtha knew very little about the Blights beyond what she had read and the rumors that had come out of Ferelden back when she had first awoken in Clan Lavellan’s care.  She did know that they could end up being either powerful allies or brutal enemies.  They could use all the help that they could get, and this Warden Blackwall may very well be the key to discovering which one they would be.

“I will look into it,” Mi’Dirtha promised Leliana solemnly.  “We have to take a team back to the Hinterlands to finish building Dennet’s watchtowers as we promised.  It has been almost a month and we have yet to make good on that promise.  I say that we should take a day to recuperate and supply ourselves for the trip.  I will take the team out the day after tomorrow to get them started and look for Warden Blackwall while we are out there.”

“Thank you,” Leliana’s face broke into a relieved smile.  “He was last seen near the refugee camp that you established the last time you were there.  With luck, someone may have seen him and can point you in the right direction.

Mi’Dirtha nodded and returned Leliana’s smile.

“I will inform the others,” she assured Mi’Dirtha as she glided from the room.

Left alone with the huge table and map, Mi’Dirtha looked out on it with her hands resting on the edge and taking in the now several markers that were scattered out on all the important locations where the Inquisition’s interests were starting to amass.  It was as if she were really seeing it for the first time.  Her eyes flickered up for a moment on the smallest sliver of the Free Marches and back to the marker for Haven.  In a very real way, she was relieved and glad even that her clan was so far away.  It meant that they were more safe than she was, and that would have to be enough for now.  Letting the thought sink in, she pushed back from the table and left the room, strode down the long corridor, and was on her way out of the Chantry’s main door when she overheard two people having a conversation near the entrance.

“Excuse me, I’ve got a message for the Inquisition, but I’m having a hard time getting anyone to speak with me,” a young man with bronzed skin and dark eyes wearing ornate plate mail bearing the Kirkwall crest was talking with one of the workers outside.

“I’ll take that message,” Mi’Dirtha assured him, walking up and gesturing to the worker that she would handle the situation.

The worker bowed as she approached and gave her a broad smile as he came back to her eyes.

“My Lady Herald,” he spoke with reverent awe, then backed up a couple of steps before leaving to go back about his business.

“Herald, is it?” The young man beamed, crossing his arms up over his chest.  “You’re just the person I was hoping to speak to.  My name is Cremisius Aclassi.  I work for the Bull’s Chargers Mercenary Company.  We work mostly out of Nevarra and Orlais, but we recently got word of some Tevinter mercs gathering out on the Storm Coast and it looks like they’re set on causing trouble in the area.  My Company Commander, The Iron Bull, offers this information free of charge.”

“Thank you,” Mi’Dirtha smiled politely.  “I’m not sure what we will do with this information, but I will make sure that our Commander and the others are made aware of this.”

“No problem,” Cremisius nodded and tilted his head a little.  “If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.”

“Why did your Commander even send us this information if he was planning on taking care of it himself?” Mi’Dirtha matched the man’s energy and smirked.

“Iron Bull wants to work for the Inquisition.  He thinks that you’re doing good work,” Cremisius assured her, a gleam in his soft brown eyes.

“We certainly could use all the help we can get,” Mi’Dirtha mused with a soft chuckle  “Alright, I look forward to meeting this Iron Bull.”

Another prospective agent for the Inquisition.  Maybe she was doing something right.

“Excellent! We’re the best you’ll find,” Cremisius assured her happily.  “Come to the Storm Coast and see for yourself.”

“I have some pressing business in the Hinterlands for a few days that will delay my getting up to the coast, but I will see about traveling there once my work is finished.  Should be about ten days overall, maybe twelve or so before we get there.  Let’s make it an even two weeks and we will rendezvous with your company then,” Mi’Dirtha offered her hand to the young man and he shook it heartily.

“You have a deal, your Worship.  We will see you there,” Cremisius was clearly enthusiastic about the prospect.  “Thank you for hearing me out.”

“My pleasure,” Mi’Dirtha nodded with a grin.

He left toward the main gate, likely stopping by the merchant’s stall before heading back out across Ferelden and Mi’Dirtha headed that way herself, following the path toward the training grounds.  She should let the others know about the update and let them all know that their trip was going to include a jaunt out to the Waking Sea and back.  The first who would need to know would be Cullen and Cassandra to help her plan the logistics.  They would likely have to take their newest member, Sera, as well and it would only be right to ask her personally.  She turned out into the area where their recruits and soldiers were busy at their drills to find that Cassandra was not in her usual spot---beating the absolute piss out of her favorite training dummy.  She must be somewhere else, and likely in want of privacy.

Mi’Dirtha sighed and pressed her hands to her hips, blowing some of her stray black curls from her face and tossing her long braid back over her shoulder.  The sudden bellow coming from behind her and coming from the Commander startled her.  He was notably more brutal than usual, his sharp voice cutting through the hum of clashing swords and banging shields.  The news of the Templars and the Lord Seeker’s insult must have rattled him more than he was letting on, and she steeled herself for the possibility of a serious conflict as she walked up to him.

“Commander,” Mi’Dirtha addressed him in a tone of authority, snatching his attention.

“Herald,” Cullen returned the greeting, a thread of surprise lighting his voice and his whiskey-gold eyes.  “Is there something you needed?”

“Yes, actually,” Mi’Dirtha folded her hands behind her back and stood at her full height as she faced him.  “I have an update for our trip the day after tomorrow if you have a moment.”

The Commander nodded, smoothing back the wisps of his curly, straw-blonde hair with one hand to drop back and rub the back of his neck, while the other rested on the pommel of his sword.  He followed her as she stepped away from the training soldiers and turned to face him again.

“What is it?” Cullen asked, a slight darkness and mild annoyance in his voice.

“I just spoke with a messenger from the Storm Coast,” Mi’Dirtha said matter-of-factly.  “Apparently our efforts in Val Royeaux have stretched far indeed.  There is a Mercenary Company that is interested in working with the Inquisition, and I have been invited by their Commander, Iron Bull, to assess their potential usefulness.  I would like to take the opportunity to see if they would be a good fit for the work that we are doing here.”

“I see,” Cullen perked up a little.  “That sounds like a wise decision.  A group like that would have more autonomy than our usual men and could provide some invaluable skills to our forces.”

“I agree,” Mi’Dirtha nodded.  “I have already agreed to a meeting with this Iron Bull.  We will have to prepare for a trip to the north once our work in the Hinterlands is completed.”

“I’m sure we can make that work,” the Commander assured her.  “I will inform the others that we are in the process of making the proper arrangements.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Mi’Dirtha gave him a smile, watching one creep onto his face as well, lifting the scar on his upper lip and making him look more menacing.  “There is one other matter---The Lord Seeker’s insult---I would hope that you don’t take it to heart.”

Cullen’s eyes flashed for a moment, his brow tightening a little and his jaw clenching again.

“The man is clearly mad beyond reason,” she continued, feeling stranger and somewhat more wary as his gaze focused on her intently.  “Your faith in your comrades may be shaken, but I wouldn’t want to see that insult jeopardize all that the Inquisition is attempting to achieve.”

“Yes,” Cullen hung his head a little, dropping his gloved hand to his side to ball up his fist.  “I understand.  It will not get in the way again.”

“I seriously can’t believe that you'd believe that preposterous monster,” Mi’Dirtha’s smirk widened.  “And for what it's worth, warrior to warrior, I’m positive that you could have him on the flat of his back in under a minute.”

Cullen’s eyes lifted to meet hers in shock, then softening at seeing the honesty in her eyes.  Chuckling softly and taking a deep breath, his face lit up a little with mischief. 

“You truly think so?” Cullen bantered.

“Oh, no doubt,” Mi’Dirtha scoffed loudly.  “That’s where the smart money would be.”

“Well, it is kind of you to say so.  Were it possible to beat some sense into Lord Seeker Lucius, I would be the first volunteer behind Cassandra, if there was anything left after she finished with him,” his eyes darkened a little.  “I still want to believe that there is hope for the Order.  I bear them no great love, but it would be unwise to ignore them completely.  Even if we choose to bring in the Redcliffe mages.”

“I admit that I am having a hard time wrapping my head around all of your shemlen politics and factions,” Mi’Dirtha admitted with defeat.  “I have heard stories, and read some about it, but I have bits and pieces at best.  Not much beyond rumors and exaggerations ever reach the Dalish, and few of us seek out truths.  I don’t understand why the Templars would just leave the Chantry.”

“The Order believes that the Chantry no longer supports their efforts.  Not to the extent that they should,” Cullen explained patiently.  “And for now, at least, they are correct.  Until a new Divine is named, there will be no support where before there was some.  Not much, but some.”

“Is that why you left?” Mi’Dirtha cocked her head a little.  “You don’t agree with them?”

“I’ve never really trusted mages,” Cullen’s expression tightened.  “But this fighting and bickering has cost everyone too much.  I left because I believe in peace and its pursuit.  Now, we have even bigger problems and they’re still out there killing each other.  It’s a shame, and I wouldn’t ever want to be a part of that.”

“I can respect that,” Mi’Dirtha nodded, surprised at the Commander’s honesty.  “Do you ever regret joining the Templars?”

Mi’Dirtha could see the wheels churning inside of the shem man’s head as he rolled the thought over.  Maybe he was thinking about how much he should or shouldn’t say to answer.

“When I joined, I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need.  As a child, I used to beg the Templars at our local Chantry to teach me,” they continued to slowly walk away from the compound as he spoke, his voice wistful and soft.  “At first they merely humored me, but I must have shown promise.  Or at least a great willingness to learn.  Eventually, the Knight-Captain spoke to my parents on my behalf and they agreed to send me for training.  I was thirteen when I left home.”

“Thirteen!” Mi’Dirtha hissed.  “That’s still so young.  Our own hunters aren’t dedicated until their coming of age at seventeen.”

“I wasn’t the youngest there,” Cullen went on.  “Some children are promised to the Order at infancy.”

“Mythal ar halani,” Mi’Dirtha whispered.  “That seems so. . . barbarous.”

“No Templar takes on full responsibilities until the age of eighteen,” the Commander assured her.  “The Order sees you educated first.”

Mi’Dirtha’s head spun a little at the justification, trying to make sense of such a thing.  She could barely stand to be parted from her clan as an adult, but thirteen. . .

“What about your family?  Didn’t you miss them?” she asked pointedly.

“Of course,” Cullen chuckled a little, dropping his head as he reflected on his memories.  “But I wasn’t alone in that either.  There were many there about my age who felt the same.  We learned to look out for one another.  Other than that, I poured myself into my studies and tried my best to be a model student.  I wanted to learn everything.  If I was truly going to give my life to this, I wanted to be the best Templar I could.”

“I see,” Mi’Dirtha paused, reassessing what she knew of the man to make space for this new information.  “I can respect that.  I too have dedicated myself to my path, wanting to be the best hunter and Defender I could be for my kin.  You must have been very proud when you finally took your vows.”

“There’s a vigil first,” he went on.  “You’re meant to be at peace during that time, but everything in your life is about to change.  When it’s over, you give yourself to a life of service.  That’s when you’re given a philter---your first draught of lyrium---and its power.”

“I’ve heard of this,” Mi’Dirtha nodded gravely.  “It is very dangerous, or so they say.  Is it true that once you take this potion---this philter ---there is no undoing the oath it makes in you?  That if you stop, your Maker marks it as blasphemy and takes your mind as well as your power?”

“It is very dangerous, yes,” Cullen’s voice was cold and his face hard at the question.  “Lyrium madness can take the mind and cripple the body from overuse as well as stopping the daily draughts.  This is one of the many reasons why we are trained, not just physically, but mentally as well.  Until recently, the Chantry was responsible for seeing to the appropriate uses of lyrium for the Templars.  Ingesting it on a daily basis gives a Templar their most important ability---the denial of magic and the neutralizing of any mage.”

“And this is why you wanted an alliance with them,” Mi’Dirtha nodded sagely.  “I see.  You believe that these Templars could use that ability to deny the magic surrounding the Breach, allowing the mark to seal it as it was able to with the great rift at your temple.”

“I do,” Cullen answered stoically.  “And I am concerned what may happen if we bring in an entire assembly of mages to a place where there are already so many demons and the Veil is so thin.  That is a Templar’s most sacred duty: to protect mages from possession, to protect the world from them if they do become corrupted, and to track down apostates to bring them back to the Circles before they can do harm to anyone else, including themselves.  That is why the Circle of Magi was created in the first place.  It was never perfect, but it kept people safe.”

“I. . . had not heard that before,” Mi’Dirtha paused again, once more trying to fold this new information into everything that she knew about the Circles, Templars, mages, and the Chantry.  “All of our mages are apostates by this definition.  My own Keeper and her First, our Second, and four others in my clan of fifty.  One cannot even be a Keeper unless they are a mage, so in essence, all Dalish Keepers are apostates.”

“I had no idea,” the Commander’s eyes went a little wide at his own revelation.  “So all of your leaders. . . are mages?”

“Yes,” Mi’Dirtha chuckled lightly.  “All of them.  We do know that there is this danger you speak of, and to that end, many clans will turn even young children with the gift to the host of other clans in need of a First or Second to be trained by their Keeper.  It is only ever done if there are too many in one clan and not enough in another, and if that cannot be done, some will turn them out into the wilds.  I have always frowned upon this practice, thinking it to be barbaric and unreasonable just as I have always regarded your Circles to be little more than mage prisons.  I suppose that I can see the shadow of the wisdom that must have once informed the creation, but I still don’t agree that all mages are so dangerous that they must be caged or driven away.”

“That may be true, but it only ever takes one mage who is dangerous to cause great devastation.  We have taken in some Templars here, but there are not enough to prevent a large-scale possession event.  That, more than anything else, gives me pause,” Cullen lifted his head and looked out over the snowy landscape as they continued their slow walk.  “I will support you in whatever decision you make, of course, and I can even understand your wariness of approaching the Templars after your encounter with Lord Seeker Lucius at Val Royeaux.  It is a wariness that I share, but I will not allow petty insults and political posturing to dissuade me.  The Inquisition is better than that, and if we could use their aid, far be it for us to overlook them entirely.  Given what we know now, it is possible that they need our help now just as much as we need theirs.”

The seriousness on his face gave Mi’Dirtha pause as well.  He was right to a degree, and she saw the thought with which he had spoken to her about his reasons for choosing as he did.  There was a bias in his claims, but there was knowledge in them as well.

“You have given me much to think about,” Mi’Dirtha said thoughtfully after a moment.  “It would be unfair and dishonorable to the work you have done to dismiss this Order and an alliance out of hand, and I will admit to the truth that such an action was my initial instinct.  I suppose that my greatest misgiving right now is that while we have a clear path to meet with the mages in Redcliffe, we don’t have such an invitation to meet with those in the Templars who would make an alliance with us and break from the Lord Seeker’s oppression.  No one even seems to know where we might look for them, and time is not our ally at present.”

“It is likely that our best start would be to visit Therinfal Redoubt.  It is the seat of the Seeker’s power in Southern Thedas and the most viable position from which the Lord Seeker may be planning to launch whatever plan he’s been hatching,” Cullen insisted with authority.  “We could at least ask for council with them to see if we can determine the level to which he has control over the remaining Templars.  It might take some extra effort to get there, and it will be dangerous when we do, but it would be worth considering.”

“We can have Leliana send some of her people to look into it for us,” Mi’Dirtha nodded, turning back toward the training grounds as Cullen’s eyes lit up.  “I don’t want any of us wasting resources to find nothing but an empty fortress and a waste of time, or worse, to find them waiting and their ranks filled with more enemies than friends.”

“That is. . . I. . .” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck again and smiled down at her.  “I will speak with her about it, and I thank you for hearing me out on the matter.”

“You’re welcome, Commander,” Mi’Dirtha cocked her head a little to meet his eyes.  “For now, I will be away for nearly a month between the Hinterlands and the Storm Coast.  If you have heard anything promising by the time I return, I will give the consideration more weight and we will present it again to the others.”

“That’s all I can ask,” he nodded as his smile widened.  “Thank you again for your patience.  I will see to matters in the meantime.  We still have pilgrims coming in by the day, and I am sure that there are to be more from Orlais in the coming weeks.”

“Very good then,” Mi’Dirtha parted from his company to walk back up toward the gate.

Looking up, she could see down the path ahead.  There were the usual comings and goings, but her eye caught on the figure leaning against the side of the small building that housed the smith and his supplies.  From where he stood, Solas would have been able to watch the entire time that she was walking and talking with Cullen.  As her eyes landed on him, he straightened from his post and turned to walk away from her, rounding the corner of the outside walls of Haven’s complex where their daily track was likely still cut into the snow.  Clearly, he must have noticed again that she had seen him, and Mi’Dirtha could only guess that Solas wanted her to know that he was watching over her.

If any one of them does wish you harm, they will have to contend with me to do so.

His words echoed in the back of Mi’Dirtha’s mind again, and she smiled.  Solas didn’t trust Cullen, and given their own personal backgrounds, she couldn’t blame him for being wary.  Mi’Dirtha couldn’t say for sure if she trusted the tall, blonde shem either, but he seemed less of a threat now than he had been at their first meeting.  She did want to get to a place of trust, if he proved himself worthy of it.  That was yet to be seen, and it may be a while yet before he would get the opportunity to do so.  For now, there was as steady an alliance between them as she had with Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine and it seemed that would be the case for the foreseeable future.  However, it did make her feel oddly comforted to know that Solas was watching over her regardless of how amenable everyone seemed to be with her on the surface.  He was keeping his word, as would she.  No matter how much their Commander tried to justify the Circles to her, she would kill him if he ever tried to put Solas into one of them.

In their silent exchange, Mi’Dirtha was bolstered slightly and set back to the hut she shared with Nolanna.  The young elf woman would likely be more than happy to help her prepare for their journey the day after tomorrow.  Things were starting to look hopeful for the first time since Mi’Dirtha opened her eyes in Haven’s prisons.  Maybe---just maybe--- they could be on the right path.

Maybe she could do this after all.

Chapter Text

Cassandra was more than up to the task of helping Dennet and his men finish the watchtowers with their soldiers, but she was less than enthused to be left doing so with Varric and Sera.  The two had become fast friends and took to shenanigans quickly in one another’s company.  It was a strange match at first glance---this city elf and their dwarf---but the minute that they bonded, it was all over for everyone else.  The two were so comfortable in cahoots by the time they made it to the Hinterlands that Mi’Dirtha was elated to leave them behind and relieve Solas from their presence and Sera’s constant teasing as she took him on their mission forward.

The two elves were less likely to draw unwanted attention as they traveled across Ferelden together than a small complement that included a dwarf and the human Seeker.  Being practically invisible was something that both of them were good at, and they would move faster as well.  With any luck at all, they would have all their mission goals completed in time to meet the rest of their party back at Haven in a couple of weeks and they could make the final decision together on whether or not they were going to take the Grand Enchanter up on her offer or not.  Mi’Dirtha has secretly wanted to sneak away to meet with Fiona just north of the Crossroads in the township proper of Redcliffe, but she had given Cullen her word that he would have the time that he needed to try and reach the Templars.

No.  They were going to go and see to another clandestine meeting instead.

“Best of luck on the Storm Coast!” Varric shouted to them as they made their way down the hill from the refugee camp.

“Thanks, Varric,” Mi’Dirtha waved back happily.  “Do try to keep Sera and Cassandra from killing each other while I’m away.”

“Easier said than done, but I’ll do what I can,” Varric chuckled.

“We will meet you back at Haven, Herald,” Cassandra assured her at the bottom of the hill as Mi’Dirtha stuffed her supplies into the saddle bag of her Ferelden chestnut.  “Take care and stay safe out there.”

“We will,” Mi’Dirtha assured her with a nod and pulled herself up into the saddle.  “If all goes well, we will have more than enough company on the way back down from the sea.”

Solas followed Mi’Dirtha until they were well away from the camp and beyond the sight of any of their men before she pulled out their map, assessing it to get her bearings, then tucking it back into her sleeveless, woven vest, and bearing the horse in a curving path and back down toward the south.

“Perhaps you have read our map wrong,” Solas leaned forward in his saddle and peered at her with a mischievous smile.  “The Storm Coast is to the north. . . on the coast.”

“No, I haven’t read anything wrong,” Mi’Dirtha scoffed back, rolling her eyes and glancing over her shoulder as Solas urged his horse forward to follow her.  “We just have a quick stop to make here before we leave.  There’s something that Leliana asked me to look into while we were here.”

“Oh?” Solas’ smile grew, his stormy grey eyes scanning hers.  “A secret task from our talented Spymaster.  Intriguing.”

“Yes,” Mi’Dirtha said with a sigh as they rode on side by side.  “She’s concerned that in all the chaos no one has seen or heard from any of the Grey Wardens.  Harding found what she thinks may be the only Warden left in the entire south, but other than that, no one has been able to find them or even the faintest trace of where they may all have gone.  They vanished before the Conclave.  If it was strange before, it is even more suspicious now.”

“That is an interesting assertion considering that the Blight is ten years past,” Solas mused blithely, following her lead.  “Wardens are well known for retreating into secrecy or throwing themselves into the Deep Roads when there are no Darkspawn to beat their fists against.”

“Then perhaps it will be nothing and we can be on our way with little more than two hour’s time spent and the peace of mind to go with.” Mi’Dirtha huffed.  “Either way, it costs us nothing to ask.”

“If that is the case, I would also beg your patience and ask for another short divergence from our plotted course,” Solas smirked.  “I felt the presence of an ancient elven artifact nearby while I was walking the Fade last night.  It could prove useful to our cause, and I would like to try and locate it before we leave.”

“I don’t see any reason why not,” Mi’Dirtha agreed happily.  “Without the others, we should more than make up time for both delays and then some.”

“Yes, Varric especially,” Solas chuckled in reply.  “And thank you, again.  I know that you do not have to continue to humor me, but I am grateful nonetheless.”

“Ara melava son’ganem,” Mi’Dirtha chimed back and Solas grinned his reply.

“Then lead on,” he gestured ahead.

“Thank you,”  Mi’Dirtha looked out over the hills around them.  “Harding reported that this Warden was out near the Crossroads a few days ago.  Hopefully, he’s either still out there or someone has seen him nearby.”

With the area more stabilized, they made it to the Crossroads quickly, finding a group of people gathered from all over the region streaming through the area on their paths and routes across the Hinterlands and away from dangers in the countryside.  Their people had set up a process to prepare anyone who wanted to head back west to Haven, and Corporal Vale had taken great pride in overseeing the efforts.  She caught sight of him, at work as usual, and thought that she needed to see to it that this man got a promotion for his tireless work.

“Good day, Corporal!” Mi’Dirtha greeted him cheerfully.  “How goes the day?”

“All is going smoothly, Herald,” Vale saluted her with a smile.  “We have had very few problems since the watchpoints were established.  It will be even more secure out here once the others have finished constructing the towers.  All of the mage and templar fighting has moved further north.”

“Excellent,” Mi’Dirtha dismounted with Solas close behind taking the reins of both horses and handing them over to one of the eager scouts.  “I don’t mean to take you from your work, but I do have a question for you.”

“Whatever you need, Herald,” the Corporal nodded and folded his hands at the small of his back.  “How can I help you?”

“Sister Nightingale received word that a Grey Warden is in the area,” Mi’Dirtha looked out over the people around them.  “She has asked me to find and speak with him, if possible.”

“You must mean Warden Blackwall, your Worship,” Vale’s eyes beamed knowingly.  “Yes.  We saw him a few days ago.  I believe that an elderly man, Giles, saw him personally.  He might have better information for you than I do.  He volunteered to hand out blankets to refugees at the bottom of the hill just ahead.”

“Very good then,” Mi’Dirtha nodded, landing a hand on the Corporal’s shoulder, turning in the direction he had pointed out to her and looking back at Solas with a nod.  “Keep up the good work Corporal.  We will be back for our mounts presently.”

“By your leave, Lady Herald,” the Corporal beamed as he saluted her and she returned the gesture.

“You seem to have become more comfortable with command,” Solas prodded playfully in a low tone as he walked by her side down the hill.

“Well, someone very wise recently told me to rely on the things that I know,” Mi’Dirtha smiled, but didn’t look up at him.  “Apparently, it’s working.”

At the base of the hill, they found the old man that the Corporal had mentioned, handing out blankets to the people who were passing him from large bins at his side.

“Giles?” Mi’Dirtha asked, coming to his side.

“Yes, My Lady,” he answered flatly, grunting as he lifted out a stack of blankets and set them in better reach to keep handing them to people, not looking up to acknowledge her from his work.

“I hear that you met a Warden a few days ago,” Mi’Dirtha mused, happy to watch the man work.

“Ah, you must mean Blackwall.  Good man.  Kept us safe when the demons attacked us last week in the hills.”  He turned away again, handing two blankets to a young mother and her child from the stack.  “Without him, we would’ve. . . well, we took what we could from the abandoned farms.  Then bandits found us on the road and stole everything.  Made Blackwall mad as blazes, like it was the last straw or something.  So he conscripted the other farmers and headed out after the bandits.  Haven’t seen him since, and that was three days ago.”

“Wait, your friends were conscripted?” Mi’Dirtha was puzzled and a bit shocked, looking up to see a dark and disapproving look in Solas’ eyes too.  “Did Blackwall force them to go after the bandits?”

“He could have,” Giles grunted, casually lifting more blankets and continuing to hand them out as they spoke.  “Wardens do have that right, don’t they?  Seems a fair trade for saving us all from the Blights.”

Mi’Dirtha watched on, still horrified and waiting for the rest of Giles’ story as he handed another blanket to a young elf man, then a couple with two more children right after him.

“Andraste bless you, ser,” the father of the children shook Giles’ hand and thanked him with bleary hope in his eyes.

“Not a problem son,” he answered back.  “They have food for you and your family up the hill.”

The man thanked him again and took his family up, and Giles continued his work.

“Anyway,” the gruff old man huffed.  “Blackwall didn’t force , he rallied.  Said that Blights and demons are his job, but we’d have to learn to fight thieves like that for ourselves.  The boys didn’t argue.  He really fired them all up.”

“But you stayed here?” Solas added quizzically, still disapproving and his eyes dark.

“I’m too old to run off and fight bandits, young man,” Giles chuckled.  “And someone has to stay behind to hand out blankets.”

“I suppose so,” Mi’Dirtha smiled at the old man as his grin crinkled the skin around the edges of his eyes.  “Do you have any idea where Blackwall is now?”

“Can’t say for certain,” Giles mused thoughtfully and stopped to squint up at the sky for a moment amid his work before looking her back in the eye.  “They left down the road headed south, following the bandits. If you find him, say thanks again from me.  If I were twenty years younger, I’d have followed, no question.”

Mi’Dirtha patted the man’s shoulder and turned to head back up the hill for their horses.  They mounted up and headed south along the path, Solas close at her side.  They had only ridden another handful of miles, up a ridge, and near a small lake when they found a small bridge leading to a little hut out on the water’s edge.  From where they stood, she could make out a few people standing near the structure.  One among them stood out from the others---a shemlen man, stocky, tall, and broad with dark hair and beard.  As they approached, she could make out a large griffon on his breastplate.

“This must be our Warden,” Solas said, dismounting and giving the horse a stiff pat on its neck as it knickered happily.

“Let’s hope so,” Mi’Dirtha followed suit, tying the reins of both horses to the bridge and heading toward the men.

Getting closer made the prospect more likely and Mi’Dirtha’s hopes lifted, and she could hear him speaking to the armed farmers.

“They will make this a fight, not us,” the man boomed in a thick Free Marcher accent.  “Line here.  No gaps.  Remember to keep focused.  They’ll know what it means.”

The men all nodded, taking their stances in a line formation.

“Remember how to carry your shields!” He ordered them.  “You’re holding, not hiding.”

“Blackwall?  Warden Blackwall?” Mi’Dirtha asked, walking up past the line to stand in front of the imposing man as Solas stayed a few feet back from the line of farmers to observe.

The man whipped around, meeting Mi’Dirtha’s gaze with a scowl.

“You’re not---how do you know my name?” He asked in obvious confusion.  “Who sent---”

A shout from one of the farmers went up.  In a flash, Blackwall raised his shield, blocking an arrow from striking her squarely in the head.  It sank into the wood with a heavy thunk, and he lowered it to square up to a group of other shemlen men---assumably these bandits they had heard about.  They began to shout as they charged them.

“That’s it!  Help or get out!” Blackwall thundered, ripping the arrow from his shield and drawing the sword at his hip to rally the farmers with their own swords and shields.  “We’re dealing with these idiots first!”

The bandits closed in fast and Mi’Dirtha drew her greatsword in anticipation.  Behind them, Solas reached out and cast his glowing blue barrier spell over them all and waited for the bandits to come into his range as he flourished his staff.

“Hold the wall men!” Blackwall urged them.  “Make them come to us!”

In a few moments, the bandits fell upon them.  Solas blasted their two archers with a strong burst of glowing fireballs and the rest of them took the bandits on foot.  Mi’Dirtha aligned herself with one the largest of the ten that assaulted them.  He came at her, snarling, and she side-stepped his attack as he overcompensated to bring her blade down in a crushing blow into his back.   The strike crushed the bandit’s spine in a single blow and drove his body into the ground below her.  Then she raised her sword again to her side and swung out to hit her second target in the gut.  The man’s face went red, and he dropped his sword, falling to his knees, and curling in around his belly.  She grunted and lifted the greatsword up to bring it back down to crush his head.

Mi’Dirtha turned to see the farmers and Warden finish the last of their enemies handily, not one of them fallen or even injured beyond scrapes in their defense.  Blackwall ended the last of the wave with a skillful strike, then walked toward them a few paces and stuck his blade into the ground as he knelt down next to one of the dead bodies strewn around them.

“Sorry bastards,” he growled, shaking his head, and standing again to face the farmers.  “Good work, conscripts.  Even if this shouldn’t have happened.  They could’ve---” he paused and huffed out a deep breath. “Well, thieves are made, not born.  Take back what they stole.  Go back to your families.  You saved yourselves.”

The men were all beaming with pride and congratulated one another.  Then, sheathing their swords and slinging up their shields over their backs, they made their way in the direction that the bandits had come.  Victorious, they set off to do as Blackwall had told them and take back their livelihoods.

“You’re not farmers,” Blackwall said suspiciously, eyeballing Mi’Dirtha and Solas as he came up behind her.  “How do you know my name?  Who are you?”

“I’m here investigating Grey Wardens for the Inquisition,” Mi’Dirtha spoke cautiously, carefully avoiding telling him exactly who she was.  “We’re seeing if their disappearance has anything to do with the murder of the Divine.”

“Makers balls!” his eyes went wide as the imposing shem man started to pace back and forth, his steely, dark blue eyes focused on her.  “The Wardens and the Divine” That can’t---no, you’re asking, so you really don’t know.”

Blackwall stopped his pacing and stood facing her solidly, letting out a deep huff and gesturing as he spoke.

“First off, I didn’t know that they had disappeared.  But we do that, right?  No more Blight, job done.  Wardens are the first thing forgotten,” there was a deep shot of bitterness that rang in his voice.  “But I’ll tell you one thing: no Warden killed the Divine.  Our purpose isn’t political.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not here to accuse you or anybody,” Mi’Dirtha paused, “Not yet anyway.  I just need information.  I’ve only been able to find you.  Where have all the rest gone?”

“I haven’t seen any other Wardens for months---nearly a year.  I travel alone, recruiting.  There’s not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there’s no Blight coming,” Blackwall sighed heavily.  “Treaties give the Wardens the right to take what we need--- who we need.  These poor bastards forced this fight, so I ‘conscripted’ their victims.  They had to do what I told them to do, so I told them to stand.  Next time, they won’t need me.”

Mi’Dirtha nodded her understanding.

“Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are,” Blackwall’s voice was almost reverent as he closed his eyes and his brow drew up a little.  “That’s what I did.  That’s what I try to do.”

“Do you have any idea where the other Wardens would have gone?” Mi’Dirtha asked thoughtfully, softened a little by the strong sense of nobility in the man before her.  “Anywhere at all?”

“Maybe they returned to our stronghold at Weisshaupt?  That’s in the Anderfels, a long way north,” Blackwall shrugged.  “I don’t really know.  Can’t imagine why they would all disappear at once except maybe there was a new directive.  A runner could have gotten lost or something may have happened.  All I know is that my job was to recruit on my own.  Planned to stay that way for months.  Even years.”

At her side, Solas tapped his staff a little and straightened as she turned to look at him.  They shared a silent look of understanding: this wasn’t going to get them anywhere and was just a dead end.  Mi’Dirtha sighed and nodded her head, looking back at the Warden with a sad smile.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Warden Blackwall, truly,” her sympathy went out to him.  “This may not have helped us in our search, but I do thank you for your time, and I wish you luck.”

Mi’Dirtha and Solas turned away to head back toward their horses.  It wouldn’t give Leliana any more peace than it gave her to hear this news, but at least they had found the Warden.  Something in her gut told her that there was more going on---there had to be.  If this recruiter knew nothing about his own people’s disappearance, then something may have happened that was either so abrupt that they had forgotten about him completely or word had been cut short of him as he said.  Whatever the new directive was, they would still likely need to find out what it was.  It was all too suspicious, and she didn’t like the implications.

“Inquisition. . . Agent, did you say?  Hold a moment.” Blackwall’s urgent voice turned her back to him, his eyes bore into her with a deep intensity.  “The Divine is dead and the sky is torn.  Events like these. . . thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved.  If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you could use a Warden on your side.  Maybe you need me.”

Surprised at his sudden earnest assertion, Mi’Dirtha looked up at Solas.  He nodded, his eyes also dark and intent.  You are the one in charge here, they seemed to say.  Mi’Dirtha nodded back and turned back to the Warden.

“It’s true that the Inquisition needs all the support it can get,” Mi’Dirtha mused, crossing her arms over her breastplate.  “But what can one Grey Warden do?”

“Save the fucking world, if pressed,” Blackwall cracked a slight grin through his thick beard and mustache.  “Look, maybe fighting demons raining from the sky isn’t something that I’m practiced at, but show me someone who is.  And like I said, there are treaties.  Maybe this isn’t a Blight, but it’s bloody well a disaster.  Some will honor them.  Being a Warden means something to a lot of people.”

“You make a convincing argument,” Mi’Dirtha smiled and extended her hand to the Warden.  “Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer.”

Blackwall gave her hand a hardy shake, then turned back to take his sword from the ground.  He wiped it off and sheathed it, turning back to meet her gaze with that small smirk still lifting the edges of his mustache.

“Good to hear.  We both need to know what’s going on and perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long,” he nodded firmly.  “This Warden walks with the Inquisition.”

“I hope that we can figure it out together,” Mi’Dirtha nodded in acceptance.  “My companion and I have further business to see to here and then we will be making for the Storm Coast.  I need you to go to the refugee camp and the Crossroads.  Ask for Corporal Vale.  Tell him that you’ve been sent by me, and he will give you a horse to take out to Haven.”

“And what name am I giving this Corporal Vale?” Blackwall asked pointedly, lifting an eyebrow.  “Or should I just tell him that two elves found me in the hills?”

“Tell him that the Herald sent you,” Mi’Dirtha smiled back, seeing his eyebrows both lift in sudden recognition.  “He knows that we were looking for you, so he won’t have any questions.  Once you get to Haven, Sister Nightingale will want to speak with you and you can give Ambassador Montilyet more information about utilizing these Warden treaties that you speak of.”

“Well Maker smack my ass and send me to the Void!” Blackwall grinned and chuckled as they all turned back to cross the bridge toward where Mi’Dirtha had tied up her and Solas’ mounts.  “The Herald, you say?  That’s something I never expected to hear.”

“It is good to have you on board,” Solas politely extended his hand to Blackwall as they walked.

“It’s good to be on board,” Blackwall shook Solas’ hand vigorously.  “It’s good to be a part of something again.”

* * *

The artifact that Solas had sensed was blessedly not so far off their path to the north as their jaunt to meet with Warden Blackwall had been, and he seemed to grow visibly more excited as they neared where he had marked it on their map.  It wasn’t unusual for Mi’Dirtha to see him excited, smiling, or even laughing these days when they were alone in one another’s company, but it was an almost jarring change from the way he acted around any of the others.  Solas was always so reserved, buttoned-up to the neck, and proper at all times at Haven or in camp.  It was as if he were trying to appear as unassuming as possible or to be invisible entirely to any of the shemlen in their little band.

More puzzling was that none of his overly-polite veneer seemed to stem from a place of genuine fear, though they had both shared their sentiments about being cautious in their dealings with their devoted Andrastian acquaintances.  He had every reason to be afraid of them---Cassandra and Cullen most especially as they both had the ability to deny his hold on the Fade to cast his magic.  Instead he presented with more aloofness and neutrality than either being over-eager to appease them or anxious about their motivations toward him as an apostate.  She found it admirable that he could manage such a feat despite his misgivings, and Mi’Dirtha found it flattering that he acted with more ease around her, or that he was starting to at least.  It made her feel less foolish for her own openness and how emotional she had been in his presence.  It also made her feel less hopeless and alone, and she silently hoped that he felt the same kind of comfort from her company as well.  Looking over to meet his smiling face told her that it was possible, and she couldn’t help but smile back at the sight of him.

“According to my research, the ancient elves may have set up wards near here,” Solas’ voice was bright and almost giddy as they drew closer to their destination.  “If we can find the artifact they used, it may help strengthen this area against tears.  I was most excited to feel the presence of such a relic in the Fade as I slept.  Not much of what our people once had persists these days beyond ruins and fables.  Anything we can reclaim, no matter how small, is a victory---a testament to the survival of what once was.”

As Mi’Dirtha opened her mouth to agree with the sentiment, she was cut short by the distinct sound of someone else shouting in the near distance followed by the all too familiar screech of a Shade demon.  She hastened her horse with a sharp kick to its flanks, and they tore off in the direction of the attack.  It wasn’t far, and Mi’Dirtha swept quickly off her horse and drew her blade as the demons came into view.  Fighting them back was a short elf woman, her hair was a soft grey color and she wore what looked very much like a Dalish Keeper’s robes as she flourished her staff to send off a barrage of lightning to course through the Shade that was only a foot in front of her.  She grunted and fell back a couple of steps just as Solas’ barrier spell broke across Mi’Dirtha’s skin, and she rushed past the elven woman to strike at another Shade that was swimming across the ground toward her.  From behind them both, Solas let loose a string of fireballs as he swung around his staff and brought it to bear upon a few wisps staggered along the path to a partially uncovered elven ruin ahead of them.

Shaking loose from the shock of the sudden backup, the elven woman also brandished her staff to set off a chain of lighting close behind Solas’ fireball, finishing the wisps off as Mi’Dirtha dispatched the Shade and then a second close behind it.  With the demons dealt with, the three elves gathered at the top of a ridge that led up to the long-sundered archways that used to grace the path to whatever these ruins used to be.

“Andiran atish’an,” the grey-haired elf greeted Mi’Dirtha warmly, and she made out the bold lines of June’s vallaslin marked in dark purple lines across her forehead, cheeks, and chin.  “I did not expect to see another of Dalish blood here.  My name is Mihris.  By your weapons, I see that you come ready for battle, and I am grateful of it.  Perhaps we face a common enemy in these demons.”

“Why are you out here fighting these demons on your own?” Mi’Dirtha asked, slinging up her greatsword, and extending her arm for this elf--- Mihris--- to shake.

“Fighting the demons is pointless,” Mihris gripped her arm and let it drop again.  “There will always be more, and I have no means of closing the rifts.  But I have heard of elven artifacts that measure the veil that may be located here.”

“Yes,” Solas interjected from Mi’Dirtha’s side, noticing that Mihris’ face twisted slightly at his joining their conversation.  “We had heard much the same.”

  “They may tell us where new rifts will appear,” Mihris went on, ignoring Solas and speaking to Mi’Dirtha directly.  “I was not expecting so many demons, however.  I believe that one of the artifacts is nearby.  Can you help me reach it?”

Mi’Dirtha tilted her head slightly to meet Solas’ eyes.  His smile was cleanly scrubbed from his face and replaced with a sort of dark glare that spoke volumes in the absence of his voice.

“It sounds worth investigating,” Mi’Dirtha turned back to the elf woman, deliberately avoiding any mention that they were looking for the same artifact.

“Ma serannas,” Mihris’ pale, slate-grey eyes sparkled.  “It shouldn’t be too much further ahead.”

Mi’Dirtha turned to walk up the rocky path below the broken arches as Solas fell back a couple of steps to allow their new acquaintance to step to her side.  Understanding his caution and hating the feeling twisting in her belly at the venom in the woman’s face as she had barely acknowledged Solas’ presence, she glanced down slightly and back over her shoulder to see the darkness hadn’t lifted from Solas’ face, and he gestured at Mihris with his chin.

“Thank you for joining me,” the elf woman commented cheerfully.  “I do not think that I could have done this alone.”

“It is a small thing,” Mi’Dirtha replied politely.  “I also did not expect to meet another of Dalish blood here.  What has brought you away from your clan?”

“I was--- am ---First of Clan Virnehn,” Mihris let out a small sigh, lifting her head to muse on the clouds for a moment.  “I left in service of my clan and saw that great tear in the veil on my journey.  I know more of magic and the veil than any shemlen , so I hoped to help.”

“Ma harel, da’len,” Solas growled darkly from behind them, stopping Mihris in her tracks as well as Mi’Dirtha who scowled at the woman.

“I. . . we should keep moving,” Mihris visibly flustered, stammering to cover her lie.

“If we are to fight together, I would have you be honest with me, lethallan,” Mi’Dirtha chided the woman, narrowing her eyes as a look of grief crossed Mhiris’ face.

“They were all killed---my clan---by a demon that our Keeper was foolish enough to summon,” she shot Solas a dark and pained glance before coming back to Mi’Dirtha’s weighty eyes.  “I am the only survivor of Clan Virnehn.  I was searching for another clan that would take me in when the Breach appeared.  Now, I am doing whatever I can to help with this madness.”

Mi’Dirtha nodded gravely, sharing another sharp look with Solas.  This woman was a liar, despite her quickness to greet her as a Dalish sister.  She could be more, and they were at least temporarily aligned with her, if for no other reason than to see what she had in mind for the artifact that they were all searching for. They would have to be cautious.

“A sad thing.  I can understand your reluctance to speak of it,” Mi’Dirtha gestured up the path toward the ruin and the three of them ascended from bare ground to overgrown stones set in what must have once been a path.

Ahead of them, Mi’Dirtha noticed that the ruins were built back into a cliff face on the side of a hill that rose up, and that the entrance that had been likely used to enter it had been closed off by the rubble of ruined pillars that had collapsed over the door.

“We will need focused magical energy to get by,” Mihris scowled slightly and turned back to Solas.  “You, flat-ear, can you manage it?”

Mi’Dirtha felt a burst of heat rise in her face as her eyes went wide and she choked a little on her anger.  The absolute nerve of this woman, mocking either of them when they had helped her.  For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself the fantasy of having let the demons take her.

Would your clan listen to what I had learned in my studies, my travels?  Or would they mock the ‘flat-ear’ and his stories, and go back to worshiping shadows and weeping in their ruins?

“Don’t call him that,” Mi’Dirtha snapped in a low and angry voice, stopping again and balling her hands into fists as she held Mihris’ shocked eyes again.

“I. . . but he---” the woman tripped over herself again.

“You’ve insulted me once with your lies and now him with your bigotry,”  Mi’Dirtha cut her off.  “The fact that you are Dalish will only ingratiate yourself so much further, lethallan.   I have killed greater men for lesser offenses.”

Mihris scowled again, shot Solas another dirty look, and stared at the ground for a moment.  Solas walked up to Mi’Dirtha and placed his hand gently on her shoulder.

“Ma serannas, lethallan, thuast, Ar my harth dela’is telam’el,” Solas assured her with a small smirk, then turned to Mihris and bowed slightly.  “Ma nuvenin, da’len.   I believe that I am capable of managing it just fine.”

Solas stepped forward to the sealed entrance and reached out his hands.  A brilliant green energy sprung from his hands to dance up his arms, and he lifted them, moving the stones to either side of the arched doorway as if they were as light as feathers.  The magic ebbed from his arms and he lowered them back to his sides, stepping back to face the two women, and bowed as he gestured dramatically toward the entrance with a grin.  Mi’Dirtha chuckled and returned the smile, seeing Mihris scowl harder at her side from the corner of her eye before proceeding.  She patted Solas’ arm, and he fell to her side, taking the place that Mihris had tried to usurp from him earlier as they entered the ruin together with her close behind them.

Almost immediately inside of the ruins, the air lit up with the eerie green glow of more wisps and a Shade demon at the far end of the darkened hallway spun around and darted toward them across the stones.  Again, Solas’ barrier was up in a flash while Mihris sent out a chain of lightning magic that struck the wisps in a chain.  Mi’Dirtha took the Shade as her target and rushed forward to meet it, bringing her sword down over her shoulder to smash in on its shoulder and strike across the demon’s chest.  It screamed out, the cry echoing off the stone walls as it fell back, and she brought the blade back up again to lash out over its torso.  The creature dissolved at about the same moment that the shades erupted into black mist and everything fell dark again.

Using the swift glow of the mark on her hand, Mi’Dirtha felt along the wall next to where she could’ve sworn that she saw an opening to their left in the fight.  She found what she was looking for and smiled.

“I think that there’s a sconce here for fire,” she lit up the frame of a small wire basket with the mark.  “Solas, can you light it, please?”

“Should be easy enough,” Solas lifted his hand and held it to the sconce, the green glow coming from his hand again.

Mi’Dirtha had expected the fire to burn, but when it didn’t change color from the strange green that danced behind the wires to the brilliant orange that she was used to, it piqued her curiosity.  It also seemed to make the strangest sound---almost like laughing or singing.

“What manner of fire is that?” Mihris beat her to the question, coming up from behind them, and holding a torch that she had found on the ground nearby to capture some of the fire and take it with them into the ruins.

“I have heard of this, but never seen it before,” Solas mused with amazement as he took the torch and lit it with the green fire. “It is called Veilfire.  It is a form of sympathetic magic, a memory of flame that burns in this world where the Veil is thin.”

Leading them through the passage Mi’Dirtha had seen, and down a flight of stairs into the heart of the ruins, Solas hesitated on the steps as they came to a platform and the stairs turned to head further down.  He traced his hand along the wall to see that a glittering ancient elven rune had been inscribed there and was being picked up by the green firelight in the torch.

“The Veilfire must be making the runes legible,” he mused quietly.  “Fascinating.  This seems to be the elven word ise for ‘fire’.”

As Mi’Dirtha reached out to run her fingers over the magic rune, she heard more demons below and snapped back her hand.  Luckily they all had heard the sound before they saw them, and all three of the elves stopped in the passage to strain and look around the bend in the starwell to see what lay ahead of them.  The slightest hint of green light flickering in the space below suggested wisps at the very least, but they heard nothing more that would tell them what any other demons there were---only that they were there.

Nodding one to another, they all agreed to let Mi’Dirtha take point as she drew her sword and took the first few steps as silently as she could down.  Behind her was Mihris, and Solas came up to the rear with the Veilfire torch.  As she took the last step onto the dank, cold stone floor, Mi’Dirtha immediately spotted the wisps and nodded back to the others.  Mihris wielded her staff and sent out a wave of electric tendrils to course through the space, illuminating it as it struck around the wisps, and revealing for a moment two more Shades in an open space in front of the stairs.  All of the demons were thrown into alert and rushed toward them.  Solas dropped the torch and spread out his hand to lift the barrier a moment before he set a glittering red glyph of fire on the floor in front of Mi’Dirtha.  She gasped and took a step back as a barrage of huge fireballs rained down within the swirling lines of the glyph, seeming to come from the ceiling as they impacted the Shades and wisps in the darkness.  One of the demons caught fire, screaming as it came at her, and she held out her greatsword to block its advance.  It snarled and screamed as she pushed it back, breaking the block and driving the point of the huge blade into the Shade’s head.  It vanished, swirling away into black smoke as another glided up to her side.  A fireball from Solas again caught the demon on fire and she brought her sword down in a wide arc from above to crush it into the ground.  Then, everything was quiet except for the sounds of their racing breaths in the darkness once again.

“I can sense elven magic somewhere nearby,” Solas spoke as the Veilfire torch’s light filled the room again from where he had picked it up and held it out.

“There,” Mihris pointed to the far side of the room where the Veilfire caught across a glassy orb to glimmer in the darkness.  “If we activate that crystal, it should react to the strength of the veil.”

Mi’Dirtha walked toward the object, slinging her sword as she moved.  The closer she got, the more her mark seemed to flare and pulse, sending a shock up her arm in time with her own heartbeat.  She hissed against the sensation and held out the glowing hand to the orb, its frame lighting up as her fingers met its surface.

“Yes, the wards are helping to strengthen the veil,” Solas said from behind her, the smile in his voice apparent as the orb glittered to life with swirling green energy.  “This area should be safer for travelers now.”

“Well, that should prove useful,” Mihris chuckled lightly as she stooped to pick up something near the artifact.  “And it seems that the ancestors left something for me as well.  Interesting.”  

Mi’Dirtha scowled again, looking down at her and then back up to Solas.  The object was small---a stone about the size of her palm, and inscribed with a rune that glittered.  It looked to be the same as the one that had been written on the wall just up the stairs, and she knew what it was the moment her eyes landed on it.  

“I believe that our alliance is concluded,” Mihris chimed happily, starting back to begin the climb back up from the ruins.  “Go in peace, stranger.”

“Mana ma halani,” Mi’Dirtha chastised Mihris as she turned away.  “There are few people I can trust in this world without my own people turning against me.  Have I not proven myself?  I’m of your blood, and I may be able to make use of what you’ve found.”

Mihris turned again, clutching the stone closer, but saying nothing.

“Ma halani, ma glandival,” Solas added, his eyes dark and strange as they were cast in the green light of the Veilfire.  “Vir enasalin.”

Mihris’ eyes glinted in the green light, flashing back and forth between Mi’Dirtha and Solas, and she could almost see the cogs in the woman’s head spinning and doing the calculations as to whether or not she could fight them both and survive.  It made Mi’Dirtha twitch slightly, but she stepped forward and held out her hand, palm up as if to demand the item.

“Do you even know what that is or what it does?” Mi’Dirtha asked Mihris coldly.  “Because I assure you that I do and I have the knowledge needed to make use of it properly.”

“I. . . Perhaps you are right,” the woman softened and pressed the stone into Mi’Dirtha’s hand.  “Here, take it.  Go with Mythal’s blessing.”

Mi’Dirtha nodded and stayed back with Solas as they watched her leave.  When she was well and truly gone, she turned to him and pressed the stone into his hand with a smile.

“Here,” she smirked and started to walk forward as he idly walked behind her.  “You’re the mage.  I think you’ll find this more valuable than I would.”

“Do you actually know what this is?” Solas asked with excitement in his voice, rolling the stone over in his palm.

“Of course,” Mi’Dirtha gestured, pointing to the stone as she chuckled softly.  “That is an elemental rune stone.  It’s a major component for enchanting a foci that will enhance a mage’s ability to draw upon the Fade to call magic in the form of fire.  Like I said, it will be more useful to you than me.”

Solas stopped in his tracks and Mi’Dirtha glanced back to see him wid-eyed and agog.

“What?” she shrugged and turned back toward the stairs.  “I do read, after all.”

Chapter Text

As Mi’Dirtha had hoped, she and Solas more than made up for their errand to find Blackwall and the misadventure they had with Mihris and Solas’ artifact.  They had stayed the night in the elven ruins that night to explore it a bit better and without hurry, knowing it to be the safest place to sleep given how close they were to the orb.  So far, their trip had gone off without any major hindrances, and they were practically invisible as hoped---two elves just making their way north in Ferelden.  The weather also warmed again as they moved toward the coast, which added to her good mood.  Paired with the success at both missions in the Hinterlands and the company, she was in the best spirits she had been in a very long time.  Now, they were four days in and just about halfway to their destination when they came upon a small inn around sunset.

They mutually decided to make use of their good luck to stay the night before they would hit the dismal weather that gave the Storm Coast its name.  Having already been sleeping in close quarters, Solas suggested that they save their coin by ordering a double room.  While Mi’Dirtha stabled their horses, he paid the innkeeper with their thanks, and they made their way inside.  The room was just large enough for the two beds and a small fireplace that had been lit and stoked for them, but it was clean, warm, and dry, which was likely more than they would get for the second leg of their journey.  Mi’Dirtha shucked off her sword and gear, laying it at the foot of one of the beds with Solas following suit at the other and setting his staff against the wall near the headboard.  She sat on the edge of the bed and curled up her legs to rub at the bare flats of her feet, stiff from the saddle stirrups that they needed with the horses, and tightened her leg wraps from where they had loosened over the day’s ride.  Across from her, Solas dressed down to his sleeveless underbodice that matched his leg wraps and rubbed the top of his head as he watched her casually.

“We should be on the coast in record time at this pace,” he huffed in contentment.

“I certainly hope so,” Mi’Dirtha laughed softly.  “I’m still not used to riding horseback for such long stretches.  I’ll be glad to be on foot again.”

“You will get the knack of it,” he assured her.  “You are learning everything else with relative ease.  Horse skills come with practice as everything does.”

Mi’Dirtha hummed her agreement and flopped back on the bed with a contented sigh.  She would never admit it out loud, but she was becoming more and more fond of shemlen beds.  It was nice to be off the rockier parts of the ground so common in Ferelden, and they made these delightful things so damned soft.  Solas snickered at her, straightened, and stretched his arms overhead to relieve the stiffness in his back.  She rolled over on one side and propped her head up on one hand to look up at him.  His arms and shoulders were slender, but leanly muscular and the frame of his chest was more slight without the illusion of the bulky, knitted overtunic that he always wore.  After a moment, Mi’Dirtha realized that she had never actually seen him without it until now.

In fact, there was much of Solas that Mi’Dirtha hadn’t seen.  She barely knew him, and while they had fought and traveled together for almost two months now, she hadn’t really gotten to know him all that well.  For all that he said, he spoke of himself very rarely, and at this point, he absolutely knew more about her than he did about him.  Maybe it was because she had never really asked, and that thought made her stop and take stock of why that was the case.

“How did you know that Mihris was lying, Solas?” Mi’Dirtha asked, allowing her puzzlement to come out unfiltered.  “Back in the Hinterlands.”

“In my travels, I had met with Clan Virnehn on the plains of Dirthavaren,” he sighed, releasing his stretch.  “They were much like any other Dalish clan that I have met on my travels, and I did not stay long in their company.  After what came of the elves in Halam’shiral, I heard of the fate of their clan.  It is such a shameless waste.”

“I see,” she pondered.  “I had heard about some of what had happened, but clearly not all.”

“I imagine you wouldn’t,” Solas sat up against the headboard of his bed, raising one knee and resting his arm over it while he stretched the other out.  “The Orlesians tend not to be particularly forthcoming about the relations of the elves in their empire.  That is more or less why I decided to see it for myself.”

“That makes sense,” Mi’Dirtha smiled, sitting up again to face him as she started to undo her hair.  “You seem the type to do everything with forethought.  I’d like to know more about you.”

“Why?” he asked, a hint of defensiveness and suspicion in his voice as his stormy grey eyes focused on her.

“You’re an apostate, yet you risked your life and your freedom to help the Inquisition,” Mi’Dirtha asserted.

“Not the wisest course of action when framed that way,” his answer was still wary.

“I appreciate your company.  You have been kind to me, and the work that you’re doing is invaluable,” she unwound the bun at the back of her head into its long braid and started to unpick the plait.  “But that’s just about all I know about you even though we’ve been at one another’s backs for weeks.”

“I am sorry,” he smiled softly.  “With all the fear in the air. . . What would you know of me?”

“What made you start studying the Fade?” Mi’Dirtha asked, picking the gentlest and safest topic as she ran her fingers through her glossy black curls to shake them loose over her back.

“I grew up in a village to the north.  There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic.  But as I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined,” Solas smiled wistfully and his voice grew reverent.  “I treasured my dreams.  Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome.”

“Did any of the spirits try to tempt you?” She rested her cheek on her hand, elbow resting against her knee as she continued to play with her hair and loosen it from being braided up so long.

“No more than brightly colored fruit is deliberately tempting you to eat it,” he chuckled lightly.  “I learned quickly how to defend myself from the more aggressive spirits and how to safely interact with the rest.  I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness.  There was so much I wanted to explore.”

“But clearly you didn’t spend your entire life dreaming,” she prodded, matching his smile.

“No,” Solas sighed looking out toward the wall with the fireplace.  “Eventually, after a time I was unable to find new areas in the Fade.”

“Why?” she hung on his words with eager attention.

“Two reasons,” he held up two fingers loosely and gestured as he spoke.  “First, the Fade reflects the world around it.  Unless I traveled, I would never find anything new.  Second, the Fade reflects and is limited by our imaginations.  To find interesting areas, one must be interesting.”

“I see,” she mused idly.  “Is this why you joined the Inquisition?”

“I joined the Inquisition because we are all in terrible danger,” he asserted gravely.  “If our enemies destroyed the world, I would have nowhere to lay my head while dreaming of the Fade.”

“That’s very noble of you,” Mi’Dirtha sighed.  “I wish I could say the same.  I hope that we can give you a safe place to dream of the Fade again no matter where you go.”

“Thank you,” Solas perked up, his smile growing a little as he looked at her again.  “In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade.”

“Oh?” she cocked her head slightly to the side.  “Why is that?”

“You strengthen your body to deliver and withstand punishment.  The muscles are an enjoyable side benefit,” he gestured at her.  “You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy.  As have I.”

“Oh?” Mi’Dirtha grinned.  “You find my muscles enjoyable, do you?”

“I meant that you enjoyed having them, presumably,” he smirked.

“Ah,” she sighed and he looked away for a moment.

“But. . . yes,” he looked back across at her, the smirk widening as his eyes held her focus entirely.  “Since you asked.”

Mi’Dirtha could feel herself flush and she laughed quietly.  The response was more coy and earnest than she had expected, and a pause lingered in the air between them with his heavy gaze holding her intently.

He has the most intense and beautiful grey eyes. . .

She shook herself loose, sighing as she raked her hand up through her curls, and hiding a little under her hair to gather herself again.

“You said that you had traveled to many different places,” Mi’Dirtha asserted, changing the topic and coming back up to meet his eyes again.

Solas turned from her again and grunted slightly as he stretched out his other leg and rested his hands against his chest, fiddling with his jawbone amulet idly.

“This world and its memory is reflected in the Fade, as I said.  Dream in ancient ruins and you may see a city lost to history.  Some of my own fondest memories were found in crumbling cities, long picked dry by treasure seekers.  The best are the battlefields,” he turned to look at her, gesturing as his excitement wound up.  “Spirits press so tightly against the Veil that you can slip across with but a thought.”

“Any place in particular that you especially enjoyed?” Mi’Dirtha asked excitedly, matching his energy.

“I dreamt at Ostagar.  I witnessed the brutality of the Darkspawn and the valor of the Ferelden warriors.  I saw King Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden light the signal fire. . . and Logain’s infamous betrayal of Cailen’s forces,” Solas’ face lit up.

“I’ve heard the stories!” Mi’Dirtha was enraptured.  “It would be so interesting to hear what it was really like!”

“That’s just it!” Solas practically sang.  “In the Fade, I see reflections created by spirits who react to the emotions of the warriors.  One moment, I see heroic Wardens lighting the fire and a power-hungry villain sneering as he lets King Cailen fall.  The next, I see an army overwhelmed and a veteran commander refusing to let more soldiers die in a lost cause.”

“And you can’t tell which one is real?” Mi’Dirtha could feel her brow draw in fascination.

“It is the Fade,” Solas said matter-of-factly.  “They are all real.”

“Fascinating,” Mi’Dirtha exclaimed quietly, pausing to think.  “Have you always traveled alone?”

“Not at all,” Solas sighed happily.  “I have built many lasting friendships.  Spirits of Wisdom, possessed of ancient knowledge, happy to share what they had seen.  Spirits of Purpose helped me to search.  Even wisps, curious and playful, would point out treasures I may have missed.”

“I’ve never heard of any spirits by those names,” Mi’Dirtha murmured.

“That is because they rarely seek this world.  When they do, their natures do not often survive exposure to the people they encounter,” his voice grew sad and grave again.  “Wisdom and Purpose are too easily twisted into Pride and Desire.”

“So you became friends with Pride and Desire demons?” Mi’Dirtha asked quizzically, careful to keep judgment out of her voice.

“They were not demons for me,” Solas insisted.

“Meaning?” she pressed, fascinated and wanting to hear more.

“Since the Fade reflects the minds of the living, if you expect a Spirit of Wisdom to be a Pride Demon, it will adapt to that expectation.  And if your mind is free of corrupting influences, if you understand the nature of the spirit?  They can be fast friends,” his smile returned, a reflection of his fond friends.

“That’s amazing!” Mi’Dirtha chuckled, taking in this new information and pondering on it as it softened in her mind.

“Anyone who can dream has the potential, but few ever try,” he assured her brightly.  “My friends have comforted me in grief and shared my joy.  Yet, because they exist without form as we understand it, the Chantry declares that spirits are not truly people.  Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith?  Varric by his chest hair and not his wit?”

“You have the most interesting and refreshing way of looking at the world, Solas,” Mi’Dirtha smiled up at him.

“I try. . . and that isn’t quite an answer,” he gave her a sly and flirtatious smile.

“Well, I look forward to helping you make new friends wherever we go,” Mi’Dirtha bantered back playfully.

A sudden touch of pink rose in his cheeks and he looked genuinely surprised.

“That should be. . . well. . .” he looked away shyly and cleared his throat and she snickered a little.

Creators, bless me!  Is he. . . blushing?  He has absolutely no business looking this adorable.

Mi’Dirtha appreciated the fluster on Solas’ face for a  moment longer, then rolled onto her back on the mattress, stretched out her legs, and rested her hands behind her head with a slight grunt as she stretched and relaxed.

“And what of you, Mi’Dirtha Lavellan---the swordswoman with no past?  How did you come to be a hunter and the commander of a spy team leagues away from your homeland?” Solas asked back, turning to rest his elbow on the headboard and supporting his head to look down on her.  “What I have gathered from my experiences of the Dalish tells me that women are generally relegated to more. . . submissive and domestic roles.  I know that there are exceptions, of course.  I am curious as to what yours was.”

“Like most things about me, everything about my becoming a hunter was an exception,” Mi’Dirtha sighed heavily and pressed one hand back into her glossy black curls to push them from her face.  “I guess that the greatest reason for choosing my profession was my skill with the blade.  As I said, my hands found my greatsword with ease before anything else came back to me.  It took me nearly a year to regain my language, but I had already been acknowledged as the best swordsman of my clan well before then.”

“No doubt your Keeper believed you to be blessed,” Solas mused quietly.  “Perhaps even a good omen for your clan.”

“I’d like to think so.  If my mother ever believed that to be true, she has never spoken of it.  To the contrary, many in the clan actually feared me at first, believing me to be the incarnation of an evil spirit of the land with my dark skin and dark green eyes,” Mi’Dirtha laughed a little, gesturing dramatically at the ceiling.  “They all thought I had been sent to ruin them all.”

“What did you do?” Solas asked gravely.

“Well, right about the time that I was speaking again, the caravan was attacked by shemlen raiders from Tevinter as we passed near their border. The raiders found me first.  I was often at the edges of the caravan on my own back then, trying to escape the looks and whispers.  I don’t quite know what happened in me, but the blood rage took over my whole body and mind.  I’m not sure how many of them I killed before the other hunters arrived, maybe a dozen or more, but there were nearly thirty of them dead by the time we were finished.”

“Impressive,” Solas’ eyebrows rose in genuine surprise.

“It was as easy as breathing, like a dance.  I barely registered that I had been hit with several near-fatal blows---three by the sword and once with an arrow, here,” Mi’Dirtha sat up and lifted the right leg of her trousers to show off the thick scar on the top of her thigh.

“It must have struck deep,” Solas grimaced as he leaned a little forward to get a better look at the scar.

“I just remember screaming when it hit, reaching down, snapping the haft off, and lifting my sword to block another attack,” Mi’Dirtha pulled the trouser leg back down and shuffled up to press her back into the headboard of her bed.  “Every one of us was still standing at the end of the battle.  In that moment, when everything fell as quiet as the dead around us, the other hunters gathered around me and placed their hands on me, naming me Clan Lavellan’s Defender.”

“You must have been very proud,” Solas smiled softly at her.

“I was more exhausted than proud, to be honest,” Mi’Dirtha snickered and let out a deep sigh as she smiled back up at him.  “They had to carry me back to the caravan and I passed out along the way.  It took the healers about a week to bring me back to health.  When I had fully recovered, my mother held a special ceremony for me.  She gave me my name and my vallaslin, officially recognized me as her Defender, and claimed me as her daughter to welcome me permanently into the clan.”

“That’s a lot to happen in a single day,” Solas mused with an incredulous chuckle.

“It really was!” Mi’Dirtha shook her head idly.  “And the change was uncomfortable.  I went from being the person that everyone whispered about to being saluted and honored everywhere I went.  Still, I wanted to be worthy of that honor, and have dedicated the last nine years to being their protector.  Naturally, when Mother heard of the Chantry’s Conclave, we decided together that it would be wise to keep ourselves informed if the nature of their war changed so that we could protect the clan.  I hand-picked a team of my six best hunters to come with me.”

“That certainly makes sense.  Your Keeper was very wise to listen to you on the matter.  Most Dalish don’t pay any heed to the politics of the world.  At least you were interested enough to try,”  Solas’s smile dropped a little into remorse.  “But I am sorry for the loss of your kin in the explosion.”

“Ma serannas,” Mi’Dirtha answered quietly.  “Josvel, Taehorn, Adava, Hariel, Fiothra, and Shanowen. . . They were more than kin to me.  Hariel had just welcomed his first daughter into the clan.  Josvel and Taehorn were twins.  Their father must be heartbroken to have lost both sons so young.  Shanowen was the best dancer, graceful, and heartbreakingly beautiful.  She wanted to marry, but the bow called to her more than any man ever could.  Adava was my first true friend in the clan.  I had never met a person more talented with knifework, and I loved her like my own sister.  Fiothra. . .” Mi’Dirtha choked a little.  “He was my apprentice.  I was training him to be my second, then to take over for when I was to retire.  He was so excited to learn. . . May Falon’din take their souls and rest them in peace.”

“Ma nuvenin,” Solas added softly to her prayer.

“Clan Lavellan has come to mean much to me and I am afraid to be away when so much chaos and loss is happening.  I was never supposed to be gone this long, and with the others dead, there are not enough left with the skill or experience needed to protect the clan and feed them properly.  I should have left Fiothra behind, but he would have been so heartbroken to be relegated to the rears. . .”

“I can see why you are so sick for your home and desire a quick return.” Solas nodded in his understanding.  “I had expected it to be more a matter of relational ties---a husband perhaps, or children.”

Mi’Dirtha murmured quietly and let out a long thin sigh.

Might as well tell him.  It’s not like we’re in the company of keeping secrets now.

“Well, no,” Mi’Dirtha sputtered out another loud breath.  “I’m not married, nor will I ever be.  I’m not a true woman of the clan, and as such, I am unmarriageable.”

“Odd,” Solas raised an eyebrow at her and scowled slightly.  “Did you not gain full fellowship when your Keeper claimed you?  It would be strange for someone so important to your clan to not be eligible or married with children at your age.”

“No, I did, but there was. . . a complication,” Mi’Dirtha rolled around the words in her head, thinking of the best way to say what she wanted to.  “The Dalish, regardless of clan, expect the primary role of women should be to bring more Dalish into the world.  They all feel that the best hope for the preservation of our culture and history is to make it our solemn duty to ensure that the Children of the Dales are never removed from the world.”

“Yes,” Solas spat, a curse from his lips.  “I know of this belief.  It has cost many Dalish women much.”

“I cannot have children,” Mi’Dirtha sighed.  “I will never conceive, carry, or birth a child of the Dalish.”

Solas’ eyes narrowed and his expression darkened, but he let her talk without judgment.  She couldn’t imagine that he would have been unaccepting, but it was always a point of silent burden that Mi’Dirtha had carried.  Others knew, of course, but it was not spoken of.

“It’s uncertain how exactly it happened because it is beyond my memory, but when the hunters found me in the river, I was badly wounded, bloody, naked, and at Falon’din’s feet.  I have had many years to think about how I came to be that way, and the wounds, the scars, the nightmares. . . they give me no hope that I was spared from violence of the worst kinds,”  Mi’Dirtha’s hand rested on her abdomen over the scar she new was there, three fingers below her belly button.  “Whether intentional or not, whatever caused me to lose my memory. . . my womb was cut from me.”

“That. . . I’m so sorry,” Solas gasped, his brow knitting together in a sympathetic pain and looking down from her eyes.  “That must have been. . . very challenging for you to discover.”

“It was at first.  I mourned motherhood and wifery for a time, but I learned quickly that I had more to offer.  I may never have the blessing to carry on the legacy of our blood, but I am more than able to preserve our culture---to learn all that I can of what was lost, and to be an example of that legacy as I pass it onto the next generation of hunters,” Mi’Dirtha sighed and gave Solas a reassuring smile.  “I have even loved once or twice and taken several lovers.  None ever intended marriage, of course, but there is a freedom in that which I have come to enjoy and prefer.  Being barren places me as rev’ashe--- neither man nor woman.   I am not protected by our laws, but they also do not restrict me.  I am free to live my life as a man would.  I am able to embrace my devotions with my entire life.  My aravel is my own and no one else’s.  If that is not a blessing after all that I have endured, I’m not sure what is.”

“You also have a unique way of looking at the world, Mi’Dirtha,” Solas’ voice was low and gentle.  “Most would not have handled that manner of loss with such grace.”

“Thank you,” Mi’Dirtha sighed happily and a moment’s pause passed between them.

“So, no husband then?” Solas asked coyly.

“No, and no wife either,” she laughed.  “No one has ever even hinted that they ever had such designs on me.  That’s likely because I have always made it very clear that I am wedded to the clan first and always.  Everything else is secondary.”

“But you have managed to have relations and lovers of many kinds?  Men and women both?" The question seemed more curious than prodding.

“And one nifty fellow rev’ashe,” she snickered playfully.  “They were perhaps the closest I ever got to being serious about settling down.”

“I see,”  Solas leaned back against the headboard again.  “Were, meaning past tense.”

“I didn’t have the time to give that my Davii needed for me to keep their heart.  They left me three winters ago,” Mi’Dirtha smiled fondly at the memory of her love.  “I think of them from time to time, though less now than before.  I know now that they were right to go when they did.  There is no room in my life to promise anyone the kind of time that a wife would require of me--- especially now.  I’ve been more reserved with myself since then.”

“I suppose that you are right,” he huffed slightly.  “This situation with the Breach hardly provides itself well to the possibility of any devotion beyond survival at the moment.”

“And what about you, Solas?” Mi’Dirtha heaved a heavy sigh as she laid back on her bed again, sinking into the mattress.  “Anyone charming and beautiful in your life?  A dashing husband, or doting wife?”

“No,” he let his head rest against the stone wall behind the headboard.  “I’ve not had any such personal relations since I was a young man.  Like you, I have not had the time for attachments with my studies and travels in the Fade.  I have not wanted for one either, so it is hardly a sacrifice.”

“That does raise an interesting question, though I imagine it would be rude to ask for specifics,” Mi’Dirtha pondered out loud.  “Many people do have dreams of lovers while in the Fade, and if one can have friendships in the Fade, would it be possible to have lovers there, or perhaps reflections of lovers, instead of in our world?  It wouldn’t be physical in a way that someone with a body would know it, given that spirits are formless.  I  also imagine that it could be dangerous for all involved when there are so many ways that forms of connection like that can be corrupted.  Still, it's an intriguing thing to think about, if nothing else.”

“That is perhaps the least offensive and most thoughtful way I have ever heard that question asked,” Solas laughed loudly.  “And it is a common one, I assure you.  You’re not the only one who has been curious about such things.  Physical beings seem to be so possessed of things such as sex.”

“Aren’t spirits too, though?” Mi’Dirtha asked pointedly.  “You say that they cling to the Veil near battlefields, reliving the physical and emotional experiences of warriors.  What’s to keep them from being curious of other sensations as well?  There are few things in the world that are more sought after than good food, refreshing wine, a good smoke, and the release of a night with a lover.  People kill and die for them all the time.  I think it would be strange if spirits were only fascinated with violence and not everything else that having a physical body would have to offer.”

“Excellent points,” Solas considered her questions thoughtfully.  “Yes, some spirits do seek those kinds of experiences out as well.  It is dangerous, as you say, and complicated in practice. . . but possible.”

“Does that change your answer from earlier?” Mi’Dirtha asked with smug amusement.  “About having some beautiful lover in your life.”

“No,” Solas chuckled again, blushing slightly.  “Though it does. . . alter the timeline by a few years.”

“It certainly seems less scandalous when you really think about it, but dear Creators how everyone in the Chantry would explode if they knew you could do such a thing!” Mi’Dirtha giggled.  “They have a hard enough time curbing sex in the physical world.  Apostates would spring up like weeds!  We certainly must never tell them.  Your secret is well and truly safe with me, Solas.  For the common good.”

“I am. . . well. . .” he cleared his throat again and she swore that his blush was spreading to his head.  “Thank you. . . that is. . . a kindness.”

“It is a small thing, lethallin,” she assured him.  “I wouldn’t want you crying from the rooftops that I’ve likely spent more time between women’s thighs than half the men in the Inquisition.  Seems polite to return the sentiment.”

“Then you are more polite than just about every other person I have ever met,” Solas mused, sliding down into his bed with a snort.  “Which is fascinating when you align that fact with how terribly crude you are.”

“I’d rather be crude than a prude,” Mi’Dirtha scoffed.  “But that’s probably enough talk for the night.  We need to be rested for the Storm Coast.”

“Indeed,” Solas yawned and stretched, rolling over to right himself into the covers.

Mi’Dirtha followed suit and snuggled down, yawning as well.

“Hey, Solas,” she said softly into the firelight, watching the flickering dance of the flames across the stones.

“Yes?” His voice was also quiet.

“Good night, and sweet dreams,” she cooed.

“And to you as well,” he replied with a small chuckle.  “Mi’Dirtha.”

* * *

Their travel was more casual and relaxed after that night, which was good given the nature of the second half of their trip.  If they were sleeping in close quarters before, they were beyond shame now as they crammed themselves into a small tent together.  They doubled up their oiled bedrolls, sleeping closely huddled together in the inner layer to conserve heat and with their gear shoved into the other to escape the mess that the rain inevitably made of the ground all around them by morning.  Solas shared more of his favorite stories of the Fade and Mi’Dirtha about her days as a hunter.  They talked about the Inquisition, where they hoped it would lead, and when they would both leave once the Breach was sealed.  Solas still stuck more or less to his usual formalities during the day, saying that it would keep them both in good form when they got back to Haven.  She grew used to it and saw the sense in how it would look for him to be so casual with her when everyone else was walking around calling her “Herald” wherever she went.

“I’m still unsure which to choose,” Mi’Dirtha mused solemnly.  “Each has their strengths and weaknesses.”

“I believe that it is wise to consider both,” Solas responded, adjusting the rain cover over his shoulders.  “The Templar route could have safer consequences in the long run, but getting to them may prove more difficult.  There is also no certainty that the Commander is correct in his assumption that there are enough of the Templars remaining that are not slaves to the Lord Seeker.  There may only be a handful that feel positively about the Inquisition, let alone the Breach and that may not be enough to achieve our goals.”

“And on the other hand, we have a clear path to an alliance with the Mage Rebellion,” Mi’Dirtha bantered back.  “I admit that I am more sympathetic to their cause.”

“As am I,” Solas agreed.  “Though that can hardly be the sole basis of such serious consideration.”

“I’m also certain that you’d be the first to agree that having that many mages in one place where the Veil is especially thin could be dangerous, and they are not at all as practiced as you are to resist corrupting the spirits there.  It could make us a target for the Templars as well, and further distance the Inquisition from the political support of the Chantry.”

“You would likely find a similar problem on all fronts with the Templars as allies, I’m afraid,” Solas reminded her soundly.  “They are not friends to the Chantry either, and they would likely have trouble adjusting to the company of the apostates that the Inquisition has taken in, myself included.”

Mi’Dirtha hissed against the rain.  She hadn’t considered that yet either.  What would come of the mages who had freely joined their cause already?  What would happen to Solas?  Her promise to keep him away from the Circle’s iron doors and stone walls rose up in the back of her mind and gnawed at her.  Even though they both planned on leaving after the Breach was sealed, could she live with enabling an entire army of Templars who may turn their allies toward violence against them once she was gone?

“There just isn’t a right answer here,” Mi’Dirtha huffed in her displeasure.

“There rarely are,” Solas murmured.  “But, if that sentiment holds true, there are also no wrong answers to the situation either.”

“For all his case, I have to say that the more I think it over, I am still more comfortable with the mages, despite what the Commander says.  There are fewer foreseeable problems and a greater chance of achieving the goal of sealing the Breach.  Then, if the others wish to seek out the Templars, they will be free to do so, and my conscience will be clear because I will be back in the Free Marches training the new hunters for my clan.”

“It sounds like you have decided then,” Solas asserted with a smile from under his wet hood.

“I think so,” Mi’Dirtha agreed assuredly.  “Unless there is some kind of overwhelming news that fundamentally changes the equation between here and Haven, I think that the mages are my choice, yes.”

“Well, you will have no complaints from me.  It is wise to keep your mind open to the possibility of new information, but do not hastily discount your own counsel at the first press,” Solas reminded her.  “And, if it provides you some peace of mind, I am willing to assist however I am able to ensure that any mage who joins will have access to my knowledge of preventing possession.”

“Ma serannas,” Mi’Dirtha returned the smile.  “That does give me comfort.  I’m sure that the few ex-Templars, Cassandra, and the Commander will also do what they can to assist in keeping everyone safe.”

“Certainly,” Solas assured her hardily.

Mi’Dirtha stopped her horse for a moment and looked around at the rocky forested landscape.  It was easy to get turned around in the rain, and she had only been through here once before on her way down to get to the Conclave.

“I’m sure we have to be getting close,” she pulled the map out and tried to unfold it slightly under her rain cover so as not to get it wet.

Solas stopped as well and reached out his hands to cast an arc of his barrier over her to protect her and the map from the rain.

“Ah! Ma serannas!  That’s quite useful,” Mi’Dirtha smiled up at him happily before looking back down on the map and tracing along their path, tapping on their destination.  “Yes.  Okay.  They should only be a couple more minutes up to the north along this pass.”

Folding up the map and tucking it back into her robes, Solas released the barrier and they continued on their path.  Surely enough, in about ten minutes, they turned, passing by a small copse of trees, and the small camp came into view.

“Ho!” One of the scouts shouted.  “It’s the Herald!”

They pressed on into the camp and dismounted, handing the reins of their mounts into expectant hands.

“Your Worship,” Scout Harding greeted them glumly, grimacing against the rain.  “For what it’s worth, welcome to the Storm Coast.”

“Hello, Harding,” Mi’Dirtha greeted her back.  “What’s the word out here?”

“Well, I would have sent a message earlier, but our efforts out here have been delayed,” the dwarven woman huffed and crossed her hands behind her back.

Solas disappeared into the camp to assess their supplies, restock, and prepare their gear, and Mi’Dirtha watched him go out of the corner of her eye.

“How so?” She asked, a hint of worry sneaking into her voice.

“There’s a group of bandits operating in the area.  They know the terrain and our small party has had trouble going up against them,”  Harding’s brow creased a little at delivering the bad news.  “Some of our soldiers went off to speak with their leader.  Haven’t heard back though.”

“I’ll do what I can to find our people,” Mi’Dirtha assured her with a nod.

“Thank you, Your Worship.  That’s a relief,” Harding gave her a small smile.  “The soldiers didn’t have an exact location for the bandits, but they were starting their search a little further down the beach.  With all this fuss, we haven’t been able to do a proper search here for the Wardens as Sister Nightingale directed either.”

“I see,” Mi’Dirtha nodded again gravely.

“Also, Your Worship, it may be worthwhile to note that some of our people have spotted a handful of boats along the shoreline bearing the Templar Crest,” the dwarf gave her a solemn look.  “So far, they all look to be abandoned and we haven’t seen any of them moving through the area, but you might want to keep an eye out for them as well.”

“Good work, Harding,” Mi’Dirtha gave her a small pat on the shoulder.  “We will see about Bull’s Chargers first.  If they prove useful, maybe we can use their help here.”

“It would be nice to have some reinforcements, that’s for sure,” Harding’s smile grew at the prospect.  “Well, good luck on all fronts, and enjoy the sea air.  I hear it’s good for the soul.”

Mi’Dirtha hadn’t really noticed it before, but as Harding walked away and back into the camp, she did note how the crisp note of salty ocean air was refreshing.  Taking a deep breath, she relaxed, feeling its calm and savoring the smell as she closed her eyes to more fully focus on the sensations.  It truly was good for her soul.  Overhead, a small flock of seabirds cried out and she smiled.  When she opened her eyes again, she saw Solas walking back toward her, and he wasn’t alone.

Can it be?

Standing next to him was a young, pale elf with sparkling blue eyes, and his long blonde hair hung loose down his shoulders, soaked through by the ocean rain.  His eyes locked onto hers and he smiled wide.  Mi’Dirtha gasped and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.  He hugged her tight to his chest and lifted her off of the ground to give her a solid squeeze and they both laughed.

“Mythal’enaste!  Aneth ara, da’len!  What magic is this to find you here?” Mi’Dirtha’s smile almost brought tears to her eyes.

They paused for a moment, cupping each other’s cheeks in their hands, and pressing their foreheads together.  It was all she could do to keep herself from breaking into open sobs at the sight of him.  It was him!  He was actually here!

“Mother sends her best,” his light voice also cracked with emotion for her.

“When I heard that we were coming to the coast, I wrote to your Keeper again,” Solas smiled and leaned on his staff.  “I requested that she send your sword.  I had no idea that it would come with such a courier.”

“Solas,” she turned to him, so happy that she could bounce right out of her skin.  “This is Elucian, my little brother.  Elucian, this is Solas, a friend and new cohort.”

Solas bowed his head slightly and Elicuan returned the gesture.

“So, da’len, you have brought me my sword?” Mi’Dirtha beamed, smiling up at her little brother.

“And another gift from Craftmaster Grent,” Elucian smiled brightly, downing a large pack in front of him, and opened the top flap to reveal a new gleaming set of fine ironbark armor.  “Only the very best for my big sister, Lavellan’s Defender.”

Mi’Dirtha gasped and gripped his arm to shake him playfully as she laughed.  Then, he unslung her giant greatsword from his back and handed it to her.  It was wrapped in waxed linen to protect it, and she smiled as she undid the ties to unwrap it and removed the harness that she had made for it from ram leather.

Her old friend.

The greatsword was six hands long and one hand wide at its broadest point, and the blade flashed as it caught the light.  Its guard spread out from below the hilt into a four-pointed diamond with sinister-looking points at each tip, and the hilt itself was wrapped in black leather for the grip with a bright golden cabochon at the pommel.  The menacing blade was banded and mottled with black and bright silver streaks that looked like oil caught across the surface of the water, and its single cutting edge was sharp and finely keened, making it far more deadly than the hunk of cold steel that she had been hefting about all across Ferelden and Orlais.  She proudly handed the sword to Solas, who took it carefully and wondered at it.

“A fine example,” he gauged the blade, smoothly noting its craftsmanship and taking in every detail.  “Crafted beautifully, light given its size, but balanced.  The banding is an old technique used to combine the strength of onyx steel with the flexibility of the lighter silverite.”

“Amazing!” Mi’Dirtha’s eyebrows shot up as she took back the sword.  “Do you know where it was made?”

Solas’ expression tightened a little and his eyes weighed heavily on the blade.

“This sword is undoubtedly Tevinter in origin,” he tried his best to sound neutral, a hint of severity in his voice.  “The banding technique was refined in Tevinter in the Steel Age during the First Qunari War, almost three hundred years ago.  Marnus Pell was where they perfected its use.”

“Tevinter,” Mi’Dirtha hummed, looking over her sword and also trying to keep herself neutral in the presence of her brother.

“Fitting,” the tall boy at her side smirked and let out a small, dark chuckle.  “You’ve used one of their own swords to slay so many of them, shen’mi.”

“I suppose that you’re right about that,” Mi’Dirtha harnessed the blade again and slung it over one shoulder.  “I can’t stay long, da’len.   Come and tell me of home while I put on Grent’s armor.”

Elucian smiled and nodded happily, picking up the pack as he followed her.  Mi’Dirtha shared a knowing look over her shoulder with Solas as they ducked into a small tent nearby, his stormy grey eyes burning into her.

There are only so many ways that an elf like me turns up half-dead in a river on the border of the Free Marches with a Tevinter sword. . . and I don’t like any of them.

“How is mother?” Mi’Dirtha squashed down her intrusive thoughts and asked Elucian as cheerfully as she could, undoing the ties on her rain gear and traveling clothes.

“She is well, as are we all,” he assured her.  “We are all in shock and still mourn for the others.  They are sorely missed, as are you.”

“Yes,” she sighed heavily.  “They truly are.”

“The remaining hunters have doubled down on training, and eight more have been chosen as protectors,” Elucian’s voice was grave and she caught a look at him as she pulled on the padded halla leather over her shirtwaist.

“So many,” Mi’Dirtha scowled.  “Is there trouble?”

“Not yet,” he hesitated in his answer.  “But there may be soon.  Wycome had been made unstable with all the chaos in the south.  The shemlen have been trying to deal with it, but this Breach and the death of their spiritual leaders has reached even us.”

“I see,” she sighed again, sliding on the cuirass and belting it into place.  “I wish that I could sprint home, but . .” she held out her left hand and tugged off her leather glove to reveal the mark.

Its eerie green light danced in the veins and flesh of her hand.  She had started wearing gloves now so often that it was almost easy to forget that it was there.  Almost.

“Mythal ar halani. . .” Elucian whispered, taking her hand in both of his as his brow knit together in genuine worry.  “I had heard, but seeing it. . .”

“With hope and the grace of the Creators, maybe it will go away once the Breach is sealed,” Mi’Dirtha pulled her hand back gently and huffed as she donned her heavy vambraces and pauldrons.  “Not enough is known about it to say for certain.”

“Does it pain you?” His voice was low, quiet, and full of suffering.

Mi’Dirtha paused in the middle of pulling on the ironbark shin guard and let out a thin breath as she hung her head.  She should lie to him.  She should tell him that everything was fine and that she would be home soon.  She could reach deep into the pit of her stomach and pull out the words, but he was family and nearly a grown man.  He would face his own trials soon and take his place among the clan.  Mother wanted him to follow in the tradition of craftsmen and apprentice with Grent, but he wanted to be a hunter and follow in her footsteps.  If he truly wished to walk that path, he would know blood.  He would likely know her blood.

“Yes, da’len.   It pains me much and often,” her voice was barely above a whisper.  “Though, it has its purposes, and I must make good use of them for us all.”

He heaved out a shaky sigh, but she didn’t look up to meet the pain in his eyes as she continued with her armor.

“Tell me more of home,” she urged him.  “How was the harvest?  Are Danhin and the others readying to track the ram paths yet?”

The two of them carried on like that for a few more minutes as Elucian helped her make the last adjustments to her new armor.  When they were finished, he reached for him and pulled him down to her forehead again, and they took a deep breath together.

“You must find your strength for Mother,” Mi’Dirtha held his eyes for a moment, giving him the only order that she ever did.  “Do it for me.”

Elucian nodded softly and she gave him the most reassuring smile she could muster before they strode out of the tent together and back into the rain.

“Give my blessings to Mother and the clan,” Mi’Dirtha insisted with a grin.  “And tell Grent that his armor is terrible.  I will require better from him in no less than a fortnight.”

“As you say, shen’mi,” Elucian laughed and she patted him on the arm solidly.

“Back home with you, da’len.  It’s dangerous here and I have much work to do,” Mi’Dirtha smirked at him as Solas found them.  “These people will get you a boat back across the sea if the one that brought you has already left.”

“Dareth shiral i on’gi’mya, esa’ma’len,” Elucian gave her one last hug before turning to leave.

“Dareth shiral, da’len,” Mi’Dirtha returned the sentiment, watching him go until the boy was out of her sight again, her heart stinging as he vanished.

“I cannot possibly find the words to thank you enough for this, lethallin,” Mi’Dirtha said softly, still staring at the spot where her brother had left her view.

“Nuva lasa su ma enaste,” Solas assured her softly.  “Now, let us find this Iron Bull.”

Chapter Text

There was no misunderstanding why Harding and her small company of scouts and soldiers had problems moving through the terrain here.  Just making it down the steep slope toward the beach proved difficult with the way stones and rocky earth seemed to shift underneath Mi’Dirtha’s feet, and she could see that Solas was having a similar difficulty.  With everything wet around them, it was hard to find a good grip, but at least she wasn’t in those gods-awful shemlen boots!  As they neared the base of the slope, the sounds of a scuffle nearby caught her ears and she perked up, looking out as they fumbled down the last few feet.

There were a number of shemlen, a dwarf, and a couple of elves engaging in battle over the wet sand, but the most notable among them all was a huge Qunari with long straight horns gracing his head, the edges turned up just at the tips, and from here, it looked like he wore a patch over his left eye.

The Iron Bull

Mi’Dirtha pulled her sword free of the harness, smiling that it hadn’t taken long at all for her to use it, and flew into the battle with Solas close behind.  She caught one of the men---Tevinter---by surprise from behind, and cut deep across the backs of his knees.  The Qunari warrior heard the man’s panicked and pained scream and whipped around to see her.  Assessing her with the one, bright eye, nearly turning his enormous double-sided axe on her, then he smiled wickedly and she returned the smile with a smirk of her own.  Between the assorted band of them, the Tevinters fell quickly, and Solas came to her side, flourishing his staff to swing up across his back.

“Chargers, stand down!” The Qunari man thundered, and they obeyed immediately as he turned to one of his men that Mi’Dirtha immediately recognized to be Cremisius.  “Krem, how’d we do?”

“Five or six wounded, Chief.  No dead,” the young man replied matter-of-factly.

“That’s what I like to hear,” the Qunari chuffed heartily.  “Let the throat cutters finish up, then break out the casks.”

“You got it, Chief!” Krem turned again and walked away from them.

The Qunari warrior turned toward Mi’Dirtha and Solas, a gleam in his eye, and walked up to them as he slung his axe over his shoulder.

“So you’re with the Inquisition, huh?” He extended his arm to Mi’Dirtha and she took his thick wrist in her hand to shake it solidly with a powerful squeeze.  “Glad you could make it.  Come on, have a seat.  Drinks are coming.”

“Iron Bull, I presume,” Mi’Dirtha grinned, gesturing to lead him away from the others to speak privately.  Solas didn’t follow, but stayed within range of his keen hearing.

“Yeah,” Iron Bull chuckled.  “The horns usually give it away.”

“Nicely done,” she chortled.  “I hear that you and your men are looking for work.”

“We are!  Not before my drink though,” Bull bantered back jovially, his good eye settling on her as they stopped and he waved over Krem.  “I assume that you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my Lieutenant.”

“Good to see you again,” Krem nodded at her and turned back to Bull.  “The throat cutters are done, Chief.”

“Already?  Have ‘em check again,” the Qunari insisted.  “I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away.  No offense.”

“None taken,” Cremisius shrugged and grinned wickedly as he turned to rejoin their men.  “Least a bastard knows who his mother is.  Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

“So, you’ve seen us work,” Iron Bull turned back to Mi’Dirtha and crossed his arms over his broad, thick chest.  “We're expensive but worth it. . . and I’m sure that the Inquisition can afford us.”

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company,” Mi’Dirtha turned slightly to look back over his men.  “How much will they cost us?”

“It wouldn’t cost you anything personally unless you wanna buy drinks later,” he assured her with another hardy chuckle.  “Your Ambassador---what’s her name---Josephine?  We’d go through her to get payments set up.  The gold will take care of itself, don’t worry about that.  All that matters is that we’re worth it.”

“That sounds reasonable enough,” Mi’Dirtha agreed.

“And you’re not just getting the boys,” Bull beamed, focusing on her with his eye.  “You’re getting me.”

“Interesting,” Mi’Dirtha also crossed her arms now, meeting Bull’s energy as she rubbed idly at her chin.  “I’m listening.”

“You need a frontline bodyguard?  I’m your man,” he lifted his chest proudly.  “Whatever it is---demons, dragons?  The bigger, the better.  There’s one other thing too.  Might be useful, might piss you off.”

“Go on,” she squinted at him.

“You ever hear about the Ben-Hassrath?” Bull asked with a wicked glimmer in his eye.

“Not really,” Mi’Dirtha shrugged and dropped her hand.  “Just whispers and rumors among the shemlen.”

“It’s a Qunari order.  They handle information, loyalty, security, all of it,” he cocked his head a little.  “Spies, basically.  Or, well we’re spies.”

“Then you’re in good company,” Mi’Dirtha laughed loud and bright.  “So am I.”

“The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach.  Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere.  I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening,” he lifted a finger.  “But I also get reports from other Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais.  You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

“That sounds like a pretty great deal to me,” she extended her hand again.  “All right.  You’re in.”

“Excellent!” Bull smirked down at her and shook her hand again then turned back to the Chargers.  “Krem, tell the men to finish their drinks on the road!  The Chargers just got hired!”

“What about the casks, Chief?  We just opened them up,” Krem whined loudly and paused.  “With axes.”

“Find some way to seal them back up then.  You’re Tevinter, right?  Try blood magic!” Bull scoffed and Krem shook his head.

“Actually,” Mi’Dirtha inserted herself, landing the back of her hand on Bull’s bare and scarred chest.  “We could use your help here before we go anywhere.”

“Oh yeah?  Hmm,” the Qunari thought for a moment then gestured back to the others and a couple of logs that his men had broken out to use as chairs.  “Let’s have a drink and you can tell me about the job.”

“Couldn’t think of anything better,” she chuckled and followed him, Solas coming to greet them as they walked back.  “Iron Bull, this is Solas, another of the Inquisition’s agents.”

“Good to meet you, Iron Bull,” Solas nodded as he leaned on his staff and offered his hand.  “Your company is most impressive.”

“Thanks!” he shook Solas’ hand and looked up to shout back at his men again.  “Never mind about the casks.  We might have business before we head out.”

Krem shook his head and brought them three steins full of spirits.

“Good man!” Bull thumped Krem’s arm and the man walked away again, swearing and saying something about Qunari and empty heads.

Mi’Dirtha took her stein and banged it against Bull’s before taking a deep chug.  She had been expecting ale or beer, but this was neither, and it was so powerful that she almost choked.

Keep it together!

She forced back the gag and pulled back, making a face into the mug and whistling instead.

“Golden Scythe 9:40 Black,” Bull said, patting one of her shoulders.  “The good shit!  You spill that and it’ll kill the grass.”

“Delightful,” Mi’Dirtha winced, squinted at the stein again, and took another huge gulp as Iron Bull laughed raucously.

“All right, Boss.  You have my attention,” he lifted his stein.  “What’s the job?”

Mi’Dirtha belched uncouthly and pounded her breastplate with a closed fist before speaking.  Could she speak?  Would her voice squeak?  After that display, she hardly wanted to lose face by sounding weak, and reached deep into her gut to pull the words out through her burning throat.

“We’ve lost some Inquisition soldiers in the past few days,” she managed, her voice surprisingly even.  “They went to meet with a local bandit leader.  Apparently, they have been all over the area giving my men a rough time.”

“Yeah, we ran into the wackos ourselves.  Call themselves the Blades of Hessarian.  Pseudo-religious Andrastian cultists,” Bull confirmed her claim knowingly and took another swig from his own drink.

“Must be.  Well, on top of either kidnapping or killing our soldiers, they’re also interfering with an investigation that our scouts are trying to conduct in the area as well,” Mi’Dirtha gestured to Solas.  “Right now the two of us could handle finding these Blades of Hassarian, but if there are more than about a dozen of them. . . well, we could use whoever you can spare for support.”

“Two elves against a dozen bandits, huh?” Bull’s eye gleamed.

“It certainly would not be the first time,” Solas remarked smugly, adding to her story while clutching the stein and clearly not drinking with them.

“How about it?” Mi’Dirtha lifted the stein and drained it of the rest of its vile contents and handed off the empty to Bull.

“Sounds like a great first job,” Bull laughed, downing his own drink, and stood to talk to his men again.

Mi’Dirtha and Solas also stood, and she looked up into his knowing smirk.  He shook his head at her and chuckled softly.

“You seem to be getting the knack for this as well,” he sat his still-filled stein on the spot where she had been sitting.  “Though, do you feel it was wise to drink the entire thing in three gulps?”

Placing a hand on her belly and letting out a breath, blowing like she was trying to put out the fire in her stomach, Mi’Dirtha made a face and tried for a smirk in return.

“Wise?” She winced a little and squinted again as her brow creased hard.  “Not at all.  Still, I seem to have impressed him.”

“Oh, undeniably,” Solas chuckled dryly and shook his head a little.  “Good work.”

“Thanks,” Mi’Dirtha grunted and righted to pull herself up to her full height.  “Now we just have to back it up.”

* * *

“Since you bested their leader in single combat, the Blades of Hassarian have been more than happy to assist Harding and the others in the ongoing search for the Wardens,” Leliana reported happily to Mi’Dirtha across the war room table.

“Well done,” the Commander congratulated her with a smirk and a nod of his head.

“Yes, and Warden Blackwall has pointed out a few locations where they might focus their attention to locate any signs of them in the Storm Coast and other locations across Ferelden and Orlais,” Leliana added in.

“He has also been invaluable in providing us access to the Warden Treaties,” Josephine interjected, also pleased with the news.  “We already have respondents who are sending us aid in coin, food, supplies, and even some volunteers to join the Inquisition’s cause.”

“It has been a fruitful couple of weeks,” Cullen smiled, lacing his fingers together over the pommel of his sword.

“That’s the sort of thing I might never grow tired of hearing,” Mi’Dirtha let out a contented huff of relief.  “It looks like we are finally making some real progress here.”

“Indeed we are,” Cassandra was elated.  “And it is all due to your diligence and hard work, Herald.  We are nothing less than grateful for all of your efforts.”

“Now we have to keep that momentum rolling,” Mi’Dirtha looked up at Cullen.  “Have we heard anything back about the Templars?”

“I expect news within the next couple of days,” he assured her with a strong resolve in his eyes.  “Until then, I thank you for your continued patience, and I suggest that you enjoy the well-earned break.”

“I think I can do that,” Mi’Dirtha nodded with a broad smile.  “And I appreciate it.”

The five of them left the room in a file, Cullen and Josephine detouring to walk to her office and still discussing replies to their urges to use the Grey Warden treaties.  Cassandra broke off and headed out of the Chantry to see to the armory, and Leliana walked leisurely at Mi’Dirtha’s side.

“I want to thank you,” the red-haired shem woman smiled softly, her hands folded behind her back.  “I am grateful for both your trust and your discretion.”

“I’m just glad that it helped, one spy to another” Mi’Dirtha nodded and gave out a small huff.  “Everything that gets us closer to sealing the Breach is a good step forward.”

They both strode out of the Chantry and made their way to Leliana’s makeshift headquarters tent.

“Speaking of spies,” Mi’Dirtha mused idly.  “Have you received any valuable information from our new Ben-Hassrath friend?”

“I have,” Leliana confirmed with a nod.  “He’s given us a few connections through the Qunari and we have been able to coordinate movements so that we don’t trip over their agents in the field.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mi’Dirtha turned and lifted the tent flap again.  “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Thank you, Herald,” Leliana nodded, and she stepped back out into the gently falling snow.

Taking a deep breath of the cold air and letting her eyes fall closed, Mi’Dirtha let the reality of having another two days to recuperate really sink in.  They had been back in Haven now for a week and everyone seemed to be settling more or less into whatever routine they could find, herself included.  She hadn’t seen much of Solas beyond their morning run, but during their six laps around Haven’s complex, he would update her on his work.  He had started a daily meditation lesson for the other mages to help them learn techniques for avoiding possession or corrupting spirits as he had promised to her while they were on the way to the Storm Coast.  He would also likely need them to be ready to assist him, should they take in the rebel mages from Ferelden, and he wanted to get started on that as soon as possible.  So far, they hadn’t seen any cases of mage possession in their ranks, but that did little to soothe either Cullen or Cassandra who insisted that it was merely a matter of time before something went horribly wrong.  He ignored them and so did she.

After their run, Mi’Dirtha took advantage of Iron Bull’s company next and they would roll stones back and forth down the path from the main gate to the smithy and back again.  His stone was decidedly larger than hers, but they kept a good pace with one another, heckling and prodding one another good-naturedly as they went.  She had well-earned the Ben-Hassrath’s respect by taking on the leader of the Blades of Hassarian on her own and beating him soundly, but she reminded herself that he was only there to follow his orders to spy on them as much as he spied for them.  Lining his pockets and making jabs at her was just another way to cultivate a good cover, and while they were friendly, they were far from friends.

Though he had a tent set up just outside the gate, Bull had taken up a sort of semi-residence in the tavern with Sera, and the two were often seen passing time with Varric as they gambled and drank.  The three of them invited her to join them a handful of times, and she had gone once or twice since they had gotten back, but she was always inevitably the first to leave given the weight of so many eyes on her.  Being the Blessed Herald of Andraste was every bit as uncomfortable as being the scourge of her clan had been with the way people spoke of her in whispers and followed her every move with uncomfortable stares.  Cullen, Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine would have their hands full trying to replace her when she finally left and Mi’Dirtha shook her head at the ridiculousness of not having quelled the rumors at their birth.

In that vein, after rolling stones with the Qunari, Mi’Dirtha would spar with either Cullen or Cassandra depending on whoever was available that day.  Warden Blackwall had taken an immediate interest in assisting the Lieutenants in training the Inquisition’s recruits, freeing mostly Cullen up to train with her in the mornings.  As with Bull, their banter was friendly and pushed them both, but she hissed internally at every round the shem won against her in the practice ring and pushed herself harder, faster---to be more ruthless and less forgiving.  If he sensed anything about her anger, he never mentioned it, but sometimes there was something in his smug smirk that spoke to a sense of respect beyond the religious hero worship.  She shoved the thought back to the far reaches of her mind, and reminded herself again that in only a few more weeks---if not a few more days---it was very likely that she would never see him again if she had her way.

After the morning’s exertions, Mi’Dirtha would meet with the four shems for a daily report on all activities that the Inquisition was engaged in and how things were progressing as well as where they were hung up.  They took her advice solemnly to heart, hanging on her words and digging constantly for her confirmation.  She almost felt bad that they all seemed so ready to defer to her, and she genuinely wondered which of them would step up to steer the Inquisition once she left.  Her money was solidly on Cassandra, but it really could end up being anyone’s show at that point.  None of them really wanted to take on the role, that much was obvious.  They were all followers of one flavor or another and everyone in the room knew it.  It would be sure to be a mess---had been a mess---but it wouldn’t be her mess for very much longer.

After the meetings was breakfast and then Mi’Dirtha would spend the rest of her day in her room.  Nolanna had cleared the space to make it more usable, and Mi’Dirtha spent most of her time in the upkeep of her armor and sword and reading whatever she could get her hands on.  She was absolutely going to steal as many books as she could before she left, and was making a good stack that she intended to take with her.  It was hard to get good literature for a decent price back home.  To pass up the chance to get as many as she could carry for free would be criminal!  All this was done mostly in the spirit of trying to dodge the pilgrims while she contemplated the mark on her hand and prayed that it would vanish as she hoped it would.

It would flare up occasionally when the Breach did the same, but she found herself becoming more accustomed to it every day, just as she was becoming more accustomed to life at Haven in general.  The little hut had become her refuge---a home away from home.  It was peaceful there, and nobody bothered her.  Even Nolanna had generally adjusted to having her around, and it was nice to have another elf so close to share quarters with, even if she was still acting like her slave girl.  It made her feel less alone and more able to bear the nights without her clan, but it drove her to the edge of her sanity how she clung to her every moment of the day.  Maybe Nolanna would miss her when she left too, and that unexpectedly pulled at her heart.  Maybe she should invite the young woman to come with her and get her away from all this shem nonsense, but she knew that she would never come.  Mi’Dirtha also would never actually ask her to abandon her faith either.  Nolanna, like everyone else, would have to find a way to make do without her.

The only person that she might still have some kind of contact with outside of the Inquisition was Solas, and even that was unlikely.  He didn’t care for the Dalish, and Mi’Dirtha couldn’t imagine that her clan would care much for him either.  If she had been an upstart that they hated at first, he would be a pariah in the eyes of others in her clan.  He may pass by though, knowing that he had a friend in the Marches.  If they ever did cross paths, she would give Solas her kindness and friendship again, and it was far more likely to happen than a meeting with any other of the Inquisition’s people.  She didn’t wish any of them harm, certainly, but she wasn’t going to allow herself to become attached either if she could manage it.  Not when the end was hopefully in sight.

The only thing that seemed to hang up matters was the problem with the Templars.  No word had come from them about meetings, locations, or anything else of use.  Much like the Grey Wardens, the Templars and the Lord Seeker had practically vanished.  They might be at Therinfal--- someone was by Leliana’s reports---but any attempt at contact had gone utterly ignored.  Commander Cullen had managed to gain Mi’Dirtha’s sympathy and buy another week from her patience.  She wanted to say it was because she cared, but it was mostly because she was tired, if she was being totally honest.  They had used the time to build their infrastructure and Mi’Dirtha had taken the time to catch up on her sleep and make plans for her imminent departure.  Besides, one more week was practically harmless, right?

Two more days.   Mi’Dirtha assured herself.  I will give it two more days.  If nothing comes in, we go to Redcliffe and end this nonsense.

When she opened her eyes again, Mi’Dirtha let her feet carry her idly through the camp to enjoy the fresh air before things became too busy and she was forced back indoors by doting Chantry enthusiasts.  She let her mind wander to what it would be like back home when she finally got there.  As she meandered, she came upon Solas doing much the same, which was odd given that he too mostly kept indoors and to himself these days.  She smiled and strode up behind him, mimicking his posture by folding her hands neatly behind her back and falling into step with him.

“Taking in the morning air?” Mi’Dirtha asked playfully.

“In a manner of speaking,” Solas’ face dropped slightly.  “One of our more mischievous companions had decided that it would be the pinnacle of humor to release a stink bomb in my room this morning.  The stench. . .”

“My money is on Sera,” Mi’Dirtha laughed and swung herself gleefully.  “She’s had it out for you the past couple of days.”

“I merely suggested that she might have the pull to see past the Breach as I know many of the elven members of our camp seem to,” Solas’ scowl deepened.  “It was not my fault for pointing out the clearly obvious fact that she does.”

“You mean us filthy elf-kin?” Mi’Dirtha asked with a small snort.  “I can see why she was upset.  It seems that she’s dead set on throwing everything about our culture straight into the rubbish.”

“It’s a shame really,” Solas sighed heavily.  “Perhaps I shall simply avoid topics about the Fade altogether when I am in her presence.”

“Hopefully that won’t be much longer,” Mi’Dirtha huffed.  “Until then, you can always talk to me about the Fade.”

“Well, there are few hard facts, but I am more than happy to share,” his face lifted.  “Is there anything specific that interests you?  That is aside from the sensitive subjects that you have already poked at.”

“Yes, actually,” Mi’Dirtha grinned up at him.  “I realize that for all everyone talks about it, I know remarkably little about the Breach.  I know that the mark is connected to it, but I don’t really understand how either of them works.”

“Simply put, the Breach is a tear in the Veil between this world and the Fade, allowing spirits to enter the world physically.  Small tears occur naturally when magic weakens the Veil or when spirits cluster in an area that has seen many deaths,” he paused for a moment and gestured to her.  “But your mark allows you to exert some control over the Breach.  That means it was created deliberately.”

“Which one?” She queried.  “The mark or the Breach?”

“Both, presumably,” Solas answered.  “As you said, they are connected.  Whatever created one simultaneously created the other.  Whether one came before the other is uncertain, but we can infer that the act that created them was intentional.”

“Why would anyone do that?”  Mi’Dirtha’s brow knit together.  “Isn’t the Veil supposed to protect the physical world?”

“Why someone would want to open a large tear in the Veil remains to be seen,” he leaned forward a little as he spoke.  “As for the Veil itself, Circle mages are taught that it is a barrier between this world and the Fade.  However, according to my studies in ancient elven lore, that is a vast oversimplification.  Without it. . .”

Solas went surprisingly quiet and Mi’Dirtha leaned forward to catch his eyes.  He looked down at her, his look clouded and far away.

“Go on,” she urged him.  “Without it. . . what?”

“Imagine a world where spirits entered freely, if the Fade was not a separate place one went, but a state of nature.  Like the wind,” his voice was wistful.

“It sounds like it could be wonderful, the way you talk about it,” Mi’Dirtha smiled and saw him respond in kind.

“It would also be very dangerous, but. . . yes,” Solas’ eyes lit up and he raised his head.  “It would be a world where imagination defines reality, where spirits are as common as trees or the grass.  Instead, spirits as we know them are strange and fearful and the Fade is a terrifying world touched only by mages and dreamers.”

“Like you,” she noted with a soft smile.

“Yes.  Like me,” he smiled back bashfully.  “I am glad that I am not alone in seeing the beauty of such a world, along with its obvious perils.”

“There are perils aplenty in this world as well,” Mi’Dirtha chuckled darkly.  “Seems strange that the shemlen are so obsessed with the dangers of demons in the Fade and trying to fight them when they do so little about the ones that are already here.”

“An excellent point.  The Chantry teaches that demons hate the natural world and seek to bring their chaos and destruction to the living.  Such simplistic labels misconstrue their motivations and, in so doing, do a great disservice to all,” Solas huffed and kicked at the snow under his feet.  “Spirits simply wish to join the living.  A demon is that wish gone wrong.”

“You would think that they would be more interested in trying to change that,” she mused idly.  “There must be a way to coexist.  To maybe. . . live with them, if not in peace, maybe at least without such active and violent confrontations.”

“Not in the world we know today, sadly,” Solas asserted.  “The Veil creates a barrier only in the sense that it makes true understanding most unlikely.  But your assertion is a good one, and it matters that you would think it possible.  Maybe if more people were to ask such questions, there could be a change.”

“It’s all so confusing,” Mi’Dirtha spoke softly, her fear peeking through her words.  “Someone created the Breach to either reach into the Fade for something or to open it to spirits deliberately, causing them to flood into the physical world in such numbers and so violently that they become corrupted to the point where they threaten everyone in Thedas.  Whoever thought to do that---has the power to do that---should know the risks, right?  What could be so important that anyone would kill so many people, purposefully corrupt so many spirits, and threaten even more, including themselves, to get it?”

“That certainly is the question, is it not?” A dark look flickered across Solas’ face for a moment.

“I hope that I can seal it,” Mi’Dirtha lifted her left hand and clenched her gloved fingers over the menacing gash that she could feel still nagging at her flesh.  “Though, I’m afraid that even if I do, whoever created it. . . what if they try again?  What if whatever they were trying to do is accomplished the next time?  Will they stop if we close the Breach?  I mean, like you said, I lived.  What if they. . .?”

“Perhaps we should approach this one step at a time,” he slowed even more at her side and rested a hand on her shoulder.  “All of our speculations are philosophical at best until we seal the Breach---if we truly can.  The ‘how’ and the ‘why’ must come after, and may not even be your burden to bear.”

Mi’Dirtha lifted her head to smile up weakly at Solas, surprised at how the stupid tears started to try and rush out of her again.  She took a deep breath, sniffled back her emotions, blinking back the mist in her eyes, and clearing her throat.  She hadn’t meant to dump all of her worries on anyone, least of all him.  They both had more than enough to be concerned about without her falling apart.  Once again, there was something about him that just made her open her mouth and everything she was holding in had spilled out.  It was going to be okay.  It wasn’t as if everything in the world relied upon her.  She would get to go home soon.  All she had to do was believe that it was going. . .

“You are under a considerable deal of stress,” Solas’ voice was calm and quiet.  “No one whose opinion is worthwhile would think less of you for being overcome.”

Mi’Dirtha choked and froze on the spot she was standing.  Was he giving her permission to cry?  Her shoulders slumped forward, beginning to shake, and she doubled her hands into fists at her side, clenching her teeth, holding back with every ounce of her strength.  No.  She wasn’t going to cry.  It was going to be okay.  She didn’t. . . need. . .

Clinging to every last shred of her sanity, Mi’Dirtha pressed both of her hands to her mouth to stifle the whimper of anguish that ripped out of her.  It had to be okay.  Everything had to be okay eventually.  She needed it to be soon, because nothing was okay right now, and she could only handle so many more days until it was again.  Mi’Dirtha could feel herself unraveling at the seams and pulling so tight that she couldn’t breathe.

Just two more days.  She promised herself.  Baby steps.  We’ll get there.  Just two more days.

Chapter Text

The next two days flew by almost faster than Mi’Dirtha had time to notice.  She leaned on the table, looking over the large map of Thedas and staring hard at the tiny spot of Ferelden where they were headed.

“I’m sorry Commander,” she lifted her eyes to Cullen’s over the table.  “We can’t wait any longer.”

True to form, his expression fell and he lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck nervously.

“No, I suppose that we can’t,” his voice was heavy with resignation.  “It troubles me greatly that we have been unable to find anything out about the Templars or their movements, but you are right.”

“I will go with you,” Cassandra insisted.

“You should take Solas with you as well,” Leliana urged.  “His presence as a mage with the Inquisition will likely assist in your negotiations.”

“I agree,” Josephine flourished her pen, pointing it at Leliana.  “We need to show them that we are sympathetic to their cause to foster an agreeable alliance.”

“Very well,” Mi’Dirtha nodded and straightened from the table.  “I’m taking Iron Bull as well as support in case. . . well, in case things don’t go as planned.  Next to me, he’s our heaviest hitter.”

“I was actually about to suggest that as well,” the Commander agreed with a smirk.  “Bull is a professional and I’m certain that he would be more than happy to bodyguard you.”

“Then it’s decided,” Mi’Dirtha said with her trademark authority.  “We will have everyone prepare and the four of us will leave today.”

“I will see to our supplies,” Cassandra dropped her arms from where they had been crossed over her chest.  “You should let the others know.”

Everyone exchanged looks of agreement and filed out of their war room and Nolanna met Mi’Dirtha at the Chantry doors expectantly.

“Please prepare my armor, sword, and traveling gear, Nolanna,” Mi’Dirtha ordered the young woman softly.  “We will be leaving just as soon as I can tell the others and all of us are ready to go.”

“Yes, Your Worship,” Nolanna smiled, lowered her head, and made off for their hut.

Mi’Dirtha headed immediately for Solas’ cabin, being the nearest, and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” his voice rang from inside, and she opened the door to find him in his traveling robes, staff at his back, and already packing.

“Your hearing must be better than mine,” Mi’Dirtha joked, entering the small space and closing the door behind her to keep out the chill.

Solas smiled, pulling a couple of books from his desk and examining the spines as he crossed the room to the table and slid them both into his pack.

“I assumed that our most trusted apostate mage would be required for diplomatic discussions with the Grand Enchanter,” he glanced up at her for a moment.  “I am glad to see that I was correct.  I would have felt foolish packing for nothing.”

“Happy to confirm,” Mi’Dirtha smiled back.  “Nolanna is getting my things and Cassandra and Bull will be going with us.”

“Wise choices,” Solas grabbed his overcoat, folded it into place, and buckled the straps over it at the top of his pack.  “I believe I have all that I need.  Shall we?”

Mi’Dirtha opened the door and Solas followed her out, heading toward the main gate.  They parted as she caught sight of Bull standing outside of his tent just outside the complex, and he smiled at her, already knowing what she was going to say as she walked up.

“Hey, Boss!” He greeted her with a gleam in his eye.  “What’s the word?”

“It’s the mages,” Mi’Dirtha met his smirk with one of her own as she walked up to him.  “I need you for bodyguard duty.  You think you can handle that?”

Bull laughed a little and his grin widened.

“Hey, Krem!” he shouted, turning down toward the smithy.

“Yeah, Chief?” came the response from a few feet away as Krem appeared, approaching them with an enormous, one-sided axe hefted over his shoulder.

“Looks like I get to put that new baby to work,” Bull held out his hand and Krem landed the handle into his giant hand and slung it up over his shoulder and onto his back.  “You’re in charge until I get back.”

“You got it, Chief,” Krem grinned, crossing his arms over his breastplate and nodding assuredly.

Bull turned to face Mi’Dirtha again and gave her a nod.

“I’ll be ready in ten,” he assured her.  “Make sure I get one of those big horses.”

“I’m sure Cassandra is already two steps ahead of you,” Mi’Dirtha laughed and patted his big arm.  “I’ll meet you over at the stables with the others.”

The huge Qunari ducked inside his tent, vanishing to rifle through his things, and Mi’Dirtha took a deep breath and headed back up the steps and toward her hut.  As expected, Nolanna had everything packed neatly and helped her into the heavy ironbark armor.  Mi’Dirtha marveled again as she always did about how it felt like a second skin and silently thanked all of the Creators for Grent’s amazing job.  She would have to write him a note at some point to thank him for it.  Sliding her heavy leather coat on and her sword harness over her shoulders, Nolanna picked up her pack, and the two women made their way toward the stable.  As they approached, Mi’Dirtha saw Solas and Bull talking, smiling as she lightly eavesdropped on their conversation.

“Iron Bull, how do your people put on shirts?” Solas asked with a quizzical smile.

“We don’t, usually,” Bull answered assuredly.  “It’s pretty hot where we’re from.  But I can get into anything with a loose collar.  Just gotta ease one horn through,” he gestured, mimicking the movements, “and angle it up.  There’s actually a term in Qunlat for getting caught unprepared that roughly translates to ‘running around with clothing stuck on your horns’,” Bull chuckled back.

“Colorful,” Solas snickered at the display, then turned to acknowledge the two of them with a polite nod.  “Lavellan, Nolanna.”

Nolanna blushed slightly and nodded back, handing Mi’Dirtha her pack and bowing.  Mi’Dirtha patted the girl on the shoulder and thanked her before she turned away.  True to her nature, Cassandra had beaten them all to the stables and had two of the stablehands helping her to saddle and tack the horses for their trip.  They each loaded their gear, lifted into their saddles, and they were off to Redcliffe.

Mythal’enaste, she prayed as they trotted the horses out toward the eastward road.  Please, if you’re listening, help me make this work.

* * *

Their trek back toward the Hinterlands was far more arduous than the last two trips, and more unsettling than any of them had expected.  Rifts had opened up where they had been closed before, more were cropping up along their usual routes, and there were more powerful demons seeming to appear at each one.  By the time they hit the peak overlooking the rocky hills of the rugged landscape she knew all too well, she was very happy to have decided on bringing Bull with them on this trip.

“Another ahead,” Cassandra shouted back from the lead of their small convoy.

Mi’Dirtha’s left palm crackled and flared, and a few meters in the distance, a rift boomed open.

“Feels like a class two,” Mi’Dirtha huffed as they all dismounted again, trying to gauge the power that she felt pulling at her hand using the system that they had all agreed to use for gauging the sorts of demons and danger they could expect from the rifts as they approached them.  “Everyone watch yourselves.”

Solas stretched out his hand and placed his barrier over them as they waded down toward the rift just beyond the crest of a ridge.  Then, he stopped at a fair distance and flourished his new staff and slammed the base down into the ground to send out a wave of lightning streaks that coursed through the six wisps that circled the rift.  At the same time, Mi’Dirtha, Cassandra, and Bull rushed in, dividing the battlefield in practiced form, working their way through a handful of Shades that swam across the ground toward them.  She lowered her blade in both hands to her side and charged one Shade, tearing through it as she passed.  Continuing the motion, she thrust the huge greatsword out in an upward slash that tore through the torso of a second Shade almost immediately behind the first.  A third moved toward her, but evaporated, screaming as it melted into black smoke and was called back into the rift as Bull struck it from behind.  Cassandra roared, her sword flashing with bright white light as she dispatched the last two, clearing the field.

Columns of green light shot out of the rift and landed on the ground around them, and they all aimed for the spot nearest to them where they knew another demon was about to materialize.

“Second wave!” Mi’Dirtha shouted as she turned toward the rift and readied herself.  It popped a few more times, then burst open, spilling more demons from the Fade around them.

She instinctively reached up to disrupt the rift and give them the time they would need to assess their new enemies but was barely able to do so as her right leg locked up, frozen in an unnatural cluster of ice that bit at her skin.  Gasping at the sudden sting, to see the creature that had hit her, unsurprised when it was a demon that none of them had encountered yet.  It floated, suspended in the air a few feet away from her, curled up on itself, and stunned by the disruption of the Fade rift.  It had only just been able to hit her with a burst of ice, and she was grateful that it hadn’t gotten further up her leg as she banged the flat of her greatsword on her shin guard to break it off of her.

“Despair demons!” Solas shouted from behind her, bringing his staff to bear and flinging a missile of fire at the nearest of the three new demons that clustered around the rift.  “Stay clear of their ice, if you can!”

Shit!

Mi’Dirtha set her sight on the one that had struck her and threw herself toward it at a charge.  It shook loose from the effects of the disruption of the rift only seconds before she plunged the greatsword into its face.  It was more than enough time for the demon to hit her again at point-blank range with a blast of frost that struck across her breastplate, lifting the stream that flowed out from it slightly up, and hitting her directly in the neck and face.  She groaned and clamped her eyes shut, letting out a roar---more in rage than pain---as the sword found its target and split the Despair demon’s head in half.  It screeched, howling as it disappeared into a cloud of black fog to spiral back into the rift.

At her left and to the rear, Mi’Dirtha could feel the rift and hear it explode again, ready to be sealed shut.  Without opening her eyes, she turned to reach out with her left hand and closed it with a thunderous boom.

Huffing and letting out a sharp groan, Mi’Dirtha fell to one knee and dropped her sword completely as the pain finally registered in her head.  She lifted both hands to feel the sharp ice crystals that had formed across her lips, chin, and neck as she heard the others rush toward her.  Finally peeking out through squinted eyes, she looked down at herself to see the sheet of ice that clung to her breastplate.  It was already starting to crack and melt, but Mythal help her!  It hurt, burning cold where the crystals had formed on her skin and were starting to bite at her chest through the breastplate and padding underneath.

“I said to stay clear of their ice magic,” Solas grimaced, taking a knee and lifting his hands to examine her face.

“Ow,” was all she could manage through her frozen jaw and lips, eyes focused entirely on traveling Solas’ face and pained expression.

“Damn, Boss!” Bull chuckled darkly.  “You definitely got it, but it got you too.”

“Is she going to be alright?” Cassandra hissed in worry, her brow drawing in sympathetic pain as well from where she stood over Solas’ shoulder.

“She is going to be just fine, Seeker,” Solas assured them all, his eyes focusing on Mi’Dirtha’s and giving her a compassionate smile.  “I will melt the ice quickly and there should be minimal damage.”

His eyes flickered orange for a moment as he focused on her, pulling back his hands slightly as bright fire sprung to his fingertips.  Mi’Dirtha jumped reflexively, pulling away as her eyes slammed shut only a moment before Solas caught the sides of her jaw and pulled her back to him.  She didn’t know what she had expected other than being burned, but as she opened her eyes to find Solas’ again, her heart leaped with the sudden realization of just how close he was to her.  His face hovered mere inches from hers, holding her gaze intensely with the depth of his dark, grey eyes.

“Tel anel gela, lethallen,” he whispered softly, the magical warmth of his fingers breaching the ice on her face as her vision circled the soft lavender rings around his pupils.

Solas was only that near for a minute or maybe two, but Mi’Dirtha felt time slow and stretch on as her heart hammered in her chest.  Captive to the situation, she tried very much not to enjoy taking in his features.  His pale freckles were most prominently scattered across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, but also soft across his head and chin.  His cheekbones and jaw were angular and elegant, sweeping back to bring emphasis to his lowly sloped ears that curled over adorably over the top ridge and drooped just ever so slightly at the tips.  The tiny, but prominent circular scar that she had noticed a hundred times before stuck out just above his right brow, drawing attention to how dark his eyebrows were, and she wondered if the hair he may have once had on his head was as dark.  A deep cleft parted his noble chin to match the dip that sank just above his shapely lips, and his eyes---those dark, pretty eyes---also drooped slightly at the outer edges and gave him a sort of sad look that she realized persisted even when he smiled.

He was terrifying. . . and beautiful.

Then it was over, and Mi’Dirtha blinked a couple of times as he pulled away to bring herself back to reality.  She was abruptly grateful for the pink flush that likely clung to her face and she hoped that it masked just how deeply she could feel herself blushing.

“There,” Solas remarked gently.  “Does that feel any better?”

Mi’Dirtha brought her hands up to wipe the warm water droplets that she could feel that still lingered on her skin, pleasantly surprised to feel the absence of the ice, and nodded.

“Yes,” she assured him as she felt the sudden relief of the sting over her face.  “Ma serannas.”