Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her head hurt.

That was the first thing Briesis registered when she came to — not the cold stone against her cheek, not the stiffness in her limbs, not even the horrible, heavy taste of teleportation magic still clinging to her tongue.

Briesis blinked. Her head really did hurt. 

What happened?

Masters Aryon and Baladas had come to Tel Uvirith. They’d all had an argument. It had escalated into violence…and then what?

Had they won?

They must have, idiot. They are still better and older mages than you. The real question is why you still live.

She sat up. Chains clinked at the movement.

Chains were definitely not good. It was weird.  Was she somewhere in Tel Vos? The bricks looked of Imperial make, but real Imperial cells didn’t usually feel this... drafty. And it wasn’t usually cold in the east of Vvardenfell, even in Sun’s Dawn. And what were those runes on the wall?

When the argument had broken out, and Baladas said the first threat and she had seen fit to call his bluff (and what a mistake that had been!), when the first spell had been launched and all her retainers and servants had been sent fleeing, she'd thought she’d either have to drive them off or be the recipient of a very thorough thrashing until she changed her mind and gave them what they wanted.

Was this Aryon’s doing? she thought, frowning. He was angry with her- he had every right to be- but this? Why hadn’t he just beaten her senseless like she expected, instead of locking her up like some petty thief?  

It was unlike him. Surely a cuff around the ears would’ve been easier for everyone involved. And Baladas might have actually killed her after what she’d denied him, longstanding friendship or not.

Her eyes swept the room. Aside from a thin bedroll, there was a lone bucket placed in the far corner. She recoiled away, disgusted. She’d rather pry the iron bars apart with her bare hands than let them keep her in here long enough for… that…to be necessary.

The walls were lined with runes that glowed faintly in the dark. So were the cuffs around her wrists- although, looking closely, they seemed rather rusty…and those runes had definitely been slapped on in a hurry. This cell hadn’t been used in a very long time.

This wasn’t Tel Vos, obviously. Whoever had imprisoned her wasn’t anyone who had any idea who she was (unless they were particularly dimwitted). The chains on her wrists weren’t even enchanted. She could feel her magicka pool, as full and brimming as it could ever be. The runes on the walls, whatever they were, weren’t for preventing spells from being cast. As far as she could tell, they were for decoration. Even the ones on her wrist cuffs felt empty.

A quick flame spell to warm her up confirmed it. The runes did nothing. 

Well, whoever had imprisoned her was stupid. No one who knew anything at all would leave a mage in full possession of the best tools they could ever have. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been stupid enough to leave her anything.  Not only had they stripped her of her satchel and her clothing, they’d also seen fit to replace them with rags. She looked like a commoner. 

Grumbling to herself, she shuffled over to the bars. Maybe a guard was about, someone she could charm or annoy into telling her where exactly she was—

Ah. Well, that would explain the cold.

This prison was a disaster.

To her left, an enormous archway led to open air. Why, any mage handy with a slowfall or levitation spell could have walked right out! The walls on the other side of the dungeon had collapsed into what used to be cells. Briesis hoped no poor soul had been in them when it had. Wooden ramparts fenced off the area where the floor had fallen away, but even these were collapsing. This dungeon couldn’t belong to any official organisation, could it? Not one with any real funding, anyway.

She squinted towards the arch, pressing her face against the bars in order to get a better view. She could make out the slope of a snowy mountain, even if it was barely visible through the fog. 

Briesis swallowed, tugging uselessly at her chains. This was absolutely nowhere in Vvardenfell, obviously, but she didn’t know any place this high up where there would be a prison.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

“Hello?” She called out.

There was a shuffling noise to her left. She wasn’t alone.

“Who are you?” A man’s voice rasped.

Briesis craned her neck, trying to see him. It was useless. “My name is Briesis. Are you one of the guards?”

"No," the voice answered. “I’m Magister Alexius... or rather, I was. Former magister, soon enough.”

He sounded rather old and sad, and Briesis felt a sudden stab of pity. 

"Former magister?" she asked, hoping he would not think her insensitive. “Are you from a guild or—or from a House? Are you just a scholar?”

The man let out a bitter laugh– one so sharp and mirthless it made her flinch.

“Just a scholar?” Alexius said. “Is that what you think I am? A kindly old man, hunched over books in some quiet tower?”

He said nothing more after that, but Briesis could hear him pacing in his cell. Her companion was clearly not being held in restraints. Briesis tugged at the chains, feeling rather chastened and oddly guilty.

“Are you a mage?”

A long, quiet sigh was her only response. "Why are you here, girl?" His voice sounded even more worn now, tired and disappointed in a way that made her feel like she’d said something wrong.

“I don’t know. I didn’t do anything wrong.” And she hadn’t. Not really. 

Alexius laughed again, though this time it lacked even the pretence of humor. “Nor did I.”

"Where... where are we, then?" she asked carefully, shifting in her chains as she spoke. 

Alexius let out a slow breath, and for the first time, he sounded tired. "Skyhold." He almost seemed to pity her. "You’re in the hands of the Inquisition."

Briesis did not know how much time she spent talking to Alexius after that. She’d thought, for a few terrible, terrible seconds that she’d fallen into the hands of the Order of Inquisition– thankfully, the word “Inquisition” had sent Alexius into a spiel that had made it very clear that this was not the Temple’s inquisition, was not in Morrowind, nor even Cyrodiil, because Briesis was certain she’d never heard of any of these places in her entire life.

Which led to the abrupt end of any relief she’d felt. Teleportation spells only worked from so far.

It only got worse from there.

Alexius told her all about the Inquisition. They had recruited near two dozen Templars during their first few days as an organisation. With them, they’d conscripted nearly a hundred mages into their army. They’d swept through the Hinterlands to murder the rest. They’d hired an “Ox-Man” who’d allegedly spent the journey from a recently- fallen Haven to here both insulting Alexius and flirting with his former apprentice and his mercenaries. They had butchered their way through a Redcliffe Castle and slaughtered his men.  They had destroyed decades of research and an amulet of his that he claimed could turn back time (and Briesis had to swallow whatever noise would’ve escaped her) and then, after all that—

“They murdered my son.” He croaked.

“They murdered your son?” Briesis asked, aghast. Thoughts of a time travelling amulet fled her mind.

They hadn’t, as it turned out. His son still lived. But without Alexius’s magic, he wouldn’t for much longer, and Alexius didn’t seem to care much for the distinction.

It was a sentiment Briesis had once shared, misplaced as she now knew it was. If Alexius had done the sort of things she herself had done to save his son, she very much doubted he was as innocent as he’d said he was. “Reckless and lamentable use of magic” probably didn’t even begin to cover it.

Briesis bit her lip. Surely this sort of admission warranted a reply. She didn’t want to boast to a complete stranger…but it wasn’t such a big deal, really. If Alexius knew who she was, he would surely respect her, and everyone in Morrowind already knew what she’d done– likely a great deal of people outside of it too, if Tuls Valen had made good on his threats to go to the Black Horse Courier.

She was always willing to make an ally of a powerful mage. And Alexius— a man who knew the area, the people who lived here— a man who could turn back time…she needed him.

There was nothing stopping them from using magic…if she could convince him to return to Morrowind with her, any travels along the way would likely be a great deal easier.

She just needed to offer him something he wouldn’t dare turn down in exchange. And she already had a good idea of what that was.

“There’s nothing wrong with experimenting with magic if it’s for a good cause,” Briesis said. Athyn Sarethi would have beaten her if he could hear her now. “I did the same thing, for a friend of mine. He had the blight. The priests said that he was too far gone, that there was no curing him. That I should make my peace with it, and wait for him to die. But I couldn’t.”

Alexius wouldn’t know what the blight was, of course, Briesis realized belatedly. How could he, this far from Morrowind? She had to explain—

“Of course you did,” he muttered. “You thought you were different? That your dabbling would somehow be enough where centuries of magic have failed? Tell me, girl, how did that end for you?”

Briesis winced. She could feel her cheeks beginning to burn.  The way he spat those accusations at her like- like she was some pathetic fool who should’ve known better, the same way Yakin and Tuls had done, stung harder than she’d expected. She bit her lip, considering snapping back, but she held her tongue.

Losing a son to the blight was surely worse than losing a friend—it was clear Alexius had experienced the blight too. Divayth Fyr had given her one too many lectures on not letting her pride get the better of her temper.

Alexius had clearly never gotten this speech from his superiors, as he wasn’t finished by the time she’d reigned in her temper. "To think a naive, reckless child could succeed where mages far greater than you have failed for centuries. You probably doomed him faster with your meddling.”

She swallowed hard, letting the moment pass. She’d let it slide. She’d overstepped. He was just lashing out.

Except—

Except—

“ I am a master wizard of House Telvanni. ” She said, lifting her chin just a bit. She was proud of what she did, still. “I did cure him. He lived, and he never caught the blight again. My spell worked—and if you were half the mage I am, you would have succeeded too!”

There was silence, and then—

“What did you say?”

Briesis opened her mouth, uncertain whether she was about to apologize or to double down and insult him again, but she never got the chance.

The door to the dungeons slammed open with a crash. Two armored soldiers strode in. Both woremint green and orange armour , alongside a shining breastplate emblazoned with a sword piercing an eye.

Briesis shrank back, but they marched past her cell without a glance and went straight to Alexius's cell. 

The tallest of them banged on the bars with a gauntleted fist. “It’s time to go, blood mage”.

There was no response from Alexius at first, just the sound of shuffling feet and heavy breathing.

“I was under the impression I was to be left alone,” Alexius said, his voice tight. He had been rattled, clearly. He’d said they’d hadn’t tortured him, but he’d been quick to add a yet after saying so...would they hurt him now? He hadn’t sounded nervous at the thought of it before.

Maybe it was something she'd said?

“It’s time for your trial,” the shorter of them snapped, drawing a key from his belt to unlock the cell door. “Don’t make this difficult.”

Alexius sighed heavily but complied, rising to his feet with a slowness that made him seem far older than he had sounded earlier. His steps were reluctant, but he didn’t resist as the guards unlocked his cell and entered.

As they passed by her cell again on their way out, Briesis finally saw him clearly– a tall, thin, Imperial man with a gaunt face, shaved head, and tired, sunken eyes.

For a moment, Alexius glanced at her– just a passing look of utmost disgust. But then he stopped dead, his eyes widening. His gaze raked over her, over her cell, his expression shifting from confusion to shock until it settled into pure, wretched desperation. For a moment, the guards continued to drag him forward, grumbling at his sudden stop, but he twisted violently, wrenching himself free with a wild burst of strength they clearly hadn’t expected. 

Briesis recoiled instinctively as he practically hurled himself against the bars of her cell with a clang, as if he thought could break through by sheer force of will. “What did you do? What did you do!? Tell me, tell me exactly how you did it—”

The soldiers cursed and yanked him back with a rough pull, trying to pry him from the bars. “Get away from there, mage,” the guard snapped, sliding a gauntleted arm across Alexius’s chest in order to haul him backward. It didn’t work.

“Listen to me!” Alexius gasped, still clutching her bars with surprisingly impressive strength, given the two other men were still attempting to tug him away. He looked half mad, Briesis thought. “You–you must help me–wherever you’re from, I can get you home–please, just listen — ”

But whatever offer he had in mind, she never did get to hear. The soldiers behind him finally managed to wrench him off the bars in her cell and hauled him away. She watched, wide-eyed, as they forced him through the door and slammed it shut behind them.

He’d be fine, Briesis told herself, turning her attention back the shackles. It wasn’t as if something as banal as “reckless use of magic” warranted execution.

Chapter Text

Briesis held her breath until the sound of footsteps finally ebbed away, and the only thing she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat and the rush of water echoing from somewhere within the dungeon.

She could afford a better look. There wasn’t anybody around to stop her.

Just to be sure she was truly alone, she raised her hands in order to cast a detection spell. There was nothing for a moment…and then faint, ghostly glow of life appeared, somewhere to her right. Briesis squinted, trying to make out the dim shape beyond the door. Alexius and his escorts were already far beyond reach, but there was at least one other person in the room beyond this one. Shorter than both soldiers had been, she could tell, but that was about it. She bit her lip, frustrated. She’d never managed to get her detection spells to work properly, especially not through walls.

But it was good enough for now. The figure didn’t seem too alert, standing around like that. She’d have enough time to get out of this cell and have a look around. And while her detection spells were lacking (most times she forgot she knew the spell at all, given how useless it was), the same couldn’t be said for any spell that involved opening a lock that she wasn’t supposed to be opening.

There was a satisfying click as the cuffs fell loose and clattered to the ground with nothing but a flick of her fingers. Briesis cast a glance at the next room, hoping the other hadn’t heard. The ghostly form moved only slightly, and Briesis thought she could make out the figure turn their face towards the cells before looking away once more, disinterested.

All clear.

She flexed her hands to shake out the stiffness– she hadn’t realised how tight those cuffs had been– then turned towards the cell door, brushing her fingers over the cold metal, willing it to open—

The lock snapped. Briesis smiled.

The door creaked slightly as she pushed it open, and Briesis cast another wary glance at the guard. There was no reaction. Either she was being paranoid and the door hadn’t been that loud, or that guard needed to be fired.

She stepped out of her cell. The very cold wood pressed very uncomfortably against her footwraps– B’Vehk, they’d even taken her boots– and made her way to the fence before peering down the hole. There was a small river rushing from a small hole between the stones, until it dropped off into a waterfall at the edge of the cells.

(She hoped it was a river. If she was forced to jump down she’d much rather it not be sewage.)

She followed the river, closer to the arch, trying to figure out where exactly she was. It was a mountain, like she’d thought, so high that the roof of the dungeon blocked her view of the top. Far, far below, she thought she could make out a tiny path in the snow.

One that hopefully led to a city.

A gust of wind blew in, and Briesis shivered. She’d consider this option after she’d retrieved her things from wherever they’d been stashed. She didn’t even what to think of what anybody back home would say if she turned up looking like a beggar– they’d probably laugh her out of her own tower! She’d be ruined. Nobody would take her seriously ever again.

Would it be easier to play along with this Inquisition and hope they would return her belongings?  Poking around blindly hoping that she’d find them wouldn’t be too difficult, if it came down to that…her illusion magic was a bit better than it used to be, she could charm one of the guards into telling her where they kept prisoner’s belongings (assuming they hadn’t kept her Very Valuable Things for themselves instead of shoving it into a chest somewhere). 

She’d need to take Alexius, too– if she really wasn’t in Morrowind, then she would need a guide. Especially one that she had leverage over. It was more than easy to guess what Alexius had intended to ask in exchange for getting her home. 

A sudden noise had her jump– she hadn’t been paying attention, stupid, stupid– she whirled around, fire at the ready, but the door was still closed. Another detection spell, and she could tell that there were now two in the adjacent room, close together, movements jerky and animated enough that Briesis could tell they were arguing, and that they were heading her way.

Briesis sprang towards her cell. She wasn’t going to make it–she could make out the first among them reaching for the door already–she flung out her hand, and sent a green ball of magicka barreling towards it.

There was frustrated cursing on the other side of the now-locked door as she slipped into her cell once more.

“Where’s the key?” A man spat out. What the other said in response Briesis did not catch, but there was a dull thud as the man who’d spoken kicked the door.

It took just over ten seconds for the door to rattle open and for them to storm inside, long enough for Briesis to close the cell door behind her and snap the shackles back on. The first wore a blue and red skirt coupled with a breastplate (this one with a flaming sword), and a helmet that completely covered his face. His sword was drawn. The guardsman behind him wore the same mint green and orange that the two who’d taken away Alexius had, although he had no breastplate.

Briesis turned her attention back to the man. He was clearly the most important of the two.

“You,” He hissed “Apostate. They told me you were awake.”

Apostate?  Briesis blinked. “Excuse me?”

His lips curled. “Do not speak,” he said, as if hearing her were an offense. “The Inquisitor may have stayed his hand when he first laid eyes on you, but he will not do it again. Your unholy blood magic has led to the deaths of three good Templars, and several more people grievously injured. As if your existence weren’t sin enough. Abomination.”

Templars? Was that what he was? His armour did look a bit like the ones she’d seen those Templars from High Rock wear…even if he certainly didn’t act like one. There was nothing knightly about this man’s rudeness at all.

“What are you talking—”

“Silence!” He slammed his shield against the bars. “You’ll answer for the lives you took.  You will remain silent, or I will execute you here and now.”

Briesis doubted very much that she would answer for anything at all, but for the sake of peace (and figuring out how she’d allegedly managed to kill three people in her sleep) she kept quiet. Someone in charge would come to question her, eventually. Or Alexius’s trial would finish, and he’d return. It was only a matter of time.

Briesis waited long enough that the sun had begun to set by the time the door creaked open again. The Templar straightened. Briesis peered towards the door from the bedroll (the templar didn’t like it when she drew too close to the cell door) and watched more soldiers trickle in.

Alexius was with them. He was alive, unrestrained, and rather unbloodied, and walking calmly alongside the two soldiers from before.

She would’ve thought his trial had gone well if it weren’t for that terrible, vacant look in his eyes. His face was slack, his skin was ghost-white, and on his temple, barely visible in the dungeon’s dim light, was a strange pale tattoo in the shape of the sun.

They had branded him.

“He’s been made tranquil?” The Templar asked, gleeful. Briesis frowned. Tranquil?

“Knight-Captain Briony herself did it,” the first soldier murmured. There was something like pity in his face. “Nearly botched it with how quickly they pushed it through, nobody was expecting the order.”

Briesis inched closer to the cell door. Alexius wasn’t even blinking.

“They’ll keep him here for now, just a day or two,” the soldier continued. “The Inquisitor doesn’t want him near the mages yet.”

The Templar grunted in disapproval. “The sooner he serves as an example to the rest of his kind, the better.”

“It’s by the orders of the Inquisitor.” The other soldier said coolly. He stepped closer to her cell, and, for no reason whatsoever, spat through the bars. The glob landed just short of Briesis' boots. She gave them a once-over, cataloging their dull expressions and matching sneers. One and Two, Briesis thought furiously. Fitting names, for two men whose combined brainpower could probably only manage to count that high. “They’ll move him to the library with the other ‘Vint in a day or two, but not until we’re sure there’ll be no… disturbances.”

The Templar scoffed, looking over Alexius with smug approval. “Disturbances? Tranquility will keep him from stirring up any trouble. Doubt he could conjure a breeze if he tried.”

One chuckled and nodded, but as his gaze drifted over to Briesis’s cell, his face darkened. “They still have to sort out what’s to be done with the abomination, though.”

All three turned towards her. Briesis tried to put on an unconvincing look of utmost innocence.

“There’s no question what should be done,” The Templar snapped. “That creature is a threat in our midst. Letting her live is an insult to the Maker. The Inquisition can’t possibly keep it here.”

“The Inquisitor’s only just been informed of the latest… incident.” One said, reassuring. "Commander Rutherford and Lady Vivienne de Fer have been quite clear– they’ve demanded its execution."

Briesis blinked, pressing herself closer to the bars to listen better. Why were they discussing all this right here, right in front of her? Did they really not care if she overheard their talk of execution – or did they expect to scare her into silence?

The Templar went for his sword as she neared. "Then why does it still breathe?”

"The elven apostate still insists she’s not an abomination," Two muttered, as if reluctant to even admit the dissenting opinion. "The Inquisitor seems to be...considering it.”

The Templar scoffed, but turned away from her as Alexius was led back into his cell. It was just as well – Briesis thought she could smell his breath from here. “He’ll see reason eventually.”

Two locked the door to Alexius’s cell. “Tranquility suits him,” he muttered, stepping away.  “Do abominations need to eat, by the way? I’ve always wondered.”

“Feeding it is a waste of resources,” the Templar muttered, shaking his head. “But I suppose even monsters need their last meal.” He turned on his heel, armour clanking as he moved toward the exit. “Knight-Captain Trevelyan will be by very soon. Send word if anything changes.”

Briesis didn’t get the chance to be alone with Alexius, nor did she receive a meal. The guard didn’t say a single word except to shout at her when she’d begun to trace the runes on the wall, and so Briesis busied herself by picking a piece of string from her bedroll. It was a very uncomfortable thing, Briesis thought, even though the stitching layered into it suggested that it had belonged to someone before her. No wonder it’d been demoted to bedroll for prisoners. She just hoped she didn’t get lice.

The door opened before long. Briesis only turned her head slightly.

Four people this time. Two Templars, followed by two mages, both armed with staves, one a particularly pale, bald Bosmer and another a Redguard dressed in the most expensive looking dress she’d ever seen in her life. Now this was the woman she’d been waiting for.

Briesis straightened. She opened her mouth to speak, to plead her case, but a Templar–an Imperial woman– stepped forward and slammed her gauntleted fist against the bars.

“Not a word,” She snapped.

The Redguard clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Really, now, must you always be so dramatic? She is restrained, and we are more than capable of handling a single mage.”

“Abomination,” the Imperial corrected, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Briesis.

“Report,” The second Templar ordered.

The guard straightened. “No incidents, Knight-Captain. Both prisoners have been quiet.”

The Knight-Captain nodded tightly. He was a young, bearded, redheaded man, and he had a burn scar on his right cheek. He gestured to the guard. “Unlock the cell.”

The guard hesitated for moment before producing the key. The lock clicked when he twisted it, the door giving as it opened slightly, and the guard frowned. “It’s already unlocked. I– It must not have latched properly,” he stammered, before stepping back hastily as the Knight-Captain (What had the templar from before called him?) and the Templar surged forward to position themselves in front of the cell. Both had weapons drawn. Should Briesis attack now? She didn’t want to – with the enemy close, in such a confined space, with her back shackles on – she didn’t fancy her chances on taking on five at once.

“She unlocked it,” the Templar growled, taking a threatening step forward. “She must have—“

The elf raised an arm to block her. “Or perhaps,” he said smoothly, “someone simply forgot to turn the key. There is no indication she attempted to flee.”

The Redguard sniffed disdainfully but did not argue. Instead, she stepped closer, her sharp eyes sweeping over Briesis as if she were a particularly ugly bug. “You,” she said, her tone icy. “On your knees.”

Briesis knelt, her face flushing. Kill them, her mind suggested helpfully.

The cell door creaked open, and the group moved in. The Templar moved behind Briesis and brought her sword to rest lightly against Briesis’s neck, close enough that Briesis could feel its chill against her skin. “Try anything,” the Templar growled, her breath hot against Briesis’s ear, “and I’ll make sure you don’t live to regret it.”

The Redguard stepped forward, her dress swishing as she moved, but Briesis saw her tremble slightly as she stepped in. The runes on the wall pulsed slightly. The runes on the wall did do something, then.  “Hold out your hands,” she demanded imperiously.

Briesis didn’t move at first, her fingers twitching involuntarily. The Templar behind her shifted her weight, pressing the blade just enough to remind Briesis that disobedience would not be tolerated. She held out her hands. The Redguard stepped closer to Briesis and grasped her wrists.

“Let’s see,” she murmured, almost to herself. She lifted Briesis’s arm, turning it this way and that to inspect the skin. “No signs of recent blood magic,” she declared after a moment, though her tone suggested disappointment. The elf– the bald, pale one–shifted slightly where he stood near the doorway.

“Same as before,” he said, sounding more than a little smug. “There is no evidence she has used such magic since her capture. That does not align with your insistence that she is an abomination.”

The Redguard shot him a look. “If it looks like an abomination and summons demons like an blood mage—”

“It may not have summoned anything,” Solas countered. “We don’t know what caused it. And that is why we must be thorough.”

The Knight-Captain huffed. “This proves nothing. We’ll take precautions anyway.”

From a pouch at his belt, he produced a small glass vial and a thin, curved knife. The elf’s lips tightened, disapproving. “This is unnecessary,” he said, his voice low but firm. “She has shown no signs of blood magic, and creating a phylactery is—”

“Not your decision,” the Knight-Captain interrupted. “She is a mage, and she is a prisoner. This is standard procedure.”

Without waiting for further objections, he nodded at the Templar. She yanked Briesis’s head back slightly, exposing her neck further, while the Knight-Captain reached for the knife. Briesis stiffened, bracing herself to attack, at a disadvantage or not– but he wasn’t going for her neck.

“Hold still,” the Knight-Captain growled, though his grip on her wrist was rough enough to make stillness impossible. He wrenched her arm up, palm facing outward, and raised the knife.

Briesis couldn’t suppress a flinch. “What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice trembling despite herself. She didn’t want to think about what Master Aryon would say if he knew she was allowing strangers take blood samples to do who-knows-what with.

“Silence,” the Templar snapped, pressing the blade more firmly against her neck.

“It’s not your concern,” the Knight-Captain said gruffly, ignoring the elf’s disapproval as he made a shallow cut across Briesis’s palm. Blood welled up immediately, and the man carefully tilted her hand, allowing the droplets to fall into the open mouth of the vial.

The elf’s expression hardened, but he didn’t interfere as the Knight-Captain sealed the bottle with an audible click and put it away.

Briesis’s wrist burned, blood still trickling sluggishly from the cut.

The elf crouched in front of her now, his expression softer but no less intense. “Let me see,” he murmured, reaching for her hand. She hesitated, but his touch was gentle as he inspected the wound.

“Your methods are crude,” he muttered, though it wasn’t clear who the remark was aimed at. He placed a hand over her wrist, and a faint green glow emanated from his palm. The pain ebbed almost immediately, replaced by a pleasant warmth.

“You have an interesting array of magical scrolls in your possession.” He said. The Knight Captain stiffened– they clearly hadn’t expected him to speak. “What purpose do they serve?”

She blinked, startled. “The scrolls?” she repeated. She cast a nervous glance at the others, in case they took offence to her speaking, but it was clear that they expected her to answer. “They’re enchanted, that’s all. Nothing special.”

The elf tilted his head, his piercing gaze fixed on her. “Would any of these summon a demon, if activated?”

A demon? Not many people called Daedra that, these days. She hesitated, uncertain if this was a genuine question (after all, conjuration scrolls were the most common scrolls in demand), then answered truthfully. “Yes, some of them do that.”

The elf closed his eyes, and Briesis knew she’d made a mistake. “They’re pre-made,” she added hastily. “I bought them. If the enchantment has been botched, I could bring it up with the enchanter for you, I’m sure he’ll be very interested to know—”

The elf’s gaze sharpened. “You purchased them? Nothing more? You did not create the enchantments?”

Briesis shook her head, then stopped. The Templar’s sword was still too close for comfort. The elf nodded slowly, his hands still glowing faintly as he finished healing the wound. Briesis exhaled slowly, glancing up at him with cautious gratitude.

For a moment, his gaze lingered on her, thoughtful, before he pulled back and stood, his expression unreadable as he turned to the others. “It is done. I trust there will be no further need for this... barbarism.”

The Knight-Captain gave a curt nod but said nothing. The Templar sheathed her sword with a faint snarl of annoyance. Briesis stayed silent, watching as they filed out one by one, the Knight-Captain casting her a final, disdainful glance before her cell door was closed and locked once more.

The Knight-Captain turned to the Templar as the others disappeared down the hallway. “Lysette, you’ll stay. Keep watch. If she tries anything, cut her down.”

Lysette smiled thinly. “With pleasure.”

The door shut with a heavy clang, leaving Briesis alone with with her new guard.

Chapter Text

“Alexius?”

There was no answer. She waited for a few moments, but when it was clear he wasn’t going to respond, she tried again, louder this time.

“Alexius, can you hear me?

Nothing.

Breisis glanced towards the door.  Lysette had gone out earlier in order to get them both something to eat (a passing messenger had informed her that the servants were to afraid of the prisoners to drop by), but she suspected that it wouldn’t take Lysette too long to return. Alexius was wasting their time.

“Alexius,” she said. “I need you to speak to me. Please?”

Silence. 

It didn’t matter, she thought, grinding her teeth. She didn't need his cooperation. She’d already unlocked her cell door again in preparation for a quick getaway. She could ambush Lysette when she returned and then she'd just, well, take Alexius.

She was already planning on the best way to dispose of Lysette when Alexius finally spoke.

“Yes,” He said. “I can hear you.”

The sound of his voice—empty, flat, and utterly devoid of life—made her feel oddly sick. What in Oblivion had they done to him?

“Are you…” she faltered, very well she was about to ask something very stupid. After all, from what she’d seen, they’d grabbed a poker and mutilated the poor man’s forehead. She coughed. “Are you all right?”

“I am functioning.” He said. That hadn’t been what she’d meant, and she was certain he knew it.

“Did they hurt you?”

“No,” he said. There was a brief pause before he continued. “They have made me Tranquil.”

That word again. Briesis’s brows knitted together. “Tranquil?”

“A mage who has had their connection to the Fade severed,” he explained. “It removes all magical ability, as well as all emotion..”

They’d taken his magic? They’d taken his emotions? “Why in Oblivion would they do that?”

“Because I was a threat,” Alexius said. “It was necessary. For the safety of others.”

Briesis sat back, her throat dry. She should’ve grabbed him and made a run for it before they’d taken him away. The moment she’d discovered he could turn back time. Was that gone forever now? He’d mentioned an amulet— could Tranquil still enchant things?

Not that she could have left her satchel behind, she amended. She might have hidden away Keening and Sunder, but some of what she’d had on her had been worth as much as a house. And those Dwemer Schematics were priceless.

Aryon and Baladas had truly chosen a terrible day to challenge her.

“I’ll get you out,” she told him firmly. “I swear it. I’ll get you out of here.”

It took him a moment to respond. “Escape would be inadvisable. You will surely be killed by the guards if you are caught.”

“They might,” Briesis agreed, although she doubted it very much. “But they’re going to kill me anyway, or they’ll make me a Tranquil too. And look what they did to you—you can’t possibly want to stay here, can you?

Another pause. This was getting tiresome. “I’d prefer to remain.”

It felt as though she’d been slapped. “Prefer?” She repeated, disbelieving. “You want to stay here?”

“Desire is beyond me,” he said simply. “I cannot want.”

This was wrong. It was immoral, it was disgusting, and vile, and—

“What about your son?” She whispered. “He’s sick, Alexius. You said so yourself. He needs you. He won’t survive without you.”

Alexius’s breath hitched, a sound so small she almost missed it.

“Felix,” Alexius said.

So that was his son’s name.

“You might not want anything anymore, but surely you would prefer if it Felix lives?” She didn’t see the difference between preferring or wanting something, but clearly Alexius did, and if playing these word games meant Alexius would pull himself together and give her a proper answer, then—

The door creaked open. Lysette was back, a tray balanced awkwardly in each hand. ”Here,” she said, her voice clipped as she slipped a tray through a slot at the bottom of Briesis’s cell. A second tray clattered into the cell besides her, and Briesis winced when Alexius politely thanked Lysette.

The Tranquility would have to go, she decided. An Ally who did not want anything she could offer was one that was easily poached. Especially when she’d be hoping his wish for his son’s life and his gratitude for saving it would be strong enough to ensure a long-lasting partnership.

And really, letting any other member of House Telvanni knowing that the Tranquil existed was a terrible, terrible idea.

Pleased at having found a practical reason to rescue Alexius, Briesis turned to her food. Bread. And water. She poked it. The bread was dry, and stale. The water in the cup smelled faintly sour. She wrinkled her nose and pushed it away with a scowl.

They’d fed her better in the Imperial City prison.

Lysette’s eyebrows raised.

“This is garbage.” Briesis said flatly.

“Excuse me?”

“The food,” Briesis repeated, more deliberately. "It’s trash."

The Templar’s face darkened, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her sword. “You should be grateful,” she snapped. “Food is food. And water is a mercy you’re lucky to have.”

“The water smells like it’s been scooped from a gutter,” Briesis shot back. “What did you put in it?”

““It’s just Magebane,” Lysette snapped. “Enough to make sure you don’t start flinging fireballs at the guards. It’s not going to kill you. It’s for everyone’s safety, including yours.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Magebane did, with a name like that. She wasn’t going to drink it.

Alexius’s cell was silent, the quiet only punctuated by the faint rustle of fabric and then the unmistakable sound of chewing. He was eating. Of course he was eating. He’d probably eat ash if he were told—Tranquil were clearly not capable of disgust.

“This isn’t fair. I want real food.”

Lysette’s mouth tightened, the corners dipping into a frown. “It’s what you’ll eat if you don’t want to go hungry,” she said. “We’re not running a tavern.”

Briesis opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in her throat as Alexius’s voice floated over.

“That’s enough,” he said. His tone was even, but there was something in the way he’d said that made Briesis think they were being scolded. “I would prefer it if Felix lived. I will help you.”

Briesis’s throat went dry. He chose now to speak up?

Lysette’s eyes narrowed, the suspicion clear as she glanced back and forth between Briesis and Alexius. Her mouth twisted into something unpleasant. “What did you just say?”

“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” Briesis said, willing her expression of confusion to be convincing enough. “He’s clearly confused. I mean, look what’s been done to him. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

Alexius paused long enough that Briesis thought he wouldn’t say anything more damning, that they might get through this unscathed. But then Alexius, sweet, tactful, absolutely useless Alexius said, “We’re planning to escape.”

Briesis swore internally—a good, hearty curse involving at least three Daedric princes and the Tribunal too—as Lysette’s face contorted from suspicion to outrage. Her eyes narrowed even further, and with a snarl, she yanked on Briesis’s cell door and shook it hard. Briesis’s unlocked cell.

The door gave way, swinging open so hard it smacked against the wall. Briesis heart leapt into her throat.

Lysette’s surprise was evident for half a breath. Her brows shot up so fast they nearly took her helmet with them. “You little snake”, Lysette hissed, lunging into the cell.

Briesis thrust her hand out, her fingers crackling with magicka, and released a spell that lit the small chamber in a red glow, hitting Lysette square in the chest. The woman staggered, legs wobbling as If the ground had been swept away from beneath her, and then collapsed with a clatter into an ungraceful heap.

Briesis panted, her heartbeat thundering in her ears as she shook off the cuffs still clinging to her wrists. The iron fell with a dull clang, and she stepped over Lysette’s prone form, sparing her only the briefest glance. Lysette’s eyes fluttered, but Briesis knew it wouldn’t last. Not with the spell coursing through her.

She marched to Alexius’s cell, hands trembling from adrenaline. “Why would you say that?” She hissed.

Alexius blinked slowly, his face blank. “It was the truth.”

“You,” she snapped, gripping the bars, “Do you have any idea how much harder you just made this?”

Alexius’s expression didn’t so much as twitch. “Yes,” he said finally.

Briesis rolled her eyes, exasperation flaring hot in her chest. “Move back,” she ordered, not waiting to see if he had complied. Her fingers brushed over the lock. The iron protested for a moment before surrendering with a click. She yanked the door open and waved him through. Alexius didn’t hesitate, stepping forward, but his gait was stiff.

“Listen,” Briesis said, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward as gently as she could manage. He was as cold as ice. “We need to leave quickly. Can you still cast at all?"

He looked at here. “No.”

Briesis’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at the still-unconcious Lysette. “Stay here,” she told him. “I’ll get my things and come back for you.”

“Your belongings will likely be under examination,” Alexius said.

“Do you know where?”

Alexius shrugged.

“Great,” Briesis muttered, turning away. Of course, it wouldn’t be that simple. She supposed she could have someone tell her where they were–hadn’t that messenger mentioned servants? If they were anything like the ones she had in Morrowind, they’d likely be easily goaded into compliance—

“You will need a map,” Alexius continued. “And you must find provisions. We cannot cross the Frostbacks without them.”

Provisions. She hadn’t had any on her when she’d wound up here, but they couldn’t be that hard to find, could it? This place had to have a kitchen or an inn somewhere. Most forts she’d seen did. The map was a different issue.

“Right,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Stay put. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Chapter Text

Briesis leaned forward and peek around the edge of the doorway. Soldiers and civilians were scattered throughout the courtyard, mingling in groups, some laughing, others deep in conversation.

No one was looking her way. It was now or never.

Carefully, Briesis nudged the door with her foot, leaving it open just enough that she could squeeze her way out and ducked behind the nearest building. The invisibility spell she’d cast on the way up was far too draining for how easily broken it could be, and while she’d knocked out the elven guard on the way up and taken both her helmet and armour as a somewhat lacklustre disguise, she doubted the Inquisition would be very pleased at all if one of their guards popped out of thin air.

She was out. Now what?

Briesis made her way around the building and peered out in time to see group of men drunkenly stumble out from the building in front of her. And that smell—a tavern, it had to be. Lysette had been holding out on her.

Her stomach growled.

She touched the coin purse she’d taken from Lysette. She could afford a meal, surely. She couldn’t very well escape on an empty stomach, and anything they had in the tavern was better than the rot they’d tried to give her earlier.

Alexius had asked for provisions. Did it really matter where she got them from?

And really, she thought, watching as one of the men fell face-first into mud. The whole tavern was probably full of drunks. One of them was bound to let something slip. Three dead men and several injured, the Templar said. There would be gossip about what had happened. Or where the belongings of the mage responsible had been placed. This was a logical decision, it really was.

With her plan hastily formed but feeling solid enough, she tightened the straps on her stolen uniform, adjusted her helmet, let her illusion drop, and stepped out from behind the building.

Briesis pushed open the door of the tavern, taking a deep breath before stepping in. It was warm, and the smell of roast meat hit her immediately. Patrons were clustered around shabby wooden tables, some hunched in quiet conversations, others laughing over foaming tankards. A bard was singing by the stairs.

The Templars she’d killed must not have been very well liked.

She edged her way toward the bar, her gaze sweeping over the counter where plates of half-eaten food and empty mugs cluttered the space. Behind the table, a very short man with facial tattoos set out mugs and platters of food—hunks of dark bread slathered with butter, slabs of roasted meat, bowls with thick and steaming stew garnished with fresh herbs. Nearby, a barmaid was flitting between the tables, dropping off platters piled with this slices of bread, hunks of cheese, and mugs of beer.

Yes. Coming here had been a good decision.

The barman looked up as she approached. “What’ll it be?”

“Anything I can take to go.” She said. “Bread, meat…anything that doesn’t need a plate. And I need a lot of it.”

The barman scratched her chin, sizing her up with a squint. “Got some meat pies, if that suits you. Fresh from the oven not half an hour ago. Could wrap one up for ye,” he offered gruffly. “Or there’s smoked sausage and roast venison wrapped in bread that’ll keep well enough if you don’t mind it cold. Might even have some salted fish in back, if you’re the patient sort.”

“How much would this get me?” she asked, thrusting out a handful of Lysette’s coins for him to take, hoping it was a reasonable request and praying she wasn’t overstepping.

The barman narrowed his eyes, clearly gauging her. “Feeling flush, are we?” He tilted his head, studying her, then grunted and swept up the coins, giving a gruff nod. “Good enough for me. Give me a moment.” He turned and started gathering her food, muttering to himself as he moved, though she couldn’t quite make out the words over the bard’s singing.

“But she was so sharp, and quick with her bow—“

When the barman returned, he handed her a cloth bundle that felt pleasantly heavy. She accepted with a grateful nod, and turned to leave, the bundle clutched to her chest.

She had scarcely managed to take a few steps when her foot caught on something and she stumbled. She crashed into something solid—so solid it felt like hitting a stone wall. A cold splash followed.

Her stomach dropped. She’d just upended someone’s drink all over them.

“You alright there?” A deep voice asked.

She had to choke down a yelp, biting her lip hard as she looks up—and up. It was a monster. He (was it a he?) was impossibly huge, taller than any man or mer she’d ever seen, with thick, muscled arms that looked more like tree trunks than actual limbs. His skin was as grey as hers, but those horns…

He’d asked a question.

“Y-yes,” Briesis stammered, her face heating. She couldn’t look away from him, though she was keenly aware of the drink dripping down the man’s now-soaked bare chest. Another reason to be glad the helmet hid her face. “I’m so sorry about your—” she nodded vaguely at the wet stain spreading across his broad chest, “—drink.”

It couldn’t possibly be a person, could it? Granted, she’d never met a daedra that sported an eyepatch, but stranger things had happened.

“Relax,” he said, waving a massive very hand. “It’s just a drink. Happens all the time.”

Briesis looked back to his face, startled. This wasn’t the reaction she’d have expected from someone of his size or appearance. He grinned at her, and gestured towards a table. “Come on, let me get you a drink. You sound like you could use one.”

Briesis opened her mouth to thank him but politely refuse—Alexius was waiting on her, after all—when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. On a table to her left, a group of mercenaries were watching the exchange, one an elven woman whose face was riddled in markings. Her smile widened when she saw Briesis staring, and Briesis knew at once who’d been responsible for her stumble.

There was space between a her and another mercenary—one big enough to account for a Beast sized gap. The two knew each other. This was not a coincidence.

Coming here had been a terrible decision.

“No thanks,” She said. “I’ve got to, uh, be somewhere. Else.”

The Beast nodded slowly, his expression still pleasant. “Fair enough,” he said, giving her shoulder a pat that nearly knocked the breath out of her, though it seemed he barely used any force. “But the next time you knock over someone’s drink, you might want to stick around. It’s polite.”

Briesis nodded as if he’d said something intelligent, and inched away. Get out of my way, get out of my way.

He did.

Briesis headed up the stairs to the main keep, invisible once again. She’d managed to corner a servant boy earlier, a wide eyed thing carrying a tray of empty mugs, who’d told her exactly where the “abomination’s” belongings were. In the Undercroft, he’d said, at the far end of the hall.

The main hall wasn’t as crowded as she’d expected. There were many people, certainly, but they’d all gathered into small groups by the sides, leaving a path (was that a throne?) clear. It’d been a good idea to cast the invisibility spell—the soldiers here were all clearly still on duty.

She crouched behind the throne. There were two Templars guarding the door to the Undercroft. What was she supposed to do? Even if she got rid of those Templars, the moment she tried to open the door leading to the undercroft, her invisibility spell would drop. With so many people around, somebody was bound to notice.

Maybe she could cause a distraction. A simple telekinesis spell and that chandelier above them would come crashing down—

The door opened.

The first to step out was a redheaded woman clothed in purple chainmail and the elven man who’d she’d met in the dungeons,  followed by an Imperial woman with a scar on her cheek and a dark skinned noblewoman. They lingered by the door, talking.

“…you’re certain, Solas? No signs of anything magical?” The redhead asked, glancing back at him.

“I would not mistake it if it were there,” the elf replied. “Whatever it has done, it is devoid of magic, as I said. This does not make it harmless.”

“Not magical?” The Imperial snarled. She looked ready to spit fire. “Not magical? That scroll summoned a demon, Solas! Near everything in that bag is clearly enchanted. Not magical? Have you all lost your minds?”

Briesis blinked. A demon? They still weren't using the proper terms, but Briesis was used to dealing with magic-ignorant Nords, and it was enough to put the pieces together. Why Solas had questioned her about the scrolls. Why they'd been so angry. They’d gone through her things. They’d picked up a summoning scroll. They’d summoned a Deadra with it. And it had attacked? But why? Audenian’s scrolls had always been of quality. It only would have attacked them had they struck first. And who would be so stupid as to do that?

“Cassandra, please” the redhead interjected,  her voice calm. Solas is only stating what he found. But I agree. It doesn’t add up. We must be missing something.”

“I understand your skepticism.” Solas said. “The scroll may have acted as a catalyst, but as far as we can tell, it was not imbued with any innate magic. It is simply…a piece of parchment. The Veil is thin here. It is possible that it stirred something.”

“An piece of parchment?” Cassandra repeated, looking as though she’d very much like to give him a swift kick. “Tell that to the man whose arm is missing, Solas. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to hear it was just a piece of parchment.”

Solas’s voice remained even. “A singular incident, Cassandra. The scroll disintegrated upon use. I am merely saying that we need not fear an immediate recurrence, as long as we do not open any others.”

The redhead sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll arrange for further inspection, though we have little time to spare. Perhaps Vivienne can do more thorough tests, but if Solas found nothing…“

Cassandra made a vague, disgusted noise, then said, “I have heard the abomination is awake. If it has truly risen, I would rather handle this threat now than wait for it to grow stronger. I don’t see why we can’t deal with it immediately."

Red raised a placating hand. “The situation is under control, Cassandra. The abomination is contained, and there is a Templar stationed outside it’s cell to ensure it stays that way. Until the Inquisitor gives us new orders, no one is to engage with the abomination.”

Cassandra’s jaw clenched. “We can’t trust that a single Templar will be enough to keep it controlled. You must help the Inquisitor see reason, Leliana.”

“Perhaps,” Leliana said diplomatically. “We can continue this conversation once we join the Inquisitor and Commander Rutherford in the war room. I believe the Inquisitor is still deliberating with Cullen on how to handle this situation. Perhaps we should join them before things get…heated.”

“Fine,” Cassandra snapped. “At least someone here has some sense.” She turned, her footsteps loud as she stalked away.

The others fell quiet as they watched her.

“Regardless,” the noblewoman said, speaking for the first time, “I’ll reach out to the Tradesmen’s Guild. I am certain I have seen these coins before.”

“Thank you, Josie,” Leliana said, nodding. “And tell Dagna she may keep the schematics for study. It will cheer her up, no doubt.”

The noblewoman gave a slight smile, dipping her head as Solas held the door open for her to exit. As the noblewoman passed through, Briesis seized her chance. She slipped forward, ducking low beneath the man’s extended arm and slipped through the door just as it closed behind her.

Briesis straightened. Nobody was around.

Much like the prison, the Undercroft was also exposed to open air. It would have been a decent escape route, if she hadn’t needed to go back for Alexius. On a long wooden table below that had been pushed to the side of the room, were her belongings—her bag, emptied and left carelessly on it’s side, with all it’s contents strewn about the table in a mess. Her books were unceremoniously stacked, the scrolls were half-unfurled, and her coin purse had been tossed aside as though it held little value.

Suppressing her pure indignation, she hurried down the stairs towards it. Her fingers curled around the the leather strap of her bag—

—and within an instant, she was staring at her own now-visible hands as her invisibility spell collapsed around her.

Chameleon spells are so much better.

She yanked her bag upright, frantically shoving items back into it. Books, soul gems, scrolls, clothing, her gemstones and everything else—she swept them all into the bag, grumbling. She’d organise it all later—

She shoved the food she’d bought from the tavern in too, and then, with far more care, reached for the Dwemer schematics that had been laid out on the table. She carefully smoothed the pages, her breath hitching as she noted the slight crease on one corner—from some careless swit’s handling, no doubt. Muttering under her breath, she slipped the schematics back into the binder where they belonged.

She paused when her fingers wrapped around a pair of gloves. After only a moments hesitation, she pulled off the gloves she’d taken from the soldier, and pulled on the enchanted gloves Master Aryon given her long ago—finer, lighter, and considerably more useful.

She shoved what little remained on the table back into the bag, slung the bag over her shoulder, gave the now-empty table one last glance to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind, and turned to leave.

She’d just reached the door when it swung open, and she barely had time to step back as a towering figure filled the doorway, blocking her path entirely. She looked up—way up—into the face of the hulking beastman she’d met in the tavern. An Imperial man with short brown hair peered out from behind the Beast’s shoulder, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.

Well, well," The Beast rumbled, his voice deep and almost playful. "I knew something was off about you. Figured I’d find you snooping around somewhere you shouldn’t be." His one eye was sharp despite his easygoing tone, and Briesis saw when it flicked to her bag. ”Seems I was right. Hate to say it, but it's over. Now be a good girl and drop the bag, yeah?"

Briesis hand twitched. She could win in a fight against him if it came down to it, she’d be willing to bet, but he was nearly three times her size with a battle-axe as tall as she was, and she wasn’t sure how fast he could swing it. “I don’t want any trouble,” Briesis said. “Please step aside.”

The man beside him stepped forward, his own sword drawn now. He tilted his head, studying her. “You can save us all some time and drop that bag right now. The Chief doesn’t like hurting people unless he has to.” His eyes flicked to the Beast, then back to her. “Well…usually.” His voice was oddly feminine, Briesis thought.

Briesis could hear movement behind him. He must have brought others— they knew she was here—

“Let’s make this simple,” The Beast continued, lifting his greastsword and nodding toward her bag. “Drop the bag, and maybe I won’t break you in half. Not that it’ll make much difference once we drag you to the dungeons, but hey—I’ll make it quick.”

Briesis lips curled.

She wasn’t afraid of anyone that wore pink.“These are my things,” She snapped. “You stole this from me. I’m not going anywhere with you. Stay away from me, or I will kill you.”

The Beast’s grin didn’t waver. He glanced at the Imperial, who gave a slight nod, as if to say, Go on, Chief.

Briesis barely had time to react before he swung the axe down with terrifying force. She yelped, ducking and stumbling backward as it whooshed past, missing her by inches and burying itself in the wooden floorboards with a bone-rattling thud. She could feel the rush of air from the swing and knew that if she’d been just a hair slower, she wouldn’t be standing right now. Okay, so he was faster than her—close combat wasn’t an option—she rolled onto her feet just in time to see him pivot, his stance shifting as he prepared to swing again.

Do something!

Her glove. Aryon’s Dominator.

She raised her gloved hand, fingers splayed as she thrust her hand towards him, willing the enchantment to reach out and command the Beast.

The Beast froze mid-motion, his expression flickering for an instant—confusion, then an unsettling blankness. His grip on the battleaxe slackened, only for a moment, before he straightened, the weapon still clutched firmly in his hand.

But his gaze wasn’t focused on her.

“Chief! Wait-what are you—”

The sword came down with a blow, forcing the Imperial to leap back, barely managing to avoid a direct hit. Briesis grinned when she saw his face, horrified and shocked all at once as he stared at the Beast, who was walking towards him, readying himself for another swing.

Serves you right, she thought.

“Bull, what the hell?” The Imperial shouted, stumbling back, raising his weapon defensively.

There was a clash of steel, and Briesis barely had a moment to register the horrified look on the man’s face as he dodged another swing. Shouts of alarm began to rise from behind the door, and  Briesis could hear footsteps pounding closer, drawn by the commotion.

They heard, she thought, her stomach lurching. They’re coming.

Without a second glance, Briesis turned on her heel and bolted, yanking the door open and stumbling into the main hallway. Just ahead, a crowd of finely dressed nobles milled about, their conversations immediately cut short as they looked up in shock.She didn't have time to care. Soldiers were already rushing in from every angle, some already close enough she could see the whites of their eyes—

There was no time—

But Aryon had given her another glove.

The nobles screamed, scattering in all directions as the three Daedra materialised in front of them. Some soldiers rushed forward, trying to intercept them, and others backed away with wide-eyed horror. Briesis ducked low as the storm atronach raised its arm and sent a bolt of lightning hurtling into the crowd converging on her position. She’d been on the receiving end of friendly fire one too many times to have not learnt her lesson.

Briesis did not stop to watch what happened. She fled, slipping between the Daedra and the screaming crowd, eyes fixed on the door leading to the courtyard. One soldier lunged at her, sword raised, but she sidestepped him, hopping over another who stumbled into her path.

Around her, nobles scrambled towards the same exit, their fine shoes slipping on the stone floor as they jostled and shoved to reach the doorway. She joined the tide, squeezing into the crowd of escaping nobles until she stumbled out into the open air alongside a handful of others who’d managed to flee. They were still screaming while they ran down the steps, and from here, she could see those outside were coming closer—pouring out the tavern, out the forge, from the towers—

She staggered as someone ran into her from behind as they practically flew down the steps. Briesis followed.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, tearing down the stone steps. She flung open the entrance to the prisons, not slowing down as she took the steps two at a time until she passed the prison cells and the unconscious body of the elven guard she’d stripped and reached the door that had housed both her cell and Alexius’s.

She flung herself through, slammed the door behind her, and locked with a spell. She leaned against it, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

“Are you quite alright?”

Alexius.

She looked up. He stared blankly at her, holding two bedrolls in his arms.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“I have gathered supplies.” Alexius said calmly. “We will need bedrolls to sleep in.”

Briesis closed her eyes, forcing herself to reign in her temper. He was helping. She didn’t want to share her own bedroll with him. This was a good thing.

She could hear shouting, now. People were coming down the steps.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing Alexius by the arm and tugging him toward the cliff. “It’s time to go.”

Alexius followed without protest as she led him to the far end of the room. She spotted Lysette in her cell as they passed, still out cold. Alexius had taken the initiative to shackle her, and Briesis nearly laughed. Whatever being made Tranquil had taken from him, his will was clearly not one of them.

Briesis turned toward Alexius. Alexius simply looked at her, unfazed, his expression blank as usual. If he felt fear, he showed none of it. But he was deserving of an explanation either way. “I’m going to cast a spell on you,” she said, her voice low and hurried. “It’ll slow your fall before you hit the ground. Do not panic.”

“I am incapable of panic,” he responded, his tone utterly even. Her fingers glowed faintly as she reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, watching as the magic settled over him.

The door rattled violently as someone tried to force it open. Then with a sharp, splitting sound, the door was ripped clean off its hinges, magic blazing in the air as the door was hurtled across the room, and down the cliff.

Briesis staggered back, pulling Alexius closer as a flood of armoured figures burst in, weapons drawn. She recognised Cassandra, sword in hand, flanked by two mages and a handful of guards. One of the mages, an Imperial man with dark hair and a sharply groomed moustache, stepped forward, his face twisting as his eyes landed on Alexius.

“Stop!” the man shouted, his voice cracking. “Don’t—!”

Briesis didn’t hesitate. With a hard shove, she pushed Alexius off the edge of the cliff, and watched him plummet. She’d follow after him— she had enough experience casting slowfall mid-air that she wasn’t even remotely concerned.

“ NO!” The mage lunged forward, his staff sparking with magic, reaching out as though he could somehow pull Alexius back—or as though he might fling a spell at her.

Briesis didn’t give him a chance. She backed up and took a single, deep, breath.

Then she flung herself off the cliff.

Chapter Text

Briesis groaned as she poked her head out of the snow, coughing and spitting out a mouthful of icy powder. The cold bit at her cheeks, and she shivered, brushing the frost from her face.

She managed to sit up, shivering as her breath puffed into the air. The valley was silent, save for the faint whistling of the wind.

Too silent.

“Alexius?” She called.

Nothing. Briesis didn’t even know why she bothered.

She brushed the snow from her robes, looking around. Snow, rocks, more snow—and an Alexius sized hole in the snow a few meters away, roughly man-shaped and surrounded by by a light dusting of frost. She stared for a moment, half-expecting him to sit up like some terrible jack-in-the-box. When he didn’t, she scrambled to her feet, biting back a curse as the cold bit into her fingers and knees.

There he was, lying face-first, half-buried under the snow, but still unmistakably alive. Briesis winced; she’d managed to steer him away from the cliffs and the waterfall on their descent, but even with the slowfall spell he hadn’t exactly had a gentle landing, or at least hadn’t taken the impact well—his arms were sprawled at awkward angles, and he’d clearly landed flat on his face.

Maybe he wasn’t used to using slowfall spells? A slowfall spell wasn’t supposed to have left such impact at all, but she’d chalked it up to how soft the snow was…but if Alexius were so unskilled, and had landed so wrongly…maybe he’d hit a rock and broken something?

Did Tranquil feel pain?

She stumbled over to him, the snow sinking slightly under her boots, and dropped to her knees beside the hole. It wasn’t very deep, only a a feet or two deeper than the one she’d made herself, and so she was reasonably certain he was completely unharmed too.

She leaned over him. “Alexius,” she said again, more sharply this time, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a rough shake. “Are you alright?”

He stirred slightly, his head turning just enough for her to see the serene, utterly tranquil expression that had annoyed her since this whole mess began. His face was dusted with snow, and he blinked up at her as though nothing unusual had happened.

“You are unharmed,” he stated calmly, not bothering to lift himself from the snow.

“So are you.” She said. She hoped. He didn’t look injured, as far as she could tell. “Can you walk?”

He pushed himself up slowly, awkward and sluggish, until he managed to kneel in the snow, flakes clinging to his robes and hair. “I am uninjured,” he said simply. “Though the landing was…disorienting. “

Maybe it was for the best he was like this. Briesis was well used to heights, after so long in Telvanni territory, but most others would not have taken a fall that big quite so calmly, slowfall or not.

Not on their first time, anyway.

She offered him her hand without thinking. He stared at it, then at her, his gaze utterly blank, before finally taking it. His grip was firm, but his hands were as cold as ice. She hoped he wouldn’t get hypothermia, and hauled him to his feet, grunting with the effort. He didn’t resist, though he stared at her hand like it was some kind of strange artifact. She reached out, brushing snow from his shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” She asked, breaking the silence.

He nodded.

“Good,” she said, stepping back to give him room. “That’s good. Now, come on, we need to move before they figure out a way down here.”

They would figure out where they’d landed, Breisis knew. With so many mages in the Inquisition’s possession, the chances a handful of them knew a slowfall spell were astronomically high.

Briesis brushed the last of the snow from her gloves, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she and Alexius trudged forward, following the frozen river downstream.

Every so often, she glanced back over her shoulder, half-expecting to see Cassandra or the Knight-Captain charging down the slope with swords gleaming. But there was nothing. Instead, there was just Alexius, trudging dutifully after her, clutching both bedrolls to his chest like a lifeline, and t he only sounds were the wind and the their boots crunching through the snow.

Eventually, they crested a low hill, and Briesis’s stomach sank.  Torches. Dozens of them, spread out across both sides of the lake, surrounding its far shore, and she could make out the shape of tents pitched in orderly rows. Other noises carried faintly through the air, now: muffled voices, the occasional laugh, and the clinking of metal.

“Look,” she whispered, pointing.

Alexius stopped beside her, his gaze fixed on the scene below, serene as ever. The cold didn’t seem to touch him—his hands had to be frozen solid, but he made no effort to warm them. No shivering. No muttered complaints. Nothing. She shook her head, dragging her gloves over her face. “Inquisition forces,” he stated calmly, as though she hadn’t already figured that out. “They are camped here.”

It didn’t look like they’d been alerted yet about what had happened in Skyhold, but Briesis knew it was only a matter of time. She’d seen the courier crows in the courtyard, and she’d seen the horses, too. It would not be long before news reached them. An invisibility spell would not help them, not when they'd still leave tracks in the snow.

She bit her lip, eyeing the distant tents. “We’ll have to go around them,” she muttered. “Circle back, maybe head east—”

“We could go between them,” Alexius said. She blinked, turning to look at him. His face was unreadable, as always.

“Between them?” she repeated. “Across the lake?”

Alexius inclined his head slightly. “A sound plan, provided the ice is stable.”

She could see where he was coming from. The river might be frozen enough to support them, and it wouldn’t leave footprints. It was a very cloudy night, too. The soldiers wouldn’t even have moonlight to see them pass.

She rubbed at her temples, the cold biting at her fingers even through her gloves. “If it isn’t, we’re dead,” she muttered.

“I do not suggest falling in,” Alexius said, as though that were an actual contribution to the conversation.

What other options did they have? There had to be a proper road near the camp—none of the nobles she’d seen would have mountain-climbed all the way to Skyhold, and she’d seen the carriages in the courtyard.

But the roads would be the first thing the Inquisition searched, when they came looking for them. Levitation might have been useful, had it been cast up in the prison—but it would be far, far too draining to try to levitate them both over a mountain so tall from the base, and it would take too much time. She’d lost enough magicka up in Skyhold as it was, and she didn’t particularly want to end up in middle of nowhere and freeze to death when she inevitably ran out. The river was the best choice. She had enough magicka for a water walking spell if the ice couldn’t hold.

She stepped onto the edge of the frozen river, testing her weight against the ice. It creaked faintly, but it held. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she beckoned Alexius to follow.

Briesis stepped forward, one cautious foot onto the ice. The ice creaked, a low, groaning sound that sent a shiver down her spine, but it held. Slowly, carefully, she took another tentative step. The ice stayed firm. Another step, then another, her breaths coming shallow as her boots slid slightly against the frozen surface.

“It’s holding,” she called back, her voice barely above a whisper. “Come on.”

Alexius was lagging behind.

Breisis slowed her pace, glancing back to see him trudging through the snow with heavy, uneven steps. He hadn’t said anything— not that she expected much in the way of complaints after what the Inquisition had done to him— but his steps were faltering, and she could hear him panting shallowly.

“Wait,” Alexius said at last, his voice strained. “I cannot.”

Briesis stopped, looking back at him. She didn’t want to stop, not with the Inquisition so close, but she could see that he was at his limit.

Brieisis bit her lip, considering. They’d made a lot of headway. It’d been easy enough to walk past the Inquisiton’s camp earlier, and just afterwards the river had ended in a waterfall so steep she hadn’t been able to see where it ended, followed by a series of other, smaller ones. Nothing slowfall hadn’t been able to fix, although she’d made sure the landing would be softer, and delicate enough that they wouldn’t smash through the ice in case it were thin.

She’d hoped that would buy them enough time—Alexius had promised her that the Inquisition did not have slowfall spells and thus would not be able to take that same path—but not long afterwards, when the river evened out, they’d seen tracks lining the banks, and signs of construction: narrow roads cut into the snowballs, wooden stakes and flags hammered into the ground, and footprints that hadn’t yet been snowed in.

The Inquisition had clearly had the same idea she’d had. The river was a natural path to follow.

But it didn’t matter how close or far the Inquisition was behind them. Alexius had reached his limit. He paused mid-stride, swaying slightly, before lowering himself to sit on the ice. Briesis wasn’t far behind, if she were to be entirely truthful. She’d gotten too used to better climates, despite a childhood spent entirely in Winterhold. Her legs burned, she was running lower than she’d like on magicka, her shoulders ached, and she was very, very cold.

All the same…the faint glow of very small torches moved in the distance, far now but rapidly catching up.  The Inquisition was on their trail.

Her eyes drifted toward the mountainside. The cliff beside them was steep, jagged, and covered in snow, too difficult for anyone to climb. But for someone with magic…

“Get up,” she said after a moment, nudging Alexius with her foot. “We’re going up.”

Alexius gave her a weary look. Briesis supposed exhaustion was more of a sensation than a feeling. “The incline is too steep,” he said. “We’ll never climb it in our current state.”

“We’re not climbing,” she told him, already digging into her reserves of magicka. “We’re Levitating.”

The first part was easy enough. Briesis cast the levitation spell on herself, and the familiar lightness took hold as her feet left the ground. The real challenge began when she extended the spell to Alexius.

His weight was manageable in theory, but it became immediately apparent he’d not only never cast a slowfall spell, but he’d also never levitated before, and he was having trouble maintaining his balance midair. He flailed slightly when the magic lifted him, and Breisis had to grip his arm tightly to keep him from veering off course.

“Stop squirming!” She hissed, her arms trembling as she hauled him upward with her, every muscle in her body protesting as she pulled them both higher, toward a ledge that jutted out from the cliffside. It should have been easy. It should have been just like every other levitation spell she’d cast. But Alexius, apparently unable to get used to the sensation, shifted awkwardly mid-ascent, throwing off her balance and causing the spell to falter. Briesis let out a sharp gasp, clutching him tighter as she strained to correct their trajectory.

By the time they reached the ledge, her arms were shaking so badly she thought she might drop him. She practically collapsed onto the rock, dragging Alexius down with her. Her head spun, and her breath came in ragged gasps as she lay sprawled on the uneven surface. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the stars as she caught her breath. Her limbs ached, and she made a mental note to never attempt this again unless absolutely necessary.

“Never again,” she said, rolling onto her back and staring up at the sky. “I swear, if I ever have to levitate you again—”

“Understood,” Alexius replied, settling himself onto the ledge with far more composure than she thought he deserved.

She crawled to the edge of the ledge, peering over cautiously. Below, specks of light dotted the snowy valley- the torches of mounted soldiers making their way down the river path where’d they’d been not fifteen minutes ago. She could even hear the barking of dogs. If they hadn’t levitated when they did, they might have already run into them.

“Those roads were built recently.” Briesis said quietly, more to herself than to Alexius.

“The Inquisition has only recently established Skyhold as their stronghold,” Alexius explained from behind her. “These roads were not here when we came here. “These roads are necessary to connect the fortress to the rest of the region.”

She turned back to find him unrolling one of the bedrolls he’d insisted on bringing. He settled inside, lying stiffly against the uneven stone, though the faint tremor in his hands betrayed how cold he was. The second bedroll lay beside him, still neatly folded.

Briesis sighed and opened her own bag, wincing at the mess. She rifled through the bag, muttering under her breath, until her fingers brushed against the familiar fabric of her bedroll, buried beneath a pair of windform scrolls. She pulled it free with a small sigh of relief.

Her bedroll was leagues better than Alexius’s, a thick, enchanted one that retained warmth and comfort regardless of the weather. She gave it a little shake, watching as it fluffed itself out before settling onto the rock. She didn’t bother with undressing completely, just tugged off the layers of armor and dumped them outside the bedroll in a heap.  Sliding into it, she let out a soft sigh of relief as the warmth seeped into her aching muscles.

Alexius wasn’t so lucky. From the corner of her eye, she saw him shiver again. His breath was uneven, and his movements were stiff as he tried to pull the edges of his bedroll tighter around himself. Briesis stared at Alexius for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. She tried to ignore the way his breath rattled in his chest and the violent shivers wracking his body, but his discomfort gnawed at her. 

She grimaced, the thought forming unbidden in her mind: Am I going to wake up to a corpse tomorrow?

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. With a sigh of resignation, Briesis wriggled out of her bedroll, pulling it open.  The sudden rush of cold air made her instantly regret the decision, but she wasn’t about to back out now.

“Alexius,” she called. He didn’t respond. She frowned, propping herself up on one elbow. “Alexius.”

His dull eyes flicked toward her, and she saw the faint tremor in his lips as he replied. “Yes?”

“Come here,” she said. “We’ll share.”

Alexius blinked up at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Come here,” she repeated, tugging at her enchanted bedroll to make room. “You are freezing. Get in before you die.”

He didn’t argue. Slowly, stiffly, Alexius crawled into her bedroll, the two of them crammed together in the enchanted warmth. Briesis adjusted the fabric around them, trying to make enough space for them both to be at least marginally comfortable. His body was rigid, his posture unnaturally straight as though trying not to intrude more than absolutely necessary. His robes brushed against her arm, cold as ice, and she couldn’t help the small shiver that ran through her. Briesis shifted to face the opposite direction, pulling the covers tight around them both.

The warmth of the enchanted bedroll began to seep in quickly, and Alexius let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh. His shivering subsided quickly, though she could still hear the faint rattle of his breaths as his body adjusted to the change in temperature. “I… thank you,” he murmured awkwardly, his voice barely audible.

Briesis hummed, closing her eyes. It really was a comfortable bedroll, so warm and soft it felt like she was lying on a  proper mattress instead of on a rock.

A long silence stretched between them, the only sound the faint rustle of the bedroll and the distant bark of a hound down in the valley. Briesis was on the verge of drifting off when Alexius spoke again, his voice breaking the quiet.

“Should we take shifts?” he asked, his voice low.

Briesis blinked, her drowsy mind struggling to process the question. “Shifts?”

“It is standard procedure when resting in unsafe territory.”

It was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard in her entire life.

“Okay.” Briesis said agreeably. “You’ll keep watch while I’m asleep, and then I’ll take your turn when you can’t feel your fingers or toes anymore.”

“I… could try,” Alexius offered weakly.

“No,” she yawned. “We’re halfway up a mountain. If anyone’s dumb enough to try climbing up here in this weather, I think I’ll hear them before they get to us.”

“But—”

“Alexius,” she said. “I am not taking shifts. You’re freezing, I’m exhausted, and the Inquisition isn’t climbing up this cliff tonight. Go to sleep.”

Another silence, longer this time. Finally, Alexius spoke. “Very well,” he said. “Goodnight.”

Briesis didn’t bother replying. She was already halfway asleep.

Morning came far too soon.

Briesis stirred groggily. She buried her face deeper under the covers, letting the warmth lull her back to sleep. And then something sharp jabbed her cheek. Her eyes snapped open, but all she could see was the darkness of the fabric over her head. She froze, confusion twisting through her half-asleep mind. Another jab, harder this time, and a faint fluttering noise accompanied it.

Briesis poked her head out from under the covers, squinting against the brightness, only to come face-to-face with a sleek black crow perched mere inches from her watching her with beady eyes, a red ribbon tied tightly around one leg. She’d seen that ribbon. The crows in Skyhold had had that same ribbon. This bird belonged to the Inquisition.

The bird cocked its head, considered her for a moment, then lunged for her face again. She recoiled, narrowly dodging another jab to her face. It fluttered around her, cawing loudly as it aimed for her again. She flailed, trying to bat it away with one arm while shielding her face with the other.

“Alexius!” she hissed, her voice rising. “Wake up!”

The older mage stirred beside her, his eyes blinking open groggily. “What—?” His words cut off as the crow let out a piercing caw, wings flapping frantically as it swooped toward Briesis again.

“What is your problem?!” Briesis snapped, raising an arm to shield her face as the crow lunged for her. Its sharp beak grazed her wrist, and she swatted at it with her free hand, sending the bird hopping back with an indignant screech. Its head bobbed sharply as it cawed again, louder this time. The sound echoed across the mountain, carrying dangerously far into the valley below. What if somebody heard?

“Shh!” she hissed, waving her arms at the bird as if that might quiet it. “Shh, you stupid bird! Shut up!”

The bird cawed sharply, flapping its wings and launching itself toward her again. She scrambled out of the bedroll, her feet skidding on the uneven rock as she tried to gain her balance. The crow followed her movements with laser focus, its talons scraping against the stone as it landed and immediately leapt toward her face again , She stumbled back, swatting at it with both hands as it cawed angrily. Far below them, a dog barked loudly.

“Do something!” she barked at Alexius, who looked entirely unprepared for such a task.

Alexius, still half-sitting in the bedroll, raised a hand weakly. “I am not equipped for animal handling,” he muttered.

Briesis shot him a glare, but before she could respond, the crow lunged again, Briesis let out a muffled curse and swatted at it again, finally managing to catch one of its wings. The bird squawked angrily, thrashing in her grip.

Quiet!” she whispered fiercely. The crow squawked in alarm, flapping wildly as it tried to escape, but this time she was faster. Her fingers closed around the bird’s body, its feathers hot and surprisingly dense against her palms. The crow cawed in outrage, its wings beating frantically as it struggled in her grip.

The crow squawked again, thrashing in her grip. She grimaced, trying to adjust her hold without letting it go. “Here, take it,” she said, shoving the bird toward Alexius.

Alexius tilted his head slightly, as though considering the request. He extended his hands, accepting the flailing bird with no hint of hesitation. But as soon as it came close to his fingers, the crow lunged, its sharp beak narrowly missing his hand.

“Ah—nope, you’re useless,” Briesis muttered, yanking the bird back before it could draw blood. She glanced around desperately, her eyes falling on the bedroll Alexius had abandoned the night before, still spread out on the uneven rock

She looked back at him, then at his empty bedroll. An idea struck her—an idea that was, admittedly, not her best. But she was desperate, and it was all she could think of in the moment. “Open your bedroll.”

“What?”

“Your bedroll,” she said firmly, shaking the struggling crow slightly for emphasis. “Open it.”

“You want me to- ”

“Yes!” she snapped. “Hurry up before this thing calls in reinforcements!”

Alexius obeyed. Briesis didn’t waste a second. She shoved the crow inside with a single, decisive motion. The bird let out an outraged caw as she rolled the fabric shut around it, muffling its protests. The bundle wriggled and squawked faintly, but at least the noise was quiet.

Alexius tilted his head slightly, staring at the lump that wriggled faintly within the bundle. “This will not silence it indefinitely,” he said. “What do we do with it?”

Briesis sat back, running a hand through her hair and glaring at the squirming lump bundle, then toward the valley below. “We could throw it off the cliff?”

The muffled squawk that followed sounded suspiciously like protest.

The dog barked again.

She crawled to the edge of the ledge and peered over, her breath catching in her throat. The road below was alive with activity. Tiny carriages rolled by, drivers shouting to one another as their horses trudged through the snow. Soldiers patrolled in groups, some leading dogs, while others scanned the cliffs and tree lines.

But worse, much worse, was the small group of soldiers at the edge of the valley trail. They stood at the base of the mountain, their heads tilted upward, squinting against the morning light. One of them raised a hand, pointing.

They’d seen her. The bird had given them away. Had it been trained for that specific purpose?

Briesis peeked over the ledge again. The soldiers below were gathering, their movements purposeful. One of them raised a horn to their lips.

“Oh no,” she whispered, shrinking back from the edge. Her heart pounded in her chest.

Alexius shifted beside her, his voice as monotone as ever. “They have seen us.”

“No kidding,” Briesis muttered, gripping the edge of the bedroll tighter. The bird squawked behind her, and Briesis fought the urge to kick it.

“What now?” Alexius asked again, his tone maddeningly calm.

The sharp blast of the horn echoed through the valley, and Briesis swore under her breath.

She stuffed both the spare bedroll and hers into her satchel, and slung it over her shoulders. “We’re leaving.”

She peered over the ledge one more time, her fingers gripping the frosty edge of the stone. The soldiers had spread out along the road below, some pointing toward their position while others conferred with one of the mounted nobles. A scout appeared to be gesturing to the cliffs, and Briesis felt a sinking dread in her stomach.

It was steep, yes. Too steep for horses or a conventional climb. But if they had ropes… or siege equipment… or mages...

“There's no way they're climbing up here, right?” she asked.

Alexius, seated stiffly beside her, tilted his head at the question. “The incline is treacherous,” he said, his tone eerily even. “Unfit for cavalry. However, with sufficient preparation, infantry may ascend.”

“That’s not comforting,” she said, her eyes darting back to the soldiers. She could see them pointing now, clearly coordinating something. Her stomach twisted. How long did they have? An hour? Five? They'd have to go back to Skyhold, if they needed iron hooks or ladders.

It didn’t matter. She knew how to get out of this. She tugged open her satchel, her fingers fumbling slightly as she searched for the windform scrolls. The scrolls were their best option—no, their only option. The spell would let them move quickly, invisibly, and far enough away that even the most observant of scouts wouldn’t have a clue which direction they’d gone.

But there was a problem. Alexius.

Alexius, who was still staring at the wriggling bedroll that contained the crow. His face was utterly unreadable, but she could still feel the faint tremor in his hands from the cold. Last night had been proof enough that levitation was not his forte. His awkward flailing mid-air had nearly sent them both careening into the side of the cliff. The thought of him trying to use a windform scroll on his own made her stomach twist. He’d get himself killed.

Briesis took a deep breath, forcing herself to think. The soldiers below might have spotted them, but the steep incline of the mountain was working in their favor. There was no way they’d climb up quickly—not with the frost-covered rock and the sheer drop below. They had time. Not much, but enough.

Enough, at least, to explain to Alexius exactly how to levitate properly while being invisible.

They’d gone east, on Alexius’s suggestion. To Ferelden.

Briesis poked at the campfire with a long stick, humming absentmindedly as the flames danced in the cold air. The windform scrolls had made short work of most of the highest mountains—Briesis suspected they’d shaved off weeks of travel—but once they’d used up the final scroll, there had been no more magic to rely on. The rest had been walking. Hours of walking.

By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, the forest had taken over. The trees had saved them, really. It had provided shelter from the wind, and the deadfall scattered across the ground meant had made the fire possible, and they needed the fire.

Alexius sat a few feet away, drawing idly in a page she'd torn from his journal. He hadn’t said much since they’d made camp, his attention fixed on the fire. He didn’t seem cold anymore, though she couldn’t be certain. Maybe he didn’t even feel the cold. He didn’t seem to feel much of anything. Then again, he'd been shivering earlier. And he'd gotten tired. Could Tranquil feel physical sensations, and lack the emotional context for them? Briesis tore her gaze away from him, looking upward instead. The trees stretched high overhead, their branches framing the darkening sky. There, between the trees, was the moon.

A single moon.

Her smile faded.

Not the only moon on Thedas, Alexius told her, when she’d questioned him. There was a second moon, Satine, but it emerged only a few weeks of the year during “Satinalia”.

Who could have been responsible for this? Travelling to other planes wasn’t unheard of, of course…but Divayth had told her that no other world like Nirn existed, that it was unique in its mortality. And no wizard was as skilled as Divayth Fyr.

Could it have been Aryon, or Baladas? Aryon didn’t know how to do this—did he? She’d never heard him discussing anything of the sort. And Baladas was always more interested in Dwemer than interplanar travel. They were brilliant, and clever and ambitious, sure, but planar magic on this scale? No.

Divayth Fyr might, she admitted. Maybe he’d lied to her. Maybe he was responsible.  He ventured into Oblivion frequently. What if he’d discovered other mortal planes, and had simply…covered them up? Aryon had warned her once that he’d once imprisoned a woman in Oblivion simply because she’d turned him down.

But she didn’t remember him appearing in the fight (although admittedly she couldn’t remember much of it at all), and he was hardly the type to get involved in petty squabbles of others. His own grievances with her were not so serious for him to have finally involved himself in Telvanni politics again after how-many-centuries. Her stomach twisted.

If not them, then who?

A sharp squawk broke through her thoughts.

Briesis scowled, glancing at the bundle of cloth resting near the fire. The crow, unaffectionately dubbed Squawky, was nestled inside, its beady black eyes peeking out from between the folds. It’d been a nightmare to transport, and only a well-timed snack from her satchel had kept it from pecking their hands bloody during the journey. Now it sat smugly in its makeshift nest, occasionally flapping its wings and squawking whenever the mood struck it.

“You’re lucky we didn’t leave you behind,” Briesis muttered, jabbing the fire harder than necessary. “Ungrateful featherball.”

Squawky responded with another indignant caw, spreading its wings briefly before tucking them back. Briesis reached for the bird and plucked it up unceremoniously, earning another round of furious flapping. She grabbed its ribbon with two fingers, narrowing her eyes at the glossy red fabric,  now faintly glowing with the enchantment she’d placed on it. The spell of burden wasn’t perfect (she hadn’t been willing to waste anything better than a rat’s soul on the bird), and so Squawky could still hop around and flap furiously, but it kept the bird from taking off.

If it was heavy enough to feel the difference, well, that was Squawky’s problem.

Alexius, cross-legged on the other side of the fire, looked up from the map he was sketching, his expression as impassive as ever.  “The creature’s vocalisations are a liability,” he said flatly. He placed the charcoal pencil down with deliberate care and tapped the edge of the map. “If the Inquisition is still tracking us, its noise could alert them. Its presence is unwise.”

Briesis frowned at him. He’d been the one to bring Squawky along. She hadn’t even noticed he’d still been carrying the thing until after they’d landed, and by then they’d both agreed that if they let him go, he’d lead the Inquisition straight to them.

Neither of them had been willing to kill the bird, and so Squawky had to be brought along with them.

“I could enchant another ribbon with Silence, if you want.” Briesis suggested, setting the bird down. Squawky let out another croak, hopping along the branch and glaring at her. She waved her stick at it lazily. “Pipe down, featherbrain.”

Alexius didn’t reply immediately, instead turning back to the map he was marking. After a moment, he beckoned her over. “Come. I require your input.”

Briesis raised an eyebrow but stood, stretching her stiff legs as she crossed pushed herself to her feet, brushing the dirt off her knees. She crossed the small campsite and plopped down beside him, peering over his shoulder at the parchment, watching his fingers tracing a path from the mountains to the edges of the lake drawn near the mountain ranges where he’d said he’d written “The Frostbacks”.

Said he’d written, because Briesis could not read it. The people here may have spoken Cyrodilic, but their writing was far too different. She might as well have been trying to read Sload.

“When we reach Lake Calenhad,” Alexius said, tapping the map. “We will take this route, along the Imperial highway, then we will travel through Ghelen’s pass. It will take us to the city of Jader. From there, we can attempt to secure passage by sea to Kirkwall, and then to Minrathous.”

“That’s a long way away by boat,” she said, staring at the map. She jabbed at the little note he’d made for Minrathous, far to the north and she traced the route he’d scribbled. “Couldn’t we take the boat to Kirkwall, and then cross through this bit right here?”

Alexius looked to where she was pointing. “No. We would have to travel through the Silent Plains to reach Tevinter. There are a great deal of slavers and magekillers there. It would not be safe for you. Nor for me.”

Slavers?

Alexius didn’t elaborate. “There will be many other travellers along the Imperial Highway. Merchants, nobles, refugees. There will be Inquisition outposts. We must not stand out.”

Briesis didn’t miss the glance he gave her glass helmet. It was a nice, strong helmet, but even she had to admit it wasn’t exactly subtle.

Alexius’s eyes drifted back to the map, where his fingers continued to trace the Imperial Highway. Squawky took the moment to hop closer, the bird’s beady eyes locked on the parchment. Briesis watched as it darted forward, pecking at the edges of the map.

“Shoo,” Alexius said flatly, swatting it away, his tone devoid of any true frustration. He adjusted the parchment, smoothing it out against his knee. Squawky squawked indignantly in response, fluffing its feathers.

Alexius didn’t have much more to say after that, and so  Briesis shuffled over her bag. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she unbuckled the flap and took the bag the barman had given her. After a moment, she pulled out the food she’d brought from Skyhold's tavern—a couple of small pork pies wrapped in parchment, and unwrapped one, tossing the other to Alexius.

He caught it, unwrapping it with careful hands, as he shuffled closer to sit beside her.

For a moment, the only sound was the rustling of the food wrapper and the crunch of pastry. Briesis finished her pie first, then ate another, before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and casting a glance at Alexius.

Alexius was a liability. She couldn't deny it. Whatever the Inquisition had done to him, she had to undo it.

Was something wrong with his brain? She had no idea. Could a healing potion fix it? No… probably not. She doubted the Inquisiton would use something so easily cured with a potion as a punishment. If there was some damage to his brain, she might need something stronger. Something more direct.

Could it be his soul? That was the thing that really haunted her thoughts. If it wasn’t his mind, maybe it was his soul. She didn’t even know if that was possible, but it seemed like it might be worth considering. And what about his magic? What had taken that? 

Maybe it was just the brand. Maybe all she had to do was remove that ugly little thing on his forehead, and all would be well.

Briesis unwrapped another pie.

A sharp flutter of wings pulled her attention back to Squawky, who had once again tried to shuffle closer to the map. Alexius reached out without looking, his hand landing with startling accuracy on the bird’s beak. He gently but firmly pushed it back toward its cloth nest. “No,” he said simply, as though reasoning with a particularly stubborn child. Briesis broke off a piece of pie. She tossed it toward the bird, who snapped it up greedily, and returned to its nest with a victorious strut.

Alexius, she supposed, would know more about it than she would.

“Is it permanent?” Briesis asked, her voice a little rough from the effort of speaking around a full mouth.

Alexius blinked, pausing mid-bite. “Is what permanent?”

Briesis swallowed down her food. “Being tranquil.”

Alexius stopped chewing. “I have heard rumours of a way to reverse the Rite of Tranquility,” he said. “But I do not know how it is done.”

So it could be done. Maybe.

By the time they’d finished with the pies and had set up their bedrolls (Alexius now using the spare he’d brought), Briesis had begun to run through her options. There were spells that could make people feel things—how would Alexius react to a fear spell? Would he be able to be frenzied, or demoralised, or charmed?

Alexius did not know the answers to any of these questions when she asked him, but he was certain, without a single doubt, that he still possessed his soul. The Rite of Tranquility, he said, simply severed the connection he had to the Fade—a realm inhabited by demons that mages apparently drew energy from in order to cast magic. The loss of emotions, claimed Alexius, was a side effect.

Her magic wasn’t drawn from the Fade. Neither were her emotions. Did Alexius truly need it?

T here was only one way to find out for sure.

Briesis stood a few paces back, her hands curling and uncurling at her sides. She shifted her weight, and glanced up at Alexius. He stood exactly where she’d told him, his arms loose at his sides, his expression as blank and calm as ever.

“This is a bad idea.” She said.

“It is unnecessary to state the obvious,” Alexius replied evenly.

Briesis sighed, rubbing at her temple. “Just so we’re clear, you agreed to this.”

“I did,” he said. “It is the logical course of action. If we are to test your hypothesis, direct observation is required. Shall we begin?”

Briesis swallowed hard, her fingers tightening into fists as she called up the magic. Spells like this weren’t particulary difficult to cast, and this one in particular was only Journeyman-level at best, but their effects…She shook the thought away. It didn’t matter. This was the best way to get answers. She was doing this for a reason.

You sound like a lunatic.

“Alright,” she said, straightening. “Here’s how it’s going to go. I’m going to cast a fear spell on you. Just a simple one, nothing extreme.”

Alexius stared at her, his calm expression unchanging. “I am aware of what horror spells entail,” he said evenly. “They will not work.”

Really?

Briesis scowled at him. It would have been nice if he’d mentioned this before. “Well, if it does work,” Briesis said coolly. “I don’t want you to go running. Not that you’d run,” she added quickly, sensing the impending protest, “but fear spells sometimes…you know, trigger a flight response. And you’re not going anywhere.”

Alexius said nothing. Brieis glanced at the uneven ground behind him, where a tangle of roots spread out from the base of a nearby tree, perfect for tripping. No, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Ready?” she asked.

“I am.”

The magic struck him squarely in the chest, rippling outward in faint, green tendrils that quickly dissapated like smoke.

Alexius stiffened, his eyes widened, and his body jolted upright like a string had been yanked taut through his spine.

It had worked!

Then Alexius turned, trying to flee, and the triumph in her chest faltered. True to her prediction, he stumbled over a thick branch, his limbs flailing gracelessly as he hit the ground with a dull thud. Briesis cursed, lunging after him as he flailed, scrambling wildly to get back to his feet.

“Oh no you don’t-!“she hissed, throwing herself on top of him. The two of them went down in a heap, Alexius thrashing beneath her.

“Get away!” he shouted, his voice shaking, his hands pushing at her shoulders with more force than she’d expected.

The spell only lasted a few seconds, and it didn’t take long before Alexius’s struggles ceased. His movements slowed, but his breathing was still ragged as his gaze locked on to hers. There was still fear written across his face, but she could see the rationality returning, piece by piece.

After what felt like an eternity, his body went limp beneath her, his head turning away as though ashamed.

Briesis let out a shaky breath, slowly easing off him. “That…worked,” she said, her voice quieter now, more uncertain. “Are you—”

“I would prefer not to do that again,” Alexius said, his voice faint but firm. Briesis sat back, brushing dirt from her robes as she stared at him. The blankness had returned to his face, but she couldn’t unsee the terrified way he’d looked at her moments before.

“Yeah,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

The next two days passed with ease. The snow thinned as they descended the mountains, and eventually disappeared entirely. It was still colder than Briesis would have liked, but it was manageable. By the time they’d descended into the lowlands, even Squawky was less irritable, content to peck at crumbs from their rations or flap half-heartedly.

Whenever she could, she tried teaching Alexius some rudimentary magical theory. She quickly discovered that explaining what little she remembered from the fundamentals of Shalidor’s Principles of Magic for Beginners—a book she’d read as very young child— was almost entirely useless when explaining concepts to someone whose understanding of magic came from an entirely different source.

It didn’t help she barely understood much of theory herself. Magic had come as naturally to her as breathing (much to Master Aryon’s eternal chagrin).

“I swear it makes sense when you read it,” she muttered after Alexius interrupted her for the fifth time with a question she couldn’t answer.

By the time they stepped out of the forest they’d been hiding in in order to travel along a dirt road that Alexius claimed would take them to the Imperial Highway, they’d fallen into a rhythm. Briesis would ramble about spells, Alexius would quietly correct her terminology (sometimes with blatant falsehoods that Briesis magnimaniously attributed to magical differences), and Squawky would squawk indignantly from its perch on her shoulder.  “We will reach the Highway by afternoon,” Alexius promised her, and then he told her they were fortunate not to have come across anyone so far, and reminded her yet again that would change once they travelled along the Highway and so would be so kind as to put on her helmet?

Briesis did.

True to his word, they’d passed more and more people as they got nearer. A merchant. Farmers and oxen. A shephard and his sheep. A knight on horseback. Most spared Briesis and Alexius little more than a wary glance, though Briesis noticed some eyes lingered on her glass helmet with curiosity—or suspicion. It couldn’t be helped. Briesis had left the Inquisition helmet on the mountain alongside the rest of the armour, and Alexius had insisted that not having her face covered was out of the question.

Briesis had suggested—insisted, really—that they stick to the cover of the forest, but Alexius was adamant.

“The woods are crawling with bandits,” he said, steering her firmly back onto the dirt road. “We will be taking the road. You will not draw attention. You will not speak of magic. If at all possible, you will not speak at all.”

His voice was firm enough that Briesis reluctantly heeded, though she still sulked a little, scuffing the dirt beneath her boots and muttering under her breath. She didn’t see why there would be bandits. The only people they’d seen were commoners. Locals. Even that merchant hadn’t been carrying anything of particular value.

And maybe that was why the first noblewoman they saw stood out so much. She rode in a carriage drawn by sleek black horses, surrounded by guards. Her cream-colored fur cloak spilled from her shoulders, and her hair…well, her hair was a bit silly, Briesis had to admit. Blond and curly, it rose nearly a foot above her head, adorned with ribbons, pearls, and a miniature golden cage…complete with a tiny, live songbird. Even Therana would be hard-pressed to call this fashion.

Briesis supposed money couldn’t buy taste.

But her dress…Briesis had to admire it, the patterned light blue and white skirt, the dark bodice adorned with gold buttons with puffed sleeves, the lace ruff around her neck. She even wore a mask.

I want that dress.

The tiny bird chirped as they passed. Briesis slowed her steps, staring unabashedly as the carriage rolled away. “What was that?” she hissed to Alexius, barely keeping her voice low.

“Hair,” Alexius said.

“That’s not hair,” Briesis insisted. “That’s... that’s an architectural achievement. How does it even stay up? Magic?”

Alexius gave her a sidelong glance but said nothing.

“I think we finally found a use for Squawky,” Briesis said, grinning at the bird beneath the helmet. Galen had once told her that crows were smarter than they’d looked, and given the way Squawky’s feathers had just puffed up, he’d been right. She reached up to pet him. “Hair decoration. All we need is a cage—ow! Squawky!” The bird had bitten her.

Alexius’s mouth didn’t so much as twitch. The tranquility had to go, Briesis thought sullenly, falling quiet. Still, there wasn’t much else to talk of now that she wasn’t allowed to speak of magic, and so it wasn’t long before Briesis brought up the noblewoman again.

“The dress was pretty nice, though,” Briesis said.

Alexius gave her A Look.

“I mean, imagine trying to make something like that,” Briesis continued, undettered. “The stitching alone must’ve taken weeks! And the fabric, where would you even find fabric like that out here? She must have travelled from somewhere very far, I can’t imagine you’d find anything like this here, we’re in the middle of nowhere. But why would you wear something like that while travelling? Wouldn't it get dirty? Did you see those colours? You’d need someone specialised in luxury designs, for colours like that. And did you notice that mask?“

“Briesis,” Alexius finally said, his voice somehow sounding strained. “Why are you rambling about dresses?”

Her shoulders slumped, and she stared at the dirt path in front of her. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, kicking a small stone out of her way. “It just... I thought it was nice. That’s all.”

“You are supposed to be keeping your head down,” Alexius said. “Not gawking at noblewomen. You are drawing attention.”

Briesis stopped in her tracks, gaping at him as he continued walking without her.

“Attention? I was talking to you!”

“Loudly,” he said, not turning around. “And unnecessarily.”

Briesis stood there for a moment, her indignation bubbling up but finding no outlet. Finally, she trudged after him, silent and brooding.

She didn’t say another word for the rest of the morning.

They reached the Imperial Highway by afternoon, like Alexius had said. And just below it was a village.

Briesis slowed instinctively. It was a normal village, like any other.  Merchants had set up makeshift stalls along the road, children darted through the crowd with peals of laughter. A woman passed by with a basket balanced on her hip. There was nothing out of the ordinary, but when she made to follow Alexius, he stopped her with a raised hand.

“Wait here.” He said.

Briesis blinked. “Why?”

Alexius’s eyes swept over her fine shoes, her cotten gloves, the heavier robe she often favoured when the weather was colder (a deep burgundy with gold accents and House Telvanni’s sigil emblazoned on it’s front), and of course, the glass helmet Alexius had made repeated complaints about. She'd offered to remove her robe leave the pants and shirt she wore beneath them, but he'd taken one look at them and told her they were just as attention-drawing. 

“You stand out.”

“I do not.” She protested, face flushing.

“You do,” he replied, holding out a hand. “Your coin purse, please.”

Briesis narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“I require it,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “Remain hidden. I will return shortly.”

Briesis gave him her coin purse. Her coin purse, when Alexius claimed that there was a chance the copper and silver coins both Lysette and the elf had been carrying wouldn’t be enough. He hadn’t mentioned what exactly he would be buying with her money before he strode away and vanished.

Briesis paced nervously in the shade of the trees, her ears straining for any sounds of trouble, Squawky shifting awkwardly on her shoulder.

“Is it normal for a Tranquil to be this bossy?” she asked Squawky, irritated as the minutes dragged on. The bird squawked in reply, in a way that might have been agreement. Or simply annoyance at her pacing. He wasn’t in trouble, was he? Alexius wasn’t stupid, not even close, but Briesis had to admit he would be largely defenceless against anyone who wanted to start trouble.

She’d given him a ring of Fireball she’d found lying somewhere in her bag, long forgotten and never used, and he’d managed to use it to incinerate a rabbit the night before while she picked berries, but would he be willing to use it again if his life were in danger? He was supposed to be incapable of worry. Or fear. But he’d wanted to avoid the bandits, and he’d sounded strained when he’d asked her to quiet down earlier…surely he’d be avoiding danger as best he could, even if he didn’t truly fear it?

Except there was some part of him that could feel fear, wasn’t there? Not right now, obviously, but she’d pressed Alexius on the topic before—horror spells in Thedas didn’t make people afraid the same way her fear spells did. Terrifying visions wouldn’t have worked on Alexius, like he’d said, but for her spell to have worked at all… somewhere, very, very deep down, Alexius remembered how to feel fear.

Illusion spells did not work on the dead. Or the souless. Or Daedra. Alexius was still human.

A twig snapped. Briesis whirled around.

It was Alexius. And draped over his shoulder was something that made her heart skip a beat.

“Is that—“ she started, stepping closer.

“Yes,” Alexius replied, holding up the garment. “I believe this will suffice.”

He unfolded it. It was the dress. The dress. With the same patterned skirt, the same gold buttons, the same puffed sleeves. He’d even bought a hat and a mask to go with it.

Briesis couldn’t contain her delight. She clutched the dress to her chest, running her fingers over it. “This is exactly what the noblewoman wore! Where did you—?”

“A travelling merchant in the village,” Alexius said simply. “These dresses are common in Orlais. It should hide your face suitably.”

Briesis grinned and ducked behind a tree to change. The fabric was softer than she’d expected, and the fit was surprisingly perfect. She smoothed the skirt, adjusting the bodice and ruff before setting the hat atop her head and fastening the mask in place.

She stepped back into view, beaming.

“It will suffice,” Alexius said evenly. “The attire is sufficient. Your mannerisms, however, will need work.”

“I can do that,” Briesis said. Granted, she’d never really spent any time alongside any nobles to have much of a grasps on their mannerisms, other than Athyn Sarethi and his family, but surely an Orlesian noble was no different than a Redoran one?

Not that any Redoran would be caught dead with a bird in their hair.

“Shouldn’t you have a mask, too?” Briesis asked.

Alexius reached into the folds of the cloak she’d lent him and pulled out a silver mask, one with a long, pointy nose attached. “I do,” he said, holding it up for inspection. “However, it will do little to obscure my state.”

Briesis tilted her head. “Your state?”

“If I speak, my mannerisms will give me away,” Alexius explained, unbothered. “Tranquility is unmistakable to those who know what to look for. A mask cannot hide that.”

Guilt creeped in. No wonder he hadn’t been willing to speak to her on the road. For a while, they lingered on the outskirts of the village, sharing a meal of salted fish and the berries Briesis had picked the night before. Briesis avoided looking too closely at the dress merchant’s cart as it drove past. Her coin purse felt uncomfortably lighter than it had an hour before. Clearly, the less said about Alexius’s bartering skills, the better.

“Ready?” Alexius asked after a while.

Briesis stood, brushing a handful of crumbs from her skirt. “Yes,” she said. “Lets go.”

It was a normal village, at first glance. Perhaps a bit busy. Briesis hadn’t been in one like this before—villages she’d come across in Skyrim and Morrowind were small, isolated things. This one was too, granted, but being so near to the Imperial Highway must’ve meant that they received their fair share of visitors.

More visitors than they appreciated.

The stares began before long. A butcher sharpening his cleaver paused mid-stroke, his eyes narrowing as they passed. A woman at a nearby stall pulled her child closer, whispering something under her breath. Briesis shot a worried glance at Alexius, who ignored  her as he walked ahead.

“They’re looking at us,” she muttered, hurrying to match his stride. Squawky ruffled its feathers, clinging to her shoulder like a nervous child. “You said I’d blend in.”

Alexius didn’t slow. “It’s not you,” Alexius said, his voice even but low enough that only she could hear. He looked straight ahead, completely unbothered, his own mask only covering the upper half of his face. “This village is in Ferelden. And Fereldens do not like Orlesians.”

“Then why are we wearing Orlesian dresses?”

Alexius paused just long enough to turn toward her. His face—neutral and flat as ever—somehow, somehow managed to convey a deep reservoir of patience running thin. Briesis was reasonably certain she was imagining it. “It is culturally acceptable in Orlais for men and women of all ranks to wear masks such as these. It conceals your face. It does not raise suspicion. Were you to walk barefaced, you would be mistaken for something worse.”

“Like what?” Briesis said, falling into step beside him as two children whispered behind cupped hands before darting away, laughing gleefully.

“Here, they will think you Qunari. Or worse—an abomination.”

The men at Skyhold had called her abomination. She’d thought they’d just been insulting her. It hadn’t been the first time she’d been called that, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. But were abominations an actual thing here?

“What is that?” She asked him.

Alexius hesitated, his eyes flicking briefly to a passing farmer who gave them a wide berth. “A Qunari is a race that comes from beyond the Waking Sea,” he said when the man was out of earshot. “They are tall, grey-skinned, and horned. Your skin, your eyes— you might pass for a much shorter, hornless kind. And if you are ever caught unmasked, that is what you will tell them.”

Briesis remembered the Beast she’d seen at Skyhold. Personally, she didn’t see the resemblance.

“What’s an abomination?”

“An abomination is a mage that has been overtaken by a demon. Many who see strange features will jump to the worst conclusion.” He paused, studying her briefly, his eyes searching. “Do not ask questions like those within earshot of anyone again.”

Briesis opened her mouth to say something, but stopped as a man sitting by a washboard cast them a suspicious glare, adjusted his dirty clothes and shuffled farther down the bench. A child darted from one of the stalls to chase a ball, pausing just long enough to point at them before being whisked away by his mother. Briesis tried not to fidget.

Resentment bubbled in her chest as they pressed forward. What right did they have to look at her like that? This village was disgusting—half the houses looked ready to collapse, the stench was awful, and the people! What was wrong with—

“Careful,” Alexius murmured, interrupting her tirade. “We must replenish our rations eventually. You will frighten away anyone willing to sell to us if you continue to glare.”

Briesis didn’t want to stay in this place any longer than it would take to get out. If Alexius wanted food, he should have gotten it when he’d abandoned her in the forest before.

“This place stinks,” Briesis hissed. “I wouldn’t eat anything from these people if my life depended on it.” Squawky fluttered on her shoulder, pecking at her hat. She swatted at the bird half-heartedly.

“They can hear you,” Alexius said, not looking at her.

A woman carrying bunches of herbs gave her a dirty look as they passed. Briesis scowled back but held her tongue.

“I want to leave,” she murmured to Alexius when the woman was gone. “They’re just looking for an excuse to hurt someone.”

“Very well,” Alexius said. “We will not linger.”

A few more heads turned their way, some muttering into their palms or elbowing one another meaningfully. But no one approached, and Briesis begun to relax.

Winterhold was nothing like this, she thought bitterly, pulling her skirts away from the mud. Even the poorest Nord had some dignity. These people wouldn’t know dignity if it hit them in his face. Or soap. Or a decent tailor.

She was halfway through mentally composing a lecture on hygiene for the entire village when something hard and sharp struck her shoulder. She yelped, spinning around to find the culprit. A small, jagged rock tumbled to the muddy ground at her feet.

Her gaze snapped upward, locking onto a group of scruffy teenagers loitering near a fencepost at the end of the village. They laughed openly, grinning widely as they whispered to one another. One of them—a boy with wild hair and a face smeared with dirt—was already palming another stone.

“What is wrong with you?” Briesis snapped, taking a step toward them, her boots squelching in the mud.

The group only laughed harder. The boy lobbed the second rock, and Briesis barely ducked in time to avoid it hitting her square in the head. It sailed past, narrowly missing Squawky, who squawked in alarm as he hopped off her shoulder and into her arms. “Stop it!” she yelled, her cheeks burning.

“You missed!” one of the boy's companions jeered, elbowing him. “Bet you can’t hit her fancy hat!”

She clutched Squawky to her chest, her mind racing through the possibilities of a spell—not a destructive one, but perhaps something to scare them off. Well, maybe a little destruction… if their mothers weren’t going to discipline their little nuisances…their next victims would thank her, surely…

“Briesis,” Alexius’s said, low and even. “Do not escalate.”

The girl next to him muttered something to her friends, her gaze darting disdainfully over Briesis’s dress. Another boy mimicked an exaggerated bow, and the others erupted into laughter, elbowing one another in delight.

Briesis blinked. The eldest of them looked about her age, perhaps a bit older, but she hadn’t acted that way in many, many years. Mud-streaked faces, patched and mismatched clothing—she could remember herself the same way, though she often tried not to think of it. They were just brats. They’re not worth it, she told herself. A couple of idiots were nothing compared to what she’d had to take from Gothren, or Neloth, or… every Dunmer she’d ever met who’d recognised her as an outlander, really.  She didn’t mind it, mostly. Sometimes she even found it funny. And she was supposed to be Archmagister, one day. She was supposed to be better than them. Well, no, actually—she was already better than them, she just needed to make sure they thought so too.

Like Divayth Fyr. No one would deny his betterness. Was betterness a word? His greatness. No one would deny his greatness.

Divayth Fyr probably wouldn’t approve of burning down a village over a rock.

….Would he? Surely not. She turned to follow Alexius.

But they wouldn’t let up. Emboldened by her reaction (or lack thereof), they followed.

The eldest boy jogged ahead to catch up with her. He took a few steps backward in front of her, his arms spread wide as he grinned. “Hey, my lady,” he drawled. “Where’s your carriage?”

Briesis sidestepped him sharply, her jaw tightening, but she kept walking. Alexius glanced back at her, his expression calm, and she forced herself to stay in control.

Another girl behind her snickered. “The hat, Edwin! Take off the hat!”

Before she could react, the boy darted forward and flicked at the brim of her hat. Briesis’s hand shot up, yanking it back down so quickly that all he could have possibly managed to catch was a fleeting glimpse of her pointed ear beneath the brim.

But he did catch it, and so the next words out of his words were—

“Knife-ear!” he spat, stumbling back. “She’s a knife-ear!”

Briesis froze. Divayth Fyr might not have killed a handful of rotten little boys over a rock, but she was reasonably certain if anyone in Tamriel had the nerve to call him a knife-ear to his face they’d be turned into a pile of ash before they could blink, and that was all the permission she needed. Briesis half-turned, furious, but Alexius noticed and placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Keep walking,” he murmured, his voice devoid of emotion. “Do not engage.”

Briesis bit her lip, humiliation rising in her chest. The young men hooted with laughter as they strode away, but no one else intervened.

“Knife-ear,” the boy repeated, louder this time, but Briesis didn’t look back.

By the time they reached the stairs that would take them up to the Highway, Briesis’s fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles ached. She took a few steps up, and then rounded on Alexius beneath her.

“I could have incinerated them,” Briesis muttered darkly. “One spell. That’s all it would have taken.”

“No,” Alexius said firmly, climbing the stairs after her. “Violence would draw attention, and we cannot afford that. You need to control your impulses.”

“My impulses?” she repeated incredulously. “Those filthy peasants called me a knife-ear!”

“I am aware,” he said evenly, continuing up the stairs without looking back. “It changes nothing.”

Knife-ear. It had been years since she’d heard that word, years since she’d played with those Nord children in Winterhold, who’d laughed every time they shoved her into snow, her arms too small to fight back. She hadn’t heard it once since she’d been shipped to Morrowind—mostly because native Dunmer preferred other insults, true—and not many dared speak to her that way, now. Not since she’d proved that she was no one’s victim. Not since she had climbed, clawed, and schemed her way to respect within House Telvanni. People who mocked her in House Telvanni learned quickly not to repeat their mistakes. But here—here in this filthy little human village—Briesis’s fingers twitched against her skirt.

The pair reached the top of the stairs. Briesis paused, turning to glance back at the village below. From this height, the buildings and the people were smaller. She imagined them going about their lives, blissfully unaware of the world beyond their manure-filled existence. The thought brought her a brief, bitter satisfaction—until she spotted one of the boys again, leaning casually against a weathered fence.

The one who had flicked her hat.

He noticed her looking almost immediately, and his grin widened. He swaggered forward, spread his legs slightly, one foot forward, and then, with a cocky grin, he thrust his hips forward sharply, once, then again and again, a hand sliding down his stomach as he leered up up at her, all while his friends howled with laughter behind him.

It was so crude, so shameless, and so impossibly juvenile that for a moment Briesis’s breath caught in sheer disbelief.

Before she could think better of it, she bent down, seized a rock from the path, and hurled it with all her strength.

The rock sailed through the air, striking the fencepost with a sharp crack. The boy froze for a moment, looking down at where the rock had landed. Then he looked back up at her, his grin returning, wider and more insufferable than before.

Briesis’s jaw tightened, and before Alexius could stop her, she raised a hand and shook it the same way she’d once seen a sailor use in Vivec. She didn’t really know what it meant, and Beyte had  just laughed at her when she’d asked, but the sailor’s victim had turned an alarming shade of red and the Ordinators had descended upon the sailor not a minute later, so she assumed it must have been unspeakably offensive. 

And it was. The boy faltered mid-thrust, his grin freezing for a split second before it crumbled entirely into pure loathing. Even Squawky let out a shocked squawk before he began hopping indignantly on her shoulder, scandalised.

“Enough,” Alexius said, pulling her forward. “Let it go.”

Let them laugh, she thought bitterly, following him. They’ll never see anything greater than that mud hole. And if they do, it will be because I burned it down.

Chapter Text

The good thing about the Imperial Highway was that it was a very straightforward road. Elevated to safety among the trees and the stones below, Briesis could see why so many people would have taken it to travel, even if some sections had fallen. She’d spotted a bear, and some wolves, and though she’d long since left those childhood fears behind, some part of her was inordinately pleased when all they could do was stare up at her angrily, unable to attack no matter how hungry they were for Dunmer flesh. Whichever Empire had implemented this, they knew what they were doing. And after two days of kicking away pinecones, stepping over branches, and trudging through mud and snow, this was exactly what she needed.

Especially given her new dress. What if it caught on a stray branch and tore? What if it got muddy? What if she stepped on…evidence of animal activity?

It’d be ruined.

She shuddered at the thought and quickened her pace, sticking religiously to the driest, cleanest parts of the road.

“You’re wasting energy,” Alexius said. “It is going to rain anyway.”

“Nobles don’t walk around in dirty dresses,” she retorted loftily, lifting her skirts slightly as she stepped over a patch of gravel.

She knew he was right. She wasn’t entirely certain what the dress was made out of, and she wasn’t too willing to have it subjected to bad weather just so soon after getting it. It hadn’t rained yet, even though the sky was so grey and dark she couldn’t distinguish any individual clouds, even when lighting lit up the sky behind them. Maybe it was because there weren’t. Maybe it was only one big cloud. Even Squawky had been apprehensive enough to wedge himself forcefully beneath her hat, where he was now nestled on her head, his fingers tickling her scalp as he slept. Briesis adjusted it slightly.

She hoped he was warm up there. She’d been told that some birds couldn’t fly during rain—not that she’d be allowing Squawky to fly anytime soon— but she didn’t want the poor bird to get drenched. He was miserable enough already. Miserable to be around, anyway, when he got into one of his moods.

Alexius had staunchly refused her suggestion they find somewhere to hide out if a storm did break out (though he’d offered to return her coat to her in the event it did rain). But she and Squawky were not the only ones who should have had cause to avoid rain. Alexius was not immune to hypothermia. Not to mention…

“How’s the face paint holding up, Alexius?”

Alexius cast a glance over his shoulder, unimpressed. Briesis had spent the better part of an hour smearing his brand with makeup, muttering under her breath about his complexion all the way. She hadn’t ever used it more than once, but she still had the kit kohl-wearing Mallam Ryon had given her when Aryon had made her his mouth (“Can’t have Aryon’s little Mouth looking plain when she opens her mouth to embarrass him!” ) 

Well, she’d like to see him laugh at her now, because even though her skin was grey and his was not, it had only taken five minutes with a bit of saltrice and a mortar and pestle and she’d managed to get something that looked mostly-brownish. She’d complained the entire time, but she was secretly pleased with the result. It was nice to have her handiwork look so convincing.

Handiwork that would be worthless if a single drop landed on Alexius’s head.

Now she was wondering if it had even mattered at all. They hadn’t seen a single person on the road since the village, and while the prospect of company was deeply appealing now that with no one around Alexius had finally permitted her to launch into an hour-long discourse about destruction spells without interrupting once, it would be nice to know exactly why there was no one travelling along a road she’d been told was immensely popular.

She was muling over whether to comment on this when the sound of voices ahead broke her reverie. They rounded a bend in the highway and came across a cart tilted on its side, its contents sprawled across the road. Beside it, a group of people milled about, one of them gesturing animatedly towards a broken wheel while three others stood watch. A pair of horses stamped impatiently in their harnesses.

There was a dead Templar at their feet.

And Briesis recognised that mint-green armour. And that red ribbon tied around their own crow perched on the wall. Two of them—very short men, and similar enough in appearance that Briesis was quite certain they were father and son— looked more like merchants than soldiers or scouts, but it was best not to take chances.

Squawky stirred under her hat, and she clenched her teeth. Please, please, don’t come out now.

“Keep walking,” Alexius said. “Do not engage unless—“

“Halt!”

Unless they were accosted? One of the scouts were already striding toward them, plainly furious.

“This road has been temporarily closed by order of the Inquisitor. State your business.”

“Good day.” Briesis said, hoping she sounded sufficiently noble-like. “We’re, ah, just passing though.”

“Just passing through? Didn’t you read the signs? Unauthorized travellers are not permitted to pass until the area has been cleared. Turn back. Now.”

Oh. There hadn’t even been any signs. Maybe they had put it up earlier along the road before the village. It made sense—Briesis doubted any of them could read. She bit the inside of her lip. Okay then. She could do that. Just back around the bend, and then she and Alexius could slowfall down, walk right past, and avoid these two altogether—

“Charter will escort you to safety.”

The other Inquisition soldier—a blond Bosmer— who’d been tying a small scroll to the crow looked up, scowling. “You can’t be serious,” she said. “I’m not going to be a bloody babysitter for some nosy nobles poking around where they don’t belong. The area’s practically been cleared already.”

Was everyone in Thedas a complete and utter bellend? Not that she should be complaining, if it meant they’d be able to pass, but still! She’d been to hasty in calling the woman a Bosmer before—she was too pale, too skinny, and too blonde, more of a twig with a face (an abnormally disproportionate sized face, at that) than a proper mer.

“We’re not poking around,” Briesis said stiffly. “We’re just passing through. Like I said.”

“Good,” Charter said. “Then keep moving.”

“I will,” Briesis said loudly. “I’ve got better things to do than interrupt your undoubtedly important Templar-murdering ways—“

“That’s enough,” Freckles said. “Charter, please conduct yourself properly in the presence of nobles. Apologies, my lady. Tempers run short.”

An apology?

Caught off guard, Briesis blinked. “That’s quite alright,” she said, lifting her chin as pompously as she could manage. Her anger was already fizzling away into an awkward sort of indignation. “No harm done.”

Freckles’s lips quirked upward. “Thank you for your understanding, my lady,” she said. Then she nudged the dead Templar’s shoulder with her boot, rolling him onto his back. “But I feel it’s my duty—”she paused for a fraction of a second, enough time for Briesis to realise belatedly that she was being made fun of for the second time that day. ”—to make clear what exactly you’re seeing here.”

Briesis cheeks flushed, but her attention was wrenched downward. There were rocks growing out of him—red and jagged and glowing, cracking and splitting the armour, bursting from his eyes and his chest and his ears, spreading in every direction, his right arm encased and swollen to twice its size beneath them—

“What in—?”

“This,” Freckles interrupted, gesturing to the body, “Is a Red Templar. Haven’t you seen one in person before? I’m guessing you haven’t, obviously—“ She took in a deep breath, and then, in a tone that Briesis thought meant she’d deeply rehearsed what she would say next, ”The Inquisition would like to reiterate that it upholds the will of the Maker and his laws, as it has since the very day of its founding, when it stood against the demons and the breach when the nobles and the Chantry could not. They would also like to reiterate to all those concerned—like you, my lady!— that any templar who wishes to uphold their duties to the mages and to the Maker is more than welcome to join the Inquisition.”

Briesis opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word, Freckles steamrolled on.

“However, those who have defied the Chantry’s law and have joined the forces of Corypheus—,” she boot tapped the body again for emphasis. “—Are the enemy. No exceptions.”

Briesis nodded, as if she understood a single word of what the woman had said. There wasn’t even a point in pretending to be a noblewoman; these people clearly enough experience in dealing with them that Briesis was pretty certain that any noble they’d ever met probably hated them. Well, Briesis always thought she’d be able to relate to a noble one day, and this was a good a start as any.

As long as they let her pass. “Of course,” she said hastily, when it was clear that Freckles expected a verbal response,” I didn’t mean to…cast aspersions…I—I’ll just be on my way, I think.”

She didn’t miss the grin Freckles gave Charter when she made to pass them, but she let it slide. Anything to get away from these nuisances quicker. Best to keep on going and thank the Three Alexius had found them both masks.

It had begun to rain. A light drizzle at first, and Briesis had thought, for one fleeting moment, that they might get lucky and it would not get worse. She’d no sooner thought the thought when it turned into a proper downpour. Briesis could already feel the dampness sinking into her clothes, even though Alexius had returned her coat the moment it had started raining, like he’d promised her. By the time they reached the nearest exit from the Highway, her hair clung to her scalp beneath her hat, and Squawky was making disgruntled croaks from his increasingly humid perch.

Alexius remained unfazed, walking ahead with a stride that suggested neither rain nor mud could inconvenience him, much less stop him. He stopped only when the two reach the bottom of the stairs, his attention landing on a small, weathered signpost planted at the edge of a dirt path that wound away through the woods towards a small settlement in the distance by the shores of Lake Calenhad. The lettering was faint, faded by the years, but she could just make out the name carved into the wood.

“Finstow,” Briesis muttered, brushing a stray raindrop from her cheek. “What do you think?”

Alexius didn’t respond, but his attention shifted from the sign to the narrow, muddy path that disappeared into the trees.

“We’re not actually going there, are we?” Briesis asked.

Alexius said nothing. That meant he was planning on going there, didn’t it? But he couldn’t!

“I don’t want to go,” Briesis said. “They’ll throw rocks at us again.”

“It is late,” Alexius said calmly, as though this were a perfectly reasonable response to her concerns. “And it is unlikely we will find another settlement before nightfall.”

“That’s fine,” she said quickly, “I’m fine with not finding a settlement. We can camp! The Highway is perfectly—well, not safe, exactly, but—you rememberer the last village, don’t you? Who’s to say it’s any safer here?”

Alexius finally looked at her, but his expression was impassive. “The rain will worsen overnight. We cannot camp in a storm. We need shelter.”

Briesis glanced towards the woods. The trees were thick enough that they could probably set up camp without being seen from the road or from the village. Sure, it would be damp and miserable, but they had her enchanted bedroll, and they wouldn’t have to deal with another batch of unpleasantness. They’d camped in worse conditions in the snow.

“We don’t have to go to the village, “she said after a moment. “The lake isn’t far. We can go around, camp by the water, and keep away from people altogether. The trees will shelter us enough, I think. And we can always share the bedroll if it’s too bad.”

“We need proper shelter, Briesis,” Alexius repeated, his voice calm, firm and maddeningly unflappable. “With a roof. An inn will do.”

“There might not even be an inn,” Briesis said. “It’s a pretty small village, and wouldn’t you consider—“

But Alexius must not have been interested in her bedbug theory, because he gave her a long, measured look, the sort of look that suggested he had already decided what they would do and her input was merely a courtesy, and began walking toward the path without waiting for further debate.

Briesis stood for a long moment, and then begrudgingly followed. “I’m just saying,” she began, “that this is exactly the kind of place where people go missing. Dark, creepy woods, a road that looks like no one’s walked on it for a hundred years, and a lake big enough to hide a hundred bodies—“

“Then perhaps you should fall silent,” Alexius said. “And conserve your energy should you find yourself in need of a quick escape.”

Well!

Briesis glared at him but fell silent. Squawky squirmed under her hat, his little feet kicking awkwardly at her hair as she adjusted the brim to settle him properly. “Don’t complain,” she muttered. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how quiet you’ve been. Traitor.”

The bird gave a soft, grumpy croak, but stayed tucked away.

The dirt road turned to mud as the rain intensified, and puddles formed in uneven dips along the path. By the time they emerged from the woods, Briesis’s shoes were caked in mud, and her mood was thoroughly soured.

There, barely visible through the downpour, was Finstow. It was more of a collection of ramshackle structures than a proper settlement. Crooked wooden houses leaned against each other for support, their roofs patched with mismatched shingles or wood. A sagging dock stretched out over the water, where a few boats bobbed listlessly.

On second thought, it wasn’t that bad. It looked just like Hla Oad. She could see smoke curling from one or two chimneys, and really, she was looking forward to sleeping under an actual roof by a pleasant fire for once, if the inhabitants were the kind that didn’t immediately throw rocks at strangers..

She’d even be willing to bet it was a pleasant enough village when the sun was shining.

She was almost starting to feel optimistic when she nearly ran straight into Alexius. He had stopped dead in his tracks, his head tilted slightly, his gaze fixed on something ahead.

“Alexius?” Briesis asked, peering around him. “What’s—”

At first, she thought it was a scarecrow. The figure was thin and hunched, its arms stretched awkwardly behind it, lashed to the trunk of a large tree with thick, frayed rope. A tattered cloak hung limply from its shoulders, plastered against its body by the rain. Its head lolled to one side, a mop of sodden dark hair obscuring its face.

But then her brain caught up with her eyes.

It was a person.

A very young person.

The boy’s head was bowed, his dark hair plastered to a pale, rain-slicked face. The robes clinging to the frail frame were soaked through, their color darkened by water and… something else. Something that pooled beneath the body, streaking the mud with a deep, ugly red. He was so still. Too still.

“Oh, Oblivion,” Briesis whispered. Her pulse thundered in her ears. “Alexius.”

He didn’t respond, but his fingers wrapped tightly around her arm, and begun to tug her away from the village.

Briesis didn’t budge. “Alexius,” she said, her voice cracking, “do you see—”

“I see it,” he replied, his tone unchanging. “We should leave the area immediately.”

“We can’t just walk away,” she said. “Alexius, he’s—”

“Briesis,” Alexius interrupted quietly, his hand still gripping her arm. “He is already dead. Look closely. There is nothing you can do for him. ”

Briesis’s gaze darted back to the figure, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t wanted to see it before, but now she couldn’t deny the truth. The slackness of the boy’s jaw. The lifeless way his body slumped against the ropes. The dark stains that spread from his chest, too wide and too deep for anyone to survive. His lips pale and parted slightly, as if frozen in some plea for mercy. A mercy no one had granted.

He couldn’t have been much older than fourteen. Maybe younger.

“But—” She gestured weakly toward the village, her voice faltering. “We can’t just… What if there’s someone else? What if they—”

“There is likely no one else,” Alexius said. “And if there were, you would not be able to save them. If we go there, you will draw attention. Suspicion. It will cost you more than you can afford.”

What she could afford? The only thing she would lose was any time wasted stringing whatever louts had done this to a tree, the same way they had done to this boy—

But Alexius was already leading her away. Briesis swallowed hard, her throat tight. Alexius’s hand remained on her arm, guiding her gently but firmly toward the cover of the woods.

“You cannot help him,” Alexius repeated. “If you interfere, you will draw attention to yourself. To us. This village will not hesitate to turn on you the moment they suspect what you are.”

“What I am?”

A mage,” he said simply. “The same as him. This is why I have warned you not to speak of magic if there is a chance someone might overhear.”

Briesis’s stomach dropped further, icy dread pooling in her gut. “What are you talking about?” she demanded, her voice rising despite herself. “You mean—he’s a mage? They killed him because he was a mage?”

“Most likely,” Alexius said, “It is not uncommon for villagers to take matter into their own hands when they believe there is a mage among them. His robes mark him as a Circle mage, but he is fairly young. He may have been born here, and attempted to return when the Mage-Templar war broke out. He would not have been unaccompanied otherwise.”

Briesis nearly stumbled over a branch. Her legs felt weak. “Not uncommon? You’re telling me this happens all the time?”

“Yes,” Alexius said, unflinching. “Particularly in places like this, where they may have trouble contacting the Templars.”

The Templars. Briesis remembered, suddenly, the ones she’d seen at Skyhold, who had called her an abomination and had held a sword to her neck and then had taken her blood. She hadn’t cared at the time, hadn’t seen them as a threat—they still didn’t, not to her, surely—but the mages who’d been conscripted in Skyhold, the boy who she and Alexius had just left behind…what did the Templars do to them?

“Why contact a Templar?”

“Templars take mages to Circles when their magic manifests,” he said. “There, the mages are confined and trained under their watch. But the mages have rebelled, and the Templars have gone to war, and so there are not many more Circles. ”

Confined? No wonder the mages had rebelled, if they were locked up and imprisoned by the Knight-Captain and his lot.

But the boy…she looked back, hoping against hope that she would see him twitch, hear him whimper and open his eyes…but it did not happen. His chest did not rise, his head did not lift. He was gone.

“He shouldn’t have died like that,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the pounding rain.

“No,” Alexius said, his tone low and almost imperceptible. “He should not have.”

It was the closest thing to sympathy she knew she would ever get, and it wasn’t enough. Nothing could be.

She turned her head away, swallowing the bile rising in her throat, and followed Alexius into the woods.

They made camp in a sheltered overhang, far from the road and even further from the village. The ground beneath was dry, and they’d cleared a small area of loose stones and twigs and leaves suitable for burning.

Briesis crouched beside a small, flickering fire that sputtered in protest against the damp air. She’d spent the better of an hour using magic to coax it to life, muttering under her breath and wishing both that Alexius had managed to cast that flame spell she’d tried to teach him and that he knew how to cook. Now, the flames licked at a makeshift spit, where a skinned rabbit turned slowly on its skewered branch. It was proving stubborn. No matter how many times she adjusted the spit over the fire, the fat refused to drip onto the pan just right. She poked it with a stick, muttering under her breath about inept cookware and how her servants would’ve conjured a feast a feast for her without half the effort.

Alexius had wandered off earlier, muttering something about searching for more fuel for the fire. Where he thought he would be able to find it in this weather Briesis didn’t know, but he’d gone off fifteen minutes ago and he hadn’t returned. The quiet wasn’t welcome— after what she’d seen in Finstow she would have preferred Alexius to be within in eyesight at absolutely all times—and she found herself tensing at every rustle of leaves or distant cry of an animal.

Across the campsite, Squawky let out a shrill squawk, flapping his wings irritably from its perch on a nearby rock.

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered, glaring at the bird. “You’re not helping.”

The bird screeched indignantly, then hopped to the third bedroll Alexius had laid out just for him, turning his back on her with theatrical precision. Squawky seemed determined to hate her again, and Briesis couldn’t be bothered to guess why. He’d been like this since she’d evicted him from her hat.

“Still mad, huh?” She said. Squawky responded with a sharp screech and a puff of feathers, as though to say yes, and forever. Briesis huffed a laugh under her breath. “Suit yourself, Squawky. You’re still stuck with us.”

Snap.

The unmistakable sound of a twig breaking underfoot cut through the night. Briesis shot to her feet and whirled around, her fingers instinctively tightening around the spit as her eyes darted to the shadows in the trees.

Nothing. For a moment, she considered calling out for Alexius, but she didn’t. He would have announced himself. And if she called out for him, any attacker would know there was another.

Not that they wouldn’t be able to glean that from the three bedrolls laid out under the overhang. 

“Squawky?” she whispered, glancing toward the bedroll where the bird had planted itself. But Squawky was nowhere to be seen—he’d darted somewhere under the covers when the noise startled him, the coward.

A rustle. Closer this time.

Her grip tightened on the spit. She twisted her head sharply back towards the trees, her heart racing. The first thought that sprang to mind were those murderers from the village. She could already picture them skulking through the woods, pitchforks and torches in hand, thinking they were about to butcher another innocent mage. Well, she’d show them—Alexius was not around to stop her this time—

A rough hand grabbed her shoulder from behind, yanking her backward. The spit tumbled from her hands, clawing against the rocks as she scrambled to steady herself. A boy’s voice—too close, too loud—barked a laugh.

“Didn’t think a knife-ear could afford such a fine dress,” the boy holding her sneered, giving her a hard shake. “Must’ve stolen it.”

Briesis thrashed, but her feet slid useless against the slick stone. How hadn’t she noticed them? How had they crept up on her? They'd have to have followed for hours and hours, their village was miles away. What was wrong with them? She tried to twist free, but the grip on her was iron.

“Nice mask,” a familiar hat-flicking voice sneered. She heard a shuffle, and a hand tore it away, exposing her face to the cold night air. “Hah! Knew it. Knife-ear.”

They were the rock-throwers from the village—five of them, their eyes gleaming. The boy who’d flicked her hat and then called her a knife-ear grinned down at her, his face smeared with mud. He’d clearly been a victim of the rain too. Behind him, the others fanned out, their expressions ranging from amusement to something darker. Much darker.

“Where’s your fancy friend?” the girl asked, glancing around the clearing. “He run off and leave you all alone? Not very chivalrous, is he?”

“That’s because he’s a noble and she isn’t, stupid.” The Hat-Flicker snapped. “She’s just some knife-ear. He won’t miss her.”

One of them—a lanky, broad-shouldered teen with a face full of pockmarks—leaned closer, leering.

“Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” He said, grinning. “Bet she’ll scream real—“

He didn’t finish. Briesis’s free hand shot out, grabbing the pan of bubbling fat still on the fire, and, furious, she flung it at him. The liquid hit his face with a sickening sizzle, and he let out a bloodcurdling scream, clutching at his blistering skin as he fell to the ground. The others hesitated for only a moment—but it was all the opening Briesis needed. She reached behind her, grasping blindly for his face, fire burning in her lungs, crawling up her arms—

Flames erupted from her palms, surging towards the boy still holding her. He screamed as the fire engulfed him, his clothes catching alight. She wrenched herself free from his grasp, gagging as the acrid smell of burning flesh filled the air. The spell she aimed at him next sent him flying, where he crashed into a tree and fell to the ground, unmoving, his neck twisted at an awkward angle.

The girl screamed, high pitched and terrified, before the boy beside her lunged forward, his knife raised—.

She didn’t hesitate. She thrust out her hands, and flames erupted from her hands, roaring to life as they engulfed him. He didn’t even have time to scream before he crumpled to the ground, his body blackened and smoking. The girl turned to run, but the burst of lightning she unleashed was faster. It struck her square in the back, sending her sprawling into the dirt. She twitched once, then went still.

The Hat-Flicker stumbled back, his face pale with terror. “Maker’s breath,” he whispered. “You’re a mage—“

Briesis didn’t let him finish. A jagged shard of ice shot from her palm, impaling him through the chest. He staggered, his eyes wide with shock, before collapsing into the dirt.

The smallest, youngest boy froze in place, his face pale with terror. He trembled, falling to his knees, but Briesis raised her hand again, a crackling orb of lighting forming at her fingertips.

But before she could release it, the pockmarked boy she’d burned scrambled to his feet, his face half-melted and raw. With a hoarse cry, he tackled her to the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and the spell fizzled in her hand as they rolled through the dirt.

“Run!” He screamed, his voice raw with pain. The youngest boy didn’t hesitate, fleeing into the trees as Briesis fought to push Pockmarks off. “You—“ he rasped, his voice gutted with pain. “You bitch—“

Briesis clawed at his face, her nails raking against burned flesh, but he was heavier, and he was desperate.  His hands closed around her throat, and for a single, terrifying second, she couldn’t breathe.

Then there was a furious, high-pitched screech. Briesis barely had time to process the sound before a flurry of feathers and talons descended from above.

Squawky.

The bird dove towards them, his claws raking across the boy’s face. The boy screamed, a sound of raw agony, as Squawky’s sharp beak found its target—his eye. He screamed, loosening his grip enough for Briesis to fling a spell that flung him nearly ten feet away.

She scrambled backward, coughing and gasping for air, but the boy didn’t press his attack. Instead, he stumbled to his feet and staggered toward the trees, a hand over his eye, his burned face twisted in rage and pain.

“Damn mage,” he spat, his voice weak. “You’ll burn for this.”

And then he was gone disappearing into the woods after his friend.

Briesis stayed on the ground, her chest heaving as her fingers brushed against the raw skin of her throat her throat. The fire crackled beside her, the rabbit lying in the dirt. They’d have to go back to their Skyhold rations tonight. She closed her eyes, fingers twitching with magic, and willed—

A clannfear materialised before her, its scaled hide gleaming faintly in the firelight. It lowered its crested head toward her, its eyes narrowed, and sniffed the air before nuzzling its horned snout against her shoulder.

“Go,” she croaked, pointing towards the woods. “Kill them.”

The clannfear snarled, a deep guttural sound that sent Squawky up a tree, and took off, bounding towards the wood in pursuit, the sound of snapping branches and the heavy thud of its feet fading into the distance as it gave chase.

Her hands shook, faint wisps of smoke still curling from her fingertips. She looked a the bodies, her stomach twisting violently, bile rising in her throat.

They’d been laughing hours ago. Calling her names. Mocking her. And now they were—

Her thoughts faltered. Squawky fluttered down from where he’d taken refuge, landing a few feet away from her. He bristled, and let out a sharp, accusatory squawk, his black eyes glaring at her.

Briesis stared back at it, her mind blank. The bird hated her again. Of course it did.

“Briesis?”

The voice was quiet. Her hand faltered, the magic dissipating like smoke. The flames sputtered with it, already dying without her magic to feed it. She turned, chest heaving, and saw Alexius staring at the edge of the clearing, his arms laden with branches. His robe was damp, and the makeup she’d so painstakingly made for him was dripping from his forehead.

For a long moment, Alexius said nothing. He moved toward the fire with his usual calm, the hem of his robes brushing against one of the bodies. He stopped beside it, his eyes flicking over the burned flesh, the twisted, smoke-blackened limbs.

Finally, he looked at Briesis. “I see I missed something.”

Briesis opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her lips quivered, and her vision blurred as tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back and bowed her head, furious and determined that Alexius would not see.

Don't cry. You should be pleased. They never could have hurt you. You just...made it clear. Taught them a lesson. They would have hurt someone else, if you hadn't done it. You’ve killed other people, what’s a few more? No real Archmagister would blink twice at this. It was self defence. They deserved it. Remember what these people did to that mage boy? He was younger than them. Their families deserved it too. If they’re even capable of feeling grief, the little monsters—

Alexius nodded, as though her silence was answer enough. He straightened, stepping away from her and surveying the clearing. “We need to move.” He said, calm and pragmatic, everything she should be. “Someone will come looking for them.”

Briesis glanced at the bodies. “What if they find them?”

“They will,” Alexius said. “But they will not find us.”

Briesis looked back up to him, an odd lump forming somewhere in her throat. “I didn’t get them all,” she whispered. “They’ll know it was me. They’ll—they’ll know it was magic.”

Not that the ice and fire that had killed them could have possibly been mistaken for anything else.

“Yes,” Alexius said simply. “And they will hunt us for it. Which is why we must leave now.”

She struggled to her feet, her legs unsteady beneath her. Alexius handed her the coat she’d left to dry by the fire and begun to put away the bedrolls while Briesis forced her hands to stop shaking long enough to gather what little else they had. Squawky hopped over, still glaring as he settled on Alexius’s shoulder.

“Even the bird hates me,” she muttered bitterly, fumbling to secure the straps of her satchel.

“Squawky is only just a bird,” Alexius said quietly. He reached down and scattered the fire with the toe of his boot, smothering the flames and plunging them both into shadow. “He’ll forgive you.”

Briesis shivered, pulling the coat tighter around herself as she stared at the dark, charred ground, following Alexius as he straightened and started toward the edge of the clearing, the forest swallowing them both as they disappeared into the night.

This time, she didn’t look back.

[A letter written in a small village east of Skyhold. Records indicate it was never sent by way of courier, but was instead given to two Inquisition scouts and a merchant on the way to Skyhold.]

To the Honorable Inquisition,

In the name of the Maker, please hear our plea.

I write this letter with trembling hands, for our village is in great need of aid. A great tragedy has befallen us. Some of our children set out not long ago, towards a neighbouring village for trade and errands.

Only two returned home.

One of them—my own son—lies on death’s edge, his skin burned so horribly I cannot look at him without weeping.

The other speaks little, but what little he does say chills the blood in our veins. He says it was a mage. A terrible mage. They were doing nothing but talking, maybe some teasing, like lads do. It was not a crime. They were attacked without reason or provocation. They were lively, good-hearted lads and lasses, full of mischief, but harmless to anyone. They carried no arms save for a whittling knife and a walking stick.

The rest of them are gone. Their bodies were found in their woods by their campsite, charred and torn. None of us can lay what little remains of them to rest without tears and prayers to Andraste for mercy.

There is more. They claimed to have been chased by a demon, one they scarcely managed to outrun. We thank the Maker they sought refuge in Finstow and alerted them to the danger. Those who kept watch that night have claimed to have seen a creature lurking in the woods. Tracks near the site confirm it. These footprints were made by something foul and unholy, not by any normal animal.

Please, I beg you, send help. We are simple folk who ask for nothing but peace in our homes. If there is a mage among us, we are helpless against their power. If there is a demon, we fear our faith and our pitchforks may not be enough to protect us. We are a small and humble village, unworthy of the Inquisition’s notice, but we implore you to send help. We have no means to protect ourselves from such horrors. The mages still roam free, Maker knows where, and we live in fear they may strike again. We are helpless. Please, send the Templars, before more lives are lost. Bring justice for our children.

Maker guide you.

Yours in faith,

Margret Haine

Chapter Text

The screams had been the first thing they’d heard.

Not that there had been much they could do about it.  They’d tried, of course. He, Cullen and Cassandra had left the war room the minute they heard them, and he, Leliana and Cullen had stayed behind to fight the demons as Cassandra took Fiona and Dorian to chase down their summoner.

Josephine had stayed in the War Room, and Maxwell supposed that had been for the best.

She hardly could have done her job at calming down the nobles if she’d been set ablaze by those…things. Granted, she wasn’t doing a very good job—Maxwell could hear them weeping still—but it was better than nothing. It had only been a few days.

Let Leliana figure out how many lives had been lost. Let Vivienne and Solas figure out how the abomination had escaped. Let the healers save who they could. Let him and Cullen come up with a plan to destroy it. They had its phylactery. It couldn’t have gotten far.

Never mind that Josephine was supposed to be doing other things. Never mind that they’d barely started their investigation into the first summoning that had taken place in the Undercroft.

A particularly loud shout came from Josephine’s office. Maxwell winced. He’d rejoin Josie in a minute. This was as much his problem to deal with as it was hers. But, right now, the nobles weren’t the only allies to be checked up on.

Bull wasn’t himself.

He wasn’t the only one who’d been causing problems. Dorian had been just as out-of-sorts since Alexius had been made tranquil, and he’d gotten even worse when the abomination had thrown Alexius off the mountain.

But hadn’t it been him who’d come forward about Alexius’s sins against the Maker? Didn’t he understand it was necessary? Alexius’s knowledge was too valuable to lose, but he’d already proved himself dangerous at every turn. They needed him alive.

When he’d tried to point this out to Dorian, the man had lost his temper. Pointed out that he’d been set on executing the man until that templar had interrupted their talk.

It was true. He had been planning on giving the Magister a painless death. But what else was he to do, after Cullen told him that nearly a dozen of his men had been set upon by the thing Alexius had summoned? Dagna had been left unconscious. A man had lost his arm. Three others had died.

He hadn’t had time to deal with the abomination, then. They’d been preparing for Alexius’s trial. All the nobles had already gathered in the Great Hall. Josephine said they couldn’t delay it. That they needed to put on a strong front for them, that they couldn’t allow them to see the Inquisition shaken.

He should have ignored her. His brother would still be alive if he had. He’d only just been made Knight-Captain. How was he supposed to tell Father? Or Mother?

Shamefully, just for Dorian’s sake, he’d been willing to give Alexius a quick death. A merciful death. It was more than the Tranquil made into Ocularum had gotten.

And then soldiers who’d brought Alexius had told him they’d heard Alexius been talking to the abomination just moments before his trial. That he had desperately been trying to bargain with it (and it didn’t take a genius to figure out he’d wanted the same thing he’d always wanted—a cure for his son).

He’d been angry. After all, it had been Alexius who’d summoned it here, and those scrolls along with it.

He’d ordered the Rite instead.

Dorian hadn’t taken it lightly.

Maxwell would have let them get through it on their own, had the circumstances been different. He would have let The Iron Bull get hit with a stick, just as he would have let Dorian drink himself into another stupor while he and the rest of the Inner Circle actually did their jobs, but Josephine had disagreed.

The Inner Circle was supposed to remain strong, for their soldiers and for their sponsors, she said— but Maxwell would have to handle Dorian when he came back from the field with Cullen and the Templars.

For now…

He reached out, placing a hand on Bull’s shoulder.

Bull flinched.

It was so sudden, so visceral, that Maxwell immediately pulled his hand back. Krem’s head snapped towards him, alarm flashing in his eyes.

The Iron Bull said nothing, but Maxwell could have sworn he heard his breath hitch.

“Sorry,” he said.

Bull’s jaw tightened. “Don’t.” His voice was rough, barely above a growl. “I don’t need—just don’t.”

Maxwell glanced at Krem, hoping the man would help, but the other was staring intently at Bull. He wasn’t looking too good himself, he thought. He’d managed to avoid getting hit by the demons in the hall, but a nasty bruise darkened his jaw, and a bandage peeked out from beneath his tunic. Krem would not be allowed to wear armour until his chest had healed from where the Iron Bull’s battle-axe had hit him. 

It was lucky that the two had sparred enough that Krem had been able to leap away in time to avoid worse. Luckier still that whatever madness had overtaken Bull had worn away before he’d swung on a prone Krem.

“Bull,” Krem said softly. His voice was very gentle. Maxwell wondered if Bull would appreciate it. “Chief. It’s alright. You’re alright.”

But Bull didn’t look up. Maxwell studied him. His fingers dug into his thighs, clawing at the fabric there as if he were trying to ground himself.  He was still, too still, seated between him and Krem in the courtyard. His head was lowered. His massive shoulders were slumped forward. It was unnatural. A man of his size normally filled the room, commanded attention, but now he seemed…smaller. It was good, that the courtyard was empty save the three of them. Maxwell had never seen the Iron Bull this way. He hadn’t even thought it was possible.

Maxwell couldn’t blame him. To fall prey to blood magic was a terrible thing indeed.

To think he’d believed Solas when the apostate had insisted it was no demon. To have nodded at theories of some deformed young Qunari. To think he’d lowered his sword, shown mercy, when he should have cut its neck while it laid unconscious.  He should have, he could see it now—should have when it had landed in a crumpled heap at Alexius’s feet, and he should have done so again when those scrolls of had been opened, and brought forth a demon from beyond the Fade. Should have done, before it had broken free from its prison and slain twelve.

William…

Solas had finally given up on defending the thing, though Maxwell still suspected the elf privately thought the abomination was still some sort of Qunari. It hadn’t been hard to think so, with some convincing. The abomination had looked like one, just…particularly short. He'd thought maybe she was a half-elf. Her black hair had been tied into with an Orlesian twist, and he knew the elves in Ostwick had held it in fashion a few months back. Vivienne hadn't seemed convinced at first, though she'd eventually agreed it wasn't impossible. And apparently the Iron Bull had known a fellow Qunari who'd come out nearly as runty (though he'd been careful to not mention an opinion either way). Maxwell should have listened to Vivienne from the beginning.

“I…” Bull’s voice cracked. He swallowed, his hands trembling as he gestured vaguely toward the hall. “I couldn’t…I tried to stop it, Boss. I tried, but she…” He trailed off.

“Chief,” Krem murmured, “You didn’t do this. She made you. It wasn’t your fault.”

The words didn’t seem to register. Bull’s hands tightened their grip on his legs, his knuckles pale. Maxwell cleared her throat, searching for the right words. Anything to help. Anything to alleviate the silence that had settled.

Anything to get the Iron Bull back to normal.

He didn’t need to. The door creaked open. Josephine’s pale face poked out from behind it. She caught his eye and gestured for Maxwell to join her in the hall.

“I’ll be back,” he said, rising from the bench to meet her.

Behind Josephine, nobles—still disheveled and visibly shaken—were milling about in the great hall, speaking in frightened, hushed tones. Some were openly sobbing. One woman dabbed at her tear-streaked face with a fine handkerchief, a young boy clinging to her.

Maxwell’s lips thinned as he followed Josephine into the War Room. Leliana barely looked up, looking wretched. He understood the sentiment. He hadn’t slept the night the abomination had escaped, and had spent most of the day afterwards enduring the outraged cries of the nobles and of his own men. They wanted answers. Heads to roll. Promises that their safety would not be compromised so soon after inhabiting Skyhold.

As if this whole thing weren’t at least partly their fault. She wouldn't have managed to sneak into the Undercroft had they paid any attention.

“Any improvement?” Maxwell asked.

Josephine’s expression tightened. “Not with the nobles,” she said. “They’re still frightened. Understandably so.” She glanced quickly at Leliana. “I’ve managed to calm some of the Templars, but many are demanding reparations or… assurances.”

Maxwell scowled. Assurances. The Templars wanted assurances. The mages wanted assurances. The nobles wanted assurances. His soldiers wanted assurances.

And they conflicted in every which way. But Maxwell was willing to bet Fiona would not be turning up to her doorstep demanding special privileges for her little rebels or shouting at him over the use of the Rite after a demon had torn through Skyhold. It was nice, when his point had been proven so decisively mere seconds after their argument.

Fiona had been in the war room when the screams began.

Josephine was still speaking. “But we’ve made progress in other ways.” She gestured toward the far end of the room, where Leliana stood near a table, unrolling a small scroll.

She  cleared her throat. “We may have a more immediate lead.” She produced a folded missive, its edges worn as though it had been handled multiple times. “This came in earlier from a small village east of the mountain range. It was given to one of our scouts.”

She passed the letter to Maxwell, who unfolded it and scanned the contents. Josephine stepped closer, her face pale. “Maker’s breath,” she murmured, reading over his shoulder. “Could it be…?”

“It matches,” Leliana said. “The location aligns with the direction the phylactery indicates. And the description… it fits. An Orlesian merchant claims to have sold a Tranquil matching Alexius’s description two Orlesian outfits. ”

Maxwell lowered the letter, his gaze heavy as he met Leliana’s eyes. “Do you think it’s them?”

Leliana didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

Maxwell nodded, though his lips pressed into a thin line. “Do we have any idea where they’re headed?”

“We do.” Leliana said. “Not for certain, but we have managed to track Alexius’s journey to Redcliffe from Tevinter. It is possible he will seek to return the same way.”

“If he does,” Josephine continued. “He will likely be heading through Ghelen’s pass. King Harrowmont has officially declared his support for the Inquisition. If we reach out…”

King Harrowmont. It was a miracle that he’d lent his support given all Maxwell had heard of him--his father had told him an Exalted March had nearly broken out because of him—, but he’d still pledged some of the most formidable warriors from the Legion of the Dead and had also graciously offered to share Orzammar's wealth. They had recognized the threat Corypheus posed.

It was time to hope they recognised the threat his servants posed as well.

They had the abomination’s phylactery. Rylen and his Templars were already on their trail, despite that little trick it had pulled on the mountains. Leliana’s scouts were nearby and more than capable of following them closely, and there were a handful of Inquisition camps along the way. If they did pass through Ghelen’s pass, the Inquisition would be waiting. Perhaps the dwarves would, too. Enough to slow them down.

Maxwell had every intention of handling this problem personally.

Leliana took a deep breath, bracing herself.

“There is…another matter we have resolved. From our initial inquiries. ”

From her pocket she pulled out a singe, golden coin. Maxwell recognised it—the little dragon on one side, the man on the other—but where had she gotten it? The abomination had taken them all when she’d broken into the Undercroft.

He’d thought they were Tevinter coins, at first, but Leliana and Josephine had insisted they were not.

How useful would that coin have been, now? How much would they lose from their own coffers, paying for repairs? Paying reparations to the nobles?

Paying for a funeral pyre?

“I should have realised earlier,” Leliana murmered, uncharacteristically solemn as she ran a finger over one of the coins. “But the design is different. It’s been altered slightly since the last time I saw it.”

“You’ve seen them before?” She’d mentioned it before, hadn’t she? That first night, when they’d opened up that bag, and watched as all that gold—real and pure—had spilled out, enough to have filled even King Alistair’s coffers. Enough to have made Empress Celene look like a beggar. And then she’d shown it to Josephine, and she’d agreed. But neither could place it. One of her contacts must’ve found something.

Leliana looked her up, her face clouded, her eyes glassy. Maxwell hadn’t seen her like this since Haven had been lost. Then again, two attacks within a span of days, so soon after finding safety in Skyhold would have rattled anyone.

“It was ten years ago.” Leliana said. “This coin in particular belonged to a mage we travelled with during the Blight. I only saw it in passing, when she gave it to Alistair. As a keepsake.”

Alistair? Leliana had mentioned writing to him, after the disaster at Redcliffe. Personally, after the letter he’d sent, blaming them for the Mage’s actions—as if it were Maxwell’s fault, entirely shirking any and all responsibility he and Bann Teagan had had in the whole mess—Maxwell could have gone without hearing from him ever again. 

But first things first.

“And you’re figuring this out now?”

Leliana bristled. “Do you think I haven’t agonised over it? I should have remembered her sooner, yes. But there was no way to connect her to this until Alistair wrote back.”

Maxwell supposed he could let it slide. If Dorian had given him a coin, he didn’t think he’d been able to remember what it looked like ten years on, let alone if he’d only seen it in passing while it was being given to someone else. And Leliana could hardly be blamed for the King's incompetence. 

“Who was she, then? If they’re not Tevinter coins, did she ever mention where she’d gotten them? Reach out to her, and find out exactly—“

He did not like the grimace painted over their faces.

“Who was she?” He repeated slowly.

“A Tevinter mage,” Leliana said. Her mouth pressed into a very thin line. Then she opened it again, and Maxwell was quite certain she’d been bottling up this train of thought for quite some time. “Or so we thought. In hindsight, I am not certain she was Tevinter. There are things that did not add up.”

She was pacing now. “We—Elissa, Alistair, Morrigan, everyone— we just assumed she was, and she all but confirmed it. She looked Tevinter. She sounded Tevinter. Her name was Tevinter. She even spoke of serving in the Imperial army, in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She claimed she was from the Imperial City, the very first time we met. She called herself an Imperial.“ She sneered the last word.

“And you let her travel with you?” Maxwell asked, incredulous.

“We had little choice. The Blight demanded every ally we could find, and she was a mage. And every mage was invaluable. Morrigan was the only mage of ours specialised in combat until Elissa took her in. We needed her, even if no one trusted her.”

They were getting off track. She and the abomination were connected, somehow, if they’d both owned the same gold coins. It couldn’t be a coincidence, either, that the abomination had been brought through by a Tevinter magister when there had been another incredibly-suspicious Tevinter loose in Ferelden ten years prior. Except…

“Why do you think she wasn’t Tevinter?” He pressed. “Did you even look into her, after the Blight?”

“Of course I did,” Leliana said sharply, affronted. She drew in a breath. “There was nothing to find. It was as if she’d never existed. There were no records of her in Tevinter, no trace of her in the south. No one we questioned had even heard of her, or anyone of her description. Nothing.”

Maxwell exhaled through her nose, trying to keep his frustration in check. “So we still know nothing of these coins, then. You travelled with her during the Blight—do you really have no idea how to find her?”

“I haven’t heard a single word about her since the Blight. No one has,” Leliana said. She hesitated, visibly uncomfortable. “She… fled.”

Maxwell recognised the look on her face.

“What did you do?”

“It wasn’t just me,” Leliana said defensively. “She’d been on thin ice for months. The magic she cast—Eamon intended on executing her for it alongside Loghain, after the Blight was over and they were no longer needed. Gregoir tried twice. They never got the chance. She accompanied us, in the final battle at Denerim…” she trailed off, her face darkening. “She was there, when Elissa slew the Archdemon. She took its soul.”

“She what?”

“She absorbed it,” Leliana repeated. “She took its soul, and all that was left of the Archdemon were bones. None of us saw it coming. She said it wasn’t her fault, that she couldn’t control it. But no one trusted her. Not after that. Elissa, Alistair, Morrigan especially—they were livid. And we attacked.”

Josephine was staring at Leliana, pale-faced. Maxwell wondered if Leliana had ever told another living soul what had happened in Denerim. The Divine, probably.

“We were going to kill her,” Leliana continued. “We tried. Elissa kept her around because she was a powerful mage. Turns out she’d been holding back the whole time. She made that clear the minute she was the one being attacked, because she’d never done anything like it before. Just opened her mouth and shouted at us, and we were sent flying. When we woke, she was gone.”

“And then?”

“Like I said,” Leliana said. “She was gone. I couldn’t find her. Alistair couldn’t find her, and neither could anyone in his kingdom. Zevran couldn’t find her. Eamon’s knights couldn’t, nor could the Templars. Even the wardens couldn’t find her—and they were very interested in finding her. But there was no trace of her, and there never has been. She escaped, and Loghain was released and sent to join the wardens—they feared another Blight. I do believe Alistair is still very bitter.”

It sounded like Alistair would be very interested in the possibility of finding this mage. Interested enough, ideally, to waive the fees the Inquisition was being forced to pay to Redcliffe and give them a hefty sum in return.

It was probably best if he saved that suggestion for later, even if the way Josephine’s eyes had just narrowed suggested she had just had the same idea. In fact, it would probably be best if she handled that. Financial aspects were her job, weren't they?

For a moment, there was nothing but sound of muffled voices outside the War Room and the distant sobbing of frightened nobles. Then there was a sharp, familiar blast of a horn. Cullen had returned.

Dorian is with him. He’d have to check up on him later. He’d want to join the efforts to track down Alexius. To make sure he was alright. Maxwell had no intention of denying him. He’d seen how utterly relieved Dorian had been when they’d found two sets of footprints underneath Skyhold’s dungeons instead of two corpses, even if the other soldiers who’d gone down had been so furious at the sight they’d nearly beaten him.

Leliana’s eyes flicked to the door. “He won’t like this,” she said. “They met in Kinloch Hold.”

Maxwell looked back at her.

She smiled for the first time in what seemed like weeks, though there was no trace of amusement there.

“She was fond of summoning demons, too.”

Cullen hadn’t taken it well. He’d barely suppressed a string of curses, had slammed his fist on the war table, and demanded to know why such a thing had been overlooked. He’d been even more furious when Leliana had informed him of the villager massacre committed by the abomination on the shores of Lake Calenhad.

Maxwell imagined he wouldn't be the only one. King Alistair had been furious over Redcliffe. He wouldn’t be pleased to hear that the mages were still causing trouble around its shores. Josephine had prepared a missive claiming it was the Venatori and not a Circle rebel just in case. It was true enough—if Alexius had joined the Venatori it was more than likely his little abomination had gone along with him.

It didn’t matter. William Trevelyan had done one last thing before he’d died. His murderer would not get away.

He had its phylactery. He had his Templars, his mages, his soldiers. He had his Inner Circle. They were all here now, ready to follow.

Maxwell adjusted his grip on the reins, and urged his horse forward.

Chapter Text

They didn’t sleep at all that night. They hadn’t even gotten on back on the Highway, on Alexius’s suggestion (not that she’d protested, given she’d given the suggestion days before).  He’d still insisted on explaining it logically, and Briesis privately thought it was to ease his own mind at the thought of having to treck through a presumably bandit and Red Templar infested wilderness. It would have been too easy for any villagers in Finstow to follow them, if the boys had managed to escape and alert them. It would be too easy to for them to figure out which way they were going. It would have been too easy for them to catch up—hadn’t she seen the stables? Hadn’t she seen the boats? They’d be faster than them, if it came down to a chase. And it would have been too easy for the Inquisition to find them, too, knowing the two scouts they’d passed earlier, the blockade on the road, and the very real possibility of running into more patrols.

So they’d gone through the woods instead. Reaching Ghelen’s pass was necessary, but travelling along the Highway toward it was not. They could simply cross country northwest.

Now, as a general rule, Briesis did not do forests. Winterhold had no true forests (and the trees tended to carry the danger of a pile of snow being dumped onto any unsuspecting passerby underneath, or of being home to an irate, freezing spriggan) and Vvardenfell had none. And while they’d both spent the last few days in the woods, it hadn’t quite prepared her for going through one in the rain. In the middle of the night. There had been mud puddles. Tree roots. Thorny bushes. Low branches. Those awful little seeds that stuck to clothes that she didn’t know the name of but had apparently managed to exist in both worlds.

Even the Night Eye spell she’d cast hadn’t helped avoid it all.

She let it drop, now. The sunlight was beginning to creep over the horizon with an almost pleasant warmth—which wasn’t nearly enough to make up for how thoroughly soaked Briesis had gotten. Alexius said it was fortunate they were far enough from the Frostbacks and midway through spring that they wouldn’t freeze, but all the same, Briesis had feared catching something enough that every now and then she’d preemptively cast a cure disease spell on them both.

It hadn’t made her feel any less wet. Or miserable. Her hair had gotten drenched, and Briesis knew she’d have to let it down if she wanted it to dry when the sun came out proper.

While she slept, ideally.

She and Alexius tended to wake up early in the morning (the blame for this lying entirely on Squawky—Briesis hadn’t woken up early since she’d made Spellwright and moved into her own tower, not once she’d gotten servants to take care of everything) which meant, with the sun now rising, they’d spent a full day doing nothing but walking—no thanks to their interrupted rest, courtesy of those village miscreants.

The boys she’d—

They deserved it, she reminded herself, and squinted against the sunlight, her eyelids heavy and stinging with exhaustion.

Alexius wasn’t faring much better. His robe still clung to his legs as he walked, and his head drooped slightly. He hadn’t spoken much since they’d had to leave the overhang—not that this was unusual of him, a good conversationalist he was not—not even when Briesis had tried her very best to distract herself by goading him into a conversation. He’d first wanted to stay close to both the Highway and the lake for fear they would get lost, but they’d strayed too close once and heard chattering voices and the creaking of carts overhead (either from the Inquisition or travellers who’d resolutely ignored their blockade) and he’d refused to speak to her since, even after she’d managed to find a compass somewhere deep in her satchel and they’d both decided that going straight northwest would be easier and safe than following the road.

She wanted to ask him to stop hours ago, but pride kept her moving. She didn’t want him to think she was weak. Didn’t want to give him any reason to see her differently. she wasn’t nearly stupid enough to show too much weakness in front of a fellow Magister—what exactly that entailed here, in a place where mages were imprisoned, she really did need to ask—not when he was supposed to see her as the only saviour for his son, not when his loyalty wasn’t utterly hers. Yet.

But with him in this state…well, that changed things. They were equals, now. 

“Maybe,” she began, swallowing hard when her voice came out raspier than expected, “maybe we should rest.”

Alexius didn’t stop walking, but she saw his head tilt slightly, like he was considering it. Encouraged, she kept going. “It’s daytime. There’s no need to worry about lighting a fire. It’s safe enough for a couple of hours.”

Alexius glanced at her, and for once, he didn’t argue. His face was pale, his jaw tight. Even Squawky, perched on his shoulder, looked worse for wear. The bird let out a deep yawn, his feathers puffing up as though he were in on their collective suffering.

He was not.

The bird was perched on Alexius’s shoulder, preening himself sleepily now that all danger and rain had passed. Briesis didn’t know why he was so sleepy—he’d slept all night, first under her hat, and when that had gotten utterly soaked through, he’d demanded entry to her satchel—which was, fortunately for Squawky, waterproof— and had spent the rest of the storm there, setting aside his renewed hatred for her in order to sleep peacefully while she and Alexius were forced to trudge through the rain, trying to avoid slipping into puddles or coming down with something, or getting hit with lightning—

Alexius nodded. “A rest would be prudent.”

If he had been capable of emotions, Briesis thought cheerfully, he would be cheering. She was almost about to herself.

Alexius wasn’t done. “We must find somewhere we won’t be seen, first.”

It didn’t take long. Eventually, he spotted a small hollow at the base of a large tree. The roots twisted above the ground, leaving just enough space for them to shelter beneath its gnarled branches. It wouldn’t protect them from much other than the wind, but Alexius knelt to check the ground anyway, before deciding that it was suitable. Then he brushed aside some dead leaves and pebbles aside, and unrolled his bedroll.

It wasn’t exactly cozy, and Briesis would have preferred to sleep somewhere a bit more elevated, like they’d done her first night here, but it would do. There weren’t any rocks around, and she didn’t really have the energy for a levitation spell anyway.

And she didn’t want to spend more time looking when she could spend more time sleeping.

She threw her coat onto a nearby root to dry, then yanked her bedroll from her satchel and threw it down beneath the tree. It landed crooked, but she didn’t care. She dropped onto it with a groan, too tired to even undo the straps properly, and crawled inside.

She barely had time to get comfortable before she felt a weight settle on her side.

Squawky.

“What do you want?”

He ruffled his feathers and let out a sharp, indignant squawk, his little black eyes gleaming. Briesis knew what he wanted. “No. Go sleep on Alexius or something.”

Squawky didn’t move. Instead, he shifted his weight deliberately, digging his claws into the fabric, pecking at the bedroll edge. Briesis groaned, too tired to argue, and let her head drop back onto the bedroll. He cawed, deeply annoyed.

“Oh, for Almalexia’s sake,” Briesis grumbled. She loosened the edge, and Squawky immediately wriggled his way in, his claws scratching at her side as he settled into a warm lump against her ribs. “Just don’t poop in here.”

He curled up against her side, and she tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t budge, chittering softly. She gave up. Let him keep her warm, she thought. He deserved a little reward after he’d tried to save her the night before, even if his utter cowardice and anger at the sight of clannfear had been less than admirable. And it was nice, that he’d finally seemed to have forgiven her for it.

She’d always wanted a pet.

She could hear Alexius settling in a few feet away, crawling into his own bedroll. She turned onto her side, staring at the shadows between the trees. Her eyelids were already drooping. She couldn’t have kept them open if she’d tried.

Her last thought before she drifted off was that Squawky’s tiny, warm body pressed against her wasn’t as annoying as she’d thought it would be.

Thud.

Briesis stirred, then opened her eyes, scowling.

They hadn’t overslept, Briesis knew—it was still daylight, the sunlight was still filtering pleasantly through the trees, there were birds chirping somewhere far above them—and it looked so peaceful Briesis thought she’d simply imagined the noise.

Then it came again, louder this time, accompanied by desperate sobs. Briesis stiffened, and Squawky shifted beside her, his feathers ruffled and tense, and let out a low, uneasy trill.

Another thud. The sounds of branches and leaves crunching  under metal boots. Muffled laughter, another sob.

Someone was coming.

This was not good. The roots would have protected them from the winds, perhaps a little from the rain, if they’d thrown something over them, and maybe it would have hidden them from sight in the dark—but in plain daylight they’d be completely visible with only a small search.

Briesis was not afraid of a fight, not in these circumstances. They were in the open, and the trees were spaced out enough that Briesis could reasonably force a safe distance between her unarmored self and whatever she would be throwing her fireballs at (fireballs that she could throw safely, now that the ground had been so thoroughly dampened), but whatever was trailing behind those boots sounded big, and Alexius was still completely defenceless save for a handful of scrolls and the ring she’d lent him.

There was no reason to endanger Alexius—she didn’t even know what it was. Whatever behemoth they were bringing along was probably some sort of summoned Daedra, and as a generally Briesis tended to assume they reflected magic. She’d have to summon her own Daedra to counter it, and then, well, if they summoned even more there would be havoc…and the chances of Alexius of getting hit my someone’s misfired spell was too high for her to be willing to risk it. Best to let whoever it was pass undisturbed and unknowing, if they could. And if they were discovered—because never again would Briesis make the mistake of assuming anyone else would not have some sort of detection spells at the ready—,Alexius, at least, needed to be kept out of the way.

She turned toward Alexius, who was already awake but  groggy, blinking up at her with bleary eyes.

“Stay still,” she hissed. Before he could respond, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his sleeve as the invisibility spell rippled through her. A shimmer of light enveloped him, folding into itself until he vanished from sight.

She followed suit moments after.

“Don’t move,” she whispered, keeping her voice so low she wasn’t entirely sure if he had even heard her.

Squawky let out a soft trill of shock—presumably, he hadn’t been expecting them to disappear before his very eyes—but she tapped the bird’s beak and shot him a glare (that only belatedly did she realise he would not be able to see), hoping he’d get the message.

Squawky, she hoped, was intelligent enough to stay inside the bedroll, because she wasn’t going to waste magicka on a bird she didn’t trust not to hop away towards any potential enemies cawing invisibly in anger. But the bird seemed to have gotten the message, and seemed content enough to lie there with his feathers fluffed and bristling, so after a moment, Briesis slowly eased herself up, peeking through the wide gaps in the roots above her, before she climbed out of her bedroll and into the clearing, crouching low against the ground, waiting. For a moment she saw nothing, and thought they might pass by further along instead, but the voices were becoming perfectly clear now, guttural and deep, and those far-too-heavy footsteps were drawing nearer by the second.

Then she saw them.

Through the woods, a small group of figures strode towards them, their engraved armour catching the sunlight, their eyes red and glowing—Templars.

Not like the ones she’d seen at Skyhold, who had threatened her and imprisoned her and stolen her blood, but like the man those Inquisition scouts had slain on the Highway. A Red Templar, she remembered. These were just like him—their flesh bulged unnaturally beneath their armour, jagged clumps of glowing red crystal had jutted out to pierce straight through them. They were pale and gaunt, their eyes glew bright red, and their faces were lined with pure hate. Two at the forefront seemed almost normal, save for the eyes, but the two flanking them were barely human at all, hunched over with crystal spikes lined all across their backs, their arms thin and unnaturally long with claws as long as their forearms dragging against the ground.

Thud.

And behind them was a monster.

Briesis pressed herself as close to the ground as she could manage. More crystal than man, the behemoth towered over her, over the other templars, over any Daedra she knew how to summon. She could barely tell what she was looking at—if it hadn’t been surrounded by others much like it, if it hadn’t been wearing the tattered remains of a Templar’s skirt, if she hadn’t seen just how badly a body could change, after all the time she’d spent dealing with the Sixth House and their corprus-riddled beasts—she might never have recognised it as something that had once been human.

What little of it that wasn’t stone was flesh, grey and sinewy, raw and discoloured, stretched and torn as if it had tried (and clearly failed) to contain the eruption of crystal beneath its skin.

Behind them were people. Real people. Three of them, bound and stumbling, their faces pale and tear-streaked. A man, a woman, and a boy who couldn’t have been older than eleven. A heavy chain linked their wrists together, the other end wrapped tightly around the behemoth’s waist. When the man fell to his knees, his legs giving out, one Templar yanked him up hard, forcing them to keep pace with the monster. There was another prisoner behind them, unchained but held at sword point by another Red Templar—short, squat and bearded. He wasn’t crying--he seemed more angry than afraid.

Briesis’s head tilted.

Perhaps she should interfere. It wouldn’t be right not to. Alexius was hidden out of sight, and so was she—the Templars wouldn’t be prepared for an ambush. If she could separate the prisoners and the behemoth from the Templars she’d be able to take them on all at once without fear of anyone getting caught up in the crossfire…

“What’s this?”

The Templars halted suddenly, and Briesis’s stomach twisted as she realised why. One of the Templars—one of the normal looking ones—was pointing to something on a nearby branch.

A cloak.

Her cloak.

The Templar stepped forward, tilting his head at the sight of it fluttering in the breeze. He stepped closer, his counted hand reaching out to pluck it from the branch. He held it up, turning it over in his hands, before letting out a sharp, guttural laugh.

“Still wet,” he called over his shoulder, grinning. “More subjects for seeding. Spread out. Find them.”

They would have to fight. The invisibly spell would keep them hidden, but the bedrolls and her satchel were still there. The Templars would find those in moments and even if they didn’t figure out the two were right there, their searching the area would mean it would be exceedingly difficult to slip away unnoticed. The amount of branches and mud lining the floor would give them away.

Not to mention that just grabbing her satchel would break the invisibility. And the Templars would surely wish to dig around inside it once they saw it.

They wouldn’t get the chance. Briesis still had the upper hand, here.

Still invisible, she shot to her feet and launched herself into the air, her legs propelling her clear over the Templar’s heads. The wind whistled in her ears as she soured, her heart pounding in her chest as her magic swelled there, eager to be expelled…

She landed square on the behemoth’s face and slammed her palm down onto the creature’s brow, the invisibility spell shattering at once as the strongest absorption spell she knew coursed up her spine and through her hands.

The thing roared beneath her, a deep, ear-splitting sound that shook the clearing. The prisoners screamed, yanking at their chains, while the Templars spun around, momentarily stunned by the spellight and the sudden appearance of their attacker.

“She’s on it!” One shouted. “Blood mage! Get her down!”

But Briesis barely heard them. She could feel the behemoth’s life force siphoning into her, its immense strength feeling her own. For a moment, it felt like she could take the thing down right there, drain every bit of life from it—

A sharp crack tore through the air. Briesis barely had time to register the red crystals hurtling toward her before they struck her square in the side and pierced into her ribs. The force sent her flying, her spell fizzling out as she hit the ground hard, the wind knocked clean out of her lungs. Pain blossomed in her ribs where the shards had struck, and she coughed, gasping for breath. She raised her eyes, met the short prisoner’s own as he stared at her with absolute fascination.

“She’s down!” A Templar barked. “Kill her!”

Briesis scrambled to her feet as the behemoth stomped toward her, his three terrified, shrieking prisoners dragged along it even as they dug in their heels and pulled against it.

Absorbing its health had been a good idea—her wounds were already healing, the flesh stitching together forcing out the red crystals the hunchbacked Templar had shot at her—and her suspicions were correct and they were the source of the state of the Templars before her, this could only be a good thing. Briesis did not want to turn into a monster.

Not again.

She raised her hands, magic crackling at her fingertips, and loosened the lightning gathering there—it struck the behemoth in the chest, and blinding arcs of electricity erupted through its body, jumping from crystal to crystal in a series of violent explosions, leaving jagged little cracks along them.

The behemoth stopped, rearing back and raising one giant, crystallised, lobster-like claw, brought it down fast— and Briesis knew, suddenly, her heart sinking, that she’d made a mistake. This had been the wrong spell to cast.

The ground erupted, crimson crystals shooting up from the forest floor in a jagged line surging toward her. She threw herself to the side, her body twisting midair, and hit the ground rolling. She was up in moments—dodging had always been something she’d been very good at—but the monster was already turning toward her.

Behind it, the Templars laughed, weapons drawn, but they held back, clearly content to let their monstrous ally do the heavy lifting.

Their mistake. The prisoners were out of reach, now. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t wearing any armour, that he was at a disadvantage against many sword-wielding enemies at once. In a place like this, she could work around it.

The behemoth was was rushing towards her, faster now. It raised that clawed hand high—brought it down, hard, narrowly missing her as she sprung backward. The ground split beneath the force, red crystals bursting out of the ground then shattering into tiny shard that flew in every direction. But the force he’d used had been too much. His hand had imbedded itself into the dirt. It wouldn’t last—one yank and he’d be free once more—but it was enough for Briesis to seize the opening.

She leapt forward, over the crystals that had sprung up, came down on his trapped claw, then kicked off again to land somewhere on his shoulder—or what she thought was his shoulder. It was a bit hard to tell, given what had happened to the general area—and clung to one jagged crystal. A Templar cursed beneath her, drawing her bow as the behemoth roared in frustration and wrenched its arm free, stumbling backwards as it swung its other arm towards her.

But Briesis was faster. She vaulted up, pushing off its shoulder just as it swung at her, and its own massive fist collided with its shoulder with a sickening crack.

A levitation spell caught her mid-air, far from sword-reach, then shot her higher up as the Templar who’d drawn her bow loosened an arrow through the spot she’d been in only a half-second before. From here, she could see everything—the prisoners still chained and sobbing, the Templar docking another arrow, the others regrouping, their swords and maces brandished but useless.

“Smite her, smite her!”

Three templars drove their swords into the ground at once, though what the purpose of that little display was Briesis didn’t know. She steadied herself, her hands alight with flame, before she hurled the biggest fireball she could muster right into the group of Templars.

It struck with a deafening boom, flames erupting outward in a fiery wave that consumed everything in its path, engulfing part of the clearing in flames. Heat surged through the air, the ground shaking from the impact. The prisoners screamed—uselessly, hidden behind the behemoth as they were, the flames had not reached them—but their voices were drowned out by the sound of the explosion. Two of the Templars were instantly consumed, their armour melting into slag. Others only staggered back, shielding themselves from the heat.  They were used to fighting mages, Breisis remembered, and she grit her teeth.

The magic holding her aloft unravelled quickly, and Briesis dropped, hitting the ground hard, her knees buckling, as she crumbled to the ground to slam her hands into the earth to unleash another spell. The ground exploded outward, chunks of dirt and stone flying in every direction. The force knocked the remaining Templars backwards, one’s weapon clattering from his grasp, and another considerably less fortunate Templar was flung backward, impaled on a jagged stone spike.

Then she felt it. The ground beneath her shifted unnaturally, groaning softly. A deep crack split the soil, and through it, a breeze came through, ruffling through the strands of her hair.

She froze.

A low rumble echoed behind her, and she scrambled to her feet as the behemoth, unfettered by whatever was beneath them, stomped toward her. She sprinted towards a still-invisible Alexius, ready to grab him and run—but it was too late. The behemoth’s massive fist rose again even as the earth trembled between its weight, ready to strike—

The fist came down.

The ground collapsed beneath it. The behemoth roared as it fell, dragging the screaming prisoners and half the clearing down with it. But Briesis didn’t turn back. The ground was already shaking beneath her feet, and, far ahead of her, behind the tree where she and Alexius had camped, cracks were starting to form—the behemoth would take them all with him if she didn’t push Alexius to safety first—

The earth gave way beneath her feet, and Briesis couldn’t help sharp cry as she tumbled downward, swallowed by the sudden chasm, dirt and rubble raining down around her as she twisted in the air, frantically trying to orient herself in the dark. She heard screaming—from the Templars, from the prisoners, from Squawky, from herself—

She clamped her mouth shut. Focus, focus!

The behemoth was falling just ahead of her, thrashing wildly as it fell, the prisoners chained to it yanked along, kicking wildly, screaming shrilly as the monster dragged them to their deaths.

They’re going to die if you don’t do something. So do something. Do it now.

She thrust her hand out. The purple-blue light flew past the screaming prisoners to strike the behemoth in the back, and it’s thrashing lessened, the beast confused as it slowed down immediately. The prisoners weren’t so lucky. They fell past it, their own descent unimpeded. Unimpeded, save for the chains at their wrists that snapped taught with a jolt as they were yanked to a violent stop.

Their screams were piercing—Briesis winced as she plunged past them, knowing there had been injuries, but it couldn’t be helped. If she’d cast slowfall on them the far-heavier monster would still have drug them down. They were still alive—their injuries could be attended to later. And she’d free them in a moment, when she found—

“Alexius!” She shouted, spinning midair. “Alexius, where are you?”

Maybe he was safe. Maybe he hadn’t fallen in. Maybe it didn’t matter if she couldn’t see him, if he was still invisible, because he was safe and sound on the surface.

“Alexius!”

A high pitch screech above her answered instead.

Squawky.

If the bird was here, so was the man.

She twisted, looking for them. The sound was muffled—the stupid bird was probably still hiding in her bedroll—and then she spotted it tumbling a dozen feet above her, a sad thrashing, noisy little bundle, Alexius’s own bedroll and her satchel tumbling alongside it some feet further away. There was no sight of Alexius (obviously), but with any luck, he’d have held onto his bedroll as he fell. He’d been right on top of it, after all.

She hurled herself towards them and snatched her own bedroll out of the air. The moment she had it, Squawky’s head popped out, feathers fluffed and wild in absolute panic as he screeched in her face.

“You’re fine!” She breathed, cradling him tight agains her chest. “I’ve got you!”

Squawky ignored her, cawing frantically as she shoved him back in. She adjusted her grip just in time to spot her satchel spinning away into the abyss, just out of reach, its contents spilling out.

“NO!”

Briesis dove after it, grasping wildly with one free hand. She managed to catch the satchel itself, but their food pouch tumbled away, plummeting into the void, followed by a handful of glistening soul gems and the binder containing all her beautiful, priceless, irreplaceable Dwemer schematics.

She swore loudly, shoving the satchel back over her shoulder, turning back towards the bedroll Alexius had been in only ten minutes before.

But her fingers closed around nothing. He wasn’t there.

Panic rose.

No. No, no, no.

“Alexius!” She screamed. “Alexius, say something!”

An invisible boot collided with her nose.

Stars burst behind her eyes, and she let out a strangled yelp, clutching at her face with one hand. But Alexius’s invisibility had collapsed with his accidental violence, and so instead of whining about her bruised nose, she reached for the offending boot and yanked him down towards her before looping an arm tightly around his waist.

There wasn’t a moment to waste—they’d already been falling for far too long. With both arms locked around Alexius and Squawky, she splayed her hands and pushed out another slowfall spell with everything she had.

Her stomach lurched at the sudden change, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The fall had slowed to something manageable, and Briesis quite frankly would have rather thrown up all over Vivec himself than wind up splattered all over the floor.  Then, just as her heartbeat was finally slowing down—

“Oi! Up here!”

Briesis jerked, startled. It was the short, bearded man. Unchained, he’d managed to avoid plummeting to his own doom by clinging to the chain that connected the rest of the prisoners to the behemoth, his legs hooked awkwardly around the neck of the man underneath him. His face was pale, and his teeth were bared in grimace. But what was he doing here? She hadn’t seen him when she’d been on the behemoth, had thought he’d escaped when the Templars had been distracted, but—

“Don’t just stand there!” he bellowed, “Do something!”

Right.

She focused her magic again despite the ache beginning to build in her hands. It was not easy, casting spells when she had both Alexius and Squawky to carry, but she managed another slowfall spell, one big enough she knew it would engulf him and the three others dangling in the air. It didn’t make much of a difference. The chains binding them to the behemoth kept them at its mercy. They weren’t falling, really.  They were just dangling.

For now.

Magic burst from her hands in a razor thin line, slicing through the the chain. The prisoners screamed again as they dropped, actually falling now, even if it had been slowed by the spell.

The behemoth thrashed wildly above them, howling in fury—whatever had kept him from attacking the prisoners while they were chained to him had clearly ceased to exist when they were not--already raising that clawed hand, ready to cleave his former captives in two.

Briesis’s telekinesis spell latched onto the chain and pulled them towards her sharply. The prisoners yelped as they were yanked through the air to safety, but their screaming had finally stopped.

The behemoth made another furious noise, turning mid-air to face them, but he was no longer directly above them, which meant Briesis could safely watch from the side as the slowfall spell she’d cast on him slowly unravelled.

It hadn’t been meant to last forever.

The monster plummeted past them like a stone, and then there was only silence.

How deep was this thing?

She twisted around, trying to see something. It wasn’t easy. There were glowing blue veins crawling all across the wall, she could make that out clearly, but the dust and the dirt that had fallen down with them made it hard to see anything else save for a handful of collapsed bridges off in the distance, until they passed a ledge bordering a large tunnel in the walls that looked almost Dwarven, still lit with torches.

They fell past it before Briesis could get a closer look, though she could’ve sworn she’d heard surprised shouts as they fell past. She’d have to go up there to check— she really, really regretted that the slowfall spells she usually cast were intended for the purpose of Not Dying While Getting Down Quickly instead of Controlled Landing on Ledges, but it couldn't be helped now.

…Her things were at the bottom of this place. And really, how was she supposed to wrangle five other people onto a ledge?

A distant, sickening crunch echoed up from the depths. The behemoth was gone. The ground was near.

And Briesis, remembered, suddenly, exactly how Alexius had landed the first time.

If one of these people broke their neck on landing, she swore—

“Feet first!” she shouted, twisting midair, trying to reorient herself. The prisoners were flailing, still half-dangling from the chains, Short-and-Bearded gripping the man he clung to so tightly she wasn’t entirely sure he could still breathe.

Her voice barely carried, and one look at their terrified faces and pained moans and she knew they were barely even conscious. They wouldn’t have the presence of mind to land properly.

Do something.

Briesis angled herself downward. She had seconds—maybe even less-- to slow the rest of them down even more before they hit the ground. Another slowfall spell, and their descent softened instantly, their limbs jerking slightly as they floated lightly downward instead, left behind as she and Alexius fell ahead.

She forced Alexius and herself into position, her arms burning from the strain of holding onto both him and the wriggling bedroll. The wind howled past her ears, whipping her hair into her face, but she ignored it, focusing entirely on their landing.

The cavern floor rushed up to meet her. She bent her knees, bracing herself—

Her feet slammed into the ground

It didn’t hurt. Magic absorbed most of the impact. She bounced slightly, then touched down as softly as if she’d simply hopped down a stair.

She released Alexius and thrust the too-quiet bedroll into his arms without a word. Squawky had finally shut up, but that wasn’t a good thing. Either the bird was in shock, or he’d passed out.

Alexius, accepted the bundle without complaint. She could just barely make out the shift in the fabric as he adjusted his hold on it, and Squawky let out a small, pathetic noise from within. That wasn’t reassuring.

She looked around long enough to make sure the Templars and the behemoth (who had crumbled into glowing red dust) were truly dead before she turned her attention back to Squawky.

Briesis frowned, her fingers lingering on the bundle for a moment. The little menace was usually loud enough to split stone when he was upset. Now, he was quiet. Too quiet. Her stomach twisted. She flicked her gaze upward to see how far behind the others were.

Pretty far.

She had time.

Briesis let out a sharp breath and turned her focus back to the bedroll. She took it from Alexius before he could protest, crouching slightly as she loosened the fabric and peered inside.

A small, black shape shifted within. Squawky’s feathers were fluffed up, his tiny body hunched and trembling slightly. His beady black eyes blinked up at her, glossy with something that made Briesis’ chest tighten unexpectedly.

“Hey,” she murmured, reaching in carefully. Squawky flinched at first, but when her fingers brushed against his feathers, he let out a soft, warbling chirp and pushed his head against her palm. Briesis exhaled, slow and steady.

“He’s fine,” she muttered, more to herself than Alexius. “Just shaken up.”

She scooped Squawky out of the bedroll, cradling him lightly in her hands. He buried his head against her fingers, his whole body still trembling, his little chest heaving.

Squawky nestled into her palm for a moment longer. Then, with a careful flutter, he climbed up her arm and nestled onto her shoulder, his talons gripping her coat a little too tightly. His head pressed against her neck, the way he did when he wanted affection but was too proud to ask for it, and she could feel the rapid thump of his tiny heart beneath his feathers.

He'd nearly died. 

She reached up, her fingers brushing against the silk ribbon she’d tied around his ankle—the one that had kept him grounded, kept him from flying, kept him from returning to the Inquisition.

A small enchantment, just enough to keep him from flying away. Just enough to keep him hers. But that same enchantment had nearly gotten him killed.

She swallowed hard.

She hadn’t needed to keep him so long.

She’d just wanted to.

Her fingers hesitated on the knot.

For a split second, she almost left it. Then she pinched the ribbon between her fingers and tugged the it loose. It unraveled easily, slipping free like it had never been there at all.

For a moment, nothing happened. Squawky just sat there, feathers still puffed up, claws still clenched into her coat. She waited, her fingers resting at her sides, unsure of what he would do—of what she wanted him to do.

That was a lie. She wanted him to stay.

He nuzzled her neck one last time, gave a soft little caw, and then, with a sharp shake of his feathers, Squawky hopped off her shoulder and onto the ground. His wings flared out.

And then he launched himself upward. She lifted her head instinctively, tracking his flight as he soared upward into the cavern’s dim light, his black feathers shining briefly under the light blue glow before he disappeared, vanishing into the dark.

Briesis didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even breathe.

She’d spent so much time keeping him close, so much effort making sure he couldn’t leave, that she hadn’t actually considered what it would feel like when he did. And now he was just... gone.

A dull ache settled somewhere in her chest. She let her hand drop back to her side, swallowing hard against the strange, unexpected lump in her throat, and turned her gaze back to the prisoners, who were nearly on the ground now.

Whatever.

He wasn’t her bird anyway.

The prisoners touched down, one after another. The woman and boy first, staggering but unhurt, then the man, who barely managed to keep from toppling over (partly, Briesis suspected, because of the unwanted weight who’d wrapped himself around the man’s neck).

Short-and-Bearded was the first to move. He peeled himself off the man’s neck, stumbling slightly before hopping down onto the ground. He crumpled onto his hands and knees, muttering something under his breath that Briesis didn’t quite catch.

She strode toward them as casually as she could manage, ignoring the worsening ache in her chest, and raised her hand. The shackles binding them clicked open, falling to the ground with a dull clatter.

The man clutched his wrists where the shackles had been, staring at her in stunned silence. The woman was still shaking, clutching the child, who had gone quiet, staring at Briesis with wide, fearful eyes. For a moment, no one moved. Then the woman let out a sharp, choked sound—somewhere between a sob and a laugh—and grabbed onto the boy, clutching him tight. The man was right there too, pulling both of them into a desperate embrace, his hands shaking as he smoothed back his son’s hair. The boy buried his face against his mother’s chest, making a small, hiccupping sound that made Briesis’ stomach twist unexpectedly.

Oh.

They were a family.

Briesis stood back awkwardly, feeling as if she were intruding on something. She turned slightly, clearing her throat and trying to avoid looking—just in time for the short man to shove something at her.

“This yours?” he asked gruffly.

She blinked.

It was her binder, the one with all her Dwemer schematics. She’d been so distracted she’d forgotten to look for it when she’d landed.

“Yes,” she said, taking it hastily. “Thank you.” Her voice cracked.

He watched her as she slipped it back into her bag. “That was some very fine spellwork, there. Never seen anything like it.”

“Thanks,” she repeated, glancing around. The food she’d been carrying had been lost. The bag had split open, and she didn’t quite trust the floor she was standing on to eat anything that had been on it. But some distance away, she could see her soul gems, scattered on the floor, gleaming in the dark. The ones that had already been filled, anyway. She wouldn’t be able to find any that had been empty.

It didn’t matter, she thought, making her way towards one. Soul gems were cheap, anyway.

Having no food whatsoever was another matter entirely.

The Dwarf followed. “No offense, but… what are you?”

She hesitated, reaching down to pick up a Grand soul gem.

“…Qunari,” she said.

He looked her over. Briesis remembered what Alexius had said, what The Beast at Skyhold had looked like, and wondered if he thought it was weird, that she had no horns to speak of and was shorter than the human behind her.

If he did, he said nothing.

Briesis hesitated, tapping her fingers against the spine of the binder before glancing at him again. “…What about you?”

The man looked up, startled, as if it was the most ridiculous thing she could’ve asked. “I’m a dwarf,” he said, like this, this— this bold-faced lie should’ve been something obvious.

She opened her mouth, closed it again. This wasn’t worth fighting over. For all she knew he actually was a dwarf, and the only one lying here was her. This wasn’t Tamriel, after all.

“Right,” she said, agreeably. “Where... where are we, by the way?”

The woman sobbed, and Briesis glanced at her, startled. “The Deep Roads,” she stammered, staring at her. “We’re in the Deep Roads. How…how could you not know?”

“We’re going to die,” the father muttered. He had one arm slung protectively over his son’s shoulders, his knuckles white. His other was held awkwardly to the side, and Briesis knew who’d been responsible for the pained screamed earlier. His shoulder had been dislocated. “We’re all going to die down here.”

The dwarf strode towards them. “No one is going to die,” he said. “Look,” He pointed towards beneath them, where Briesis could just make out the imprints of small boots. “The Legion of the Dead’s been through here. Recently. Did you see those torches up there? They’re close. We find them, and we find the way out.” He nodded down one of the winding tunnels. “Just follow me.”

The others seemed convinced, but Briesis barely heard him. She was looking up, to where Squawky had gone.

Levitation might work. It wouldn’t be ideal, for the same reason she hadn’t wanted to levitate up the mountain when she’d escaped Skyhold, and they had no more Windform scrolls that would make the whole thing simpler, but it wouldn’t be impossible. Even with this many people. There had been ledges, and bridges, and that tunnel had had torches in it. They could climb in stages, take breaks on the way up. Or reach the tunnel and then just follow it. A safer bet than following these footsteps, on the words of one man.

And maybe Squawky was waiting up there for them. Maybe he just didn’t like tunnels.

She was still weighing the idea when the dwarf snapped, “Are you stupid? "

Briesis blinked and glanced back at him. What in Oblivion had he just said to her?

“Everyone’s already getting ready to leave,” the dwarf snapped. He gestured toward the others, who were shifting anxiously, preparing to follow him deeper into the tunnels. Even Alexius had joined them. “What are you standing around for?”

She turned towards them, ready to suggest it—saw the look on their faces, and knew it would be pointless. They wouldn’t listen.

“Just give me a moment,” she said quietly. “I’ve got to get the rest of my things.”

The dwarf rolled his eyes, turning away, and Briesis bent down to gather up the rest of the soul gems she could see.

Briesis wasn’t stupid. She knew she wasn’t, no matter how much the other Mouths had teased her, no matter how much Master Aryon had expressed frustration that she never could quite understand magical theory. Not because she needed it—there had never been a spell she hadn’t simply known how to cast with only a  brief explanation, but because she could never give it in turn. She knew it frustrated him how she could cast spells no one else could cast without even knowing how, much less explain it to anyone else, knew it frustrated him how there was no explanation to how quickly she’d gone from a normal young mage to an unjustifiably powerful one, how at nineteen years old she’d become the youngest Mouth in over a century and then usurped him as the youngest Master in history at barely twenty.

But no one had ever called her stupid. Naive, maybe, and reckless, or impulsive and something far too foul to repeat when they'd found out how she'd been trying to change the shape of the flame atronachs she summoned (Briesis suspected they still did, though they no longer did it to her face), but no one had ever called her stupid.

And she wasn’t any of those either, she reminded herself. She had gotten this far. No one else had. And no one had managed to stop her rise. She’d outwitted those who’d tried. She was going to be Archmagister.

The Not-Dwarf had been the only prisoner not in chains. She remembered his fearless face as the Templars had forced him along, remembered how he’d looked at her when she’d been hit. None of the Templars had grabbed him. None of the Templars had kept watch on him. No sword was held to his neck, then.

Then why hadn’t he fled?

She put the last of her belongings into her satchel and closed it quietly. No one was looking.

So no one saw when she hid her hands behind the satchel, and no one saw when the purple light bloomed between her fingers.

And when she hurried to follow the rest into the tunnels, she was the only one who knew of the Mark spell she’d left behind.

Chapter Text

Briesis was starving.

Really starving.

It started off as a small ache, easy enough to ignore, something she could push to the back of her mind while she concentrated on other things (like figuring out how long it would take to get out of here), but as the hours--then days— dragged on, it had become impossible. It gnawed at her even now, a constant, dull pain that had settled somewhere deep in her belly, twisting and pulling, demanding attention no matter how hard she tried to shove it aside, that made her hands just a little too shaky, her thoughts just a little too slow.

She’d gone hungry before, before Mother had taken her in and then again after she’d died and left Briesis all on her own, but that had been so long ago that she'd scarcely remembered what it had felt like.

She could now.

And here, in the cold damp air of the Deep Roads, wandering blindly through the endless dark (save for the light she’d conjured up for her very appreciative companions), the hunger felt worse than ever.

It didn’t help that the Not-Dwarf said that anything edible they could find would be in the hands of other dwarves unless they were lucky enough to stumble across a “nug”.

“A what?”

“Bald hairless rabbit-things,” the Not-Dwarf said. “Don’t have them in Par Vollen, do you?”

Briesis did not know if there were nugs in Par Vollen (Alexius’s brief, not-very-thorough explanation of the Qunari had not broached the subject of their homeland or their cuisine) , but after Levyn provided her with something of a more detailed description, she sure hoped that little Qunari boys and girls had better things to eat in Par Vollen than hairless, blind, rabbit-moles with human hands and feet.

Then again, maybe Alexius would say the same about Kwama eggs and nix-hound meat. She’d have to get him used to it…yes…something easy enough to get accustomed to…buttered mudcrab legs at first, horker roast with comberry jam next…a nice glass of Cyrodillic wine on the side—

Her stomach clenched.

When she got back to Tel Uvirith, she decided, she would be giving The Cook a raise.

Salmanea would never have let her go this long without a meal. Even if she’d been locked in her study for days—to busy with research to keep track of the time, too caught up in whatever newest project that had seized her attention (which she would inevitably move on from and leave half-unfinished)— Salmanea would have made something nice and hot, and Amsemasa would have knocked on her door to drop whatever it was off, and Briesis would be left with cup of broth, a plate of dumplings, and few slices of fruit that were so fresh that—.

Briesis swallowed against the dryness in her throat, her fingers twitching at her sides. Tel Uvirith felt very far away. She hoped they were alright—Amsemasa especially. The last she’d seen of them, they’d been fleeing for the dungeon after Master Aryon had set the upper tower ablaze.

The low grrrk of a stomach rumbling cut through the quiet, and for half a second, Briesis thought it was hers. Then she realised it had come from behind her. She turned her head slightly, glancing over her shoulder.

The boy’s face had gone red, his eyes darting downward as if that might somehow erase the humiliating sound that had just escaped him. His father didn’t say anything, just tightened his grip on the kid’s shoulder, his expression unreadable. The boy—Alim, wasn’t it?— was barely keeping up now, his father half-dragging him forward. His mother kept touching his head, smoothing his hair, murmuring things to him under her breath that Briesis couldn’t hear.

The dwarf chuckled, short and dry. “Hah. Thought an Ogre had snuck up on us for a second.”

Briesis turned away. The others had stopped muttering about the lack of food some time ago. Not a very good sign, as time drew on and on and they still hadn’t found anyone.

And it had been days. Probably. She wasn’t sure anymore. The last real thing she’d had to eat had been back on the surface and she hadn’t even managed to eat all of it. She’d barely managed to scarf down a few smoked sausages before Squawky had braved the rain to wriggle his way out from within her satchel, wholly determined to steal the rest.The thieving little beast had pecked at her fingers, snatched up the biggest piece, and flapped off just out of reach, looking so pleased with himself that she hadn’t even had the heart to hex him for it, even if she’d cursed him, and had called him a traitor, had even threatened to thrown a stick at him. He hadn’t cared, obviously. He must have known she’d been bluffing. He’d just ruffled his feathers, swallowed down the last bite, and tucked his head beneath wing, utterly content, until she’d given up on getting him down and had begun to walk away and he’d hopped off the tree and after her, squawking indignantly in the rain for the next mile until she’d taken mercy on him, wiped the mud from his feet, the water from his feathers and let him back into the bag.

He’d made a scene of it too, shrieking with victory like he’d just won a House War and not simply her pity.

She could still remember the warmth of him when he’d hopped into her hands, smug and preening, wet feathers fluffed up like some proud little lord.

Briesis swallowed hard, her throat tight. She should have been angry about that. Should still be annoyed, the way she always was when Squawky tried to put his greedy little claws on her food. Instead, she just felt—

No. She wasn’t going to think about him.

She should be glad to be rid of him.

His disappearance was a benefit, really. She had no food for him. He would’ve starved down here. He bit. He scratched. He screamed. He threw tantrums. He woke her up at unholy hours for no reason other than his own amusement. He made her life more difficult than it already was. More than once he’d tried to steal the map they needed to get to Tevinter, not that it mattered. Didn’t the silly bird know Alexius would just draw another?

In any case, he was more trouble than he was worth, hopping flightlessly around camp like a deranged feather duster, snatching buttons, coins and anything remotely shiny with impish glee. He’d even once tried to tear her hairpin from her bun. He was also noisy—and from what she’d gathered just about anything that lived down here would be trying to kill them on sight. He would’ve drawn attention, gotten them all killed, then gotten killed himself as well.

He was gone, and everyone was better off that way.

The thought should have comforted her.

So why was the ache in her chest still there? Why was it getting worse?

She could still see him flying away when she closed here eyes.

He left because you let him go, she reminded herself. That was always going to be the plan. He didn’t belong in Morrowind. He’d’ve gotten eaten by a cliff racer or something. And then he would have given them some weird bird diseases and started a plague or something, and the Ordinators would blame her over it and they’d put out a writ for her—

Alexius slowed down and fell into pace beside her, even and steady. Briesis barely glanced at him, still distracted by what exactly the punishment would be for spreading biological warfare by way of Squawky and whether or not crows were on the Temple’s Sacred Register of Unclean Beasts and if so, would he be thrown into the Pyres of Purification just for being brought into Morrowind in the first place or whether that fate was reserved solely for egg-laying crustaceans.

“He’ll be back,” he murmured, breaking the silence.

Briesis blinked, startled out of her thoughts. “What?”

“Squawky.” He said. “He’ll come back to you.”

Briesis turned her slightly, thrown off for a moment. She hadn’t expected him to notice anything.

Or at least not say anything out loud.

Unprompted.

It was true she hadn’t spoken much since Squawky had left, but no one else had, either. Everyone here was just as worn out and quiet as she was. The two humans were too focused on their son, and the dwarf, while he occasionally mumbled undered his breath, seemed just as drained as the rest of them.

And they were all worried something lurking down here would hear them speak when it really ideally should not, and so no one had been willing to speak very much at all.

Briesis would have thought her own silence would have gone unnoticed. That she could just let it sit, weightless and ignored.

Alexius, damn him, had always been too perceptive.

“It is only a matter of time before the Inquisition sends him after us once again.”

Briesis’s jaw tightened. The thing was, Alexius was right. If Squawky came back, it would be to lead his true Master to them. Or at least to where they’d fallen. That was what he was supposed to do, wasn’t it? They’d known that from the very first night they’d spent in Thedas, when he’d found them atop the mountain and had alerted the soldiers below. It was the whole reason she’d had to enchant that ribbon in the first place. He belonged to someone else, and now that she’d let him go, he’d be flying straight back to them, thrilled to tattle on her the first chance he got.

She could already picture it: Squawky, perched smugly on some soldier’s shoulder, fluffled up and preening, stuffing his stupid beak with the finest seeds and dried fruit that any bird could dream of, sitting in a warm, cozy tower up in Skyhold, squawking ridiculously at all the servants doting on him.

Yes, he was more trouble than he was worth. Speaking quite frankly, he’d been nothing but trouble. Loud, shrill, constantly throwing fits—he would’ve made a terrible pet.

Her hand was still clutching the empty ribbon in her pocket.

“How much further do you think we have to go?” She called out to the Not-Dwarf, hoping to distract herself.

The woman flinched hard, clutching her husband’s shoulder desperately, half-turning to face her, her face as pale as a ghost’s.

Briesis hadn’t spoken that loudly, but clearly the woman had either gotten too used to the silence or her nerves had completely unraveled. The other two weren’t doing much better than they had when they’d fallen, either. The boy shuffled along beside his father, his eyes dull and unfocused, his fingers curled tightly around the man’s sleeve.

But Briesis had to admit that she’d seen people react worse to less. There were worse people to be stuck down here with, all things considered, and Levyn and Kaitlyn seemed to have something of a sensible head on their shoulders, even if the fall and their imprisonment at the hands of the red templars seemed to have taken it’s toll on them.

And Alim was well behaved enough, for a child.

The dwarf snorted, not breaking stride. “What’s the matter? Getting tired?”

Shame she couldn’t say the same about the Not-Dwarf leading them.

Eram Kader.

She hated him.

It wasn’t fair.

She’d been the one to save their lives.

She was the one who’d jumped onto the behemoth’s face, broken their chains, slowed their falls and kept them from shattering every single bone in their bodies. If it weren’t for her they’d be lying dead on the floor, or worse, going through whatever “seeding” the Templars had planned for them.

So why in Oblivion was he in charge? He hadn’t even done anything! He was a short, loudmouthed, nobody. He didn’t know where they were going—and really, anyone with half a brain could follow footprints. The greatest benefit he brought, as far as Briesis could tell, was that the presence of a fellow dwarf would soften any other dwarves who they stumbled across, whether they be from the Legion of the Dead or Orzammar’s army.

Kader was an important enough dwarf, though. Maybe even on the surface as well, because the others had treated him with thinly veiled suspicion until he’d managed to properly introduce himself.

According to Alexius their mistrust had been due an incident. Several of them, all involving the kidnappings of human and elven travellers at the dwarven hands, though what had happened to the victims, no one knew. Alexius said the whole thing had nearly started an Exalted March, though thankfully the King of Ferelden had managed to dissuade this. Whatever rumours had arisen of the fate of those missing must have been truly awful, because she’d caught Levyn watching the dwarf warily from the corner of his eye, hand hovering protectively over his son’s shoulder. Kaitlyn hadn’t even been willing to look the him in the eye.

No, they hadn’t trusted him one bit.

Not until they’d heard he was a Grey Warden.

And that had apparently been enough for them to unofficially place him in charge. They followed him unquestioningly. Did what he said. Nodded when he spoke. Even the boy looked awed every time he looked at him.

It didn’t make any sense. Maybe it was because she didn’t know what a Grey Warden was, much less a Warden-Commander, and hadn’t found a moment where she could quietly pull Alexius aside and ask, but she couldn’t figure out why they liked someone so utterly unlikable.

He wasn’t intelligent, or cunning, or clever, and sometimes he was rather cold-hearted and cruel. Not that those were the main reasons she dislike him, Briesis could admit. She’d endured the company of plenty cruel, cold-hearted and stupid people back in the Mage’s Guild and even crueler (albeit not as unintelligent) in House Telvanni long enough that she’d rather grown used to a great deal of atrocities she would have been utterly disgusted by back in the Cyrodil. Or Skyrim.

House Telvanni was really something else.

No. It was because he'd given her one last reason to be glad Squawky had gone.

On the second day (or what she thinks was the second day), when hunger had truly begun to set in, the Not-Dwarf had turned to look at her and said: “Real shame you set that thing loose,” He’d been grinning, which should have been a sign of the filth he would be spewing next. “It would’ve made a decent meal.”

This was apparently a very normal thing to say to someone in Thedas, because then he said: “Wouldn’t have been much, but I’ve made do with worse”, and she’d seen Levyn give half a nod in agreement.

Squawky was not food. He wouldn’t even feed them all. He probably wouldn’t even taste good, and Eram Kader was nothing but a stupid, evil, filching n’wah who should be given to a Dres slavemaster to to be dealt with the proper way.

The dwarf in question stopped so abruptly Levyn nearly crashed into him. His posture stiffened, his thick shoulders rising as his head tilted toward the wall.

There wasn’t even a tunnel. He was just staring at the wall.

Briesis slowed anyway. “What is it?”

“Darkspawn,” Kader muttered, his eyes following something through the walls. “An army of them. They’re marching.”

His face was dark, his jaw was tight, his fingers twitched around his sword, and Briesis was certain that he knew where the darkspawn—whatever darkspawn were—were marching towards. By the look on his face, he had half a mind to abandon them all in order to follow the darkspawn instead.

But how had he known they were there? She hadn’t seen him cast any sort of magic, and given that he’d made some rather snide comments about her own enchanted jewellery, she didn’t think he had any on himself.

“How can you tell?”

“The Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn.” Kader turned his head slightly. “Can’t you?”

Oh. Well, if that was true, it was no wonder Levyn and Kaitlyn had chosen to follow him, then. That was probably the actual reason he was in charge.

But what was he talking about?

“I’m not a Grey Warden,” she said. “Am I supposed to be able to sense them?”

“No. Not if you’re not a Grey Warden,” he said, but his tone sounded wary now. Considering. He was eyeing her.

He thinks you’re lying.

But why in Oblivion would he think that?

“How can Grey Wardens sense darkspawn?” Briesis asked.

“They just can,” the Not-Dwarf said, shrugging. His voice was gruff, but there was still suspicion underneath it. “I figured—“ He stopped himself, shaking his head.

“Figured what?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “You’re not a Warden. Fine. Forget I said anything. “

But Briesis didn’t want to forget. She wasn’t sure why this was sticking in her mind, but it was. It had to be important, didn’t it? The Not-Dwarf still didn’t look convinced. Briesis could see the way his shoulders had gotten all tight, the way his fingers twitched near his sword like he wanted to grab it, or maybe grab her. She wasn’t sure which.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then, finally, he gave a short, gruff grunt and turned back toward the wall. “Hmph.”

That was it.

This wasn’t a normal reaction, was it? She glanced at Alexius, but he was looking at the dwarf instead, face blank.

“The Legion won’t be far behind them.” The Not-Dwarf said finally. “It won’t be long now before we run into others.”

The others seemed relieved (save perhaps Alexius, who wasn’t actually capable of relief), but Briesis frowned. There was something important the Not-Dwarf wasn’t telling them, there had to be. She’d expected him to shrug, roll his eyes, call her a dumb surface-dweller like Kagrenac had, many, many, many years ago, and move on. But he hadn’t. Instead, there’d been a moment where he’d looked genuinely troubled.

And Briesis hated not knowing why.

Before she could figure out whether or not she should press him on it, Levyn spoke up.

“How close are the darkspawn?”

Briesis supposed that was a good enough concern as any.

The Not-Dwarf turned away from the wall and continued on, but his thick eyebrows drew together. “Not close enough to be a problem yet.”

“Yet?” Kaitlyn echoed.

“It’s not us they’re after. They won’t come this way.”

“But if they’re marching—”

“They’re not marching toward us,” Not-Dwarf interrupted sharply. “And if they do turn around, I’d rather be somewhere else when it happens.”

That shut everyone up.

Silence stretched out between them, thick and heavy. The only sounds were the  steady drip-drip of water on stone and an occasional rumbling, far-off in the distance, that sometimes made the ground shake beneath their feet. Briesis thought, idly, that she could almost hear words in them.

Levyn shifted uneasily. “What are they after?”

“That,” the Not-Dwarf said sourly. “Is Grey Warden business. And maybe dwarven business too, I suspect.”

“I’ve worked with the Grey Wardens before,”Levyn said, drawing himself up. “I travelled with the Hero of Ferelden, for a while.”

“Did you?” The Not-Dwarf drawled. “Didn’t make you one to match, I see… couldn’t measure up to Loghain, could you? Not even Oghren?”

Levyn flushed, but pressed on. “Is it another Archdemon?”

The Not-Dwarf was quiet for a beat too long.

“It is, isn’t it?” Levyn hissed. “That’s why you say it’s Grey Warden business, that’s why you’ve all gone missing—Haven has been destroyed by an Archdemon! Your people should be there!”

“I heard about that,” Kader said cooly. “I also happened to hear that there is no Blight on the surface. So this sounds like an Inquisition problem to me. Now, we might have an actual Blight or worse on the verge of breaking out down here, so you’ll forgive me if preventing it should be my main focus—“

“You’re the only ones who can kill an Archdemon!”

The Not-Dwarf rounded on him. “How do you—“ He stopped, scowling. “Cousland.”

Levyn glared at him.

“Or Theirin?” The Not-Dwarf said, considering. “Though I can’t imagine he would give out Grey Warden secrets, not even after…well, no matter. I’ll be having words with Cousland about this.”

Levyn’s flush vanished, his face going pale as though someone had just wrenched the ground out from under him. He opened his mouth, then shut it just as quickly. His throat bobbed, but he said nothing.

Briesis couldn’t imagine that Cousland, whoever they were, would be very pleased about being tattled on, and Levyn clearly agreed, given he now looked like he was rapidly regretting the whole conversation.

“Don’t look so put out,” Kader, said, chortling. “If you didn’t want to her to get caught giving away Warden secrets, you should’ve kept your damn mouth shut. And so should she. No one with loose lips will serve as my Warden-Constable.”

Levyn opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then shut it with an audible click.

No one said anything after that, and neither did Briesis, though she filed the conversation away for later, not entirely sure why. She had no stake in Warden business, and less than no stake in whatever “secrets” this Cousland had spilled. But something about the way Kader had phrased it—the way Levyn reacted—stuck in her mind.

Mostly because she’d realised Alexius hadn’t been entirely forthcoming when it came to his explanation of the Blight.

“Alexius,” she asked him quietly, when those up ahead had gone far enough that they would not hear her. “What exactly is a darkspawn?”

Even though Kader had said that they would run into others before long, they hadn’t. They’d found signs of them—barricades, barrels, a crate containing fur bedrolls that Kader had been thoroughly confused by—nothing in the deep roads, he said, had fur. But there had been no one around, no signs of darkspawn, and given the barricades it was decided that this was a relatively safe stretch in the Deep Roads they could make camp in—if anywhere here could be called “Safe”.

Briesis had no idea which animal the bedrolls had been made out of, but she didn’t particularly care, either. Levyn and Kaitlyn hadn’t known, either—apparently this style wasn’t used often in Thedas, though personally Briesis thought it looked remarkably similar her own. Just unenchanted. Ordinary.

In any case, they were a blessing, given Alexius had been bedroll-less for the last few days. And even if he said he didn’t care, Briesis hadn’t liked waking up to the sight of her future retainer sleeping curled up on the cold stone floor without so much as a blanket, his robes tangled around him, his limbs stiff and unmoving.  It made something curl uncomfortably in her stomach. It was one thing to know he was like this—hollowed out and broken—but it was another to be reminded of it with every quiet, empty breath he took. Very shallow breaths, too—if not for the slow rise and fall of his chest (and the twelve different spells she’d cast on him to keep him warm), Briesis might have thought him dead.

She actually had, briefly, given that Alexius had a most displeasing resemblance to a corpse when he lied still like that.

And so, after that nasty little shock, she’d had him move back into her own bedroll.

It was partly her fault he didn’t have one of his own anymore, anyway.

Kader had taken Alexius’s bedroll for himself. He wouldn’t need it anymore, the Not-Dwarf said. He was a Tranquil. He didn’t feel anything. Briesis had protested, but Alexius could not have possibly cared less (Only, Briesis had declared, because he was utterly incapable of caring, and the look he’d given her then had made her insides shrivel up, even if it had been as blank and empty as ever), and so she’d let the matter lie. If Alexius didn’t care, why in Oblivion should she?

She’d escaped scot-free. Her own bedroll was safe and sound in her possession—none of the others had been willing to get into something so clearly magical (and if they had Briesis would have taken very violent offence)— but Squawky’s own bedroll had been taken as well (which had incidentally been the biggest of the three, she really had spoiled that bird), though given that it was pretty clear to her that the traitorous, ungrateful featherbrain would not be sleeping it anymore, Briesis hadn’t protested one bit when Kader had offered it to the family instead.

Still, it would have been nice if he’d asked. Just as it would have been nice if he’d asked her to take first watch while everyone else slept instead of telling her.

Taking watch.

Briesis knew of the concept, even if she’d never, not once, had felt the need to do it before, ever. She’d told Alexius it was a stupid idea. And she was right, she thought. It wouldn’t have saved them from Squawky’s aerial bombardment that first night, and it also wouldn’t have saved them from those Red Templars.

It probably would have saved them from those village cretins, if they’d showed up an hour or two later, though…

Either way, she’d scarcely done it before, certainly not when she’d been adventuring around Vvardenfell. She’d almost always travelled alone, and the few times she didn’t, with Ree-Jah and Rabinna or Viatrix, she hadn’t needed to bother. Cliffracers and Daedra did not tend to be fans of subtle ambushes.

She’d kept watch only once, when she’d been trying to get Sason and Malexa to Khuul—but that had only been to appease Malexa. The Redguard had taken her kidnapping very badly. She wouldn’t have slept otherwise. It had been necessary only for her comfort. And anyway, she and her husband had both been from House Redoran, and keeping watch was the sort of Redoran nonsense Redorans liked to do.

House Telvanni didn’t hold with that kind of rubbish. And neither did she. She’d been attacked in her sleep before ,and every time she’d always managed to come out on top. It was hardly her fault if everyone else was too incompetent to defend themselves from attacks.

But even she could admit it was actually necessary, now. Her detection spells couldn’t see through walls. Everyone here was more on edge than the two Redguards had been. And the tunnels were far from empty.

Darkspawn.

Foul, twisted, cunning, evil creatures who tortured and murdered everything in their path, who infected their victims and the very land they conquered with the Blight.

Briesis couldn’t catch the blight, not after what Divayth Fyr had undone what Dagoth Gares had done, so she had nothing to fear. Of course not. But Alexius still could, and so could Squawky, from what she’d heard.

Apparently wolves had been something of an issue during the last Blight. Because they’d had more than one.

Better that Squawky be gone because he’d been set free and not because he’d gotten sick. She’d seen what had happened to animals who’d caught it. Nix-hounds with their bellies swollen and splitting at the seams, thick ropes of blackened entrails dragging as they moved, snapping blindly at anything that came near. Rats whose skin had peeled away in patches, revealing raw, weeping flesh beneath—

And though she often tried to forget, sometimes, in her dreams, she could remember exactly what corprus had done to her.

Her stomach twisted again, and this time, it wasn’t just hunger. It was stupid. It was so stupid. He was just a bird. She had always known he would leave. That was just how things worked. She’d only had him for six days at best. Master Aryon had often scolded her for getting attached to things (this had, on more than one shameful occasion, included people) far too quickly.

He was a pest.

But.

He was hers. She’d stolen him, and she’d kept him, and the Inquisition hadn’t been able to kill her over it. So she deserved to keep him.

So the next time she came across the Inquisition, she’d be taking him back.

Just not in the Deep Roads. Levyn had told her of the Bloodcrows. And a Bereskan he’d run into. And while the the thought of spines erupting from the back off a bear, piercing through fur and flesh and caused wounds that festered and split wider with every step and never stopped oozing blood was definitely horrific, it was also familiar.

Very familiar. But not enough to be certain. What was the difference between this blight and hers? What caused them? Alexius said that darkspawn were born (though he hadn’t been able to answer how they were born, given that they were apparently entirely sexless) and not made, that their infected victims turned into “ghouls” instead—but then why did the darkspawn take people down into the Deep Roads? To eat them? And if those people weren’t turned into darkspawn, then how did they keep, well, getting born? They had to reproduce somehow, surely.

If only she could see a darkspawn or a ghoul up close. Experiment a little. She’d have to get a moment alone…creep away as the others slept…make sure they didn’t get too close…make sure there was no risk they would catch the blight.

Not least because she wasn’t entirely sure she could cure it anymore.

There was a lot of blight diseases one could catch—Ash-woe, Ash-chancre, Black-heart and Chanthrax—Briesis could cure them all. It was easy enough. One Blight disease was much the same as another. It wasn’t even always fatal. If one was very, very lucky, they could pull through even without a proper healer.

All but one.

And Thedas's Blight sounded worryingly similar to something like corprus.

She hadn’t even considered it, and she still wasn’t, really—after all, if Felix had gotten something as bad as corprus he’d already be dead or worse, regardless of what spells Alexius had been using to keep him alive, and Alexius would probably be a bloated, shambling monster by now too (Alexius, she was sure, had to be a decent enough mage to have managed control over time, but she very much doubted he was anywhere near Divayth Fyr’s level)—but it was a type of Blight disease.

Technically.

And it did have a habit of turning their victims into horrifically-mutated monsters.

But she couldn’t cure corprus. Only Divayth Fyr could.

Except, even after all his years of studying and experimenting and being the best, strongest most amazing and brilliant and wonderful wizard who ever lived, he’d only ever managed to cure one person, hadn’t he?

But he’d tried over and over to replicate the success he’d had with her, but his cure had never worked again. She knew what had happened to the other patients, the ones he’d experimented on before her (who died), after her (who also died), the ones who’d come after them, after he’d resorted to drawing her blood and her marrow and scraping her skin to figure out why this one had gone right when every other had gone so wrong.

It didn’t matter. They also died.

He had tried, and he had failed. 

And as much as she hated to admit it, she was no Divayth Fyr.

Yet.

Briesis exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over her face. Technically, by his own admission, he hadn’t cured it at all. He’d only ever wanted to wanted to remove the harmful features of the disease while preserving its “virtues”.

Maybe if he’d actually bothered actually curing her instead of touting about her enhanced strength and her immortality, the Dagoth Ur problem would have ended a long time ago, and the rest of the patients in the corprusarium and Alexius’s own son would have been saved.

…Would be something she would say if she was a very stupid, ungrateful mage too short-sighted to recognise the privilege of his attention. (Or, hissed a little voice, one brave enough, strong enough, powerful enough to look into the eyes of the strongest mage in Tamriel and say no.)

Really, how fortunate she was to be counted among his projects—chosen by him, taken under his wing, shaped and bettered by him. Some others—lesser things, unfit and undeserving—would have cowered in the face of his wisdom, would have balked at the thought of…assisting… him in further research. But she'd understood, even the first time he’d taken a scalpel to her wrist—he was the only reason she was still alive to complain in the first place. What were a few needles, and blood samples, if it could save others from the fate she’d only narrowly avoided? What were a few months of misery, compared to immortality? How many mages would kill, to be taught by him?

She owed him her life. And she was not a stupid mage.

She hadn’t voiced any of her suspicions to Alexius.

They were only just suspicions. No point distressing Alexius (or whatever was the closest equivalent for a Tranquil) over something she didn’t know for certain. Even if Levyn’s story about coming across tumour-ridden deer feasting upon the corpses of sheep, cows and people definitely wasn’t getting her hopes up.

But there were still differences. It was worth a try, wasn’t it? Even if the Blight was different here—or maybe especially because the Blight was different here— there was no reason to assume a different spell wouldn’t work if all else failed.

Well, she’d need to have her answer before she cured Alexius’s tranquility. She wasn’t sure how Alexius would take news like this when he was back to normal again. She didn’t have any real knowledge of what his actual personality was—she’d barely even spoken to the man for an hour before the Inquisition had taken him away.

If she couldn’t cure Felix, and left Alexius Tranquil, what would he do? Maybe he’d simply refuse to help her get home. It would be the logical thing to do if she had nothing to offer him, wouldn’t it? Or maybe he just wouldn’t care at all, and she’d be able to take him home, son or no son.

Except she’d already decided it would be a bad idea to leave him like this.

It’s just that she just had a good suspicion on how he’d react if she couldn’t actually cure his son when he wasn’t Tranquil.

He’d be absolutely livid.

Anyone would be.

And no matter what he’d said about “not doing anything”, he’d probably been in the Inquisition’s prison for a reason.

After all, what had a man from Tevinter been doing in a Ferelden castle? I mean, it was pretty far away. And Fereldens hated mages, didn’t they? It would be like an Argonian necromancer prancing about Mournhold’s palace. It was a wonder Alexius hadn’t already been on a pike before the Inquisition had gotten to him. And that was probably because he could defend himself.

Best to figure out exactly if her spells worked on this blight, too, and if it did—well, no harm done. Alexius would never know of her doubt.

And if it didn’t…well, she’d cross that bridge when she got to it. It would probably require some kind of experimentation…very fortunate, that she had experience dealing with these sort of things…if she asked Alexius where the blight came from, would he know? It would be the best lead she had to a new cure, if it came down to it.

The sooner she could sneak away to find a darkspawn or an infected, the better.

She’d do it right now, while the others slept, but Kader didn’t seem to trust her to keep watch herself, and so she was not the only one awake.

And Levyn would probably wake the dwarf if she tried to leave or “went missing”.

Briesis pulled her coat tighter around herself as she leaned back against the cold stone wall. The cavern was completely and utterly silent except for the occasional drip of water from the stalactites above (and Kader’s quiet snoring, though she felt it would be rude to mention it). The light she’d conjured flickered weakly, casting long, uneasy shadows across the uneven ground, where Levyn sat on the ground nearby, idly drawing patterns in the dirt with the tip of a stick.

Neither of them had spoken to each other the whole night. The’d been too busy keeping an eye and ear out for approaching darkspawn or, far more preferably to everyone but Briesis, dwarven soldiers.

Which is why she almost jumped when Levyn spoke.

“So.” Levyn said. “Your friend.”

Alexius wasn’t capable of having friends.

“He’s Tranquil, isn’t he?”

It really was a shame that the rain had washed away all her good work concealing Alexius’s forehead. Still, Levyn did not look suspicious, or upset, only hesitant, and he’d never come across as a Mage-hater.

But Briesis hadn’t missed the glances he’d been throwing her whenever she lit the occasional flickering mage-light, or the uncomfortable ones he’d been giving Alexius every time the Magister opened his mouth or got too close. And given that she’d made sure that Alexius was right alongside Levyn and his family (the most vulnerable in the middle, Kader said, and Briesis had agreed), it meant he’d been glancing at Alexius so frequently that Briesis would have to have been blind to not notice.

“Yes, I’ve noticed you’ve been staring at him,” Briesis said.

Levyn blinked, then gave her a quick, sheepish look. “What? No, I haven’t.”

“You have,” she said flatly.

He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. I am staring. It’s just… I don’t know.” His voice lowered even more, and he leaned slightly toward her, his gaze flicking back to Alexius, sleeping soundly in her bedroll. “It’s just that you don’t see many Tranquil, these days, you know.”

Briesis glanced at him.

“Because of the Mage-Templar war,” Levyn clarified.

“But Alexius isn’t a mage. He’s a Tranquil. He can’t cast magic anymore.”

“Doesn’t matter to the Templars,” Levyn shrugged. “The mages left them all behind when the war broke off, and the Templars or the wildlife must’ve gone picking them off one-by-one, because they’re all gone now. Except the ones the Inquisition took from Redcliffe.”

More reason, Briesis thought, to keep Alexius within eyesight at all times. She hadn’t needed any more, but it was always nice to have the extra justification.

Levyn, she was beginning to realise, was a lot more talkative than Alexius. And he was actually Ferelden. Alexius didn’t speak much, not without prompting, but when he did Briesis suspected that wherever he’d come from either didn’t particularly care for foreign politics or looked down on them.

And while hearing Alexius calmly and flatly explain that the Fereldens were were foul-smelling, mud-covered Dog-Lords with the intellectual capacity of a half-rotted turnip in the same bored way that one might use to recite a report on the variable flow of daedrons in Oblivion streams was deeply amusing, it also meant that Levyn was probably her best option at a more unbiased depiction of anywhere outside Tevinter. And Alexius mentioned being in Redcliffe, before.

“Why’s the Inquisition taking Tranquil from Redcliffe?”

“They aren’t really taking them,” Levyn said hastily, his hands lifting placatingly, as if she would take offence. “But Inquisitor Trevelyan says the Tranquil are under his protection, now, after that Magister threw them all out—“

He couldn’t possibly mean—

“A Magister?” Briesis said sharply, sitting up straight.

“Yes,” Levyn said, blinking at her. “A Tevinter Magister came to Redcliffe not long before the Breach—took over the place, forced Arl Teagan out and then moved into the castle. The Inquisition handled it later, of course, but things have been complicated since then. It’s part of the reason we were travelling back, actually. My wife was born there, you know.”

It was Alexius. There was no way it wasn’t.

Why hadn’t he said so?

But why—

“Why’d he banish them?”

“Made him uncomfortable, I expect,” Levyn said. “Tranquil usually have that effect on mages. Not many people will talk to them.”

He’d banished the Tranquil before becoming one.

That was sick.

Was that why the Inquisition had chosen it? Because they knew he feared it, or because he’d banished the others, and they thought he deserved it because of it?

Or maybe they were just bad, awful people.

Briesis’ fingers curled, nails digging into her palm. Levyn, shifted awkwardly.

“How did you meet, anyway?” From the gleam in his eye Briesis privately thought he’d been wondering since they’d first meet. “I mean, he’s Tevinter, isn’t he? And you’re Qunari.”

Briesis scrambled to remember the story she and Alexius had tried to come up with in case there was ever a moment in which she'd be forced to travel unmasked and bare-faced. They hadn’t managed to decide which would be more believable-- thet all had too many holes in them to be of any use. Briesis did not make a passable Qunari servant to an Orlesian nobleman—in particular because no Qunari would stick around should their master be made Tranquil—and Alexius claimed he did not have the proper constitution to have belonged to a travelling Qunari mercenary band (which he’d followed up on with a lecture about how mercenary bands did not tend to have more than one mage at a time, if any). Briesis could pass for one—so much time travelling Vvardenfell (not to mention the lingering effects of corprus) meant she had built up enough muscle that Beyte had eyed her in a way that she’d nearly blushed. Shame that her inability to wield any weapon other than a staff made she couldn’t put it to much use, save perhaps carrying a few more treasures home to hide.

In any case, every story they'd come up with was entirely useless now, because Levyn had already pegged Alexius as Tevinter.

Well, the best lies were wrapped in truth, right? She wouldn’t have to change the story that much. If anything, it might make Levyn more sympathetic if she said something like—

“Master Cosades’s son is very sick,” she said. “We came to Ferelden in search of a healer who could help, but we came across a group of Templars along the way, and, well…you can see what happened to him.”

Yes, that was definitely sympathy in Levyn’s eyes. This was a resounding success.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” He said, and  there was dislike there too. Anger. Towards the Templars?

Briesis was surprised Levyn was so sympathetic, to be honest. Especially since the looks Kaitlyn had been giving Alexius and her were a great deal less charitable.

“I’m surprised you think so. Your wife doesn’t seem to like mages, much.”

Levyn’s expression stiffened for a moment before he let out a long breath. “It’s… complicated,” he muttered, rubbing at his temple. “She doesn’t hate mages— but like I said, she’s from Redcliffe…I mean, what happened before—and now, with the rebel mages and the Tevinters…” His mouth twisted. “You can’t blame her for being wary.”

They fell quiet for a minute.

“What’s going to happen to him, once he gets to Tevinter?”

She’d be taking him and his son right back home with her, that’s what. How old was Felix, anyway? Around Alim's age? Who was running Alexius's stronghold, now that he was a former Magister? Did Alexius have a wife? Would she have to take three people back to Morrowind? Would Felix even want to leave Thedas, or was she going to have to kidnap him? 

She shrugged.

Then came a sound. A faint shuffle, a soft clatter of metal against stone.

Levyn’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. They fell silent, listening. Briesis slowly rose to her feet, heart thrumming as she stepped toward the barricades, peering past the barricades.

Over the bridge, flickering light, drawing nearer and nearer until Briesis could finally squint and see, while Levyn woke the others behind her—

A line of figures moving toward them. Heavy armour. Greatswords strapped to backs. Torches glinting against polished silverite.  The sound of many armoured feet.

The Legion of Dead was here.

Chapter Text

“You must’ve been starving.”

The dwarf was beaming at them. Briesis could not help but grin back.

Sigrun was a very pretty dwarf, Briesis thought, even if her whole face was covered in tattoos and her eyes were sunken (or maybe that was just more tattoos—it was hard to tell in the Deep Road’s lamentable lighting—though she couldn’t imagine anyone being daring enough to tattoo something so big so close to an eye).

Maybe it was her demeanour. It was certainly better than Kader’s, though the two were clearly very good friends. What Sigrun saw in him Briesis had no idea, but she’d squealed so happily when she’d seen him and had thrown herself into his arms which such force Briesis had thought she might lose a tooth, and he’d picked her up and whirled her round and round until one of the dwarves she’d brought along with her had coughed pointedly

The dwarf had had to do this several times until Kader had finally noticed, and then he’d finally set her down and cleared his throat and pretended like he hadn’t just re-enacted a scene from a novel Briesis might have read as a very young teenager.

It was, Briesis admitted, maybe a little sweet. In the way moldy cheese might be sweet if you were starving.

They looked like idiots.

Happy idiots.

And Briesis hadn’t liked the pang in her chest watching them. She didn’t like pangs. They tended to precede decisions she regretted later.

…Maybe Beyte would spin her round that way, when Briesis got home?

Maybe it was because of their friendship, or because Briesis had been very right when she’d thought Kader was an important man (and he was, because all the dwarves stood up straight whenever he walked right past them), but when the Legion had come they had shaken his hands and said they were pleased to meet him, they’d heard so much and of course he (and his companions) were welcome to stay as long as he wished, and that they hated to ask much more of him, but that they would truly appreciate if he shared some of the healing potions he was carrying (this had been news to Briesis, who hadn’t seen him carrying anything, and he certainly hadn’t offered anything for Levyn’s arm) because they’d had an encounter with those sort of darkspawn again. Briesis had not wanted to come off as nosy, but given that they’d said this in front of everyone (she suspected that they’d forgotten anyone but Kader was present), she would have had to be completely blind to have missed the way Sigrun had looked at him meaningfully, or the way Kader’s lips had thinned like he was trying very hard not to curse.

But neither them nor the ten-something dwarves who’d begun to settle back into their own camp had bothered to explain.

So she and Levyn and the others had stayed where they were, huddled awkwardly as the bedrolls they’d briefly inhabited were reunited with their actual owners, waiting for Kader to finish talking with Sigrun and an older dwarf who he called Lieutenant Renn.

Then the two men had left, and they’d been left with just Sigrun.

Sigrun hadn’t stopped smiling. Not even when she’d turned to them and taken in the full, ragged, mud-covered, half-starved, just-been-woken-up state of their group.

The soldiers had followed suit. They’d welcomed the rest of them without hesitation, too. Shaken their hands. Clapped them on the shoulders. Even Alexius, who barely acknowledged it, and even Alim, who’d blinked up at the helmeted dwarf who’d bent to his level (he hadn’t needed to crouch much. Alim was not so tall, but he was still human). Some other dwarves had been stiff at first, but after one of them (Acudan or Aeducan or something like that) had recognised Levyn (who apparently hadn’t been lying when he said he’d travelled here before) things had gotten…easier (even if Briesis was extremely certain the split-second look on her face when she had recognised Levyn had been one of pure shock). They said the same things Sigrun had said. Offered them a fire and a place to rest. And then (miracle of miracles) they’d offered food.

Kaitlyn had wept.

Briesis hadn’t. But only because she’d been too busy inhaling what turned out to be beer-covered-roasted cave beetles.

It was salty. And a little gritty. And dwarven beer tasted nothing like sujamma. And she didn’t particularly want to eat beetles (though given the kwama-based diet she’d had to go on after arriving in Morrowind she’d hardly call herself squeamish about bugs). But it was still food, and after so long trapped down here it was quite possibly the best thing she’d ever tasted in her entire life.

And by the time she’d finished it, Kader and Renn had returned.

With a nug.

Briesis wasn’t sure if it was the smell when they finally started cooking it or the sight of it that had nearly brought her to tears, but she’d scarfed it down like her life depended on it.

Levyn had been spot on with his description, because this was quite frankly the ugliest mammal she had ever laid her eyes on.

But he hadn’t mentioned how good it tasted. A bit like pork, a bit like rabbit…both meals that Briesis had whole-heartedly enjoyed since she was a child.

She certainly wished they’d started with the nug rather than the beetles.

She had the vague presence of mind to pretend at dignity, at first. Small bites, very controlled, not too fast, the way she’d eaten since she’d seen all those nobles dining in the Imperial City and decided one day she would be one of them. But then the meat hit her tongue, and her stomach had made an awful noise, and that was the end of restraint.

She wasn’t the only one. Kaitlyn and Levyn had eaten like starved dogs. Alim had to be coaxed into eating, but eventually Kaitlyn carefully tore her own nug slice into pieces and gave half of it to him. Then he’d downed it so fast he’d nearly chocked, and Levyn had had to slap him on the back. Alim tried not to cry while he ate, but failed anyway, which made Briesis look away fast enough to hurt her neck.

They’d all pretended not to notice, even the dwarves. She suspected they’d seen worse. Aeducan had handed over her waterskin and said nothing when Alim coughed into it.

She had a stick Briesis recognised immediately as a control rod, even if the design was different from the ones the dwarves had had back home.

It was used on their Animunculi, armoured centurions they called golem, three times her size and armoured with steel and stone. Briesis supposed the cogs and gears were inside all that…chunkiness, though she couldn’t see where the steam was supposed to be let out from. She couldn’t see any valve. Wouldn’t it explode?

It’d be nice, she thought, to compare the blueprints for these centurions to the ones she knew. It looked nothing like the Dwemer Amunculi she’d taken apart and nothing like Sotha Sil’s Clockwork Factotums she’d seen in that Temple book.

Maybe there were no cogs. Maybe they were powered by pure magic, like the golems back home? But they looked nothing like any golem she’d seen before (which, to be fair, was a grand total of one), and that armour had definitely been crafted for them. Which meant someone had built them to wear armor.

But she couldn’t detect any magic coming from them, either. They were functionally non-magical. At best there was a dynamo core or a soul gem hidden somewhere inside it to power it, just like the dwarves back home had done.

She just had to bring it up as delicately and gently as she possibly could…Kagrenac had always gotten very tetchy whenever Nerevar had expressed interest in learning more about his precious Amunculi…and Briesis didn’t quite feel like offending anyone who could potentially leave her down here to rot. But surely the basic process was the same. They had spirits, Alexius said so, and souls, and so surely there were soul gems to power them.

Maybe that was why Levyn seemed very uncomfortable around them. Maybe soul gems were considered magic, and so the Templars and the Fereldens had banned them and locked up everyone who could enchant anything, and Levyn did not want to be associated with magic, even if he said he did not hate mages.

“Care for seconds?”

All thoughts of Dwemer centurions fled her mind.

Sigrun smiled brightly as she handed Briesis a small tin bowl filled with a thin, savoury stew that smelled like actual heaven. There were things floating around in it that Briesis didn’t recognise and quite frankly didn’t want to question (though she was clever enough to figure it might have once belonged to the nugs Kader and Renn had brought back), but it was warm and filling and made Briesis want to contemplate bringing a nug or two back to Morrowind with her.

They weren’t that ugly, really. Not as ugly as a Kagouti or an Alit or a Nix-hound, and she knew some Dunmer kept those as pets too. And those Dres down in tear kept giant wasps, and it would probably not be too far-fetched to suggest a nug would make a better pet than that.

“You’re lucky we found you in time,” Sigrun said, lifting her own bowl to her lips. “There’s not many of us down here anymore. Really, we weren’t planning on staying around much longer.”

Briesis didn’t answer right away. Her mouth was full, and she was very seriously considering whether she could get away with licking the bowl without losing too much dignity.

She settled for scraping the last bit of beer-boiled-mushroom sauce with her finger.

Bowl empty now, Briesis glanced up at her.

“You mean because of the Archdemon?”

Sigrun stiffened. Her eyes narrowed, just for a second. Briesis didn’t miss the glare she tossed at Kader, who was still off with a few other dwarves, talking quietly, voices low and far out of earshot. Briesis had tried listening in with magic, but between her fatigue and the distance, she’d heard nothing. Something about the “route through Bownammar” and the “sinkhole up top,” alongside something about taking them to see some kind of anvil, but none of it had sounded like anything that would get them home faster. Why Kader thought anyone here would want to go see some crummy old anvil was beyond her. Kaitlyn and Alim carried no weapons, and Levyn seemed to be quite content with the silver staff she’d lent him, even if for some reason he had seemed surprised the very-clearly-unenchanted and also very common and cheap staff had not burst into flames when he touched it.

Truly delusional.

“Sort of,” Sigrun shrugged, still stiff. “It’s not really an Archdemon, I think. Not officially. Not yet. It’s… complicated.”

That was more information than Levyn gotten out of Kader, Briesis thought smugly.

She’d be even smugger if she knew what an Archdemon was.

“In any case,” Sigrun said. “It really is Grey Warden business, and Eram’s already warned me you aren’t actually one, so I really can’t tell you. I barely know anything about it myself—only the higher ranking Wardens know what’s going on. There’s a lot of…politics, with this.”

Of course there was. Briesis swallowed hard and stared into the bottom of her empty bowl.

She really missed Morrowind.

A beat of silence passed between them. Then Sigrun rose, stretching a little, her gear shifting with a soft clink of chain and leather. “If you want to sleep, now’s the time. We’ll be moving again tomorrow. We’ve got orders to clear a nearby route of darkspawn, but we’ll take you to Orzammar after that. From there, you’ll have better options.”

Better options, Briesis thought. Right.

She looked toward the others again. Kaitlyn was asleep against Levyn’s side. Alim was curled up in their arms. Even Alexius looked almost at peace, his eyes half-lidded, the faint glow of the fire reflected in them like he still saw something beautiful in the flicker of magic.

She wasn’t tired. But she sat back anyway, resting her head against the stone wall, and let herself be still. The ache hadn’t left. But at least, for now, it wasn’t hunger.

Kader returned not long after, arm slung lazily around Aeducan’s shoulders, talking animatedly, but he still gave Briesis a long, unreadable look as he passed. She scowled at him. She still didn’t like him, even if he had gotten them food and a warm(ish) place to sleep.

And they would sleep. Finally. Kader had told them the dwarves would keep watch instead, tonight, and that they could all get a good night’s sleep (though given the dwarves had interrupted their sleep and then they’d all eaten, Briesis suspected half the night was already gone.)

Not that it mattered down here. They couldn’t tell whether it was day or night, and the dwarves needed to sleep, too, so Briesis figured she had at least eight hours of perfect bliss ahead of her.

She supposed she could be grateful to Kader for that.

She was tired. Alexius was tired. Levyn and Kaitlyn were tired, and even Alim had tucked himself beside his parents again, too exhausted to keep crying.

And she was pretty sure she was safe, with so many people around.

So when the others crawled into the bedrolls the dwarves had generously lent them, she joined them, and curled in her own bedroll, listening to the hum of conversation around the fire, the a few tired laughs, someone coughing, the occasional joke and the clink of mugs, the creak of armour…Briesis didn’t laugh. But she didn’t hate the sound of it, either.

It reminded her of her old bunk bed in the Mages guild, a pillow over her ears, trying desperately to ignore Gelduin and Ajira bickering and whining and betting. Or warm nights spent camped along the foyadas of Vvardenfell, listening to bored once-fellow Redorans argue over whether it was Telvanni or Hlaalu that were more dishonourable. Or even the quiet murmurs in Tel Uvirith’s lower quarters, her servants whispering about her latest experiments or Salmanea and Almossaren murmering sweetly to each other when they all thought she was out of earshot.

She shifted, turning her back to the fire, letting the soft murmur of voices fade into a quiet buzz behind her.

Warmth. Company. Full belly. Safety.

Briesis closed her eyes.

She didn’t open her eyes right away. Mostly because she was too comfortable just the way she was, her body still and curled up in her bedroll, one hand tucked under her cheek, waiting patiently for sleep to take her once more.

It was taking its time.

She knew it must be very late at night or very early in the morning, because she could hear several others snoring, though she knew someone else was already awake. Two someones, actually, who would have to keep each other company until it was actually time to get up, because Briesis was very tired, not an especially cheerful person to be around in the morning— at least not when she’d been woken up far too early (sadly, it seemed Squawky’s absence had not been enough to return her sleep schedule to it’s ideal pre-Thedas state)—and she didn’t quite feel like being unforgivably rude to their potential saviours the very morning after they’d fed her and granted Alexius the gift of having his own bedroll back in his possession, even if it had been their extremely annoying tossing and turning and twitching in their bedrolls that had woken her (and them) up in the first place.

They were quieter now that their nightmare had ended, though, and so Briesis was sure it was only a matter of time before she would be able to sleep once more.

But then they started talking.

Well, to be fair, it was more whispering, but given that the whole cave was very quiet (save for the loud snoring from a neighbouring dwarf), and they had made the entirely selfish decision not to go somewhere far, far away to bother the darkspawn instead of having this conversation in their own bedrolls where everyone else was supposed to be sleeping, Briesis could hear every word. 

So she listened instead.

“…You had it too, didn’t you?”

It was Sigrun. She didn’t sound cheery at all, now.

“Yeah.”

Silence fell. Briesis could hear the fire crackle faintly. The shifting of weight. Someone rolling over in their bedroll. One of the two rubbed a hand over their face.

Having judged that whatever silly little dream they were talking about was Not Important now that they’d gone quiet again, Briesis shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, to drift back off into sleep…

“It never stops,” Kader muttered.

Briesis scowled, eyes still closed.

“The Calling?”

A snort. “What else?”

The calling?

It was probably nothing important.

Go back to sleep, go back to sleep.

“…Have you heard anything from Weisshaupt yet?”

“Of course not,” Kader snapped. “None. And of course all the Wardens around here are far too busy hunting down worthless old Loghain. Some trite about turning traitor—“

She heard Sigrun wince. “Eram…”

Kader ignored her entirely. “And my own Warden-Constable—useless, useless! Off to find a cure,” Briesis could practically hear the sneer in the words “No thoughts whatsoever on abandoning her duties here, none! She still wonder why the Wardens made me Warden-Commander instead of her—I can’t imagine why! Running off on a wild goose chase at the slightest hint she can…unwarden herself, no loyalty whatsoever towards the cause, no respect to all the good men and women we have lost—don’t give me that look, Sigrun, you know it’s true…even her own husband doesn’t know where she is now!”

Her husband?

Briesis shifted in her bedroll again, just enough to adjust the way her head rested against her arm. Not enough to be noticed. Never enough to be noticed, she made sure of that. She had enough experience fooling Mother to know how to keep her breathing exactly the right amount of slow and even that would make her go away and assure her guests that the girl was asleep now, and they could talk about the grown up things she wasn’t allowed to hear…

Not that she would eavesdrop. She was definitely not doing so now.

It was the same as now as it had been in Winterhold. All the pointless things. Drama. Nonsense. Grudges between a soldier and his presumably deserting two-faced underling. How did one go around un-wardening themselves anyway? It didn’t sound bad—Kader didn’t speak of his Warden-Constable like a traitor. Or a deserter.

Nothing Briesis hadn’t gone through in spades. Even the marriage bit kind of applied, if she considered Nerevar’s regrettable…thing with Almalexia (she usually didn’t). She should be above this…this gossip. She was a master wizard of House Telvanni, and she did not care if some woman a literal world away had run off on her husband and a superior who had apparently stolen her promotion. She didn’t care. Not really.

Except she kind of did.

She would never, ever admit something like this out loud, Almalexia forbid. Someone might get the extremely and utterly wrong impression that their future Archmagister was interested in something as banal as gossiping—but surely anyone (everyone!) would find something satisfying about listening to Kader airing both his and his Warden-Constable’s dirty linens when he thought no one but Sigrun was listening.

And really, how was she supposed to ignore it when they were talking right there in the open? If they didn’t want her to overhear, they should have crawled out of their bedrolls and gone somewhere else. This was all their fault.

Besides, she was gathering information. She knew nothing of this world. Anything she could remember might be useful later. She was being tactical. Not eavesdropping.

Mostly.

Anyway, this was something Kader clearly felt strongly about and had been wanting to get off his chest for a while. And it had been brought on by whatever dreadful nightmare he’d had (though how a nightmare had led him to speak this way of his poor Warden-Constable Briesis had lost track). He was just expressing his feelings. It would be rude not to lend a sympathetic ear, when he so desperately needed it.

And surely not many people would even be willing to listen to him, if his Warden-Constable was apparently called the Hero of Ferelden by the general populace. This was an act of kindness. She was being a good person. Someone like Levyn would have probably told Kader to shut up, instead of politely listening to each and every word he had to say.

Which was a little confusing. She’d be able to understand it in other circumstances—Kader knew the woman personally, worked with her, knew her in ways any common peasant would not. He would not hero-worship her the way they did, in the same way Briesis would have Very Special things to say about Master Aryon that would have the citizens of Vos sharpening their pitchforks, and Even More things to say about Vivec that would have the Ordinators beating down her door (again).

But Levyn had known the Hero of Ferelden. He’d travelled with her, and he’d spoken highly of her.

So surely one of them must be at least somewhat wrong.

Good thing Kader wasn’t finished yet.

“—At the most inconvenient time too, Maker knows we could have sure used her help now, what with what’s going on the surface. Why bloody run a kingdom at all if you’re just going to vanish? And we all know she’s the one running it—I met Thierin even before the Blight, you know, biggest pushover I’d ever met in my entire life, had me wondering what on earth Duncan saw in him—“

Running a kingdom? Oho!

Sigrun coughed.

“Anyway, he let Cousland drag him all over Ferelden, and when he finally toughened up, you know what he did? He went and married her—“

Sigrun coughed. Louder this time.

“—Which caught me off guard, actually, given their argument about Loghain going through the Joining—“ He took a very, very deep breath, and he sounded much calmer when he next spoke. “He can’t have been too forgiving though…do you remember when Cousland vanished off to the Wilds to hunt down her witch friend?”

There was a brief pause, and a small, shuffling noise that Briesis took to mean that Sigrun had nodded.

“Well, I spoke to Oghren, and he said it was because she’d bedded her husband—“

Briesis nearly choked.

The sound that escaped her was halfway between a strangled cough and a suppressed snort—loud enough to draw attention, muffled just enough by her bedroll that she might have not have gotten away with, if not for what came next. Sigrun burst into laughter. Not a dainty giggle. Not a polite little titter. A full, barking laugh, unrepentant and delighted.

“Oghren?” She gasped, still laughing. “You believed Oghren? What is wrong with you?”

Briesis could practically hear Kader scowling. She imagined him folding his arms like a particularly broody statue.

“He was there,” he muttered defensively, but Sigrun’s interruption seemed to have knocked the wind out of his sails, and they both fell quiet for a brief moment.

“Don’t worry about King Alistair or the Wardens,” Sigrun said quietly. “They’ll have to respond soon. I do hear things from up above, you know. Everyone’s hearing it now, except the ones from Weisshaupt and maybe our people back in Vigil’s Keep, but every Warden I’ve come across these days is, and if you and I can hear it surely the King and Queen can too.”

Briesis had been right. Kader was friends with important people. Really, really important people—she’d never have thought someone like Kader would have managed to rub shoulders with Kings and Queens.

Though given how he’d been speaking of them, “friends”was probably a very charitable term.

“I don’t think it matters,” Kader said sourly. “If he has been hearing it, he’s made no mention of it. Hasn’t replied to any of our letters, either. Been years since any actual Wardens have heard from him or his wife, but last I heard of them they were busy palling around with the Inquisition. Good riddance. As far as I’m concerned, this is all their fault—”

“It’s been ten years.” Sigrun said tiredly. She was reaching her limit with Kader’s sourness, Briesis thought, and this specific argument was one she was sure the two had had many times before. “Surely if their Tevinter pet had been planning on causing another Blight, it would have already started? Or simply never stopped?”

“I don’t care if it’s been a hundred years,” Kader snarled. “The Blight hasn’t really ended, no matter what the surfacers think—ten years, and in all that time I haven’t had a single good night’s sleep. I still see her in my dreams. You do too. Don’t lie.“

Huh. Kader hadn’t seemed like the sort to have dreams about a woman, much less nightmares. Neither had Sigrun, for that matter. Too practical.

She supposed they were only mortal after all.

But what sort of woman would haunt someone’s dreams for an entire decade?

One who might start a Blight, apparently.

“And you can’t possibly think this doesn’t have anything to do with her. The Calling only started when she called that Archdemon, that can’t possibly be a coincidence—“

“I’m pretty aware,” Sigrun said flatly. “Thanks.” There was a heavy silence.

“She’s still down here, you know,” Sigrun said after a long moment, her voice quieter. “Somewhere in the Uncharted Abyss. You're really lucky you managed to get here without running into any darkspawn— they've been swarming the place.”

“I thought she might be.” Kader said. “We came across a group of darkspawn marching past us, earlier.”

There was a shuffling noise.

“They’re all dead, now. Did you hear the shouting?”

The shouting?

“Didn’t sound much like shouting to me,” Kader grunted. “It was pretty far off.”

There’d been a rumbling noise earlier, Briesis remembered. The ground had shaken.

She’d thought she’d heard voices in them, had assumed it was just an over-active imagination, brought on by days lost down here in the dark…could it have been real?

She’d been right to listen in. She’d gathered information. Useless things, partly—namely that Ferelden’s Queen was missing and that their King was apparently something of a rake, but that part where they’d both had a Tevinter friend of sorts who could apparently cause the Blight was definitely important.

If she wanted to cure Felix—and she did, she did—then understanding how the Blight had started and how it might start again seemed like a logical place to begin. And to do that, she needed to know more. Given that not once had anyone mentioned this Tevinter friend by name, it was probably best to start with the next best thing: the extremely public figures of the King and Queen of Ferelden.

…The King who was palling around with the Inquisition.

It wouldn’t be that far-fetched to think they might have have asked them to keep an eye out for them, was it? Putting aside the matter of a King perhaps not being too fond of two mages ripping across his country (though surely there must be thousands and thousands of people trying to learn magic, no matter how illegal it was. Two more mages would hardly make a difference to him, surely), or any potential allyship they had with Inquisition, there was the matter of Alexius.

And Redcliffe.

The way Levyn had spoken of the whole, it sounded like this Teagan might owe the Inquisition a little favour over evicting Alexius out of his castle (and what exactly Alexius had been doing there was something she still needed to bring up with both Levyn and Alexius, given the latter was clearly not as forthcoming as Breisis needed him to be). And as a strong, powerful noble and an ally of the Inquisition, he might bring it up the matter of the insane Magister who had thrown him out of his own castle and then evaded arrest with an “abomination” to the King himself.

In which case it was probably for the best if the King was focused on his poor missing wife and on his witch mistress (Kader, she suspected, had been full of guarcrap when he’d said this. Surely if Ferelden’s King did not hate mages he would have made it legal to learn magic?) instead of on a random Qunari mage and an nobility-overthrowing, coup-loving Magister running across his country.

She really needed to begin drilling Alexius on this sort of thing. He’d gotten away with not explaining how this world worked for long enough.

She would not allow it to become a problem again.

…But it would still be best to have that sort of conversation in private, where no curious ears could listen and wonder how someone knew so little.

This wouldn't be one of them. She wouldn’t draw too much attention, if she asked a few questions here and there, because surely anyone would be interested in someone called the Hero of Ferelden, her strumpet of a husband and how had they ended the Blight together.

Levyn, she thought, would know.

He had known them personally. He’d travelled with them, fought alongside them. He liked them, from the way he spoke. Hero of Ferelden this, King Alistair that. He’d brought them up first, so he’d be willing to talk, right? Probably eager to, if she asked the right questions.

He might have even been there when the Blight ended.

That made him valuable.

And Briesis was very good at getting valuable people to talk.

Chapter Text

Briesis was not a morning person. She did not do mornings in the same she did not do mopping the floor. Only being able to regenerate magicka while she slept and having quite a large pool of it meant she needed as much rest as possible. Her servants knew better to wake her up save for emergencies, though Briesis doubted they knew the meaning of the word—there had already been occasions when a particularly useless one decided it would be very appreciated if they barged into the upper tower and into her rooms to wake her for something “urgent”, which usually meant some minor, unimportant incident involving a rogue Golden Saint or some idiot hireling accidentally turning themselves into a bath sponge(something that despite her best efforts, she had not managed to recreate).

She had not slept in since reaching Thedas, in no small part thanks to Squawky’s tyranny (backed by his loyal sidekick Alexius, who both “preferred” getting up and sleeping in early).

Though Squawky was now gone (hopefully hindering a by now sleep-deprived Inquisition), his ideals had been upheld by none other than Eram Kader, who’d insisted that they would leave at first “light” (there was none) in order to make their way through the passageways that would lead them to Orzammar.

…Briesis had agreed with him.

Everyone had.

She suspected this was because everyone shared her deep-seated desire to spend as little time in the Deep Roads as humanly possible, even the dwarves, who by all rights had signed their very lives away in order to live here. She’d ever heard one dwarf speak quite happily of his own funeral a few months back. The Deep Roads, it seemed, was not a place most people ever left.

This, she thought, was probably because they were infested with Blighted murder monsters. Anyone who wanted to be somewhere like this was probably actually insane.

In any case, with all this having been decided the night before, Briesis should not have been as surprised as she actually was when she was woken up by the sound of a pot hitting stone.

She jolted upright with a gasp, her heart hammering for a brief, stupid moment before her brain caught up and informed her the culprit for her not-sleeping state was not a Morag Tong assassin but instead a very startled and guilty-looking Aeducan (who Briesis belatedly recalled was supposed to take the last shift of their night).

A shift that wasn’t over yet. Everyone but Aeducan were still in their bedrolls. Where they were supposed to be.

She had woken up early .

The two started at each other for a long moment before Briesis flopped back onto her bedroll, tugged the covers back over her head and tried to go back to sleep for the second time that night.

But it was too late. Aeducan’s blunder had woken the others.

They were already stirring, yawning, muttering foul curses under their breath that Briesis completely agreed with. But they were not going back to bed. She scowled and kept the covers over her head for exactly three more seconds before giving up, kicking it off and sitting up properly, her hair mussed in what she thought was a very unmagisterlike way.

Alexius got to his feet beside her, brushing himself calmly before wandering away to join the dwarves (who, Briesis could not help but notice, were finally handing out non-beetled food). Briesis, unwilling to be shown up by her own (future) retainer, yawned yawned, then pulled herself from her bedroll to join him, trying to flatten her hair before pulling it up into its usual bun.

Kader stood at the edge of the barricades, armoured and scowling, already arguing with Lieutenant Renn and another dwarf carrying a map half as tall as he was. Sigrun was far more chipper. She handed Briesis a lukewarm chunk of bread (why was it warm. Was bread supposed to be warm. Since when did dwarves grow bread. Dumac hated bread.) and refilled her waterskin without a word.

Breakfast was brief. No one had the energy to linger, though Kader had had the energy to explain which passageway they would going through (he’d lost the argument with Renn, and the other had declared quite loudly that they would be taking a passageway to Orzammar that was still filled with darkspawn, to the horror of poor Alim). Sigrun reminded them that she had said they had their orders to clear the route, and Renn had assured them that the passageway was already “almost entirely secured,” and would be “relatively safe”.

It dawned on Briesis then that the Legion of the Dead were a bit like the Buoyant Armigers. This was not reassuring. “Relatively safe” was the sort of thing an Armiger might say right before someone lost an arm (or before someone came down with a very bad case of corprus that would result in their incarceration in a mad wizard’s basement until his immeasurable genius and kindness saved them. No, Briesis was not still bitter. Not even remotely) or their heads, but Renn was firm with his orders, Kader had acquiesced, and no one else had any objection.

In many other circumstances Briesis might’ve had many objections and many more unkind things to say (you only catch corprus once before learning your lesson on trusting the word of some song-singing, poetry-babbling, guar-humping Armiger that the cave you are looking for is inhabited only by rats, slaughterfish, and the occasional smuggler and that it would be complete blasphemy to suggest otherwise).

But the truth was that it did not matter if Renn was downplaying things. It did not matter if there were one or two or a dozen darkspawn in there. After all, Briesis still needed to see one up close.

It sure was nice, having a ready-made excuse for an encounter that would be in no way her fault whatsoever.  Or to stare at the bodies a little. Maybe touch them. Cast a little spell on them. Anyone would be curious about a monster they’d never seen before. Anyone. 

Probably even those mud-sucking villagers. They were probably already poking at that poor Clannfear she’d had to set loose.

So, with that, Briesis was all too eager when they set off shortly after, even if the group was smaller than it should have been. Only half the dwarves would be coming with them, alongside three golems. The rest would stay behind until more reinforcements arrived to take their place. Why anyone would willingly stay in a place like this was entirely beyond Briesis, but she supposed if they were like the Buoyant Armigers they probably liked this sort of self-sacrificial hero business.

She’d seen it a hundred times. Half the glory-hungry Nord boys and girls back home, every Redoran and every Armiger and even the few Indoril she knew (except the Ordinators. The Ordinators could safely be left out of this conversation). The Legionnares were even worse than the Armigers, really. At least the Armigers had a safe place in the Ghostfence, and at least the Blight was contained within (contained, Briesis knew, was a pretty loose term, given all the places across Vvardenfell she’d seen the  it pop up. But it could have been worse. It could have been, even if she had looked Tuls Valen in the eyes and said it would be difficult to do worse when the bodies at Morvayn manor still hadn’t cooled). And that pre-death funeral nonsense Sigrun had told her about? Tempting fate, that’s what it was.

Of course the Telvanni were far more intelligent with such matters (which went without saying that included her), and so while the Armigers were admirable, certainly, and brave, and strong and tall and unreasonably well-muscled and not at all dimwitted despite that, and also probably far too proud for their own good (but in a way that was… respectable, really, and perhaps even a little attractive. But only a little. A smidge. Nothing could make up for a lack of magic.) this sort of self-risking behaviour wasn’t really helping anybody.

The Blight had escaped Red Mountain. The Blight had escaped the Deep Roads. The Blight was everywhere, ruining everything it ever touched, and nothing could stop it because nothing was ever enough.

Nothing but—

Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia! Long forgotten, forged anew—

…Something a bit more permanent.

Whatever an Archdemon was or what it looked like, Briesis bet it could be killed. It could probably not start the Blight if it was dead.

Probably.

She sidled up to Alexius, and tugged him down until he stooped.

“Alexius,” She hissed into his ear. “How did the Blight first start?”

She kept her voice as low as possible so that no one would overhear, though it was very hard. They were all bunched up together quite tightly—they would have needed to be near deaf in order not to hear her. Kader had insisted that they travel in formation, and even though Briesis had managed to keep Alexius right beside her where he belonged (entirely mistrustful of Kader’s ability and willingness to keep him safe should they be attacked, given his entirely unwarranted and unnecessary treatment of the Only Important Man on Thedas up until then had made it plainly clear he did not think the same), this had come with the side effect of also being placed alongside Kaitlyn and her family.

This was standard, claimed Kader, whenever there were ostensibly weaker and more…vulnerable members in a group. Briesis had not  been entirely sure what substances he’d been smoking—she had not been called vulnerable in quite some time. Clearly, her preference of remaining unarmored had come back to bite her.

Her efforts were for nothing. In vain. Alexius had no such sensibilities. Why he chose now to speak so loudly when he’d spent the past few day trying to get her to Be Silent was beyond her. It was unfair. She’d whispered right in his ear and everything.

“The Blight has always existed. As have the darkspawn. This is indisputable. The Southeners will claim otherwise…but they are mistaken.”

He paused.

“Your ignorance in this matter is understandable. The Qunari haven’t much knowledge of the Blight, despite…recent inquiries.”

Levyn snorted.

Oh. That was why he had not kept his voice low. There had been no reason to. She was not expected to know these things in the way she was supposed to know that magic was bad or what an abomination was, the same way everyone in Thedas apparently did.

He was giving her permission. Or maybe he was just covering for them. Probably the latter because of course, Briesis didn’t need Alexius’s permission to say anything—they were equals. And even that was up for debate-- once he was ensconced in Tel Uvirith, whatever title he’d had in Thedas would be meaningless. And he wouldn't seek to change that. There was absolutely no way Alexius would dare attempt to climb the ranks of House Telvanni—there was a reason no Master or Archmagister had children of their own, and Alexius would not dare risk Felix’s life trying to get on the Council. He would never want to challenge her. Everything he could ever want or need she would grant, and he needed her protection in Vvardenfell just as he needed it here.

Perhaps even more than he needed it here.

And it wasn't as if Alexius was in the position to be telling her what she could or could not say; because he'd certainly said something wrong just now. And he was supposed to know this sort of stuff. 

Personally, Briesis did not see anything wrong with what he’d just said. It had certainly been nothing offensive, really, and surely Alexius would know better than to say something that could possibly ever be misconstrued for offensiveness.

He was a magister. A respectable, knowledgeable man. Probably admired all throughout Tevinter. Maybe even beyond that, the same way the mages in Arcane University sang Divayth Fyr’s praises even while their Vvardenfell counterparts had loathed the Telvanni. He was some kind of scholar, she knew, even if he had laughed at her when she’d asked. And he’d learnt chronomancy. Briesis did not know how to do that. Master Aryon did not know how to do that. Even Baladas Demnevanni did not know how to do that.

Alexius was a smart man. He knew better than her what would anger the people they passed, and he had always tried to stop her from doing (or saying) anything that ever possibly could (the people of Ferelden, Briesis was finding, were incredibly sensitive).

So it made no sense when Kaitlyn rounded on them, completely seething.

“You lie,” she spat. “It was Tevinter who started the Blight. It was your foul magisters who ripped open the Fade and brought the Maker’s wrath upon us.”

“The Maker?”

The words escaped her before she could think twice on them.

Kaitlyn’s eyes snapped towards her. She looked as though Briesis had just confessed to burning down an entire city. The others were suddenly watching too, but not as sharply as her. Exasperation, maybe, or amusement, but not particularly suspicion. Alexius had said the Qunari had their own sort of religion (although the way he’d spoken of them she was not entirely sure what sort of religion it was. It couldn’t have been very well-respected in Thedas, because she was pretty sure that Alexius hated them—before his tranquility, anyway—and the rest of Thedas did too.

Kaitlyn was still staring.

This was entirely unnecessary. A completely unwarranted overreaction. She knew of the Maker—Kader had cursed him at least a dozen times by now, and of course the Templars in Skyhold had tried to kill her in His name, and that Hat-Flicker boy had cried for him before he’d…gone, and Briesis was not stupid. She could put two and two together and get four. The Maker was the god who’d made this world, and that was that. And just to make sure, she’d even asked Alexius, and he’d said that was right.

But no one had ever mentioned that he’d been the one to start it. She’d thought one of those Archdemons had done it. That’s what Kader had said.

She was saved by Alexius.

“The Chantry’s tales of magisters starting the Blight are only just that: tales. Parables. Superstition passed down from terrified peasants who needed someone to blame for their own self-inflicted misfortunes. Nothing more.”

Kaitlyn’s face twisted. Levyn grimaced. Neither of the two seemed to agree with Alexius’s version of events.

They were probably wrong, though. They weren’t entirely know-nothing peasants like those villagers by the Highway had been (Levyn, at least, seemed sort of educated) and even though their clothes were torn and dirty, they were well-made otherwise—their current state was likely due to the days spent down here and whatever they’d gone through with the Red Templars—it wasn’t nearly as good as the robes Alexius had been wearing when they’d met. They might’ve been merchants, or noblemen…but Alexius was a magister. Sometimes he even sounded like a professor. And he didn’t have a reason to lie. His son’s life depended on this. He wouldn’t want to risk that. So if he said these accusations were baseless then they were baseless.

That and she didn’t understand Kaitlyn’s version of events. She knew it wasn’t out of the ordinary for even the Divines to place curses on mortals, but it wasn’t exactly common for this punishment to be collective.

Especially for something so…banal.

Everyone could enter Oblivion—well, no, not everyone, though sometimes it felt like it did—but certainly enough people that surely more than the magisters had gone to the Fade. There had probably been a hundred mages to do it before these magisters, and maybe even a hundred after. Alexius said it was the realm of dreams, too, and there couldn’t be much of a difference between going to the Fade mentally or physically.

There must be more to it, surely. Maybe they’d performed some evil ritual to do it. Maybe they were like Daedric Cultists, and they’d sacrificed someone they shouldn’t have, and because the Fade was the Divine’s realm and not Oblivion’s (but Alexius said before it was the demon’s realm, too—did they share? How odd. No, no, they couldn’t share—that was ludicrous.)

…Kaitlyn was still angry. Alexius was…nothing, really, but he was alone in this. Everyone else looked tense now (save Kader, whose lips were twitching. He, at least, was enjoying this.)

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said hastily, sensing the impeding argument that could hopefully be avoided. “But that can’t really be true, can it? The Maker cursed your people just because they entered the Fade? That’s it? Nothing else?”

Kaitlyn’s mouth tightened. Her knuckles were white around the hilt of the blade Aeducan had lent her. “Not just the Fade. The Golden City. The seat of the Maker. They tried to usurp the divine. Their sin blackened the city, and they were punished.”

Oh, that made sense then. She wasn’t entirely sure why the Maker hadn’t just killed them all before they’d stepped their first godhood-stealing toes in his realm like any self-respecting god would do, but maybe he’d wanted the lesson to…sink in a little.

“Don’t let them lie to you, Ox-girl,” Aeducan said dryly. “They’re wrong. Humans. The surfacers claim the first darkspawn fell from heaven. They spill tales of magic and sin. But we know better.”

Briesis straightened. The dwarves would know better than anyone—they lived and breathed the Blight, had done so for centuries—this had to be the answer she was looking for—

“The darkspawn rose up out of the earth. It was in the Deep Roads they were first appeared. Creatures of our likeness, armed and armoured, but with no more intelligence than tezpadam, bestial and savage. At first they were few, easily hunted and slain by our warriors. But in the recesses of the Deep Roads, they grew in numbers and in courage. Our thaigs came under attack, and then it was the army being sent in to deal with the creatures. Victories still came easily, though, and we thought the threat would soon be over. We were wrong. They destroyed our people and our culture and our homes, ravaged and pillaged and invaded our thaigs one by one, until none but one was left. That’s where we’re going now, Ox-girl. Orzammar. And we can all thank the King and the Paragon it’s still standing.”

Levyn’s grimace grew worse, though he said nothing. He just drew Alim closer.

…Protectively. Worriedly. His knuckles were white where he gripped his son’s shoulders.

Aeducan eyed them, her eyes gleaming. She was smirking slightly, but her eyes were hard. She and Kader were clearly of the same cloth— why they found amusement in this sort of thing, Briesis had no idea. And weren’t she and Levyn supposed to be friends? She’d thought they were. Aeducan had recognised him, when they’d first met…if she’d hated him then, Briesis couldn’t tell. Levyn had seemed cheered to see her. Aeducan had helped them when they’d talked. They’d gotten along. She’d given the boy water. Why was she smirking, now?

…Maybe she was annoyed Levyn was married.  She’d seemed shocked when he’d introduced his wife.

It would be unfathomably rude to ask, wouldn’t it? It was one thing to…happen to hear someone’s conversation in the dead of night, and it was quite another to ask what exactly her problem was with the man. Levyn wasn’t her responsibility, not like Alexius was. He and Aeducan could sort out their problems on their own.

And Briesis had better things to ask about. There was one very helpful thing that Aeducan had left out of her explanation.

“But what started it?”

“No one knows and no one cares. The Memories hold no explanations for the coming of the darkspawn, only questions,” Aeducan said, shrugging. “But it doesn’t matter—not as long as it can be stopped for good.”

That was not what she’d wanted to hear. It meant Kaitlyn’s explanation of the Blight was the only one who had a reason for it actually existing in the first place.

She wasn’t sure she was willing to believe Alexius was mistaken…but perhaps he was just misguided. Defending his countrymen. Like Briesis might, whenever the Redoran blamed the Telvanni for…literally anything, really.

After all, it wouldn’t be the first time a god had started a blight.

The passage they were heading into had once been part of a major trade route, Sigrun said. Wide enough for caravans, solid enough to still stand, and only recently lost to the darkspawn infestation. Their goal was simple: clear it, mark the way, and move on.

Aeducan had even informed them that Renn’s nonsense about the route being “relatively safe” had, in fact, been nonsense.

“Relatively safe. Relatively.” She said, adjusting her helmet with a grunt. “Cleared it halfway through before we had to pull out. Could be some stragglers. Or more. They’re drawn in by blood, you know. One wiff, and whack!—you’re a goner.”

This had been the wrong thing to say in the presence of young Alim.

“I don’t want to go!”

Briesis turned. Kaitlyn was already kneeling beside the boy, murmuring something soft, but Alim was shaking his head hard and his fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. He wasn’t crying (yet) but his face had gone red and blotchy, and his lower lip was trembling in a way that she was pretty sure meant the waterworks were seconds away.

Briesis did not spend much time with children. She’d never had friends growing up, and while she had managed to get some after she'd been left stranded in the Imperial City, all the other boys and girls that inhabited the Waterfront had been more akin to small, evil Daedra than actual children.

Alim was not one of them. She couldn’t imagine anyone like Galen or Libby crying, ever. In their whole entire lives.

She’d never been a crybaby either, no matter what they’d said, but she definitely shared the boy’s desire to refuse to go down this tunnel. There would be other darkspawn to turn into corpses somewhere else. Somewhere on the surface, preferably in the sunlight—

There was a groan from deep within the dark.

Briesis froze, hand reaching instinctively for Alexius’s arm. He stared at her. Down at her hand. Back at her face.

Briesis realized, too late, what she’d done. Her heart lurched somewhere uncomfortable. Her face went hot. “It’s just—” she started, then stopped, cleared her throat, and tried again. “So we don’t get separated.”

This sounded entirely undefensive. Entirely. And it was true. She did not want them to become separated—who knew what trouble he’d get himself in if the darkspawn attacked? The ring she’d lent him was meant for smaller animals, weaker enemies—it wouldn’t be enough to keep the darkspawn at bay. If he was alone he’d die.

Some of the Legion stepped towards the noise, swords drawn, but Kader shook his head.

Not yet.

This did not console Alim. Well, the boy had no one to blame but his parents (and Kader too, she supposed). If they’d let her levitate them out of the ravine like she’d wanted, none of them would be in this situation anyway (It didn’t matter that she’d never actually asked—this was a small, inconsequential thing.)

But if she did bring it up now, and they did listen, they still could—she’d left a Mark spell behind. All they had to do was hold on to her, and she could teleport them right back to where they’d started.

…Not a plan that anyone would be willing to agree to, not when they were so close to Orzammar, and certainly not after they’d spent so many days trying to get there.

“I don’t want to go!” Alim said, louder this time. “I hate it here! It’s dark and it smells and we’re going to die!”

Kaitlyn tried to calm him again, but whatever she was saying, Briesis couldn’t hear her over the sound of Kader sighing like Alim had just dribbled all over him. Levyn hovered behind the two, looking like he was about to be sick.

One of the dwarves chuckled. Alim glared at him, furious, though by the time he’d looked up the dwarf was already pretending to inspecting his sword.

“I don’t want to go,” Alim said again, quieter now, but no less pitiful. The mockery of one of his heroes had seemed to dampen him. “It’s dark and—and I know they’re still down here—”

His lower lip was wobbling in a way that made Briesis winced on instinct. He looked about five years old again, instead of the ten he’d insisted he’d achieved last Bloomingtide (how long ago this Bloomingtide had been, Briesis had no idea.)

Quite frankly, she was impressed he’d lasted this long. She just didn’t know why it had come now, when he’d acceptably fine the days before.

…Maybe it had something to do with actively heading into a tunnel they knew for a fact had darkspawn?

“Come on, sweetheart,” Kaitlyn was murmuring. “It’s just a little farther. We’ll be safe soon. And we’re all here with you. We’ll keep you safe, I promise—”

Alim shook his head, hard.  His eyes were huge. Glassy. “No! I don’t want to go—I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go—!”

He never finished the last one.

The wall to their right exploded. Briesis barely had time to register the sound before something enormous, stinking, armoured and horned came barreling through what had once been solid stone.

“Ogre!”

And then she was airborne.

She slammed into the opposite wall with a sound that thankfully for her dignity managed not to be a scream and more of a grunt of surprise—mostly because the air had been punched from her lungs all at once.

Her vision went white, then grey, and she could hear nothing but a high, painful, ringing in her ears. Something warm trickled from her head and down her neck. Her hair was wet. She couldn’t tell if she was on the floor or on the wall or somewhere between. Someone was screaming, high and sharp and raw. And young.

Alim.

Her hands were empty.

Where’s Alexius?

Where is Alexiu—

“NO!”

It was the most shrill and horrible noise she’d ever heard in her life. She lifted her head up just in time to see Kaitlyn grab her son and throw them both to the ground as the ogre swung wide. The blow hit the the tunnel wall and took another chunk of it clean off, rock raining down behind them.

And then there were more monsters, pouring out of the now-even-bigger hole the ogre had made.

There was no Alexius in sight.

Where is he.

She tried to rise. Couldn’t. Her hands scrabbled at the ground, but the stone beneath her fingers wouldn’t stop tilting. She felt sick. And dizzy.

She should start wearing Daedric armour. Divayth Fyr wore Daedric armour. This was because Divayth Fyr knew better. Divayth Fyr would not end up a bloody smear on the wall just because some beast had caught him by surprise. He would’ve already incinerated the ogre and the rest of the monsters, too.

She was lying in a rock pile bleeding from the mouth.

Maybe it was time to take notes.

She tried to push herself upright, but her arms weren’t cooperating. Her head lolled forward. Her lip was bleeding, too—she could taste copper.

And there—barely out of focus—was the shape of something lumbering toward her.

A darkspawn.

Get up. Get up, get up, get up—

She couldn’t. She bit down on another whimper and tasted more blood.

The monster laughed.

Monsters weren’t supposed to laugh. They were supposed to be mindless, unthinking, unfailingly evil—Alexius had said so.

So why was it laughing? Why did it carry a sword? Why was the monster behind it carrying a staff? Why did the ogre wear armour?

Alexius said—

Alexius.

Briesis threw the first fireblast without aiming, just to force space between her and that thing. The air lit up orange and gold and the monster screamed when it caught him square in the chest, but it didn’t die immediately. It burned, clawing at its armour until it finally collapsed.

One healing spell later, she staggered to her feet, looking around—.

There—

In the air, one large, meaty fist wrapped around him, limp and twisted at an angle Briesis’s brain didn’t want to process—

Briesis’s stomach dropped.

No—

The ogre squeezed.

Alexius didn’t scream or flinch, or even kick his legs. But he folded in two like parchment, and she saw his spine twist and his ribs give way, and his legs twitch once, twice, before stilling as his head lolled—

He’s dead.

“No—“ She croaked, “no no no no—“

And then the thing staggered, roaring in pain. Aeducan’s golem had barrelled into it. For a very hopeful moment, Briesis hoped the thing would go down. But it just laughed, and then it shook Alexius hard enough that his head flopped like a doll’s.

“Positions!” Sigrun shouted. “Form up, form up!”

Briesis couldn’t breathe.

He’s dead.

But he wasn’t.

He moved. Barely. But enough. His hand twitched, and his mouth moved soundlessly, and dead people didn't do that, so Alexius had to be alive.

She didn’t even remember casting, but the air beside her shimmered then tore as something huge and scaled shoved its way through the barrier between realms.

The Daedroth snarled, tail lashing, smoke curling off its shoulders as it rose to its full, hulking height. Its eyes flickered toward Briesis, waiting.

Bring him to me.

The Daedroth turned without hesitation, bounding over a distressed Levyn, who ducked, eyes wide, an arm around Kaitlyn and Alim as he tried to drag them towards cover.

And then it sank its massive jaws into the ogre’s wrist.

The thing screeched, stumbling back, turning its attention away from the golem it’d been fighting in order to fling the Daedra loose.

It failed. And when the Daedroth twisted, the ogre bellowed again, this time in real pain, as its fingers spasmed and opened.

Alexius dropped.

But the Daedroth had its orders. It detached from the ogre in an instant, and lunged after the man, snatching Alexius’s limp body in both arms as it fled towards her, leaving the golem to contend with the bleeding ogre on its own. It dropped Alexius at her feet, and then turned away once more, sprinting on all fours to sink its teeth into a nearing darkspawn’s neck.

She pulled Alexius towards her, as far away from the fighting as possible. His chest was still. His limbs were slack.

Briesis pressed her fingers to his chest, barely feeling the rise and fall—no, there it was. Shallow. Unsteady. But there. He was still breathing.

“It’s alright,” she whispered. “You’re alright.”

Her hands glowed bright gold.

Briesis was not a healer. She’d never passed her exams. She’d never even been allowed to take them.

But that was alright. She’d never been cut out for healing. That Breton mage in Winterhold had said so. Briesis did not have the right temperament, she’d said. That she was too young, still, even though she was only a few years older than Briesis herself. (She’d been proven right, later, though Briesis did not think Colette had ever found out who exactly had been levitating mean notes into the towers).

But she was good at all magic, and just because her restoration spells were lagging behind and took more magicka than it really should have did not mean she was not better at it than most other mages anyway.

…It just meant that the ogre better not have given Alexius’s head a blow, because Briesis did not do head wounds.

Fortunately for Alexius, it hadn’t seemed like it.  Unfortunately for him, there was…everything else.

Nothing that couldn’t be fixed, with the right spell.

Bones knitted. Bruises lightened. Blood retreated from places it shouldn’t have been.

His eyes fluttered.

Briesis nearly collapsed on top of him. Relief hit her so hard her vision swam. He wasn’t good yet—Briesis doubted he would be able to stand—but she was pretty sure that he was stable enough that he wouldn’t bleed out in her arms.

But she didn’t have time to enjoy even this small relief. Her Daedroth had gone back to fighting the ogre (which, she noticed with some satisfaction, was looking rather battered. Blood poured freely from deep, teeth-shaped gouges in its shoulder, and one of its horns was cracked clean through. Its breathing was thick and wheezing, and she’d heard it enough times on an Ogrim to recognise the culprit—the Daedroth had clawed him straight through the chest.) but there were still plenty of darkspawn still fighting the Legionnares, and though they were no longer coming in through the tunnels in such great numbers, it was only a matter of time before they turned their attention to Alexius instead.

Aeducan said they could smell blood. Briesis did not want to figure out if she’d been joking the hard way.

She dragged Alexius towards the only real cover she could see—a fallen pillar that had broken off from the ceiling long before they’d come. Behind it, she could just make out Kaitlyn, curled protectively around the boy, and Levyn standing half-crouched with her staff held out in front. 

He reached out to pull them the last few feet, and ducked them down into the tight little pocket of space where the stone had collapsed just right.

Alexius gave a broken wheeze. Levyn looked alarmed, but he didn’t seem willing to abandon his post to help. She hadn’t expected him too—she doubted Levyn knew any healing magic (or even any magic at all). If he had, he’d have managed to fix his own arm.

…Except Briesis couldn’t do much more for Alexius now. Her vision was tunnelling at the edges. Alexius’s head might’ve managed to get away unscathed, but hers hadn’t. And healing magic wasn’t her forte—if she cast any more restorations spells, she’d be wasting magicka she couldn’t afford to lose. She might pass out, and the darkspawn would come and Alexius would die. Best to save that magicka on a more conservative destruction spell.

She touched his chest again, just to be sure. Still breathing.

But still bleeding.

She couldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t.

She’d always known restoration was a weak spot. It was why she’d turned to other options, like alchemy, and enchantments, and—

Enchantments.

Her hands fumbled under her robes, fingers seeking out the cord she always kept tucked beneath the fabric. The amulet was smooth and polished and otherwise ordinary…save for a single bright-red ruby that pulsed faintly with enchantments.

Flesh Made Whole.

She didn’t hesitate. She yanked it from around her neck, and fastened it around his.

“Use it.”

His hand grasped weakly at the amulet. It flared to life between his fingers. Little golden tendrils snaked down his arms quick enough that if she’d blinked she would have missed them. The deeper of his wounds lit up gold, and she knew from experience it would not be long until they were healed entirely.

Alexius was safe.

There was a shuffling noise behind them, and Briesis turned, fingers already crackling with lightning, expecting another darkspawn. But it was only Aeducan, blood-soaked and crouched by the entrance, staring at Alexius (or rather, the amulet he was wearing) with barely concealed interest.

“Damn fine enchantment you’ve got there.” She grunted. “Where’d you find something like that?”

“…Family heirloom.”

A lie. Morrowind’s Houses weren’t family in the same way some Houses in places like High Rock were. All the same, what Aeducan did not know would not hurt her, and she could not possibly thank Dratha enough for pointing her in the right direction. Truly, there was nothing Briesis could do to properly express her gratefulness.

You could always give it to her. You know, like she wanted you to.

No, there was truly nothing she could do.

“Huh,” Aeducan said.

A pause.

“I didn’t realise Qunari passed down family heirlooms.”

“…She is Tal-Vasoth.” Alexius croaked. “…her family has belonged to mine for generations.”

He was talking! He was alive, and he was talking, and—

Belonged?

Belonged?

She belonged to him? How dare—

Her brain caught up with her before her knee-jerk offence could show on her face.

…He didn’t mean it. He was just re-visiting one of the many cover stories they’d discarded. Maybe he’d decided she did make passable Qunari servant after all, just not to an Orlesian (who he’d said would never keep their much-hated Qunari enemies as a servant—not one so short and unimpressive-looking, anyway). Maybe Tevinter did things differently. Maybe even if no Qunari would stick around some stinky Orlesian should they be made Tranquil, they would do the opposite with a Tevinter man. Maybe Tevinter and the Qunari were long-standing allies against the rest of Thedas, who would back each other up no matter what. Yes, that was probably it.

Why he’d decided to make it sound like she was some kind of slave was beyond her, though. She’d tolerated the idea of being a servant — but only because she’d thought it was funny, and also because they’d already agreed the only reason she’d have to pretend to be anything but a mask-wearing noblewoman was if she was not wearing said mask.

…Like now.

She already regretted playing when she’d spoken to Levyn. He looked utterly disgusted now, and Aeducan had gone all stiff. If they thought that this pretence would mean they could order her around, they were sorely mistaken. Alexius had already told her that even the worst Orlesian servant wouldn’t obey anyone but their masters (unless they were playing some sort of game as a spy, from what she’d understood. Orlesians really liked games, so it was okay if they did it as part of it. Or something) and a Tevinter servant probably did the same thing. And surely none of her servants would permit some other Master to order them around in her absence.

Alexius didn’t seem to care for the looks. He moved, awkwardly rising so that he was no longer lying down and instead sitting against the pillar, pressing a hand to his chest. Briesis did not know what he was checking for—it was his body, surely he must have realised his ribs were whole. He’d moved easily. No groaning, no wincing. Even from here she could tell his skin was flushed with fresh blood flow.

“Uninjured.” He murmured. And then he brought his knees to his chest and went quiet.

…Tranquil couldn’t go into shock, right? He was fine.

There was a loud crash. Briesis poked her head out of the pillar just in time to see Aeducan’s stone golem crushed beneath the ogre’s foot.

It was still alive? It had five dwarves on it, its chest had been carved open by her Daedroth—how was it still standing?

“Damn it,” Aeducan muttered. “Another golem lost—we’ll need to make another trip to the surface, I suppose…“

There was a shout. A darkspawn had just knocked a dwarf from the ogre with a well placed arrow—Briesis caught a glimpse of brown hair, and a brown, messy beard, tied up in knots—Kader.

Hardly a great loss. For Briesis. But Aeducan shouted, eyes wide, and her hand found Briesis’s arm. The dwarf drug her up with surprising strength (as best she could. Briesis wasn’t tall, but compared to Aeducan, she might as well be a Nord.)

“Cast something! Glyph of repulsion—now!”

Briesis blinked. “A what?”

Aeducan didn’t slow. “A Glyph of repulsion! Put it down now!”

“I’ve never heard of that spell in my life—can’t you cast it?”

“Can I—of course I can’t cast it, what’s wrong with you? I’m a dwarf, you blithering—”

The chamber lit up blue. Where Kader was still struggling to his feet, a bright blue magic etched itself into the stone floor in a wide circle around him. It pulsed once, twice, and then it erupted, hurling the advancing darkspawn backward violently. Three slammed into the tunnel walls with wet cracks, and one was flung into the legs of the ogre, sending both tumbling.

She hadn’t cast that spell.

Then who?

Levyn.

He was a mage?

He was a mage and he hadn’t told her? She’d wasted perfectly good magic on his arm—wasted perfectly good magic slowing down his fall when he could have done it himself—

And Aeducan! What being a dwarf had to do with her ability to cast spells Briesis did not know. Most of the dwarves she’d met were decent enough at magic. Too good, really, given what they’d done to themselves.

Maybe it was one of those “dwarf pride” things? Kagrenac nearly had had aneurysm once Sotha Sil suggested (quite mildly) that he would have liked to learn Tonal magic too. Aeducan was a prideful sort, even if she didn’t seem to dislike outsiders in the same way that Kagrenac did, but the rest of her people probably were. Alexius had said that the dwarves were an isolationist sort, when they’d been planning their journey through Ghelen’s pass. But to refuse to cast at a moment like this—

“How on earth is he a better mage than you?”

She—she was angry? With her?

She had no right—how absolutely dare she!

Levyn was not a better mage than her. He could not fight off those red templars, and he could not slow their fall, and he could not even perform a basic healing spell—

“You couldn’t cast it either,” she snapped. “I don’t see where you get off calling me—“

“I’m a dwarf, you idiot—dwarves can’t cast magic! Do you not know that?“

Briesis stared at her.

“Can’t cast magic?” Briesis said. Her voice pitched up. She did not like that. She could also not control it. “You can’t cast magic?”

“You didn’t know that?”

Briesis’s mouth opened and closed.

“Nine save me,” This was the most awful news she had ever heard. “You can’t cast magic. None of you can. None of you ever told me—”

“We didn’t think we had to!”

A spell flew over their heads. Briesis had a moment to catch the culprit—a lanky, pale-white monster, mouth stretched wide enough to see blood dribbling from very sharp teeth—

“That thing can cast magic and you can’t?”

Aeducan gave her a look of utmost disgust, sword drawn, and then she was gone, sinking her sword into the gut of a darkspawn before the mage-darkspawn sent her flying with a spell.

Briesis should probably do something about that. Before they came near the pillar. The dwarves could certainly take on the other darkspawn themselves, keep them from getting anywhere near…but the ones with magic? What if they cast that Levyn’s repulsion spell and no dwarves could get through to kill them?

There was a ghastly, shuddering noise. A short, squat, orc-like monster had summoned three shades from the ground.

This goblin was a summoner—and Aeducan (and apparently the rest of her people) could not even manage that?

They were all going to die.

They were all going to die. She was going to take Alexius and get the devil out of here before—

Before—

Before what? Leave the others behind? Let a child get gutted by some blight-infected monster? Leave Levyn and Kaitlyn to die, after all she’d done to save them? What did darkspawn do, after they’d killed? Would they eat them?

They certainly seemed to think so— Alim was still crying and heaving, ugly hiccuping sob. Sometimes he spoke, small and high and terrified.

“I don’t wanna die—” Alim sobbed. “Mama, I don’t wanna die—”

Did the boy in Foxhold cry the same way?

They didn’t deserve to be left behind. She did not want them dead. She wanted them very alive.

Neloth and Gothren might have told her that she was weak for this, and that she must think logically and pragmatically…but logically and pragmatically speaking, the darkspawn were probably as difficult to kill as an Ash creature was, and she’d had enough practice with that that she’d have to be a useless, spineless coward utterly undeserving of any sort of respect to back out now. She was a master wizard of House Telvanni—she was twice as strong as all these magicless dwarves combined; their failures should be meaningless to her.

A good Archmagister protects the people.

…Divayth Fyr wouldn’t leave them to die. He’d incinerate all the darkspawn without even blinking. What was Neloth, compared to Divayth Fyr? What was Gothren?

They were nothing.

She stood. Her legs barely held her. Her head was still bleeding. She had no armour.

Briesis did not do close combat. She did not really like taking on more than a handful of enemies at once… at least not when they consisted of a small army of evil, sword-wielding monsters, and especially not when they were also backed by proper magefire.

She’d lost count of how many fights had ended with her sprinting backwards as fast as possible, casting spells like her life depended on it, trying very, very hard to put as much distance between her and whatever she was trying to fireball before she was chased down and stabbed (this was especially quite annoying indoors—you only ran backwards into a Golden Saint once before learning your lesson).

But she had learnt her lesson, in the shape of one well-timed levitation spell that would lift her to safety, where she could rain down fireballs to heart’s content. 

The ground dropped away beneath her as she rose straight towards the ceiling.

Like every time she cast this spell indoors, she hit the ceiling with a smack.

Every time. Every single time.

She hissed through her teeth, one hand shooting up to cradle the spot she’d just brained herself on, then flattened herself against the roof like a little spider.

She could see the whole battlefield from up here. It was a bit of a mess. There were darkspawn and there were dwarves and there were golems, and most of these seemed to enjoy getting physical. There were a few archers here and there on both sides, and of course mages only on the one, but for the most part the battle seemed to be entirely close combat. It was a very good thing she’d decided to levitate—no one here was going to drive a sword through her spine, not unless they could jump thirty feet high…which for all she knew the darkspawn could do.

But the dwarves were winning—they’d cleared out nearly half the darkspawn, and as far as Briesis could tell through the chaos, not a single one had actually died.

It was time to hope they could keep this up—there was another reason she liked traveling on her own. Other people got in the way. The Legion of the dead was proving this point spectacularly, just like every other companion she’d ever had. How was she supposed to cast anything? Even her more focused spells would be useless if someone decided to jump in front of it. It would not be the first time. It would not be her fault. But King Harrowmont would probably not want any of them in his city if he learnt that she’d been responsible for burning his soldiers to a crisp.

She was just about to aim for the ogre—the biggest, foulest, most-impossible-to-miss target (regardless of the dwarf who had clambered onto its back and was now trying to hack at its head while it knelt, severely injured now), and definitely the one she wanted dead most of all, when she spotted one breaking through the line, closing in on a dwarven archer.

Briesis took a breath, and aimed.

The crack of lighting was deafening in a tunnel like this. Someone shouted in alarm, and she caught a glimpse of the archer’s pale face, suddenly illuminated, before the bolt struck the darkspawn square in the back. It seized up, twitching violently, then collapsed to the ground in a smoking heap.

There was an inhuman noise somewhere to her left, and her eyes snapped to the side just in time to see a black-fletched arrow hurtling towards her from the far end of the passage.

The shield went up before the arrow could hit. It struck the barrier mid-flight with a loud thunk, embedding itself into shimmering surface and holding there, vibrating slightly before dropping to the ground. The second and third arrow that the darkspawn loosened could not even manage that—they bounced off the shield entirely.

The fireball that formed in her hand came easily.

She wondered if darkspawn could fear.

It didn’t flee when the flames engulf it, but it did scream when it crumbled to ash. It didn't sound like a scream of pain—perhaps they cannot feel that either.

(If it is anything like a corprus monster, that is untrue.)

The shades the mage-darkspawn summoned go ignored--when it falls the shades go too. She doesn’t kill other paler, taller darkspawn mage —the lighting bolt she prepared for it is very hastily redirected towards the ogre when Sigrun decapitated the hurlock she’d been fighting and rushed towards the mage instead (and maybe Alexius is mistaken on the creation of darkspawn, because it has elven ears and wears clothing and its mouth drops in horror as it is ran through, though its hands are claws and eyes are but red pinpricks).

There is a scream behind her. She turns in time to skewer the darkspawn who’d discovered Alexius’s hiding spot and catch Levyn’s relieved expression before a very large hand wrapped around her midriff, fingers thick as branches, squeezing the air out of her lungs. She choked, arms flailing as she twisted to see what she’d missed—

The ogre had been on its knees.

It was supposed to be dead.

How—

The hand tightened.

Pop.

Briesis opened her mouth to scream on instinct, but it didn’t come. She felt no pain. The hand around her slackened immediately as the monster’s head burst open. Warm, thick blood sprayed in every direction—on her face and in her hair and in her mouth.

It was in her mouth and it tasted foul and she has tasted this before, she knows she has—

She is nineteen again. She has walked in circles and circles through this cave for what she is certain has been weeks, though the sense of time has escaped her through the fog in her mind. She barely remembers her own name, much less how to leave, even if she know she is a place called Ilunibi and that she wishes she had never gone there.

She knows the mer who smiles at her and says Even as my Master wills, you shall come to him, in his flesh, and of his flesh and He bids you come to Red Mountain, though his face has changed from a dour-faced old Chimer to…to…

His eyes are gone. His nose is too. There is only a tentacle.

The same will happen to her, soon enough. Her left arm is already twice as large as it was when she’d first entered, and so has her face. It feels as though she has been stung by a hundred giant wasps—it has certainly swelled up enough. She cannot see through her left eye. It weeps something thick and yellow, and sometimes she reaches for a knife, and brings it to her face, prepared to become one of Dagoth’s loyal followers, to rejoin him once more…and then an ash zombie will come around the corner, and she remembers herself, and  that Caius and Aryon are surely waiting for her safe return, and she cannot do that if she has become become them. Gares comes to her often. He scrapes the weepings from her sores; he feeds them to an ash slave. He carves flesh from a stalker; he offers it to her.

…She picked it up. She remembers that. She picked it up, and…

It is slimy in her hands. It is gray-pink and pustule-riddled and it is oozing thick yellow fluid from a split along one side.

She does not want to eat it. She does not want to touch it. She does not even want to look at it.

…And we are the least of his servants, for Ash Poets, Ascended Sleepers, and Ash Vampires stand high above us in the Lord's bountiful grace…

She opens her mouth—

And nearly gags all over the ogre’s headless neck as the two dropped to the floor. The ogre collapsed lifelessly on the ground, squashing an unmoving darkspawn beneath him with a very nasty-sounding squelch that nearly had Briesis wincing.

She did not (or at least not very hard), because it wasn’t really human and it deserved it, and she had more darkspawn to take care of before they descended on her now that she was grounded and in their midst, so she really should be getting up now, even if there is still ogre blood dribbling down her face—.

An arrow wizzed past her and impaled another monster in the chest, but the thing didn’t move. None of the darkspawn moved, just stood there, twitching in place, ramrod straight, held up by some sort of magic…she has never seen this before, what sort of mage could possibly do this—.

A hand wrapped around the collar of her neck.

Levyn hauled her back to her feet, his arm outstretched, his face hardened in concentration. His hand was dripping—when had he been cut?—and every time his bloodied fingers twitched the darkspawn did too.

Where had Levyn learnt this? He couldn’t have done this before? If he had this sort of power why hadn’t he used it against the red templars? Why had he needed her hard-made professionally-crafted potions instead of simply healing his arm himself?

And why wasn’t he pleased? Why wasn’t his wife pleased instead of horrified, and why was she flinching away from Levyn while he drug Briesis back to safety?

And why can she still taste—

She gagged. Tried to spit. What comes out is thick and black.

“You have ingested darkspawn blood,” Alexius told her when the fighting died down, and all the darkspawn were dead. “You have surely caught the Blight. The symptoms will begin shortly. First, the nausea—“

Briesis could not catch the Blight, but she could also not bring herself to interrupt Alexius. This was, after all, the most he’d spoken in days, and it was best to encourage this sort of desirable behaviour. Or enjoy his chattiness while it lasted. And hopefully it would, because she hardly wanted to be stuck with what might as well have been a talking automoton for however long it took to cure him.

…And surely it could only benefit her, when he realised the Blight would never harm her. It’d be half the proof Alexius needed. He’d be impressed and loyal and grateful, and he'd be happy for the first time in years, and once his son was cured and Alexius was whole in mind once more, he and his magic would be hers. 

The tea was good.

It was not good enough to wash away the taste of blood.

“You doing alright?”

Aeducan.

“I’m alright,” Briesis told her. If anything, she should be asking Aeducan. She was the one who should be sad—she was noble-born, well-read, more than a little fussy with her hair…and Briesis could not help but notice her shield’s emblem was gold. Her circlet was, too. Her hands were calloused now, but surely they weren’t always that way. She fought differently than all the other warriors. Fancier. She’d been tutored personally, surely.

…She was the sort of person who should have every reason to be a mage instead. Her hands would not be calloused, and that golden emerald-crusted circlet would not have gone stained with darkspawn blood.

Aeducan sat back on her heels. Briesis belated realised she’d been staring, and jerked her head away from the emeralds to meet the woman’s eyes instead.

“Why can’t you cast magic?”

“You know,” she said casually. “I knew someone who couldn’t wrap her head around it either. A very long time ago. Liked summoning demons, too.”

Aeducan looked like she was expecting Briesis to say something, but she couldn’t figure out what the dwarf could possibly want from her. This had nothing to with her. It didn’t even mean anything. Daedroth were not a very difficult thing to summon, probably not even in Thedas.

But impossible for a dwarf.

“…I’m sorry for your disability.”

She was surprised to find she really did mean it. It must be a terrible thing, not having magic at all, no matter what you did, just because of a birth circumstance.

Aeducan’s smile grew strained. Had that been a bad thing to say? Briesis hadn't meant to be rude. Or say anything…insensitve. And surely not having magic must be a sore spot. But Aeducan didn’t seem angry or annoyed, like she had before. The dwarves had even made them all tea. Briesis did not want to insult them, after that kindness.

It wasn’t very nice tea, but Briesis appreciated the sentiment enough to drink it. It was nice, having something warm to drink before they slept.

…But why would she be sleeping? She was only a little tired, even if Levyn had already slumped over, and the fight hadn’t been that long ago. It couldn’t be dark already, and she’d heard Sigrun tell Kader that Orzammar was only half-hour away. There was no reason to sleep down here when safety was so close at hand. And probably included proper beds.

She just hoped their idea of a mattress was not solid stone. Alexius was pretty old. He might develop back problems. Like lumbago.

But maybe she wasn’t one to talk. One fight, and she was already feeling drowsy. This must be what it felt like to grow old.

She tried to distract herself.

“Why can’t you cast magic?”

Aeducan shrugged. She still looked as though Briesis had forced her to suck on a lemon.

“No connection to the Fade, obviously. Can’t be helped.”

This was lining up to what Alexius had said about his connection to the Fade being destroyed—and also what he’d said about the loss of emotion being simply a side effect. After all, Aeducan and Sigrun definitely had emotions. Kader probably did too, even if they weren’t very nice ones.

“…It’s not a disability.”

So she was annoyed about that.

“And it’s not a flaw. I have seen what you mages get up to—magic is a curse. If you could choose, would you really still be a mage? Because I bet—”

What Aeducan would bet didn’t matter because this was the dumbest thing Briesis had ever heard in her life, and it was probably also the dumbest thing Aeducan had ever said in her life.

“Of course I would be,” Briesis said, bewildered. “And I did choose. Why would anyone not be a mage? I mean, did you see what Levyn and I did to those darkspawn? Why wouldn’t anyone want that sort of power?”

Aeducan strode off after that, thoroughly annoyed, and Briesis was left feeling more than a little guilty. This was surely a coping mechanism the dwarf had developed. Briesis shouldn’t have pried. If Aeducan did not like magic then that was her decision; surely any real mages in Thedas would shrug their shoulders and see her bitterness for what it was, and think no more of it.

Kaitlyn yawned. Briesis concealed her own with her sleeve.

There was no reason they should be sleeping. It didn’t feel like they’d been awake for long. It was probably still day miles above them. So there was no reason why Levyn should be slumped over the rock he’d been leaning against, and there wasn’t a reason that his wife should be curled up against him like that, with her arms slack, her mouth open and her son limp in her lap. In fact, the only person who didn’t seem about to collapse was Alexius.

Briesis was fit enough. She was used to travelling and walking and fighting for hours and hours without end. So there was no reason that Alexius should still be fine, when she’d had to put her cup down to avoid dropping it, when her legs and her arms and her face were tingling, and her muscles felt loose and warm and her eyelids were very heavy and she wanted nothing more than to nod off and drift away…

She blinked. Once. Twice.

The fire blurred.

But they couldn’t fall asleep, she reminded herself, trying hard to resist the urge to reach into her bag and throw down her bedroll. They were so close now, and just because she was tired, and the humans were tired, did not mean the dwarves were tired, too. They were just as fine as Alexius. Better, even, because they were laughing, and joking, and getting up to their feet, and brushing dust off their armour.

They were leaving already?

Briesis tried to sit up and couldn’t. This was very embarrassing. She should be feeling embarrassed, being stranded on the ground (and when had she fallen over?) while the dwarves readjusted their straps and hum to themselves, as energetic as they’d been when they’d first left camp. But she couldn’t seem to feel very much at all.

It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t be shown up by people almost half her size. Or a middle-aged man who’d actually been crushed in a monster’s fist less than three hours ago. Her reputation would be ruined. Alexius hadn’t even drunk his tea—Kader had refused to give him any, and said it was “unnecessary” and “wasted on him”. He’d changed his mind quick, when Briesis had tried to give her own tea away instead (Alexius, she figured, wouldn’t mind the taste as long as he stayed hydrated), and then he’d rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath nastily about “sensitive bleeding heart mages” while he’d poured another cup.

She shouldn’t have bothered. Alexius was still beside her, stitting quietly, his eyes fixed on the dwarves, his cup of tea undrunk and probably very cold and horrid by now. Maybe that was why it was cold. Because he’d been too busy watching the dwarves when she’d downed hers within moments (it was truly far too awful to drink in sips. Best to get it over with quickly).

How the dwarves stomached this trash, she had no idea.

One of them reached down and nudged Levyn with a boot, then knelt and checked his pulse. Then hoisted him up over their shoulder like he weighed nothing. Another bent to grab Kaitlyn, and Alim was taken by another, wriggling weakly in his arms, half-awake and slurring something Briesis couldn’t hear.

They were heading towards her now. And Alexius. One of them had a dagger. Another had a chain.

Briesis tried to reach for Alexius. Her fingers didn’t so much as twitch. She couldn’t move her legs, either. Her hands had gone cold. Her eyelids were heavy.

“Kill the mages.” That was Kader’s voice. He sounded very far away, even though Briesis could see his very short and very blurry form standing not so far from the shortest of the golems.  “And give the rest to Branka.”

…And so the evil, godless dwarves gave into impiety and dangerous ambition; and the Chimer and Dunmer went to war…

Some things never changed.

Briesis closed her eyes.

Chapter Text

It has been many years since she has seen sunlight. She still remembers it. Remembers waiting and waiting in a mage’s garden, unable to move under her own will or breathe or blink, unable to do anything but think and wish as she is debased and defiled by the feathered devils who come to her—

The wish came true, eventually. The birds were chased away. The experiments ended. She was set free. Her control rod worked no longer.

And then the wish ended.

…Death would have been kinder than this. She thought she’d been granted that peace, when she stood against it who had called her friend and then had proved she was anything but.

Something aches.

Shayle Cadash.

She wishes she had never remembered. She wishes she could forget, sometimes, when the princess dwarf and the warden-dwarf pass her by, carrying more flesh-creatures to the anvil. The princess dwarf does not look at her when she does. She has not, not since—

Since—

She wonders if Aeducan is ashamed.

Those they carry through these tunnels are no longer dwarves. Shale knows it is because there are none left. They have run out of volunteers. They have run out of criminals. They have run out of casteless.

We're here to kill them all, yes? For sport?

She remembers saying it. She remembers the Grey Warden laughing, because she thought it had been funny. It had thought Shale was funny.

Shale didn’t say it the next time she’d been brought there, alongside the King’s soldiers and a few brand-new golems. The Grey Warden would not have found it funny, if it had been there, because this time it would have been true.  The castless, the dwarves said, could not be permitted this rebellion.

There were many more golems in their ranks after that day.

Now the flesh creatures that are brought in are taller. They are human, or they are elves. She knows the difference, now. The humans did not near-declare a March for the sake of elves.

But they have never brought forth a Qunari.

Not until now.

…She wonders where the Qunari who called her kadan is.

This one is like him. Like she remembers. It is grey and it is hornless.

…It is nothing like she remembers. It is like any other flesh creature. It is short. Its eyes are crimson red and its skin is as grey as ash, but its face is rounded and soft. It talks too much.

It is a mage.

She recognised the magic it cast on the road to Orzammar. She has seen these things before, and she knows for a fact there is no difference.

She knows that demon. She knows those jaws, she knows that skin,  tail and claws, and she remembers the last time she has seen it. She remembers the spell that cast it into existence. She even remembers what they are called. Daedroth. Atronach. Scamp. She remembers saying that these are stupid, bad names, like all names.

She remembers the Magisterling who cast it.

And she remembers its promise, the one it and the elder mage had made together, the one time they’d ever agreed on anything, when they’d looked her in the eyes and said I will take you to Minrathous and you will be whole again.

The ache grows worse. Something in her not-eyes keeps stinging.

They never kept that promise.

She cannot forget, but she has been forgotten. That must be why the Grey Warden had looked Branka in the eyes and said I will help you and turned on Shale instead, and why the elder mage has not come down to save her, and why the princess dwarf does not look at her and why the useless blood mage has not either, not in the two days they have travelled with her, and why the Daedroths and Atronachs and Scamps she often encounters in the dark leap and scratch at her and why their master—ghoulish, foul, veins blackened with blight—does not call for her before she open her mouth and breathes fire.

Shale could almost forgive her. A hundred dwarves lives lost that day, and those of two dozen golems, but had it not been for the control rod in Aeducan’s hand that had long-since seized her body, she would have gladly joined in the Magisterling in her bloodshed, and finally fulfilled Caridin’s final request.

But she could not, and neither could the Magisterling.

It was a very close thing.

They have lost Bownammar, but not the anvil. Still far too close a thing for the devil-dwarf, and so they’d moved it into Orzammar proper, where it would not come under attack again.

But now they bring the Qunari. They have taken measures to prevent both it and the useless blood mage from casting, and while Shale knows that the Magisterling had been immune from the smites of Templars, their runes and their magebane (though she’d never been above pretending not to be), the princess dwarf knows that too.

That is why the Qunari’s hands have been tied in that way. And that is why it still lives. Sentimentality. The princess dwarf had only barely tolerated the useless blood mage, but it had once liked the Magisterling, and that is why it pleaded with the warden dwarf not to cut their throats as they slept. Or maybe it is simply because they need the Qunari alive, to kill the demon mage. They come from the same place as the Archdemon, she said to him. Look at these coins, look at this sigil, look at this writing. Can’t you see they are the same?

They want to know where the Archdemon came from. They have wanted this since Denerim, and even though Shale had been deep underground and also in pieces when that happened, she’d heard exactly that had happened after. The wardens and dwarves who searched the Deep Roads could not be bothered to keep their mouths shut in front of “the golem.”

It is lamentable that she did not get to see the Magisterling trounce both Grey Wardens. She has heard that one’s leg had been broke. She has heard he sometimes still walks with a cane. This does not surprise her. Whiny and weak and constantly laughing—it is no wonder a little yell had been enough to throw him off his feet. Why its head had not been crushed by the Magisterling already is hard to imagine. Its friendship with it had already been severely soured by the time they’d reached Orzammar.

She would be so fortunate as to see it happen this time. If the Qunari is like the Magisterling, she knows there is no chance of stopping it…and there is another king she would see dead. And a princess. And a Warden-Commander. Branka. 

She is glad to have chance to see it through.

“I don’t think we can go down that.”

It was always up to scout Harding to point out the very obvious. This was entirely necessary, of course. Maxwell could not have possibly figured out that they could not plunge miles into the earth without significant preparation. Or that they should not be getting anywhere near such a recent cave in.

“Inquisitor…”

Solas sounded skeptical. As he always did. It was no wonder no one liked him, not even his own people.

The raven on scout Harding’s shoulder squawked angrily, flapping so furiously it clipped her face once, then twice, then thrice. She yelped, alarmed, and flinched away from the bird. This was the fifth time this had happened, and so it was no surprise to Maxwell when the damn thing followed, screeching in her face.

Maxwell did nothing. He was well used to this sort of behaviour by now, and it was only a matter of time until—

Ah, there she was.

Leliana swopped in in a matter of seconds to pluck the bird up, glaring at Harding as if she’d been the one beating the bird in the face and not the other way around.

What the woman saw in Baron Plucky, Maxwell would never know. He’d never met a more terrible bird in his entire life, not even Great Aunt Lucille’s parrot that had bitten him so hard it had broken a finger. He was not even a good raven—all of Leliana’s other birds (who were also nearly twice as large as him) would have brought the Inquisition more information. They were very well trained things. They could remember what was said in their presence—mimic that speech to Leliana’s spies afterwards.

Baron Plucky had not managed to do this. Alexius and his abomination must have known of this particular trait—the only thing Baron Plucky had managed to repeat was some twaddle about Orlesian hats, some sort of bug that lived in beds (that everyone he’d spoken to agreed did not exist), and some trite about magical theory Maxwell had thought might be useful— until Dorian, Vivienne, and Solas had all agreed that whatever Baron Plucky been spewing had been complete and utter nonsense. 

Alexius and the abomination were toying with them.

…Still, he supposed Baron’s return was for the best. Leliana had been out-of-sorts ever since she’d spoken about the gold coins, and she’d only gotten worse after Baron Plucky’s disappearance, when her scouts told her they’d found Baron-shaped footprints on the cliffside but nothing else. She’d insisted over and over that Baron Plucky was a capable, strong and clever bird (He was also an exceedingly violent one, though Maxwell was capable of enough reason to know saying this to a grieving spymaster who tortured people for information would not end in anything good for him). Then she’d gotten even worse, after she’d heard Charter’s description of the two…Orlesians. A masked man, a masked woman. No bird between them.

Leliana had been convinced the bird was dead. He suspects that is the real reason she has decided to come along. To get her hands on the two bird-killing apostates herself.

If only that were true. Baron Plucky could not even deliver messages without attempting to poke out the eyes of the receiver. But Maxwell could be charitable, when he wanted to be. Baron Plucky wasn’t an entirely useless bird. He knew better than anyone that all mages were cunning and treacherous—it was just bad luck that Baron had been sent after the worst of their kind. But he had managed to lead them to the enemy twice now, both when they’d been in the mountains far above them and now in the caverns far below them. Where no one normal could reach.

…They still didn’t know how they had escaped on the mountain. No one had seen them leave the rock, and there had been no place they could hide. They’d shouted up for their surrender for a few much-wasted hours, and then shot much-wasted arrows into the place where they had been, but by the time they’d finally managed to reach the damn thing, they’d been gone. They didn’t even know how they’d gotten up there in the first place.

Or how they’d gotten down. Twice, now.

If this were anyone else, he would know they were dead. He would have said There’s no way they survived this fall, and he’d have gone home to Skyhold and drunk until he could smile again, and then he’d be back to the war table with Josie and the others, and after that they’d plan their next move against Corypheus. Or he’d continue on to the Storm Coast to speak to Hawke’s warden friend to figure out what the Grey Wardens were up to and exactly how they were supposed to get into Empress Celene’s little ball. Things they should be doing but couldn’t, because that thing had come and ruined everything.

But if it were anyone else, they’d have found their bodies dead in the snow underneath Skyhold.

He peered over the edge. Blackness, save for the faint blue glow of lyrium veins, very, very deep below them.

“She’s done there, somewhere,” Cullen said flatly. The phylactery was pulsing faintly in his hands. “Inquisitor—“

He doesn’t have to say it. This ravine stretched miles and miles deep below and to the sides, and they have no clue where the two prisoners might turn up. There have been earthquakes as far as the Storm Coast that have opened even more of them—they have already received an urgent request for aid from Orzammar.

They aren’t even consigned to this ravine. Maxwell knows for certain the earthquakes have opened the earth right down to the Deep Roads. Their options are limitless. If they survive down there—and Maxwell is quite certain they will, unkillable cockroaches that they are—they might turn up somewhere all the way in Nevarra or Rivain.

And the Inquisition would have no choice but to follow them there.

“How far have they gotten?” He asked quietly.

“Not far. A few miles Northwest.”

Northwest.

It could be worse. Northwest is Ghelen’s Pass. Northwest is Orzammar.

“Inquisitor, do you think—?”

He does think.

Leliana and Vivienne do too, and before long they are writing another letter to King Harrowmont warning him off the danger that might come to his doorstep from below. He has already agreed to have his men at the gates on the surface keep watch for the thing—it will not be such an ask to have him watch the Deep Roads as well. If Alexius and the abomination sought to leave the Deep Roads, that would be their only exit.

Cullen picked up their letter. He looked up, scowling.

“You want them to be captured alive?”

He did. He wanted them to stand trial. Wanted them to face what they’d done. He wanted to judge them. Alexius was beyond guilt, now, and an abomination was surely not capable of feeling at all, but he would not compromise justice.

“Inquisitor, it is an abomination.”

Maxwell saw Solas look up briefly, before ducking his back down to resume his conversation with Varric.

The elf still thought the abomination was not one. Maxwell would have shrug it aside—the elf was a known demon-lover, after all, and after Blackwall and Sera’s…questioning, Maxwell suspected he was one in a very literal sense as well, but Vivienne and Dorian had both agreed (though very reluctantly) that they couldn’t really tell—though the former had followed up quickly with her opinion that she was certain it was an abomination anyway, and that it didn’t truly matter.

There was no question that it was a murderer. There was no question that it was a maleficar. There was no question it was a blood mage.

The thing would die.

They just needed to bring it to justice before it killed anyone else.

“I know it’s an abomination.” He snapped. “I’m not going to spare it. It’s going to die. And so will the Magister.”

Eventually. They just needed to suffer, first. The abomination, anyway—Alexius was no longer capable of suffering. He should have given the tranquil over to Leliana when he’d still had the chance.

Cullen stared at him for several long moments.

“…This isn’t about Dorian, is it?”

Heat rose to his cheeks at once. How dare he? This had nothing to do with the Tevinter—Dorian wanted that thing dead as much as he did, considering it had shoved Alexius off a cliff. 

Dorian still doesn’t want the Magister dead. But Maxwell does not know what else he can do. Even when Tranquil the Magister has proven himself dangerous beyond measure. Dorian must understand this—ever since the two escaped he has faced even greater disdain for his Tevinter origins. Even Krem has been shunned by soldiers he’d once gotten along with. And as for the rumours--why Dorian, when he can have Josephine instead?

These rumours go beyond mere insult. If Commander Rutherford genuinely believes the he and Dorian are…together…No. He will not entertain this.

“This has nothing to do with him,” Maxwell snapped. “And it has nothing to do with you.”

Cullen didn’t blink.

“The men are starting to talk. Inquisitor, we cannot allow them to fear their mission is…compromised.”

“You’re one to talk,” Maxwell said. Something ugly curled in his chest. “The only reason you came here was because of your Tevinter. Leliana told me what you said to her in the tower—”

“Inquisitor!“

He’d gone too far. Guilt coiled in his gut.

They fell silent.

Leliana looked as though she regretted telling him anything, even though Maxwell would have picked up on it anyways. He’d heard her conversation with the messenger—it does not take a genius to pick up on exactly who Cullen had been… infatuated with.

Maxwell would apologise. If Cullen did first.

He didn’t. Instead, he grudgingly handed the letter back to Leliana, and said nothing else.

Baron Plucky screeched in betrayal when they tied it to Sir Flapwell’s leg instead of his, but it couldn’t be helped. King Harrowmont would not be so willing to help them if he lost his fingers to one of their ravens.

Orzammar. It wasn’t far from here. They normally would not be allowed in—the dwarves have become increasingly isolated throughout the years—but Leliana has her ways. If King Harrowmont expresses his reluctance to hunt down the threats that inch their way into his city; then the Inquisition will do it for him.

The footprint could have been mistaken for a phoenix’s, had the toes been any longer or the claws less sharp. As it was, the testimony of the boys had been clear, even if had been hard to understand through their lingering hysteria. And of course, the obvious. Phoenixes did not live by Lake Calenhad.

This footprint was been made by a demon. Not any of the most common and standard demons that he was used to, but between Kirkwall, Starkhaven and the Breach, he has long since learned they take whatever shape they will.

Or the shape a blood mage wills them to have.

Before the Breach, a group of boys banging on every door in the village, begging to be let in because they’d been chased by a short, green, lizard-like demon might have been waved off by their families as nothing more than troublesome boys spinning fanciful tales…especially given that these boys in particular already had a reputation for mischief.  It nearly had happened, when they’d sought refuge in Foxhole. They’d been lucky the inkeep hadn’t managed to throw them out before the demon had turned up at the man’s door. The door had nearly been shredded—but fortunately the noise it'd caused trying to break through had been enough to alert the villagers to seize their pitchforks and run it through, though some still claimed to see it wandering through the village the following nights, scratching at doors and peering through their windows.

The demon they described is something that he’s seen before. Years ago, when he’d been Knight-Captain in Starkhaven Circle, and Knight-Commander Carsten had captured a wandering apostate. A Tevinter apostate. Livia Laecinnius.

He doesn’t know what she said to the other mages; but within the week they all practically worshipped her. Grace, Decimus, and many other known troublemakers began to crowd around her, asking what life in the Imperial City had been like, and she'd told them all about a place where mages were free and magic wasn't wrong, and where summoning demons was normal. Normal enough there was practically been an invasion of them, from what he'd gathered. 

Within a month there was open talk of rebellion. These things cannot stand, the Knight-Commander said, and there wasn't a single Templar who disagreed. 

They lined up all these offenders to be made Tranquil.

They were supposed to be made Tranquil. He still didn't know why the rite failed so badly—he knew the mage in question became an abomination, but whether that came before the rite or during it is hard to say.

It’s not like they had much time to investigate, given what had happened afterward. The mage sat up and stared at them, eyes as empty as any Tranquil’s. The rite had, for one beautiful moment, worked. Then she’d blinked once, and when those eyes had opened again they’d been different. Black as night, with an iris of bright gold and slits for pupils.

He’d only had a second to shout before the veil ripped open. The first demon that burst through had been a wolf-sized lizard, green and horned, that lunged for Knight-Commander Carsten’s arm and nearly tore it off. The rest were desire demons—some gold, others grey—but all dressed in armour that both matched their skin, was far too revealing, and armed to the teeth with axes and swords. They spoke. They obeyed her every order and they called her Lord.

The rebels burnt down Starkhaven Circle, and they escaped. So did she. As many mages did, she left for Kirkwall.

Unlike the rest of Starkhaven’s mages, she was never caught.

Not that there was no opportunity. She couldn’t even be bothered to change her name, though he supposes she didn’t have to. She pretended to be a warrior instead (though how a Tevinter mage became so good at swordmanship is beyond him—Dorian certainly does not have that propensity) and Hawke and his friends came up with a nickname for the abomination all on their own. He supposes Livia Laecinnius is a bit of a handful…but naming such a creature Libby is an insult all on its own. What Varric had come up with had been even worse.

She was dead now. Same as Meredith. Both completely insane, as far as he’s concerned. Neither went down without casualties.

That is something all mages seem to have in common.

“Knight-Captain?”

He turned to Lysette. Her sword was pointed at something between the bushes.

Another clawed footprint in the mud. More recent. Blood spatters. Still wet.

He grit his teeth and beckoned Lysette to follow.

The first Red Templar they see lying dead outside a small cave is nearly a surprise.

“Thought the scouts said they cleared this out already.” Lysette muttered. “Should have known better than to trust Charter…”

There are more dead templars inside; alongside some Venatori allies.

“Can you hear that?”

Rylen stopped. He could hear it. Someone was crying. Something was growling.

He hoisted his shield up and kicked in the door. The first thing he saw were the terrified faces of men and women.

They had found the missing villagers, still alive, Maker’s Breath, and entirely unharmed despite the demon pacing back and forth before their cell—of which the bars had been lightly chewed. The villagers gasped when they saw him, and the relief in their faces was sobering. The demon turned, snarling, his teeth red with blood, and charged.

So Rylen did the same.

The dream is always the same. It has been the same ever since he has gone through the Joining, and he has had it every night since. There are seven Archdemons who stare down at him, and behind them another rises; brilliant gold and glowing, taller than all the rest. It speaks, and the ground shakes before collapsing into itself. He falls with the rest of the darkspawn, and the last thing he sees before he plunges into the dark is the golden dragon absorb the rest.

After ten long years, Loghain has long since ceased caring. The dream comes, the dream goes, and the world keeps spinning. The Blight is over. The claim that it is not is false.

Sometimes it feels as if he is the only Warden who thinks so.

But he has never held the intelligence of the Grey Wardens in high regard.

Worse than the dreams is the Calling. That too is false.

The two things, unlike what Warden-Commanders Kader and Clarel think, are not connected. There will not be another blight, not for another few hundred years at least, and so throwing away the lives of so many Wardens in order to unleash an army of demons into the Deep Roads is madness.

He has been punished for saying so.

How good it feels, knowing he was right. He was right, and he always has been right, In Ostagar and Denerim and now, and the Wardens have always been wrong. He told himself that every time thunder cracked overhead, or a pair of footprints stomp past the cave where he has sought refuge from the rain, and every time he heard a man’s voice and dared to hope Hawke has returned but nearly comes face to face with the Wardens hunting him instead.

The feeling never lasts. It doesn’t matter if he is right.

His happiness, his righteousness—it will not stop the Grey Wardens from going through this plan. It will not stop their blood magic. It will not stop the destruction they will cause in the Deep Roads—though he suspects the Deep Roads is not their true target, not while Corypheus is at the helm. It has not stopped them from falling to Corypheus’s sway.

But the Inquisition still might.

All he has to do is wait for Hawke to bring them here.

…But the last letter he has received bodes ill. He knows what the Grey Wardens went through on the rooftops of Fort Dragon, even if he had been locked up inside a tower at the time. They did not keep it a secret; Loghain is quite certain even lower-ranked wardens know the very basics. What he does know—because the Theirin boy said so—is that that disaster is why he still lives. If the Blight had ended the way it was meant to, he would have not gone through the Joining. He would have had his head sliced off by the King himself.

Short-sightedness. They never did have need for an extra Warden, and by the time they came around to that idea, he’d already been a Warden for far too long for them to do anything about it.

Hawke and the Inquisitor must not give in to distraction the same way Alistair and Cousland have. His greatest threat is Corypheus, not some mage, maleficarum or abomination, and the Inquisitor must understand that, even if the Wardens can not.

Another crack of lightning. Loghain closes his eyes.

The dream comes again.

Chapter Text

Briesis woke up. This was a very normal thing. She, like just about every other living creature in the world, woke up at least once a day (sometimes twice, if the nap was especially good and she’d particularly liberal with her magicka usage), usually after she had gone to sleep—which again, like most others, she typically did on purpose, in her own bed, at her chosen time, and on her own terms.

That hadn’t happened this time. Because, strictly speaking, waking up implied that she had first gone to sleep—and she certainly hadn’t meant to do that. In fact, the very last thing she could clearly remember was drinking that horrible tea and telling herself that she should not fall asleep, because it would be incredibly foolish to do so.

And then—well. Here she was.

But she was pretty sure that she wasn’t supposed to waking up at all. She’d thought Kill the mages (spoken quite plainly by someone who was about to become extremely dead) would be the last thing that she would hear in her entire life. No, she wasn’t supposed to be here, alive and well, able to think about exactly which spell she would be introducing Eram Kader to once she was free.

Kader.

She was going to kill him. Very soon and very violently, preferably with a very large and nasty spell that she had not yet invented but was quite confident would be appropriately horrific once she did. The method hardly mattered. The important thing was that he would suffer for every second of inconvenience that Briesis was currently experiencing.

Her mouth was dry. Her tongue felt like she’d licked a carpet. Her fingers—

Clink.

Very slowly, she raised her hand. She was greeted by the most hideous pair of shackles she’d ever seen in her entire life. They were steel, a little rusted around the edges, and fixed to a length of sturdy chain that was bolted to the floor of a cell that smelled so terrible that even a Blighted rat wouldn’t have crawled into it willingly.

Now, normally, neither the chains or the accommodations would be a problem. She was, after all, a master wizard of House Telvanni, one that had spent quite some time refining unlocking spells to perfection, and so it shouldn’t have taken much more than a trickle of magicka and perhaps a little sigh of irritation before the locks clicked open.

But she couldn’t do that now. Her hands were encased in some sort of metal mittens. She could barely move her fingers, which had been bent forcibly around a metal bar inside it. She couldn’t cast anything.

She tugged once. Twice. The chains didn’t budge. Corprus-granted strength was apparently not strong enough to pull metal from stone.

It was clever, really, she thought sourly. Difficult to cast spells when you couldn’t open your hands or move your fingers. The Inquisition could have stood to learn from this.

She supposed she could cast through her toes if truly pressed (though Master Aryon’s strict instruction to never do so again lingered uncomfortably at the back of her mind), but her ankles had been shackled, too, and while it still allowed her to stand up, it didn’t allow her to do anything truly useful, like kicking a dwarf  in the teeth or attempting to perform an unlocking spell with one’s feet (which would have been a great deal more difficult to cast than the flame spell that had burnt off Turedus Talanian’s eyebrows even if she hadn’t been chained).

A shame.

They hadn’t taken her clothes, at least, though of course they’d taken her bag. She was still wearing her robes, anyway, and her glass boots (which she’d put on quite furiously about two seconds after she’d stubbed her toe on a rock, despite Alexius’s protests). What she wasn’t wearing; Briesis noted, was her jewellery. Her fingers felt very ringless, and they hadn’t been that way when she’d been awake. And her gloves were gone, too. Her hands were cold. They had taken everything that was enchanted.

The dwarves, she decided, were taking this very personally. And then there was the matter of—

“Ughhh.”

Briesis’s head snapped up.

For one hopeful moment, she expected to see Alexius sitting there, staring absentmindedly at his shackles, waiting patiently for her to rescue him from this mess, but it wasn’t so. The slumped form in the corner of the cell opposite her was not Alexius.

It was Levyn.

Briesis stared at him unblinkingly, barely masking her profound disappointment.

Levyn, for his part, looked even less pleased to see her. “Great,” he croaked. “You.”

For a moment, Briesis was too offended to speak.

And then she wasn’t.

“Me?” She repeated indignantly. “What do you mean, me? This is all your fault—your stupid dwarf friends were the ones who poisoned us!”

Levyn sure had some nerve—why, Briesis had known the Dwarf had been untrustworthy since the beginning!

“They’re not my friends,” Levyn snapped. “I’m not the one who was ogling those Legionnaires, don’t think I didn’t see you—“

Ogling? That was slander. That was libel. Even if she had been admiring the way Sigrun's arms looked in that chainmail—hypothetically—it would have been because she appreciated form and tattoos, and not because she was…ogling. 

Briesis had eyes only for Beyte (not that she ogled her, either)—and, she reminded herself furiously, Levyn had been the one falling over himself to please Kader the moment Beardy had revealed himself to be a Grey Warden, whatever they were—if anyone had been ‘ogling’ anyone it was him. What did Kader have that she didn’t? What had he done, aside from being a Warden? He had not been the one to defend them from the Red Templars, had not been the one to save their fall; he had been awful at every turn, from his comments in support of bird-murder to his never-ceasing barrage of insults—what had Levyn even seen in him?

She opened her mouth to snap at Levyn.

But—

Hmm.

She could. She could say it. She could tear into him, pick apart every miserable choice he’d ever made, and tell him how throughly, deeply and inexcusably he had failed to protect his wife and son. She could make him weep if she wanted to.

But Briesis of-no-clan was, as everyone knew, exceptionally reasonable for a Telvanni, just as Master Aryon had been before her. She was not prone to the capricious violence that had overcome peers like Therana and Gothren, despite the common slanders spread by bitter Mages Guild members and jealous tower rivals. She was capable of mercy, should the mood strike her.

And really, wasn’t Levyn pitiful enough already?

Briesis gave him a long, assessing look. His skin was pallid, and his hair was damp and clinging to his forehead in sweat-soaked strands. He was chained, too, in the same magic-proof way she was, and his eyes were wide and frightened.

He also looked as though he might be violently sick at any moment.

Very pitiful. Hardly worth the effort. And the smell down here was bad enough—if Levyn threw up everywhere it would probably be even worse.

She swallowed the insult, though it burned the inside of her mouth like hot coals. Instead, she said, with her infinite patience, “I am not going to argue with you.”

Levyn blinked at her. “…You’re not?”

“I am taking the high road,” she said with great dignity, chin raised. “You should be grateful.”

“I don’t think that’s what this.”

“That is exactly what this is,” Briesis informed him primly. “I forgive you for accusing me of having bad taste. Because I am generous. Also, you look like something someone fished out of a sewer, so I feel kind of bad for you.”

He stared at her for a beat, then shook his head, muttering something under his breath that she didn’t catch, but could safely assume was greatly uncharitable (not to mention ungrateful).

Well, not everyone could be as great as she was. That was why she would be Archmagister one day, and Levyn wouldn’t.

Besides, she still needed him coherent. He (embarrassingly) knew more about what was happening here than she did, and that might be useful before she burned Orzammar to the ground. A weepy Levyn was a useless Levyn. An even-more-useless-than-usual Levyn.

…But he wasn’t entirely useless, was he?

Not with that blood magic of his. And that was definitely blood magic. Real blood magic.

Briesis never would have thought him one. Blood magic, she’d always thought, was for vampires and Argonians (and she was pretty sure Levyn was neither)—entirely useless for anyone else. Spells that needed blood could be easily replaced something that didn’t require slicing open your own arm—Golems could be used instead of Gargoyles, Absorption spells were just as good as the draining spells vampires were oh-so-fond-of, and even spells that could reanimate the dead (which Briesis knew was fouler than all things foul), could be cast by any common, filthy, necromancer.

It could do other things, true…but she was pretty sure the story Mother had told her of a Great Sea Serpent formed by blood that had once terrorised Valenwood had only been just a story (even if it had been vivid enough that Briesis had refused to go near the Sea of Ghosts for a whole week).

She’d never seen a Glyph of Repulsion, either. It had been potent enough too—more potent than she’d expected from a man who had never once cast a spell until all their lives had depended upon it.

She didn’t know a spell like that. She didn’t know anyone in Tamriel who did.

It’d be a waste to keep it that way, wouldn’t it? She’d be well and truly unstoppable with those spells. She’d give anything to see the look on a Redoran’s face the next time they tried to run her through, only to find themselves hurling through the air…would give everything to see Aryon and Demnevanni’s (and perhaps even the great Divayth Fyr's) faces when their bodies bowed before her, victim of the blood in their own veins; the next time they came to her tower and tried to—

Tried to—

…They hadn’t really tried to kill her, had they?

She still couldn’t remember the fight clearly—but what she’d done hadn’t been that serious. She remembered thinking they were overreacting, even then, that their grievances could not be so deep—remembered telling Master Aryon so, right after he’d sent the first of his spells sailing over her head.

But that spell had meant to scare, surely, not to maim. And then of course she’d retaliated, and Baladas’s Atronachs came, and suddenly things were flying and burning and—

And after that it got a bit fuzzy. Her hand twitched against the manacles.

Still. They hadn’t really tried to kill her. That would be an overreaction. She would never overreact to something like that.

…But they would, wouldn’t they? Both of them (or all three of them, if indeed Divayth Fyr had joined in) had kidnapped people just to make a point. They had odd opinions on proportionate responses. They had overreacted just by showing up on her doorstep. She remembered thinking they were trying to kill her. She remembered being afraid.

This was not a line of thought she wanted to pursue. She was already feeling weirdly cold in the stomach.

She needed a different subject.

“Who’s Branka?”

She’d be the first to die, the Alexius-stealing s’wit—the dwarves had taken Alexius on her behalf, Briesis just knew it.

“She’s one of Orzammar’s Paragons,” Levyn said, blinking at her. “I met her once—she’s completely insane, got her entire House killed off and everything. I should have known better than to trust the dwarves—they’ve been kidnapping people for years—but the Wardens? I thought at least they…” He trailed off.

Levyn had travelled with the Wardens, Briesis remembered. Had been close to them. Was that was why he was so sad? Because he’d liked them, thought better of them, and they’d proven him wrong so horridly? Mind, from what Briesis had overheard, Kader had practically stolen that Cousland’s promotion, so she wasn’t entirely sure why Levyn was so surprised Kader was a walking pile of Kagouti crap, but—

Alim.

Ah, right. That. It occurred to Briesis then, belatedly and with an uncomfortable twist in her gut, that she was not the only person who the dwarves had stolen from. Levyn’s child and his wife were gone, too. Taken. Possibly dead. Possibly hurt. Possibly worse.

And that Alexius was enduring it all alongside them.

“What did the dwarves do?” Briesis asked. “The people they took, what happened to them?”

“You don’t know?” Levyn seemed to be in disbelief. “They use people for their golems. After the dwarves practically finished off the casteless during the rebellion they had no one left to use instead, and they’d run out of volunteers even before the Culling. And then Branka—“ The spat-out name might as well have been a curse. “—and Harrowmont began surface raids to take humans and elves instead. There was a war and everything, when people found out. Honestly, I’m surprised the Chantry didn’t call an Exalted March right then and there, between this and Brother Burkel…there might be one now, if people find out they’re still doing this. Did you see how many golems they had? They must have killed hundreds of people.”

Levyn kept talking, but Briesis could no longer hear him. There was an odd ringing in her ears, and she felt strangely light-headed. The golems were made out of people. They had taken people and had turned them into…into those things. This was dark magic; it had to be. This was practically necromancy. Briesis had never heard of anything so vile in her entire life.

Why had they done it? There was no reason for any of this, no reason why they had resorted to something so utterly abhorrent. There were hundreds of ways to make golem, or Amunculi, or automatons or constructs or any other sort of conjured servant. Real magic wasn’t even needed for half of it— surely dwarves were at least capable of enchanting? There must’ve been dozen ways to perform Atronachy with only a soul gem and a bit of know-how. Of course breathing life into the inanimate wasn’t exactly easy, but Briesis had never found it altogether difficult—why, she’d managed to recreate a small centurion spider with only the schematics she’d found in Nchuleft (though admittedly not as good as the originals had likely been); and she’d even once managed to make a golem of her very own…and while it had indeed had been enchanted instead of magicked to life; at least the soul in question had not been human.

So why hadn’t they used it? There must be some magic at work here—rock did not begin to walk on its own. Something must have been done. But what? Aeducan had claimed dwarves couldn’t perform magic, and Briesis hadn’t detected any sort of enchantment coming from it. And she while she was admittedly not absolutely great with detecting life, detecting enchantments were the one thing she’d always been really good at. She only needed to glance at one to know exactly what it did.

But her detection spells had turned up nothing. She’d thought nothing of it, thought that it had been all well and good—she couldn’t exactly detect Dwemer automatons, either—but these things were clearly not machine, and it had been short-sighted to even consider the possibility. Machines made of stone? Please.

There’d been nothing that could have pointed to this sort of abomination. If the dwarves could perform magic like this, why hadn’t they just…pushed a little further? Given life without taking it? They’d have no need for volunteers, no need to wipe out these “castless”, whatever they were, even less to crawl up to the surface like evil necromantic worms to drag people down below—risking wars in the process at that—surely, it would have been a better, more pragmatic decision, to simply try a little harder?

“But you knew Aeducan,” Briesis said slowly. “I thought you were friends. Why would she…?”

“We’re not friends,” Levyn said defensively. “We travelled together, for a time, but she was always a bitc— she always hated me, I mean. Not that I didn’t deserve it, you know…but after we came back to Orzammar she got worse. Hated everything. Went on about Bhelen being the worst thing that had ever happened to Orzammar and how the golems were the only thing that would save her people until Elissa gave in.”

He kicked the shackles binding his feet. Predictably, the solid metal did not yield.

“I told her letting Branka live was a bad idea.”

“…If you knew it was a bad idea, why didn’t you kill her yourself?”

“Shale tried,” Levyn said glumly. “She’s dead. Take a wild guess who killed her.”

Oh.

Ah.

“Well, it’s never too late to fix your mistakes,” Briesis said. She wasn’t planning on letting Branka live, and it was good that she and Levyn were of one mind in this. She was probably stronger than whoever this Shale was anyway, and Levyn clearly had more interest in correcting Branka's error of existence now than he’d had before. She lifted her cuffs. “Any idea how to get rid of these?”

Levyn shook his head. “They’ve given me magebane,” he said. “It’s practically worn off already, but…”

He shook his equally mage-proof cuffs at her. The dwarves had certainly been thorough.

It wouldn’t save them.

“…why do the Dwarves have these if they don’t have mages?”

“Who cares?” Levyn said, sounding thoroughly depressed. “Probably a gift from one of the Templars they smuggle Lyrium to.  I don’t think they’d have a reason for it otherwise, I’m pretty sure Morrigan and I were the first mages who ever came here—“

He went quiet all at once, his eyes darting towards the heavy door. Briesis held her breath, listening—she could make out a faint stomp-stomp that couldn’t possibly be anything human (much less dwarven) somewhere behind the stone. Whatever it was, it was getting much louder and closer by the second, and Levyn’s posture had gone rigid.

The brass doors to the prison swung inward, and in stepped a short figure clad in ornate armour, trimmed with the delicate flourishes that Briesis knew nobles from all over Tamriel adored. She (and it was a she) was followed closely by a decrepit-looking golem. It was the small one Briesis had seen earlier, though she didn’t know why the woman had brought this one along. Maybe the larger golems couldn’t fit in the prisons, and a small, ugly golem was better than none?

The figure strode right up to their cells before she removed her helmet with both hands.

“Aeducan,” Levyn muttered, his voice flat.

It was Aeducan. Briesis had never considered Aeducan an intimidating sort of woman (and she would very much deny it should anyone claim she was considering the possibility now). After all, Aeducan was a noblewoman, and a very fancy one at that (this had been obvious even when she’d been covered in blood), but out of Legion armour, and in whatever that was, backed by a (not so) hulking golem…well, she had some sort of presence. Like that Redguard mage in Skyhold. Like Brara Morvayn. Like Dratha.

Briesis straightened almost without meaning to.

Aeducan stared at them through the bars.

“Hello, Jowan.”

Levyn—Jowan?—threw himself at the bars so quickly and suddenly Briesis might have missed it if she’d blinked.

“You. Where’s Lily? What have you done to her? If you’ve hurt her—“

“Oh, Stone, shut up.” Aeucan rolled her eyes like she was already tired of being in the same room. “It’s been like this old song since we first met. ‘Lily this, Lily that’. You’re pathetic.”

“I swear to the Maker,” Jowan spat, rattling his chains like a madman, “If you’ve done anything to her—“

“I haven’t.” Aeducan said. “Not personally. But what happens to cowardly blood mages or their Chantry-traitor wives is hardly my business anymore, is it? Not that it ever really was, mind you—I would have let the Arl have at you if it was up to me, as you very well know…but it’s not you I’m interested in, now.”

Jowan? Lily? Was everyone here lying about their names? She and Alexius had done it themselves, for obvious reasons, but why had they? They hardly seemed to be the criminal sort…

It was, Briesis decided, because of the dwarves. She wouldn’t want a race of murderous little necromancers knowing her name either. It was no wonder Jowan had lied—he already knew what they were capable of; and unlike her he had a family to protect, one he couldn’t spirit away to a (far better) world were dwarves no longer existed.

At least they had better fake names than Briesis and Alexius did. She’d told everyone that Alexius’s name was Caius Cosades, and he’d insisted her name was Aveline (a name that drew more eyebrows now than when she’d still been pretending to be Orlesian—though Alexius had quietly told her that plenty of Qunari living in human countries took on human names).

Was Aeducan lying about her name, too? It was a weird sort of name, really, and while she wasn’t going to claim that these Dwarves were anything like the real ones, they were still similar enough (particularly in their architecture and incredibly rancid personalities) that their names seemed decidedly undwarven. Eram was the name of a Dunmer. Sigrun was the name of a Nord. Aeducan meant nothing at all…but it sounded mildly Nordic, which she supposed suited a knuckle-dragging, axe-swinging brute like her.

Almost as if the thoughts had summoned the woman’s attention, her eyes turned from Jowan to Briesis. “You. Ox-Girl.”

Briesis glared at her. It was a very sad thing that she could not cast fireballs with only her eyes.

“We’ve received a very important letter from the Inquisition,” Aeducan said. “They say you, and your Tevinte companion are members of the Venatori.”

Briesis had never heard of the Venatori in her whole entire life. She doubted Alexius had either. This was some trite the Inquisition had invented, no doubt.

“I have never heard of them in my entire life,” She told her.  “Never.”

Predictably, Aeducan did not believe her.

“I see,” she said. “I’m certain it was only a coincidence that both you and your demonic conjurations bear a strong resemblance to the maleficarum and the four demons that she unleashed upon Skyhold. Unfortunately for you, we know for a fact that your companion is the very same Magister who led the Venatori in the seizing of Redcliffe, and so I very much doubt your claims of innocence. “

Led the seizing? Led the—

Damn Alexius.  Damn him to Oblivion. Why hadn’t he told her?

There was no point in denying it. Aeducan was a lost cause. It probably wouldn’t have mattered even if Briesis had been telling the truth—she was willing to bet Aeducan would have taken any excuse to unleash her magic-hating ways upon any mage unfortunate to cross her path.

What in Oblivion was a maleficarum, anyway?

“Daedra.” Briesis said snidely. “I set Daedra loose. At least get the terminology right if you’re going to interrogate me.”

Aeducan stared at her for a long moment. She was very fond of staring, Briesis was finding. Hadn’t her mother ever told her not to? Mother had always clipped Briesis around the ears when she’d still been young enough to have that problem. Hadn’t Aeducan been raised right? Did she not have a mother? She was supposed to be a noblewoman—where was her decorum?

“I’ve heard that term before.” Aeducan said quietly. “Tevene, I expect. Just as this is.”

She withdrew from her belt-bag a small, reddish book, decorated only with a black-stitched Imperial crest.

It was just a book. It wasn’t a very important book, or even a very rare one. It was not very expensive either. It wasn’t even in good condition. A large black ink stain had drenched the lower half of the book, undeniably ruining it. It was worthless.

Briesis recognised it at once.

It was the copy Brief History of the Empire (part II) she’d bought from Codus Callonus for five drakes on a whim and ruined months later when she’d accidentally knocked over a jar of ink. She hadn’t realised she’d still had it on her. As far as she remembered, she’d hidden it under her bed so that The Librarian would never figure out what she’d done to one of his precious library books (though of course every book in there was actually hers). She must have put it in her bag while she tidied up her room and then forgotten about it.

Which meant that Aeducan had put her grubby necromancer hands all over Briesis’s things.

Were all people in Thedas so utterly nosy?

“That’s mine,” Briesis said sharply, because it was, and she had a right to be indignant. She tugged at her restraints in order to reinforce her ownership.

“It’s not,” Aeducan said softly. Her eyes were boring into Briesis’s. “This book belonged to someone else. But it’s quite telling that you recognise it. So I will ask this only once: where is Calpurnia Caerellius?”

“Who?”

Jowan laughed. There was no humour in it. If anything, he sounded downright hysterical.

“You’re crazy,” He breathed. “Is that what this is about? You lunatic. You absolute lunatic. You’re seriously still obsessed?”

Aeducan didn’t blink. She didn’t look at him. Her eyes were still fixed on Briesis like she was trying to carve open her brains by will alone.

“She’s gone, you stupid stone-headed thug.” Jowan snapped. He sounded close to tears. “She’s gone, and you will never see her again. And I am glad for it.”

“Shut up,” Aeducan said. She looked quite furious now, not that Jowan could see—she still wasn’t looking at him. “You don’t know anything.”

But Jowan did not shut up. “She never loved you. Never. Not you, not Leliana, not Zevran. You knew that. You know that. Did you really think she’d stay? For you?”

The door to his cell swung open with a bang. Jowan barely had time to scramble back before Aeducan crossed the threshold, her armoured fist catching the man clean across the jaw (a feat Aeducan wouldn’t have managed if Jowan had been standing up, not unless she’d had a step-stool). Jowan crumpled sideways. A hand caught his collar and slammed him against the wall. He gasped, teeth bared, but whether in hatred or pain it was hard to tell.

“I will have your tongue removed,” Aeducan snarled. She slammed him against the wall once more, then threw him to the ground; there was a nasty sounding thud. Briesis flinched. Levyn didn’t. He coughed, then spat blood, red streaking down his chin.

“Where’s my son?”

Aeducan sneered.

“Answer me!” He bellowed.

She didn’t. She just looked at him, expression neutral in an awful, smug way, before she turned calmly back to Briesis.

Jowan knelt frozen, his expression contorting into ugly something and stricken, and Briesis suddenly felt like she was watching something obscenely private.

She did not like seeing him like this, and her throat tightened slightly against her better judgement.

Whatever grudge Aeducan bore toward him—because there was definitely a grudge there—must have been quite deep. But it was almost certainly over something minor and stupid—she already knew what sort of person Aeducan was (which was barely a person at all) and she suspected she knew what sort of man Jowan had been ten years ago (which, in summary, was someone far too spineless to have done anything that warranted such deep-seated hatred—Briesis had never met an evil coward). No, he’d probably tried to save someone from becoming an undead rock, and Aeducan had taken offence that she couldn’t commit her much beloved murders.

Her mage-hating probably had something to do with it, too; you’d think the poor man had unleashed a horde of undead onto an innocent village or something, the way she was acting.

“Now,” Aeducan said, speaking to Briesis once more. “This symbol—“ she thrust the book toward Briesis as if Briesis had been blind enough to miss it the first time “—what does it mean?”

It’s the Imperial Crest is what Briesis didn’t say. First of all, the less Aeducan (and Thedas in general) knew about Tamriel, the better. Briesis did not want one of their people wandering into her homeland. Secondly—what would she do, if Briesis told her the truth? Would she kill them, like Kader had told her too, when she had all the answers she wanted and they were no longer needed? Would she kill Alexius?

…Was he even still alive?

“No. I want to know where they are, too.” If they were dead, there was no point in playing any longer. Briesis had been kidnapped before (part and parcel of being Telvanni, really), and if she could break out of Tel Fyr, then she could break out of anything. “I won’t answer until you tell.”

She sure hoped she didn’t sound petulant.

Aeducan’s nostrils flared. “You’re not in any position to be asking questions, here.” She stepped forward until the bars of the cell cast shadows across her face. “You should be grateful you’re still breathing.”

“Then kill me,” Briesis shrugged, half-hoping the woman tried, just to see what would happen. “If you’ve done anything to them—if they’re dead—you’ll get nothing from me, not now, not ever.”

Aeducan’s jaw tightened. For a moment, Briesis thought she might reach through the bars and throttle her, or open the door the way she’d done for Jowan, but instead, the dwarf just shook her head.

“No one is dead,” Aeducan said coldly. “Not yet.”

“Then prove it,” Briesis said. “Let me see him.”

“You are just like Jowan,” Aeducan said irritably. “He’s alive. And far less defiant than you, I might add.”

He would be, Briesis thought sourly. If only he’d actually made progress with those fire spell she’d tried to teach him…Aeducan wouldn’t be laughing then…

“Now. The book.”

“It’s just a book,” Briesis snapped. “I don’t know what that symbol means. It’s just a normal Tevinter crest. It’s on all sort of things. I didn’t put it there, you know. I’m not a bookbinder.”

But it was hers, and she wasn’t entirely sure who Aeducan thought she was fooling when she pretended it wasn’t. Who else could it have belonged to? Even if she hadn’t recognised the stain (and she would have, considering she’d spent the better part of an evening trying to scrub it out before The Librarian had seen it before giving up entirely), there was no one else in Thedas who it could have possibly belonged to instead.

“Oh?” Aeducan said. “It’s on your coinage, as well.”

Aeducan would die tonight. After that, Briesis resolved, she would be cursing that coinpurse to burn anyone who touched it.

“I didn’t make the coins, either,” she said, trying to sound as reasonable, mild-mannered and sophisticated as possible. “I am also not a metalworker. Those are normal Tevinter coins.”

They weren’t, but when she’d given them to Alexius he’d mentioned that Tevene coins also had dragons no them, and she figured Aeducan’s pea-sized brain wasn’t smart enough to know the difference.

“Normal Tevinter coins?” Aeducan said. “Made of solid gold? No. I don’t think so.”

“The people of Tevinter are far wealthier than those of other provinces,” Briesis said snidely. “I recognise this might be hard to reconcile your own impoverished state with reality—“ the diamond headrest Aeducan was wearing was definitely not impoverished.“—but it is true.”

Aeducan looked decidedly unimpressed.

“We’ll be asking the Inquisition to confirm everything you say. They know where you are, you know. They’ve come here for you. If you will not speak the truth to me, perhaps you will speak to them. I hear their spymaster has a way with torture. You will have to let me know if that is true—I have a feeling you shall be finding out soon enough.”

The Inquisition was here? How had they found them? They were supposed to be miles away—they’d cut through the mountains, spent the last few days underground. How was it possible—?

Squawky.

She knew it. He must have led them to the hole, just like he’d led them to the mountains that very first night. The Inquisition must have figured they’d try to get to Orzammar from there—there was no where else to go.

Stupid bird. After everything she had done for him?

“—but it does not need to end this way,” Aeducan was saying. “I know you, Aveline. You are no conjured demon, no abomination, not like the Inquisition says you are. You do not behave like any I have met. The Red Templars. The Behemoth. The Darkspawn. Abominations do not risk their lives for complete strangers.”

Briesis tried to disappear into the floor. She could not. It was made of stone, and she was shackled to the wall, and also there was the small issue of being physically incapable of turning into a puddle, no matter how hard she tried. Aeducan was making her sound like some sort of…like some Redoran dog. That wasn’t her. She wasn’t like that anymore. She was Telvanni now. She did things for reasons. Good, justifiable, logical reasons.

And she had not risked her life or anything, she thought furiously. She had not lost a battle in a very, very long time; no danger could harm her. The time of struggle had ended; she was immortal, unbeatable, indestructible—even plague and age could not touch her now. That thing with that ogre had been a fluke—she had, she told herself firmly, simply been caught by surprise. And though she knew this was true and Aeducan was attempting some sort of pathetic manipulation; it did not make this assassination of her character any less embarrassing.

Aeducan, cruelly, kept going.

“—no, you are no abomination.” Aeducan paused. Gods. Someone kill her. Right now. “…you are not a bad person, Aveline. And so I cannot what you are doing with a man such as Gereon Alexius. I have heard the Inquisition’s version, and I would hear yours, too. Who is he to you? A mere comrade? A friend?  A lover?”

Briesis gagged. It was a sudden, involuntary thing. Her whole face twisted in disgust, and she barely managed to turn it into a cough.

Lover?

LOVER?

The very idea—

How dare she? Alexius was helpless—how dare she imply that Briesis would ever, ever, stoop to such a thing? And he was married!

Aeducan arched one finely plucked brow.

“That’s a no, then,” she said, a bit drily.

Briesis pressed her lips together, unwilling to dignify such a disgusting line of questioning further. She hoped Aeducan could see the hatred she was feeling.

“Be that as it may,” Aeducan said, “you will answer me. I don’t care if it’s unpleasant. I don’t care if you’d rather spit teeth. I want to know what he is to you. I want to know how you met. I want to know where. I want to know where you are taking him, and why.”

Briesis opened her mouth to tell Aeducan exactly where she could shove her wants, then shut it again.

This was such a stupid question. Who was he to her?

He was—a tool, obviously. A means to an end. A Magister whose value was as clear as day.  He was useful. She’d already thought this through. He was (was) a powerful mage from a place she knew nothing about, who understood this world in a way she didn’t, someone who could could help her navigate a land filled with people who hated magic, mages and seemingly her specifically.

He was a man who could turn back time.

He would make a very nice ally one day, when he was better. When his magic returned. That had been the point of taking him, hadn’t it? His magic and his allegiance, the final advantage over every power-hungry rival who thirsted for her position. It didn’t matter that he was the biggest burden she had ever travelled with, more than Ree-Jah and more than Viatrix, because unlike the two of them he wouldn’t always be that way. And she wasn’t about to let some sad old man with time-travelling magic die without that knowledge being passed on.

That didn’t mean anything.

Except—

She did want him safe. She’d made sure of it. Rescued him from Skyhold. Made sure he didn’t freeze on those cold nights. Allowed him to sleep in her bedroll. Made sure he ate. Healed him. Lent her her ring. Gave him her amulet. Covered for his crimes. Pulled him out of the way when the fighting started. Called a Daedroth for him. Cried, just a little, when she’d thought—

And she did want Felix cured, too. Had even planned on taking him to Tamriel with them, even though she didn’t like children much (though Alexius was pretty old—old enough to be her father, now that she thought about it…perhaps Felix was not so young?).

This wasn’t all altruistic, she reminded herself firmly. She needed Felix alive because that was the only thing that would promise Alexius’s eternal loyalty. And she hadn’t actually told Alexius that she’d be taking him back to Morrowind with her…but she was certain he wouldn’t mind. He had nothing left on Thedas, now that he’d been unmagistered, and who wouldn’t want to join House Telvanni? She was doing him a favour, really.

She liked his company. That wasn’t a crime. It wasn’t even strange, probably. She enjoyed having him near her, even if he didn’t have much of a…well, a personality. That was fine. Not everyone needed to be talkative. Or interesting. Or lively. Or emotionally functional. She’d once thought her future would always have House Redoran and the Temple in it, and no member of theirs could truthfully claim to posses much of a personality either (unless “dour furniture with a superiority complex” counted), and so this was hardly an insurmountable obstacle—and at least Alexius’s condition wouldn’t be permanent. She was sure he’d be very interesting once he was back to normal.

So maybe?

She even wanted him to like Morrowind, though she’d never admit that out loud.

…Was that friendship? She frowned. It sounded suspiciously like friendship. She didn’t like that. She didn’t exactly have a wealth of examples to compare to. She’d had friends in the Mages Guild, friends in House Redoran, and in the Temple too…but it had been ages since she’d heard from any of them, not even from people like Ajira or Uleni. Varvur, she understood. Ienas Sarandas, not so much (or perhaps she did. The argument with Tuls Valen had been in front of him, and she could admit now that what she’d said had been unforgivable). No, she’d lost all her friends when she’d joined the Telvanni; and she’d never brought herself to invite that sort of weakness (the hurt) into her life again.

The thing was, Briesis thought, that the Telvanni did not really allow for friendship, either. Not with all the competition. She’d gotten along incredibly well with Beyte, of course…but she wanted far more out of Beyte than that.

There was Aryon, she supposed, and Divayth Fyr, and Baladas Demnevanni—but none of them could ever be considered friends, not like Uleni or Ajira before them, or like Libby and Galen before them. They had come to her tower and tried to kill her. Or something. They had certainly gotten violent, even if she couldn’t remember the details.

And Alexius wasn’t like them, either. Never in a hundred years would Briesis have spoken to Master Aryon about funny-looking hats or complained about being called a knife-ear to Baladas Demnevanni. Never, not in a hundred-thousand years, would she have moaned about sleeping in some spooky old village to Divayth Fyr. They had been her superiors for the vast majority of her time in the House; she had admired them, obeyed them, tried to emulate them—and even now, a higher rank than them, when she was Greater than they had ever been or would ever be, there was still a small part of her that …embarrassingly, so embarrassingly…still looked up to them.

Alexius had been on equal footing from the start. That was surely a good thing.

But was friendship really the right word? Friendship implied mutual respect, affection. Alexius had none of that to offer, and Briesis…

It was a very stupid question, like she’d said. Hardly one worth answering. She’d known, when she’d left the Mages Guild and had turned her back on the Redoran; that friendship was a sacrifice worth making. For respect. Admiration. Awe and fear and power. To be taken seriously, for once in her life. To be spoken of with the same sheer reverence that the people of Tel Vos spoke of Master Aryon or the way the people of Tel Branora spoke of Therana, even though she was as mad as anything. No one spoke of Garisa Llethri or Miner Arobar that way. No one spoke of Athyn Sarethi that way, and he had been the best of all of them.

What was friendship, compared to that? Nothing, less than nothing.

So then what was Alexius? She tried to find the words. He was like…like a dependent. A fragile, intelligent, mildly pathetic creature who’d stumbled into her orbit and hadn’t realised how fortunate he was to remain in it. And he wouldn’t have been, Briesis thought, a little guiltily, if the Inquisiton hadn’t taken him. If she hadn’t waited in that damned cell, trying to be reasonable, trying to make nice with the Inquisition when in hindsight they had so clearly been undeserving of it. If she’d just taken him the moment she’d figured out who he was—what he could do—and left…things would be far more different.

But this would be incredibly rude to ever say out loud, and Mother (unlike Aeducan’s, apparently) had actually raised Briesis properly, and so what she said instead was:

“He’s…my responsibility.”

At the end of the day, she thought charitably, it was true. Alexius was nothing less than a retainer, like all the rest of the retainers who she allowed to inhabit Tel Uvirith and the area surrounding it. Their servitude (not that they were really servants…she just couldn’t think of a proper word for it) in exchange for her protection, her benevolent oversight, her resources, her patronage, her tolerance of their general existence, and whatever else Lords of the lands gave to their people. And if Alexius was, perhaps, more valuable than a simple alchemist or a scribe, then it was only natural she’d look out for him.

“Your responsibility?” Aeducan repeated.

“Well, obviously,” Briesis shrugged. “I mean, look at him. He’s not well. He’s a bit helpless at the moment, and so I have assumed custody—“

“Custody,” Aeducan repeated flatly, as if tasting a word she found suspiciously spongy. “Your excuse for your allegiance with the man single handedly responsible for the siege of Redcliffe and the creation of the Ocularum is that you were babysitting him?” Aeducan took a deep breath. “Girl, how stupid do you think I am?”

Briesis hesitated only a fraction of a second too long.

“Don’t answer that,” Aeducan snarled. “I’m beginning to think I already know.”

“Listen, Lady.” Briesis said finally, trying to be reasonable even if she thought Aeducan was very dim indeed. “I don’t really care. This has absolutely nothing to do with me. If this Teagan did not want to be thrown out of his house then he aught to have stood his ground. If Teagan was too weak to stop him, that’s his failing, not Alexius’s. I’d never let someone take over my tower.”

Well, she did care. Mostly she cared that Alexius had not told her of his coup-throwing ways before it had caused them issues (didn’t he trust her?) it wasn’t so bad, really. There was nothing wrong with throwing a coup now and then. So what if Alexius had moved into someone else’s holding? Everyone did it. Briesis had been forced to do the same with an old Chimer Stronghold on the shore of Lake Nabia— the Redorans she’d had to evict from the premises had taken strong offence to her presence there. And it would be hypocritical to hold a grudge towards his secret-keeping. She hadn’t exactly told him much of anything herself…had not told him about Morrowind, or even House Telvanni, though he was supposed to join their ranks…not that she would have been able too, mind—Alexius  seemed to be under the impression that “Leliana’s spies” were hiding up every tree they’d walked past, with nothing better to do than to eavesdrop on any random passerby. Or that Squawky—a very stupid bird—could secretly talk. He hadn’t let her talk about anything that wasn’t magical theory, and even that had been stretching it. He often preferred she not speak at all.

She didn’t particularly know what an Ocularum was, either, but if it was something the Inquisition hated then it was probably a good thing; and if it was something that Alexius had created, then she wanted one for herself very much indeed.

Aeducan stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. The firelight glinted off the gold of her circlet, off the polished surface of her shield. And then she reached deep into her pocket. Briesis stiffened for half-a-moment, suddenly certain the woman would withdraw a very sharp dagger that would be then be used to send her spiralling towards her next reincarnation—

But Aeducan did not draw steel.

“What,” said Aeducan slowly. “Can you tell me about this?”

Briesis stared at the pendant dangled in front of her. Much like the book, there was nothing about the necklace that would warrant an interrogation, and most certainly not the sheer loathing Aeducan held it with. It was a simple thing at first glance: a a metallic chain, and hanging from it, a round piece of bronze no larger than a coin, carved with intricate little knots, with a small turquoise stone lain neatly at it’s center.

It was a small little trinket. It was pretty. For a trinket. The enchantments were useful enough, for a healer, but they were hardly worth the trouble the amulet itself brought along. Briesis would never own it.

But she had seen it before. Many, many times. On Mother’s neck, before That Man had been brought into their lives and their home. On Ruki's and Raerek’s, the second they’d each turned sixteen. On Beyte’s, in the sweetest of Briesis’s dreams.

And that amulet of Mara had once belonged to someone who’d cared for another very, very much. Someone who had wanted another to care for them back.

No one like Aeducan had any right to touch it. No one like Aeducan should have been able to touch it—it shouldn’t even be here! The ‘Maker’ had been the only god she’d heard mention of—no one had spoken of Mara (not…not that she’d been in a situation in which someone might have invoked her. Maybe if she attended a wedding?)

Then how—

Why was it here? Where had she gotten it?

Who had she taken it from?

Someone, a little voice said, who had been trapped here, just like she… someone who had met Aeducan, in these Deep Dark roads or up above it…someone who was probably now very, very dead. How else would Aeducan have obtained it?

“Where did you get that?”

Aeducan didn’t respond.

“You took this,” Briesis said, voice like flint. “You killed them.”

“You do recognise it, then,” Aeducan breathed, eyes gleaming. “You cannot deny it now—who is Calpurnia Caerellius? Is she a member of the member of the Venatori? What are her intentions? Is she the one who taught you to summon those beasts? Is that what you really are, then? Qunari in name only—“

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Calpurnia Caerellius, damn you!”

“I have never heard that name in my entire life,” Briesis snapped. Calpurnia Caerellius could have been a banker in Ebonheart or Uriel Septim’s secret bastard daughter and she would not have known the difference. It was an Imperial name, she knew that much—but then why the amulet? Imperials did not hold Nordic marriage courtship in high regard. Was this woman from Skyrim, like she was? Had she been born there, raised there, as non-Nord as Briesis was? Or maybe she was simply in love with a Nord, and had chosen this way simply to woo her lover…

Or maybe, Briesis thought, trying desperately to shake off the unbidden and embarrassingly vivid thought of Beyte wooing her the same way, this Calpurnia was a Nord. It wasn’t unheard of…that Breton she’d met in the Census and Excise so long ago had had an Imperial name, too, and it wasn’t like Briesis was a particularly Dunmer name, either.

There was always a chance.

“You recognise the amulet,” Aeducan snarled. “Don’t you dare lie to me. You recognise, it you know what it is—and if you don’t tell me at once I will kill your Magister myself.”

Briesis swallowed her hatred. “It’s an amulet for the goddess of love.” Briesis said. “…You wear it when you’re around someone you want to marry.”

“You dare mock me? In this place?”

“I’m not mocking you!” Was this woman stupid?  “That’s literally what it is! You wear it and go, ‘hello, yes, please romance me.’ It’s a token of…being available, really. Your Calpurnia wanted to get married—it doesn’t mean much more than that. Gods, she might not even been very particular with who!”

Aeducan did not think she was lying, now—she stared at the amulet as though it had personally betrayed her. Her face twisted. “Disgusting,” she spat. “Vile. To carry something like this—to even entertain—”

The woman shuddered. She looked as though Briesis had just forced her to swallow broken glass.  Then she turned her head toward the massive, silent shape standing just behind her.

Briesis hadn’t looked at it properly before. She’d been too distracted, too caught up in everything else. But now, as Aeducan stepped aside, it loomed over her: huge and hulking, its stone body scarred and cracked, its eyes two dull glimmers in the dim. Briesis shivered despite herself.

“Say hello to Shale,” Aeducan said, calmly. She was looking at Jowan for the first time since she’d beaten him, and Briesis knew, somewhere deep down in her heart, that she had done so just to see his reaction. “Looks a bit different, doesn’t she? That was my doing—she was a bit small before, don’t you think?”

“Shale?” Jowan stared up at the golem as if seeing it for the first time. “No. It— it can’t be. She’s dead. You killed her.”

“It is,” Aeducan said quietly. “Did you think I’d let a single golem go to waste while my kingdom bleeds? Did you think Elissa would?” She smiled. “That’ll be your wife and son, soon enough.”

“You’re a monster,” Jowan whispered. “You really, truly, are.”

“I don’t care,” Adeducan said. “You know, I never really believed you when you said you didn’t know where Caerellius had gone. Thick as thieves, the two of you— do not think I do not know of your many letters to Tevinter. Arl Eamon should have executed the pair of you the second he discovered you two escaped the Circle together. But that’s okay. I can make up for it now. Elissa won’t mind, I’m sure. The only reason she let you live at all was because Caerellius stuck her neck out for you--and she’s not here now, is she? Never even responded to your letters. Not a single one.”

Briesis’s mind came to a halt. How had she not realised it sooner? Calpurnia Caerellius, whoever she was, still lived. Far, far beyond Aeducan’s reach, by the sound if it, if the damn woman was still looking for her. Obsessed, Jowan had called her. Over a woman who was long gone. But where had she gone? Was she back home, safe and sound, free of this world and of its inhabitants forever, nothing lost save for a single Amulet of Mara? Or perhaps still stranded, but safe in Tevinter; where Jowan had apparently been trying to reach her—had she trusted him with the knowledge of where she’d come from? Jowan did not seem like much of a secret-keeper…but it would not be the first time Briesis had misjudged someone. Or him. Odd, though, that he would continue to keep it here, when his wife and son were in such mortal peril…

He did not know, Briesis decided then. He would not have sent letters, if he’d known the Imperial was out of reach…not after he never received a reply.

But wherever the woman was now, it wasn’t Tamriel, Briesis thought slowly. Because she had already heard of Cousland’s and Jowan’s little Tevinter friend, hadn’t she? And a niggling feeling in her gut told her that Kader and Sigrun had a better idea of her whereabouts than Jowan himself had.

Still down here, you know. Somewhere in the Uncharted Abyss.

Aeducan had said Jowan knew nothing.

“You couldn’t possibly have executed her,” Jowan was saying scornfully. “She would’ve mopped the floor with you.”

Aeducan did not like that; Briesis half-thought she might strike him again. She took two step forwards; but she did not step into the cell.

“You know,” she said, “I was going to keep you alive. I thought maybe you’d be useful. A mage is always useful. Even one like you.” She looked him up and down. “But I think I shall be turning you over to the Warden-Commander, when he finishes speaking to the Inquisitor. I’d turn you to a golem too, you see--you know, so you could spend some time with the family—,” Briesis had never seen such an ugly sneer in her entire life “—but I figured it wasn’t worth the risk of a potential abomination running around. I’m told having boiling Lyrium poured over oneself is quite painful, and forgive me for saying so, Jowan, but you’ve always been…well, a bit soft-bellied.”

Briesis shifted slightly, chains rattling. She was becoming very tired of being chained.

“Why are you doing this?” Jowan asked, sounding helpless. “Why any of this? You don’t need to.”

It was a question Briesis had wondered herself, but by the tone of his voice she was pretty sure that Jowan meant it less as an actual question on Aeducan’s thought process on the ideal manner of golem creation and more as a plea.

Briesis did not see how any appeal would work on Aeducan—partly because she didn’t think Aeducan had a single shred of goodness inside her, and partly because Aeducan must be able to see right through this—she had, of course, just attempted a similar tactic on Briesis herself.

She was half-theorising that the reason why Aeducan was doing all this was simply to hurt Jowan; and while she knew the thought was impossibly ludicrous, the way the dwarf turned away from him to ignore him entirely once more definitely had her thinking twice.

But then she turned her back on Briesis, too.

She was back to staring at the amulet; looking faintly disgusted. She looked at it the same way Briesis might look at a mouldy piece of fruit that no one had wanted to eat.

Except Briesis would never put a mouldy piece of fruit in her waist-bag. Not when there was something as valuable as a control rod on the belt right beside it.

There had been many, many mages interested in the studies of the Dwemer. Baladas had been one, of course, Edwinna another—but it was not them Briesis was thinking of now, but a Breton scholar whose name she could not remember. He’d been a portly little man, quite fond of alcohol; and his lectures had often taken place outside the college of Winterhold and in Mother’s inn, where he would talk and talk to all his fellow mages about whatever new Dwemer claptrap had interested him over the many mugs of ale Briesis had had to serve him. Mother had been cooking the day he’d come in with a little Dwemer spider; and so she hadn’t been around to throw him out when he’d let an eleven-year-old Briesis have a go with its control rod.

Mother had burst in not long after, drawn to the sound of laughter like a vampire to blood, and, fearing a scolding, Briesis had dropped it.

The scholar hadn’t been lying when he’d told the bearded Dunmer next to him that this sort of magic was “experimental”, because the second the thing had been set loose it had set about trying to destroy everything in sight.

Briesis did not know why she’d been punished over the incident. It had hardly been her fault. Mother could have hardly expected her to fight the thing off when there were three able mages in the room, even if they were drunk. Briesis had been too busy protecting Pickles the cat while that thing shrieked (she’d had no idea they could shriek), exploded through the table, run over the bar, trampled three crates of Nordic ale, punted a man named S’drassa out a window, and bolted out the back door, never to be seen again.

Aeducan wouldn’t be half as brave, thought Briesis, if she didn’t have that golem behind her.

If Briesis made the woman drop it, somehow, maybe—

Maybe it would get loose and destroy everything in sight, like the spider had. Briesis was still chained; and while she didn’t doubt she could fry Aeducan to a crisp with both hands tied behind her back, she didn’t want to take her chances against that thing.

She would have to take the rod for herself—everything else was folly. One that would get her flattened into a Briesis-shaped pancake on the floor.

But how to do it? Unless she could somehow get close to Aeducan—

She met Jowan’s bloodied face through the cell doors.

“I imagine,” said Aeducan, clearly preparing to leave. “that the Inquisition has completed their negotiations with King Harrowmont. The Inquisitor seemed quite unhappy with you. I doubt I will see you again, Aveline. I doubt anyone will see you ever again. Anything you’d like me to tell your little Magister friend, before the end?”

“Yeah,” Briesis said grimly. “There is.”

Briesis couldn’t say what possessed her to do what she did next; if anyone had done the same to her they would have promptly ceased to exist.

But one moment Aeducan was standing over her, triumphant and repulsed in equal measure, and the next, there was a wet sound, and a gleaming strand of spit glistened across the dwarf’s cheek.

Briesis blinked. Her mouth was still half-open. Her jaw ached slightly. She had no idea how she’d worked up the saliva so fast—she’d never done something so disgusting in her whole life.

Aeducan stood frozen for about half a second. And then she did exactly what Briesis thought she would do. She unlocked the door to the cell, which slammed open, and the next thing Briesis knew, the woman was beelining toward her, practically foaming at the mouth with fury.

Reminded suddenly of what had happened to Jowan and how he might have avoided his fate; Briesis stood up.

It didn’t work.

Aeducan might have needed a step-stool to reach her face, but she did not need one to reach Briesis’s knees.

Briesis made a sound that she would deny until the end of her days—something between a gasp and an extremely girly shriek—and crumpled to the ground. Aeducan was looming over, red-faced, her eyes mad with rage, and it occurred to Briesis then that she might die in the next thirty seconds.

…If she had been anyone else.

Briesis might not have known who her real parents were, or which family she belonged to, but her ancestors—whoever they were—looked out for her all the same.

It felt as though she’d just stepped in lava. Heat licked up her feet, her legs, her spine, her neck, her scalp—through her scalp—and in that same moment Aeducan let out a sound Briesis hoped she would never hear from anyone again. The hands that had been grasping the collar of her robes disappeared; and Aeducan stumbled back, still screaming, her hands blistered and burnt as everything from Briesis’s hair to her toe was set ablaze. Briesis flung herself after her—collided with her, and the control rod tumbled out of it’s holster as the two fell. The chains caught her before she could fully collapse on top of Aeducan, yanking taut just before she hit the stone, and for a moment she hung there, awkwardly, half-draped, half-straining—the opening Aeducan seized to roll away from the heat, her skin already blistering from where the flames had kissed her, her armour scorched black across the side.

Briesis twisted, trying to press her advantage, but the shackles dug in deep. She could do little more than lurch forward on the chain like a hound on too short a leash. Her boots scraped against the floor. Her breath came hard and hot.

Aeducan had gotten away. She was shoving herself across the floor, coughing, half-blind from the smoke curling off Briesis’s tunic, hand slapping at the scorched stone until her fingers found the lip of the cell threshold. Briesis watched helplessly as the dwarf crawled through it, staggered upright, and stumbled forward—right into the golem.

Briesis had never been one to think height was intimidating. Some of the most murderous people she’d ever met had been under five feet tall, and she herself stood, on a good day, at a generous average. But she’d seemed to forgotten how to breathe. Or how to blink.

Maybe it wasn’t the height. There were a lot of things to be intimidated by. Like how it was made of stone, or how it had once been a person of flesh and blood just like she, or the way its eyes glowed, or perhaps the way its shoulders were nearly too wide to fit through the cell door.

Or maybe it was the way its head turned slightly, locking onto the nearest source of movement.

The golem hadn’t moved from the spot Aeducan had left it in, not in all the time she’d been here. But when her boot scuffed against the floor, when she lurched into its shadow, when her ragged breath hissed through the still air…the golem’s head turned straight to her.

“No,” Aeducan said, voice high. “No, Shale, please—“

The golem took one thudding step forward. Its arm creaked as it rose.

“Shale!” Aeducan shouted, stumbling backward so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. Her hand went to her belt—but it came away empty. Her eyes darted to the floor of the cell, where the rod had landed, far closer to the still-alight Briesis than to her. Briesis saw her gulp, saw her backing up with a panicked shuffle, her burnt hands shaking. “Don’t you dare—I rescued you from Bownammar! I saved your life! I—Shale!”

The golem had taken another step. There was only one thing left to do. Aeducan turned—and ran.

She did not get far. She’d barely taken all of three steps before the golem thundered after her. There was a horrible scream; and Aeducan vanished beneath Shale’s heel with a noise that sounded like meat being pulverised beneath a butcher’s hammer. Blood spread quickly in an uneven starburst from beneath the golem’s foot.

Breisis was too stunned to speak. The only sound in the cell was the faint drip drip drip of blood winding down the grooves in the stone, and the dull clink of her own chains swaying slightly as she crouched, frozen, unsure whether to move or breathe or simply sink into the floor and cease existing. This was awful. Very awful. She had not wanted this.

She was certain Aeducan was dead; but it was only when the golem lifted its foot with a very terrible noise that she finally caught a glimpse of what remained of the dwarf.

Briesis felt her spine try to crawl out of her body. It was the foulest thing she had ever seen. What was left of Aeducan was not a person anymore. Not really. More of a… suggestion of a person, buried beneath Shale’s massive stone foot. One arm was flung out at an impossible angle, fingers twitching faintly, scraping against the floor in some miserable, final act of will. She should have been dead. She looked dead. But—

Briesis gagged again and clamped her mouth shut with a shackled hand, breathing through her nose.

Would the thing attack them too? The rod was still lying where it had fallen, inert. Briesis didn’t even know if picking it up now would help—or if it would simply turn its rage on the next poor fool who dared—

“Shale?”

Briesis shot Jowan a wild look. Was he mad?

Jowan stood up slowly. Still weak, still barely able to walk, he lifted his hands in what Briesis could only assume he thought was a calming gesture. “Shale,” he said again, a bit firmer now. “It’s me. Jowan. We— we travelled together. With the Warden.”

He was mad. Absolutely, irredeemably mad. Briesis’s mouth opened in horror. She might have told him so then and there if her jaw hadn’t chosen that exact moment to forget how to work.

The golem’s head turned with a long, grinding creack. Its glowing gem-eyes swept down toward him. Briesis flinched, preparing herself for another terrible squelch.

It didn’t come. The golem stayed where it was, and while she couldn’t exactly say that it had readable body language, something told her it was very pleased with itself indeed.

“Disappointment. Coward. Proof of the Warden’s terrible taste in companions. Yes.”

It could talk? It could talk?! This was not mentioned. This had not come up. No one had said a single word about—

“You remember me,” Jowan said, breath hitching slightly in relief. “Maker—Shale, it’s been years, I thought you were—“

“Yes,” the golem rumbled. “Years. Indeed.”

It didn’t sound pleased. It didn’t sound anything but deeply, personally inconvenienced. It eyed Jowan beadily.

“I disliked you.” It said.

Jowan looked nervous. Briesis thought he, too, might be wondering if he would end up like Aeducan. It was a long pause before he spoke again. “Er. Yes. You…you did.” He took a deep breath. “I—I know things have changed. I know we have never gotten along. But we’re not your enemies. Please. We need help.”

Briesis opened her mouth, then close it again. She couldn’t believe she was letting Jowan take the lead. Could not believe that he, of all people, was having a conversation that had reduced a woman to paste.

She had no intention of stopping him. If Jowan already had a rapport with the thing, it was only logical that she let him handle the negotiations. Besides, she’d been doing all the heavy lifting since those Red Templars had crossed their paths—it was about time he contributed. She didn’t want to talk to the murder-statue herself.

“It is pathetic,” the golem said, which Briesis took as a bad sign. “This is precisely what is wrong with flesh creatures. Always needing things. Always whining.” Briesis cast a glance at Jowan, alarmed; but he didn’t seem too put off by this. In fact, he looked as though he was very much used to it.

“Shale,” he said again. “We need to find our…our friends. The Anvil—the dwarves are still using it, aren’t they? They’re still making golems. We need to find it. Destroy it. Like—“ he hesitated, then braved on, desperate. “—Like Caridin wanted.”

Briesis stared at him, then the golem, then the crushed smear that had recently been Aeducan, then back again. She didn’t know what in Oblivion he was talking about, but she was hoping whatever lunacy Jowan was operating on, it was contagious, because otherwise they were all going to die.

“If you could just—just take us back to Bownammar—“

“It will not find the Anvil in Bownammar,” Shale rumbled. “It will not find its companions in Bownammar. This one,” it nudged the bloodied lump of Aeducan with its toe, eliciting a muffle groan that Briesis absolutely did not hear. “Has had brought it here.”

“Oh! Here in Orzammar? That’s brilli-“ He stopped himself, perhaps figuring it was probably best to assume Shale did not want to hear the words ‘brilliant’ right now. “Right. Yes, of course. That makes sense. Do you know where it is, then?”

“I do,” Shale said.

“And—and you’ll help us?”

Shale did not respond. She took two angry-sounding steps forward—each one made Briesis twitch involuntarily—and, with some effort, squeezed into the cell, raising one massive hand. Briesis pressed herself flat to the floor, expecting a crunch, a scream, another shower of viscera—

There was a sudden, loud crack, and the very much alive and unflattened Jowan’s chained shattered like glass. He yelped and yanked his hands away—the golem had nearly taken them too.

“I will.” Shale said smugly. “You may repay me by destroying the Anvil. And any flesh creature that crosses our path.”

Then she rounded on Briesis.

Briesis flinched. She didn’t mean to. She knew the golem had said it wouldn’t hurt them. Had spoken, even, with a strange sort of gruff civility. But she couldn’t help it. That broad, cracked palm could have crushed a man’s skull like an egg. It had nothing to do with being a wuss, like Libby liked to say. She would’ve flinched too, Briesis was pretty certain, and even if she didn’t—well, everyone knew Libby was crazy, and the opinions of crazy people were wrong.

“Do not move,” Shale said. “I am precise.”

For some reason, this didn’t help. She tried not to squeeze her eyes shut as the golem lifted one heavy hand, determined to keep her dignity even if death (or squashed hands) were at hand—

CRACK.

The chains snapped apart like brittle sticks, and Briesi’s hands were free once more. She brought her hands to her chest in a flash; the metal remains of the gauntlets burst across the room.

“I…” She cleared her throat, feeling rather breathless. “Thank you.”

Shale said nothing.

Briesis gave the control rod a wide berth as she left the cell—something told her there was a chance she would be turned into fine dark elf purée should she attempt to grab it under Shale’s watchful eyes—and made her way over to the puddle of Aeducan, trying very hard not to look at it.

The amulet of Mara was lying just beneath Aeducan’s hand.  Briesis bent down carefully, reaching for it—and jumped back with a squeak as Shale gave the dwarf another sharp, vindictive kick. Briesis heard her moan faintly through bloodied lips, her hand twitching feebly.

Oh, gods. She was still alive.

“Maker’s breath,” Jowan muttered faintly, staring down in abject horror.

“I am sorry,” Shale said, sounding distinctly unapologetic. “Did I frighten it?”

“No,” Briesis lied immediately, drawing herself up as regally as she could manage while covered in dirt. All the same, she gave the golem a respectfully wide berth (especially its huge, bloodstained foot) as she inched closer to Aeducan again. She was breathing, shallowly, raggedly, one eye barely open and staring at nothing.

It was, Briesis reflected uneasily, remarkable she could manage even that. With a shudder, she snatched up the amulet and stepped away. She tried not to think of what she had just done. Tried not to think at all, really, because thinking about how Aeducan still alive would mean thinking about what that felt like, and—

“Let’s go,” Jowan said grimly. There was a smashing noise from Briesis’s cell—Shale had just smashed her control rod to pieces. “Before the dwarves come.”

Briesis did not glance at Aeducan again as she followed the others to the gate. There was nothing she could do for the dwarf, even if she’d wanted to. She couldn’t put her out of her misery—she was certain Shale would take offence; and it wasn’t as though she could heal her, either. The dwarf was a danger. She would have tried to attack them again. She would have gone on to hurt others.  It was better this way. They had nothing to fear from Aeducan again. Only magic could possibly save her.

And the Dwarves had none.

Chapter Text

Orzammar was beautiful. More beautiful than any dwarven city Briesis had ever seen before. And even though this wasn’t a particularly difficult task to accomplish, given Brieisis had only ever known them as ruins and Nerevar’s memories were long-since faded, she was sure that not even Blackreach at its height could have compared to this.

It would have been nice, she thought, to have had a look around without the threat of murder to contend with, but one had to take their aesthetic pleasures wherever they could find them.

In hindsight, Briesis could admit that what had happened after they’d escaped should not have come as a surprise to anyone. There hadn’t been any guardsmen in the prison, after all, and so logic dictated that they must therefore be outside of it, unless this happened to be the only prison in the whole world with no guards to guard it.

It wasn’t.

Briesis suspected Aeducan might have thrown the guardsmen out when she’d come to interrogate them, because there had been quite a few of them lounging around on the steps outside, waiting, presumably, to be let back in. Guards who had looked up and been none to pleased to see them instead. 

It was hard to say who’d attacked first. Briesis was quite certain Shale had been lifting her great big rock-feet over the dwarves before they’d even managed to scramble to their feet, but Shale insisted (loudly, and while pulverising a guardswoman into the cobblestones) that she had been “provoked.”

Briesis only wished they'd been quicker about the whole thing. Maybe then the guards would not have had time to shout. Briesis had already given up on the idea of sneaking off under the cover of night (or whatever passed for “night” in a place where no daylight existed), but she'd been harbouring a thin, fragile hope that they might at least make it out of the immediate vicinity before they were noticed.

But by the time Shale’s bloodstained rock-feet had been removed from the guards below them, the windows above them were flickering to life as probably-very-annoyed dwarves lit their lanterns and peered out their windows, determined to find exactly who had just woken them up.

“Hurry!” Briesis hissed, grabbing Jowan's arm and hauling him toward the nearest alleyway.

But it was already too late.

“Murder!” Came the first shriek from a window three levels up. “Murder in the streets!”

This was followed shortly after by a second shriek, and then a third, and then by the ringing of bells.

The dwarves had sounded the alarm.

The first patrol came thundering around the corner not thirty seconds later. The lighting bolt that arced from her fingertips and sent them flying backwards into a merchant’s stall was, she felt, rather spectacular indeed.

If Briesis had been in their place, she never would have dared. The roads of Orzammar were not as narrow as those of the Deep Roads—there was no surface on which a spell might ricochet back to its caster, no ceiling that might collapse. And worse, much worse (for them), there was no need to fear to collateral damage. Jowan would not run headlong into a spell trying to bludgeon someone to death like a Legionnaire might have, because he was a mage, and mages knew better than to do such things. (The same could not be said for Shale, who flung herself in the path of a Shockball lobbed at a dwarf on her way to pummel another—but given the way she’d promptly shrugged it off Briesis half-suspected the golem was as immune to magic as stone itself was. )

There was no one to protect, now. There were no innocent bystanders to be concerned about. Sensible dwarves, she reasoned, would hear the word “murder”, the alarm bells, and promptly barricade themselves indoors until someone official came by to inform them that it was safe to step outside. If they weren’t indoors, well, that was really their own fault for being outdoors during a prison break, wasn’t it? Personal responsibility and all that. She’d already completed her civic duty by keeping the fighting to the streets where it belonged.

The point was, Briesis did not have to be careful. She could cast whatever spells she wanted, and no one who didn’t deserve it would get hurt.

Surely.

But even as the guards fell—some burning, some twitching, some simply still—Briesis knew the truth: every second they wasted on these dwarves was a second Alexius drew nearer to death.

Dwarves were not stupid—well, maybe these ones were, because it was really, really hard to imagine Kagrenac blundering into death the same way Aeducan had done—and they had the advantage. Even if Briesis was somehow strong enough to take down an entire city guard on her own, would it be worth it? It would take a very long time…long enough that Branka might finish with Alexius, might finish with Lily and the boy, too. Might have time to come up with other silly ideas like holding them hostage, or evacuating, or doing whatever it was that dwarves did when they wanted to make someone’s life difficult.

Jowan, too, was more concerned with finding his family than he was in fighting dwarves, and so by the time the dwarves they ran into on their way through the city began to flee instead of fight, neither mage bothered to so much as glance in their directions. Briesis suspected that Shale wasn’t particularly pleased with this decision, but she followed them all the same, making all sort of groaning noises that had her wondering if the golem was only just annoyed or also badly in need of some oil.

By the time they’d climbed the seventeen flights of stairs that separated the prison (which had, of course, been located in one of the less fashionable neighborhoods) from what Jowan called the Diamond Quarter, she was beginning to think that’d been a mistake. The dwarves had found reinforcements. Dozens of them, perhaps hundreds, gathered like ants whose hill had been kicked, pouring out from barracks and guard posts and anywhere else dwarves kept armed and angry citizens. There were the city guard, of course, though they were now accompanied by members of the Legion, another group of armoured men and women that had Jowan whispering warrior caste into her ear, and about three-dozen golems that made Shale look a bit like a garden ornament.

…Briesis had always prided herself on being a reasonable person. She recycled her spell components, she said please and thank you to shopkeepers even when they overcharged her for reagents, and she generally tried not to set people on fire unless they really, truly deserved it. But Briesis liked to think she was the practical sort, too. She liked to think she'd toughened up from the milk-drinking snowback everyone in Winterhold had said she was. That all those years had filed away the soft edges, had transformed her from someone who flinched from violence into someone who could commit it.  And wasn't that what being Archmagister was about, really? Protecting one's people? Making the hard choices? Seventeen flights of stairs was an uncomfortably short distance when that gap was being closed by heavily armed individuals who wanted you dead. The golems alone must outweigh them by what Briesis estimated to be roughly the same amount as a troll to a butterfly.

And when they caught up…

If the guards  followed them inside, they would be cornered. They would have to fight their way through whatever defences Branka might have erected while holding off an army at their backs. And what if Alexius was injured, or bound, or unconscious? What if they had to carry him?

That was assuming Branka didn’t hear the commotion and decide to cut her losses and cut Alexius’s throat before they even reached him. She could already see herself bursting into the room to find him already dead, his blood still warm, while guards poured in behind them with nowhere left to run.

Briesis was certain she, at least, could escape unharmed, but…

But everyone else would die.

What would Divayth Fyr do?

The answer was obvious.

Briesis raised a hand.

“Aveline, no!”

A cold, sweaty hand clamped over her wrist and jerked it upwards violently, and the gathering spell was flung skyward in a brilliant arc that painted the whole city in shades of orange and red.

It was really quite pretty, Briesis thought distantly. Rather like a sunset.

Then it hit the ceiling.

The sound was so loud Briesis recoiled on instinct, hands flying to her ears entirely too late to do anything. This was followed by a sudden blast of heat—Briesis felt as though she’d just opened an oven, felt sweat break out across her forehead and back, felt the sudden desperate urge to throw herself to the ground and cover her head—and a brilliant flash of light that she could see even through squeezed eyes.

And then there was nothing.

Briesis straightened slowly, hands falling from her ears. The dwarves had frozen mid-charge, weapons half-raised, faces turned upward toward the ceiling with expressions of dawning horror. Jowan stood beside her, chest heaving, his mouth gaping open. His sweaty hand was still wrapped around her wrist—Briesis fought the undoubtedly rude urge to rip it off.

High above them, she could see, the stone had been scorched in some places, still glowing in others—though this was already begin to fade from a red into a rather angry orange.

Briesis felt something unknot in her chest. They were fine. Everything was fine. Even the dwarves had stopped in their tracks, from the young guard to the left gripping his weapon to the older dwarf who’d positioned himself protectively in front him—perhaps, Briesis thought with desperate, fragile hope, they would be too afraid to attack again, and she and Jowan could just go—

Crack.

The blood in her veins turned to ice; she rounded on Jowan, saw her panic mirrored in his own face, and knew, with perfectly clarity, what was about to happen.

“Run,” Jowan croaked. “Run!”

Briesis wasn’t sure how Jowan managed to be faster than her even when then the ground was shaking beneath their feet, because by all accounts he seemed to be rather unfit; but they were both still slower than Shale, who rushed ahead and only narrowly avoided being crushed by a boulder her own size that cratered into the street two feet beside her.

It was two more flights of stairs before they reached House Branka’s estate. Shale hit the door at a full sprint, shoulder first, and crashed through it as though it were made of paper. They threw themselves in after her, nearly tripping in their haste, and whirled around to reach for the door.

That's when she saw it.

A large section of the ceiling—and by large she meant approximately thirty feet across—detached itself from above with a grinding shriek, and began to plummet toward the ground.

When Briesis was younger, Mother had had a tendency to usher her out the door and tell her to spend some time “socialising” with “your friends”. Briesis would invariably wander down to the shore, and there she would spend several peaceful hours being decidedly unsociable. The shore was peaceful. The shore had interesting shells and occasionally dead things washed up that could be poked with sticks. The shore let her practice magic undisturbed. The shore did not call her names or pull her hair or engage in any of the delightful pastimes that "your friends" seemed to consider appropriate entertainment.

Of course, getting to the shore was never quite as simple as just walking there. When the weather was mild, and the wind was not biting, there were…obstacles. Svari might goad her into a game of tag. Fruki might challenge her to hide and seek. Hilguld and his friends would throw snowballs at her, and of course she could not let that indignity slide without a handful of snowballs of her own—and if she spent all evening engaging in these frivolities then that was only the price to pay for victory. And if Mother made her something nice to drink after Vestrek’s games of “kill the elf” or"knife-ears says what" and spoke angrily about speaking to his mother, then perhaps it was worth practicing waterwalking spells another day. A colder day, when all the children were indoors, the adults were three cups deep in mead, and Mother's attention was being occupied by That Man.

But even on these days there were dangers. Tysvald and his mother might be bringing in the goats before the snow fell, and they would tell her that she should not be out in this weather, that the sabre-cats had not had a proper meal all season and unless she wanted that to change she should return home and have something warm to eat, or Fjola the Elder would tell her the coat Mother had painstakingly knitted for her was not nearly warm enough, all because it was a little old, and insist she take her cloak too. Or worst of all, she would make it to the shore, and there Gunding would be mending nets and promptly insist that a little girl shouldn't be wandering about by herself when the tide was coming in and did her mother even know where she was?

The worst of these diversions came one Midyear day. Briesis had been woken up early in the morning by hammering on the door. She'd buried her head under her pillow, confident that Mother would send them away. Mother had not sent them away. Mother had made her get it, and there Briesis had found Vestrek and all the others waiting for her outside. If Briesis had had her way, she would have slammed the doors in their faces before another game of Hunt The Elf could commence, but Mother had materialised right behind her before she’d had half a chance. And even though Briesis tried to explain that That Man had promised her that he would teach her to play Cross Stones that day, she had still made Briesis put on her coat and her stupid wooly hat while the Nord boys and girls pressed their snotty faces against the windows and laughed.

But wasn’t Hunt the Elf they played that day.

She and the others had followed Vestrek and Tysvald up to the cliffs, far from the prying eyes of any adult that might’ve ruined their fun, and engaged in one of the boy’s favourite hobbies: throwing rocks of cliffs.

This was, apparently, proper entertainment. Nordic children's games were not complicated. You found something heavy. You threw it. If something broke, you'd had a good day.

It was also a competition. Everything was a competition when you were ten. Who could throw the biggest stone? Who could make the biggest splash? Who could throw the stone that made the most impressive sound when it hit the water below?

Briesis had never won at these—indeed, the only person who ever did win had been Vestrek, who not only had the dubious honour of being built like an ox, but had, as the inventor of the game, reserved the exclusive right to change the rules at any given moment. If his rock made a smaller splash than someone else's, well, actually, the rule today was that the smallest splash won, because it showed superior precision. If his rock didn't fly as far, well, actually distance didn't matter—what mattered was rotation, and his rock had clearly rotated more times in the air. If someone pointed out that his rock had barely rotated at all, well, actually they were just poor sports who didn't understand the game.

They’d spent about twenty minutes throwing progressively large stones off the cliffside (though the biggest Briesis could manage without giving herself a hernia had only been about the size of her head), when Tysvald (who, looking back, had probably been the stupidest of them) had spotted a snow-covered boulder, and had had…an idea.

That the boulder had, at the time, still been a part of the cliff had been a rather unimportant detail when faced with the amount of fun he thought it could provide.

And because they were children, and children were idiots, they'd helped him. Briesis included. Six pairs of hands had grabbed that rock. Six pairs of hands had pried it loose from the ground. Six children had shuffled awkwardly toward the cliff edge, grunting and complaining and nearly dropping it at least four times. Six children had stood at the very edge, swaying dangerously, while Tysvald counted down from three.

Six children had heard the splintering crash. Then they’d heard the shouting. Very loud, very angry shouting, of the sort that suggested someone was suddenly having a very bad day and wanted everyone in a three-mile radius to know about it.

They'd all later agreed that they probably should looked over the edge first. Made sure there hadn’t been some rubbishy little fishing boat moored down below. Made sure, at least, that the fisherman it belonged to hadn’t been around to witness their crime—though Vestrek had declared that it wouldn’t have mattered even if they had seen him, because Gunnar was so bearded and so large they would have only mistaken him for a horker.

As things were, six children peered over the edge to see what had happened, and had been met with the sight of one ruined boat and one very wet, very angry fisherman, who had spotted them and shouted obscenities in their general direction, making gestures that even a ten-year-old Briesis had understood were probably not complimentary.

They’d made a run for it. Obviously. They’d known it wouldn’t be enough. Gunnar knew whose cliffs those were. He knew which children played there. And his boat had been expensive.

And they’d been hauled before the Jarl before noon.

They had not gotten in trouble. Briesis suspected that this was because Steidor had been with them, and the Jarl had been so pleased his milk-drinking son had done something so properly Nordic that he hadn’t the heart to punish those who had encouraged him. Not himself, anyway—the decision, he said, would fall to their parents. And though Briesis knew that Hilgurd’’s parents had thumped each other on the back and called the fisherman who’d complained a Cow-Chucking Skeever-Skat Snowback and then surprised their son with a conspicuously expensive new bow for his name day three weeks later, she’d seen Vestrek's bruised face while she’d mucked out the chicken-coop, and known that his parents had been angrier than even hers.

But worse than the punishment, worse than the work, worse than Gunnar’s terrible vengeance (which had manifested mainly in the form of him throwing fish guts at them whenever they passed), were the nightmares.

She'd dreamed she was a boat.

A lovely little boat, she thought, probably the prettiest boat that had ever existed, with a fresh coat of paint and everything, small and innocent and bobbing gently in the water, minding her own business, thinking boat thoughts (which mainly consisted of "I hope nobody makes any holes in me" and "I do enjoy floating”), when suddenly there would be a shadow, and she would look up, and there would be a rock. She’d try to sail away but she had no sails. She’d try to scream but boats had no mouths, and the rock would get larger, and larger, until—

The crash was so loud that Briesis's ears popped.

The entire building shook, and the door, despite their best efforts at slamming it shut, bucked inward with such force that it tore clean off its hinges and went skittering across the entrance hall, taking Shale along with it, and the tremor that followed knocked Briesis clean off her feet. For several long seconds Briesis could do nothing but lie there, pressed flat against cold marble, while dust poured into the now doorless building.

It suddenly became very hard to breathe. She scrabbled for purchase on the floor, coughing, trying to push herself up, and her hand came down on something that was definitely not stone.

It was, in fact, rather sticky. And when she squinted at it in disgust, she found that it was rather red, too.

Blood.

"Jowan?" she croaked, then coughed violently. "Jowan, are you—"

There was an answering groan, low and pained.

And there, a few feet away, was a person-shaped lump on the floor.

"Jowan," Briesis croaked, and started crawling. Until her outstretched hand hit fabric. She grabbed it—robes, she thought, Jowan's robes—and pulled.

“I’m fine,” came a wheeze from somewhere in the dust cloud, slightly muffled and thoroughly annoyed. "I'm fine, get off, you're kneeling on my stomach."

Briesis scrambled backwards. "But the blood—"

"What blood?"

"I felt blood. On the floor."

“I’m fine,” Jowan repeated, though now that the dust was clearing she could see that this was untrue. If she’d thought Jowan might puke down in the dungeons, it was nothing compared to what he looked like now. His face was going through several interesting colors. It had started at its normal pale-but-healthy hue, progressed through "oh no" white, briefly touched on "I might be sick" green, and was now settling into a sort of horrified grey that Briesis had never seen on a living person before. His hands were also shaking, his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, and Briesis realized with some alarm that he might actually be having some sort of attack.

She should probably do something about that. But what? She could count on one hand how many times she'd been comforted in her entire life by anyone who wasn't Mother. And she didn't quite think Mother's tactics would be very useful right now. Jowan was practically a stranger--Briesis could not very well go around hugging him. And this didn't seem like the time to go around making him homemade sweetrolls. The proper thing to do, Briesis figured, was to pretend Jowan was Libby or Ienas, or someone that Briesis would know how comfort--but Libby might have drowned her if Briesis ever implied she was weak enough to be ever in need of comforting, and she didn’t think Jowan would appreciate her rendition of Saryoni's Sermons the way Ienas had.

Maybe she could pat his shoulder? People did that, didn't they? Shoulder-patting was a thing. Briesis raised her hand, hesitated, and then sort of... hovered it awkwardly near Jowan's shoulder without actually making contact. This felt safer than actual touching, which might startle him into vomiting, which would be unpleasant for everyone involved.

But this didn’t seem to help.

Right. Actual contact, then. Feeling quite awkward, Briesis lowered her hand to his shoulder and gave it what she hoped was a reassuring pat.

Jowan flinched so hard he nearly toppled to the ground.

She snatched her hand back. This was ridiculous. She'd just saved them. Saved all of them from a unreasonable attempt at murder by the entirely unreasonable dwarven guard. The guard who, it bore mentioning, had been perfectly happy to lock them in prison and let Aeducan do whatever she'd liked to them. Who would have cheerfully executed them come morning, probably without even the courtesy of a last meal. Not just them, either. They had been murdering, Jowan said, for the last decade. Had nearly started a war. And really, if they were so in love with their golem-making ways that they'd poured out of their buildings by the hundreds to make sure that a ten-year old boy and a Tranquil could be put to death, then, well, maybe they deserved to die. If he wanted to flinch away from a simple, well-intentioned pat on the shoulder, then that was really more his problem than hers. The fireball had been his fault anyway, grabbing her hand like that, ruining her aim. If he'd just let her kill the guards properly, none of this would have happened. If anything, he ought to be grateful she wasn't trying to stab him. She could be doing that. She had every right to be doing that. One might argue that she would be justified in doing much more than that. Branka would have had to be deaf not to hear this.

“I didn't—" he started, then stopped. "I wasn't trying to—" He stopped again. His throat worked. "We just killed—"

"It was self-defense," Briesis said, and it sounded colder than she'd intended. They did have self-defense in this world, didn't they? Surely they couldn't expect anyone to lie down and accept death, could they? “They would have seen us dead. Anyway, I bet nothing even really happened. There was plenty of warning, you know, and all the houses here are made of stone. I bet only a few people got hurt. At best.”

Divayth Fyr would have done it. He would’ve. 

And really, Jowan should  be a little afraid of her. She was, when all was said and done, probably the most naturally gifted mage he'd ever meet in his whole life. She had killed that behemoth quite handily, destroyed those darkspawn in the Deep Roads. She had just melted the roof of an underground city that had probably been standing there for hundres of years, right in front of him, and she was not stupid enough to believe that everyone could've escaped unscathed…especially not when she could still hear the cave-in was still ongoing. Fear was only natural. Reasonable. Appropriate, even. Fear was respect, wasn't it? And respect was what powerful mages deserved. The fact that Jowan seemed to recognize this was only proper…though she rather wished he'd do it with a bit more fervent admiration and a bit less obvious terror.

Briesis sat back on her heels, wiped her bloody hand on her robes—they were already ruined anyway—and tried to think of something appropriate to say.

That was when she heard the shuffling.

Briesis and Jowan's eyes met. Slowly, very slowly, they turned toward the sound.

The thing that emerged from the darkness had once been a dwarf. Now it was dead. Dead and still walking, even though its skin had gone greyer than Jowan’s and the foot was twisted at an angle that would have been crippling if the thing could still feel pain. It was also, Briesis realised, heart sinking, the source of the blood.

Necromancy.

The creature took another shuffling step forward. Then another. Its head tilted to one, and those terrible glowing eyes met Briesis's own. And then it smiled. It shouldn’t have been able to smile. Briesis had never seen an undead smile before, not bonewalker a or a bonelord, nor indeed even her own ancestors, and found herself fervently wishing she had continued to have never witnessed it, because the result was a rictus grin that showed far too many teeth and made Briesis's skin try to crawl off her body and find somewhere safer to be.

Kill it, she thought. Kill it now.

But she couldn't seem to make her limbs cooperate. It was as though her body had decided, quite independently of her brain, that moving was too much effort and standing very still was a much better option.

Look at me, those eyes seemed to say. Look at me and understand.

The world began to blur at the edges, and everything started to feel very far away. There was a rushing sound in her ears, like wind through trees, like water over stone. Like a thousand voices all saying the same thing in a language she almost understood.

Come here. Come closer. You want to come closer. You want to do what I say.

She did want to. Wanted to please. Wanted to do exactly what that voice told her to do, because surely something that sounded so warm, so approving, so pleased with her couldn't possibly want anything bad. Why had she ever thought of fleeing? She could see what lied behind this undead creature now, if she stared into its eyes long enough. A woman. The most beautiful woman, tall and curved, and Briesis found that even those horns or that tail barely detracted from this. This was probably, she thought dimly, because this Daedra (and what else could it be), wore hardly any clothing at all, and her eyes—her real eyes—were dark and fathomless and filled with something that made Briesis's breath catch in her throat.

And Briesis's feet, acting entirely without her permission, began to move forward.  She was vaguely aware of Jowan moving beside her, matching her pace exactly, both of them drawn forward like moths to a flame.

That’s right, said the voice-that-wasn't-a-voice. Come to me. Serve me. You have no other purpose now. No other will but mine. You’ve been so good, opening that door for us. Such a clever girl. I shall make good use of you.

And then she remembered herself. How dare they. How dare they try to worm their way into her mind, to pick through her thoughts like they had any right to them, to use her own wants and fears against her as though she were some simpering fool who couldn't tell the difference between her own desires and magical manipulation.

She was a mage.

And she had had quite enough of this nonsense.

The lightning came without conscious thought, crackling from her fingertips in a brilliant white-blue arc that tmight have blinded anyone else. It hit the lead corpse square in the chest—or what remained of its chest—and for one perfect instant, Briesis saw the demon beneath. Saw it clearly, without any glamour or illusion, all horns and too-long limbs and that perfect, terrible face twisted in surprise.

Then it exploded.

Jowan collapsed beside her.

“Get up,” she snapped at him.  She grabbed his arm with her free hand and hauled him upright, probably harder than was strictly necessary but she was still furious and could not be held responsible for her grip strength. “Get up.”

"Wha—what—" He blinked rapidly, looking around the entrance hall as though seeing it for the first time. His gaze landed on the smoking remains of the corpses, and his face went a peculiar shade of green. "Did I—did we—"

"You were compromised," Briesis snarled, still gripping his shoulders. “That thing. What was it? I thought dwarves couldn’t cast magic.”

"They can't," Jowan said quickly. "You're right, they can’t, but—“ he swallowed. "Alim. He’s a mage.”

Briesis looked at him—really looked at him—and saw a man who was barely holding himself together. His hands were trembling. His face was pale. His eyes kept darting around the entrance hall as though expecting more corpses to shuffle out of the shadows. He was, she realized with sinking clarity, completely and utterly useless. It didn't even matter, suddenly, that his spells were marginally usefull or that no one in Tamriel knew magic like that--if she brought him or his magic with him every other mage in Morrowind would point and laugh at her simply by association.

Not to mention his son was a necromancer. And a summoner. 

A summoner? Or worse. 

--but I figured it wasn’t worth the risk of a potential abomination running around.

An abomination, said Alexius, is a mage that has been overtaken by a demon.

"Right," she said, making a decision. "You stay here."

"What?"

"Stay. Here." She enunciated each word clearly, as though speaking to a child. "I'm going to go find Alexius. You guard the entrance. If anything else tries to come through that door, set it on fire. If any of these things try to leave, set them on fire.”

"You're leaving me?" The panic in Jowan's voice was almost comical. Almost.

"Yes."

"But what if there are more demons? What if the ceiling caves in? What if—"

"Then die quietly and try not to make too much mess," Briesis snapped. She was already moving toward the darkened corridor the first demon had emerged from, staff held ready. "I'll be back. Probably. Shale, with me, if you'd please…"

“Aveline—“

But she was done listening.  She'd had quite enough of Jowan's panic, quite enough of the undead, or dwarves, or half-rate Daedra and quite enough of this entire cursed city. She was going to find Alexius, she was going to get out of here, and she was going to do it alone because apparently that was the only way anything ever got done properly. And if Jowan made to follow, his face contorting in fury, saying things like "my son" or "my wife"…well, a command spell took care of that.