Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She was running.

Running without a care in the world, with the salty sea breeze in her hair and the sun above her.

Running as fast as she could, expertly weaving her way through the merchants peddling their wares, and the hustle and bustle of people.  

A young girl’s laughter echoed, drowning out the muffled chatter around her. As soon as she heard it, she changed course, making her way in the direction of the sound. She nearly knocked over a fishmonger’s cart in the process, but it didn’t matter.

She found herself in an alleyway, making a beeline towards the source of that laughter. Sure enough, it echoed again, this time louder and clearer. In the back of her mind, she noticed the further she made her pursuit, the darker and colder her surroundings became.

By the time she reached the end of her road, the alley was pitch black, and the once pleasant weather was now harshly freezing. The laughter that she had been chasing all this time had ceased. In fact, so did all the sounds she had been hearing up to that point. If she took one step further, the cobblestone beneath her feet would give way to grass, and day would turn to night.

She took that step into the moonlit garden. As soon as she did, she was enveloped in a torrent of snow. Around her were the sounds of shattering ice and harsh howling winds. She braced herself, supporting her weight on her front leg and holding her arm in front of her face. But it did little to keep the blizzard at bay. The same voice she had been pursuing rang out once again, except its laughter was now replaced with anguished, terrified screams.

She methodically held out her right hand, and her staff materialized. She narrowed her eyes, trying her best to see through the thick, snowy winds for her assailant. Sure enough, she could make out a faint human-shaped outline to her left. She moved her free hand towards her target, and flames shot forth, setting the demon ablaze. Its screams intensified, and it began jumping from place to place at breakneck speed.

"¡Ayúdame!"

She brandished her staff, and more flames shot from the pommel, further incinerating the demon as the storm swirled around them. Now, it was stopped in its tracks, giving her an opportunity to vanquish it.

"¡Ayúdame!"

Her gaze was fixed upon the demon as she assaulted it with balls of fire. It held its arms upward, flailing about like a drowning man treading water.

"¡AYÚDAME!"

The demon let out a final, high-pitched scream as the flames finally devoured it. The winds had settled, and the snow and mist had given way to a locked room with boxes and sacks as far as the eye could see. Behind her, she could hear screams, some in anger, some in pain, metal clashing with metal, and the squelching of blades through flesh.

“Help…”

On the other side of the room, a figure clad in white laid face-down. It lifted its head to look at her, its eyes desperate and its hand outstretched.

“Please… I beg of you. Help me…”

She began to walk towards the demon. Her pace was unusually slow, as though she were making her way through a bog. The sounds of war in the background continued behind her, but she paid them no heed.

“I can’t.”

She held her staff such that the blade pointed at its upper body and raised it as high above her head as she was able, preparing to strike.

“I’m of no help to anyone.”

She coldly thrust the blade downwards, where she presumed its heart would be, if it were human. The demon then shattered, as though it were made of glass, and a burst of green came forth.

Before she could attempt to shield herself from that blinding green light, it assaulted her with full force. She was flung backward, her body hitting the walls of the tower with a thud…

… and she let out a cry as a stabbing, electrocuting pain coursed through the bright green mark on her left hand. That pain, that very real pain, jolted her out of The Fade and brought her back to reality. The reality that she was imprisoned in a dank, dark room Maker knows where, with swords pointed at her from all four directions.

She had scarcely enough time to contemplate how or why she got there when she heard footsteps and the sound of a door swinging open. She looked up to see a man in full warrior armor, and a woman with auburn hair covered with a cowl. On seeing the warrior, the guards sheathed their weapons and dispersed, leaving the three of them alone.

They began to make their way towards her. Now that they were up close, she realized that the warrior was a woman as well. The hooded woman stopped in her tracks, facing her, while the warrior moved around her, until she was standing right behind her.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

The warrior began circling her like a dragon on the hunt, while the hooded woman stared her down, stone-faced and unyielding.

“The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead… except for YOU.”

Ah. The Conclave. She had almost forgotten about it. Commander Rion only chose her to lead the delegation because of who her father was, even though that name became a badge of dishonor the moment her magic showed itself. Aside from a long-irrelevant bloodline, she had nothing to offer that her fellow rebels couldn’t, especially in terms of commitment to the cause.

And according to the warrior, she survived, while none of the more deserving souls who attended would live to see tomorrow. She knew the Maker hated mages. But she never expected Him to have such a sick sense of humor.

The warrior, having enough of her silence, grabbed her left wrist. The warrior meant to show the mark to the hooded woman but forgot that both her hands were bound and fixed to a wooden plank. So instead, her entire upper body was pulled forward from the weight of her shackles while she still sat rooted in place.

“Explain yourself!”

As if on cue, the mark on her left hand began to glow once more, and the same stabbing, electrocuting pain coursed through her. Only this time, she was too exhausted to cry out, or even wince.

“This is what you used to do it, wasn’t it?!”

There was no way she could have done the deed, even with her prior track record. The magic on her left hand was far beyond her capabilities. Unfortunately, the person who thrust it upon her was nowhere to be found. Therefore, it made sense that the warrior deemed her guilty. She knew it was pointless to say anything in her defence.  So, she held her tongue, leaving herself to her captors’ mercy.

The warrior let go of her hand, and her shackles fell into her lap, pulling her backward. Then the warrior struck her across the face with a closed fist, drawing blood from her mouth. Soon after, she grabbed her by the shoulders and began shaking her violently back and forth.

“Out with it, you spellbind! TELL ME!”

“Stop!”

Before the warrior could cause her further injury, the hooded woman came between them and pushed her assailant away. The warrior attempted to stop her, but the hooded woman’s grip on her shoulder was firm.

“We need her, Cassandra!”

The warrior… Cassandra, reluctantly took a step back. Then, the hooded woman made her way forward, her gaze just as unyielding as before.

“You were with the mage delegation, weren’t you?”

The hooded woman’s voice was calm and polite, despite the situation they were in. There was no sense in lying about being a mage, especially given her attire. So, she nodded.

“Would you mind telling me your name?”

Another thing she had no sense in hiding. She took a moment to move her chin towards her shoulder to wipe the blood Cassandra had spilt. For the first time since she awoke in that room, she spoke, her voice feeble and hoarse.

“Stella Trevelyan.”

The warrior’s eyes widened in recognition, and Stella wondered if she should have kept her surname to herself.

“…a former noble.”

Stella nodded once more, and the hooded woman continued with her interrogation.

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

Staying silent would result in further beatings from Cassandra… and Maker knows what from the hooded woman. It was always the ones who seemed accommodating that were the greatest threats.

So, she began to gather her thoughts, but it was difficult, as there were gaps in her memory. She knew one thing for certain however, when she entered the Temple, she was normal. However, she saw something, rather… someone, who had broken her practiced apathy.

Blonde hair tied in a bun, Cassandra’s build, and hazel eyes. Hazel eyes she hoped she would never have to gaze into again. Eyes that it seemed, once again, became her undoing.

“I saw the Templar who once held custody of me. I ran away. I got lost. I overheard a woman calling for help, so I followed.”

She didn’t even know why she followed that voice. In retrospect, she supposed she was looking for any sign of life, thinking it would help her to retrace her steps.

Speaking of retracing her steps, she seemed to hit a wall when trying to remember beyond that. This wouldn’t bode well for her interrogation, but it didn’t matter. She was going to die regardless.

“I lost consciousness and woke up to demons chasing me. That woman reached out… and the next thing I knew, I was here.”

The hooded woman turned to Cassandra, both of them sharing a silent conversation with their eyes. Then, Cassandra spoke.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

The hooded woman… Leliana, nodded, then left, leaving the door open behind her. Stella had no idea what this ‘rift’ was, whether it was a new name for a bottomless pit, or some torture apparatus she wasn’t aware of. Regardless, she braced herself for what was to come, hoping her death would at least be quick.

Cassandra knelt in front of her, taking her keys from her belt. Then she began to unlock the shackles that bound her hands to the wooden plank but still refused to free them entirely. Cassandra then began to drag Stella by her chains, and she had no other choice but to follow her.

The walk through the long corridor felt like an eternity, before they came face to face with another, much larger door, and two of the guards from earlier at its side. They saluted Cassandra when she walked past them and then opened the door to the outside world.

The cold and snow did not surprise her. This sort of weather was normal in Haven at this time of year. What was very much abnormal however, was the bright green glow across the sky, emanating from a tear about the size of a moon.

“We call it “The Breach.” It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.”

If Stella was unsure of her innocence before, she was certain now. She had never been in The Fade longer a couple of hours at a time. Nowhere near long enough to learn such arcane secrets.  But if the real culprit was nowhere to be found, none of that mattered.

“It’s not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave. Unless we act… the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

Stella’s left hand thrust forth to face the Breach on its own accord, and the mark began to pulsate. She let out a cry, kneeling and shaking as she tried to endure the pain. Cassandra knelt with her, not stopping her explanation.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

Stella stared dumbly. She had been under the impression that she was being dragged to her execution. Then what was this about her mark being some sort of key?

“The key to what?”

“Closing the Breach. Whether that’s possible is something we shall discover shortly. It is our only chance, however. And yours.”

So that was Cassandra’s plan. The mark on Stella’s hand was calling out to the Breach, so it was only natural that her sacrifice would close it.

Stella was going to be fed to the Breach. The same Breach that brought these seizures to her left arm. If it already caused so much damage at a distance, she could scarcely imagine what it would be like to be thrown inside it.

So much for a quick and painless death.

“I understand.”

Cassandra blinked, clearly not expecting her to take this in stride.

“Then?”

Stella’s next words, possibly her last, began to leave her mouth before she could think about them. Words that would have been better suited for a life she no longer lived.

“If I can help, I will.” 

Cassandra said nothing. The both of them got up and continued the long walk to the Breach. All the while, Cassandra pulled at Stella’s chains harshly, forcing her to keep up. Stella stared vacantly at the various denizens of Haven. Some were glowering at her, some cursed at her, and others cowered in fear of her. Stella was well used to receiving this sort of reception. It was all part and parcel of being born with magic.

“You aren’t the first mage to blow up a sacred building. It’s no wonder they decided your guilt. They need it after you took her Most Holy away from them. No… from all of us.”

If she wasn’t being dragged around like a pig for slaughter, she would have taken offense to the comparison. Anders had destroyed Kirkwall out of a misplaced sense of justice. If he knew what was good for him, he would have laid low the moment his freedom was secured. Instead, he chose to taunt the mighty beast that was the Chantry. Now every mage living, including herself, was paying the price of his folly.

It seemed that Stella was making the same mistake. She said that she would help, but nobody asked for it. Not Casandra, not the late Divine Justinia, and most certainly not these people who were calling for her blood.  

But if she was about to be sacrificed to save Thedas, it would be the first and last time she could keep her word. After all, Stella Trevelyan was of no help to anyone.

Chapter Text

A long corridor, cold stone walls, and only a single torch to light the way.

The sound of a glass bottle rolling on the floor. It made its way towards her foot, half filled with ale.

She began the journey forward, and as she did, the sounds grew louder. Sounds of bottles thudding against wood, shattering glass, and groans of frustration.

The light at the end of that long corridor revealed the source of the sounds. A large imposing figure hunched over a table, surrounding it were bottles in various stages of disrepair. The stench of spoiled ale permeated the room, a smell she thought she had long forgotten.

The figure turned towards her. Its eyes were bloodshot, and it foamed from the mouth. When it spoke, its voice was a guttural growl that reminded her more of a beast than a man.

“GET OUT!!”

Stella jumped backward, casting a lightning bolt towards the demon before it could reach her. The demon writhed, screaming with such anguish that Stella wondered if it was trying to garner her sympathy. Not that it would succeed in doing so. Her indifference was the only thing that kept her safe in The Fade.

“There, there… my son…”

The voice that echoed from the ceiling began to console the demon. Then, the bottles strewn around it began to levitate. The broken ones turned so that their sharp ends aimed squarely at her.

“I won’t let that CROW’S BASTARD take from you what’s YOURS!”

The disembodied voice, once mimicking that of a mother comforting her child, now turned harsh like the demon’s was. The bottles flew forward like arrows, and Stella waved her hand with a flourish. A barrier enveloped around her, the bottles ricocheting once they met it.

Once the assault of bottles had ceased, Stella let the barrier down, only to find that the demon had vanished. She remained on her guard, clenching her staff as though it were a lifeline.

It was too late when she realised she had chosen poorly. Before she had time to assess her next move, Stella was a foot above the ground, a large hand strangling her neck and shaking her back and forth. She let out a few pained whines as she struggled to breathe.

“WHY WERE YOU BORN?!?!”

That was neither the demon from earlier nor the disembodied voice. It had the same beastly qualities that the demon did, but its voice was higher pitched, almost childlike.

“YOU TOOK HER AWAY FROM ME!!!”

The hand around her neck began to tremble, and she used that hesitation to her advantage.  She swung her right leg forward, kicking the figure square in the chin. It dropped her as if she were made of hot coal, and she felt herself being flung backward.

Her fall was broken by a bed. A hand was pressing firmly on her mouth, while another was digging its way into her skin. The free hand kept making its way down, nails so sharp she could have sworn they were drawing blood in their wake.

Her assailant loomed over her, and the moment those hazel eyes met hers, her heart sank, and her body went cold. Its gaze was so overpowering it might as well have turned her to stone. And she would have stayed frozen, were this real, rather than a demon using ordeals from her past to break her.

Before those fingers could start poking and prodding into her, she screwed her eyes shut and bit down hard on the hand that was muffling her. The demon cried out, and Stella thrust her hand forward, burning it where its face would be.

As soon as those flames hit their target, the bed beneath her gave way, crumbling like a poorly constructed cabin. She began her long descent into the endless black void, her right hand still pointing towards the burning demon above her.

After what seemed like an eternity, Stella stopped falling, instead hovering in midair. She looked down to find a familiar patch of grass, and the moment she did, her body began slowly descending until her feet touched the ground.

A royal garden on a summer night, with pin drop silence around her – every single time she went through The Fade, somehow, she would always end up here.

The suffocating silence was broken by a young girl’s laughter. Stella began to look around wildly, and then she saw a figure by a fountain which she hadn’t noticed before. She held out her hand for her staff, and then began to slowly approach it, her footsteps thudding in her ears.

Her lips began to move of their own accord, and she called out to it. The figure’s head began to turn painfully slow, as though it were trying to induce dreadful anticipation for its appearance. When Stella finally met those lifeless dark eyes, she understood why.

Ashen skin, dishevelled hair, a bleeding gash cutting through the left side of its head, and purple, frostbitten limbs.

Stella woke with a start, her vision still blurry. She heard boxes falling to the floor and turned in the direction of the sound. A small figure stood about a foot away from her.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

She blinked, and the figure’s features began to sharpen. She was face to face with an elven boy. Several boxes lay at his feet, its contents – various herbs, were strewn across the floor. The boy looked down, and then knelt to the floor, gathering them in his hands.

She looked at the boy again as he got up after salvaging the supplies, her eyes narrowing as he kept the boxes of herbs stacked in a corner behind him. Though they both had the same pale skin, this boy was scrawny, with short, mousy-brown hair.  A far cry from Rowan’s toned muscles and black, chin-length locks. She couldn’t place her surroundings either. Then again, after four years with the rebels, every semi-abandoned cabin almost looked the same to her.

She was with a person she didn’t recognise, in a place she had never seen before. This wasn’t supposed to happen in The Fade. For that matter… was she even supposed to be alive? Everything that happened after Cassandra released her from prison was a blur.

So, she struck herself across the face, several times, until her cheeks stung. When her vision didn’t fade to black as she expected, she pinched her forearm until she was wincing in pain.

The cabin and the boy, who looked at her with trepidation, were still there.

“Milady… you’re not in The Fade. This is real.”

The boy voiced what she had just then realised. She looked down at her left hand and noticed that infernal mark was still there. Once she saw it, the fog within her mind started to lift, and she could recall how she ended up here. 

She thought Cassandra was going to sacrifice her to the Breach, but then some elven apostate joined them and told her that they needed her alive. He said something about how the mark can be used to close these… ‘rifts’, as he called them. And true to his word, she was able to do so after disposing of the demons that guarded them.

If she had served her purpose to them, and The Breach had been sealed… perhaps they would be able to prove her innocence? Would she be able to escape to The Imperium after all, despite the not-so minor setback of nearly dying at the Conclave? 

“Where am I?”

The boy gasped, as though he had suddenly remembered something. Then, to her surprise, he knelt at her bedside.

“Forgive me for speaking plainly earlier, Milady. I am but a humble servant. You’re back at Haven.”

There it was again – ‘milady.’ If the Maker had been kinder to her, she would have adopted that term of address after being married off to a suitable nobleman. She then remembered she was talking to an elf. He was probably erring on the side of caution, thinking she would show him her wrath if he displeased her.

Stella sighed, deciding to simply leave it at that. She noticed that her hair was untied, so she began feeling around for her ribbon, only to find it on the nightstand to her left. She swiftly combed her hair with her fingers, then tied it as she usually did, in a simple ponytail.  

She tugged on the ends of the bow, half-heartedly ensuring they were even, before getting up from the bed. Then, she began to mechanically straighten out the covers, all while the boy continued to watch her like a hawk. She had only just begun to heave a sigh of relief at his prolonged silence before he decided to speak once more.

“I can’t thank you enough for saving us. The breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for three days.”

Those words made her freeze in the middle of pressing out any remaining wrinkles from the bedding. Three days? Had she been unconscious for that long? And if The Breach was still in the sky…

“So, I failed, then.”

If she had indeed failed to close the Breach, consequences were sure to follow. She needed to leave this icy, dreary village – no, The South, as soon as possible.

She made her way towards the door, where the boy happened to be still kneeling. He shot up, backing against the wall. He was holding his hands in front of his face and appearing to brace for impact. When none came, he lowered his hands and hunched forward.

“I-I’m only saying what I heard. I didn’t mean anything by it…”

She was about to reach for the door when she felt fingers tugging at her right sleeve and realized that leaving was easier said than done.

“Wait!”

Stella whipped her head towards him, staring expressionlessly. She hoped he would be intimidated if she gazed into his eyes. Sure enough, he immediately let go of her robes. The tips of his pointed ears had turned red with embarrassment, and he was still hunched over submissively.

“I… I just remembered. L-Lady Cassandra wanted to know you’ve wakened. She’s in the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor.”

The boy weaved his way around her, then opened the door wide. As soon as the harsh sunlight met her eyes, she screwed them shut. It was clear that it had been some time since she had been outside. When she opened her eyes, the boy was still waiting, much to her dismay.  

“Please, let me take you there, My Lady.”

Since the rebellion began, Stella had been thrown in a constant loop of wondering whether she was going to live or die. She should have died back when the Circle was attacked, but she didn’t. She could have died in battle, but she didn’t. That explosion should have killed her, but it didn’t. That pride demon should have killed her, but it didn’t.

It was clear that this loop wasn’t ending any time soon. Trying to make her escape now, with so many witnesses, would bring her more trouble than it was worth. She had no choice but to relent, and let this boy unknowingly lead her to her fate, whatever it might be.

As soon as she took her first step outside the cabin, she saw a crowd surrounding her. She braced herself for the usual sort of curses and jeers but was met with something else entirely.

They reacted very similarly to the elven boy, despite every single one of them being ostensibly human. Some stood attention and saluted her while others bowed. Soon, they began to whisper amongst themselves. With half her attention going into following the boy, it was difficult to determine what they were saying, but she knew they were talking about her.

The harsh sunlight in her eyes, the frigid cold around her, and the people’s whispers were like a pillow smothering her in her sleep. She was beginning to feel the overwhelming urge to run. She wanted nothing more than to lock herself in cabin from whence she came, safe from the elements and the judgements of the masses.

But she knew if she reacted that way, they would turn. A mage overcome with emotion was an abomination waiting to happen, after all. The only way to keep herself safe was to pretend not to feel. And the only way to grant herself the dignity of a clean death was to cooperate with her executioners. That is, if they didn’t choose to make her Tranquil instead, thinking it mercy.

The more she contemplated her fate, and the more attention she devoted to scrutinising the people around her, the harder it was to keep in control. So, she decided to strike up a conversation with the boy, it was unlikely they were going to meet again anyway.

“What’s your name?”

She felt she had spoken loudly enough, but the boy had ignored her. So, she audibly cleared her throat, hoping that it would get his attention. Sure enough, he turned around to face her, nearly bumping into a Chantry sister in the process.

The boy mumbled his apologies to the Chantry sister, who muttered something about ‘those useless knife-ears’ as she walked past them. Then, he turned to Stella, his eyes shaking in a mixture of reverence and fear.  

“I-I’m…”

“It’s alright. Just keep going.”

The boy hesitated for a second before nodding and continuing on his way, with Stella close at hand.

“Rook.”

“Pardon?”

“My name’s Rook, Milady.”

His voice hadn’t even broken yet. She wondered just how disoriented she was back at the cabin for her to only notice it now.

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen, will be fourteen this Harvestmere.”   

Stella’s eyes narrowed as she studied Rook’s bare face. It was already obvious he wasn’t Dalish from the way he spoke. And even if he was, it would be another three years before his clan’s keeper would carve Vallaslin into his brow.

“And what do you do here?”

Rook began to weave his way through the crowds in a manner that she found distressingly familiar. She tried not to dwell on why that was as she kept up with his pace.

“I help Mister Adan in any way I can in exchange for room and board.”

“Mister Adan?”

“Our local apothecary. He’s the one who treated you.”

Stella tried not to dwell on the possibility that she was being saved to be taken for trial and instead shifted her thoughts back to Rook. When she was still a cossetted noble brat, the notion of a child having to work for his keep would have shocked her. Mingling with her lowborn peers at the Circle taught her that most considered it normal, even expected.

“…milady?”

Stella blinked a few times. She realized that Rook had been talking to her, but she was too much in her own head to hear him.

“Please be careful around these stairs. Many have tripped while climbing them.”

 Sure enough, they were facing a steep, narrow stone stairway. One that was in disrepair, as parts of it were visibly crumbling. Rook proceeded to make the long, arduous climb, holding out his hands for balance. Stella followed, mimicking his slow and deliberate gait.

“I’m surprised your parents allowed you to leave your alienage.”

“They didn’t. I ran away. My father was killed by a Chevalier when I was little, and my mother would rather drink than work.”

Rook was trying to come across as nonchalant, but Stella could sense the latent bitterness in his voice. It was well known that Chevaliers tested new weapons by killing elves who ventured out past curfew. One could scarcely blame his mother for turning to drinking in such a circumstance. Besides, at least her reasons were more sympathetic than her father’s.  

“Any siblings?”

“My sister’s ten years older than me. She was providing for us until she got married a few months ago.”

She was about to ask why his sister refused to take him in when they had reached the top of the stairs. They had just a few stretches of path, and one other smaller set of stairs to climb before Stella would reach her destination. She felt her stomach sink. The time for idle chatter had come to an end.

“We’re almost there. It won’t be long now.”

The rest of the way, they were silent, until at last, they were facing Haven’s chantry, where the two of them would part ways for good.

“Here we are, Milady.”  

Stella pushed the doors wide open, but to her surprise, the chantry was completely empty. The silence, a marked contrast to the bustling chatter down below, was deafening.

“…there’s no one here.” 

She decided to move forward regardless, towards a door at the end of the straight hallway. She could hear voices coming from within, and something within her gut told her not to proceed, but she knew she had no other option.

When she was but a stone’s throw away from the door, the voices became clear. That inexplicable feeling told her that no good would come from eavesdropping. But she would end up eating her words the moment she heard what followed.

 “Have you gone completely mad?! She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine!”

Stella knew that voice. It was the same chancellor who challenged Cassandra back at the ruins of the Temple. She felt something pulling at her robes and looked down to see that Rook was hiding behind her, gripping her upper arm like a vice. She tried her best to shake him off her, as though he were a mosquito buzzing in her ear, but he refused to budge.

“I do not believe she’s guilty.”

Stella’s head began to spin. She didn’t expect anyone she had met over the last few days to vouch for her, much less Cassandra. How many times was this going to happen, she told herself. How long would these days of living on the edge of her own survival last?

“Your prisoner failed, Seeker! The Breach is still in the sky! For all we know, she intended it this way!”

“Don’t listen to him. We all know you’re-“

She could sense Rook’s grip on her arm faltering and used this opportunity to slip away from him. Cassandra and the chancellor were still arguing in the background, and she knew she had to face them soon – alone. So, she turned to Rook, giving him as icy and unwelcoming of a glare as she was able.

“Why are you still here? Go. Your boss must be looking for you.”  

“…yes. Forgive me, Milady.”

Rook made his way out of the Chantry before stopping at the doorway and turning to give her a curt nod, bidding her farewell. When she was sure he was out of sight, Stella took a few deep breaths before pushing the door open.

The room had scarcely any furniture, save for a large table that took up majority of the space, and chairs surrounding it. On it was a map of Thedas that took up almost the entirety of its surface area, with pieces, similar to chess pawns, littered across it.

And surrounding the table were two guards, the chancellor, Cassandra, and Leliana. As soon as he saw her, the chancellor’s expression went from frustrated to enraged. He pointed at her aggressively while his eyes gestured to the two guards.

“Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial!”

Cassandra cooly looked up from the giant map on the table and turned to the guards, acting as though the chancellor wasn’t even there.

“Disregard that and leave us.”

The guards nodded before dispersing. It was obvious that Cassandra and Leliana were far above the chancellor in the Chantry’s pecking order. But Stella knew she couldn’t count her chickens before they hatched. So, she decided to merely observe.  

The chancellor already took a few steps towards Cassandra, scowling in her direction and puffing out his chest.

“…you walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

His voice came out almost as a snarl, but Cassandra was scarcely moved by his attempt to intimidate her. She mimicked his tactics effortlessly, and sure enough, the chancellor took a few steps backward.

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

“Letting HER run around free is doing just that!”   

The chancellor pointed to Stella once more, who was focusing on remaining as still as a statue. Leliana turned in her direction, her eyes intently studying her.

“Lady Trevelyan did what she could to close the Breach. It almost killed her.”

She had been addressed with a respect she neither desired nor deserved too many times that day. But somehow it grated more on her ears when she heard it from Leliana. At the very least, it was clear that Cassandra and Leliana were on the same page when it came to her fate. But judging from the circumstances, it was clear that they wouldn’t be letting her live solely out of altruism.

“Yet she lives! A convenient result as far as she’s concerned.”

“Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

Stella nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard that. Next to Cassandra, the chancellor’s attempt at a low, threatening snarl seemed utterly pitiful by comparison. If Leliana was similarly shaken, she did not show it. Instead, she turned to face the chancellor, her expression as stony as it had been in the prison where they first met.

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others…”

Leliana turned to the chancellor, giving him a merciless and knowing expression.

“…or have allies who yet live.”

The chancellor’s face turned pale, and his legs began to shake when he realised what Leliana was insinuating. Of course, Stella knew it to be a bluff. The real culprit couldn’t have been anything but a mage with arcane knowledge. The chancellor, however, temporarily forgot this fact, seeing as his fear was genuine.

“You’re suspecting ME?!”

“You, and many others.”

“But NOT the prisoner?!”

“I heard the voices in the temple; the Divine called to her for help.”

If that was what Cassandra remembered from back at the ruins, Stella believed she was mistaken. When they came across that vision from the Breach, it did cause some of the gaps in Stella’s memory to fill up. She was making her way towards voices, and one of them was indeed calling to her for help. That person was hovering in the air, held there by magic. Then they threw something at her, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, she caught it. In retrospect, whatever it was she caught was probably how she got that mark in the first place.

Yet the person who called out to her could have been anyone but the Divine, someone who would rather perish than seek out the aid of a spellbind.

“So, her survival, that THING on her hand… all a coincidence?”

“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

Cassandra looked to her with the same expression of reverence that she saw from Rook and the rest of the townspeople. A look that filled her with dread and made her stomach churn.

“This is NOT for you to decide!”

Cassandra walked to the nearest wall, towards a bookcase that Stella hadn’t seen when she first entered. Soon after, Cassandra slammed the tome she produced from it on the table, the insignia of an eye gleaming in the light. Stella could have sworn she had seen it before but couldn’t recall exactly where.

“Do you know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare The Inquisition reborn.”

At the mention of ‘the Inquisition’, pages of the history books that she read over the years flashed through her head. The Inquisition originally formed after the First Blight, with the intent of fighting against ‘the tyranny of magic.’ Their reign of terror was put to an end after the Nevarran Accord. This made them the new martial arm of the Chantry – leading to the creation of both the Templar Order and the Circle of Magi.

The original Inquisition was formed to eradicate mages and heretics, and Cassandra wanted to bring it back to close that hole in the sky. Once again, Stella decided to stay quiet. She could decide on what that meant for her once she got the full picture of what was happening.

Cassandra was confidently making her stride towards the chancellor, who clearly learned nothing from his previous confrontations. He once again found himself backing away from her as she stared him down.

“We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With, or without your approval.”

The chancellor, finally realising that Cassandra would never back down, threw up his hands in frustration and left. Stella had no idea whether to be relieved at his departure or dread it. As much of an annoyance he was, he was diverting Cassandra’s attention away from her.

“This is the Divine’s directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos…”

Leliana trailed off as she read through the tome, her words not quite catching up with her thoughts. She looked up at Cassandra while shaking her head, her gaze apprehensive, almost as though she was beckoning her to reconsider.

“We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice. The Herald of Andraste has appeared before us. The time to act is now.”

Stella wasn’t sure who Cassandra was referring to at first, until she remembered one of the townspeople mention that title… while glancing in her direction.

“You don’t actually believe that… do you?”

“You have the mark, you can close the rifts, and Her Most Holy called out to you. If that does not prove you chosen, then what does?”

As far as Stella was concerned, it merely proved that the real culprit foisted this power upon her by mistake. But she understood why Cassandra clung to her convictions so. As a Seeker, she had well-earned the Maker’s favor. Unfortunately for her, she was putting her faith in someone who hadn’t.

“The Maker would never send for a mage.”

“The Maker does as He wills. It is not for me to say.”

Something, Stella knew, Cassandra was telling herself to justify her actions. If she truly wanted to honor the Maker’s word, she would have had Stella executed when they first met.

“Even if that means Andraste’s enemies are His chosen?”

“Andraste also said that magic exists to serve man, and here you are – exactly what we needed, when we needed it.”

Stella knew very well that the full verse stated that magic existed to serve man, and never to rule over him. Appointing her to govern any cause that reached beyond the scope of her kind would be nothing short of heresy. She thought of pointing this out, but then remembered they had no Chantry support. They would be committing heresy no matter who they chose.

But why did it have to be her? She was neither born, nor raised to lead. And yet, that was what they wanted from her, all because of that blasted mark on her hand. Surely, they knew this, didn’t they? Had she been in Cassandra or Leliana’s shoes, she wouldn’t be this confident in herself. Unless, of course, this ‘Herald’ business was merely for show, and in truth, they would be the ones in control.

“You’re going to use me to start a holy war.”

“We are already at war. You are already involved. Whether or not the war is holy… that depends on what we discover.”

She couldn’t have been the only survivor of the explosion. There had to have been others. Others who perhaps had the same mark as her and were far more qualified for the job.

“What if I refuse?”

“You can go… if you wish.”

The way Leliana said ‘if you wish’ insinuated that leaving would be a poor choice, one that came with consequences.

“You should know that while some believe you chosen, many still think you guilty. The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us. It will not be easy if you stay, but you cannot pretend this has not changed you.”

Stella’s brows furrowed as she supported her chin with two of her splayed fingers. Her eyes were boring into her shoes as she weighed her options and wondered on what could have been.

What would have happened if Commander Rion hadn’t chosen her to lead the delegation? She already destroyed her phylactery. So, she could have reached the Imperium’s borders without being pursued… or she could have been spotted by an errant Templar and killed regardless.

But she could not turn back time, what was done was done. It would be easy then, to smile, nod her head, and make her journey in the dead of night, as per her original plan. Or perhaps, as Cassandra said… she could still be killed along the way. This time by Leliana.  

And if, in the event she ever did make it to the Imperium alive… that mark would still be there. And there was no guarantee that they would be able to cure her affliction. She’d have at most a year or two before dying at its hands anyway.

They were right. Stella truly had nowhere to go. Her best chance of survival was to do as they bid her.  Any thoughts of starting anew in a foreign land where she wouldn’t be persecuted for her magic would have to come afterwards. She didn’t necessarily need to lead, she just needed to close the Breach, and she would be cured.

She looked at Cassandra, then down at the mark on her left hand, and finally back at her before speaking at last.

“You said earlier that my mark was spreading… and it was killing me.”

“I did.”

“You also said that if I closed the Breach, the mark would disappear.”

“I cannot guarantee it, but that is what we hope.”

“…then I have no other choice in the matter.”  

Cassandra’s eyes widened in disbelief, very obviously not pleased with Stella’s response. But it was Leliana’s reaction that struck her – sighing in frustration and giving her a look of what she could only describe as pity.

“I pray that one day you will learn to have room in your heart for something other than yourself.”

Chapter Text

She hoped, after all that she’d been through, that her new memories would replace the old. But these fragments would insist on lingering, like stubborn stains on silk. This one – of a royal garden on a still summer night, was the most stubborn of them all.

It was as it always had been. The silence would be broken by a child’s laughter. She would look around for the source of the sound. A fountain would appear, and a familiar figure would stand in front of it. A figure with lifeless dark eyes, disheveled hair, ashen skin, a bleeding gash on the left side of its head, and purple, frostbitten limbs.

The sight did not faze her anymore. But it made sense as to why, even after all these years, the demons chose to focus on that day.

A day whose specter would haunt her and dictate her every move since.

The day her life ended.

…

It had been a fortnight since Stella Trevelyan had been chosen to lead the mage delegation at the Conclave. A fortnight since she stumbled upon a ritual she wasn’t meant to see. A fortnight since that explosion nearly killed her and left her with a mark that would finish the job if she didn’t close that hole in the sky.

In that time, the denizens of Haven had grown used to her presence, enough to ask her to carry out errands in exchange for pay. She wasn’t used to the ordinary folk tolerating her, much less coming to her for help. But Solas said that this was the first step to gaining the peoples’ trust. And the more people trusted her, the faster they could gain allies. The faster they could gain allies, the faster they could close the Breach.

And the day the breach would be sealed couldn’t come fast enough. Stella would have been perfectly content locking herself in her quarters back at the Circle, with nothing but her novels to keep her company. The rebellion took that away from her, and every attempt she made to return to that life of safe seclusion ended in failure.

With this mantle of the Inquisition thrust upon her, it was clear that she wouldn’t be able to for a long while. And now, Stella was being asked to report to the Chantry for the first time since that day. Leliana temporarily left them to recruit a diplomat for their cause. And it seemed her search had been fruitful, as they were to be introduced to everyone before commencing their duties.

Stella thought back to her last few ventures in The Fade as she made her way up those steep stone stairs. When she was with the rebels, she may as well have been Tranquil. Her nights were dreamless, and her days were free of stubborn, intrusive flashes of her past. The explosion at the Temple caused them to return and exchanged them for her memory of that very recent disaster. 

Why couldn’t the explosion have been the fragment the demons latched onto? If they had, she could have used the visions they conjured to piece together what really happened that day. What could she possibly hope to gain by retreading over someone whose memory served no purpose now?

Stella could barely come up with an answer to these questions when she felt the stone crumble beneath her feet. She tried to regain her balance, only for her to land on her heel instead. She wobbled for a second or two before falling backwards, letting out a yell of shock. But before she could use her magic to save herself, she heard rapid footsteps, and a voice cry out. Then, she felt a hand grabbing her arm and pulling her forward. Those same arms locked underneath her shoulders, wobbling as they held her in an embrace. 

Stella remained still as she wrapped her arms around this person's shoulders for support. If she tried to extricate herself from their grip, there was a high chance that she could fall again. However, this proved difficult. Judging from how much they were struggling to support her weight; they appeared to be smaller and weaker than her. They began to take a few slow, measured steps backwards up the stairs. Stella followed their lead, moving forward just as cautiously, only for that person to trip themselves once they reached the summit. Both Stella, and her savior cried out as they tumbled to the gravel-coated ground, the latter swerving in the last second so they both landed on their sides.

Stella took this opportunity to disentangle herself from this person. She sat up, shrugging off her own potential injuries, and turned to face them. The other woman was shaking, letting out high-pitched pained whines as she tried to plant her hands onto the ground. However, she lacked the strength to move. Small dark patches, presumably of red, could be seen adorning the azure fabric on her legs.

Stella gasped, hoisting herself up with a strength and speed that she normally reserved for the battlefield. Then, she dove forward with an outstretched hand, which the other woman took without hesitation. Stella leaned backwards, putting her weight on her firmly planted feet as she pulled the other woman up.

The moment she let go, the other woman used her good hand to clutch onto her upper arm, a red patch standing out against the golden fabric there. Her legs began to wobble, and she was visibly holding back tears. Stella instinctively ran towards her, grabbing her arm and forcing her hand so that she was using her as crutch.

Stella winced in pain as the other woman clung to her forearm. They both looked down and noticed a dark patch there. The other woman’s fingers were now slightly stained red.

“Estás herida…”

Visions flashed before Stella’s eyes. A sunny, bustling bazaar in a coastal city. Smells of fresh fish, coffee, and spices. Ribbons, fireworks, the jingling of bells….

And a young girl’s laughter turned to screams…

Stella’s stomach was churning, and her mind was racing. Of course, she would have made the connection between this woman and the voice of her nightmares. She hailed from a place whose memory Stella desperately tried to lock away, as it brought her nothing but grief and pain.

“I’m fine. I’ve suffered worse.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie. However, she knew that even minor cuts would fester if left untreated. Not to mention, judging by the other woman’s clothing, she appeared to be highborn. For someone like her, a fall like this would have frightened her beyond belief.

“¡Pero todavía tienes que-”

“But nothing! Worry about yourself right now!”

Stella realized that came out far more forceful than she had intended. The noblewoman appeared to understand Common. But Stella hoped, for both their sakes, that she could speak it. The longer she spent around the language she hadn’t heard in fourteen years, the more anxious she was becoming.  

“I’ll take you to Adan’s apothecary. It’s just about this way.”

The noblewoman nodded, moving her hands so that she was holding on to the part of Stella’s arm that wasn’t injured. Stella began to move forward, slowly so that the noblewoman could keep up with her. The long, winding path to Adan's apothecary was also going to prove risky. But from what she recalled, those steps were better maintained than the deathtrap they just climbed. 

She thought back to that moment, furious at how utterly absurd it was. No sensible noble would put themselves at risk to save a mage. Although that was just it – no sensible one. This person was clearly sheltered at best, and foolish at worst. 

“What were you thinking?!”

Stella didn’t know whether she was scolding the noblewoman or thinking out loud. It didn’t matter which one. She had to get her frustration out somehow. 

“Do you know how far high up you were? If you hit your head on those steps, you would have died!”

So, she could speak Common after all. But knowing that did very little to put Stella’s mind at ease.

“I would have used magic! You got yourself hurt for nothing!”

The noblewoman hung her head in shame, her partially undone hair covering the left side of her face. It seemed that genuinely didn’t occur to her at the time, meaning she was acting purely on impulse. Someone was about to fall to their death, so she had to save their life, regardless of who they were. An urge to save that Stella was sadly familiar with.

“You’re lucky you only suffered a few scrapes. But let this be a lesson. Don’t try to save people when you don’t know what you’re doing…”

At last, they could see the roof of Adan's cabin. Stella began to take cautious, deliberate steps up the pathway with the noblewoman in tow. Her grip on Stella's arm tightened as they made their way up. Once they were on even ground and close to the door, Stella held her free hand out, pushing on it with all her might.

“…otherwise, you might end up making things worse.” 

The door swung open to reveal Rook sitting at a workbench, grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle while looking over a scroll. Adan, however, was nowhere to be found. The moment he realized he wasn’t alone; Rook turned towards the two wounded women at the doorstep. Then, he rapidly got up from his seat, standing attention like a soldier before bowing deeply.

“Where’s Adan?”

“He’s gone to gather herbs, Milady. He won’t be back for a few hours.”

That made sense, considering it was early in the morning, and few people were up and about to disturb him. Stella saw this as a blessing in disguise. Adan had never asked to be a healer, only taking up the job because there weren’t enough hands to go around. Had he been there, it would have taken some convincing for him to attend to the noblewoman. And he would have spent every minute whinging while doing it.

Stella, meanwhile, had experience patching up minor wounds when she was with the rebels. Spirit healers had to conserve their energy for those who truly needed their help. Thus, scrapes and cuts needed to be dealt with by oneself.

“Would Adan mind if some of his supplies went missing?”

“Well, I would have to make note of it…”

Stella surmised that he was referring to a ledger of some kind. She found it rather curious that an alienage elf child was literate enough to be entrusted with bookkeeping. But she pushed her incredulity aside for now.

“Then do so. But before that, get me some scissors, salve, gauze, and a wet cloth.”

Rook nodded, then ran to the cupboard in the corner of the room to get everything Stella had requested. In the meantime, Stella held out her hand towards one of the chairs at the workbench, using magic to pull it towards her. The noblewoman gasped slightly, her eyes wide as she watched the chair seemingly move on its own. In that split second, Stella realized she had forgotten to keep her magic under wraps in the presence of others. She cursed herself under her breath, hoping she hadn’t scared the noblewoman off.

She was still there, and still clinging to Stella’s upper arms, despite a chair being right in front of her. Stella supposed she was still in shock from seeing the use of magic in the flesh. So, she gestured to the chair with her eyes, and the noblewoman reluctantly let go of her to take a seat. At the same time, Rook had returned with the necessary supplies. Stella took the salve and gauze with one hand, and the damp cloth and scissors with the other, then knelt and set to work. She could hear Rook’s footsteps moving further away from her when she did, and the sound of a metal bucket clanging.

She removed the noblewoman’s boots and gingerly rolled up her trousers to find a bloody scrape on the side of her right calf, just below her knee. The blood was already beginning to clot in some places. She took the damp cloth and applied slight pressure there, hoping to arrest the bleeding. The noblewoman winced, clenching her tongue as she let out a pained sound and nearly kicked Stella in the face.

“If you hold still, it won’t hurt as much.”

 The noblewoman nodded, clenching her knuckles until they turned white while Stella continued to clean the wound on her leg. Once the blood was sufficiently wiped away, Stella used the tips of her fingers to gingerly rub salve into the wound. It must have been working, as the noblewoman’s face was beginning to relax. Then she took the rolled-up gauze and began to unroll it slightly, before placing it on the wound and wrapping around it. Then, she cut the remaining gauze away and fastened it securely.

Once her left leg had been dressed, she rolled her trousers on that side back down, then, proceeded to use the wet cloth to get the blood stains out of her clothes. It was difficult to tell if the stain had been cleared, however, as the fabric was dark enough to mask it.

She was about to repeat the process on the other leg when Rook had returned with a bucket of water, which he left at Stella’s side. She glanced for a moment at the visible bloodstain on the noblewoman’s arm, and that was when she got an idea.

“Do you have natron?”

She heard footsteps and glass clinking as she placed the cloth in the bucket of water to wash away any residual blood. Then, just as she was about to wring it dry, Rook placed a glass jar filled with white powder next to her. Meanwhile, the noblewoman had been getting more accustomed to the damp cloth on her wounds, enough to make conversation with Stella as she worked. 

“I’d like to apologize.”

“For what?”

The noblewoman began nervously twirling the undone strands of her hair with her finger, trying to make eye contact with Stella but failing.

“I didn’t mean to speak to you informally. You must have found me terribly rude.”

“I… didn’t notice if you did. Besides, it’s hard to think clearly in a situation like that.”

The noblewoman’s eyebrows raised for a moment before furrowing. It was clear that her ‘speaking informally’, whatever that meant, was something that any other person would have caught. In Stella’s childhood, etiquette and protocol often eluded her. And in the Circle, she had few opportunities to rectify this.

“Were you transferred, perhaps?”

Stella stared at the noblewoman dumbly, her fingers momentarily frozen in the tin of salve.

“Transferred?”

“From Antiva City’s Circle. I knew they were severe, but to send you to Kirkwall so young…”

So that was what she meant, and why she defaulted to her native tongue when they first met.

“I’m an actual Marcher, Ostwick born and raised. Never been anywhere else.”

She hastily added that last sentence, hoping if she repeated it enough times, she would believe it to be true.

“Oh. Forgive me, I never would have guessed, considering…”

The noblewoman stared her up and down in a gesturing way, and Stella nodded as she took a moment to check on her handiwork before fastening the dressing on the other leg.

“…how I look?”   

The noblewoman nodded, continuing to watch Stella intently as she rubbed a paste made from water and natron into the bloodstains on her trousers.

“With how little I resemble my father, I might as well have been my mother’s bastard.” 

A truth about herself that Stella had no intention of disclosing, yet it spilled out of her mouth seemingly of its own accord. She decided not to dwell on it, as both legs had been finished, all that was left was the left arm. Stella got up, moving to roll up the noblewoman’s sleeve to attend to the scraped, bleeding wound there. She hoped that the noblewoman would be so taken aback by the profanity that she wouldn’t acknowledge what Stella had said. But unfortunately, it seemed she wasn’t going to let it go.

“You’re…”

Luckily, whatever she was about to say had died on her lips. Stella had accidentally scrubbed at the wound too roughly, causing her to cry out in pain. She hastily muttered her apologies before wringing out the wet towel and getting the salve and gauze ready.

The noblewoman shook her head, seemingly losing her trail of thought, allowing Stella to carry out the remaining work in silence. And just in time, too. This whole exchange was beginning to fill Stella with an anxiety that she couldn’t explain or put a name to.

Since they crossed paths, it seemed as though Stella had no control over her own faculties. She found herself helping without thinking of the consequences. Showing an uncharacteristic amount of concern for a stranger. Willingly volunteering information about herself without regard for how it would be perceived.

All this just because the noblewoman was from her mother’s homeland? Did that place… or rather, what and who it represented, still have this much of a hold on her?

“Oh! Milady, you’re injured as well! Why didn’t you tell me?”

She had just finished scrubbing natron into the noblewoman’s sleeve when Rook had broken the silence at last. Stella had been so preoccupied that she had forgotten her own wounds, which began to sting as soon as he reminded her of them.

“It’s not that bad. I’ll take care of it myself-“

“Let him.”

Stella turned around to see the noblewoman looking at her, the wheels clearly turning in her head as she did.

“You’ve done enough for me. The boy’s offering to help you. Take it.”

For reasons beyond her ken, she relented. She moved to sit at another chair, one closest to the workbench where Rook was sitting. Then, she rolled up her sleeve and sat back as Rook ran to grab the supplies Stella had set aside. Rook sat by her, staring with concern at the gash on her arm before dipping the cloth in water.

“I warned you about those stairs, Milady.”

Stella’s eyes widened, not from the wet cloth on her blood caked arm, but from how quickly Rook had figured out the cause of her injuries.

“How did you…?”

“Same thing happened to me. I kept trying to tell Quartermaster Threnn to get them fixed, but she won’t listen to me.”

Stella couldn’t help but frown. The quartermaster once served under Teyrn Loghain and supported him quite fervently. It was of little surprise that she believed an elf’s words held no weight.

“I’ll let her know as soon as possible.”

She decided to leave it at that, as she was disinterested in the elven boy patching her up. The noblewoman fixing her hair across from her had occupied her entire attention right now. At last, now that they finally had a moment to breathe, Stella could take in her appearance at her leisure.

They had the same olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. That, however, was where the similarities between them ended. Her skin was a shade or two darker – coffee to Stella’s wheat.  Stella had black hair and brown eyes. In the noblewoman, this was reversed. Stella’s nose was bulbous, hers was angular. Stella’s face was small and rounded, hers was longer and oval shaped. Stella’s face was splotchy, blemishes littered throughout. This woman’s skin was clear, save for a beauty mark near her lip.

Rook looked up at her, somewhat perplexed as he fastened the wound on Stella’s arm. Then he began to roll her sleeve down and use the natron to scrub the blood clean.

“Don’t worry, Milady. You patched up your friend quite well. She’ll be alright.”

That creeping anxiety began to rear its ugly head once more… no. Not anxiety. Familiarity. Familiarity… and malaise. The sort of feeling one had when they had forgotten something important but couldn't remember what they forgot.

“She’s not…”

The noblewoman began adjusting her hairpin, which had been holding together a bun so impeccably pristine that one could forget she was injured. She tucked a few stray hairs behind her left ear, and Stella saw something that coursed her with a sharp, splitting pain. 

An indentation about as long and as wide as her pinkie finger.

She cried out. Then she heard voices and the sound of footsteps running towards her. She looked up, feeling an arm around her shoulder and realizing that she had been clutching the side of her head. Stella blinked harshly and opened her eyes, her vision no longer blurry, but her head still throbbing. She told herself she had to have been seeing things, but instead, her mouth chose to move before her mind could reign it in.

“How did you get that scar?”

The noblewoman stared at her like a deer on the way of a carriage. Then realization flashed upon her face as she began to run her finger across that indentation nervously.

“Ah… this? It's merely a birthmark. Although you’re not the first to mistake it for a scar.”

Yes… that had to have been what it was, she told herself as she tried to fight off the throbbing in her head and the bile rising to her throat. She had to keep repeating to herself that she wasn’t in The Fade, and even if she was, Remorse hadn’t taken a vivid form in over a decade. This woman happened to be from the same station, the same place, and she might have even had a similar scar, but there was no way she could have been that girl from so long ago.

“I… I see.”

Stella faltered, before looking out the window and noticing the sun had moved slightly westward since they had entered Adan’s cabin. She hadn’t much time. She got up from the chair in which she sat, then began to move towards the one she had pulled out for the noblewoman before Rook ran in between her.

“Please, let me!”

She wanted to protest, but held her tongue, allowing him to bring the chair back to its original place. She was about to put the supplies back in order, only for Rook to intervene in that matter as well.

“I’ll make sure Mr. Adan knows how much of everything you took, which wasn’t much to be honest.”

When Rook had returned from the storage area to face her, she noted his stance. Still stiff as a board. She had no idea if he still feared her because of Cassandra’s tall tales, the mark, for her magic, or for being a human. Perhaps he did for all those reasons. He must have been around half the noblewoman’s age but still had twice the amount of sense.

“At ease.”

Rook did his best to comply, but he was far from at ease. He had hunched over, lifting his shoulders in a pitiful attempt to conceal his pointed ears.

“Thank you, Rook. You’ve been a great help.”

She told herself that it was a means to an end. Adan wasn’t the sort to treat his manservant poorly. So, if she wanted to gain his trust, she needed to respect his property. And the more people trusted her, the faster the Breach would be closed. 

“No! As I said before, it’s my job! You don’t need to thank me!”

She turned towards the door, noticing the noblewoman hadn’t left yet. She had been watching the entire exchange intensely, observing every word and mannerism. Stella noted that she wasn’t leaning on anything for support and presumed this meant her wounds no longer hurt her.

“Can you walk?”

“Yes, my injuries aren’t as painful. Thank you.”

Her smile, her expression of genuine gratitude, and her voice, clear as a bell… all of it made Stella a curious mixture of sickened, furious, and confused. She had no reason to be so grateful, especially knowing that Stella got her into this mess in the first place.

Though every bone in her body was telling her to bolt from the cabin without explanation, Stella stood still, wanting to at least give her the courtesy of a goodbye.

“Good. I’ll be on my way then.”

She had barely even taken a step outside when she felt a hand insistently grabbing hers.

"¡Espera!"

After Ondine, physical contact felt like nothing to her, regardless of who it came from. At least, that had been the case until this moment. Now, Stella was painfully aware of the soft, tender hand atop her rough, calloused one. A sensation that sent electricity coursing through her veins, intense enough to be felt through her gloves.

“Quiero decir… Espere, por favor…”

After the noblewoman had pointed it out the first time, Stella noticed it. The formal address was not instinctive to her. Stella hoped it was simply one of her quirks, that she was this friendly with everyone she met.

“I can’t. I need to get to the Chantry, I’m already running late.”

The woman’s expression turned from beseeching to enthusiastic in an instant. She let go of Stella’s hand, only to link her arm with hers, causing Stella to stutter in shock.

“What a coincidence! That’s where I’m headed as well!”  

Stella sighed, hoping that would make the intense, coursing electricity dissipate from her body, but to no avail. With how persistent the noblewoman was, Stella had no choice but to relent. She nodded curtly in the noblewoman’s direction before opening the door once more. It might have been Stella's imagination, but she couldn't help but notice a slight skip in the noblewoman's step as they made their way down the hill, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes at the notion. 

Since it had been some time since they entered the cabin, the townspeople had already started their day. Stella hoped that they wouldn’t notice her. But to her dismay, she saw the baker had stopped in the middle of pulling his tray to stare at them. Two chantry sisters followed, whispering to themselves. From the corner of her eye, she saw a soldier gesturing at them, asking a compatriot that she couldn’t see if they knew each other.

Stella couldn’t blame them in the least. A noble and a mage walking arm in arm like a pair of schoolgirls was a sight bound to turn heads. Surely the noblewoman was aware of that, wasn’t she?

“Were you a noble before you became a mage?”

It didn’t occur to Stella then, but now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen the noblewoman before. Everyone she met at Haven so far knew her by name, face, and the mark.

And despite not knowing Stella’s identity, the noblewoman was somehow able to ask the right questions to figure it out. She thought that the Circle had beaten her old speech patterns and gait out of her. But it seemed they hadn’t entirely. 

“Why do you ask?”

“That elven boy kept calling you ‘milady’…”

She had half a mind to scold Rook for this later, but as soon as she thought of doing so, she realized she had no idea what she’d be scolding him for. She’d been allowing him to call her that all this time without an issue, why was it only a problem now?

“As you said, he’s an elf. They have every right to fear humans.”

“You also said earlier that you ‘might as well have been your mother’s bastard’”

Stella gasped as she whipped her head towards her. The noblewoman couldn’t help but chuckle, smirking cheekily at Stella’s stunned expression. She thought she knew from experience how delicate the sensibilities of the highborn were, but apparently this woman was made of sterner stuff.

“Oh, don’t you give me that look. I’m not Yvette to faint from hearing a swear or two.”

Her vision once again grew spotty, and she took a deep breath, so as not to vomit in the noblewoman’s presence. She… had heard that name before. It wasn’t the same one that she would call out to Remorse. But indeed, it was there among the memories she hoped that time would bury.

“…who?”

Her voice came out as a croak, and she hoped the noblewoman hadn’t noticed.

“My younger sister. She’s probably requesting the finest silks in the name of inspiration for her next art piece.”

She said this in a tone half wistful, half chiding, even though her sister wasn’t around to hear her displeasure. And that reminded Stella how unusual this woman was. Most nobles wouldn’t be caught dead in a village like this, least of all in a time of crisis.

“And you’re here because you didn’t want that sort of life.”

“Not in the least. If not for Leliana, Papa would have dragged me back to Antiva City kicking and screaming…”

Stella’s eyes widened as they had stopped in front of the chantry doors. She wanted nothing more than to smack her forehead with her palm, with how it took this long to realize it.

“I suppose that takes care of introductions, then.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Leliana summoned me here because she had recruited a diplomat. And well… we’ve already met.”

Stella opened the door, and they both made their way down the hall, before stopping halfway.

“I was supposed to meet with… you?”

The noblewoman’s face had visibly fallen, and Stella could feel her body shaking. It seemed she could only keep up withholding her identity for so long.

“Yes.” 

The noblewoman began muttering something under her breath in a horrified tone. Since Stella’s grasp of her maternal language was rudimentary at best, the only words she could make out were “Ostwick”, “Mage”, and “Antivan.” The woman unlinked her arms from Stella’s, then grabbed her left hand to check her palms. Stella felt her face turn grey as the noblewoman stared aghast at that accursed mark.  

“Oh, Andraste preserve me! It hasn’t even been my first day on the job and I failed to recognize you! And to top it off I was so… so…!”

She had let go of Stella’s left hand, covering her face in mortification before muttering to herself once more. Seeing her like this caused Stella’s mind to scramble, thinking about what to say to reassure her.

Stella had caused this by withholding her identity… but why was she so intent on doing so? It couldn’t have been because of the noblewoman specifically. It was most likely because she was fed up of people looking to her altogether. Yes, that was the reason. And the moment the noblewoman came to know that, it would put her mind at ease.

“It… it had to have been some sort of trial. That was why you didn’t tell me. How was I able to see through Leliana so quickly but you-“

“I didn’t tell you because I never asked for this. All I want is to close the Breach.”

“The Maker doesn’t always give us what we ask for. It’s up to us to make the most of His gifts.”  

They turned to find Cassandra staring at them. Stella had no idea how long she had been observing their exchange, but she appeared to be unamused by it. The noblewoman, not wanting to embarrass herself further, swiftly weaved between them and made her way to the room on the far end of the hallway, shutting the door behind her. Cassandra’s attention was focused on her as she made her exit, then she turned back to face Stella when it was just the two of them.

“Does the mark trouble you?”

Stella realized she had been staring at her open palm for some time. Not because of the mark, but because of the electrical sensation left behind by the noblewoman’s touch.

“Not at the moment.”

“Good. There are new developments regarding Solas’ plan. Now come with me.”

Stella nodded, then began to follow, though the distance they had to travel was short.

“Even though you’ve already met Ambassador-" 

As soon as that surname left Cassandra’s mouth, Stella felt that splitting pain again. This time, far more excruciating than before, like she had been impaled through the head with a spear. Cassandra’s face was starting to blur, and her voice was beginning to dim.

Somewhere, deep within the fog of her memory, Stella recalled that the lady of that house must have had siblings. It had to have been a cousin. One that either didn’t know who she was or was too young to remember her. Keeping this in mind, Stella blinked harshly and deliberately to restore her vision and hearing. But the throbbing pain in her head continued to persist.

“Are you alright?”

Stella realized she was doing a poor job of hiding her addled state. She was clutching the sides of her head tightly, wincing and shaking. She knew she couldn’t be seen that way, so she straightened her posture, trying to appear as normal as possible.

“I’m fine. Let’s keep moving.”

She watched as Cassandra raised an eyebrow at her, before turning to open the door to the war room. Cullen and Leliana had already taken their usual places, while the ambassador stood somewhat awkwardly to the side with a quill and a slate in hand.

“My apologies. We had a rather shaky start.”

“Oh no, I should be the one asking for your forgiveness. I had no right to be so familiar with you. You must have been stunned.”

The ambassador had been using her slate to conceal her face, while twirling a few errant strands of her hair with her free hand.

 “Leave it. Let’s wipe the slate clean. Now, allow me to bring you up to speed.”  

Stella put aside the malaise deep inside her, which had been quietly brewing since she had heard the ambassador’s surname. Instead, she began running over all the knowledge she had acquired about the Inquisition over the past two weeks, and how to best relay it.

“This is Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces. We fought on the battlefield at the ruins of the temple. Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast is the Right Hand of the Divine, and the one who started the Inquisition to begin with. Leliana, the Left Hand, and our spymaster, you already know.”

She tried to mimic the coolly authoritative tone she had seen Cassandra use but supposed that she was failing miserably. When she first accepted her role, she hoped that Cassandra and Leliana would be the ones in control. But instead, they had been grooming her to take the reins at every possible opportunity.

A task that Nathan, or even Conrad, would have been far better suited for. Yet these two, like Commander Rion before them, were the sort to believe they could teach a fish to fly.

“And I’m Stella Trevelyan. I was part of the Ostwick Circle of Magi before the rebellion. I led the mage delegation at the Conclave and survived the disaster therein with this.”

Stella held out her left palm, showing the mark for all to see. The ambassador had been running a finger across the left side of her head, out of either nervousness, boredom, or some combination of both.

“After the explosion, I was taken back to the ruins of the Temple to close the Breach. We discovered smaller rifts into the Fade around the area, and this mark can be used to close them. As for the Breach however, it can only stop it from growing any further.”

She took a moment to scan the faces of her audience. Everyone’s eyes were upon her, expressions unreadable. The lack of facial cues began to unnerve her, as she had no way of knowing how she was coming across.

“We had an elven apostate also join our cause. He believes that it’s possible to increase the mark’s power. But even if we do so, we can’t close the Breach alone. We need allies across Thedas. That would have been an easy matter if we had Chantry support. But we don’t. That’s why we need you.”

Stella recalled her fumbling experiences with social gatherings in her childhood. Back then, she sought her mother’s silent guidance from across the room, all while she observed her with critical eyes. Right now, she was seeking Cassandra’s approval in the exact same manner, slightly lifting her shoulders to make herself seem smaller in her presence.

“You said that you had something in mind about how to strengthen the mark.” 

“I do. The Conclave was supposed to bring an end to the fighting between the templars and the mages. We know how that turned out. Now both groups have been wreaking havoc across the Hinterlands, and innocents have been caught in the crossfire.”

Harding had left for the Hinterlands a week after Leliana left for Antiva City. Perhaps she informed Cassandra of her findings there through letters, but Stella was yet to see her return.

In any case, uniting the mages and templars together against a common enemy was a difficult, if not impossible task. Rebel mages cared more about provoking the Chantry than they did about their own survival. Loyalist mages were more than happy to sell out their fellows for their own gain. And templars ranged from seeing mages as inferior to straight up wanting them all dead.

“Even if they did agree that the Breach is the true threat, they wouldn’t put their differences aside that easily.”

“Yes, so we must choose wisely on which faction to bring to our side.”

Stella was about to add that this would also mean the other faction would be their enemy, when Leliana spoke up.

“I would suggest approaching the rebel mages for help first.”

Cullen, upon hearing this, visibly bristled. When they charged with the soldiers back at the ruins, he seemed none too thrilled about having Stella and Solas as allies. Considering his past tenure at Kirkwall as the mad commander Meredith’s right hand, his disdain for magic was understandable.

“I disagree, the templars could serve us just as well.”

Stella expected Cassandra to take Cullen’s side in this matter, being a Seeker. But, to her surprise, she looked at him as though he told her that clouds were made of fire.

“We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark-“

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so-“

“Pure speculation.”

Leliana said those words with a hint of condescension that Stella wasn’t sure Cullen deserved. However, she was inclined to agree with Cassandra and Leliana on an objective level. What could templars do against what was essentially a gateway to the Fade; a place they had no real access to? Besides, magic was used to create the Breach, so it only made sense that magic could undo it.

Cullen, however, wasn’t willing to listen to objectivity. His hands were clenched into fists, and his jaw had grown tight.

“I was a templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

“Excuse me?”

When that voice, clear as a bell, rang out, everyone turned in its direction. Stella expected the ambassador to be intimidated by all these people looking to her. Instead, she held her head high, all while maintaining a pleasant but professional façade. A far cry from how she conducted herself with Stella what seemed like eons ago.

“If I may…”

The ambassador allowed herself to trail off, awaiting permission to continue, which Stella gave.

“Please, speak.”

The ambassador nodded, taking a moment to scan the room as Stella did earlier. It might have been Stella’s imagination, but she could have sworn she looked at her the longest. That anxious, familiar feeling was beginning to well up inside her again, but she brushed it off.

“Approaching either the mages or the templars is out of the question. Many have been calling you, a mage, the Herald of Andraste. It frightens the Chantry.”

Stella didn’t want to be reminded of Cassandra’s “brilliant” idea to present her as such. But the ambassador was right in that the title was an impediment to anybody of importance listening to them. Not to mention it was putting a target on her back, and the last thing she wanted was to stand in the Chantry’s way.

“I agree. Stopping that view from spreading might help us improve our standing.”

Leliana sighed as she shook her head, and Stella realized she momentarily forgot that Leliana had bought into this nonsense as well.

“Even if we did, people would still believe what they want to believe. They’re desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you are that sign.”

“And to those that matter, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong.”

The ambassador’s face had gone pale at this, and Stella struggled to think of a reason why. The more of her attention she received, the harder the creeping dread was getting to shake off.

“Our position might seem bleak now, but all isn’t lost. Seeker Pentaghast said that the Hinterlands are facing the brunt of the war. Perhaps aiding the people there might be a start? If it goes well, we might even be able to get an agent or two on our side.”

Those eyes, black as night, looked directly into hers. Stella immediately felt the urge to recoil and blinked hard, as though she were trying to avoid getting her eyes poked out. The ambassador once again began running her fingers over the left side of her head… over what was ostensibly her birthmark. And Stella began to feel sensation disappearing from her limbs.

“But oh, where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself to you yet.”

The ambassador opened her mouth, but all Stella could hear from her was her name. Anything that followed it had been drowned out by an aggressive ringing in her ears. That splitting pain assaulted her for what seemed like the thousandth time that day, but this time there was no escaping it, as it had utterly consumed her.

From the moment they met, she had been causing cracks in the dam that had formed in the recesses of Stella’s mind. Cracks that she had been desperately scrambling to repair. Hearing the very same name that the Fade would render mute completely opened the floodgates. Suddenly, she wasn’t in the war room at Haven’s chantry, but at the garden she found herself in night upon night.

"¡Mamá! "¡Papá! "¡Ayúdame!"

Screams, a scuffle, clothing being torn…  

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” 

Shattering ice, biting cold, and howling winds…  

“Spellbind! Murderer! Abomination!” 

The stench of iron and a corpse in a pool of red…

“Don’t you DARE say you’re sorry.”

Ashen skin…

“It doesn’t matter what you meant.”

Dishevelled hair…

“What matters is the girl’s dead.”   

A bleeding gash cutting through the left side of her head…

“SUFFER WHAT YOU HAVE INFLICTED ON ME BY A THOUSAND-FOLD!!!”

Purple frostbitten limbs…

“And that is something that can NEVER be forgiven.”

For a moment, she wondered if she hadn’t woken up at all, if she really was still in The Fade. That had to have been the case, was it not? It was Remorse taunting her with visions of what could have been.

Visions of a future that would have been if not for her foolhardiness.

A future where Josephine Montilyet had not died by Stella’s own hand.

“You’re going to be on trial. What do you plan to say for yourself?”

“I don’t know.”

“I truly… have no… idea…”

Her voice seemed so small and so distant that it might as well have come from someone else. She just wanted to wake up. Perhaps all of it was a dream. The Breach, the mark, Chancellor Roderick… maybe she was back at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and this was all just a projection of her dying mind.

It had to have been the only explanation as to why she was talking to a ghost.  

Chapter Text

She was running.

Running frantically through the halls, with the warm summer winds in her hair and the moon above her.

Running as fast as she could, expertly weaving her way past men, women, and children in their finest silks, hoping to find a familiar face among them.

The face that she bid farewell, wishing the best of luck. The face that she spent the better part of the night waiting to return.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw a face that was familiar indeed, but not the one she was seeking. A boy, two years her junior, with skin the color of wheat, curly tufts of black hair, and brown eyes.

“Adorno!”

He told the boy he was speaking with earlier to wait a moment, before moving towards her. As she was a full foot taller, he needed to crane his neck to look at her. But he knew he couldn’t do so without looking directly at her chest. So instead, he opted to look at her shoes. Being reminded of her impressive height and shapely build, especially for her age, made her instinctively hunch forward in a feeble attempt to shrink herself.

“Stella, what’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Have you seen Antonio and Josephine?”

Adorno’s eyes widened, and his sweaty palms began to shake. It was clear that he knew something but feared what would happen if he disclosed it to her.

“Uhhh…”

“Don’t worry! I’m not going to get you or your brother in trouble! Just tell me where they are!”

She hoped that Adorno would understand both the sincerity of her words and the gravity of the situation. Stella couldn’t blame him for his fear, however. Their father might have been a doting uncle to her, but he was a brutal taskmaster to his own sons.

“H-he said something about the Trevelyan gardens being empty…”

Stella had barely let out a thanks before taking off, sprinting like the wind. It wasn’t like Josephine to spend this long outside with someone she barely knew, especially past midnight. While Stella trusted Antonio to be a gentleman, she knew there were others under her father’s roof with ill intent. Others who might have been even stronger than him.

When the night had started, she never anticipated this. This year’s ball started out like every other. Nathan was shadowing their father and grandmother, being a gracious host while surrounded by a gaggle of women and the occasional man. Conrad and Sebastian were their usual, brutish selves. And Stella had been under her mother’s watchful eye while she smiled and exchanged pleasantries.

Of course, once the Montilyets arrived, all that would fade into the background, and she and Josephine would be thick as thieves. Belinda, brash as she was, insisted that Josephine wasn’t pretty enough to find a dance partner. Stella could barely come to her defense when Antonio revealed himself to be eavesdropping on their conversation. A few compliments and a kiss on the hand were all it took to get Belinda to eat her words.

Stella could barely contain her excitement when he led Josephine on the dance floor, not even caring that she didn’t have a partner herself. When Josephine came to her, informing her that he wanted to spend more time with her alone, Stella couldn’t help but encourage her to go for it.

An hour passed, and then two, and her and Seamus were left alone. She liked him well enough, but one could only discuss Qunari philosophy for so long without getting bored. Once the dance floor started to clear, and neither Antonio nor Josephine had returned… it was apparent that something had gone terribly wrong. 

When she reached the gardens at last, she prayed to the Maker, to Andraste, to Nessa’s Dalish gods, that everything would be alright. Yet, true to Adorno’s word, nobody was there.

Or so she thought until she heard a low voice, followed by the swishing of silk. She followed the source of the sounds and then ducked behind a shrub nearby.

“Por favor, tengo que volver…”

That was unmistakably Josephine’s voice. Soon after, she heard the swishing of silk once more, and something hitting lightly against moss and stone.

“No…”

Her voice, normally clear as a bell, had faltered. Stella’s heart had jumped to her throat as the other voice said something in a hushed tone, accompanied by the sounds of clothing being torn.

“No podemos. Estaría mal.”

Stella didn’t like the direction in which this situation was going. She began to repeat the Chant of Light in her head, particularly her favorite verse. As though saying it enough times would make it true.

“Tranquila. Me aseguraré de que sigas siendo virgen…”

Stella barely had enough time to be aghast at those words when she heard Josephine’s high-pitched, pained yelp. Without regard for anything else, she barged out from her hiding place while calling out to her. And when she took in the scene before her, her blood went cold.

Josephine was pinned to the compound wall; her dress was hiked up enough for her upper thighs to be visible. The sleeves had been lopsided, revealing the straps of her petticoat and breastband, and the ribbon at the waist had been undone. She was pushing the fabric of her skirts down aggressively to stop a much larger hand from slipping through.

Antonio’s hand.

Antonio had pinned her against a wall, leering over her, with his hands between her legs.

The same Antonio who hours prior, they both believed to be a gentleman.

“Ah, Stella. I wasn’t expecting you. Josephine and I were just having a friendly chat. Nothing more.”

He turned to Josephine, his eyes reminding Stella of a wolf stalking its prey. Josephine, meanwhile, remained still, her hands trembling as she gripped at her skirts.

“WEREN’T we?”

Even now… even at a time like this… Josephine was smiling. Smiling nonchalantly in Stella’s direction, as she always did when she saw her. Smiling as though she wasn’t staring in the face of danger.

Josephine had always appeared brave, even when she was afraid. She always put her family first, her friends first, never wanting them to worry for her.

That was why she needed someone to protect her. And Stella swore she would be that someone as soon as she was old enough to understand that. Keeping that vow in her mind, renewed and stronger than steel, she fixed her gaze on Antonio. Her eyes boring into him with the intensity of a raging flame.

“You were… you were trying to…”

She rested her hands on her dual knives, safe in their hilts at the sides of her dress, so filled with righteous fury that she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.  

“I was TRYING to help her to get some leaves off her dress-“ 

His pitiful attempt at a cover up just made her angrier. She remembered promising Adorno that she wouldn’t give his brother away to their father… but that was before seeing his true colors.

“You’re lying! I’m going to tell Uncle Valen!”

At the mention of his father, he walked away from Josephine and towards Stella. His eyes were cold, but his body was stiff, his right hand shaking as he aggressively gripped his sword.

“Tell him what?”

Stella took a few steps back, remembering what the weapons master taught her as she held out her knives in a defensive stance.

“What are you going to tell my father?”

Stella’s hands shook, and Antonio took advantage of the opening. He held out his sword, pointing at Stella’s neck. The tip of the blade was touching where her neck met her chin and was starting to bleed.

Stella couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She only wanted to scare him, or at worst cause him injury. Yet Antonio had drawn his sword with full intent to kill. She thought she had witnessed his depravity firsthand but didn’t think him capable of murdering his own family.

“TELL ME!”

“Antonio, No!”

Both of them turned in the direction of that shriek of terror. Josephine was now shaking and in tears, her hands clenched into fists while she curled her arms against her chest. She then began to collect herself, wiping her tears while straightening her posture to look Antonio in the eye.

“I mean… Master Otranto, please, leave her out of this. Stella was just concerned about me and misunderstood. We can… continue our conversation from earlier… if you want.”

Stella’s jaw dropped, anticipatory dread overtaking her body. Why wasn’t Josephine fighting too? She was also learning to dual-wield, yet her knives remained untouched. Why was she so intent on resolving every situation with her words? Even when it was obvious that Antonio would never listen to reason?

Antonio sheathed his sword, then began to walk back to the compound wall where Josephine stood, his face contorted in a sick expression of triumph. When his hand gripped Josephine’s waist, Stella felt a furious pounding in her head, as though she were a volcano about to explode.

“Well, you heard her, didn’t you? Now get out of here, unless you want to cause a scene.”

Josephine once again smiled nonchalantly in Stella’s direction, a smile that made her stomach churn. A smile that rendered her with flashes of what would transpire if she gave into Antonio’s demands.

“It’s all right. I can handle this. Don’t worry about me.”

“NO! I can’t let you go with him!”

Stella stood firm, this time taking an offensive position, before brandishing the knife in her right hand towards Antonio’s chest.

“Antonio Ciel Otranto, I challenge you to a duel! And if I win, you’ll leave her alone!”

Antonio stared at her dumbly for a moment, before laughing hysterically. Josephine’s face, by contrast, was pale, and she was violently shaking her head.

“N-no. Take it back. Take it back…”

“Picking fights you can’t win? Are you out of your mind?!”

Stella very well might have been, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her.

“He’s right. It’s not too late, please take it back-“

“I don’t care! I swear upon Andraste that I will never go back on my oath, even if it costs me my life!”

Antonio scoffed, then unsheathed his sword once more as he made his way towards her. Though he was merely a few inches taller than her, his strong and toned muscles made him a visibly imposing presence. Stella wasn’t exactly fragile, but she had been trained for quick, nimble strikes. There was no way she could ever beat Antonio when it came to raw strength. But she had to try.

“You actually believe that rubbish will help you here? You really ARE an idiot!”

He swung his sword towards her, and Stella jumped backwards. She swiftly made her way around him, hoping to get an opening, only for her right knife to meet his blade. Antonio was pushing against her with such force that she had to firmly plant her feet to the ground to keep herself anchored. She lunged, rolling forward while still gripping her knives, then getting up at breakneck speed to block him once more.

Stella had no idea how long it had been, hours, minutes, but she had been trapped in a cycle of dodging and parrying Antonio’s blows… without even landing a single hit. Eventually it became far too taxing to keep up, and her right arm lowered for a few crucial seconds. She let out a scream of pain as Antonio’s sword grazed her stomach, blood soaking the front of her dress.

Antonio kneed her in the gut, causing more blood to gush forth and she let out a mixture between a yell and a sob. Her vision began to blur as she collapsed to the ground. Just when she thought it was over, Antonio grabbed her by the hair to punch her across the face. Then he began to stomp upon her, relishing in her anguished cries until he was sure she had passed out.

But Stella hadn’t passed out. She was bleeding, battered, and in tears, but she was still aware. Though she could only see grass and the soles of shoes from her position, she could hear the aftermath of her own weakness… the consequences of her failure.

Those brown boots began to move away from Stella, while another pair of shoes began to sprint, pounding the grass below as they did. 

“¡Ayúdame!”

The brown boots immediately gave chase, and what followed was another terrified scream. Supporting her weight with her right hand, Stella began to lift her head up, struggling to see with her tousled hair. Antonio had locked one arm around Josephine’s waist and was using the other hand to divest her of her dress, the latter desperately struggling against his grip. 

And at that moment something began to stir within Stella. A burning and a chill at once, buried deep within her chest. Stella’s hand was beginning to shake as she struggled to stay upright, but none of it mattered. The sensation was beginning to course throughout her body. Her vision began to turn blue, and her eyes locked onto Antonio. 

“¡Papá!”

Antonio’s grip refused to falter, while his other hand had begun groping underneath Josephine’s breastband, pawing for the clasp to undo it. She began to flail about in an attempt to fight him off, but to no avail.

"¡Mamá! ¡Papá! ¡Ayúdame!"

The more Stella saw, the faster the sensation began to move. It hurt. It felt like molten lava was making its way through her veins. She needed to expel it somehow… anything to stop the pain…

No. The pain wasn’t the worst part, not at all. The worst part was being so helpless. An instinct that she could not place told her that the pain was building to something. If she could concentrate and expel that pain towards Antonio…

Yes. That was the answer. Her hand was like a taught bowstring, and this pain was the arrow. If she brought that arrow forth, it would hit him. It would disarm him…

It would save Josephine.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!!” 

The tension had snapped, and all began to fade into the sea of blue. All the pain built up inside her began to burst forth and gave her the strength she needed to rise to her feet.

A sharp, deafening crack, and one arrow went flying. Then another, and another, and soon Stella could barely control it, whatever it was. Projectiles sprung forth from her body, over, and over. Soon there was only one all-consuming thought in her head - release the bowstring and shoot as many arrows as you can until there is nothing left from you. 

After an indeterminate period of time, she came to, staring at her trembling hands. Her vision was blurry and there was a ringing in her ears. She blinked several times. Then, she could see properly again and witness what she had wrought.

The gardens, once green and sweltering, were now icy and white with snow. Antonio had been thrown to the ground, and his right arm was frozen solid. His face was pale, pointing at Stella with his free hand and staring at her in a mixture of shock and fear.

And an entire crowd had gathered to observe the scene before them. All of the faces, young and old, familiar and strange, began to blend into each other. And then they began to scream. It was difficult to determine what they were saying, but it was clear that they were curses.

Her eyes darted left and right as she stared in bewilderment at the angry mob. She began to take slow steps backward in an attempt to avoid its wrath, when the back of her foot hit something, stopping her in her tracks. When she turned to see what it was, her confusion quickly morphed into horror.

Josephine was lying face-down, frozen, unconscious… and in a pool of her own blood.

“NO!!!”

Stella knelt down next to the body of her dearest friend, flipping it over in the vain hope that she might have not yet succumbed to her injuries.

“Josie, wake up!”

She scrambled to undo the ribbon at the waist of her gown. Then, with shaking hands, she tied it around the left side of the body’s head in order to arrest the bleeding there. Yet no matter how much she tried to tighten the knot, the blood wouldn’t stop gushing.

“WAKE UP!!”

When the body refused to budge, she began to shake it back and forth by the shoulders in a last-ditch attempt to rouse life back into it.

“You have to get up!! PLEASE!!”

She felt someone forcibly grabbing her hands, wrenching her away from Josephine’s body. Stella stretched out towards it, wailing as that person forcibly dragged her away across the grass.  

“NO!! LET ME GO!! DON’T LET ME LEAVE HER ALONE!!”  

That person held Stella against her, locking their arms underneath her shoulders in an iron grip.

“She’s with The Creators now!”  

Stella struggled against Nessa’s hold, unwilling to face the reality her caretaker was desperately trying to convey to her.

“I have to…! I have to…!”

Nessa forcibly turned Stella around to face her, then slapped her hard across the face, making sure to hit the cheek that Antonio hadn’t punched earlier.

“You’ve done ENOUGH!”

After Nessa’s strike, the ringing in her ears had subsided. Now, it was clear what the angry mob was saying. And what they were calling her.

A spellbind…

An abomination…

A murderer…

But there was one voice that wasn’t saying those things, a familiar one. Her mother’s voice. It was getting closer, calling her name. And it was the last thing she heard before she blacked out. 

Chapter Text

Stella found herself lying on her stomach in the grass, just as she had been when she lost the duel against Antonio. But her injuries from the aforementioned duel had completely healed, as though they never existed in the first place.

She got up to take in her surroundings. The gardens were just as they should have been – green and sweltering. Not a trace of the snow and ice that covered it mere minutes before.

Was it all, perhaps… a dream?

Yes… it had to have been a dream. A terrible, horrible dream. Stella’s dreams, for the past four years or so, had been lucid enough that it was difficult to distinguish them from reality. So, Antonio, the duel, the ice… none of it actually happened.

In her peripheral vision, she thought she saw something move. She turned in its direction to find a familiar face standing in front of the fountain, her back turned. And Stella heaved a sigh of relief as she ran towards her.

“Thank the Maker! You’re alive!”

Stella called out, but Josephine didn’t pay heed or even move a muscle.

“Josie! Josie, it’s me! Can’t you hear me?”

She still stood there, not even acknowledging Stella’s presence. So, she grabbed her shoulder and nudged it, hoping that would do the trick.

“Josephine-“

She sharply turned to face Stella… and it was then when she realized that what happened was no nightmare. Josephine’s olive skin was ashy and pale. Her face was covered in cuts, the most prominent being a great, bleeding gash on the left side of her head. A coating of ice surrounded her body from the neck down, and her limbs were purple. 

The worst thing about her, however, was her eyes. There was no light in them. They simply stared into space… as if she were a walking corpse. 

“…No!”

Josephine’s spirit began to make its way towards her. All Stella could do was back away from it while screaming in terror.

“NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!”

“Why, Stella? How could you do this to me?”

The voice coming forth from the spirit was monotone and stilted, as though it had only just been learning to speak without knowing the meaning of its words. Its steps were like that of the marionettes she saw at performances during Satinalia. Stiff, wooden, and deliberate.  

“I was trying to-“

“Trying to save me? I could have handled Antonio on my own. You knew this. You knew… and you still charged in because you wanted to be the hero.”

Its pace was quickening, and its eyes were darkening. Stella held out her hand as she continued to back away, the garden seeming vast and almost endless.

“How did you even know for certain what you saw? What if I wanted Antonio to ravish me? Have you ever considered that?”

What? No… no that couldn’t have been the case. Josephine was the eldest to her house. She might have complained about her parents on multiple occasions, but she wouldn’t go out of her way to dishonor them. Would she?  

“Was it because you were jealous? It would make sense if you were. Some people do lie with their cousins…” 

The very idea filled her with revulsion. However, she knew that Josephine’s spirit was most likely struggling to accept its own death. It was scrambling to find a reason, any reason possible, as to why Josephine was killed by someone so dear to her.

“I wasn’t! Please! Just let me explain!”

The spirit suddenly stopped, its dark eyes fixed upon her, pupils constricted in pure hatred and teeth bared like a rabid beast.

“Oh… I understand now. You desired ME instead. THAT was why seeing Antonio take a shine to me enraged you so. If you couldn’t have me, nobody could.”

If the previous theory disgusted her, this one utterly horrified her. Because there was a possibility, however slim, that it was indeed true.

“No! It was Antonio I was aiming for! Not you!” 

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter why you did it. Whether it was because of pride, or desire. I stand before you now… frozen, bleeding… dead.” 

The spirit and Stella were about a foot apart. She had no idea how that suddenly happened, but she wasn’t in the state of mind to question it.

“LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO ME!!”

Its once stilted, mechanical voice was suddenly shrieking in legitimate anguish. It held out its hands towards Stella, and blue projectiles came forth from them. She tried to dodge them, but her body was paralyzed. She screamed in pain each time a projectile hit her, freezing her limbs solid.

The spirit raised its hands above its head, pointing towards the sky, and the gardens were overwhelmed in a torrent of icy howling winds. It shrieked once more, and Stella braced herself for impact as sharp icicles began stabbing her all over her body, drawing blood in their wake.

“IT HURTS, DOES IT NOT?! SUFFER THEN! SUFFER WHAT YOU HAVE INFLICTED ON ME BY A THOUSAND-FOLD!”

The blizzard intensified, and more icicles came forth, cutting Stella across the face, leaving her with gashes similar to those the spirit had. When a particularly large icicle stabbed her across the left side of her head, she was thrown backward. She found herself kneeling on the floor, sobbing not from the pain of the wounds, but the pain of her own grief and guilt.

“Josephine! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to kill you! I’m sorry!”

The spirit continued its icy assault, and Stella stayed there, taking every single blow.

“WILL SORRY THAW MY LIMBS?! WILL SORRY HEAL MY WOUNDS?! WILL SORRY BRING MY SOUL FROM THE FADE?!”

Stella knew it wouldn’t. She took an oath before Andraste so long ago… only to go back on it within a single night. Someone like that… someone with the blood of the person they cherished most on their hands simply didn’t deserve to live.

“It won’t! But I’m sorry! If it makes you feel better, you can kill me, I deserve it anyway!”

“WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I’LL GIVE YOU MERCY RIGHT NOW?!”

Stella’s body began to levitate, before the ice around her hardened even further. The cold was so biting that she couldn’t even feel her limbs.

“And you know what hurts the most? That my death is entirely my own fault. If I hadn’t humored you, you wouldn’t have deluded yourself into thinking we were friends. My family’s honor wouldn’t have suffered by being associated with YOU, and I would still be alive.” 

At that moment, words uttered by her mother, her grandmother, Nessa, Conrad, Belinda… words echoing that very sentiment, all began to circle her head. She would have shed tears, but they came out as icicles, causing her to scream in pain.

“I should have told you that I had enough. I should have told all of them that I had enough! I’ve had it with playing the role of a friend! I’ve had it with playing the role of a daughter! I’ve had it with playing a role of the first-born for my stupid good-for-nothing brothers and Yvette! In fact, why stop at me, you should have killed THEM too!”

Stella felt a sudden jolt, as though she had been hit on the head with a mallet, and her eyes flew open. All of the grief and guilt she was feeling just moments earlier was completely forgotten. She decided to take advantage of this sudden moment of clarity and looked straight into those lifeless eyes.  

“Who are you?”

And just like that, the ice around her began to melt and her wounds rapidly healed. The scenery around them changed. The garden courtyard and the ground beneath their feet vanished. All that existed was a great void and a vast ominous cluster of buildings in the distance.

“What?”

The voice coming out from the person before her was now deeper, more befitting of a grown man than of a young girl, confirming her suspicions.

“Josephine would never talk about her family like that. Who are you?”

The figure morphed. It was floating slightly, had skeletal hands, lacked feet, and was all cloaked in black. Before she could wonder what lay behind its cowl, it began to push it backward, only to be met with a familiar face wearing a demented grin… 

Her own.

 “I’m YOU.”

…

Stella awoke in the dungeons of her family’s estate. She recalled only being down here once, when she was perhaps four or five years old and trying to run from Conrad’s jealous rage.

Her body ached all over, and her head was throbbing. She looked down to find that her ballroom finery had been replaced with a cotton shift, the sort worn by commoners. That wasn’t a concern to her. She found such clothes to be more comfortable anyway, much to her mother’s chagrin.

The wound on her stomach caused by Antonio’s sword had been patched up, as well as the narrow cut on her neck. She tried to get up but noticed that her hands and legs were in chains. It must have been incredibly humid down here, but Stella’s body was covered in a thin coating of ice.

Ice… like the ice that covered the gardens. The ice that had been intended to disarm Antonio but instead took Josephine’s life. The ice that Stella summoned by magic.

Magic…

Stella had magic…

That was why she’d been having lucid dreams.

That was why she could see spirits and demons.

That was why no matter how hard she prayed, no matter how much she loved Him or His Bride… The Maker would never answer her.

Andraste fought to liberate Thedas from the tyranny of the Imperium… mages were Her sworn enemy.

Mages like herself.

And with that thought came the jangling of keys, the opening of metal doors, and footsteps. Before her stood a woman that she was the spitting image of. Her eyes fixed upon her with critical contempt, even more so than usual.

“Mother…”

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. You should be apologizing to the Montilyets, rather than me. However, I doubt they’d even want you to show your face to them.”

Just two days ago, by this time, she would have stood up against her never-ending onslaught of jabs. However now, she simply looked down and took every word that was said.

“I didn’t mean to-“

“You didn’t mean to kill her?”

Stella shook her head, and she heard a familiar disgusted scoff. Her mother had been facing her when she first entered Stella’s cell. But now, her back was turned. She was clearly too appalled, too ashamed to look at her.

“It doesn’t matter what you meant. What matters is that the girl’s dead. She died because of you, and that is something that can never be forgiven.”

Stella froze, grey as stone, as those words sunk deep into her. It was just as the spirit… the demon… whatever it was, had said.

If Stella hadn’t been under the delusion that she had The Maker’s love… Josephine would still be alive.

If Stella hadn’t let her ego and selfish desire to protect overtake her… Josephine would still be alive.

If Stella had recognized that she was merely being humored, tolerated, for both their families’ sakes… Josephine would still be alive.

Yet, she was a fool. A fool who couldn’t recognize any of this. And her foolishness cost the Montilyets their beloved daughter and chosen heir.

“You’ll be on trial once you reach the Circle. What do you plan to say for yourself?”

What sort of a question was that? She knew what she had to say – the truth.

“That I was trying to save her.”

Her mother let out a long, exaggerated sigh. That was clearly the wrong answer.  

“I suppose I have been expecting too much from you, then.”

There was silence, a painful, uncomfortable silence for Maker knows how long, before her mother spoke once more.

“Do you have any idea how much I suffered for you? Of course you wouldn’t. You were born pale, sickly, and cold. You spent the first six months of your life screaming your throat hoarse, when you weren’t trying to throw yourself from your cot.”

Something that, in retrospect, was a sign of her tainted blood. Perhaps it would have been better, easier, if the midwife who declared she would perish before her first year had been right.  

“If that wasn’t enough, Evelyn doubted me the moment you left my womb, and your father believed her every word. Why wouldn’t they doubt me? Look at you - all Antivan, not a trace of Marcher in you.”

And in that moment, fourteen years’ worth of sadness, indignation, and confusion had crashed upon her like a wave. She didn’t know how she went so long unscathed by all of it. By her grandmother sequestering her and her mother from the rest of the family. By her father’s drunken rants and fists. By Conrad’s desperation to surpass Nathan and reclaim their mother for his own.

Was it stupidity? Selfishness? Ignorance? Perhaps it was all three. All of this had been happening to her mother, and it was just like her to not care, to refuse to see it.

“You know, even I sometimes wondered if Nathan ever fathered you. But I suppose I should be vindicated. I now have undeniable proof that you are one of them. Though not the sort I wanted.”

Her mother’s words, however true they may be, were becoming too overwhelming to hear. She couldn’t stop the tears from falling, and that awful feeling stirring within her again. The feeling that summoned the ice. The feeling that got people killed.

She wished that Nessa were here. She’d know what to do to make it stop. All those nights she would spend crying, wondering if her mother hated her, Nessa would be there. She would comfort her, assuring her that it wasn’t true, and that everything was going to be okay.

But Nessa too, had been appalled and ashamed of her. After all, the last thing she ever told her… was that she had done enough.

“Mother-“

“What makes you think you have the gall to call me that? After everything you’ve done?!” 

Stella shrunk, bracing herself just as she did in her dream, when the icicles stabbed her. She swallowed, her saliva feeling like a fish bone stuck in her throat. She placed her chained hands against her chest in an attempt to suppress that feeling deep within.

And it occurred to her… there was a verse in the Chant of Light about mages she remembered. A verse that gave her a sliver of hope, that not everyone cursed with magic was destined to be evil or possessed. So, she decided to ask her mother about it, and soon, as she was making her way to the door of her cell to depart.  

“Andraste said that magic must serve man… didn’t She? That means… The Maker wants mages to use their powers to help people.”

Her mother stopped in her tracks, clenching the keys so hard that her fists had turned white. Yet no matter how furious she clearly was, Stella still needed to know.

“So… if I did that… would I be able to come home?”

Once again there was uncomfortable, deafening silence for an indeterminable period of time. Then, she finally mustered up the strength to look at her, with eyes so dark with hatred that they bore into Stella’s soul.

“You are of no help to anyone.”

Her mother slammed those iron doors shut, not even bothering to lock them. And that was the last time Stella ever saw her.

Chapter Text

Josephine scrutinized the report Leliana had presented her with, staring in a mixture of surprise and confusion at its contents.

The Trevelyan family was Montilyets main go-to for trade with the Free Marches and had been since long before Josephine was born. Yet, despite their families having such strong ties, she had only known of the Trevelyans through studying heraldry, and from the occasional bit of gossip. When she was still in Val Royeaux, her family had received invitations for their eldest son’s wedding. A wedding that she had been barred from attending, as her parents didn’t wish to disrupt her studies.

And now, she was just being made aware of the existence of a third scion of the Trevelyan family. A scion that narrowly escaped the jaws of death and was being hailed as a hero because of it.

“I didn’t know Bann Trevelyan had a daughter.”

Leliana stared at her intently, carefully reading her face in the hopes of finding something. As for what it was, Josephine wasn’t sure.  

“Few outside of the Free Marches do.”

That, once again, puzzled her. Highborn mages were not unheard of. Aside from the Gallows of Kirkwall, the Free Marches were nowhere near as brutal towards mages as Antiva was. In fact, she heard of noble families allowing their mage children to visit home during the summer, so she assumed that the Trevelyans would be the same.

“Devout as they may be… what parent would want their child to grow into a stranger?”

“The sort that hardly cherished their child to begin with. That incident just provided them with the perfect excuse.”

“What incident?”   

Leliana’s hand shook, jostling the cup of coffee that she held to her lips. The brown liquid within sloshed about but thankfully did not spill. The average person would have dismissed the gesture, but Josephine knew Leliana well. It took a lot to move someone as unflappable as she. Sure enough, she placed the half-finished cup on the table in front of them before clearing her throat.

“Fourteen years ago, her magic awakened at Dowager Lucille Trevelyan’s annual summer ball. It was quite the scandal. Ever since then, all records of her outside the Circle were erased, as though she never even existed.”

Of course, Leliana had been shaken. Something like this would have shaken anyone. Awakening of magic could have meant anything from making a houseplant bloom in winter to causing life-threatening disasters. Having tainted blood be exposed in such a public fashion must have been a nightmare for everyone involved. Small wonder the Trevelyans never wished to discuss it again.  

Come to think of it… how was this her first time hearing about it? And for that matter, how come she wasn't there to witness it? Every family of distinction had been invited to Lady Lucille’s ball… except for the Montilyets. When she tried to recall if they had attended such a ball in her childhood, her mind refused to provide her with proof.

Though she supposed that was what she got for trying to remember too far back. Her memory would often fail her when she needed it the most, especially if there were emotions surrounding what she was trying to retrieve. If they affected her severely enough, even recent events would be shrouded in fog.  

“And at the Circle?”

“Aside from a relationship or two, her record is mostly clean. After passing her Harrowing at twenty, she lived in severe isolation, even by the Circle’s standards. Then, of course, the rebellion happened, bringing us to where we are now.”

Leliana resumed drinking her cup of coffee, leaving Josephine with a few seconds to think of what this would mean for her. When she came to know that the one who stopped the Breach from spreading was a highborn mage, she hoped that gaining the support of her fellow nobles would be easier as a result. Unfortunately for her, and for the Inquisition, a highborn mage was a mage nonetheless.

“I take this to mean her family name would provide little leverage, given how fraught their relationship is.”

“Not exactly. Now that they’ve lost their chosen heir, they have little in the way of options if they want to improve their standing.”

Josephine felt the color drain from her face, and an uncomfortable knot in her stomach. Bann Trevelyan’s eldest son had a reputation that preceded him. A handsome face, a well-honed wit, and a strong hand. He was so charming and gallant that his wedding had been a day of mourning for quite a few of her classmates. A man that, in her opinion, was far too lofty to picture at her side. A man that apparently had been taken from this world too soon.

“Nathan the Second was at the Conclave?”

“Yes, he represented the Trevelyan household on the side of the templars. He left behind his wife and his two sons, and neither of them are of age. So, the estate is now in the hands of Conrad, his younger brother.” 

Leliana took one look at Josephine’s most likely worried face and sighed. It had been obvious that the wheels in her head had been turning, wondering on how to possibly reach out to them when they were dealing with such a great loss.

“Well, if the Trevelyans do insist on closing their doors to us, there’s always the Herald’s maternal family. You’d most likely have better luck with them anyway.”

Josephine hoped that would be the case, as the Otrantos of Antiva were even closer. And yet, there was the same bizarre distance between them. She only met their youngest son once – at a cotillion last year, shortly after his brother’s untimely demise. Before that, her family had a long list of excuses prepared every time there was an opportunity for them to mingle. 

Speaking of her family, how was she going to break the news to them? As far as her mother was concerned, she had been meeting with the alleged 'merchant' who had been bleeding their coffers dry. How were they going to react to the prospect that they had been deceived, albeit for the greater good? And worse... how were they going to react to her leaving the estate after only being home for a few years, straight into the maws of danger once more? 

“I’d have to inform-“

“I’ve sent out more copies of the report to your parents, and a letter explaining what you’d be doing. All that’s next is for them to give you their blessing, and you’re good to go.”

A task that was far easier said than done, and yet Leliana spoke of it with her usual air of confidence. Her father just needed to hear the words ‘Josephine’ and ‘leaving’ in order to send him into a frenzy. The man would probably join the Crows if it meant she would stay put in her chambers, surrounded by servants and clothed in finery. Her mother, thankfully, was much more sensible… but even she would balk at the prospect of sending her to some backwater in Ferelden.

Not to mention that nobody in her family thought highly of Leliana. In spite of her position, and her friends in high places, they always found her far too crooked to be worthy of their trust. Knowing all of this, what made her think that she could convince them?

“Are you sure-“

“Josie, just trust me. I’ve dealt with far worse than a domineering family.”

Josephine decided to take her word for it. They had been friends long enough, and as she said, had been through much worse together and lived to tell the tale. She scanned through the report once more, confirming all the information that had been relayed to her verbally. Even after seeing it a second time, she could scarcely imagine such frightening and extraordinary events happening to a person. This Herald of Andraste had gone from being a disgraced, discarded mage of a noble house, to being chosen by the Maker Himself. A tale, and a person that seemed less real, and more lifted from the pages of her favorite novels.

“Stella Otranto Trevelyan… she must be quite the woman.”

Josephine felt a sudden, overwhelming itch on that birthmark on the left side of her head, like fire ants were crawling across it. It vanished as quickly as it came, so she decided to play it off.

“Whatever you’re picturing, I assure you she’s the furthest thing from it. Let’s just say you’d have your work cut out for you.”

She knew that Leliana had already met the Herald but chose not to take her warning seriously. She cautioned her against anybody who would be working near her, regardless of their reputation.

Besides, in her career, she dealt with people of all sorts. Braggarts, thieves, murderers, and backstabbers. The Herald, whatever quirks she might have, couldn’t possibly have been any more trying than what she already faced.

“You know me, I never back down from a challenge.”

Chapter Text

If Josephine could turn back time, she’d pass on the warning that the trying one would not be the Herald, but herself. If her mother had seen her atrocious behavior, she would have been forced back home and made to endure a humiliating refresher on protocol.

The Herald asked her what she was thinking when she impulsively ran to catch her as she fell. The answer was that Josephine very much wasn’t. Her actions caused the Herald and herself to run late. Not to mention how much she had been clinging to her and following her around like a dog, failing to even realize who she was talking to.

That was why she had to make it up to her, somehow. Especially now that she had passed out in the middle of the war room. Josephine presumed that she must have hit her head when they both tripped and fell to the ground, and that impact caused her eventual faint.

It took some time to find her way to that apothecary’s cabin, as she had always been terrible with directions, but she made it. She expected to see its owner, or that elven boy once again as she opened the door, but instead, she saw someone she hadn’t seen before.

A bald elven man wearing a simple tunic whose age she couldn’t place. He had taken a chair and was sitting next to the Herald, who had been lying down on a cot in the corner of the room. Josephine recalled the Herald mentioning an elven apostate who had ideas on how to close the Breach, and concluded this was most likely him.

“Lady Trevelyan?”

The Herald sat up, rapidly turning in Josephine’s direction. The Herald’s brown eyes were wide as a pair of dinner plates, and her hands were clenched into fists. Her dark hair had been untied and unkempt, cascading just below her shoulders. But nonetheless, physically, she appeared to be in good condition.

“Oh, thank the Maker. You’re alright.”

Josephine sighed in relief, making her way towards the cot. The Herald, presumably still disoriented, backed away from her, her body hitting the headboard of the bed. The apostate who had been watching over her was still sitting there, feigning disinterest in their conversation. 

“Once again, I am so, so sorry. If I hadn’t caught you back then… you wouldn’t have hit your head…”

Her mind flashed back to that moment when The Herald collapsed. Seeker Pentaghast and that commander had panicked. But Leliana curiously stood back as they helped to carry her here. Come to think of it, they should have noticed sooner that she was facing the aftermath of a concussion. Multiple times that day they had seen the Herald clutching her head, as if in pain, and her eyes going glossy.

Now, it seemed the Herald was, at least mentally, in just as pitiful of a state as she was during the day. Something had clearly frightened her… but what? Josephine then remembered that the Herald could access The Fade through her dreams, leaving her open to demons. And the visions that demons conjured could break even the most seasoned of mages.

Keeping this in mind, Josephine took a seat on the cot, facing the Herald directly, and took her hand. She hoped the touch would provide some comfort, but to her shock, the Herald began to shiver, and she was more disturbed than ever.

“Maker’s breath… you’re trembling.”

She tightened her grip on the Herald’s hand instinctively, even though she knew it wouldn’t help. The Herald’s touch was biting cold, even more so than the weather around them.

They had stared at each other, unmoving for… seconds? Minutes? Hours? Regardless, it had been some time, but she hadn’t said a single word. What could have brought someone so capable to this?

Wait… she knew the answer and cursed herself for not seeing it sooner. Nathan Trevelyan the Second, the Herald’s beloved older brother, had been taken from her. And even if he hadn’t been there that day, she must have had comrades, maybe even a lover, present at the time of the blast.

And even after losing everyone and everything she held dear, she suppressed her grief to carry out her duty. Unfortunately, that concussion… courtesy of Josephine, brought her grief to the surface.

“I see. The disaster at The Temple… you must still be shattered by it. I heard that it took one of your brothers, and several of your comrades. I’m sorry for your loss.”

The Herald’s eyes were shaking, staring off into the distance. Josephine had no idea what she was thinking, or what she was seeing. But it was clear that as far as the Herald was concerned, though they were looking straight at each other, Josephine wasn’t even there. 

Something flashed across the Herald’s face… understanding? Recognition? Realization? And then, she finally found her voice. It was far from the harsh, but concerned tone she used when they were alone, or the calm and assured timbre she used in the war room. But instead, a low, shaky whisper.

“You don’t remember.”

Josephine had just remarked that the Herald was behaving as though she wasn’t even there… now she knew it to be certain. Seeing the Herald staring and speaking at nothing made her feel as though a fist had clenched around her heart, squeezing it like a cheesecloth until it bled from within.

As much as she wanted to remain by the Herald’s side, to be a steady presence, or offer words of consolation until she was stable… she knew she couldn’t. Leliana was probably expecting her by now. Besides, the Herald wasn’t alone. That apostate was also there and had moved to stand by the edge of the doorway when she wasn’t looking.

“Excuse me?”

The apostate turned to face her, his expression unreadable.

“Forgive me, good stranger. But we never-“

“Solas.”

Josephine repeated his name back at him somewhat dumbly before releasing the Herald’s hand and getting up. She resisted the urge to look back at those addled eyes, for seeing them would root her where she stood.

“And you must be the Inquisition’s ambassador. I’ve heard much. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

The man was nothing if not polite, but a small voice inside of her told her not to trust him. Yet how could she not? He had proven himself capable in the Inquisition’s eyes, and the Herald had fought alongside him. Besides, who else could she call upon in the meantime?

“Likewise. Solas… could you please stay with her? I would very much like to, but I have business to attend to. And the idea of leaving her alone like this… worries me.”

“Of course, Ambassador.”

Solas answered a little too quickly, and that feeling of dread, like a dark cloud, began to hang over her. The longer she stayed, the higher the chance there was of acting upon said dread. So, she decided to be on her way.

“Until next time.”

With that, she grabbed hold of the lantern that she left next to the doorway when she entered and left the cabin for the second time that day. When she returned to the Chantry, she heard a familiar voice calling out to her. When she made it to the source of that voice, she was greeted with a small, damp, dark room. Leliana was standing next to a large mahogany desk; a desk so covered in dust that she had to suppress the urge to sneeze from a foot away. To Josephine’s right, there was a cot with a singular pillow and blanket, a chest of drawers, and a workbench.

Josephine couldn’t help but recoil. Though she knew better than to expect accommodations comparable to Val Royeaux, or even back home, she didn’t think Haven would be this dreary. She sighed, moving towards her trunks which lay just next to the workbench, and began to methodically unpack, Leliana staring at her all the while.

“How has the Herald been faring?”

“She hit her head, and I believe the impact rattled her. She was terrified and saying the most bizarre things.”

“Really? What sort of things?”

She couldn’t help but note the mixture of nervousness and curiosity in Leliana’s voice. As she gingerly set her books to the floor, and began organizing them by subject, she opened her mouth to tell her friend about it…only to realize that she couldn’t even remember what the Herald had said.

For a minute or two, she just stared at her books, gaping like a fish, and then shook her head and resumed her work. So, it seemed that yet another memory had been pushed behind the ‘wall in her mind’, as she dubbed it in her adolescence. If only she could control it, or at least, be aware of it. How many times back in Val Royeaux had she been forced to lean on Leliana for cover? How many times had Madame Bentevir wacked her knuckles, screaming « démolis le, alors! » at her when she tried to bring up said wall in vain? How many times had she joked with dignitaries back home about her mind being akin to Orlesian cheese in an attempt to ease the tension between them?

“Another memory for the wall, then?”

Leliana managed to both read Josephine’s thoughts and pull her out of them. She had finished unpacking the trunk she had designated for her books and writing materials and headed for the one that contained her clothes. However, before she could undo the lock, Leliana had approached her with a scroll that reached about half her height. Josephine stared vacantly at the comically long list of names, her head spinning knowing she’d have to write to all of them.

“I know you only just got here, but better you come to know about this now. Thank the Maker you’re literate, or that wall of yours would have damned us all.” 

“This is… every noble family in Ferelden?”

Leliana chuckled, the sort of chuckle she usually let out whenever someone said something obvious, or worse, something idiotic. 

“Don’t be silly, Josie… just the ones who’ll hear us out.”

She sighed, both in exhaustion, and in embarrassment from making that assumption. Then, she took the list from Leliana and placed it on the trunk she had just emptied, before unlocking the second and proceeding to lay out her clothes.

“I heard from Adan’s errand boy about your little run-in. I did say that you had your work cut out for you.”

“Oh, no. I’m the one who should be ashamed. If I had just waited and allowed her to use magic, the Herald wouldn’t be in this state.”

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Leliana staring at her in bewilderment while she carried her folded clothes to the chest of drawers. When she opened one of them, a cloud of dust shoved itself towards her face. She jumped an inch backward, still gripping the clothes in an attempt to protect her nose, but to no avail. Once she finished her sneezing fit, she set the clothes on the cot and proceeded to dislodge the dusty drawers one by one, hitting them until a dust pile had gathered on the floor.

“You don’t find her difficult… at all?”

“Do you?”

Leliana had begun sweeping the dust away as Josephine reassembled the chest of drawers. Though they were no longer dusty, she still didn’t feel comfortable about keeping her clothes in them. She went through the pile of clothes on the cot, searching for her handkerchiefs, and decided to use them to line the bottom of the drawers.

“Everyone does. She’ll only lift a finger when called and is so standoffish that most won’t bother to. She only gave you the time of day because you literally threw yourself at her.”

Josephine’s body turned rigid, and her face was stone gray. Her jaw had clenched so tightly that she could feel it through her cheekbones. She couldn’t explain what it was about Leliana’s remark that enraged her so. Perhaps the bit about ‘throwing herself at the Herald’ was what did it. Or was it the dust clogging her nose and stinging her eyes? Well, they certainly didn’t help.

“Leliana… you know as well as I do that people don’t become that way without cause.”

The tone of her voice had surprised her. It came out almost like a low growl, spoken through gritted teeth.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you pitied her.”

The word ‘pity’, for some reason, had hit a nerve, and she aggressively slammed the drawer she had finished organizing. Leliana of all people should be able to understand. She was a drastically different person when they met after the Fifth Blight. No doubt the things she had seen back then had taken their toll on her. Why couldn’t she sympathize with someone who went through similar circumstances?

Besides, the Herald could have easily left Josephine in the lurch. But instead, she chose to take time out of her day to treat her injuries. That didn’t sound like a person who refused to help unless bidden to.

“It’s not that. If she was as uncaring as you say… why work to seal the Breach?”

“Because that mark will kill her if she doesn’t. Afterwards, she’ll probably make her way North, like every rebel mage these days. It’s not like she has anything to leave behind.”

At last, all of her clothes had been neatly arranged in the chest of drawers. All that was left was to ready her desk, which Leliana had thankfully dusted for her. She walked back to the neatly arranged piles of books, carried them towards the desk, and arranged them in the cabinet on the right side.

“Exactly. She’s lost everything near and dear to her, and yet she still has the will to live. She has to be motivated by something.”

Unfortunately, not all of the books could fit. So, she kept the ones she believed she would use most frequently on the desk’s surface. Then, she began to arrange her writing materials in the drawers on the left side.

“And why does that matter to you?”

“Because…”

She began to trail off when she realized she couldn’t even answer Leliana’s question. Why did it matter to her what the Herald was motivated by, and whether or not her heart lied with her cause?

Why couldn’t she remember what the Herald had said at Adan’s cabin?

Why did all of her protocol and sense fly out the window the moment they first met?

“Because…”

She wracked her brain for answers, only to be met with the wall of her mind. This time, when she hit it, her body reacted. A rapid, biting chill coursed throughout her birthmark, before spreading to the rest of her head.

“Because…!”

Leliana was at her side in an instant, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her so she was looking directly in her eyes. It took Josephine a second or two before remembering what to do in a situation like this. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, with that, the chill in her head dissipated.

A chill in her head that she couldn’t remember why she had.

“It’s been a long day. Get some rest. Perhaps it will come to you later.”

Chapter Text

Stella supposed that there was a time when she was able to close her eyes, ears, and heart to things that would otherwise break her. It must have been the only way her magic managed to stay dormant for as long as it did.  

The day that Ostwick Circle was attacked was the day she relearned how to do so, mainly out of necessity. She couldn’t afford to spend her nights plagued by demons when her days were spent fighting for her life. Even after Cassandra and Leliana had guaranteed her safety, she found it difficult to return to the person she was before. Pretending not to feel – no, not feeling at all, had become second nature to her.

Or at least it had been, until a familiar face from Antiva City had found its way back into her life. A face that, as far as she knew, died fourteen years ago.

When Stella awoke at Adan’s apothecary, that dreaded face had come to check on her. At first, she believed it to be a demon that managed to escape through a rift, so she remained on guard. Those deep black eyes, to her shock, were soft with concern.  However, they were also merely glazing over her, nary a sign of recognition in them.

The more she heard that familiar face speak, the more it began to dawn on her. And then she could hear Enchanter Lydia’s voice echoing through her head.

“You should be on your knees thanking me. I could have easily dismissed those letters clearing your name.”

Back then, she fell into a rage so blinding hot that she lost her senses completely. There had been no time to reflect on her actions since. And so, she dove into denial. But Stella could deny no longer, for the truth had been staring at her right in the face. A truth, it seemed, she had been the last to know.

Josephine Montilyet had survived. But that horrible day, and their eight years of friendship that had preceded it had been completely wiped from her memory.

A revelation that Stella was, at first, deeply unsettled by. But upon reflection, the anxiety quickly gave way to relief. Josephine was alive and well, a few childhood memories were but a small price to pay. They could start from zero, as complete and utter strangers. They would only interact when the need arose, professionally and briefly. Once the Breach was sealed, they could go their separate ways. Stella would be absolved of her guilt, and Josephine – no, the ambassador, would be none the wiser.

And as soon as this conviction took shape in Stella’s mind, she could put the past aside, as she did many times before. The last few weeks had gone by without incident. She was just assisting in the war relief efforts. While Mother Giselle was willing to join the fold, she had little to no success with anyone else. The ambassador stressed the importance of recruiting agents. But no matter how much Stella tried to convince the people to care about The Breach, they paid no heed to her.

Eventually, she ran to Solas for advice, as she found herself doing whenever her duties frustrated her. Though their views on spirits couldn't have been any more different, Stella knew he possessed a wealth of knowledge and wisdom that she could most certainly benefit from. In some ways, he reminded her of Rowan, but with none of the detestable qualities that caused him to break her heart so long ago.

That researcher, Minaeve however, didn’t share the same sentiment. Stella only had to mention the apostate offhandedly and the elf’s face contorted into a scowl. She couldn’t help but notice that every Dalish elf she met since being sent to the Circle felt disdain for their own people. A disdain she didn’t think was warranted. Keeping a quota on the number of mages per clan couldn’t have been worse than anything the Chantry was capable of.

In her younger years, Stella would have tried to argue with her, throwing evidence in her face until she seemed convinced or walked away. Now, she realized that people believed what they wanted to, and she didn’t want to invite unnecessary trouble. So, she stayed silent as Minaeve took the strange rags from Stella’s hands and made her way towards the room opposite to them so she could access her workbench.

To Stella’s surprise, Minaeve made her way back after peeking through the slightly ajar door. When she asked what was going on, Minaeve gestured towards the door with her eyes, silently telling Stella to see for herself before walking towards those great doors out of the Chantry.

She quietly walked towards the door, cursorily glancing through the crack. The ambassador was at her desk, but it was hard to see her as someone was blocking the view. A man, a nobleman, judging from his ostentatious clothing, had been animatedly discussing something with her, while she was muttering something about how ‘it couldn’t be done’, whatever it was.

Stella pressed her body flat against the wall nearby, remaining perfectly still as she listened in. Though Stella swore to herself she would avoid engaging with the ambassador as much as possible, she couldn’t help but spy on her whenever she got the chance. Most likely out of fear that she could come across something that would cause her memories to return.

The ambassador apologized to the nobleman once more, but it did nothing to placate him. He aggressively slammed his hand against the desk, causing her to shoot up and back away slightly.

“No! I won’t hear any more of this! The Inquisition cannot remain, Ambassador, if you can’t prove it was founded on Justinia’s orders!”

The ambassador took a few more steps to the side, allowing Stella to see more than just flashes of blue and gold. She was holding her slate with one hand, covering half her face, and a pen in the other.

“This is an inopportune time, Marquis. More of the faithful flock here each day-“

“To the void with the faithful! Haven is the DuRellion’s rightful property!”

Stella began to move closer, craning her ear towards the slightly ajar door as heated words were exchanged on the other side. The few times she had the opportunity to observe her, the ambassador was either writing letters or making small talk. This was the first time Stella had seen her engaging in a full-blown argument.

“What do you propose we do with them, then? Turn them out onto the snow?”

“Who even benefits if they stay?!”

The ambassador’s voice had remained consistent in pitch and tone, while the Marquis’ had been growing agitated, to the point of sounding almost shrill.

“The late Divine Justinia, Marquis. The Inquisition, not the Chantry, is sheltering the people who mourn her.”

“Have you ever considered that there’s a reason why the Chantry turned them away?!”

“Because…”

The ambassador trailed off, starting to sound less self-assured. As much as the Marquis was making a fool of himself, Stella had to concede that he was right about one thing. The Chantry was ignoring the faithful, deliberately at that. Though many people gave their devotion to Him, the Maker would only listen to some. A fact of life that the Chantry knew better than anyone else.

“…because it remains in shock.”

It seemed that even the ambassador couldn’t come up with a suitable retort for that. Her eyes were beginning to shift back and forth, while the marquis was getting more up in her face. If the ambassador was intimidated by him, she wasn’t showing it.

“You WILL write to Empress Celene on my behalf and bid her to acknowledge my ownership of this land… or else-“

Stella couldn’t help but gasp in shock when she realized she had errantly pressed her hand against the door, swinging it fully open. She froze as both the ambassador and the marquis turned in the direction of the loud creaking sound.

The ambassador briskly walked towards her, still clutching her slate and pen. Her gait and slightly nervous air made Stella wonder if she was expecting her to come to her rescue. That notion caused a familiar scene to flash across her mind, accompanied by a throbbing in her head.  

“Ah! Lady Trevelyan! I had no idea you were here. Marquis, allow me to introduce you to the brave soul who risked her life to slow the magic of the Breach.”

She sounded far too chipper for someone who had just endured a stranger screaming at her. But Stella knew that the ambassador needed to be, she wouldn’t have gotten this far in her career if she didn’t.

Stella straightened her posture, trying to look as though she hadn’t been eavesdropping, and made her way towards the marquis, the ambassador trailing close behind her. When she got a closer look at him, she noted that he, like Solas, was completely bald. His face had been obscured by a golden mask, as garish as his clothing. She had read about the Orlesian preoccupation with masks, but this was the first time she had seen proof of it in the flesh. 

“This is Marquis DuRellion, one of the late Divine Justinia’s greatest supporters.”

“And the rightful owner of Haven. House DuRellion lent Justinia these lands for a pilgrimage. This… ‘inquisition’ is not a beneficiary of this arrangement.”

Stella couldn’t read the marquis’ expression due to the mask, but his tone of voice was just as furious as before. It was then when she realized that she had been caught in a bind. What was she supposed to think, to do, to say in a situation like this? Logically speaking, she needed to convince him to leave Haven alone. Letting him waltz in and banish the injured and sick wouldn’t bode well for the Inquisition’s reputation, which would prevent them from closing the Breach.

“Your people are a simple lot. They’re more compelled by the person delivering the message than they are by the message itself. Remember, you are playing a role. Once the Breach is sealed, the curtains will fall with it.”

Recalling Solas’ words, she decided now was the perfect time to implement them. Drawing on pages from a series she read a lifetime ago, she took a somewhat cocky stance and folded her hands.

“This is the first I’ve heard of Haven having an owner outside the Chantry.”

It seemed she had gotten better at imitating Cassandra’s tenor, as the marquis’ formerly rigid body had begun to loosen.

“My wife, Lady Machen of Denerim, has claim to Haven by ancient treaty with the monarchs of Ferelden. We were honored to lend its use to Divine Justinia. She is…”

The marquis trailed off, obviously forgetting that the late Divine was no longer there to grace him with her presence.

“She WAS, a woman of supreme merit. I will not let an upstart order remain on her holy grounds.”

Stella tried to keep her face impassive, hoping that he wasn’t picking up on her mind racing – no. The woman from those pages wouldn’t be obsessively preoccupied with how she was coming across. She would stare the marquis down in indignation, for how dare he use his wife’s connections to throw innocents to the streets? Besides, just how close to the late Divine was he really? If he truly had been, he would have known about the directive she gave to her most trusted circle just before she passed. Latching onto that thought, she narrowed her eyes at the marquis, putting as much suspicion and disgust into her voice as she was able.

“Interesting, considering the Inquisition was begun by the Left and Right Hands of the Divine.”

“And yet I’ve seen no written records from either of them that Justinia sanctioned it.”

“I would take them at their word if I were you, Marquis. If not, I’m afraid Seeker Pentaghast must challenge you to a duel.”

The ambassador had returned to her usual self – professional, confident, and amicable despite very clearly threatening him. As for what she said, Stella wasn’t sure if it was genuine or if it had been a well-timed bluff to scare the marquis away.

“What?!”

Small wonder that the Orlesians wore masks. The marquis wouldn’t want others to have the satisfaction of seeing the bravado vanish from his countenance. Unfortunately for him, she could still hear him. And it was plain from his tone that he was terrified. Well, at the prospect of having to duel with Cassandra, who wouldn’t be?

“It’s a matter of honor among the Nevarrans. Shall we arrange the bout for tonight?”

The ambassador’s wry smile and a slight glint in her eye told Stella that it was indeed a bluff. She stared somewhat in awe, unable to hide how impressed she was.

“No, no! Perhaps… perhaps my reaction to the Inquisition’s presence was somewhat hasty.”

Not wanting to receive a thrashing from Cassandra, the marquis turned on his heels towards the door. But he stopped in his tracks when the ambassador, who hoped to get the last word, had called out to him.

“We face a dark time, Your Grace. The late Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us. She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they might seem.”

The marquis simply stood there in contemplation. Though it had just been for a few seconds, to Stella, it felt like hours.

“…I’ll think on it, Lady-“

She cursed him internally for uttering the ambassador’s surname. A name that sounded like discordant screeching to her ears. That feeling, that sickening, familiar feeling, the one that she had been able to suppress until now, was beginning to take hold.

“Herald...?" 

A hand had rested on her shoulder, causing electricity to course through her veins. She let out a panicked cry as she swatted it away, then took a deep breath to calm her racing heart.

“Sorry. I was… lost in thought.”

Stella couldn’t bring herself to turn around and look the ambassador in the eye. Not after that reminder of who she truly was.

“You certainly were. Thank the Maker you arrived when you did. I was beginning to worry…”

Worry about what? All she had done was help the ambassador do something she could have very well done on her own.

“I did nothing. You would have handled him just as well without me.”

“Modest in temper, bold in deed. And here I was thinking you were a Trevelyan in name only.”

Commander Rion had often cited her family’s motto as the ideal description for a hero. Of course, Stella could never bring herself to identify with it, given that they were the ones who discarded her. Hearing the ambassador use the same words amplified the dread and malaise deep inside her.

Stella shook her head, still facing the wall. She needed to talk about something else, something to take her mind off of their – no, her past.  

“…do the DuRellions actually have a claim on this place?”

She heard footsteps and saw a flash of gold to her right. She turned to face the desk but took care to focus on its mahogany wood surface, rather than the person moving to sit at it. 

“His Grace’s position is not so strong as he presents it. Despite their Ferelden relations, the DuRellions are Orlesian…”

Stella heard the sound of wood on wood and saw hands shuffling papers around. Those same hands neatly set the papers in two piles on the left side. One pile had been written on and was folded and wrinkled in various stages. The other was straight, blank and pristine. The left hand took one of the wrinkled papers, carefully, without disturbing the pile, and the right hand reached for a clean paper and a pen. Stella focused on the sound of pen meeting paper, letting it drown out the throbbing that only she could hear.

“…if the marquis wishes to claim Haven, Empress Celene must negotiate with Ferelden on his behalf. Her current concerns are a bit larger than minor property disputes.”

Stella recalled him about to threaten the ambassador if she didn’t write to the empress in his stead. Even he knew how much regard the empress had for him, that was to say, not much. Not to mention, her current concerns being merely ‘a bit larger’ than a piece of land in Ferelden was a gross understatement.

“So ‘His Grace’ was all bluster, then.”

The right hand signed with a flourish before moving the two piles aside to create space for a third, that newly signed paper being the first member of it. The same process had begun with the next set of papers, without so much as missing a beat.

“That he was. The marquis is but one of many dignitaries we must contend with.”

Stella turned her eyes to the wrinkled and written pile of papers and presumed them to be letters from the aforementioned dignitaries. Letters that the ambassador was answering as they spoke.

“You expect more people at Haven?”

“Undoubtedly. And each visitor will spread the story of the Inquisition after they depart. An ambassador should ensure the tale is as complimentary as possible.”

“You seem to have had prior dealings with the nobility.”

In her childhood, her mother would have smacked her for saying something so idiotic. In her adolescence, her fellow apprentices would have gathered to mock her. The ambassador was the eldest and chosen heir of her house. Saying that she had ‘prior dealings with the nobility’ was like pointing out that the sky was blue. But to Stella’s relief, she seemed far too engrossed in her work to notice.  

“For some years, I was the royally appointed court ambassador from Antiva to Orlais. The nobility of Thedas is a rather singular sphere. Those I’m not acquainted with; I know through reputation.”

“Which is how you knew the Trevelyan family motto.”

This had been the second time they engaged in conversation beyond simple formalities. And the second time her mouth insisted on betraying her, with her mind being too slow to stop it.

“Heraldry is a passion of mine, but one can only learn so much from it. Truth be told, I find your family to be quite the anomaly. I’ve heard frighteningly little about them, you see…”

Stella didn’t bother trying to listen to the rest. She let the ambassador chatter idly, still refusing to look up from her work, while Stella stealthily made her way out of the room. Once she was sure she was in the clear, her once silent, slow footsteps had turned into a breakneck sprint. She wasn’t even sure where she was running to, but her feet had carried her to the cabin where she had been staying.

She placed her hand on the wooden walls, taking deep, labored breaths as she tried to fight off the visions flashing in her head. The howling blizzard, the blood, the jeers, the screams, the burning and chill welling up deep in her chest…

As soon as she felt her magic about to spiral out of control, she grabbed a jug of water from the table nearby, filled her shaking hand, and splashed the liquid on her face. Once she was fully composed, she began to repeat the lie to herself. Over and over, hoping it would eventually become the truth.

The ambassador was nothing more to her than an amicable stranger. A stranger she would only have to deal with until the Breach was sealed. And as long as Stella never brought up their respective families, a stranger she would remain.

As Solas aptly put it… she had a role to carry out. Once the Breach was sealed, all players would leave the stage, and the curtains would fall with it.

Chapter Text

At last, after a month of writing letters so similar they all seemed to blend in with each other, Josephine struck off the last name on the list of Ferelden nobles that Leliana gave her when her duties first began. Unfortunately, her cramped, ink-stained hands would only get a moment’s rest. Seeing her progress prompted Leliana to give her another list of names, only this time a list of nobles from the Free Marches.

Thankfully, this list was considerably smaller than the first, however, one name stood out among all the rest. Leliana’s report touched upon how chaotic and belligerent the Trevelyan household was, especially after Nathan the Second’s passing. Josephine hoped that news of the Herald’s exploits would have prompted them to reach out. But sadly, they seemed determined to forget that they ever had a daughter at all.

Speaking of the Herald, her and Josephine hadn’t spoken since they convened in the war room a few days ago, after the Herald returned from Val Royeaux. Before that, aside from their encounter with the Marquis, she would never come by her makeshift office at all. The few times she crossed its path; her pace would noticeably quicken. She saw Rook more times than she ever saw the Herald, and that was to give research items to Minaeve in her stead. The last time they spoke one on one, Josephine offhandedly mentioned knowing little about the Trevelyans. And by the time she looked up from her letters, the Herald had left in a huff. Either because she couldn’t stand hearing about the family that cast her out, or out of irritation towards Josephine multitasking during their conversation.

Sighing, she decided that making amends could wait. Last Josephine had heard, the Herald was yet to return from the Hinterlands with the others. So, it was more prudent to focus on other things until she returned. She kept the list of names aside for now and decided to continue working on the reports of their new allies. 

She started with Sera, or “Red Jenny” as she called herself when causing a ruckus among nobles. The moment she unfolded the parchment she had been working on the night before; it jumped out at her. In several places, there had been annotations done by a different hand. The penmanship was crude, almost like that of a child’s, and the poorly drawn sketches even more so.

In the midst of scrutinizing these edits, Josephine noticed a shadow cast over the paper. Her body turned rigid, and she slowly turned her head to see who was behind her, only to find the very person who she was writing about.

“Some dedication right there. Didn’t even bother trying to hide, but it took you this long to notice me.”  

Sera was smirking at her with what Josephine presumed to be her usual grin. Josephine gave her an amicable smile in return, more out of courtesy than sincerity.

“Took the liberty of correcting what you have on me, like it so far?”

In that moment, Josephine wondered why the Herald even bothered accepting Sera’s help. She was too uncouth to negotiate with anyone important, too indifferent with her fellow elves to be of use to them and now was proving to be a bigger nuisance than Laurien on a bad day. But instead of showing her displeasure, she kept her amicable smile and polite tone, the same one she used no matter who she spoke to.

“I’ll take them into consideration. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have much work to attend to.”

As she reached towards the drawer on the right side, she heard a scoff of contempt and saw Sera rolling her eyes from her peripheral vision.

“Cut the bullshit and just tell me to piss off.”

When Josephine first started her career, someone cursing at her would have her spiraling, wondering how she could have provoked such venom. Now, older and wiser, she met at least a dozen ‘Seras’ from much higher places. So, she dealt with them as she always did, by blithely shrugging her shoulders as though they said nothing at all.

Sera walked around the desk, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on it and using her hands to support her face. As casual as she was trying to present herself, she was clearly shocked by Josephine’s lack of reaction.

“Huh… usually you noble types go all panicky when someone swears. Interesting. Must have dealt with a lot of shits if it doesn’t bother you anymore.”

Josephine let out a sigh as she laid out the contents of the drawer she just accessed onto the desk’s surface. As much as Sera was grating on her, she was more astute than Josephine gave her credit for. 

“The Herald was just as stunned by it, but yes. If I expressed displeasure every time someone swore, it wouldn’t bode well for establishing common ground.”

“Isn’t Stella also one of you? She sure acts like it.”

Sera waved her hand while she spoke, as though pushing Josephine’s voice aside to make room for her own. Hearing the Herald’s first name from Sera’s mouth was akin to nails on a writing slate. It was no secret that she was disliked, but at least everyone had the courtesy to refer to her by title. Well, everyone except for the foul mouthed elf in front of her.

“The Herald is a highborn mage, if that’s what you mean.”

She took care to emphasize ‘the Herald’ and ‘mage.’ The former to request Sera to treat her with the respect she deserved, the latter to impress upon her that the Herald wasn’t as fortunate as she liked to believe. 

“Doesn’t matter. Her folks may have kicked her out, but you can’t take the snobbery out of ‘em. Heard she’s got two brothers, it shows. Probably expected ‘em to fuss over her, that’s why she just stands there ‘till someone tells her what to do.”

Something flashed across Josephine’s head in that moment, so brief that she wondered if it even happened at all. Her family’s sitting room, crying, screaming, chaos abound, and her cowering behind a chaise as she watched someone being strangled.

She didn’t know why, but that fragment left her with a crippling feeling of guilt. Guilt, and an icy chill. The same sort of chill that would overtake her before forgetting what even triggered it.

“What’s gotten your breeches in a bunch? I’m just telling the truth.”

Sure enough… Josephine found herself asking the same question. Why was she so worked up? What was Sera saying before this? Something about how inhospitable the Herald was? Yes… that must have been what was bothering her. She was trying so hard to forget about them, but Sera brought her worries back to mind.

“I don’t know what I could have done to anger her.”

Whenever a memory was pushed behind the wall of her mind, this would happen. She would either voice thoughts she never meant to or say something inane due to her addled state. Sera, sure enough, was staring at her in a mixture of curiosity and amusement. And if Sera was amused, a sarcastic retort was sure to follow.

“Josie, I’ve only been here for a couple days and even I can tell you’re trying to suck up to her. Don’t bother. You’ve got better things to do than worry about that ice cold bitch.”

In the back of her mind, she noted that Sera refusing to use her title didn’t bother her at all, when it should have. It was referring to the Herald as an ‘ice cold bitch’ that made her clench her pen so hard that it almost snapped in two.

“If that’s how you would describe the Herald, Maker knows what you have to say about Vivienne.”

Josephine tried her best to keep her tone measured but was clearly failing, what with how tightly she was clenching her jaw. In retrospect, if she wanted to keep her anger in check, she shouldn’t have mentioned Vivienne. In her days at court, she heard many a whisper about her, and they even crossed paths on occasion. Her disregard for anyone and anything but herself always made Josephine feel ill. Such behavior from other nobles wasn’t a surprise, but it was especially disturbing to see it in a lowborn mage.

“Vivienne’s a MEGA ice cold bitch. But at least she owns up to it. The same can’t be said for your so-called savior.”

Not wanting to listen to Sera anymore, Josephine began re-arranging the papers scattered on her desk, making a show of tapping them on its surface while she bundled them into neat piles.

“She’s just standoffish. I don’t think you can compare that to-“

“Whatever. I don’t give a shit why she’s like this, and neither should you. Just get your job done and leave her alone.”

She supposed it was a good thing that Sera cut her off as she took her leave. She was already dangerously close to voicing what she actually thought of Vivienne, and being around Sera loosened her tongue.

Loosened her tongue… and broke her focus. Josephine tried to stare at the first paper in the pile, but the words looked like mere curved lines to her eyes. In fact, her mind seemed to hardly be in the mood to look at any more letters. She decided it was because of being stuck in this musty room for hours at a time. A change of scenery would do her some good.

As Josephine made her way out of the Chantry, she noted how her steps echoed throughout its halls. From the corner of her eye, she saw Minaeve make her way towards the office with a pile of books in her hands, presumably from Adan. Mother Giselle had stopped to greet her, and Josephine did so in return.

After crossing the threshold of the Chantry gates, she was met with the biting cold winds and powdery snow of Haven. Josephine was always partial to the cold back home. But the cold back home would have been considered warm here. Not wanting to think about Haven’s dreadful weather, she focused her attention on the quartermaster and her men. She quietly followed them to notice they were repairing the steep stone stairs connecting the Chantry with the rest of the town.

Rook had been pushing to get those stairs repaired, but sadly most weren’t keen to listen to the words of an elven child. The quartermaster was likely taking care of it because the Herald put in a good word on Rook’s behalf. Or perhaps… she saw it an urgent matter due to being affected by it personally.

Haven’s main gates opening wide snapped Josephine out of her thoughts, and sure enough, the Herald and the others had returned. She waited with bated breath for the group to cross the stairs, weaving between the men at work as they did so. The moment The Herald had reached the summit; however, Josephine could feel all her senses take leave of her.

“Ah! Lady Trevelyan, you’re back!”

She grabbed hold of the Herald’s right arm as she ran towards her, pulling her close as she rested her head against her shoulder. She had only just begun to lean further into her when she noticed her body was stiff as a wooden plank.

“P-please… l-let go of me…”

Josephine noted the Herald’s voice sounded weak and broken, almost as though she was in pain. She looked up to find that the Herald was refusing to look her in the eye and could feel her slightly trembling. 

“M-my armor… it’s stained. You’ll s-s-spoil your c-clothes…”

Josephine reluctantly complied, and sure enough, she realized she was smelling of iron and felt the dried remnants of blood on her cheek. The color began to drain from her face at the thought of the Herald putting her life on the line. So, she began to scan her for injuries, hoping those bloodstains weren’t hers.

The Herald, until recently, had been wearing her old Circle uniform. A robe that had very clearly seen better days. Haven’s smithy took the trouble of forging new armor for her. The leather vest had blood spatters littered throughout, the pants and boots were covered in dirt and grime, her face was noticeably shiny with sweat, and her hair was damp with oil.  

Not wanting to make it obvious who the focus of her attention was, she took a few moments to glance at the others, and noted they weren’t faring much better. What set them apart from the Herald though was the expressions on their faces. Cassandra was frowning and rolling her eyes, Varric was trying and failing to hide a smirk, and Solas had contorted his lips into a bizarre shape that she couldn’t identify.

Seeing the disparaging looks she was receiving, Josephine immediately changed course. She sighed and used her right hand to shield her face as she hung her head in shame.

“I’m so sorry. I… I was being foolish… again. I had… no idea you were injured-“

“I’m fine. Just a few cuts and bruises. Nothing more.”

The Herald casually walked past her, as though she wasn’t even there. Josephine sharply turned around to face her and her compatriots. Varric and Solas began going their separate ways after a few steps, while Cassandra remained close at hand.

“W-where are you going-“

The Herald mumbled something as she made her way to the Chantry, but Josephine couldn’t hear it. It was then when she remembered the list she was agonizing over that morning, and whose name had been at the top of it.

Sighing, Josephine decided that she had spent enough time trying to clear her head. When she returned to her office, she grabbed a lone piece of parchment from her desk and set to work at drafting the letter. She thought herself to be making decent progress, and then her pen froze mid-sentence when she realized there was no point in writing to the Trevelyans when she didn’t have the Herald’s permission. Josephine impulsively left the half-written letter and pen as they were and then set to look for her.

She opened the first door within her line of sight but could barely register what she had just seen when she heard a panicked cry and jumped backwards. The water pushed towards her from the washtub had frozen mid-air, the icicles jutting towards her like claws. The idea of being hit by magic terrified her, and she immediately bolted from the room, shutting the door behind her.

The sounds of strident, gasping breaths, like that of someone who nearly drowned, followed by broken sobbing hit her ears. And as soon as they did, the chill in her head overtook her. She took several deep breaths until it finally dissipated, and then she found herself disoriented. She didn’t know how long she had been standing there, her back leaning against the door. Or for that matter… why she had come here at all.

She decided to open the door regardless, this time much more cautiously than before. There was a puddle of water around the washtub where the icicles had once been, and the Herald sat inside it, hunching with her back turned and her wet hair sticking to her skin.

On seeing her like this, Josephine found herself torn between fear and pity. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the Herald’s right hand move outside the tub onto the floor, fumbling around for the washcloth from across the room. Josephine was about to move to hand it to her but remembered their unfortunate first meeting and stood back. Sure enough, the Herald held her hand out, and the washcloth flew towards her. She wrung it dry before dipping it in the water once more and meticulously scrubbing the grime off her left arm.

“Pardon the intrusion. I didn’t realize you were bathing.”

Josephine’s voice shook, hoping the Herald wouldn’t turn around to notice her flustered demeanor or her rapidly reddening face.

“No. It’s my fault. I should have kept myself under control.”

She supposed The Herald was referring to her sudden use of magic and had no idea what to say in response. Recognizing that her presence wasn’t wanted, she turned on her heels towards the door, but she couldn’t compel herself to move any further. She could hear the sounds of sloshing water behind her, and while it would have been rude to stare, curiosity got the better of her. She turned slightly, just enough to be able to see the Herald from her peripheral vision without giving herself away.

The Herald had wrapped one towel around herself and was using another to dry her hair. Her arms and legs were toned and there were scars running across her back, no doubt from the battles she had seen during the rebellion. The towel clung to her form enough to get an idea of the curves underneath and was doing a poor job of concealing her breasts, which threatened to spill from it at any sudden movement. While Josephine’s figure wasn’t exactly lacking, she couldn’t help but feel inadequate by comparison.

Her thoughts were then interrupted once she realized she was looking into wide, outraged brown eyes. Josephine had only meant to steal a glance at the Herald but had ended up full-on ogling her. A realization that caused her to scramble to hike up her towel and hunch to conceal herself.  

“…What ARE you doing?!”

Josephine immediately lowered her gaze and then noticed that the Herald’s reaction was beginning to give her pause. She had assumed it to be anger at first, but come to think about it, embarrassment was much more likely. Nonetheless, Josephine didn’t want to be presumptuous. So, she decided feign ignorance.

“There’s no need for shyness, My Lady. After all we’re both- “

“That doesn’t matter to me…”

A response that Josephine anticipated but made her feel foolish all the same. It might have been her imagination, but she could have sworn the Herald stole a glance at her as she made her way behind the divider.

“…and I don’t think it does to you either.”

She had been shocked by the Herald’s observation for only a second or two, before recalling what she had just done.

“Now I understand why you’re so keen to get away from me.”

The Herald had hung one of the towels over the right side of the divider and grabbed two small pieces of white cloth from the left. Next to them hung a long green tunic, brown leather trousers, and a white vest.

“What do you mean?”

She remembered her days in Val Royeaux, days that felt like a lifetime ago. When a guest of high status made their appearance, the particularly undignified would go out of their way to seduce them. Back then, she rolled her eyes at them. If they wanted to impress someone powerful, they had to start by charming them from a distance, not flinging themselves into their arms every chance they got.

Thoughts that seemed ironic now, as she found herself unwittingly guilty of the very actions she used to mock.

“I’ve been giving you the wrong impression… haven’t I?”  

There was an awkward silence as she grabbed the tunic and trousers and presumably began dressing herself. 

“In retrospect, perhaps. But that isn’t why I seldom speak to you.”

The Herald’s tone was curt, but not hostile, and she let out a sigh, whether of exhaustion or contempt, Josephine couldn’t tell.

“I’m… less than sterling company. Always have been. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

There was a third possibility that Josephine hadn’t considered… melancholy. All this time Josephine believed the Herald was choosing to ignore her poor reputation, but it seemed to have been weighing on her heavily.

“It would be best if you accepted that. So, if you don’t have any official business with me… I think you should take your leave.”

“I do, actually.”

The Herald heaved another sigh as she grabbed the vest, her voice coming out low and shaky.

“Very well. I’ll meet you at your office once I’m decent.” 

Josephine nodded, before finally making her departure. The moment she took her usual seat, she decided to finish the letter. She felt that it was better to be prepared regardless of what the Herald had to say.

She signed her name with a flourish when she heard footsteps and looked up to see a familiar face. The Herald’s circle uniform was rather poor fitting, making her look as though she had been wearing a bedsheet. This new outfit, meanwhile, accentuated her tall, buxom shape quite well. Well enough for Josephine to struggle to maintain eye contact with her.

“What did you want to discuss with me?”

Josephine noticed the Herald had let her hair down, which made sense, as it was only partially dry. That reminded her of the messy state of the room the Herald just came from, and she recalled not seeing a single servant in the area.

“Do you want me to call someone to tidy the room?”

“I already took care of it.”

She couldn’t help but express her shock at that, but come to think of it, she had seen the Herald insisting on taking care of her own affairs before. Something Josephine found odd, considering where she came from.

“…you did?”

“The servants have more important things to worry about. I didn’t want to waste their time.”

She was about to point out that cleaning up after her was indeed what they were there for but held her tongue. Small wonder she had forgotten her roots, considering her life at the Circle was much fresher in her memory.

“Anyways, you didn’t summon me here to ask me about that, didn’t you? You had some official business.”

“It’s… about your parents.”

The Herald’s eyes widened to reveal an expression that Josephine had seen before. A placid face save for eyes like a ram staring into a wolf’s maw. Leliana’s report had touched upon the Herald’s childhood not exactly being a happy one. Contacting her family after all this time was sure to re-open those wounds. 

“…what would you like to know?”

Josephine tried not to stare into those frightened, pleading eyes. Instead, she began going over the letter she just wrote, checking it for any errors as she spoke.

“I’d like to dispatch a courier asking the banns of House Trevelyan to align themselves with us. I was just about to write to them, but I wanted to know how you felt about the matter first. After all, you know your family better than I do.”

The Herald was silent for a minute or two, deliberating on her course of action before sighing in resignation.  

“I doubt contacting them would be of use.”  

“Is this… because of your past grievances, perhaps?”

“No. If Nathan was still alive, or if Conrad hadn’t wrenched control of the estate from Nathan’s wife, I would have given you the go-ahead. By the time your letter reaches them, they’ll most likely be run into the ground.”

Reasoning that made Josephine raise an eyebrow. Surely, whoever the late Nathan the Second married would have had no trouble standing up to such a brute. And even if that wasn’t the case, her family would have hired people to keep their wayward son in line. That was, after all, what her family would have done in the same situation.

But of course, the Herald’s family was not her family. Josephine decided to take her at her word for now. She could always ask Leliana for more advice at a later time.

“I see. Then it would be more prudent to reach out to your maternal family instead. I haven’t started correspondence with Antiva yet, but I’ll make sure to prioritize them once I do.”

Josephine hoped that mentioning the Otrantos would calm her, but instead, her eyes began to tremble rapidly, and she was struggling to keep an even tone.

“…If you must, address your letter to lord Valen, not his eldest son. He’s a man of rather ill repute.”

“Wait… you haven’t heard?”

The Herald’s brows furrowed, her fear instantly forgotten and replaced with confusion.

“Heard what?”  

Josephine supposed it was only natural that she didn’t know. She hadn’t been in touch with a living relative in fourteen years. Yet, if she knew the Otrantos eldest son was a reprobate… it meant that he had shown signs of villainy from a very young age.

“Lord Antonio Ciel Otranto… passed away last year.”

She tried to read the Herald’s expression, but it was difficult to, as her eyes were glued to her feet.

“How?”

“He was the head of his family’s shipping business, and made his laborers work without pay. You can imagine what followed.”

“Better late than never.”

The Herald spat that out with an uncharacteristic fury. She normally would deliberate intensely before saying anything, but this time, she was unrestrained. Just how vile was the late Antonio Ciel Otranto for someone as dispassionate as her to pray for his death?

A question that filled Josephine with chills the more she tried to think about it.

“You wouldn’t be the first to react that way to the news. Even his brother hardly mourned him.”

“How well do you know them?”

She asked this with an air of suspicion, as though she was awaiting Josephine’s answer so it could be judged. Normally, when being asked a leading question like this, she would answer based on what they expected to hear or steer the conversation in another direction. However now, she found herself answering honestly, seeing no motive in doing otherwise.

“To my recollection, Antonio and I never met. I did see Adorno at a small gathering around a year ago, but we never spoke beyond pleasantries. My mother is far more acquainted with the Otrantos than I am, if we’re being honest.”

Josephine couldn’t help but flash back to that day a year ago. Adorno was, like the rest of the men in that family, arrogant and pompous. But, unlike his late brother, he appeared to be decent. Oddly enough, he became more subdued when they met face-to-face. He was constantly enquiring about her welfare and badgering her about the birthmark that he kept insisting was a scar.

“Whatever you need to do to gather more allies, do it. That’s what you’re here for.”

The Herald said this with a finality that indicated she wished to take her leave, and sure enough, was about to turn on her heels. Josephine would have left it at that, when she realized there was more she needed to say.

“Wait!”

She gripped the desk underneath her, fighting the inexplicable urge to grab onto the Herald, who turned around to face her.

“About… what happened at Val Royeaux. I… might have come across as rather flippant. I should have tried to address your fears. Instead, I pushed them aside.”

The Herald’s eyes narrowed in a scrutinizing manner, and they both knew they were recalling that moment at the same time.

“All I said was that going there wouldn’t be of help. What made you think I was afraid?”

“Your eyes.”

As if on cue, the Herald was giving her that familiar stare, and her hands were clenched into fists.

“Your face is calm, and your voice is steady. But your eyes… they shake.”

Josephine then realized she let it slip that she had been observing her enough to judge her. And she wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow her whole.

“Tell me if you’re having doubts. I won’t hold it against you if you decide to back out.”  

Josephine wondered if she should quote the Trevelyan family motto, as she did before in the face of the Herald’s humility, but held her tongue. She didn’t want to anger her any more than she already did. 

“Actually, if you were the sort to boast of surety against the unknown, I would have known for certain we were lost.”

“The Templars left the Chantry. We’re already halfway there.”

Josephine’s heart sank. While humility was something she appreciated in a leader, lack of faith was something she certainly didn’t. Seeing it from anyone else would have made her change course. But the Herald’s sheer apathy frightened her in a way she couldn’t explain… like seeing a bird whose wings had been clipped.

She decided not to dwell on it and shook her head, hoping her thoughts weren’t reflected on her face.

“And that’s why I recommend we join hands with your former comrades. After all, you did say Grand Enchanter Fiona already invited you to Redcliffe.”

The Herald blinked and looked at Josephine as though she had been speaking in Elvhen.

“Why would you, of all people, suggest that?”  

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re Antivan. They hate mages almost as much as they hate elves.”

She swallowed thickly, recalling how Leliana pointed this out to her when they first met. Her family had instilled a fear of magic in her from a young age, although not without reason. The only mages not confined by the Circle’s walls were the ones employed by the Crows. Her phobia was so deep-rooted that she struggled to even be in the same room as a court mage. It took reading about their plight, at Leliana’s insistence for her to view them somewhat sympathetically.

“You aren’t wrong about that, sadly. And I must confess I wasn’t without my biases in the past. But meeting people from around the world forces you to change your perspective.”

Josephine’s hands began to grow restless, so she proceeded to re-arrange the contents of her desk, storing papers she had no use for and bringing out fresh ones for tasks she was yet to complete.

“Besides, if you ask my personal opinion… mages are more likely to rebel the further you clamp down on them. If the Templars wished for Circles to remain, they shouldn’t have been as severe as they were.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you had been to Kirkwall five years ago.”

She frowned as she recalled the horror stories she heard from that city. In Orlais, mages were viewed as entertainers before Anders set Kirkwall’s Chantry ablaze. Insanity that he was pushed to, courtesy of the Mad Commander Meredith’s zealotry.

“Kirkwall proves my point all the more. Besides, Circle life is one of confinement and isolation. A feeling I understand all too well. A gilded cage is after all, still a cage.”

Josephine looked up to see that the Herald had fallen silent, and her eyes had begun to dart left and right.

“…Is everything alright?”

“Nothing. Just… making sure Vivienne isn’t within earshot.”

She recalled Vivienne attending the Circle of Ostwick just as the Herald did. Perhaps they knew each other, or at least, the Herald knew of her existence?

“Yes, it would be quite… disastrous if she was. I heard that if not for your intervention, she would have had a man frozen to death.”

The Herald’s eyes widened and began to tremble in a familiar way, and she spoke in a distant, far-off tone.

“…I can only kill in self-defense.”

“So, I take this to mean that he never tried to lay a hand on you. Then why…?”

“He was trying to undermine me, so she saw it fit to fight for my honor.”

That sounded very much unlike Vivienne, and she hoped that the Herald would have picked up on it, despite her alleged years of isolation.

“…is that so?”

“Well, if you asked her, that’s what she would have told you. But I’m not naive, I didn’t let her sway me.”

Josephine understood, in that moment, what Leliana meant when she said she would have her work cut out for her. The Herald and Sera seemed to share quite a bit in common. Both of them had little patience when it came to navigating social intrigue and were quick to pull back any of its necessary veils. The difference being that while Sera would lash out, the Herald would disengage.

“I can see that you haven’t played The Game before.”

“You don’t have to have played it to know how it works.”

That was what Josephine believed too when she was younger and more foolish. In any case, the Herald was savvier than she was back then.

“It’s one thing to know something in theory, and quite another to know it in practice. If you wish to be in Vivienne’s good books, you should refrain from making it obvious that you can see through her.”

The Herald gave her a pensive look, one that suggested she was trying to process Josephine’s advice.

“So, I should play the fool, then.”

“No, you should play along with her. Actually, I’ll debrief you next time you have business in Val Royeaux. From how things are shaping up, that will most likely be soon.”

“Soon…?”

A letter with a yellow insignia caught her eye, one that just happened to be pertinent to the conversation they were having. A letter from Marquis de Glace’s aunt, giving her account of the incident and apologizing for her nephew’s misconduct.

“They’ve noted your lineage. It gives the Inquisition some legitimacy, although not as much as we’d hoped.”

“Because I’m a mage.”

“Surprisingly, no. It’s because you’re from Ostwick… and Antiva if we want to split hairs. But they condemn the former more than the latter.”    

“That explains why Marquis de Glace called me a ‘crow with a Marcher’s crude tongue.’ “

That was quite bold coming from him. If one wanted to hear things so salacious that they couldn’t be repeated in mixed company, they could just eavesdrop on a group of gossipy Orlesians. At the very least, he didn’t make a quip about her smelling like fish.

“I too have been called similar insults during my days at court. I understand your anger.”

“An Orlesian scoffing at other nations is like a dog barking. I’m more interested to know why they don’t fear my magic.”  

“They view mages the same way we view horses. Of course, your feelings on them would change if every horse saw it fit to buck off their riders at once.”  

She wondered if that was the wrong metaphor to use, as the Herald’s face had visibly darkened, and her eyes were still shaking.

“…give them the impression that I’m still tame, I see.”  

The talk of Orlais and mages brought Vivienne back to mind, so she decided now was a good time to ask about her.

“I heard you and Vivienne came from the same Circle. Did you ever cross paths with her?”

“I knew of her but never met her. She was transferred to Montsimmard long before my magic even manifested.”

That explained why Vivienne conducted herself like an Orlesian, despite not being born one. Come to think of it, mages of extraordinary talent were often sent to Montsimmard. Yet the Herald never was.

“I’ve heard highborn mages are given more leeway, and Ostwick’s circle had a reputation for being rather sedate.”

“It was, unless you had talent. And if you didn’t, you just needed to lie low and do as you were told.”

Josephine knew that ‘lying low’ meant giving up on any chance of freedom and being content with what one had, just as her siblings did. Her parents might have been willing to let their family name wither to debt as long as their children remained at home, but she wasn’t going to let them make that mistake.

A sudden draft entering the room reminded her that for all its faults, her home was at least a place one could live in without freezing in her seat.  

“For what it’s worth, the Circle was a bastion of civilization. One can’t say the same about Haven.”

Josephine began rubbing her arms to protect from the chill and noted that the Herald’s clothes were far more suited to this weather. She also seemed to be less bothered by it, after all, Ostwick’s climate was similar.

“I’ve been on the run for four years. Haven’s more than livable. If anything, I’m surprised that you managed to adapt.”

She sighed, ‘trying and failing to adapt’ would have been a more accurate choice of words.

“One adjusts. I stay busy. It helps take my mind from our surroundings. And the cold. And the wildlife…”

Another, more aggressive draft had entered the room, and she began tightly hugging herself to retain heat. Her ears and nose were so cold they might as well have fallen off her face. She badly wanted the blanket that sat on the cot a mere stone’s throw away, but she was shivering so much she could barely stand.

“A-and the l-lack o-of civilization f-for m-miles around…”

Josephine jumped slightly when she saw the very same blanket pushed in front of her face. The Herald shook it a few times, indicating for her to take it, which she did with hesitation.

“T-thank you.”

As she wrapped the blanket around herself, she thought about the disconnect between the Herald’s words and actions. She won’t help unless bidden to yet will rush to treat Josephine’s wounds in a heartbeat. She was ice cold, and less than sterling company, but knew exactly what Josephine needed without even asking.

“Get some new clothes. Winters here aren’t like the ones you’re used to.”

“Indeed. How anyone lived here before we found Andraste’s ashes, I cannot imagine…”

Josephine looked up for a moment at eyes full of concern, and a hand moving in her direction before slowly pulling back.

“Look on the bright side, having a few leagues of ice between us and our enemies can’t hurt.”

“Do not say that too loudly, Chancellor Roderick is still here.”

She hoped for the banter to ease the awkwardness between them, and it seemed to work too well. The Herald’s face suddenly lit up with a smile that was barely concealed by her hand. Her disengaged eyes were now sparkling as she let out a melodious, high-pitched giggle.

Josephine was about to ask about it, but her words had died on her lips when she realized she was alone. When did that happen? She heard neither footsteps nor the creaking of the door.

No… she had more important matters to attend to right now. She told herself she imagined that reaction. She must have. There was no way the Herald could have found her joke that amusing.