Chapter Text
He didn't know how the stranger's tattoos worked.
It was such a little thing in context. The Seeker who seemed to be in charge of this pack of soldiers had threatened to kill him... twice now. The mark in the stranger's hand was not getting along with its new body, and that meant he had to patchwork an uneasy peace between the two for now, because the damned thing refused to come off. Which, in turn, meant his plans were in shambles... for now.
The one he had lead to the orb had greater skill... or more likely greater luck that he had realized, because he was still alive.. and had conjured this... inelegant situation rather than a more thorough and well planned one. It was showy. Arrogant. Very characteristic of the ones who wanted to call themselves gods, come to think of it.
Not a pleasant comparison, but he remembered them well enough.
Still, those were bigger problems, to be solved with time and with more information. There was no reason to assume that this stranger wouldn't be, at the least, capable of patching the haphazard job of the various holes in the sky, with his mark, his power in his skin.
The tattoos were interesting, because they twinkled and sparkled and glowed with their own light, and he could sense no magic from them. There was power, as one might sense something moving in the dark, but it was not magic, at least not as he knew it.
He'd had to assure the Seeker... thrice... that the man was not a demon. He knew demons. Too short for a qunari, but with horns. Too lithe and thin also. Most qunari were... well, more solid than this, if he'd seen his silhouette without the horns and ears, he'd have assumed it was a very tall human. But he did have horns, of a style he'd never seen before, horns he was quite certain the Qun was unfamiliar with. Almost more like antlers than horns... and yet, not quite. His ears were also odd. Elves and qunari had pointed ears but... not this extremely.
Which all lead back to his skin, and his tattoos. No one had blue skin. Not the pale blue of his face and hands, and not the deep evening sky blue of his chest. The impression of a starry sky was doubtless deliberate, but... was it all a tattoo? Getting it done between his fingers and on his eyelids was surely not possible at this consistent a hue. And yet, the mark on his chest and the diamonds under his eyes couldn't be anything else. Were the freckles that looked like stars artificial, or had the other tattoos been tailored to match them in shade?
Three fingers and one thumb on each hand. The symmetry and the oddness of the rest of him made it seem... likely that this was no birth defect, though stranger things had happened. And in the last hour.
His clothing was elegant, and unfamiliar. It did seem strange to leave the chest open in this weather, but... well, Solas never wore shoes, and perhaps he should not talk. Perhaps.
Nonetheless, if such a man as this were at the Conclave, he would have been noticed. Remarked on. There was no such man, and no name to find in the records of employment or the talks.
Which meant... what?
It was just possible that if a rift had opened where the man was, it could have lead him through the hole he had fallen out of. Physics obeyed the laws of dreams in the fade, and not their own laws.
But. Where on this continent would a man like this have been without being remarked on?
…. Perhaps not on this continent, though that would mean... he did not know what that would mean.
He'd told the Seeker the man would surely wake soon. She had responded by demanding he be moved here. Because there was nothing like waking up in a dungeon cell to make a person cooperative.
“How is he?” A low feminine voice asked, followed by a hard clang. He looked to see a guard glaring at the Qunari prisoner, with the butt of his weapon on the bars.
“Shut up.”
The guards anger was understandable, but not helpful. “I may speak to them if I wish, yes?”
“The Lady Pentegast said only that you were tending to the prisoner.”
“These three were in the Fade with him, were they not? It is possible some knowledge they have to give is pertinent to his situation.” It was certainly possible, but he doubted it. But... one cultivated possible allies where they found them. Especially when one's plans had gone so badly wrong.
He stared at the guard with one eyebrow raised, and he had no weapon, but the men of this age had been trained for long generations to fear mages.
He looked away. “Fine. Do whatever you please, just don't ask me to let them out.”
Solas walked up to the bars. Three women, one human, one a dalish elf, and a Tal-Vashoth. It surprised him a little that they had been put in cells near each other, because it was pretty obvious that they had become allied in their short time together. An oversight... unless the Seeker had thought they might discuss more important things with allies than with the guards or herself.
More likely Sister Lilianna's hand was involved in this.
It surprised him a little, that the Tal-Vashoth had been the one to speak up. The Dalish elf was glaring at everyone her eyes could reach, in the cell to the left, and the human mage was curled as close as she could get to the Tal Vashoth's cell, and as far back as she could get from the guards. He suspected it was to reassure her that the Tal Vashoth had moved to the front.
It seemed a strange display of solidarity from a Tal Vashoth, but... make your allies where you can find them. There was no reason the horned woman could not be cunning.
“He is stable, or as close to it as I can make him for now. Do you know what happened to him?”
He knew precisely what had happened to him but there was no sense letting that information out. Not yet anyway.
The Qunari shrugged. “I watched it happen, but that's not really the same thing. Perhaps we could trade. They won't tell us what's happening-- we just want to know what's going on outside.”
The guard made an angry noise, and Solas stared him down again. “Is there any reason to believe that they will not overhear someone talking of it? Why would we not make that trade, immediately, to get whatever information we can?”
The guard shuffled his feet and looked down. Solas decided to take that as a win.
“Right. I'll give you half first, then the rest when you tell us what's happening?”
A good bargain. Solas pretended to consider, then nodded. “So long as you understand that what we know and what we do not know has a bit of a gap in the middle.”
She nodded again. “More than we got now. Anyway, we were each at the Conclave, obviously. I was working security as a hired merc-- this nice lady was there to push papers and so forth for the mage end of things. And we recently learned that our elven friend was there to pretend she was there with the mages and learn what she could for her Keeper.”
“Thank Mythal and the Maker both that she sent me instead of my brother,” the elf said, though she was still glaring daggers at the guard. “With his luck this shem shit would have killed him.”
The guard went to smack the bars with his weapon again, and stopped when Solas glared.
“Thankfully, then, he was not sent,” Solas said, when he finally looked back. “May I ask your name?”
“Revas,” The elf told him rather curtly.
“Stephanie,” the human put in, still staring at the ground.
“Asala,” the Tal-Vashoth said.
“I am Solas,” he told them all. “Please, go on”
“I'd been sent to ask the Divine a question about... I don't even remember what about. It couldn't have been that important. But... I heard shouting, and when I got in there, the Divine was... bound in some kind of magic. She said to warn people, and someone was saying she was going to be... their sacrifice...” The woman paused and took a slow, deep breath. “I tried to run out, but I could only get to the hallway and got Revas and Asala before his guys caught up with me.”
“We were hard pressed to stay alive after that,” Asala said, shrugging. “It was horrifying, and frustrating, because we were so close to some of the greatest mages and templars the world has to offer, we just had to get their help--”
“And we all had the same dumb idea at the same dumb moment,” Revas said. She sighed and shrugged. “There's a simple little spell, one of the first ones that any mage in my Clan gets taught. Evidently, Circle mages and Mercs are taught it too, because we all fired it off at the same time. It's a guidance spell-- you call a whisp nearby to get help. Bit of a Hail Andraste, not really expected to get help, its mostly used for finding lost glasses and letting people know you fell down a well. Simple things. But... Because we all cast the spell like dumb fucks, together without saying it, our spells hit each other and merged.”
Solas frowned. Merging spells was rare, and rarer still when not cast by the same person... but not unheard of, if they all had the same goal. Some rituals even relied on it. “Go on?”
“Everything exploded!” The human mage whispered in the corner. “Oh Maker... did we--”
The Tal-Vashoth and the elf shushed her, harshly. And while the guard didn't catch the significance, this time, Solas did. Given the situation, even implying that they could have something to do with … what happened, given how emotional the people were, was likely a death sentence. They had to believe they were wholly innocent, and make others believe it, or....
Well. Situations like this had casualties. Sometimes years after the fact.
And they'd given the information to him.
It... wouldn't be hard, to lay this conversation at Cassandra's feet, and let it take her focus off of him, let him ride into her good graces with it. But... if he was going to stay around at all... and his chain breaking days were not so far behind him that holding him would be easy for her... then he needed more... reasonable allies. Besides, the parts of this conversation that he already meant to share would raise his star in her eyes.
“It's unlikely that the guidance spell did anything dangerous,” Solas told them, and watched three pairs of shoulders slump in relief. “As you said, it's a very simple spell meant for very small things. Though perhaps casting it just before the explosion is why you survived.”
“Oh, it was.” Revas tilted her head at him.”Because a barren moment later, before the explosion they probably saw on the next continent, our merged spells warped... and the next moment, he was there.” She nodded at the limp figure in the chains.
“Fascinating,” Solas murmured. “Magic... should not be able to do that. Unless they are a spirit, and he is... not.”
“Really?” the Tal-Vashoth asked.
The human woman seemed drawn out of her panic by the tanget. “Obviously not. He doesn't think like a spirit at all. He didn't act like one either.”
Curious. He considered her a moment longer this time. “What did he do, to make you say so?”
“No, wait. That's a little way past the halfway point,” the qunari woman said. She shot him a look, not angry but stern-- he lifted empty hands.
“Very well-- I shall not fail to keep up my end of the bargain. But... you may find it unlikely.” Talking about it was easy. Finding words to frame the madness outside in words that would make them understand... harder.
“We were in the Fade,” Asala said, simply. “Physically in the Fade, as does not happen. We are willing to deal with a little bizarre.”
He took a deep breath, and then... tried. “The Veil is torn between the waking world, and the Fade. Demons rain from the sky, and we are hard pressed to find any solution at all.” Their faces were lax with disbelief, and he half smiled, unsure if he should pity them, or... “The mark on his hand is forged of the same magic-- with it, we could make a sympathetic link, possibly.”
He did not know if that would work, on a hand beyond the one it was meant for. Perhaps not. It was, however, their best option for now.
“.... May we ask questions about that after we think for a bit?” the Qunari asked.
There was no reason to refuse. “Of course.”
Asala nodded, took a deep breath. “It's... thiis is the part where things get... strange. We've been talking amoung ourselves, and sometimes we can't agree on what happened, or who did what.”
“Hardly surprising. As you said, you were in the Fade, at the end.”
“The....thing that was trying to sacrifice... Justinia. He had an orb, floating in the air, and the things he sent after us... kept trying to herd us back in by him. We were about to get driven back in altogether, when the man who appeared on the ground--” she waved her hands at the prisoner again “got up and said, I swear I'm not making this up, 'this is at least a new one, I give you that. Pity it's not real.'”
Solas blinked at her a few times, and then back at the man.
“I told him to stop gawping and help if he was helping, and he shrugged, said 'why not?' and suddenly everyone attacking us in the immediate room burst into flames. Of course, that did drive us back by Justinia. He took one look at the situation, went 'that seems important' and jumped on the orb... thing, that monster was using.”
He nodded.
“It... did something to him. But the rest of it... is more confused, and less belivable.”
“Try me.”
“I remember Justinia running with us,” Stephanie said to the ground.
“I don't. I remember the flash of light though, and him telling us to stay together.”
Asala sighed. “We all remember that he kind of took charge in the fade. He protected us from the monsters. But... the rest of it we can't agree on.”
“There were giant fucking spiders everywhere,” the dalish elf snarled.
“Um... fear demons, I think. I didn't see spiders though, maybe you were looking at something else. Or not. Spirits are... they make things weirder.”
“They do at that,” Solas said. “I will try to speak to the Seeker, tell her what we know. Thank you.”
He didn't think it would help them, but by every god he'd ever slain he meant to try.
***
The sight of the Prisoner, regarding her calmly, made her even angrier than she had been before-- and she had not previously thought that possible.
They were bizarre eyes, eyes like twin eclipses. They had no right to be calm after... after...
A parade of faces flashed before her eyes.
“Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now,” she snarled, and the head cocked, eyes still calm, considering. “The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.”
He lifted a delicate white eyebrow, and leaned forward, peered to his right. Looking to the survivors he had pulled free of the Fade with him. “You are real, yes?”
The Qunari let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes. We're real.”
He frowned, considering, then shook his head. “No, no, forgive me that was appallingly stupid of me. One never asks the illusion if they are real, they always say yes. You!”
Cassandra faltered, blinked. “I?”
“Are they real? Those three over there?”
“.... Yes?”
“You don't sound certain.” The head cocked the other way. Then he shut his eyes. “Ah. Forgive me. I am being disturbingly unintelligent today. This is all a hallucination.”
“We-- are not--” Cassandra grasped at the straws of the conversation, glanced to Lilianna in the desperate hopes that she would restore order to this conversation.
“How did I get out then?” the Prisoner asked conversationally, frowning gently.
“Do you remember what happened?” Lilianna asked, apparently deciding to bull ahead with what they needed.”How this began?”
“This string of illusion? Or the illusions in general?” He sat back. “If I'm going to hallucinate, and evidently I can't stop myself, I will not be relaying the details of my imprisonment to every wisp of thought that dons a face and approaches.”
Lilianna was hardly less angry than she, Cassandra knew that. But... the woman's face softened after a barren moment, and she went and knelt in front of the man, so they were situated likewise and facing each other.
“Let us say that you are not hallucinating, for one moment. An intellectual exercise, of course.”
“At the risk of sounding self congratulatory, you intrigue me. Go on.”
“We are looking for a person who killed a great many of our people, and worsened a war that we had hoped would shortly end. Think on what you believe you remember. It should be a relatively simple puzzle, no?”
“The issue is, when you have a puzzle, you have all the pieces... at least in theory.” Eclipse eyes regarded her, half shut. “But I do not know the Conclave of which you speak.”
To her credit, Lilianna did not look back at Cassandra at that statement. Cassandra looked at her though.
To claim you didn't even know what the Conclave was... was....
And yet, Lilianna did not object. “It was a meeting between our Mages, and our Templars, who have been at war with each other.”
“.... Well, a Mage, that I'm familiar with. But a Templar? I'm... unfamiliar. And just what happened to this Conclave?” His voice was deep and smooth, a strange combination she'd have thought but... well.
Now that she was more confused than angry his voice was lovely.
“It... may be easier to show you,” she put in when Lilianna had seemed at a loss for words.
They did not unbind his hands when they helped him up, nor did he ask them to. The three other prisoners shuffled unhappily in their cell as they took him out of sight though. In a few barren minutes, he had won their total loyalty. That alone was dangerous.
The way he looked at the Rift made him dangerous in a different way, a way that scared her more... and a way that was strangely comforting, all at once. He studied the tear in the sky as it were a text, and a rather poorly written one. Rather than being overwhelmed, he judged it with his eyes and the quirk of one eyebrow, as if he was studying the efforts of a student who had tied the long hair of the students in front of him, and debating precisely how to share his displeasure to him.
“How crude,” he said, with a frown.
Lilianna's eyebrows climbed her face.
“Did something just fall out of it?”
“Probably more demons,” Cassandra said with disgust.
“Right. I cannot say I understand this, as yet. But if I can assist, I will of course do so. Sympathetic magic, like to like, seems as likely to work as anything else. I could--” and he rocked back on his heels briefly as his mark flared.
He didn't cry out. His face did not twist in pain. It went pale-- almost white, but it made no expression. It didn't seem to be an act. His reaction to the pain, which Solas had told them was likely to be considerable was simply that. Nothing more. When the light faded, he shook his tied hands a little, and went on talking.
Cassandra realized she had grasped his arm to hold him up at need, and let go.
“As we can see, its demonstrating a continuing sympathetic link, and as such, with some tinkering we should be able to manipulate it. This may have some difficulties in the middle, however...” He shrugged. “There is nothing more likely to damn one than doing nothing. It's worth a shot.”
“It... is killing you. The Mark. Your... efforts may save you, but--”
He waved her off with his bound hands. “Pointless. None of this is real. And if it was I probably wouldn't worry either. Besides, there are others dying rather faster, yes? Let's start with them.”
She blinked at him in surprise, but he just nodded at the cut in the sky, as if he offered to help close rips in... in reality every day of the week. “How do we go up to it?”
He might be mad... but if this simple willingness to help was madness, they needed more of it not less. “This way.”
He walked like he was crowned, for all that his hands were still bound.
Binding a mage was mostly for show and to stop them from grabbing anything that might amplify their power. Unfortunately, right now “for show” mattered a very great deal to the people left in Haven-- as they walked out of the cell and then into the day, the glares and jeers and occasional curse were as reliable as sunlight.
She was still not sure how to classify the man, but neither were they, which was perhaps a blessing of sorts-- no one would suffer for his actions. Or supposed actions. It seemed rather unlikely that someone would blow up an event they did not know was occurring... and it was something of a surprise, but she did believe him.
As one man went out of his way to spit at their feet, she felt compelled to explain him-- “They have decided your guilt. They need it.”
“Oh don't worry on my account. This is much better than what I have when I'm not hallucinating.”
All her thoughts ground to a halt. “You... what?”
He shrugged, apparently unbothered by his still bound hands, or the insults, or the threats. Or even the way Sister Lilianna's posture spoke of daggers and sheaths, somehow. “Anything is better than where I am. Why does one hallucinate, if not because the mind decided it needed an out, and it would have one even if the one in control of the brain did not reach out his hand for such. Or maybe that would just have never worked. I'd never be surprised by my own magic illusions.”
He neither flinched nor looked away when she drew her own dagger, and while there was some small surprise in his eyes when she cut his bonds, he didn't veer back or look away while she did.
“There will be a trial, I can promise no more,” she said, and ignored the sign from Lilianna. And yet, the stranger's eyes crinkled with amusement.
“This deal just keeps getting better!”
“Mockery is not nessisary.”
“If I was incapable of amusement over my own situation, I would be lost already. Besides, it is. You should see what my people did to me without a trial of any kind.” He shrugged carelessly, and waved a now-free hand at the path before him. “Shall we walk on?”
“I... yes,” Cassandra said, and exchanged a long, uneasy look with Lilianna. Lilianna, for her part, had a face like stone.
A hysterical man ran past them, screeching about the end of the world, and the stranger sighed heavily. “The end of the world-- that's hardly original,” he muttered in sullen tones. “The next time I lose my grip on reality I expect some originality. Still... it's dramatic enough. I--”
He threw his head back, eyes wide as his hand and the wound in the sky pulsed in unison again. But... he did not cry out, and although she rushed over, he did not need her support.
He did not shrink back from her hand on his arm though.
“The pulses are coming faster now,” she offered, because it was the only explanation she had.
“That's interesting at least. Progress.” He sighed. “Do lets hurry? If this is a response to a sympathetic link, then imagine what it's doing up there?”
“I am surprised that is the angle you are taking,” Cassandra said, because she was.
“Well, I mean, it's not the first time I've hallucinated pain, or the last, but the thing in the sky is the closest thing to an original idea in this madness. Even if it's ridiculously crude, it might be interesting up close. Or not. But I've never liked seeing people get hurt, particularly humans, so that seems like the place to start. Are we talking or marching?”
“I--” Cassandra froze, trying to make sense of the ridiculousness of that statement. Lilianna, thankfully, had no such issue.
“This way, please”
They were down the path and halfway across the next bridge when it blew up under their very feet. A bare moment of sound and fury and then stomach turning, falling or flying, smacking into stone blocks or being smacked into by them, wondering where the ground was, finding it. Too fast to avoid, too slow by any measure of experience.
They bounced, skidded on ice, slammed into things as they landed, with grunts of pain and hisses and some yelps. All of them feminine, none from their richly voiced prisoner. He was audibly distinct, and audibly utterly silent. She'd have checked if he was alright, if he was conscious, but she had no time when the demons rose from the ground.
“Stay behind me!” she called out, just in case he'd listen, and charged forward, hacking and cleaving at the monster while Lilianna fanned out for a good shot.
Still, it didn't take her long to realize that she heard much the same noises from behind her as in front.
She hacked at her opponent, desperate to end this, and Lilianna frowned, shook her head and waved her off, back in the direction of the other noises. She nodded and broke off-- she trusted the Blight Veteran, and she needed to protect--
No... she didn't.
He moved like a dancer, she thought, briefly stupefied to see him etching symbols in the air and earth, evading attacks rather than grab the staff that had fallen to his feet-- only to call down lightning a barren second later, as if it were nothing. Less than nothing.
As if it were easy.
She wanted to demand the surrender of his weapon, she wanted to tie him back up... but... he had not grabbed the staff. “Why?” She asked thoughtlessly.
“Well, it's no good thing to be caught between a hammer and an anvil,” he said as the body of the demon streamed away. “Allowing you to be hurt serves no purpose.”
She made an impatient noise, and he cocked his head as if he had never heard the like before. “Why not grab the staff?”
He cocked his head to the other side, and father, then. “Because I don't need one? I know they're popular with human magic users, but my people hardly ever use them for more than decoration.... though the Sunfire elves seem to be quite fond of that staff they made.”
Sun... Fire... no, she decided, she had other matters to attend. “Still... we are going into danger... and evidently, I cannot protect you. If the staff would help you....”
It didn't seem like he needed it, but... they needed everything they could get. Right?
He considered, frowning, then shook his head. “No. It would be folly to change up a fighting style before dealing with an altogether new opponent. I will stick to what I am familiar with, though I thank you. It's never easy to arm up someone you are suspicious of.” He frowned farther. “Though it makes it rather obvious that this is a hallucination.”
She wanted to scream.
“How so?” Liliana asked, with interest.
“That too. You ask questions. They wouldn't.”
Tracing that thought back then... “And they are not likely to arm you?” Cassandra ventured, cautious.
“That also, yes.” He clapped his hands, cheerfully. “Do we need anything, or shall we move on? Any injuries? That was a lovely shot, by the way, well done.”
…. Sister Liliana had fought the Archdemon in the last Blight. She was one of the most dangerous women Cassandra had ever known-- she had more than once suspected that this was a not insignificant part of why Divine Justinia had made her her Left Hand.
Plenty of people who had even reasonably good instincts wouldn't make eye contact with her.
The stranger complimented her as if he bloody skill were a fine bit of sportsmanship.
Cassandra wondered if they were in over their heads.
Well. The Breech certainly was. Maybe it was better that their prisoner be too.
Or not.
They set off again, this time cutting through the wild terrain on foot instead of following any path. Cassandra had taken a rough ride through the terrain when the Divine had first decided that she would have a Conclave and she would have it here. She'd gotten more acquainted with it when this madness erupted, and while that last explosion had put paid to the path, there was always more than one way to the destination.
The prisoner had no apparent difficulty with the terrain, at least not yet, and although he wasn't wearing a proper shirt, he didn't seem to be bothered by the cold.
After a while, she asked him about it. He said “well, no. This is quite a refreshing change of pace. Don't worry, there are spells that are more than adequate spells for keeping warm if the novelty is outweighed by the drain.”
She blinked and decided not to ask for clarification. From his smile, he understood.
She was only more confident in the necessity of not asking.
Still, they made good time, and as time was measured in lives, she had no complaints about that. She, after thinking about it, asked for his thoughts on enemies they could see, and... received solid, useful analysis each time.
Whoever he was, whatever he was, he had a sound enough tactical mind. Which was... concerning, to be sure... but...
As they drove themselves forward, they came to a hill and a thin path, and she heard a voice she had grown far too familiar with over the days previous.
“You can hear the fighting?” She called to the stranger. “We must help them!”
He accepted this with the same calm that he accepted everything else-- though he didn't ask for any names, she realized, and didn't seem to want them. He simply charged ahead, apparently abandoning the talk of tactics in favor of saving the people she spoke of.
It was... getting hard not to like him, in some ways.
They plunged into the fight, and he was...efficient and dangerous, from what little time she spared to observe. Seconds.
He still fought like a dancer.
The Apostate, Solas, was out of breath and flustered for what she was quite certain was the first time in her memory. She'd only known him for a few days, but as those days had been in the past week, it was remarkable.
Still, he hadn't forgot himself, and when he saw or sensed that the green.. tear in their world was weakened, he lunged forward, took the prisoner's hand. The stranger startled, pulled back a little, but didn't pull out of his grasp. “Quickly! Before more come through!” he cried in a haggard voice, and thrust the hand-- the hand with the strange mark, the hand with the green tear in it-- toward the bit of ruined world.
And with a noise that made her skin crawl and a flash of light, the world was whole again.
Or, at least, that part was.
The stranger didn't ask how he had done that, or stammer about not knowing what the mark could do-- he laughed. “Good to see I'm not the only one who can figure out a sympathetic link. Pleasure to meet you.” It would have sounded condescending, but instead, it just sounded... warm.
Solas blinked a few times, then grinned back, the set of his shoulders relaxing a little. “Reasoning and tempered minds are too few in this madness. I am pleased to see you still live.”
The tall... qunari? She still did not know, and in the madness, it seemed the wrong time to ask... he cocked his head, the horns accenting the movement beautifully.
“He means, 'I kept that Mark from killing you while you slept,'” Varric chimed in, cheerful still.
“Thank you, I guess. I mean, it's the thought that counts, even if this is a hallucination.”
Cassandra was feeling just put upon enough to really enjoy watching the moment of joy drain from the two pairs of eyes. Varric just looked concerned. Solas, more aware of the dangers, looked just a trifle alarmed, and looked at her to say so with his eyes and his eyebrows. He was quite eloquent in expressions.
She shrugged.
“Well. With that ominous statement out of the way, lets go to the more banal ones,” Varric said, with a deliberate little laugh. “Varric Tethras. Rouge, Storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.” He winked at Cassandra as he said it too, and she understood, as she felt her teeth grit-- he was presenting himself as approachable, friendly. And assuming that they might have a common enemy in her.
“Ugh,” she said. She would have said more, but Solas cut her off-- apparently already witness to enough of their arguments.
“I am Solas, if there are to be introductions. Having proven that the sympathetic link works on lesser rifts, it seems possible at least that it will work on the larger.”
“Of course. Scale is less important than power and intent with sympathetic links. We don't need a lot,” the stranger said, as if this were obvious.
Solas' eyes lit up, and they launched into talk of magic that was, alas, quite beyond her. Varric listened, though he didn't chime in-- she doubted that he knew more of magic than she, but then... he was friends with the Champion of Kirkwall, who was evidently quite proficient.
“We should move on. There is likely to be more on the path, and rather less time to go than when we started.”
“There is always more time, that is the nature of time,” the stranger said, in a voice that sounded distressingly like a teacher with a struggling student. “Still, I take your meaning-- we ought to go on, and quickly.”
From there, it just got worse. The demons grew thicker, the dead lay more thick on the ground. The stranger looked about with sadness, but no evident distress.
Even well seasoned soldiers panicked and broke on this battlefield. It seemed wrong to judge him for not doing so, when they needed him so badly as he was, sane... ish. She hadn't been broken by it yet. Maybe he was simply unusually steady of personality.
Another rift, another fight he navigated like a dance. She wasn't sure she had seen him repeat a spell yet, which was.... interesting. He called down lightning in a strike, then fire in the next, then a fireball, then cast something which made all their opponents drop to the ground as if they were heavy as lead. He was delicate in his casting, never once clipping her with anything but beneficial effects-- used to fighting, then, and used to fighting alongside those who had no protections against his magic. Of course, even a mighty mage... likely wouldn't have defenses against every part of this kind of variety.
He sealed the next break in the air as if he'd been doing it for years.
It was all... very strange. No Circle in the world would have kept this mage-- in part because no court in the world would fail to requisition a Power like him to their assistance. But... apostates tended to be either very nondescript, or totally feral. He was not at all nondescript, and he clearly knew how to work with others.
Did Grey Wardens keep mages like him? It would make sense, to have sent a recruiter to the Conclave-- to give the more excitable mages and disillusioned Templars an out from the war without a break in their honor.
…. She doubted he was a Grey Warden. Certainly, if he was, he hadn't tried to call upon his past and rank to explain himself.
“So... are you innocent?” Varric asked out of the blue, and the blue skinned man half smiled.
“If this place was real, I would not have raised my hand against it. As it is not, it only became something I was aware of when this hallucination started.”
“I.... see. Stars, you should maybe not tell everyone you meet that you're crazy,” Varric said, sounding concerned. “Maybe just say 'yes, I'm innocent' next time.”
“If you were real, I'd try to avoid letting that leak, yes.”
Varric sighed, then chuckled helplessly. “I guess you aren't in the minority. Plenty of the people in the valley haven't slept for a few days, so... you're in good company.”
That made the stranger laugh.
Having reached the camp, it wasn't hard to follow the low but distinct noise of Cullen barking out orders to find him and the man who was rapidly becoming her least favorite of the sex in all the world in heated debate.
“--position is lost! You cannot help to hold it!”
“You are not a military commander, so I can understand your lack of presence of mind in the current situation,” Cullen said with gritted teeth. Then he saw them, and evidently dismissed the man from his mind altogether. “You made it.” He looked to the prisoner, wary but not unhopeful, which was, she supposed, more than ought to be hoped for given the circumstances. And the histories. “And you closed that Rift.”
“Not I. This was the prisoner's doing,” she said, compelled to be honest.
The Prisoner, helpfully, waved, a contained little gesture that still managed to be indescribably cocky. Cullen snorted, but he also smiled. Maybe it was something he saw in his stance that reassured him-- Cassandra certainly could see it. The man held himself like a king. And like a warrior.
“Is it? I hope they're right about you.”
The man shrugged. She did not know how a shrug could be elegant, but it was, beyond her understanding. “I would have to know what they're saying about me to tell you that. What should I know?”
“About the rumors?”
“I was thinking about the situation, but if you've heard anything funny, I think we could all use a laugh.”
Cassandra watched about five different emotions flit across the Commander's face... and about one on Roderick's. It was... refreshing actually.
Maybe she needed more sleep.
Cullen finally looked away and snickered, which got an interesting shade of pruce to play over Roderick's face. “Well, at least you have a sense of humor about it. That will keep you sane.”
“Doubtful, but it's trying,” the stranger said, magnanimous.
“Y-you!”Roderick squeaked, color beginning to look more normal again. He shifted his attention to “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hearby order you to take this criminal to Val Royoux to face execution.”
The stranger sighed, as if he had seen this scene play out a thousand times before, and Lilianna gave him a sharp look, but Cassandra was already short of sleep and angry, and had been for days. “Order me?? You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat!”
“And you are a thug, but a thug that supposedly serves the Chantry!”
Leliana stepped between them-- quite literally, evidently finding it prudent... or she was trying to keep the prisoner away from Roderick. “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor. As you well know.”
“Justinia is dead!”
The stranger's head cocked to one side, considering. Measuring.
“We must elect a replacement and obey her orders on the matter.”
The eclipse eyes narrowed, like the sun going behind a tree. “I understand that you are afraid.”
“You brought this on us in the first place!” the man yelled, looking a scant moment away from some kind of fit.
“.... No. But I will stop it, if I can. You know very well, they cannot wait and let this situation play out while an election is held.” For contrast, now the stranger's voice was gentle, coaxing. Almost pitying.
Roderick shook his head in disgust and despair. He looked to Cassandra. “Call a retreat, Seeker. The valley is lost.”
“I know that you are afraid. But that does not mean we are absolved of trying,” the stranger tried again, quiet. And calm, calmer than any of them were. “There are still lives to be saved here.”
“You... you are not...” the man stumbled, apparently surprised at the lack of hostility.
Cassandra certainly didn't feel like being pleasant. “We can stop this before it's too late.”
“How?” Rodrick asked, plaintive now. “You won't survive the valley, even with all your soldiers.”
The stranger snorted. As if he'd said something.... silly. For the first time in speaking to Roderick... a remarkable feat... there was reproach in his voice. “We are far from helpless. Do not allow your fear the mastery of you.”
“Are you quite sure you even understand the gravity of the situation at hand?”
“I defy anyone to say they are fully comprehending the concept of holes in the sky raining monsters, but I have fought more than one combat with armies of dragons. Surely this isn't worse than that-- dragons are usually a bit cleverer than the creatures we have fought so far at least.”
“You... what are you?” Roderick stammered, trying to find more words, and failing. Cassandra managed not to shrug, or second the question.
“Someone who knows his way about a battlefield?” Cullen asked, folding his arms. Cassandra was stuck on 'armies of dragons' but surely it was a metaphor-- or perhaps a kind of warrior. It was a bit gosh to name your warriors for dragons, but... well, they'd hardly be the first. “I'm glad to hear it. There are groups in the valley as we speak, the most determined and the most hardy, trying to keep the demons from overflowing and.... well, leaving. The last thing we need is a tide of demons assailing the odd local farmer or fisherman.”
“.... is there a rift nearby, or one in the valley itself?”
“Both, really. We've no shortage of rifts, to be frank, and holding them back is.... unsustainable. Worse, when one is cut down, there is always another to take it's place.”
“We could gather the soldiers in the valley, and charge. It is the quickest route to the Temple, and if we close that, we may be able to stop this.” Cassandra looked to the Stranger, who considered.
“The quickest route it is, but not the safest. We could have the forces charge as a distraction, and go through the mountain path,” Leliana put in.
“Too risky. We lost an entire squad on that path.”
The stranger sighed, and propped up a cheek on one fist. “Hold on. There is another path leading to the Temple, and unless your people can be taken out by a stray banther-- and I doubt any would wait with this chaos about-- that sounds like we have yet another rift up there. We may want to fix that before we run off and deal with the big one.”
“And why is that?” Cassandra asked, frowning.
“.... Seeker, that is your title, yes? Seeker, every rift so far has been a fight to close, dropping demons of varying magnitudes and rather fighting back against being closed. Allow me to paint a picture for you. We go to the Temple. It is a long, and weary fight, and the ones who make it out are frayed, tired, and have no arrows left, no will to cast spells, and no strength to lift their blades. You follow me so far yes?”
Wordless, she nodded.
“They are immediately wiped out by the waves of demons from both paths as they exist the Temple. The Breech is closed, but no one who lived knows what happened, why, or who to blame. Chaos descends again, and the minor rifts continue to drop demons willy nilly all about the world.”
She did not speak, but she felt herself blanch.
“A different scenario. We take one path and close one of the minor rifts. This gives us more time-- half the demons, after all. They throw themselves in waves at our sentries as they get caught alone or in small groups for a few days, before they eventually find our camp by chance.”
“I understand. You wish to do both. But can you? The mark is not treating kindly with you-- no one is immune to pain,” Leliana put in, nodding.
“I'll fight better knowing there is no knife at my back. So, I suspect, will all of you.... and all the soldiers we will free from their task of desperately hoping to keep a lid on this madness.” He walked forward, calm, stately, and Roderick fell back step by step, but the prisoner wasn't looking at him. He had eyes only for the rough map of the valley they were modifying as they went. “How great a distance does this represent?”
“Not far,” Leliana spoke, stepping forward and indicating a span on the map with her fingers. “That is a mile. On a good day, at an ambling pace, perhaps the walk would take a half hour. But more likely, it would take only twenty.”
“But beings falling from the sky and trying to attack will increase that time considerably,” he said, almost amicably. He stared a moment longer at the map, then looked up. “Solas, what motivates spirits?”
The elven mage blinked and cocked his head. “You ask?”
“You seem like a man who will know, know well, and be able to explain it succinctly.”
Solas considered, then his shoulders firmed. “They are drawn to emotion, to great ideals being lived up to. Or great flaws, acted out.”
“They did not act... quite right for something navigating by sight and instincts,” the stranger mused, and nodded. “So, a charge by weary and exhausted individuals is... likely to do more harm than good?”
“It's possible the act could draw them into the proper state of mind to draw spirits after them. But... to what end? If we stay calm and fight well, they will be drawn to the people in the valley regardless.”
“That works. Could we send a runner? Is anyone willing to go in there with a message?”
There was a nervous shuffling of the few people around who might be ordered off who were in hearing range, until one person went still, and then approached. She was looking at the ground, expression oddly frozen, as if she wasn't quite fully believing that she was doing this. “Me. I'll do it. Send me.”
The blue man smiled at her. It wasn't precisely a happy smile, more an acknowledgment. Respect. There was something... intense about it in a way Cassandra didn't precisely like, but... but there was no weakness there. “Thank you. Go to everyone in the valley, tell every group you can-- and tell them to pass along the word-- that help is coming. They only need to hold out for an hour more, maybe two, and then someone who can close the rifts will be there to close the one in the valley. Tell them to group up and get in the most defensive positions they can-- they are to take absolutely no unnecessary risks. Their goal now is to stay alive and intact for those next two hours. Can you spread that word?”
“Yes sir!”
He caught the woman's arm as she turned to leave, and when she looked back, said simply “that goes for you, too.” Then he let her go.
It was only then that Cassandra realized he'd taken charge, quite as naturally as if they had made him their leader officially and months ago. She almost wanted to take offense. Roderick certainly was, even if he was too cowed to say anything else for now.
“They'll love you for that,” Cullen said, almost amused... and yet perhaps a little calculating. It would be no bad thing, for a man in his position, to get soldiers to love him.
“You can claim the entire plan is yours if you like, I certainly don't care,” the so-called prisoner said, flippantly, and without so much as blinking. “Now then. Ladies, Gentlemen. To the mountain? I know I said two hours but if we can cut that time down, we should.”
Varric was snickering as they walked away from camp, shaking his head. “You do know how to manage people, I give you that, Glitter. I thought Robes was going to have an anyurism.”
“That wasn't the intent, but... well. Sometimes it's better to keep people confused.” The stranger sighed, and rubbed at his eyes. “Still. I've seen much worse than that. That gentleman was merely... a bit broken by current events. It could happen to anyone.”
“For a man who doesn't believe that any of this is real, you seem very dedicated to making sure as many people survive as possible,” Solas said, consideration in his eyes.
The stranger stopped, his back toward them, ahead on the path. “Over a thousand years ago now, I watched a major human city be burned alive, men, women and children alike, because one mage refused to give up the power to defend them. I barely managed to save a few hundred of them. I remember the screams and the smell of hundreds of thousands set alight and burning with perfect clarity to this day.”
A flinch ran through the whole group, though, perhaps at different things. It was an impossible statement, and yet... and yet...
Impossible or not, he believed it. Believed it like he believed in the ground under his feet. More, technically.
He looked back, and his eyes were glowing-- she would have thought demons, but... demons did not make the eyes glow like that if they did at all, pearl hued and iridescent and brilliant in light. “I will never see that again, if I get any opportunity to stop it. It doesn't matter if its a hallucination.”
They stopped, together, staring at him. Then he smiled, and his eyes dimmed. “Now come along! If we could start on the valley segment of this plan before the hour is out, that would be ideal. We have lots of desperate people waiting on us, we mustn't be late.”
***
“Guess we found the soldiers,” Varric said, and there was no pleasure in it, his eyes rested on corpses and his hands turned to fists and back at his sides.
The stranger shut his eyes or stared flatly ahead by turns, something cold and vast stirring in his eyes.
“That, cannot be all of them...” Cassandra faltered, and then she scowled as the prisoner bent down and plucked something off a body. “Must you?”
“Battlefeild rules,” the man said, eyeing up the dagger. “Take what you need from the dead and go on. And what I need, is something the dead cared about.” He traced a rune in the air-- yet another new one, she was sure, and then whispered something in a language she didn't recognize for a change.
“Are not most of your commands in Tevene?”
“What in the Sources is Teveme?” The stranger asked, eyes still focused ahead, and then...
She did not know what she was seeing. There was someone... but not. She thought a spirit, but... spirits rarely had such definition outside the fade, and she could see all of him-- boots, belt, cowl, hair. The image of the dead scout he had stolen the dagger from. Only his face was emplty-- not without expression, but featureless.
She shivered, and opened her mouth to ask, or demand he stop whatever this... this was. But the man spoke first.
“A worn heirloom dagger, as belonged to the man. The man, as belonged to the group. As the dagger could trace the owner, so the owner traces his fellows. Show me where they are.”
The specter turned and walked-- not running, but not dallying either.
Her voice came back to her. She hadn't known it was gone until it forced it's way out between her lips and she remembered she could speak. “What... is that. Thing.” It came out cold, as well it should.
The prisoner, damn him, looked back with... concern in his eyes. “It is not the dead. This was not close to being an adequate reason to disturb the dead, and we are in the wrong place to do such a thing anyway. This is... well. It's his possessiveness.”
“Possessiveness?” She echoed, a few minutes later after yet more demons fell upon them. “Is that thing a demon?”
“No, Seeker,” Solas responded for their mutual ally. “It is not. Fragments of what could become one, possibly, but hardly even that. I must ask, is this distraction necessary? While it would be good to rescue the scouts,” he clarified rather hastily as the stranger, Seeker, and archer all glanced back at him, “there are even more people in danger as we speak. Your stamina is impressive, stranger, but it is not bottomless.”
“It doesn't need to be,” the stranger says, looking away. “Don't worry. You'll have what you need out of me, real or otherwise.”
Solas kept his eyes on the ground beneath their feet for the rest of their run.
“As it happens, the spell has a short range,” the starry man said, and looked to Cassandra. “The possessiveness is.... where they have gone, they do not need it. It is a discard now-- a link that can be used, but won't last long. More akin to using lost strands of hair to figure out who was where while tracking to anything else.”
“Swear it,” she snarled, quiet. She didn't expect him to bother replying-- she was following him, one way or another, and mages who had gone to ground rarely bothered to explain their choices to anyone. But he turned to her-- a whirl of hooded cloak and open chested tunic and monastic scapula-- and above it all, moon white hair crowning sun-in eclipse eyes. He looks like a child's drawing brought to life by a talented artist, caught in that moment. Something from a storybook, where magic was sometimes gentle and actually fixed problems.
“I swear on my names, and my titles, and the ones who gave them to me, by Sun and Moon and Star, Earth and Sky and Ocean, and by my sanity, such as it is, and by Freedom itself, that I mean no harm to you, or yours, and that this spell the best way to find them before there were more deaths, and that it is neither harming nor imprisoning your lost one.” He said it all so... formally, and yet... so carefully, like a lawyer offering up a contract. Precise and clear and careful, like a vast creature that had to be careful where it put it's foot, for fear of others.
Then he half smiled, and the storybook image shattered like glass. “Is that adequate? I'd hate to disappoint.”
“Go be clever with your summoned image, shoo,” she said, and when his back was turned, wondered when she had decided she trusted his word.
“He is very convincing,” Varric said, drawing past her. “I like him.”
“Quiet, dwarf.”
He shrugged, and they pressed on.
The scouts were almost pathetically glad to see them. The image led them almost directly into the rift-- it stopped a few yards away and pointed one arm to the people desperately trying to outlast a hole in reality that they couldn't close, and the stranger darted past Cassandra with a delicacy that told her more about his own confidence in the fight than any words could have imparted, even if he'd bothered to say any.
“Lady Cassandra!” the woman in charge shrieked, possibly clinging to protocol in the face of what she believed to be yet more demons. Cassandra could hardly fault her for that.
“Lieutenant! You're alive!”
“Just barely,” the woman said, grim and shaken at once. “What is that... thing?”
“A magic construct we used to find you, no more,” Cassandra told her, swiping her blade at a demon that appeared too close.
In the peripheral, the stranger was dancing his brilliant, terrifyingly strong magic into existence.
“I didn't mean the.. I meant... is that a demon, with you?”
She was a little exasperated by the question, and she almost simply sighed and repeated herself, but Solas raised his eyebrows and followed the woman's gaze with his own.
She wasn't looking at the construct.
“He is not, no. Though he has the most bizarre tattoos I have seen in my life,” Cassandra said, and shrugged. Evidently the Lieutenant was too far gone to question this, because she nodded, eyes a little vacant, and watched.
Cassandra let her. It was best not to direct the ones with vacant eyes to fight if one could help it... and to be honest, the stranger did not need their assistance.
It was almost beautiful, how he fought. Elegant.
Brutal too.
“You are becoming quite proficient at this,” Solas said as yet another tear in reality closed.
“Careful. Flattery is an addictive thing, who knows what I might do for my next hit?” the prisoner asked, composed as a king.
“Thank you for coming this way,” the Lieutenant said, sounding just a little more settled. “I don't know how much longer we could have held out.”
“Thank the Prisoner, Lieutenant. He is the one who insisted we come this way.”
“I... you did?” she said, then shook her head and took a breath, firmed her shoulders. “I.. thank you.”
“To protect others is a gift. I am glad we made it in time.” He said it as if it was a rare treat for him, which Cassandra deemed unlikely, given his power.
“Thank you,” the lieutenant said again, awed this time, and rounded up her men to leave, Cassandra directing her back along the path just in case more monsters lay ahead. Before she went, though, the stranger pulled out the blade he had acquired for the spell and offered it to her, with the blade resting in one palm and the hilt in the other, as if in a ceremony of some kind.
“This weapon was an heirloom. You know who it belonged to. See to it that it returns to his kin, yes? Tell them it saved lives.”
“I... did it?” the woman said, taking it, rather gingerly, as if she was afraid to touch.
“Yes. Several. So make sure to tell them that.”
They got to the mouth of the temple, and then their prisoner, who was nothing of the sort, lead them back into the valley.
***
The valley fight was short and brutal.
Their decision to warn the remaining, ragged groups of soldiers into huddling together for their survival was a good one, but it did mean that they had to handle the brunt of attacking knots of demons themselves when they strode into the valley.
The stranger, as it happened, knew even more powerful spells though than what he had yet displayed.
“Duck!” he called out once, an barren moment before a lattice of lightning fell across the sky. A few demons fell into it, and a few of the long, stretched out ones actually leapt upwards into it, but it was hardly in danger of hitting anyone on the ground. She wondered why he'd bothered to yell. Maybe just so they knew it was the deed of someone friendly.
“That... is incredible spellwork,” breathed Solas, almost in awe.
“I imagine it is quite intricate to your eyes?”
To her surprise, he shook his head. “No. If anything it feels more like what Templars do than a spell. As if this was the natural way of the lightning, to obey him.”
“.... Is that possible?”
“... There are theories, here and there, but nothing I have seen confirmed. Regardless, Seeker-- the magic at the Temple? It is very much the work of the Fade. This man has not once cast a spell that feels the way magic, as it is used here, feels. Whatever he is, however he is doing this, this is not the man who did this. I am not altogether sure any mage has such power, but even if he does, he is using it all wrong to be the man in question.”
“Understood.” They watched together as he closed yet another tear in the sky. “Magic is... more complex than I was lead to belive.”
Solas shrugged. Somehow he made the gesture neat and precise. “Anything is more complex from the inside than the outside. We could all describe what a Herbalist does, but the complexities of which herbs to mix? Which herbs seem like they should work well together but do not? Which soil conditions are needed? This is no different.”
She looked up at the sky-- mended in this place, now, but still crackling with the stranger's spell. “Perhaps a little different?”
“... Fair enough, Seeker. Onward to the Temple?”
“Please.”
***
The Temple of Sacred Ashes was as bad as they had left it.
It was the people frozen, charred into the poses of their deaths.
The stranger froze when he saw them.
It wasn't that people didn't act in her experience. Some of them did it very well. But the soft, wounded noise she only heard because she was bare inches away, it sounded like a man who had just taken a blow. And the look in his eyes when his gaze swept over them... he tried to cover it. He wasn't trying to act affected. He was trying to act unaffected.
And this scene wounded him.
He walked among the grisly statues, looking at each in turn, as if he wanted to see them. As if he wanted to remember forever. He did not flinch away when his cloak brushed against them.
He stopped at one, a larger figure trying to shelter a smaller one, both dead, both frozen in time, and tried to take a deep breath. It shuddered in his chest.
“It... was swift,” Cassandra offered.
“Not so swift that they didn't hurt,” the mage answered, low and soft, and reached out a hand to cup the face of one such stature, as tenderly as if he was looking at the body of his child. “Not so fast that they didn't try to escape. But there is no easy way to escape a blast of fire. If the fire itself doesn't take you, the heat will, or the lack of air.”
“You know a lot about this,” she said, not intending an accusation. She realized how it might sound a moment later, when Varric shot her a glare that might well have physically damaged her were she not in armor, opened her mouth to say... something. Anything.
“I have tried to save people from the rage of a dragon. This is not so different, except that I don't know most of their names.” He sounded... regretful about that. But after a moment he let go of the flesh statue and turned back to the living. He did not wipe his hands off. “We should keep moving. They... cannot be helped.”
“Yes,” Cassandra said, and received Varric's glare again. Whatever he wanted from her, she didn't know, and didn't find out. Their mark whirled away and walked, and as she took off after him, when she drew close, she could just barely hear his voice over the sound of their feet on the seared stone and Leliana moving soldiers into position.
“--said I wanted originality, not the same bastard hellscapes as ever.”
She decided not to respond, and hope no one heard him.
He paused when they reached the first clear sight of the Breach. Looked it over. And then walked on, as if the sight was nothing much to move him.
They had to pause.
“Is he...?” Cassandra started, then shook her head.
“If you're trying to ask if he's alright, the answer is No, Seeker,” Varric told her.
Solas sighed. “Find me someone who is alright in the entirety of our forces,” he said “and I will show you a true madman.”
That... seemed reasonable, actually. More than reasonable. She nodded, mute, and turned to walk after the man.
“Now is the hour of our victory,” A strange voice radiated through the place, with no apparent source. “Bring forth the sacrifice.”
“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked the elven apostate. Solas shrugged as they moved.
“At a guess, the person who created the Breech.”
There was, of course, a moment of consternation when they saw the red lyrium-- hardly surprising that Varric would react so strongly to it, but to be honest with herself, she was glad of the distraction.
“Keep the sacrifice still.”
“Someone, help me!”
Cassandra felt her breath catch, and ahead, the stranger froze, just for a moment. “That is Divine Justinia's voice!”
“Ah,” the stranger said. “Perhaps this hallucination is at least a little original in places.”
She wasn't sure if she was gladder that he spoke too softly for their men to hear, or that he was too far away to be temped to punch him. For now.
“Someone, help me!” Justinia's voice came again.
“What new madness is this?” their stranger's voice snarled out.
“Run while you can! Warn them!”
“... that was your voice. Most Holy called out to you....” Cassandra said softly, recognizing other voices now. The three mages imprisoned alongside this one were calling out in the background-- battle cries, efforts to coordinate, common trigger words for a healing spell. Trying to talk to this stranger.
“What new madness is this?” their prisoner's voice rang out again, less angry and more commanding now, images spiraling into the air alongside the words.
“Run while you can!” the image of Justinia begged. “Warn them!”
“We have an intruder,” the deeper voice said. “Slay the freak.”
“You were there!” Cassandra cried, leaping forward to stare into those solar eclipse eyes. He was frowning. Not really looking at her. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she... was this vision true?”
“It seems consistent with prior hallucinations, if that's what you mean,” the stranger said, eyes affixed... through her. As if she were too insubstantial to catch the light.
She might have struck him then, she really might have, but Varric and Solas stepped between them as one.
The stranger didn't even seem to notice.
“Think, please.” Solas said, surprisingly gently. He did not seem a man much prone to being overly gentle, but... he did seem pragmatic. “You remember the scene before us? Assuming, for an instant, that it was real, who was the one trying to harm the Divine?”
“.... No. No that was definitely a hallucination. No bipedal creature I know of is that tall, and his flesh was... warped. He could not be real. If you saw him, you would mark him immediately as... unnatural, to be hunted, and a creature of that size I doubt could hide. I could show you, if you wished? But it would be pointless. The man I remember is not real.”
“You can... show us?”
“There are illusion based spells that can recreate the events in an area. They tend to lose features of the beings you haven't personally seen before, but I can certainly give it my impressions.”
She wanted to strangle him. “You had this, and you--”
“It is an illusion based spell,” the stranger explained, patient. Calm. Sad. “I would not fake it. But I know how it might be done. It would be easy.”
“.... and so you did not think we would believe it.”
“Such a vision is inadmissible in all courts I know but the outright unjust.”
She took the deepest breath she could, and then another. He wasn't trying to hide things. He was ill, and not accustomed to trusting his senses. And there was no real reason to assume that his senses had not fooled him, that in mind. There was no reason a person who was really there would not appear as a monster to a person whose mind... was not altogether trustworthy.
“.... I see. You are correct-- perhaps another time it could be useful but...”
“But for now, we have more pressing concerns,” the man agreed, and looked up. “I'm hoping an attempt to close this rift will cause a chain reaction-- more sympathetic magic, like to like.”
“That seems likely. But it may attract attention from the other side.”
“More demons? Ah well. At least I didn't change into anything pretty,” Varric said, and the prisoner chuckled quietly.
She opened her mouth to say... something, suddenly remembering that they were asking him to risk his life. But he didn't look at her, not until their people all seemed to be in position. And then... She just nodded. What was she supposed to do?
It was more obvious, rather than less, with one big opponent to face-- a monstrous pride demon, but hardly beyond their capabilities. He protected whoever he was fighting alongside. He drew the great demon's eye, kept it's gaze on him, kept it attacking him.
He... didn't have to do this, if he was just trying to prove his innocence. She believed him. Surely he knew... he had to know she believed him, right?
His power was undeniable. His control, beyond question. Yet more exquisite, delicate magic was brought onto display, as if it were automatic.
She'd expected to lose a few people to the demon. It was an unfortunate but likely outcome.
They lost one, and his fury was immeasurable.
He screamed as the blow landed, and the noise itself was a weapon of a sort-- a few nearby soldiers reared back, a few raising hands to their ears-- and the demon screamed back, the sound seeming to pulse in their very bones and blood-- and the maniac had thrown himself forward at the demon with an intensity that suggested that he thought the demon should be afraid of him.
Perhaps more concerning, he seemed to be correct. The lighting whip the pride demon wielded seemed terrifying-- until their heaven touched stranger caught it in his bare hand, the electricity sparkling about him like a child's firecracker. “Is this all you have?” he asked, his voice low and taunting, and the demon roared again, but the damage was done. With it's weapon pinned, it had left itself open to attack-- and the soldiers probably could have finished it off without the rain of meteors upon its head.
Though they didn't really need to, as it was.
And she had questions to ask-- no mage she had ever met could simply reach out and grasp power like that, in one of it's naked shapes, and he had summoned fire from the sky as if it was nothing, and he had put his very body between the monster and a man who had fallen to the ground, but all of that was less important than closing this rift, now.
And the whole world seemed to flare green-- green and blinding and with a noise she had no words for, as if the sound around them was being stretched. It knocked them to the ground, but he must have stood firm, for through the crackling noise and the otherworldly light and the outpouring of energy that made her hair stand on end, there was a final flare of light... and then all was still. The great wound in the air... closed.
They were saved!
The tear was... still present, but it was a thin line-- unable to spill forth more monsters, shut, if not gone. And... the way back to the town of Haven was safe, thanks to his ideas. She turned her head to call out to him and realized she had not asked his name. She'd have to do that. She--
He was crumpled on the ground, head propped up at a bizarre angle where his horn had hit the ground before his skull, limp, not moving, and she....
She hadn't even asked his name.