Chapter Text
There’s sweat dripping down her brow, but when she takes a moment to wipe across her face there is a pressure against her back and then a sting. She hisses at the surprising pain, gritting her teeth to stabilize herself. As she secures her balance by planting her feet she hears a familiar buzz. She tries to warn her fellow combatants, but before sound even escapes her a roar fills the street as a rift erupts just above her ear.
Her back hits a stone wall and all she can do is choke back a sob as the shock shoots up the slice near her spine. Unfortunately, she does not have a moment to rest with several more demons clawing their way through another tear. So she gets up. Ignoring the tears of agony, she once again secures her stance and then she continues.
There is a demon horde that keeps terrorizing the streets of Minrathous. They’re in her way, and while she knows they mean that she is too late, she fights with all that is left of her. She wants to get to Solas, she needs to get to Solas.
The ground is slick with blood and ichor that makes her feet slip against the cobblestone, but that doesn’t stop her. She pushes off the wall, using the momentum to jump above her enemy and uses both daggers to pierce its flesh. While the demon flails she refuses to let go of the weapons and instead digs them in deeper until her hands are covered in black filth.
It is then that the pride demon finally fades into dust and mist, allowing her to take a deep breath before turning to face another wave. There are patters of feet against the stone as civilians run and scream in fear, followed by doors slamming shut. As if a barrier will stop this many demons. Above her the rain continues to fall, only making the old streets more dangerous. Fucking Minrathous, she can't help but think as she continues to bombard her enemies with slice after stab after bludgeon. The tirade continues, however, and it reminds her of the early time spent with the Inquisition.
Rifts open up around her and she can see a large tear off in the distance. It’s huge, larger than she has seen for a decade, and she feels like crying.
She needs to get to Solas.
But then from the corner of her eye she notices a demon ignoring her and approaching a group of youngins. Weaving between her enemies and fellow combatants, she slips on her way but as she stumbles forward she holds the hilt of her dagger close to her chest so when she falls it pierces the shade in front of her.
It’s a weak demon, of which she knows she is lucky, so it groans and dissipates after the only strike. She is now on the ground with water beating down against her soaked cloak and she’s just glad it wasn’t another type of demon. The quivering youths in front of her thank her profusely as they run off in the opening she has provided. Her front now aches too, from where she hit the ground, but she doesn’t allow herself more than a second of reprieve. So she gets up.
The fight lasts long after the large tear in the sky disappears and, even though her heart drops, she continues to fight and protect.
It’s only after she drags herself into a bath at Dorian’s villa, at least a couple hours after the fight and after finding Dumat Plaza, that she allows herself to break down.
She’s almost too tired to cry, but tears make their way down her cheeks nonetheless. The water is hot, yet the tears splashing against her raised knees are cold. She lets herself sob until there’s nothing else, and it’s only when she’s allowed herself a low whimper that she feels the cut across her back and the ache in her bones.
There’s no rest for the weary, however, so she gets out of the bath as quickly as she can afterwards. She’s still in her towel when she knocks at Dorian’s door, and she’s shaking from either the cold or shock, or maybe both.
Dorian doesn’t say anything at first, only sighs when he sees her.
“Come here, then. Let us take a look at that cut left by that fear demon. Don’t look at me like that, I know you got hit.”
She gets closer to him, and puts her back to him. She hisses when he starts applying what’s supposed to be a soothing salve.
“I don’t mean to ignore it,” she apologises, “but you know I worry.”
Dorian hums. “Yes, well, there is little to be done at the moment. I have my people, and yours for that matter, searching for them. If they’re in Minrathous then they will be found.”
“If they’re in Minrathous? You don’t think they’re still here?” She looks over her shoulder to look at Dorian and he admonishes her movement.
“You saw the eluvian as well as I did. If it was active before we got there, then they could be anywhere.”
“Which is why we should be in the Crossroads at the very least.”
“You know as well as I do that the chances of finding them among the Crossroads is unlikely. Besides it'll take days to arrive at the closest Eluvian. Now, don’t pout, my dear. We will find them.”
Dorian finishes applying the ointment and after they let it dry, he places a plush fur around her bare shoulders. She shivers despite herself.
“I don’t like just waiting around, ” she leans her head against his shoulder, “and I don’t pout.” In response, Dorian raises an eyebrow and even though she cannot see it she knows it is there. Despite herself, she laughs.
It feels strange to laugh now while not knowing the fate of their team.
Varric. Lace. Rook. Even Neve Gallus, who she’s never met. They’re her team, and they’re missing. It hasn’t even been an evening, but they were not at the inn when she arrived. Something urgent must have come up, she remembers thinking. It wasn’t until she and Dorian left the empty inn, only minutes later, that they realized the ritual had started.
She had tried to make it. She was supposed to have made it. She was meant to be with her team as they faced Solas. If there was any chance she could talk to him before he tore open the fade, it was a chance she had to take.
She should have been there.
“Darling.” She startles from her thoughts and it seems that she has been absent from the world, judging by the way Dorian is now carding his fingers through her long hair. “As we wait, there may be time for regrets, but don’t get lost in them. Remember that the ritual did not get completed. The Veil is still separating us from a horde of demons, for the time being.”
“I know you’re right-” she starts, but Dorian interrupts her.
“But that will not stop you from worrying. I know. I will go check in with the Shadow Dragons in case they have heard from our outmoded friend. Can’t have a name as big as yours roaming the streets without a purpose. In the meantime, you will rest.”
“Dorian-”
“This is when you thank me.”
“But what about-” she then stops from the withering glare he sends her way. “...thank you, Dorian.”
He smiles wryly, but it does not stop him from leaning forward and placing a kiss against her forehead. “Sleep well.”
And, well, she does not.
Her dreams are fraught with the sounds of screams and cackles and demands. Her heart feels as if it will beat out of her chest the whole time, and she is so restless she wakes up more exhausted.
Time has passed, surely, but she is unaware of how much. It is still dark outside, though it could be due to the constant rain as much as anything else. Everything is quiet in contrast to her dreams, too quiet that it makes her uncomfortable. So she gets up.
Noticing that she is only wrapped in a towel and fur, she goes to get dressed. On her way to her own room she lets her body feel the pain of cuts and bruises from the previous fight. This means she stumbles and limps and falters on her way to the next room, having to grab the odd furniture in the hallway before reaching her door.
Her room is dim and cold, the fire having died out several hours ago. She goes to light it, but it is when she realizes that all her candles are snuffed out. The only light seems to be coming from next to her bed.
As she approaches it she realizes that it’s a soft glow of blue and white. The light ends up being a statuette of a wolf howling. It makes her melancholic.
If she is expecting anything to happen when she picks it up, she is disappointed. It’s not even warm or cold. Instead, the colours weave into one another as if it were oil and water. It’s still pretty even after seeing countless wolf statues throughout her travels. All larger and grander than this one, nonetheless, she is enchanted by it. Perhaps because it reminds her of Solas.
The thought of him makes her chest ache and she makes her way to the chair overlooking a window. The large rift is gone, but its damage has been done. There are cracked stones outside and what looks to be spilt tar and blood covering the streets.
It’s not the worst rift tear she’s seen, nevertheless, she is aware that all the tears she has spent time mending have been Solas’ fault in the long run. It is a realization she has made long ago, yet, there always seems to be a constant reminder. It makes her want to cry, but despite being alone and in the privacy of her chambers she does her best not to release it.
There is then a knock at the door, soft but demanding. It takes a moment for her to steel herself; however, once she lets her eyes harden she goes to answer.
Dorian is on the other side, flanked by a masked man she recognizes from Charter’s reports.
“The Viper, I take it.” To his credit, he does not seem surprised.
“I have heard of you as well, Inquisitor,” he replies earnestly enough. “We have much to discuss, but if you need a moment, I can wait for you in the parlour.”
Realizing she has yet to remove the fur and put on actual clothes, she can’t help but blush. Dorian looks at her sympathetically. Right, what a mess she is. However, instead of rushing inside and slamming the door shut like she wants, she nods. “Please, why don’t you explain why you’re here?”
She ducks behind a curtained divider in the corner of her room and almost gasps when she sees the tear stains against her cheeks. Hmm. Not as good at holding it together as she had hoped. She scrubs at her cheeks quickly, only furthering how red they are, and when all she wants to do is groan she instead gets dressed.
The Viper seems hesitant, even facing away from the curtain, but he begins anyway. He tells the story of the appearances of the rifts over Minrathous. The death count is minimal, considering, but still unacceptable. The Shadow Dragons are out on the streets looking for information on a pair of dwarves and an elf that were heading towards Dumat Plaza, all the while cleaning up remnant demons and Venatori.
She tries to pay close attention to his words, but as he continues all she can think of is how even more deaths are on Solas’ hands. Leaning against the mirrored vanity, she takes a shaky deep breath, trying to be quiet so no one hears.
Emerging, both men bring no more mention of her red cheeks that match her dress and are vibrant below her icy eyes and vallaslin. She steadies herself as if she were in battle and then leads the men to the study Dorian was kind enough to decorate for her.
“Inquisitor-”
“Please, the Inquisition is no more. Call me Nyssa.”
*
Nyssa spends the next couple days pouring over any and all reports sent by Charter and the Shadow Dragons. She worries over the increasing rise of known Venatori wandering the streets. According to Dorian, after visiting the Imperial Senate in response to the attacks, the magisters with known ties to the Venatori are becoming more outspoken; some suggesting strict curfews and arrest warrants for those involved with the appearance of rifts. If they were anyone else, Nyssa would have asked Dorian to stay home.
It’s when she readies herself to head to Dock Town to investigate herself, that the sun momentarily disappears through her window. The loss makes her turn quickly so she is greeted by the sight of a large bird morphing into a woman.
“Morrigan!” Nyssa can't help but exclaim. She goes to her side. The happiness of seeing an old friend dissipates quickly, however, with the look of contemplation on the mage’s face.
“I seem to have caught you as you are about to leave. Nevertheless, I have come to speak with you. ‘Tis bad news I’m afraid.”
Nyssa’s heart sinks. “There’s no good news to match?”
“Afraid not, Inquisitor. It pertains to your team hunting Solas.” This makes Nyssa stand up straighter, regretting her previous attempt at levity. “While they did put a stop to the Dread Wolf’s ritual, as you must have suspected, something worse has been released.”
“Something worse than tearing down the Veil?”
“It would appear so: the freedom of the elven gods.”
Over the past several days, Nyssa had been feeling ill with worry. Dwelling on it so, she had barely slept and had even thrown up enough for bile to burn her throat. None of this compares to the sense of dread that overcomes her. She begins to pull at the jaw necklace around her neck.
“The Evanuris? Are you sure?”
“Indeed,” Morrigan replies. “According to your Rook, Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan have been released from Fen’harel’s prison.”
At the mention of her team, Nyssa bites her lip. “You’ve spoken to Rook? Was Varric there? What about Lace?”
“I spoke with Rook and Scout Harding. Master Tethras was not present. I was called there by Veil Jumpers- you’ve heard mention of Irelin and Strife -and it seems the gods have taken another fragment of the blight in their escape. D’Meta’s Crossing was overrun by a living blight.”
Nyssa wants to sit down. Instead, she asks, “D’Meta’s Crossing? They're in Arlathan?”
“They're likely in the Fade now. Their Eluvian is broken, only taking them from the ritual site and Fen’harel’s Lighthouse in the Fade.”
Nyssa wants to groan, and judging by Morrigan’s own smirk she isn't so good at hiding it. “Is there any way to get to them? Other than flying I mean.”
“They've employed a Veil Jumper to fix the Vi’Revas. I suspect, if you find your own Eluvian, you will be able to travel to them.”
“And you said you had no good news.”
“Remember, Inquisitor, your closest known eluvian is a two day trek outside of Minrathous and you are needed here. Your team is stuck in the Fade for the time being. All the while, two gods of unknown desires are missing.”
“Two? What of Solas?”
“Ah yes, I was wondering when you would ask,” Morrigan replies with a quirk of her lip as if she’s teasing Nyssa. “He is locked away in the prison of his own making, in the Fade. Apparently, he can speak to Rook in her dreams.”
The necklace is now between her thumb and forefinger, and instead of tugging it she rubs it. “Rook’s dreams? And how has he switched places with Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nan?”
“‘Tis happened during the ritual.”
“Of course it did. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to talk Solas down. To think of him alone… it is my fault this has happened.”
“He loves the Fade, does he not? Nevertheless, I don’t suspect he will be there for very long. Your regrets are of no benefit either. We must act now instead of wallowing in grief. Whatever he is planning, we must be on guard for when he returns.”
These are the words that Nyssa needed to hear. She lets go of the necklace now and stretches both her hands reflexively. No more wallowing, indeed.
“Thank you, Morrigan. I will send some letters to the South. If the blight is returning, we will need allies. If you see Rook or Harding again, or Varric, please let them know I await them.”
Morrigan turns towards the window once more, and just before she shapeshifts she says, “of course, Inquisitor.”
Now left alone, Nyssa wants to bang her head against the wall. There is no time for that, however, so she instead takes a moment to write an encrypted letter to Charter and it is on her way to Dock Town that she sends it off.
Dock Town is still recovering after the last demon attack which shouldn’t come as a surprise as Dock Town is a poorer neighbourhood. Fortunately, she notices as she walks through the streets and alleys, each person seems to be working together.
She stops to offer coins to those begging, and helps set up a tent when she sees some struggling to put up their only refuge. There are even some cats and dogs to pet on the way.
By the time she enters the shop Dorian had suggested visiting, Nyssa’s mood has improved, even if only minutely. Lorelei greets her and Nyssa is able to return a gentle smile that is only somewhat faked. The shop is plentiful of weapons and some armour, but there is nothing special among them. Nothing that exceeds the quality of her own daggers, at the least, so Nyssa can’t help but wonder why Dorian had suggested she come here.
It is only several minutes later, when it has become awkward browsing, when there is a creak in the back. There’s the sound of shuffling, too, but no one seems concerned so Nyssa is prepared to politely decline the deals Lorelei has offered and leave.
Of course it is just when she has turned away that she hears an exclamation, “Nyssa!”
Dorian comes out of what Nyssa swears is a wall and looks happy to see her despite them only leaving one another that morning. She offers a small smile in return, her mood improving even more.
Of course there is little time to react when Dorian pushes her through a new gap in the wall, and suddenly she knows why he had suggested she visit this random shop Dock Town.
The Shadow Dragons are nice enough, though they are cautious despite Dorian vouching for her nonetheless. After seeing how Solas had infiltrated the Inquisition in the past, it is of no surprise.
What is a surprise, is the eluvian they are keeping in the backroom. When she asks after it, they explain, “we took it off some Venatori slavers.”
“Does it work?”
“We thought it was a fancy mirror at first, so no,” Tarquin remarks. Nyssa drags her finger against the edge of the eluvian. Nothing happens, of which she should have suspected, but she’s still disappointed.
Dorian has a knowing look on his face, and so he wraps an arm around her so it looks like he is pulling her towards a couch. Nyssa still wants to ask about it, about how to get the password, but it is when the Viper mentions red lyrium that she puts it on pause.
Of course there are Venatori performing sacrifices in the depths of Minrathous. It should come to no surprise, but she still shifts uncomfortably at the description of their last find.
“The red lyrium is enhancing their blood magic,” the Viper warns, “so we need to find the figures before they go back underground.
Despite being unsettled, Nyssa volunteers. This makes Dorian sit up straighter in his chair, but he doesn’t comment. When the Viper and Tarquin leave her in the care of Dorian, she prepares herself for a comment. Instead, he gives her hand a squeeze and mutters a “be careful” before leading her out.
Once she’s out on the streets, again getting caught in the rainfall, she leads herself towards the previous sacrifice location under Tarquin’s recommendations.
It is deep in the catacombs, and she wishes she weren’t alone. As she gets deeper, despite not being a mage, Nyssa can sense the blood magic. It’s stifling. She almost can’t breathe with the scent of blood in the air.
The sight makes her gag. There are elves laying skewed around a central podium, with cages framing the room. There is no one alive here, besides herself, so she lets some tears fall for the dead. Nyssa holds on to Solas’ necklace, takes a breath, then steps into the chamber.
Other than the dead bodies and the blood, the room really is a mess. There was clearly a struggle with claw marks and ripped pages everywhere. Thankfully, it does not take long for her to find a trail. As Nyssa approaches the opposite side of the room, collecting intact notes where she can, there are bare footprints leading to a bookshelf. Remembering the Shadow Dragon’s headquarters, she pushes it aside. The footprints continue to the other side, faint as they are. Nevertheless, Nyssa takes a moment to say goodbye to the dead, mentally noting where she travelled so that the Shadow Dragons can offer them appropriate rites.
Her nails dig into her palm as she sneaks from the gruesome scene. Her prosthetic arm whines under the force, and a tinge is sent up her shoulder. She continues along the trail, however, and it is soon after leaving the sacrifice chamber that she finds claw marks against the walls. They’re large enough to belong to a demon, and she notices the footprints become shuffled as if someone has been dragged.
Another hour passes as she follows the tracks even deeper in the catacombs. It’s not a straight path, so she briefly worries about her future escape. The deeper she goes the more suffocating it becomes. The air is dusty and damp as she squeezes through a crack in the wall covered in another’s blood. The scene before her makes Nyssa want to retch.
It’s not unlike the previous ritual room, with many bodies lying half-hazardly in a circle, none so much as twitching. But the noise… the noise is terrible. In the cages lining this room there are still living elves. At least, their chests are moving up and down, but they lay motionless, only making a low guttural sound. It sounds like a religious chant unlike one she’s ever heard.
Unfortunately, the humming isn‘t loud enough for her to surprise the Venatori that are currently digging a knife through a screeching and naked young elf. One of the Venatori is holding a red lyrium idol and before anyone has time to react, Nyssa has thrown a small dagger to pin the sleeve of an enemy against the wall.
The fight is only brutal because she is alone and the wailing girl is begging the Venatori to stop, even when they no longer loom over her. The demons at the Venatori command are easily dealt with this time and Nyssa is satisfied when she pierces the final Venatori through the heart, the cultist voice gurgling as they promise success to the gods.
The chanting stops, but the girl on what appears to be a stone bed is clawing at her own chest. Nyssa rushes to her side, forgetting her daggers in the corpses. The girl is young under all the grime and blood. She doesn’t seem to notice Nyssa, though, so when Nyssa grabs a hold of her hands she shrieks.
The sound is deafening so that even the caged elves moan. “Tell me what to do,” Nyssa begs as she holds onto the girl’s hands with her prosthetic and rummages through her bag with her other hand. In it she finds bandages, yet, the girl is twitching too much.
There’s blood leaking out of the girl’s eyes now, and Nyssa knows she is running out of time. She looks around the room, for anything, when she spots the idol. In an instant she smashes it with her heel, thankful not to be bare foot like her clan had raised her. The screaming instantly stops and is replaced with sobs. Nyssa returns to the poor girl and while offering her soothing words of comfort, she carefully wraps her in bandages. She’s covered in blood, it still streaming down her cheeks and chest. Nyssa helps her to her feet, though she stumbles immediately.
Instead, Nyssa lets her rest against the stone bed as she unlocks the cages of the other begging elves. Some fall to the ground when the doors are released, praising at her feet. Nyssa gives the young girl her cloak and then with at least five other slaves, they leave.
It takes at least double the time to return to the surface as it had to get to the ritual room. Everyone is tired, but even with the adrenaline waning they continue the trek. Once they reach an opening in the catacombs, it is evident that it is no longer daylight. There are lit lanterns and torches approaching the entrance near the docks and Nyssa wants to sob with joy when she recognizes Tarquin among them.
“We can’t parade a group of freed elves in the streets,” he warns Nyssa when he finally reaches them. So, to much of the chagrin of the group, they return to the catacombs and slink through the weaving caverns. At least Tarquin knows his way around, more or less, it seems.
“Did you find the red lyrium?” he asks.
Nyssa looks ahead as she continues, remembering the control it had over the poor girl in her arms. “It’s gone. I smashed it.” Tarquin doesn’t look impressed, necessarily, but he does nod his head.
The secret tunnel to get to the Shadow Dragon’s headquarters brings them to another wall, but just as the one from this afternoon moved, this one does as well. Nyssa is so grateful to see Dorian waiting on the other side, she wants to collapse. Instead, she helps the girl she learned is named Liarill, to a healer. The cuts are deep, apparently, but with Nyssa watching over his shoulder, the healer promises Liarill will survive.
It’s only when Liarill falls asleep in a warm bed among the Shadow Dragons protecting her does Nyssa find Dorian. He’s in front of the fireplace and while there’s no space on the chair he is sitting in, she finds comfort at his feet.
Instantly Dorian starts to card his fingers through her hair and she hums.
“Long day?” he asks, but there’s no humour in it. Nyssa closes her eyes and leans against his legs.
“Yes.”
They sit like that for a while, enjoying the warmth of more than the fire. Nyssa has almost fallen asleep when Dorian inquires after Morrigan. Nyssa opens her eyes again, feeling like this morning was another life. She explains what had transpired, what Morrigan had said about her team, about the Evanuris, about Solas. Dorian looks horrified; there's no denying it. He does not stay quiet for long:
“Are you sure you heard correctly? The Evanuris?”
“Yes, I trust Morrigan,” Nyssa confirms. “They’re already feeling the consequences in Arlathan, and I can only imagine how much worse it will become. How far it will reach.”
“That does explain the increase in the cultists’ activity.”
“We need to find the other Lyrium idols. Oh, and we need to warn the South. I sent a message to Charter this morning, but we need to-” she starts to get up only to be held down.
“First you need to rest.”
“We don't have time, the Venatori are likely to be sacrificing other elves. We need to find the idol.”
“We will talk about this more in the morning, then. The Viper has already sent out some Shadow Dragons for the next idol. I will compose your letters. You can sign them all pretty in the morning, which is only a few hours away now.” Nyssa squirms, but Dorian has gotten stronger with age.
“Okay, but promise you’ll wake me up soon.”
“I promise.”
Despite the promise, Dorian does not, in fact, wake her up.
Nyssa finds herself in a cot tucked away in some corner of the headquarters, not quite exhausted but nor does she feel refreshed. She rubs the sleep from her eyes before getting up. When she makes it outside the shop she is greeted by the sun trying to push through rain clouds and even though she knows she can’t, she wants to hide under the covers all over again.
Instead she makes her way to a stall with remnants of fresh produce and grabs herself a bruised apple. Nyssa watches the streets while eating her breakfast. Things seem to have relatively calmed down for Dock Town; there are still merchants trying to sell their products and templars marching through the streets.
It’s when she goes to look for Dorian again, ready to make a fuss, when she spots a familiar face. Her heart must stop beating for a moment, or the blood has rushed to her brain, because there she sees Solas.
It only lasts a second, if that, and the feeling fades. The familiarity disappears and she’s stuck with a hollow ache in her chest. Nyssa ignores it, however, as in its place she sees her team.
Her team looks tired, but Nyssa knows the danger they pose. Rook. Harding. Who she suspects is Neve Gallus, considering her reputation and the silly hat she wears. So, even though she’s itching to run up, she stays firm and watches them disappear into Lorelei’s shop. Nyssa then waits a few minutes to finish her apple and ensure them they aren’t being followed before she follows in their footsteps.