Chapter Text
Hear now, Andraste, daughter of Brona,
Spear-maid of Alamarr, to valiant hearts sing
Of victory waiting, yet to be claimed from
The steel-bond forgers of barren Tevene.
Andraste 1:1
The world came back into focus - but it was wrong. Sensation felt different, off, and the stench of sulphur and magic - a smell that was more sensation than scent - permeated the air around her.
Anora opened her eyes slowly, to meet the ground. It was grey, and it felt like dirt intermingled with ash. She sat up. The world was green - it was not supposed to be green - and around her black rocks jutted out like angry fingers clawing at the sky.
She cast her gaze around, desperately trying to work out where she was. She felt physically here, her body felt tangible and so did the ashy dirt beneath her. Yet she also felt out of place, in a place that she did not belong - that she should not be in.
Her hand was burning, another worrying sign, and she looked down at it. Green sparks were coming from a small cut in her hand, it glowed bright enough to sting her eyes. That was a distinctly bad sign.
She tore her gaze from it and looked around again. She tried to think of where she was, how she got there, but she could not remember.
Slowly, it came back to her - the Conclave - a large peace gathering in the Temple of Sacred Ashes hosted by the Divine, but this green crater she found herself in could not be the temple. How did she get from there to here?
Up ahead there was a small hill, at its zenith was something glowing, she could not make out what, but it was better than nothing. A start to figuring out what exactly was going on.
She dragged herself up onto her feet, and started walking towards it. She got just to the base of the hill when suddenly from behind her came a horrible trilling sound and the noise of scuttling feet - spiders. Their horrible too-many-eyed-too-many-limbed bodies came hurtling out of the darkness toward her. In a panic, she started to scramble up the hill desperately.
Fear drove her forward, despite her protesting body, and soon the glowing thing at the top became clear - it was the silhouette of a woman, wreathed in golden light, reaching out to her.
Anora grasped her hand, the one with the glowing scar, and green light burst from it and everything went dark. She felt the sensation of falling, and cold, hard ground hitting her - or she hitting it rather - and lost all consciousness.
===
Anora came too slowly, her body aching even worse than before - that’s what she became aware of first. Her knees were bent - she was kneeling - and they ached and begged to be straightened. Then there was her back, her spine was stiff. She shifted slightly, to try and ease the pain in her knees while her other senses came too. Her wrists were aching too, and she could not move them. She opened eyes slowly, to darkness, and then to a torchlight that was far too bright. She winced at shut one eye, squinting through the other. She was kneeling, and she was in stocks. Alarm started creeping in her gut as she beheld them. There was also a burning in her palm - the memories of the strange green place and the spiders and the gold woman came rushing back and she had to blink away vertigo at the rush. Her thoughts were sluggish, as if she had slept for a very long time.
She opened her palm slowly, and that green rift was there, and it sputtered brightly, as if she was casting a spell of some kind that she had no control over. The thought alarmed her and she shut her palm. She was not a mage, how could there be magic coming from her hand?
And, why was she shackled to the floor?
She looked around, through the dim torchlight she could make out armoured figures - who all there swords drawn and pointed at her. She grimaced and looked back down at her hands, alarm spreading throughout her entire being as her thoughts and her heart began to race.
Were they templars? They had to be templars. But why?
The conclave was supposed to be a peace talk… She frowned… she could not remember the conclave. Her memory went from arriving at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, showing the door guard Kirkwall’s seal to show that she was actually aligned with the rebel mages and not some random human who wanted to gawk at the proceedings, even if she was accompanying an Enchanter.
She remembered separating from Enchanter Theodorian… and then she woke up in that green place with ashy dirt, and then there were the spiders and the golden woman, she remembered touching the woman’s hand and then the bright flash and then… she woke up here. Surrounded by armed and armoured soldiers with blades pointed at her.
They could also be Ferelden soldiers, someone may have recognized her at the Conclave as Anora Mac Tir - the most wanted woman in Ferelden after all - but that did not explain the magic sputtering from her hand.
The door to her cell crashed open and the soldiers around her sheathed their blades as two people entered. One had short hair and a glare that could melt steel and the other regarded her with cool, calculating eyes though her brow was set in a slight scowl.
The latter looked familiar somehow but Anora had no time to ponder that as the first grabbed her roughly by the collar of her coat and brought her face close to Anora’s.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now.”
She growled in a thick confusing accent. Anora froze, despite the indignant anger that was slowly rising in her gut.
“The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead,” her voice lowered to growl so dark it sent a frozen chill down Anora’s spine, “except for you.”
Everyone at the Conclave… dead? The words washed over, but as their meaning became clear it felt like a punch to the jaw. Anora’s mind raced, going through everything she remembered again, and she met the short-haired woman’s eyes with a trembling gaze. She could not help it.
“Everyone… how…?” Anora stammered out in a breath.
She could not be responsible. How could she be responsible?
The short-haired grabbed her wrist, the one that had the hand with the magic mark, and raised it roughly, bringing up to Anora’s eye level. She winced at the sharp pain that sent down her arm due to the awkward angle.
“Explain this,” hissed the woman.
“I don’t know what that is!”
“You’re lying!” she growled as she slammed her hand down Anora’s neck, her fingers digging
painfully into Anora’s throat.
The other woman grabbed the first’s shoulder, “We need her, Cassandra!”
Cassandra froze, hateful eyes not leaving Anora’s but then she slowly relaxed her grip, and
Anora inhaled a relieved breath.
“Do you remember what happened?”
The other woman said, much more calmly than Cassandra, in a soft orlesian accent.
Anora looked up at her eyes, and willed herself not to bulk under their cold and calculating scrutiny. “I remember arriving at the Conclave then… a green place.”
The orlesian frowned, but Anora continued quickly before she could interrupt, “It was weird, and cold. The ground was ash and dirt, and then there were spiders but not normal ones. Huge and monstrous - like the kind you get were the veil is thin - and then there was a woman-”
“-A woman?”
“Yes, she reached out to me, to this,” she lifted the hand with the mark, “there was a bright flash and then… I fell unconscious. Next thing I know I’m here.”
The Orlesian nodded, slowly, and leaned back.
“Go to the forward camp Leliana, I will take her to the rift.”
Leliana - that same pull of familiarity tugged at Anora’s mind - nodded once and left, but not before giving Anora one last suspicious glance. Anora shifted uncomfortably, there was something else in the Orlesian’s gaze, but Anora did not have time to wonder about that as Cassandra was removing the stocks - still left with her wrists bound by leather straps though.
Cassandra pulled Anora to her feet, for which she was grateful, as her knees almost buckled out from underneath her and vertigo slammed into her skull.
When she regained herself, she asked, “What happened?”
Cassandra sighed, “It would be easier to show you.”
Anora followed Cassandra out of the cell, taking careful note of the armor the guard at the door wore. He was no templar, dressed in gambeson and breastplate that bore a… hairy eyeball?
She did not know what in the maker’s name that symbol was supposed to be. His helmet was also shaped like an upside-down gravy boat.
Still, no templar or Ferelden soldier - that was good.
The cold outside bit into her, and she winced, and then she looked up.
There was a hole in the sky.
It was a massive swirling vortex, with green - the same colour as the mark on her hand - energy sputtering and spitting out of it and rocks swirled up slowly toward it, as if suspended in mid air whilst being sucked upward.
“We call it ‘the breach’. It’s a massive rift into the world of demon’s that grows larger with each passing hour. It is not the only such rift, only the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.”
Anora gaped, cold fear nearly bringing her to her knees again. Demons… the fade. That meant that thing, was a tear in the veil. An actual, proper tear, meaning… meaning the fabric of reality had broken, or at least been damaged.
Kirkwall had been bad enough as a place where the Veil was merely extremely thin.
“An… explosion can do that?” she breathed.
“This one did. And if we do not act, it may expand further till it swallows the world.”
The breach hissed and thundered and flashed brightly, and the mark on Anora’s hand responded to it. The magic burst out and it hurt - it felt like fire was burning inside the palm and the skin was trying to pull itself from the bone.
The pain of it sent her to her knees, and she cried out, clutching at her wrist for fear of damaging her other hand.
Cassandra knelt in front of her, sympathy writ across her angular face, “Each time the breach expands, the mark spreads… and it is killing you.”
Wonderful.
“It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”
Anora nodded slowly. That was some reassurance at least. If the mark could stop the Breach, and the Breach stopped growing, maybe the mark would stop as well. Or, she might be completely consumed by the magic - as she seen one very unfortunate mage be when, driven to desperation by an overwhelming amount of templars, he had cast a spell too powerful for him and it had consumed him entirely, his body had turned bright, the spell flung out, and then he was just gone - Anora shivered at the memory, her fight or flight instinct screaming at her to run, to cut the hand off and be done with it.
But as she looked up into Cassandra’s eyes, where the hate and rage had faded to desperate hope. They had to get her to the Breach, if she did run everyone would die.
Anora’s resolve turned to steel at that thought, and she gazed up at Cassandra and met the woman’s eyes without a hint of fear in her own - she hoped - and nodded stiffly.
“Very well.”
Cassandra’s brow rose in surprise, “Then you…?”
“I want to help, whatever it takes.”
Cassandra grinned, the expression like the sun clearing the storm clouds, and she offered her hand to Anora. She took it, albeit it somewhat awkwardly since her wrists were still bound, and Cassandra helped her to stand.
Cassandra led her through a crowd of people, who glared at her with scornful eyes. 'Murderer', 'Monster'. Anora could not help but flinch.
Cassandra noticed, “They have decided your guilt. They need it.”
They continued on until they reached a bridge, which was relatively empty of people, but was littered with barricades, “Divine Justinia, our most holy is dead. We lash out like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did...”
Cassandra stopped when they were on the bridge and turned to face her, “There will be a trial, I can promise no more,” she said as she cut the ropes binding Anora’s wrists. Anora sighed in relief, rubbing at the skin which had chaffed even through her coat.
They continued on, the mark flaring again when the breach expanded more. Anora shrugged off Cassandra’s help that time, and willed herself to stand.
“How did your soldiers find me?”
“They say you stepped out of a rift - then fell unconscious. They say there was a woman behind you, no one knows who she was.”
Anora nodded slowly, remembering the bright golden woman who had reached out to her. But if she had been inside a rift…
She had no time to continue that thought and its alarming implication, as they came to another bridge, and the breach expanded again, a green blast of magic hit the bridge, causing the entire thing to crumble on itself, sending Anora and Cassandra both hurtling with it, feet over head.
Anora landed face first on hard, cold ice.
Her nose hurt the worst of all, and she could feel blood dripping down to her chin. She pulled herself to her knees, desperately trying to blink away involuntary tears when two more magic blasts struck the earth in front of them, and pools of black ichor appeared on the ice. A demon rose from one of them - it was long, robed, and had thin spindly arms and clawed hands - Cassandra rushed to meet it, ordering Anora to stay behind her. But as she ran to that one, another rose from a pool between them.
Anora scrambled to her feet, and backed up, desperately unsure of what to do - she had no weapon.
She cast her gaze about desperately, and her eyes fell immediately on a longsword and shield that had been thrown off the bridge. Thanking the Maker for her luck - as much as He had decided to afford her circumstances not withstand- she grabbed them both and spun around, just in time to block a swipe from the demon. It grazed the shield, leaving claw marks in the wood, and it had put too much momentum in the strike and overbalanced, giving her the perfect opening she needed to shove the blade into it with as much force as she could muster. That staggered the demon and she had to wrench her blade free, and she finished it with an overhand swing.
It felt a lot like cutting air, but nevertheless the demon howled and shrunk back into the ground. She hoped that that meant it was gone. Demon’s could not truly be killed in that fashion.
She looked up to find Cassandra and found her with her blade pointed at Anora warily. “Drop your weapon! Now!”
“Do you expect me to fight demons with my bare hands and sharp wit?” she spat back.
Cassandra scowled and seemed to be about to yell something else, but she stopped herself, and dropped her stance. “No. I cannot defend you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless.”
She sheathed her sword, “I must remember you agreed to come willingly.”
Anora nodded slowly, her expression incredulous.
“Yes. You should.”
Cassandra sighed and handed her vial, “Elfroot poultice.”
Anora stared at it quizzically then remembered her nose. Not the first time it was broken, likely would not be the last.
She applied it carefully, wincing at the pain, and Cassandra went to stand by a small pathway that led further up into the valley.
“Come, they should still be fighting in the valley.”
“Who?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
They continued through the valley, fighting more demons on the way. Most were those same robed things as before, while others were glowing silhouettes that cast spells. When one of those spells hit her, she did not feel injured, but her already weary body felt even heavier. She decided that those things needed to be taken out first. Eventually, they came to the people Cassandra had been talking about.
A group of soldiers - dressed in the same uniform as the ones that hard guarded Anora’s cell - were fighting demons while above them… Anora’s mouth went dry at the sight. It was like the breach but smaller, as though someone had torn the air. Green light - the same as that on her hand - emanated out of it.
Anora thought she could also make out someone casting spells, a barrier shimmered around the soldiers and ice spells were flung to and fro at the demons.
Cassandra and Anora joined the fray, dispatching the demons quickly, and then the mage - a bald elf - grabbed Anora’s wrist and pointed her marked hand at the rift.
The mark responded, and a connection formed between it and the rift, looking like a stream of magic. She could feel the rift closing, as if she was pulled air closed again with her fingers, and when it did, the force of it physically repelled her, sending her stumbling back and out of the mage's grip.
She stared wide-eyed at her hand, and then at the mage, “What did you do?”
The mage smiled, “I did nothing. It was the mark you carry.”
Anora nodded slowly and looked back at it, “So I can help.” And she did not die in the process, so maybe she could close the breach without also dying.
“Good to know!” exclaimed a dwarf, coming over and leaning an impressive crossbow on his shoulder, “here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.”
He grinned up at Anora, and she could not help but smile back. He, and the elf, were the first non hostile people she had seen so far. “Well well, good to see you’re alive, Frosty."
In the top three percentile of people she would have last expected to find in this situation, Varric Tethras of Kirkwall Merchant's Guild fame made the top ten. "Varric? What are you doing here?"
Varric snorted, “I could ask the same thing of you.”
“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.”
She inclined her head, “Pleased to meet you Solas.”
He inclined his head, “The honour is mine. I am pleased to see that you still live.”
“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’.” Varric chipped in.
“And overzealous townsfolk.”
“That too.”
Anora placed her hand to her chest and bowed slightly, “Then you have my thanks.”
“Thank me if we manage to seal the breach.”
They continued on - with Cassandra and Varric snarking each other for a minute before Solas cleared his throat and gestured to the Breach with a tilt of his head.
They finally - after fighting through more demons and closing another rift - came to a guarded bridge. As they began to cross over it - the wind pulling at them - Anora began to hear arguing voices.
Leliana stood with her arms crossed, facing a man in white and red chantry robes - the orlesian style - who was glaring at her and talking animatedly with his arms.
The man’s scowl went darker as his gaze fell on Anora.
“Here they come.”
Leliana ignored him and looked over the group with a relieved expression, “You made it! Chancellor Roderick, this is-”
“I know who she is. As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.”
Cassandra bristled, “Order me?” she asked indignantly, “You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat.”
“And you are a thug! One who supposedly serves the chantry.”
“We serve the most holy, chancellor, as you well now,” Leliana interjected.
Anora could already feel her patience with this man draining, she knew his type immediately. She had had to deal with many of them when she ruled beside Cailan. Men who had some authority, but blustered and made demands of those even above their station.
“Justinia is dead! We elect a replacement and obey her orders on the matter.”
Anora stepped forward, “The breach is the more pressing issue, isn’t it?”
“You brought this on us in the first place!” He roared. Anora rolled her eyes and turned to Cassandra, she decided to take a gamble.
“I"m the Seeker's prisoner am I not? Last I checked they don't order to anyone but the Divine, and since there isn't one, Cassandra is at liberty to do what she wants with me."
That did him in. His face was a purplish red and he scowled at Anora, who met it with a smirk. “I don’t know why you did not know this, Grand Chancellor.”
Leliana answered for him, a sweet lilt to her voice - Anora would dare say that she looked like she was enjoying this - “The Grand Chancellor has been pushing to gain more authority for his station for years. His authority presides over administrative work however.”
“I don’t see any ledgers here.”
Leliana shook her head, “No. Which is why he insists on taking you to Val Royeaux - it’s all he can do.”
“Which we will not,” Cassandra said, stepping forward, “The Breach is our largest concern, and we seal it first. That is my command, as the only present Seeker, demons and magic remain my authority.”
“And I will assist Cassandra in seeing it done,” said Leliana.
Now all three women were staring at Roderick, who was shaking with rage.
Behind them, she could hear Varric chuckling.
“You won’t survive long enough to reach the Temple, even with all your soldiers,” he spat out.
“That is for the Maker to decide,” Cassandra responded brusquely, “We charge down the valley with the soldiers. With luck, we will reach the Temple unharmed. It is the shortest route.”
“But not the safest,” said Leliana, “Our forces can charge as a distraction, while we go through the mountains.”
“We lost an entire squad on that path, it’s too risky.”
Leliana turned to Anora, “What do you think we should do?”
Anora raised a brow, “You’re asking me?”
“You’re the one with the mark,” Solas chipped in.
“And the one we need to get to the Temple,” said Cassadnra.
And also, a mediator, Anora supposed. She looked up at the mountains and thought. Clearly the path directly to the Temple was clustered with demons, and the chances of her making it through unscathed were low but the mountain path was a massive unknown. Especially if they lost contact with a squad. There could be something very nasty up there.
But what if the squad was still alive, and in need of a rescue.
She sighed through her nose as she warred with herself. She was just taking herself and three others through there, not a whole group, and if they ran into trouble… but she needed to survive. And the mark was slowly spreading still, who knew if she would even survive the walk through the mountains.
No mark, no sealing of the Breach.
Anora hardened herself, desperately trying not to think of scouts facing down some unimaginable horror, desperately waiting for a rescue.
“We’ll charge with soldiers.”
Cassandra nodded with a small smile, and Leliana just sighed.
They left Roderick behind, red faced and sullen, and arrived at what would have been the entrance to the temple. Anora remembered a massive door, with twin statues of Andraste on each side. What was left was a ruined archway. The soldiers charge through and Anora and her group followed at the rear, and could see another of those rifts. Cassandra covered her while she stuck out her hand again, and when it sealed shut with a snap, she joined soldiers in finishing off the last of the demons.
With the rift gone, they would not be fighting an incessant wave of them.
A man came running up to them, dressed in a steel breastplate that was covered in softer leather. More notable than that was the massive fur pelt he had thrown over his shoulders. Anora grinned, he had to be a Ferelden. Her smile dropped though as she recognized him. Knight-Commander Cullen was a very far way from Kirkwall.
“Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift, well done.”
“Don’t thank me, commander, thank the prisoner. It was her doing.”
He nodded at her, “Is it? I hope they’re right about you, we’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.” His eyes narrowed into a faint glare.
Anora returned it with a wry smile.
“Considering I have the rift-closing mark on my hand, I suppose they are.”
Cullen shrugged and pointed behind him, “I suppose we’ll see. The way to the temple is clear.”
Cassandra nodded once, “Give us time, Commander.”
Cullen nodded back, “Maker watch over you, for all our sakes.” And then he left, joining his soldiers. They made their way down into the crater where the temple had once been, and Anora felt a chill at the sight. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” whispered Solas. Massive rock spires spread out, where the earth itself had been pushed back from the force of whatever unnatural explosion had caused this.
The ground was covered in dirt, and ash intermingled with snow, but the smell of ash and magic was overwhelming. The wind whipped the ash to and fro, and Anora could make out corpses, reaching out of the ash. She pondered them for a moment, as they looked like the were crawling, desperately trying to get away.
Had there been a fire first? Then the explosion? It could not have been quick.
“What’s left of it.”
“That is where you stepped out of the fade.”
More like falling out, thought Anora, but she continued on. Inside the temple archers had taken up position around the center of a large hole. In the middle, a soft green spiral glowed, clearing coming from the breach - or going to the breach. As they walked to the edge, a massive rift - bigger than the ones she had encountered thus far - loomed at the bottom, and it looked odd. Black-green and oily crystals seemed to shift in and out of it.
“Sealed for the moment, though improperly,” said Solas, “This was the first. Seal it, and maybe you seal the breach.”
Anora nodded slowly and began to walk the path down to the crater. On the way, a voice rang out - it was deep, baritone, and nefarious - “Now is the hour of our victory.
Anora shivered as it reverberated through the crater.
“What are we hearing?” asked Cassandra.
“At a guess, the person caused the breach,” Solas replied.
“Bring forth the sacrifice.”
Familiarity began to tug at Anora’s mind, a memory she had lost but was calling out to her.
“Someone, help me!”
“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra breathed.
“What is going on here?” Anora’s disembodied voice called out. It was wrong. The tone was wrong. It was too deadpan. Anora frowned, but she could not remember.
“We have an intruder, slay her!”
No more voices followed that, and Cassandra stepped in front of Anora. “You were there! Who attacked, and the Divine is she-?”
“I don’t remember,” Anora cut through her floundering. “We’ve been over this. Come on.”
Anora continued, leaving the dumbfounded seeker behind, and stopped only when they encountered a massive glowing chunk of red rock jutting out from the ground. Anora had never seen such a thing before.
“This is Red Lyrium, Seeker,” Varric urged, the dread in his voice causing Anora to turn and gaze at him curiously.
“I see it, Varric,” deadpanned the seeker.
“But what’s it doing here?”
“Magic may have drawn on the lyrium from beneath the temple, corrupted it,” said Solas.
“Bah! It’s evil, don’t touch it.”
“But was it?”Anora asked before she could help herself.
“Corrupted lyrium. We don’t know by what, but it is as Varric says, best not to touch,” supplied Solas. Varric nodded his agreement, his face set in a glare which he aimed at the floor.
Anora forced herself to leave her curiosity for the moment and continue on to the rift.
“You will have to open it to be able to seal it properly,” said Solas when they finally reached it.
“That means demons, be ready!” Cassandra called out to the soldiers lining the pathway they
had just descended down. Several more joined them, with blades drawn. They took up positions in a semi-circle around the rift, and the soldiers lining the walkway had bows - which the drew. Leliana joined them, her own longbow ready.
Anora took a breath to steady herself and stared up at the giant rift.
She stuck out her hand again, and this time it felt like she was ripping the air. The rift groaned and then made a shattering noise as those black-green crystals gave way to a soft green hole.
Nothing happened at first, but then a massive hole formed on the ground, and a huge clawed arm thrust out and slammed into the earth. Every hustled backwards as an enormous monstrosity pulled itself onto the earth.
It was twice the size of an ogre, and it was covered in hideous leathery skin. It roared, its maw line with thousands of tiny fangs, and it had no eyes that Anora could see, not that it needed them, as it seemed to know where to swipe.
Anora reacted on instinct, desperately dodging around its attacks and the electrical whip it had conjured. She could not get close to it without risking getting smacked to the other side of Thedas. It caught one soldier like that, with a backhand, and the poor sod went flying into one the walls higher up in the craters.
Anora winced at the sight. “The rift! Attempt to close it and you will weaken it!” screamed Solas.
“Distract it!” Anora shouted at Cassandra who nodded and drew the demons attention to the far end of the crater. As it advanced on her and the rest of the soldiers, Anora aimed the mark at the rift. It did not seal this time, but it shuddered, and let out a burst of energy and the massive demon went to its knees.
Anora raced to it, jumping onto its back, using the spiky cartilage that protruded from its shoulders as a handhold, she scrambled to its neck. Before it could react, she shoved her sword into the space between its head and neck, the sword slipping into the weak point with a sickeningly wet noise.
The demon lurched backward with a roar and Anora was thrown back. She landed on her backside and had just moments to react as it lashed with that electrical whip. She narrowly dodged, as it tore the earth where she was a mere second ago. Cassandra had time to circle around it and stab into its knee, causing it to fall forward again, coming directly in front of Varric, who stood on a higher ledge. Varric unleashed a barrage of bolts straight into its face. It lifted its massive claws to block them and that gave Anora enough time to run back up its back and yank her sword free and chop down. The sword rendered flesh but was not strong enough for tendon or bone and it snapped. Anora cursed and jumped down just as the demon straightened.
Black blood was pouring from the wound and as the demon roared again Solas shot a massive magical shard of ice at it, which pierced it right through its chest. The demon keeled forward and Cassandra was the one to finish it, stabbing it through the face - through the jaw and up through the skull - and it slumped down lifelessly when she wrenched her blade free.
Anora aimed the mark at the rift, and sealed it. The effort of it through, was more than the others had been, as it slammed shut with a bright burst of green light, Anora lost consciousness.
Notes:
shoutout to the peeps at the Denerim Writers Cafe discord server for hyping me up and giving me the encouragement i needed to post this and return to it.
Also, thank you Dragon Age Wiki for the Chant of Light
Chapter Text
"In those early days, when the sky had broken open and the whole world seemed ready to fall into it, Maker, it was a shit show. But they all got together and made a plan anyway. Scribbles, Nightingale, Curly and Frosty all certainly put on a brave face, acted like they knew what the fuck they were doing. But I'd be lying if I said anyone was really optimistic." - Viscount Varric Tethras, 'All This Shit Is Weird: My Time with the Inquisition'.
Anora awakened slowly, and for a moment, she thought she was back in that cell. But below she felt a mattress, and she was beneath a soft, heavy woolen blanket.
Maker's breath, she felt like absolute shit. Everything hurt, her bruises must have had bruises.
She sat up slowly, pushing herself up and her arms shook and screamed at her for the effort.
Her right hand in particular screeched, the mark flaring as it touched the bed. Anora collapsed back onto her side, fingers clenching on instinct and that made it so much worse.
Her jaw seized shut, trapping her scream behind her teeth. Agony roared through every now convulsing muscle, her world becoming enveloped in a cacophony of pain so loud and deafening, all else ceased to exist.
It faded, slowly, and the world returned to her. She was breathing heavily, trembling, dripping with sweat, and to her horror, she was sobbing.
After a good few slow, carefully controlled breaths - in for three out for five - she regained herself. She sat up slowly, cradling the marked hand to her chest. With her other hand she angrily wiped away the tears.
Maker, what curse is this?
The door opened. Anora looked up and saw an elf girl - could not be older than a teen - enter. She was not paying attention, intent on get a small box she was carrying through the door which she carefully but quickly pulled shut behind her.
She picked up the box and turned, and froze as her eyes met Anora's. The box fell to the floor with a bang, and the elf girl dropped with it onto her knees. Horror churned in her mind and through her blood sending ice in its wake as the girl prostrated.
“Oh- Forgive me I didn’t know you were awake, my lady!” the elf stammered hurriedly.
“Water, please.” Anora rasped.
With squeak and rushed anxious movements the elf rushed over to a side table, upon which was a decanter, cups, and a few bottles with labels to faint for her to read but she guessed they might be medicine.
The elf handed her a small clay cup. "Drink slowly, my lady, you've been out for most of two days."
Knowing the wisdom in the elf's words Anora took a small sip, breathed deep, and then another.
"Are you…alright?"
Anora met the girls eyes. They were so wide, they held fear and something - reverence? But also, concern.
"Been better."
"I'll have to let Lady Cassandra know that you've 'wakened.. There is an apothecist, he's very busy now but I'm sure if you need-"
"No." Anora said, with a hand wave for emphasis. "I'm sure he has patients of more dire need than I."
The elf girl nodded quickly, and then, seemed to blush even redder.
"Um, there's a set of clothing for you here.." She pointed and seemed to rush over to it, "I can help you change into it if you need my lady, or I can arrange a-a bath for you first…"
That is when Anora realized that their was nothing covering her upper body save for a few bandages.
"Why am I-?"
"You were feverish!" The elf squeaked, eyes everywhere except for Anora and she was a bright crimson at this point.
"Its okay," Anora found herself saying.
"I'm really sorry! I'm sure this unacceptable for a Lady such as-"
"Listen to me it's okay-" She was attempting to stand and her legs gave out. The elf sprang forward and caught her, showing an impressive amount of upper body strength.
Anora regained her footing, breathing heavily to steady herself. Maker, everything hurt so much, standing was an effort of monumental proportion alone. Her legs felt numb, while at the same time even the barest hint of pressure on them sent pain shooting through her muscles.
"Thank you, what is your name?"
"Um, Lilia my Lady."
"Well met, Lilia." She looked around the room a bit more. She was in a cabin, warmed by a fireplace. It was actually almost too warm, but it explained why she was left under a heavy woolen blanket in nothing but small pair of short briefs.
It's likely any clothing would have overheated her, while they had not put the blanket over she would have been too cold in just clothing. Okay. That made sense.
"You mentioned a bath?"
"Yes, I can arrange one for you!"
Lilia almost seemed ready to run off, but Anora still her with a hand on a her arm. The way the poor girl jumped and tensed tore at Anora's heart. The fearful eyes sending a dreadful feeling into her stomach.
"Sorry, I'm not done yet." She said as softly and gently as she could manage.
Lilia nodded rapidly, and seemed about to stammer an apology again but Anora jumped in first, "All I wanted to say was, it does not have to be full thing. Just a small tub and soap if you can manage it, please."
It felt so strange to ask. She had not been waited on in years, it felt strange, like old shoes that did not fit right anymore.
"Alright, I'll do so at once, milady!"
And then the girl was gone. Anora sighed. The Mark faded to a background tingle, a heavy vibration in the bones of her hand but, if she focused on something else she could ignore it.
The hut she was in was sparse, with only a few pieces of furniture and bookshelf. She wondered who this had belonged to, as it had to have belonged to someone.
Lilia returned after a time, Anora had spent the interim wrapped in the blanket, and leaning against the wall. Trying to walk had been a bad idea, her head swam terribly when she moved too much.
"Do you need help with-?"
"No. I will manage. Can you bring me something to eat?"
"At once, milady!" And she was gone again.
It took a monumental amount of effort to wash herself, but she persisted, painfully stiff muscles and all.
There was a clean outfit seemingly waiting for her on a nearby dresser - a clean undershirt and breeches, with a thicker pair of woolen trousers to go over them, and a thick, black sheepskin coat.
After what felt like an age, she was dressed, her feet blessedly snug in the nicest pair of socks she had worn since she was the Queen.
Lilia entered, poking her head through the door first. "Milday, are you decent?"
"I am." Anora said from the bed. She had just managed to pull the bed sheet straight when all this activity had proven too much for her and she had collapsed on it.
Lilia entered, holding a tray with a bowl of something hot and steaming, a hunk of bread and clay cup of something.
"Where would you…?"
Anora pointed to the table set the little cabin had.
Lilia set the food down, and that's when Anora noticed someone had come in with her.
A tall bald elf.
What was his name again?
He wore a warm smile, "It's good to you see awake, I had feared the worst."
"I thank you, again."
His eyes looked at her with concern, she thought? There was also something analytical about it but she could not figure out what.
"You should probably eat, your body has suffered a great deal of malnutrition."
He was not wrong.
Anora dragged herself over to the chair and collapsed into it.
The Mark was stirring, Anora braced herself, wanting to not look weak but the mark was flaring, pain threatening like the flash before thunder -
The elf man's eyes flashed, suddenly he was next her holding her wrist.
The Mark calmed…
It was still vibrating, a bone-deep buzz that grated on the tendons of her hand, but it was not the threatening storm anymore.
"How did you…?"
His brow was furrowed, and when he looked into her eyes she could have sworn he looked guilty. But that look vanished as he smiled humourlessly.
"I have long studied the Fade. The Mark is linked to it. I know a bit of how to stop it from reacting the Veil."
"Is that what's happening, its reacting to the…"
He nodded.
"What the fuck?"
The elf raised an eyebrow and then chuckled. Chuckled!
Anora's look must have been something intimidating indeed because he sobered. "Hm, I apologize. I see why Varric calls you 'Frosty'. It is only that that turn of phrase from somewhere of your regal baring is somewhat comedic."
Regal baring.
Ice in her veins. Her heart started hammering in her chest and seemed to want to claw its way out of her throat.
Eleven years. Eleven years of hiding, of denying her past. And then that all blew up with the Temple of Sacred Ashes and here she was, glowing hand and a hole in the Sky that Fate had decided only she could fix.
She almost threw up.
"Please eat." His' voice was soft, but there command in his tone. Not tyrannical, but something imploring and far more convincing.
Anora brought a spoonful of the soup to her mouth and swallowed it despite her protesting stomach.
She was not sure if it was because she was starving or if whoever made it was some brilliant cook, but the soup all but vanished in the next five minutes, she barely even registered the taste.
The warmth of it spread through her whole being, and the salty-ness restored her somewhat.
"Okay, back on topic, what do you mean the Mark is reacting to the Veil?"
He looked down at the table for moment, brow creasing in a manner that reminded Anora of her old tutor when she was young.
"From what I gather, the Mark is reacting the veil weakening - that is how it connects to Rifts, and to the Breach."
"So it strengthens the Veil? Like a Templar?"
He looked intrigued for a moment, but then shook his head. "No. Whatever it is doing, it's tied to the Breach. Closing it will stabilize the Mark for a time."
"But will that get rid of it?"
Again that guilty look that was gone in a flash. There was something he was not telling her; it was unnerving.
"I don't know…" he murmured, "I hope so. For your sake, I do not think that any mortal being could survive carrying such a thing."
"I guess I could always cut it off. It's not my dominant hand." She flexed her Mark-free left hand, and used it to lift the clay mug to her nose.
Fermented fruit juice.
Supposedly to help her constitution. She sipped it slowly.
He smiled ruefully again. "Yes, in the worst case if we cannot find a way to remove it, that course will have to be taken."
He reached into his pocket then and held out a bracelet. He he handed it to her and she examined it. It hand a simple leather strap, and stone glowing faintly in the centre.
"For the Mark," he explained.
"Did you make this?"
"No, well… In a manner of speaking. The craft itself was done by one of those they call the Tranquil, I merely supplied the necessary theory. It should help to suppress the Mark's flarings."
"Thank you, I am truly in your debt."
He smiled and was about to say something more, when there came a knocking upon the door.
"Solas?"
Ah that was his name.
"Solas, is Anora alright?"
That was the voice of none other than the Seeker. The bruises on Anora's throat ached a little more at the sound of her voice.
Solas stood to get the door. He opened it and the Seeker entered quickly so he could shut the door to fend of the chill.
Anora suddenly realized Lilia had long since vanished. She had probably gone to get the seeker.
Cassandra, one did not forget the name of a woman whose first introduction involved choking you.
The tall woman eyed her up and down, though the suspicion in her eyes gave way to something far more sympathetic.
"How are you feeling."
"Like a rose on a spring day."
Cassandra laughed, her voice was so smooth and smokey.
"I understand. You have been through a great ordeal."
She looked awkward then, eyes focused on the floor for a moment before meeting Anora's eyes again.
"I wanted to apologize for… what I did."
Anora blinked. The woman looked completely genuine as she stood there like a soldier before their commander. Awaiting reprimand or forgiveness, or both.
Anora cleared her throat, suddenly a bit warmer than she had been. The room felt a bit too warm actually.
"You are forgiven. The circumstances were certainly strenuous."
Cassandra deflated, though not overtly. It was in the way her shoulders dropped every so slightly.
"Thank you."
There was an awkward pause, the silence in the room begging someone to break it.
"Is the Breach…?" Anora asked.
Cassandra sighed, "It has stopped growing, but it is not sealed."
A pit formed in her stomach through which her whole being seemed to want to fall.
"It has been stabilized, which is a start." Solas said. Anora looked at him, he returned it with a nod. "We will need a lot more magical power, with enoug poured into the mark you may be able to seal it."
The prospect of that was unnerving. It could very well also kill her. But, if it did and Thedas was saved, that would be worth it.
"Speaking of which, we need you in the War Room in the chantry now that you are awake. We have much discuss."
The words 'chantry' and 'war room' seemed an oxymoron, but Anora resigned herself to just standing and gesturing for the Seeker to lead on, rather than question it. When they stepped outside the sight that greeted her was most horrifying.
Over the peak of the mountain which overlooked Haven, where the Temple of Sacred Ashes had stood, the swirling green vortex remained. It was not spewing demons, nor was there the constant thunderstorm that made reality feel like it was cracking around you with each boom.
But it was there none the less, swirling menacingly, promising the destruction of the world.
“There she is! The Herald of Andraste!” A crowd had formed, the whole damn village was outside her door, staring at her. A decade ago, in another life, she had been used to this. But that life was gone, and this was not supposed to be happening.
And did they just call her the Herald of Andraste?
Cassandra's voice lashed out like lighting, "Move! Back to what you were doing, make way for the Herald!"
They parted like the sea, both in awe and terrified of her in equal measure.
She could see the chantry clearly to her left. It was the biggest building in the village, and the red and gold sunburst banner glittered faintly in the sun. To her right, were the slopes of the Frostbacks, and an expansive forest of dark trees. She could also make out of a few tents, with soldiers milling about, or otherwise training.
They entered the Chantry, a gust of cold air blowing in behind them, causing a sister who was lighting a candle to glare up at her - which she dropped when recognition dawned on her.
Anora quickly closed the door, and met the sister's awestruck gaze. Anora nodded a greeting feeling extremely awkward.
"Where is Leliana?” Cassandra snapped.
“Sister Nightingale and the Chancellor, are in the room down hall. I warn you… they’ve been arguing all morning.”
The Chancellor. Anora bit back a curse. As soon as she entered the aforementioned 'war room', Roderick scowled at her.
“Chain her! I want her taken to Val Royeaux immediately.”
“Disregard that, and leave us.” Cassandra said in tone that brokered no argument.
Two Templar's saluted the Seeker in unison, the clang of their gauntlets hitting their silverlite cuirass' muffled in the closeness of the room. They turned on their heel and left.
That left them with the Chancellor. This man was starting to truly get under her skin.
“Chancellor, we’ve been over this.” Anora growled, bringing her eyes back to the man.
He snarled, “The Breach is still in the sky! You failed.”
Anora rolled her eyes, “And since I’m still here, clearly the Hands have decided against my guilt. Or that I’m still useful… right?”
Leliana nodded while Cassandra glared at Roderick and said, “The Breach is stable but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”
“I did everything I could to close it, and it almost killed me, evidently.”
“And yet you still live, a convenient result in-so-far as you’re concerned.”
Cassandra glared, “Have a care Chancellor, the breach is not the only threat we still face.”
Leliana spoke next, her hands coming behind her back as she fixed her suspicious eyes on the chancellor, “Someone was behind the explosion at the conclave, someone most holy did not expect. It’s possible they died at the conclave, or have allies that yet live.”
At her pointed glare, Roderick stepped back with an almost comical expression of indignity, “I am a suspect?”
“You, and many others.”
“But not the prisoner?”
“I heard the voices at the temple. The divine called out to her for help," Cassandra pointed out, from the sound of it not for the first time.
“So her survival, that thing on her hand, all merely a coincidence?” he snarled.
“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”
Cassandra looked at Anora.
“You are exactly what we needed, when we needed it.”
The Seeker moved to the side to fetch something across the room, and Leliana spoke next, “The breach remains, and you are still our only hope of closing it.”
“That is not for you to decide!” Roderick squaked.
The urge to punch him grew near overwhelming. Part of it was her innate survival instincts. Once already had a man, loud and brash and possessed of seething hatred almost killed her. Convinced of her guilt despite all the evidence to the contrary save, overcome with the need to blame someone. His hatred had been as a burning fire - destructive in its path.
“Would you silence yourself you insolent cock-head! You speak above your station. It is for them to decide, not a fucking clerk.”
She was scowling, he was turning red again and actually looked ready to say something but Anora cut in with a fury.
"If they choose to chain me, kill me, or Andraste knows what else, that is their prerogative, but I will not suffer an impudent little weasel of a man such as yourself trying to lord his crooked cock over the women who served Most Holy, whom She trusted to carry on her will and who knew her better than you will ever hope to know anyone. Go fucking stick it in a ledger somewhere, and rid us of your presence, so that we can actually get something done about this disaster."
There was a charged silence that fell in the wake of her rant.
"Well said," Leliana chirped. She was smiling.
Then Cassandra slammed a book down onto a massive table that spanned the length of the room, drawing all their attention.
“Do you know what this is, Chancellor?” she continued after a beat, “It is a writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn,” she began to advance on him, and he stepped back with an alarmed expression, “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval.”
Roderick lips twisted in a snarl but he wisely stayed silent.
"Take your leave, Chancellor."
The infuriating man had the gall to scoff, but he left without a further fight.
"He is going to be a headache," Anora murmered.
“This is the Divine’s directive: rebuild the inquisition of old.” Leliana said softly, “Find those who will stand against the chaos”. She shook her head almost imperceptibly.
“We are not ready, we have no leader, no numbers, and now, no Chantry support.”
“But we have no choice,” said Cassandra. “We must act now, with you at our side. And,” Cassandra’s voice turned cautious, “perhaps you would make a good leader.”
Anora went cold and she stepped backwards, “You want me to lead this?”
Cassandra’s jaw tightened and Leliana smiled faintly.
“As the one with the mark, your presence here is not optional.”
Anora shook her head, “No, no, you don’t! This ‘Herald of Andraste’ business, it is heresy.”
“Yes. The Maker loves irony, it would seem, but you are a born leader no?”
Anora’s chest tightened and a void seemed to form in her stomach. “You know who I am, don’t you?”
Leliana nodded faintly, “Anora Mac Tir, daughter of Loghain Mac Tir, the Traitor Teryn and more importantly,” Leliana’s gaze hardened, “the former Queen of Ferelden.”
“Who never renounced her claim to the throne and is wanted dead in a land whose border is literally only a few hundred miles to the east.” Anora finished for her. “And now, she’s leading a heretical organization. Why must I be in charge? My presence would be less questionable than me actually leading! You would do naught but hinder yourself. Surely you know this?”
Leliana shook her head, “It won’t make a difference. Even if we put someone else in charge, your very presence here would draw enough alarm.”
Anora sighed, “Who else knows?”
“Only those we have trusted to tell, for now. Fortunately, your appearance has changed considerably in the last decade, or else word would have spread as the people of Haven may have recognized you.”
“Not the Chancellor?”
“No. We figured it would be unwise to reveal your identity whilst you were still in captivity, and he is already suspicious of you as it is. Indeed, I was at first as well, when I recognized who you were.”
Anora frowned, “How did you…?” she stared at Leliana, who smiled expectantly. Anora searched her memories, trying to remember where she had seen this woman before, and then she did.
Old anger surged in her gut like an old volcano activating after years of dormancy, “You traveled with the Warden.” She scowled, “You were at the Landsmeet!”
Cassandra tensed, but Leliana just nodded faintly. Anora trembled, despite herself, and she had to grip the edge of the table to steady herself.
“I am sorry for what happened.”
Anora felt unbidden tears running down her face. After a moment, she regained herself. She could not be angry at the woman. The Landsmeet had happened a decade ago, time had passed, and it was not as if Leliana was personally responsible for what happened that day.
And then of course there was the Breach. She breathed in through her nose, deep until it filled her lungs entirely and she let it out slowly. She relaxed her grip on the table and looked back at Leliana, “It doesn’t matter now. The past remains in the past.”
She straightened, squaring her shoulders and raising her head, as she had done so many times when she was queen - it was like slipping into well worn tailored boots, but the boots had grown dilapidated from neglect. Her old voice came back, rusty and covered in Kirkwall soot.
“I see what your intention is, Chantry-women. An explosion happens on the sight of Andraste's burial grounds, I come out of the rift with an alleged woman behind me. In this time of crisis, you need a figurehead, someone to inspire hope in this hour of turmoil. The entire structure of the Chantry collapsed on itself, mages rebelled, the Templar Order bucked of its leash and now they too have abandoned you. You need someone to put it back together, a 'Herald of Andraste' that will enact the Maker's WIll that His Chantry will be saved.”
She cast her gaze over each woman, making sure to meet their eyes. Cassandra and Leliana did not flinch, although there was the slightest crease to Cassandra's brow.
"It is irrelevant whether or not Andraste was actually there," she said, like tossing a torch into a chasm.
The crease in Cassandra's brow tightened. 'That one wants it to be true.' Sister Leliana remained perfectly unreadable. 'A well trained bard. The Mask is in place. I have a feeling she's more dangerous.'
Leliana inclined her head, “The people will believe what they choose. We can only control that narrative so far. But as it stands, yes, you are the Herald of Andraste, if you work with us."
'And I have no choice but to do that. You are the only people working to close this Breach, and even if I run, I am cursed with this mark.'
"Very well then. I suppose if this is providence, who am I to question the Maker's Will? But, that does lead back to the issue of what is to be done about my exile? I cannot enter Ferelden under pain of death."
““What exactly is she wanted for, Leliana?” Cassandra asked.
“She did not renounce her claim to the throne after Alistair and Cousland won the Landsmeet. She was sentenced to death, but escaped when the darkspawn attacked Denerim. She has been wanted ever since.”
“Ugh, where is Josephine?”
Leliana smiled, “Lady Josephine Montilyet is our chief diplomat,” she said to Anora.
"I shall retrieve her." Cassandra said right before leaving. That left Leliana and Anora in the war room.
It was excruciatingly awkward, as the Nightingale seemed content to not say anything further and instead turned attention to the large table in the middle of the room. It was a broad map of all of Ferelden, with several little markers scattered across it.
This was to be their centre of operation then. There was a marker over Denerim, and one over Gwaren she realized. Before she could ask about it though, the door opened again with Cassandra entering and behind her…
Maker, but she is gorgeous.
A woman, dark of skin and hair, whose grey eyes glowed warmly in the candlelight entered the room, and Maker help her but Anora found herself breathless.
Gorgeous locks framed her face, which bore a polite smile. Anora had to will herself to keep her own expression polite less she begin staring slack-jawed.
She was dressed in golden silk and hose, likely heavily layered against this horrid chill of the Frostbacks. Her surname was Antivan. It was likely she was very unused to this climate. She carried the warmth of her homeland into the room with her though.
"Anora Mac Tir, meet Lady Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador of the Inquisition."
It took a moment for Anora to regain herself. She felt like a blushing teenager.
She inclined her head, hand over heart, and said "Well met, Lady Montilyet."
Andraste's arse, she had almost stammered!
"Same to you, Lady Mac Tir."
"Is she even sill considered a noble?" asked a new voice entering.
"Cullen," Anora greeted him. "We did not get a chance to talk but what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in Kirkwall?"
"I have left the Order. Lady Cassandra asked me to lead our forces here," he said by way of explanation.
Anora did not get a chance to ask anything further as the meeting returned to the larger priority at hand.
“We will need you to enter Ferelden at some stage. Rifts have opened all across Ferelden and Orlais, and you are the only one who can close them," said Cassandra, decisively changing the topic.
“Shouldn’t renouncing her claim to the throne work?” asked Cullen.
Josephine nodded, "In theory yes."
“And what of the chantry?” Cullen asked.
“They have not charged us with anything except heresy, and fortunately, the Templars have rebelled, so they cannot declare an exalted march… not there is anyone to authorize that.”
Anora frowned, “Already?”
“Yes. Some are calling you the ‘Herald of Andraste’ - that frightens the Chantry.” said Cullen.
“That title is rather unnerving, truth be told”
Cullen chucked with a shockingly sympathetic smile, “I can imagine.”
“So what do we do?” she said, desperate to change the topic, “Arrange a meeting with the King?”
Josephine paused to think, “We will have to,” she said with a resigned sigh, “We cannot conceal the Herald's identity forever, and doing so may harm relations with Ferelden when we do uncover it.”
"So what do we do?”
“I will send a letter to Denerim, hopefully King Alistair will grant us an audience.”
“Very well then.” Anora was not particularly excited by the prospect, in fact the thought of coming before Eamon and Alistair again scared her almost as much as the hole in the sky - she could only hope that the Breach scared them too.
“I am curious about something,” said Leliana next, “What exactly were you doing at the Conclave?”
Anora shifted uncomfortably on her feet, she could not help it, as Leliana was looking at her with those same piercingly suspicious eyes she gave Chancellor Roderick.
She took a breath, “I was somewhat involved with the Mage Underground in Kirkwall. Well, I was a Kirkwall smuggler, same thing really. We got a job, big load of magi from whereever in the Free Marches, made it down to Kirkwall and were needing passage down to Ferelden, to go to Redcliffe because Alistair offered all mages displaced in the conflict shelter there. I don't know what possessed me to lead them all the way across the Waking Sea and all the bleeding way to Redcliffe. I was suppose," she looked at Cullen, her fellow Fereldan. "I suppose after experiencing the devastation in Kirkwall....I just need to see home again."
He nodded in sympathy.
"When Divine Justinia announced the Conclave, I went to it, with the Mage delegation from Redcliffe. I was honestly just there as extra hired muscle.”
Leliana nodded slowly, “So these mages are in Redcliffe right now?”
“I mean… I would hope so. That’s where I left them. You surely understand why I was so eager to leave Ferelden as soon as they were safe.”
Josephine spoke next, “We have been trying to speak to the rebel mages, but have received nothing back."
"And I still disagree that we need to approach them at all."
All heads turned to Cullen and Anora snorted, "Of course you do."
He bristled.
"Templars could serve just as well. Templar's could theoretically weaken the Breach. And too much magic poured into the Breach could very well kill you, or all of us."
"Either way," Josephine quickly cut in, "neither group will speak with us. The Chantry has denounced us, labelled us as Heretics for harboring you. While to some, you are symbol of hope, to others you are everything that has gone wrong."
"Naturally." Anora deadpanned.
Leliana spoke next, "There is one lead, a Revered Mother in the Hinterlands has asked to speak with you. She has been aiding the refugees displaced by the war. Her influence extends far more than mine among the Clerics, she would be invaluable to our cause."
"And, we would be able to help the people of Ferelden while we are there," Cullen added. Despite everything, I think he's the least dangerous of the group here. He will be driven to do what is right. And if he could handle the crisis that was Kirkwall post-Anders, then he can handle this.
"And, we need more agents and influence, if we are seen as the ones helping the people, word would spread of where our intentions lie. It may rally many more to our cause."
Josephine sighed, "But first we need to handle this matter of actually being able to operate in Ferelden without King Alistair believing that you have raised a banner against him."
“Then it is settled,” said Cassandra, “We will wait until we can gain an audience with the King before sending the Herald into the Hinterlands.”
Anora looked down at the map, an odd feeling of nostalgia washed over as she glanced down at it. “It’s been a long time since I returned home.”
They continued to talk of other matters, scouts, soldier recruitment and other matters, and when it was all done, Anora left the Chantry with a fiercely aching head and a trepidation which seemed to have made a home in her stomach.
She found Varric in the Singing Maiden.
He was seated at a table in the corner, a mug of ale in front of him and Bianca was leant proudly beside him. He beckoned her over with warm smile.
The bartender, an awestruck woman named Flissa, quickly came over then placed in front her a massive mug of ale and a bread roll stuffed with bacon's bits and cheese. Fereldan Ale had never truly been her preference, indeed after the escapade with Cailan and the Giant, where she was fairly certain she had nearly managed to drink an entire tavern’s worth of ale by herself, she had lost taste for the stuff - there was something to be said about the hangover that followed. She took a sip.
It was like drinking from the waters of the Frostbacks itself. She almost cried. The hangover from the Giant Incident long forgotten in the wake of new traumas, namely, Kirkwall Ale
This didn't have any traces of rat, nor mold, nor barrel-lichen. And the mug was likely clean as well!
"You feeling nostalgic for the Hanged Man's finest there, Frosty?"
"If I never taste that swill again I shall die a happy woman."
“So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up alright?”
She sighed, and brought the mug to her lips again before answering, “As well as I can. I suppose I’m just glad to still be breathing.”
Varric snorted, “You’re lucky you were out for most of Cassandra’s frothing rage, or that might not have been the case right now.”
She remembered how the seeker had been when she woke up in that cell and winced. The bruises on her throat had just begun to fade.
“Yeah, not possessed of the warmest hospitality,” he said, his glazing over with a memory.
“You said you were her prisoner?”
“Yeah, brought me along from Kirkwall.”
“Why?”
“You know the Tale of the Champion, the book I wrote about Hawke?”
Anora did, "I am aware of it."
“You haven’t read it?” Varric was surprised.
“No…” she muttered, “I was in Kirkwall for most of the last decade, remember?"
"But have you read my other works?”
“Hard in Hightown, the first volume. I tried to read Swords and Shields-” Varric winced “-...and I must say romance is not your forte,” Anora added a touch of mirth to soften the words. She had not gotten past the first few chapters in truth, but then again romance had never been her preferred genre either.
“Yeah I know. Wish I could burn them all but they exist.” he shook his head and took a large sip from his tankard, “Anyway, you know how it all ended right?
“Anders.”
Varric nodded, “Ah, that’s the one. I was there, you know, when Blondie… yeah. And it was because of Hawke’s involvement in that mess that the Seeker had questions for me. She wanted to know where Hawke was. When I told her I did not know, she had wanted to bring me along to the Conclave to tell Justinia Hawke’s story… I guess to clear her name or something.”
“I see. I’ll give your Tale of the Champion a read sometime I suppose.”
Varric chuckled, ‘You should know it’s all mostly bullshit.”
“Exaggerated your adventures?”
“Of course, I had to make Hawke a hero. Heroes aren’t like normal people after all.”
“Why?”
Varric sighed, “Hawke deserved that much. She did not have the best life.”
“Do you where she is at the moment? She was the Viscount for a while but then she just suddenly disappeared. "
“She’s still alive, I think. She had to leave, the Chantry started to become very suspicious of everything that went down in Kirkwall.”
Anora raised a brow, "She helped Meredith in the end. She was publicly onside with the Templars. Do they think what transpired was some kind of power-play?"
Varric shrugged, brow furrowed. "Something like that. They could not believe that Blondie would have just blown the Chantry up of his own volition. Bah! Hawke was no gentle soul - that I can tell you - but plotting to push Meredith over the edge to create a power vaccuum? Hawke tried to keep the peace in the city, for all the good that did."
Anora shrugged, but said nothing. From what she remembered about Hawke, the woman was severe. Very involved in the coterie. She had a feeling that there might be more to the tale... it did smell of intrigue.
"I'll tell you. Hawke just got fed up of a city that has a constant need to devour itself. Kirkwall was her home, it became something like it, that I feel. But in the end, being the Viscount became too much. You ask me? I think Hawke went off with Fenris. Much easier to go killing slavers across the Marches than deal with the bullshit of being the Viscount."
He trailed off, brow furrowed, and he took a very final sip of his beer. Then his eye's lit with mischief.
"Oh, and by the way, just asking out of curiosity… How does it feel to be in the limelight again, Your Majesty?"
Anora glared from over the tankard, "I would much rather you did not call me that."
He started laughing, "I told you back in Kirkwall you wouldn't be able to sit on that forever. A past like yours?" He sighed with a dry chuckle, "Shit, and then you decided to go back to Ferelden?"
"I was not going to stay. Maker, I don't know what convinced me that coming here or going to the Conclave was a good idea."
"Well, if I've always said the Maker has a sense of humor. Back in Kirkwall I asked you why you never came back here to try to take back the Throne."
"I lost. It's behind me."
Varric raised an eyebrow, "Knowing how to take a loss and move on, now that's not a trait you see very often. But I'd say, the Maker sure had different plans for you than hustling Wicked Grace and smuggling."
"The Irony of my new found situation is not lost on me."
They sat in silence for a bit, the bard playing and singing a beautiful song that Anora decided to get the name of later. Her mind wandered to what Varric said of heroes.
“My father was a hero.” she said softly.
Varric perked up, and she continued, “They remembered him in song - just like that one the bard’s playing right now - warriors would proudly toast his name in taverns. ‘Hero of the River Dane’” she said so softly Varric had to crane to hear, but he did, and he nodded slowly.
“But now they don’t. Saying his name is likely to start a tavern brawl more than anything else,” she would know, and she winced at the memory. A good few memories. Even in the Marches, among the Fereldens who had fled there, the topic of the Traitor Teryn was highly contentious and divisive.
“But as you said, heroes are not normal people. They’re figments of the imagination. No tale will match what actually happened. At the River Dane, my father was simply a man leading an army and fighting for his country - he almost died during the battle - and there were a thousand men and women at his side, but he alone is remembered. And then,” she felt her brow lower and could not help the bitter tone her voice took, “He tries to save his country a second time, but now he is no longer a hero. He is a villain, remembered as such, and they don’t sing his name anymore. At least, not in a pleasant way.”
Varric’s eyes held only sympathy and he nodded slowly.
Anora wanted to bristle, to get up and leave. She had not spoken about her father in years - the last time she breathed a word of him, she ended up in a brawl and earned a broken nose for her trouble - but the lack of judgement or hate in Varric’s eyes comforted her somewhat.
“They did the same to Hawke.”
Anora tilted her head, and waited for him to continue. “They blame her for what happened in Kirkwall, many think she planned the explosion, that she went to ‘spread subversion against the Chantry’.” Varric snorted, his lips twisting, “All she ever wanted to do was protect her family. But all that she ever got was the joy of being dragged through other people’s shit. And her family is gone.”
Varric gazed down at the table hard, bitter memories likely flashing across his eyes.
Anora raised her tankard, and he gazed at her curiously.
“To Hawke.”
He grinned and raised his own, “To Loghain. Two people who never deserved any of this shit.” And their tankards met just as the bard finished her final note.
Over the next week, after a breakfast brought to her by the same skittish elven girl, Anora had busied herself by getting to know the rest of the Inquisition’s forces. Adan, the apothecist, was a cranky man but he cheered up after Anora had found some of his old mentor’s notes in a hut outside of Haven.
Harrit, the smith, was nothing but courteous and had her fit for a new suit of armour, and gave her a sword - one that been forged using the same material as Cassandra’s, which was silverlite- which he assured her would not break as easily as the last ‘scrap of iron’ she had taken to battle. He was Ferelden - likely from Redcliffe - but he did not bother to comment on her heritage. She suspected he truly did not care, and she appreciated that.
Solas was interesting, Anora had been fascinated by his talk of the fade - but then he brought up the battle of Ostagar. He had a point that every soldier there had their own perspective. But it was a touchy subject.
Anora also knew Cailan died there, and she found herself asking after him and Solas had smiled sympathetically, “He was terrified, and knew the battle had been lost. But he fought on, defiant till the last moment. He died bravely.”
Anora had responded with eyes stinging not from the cold wind alone,"People are far too eager to die bravely.”
He nodded at that, claiming they were wise words, and Anora excused herself. Naturally, the next person she spoke to was the quartermaster.
The woman, named Threnn, had practically thrown herself at Anora. At first, she thought it was due to the whole ‘Herald of Andraste’ business but then the woman started gushing about Loghain.
“It is an absolute honour to serve you, my lady!”
Anora placed a hand on Threnn’s shoulder when she continued to ramble, and gave her a smile she hoped showed the gratitude she felt, “The honour is mine, Threnn. You honour my father’s memory with your loyalty, I could ask you for no more.”
Threnn frowned in confusion for a moment but then her face broke into a teary grin and she stood straight in a salute, “I will do the best I can to serve you and your Inquisition, my lady. Maker guide your hand, as a Mac Tir once again saves the world.”
Her father had not saved the world, nor was the inquisition her's, but she would let Threnn have that one. Good to keep the person who is in charge of your supply lines in a good spirit.
She looked over some of the requisitions, and figured they could get most of the materials they needed in the Hinterlands. She would need to spend some time with Josephine, and go over the Bannorn and list of Freeholders and Merchants they may be able to bargain with.
The sobering reminder of her inevitable return, and meeting with the king, sent her back to the Chantry, where a small crowd had begun to gather.
A mage and a templar stood quarrelling, throwing accusations of the Divine’s death back at one another, they were forcefully separated by Cullen, and sent along their respective ways, but then Roderick came sauntering back, fixing Cullen with an ugly smirk.
She watched the two men trade insults but ignored them and went back into the chantry - let Cullen deal with that difficult imbecile- and she made for Josephine’s office.
Josephine sat behind her desk, scribbling something on a piece of parchment which she handed to a ginger haired elf - researcher Minaeve if Anora remembered correctly - who smiled at Anora when she passed, returning to her desk in the far corner of the room. Anora thought it odd that the researcher and chief diplomat shared an office but elected not to comment. Space was sparse in the Chantry building, afterall, it was designed to house a relgious movement of the Inquisition's scale.
Also, she took a moment to just admire the woman again. When she looked up and their eyes met, Anora felt a flush.
The candle light was catching so beautifully in her eyes.
“Ah, Anora. I had been hoping to send for you. King Alistair has responded."
Anora sat down, trepidation worming it's way through her. Josephine handed her Alistair's letter. She read it over quickly. The tone was stern, formal, and rather cutting places.
What stood out, was that he was willing to hear the Inquisition's case at the Arling of Edgehall, a few leages to the southwest of Haven. Her heart hammered in her chest. This was it. Ten years ago she had never thought this would happen. She was going to Edgehall, she was going to stand before Alistair.
She was going to clear her name.
The Mark vibrated away against the tendons and cords in her hand.
Josephine and Anora spent the better part of the day going over everything they would need to prepare for Edgehall, and then in the meantime, Anora did her best to help with with planning for possible future arrangements with the Bannorn. Josephine had gathered all the information she could on all the notable nobility and merchants that the Inquisition would need to deal with.
The work was headache inducing, but Anora found that the spending time with Josephine alone made it worth it.
Notes:
Edit: 07/08 Tightened up Characterization, fixed some world building errors
Chapter 3: Night over Haven
Summary:
Josephine finishes work late.
Chapter Text
"Ruffles always had a tendency to work into the early hours of the dawn. The Inquisition would have sunk right into the snow if not for her." - Varric Tethras, 'All This Shit is Werid: My Time with the Inquisition'
Night had fallen over Haven. Josephine squinted at the documents in front of her, her eyes becoming annoyingly unfocused.
Her back was aching too, in the background somewhere, she was also trying to ignore that but it's protests were becoming far too loud.
She sighed. Blinked, and pressed her fingers to her eyes. The pressure in her skull was almost unbearable.
Now that she was becoming aware of herself, she realized how sore she was.
Her mind wondered to Anora. The woman's skin far more pale than what could be called healthy, dark rings under her eyes, and a constant haggard expression she was not bothering to hide. Knowing the pride of noble, a former queen at that, that was saying a lot.
The woman looked dead on her feet. She had almost died from that horrific mark on her hand and when she awoke she had not even been given a morsel of food or water before being dragged through the demon infested valley, and made to close that rift; and almost died again.
And that woman had sat with her almost everyday for the passed week, morn till evening, discussing diplomatic strategy.
Anora's insight into Ferelden's politcs and systems was invaluable - a decade old knowledge but still priceless to her as an Antivan who had never thought she would operating in Ferelden - and explaining to her the complicated system of the Bannorn.
Her past was a both a blessing and a curse, it would seem.
If the Inquisition was to operate in Ferelden at all, they would have to bargain with the freeholders, banns, arls etc, or else they would just be seen as an invading foreign power, stealing resources off the land, and enforcing a military occupation. And that was all before considering the possibility that King Alistair would not pardon Anora.
Fortunately, from his last letter, he seemed willing to do that.
It was exhausting, the enormity the task before them almost crushing. Not just here in Ferelden, but of closing the Breach, and everything that they needed to do to even get there.
Josephine had started to notice Anora sagging, the woman's eyes going distant and her expression turning more pained than normal.
She had had food brought to her office for both of them throughout the day, knowing full well how absorbed both she could get into her work and suspecting that Anora was the same. But each night, as soon as Anora looked ready to collapse, Josephine had called it there, and the woman had begrudgingly left to her chambers, and Josephine would admit that she had made sure that Anora did, keeping an eye on the stubborn woman through Lilia.
It was full candlemark since Anora had left, with Josephine finishing a few drafted letters.
She stood, her knees clicking and wobbling slightly with the effort. Yes, she definitely needed rest herself.
It would not do the Inquisition any good if she were to collapse from exhaustion.
As she left her office, she halted at the sight of Cullen stood before the chapel door, seemingly hesistant to enter.
"Commander?"
He turned slowly, his expression clearly exhausted. He smiled, a tired thing. Josephine had recieved reports the man was not eating, nor sleeping nearly as much as he should be. But then again… were any of them really?
"Ah, Lady Montilyet. Working late into the night as usual?"
"Yes… the task before us is quite…"
"Impossible? Insurmountable?"
"Challenging, I would say."
He chuckled. "Ever the optimistist, Lady Josephine."
"I do not believe any task is truly impossible, not without the proper support and preparation."
Cullen said nothing, his brow was furrowed and Josephine could see that his thoughts were somewhere else, some sorrow pressed on his mind.
She was usually very good with words - she had to be as a diplomat. But here she found herself woefully unequipped. She did not know the man at all, they had met just before the conclave. She had an idea of his past, she knew from reports what happened at Kirkwall, but no one who was there spoke of it openly. Leliana remained tight-lipped, refusing to give details and only insisting that Kirkwall was the lesson that the Chantry had needed to learn.
Leliana had not elaborated on what she had meant by that.
But she could not judge. She did not not know his side, and even then, she was the diplomat. The impartial one, above all else. Her role was just to make sure that they all could work together.
That would require getting to know the man… but she realized she had no idea how to even begin with that.
He was a soldier, a Templar, not the kind of person Josephine had a lot of experience with.
"I suppose you are right, Lady Josephine. We are lucky to have you here."
He began to walk toward the small chapel, "Let me not keep you from your rest, Lady Josephine.
Taking the hint for what it was, Josephine inclined her head and made to the bedchamber she shared with Leliana.
Perhaps she and the Commander would grow closer over time, but at present they were miles apart.
Inside the room, she did not find Leliana in her bunk.
She would just have to trust that the Nightingale was looking after herself.
As she sat her bed, her mind returned home. The thought brought little comfort - only a biting anxiety and dread.
She had all but ignored anything to do with her family's estate in the last week. She pulled the documents over her lap and read them over. A world ending crisis was perhaps a reasonable excuse for that.
She got to work reading through everything that had been reported, doing the neccesary auditing, and writing down instructions when she needed to.
She could not do this at her desk. The matters of her family, and the matters of the Inquisition seemed… at odd mixed together on her desk. It did not make a lot of sense, but try as she might it felt wrong to tend to matters of the Estate in her office.
Josephine fell asleep that night with a mind full of thoughts of the next day, her dreams hankered by images of fire and destruction; and overall sense of not being good enough for this. She would awake exhausted, heart in her throat but would rise to tackle the day all the same.
Her mother's words echoed in her heart and in her mind:
A Montilyet did not cower before the storm, and was always prepared to meet it.
-
The training dummy shattered in half. Pathetic. "Ugh." Cassandra glared at it. Her head was pounding, her muscles both unbearably tight and simultaneously fatigued.
The combination was brought on by anxiety. She knew this. Yet try as she might, her usual methods of dispelling it were not working.
She had not slept well, that was equally frustrating. To be tired, and unable to rest. She had woken shivering, her heart in her throat.
"You there, you have a shield in your hand, use it!"
She glanced at the direction of the voice. It was faint over the mountain wind, and the noise of the men training, but she could still hear it.
Commander Cullen was scolding some recruit.
With a frustrated growl, she struck the dummy again, cleaving the remaining half in two.
"You're a force of nature, aren't you?"
Cassandra almost jumped, decades of training holding her reserve. It was Anora.
The fereldan woman was looking at her with a smirk and her eyes held a certain glint.
Ah, so that was where her interests lay then. Cassandra grinned inwardly. She was not above relishing in someone's interests… and she needed a distraction from her inner turmoil.
She gave the woman a lopsided smile, trying her best to keep the expression despite the muscles in her face protesting.
"Only when I need to be."
Anora's eyes went to the training dummy then back to her, "Your form is quite impressive."
Her voice was low, carefully enunciating every word.
Cassandra rolled her shoulders and neck, making sure to exaggerate the movements. It did render a few satisfying clicks in her joints.
The movement did not go unappreciated, Anora's eyes lighting up just a bit more.
"We'll need stronger training posts," said Anora.
"It would be beneficial, yes."
She studied the woman, for the first time analyzing Anora's physical form. The woman was tall, a few inches above Cassandra's own height. She was muscular, but thin. A fitness born of survival and not one of dedicated training.
She remembered the pride demon in the temple, Anora's deftness and the snap of the blade as she had struck at the being's neck.
It would be interesting to see what Anora would look like after a good year of proper diet and excercise.
"Have you come here to train? I could help you, with your form, Herald."
She saw it coming before it even left the Fereldan's mouth.
"Oh, I would love it if you were to help me with my form, Seeker."
Cassandra laughed. It was brittle and weak, but genuine. The first genuine laugh she had had since the Breach.
Anora's head tilted to the side, her eyes holding Cassandra's in a gaze that the seeker did not know how to read. "I am glad to see you smile."
Cassandra felt a warmth in her chest, and she realized that this interaction was the first time she had seen Anora with an expression that was not pained and wary.
The woman was smiling, and at her at that.
The woman who had almost killed her.
Cassandra looked away, unfortunately her eyes went to the Breach.
She sighed.
"It has been difficult." She said. It would be redundant to elaborate any further.
She glanced back at Anora, the woman's own expression having gone sombre again.
"I am glad you are at ease in my presence at least."
Anora shrugged, her arms crossing. "Well, I'm ninety-percent certain you aren't going to kill me anymore, that helps."
"Hah." Cassandra laughed low. "I declared you the leader of the Inquisition instead."
Anora winced. "Ah yes, now that was rather unexpected."
"So was the former Queen of Ferelden falling out of a rift, at the centre of the Breach."
"Fair enough."
Her headache screamed a reminder of its presence, and Cassandra once again found herself devoid of mirth as the anxiety of everything returned again. It was like… Like a massive wave of an angry ocean collapsing on her again.
She had made the plunge into the abyss.
Now she only had to see if she could fly.
And she was plummeting.
Were Flemeth's words meant for Hawke, she wondered, or were they meant for the Seeker who would listen to Varric Tethras' tale of his friend.
Cassandra would not put it passed a being of myth, known for weaving the fates of mortals like thread in a tapestry. Or it was the work of the Maker. Perhaps, that was the same thing.
Ice flooded her veins.
"Did…did I do the right thing?" she murmured.
She only realized she had spoken aloud when Anora answered.
"You… did what you had to. Circumstances that they are, I'm not going to say you did anything wrong." Anora stepped closer; coming to her full height and her eyes, piercing grey-blue, locked on to Cassandra's own.
"As a matter of fact, yes. Yes you did do the right thing." The woman's voice was hard, brokering no argument.
She gestured to the breach.
"That is a crisis that threatens all of Thedas. I have seen what happens when a crisis is not given the attention its due, when leaders prefer to bicker, squabble and then fight over who gets to solve it, while the world burns around them." Anora's voice was bitter.
Cassandra nodded slowly. She was certainly making a clear point with that.
"I can understand you don't want this to be a second Blight."
Anora winced and cursed, something dark in a tongue Cassandra did not understand.
"In essence, yes. I failed once, I'm not doing that again."
"There are lessons to be learned in failure. The true test of our mistakes is whether we learn from them."
"Wise words, Cassandra."
"I heard them a lot in training."
Anora snorted a laugh and Cassandra grinned despite herself.
Then, for some reason she did not know, she asked Anora a question that had been burning on her mind.
"Do you… believe in the Maker?"
Anora did not answer immediately. Anxiety burned in Cassandra's abdomen - uncomfortable and nauseating.
"I believe he might exist. There's no evidence to the contrary, I suppose."
Cassandra grit her teeth. Her hands reflexively gripping the hilt of the training sword - she felt the leather of the hilt creak and twist - and she scowled again at that training dummy.
"I did not mean to offend you, Seeker."
Cassandra snapped her head up, taken by surprise by the steel and the warning in the Fereldan's voice.
Anora taken a step back, her hands at her sides and fingers spread. The stance one takes when unarmed and facing an armed opponent.
Cassandra groaned internally. Her frequent tendency for miscommunication only added to the mess her nerves had become. She willed herself to breathe deep first, lest her words come out in a sputtering jumble of apology.
"I apologize. My reaction was not aimed at you, Herald."
She dropped the training sword into the snow. It landed with an unsatisfying clunk on the mess of the training post.
"I used to believe my talents were a gift from the Maker," she began. "The final trial for a Seeker is called the Vigil. You are locked into a cell for a year of solitude, fasting, and prayer."
She looked up at the sky, where the clouds swirled, and a flock of birds flew far over head. No ravens, thankfully.
"If you pass the Vigil, you awaken a Seeker. It is why we do not take lyrium as the Templars-" she scowled up at the training yard "-do. We earn our talent from the Maker himself."
She looked to Anora again. The woman had relaxed, her arms crossed over her chest once more.
"You are doubting?"
Cassandra sighed - it was shaky. When she spoke again she took herself by surprise. "It is a difficult thing to worship a god who abandoned us all."
She did not know why she felt so ready to be open about this with this Fereldan.
This woman who was supposedly chosen by Andraste. The understanding of it settled slowly in her mind. It was unsettling. Deeply unsettling.
Anora's hair - pale blonde and cut short to her nape - was softly blowing in the gentle breeze. The fur of her collar outlining her shoulders, giving her a much sturdier, almost regal and warrior like frame.
She looked like -
Cassandra shook herself.
That was ridiculous.
"Is everything alright, Seeker?"
Cassandra waved a hand, trying to give the woman a reassuring smile. She did not think it would work, but she tried anyway.
"I am sorry. I did not mean to concern you or to burden you with my troubles. I am merely exhausted. It has been… A trying time for us all."
Anora smiled, the expression taut and sympathetic.
Cassandra then moved to the training yard. All this talk of doubt and insecurity was becoming a bit much to deal with. "Come, Herald. Let us begin that work on your form."
"Oh, gladly Seeker."
Cassandra grinned as she handed the other woman a training blade.
Notes:
edit 25/07: Removed the Cullen mini-story and put it into its own fic
03/08: re-added Cassandra POV
Chapter 4: The Audience with the King
Summary:
Anora meets King Alistair and Chancellor Eamon at Edgehall...
Notes:
edit 05/08
Tightened up the dialogue a little, made the hearing a bit more realistic, and updated the dialogue a bit to more appropriately reflect what happened at the landsmeet
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"And so we set off to Edgehall, since being a wanted criminal is a major obstacle to world-saving. Anora hardly slept a wink the whole journey there, you could almost see her nerves eating her alive. Going back to Ferelden was like going right up to the chopping axe, with a ten percent chance that they are not going to kill you." - 'The Unlikely Tale of Anora Mac Tir', Varric Tethras
Before the time came to leave, Anora took the time to take stock of herself, for the first time truly.
The first issue had been the matter of what to wear to the audience.
The Ambassador had despaired at being unable to find any dresses that would fit - for none of the Fereldan noblewomen present had matched Anora's height.
Cullen had suggested she then wear an Inquisition uniform, the armour worn by the soldiers in the camp. That led to two problems, for one, Anora had not been fitted for any of it and unfitted armour would sit wrong. Then, there was the optics of appearing militaristic.
Anora had found a somewhat daring alternative.
A local bann, one of Hamly of Ridderby, was present at Haven. He was not largely built, but matched Anora's height. The man had been somewhat taken aback at her request to borrow an outfit. Josephine had matched that, eyebrows raised at the sight of Anora dressed as a man.
Fine green woollen shirt, beneath a sturdy dark leather man's corset, with a proud leather mantle lined in fur, bearing carved images of storm clouds. Below that, woollen breeches beneath padded leather chauses and then the boots that she had been wearing all the while. The thought occured to her, that as soon as she would be able, she would commission a bespoke pair that did not leave her ankles chafed.
"It is certainly different. Are you comfortable?" Josephine had asked with much genuine concern.
"I rather am, Lady Josephine, I assure you."
Josephine had run her eyes over Anora again, and then Anora could swear she saw the Ambassador's cheeks darken ever slightly. "It rather suits you, Herald."
"Why thank you, my Lady."
She regarded herself in a standing mirror. Her hair had been the first thing to change when she arrived in Kirkwall. She had taken a blade to it, roughly slicing through the length of it till it hung to her nape. Her time as a Queen had been over, the life ripped from her. So she carved a new image for herself - and, at the time, the style had been far more practical.
Dressed as she was now, this was not Queen Anora returning to Ferelden, that would be clear as day. She hoped that message would ring loud and clear.
And then, there was the scarring.
A long jagged cut ran from ear to ear, marring any beauty she might have had. She ran her finger over it. It had healed remarkably well thanks to the efforts of Anders. The thought of the healer triggered a pang of anxiety and remorse as it always did.
There were other cuts as well, tiny scars on her mouth and cheeks, where gauntleted fists had gotten a good hit in. Her right arm, the one that already suffered the mark, was entirely made of burned scar tissue. A coterie mage had done that.
Her body, her face, all of it carried the marks of the past decade. How it had shaped her, changed her, and how Queen Anora was dead in a ditch somewhere, and this ruffian had taken her place.
And now, she wondered, going forward how would she change?
Anora the ruffian to be replaced with Anora the Herald of Andraste?
The thought was disconcerting.
Anora set out with Varric, Solas, Cassandra, and Josephine at her side.
The ambassador took her work everywhere with her and thus needed a carriage, and Anora realized why the Ambassador had been concerned about making time.
The carriage was heavy, and slow.
The rest of them all traveled on horses, except Varric who insisted that dwarves and horses don’t mix, so he sat beside the carriage driver.
Anora wondered what they would do when there was no carriage. The thought of the grumpy dwarven Marcher sat astride a horse amused her to no end.
They all managed to entertain each other; they listened to Solas speak of history and the fade - Anora had been surprised at Cassandra’s open curiosity, she always thought Chantry types were suspicious of anything related to magic or the fade, but Cassandra was proving to be surprisingly open-minded.
Then Varric would tell tales of either Hawke or some other story out of Kirkwall, all of them definitely exaggerated and full of half-truths and blatant lies - there was no way Hawke fought a thrice-damned dragon in the deeps roads - but Anora found it delightful.
Cassandra would scoff at the more ridiculous parts - a noise Anora was growing quite fond of - and then Josephine would tell them tales of scandals that transpired in her days in the Orlesian and Antivan courts. Anora had to admit she loved listening to the Antivan speak, her accent managed to bring so much more warmth to her words, and Antivan was so much less grating than Orlesian.
Josephine had been taken by complete surprise at Anora’s ability to speak Antivan. Anora told her of her childhood in Gwaren, where books and her training blade and bow had been the only friends she had. In her youth she had elected to learn Antivan instead of Orlesian, though she did learn the latter later out of necessity.
She had a grudging likening to the language, and had kept a small collection of poetry, though would deny it whenever her father asked. He had laughed himself near to tears when she told him it was Cailan’s.
She knew he had not believed her, but she supposed the mental image of the wool-headed boy trying to read Orlesian poetry was funny enough. After Cailan’s dalliance with Celene, it was a bittersweet memory.
When inquired if she knew any more languages, she sheepishly admitted she did not. Though there was that time she had tried to learn Tevene, but gave up when it proved too demanding and she was too busy with her other tutolages.
They reached Edgehall in what felt like very little time indeed. It was a massive construction, with a moat and bailey stretch around. A massive outer wall ran from the castle, forming a small town attached to the Castle wall. That was the elven alieange - Anora grimly noted. At least the wall was built of stone. As the Castle loomed over them, Anora felt dread creeping into her gut.
They had arrived before the King, who was still a day’s journey out. They were welcomed by Bann Vaera, an elven woman. She recounted what she recalled of Josephine's brief explanation: the old bann had burned down the castle's lienage and was terror to his people; and Vaera with the aide of a knight in service to Alistar had defeated a corrupt arl, and been awarded the title of Bann and currently held the keep until an Arl was decided among the bannorn.
They were settled in the guest wing of the keep and had been given a humble but hearty meal - exactly what they all needed after the week-long journey. Josephine took this time to go over with them what they needed to say to the King.
Solas was here to explain the mark, as well as give eye-witness testimony along with Varric and Cassandra of Anora’s ability to seal rifts. Vaera had informed them that demons had been spotted in the moods a few miles north, and an odd ‘green portal like the one in the sky’.
Josephine had nodded thoughtfully. “This allows the opportunity to prove ourselves in more than just words.”
They all waited anxiously the next day. Varric had tried to lighten the mood but even he was nervous. Anora ended up sparring with Cassandra at the Seekers insistenc - she had become adamant on properly honing Anora's fighitng ability.
Alistair arrived in the late afternoon. He had with him a small entourage, mostly
consisting of guards and few servants.
Eamon was with him. Anora saw him first, as he rose on horseback beside the king’s carriage.
He was a lot older, his blonde hair having turned to steel grey, and, most importantly, he wore armour. Anora hoped that did not mean the man was expecting a fight. The open glare he was fixing her with did not help to assuage that concern.
Alistair stepped out of his carriage, dressed in fine leathers and furs, with a light blue cape thrown over his left shoulder. He also looked a lot older, with his hair having grown to shoulder length and a beard covering his mouth and jaw.
He looked a lot more like a king than when Anora had last seen him. More even than Cailan himself. Crows feet sat at the edges of his eyes, and even though he was a decade younger than her, a grey streak marred the edges of his hair.
“His Majesty, King Alistair Theirin.”
A servant called out and everyone bowed and curtseid. Anora did too, in hopes that Eamon would take that as a peace offering. His scowl indicated that he did not.
“Welcome to Edgehall, your Majesty, you grace us with your presence,” said Vaera as she rose.
Alistair nodded and grinned, “Ah, you flatter me.” he yawned, though Anora could not help but that feel he was adding a touch of exaggeration, “Forgive me, but it’s been a long journey to get here. I haven’t eaten in hours.”
Eamon frowned. “My King, there are pressing con-”
Alistair cut him off with a sharply raised hand. “And I imagine I’m not the only one.
I understand the Inquisition got here yesterday?”
Josephine and Vaera both nodded.
“Now that does put us at a disadvantage does it not? An empty stomach does nothing for the mind, and ours need to be clear and focused, and I’ve had nothing but charred hare for days. So, I request that the talks on Anora’s pardon be held tomorrow, after we have all eaten and rested.” He smiled graciously at Josephine, “Unless the Inquisition objects?”
Josephine shook her head and returned Alistair’s smile, “It does not, your Majesty. It is as you say, we all need to be at our best.”
Eamon was still scowling, Anora noted, and she had to admit it amused her.
Vaera led them back into the keep and a feast was soon laid out. A long table had been set out in the hall, Alistair at one end, and Anora at the other. Anora was immediately flanked by Solas and Josephine, with Varric next to Josephine and Cassandra next to Solas. Alistair was flanked by Eamon to his right and Vaera to his left.
They sat in awkward silence, not that Alistair seemed to care as he ate his meal with gusto. Varric eventually cleared his throat and started speaking, asking Alistair what he thought of the cheese. Alistair went on a tangent that lasted the entire meal, evidently very passionate about cheese, and it all culminated in a story about the one time he was in Orlais and had almost been crushed by a massive cheese wheel. Anora hated that she had been entertained the entire time - though she suspected most of it came from how Eamon was slowly turning into a very indignant and enraged apple.
They retired for the night, and Anora had just gotten out of her clothes when a knock came at the door. Anora frowned and threw her tunic and pants back on quickly and pulled the door open.
Eamon was on the other side, still dressed in red steel chainmail.
Anora frowned at that but stepped aside to let him in, very conscious of where her sword rested beside her bed
“Did your king not tell you to wait until the morning?” Anora asked dryly.
Eamon snorted and crossed his arms. “He’s not keen on pardoning you. You should know that. And, I reiterate, you did this to yourself. But, I would not expect a Mac Tir to listen to reason. And now here we are, with this headache.”
“I suppose you disagreed with the stringent desire to have me executed in the first place then.”
Eamon let out a breath through his nose but did not answer her, instead he elected to ask, “What farce is this Anora?”
Anora raised a brow, not bothering to hide her incredulity, “Farce? Eamon have you looked at the sky recently?”
“And they say you caused that,” he said slowly, eyes narrowed.
Anora’s jaw dropped slightly. The nerve of the man.
“You think I did that?”
Eamon sneered, “I would put nothing past you, or your father.”
Anora could feel herself begin to shake but she willed her voice to remain steady, “What are you insinuating, Eamon?”
“It’s very convenient that you survived that blast, and are now training an army, right on the border.”
Anora could not even fathom a response. Roderick’s ire was one thing, understandable even, but this…
“You think I would kill the Divine, kill the hundreds that attended that conclave, and create that - that thing - in the sky, just so I might have an army to return and what?” she threw up her arms, “Declare war on Ferelden? Tear apart my homeland, make my people suffer AGAIN just for my own ego?!”
“Your father did exactly that while making deals with Maleficar, and he left Cailan to die at Ostagar, exactly so that he could take the throne, then he sold people to a Tevinter Magister!”
“I am not my father!” She all but shouted.
“You are his daughter. You were supposed to stop him, instead you foolishly spoke out against he Wardens at the Landsmeet. It was clear then, to me, that you would accept nothing but the Throne. Now you turn up on the Border, at the sight of the Divine's death, with a flock of the Faithful heralding you as their leader."
“I did not do this, Eamon..." She chocked on the words, tears coming unbidden and Maker help her the Mark… she could feel it stirring. If not for Solas' bracelet it would surely have flared.
Never the less it was glowing and Eamon noticed it, stepping back and gripping the hilt of his sword. Anora scoffed. Some voice deep in her soul wished it would burst, take them both out right here and now. If she would die, let it be dragging this prick with her.
Anora scowled, “I don’t care for the throne anymore, Eamon. I have had a decade to get over it. And whether you like it or not, this Inquisition will find Justinia’s murderer and we will restore order."
“The Chantry have declared you all heretics. Unsurprising, since you walk around claiming to be the Herald of Andraste. Maker, Anora, even blasphemy isn’t above you.”
“I make no such claim. I’m a woman who was simply at the wrong place at the right time. And whether you like it or not Eamon, I’m the only one who can seal these rifts that keep appearing, including the big one in the sky.”
“Then why haven’t you sealed it?”
“Because I need the help of the rebel mages in Redcliffe.”
Eamon sighed and pinched and the bridge of his nose, “You do not help your case with that, Anora. Alistair should never have allowed them shelter there.”
Anora noted the bitterness in his tone.
Anora crossed her arms, “I could also petition the templars, but they’ve left the Chantry too… for Therinfall Redoubt.” That was also in Ferelden, and Eamon knew that. It would be a massive army of the most well-trained warriors in Thedas at her command.
“Which would be more blades to your banner.”
“This is beyond Ferelden, again.” Anora sighed, “I see I can not convince you, but fortunately, it’s not you I need to convince.” She smirked and he bristled.
She opened the door, “Please, Chancellor, it is late, and we will both need to be sharp on the morrow.”
Eamon scowled but he stepped toward the door, “We certainly should. Goodnight, Mac Tir.” He all but spat the name, but Anora did not give him the satisfaction of a reaction, and simply watched him leave.
She shut the door and fell on her bed with a sigh. It was not as bad as she thought it would be, but Eamon was exactly as unyielding as she thought he would be. It was clear, if nothing else, they had their work cut out for them in the morning.
It was decided, after Solas explained the mark on Anora’s hand, that they would demonstrate the ability on the nearby rift. Eamon had resisted Alistair wanting to go, but the Theirin paid him no mind and joined them in his resplendent golden armour, that looked so much like Cailan’s.
Anora held back a glare at that.
A small guard accompanied them, five men to be specific, dressed in fine steel and carrying silverlite blades.
The rift was an hour’s walk into the woods around Edgehall. The area was quite scenic, with the bright green grass still shimmering with dew and contrasting with the dark trees, and the ever looming mountains.
They came to the rift in a small gnoll. It was surrounded by shades and wraiths.
There were also different ones, terrors they were called, they were tall and gangly, with too-long limbs that ended in vicious claws.
The fight had been quick and easy, at first, but then a new type of demon emerged. It was robed as well - but floating.
It moaned and squealed - a feeling that sent cold dread down the spine and let the knees grow weak with despair - and worst of all it shot a beam of ice from its claw. And it was aimed directly at Alistair, who was preoccupied with a shade.
Anora ended up pushing Alistair, no mean feet considering his armour, down when the fool was not looking, and felt the razor sharp chill as the ice beam narrowly went over their heads. Something whistled past her ear and she heard the shade gasp, she guessed it was a bolt from Bianca but she did not turn to see, keeping her gaze fixed on the robed demon.
Cassandra did something, a faint blueish glow around her hands and she flung them out toward the demon. There was a sound - like the air being shut - and the demon recoiled.
It tried to cast the ice attack again but nothing happened.
“Now! While it’s vulnerable!” roared the Seeker and Solas sent a flash of fire at it, the demons screeching as it was enveloped by flame.
The rift spluttered and opened, the oily crystal’s disappearing into it. Anora closed it, feeling immense satisfaction when she felt it seal, and managed to keep her feet. She was starting to actually like doing that.
Anora stood, helping Alistair to his feet
All the guards were looking at her in faint awe, and Eamon’s face was set in a carefully neutral expression.
“Well, it looks like Solas was not bullshitting!” said Alistair cheerily, and Eamon grimaced.
When they returned to Edgehall, Alistair all but bombarding both Anora and Solas with questions about the mark and off the rifts, and the Breach itself, the hall had been set up for the negotiations.
Alistair sat in a chair at the end of it, with Bann Vaera stood on his left and Eamon on his right. Anora, Josephine and Solas stood in front of him, with the rest of the party sitting along benches on the walls.
“So, we have confirmed the Anora can seal those rift things, and as far as we understand, Anora is the only one who has received this mark.”
“What we don’t know is how,” said Eamon, crossing his arms.
Alistair raised an expectant brow at Anora.
“I do not recall what happened at the Conclave. We know that I stumbled across whomever was trying to kill the Divine, interrupted a ritual of some sort. I don’t know who, or indeed what it was, but I woke up in the Fade.”
“In the fade?” Eamon started.
Alistair frowned, steepling his fingers.
Anora nodded slowly, “Those rifts, and the Breach itself which is a massive rift as we understand, are holes into the fade.” She looked to Solas for help.
He nodded, “I theorize that the explosion was the opening of the first rift. If Anora had been at its epicenter - right next to whatever device was used to conjure the rift - it is likely she would have fallen into it.”
“But why didn’t she get vaporized?” asked Alistair.
“When Anora interrupted whatever ritual was happening, she must have interrupted the spell. The malevolent energy that would have unleashed caused the explosion.”
Alistair nodded slowly, “And how you certain Anora was not working with the Divine’s murderer?” he asked.
Anora bristled internally, and it was Cassandra who spoke, “At the Temple, we saw and heard the memories of what had happened. The Divine called out to her for help, and the thing that was attacking her gave the order for Anora to be killed, for intruding.”
“You all...saw a vision?”
“The veil was very thin there, your Majesty. When the Veil is thin, memories remain and can become visible. The Fade keeps an imprint of whatever has transpired in the mortal world,” said Solas.
Alistair nodded, seemingly convinced.
“Well, it seems Anora is the only one who can fix this mess. In light of that, I would offer you a pardon.”
Eamon shook his head, “She still has her claim, Alistair, and you would be allowing her to train and run an unaccounted for organization in the mountains.”
Alistair turned his gaze on her.
"A claim that has grown far more tenuous and weak as the years have passed on. Anora?"
The eyes of everyone in the chamber were upon her.
She stepped forward, "Let it be known then. Your Majesty, I herewith renounce any ties or claims I had to Throne of Ferelden, or the Terynir of Gwaren. In the name of the Maker, His Bride the Prophetesss Andraste, and here before this assembled gathering, I swear it."
Alistair nodded, a scribe was scribbling furiously.
"My loyalty is to the Inquisition, my purpose to close the Breach and find and bring to justice whomever it was that brought this crisis upon us."
Alistair's face was beset by a frown, and he remained still for a time.
"Your father put wanted signs over our heads when we tried to save the world from the Blight. I know how inconvenient they are. I will trust you, Anora. You are granted your pardon."
Anora bowed, followed by Josephine and the rest, “I thank you for your wise judgement, your Majesty."
Alistair smiled, although it was taut. “That is all I can ask. May the Maker guide and protect you, Anora Mac Tir.”
Alistair’s party had begun to prepare to leave again, but not before he and Josephine spoke at length about something. Anora paid them no mind, electing to go out into the courtyard instead. It would work out better if Josephine handled the diplomacy. And the Mark had not stopped burning, it's presence ever broiling in the palm of her hand. Solitude and quiet is what she hoped would calm it, as if it were a migraine.
But instead she found Eamon there, or rather he found her.
She braced herself, thankful for the lack of any evidence of weaponry on him. Still, she had a knife on her belt, and stayed conscious of it.
“So, Alistair has granted you what you wanted. Your Inquisition can run around the country and then what? Will you make a play for the Sunburst Throne?"
Anora sighed, bone deep weariness over-coming her. Could this old wretch not just leave her to her own misery? She had lain down as a beaten dog already, yet forever the shadow of the Crown would haunt her.
“Not so much the mindless puppet you had hoped for, is he?” she deadpanned.
Eamon scowled, “Alistair has always been free to make his own decisions.”
“Yes, I’m sure every decision he made during his first years as King, while he still had to learn the basics of trade laws and what a tax is no doubt, were entirely his.”
“I guided him into becoming the King he was born to be.”
“Ferelden already had a capable leader.”
Eamon scoffed, “You? You are a commoner.”
“A commoner who had ruled Ferelden for years before. You know Cailan cared nothing for it, and gladly left the administration to me whilst I left the military to him. I had far more experience than Alistair. Also, insulting my blood has gotten quite tiresome now Eamon, you can do better."
She smirked, “And besides, what you're really saying is I would have been far too hard to manipulate, right Eamon? You knew I would never let you leave your Arling.”
Eamon scoffed, “Please. Alistair was never supposed to be my puppet. I could never let you walk for your crimes though.”
“My crimes?” Anora raised a brow, “Last I checked I was not the Regent. I did not order your death, Eamon. Isolde's fate is not my fault."
“You did not stop it either.”
“You think my father let me know anything? I had no idea what he was doing, but I had to make sure that the Kingdom did not collapse while he dumped all the resources the Crown had into that insipid civil war - which you lot started.”
“He started it when he killed Cailan - the King and your husband!”
Anora crossed her arms, “I know what he did. And I do resent him for it, even if in my heart I know he had his reasons. And I did try to stop him - which led me to being imprisoned by Howe.”
“Locked in a suite in his Estate, while he had a dungeon at his disposal, and was known to use it. Don’t act as if you suffered a great injustice, Anora.”
“I thought my own father was going to kill me, do you understand what that’s like?”
Eamon said nothing, and Anora continued, fueled by anger that had been simmering for a decade, “I looked up to him my entire life. I was the only person he ever let near, not even my mother got close to him. He was the pillar of my life, I went to him for everything. Every concern, every fear, everything! And he guided me through all of it. I trusted him completely. And now he was driving my country, our country, into its grave, and he would not even see it. And I could not stop him without betraying him; but as you know, I did it anyway.”
She was right in front of him now, a foot apart, and their eyes were locked.
“I knew you and the Wardens were trying to save the country, so I went to you for help, at the risk of my own father trying to kill me. But then you started talking about putting Alistair on the Throne. An untrained, unprepared nobody from the Grey Wardens. Yes, he has Maric’s blood, but blood alone does not make a good ruler. That would have been disastrous - especially after the blight and civil war. I couldn’t believe you, I could not believe you would put our weak and near dying nation in such inexperienced hands when Orlais would no doubt pounce on that weakness.”
Eamon glared, “You and your father, so scared of Orlais. So fearful they will invade, look at how it clouded his judgement. Look at what that paranoia led him to doing! He feared Orlais so much as to deny their help against the Blight! He feared them so much it drove him to believe a lie and murder Cailan because of it!”
Anora sneered, “Celene was planning on marrying Cailan, you know that don’t you?”
Eamon’s face remained still but he stiffened ever so slightly and Anora smirked. “You did. You did know, because you encouraged him. First it was the letters claiming I was barren. Cailan did not respond well to those. But an alliance with Orlais? An Empire to call his own and the legacy of lasting peace - not to mention an heir.”
Anora crossed her arms, “But of course, that heir would be, theoretically, entitled to both Orlais and Ferelden, essentially bringing both nations under one banner. So Ferelden would, for all intents and purposes, be a part of Orlais once more - not through any bloody conquest, but a sly, diplomatic approach that a man unschooled in the ways of politics would have fallen for."
Eamon's face remained perfectly impassive but his stare had turned to the quality of a hidden knife.
"And what evidence do you have of this supposed plot?"
Xenon the Antiquarian's Mirror of Revelation was unfortunately an insane answer so Anora decided to just keep pressing the matter. It was true, how she knew about was irrelevant in any case. With Eamon staring at here and now, with so much scorn and disdain, she was not going to pass the opportunity.
Anora fixed the man in a cold stare.
“Empress Celene is of House Valmont, the Imperial family. She is considered to be the highest power in Orlais and therefore, cannot marry down. Any child born from her would be a Valmont, and therefore promised to Orlais, even if the father was of the royal blood of a different nation, Orlesians are proud like that."
"So, the child would be an Orlesian on the Ferelden throne; thus, the throne would belong to Orlais. That’s how they wrest power when their chevaliers can’t.” Anora shook her head, feigning confusion with a furrowed brow and crossed arms, “I just can’t fathom how Cailan - or you - did not see that?”
Anora smirked, “Of course, while Cailan is off being the Imperial Consort, Ferelden would need someone on the throne, acting as royal Chancellor, and who better than Queen Rowan’s brother, the beloved Arl of Redcliffe?"
He surprisingly did not scowl. He did not move to stutter any half-arsed lie in his defence. He did not bluster.
With a stone-y expression, he let her continue.
"Or, perhaps you took the wiser option of a legitimised bastard with his dear Uncle as his chief advisor. That would certainly keep the Ferelden people happy, with a Theirin still on the Throne, that would mean the Valmont’s would not take power, in name at least. The people would be none the wiser."
She crossed her arms, "But that did not work out. Instead, you sent him to the Templars."
Her voice shook. Before Kirkwall, the Templar Order had just been a vague thing, an army of the Chantry mostly concerned with Magi. Kirkwall had painted an entirely different image.
"You kept him from Maric, that was sin enough, but then you went ahead and sent him there? That was cruel to him, and bleeding stupid of you…. Unless, people were starting to work out that you were keeping him in your pocket. Cailan would have loved a brother, and it would have been all to easy for Alistair to be taken from you. So, the former option then. You traitorous, conniving fuck!"
Whatever response he had was drowned by the Mark sending a jolt of pain right up her arm. She had clenched her fists in her anger, a mistake. She bit down down a scream.
Eamon noticed, but said nothing of it. Do you see, old man? This Mark is a curse, no Divine blessing. What madwoman would I be to have done this to myself on purpose?
Eamon sighed, “So you think you’ve figured out my grand scheme. What are you going to do now? Go tell Alistair?”
Anora laughed, “Please. I lost my chance to lead Ferelden a decade ago, and your plan worked - in spite of the Blight disrupting it. Well, there is still the threat of an Orlesian invasion, fortunately Celene isn’t very interested, though I hear the Grand Duke is, and that is why they’re fighting a civil war right now.”
Anora smiled, “I do hope she wins. Otherwise, let's hope you’ve coached dear Alistair on the art of warfare and strategy better than anyone did Cailan.”
Eamon returned the smile, which was just as wry and scornful as Anora’s, “That was your father’s task. Clearly, he didn’t do an amicable job of it.”
“My father isn’t the one who filled Cailan’s head with dreams of valor and glory.”
She thought of Solas’ words, of telling her how Cailan had died bravely - actually faced death with a proud and strong heart, thinking of his Kingdom and of her, and she grimaced. She did not bother to hide the grief from her face.
Eamon saw it and his own face softened, “I am still truly sorry for your husband's death.”
"Loghain told me Cailan was killed in a Darkspawn trap. That they had been flanked by the darkspawn. I accepted it. You can understand why ‘my father killed my husband’ was not likely to have crossed my mind… until Teagon mentioned it.”
“And you never agreed to Loghain sending that assassin.”
“Of course not. He never told me about it - he only ever talked to that scheming snake Howe. I thought you had simply fallen gravely ill. It was only after the Warden saved Redcliffe that questions arose. I… I looked into Howe in the meanwhile.”
Eamon’s brow rose, and she continued.
“That’s when I first started to suspect something was wrong. The Couslands had been all killed the night after Fergus left with the troops bound for Ostagar. I could never understand who would do that, as it was clearly well orchestrated, since it happened the very night the soldiers left but Teryn Bryce Cousland was still there.”
Anora glared at the floor at the memory, “And of course, Arl Howe had just happened to pay them a visit that same day, and lived to return and tell the tale.”
Eamon nodded slowly, “It is not difficult to see that it was obviously him who attacked Highever.”
Anora nodded, “I could not understand why my father was working with him. He was also a criminal, letting the worst lowlifes into the city guard, and draining the coffers of the Denerim arling for Maker knows what. But, since he had done what he had, Arl Howe's support was perhaps invaluable in that time. I cannot believe he had orchestrated the Cousland's demise before that… but he had cosigned it all the same by not punishing Howe.”
Anora sighed, “When I worked out that it must have been him, my father that is, who sent the assassins after you I realized he had truly gone mad and there was nothing I could do. Until you and the Warden’s arrived in Denerim, everyone in Denerim was firmly on his side. The Landsmeet was my opportunity to actually stop him..”
She cast her gaze down, "Standing here now... I regret how badly I fumbled that. I had allowed pride to get in the way, and my own fear of the idiot I call a father losing his head. Cousland did not tell me that he was going to actually spare him beforehand. I admit, I was a fool."
Would that she could go back in time and convince her own self that her father's death was necessary, that panicking at the thought of losing the last family she had would cost her everything. But regret had done nothing for her, keeping it close, clinging to it, would have taken her life long ago.
Eamon's gaze was quizzical, “Why are you telling me all this?”
Anora met his gaze, “I need you to understand Eamon. I did not do anything out of a selfish desire for power. I only wanted what was best for my country, and at that time, the country was my responsibility, as it had been for half a decade before that. My whole life, I had been reared for nothing but the Throne. From the day Cailan was born, my fate as the Queen had been sealed. I am not a commoner who yearned for power for power's sake alone, being the monarch was all I knew. Admittedly, I was sure I was the best for it, and I had not worked out your grand scheme until much later - I was a little preoccupied with the blight you know? But now, I know of it. I know you outplayed me, and there is nothing to be done about it. Alistair is King, and from what I've heard and seen…He is a good one."
She slackened her posture, weariness filling the void that anger left as the words she had wanted to say were finally free.
"As it stands, I will not return to reclaim anything. I do not know what is going to become of me. I am cursed with a foul magic that is tearing me apart, and on top of that, these Inquisition heretics have decided I am some Herald of theirs. The Breach is a problem, this” she lifted her hand, where the mark continued it's ominous glowing, "is all that can seal it. I do not know if I will survive the closing of it. After that, I know that the Inquisition will be able to settle the conflict in the Chantry. Whatever will happen, I will be in the position to alter its course." She grinned, small and hallow, "Maybe you all should count yourself lucky, their new idol is biased toward Ferelden. In the new world, I would not see harm come to the country from this new power."
Eamon held her gaze, and seemed to search her eyes, for a long moment. At last, he seemed to find what he was looking for and bowed his head, “ I will take your word for it, even if I will still encourage Alistair to keep a close eye on this Inquisition.”
He straightened, expression solemn, “I do not know if Andraste and the Maker truly sent you, but even so, you hold all our fates on your shoulders. I would not hinder you further, if it means you can save us all. I will not make the same mistake as your father did.”
Anora felt herself smile , although there was not much merriment in the expression. “Thank you, and I’m glad. Fear of our perceived enemies only clouds judgement. I will do everything it takes to seal the Breach, or die trying - I swear that on my honour as a Ferelden.”
Eamon inclined his head, “Then may the Maker go with you, Mac Tir."
Notes:
Ridderby - credit to Lykegenia
The main town in the Arling of Edgehall
Chapter 5: Arrival to the Hinterlands
Chapter Text
"Mages, Templars, lot of humans and elves in skirts killing each other. In the Hinterlands, the fighting was severe. The worst part is they could not stick to just killing each other. So many people where caught in that crossfire. Philosophers and Clerics bicker and debate whose fault it all was in the end. I'll tell you, dear reader, what I saw, and you can draw your own conclusions. A widow grieving bitterly asked Anora to track down and kill a Templar who had slain her husband. The lyrium addled fool thought a shovel was a staff, and then stole the man's wedding ring besides. We found an orphan boy in the woods - the Seeker carried the child back to the Crossroads on her back. Mages had shown up to their farm and demanded food. Farmer said he had barely anything to give - the Hinterlands' farms were still suffering the effects of the Blight - and so they burned the farmstead down, with the family inside. Make of that shit what you will." - Viscount Varric Tethras, "All this Shit is Weird: My time with the Inquisition."
Anora was given a new set of armour; a mail-enforced coat over a cuirass that bore the Inquisition symbol. The coat tails that reached her knees. It was coupled with thigh high leather boots that had plating on the shins, knees and thighs. It fit well and was, most importantly, warm.
She was Fereldan, and thus used to cold temperatures, but the ever present chill of the Frostbacks had taken her time to acclimatise to - especially after a decade spent in the warmer Free Marches.
She was to head into the Hinterlands to search for one Mother Giselle - a Revered Mother from Jader who was tending to refugees in the Hinterlands. The entire area was locked into conflict between a group of templars and a group of mages.
When they arrived, a charming fereldan dwarf named Lace Harding gave her the debrief.
According to the her, these mages were not aligned with Fiona’s rebels - who had all but sealed themselves in Redcliffe - and the Templars were not answering to anyone, and were operating out of a ravine somewhere along the King's Highway.
The terrain was perfect for a small war to be fought in. The Hinterlands consisted mostly of rocky hills, dense woods, and steep ravines; perfect to hide armies in. If they were to hunt down the bandit apostates and rogue templars… they had their work cut out for them.
Presently, they were approaching the Crossroads. She had only Cassandra, Varric, and Solas with her. Fortunately, soldiers had already gone ahead to secure the Crossroads, which was currently under siege from Templars and Mage.
“So what’s this Mother going to be able to offer us, exactly?” asked Varric.
Cassandra answered. “We need the support of someone in the Chantry - Mother Giselle is quite influential. If she is on our side, she may sway some of the Clerics.”
“And what of the people here - the refugees?” asked Solas.
“We will try to find a way to help them - most likely by removing the threat of these rogue mages and Templars.”
“That may take some time - we don’t even know where they are,” said Cassandra.
“We have to make the King's Highway secure. All trade through this area relies upon it, Redcliffe especially. Stability in the region may also garner us more favour from the people here - and maybe the King.” said Anora.
“So his Kingliness will thank us for making his country a bit safer?” Varric drawled.
Anora snorted at the nickname, “We’ll be doing his job for him. More specifically, we’ll be doing Teagan’s.”
“Speaking of which, where is the arl?” asked Cassandra.
“Orlais. The Castle was left to his stewards, and now the Rebel Mages are sheltering there."
Going forward, 'Rebel Mages' referred to the group led by grand enchanter Fiona. Apostate Bandits referred to roving groups of apostates, who had taken to banditry in the wake of the Circle Rebellion. It left a sour taste in her mouth, what some would do with freedom as soon as they got it. Why they were in the Hinterlands... that Anora could only guess was from Alistair's efforts to give mages shelter. She thought of every mage she had guided through the Undercity, a mere paid mercenary, and seen leave at one of the very many hidden smuggling spots throughout the Docks. She grit her teeth.
The smell of burning, woodsmoke from a ravaged copse. Reckless magic use, unused to the reality that in a woodland everything was flammable - and flame could not be put out so easily. Or, very easily, that they did not care at all.
Anders had not believed his fellow mages capable of violence by default. Well, it did not matter what he thought anymore, since he had gone and proved himself wrong.
“Herald, there were also reports of Rifts in this area - we should seal them,” Solas' words pulled her from her thoughts.
The hand with the mark twitched, and Anora clenched it. Whenever someone even started to speak of the rifts the memory of the sensation of closing those things came back.
“Of course.”
They continued on in silence until the Crossroads came into view.
“Maker’s breath!” Anora cursed. The crossroads were a veritable warzone. Plated templars swarmed the area and figures dressed in leather and fur coats - she supposed those were meant to be robes - cast lighting and ice from staves. In the midst of the fighting, green clad soldiers were weaving in and out - slaying mage and templar alike.
Merchant carts lay scattered about, some burning while others had been stacked into a barricade. A few lightly armoured archers - wearing no discernable faction colours, so Anora assumed they were with the refugees - were positioned on top of them, firing into the chaos below.
“Inquisition forces! They’re trying to protect the refugees, we must help them!” yelled Cassandra, snapping her visor over her face and drawing her blade.
Help they did. Between Solas’ magic and Varric’s rain of bolts death came down on both factions.
Cassandra charged into the frey. The seeker was like a mabari charging into a flock of geese - they had no chance. Anora could only look on in awe.
One of the templars spotted her, and Solas and Varric behind her. They screamed something and struck out their hand - it was like a hammer blow to her soul. She fell to her knees. Solas yelled out a curse in elvhen, she heard him fall too.
Her heart was hammering in her chest, it felt like her organs were going to fall out.
"No you don't you piece of shit!" Varric's voice yelled, laced with a burning fury…
A wet gurgle and the sound of something punching through metal came from right above her. She looked up.
The Templar had been poised to strike her head off, but a bolt was now lodged right in their throat. They clutched at it dumbly, pulling on it slightly, then collapsed with a thud.
Then more showed up.
Groups numbering between four and five would come out of the woods in waves. They must have fended off at least four of those before it seemed that the Crossroads were finally secure. Solas was down for most of it, the elf coughing and seeming to struggle to draw breath.
Anora stood steadfastly over him, having recovered a lot quicker from the Smite.
When it was over, she helped him to his feet. "You need a lyrium potion." She handed him one from her back - she had brought them along just in case.
The elf nodded slowly, his eyes dazed. He took it gingerly and gulped it down in one go. Anora did not know why, but seeing Solas like this unsettled her deeply.
“I don’t understand. Why are templars attacking refugees?” asked Cassandra, staring at the dead templars with confusion writ across her brow.
Anora shrugged, using one of the dead templar’s skirts to clean her blade. “The Order is not as noble or upstanding as you thought, Seeker.”
Cassandra sighed, “I know that, but to attack innocent travellers…”
Anora shot her a look, with one brow raised. “If we found them butchering a group of mage refugees, would you be less shocked?”
Cassandra’s brow lowered and she met Anora’s gaze, “It would not be surprising. The rogue templars’ ire is supposed to be only aimed at mages. Yet they assault these people.”
“In Kirkwall, the Templars would periodically march down into Lowtown and beat unsuspecting locals for 'not paying their tithes’ - or they’d raid peoples homes looking for evidence of ‘harbouring apostates’,” Varric chimed in, coming up to both of them, twirling a bolt in his hand.
Cassandra frowned, and Varric nodded slowly, a grim set to his features.
“Yep. We all knew all it was just Meredith reinserting fear of the Templars in order to keep everyone in line. So,” he jerked his head toward Anora, “She got it pretty much on the nose there. Your order is not as noble as you thought.”
Cassandra shook her head, “They’re not my order, nor did I think they were noble to begin with. But the order has strayed so far from its purpose…” Cassandra trailed off, shaking her head.
Anora sheathed her sword and stepped toward the seeker, “That’s what happens when you give a group too much power - and then fill it with frightened and superstitious people. The Order might have a noble purpose, but don’t pretend the Templar’s fall was not predictable.”
“Tis the fate of all organizations.” Solas muttered, and Cassandra sighed in defeat.
“If you want to change your order, Seeker, and yes I also mean the Seekers, you have your work cut out for you.” Anora began to walk toward the assembled refugees, “Come on, we have to find this Mother Giselle.”
She heard Cassandra and Solas continue to speak behind her but did not pay attention, instead casting her gaze about trying to find anyone who looked like a revered mother.
She eventually spotted a robed woman - wearing the Orlesian style white and red robes, and the long hat to boot. It was if she was intentionally drawing attention to herself, which Anora was glad for, and thus she approached her.
She was crouched over a wounded soldier - one of the Inquisition’s, judging from the eyeball on his helmet - and was softly speaking to him.
“...there are mages here who can heal your wounds.”
“Don’t- Don’t let them touch me, Mother… their magic is-”
“Turned to noble purpose. Do not be foolish and give into fear - let them ease your suffering.”
The soldier relaxed and seemed to acquiesce, and a man wearing blue robes knelt next to him, and began to work magic on the soldier's abdomen.
Anora made a mental note to speak to Cullen about assuaging any fears of magic in the ranks of the infantry. If the inquisition was to have mages working in it, there could not be superstition or distrust, else it may hamper them all. Turning down healing magic was certainly foolish - and it would not do to lose men to foolishness.
“Mother Giselle?”
The Revered Mother looked up at her, and seemed to carefully scan her eyes over Anora. Anora shifted, somewhat uncomfortable at the scrutiny. Eventually, the priest nodded slowly and walked over.
“That I am. And you must be the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste.”
“I am, though not willingly.”
Giselle smiled faintly, “We do not always have the luxury of deciding on what others call us.”
Anora thought of people calling her father ‘traitor’ and grimaced.
“Yes. Remarkable what people come up with though.”
“You are capable of sealing these rifts?” Giselle asked.
“That I am, I know not how though.”
Giselle nodded slowly, “You doubt it was Andraste who saved you?”
“I do not know if it was or wasn’t her… and you can understand why I don’t wish to make such assumptions. It’s already branded me a heretic by the Chantry.”
“Doubt is good, it means you will not develop an ego. And as for the Chantry, you are hoping to gain their support are you not?”
“It would make things easier. With their support, we can gain the support of many more, and we’ll need all the help we can get sealing the Breach.”
“True enough. The remaining clerics have declared you a heretic - I admit, most are simply grandstanding, hoping to gain influence - but others are merely frightened.”
“Frightened?”
“They think that you oppose the Chantry. Go to them, and show them that you are not the monster they think you are.”
“You want me to just… walk into Val Royeaux and demand to speak with all of them?”
Mother Giselle smiled faintly again, “You will need to garner more of a reputation first, to avoid an outright arrest. But please consider it.”
Anora sighed, and resisted the urge to rub at her brow. It was a good enough idea, she supposed. It reminded her of the Wardens and Eamon holding a landsmeet to clear their guilt from the minds of the assembled nobility; the irony that she was now in that position was not lost on her.
“I will, your reverence.”
Giselle smiled and inclined her head. “In the meanwhile, I will work with Lady Josephine on gaining more support for the inquisition throughout the Chantry - and for the needs of the people displaced by all this war and suffering.”
Anora placed her hand over her heart and bowed slightly at the waist, “Thank you, your Reverence, that is all we can ask.”
They spent a week at the Crossroads alone. First, Anora had to organize with Corporal Vale on getting a few of the soldiers who could hunt to go out and hunt for rams in the surrounding hills. Then, she, Cassandra, Varric and Solas spent a few days scouring the outskirts, looking for hidden apostate supply caches. There were many gaves dotting the hills of the Hinterlands. Bandits attacked on sight, ambushing them more often than not. If Cassandra had not been with them, with her ability to render a mage helpless, Anora and Varric would have been dead twice over. One of the soldiers in the Crossroads had expressed concern that these were just scared people - left homeless in the wake of the Circles rebelling. Whittle had responded that if they were indeed scared, coming out of their caves to constantly raid farmers and villages in the area to the point that a massive refugee camp had to be set up, certainly did not engender any sympathy. Anora was inclined to agree.
Mages did not wear signs on their heads spelling out what they were. But, a chaotic mass exodus from their Towers into a hostile country that did not want them did not work out for the best. And generally speaking, if you want people to not hate you, refraining from attacking on sight helped quite a bit. If these bandits wanted an 'us versus them' scenario, they were going to find out very quickly how horrifically outnumbered they truly were.
And that was before one even considered the Templars in this mess. Lyrium-addled, delusional, hopped up on their own power and now scared shitless that they were nowhere near a chantry or a source of lyrium.
It did not seem as though there would be any negotiating with either group. The ones here in these hills could only be cut down. It was bleak. Anora had never really known war. Darktown had not left her soft, but this open carnage, that was something else. She wondered if she would not take back the life of a cutthroat in the dark, or dodging chokedamp, over this. The Hinterlands were tricky terrain to traverse. If Anora had not known the land as well as she did, she imagined they would have been lost three times over.
Varric had started complaining, likely never having done this much cross-country in his life, and they only stopped when they found a group of Andrastian cultists - who were apparently worshiping the breach - and Anora closed a rift that had formed within a cave inside their keep.
Anora accepted their offer of service afterwards - apparently they saw her as a prophet now too, lovely - and she asked them to help the refugees, and, since their tower, Winterwatch, had a good view of Dwarfson’s Pass, she asked them to send reports of all travelers passing through the area to Haven.
Varric and Cassandra were sitting on a bench, near to the gate, passing a waterskin back and forth. Solas had a penchant for wandering off and then reappearing as soon as they were about to move - or when he was needed - so Anora did not question it. He seemed unable to sit still, preferring to scout around as much as he could. It did same from a trap once or twice already so that was all good. He also seemed to obsessively collect elfroot, which he he'd then spend hours at camp turning into poultices to give to the refugees at the Crossroads.
“These cultists have strange beliefs…” Cassandra muttered, soft enough for only Varric and Anora to hear.
“People believe things because it brings them comfort - first and foremost. Worshipping the Breach was only natural - as Solas said."
Cassandra shrugged, “I just wonder if that’s what the clerics in Val Royeaux must think of us.”
“We have made no formal declarations of my holiness, or declared the Chant of Light invalid,” said Anora, taking the waterskin from Varric.
“Maybe we should have tried to stop those rumours…” the Seeker murmured, brow furrowed.
Anora shrugged. “It does seem to be giving some people hope - an affirmation that the maker is looking out for us.”
“And so you can see why I would be apprehensive about that turning out to not be the case.”
Anora smiled wryly. “I told all of you it was unnerving to be called that, now you see why.”
Varric spoke next. "Losing faith, Seeker?”
Cassandra’s face remained stony. “No. I still believe that you were sent by the Maker - not the Breach. Even if that was not Andraste behind you in the fade, I still believe. You are exactly what we needed when we needed it.”
Anora nodded slowly with a half smile. “So you’ve said, Seeker, so you’ve said.”
“And besides, we know the Maker wasn’t the asshole who killed the Divine and caused that explosion anyways,” said Varric with a small smile.
“No, and I’m eager to find out who. We still have no credible suspects.”
“Other than the Orlesian Grey Wardens…”
Both Cassandra and Varric fixed her with quizzical looks after that.
“What?”
“Don’t know many Wardens, granted, but I can’t think of a single reason why they would want to kill the divine, or even just get involved with the conclave,” said Varric.
Anora shrugged, “Whatever their motivation, they’ve gone missing around the same time as the Divine’s death. It’s suspicious.”
Cassandra tilted her head. “Why are you so suspicious of the Grey Wardens?”
Anora went stiff, suddenly very aware of just how suspicious she had sounded.
“Aren’t you? The Chantry must have disapproved of their habit of recruiting mages.”
“We kept a close eye on them, but they never did anything suspect … at least where magic was concerned.”
“That you know of.”
Cassandra shrugged. “True enough. But the Grey Wardens serve a noble purpose.”
“The Chantry said the same of the Templars,” Anora said, “and besides the Blight’s been gone for ten years…”
“There are still darkspawn down in the deep roads,” Varric pointed out, “The Blight - as in the darkspawn’s existence - is still a problem.”
Anora sighed and shrugged, not seeing the point of the argument. She realized her vehement dislike of the Warden’s largely came from the actions of the Warden's during the Landsmeet, and she was big enough to admit that. Even though she knew, after a decade, that her father had survived, that did little to ease her concerns.
“Look, I don’t have the best history with their order - I’ll try not to let that bias get in the way.”
Varric shrugged. “Hey, I knew one warden and he blew up the Kirkwall Chantry and started a war.”
“Speaking of Anders, where is he?” said Cassandra.
Varric sighed. “I told you Hawke killed him, didn’t I?”
Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “And I told you I didn’t entirely believe that.”
Anora frowned. “Why are you asking?”
Cassandra paused before responding. There was a glint in the narrowing of her eye, which caused a deep disconcert. “I would just like to know, but as Varric said, he’s dead.”
Varric glared faintly at the Seeker. “You think Blondie might have been involved in the Conclave?”
He sighed and shook his head. “No, even if I thought I had known him, after the stunt he pulled that night…”
“He’s dead though?”
“Yep. Hawke stabbed him right in the back. Choir Boy wouldn’t let it go.”
“Who’s Choir Boy…?” asked Anora.
“Prince Sebastien Vael of Starkhaven." It was very impressive how much disdain Varric managed to sew into each word. "He went back to his home city recently.”
Anora and Varric shared a glance. They said nothing. If Cassandra had noticed, she did not remark on it. She left them to their quiet grief.
"Come on, we've rested long enough. The Rogue Templars should not be left waiting."
Chapter 6: The Rogue Templars
Chapter Text
"Anora dodged the templars blows with a grace of dancer in the Grand Orlesian Ballet. With a decisive blow, she freed the Templar Lieutenant of his head, and barely broke a sweat. 'Not a great loss, messere, you were not using it much anyhow,' she said with a grin, as the wind blew through her golden hair.'
- Varric Tethras,"The Unlikely Tale of Anora Mac Tir"
The King's Highway, which lay just beyond the Crossroads through a grotto, was a mess.
Between the grotto and Fort Connor, the road was choked with burning carts and huts, with the Templars collected at the base of Fort Connor, and the Apostates seemingly coming out of a small pass that led, if Anora remembered correctly, to the Witchwood.
“The Apostates are coming out of the 'Witchwood'?” Varric chortled, “A tad on the nose.”
Anora kept her attention on the road. They could see all of it from where they were crouched, up on a plateau that held Lake Luthias.
“The Templars are housed in Fort Connor. Fortunately, the fort looks like it was never repaired.”
“Fortunately?”
Anora smiled wryly. “That Fort used to be second only to Castle Redcliffe itself in terms of impregnability. The darkspawn must have done a number on it, and, luckily for us, neither Teagan nor Eamon ever bothered to fix it.”
“We’ll able to assault the Templars directly then?” asked Cassandra, evidently excited from the way she stared at the fort with ravenous eyes. Anora frowned slightly at that but elected to ignore it.
“We will, but that’s not to say it will be easy. The interior of the fort is built into the mountain, and should still be intact. They’ll be dug in.”
“Should we not get reinforcements?” asked Solas.
“Corporal Vale has his hands full protecting the refugees, and what little manpower we brought with us is helping them,” Cassandra answered.
“Meaning we’re gonna take on a small battalion of Templars all by our lonesome? Wonderful!” said Varric in mock-cheer.
Anora shot a half-smile toward the dwarf. “I don’t know… we have Cassandra.”
“Fair point.”
“Ugh. I’m not a dragon!”
“You sure?”
Anora ignored them and turned to Solas, “Any ideas?”
“It would be easier if we could get one group on our side.”
“The apostates haven’t been open to chatting; they say 'hi' with fire balls, very impolite,” Varric muttered deadpan.
Anora saw what he meant though. “And the Templars have declared anyone not-a-templar to be evil heretics. We could, however, try to turn the tide of the battle here.”
“Yes, exactly. We can get the mages to assault the Fort for us,” said Solas.
“But how?” asked Cassandra.
Anora pointed to where a group of mages - and their hired sellswords from the look of it - were clustered behind a wall of wagons just out of the Witchwood. Templars had taken up positions along the road, in groups of four. Usually two swordsmen, one with a massive shield, and one archer. There were five of these, from what Anora could see, and one ambush unit consisting only of swordsmen and archers - numbering at ten - were crouched behind a burning hut, poised to strike when the mages made their charge.
She silently pointed to each cluster of templars, ending at the ambush unit.
“We’ll need to take out those, so when the mages charge they won’t be flanked.”
“And then do we wait while they try to fight their way to the fort?” asked Cassandra.
Anora shook her head, and pointed to a path that led further along the ridge. “How good are you at sniping, Master Tethras?”
“How good is Bianca, you mean, and I’d say we make a pretty good pair.”
“Good, then when the mages begin attacking the first barricade, support them.”
“Won’t that draw attention to Varric?” asked Solas.
“I can take out a lot of the skirts in a short time, Chuckles.”
“Then move up, while myself, Cassandra and Solas take out the ambush. Then, we’ll need you to watch our flank.”
“Wait, you’ll need this,” Varric pulled out a flask which contained a smokey liquid.
“Knockout Gas, it’ll give you an edge in taking out those Templars unseen and quickly. Best used when,” he tied the flask to a bolt, “fired out of Bianca.”
Anora nodded once. “Good idea. We hit them with that, and then Solas, how quick can you freeze them?”
“Quick enough.”
She looked back at the mages, whose sellswords had begun to move around the barricade, shimmering from a magical barrier that had been cast on them.
“They’re moving.”
They waited until first charge began, and while the templars and sellswords were preoccupied, Varric fired the Knockout Gas grenade at the ambush squad. Two of them, who received the brunt of the attack, crumbled to the ground. The rest recoiled, coughing madly and struggling to keep to their feet. That’s when Solas, gesturing with his staff, conjured ice to envelop them from the ground up.
One remained, looking around in desperate confusion, and had only time to gasp in surprise before Anora leapt and stabbed him through the eye slit of his helmet.
The mages quickly overpowered the Templars at the first barricade, and the second group was weakening quickly, having their archer and defender taken out by crossbow bolts that they had no time to ponder as a mage teleported behind them and began attack them with his staff, which he had wreathed in fire.
Anora, Cassandra and Solas watched them advance on the third, whose melee units had leapt from the barricade and were advancing on them now. She heard that same shutting noise, as one of the Templars dispelled the mana of the mages. The foremost mages staff lost its fire coating.
The mages ignored it, gesturing instead to their sellswords. The Templars of the third barricade were outnumbered, four of them to the six sellswords and four robed mages.
The archer began shooting at them though, and the one with the blade staff roared and ran forward, with another one of the the sellswords pulling out a crossbow to provide covering fire.
The Templars proved to be a hardy foe, taking down two of the poorly armoured sellswords themselves, but the mage with the bladed staff held his ground, going on the defensive until he was joined by two more sellswords, one with a sword and shield and the other with a massive axe. The archer had caught a crossbow bolt - from the sellsword, not Varric - and crumbled down behind the barricade.
The Templar with the massive shield roared and charged the mage with the staff, while his friends attacked the other two.
The mages seemed to have recovered their magic however, as soon a barrier fell over their group, and the crack of lightning split the air as a chain of electricity burst from one of their staves and sent the Templars reeling. That moment was all they needed.
The one with blade-staff teleported behind the defender and ran him through from behind, where the armour had a weak point. The one with the axe drove his massive weapon into one of the Templars necks, sending his head and half one shoulder clean off. The other stabbed the remaining Templar in the leg before going for the eye slit.
Their victory was short lived, as arrows rained down on them. Their barriers held out long enough for them to get down, but then five Templars came rushing down, their archers - five in total - lining the final barricade.
The charging soldiers all had swords and shields, and only one of them had that massive tower shield.
The mages and their sellswords met them head on, and a bloody melee ensued. The one with the blade-staff cut down two of them by himself, and was only repelled when a Templar unleashed another of their attacks - the Holy Smite - which targeted the very mana in a mages body.
The mages recoiled, some falling to their knees, one collapsed outright - their body spasming as blue light burst from their hands and eyes. The sellswords were similarly affected, but managed to keep their feet.
Only the mage with the blade-staff held his ground, and he backed up slowly.
The Templar who had unleashed the smite advanced on them slowly, having come from Fort Connor. His helmet had large wings on the side, and his armour was slightly more decorative than the others, with larger, more pronounced pauldrons, and his blade was silverlite.
“That’s a Knight-Lieutenant,” muttered Cassandra.
“Let’s hope the mage with the quarterstaff can best him,” said Solas.
Anora had to admit she was rooting for him too.
The sellswords got back into engaging the Templars, and Knight-Lieutenant and mage stared each other down before their blades met.
The other Templars, better armed and better equipped, had ultimately bested the sellswords, though only two of them remained, and soon only the mage with blade-staff stood.
He was losing ground, the knight-lieutenant attacking with a vicious fury.
“All of the mage forces are dead, Herald, we should attack now, while they’re vulnerable!” hissed Cassandra.
Anora shook her head. “They’ll see us coming now, just wait…”
The mage fell, the Templar having cut his staff in half. There was a terrible crackle in the air as the magic was released from it, and the mage cried out as the Templar drove his blade down into his chest.
The other mages were fleeing back into the Witchwood, and the knight-lieutenant pointed at them with his blade, the red blood of the mage glistening faintly in the sunlight along the blade, and the other Templars gave chase.
"Alright, that's our cue. Let us introduce ourselves. Solas, focus on those archers. Cassandra, you take those two and take care of those mages if they fight you. I’ll take the Lieutenant.”
They spread out, and Anora waited until Solas distracted the archers before she stepped out into the battlefield. The knight-lieutenant had his back turned, and was about to run towards Solas, but Anora got his attention first. “Hey, blighter!”
He turned and looked her up and down.
“Another hired blade of the maleficar,” he sneered.
Anora smirked, settling easily into a fighting stance. “'Hired' implies I’m being paid - and honestly, there isn’t enough coin in the world for this.”
She exhausted no more words, and lunged at him. They traded blows for what felt like an eternity, both too experienced to let their guard down easily. But he did slip up eventually - he made to parry too late, and Anora’s blade struck into the space behind his knee, where the armour was weakest. It sheared in, the muscle spasming beneath the blade.
Anora wrenched it free and as the Templar fell to his knee. A savage strike to his neck and he collapsed forward. Anora reversed her grip in a fluid motion and struck down at the space where the shoulder's met. The sharp point of her blade's pommel drove home, and released in bloody spray as she yanked herself back. The templar was too injured to stand.
And he had collapsed in puddle of mud.
Calmly, seeing no threat from either rear nor flank, Anora used her foot to drive his head down into the water. He thrashed for a while, violently, and then ceased.
Panting slightly, she looked up to try and find Solas.
She spotted him immediately, sending a final bolt of ice at the Templar archer, catching them straight in the chest and sending him flying backwards.
“Anora, the other apostates are dead.” Cassandra said, coming beside her.
She nodded once and took off for the fort. Varric had appeared beside Solas, and they provided covering fire as Anora and Cassandra both vaulted over the fallen wall of the fort. There were only a few Templars in what used to be its courtyard and, fighting back to back and protected by Solas’ magic, and assisted by Varric from range, they defeated them.
The door which led into the fort's interior was narrow, and there was little Anora could make out.
She looked to the Seeker, both of them were out of breath but unhurt, and they nodded to each other once, and went in.
Inside they met with surprisingly little resistance. They defeated the handful of Templars inside easily. The interior of the fort was literally only an antechamber that led into a larger hall. At the far end though, came a distinctive red glow.
“Shit, red lyrium… You think the Templars have been using this stuff?” asked Varric, balancing Bianca on his shoulder.
Cassandra winced, “I should hope not.”
“Aren’t they all addicted to lyrium?” asked Anora.
“Yes. They use it to enhance their abilities… I would not be surprised if some thought the Red Lyrium to be a good substitute.”
“It would explain this…” said Solas, lifting a small piece of parchment from a desk. “This claims that every person who aids a mage is an enemy before the maker, for they must have fallen to blood magic.”
Anora took the note from him and read it over, then snorted. “Stark raving mad from the looks of it.”
“Agreed. I wonder though… this cannot be their main base.”
“The letter says to ‘join us off the West Road’...” Anora paused and thought for a moment, trying to summon a map of the Hinterlands, the King's Highway specifically.
“There is a bridge further along the road, beneath it a river flows, down a steep embankment north, but south… Yes, the river bank, it's covered in trees, and right on the slope of the hill, a good place to hide a camp.”
“You really know Ferelden well, don’t you?” Varric remarked.
Anora shrugged. “My father made sure I did.”
“A wise decision. It would greatly benefit any ruler to know their countryside well,” said Solas.
Anora stiffened. It was still touchy, it would seem. A decade not long enough to forget the sting of that loss.
“It did, for a time at least. Let’s go.”
They found no resistance further up the King's Highway to the river Anora had mentioned. The bridge to cross it had been broken, but fortunately the river was shallow here.
“So… I’m not the only one who isn’t all too excited to go charging into there, right?” asked Varric. Anora was inclined to agree. Trees shrouded the pathway up to the bank Anora had spoken off, and massive boulders cut a narrow path.
“We don’t really have much of a choice.”
Anora pointed forward, “See how high the bank is? The only up into that encampment is through the path… or we could climb the hill and tumble down on top of them.”
“Very funny.”
Cassandra chuckled, “We could roll you down, Varric, like a boulder. Solas can cast rock armour on you and it would have that effect.”
“I don’t think even my spells would protect from all the scrapes and bruises he would no doubt receive,” Solas said with a small grin.
Varric sighed. “The one time Cassandra makes a joke and it's at my expense. Typical.”
Anora laughed softly to herself.
“You know," she mused, " judging from all the corpses littering the King's Highway back there, there might not even be that many Templars at the main camp."
“Even still… we would be at a disadvantage. All those trees and rocks provide excellent cover for archers, and we’d be fighting uphill.”
Anora sighed and gripped the pommel of her sword, trying to think. Cassandra was right - realistically, what could the four of them hope to achieve?
They made an effective squad, with Cassandra and Anora being armoured enough to draw most of the enemy’s attention, whilst Varric provided covering fire and Solas protected them with magic.
But they were not impervious.
They needed to get inside that camp, to properly assuage the threat. And if they were inside, that would mean they could attack from within, get the Templars by surprise… but how? The hill was too steep, and the riverbank was too high; the Templars had chosen their campsite well, because it was impossible to flank…
Unless they were able to walk right in of course…
“I have an idea.”
All three looked at her expectantly., “Cassandra, you know how to talk to Templars, yes?”
The Seeker raised a brow. “What do you…?”
“I mean, you could pass as one correct?”
“I suppose. I am a Seeker after all, what are you suggesting?”
Solas grinned as he caught on, and Anora returned it.
“An interesting plan, Herald, though not without great risk.”
“Oh I see!” Varric said, his eyes twinkling.
Cassandra raised a brow. “And just how are we going to do that? They’ll recognise me as a Seeker in this armour…”
“Lots of corpses back at that fort. Let’s get some new armour…”
They managed to find two Templars whose armour fit roughly, and soon both Anora and Cassandra were dressed in the Order’s plate, with helmets to obscure their heads. The winged steel buckets were weighty, and Anora could not fathom how anyone fought in them.
“So, me and Cassandra will go in there, claiming to want to join up. We’ll get them to believe that a large group of apostates are heading down the King's highway, hopefully that’ll send some of them out of the camp.”
“And that’s when they’ll meet Bianca.”
“And several glyphs.” Solas added and it almost seemed like he wanted to smirk.
“You’ll have the element of surprise at least. Templars can’t detect magical wards though, can they?”
Cassandra shook her head,. “No.”
“I thought you could detect magic?” asked Varric
“We can, through concentration. It is a sustained ability, not a sixth sense.”
“Ah.”
Anora nodded to the door. “Let’s get going, Seeker.”
“I warn you… she’s a shit liar.”
Cassandra shot Varric a glare, though the helmet obscured most of it. “I can lie when I need to.”
“I sure hope so, for Anora’s sake.”
“If you hear screaming, you’re welcome to back us up.”
“We will. Let us hope it does not come to that,” said Solas, his brow furrowing slightly. Anora could understand his concern - the plan was paper thin at best, and if they were caught, being surrounded by a dozen angry Templars - wearing ill-fitted armour as well - did not sound particularly appealing, or survivable. Still, it was the best they had, and these rogue Templars needed to be taken out, if the Hinterlands were to become safer.
“Have I mentioned I think this plan is insane?” Cassandra muttered halfway to the encampment, the helmet muffling her words slightly.
Anora tried to give her a reassuring grin, then upon realising the helmet’s visor was in the way, just shrugged, “You did now. It’s better than charging in there blindly though.”
“Very true, Herald.”
“If we’re about to die, please call me by my name, Cassandra.”
“Very well, Anora. It was an honour knowing you.”
“Such a pessimist.”
“Someone needs to be.”
They approached the camp’s entrance, which was a space between two spiked-barricades. A Templar came down, their hand around the hilt of their sword in warning. “Identify yourselves.”
“I’m Amelia, this is Anora.” It took everything for Anora not to whip her head around to give Cassandra a disbelieving glare. Luckily, it was a somewhat common name.
“We heard of your camp - that you were fighting the apostates.” Cassandra continued.
“That we are, where do you come from?”
“From Haven.”
Anora was thankful for the helmet that obscured her grimace, Varric was so right about her. The Templar tilted his head, “We heard the Divine died.”
Cassandra nodded. “She did. But the Inquisition has taken over there - they’re heretics. They are even harbouring apostates and have declared the Divine’s murderer their leader. We could not get into contact with the main bulk of the order, so we came to Ferelden, hoping to get to Therinfal, but heard of the apostates in the area and thought it best we help deal with them.”
The Templar nodded slowly, “You thought correctly. The rebels have barricaded themselves in Redcliffe - the King betrays the Chantry by harbouring them. But there are many apostates in the woods, and amongst the refugees.”
“We would like to help, if we can.”
The Templar gestured behind him. “Then you should speak to our Commander. We will not turn aside any of the righteous.”
The camp was smaller than they had expected, a couple of tents strewn around the river bank, with a slightly larger one housing a small forge and armoury. Their leader was at the far end of the camp, closer to the waterfall. He sat behind a desk that had been placed in a barricaded clearing right against the cliff wall. A leather flap was drawn from the rock to barricade, to protect from rain.
He bore no helmet, and his face was haggard. Thick black bags under his eyes, a scruffy beard that had not been shaven in at least a week, and this hair - black streaked with grey - was unkempt, falling down his neck in twisted knots and tangles.
Anora was grateful for the helmet then, as it hid her involuntary grimace as she took in his appearance.
“Identify yourselves,” he drawled, his glazed eyes boring down into both of them.
“Amelia, and this is Anora.”
“Well met. Where do you hail?”
“Haven.”
The man nodded slowly, “The Divine is dead and the sky is torn - by magic - but the Chantry sits on its hands and allows this to go unpunished. Blood magic has reached even thus far.”
Anora wanted to roll her eyes. The Templars' ever present fear of blood magic was annoying at best - and led to disaster like this at worst.
Fear corrupted the mind, led to delusions and paranoia that invariably harmed someone or everyone, and that was no more evident than here, with this haggard shell of a man claiming to be righteous.
“I agree. It is disgraceful. The Mages must be punished for what they’ve done.” Anora had to admit, Cassandra sounded fairly convincing.
The man nodded slowly, and rose. “I am Knight-Captain Harker. I lead this small group, for what it's worth. The apostates in the woods have harried us - as have those ‘refugees’ - for weeks now.”
The snarl with which he said refugees sent a shiver of dread down Anora’s spine as it conjured an old, buried memory.
Those Wardens, they have caused no end of trouble. They were seen near Denerim… no doubt planning to come here, after us. Should have died at Ostagar…
“We saw signs of a battle at the Fort when we crossed the bridge. We investigated, but found only corpses.”
Harker started, “Only corpses, at the fort?”
Cassandra nodded, inclining her head and shoulders to make up for the helmet. “Yes. Many dead mages too… looks like they all died fighting each other.”
“How many corpses?” he asked with squinted eyes and Anora felt panic creep into her gut. She tensed, ever slightly, and said, “A few squads worth. The Fort itself was empty. Footprints led east, further along the King's Highway.”
Harker sighed and ran a gauntleted hand through his hair. “Should not have put that fool Rodemund in charge. No doubt he routed the Apostates, as planned, but gave chase.”
The man paced for a moment longer, and then grabbed his sword.
“Come then, prove your worth.”
He walked down to the camp, “Templars! We hunt!”
The Templars jumped to arms, and there was a flurry of activity as they armed themselves and assembled into a rough marching band.
Anora counted them - at least thirty. That was less than she expected but still. Anora and Cassandra kept to the back, as the platoon marched, with Harker at the front. The Templars closest to them eyed them warily but made no comment.
They continued until most of the Templars were through the small gap between the boulders out of the riverbank, when a magical detonation followed by alarmed screaming rang out.
Cassandra and Anora drew their blades, the two Templars with them following suit, and the screaming intensified.
Upon seeing that all the Templars at front were preoccupied with whatever nasty trap Solas and Varric had sprung, they turned and stabbed the two Templars. One, Cassandra stabbed through the back, the other Anora grabbled. They fell to the ground a heap and he was not quick enough to stop the knife that pierced just below the neck.
They ran out of the bank and what a sight it was that met them. Templars lay in the mud, many in various stages of charred, whilst others had arrows sticking out of their helmets and necks. Harker, who had no doubt stepped into the first trap, lay twisted and mangled, his flesh seared and black, smoking from beneath his armour.
Anora tore her gaze away, feeling nauseous at the sight. Instead, she looked up at the trees lining the other side of the road. Varric stood, with the most shit eating grin on his face, and then Anora saw why.
At least six archers lined the trees. Their armour was light, brown leather, and they wore dull green cloaks and hoods, perfect to blend into the woods with.
“We got some back-up!” cheered the dwarf.
Anora grinned, walking up to him. One of the archers walked down from the trees. From beneath her hood, Anora could make out dark chestnut hair, and the woman’s eyes were cold and piercing.
“Well met, Herald. Lady Nightingale said you’d need help.”
“We absolutely did. I thank you…?
“Tamar.”
The woman looked down at the King's Highway for a moment, before meeting Anora’s eyes again, “Vale had no idea where you went. It was challenging to find you.”
“Sorry about that. We were hunting these,” she gestured at one of the corpses.
Tamar looked at it and said nothing, “We found their prey, whilst looking for you.”
She pulled a note from her pocket and handed it to Anora. “Found on one of their corpses. They hide in the Witchwood.”
Anora nodded, reading the letter over. Unlike the Templars, the instructions therein were far more vague - ‘Look for the signs’ - no doubt a Circle mage would know what that meant.
“I figured. We saw them coming out of the wood to attack the Templars at the Fort.” She sighed. “The Witchwood is dense, and dangerous. Finding them will not be easy.”
Tamar nodded once, her face remaining impassive as ever. “It won’t. But we can prowl better than they. We will find them, and let you know.”
“Good. In the meanwhile, we’ll go speak to that Horsemaster, find us there. But first let me get out of this horrible armour.”
Chapter 7: The Horsemaster
Summary:
Anora and Company secure horses for the inquisition, meet some new friends
Chapter Text
"Keeper, the Shemlen known as the 'Herald of Andraste' is indeed able to seal these rifts. She seems level-headed, for a human, and keeps the counsel of an elven apostate. How much she herself believes she is the chosen one, I don't know. What is clear is that this Inquisition, if it grows, will have the power to change the political world of Thedas. I will stay and observe, and ensure that there is a place for the Dalish in that new world." - Letter to Keeper Deshanna, from Ashanna Lavellan.
“You know, that plan really should not have worked.”
Anora raised a brow but was inclined to agree.
“I’m shocked too, Master Tethras. The Seeker can actually lie.”
“A hole in the sky that’s crapping demons and a woman who fell out of the Fade, yet that’s gotta be the most astounding thing I’ve seen all year.”
Cassandra glared at him. “I’m right here. And I told you I could - I was the Right Hand of the Divine.”
“But isn’t lying and sneaking more of Nightingale’s thing?” asked Varric.
Cassandra shrugged. “There have been times when deceit was needed.”
“I would have thought his fear of blood magic would drive him to question any who showed up at his camp,” said Solas.
“He almost did, when we started speaking about the King's Highway and Fort Connor.”
“We were tested at the entrance,” said Cassandra. Anora raised a brow, and the Seeker smiled faintly, “Ah, I forgot not everyone is lyrium attuned. Remember when I spoke of sensing magic? The Templar that first greeted us tried to detect the influence of magic on us. Fortunately, he found nothing.”
“What about the mark?” asked Anora.
Cassandra’s brow furrowed and then she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she looked surprised. “I can sense nothing on you.”
“The mark does not exude magic. It is only activated in the presence of a rift, it seems,” said Solas.
Anora looked down at her hand. “Well… that’s certainly good… because I had not thought of that before strolling into the camp,” she breathed.
Solas grinned. “You are possessed of a strange luck.”
“That means: Everything that happens to you is weird,” drawled Varric with a grin.
“I cannot dispute that,” said Anora, returning his grin. “Let us hope nothing too strange happens with the Horsemaster.”
She spoke to soon. As the farmhold came into view, an unholy howl pierced the air around then, splitting the ear and raising hairs. Instinctively they all spun to face the sound, to see three massive black wolves charging at them.
Anora brought her shield up just in time to block the feral canines lunge, the weight of it nearly throwing her off her feet.
She side-stepped and slammed the edge of the shield down onto the beast's head. It staggered, giving Anora time to draw the dagger from her back and stab it through the neck. Dark blood gushed out of the wound when she wrenched the dagger free, covering her leather gloves with hot, sticky ichor.
She winced in disgust but ignored it to focus on the rest.
Cassandra was wrestling with the other one, the Seeker had one hand under its head, holding back its snapping teeth, and the other scrambling behind her back for her dagger. She eventually yanked it out and stabbed it into the wolf's neck, as Anora had, but pulled the knife out slowly, and the blood poured into the dirt.
Solas had conjured an ice spell with his hands, conjuring a wall of frost that stopped the wolf mid lunge, leaving it a frozen ice statue, and upon seeing the other two quelled, studied the newly created ice sculpture with interest.
"Well that was unexpected." Varric groused, having just drawn Bianca.
"I agree. Normal wolves do not attack with such ferocity," said Solas.
"A demon may have taken control of the pack," suggested Cassandra.
Solas nodded. "Indeed. Look at its eyes."
The eyes were in fact glowing green, now that they were looking at it. "Demons can possess animals?" asked Anora.
"Spirits and demons can possess any living host. Mages are simply preferable," said Solas.
"Great. I suppose the farmers wouldn't mind if we looked into that," Varric deadpanned.
Anora hummed in agreement. "More as likely they're going to ask us to deal with them in exchange for the horses."
"I, too, wouldn't mind freeing this pack from a demons influence," said Solas.
"And we will. Still, lets speak with the horsemaster first, having him believe he owes us for the wolves will make getting the horses easier." Anora said.
"Shrewd." Solas responded.
"It's Dennet." Anora said.
"You know this horsemaster?" asked Varric.
"He supplied the Crown with horses, back before the fifth blight. Wouldn't move a hair of one of them until the bridge was fixed though."
"You wouldn't happen to be talking about that broken down bridge we saw on the way over here would you?" asked Varric with a cheeky grin.
Anora bit back a sigh, "It was fixed. At least ten years ago it was, when I had to come here personally to make sure of it."
"Being a monarch sounds exhausting," said Varric.
Anora snorted with a small grin. "You don't know the half of it. Most of my time was spent making sure people did what I had asked."
The farmhold came into sight, it was in a valley, flanked by steep hills to the south and the river to the north. Horses milled about in a large field. Powerful beasts, their musculature evident in the bright dawn light.
Anora spotted a woman weaving through them, tall and strong, as all Fereldan farm stock were. It created a situation where one stood out in a crowd of nobles; your natural height and stockier build marked you as a farmer's child, not a noble's.
Finally, they crested a hill where a large house sat, flanked by a few round huts with small patches of wheat and other vegetables. An old woman was tending to one of them, as she regarded their group with open suspicion. She straightened, drawing to a height that was close to Anora's own - meaning she towered over everyone else - and walked up to them slowly, keeping her small shovel in hand.
Anora knew what a vicious weapon that could be when wielded by elderly farmers, and kept her hands away from her sword and raised, advising Cassandra and Varric to do the same. As a mage, evident from the staff, there was nothing Solas could do to appease fereldan suspicion, so he just stayed back.
Carefully, Anora removed her helmet, and the old woman relaxed slightly, but kept her gaze narrowed.
"What seek you here, girl?"
"We are with the Inquisition, madam. We come to speak with the Horsemaster."
"Need horses do you? Aye we can provide, what cause do you serve?"
"The Inquisition means to close the Breach."
"Those portals that keep spitting out demons and monsters?"
Anora nodded,"Those are caused by the Breach. They are appearing all over Thedas. The Inquisition means to close them."
"And I'm assuming you actually can?"
Anora nodded stiffly, "We can. And we have."
The old woman came right up to Anora, gazing over her face and into her eyes. "You look familiar girl…"
Familiar but not an immediate recognition. A testament to how much her appearance had changed over the years.
Scarred, age beyond her years evident in the newfound wrinkles about her eyes and the hollows of her cheeks. Not to mention her hair, short and slicked back, not the regal tresses of the past.
Anora afforded the woman a smile and bowed her head in an attempt at gallantry.
"Anora Mac Tir," she held out her hand, "We met years ago, I came here to inspect horses for the Crown."
The woman nearly jumped out of her skin. She flushed from neck to to crown, and stumbled over her words.
"Maker's breath you're the Queen!? I-" she remembered herself and took Anora's hand in both her own. "I apologise for my impertinence, your… well I don't know how to address you now."
"Well I am not the Queen anymore, that is well behind me, Madame. They're calling me the Herald of Andraste, as you've probably heard but please, just 'Anora' works perfectly well. Your name is?"
"Elaina, my lady. Maker, I am so sorry to not have recognised you. They said you were in exile…"
"The Maker had other plans for me."
Elaina nodded slowly and took in the party behind her. "So it would seem."
They fell into discussion of the horses and the Inquisition's need for them as they walked up to the main house. Cassandra, Varric and Solas stayed near but let Anora be led off by Elaina into the main house.
"Dennet, the Inquisition is here!"
"What in blazers do they- Maker you're really her?" Dennet came to a halt at the stairs, smoking pipe in hand, and eyes wide at Anora's appearance. Internally she was rather amused by their reactions to her presence.
"Recognised me faster than your wife did, Dennet." She afforded the woman a teasing smile as she said it. Elaina flushed again.
The man barked a laugh laced with incredulity and shook his head. "There were rumours from passing travellers, that the old queen was back from exile as the Maker's chosen. Seemed a load of hogwash."
Anora was inclined to agree as far 'Maker's Chosen' went but she did not voice that. Instead she raised her hand, where the mark glowed faintly.
"More like a victim of His strange machinations. I survived the Breach only to be cursed with the only method of closing it."
"Well, in that case, I would humbly ask you to look into that 'Rift' as folk are calling them that spawned up on the hill."
Anora started. "A rift that close?"
"Encountered them on the way here did you? Aye, we've had a run of rotten luck it seems. We've been managing to hold them off - both demons from the hill and the wolves - through the assistance of the Dalish if you can believe it."
"The dalish?"
"Aye, Therio and Ashanna Lavellan. Therio's set himself up on a ledge near the rift, he's been keeping the demons back with his bow. Ashanna, last I remember, was looking for the damned druffalo that ran off."
"I shall go deal with it now, we can discuss the horses further when this threat is dealt with."
Therio was perched on a rock with a pipe in his right hand and his bow in his left. His dusty blonde hair was cut short, in a sharp fade. His skin was tan, and mildly sun burnt from the constant exposure. He smelled of the sheep fat he had used to cover himself but the sun of mid-Wintermarch was harsh. He was watching the hill, but turned at their approach. He took in their mismatched party quickly.
"A dwarf, a Seeker, a bald elf apostate and a towering Fereldan walk into a bar." He drawled.
"Haven't heard that one before," Varric murmured.
"Therio I take it? Dennet mentioned you had been helping him with the rift."
Therio sighed and took a pull of the pipe. "I am indeed. And who might you be?"
"Anora, with the Inquisition. Varric, Cassandra and Solas. Well met."
"An eclectic bunch you lot certainly are. To answer: yes. The thing is not closing any time soon it appears. Creators, I'm tired."
"You're in luck friend! The one person in the face of Thedas who can close these things just showed up," Varric said with a cheer.
Therio raised a brow, his Vallaslin scrunching with the motion.
"It's a long story, Master Lavellan. A demonstration however, is now freely available," Anora said, drawing her blade and making for the top of the hill.
They closed the rift, Therio had been mildly impressed and offered to join their party as they went to take on the wolves. They came to gorge that the wolves had settled in, and that coincided with the closing of yet another rift. As they sealed it, Ashanna came up the stream, lugging a druffalo behind her.
She thanked them for clearing the way, the rift had spawned in the time she had left to find the druffalo.
Ashanna joined them, and they cleared the wolves from the ravine, and slay the terror demon that had possessed it.
Solas explained that the rifts had made the veil weaker, and while a demons were coming out of them, or rather being pulled through, the more craft denizens of the Fade were still able to work machinations in the minds of men and beasts. All the magic being thrown around by the apostates was also not helping.
Anora pointed out that that meant a mundane person may also be possessed, and such cases may become very common in the future. Solas had spoken off artifacts he knew of in ruins that could help to strengthen the veil.
Cassandra had reiterated that that is why they needed more Templars at Haven as well.
"Our numbers at Haven are just enough to maintain their vigil."
Solas perked up, "I have been meaning to ask about your abilities, Seeker. I have observed the Templars conducting these 'vigils' to stabilise the veil, but I did not wish to ask any of them for further explanation."
Cassandra looked surprised for a moment, and then somewhat delighted by Solas' scholarly curiosity.
While the Seeker happily explained the Templars abilities, Anora chewed on the matter of the Templars and how to get them. Kirkwall had served as an example of what happened when the Order was… frankly useless. The Veil in Kirkwall was sheer, so much so that in her time in the Undercity, she herself had had dealt with demonically possessed people and corpses.
An entire city full of the armoured gits and never did Meredith actually bother to do anything about the demons under her feet.
Or maybe she had tried. In the end the city had been purged of Magi by fire.
Nausea overcame her and she almost threw up.
"You alright there, Frosty?" Varric asked, noticing.
"I'm fine. Just nausea. Probably just really hungry."
They were hosted for a meal from Elaina - a simple fair but none the less nourishing. In greater spirits, and with fatigue from the long day of combat weighing on them, they set a camp near the river, with Dennet's consent.
He was happy to allow the Inquisition a presence near his farm - on the condition that the soldiers did not disturb the farmhands.
They had picked up plenty of recruits in the Crossroads, young men and women happy to join up to the cause of someone wanting to do something about the chaos - and because their old lives were gone, they had nowhere else to turn.
A young person longed for nothing if not purpose, and the Inquisition offered that much.
Anora spent the next day at a desk, in a tent set-up as her make-shift office back in the main camp at the Crossroads.
Dennet was not going to send any horses anywhere if the Roads were not more secured. That meant the construction of watchtowers. First order of business thus was sending a raven to Josephine, so that the ambassador could get consent from Arl Teagan, and Bann Vaera of Edgehall, since the portion of the King's Highway they needed to secure went through their lands.
If the Inquisition offered to pay for the necessary lumber and offer the soldiers for the construction, Anora had no doubt that they would be amenable. It was a favour for a favour, however, and in the future the Inquisition would owe the Nobility.
In the meanwhile, Therio and Ashanna had offered to join the Inquisition. They went off to scout along the Highway to mark locations for the towers. Ashanna had suggested that their Keeper, Deshanna, could be amiable to working with the Inquisition as well. Savvy, Anora thought. Keep track of the Shemlen world as it goes through its changes, and ensure you make the right friends.
The Cultists at Winterswatch Tower sheltered many more in their keep, and had mage-healers in their number who tended to wounded, sick and injured.
Anora only hoped that religious tension did not spark.
The cultists had started to view Anora as a the Chosen of Andraste as well, and the word spread through the people of the Crossroads. As she passed, heads bowed, and they started calling her 'Your Reverence' as if she were a Cleric. It disturbed her fiercely, but it did mean people got along. Some did argue against her apparent immaculate divinity, but they were overshadowed by the legend of the woman that seemingly held power over these rifts.
It was a sickening clarity that she realised, that a new theology was being born here, with her at its centre.
A conversation with Solas, quietly over a tea he brought her in her tent, had driven that point home.
"You do not believe you are actually this 'Maker's Chosen?" He had asked, his eyes telling her he knew her answer.
"No, I do not. I see no evidence that that actually was Andraste. But now, they all look to me like I am the prophetess reincarnate."
Solas' eyes went a bit distant, "You do look like her."
"That is unnerving."
"It is, is it not? To be rendered into an image, an idol? To have others decide divinity for you. Do you not wander, perhaps, that Andraste went through exactly what you are experiencing now?"
Anora had wondered. Andraste had risen her people against the Tevinter Imperium, and after her death had been sanctified. Before this, Anora had never truly even thought about it. Andraste's Divinity had been just one of those things she had taken for granted. Both the Chantry, and her Mother's faith had declared it so. Whether Andraste was the Bride of the Maker, or the Chosen of the Wolf as the Brecili had it, either way, she had acted with Divine Mandate.
Now Anora say there, staring down at the oak-wood talisman of Andraste - carved by her mother for her tenth birthday - she felt a connection to this woman of a millennium past.
"You can give them hope, however." Solas said, drawing her from her dour thoughts. "There is a great religious fervour here… and the people lash out confused and unknowing what to do with themselves."
"I have the power to restore order, with this title 'Herald of Andraste'? Maker's Breath, it feels blasphemous to use that title like that."
"Indeed I imagine it does. But if it stops the people from clawing each other's throats out now, I would say you have used it for a good reason."
She gave a speech, that at this time unity was far more important than any religious difference. That people needed to support each other through the current crisis and we could all argue about it later. It seemed to work, the Templar attacks had already flitted out with the Inquisition's recruited militia clearing the last of them from the hills. All that remained were the Apostates in the Witchwood.
The people raged. "Burn them!" they had yelled. A scuffle broke out as the mages in the crowd were turned on.
Anora had gestured to her soldiers and they forcibly intervened.
"The Mages here are just as you are, victims of those bastards in the hills! Magic is a gift from the Maker, foul are they who have corrupted its purpose, and blessed are they who use it for good! Do not attack your neighbour that heals your wounds."
The religious message plus the reminder that they were about to pummel their only source of vital life saving healing, calmed the crowd. They were calmed, but fury still lingered in the eyes of some. She could sense it, feel it, those that did not care but were long gone into the philosophy that magic was inherently evil.
"I will not suffer any mages harmed here. They are the Maker's Children as are any of you. Harm them, and you will know the Maker's wrath, for He despises what you do."
Her Will, as the Chosen of Andraste apparently, was that Mages were not an inherent evil. The word would spread, hopefully to the Rebel Mages in Redcliffe as well. Dealing with the Templars, however, was going to be very interesting.
Chapter 8: Return from the Hinterlands - More planning ahead
Summary:
Anora and co return from the Hinterlands, they discuss plans to go to Val Royeaux, and Cullen and Anora have a chat.
Chapter Text
Tamar reported in with the location of the Apostates in the Witchwood. They were held up in a cave, very conspicuously fortified in ice. Cassandra had led the operation to take them out, with Anora staying behind.
The Seeker went off with a group of twelve fighters, Varric, Solas, and Ashanna.
Anora found herself desk bound through all of it, sorting through missives from Haven. It had set her on edge. Her companions were out there, risking their lives and here she was, contemplating whether to send a delegation of troops or diplomats to Teryn Fergus' vigil for the deceased Divine. Officially, they were just asking her opinion, but the intent was clear: they needed their inquisitor, and who better than the poor fool who had fallen from the rift?
She sighed, rubbing a hand along her brow then penned her response. The letter was written in short hand, and she had failed a few times with the tight scripting necessary for the raven messages, being miserably out of practice.
"Diplomats. Soldiers could be a threat, last thing we need. Need good word spread - T.F.C important potential ally."
Cassandra returned, grim faced. They had lost two soldiers in the fighting, their bodies frozen from mage-frost. A pyre and funeral was held, their personal affects sent with a letter to their families. Anora wrote them out herself.
She vowed to remember their names, portioning a section of her journal for it.
Wilfred of South Reach, and Alena of Oswin.
They would be commemorated in the annals of this Inquisition. She'd make sure of it.
"We managed to capture their leader." Cassandra explains, as she drops a bound man in front her. People gather, shouting murder. The Inquisition soldiers restrain them. They stood at the base of the statue of Tyrdda Bright-Axe, which sat at the centre of the village.
In the shadow of that hero of Ferelden, Anora stepped before the man.
"So you're the 'Herald of Andraste?' Are you going to exact your righteous wrath on me?" he spits.
Anora tilted her head.
"Why?"
"What?" he mutters.
"Why?"
"Why what, dog lord?"
Anora raised an eyebrow, "You burn my fucking homeland and then slur me in it. You sound like a Marcher."
"Kirkwall."
"Oh. Escaped Meredith's wrath did you? I was there, I know what happened."
The mage chuckled bitterly. "Anders struck the first blow. He knew what needed to be done."
Anora's teeth grit painfully. "And what was that?" she prodded.
"That if we are to live, the rest of you must die."
Ice could have dropped on her head and the effect would have been less staggering. Her hand moved before she could restrain herself. She backhanded him. He scowled back at her, blood dripping from his lip. There were a lot of eyes on her, she was trained enough to remember that after smacking him at least.
She did not give into the next urge which was to grab him by the throat. Instead, she leaned closer.
"Anders would have burnt you alive, you fucking prick. What is your name?"
"What do you know of Anders?"
She bit her tongue. Cassandra was right next to her, listening. Already the Seeker's stare was baring into her. She had to choose her words well.
"I was a Fereldan in the Undercity. He was a saviour, he worked to heal people. He cared about people."
"He blew up the Chantry," came the bland response.
" What was your plan? Kill every none mage here and take residence by force?"
"There is no other way we will be safe."
"Then you made a war you could not win. What is your name?"
"Fuck you."
"Well met, fuck you."
"Kill him, your reverence!" someone shouted. The crowd was demanding his blood. Mother Giselle approached her side, eyeing the man.
"He is scared. Fear is what drove this." She said. Cassandra scoffed, "Fear may as well be a reason, it is no excuse for any of this. Would you propose we show mercy?"
Giselle locked eyes with the Seeker for a moment, then turned her gaze to Anora. "The Prophetess knew when to show mercy. You have studied this, no?"
"They cry out for his blood, if you stay your hand, the people will be dissatisfied," Cassandra urged.
Solas had been quiet, but he spoke then. "There is wisdom to be found in staying your hand now, Herald."
Anora did not look at either of them, fixing the man in her gaze. "Justice is not merciful. That was lesson Kirkwall learnt the hard way. But I will not make you a martyr, mage. There are, however, laws in this land. Laws that all equal men must bend to. You have made war on the people of Ferelden, and do not say they made war on you. Alistair declared himself an ally of mages, and you ignored that in favour of violence. You will answer to the King's Justice."
"A wise decision, politically speaking." Solas said, his expression unreadable. Cassandra scowled, "I see what you are doing - fine."
"Put him in a cage, if you can find one, and have a guard posted outside of it all times, for now. Since Teagan is not here, we need to find the next bann who enact justice in his absence."
Ashanna spoke then, "If I may, that might be Bann Shiranna of the Redcliffe Alienage. She is still in the village. I could take this shem there."
Alistair's new system of an elven bann in every hold. Anora nodded, "Very well. Corporal, despatch some men to accompany Mistress Ashanna on this task. And," she fixed him a stern stare, "They are to heed her authority."
Whittle saluted. Ashanna raised a brow, "You put trust in me rather quickly, Herald."
"Something tells me I am not wrong to. May the Lady of the Forest watch over you, and keep Bragtharefur off your scent."
Now both brows rose, "A brecillian clayne?" She she cast an eye at the Seeker, who was a bit lost. "I wonder how they feel about that."
"What is she talking about?" Cassandra asked. Anora grinned wryly, "I will tell you later, Seeker."
Anora did not notice Solas' brow furrowing.
A sombre mood fell, as if the notion of the final victory over the horrors of the past month seemed so bittersweet to the people here. The notion that the fighting was finally done, did not inspire cheer, but instead there was a collective release of held breath, as at last, the people could turn their hearts to their grief for all that was lost.
Pyres were arranged for the many dead that had yet to be burned. The dead templars and magi were included, despite many a disapproving voice. However there was practicality to it - the dead could rise. No battlefield in Thedas was ever left unburned, for in the spilling of blood the Veil weakened at the cries of torment of the dead. Solas had approved, affirming the theory. Beyond that, there was the image of it. Benevolence, in a way. The highest teaching of Andraste was that all were made equal - as much as the modern Chantry liked to forget it.
As per Ferelden tradition, when sun lowered past the horizon, the flames were lit. Mother Giselle lead the prayer, and the Chant of Lamentation which detailed Andraste mourning those who died in her fight against the Tevene. She sung alone, her voice carrying over the crowd and the pyre-flames.
"You who walked beside me,
Into Darkness Unknown
Tears fall as rain on the mountain
You that enter His Golden Hall
Stand at His side
And Know that we sing your Names
As Victory beckons
A rift had been found in the Witchwood, Anora went off to close it. As is snapped shut, she fell to her knees. The searing pain was worse, like holding flame in your hand while it burned down to the very bone.
Solas was at her side immediately, holding her wrist and working magic that numbed her arm. It did not do much, she could still feel it. Vibrating and searing. Worse than that, it seemed to have gotten larger, with green tendril spreading like veins further down her wrist.
"It's getting worse Solas. Each rift I close it feels like its just getting bigger."
"The Mark is slowly expanding still," he said. There was a look of profound sorrow in his eyes as he said it.
"It's going to kill me isnt it? I'm not going to survive sealing the Breach." Anora said with a grim finality.
"Shit, didn't I tell you to run at the first opportunity?" Varric muttered.
Cassandra scowled at him, but did not respond to that. Rather she looked to Solas, "Is there nothing you can do?"
Solas' expression was carefully neutral. He can not promise my survival. Anora appreciated the honesty in that at least.
"I do not believe that closing the Breach will kill you, not if we prepare properly. I will look into making a more powerful means of containing it's power."
Anora held up her wrist, with the bracelet. It felt scorching hot to the touch. "You're going to have to cover me in these you know."
Solas' lip twitched in a smirk, "Hopefully not, it would look rather tacky."
"Did he just make a joke?" Varric asked voice strained.
Anora laughed, weak yet uncontrollable.
Cassandra helped her to her feet. "Come on, let us return to Haven, we must make for Val Royeaux soon."
When Anora arrived back in Haven, the village and surrounding camp had grown larger. They were met at barricaded checkpoint, and taken up to the town for there. She sat with a goblet of mulled wine, as she explained what had transpired in the Hinterlands in Lady Josephine's office.
It was still time yet before the next war council, after Mother Giselle had settled in.
Josephine listened to everything she said attentively, wincing at the more gruesome parts.
"It was wise to give the apostate you caught over to the authority of Redcliffe" Josephine said. "It is good to set the notion that we are not acting above the law."
Anora smiled a bit before she could help herself. Josephine was a sight she needed after all of that. The Ambassador was in her chair, her hair swept into a plaited crown, though curls hung loose over her cheeks and neck. Josephine was wearing darker colours today, a rich blue blouse with her signature ruffles over a marroon skirt and an almost navy silk leggings.
Josephine's eyes narrowed somewhat though, and she twirled the quill in her fingers. "However, it could also be said that it was Seeker Cassandra's right to execute him."
"That may be, but the choice was given to me. As a lot of things seem to be."
"Indeed, yet, your decision also marks that Ferelden has the authority to deal with magi criminals on their own." Josephine laced the words with care yet they were sharp all the same.
"You believe I would support my homeland gaining more authority over the mages within its own borders, rather than be reliant upon the Chantry?"
Josephine's lip twitched, "I would hardly say I believe it, your worship, when I could say I know it for sure. The Chantry will not be happy with that."
"The Chantry wants to hang me as it is. Frankly, King Alistair's opinion is more important to me."
Josephine raised an eyebrow, "That could cast doubt on your loyalty to our cause in the hearts of some."
"And why is that?" she asked, taking a sip. "What is our cause, Lady Josephine?"
As if perfectly prepared for the question, Josephine answered, "To close the Breach, primarily, and find and apprehend the one responsible. However, people are going to support us based on what influence we are going to have over the Chantry in the meantime."
"Fair enough. But surely you know it well, how nations chafe under the Chantry's policies?"
Josephine's lip twitched in a smile and she shook her head. "Oh I know all too well. But, not all nations are as Ferelden and Antiva, others are very loyal to the faith. Especially the Free Marches. Especially after Kirkwall."
Anora winced and Josephine gave her an inquisitive look.
"You have not spoken much of your time in Kirkwall, although you should know Leliana and Cullen have been doing some digging."
"They will not find anything I am not willing to share openly."
"Why Kirkwall?"
"I left the city right as the Darkpsawn attacked. They lay siege to the city. I was in Fort Drakon - the prison of Denerim. In the chaos of the siege, my handmaiden broke me out."
"Quite a resourceful handmaiden," Josephine remarked.
"She had help. But my escape was getting onto a ship that was leaving the city. I did not choose where it was going, I just got on. I arrived in Kirkwall. And I just… stayed…"
Anora went quiet, staring into one of the many candles that lit the ambassador's office. It reminded her of Kirkwall's chantry, the millions of red candles lining the base of the massive statue of Andraste the Righteous. It brought back the smell of the incense, the beautiful harmony of the Chant Recitation, the peace in those walls that was always there, but a strange peace. An uncomfortable peace. Like the silence in-between her parents arguing.
Andraste the Righteous cast a different aura than the Supplicant or the Merciful, or even the Valiant. Andraste glared. The glaring in those eyes, in the statue that had been built by Tevinter hand, glared and glared, anger and almost hatred searing in her gaze as she looked over the City. How could Andraste be depicted so? She was always watching, even after you left the Chantry her eyes-
Anora blinked. Shaken from her reverie by Josephine softly saying her name.
"Oh… I apologise I…" she downed the wine, her nerves on fire. She breathed, slowly, then exhaled.
"Are you alright?" Josephine had reached over and placed her hand on Anora's. She froze, the warmth of it like a lighting. She willed herself to stay still, to not yank the hand away reflexively. Her mind caught up to it, and the anxiety was washed away in a frankly girlish excitement to be having contact with the ambassador.
"I am, thank you, I am now. I don't know what happened there."
"You must tired from the Hinterlands and your journey back. We can call a rest before we proceed with the next meeting…"
"No, no I am fine. Well, fine enough for that. We need to talk about Val Royeaux, I'd rather get that done and over with and then get some sleep."
"It is a security risk," Leliana had said tightly.
"That is always inevitable with being a public figure. It is no more risky than sending me out into the Hinterlands personally. We cannot afford to hide, I will need to appear publicly eventually." Anora said. Cassandra was coming with, along with Varric and Solas. That would have to do as a security detail.
What remained of the Chantry Hierarchy was in Val Royeaux, convening at the Grand Cathedral. That Anora should appear there would send a message.
"Let them see you for who you are, we can make our case there as we did in Edgehall. Although, the clerics may be harder to convince," said Josephine.
"I never even imagined going to Val Royeaux, truthfully. I knew I would someday, but these circumstances are certainly far different," Anora mused.
The Commander's brow was a furrow, she noticed. He had not stopped frowning at her from when they entered the village. Something was amiss there.
"What of Empress Celene?" Anora asked.
"Empress Celene is currently in Halamshiral. She cannot leave to Val Royeaux, as most of Orlais has become a war zone," Josephine answered.
The state of southern Thedas was a mess, Anora mused to herself. The most powerful empire in the continent was ripping itself apart, Ferelden was just recovering from the Blight and then the Mage-Templar conflict nearly destroyed it again. Then the rifts happened.
"We will have to deal with her eventually," Leliana said. "But at present, there is nothing we can do for her to bring her on side. We have to deal with the Chantry ourselves."
"And that is the trouble," Anora said, folding her arms. "I still am not quite convinced this will accomplish anything, other than giving them a portrait of what the upstart heretic looks like."
"Not quite pointless, Herald." Leliana said, "There is more to Val Royeaux than the Chantry alone, more eyes will be on you than just there."
Anora hid a wince, "The Grand Game, of course."
"The support of the nobility would be invaluable, whatever allies that we may be able to bring to our cause." Josephine placed a letter on the table, "As it appears, you have a headstart on that already. You have been cordially invited to attend the Soirree of Lady Vivienne, First Enchanter of Monstimmard."
"She leads the last of the Loyalist mages, Herald." Cullen said, finally interjecting into the conversation. "Redcliffe may prove unnecessary with her aid."
Anora caught, for the briefest instance, the shadow of scowl from Leliana aimed at the Commander.
"Perhaps, perhaps not. She may not have enough…?"
"She might just," Cullen pressed. "First Enchanter Theodorian has made a recovery in the infirmary while you were away," There was a look in Cullen's eye and a tightness of his tone that suggested some emotion at this. Theodorian had been the First Enchanter of Kinloch Hold, she recalled, but she did not know anything else about him.
"Most of the magi that followed him perished in the blast, and those that survived are in our ranks now. Vivienne was not the only loyalist mage left after the rebellion."
"So, you're saying together they might make up enough mage-power to fuel the mark?" Anora asked.
Cullen shrugged, "I cannot say for certain. But to that end I would press that approaching the Templars would be better. They can weaken the breach, while the magi we have strengthens the Mark. Theodorian said it might be possible."
"I would rather consult Solas first," Anora said carefully. Cullen scowled, "Too much magic poured into the Mark may kill us all. Leave the apostates at Redcliffe to their fate."
His tone carried such outright hostility, that Anora could not help but bristle. But, she leashed her annoyance, and responded in a voice she hoped would not insinuate conflict.
"I hear your point, Commander. The Mark is already getting worse." The statement stunned the room.
"Getting worse?" Josephine echoed, her voice higher in surprise.
Anora nodded and raised her hand, where tendrils of the mark grew further down her wrist. "With each rift I close, it worsens. Almost like a scar that keeps being re-opened." She willed her voice not to shake, "I think the Breach might kill me. One rift is enough to send me to my knees. I cannot imagine what the Breach may be like."
"Then perhaps the Templars are the better idea." Josephine said. Anora met her eyes and was taken aback by the open concern there.
"I'll second that." Cullen said.
Leliana seemed somewhat displeased, but whatever objection she had she kept to herself. Instead she said, "Very well. If it is the Templars you wish to deal with, then we must begin gathering what allies we can to pressure them into talking with you. Josephine and I will get started on that, but your journey to Val Royeaux can help."
Anora was not happy with the idea either. The thought of dealing with the Order, especially after everything she had witnessed in Kirkwall rankled her. The notion that the Order had broken off and was now aimless and gathering in Ferelden rankled her all the worse. And on top of that, Alistair had some goal in mind with the mages. Or he had to have, since it was him that had been funding the effort to bring mages out of Kirkwall and into Ferelden for years prior. She did not know if the Inquisition knew about it, and it was not time yet to bring that up.
"Let's leave that option open for now. Solas said he has some ideas for how to successfully close the Breach. And I'd rather work with willing magi allies than begrudging Templars."
Cullen scowled. "You would bring Magi here? Under the Breach, so many in our ranks when we hardly have the Templars necessary to contain them?"
"If your issue is logistical, Commander, I trust you have the capability to make it work." She shot back.
"That is quite a tall order."
"I understand that, Commander, but I urge you to remember our mission is to bring peace. It can start here, with templars and mages living a bit more cooperatively."
"That is optimistic of you." Leliana drawled. "I believe even the Commander himself would call that impossible."
Cullen glared the Sister, but seemed to deflate from his defensiveness.
"Enough of that for now, we are still miles off from all of that," Anora said. "Let's get back to discussing Val Royeaux."
Anora had gone down to the training yard for her daily torture at the hands of Cassandra. But before she went to find the Seeker, she went to the Commander.
They spoke of the troops for a time, then that same frown overcame him.
"Forgive my bluntness, Commander, but I have noticed a certain tension between us. I must ask, what is the matter?"
Cullen's eyes were hard as steel. "I had not wanted to confront you, I admit. But I had looked into your background with Sister Leliana more. Not your time as Ferelden's Queen, but your time in Kirkwall."
Oh. Shit.
Anora did not let the trepidation at this confrontation show. "The Mage Underground I assume." She began carefully.
His scowl confirmed it. "How many of those apostates that tore the Hinterlands apart, that continue to tear the land apart, are there as direct result of you?"
"I imagine some, but hardly all." She shot back. She folded her arms, "I will not stand here and claim the life I had in Kirkwall was lawful, Commander. It certainly was not. But I arrived in that city with nothing. There were not a lot of options, honest work as a Ferelden was more rare than a laugh from a Chanter."
"So you took to smuggling?" he said with heat.
"Suited me better than whoring," she deadpanned. He blinked, flushed a little. He sighed, "I take your point, your Worship."
"The past is the past. Yes, I helped mages get out of the Gallows. Deem that as a sin if you must, though I would take it more as a testament to the conditions they faced there than anything else."
"It is not an easy thing to contain the Magi. Do you think it was easy to restrain mages who wanted to work with demons? They are not like you and I," he voice was taut.
Anora's felt her teeth grind. "I know exactly how dangerous mages are, Commander."
He raised an incredulous brow, "Really? I find that hard to believe since you are so unrepentant to your involvement in the Underground."
"I lived in the Undercity. You know, where blood magic covens lurked?"
"You've dealt with blood mages?" he hissed.
Anora sighed. He was such a brilliant man when he wanted to be, yet he could be so disappointingly obtuse. "Dealt with in the sense of killed them? Yes."
That gave him pause. She was not aware that she started shaking until the damned Mark started burning again. She breathed deep, even as memory came back. Unbidden memory.
"They preyed on the fereldans that had been forced to live in that horrid place. They kidnapped people - lured them with promises of safety. And they stalked the rest of the city. I know what it feels like to be under a blood mage's spell." She bit the last sentence out through ground teeth.
Cullen's mouth dropped open ever slightly. "You fell victim to a blood mage?"
"Yes." The dreams in the dark, voices in her head that were not hers. Her body moving without her consent, without any thought, her hands forced to kill.
"I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" she spat with a shaky voice. "You lot spent too much time terrorising children while covens operated under your feet. They laughed at you, at your orders impotence and frankly they were right."
"Anora." His use of her given name stalled her. It was deeply unlike him, and she realised he was standing closer now. "I won't make any excuses for the order's failings. We were the largest force in the Marches, yet could not contain the threat within… I…" his hand raked through is hair.
"I know what you went through." He said at last.
"How could you?"
"Because it happened to me too."
Silence rang out between them. He was silently grappling with words, she could see that. And damn it she hated how vulnerable she felt right then. This was not something she wanted to talk about and yet he had brought it out of her. But there was sincerity in his eyes, creased with sorrow. "We can talk in my tent if you would prefer. If you want to talk about it," he said added quickly.
Anora shook her head, "Thank you for the offer. Listen, look. Fear, paranoia…those things will not get you the security you want. The treatment of mages in the Circle, that was what caused this. You know that right?"
He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. He was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "The Mages rebelled from the Circle not for power. Most of them anyway." He shook his head, "I believed once that I was protecting mages from the world. That the Templars were the keepers of their sanctuary. But mages are susceptible to corruption, and the lure of power."
"But they are still people, Commander."
There was a silence for a time. Cullen looked at her sidelong, "True. I had told myself Meredith's methods were necessary. That mages could not be treated like people. But when you treat people like caged animals…"
Cullen's eyes were tired. A sorrow so profound it hurt to behold. "You were there that day?"
A ball of ice lodged itself in her throat, but she nodded.
He glared at the snow. "Meredith wanted that outcome. She squeezed and squeezed, and eventually, it popped. Anders gave her exactly the excuse she wanted. She did not even punish him."
"Knowing that, can you understand why the Mage Underground even existed? It was no network of conspiring maleficarum. It was scared people, fleeing a burning trap."
Cullen nodded absently. Then he grinned, lopsided and dry. "Well, let's hope Varric's scheme in the tavern works. Unification between mage and templar, now that is quite the miracle to be performed."
Anora grinned back, "What's another miracle? Come on, let's talk of other things. Josephine mentioned to me you wanted trebuchets, I am happy to report that we may be able to find funding for them…"
That lit him up like a beacon, and he proceeded to regale her with his plans on how to fortify Haven against an attack, the best place to put them, designs for a better outer wall. She listened attentively, making mental notes here and there, and already planning on how to translate his pitches to something that poor Josephine would not immediately turn down due to costs.
Chapter 9: Stolen Legends and Schisms
Summary:
Anora gets a hair cut and a new outfit, chats about Ferelden legends with Cass, and learns of an unacceptable Hard in Hightown fraudster on the lose.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Just before leaving for Val Royeaux, the Inquisition had received a formal invitation to attend a soirree by one Lady Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard. There was the matter of an appropriate wardrobe to wear to Val Royeaux. In that, Anora once again faced the problem of a lacking tailor at the camp.
Josephine brought it up first, while they worked together as usual in the Ambassador's office.
"I had garments in mind, but I wanted to run it past you first, your Worship."
Josephine presented her with drawings of rather fashionable, and rather elaborate dresses. "These are Orlesian designs, although I imagine you would not find them suitable?"
Anora stared down at the diagrams. For one, yes, the gaudy orlesian fashion sense did rankle her somewhat but that was not the problem alone. "I… suppose a dress would be most appropriate?" Anora said with an unsure tone. Something had awoken in her, like an itch in the back of her mind. It had started when she tried on a dress someone had managed to find and adjust to her measurements in her quarters.
There was a wrongness. Both in how it felt, and how it looked when she beheld herself in the mirror.
She had had to return the outfit she had borrowed for the hearing with Alistair to Bann Hamly, who had taken it back with some reluctance. Eventually, he refused. "It is my honour to give what I can to this inquisition. I do what I can with what means I have.. mostly supplying the Commander with what troops I could arrange from Ridderby."
A knot had grown in Anora's stomach at those words, but that she could hash out with Josephine later. On the one hand, the soldiers doubled as humanitarian forces, to assist with rebuilding efforts in the Hinterlands and other places, that the Inquisition offered out as a service. On the other, Fereldan nobility were pledging themselves to her. Denerim loomed on the horizon, King Alistair's patience would have it's limits.
"But please, consider this a gift I can give to you, your Worship."
The newfound honorific followed her around the village most disconcertingly.
She thanked the man. That was the outfit she wore around the most, with a fur coat in the evening chill. It felt right. It felt comfortable. When she looked in the mirror, she felt at ease with herself.
At present, she shook her head. "It is not merely that they are orlesian dresses, my Lady. But that they are dresses." She felt awkward, a sheepish feeling overcoming her.
Josephine however did not judge her at all as she feared. Understanding seemed to find itself in the antivan's gaze. "Ah, I see. So you do prefer masculine attire?"
Anora shrugged a little helplessly.
"It is not uncommon. In Antiva, expression of gender is lot more fluid. There are feminine and masculine fashions, and there-in pinnacles of either to aspire to, but they are not based on your body alone."
"It is unheard of in Ferelden. Men and women can do the same tasks, but fashion has always been divided." Anora was growing increasingly more captivated by the idea of going to Antiva one day, the more time she spent with Josephine.
"I see, well, as daring and scandalous your decision might be in Ferelden, you will find less of that in Orlais."
And her mood soured again at the reminder that she had to go there. "I suppose gender is just another mask for them? Interchangeable as anything else?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. And to that end, I have found a solution for the time being, until we can arrange a tailor."
And that was how Anora once again met Theodorian. The man was standing somewhat limp, but stubbornly upright. His face was covered in bandages. It had been a miracle he survived the blast. He had left the Temple just in time, to have made enough distance from it down to the town of Haven when suddenly it exploded.
Anora had pointed out the convenience of his departure, but Theodorian had relented that he had been going to speak with Sister Leliana, who confirmed it.
Accusations aside, the man was cordial with her, and seemingly willing to lend her a suit. In fact, he had an absolute blast while doing it, turning her this way and that, and having her try on a full range of clothing. The man was a mage, marcher by name, fereldan by accent, and yet his time in the Circle of Monstimmard had shaped him thusly, that he partook in the court life and as such, had many an outfit. That he brought all of it with him to the conclave - because Maker forbid he repeat an outfit - spoke of such vanity that could only come with being absorbed into Orlesian culture.
Anora would privately admit she was enjoying it. She had not expected to receive this welcoming attitude. And it was nice, to wear nice things again… she was not above admitting that.
It was rather orlesian. Silk hose, breeches, an admittedly beautifully embroidered waistcoat and a rich blue overcoat. She looked, as she beheld herself, very Orlesian yet not so over-the-top that her skin crawled.
"You look rather dashing, your Worship." Josephine said, her eyes somewhat bright as she studied Anora from head to toe. Suddenly, Anora found that she loved this outfit. She flushed, despite herself , "Thank you, my Lady."
"It would not do to come before Lady Vivienne in anything less than your best, I know her quite well." Theodorian said.
"What can you tell me about her?" Anora asked, while a man by the name of Desmond sat her down in front of a vanity and threw a leather drape over her. He bore the sunburst mark of the tranquil on his forehead, and begun the task of cutting her hair with a precise focus.
He was Theodorian's aide. Anora noticed the sharpness of his eyes though, even tranquil as he was, there was an air about him that set her on edge. Not quite anxiety or discomfort, just the fact that she knew he was taking note of everything she said and did. It was always important to be able to identify someone that observant.
"She is not called the Iron Lady - Madame de Fer - for no reason," Theodorian began, while Desmond began measuring out chunks of her hair with a discerning eye. It had grown out rather haphazardly from the time of the conclave. The last time she had managed to cut it was just before she left Kirkwall, and she had done that herself without a mirror.
Her hair growing out was strange. She had kept it short for the last decade, both out of the need to not be recognisable, and practicality. She pondered if she would grow it again - as custom of Ferelden noblemen and women alike - and style it this time as her father or Cailan had.
"She is the First Enchanter of Montsimmard, and leads the largest group of Loyalist mages. The Tower of Montsimmard still remains."
"Why did they not rebel?" asked Anora.
"They are Orlesian mages, your worship. More so than even those in the White Spire at Val Royeaux could ever claim to be. They will not move till they know which breeze is most favourable."
"And right now," Josephine added, "That may very well be this Inquisition. I have no doubt Lady Vivienne sees an alliance with us as an opportunity to secure power and stability in the future."
"Quite right," Theodorian responded, "The Inquisition will have great influence on the course that the Chantry will take. Madame de Fer will want to be on the right side of history."
"Why was she not at the conclave then?" Anora asked, keeping her head as still as she could whilst Desmond began to snip away at her hair with a dainty scissor.
"Well, why would she be? The Conclave was to be between the Mages who declared themselves independent, and the Templar Order, and Divine Justinia. Two warring factions who had split from the Chantry."
"And Lady Vivienne never split. I see. And you were there because?"
Theodorian huffed, settling himself into a chair. "I was hoping to push for an independent Circle to ally with King Alistair - that was the happiest course of outcome for my people. Unfortunately most of them are dead now."
"You wanted an alliance with Alistair?" And also the tone he used was jarringly sulky and boyish when talking about his people being dead, Anora noted with disconcert.
"Yes." He replied blandly, "I was no loyalist. My vision for the circle is one of wealth and prosperity. Magic can bring so much good to the land - healing, enchanting, building - and yet the Chantry hampered us, by putting a sanction on our services."
Anora resisted the urge to nod - the scissor was at her ears - but she agreed with his sentiment. "I recall. Exorbitant payments had to be made to the Chantry to even have hospitals in most of the cities, and not to mention the sheer cost of getting mages for the war effort during the Blight."
"Oh and do trust that not a copper of that was seen by a mage doing all the bloody work! His Majesty and I were working on something."
She would have done the same thing in Alistair's place. She hoped for her King's sake he was truly ready to face the consequences of a schism… if a schism even happened. The new Divine Candidate could be one who could allow rulers to gain sovereignty over the Circles in their countries. An interesting thought - how possible that seemed however was another matter.
"The Merchant Princes have been angling for similar things," Josephine added, "They have pressing for more magic services in Antiva for years. Magic is rather profitable."Her eyes lit up as they always did when she spoke of her home land. "In fact, there is a very famous document, the Rialto Proposal, made to the Chantry very recently. The denied it, but it does outline the way that magical services would be implemented into the economy."
"Yes! The Rialto Proposal! A thing of absolute beauty! The Circles there, upon defecting, have had a lot more success than I ended up with."
The Mage-Templar conflict was a bit less violent in Antiva, from what Anora proceeded to summarise from Theodorian and Josephine's tangent. An alliance between two fraternities - political parties within the circle - called the Lucrosians and the Libertarians, had been working in secret on a plot with the Merchant Princes. The result had been a mini-civil war and an outright war with the Templar Order. The result was an assassinated Grand Cleric, half the templar order expunged and the other half incorporated into the new Antivan Order, the Cavalieri Templari dell'Ordine Antivano.
"Maker, I had heard the rumours of what happened in Antiva, but the Princes have truly managed to wrest complete control of the Circles away from Orlais… and the Chantry within as well, although that is likely not going to go smoothly in the coming days."
Antiva was likely to be excommunicated… unless the reports that Nevarra was going to do the same thing were true - then the Chantry could ill afford to do that. From the looks of it, only the Free Marches still remained fully loyal to the Chantry outside of Orlais. An errant thought occurred to her… half of Southern Thedas was plotting schism… and the Divine had been assassinated…
Josephine came behind her, appearing in the mirror and distracting her from her thoughts.
"No, not likely. Justinia, Maker rest her soul, was working on something to do about the situation, from the Chantry's side. We will see what happens with the new Divine."
Desmond had layered her hair, so that her fringe did not fall into her face, and the back of it grew gradually longer.
"It is quite the fashion now, across Thedas," Josephine seemed to want to touch it but stopped herself, it was only evident in the barest twitch of her hand. It could have been anything, but their eyes met through the mirror.
A strange tension lingered in the air between them. No, not strange, Anora knew exactly what it was. She blinked and looked down. She probably sees you as a damned prophet… and if not that, come on. It's probably your imagination. You haven't been with anyone in a while.
"You two went off on quite the tangent - as interesting as it was - I did ask about Lady Vivienne."
Theodorian barked a laugh, "Oh right! Okay, allow me to give you the run down on Madame de fer…"
The horses from Master Dennet had arrived, Anora was given a massive Fereldan Forder with a blonde mane. She named her Gallfaxi.
Solas had come over to look at the horses himself, and he had raised an eyebrow as she told him of the name. "The name of the steed of Maldwyn?"
Cassandra came over as well, "Who is that?"
Anora smiled, "They do not teach many Alamarri stories in the Chantry?"
"Not particularly, no."
"Not surprising," Anora said with a hint of bite. "Maldwyn was a messenger who rode between the clans, delivering Andraste's call to unite against Tevinter. There is a story about how Bragtharefur chased her all the way, to prevent her thus."
"I have never heard this story." Cassandra said in her blunt way, "What happened?"
"Bragtharefur tried to trick her into going the wrong way, a road which would take her to a trap set by an enemy tribe -who were loyal to Tevinter - but Gallfaxi would not follow that path. When her horse refused, Bragtharefur grew violent, and Maldwyn realised what he was. She defeated him, and he ran away."
"You mentioned this Bragtharefur before. Who is he?"
"A trickster." Anora said simply. Solas was quiet, listening very attentively. "You knew who Maldwyn was."
The elf smiled. "I am fascinated by the myths of old Fereldan. The alamarri were a fascinating people. The Brecilli who inhabit the Brecillian Forest have a particularly fascinating account of Andraste."
Anora glared at him. His smile was practically cheeky. Cassandra raised an eyebrow, "A heretical cult of Andraste lives in those woods?"
Anora scowled at the Seeker, who recoiled at the unexpected anger. "The Brecilli have lived in Fereldan since before Orlais was even a twinkle in the Ciriane's eye. But what would you know of stolen legends, Nevarran?"
Cassandra blinked, thrown off. "Herald… I do not mean to offend."
"No. But you would kill them would you not, if they did not submit to the Chantry's teachings? What makes Drakon's Chantry more superior, hm? Correctness? Or the fact that it had an army to enforce it, and Orlesian rule along with it?"
Cassandra's jaw worked, the Seeker growing visibly tense. Anora squared off, ready for whatever Cassandra was going to throw at her.
"You presume much about me," Cassandra said slowly.
"You were the Right Hand, were you not? Was your job not enforcement, to put down heresy?"
Out of the corner of her eye she could see Solas watching them both, and she became distantly aware that an audience was forming. Not overtly, but the stable hands, and other folk who should have had work to get to were suddenly slow in their movement.
Anora cursed herself, remembering where she was.
Cassandra for her part seemed to have remembered that before Anora did. She stayed quiet, communicating with her eyes alone that they had listeners.
"Apologies, your Worship. My words were careless. And words spoken too loudly and carelessly are quite dangerous," the Seeker muttered. Anora nodded slowly, her ears beginning to burn somewhat now that her temper had receded behind tight self-control and situational awareness.
"A fascinating topic however. I would be happy to talk more of it further, but perhaps in the woods or the privacy of a cabin," Solas added.
Anora flicked him a glance, not forgetting that he had brought it up in the first place.
"Dennet's steeds are acceptable. They will serve us well. I find myself hungry, if you need me I shall be at the Maiden."
Anora walked off without another word, grateful to not be followed.
"Well, Varric, I cannot say a running Wicked Grace competition was expected. Nor that teams of mages and templars would be in league with each other." Anora stared at the leader board.
"Stroke of genius on Theodorian's part. Weird guy, but very strong personality. Not going to lie, I did not think my idea of 'let them have drinks together' would work, but here I am now, over-seeing a Wicked Grace tournament." He chuckled, taking a sip of ale.
Anora spooned a mouthful of ram stew into her mouth. As she chewed, she nodded and said, "Oh yeah, and what do they win? Neither Templars or mages have money so… Unless they do now, have you gotten them into gambling?"
"Maker Forbid! Gambling! Here, in this esteemed site of the Prophetess' return? Heavens no!"
Anora stared at him while chewing, one blonde eye brow raised.
Varric snorted. "Well, no. They bet each others chores and other boring things. Maker, one night they started a 'loser has to kiss the winner'."
"Oh, wow."
"Young people."
The seniors had been discussing matters more maturely, mostly with Josephine and Cullen. Anora had sat in on one session, that had happened the day after they returned from the meeting with Alistair. It was horrifically tedious, and very tense. But her sheer presence had brought things to a calm.
The Templars, who had off course not left in the Inquisitions founding, had naturally been on the side of reconciliation and reform, as detailed exhaustively in Justinia's final writ. Justinia's plans however, would ultimately depend on who became the next Divine.
With the situation in Antiva, the growing power in Nevarra that threatened to split the Kingdom from the Chantry entirely, and of course, dear Alistair's scheme to do the same, all lead to the new Divine having a very interesting headache to contend with, with half off the south ready for schism. If she did not allow it, she would lose three nations support, and Tevinter was always lurking and ready to make friends and allies of the south.
That idea was disgusting, but Anora hoped that Antiva, Ferelden and Nevarra would go the route of joining in an alliance of their own if it came to that. They would outnumber Orlais with combined might and wealth, and Tevinter could have it's allies in its war with the Qunari without absorbing anyone into the Imperium…
"Hey, Frosty, you're doing that thing again."
Anora blinked, shaken from her thoughts with Varric staring at her with a smirk.
"What?"
"I can practically see the wheels working in your head, you literally stopped eating to think."
She realised she had spoonful of stew halfway between the bowl and her mouth. She shoved it into her mouth, cursing her ears for turning red. "Just thinking about the absolute headache that is modern Thedas right now."
"Talking while chewing is rather bad table manners, your royal Frostiness."
Anora scoffed. "I had to unlearn etiquette to not stand out. If you were a noble dignitary, I would care maybe, but here in the Tavern?" She shook her head.
Varric nodded, and she grinned. "I can see the little pen in your head making a mental note. Is your next serial going to be a disgraced queen hiding in the slums?"
Varric smirked, "Who knows? Maybe in the next issue of Hard in Hightown."
Excitement burst in her chest, and all the self control that she had learnt as a queen and did not unlearn was immediately utilised to not let the dwarf see it. In truth, she was a big fan of his work, his detective serial having kept her sane many a hard night in Kirkwall and now again in the privacy of her cabin.
Instead, she very carefully said, "Oh? Well, I am happy to be a reference."
I get to be a character in Hard in Hightown!
Varric's expression darkened and she froze. "That reminds me, you won't believe this, but someone wrote a fake third volume to Hard In Hightown. It's called 'the Re-punchening'. I'll give you a moment to contemplate the horror that is that title."
Anora winced, "Oh, that is disgusting. When did it come out?"
"A month ago, when you will note this whole business with the Inquisition began. My editor reported it to me, got the message yesterday."
Actual anger flowed through her. "That is unacceptable. I'll get Leliana to look into it."
Varric raised an eyebrow, "You'd use the resources of your Inquisition just for me? How would I repay that favour."
She smirked, "Promise to write that disgraced queen into your book, and give her a happy ending and we will be even."
Varric looked outright astonished, then he raised an eyebrow, squinting at her carefully. "Wait a minute, I know you very well. When you say a 'happy ending'…"
Anora winked and stood. "Well, I'm off to get back to work with Josephine, and see about that fraudster."
Varric watched her leave, shaking his head with a chuckle.
Notes:
yup, anora's having Gender Thoughts, my most self indulgent headcanon!
Thank you for reading! Comments welcome and very appreciated!
Professor_Rye on Chapter 1 Wed 09 Apr 2025 05:34PM UTC
Comment Actions
heylavellan (aeleru41) on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Apr 2025 11:11PM UTC
Comment Actions
onlymine139 on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Apr 2025 03:31AM UTC
Comment Actions
Lykegenia on Chapter 1 Mon 25 Aug 2025 01:46PM UTC
Comment Actions
AnoraMacTired on Chapter 1 Wed 27 Aug 2025 12:54PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 27 Aug 2025 08:08PM UTC
Comment Actions
Professor_Rye on Chapter 2 Wed 09 Apr 2025 05:57PM UTC
Comment Actions
compendiumcal on Chapter 2 Thu 10 Jul 2025 04:29AM UTC
Comment Actions
Lykegenia on Chapter 2 Wed 03 Sep 2025 04:41PM UTC
Comment Actions
AnoraMacTired on Chapter 2 Wed 03 Sep 2025 08:06PM UTC
Comment Actions
Professor_Rye on Chapter 3 Wed 09 Apr 2025 06:08PM UTC
Comment Actions
AnoraMacTired on Chapter 3 Wed 09 Apr 2025 09:33PM UTC
Comment Actions
Lykegenia on Chapter 3 Wed 03 Sep 2025 05:10PM UTC
Comment Actions
AnoraMacTired on Chapter 3 Wed 03 Sep 2025 08:53PM UTC
Comment Actions
tiamat100 on Chapter 4 Thu 12 Jun 2025 05:07PM UTC
Comment Actions
AnoraMacTired on Chapter 4 Sun 06 Jul 2025 01:15PM UTC
Comment Actions
Lykegenia on Chapter 4 Wed 03 Sep 2025 06:31PM UTC
Comment Actions
AnoraMacTired on Chapter 4 Wed 03 Sep 2025 08:13PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 03 Sep 2025 09:01PM UTC
Comment Actions
Lykegenia on Chapter 5 Wed 03 Sep 2025 09:17PM UTC
Comment Actions
AnoraMacTired on Chapter 5 Thu 04 Sep 2025 06:12AM UTC
Comment Actions
Lykegenia on Chapter 6 Wed 03 Sep 2025 10:13PM UTC
Comment Actions
AnoraMacTired on Chapter 6 Thu 04 Sep 2025 05:58AM UTC
Last Edited Thu 04 Sep 2025 06:17AM UTC
Comment Actions
Lykegenia on Chapter 7 Wed 03 Sep 2025 11:02PM UTC
Comment Actions
AnoraMacTired on Chapter 7 Thu 04 Sep 2025 06:12AM UTC
Comment Actions
Seraphina (Guest) on Chapter 8 Wed 10 Sep 2025 09:22PM UTC
Comment Actions
Nova (Guest) on Chapter 8 Thu 11 Sep 2025 11:14PM UTC
Comment Actions
Lykegenia on Chapter 8 Fri 12 Sep 2025 05:31PM UTC
Comment Actions