#henne'thel

“Location for the city,” he replies, snatching a piece of her bread. The third day of talks had ended in the agreement that they needed to settle a city. Problem is, none of them know where a city should be settled. So far, Ash’s input has not been requested. It takes all of her self control to not walk into that aravel and proclaim her knowledge. She needs to practice self-restraint and...trust in her mothers.

“That is a big question to answer, they should be talking about it,” she says.

“It’s ridiculous, they should be asking you,” he grouses. After that first bout of arguments, he had found her on the outskirts of the camp, lying in the grass, staring up at the stars, wondering about how different they were from her time. They didn’t speak for a while, but then she sighed and told him in an uncharacteristically soft tone her story. She told him about her time and her mother and nanae. She told him why she had rushed into the camp to save everyone and why she understood his pain so well. He told her stories of his family. By the end, they were both in tears.

“To be fair, I don’t really know anything about city planning.”

“But you’ve seen cities! None of us have - none of them have,” he argues, but she shrugs.

“I need to earn their trust back, it doesn’t just happen overnight.” As much as she wants to walk into that aravel and proclaim she knows what to do, how to help, she can’t. She wasn’t invited into the talks and so she’ll remain outside, watching and being with the clans.

Verethrin gives her a long look that makes her want to laugh. His frustration mirrors her own, but he seems to be handling it like how she wants to handle it. Which does nothing to stem her own desires to storm into the aravel and demand to be heard. His reactions make her wonder if this disposition is the result of being so young to lose so much, to see so much tragedy.

“If they want my opinion, they will come for it. At some point, you stop sticking your hand into a hot pot,” she says.

“We can’t stay here much longer,” he whispers, “our food stores are low, and the surrounding land isn’t going to offer enough for all of us. We need a solution, sooner rather than later.”

Ash sighs. She knows and dual desires build within her. She knows what’s best is that they find a place to settle and soon, so they can start planting foods. But she also knows that if she storms into the aravel and proclaims this and says that they need to settle where she thinks is best, no one will listen.

But perhaps….

“I can’t go in and say anything and be heard,” Ash says in a measured tone, “but...you could.”

“What?”

“You are privy to the talks and while I suppose you’re there to learn, you can propose ideas. Memae and Mamae are still cross with me, but they’ll hear an idea from you.”

“But I don’t have any ideas!” He argues. Ash grins mischievously and shrugs.

“I do.”

His brow furrows until realization strikes him, “You...that’s brilliant, Ash.”

“Alright, here’s what you need to say….”

She details to him what she knows about cities. She was telling the truth when she said is no expert in city planning, but Verethrin was right too - she knows more than they do in this moment.

They spend two hours going over everything Ash knows about cities. From Verethrin’s questions, she knows more than she initially thought. She can even draw structures from memory - the water mill from the village she lived in when her magic surfaced, Skyhold’s walls and battlements, and even the ubiquitous windmill. She doesn’t give the drawings to Verethrin right away, they would definitely know the suggestion came from her if he presented the drawings. But the pictures help illustrate the necessity of flowing water, a defensible position, and enough land to grow enough food to store.

Ash doesn’t care where they find these things, but the location needs everything for it to work long term.

The next day, Ash is helping reset wards when familiar footsteps sound behind her. Her ear twitches and finishes with the current ward before turning to her memae, cocking her head slightly.

“I thought you were in talks all day,” she says, daring to broach the subject.

“I thought the same thing, but then young Verethrin came forward today with some much needed insight. He was a deciding vote to find a river in a valley rather than settling in the mountains. We were all very impressed with this insight,” she says and Ash tries to keep her face as flat as possible.

“Oh, that’s good.” She bites her tongue to stop herself from asking anything else lest she give herself away.

“Da’len, I know you gave him the ideas,” Memae says, voice stern and Ash curses.

“Memae, I can explain -

“Good job.”

Surely Ash misheard? “Did...wait, you’re not mad?”

Memae shakes her head, a proud smile spreading across her face, “A few months ago, you would have stormed into that aravel, demanding to be heard. But today you were clever and expressed your ideas in a way that would increase their likelihood to be heard. You did well.”

Ash stops and considers her mother for a moment. She’s grown taller than Nimronyn when she is in elven form, slight but her power still radiates off her. Still, there are moments when it’s almost as if Ash feels larger and displaced. Strangely, this is not one of those moments. It’s been a long time since her mother looked at her like this, with pride. Ash hadn’t realized she missed the expression so much until now.

She blinks then smiles, “I want to help. Verethrin did bring up a good point, though. Why wasn’t I included in these meetings? Regardless of what’s happened, I do know the most about cities.”

Nimronyn sighs and shakes her head, “It was not my or Sylmae’s decision. We wanted you there for that very reason, but….the others disagreed. We didn’t think it was wise to tell them your story.”

“And by others, you mean Melarue and Merith. Or really mostly Melarue, that...would be like them.” She hates that she has this adversarial relationship with Melarue. It’s ridiculous in her mind, and it hurts in her heart. She thinks it could be remedied if she told them the truth, but it would hurt them, and after all this time....she doesn’t want them to hurt, even if their not knowing hurts her in turn. But then again, they are different here. Who knows if this Melarue could ever love Mama like her nanae did? They certainly don’t seem able to hold any affection for Ash, they barely respect her...if that. She’s avoided them since that night, opting to eat away from the clan if they make an appearance, which is most of the time.

“It seems, whatever time I am in, people want me to be smaller. It’d be easier for them if I wasn’t this tall, this broad. It would be easier for you all if I didn’t feel so big, if my emotions were smaller and more easily contained. But I am not smaller, and I’m tired of apologizing for being who I am,” she says, feeling bitter and wronged, and tired. She was an outsider as a child, a vashoth surrounded by good little human children. A mage surrounded by good little Andrastians who were scared of her. A Saarebas to the Tal-Vashoth they came across, and then the Inquisitor’s child who couldn’t have anything in common with the other children in Skyhold, of course. And then here, she was burdened with knowledge and a history, a name and languages they did not know. Everywhere she has gone, she hasn’t fit, and they have done their damnedest to shrink her into this better mold. A less Vashoth mold, less magical, shorter, slighter, less opinionated and less passionate.

“Da’len!” Memae cries, clearly distraught as she rushes to Ash and takes her face in her small hands. “You are perfect the size. You have made mistakes but those do not define you. I love your passion, and so what if you’re tall? Your mother is taller and bigger and no one wants her to be smaller. It would be easier if you didn’t rush off into danger...but I am coming to realize that is who you are. Let us help you, da’len, so when you do...you come back.” As she speaks, she gently tugs Ash down until their foreheads rest against each other.

“You are my daughter, no matter what. I love you so much and I want you to be safe and happy. It pains me to see you struggle like this.”

Ash’s heart twinges, “Does it hurt you to see others so furious with me?” She can’t help whisper the question. She has felt so alone as of late. Verethrin’s clan is nothing but grateful to her for her intervention, but Merith’s clan and her own have been eyeing her. Her own looks at her as if she is fragile and might break since they know. But Merith’s...so many see her as this reckless, dangerous person with little regard for others. She may be reckless, she may run into danger like her mother says, but careless for life? None of them understand just how much she values life after seeing so much death.

Memae grows stiff, “I will not suffer anyone who disrespects you, da’len. That said, I was serious when I said you are not to have as much influence in the clan as you did. You need to learn that your actions have consequences.”

“I know, I just…” she tries for the words but they’re not there. Memae knows how she feels, the Ash has never been good at disguising her emotions. Instead she sighs and looks her mother in the eye with a knowing look, “Rivers are better than lakes.”

Memae smiles then takes Ash’s hand, “I will remember that. Now, I smell dinner and it has been too long since you have eaten with your people, da’len.”

**

In two days, the little council consisting of Memae, Mamae, Merith, Henne’thel, Melarue, and Verethrin settle on the location to build. There is a mountain range several hundred miles from here that is so remote that the clans rarely travel there. Reportedly, the journey can be quite fraught with dangers, but by all means the destination sounds heavenly. In the center of the mountain range is a valley where two rivers converge before flowing father down the mountainside into the ocean.

Memae reports that this valley is replete with glittering wildflowers and gentle-natured spirits. It’s far and the journey may be hard, but it is worth it. Ash agrees with the decision and some of the stress eases. She did what she could and managed to not upset things further. Even if Melarue and the others still give her sidelong glances - she helped, there’s forward motion.

There is time. She has to remind herself, and there is. There is time to learn and grow strong to weather the storm approaching.

Before they take to the skies, she and several others are tasked with warding the aravels together to sync with Nimronyn and Merith who will be flying them all there. Henne’thel will remain in her elven form, tending to the needs of the people for the weeks long journey.

Ash cuts her hand and murmurs her spells as she draws the wards in her blood. The others are doing the same. It normally wouldn’t require blood, but with the worry over the safety of the trip, everyone is taking extra precautions.

It’s been a mad dash to pack everything up and to make sure they have as many rations as possible to last them. Ash knows she can go for a long time without food, but she doubts many of the people here have had to endure such a terrible thing. For which she is glad. If it comes to it, she will ensure the people are fed, even if it means she is not.

Launch day arrives. Ash helps coordinate the aravels into the proper flight formation. It’s actually pretty interesting how everything locks in together with the warding and flight runes. It seems that there are still days that amaze her when it comes to the use of magic. The aravels form what she views as a magical levitation puzzle. Each hones into the magic of the keeper and then somehow, lift off. It’s probably, no, she knows it’s more complicated than that, but it’s how she understands it.

They are taking on a different flight formation. Instead of having the keeper at the front with trailing aravels, Merith and Nimronyn are sandwiching the mass of aravels with Memae on top and Merith on the bottom. The magical flight pattern holding everything together is stronger this way, and it allows for a more spherical shaped barrier to form with the keepers acting at the poles for the magic.

Taking off with this pattern is more difficult, however. Memae takes off first, her great wings slowly and steadily propelling her higher into the air. Ash and everyone else who is not in a draconic form are inside their respective aravels, monitoring the exchange of magic. The air swells with power that Ash recognizes as Memae’s. With an incredible show of power, Memae singularly lifts all of the aravels in the air after her. Bit by bit, all of the aravels rise up to her. Mamae makes a low sound of concern as they climb, but Memae is strong and steadfast. The aravels remain airborne as enough space between them and the ground forms for Merith to at last take flight.

The air shifts as Merith eases into the air and shoulders half of the magical weight of the aravels. Ash strides to the front of the aravel when she feels the shift. The ward on the wheel glows faintly, beckoning her. She places her hand over the ward and adds her energy to the magical array. Blue fire crackles outside and arches upward, coasting over the barrier that is being boosted by every single aravel. Her fire mixes with the myriad of magic, creating a radiant rainbow display of a barrier. The magicks fuse together, strengthening even as they help buoy the hurdling caravan.

Now set, Memae and Merith begin their forward motion. To better places, Ash thinks, to a home.

**

“We haven’t had much time to talk since I’ve arrived,” Henne’thel says as Ash renews one of the wards on her aravel. She is leaning back in a chair, her Keeper’s armor still donned just in case of a crisis, a steaming cup of tea in hand. Ash arches a curious brow at her.

“I suppose not. A lot’s happened,” Ash says, hiding her nervousness. She has avoided Melarue and most of Merith’s clan if possible over the past four days, keeping to her duties to renew the wards and to relay information to Memae when it’s her turn. She’s been rather keen to avoid more criticism, she’s still feeling more fragile that she is comfortable with and she would rather not have a break down while they’re thousands of miles in the air, hurdling through the Dreaming to a place she’s never seen.

“Yes it has. I wasn’t surprised when your clan called mine to discuss this route. It’s been clear to me for awhile. But the elder Keepers are a stubborn lot,” Henne’thel says, tilting her head slightly. “You did the right thing. It scares them, you know, to see someone so young do something so…

“Reckless?”

“Brave. Sure, it could have been planned better - but they could have spoken to you about it too. They could have worked with you instead of trying to prevent you from doing what you saw as necessary. And it was necessary. You kicked ass, you charged into that camp and showed the Empire they can’t get away with it anymore.”

This is certainly not what Ash expected and it makes her smile, “Thank you. Though, Melarue has a point, I made us more of a target with my actions -

“We were already targets,” Henne’thel says gravely.

Ash nods, “Thank you! I feel like sometimes I’m the only one who is taking this threat seriously, well, me and Verethrin and his clan. Part of me doesn’t regret at all what happened, it forced everyone to open their eyes to what the empire is.”

“Your mothers may disagree with me, but I agree with that part of you. Almost dying, almost getting people killed, is just that - almost. Be more careful in the future because our enemies will be more careful, but I can’t regret a mission that saw the liberation and salvation of so many.” Henne’thel rises and steps over to a crate. She pulls out a large decanter, the steaming cup of tea forgotten as she produces two other cups.

“Want some?”

Ash quirks a brow, “Is that…?”

“Alcohol, a brew made by a more southern roaming clan my parents liked to trade with.” She uncorks the bottle and pours a cup, offering it to Ash.

She takes the cup and samples the brew. “Mm, nice.” She slams the rest back, the alcohol burning nicely down her throat. Oh, she missed this. She wasn’t ever a big drinker, but she enjoys it. And after everything…she can use something to help her loosen up and forget at least for a little bit.

**

She drinks a lot.

It didn’t start out with the intention to get drunk. Ash figured it would just be nice to drink with a friend after everything that has happened. Some levity seemed to be in order.

A little levity turned into a lot when Henne’thel started playing her bipa and Ash dancing on the topside of Henne’thel’s aravel. A few others joined them and a few other instruments were added into the mix. Ash twirls around and lets the music flow through her just as the alcohol flows through her body.

“Ash?” A familiar voice says and she turns out to see Verethrin, eyes wide as he watches her swaying body.

“Vere! Come dance with me!” She snags his wrist and ushers him closer to the center of the aravel. She turns him around and steps along with the music. She laughs and twirls and feels lighter than she has in...months. Years maybe.

Verethrin has two left feet that Ash decides some loosening up. She grabs a bottle, note a different bottle from the one Henne’thel start her on, and pours him a full goblet, dark droplets of wine spilling over as pours.

“Loosen up!” She shoves the goblet in his hands then twirls away with the music. She claps her hands and loses herself just a bit in the music some more. The music soars and Verethrin seems to finally finish his drink because he’s with her, twirling and dancing with her.

She only stops when a familiar figure float down to the aravel, twin braids flopping next to his face while Reverie sits upon his shoulder. Daern’thal’s gaze finds her and she feels her heart drop from lightheartedness to concern. They haven’t spoken much, if at all since that night.

Ash swallows and walks to him, knowing she’s drunk, knowing she’s not elegant or eloquent or whatever it is she should be. It doesn’t matter.

Her eyes turn sad and apologetic, and the air around her reflects that as she speaks, “I’m so sorry for putting you and everyone in danger. I never wanted, I never want that. I love you and our people, and I want to help so much.”

He pauses and then sighs before Reverie speaks, “You disobeyed the Keeper.”

She shrugs, and she knows it’s a bigger deal, but, “My name literally means one who seeks rebellion, I’m doing the best I can.”

A prolonged pause stretches before them, even the music stops as everyone watches what Daern’thal decides to do. Surprising everyone, he walks past Ash and her heart falls. He really won’t forgive her? He has to know she’d never purposefully hurt him, ever. She turns to watch him as he grabs her current bottle. He meets her eyes as he takes a long swig then sets it down.

“I know, and that’s why I forgive you,” he finally says softly, then he turns and smiles, “Is this a party or what?” The others laugh and start playing again but Ash doesn’t resume dancing. Instead, she smiles sweetly and pulls Daern’thal into a tight hug. A puff of air leaves him as she holds him fast.

“Thank you,” she says in Qunlat. His arms come around her and Reverie leaps up onto her horn to dangle by her ear.

“We’ve missed you,” they whisper, still in qunlat.

“Me too, friend.”

**

Ash wakes with a dull thudding in her head, making her groan and turn into her bed more thoroughly. The world is hurting her, she must escape it.

“Ah, she finally rouses,” Sylmae screams. Alright, she’s probably not screaming, but it’s screaming to Ash’s ears.

Ash groans loudly and shrinks as best she can into the bed more. Her mamae bangs loudly about the aravel and it’s only because she know that her own voice will hurt her sensitive ears that she doesn’t tell her mamae to kindly stop.

She knows she stayed up entirely too late, drank too much, and was very irresponsible all things considered but really. She is young by everyone’s standards here and it has been so very long since she just let herself be.

She had danced through the night - with Verethrin, with Daern’thal, and even some of Merith’s clan had wandered over! She danced with some of them as well - singing terribly and dancing so much her feet now throb.

It was levity she needed, really they all needed it. The world isn’t actively ending, which is a thought that has been hard to internalize. At least, until last night. The stage is still being set, but that’s just it - it isn’t set yet, and she can’t, she shouldn’t, spend every moment of her life living in fear of when the sky is going to fall.

As Mamae clangs about in the aravel, however, Ash feels like at least the ceiling is falling.

She issues a short groan and snatches a pillow to hold over her head. The bed dips as Mamae sits next to her. She reaches over and sticks a steaming cup of tea close to Ash’s face, or as close it can get with the pillow in the way.

“We will need you today, da’len. Drink this and feel better.” Mamae is using her nice tone of voice, the one way to cajole Ash into doing something she doesn’t want to do. But it also means that she will persist until Ash does whatever Mamae wants done. She sighs as she realizes she won’t be getting back to sleep any time soon. Slowly, Ash turns, removing the pillow as she tentatively sits up. She doesn’t spare her mamae from a glare, though, as she takes the tea and sips it.

“Ugh!” It’s foul! Absolutely disgusting, so bad it makes her flinch and grimace.

“Take a few more sips, it’ll cure the hangover.”

“I’ll take the hangover, this is gross.”

“Da’len, we need you aware and able,” Mamae says with more force. Scowling, Ash sips at the tea. It gets worse and worse, but she drinks it until it’s three quarters empty. She passes the mug back to Mamae, still grimacing.

“I can’t have any more.”

“That should be enough,” she says, taking the mug from Ash before turning back to her, her demeanor suddenly very serious. “You will need your strength for the next several days, we are going to be in a dangerous part of the Dreaming.”

Ash frowns, “If it’s so dangerous, why don’t we travel around this part?”

Sylmae shakes her head, expression grave, “The area is so large that it would take entirely too long to go around. No, we must pass through it.” With that, Mamae pats Ash’s knee. “Now, get up, put your armor on and grab your spear. Join me on the deck.” She leaves Ash to herself then climbs out of the aravel and onto the top deck.

It’s strange that Mamae is so worried about this stretch of Dreaming. Yes, it’s the job of parents to worry, but this feels like it goes beyond that. Taking care to be prepared, Ash braids her hair back and secures it behind her horns in twin braided buns before stepping into her armor. Glittering green scales shed from her memae cover the front of her armor, marking her as Nimronyn’s daughter. She paints vitaar in a rectangle across her eyes and brow ridge, murmuring a spell as she cuts her finger on the tool to enhance her eyesight.

By the time she joins Mamae on the deck, her hangover has disappeared and she is alert, ready to face whatever it is that has Mamae so spooked.

Journeys are usually filled with ambient, pleasant noises - music, the clambering of clanmates, even singing and the clanging of pots as rations are cooked. The flight so far has been no different, but as she takes her place next to Mamae, she notices the disturbing lack of noise. Not to mention the ominous grayness of the sky. She’s never seen the Dreaming like this, the closest she’s seen this was back home in her dreams when a stray demon would invade her dreams. Even though, there was not the same level of heavy sense of foreboding plaguing her. Ash was a lucky mage when it came to demons, they tended to stay away from her. Looking back, she thinks that perhaps Nanae had something to do with that.

Nanae isn’t here, though. And while she has heard of demons in this land, she has yet to see one. Staring ahead as the sky darkens, Ash feels like she is about to see one after all.

Memae and Merith angle themselves, perfectly in sync so that all of the aravels turn with them and they catch a current of the Dreaming. Their speed increases, making Ash grateful she pulled her hair back.

A chilling wind breezes past the aravels, through the barrier. It slithers down Ash’s spine and prickles at her mind. Her fire sparks naturally at her fingertips, making her tighten her grasp on her spear.

The Keepers catch the current and soar higher before turning and following it down, down...down, until they are heading straight for a writhing mass of black energy. Ash’s throat grows dry and her heart begins to hammer as she feels it reach out to them. It is a tentative pull at emotions, dark feelings that she has worked so hard to control.

“Mamae...what is it?”

“Is this true, Zeal?” Elgar’nan asks, a halo of fire growing in size atop his head. Zeal pants, his hair and large swaths of skin have been burned from him - and not entirely from Elgar’nan either. Asha’thylgar’s keeper had torn through the camp with her flames and magic. Certainty now bore his own scar down his back from the fire. No matter, the scar will fuel him just as his Lord’s desire for Asha’thylgar.

“Certainty failed to express the seriousness of the solution -

“Enough of these excuses! Both of you FAILED! SPECTACULARLY!” Elgar’nan booms, rising from his throne. Falon’din remains on his, watching, blue eyes darting from Zeal to Certainty. His facade wavers for just a moment, giving Certainty a glimpse of the horror of his burned face.

Even with the burns, Certainty’s lord is more beautiful than any other person to have ever existed.

“My Lord,” Certainty says, falling to his knees in abject prostration, “It is my every privilege and love of life to serve you. Beat me, break me, and I will come back stronger and more dedicated to you than before. I will bring Asha’thylgar to you, I swear it with my very blood.” He trails a sharpened claw over his palm so that blood flows, binding him to his vow.

With extreme grace, Lord Falon’din rises from his repose.

“It is so difficult to find loyalty like yours, Certainty.” He runs a finger down Certainty’s face before raising his hand, pressing the finger into the blood. Certainty gasps but does not grimace at the pain. Relish in it, it is what the Lord wishes.

“Is what you say true? Is the failure to secure Asha’thylgar due to Zeal?” A heavy question and one that Certainty answers with ease.

“Yes.”

Falon’din straightens and turns to Zeal. His hand reaches out and secures around Zeal’s neck.

“FALON’DIN!” Elgar’nan shouts.

“I AM OWED!” Falon’din roars back as the life is pulled out of Zeal. Falon’din inhales as if he is breathing in Zeal’s life force. Perhaps he is, Certainty doesn’t know. What he does know is that Falon’din has granted him another chance.

And he will make the most of it. Asha’thylgar can elude him for only so long.

**

When Ash was a little girl, before her magic manifested, her and Mama had to cross the Frostback mountains into Ferelden. She doesn’t remember much from the trip other than it was bitterly cold. She clung to Mama the entire time inside of her cloak. She whined and cried about the cold. It felt like it was invading her body and there was nothing she could do. Inescapably cold.

On her seventeenth birthday, a volcano erupted from the magical torsion in the Fade that now merged fully with the waking world. The ash and soot shot up from the eruption blocked the sun. The next month was spent freezing and cut off from the main source of heat. She huddled with Uthvir, trying to stay warm. The cold only abated when the sky was set aflame and the end of the world was further hastened.

Ash has experienced cold. She knows it causes deep issues within her, even with her fire. Perhaps it is because of her fire that the cold affects her so much. She has experienced cold, and yet this chill is unlike all of the cold that has touched her.

This cold slips inside of her spine, wraps a hand around it as a voice whispers unknowable words in her ear. She feels the cold spread into her body, chasing the heat that normally courses through her body. Mamae shifts in discomfort while Ash grimaces in pain.

“Da’len?” Mamae asks and Ash waves her off. She is no stranger to pain.

“I don’t handle the cold well,” she says softly,  “I’ll be fine.” Just as she says that, Nimronyn opens her mouth and golden fire spills out, blowing back due to their momentum. It curves over the barrier, chasing away the invading chill. Ash feels a hiss and pop where the cold had been leaching into her body. It slithers away, replaced by the familiar, comforting warmth of Memae’s fire.

Ash inhales and exhales a directed flame towards Memae in gratitude. The small blue flicker travels up and circles around Memae’s antlers before dissipating along her scales. She rumbles in affectionate acknowledgement that makes Ash smile briefly before turning her attention to the pulsating black mass of sucking energy. It pulls at Ash and a deep seated worry takes root.

Demons, Nanae once said, are corrupted spirits. They corrupt for a number of reasons, each one unique to that demon. Most corruptions are situational and dependent upon what the spirit embodied - a spirit of wisdom can turn to pride if its knowledge is never questioned, or if it remains in isolation, or perhaps if it decides that it can fix the world. They were fond of that analogy. Looking back, Ash understands why.

But this mass of negative energy is unlike anything she has ever encountered. Besides its massive size, the demon feels different. It should have been a Keeper, which...what could have happened to this spirit that was on the brink of turning into an immensely powerful being like a Keeper to turn it into...this? The idea terrifies her, but she also feels for it too. It must have been so horrible and traumatic to do this. As much as she fears the great beast before her, she can’t help but feel for it as well. A part of her recognizes that she could have easily been this - terrible and dark and lashing out in pain due to her trauma. It’s only because her adoptive mothers found her that she was able to work past it, to grow from her ashes instead of continuing to burn.

“Lock into formation to bolster the barrier!” A shout from another aravel interrupts Ash’s thoughts, making her realize they are about to breach the living darkness. It’s strange, for something so dangerous, it seems...so inviting.

Ash brings her spear forward, holding onto it so that her thumbs run over specific runes for barrier creation. She forces her magic into the spear then out to join the many others also lending their strength for the barrier. Their combined magic sets into a lattice pattern over the existing barrier, reinforcing it just as they breach the darkness.

It is not like nightfall, there is no gradual loss of light. It is a sudden, all encompassing void that leaves Ash temporarily blind as her eyes adjust.

Chanting reaches her ears then several small lights materialize inside the barrier around the aravels. Those not lending their strength to the barrier are lighting the way, she realizes, or at least keeping a light so that everyone can see what is happening.

What Ash first saw as one giant entity becomes clearer as really a mass of negative energy and spirits, colliding and separating in chaotic fashion. Their forms split then reform, and they scream as they hurtle through space so fast they nearly shatter. Several of the spirits, lesser demons, she recognizes as Rage and Despair, careen towards the barrier at breakneck speeds. They do not slow and shatter themselves upon the barrier.

“What is this?” Ash asks in disbelieving horror.

“Keepers cannot corrupt once they are corporeal, but they can corrupt still as spirits. It’s a delicate time. When what was corrupted into Desolation, it created a nexus of negative magical energies - spirits that came into contact with it are twisted and trapped. Turned into unwilling demons that further feed Desolation’s own power.” Sylmae’s voice is low and harsh but it does not escape Ash’s notice that there is concern there. She doesn’t imagine it is for Desolation per se, but more for Nimronyn.

Ash’s brow furrows. Spirits can be such delicate things with their natures. A tip in the wrong direction and they can corrupt or even shatter. Those that become Keepers are old and strong, true, but that fear of corruption...it stays, doesn’t it? Does Mamae fear Memae will corrupt still with all the fighting?

Worse, could it happen? Is that what the madness is? The Keepers corrupting as they go against their natures?

Unwilling to continue this line of thinking, Ash directs her attention to the swirling mass of demons. More shatter upon impact of the barrier as they continue to fly in deeper. While the barrier keeps the lesser demons out, she can hear them. Screaming spirits who assume misshapen faces that press against the barrier before they crack and shatter, begging for help. Poor, lost spirits sucked into Desolation’s pit.

Ash hazards a glance up and nearly loses formation with the barrier. While the barrier is keeping all the aravels and those within it safe, the Keepers are left exposed. The demons crash into Memae, screaming and clawing at her. Fire flies across her scales, chasing them off but only more replace those that fall off or shatter. She shakes her head, the talismans hanging from her antlers jerking around as she somehow continues her steady flight.

“Mamae!” Ash cries but Sylmae is already gone, leaping onto aravels and scaling them so she can get to Memae.

“Hold your position!” She shouts down to Ash as she climbs, one hand propelling her upwards while the other holds tightly to her weapon. Ash takes a deep breath and locks herself back into position, pushing more energy into the barrier. Her fire skitters across the lattice work, shattering several more lesser demons. She glances up to see Mamae leaping into the air and breaching the barrier to grab hold of Memae’s foot. Ash keeps herself from hollering in victory as Sylmae begins to swing demons and spirits off of Memae. She clambers up onto Memae’s back properly and the hammer begins to swing in full arcs, felling multiple demons with each swing.

The barrier rocks and Ash nearly stumbles, her gaze going down as she rights herself. Merith is fairing no better than Memae, worse actually. A cloud of green tinged air surrounds him that Ash recognizes as poison but poison does so little to those without bodies. Ash is about to call for someone to help him when a flash of black of fire barrels past her only to land on the aravel below hers.

Melarue. They are shrouded in a black flame as they leap from aravel to aravel, weapon raised high. It is a spear-like thing, their weapon, with a wicked blade attached resembles the end of a sword at one end. They launch themselves down to Merith and disappear into a sea of black.

Fear pulses through Ash. Has she lost them again? Only having just found them? They have not reconciled or -

There! She seems them! An incredibly fast figure battling the dark back with their own black fire. It wraps around the demons, yanking them from Merith and tossing them into the barrier. Their weapon glints by the light provided by the barrier as they carve into the demons. They are fast and meticulous as they clean Merith of the clawing fiends.

Reassured, Ash returns her focus to the barrier. It is becoming more difficult to maintain as more and more demons throw themselves against it. Each hit drains it just a bit more. How long can they keep this up? There is no end in sight of this horrid place, and if anything, it is getting worse.

The demons stop shattering upon impact and instead begin to wail upon the barrier, ghostly talons and fangs and wings ripping into it. She funnels another burst of fire into it, but it does little to stem the tide. Few demons die from it, none shatter.

“We need more power!” She shouts over the roars of the Keepers and the screams of the demons.

“From where?!” Henne’thel shouts back to her from her central aravel.

From where, indeed. She racks her brain, thinking…

“Blood!”

“Are you insane! The demons draw power from that!” Henne’thel shouts, clearly straining as she carriers the bulk of the barrier.

“So can we! If you can hold it, I can send out a pulse of fire to get us through!”

“Are you sure!”

“Yes!”

“Then fucking do it!” Henne’thel screams.

“Letting the barrier go,” Ash yells before she steps back. Immediately the weight shifts off her and Henne’thel groans loudly, a draconic sound as she takes on more of the barrier. Only for a moment, Ash reminds herself, grabbing the knife from her belt.

Taking a deep breath, Ash slices her palm and begins to recite a spell her nanae taught her.

“I didn’t know you had fire!”

“It’s a Fade Fire, da’len, now pay attention.”

She harnesses the memory and the spell inside of her. The power concentrates in her palm, a hot white sphere she guides to her spear. Carefully, she eases the spear forward just so that the tip reaches outside of the barrier.

Using all the force inside her body, she forces that sphere of power out through her spear.

It explodes from her and the spear into the inky air. A blazing white supernova tinged red with her blood. Magic shots from her and blazes through the demons in an arc surrounding barrier. It A great pulse of fiery magic that sends the demons up in smoke or flying from them in terror.

Drained and needing to catch her breath, Ash stumbles back, her spear retreating from the outside.

“Good, Ash! Now back in formation!” Henne’thel calls. Right, she has to help. With a groan and a set determination that is not so easily overwhelmed, Ash rises to her feet and resumes the position. Her magic joins the others to hold the barrier together. The shift is painful but quick, locking her into the system again.

A glance down shows that her burst of fire helped Melarue as well. They need only shove off the remains of demons from Merith’s hide. There are wounds all over Merith’s body that they quickly set to bandaging. A glance upward reveals a similar scene for Memae, but she seems to be in a better position overall. There is less blood sliding down her sides and there are no large wounds. Relief courses through Ash. They will survive this, this is only the trial before the promised land - quite literally.

The journey to Skyhold had been fraught as well. Haven had never been a secure location, which had only been exploited by the Red Templars lead by a mad, Blighted Corypheus who knew far more than they ever gave him credit for. She had nearly lost her mama that day to the avalanche she caused. Nanae had to carry her, screaming and crying to not leave Mama behind, away from the battle.

It was over a week before he had taken them to Skyhold, and even longer clearing the rubble to make it somewhat livable. For all its faults, Skyhold had been amazing. It was big enough for an army and defensible. In the end, it fell because he knew it so well.

This land they are traveling to is unknown to their enemies. It is far, far from the empire and from anyone that would interfere with their growth and resistance. It may not be entirely true, but when all you have is hope, you have to hope hard to get through the worst of it. Right now, speeding through a maelstrom of demons with only a barrier maintained by a couple dozen people, she needs all the hope she can get.

A great quake shakes Ash from her thoughts and pulls her attention to her surroundings once more. The darkness around them opens up, keening as it is pulled into a singular nexus below them.

“She’s here!” Henne’thel yells and Ash knows - they approach Desolation.

Another quake rocks the barrier and the Keepers grumble with discontent and worry. The shadows move, twining up over the barrier - long tentacles curving over the sphere. Magical weight presses against Ash, making her grunt at the strain. She’s pulling them down, Ash realizes. Or at least she is attempting to pull them. Memae hisses and her wings snap more quickly. All at once, fire chases the shadowy tendrils, snapping much of their hold. Nimronyn roars once more and begins to ascend. Merith issues a replying roar and follows Nimronyn. The aravels rock at the sudden direction shift, but Ash and the others hold fast, maintaining the barrier.

They fly high, up, up to escape the reaching tentacles when a roar shakes the world around them and a great mass smashes into the barrier. Unable to withstand the sudden onslaught, the barrier shatters.

**

When Fear saw an opportunity to escape Certainty and his lackeys, it took it. The night Asha’thylgar attacked, its cage was damaged, allowing it to shrink into the tiniest form it could then scurry away in frantic escape. It ran even as it knew that the chances for capture were high. It ran and ran and flew so much and so fast that it wasn’t until days later that it realized that no one had come after it.

It had stopped, looked around - no one was pursuing it.

Fear was...free?

Unsure of what to do with this newfound freedom, Fear continued to fly. To put more distance between it and the empire, just to be safe. It could be wrong, after all, they could be pursuing it and just biding their time. Fear wasn’t going to risk it.

It flew and flew until it felt her. As soon as it felt her, it tried to turn in the other direction, but like a fish caught in a whirlpool, struggle was futile. Little Fear was sent into the mass of Desolation. It was all it could do to keep from the other demons caught in her storm. It was flung through the air, ricocheting off of spikes in power and abnormalities in the Dreaming. It tried to escape, over and over again, to no avail. The pull was too strong.

Soon, it found itself being pulled into the nexus, spiraling down...down…

**

Chaos erupts with the shattered barrier. The once carefully held aravels go spinning, their magicks no longer tethered to each other. Ash’s aravel spins and careens downwards, a shadowy tendril shooting up and grasping her aravel.

“No!” She shouts, stabbing her spear into the tentacle and sending forth her fire. It screams and sizzles but holds fast.

“Fuck off!” She summons a white hot whip of fire and slams it into the tendril. It screeches and blessedly releases its hold. Before Ash can set to righting the aravel, three more tendrils shoot up. They seize the aravel and begin to tear it to shreds in its anger. Ash springs into action, summoning as much fire as she dares to fight the tendrils. But as she fights, she cannot right the quickly descending aravel. And if she rights the aravel, it gets torn apart. It very well may be torn apart anyways.

A roar of draconic pain catches her ear before she can decide anything. Her head automatically snaps up to see shadowed tentacles wrapping around Merith’s body, pulling him down. Melarue stands upon him, slashing and burning the tentacles but there are too many, Merith is too grand of a target -

Decided, Ash backs up to the hull of the aravel and angles her spear downward. Focusing on the Dreaming and the will to go, she sets the spear ablaze. The thrust is immediate and the aravel speeds through the air, wrenching itself free of the tendrils. The sail is shredded and the cabin has been opened to the world but she is ascending and it’s holding, that’s all that matters.

She directs the aravel close to a thick tentacle then whips her spear around while continuing the strong blaze of fire. It slams into the tentacle and she forces the fire down it, severing it and its hold on Merith. One down. She looks for and finds another tentacle, wrapped around Merith’s back leg. Melarue is fighting one that keeps trying to secure his neck -

Ash goes for the one on the leg, quickly attacking and severing it so she can take aim for the other tentacle. She sends a blast of fire farther down the tentacle, severing it. Melarue untangles it from Merith’s neck, then runs along his back to hack at more of the tendrils now trying to widen his wounds.

“For fuck’s sake,” Ash groans, casting fire as close to Merith as she dares. Her aravel rocks and starts to descend once more. Shit. She can’t keep the aravel up and fight the damned tentacles at the same time.

Somehow sensing her conflict, Melarue turns from their task for the briefest moment, “Let it go! Get up here!” They shout. Shit. Ash backs up only to run and leap across the space between the aravel and Merith.

For a brief moment, she feels the pull of gravity and wonders if she won’t make it - only to collide with Merith’s paw. Holding fat, Ash clambers up to his back to aid Melarue in ridding the Keeper of his assailants. She sweeps her spear down across his flank, slicing into a tentacle. It begins to writhe so she sets it aflame. Black fire joins hers for a moment then redirects to another tentacle, engulfing it.

Black and blue flames dance over Merith’s scales, and together they manage to push the tentacles far enough off to allow him to fly upward to rejoin the others. Ash doesn’t dare look up to see what is going on, lest she be distracted from the task at hand, but she hears another dragon’s roar and knows that Henne’thel must have taken on her draconic shape.

Ash and Melarue are on their knees as Merith’s ascends, looking for some stability even as they sweep their weapons down and out to the still reaching tentacles. They’re back to back, fighting, not unlike how she always pictured her nanae and mama fighting together - closing rifts and dispatching Red Templars.

A tentacle whips out and smacks Melarue hard enough to send them sprawling. They grunt and slide down Merith’s hide.

“No!” Ash shouts and lunges, stretching herself so that she straddles Merith’s spine as she reaches for and grabs Melarue’s hand. She grimaces at the stretch, but she has them, she’s not losing them. “Climb up me, I can’t pull you up!” She grinds out and they set to pulling themselves back to Merith’s steady back over Ash’s body. They pull and tug but it’s over quickly as they settle themselves back onto Merith.

“Thank you,” they breathe. She nods, still regaining her breath and trying not to pay too much attention to the aching stretch in her side and groin. She reaches out and touches their arm in acknowledgement.

The tentacles amazingly recede into the darkness below, allowing Merith to fly even faster. They’re so close to rejoining the others, and with the tentacles gone, Ash looks up.

Nimronyn and Henne’thel have managed to gather most of the aravels back between them, a new haphazard barrier surrounding them all. Sylmae is still astride Nimronyn, fighting off tentacles herself. Daern’thal of all people sits atop Henne’thel, but instead of fighting the tentacles, he seems to be casting what looks to be wide nets to pull in stray aravels.

She rests a hand on Merith, feeling his pain and determination to reach the rest of the clans. They just need to get through this and then he can rest. She suspects the other Keepers will need to rest as well.

Ash is contemplating how much farther they have to go to escape Desolation when she feels it. A great magical pull that snaps her attention to in front of Merith’s head. The biggest tentacle yet shoots up from the dark, larger than any of the Keepers and arcs down, too fast for Merith to dodge -

The tentacle slams into Merith. Ash is thrown violently from his back and she screams, unable to hold onto her spear. She flies through the air, accelerating downward into the darkness while Merith roars and Melarue yells. Everything is moving so fast, it’s hard to keep track of where she is and where the others are -

A wing clips her, redirecting her right into Melarue.

She smashes into them with a broken scream. The base of her right horn collides right into their face and she feels more than hears the snap of their nose breaking. They clutch at each other, trying to hold onto something sturdy even as they plummet.

“Stop! Stop!” Ash cries, moving her grasp to their hands. “Force fire out of your feet!” She screams, their position shifting until they are falling belly first. Dammit, wrong position. Ash tries to reangle herself so that they’re falling feet-first. Her and Melarue both strain for the feat, and once in that position - fire!

They don’t stop plummeting right away, the fire while being forced down, comes up around them in a swirling mass of black and blue. Purple eyes meet bright silver ones and for a moment, she feels so close to death’s doorstep she swears she is finally going to cross over. She could curse it. How long has she thrown herself carelessly towards death? How often has she come so close, waiting to be reunited with her family, only to live? And now that she wants to live, she dies?

The universe can fucking suck it, she decides, and forces more power out of herself until there is nothing left. The fire burns brighter and brighter until it is no longer black and blue but black and white that surrounds them - and then it doesn’t surround them, but propels them up!

Melarue smiles and even with the blood running down their face, they look so much like her nanae in that moment it makes her heart ache and spurr her to continue the flame. She, they, can do this. Together.

“Not sssooo fasssssst!” A thunderous voice echoes around them. All light save for her white flames flash out, leaving them in the dark. In a breath, what feels like a great hand seizes Melarue and Ash and forces them down. Ash’s concentration breaks and her fire goes out. They fall, fall -

Stop.

The sudden cease of falling jars them, jerking them back until it is like they are on their knees on the ground, looking up -

To the face of a monster.

Her glowing orange eyes are the size of aravels, peering down at them in hated curiosity. Shades and other demons trapped from her nexus make up the rest of her “face”, writhing and opening their own eyes to gaze upon Ash and Melarue. In hope? In fear?

“You daaaare enter my realm!”

“We mean only to pass through,” Melarue says.

“Ssssilenccce!” Desolation booms. “You will not take them from me! They are MINE!” A shade detaches itself from Desolation’s face and launches itself at Melarue, claws extended. She can see them struggle and know from her own immobility they cannot move -

“Stop! Please! It...It was my idea to come through here!” She shouts and the Shade stops just short of Melarue before turning its attention to her, its eyes burning orange. It slinks toward her, growling low.

“Ashokara!”

“Shut up!” She hisses back to Melarue even as they glower and fight against their restraints.

“Whyyy?” Desolation hisses, “You can’t have them!”

“You were going to be Keeper, right? You weren’t always like this,” Ash says, “when I heard that, I thought how could someone so great fall so far? What happened to you? Who, what hurt you?”

“Ssshut up!” She screams.

Ash continues, “You lost them, didn’t you? They were taken from you, the people you were meant to Keep. They were taken from you!”

“ENOUGH!” Desolation quakes with power and the Shade leaps forward, wrapping its claws around Ash’s throat. She gasps and feels its darkness slip into her mind.

“You’re all mine, now! Mine!” She wants Ash’s memories? She can have them!

Ash opens her mind like a book and remembers her world, burning and dying all around her. She remembers running from a collapsing Skyhold, an explosion taking her mama and then her nanae. She remembers having to let Aili go to plummet to her death. She remembers Uthvir’s shout for her to run as they twisted themselves into a more monstrous version of themselves. She remembers how the corruption overwhelmed even them. She lets Desolation see and feel it all.

“WHAT IS THISSSSSS?” Desolation wails. It’s only when Ash opens her eyes does she realize she had closed them. To her amazed horror, her memories play in the clouds of darkness around her. Not just the world burning though, but precious memories of Nanae tucking her into bed, reading to her. Mama singing to her as they walked along a flowering path in Orlais. Uthvir showing her how to properly hold a spear and stealing apple cakes from the kitchens with Aili. Krem giving her a soft dragon plush that has purple eyes just like hers. Dorian reading magical texts aloud to her because she always struggled with the words.

Mama and Nanae coming home and sweeping her into a hug, telling her they love her.

Love and heartbreak paint each memory and Desolation seems...enthralled by them.

“I lost them all too,” Ash says quietly, “because someone thought they knew how to fix the world and destroyed it instead. I lost...everyone I loved. I wanted to die for a long time, to see them again.” Desolation shifts so that her face is mere inches from Ash’s.

“Why didn’t you?” The question is softer than the screams from before and asked so...earnestly. It makes Ash’s heart hurt - this creature is not so different from her, is she?

“Some amazing people showed me it’s possible to love again. I still love all of them, and I love new people - as long as I am alive...I can love, and I can grow. And so can you.”

Desolation...blinks and the orange gives way to a soft blue. The demons still. One falls off, then another, and another. Or they’re released, Ash doesn’t know, all she knows is that Desolation isn’t what she seems. All this pain, all this rage - she is the product of what something did to her and she survived the only way she knew how.

“Who were you?” Ash asks, “what happened to you?”

Instead of replying, new memories begin to play around them. A beautiful, verdant field stretches out before them and in it rests a clan with a truly radiant Keeper. Their scales are an iridescent shade of green and instead of horns, two large frills crown their head and run the entire length of their serpentine body. She knows somehow that they were Patience, a softer spirit that took the form of a Keeper many, many years ago. She sees another spirit, a beautiful blue spirit of...Love. And Love loved the clan so much, she loved this Keeper too. As time stretched on, she grew more powerful and Patience waited for her while she gained enough power to become a Keeper herself. A clan with two Keepers - it was always the goal, and they were so close.

The memories swirl and rage and despair taint the images. A foreign force with no Keeper arrived, two elves astride harts approached Patience. Elves Ash recognize as Mythal and Elgar’nan, though younger and not nearly as powerful as she knows them. They brought Patience to talks under the guise of peace and then...slaughtered them. When their people railed against this, they too were slaughtered.

Love...lost everything, lost their love, lost what tethered her to the world. She felt her power was immense and so she laid waste to the Empire’s camp, she burned it and with each soul she took, she corrupted further and further. She wanted to shatter, she wanted to break, but couldn’t. So she flung herself to this far corner of the Dreaming to wallow, corrupting further and further until she didn’t recognize herself.

“You will always love them, you will always be Love,” Ash says to her, “they will always remember you as Love.” Testing the boundaries, Ash attempts to move her arm and finds she can. With her limited mobility, she reaches up and touches Desolation’s face that is now just shadow with the demons having fled.

A corrupted spirit cannot revert back to what it was previously, but it can change into something new, something...different. Desolation closes its eyes for the last time...to open them as Hope. Ash smiles, tears rolling down her face. That is always the first step, isn’t it? Hoping to move forward.

The darkness slowly dissipates and Hope’s form shifts from shadows to a sheer dark blue. Her hands come up under Ash and Melarue and they rise.

Nimronyn is diving and flying as fast she can when Ash spies her. “Memae!” She calls and Forgiveness turns, holding Ash and Melarue out to the searching Keeper.

Memae turns just as fast as she can, her jaw opening to release fire -

“Memae, no! She’s different now!” Ash calls, waving for her to stop. Her mouth doesn’t close but it doesn’t open any more than it already is. She stops just short of colliding with Hope’s face. The two stare at each other while Mamae leans down and helps Ash and Melarue to Memae’s back.

“Come quickly. Vhenan, we need to go, Merith can’t hold it for long,” Mamae says in Nimronyn’s ear. Clearly not happy about it, Memae turns and flies back to the aravels.

Ash, feeling the exhaustion and relief in equal measures flow through her, turns to look back at Hope. She winks and mimes blowing a kiss, but when she blows, a great magical wind catches them all. Ash yips in surprise to find them flying through the Dreaming - her, Memae, the aravels, Henne’thel, Merith, everyone - until they are at the edge of where they were to exit Desolation’s realm.

Memae works her wings quickly to orient herself.

“What did you do?” Mamae asks bewildered, staring at Ash.

Before Ash can say anything, Melarue answers, “She helped the spirit, who just helped us, it seems.”

They then take a moment to look around them. The sky is a brilliant shade of indigo, the land below is catching the dying sunlight but there is enough for Ash to know where they are.

“Glittering wildflowers,” she murmurs.

What was her family like? Her father was the Keeper of her clan in Pre-Arlathan times, and his name was Sorael. Her mother was a former spirit of Melody, and kept the name. They were a bright and happy family, until another Keeper came and killed Henne’thel’s parents and many others in the clan so that they could take their clan members themselves. Henne’thel took on dragon shape and killed the other Keeper, and became the Keeper of her own clan until she eventually met Daern’thal, and the Forgotten Ones formed their own force to fight the Evanuris.

What’s her fighting style? Henne’thel is a force of nature on the battlefield. She fights most often with a woldo (weoldo), a bladed polearm, which she also uses as a mages stave. Most of her battle magic is weather related. An example of a woldo:

Favorite Color? Lavender. Clothing Style? I base most of Henne’thel’s clothing designs on traditional Korean clothing from the Joseon era. Lots of hanbok, like this:

What kind of offerings would the Dalish leave her? What was she the Goddess of? I’ll answer these two together. So to the Dalish that worship the Forgotten Ones, she’s known as The Storyteller. The Evanuris wiped her name from existence, but the concept of her and what she was known for remained steadfast. She was basically the patron goddess of music and storytelling. She was often depicted as a figure playing the pipa or the guzheng or other musical instruments, with songbirds and dandelion seeds as recurring themes. 

Offerings that would be left to The Storyteller were often not physical things: bits of a rhyme, song, or story told within a prayer was the preferred way of showing veneration to her. The Oral History of the elvhen people was begun by worshipers of Henne’thel. The job of the Dalish Keepers in the Dragon Age is actually very akin to what Henne’thel did in Pre-Arlathan Elvhenan, and what her followers continued after the fall of Elvhenan. 

She shifts and flies beside Nim for a little while, dipping into the spaces around her antlers. She needs more practice shifting anyways, why not practice now? She billows back to the aravel eventually, tired but a good tired, the kind of tired that lets her sleep without fuss. Her memories are always happier up here. Instead of remembering death and destruction, Ash remembers Nanae’s preferred perfume when they were in Val Rayoux, or how Mama loved to collect books. She remembers a trip to Val Rayoux where she got to wear the prettiest dress she had ever seen, silk spun so fine it draped like water over her.

When she wakes, she finds they have landed in a nice glen, surrounded by tall, old growth trees. The area strikes her as oddly familiar, she thinks…there are wyverns around here? But in the future, and the trees…they were bigger. But still, wyverns are creatures of habit and if they were there in the future, it is very possible they could be around now. She informs the scouts and more than a few of them seem a little too excited by the idea.

“Don’t go purposefully looking for them now,” she warns playfully.

“Would we do that?” Etiras asks, feigning innocence. Ash rolls her eyes and wishes them to be safe while scouting. She isn’t exactly one to stop someone from bending the rules, so if they happen upon a wyvern, at least they’ll be prepared.

The rest of the day is comprised of the typical work needed to secure the clan after travel. Wards need to be put up, aravels need to be properly secured, food needs to be cooked, and specialty workshops need to be set up. Children also need to be corralled and watched, though more…responsible types are trusted with that task than Ash. And since Daern’thal has worked himself into sickness, she becomes the main person responsible for setting up the wards.

It is cooler in this region, farther south and east than where they had been, and the coldness presses particularly uncomfortably against Ash. She shrouds herself in warm magic and furs. Her hair is loose today, partially for warmth, and it spills out from the hood she’s wearing.

Setting up wards is always an odd thing. It makes her think of her Nanae and Uthvir a lot, and in the past it’s graced her with a lingering melancholy. But today is different. She thinks of them and their memories seem to twine in with the wards, lighting in particularly bright displays of activity. They are all connected to her, ready to alert and to deter depending on the nature of the intruder. Animals are tricky creatures sometimes, particularly since they can be in the service of rival clans or the empire, but for the most part, the wards are set up to warn of specific elf-like energy intruders.

She is careful in how she spills her blood, creating a web of blood magic wards. She layers the wards – the outer layer is to simply inform of those wandering closer, while the second is to start discouraging, and the third are more akin to magical traps than just wards.

Ash walks the perimeter of the camp multiple times, checking to make sure that all wards and safety precautions are in place. By the time she is done, the sun is beginning to set, creating soft yet beautiful shadows through the trees. She returns to camp, heading straight to the fire. Blood magic always leaves her feeling cold, combine that with the chill in the air and Ash is too cold for comfort.

Ram soup is for dinner and helps, heating her from the inside out. She leans against Nimronyn while she eats, curling up and basking in her memae’s warmth. By the end of dinner, Ash is warm again, and her magic feels replenished, even after being so utilized during the day.

The hunters return from their hunting activities, a wyvern unabashedly being carried by three of them. Etiras shrugs at her while grabbing a bowl of soup. Well, at least now they have some valuable scales and bone for crafting.

While the camp is winding down for the night, she can’t help but notice Daern’thal’s continued absence. She frowns, he should have been with the rest of them for dinner, but he’s remained in his aravel for the entire day.

Ashokara rises and grabs another bowl of soup before heading into her friend’s aravel. It is dark, and the warming runes need more energy to be activated again. She waves a hand and they all ignite, slowly warming the aravel. She lights the candles and enchanted stones as well, bathing the aravel is soft light. Daern’thal’s prone figure wriggles in his hammock and he pokes his head out from the cocoon of his blankets.

“I brought you soup,” she says, stepping towards him.

Reverie pops its head out from underneath the covers, in its bird form.

“Thank you.”

Daern’thal slowly sits up, his hair clearly trying to free itself in a frizzy array from his braids. He keeps the blankets wrapped around him even as he shifts to the upright position. Two hand peek out from the blankets and take the bowl and spoon. She climbs up behind him and takes his hair gently in hand, slowly untangling it with a comb.

He eats and she helps him in silence. Their words after the battle…had not been nice, nor easy. He has seen her memories, she has let him…know, to understand, and as much as he understands, he has not lived what she has lived. The pain….

All he sees are her actions, and how the clan is affected by them. She knows that she has acted recklessly. And he knows that she couldn’t just stand there and let things happen, but he also feels wronged by her somehow.

“The man who destroyed my world did not think the people of my world were people. He called my people brutes, and only changed his mind when my mother showed him just how compassionate and good we are. He…was incapable of seeing people as people until it was too late, until he was too set in his ways to stop himself from destroying anything,” she says softly. Daern’thal stills and Reverie hops up onto his shoulder.

“I tell you this because I am not like him. I have always seen you as people, just as bright, just as important as the people from my world. My loss…it can never be fully repaired, but that does not mean I am unable to love you or the clan. But it does make me protective. I am sorry to have hurt you, but please do not ever insinuate that I do any of this because I do not love you,” she tells him, letting his hair fall softly down his back.

Reverie stares at her and she wonders if she said more than she should have. She doesn’t want to fight with him, but she doesn’t want to leave this…whatever it is open.

“I’m sorry,” Reverie says, so softly she almost doesn’t hear. A tense breath leaves her and she leans her forehead against the back of his head.

“Thank you.”

They don’t say anything for the rest of the evening. She helps keep him warm after the soup, curling up with him on a pile of blankets and pillows, lending her natural heat to help his recovery. Reverie sneaks into the pile, vibrating happily.

She falls asleep with him, curled up and warm.

After that night, the tension of the battle seems to lessen. And soon, days turn into weeks, which then turn into months. She trains with Sylmae almost daily, honing her abilities, becoming deadlier and stronger.

Sometimes she’ll catch herself in a mirror and hardly recognize herself. She…looks like her mama. She has her nose, and her cheeks. Mama was not a thin woman, she was made of soft curves and strong muscle, and while Ash is smaller, leaner, her body follows very similar lines to her mother, she thinks. Her shoulders are stronger now, able to carry more, not just her sorrow and memories. Ash can see her mama when she looks at herself, but it doesn’t make her sad. Her curls are looser but just as white, a mane of hair that floats around her face and horns, down her back. She is strong like her mama, she is beautiful, and compassionate. Or she at least tries to be.

She lets her memories linger closer to her. It hurts at first, everything seems to remind her of loss, but slowly it begins to shift. She sees things her loved ones would have loved, and she loves those things more for it. She sees wrong as spirits drift into the camps, whispering of the empire’s expansions, and she feels impassioned to right them. Her memories make her strong and she feels closer to herself than she has in the entire time she’s been here.

The months stretch into a year, and Nimronyn takes them deep into a mountain range. Winter holds the region in a cold, dead grip, blanketing the region in a thick blanket of snow. Ash melts snow wherever she goes, blazing trails forward…but also making them rather conspicuous.

The clan remains bundled up and close together, particularly around Nimronyn’s reptilian-like body. Ash sends friendly flames over her memae’s body every now and then, keeping her warm. Sylmae is less delicate and throws several large blankets over the dragon. But it helps. Ash knows that these far reaching places are safer, but they tax Nimronyn too much.

But she also knows not to press the issue.

We need allies. We need safe harbor. We can’t run forever. Every day the empire expands, taking more clans, killing more keepers. Daern’thal tells her of more whispers of the madness growing making Ash grow increasingly worried. There were no tales of this in the future, something so old, people forgot.

There is nothing concrete to blame the madness on, but if Ash had to bet, she’d bet it is the Empire. It the type of sinister thing she could see Mythal doing – the bitch.

What is most troubling, however, is that every now and then there are whispers in the clan that maybe the empire isn’t so bad. Their vision is an attractive one, and it beats constantly running. Ash reminds them that the empire destroys themselves eventually, enslaves definitely, and anyways, after what happened in the valley – any of them will be killed on sight…or worse. They are welcome to leave, but they should know the truth of the empire, to not believe its beguiling lies.

Despite the several feet of snow and freezing conditions, Sylmae takes Ash to the side and sets to train her.

“Conditions will not always favor you!” Sylmae says as they begin.

“Certainly not if we keep running to the mountains,” Ash snipes back, parrying her mother’s strike.

“It is futile to curb your tongue.”

“It is!” She lunges and Sylmae bats her away easily. As strong as Ash has gotten, as good as she has become with combat, she still can’t quite beat Sylmae. Always one step behind.

But then again, Ash does not use her fire in this training.

Nim trains her fire, and Daern’thal improves her defensive magicks.

“Your opinions are no always correct,” Sylmae continues.

“No one’s opinions are always correct – not even yours or Memae’s,” Ash counters, rolling away, only to drop into a particularly deep snow drift. The word is not called though, spar is still in session. Sylmae is dashing after her and in a spur of the moment decision, Ash takes a deep breath and lets a wave of heat seep from her, quickly melting all the snow around her and Sylmae.

Her mamae wobbles on the suddenly new muddy ground. Well, she used to not use her fire in these sessions. The ground is still unstable but at least it’s not snow, and Ash takes advantage of Sylmae’s very slight wobble to dash forward. Their training sticks clash as Ash angles herself low. Sylmae is still significantly taller than Ash, and she’s beginning to think she’s taller than even Mama, but that just means she has a longer way to fall.

Ash is not the quickest, nor the strongest, but she strives to be clever. She does not relent, further destabilizing Sylmae’s base. She could maybe win this won, she could –

A ward goes off in her head and she gasps, suddenly seeing the intruders on the outer ring of wards traipsing through the snow.

When her vision clears, she is on her back with Sylmae standing above her.

“What was that?”

“Intruders,” Ash hisses, rolling to her feet quickly. Seriousness settles over Sylmae as she follows Ash back into the camp, peppering her with questions.

“How many? What were their armaments? Describe them –

“I don’t think they’re part of the empire, they looked more like a clan – but I didn’t see a Keeper.” She tries to hold the image in her head, seeing…an aravel, harts, and young elves that could very well be teenagers.

Sylmae’s face hardens. They’ve run into hostile clans before, though normally they have Keepers. A Keeper-less clan is woefully at risk, that is…if the Keeper isn’t disguised somehow.

Still, they alert the clan, rearranging the aravels into a defensive position and gathering warriors and hunters. Daern’thal taps into the wards and Dreaming, scouting where he can to see if he can learn anything about these elves.

Ash armors and arms herself, slowly working on her breathing exercises to let her magic begin to circulate freely inside of her. Fire requires a spark and a steady supply of fuel, magical fire requires the same, with slight variation. Her will is the spark, her breath and the magical pathways in her body are the fuel. She grabs her spear, two daggers, and several knives. She doesn’t think this clan will pose that much of a threat, but…safer than sorry.

Armed and ready, she joins her mothers at the forefront.

Another ward breaks and Ash is given another glimpse. The clan she sees is not advancing like an army, and she does not know if they can sense they are breaking wards. Exhaustion is written across their faces.

We need to know our enemies, yes, but we also need to know how to spot an ally, Mama’s voice drifts through her mind, a lingering memory. She was speaking to Cullen, something about how he was suspicious of some new mage enclave Mama wanted to bring into the fold. There was concern that they were Venatori agents – they had in fact been young mages who had run from the Circle before the rebellion. Mama had been right.

“I think…this is not a fight,” she says tentatively.

“I agree,” Reverie chirps up. It sits on Daern’thal’s shoulder, his eyes still closed as he searches through the Dreaming.

“They carry weariness with them, not malice,” it continues. Mamae and Memae share looks, Memae’s large eyes blinking slowly as she returns her gaze to the forest around them.

“They can still pose a threat,” Mamae says.

“Yes, but maybe…a friendly initial approach is best?” Ash suggests.

Another ward breaks. The sounds of a moving clan reach them, growing from soft whispers and whirring to actual speech and the plodding of harts, the various plunks and wheezing from moving aravels.

“Mamae? Memae?” Ash asks, wanting to see if they will at least consider her idea.

“Yes, little light, we’ll try. We do not fight if it’s not necessary,” Nim finally answers and Ash relaxes. If she is wrong, they can chew her out – but something tells her she’s not.

The other clan’s scouts are the first to pass through the trees. They are nearly hidden, but the wards chitter with activity.

“Stay there,” Nimronyn commands. The scouts freeze against the trees and soon the rest of the clan follows them.

They halt immediately as soon as they spy Ash’s clan. They watch each other, eyes flitting from one person to the next, gaging the strength of who they’re up against. The people of the other clan’s faces fall as they realize their disadvantage.

The stillness is broken by a small woman striding quickly to the front of the stopped clan. There is a fierceness to her that Ash recognizes, as is the sorrow that seems to fill the space around her. This is a grieving woman, her eyes are hard and she is ready to fight if need be. She has lost much, but she has not lost everything.

A warrior next to Ash grips his axe tighter and Ash reaches out, placing her hand on the haft. Nimronyn puffs up and a taste of her magic suffuses the area.

“There is already a clan here, you have broken many of our wards…what brings you so close?” She asks, her tone as strong as it is questioning. The woman in question raises her chin in defiance, her own magic expanding in the space and Ash suddenly realizes that this must be their Keeper.

“You are Nimronyn, yes?”

Memae lets out a low growl but nods.

“I am Henne’thel. My father spoke of you, he said you were a good Keeper. You are not like the Keeper that attacked my clan and killed him and my mother.”

Her clan does not gasp as much as the emotions in the clearing suddenly turn to shock then to pity then to sorrow. The death of a Keeper…once a rare event has become entirely too common, with the rise of the empire and the increasing boldness in warring clans that have tyrannical Keepers more bent on fighting and death than they are on leading.

“I am sorry for your loss, Henne’thel. I knew of your father as well, he was a good Keeper.”

“I am our Keeper now – I slew the last Keeper that threatened us.”

“As is your right. We do not wish any unnecessary antagonism if you do not,” Nimronyn says diplomatically.

The tension in the grove eases considerably. Ash watches as the other clan’s members relax, tension rolling off of their shoulders and their faces.

“No, we do not wish any unnecessary fighting. We will be on our way if it eases you,” Henne’thel says. Before Ash can think better of it, she steps forward and bends her head towards her memae.

“Perhaps, Keeper, we could invite them to break bread with us. Winters are coldest weathered alone,” she says, hoping the double meaning of her words come across. Memae huffs at her briefly, pausing before turning back to Henne’thel.

“My daughter speaks the truth, you are welcome to share our fire if you promise to keep your clan on their best behavior.”

Henne’thel inclines her head in gratitude, first towards Nimronyn, then towards Ash.

“Your generosity and hospitality is greatly appreciated. I will confer with my clan and give you an answer.”

“Very well. Ashokara, since you seem so invested in this, you may wait for their answer. You as well Daern’thal, keep her safe.”

Ah, she will be reprimanded lightly later then. Fine, she can handle that, because dammit she was right. Daern’thal looks slightly put out as the rest of their clan files back to their camp. Reverie scuttles up to the top of her friend’s head, staring at Henne’thel.

“I agree with you,” it chirps and she smiles at her friend.

“Thank you, Nimronyn and Sylmae may…not be so understanding of it later, though.”

“They’ll see reason, they always do. It’s not like you barreled head first into an army this time.”

“It was a raiding party, excuse you, and everything turned out fine. And this is better than fine. Friends are always good,” Ash says.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Henne’thel says from behind her. Ash turns in surprise, looking down, very far down, at the woman before her.

“I do. I am glad we could avoid any fighting; you and your clan have been through enough.”

Henne’thel frowns at that but she does not press the issue as she returns to her people. She can guess what she seems like to Henne’thel, unknowing of the pain she is going through right now. But maybe…and it’s a big maybe, she will get the chance to understand.

When Ash turns back to Daern’thal he is flushed, and it’s not just from the weather. Ash leans back, raising a knowing brow at him. He shrugs, opting to remain silent. Well, then, perhaps it’s not as big of a ‘maybe’ after all.

Henne’thel confers with her people for at least an hour. In that hour, Ash and Daern’thal communicate mostly in sign, keeping quiet for privacy, for themselves and for the clan heatedly discussing whether or not to accept their offer. She can understand why they wouldn’t – unknown, could be a trap, inviting misfortune. She doubts saying it’s not a trap will assuage any concerns, so she lets them have their debate in peace.

Daern’thal seems preoccupied with how apparently pretty Henne’thel is. She is indeed lovely, Ash can see that, but Daern’thal seems very quickly taken with her.

I should have let you invite her to our fire. Ash teases.

I do not court the ire of the Keeper as easily as you do, He retorts, sufficiently not denying anything. She chuckles.

Everyone seems to forget what my name means.

How exactly did your mother know you would be so annoyingly defiant? He teases and she chuckles.

Lucky guess.

And so it goes for an hour, quip after quip until Henne’thel reappears, looking pleased with herself.

“We accept your invitation, as long as you sit with us.”

Oooh, she’s to be insurance, interesting.

“As long as Daern’thal can sit with us too, then, he’s delightful company.” She grins and Daern’thal almost blushes.

Henne’thel seems unfazed by it however as she nods and returns to her people. After she gathers them, they all head towards the camp. Ash manipulates the wards accordingly, allowing them safe passage. The aravels are still positioned defensively when they arrive and a truce must be reached – weapons are to be confined to specific aravels to help prevent fighting. Both clans consent to it and slowly but surely, Henne’thel’s clan settles down around the large fire Ash’s clan has going.

Ash and Daern’thal are kept as the insurance, but she doesn’t mind. She knows that her clan will not attack, and she is happy to foster diplomacy. Henne’thel’s people do not talk to her much at all however, they keep to themselves and while they are all sharing the fire, the clans remain largely separated into their groups. The only exception to this are the children.

As soon as the situation is deemed safe enough, the children are allowed out of the aravels and allowed to romp. They have no issues with making new friends from a different clan, they see a fellow child and see a potential friend, not a potential threat.

Henne’thel and Nimronyn sit together, discussing Keeper things, Ash imagines. This awkward situation remains until supper, where the hunters from both clans convene and begin to cook the game they had caught during the day. Henne’thel takes a seat next to Nimronyn, while Ash and Daern’thal sit with the hunters from Henne’thel’s clan.

The fire begins to die when a wind billows through the trees. Reflexively, Ash takes control of the fire, turning it a brilliant blue as it waves in place while the wind poses a threat. When the wind shifts, she relinquishes it and settles back in. Henne’thel’s clan is watching her closely.

“I heard a very interesting rumor,” Henne’thel says carefully.

“And what is this rumor?” Nimronyn asks.

“There was a battle in a valley far from here, between the rising empire elves and a clan.”

Ash tenses but Nimronyn seems calm.

“Not such an uncommon occurrence in such times.”

“Hm, true, but it is uncommon when the clan wins.” Henne’thel’s gaze shifts to Ash.

“The rumors spoke of a great blue fire engulfing even the mightiest of the warriors. They call the woman responsible for the slaughter Asha’thylgar.”

“The woman of blue fire? What a descriptive name,” Nimronyn ventures, “and potentially misleading – blue fire is not as uncommon as some think.”

“True…but the rumor spoke of the woman who as the daughter of a Keeper,” Henne’thel says and finally Nimronyn shifts her tone.

“I do not appreciate where you are going with this.”

“I mean no disrespect or harm. I am…impressed, very few who tangle with this so-called empire come out of it alive – and you did more than just survive.”

Ash resists smiling and instead continues to eat her food. Ash’s clan seems unnerved from the conversation, they’re shifting in their seats, looking to one another. Sylmae levels her gaze at Ash while Henne’thel and Nymronyn remain locked into whatever stand-off they’re in.

“The empire is hunting you, Asha’thylgar has a sizeable bounty on her head for what she did to Falon’din, it seems reasonable to warn you.”

“How exactly did you come across this information?” Nimronyn demands. They already know about the bounty and the hunting parties, it’s partly why they’re still on the move.

“How everyone does, gossip-y spirits, including an actual Gossip spirit. We have no interest in collecting that bounty, they’d probably just steal us into their empire anyways.”

“Then why bring it up?” Nimronyn asks.

Henne’thel pauses and her eyes go over Ash, “I wanted to know if it was true. I know what the empire can do, I doubted such rumors that a clan escaped. The tale made it sound…fantastical.”

“Feats that are not believed are often thought of that way,” Ash says softly. It’s how folktales and legends get started, there’s almost always a grain of truth, but time distorts everything – especially stories.

“And do you have the truth of this feat?” Henne’thel asks.

“The truth is subject to perspective,” Nimronyn says, “perhaps that is why your gossiping spirits create such a fantastical story – it’s their truth.”

“Then I ask for your truth,” Henne’thel says, not backing down from this. Eyes flit to Ash, expecting her to tell the tale. She nibbles on her lip and shrugs.

“A raiding party entered the valley where we were camped. I was tasked with leading the clan away from the fighting while my Keeper and the clan’s warriors engaged with the raiding party. I couldn’t bear to watch my mothers die so I entered the fighting myself – I have always had a talent for fire, I used it.”

Dark emotion falls over Henne’thel and she nods, “I know that feeling, you are lucky that you did not lose them.” A bitter smile crosses Ash’s face – she doesn’t know, she tells herself. But she nods her head in thanks.

“Lucky indeed.” It feels like a lie. It wasn’t luck, it was determination and action, to prevent from history repeating itself. Or beginning so to speak. She knows what Henne’thel is feeling right now – anger, grief, jealousy. Ash’s adoptive mothers are alive while Henne’thel’s parents are dead – through no fault of her own.

“I am heartened to hear that the tale is true, it is good to know that not all clans are doomed to suffer Keeper-less fates.”

“And we heartened to know that your clan survived a rival’s attack. How did you manage that?” Ash asks.

“I took the form of a Keeper and assumed my role.”

She is more powerful than she seems, then, good. Allies should be strong. The rest of the dinner is filled with polite, if tense, conversation. But over time, and as the wines and spirits are passed around the fire, the tension lessens and the two clans ease into a more companionable existence.

The next few days are a flurry of activity. Food is a little thin, Ash’s clan was not expecting to be hosting with another clan. But Henne’thel’s hunters are more than happy to assist Nim’s hunters in acquiring food. Children play together, Nim and Henne’thel are engaged in talks the entire week, friendships are made, and by the end of the week, an alliance has formed.

Ash resists the urge to gloat but she does settle for a small, “I was right,” directed at Sylmae who humbles her in training again for it. Worth it, though. One of the best, and unexpected, results is that Daern’thal seems absolutely taken with Henne’thel. Reverie once whispers to Ash that Daern’thal finds Henne’thel pretty, beautiful even.

While there seems to be a lead up into a courtship between Henne’thel and Daern’thal, and the alliance is strong, the two clan go their separate ways in traveling. They set up the routes for communication in the Dreaming, giving Daern’thal even more power to contact his lady love. It’s cute, and it’s a good reminder than even in dark times there are always these little bits of brightness that shine through.

Spring arrives in the mountains in a soggy manner, drenching the area in rain – as if the melting snow wasn’t enough. Aravels get stuck and travel becomes slow as they avoid flying due to the near constant inclement weather.

They are camped out on a small mountain, when a ward goes off. Like it’s supposed to work, Ash catches a glimpse of what broke the ward – but she doesn’t see anything other than the surrounding foliage, maybe a few animals, but nothing that would break a ward. She frowns. Wards do not just spontaneously break. 

She waits several minutes but no other wards break. She alerts the clan to the ward breaking and they agree it should be examined. Several groups are sent out to examine the perimeter while Ash and Etiras leave to examine the ward, armed just in case. They travel quietly through the woods to the broken ward. Ash’s magic lingers in the area, not just activated but blown apart. This was no accident.

She draws her spear and slowly turns, scanning the area. Etiras draws his bow, looking for anything, anyone, who could have blown the enchantment.

Ash looks up too late. A heavy person drops down from the trees, landing firmly on top of her. She falls to the ground with a harrumph, but rolls away quickly. More drop down from the trees and she hears the snaps of a bow as Etiras begins to fight back. Her spear was thrown when the elf landed on her, so she grabs the dagger in her belt and lashes out with that.

The assassin evades her easily and advances quickly. She rolls back to her feet just as the assassin lunges. She moves just as Sylmae taught her, and she lashes out with her fire – but it is raining, and the ground is sopping. Her fire only does so much, only burns so much before it is turned to steam. More steam fills the air as her fire collides with it, thickening the air, making it difficult to breathe.

But the assassins were just warming up it seems. A cloud of magic seeps into the air, sending what feels like knives and shards of glass into her skin. Her arms are soon covered in lacerations, her face, legs. She hears Etiras scream and she realizes that they’ve been outmatched.

It’s a quick decision, but it should work. It’s called a detonation glyph, she normally doesn’t use them because their devastation is too dangerous – too much margin of error. But they are far from camp and the sound of the blast will alert the rest of the clan. She blasts her fire into the nearest assassin. Their barrier takes the majority of the blast but they are left at least stunned enough to grant her the three seconds to whisper the spell into the ground.

The time starts now.

She manipulates the heat of the air to allow her to see Etiras. Wasting no time, Ash grabs him and runs. Then jumps down a ledge. She sends them both into a tucked in roll, doing the best to protect themselves even as they roll down the scraggly side of the ledge and into the brush.

The ward goes off in a brilliant blue explosion, rocking the earth and air. Debris flies down and Ash curls in on herself, protecting her head and neck.

When the air grows calm, she gathers the will to peak out from her position.

“E-Etiras?” She calls softly. A low groan answers her and she pulls herself to her feet. Damn assassins, probably looking to get a bounty on her like Henne’thel had said. Her body is bleeding and hurt, but she can move, keep moving, keep going.

Ash moves to Etiras, who is in a much worse shape. His foot is bent at an unnatural angle and he is already covered in purple and blue marks, bleeding internally as well as from the cuts up and down his arms, his face…

She has never been one for healing. It is not a skill that comes naturally to her, but she knows a thing or two.

“Etiras.”

“Ow.” He can’t move, the pain is too much, it infuses all of the emotion around him. But he’s alive, and that’s all that matters as far she’s concerned. With the utmost care, she reaches down and gently lifts him. He cries out in pain, but this has to happen. It gets worse before it gets better, she remembers that is part of healing.

The foot needs to be set, there’s no way around it, and then she can begin healing. There is a spell for numbing pain, she just need to remember it.

She attempts a spell then checks for numbness, but it doesn’t work. She tries again, but it is on the third try that she manages the right incantation. Etiras goes numb, all pain and some emotion fading from him.

Alright, step one done. She can do this, she may not have taken to healing, but she did train. She did her time with the healers, and she recalls some from her first life, even without magic, it’s possible. She thinks of the surgeon in Skyhold’s infirmary, working to heal the soldiers, and she didn’t even have magic.

If she can do it, so can Ashokara.

She takes gentle hold of his foot and leg and recalls seeing the Surgeon set a bone like this. Know the body and how it connects and you can take it apart…and put it together again.

She jerks. The bones crunch sickening but the foot is in the position it is supposed to be in. She tears off her shirt and wraps the torn pieces around the foot, then wraps two sturdy sticks to his leg, stabilizing it. Then she casts the few healing spells she knows.

The cuts on his arms mend, and some of the bruising eases off. His breathing evens out and she runs a hand over his hair.

“I’m going to get us back.”

“That was some fucked up shit, Ash.”

“I know, I’m going to pick you up now.” She takes one of his arms and helps him into a sitting position, then moves the arm to fall over her shoulders. She adjusts herself so that when she stands, he is slung over both shoulders, foot and ankle untouched. He grunts but makes no protest as she begins to walk towards what she hopes will let her back up to the clan.

She needs to keep moving, there’s no telling if there are more assassins, waiting to strike. Sylmae and the rest are good at tracking so if they need to find her, they will. Etiras is heavy, but not so much that she will let him attempt walking.

Ash wanders down to the river the scouts had found before. Hypothetically she should be able to wander up-stream and to a crossing point where she can then get to the desired elevation where the clan is. And water sounds very nice right about now.

The going is slow, but she eventually makes it to where the trees end and the riverbed beings, dipping in low. She stops immediately, frozen to the spot as she sees it. She has many experiences with spirits, small and large alike, some bright some clinging to shadows, but none have ever shone so brightly, floated so exquisitely as the one before. It large and golden, but not like the ore but as if it were a second sun on earth, light spilling so easily from it as it dangles in the air above the river.

It turns towards her and her heart stutters. She falls to her knees and Etiras grunts, but falls silent of any protests as he looks up from her shoulder and sees the spirit.

It blinks curiously at her as it floats towards her. An arm extends down to her, silent but overwhelming as it touches her cheek. It is warm and comforting despite everything and she leans into it, wanting it to remain just for longer. It is almost familiar, this closeness, and it fills with unfathomable sorrow to have it be gone.

“You are lost,” it whispers, but it is an echoing thing, as if it were a thousand whispers coming from multiple beings rather than just one. She nods in confirmation.

“We are separated from our clan, have you seen them?” Etiras asks. The spirit turns to him and nods.

“Up on the ridge, to the east. But that is not what I meant.”

Ash blinks in surprise and struggles to find a response.

“I am where I can only be,” she finally says and the spirit nods.

“As we all are.”

Etiras lifts his head slowly and takes a breath, “You are Glory.”

“I am.”

Glory. A very suiting aspect for this spirit, overwhelming and humbling and incredible all at once. Grand and shining, something everyone wants, and so few get, fewer that deserve it.

“Thank you for helping us,” he whispers. Several of its wings beat, light shines from them in varying lengths.

“I will accompany you to the path, you should find your way back from there,” Glory says and begins to…float up the river. She follows it, moving as quickly as she can. As Glory moves, the world seems to stretch towards them, as if nothing can get enough of them. Even Etiras seems to lean as much as he can towards them.

But a coldness lingers in Ash that she can’t explain. It is beautiful and great and incredible, but it also brings a heaviness to her memories that she has not felt in a long time.

Glory leads them to the path. Ash was right, it wasn’t far from the river at all, and she can hear Sylmae and the others in the distance calling for her. Before she heads towards them, she turns to Glory and bows her head in thanks.

“Thank you. And if you will accept advice – stay far away from the Empire, all they do is destroy and corrupt things.”

“Your concern is kind. I will remember it,” it tells her. She nods and Etiras gives his own thanks as Glory recedes back into the Dreaming.

Etiras is heavy upon her shoulders, as are her memories, pressing incessantly against her skull. But she sojourns forth towards the sound of her clan, her people. The past weighs her down, but her legs are strong.

She takes a deep breath and calls for Sylmae, directing them all to her. They are there in a flash, taking Etiras from her and whisking him away to the clan’s healers. Sylmae pulls Ash in for a tight hug, only to release her quickly once she realizes how cut up Ash is.