#satinalia2015

He tried to shake away the ring of haze over his head and get back to his studies. The words started to blur and blend together. He took his finger and ran across paragraphs to find his place again, but the sentences smudged. What this book was even about was lost to him, the cover had gone conveniently blank. So he dropped it at the foot of his chair, circled around the bookshelf and began looking for something more coherent.

He began to eye the spine of a more promising tone, when a small clack shuttered his senses. It was a tiny sound, a slight chipping of stone, but isolated in this unusually quiet day. First he shrugged it off, then another little tip resounded. He paused, waiting for one more before deciding it was worth investigating, but then there was nothing. "Can't focus today," he sighed. "Perhaps I should count my losses and head to the bar."

"No, wait!" a voice pleaded, it worried urgency echoed throughout the hollow study room.

Dorian shook at the sudden speech. He turned back to his seat and saw a hook, craned over the window, that same chipping sound from before as it struggled to keep its place. The hook was attached to a chain, and it gave a shuddering, strained clink, suspending some unknown weight.

"Wait, just... hold on a moment," the voice whimpered.

Dorian's brow curled. "Amatus?"

A single gloved hand emerged from the other side of the tower to grasp at the window pane. Within its palm, a crack faint green light poked through the tiny spaces in the stitching. A clear indication of identity.

"Amatus!" Dorian cried as he rushed over. He stuck his head out the window, dipping his head out into the freezing outdoors, but he ignored the unpleasantness to see the Inquisitor, and rescue him if need be.

Which he didn't. Dorian looked down and followed the lanky arms, hanging from the grey tower bricks. "Are you... climbing up the tower?"

Inquisitor Niall Trevelyan cracked a smile as he looked up, his non-glowing hand letting go of his grappling hook and reaching for Dorian. "I prefer the term 'scaling'. Makes it sound more romantic. Help me up?"

"Not until you tell me why you're doing this," he answered with a frown. "Stupid me, I actually thought you were in some kind of danger at first."

"Aww, I didn't mean to scare you. I just thought it would be... you know, romantic."

"Is this a Marcher thing? Needless boasting of athletic prowess?"

"What? No, I was going for more of a courtly angle. Like in the books."

"Oh, for... what books?"

"All of them?"

Dorian scoffed and began walking away. "Not in any books I've ever read."

"Clearly I did wrongfully assume something, as this played out differently in my head. Now about that help? Or do you intend to watch me dangle?"

"No need to fuss," Dorian sighed as he reached for Niall and pulled him by the wrists. "I was going to help you eventually."

"Thank you...for eventually helping me, then," Niall huffed once his feet stood firmly on the library floor. He looked around, picking up on the unusual stillness that surrounded them. "I wasn't interrupting anything important, was I?"

"Even if it was, I couldn't tell you," Dorian groaned, residing back to his chair, spine slumping. "I must have read every book in this bloody place. I thought there was more I could find about Corypheus, some weakness, some... something we could use. But my head is jumbled with useless trivialities."

"I'm sure that's not true, and you've helped plenty already. In fact, why don't you take a break? I think maybe you're just a little frustrated from being cooped up in here."

"Says the man who should be leading this little world-saving outfit, and somehow finds time between strategy-making and battles to do... whatever that display was."

"I knew I should have stuck with the lute and serenaded you from below, but this castle's acoustics aren't up to snuff."

"I didn't know you could sing."

"I probably can't, never done it in my life, unless singing the Chant counts. But now you'll never found out. You've gone and hurt my feelings."

"What are we doing, Amatus?" Dorian sighed, his frown sloping further, burdened by the crinkles in his brow. "There's so much at stake, there's no time to waste on all this nonsense. It's not as though I'm accustomed to... wooing, or this attempt at it. No sense trying to spoil me with things I don't know. You have better things to do."

Niall shook his head and chuckled. Dorian winced, watching the Inquisitor kneel by the arm of his chair, smiling. "You severely overestimate my contribution to the Inquisition. Josephine's probably been a bigger help than I, and I still sort of think Cassandra should have been made Inquisitor."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he huffed, arms crossed.

"I was going more for humbling. I don't think any one person will be finding one weak spot of Corypheus's to exploit and save the day so we can all go home."

"That's still no reason for me to slack. I couldn't have come all this way just to give the most minimal of efforts. You may not think so, Amatus, but you deserve more from me. Perhaps more than I'm able to give."      

"Enough of that talk," Niall cooed softly, taking Dorian's limp hand from off the chair's arm and putting it against his face. "You're as important part of this as anyone else. I see you put your heart into things, and I know how hard you try." He stopped for a moment, rubbed his freckled cheek in Dorian's cupped palm, then kissed his knuckles. "And I wouldn't have gotten this far without your help. I believe this to be true."

"You do make... a rather compelling argument," Dorian said reluctantly, warm murmurs crossing through slowly smiling lips. "Although what's this talk of us all going home? Who said I was going anywhere?"

"I was thinking you'd head back to Minrathous once this was done, but I didn't intend to bring it up. Didn't want to dwell on it."

"You don't need to worry about that. I might be frustrated with my progress, but not desperate. You can't be rid of me that easily."

"Glad we're on the same page, then," Niall cheered, making a playful hop, from off his kneeling position, springing himself towards Dorian's face.

Dorian's accepted his arrival with pursed lips, humming between breaths. "Well, you've convinced me, Amatus. A break seems to be in order. After all, a mind such as mine shouldn't go to waste with fatigue."

"Glad you finally see things my way."

Dorian smiled, the weary cracks in his face started to melt. He stood up from the sink of his chair, took Niall by the wrist, and led him out the library. "Come along, then. I have some better ways to relax than climbing up towers in a strange attempt to seduce me."

"It was at least a little funny though, wasn't it? Maybe you'll look back on this day and laugh."

"I'm already laughing on the inside."

 ***

 Dorian stepped out from the crowded council room with a relieved gasp, like he was breaching for air. Magisters poured out after him, but he sped his steps and fled from the rush. A few sidesteps through seldom-entered halls, and he was alone again, free to breathe his own air.

It was a cold yet comforting sort of quiet, in the vast, dark and gold painted hall. Statues loomed over ever archway, their dire and dramatic poses melded with the walls. It was a closed off space and thoroughly sealed, the beating of the ocean and howling of winds could not breech the walls.

A slight thrum resounded from beneath the layers of his clothing, and the following shuddering motion prodded gently upon his chest. He looked down and saw the subtle glow of his crystal pendant, a light green color poking through the seams of fabric. Dorian blinked rapidly, unsure if he was seeing it correctly, by the crystal persisted, flickering like a tiny torch. With a wave of urgency over him, he fished it from underneath his cloak.

"Oh, Amataus, I'm so sorry," he said into the crystal. "I know I haven't been free to talk often as of late. It's been a long and strenuous strong of weeks. Please understand..." The crystal continued to flicker, but no voice followed, as it was supposed to. "Please don't give me the silent treatment. You know this is just as difficult for me as it is for you. I did miss you, I do miss you..." Still nothing. "All right, now you're just being cruel. Maker, I hope he didn't activate it by sitting on it again..."

"Outside," a wisp of a voice emanated from the crystal.

"Beg pardon? Niall, is that even you? What sort of game are you getting at?"

"Outside, near the water!" it cheered. With clearer projection, Dorian could tell it was Niall's voice. He sprinted down the hall, towards the side of the building that faced the ocean. "He didn't," he panted. "He never said anything about visiting..."

He flung the balcony doors opened and was greeted by a muted seascape. Crashing foam on jagged rocks in the distance. Thin clouds dissipating against a grey sky. An anticipated vision of Niall climbing atop the tower popped into his mind, but he shook it away. It was a ridiculous fancy. He has only done that once, and it was so long ago.

"Down here!" the voice cried, not from the crystal, but from beneath.

Dorian wrapped his hands around the railway and teetered his head down. He found Niall at the base of the tower. Distance of the long stretch of smooth stone faded his features, but his smile was a brightness among all the political dreary grey. Dorian squinted and saw that Niall had a grappling hook curled along his left shoulder, unused and spilling over his tucked in arm sleeve.

“Those with the greatest awareness have the greatest nightmares.” ~Mahatma Ghandi

Snow crunched beneath Josephine’s shoes as she rushed past the scorched skeletons of once familiar buildings. Haven was burning all around her. Building, people, all of it lay in a shambled of burnt wood and ash.

Despite the best efforts of the Inquisition and its army Corypheus had been too much. They had all worked so hard, preparing as best they could. But nothing could have prepared them for the monster and his pet that had come knocking at their gates.

Still, Josephine felt the knots of guilt eating away at her insides.

She should have known that the quietness had hidden edge, a poisoned blade waiting to strike. It had been her responsibility to gather supplies and allies alike. That Corypheus had been able to gather an army under her very nose was inexcusable. It was due to her negligence that Haven was in flames. The Inquisition had relied on her, Twigs had relied on her, and she’d let them all down.  

Somewhere in the back of Josephine’s mind, past the self recrimination and guilt, a thought pressed incessantly. Something was wrong. Had there not been a plan of some sort?

Josephine was sure there had been.

It seemed hazy but there was something about a trebuchet. Something about Inquisitor Twigs. A way to defeat, or at least stall, the encroaching army. Hard as she tried Josephine could not seem to pull forth any details. They hovered just beyond her grasp, the snow and cold making her mind lethargic.

All of a sudden a tiny sound caught Josephine’s ear, dragging her forcefully from her thoughts.

It was quiet. So quiet that at first she thought it to be the sound of roaring flames, perhaps the groan of charred timber beginning to collapse. Then is came again, carried on the howling winds.

Changing her heading, Josephine tried to figure out the sound’s origin. Stumbling and slipping through wet snow. Smoke closed her throat and burned at her eyes but still she pressed on. With each step a chasm of fear seemed to widen

Then she saw it. A flash of red, vivid against the pristine white snow.

Almost unconsciously Josephine broke into a run. Dropping to her knees beside the huddled figure she stared in horror at the familiar, soot streaked face. Snow melt began to seep into her stocking, chilling her legs, but Josephine couldn’t be bothered to care.

“Inquisitor? Inquisitor please,” Josephine begged, gathering the Inquisitor’s head onto her lap. “Twigs you have to wake up.”

She pressed a shaking hand to the Inquisitor’s neck searching for any sign of life. While there was a pulse it was weak, barely even a flutter against her finger tips. When Josephine pulled back her hand though, it came back stained a vivid red.

Where were there healers? Josephine wondered, her mind racing in panic. Where was anyone? Surely others, Cassandra, Solas, anyone, had come in search of the Inquisitor by now.

There was no time to wonder about such things though. Josephine was no healer but she knew she needed to stop the bleeding. Reaching down, she tore a strip of her skirt, then another, balling up the fabric she pressed down hard on the wound. Almost immediately the fabric grew wet, blood spreading quickly. Too quickly.

A pained moan rattled through Twigs’ ravaged chest and Josephine turned to find herself staring in to pain glazed eyes.

As Twigs opened her lips to speak, a low gurgle rang out instead, making Josephine’s heart clench. She’d heard such sounds before, knew they usually meant a pierced lung, and knew what was to follow. Still, she pressed a hand to the elf’s lovely face, trying to sooth whatever pain she could. Their healers were the best. They could save Twigs if they would only hurry.

Another gasping moan, like the sound of wind whistling through a crack, and Josephine laid a calming hand on the Inquisitor’s head.

“Hush,” she whispered, running her hands through Twigs’ hair. It was matted with sweat and soot and snow, “The healers will be here soon. You will be fine. Just stay here with me.”

Even as she spoke, Twigs’ normally bright eyes began to droop, her breaths coming out in shorter gasps. Even as she scrambled to do something, anything, Josephine could see the live draining from Twigs.

With one last burst of strength the elf lay a hand gently against Josephine’s, letting out a small sigh as the last breath left her body.

A low keen tore itself from Josephine’s throat as she wrapped her arms around Twigs’ now still form. Sharing her heartache with no one except the empty mountains as the world continued to burn around her, but it was too late.

The world, her world at least, lay cold and still in her arms.

Suddenly, everything began to blur. The mountainside, the fire, the smoke, Twigs. Everything began to twist and fade as though trying to reorient itself. Then, the world seemed to snap sharply back into focus.

With a gasp Josephine bolted upright, sweat streaming down her face as she sat struggling to regain her breath.

The room was dark, but familiar. Everything from the wall hanging, to the plush pillows, to the softly breathing form stretched out beside her. As her eyes darted around the room Josephine could feel her muscles relax.

She was safe, they both were.

Leaning back against the headboard, Josephine tried to slow the racing of her heart. Breath in, breath out. She kept time using Twigs’ steady breath as a guide, letting the repetitive sound wash over her.

As her body began to slowly return to normal Josephine let her mind wander back to her horrible nightmare. It had been so strange.

Some part of her had known it was wrong, known that Twigs had defeated Corypheus. Both on the mountain and then later for good. Yet in the dream none of that had mattered. Twigs’ defeat, her death, had all seemed so real. She hadn’t even thought to question it.

Where dreams normally so?

All at once, a shudder swept through Twigs body, shaking the bed and drawing Josephine from her thoughts.

Before she could even move to check on her lover another spasm ran though the elf’s body. It was stronger this time. Twig’s back seemed to arch off the bed at the pain of it, the muscles in her neck jutting out as she tried to wrestle it down.

“Twigs, my love, what is wrong?” Josephine asked, desperately checking for any obvious signs of injury but finding none.

Twigs gasped again, clutching her arm and writhing in pain.

“It’s the Mark,” Twigs grit out from between clenched teeth. “It’s burning. I can’t make it stop.”

Instantly Josephine was pressed to her side, pulling up the sleeve of her night clothes. It was true. The sickly green pulsed in the dark, casting an eerie glow over everything it touched. Josephine recoiled slightly, horror and confusion warring for dominance.

This was all wrong. Corypheus was dead. The Mark should be dormant. Twigs was supposed to be safe.

Another roar of pain tore itself from Twigs throat as she claws as her arm. The green channels seemed to be inching their way up her arm, spreading like wildfire over her body.

“I’ll go get…” Josephine paused. Who? Solas? Vivienne? A healer? Who would know how to stop the Mark’s spread? Who was even left?

But Twigs was already shaking her head, eyes wide with fear as well as pain.

“Don’t leave me.” She moaned, grasping at Josephine’s wrist with her good hand.

“Of course not,” replied Josephine instantly, wrapping her arms around the woman. “I am always here. You know this.”

For a moment Twigs looked like she was going to respond, then another jolt of energy ran through her body. Pressed so close, Josephine herself could feel it. Desperately she grabbed at Twigs’ arm, as though hoping she could stop its spread by sheer force of will.

Something crumbled under her touch and Josephine felt her stomach rebel as she realized what. The Mark, it seemed, had scorched the Inquisitor's arm, drawing out water and life until all that was left was a dry husk, cracking under Josephine’s grasp.

By now screams were echoing through the chamber and a small distant part of Josephine wondered why no one had come to check on them.

As the Mark spread it continued to suck the life from its host. Bits of Twig’s body began to crack and fall as the woman screamed, but Josephine was able to do little more then watch as her love crumbled to nothing.

Suddenly Twigs’ scream cut off with a short gasp, then nothing.

Nothing but empty horrifying silence. Stunned and shaking, Josephine was left alone in the dark. Twigs’ still warm ashes covering her hands, mixing with the tears streaming down her face, painting it dark with her grief.

Once again the world began to blur and shift. The bedroom began to disappear, replaced by the cold stone walls. The sound of water dripping faintly in the background was almost drowned out by Twigs harsh breathing.

“That is far too many Darkspawn,” Twigs joked, her eyes bright with battle fever.

The room where they had taken refuge was far too small and the door seemed nowhere strong enough to protect them from the horde waiting on the other side. Still, Josephine could not help the flutter in her chest as she stared into Twigs’ eyes.

The Inquisitor had a reputation for being reckless, overzealous, at times even downright foolish. Yet, it was in moments such as this that Josephine was reminded of why she had grown to love this haphazard mess of a woman.

With her hair tangled but still shining, and sweat dewing lightly on her brow, Twigs had never looked lovelier. If it weren’t for the danger their present situation held, Josephine might have been tempted to steal a kiss.

“We need some form of plan,” Josephine whispered, drawing them back to the situation at hand.

“Oh I have a plan,” grinned Twigs, drawing her blade, “open the door, kill all the Darkspawn, get back to the others.”

It took every ounce of diplomatic patience she had for Josephine not to roll her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. Twigs saw the world far too simply. Seeing a series of obstacles to be overcome, never dwelling on the consequences. It was part of the reason Josephine loved her so much.

Josephine liked to think enough for the both of them anyway.

“Truly inspired, my love.”

“I like to think so.” Twigs puffed up her chest proudly. Suddenly a sly grin spread across her face. “Of course, there is another important step to the plan. Can’t be missed of the whole thing will fall to pieces.”

Crossing the small distance between them Twigs pressed her lips gently to Josephine’s. The whole world seemed to fade away as Josephine was enveloped by the scent of green things, leather, and metal polish. The touch warmth of skin on skin made Josephine’s senses fizz pleasantly. As Twigs pressed closer Josephine was sure her brain was going to melt like candle wax and leak out her ears from the sheer heat of the kiss.

When Twigs finally moved away Josephine felt a small twinge of loss.

“Kissing the girl,” Twigs whispered breathlessly, her face flushed with triumph. “It’s the most important step.”

Josephine was about to respond but all of a sudden the sound of cracking wood filled the air. In a breath the aged wood shattered like glass and the doorway filled with grotesque faces. Clawed hands reached forward, wrenching the blade out of Twigs stunned hands, sending it flying behind them with a clatter.

Frozen with terror Josephine could only watch as those same clawed hands seized Twigs, grabbing at her legs, tangling in her clothes and hair. Twigs barely even had time to gasp, never mind cry out, as she was dragged bodily from the cavern, her desperate fingers carving deep groves into the dirt floor.

It was only then, as Twigs disappeared into the roiling mass of bodies that Josephine was able to reach out, but it was too late. Curling as far back as she could Josephine clutched at her ears, trying desperately to block out the noised that seemed to surround her.

Twigs’ screams of pain mixed with the Darkspawn’s delighted growls etched deep in her brain no matter how hard she tried to block the out It was when the screams stopped, so unexpectedly that it was almost jarring, and the Darkspawn’s growls turned to cheers that Josephine felt her heart break.

Abruptly the world seemed to tilt and Josephine found herself among the horde of Darkspawn. They did not seem to notice though; in fact it took Josephine a panicked moment to realize they were cheering.

For her.

Josephine did not want to look, did not want to see what she knew would be in front of her. Yet, some unseen force seemed to force her neck to turn, dragging her eyes downward.

The scene was even worse than she had ever imaged.

Even beneath the deep scratches and blossoming bruises, Twig’s face was impossible to mistake. Her face, though pale, remained frozen in surprise tinged with sadness.

Josephine wanted nothing more than to smooth the expression away, but it was too late. Knowing that it was the last expression that she would ever see on Twigs’ face, knowing she would never see her easy smile again made Josephine’s heart ache.

The worst part though, was the blade buried in the center of her chest, its jeweled hilt glinting in the flickering torch light.

It was the same one Twigs had gifted her. A Satinalia present that she had been so proud of. Josephine felt a wave of nausea rise from the pit of her stomach. She did not need to look at her own hands to know they were drenched in blood.

She did not need to look to know that the finishing blow had come from her own hands.

The sight of Twigs lying so still, so small and quiet compared to her normal self. Know that it was she that caused it. Josephine dropped to her knees, unable to even reach out and touch Twigs’ body. She had no right to even look at it.

Long ago Josephine had taken a pledge against violence. Holding to it even when all else around her seemed to be falling apart. Only now it seemed that she had betrayed not only her own honor but her heart as well.

There was nothing left. Nothing to hope for. All Josephine could do was sit silently on the cold stone floor, waiting, praying for a death that she didn’t deserve.

“Josephine,” A familiar voice cut through the fog that had enveloped Josephine’s mind. Everything seemed to stretch for a long moment, until the world snapped harshly back into place. “Josie please, speak to me.”

The sight of Twigs’ face filling her vision, no longer bloodied but instead smiling widely, caused Josephine to flinch.

The stench of blood hung heavy in the air and distantly she was aware of a mass of flesh lying slumped on the ground only feet away. Slowly memories began to return. A blood mage. A Sloth demon. The feeling of cloying sleep sweeping over her body, drowning her in the scent of poppies.

“Thank the Spirits we found you,” The relief in Twigs voice was almost tangible. “I was afraid we lost you, love.”

Josephine blinked slowly, her mind still sluggish. Her legs, cramped and numb for being still so long, would likely not hold her weight, but she did not want to remain on the floor while Twigs and the rest stood. For some reason the idea of remaining on the floor, remaining in the room, was unacceptable.

“I cannot stand,” the words came out as barely a whisper, but Josephine was relieved that they were steady at least.

Immediately Twigs reached out a hand, and for a moment, Josephine considered taking. Then a vision from her nightmares, of her lover crumbling beneath her fingers , flashed before her eyes and Josephine jerked her hand back.

A hint of hurt flashed across Twigs’ face but all Josephine was avert her eyes. The idea of even touching the Inquisitor, with the memories of her pain still fresh, made Josephine’s stomach roll.

Instead, she reached out a hand in Cassandra’s direction. For a moment the woman paused, glancing between Josephine and Twigs in confusion, but finally extended her own hand. Gently she pulled Josephine to her feet, allowing her to lean heavily on the Seeker’s solid shoulder.

“Josie?” called Twigs softly, confusion and hurt warring heavily in her voice. There was so much she wanted to say.

A part of Josephine wanted nothing more than to throw herself into Twigs’ arms and let loose the torrent of emotion that she had been holding in since she’d returned to consciousness.

Another, more suspicious part, hissed back that this could easily be another of the demons tricks. A way to lull her into complacency. A way for the demon to gain even more information on Twigs than it already did. A way for it to hurt her.

It was not a risk Josephine was willing to take.

Avoiding Twigs’ eyes, she motioned for Cassandra to take them both towards the exit. She could feel the sting of tears in her own eyes but kept them facing straight ahead. Focusing on the door as opposed to the way Twigs’ shoulders seemed to slump as she hovered silently beside them.

Keeping Twigs safe meant keeping her at a distance. Though the thought caused Josephine great pain it was a fact that could not be changed. The Inquisitor had to be kept safe.