#writingdragonage

She had told him the broad strokes of the attack but had saved the details for herself. Elena had never been good with emotional conversations, and this was no exception. Alistair shifted closer to her and put his arm around her.

               “Sometimes I have dreams about Ostagar,” he said. “I dream about Duncan dying on the field, alone.”

               “It was my fault, though,” she said. “If I had been quicker to wake- or quicker to see Howe for what he was- they might be alive today.”

               “I’m sorry,” Alistair said, looking unsure how to respond. “Would a sarcastic, self-deprecating comment make you feel better?” Elena laughed, wiping her eyes on her nightgown. (Not that she particularly wanted to wear a nightgown, but advisers barged in at all hours about matters of state, and it wouldn’t do for their queen to be in a full state of undress- as she had been told, repeatedly).

               “I don’t think it was your fault, at all,” he said. “There’s no way you could have expected Howe to betray your family. You were so young. And besides, then Duncan wouldn’t have recruited you and you never would have met me.” Elena laughed again.

               “Maker forbid,” she said. “I would have missed so many excellent jokes.”

               He lightly kissed her forehead and drew her closer. Her stomach fluttered. After so many years, he could still make her feel like a teenager again. She sighed.

               “I know, logically, that it wasn’t my fault,” she said, “but I still feel that way. Does that make sense?”

               “I know exactly what you mean,” Alistair said. “I feel the same way about Ostagar. Like had we been quicker to light the tower, or had I demanded to be on the field with Duncan, things might have been different.”

               “Had you been on the field with him, you likely would have died, too,” Elena said matter-of-factly. “And Ferelden would have missed out on a great king.” He smiled at her, looking into her eyes.

               “No, they would have missed out on a great queen, and the poor sap she married,” he said. “Maybe talking to Fergus would help you. I’m sure he feels the same way.”

               Elena wrinkled her nose. “I love Fergus, but we don’t really talk about emotions. We mainly talk about Mabari, and how old we’ve gotten, but never the attack.”

Aran could feel Tristan’s pulse loosening beneath his lips as he left off the first and started drawing a second rune.

“That’s… fuck, I don’t-“

“Just feel it. Let it speak through you, what it’s called doesn’t matter. Only what you feel. Your heart.” He kissed. “Listen. Breathe.”

“...seedlings? That doesn’t make sense. None of them-“ Tristan hummed softly in the back of his nose. “It feels like you.”

Aran lifted a brow. “Yeah, I’m drawing it, focus on the rune.”

“I am. It feels like you. Like… energy, raw energy, but soft. Not hurting. Just washing me along. Water and light, all flowing in one direction, a current, guiding… guiding… downstream, but there are no rules about where it can go, just out, through, around. No fences. No walls. No- there isn’t even that word. It’s just this feeling of… momentum building. And… that one is… possibility, but more than that… not only possibility. Inevitability. Returning to the same time, the same moment, but without anything that had been there before. Renewed. Blooming. Being. Being…” he exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers against Aran’s neck.

Aran pressed his cheek to Tristan’s palm, nuzzling the strong base of his thumb, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth as he drew another.

“This… this one…” Tristan opened his eyes, gazing down his arm to Aran and cupped his cheek.

Aran pressed his lips together against his skin. “Yes?” he whispered, then moaned as he was nudged back to the floor with Tristan falling over him.

“Be with me,” Tristan murmured against his neck, his hands working magic over Aran’s skin, skimming up under his shirt. “Be with me.”

“Yes,” Aran moaned again and let Tristan’s current carry them both away.

                                                              ***

Later that afternoon, Tristan sat reviewing papers with Dorian, idly sketching on the back of his hand in between notes. Some of the essays were interesting, but mostly he wanted to shove them all into a bin and go home to work.

“What’s that you keep scribbling?”

“Hm?” Tristan glanced up, marking another point for Dorian to review. “Oh, it’s…” he looked down at the cluster of symbols on his skin. Symbols blurring together to form an image like a sunrise through fog. “I don’t know.”

“Fascinating. The word you’re looking for is: ‘fascinating’. May I?” Dorian took his hand gently to peer at the drawing, glancing up his arm at the other symbols drawn up towards his elbow. “My,” he breathed.

Tristan quirked a brow, trying to ignore the flutter the mage’s touch always seemed to invoke. “What?”

“I see how you used them now.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against the back of Tristan’s hand. “The way you’ve combined these runes… the combination itself is pedestrian, but the method is… stunning. Poetry.” He pushed a blank paper forward, “Do it here, again, and slowly. I want to see the layers as they emerge.”

Tristan swallowed. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No, of course not. Just do what you were doing again. No overthinking.” Dorian rubbed just hands together, grinning. “It’s something new. Organic. You’ve a gift with this, you know.”

Tristan bit his lip, eyed the image on his hand, exhaled, and began again.

“It’s protection, certainly,” Dorian murmured, watching as the lines set upon the page. “But it’s warm. Fluid. As though you’ve infused it with a resonance. Tender, and unyielding. You’re certain you’ve no connection to the Fade, not even a tiny bit? This is… Oh, it’s wonderful. Love, isn’t it? Preservation and growth, rather than stifling walls. You should be proud of this, very proud; astounding work. Are you?”

A loud crack nearby broke her reverie and she felt a strong arm dragging her with haste as some burning debris collapsed where she had been standing.

"We can't go closer to the Temple, it will fall apart!" Cullen tugged her further away as he tried to catch his own breath. "We stay here and we die as well, come on!"

Justinia. Templars. Mages. All dead.

"Secure a perimeter to the Temple! Take cover! Make sure nobody approaches, it's too dangerous!" Cullen issued his orders to the soldiers and turned to her.

"Cassandra, I fear…" Cullen offered her a flask and she raised it to her lips without question. Whiskey, to clear the smoke in her throat and her mind. "I don't think anyone survived the explosion", he took the flask from her and drank as well.

Justinia. Templars. Mages. Galyan?

They were dead. The whole Conclave was dead.

The last effort to bring peace to Thedas was sabotaged and all she could do was stare at the tragedy and hear the wind howling as it dispersed hope and ashes around them.

A green explosion startled them, followed by a rift opening. By the time they had drawn their weapons, a Terror had already impaled an unlucky archer that stood closer to it.

"Demons! Formation behind me!" Cullen took a defensive stance as a Shade moved towards him. Cassandra snarled and lunged towards the Terror on her own, only to see it phase into the ground. She kept her guard by pivoting in her position. Moments later she heard a shriek and the Terror crystallized out of thin air, pouncing upon her before she could even blink.

"Die, you demon!" Cassandra kept deflecting its hits with her shield until it disappeared once more. Experience kicking in, she let out a powerful shout the moment it reappeared, hoping to taunt the Terror.

"Ugh, die already!"

She charged like a raging bronto, her longsword hitting the legs and torso of the demon, causing it to dissolve back into the rift, which seemed to calm down.

"This is bad. These rifts are all over the valley. We need to keep men here to fight demons as they appear!" Cullen still held his sword as he assessed the situation.

They stared at each other, sharing the unspoken unavoidable conclusion; more people would die to protect the survivors from the demons and anything else those rifts might bring.

There was no time to lose.

"I need to speak to Leliana at once."

And find Galyan

"I will dispatch soldiers at your disposal for dealing with the demons. Update me if you find anything," Cassandra started her jog down to the village. "And Cullen, please be careful, all of you" she addressed the soldiers and the Commander as she turned towards them. "We have no idea who and what we are up against."

She was Cassandra Pentaghast, the Right Hand of the Divine, Seeker of Truth and the Hero of Orlais, and she would bring anyone who was responsible for this disaster to justice. She would behead them herself for crushing Justinia's crusade for peace and reforms, consequences be damned.

Maker help her, she hoped she had the strength to overcome this challenge.

~oOo~

Alexander Trevelyan had not imagined such an outcome when he joined the delegation of the mages as part of the former Circle of Ostwick to the Chantry Conclave. Nobody in Thedas could have imagined it.

Clad in borrowed scout armor with a random staff in hand and afflicted with a headache and various muscle strains, he followed the tenacious Seeker on the snow-covered mountain path that led to the Temple. The two of them along with Solas and Varric had just bid farewell to the missing scouts who had thanked her for their rescue.

"Thank our prisoner, lieutenant. He insisted we come this way."

Prisoner. He had been requested to resolve the dilemma between choosing the mountain path or attacking at the temple, he got the credit for the rescue of the scouts, but he was still her fucking prisoner. Perhaps a distinguished one, since he was allowed to carry a staff. He would play along for now, like he had agreed to do, following her lead and using his magic against rifts and demons. Until his judgment for a crime he had no memory of.

"There will be a trial, I can promise no more."

The Seeker navigated them, warning about slippery parts and falling ice stalactites, offering a helping hand to prevent missteps. And, Andraste preserve him, that bickering of hers with Varric about everything was making his headache worse. Ostensibly the dwarf had been also her prisoner; neither had kept their squabble a secret.

Was it a habit of hers, taking people as prisoners and interrogating them, just to satisfy her insatiable need for justice and penance? The last thing Alexander could recall from his memories before all went black was walking in the Temple. And then things chasing him and a woman in a mysterious form. When he regained his senses, another woman, tall, fierce, unyielding, with her hand on her sword, approaching him like her prey, threatening to kill him if he didn't give her the answers she was looking for.

But his answers had not been good enough for either of them. He had no recollection of how and why a strange green mark had suddenly appeared on his left hand or if it had caused the explosion that killed all those people.

Unable to get any explanations from him in shackles, the Seeker had released him from the heavy chains, pulled him on his feet and dragged him outside through the angry crowd of the people of Haven.

If by any chance they let him live, he would never forget the first time he saw the blinding light of the Breach that expanded till the edge of the sky. Even the worst curses he had heard from the witnesses of his exit from the holding cells could not taint that vision of green doom from his memory.

"They have decided your guilt."

Still, the reactions of the villagers were nothing like the voiceless shrieks from the dead bodies that laid before the gate to the valley. The screams and pleads to the Maker from soldiers that were running to save themselves. His own howls at every strong pulse from that green mark. The rapid explosions that could bring down a bridge and dozen more soldiers in the blink of an eye.

It was so bad that the Seeker had agreed to let him carry a staff not long after his interrogation had ended.

He could not blame her for being in a hurry to face this disaster. From what he gathered so far, she was the only one realizing what was at stake, reacting seriously and swiftly to the situation, unlike Chancellor Roderick who only wished for his execution in Val Royeaux. Her and Sister Leliana.

He could also see the strain on her face. Without question, the explosion did hurt her. She had lost the Divine, colleagues and perhaps friends. And now she had to tolerate the bitter presence of the lone survivor of that tragedy and protect him because his mark could close the rifts. Couldn't blame her, really.

"We need to keep moving." Cassandra urged them on.

His whole body was heaving from the exhaustion, despite the adrenaline rush. The interrogation, the three rifts, the strain and paralyzing pulses from the green mark – things kept happening so fast, taking a heavy toll on his body and mind. He was able to stand more than a fighting chance, but not today.

And he was hungry, so fucking hungry, but like hell he would admit a weakness to her.

"Down the ladder. That's the way to the temple." Cassandra descended and he prayed he could make it down there without collapsing.

"The Temple of Sacred Ashes." Solas commented.

"What's left of it." Varric whispered full of dread.

Maker! He could only gape at the sight before him. Maker help them all…

How did he even emerge from this catastrophe in one piece?!

Alexander observed the strange rock formations that surrounded the ruins. The discussion between Varric and Solas about the circumstances of the explosion caught his ear. If he were to survive this mission, he would like a chance to converse with the mysterious elven apostate in detail about his informed and rather fitting explanations.

"That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you." Cassandra approached him. "They said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was."

The corpses of the victims were still burning, condemned in an endless torture for their sins, for their hopes for peace between mages and templars. They didn't deserve this fate, no.

"You're here! Thank the Maker." Leliana approached from behind with some soldiers.

"Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple." Cassandra issued her commands. "This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?"

"I'm not sure how to even start getting up to that thing." Alexander looked up to the rift, unable to form an effective strategy.

"No. This rift was the first and is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach." Solas insisted.

"Then let's find a way down", Cassandra's gaze locked with his. "And be careful."

They moved further inside, walking through red lyrium, hearing echoes from the fade. A deep intimidating voice mentioning a sacrifice and then a female voice yelling for help.

"That is Divine Justinia's voice!" yelled Cassandra.

"What's going on here?"

"That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But…" Cassandra's desperate plea for answers was interrupted by more intense ghostly echoes of the Divine engulfed in red energy and a looming dark figure with glowing red eyes. A flash of white and the echoes disappeared.

"You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?" Cassandra snarled at him in vain.

"I don't remember!"

Maker, it was futile to prove he was not behind this tragedy. Cassandra could go on accusing him and he could go on responding in every possible manner that he had no memory of any of it.

"Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place." Solas quickly reminded them what was at stake as the soldiers stood around them with their weapons drawn.

"This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side."

"That means demons. Stand ready!" Cassandra unsheathed her sword and took a battle stance by his side. Of course, her primary task would be to protect the prisoner with the glowing hand long enough to close the rift and then throw him away like a rag for his trial.

Damn the Seeker and the Chantry and their modus operandi against mages. Right now, the only thing that mattered was to fight that Pride demon and close the rift. However, if he made it out of this battle alive, he would fight for his freedom and his rights, for justice for the mages. That was a promise.

 ~3 days later~

He didn't mean to scare the elven servant, but he had woken up with a headache and a soreness in most of his body parts. He poured himself some water and grabbed some bites from the food tray nearby. He wasn't really hungry, but his inner mouth felt like stale bread and he wanted all of his senses back up and running at once.

"I'm sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you've wakened. She said 'at once'!"

"And where is she?"

"In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. 'At once,' she said!"

The scared servant had run off, probably to alert the Seeker that he was awake. He stretched his limps and tested his walk as he got off the bed after 3 days, if the elf was telling him the truth. Running his hands through his hair, he realized with wonder that they were clean and free of whatever shit had landed on him during the battle with the Pride demon.

Alexander found his armor clean and draped over the back of a chair. Perhaps he could ask what had happened to his robes, if he got a chance. The basin with clean water and a cloth on the desk were another welcome surprise.

Huh.

He picked a note that lied on the desk.

'Patient Observations

 Vain hope: Someone better at this than me takes over before the survivor expires. Notes in case.

—Day One—

 Clammy. Shallow breathing. Pulse over-fast. Not responsive. Pupils dilated.

 Mage says his/her scarring "mark" is thrumming with unknown magic.

 Wish we could station a templar in here, just in case.'

Of course they would wish for a templar to keep an eye on the dangerous mage.

Alexander put on the armor. Time to meet Seeker Pentaghast and get some answers. The Circles were no more and like hell he would put up with a glorified templar ordering him around like a puppet.

He opened the cabin door. Twenty Fereldan soldiers were lining the path starting from the cabin, saluting him with their fists on their chests, surrounded by a small crowd of people.

"That's him, that's the Herald of Andraste!"

"Why did Lady Cassandra have him in chains? Andraste herself blessed him!"

The people of Haven stood in attention, bowing their heads in respect and offering him their blessings as he made his way through the crowd to the Chantry.

"Blessings upon you, Herald of Andraste!"

 Herald of… Andraste?

He kept walking in awe as people commented on his deeds and showered him with words of encouragement, instead of yells and spit. The revered mothers and clerics stood before the Chantry entrance, arguing about Chancellor Roderick and their lack of leadership. A flock of babbling hens, if you asked him, who were foolishly ignoring the imminent danger that was more than visible and were focusing on who would sign their chantry appointments. Barely a week since Justinia and all those Conclave attendants had perished.

Alexander raised his eyes to the sky where the Breach moved like it was about to shallow everything. The images of the devastation in the Temple and the echoes from the Fade were enough to motivate him do his part. He would not ignore this threat. He could not. If it grew, it would literally end Thedas and they were all doomed, mages and templars, soldiers and farmers, humans, dwarves and elves, commoners and nobles alike.

The doors closed behind him as he entered the Chantry and Alexander inhaled long and deep. He would help the Seeker against this threat with every bit of himself, but he would demand respect and fair treatment. And freedom. He was a Senior Enchanter of the former Circle of Ostwick, not some prisoner to be flaunted around from the leftovers of the Chantry. As long as he was the key to closing those rifts, he would be their equal.

After all, he was 'the man with the glowing hand', as Varric had put it and nobody would ignore his only leverage.

The closer he got to the end of the hall of the Chantry, the louder Seeker's voice was booming from inside the room, steady and passionate. So were the Chancellor's yells as well.

"Have you gone completely mad? He should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine."

"I do not believe he is guilty."

Cassandra was facing off with Chancellor Roderick about… him?

"The prisoner failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, he intended it this way."

"I do not believe that."

"That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to the serve the Chantry."

"My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours."

And she believed him to be… innocent?

 Huh.

Time to join this meeting himself and see what had changed during his long sleep.

~oOo~

Cassandra entered the Singing Maiden and headed for the table with the big comfortable chairs near the fireplace that was thankfully empty. She could use the heat right now. And some warm food. And a good drink. Or two.

Earlier that day, the Inquisition was founded again by her and Leliana, with support from Ambassador Montilyet, Commander Cullen Rutherford and of course the Herald of Andraste. Using the authority granted to her and Leliana by Justinia's writ. Maker help her, she hoped she was doing the right thing.

No. They were doing the right thing. At least they were acting. Because if they didn't, it would be too late. She had no doubt of the latter. No matter what it took.

"Good evening Lady Pentaghast, can I get you anything?" Flissa smiled nervously at her as she approached.

It had been a very, very long day.

 Wine, I should drink wine

"Is there wine?"

Flissa bit her lower lip. "Spiced w-wine only."

"It'll do. And whatever warm food you have."

"Got Fereldan stew and-"

"Stew will do, thank you Flissa" Cassandra nodded.

"Be right b-back with your food and wine, Lady Pentaghast." Flissa hurried back to her post.

Cassandra took off her gloves and leaned back at her seat, taking in the people in the tavern. Recruits, soldiers, a couple of scouts and few villagers were unwinding, unaware of the long way they had ahead of them, of what the Inquisition meant.

A recruit entered the tavern in a hurry and conversed with Flissa. She hoped it would not take long. She had eaten nothing since morning.

Right then, Trevelyan opened the door. He nodded at her and went also to talk to Flissa. Flissa smiled nervously at him and went on rambling about something, delaying further the serving of her meal. Then he replied and Flissa giggled.

Cassandra was starving and those two were flirting with each other.

Maker help her, she wanted to punch something. Or someone.

Their chit chat ended, and the Herald scanned the tavern, looking everywhere and lastly to her. Apparently having a dinner and some wine alone was a privilege. So be it.

"May I sit?" Trevelyan asked in a cordial tone.

Cassandra gestured impassively and braced herself for awkward silence.

"Here is your stew and wine, Lady Pentaghast." Flissa served her and placed an ale in front of Trevelyan as well. "Would you like some food, Lord Herald?"

"Yes please, stew and any roasted meat, if there is any." Trevelyan drank half of his ale at a gulp and wiped his beard with the back of his hand. Despite her treating him like a mass murderer until few days ago, he had been hesitant but considerate the whole day.

"It is a good idea to eat a large meal, you will need your strength the following days as we travel through the Hinterlands." Cassandra said between swallowing spoonfuls of stew.

"I have been a rebel battlemage for quite some time, Lady Seeker. I can survive in the wilderness. Have some faith." Trevelyan regarded her curiously.

The arrival of his meal halted momentarily any reply she could have given him and they dined in silence, accompanied by the chatter around them and the bard's song.

Cassandra leaned back in her chair and studied the Herald. By every standard, he was a good-looking man, with greenish eyes and rich dark blond hair at mid neck length, held back in a half ponytail. He had a beard and his hands were calloused with chilblains. She made a mental note to urge him to find some gloves. No harm should happen to him, his mark was the most important weapon.

Trevelyan finished his ale and turned to ask Flissa for another. Cassandra also raised her glass signaling for a refill.

"Could you explain something to me, Lady Pentaghast?" Trevelyan seemed to ponder on his words, even after her curt acknowledgement of his request. "What made you change your mind about me?"

"What I told you this morning, Herald. Perhaps I am mistaken again. Your actions will show what you truly are. But right now, you are the person we need, that this world needs to close the Breach and restore order."

Trevelyan tilted his head slightly to his left and locked his gaze to hers. He was careful, perhaps too careful, calculating even. She had to pay close attention to everything he would say.

"And I agreed to help you fix this." He lifted his left palm. "You need this, the world needs it."

Their drinks arrived and this time Trevelyan did not devour his ale fast. Perceptive, that one. Patient when he chose to be.

The urge to punch something started to grow inside her again.

"Spit it out Herald, I don't have all night for your musings." Cassandra squinted her eyes.

"The Circles are no more. I take no orders from Templars or Seekers." The Herald leaned forward, pinning her in her place with those fiery green eyes of his. "I will respect any tactical decisions as your equal and will follow you in battle and fight with you and the Inquisition for now, until we close the Breach and find who is behind this. Because you are the only ones that intend to deal with it and I will do whatever I can, you have my word. But after that, I'm gone." He snapped his fingers and relaxed his posture, sipping his ale.

Cassandra had to hand it to him. Few people had the gall to address her with an attitude stripped of fear.

"I hope you keep that bravado for the demons we will encounter the next days, Herald, you will need it." Cassandra finished her wine and got up from her chair. "I gave you my word and sealed our agreement with a handshake and I take my promises seriously."

"I am aware of that and appreciate it. You need to understand Lady Seeker, during the mage-templar war a promise meant nothing, so the past years have made me rightfully wary. But I hope I will be pleasantly surprised for a change." Trevelyan declared.

"Nothing surprises me in the world anymore. Goodnight, Herald." Cassandra said.

"Lady Pentaghast." Trevelyan raised his mug with a tight smile and released her from his glare.

Cassandra left the tavern with a belly full of food and a feeling of terror unbeknownst to her. There was something about Trevelyan that made her fear him since the moment she laid eyes on him. Only a handful of people had managed to flare up that dreadful reaction inside her and she didn't like it at all, no.

After she undressed in the room that she and Leliana shared, she did the only thing she could. She fell to her knees and prayed to the Maker for guidance, for a clear mind, for a heart that would neither harm a man that seemed to be innocent nor fall for any of his tricks and games.