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[OOC: Warning for game spoilers, Dragon Age Final Flight spoilers, and Blackwall-specific spoilers.]
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Kirkwall was falling to pieces.
Meredith sighed, safe in the privacy of her office. No one to sniff at her, tut over her, or make sly little comments about how tired she looked. Never mind that her Templars were still helping the Guards pull bodies out of collapsed Darktown hovels. Never mind that the sight of the docks going up in flames had sent two apprentices into such fits of terror that the resulting abominations had taken three Knight-Lieutenants and their respective squads of recruits to subdue.
She marked a note in her personal ledger to promote the four surviving recruits at the Chantry services tomorrow for the mages and Tranquil who had not been so lucky.
And certainly, never mind that she'd been forced to appease those melodramatic fools the Ox-Men had corralled in the Viscount's throne room, and had bestowed the title of Champion of the City on a half-dead Dog-Lord criminal, who was like as not to let the Blood Mages run rampant through the streets.
Meredith inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders. Her troubles, Kirkwall's troubles would not be solved sitting and stewing in a bureaucratic nightmare. Action was needed, as always, to pull together the squabbling children that composed the City of Chains' nobility.
She pulled Certainty from it's place of honour atop her sword stand. A red shimmer seemed to run through the blade as the sun glinted over it, and she could feel it's ancient, righteous power settle into place just under her heart. A small smile curled at her lips as Meredith considered it's edge and, deeming it acceptably sharp, sheathed Certainty over her shoulder.
Elthina first, she decided. Of anyone, the Grand Cleric would understand the need to delay the appointment of a new Viscount. Time would be needed to consider all options, and with the city still reeling from the Qunari's brutal attack, the hasty appointment of some perspicuous noble could be far more dangerous than having no Viscount at all.
She had just put her hand on her door when she felt it. Gone in an instant, but she was sure it had been magic. Her Holy Smite cracked the door in it's frame just as the sound of windows shattering hit her ears, and it knocked her sideways into-
A balcony?
Certainty was in her hands, and Meredith turned slowly. A balcony indeed, coming out from a finely appointed bedroom. She couldn't hear anything, neither people nor birds nor insects. The air was dry, and when she looked up... well.
Meredith sighed, rather than curse. Whatever mage had transported her to this strange fortress probably thought themselves clever.
When she was through with them, their parents would regret being born.
Meredith sighed, safe in the privacy of her office. No one to sniff at her, tut over her, or make sly little comments about how tired she looked. Never mind that her Templars were still helping the Guards pull bodies out of collapsed Darktown hovels. Never mind that the sight of the docks going up in flames had sent two apprentices into such fits of terror that the resulting abominations had taken three Knight-Lieutenants and their respective squads of recruits to subdue.
She marked a note in her personal ledger to promote the four surviving recruits at the Chantry services tomorrow for the mages and Tranquil who had not been so lucky.
And certainly, never mind that she'd been forced to appease those melodramatic fools the Ox-Men had corralled in the Viscount's throne room, and had bestowed the title of Champion of the City on a half-dead Dog-Lord criminal, who was like as not to let the Blood Mages run rampant through the streets.
Meredith inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders. Her troubles, Kirkwall's troubles would not be solved sitting and stewing in a bureaucratic nightmare. Action was needed, as always, to pull together the squabbling children that composed the City of Chains' nobility.
She pulled Certainty from it's place of honour atop her sword stand. A red shimmer seemed to run through the blade as the sun glinted over it, and she could feel it's ancient, righteous power settle into place just under her heart. A small smile curled at her lips as Meredith considered it's edge and, deeming it acceptably sharp, sheathed Certainty over her shoulder.
Elthina first, she decided. Of anyone, the Grand Cleric would understand the need to delay the appointment of a new Viscount. Time would be needed to consider all options, and with the city still reeling from the Qunari's brutal attack, the hasty appointment of some perspicuous noble could be far more dangerous than having no Viscount at all.
She had just put her hand on her door when she felt it. Gone in an instant, but she was sure it had been magic. Her Holy Smite cracked the door in it's frame just as the sound of windows shattering hit her ears, and it knocked her sideways into-
A balcony?
Certainty was in her hands, and Meredith turned slowly. A balcony indeed, coming out from a finely appointed bedroom. She couldn't hear anything, neither people nor birds nor insects. The air was dry, and when she looked up... well.
Meredith sighed, rather than curse. Whatever mage had transported her to this strange fortress probably thought themselves clever.
When she was through with them, their parents would regret being born.
Things were quiet in Skyhold.
Well, what to say? People usually slept during the night, but not a certain Arcanist. Dagna couldn't keep her hands off her current research, she felt she was near some kind of big breakthrough.
Now that Corypheus had been defeated and things were at peace again, she had time to dedicate to her experiments and research. The Inquisitor was really nice for letting her stay and for allowing her to keep with her business, even with an occasional unexpected explosion. Poor master Harritt, being startled by her at the worst times.
Now, if I imbue this potion with the power of those glyphs, I'll be able to...
A huge, disturbing sound of shattering glass startled her and she dropped the vial of potion, exploding in purple-colored smoke. She coughted few times, motioning her hand to fan the smoke away. What is going on? Is this an attack?
She waited, but there were no sign of troops moving or battle cries.
Dagna decided to leave the undercroft and to go upstaris... maybe someone could tell her what was going on.
Well, what to say? People usually slept during the night, but not a certain Arcanist. Dagna couldn't keep her hands off her current research, she felt she was near some kind of big breakthrough.
Now that Corypheus had been defeated and things were at peace again, she had time to dedicate to her experiments and research. The Inquisitor was really nice for letting her stay and for allowing her to keep with her business, even with an occasional unexpected explosion. Poor master Harritt, being startled by her at the worst times.
Now, if I imbue this potion with the power of those glyphs, I'll be able to...
A huge, disturbing sound of shattering glass startled her and she dropped the vial of potion, exploding in purple-colored smoke. She coughted few times, motioning her hand to fan the smoke away. What is going on? Is this an attack?
She waited, but there were no sign of troops moving or battle cries.
Dagna decided to leave the undercroft and to go upstaris... maybe someone could tell her what was going on.
Sigrun planted her fists on her hips and glared up at the ridiculous human.
"What do you mean, the Commander's gone?" she demanded of Nathaniel. "She's a mage, not a rogue. She's not sneaky enough to just up and disappear from her bedroll in the middle of the night!"
He sputtered, and Sigrun threw her hands into the air.
"Did you check the perimeter? Maybe she just...snuck out to relieve herself on your watch."
"He was too mortified," Velanna called from where she sat next to the fire, poking the morning's breakfast. "Typical."
"Can you do it?" Nathaniel pleaded. "I really would prefer not to stumble on her if that's the case."
Sigrun rolled her eyes and tucked her daggers into their sheaths.
"All right, all right, I'll take a look. I'm telling you, though, there's no way she could have just vanished, Nate."
She wandered off into the underbrush, muttering about the idiocy of tall people and how you would think after all these years of impromptu camping trips, the man would have relaxed a little. "Commander?" she called. "Neriiiiiaaa, where are you?" Nothing. And if Sigrun didn't know better, she would have thought her voice was echoing back at her, which was impossible. They were in open air woods. She took another step and felt the ground lurch beneath her, like she'd caught her foot on a root and gone tumbling.
"Oof. Uff. Ow. What the." When Sigrun stopped rolling, the woods had vanished, as had the quiet sounds of conversation from the camp and the smell of cooked sausage. Instead, when she got to her feet and dusted herself off, she found she was standing in the courtyard of a very large, very creepy, and very empty castle, the sheer size of which put Vigil's Keep to shame. She stared at the steps before her, leading up to a door that probably led into some kind of great hall.
"O-okay, now that's freaky."
"What do you mean, the Commander's gone?" she demanded of Nathaniel. "She's a mage, not a rogue. She's not sneaky enough to just up and disappear from her bedroll in the middle of the night!"
He sputtered, and Sigrun threw her hands into the air.
"Did you check the perimeter? Maybe she just...snuck out to relieve herself on your watch."
"He was too mortified," Velanna called from where she sat next to the fire, poking the morning's breakfast. "Typical."
"Can you do it?" Nathaniel pleaded. "I really would prefer not to stumble on her if that's the case."
Sigrun rolled her eyes and tucked her daggers into their sheaths.
"All right, all right, I'll take a look. I'm telling you, though, there's no way she could have just vanished, Nate."
She wandered off into the underbrush, muttering about the idiocy of tall people and how you would think after all these years of impromptu camping trips, the man would have relaxed a little. "Commander?" she called. "Neriiiiiaaa, where are you?" Nothing. And if Sigrun didn't know better, she would have thought her voice was echoing back at her, which was impossible. They were in open air woods. She took another step and felt the ground lurch beneath her, like she'd caught her foot on a root and gone tumbling.
"Oof. Uff. Ow. What the." When Sigrun stopped rolling, the woods had vanished, as had the quiet sounds of conversation from the camp and the smell of cooked sausage. Instead, when she got to her feet and dusted herself off, she found she was standing in the courtyard of a very large, very creepy, and very empty castle, the sheer size of which put Vigil's Keep to shame. She stared at the steps before her, leading up to a door that probably led into some kind of great hall.
"O-okay, now that's freaky."
The best thing about being an elf was that if you knew how to keep your steps quiet and your eyes downcast, no one looked at you twice. Even if you were supposedly one of the most famous elves in Ferelden.
Zevran slipped silently across the marbled floor, smiling to himself. Breaking into the palace had been easy, and getting access to the royal wing was proving to be easier still. He moved right past the entire queensguard without raising the alarm. Even the tin suit standing guard right outside her door barely flicked him a glance.
Deliberately tempting fate, unable to help himself, Zevran paused. "New linens for her Majesty," he said, barely bothering to disguise the round purr of his Antivan accent.
( Cut for some blood/an assassination )
Zevran slipped silently across the marbled floor, smiling to himself. Breaking into the palace had been easy, and getting access to the royal wing was proving to be easier still. He moved right past the entire queensguard without raising the alarm. Even the tin suit standing guard right outside her door barely flicked him a glance.
Deliberately tempting fate, unable to help himself, Zevran paused. "New linens for her Majesty," he said, barely bothering to disguise the round purr of his Antivan accent.
( Cut for some blood/an assassination )
Kirkwall burned behind them. Again. And yet somehow Anders still breathed. It was inconceivable, unfathomable, utterly beyond him. In all his careful plans, there had never been a future where he still lived after what he had done. He had dreamed of it, Hawke's dagger in his back, perhaps Meredith's blade in his chest. That was what had been supposed to happen.
Instead, and perhaps most incomprehensible of all, Hawke had dragged him away from the crowd and thrust him against the wall of an alley and kissed him and railed at him and...told him she loved him? Perhaps he had dreamed that part. She was not a woman of many words when it came to such things. They had been together for over three years, and still she had never told him that.
When Hawke joined him at the prow and laced her fingers with his, he knew it had been real, the way she'd held him with the wreck of the Chantry just beyond them and kissed him and cried.
"Justice isn't going to throw you over the rail in some fit of pique to provide justice for all those dead Sisters, is he?" She asked, tilting her head and looking up at him with furrowed brows.
Anders laughed, a broken sound. "No. He seems to have decided we are better off continuing to help, thanks to you."
"Good," she said. She pressed against his side and turned to gaze back out across the water, to the city they were leaving behind.
Strong arms wrapped themselves around Anders' waist, a sharp chin resting on his shoulder.
"Foolish mage," Fenris's voice rumbled in his ear, warm, even if frustrated still.
Anders still didn't know what he did to get the Maker to spare him thus, but with Fenris at his back and Hawke at his side, he felt true hope for the first time in a long time. He looked back, too, at Kirkwall, City of Chains, and had only time to hope that perhaps some were broken, now, before the ship rocked violently, nearly pitching him over the side. A rushing noise filled his ears, like all the air around him being drawn elsewhere, and then a loud crack rent the air and a brilliant green light blinded him before everything went black.
When he reeled forward again, sure he was going to fall over the ship's rail again, he barely managed to catch himself. Except the material he founds under his palms was hard stone, not wood, and he was alone, no bodies pressed against him. He appeared to be...on the edge of some battlement? This was a stronghold he did not recognize, and in the garden below him was a great contraption of metal whose like he had never seen. It felt familiar, like the Fade, even had that strange green quality to the air, but he knew immediately that it was not the Fade, not quite. For one, he was still in control of his body. Justice shuddered violently in his mind and declared wherever they had found themselves WRONG WRONG WRONG.
There was a peculiar leather bound book, like a journal, in his palm. Anders glanced at it.
Instead, and perhaps most incomprehensible of all, Hawke had dragged him away from the crowd and thrust him against the wall of an alley and kissed him and railed at him and...told him she loved him? Perhaps he had dreamed that part. She was not a woman of many words when it came to such things. They had been together for over three years, and still she had never told him that.
When Hawke joined him at the prow and laced her fingers with his, he knew it had been real, the way she'd held him with the wreck of the Chantry just beyond them and kissed him and cried.
"Justice isn't going to throw you over the rail in some fit of pique to provide justice for all those dead Sisters, is he?" She asked, tilting her head and looking up at him with furrowed brows.
Anders laughed, a broken sound. "No. He seems to have decided we are better off continuing to help, thanks to you."
"Good," she said. She pressed against his side and turned to gaze back out across the water, to the city they were leaving behind.
Strong arms wrapped themselves around Anders' waist, a sharp chin resting on his shoulder.
"Foolish mage," Fenris's voice rumbled in his ear, warm, even if frustrated still.
Anders still didn't know what he did to get the Maker to spare him thus, but with Fenris at his back and Hawke at his side, he felt true hope for the first time in a long time. He looked back, too, at Kirkwall, City of Chains, and had only time to hope that perhaps some were broken, now, before the ship rocked violently, nearly pitching him over the side. A rushing noise filled his ears, like all the air around him being drawn elsewhere, and then a loud crack rent the air and a brilliant green light blinded him before everything went black.
When he reeled forward again, sure he was going to fall over the ship's rail again, he barely managed to catch himself. Except the material he founds under his palms was hard stone, not wood, and he was alone, no bodies pressed against him. He appeared to be...on the edge of some battlement? This was a stronghold he did not recognize, and in the garden below him was a great contraption of metal whose like he had never seen. It felt familiar, like the Fade, even had that strange green quality to the air, but he knew immediately that it was not the Fade, not quite. For one, he was still in control of his body. Justice shuddered violently in his mind and declared wherever they had found themselves WRONG WRONG WRONG.
There was a peculiar leather bound book, like a journal, in his palm. Anders glanced at it.
The thing about sleeping in your own bed, is expect it to stay yours, like. No exploding mirrors and Fade-y shite in the middle of the night. Or morning. Or whatever the bloody time it turned out to be after you woke up some place wrong.
"Shitter piss lick bollocks faced bunghole!" Sera stood in the window of her garret at the Herald's Rest peeking out from behind the casement, an arrow sighted and waiting. The first flicker of demon, the first ickle bit of green glowy stuff, and right in the eye. The left eye. Right in the left eye, for balance like.
If her hands would stop bloody shaking.
The book was open on the seat and she kept glancing down at it, watching scratches and doodles and all sorts of pissy demon lying nonsense fill it in. She shouldn't even wonder that creepy Cole was scribbling in there, because demons, yeah?
But Varric? That just sounded so... Varricy. She sighed and released the tension on the string, lowered her bow. She'd been standing there an hour and hadn't seen bloody nothing at any rate.
She picked up her quill, the magic one she'd lifted from Josephine and had to hide for three days in the attic to keep out of Leliana's way, settled down to the floor, chin resting on the bottom edge of the book. "Please, please please don't suck my soul out my fingers or make me write in blood or anything else, Maker hear my bloody prayers."
She started to write.
"Shitter piss lick bollocks faced bunghole!" Sera stood in the window of her garret at the Herald's Rest peeking out from behind the casement, an arrow sighted and waiting. The first flicker of demon, the first ickle bit of green glowy stuff, and right in the eye. The left eye. Right in the left eye, for balance like.
If her hands would stop bloody shaking.
The book was open on the seat and she kept glancing down at it, watching scratches and doodles and all sorts of pissy demon lying nonsense fill it in. She shouldn't even wonder that creepy Cole was scribbling in there, because demons, yeah?
But Varric? That just sounded so... Varricy. She sighed and released the tension on the string, lowered her bow. She'd been standing there an hour and hadn't seen bloody nothing at any rate.
She picked up her quill, the magic one she'd lifted from Josephine and had to hide for three days in the attic to keep out of Leliana's way, settled down to the floor, chin resting on the bottom edge of the book. "Please, please please don't suck my soul out my fingers or make me write in blood or anything else, Maker hear my bloody prayers."
She started to write.
Dying was, surprisingly, just like many of the idealists claimed it would be. Everything hurt a lot, and then it didn't. Laying on the hard ground, Dorian tried to go over what had just happened in his mind, but all that was coming to him was, This is it? No more searing pain from multiple open wounds (thankfully, none on the face). No more white-hot agony of magical fire. Just the mild discomfort in his shoulder from laying on his side on a stone surface. And he hadn't even been able to give a dramatic death soliloquy!
But he couldn't just lay here forever.
Dorian opened his eyes, then quickly shut them against what he was met with. He would have recognized his little nook in the Skyhold library from any angle, even where he was on the floor. (He may or may not have fallen asleep drunk there one night and slid out of the chair, but no one talks about that.) More cautiously, he opened his eyes again and sat up. He supposed it made sense that his after-life fade escapade would take place in a mimic of Skyhold. Those were some of the best years of his life, after all.
Getting to his feet was easy, for someone who had apparently just met their mortal fate. He dusted off the seat of his pants (You just couldn't escape dust in a library, even in the fade.), and poked his head out of the inlet. The whole floor seemed devoid of people. Spirits? Demons? Whatever he might encounter in the fade.
But he couldn't just lay here forever.
Dorian opened his eyes, then quickly shut them against what he was met with. He would have recognized his little nook in the Skyhold library from any angle, even where he was on the floor. (He may or may not have fallen asleep drunk there one night and slid out of the chair, but no one talks about that.) More cautiously, he opened his eyes again and sat up. He supposed it made sense that his after-life fade escapade would take place in a mimic of Skyhold. Those were some of the best years of his life, after all.
Getting to his feet was easy, for someone who had apparently just met their mortal fate. He dusted off the seat of his pants (You just couldn't escape dust in a library, even in the fade.), and poked his head out of the inlet. The whole floor seemed devoid of people. Spirits? Demons? Whatever he might encounter in the fade.
The world was going to hell around them. The Reapers were tearing through their defenses, killing their troops in droves and the chatter over the comm was barely heard over the sounds of the explosions crashing around her. She had lost count of how many she had killed, one thousand, two.... it didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was making sure that Shepherd got to that beam and took out the bastards before they took out what little remained of the human race.
"What's happening out there? Did anyone make it to the beam?
"No. Our team was decimated"
Ashley let out a growl as she punched a husk, shooting another before pushing forward. No, Shepherd had to have made it. She wouldn't have failed, not at this. There was too much to lose and they were so close. Shepherd couldn't be dead. Hell, even being dead hadn't stopped her the last time. And if anyone could stop the reapers it was the Commander. But the chatter continued, orders being commanded over the line, cut off by explosions and screams of the dying. Ashley grit her teeth and pushed toward the beam. If her Commander couldn't do it, if for some reason she had fallen, then the Major would just have to take her place wouldn't she? Ashley looked up just in time to see the Normandy fly off, shooting toward the sky and out of sight. Well, at least the team was okay. That was something wasn't it?
"I'm in en-route to the beam. ETA ten minutes-"
"Negative, Major. I want you to fall back. Admiral Hackett's voice cut through the chaos raining around her, and despite the unconscious urge to obey the command, Ashley pushed on. Sometimes it was better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for Permission. Shepherd had taught her that.
"Do you copy, Major? That is a direct order.
She didn't care. She continued to push, to plow through everything in her way. To ignore the pain from the wounds that drained her strength, to place one foot before the other and-
And one of the reaper's beams made contact with the Earth only ten feet in front of her, the heat searing her skin and seeming to blast through her armor. It blinded her, sent her flying backward and colliding with something that jarred every bone in her body.
And then she was falling, unable to stop as the world quickly faded to darkness.
"What's happening out there? Did anyone make it to the beam?
"No. Our team was decimated"
Ashley let out a growl as she punched a husk, shooting another before pushing forward. No, Shepherd had to have made it. She wouldn't have failed, not at this. There was too much to lose and they were so close. Shepherd couldn't be dead. Hell, even being dead hadn't stopped her the last time. And if anyone could stop the reapers it was the Commander. But the chatter continued, orders being commanded over the line, cut off by explosions and screams of the dying. Ashley grit her teeth and pushed toward the beam. If her Commander couldn't do it, if for some reason she had fallen, then the Major would just have to take her place wouldn't she? Ashley looked up just in time to see the Normandy fly off, shooting toward the sky and out of sight. Well, at least the team was okay. That was something wasn't it?
"I'm in en-route to the beam. ETA ten minutes-"
"Negative, Major. I want you to fall back. Admiral Hackett's voice cut through the chaos raining around her, and despite the unconscious urge to obey the command, Ashley pushed on. Sometimes it was better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for Permission. Shepherd had taught her that.
"Do you copy, Major? That is a direct order.
She didn't care. She continued to push, to plow through everything in her way. To ignore the pain from the wounds that drained her strength, to place one foot before the other and-
And one of the reaper's beams made contact with the Earth only ten feet in front of her, the heat searing her skin and seeming to blast through her armor. It blinded her, sent her flying backward and colliding with something that jarred every bone in her body.
And then she was falling, unable to stop as the world quickly faded to darkness.
He was pacing, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. His thoughts were buzzing madly in his skull, driving him to move, markings flickering, every time he thought he'd managed to control himself again.
Danarius was dead.
He was free.
Hawke had saved him.
And he was...what? Still too cowardly to bridge the distance between them? Too frightened to bare his heart? The shackles were all in his head--wasn't that something Hawke had said to him once?
"Bah," Fenris muttered, pacing across Hawke's stone floor, waiting for the man to appear. The red token was grasped between his fingers, fluttering each time he moved. "Faste vas."
He froze when he heard the creak of a door, heart giving an unsteady lurch--but before he could so much as open his mouth to speak, the world flared white. Fenris hissed, reaching instinctively for his sword, entire body charging. He cast off blue-white light, brilliant in the dark and empty room he suddenly found himself in. Before him was a statue of Andraste. A candelabra had fallen in the corner, and darkened candles ringed her feet.
Hawke, and Hawke's Hightown mansion, were nowhere to be seen.
Danarius was dead.
He was free.
Hawke had saved him.
And he was...what? Still too cowardly to bridge the distance between them? Too frightened to bare his heart? The shackles were all in his head--wasn't that something Hawke had said to him once?
"Bah," Fenris muttered, pacing across Hawke's stone floor, waiting for the man to appear. The red token was grasped between his fingers, fluttering each time he moved. "Faste vas."
He froze when he heard the creak of a door, heart giving an unsteady lurch--but before he could so much as open his mouth to speak, the world flared white. Fenris hissed, reaching instinctively for his sword, entire body charging. He cast off blue-white light, brilliant in the dark and empty room he suddenly found himself in. Before him was a statue of Andraste. A candelabra had fallen in the corner, and darkened candles ringed her feet.
Hawke, and Hawke's Hightown mansion, were nowhere to be seen.
Tired. Evelea was so, so tired. She'd been stumbling down the twisting hallways of her own mind, guided only by the eerie, unmoored voice of a spirit named Cole, trying to find the demon of Envy that was hollowing her out like a worm in an apple.
She could feel the gnawing, see the cracks forming in her resolve, believing entirely for just a moment that she was watching Leliana actually draw the knife across Cullen's neck. She could smell the hot metal of his blood as it turned to ash in the air, and she wanted to scream.
Had to get out. She had to get out. She had to get back to them, make sure none of this, all this wrong ever came to pass.
This hallways was familiar. The panic climbed her throat as she turned and gripped the handle of the door nearest to her, pulling on it with a hoarse sob of frustration. She slapped the flat of her marked hand against it with a rising cry and the sizzle of that rippling green scar on her hand startled her.
There was the sensation of tearing. Of falling. When she hit the ground she didn't know why she hadn't broken into a thousand bloody-edged shards. The carpet under her hands as she shifted onto her knees was plush wool, the hard stone floor beneath it solid and real. Or more real than where Envy had taken her. She swallowed back the shifting bile, pushed her hair back from her face and looked up at the throne that loomed above her.
That was the Inquisition's heraldry, but this was not Haven.
She could feel the gnawing, see the cracks forming in her resolve, believing entirely for just a moment that she was watching Leliana actually draw the knife across Cullen's neck. She could smell the hot metal of his blood as it turned to ash in the air, and she wanted to scream.
Had to get out. She had to get out. She had to get back to them, make sure none of this, all this wrong ever came to pass.
This hallways was familiar. The panic climbed her throat as she turned and gripped the handle of the door nearest to her, pulling on it with a hoarse sob of frustration. She slapped the flat of her marked hand against it with a rising cry and the sizzle of that rippling green scar on her hand startled her.
There was the sensation of tearing. Of falling. When she hit the ground she didn't know why she hadn't broken into a thousand bloody-edged shards. The carpet under her hands as she shifted onto her knees was plush wool, the hard stone floor beneath it solid and real. Or more real than where Envy had taken her. She swallowed back the shifting bile, pushed her hair back from her face and looked up at the throne that loomed above her.
That was the Inquisition's heraldry, but this was not Haven.
Things weren't that bad in the Fade.
Marian had had a hard time healing after fighting the Nightmare Demon, to open a safe escape route for her companions. The Inquisitor, Varric and Alistair were just fine, she hoped, and that was far more than she could've asked.
Things weren't that bad in the Fade.
But throwing her back in Skyhold, only to mess with her memories was very unfair.
Marian had had a hard time healing after fighting the Nightmare Demon, to open a safe escape route for her companions. The Inquisitor, Varric and Alistair were just fine, she hoped, and that was far more than she could've asked.
Things weren't that bad in the Fade.
But throwing her back in Skyhold, only to mess with her memories was very unfair.
Tali'Zorah vas Normandy woke to the intense feeling that something was wrong.
It was rather obvious what was causing some of that - the Engineering deck was dark, only the orange-red emergency lights glittering in the darkness. With a start, Tali realized that the deck was also silent - no beeping consoles, no whirring computer modules, no gurgling pipes...
...no humming drive core.
She was on her feet and in the drive core chamber in moments, staring up in horror at the silent machine. Dead silent - not just sleeping, like they had set the ship down for an emergency landing; or offline, as if they were in the midst of repairs. The drive core made no noise at all, as if someone had cut the eezo which powered it out of the core and ejected it into space.
Tali spent an hour or so trying every way she could remember, and some she invented on the spot, to reboot the core and the Engineering consoles which regulated it, before giving up. It was well and truly dead...which meant the Normandy was either drifting in space on her emergency generators, or was landed somewhere...hopefully safe.
She giggled as an irrational fear crossed her mind, and continued to laugh somewhat hysterically as she began rewiring the door out of Engineering. I hope Shepard didn't assault the Collector base without me...
It was rather obvious what was causing some of that - the Engineering deck was dark, only the orange-red emergency lights glittering in the darkness. With a start, Tali realized that the deck was also silent - no beeping consoles, no whirring computer modules, no gurgling pipes...
...no humming drive core.
She was on her feet and in the drive core chamber in moments, staring up in horror at the silent machine. Dead silent - not just sleeping, like they had set the ship down for an emergency landing; or offline, as if they were in the midst of repairs. The drive core made no noise at all, as if someone had cut the eezo which powered it out of the core and ejected it into space.
Tali spent an hour or so trying every way she could remember, and some she invented on the spot, to reboot the core and the Engineering consoles which regulated it, before giving up. It was well and truly dead...which meant the Normandy was either drifting in space on her emergency generators, or was landed somewhere...hopefully safe.
She giggled as an irrational fear crossed her mind, and continued to laugh somewhat hysterically as she began rewiring the door out of Engineering. I hope Shepard didn't assault the Collector base without me...
The Herald took Cassandra first, because she was cruel and knew the best ways to tear him down. It wouldn't have been so bad going to his death if he thought there was a chance Cassandra might survive--but that, too, had been taken from him.
Now, marching out to the scaffold erected in Skyhold's main yard, he could see his friend's head already mounted on its bloody pike, ready to decorate the walls. Her body was being carted away even as he was pushed up the slippery steps.
"Maker take you," Cullen murmured, fisting his hands. He had to swallow back slowly mounting rage as he faced down the Herald, refusing to bow his head and avert his eyes the way everyone else was doing. The courtyard was packed with witnesses--men, women, children. Even the babes were there, crying fitfully at the tension riding high in the air.
"Commander Cullen," the Herald said. Her voice was a cold sing-song. "For the crime of treason, I sentence you to death."
He could fight. He was still strong, and many if not all of the Templars and guards would hesitate to chase him down. There was a good chance he could make it as far as the gate. But what then? Would he begun a hunted man, chased across the face of Thedas? Would he waste his one opportunity to appeal to the Inquisition?
No. He couldn't fight, and he couldn't run. But he could try to make his death count for something.
"You are a false prophet," Cullen said, voice carrying across the field despite the days she'd tried to starve him into breaking. "You've used the Inquisition to conquer territory that is not yours by right, and--" She was already moving, axe lifting, one hand beckoning him forward. Cullen felt himself stumble forward as if pushed, and he fell to a knee, messily sprawling at her feet.
No, no, he needed more time.
"Fight her!" he called, struggling up even as he saw the glint of the axe coming down. "Fight her to your last--"
And then suddenly he was on his hands and knees in the grass, wrists still shackled together, breath coming in harsh, hard pants. The rest of the square was miraculously empty, but the sky when he looked up...the sky roiled in warning.
He wasn't out of this quite yet.
Now, marching out to the scaffold erected in Skyhold's main yard, he could see his friend's head already mounted on its bloody pike, ready to decorate the walls. Her body was being carted away even as he was pushed up the slippery steps.
"Maker take you," Cullen murmured, fisting his hands. He had to swallow back slowly mounting rage as he faced down the Herald, refusing to bow his head and avert his eyes the way everyone else was doing. The courtyard was packed with witnesses--men, women, children. Even the babes were there, crying fitfully at the tension riding high in the air.
"Commander Cullen," the Herald said. Her voice was a cold sing-song. "For the crime of treason, I sentence you to death."
He could fight. He was still strong, and many if not all of the Templars and guards would hesitate to chase him down. There was a good chance he could make it as far as the gate. But what then? Would he begun a hunted man, chased across the face of Thedas? Would he waste his one opportunity to appeal to the Inquisition?
No. He couldn't fight, and he couldn't run. But he could try to make his death count for something.
"You are a false prophet," Cullen said, voice carrying across the field despite the days she'd tried to starve him into breaking. "You've used the Inquisition to conquer territory that is not yours by right, and--" She was already moving, axe lifting, one hand beckoning him forward. Cullen felt himself stumble forward as if pushed, and he fell to a knee, messily sprawling at her feet.
No, no, he needed more time.
"Fight her!" he called, struggling up even as he saw the glint of the axe coming down. "Fight her to your last--"
And then suddenly he was on his hands and knees in the grass, wrists still shackled together, breath coming in harsh, hard pants. The rest of the square was miraculously empty, but the sky when he looked up...the sky roiled in warning.
He wasn't out of this quite yet.
Well this was different.
The throbbing pain in the front left side of his skull, the itching in the base of his brain, and the way his teeth were all growing hair: normal. Normal hangover, normal taint, and oh yes, more normal hangover. Even the pain in his jaw and the bruises on his knuckles, more or less normal, given the brawl in the alley he'd definitely not incited with a wild punch when someone had started in about... Maker's breath, what had he even been so angry about?
What was he ever angry about? The Wardens, or the Warden most likely.
But the cold damp seeping into his clothes from the bare dirt he was lying in, instead of a greasy puddle behind the tavern he'd been tossed out of, smelling of elfroot that he was definitely crushing beneath him? Not exactly what he'd come to expect.
He turned his head slowly scanning the dark courtyard, all silent and still. Above him either the foulest storm was brewing, or the sky had just... wandered off.
He pushed himself up onto unsteady legs, grunting as he cast a look around at the colonnades and gazebo and statue of Andraste, only to find a strange book tumble off of his chest and onto his feet. His fingers itched for it (also not normal) so he picked it up and tucked it into the front of his jacket.
Before he did any light reading, however, he needed to figure out where in the void he was.
The throbbing pain in the front left side of his skull, the itching in the base of his brain, and the way his teeth were all growing hair: normal. Normal hangover, normal taint, and oh yes, more normal hangover. Even the pain in his jaw and the bruises on his knuckles, more or less normal, given the brawl in the alley he'd definitely not incited with a wild punch when someone had started in about... Maker's breath, what had he even been so angry about?
What was he ever angry about? The Wardens, or the Warden most likely.
But the cold damp seeping into his clothes from the bare dirt he was lying in, instead of a greasy puddle behind the tavern he'd been tossed out of, smelling of elfroot that he was definitely crushing beneath him? Not exactly what he'd come to expect.
He turned his head slowly scanning the dark courtyard, all silent and still. Above him either the foulest storm was brewing, or the sky had just... wandered off.
He pushed himself up onto unsteady legs, grunting as he cast a look around at the colonnades and gazebo and statue of Andraste, only to find a strange book tumble off of his chest and onto his feet. His fingers itched for it (also not normal) so he picked it up and tucked it into the front of his jacket.
Before he did any light reading, however, he needed to figure out where in the void he was.
Cole felt the rift open beneath him before he saw it, green and gaping, and his hands came up to clutch at the brim of his hat in the moment before the Fade swallowed them all. There was a moment of stifling wrongness -- he couldn't be in the Fade, he was too solid, he wasn't supposed to take up this much physical space -- before something twisted around him.
Then he was lying face-down in a stone corridor. He sat up slowly, recognizing the hall. Some of the pressure he felt from being in the Fade in a physical form had eased, but this new space was disorienting in a different way. Skyhold, but not Skyhold.
Before he could help anyone here, he needed to get his bearings first.
Then he was lying face-down in a stone corridor. He sat up slowly, recognizing the hall. Some of the pressure he felt from being in the Fade in a physical form had eased, but this new space was disorienting in a different way. Skyhold, but not Skyhold.
Before he could help anyone here, he needed to get his bearings first.
'It is been so long since we last saw everyone, isn't it?'
She glanced to the old Mabari hound sleeping by her side in the bedroll, snoring in a low, calm pace. His ears twitched at her question and he simply snorted, back to his sleep.
'Okay, I get, you want to rest. I won't talk anymore.'
A sigh escaped her mouth while turning on the bedroll, back to back with Jäger. The cold night was slightly more bearable with her faithful and loyal friend around, but her resolve towards her mission was starting to crumble. Too many leads, too many dead ends, too many years away from Vigil's Keep and her duties. Lying down like that, only the starry sky above her head, brought back memories of her days during the Blight. The fighting was harsh, relentless and cruel and she barely had her hope to keep going, but she wasn't alone. Neria had her companions... friends to fight by her side and to support her in the darkest moments. If there was something to be missed about those distant days, her friends were it, certainly.
She closed her eyes and slowly slipped to a dreamless sleep.
Neria woke up, cold, trying to understand when the ground had become so rocky under her bedroll. The oasis and the campfire were replaced by a small, dusty room, books covering the stone walls. Jäger woke up next, just as confused as his master.
'What in the name of...'
She stood up, searching the unfamiliar place for clues.
Things were really confusing now.
She glanced to the old Mabari hound sleeping by her side in the bedroll, snoring in a low, calm pace. His ears twitched at her question and he simply snorted, back to his sleep.
'Okay, I get, you want to rest. I won't talk anymore.'
A sigh escaped her mouth while turning on the bedroll, back to back with Jäger. The cold night was slightly more bearable with her faithful and loyal friend around, but her resolve towards her mission was starting to crumble. Too many leads, too many dead ends, too many years away from Vigil's Keep and her duties. Lying down like that, only the starry sky above her head, brought back memories of her days during the Blight. The fighting was harsh, relentless and cruel and she barely had her hope to keep going, but she wasn't alone. Neria had her companions... friends to fight by her side and to support her in the darkest moments. If there was something to be missed about those distant days, her friends were it, certainly.
She closed her eyes and slowly slipped to a dreamless sleep.
Neria woke up, cold, trying to understand when the ground had become so rocky under her bedroll. The oasis and the campfire were replaced by a small, dusty room, books covering the stone walls. Jäger woke up next, just as confused as his master.
'What in the name of...'
She stood up, searching the unfamiliar place for clues.
Things were really confusing now.
"Another day, another voyage into the Deep Roads," Teyla muttered as she strapped on her armor. "Don't you just love being a Warden?"
"There are worse fates," Carver said. He checked the edge of his massive sword with a calloused thumb, absently rubbing the resulting drop of blood into his fist before strapping the sword to his back. They were a small group today--a scouting party, with Carver there as the muscle and the leader. There was a time when neither of those things would have been true.
(Not that he was still bitter about all that.)
(Really.)
( Read More )
"There are worse fates," Carver said. He checked the edge of his massive sword with a calloused thumb, absently rubbing the resulting drop of blood into his fist before strapping the sword to his back. They were a small group today--a scouting party, with Carver there as the muscle and the leader. There was a time when neither of those things would have been true.
(Not that he was still bitter about all that.)
(Really.)
( Read More )
"Yes yes yes, fine," Dorian said, waving away the third messenger in as many hours with an air of practiced can't you see I'm much too busy to be bothered by the likes of you? He was canny enough to take note of their livery, of course--it wouldn't do to insult the wrong house and invite yet another assassination attempt.
He was rather fond of living, all things told.
( Read More )
He was rather fond of living, all things told.
( Read More )
Kaidan shoved James away, already scrambling across the messy—and empty—shuttle bay toward the elevator even before the landing doors had fully closed.
“Whoa, whoa!” James called, trying to grab for him. Garrus made a low, fluting noise, blue blood spattering across the floor. Kaidan’s, red, pooled at his own feet. They were just that freaking patriotic and,
“Damn it, Shepard,” he muttered, slipping and crashing toward the elevator. He had to get to the cockpit; he had to make Joker turn the Normandy around. They couldn’t just leave Shepard out there to die, not before he…
Not when he’d never…
( Read More )
“Whoa, whoa!” James called, trying to grab for him. Garrus made a low, fluting noise, blue blood spattering across the floor. Kaidan’s, red, pooled at his own feet. They were just that freaking patriotic and,
“Damn it, Shepard,” he muttered, slipping and crashing toward the elevator. He had to get to the cockpit; he had to make Joker turn the Normandy around. They couldn’t just leave Shepard out there to die, not before he…
Not when he’d never…
( Read More )
