Chapter Text
Solona stared into her mug and leaned against the cushioned seat, exhaustion creeping down her spine and settling with a dull ache in the core of her bones. Steam rose from the cup in curling tendrils and filled her nose with the pungent aroma of wine spiced with cinnamon and clove. Jaylen sat in another booth nearby engaged in an animated conversation with her cousin, the two of them also occupied by beer and plates piled high with various meats and root vegetables. One of them laughed uproariously, but their booming laughs were so similar it was difficult to tell who.
It was fascinating, in a way, how much trust Jaylen seemed to place in her. Rumors had always circulated about how tightly the templars controlled mages who left the Circle on business, but Hannah was with Ellaria several districts away, and based on the growing pile of empty dishes, Jaylen had to easily be in four or five mugs deep in drink by now. She noticed several patrons warily eyeing her Circle robes and thought back to the crowd that accosted her in the Lothering tavern. The commonly accepted discourse among most of her peers was that the templars existed, in theory, to protect the world from the dangers of magic; here, miles away from the tower walls, Solona began to wonder just how much of their job revolved around keeping the masses away from her.
The world would be a safer place if things were different, wouldn't it?
The voice reverberated in her head, memories of spindly fingers shrouded in gauzy black worming their way into her mind. A shudder ripped through her without warning, and she yelped as her trembling hands knocked the mug over and dumped its contents into her lap. The bracelet on her wrist hummed with barely contained energy, and the feeling of white hot lightning lanced up her arm.
“Amell. Amell!”
Someone was shaking her gently by the shoulder. Her face was wet. Soft hands gently blotted away at the wine stains on her robes with a damp towel. When had her surroundings become so unfocused? Nearby voices blended together in a barely discernable murmur.
“…no, it's my fault. She's not used to this kind of travel; I should have known better than to push her.”
“That's a lot of blood; are you sure she'll be alright?”
“Just a nosebleed. Can you get me another damp cloth?”
“Of course.”
A soft thump. The sound of a chair scraping against the wood floor. Cloth, warm and wet against her torso, the smell of spiced wine still lingering in the air.
Solona opened her eyes. “Knight Captain…?”
“That's me. Alright, up we go. Hold this here, that's it.” Jaylen pressed the washcloth into her hand and helped her hold it against her nose. Strong arms lifted her from the booth and braced her as she staggered to her feet. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” Solona groaned. Her arms were heavy and numb as she tried to rub feeling back into her fingers. The washcloth fell to the floor with a wet smack. “Fuck. Can you…?”
Jaylen dabbed lightly at her face before handing her back the cloth. “Tell me what happened,” she said under her breath, her words cloaked in urgency.
“I don't know,” Solona mumbled as Jaylen helped her down the hallway. “I'm so tired-”
“Amell, focus,” Jaylen interrupted curtly. “Have you dreamed at all, these past few nights?”
Solona blinked. An odd question, to be sure, but she forced her sluggish mind to process it. “No,” she said finally, realization dawning on her. The anxiety pooled hot in her gut like molten metal. “Is…something wrong?”
“This bracelet Irving gave you. How thoroughly has it been tested, do you know?”
Solona shook her head in an attempt to clear the fog from her thoughts. “Knight-Captain, what's going on?”
“What were you told at the completion of your Harrowing?” Jaylen pressed. “Think, girl!”
The hallway was spinning around her as Solona yanked herself away from Jaylen’s grasp and leaned on the wall for support instead. “I—nothing! I don't know! Greagoir congratulated me, then Irving sent me to my quarters; was there supposed to be more?”
“I have my suspicions.” Jaylen glanced back toward the common room before ushering Solona through a nearby door and locking it behind them.
The room was sparse but cozy, containing a washbasin, a wooden table with two chairs, and two single beds covered in dark blue quilts with elaborate geometric designs stitched into them with silver thread. Still covered in dirt from the road, Solona kicked her boots off and collapsed onto the mattress with a pained groan. She grimaced when she saw the blisters covering her feet. Some had popped, leaving glistening ooze in their wake. Other parts of her feet were rubbed raw and bloody.
“Maker’s breath, you are stubborn,” Jaylen grumbled as she rounded the corner of the bed. “Will you at least take some elfroot before you catch an infection?”
“No,” Solona deadpanned. Jaylen shot her a disapproving glare. “I'm joking,” she amended. “Yes, please. My feet are killing me.”
Jaylen shook her head and rummaged in her bag before handing over a vial of murky liquid and a glass jar of cream. “Tastes bloody terrible, but—”
“Apprenticed in the alchemy lab for three years, remember?” Solona interrupted before downing the contents of the vial in a single shot. It still took every ounce of willpower to keep from gagging at the taste, which hovered somewhere between bitter and sour with a chalky aftertaste that left an unpleasant residue on her tongue.
Jaylen snorted. “Right. Warned you, didn't I?”
Solona didn't have much else to say to that.
“Hey, Weatherby, you sure it's a good idea for us to be in the Alienage after dark?” Hannah eyed Ellaria anxiously. “I'm pretty sure they're not keen on humans, especially armored ones like me with big swords.”
Ellaria laughed softly. “I know Lucien’s mother quite well, my dear. Don't worry. The Reyadrils are fine people.”
“If you say so.” Hannah eyed their surroundings dubiously. Every building in this district looked a loose beam or two away from collapsing completely. Windows were covered with varying kinds of colored cloth, and a few even sported makeshift curtains fabricated with what looked suspiciously like butcher's twine. “I'm just saying, I have a big sword, and you're wearing robes and carrying a big stick. There's a pattern of big weapons happening here, and I'm pretty sure if I were an elf I'd be fairly suspicious-”
“You shems lost or summat?” Three elves stepped out from the shadows brandishing rusty knives. The largest of the three pointed his dagger at Hannah with a glare. “Get your pet mage out of here and go home, templar. We've no business with your kind.”
“Weatherby, I strongly suggest doing as he says.” Hannah backed up a step, hands in the air. “We can come back in the morning. I'm sure the Knight Captain will be alright with that if we tell her we just got lost, it's close enough to the truth-”
“I said get out of here, templar. Last I knew, you lot gave orders to the mages, not the other way around, so let me say this again: the two of you turn around right now and walk yourselves out of our district.”
Hannah reached behind her and gripped the pommel of her greatsword as the elf waved his dagger in her face. “Ellaria. Come on.” She grabbed the enchanter by the arm and pulled her toward the gates leading out of the alienage. “I'm not going to be the one who gets to explain to the captain why our healer died in a gutter from multiple stab wounds. Not fucking happening.”
“Trian, stop.” A woman's voice rang through the street. “Don't you recognize Lucien’s teacher? Came by before the winter with blankets for us and toys for the baby?”
“I wouldn't know.” He didn't back down, dagger still pointed at Hannah's face. “Shems all look the same to me.”
“Don't be daft, son, that templar’s sword is bigger than you are,” the woman said, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Kalla, Verran, go home. Don't get yourselves killed on account of his idiocy.”
“Sorry mum,” one of the other elves mumbled. Trian glared at Ellaria and swiped his dagger threateningly in her direction before sheathing his blade, and the three of them stalked away scowling.
A middle aged elven woman with curly, strawberry blonde hair strode into the street with a baby balanced on her hip. “Sorry about that,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Trian isn't the most level headed around humans. He's still angry at you lot for taking Lucien away. I still think you did all of us a favor, the boy’s far happier in your mage tower than he ever was here.” She cooed at the baby and grinned. “Trian don't see it that way, though. Stubborn fool, just like his father.” She gestured to an open door nearby. “Pardon me for keeping you both out here in the cold; come in!”
“It's good to see you again, Adaya.” Ellaria enveloped the woman in a warm embrace. “Although I am slightly hurt Trian didn't recognize me,” she added with a laugh.
Adaya shook her head sadly. “The way things have been, I don't know that it would have made a difference. Come.” She ushered the two of them inside.
The house was more of a cramped loft Hannah would generally associate with a shed or barn. She could see two bed rolls peeking out over the edge of the loft, accessible by a single ladder leaned against the wall beside the ledge. Another bed was shoved into the space underneath the loft, alongside a lopsided cradle, a small bookcase, and a stack of threadbare blankets. A fire burned merrily in the fireplace opposite the loft, and the entire space smelled like vegetable stew.
“Where's Kinna?” Ellaria asked.
Adaya smiled and nodded to the window. “Staying over with Tamsyn down the way. Girl's going on ten now, thinks her friends are more important than anything else in the world.”
“They do grow up so quickly.” Ellaria chuckled and rummaged in her pack before handing Adaya a stack of letters bound in twine. “One for you, one for Trian, and one for Kinna when she returns.
Hannah stood awkwardly by the door and watched the two women converse. It wasn't that she was uncomfortable around elves, necessarily; she'd just never spent much time in a place where elves - especially elves that despised humans - were the majority. Every sound the wind made outside made her even more jumpy. She’d never had a reason to draw her sword on innocent lives, and tonight was not a night she wanted to change that policy.
Adaya seemed nice enough, at least. And the baby in her arms was beyond adorable. Chubby, dimpled cheeks, emerald green eyes, and a light dusting of dirty blonde hair, just like Lucien and his mother.
She jumped when the door burst open. A skinny girl in threadbare linen clothing and sporting twin blonde braids ran inside, panting for breath. “Mum, the guards arrested Trian again. He punched someone, they said, some creepy git in robes, but they got the robe too, said you'd seen a templar ‘round-” The girl spotted Hannah and clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “You're the templar? They do lady templars?”
Adaya gave a weary chuckle. “Ser Trevelyan, my apologies. This is my daughter Kinna. And my idiot son, I'm afraid, has gotten himself in trouble again. You're welcome to stay the night here; if you don't mind a bit of a lumpy mattress, you're welcome to my bed. Excuse me.” Shaking her head in exasperation, she motioned to Kinna and strode outside.
Kinna tugged on Hannah's greaves insistently. “You have to come with us!” she said emphatically. “You'll vouch for Trian, yeah? You're a shemlen and a templar! They'll listen to you!”
“Well.” Hannah shrugged apologetically at Ellaria. “You heard the little lady. Shall we?”
“Of course my dear,” Ellaria said with a warm smile. “Come along, Kinna. Let's find your brother.”
“Yes,” Hannah muttered under her breath as they went back outside into the bracing wind. “Let's.”
“Ri. For the thousandth time, there's no point in going to Ostagar if the two of us keel over and die of exhaustion before we get there.”
Marian rolled her eyes. “Stop your bellyaching, Carver. This was your idea. I'm just trying to get us there before the big battle actually starts. Wouldn't want to miss the fun.”
Carver scowled. “We've been walking for hours without a break. When did you plan on stopping to sleep?”
“As soon as we find a clearing we can bloody set our tents up in.”
He gestured wildly at the dense copse of trees around the path. “Can't you just...wave your magic stick and clear something up for us?”
This time it was Marian’s turn to scowl. “And have every templar within ten miles breathing down our necks? No thank you.”
“You said you'd burn every darkspawn you see into crisps.”
“Yes. After we get to Ostagar and have the King’s protection. Right now, we're just targets. Maker, did you ever pay attention when Father gave his lectures?” She tried to keep the annoyance from her voice, but exhaustion had worn her patience paper thin.
Carver was uncharacteristically silent. Finally, he looked at her with a mournful expression. “Do you think Father would have come with us? To Ostagar I mean.”
The tone of his voice made her heart shatter. Marian had to bite back tears before she could respond. “I think he would have done anything he could to protect his family,” she said finally. “He would probably be right beside us right now, telling us both to shut up and get along.”
“That's an image,” Carver snorted. “He'd be proud of us, yeah?”
“Yeah, Carver,” Marian said. “I think he would.”
For once, Carver didn't have a response, and that felt more telling than anything he'd actually said aloud.
“Who was that you were talking to in the dining hall?”
Neria’s suspicious stare made reading incredibly difficult. Lucien peeked over the top of his book (well, books, technically, but according to numerous instructors, the salacious novel he was reading behind a textbook didn't count as literature). “Why hello there, Nosy Neria. Is there a reason you're interrupting my sacred reading time?”
She snorted and plucked the novel from behind his textbook. “He felt Simeon’s fingers circling his tight pucker. ‘Please,’ Graham gasped. ‘I don't want to wait anymore-’ Sacred, huh?”
Lucien huffed. “Worship of the male form is every bit as sacred as the veneration of Andraste,” he protested. “Also don't you dare wrinkle any of those pages; Anders will kill me. He smuggled it in the last time they brought him back, you know.”
Neria rolled her eyes. “Utterly unsurprising.”
“Said it cost him fifty silvers and a very satisfying blowjob to get it through those doors.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Slightly more fucked up. Still unsurprising. You never answered my question.”
“What was that question again?”
Neria swatted at him with the smutty novel he’d been reading. “The woman in the dining hall. Haven’t seen her around before. I was just curious who she was.”
He shrugged. For some reason, he was decidedly not comfortable revealing that information to Neria. Whatever that meant. He pursed his lips and shrugged. “I dunno. Some woman, said she’d heard I worked in the healing ward and wanted some sleeping draughts.”
“I know when you’re lying,” Neria accused.
“I take offense to that!” he protested as he painted a scowl onto his face. Neria’s piercing gaze saw right through him.
She perched delicately on the arm of his armchair. “Lucien, you’re a lot of questionable things, but you’re not a liar. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, of course,” he mumbled. But everything wasn’t alright. He’d had a prickling feeling of unease since Solona left, and the conversation he’d had with Miranda had done little to ease the feeling. Something about her had felt so tired. Most templars felt a little strange, but Miranda ... Miranda felt uncomfortably empty inside, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Combined with rumors of a Blight, the presence of a Grey Warden, the chance that Neria might join them…
Upheaval. That was the word he was looking for. Everything was changing, nothing felt real, and even the coziest corners of the Circle no longer felt safe.
He pictured Solona in Denerim. Or, at least, the Denerim he remembered from his time there as a child. The winding streets of the alienage, the looming alleyways, the sprawling open air marketplace. He wanted to envy the freedom she must be feeling right now, but everything was shadowed by the uneasy feeling that something big lurked just over the horizon.
“Lucien?”
Even Neria felt on edge. There was a lingering feeling of discomfort in her aura too, and he had no idea what to make of any of it.
“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Can I please have that book back now?”
She passed him the novel with a heavy sigh. “I know when you’re clamming up. I’m sorry for prying, alright?” Her fingertips felt like ice when her hand brushed his. “Just know when you need to talk about something ... I’ll always be here for you, okay?:
“Of course, hahren,” he said with a teasing grin. It was so much easier to smile and bear his emotions in silence, because then he didn’t have to explain anything. “I’m just tired and grouchy. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” she said with a forced smile. “I do.” And then she stood and left, abruptly and without another word, leaving nothing but empty silence in her wake.