Chapter Text
The last thing Sylvaine Broussard remembers from two years ago is dying. She was thirty, she was about to finally get her dream job, and she had been on her way home. And then she was dead. She didn’t remember how it happened, only remembered feeling impossibly cold, and lost, and then suddenly not.
The next thing she remembered was waking up in the middle of a place she did not recognize, scared and screaming, until some farm hands finally found her and helped. She thought she probably sounded like a madwoman then. In all fairness she probably was a madwoman to them then, but in her defense she had just died. It’s not everyday a person dies and then wakes up in a new world. Let alone a video game world.
It did not take Sylvaine long to figure out she had somehow been reincarnated into Thedas. From there, she found out pretty quickly that she’d been dropped in the Hinterlands. She found out even quicker that the Conclave had not yet happened. All that took was looking up. No Breach, no Inquisition. From there Sylvie learned that while the Conclave hadn’t taken place yet, Thedas was still in the middle of the Mage-Templar war. There were some minor skirmishes on the plains of the Hinterlands, and she’d very nearly been caught in the middle of one, only to be helped by someone very unexpected.
“Dennet, I brought your salve!” she called, knocking on the horsemaster’s door.
“Ah, Sylvie,” he said, opening his door, “you’re just in time for supper.” She grinned at him as she passed into his home, putting the glass jar with his joint salve into his hands.
“And what did Miss Rissa whip up for us tonight?” she asked, her long copper braid falling over her shoulder when she turned her head.
“Rabbit stew,” he answered, “with potatoes.” She hummed with excitement.
“Is that Sylvie I hear in there?” Elaina called from the dining room.
“Yes, ma’am,” she answered. “I brought a new bolt of wool as well, I figured we could waulk that tomorrow.”
“You wove this bolt pretty quickly,” Elaina remarked, examining the fabric Sylvie held up to her. “You’re really getting the hang of that old loom, aren’t you?” Sylvie nodded with a smile.
“And the spinning wheel,” she added. “It should make some nice warm coats come winter.”
“Ay, Sylvie,” Dennet grunted, placing a hand on her shoulder, “you work too hard. Winter is months away, we aren’t even close to Harvestmere yet, Kingsway is still three weeks away!”
“I do not work too hard,” she protested. “I need to pay you back somehow for your kindness. You took me in and gave me a house to stay at and food to eat. The least I can do is make salves and fabric for you.” Dennet grunted again, but nodded.
“If you insist, girl.”
Dinner was, while delightful as always, fairly uneventful. It usually was on the farm, but that wasn’t something she minded very much. In fact, she loved it. In the two years that she’d lived there with them, Dennet and his family had become very dear to her. Dennet and Seanna had taught her how to ride a horse, and Elaina had given Sylvie her mother’s old loom and spinning wheel as she was ‘quite useless with it’ in her own words. In the evenings, the lot of them would all sit out front, laughing, gossiping, and occasionally eating sweets while Dennet smoked his pipe. Once she had identified the various herbs and plants around her in Thedas, she was able to start putting together salves and tonics for the various ailments that can occur on a farm, a skill she had learned from her mother long before she died.
She’d learned a lot about the Thedas she now resided in as well over the course of the months she’d lived with Dennet and his family. Alistair was crowned king after the Fifth Blight. A male Mahariel was the Hero of Ferelden, though no one knew what happened to him after the Blight. Most of what anyone knew about Kirkwall was from Tale of the Champion, which Sylvie had read. A lot of it was greatly exaggerated, but she got the basic gist of Hawke’s adventures from it. They were a mage, or a rogue, or both. Varric was vague. She had a theory, a twin kind of theory.
Then there was the Mage-Templar war.
From what she had gathered from Dennet, the war had been going on for a few years now, and tensions in the Hinterlands were getting so high you could almost cut them with a knife. The Conclave was imminent. The thought made her nervous.
Sylvie hadn’t told Dennet and his family much about herself. They all knew that she wasn’t from around there, but couldn’t go home. They knew she had lost her mother and that she’d taught Sylvie herbalism, amongst other things. They knew that she loved working with textiles and that she could cook with virtually nothing and it would still be the best thing they’d ever eaten. They did not know that she was from modern Earth and that they were all living in a video game.
They also didn’t know Sylvie was a mage.
The discovery of her magic was something that had shocked her Very Shortly after she had moved into the small servants cottage that Elaina had given to her. She had since been learning to control it on her own, with varying degrees of success. She could even control her dreams when she wanted to. She really didn’t want to think about the implications of what that meant. There were a lot of things she didn’t think about too much anymore.
She had deduced about a month after living in the Hinterlands that she wasn’t going home. It hurt more than she'd thought it would. It was another thing she didn't like to think about too often. It stung that she didn’t even have much to remember Earth by. She did have her bag with her, but all that had been in there with her was her mother’s grimoire and the picture of the both of them together in it, her deck of tarot cards, and the email she'd printed out telling her she'd gotten the job at the museum. She kept them all in a box, safe and hidden away where she could always go look at them when she was particularly homesick. Since then Sylvie had resolved to enjoy her new quiet, NPC life, content and far away from any kind of canon events of the game. Dennet seemed happy to let her, never pressing too hard about any parts of her past that she didn’t want to share with him. All the parts he didn’t know, didn’t matter to him, something that she was very grateful for. It was actually nice, living day after peaceful day, helping Elaina out in the garden, making yarn and fabric and clothes for herself and the family, laughing and talking together in the evenings as they put everything away to start over again the next morning. It was so nice, in fact, that she almost completely forgot about the events to come with the Inquisition.
Almost.
“It’s quiet today,” Sylvie said, looking out over the Hinterlands. Dennet hummed, blowing a sweet smelling smoke from his pipe. “No like, really quiet.”
“What do you mean, girl?” Dennet asked, watching her as she stood. It was only the two of them out there on the stoop, everyone else had gone back inside for the moment. Apparently Rissa had made honey cakes. But that was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment. She licked her lips nervously.
“There’s no sound,” she muttered. Dennet paused, looking around as well. “Where’re the animals? It’s the middle of the summer.”
“No birds,” Dennet added, slowly standing beside me. “Something isn’t right.” A cacophony of sound had both their heads whipping around to see flocks of birds crying and flying away en masse from the direction of…
“Oh no,” Sylvie breathed. “No…” Haven.
The sky tore open. And all hell broke loose.
“Elaina!” Dennet yelled, running into the house. “Seanna!” Sylvie could hear their panicked voices inside, trying to make sense of what had just happened, making sure everyone was safe. She couldn’t move. All she could do was stare up at the Breach, falling to her knees as the weight of what she was seeing hit her.
“Sylvie!” She was pulled upright, turning to see Seanna had come. Her concerned eyes left Sylvie’s face as she beheld the sky above, and she gasped. “We need to go inside. We need to go inside right now, Sylvie!” She nodded, a numbness settling in her chest. Sylvie stumbled after Seanna, trying to fight off waves of nausea as they hit her. Dennet was speaking to everyone inside, his voice tight and tense as he tried to reign in his initial panic.
“Are you alright, Sylvie?” he asked when she tripped into a chair at the table, and she wordlessly nodded again. “Good. Now I don’t know what the fuck is going on -”
“The Conclave,” Sylvie managed, fighting against every syllable. “Was that…was that-”
“Maker above,” Rissa whispered shakily. “All those people. The Divine!”
“Hush now,” Dennet said, holding up a hand to quiet them. “Whatever has happened there, we are safe, that is what matters. Bron, we need to strengthen the security of the farm, keep a tight perimeter. Clarissa, write to your son. Get him and his family to come here if they can, and tell him if he comes here he’ll have a job. Sylvie, is there anyone you need to write to?”
“No,” she replied. “No, it’s just me. But I’ll help here in any way I can.” Then everyone got to work.
Things relatively calmed down in the days that followed the initial disaster. Rissa’s son, Jacob, and his wife and three children did come to the farm, arriving a week after the explosion at the Conclave. Bron had tried to get his parents to come to the farm, but they had replied, telling him the journey was too long, and they were too old. They said there was an old Warden close to them, though, that was checking in on them and making sure they were safe. Blackwall. That was good.
The wolves became a problem two weeks after the Breach. There was word about more and more rifts opening up around them. The bandits were not as big of a problem as they could have been. There had been one attempt on the farm, but with three men (and Seanna) the bandits that tried to take the farm found themselves overtaken instead. The children were told they were not allowed to leave the perimeter of the farm after that. All in all, life post Breach was…manageable.
It would be another week and half before the Herald of Andraste came knocking. And then Sylvie’s life would be turned completely on its head again.
**********
She sat next to her fireplace, humming as she put the finishing embroidery touches on a blouse she had made for herself. Sylvie had asked Elaina if she needed any help in the garden that morning - they had just had to fend off another wolf attack the night before - but she was assured that Elaina and Margaret, Jacob’s wife, could handle it. So she took the opportunity to finish some mending and put more details into clothes she had made for herself in the last week. Sylvie was so engrossed in her work that when she heard the knock at the door, she startled, accidentally stabbing herself with her needle. She hissed a curse, opening the door to see who would be knocking. It was one of Jacob’s children, the middlest, Rosemary.
“There are people here,” she told Sylvie, her voice hushed and excited.
“Hello to you too Rosie,” she said, and Rosemary giggled. “What do you mean there are people here, cher?” Sylvie looked around the girl, worried that there might be more bandits trying their luck, but didn’t see anyone outside.
“They’re inside with Master Dennet,” Rosie explained, pointing to the main house. “They said they’re with the Inquisition!” Sylvie’s breath caught, and she found herself blinking.
“What did they look like, the people?” she asked Rosie, stuttering a little on the words. Rosie hummed.
“There was a lady,” she began, “and she had this shield and a sword, and then a dwarf man with a weird shirt. Oh, there was also an elf, he was reaaaally tall.” Varric, Cassandra, and Solas.
“Was there anyone else with them?”
“Oh yeah, there was this other guy,” Rosie answered. “He was pretty tall too.”
“Human?”
“Yup!”
“Did he have a staff?”
“No, he had a sword like the lady did,” she answered. “The elf had a staff though!” Sylvie thanked Rosemary for catching her up on the gossip, sending her back off to her mother and grandmother. Before she shut the door, Sylvie looked up towards Dennet’s house, only to jump again when she noticed Solas looking out the window, just happening to look directly at her as well. Heart pounding, Sylvie waved awkwardly at him. He paused, his brow furrowing slightly, before inclining his head to her and turning back inside. Sylvie shut her door.
The Inquisition was here. They would be talking to Dennet about the horses, and he would tell them no, at least until they did some favors around the farm. The Herald was here. Sylvie wasn’t quite sure why, but that scared her, a strange dread settling in the pit of her stomach. It was nonsense. She had never even met the man, how could she know what kind of man he was? Perhaps it was because she had never played a warrior Trevelyan before - or even a male Trevelyan for that matter.
She should have felt fear towards Solas. The wolf in sheep’s clothing. The Dread Wolf was merely two doors down, and instead of the instinctual dread that was supposed to be there Sylvie only felt curiosity. She sighed and put away her embroidery, grabbing the basket full of newly mended clothing and heading up towards where she knew Elaina and Margaret were. She desperately needed to take her mind off of the Inquisition.
“Elaina!” she called, waving to the farmer’s wife and hoisting up the basket so she could see. “I finished the mending!” Elaina laughed as Sylvie got closer to her, and when she finally set the basket down next to her, Elaina picked up a pair of trousers on the top, inspecting the seams where Syvlie had made the repairs.
“I still don’t know how you can make this good of a repair in such a short amount of time,” Elaina laughed, showing the mend to Margaret.
“Were you a tailor’s apprentice?” Margaret asked, picking up a shirt and looking it over as well.
“No,” Sylvie replied with a smile, “but my grandmother was very handy with a needle, and she taught me everything she knew.” The women all laughed and chatted, passing the clothes around and figuring out which shirts went to who and so on.
“Excuse me ladies,” a rich voice behind them said. Sylvie turned, and there were Cassandra, Varric, Solas…and Trevelyan. He was tall, and had a wide build. Well kept brown hair that was cropped around his ears. He had this crooked smile on his face, and was clean shaven. But there was an intensity in his eyes that didn’t sit right with her. “I am Killian Trevelyan. Which one of you is Elaina?”
“That would be me,” Elaina said, setting the clothes she held down. “What can I help you with?”
While they talked Sylvie studied Trevelyan’s companions. They looked exactly how she’d always pictured, and also completely different.
Cassandra was…intense. She was all hard lines and angles, with a sharp jawline and high cheekbones. The scar that ran along her jaw had settled into her skin and twitched every time she pursed her lips. Her hair was dark and messy, probably from traveling and various fights along the way. She looked tired. There were bags under her eyes, and she scanned the area like she wasn’t entirely sure they were safe. Sylvie didn’t blame her, she knew what was going on outside the farm. She knew how lucky they were to be here and not out there.
Solas was interesting. He wore simple clothes, stood with the smallest of slouches to hide his height - not that it did much, he was tall - and kept a disarming smile on his lips. There was a light dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks that gave him a somewhat softer appearance. His eyes were stormy blue-gray, and very sharp. He couldn’t quite keep the pride out of them, and that set him apart from any other elf she’d met in the Hinterlands so far, and there were a lot of them out there, both Dalish and not. And she could tell by the way he looked at Trevelyan that he didn’t trust the man either.
Then there was Varric Tethras. He looked every bit the rogue that he was, his light copper hair pulled back into a half ponytail, his grin self-assured, and his tunic open just enough so that one could see the top of his chest hair. Bianca was strapped to his back at the moment, but from what Sylvie could see of it, the crossbow was beautiful. But the more she looked at him, the more…tired he seemed. Not road weary, like Cassandra, just…tired. Sylvie suddenly wanted to hug him. Instead, she smiled at him.
“You’re Varric Tethras, aren’t you?” she asked. He turned his attention to her.
“Depends, who’s asking?” he asked.
“Only a fan,” Syvlie replied, holding out her hand. “Sylvaine, but you can call me Sylvie, everyone here does.”
“A fan all the way out here?” he asked with a chuckle, shaking her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Sylvie. Which book is your favorite so far?”
“I’m about halfway through Hard in Hightown right now, but I think it’s my favorite so far,” she answered, walking back a little ways and sitting at the table they usually used for wool waulking. Varric followed, and so did Solas. Interesting. They both joined her at the table. “I did enjoy Tale of the Champion , but I’ve always loved a good mystery. Seanna keeps trying to convince me that Champion is better, but I’m holding my ground.” Varric laughed.
“The Hard in Hightown series does seem to be my most popular,” he agreed.
“What brings you out to the farm?” she asked.
“The horsemaster,” Solas answered before Varric could. “We were hoping to secure some horses for the Inquisition.”
“I’ve heard a little bit about that, that’s the organization up in Haven that the Chantry keeps bitching about, right?” Varric laughed.
“Something like that,” he said. Sylvie hummed.
“Good luck with that,” she said. “There’s a lot of shit going on out here right now, so I don’t see it being very safe for anyone to travel right now. Jacob - that’s the maid’s son, you just met his wife up there with me and Elaina - was lucky enough to get here with his wife and children before it got too bad. Bron’s parents are holed up somewhere by the lake. He’s been really worried about them.”
“He mentioned something like that,” Solas said.
“You live around the man for long enough you start being able to predict what he’s going to say about a matter. But Elaina and Bron should be able to set you up with anything you’ll need to get us over there, if your man Trevelyan up there really wants us.” At the mention of his name, both Varric and Solas glanced sideways up to where he was wrapping up his conversation with Elaina. It seemed neither of them were entirely thrilled about the man. Sylvie filed that bit of information away. Trevelyan and Cassandra made their way down to where they all sat.
“We’ve gotten all the information we need here for now,” he told Varric and Solas, and they both stood, nodding a farewell to her. Trevelyan smiled at Sylvie.
“I don’t think I caught your name earlier,” he said. Something about the way he said it made her skin crawl. She gave him a tight smile in response.
“I didn’t give it,” she replied. There was a split second of annoyance in Trevelyan’s eyes, but it was gone when he blinked, replaced by a salesman’s smile.
“A shame, as I would be honored to know the name of such a beautiful woman,” he said in a way that made the hair on her arm stand up.
“Oh, this is Sylvie,” a small voice said next to her. Syvlie jumped.
“Rosemary, we just talked about sneaking up on people,” she hissed. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping Seanna brush down the horses?” She giggled.
“We just finished,” she said before turning to Trevelyan. “Your horses are all ready for you and your friends, ser.” She pointed towards the stables.
“Very well,” Trevelyan said with a small bow to Rosemary. He turned to Sylvie with another skin-crawling smirk. “I hope we meet again, Miss Sylvie.”
“Sylvaine,” she corrected with a warning smile of her own. “Only my friends are allowed to call me Sylvie.” Something dangerous in his eyes lit up, and she looked away, smile gone. He chuckled, walking away and towards the stables.
“Then perhaps we shall have to become friends, Miss Sylvie,” he called over his shoulder. Sylvie watched him for only a moment before shuddering and turning away to head back up to the main house, stopping by Elaina and Margaret to pick up the mending.
“He’s quite handsome isn’t he?” Margaret asked as Syvlie settled the basket on her hip. Elaina hummed with a short nod.
“Would that I were younger,” she replied. “He seemed to like you Sylvie.”
“It would seem so,” she replied flatly, heading into the house. She sighed, shaking her head. “Dennet, I brought the mending, where would you like me to put it?”
“Just on the table there is fine, thank you, girl,” he said. He was staring out the window to the stables, watching as Seanna got Trevelyan set up with their horses and idly messing with his pipe. “What do you make of this Trevelyan man?” She pursed her lips.
“I don’t like him,” she said after a pause. “Something about him seems off. He talks like he’s trying to sell you something.” Dennet huffed a laugh.
“He does, doesn’t he?”
“Are you going to help them?” Sylvie asked, sitting down at the table next to him.
“If they help us first,” he said. “I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t. I just need them to make the journey safer for us first.”
“Maybe Bron’ll finally get his watchtowers,” she added. Dennet chuckled, turning away from the window finally with a wry grin.
“Maybe then he’ll finally shut up about his damned watchtowers.” Sylvie laughed, her mood improving just a little bit.
“I’m going to go see if Rissa needs help with dinner,” she told him, patting his shoulder.
“There you go working too hard again, girl,” he grumbled, shaking his head. She smiled at him.
“Me? Never.”
**********
A month later, the Herald returned, though Solas was not with him this time. It seemed Trevelyan had gone to Val Royeaux since his last visit, and had replaced him with Vivienne. Sylvie felt her lips press into a thin line. Vivienne looked fierce in person, which is to say, she looked like a right bitch. Her dark skin and eyes contrasted beautifully with her light robes, but the way her full lips pursed and sharp eyes evaluated those around her rubbed Sylvie the wrong way. She tried to focus on her laundry, but found it difficult to ignore the way Vivienne was literally looking down her nose at the people on the farm. Sylvie rolled her eyes, hanging up her last shift before gathering up her basket to move back inside. Just as she had opened her door, she caught sight of Varric, who waved at her with a smile. She smiled and waved back, which Varric took as an invitation.
“We meet again,” Varric said, bowing slightly in greeting. Sylvie grinned and bobbed a quick curtsy.
“So it would seem, master dwarf,” she replied. “Tell me, what news of your travels?” She stepped aside, gesturing for him to come into her cottage. He chuckled, thanking her as he stepped past her. “Feel free to take any chair, just don’t touch the alchemy equipment, I’m kind of working on something and cross-contamination would be disastrous.”
“I have questions,” Varric said, taking a seat and looking around. Sylvie laughed, setting her laundry basket down and taking a seat across from him.
“I’m sure you do,” she said, “but first, tell me how things are going. Hob - he’s the guy that has the druffalo herd across the way - he said that High and Mighty Britches up there cleared out the Witchwood and the Strongholds a couple weeks ago?” Varric coughed to cover up his snort, but nodded.
“That he did,” Varric confirmed. “You lot should have a clear shot to and from the Crossroads now. He’s also up there explaining to your friend Bron that his watchtowers should be completed in a week or so as well.” Sylvie smiled.
“That’ll be a relief for Dennet, I think if he hears the word ‘watchtower’ one more time over dinner, he’ll end up putting poor Bron through a wall,” she told him. Varric laughed.
“Well, then we’re happy to be of service, for both of their sakes,” he said.
“Where will you go next?” Sylvie asked, putting the kettle on for some tea. “Are you just in the area to talk to Dennet, or are you all staying in the Hinterlands for a while?” Varric made a non-committal sound with a shrug.
“Hard to say with Trevelyan.”
“He seems like the type,” Sylvie agreed. She paused, a thought popping into her head. “Has he made it to Redcliffe yet?” Varric’s brow furrowed when he looked up at her from where he was preparing his pipe.
“No, he hasn’t,” he said. “Why do you ask?” Sylvie shrugged, dutifully mixing tea leaves into the water. She took a moment to look out her window. Trevelyan was making his way over. The corner of her mouth twitched ever so slightly. Shaking her head, she turned back to Varric.
“There’s just been some rumors going around,” she explained. “No one’s heard any news from Redcliffe in a couple of weeks. Which is not great, considering that’s where most people in the Hinterlands go for supplies. It’s got a lot of us worried is all, especially with winter so close.”
“We’ve heard that’s where all the rebel mages are holed up,” Varric told her. Sylvie nodded.
“Yes, that’s where most of them are,” she agreed. “They’ve been there for a while. But we haven’t heard anything from them in almost a month.” She sighed, shaking her head with a shrug and pouring some tea for them. “I don’t know, I’m just worried about it, I guess. I know it would mean a lot to so many people to be able to trade with Redcliffe again. If you could maybe mention it to him? If there was anything the Herald could do about it, I know many of us here in the Hinterlands would feel indebted to him.” Varric’s brow furrowed and his head tilted ever so slightly, until, as if on cue, Sylvie’s door opened. The man didn’t even bother knocking.
“Varric, there you are,” Trevelyan said, his tone just as oily smooth as it was the last time she’d met him. He made eye contact with Sylvie, and he had that same gods-damned smirk on his face. She fought to keep the disgust off her face. “Miss Sylvie, it is a pleasure to see your beautiful face once more.”
“Herald,” she said, once she’d managed to stamp down yet another wave of unease. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to keep your man from you. Master Tethras, perhaps we can meet for tea another time then.” Varric, to his credit, had an amazing poker face. He simply nodded and put his pipe away before standing and stretching.
“I look forward to it,” he said. Sylvie was sad to see him go. Still, she decided to gather up some biscuits and jam she had, putting them in a satchel and holding it out towards Trevelyan.
“These are for you, for the road,” she explained with a subdued smile. “It’s an amazing thing you’re doing for us all, bringing a little peace back to the Hinterlands. I wish you safe travels, wherever you go next.” Trevelyan grinned, and when he took the satchel from her, his fingers stroked the backs of her hands. Sylvie folded her hands together as soon as the satchel was out of her hands to hide the way they jolted. Trevelyan’s grin got a little wider.
“Until we meet again, Miss Sylvie,” he practically purred, giving her a mock bow before striding out of her cottage, leaving the door wide open. She managed to keep her cool until her door was shut tight, leaning against it and gagging. She needed to wash her hands.
**********
To Sylvie’s incredible relief, it worked.
Not even three days after the second appearance of Trevelyan on the farm, they'd gotten word that the Herald of Andraste had closed a terrible rift at the gates of Redcliffe, and now they were open again. There was still the matter of the rebel mages and the Tevinter magister to contend with, but for now it seemed that a tentative trade agreement had been reached. The relief on the farm was palpable.
Sylvie, Dennet, and Sienna had even gone to Redcliffe at the end of that week for the first market day to stock up and make some money. Dennet had always let her keep anything she made off the sales of her potions and salves, which was great for her, because she was always able to buy better herbs for potions and dyes and better spices for cooking. What surprised Sylvie though, was that she had finally decided to bring her cloth and yarn with her, and she'd sold out of everything she'd brought with her.
“I don’t know what you’re so surprised about, girl,” Dennet huffed, leaning back in his seat at the front of the wagon. He paused to take a puff from his pipe. “You make quality cloth. Of course people would buy it.”
“If you ask me, you sold it for too little coin,” Seanna added. “You could have easily made twice as much.” Dennet grunted his agreement. Sylvie laughed.
“I’ll remember that for the next market day,” she said. “Maybe I’ll make some extra cloaks. It’s already starting to get colder out again.”
She helped unload the cart before grabbing the things she had bought for herself and making her way back towards her cottage. She had barely made it to the door when she spotted them. The Herald and his party had returned yet again. There were five of them now, Trevelyan, Varric, Cassandra, Vivienne, and a man that she recognized to be Blackwall after a moment. Varric spared her a quick glance and a nod, before the lot of them dismounted and made their way up to Dennet. They exchanged a few words, then Dennet held out his hand to Trevelyan, who shook it and then turned to leave.
Sylvie put her things away, not even bothering to wash up before making her way up to the main house.
“What was that all about?” she asked once she made it back up to the doorstep.
“The Herald took care of those wolves that have been attacking,” Dennet explained, his arms crossed as he watched the Herald and his party go. “He came back to ask if I would reconsider being their horsemaster.”
“What did you tell him?” she asked. Dennet sighed.
“I told him I needed to take care of a few things here first, but I’d head out at the end of the week,” he answered. Sylvie hummed.
Dennet would go to Haven. That was good, that was what was supposed to happen. Sylvie would be allowed to stay, she knew that. This was practically her family now. But something was tugging at her heart. A feeling that she felt compelled to follow. Trevelyan would have let Redcliffe rot if she hadn't stepped in. She may have only met him twice, but she felt she had a pretty good idea that he was not a great person, and there were many people he'd come into contact with - work with - that would suffer his selfishness. Maybe, a small part of her said, she could change that like she did Redcliffe. It was a foolish idea. And one that would almost certainly get her killed. The correct idea was to stay on the farm in her comfy cabin and never think about any of it ever again. She made her decision.
“You know,” she began after a brief pause, “I hear that Haven is dreadfully cold all the time, being right at the base of the Frostbacks.” She turned her face to Dennet’s. “Your joints are going to be put through hell. You’ll go through that salve in a week at most.” Dennet huffed with amusement.
“And what do you suggest I do about that, eh girl?” he asked her. Sylvie shrugged.
“Well, you’ll need someone in Haven that knows how to make you some more,” she said with a grin. “So I suppose I’ll just have to go with you.” Dennet chuckled, shaking his head. “Besides, I’d hate to see you go alone, I know you’ll need Elaina and Seanna here to keep the farm running. You do need someone to keep you out of trouble...”
“Alright, alright,” Dennet said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t need any more convincing. You can come to Haven with me.” Sylvie smiled at him.
“I mean if you insist,” she drawled. “I suppose I’ll start packing everything away.” Dennet grunted, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.
“Come on inside for dinner,” he grumbled. Sylvie laughed and followed him in.
It took a lot less time than she expected to pack up the life she’d made for herself in the Hinterlands. Sylvie had moved a few times in her past life on Earth, and every time it was a weeks long, stressful affair in which she felt rushed and something always got lost in the fray. Here on Thedas, the hardest thing to pack was her alchemical experiments and the potted cuttings from her extensive herb garden. Elaina insisted she bring the loom and spinning wheel with her, which she thought was going to be a problem, but both of them apparently broke down pretty easily. Margaret had gifted her with some wool underpinnings to keep her warm, and Rissa gave her a new apron that she had embroidered bluebells on. Sylvie’s eyes were misty as she told them all goodbye and promised to write. It felt like when she left for college and everyone in town had thrown her a going away party.
Saying goodbye to them felt like saying goodbye to family all over again. She took a brief look back at the farm falling away into the distance. Sylvie really hoped she wouldn't regret this.
“You going to be alright there, girl?” Dennet asked her. She huffed a quiet laugh and nodded.
“Yeah, I think so. You ready to see what all the fuss is about in Haven?”
“There better not be a fuss. I signed on to keep horses,” Dennet answered. “That’s all the excitement I need.”
Sylvie sighed. If only it could be that simple.