have courage & be kind @carnivalsofthecity - Tumblr Blog

Aug 9

let this remain

F! MAGE TREVELYAN x CULLEN RUTHERFORD his voice was hoarse, vowels stretching in a way that was obviously ferelden but not noble, though he held himself like one. shoulders back, jaw set. a proud man, with too much to prove and not much time to do it. a gust of wind swept ash towards them, catching in his hair, and maeve’s nostrils flared at the sudden and unmistakable scent of lyrium. templar. she raised her chin a fraction, almost defiantly. if only her soft scholar fingers gave her away as a circle mage and nothing more.

warnings/tags: canon typical violence, eventual smut, friends to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, lyrium withdrawal, depression, eventual mental health crisis,

art by pineflowerart ・archiveofourown

a/n: returning to posting on tumblr after a hiatus and thought i'd share the dragon age fic i'm working on. currently 27 chapters and counting. first chapter is below. :)

chapter 1: a prologue of sorts

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Breath rattled through her chest, painful and wet. Bruises in places she didn’t even know could bruise.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Weight around her ankles and her wrists, heavy and very cold. Just out of reach, her magic vibrated—waiting for just the right opportunity to burst from her, but it felt muted. Blocked. Silenced.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

“Wake up!”

Maeve Trevelyan opened her eyes and immediately winced she hadn’t. Torch light blazed against her face, too harsh in the darkness, and she went to shield her gaze - only to find she couldn’t. Heavy chains clasped her wrists and ankles, digging into the skins with a bitterly cold touch. Swimming into picture around her, a dungeon of grey brick and iron with water droplets splattering from ceiling to stone before they were lost in the darkness. A note of panic, sudden and wild, wound through her chest and up into her throat.

“Do you know where you are?”

A woman, dark-haired and severe, stood before her with arms crossed over an armored chest. Her accent was crisp, deliberate, and utterly foreign to Maeve’s ears. Behind her, a lithe woman with red hair just a few shades lighter than her own stood half in shadow, a torch held aloft.

Maeve’s mind sluggishly backtracked across the last few hours - arriving at the temple with Enchanter Riann and Knight-Templar Neriss, blisters on her heels and flutters of nervous anticipation in her belly. They were there to forge peace, or at the very least attempt it. A rush of heat, a hundred screams. Riann’s grip tightly in her own before being ripped away. When Maeve looked down at her hands, she could just see the bloody nail marks across her palms.

“Ferelden,” she croaked out. The words came scraped from the back of her throat. “The Divine Conclave. What happened? Where are my companions?”

”Your name,” the warrior continued, as if she’d not said anything. “Your name is Evanna Trevelyan?”

Maeve struggled to a proper sitting position, her back aching from being slumped on the floor for so long. Behind the warrior woman, just darkness and stairs leading up; she couldn’t see the sky properly to know what time of day it was. How long had she been there in these dungeons?

“Maeve,” she said shortly. And then, louder and more insistent - “Enchanter Riann and Knight-Templar Neriss. I was with them at the Conclave.”

The redhead spoke up, and her accent was decidedly Orlesian. “And what was your purpose at the Divine Conclave? Why have you traveled from the Ostwick Circle of Magi?”

Maeve faltered, wetting her lips nervously. “How do you know I’m from Ostwick?”

“Your robes are distinctive,” the Orlesian said impassively, and Maeve dipped her head at that. She hadn’t met many other Circle mages to know any different; to her eyes, her clothes were as nondescript as any other. Perhaps the headscarf gave it away; heavy folds of cloth tucked around her marked a Marcher custom, she knew, and favored by the faithful.

“We represented the Ostwick mages,” Maeve said, meeting the dark-haired woman’s gaze again. “In bargaining to end the war. I have answered your question, and now you are to answer mine: where are my companions?”

“Enchanter Riann and Knight-Templar Neriss are dead,” the Orlesian said and Maeve froze. “And you are to tell us why.”

Her heart stopped for one horrible moment, then thundered back to life with a ferocious beat. No. It couldn’t be. She had just seen them…just a few minutes ago! “I don’t believe you,” she whispered, though doubt already snuck into her belly as soon as the two women exchanged hard glances.

“Hundreds are dead by our current estimates,” the dark-haired woman snarled. “Your friends did not die quickly or without pain. Tell me… Did you not travel to the Conclave to destroy it and everyone within?”

Things were sliding into place, horrible and terrible things. The chains about her wrists felt tighter and colder every passing second as Maeve gaped at the two women. “Destroy… the Conclave? I would never—”

“You came here to assassinate the Most Holy!”

“You are mistaken,” Maeve begged, and when she struggled to stand, the Orlesian woman stepped forward, flashing blades appearing in her hands. “I came here to find peace, not to kill anyone. I don’t understand what’s happening!”

“No?” the warrior asked, arching one thick brow. “Then what is this?” And she surged forward past the rogue to grab the other woman’s bound wrists and held them up in the air with fury written upon her face. Maeve was just pulling back, trying to writhe away, when a bolt of pain shot down her left arm and the room lit up in sickly green.

She couldn’t help it - she cried out in shock and fear, eyes bulging at the sight of pure magic rushing from her own left palm. Whispers, indistinct but growing louder every passing second, crowded her ears - not from this world but from another. It was warm and smelled of burning, but not of flesh, but of twisted metal and bark and blood. It had to stop, it couldn’t continue forever -

And just like that, it blinked away, and Maeve sagged forward against the woman’s legs, not able to hide her sob of relief as the pain whittled away to a dull ache.

“What is it?” the woman demanded, shaking her still bound wrists. But Maeve couldn’t find an answer for her, and so the woman shoved her away with disgust.

Maeve fell away limply, her back colliding with the wall, and frigid water began to seep into her robes. She ought to have been worried about catching a cold, but now that was the furthest thing from her mind as she cradled her left hand gently. There, gracing her skin as if it had always been there, was a Mark not unlike a rough burn, rough and mottled against her otherwise unblemished palm. She saw no glimmers now, but the area was numb and bitterly cold when she tried to close her fist. She had no idea what it was-but she knew the feeling of the magic before. The Fade.

The two women were whispering to each other when Maeve looked blearily up at them. The dark-haired warrior’s gaze was still angry, but the Orlesian looked suddenly contemplative. Both fell silent when they caught sight of Maeve peering warily at them.

“I don’t know what it is,” she said heavily. “Or how it got there. I don’t remember anything, just… An explosion? And then running, and then - a woman-?”

“Liar,” the warrior snarled, but the Orlesian put a hand on her shoulder.

“Peace, Cassandra,” she said before looking back to Maeve. “A woman?”

“I didn’t know her face,” Maeve confessed helplessly, and the redhead sighed with disappointment.

“She doesn’t know anything,” she muttered to the other woman - Cassandra. “And yet she might be the only one who can help.”

“I will take her to the forward camp,” Cassandra said, sounding as if she’d rather do anything but. “But if you try anything…” she warned Maeve, who couldn’t help but cringe away.

To her surprise, they unbound her from the chains, though her hands remained tied together with thick rope. When Cassandra pulled her roughly to her feet, Maeve’s stomach churned and her legs were full of pins and needles. Her head swam, and though it had been some time, she would recognize the feeling of a Templar Silence from anywhere.

If there were templars here and they thought her responsible for whatever had happened, then she ought to be careful—she needed to find Riann and Neriss, unless it was true that they were dead. The thought was too terrible to contemplate.

Cassandra’s grip on her upper arm was tight as she practically dragged Maeve towards the front of the holding cells. Through gaps in the slats of wood came the sound of metal banging and men shouting - all tinged with panic. A pair of soldiers wearing Chantry symbols on their breastplates nodded to Cassandra before they shouldered a heavy wooden door open. Outside, a throng of more soldiers and aides ran about in what was clearly barely organized chaos, heaving planks of wood and supplies between them as officers barked orders. She was just about to ask what it was all for when a sudden light glinted off the armor, and then Maeve had to stop to gape at the sky.

For it was the same green as the light from her palm, but it roiled and shuddered through the clouds with a fury she had never seen before - not even in the worst storms coming from the deep sea. It swirled with preternatural energy toward the top of the mountains, and the air was so thick with ash and smoke that Maeve felt it immediately coat her lips and teeth.

“What is it?” she breathed in horror.

Cassandra glanced at her, still suspicious before she said, “We’ve been calling it the Breach. A massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It is not the only of its kind, just the most powerful. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave. Come, we must hurry.”

“What sort of explosion can cause that?” Maeve asked, struggling not to trip over her robes as she hurried after the warrior.

“We’re not sure,” Cassandra admitted. “But unless we act, it will grow until it swallows the world.”

Almost as if on cue, the Breach flashed with a shriek and clap not unlike thunder and the crowd cowered. This time, Maeve could feel the moment the Mark alighted, a twisting feeling like nails into her skin and she stumbled, falling to her knees as she screamed.

Around her, people paused and stared, and some whispered as others backed away in fear. She couldn’t blame them - she too would have trembled in the face of such an obscene use of magic. Maeve wondered wildly if it was blood magic that tied her to the Breach. If the Fade was calling forth demons, what did that mean for her with this thing burrowing into her flesh?

“It is killing you,” Cassandra said, as if reading her thoughts. “Every time the Breach expands, your Mark spreads with it. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

“You still think I would do this to myself?” Maeve gasped through waves of pain, clutching at her wrist as best she could despite the rope bindings.

“Not intentionally,” Cassandra said darkly. “Clearly something went wrong. But you were the only one found in the Temple. You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.”

The Mark calmed again, releasing its hold as Maeve forced breath through her chest until she could look up at the warrior and ask, “And if you still find me guilty?”

Cassandra met her gaze firmly and with no remorse. “The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia. We were all gathered here in her name for a chance to find peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now they are dead.”

“If you are guilty,” she continued, as despair sank its claws into Maeve’s chest, “then you will be tried, as is your right. And executed summarily.”

It took some convincing for Cassandra to cut her bindings.

“You cannot expect to lead me through a demon-infested valley without a weapon of my own,” Maeve argued as the warrior continued to drag her toward the front of the camp. Spiked barricades loomed tall and angry, and beyond them burning debris sat adorned with bodies. Many of them were in templar silverite armor. Maeve dreaded what monsters had caused wounds such as those.

“Open the gate!” Cassandra barked, ignoring Maeve as she squared off against a soldier at the gate. “We are going into the valley.”

“You can’t, ser! Commander Rutherford said—”

“I don’t care what the Commander said. I order you to—”

This time, Maeve actually heard the Breach stretch with a terrible creaking that sounded like trees snapping, and she had not a moment to brace herself before she was thrown to the ground. Her teeth ground together as she desperately tried to breathe through the waves of pain, but a particular tendril found the small muscles of her shoulders and, as they danced with agony, Maeve couldn’t help but wail, cheek pressed into the dirt. She would die here today, she knew it with surety. The Maker had abandoned her in these final moments - she was alone.

But then Cassandra’s hands were on her, pulling her up and shaking some life back into her. “The pulses are coming faster now,” she said urgently. Behind her, the gates were swinging open, and beyond lay a snow-covered wasteland. “The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face!”

“Staff,” Maeve pleaded again. “I need to be able to defend myself!”

“Pull yourself together!” Cassandra cried with obvious frustration. “You will not need to fight!”

There was a whistling sound, and then an explosion that rocked the earth and the two women, though Maeve managed to catch herself before she fell again. A chunk of rock, tinged with that now familiar ghostly green, cratered into the side of a hill, and she thought that must be it until a bit of it slid off with unnatural grace.

It swirled without form for a moment, then rose, rock turning molten and the snow around it melting in an instant. A demon built of anger and hellish fury, now turned fiery eyes upon the pair of them. And then it roared and began to advance.

“Stay behind me,” Cassandra ordered, drawing her sword before she lunged at the beast.

Maeve was petrified in place. She hadn’t seen such a creature in many years, not since… and before then, her Harrowing. Though that had been one of Despair, cloaked in ice and smoke, and nothing like the towering inferno the warrior woman battled now. So wrapped in her fear, she didn’t notice the second one rising from the ground until the smell of burning flesh met her nose.

She turned and shrieked as the Rage Demon appeared over her. Instinctively, Maeve threw her bound hands out and blindly thrust with the only weapon she knew how to wield. The demon fell back with a shout as an unseen force grappled with it, dragging it back over the frozen lake. Beneath it, the ice cracked and fizzled, though it was too thick to shatter.

Cassandra still danced around the other demon, though it was looking worse for wear as it growled furiously. Wildly, Maeve thought the warrior might be able to finish off both demons—but then the one before the mage roared again. She had little choice, and so she reached for what came most naturally.

Flame poured from her hand with a rush of heat that Maeve barely felt as she cast forward. The demon shrieked in pain, fire finding weak spots in its natural armor, and it flailed helplessly. The burning smell intensified before the creature finally collapsed in a heap of ash and embers.

“Well done,” Cassandra said, and did Maeve detect some approval in her voice, or just more suspicion? “To cast without a staff… Not all mages have that power.”

Maeve crossed her arms defensively over her chest, uneasy with Cassandra looking at her so curiously. “I do not care for it,” she muttered. “A staff would do me well so I don’t turn the both of us into flaming pyres.”

“I have no reason to trust you,” Cassandra said in that same hard tone.

“You’ve just seen that I don’t need a focus to be dangerous,” said Maeve, only a little exasperated now.

The warrior appraised her slowly, and Maeve shifted, suddenly conscious of her tattered and bloodied robes. Riann would never have let her be seen in such a state, nor any of her enchanters.

“No,” Cassandra finally admitted. “I cannot expect to you to be defenseless. And I should remember that you agreed to come willingly.” She gestured to a group of soldiers hurrying forward now that the demons had been cleared and one hurried forward holding a smooth length of pale wood.

As Maeve’s fingers wrapped around the birch, she could feel the thrum of power. It was not fully attuned to her, but it would do. She spared a thought for the staff that had carried her through her training, her Harrowing, through over a decade as a ranked enchanter of the Ostwick Circle. Now, a pile of ash with the remains of the dead.

“Where are they going?” she asked, pushing the thoughts from her head as she pointed at the soldiers beginning a trudge up the mountain.

Cassandra shook black ichor from her sword before she squared her shoulders. “The same place we are. Let’s go.”

They passed more corpses on their way up the mountain, some burning, many so mangled and bloody she couldn’t even tell if they were templar or mage. Once or twice Maeve thought she might be sick, and it must have been obvious because eventually Cassandra paused and then asked stiffly, “Do you need a moment?”

“No,” Maeve said hurriedly and pushed herself off the rock she’d placed a heavy hand on at the sight of one small body, burnt and blackened against the white snow. “No, I’m fine.”

Cassandra pursed her lips but said nothing, and they continued.

Soon they came across a partially collapsed and burning bridge, and beside it another group of demons raged in battle. Above them, what could only be described as a glowing tear in the sky, green and silver against the dark clouds. Maeve flinched as the Mark crackled to life, but it did not send her to her knees as it did before - instead, it pulsed with consistent energy, and she felt almost like a tug about her naval pulling her closer to the rift.

Just off the road, a dwarf wielding one of the biggest crossbows she’d ever seen fired a bolt at one of the encroaching demons. “What are you just standing around for?” he bellowed towards the two women. “Could use a little help here, you know!”

Maeve gripped her staff tightly, fear twisting her stomach, but Cassandra held no such feeling as she lept forward, sword held high. But eventually she gingerly drew closer, staying to the edge of the rocks as she began to fire spells towards the nearest demon. A pale green spell she did not recognize sailed over her head, and she turned to see an elf in roughly hewn robes twirling a staff with far more finesse than she could ever hope for.

It was this elf who rushed to her as soon as the last demon fell, and grabbed at the hand with the Mark with little explanation.

“What in the Maker are you - ?“ She exclaimed but the elf cried out, his voice calm and lilting in the way she’d only heard Dalish elves brought to the Circle speak.

“Quickly now!”

He thrust her hand up at the rift and it flared with another rush of green, sending shooting pain into her wrist. Buzzing swarmed in her ears, sudden and overwhelming, and it was as if she was one with the rift for a long stretch of time. Her body, weightless and immense; her mind, a cavern of endless emotion. Spirits scraped against the edges of her, asking and questioning, and she cried out in fear.

But then the rift was snapping shut between one blink and the next. It was quiet save for the spitting of fires still burning until Maeve looked to the elf and gasped, “What did you do?”

“It was all you, I’m afraid,” he said with a small smile. “I did nothing.”

“This can…close those rifts?” She held up her hand nervously, as if it might light up with Fade magic again.

“It was no coincidence that the Breach appeared in the sky the same time as that mark on your hand,” the elf said, gesturing to the glowing sky above them. “I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.”

“So it can close the Breach,” Cassandra asked, coming up to join them. She was looking at Maeve with a new light in her eyes; a weapon to be used.

Maeve wasn’t sure she liked it.

“Theoretically,” the elf agreed, then offered another wry smile towards his fellow mage. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“It would seem so,” Maeve murmured, flexing her hand.

“Thank the Maker for that,” the dwarf announced as he holstered the crossbow. “Here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever. But I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Varric Tethras,” he said, gesturing to himself with a toothy grin. “Rogue, storyteller, occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

Maeve was already sure that she liked this man. His accent had a practiced edge to it, as if he’d learned to smooth the rough corners down over time, but she heard the slight inflection to it that spoke of the Marches. Markham, perhaps? Or Kirkwall?

“Maeve Trevelyan,” she offered with a dip of her head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Despite the circumstances.”

“You may soon reconsider that stance,” the elf said and seemed to ignore the dwarf when he elbowed him in the side with a snicker.

“Oh, we’ll become bosom friends in no time, Chuckles. Isn’t that right, Seeker? Fighting demons together will do that to you.”

“You are not coming,” Cassandra said immediately but something in what Varric said bumped. A Seeker.

Cassandra was a Seeker, of course. It all slotted into place. Maeve had never seen one in the flesh, but she’d heard the templars at Ostwick talk of them, especially during the rebellion. Where were the Seekers of Truth at the end of all things, when the Circles were driving themselves to madness?

“You need me,” Varric was saying to the Seeker with a grin somehow even more sharkish than before. “Me and Bianca, that is,” and he patted the crossbow at his hip fondly.

“I am Solas,” the elf said politely as Cassandra turned away with a disgusted grunt. “I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,’” Varric interjected.

“What do you know of it?” Maeve asked curiously, running a hand over the rough edge on her palm. “It is a magic I’ve never seen before.”

“I would be surprised if you had,” Solas said. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed regardless of origin.”

“You are not a Circle mage?”

His smile faded slightly. “No,” he said quietly, and did not elaborate.

“I owe you my thanks,” she finally said, shifting awkwardly in the dirt. “For saving my life.”

“Do not thank me preemptively," Solas said seriously. “The Breach may still yet kill you.”

They were filing into a line behind Cassandra on a narrow road up the mountain when the Mark began to hum with energy again. She breathed sharply through her nose, in and out, and behind her, Varric heard.

“It hurts that bad?” He asked, pitching his voice low enough for the others not to listen in on.

“It’s not too bad,” Maeve whispered, and when he saw the tear that slipped down her cheek, he was kind enough to make no note of it.

“You sound like a Marcher. Ostwick, it it?” He asked next and she attempted a smile.

“You have good ears, Master Dwarf. Many would think it Starkhaven. I only just arrived in Ferelden a few days ago.”

“You ever been out of the tower?”

Her gaze drifted over the valley, rocks and trees and far below, a little town a smudge of orange against the snow. Haven, she remembered from conversations before, talks with those now believed dead. “Not for a long time.”

One more rift waited for them around the next bend, a pile of bodies around it still smoking. It closed easier this time, but the Breach still loomed over their heads. No matter how simple closing the rifts might be, her worry for what lay ahead only grew. If it was this painful ever time the Mark opened around rifts, then what would the Breach feel like?

The forward camp was alight with energy. Soldiers both injured and dead lay scattered about; those still living were being tended to by medics with heaps of bandages, but very few mages seemed to be here. These soldiers all wore nondescript armor with a half dozen different crests, some of them with the Chantry sun and others with what must be crests of local nobles houses.

On the bridge, the Orlesian woman from the dungeons argued with an older man in Chantry robes. As they drew near, the cleric pointed a finger towards Maeve and cried out, “Heretic! Murderer!”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “I beg your pardon?”

“You made it,” the Orlesian said with relief. “Good, we must prepare the soldiers for our charge. We - “

“You will do no such thing!” The cleric said indignantly. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!”

“Chancellor Roderick,” the Orlesian sighed with the air of one who had this very conversation before. “You have no jurisdiction here.”

“A glorified clerk,” Cassandra said with a scowl. “A bureaucrat taking the opportunity to seize a false throne.”

“And you are nothing but a thug,” Roderick reminded her snidely. “But a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry.”

“We answer only to the Most Holy,” the Orlesian said.

“Who is dead!” Roderick snapped and gestured widly towards Maeve. “Dead at her hands! We must call order and elect a new leader!”

Maeve frowned. “Can’t that wait until after the Breach is closed?”

“You are not one to give orders,” the cleric snarled. “Not after what you have done.”

“Leliana - “ Cassandra warned when the redhead stepped forward angrily. “Leave him. He is not worth it. We must press forward. The soldiers are ready for a charge - ”

“The risk is too great,” Leliana argued, shaking her head. “We cannot risk the Mark being lost, not when there is so much at stake. Our forces can serve as a distraction as we take the mountian path.”

“And lose ourselves in the snow?” Cassandra challenged. “It is too risky! We lost an entire squad to that path already!”

“It is all a risk!” Roderick cried. “Abandon this mad effort now! Our position is hopeless.”

Cassandra threw her hands up in frustration. “You are the one who is mad!” Then she turned to Maeve and demanded, “What say you?”

“You cannot possibly be asking me for my opinion,” Maeve said doubtfully.

“Believe me, I wish I did not have to. But you bear the Mark that may ensure our survival,” Cassandra said sourly.

“And since we cannot agree on our own…” Leliana arched her brow. At her side, Varric and Solas shifted uneasily.

Maeve bit her lip, staring between the two women and the cleric. Both options were risky, but one was clear to her. She wouldn’t sacrifice strangers for slow death in the bitter ice. “I won’t live long enough for your trial anyways,” she said to the chancellor, whose gaze hardened at once. “Whatever happens, happens now. We should charge with the soldiers.”

Cassandra nodded approvingly. “Then we charge.”

Rifts littered the path forward and boulders fell from above, raining fire and debris upon their heads as they ran. There were casualties, more than Maeve would ever think, and their screams of agony echoed in her ears. It was unlike anything she had ever seen or even read about; perhaps she died with the others at the Conclave, and this was Hell. There was no other option.

But finally, bedraggled and weary, the path opened to some partially collapsed buildings under which some soldiers were sheltering. One of them barked orders to the others, and it was clear at once from the deference the others gave him and the strength in his voice that this man was the one in charge.

He did not speak as they trudged forward, but his eyes flickered over Maeve at once with plain hostility. He was tall and perhaps blonde under all the soot, and clearly exhausted from the bags under his eyes and rough stubble clinging to his cheeks. “It’s your doing then?” He asked in lieu of introduction.

“The prisoner did well,” Cassandra admitted and when even when Maeve frowned at the words, she caught the the other woman appraising her with new respect. “Commander Rutherford, meet Enchanter Trevelyan.”

“I hope they’re right about you,” Rutherford said cooly, placing a hand on the pommel of his sword. “We lost a lot of people getting you here.”

His voice was hoarse, vowels stretching in a way that was obviously Ferelden but not noble, though he held himself like one. Shoulders back, jaw set. A proud man, with too much to prove and not much time to do it. A gust of wind swept ash towards them, catching in his hair, and Maeve’s nostrils flared at the sudden and unmistakable scent of lyrium.

Templar.

Maeve met his gaze levelly. His eyes, pink-edged and tired, were honey-brown, nearly glowing against his strangely waxen skin; they narrowed at her with clear suspicion as she stared him up and down. This was a man used to command, she could see that now. A soldier, though he wore no flag or crest on his breastplate, not even of the Order. How curious. She raised her chin a fraction, almost defiantly. If only her soft scholar fingers and Chantry veil and unblemished skin did not give her away as a Circle mage and nothing more.

“I hope they’re right, too,” Maeve said quietly and watched as a muscle began to jump in his jaw.

“Very well,” Rutherford muttered before turning back to Cassandra and announcing, “The way to the temple should be clear. Maker watch over you - for all our sakes.”

The Temple of Sacred Ashes was indeed a ruin when they finally made it to the mountaintop. What was once an immense structure now lay collapsed into stone piles and caved archways. Small fires still burnt every few paces, but what smoke they gave off could do little to hide the stench of death in the air. She had to clasp a bit of her headscarf over her mouth to block out the worst of it, but she could close her eyes. Bodies, twisted so much that they were unrecognizable as even having once been human; metal and flesh scoured together into one.

Riann and Knight-Templar Neriss were among the wreckage, Maeve thought miserably as the small group continued to pick their way further in. Whatever hope she had of their survival was gone - no living soul could have possibly withstood such a blast.

So how had she?

The further they drew into the temple, the more the temperature rose. Sweat began to gather in Maeve’s hairline and back of her neck; she could feel it dripping down her spine and sticking to her linen robes. Despite it all, she shivered.

There was a sudden rumbling noise from above, rocks shifting and sliding down the slope. They barely had a chance to look up before a wall of debris dropped, and Maeve dove to the left to avoid it the torrent of ash and boulders. Some of the soldiers around them were not so lucky, and their shrieks of pain were snuffed out as quickly as they began, gurgles fading to gasps and then nothing. She couldn’t bring herself to look at what remained of them, but she could not avoid the blood beginning to soak into her skirts. Maker, what had she done to land herself in such a terrible place?

Varric’s voice came from the other side of the rockpile, distinctly cross. “That’s not a good sign.”

Maeve peered around the boulder to see that it dislodged a bit of the floor, and strange red crystals now poked up through the shattered stone. Varric, Cassandra and Solas stood grouped around the nearest cluster, keeping their distance even as the red glow and green light still coming from the Breach lit up the elf’s curious expression.

“It’s red lyrium,” Varric muttered to Cassandra, whose scowl only deepened.

“I see it.”

“Whatever happened here was powerful magic,” Solas said, still staring at the lyrium intently. “It may have corrupted the lyrium.”

“What do you mean corrupted the lyrium - “ Maeve began to ask before she was cut off by another voice, harsher and louder than all of them. It echoed through the chamber, somehow both distant and right in their ears, pinning Maeve to the floor right where she stood.

Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.

A second voice - a woman’s, and by the way Leliana and Cassandra started, it was one they recognized clearly.

No, please! Someone help me!

“Divine Justinia,” Leliana breathed.

“Come, hurry!”

Their steps grew faster as they hastened towards the source of the voice, climbing over debris and around burn pits that grew closer and closer together until some of them were as large as several wagons put together.

What are you doing? Let her go!”

That was Maeve’s own voice. How odd to hear it, yet it did not come from her mouth. Were they hearing a memory? Was this part of what happened before the explosion? Before the Mark was forced upon her palm?

Run while you still can, my child! Warn them!

Kill the intruder - now!

“You were there!” Cassandra shouted, whirling on Maeve in an instant. In her grip, her sword trembled. “Who killed the Divine? Who led this attack?”

“I don’t - I don’t - “

“Answer me!”

“I don’t remember!” Maeve cried out, backing away from the advancing warrior with her hands wrapped tightly around her meager staff. “I don’t remember any of this. I’m sorry - “

The Mark ignited, pain intensified as it instantly burrowed into the fine bones of her fingers and wrist. Maeve clenched her own hand with the other, praying please for just one moment of respite -

“The Fade bleeds here,” Solas said, and one of his long fingered hands reached to rest lightly upon hers. The space between them glowed green, not unlike the Breach above, and the pain numbed just enough for Maeve to gasp a breath out.

“We must be on guard,” the elf continued in a low voice. “If you use the Mark to open the Breach once more, you might be able to seal it. But I know not what creatures might hear the call.”

“I’m not letting more demons into the world,” Maeve gritted out.

“Then you must finish it,” Solas urged as he pulled her to her feet. “Now, please!”

Demons had a cruel sense of humor, or just impeccable timing, for as soon as the Mark on her hand crackled to life, a mighty claw reached through. Demons, too many of them to count, streamed forth; at their head, a towering figure easily twice Maeve’s own height, if not larger, with pure evil glinting in its prideful eyes.

Cassandra and Leliana were both already barking orders as soldiers scattered. Through the temple more of them appeared, weary and ramshackle but ready to fight, and at the helm holding the line, Commander Rutherford bore down on their enemy with his shield and sword held up. His voice carried over the din of war, bellowing at his men as they advanced as one.

But there was little time to watch the chaos unfold for the Breach still writhed above them. Beneath Maeve’s fingers, the little birch staff shook. Solas was right: with the Fade so near, power thrummed through her blood and in the air all around them. How the others were able to concentrate on their blades so well she could not know. Her own head swam with a thousand storms and if not for Solas hovering just to her side, she was sure she would have fallen.

“Close it!” Cassandra or perhaps Leliana cried out, alone or together she could not see.

“Concentrate,” Solas breathed as Maeve raised a shaky hand. “There is no one else here. Focus on my voice.”

But she could not. The screams of the dying were so very loud and terrible and her vision flitted in and out. The wind picked up, billowing her skirts and his robes with a mighty gust, and she had to clutch at her veil to keep it from being swept away.

Concentrate.

Maeve breathed, and thought of the buzzing about her ears. Crashes like the waves upon the rocky crags beneath the Ostwick Tower, white crested and beautiful in all their natural power. Buzzing like the bees in the apple orchards of her child hood. Her brothers, laughing as they ran between the trees.

“Now!” Solas cried.

Pure magic burst from her hand and there must have been pain, but Maeve did not feel it with the thrum of energy that filled her entire being. She was the whole world contained in this single speck of dust and also she was nothing at all. No worries nor care befell her now - life was simple in its enormity. This was what she always was and always will be. The skies, the seas, the dust and the dirt.

Then Solas’ hand closed around hers to pull her back to reality and Maeve finally did scream outloud, ripped from the back of her throat as the Breach shuddered and trembled. It seemed that the very sky was to come down on top of them and if she had the ability to think at all, she would have prayed.

But then the Breach snapped shut with an almighty crash and darkness fell across them, and then silence, save for the last fizzles of magic in the air and fire pits that still burned.

Breath caught in chests as they waited.

“Is it over?” she heard Cassandra ask.

“It would appear so,” another voice said, and Maeve thought this one was the Commander.

But she had no chance to turn and see, as her knees buckled and her eyes rolled back in her head as she crumpled, and knew no more.

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#dragon age #dragon age inquistion #cullen rutherford #maeve trevelyan #dragon age fanfiction #my writing