i make-a da art

libby's art/fic tumblr!!! 28, they/them, white ashkenazi, antizio yid. main is @thedreadgay

[heavymetalmuppet]

as tides pulled by moon,

so does a pigeon hunt one

soggy dorito

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dybbuk

[heavymetalmuppet]

stand in the ashes of a trillion dead souls and ask the ghosts if honour matters. the silence is your answer.

[heavymetalmuppet]

sycamore girl || chapter 6: warriors

THE TZEDAKAH CHALLENGE: every time i post a chapter, if you have $5 or more to spare, donate it to life for gaza, a campaign by the municipality of gaza to restore the city’s infrastructure. leave a comment with how much you donate for me to tally! ONLY 1 DAY LEFT FOR THE LIFE FOR GAZA CAMPAIGN. LET'S MAKE IT COUNT! once life for gaza concludes, the tzedakah challenge will continue with another fundraiser to send aid to palestinians amid the ongoing genocide.

sooo i am just gonna get as much out before veilguard as i can but i finally now have a few chapters lined up so expect a lot more in the coming days. take the chance with lots of new chapters to donate too! ;)

word count: 2406 < prev || chapter masterlist || next (coming soon)

also available on ao3

—

Vivienne’s voice rang clear through the general chaos of the training ground: “Faster now. Start.”

Adahlee kept her breaths full and deep, an anchor as she, once again, slowly formed a ball of energy in her palms. She pulled the magic through the Veil gently, letting it fill and swirl like tendrils of wind between her hands, expanding and shrinking it.

“Stop.”

Adahlee brought her palms together, letting the magic swirl back behind the Veil once more, leaving her hands empty.

“Good—but faster. Start.”

And again. Adahlee filled her lungs as she expanded her hands, now trying to pull the energy in an oblong shape. She narrowed her eyes in concentration, feeling out the balance between flow and control.

“Stop.”

The shape was bigger, but Adahlee collapsed it quicker, directing it to whisk away between her fingers.

“Better.” Vivienne was a stern tutor, much like Solas, but far from unkind. She studied Adahlee. “Interesting creative flair; and it looked quite measured. Did the magic try to push outside your boundaries at all?”

Adahlee shook her head. “It doesn’t go wild if you just sort of… move with it. I think… I think control is less about power over the magic—” She made an open-handed gesture of her palm coming down— “and more about…” Her hand swayed gracefully instead. “Being with it. So you’re one. If you treat it like something to be caged, of course it’ll try to burst out. Where else would it have to go?” She frowned, and shook her head again. “That’s why I knew it was only a matter of time, before, when I was told to just… hide it.”

Vivienne nodded slowly. “Quite right. You have strong intuition, darling—a good skill to have, in an art like ours. Keep nurturing it.”

She was skilled. Adahlee’s expression brightened. “Thank you!”

Vivienne smiled softly. “Control is essential when working with a conduit like a staff. You are a quick learner indeed—in no small part because of your will to apply yourself. I’m confident in your ability to adapt to your staff, even so early in your training.” Vivienne took up her own, a graceful stave of swirling Serault infused glass, from where it was leaned against a wall of rock. “Come, let’s practice.”

Adahlee grabbed her own staff from where it rested next to Vivienne’s. “I’ll do right by you, Mir Thamadahl,” she murmured.

“Pardon?”

Oh. “Um…” Adahlee looked sheepishly off to the side, nervously wringing her hands around the haft. “Many mages name their staves, don’t they? Or… do they?”

Vivienne chuckled a little—amused, but not mocking. Adahlee peeked back up at her to see her smiling kindly. “Some do. What have you named yours, darling?”

“... Mir Thamadahl. It’s Elvish. It means ‘my branch.’ My name means ‘tree,’ and Solas said a staff is an extension of yourself,” she shyly tumbled out the explanation, “so… um… yeah. That’s not stupid, is it?”

“Hardly. Chin up.”

Adahlee stood straighter, summing up the will to hold herself up. Satisfied, Vivienne continued: “A name like that puts respect on the tools you use to further your magic—and thus, that respect falls back onto you, your skill, and your beingness.” As she said this, Adahlee thought Vivienne a figure to admire: a powerful, dignified enchanter. She was unapologetic in the space she took up. “That is not ‘stupid,’ and anyone who might claim such is a fool.”

Was Adahlee allowed to declare such respect for herself? Whose permission would you need? She could sum up no answer to that. Besides, she had already declared it without much thought, hadn’t she? Perhaps—perhaps self-respect could be as easy as breathing. And if it was hard to learn, well… she was a quick learner.

Finally, Adahlee nodded. “I understand, Vivienne. I… I do have another concern, though.”

“Yes? I’m here to help you, my dear.”

Adahlee shifted nervously from foot to foot. She took in Mir Thamadahl, the natural points where the magic wanted to come out. “I’m… I’m scared to hurt people. I know I need to defend myself, I just…”

“It is more than a need,” Vivienne asserted. Adahlee glanced back to her; her eyes were hard and focused. “It is your right. You have a right to your life. Come, stand next to me, and follow my lead.”

Adahlee stood side-by-side with Vivienne. She took up a stance with her staff; Adahlee copied her, just being with Mir Thamadahl and its magic, finding a rhythm with it as they transitioned to the next stance.

“Know this: no one has permission to hurt you. Anyone who would act as though they do, deserves however you bite back.” Vivienne twirled her staff slowly around her, so that Adahlee could follow, but still ended the position with the head of it decisively pointed forward. Move with it. Adahlee faced where she pointed her staff. “And make them feel your teeth, my dear.”

Perhaps this, too, was self-respect. They went through another motion, flowing like the magic, to end with the sharp end of their staves angled in the air. An extension of the self. “Make them feel your teeth,” she agreed.

—

The main problem with the Storm Coast, Adahlee decided—darkspawn and cultists aside—is that it was simply too wet. The constant rain soaked everyone and everything to the bone, making it near impossible just to start a damn campfire. Adahlee, at least, got a practical magic lesson out of it; under Vivienne’s careful instruction, she learned how to conjure and control a flame hot enough to still burn through damp firewood. She’d trusted Adahlee to tend to it until dinner; I won’t let you down! Adahlee had promised brightly.

“Impressive,” Bull complimented from the side. “You’ve got good form, for a new mage.”

Adahlee tilted her head, curious. “You would know?”

“Fought a lot of Vints, in my time. Got me wise to how mages do their thing.”

“Oh. That makes sense. And thanks!” She added quickly, not wanting to seem rude. She gestured to the fire. “Wanna sit? I could use the company.”

“Sure, thanks.” Bull plonked down opposite to her. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m alright. Just…” Adahlee made a face, and shook out her half-damp curls, gone frizzy in the moisture. “Soggy.”

Bull laughed at that, a rumbly sound that Adahlee could now say from experience sounded like a bear. “Yeah, no kidding. Darkspawn didn’t shake you up?”

Adahlee pursed her lips, considering. She had never seen darkspawn before, until arriving at the Coast. They reminded her a bit of her nightmares, all sickened deadness and teeth, and their unearthly screeches weren’t unlike those of demons. But she’d kept well back from them with Sera, and they still fell to Mir Thamadahl. “They’re scary,” she decided, “but… I don’t know. Demons are easier to face than people—I’m starting to think darkspawn are, too. Their blood worries me more than anything.”

“You’ve got more guts than most, then.”

She blinked. “You think?”

Bull offered her a wry, friendly smile. “You know anyone else who complained more about the rain after their first encounter with darkspawn?”

“I… I guess not.” She chuckled, a bit bashful. “Varric does tell me I should give myself more credit.”

“From what you’ve survived? Yeah, I’d agree with him.” Bull sat forward. “Listen—it’s my job to protect you out here, but that means more than just standing between you and darkspawn. World’s a fucking mess, and you’re young to be thrown in the middle of it. If you’re ever scared, lonely, hurt, whatever—if you need anything—I’ve got you, and so do my boys. So don’t be afraid to come to any one of us. Okay?”

Bull was honest; she could tell. A smile slowly spread across Adahlee’s face. “Okay. Thanks, Bull—I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He relaxed again, leaning back on one hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem like the nervous sort. Didn’t think you’d take so well to having someone like me around.”

“Sorry,” Adahlee murmured shyly, glancing away.

“What are you apologizing for?”

There was a quiet pause. Adahlee glanced back up; by the look on Bull’s face, his question wasn’t rhetorical. He wasn’t demanding, either—just asking. And waiting patiently.

Adahlee thought on it. “For… being… nervous?” She said it like every word revealed the most nonsense train of thought she’d ever had. It was the only answer she could find, but it just made her more confused than anything.

Bull’s smile was kind. “No need to be sorry for that, right? You’ve just got feelings. So does everyone else.”

“... Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.” She puffed out a sheepish laugh. “Anyway… what do you mean, ‘someone like you?’”

He counted on his fingers: “Giant, ax-wielding, likes hitting things…”

“But you’re on my side.” Adahlee smiled, and shrugged. “You’re scary to the right people, and nice to the right people, too. You care about your Chargers. You’re a forthright spy, which means you must be very good at your job—but you haven’t lied to me. You haven’t given me reason to be nervous.”

Bull offered her another wry smile. “You know I haven’t lied to you?”

“I can tell.” Adahlee playfully blew a raspberry at him. “And you know I know.”

Bull laughed again, and Adahlee giggled with him. The fire danced and sizzled around raindrops, casting wavering shadows over them both. “You’re observant.”

Adahlee was about to second guess him, but remembered what Varric said. “... I guess,” she relented. “So are you.”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug, as if to say, yeah, it’s whatever. “You would make a good spy.”

She hummed, considering. “I think I would be too typical. Most people might expect someone like me—it would take some cleverness to expect someone like you.” She studied him from across the fire, and grinned. “And you play into that, huh?”

Bull made the rumbly bear chuckle. “You would make a really good spy.”

Adahlee breathed another breath of magic into the fire, helping it burn just so. She smiled into it. “I think I like where I am now. I’ve had quite enough of mind games, if I’ll be honest with you.” She turned the smile up to him. “And it’s your honesty that I like, too.”

He returned the smile. “Good thing I intended to stay honest, then.”

—

“Maker, look at it,” Blackwall breathed. He stared up at the Breach, and Adahlee found herself staring too, swinging her feet idly from where she sat atop a crate. The clanging of the smithy seemed to fade in the background, as she watched how the clouds gently swirled, and her mind wandered. Still as it was, and though it hung above them every day, Adahlee had to admit—the Breach was still a sight to behold.

“So much easier to ignore when it’s far away,” Blackwall murmured. Then, he looked to Adahlee. “And to actually walk out of it, to be that close…”

Adahlee briefly closed her eyes, remembering the taste of soot and the sting of scratches on her cheek. When she opened them again, Blackwall's brows were furrowed in concern.

She offered him a small, somewhat tired smile. “I didn’t know what was going on, in the moment. Just that I had to run,” she recalled softly. “I almost couldn’t believe what they told me when I woke up. If I hadn’t been saved by Inquisition soldiers, I don’t know what would've happened.”

“Inquisition soldiers?” Blackwall echoed. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

Adahlee couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Andraste?” She guessed.

Blackwall snorted at her reaction. “You don’t believe so?”

“There was a woman—or a light, a spirit, maybe—she guided me out of the Fade. But I don’t know who she was, and I doubt it was Andraste.” Adahlee made a look of distaste. “I don’t believe in the Maker, anyway. That’s partly why some elves have been calling me a different name.”

“What was it again?”

“Tisulan. The Healer. We have this concept in our cultures—tisun’olam, repair of the world. It’s a call to personal responsibility, to do our part as denizens of the world to make it better, whatever shape that may take. My old hahren said I’m healing the world in a very literal sense.” She laughed softly. “I heal the Veil.”

“I rather like that. And it’s certainly a more practical name, than slapping Andraste on it.” Blackwall chuckled.

Adahlee grinned. “You get it.”

Blackwall’s mustache twitched up, amused. Then he leaned against the stone fence, a far off look in his eyes. “In the end, titles are just titles; what people call you is secondary. It’s what you do, and how you do it, that’s important.”

“Exactly. That’s tisun’olam.” Hesitant but playful, she teased gently: “You’ve got your head on pretty right, for a human.”

Blackwall laughed genuinely at that. “I try to be—right, that is. At least I get it some of the time.” He smiled, almost rueful. Then, he looked more present again. “Just one question, then. How do you think you fit in with all this?”

Adahlee tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Blackwall seemed to mull over his words. “Well… you've been thrown into quite a situation,” he elaborated. “Where do you want to go, from your present place on? Any idea what you'll do with the cards you've been dealt?”

“You know, those are really good questions,” she murmured, miring over her answers. “I guess I haven’t thought much about it. I feel like everything has been about surviving, so far. Trying to figure all of this out. Not just the Breach, and my mark, but…” Adahlee trailed off. She shook her head, and swung her feet again, contemplative. “The future seems so uncertain. Though… I think I know what I'd like from it.”

“And what’s that?” Blackwall asked, curious.

Adahlee looked up at him with a smile so small, but soft. “I want to be happy. I want to be at peace. I want to help others find their peace, too. I choose to be in the Inquisition, because I think that’s how I can best do tisun’olam.”

The corners of Blackwall’s eyes crinkled as he returned the smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Adahlee giggled. “And you’re here to do your part too, right?” She imitated his gruff voice: “Save the fucking world, if pressed?”

Blackwall laughed again, full and loud from his belly. “Maker, is that what I sound like?”

[heavymetalmuppet]

sycamore girl || chapter 5: tisulan

THE TZEDAKAH CHALLENGE: every time i post a chapter, if you have $5 or more to spare, donate it to life for gaza, a campaign by the municipality of gaza to restore the city’s infrastructure. leave a comment with how much you donate for me to tally!

i got really stuck on a later chapter and had to take very long breaks about it apparently. im also still not done that chapter but i figure i may as well give u this even tho im not completely happy with this one either.... writing is hard. remember the note i gave at the start of last chapter cause it only gets more relevant!!!!

elvish in this chapter (that's not already explained): seya masel - very good

word count: 5048 warnings: allusions to past abuse, dealing with familial death, grief, being a mage in a society

< prev || chapter masterlist || next >

also available on ao3

—

“Please, Solas?”

“Ask in Elvish.”

Adahlee paused, recalling what he'd taught her so far. “Sera’manaan, Solas?” She added for emphasis.

“Seya masel,” he praised briefly for her pronunciation. But still: “Nae.”

“But I’ve been training so hard!” She burst out in Common.

“That's why you need rest, da’len.”

Adahlee pouted. She was hovering by Solas in the apothecary, not so nervous to be there since Adan was out. Solas was brewing more of the bitter potion; a precaution, he had said, to keep her strength up on the journey to Val Royeaux. It would be longer and more arduous than their trek to the Hinterlands, especially as they'd need to pass through the Frostbacks. Not entirely on foot this time, thanks to their efforts to secure horses—but Adahlee had never ridden before, either. She was in for a lot more learning on the road, but she had still hoped for another magic lesson before they set out tomorrow.

Adahlee wondered if she should push. He’d already said no; would he be mad? She wrung her hands nervously, even as she started: “But…”

“Your enthusiasm is commendable, Adahlee, and don't let this put you off from your lessons—but you cannot learn if you are burnt out, exhausted, or fall sick from either or.” He didn't glance up as he said this, focusing on the slow addition of dried elfroot to the small cauldron he was stirring. “You cannot risk your health. You’ve recovered well from your bouts of unconsciousness, but it takes its toll on the body. Let this act as another lesson.”

Adahlee sighed. How am I learning about magic by not practicing, she wanted to press, but a part of her knew he was probably right. His first lesson was that there was a lesson in everything. So what was this one?

The apothecary was quiet, with only the sound of bubbling filling the air. Adahlee carefully leaned against the table Solas stood at, watching the potion simmer. He set a lid over the cauldron, and turned the hourglass nearby it. She considered the tiny stream of sand within it, and the pile that would grow.

“Pacing,” Adahlee declared her answer. “And patience.”

“Seya masel,” he praised again, as he set about to clean the mortar and pestle.

“These are kind of just… general life lessons.”

“They are. And what have you learned on the nature of magic?”

“... It's in everything. It's a way of life.” Adahlee paused again. “Alright, I get it now.”

“Athila ara mar dirtharas, sera’mana.”

It took her a moment. Share what you’ve learned, if you please. “Life skills and beingness must be applied to magic, to understand and experience it as a way of being, as elvhen do.”

Solas smiled slightly. “Ma dirthara shem, da’len.”

You learn quickly. Adahlee smiled back. “Ma serannas.”

The door to the apothecary creaked open, sending in a weaving little strand of cold air. It was a messenger Adahlee recognized, but couldn't quite recall his name. “Ser Solas; Lady Herald,” he greeted, bowing his head to each. “Sister Nightingale would speak with you, my Lady.”

Adahlee wrinkled her nose at ‘Herald,’ but she didn't want to be rude… she glanced at Solas. Go on, his expression seemed to say.

Adahlee took a deep breath. “Um… no ‘Herald,’ please. I don't claim the title.” She would need practice for this before addressing the clergy in Val Royeaux.

“Oh, erm—my apologies, my—” the man paused. “My… Lady?”

“My name is Adahlee. Though, um—you probably knew that already.” She offered him a somewhat awkward, though friendly smile. “What's yours?”

“... Arnold. Lady Adahlee.”

She'd take it. “Thank you, Arnold. I’ll head to Leliana in a moment.”

Arnold smiled at her genuinely, and another little knot of nervousness in Adahlee loosened. He saluted, and left.

Adahlee sighed, flopping over the back of a chair for dramatic effect. “Will talking to people get any easier?”

Solas offered her a light chuckle. “With practice, I’m sure. Now, go to Sister Leliana.”

It wasn’t far to the tent in the chantry’s courtyard. When Adahlee arrived, Leliana seemed to be waiting. “Adahlee.”

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes—I think we are in need of a discussion, preferably before you leave. Josephine would oversee this as well; we’re just waiting on her.”

Adahlee gulped. What did that mean? Was she in trouble?

As though reading her mind, Leliana said: “First of all, let me reassure you: no one is upset with you, and you have done nothing wrong.” Leliana folded her hands behind her back calmly. “And even if that were the case, we solve our problems with respect for one another, here.”

“... No one’s going to yell at me?” She asked warily.

“No, certainly not.”

Adahlee deflated in relief. “Okay.”

Leliana glanced up, and Adahlee followed her eye; Josephine had emerged from the chantry, coming to join them. “Good day, you two.”

“Hi Josephine,” Adahlee greeted, though her tone was nervous.

Josephine took in her state. “Has Leliana briefed you yet?”

“I was waiting for you.” Leliana gestured into her tent. Adahlee took a deep breath, and stepped inside, the other two following. Leliana closed the flap for privacy.

“Allow us to be honest, Adahlee,” Josephine began gently. “We’ve noticed how you act around Commander Cullen.”

Adahlee, at once, felt small and afraid.

She could scarcely believe Kirkwall’s Knight-Captain was there helping, when she first—very briefly—met him. Even during their proper introduction at the war table, Adahlee couldn’t quite recall if she’d gotten any words out, only nodding, leaning against the table to hopefully steady her trembling. Now that she thought about it, had she spoken one direct word to Cullen yet? She wasn’t sure. She’d only tried to avoid him as much as possible.

“We quite understand if you’re afraid of him—as does he—but you need not be.”

Had he noticed as well? Despite all her efforts to stay small? Adahlee felt panic rise in her throat. “I’m sorry—”

“You don’t have to be,” Leliana assured her. “His reputation would be frightful to a young mage. You have no reason to apologize for your fear, and no reason to befriend him, if you’d rather not. Just know this.” Leliana looked directly in her eyes, serious. “None of us here would allow someone near you if we thought they would endanger you, or any other mage. Not Commander Cullen, nor any former templars in the Inquisition’s ranks. I am not one to make promises, Adahlee—but this, I can promise you.”

“As can I,” Josephine added.

Adahlee, ultimately, trusted them both. “... Okay.” She took another breath. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Josephine laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We only wish for you to feel comfortable and safe.”

Leliana crossed her arms. “Cullen has hoped to have a conversation with you as well, as a show of respect—he would listen to any boundaries you might want to set with him. Would you be privy to that, if we are here with you? Now, or soon?”

“This discussion would be for your benefit,” Josephine explained. “As the one who can close the Breach, you have your place at the war table, in the Inquisition’s council. We only wish to make it easier for you. And if you simply cannot work with him, Lady Cassandra stands ready to step in as Commander.”

Adahlee balked. “You would do that for me?”

“And why not?” Said Leliana. “You do a great deal for the Inquisition, Adahlee—but that aside, you are in our care, more or less. It would hardly be fair of us to make you tolerate someone you don’t.”

“I…” Adahlee floundered to find the words. “That’s really nice of you.”

“That is barest respect,” Leliana corrected. “Nothing more.”

“O-Okay. Um—thank you, still.” Adahlee wrung her hands. “If… if you’re here with me… I could try.” May as well get it over with. “I could try now.”

Leliana nodded. “As you like. I’ll go fetch him; please, make yourselves comfortable.”

Adahlee and Josephine settled into chairs as the tent flap closed.

—

Footsteps crunched in the frost outside, covering a pair of murmuring voices—and then the flap opened again, revealing Leliana and Cullen.

His face wasn’t stony, but carefully, respectfully neutral as he followed Leliana into the tent. Adahlee stood, and Josephine followed her lead. Though her knees trembled slightly, Adahlee would face him standing.

“Adahlee,” Cullen greeted cautiously, nodding to her.

She said nothing, only grabbing Josephine’s hand. She watched Cullen like a hawk, her vision narrowing to the minute details of his expression, the way he held himself—rigid and unsure behind the composure, almost awkward, but he still had a sword at his hip, but tiredness carved lines and bags around his eyes, they flicked briefly like he wanted to avoid the weight of her gaze, but something made him stay. His coat made him look bigger than he was, but he was still a trained templar and she was barely a mage, how might she have to move to make it to the exit? It was Josephine's hand gently squeezing hers that grounded her.

“If I may…” Cullen began slowly. He didn’t falter from her, at least. “I understand that you don’t trust me, and I can hardly blame you—to be frank, I wouldn’t either, in your position. I am not here to offer excuses; only honesty.”

Adahlee wanted to hide behind Josephine, but she managed to stay put as she finally spoke, hushed and accusing: “... You were Meredith’s second-in-command.”

Ostwick wasn’t so terribly far from Kirkwall. She had heard the stories. They had resurfaced and sharpened to needlepoints in her mind, when she had accidentally lit a candle with her fingertips that day, and the little flame wavered with her in the face of Mother’s whisper-shouting. Meredith was dead by then, but it wasn’t just her. It wasn’t about individuals, not really; but those individuals were ultimately needlepoints themselves, the tip of a greater structure that would puncture her throat.

She could see Cullen’s tiredness further into exhaustion, making him sag. It looked like his coat was holding him up more than anything. “I was,” he said, quietly. “I am… not proud of it, to say the least. Even Meredith aside.” He took a deep breath in, and out. “It took me far too long to recognize the Order for what it was. The best-intentioned templars still hold undue power over others—nothing good can come of such a thing. I realize that now.”

He turned around and saw the structure, and where he joined with it. Hm. Adahlee stood straighter, and continued to watch him, expectant. Listening.

Cullen seemed to follow her lead, continuing: “The Inquisition has offered me a chance to do some right in the world. I would not squander it by denying responsibility for my own wrongs, or by endangering you.” His weary gaze leveled with her sharp one, and she could see determination push through the fog that hung about him. “I accept however you feel about me, Adahlee, but I am in your corner. As Commander, it is my duty to protect those in the Inquisition, and that includes you. And I will never speak over you, or laud control over you, in the name of ‘protection.’ Not as templars do.” Cullen shook his head. “You lead the way in this. Just say the word.”

Adahlee considered him carefully. She glanced to Leliana, then Josephine, then back to Cullen; all wore patient looks. She waited, for what felt like an uncomfortably long moment, one that made her nerves want to fray, because they were expecting her to speak, weren’t they? They’d get mad if she didn’t, wouldn’t they? Someone would get tired of her, someone would start yelling, Cullen might move for his sword and she’d have to run or scream or stay very still.

But the little seed of defiance in her heart took root. So she waited, observing. Seeing if anyone would go back on their word. The patient consideration remained. Josephine only squeezed her hand again, as if to say, are you still there?

Adahlee returned the gesture. “I’m not sure I trust you,” she began, quietly. “But I trust Leliana and Josephine, and they wouldn’t let you near me if they deemed you a threat.” She sized him up again. He may have been a boogeyman, but he was weathered, weary—and from what she could tell, laid bare. “I think I can work with you,” she decided. “That aside… we’ll see, I guess.”

“I ask for nothing more.” Cullen bowed his head to her in a show of respect. “I deeply appreciate this chance you’ve allowed me, Adahlee. Any communication between us may remain at the war table, if you like—or however is most comfortable for you.”

“I stand ready to assist in easing communication between the two of you,” Josephine offered. “You just tell me if you need anything at all, Adahlee—or tell me how you feel, so I may offer solutions.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Adahlee lightly swung their joined hands, and nodded to Cullen in acceptance.

“I’m glad we could have this conversation,” Leliana finally said, “and it will be an evolving one, I’m sure. This is the beginning.”

“Of course,” Cullen acknowledged.

“But this brings us to another matter, Adahlee,” Leliana continued. “Cullen and I have been coordinating our people for this, and we had wished to speak with you.”

Huh? “What for?”

Cullen sighed, running a hand through his hair tiredly. “Our forces have been scouring the mountain for remains from the Conclave, to hopefully identify and send off to families.”

Leliana said softly: “If you’d like us to, we would try to find those of your mother.”

The world stopped once more.

The potent nothingness from the first time, Adahlee noted, as though observing herself from above, was absent. She had the strangest sensation of falling, drifting past thoughts as she, perhaps, came back down to herself: how often had she thought about Mother, really, in all the chaos? Closing rifts, surviving, training, reading, becoming, being—where was the time? Was it real, yet? Was she comfortable a step ahead of it? How could she be gone when her presence welled up into the gaps between thoughts, choked the quiet moments and armed the anxious ones? How could Adahlee ever get her out? How could she want to? Would this make her go away, or make it too real—or both?

“Adahlee?” Josephine’s voice cut through.

Adahlee blinked. She was in the same spot; no one had moved, but the others’ faces were varying shades of concerned.

“I’m alright.” And she was… I think. Adahlee practiced the breathing she learned from Cassandra; in, hold, out. In, hold, out. Why was she a little shaky? She was okay. She was steady. The breathing helped.

Would this help?

She might regret it forever if she didn’t try, whatever it may bring. Or she might not. But Adahlee wouldn’t take a chance like that.

“Yes,” she said quietly, then cleared her throat. “Yes, I’d… let’s try that.”

“Could we have a description of your mother, then? Anything that might help?” Leliana went to her desk, grabbing a quill and parchment.

Adahlee wanted to wring her hands, but she was still holding Josephine’s. And Josephine hasn’t let go, she noted to herself, faintly and warmly. “Um… she was middle aged. Only a little taller than me. Shoulder-length grey hair… she usually kept it back.” Adahlee straightened up, remembering something. “She was missing a couple back teeth, on her upper right side.”

Leliana penned it in a sharp hand, nodding. “Alright; thank you, Adahlee. We can make no promises on what we find—the cold preserves well, but the blast destroyed much. I can only say that we will do what we can.”

Adahlee gulped, but she would face it with her eyes open—and she wasn’t alone. She knew that. “Thank you… all of you.” She finally released Josephine’s hand, standing strong without it—but Josephine hadn’t seemed to mind.

Cullen offered her a semblance of a smile. “We’ll all do our parts, as you do. Good luck out there.”

—

Before the sun could sink behind the golden gates of Val Royeaux, the party had a plan. No inn would take them—none that they could trust, anyway—so Cassandra investigated the Red Jenny's lead with some scouts, while Varric, Solas, and Adahlee broke away with the rest. If you truly trust these Friends of Red Jenny, I will trust you, Cassandra had told her, but I would not take you directly into a trap waiting for you, no matter how prepared we are.

But Solas has been training me, Adahlee had insisted.

Not for very long. Solas had placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. You have made great strides, but I agree with Cassandra. Let us make camp outside the city, and allow her and Leliana's people to deal with this threat.

Not that Adahlee wasn’t glad to leave the walls of Val Royeaux. Its glittering gates had stunned her—but that which was beautiful was often dangerous, as well. Even aside from the spectacle in the Summer Bazaar, which had made her tremble and want to scream and hide, she felt there would be a knife at her throat around every corner. She would, by far, take sleeping in sparse woods over a night in the capital.

It wasn’t until the moons rose, and Adahlee was dozing in a tent, that she heard a scout speak softly: “They’re coming back. There’s one more with them that I don’t recognize.”

Adahlee rolled over, and scrambled from the tent. She wanted to run to Cassandra, but Varric had bid her stay close until they were far from Val Royeaux, and Adahlee couldn’t argue with that. So, one of Leliana's people gave her a hand up to their perch in the branches of a tree, and she observed the approach by moonlight. Adahlee watched the scouts flock together, murmurs lost to the night. Some lead the party to camp; a couple retreated back across the bridge to the city. Three spread out north, east, and west, until they disappeared in brush or around the bend of the road. They reminded her of bees, Adahlee realized, and she let out a giggle.

“What’s so funny?” The scout next to her asked with a smirk.

“You’re like bees.”

“What?”

“You huddle together and buzz about with secrets, fly off, regroup at the hive, fly off again.”

“You think bees have secrets?”

“You never know what a bee could witness!” Adahlee defended, but laughed, and the scout laughed with her. “You’re like bees, and Leliana is your queen.”

“What about bees?” Asked an unfamiliar voice from the party, reaching the little clearing where they had set up. The scout helped her down the tree again, and Adahlee thanked them before rushing to greet the group.

The one who had spoken with the thick Fereldan accent was the sole figure without an Inquisition emblem. She seemed rough around the edges, but spunky, with torn clothes and choppy hair. Cassandra turned from the person to greet Adahlee, looking relieved upon seeing her. “Adahlee.” Cassandra gestured to the other. “This is—”

“Name’s Sera.” Sera grinned at her, and she could see a slightly chipped snaggletooth. “They were right about you! You're kind of small. Anyway, you're the one that glows? The Herald thingy?”

Adahlee wrinkled her nose. “I’m not the Herald of Andraste, though people call me that anyway. I'm Adahlee.” She leaned forward excitedly. “Are you her? The Friend?”

“That’s me! This one here, the one who looks like she punches bears, she says you know about us?”

“My name is Cassandra.”

Adahlee managed to muffle a snicker, but still burst into a wide grin. “I used to work as a servant! We had a Friend in Ostwick who looked out for us!”

Sera's expression lit up. “You’re little people, too! Small and little. Don’t know how you got to be all glowy and people wanting you to shut it, but I can make them shut it, instead.” Sera put her hands on her hips, chest out. “I want to join the Inquisition. You've got your knifey shivdark spies all hidden, yeah, but if your people don’t listen down here too, you risk your breeches.” Sera grinned cheekily at Cassandra then, and patted a sack at her side. “Like those guards? I stole their…”

Cassandra let out an exasperated sigh.

“You stole… breeches?”

“From the guards for that great tit I warned you about—you shoulda seen them, trying to act all tough in their knickers! Anyway. I want to get everything back to normal. Like you?”

Adahlee nodded, and looked to Cassandra questioningly. Cassandra gestured back to Adahlee. “Sera had already expressed her desire to join. I thought I might introduce her, so you could have your say.”

Adahlee's eyebrows raised. “Really?”

Cassandra folded her hands behind her back, and smiled at her. “Of course. Do you remember what I told you?”

Honour and choices. Adahlee returned her smile, and then turned it to Sera. “I would love to have you in the Inquisition.”

“Yes!” Sera pumped her fist. “Also, you have merchants who buy this pish, yeah?” She held up the sack now. “Got to be worth something.” Despite saying that, she tossed it to the base of a tree, and it fell open to reveal a tangle of—indeed—breeches.

Adahlee guffawed, then began a bashful apology, but Sera easily topped it with a cackle of her own. Cassandra scoffed without any real heat, and as she retreated into the camp, she said: “I will be here if you need anything, Adahlee.”

“Okay!” She giggled around her hands. “Thank you!”

“Anyway, I heard bees?” Sera's eyes were alight with mischief. “Cause if you’ve got any jars around, I've a great idea.”

—

Adahlee was right that she was in for more learning on the road. She found her stamina building quickly, however, so she was glad to put the long hours to use. Solas would point out different plants and herbs as they passed, teaching her their medicinal uses and Elvish names. Halting but clear, Adahlee would practice: Ar setrenas lia’emabria mir tis’ula. I crush embrium flowers for my healing potion. Sera, on the other hand, would teach her bawdy tavern songs, much to the chagrin of everyone else—except for Varric, who added his own spins to the more popular rhymes. Along smoother paths, Cassandra would help Adahlee onto the back of her stallion alone, letting her ride while Cassandra led at an easy pace.

Even when they set camp for the night, Adahlee didn’t slow—with Vivienne's offer to contribute to her tutoring, Adahlee was eager to show all she had learned. On their first evening, she sat with Vivienne near the fire; the woman looked the picture of propriety, her back straight and legs crossed, even while perched on a rock. Vivienne had a commanding presence, but Adahlee never found herself frightened. A bit intimidated, at first, yet simultaneously starry-eyed—Vivienne held herself with power and purpose, enough to shake a room with every step, leaving Adahlee in awe and admiration. In any case, Vivienne only ever regarded her with patience and warmth, and Adahlee wanted to do her best. So she held herself a little taller, and clasped her hands together in her lap.

“Let’s begin with your background on magic. If I am to teach you properly, I must ascertain where you stand presently,” Vivienne began. “You came into your magic rather late, yes?”

“Yes, about a year and a half ago.”

“And you had received no training until recently?”

“Yes.” Adahlee nodded. “The Circles had already begun to crumble.”

Vivienne hummed her displeasure. “What did you do before Solas began tutoring you?”

Adahlee flicked her gaze away, her head lowering. “I… hid it. I asked my mother if we could find a teacher—we could've sought out a Dalish clan, or an Enchanter from the Ostwick Circle, if any were still nearby—but she wouldn’t hear of it. She told me to act like nothing had changed, or I would put us in danger.” Adahlee pressed her lips into a thin line. “So… I clamped down on it. I never tried casting, and learned how to run from the demons in my dreams by myself.”

She chanced a glance back at Vivienne, who had seriousness set in her face. “You were in the right, my dear. Clamping down put you in even greater danger; one cannot deny their nature for long.”

Adahlee nodded, her eyes low again. “I know. I knew it would never last. I—” she twisted her hands together, once confident, now nervous all over again. “I was scared. I was scared the demons would catch me, that I wasn’t strong enough. And I had no one I could turn to.”

“You’re strong enough to have made it this far.”

Adahlee paused; so did Vivienne. It seemed like she was waiting. So Adahlee peeked up, and found Vivienne giving her a steady gaze.

“I… I suppose you’re right,” Adahlee conceded.

Vivienne gave her a small, graceful smile, and Adahlee couldn’t help but smile back, lifting herself once more.

“I admire such strength, and cleverness at that, to have survived.”

Adahlee blinked. “Really?”

“Certainly. I loathe that someone your age would be subject to that, but such is the current state of the world.” There was a sort of hardness in Vivienne's eyes, and at once, Adahlee understood why she was called the Lady of Iron. “Chin up, my dear. I can see your drive, and it will serve you well. It is yours, so wear it.”

Adahlee took a deep breath, and raised her head. She met Vivienne's unwavering gaze. Equals. The word crossed her mind again, and once, she never would have thought to be equals with someone like Vivienne de Fer, but perhaps she already was.

—

Adahlee was glad to be back in Haven, familiar as it was becoming. She didn’t quite get a moment to rest, yet, sucked into a meeting upon her return, but they had much to discuss. The clergy aside, they needed help to close the Breach—and two opposing offers for it. Adahlee had made her preference clear, and heard no objection. Josephine promised she would work on how to best approach the rebel mages.

And, when the meeting adjourned, Josephine pulled her aside, just outside her office. “I’ve received word from your hahren, Adahlee. She sent a reply to me—and a personal one to you, as well.”

Adahlee’s heart leapt into her throat. Oh Creators. What was Sosana going to say?

Her apprehension must have been apparent, because Josephine offered her a reassuring smile. “She was nothing but respectful in her letter to me. You have nothing to fear. You may review it, if you wish—and the letter to you remains unopened.”

She deflated in relief. Adahlee didn’t know why she was so scared, really—but her heart couldn’t be more glad. “Thank you, Josephine,” she murmured, “truly.”

“Of course—I am more than happy to help. Come, I have the letter for you in my office.”

It was a little roll of parchment that Josephine procured from a drawer in her desk, the wax seal unbroken. Adahlee turned it over in her hands. “Could I… read it here?” She asked nervously.

“By all means.” Josephine gestured to the chair opposite her desk while she sat herself. Adahlee sank into her seat, not taking her eyes off the letter. With a deep breath, she broke the seal, and unfurled it.

Dear Adahlee,

Words cannot express how relieved I am to hear from you. We all feared the worst when we heard of what happened at the Conclave, and you have my sincerest condolences for the loss of your mother. But at least you live. Distance will not stop me from worrying over one of our own, but I’ve been assured you are in good hands. I will trust your judgment, and your new friends in the Inquisition.

I more than accept your girlhood and magic; allow me to congratulate you on both. The Dalish refer to magic as a gift, you know. We all had it, in the days of Arlathan—that it lives in your blood is a gift indeed. My only regret is that you were made to hide.

I’ve heard the stories—they spread like wildfire. Your feelings about the ‘Herald of Andraste’ are completely reasonable, and if you reject the title, state as such without reserve. If the shemlen still refuse to listen, wash your hands of them. You must choose your battles, and it is not your job to make someone respect you if they don't; it’s not worth investing energy in anyone who won’t return the courtesy. And who knows? Perhaps denying them your ‘holy’ presence would make their ears work.

A library would be a great gift to our community. I have brought your suggestion to some others, and there’s been resounding agreement and excitement for the project. There can never be enough places to learn letters and nurture our spirit. On behalf of everyone, we give you a very pretty thank you for your generosity and thoughtfulness.

As for the name of it, and titles—I offer this for you to accept or decline freely, as you might any other name. You are not the Herald of Andraste. You are mending the very fabric of our world, in perhaps the most literal enactment of tisun’olam. I would call you not the Herald of Andraste—but Tisulan. You are the Healer. If you accept this, I would call the library Tisulan’s Sanctuary, for that is what you have given us.

Don’t you worry about being lost out there, child. You carry the teachings, and have embraced the vhenadahl into your very being, by the name you’ve chosen. But if ever you need of me, you only have to write.

Peace on you, Sosana

Adahlee realized that she was grinning. Her smile didn't waver when she looked up at Josephine. “I’m not the Herald of Andraste.”

Josephine clearly didn't expect that, her face full of confusion. “Oh?”

Adahlee trusted her, so she turned the letter towards her. She stood, proud and beaming, as she accepted the name. “I’m Tisulan. The Healer.”

[heavymetalmuppet]

sycamore girl || chapter 4: women to look up to, I

THE TZEDAKAH CHALLENGE: every time i post a chapter, if you have $5 or more to spare, donate it to life for gaza, a campaign by the municipality of gaza to restore the city’s infrastructure. leave a comment with how much you donate for me to tally!

lore note and real life explanation for this chapter: tikkun olam, translated as 'repair of the world,' is a major guiding concept in jewish life. it begs us to recognize that we share the world with others and future generations, and so we should do what we can with our moment on earth to make it a better place to live. i've put it into elvish as tisun'olam. this stays relevant for future chapters too so keep it in mind! ;)

word count: 3677 warnings: panic attacks, some allusions to past emotional abuse

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also available on ao3

—

Adahlee found that she liked her room in the chantry. It was secure and safe, and Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra were never too far. Having been cleared of the supplies for keeping her alive while unconscious, something of herself had begun to fill the space: books, stacks of them. Her study materials from Josephine, from Solas, a new copy of Hard in Hightown from Varric, anything she had been allowed from the chantry’s shelves—Adahlee had never had so many books of her own.

She had one propped against the wall now—a thick tome on Fereldan history—as she scribbled notes at her desk. When Josephine had approached her with an offer for education, she had insisted Adahlee learn the history of the land; Adahlee could hardly argue with that, nor would she drag her feet about it. If Brother Genitivi’s accounts had taught her anything, it's that the world was utterly fascinating.

She was somewhere around the fifth Age when there was a smart rap-tap-tap at her door. “Come in!”

Josephine stuck her head in. She looked pleased at the study set-up. “I’m glad to see you hard at work, Adahlee. I’ve been summoned for a break from my own.” She gave a tense sigh then, as though it made her antsy to step away, but seemed to shake it off. “Would you like to join Leliana and I? Flissa has sent tea and biscuits.”

“Oh—yes! Sure!” Adahlee hastily marked her place, and as she stood, she glanced at her cloak over the back of her chair. She had a split second of rushed, anxious thoughts—can I wear this? Is that strange if I wear it inside? Will Josephine look at me odd? Will anyone be mad? Why would they be mad? Adahlee could draw up no answer for that, and grabbed it so as not to stall strangely. She felt safe with her hood up, and felt a small wave of relief that Josephine didn’t give her a funny look.

“Um…” Adahlee began as they exited, “who is Flissa?”

“The proprietor of Haven’s tavern. Have you not been yet?”

Adahlee flushed. “No. I’ve kind of just stayed in my room a lot…”

Josephine offered her a kind smile. “That's alright. But I promise, you need not be shy. Flissa is very welcoming; she only wishes everyone fed.”

“Taverns are just… loud. With a lot of people.”

She gave a sort of sighing laugh. “That much is true.”

The hall opened up into the foyer. Leliana glanced up from where she sat at a table, a tray before her. “Adahlee; I’m glad you could join us.”

“Um—thanks.” Oh, do try to sound less grateful, said a bitter, sarcastic voice in her head. Adahlee gulped and stood up straight. Oh wait—she should start sitting down. “Thank you both for thinking of me!” She managed to squeak out as she hastily sat.

“Of course.” Josephine’s smile was nothing but warm as she poured their steaming tea. “You deserve an interlude from your work as much as we do.”

“And knowing us, we wouldn’t be having one without your influence,” Leliana added, shooting Josephine a mirthful, casual smirk.

Josephine just sighed again. “You’re not wrong. Terrible habits, I will admit.”

Adahlee blinked. “My influence?”

“Your presence behooves us to… behave ourselves, as it were. I certainly dare not act a hypocrite by insisting you take care of yourself if I cannot do the same.” Josephine shot Leliana a pointed look. “If we cannot do the same.”

Leliana pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes back at Josephine. Adahlee, despite her nerves, stifled a giggle behind her hand; she hadn’t seen the Inquisition’s cool spymaster so… bordering on playful. “Well, I appreciate that.” Adahlee tentatively offered a smile. “I can’t stand a hypocrite.”

“That makes two of us. Careful, it’s hot.” Josephine set Adahlee’s mug before her. “I hope peppermint is to your liking?”

Adahlee’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, I like mint.” The scent of it—fresh, cool, and green—made her shoulders relax. She carefully cupped her hands around her mug, letting the warmth seep into her.

Leliana blew on her tea. “How is Haven treating you, Adahlee?”

“Oh, not bad—great!” She added quickly, not wanting to seem ungrateful. “I mean—Adan is kind of scary, Solas says he’s just sour but I try not to bother him, and Minaeve recommended some books for me, and—” she looked sheepish. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“You don’t need to apologize for speaking.”

Adahlee realized something. She huffed out a small laugh. “Everyone keeps telling me that.”

“Good.” Josephine smiled above the rim of her mug. “Because it’s true.”

“... Yeah, I guess,” she acquiesced. Adahlee took a careful sip; the warmth soothed her from the inside out.

“Are your accommodations comfortable?” Josephine asked then. “I know Haven is rather… rustic.”

Adahlee laughed softly. “It is, but I like my room.”

“I told you this job would challenge you, Josie,” Leliana murmured, looking amused as she took a sip.

Josephine huffed. “I promise you, with the Inquisition’s dire need of good relations, the leagues of ice between us and civilization is an afterthought. One I try not to think about,” she added quietly, then cleared her throat.

Adahlee looked curiously between them both. “Did you two know each other before the Inquisition?”

The way Josephine sipped out of her clunky mug still made it look dainty. “Leliana and I became acquainted some years ago, during my work as court ambassador from Antiva to Orlais.”

“But we didn’t become good friends until years later,” Leliana added. “After the Blight, in fact.”

“She approached me none too long ago for my current position.” Josephine’s expression was clever. “And for better or worse, it’s proving to be as interesting as promised.”

Adahlee drank her tea thoughtfully. “You must both have incredible stories. Courtly intrigues and fighting darkspawn? I could only imagine it.” She squinted and rubbed at her head, as though trying to grasp a far-off memory. “I was still so young by the time news of the Blight had even reached us… five, I think… I didn’t quite understand it, then.”

Leliana sighed softly. “That makes me feel old.”

“Well, that doesn’t have to be a bad thing!” Adahlee offered brightly. “You learn more the older you get, right? It’s not like your life gets less interesting. Solas has such fascinating stories, and—” she giggled nervously, daringly— “he’s probably old as dirt!”

Josephine Montilyet, the composed ambassador of the Inquisition, actually snorted into her tea, spilling a little and coughing briefly while Adahlee laughed a little louder, and amusement twinkled in Leliana’s eyes.

“Now Adahlee,” Josephine began, grabbing a napkin for the small spill, “it’s undue to poke fun at the man who teaches you so diligently.” But her expression wasn’t nearly so serious.

Still, Adahlee drooped a bit. “Sorry…”

Leliana dipped a biscuit in her tea, not glancing up as she muttered: “She’s right, though.”

“Leliana!”

That got her giggling again.

Time passed so easily between the three of them, it wasn’t until the teapot was empty that Adahlee realized it had passed it all—and that her nerves had simply melted away. At some point, she had let her hood down; but she had been warmed against the bitter cold of the Frostbacks that threatened to sweep in when Cassandra opened the chantry doors.

“Taking a break?” Cassandra was smiling as she approached the table.

“We were—my apologies, we finished the teapot, and I should return to my work.” Josephine stood. “But allow me to extend an invitation for you next time, Lady Cassandra.”

“Appreciated, Ambassador.”

“Rare seeing you out of the training yard,” Leliana commented.

“A break for me, as well. I needed a walk.”

“... Can I have the last few biscuits?” Adahlee piped up hopefully.

“Please, eat as much as you like—you need not ask.” Josephine gestured freely to the tray. “I’ll have someone run this back to the tavern.”

“I can do it!” Adahlee offered, taking it up in a spur of bravery. “I’ll give my thanks to Flissa, too.”

“Might I join you?” Asked Cassandra.

“Sure!”

They all parted ways with a promise to meet for tea again. With Cassandra at her back, Adahlee entered the tavern and found that… it wasn’t all too bad. Loud, with people? Sure. But not so nerve-wracking as she had thought. Flissa, as promised, was friendly and warm; Adahlee and Cassandra ended up leaving with fresh-baked buns in hand.

The afternoon air was crisp and cold, but Adahlee had no complaints with fresh bread and good company. Haven’s bustle filled in her and Cassandra’s companionable quiet as they walked, though Cassandra eventually spoke: “It occurs to me that I actually don’t know much about you.”

Adahlee looked over at her, puzzled. She swallowed her bite. “And?”

“And, I would like to get to know you. If it pleases you.”

Huh. “Why?”

“I hope to make things… less frightening. Comfortable, if I can. We are a team, yes?” She offered a small smile. “A team that knows each other can support each other—and I, all of us, wish for you to feel safe here. But in the end, need there be a reason?”

She thought on that. “I suppose not. I guess I’m simply… not used to this. People asking about me, or about what I think. Or feel.”

There was a pinch between Cassandra's brows. “I am sorry to hear that.”

It hit Adahlee in her chest, then, how awful that was. But that was her normal, wasn’t it? The winded feeling was replaced with bitterness, and a yawning sense of loneliness.

But Cassandra was here, she thought. And Josephine, and Leliana. They cared. It was obvious even to her that they cared. The loneliness still ached, but a little less so. “Well…” Adahlee began, hesitantly hopeful, “maybe I can get used to it.”

“I believe you can.” Cassandra was honest; Adahlee could tell. It lifted her up, made her smile a little, which Cassandra returned. “You mentioned you were from Ostwick, yes?”

Adahlee nodded. “Born and raised in the alienage. I'd never left the Free Marches before this. But there weren’t many jobs, and serving the knights going to the Conclave was a good one.”

Cassandra hummed. “Tell me, do you consider the Free Marches your home? Are you eager to go back?”

“I don’t know what would be waiting for me,” she murmured. “Mother is… gone. I—I don’t know where I'd live. There are people in the alienage who'd probably take care of me, but I also have my magic to think about…” Adahlee frowned. “I don’t know. Ostwick is the only home I've ever known. And it wasn’t a bad home, itself; it will always mean something to me. I just…” her voice lowered further, almost drowned out by the flurry of the village. She thought about it. “I don’t think I was really happy.”

Cassandra nodded, and sighed. “I can understand that.”

Adahlee looked up at her, curious. “You can?”

“In a way.” Cassandra huffed. As she paused to take a bite, her eyes narrowed in a bitter memory. “My family polluted my homeland for me. What little I saw of Nevarra, I saw through the bars of a gilded cage. My uncle treated me like a porcelain doll to be placed on a shelf and dusted only when necessary.”

A shiver went down Adahlee's spine, a horrible feeling that slithered down like a venomous snake to sit uncomfortably in her belly. Porcelain doll. Placed on a shelf. Dusted when necessary.

“Are you cold?” Cassandra asked, and Adahlee snapped back to the moment to find Cassandra looking at her in concern.

“Oh—no, I’m—I’m fine,” Adahlee stammered. Nervously, she popped the last of her bun in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “You were saying?”

Cassandra didn’t look quite convinced, but she seemed to let it drop for the moment. “Well… as it were—I did not see Nevarra, the real Nevarra, until much later. By then I realized I knew it not at all.” She shook her head. “I would have a place there, but it would never be truly mine—I was not happy, as you were, and I doubt I ever would be happy there.”

Adahlee nodded slowly. What would home have been like, without Mother? What would it be like without her now, if Adahlee went back? She tried to picture it, but the colours seemed too dull. The roots of the vhenadahl were deep in the ground there, but the branches grew up and out, towards the sky that touched everything. “I don’t think I would be really happy if I went back to Ostwick, either.”

“Then we must find our purpose elsewhere.”

They had reached a small hill, overlooking part of Haven. The villagers and Inquisition alike wove together easily in a lively fabric, draped across the snow. She spotted two nugs scurrying into a lonely opening on an opposite hill, half hidden around a great slab of icy rock; it looked like an abandoned tunnel. Interesting.

Adahlee breathed in the fresh mountain air, and out. “I think here is as good a place as any to start.”

Cassandra offered her a small smile. “I could not agree more.”

—

Adahlee was still unused to standing at the war table. Everyone present reassured her that she belonged there—she would have her say. But it was bizarre, when all eyes turned to her with patience, and listened. Not bad—but bizarre, like it didn’t belong, like eventually they would tire of entertaining her notions, and she'd go back to the familiar fringes of consideration. Yet day after day, it stayed.

It was another thing she could learn to get used to, Adahlee decided as the council wrapped up that day. She took her leave with a smile.

“Adahlee,” Josephine called, arranging the meeting's notes as she caught up to her; “might I have a moment of your time?”

“Certainly. Do you have something to add to my study material?”

“Ah—not today, no. There’s another matter for us to address.” She opened the door to her office, holding it for Adahlee, who murmured thanks as she stepped inside. “Please, sit.”

Adahlee sat before Josephine’s desk, looking curious as Josephine settled behind it, setting her notes to one side. “Is something going on?”

Josephine folded her hands before her, and the serious look in her eye made Adahlee tense up nervously, though Josephine spoke with gentleness: “Adahlee… I wanted to discuss your family. I know you’ve said you only had your mother, but is there anyone else in Ostwick—friends of yours, or of hers—who we should inform of your survival—?”

“No!”

Adahlee was on her feet before she knew it, trembling, her heart in her throat, and a terrible, all-consuming roar in her ears. “No, no, no!”

Josephine’s eyes were wide as she stood, hurrying around the bend of her desk. “Adahlee—”

“Please, don’t make me!” She choked on her words as tears welled hot in her eyes, but Adahlee didn’t even have the mind to be mortified, feeling as though the world was caving in. Time to wake up from the dream. Adahlee sobbed, hard, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t go back to how things were! Not now!”

“Adahlee, no one will make you do anything against your wishes, I promise.” There was a sound that Adahlee guessed was a chair scraping the stone floor; she saw nothing but black in her hands and tear-blurred colours between her fingers, the bleeding mess truly looking like the end of the world. “Come, let’s sit.”

She allowed Josephine to guide her back into her chair, and Josephine settled into what must have been another chair pulled up beside her. Adahlee could do nothing but weep, drowning in the wave of despair that had so suddenly crashed over her, gasping for air between sobs.

“Breathe, Adahlee,” Josephine reminded her. Adahlee practiced the motion she learned from Cassandra: in through the nose, hold briefly, out through the mouth. In, hold, out.

She still couldn’t look up from her hands, muffled and strained as the words tumbled out of her: “I can’t go back there Josephine, I can’t, I’m not Adahlee there—they know me as a boy in the alienage, and now I’m away and I don’t have to be anymore and it was just too scary before and—and—”

“Oh, Adahlee…” Josephine breathed a heavy, empathetic sigh. “I understand completely.”

Adahlee paused. She sniffed, and hesitantly lifted her head from her hands, shakily wiping away tears. “You do?”

“I do.” Josephine’s comforting smile wasn’t pitying, nor merely sympathetic—it was truly, deeply understanding. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and offered it; Adahlee took it in hand gratefully. “I’m a woman in the same way you are.”

Adahlee nearly dropped the kerchief. Her eyes brightened, and a light feeling filled the mess of her heart. “Really?”

“Truly. I would never want to be forced into something I’m not, and I promise—” Josephine leveled her with a serious look. “—no one here will ever expect that of you. I would not allow it.”

Adahlee’s expression crumbled in relief. “Thank you,” she murmured, watery. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Her brows knit in concern, then. “Was Ostwick unwelcoming to those like us? I’ve heard of only a few such places in Thedas, but I can’t claim to be well-versed in the political spheres of many alienages…”

Adahlee shook her head. “No, it wasn’t that. Traditionally, we—elves, I mean—we understand gender differently, as well. There is masculine and feminine, rather than male or female, and other things. It’s not an uncommon perspective even in most alienages, or so I understand.” She blew her nose. “It’s not that it would’ve been bad. It was just…” She looked down at her hands, fiddling with the kerchief, thumbing over Josephine's cursive initials embroidered in one corner. “Intimidating. I don’t know. I didn’t like the idea of drawing attention to myself. But here… here, no one knew me. Not from before. And it was just easy.”

Josephine hummed, nodding. “Then I am at least glad that, in this chaos, you found a chance to claim yourself.”

Adahlee smiled a little. “Me too.” She shifted awkwardly. “Um… I’m sorry for just… exploding like that.”

“That’s quite alright, Adahlee—I could hardly hold it against you.” Josephine smiled kindly. “If there’s anyone you would send word to, you have my full support to do so however you like—I could draft letters for you to review and approve, if that makes it easier. But if you wish to leave it, I understand.”

She looked off to the side, thinking. After a long pause, she lifted her head. “Perhaps we could send a letter to the hahren. I didn’t have many friends—neither did Mother—but the hahren sort of… looks out for everyone. She gave us stories, teachings; I would help her tend to the vhenadahl.” Adahlee considered again, quietly. “I think she was the only person there I had any sort of connection with. I would have her know I live… and it would be nice to speak with her. If… if you could really help me with…” She stumbled on the words, so she simply gestured. “All of that.”

“Of course.” Josephine took up her clipboard and quill from her desk, already scribbling something down. “What is her name?”

“Sosana.”

She nodded, her quill on parchment filling the room with scritch-scratch-scritch. “And what of your home there? Any belongings you would ask for?”

Adahlee shook her head. “Anything important I brought with me. I left a couple of books there, but…” Her eyes brightened, then. “Could I send along my own note as well? I have an idea. And I’ve something to ask her.”

—

Aneth ara, hahren.

I’m alive, and I’m okay. Mother is gone, but I’ve made new friends in the Inquisition, and they’re taking care of me. I’m eating well, and I’m even learning Elvish! One of the healers here is teaching me. He says I’m a quick learner.

Josephine has better words for these things than I do, but I hope you’ll accept my girlhood, and my magic. Please know that it’s not that I didn’t trust you enough to confide in you; I was just frightened. But my friends here are helping me.

Allow me to confide in you now, if I may. I don’t know what stories you’ve heard, if any, but people are calling me the Herald of Andraste; they believe my mark is a blessing from their prophet. The title leaves me conflicted. After all our people have suffered in the name of Andraste, to be held aloft as her Herald… it makes me want to laugh uncontrollably, and cry, and scream at the top of my lungs. I want to rub it in the face of every shemlen who deemed us never good enough, yet it also enrages me. All I know is that I detest and reject it. How do I deal with these feelings, hahren? How do I assert myself as elvhen? A part of me feels lost without the presence of the vhenadahl, and your guidance.

I also have a request, if you or anyone else in the community are able and willing. I’m not coming back to Ostwick; not for a long while, at least. If there’s no one in need of a roof over their head, I’d like for my old place to become a library. We don’t have enough books in the alienage—I was lucky to have the few I did. Keep the ones I left there, and add the one I’m sending along. Varric Tethras himself is here! He’s been very kind to me, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind procuring me another copy.

It will be small at first, but that’s okay. It can grow. Let it be a place of sanctuary, questioning, and learning.

You’ve taught me a great deal, hahren, and I promise I won’t squander those teachings. I’ll do my part to enact tisun’olam out here.

Ma serannas—thank you. For everything.

-Adahlee

[heavymetalmuppet]

sycamore girl || chapter 3: vhenadahl

THE TZEDAKAH CHALLENGE: every time i post a chapter, if you have $5 or more to spare, donate it to life for gaza, a campaign by the municipality of gaza to restore the city's infrastructure. leave a comment with how much you donate for me to tally!

word count: 3843 < prev || chapter masterlist || next >

also available on ao3

—

Adahlee shifted on the fur she sat on, looking out over the frozen landscape. She and Solas sat cross-legged on a ledge overlooking Haven; the village noise echoed off the rocks, but it wasn’t so loud up there, more of a steady murmur. The wind was light today, only a breeze brushing her cheeks as Solas continued.

“… It is so much more than how hot a fire can burn, or how many wounds you can close.”

When Solas offered to tutor her in magic, she didn’t think this was how they would begin. Rather than blasting fire and ice, she and Solas rolled up a pelt for him to strap to his back, and set off on a hike. First lesson, he taught as they trudged through the snow: there is a lesson in everything. And if there was a lesson in everything, then she would have to parse the second lesson herself.

Listen to the breeze, and breathe with it as one, Solas encouraged. Brush the low branches of the pines as we pass. Feel the snow crunch beneath your boots. “I would prefer for us to go barefoot, but I digress,” he had muttered as an aside. It made Adahlee giggle quietly.

She wasn’t yet sure what the intent was, but she tried it anyway. All around her, nature murmured. Life murmured, and death progressed in the dried up undergrowth beneath the snow. Existence spoke to her without saying a word.

“I can…” She had whispered like the wind, “I can sense where I am in the world.”

“And do you sense the world in which you reside?”

Adahlee paused, her hand against the trunk of a tree. Solas waited patiently. She took another step, and another, and continued in a rhythm that was within everything around her.

“Yes. It’s a part of me. I'm a part of it.”

“Very good.” Solas stood as she climbed over a mass of boulders, then followed her up. “You understand the forces around and within us. Magic is one of those forces. Do you feel it in the air?”

“Well… I always felt the Breach,” Adahlee contemplated, “even aside from the mark.”

“Of course; the Breach is a magical phenomenon of great power. It is good that you recognized it, and the difference between it and your mark—however tightly they are bound together.”

Solas stopped on the ledge, next to a frozen waterfall, and Adahlee marveled at the sight before them: all of Haven spread below, nestled between mountain peaks that touched the sky. In the distance, the ruins of the Temple held the Breach aloft. She was reminded of the first day she awoke, the moment on the slope where her name flew free.

Solas laid the fur down on the icy rock, gesturing for her to sit. “But I want you to reach deeper.”

“Deeper?” Adahlee sat, and Solas joined.

“As you can feel the wind, the trees, and the snow, I want you to try and feel the magic of this place. Beyond the Breach. It may be difficult—it’s quite an interference, after all—but try.” Solas was always collected, but there was a sort of spark in his eyes as he spoke then, and he gestured with his hands. “Think of the physical and the Fade not as places, but states of being. The Veil is not a hard wall that separates them, nor even a flexible barrier—it is perspective made manifest. We exist concurrently in both states.

“As a mage, you can reach through the Veil or bend it to your will; everyone has a foot in each reality, but only we are aware of it.” Something changed in his face then, but it was so slight, Adahlee couldn’t put her finger on it. “You know the physical reality well. Now, it is time to find harmony with the other driving force of nature.”

And so, they meditated. With a guiding voice, she closed her eyes, and began learning to see. In and out, her breath became steam that melded with the rest of the air. She sensed the pelt beneath her, a guard as it was to the animal before it; and the frost beneath that; and the stone beneath that. The cycles upon cycles were illuminated like a sunrise.

Time was lost to her, and she didn’t know where the earth and air ended and she began. The Breach’s power tingled across her skin. She went deeper.

She could hear, see, feel the hum.

And when she drifted back, settled into her body, and opened her eyes, her second lesson had come to light: magic was in everything.

That was where they were then, and Solas was right; it was so much more. Adahlee looked out at Haven thoughtfully, watching the people bustle about. She felt the magic in her bones, and wondered.

“We all used to have magic, didn’t we?” Adahlee murmured. “Elves, I mean.”

“Yes, da'len.” Solas matched her quiet tone, and Adahlee thought she could hear a sort of sadness in it. “In the days of Arlathan, all elvenkind knew harmony with that force.”

Adahlee looked down at her hands. The mark didn’t shine through her glove anymore; it was just her. She laced her fingers together. “It’s a way of living, isn’t it? I mean…” She trailed off, trying to find the words.

“With a whole people so connected to a vital lifeblood of the world, comes a unique way of knowing that world?” Solas offered.

“Yes.”

There was quiet between them, then, contemplative. Without much thought, Adahlee murmured: “I want to take part in that knowledge.” She was then acutely aware that she spoke suddenly. “Sorry.”

“You need not apologize for speaking.” Solas said it with such calm firmness that she looked up at him. Composed as he was, there was that emotion in his eyes that she couldn’t decipher. “Especially not for speaking your mind. Not here, nor anywhere.”

Adahlee studied him for a long moment, surprised. Seeking out a lie. There was something within him that was carefully kept from most of his veneer, but she couldn’t sense the slime she knew all too well, of saying one thing and meaning another.

Slowly, she nodded. “Okay.”

It brought a very small smile to his face. He continued: “You wish to understand elven knowledge?”

“Not just understand it. Take part in it… live it.” She wrung her hands, a nervous habit. “I already have, in the alienage. But I want to know more.” She frowned. “They… they try to make us like shemlen. Like shemlen but not shemlen. I am elven. I grow with the vhenadahl.”

Solas’ eyebrows raised slightly. He was quiet, for a moment; he looked as though he were carefully considering his next words. “Well…” he started slowly, “there is knowledge that I hold, certainly. And my elven understanding of this world is not what you would find in an alienage, but nor is it Dalish. I have traveled far, and seen much in the Fade. What I carry is… very old. Older than Halamshiral, and the Tevinter Imperium.”

“Then teach me that.”

Solas seemed almost startled. “Many people are uninterested in things so ancient; such knowledge holds no bearing in their modern lives.” His tone bordered on disbelieving. “How would you take part in, live with, something considered dead?”

Adahlee sat up straighter. “The ways of our ancestors aren’t dead.”

Solas gave her a rueful, bitter smile, that might have been almost condescending if it weren’t so sad.

Adahlee persisted: “They’re—they’re not.” She wanted to hide in her cloak, still, and her throat felt tight with trepidation—but if she could speak her mind, then she would speak. Her lip shook, yet her eyes gleamed with a challenge, daring Solas to prove himself a hypocrite. “The shemlen have tried. Some of our own have tried, too. Mother did. But we're still ourselves, and not for our ears. We’ve changed—by necessity, perhaps—but not died. The ways we have changed are themselves elven! We wrought those ways, continue them with our own hands—it’s impossible to not be elven, it’s what I am!” Adahlee sighed. “In the alienage, the vhenadahl represents us. Our future is in the branches, and our roots are just that. I would know how deep they run, in order to grow into the sky—because we do grow, and we are alive, despite everything.”

Solas considered her. For all the wisdom she could weigh in his words, in his eyes, he looked as though he had stumbled upon something new. She tried to simply hold herself there, and not curl away. Just to try.

Finally, hesitantly, Solas spoke. “I… see. I suppose there’s no harm in sharing some of what I know.” Another hint of a smile graced his face, and though it seemed almost wary, it was still… surprisingly genuine.

A spark of excitement lit up her heart, but Adahlee didn’t quite let it take over yet, shifting where she sat. “Really? If—if you’re not sure, that’s okay—”

“Adahlee,” Solas said softly. “It’s quite alright. I would be glad, really. It’s simply that your perspective is… rather new to me.”

“Well, that’s okay!” Her eyes sparkled like sunlight on the snow, and she added excitedly: “And thank you!” Then she covered her mouth for how loud it was. Solas chuckled, and held up a hand.

“There is no need.”

Adahlee smiled from behind her fingers, and then let them fall away. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course, da'len. Questioning is how one learns.”

To question is to learn. Mulling over the words brought with it a freedom she had never known. And so, she asked softly, but without reserve: “Do you know the Elvish word for magic?”

“Se. A simple root for a simple concept, to the elves of old.”

Adahlee tried out the word. “Se.”

It was new, and ancient, and familiar in her mouth.

—

“Is your coat warm enough?”

“Yes.”

“And do your boots fit well?”

“Yes, they’re fine.”

Cassandra picked over the array of supplies across Adahlee’s new (relatively speaking) bed. Tomorrow they would set out to the Hinterlands, a sort of journey that Adahlee had never undertook before—mostly on foot, through the cold and wilds. All she had known was Ostwick, small city that it was, before her employment, which had had her and her mother in the back of a bumpy caravan to Haven. She didn’t know what to expect, she had confessed to Cassandra, who had bestowed on her the unsurprising revelation: a lot of walking.

There was a knock on her bedroom door. “Come in,” Adahlee called.

It was Solas who opened the door. “Ah—making preparations, I see. Excellent. I’ve another tool for you, Adahlee—if you’re all done here?”

Cassandra nodded. “You seem well prepared, if you’ve no more concerns.”

“I think I’ll be alright.” Adahlee smiled up at Cassandra, shy but grateful. “Thank you for helping me.”

“I am glad to.” Cassandra returned the smile, and it soothed the little pique of Adahlee’s nerves that had frayed in asking for help.

The three exited the chantry, Cassandra splitting off while Solas led Adahlee to the cluster of cabins around the apothecary. “Just a moment,” he said, disappearing inside his hut—and reemerging with a staff.

It was a solid branch—not straight, but with a beautiful, imperfect wave to it. It was a smoky brown tone, smoothed down at the haft, and still clinging to its bark on either end—sharp at the bottom, fanning out to a few small points at the top.

“I’ve been trying to find the right fit for your stature—too long, and it will catch on the ground when holstered.” Solas held it out to her in both hands. “Try it.”

Adahlee’s eyes widened, looking between his face and his outstretched hands. “This is for me?”

“Of course. I normally wouldn’t recommend a staff so early in one’s training—having a conduit for your power can be dangerous, if you don’t know how to wield it. But you may need it in the coming days.” He leveled her with a stern look. “So you must promise to work hard at our lessons, and follow my instruction.”

Adahlee stood up straight, and though she gulped, she still lifted her chin. “I promise.”

Satisfied, Solas nodded. “Good. Now, just try holding it. See if it’s easy to move with, first of all.”

Carefully, Adahlee took up the staff—and immediately felt as if she had breathed into it. It was like the branch had veins, responding to the pump of blood from her heart. Adahlee marveled as she stood with its end to the ground, feeling her magic flow with that of the staff. She just held it, and walked back and forth. “It doesn’t feel cumbersome.”

“Then I think it will be a suitable fit. Do you notice anything else?”

“It’s like…” Adahlee paused, considering how to describe it. “It’s like it’s speaking to me. Or maybe—my magic is speaking, and the staff is responding.”

“Excellent. You must consider your staff as an extension of yourself, a place for your magic to flow.” Solas sighed. “We will be with you and protect you, but we are venturing into battlefields, and we must get you to the rifts. You will need to learn to defend yourself; it would be foolish to leave you without a weapon.”

Adahlee stared at him, then back at the staff, seeing it with new eyes. A weapon. What parts of her that had filled with wonder now churned into unease.

“I will teach you how to use it,” Solas reassured.

“But I—” Adahlee frowned, shuffled in place. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Da’len—Adahlee,” he said more seriously. Adahlee looked back up at Solas; he held her attention with cool calmness. “It is not on you to save anyone who would unduly wish you harm.”

For some reason, that left Adahlee… almost bewildered. It was logical, of course—a statement that most anyone could find obvious. But hearing it out loud made something new click. She opened and closed her mouth, trying and failing to find something to say.

Solas continued in her silence: “I understand your hesitation, and it speaks well of you. Violence is a means to an end, regrettable when it’s necessary; but as your tutor, I will help you with this.” His eyes hardened, determined. “And you must live, Adahlee. You must. Only your mark can seal the rifts, and fully heal the Breach—but besides that, you deserve life. So live, by any means necessary. Do you understand?”

Adahlee took a deep, shaky breath. And another, until it steadied. Live, by any means necessary. She could do that. She’s been doing that. Still nervous, but with growing resolve, Adahlee nodded. “I understand, Solas.”

Solas studied her for a moment. Then, he let up. “Very good.” He ducked back into his hut for just a moment, and reappeared with his own staff in hand. “Now, to the training grounds. We will learn some basic stances.”

—

The Hinterlands weren’t far from Haven. A couple days of travel, regularly, now that Haven was no longer so carefully hidden from the world. But the fighting made it worse; even with Leliana's scouts finding the quickest route, weaving around the conflict left their party on the road longer.

The second time they had set up camp for the night, Cassandra was immediately off with the accompanying scouts and foot soldiers; planning their next move, monitoring the perimeter, talking over scrolls from incoming ravens. Solas retreated to a tent to rest, leaving Adahlee and Varric chatting at the campfire. She admitted with enthusiasm behind her shyness that she’d read some of his books, and her eyes lit up when the conversation swayed to Tale of the Champion.

“Is she really human and elven? The Champion, I mean?”

“Sure is.” Varric chuckled at the excitement that sparkled in her green eyes. “That was no lie on my part, and Hawke never bothered to hide it. Nothing to be ashamed of, she always said.”

“Wow,” Adahlee breathed, awestruck. “I heard a lot about her even before you wrote the book—we were close by, after all—but I wasn’t sure what to believe.”

“Well, some of the more extravagant stories were probably spun by me, and got weirder the further they went.” Varric grinned wryly as he said it. “What sort of things did you hear in Ostwick?”

“Aside from that?” Adahlee pursed her lips, then counted on her fingers. “Slayed a dragon, raised an army of mabari hounds to attack the Arishok—who she fought naked—caught an arrow between her teeth, would leave trails of rose petals where she walked…”

“One and a half of those are true.”

“One and a half?”

“I’ll leave you to figure out which ones.” Varric chuckled, and held up his hands in mock defense when she pouted at him.

“Well, at least Ostwick was a lot less boring with all that talk flooding in,” she relented.

“Just doing my part.” Varric gave her a joking, one finger salute. “Was Ostwick boring? I mean, I've been—and I have to say, it’s no Kirkwall—but many would call that a good thing.”

Adahlee snickered. “Probably is. Ostwick may be backwater, sure, but it isn’t so bad. When you grow up there, you get better at finding things to keep you occupied.”

“Get up to much trouble?” Varric chuckled.

“Well… not really,” she admitted sheepishly. “Mostly, I just liked to read. I think the most daring thing I'd do was search for carvings in the city walls; Mother didn’t like me wandering. But I think what I loved most was tending to the vhenadahl.” Adahlee's expression went bright as she said it. “Lots of people would pitch in, and I liked to help. Tidying up, freshening the paint, tying ribbons to the branches for celebrations. Keeping the tree itself healthy, too. And the hahren would tell stories all the while.”

“Daisy liked to do that.” Varric smiled. “Including the stories. Hawke helped with the tending, which scandalized folks in Hightown, but Hawke did a lot of things that made them clutch their pearls.” Varric laughed, and Adahlee joined him, leaning forward excitedly as he continued. “And Hawke's little sister usually joined her, before the Circle. Their father was from an alienage, back in Ferelden; the family took shelter in a few, and once with a Dalish clan, before settling in Lothering. Said the old tree made Kirkwall feel more like home.”

“Wow,” Adahlee murmured again, her hands clasped together. She wiggled her toes, nervous but eager, with words on the tip of her tongue that turned over and over in her head. Quickly, she looked around—Cassandra and their people were still busy, and no sound came from Solas' tent. When she turned back to Varric, he wore an expression that was somehow both curious and knowing.

She leaned closer, and lowered her voice. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.” Varric matched her tone.

Adahlee took a steadying breath. “I—I named myself, too,” she confessed. “For the vhenadahl. Because I—well, I—” Adahlee stuttered and stumbled, then sighed for it.

“Easy, kid.” Varric patted her arm. “I get it. I chose my own name because the one I was given wasn’t really me. When I was born, everyone thought I'd grow up to be a respectable kalna girl—and look how that turned out.” Varric chuckled, and Adahlee felt like the sun was shining out of her. His smile was kind and understanding as he said: “Correct me if I'm wrong, but I got the feeling that you have the opposite case.”

“Yes!” Adahlee bounced where she sat on the ground. “Yes, that’s me!”

Varric grinned at her. “People like us can just sort of tell with each other, huh?”

“Yes!” Adahlee said again, clapping her hands in excitement. “That’s what I thought! And elves—we have our own understandings of gender, right, did Hawke and Merrill tell you that? Did Fenris?”

“They did.” Varric's laugh was jovial.

“I’m like that! In a feminine way! And once I realized it, everything made sense!” Full to bursting with euphoric energy, Adahlee rolled back and forth on the ground. Varric laughed more, making her laugh too—it was a vicious cycle. “That was a long time ago. And my name is unique, there’s no other Adahlees that I ever heard of, and I had it in my head forever! When I told you, and Cassandra, and Solas—that was the first time I introduced myself!”

“Well, damn, I'm honoured.” Varric kept chuckling even as she straightened up, grinning wildly. “And it’s a good name, too. Tree-ee,” he drew out playfully.

Adahlee crowed, then quickly slapped her hands over her mouth for how loud it was. It made Varric snort and chortle, especially when Solas peered out of his tent, looking drowsy.

“Having fun?” He asked, one brow raised.

“I’m sorry!” Adahlee said quickly, dampening her joy now. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Solas' smile was reassuring. “Not to worry, da'len. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Catch your beauty sleep, Chuckles. We'll get you when dinner is ready.”

Solas rolled his eyes, and Adahlee kept laughing as Varric twiddled his fingers in a fancy wave, and the tent flap fell back into place.

Finally, she cleared her throat. Her sides hurt. “Tree-ee,” she agreed. “I didn’t… well. I was nervous to be how I actually wanted, before, instead of just—going with it. It was easier to just be quiet, but now, I'm… I'm finally doing it.” Her cheeks felt hot with joy, but the smile on her face faltered. “Is it… wrong of me, to feel glad for a fresh start? In all of this?”

“No, Adahlee.” Varric placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Not at all. Hold onto the good that comes out of shit like this; it makes it easier, believe me.” He offered a comforting smile. “And hey, if you ever need anything, let me know. I've got a big network of people like us. I know a number of ladies like you, even.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and she felt like she could shout from a mountaintop. “Really?”

“Really. If you'd like, I could send out a word or two. You want advice, kind words, stories, resources? Got you covered. I'm sure they’d be happy to help a little sister.”

A little sister. Tears welled in Adahlee’s eyes, and she lurched forward to wrap Varric in a hug, then pulled away just as quick, shy but ecstatic. “Thank you.” It came out a watery murmur.

Varric patted her back, and beneath his carefully crafted good humour, she saw softness; it was in his eyes. “No problem, Sapling.”

Adahlee blinked. “Sapling?”

“Well, is there anything else I should call a little tree? Though, you are taller than me…”

Hesitant yet playful, she teased: “Well… that’s not saying much.” It pulled a loud, pleasantly surprised laugh from Varric, and Adahlee grinned brightly. She wiped away her tears. “I like Sapling, though.”

“Sapling it is, then.”

[heavymetalmuppet]

sycamore girl || chapter 2: the inquisition

i have a challenge for all readers! in the spirit of tikkun olam, i'm posing to u all what i'll call the TZEDAKAH CHALLENGE: every time i post a chapter, if u have $5 or more to spare, donate it to life for gaza, a campaign by the municipality of gaza to restore access to clean water, rebuild roads, and clean up waste. there's a health crisis in gaza from the destruction of infrastructure during the ongoing genocide; let's do what we can to help. leave a comment with the amount u donate, and i'll tally it up to see how much we can raise together by the end of the fic!

word count: 2936 warnings: dealing with familial death, grief < prev || chapter masterlist || next >

also available on ao3

—

The echoes of dreams whispered around her, flowing like water, fading as she drifted. Soft and slow as a falling feather, the waves of sleep carried her to stirring shallows. She could feel the cot beneath her, hear scuffles. The air didn’t hum anymore.

Adahlee opened her eyes.

She was back in the room in the chantry, a little less bare. An end table with water had been set up beside her cot. Slowly, she perched on her elbow—

“Oh!”

Adahlee startled, as did the person entering the room. She didn’t recognize them; an elf, who dropped a crate on the floor. They blurted, “I didn’t know you were awake, I swear.”

“Um…” Adahlee's voice was small, and parched. “It’s okay. I just woke up.”

“Oh, Maker.” The person held a hand to their chest. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I—”

They fell to their knees in a bow. “I beg your forgiveness, and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.”

Adahlee, her mouth hanging open, couldn’t respond. They continued: “You are back in Haven, my lady. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand.”

The mark. Adahlee looked down at her palm; it still glowed with power, but its flames no longer crept up her veins like venom. It was still, just as the air. So that’s why the hum was gone.

“It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days!”

The door, which had stood ajar, creaked open. Solas peered in, holding a few rolls of parchment and a bundle in one arm. “Ah, you're awake.”

The elf scrambled to their feet, but still bowed low to Adahlee. “I promise, ser healer, I didn’t mean to disturb the Lady Herald!”

Adahlee tilted her head; she was utterly puzzled, but still, a little spark of joy lit up her heart. Lady? She had never been called a Lady, but certainly not Herald, either. “If—if you mean me, you didn’t disturb me. It’s alright.”

“Oh.” They straightened, looking painfully awkward.

Solas brushed past them, setting the rolls of parchment on the desk next to others. “Thank you for your delivery.”

“Oh!” They hastily picked up the crate they had dropped. “Yes! Supplies for you, my lady.” They set it near the end of her cot, and Adahlee sat up further to find a large trunk and her boots had been placed there, as well. “I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She’s here in the chantry, with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once,' she said!”

Then the person bowed low once more, and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“Uh,” Adahlee said.

Solas sighed, setting the wrapped bundle on her bedside table. “I apologize. I had hoped you would not wake with a spectacle.”

“It’s—it’s okay.” Adahlee watched him untie the bundle, revealing a hunk of bread, cheese, and an apple. It wasn’t until then did she realize how utterly ravenous she was. “Is that for me?” She asked hopefully.

“Yes, for you. Please, eat; you've been under incredible duress.”

Adahlee took the apple, crunching into it hesitantly as Solas poured her a cup of water. With how long she’d been unconscious, it was the most delicious thing she'd ever eaten. She took the offered cup, chugged half of it in one go, then took a breath. “What happened? The Breach is sealed?”

“Not quite.” Solas sat on a nearby stool, giving her space. “You successfully sealed the rift that opened it, and the Breach has been stabilized, but it remains.”

“No more demons pouring out of it?” She asked, tearing into the bread.

“No, but there is still the matter of the smaller rifts in its wake. I am told that they have spread across southern Thedas.”

Adahlee breathed deeply, trying to stay calm. The echoes of the havoc wrought rang in her ears.

“The good news is that your mark stabilized with the Breach,” Solas said. “You will live.”

Adahlee deflated, relief sweeping through her and allowing her shoulders to slump. She would live, she thought then, but her mother was gone. Adahlee went quiet.

If Solas noticed her relief change, he said nothing. “How are you feeling?”

Her first instinct was to just say, okay. But she thought, for a moment, and swallowed another bite of her apple. “… Kind of gross,” she admitted.

Solas' lips twitched up in amusement. “Yes, being unconscious for so long will do that. Keep eating, and take a walk when you feel ready. How about the mark?”

Adahlee gazed down at it, contemplative. She made a fist, and unfurled it again. “It… sort of buzzes. And…” She mulled over the words. “It’s like fire, but not burning. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Good.” Solas stood, and went to the table, unrolling a piece of parchment. “Haven’s apothecary and I have been studying it, and monitoring your condition. I hope you don’t mind if I add this to our notes?”

“Oh. Go ahead.” She watched Solas write as she chewed. Quietly, she added: “Um… thank you. For taking care of me.”

“No thanks are needed,” Solas said evenly. He didn’t look at her.

The room was quiet, then, but for her eating and the scratch of a quill. Meekly, she broke the silence. “Cassandra wanted to see me, didn’t she?”

“She can wait until you are ready. I doubt she would want you to strain yourself. I understand that she and Sister Leliana are busy with Chancellor Roderick, anyways.”

Adahlee cringed at the mention of the Chancellor. Solas glanced up to see it. “Don’t fret,” he assured, “we will not allow any harm to come to you. He can do nothing.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am.”

She was cautious, still, but relented. “… Okay.”

When Solas was finished, he said he would leave her to freshen up. Adahlee hesitantly asked if he would show her the way to Cassandra, when she was ready; he obliged, and would wait in the hall.

“But take your time,” he reminded her. “There is no rush.”

Adahlee nodded, and Solas, seemingly satisfied, turned to leave.

Then, a question re-entered her head. “Solas?”

Solas paused with his hand on the door, looking over his shoulder at her. “Yes?”

“What was all that? With the, you know…” Adahlee waved her hand. “’Lady Herald,' and the bowing.”

Solas contemplated for a moment, his eyes flicking down, then back to her. “You will find out soon enough.”

Then he slipped out the door, leaving Adahlee to her confusion.

But in the quiet, the first calm since the whirlwind of her waking hours, confusion made way: a potent throb of euphoria, grief, and fear filled her chest.

Adahlee.

Mother.

I'm me.

But what do I do?

Tears fell unbidden, and Adahlee clutched the front of her shirt, like she was trying to hold her heart lest it burst from her.

Eventually, she worked through her tears, and every crumb of the best meal she’d had in a long time. Cried out and clean, Adahlee stood in front of her door. What would await her, outside of it?

Adahlee breathed in, and out. She curled her bare toes against the cool stone. The mark buzzed so very gently in her palm. She screwed her eyes shut. Creators, or whoever is out there, anyone or anything that is kind—she opened her eyes. Please give me strength.

With a breath, she eased open the door.

For all of that, the bare hall of the chantry was rather anticlimactic; it held little else but Varric and Solas, leaning against the stone wall. Adahlee had to give herself a nervous little chuckle.

Varric waved kindly at her with a grin. “Hey, sleepyhead. What’s so funny?”

Adahlee smiled, and lightly stepped out, closing the door behind her. “Nothing,” she said softly. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

“Well, our hero is awake! Of course I'm gonna come by.”

Adahlee balked. “Hero?”

“I did see you fix that pesky hole in the sky, you know. Seems like hero shit to me.”

“You have done well, Adahlee,” Solas agreed.

Adahlee was fairly sure she was going red, judging by the warmth when she touched her hand to her face, stammering thanks. Varric had a twinkle in his eye, pushing off the wall and clapping her on the back. “And lived to tell the tale, since Chuckles here says you’re gonna be just fine.”

Solas raised an eyebrow at the nickname. Adahlee snickered, trying and failing to hide it behind her hand. Varric’s shit-eating grin and Solas’ dry stare only made it that much harder.

“Come,” Solas beckoned, rather quick to move on. Adahlee pressed her lips together to keep from giggling.  “Cassandra is this way.”

Her expression fell a tad, knowing that Chancellor Roderick would be there. Varric glanced at her, trailing behind as she was led down the hall. “Why not just go for a stroll?” He suggested. “Let the kid have a break.”

“I don’t mind,” Adahlee said quietly.

Varric sighed. “Alright, but if you need some time, don’t hesitate to take it. I'll be around if you want; I’m sure I could scrounge up a deck of cards somewhere…”

Adahlee smiled at him, genuine. “Thank you.”

She could hear the arguing now, and Adahlee huddled nervously to Solas as he opened the door.

Roderick, Cassandra, and Leliana looked up from a table, and Adahlee inched behind Solas ever so slightly, wary of their gazes and the templars guarding the door within.

“Chain her.” Roderick pointed at her, and Adahlee flinched. “I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

“Disregard that,” Cassandra ordered immediately. The glare she gave Roderick was downright furious. “And leave us.” The templars saluted, and walked out, leaving Adahlee feeling a little less apprehensive.

“Then I don’t see why they can stay here,” the Chancellor sneered at Solas and Varric. Solas regarded him with distaste, and Varric scoffed.

“They may, if Adahlee so wishes,” Cassandra insisted.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” Roderick warned.

Varric leaned over and whispered to her: “He’s just raising a fuss because he can’t do much else. You don’t have to worry about him.”

Adahlee nodded slightly, and tried to take it to heart. At least she knew Cassandra and Leliana wouldn’t let him pull anything. “I—I think I'll be alright.”

Solas looked concerned, but acquiesced. “Very well. I’ll be in the hall, if I’m needed.”

“Me too.” Varric patted her arm with a reassuring smile, and the two of them followed the templars out the door.

“It is good to see you awake,” Leliana said kindly. It made Adahlee glad, but she still hesitated to approach the table, standing and fiddling with her fingers.

“Come, you need not be shy,” Cassandra beckoned. “We would have you take part in this discussion.”

Slowly, Adahlee stepped forward. Her brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Somehow, you have been plunged into this disaster.” Cassandra sighed. “I wish it were not so, but there it stands. Your mark has stabilized the Breach, but it remains a threat that cannot be ignored.”

“And how do we know that was not her intent?” Roderick accused while pointedly ignoring her. Despite her nerves, it made her want to stomp her feet and yell. How could I have done this? Why would I have ever done this?

“Have a care, Chancellor,” Cassandra said around gritted teeth. Adahlee could see her hands had balled into fists on the table. “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave.” Leliana's tone was hard. “Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others—or, have allies that yet live.” She glowered at him.

“I am a suspect?” Roderick balked.

“You, and many others.”

“But not the girl.” Roderick deigned to look at her, yet still didn’t say a word to her. Adahlee bit her tongue before she could snap; she knew how that would end.

“No matter what else you may think, I heard the voices at the Temple.” Cassandra leaned forward, certainty in her eyes. “The Divine called to her for help.”

“So her survival, that thing on her hand—all a coincidence?”

“Providence,” Cassandra insisted, then looked to Adahlee. “The people are calling you the Herald of Andraste. They believe Andraste Herself was the woman behind you, leading you out of the Fade, and the mark is Her gift. Whether or not that is true—the Maker still sent you to us in our darkest hour.”

Adahlee's jaw dropped, and she stared, bug-eyed, at Cassandra. The Herald of Andraste? Did they think her a new prophet? Her? An elven girl who grew up beneath the branches of a vhenadahl, who was never good enough for the Andrastian shemlen; disallowed her own gods, her own ways, yet still disallowed to thrive in their spaces? By their standards? And in the name of a prophet who stood beside an ancestor to free her people. Some strange tempest of emotion swirled in her—fury, bitterness, disbelief, smugness, that quickly drained to something cold and weary. Finally, she said with firmness that startled herself: “I’m not holy.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“No. I'm not. I'm just…” Adahlee looked down at her hands, and then back up. “Well. I don’t know. But I'm not that. I'm an elf, anyway.”

“No matter who you are, or what you believe, you are exactly who we needed when we needed it.” Cassandra turned from the table and picked something up, but Adahlee couldn’t see what it was.

“In any case, the Breach remains,” Leliana said gently, “and your mark is still our only hope of closing it.”

“This is not for you to decide,” Roderick growled.

Cassandra slammed what she held onto the table: a thick tome, emblazoned with a fiery eye on the front. She pointed a finger to it. “You know what this is, Chancellor. A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act.” Cassandra took a step back, and stood tall. “As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.”

The Inquisition? Adahlee had never heard of such a thing. She watched Cassandra advance on the Chancellor, who backed away nervously, as Cassandra asserted: “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

Roderick stared between Cassandra and Leliana, disbelieving. Then, without a word, he walked out. Adahlee breathed a sigh of relief.

Leliana skirted around the bend of the table. “This is the Divine's directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos.” She shook her head. “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice: we must act now.” Cassandra looked to Adahlee. “With you at our side.”

Adahlee leaned against the table, feeling she would be swept away in a current of doubts if she didn’t. Questions raced through her head. “What was 'the Inquisition of old,' exactly?” She began.

“It preceded the Chantry,” Leliana explained. “People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.”

“After,” continued Cassandra, “they laid down their banner and formed the Templar Order. But the templars have lost their way. We need those who can do what must be done united under a single banner once more.”

“But aren’t you still part of the Chantry?”

Cassandra huffed with amusement. “Is that what you see?”

“The Chantry will take time to find a new Divine, and then it will wait for her direction.”

“But we cannot wait. So many Grand Clerics died at the Conclave…” Cassandra trailed off. “No, we are on our own. Perhaps forever.”

“We would like to make ourselves clear, Adahlee.” The way Leliana addressed her revealed a measure of softness beneath her cool exterior. “We will not make you do anything against your wishes. We will not make you stay, if you wish to leave.”

“But we can keep you safe at our side,” Cassandra said honestly. “We can help you. And you, in turn, would not only help us—but all those affected by this chaos.”

Adahlee's knees trembled. “Where else would I have to go?” She whispered, feeling the creeping despair at the back of her throat. “Back to the Ostwick alienage? Alone? Mother and I took to work here because we had no food.” Adahlee let out a breathless, humourless laugh; she felt almost mortified for it, but it didn’t quite get past the cold numbness of shock. “I’m an orphan now.” The beginnings of tears stung her eyes. “I have nothing.”

“You have the whole world laid before you,” Leliana murmured. Adahlee couldn’t quite place the look in her blue eyes. “Even without the mark on your hand. Never do you have nothing.”

Cassandra nodded. “I cannot say it will be easy. And by the Maker, I wish we could give you a proper home.” She leaned forward. “But I swear this to you: if you wish to stay, you will always be protected, and we will always honour your presence, and your choices.”

“I’ve never been given honour or choices,” was the first thing to come from Adahlee.

“Then perhaps it is time to start.” Cassandra extended her hand. “Help us fix this before it’s too late.”

Adahlee stared at the proffered hand. It was a truce; an oath. She was thrown onto a strange path, but it could be walked together. As equals.

Slowly, Adahlee took Cassandra's hand, and found her own grip to be strong.

[heavymetalmuppet]

sycamore girl || chapter 1: awaken

"What didn't you do to bury me but you forgot that I was a seed." - Dinos Christianopoulos Adahlee, a girl from the Ostwick alienage, wakes up in a place where no one knows her, with the unraveling world's last chance in her palm. Orphaned and with nothing left to lose, Adahlee makes the choice to live, or die trying—a choice that teaches her her own worth.

HELLO EVERYONE!!!! since da4 is really happening, im finally finishing up and publishing this story that means so very much to me. anyone could have grabbed that orb, and a couple years back i thought: what if it was a teenage girl, and how would that make inquisition different? and adahlee came into being. also just a general dai rewrite b/c i can do it better and so can adahlee lol. hoping to have it all out before the fall release so wish me luck!!!! this can be a mostly recap of inquisition for everyone before the new game :)

please check out the chapter masterlist for general series tags/what to expect and to jump to different chapters as i post them. not all chapters have accompanying art (this one does) but all art is by me!!!! i apologize for the length of this chapter, the others won't be nearly so long lol

ADAHLEE STORY START!!!!!

word count: 7820 warnings: canon-typical violence, familial death, panic attacks, some description of injuries/blood and corpses (not gory tho) next >

also available on ao3

—

There was nothing of the world but a strange hum, and crackling like fire. Everything was a haze; dirt and stone beneath her hands as she wobbled, then stood, and opened her eyes to green fog. It was some murky in-between, where the earth beneath her feet didn’t feel real, and there were whispers in the mist.

Then—a skitter. And another, and another. She whipped her head around, frantic, the nothingness was pressing in on her—

Monsters came shrieking from the dusk, eyes beady and fangs dripping, shapes familiar yet broken, and they were vicious and hungry, screaming, screaming, and she didn’t have breath to scream herself as she ran. The pound of her sprint against dirt was like thunder, too loud, too much, but not enough—so small she could be torn to shreds by the creatures that clawed at her heels. She clambered up steep stone stairs with a sob wrenching from her throat, echoing in the vast hollowness. They were coming. Something was coming.

A beacon shone above her like a beam of sunlight in a cave. She wasn’t sure if it was quite real, but the light offered a hand, and it was genuine. A woman, a protective force, a guide, soft like she had never known.

The sickness was shrieking up behind her, and she wanted out, out, out. She took the guide's hand. Her stomach flipped as she was rendered weightless. She could fly.

Racing towards an open emerald curtain, ushered surely forward with a shield at her back, her palm cracked open like dry ground in summer, and a green sun poured forth, searing and instant and she thought she would die—

Ashy stone rushed up to greet her. Real stone. Real scratches on her cheek. But the fire in her blood remained as she plunged into darkness.

—

“Is the child—”

“Yes, hush. We mustn't startle.”

More whispers, barely tangible, but decidedly real. The air felt wrong, and the burn pulsed up her left arm, all through her; she whimpered, and tried to shift away. Away from who? From what? Just away, she wanted away. Curling up, she realized she was on something soft. Blankets—she was covered by blankets, layered against cold that brushed her cheeks and pointed ears. She slid her head beneath the covers, eyes still squeezed shut.

“Don’t be afraid; you’re safe.”

It was a murmur from the second voice that spoke, by the edge of what must have been her cot. She froze—maybe if she was still, they would think her still asleep. These strangers would leave her alone, and she could run back… somewhere.

Where? Where was she? What happened in that fog? Those demons—those were demons, but the light wasn’t, her hand still throbbed and the air tasted sharp, and that wasn't fully real but this was—

A sob of fear broke through her parched throat, and she slapped both hands over her mouth, then winced. Her cover was blown.

“We will not hurt you,” said the first voice firmly.

She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes.

Those eyes flew open to an emerald spark, a cry of pain ripping from her throat. Her hand seized as she thrashed, tearing her from the covers and into the cool, electric air.

“It’s alright.” The second voice was steady and soft against her terror, long hands with warm light hovering over hers. Magic! She looked up, and there was an elven man at her bedside with his brows furrowed, his magic seeping into her palm and flooding her veins. The girl sighed with relief as the pain dulled.

Her palm still shone, and she looked closer. The crack was like an open wound, but strangely beautiful; green like the fog swirled within, light dancing across her skin.

Eyes were watching her, she could feel it. She looked back up at the strangers now: there was the elven man, a mage, sitting on a stool. A human woman sat next to him, her features sharp and lined with scars, eyes intent. Another stood further back, red hair peeking from a hood, cloaked in the shadows of the dimly-lit room. The girl knotted her hands in the hem of her blankets, pulled them to her chin, and backed away til she hit the stone wall.

“What is your name?” Asked the woman closest to her; so she was the first voice. The girl shifted uncomfortably and said nothing.

The third in the back, she noted, had been quiet. This woman radiated calm. “How old are you?” The redhead tried instead, careful and accented Orlesian.

She looked between the three, then around at the room. It held only another empty cot on the other side, and a table stacked with herbs, bottles, and parchment. The door was out of reach, behind the redhead. No windows.

They weren’t attacking her. She was being healed—by an elven mage, no less. The closer human seemed intent, but not aggressive. The girl's instincts were on edge, yet found nothing to spark it into action.

Slowly, she cracked open her dry mouth. “Fifteen.”

The closest human drew her brows together. Slightly, the woman in the back hung her head. The elven man tried to school his expression, but she could see something change in his eyes.

She had a million questions turning over in her head, but the first to come out were, “Who are you? Where am I?” Shakily, she held up her hand. “What—what is this?”

The nearest woman sighed. “I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of the Chantry.” She turned and presented the other behind her. “This is Leliana.” Leliana only nodded.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” the elven man spoke. “We are in Haven, the village at the base of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

Haven? She didn’t remember coming here. She looked between them again, but still didn’t move. Names didn’t tell her much, and she had never heard of a Seeker.

“As for that mark…” The Seeker clasped her hands together, all her focus bearing down in a way that made the girl gulp. “It is a strange magic, the likes of which we have never seen. You do not know what it is?”

The girl shook her head frantically. “I—I’ve never seen this before, I promise!” Her lip trembled. “I don’t know what it is, I'm sorry—”

Solas held up a hand. The girl trembled. “You are frightening my patient, Seeker.”

Cassandra leaned back, her eyes going soft. “My apologies,” she said quietly. Gentler now, she asked instead: “Do you recall what happened?”

The girl shook her head again.

“Do you remember the Conclave?” asked Leliana. The girl nodded, and Leliana continued: “The temple was destroyed in a great explosion; our soldiers found you among the rubble. The blast itself was, apparently, of magical means.”

Solas jumped in. “Yes. We do not know how, or why; only that it was powerful enough to tear a hole in the Veil.”

She lurched forward. The soundless thrum in the air made sense now, and a shudder ran down her spine. “A hole in the Veil?” She repeated in a trembling voice.

Solas nodded. “And, it likely put that mark on your hand.”

She loosened her iron grip on her blankets to look at it again, gleaming and buzzing, and her insides twisted with confusion and fear.

Then, her breath stopped, and she lifted her head, wary of the answer to her question: “Where is my mother?”

The room was deathly silent, and coldness spread in the pit of her stomach.

“Was your mother at the Conclave with you?” Leliana asked quietly.

“Yes.” The word tremored. “We were hired as servants…”

More stony silence.

It was Solas who broke it. “I’m sorry.” He met her eyes, stark and grim. “You were the only survivor.”

The world stopped.

She could feel the breath leave her, she could feel the tears well and fall, but she was blank. Her face felt slack, and she shook, and shook. There was nothing before her eyes, and nothing within her, like her heart was suspended in midair. Another in-between.

“I am sorry.” Cassandra’s tone was genuine and empathetic, and the girl heard the words, but they were lost to her.

“It’s shock. We must allow for time, if we can…” Solas murmured.

Leliana spoke quietly: “I don’t know if we have time.”

She was torn from her suspension with a scream as the mark burst again, blazing through her veins. Firm but gentle, Solas took her forearm, and his magic flowed against the mark, but it still hurt, and there was something like thunder outside but wrong, and she gasped like she couldn’t breathe—

“Look at me,” Cassandra insisted gently. “Follow my lead. We are going to breathe deeply into our bellies.” The girl nodded, panicked. “In through our noses.” She followed as Cassandra took a deep breath in, letting it fill the emptiness in her. “And out slowly through the mouth.” It was shaky, and a bit too fast, but it was air in her lungs. “Again now. In… and out.”

She breathed with Cassandra through the pain until it settled, like a growling beast backing down. Solas gestured behind him. “A potion, please.”

Leliana handed him a bottle from the desk, and he uncorked it and held it out. “Drink all of this. It will help.”

She stared at the potion. Mother told her not to eat or drink anything she didn’t say was okay. But Mother wasn’t here anymore, was she?

“I promise, it will help. It's bitter, but not poisoned; we have no reason to bring you harm.”

Mother wasn’t here anymore. She took the potion. It was bitter, but she drank it all down, and already it smoothed the sharp edges of the mark and brought colour to her cheeks. She handed back the empty bottle with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Cassandra began: “Child, I know this must be frightening, and devastating. You need rest, and time… but I am afraid we need your help.”

Wide-eyed and confused, she looked between them all. “The tear in the Veil,” Solas explained, “we call it the Breach. Demons are pouring forth from the Fade into this plane. There are smaller rifts opening in its wake, and I theorize that your mark may be the key to close them; possibly the Breach, as well.”

She stared, shocked. “Why?”

Cassandra shook her head. “It is our best guess. You fell from a rift at the site of the explosion.”

Her head spun, remembering the emerald curtain and the taste of soot. “I—” her voice tremored, “I was in the Fade?”

“Bodily, yes,” Cassandra replied starkly. “The first and only since the magisters walked the Golden City.”

The notion weighed so heavy, she thought it would crush her. She could practically feel the blood drain from her face again. “I know it is unsettling—but the threat at hand is urgent,” Cassandra continued. “Your mark flares when the Breach does… and it is spreading until it will swallow the world.”

Solas' face was set stern. “As it grows, so does your mark. I am doing all I can, but… it is slowly killing you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes again, and she quickly wiped them away. The slow memory of fire from the mark crept up her arm. Her lip trembled, but she bit down; she would not cry out.

Leliana spoke again, careful: “We do not wish for your harm, or your death. We may be able to save you; and you, in turn, would save us all.”

Despite her best efforts, words still choked out: “Why me?”

Cassandra’s expression crumbled in sympathy. “I wish I knew; and I wish I could carry the burden in your stead. But we can at least share it with you.”

Solas looked away, and scooted his stool back. “Do you think you can walk? We must take you to the Breach—but first, we need to see if that mark can close smaller rifts.”

Cassandra stood. “We will protect you.”

She trembled still, and shivered as she pulled back the blankets. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet. Cassandra offered a hand, and hesitantly, she took it. It was wobbly, but she stood, and took a few steps. “I can walk.”

Leliana nodded. “I will send for some boots, and warmer clothes.”

“Find a waterskin and something light to eat as well, if you can,” Solas added. Leliana nodded again and slipped out the door like a shadow.

Solas began packing more potions, and Cassandra let go of her hand, talking as the girl stretched. “You have been unconscious for three days. The mages and templars' leaders died in the blast, as did Divine Justinia.” Cassandra sounded unsteady again, but breathed, and continued. “Do you have any other family?”

The girl paused, and shook her curly head. She was alone; and she felt it.

“My condolences will not do much, but again… I am so sorry for your loss.”

She hung her head, and said nothing.

“My apologies. We need not speak of it now.”

As quickly as she had left, Leliana stepped back in. “Your supplies will be here momentarily.”

“… Thank you,” the girl said meekly.

“There is no need for thanks,” Leliana assured. There was a knock, and Leliana opened the door just enough for a murmured exchange and a bundle. Then, she handed it over as the door shut. “Here.”

“That food and drink is for you,” Solas said as the bundle was set on the cot. “Don’t eat too fast, or you may feel sick, but you will need your strength.”

As the girl layered up between nibbles of bread, Leliana asked: “What do you remember?”

“I…” She perched on the edge of her cot. All eyes were on her, and she shrunk back.

“We are your allies in this,” Cassandra reassured. “You need not be afraid.”

Hesitantly, she continued. “I was in the Temple. I was… fetching something? We—my mother and I—” Her voice trembled. “We were employed to observing knights, from the Free Marches. And then… I don’t know. The next thing I remember is—is the Fade.” She was edging into dangerous territory now, and she swallowed. “There were… creatures,” she decided to say.

“Demons,” Solas clarified what she would not, and she went cold. Her fear must have been apparent, because he reassured: “We will not hurt you. We know you are not possessed; I would have been able to sense a demon within you. There is none.”

Her hands were shaking where they clenched around her piece of hard bread, and her words, forbidden words, came out in a strained whisper. “You know I'm a mage?”

Solas gave her a very small smile. “It is possible to feel another’s magic, with the proper attunement. You will not be harmed for it here, da'len.”

The Elvish was semi-familiar, a whisper of a memory that slightly eased the clench around her neck. She glanced fearfully between the two humans, but neither were phased. Instead, Leliana spoke with steel, not sharp, but strong: “None of our people will hurt you.”

“We will keep you safe.” Cassandra's words were fierce, but the ferocity wasn’t pinned to her throat. For once, she believed it.

“Okay.” It came out in a breathless rush. “Okay.” She considered for a moment, and then continued. “There were… demons. They were chasing me. But then there was… a woman.”

“A woman?” Leliana repeated. Cassandra's eyes widened, and the two glanced at each other.

“What was this woman doing?” Cassandra pressed.

“I… I think she was protecting me. She was leading me… out? And then... the mark.” She frowned at the thing. “It lit up. And burned. And then I wasn’t in the Fade anymore… and I woke up here.”

Leliana nodded. “This may help us. Thank you.”

Surprised, she blinked. “I… you're welcome.”

Solas grabbed a staff that was set near the desk. “Come now, we must make our way.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, trying to close clasps with shaky hands.

“You need not apologize.”

She was about to say sorry again, then held back. Throwing her hood over her head, she stood, waterskin hooked to her belt and wrapped bread in a pocket. “I’m ready.”

The door opened, and she was led down the hall of what she realized was a chantry. There were people bustling to and fro, heads low and muttering or toting supplies. The great wooden doors were thrown open, and she winced; green-grey light reflected brightly off the snow. And up in the sky—she gasped.

“That is the Breach,” Solas confirmed solemnly.

It really was a hole in the heavens. Bright green clouds swirled like the center of a storm, pulsing with the mark shining even through her glove. She could feel it like a second heartbeat.

“Come.” Cassandra gestured forward, and the four walked a trodden path. A sea of unfamiliar faces stared as she passed, clamour dropping to murmurs. She pulled her hood down further, and wrapped her cloak closer. Cassandra's hand landed lightly on her shoulder, guiding and careful. Mother isn’t here anymore. She leaned into the touch.

“I will meet you all at the forward camp,” Leliana said. “Alright?” The woman seemed to be asking her. The girl nodded.

“Can you fight?” Cassandra inquired.

She shook her head, frantic. “Will I need to?”

“I will direct a party to accompany you, so we can avoid that. You will be protected,” Leliana assured. Then, she walked ahead, talking to a hooded figure along the path, and she lost sight of the woman as they passed.

“Do you know how to use your magic?” Solas asked as they continued.

“I know how to hide it,” she muttered.

“How long have you been hiding it?”

Her shoulders slumped forward, like she was trying to curl in on herself. “Over a year. Mother told me to.”

“Hmm.” Solas sounded displeased.

“I’m sorry,” she rushed out again, “I know it came in late, Mother was so angry, she said I would put us in danger—”

“She had no reason to be angry with you.” She looked up, and Solas was looking back down at her steadily. “If she was concerned with danger, she should have blamed those harbouring hatred for magic, not you. Magic is not a curse. You have done nothing wrong, and there is nothing wrong with you.”

She stared. Then whipped over to Cassandra, who considered her, and then simply nodded. “Oh.” It was a quiet sound, barely heard over the crunch of snow and whistle of wind. They fell silent now, but the words turned over and over again in her head, trying to fit like a disjointed puzzle.

The path sloped steadily up. Scouts and soldiers came to flank them, and more dotted the sparse mountain path, crouching behind spiked barriers. She kept Cassandra in her line of sight before her, and inched closer to Solas when she heard shouts in the distance; he reassured her, and reminded her to drink her water. But she flinched when an unnatural shriek echoed in the wind.

“You’re okay.” The quiet reassurance came from an elven soldier behind her. She observed their calm demeanor, took a deep breath, and nodded.

As they climbed, she spotted a templar lying face down in the snow. Unmoving. Twisted wrong. She barely bit back a cry, and stumbled away, into Solas. He steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. “Keep moving,” he murmured, guiding her forward. She swallowed, and was torn between looking away and staring at the corpse as they passed. The violence wrought in the broken, nameless form brought a lump to her throat, which remained even once it was out of sight. That was a person, she thought. She hastily, covertly wiped away tears before they could fall.

Frosty earth turned to cobbled stone beneath her; they had reached a bridge, arcing over a frozen river. The pebbles about her feet began to rattle as a rumble started in the sky and within her. Her hand clenched, and she screamed, falling to her knees as green fire burst from the swirling clouds and something big whistled down—

“Look out!” She didn’t know who yelled, but there was a massive THOOM as the bridge shattered, and the world was sent tumbling as they all landed and slid along ice. Her side ached, her hand burned, yet she managed to place both palms on the ice, trembling as she tried to push up. Someone rushed over.

“Are you hurt?” It was Cassandra, sounding soft for all the chaos around them.

A ghastly wheeze filled the air before she could reply, and she looked to the sound—and scrambled back with a cry. Gliding towards them was a nightmare made manifest, like she had seen of the demons that clawed at her dreams, a shade whose darkness curled ever closer across the ice. Before she could scream, before she could run, Cassandra drew her sword and charged.

A flurry of battle erupted as another shade ghosted forth, green wisps danced in the distance, and ice bolts were flying along with arrows. All she could do was slide helplessly backwards until her back hit a snowy bank, watching the chaos as pain pierced her arm.

It was over as quickly as it began, the last shade howling as it faded into nothing, and Cassandra rushed over and helped her stand. “Come, quickly!” She was led up the frozen riverbank with an arm around her shoulders. “We must make it to the forward camp.”

She huddled close to Cassandra and trembled, but kept going, making haste through the snow. Magic and arrows streaked ahead to hit strange wisps, dissipating them in the wind before they could come near. She was ushered down an icy path, grasping Cassandra for purchase, and it opened up into another expanse of the riverbank. Cassandra let go of her to slide down with fierce grace, the other soldiers at her heels, and let loose a cry at the demons that bubbled like lava. Even as the creatures roared unlike anything on that plane, even as a bowstring twanged and Solas' staff cut through the air like a whip, her world narrowed to the burnt husks of two homes on opposite ends of the bank. One had its door hanging on its hinges; one didn’t even have a door. The emptiness seemed to swallow her whole.

She was urged forward again, and with help, slid down one side of the river and clambered up the other. “We’re getting close to the rift!” Cassandra panted, “You can hear the fighting!”

“Who’s fighting?”

“You will see soon. We must help them.”

They rounded the path, jumped down a stone ledge, and Cassandra leapt into the fray. A group of people and demons alike were clustered beneath swirling green light, shouting and shrieking. Magic blasted and crossbow bolts thump thump thumped into strangely real phantoms, she could feel the rift whispering, and she stumbled back—

A rattle sounded to her right. A shadowy demon crawled from the murk, clawing through the snow, towards her—she threw out her hand with a shout, lightning crackling in an arc and shocking the thing apart. Her fingers buzzed, and she stared in awe.

“Quickly, before more come through!” Solas grabbed her other wrist and held it to the tear. She startled as power sprung forth, a bright thrum that streamed from the mark to the hole in the Veil and rattled her bones—and with a final burst, the light faded into faint mist, then nothing.

All was quiet. Then, a palpable sigh ran through the whole group.

“What did you do?” She asked Solas quietly, holding her left hand that still tingled.

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.”

“Me?” She gazed at the strange light in her palm, shifting as though through patterned glass.

“Yes. It seems my theory was correct.”

Cassandra joined them. “Meaning the mark could close the Breach itself.”

“Possibly,” Solas reminded her.

“Good to know!” A voice piped up. “I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever.” A dwarf stepped forward, shouldering his crossbow. He smiled at her. “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally,” he winked at Cassandra, “unwelcome tagalong.” Cassandra simply scowled.

“Varric Tethras?” The girl blinked in surprise. “The author? The Champion's friend?”

“Well, I'm certainly not Varric Tethras the court jester, though I may as well be. Maybe I should consider a new career path.” Despite everything, it managed to get a quiet little laugh from her. “My point exactly.” Varric grinned. “But for now, there’s demons to fight.”

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra said sharply, stepping forward. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but…”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

Varric's sly grin held steady, and the two faced off for a moment. The girl glanced between them, until Cassandra backed off with a grunt. “We must make our way to the forward camp.”

She realized the other soldiers and scouts had dispersed, some moving ahead already, others picking their way back down with injured. The elven soldier raised their hand to her in a silent wave, and she waved back shyly before they turned the path.

“This way,” Cassandra beckoned over a heap of rubble, “the path forward is blocked.” She took Cassandra's hands and stepped over, and the four of them now picked their way along a rocky outcrop.

“Well.” Varric chuckled. “Bianca’s excited.”

“Bianca?” The girl asked.

Cassandra scoffed. “His crossbow.”

“Hey, don’t use that tone with her. Bianca’s been out here saving your soldiers, Seeker.” Varric looked over his shoulder at Bianca, gazing lovingly, before turning back to the girl. “What about you, kid? What’s your name?”

She fell quiet again. She shied away, into her cloak, and looked down at the path as it steadied and widened.

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Varric waved it off in a well-meaning manner. “Some folks, I could go through a bar’s worth of drinks with, and I still won’t know their name. A mountain’s worth of demons—probably the same thing, right?”

She chuckled lightly again, one hand against cool rock as she made it up the slope. Something brushed her head, and she looked up—it was a pine branch, the needles catching on her hood. They were heading into a little grove now, a quiet place winding between the trees. She looked out over the mountain range, and her breath caught; the icy caps glimmered, snowflakes drifting on the breeze beneath an endless sky. The air still buzzed with unknown magic, but the wind blew the smoke away from here, and it tasted crisp—it tasted like freedom.

The girl filled her lungs with cold mountain air, and breathed out steam. As they climbed deeper into the pines, she said softly: “Adahlee.”

All three looked to her, and she was nervous, but she imagined the roots of the evergreens deep in the earth, and she stood just as strong. She placed her hand on a sticky trunk as they climbed. “My name is Adahlee.”

“Adahlee,” Cassandra repeated, and a smile bloomed on Adahlee's face. Cassandra held out a hand for her. “Thank you for trusting us.”

Adahlee beamed as she took Cassandra’s hand, stepping over a jagged rock.

Solas hummed, looking contemplative. “Do you know what your name means, da’len?”

“Yes—'tree!'” Adahlee chirped excitedly. “With '-ee' on the end… cause it sounds pretty.” It came out a shy murmur.

Varric grinned, and there was something in his eyes that gave the impression of understanding. “That’s a great name. Y’know, I picked my own; Varric Tethras just rolls off the tongue, don’t you think?”

Adahlee's curls bounced as she nodded, eyes wide and hopeful. She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again. Maybe not; or maybe so, but now wasn’t the time. Varric must have noticed, because he gave her a kind and knowing smile.

When the camp's gates creaked open, Solas said to her, “I saw your lightning strike by that first rift. For having no training, it was surprisingly streamlined. Well done.” Adahlee smiled wide.

“And hey,” Varric added, “whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful.”

She walked into the forward camp feeling better for the praise, but Adahlee was still wary of all the faces. Some looked at her, some didn’t. There were people tending to injuries, and her eyes widened at the sight of skin ripped in long, bloody claw marks. There were some lumps like bodies under sheets in rows, and past the bustle around them, she stared dismally. Who were they? Who were their families? Did they have anyone to see them off? There were bloodstains on the canvas in some places, and it almost made her sway on her feet.

Gently, Cassandra guided her forward by her elbow. “Come,” she said softly. “There will be time for mourning later.”

Adahlee said nothing. Along the bridge, she could see Leliana standing across from someone in white Chantry robes.

“I have caused trouble?” Adahlee heard her say, distantly.

“You, Cassandra, the Most Holy—haven’t you all done enough already?”

“You are not in command here!”

“Enough! I will not have it!”

The man in white looked over Leliana's shoulder, scowling. “Ah,” he scoffed, “here they come.”

Adahlee shrank back from the scrutiny, but Cassandra stepped protectively in front of her. Leliana gave the man a cold look, then turned to the group. “You made it.”

Adahlee peered around Cassandra. “Um, Leliana?”

“Yes?” Leliana gave Adahlee her full attention.

Adahlee nervously shifted from foot to foot, and the glowering man behind Leliana did her no favours, but the woman's gentle tone eased her. She took a deep breath. “My name is Adahlee.”

Leliana's smile was small, but by no means strained or false. “Thank you, Adahlee.”

Adahlee smiled in turn, bright among the havoc and gloom. Leliana gestured to the man in white. “This is Chancellor Roderick. Chancellor, Adahlee is—”

“I know who she is,” the Chancellor sneered. He looked down his nose at her, and Adahlee’s smile fell away. The butterflies at ‘she’ were quelled by his glare; she wanted nothing more than to hide. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face what punishment awaits.”

Adahlee's stomach dropped, and she locked up like a statue, staring at the Chancellor in terror. Criminal? What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong?

Cassandra slammed her hand on the table, making Adahlee jump. “Adahlee has committed no crime!”

“Oh? According to whom?” He looked at Solas with distaste. “This apostate?”

“It does not take a mage to see that no child could tear a hole in the sky,” Solas said coldly, “only someone with sense.”

Adahlee’s jaw dropped, and the words were pulled out of her before she could stop it: “You think I did this?”

The Chancellor's glare shut her mouth so fast her teeth clicked. Cassandra placed a strong hand on her shoulder. “I don’t.”

“Nor do I,” Leliana added.

Emboldened, or perhaps pushed to the edge, Adahlee spread her hand to the destruction around them. “Why would I do this to other people?” The words grew strained, and her cheeks were hot with shame from the tears in her eyes, but she felt the weight of the dead bodies and hollow homes, and couldn’t hold back. “Why would I do this to myself?” She held her hand up now, where the mark burned bright through her glove.

“We know you didn’t. It’s okay,” Varric soothed. Adahlee didn’t respond, her mouth twisted up in an attempt not to cry.

She didn’t want to look directly in the Chancellor's face, but she could see something in him drag down, and he hunched his shoulders—in defeat, or in an attempt to block the icy glares his way, Adahlee wasn’t sure. “Call a retreat, Seeker,” he finally said to Cassandra. “Our position here is hopeless.”

Cassandra leaned forward instead, her eyes hard. “We can stop this before it’s too late.”

“How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the Temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“We must get to the Temple. It’s the quickest route.”

“But not the safest,” Leliana interjected. “Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

Cassandra shook her head. “We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It is too risky.”

“Listen to me.” Chancellor Roderick leaned forward with his hands on the table, and there was something desperate in him. “Abandon this now, before more lives are lost.”

There was a flash as the Breach thundered overhead, and Adahlee's hand shuddered and glowed with power, a strange hissing in the air. Cassandra still held her shoulder, steadying, and gave her a gentle squeeze. “How do you think we should proceed?”

Adahlee whipped her head up. “Me?”

“Her?” Roderick gaped.

Cassandra glared daggers at him. “We cannot decide amongst ourselves.” She looked back to Adahlee. “You have the mark, and you are the one we must protect. You should have a say.”

Adahlee stood, disbelieving. She glanced between the faces; all wore patient looks, except for Roderick. She knotted her hands together, looked away, then between Solas and Varric. “Uh… what do you think?”

“It does not matter to me either way,” Solas said. “What is important is that we get you there safely.”

Varric expressed much the same in a simple, helpful shrug. Adahlee wrung her hands. The thought of using people as distractions made her feel sick. If it was up in the air how safe the pass was, and they had to get there alive…

“I think…” She began, hesitant, but no one took back their word. She continued: “If it’s risky either way, I'd rather take a risk in numbers. I want to march with the soldiers.”

Cassandra smiled lightly, and it set Adahlee's frayed nerves at ease. “Then we march.” She turned to the other woman. “Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone.”

Adahlee walked in step with Cassandra as they moved forward. In passing, Adahlee heard the Chancellor mutter: “On your head be the consequences, Seeker.”

Cassandra continued on with her sight set, and Adahlee turned from the camp, looking determinedly up at the mountaintop, too.

—

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas murmured when they reached it.

“What’s left of it,” Varric added.

The magic was stronger here, a palpable buzz along her skin. Jagged spikes of rock shot up from the ground, some crackling Fade green.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade, and our soldiers found you,” Cassandra noted softly. Adahlee followed her sight, and found rocky ground blasted flat, signs of scuffles in the ash. “They say there was a woman behind you, just as you mentioned.” Cassandra paused. “Do you know who she was?”

Adahlee stared out at the flaming rubble. She bowed her head. “No.”

“That’s alright,” Solas assured, “We can figure that out later. Let’s get to the Breach.”

In the midst of the ruin, spiked edges of the torn Veil contused in midair, shattered pieces of a divine image floating disjointed where it jolted. Fade essence swirled from the rift, up, up into the Breach. Adahlee craned her neck, but could only see light and stormy clouds.

“This rift was the first, and it is the key,” Solas said quietly. “Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

Cassandra stood unwavering at her side. “Are you ready?”

Adahlee didn’t tear her gaze from the Breach. Her hand throbbed, and she felt stretched thin, like a breath of wind would blow her away.

Somehow, she managed to swallow. Somehow, she stayed upright. “I’m ready.”

And somehow, she managed to put one foot in front of the other. But a chill rattled in her bones as a drone echoed through the temple: “Now is the hour of our victory.”

Adahlee felt the hair of her neck stand on end. Something about that was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

“Bring forth the sacrifice.”

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked, wary. Adahlee could feel Cassandra’s hand hover protectively at her back as Leliana's scouts glanced around.

“At a guess,” Solas said, “the person who created the Breach.”

Adahlee shivered.

Picking down a path and clambering over debris, with archers guarding her way, Adahlee spotted something up ahead. It was a shock of bright, bright red, like a bleeding wound from the rock.

“You know that’s red lyrium, Seeker,” Varric said, cautious.

“I see it, Varric.”

“But what’s it doing here?”

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it…” Solas trailed off.

Varric sighed, and steered Adahlee away from the spire. “It’s evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

“Keep the sacrifice still.” The voice shuddered through again; not a boom, but a slithering sound that made Adahlee feel cold.

“Someone help me!”

Adahlee startled at the words, spoken by another—

“That is Divine Justinia's voice!” Cassandra gasped.

They made haste now, Cassandra jumping down over a ledge, and holding out a hand to Adahlee. Once her feet touched the hard ground, the mark snapped and hissed; Adahlee held her wrist and tried not to whimper in pain as the rift sparked.

“Someone help me!” The Fade repeated.

A frightened cry echoed out, and Adahlee whipped her head up so fast her vision reeled—it was her own voice, a high-pitched shriek that vibrated in her ribcage, though it didn’t come from her throat.

“That was your voice.” Cassandra placed a grounding hand on her shoulder, but looked just as puzzled. “Most Holy called out to you, but…”

The mark glowed brighter and hotter, something like mist rising from it, and the crystalline shapes in midair burst to reveal a faded image. An old woman was suspended, her arms restrained; Adahlee didn’t recognize her, but could guess from her ornamental Chantry garb that it was Divine Justinia, her face contorted in fear. A shadowy figure loomed over her, impossibly tall, with fiery pits for eyes that bored into the Divine.

And then—her. Adahlee couldn’t breathe as she saw this projection of herself coalesce, seeming to peek out from nothing. The mirror image half-stifled a scream as it slapped a hand over its mouth, eyes wide in terror.

“Run while you can!” The Divine begged, struggling in her bonds. “Warn them!”

“We have an intruder.” The shadow turned its head to her, fire smoking in its wake. Her knees felt weak. Then, the thing raised a long, thin arm, and pointed a needle-like finger at her. “Slay the elf.”

Adahlee’s image collapsed to its knees, and in real time, she hit the ground with it as the apparition disappeared in Fade-flame.

“Adahlee!” Cassandra had a strong arm around her shoulders in an instant, but Adahlee could hardly feel it as her whole body tremored, panic shooting up her spine.

“Adahlee, look at me,” Solas said calmly, kneeling to meet her eyes, but she stared past him.

“It was going to kill me,” she sobbed, scrabbling back from where the Veil was broken and wrong, and she gasped, couldn’t find enough air. “It was going to kill me!”

“But you're alive.” Varric's voice was quiet next to her. “You’re alive! Whatever that thing was, it didn’t get you. You're right here, and you're alive, and breathing.” His face was a blur through her tears. “Breathe, okay?”

“Just as we did earlier,” Cassandra reminded her, and she remembered the movement. In through her nose, hold, out through her mouth. Deep and steadying in the belly. Adahlee’s tears fell, and then she could see her companions. Cassandra took a few more deep breaths with her, and offered her hand. Adahlee gladly held on tight.

“Do you remember none of that?” Cassandra asked gently. Adahlee shook her head, and Cassandra looked to Solas. “What was that vision?”

He gazed up, where strands of green flowed from the rift to the Breach. “An echo of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.” Solas turned back to them. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons,” Cassandra stated. Both of her hands covered Adahlee’s now. “Adahlee, are you ready?”

“We will protect you.” It was Leliana, standing quietly on the ledge above them. She already had an arrow notched loosely in her longbow. “Whatever comes through the rift, nothing shall reach you.”

“You got that right.” Varric patted her shoulder.

“When the demons come through, stay well back and let us deal with them.” Solas' tone was calm and even, quiet in the vast ruin. “Focus on opening the rift, and seal it after, just as we did before.”

Adahlee trembled still. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“You can.” Cassandra said it with such startling certainty, and her eyes held a sort of determination Adahlee had never seen in another. “I know you can.”

“Give yourself more credit, kid.” Varric offered her a kind smile. “You survived so damn much up to this point, you can survive this, too. And you've already sealed a couple rifts.”

“Opening one should not be too different,” Solas pointed out. He reached into his pack for another small bottle of the bitter potion. “Here, have some for your strength. I will guide you through opening the rift. Alright?”

She took the bottle, and uncorked it. “Alright.” Adahlee downed half of it easily, then corked and handed it back. She wiped away the last of her tears. Cassandra helped her stand, and though her stomach was still in knots, her knees didn’t give out again. Cassandra gently squeezed her hand. Adahlee was so scared.

“You can do this,” Cassandra reminded her. “Say it with me, please. Even if you do not believe it.”

She didn’t believe it. But she would try. “I… can do this,” she said unevenly.

Satisfied, Cassandra nodded. “Stand ready!” Her voice echoed off the crumbled walls, and metal sang through the desolation as soldiers unsheathed their swords. Behind Adahlee, she could hear bowstrings pull taut, and Varric clanking Bianca into position.

“Raise the mark to the rift,” Solas instructed, his staff at the ready. “Focus on it as you would open a jammed lock.”

Shakily, Adahlee raised her hand, and a stream of light flickered before beaming to the rift. It felt like a crooked bone, in need of breaking to set it right. Her whole arm thrummed with the power of it, and she gritted her teeth, grounding her feet in the dirt.

She stumbled back as the rift blasted open, magic crackling in the air like lightning, and she watched as something massive crawled out. The ground shuddered as a giant, spiked demon landed, and rose with a thunderous roar.

A wall of arrows streaked towards the thing as soldiers charged, Cassandra with them, and Adahlee backed up shakily until she hit the stone ledge where Leliana stood, firing above her. The thing swatted at the arrows and blades, swordsmen at its feet dodging the swipe of gnarled claws. It growled and stomped across the ground, sparking with twisted magic.

Solas muttered an incantation and grasped in midair, and for a moment the demon's feet were encased in ice, long enough for Cassandra to sink her blade in the back of its knee. Its howl shook the pebbles at Adahlee’s feet, and it broke free of the ice—and with a terrifying crack, it conjured a lightning whip from nothing, Cassandra just dodging the sharp lash. Its ghoulish cackle rendered Adahlee paralyzed.

“Adahlee, try using the mark to disrupt the rift!” Solas couldn’t look her way as he said it, dropping shimmering barriers over two archers for the lightning to bounce off. “Jostling it may stun the demon, the rift is its connection to this world!”

“How?!” Adahlee cried; she stayed in her corner and trembled, the rift’s glow out of reach, and felt like nothing for it. “It’s too far away!”

“I got it! You cover her!” Varric took a running slide to the other end of the hollow ruin, and with a well-aimed shot, a bolt lodged itself deep in the demon's side. It bellowed with rage, and turned snarling in Varric's direction. For a moment, Adahlee stood horrified as it slowly advanced, and Varric just kept backing out of reach with a grin as soldiers lashed at its legs.

“Go!” Solas waved her over, and she remembered how to move again, sprinting just past him and engaging the tear. The force of the power physically vibrated her arm—but with something like a tug, the connection jolted, and the demon went crashing to its knees.

“Now!” Cassandra yelled, jumping on the creature’s back with her sword swinging.

Something skittered and hissed, and Adahlee didn’t have time to react before seeing an arrow shoot through a shade’s gleaming eye, then clatter to stone as it faded into nothing.

“More coming through!” Solas shouted, shards of ice dissipating a wisp as more floated like strange lights around the battlefield. One threw its arms forward, and a bolt of energy shot forth, straight at Adahlee—she curled her arms over her face and screamed—

The impact never came. She peered around her arms to see a barrier over her, its glimmer only just beginning to go out. In front of her, Solas fiercely swiped his staff, sending searing purple light flying. The wisp wasn’t there anymore. The air smelled of dirt and burning. Another demon slithered from the shadows, and Adahlee held her arms out like the wisp, willing something to come forth. “Leave me alone.” She gritted her teeth, and physically pushed; lightning from her hands blasted the demon into mist. “Leave me alone!”

The giant demon roared as Cassandra hung tight to its horn, and sank her blade deep behind the crest on its head. With a guttural, echoing scream, it crumbled and drifted like dust in the air; Cassandra landed easily with a roll in the dirt. “Now!” She cried to Adahlee, “Seal the rift!”

“Just as before!” Solas encouraged.

Stones crunched beneath her feet as Adahlee ran, then held her hand to the tear. Stitch the wound. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She could feel the power of the Veil through her whole being, shaking her core, a tremendous and terrible symphony from depths to stars. Everything was emerald, like before. But this—her final thought in the moment—this was real.

The blast was so loud it was silent, then thundering as it streaked and exploded, racing through the sky, and Adahlee's vision went green-white before black.

[heavymetalmuppet]

sycamore girl: chapter masterlist

"What didn't you do to bury me but you forgot that I was a seed." - Dinos Christianopoulos Adahlee, a girl from the Ostwick alienage, wakes up in a place where no one knows her, with the unraveling world's last chance in her palm. Orphaned and with nothing left to lose, Adahlee makes the choice to live, or die trying—a choice that teaches her her own worth.

WHAT TO EXPECT: this is my rewrite of inquisition with a teenage 'herald of andraste.' so some things will be different! not a full novelization but i will certainly pull from the game for some scenes/dialogue and just changing shit accordingly (and also making it suck a little less lol). adahlee's story features a lot of learning self-love, found family, and reconnecting to jewish heritage (as dragon age elves are very jewish). AS A GENERAL WARNING: this story will touch on past emotional/verbal abuse and healing from it. i'll add warnings for more specific stuff as they come up at the beginning of every chapter. please let me know if there's any way you find my system for content warnings lacking! i want to keep this accessible for everyone. THE TZEDAKAH CHALLENGE: i'm asking all readers, if you have $5 or more to spare, donate it to LIFE FOR GAZA every time i post a chapter. this campaign by the municipality of gaza is for restoring access to clean water, rebuilding roads, and cleaning up waste amid the ongoing genocide. leave a comment with how much you donate each chapter, and i'll tally it up; let's see how much we can raise together by the end of the fic!

also available to read on ao3

CHAPTERS

awaken

the inquisition

vhenadahl

women to look up to, I

tisulan

warriors

women to look up to, II (coming soon)

[thedreadgay]

i have a project i've been doing!!! i'm trying my hand at drawing my jojo ocs in the manga styles of their respective parts

SO, here's battle tendency with tzizi 🪬 (any pronouns)

tzizi is a very old hamon master (and joestar ancestor) who strikes a deal with the pillar men to help them find the red stone of aja. (more about them under the cut cause i love them lol)

so hamon passively slows aging, but tzizi pioneered a technique to actively slow it for a love of being alive and learning, a desire to see all the world has to offer and watch it change, and to push the limits/see what they could do. they look late 30s-early 40s but by the time of battle tendency they're ~350

i thought it'd be cool if part of why jonathan picked up hamon so fast is cause it ran in the family, so what i thought of is that the joestars are descended from tzizi's younger sister sarah

tzizi has Very big jewish auntie/slavic uncle vibes and helped raise their niece and great nephew (jonathan's grandfather). but the sudden death of their great nephew had them withdrawing from their descendants in their grief, thinking their family didn't need them anymore :(

by roughly the time of battle tendency tzizi's been wandering the world alone for a long time. they've got a couple screws loose from loneliness, being so old, and just kind of being an eccentric oddball in general, but they're very kind, compassionate, curious, and a bit goofy! they're just kind of kooky but very loving, i kind of picture them like an androgynous miss frizzle y'know

when the pillar men awaken a couple years early and track them down for info on the super aja, tzizi deems their desire for the sun no threat to the greater good, so agrees to help on the condition that they accompany the pillar men to keep each other in check but they become besties!!!! and tzizi and kars and esidisi become a dilf triad u know how it goes 🙈❤️💕

battle tendency goes a lot differently, w/ tzizi and the pillar men being like, ooh u don't know if they're FRIEND OR FOE, but then they're pals and the main villain is straizo instead lol

and tzizi and joseph are absolute menaces who like to tease each other (joseph calls them a fossil, tzizi calls him a brat 😂) but they r the auntie nephew duo of ever and love each other very much. AND EVERYONE IS FRIENDS AND THINGS R GOOD!!!!

[thedreadgay]

goth jewish husbands judge the fashion choices of normies in the streets, more at 11

a little bit late for bruabba week day 7 but here it is (free day)! happy passover also!!!

[thedreadgay]

have a jewish bruno + abbacchio headcanon of mine on this fine afternoon. signed: ur local jewish gay

for bruabba week 2021, days 2 (childhood) and 6 (family)

transcription under the cut!

Keep reading

[thedreadgay]

‘you have moonlight in your hair, dear’

the beach farm is extra fun when ur farmer is a mermaid

[thedreadgay]

8 days of jewish elves, day 5: merrill and her gf roslin hawke (who is human and elven), inspired by this passage from an anthology of lgbt+ religion and spirituality. i think it’s a wonderful testament to the beauty and divinity of jewish wlw!

[thedreadgay]

8 days of jewish elves, day 4: (my gf) teia cantori as yehudit (judith)!

the gist of yehudit’s story is that she charmed an invading general into getting him alone, got him literally black-out drunk, and beheaded him with his own sword, thus saving her town. which is very fitting for teia!!!

we eat cheese during chanukah to honour yehudit’s cleverness and bravery! and wine and fruit represent life for us, so i thought it fitting to include, and i love that it’s part of the story too since it’s so integral to any jewish celebration. l’chaim babes!!!

[thedreadgay]

8 days of jewish elves, day 3:

chanukah is ultimately a celebration of revolution and resistance against assimilation, so i thought it’d be fitting to draw briala!!! she probably loves chanukah