“They’re arguing again,” Verethrin sighs, plopping next to Ash. She looks up from her food to see the young, aspiring Keeper looking not so young anymore. Heavy bags hang under his eyes and his scales have taken on a purple-ish hue as he continues to recover from the battle.
“What about this time?” Ash asks, sipping on more of her soup. Memae, Mamae, Merith, Melarue, and Henne’thel have been in talks for the last week - discussing the future and what they need to do. At least they have agreed they’re formally allied now, but that of course brought up more issues that Ash is not supposed to be privy to. Except Verethrin had been included in the talks as all of the Keepers have taken a shining to him. He needs to learn how to be a Keeper, after all.
“Location for the city,” he replies, snatching a piece of her bread. The third day of talks had ended in the agreement that they needed to settle a city. Problem is, none of them know where a city should be settled. So far, Ash’s input has not been requested. It takes all of her self control to not walk into that aravel and proclaim her knowledge. She needs to practice self-restraint and...trust in her mothers.
“That is a big question to answer, they should be talking about it,” she says.
“It’s ridiculous, they should be asking you,” he grouses. After that first bout of arguments, he had found her on the outskirts of the camp, lying in the grass, staring up at the stars, wondering about how different they were from her time. They didn’t speak for a while, but then she sighed and told him in an uncharacteristically soft tone her story. She told him about her time and her mother and nanae. She told him why she had rushed into the camp to save everyone and why she understood his pain so well. He told her stories of his family. By the end, they were both in tears.
“To be fair, I don’t really know anything about city planning.”
“But you’ve seen cities! None of us have - none of them have,” he argues, but she shrugs.
“I need to earn their trust back, it doesn’t just happen overnight.” As much as she wants to walk into that aravel and proclaim she knows what to do, how to help, she can’t. She wasn’t invited into the talks and so she’ll remain outside, watching and being with the clans.
Verethrin gives her a long look that makes her want to laugh. His frustration mirrors her own, but he seems to be handling it like how she wants to handle it. Which does nothing to stem her own desires to storm into the aravel and demand to be heard. His reactions make her wonder if this disposition is the result of being so young to lose so much, to see so much tragedy.
“If they want my opinion, they will come for it. At some point, you stop sticking your hand into a hot pot,” she says.
“We can’t stay here much longer,” he whispers, “our food stores are low, and the surrounding land isn’t going to offer enough for all of us. We need a solution, sooner rather than later.”
Ash sighs. She knows and dual desires build within her. She knows what’s best is that they find a place to settle and soon, so they can start planting foods. But she also knows that if she storms into the aravel and proclaims this and says that they need to settle where she thinks is best, no one will listen.
But perhaps….
“I can’t go in and say anything and be heard,” Ash says in a measured tone, “but...you could.”
“What?”
“You are privy to the talks and while I suppose you’re there to learn, you can propose ideas. Memae and Mamae are still cross with me, but they’ll hear an idea from you.”
“But I don’t have any ideas!” He argues. Ash grins mischievously and shrugs.
“I do.”
His brow furrows until realization strikes him, “You...that’s brilliant, Ash.”
“Alright, here’s what you need to say….”
She details to him what she knows about cities. She was telling the truth when she said is no expert in city planning, but Verethrin was right too - she knows more than they do in this moment.
They spend two hours going over everything Ash knows about cities. From Verethrin’s questions, she knows more than she initially thought. She can even draw structures from memory - the water mill from the village she lived in when her magic surfaced, Skyhold’s walls and battlements, and even the ubiquitous windmill. She doesn’t give the drawings to Verethrin right away, they would definitely know the suggestion came from her if he presented the drawings. But the pictures help illustrate the necessity of flowing water, a defensible position, and enough land to grow enough food to store.
Ash doesn’t care where they find these things, but the location needs everything for it to work long term.
The next day, Ash is helping reset wards when familiar footsteps sound behind her. Her ear twitches and finishes with the current ward before turning to her memae, cocking her head slightly.
“I thought you were in talks all day,” she says, daring to broach the subject.
“I thought the same thing, but then young Verethrin came forward today with some much needed insight. He was a deciding vote to find a river in a valley rather than settling in the mountains. We were all very impressed with this insight,” she says and Ash tries to keep her face as flat as possible.
“Oh, that’s good.” She bites her tongue to stop herself from asking anything else lest she give herself away.
“Da’len, I know you gave him the ideas,” Memae says, voice stern and Ash curses.
“Memae, I can explain -
“Good job.”
Surely Ash misheard? “Did...wait, you’re not mad?”
Memae shakes her head, a proud smile spreading across her face, “A few months ago, you would have stormed into that aravel, demanding to be heard. But today you were clever and expressed your ideas in a way that would increase their likelihood to be heard. You did well.”
Ash stops and considers her mother for a moment. She’s grown taller than Nimronyn when she is in elven form, slight but her power still radiates off her. Still, there are moments when it’s almost as if Ash feels larger and displaced. Strangely, this is not one of those moments. It’s been a long time since her mother looked at her like this, with pride. Ash hadn’t realized she missed the expression so much until now.
She blinks then smiles, “I want to help. Verethrin did bring up a good point, though. Why wasn’t I included in these meetings? Regardless of what’s happened, I do know the most about cities.”
Nimronyn sighs and shakes her head, “It was not my or Sylmae’s decision. We wanted you there for that very reason, but….the others disagreed. We didn’t think it was wise to tell them your story.”
“And by others, you mean Melarue and Merith. Or really mostly Melarue, that...would be like them.” She hates that she has this adversarial relationship with Melarue. It’s ridiculous in her mind, and it hurts in her heart. She thinks it could be remedied if she told them the truth, but it would hurt them, and after all this time....she doesn’t want them to hurt, even if their not knowing hurts her in turn. But then again, they are different here. Who knows if this Melarue could ever love Mama like her nanae did? They certainly don’t seem able to hold any affection for Ash, they barely respect her...if that. She’s avoided them since that night, opting to eat away from the clan if they make an appearance, which is most of the time.
“It seems, whatever time I am in, people want me to be smaller. It’d be easier for them if I wasn’t this tall, this broad. It would be easier for you all if I didn’t feel so big, if my emotions were smaller and more easily contained. But I am not smaller, and I’m tired of apologizing for being who I am,” she says, feeling bitter and wronged, and tired. She was an outsider as a child, a vashoth surrounded by good little human children. A mage surrounded by good little Andrastians who were scared of her. A Saarebas to the Tal-Vashoth they came across, and then the Inquisitor’s child who couldn’t have anything in common with the other children in Skyhold, of course. And then here, she was burdened with knowledge and a history, a name and languages they did not know. Everywhere she has gone, she hasn’t fit, and they have done their damnedest to shrink her into this better mold. A less Vashoth mold, less magical, shorter, slighter, less opinionated and less passionate.
“Da’len!” Memae cries, clearly distraught as she rushes to Ash and takes her face in her small hands. “You are perfect the size. You have made mistakes but those do not define you. I love your passion, and so what if you’re tall? Your mother is taller and bigger and no one wants her to be smaller. It would be easier if you didn’t rush off into danger...but I am coming to realize that is who you are. Let us help you, da’len, so when you do...you come back.” As she speaks, she gently tugs Ash down until their foreheads rest against each other.
“You are my daughter, no matter what. I love you so much and I want you to be safe and happy. It pains me to see you struggle like this.”
Ash’s heart twinges, “Does it hurt you to see others so furious with me?” She can’t help whisper the question. She has felt so alone as of late. Verethrin’s clan is nothing but grateful to her for her intervention, but Merith’s clan and her own have been eyeing her. Her own looks at her as if she is fragile and might break since they know. But Merith’s...so many see her as this reckless, dangerous person with little regard for others. She may be reckless, she may run into danger like her mother says, but careless for life? None of them understand just how much she values life after seeing so much death.
Memae grows stiff, “I will not suffer anyone who disrespects you, da’len. That said, I was serious when I said you are not to have as much influence in the clan as you did. You need to learn that your actions have consequences.”
“I know, I just…” she tries for the words but they’re not there. Memae knows how she feels, the Ash has never been good at disguising her emotions. Instead she sighs and looks her mother in the eye with a knowing look, “Rivers are better than lakes.”
Memae smiles then takes Ash’s hand, “I will remember that. Now, I smell dinner and it has been too long since you have eaten with your people, da’len.”
**
In two days, the little council consisting of Memae, Mamae, Merith, Henne’thel, Melarue, and Verethrin settle on the location to build. There is a mountain range several hundred miles from here that is so remote that the clans rarely travel there. Reportedly, the journey can be quite fraught with dangers, but by all means the destination sounds heavenly. In the center of the mountain range is a valley where two rivers converge before flowing father down the mountainside into the ocean.
Memae reports that this valley is replete with glittering wildflowers and gentle-natured spirits. It’s far and the journey may be hard, but it is worth it. Ash agrees with the decision and some of the stress eases. She did what she could and managed to not upset things further. Even if Melarue and the others still give her sidelong glances - she helped, there’s forward motion.
There is time. She has to remind herself, and there is. There is time to learn and grow strong to weather the storm approaching.
Before they take to the skies, she and several others are tasked with warding the aravels together to sync with Nimronyn and Merith who will be flying them all there. Henne’thel will remain in her elven form, tending to the needs of the people for the weeks long journey.
Ash cuts her hand and murmurs her spells as she draws the wards in her blood. The others are doing the same. It normally wouldn’t require blood, but with the worry over the safety of the trip, everyone is taking extra precautions.
It’s been a mad dash to pack everything up and to make sure they have as many rations as possible to last them. Ash knows she can go for a long time without food, but she doubts many of the people here have had to endure such a terrible thing. For which she is glad. If it comes to it, she will ensure the people are fed, even if it means she is not.
Launch day arrives. Ash helps coordinate the aravels into the proper flight formation. It’s actually pretty interesting how everything locks in together with the warding and flight runes. It seems that there are still days that amaze her when it comes to the use of magic. The aravels form what she views as a magical levitation puzzle. Each hones into the magic of the keeper and then somehow, lift off. It’s probably, no, she knows it’s more complicated than that, but it’s how she understands it.
They are taking on a different flight formation. Instead of having the keeper at the front with trailing aravels, Merith and Nimronyn are sandwiching the mass of aravels with Memae on top and Merith on the bottom. The magical flight pattern holding everything together is stronger this way, and it allows for a more spherical shaped barrier to form with the keepers acting at the poles for the magic.
Taking off with this pattern is more difficult, however. Memae takes off first, her great wings slowly and steadily propelling her higher into the air. Ash and everyone else who is not in a draconic form are inside their respective aravels, monitoring the exchange of magic. The air swells with power that Ash recognizes as Memae’s. With an incredible show of power, Memae singularly lifts all of the aravels in the air after her. Bit by bit, all of the aravels rise up to her. Mamae makes a low sound of concern as they climb, but Memae is strong and steadfast. The aravels remain airborne as enough space between them and the ground forms for Merith to at last take flight.
The air shifts as Merith eases into the air and shoulders half of the magical weight of the aravels. Ash strides to the front of the aravel when she feels the shift. The ward on the wheel glows faintly, beckoning her. She places her hand over the ward and adds her energy to the magical array. Blue fire crackles outside and arches upward, coasting over the barrier that is being boosted by every single aravel. Her fire mixes with the myriad of magic, creating a radiant rainbow display of a barrier. The magicks fuse together, strengthening even as they help buoy the hurdling caravan.
Now set, Memae and Merith begin their forward motion. To better places, Ash thinks, to a home.
**
“We haven’t had much time to talk since I’ve arrived,” Henne’thel says as Ash renews one of the wards on her aravel. She is leaning back in a chair, her Keeper’s armor still donned just in case of a crisis, a steaming cup of tea in hand. Ash arches a curious brow at her.
“I suppose not. A lot’s happened,” Ash says, hiding her nervousness. She has avoided Melarue and most of Merith’s clan if possible over the past four days, keeping to her duties to renew the wards and to relay information to Memae when it’s her turn. She’s been rather keen to avoid more criticism, she’s still feeling more fragile that she is comfortable with and she would rather not have a break down while they’re thousands of miles in the air, hurdling through the Dreaming to a place she’s never seen.
“Yes it has. I wasn’t surprised when your clan called mine to discuss this route. It’s been clear to me for awhile. But the elder Keepers are a stubborn lot,” Henne’thel says, tilting her head slightly. “You did the right thing. It scares them, you know, to see someone so young do something so…
“Reckless?”
“Brave. Sure, it could have been planned better - but they could have spoken to you about it too. They could have worked with you instead of trying to prevent you from doing what you saw as necessary. And it was necessary. You kicked ass, you charged into that camp and showed the Empire they can’t get away with it anymore.”
This is certainly not what Ash expected and it makes her smile, “Thank you. Though, Melarue has a point, I made us more of a target with my actions -
“We were already targets,” Henne’thel says gravely.
Ash nods, “Thank you! I feel like sometimes I’m the only one who is taking this threat seriously, well, me and Verethrin and his clan. Part of me doesn’t regret at all what happened, it forced everyone to open their eyes to what the empire is.”
“Your mothers may disagree with me, but I agree with that part of you. Almost dying, almost getting people killed, is just that - almost. Be more careful in the future because our enemies will be more careful, but I can’t regret a mission that saw the liberation and salvation of so many.” Henne’thel rises and steps over to a crate. She pulls out a large decanter, the steaming cup of tea forgotten as she produces two other cups.
“Want some?”
Ash quirks a brow, “Is that…?”
“Alcohol, a brew made by a more southern roaming clan my parents liked to trade with.” She uncorks the bottle and pours a cup, offering it to Ash.
She takes the cup and samples the brew. “Mm, nice.” She slams the rest back, the alcohol burning nicely down her throat. Oh, she missed this. She wasn’t ever a big drinker, but she enjoys it. And after everything…she can use something to help her loosen up and forget at least for a little bit.
**
She drinks a lot.
It didn’t start out with the intention to get drunk. Ash figured it would just be nice to drink with a friend after everything that has happened. Some levity seemed to be in order.
A little levity turned into a lot when Henne’thel started playing her bipa and Ash dancing on the topside of Henne’thel’s aravel. A few others joined them and a few other instruments were added into the mix. Ash twirls around and lets the music flow through her just as the alcohol flows through her body.
“Ash?” A familiar voice says and she turns out to see Verethrin, eyes wide as he watches her swaying body.
“Vere! Come dance with me!” She snags his wrist and ushers him closer to the center of the aravel. She turns him around and steps along with the music. She laughs and twirls and feels lighter than she has in...months. Years maybe.
Verethrin has two left feet that Ash decides some loosening up. She grabs a bottle, note a different bottle from the one Henne’thel start her on, and pours him a full goblet, dark droplets of wine spilling over as pours.
“Loosen up!” She shoves the goblet in his hands then twirls away with the music. She claps her hands and loses herself just a bit in the music some more. The music soars and Verethrin seems to finally finish his drink because he’s with her, twirling and dancing with her.
She only stops when a familiar figure float down to the aravel, twin braids flopping next to his face while Reverie sits upon his shoulder. Daern’thal’s gaze finds her and she feels her heart drop from lightheartedness to concern. They haven’t spoken much, if at all since that night.
Ash swallows and walks to him, knowing she’s drunk, knowing she’s not elegant or eloquent or whatever it is she should be. It doesn’t matter.
Her eyes turn sad and apologetic, and the air around her reflects that as she speaks, “I’m so sorry for putting you and everyone in danger. I never wanted, I never want that. I love you and our people, and I want to help so much.”
He pauses and then sighs before Reverie speaks, “You disobeyed the Keeper.”
She shrugs, and she knows it’s a bigger deal, but, “My name literally means one who seeks rebellion, I’m doing the best I can.”
A prolonged pause stretches before them, even the music stops as everyone watches what Daern’thal decides to do. Surprising everyone, he walks past Ash and her heart falls. He really won’t forgive her? He has to know she’d never purposefully hurt him, ever. She turns to watch him as he grabs her current bottle. He meets her eyes as he takes a long swig then sets it down.
“I know, and that’s why I forgive you,” he finally says softly, then he turns and smiles, “Is this a party or what?” The others laugh and start playing again but Ash doesn’t resume dancing. Instead, she smiles sweetly and pulls Daern’thal into a tight hug. A puff of air leaves him as she holds him fast.
“Thank you,” she says in Qunlat. His arms come around her and Reverie leaps up onto her horn to dangle by her ear.
“We’ve missed you,” they whisper, still in qunlat.
“Me too, friend.”
**
Ash wakes with a dull thudding in her head, making her groan and turn into her bed more thoroughly. The world is hurting her, she must escape it.
“Ah, she finally rouses,” Sylmae screams. Alright, she’s probably not screaming, but it’s screaming to Ash’s ears.
Ash groans loudly and shrinks as best she can into the bed more. Her mamae bangs loudly about the aravel and it’s only because she know that her own voice will hurt her sensitive ears that she doesn’t tell her mamae to kindly stop.
She knows she stayed up entirely too late, drank too much, and was very irresponsible all things considered but really. She is young by everyone’s standards here and it has been so very long since she just let herself be.
She had danced through the night - with Verethrin, with Daern’thal, and even some of Merith’s clan had wandered over! She danced with some of them as well - singing terribly and dancing so much her feet now throb.
It was levity she needed, really they all needed it. The world isn’t actively ending, which is a thought that has been hard to internalize. At least, until last night. The stage is still being set, but that’s just it - it isn’t set yet, and she can’t, she shouldn’t, spend every moment of her life living in fear of when the sky is going to fall.
As Mamae clangs about in the aravel, however, Ash feels like at least the ceiling is falling.
She issues a short groan and snatches a pillow to hold over her head. The bed dips as Mamae sits next to her. She reaches over and sticks a steaming cup of tea close to Ash’s face, or as close it can get with the pillow in the way.
“We will need you today, da’len. Drink this and feel better.” Mamae is using her nice tone of voice, the one way to cajole Ash into doing something she doesn’t want to do. But it also means that she will persist until Ash does whatever Mamae wants done. She sighs as she realizes she won’t be getting back to sleep any time soon. Slowly, Ash turns, removing the pillow as she tentatively sits up. She doesn’t spare her mamae from a glare, though, as she takes the tea and sips it.
“Ugh!” It’s foul! Absolutely disgusting, so bad it makes her flinch and grimace.
“Take a few more sips, it’ll cure the hangover.”
“I’ll take the hangover, this is gross.”
“Da’len, we need you aware and able,” Mamae says with more force. Scowling, Ash sips at the tea. It gets worse and worse, but she drinks it until it’s three quarters empty. She passes the mug back to Mamae, still grimacing.
“I can’t have any more.”
“That should be enough,” she says, taking the mug from Ash before turning back to her, her demeanor suddenly very serious. “You will need your strength for the next several days, we are going to be in a dangerous part of the Dreaming.”
Ash frowns, “If it’s so dangerous, why don’t we travel around this part?”
Sylmae shakes her head, expression grave, “The area is so large that it would take entirely too long to go around. No, we must pass through it.” With that, Mamae pats Ash’s knee. “Now, get up, put your armor on and grab your spear. Join me on the deck.” She leaves Ash to herself then climbs out of the aravel and onto the top deck.
It’s strange that Mamae is so worried about this stretch of Dreaming. Yes, it’s the job of parents to worry, but this feels like it goes beyond that. Taking care to be prepared, Ash braids her hair back and secures it behind her horns in twin braided buns before stepping into her armor. Glittering green scales shed from her memae cover the front of her armor, marking her as Nimronyn’s daughter. She paints vitaar in a rectangle across her eyes and brow ridge, murmuring a spell as she cuts her finger on the tool to enhance her eyesight.
By the time she joins Mamae on the deck, her hangover has disappeared and she is alert, ready to face whatever it is that has Mamae so spooked.
Journeys are usually filled with ambient, pleasant noises - music, the clambering of clanmates, even singing and the clanging of pots as rations are cooked. The flight so far has been no different, but as she takes her place next to Mamae, she notices the disturbing lack of noise. Not to mention the ominous grayness of the sky. She’s never seen the Dreaming like this, the closest she’s seen this was back home in her dreams when a stray demon would invade her dreams. Even though, there was not the same level of heavy sense of foreboding plaguing her. Ash was a lucky mage when it came to demons, they tended to stay away from her. Looking back, she thinks that perhaps Nanae had something to do with that.
Nanae isn’t here, though. And while she has heard of demons in this land, she has yet to see one. Staring ahead as the sky darkens, Ash feels like she is about to see one after all.
Memae and Merith angle themselves, perfectly in sync so that all of the aravels turn with them and they catch a current of the Dreaming. Their speed increases, making Ash grateful she pulled her hair back.
A chilling wind breezes past the aravels, through the barrier. It slithers down Ash’s spine and prickles at her mind. Her fire sparks naturally at her fingertips, making her tighten her grasp on her spear.
The Keepers catch the current and soar higher before turning and following it down, down...down, until they are heading straight for a writhing mass of black energy. Ash’s throat grows dry and her heart begins to hammer as she feels it reach out to them. It is a tentative pull at emotions, dark feelings that she has worked so hard to control.
“Mamae...what is it?”
“What should have been a Keeper, but corrupted instead,” Sylmae whispers, “Desolation.”
What kind of a spirit was Nimronyn before she became a Keeper?
Nimronyn as a spirit wasn’t something like gentleness, or glory, or cunning. She was...the way a rock tumbles through a riverbed, slowly becoming smooth over time, the canyon scoured into a rock by centuries of a river’s path, the formation of a stalactite from hundreds of years of a steady and slow drip. Saying she was a former water or nature spirit isn’t quite accurate, but it is what many would describe her as.
“Asha’thylgar was lost due to Commander Zeal’s shortsightedness. He refused to listen to my council when I advised him to send for more reinforcements to ensure our position,” Certainty declares in front of his lord and the lord Elgar’nan. He has been punished for his failure to bring Asha’thylgar in to pay for her crimes, thoroughly punished. The wounds have only closed this morning after a healer was brought in to make him “meeting worthy”. His bones were mended, skin stitched back together. But it is his lord’s right to punish him, he failed. The loss of the Fear spirit also displeased Lord Falon’din, but all things can be repaired.
“Is this true, Zeal?” Elgar’nan asks, a halo of fire growing in size atop his head. Zeal pants, his hair and large swaths of skin have been burned from him - and not entirely from Elgar’nan either. Asha’thylgar’s keeper had torn through the camp with her flames and magic. Certainty now bore his own scar down his back from the fire. No matter, the scar will fuel him just as his Lord’s desire for Asha’thylgar.
“Certainty failed to express the seriousness of the solution -
“Enough of these excuses! Both of you FAILED! SPECTACULARLY!” Elgar’nan booms, rising from his throne. Falon’din remains on his, watching, blue eyes darting from Zeal to Certainty. His facade wavers for just a moment, giving Certainty a glimpse of the horror of his burned face.
Even with the burns, Certainty’s lord is more beautiful than any other person to have ever existed.
“My Lord,” Certainty says, falling to his knees in abject prostration, “It is my every privilege and love of life to serve you. Beat me, break me, and I will come back stronger and more dedicated to you than before. I will bring Asha’thylgar to you, I swear it with my very blood.” He trails a sharpened claw over his palm so that blood flows, binding him to his vow.
With extreme grace, Lord Falon’din rises from his repose.
“It is so difficult to find loyalty like yours, Certainty.” He runs a finger down Certainty’s face before raising his hand, pressing the finger into the blood. Certainty gasps but does not grimace at the pain. Relish in it, it is what the Lord wishes.
“Is what you say true? Is the failure to secure Asha’thylgar due to Zeal?” A heavy question and one that Certainty answers with ease.
“Yes.”
Falon’din straightens and turns to Zeal. His hand reaches out and secures around Zeal’s neck.
“FALON’DIN!” Elgar’nan shouts.
“I AM OWED!” Falon’din roars back as the life is pulled out of Zeal. Falon’din inhales as if he is breathing in Zeal’s life force. Perhaps he is, Certainty doesn’t know. What he does know is that Falon’din has granted him another chance.
And he will make the most of it. Asha’thylgar can elude him for only so long.
**
When Ash was a little girl, before her magic manifested, her and Mama had to cross the Frostback mountains into Ferelden. She doesn’t remember much from the trip other than it was bitterly cold. She clung to Mama the entire time inside of her cloak. She whined and cried about the cold. It felt like it was invading her body and there was nothing she could do. Inescapably cold.
On her seventeenth birthday, a volcano erupted from the magical torsion in the Fade that now merged fully with the waking world. The ash and soot shot up from the eruption blocked the sun. The next month was spent freezing and cut off from the main source of heat. She huddled with Uthvir, trying to stay warm. The cold only abated when the sky was set aflame and the end of the world was further hastened.
Ash has experienced cold. She knows it causes deep issues within her, even with her fire. Perhaps it is because of her fire that the cold affects her so much. She has experienced cold, and yet this chill is unlike all of the cold that has touched her.
This cold slips inside of her spine, wraps a hand around it as a voice whispers unknowable words in her ear. She feels the cold spread into her body, chasing the heat that normally courses through her body. Mamae shifts in discomfort while Ash grimaces in pain.
“Da’len?” Mamae asks and Ash waves her off. She is no stranger to pain.
“I don’t handle the cold well,” she says softly, “I’ll be fine.” Just as she says that, Nimronyn opens her mouth and golden fire spills out, blowing back due to their momentum. It curves over the barrier, chasing away the invading chill. Ash feels a hiss and pop where the cold had been leaching into her body. It slithers away, replaced by the familiar, comforting warmth of Memae’s fire.
Ash inhales and exhales a directed flame towards Memae in gratitude. The small blue flicker travels up and circles around Memae’s antlers before dissipating along her scales. She rumbles in affectionate acknowledgement that makes Ash smile briefly before turning her attention to the pulsating black mass of sucking energy. It pulls at Ash and a deep seated worry takes root.
Demons, Nanae once said, are corrupted spirits. They corrupt for a number of reasons, each one unique to that demon. Most corruptions are situational and dependent upon what the spirit embodied - a spirit of wisdom can turn to pride if its knowledge is never questioned, or if it remains in isolation, or perhaps if it decides that it can fix the world. They were fond of that analogy. Looking back, Ash understands why.
But this mass of negative energy is unlike anything she has ever encountered. Besides its massive size, the demon feels different. It should have been a Keeper, which...what could have happened to this spirit that was on the brink of turning into an immensely powerful being like a Keeper to turn it into...this? The idea terrifies her, but she also feels for it too. It must have been so horrible and traumatic to do this. As much as she fears the great beast before her, she can’t help but feel for it as well. A part of her recognizes that she could have easily been this - terrible and dark and lashing out in pain due to her trauma. It’s only because her adoptive mothers found her that she was able to work past it, to grow from her ashes instead of continuing to burn.
“Lock into formation to bolster the barrier!” A shout from another aravel interrupts Ash’s thoughts, making her realize they are about to breach the living darkness. It’s strange, for something so dangerous, it seems...so inviting.
Ash brings her spear forward, holding onto it so that her thumbs run over specific runes for barrier creation. She forces her magic into the spear then out to join the many others also lending their strength for the barrier. Their combined magic sets into a lattice pattern over the existing barrier, reinforcing it just as they breach the darkness.
It is not like nightfall, there is no gradual loss of light. It is a sudden, all encompassing void that leaves Ash temporarily blind as her eyes adjust.
Chanting reaches her ears then several small lights materialize inside the barrier around the aravels. Those not lending their strength to the barrier are lighting the way, she realizes, or at least keeping a light so that everyone can see what is happening.
What Ash first saw as one giant entity becomes clearer as really a mass of negative energy and spirits, colliding and separating in chaotic fashion. Their forms split then reform, and they scream as they hurtle through space so fast they nearly shatter. Several of the spirits, lesser demons, she recognizes as Rage and Despair, careen towards the barrier at breakneck speeds. They do not slow and shatter themselves upon the barrier.
“What is this?” Ash asks in disbelieving horror.
“Keepers cannot corrupt once they are corporeal, but they can corrupt still as spirits. It’s a delicate time. When what was corrupted into Desolation, it created a nexus of negative magical energies - spirits that came into contact with it are twisted and trapped. Turned into unwilling demons that further feed Desolation’s own power.” Sylmae’s voice is low and harsh but it does not escape Ash’s notice that there is concern there. She doesn’t imagine it is for Desolation per se, but more for Nimronyn.
Ash’s brow furrows. Spirits can be such delicate things with their natures. A tip in the wrong direction and they can corrupt or even shatter. Those that become Keepers are old and strong, true, but that fear of corruption...it stays, doesn’t it? Does Mamae fear Memae will corrupt still with all the fighting?
Worse, could it happen? Is that what the madness is? The Keepers corrupting as they go against their natures?
Unwilling to continue this line of thinking, Ash directs her attention to the swirling mass of demons. More shatter upon impact of the barrier as they continue to fly in deeper. While the barrier keeps the lesser demons out, she can hear them. Screaming spirits who assume misshapen faces that press against the barrier before they crack and shatter, begging for help. Poor, lost spirits sucked into Desolation’s pit.
Ash hazards a glance up and nearly loses formation with the barrier. While the barrier is keeping all the aravels and those within it safe, the Keepers are left exposed. The demons crash into Memae, screaming and clawing at her. Fire flies across her scales, chasing them off but only more replace those that fall off or shatter. She shakes her head, the talismans hanging from her antlers jerking around as she somehow continues her steady flight.
“Mamae!” Ash cries but Sylmae is already gone, leaping onto aravels and scaling them so she can get to Memae.
“Hold your position!” She shouts down to Ash as she climbs, one hand propelling her upwards while the other holds tightly to her weapon. Ash takes a deep breath and locks herself back into position, pushing more energy into the barrier. Her fire skitters across the lattice work, shattering several more lesser demons. She glances up to see Mamae leaping into the air and breaching the barrier to grab hold of Memae’s foot. Ash keeps herself from hollering in victory as Sylmae begins to swing demons and spirits off of Memae. She clambers up onto Memae’s back properly and the hammer begins to swing in full arcs, felling multiple demons with each swing.
The barrier rocks and Ash nearly stumbles, her gaze going down as she rights herself. Merith is fairing no better than Memae, worse actually. A cloud of green tinged air surrounds him that Ash recognizes as poison but poison does so little to those without bodies. Ash is about to call for someone to help him when a flash of black of fire barrels past her only to land on the aravel below hers.
Melarue. They are shrouded in a black flame as they leap from aravel to aravel, weapon raised high. It is a spear-like thing, their weapon, with a wicked blade attached resembles the end of a sword at one end. They launch themselves down to Merith and disappear into a sea of black.
Fear pulses through Ash. Has she lost them again? Only having just found them? They have not reconciled or -
There! She seems them! An incredibly fast figure battling the dark back with their own black fire. It wraps around the demons, yanking them from Merith and tossing them into the barrier. Their weapon glints by the light provided by the barrier as they carve into the demons. They are fast and meticulous as they clean Merith of the clawing fiends.
Reassured, Ash returns her focus to the barrier. It is becoming more difficult to maintain as more and more demons throw themselves against it. Each hit drains it just a bit more. How long can they keep this up? There is no end in sight of this horrid place, and if anything, it is getting worse.
The demons stop shattering upon impact and instead begin to wail upon the barrier, ghostly talons and fangs and wings ripping into it. She funnels another burst of fire into it, but it does little to stem the tide. Few demons die from it, none shatter.
“We need more power!” She shouts over the roars of the Keepers and the screams of the demons.
“From where?!” Henne’thel shouts back to her from her central aravel.
From where, indeed. She racks her brain, thinking…
“Blood!”
“Are you insane! The demons draw power from that!” Henne’thel shouts, clearly straining as she carriers the bulk of the barrier.
“So can we! If you can hold it, I can send out a pulse of fire to get us through!”
“Are you sure!”
“Yes!”
“Then fucking do it!” Henne’thel screams.
“Letting the barrier go,” Ash yells before she steps back. Immediately the weight shifts off her and Henne’thel groans loudly, a draconic sound as she takes on more of the barrier. Only for a moment, Ash reminds herself, grabbing the knife from her belt.
Taking a deep breath, Ash slices her palm and begins to recite a spell her nanae taught her.
“I didn’t know you had fire!”
“It’s a Fade Fire, da’len, now pay attention.”
She harnesses the memory and the spell inside of her. The power concentrates in her palm, a hot white sphere she guides to her spear. Carefully, she eases the spear forward just so that the tip reaches outside of the barrier.
Using all the force inside her body, she forces that sphere of power out through her spear.
It explodes from her and the spear into the inky air. A blazing white supernova tinged red with her blood. Magic shots from her and blazes through the demons in an arc surrounding barrier. It A great pulse of fiery magic that sends the demons up in smoke or flying from them in terror.
Drained and needing to catch her breath, Ash stumbles back, her spear retreating from the outside.
“Good, Ash! Now back in formation!” Henne’thel calls. Right, she has to help. With a groan and a set determination that is not so easily overwhelmed, Ash rises to her feet and resumes the position. Her magic joins the others to hold the barrier together. The shift is painful but quick, locking her into the system again.
A glance down shows that her burst of fire helped Melarue as well. They need only shove off the remains of demons from Merith’s hide. There are wounds all over Merith’s body that they quickly set to bandaging. A glance upward reveals a similar scene for Memae, but she seems to be in a better position overall. There is less blood sliding down her sides and there are no large wounds. Relief courses through Ash. They will survive this, this is only the trial before the promised land - quite literally.
The journey to Skyhold had been fraught as well. Haven had never been a secure location, which had only been exploited by the Red Templars lead by a mad, Blighted Corypheus who knew far more than they ever gave him credit for. She had nearly lost her mama that day to the avalanche she caused. Nanae had to carry her, screaming and crying to not leave Mama behind, away from the battle.
It was over a week before he had taken them to Skyhold, and even longer clearing the rubble to make it somewhat livable. For all its faults, Skyhold had been amazing. It was big enough for an army and defensible. In the end, it fell because he knew it so well.
This land they are traveling to is unknown to their enemies. It is far, far from the empire and from anyone that would interfere with their growth and resistance. It may not be entirely true, but when all you have is hope, you have to hope hard to get through the worst of it. Right now, speeding through a maelstrom of demons with only a barrier maintained by a couple dozen people, she needs all the hope she can get.
A great quake shakes Ash from her thoughts and pulls her attention to her surroundings once more. The darkness around them opens up, keening as it is pulled into a singular nexus below them.
“She’s here!” Henne’thel yells and Ash knows - they approach Desolation.
Another quake rocks the barrier and the Keepers grumble with discontent and worry. The shadows move, twining up over the barrier - long tentacles curving over the sphere. Magical weight presses against Ash, making her grunt at the strain. She’s pulling them down, Ash realizes. Or at least she is attempting to pull them. Memae hisses and her wings snap more quickly. All at once, fire chases the shadowy tendrils, snapping much of their hold. Nimronyn roars once more and begins to ascend. Merith issues a replying roar and follows Nimronyn. The aravels rock at the sudden direction shift, but Ash and the others hold fast, maintaining the barrier.
They fly high, up, up to escape the reaching tentacles when a roar shakes the world around them and a great mass smashes into the barrier. Unable to withstand the sudden onslaught, the barrier shatters.
**
When Fear saw an opportunity to escape Certainty and his lackeys, it took it. The night Asha’thylgar attacked, its cage was damaged, allowing it to shrink into the tiniest form it could then scurry away in frantic escape. It ran even as it knew that the chances for capture were high. It ran and ran and flew so much and so fast that it wasn’t until days later that it realized that no one had come after it.
It had stopped, looked around - no one was pursuing it.
Fear was...free?
Unsure of what to do with this newfound freedom, Fear continued to fly. To put more distance between it and the empire, just to be safe. It could be wrong, after all, they could be pursuing it and just biding their time. Fear wasn’t going to risk it.
It flew and flew until it felt her. As soon as it felt her, it tried to turn in the other direction, but like a fish caught in a whirlpool, struggle was futile. Little Fear was sent into the mass of Desolation. It was all it could do to keep from the other demons caught in her storm. It was flung through the air, ricocheting off of spikes in power and abnormalities in the Dreaming. It tried to escape, over and over again, to no avail. The pull was too strong.
Soon, it found itself being pulled into the nexus, spiraling down...down…
**
Chaos erupts with the shattered barrier. The once carefully held aravels go spinning, their magicks no longer tethered to each other. Ash’s aravel spins and careens downwards, a shadowy tendril shooting up and grasping her aravel.
“No!” She shouts, stabbing her spear into the tentacle and sending forth her fire. It screams and sizzles but holds fast.
“Fuck off!” She summons a white hot whip of fire and slams it into the tendril. It screeches and blessedly releases its hold. Before Ash can set to righting the aravel, three more tendrils shoot up. They seize the aravel and begin to tear it to shreds in its anger. Ash springs into action, summoning as much fire as she dares to fight the tendrils. But as she fights, she cannot right the quickly descending aravel. And if she rights the aravel, it gets torn apart. It very well may be torn apart anyways.
A roar of draconic pain catches her ear before she can decide anything. Her head automatically snaps up to see shadowed tentacles wrapping around Merith’s body, pulling him down. Melarue stands upon him, slashing and burning the tentacles but there are too many, Merith is too grand of a target -
Decided, Ash backs up to the hull of the aravel and angles her spear downward. Focusing on the Dreaming and the will to go, she sets the spear ablaze. The thrust is immediate and the aravel speeds through the air, wrenching itself free of the tendrils. The sail is shredded and the cabin has been opened to the world but she is ascending and it’s holding, that’s all that matters.
She directs the aravel close to a thick tentacle then whips her spear around while continuing the strong blaze of fire. It slams into the tentacle and she forces the fire down it, severing it and its hold on Merith. One down. She looks for and finds another tentacle, wrapped around Merith’s back leg. Melarue is fighting one that keeps trying to secure his neck -
Ash goes for the one on the leg, quickly attacking and severing it so she can take aim for the other tentacle. She sends a blast of fire farther down the tentacle, severing it. Melarue untangles it from Merith’s neck, then runs along his back to hack at more of the tendrils now trying to widen his wounds.
“For fuck’s sake,” Ash groans, casting fire as close to Merith as she dares. Her aravel rocks and starts to descend once more. Shit. She can’t keep the aravel up and fight the damned tentacles at the same time.
Somehow sensing her conflict, Melarue turns from their task for the briefest moment, “Let it go! Get up here!” They shout. Shit. Ash backs up only to run and leap across the space between the aravel and Merith.
For a brief moment, she feels the pull of gravity and wonders if she won’t make it - only to collide with Merith’s paw. Holding fat, Ash clambers up to his back to aid Melarue in ridding the Keeper of his assailants. She sweeps her spear down across his flank, slicing into a tentacle. It begins to writhe so she sets it aflame. Black fire joins hers for a moment then redirects to another tentacle, engulfing it.
Black and blue flames dance over Merith’s scales, and together they manage to push the tentacles far enough off to allow him to fly upward to rejoin the others. Ash doesn’t dare look up to see what is going on, lest she be distracted from the task at hand, but she hears another dragon’s roar and knows that Henne’thel must have taken on her draconic shape.
Ash and Melarue are on their knees as Merith’s ascends, looking for some stability even as they sweep their weapons down and out to the still reaching tentacles. They’re back to back, fighting, not unlike how she always pictured her nanae and mama fighting together - closing rifts and dispatching Red Templars.
A tentacle whips out and smacks Melarue hard enough to send them sprawling. They grunt and slide down Merith’s hide.
“No!” Ash shouts and lunges, stretching herself so that she straddles Merith’s spine as she reaches for and grabs Melarue’s hand. She grimaces at the stretch, but she has them, she’s not losing them. “Climb up me, I can’t pull you up!” She grinds out and they set to pulling themselves back to Merith’s steady back over Ash’s body. They pull and tug but it’s over quickly as they settle themselves back onto Merith.
“Thank you,” they breathe. She nods, still regaining her breath and trying not to pay too much attention to the aching stretch in her side and groin. She reaches out and touches their arm in acknowledgement.
The tentacles amazingly recede into the darkness below, allowing Merith to fly even faster. They’re so close to rejoining the others, and with the tentacles gone, Ash looks up.
Nimronyn and Henne’thel have managed to gather most of the aravels back between them, a new haphazard barrier surrounding them all. Sylmae is still astride Nimronyn, fighting off tentacles herself. Daern’thal of all people sits atop Henne’thel, but instead of fighting the tentacles, he seems to be casting what looks to be wide nets to pull in stray aravels.
She rests a hand on Merith, feeling his pain and determination to reach the rest of the clans. They just need to get through this and then he can rest. She suspects the other Keepers will need to rest as well.
Ash is contemplating how much farther they have to go to escape Desolation when she feels it. A great magical pull that snaps her attention to in front of Merith’s head. The biggest tentacle yet shoots up from the dark, larger than any of the Keepers and arcs down, too fast for Merith to dodge -
The tentacle slams into Merith. Ash is thrown violently from his back and she screams, unable to hold onto her spear. She flies through the air, accelerating downward into the darkness while Merith roars and Melarue yells. Everything is moving so fast, it’s hard to keep track of where she is and where the others are -
A wing clips her, redirecting her right into Melarue.
She smashes into them with a broken scream. The base of her right horn collides right into their face and she feels more than hears the snap of their nose breaking. They clutch at each other, trying to hold onto something sturdy even as they plummet.
“Stop! Stop!” Ash cries, moving her grasp to their hands. “Force fire out of your feet!” She screams, their position shifting until they are falling belly first. Dammit, wrong position. Ash tries to reangle herself so that they’re falling feet-first. Her and Melarue both strain for the feat, and once in that position - fire!
They don’t stop plummeting right away, the fire while being forced down, comes up around them in a swirling mass of black and blue. Purple eyes meet bright silver ones and for a moment, she feels so close to death’s doorstep she swears she is finally going to cross over. She could curse it. How long has she thrown herself carelessly towards death? How often has she come so close, waiting to be reunited with her family, only to live? And now that she wants to live, she dies?
The universe can fucking suck it, she decides, and forces more power out of herself until there is nothing left. The fire burns brighter and brighter until it is no longer black and blue but black and white that surrounds them - and then it doesn’t surround them, but propels them up!
Melarue smiles and even with the blood running down their face, they look so much like her nanae in that moment it makes her heart ache and spurr her to continue the flame. She, they, can do this. Together.
“Not sssooo fasssssst!” A thunderous voice echoes around them. All light save for her white flames flash out, leaving them in the dark. In a breath, what feels like a great hand seizes Melarue and Ash and forces them down. Ash’s concentration breaks and her fire goes out. They fall, fall -
Stop.
The sudden cease of falling jars them, jerking them back until it is like they are on their knees on the ground, looking up -
To the face of a monster.
Her glowing orange eyes are the size of aravels, peering down at them in hated curiosity. Shades and other demons trapped from her nexus make up the rest of her “face”, writhing and opening their own eyes to gaze upon Ash and Melarue. In hope? In fear?
“You daaaare enter my realm!”
“We mean only to pass through,” Melarue says.
“Ssssilenccce!” Desolation booms. “You will not take them from me! They are MINE!” A shade detaches itself from Desolation’s face and launches itself at Melarue, claws extended. She can see them struggle and know from her own immobility they cannot move -
“Stop! Please! It...It was my idea to come through here!” She shouts and the Shade stops just short of Melarue before turning its attention to her, its eyes burning orange. It slinks toward her, growling low.
“Ashokara!”
“Shut up!” She hisses back to Melarue even as they glower and fight against their restraints.
“Whyyy?” Desolation hisses, “You can’t have them!”
“You were going to be Keeper, right? You weren’t always like this,” Ash says, “when I heard that, I thought how could someone so great fall so far? What happened to you? Who, what hurt you?”
“Ssshut up!” She screams.
Ash continues, “You lost them, didn’t you? They were taken from you, the people you were meant to Keep. They were taken from you!”
“ENOUGH!” Desolation quakes with power and the Shade leaps forward, wrapping its claws around Ash’s throat. She gasps and feels its darkness slip into her mind.
“You’re all mine, now! Mine!” She wants Ash’s memories? She can have them!
Ash opens her mind like a book and remembers her world, burning and dying all around her. She remembers running from a collapsing Skyhold, an explosion taking her mama and then her nanae. She remembers having to let Aili go to plummet to her death. She remembers Uthvir’s shout for her to run as they twisted themselves into a more monstrous version of themselves. She remembers how the corruption overwhelmed even them. She lets Desolation see and feel it all.
“WHAT IS THISSSSSS?” Desolation wails. It’s only when Ash opens her eyes does she realize she had closed them. To her amazed horror, her memories play in the clouds of darkness around her. Not just the world burning though, but precious memories of Nanae tucking her into bed, reading to her. Mama singing to her as they walked along a flowering path in Orlais. Uthvir showing her how to properly hold a spear and stealing apple cakes from the kitchens with Aili. Krem giving her a soft dragon plush that has purple eyes just like hers. Dorian reading magical texts aloud to her because she always struggled with the words.
Mama and Nanae coming home and sweeping her into a hug, telling her they love her.
Love and heartbreak paint each memory and Desolation seems...enthralled by them.
“I lost them all too,” Ash says quietly, “because someone thought they knew how to fix the world and destroyed it instead. I lost...everyone I loved. I wanted to die for a long time, to see them again.” Desolation shifts so that her face is mere inches from Ash’s.
“Why didn’t you?” The question is softer than the screams from before and asked so...earnestly. It makes Ash’s heart hurt - this creature is not so different from her, is she?
“Some amazing people showed me it’s possible to love again. I still love all of them, and I love new people - as long as I am alive...I can love, and I can grow. And so can you.”
Desolation...blinks and the orange gives way to a soft blue. The demons still. One falls off, then another, and another. Or they’re released, Ash doesn’t know, all she knows is that Desolation isn’t what she seems. All this pain, all this rage - she is the product of what something did to her and she survived the only way she knew how.
“Who were you?” Ash asks, “what happened to you?”
Instead of replying, new memories begin to play around them. A beautiful, verdant field stretches out before them and in it rests a clan with a truly radiant Keeper. Their scales are an iridescent shade of green and instead of horns, two large frills crown their head and run the entire length of their serpentine body. She knows somehow that they were Patience, a softer spirit that took the form of a Keeper many, many years ago. She sees another spirit, a beautiful blue spirit of...Love. And Love loved the clan so much, she loved this Keeper too. As time stretched on, she grew more powerful and Patience waited for her while she gained enough power to become a Keeper herself. A clan with two Keepers - it was always the goal, and they were so close.
The memories swirl and rage and despair taint the images. A foreign force with no Keeper arrived, two elves astride harts approached Patience. Elves Ash recognize as Mythal and Elgar’nan, though younger and not nearly as powerful as she knows them. They brought Patience to talks under the guise of peace and then...slaughtered them. When their people railed against this, they too were slaughtered.
Love...lost everything, lost their love, lost what tethered her to the world. She felt her power was immense and so she laid waste to the Empire’s camp, she burned it and with each soul she took, she corrupted further and further. She wanted to shatter, she wanted to break, but couldn’t. So she flung herself to this far corner of the Dreaming to wallow, corrupting further and further until she didn’t recognize herself.
“You will always love them, you will always be Love,” Ash says to her, “they will always remember you as Love.” Testing the boundaries, Ash attempts to move her arm and finds she can. With her limited mobility, she reaches up and touches Desolation’s face that is now just shadow with the demons having fled.
A corrupted spirit cannot revert back to what it was previously, but it can change into something new, something...different. Desolation closes its eyes for the last time...to open them as Hope. Ash smiles, tears rolling down her face. That is always the first step, isn’t it? Hoping to move forward.
The darkness slowly dissipates and Hope’s form shifts from shadows to a sheer dark blue. Her hands come up under Ash and Melarue and they rise.
Nimronyn is diving and flying as fast she can when Ash spies her. “Memae!” She calls and Forgiveness turns, holding Ash and Melarue out to the searching Keeper.
Memae turns just as fast as she can, her jaw opening to release fire -
“Memae, no! She’s different now!” Ash calls, waving for her to stop. Her mouth doesn’t close but it doesn’t open any more than it already is. She stops just short of colliding with Hope’s face. The two stare at each other while Mamae leans down and helps Ash and Melarue to Memae’s back.
“Come quickly. Vhenan, we need to go, Merith can’t hold it for long,” Mamae says in Nimronyn’s ear. Clearly not happy about it, Memae turns and flies back to the aravels.
Ash, feeling the exhaustion and relief in equal measures flow through her, turns to look back at Hope. She winks and mimes blowing a kiss, but when she blows, a great magical wind catches them all. Ash yips in surprise to find them flying through the Dreaming - her, Memae, the aravels, Henne’thel, Merith, everyone - until they are at the edge of where they were to exit Desolation’s realm.
Memae works her wings quickly to orient herself.
“What did you do?” Mamae asks bewildered, staring at Ash.
Before Ash can say anything, Melarue answers, “She helped the spirit, who just helped us, it seems.”
They then take a moment to look around them. The sky is a brilliant shade of indigo, the land below is catching the dying sunlight but there is enough for Ash to know where they are.
The Fear spirit has proven useful. Its account of the battle between Asha’thylgar and Falon’Din has been documented, sealed, and poured over multiple times. It is currently housed in a warded cell, cowering but quiet. It used to cry, but Certainty made clear to it that would not be tolerated. While helpful, it’s annoying, unable to do much without proper prodding. Softer tactics had to be used. Certainty sent in Efficacy. She’s not the strongest or most skilled in interrogations but she is soft.
She had returned to Certainty, face devoid of emotion as she reported what the spirit had recounted. He praised her accomplishment, touching her hair only for her to jerk away and excuse herself for the rest of the day. Odd, but…acceptable, he supposes after the work she had done. She is untrained and Fear spirits can be tricky, reflecting fears back to the person interrogating them.
But it worked and the intel it had provided revealed something very interesting to Certainty. It was not Falon’Din’s fear or the fear of the soldiers that had corrupted Fear into the spirit it is, but it had been Asha’thylgar’s fear. Her fear of losing her people was so strong, so potent it twisted a spirit. She is a bleeding heart, waiting to be exploited.
For the next year and a half, Certainty moves pieces to lay a trap. Efficacy tells him that the camps are disliked and seen as horrifying, so he will use one to create the lure. Trapped and beaten people, preferably those captured from the woman’s clan, but if he plays his cards right – it won’t matter.
Falon’Din still wants an open battle with her, to show that she is nothing compared to him. Certainty will comply with that…to a point. He has found that the key to success often involves a certain amount of force applied to break the will. If she has nothing to fight for, then Falon’Din will most certainly win.
It is not an easy trap to lay, however. A camp must be constructed in just the right spot, which requires intel on where her clan is. Clan movements can be erratic, and this clan in particular has been given exceptional incentive to have confusing movements. His assassins are less assassins and more scouts, but when one of them comes back to tell him that they’re in the far eastern mountain range, and that the group nearly killed her, he has an idea of where they’ll go next.
North of the mountain range is a large lake that borders on a natural labyrinth of caves. It is the perfect place to hide and to plot, he would not be entirely surprised to find more than one clan hiding out there. He will create the camp somewhere in that region, but that will require convincing either Falon’Din or Elgarn’nan to expand their scope of conquest to include that area. It shouldn’t be too difficult, he imagines, once he details exactly why it would be useful to expand that frontier.
**
She takes care to investigate the caves thoroughly before letting the rest of the clan know that it’s safe to camp. It’s a beautiful tangle of caverns, twisting and twining together, some leading out to meadows, others only deeper and deeper into the earth. Some lead to crystal clear pools of water that most likely connect to the large lake just west of the main mouth of the cave. It is a natural place to camp out, which means that they should spend as little time here as possible.
But the caves prove to be easily fortified and the clan seems happy in them, even if something is not settling in Ash. Daern’thal tilts his head and Reverie flits to her shoulder to whisper in her ear.
“Something is bothering you,” the small spirit says.
“It’s an obvious place to camp,” she replies.
“That doesn’t make it less of a good place to camp,” they say. While true, it doesn’t settle her nerves. Any knowledge of this area would reveal the caves due to their immense size. A defensible location doesn’t automatically make it a good place to camp. But Sylmae and Nimronyn seem pleased with it in the meantime, so she quiets her doubts and fears in favor of food and the clan delights by the fire.
The night is uneventful, and Ash sleeps better than she has in a long time. She dreams of her mother and the stories she used to make up when Ash was little.
She spends the day training with Sylmae and learning from the Hahren. The next three days follow this pattern until on the fifth day, when almost all of Ash’s worry of the place has dissipated, she sees a figure running in the woods.
She’s checking the wards around one of the smaller exits from the network of caves when she sees them - clothing torn, blood running down their arms, hair matted from dirt and sweat. Their face is crazed as they run through the wood, crying.
“Help!” They cry when they see her, running towards her. She reflexively puts up a physical barrier between them. It’s supposed to be invisible, but hers is tinged with wandering blue flames, making the stranger stop and cry.
“Please! Help! They took my clan! My daughter!” They wail, wrapping frail arms around their body.
“Who took them?” Ash asks, resisting the urge to dispel the barrier and go to them. She must be wary.
“The empire!” They cry, “they killed the keeper and took his sons and our people! Please, help me!” Ash drops the barrier, her heartache overriding the caution her mothers have tried to instill in her. She strides forward, meaning to comfort them, but they fall, and she catches them out of reflex. They are wounded, their bleeding slow but their body is far colder than it ought to be. She lifts them and makes for camp.
“Tell me what happened.”
They sob and cling to her, shaking so hard she wonders if they will make it to camp. But their grip on her is tight and they look up at her, brown eyes full of sadness and a surprising amount of anger.
“Keeper Rethinel refused to go to Arlathan, he had heard the rumors of what happens to Keepers and their people there. Days later they came and attacked. They killed so many, and those they didn’t kill they took.” They grow incoherent and she tucks them closer to her, willing them to warm.
Ash runs the rest of the way to camp. The clan has grown stronger in the last two years, training harder, always aware that today could be the day….
What is the point of being strong if you will not lift up those who cannot help themselves? Mama once said in one of her war meetings. Ash had been sitting outside of the room, just happening to hear the tail end of a conversation about lending aid to…someone. Ash can’t remember.
Ash has strength, the clan has strength.
The clan erupts into a flurry of action when they see Ash barreling towards them with the elf in her arms.
“They need healing,” she says immediately. Healer Quenenel gestures her to follow him into his aravel where she gently lays them down.
“Who is this, Ashokara? I do not recognize them,” he asks as he begins the treatments.
“I am Yenirem, of Rethinel’s clan,” they murmur.
“Rethinel? Did that old codger do this to you?” Quenenel asks and they shake their head, sobbing once more.
“Rethinel has been slain!” They cry, covering their face with dirt and blood-stained hands. Quenenel goes still for a moment before turning somber and kneeling by their side. He turns to Ash and tells her to go get Nimronyn. Ash nods and quickly goes to find her adoptive mother. It is a short conversation that has the Keeper making haste to the healing aravel.
“Keep watch over the clan while I attend to this,” Nim commands and Ash nods. She’s familiar with the tasks before her, mostly just making sure the wards aren’t breached, that disputes are resolved if they arise. Keeping the clan calm is the biggest job of all, however.
Sylmae runs up to her after she sees Nimronyn move away, “Has something happened?”
“A nearby clan was captured by the empire, I found a survivor and brought them to Quenenel.”
“Which clan?”
“Rethinel, he was slain in the battle.” Sylmae’s eyes widen briefly before nodding and turning resolute. A familiar resolute scowl takes its place and she takes a deep breath.
“He was not the nicest Keeper, but he was good to his people, and old. Come, we have work.” And with that, Sylmae keeps Ash busy for the rest of the day tending to clan matters. A goat gives birth, a dispute between two of the hunters concerning who broke what is resolved, and other matters are resolved by the end of the day. The clan gathers around the fire for dinner as usual, though Nimronyn is late.
She is in her elf form when she finally exits the healing aravel and takes a seat next to Sylmae, face grim.
“We will be moving camp in the morning,” she announces.
“What?” Ash asks. She can’t mean to run from this! There are people who need help. People who will be tortured and enslaved if they do nothing. Ash knows her mother is scared of the danger but she can’t mean to outrun this. The empire can’t be outrun, at some point they will have to stand and fight, and they ought to make the decision where to do that before they have no choices left.
Nimronyn raises her hand in a silencing motion and shakes her head, “My decision is final.” A few people exchange looks and Ash notices that the clouds around them are distinctly neutral or kept close to their bodies. Others seemed relieved, but Ash counts three hunters and two warriors who seem…conspicuously neutral. The others may not see it exactly, but Ash knows how to read people without relying on emotion clouds – benefits of growing up in a world with a Veil. She sees Tanis’s nose flair and Bav’s lip twitch when Nim makes her decision. They keep their gazes low in a non-confrontational way. They…disapprove.
Disapproving of the Keeper’s actions is not a simple thing. Ash is…a special case. She’s always had a loose lid when it’s come to her opinions and she’s never done well with authority. Being Nim’s daughter also gives her leeway the others simply do not have.
Still, Ash keeps her opinions to herself for the remainder of dinner. There are times to be vocal and others to be quiet. Confrontation here will not serve any cause other than getting herself locked into her aravel for the night.
Sylmae eyes her, though. She’s too sharp to not notice anything out of the norm and Ash’s lack of rebuttal is abnormal. Ash helps clean up the remains of dinner, afterwards Sylmae walks Ash back to her aravel.
“Your mother’s decision does not come easily,” she says.
“I know. She is doing what is best for this clan,” Ash answers, hauling a barrel up onto the side of her aravel. She secures it and moves to the other parts of the aravel that should be loaded up tonight rather than in the morning.
“I’m glad you see her reasoning.” Sylmae isn’t convinced, Ash knows, but she’s called away to help secure other aravels.
“We move at dawn, sleep well, da’len.” She kisses Ash’s forehead before jogging over to help the rest of the clan with their burdens. Ash watches her go, resolve tightening in her gut. She has ‘til dawn then.
She makes eye contact with Tanis, firm in face, just a little wink to indicate that she sees him and his friends’ displeasure with the decision. He winks back. A shadow beyond Tanis moves and Daern’thal strides forward, up to Ash.
“You’re going to do something very stupid, aren’t you?” Reverie whispers low, Daern’thal’s face both incredulous and demanding.
“Define stupid.”
He rolls his eyes while Reverie gets more worked up, “You’ll get yourself killed! The keeper said –
“I know what she said,” Ash says, heading inside her aravel and drawing up a discrete silencing spell.
“I can’t sit back and let the empire torture innocent people when I have the power to make a difference,” she argues back.
“It’s the empire, Ash! Do you really have that much power?”
“If I don’t try, how will I know?”
“That is…terrible logic!”
“Do you have anything better?” She accuses. Really, does he think he can sway her from this? If there is even a chance she can help those poor people, she ought to take it. She is so sick of running, so sick feeling powerless against the tide. She has power, she is strong, shouldn’t use that to help?
“Yes! Listen to the keeper! She knows best and –
“She doesn’t know the full extent of what the empire is capable of. Whatever power they have now will only grow, we need to stop it while we can.”
“If you know what they can do, shouldn’t that give you more caution?”
“I did the cautious thing before, my world died. I’m not letting that happen again.”
“Have you once thought that perhaps your world dying was not your fault?” He asks, and she stills, turned away from him, halfway through putting on her armor.
“If you’re not going to help me, could you at least not blurt it out to the Keeper right away?” Daern’thal is a good man, devout to the Keeper and clan. It’s admirable, if not a little inconvenient for Ash’s more rebellious ideas.
He narrows his eyes and harrumphs, Reverie on his shoulder shivers and shifts into a spider.
“What do you want to do?”
She blinks, stopping in mid cuirass attachment.
“Really?”
“Really. I still think it’s madness, but you shouldn’t be doing this alone.”
Ash smiley wryly, “Who said I was going to be alone?”
**
The moon is high when Ash and Daernth’al leave her aravel and sneak into the woods outside of the caves. Tanis and five others are already there, arms crossed and scowling at the dirt.
“I got a cousin in Rethinel’s clan, and she’s got a kid no higher than my hip. I love the Keeper, I’d die for her, but I can’t stand back knowing that my cousin and her little one are being left to die.”
“The Keeper only wishes to keep us safe,” Daern’thal says softly.
“We’ve been training. It’s time to take this to those imperial fucks,” another warrior, Mazen, says.
Daern’thal looks to Ash, worried, “Have you been…?”
“They came to this themselves, I have incited nothing.” That is where she draws the line. Despite her disagreement on how active they ought to be when confronting the empire, Ash quite likes her adoptive mothers and seeks no real quarrel with them. She has no desire to inspire mutiny. Far from it.
She just…needs action.
Daern’thal still looks worried but not accusatory. To reassure him, she grasps his arm before striding forward and taking point.
“We have…three arches, Daern’thal is good with manipulation, traps. I have my fire and spear training with Sylmae. We have two front warriors, Mazen with sword and shield, and Devora with her hammer. Mazen, keep defensive of our archers, go after those who want to take them out. Devora, blaze in, take out heavies, I will have your flank. Daern’thal, keep our back guarded with whatever traps you have, and before we go in, can you somehow incapacitate or madden a few?”
“If they’re asleep or overly attached to the Dreaming, I can,” he says. She nods.
“Good.”
“Where exactly is this camp?” Devora asks.
“Right, Yenirem came from that direction. I know a retracing charm, so we can follow that in flying forms.” The group nods and in minutes they are in the air, following Ash as she follows a faint purple trail.
The camp is not far, only an hour of flying and they are on the ground, just by the wards of the camp. Fire illuminates the camp, guards roam the place, golden helmets marked with…Elgar’nan’s insignia, if she recalls correctly. At least they’re not Falon’din’s people?
It is a large camp, with people tied together, outside, in three different circles, all heavily warded and guarded. Ash’s group is outnumbered, severely so, but maybe…
“Daern’thal, can you set off the wards on the opposite end of the camp?” She says with her hands. He nods.
“Cause the Dreaming issues then wards?” She asks again. He nods once more before casting then slinking off to the other end. Ash and the others lay low in the brush, waiting for the signal, waiting for the guards to be distracted.
For a moment, Ash wonders if she’s doing the right thing, if this is even a manageable thing. When the world was dying, she felt like she was constantly on the run. She had holed up in a tiny cave once, with Uthvir and Aili. They had all pressed together in the cold, trying to ride it out, just hoping to see morning. Uthvir, less given to fire like Ash and Aili, was begrudgingly scrunched between them.
Corrupted elves found them in the wee hours of the morning. They managed to ambush them and break Ash’s horn before Uthvir killed them. It was her first introduction to Fear, long claws and a dark face, shadows filling the space. The cold didn’t touch them, death bled from the elves, but not once did Ash fear for her life. Uthvir was terrifying, but she had been glad for it.
Life had been different after that. Planning turned to simple survival. It wasn’t until she was forced into infancy that she had been able to stop and think about more than just surviving. She had tried explaining to Nimronyn and Sylmae the gravity of what she had been through, but they could never truly understand it. Her loss was a kind that could only be experienced, not explained. It had frustrated her to no end that they had not been as fearful as she, and not as terrifying as she wanted them to be.
Uthvir had been terrifying, and in that she had found comfort. They matched the environment around her and they could fight it. Nanae had been terrifying too, in a different way, but still terrifying. Mama and Aili struggled with being terrifying. They were soft and compassionate and wonderful, unsuited for the world that had befallen them.
But this world…she can breathe and plan, except that Nimronyn and Sylmae seem to rather run than fight for the future the world deserves. The world that should have been, could have been.
Ash can be terrifying if she wants to be. She can be the last remnant of a dead world and cause the change she wants.
A broken ward alarm blares through the night air and the guards run towards it – on the opposite end of where Ash and the warriors are.
“Go!” She declares. She disables the wards around them and they sneak into the camp. Tanis takes the archers behind a tent, laying low, while Mazen remains close but at a different tent. Devora and Ash take point, ahead of them all, taking stock of everything around them. Screams and clashes and confusion erupt from where Daern’thal set off the wards.
“What was that?”
“Reveal yourself!”
“Stupid animal.”
She looks to Tanis who holds up fingers, signaling to her that there are…fifty, no…sixty guards. Shit. It’s too many, but they can’t turn back now.
Alright, she can salvage this. Ash takes a deep breath and centers herself. When she lets the breath out, fire goes with it.
She signals to the archers to begin taking out as many as they can. They nod and move. In a moment, a flurry of arrows shoot through the camp. Screams echo, making Devora and Ash rise from their positions to enter the fray.
With the position of the guards still preoccupied with the wards, Ash lets loose and explosive spell that cuts a swath through a line of guards. Mazen cuts down guards coming in from the left flank while Devora plows forward into the guards by the broken ward.
Heat and screams and blood fill the air, the desperate need to win, and the sudden realization of a mistake being made.
There’s too many.
Ash drives her spear into a guard then spins out, wrenching the serrated blade out through the side of their gut, fire spitting out from her as she keeps the momentum, flinging back more guards.
The archers turn and take down several more guards. But more are replaced than what they can take down reasonably. Blades land their mark on Ash before she can counter all of them. Can she even call a retreat? They are surrounded.
Ashokara forces her spear to move faster, her flames to spread and wrap around the guards. It is a strain, but she’ll take strain over death.
“That is quite enough!” A voice shouts. The guards around her back up suddenly and her gaze is drawn to a man by a small ornate tent. Soldiers next to him hold daggers to her clansmen’s throats, blades shining in the firelight, blue and orange still blazing in battle.
“Put the spear down, or they die. Either way, you will be captured, and you will face judgement for your crimes against the empire, Asha’thylgar.”
It…it was a trap. They knew she couldn’t…. She swallows thickly and tosses the spear to the side, scowling, chest and wounds hurting. Dammit. She should have known better. She should have…they should not have to pay for her misjudgment. Mazen is bloodied and bruised, his arm held at an awkward angle. She’s not entirely sure Tanis is aware of his surroundings, his eyes blink sluggishly as a head wound bleeds freely.
But…Daern’thal isn’t there. Her brows furrows in concern that they have killed him. But no, their trap only works if all of her clan is kept alive. It’s her they want, her they want to surrender. Even one death would jeopardize that, that much is clear by how Vystril is kept standing up, despite their obvious life-threatening wounds.
Daern’thal got away.
“Let them go and I will go willingly,” she says.
He sneers in delight, red eyes gleaming in the low light, “You misjudge my words, I do not care whether you are willing or not. Your surrender simply keeps more of my people alive. Captain, take them to the hold. I will take this one myself.”
Before she can revert her course of action, guards seize her arms and press her to the ground, quickly disarming her of all her hidden blades. They are not gentle. Her wounds burn in contact with the ground and their hands. She’s wrenched back up by her horns, pain lances through her skull making her reflexively reach back, fire already at her finger tips.
“Do stop that,” the man says and it is like all the air is suddenly forced from her lungs. Her body chills, her fire disappears. Her vision blanks and for a moment she is not in ancient times, but standing before a Red Templar. He sneers as he reaches towards her and snatches her magic away, forcing the still-intact Veil onto her.
It only lasts for a moment before the Red Templar shifts back into the man before her. An elf, not a Red Templar, just…an elf with red hair and eyes who wears the harsh marks of Falon’din upon his face.
She does not hear the clang of armor or moans of pain and protest as she is hauled off towards the ornate tent. The world doesn’t seem to want to stay in one place either as she is shoved inside and into a dirty corner. Runes around her flare to life in a sickeningly bright display.
It’s a separate spell, she thinks. The disorientation. The chill was a counter spell, but this…this is a spell meant to completely disrupt her senses. She blinks and tries to dispel it only for electricity to surge through her body. A scream rips from her as white-hot pain seizes her.
Fine. She’ll…wait it out. It’s been awhile since she’s felt the discomfort of magic being withdrawn from her, but she can handle it. She can survive this, and when she does, she will be taking everyone with her.
After an indeterminate amount of time, the disorientation eases. Her vision clears and her ears pick up the soft sounds around her. There is a man, no, more of a boy in the other corner of the tent. He’s tied to a pole rather than surrounded by a circle of runes, his head hung low, body limp.
There’s no one else in the tent, so she tries.
“Hey,” she says. He doesn’t respond so she tries again.
“Hey, kid, look up.”
“Why? To see more people die?” His voice is hoarse, likely from crying and screaming she suspects.
“No, no, I’m not dying. Look up, I’m alive, see?” She urges. His eyes flick up but then back down.
“They’ll kill you soon,” he says. His spirit has been broken, likely from beatings and seeing the deaths of his people. It makes Ash’s heart go out to him and makes her try harder.
“Can you tell me a few things?” She asks softly. His shoulders move slightly.
“Like what?”
“Your name?” She recognizes loss in him. He’s where she was once, distraught and disconnected. Four short horns curve over his ears and when he looks up, there are silver scales framing his eyes. Oh no.
“Verethrin…youngest and…remaining…” his voice chokes off on a sound that would be a sob if he weren’t out of tears. Her heart bleeds for him, and she scoots forward in her own jail, closer to the ward barrier in an attempt to comfort him.
“Verethrin, I know what you are feeling. It is…there are no words, no consolation,” she says softly. His head lolls to the side, showing a large hand-printed bruise on his neck. There is blood all over his clothes.
“Then why are you speaking?”
She takes a deep breath, “When I lost my Mama and my Nanae, I thought the world ended. But it didn’t. It only ended…it only ends when you let it. I fight for them, to keep their memory.” Even now she carries them with her, their necklaces tucked in against her chest beneath her armor. They’re with her, even when…even when they cannot be.
“What is the point of that? When the memory will be lost.”
“Not if you fight. Your father was Rethinel?” She keeps her voice soft and kind. He’s had enough roughness and tragedy.
He nods once, barely.
“He refused to go to Arlathan, right? He fought for you, for your people. He…you deserve to fight, to keep his memory.”
It is a Keeper’s place to remember. It’s an idea the Dalish had held dear, one that Ash had always liked. It’s not quite what the Keepers of her current time do, but perhaps it’s something that can comfort him, help him get through this.
His head moves back towards her, his eyes full of familiar sorrow, “What of my brothers? My mother? There were seven of us. Now I’m…”
Her heart breaks. She has found large families are not common in this world, but when they occur…they are old and precious things, magnificent like gigantic old trees with their roots deep and their branches thick.
They killed our keeper and took his sons! Yenirem had cried.
They killed the eldest four sons too, apparently. In front of Verethrin, who looks barely old enough to be an adult, if he even is.
Motivation…fight…it’s not something that can just be conjured, and the wound is still so fresh.
“Verethrin, you…you are the Keeper now,” she whispers. He lets out a choked sound.
“I can’t.”
“You can. Keepers aren’t just big powerful dragons, they…they are wise, they are kind, they are leaders. You can do that.”
Verethrin scoffs, “I’m tied to a post, waiting to…waiting for Falon’din. I’m not leading anyone.”
Ash takes a deep breath and looks around the room. There is unsurprisingly nothing sharp to cut his binds.
“Alright, don’t lead. But let me help you, you can free yourself, then…we’ll free me, and we’ll get your people out…somehow.”
He scowls at her and shakes his head, “There are more coming, even if we freed everyone…we’re outnumbered now and will be worse off soon.”
More are coming? Dread fills Ash as she realizes that Nimronyn and the others will come…most likely. She does not think she has been alienating enough to justify being left to the empire. But then again….
She lets out a long breath and leans back on the floor, staring up at the tent’s ceiling. They shouldn’t come. Surely Nimronyn sees the trap more plainly than Ash. Perhaps that is why she wanted to move so quickly, get Ash out of range of doing something stupid. But Ash is used to moving fast, even now. It doesn’t take much for her to make up her mind and execute plans.
There is no rush, da’len. We have time.
Time. Something Ash is still not used to having, even after more than century, she still rushes into things. At some point, Ash will die, they will all die. It’s a concept that she has found not many elves of this time are fond of. Why should they be? They’re immortal unless death is acted upon them. Ash remembers trying to explain it to the clan and they all stared at her in abject horror at the idea of only being allowed a century of life, and that was if you were lucky.
But time is not something Ash currently has. She suspects there is an Eluvian in the camp which would explain the threat of arrival of reinforcements and Falon’din. That time frame could be anywhere between minutes and hours. Perhaps days if he is truly far away, though Ash doubts that.
If the clan barges in, there is a great likelihood they will be killed. They killed Rethinel and his sons, his wife, the warriors of the clan…she is not entirely sure how, but they did.
“Verethrin, I know it hurts, but how did they kill your father and brothers?”
He sniffles, “Betrayal. Our clan has old ways with dealing with others, there is a term of peace called when Keepers enter a negotiation – who gets to camp where, trading people, you know. The Keepers speak with each other, unarmed as a token of good faith. They had stolen people from another clan, masqueraded as their Keeper. They killed my father while they should have been negotiating.”
She blinks, and a spark of hope fills her. They didn’t kill Rethinel while he was in his true draconic form, they laid a trap for him. This is still a trap for Nimronyn…but, she won’t be disarmed from the start like Rethinel.
“They overwhelmed us so quickly. Captured my brothers…tortured them one by one, said that if they didn’t ally with the empire, everyone would die. They fought. And now we will die.”
“They would have killed you all anyways. The Empire doesn’t trust any Keeper or Keeper born. There are worse things than death.”
“And what am I supposed to do?” He cries, eyes like opals filling with tears as his body shakes, “I am twenty.”
“Then they have underestimated you due to age.” She wants to tell him that even children are capable of defending their people, that he can do great things, even at his age. She had been younger when she had taken up fighting on the regular. But this is a different time and he will not believe her.
Verethrin’s head lolls to the side revealing a hand-shaped bruise on his neck. From where the fingers are, someone was holding him to keep his face still, to watch.
“You are Rethinel’s son, they can never take that from you. That strength is there, you just need to reach for it.”
Before he can respond, the tent ruffles open and the red-haired man from before, along with a plain looking woman, enter. The man is so relaxed he does not even wear armor, simply thick full body robes. The woman is more cautious, suited in an awkward looking leather cuirass. She walks two steps behind him, her head angled down.
She had seen similar statures before – from the slaves that accompanied Tevinter mages.
The man turns to Verethrin then looks over to Ash, “Getting to know one another? Efficacy, ensure that will not continue. Word has been sent to Lord Falon’Din, he’ll be here shortly…” he considers Verethrin for a moment before gesturing towards him. The boy flinches and the bruises along his neck disappear.
“He doesn’t like to see his property touched.”
Before she thinks it through, Ash stands up and leans towards her barrier, snarling, “He’s a child.”
“Is that what he told you? You can never trust the children of keepers, Efficacy, they are taught only to lie.”
“You should never trust an empire elf, they’re only taught to care about themselves and to rape whatever dares say no to them – people, land,” Ash snarls. The man turns to her slowly, brows arched and mouth drawn into a harsh scowl.
“As I said,” he waves his hand sending excruciating lightning through Ash’s body. She seizes, falling to the floor in agony.
“All lies.”
She does not see him leave but hears the tent flap close. Her heart races and her body aches from her wounds and now the lightning. She hasn’t felt this helpless in a long time, not since…not since she was in her old world.
Ash turns onto her back and looks up at the plain woman, Efficacy. A distinctive sound barrier surrounds Verethrin behind her, constructed by her.
“They’ll destroy everything, please, listen,” she whispers. The woman looks down at her, expression sad but firm.
“Why do you always insist on resisting? It is as futile as a rabbit struggling in an owl’s grip.” She waves her hand and a sound barrier goes up around Ash as well. Efficacy turns to the book in her hands, a caught rabbit, then, just like the rest of them. But this one decided to lay low and hide in plain sight.
Her magic is nulled. Her voice is silenced. Her body aches and she cannot move more than a few steps forward. Trapped.
Her eyes meet Verethrin’s and she raises her chin in defiance. She may feel helpless, but he doesn’t need to know that. Ash rises to her feet and screams as she launches herself into the barrier. She is zapped back, pain lancing through her. Efficacy looks up, shocked.
Verethrin’s eyes widen and Ash continues to throw herself into the barrier, her body feels like it is being shredded by glass, but she continues. Come on, turn away from him.
Efficacy stands, eyes fixed in horrified confusion on Ash.
“Stop!” She yells.
“You’ll…you’ll kill yourself!” She says. Ash drags her eyes, now swollen, to Verethrin. Move. Find your strength, please! She throws herself into the barrier again and slumps to the floor, gasping for breath, blood soaking the ground beneath her.
“Oh dear, oh no, no, no! You cannot die! That…that is the Lord’s job.”
It’s a struggle to keep her eyes open and the buzzing in her head makes time pass sluggishly. It is like looking through a veil when she opens her eyes to see Verethrin, somehow standing before Efficacy, tall and scared, but determined. He grabs her, and they struggle until he grabs her book and hits her over the head with it.
Efficacy stops moving.
“Ve..?” She murmurs.
He crawls to her cage and scribbles something into the dirt. The sound barrier is the first to come down, then the cage.
The breath she sucks in feels like life itself, fire and warmth and ability.
“Hey, hey, look up. Um, I…did it, I reached for it. Please, look up. Oh no. Mamae taught me healing, it…this will hurt I’m so sorry.”
Magic flutters over her then sinks into her like freezing water. She chokes back a scream as the worst of the damage is healed rapidly and not masterfully. Ash gasps for air, thrashing in his grasp. As painful and sudden it is, it is mercifully quick.
After she catches her breath and can ignore the lingering pain and numbness in her body, she looks up at Verethrin, taller than she had suspected, but far more fragile and doll like too. There is a luminescence to his skin that makes it look thin and breakable, his eyes are wide, filled with fear and concern.
“Congratulations, Verethrin, you’re a Keeper,” she tells him. He turns red and helps her stand up.
“Alright, alright, but now what? Efficacy isn’t going to stay down the entire time.”
“You’re right,” Ash says. She’s exhausted and not entirely sure how much energy she can expend for their escape, so they’ll have to be clever and precise. Two things she hasn’t exactly always excelled at.
“Have you heard of an Eluvian?”
He shakes his head and she nods, “Alright, well, they’re giant mirrors that allow the empire elves to travel from one place to another very quickly through a passage they’ve crafted from the Dreaming called the Crossroads.”
“WHAT?”
“Keep your voice down! It’s clear to me that they’re using one here to bring in reinforcements and it’s from where Falon’din will arrive. If we have any hope of surviving this, we need to take that Eluvian out.”
“How do we do that?”
“They can be shattered if enough force is applied, they can also be deactivated but I think our best bet is just to break it.”
“Good, good, but…how do we do that? We go outside, and the guards swarm us.”
“Unless…unless we’re the guards.”
Verethrin’s brow furrows, “You want to masquerade as guards? We don’t even have uniforms, we’re a bit distinctive.”
True. She thinks for a moment.
“How small can you shift? I can manage a small lizard.”
“I can try for a mouse, but I don’t know how long I can hold it.”
Right, and with her current energy levels, Ash isn’t sure how much she should put into the shift either. And if they masquerade as the guards, she’ll have to keep her horns shifted away. It’s…a lot, but she can manage it, they’ll just need to be efficient about it.
“Alright, so we’ll sneak into the guards’ tent, knock out those in there silently. I’ll write in a silencing ward around the tent before going in. Put on the uniforms, then exit. After that, we get to the Eluvian, make it inoperable.” They’ll have to find the tent quickly. There are easily twenty tents in the camp, finding the right one will be…interesting.
“How?” He asks.
“Eluvians are primarily glass, I’ll heat it up, when I give you the signal, freeze it. The glass should shatter.” Should being the operative word. It worked well enough in her timeline, but she isn’t sure if that was due to the Veil or just a property of glass.
Verethrin swallows then nods. There’s still fear surrounding him, but also a determination that wasn’t there an hour ago.
“What will the signal be?”
“I’ll nod.”
“Wait, wait, why not just do this while in animal form?” He asks and it’s her turn to be sheepish.
“I can’t maintain that small of an animal shape and cast the necessary forceful spell at the same time, not like this. I’m too tired,” she explains.
There is a pause where she wonders if he is going to back out now. She wouldn’t blame him. He has no time to properly handle his trauma and who knows when he managed to sleep last. This was a trap so Yenirem was released after the capture and likely torture and execution of Verethrin’s brothers. Their child was probably threatened if they didn’t do as the empire instructed.
But Verethrin rallies himself and in that moment he does look every bit a Keeper’s child, young but determined. Ash clasps his shoulder before shifting her body down into a small lizard. He follows suit, turning into a small white mouse.
“Follow my lead,” she whispers, and they’re off into the camp. Smaller body means smaller legs which means slower movement, but they go as quickly as they can, running between tents in search of the right one. There are plenty of tents set up for soldiers to bunk in, but she needs a tent that is guaranteed to have uniforms for them. Ten minutes into the search, Verethrin is the one to find it. It’s larger than the others, three off-duty guards sit in it, talking about romantic issues or something as equally boring. The guards are already out of their uniforms and simply lounging in their softer layers, making them excellent targets.
Ash runs around the tent, marking runes into the dirt and whispering little magic into them. Afterwards, her and Verethrin skitter into the tent. She activates the sound barrier, maneuvers herself behind one of the guards then shifts. She hits him over the head with a rock, while Verethrin hits another with a rock and the third they handle together by quickly tackling him to the ground.
Step one and two, done.
They tie the now unconscious guards together with rope found in one of the chests. Ash gags them then turns to see the uniforms. Only one of the guards gets close to her height, so she takes that uniform. Verethrin lucks out with one that is just at his height, even if the guard is bulkier than him. The difference is easily made up by padding.
They don helmets after shifting their horns away, then head back out in search of the Eluvian. It’s likely in the tallest tent, which was oddly enough not the tent they were being held in. A private tent, then. She marches through the camp, eyeing everything without arousing suspicion. She avoids what look to be officers. Her hand is already beginning to shake with strain to keep her form.
They round a boulder on the west side of the camp and see the pen keeping in the majority of Verethrin’s clan. He tenses beside her and she grips his arm to keep him there with her. She understands the need to go in and get them, but…she knows he needs to wait. They need to wait. First, they need to take out the Eluvian, then they can work on freeing people, otherwise freeing them will be temporary.
Her skin itches from her shifting magic, skull aching. Just a bit longer, she can do this. Nim and her have been working on stamina, and this is a good a time to use it as any.
Ash and Verethrin walk past the pen, trying not to look too closely inside, then round what looks to be the line for food. Beyond that is a colorful tent and a very large ward. That must be where the Eluvian is. It sits slightly elevated from the rest of the camp, with a clear vantage to see both pens, the tent Ash and Verethrin were in, and the very direction Ash’s raiding party had come in. They knew exactly what was going to happen.
Later, Ash can lambast herself for this later, now she just needs to survive. It’s an easy mode to fall back into as she cases the ward around the Eluvian. Four guards stand watch over the large mirror and the red-haired man is close. Ash can hear his voice from a nearby tent, arguing with someone.
“We need reinforcements now. The Keeper will be here soon, we need to fortify the grounds and move the prisoners!” She hears.
“We’ve killed Keepers before, Certainty, we know what we’re doing. The reinforcements will get here when they get here.”
“You will address me as General –
“You are not the General here, these are Elgar’nan’s forces, or have you forgotten exactly who supported this hairbrained plan?”
Ash walks away from the tent before she can hear more, but it heartens her. The red-haired man, Certainty, is not truly the one in charge here. He serves Falon’din, and these are Elgar’nan’s people. Joint efforts shouldn’t be uncommon, Falon’din is Elgar’nan’s son, but it seems that there is enough discord between the two that it has translated to their people.
She returns to Verethrin and they walk away from the Eluvian, hoping not to arouse suspicion.
“Wards, lots.”
Verethrin nods, “I can break them. Brothers used to ward away my stuff as pranks.” His voice warbles slightly.
“Your brothers will be proud,” she whispers back. He nods then breaks away from her. Five minutes later and there is a great SNAP. The air blows away from the Eluvian and she is quick to respond, just like any guard. Dozens of guards are there to see the wards split open.
“What is the meaning of this!” Elgarn’nan’s General shouts. Dammit, they’ll put the wards up before Ash can wait to take out the Eluvian inconspicuously. She finds Verethrin’s eyes across the way then turns to the Eluvian.
She thrusts her hand out and the Eluvian ignites in a brilliant display. Ash forces her magic into it, rapidly heating the glass. A great crack splits down the middle before being tackled to the ground. She struggles but their weight is great, something hits her head and her vision blurs. She only makes out the sudden frost that snaps over the mirror, shattering the glass instantaneously.
They did it. Even as she loses consciousness, a spark of hope fills her. They may survive this yet.
**
Sylmae finds her wife staring out into the darkness, her back to the camp. Despite her wife’s stature, she has never seemed small to Sylmae. Always so large and loving and strong. But there is a weariness to her that worries Sylmae. Nimronyn has been trying so very hard not to show it, but the strain is obvious.
“All is well?” Nimronyn asks, not looking away from the shadows.
Sylmae nods. “The elf Yenirem is still with Quenenel. Elrahel stands guard. The others are preparing to move camp, as you asked.”
Nimronyn turns slightly, just enough that the beads on her antlers sway. “Ashokara does not approve of my decision.”
“She does not,” Sylmae agrees.
“She thinks I am naive. Maybe she finds me incompetent. Perhaps she thinks me a coward.”
Sylmae shakes her head, “I think our daughter simply thinks she knows what is best.” She reaches out a hand to place on her wife's shoulders, but stops herself. Nimronyn is focused on some task, and Sylmae does not wish to interrupt her, even for comfort.
Nimronyn sighs softly. “Why can she not listen? Why must she always argue?”
“Our daughter does not admit her faults easily.” It is a trait Sylmae knows she shares.
“I simply wish she would try and understand, as we are trying to understand her. She has suffered so much already. I only wish her happiness. Are we cruel for wanting to keep her safe?”
Ashokara wants to save this world because she could not save her own. It is hard for her to realize that she cannot do so alone, and that others are there to help, not hinder. Sylmae knows her wife also knows this. She knows Nimronyn talks only to get the words out, not because she needs answers.
“I am so tired,” Nimronyn whispers. “I am so tired, ma vhenan.”
Something heavy settles in Sylmae's stomach, and does not ease as the silence stretches. Sylmae remembers the last time her wife said those words to her. She remembers the panic, and the visceral feeling of betrayal that comes with the fear of being left behind, of not being good enough to make someone stay. It was unfair to throw those feelings upon Nimronyn then, and Sylmae knows that has not changed...but it does not stop her from asking. “Do you resent me? For making you stay?”
Her wife turns to her, eyes so pained and old that Sylmae knows it is an unfair question. But she must know. She had thought Ash's appearance had changed everything, had pulled her heart more fully into the waking world and given her a purpose that Sylmae had been unable to do alone.
There are many things their daughter does not know. Things it is not her right to know and things she has not earned the right to know. She has been so brash that Nimronyn and Sylmae have both thought it best not to tell her.
No matter how grown up their daughter thinks she is, she is not ready for some truths. She is too reckless to know them. Trust is a fragile thing, and while Sylmae and her wife love their daughter with all their hearts, Ashokara has proven on many occasion to disregard them if she feels she is right.
“If the madness comes, kill me quickly, before I can harm our family.”
Nimronyn opens her mouth to speak, but stops, when a small light begins to glow in the darkness ahead of her, and a spirit slowly makes it way forward.
Sylmae knows better than to interrupt, as the small spirit wraps itself around Nimronyn like a second skin, the same color as her antlers. This conversation is over, for the moment, and Sylmae is not certain why she is relieved at that.
---
Honesty is a small spirit.
There are not many spirits of honesty left in the world, both Waking and Dreaming. They corrupt easily, are used by many and discarded, or sacrificed, when their job is done. Nimronyn has had to coax this one slowly, and build trust between them.
She would not call upon it if she did not feel the urgency of the situation. Honesty understands and is eager to help. Nimronyn will do what she can, to make certain Honesty remains as such.
She walks back with her wife toward the aravel where Quenenel has been healing the elf from Rethinel's clan. Elrahel nods at her as she passes but remains posted at the door. The elf nearly jumps when they enter, panic visceral. That unease only seems to heighten as they spot the spirit.
They are hiding something. Nimronyn wishes she could trust them without resorting to such means...but she must keep her own clan safe, first and foremost.
“Before I can send aid, there must be truth between us.” Nimronyn murmurs, as Honesty flits between her horns. “Far too many clans have fallen to deception. I will not allow my own to do so.”
Yenirem swallows, eyes flitting to Honesty, hands clasped tightly in their lap.
“Leave us, Quenenel,” Nimronyn orders, and the healer does so quickly. Sylmae remains in the doorway, a steady presence.
“You must know that even if a spirit of honesty serves another it cannot lie. Honesty is here for both of our sakes. If you have nothing to hide then there is nothing to fear.” Nimronyn continues, smiling gently. “I tell you now, I mean you no harm, and only seek the truth. No harm will come to you, if you answer with honesty.”
The spirit hums, a soft, melodic tune to show that Nimronyn's words are sincere.
Yenirem does not seem to be put at ease, but gives a small, shallow nod. They begin to fidget, as they wait for Nimronyn to continue.
“Is it true that Rethinel has fallen? And was killed by Falon'Din and his followers?”
“Yes,” Yenirem answers quickly, and Honesty hums.
“Is it true that the remaining members of your clan were taken captive?”
“Yes.” The grief in the air spikes, and Nimronyn knows they are thinking of their daughter.
“And you managed to escape?”
“I...yes.”
“Are you a warrior of your clan, Yenirem? Or a scout?”
“No,” Yenirem whispers, and there is something in their tone that tells them all they need to know. Defeat. Yenirem knows what will happen when they answer Nimronyn's next question.
Too many clans have fallen to this new Empire, and many through deception. Rethinel's clan was no exception, it seems.
And now the empire wishes to use a grieving parent to add more to its list. Nimronyn must get her clan to safety, it is now more imperative than ever. Even if Ash disapproves.
Ash is so young…even with the added years of her life before she came to them, the time she has lived has been but a blink of an eye to Nimronyn. Sometimes she wonders why she continues forward, when the world seems to move so slowly and yet so quickly around her.
Better to rest, and contemplate, like all the other old ones.
No, no, she cannot rest. Not when there are so many relying on her.
Rethinel had never gotten along with others, but his clan does not deserve this. Nimronyn will get her clan to safety, and then she will go and see what she can do, while Sylmae and her daughter keep the clan safe in her absence. But they must get to safety first…Nimronyn cannot put her own people in danger for this, not when they do not know the size of the empire’s forces.
Not when it could be a trap, as it has so often turned out to be.
Patience yet sleeps. Vhallasa fell only twenty years past, Henne’thel’s father Athros taken from them…and no word from Ireth in years.
She will contact all she can in the Dreaming, to see if others know what is happening.
The summit of Keepers that she has been planning will need to happen sooner now. Her daughter is not wrong, in saying that running cannot solve their problems. Nimronyn is no coward, but she is patient. And if their clan were to settle in one area, in the midst of hostile territory…even fortifications would do them little good against an onslaught of enemies that knew there was a permanent dwelling place.
Nimronyn must gather the Keepers she trusts, and broach the subject then. She has been doing so; Henne’thel and her clan offered to take the task upon themselves, to reach Keepers in far off places, to speak of alliances.
Empires are cruel things…Nimronyn does not wish for the Keepers and clans to turn to the same dark paths as Mythal and Elgar’nan…
Nimronyn remembers when Justice and Vengeance were still spirits, and war raged endlessly.
Peace…peace has been so short lived. Nimronyn wished to hold on to it for a while longer, before returning to war.
“Is there a trap waiting at the destination you have given?”
“I...no...I...” Yenirem stutters, before their expression twists, as Honesty lets out a shrill note and glows red. Yenirem opens their mouth again, eyes darting from Nimronyn to the exit where Sylmae stands, before they seem to cave in on themselves.
“They have my daughter,” they wail. “If I do not bring Asha'thylgar they will kill her.”
Sylmae stiffens in the doorway, as Nimronyn sucks in a sharp breath. Even suspecting this does not mean she is prepared to have the truth in front of her. Falon'Din has murdered an entire clan for this, held others hostage, threatened another's daughter.
Nimronyn places a hand on Yenirem's shoulder, and the elf shrinks at the touch, bracing for a strike. “I know that you did this out of love for your child. Desperation drives us to do many things we regret. Tell me the truth of it all, now. Let there be no lies between us, and I promise I will do what I can to save your daughter.”
Yenirem buries their face in their hands and begins to sob but slowly, through the tears, they begin to speak.
---
Things move quickly, after Nimronyn gets the entire story from Yenirem. Elrahel heads out to inform their guard patrols and brings back several of the older warriors. Nimronyn and Sylmae head to their aravel and begin changing into their armor.
It is a tense silence. Nimronyn has not worn these clothes for thousands of years. It is sobering to do so now, as she places on her armguards and ties her hair back. She watches as Sylmae tightens the straps on her chest-piece and reaches for her axes.
The two are walking out of their aravel when Elrahel runs up to them, nearly out of breath and followed by several others. “Keeper, Tanis and Bav have gone missing!”
“Mazen as well, and Devora.”
“I cannot find Vystril.”
That is several of their young warriors and scouts. Gone. Tanis and Mazen were meant to be on guard duty. Had something happened to them? No, surely if they had been taken, an attack would have already happened. But why would they willingly leave their posts and put the entire clan in danger— “Sylmae, where is our daughter?”
Sylmae's expression hardens, but the small bit of fear leaks through, before she reigns it inside. She knows what Nimronyn is suggesting.
The entire clan bursts into action, a flurry of movement as others looked for their loved ones, afraid that they too have gone missing.
When Daern’thal stumbles into camp, bloodied and afraid, Nimronyn’s heart stops. She does not need to hear him speak to know what has happened.
“Daern'thal!” Tamsas, one of Daern'thal's fathers, rushes forward, his mother Lemael and Elrahel only a moment behind. Daern'thal falls in Tamsas' arms, and they both fall to the ground as the weaver stumbles.
“Give him some room!” Sylmae shouts, as others rush forward, radiating concern.
“It was a trap,” Reverie chirps, batting its wings frantically as Daern’thal gulps down a skein of water. “I told her it was dangerous, but we did not think—”
“That is obvious,” Sylmae snaps, and her voice is cold. Daern’thal flinches. Sylmae should have expected this from Ash. She knew her daughter was brash. She should have tied her to a tent post until they'd been ready to leave in the morning to keep her from this foolishness. She lets herself be angry because the alternative, the fear at the thought of her daughter in danger, is too much.
“Speak,” Nimronyn orders, voice warmer than her wife’s, but still stern.
“Falon’Din, he set a trap. There were others…others captured.”
“And our clan?” My daughter?
“Alive. They were taken captive.”
Nimronyn walks several feet away, form shifting. She does not fully change, but the way her limbs shift has Sylmae at her side immediately. “Nimronyn?”
“Does she hate us, vhenan? Why would she do such a thing? What if she--” Nimronyn cuts herself off, scales rippling across her skin and nails lengthening to claws as she begins to lose hold of her elven form in her panic.
“You know she does not hate us,” Sylmae asserts, cupping her wife's face in her hands, ignoring the sharp scales that slice into skin.
“Why can she not listen? I have tried so hard to understand. Why can she not—have I failed? Vhenan, it is my fault.”
“The blame is not yours. We will get our daughter back, Nimronyn. Then we can talk of this. We must get her back first.”
Nimronyn closes her eyes, and sucks in a deep, trembling breath. “I do not want to become a violent thing to end violence.”
Sylmae sighs, and presses a quick kiss to her wife's forehead. “I know, my heart. I know.”
Foolish. So foolish. And Sylmae the greatest fool of them all for not seeing this outcome.
“Vhenan, we will get her back.”
It is the other's betrayal of the clan that hurts, truthfully. For Ash to be this brash is not unheard of, and it is Sylmae's fault for overlooking it. But the others...that they would disobey their Keeper so blatantly is a slight that is not easily forgiven.
If they even yet live.
For their parents' sake, Sylmae hopes it is so. Let them live to be punished, for any punishment Nimronyn would enact would be a mercy to the slave camps of a rival clan. Or Falon'Din.
Nimronyn's expression is dangerously serene. “Daern’thal, you will remain with the clan. Once you have rested, it is your duty to listen to Ilris, and ward the camp. Neranni, Mewyn,” The two scouts appeared at her side, faces grim, “Henne’thel and her clan should be camped to the North. Find her and inform her of the circumstances and ask for aid. Listen to her orders in our absence.”
The two disappear as quickly as they arrived.
“Reverie, you will show Sylmae the way to the camp.” Nimronyn orders. She nods at Sylmae, “Gather those you will need.”
The spirit does not argue, and flits to Sylmae's shoulder with an apologetic squawk at Daern'thal. Sylmae barely seems to notice, “And where are you headed, wife?”
“To seek an alliance.”
Something hateful builds up inside of Nimronyn. She remembers it well, the corrosive tang of violence. Keepers are no longer spirits…they cannot corrupt. But sometimes she thinks it is possible, and the feeling is similar.
It is not a feeling she enjoys, but it is one she cannot dismiss. She will do what she must, to save her daughter.
Even if it means losing herself again.
---
Melarue knows of Nimronyn. Older than Merith. Older than most. Old enough to know the woman who wore the name Mythal before it was stolen by this new tyrant that has been plaguing the clans.
They have never met, but Melarue recognizes her on sight, as the jade-scaled Keeper flies down from the clouds and lands just outside the border of the clan's wards. Melarue arrives before Merith, their pace slowing as they see Nimronyn in her elven form, standing respectfully several feet away from the two terrified guards that had first noticed her arrival.
Despite Nimronyn's calm demeanor the air around her is turbulent, even if Melarue cannot discern all of the emotions present.
“Stand down,” Merith orders as he hurries forward, smiling brightly at the sight of an old friend. He holds his arms out in welcome, and his smile dims only when he sees how distraught she is. “What has happened to you, old friend?”
“Rethinel has fallen. His clan was betrayed and taken by the Empire.”
Merith's expression falls. Melarue wishes they could find some sympathy for Rethinel, but he had never made himself likable. The reality of the situation, however, is indeed grave. Another Keeper fallen, and one in a close vicinity to them as well, by the looks of it. They will need to move camp as soon as the clan is able.
“As unfortunate an outcome as it is, it is no longer a rarity,” Melarue responds, “Why have you come?”
“To seek aid in freeing the remaining members of his clan…and to rescue my daughter.”
Melarue raises an eyebrow. “The mighty Asha'thylgar has been captured?”
Nimronyn's expression twists, but the air around her remains empty, her emotions held close against her. It is only the scales rippling around her cheeks that lets Melarue know they've upset her.
Merith gives them a look that clearly means they should let it drop. They cannot help themselves, however. Not now. “So your daughter has succumb to her hubris, then. Do you know how many clans have been attacked or destroyed because of what she has done? Mythal’s maggot of a son has done whatever he can to find her, and he does not care who he must destroy to do so.”
“Melarue,” Merith warns, frowning. He turns back to Nimronyn, “Forgive them, please. Some of our own were captured by Falon’Din’s followers to lure us into the same trap. Likely he hoped that since you and I are friends that we would ask for your aid.”
“And why did you not?” Nimronyn asks, voice soft.
“And risk another great Keeper falling to the empire? You are one of the oldest left, it is not a risk that can be taken lightly.” Melarue answers. They have never met this Nimronyn before, but they know they should not antagonize her. She is known for being patient, but even she must be angered by their tone. They cannot help it. The scouting team that was taken had gone out on their orders…
“Nimronyn,” Merith sighs, “Let me speak privately with Melarue for a moment.”
“Of course.” Nimronyn nods, with more poise than Melarue had expected after their outburst.
Melarue does not like being pulled aside like a petulant child, but they let Merith tuck their arm in the bend of his elbow and walk further away. They see Merith's wife, Elmeni, greet Nimronyn with a warm smile.
“That was uncalled for,” Merith chastizes them. “Nimronyn fears for her daughter. She doesn't even know if she's alive. Antagonizing her about her daughter's behavior won't fix anything. She is in pain, and the loss of a child is something you and I cannot understand.”
Melarue bites the inside of their cheek and nods.
“If there are people in danger we must aid them.” Merith continues.
“At the expense of your own safety and the safety of this clan?” Melarue asks coolly. “You will do no one any good if you are dead. You would merely provide fuel for the Empire.”
“Some of our own were also taken. We must do something.”
“Then do something we shall, but you are no fighter, Merith,” Their voice softens. “You would be a target on the battlefield. We must play to our strengths, and violence is not yours.”
Merith sighs. He looks ashamed at his lack of fighting prowess, but Melarue has never seen it as a weakness. Some are needed to do other tasks, and Merith is a good leader and protector. He does not need to be a killer as well.
They can be that for him.
“If you think allying with Nimronyn will be beneficial to getting back our people, then I will follow your lead. But let me go in your stead. You will be needed here.”
Merith hesitates for only a moment more, as if he wants to argue the point, before he nods. “Let us speak with Nimronyn.”
Elmeni has managed to calm Nimronyn's nerves, and even draw out a smile from the old Keeper by the time they return. Elmeni has always been so good at putting others at ease, it is a trait that Melarue envies, and one they try and emulate. But the sincerity of the actions never reaches their eyes, not like it does with Elmeni.
“We wish to help,” Merith reaches out and grabs Nimronyn's hands in his own. “Your pain is our pain, lethallan. What can we do?”
Nimronyn's shoulders sag, as if a great weight has been lifted from them. “Thank you. I know your heart aches as well, I will do everything I can to bring your own back safely.”
“Let us plan, then.” Merith smiles. “So that we can bring everyone home.”
“Are there any others who would aid us?”
“Vhallasa and Lanathra were betrayed and killed by the Empire. Vhallasa’s remaining clan has joined ours. Lanathra’s perished with her. Armael has taken her clan and fled and has become hostile to any who near them. The madness has likely begun.”
“Athros’s daughter is near,” Nimronyn nods, “I have sent my scouts to ask for her aid. She has taken her father’s mantle.”
Melarue is surprised at that. The last time they'd seen Henne'thel she had been little more than a child, flighty and more interested in listening to the sound of her own voice than in leading others. They suppose grief can change a person—or bring out the person they were all along.
“Ireth and her clan have gone silent. I fear the worst.”
Nimronyn closes her eyes and lets out a shuddering sigh. Melarue knows that look. Another great leader likely gone.
Merith purses his lips, “Nelaeryn?”
“Gone,” Nimronyn shakes her head, “Most of his clan with him, though I believe his son has begun amassing a force himself to battle the Empire. But I have not met this Geldauran, I do not know his character.”
“Neither do I.” Merith nods, “Melarue?”
They shrug, “My spies have been looking elsewhere so I am unsure of his motives. It seems unlikely any potential allies will arrive in time, not if we wish to get our people back alive.”
Nimronyn reaches up and tugs on her earring, expression thoughtful but determined. “Henne'thel will be with my clan, but she may send some of her warriors as well. My wife is heading to the enemy camp as we speak and will look for any openings and weaknesses in their fortifications.”
“A large force would be too slow. But they are not expecting you to have allied with others,” Melarue nods at Nimronyn. “A group of your warriors and our own then. Our best chance is to strike quickly, catch them unaware before Falon'Din can call upon his family for aid.”
“Melarue?” Elmeni questions, looking to them.
“I will lead our forces.” Melarue nods. “Merith must remain, in case we fail.”
Nimronyn meets their gaze, and for the first time Melarue catches a glimpse of the powerful Keeper they had heard whispers of in the Dreaming. “Gather your forces, Melarue. We leave as soon as you are ready.”
**
Her body is strained when she wakes. It is curved into an awkward position so that she is leaning over with an incessant pressure over her neck.
“Ah, she wakes, good,” a familiar voice says. Ash blinks her eyes open, seeing only dirt at first. Turning her head proves to be difficult, but she knows it’s Certainty. The hair on her neck rises and she feels the eyes on her.
“What? No words or defiance for me?”
She bites her lip, trying not to rise to his bait. Her body is heavy, but supported, or more accurately, forced to remain in a semi-upright position. She’s trapped in some fashion, rising to bait will only harm her and potentially others.
Certainty tsks as his boots come into view.
“I expected more, but then again, there is no bravery or honor among savages – simply rage.” More bait, harder to not rise to but Ash restrains herself. The exhaustion helps with the restraint, she can’t spare energy on this fool.
She wants to ask where Verethrin is, but it is unlikely that he would tell her. It also runs the risk of him saying Oh, the little spawn? He’s dead. She can’t really take that right now.
Ash’s lips are dry, and she feels the sting of wounds all of her body. It has been a long time since she was in this amount of helpless pain. Helpless. She hates it, hates it with all her being. For the first eighteen years of her life, she was helpless, and then she was helpless for another twenty-five. She is sick of it, sick of trying so hard and it not ever working.
Is the world just doomed? Is there nothing she can do? Are parents cursed to lose their children, children to lose their parents?
Is that not what you are doing right now? Nimronyn and Sylmae, about to lose their only daughter.
No, she will survive this. Nimronyn and Sylmae aren’t losing her.
Maybe they will simply abandon you.
They wouldn’t –
Wouldn’t they? You have brought nothing but danger to them. You filled their heads with fear of a dying world, you ran into battle, you defied them, you lead your own people into this trap.
This voice is not her own, Ash knows that. But the fear and the self-hatred are there, and it is like an old wound being worked open, blood pouring out as the knives dig deeper.
The hair on her arms prick and the voice whispers more of her fears and oh. It’s a fear demon. She remembers those, with their spidery limbs and fangs oozing saliva, hovering over the ground as they howled at their prey. She remembers the echoes in her head, creeping shadows.
But she also remembers Fear. The welcome shadow who would slink into her dreams turned nightmares and form a barrier between her and her fears, allowing her rest. She remembers Uthvir’s red eyes and the shadows that clung to them, the fear in their eyes after they killed the corrupted elves. They feared her rejection, her hatred – neither came.
“I’m not afraid.” She told them, and it was the truth.
But this is not Fear, no matter how much she wants it to be. But lingering in her memories of Fear and Uthvir seem to at least put a barrier between her thoughts and this demon.
You’ll never see them again!
She knows. The only place she sees her mama, her nanae, Uthvir, and Aili are in her dreams.
You lie. You hope to see them again…I can see their names. Melarue. Uthvir. You want to see them, you think you can. But you won’t because you will die and this world will die too. You are helpless.
Ash clenches her jaw and tries to focus on her memories and not on the demon, even as it whispers deep fears in her mind.
“What a lovely thing fear is. Excruciating pain without even so much as laying a finger on you. And after, Fear will tell me everything it sees in your head,” Certainty says.
That strikes a fear true and deep. The Empire can’t know about her. It would paint an even bigger target on her back if that is even possible. But worse, it would reveal things that they really ought not to know.
Her eyes open sluggishly, and she bares her teeth at Certainty.
“I hope the nightmares of my reality drive you to madness,” she growls, spitting blood at his feet.
“You savages are all the same. You play the victim, but you do not have to do this. The Empire is the future, we are generous in offering you this path. Yet you turn away from your future, from the salvation from the brutality of the Keepers.”
“Never mind, you’re already bat shit,” she drawls, not caring anymore to give into his bait. She’s exhausted and afraid, helpless and verging on hopeless. She’ll snark now, just to annoy this piece of shit.
You will lose everything you love, again.
The world before her changes from the calm dark night of the ancient world to…to her home world. Fire that is out of her control rages over the landscape, she is no longer held in the stocks but on her knees, staring up at the churning red sky. A familiar jade-scaled dragon roars and falls to the ground, blood pouring from clipped wings.
“NO!” She screams. Ash shuts her eyes, distance herself from the vision, but it follows her, slinks into her mind and does not move.
Aravels dot the landscape, torn to shreds, broken and defiled. Bodies of her clansmen are draped over the aravels, scattered over the fields. Daern’thal’s body leans up against an aravel, his eyes open and blank, the majority of his throat gone, leaving only brackish blood behind. No, no, no. This is not reality, she won’t let this happen.
The scene doesn’t change, though. She turns from Daern’thal, unable to look at him to see Sylmae running down the field. But the fire in the sky descends and consumes her, wrapping around her body in a sickening vice.
“How could you let this happen, Ashokara?”
“You let us die!”
“Ashokara!”
The chants of the dead echo in her mind. It’s her fault, she let them die. She let them all die, she let the world burn. Nothing she has done, nothing she could do, would make any difference. All the Dread Wolf did when he sent her through that rift was delay the inevitable.
The world shakes and she hears Nimronyn roar again. The vision shifts and there she is, on the ground, a river of blood flowing from her.
“I should never have taken you in.”
“Memae, I’m sorry,” she whispers past her sobs.
Her body shakes and her magic swells with uncontrollable emotion. She can feel her fire ebb out of her, it clashes with the magic of…something around her. But in the end, it is nothing compared to her grief driven fire. The flames overwhelm it and her body falls to the ground, and just like that, the vision disappears.
Ashokara opens her eyes and she is on the ground in a heap of ash. She is crying, disoriented as the world sets itself right in her head.
And the world is still on fire. There are screams and shouts, Elgar’nan’s men rush out to meet warriors clad in…clan armors, leathers, furs, metal cuirasses that lack the empire’s insignias. They’ve come! Her clan!
But no, she doesn’t recognize them all, and the fashioning of the armor is different. They run past her into the fray, cutting the Empire’s bitches down to size. Good.
Slowly, Ash drags herself up. Her head aches and she feels raw but she needs…she needs to find Verethrin, and her people, his people, then get out. She still has a duty, even if she can still hear the screams of the people she allowed to die and see their lifeless faces every time she closes her eyes.
She pushes herself through the camp, avoiding combat as much as possible. A guard sees her, though, and she manages to block his sword, disarm him, then break his neck. Her reflexes are still good. That’s…something.
The tent closest to her goes up in a bevy of flames. She shields herself, the fire closest to her shifts color to blue and allows her pass through.
Verethrin’s people were being kept in one of the pens. There are two pens, one at each end of the camp. If she guesses correctly, she was being held at the center of the camp, which means that she is equidistant from either camp with no way of knowing which pen to go towards.
She picks a direction and goes. The fighting worsens, the fire around her increases and as the air fills with smoke it becomes harder and harder to keep a grip on her reality. She knows she is seeing her present, but she feels like she is in her past. The smoke, the ash, the screams…it’s too familiar.
Her heart races and her desperation grows.
“Verethrin?” She calls, but her voice is hoarse and low compared to the cacophony of the battle raging around her. Warriors fall into tents, bodies are flung to the ground, and she does her best to just…not get tangled in it. She does not shy from fights, but she is not in her right mind. She knows that the fallen are not people she knows, but she keeps seeing them anyways. A flash of blonde hair and suddenly it’s Aili lying dead on that bush, or worse, a tall woman with a halo of curly hair kneels to the ground and it’s Mama.
No, no. It’s not right. Mama is…Mama is not here. It’s all wrong. She has to move, get to Verethrin and their people and get out. Yes.
Ash pulls herself away, she needs to remain focused.
They likely took him hostage again, like they imprisoned Ash. She hasn’t seen Certainty since coming out of her stupor, but she suspects he is still horrifying alive. The bastard, out of everyone here he deserves death the most.
She heads for the tent they were kept in before, and her suspicions are proven correct. There he is, bound and gagged in one of those awful nullification circles. He appears unconscious but that doesn’t stop her from deactivating the circle. She undoes his bindings and holds him close.
“Verethrin, Verethrin, you need to wake up. They came, the clan came – we can free everyone!” She tells him. She strokes his hair and horns, and he slowly blinks his eyes open.
“A-Ash?”
She nods, “Yes. We’re getting out of her, alright?” His head lolls, revealing an oozing head wound. He won’t be able to walk any time soon. Alright, then. She stands up with him, and slings his arm over her shoulders, while wrapping her arm around his waist.
“We’re getting out of here, we’re getting our people, and you’re going to be fine,” she says, willing her voice not to break. Verethrin is tall, nearing Ash’s height, but he is gangly in the way still growing tall, slender people are. He’s mostly limp too, making him easy to maneuver, but she will have to be careful not to trip over his feet. He tries to move with her, but she is moving too quickly through the camp for him to keep up. After several minutes of trying to work through it, Ash gives in and hoists him up, draping him across her shoulders.
She is getting him out of here, he will survive, dammit. His survival will be difficult, his emotions will plague him, his memories haunt him – but he will live and find a will to make sure him and his people continue to survive.
“Survivors make good leaders because they know to keep going when the odds appear insurmountable.” Mama said that once, Ash doesn’t remember the context, but she remembers the words. She tries to live by them, but tonight…she failed spectacularly at them.
But there will be time to lambast herself later, once she gets everyone to safety.
She heads for the pen east to the tent, ducking and avoiding battle. She’s good, but she can’t risk Verethrin. She could never forgive herself if she allowed him to die after all of this.
The ground is uneven, causing her to stumble but she keeps herself from falling. Keep going.
At last, they make it to the pen. There is a great barrier surrounding the people, so powerful that it obscures the faces behind it. She needs to break the barrier but how?
“Verethrin, I need your help,” she says, maneuvering him to the ground to cradle him.
“Mmm, sleep,” he murmurs sluggishly, his eyes barely opening.
“Verethrin, we’ve found them, we found your people and we need to get them out, but I need you to tell me how to break a barrier. You’re good with breaking barriers, right?”
A weird smile spread across his face, “Yeaah, mmMuirvenir always hiding my stuff…got good at getting it back.”
“Yes, just like that! Can you tell me how to do it?” She asks sweetly. Damn he doesn’t look good, he needs a healer. His head lolls and he raises a crooked clawed index finger.
“Make a symbol then boom.” He moves his finger to form a symbol and she quickly copies it into the ground by the barrier. Nothing happens.
“It’s not working.”
“Did you make boom?” He asks. Make boom? Does he mean exploding the symbol? She isn’t sure if it will work but she tries, funneling in as much magic as she can to explode the symbol over the barrier.
All at once, the symbol ignites with brilliant white light, Ash’s flames turn from blue to white as they expand and encompass the barrier. The symbol grows larger until as if under a great weight, the barrier collapses into the dirt.
“Verethrin, it worked! It worked!” She shouts in joy as the people inside cheer in victory. Larger, well-muscled people rush by, grabbing weapons off nearby dead guards and charge into the fray with cries of vengeance and justice upon their lips. Most of the people remain close, malnourished and dirty, but free.
“Is there a healer among you?” Ash shouts. A hand shoots up and a large, soft looking elf walks forward.
“I was the chief healer for Rethinel’s clan. Verethrin! He’s alive?!” They rush over and plop next to the boy and set to work immediately, weaving healing magic into him.
“We thought all the boys had been killed with their father,” they say in awe as they work over Verethrin.
“He lived, just as all of you did. He has done wonderfully to free you, I could not have done…any of this without him. He will be a Keeper yet,” she says. Relief blooms from everyone around her as they gather around Verethrin.
Ash looks through the crowd, trying to see if any of her people are there, but no. These are Rethinel’s people. She needs to get to the other pen, but Verethrin doesn’t need to be moving now that he has his healer.
Ash rises and spots a stray sword by a dead guard. She grabs it and nods to Verethrin’s people.
“I have to go free my people now, stay safe.”
“You as well, Asha’thylgar,” the healer says, dipping his head in acknowledgement. Strange how the name from a non-Empire elf can actually sound…almost inspiring. The woman of blue fire.
Her grip tightens on the hilt. The empire captured Asha’thylgar, and it is Asha’thylgar they will get. There is always a wall of exhaustion, but once that wall is pushed back…it is tapping into a raw place of energy that is based on emotion, and Ash has plenty of that.
Nimronyn roars overhead and Ash lets herself fall into her more tumultuous emotions. She is the woman of blue fire, she is the last gasp of a dead world, and she is turning that gasp into a scream. The sword becomes merely an aiming conduit for her fire as she runs forward.
She cuts into the guard, fast, relying on the reflexes Sylmae has drilled into her.
They will not kill me. She drives her sword into a guard and summons fire into another. The flames take shape and she pulls the energy from the Dreaming to herself.
They cannot have another world. The fire envelopes more guards. She runs forward, a great flaming beacon of fury.
How dare they! They have no right! They will regret ever trying!
She is covered in blood, but it is not her own. And yet she revels in their deaths, it feels good – righteous even to give into the anger she has suppressed for so long. It’s for Mama and Nanae, Uthvir and Aili, Bull and Dorian, Cassandra and Vivienne, for Krem and the Chargers and everyone she held dear. It is for the family she has found here, for the mothers she loves and how they have dared to take it away from her again.
Mythal claims to be justice, but she can’t fathom the justice and the vengeance due Ashokara.
She looks up to see Memae flying and casting, reigning her own brand of terrifying power upon the Empire and it makes Ash cry out with joyous fervor. This, she needed to see this. To her left is Sylmae, cutting down guard after guard and it is so reassuring that tears begin to fall from Ash’s eyes. They can survive, they will survive – more than survive, they will fight against the death Ash fears so much.
Her chest heaves with her exertions and she focuses on getting to the pen before she collapses. Just one more thing, just one more and then she can collapse. She jogs the rest of the way to the pen, her flames trailing behind her like a wave, crashing over any enemy that tries to attack her.
The pen is located at the lower dip of a hill, allowing her to see into it. She sees Tanis! And Vystril, and Mazen, and Devora! They’re all there, bloodied and knocked down, but alive. In moments, she is at the barrier, drawing the symbol in the dirt then raising it into the air over the barrier before funneling her flames into it. Like before, the symbol glows and grows large, the flames turn white, and the barrier crashes.
The people inside gasp and flinch away. Ash is quick to run inside to her people.
“They came, the clan came,” she says despite the dryness in her throat. She touches Tanis’s face gently, “I freed the others too.” Vystril is leaned up against Devora who has a bloodied wrap around her eyes – that was not there before. Nausea rolls through Ash. This is all her fault, she should have listened. Why couldn’t she just…listen? It is not that she does not trust her mothers, but she worries…worries that every day is the last.
She needs to stop. But how?
These are questions for another time, however, when they are all safe and healed, probably after Ash has gotten a good verbal lashing from her mothers.
She’ll be alive for a verbal lashing. They’ll be alive. Normal children would be fearful but she can’t help but feel relief through it all.
Her emotions are raw and the edges of her vision are still tainted with what Fear showed her, but she can look past it to the people she is with now. Her people and….
“Are you all from Rethinel’s clan?” She asks. One of them shakes his head.
“No, we are from Merith’s – we take it you are from Nimronyn’s,” he says dryly just as Nimronyn passes over again, magical spears descending from her wings, sinking into the last of the Empire’s forces.
“And they will be coming with me.”
The voice makes Ash’s back go ramrod straight. She…knows that voice. She has not heard it in over a century, a world away.
“Uthvir – take her, please. I love you, da’len, never forget that. Now, go!”
“Melarue! Are we glad to see you.”
“Survive, da’len!”
“As am I to see you.”
“I love you, Ashokara, as my own daughter.”
“I love you too…Uthvir says the word is n-nah-nae?”
“Yes, da’len, it means parent. Do you wish to call me that?”
“Yeah, you love Mama, right?”
“I do, very much.”
“Then you’re my nanae.”
Ash turns to see them, the face she thought she would never see again, ink black hair pulled into a practical updo for battle. They are Melarue but they can’t be. She blinks again, flinching away.
“No,” she whispers, staggering back.
“Ash?” Mazen asks and she shakes her head, opening her eyes but they’re still there!
“What cruel trick is this?” She wonders, her heart racing in her chest as fear and hope in equal measure battle inside her.
And then they turn to her and she doubles over. It is them. It is. But it’s also not. Their eyes are still silver, but they look at her like one looks at a stranger. Not a cruel trick, but a crueler reality.
“Ashokara!” Sylmae shouts and Ash is only vaguely aware of her mamae pulling her up from the ground and clutching her to her.
“What were you thinking?!”
“Are you and Mama gonna get married?”
They chuckle, then show her the long tooth, split in half hanging from a piece of strong thread, “I am your mama’s kadan, and she is my vhenan.”
“I know that. Kadan means heart and so does vhenan, but I want to be a flower girl. Josie was one once and I want to do that too.”
They kiss her forehead, “Perhaps one day, da’vhenan.”
“Ashokara! ASH!”
She feels nothing and yet everything all at once and makes her sob, falling into Sylmae.
“Perhaps they took her hearing,” Not Nanae says and it twists Ash’s gut.
“No,” Ash finds herself saying.
Sylmae grasps Ash’s arms and stops when she sees the hold Ash has on the dragon tooth of her necklaces.
In halting, heavily accented qunlat, Sylmae speaks, “Do you…know them?”
Ash nods slowly before a single word escapes her lips, “Nanae.”
- Who accidentally pushes a door instead of pulling/vice versa? Nim. Sometimes her head is too in the clouds and she does things on instinct. She’d definitely make that mistake. - Who doodles little hearts all over the desk with their initials inside them? Nim.- Who starts the tickle fights?Sylmae, though usually in retaliation to some adorable quip from Nim...or a pillow fight started by her wife. - Who starts the pillow fights? Nim, throwing soft things that won’t hurt someone is the only kind of fight she’ll gladly jump into. - Who falls asleep last, watching the other with a small affectionate smile? Nim. She’s usually always the last asleep, since she’s often guarding the clan. And it gets harder and harder for her to wake up, later on. So the less sleep she does the better. But being a Keeper, she’s always half in the Dreaming, even while awake, so that helps her body get some form of rest. - Who mistakes salt for sugar? Nim again. XD Sylmae just coughs and tries to get through the food regardless, but sometimes it doesn’t work. - Who lets the microwave play the loud beeping sound at 1am in the morning? Neither. They’d both find that unbearably annoying. - Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines? Sylmae, the charmer. - Who rearranges the bookshelf in alphabetical order? Sylmae probably. Neither of them are extremely anal about that, but she does like it when she can find things. - Who licks the spoon when they’re baking brownies? Nim- Who buys candles for dinners even though there’s no special occasion? Sylmae- Who draws little tattoos on the other with a pen? Nim, she enjoys doodling things. - Who comes home with a new souvenir magnet every time they go on vacation? Nim again. Look at all the places they’ve gone! Their fridge is COVERED in magnets. - Who convinces the other to fill out those couple surveys in the back of magazines? Sylmae, surprisingly. Sometimes she enjoys silly things like that. Nim is always for it as well.
More Seeker of Rebellion! (I said I wasn’t going to write much but I spent the day whacked out on meds so formal writing didn’t happen, wooo)
Sylmae, Nimronyn, Daern’thal, and Henne’thel belong to @justanartsysideblog
Glory belongs to @feynites
Nimronyn takes them even farther away, but she is at least now going at a pace that doesn’t absolutely exhaust her. The travel is like what it was - up in the clouds and dreaming. Like before, it clears Ash’s head and lifts her spirits. Up here, it feels like nothing can touch her. It’s not the kind of rush her adoptive mothers want her to feel, but it helps to reorient herself.
She shifts and flies beside Nim for a little while, dipping into the spaces around her antlers. She needs more practice shifting anyways, why not practice now? She billows back to the aravel eventually, tired but a good tired, the kind of tired that lets her sleep without fuss. Her memories are always happier up here. Instead of remembering death and destruction, Ash remembers Nanae’s preferred perfume when they were in Val Rayoux, or how Mama loved to collect books. She remembers a trip to Val Rayoux where she got to wear the prettiest dress she had ever seen, silk spun so fine it draped like water over her.
When she wakes, she finds they have landed in a nice glen, surrounded by tall, old growth trees. The area strikes her as oddly familiar, she thinks…there are wyverns around here? But in the future, and the trees…they were bigger. But still, wyverns are creatures of habit and if they were there in the future, it is very possible they could be around now. She informs the scouts and more than a few of them seem a little too excited by the idea.
“Don’t go purposefully looking for them now,” she warns playfully.
“Would we do that?” Etiras asks, feigning innocence. Ash rolls her eyes and wishes them to be safe while scouting. She isn’t exactly one to stop someone from bending the rules, so if they happen upon a wyvern, at least they’ll be prepared.
The rest of the day is comprised of the typical work needed to secure the clan after travel. Wards need to be put up, aravels need to be properly secured, food needs to be cooked, and specialty workshops need to be set up. Children also need to be corralled and watched, though more…responsible types are trusted with that task than Ash. And since Daern’thal has worked himself into sickness, she becomes the main person responsible for setting up the wards.
It is cooler in this region, farther south and east than where they had been, and the coldness presses particularly uncomfortably against Ash. She shrouds herself in warm magic and furs. Her hair is loose today, partially for warmth, and it spills out from the hood she’s wearing.
Setting up wards is always an odd thing. It makes her think of her Nanae and Uthvir a lot, and in the past it’s graced her with a lingering melancholy. But today is different. She thinks of them and their memories seem to twine in with the wards, lighting in particularly bright displays of activity. They are all connected to her, ready to alert and to deter depending on the nature of the intruder. Animals are tricky creatures sometimes, particularly since they can be in the service of rival clans or the empire, but for the most part, the wards are set up to warn of specific elf-like energy intruders.
She is careful in how she spills her blood, creating a web of blood magic wards. She layers the wards – the outer layer is to simply inform of those wandering closer, while the second is to start discouraging, and the third are more akin to magical traps than just wards.
Ash walks the perimeter of the camp multiple times, checking to make sure that all wards and safety precautions are in place. By the time she is done, the sun is beginning to set, creating soft yet beautiful shadows through the trees. She returns to camp, heading straight to the fire. Blood magic always leaves her feeling cold, combine that with the chill in the air and Ash is too cold for comfort.
Ram soup is for dinner and helps, heating her from the inside out. She leans against Nimronyn while she eats, curling up and basking in her memae’s warmth. By the end of dinner, Ash is warm again, and her magic feels replenished, even after being so utilized during the day.
The hunters return from their hunting activities, a wyvern unabashedly being carried by three of them. Etiras shrugs at her while grabbing a bowl of soup. Well, at least now they have some valuable scales and bone for crafting.
While the camp is winding down for the night, she can’t help but notice Daern’thal’s continued absence. She frowns, he should have been with the rest of them for dinner, but he’s remained in his aravel for the entire day.
Ashokara rises and grabs another bowl of soup before heading into her friend’s aravel. It is dark, and the warming runes need more energy to be activated again. She waves a hand and they all ignite, slowly warming the aravel. She lights the candles and enchanted stones as well, bathing the aravel is soft light. Daern’thal’s prone figure wriggles in his hammock and he pokes his head out from the cocoon of his blankets.
“I brought you soup,” she says, stepping towards him.
Reverie pops its head out from underneath the covers, in its bird form.
“Thank you.”
Daern’thal slowly sits up, his hair clearly trying to free itself in a frizzy array from his braids. He keeps the blankets wrapped around him even as he shifts to the upright position. Two hand peek out from the blankets and take the bowl and spoon. She climbs up behind him and takes his hair gently in hand, slowly untangling it with a comb.
He eats and she helps him in silence. Their words after the battle…had not been nice, nor easy. He has seen her memories, she has let him…know, to understand, and as much as he understands, he has not lived what she has lived. The pain….
All he sees are her actions, and how the clan is affected by them. She knows that she has acted recklessly. And he knows that she couldn’t just stand there and let things happen, but he also feels wronged by her somehow.
“The man who destroyed my world did not think the people of my world were people. He called my people brutes, and only changed his mind when my mother showed him just how compassionate and good we are. He…was incapable of seeing people as people until it was too late, until he was too set in his ways to stop himself from destroying anything,” she says softly. Daern’thal stills and Reverie hops up onto his shoulder.
“I tell you this because I am not like him. I have always seen you as people, just as bright, just as important as the people from my world. My loss…it can never be fully repaired, but that does not mean I am unable to love you or the clan. But it does make me protective. I am sorry to have hurt you, but please do not ever insinuate that I do any of this because I do not love you,” she tells him, letting his hair fall softly down his back.
Reverie stares at her and she wonders if she said more than she should have. She doesn’t want to fight with him, but she doesn’t want to leave this…whatever it is open.
“I’m sorry,” Reverie says, so softly she almost doesn’t hear. A tense breath leaves her and she leans her forehead against the back of his head.
“Thank you.”
They don’t say anything for the rest of the evening. She helps keep him warm after the soup, curling up with him on a pile of blankets and pillows, lending her natural heat to help his recovery. Reverie sneaks into the pile, vibrating happily.
She falls asleep with him, curled up and warm.
After that night, the tension of the battle seems to lessen. And soon, days turn into weeks, which then turn into months. She trains with Sylmae almost daily, honing her abilities, becoming deadlier and stronger.
Sometimes she’ll catch herself in a mirror and hardly recognize herself. She…looks like her mama. She has her nose, and her cheeks. Mama was not a thin woman, she was made of soft curves and strong muscle, and while Ash is smaller, leaner, her body follows very similar lines to her mother, she thinks. Her shoulders are stronger now, able to carry more, not just her sorrow and memories. Ash can see her mama when she looks at herself, but it doesn’t make her sad. Her curls are looser but just as white, a mane of hair that floats around her face and horns, down her back. She is strong like her mama, she is beautiful, and compassionate. Or she at least tries to be.
She lets her memories linger closer to her. It hurts at first, everything seems to remind her of loss, but slowly it begins to shift. She sees things her loved ones would have loved, and she loves those things more for it. She sees wrong as spirits drift into the camps, whispering of the empire’s expansions, and she feels impassioned to right them. Her memories make her strong and she feels closer to herself than she has in the entire time she’s been here.
The months stretch into a year, and Nimronyn takes them deep into a mountain range. Winter holds the region in a cold, dead grip, blanketing the region in a thick blanket of snow. Ash melts snow wherever she goes, blazing trails forward…but also making them rather conspicuous.
The clan remains bundled up and close together, particularly around Nimronyn’s reptilian-like body. Ash sends friendly flames over her memae’s body every now and then, keeping her warm. Sylmae is less delicate and throws several large blankets over the dragon. But it helps. Ash knows that these far reaching places are safer, but they tax Nimronyn too much.
But she also knows not to press the issue.
We need allies. We need safe harbor. We can’t run forever. Every day the empire expands, taking more clans, killing more keepers. Daern’thal tells her of more whispers of the madness growing making Ash grow increasingly worried. There were no tales of this in the future, something so old, people forgot.
There is nothing concrete to blame the madness on, but if Ash had to bet, she’d bet it is the Empire. It the type of sinister thing she could see Mythal doing – the bitch.
What is most troubling, however, is that every now and then there are whispers in the clan that maybe the empire isn’t so bad. Their vision is an attractive one, and it beats constantly running. Ash reminds them that the empire destroys themselves eventually, enslaves definitely, and anyways, after what happened in the valley – any of them will be killed on sight…or worse. They are welcome to leave, but they should know the truth of the empire, to not believe its beguiling lies.
Despite the several feet of snow and freezing conditions, Sylmae takes Ash to the side and sets to train her.
“Conditions will not always favor you!” Sylmae says as they begin.
“Certainly not if we keep running to the mountains,” Ash snipes back, parrying her mother’s strike.
“It is futile to curb your tongue.”
“It is!” She lunges and Sylmae bats her away easily. As strong as Ash has gotten, as good as she has become with combat, she still can’t quite beat Sylmae. Always one step behind.
But then again, Ash does not use her fire in this training.
Nim trains her fire, and Daern’thal improves her defensive magicks.
“Your opinions are no always correct,” Sylmae continues.
“No one’s opinions are always correct – not even yours or Memae’s,” Ash counters, rolling away, only to drop into a particularly deep snow drift. The word is not called though, spar is still in session. Sylmae is dashing after her and in a spur of the moment decision, Ash takes a deep breath and lets a wave of heat seep from her, quickly melting all the snow around her and Sylmae.
Her mamae wobbles on the suddenly new muddy ground. Well, she used to not use her fire in these sessions. The ground is still unstable but at least it’s not snow, and Ash takes advantage of Sylmae’s very slight wobble to dash forward. Their training sticks clash as Ash angles herself low. Sylmae is still significantly taller than Ash, and she’s beginning to think she’s taller than even Mama, but that just means she has a longer way to fall.
Ash is not the quickest, nor the strongest, but she strives to be clever. She does not relent, further destabilizing Sylmae’s base. She could maybe win this won, she could –
A ward goes off in her head and she gasps, suddenly seeing the intruders on the outer ring of wards traipsing through the snow.
When her vision clears, she is on her back with Sylmae standing above her.
“What was that?”
“Intruders,” Ash hisses, rolling to her feet quickly. Seriousness settles over Sylmae as she follows Ash back into the camp, peppering her with questions.
“How many? What were their armaments? Describe them –
“I don’t think they’re part of the empire, they looked more like a clan – but I didn’t see a Keeper.” She tries to hold the image in her head, seeing…an aravel, harts, and young elves that could very well be teenagers.
Sylmae’s face hardens. They’ve run into hostile clans before, though normally they have Keepers. A Keeper-less clan is woefully at risk, that is…if the Keeper isn’t disguised somehow.
Still, they alert the clan, rearranging the aravels into a defensive position and gathering warriors and hunters. Daern’thal taps into the wards and Dreaming, scouting where he can to see if he can learn anything about these elves.
Ash armors and arms herself, slowly working on her breathing exercises to let her magic begin to circulate freely inside of her. Fire requires a spark and a steady supply of fuel, magical fire requires the same, with slight variation. Her will is the spark, her breath and the magical pathways in her body are the fuel. She grabs her spear, two daggers, and several knives. She doesn’t think this clan will pose that much of a threat, but…safer than sorry.
Armed and ready, she joins her mothers at the forefront.
Another ward breaks and Ash is given another glimpse. The clan she sees is not advancing like an army, and she does not know if they can sense they are breaking wards. Exhaustion is written across their faces.
We need to know our enemies, yes, but we also need to know how to spot an ally, Mama’s voice drifts through her mind, a lingering memory. She was speaking to Cullen, something about how he was suspicious of some new mage enclave Mama wanted to bring into the fold. There was concern that they were Venatori agents – they had in fact been young mages who had run from the Circle before the rebellion. Mama had been right.
“I think…this is not a fight,” she says tentatively.
“I agree,” Reverie chirps up. It sits on Daern’thal’s shoulder, his eyes still closed as he searches through the Dreaming.
“They carry weariness with them, not malice,” it continues. Mamae and Memae share looks, Memae’s large eyes blinking slowly as she returns her gaze to the forest around them.
“They can still pose a threat,” Mamae says.
“Yes, but maybe…a friendly initial approach is best?” Ash suggests.
Another ward breaks. The sounds of a moving clan reach them, growing from soft whispers and whirring to actual speech and the plodding of harts, the various plunks and wheezing from moving aravels.
“Mamae? Memae?” Ash asks, wanting to see if they will at least consider her idea.
“Yes, little light, we’ll try. We do not fight if it’s not necessary,” Nim finally answers and Ash relaxes. If she is wrong, they can chew her out – but something tells her she’s not.
The other clan’s scouts are the first to pass through the trees. They are nearly hidden, but the wards chitter with activity.
“Stay there,” Nimronyn commands. The scouts freeze against the trees and soon the rest of the clan follows them.
They halt immediately as soon as they spy Ash’s clan. They watch each other, eyes flitting from one person to the next, gaging the strength of who they’re up against. The people of the other clan’s faces fall as they realize their disadvantage.
The stillness is broken by a small woman striding quickly to the front of the stopped clan. There is a fierceness to her that Ash recognizes, as is the sorrow that seems to fill the space around her. This is a grieving woman, her eyes are hard and she is ready to fight if need be. She has lost much, but she has not lost everything.
A warrior next to Ash grips his axe tighter and Ash reaches out, placing her hand on the haft. Nimronyn puffs up and a taste of her magic suffuses the area.
“There is already a clan here, you have broken many of our wards…what brings you so close?” She asks, her tone as strong as it is questioning. The woman in question raises her chin in defiance, her own magic expanding in the space and Ash suddenly realizes that this must be their Keeper.
“You are Nimronyn, yes?”
Memae lets out a low growl but nods.
“I am Henne’thel. My father spoke of you, he said you were a good Keeper. You are not like the Keeper that attacked my clan and killed him and my mother.”
Her clan does not gasp as much as the emotions in the clearing suddenly turn to shock then to pity then to sorrow. The death of a Keeper…once a rare event has become entirely too common, with the rise of the empire and the increasing boldness in warring clans that have tyrannical Keepers more bent on fighting and death than they are on leading.
“I am sorry for your loss, Henne’thel. I knew of your father as well, he was a good Keeper.”
“I am our Keeper now – I slew the last Keeper that threatened us.”
“As is your right. We do not wish any unnecessary antagonism if you do not,” Nimronyn says diplomatically.
The tension in the grove eases considerably. Ash watches as the other clan’s members relax, tension rolling off of their shoulders and their faces.
“No, we do not wish any unnecessary fighting. We will be on our way if it eases you,” Henne’thel says. Before Ash can think better of it, she steps forward and bends her head towards her memae.
“Perhaps, Keeper, we could invite them to break bread with us. Winters are coldest weathered alone,” she says, hoping the double meaning of her words come across. Memae huffs at her briefly, pausing before turning back to Henne’thel.
“My daughter speaks the truth, you are welcome to share our fire if you promise to keep your clan on their best behavior.”
Henne’thel inclines her head in gratitude, first towards Nimronyn, then towards Ash.
“Your generosity and hospitality is greatly appreciated. I will confer with my clan and give you an answer.”
“Very well. Ashokara, since you seem so invested in this, you may wait for their answer. You as well Daern’thal, keep her safe.”
Ah, she will be reprimanded lightly later then. Fine, she can handle that, because dammit she was right. Daern’thal looks slightly put out as the rest of their clan files back to their camp. Reverie scuttles up to the top of her friend’s head, staring at Henne’thel.
“I agree with you,” it chirps and she smiles at her friend.
“Thank you, Nimronyn and Sylmae may…not be so understanding of it later, though.”
“They’ll see reason, they always do. It’s not like you barreled head first into an army this time.”
“It was a raiding party, excuse you, and everything turned out fine. And this is better than fine. Friends are always good,” Ash says.
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Henne’thel says from behind her. Ash turns in surprise, looking down, very far down, at the woman before her.
“I do. I am glad we could avoid any fighting; you and your clan have been through enough.”
Henne’thel frowns at that but she does not press the issue as she returns to her people. She can guess what she seems like to Henne’thel, unknowing of the pain she is going through right now. But maybe…and it’s a big maybe, she will get the chance to understand.
When Ash turns back to Daern’thal he is flushed, and it’s not just from the weather. Ash leans back, raising a knowing brow at him. He shrugs, opting to remain silent. Well, then, perhaps it’s not as big of a ‘maybe’ after all.
Henne’thel confers with her people for at least an hour. In that hour, Ash and Daern’thal communicate mostly in sign, keeping quiet for privacy, for themselves and for the clan heatedly discussing whether or not to accept their offer. She can understand why they wouldn’t – unknown, could be a trap, inviting misfortune. She doubts saying it’s not a trap will assuage any concerns, so she lets them have their debate in peace.
Daern’thal seems preoccupied with how apparently pretty Henne’thel is. She is indeed lovely, Ash can see that, but Daern’thal seems very quickly taken with her.
I should have let you invite her to our fire. Ash teases.
I do not court the ire of the Keeper as easily as you do, He retorts, sufficiently not denying anything. She chuckles.
Everyone seems to forget what my name means.
How exactly did your mother know you would be so annoyingly defiant? He teases and she chuckles.
Lucky guess.
And so it goes for an hour, quip after quip until Henne’thel reappears, looking pleased with herself.
“We accept your invitation, as long as you sit with us.”
Oooh, she’s to be insurance, interesting.
“As long as Daern’thal can sit with us too, then, he’s delightful company.” She grins and Daern’thal almost blushes.
Henne’thel seems unfazed by it however as she nods and returns to her people. After she gathers them, they all head towards the camp. Ash manipulates the wards accordingly, allowing them safe passage. The aravels are still positioned defensively when they arrive and a truce must be reached – weapons are to be confined to specific aravels to help prevent fighting. Both clans consent to it and slowly but surely, Henne’thel’s clan settles down around the large fire Ash’s clan has going.
Ash and Daern’thal are kept as the insurance, but she doesn’t mind. She knows that her clan will not attack, and she is happy to foster diplomacy. Henne’thel’s people do not talk to her much at all however, they keep to themselves and while they are all sharing the fire, the clans remain largely separated into their groups. The only exception to this are the children.
As soon as the situation is deemed safe enough, the children are allowed out of the aravels and allowed to romp. They have no issues with making new friends from a different clan, they see a fellow child and see a potential friend, not a potential threat.
Henne’thel and Nimronyn sit together, discussing Keeper things, Ash imagines. This awkward situation remains until supper, where the hunters from both clans convene and begin to cook the game they had caught during the day. Henne’thel takes a seat next to Nimronyn, while Ash and Daern’thal sit with the hunters from Henne’thel’s clan.
The fire begins to die when a wind billows through the trees. Reflexively, Ash takes control of the fire, turning it a brilliant blue as it waves in place while the wind poses a threat. When the wind shifts, she relinquishes it and settles back in. Henne’thel’s clan is watching her closely.
“I heard a very interesting rumor,” Henne’thel says carefully.
“And what is this rumor?” Nimronyn asks.
“There was a battle in a valley far from here, between the rising empire elves and a clan.”
Ash tenses but Nimronyn seems calm.
“Not such an uncommon occurrence in such times.”
“Hm, true, but it is uncommon when the clan wins.” Henne’thel’s gaze shifts to Ash.
“The rumors spoke of a great blue fire engulfing even the mightiest of the warriors. They call the woman responsible for the slaughter Asha’thylgar.”
“The woman of blue fire? What a descriptive name,” Nimronyn ventures, “and potentially misleading – blue fire is not as uncommon as some think.”
“True…but the rumor spoke of the woman who as the daughter of a Keeper,” Henne’thel says and finally Nimronyn shifts her tone.
“I do not appreciate where you are going with this.”
“I mean no disrespect or harm. I am…impressed, very few who tangle with this so-called empire come out of it alive – and you did more than just survive.”
Ash resists smiling and instead continues to eat her food. Ash’s clan seems unnerved from the conversation, they’re shifting in their seats, looking to one another. Sylmae levels her gaze at Ash while Henne’thel and Nymronyn remain locked into whatever stand-off they’re in.
“The empire is hunting you, Asha’thylgar has a sizeable bounty on her head for what she did to Falon’din, it seems reasonable to warn you.”
“How exactly did you come across this information?” Nimronyn demands. They already know about the bounty and the hunting parties, it’s partly why they’re still on the move.
“How everyone does, gossip-y spirits, including an actual Gossip spirit. We have no interest in collecting that bounty, they’d probably just steal us into their empire anyways.”
“Then why bring it up?” Nimronyn asks.
Henne’thel pauses and her eyes go over Ash, “I wanted to know if it was true. I know what the empire can do, I doubted such rumors that a clan escaped. The tale made it sound…fantastical.”
“Feats that are not believed are often thought of that way,” Ash says softly. It’s how folktales and legends get started, there’s almost always a grain of truth, but time distorts everything – especially stories.
“And do you have the truth of this feat?” Henne’thel asks.
“The truth is subject to perspective,” Nimronyn says, “perhaps that is why your gossiping spirits create such a fantastical story – it’s their truth.”
“Then I ask for your truth,” Henne’thel says, not backing down from this. Eyes flit to Ash, expecting her to tell the tale. She nibbles on her lip and shrugs.
“A raiding party entered the valley where we were camped. I was tasked with leading the clan away from the fighting while my Keeper and the clan’s warriors engaged with the raiding party. I couldn’t bear to watch my mothers die so I entered the fighting myself – I have always had a talent for fire, I used it.”
Dark emotion falls over Henne’thel and she nods, “I know that feeling, you are lucky that you did not lose them.” A bitter smile crosses Ash’s face – she doesn’t know, she tells herself. But she nods her head in thanks.
“Lucky indeed.” It feels like a lie. It wasn’t luck, it was determination and action, to prevent from history repeating itself. Or beginning so to speak. She knows what Henne’thel is feeling right now – anger, grief, jealousy. Ash’s adoptive mothers are alive while Henne’thel’s parents are dead – through no fault of her own.
“I am heartened to hear that the tale is true, it is good to know that not all clans are doomed to suffer Keeper-less fates.”
“And we heartened to know that your clan survived a rival’s attack. How did you manage that?” Ash asks.
“I took the form of a Keeper and assumed my role.”
She is more powerful than she seems, then, good. Allies should be strong. The rest of the dinner is filled with polite, if tense, conversation. But over time, and as the wines and spirits are passed around the fire, the tension lessens and the two clans ease into a more companionable existence.
The next few days are a flurry of activity. Food is a little thin, Ash’s clan was not expecting to be hosting with another clan. But Henne’thel’s hunters are more than happy to assist Nim’s hunters in acquiring food. Children play together, Nim and Henne’thel are engaged in talks the entire week, friendships are made, and by the end of the week, an alliance has formed.
Ash resists the urge to gloat but she does settle for a small, “I was right,” directed at Sylmae who humbles her in training again for it. Worth it, though. One of the best, and unexpected, results is that Daern’thal seems absolutely taken with Henne’thel. Reverie once whispers to Ash that Daern’thal finds Henne’thel pretty, beautiful even.
While there seems to be a lead up into a courtship between Henne’thel and Daern’thal, and the alliance is strong, the two clan go their separate ways in traveling. They set up the routes for communication in the Dreaming, giving Daern’thal even more power to contact his lady love. It’s cute, and it’s a good reminder than even in dark times there are always these little bits of brightness that shine through.
Spring arrives in the mountains in a soggy manner, drenching the area in rain – as if the melting snow wasn’t enough. Aravels get stuck and travel becomes slow as they avoid flying due to the near constant inclement weather.
They are camped out on a small mountain, when a ward goes off. Like it’s supposed to work, Ash catches a glimpse of what broke the ward – but she doesn’t see anything other than the surrounding foliage, maybe a few animals, but nothing that would break a ward. She frowns. Wards do not just spontaneously break.
She waits several minutes but no other wards break. She alerts the clan to the ward breaking and they agree it should be examined. Several groups are sent out to examine the perimeter while Ash and Etiras leave to examine the ward, armed just in case. They travel quietly through the woods to the broken ward. Ash’s magic lingers in the area, not just activated but blown apart. This was no accident.
She draws her spear and slowly turns, scanning the area. Etiras draws his bow, looking for anything, anyone, who could have blown the enchantment.
Ash looks up too late. A heavy person drops down from the trees, landing firmly on top of her. She falls to the ground with a harrumph, but rolls away quickly. More drop down from the trees and she hears the snaps of a bow as Etiras begins to fight back. Her spear was thrown when the elf landed on her, so she grabs the dagger in her belt and lashes out with that.
The assassin evades her easily and advances quickly. She rolls back to her feet just as the assassin lunges. She moves just as Sylmae taught her, and she lashes out with her fire – but it is raining, and the ground is sopping. Her fire only does so much, only burns so much before it is turned to steam. More steam fills the air as her fire collides with it, thickening the air, making it difficult to breathe.
But the assassins were just warming up it seems. A cloud of magic seeps into the air, sending what feels like knives and shards of glass into her skin. Her arms are soon covered in lacerations, her face, legs. She hears Etiras scream and she realizes that they’ve been outmatched.
It’s a quick decision, but it should work. It’s called a detonation glyph, she normally doesn’t use them because their devastation is too dangerous – too much margin of error. But they are far from camp and the sound of the blast will alert the rest of the clan. She blasts her fire into the nearest assassin. Their barrier takes the majority of the blast but they are left at least stunned enough to grant her the three seconds to whisper the spell into the ground.
The time starts now.
She manipulates the heat of the air to allow her to see Etiras. Wasting no time, Ash grabs him and runs. Then jumps down a ledge. She sends them both into a tucked in roll, doing the best to protect themselves even as they roll down the scraggly side of the ledge and into the brush.
The ward goes off in a brilliant blue explosion, rocking the earth and air. Debris flies down and Ash curls in on herself, protecting her head and neck.
When the air grows calm, she gathers the will to peak out from her position.
“E-Etiras?” She calls softly. A low groan answers her and she pulls herself to her feet. Damn assassins, probably looking to get a bounty on her like Henne’thel had said. Her body is bleeding and hurt, but she can move, keep moving, keep going.
Ash moves to Etiras, who is in a much worse shape. His foot is bent at an unnatural angle and he is already covered in purple and blue marks, bleeding internally as well as from the cuts up and down his arms, his face…
She has never been one for healing. It is not a skill that comes naturally to her, but she knows a thing or two.
“Etiras.”
“Ow.” He can’t move, the pain is too much, it infuses all of the emotion around him. But he’s alive, and that’s all that matters as far she’s concerned. With the utmost care, she reaches down and gently lifts him. He cries out in pain, but this has to happen. It gets worse before it gets better, she remembers that is part of healing.
The foot needs to be set, there’s no way around it, and then she can begin healing. There is a spell for numbing pain, she just need to remember it.
She attempts a spell then checks for numbness, but it doesn’t work. She tries again, but it is on the third try that she manages the right incantation. Etiras goes numb, all pain and some emotion fading from him.
Alright, step one done. She can do this, she may not have taken to healing, but she did train. She did her time with the healers, and she recalls some from her first life, even without magic, it’s possible. She thinks of the surgeon in Skyhold’s infirmary, working to heal the soldiers, and she didn’t even have magic.
If she can do it, so can Ashokara.
She takes gentle hold of his foot and leg and recalls seeing the Surgeon set a bone like this. Know the body and how it connects and you can take it apart…and put it together again.
She jerks. The bones crunch sickening but the foot is in the position it is supposed to be in. She tears off her shirt and wraps the torn pieces around the foot, then wraps two sturdy sticks to his leg, stabilizing it. Then she casts the few healing spells she knows.
The cuts on his arms mend, and some of the bruising eases off. His breathing evens out and she runs a hand over his hair.
“I’m going to get us back.”
“That was some fucked up shit, Ash.”
“I know, I’m going to pick you up now.” She takes one of his arms and helps him into a sitting position, then moves the arm to fall over her shoulders. She adjusts herself so that when she stands, he is slung over both shoulders, foot and ankle untouched. He grunts but makes no protest as she begins to walk towards what she hopes will let her back up to the clan.
She needs to keep moving, there’s no telling if there are more assassins, waiting to strike. Sylmae and the rest are good at tracking so if they need to find her, they will. Etiras is heavy, but not so much that she will let him attempt walking.
Ash wanders down to the river the scouts had found before. Hypothetically she should be able to wander up-stream and to a crossing point where she can then get to the desired elevation where the clan is. And water sounds very nice right about now.
The going is slow, but she eventually makes it to where the trees end and the riverbed beings, dipping in low. She stops immediately, frozen to the spot as she sees it. She has many experiences with spirits, small and large alike, some bright some clinging to shadows, but none have ever shone so brightly, floated so exquisitely as the one before. It large and golden, but not like the ore but as if it were a second sun on earth, light spilling so easily from it as it dangles in the air above the river.
It turns towards her and her heart stutters. She falls to her knees and Etiras grunts, but falls silent of any protests as he looks up from her shoulder and sees the spirit.
It blinks curiously at her as it floats towards her. An arm extends down to her, silent but overwhelming as it touches her cheek. It is warm and comforting despite everything and she leans into it, wanting it to remain just for longer. It is almost familiar, this closeness, and it fills with unfathomable sorrow to have it be gone.
“You are lost,” it whispers, but it is an echoing thing, as if it were a thousand whispers coming from multiple beings rather than just one. She nods in confirmation.
“We are separated from our clan, have you seen them?” Etiras asks. The spirit turns to him and nods.
“Up on the ridge, to the east. But that is not what I meant.”
Ash blinks in surprise and struggles to find a response.
“I am where I can only be,” she finally says and the spirit nods.
“As we all are.”
Etiras lifts his head slowly and takes a breath, “You are Glory.”
“I am.”
Glory. A very suiting aspect for this spirit, overwhelming and humbling and incredible all at once. Grand and shining, something everyone wants, and so few get, fewer that deserve it.
“Thank you for helping us,” he whispers. Several of its wings beat, light shines from them in varying lengths.
“I will accompany you to the path, you should find your way back from there,” Glory says and begins to…float up the river. She follows it, moving as quickly as she can. As Glory moves, the world seems to stretch towards them, as if nothing can get enough of them. Even Etiras seems to lean as much as he can towards them.
But a coldness lingers in Ash that she can’t explain. It is beautiful and great and incredible, but it also brings a heaviness to her memories that she has not felt in a long time.
Glory leads them to the path. Ash was right, it wasn’t far from the river at all, and she can hear Sylmae and the others in the distance calling for her. Before she heads towards them, she turns to Glory and bows her head in thanks.
“Thank you. And if you will accept advice – stay far away from the Empire, all they do is destroy and corrupt things.”
“Your concern is kind. I will remember it,” it tells her. She nods and Etiras gives his own thanks as Glory recedes back into the Dreaming.
Etiras is heavy upon her shoulders, as are her memories, pressing incessantly against her skull. But she sojourns forth towards the sound of her clan, her people. The past weighs her down, but her legs are strong.
She takes a deep breath and calls for Sylmae, directing them all to her. They are there in a flash, taking Etiras from her and whisking him away to the clan’s healers. Sylmae pulls Ash in for a tight hug, only to release her quickly once she realizes how cut up Ash is.
Their time of running from the Empire is coming to an end, and much sooner than she had expected.
Sylmae, Nimronyn, and Daern’thal belong to @justanartsysideblog
@feynites for Athimel, Falon’din, Dirthamen, and Mythal
note: the spirit of fear mentioned is not in any way related to Uthvir or Dirthamen.
Seeker of Rebellion AU
There is a lone rider coming up the path towards the pup-up camp. The lieutenant narrows his eyes then holds out his hand towards his servant for a scope. He focuses on the rider to see not one but two elves, one of whom wears unmistakable garb but it horribly burned…
“Summon the healers, now,” he snaps to the servant before turning away, heading through the camp, readying them to receive their Lord.
He calls for the way to be cleared from the entrance to the lord’s tent.
“Call for Mythal…and Dirthamen,” he says, striding through the camp, waking everyone even if they have only just now been allowed to rest. This is not a time anyone wishes to be caught resting.
“Yes, sir. But what does Dirthamen have to do with this?”
“Bonds such as theirs are not dissolved just because they have taken bodies. Now instead of questioning my decisions, how about you do what you are told?” Efficacy bows low before taking off. Good, efficiency is important. So is obedience, particularly when you work for Falon’din and look the way she does. Certainty makes sure she’s protected, out of sight or shifted, but she knows quite well what predicament she is in. Fear can breed loyalty is stoked properly, and if presented correctly.
“Bring the wards down, let our lord in,” Certainty calls to those tending the gate wards. He stops by the cooks, ordering them to begin creating soups and stews for recuperation, maybe even regeneration. The attendants manage the lord’s tent and by the time Certainty makes his way back to the tent, the hart is barreling through the camp.
It is chaos as people help Athimel, the rider, and Falon’din off the run-to-death animal. Falon’din is swept into the tent and away from prying eyes. He is a sobbing, wailing wreck that has Certainty tossing up silencing wards all around the tent before taking Athimel aside. His wounds can be seen to later, after Falon’din’s health has been ascertained.
Certainty takes him into his own tent, activating his own silencing wards.
“Sit,” he commands, pulling up healing potions laced with truth serums from his personal stash. He must be sure of the truth of the matter, and he will be unable to do this with Falon’din, and he suspects any others of the raiding party.
“Drink this, it tastes foul but it will help,” he tells the now shaking man. Athimel downs it then gags at the taste but his tongue is loose as the serum works its way through his system.
“It was a standard raid, we had received word that there was a strong keeper guarding a clan that would serve the empire well if brought into the fold. We engaged with the Keeper, but it had brought fighters with it.”
“That is standard, they do not simply let their keepers die,” Certainty comments, writing quickly.
“We had divided the party, there was the initial engagement group and then our lord was in the flanking group. I had been assigned to the first. The flanking group was set to come in when fire erupted.”
Certainty’s brows furrow and he pauses, “The dragon breathed fire, surely you have encountered this before.” But Athimel shakes his head slowly, horror written clearly on the dark planes of his face.
“The Keeper breathed fire, we were prepared for that. But the Keeper must have had a daughter. It was blue fire, Certainty, it burned hotter than anything I have ever seen. Our lord was about to slay this…this asha’thylgar but she burned him, opened up her mouth and…. It was horrible, Certainty.”
Blue fire? Certainty has heard of some being able to conjure up such flames but they’re often unstable and result in either killing the person or them vowing to never use the fire again. To be able to fully control the fire is, as far he is aware, unheard of. But…that doesn’t mean it isn’t unstable naturally. He simply needs a way to exploit that instability, because he knows that the lord will not let this go. He will hunt this asha’thylgar and her clan until they are all dead. Which is unfortunate in a way, he’d love to have an asset than can actually control blue fire.
He turns to Efficacy, “Do not disturb our lord or the healers, but make sure to find out how long it will be until he is healed enough to be in a right mind. Then using that time, summon the lord’s father.”
Athimel scowls, “And why summon him? This is our –
“Because the only way to fight fire is with fire, and the lord’s father is a skilled fighter and with him come other skilled warriors and tacticians. I want to catch this bitch, don’t you?” He glances up from the formal request for Elgar’nan’s presence, scowling at the still wounded Athimel.
The man is an idiot, a total sycophant, incapable of having any thought that deviates from their lord’s. Certainty is at least aware to keep his less agreeable ideas silent, but he knows that his value comes from his work and from positioning Falon’din into victories over the stubborn elves who insist on remaining apart from the burgeoning empire. They fail to understand logic, and that is why the empire will win, at the end of the day.
Certainty rises from his seat and instructs Athimel to use his tent to rest while he goes to see how his lord is fairing. He cautiously enters the tent with aid of one of the guards, immediately lowering himself to the ground to appear smaller than his lord, even now.
“Donotlookatme!” Falon’din screams. Certainty immediately averts his eyes but he has already seen enough. His lord is stripped and burned, the entirety of his face and head is burned to a potentially irreparable point.
“Please, my lord, your emotions will only worsen the scarring,” a healer gently pleads.
“Then act faster!” Falon’din hisses. The healers attempt what they can, the tent hums in energy as they try to restore the lord to his beauty. All energy has been leached from him, he is not even able to maintain a shifted height.
This…will not do.
“I vow to use everything I am and that I have to bring this bitch to heel, my lord. She knows not the privilege it is to be in your presence. I have summoned your brother, he should be able to aid in your recovery. You will rise from this, my lord – a great phoenix rising from the ashes.”
Falon’din roars in pain and fury, his emotions a whip in the small space. A healer flinches, weak. Certainty retreats from the tent then rights his clothing. He must prepare for Dirthamen’s arrival. There are those who do not like Falon’din’s brother and they must be dealt with. Whatever Certainty thinks of Dirthamen is irrelevant, he is Falon’din’s twin soul, birthed from the same source, forever entwined.
He tugs on his own connection to his brother, feeling a twinge in response. It is a curious thing, this bond, but it is one that is undeniable and unbreakable. And it comes with certain benefits.
Twenty years ago, there was an attack on one of Falon’din’s camps. While the attackers had been thwarted, largely thanks to Certainty, many of Falon’din’s attendants had been caught in the fighting. One of whom was Clarity. He was gutted and dying, the bond disintegrating within Certainty. But Certainty had rallied, calling upon his blood and bond, forcing life and healing into Clarity. It gave him enough of a push to survive with the healers.
He thinks he can recreate it with Dirthamen here. It is…painful, but Certainty is sure that Falon’din’s twin soul will do everything he can to save him.
When Certainty returns to his tent, Athimel has passed out on his cot. Efficacy hovers over him, wrapping his wounds in elfroot salve soaked bandages. All of the healers have been pulled to tend to Falon’din, leaving Athimel and others unfortunately neglected. But the health of their lord comes first. Thankfully for Athimel, Efficacy is a jack-of-all-trades assistant.
“How is he?”
“He was growing delirious so I cast a sleeping spell. He’ll be fine, it was mostly fear and exhaustion causing his delirium, and perhaps blood loss. If he survives, I am sure he will receive accolades for saving our lord’s life.”
Certainty frowns, “I doubt he will. He did what he was supposed to do, you don’t get rewarded for that.” And you shouldn’t, Certainty thinks. But Athimel should be given a period of leave to relax and properly recover from the ordeal. Falon’din will be bound to his tower with healers and guards for some time, and that time will be plenty to plan a course of action.
“Where were they?” He asks, returning to his desk to the maps of what Falon’din had planned earlier. Raiding parties had their place, though the lord has been quite…taken with them as of late. The majority of his forces are required west with his father’s forces, repelling several clans that have banned together to oppose expansion of the empire.
“East, by the mountains, in the valley.”
Certainty shakes his head, resisting the urge to swear.
“That means the clan that did this fled into the mountains.” Sending soldiers into mountains they do not know on a mission to take out a clan that somehow eviscerated a raiding party is not a good idea. Dammit, they’ve already turned this into a waiting game. And neither Falon’din nor Eglar’nan are known for their patience.
Certainty spends the rest of the night plotting potential routes into the mountains and valleys, mostly on covert exploration trips to gain understanding of the area so an assault will be possible.
Morning brings with it Dirthamen and a few of his people. There is no anxiety to him, no pressing need to see his brother even though Certainty knows he must be feeling some pain on his end.
“Thank you for coming, Lord Dirthamen. It is urgent, the Lord Falon’din could use your aid.”
“I am not trained in healing,” he says simply.
“But you are connected to him.” Certainty then explains to him what happened with him and his own twin soul, how he was able to save him even without being trained in healing. It is difficult to determine how the lord feels about the situation with his mask, but after a moment he strides towards Falon’din’s tent. He disappears for several minutes before leaving the tent and approaching Certainty.
“What is involved?”
**
The aravel rattles, waking Ashokara up from her rest. She winces at the pains still lingering in her body, even days after the battle. While she is healed, she spent so much energy that her exhaustion has manifested physically. While her muscles aren’t technically pulled or in spasm, her magic is making her feel like it.
Despite the soreness, Ash pulls herself up, dressing as quickly as her body will allow before opening one of the shutters in the aravel. She sticks her head out to see Halanidor hammering away on his anvil.
“What’s with the racket?” She calls. His head snaps up and he raises his hammer at her.
“You! Running off like that, damn irresponsible like that, you could have died.” He swings the hammer down again.
“Kids these days, not listening to their mothers, their Keeper. They take you in and what do you do?”
“I save them from getting killed, that’s what,” she spits back.
“Girl goes off trying to be noble not even wearing proper armor – you could have died!” He shouts, dropping the hammer. He curses then steps away from his anvil and the hot steel. Oh, he’s not really mad at her, just….
“But I didn’t, I’m here.” She ducks inside the aravel quickly, only to pop back out to round closer to him. He’s a short, strong man, trusted with almost all of their weapon-making. And he is scowling, brow furrowed in unhappiness.
“Kids going around disobeying the Keeper, never heard of that in my day. That puny spear, so easily broken.” He picks the hammer up and continues to mold the steel on the anvil…a decidedly long and pointed piece of metal.
“Are you making me a new spear? So soon?” She asks dismayed.
“No, I’m practicing for your spear. We need to be better, I need to be better. You are not dying, you hear me?” He waves the hammer at her again and she smiles. “Now, stoke that fire would you?”
Ash does as she is requested, gently flexing that magic muscle in her. The fire flares blue for a moment before mellowing to orange and red. It’s like walking after running for miles and miles, but it also carries a modicum of relief.
“I have no plans on dying any time soon, Halanidor, don’t worry,” she tells him but he frowns at her.
“The children may not have heard your little speech to Daern’thal, but I did, little miss.” Yes, that…it’s difficult to explain and she does not even attempt to. The point is that she didn’t die and neither did her adoptive mothers or anyone else. She saved them, and kicked Falon’din’s stupid ass so bad he’ll wear the scars for the rest of his life.
She walks away from Halanidor’s anvil and heads towards the center of camp. The children remain close to the center rather than running around. Everything has changed, and this freedom that they had thought they had….
They need to adapt faster than what the empire can anticipate.
Memae will not like it, she wants to keep to these ways as do most of the clan. It will take some convincing to build rather than travel, particularly since there are benefits to traveling. But she knows that you can only run for so long before you run out of territory to run to.
But she can let the idea go for the day, they are all still recovering from the battle, and the empire certainly is as well. Falon’din has automatic allies in his family, and resources beyond anything the clan could find on their own. They are alone, and lone lions do not survive.
All around her she sees change. There is a wariness suspended in the air save for when they look at her. She does not need the clouds of emotions to tell that there is hope, awe, and fear. The direction of that fear is a bit more difficult to place, but Halanidor’s outburst gives her an idea. It is difficult to reassure them, though, particularly when whispers of how she defied her Keeper circulate.
They all look to Nimronyn who is resting as Arselah works more healing magic into her wings.
“Memae,” Ash greets, raising her hand to rest gently against her nostril. A low rumble and a slow blink respond. She is tired as well, moving the clan so much while still recovering herself…. She did what she had to, getting the clan as far away from the battle as possible, keeping their movements as erratic as possible to make it difficult for anyone to follow. It has exhausted her.
They are currently positioned a hundred leagues away from where the battle had taken place, thrusted here by a determined keeper manipulating the dreaming to hurtle them fast and long. Nestled into the side of a great mountain, they hide, recovering and waiting for what they should do next.
Mamae is also exhausted, taking more and more watches, always ready. But she shows it less than her wife. It is a hot, lazy day, and danger feels so far away that the clan seems to finally allow themselves to relax. Mamae walks into the camp, bereft of her heavier armaments, her hair up to keep her neck cool, and promptly plops down next to Nimronyn and Ash.
“Spirits say that all is quiet from where the raiding party came from,” she exhales, her eyes closing seemingly involuntarily.
“Good. We can take some time then, we cannot fight in this state. Rest, Mamae, the empire is licking their wounds and is trying to get ahold of what to do as much as we are.” Ash says gently. Mamae makes a sound of agreement
The day continues on in a restful manner. Only the hunters who feel up to it hunt, bringing back various birds that are roasted by a fire Ashokara tends. Nimronyn and Sylmae sleep in a heap, both snoring softly as they recoup.
Daern’thal takes a seat next to her by the fire for the first time since the night before the battle. His hands are quiet and his eyes still don’t quite meet hers. She is silent while she eats, for once unsure of how to proceed with him.
They haven’t spoken since she flew out to join the battle and as upset Halanidor had been about it, she suspects that Daern’thal is having a similar reaction. She didn’t do anything wrong, she saved her adoptive mothers – shit, she saved his parents. While she doesn’t blame him for his reaction, she certainly doesn’t feel bad for what she did. Necessary things are often scary and risky and are met with a certain amount of resistance.
So they remain quiet, neither willing to give an inch.
At the end of dinner, she takes care of her plate and returns to her aravel. Mamae has not slept here for the last few days, making the space seem inordinately large for just Ash. She curls up in on the pull-out ledge that is her bed, wondering how exactly saving everyone turned into everyone either yelling at her or just shunning her.
Sorrow and confusion well up in her. She is reminded of how this isn’t her time, and these are ultimately not her people. Even though she has spent more time with them than she did the people from her original time…she is out of place. She is not an elf, she is not a dragon, or a spirit. She is a vashoth qunari, and alone.
Her sleep is restless and tumultuous. She shucks off Nimronyn’s magic and recedes into her memories. She is seven years old again, crying into her mother’s tunic.
Ashokara wakes with the sun and sets to helping set the camp up for the day. She is worn and tired and feeling the weight of years more acutely than normal. After she eats breakfast, Mamae taps her on the shoulder and jerks her head towards the woods where Memae is waiting.
“Your mother and I want to talk to you,” Mamae says. There is a harshness to her voice that unsettles Ash, but maybe it’s just about the general ill feeling that lingers over the clan from the battle. She follows Mamae into a clearing. Memae’s forms shimmers and changes quickly into her elven form. There are dark circles under her eyes, and she is paler than normal. Even in this form, she wears the strain of travel and the exhaustion of the last four days.
Ash feels strangely cornered. Memae pulls Ash into a hug.
“You were very brave to do that,” she begins, “and we love you so much. We love that you are full of passion and a need to protect, but what were you thinking?” Nimronyn pulls away and Ash blinks in confusion.
“You disobeyed your Keeper in a reckless dive that could have not only killed you, but it left the rest of the clan vulnerable,” Nimronyn’s voice is sharp and scolding. It cuts into Ash and for a flash second, she feels as if they’re ungrateful, but she can feel the lingering fear in both of them. There is anger and dismay, but the fear is what gets her.
Still, she steps away from Nimronyn, her face drawn.
“I did what I had to do,” she says. But Sylmae shakes her head.
“You did what you thought you had to. You looked, but did not see.”
“Were you not bleeding profusely from a spear? Was there not a flanking party ready to charge in?” This feels more than a little absurd. She helped them. It was a raiding party engaged with the clan down in the valley, the mountain was safe, they had no reason to be up there…
“I was taken by surprise, yes, but we had the situation under control. That doesn’t change the fact that you disobeyed direct orders to get the clan to safety,” Nimronyn says, her posture more rigid and her emotions suddenly being completely restricted.
“It was reckless and short sighted,” Sylmae continues. So, this is what this is.
“The clan was safe; the raiding party was restricted to the valley -”
“You could not know that. You saw something that scared you and you acted. You didn’t think it through. You need to stop letting your emotions guide your actions.” Sylmae takes a step towards Ash and Ash steps back. Sylmae tends to loom, and Ash hates it. It’s not the act of being taller than her, but just the effect of being forced to feel small. She is younger, she is shorter, but if they are going to scold her for not taking in all viewpoints, they need to at least consider hers.
“Kassaran, Melarue, Aili, Uthvir, the Iron Bull, Cassandra Pentaghast, Dalish -”
“What are you doing?” Sylmae demands.
“Listing the people I saw die while protecting me or the group I was with. I wasn’t done, by the way. I was done watching people I care about die, I am still done with it. I can’t do that anymore.” She bites her lip, stopping herself from crying. She’s cried enough. Sylmae exhales, her face stern.
“You need to see reality -”
“You’re right, it was a mistake thinking you would be able to stand back like that. But that doesn’t change the fact that you disobeyed your Keeper and endangered your clan,” Nimronyn says.
“Do you understand how lucky you got? Those men could have easily killed you -”
“I wouldn’t say easily -”
“Easily killed you. They weren’t expecting you, that is the only reason why that worked. You need to get ahold of your emotions, step back from them, and fight freely of them.”
Ash shakes her head in small motions, resisting. She understands Nimronyn being upset at disobeying her, but they’re acting like Ash is the bad guy here. Their emotions are shut away from her, their expressions are tough, and she can’t help but feel defensive at this whole thing.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says.
“You don’t need to tell us anything, we understand where you’re coming from. You need to understand where we’re coming from. You don’t disobey your Keeper, you don’t leave your clan vulnerable,” Sylmae continues. Nimronyn sighs, running a hand through her hair.
“When we saw you come down, we were terrified for you and for the clan. Suddenly our plan of defense was gone and we were scrambling. I wasn’t thinking about fighting them, I was terrified that they were going to kill you and get to the clan.”
Ash turns her face away, her mouth dry, and her chest hurting.
“I didn’t…want any of that to happen. Yes, I acted without thinking, is that what you want to hear? That I got so scared that it was happening again that I couldn’t stand the thought of living through it again? So I flew down, very fine with the idea of me dying. I know I’m not invincible, but I want to do what I can.” She shifts her weight from foot to foot. The tension lingers in the air and Sylmae steps forward, gently cupping Ash’s face.
“We want you safe, we want to hear that you won’t take these risks, that you are able to reason even through the memories.” Ash doesn’t resist when Sylmae pulls her in, holding her against her chest.
“I will train you to be better, we’ll…figure it out.”
After a moment, Ash leans into Sylmae. They will figure it out, and she will get stronger – she must.
**
The lord Dirthamen reels back in pain as the bond between him and Falon’din ignites. It draws on his own life force, pouring into Falon’din, urging his body to heal. There is a very fine line to this, Dirthamen must give enough energy to help heal Falon’din, but cause too much anguish to Dirthamen, and Falon’din will be injured from that as well. And damage from this can be unfortunately persistent.
Certainty observes closely, and snaps the magic to cease the transfer right before it hits that point. When he catches the lord Dirthamen, there are…tentacles and feathers and oddly enough even scales all pressing down against him. But Certainty’s ears are tuned to Falon’din, and his breathing is more even, and the pain surrounding him is greatly reduced.
A cot is provided for Dirthamen and Certainty guides him down to it. There are tears in his clothing where he has manifested his extra appendages. It’s odd, but he’s seen worse. While he is not bothered by Dirthamen’s mutable shape, several of the healers appear to be put off by it.
“What are you doing? Your lord’s twin soul is in pain, fetch him healing!” Certainty barks, sending them scrambling. For what it’s worth, Certainty casts his own meager healing spells over Dirthamen, mostly for pain. He moves then a hand over Falon’din to aid with his own pain.
It is slow, tiring work, he doesn’t understand how healers can stand it.
The night is long, and Falon’din does not allow Certainty to leave even to relieve himself. He does not trust these healers now, and he is leery of anyone getting close to Dirthamen. When the night finally ends and the sun begins to light the sky, there is a trumpet and a flurry of activity.
Mythal has arrived it seems.
She is equal parts furious and concerned, bringing her own contingent of healers to fuss around her sons. Athimel is brought forward to recount what happened again and with the number of healers now at least doubled, he is given some healing.
Mythal situates herself between her sons, her eyes alight with a vengeful fire as she listens to Athimel’s story.
“I got him here as fast as the hart would take us,” Athimel says. A heavy silence permeates the air. Mythal’s head is heavy with her horns and her red rimmed eyes, but Certainty has not seen her shed any actual tears. She turns to him, her face hard and exacting.
“The area may have lingering memories, spirits - investigate.”
“Of course, my lady. I have scouts scouring the area right now to ensure that it is safe for investigators to proceed.”
She gives him a single nod before turning to Falon’din. Certainty takes this as his cue to quietly depart from the tent. After relieving himself, he heads back to his own tent.
“Efficacy!” He shouts.
She appears in short order, ready to do his bidding. Good, he likes obedience almost as much as efficiency.
“Any word from the scouts?”
“One, sir. ‘Clear on the mountainside,’ which would indicate that the rest of the area is clear. Athimel said that the Keeper and her people came down from the mountain, suggesting their clan was in it. If the mountain is clear, it is probable that the clan has since left.”
Certainty stares down at the map on the table and nods. He’d like more confirmation that the area is secure, but the longer they wait to investigate, the more likely memories may be warped or spirits may leave. He pens a note requesting a small contingent of warriors to travel with him and investigators then sends Efficacy off. He prepares his things and changes into his riding gear, donning a heavier piece of plate just in case.
Efficacy returns and he has her prepare herself as well. She pulls back her dark frizzy hair into a bun and he helps her with the plate he had commissioned for her. They are not of a romantic sort, but he does like having her around, taking his notes, carrying out his bidding – she augments him. And without a setting, an augmenting stone is practically useless.
“It will be better if you shift into a bird and ride atop my shoulder while he head out,” he tells her.
“Yes, sir,” she says then complies, turning into a non-descript finch. She chirps then flies to his shoulder, holding onto a small protrusion with her tiny talons.
They are on the road towards the battlefield within the hour.
The ride is long, but it’s good to be out of the camp. He hasn’t been on the field since last year’s battle with a rather large clan. An injury to his leg has kept him relegated to tactics, and Falon’din has since preferred smaller raiding parties.
The field always has the advantage of feeling crisp and exhilarating, though this investigation less so. Being on the wrong end of the battle is never something you want to experience, and in Falon’din’s experience, it rarely happens. And it’s never happened like this.
It takes them the rest of the day plus a good portion of the next to reach the battlefield. It is a long valley, probably once full of greenery and small happy critters. Maybe there were even a few nice spirits calling it home. But now…there are large swaths of blackened and burnt earth. There are two distinct areas of battle, one that has the burn pattern presenting in a conical spread – classic dragon fire. But the other is circular, and tighter. The earth there is charred so completely that there are no corpses – only bones and charred pieces of armor.
Blue fire. Supposedly nearly uncontrollable, and yet the pattern is so neat that there is nothing but control suggested. It is…concerning. What’s more is that one of those savages clearly wiped the area of memories and either shattered spirits or got them to leave because there is nothing in the Dreaming. Neither dreams nor spirits flit around, ready to recount the tale of the Falon’din and the Asha’thylgar.
“Sir? There’s a spirit over here.” Or perhaps Certainty thought too soon.
Certainty makes his way over to the border of the wood where a soldier is holding up a dark, broken looking spirit. It is sputtering and reeling, clearly trying to get away. Ah, a spirit of fear then. Most likely corrupted from the events here.
“Let me go!” The spirit sobs, vibrating in terror. Certainty sighs, it’s a small thing, probably corrupted from some light happy emotion, like Sympathy. He pulls his sleeve up, revealing his spiked gauntlet, glowing with enchantment. He reaches out and grasps the spirit, pulling it forward trapped in his grasp.
It screams in pain.
“You are going to tell me everything that happened.”
The spirit whimpers and Certainty tightens his grip.
