I’m blaming mostly @amusewithaview and somewhat @neverending-shenanigans for the shit I’m writing starring @uru-viel and somewhat starring me. You know what you did
"How can you believe him, Sansa?" Arya protested once again. "He's obviously been sent here by our enemies! Do you see his hair? Like gold. He's a Lannister."
"We know all the Lannisters of his age…" Sansa said thoughtfully. "Where have they been hiding this one? Not in the North. Look at how he's dressed."
'Thor', as he'd asked to be called, this 'prince of Asgard', smiled awkwardly and clasped his hands in front of him. The very vision of patience. His bare arms were muscular. And tan. He definitely wasn't from around here. Sansa was certain she'd have remembered him.
"Give him a room," Sansa said, her voice rising above Arya's protestations. "Near my sister's, so she might keep a watch on this newcomer."
"Thank you, my lady…" Thor said, stepping forward to clasp her hand in his. His very callused and large hands. Sansa wished for a moment that she'd placed in a room closer to hers. "You will not regret trusting me. I am the son of Odin, and my word is…" he trailed off. "Well, it's much better than my father's, so rest assured."
Sansa smiled warmly, withdrawing her hand and nodding towards the door. "Don't make me regret it. Your Highness."
She could have sworn she saw him shiver as he left. Good. It wouldn't do for the Lady of Winterfell to be too warm to strangers.
How different do you think things would have fared if Elladan or Elrohir fell in love with a mortal instead of Arwen?
oh my God that is a great question! thank you friend!
first I think it would be pretty much the same thing except maybe easier for them
because see, Arwen fall for someone who HAS TO fight a war to save everyone, he has no choice, he loves her but he needs to do that first
now if Elladan falls for Eowyn, let’s say the most important - maybe only? - woman in the war, she’s still have a smaller part in it than Aragorn and she does have choice
if in this scenario Eowyn loves Elladan back, as Aragorn loves Arwen, she probably wouldn’t even go to war (considering Aragorn and her hopelessness was a big deal and her decision) or if she went it would be for a whole new reason: Elladan, she would go for love and not despair
and only Eru knows how different the war could be if that little thing changed
my point is: even if Elladan had fallen for the most “participant woman” in the war, it still be easier for him because she wouldn’t be the one who has the greater responsability
Hannah and Noemi make their way up to the Chantry, bellies and limbs warm with recently eaten breakfast, following the Seeker and apostate. Solas had healed the last of Hannah’s injuries and declared he’d begin training her the following morning, citing he wasn’t worried about demonic possession due to her increasingly strong mental walls within the Fade. Cassandra had been present when he’d make the declaration, there to summon them to the Chantry, and her hesitance to leave Hannah untrained for so long had waned a little.
They pass one of the postings Cullen had tacked up, declaring the Inquisition reborn and asking for willing and hale recruits. Noemi isn’t paying much mind, focused on getting back inside a warm building, but pauses when Hannah grabs and yanks her cloak. She stops, looking back at Hannah.
Hannah points at Cullen’s posting, keeping one eye trained on Cassandra and Solas. Noemi follows where her friend’s finger is pointing and the blood drains from her face. She grabs Hannah’s hand to pull her along, but tilts their head closer to whisper, “Tell me that isn’t their alphabet.”
“It is.” Hannah mourns. “I was hoping that was just the creators being lazy. Apparently it wasn’t.”
“Fuck.” Noemi hisses through her teeth, keeping her expression pleasant so as to not alarm the locals. “This keeps getting better and better. Now we’re illiterate here too.”
“I mean… helps the ‘raised in seclusion’ thing. And I think the Dalish tend to be illiterate, or something. So I wouldn’t have been taught because my mom couldn’t teach me. Maybe yours didn’t know either.”
Noemi squeezes her hand. “Alright. We got this then. I hope.”
Solas headed left halfway, veering off towards his own little home. Noemi finds herself glad he’s not there, knowing he might pick up on their lies faster than the others. Leliana had to send people to get her answers, Solas had the help of having traveled and attempted to befriend other elves. The knowledge of excommunicating someone, for all they knew, was shared among clans.
They enter the Chantry, ducking passed Cassandra, aiming for the back room where the Inquisition had their war table set up. There are a pair of seats not filled, but Noemi opts to stand and Hannah silently follows. Probably a bad sign, but the village had wanted their heads on a spike barely four days ago, and some outside the room still did.
It's the first time Noemi meets Josephine, dark skinned and pretty in a silken gold and blue ensemble, accent an odd Spanish but not quite. Hannah had said she was Antivan, which still didn’t mean much to her except as another place in this weird world. She held a clipboard, candle slowly melting at the top, quill held aloft and waiting to either dictate or create missives. Noemi, thinking on it, wasn’t actually sure what ambassadors did.
Beside the pretty woman is Cullen, the same one to save her from being murdered by a Shade four days previous. He looks a little better after resting, though still tired and a bit junkie-like. Not surprising seeing as Hannah had explained he was off of Lyrium, an addictive mana restorative that also happened to be Titan blood. Cullen sat hunched forward, rubbing his jaw, looking over reports. He was handsome, she’d admit, with a five o’clock shadow and short blond hair with a dirt tint that was either natural or because of the whole medieval thing this place had going on. The armor with its feathery ruff helped, too. Wanting to get home ASAP and his addiction neatly put him in a Do Not Touch™ box.
Cassandra stayed near her, Leliana standing back to watch the proceedings. Noemi quickly learned Leliana didn’t speak up unless it was important, making her a voice to heed when it rose above the others.
Cassandra gives the introductions of Cullen and Josephine, even Leliana. She seems a little unsure of how Cassandra introduces her as their spymaster, as though Leliana expected the two to frown upon what Leliana did. If anything, it was an interesting job.
“So… what do you guys need?” Noemi asks when Hannah clearly isn’t going to, relegating herself to the background. She sought out her friend’s hand and was given it willingly, fingers loose in hers. With a slight tug, Hannah comes close again, shoulder bumping Noemi’s and settling quietly against her.
Noemi can’t recall ever needing this much constant touch, this much grounding, in her life. She supposed there was a first for everything and, given the circumstances, it was to be expected. Lucky for her, Hannah was better at giving affection than receiving it.
“We are to understand neither of you have training in battle.” Cullen opens with, and looks utterly exhausted at the idea. Neither attempt to deny it. “To be apart of the Inquisition, to stand as symbols of hope, you must learn to defend yourselves. You will be expected to travel to places within Thedas, coming into contact with rogue Mages and Templars, wild animals, bandits and thieves, and–”
“We know what to expect on the roads, Commander.” Hannah gently breaches, visage set in a soft way, making her seem weak and easily subdued. Noemi doubted it worked, not with what she’d showed at the Temple, and from what she’s heard of Hannah’s reaction to them being separated. It seemed to work somewhat, as Cullen pauses, meeting her gaze, and nods warily. “We’re merely used to giving up our valuables and booking it, or avoiding confrontation altogether.”
“Preferably the last.” Noemi admits.
“Yes…” Cullen trails, waving a hand towards Josephine.
“We have settled on a regiment for you,” the ambassador near chirps, smile sweet and eyes hawkish. “Mornings you will come see me to learn about the various peoples and countries over breakfast. Mid-morning to lunch, Lady Noemi, you are to go with Lady Pentaghast and begin practicing the sword as you showed natural proficiency with it. Lady Hannah, you shall be with Solas at this time. After lunch, you shall return here for further study. Lady Pentaghast informed me you were raised away from people, and I hope it is not too forward I assume you do not… ah,” Josephine searches for how to word it, and says, “know the alphabet?”
And for whatever fucking reason, despite just talking about it, she opens her mouth and says, “We do.”
Hannah gives her a startled look as Noemi wishes to be swallowed by the floor, parroting, “We do?”
Josephine looks between them, eyebrows raised. She doesn’t say a word.
“I, I mean…” Noemi scrambles. “Remember that book we found? We wrote down all the individual letters in it. Made our own alphabet.”
Hannah latches onto that. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we know how to read Common. Might be out of order or something. And those squiggles don’t look like what we know.”
She can feel Leliana boring into her face, making her start to sweat despite there being a distinct chill. Heading off a growing argument, or what she thinks to be one, Josephine takes a step around the table and says, “May I ask you write down what you know and construct a sentence? A simple one.”
“Sure.” Noemi shrugs, because what the hell else can she do. Hannah still looks mildly alarmed, but takes the paper and quill offered just as Noemi does. She awkwardly writes the alphabet down across the top, because its all she can do, and the others come around to watch them. Hannah, the show off, writes, “Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow,” while Noemi chose, “Pack my box with five dozen liquor jugs.”
“That is Tevene.” Cassandra notes, surprised. “But not any form of it I know.”
“No.” Josephine agrees. “It appears you taught yourself to write, and a way to communicate, yes, but not in a way any of us know.” She points to the alphabet on Hannah’s, more legible because she was weird and knew how to write with a quill. “Luckily for you, there are 26 letters in the Common alphabet as there is the Tevene. We should be able to teach you easily, if not quickly, from there.”
Noemi sighs in relief and Hannah covers her eyes, sitting up straighter.
“What did you write, if you do not mind my asking?”
“Uhm,” Noemi smiles weakly. “‘Pack my box with five dozen liquor jugs’.”
Cullen presses his fist to his mouth, looking away with a cough that doesn’t conceal his smile or chuckle at all. Cassandra rolls her eyes. The corner of Leliana’s mouth quirks as Josephine fights a grin.
“And you, Lady Hannah?”
“‘Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow’.”
“Only because you’re dramatic.” Noemi immediately teases. “That’s so serious.”
“One of us has to be serious at any given time.” Hannah points out, grinning widely. “And we know you can’t hold your liquor, so…”
Noemi gasps, mockingly shaking her finger at her threateningly. “Remind me again who got so drunk she stripped to her underwear and climbed a big rock, shouting ‘I’m Queen of the Mountain’?”
“You were the serious one then, and we know I’m a hot drunk.” Hannah explains easily, shrugging with hands up in a ‘what can you do’ motion.
There is a polite cough and the two remember where they are. Hannah shuts her mouth so fast her teeth clack and Noemi turns pink, the same shade Cullen sported. She meeps, “Whoops.”
“I think I’ll add afternoon writing and evening etiquette lessons.”
Hannah busts through the front door, hair a mess and looking a bit… burnt. Not to say Hannah didn’t always come busting through the door, she almost always did after training with Solas, but she never smelled like singed hair and never looked ready to kill a herd of tiny, cute animals.
Noemi frowns at her, hunched over their desk as she painstakingly writes Common, using a stick of coal because the quill made her hand cramp. Hannah was teaching her to do that cool curly thing with the quill before bed, easing her transition.
Hannah marches past, ripping her hair from the half fallen ponytail and grabbing her comb to begin getting rid of all the singed bits and the dead hair. She grumbles as she goes to her chair she’d turned into crochet and sewing station, “Just because I’m good at lightning doesn’t mean I can use fire, you jackoff.” She throws the clump of dead hair in the fireplace and begins to dig out a dull red infinity scarf.
“How did training go?” Noemi asks, staring at her version of “the quick brown dog jumps over the lazy fox” to what it should be in Common…. sixty times. This was worse than anything Duolingo could churn out.
They’ve lived in Haven nearly two weeks now. Their understanding of Common was coming along slowly, their training was a bit faster, and Hannah had made a scarf or belt or mittens for nearly everyone in the Inquisition’s inner circle. Solas got a hat and Noemi was never forgetting his face when Hannah told him it was because he looked cold.
They were waiting to hear from the scouts in the Hinterlands about its state of affairs.
Noemi herself seemed to be improving at a pace that pleased Cassandra. And God knows the Seeker wasn’t going easy on her at all.
This morning she was learning to engage in badly instead of just parring and backing up until she could reverse it on her opponent. That only worked so much on people, and not at all on animals or demons.
“I am going to beat his fuckin’ ass one day,” Hannah declares. “Wait for my moment, and punch his dumbass face in. Go full Sirius “Don’t touch my godson” Black on him.” She spits something in Elvish, because Solas had seen fit to start teaching her, but Noemi doubts he was teaching her how to cuss. So she picked that up elsewhere. Then she stops glowing from the lightning tingling under her skin and turns around, pulling her hair back up. “Ready to go get lunch?”
“You should change shirts.” Noemi recommends even as her stomach growls. She wanted to practice just a little longer.
“It’s fine. Just some soot. He mostly got my hair. Pulled up a barrier in time.”
Noemi doubted that but acquiesced, setting down her coal to get up and grab her cloak.
They had agreed to have lunch with Varric today, mostly because he promised to give them a rundown of Tale of the Champion and both wanted some version of what the fuck happened at Kirkwall to cause the mage rebellion. The Chantry had their version, but they wanted something closer to the truth.
They leave their cabin, closing up behind them. Hannah takes a minute to activate the glyph she’d wheedled out of Solas a few days previous so their cabin stayed locked until one of them returned, then head off down the path to the tavern.
Its crowded with the lunch rush, but not as bad as the evening time when it becomes socially acceptable to drink yourself stupid. Varric has already acquired a table near the back, digging into a soup of some sort and bread. Solas is with him, and Hannah’s open expression becomes a bit stonier, clearing to a smile a second later.
“Hey, Varric.” Hannah calls over the sound of the tavern. “What's the special today?”
“Ram, taste’s like.” He calls. “Have a seat, I’ll order you some.”
Flissa rushes by a little later, and Noemi manages to flag her down. The innkeeper pauses to take their order before Varric can tell her to put it on his tab and is gone. Varric pretends to pout as Noemi shakes her little coin purse at him, bought after doing a few odd jobs around town to get some money.
“So,” once their food arrives and Noemi has taken a few bites, “you promised us a story.”
“I did.” He agrees, and sets down his spoon. Plants his elbows on the table and gives a little quirk of his mouth. Even Solas can’t hide his curiosity. “How about a trade? You tell me a story, and I tell you one.”
“Oh?” Noemi debates that, thinking about the stories she does know. Quite a few fairy tales, and even more Biblical ones. She casts a glance at Hannah who has her spoon dangling out her lips, thinking if the way she wiggles the handle of the utensil is anything to go by. “Seems fair to me. Who do want a story from?”
“How about both of you?” He offers. “Mine is very long and definitely worth two stories, one from each of you.”
Hannah nods, puts her spoon in her soup, and says, “Deal. I got one in mind already. Nomes?”
Noemi thinks about it. She had been telling Hannah about King Solomon when they were at the RenFaire, and never got to finish the story…
“Yeah. I’ll go first.” Noemi clears her throat, figuring out how she wants to word this, and begins,
“Long ago in an ancient kingdom there was a mighty king who ruled. He was known for wise council. Unlike the other kingdoms, he was a devout man and sought the counsel of his God.”
She pauses for dramatic effect, watches Varric lean in a little, sees Hannah wiggle in her seat from the corner of her eye, and witnesses the interested concentration in Solas’s eyes.
“They called him Solomon the Wise.”
Varric snorts at the name and Solas raises an eyebrow. Hannah has already forgotten all about her food, leaning in to listen.
“Known for his fair council, many would travel far to grace his halls.” Noemi continues, winding up for the story, getting into the flow of it. People were starting to gather as she spoke, interested in what tales the Heralds had to give them, whether they be truth or fiction. “On one such occasion, two women came before him. One carried a babe in her arms and the other was in disarray.”
Keeping with the story, she raises her voice a few pitches, affecting a sad, scared tone, “‘Help me, King Solomon,’ the second woman begged of the wise king. ‘This woman holds my baby!’”
She drops her voice, settling on a convicted tone, mouth pressed tightly as she speaks, “‘She lies, King Solomon! Her baby died and now she seeks to have my baby as hers’, the other women pled.’ Neither appeared to be lying. Yet one was.”
Noemi takes a bite of her bread, chews, and swallows. “King Solomon had listened to each of the women’s stories and the child was too young to know which was her mother and which was not. He knew of only one solution.
“‘If both of you claim the baby,’ he resolved,” and with a smile, Noemi, using her spoon, mimes pulling a sword from a scabbard to a chorus of quiet gasps and Solas’s climbing eyebrows and Varric’s growing smile, “‘then you shall have the baby. I shall split the child into two, and you may be on your way.’
“The woman holding the child began to cry, presenting the baby to the second woman, who rocked back and forth in joy, crying out, ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ The first woman begged of him, ‘Please, my King, I shall give up my baby. Do not split her in two.’” Noemi drops her spoon back in her bowl, as though sheathing a blade, and finishes, “The wise king, seeing the truth now, declared she keep the child and ordered the second be removed from the baby’s sight.”
Noemi grinned at the looks on her audiences faces. Hannah had clearly enjoyed it, and so had the two before them, and their gathered crowd. But there was an undercurrent of alarm to it, as though unbelieving someone could make such a judgement.
“Where did you hear a story like that?” Varric asks. “Or did you make it on the spot?”
“You learn a lot when traveling,” Noemi easily deflects. “We happened to learn stories, no matter how absurd or arbitrary they might be. The meaning of that one was to reveal the true mother in the form of a concealed emotional test.”
“The test would be the compassion and will of a mother to see her child live, even if not with her, against her desire to keep her baby to herself, even if only half of it.” Solas murmured, marveling a little. “Luckily, the former won out and the true mother could raise her child.”
“And if it hadn’t worked, Solomon the Wise wouldn’t be so wise.” Varric raises his mug of liquor. “Mind if I use that one at any point, Freckles?”
“Sure. I’m sure there's other variations of it, so do as you like.” Noemi decides to tuck back into her food, knowing they only had so much time before Josephine sent Cassandra after them in an effort to get her students in tip top shape for courtly things. “There’s another version where there’s the mother and a demon acting as a woman and they’re told to stand on opposite sides of a line and take hold of the baby from separate ends, then pull. Whoever got the baby over their side first won, and the mother refused. Solomon, called Buddah in this version, then gave the baby to her and dispelled the demon from the other.”
Varric laughs, but looks a little pale in the light. Noemi doesn’t know why the idea of a demon being involved has him looking ill until she remembers Hannah telling her Anders had been a possessed Mage.
And Varric’s friend.
Shit.
Hannah, God fucking bless her, saves the very awkward moment by dipping her bread into the bowl, and declaring, “That means I have to take this a whole different direction. Mine has a chase scene and talking animals.”
“Oh?” Noemi can think of a few like that, namely Cinderella, Goldilocks, and The Three Little Pigs. “Which one would that be?”
Hannah smirks, rolling her shoulders back as she sits up straight. In the low light of the tavern she looks positively mischievous. Like Noemi, she clears her throat, and begins, voice carrying despite the low tibre she keeps,
“Once upon a time, in a remote village, a woman had finished her baking. She asked her daughter to take some bread and a pot of butter to her grandmother, who lived in a forest cottage. The girl set off and along the way met a bzou.” She pauses, longer and tenser because no one knew what a bzou was, awaiting to see if she’d explain. And, with an uptick of her mouth, she says, “A werewolf.”
A murmur of alarm goes through the crowd, their main companions even turning wary.
“But this bzou was no Blighted creature, instead of sane mind and body. And the bzou stopped the girl to ask, ‘Where are you going? What do you carry?’ To which the girl, very young and not knowing speaking to a bzou was bad luck, responded, ‘I am going to my grandmother’s house. I am bringing her bread and butter.’
‘Which path will you take?’ The bzou questioned further. ‘The Path of Needles or the Path of Pins?’
‘I will take the Path of Pins,’ the girl said.
‘Why then, I shall take the Path of Needles and we’ll see who gets there first.’”
She can feel the way the room holds its breath, knows Hannah made both a terribly bad and insanely good choice to tell whatever version of Little Red Riding Hood this happened to be. Hannah knows too, by the way she catches Noemi’s eye and winks at her. Noemi manages to restrain a laugh, and wonders what magic she cast to have the place so focused on them.
“The girl set off, the bzou set off, and the bzou reached Grandmother’s cottage first. He killed the old woman and gobbled her up, flesh, blood, and bone— save a bit of flesh that he put in a dish on the pantry shelf, and save a bit of blood he drained into a small bottle. Then he dressed in the Grandmother’s shawl and cap and climbed into the bed.”
“Oh yikes,” Noemi mutters, knowing where this was going, and gets shushed by Varric for speaking.
Hannah does hand motions as she speaks, acting out what happens as she goes, much like Noemi had for hers.
“When the girl arrives, the bzou called out in his best matronly voice, ‘Pull the peg and come in, my child.’
‘Grandmother,’ says the girl, ‘Mother sent me here with bread and butter.’
‘Put them in the pantry, my child.’” Hannah pauses, grin growing. “‘Are you hungry?’
‘Yes, I am, Grandmother.’
‘Then cook the meat that you’ll find on the shelf. Are you thirsty?’
‘Yes, I am, Grandmother.’
‘Then drink the bottle of wine you’ll find on the shelf beside it, my child.’
“Maker preserve me,” is said somewhere in the crowd as Varric curses. And is shushed by Noemi in revenge for earlier.
‘As the young girl cooked and ate the meat, a little cat piped up and cried, ‘You are eating the flesh of your grandmother!’
‘Throw your shoe at that noisy cat,’ ordered the bzou, and so she did.
As she drank the wine, a small bird cried, ‘You are drinking the blood of your grandmother!’
‘Throw your other shoe at that noisy bird,’ ordered the bzou, and so she did.”
When she finished her meal, the bzou said, ‘Are you tired from your journey, child? Then take off your clothes, come to bed, and I shall warm you up.’”
Here Hannah finally pauses, and Noemi swears the crowd will fight her if she doesn’t finish drinking her water fast enough to satisfy their want to know what happens. Varric leans closer to them, watching the elven woman critically. Solas has gone from polite interest to stone-faced, staring her down. Probably highly disapproving of this tale. Noemi disagreed.
When the Mage had wiped her mouth and cleared her throat to begin again, she turned to tug at Noemi’s clothes. Mortified, she let her.
“‘Where shall I put my apron, Grandmother?’” Hannah asked her, gaze wickedly teasing. And moves to tug on Noemi’s shirt sleeve next.
‘Throw it on the fire, child, for you won’t need it anymore.’
‘Where shall I put my bodice, Grandmother?’
‘Throw it on the fire, for you won’t need it anymore.’
The girl repeats this question for her skirt and her stockings. The bzou gives the same answer, and she throws them on the fire. As she comes to bed, she says to him, ‘Grandmother, how hairy you are!’”
Hannah puts her hands on her own cheeks and turns to Solas when she says ‘hairy’, eyes widening in alarm. Varric chokes on air, trying not to laugh and failing miserably. It lightens the mood quite a bit.
‘The better to keep you warm, my child,’
‘Grandmother, what big arms you have!’
‘The better to hold you close, my child.’
‘Grandmother, what big ears you have!’
‘The better to hear you with, my child.’
‘Grandmother, what sharp teeth you have!’
‘The better to eat you with, my child. Now come and lay beside me.’
‘But,’” Hannah stalls, as though hesitating, ‘first I must go and relieve myself.’
‘Do it in the bed, my child.’
‘I cannot. I must go outside,’ the girl says cleverly, for now she knows that it’s the bzou who is lying in Grandmother’s bed.
‘Then go outside,’ the bzou agrees with an agitated sigh, ‘but mind that you come back again quick. I’ll tie your ankle with a thread so I’ll know just where you are.’”
It is here Hannah picks up Varric’s scarf and passes it to him. He takes it hesitantly, and there is a brief flash of wounded pride on her face, and the realization she maybe did really make a bad choice here. Then she rallies herself, look beseeching, and he takes it so she can finish the tale. After a moment, he even puts the scarf on.
“The bzou ties her ankle with a sturdy thread, but as soon as the girl has gone outside she cuts the thread with her sewing scissors and ties it to a plum tree. The bzou, growing impatient, calls out, ‘What, have you finished yet, my child?’ When there comes no answer, he calls again, ‘Are you watering the grass or feeding the trees?’ No answer. He leaps from bed, follows the thread, and finds her gone.
“The bzou gives chase, and soon the girl can hear him on the path just behind her. She runs and runs until she reaches a river that’s swift and deep. Some laundresses work on the river bank.” She grabs the edges of her own cloak, pulling tightly as she speaks, tone urgent but steady. “‘Please help me cross,’ she begs of them. They spread a sheet over the water, holding tightly to its ends. She crosses the bridge of cloth and soon she’s safe on the other side.
“Now,” Hannah slackens her hold on her cloak, “the bzou comes to the river, and he bids the women help him cross. They spread a sheet over the water— but as soon as he is halfway across, the laundresses let go. The bzou falls into the water with a howl and he drowns.”
She doesn’t continue, sitting back, looking satisfied.
“Is there no more?” Solas prompts in the near eerie silence. “No conclusion to whether the girl survives?”
“Depends on what you want.” Hannah responds. “The bad guy died and she got away, so I’d say that constitutes a happy ending.”
“Certainly, Crackles, but she…” And Varric pauses at this, unsure. “She ate her grandmother. That has to have consequences.”
“Probably, but it's also just a story. As far as I know, a werewolf can’t be of sane mind and body. Not for long, anyway. It’s impossible.” Hannah sighs as Varric continues to appear uneasy. “Another version has him eat her, and another has a Warden come to save her when she becomes infected from a bite. This one is ambiguous because the entire story is very harsh, and giving it a proper ending would detract from the meaning.”
Solas pushes her, asking, “Which would be...?”
Hannah rolls her eyes. “Alright, this one is pretty simple; Don’t speak to strangers, particularly ones who are clearly shady as fuck. The version where she’s killed and eaten is a loss of innocence, sexually and mentally, because grandmothers are a symbol of maidenhood and safety. The one where she is infected and saved is the same as this one, because the entire point is to teach you to be wary of the world and its offers, whether they be kind gestures or not. The sweetest tongue hides the sharpest tooth.”
“Oh ho.” Varric chortles. “That is a good one, Crackle.”
“You’re welcome to it.” Hannah offers, and Noemi thinks of the poem the woman found it in. Maybe she’d recite it for them one day.
Noemi lifts her bowl to her mouth, tilting her head back to chug the last of the broth. She sets it down, wipes at her mouth. “Alright, Varric. You owe us a story, and we’ve paid our dues.”
And on cue the door to the Singing Maiden busts open, and Cassandra stands imposingly in the doorway, hands on hips, casting a long shadow everyone avoids. Both women whip around in sync to stare at her, wide-eyed. Then Hannah whispers “oh. Shit.” and ducks under the table, startling Solas and Varric, the former jerking away from his trainee scuttling past him.
“Don’t you leave me!” Noemi angrily hisses at her as the Seeker notices her, starting her march over. Noemi grabs blindly for the fleeing Elven mage but comes up empty handed. “You motherfucker! Get back he—eeey Cassandra!”
The Seeker towers over them, looking over a giddy Varric, bemused Solas, and empty seat complete with empty bowl and cup. She scowls at the items, and after a brief pause, runs her hand over the space Hannah should be in. Varric nearly spits his drink out and Cassandra turns her eyes on him. He’s full-on grinning, showing teeth, likely completely aware of where Hannah has scurried off to.
“Lady Hannah was here when I entered. Where has she gone?”
“Elsewhere,” is Noemi’s knee jerk reaction, picked up from the missing Elf in question. She wants to smack her in the back of the head. And, because she’s just that petty and knows Hannah so well, she raises her voice above the din to call, “I think Hannah’s scared of you, Cassandra.”
“I am no-OW. FUCK NUTS.”
The table jolts when Hannah’s head hits it and the Seeker bends to look at the hiding mage. Noemi follows, watching her friend rub her head, curled up on Solas’s otherside in as tiny a ball she can get. Hannah glares at Noemi, then does a truly terrible pout.
Cassandra makes a noise of utter disgust and Hannah wilts like a fucking flower in 105 degree weather. Noemi cannot believe her.
“You were going to leave me to her mercy!” Noemi accused as Hannah crawls out from under the table. “That's so rude!”
“You could have joined me. Varric knows to not rat us out.”
“I will just look under every table from now own.” Cassandra responds, look of disapproval making Hannah wilt further. “You are late.”
“Varric was about to tell us the Tale of the Champion!” Noemi defends, hoping it would do its job on the Seeker. She apparently liked romance novels, and Noemi was sure this fit the criteria. “We wanted to know what happened!”
Cassandra hesitates a little at that, then steeles her resolve. She points at the door and they start their march for the Chantry, heads hung. “You will be able to read it like the rest of us upon becoming proficient enough in your studies.”
“Have a great time!” Varric calls, definitely laughing at them.
Hannah grumbles in Esperanto under her breath and Cassandra asks, “Yes, Lady Hannah?”
“Great to know you take our learning so seriously!” She huffs.
Noemi nudges her. “Please don’t piss her off again. She puts me through the ringer every time.”
“I did that once. And they were asking who I believed in.” Hannah shrugs. “And you were playing ring-around-the-rosie too. Don’t deny it.”
“Not to the point Cullen looked ready to impale himself on his own sword.”
“They didn’t keep pestering you.” Hannah points out, lips pursed. “I’m the elf mage. If it's not the Maker all day, every day I may as well make my own gallows.”
“That is not why we inquired to your religious affiliation.” Cassandra sighs at the dour woman’s tone.
“Then why is it so important?” Noemi wonders, more than a little curious they couldn’t just leave it at Noemi and Hannah worshiping different religions, what it may be not mattering. “What we believe is likely—”
Hannah shoots her a Look™ reserved for when Noemi started to stray into territory that needed to be left alone. Noemi quickly backtracks, adding, “Mom and Dad weren’t super religious,” hah!, “and it’s never interested me.”
What a crock of bullshit. Oh well.
“So you have said. We want to know so as to understand you better.” Cassandra sighs. “And if the matter is lack of religion, we may be able to show you the warm light of Andraste yet.”
“I doubt that.” Noemi murmurs, and turns her eyes from Cassandra’s frown to the Chantry. It was easy to mistake it for a church until you noticed the banner of the Inquisition. And then you remembered where you were and Noemi’s mood would drop a little.
Hannah promised to get them home, though, and she knew it would happen.
She hadn’t broken a promise to Noemi yet.
Hannah rubs at her eyes, yawning. She hadn’t slept much the night before, too wired and worried. She didn’t know when they’d leave for the Hinterlands to get Mother Giselle, didn’t know if they even would thanks to their inexperience in battle.
“Lady Hannah?”
Hannah turns her attention to Josie. “Yes?”
The diplomat’s gaze stays steady as she looks her over. Then she asks, sweetly, “Could you repeat what I said?”
Shit. Her eyes dart to her notes, haphazardly written partly in English and partly in Common. She had been writing down everything Josie said on autopilot. “Yeah the uh. Second Sin. Seven Tevinter Magisters, convinced by the Old Gods, entered the Golden City after slaughtering their slaves, my people most likely since Tevinter likes elven slaves,” and wow she was already viewing herself as an elf instead of human-turned-elf, which was wild and a bit worrisome, “in… –395 Ancient. They turned the city black with their sin, were turned into Darkspawn and cast out by the Maker, and caused the first Blight, and the Maker left Thedas until the people made themselves worthy again.”
Noemi wasn’t there that morning, dragged off by Cassandra because she’d skipped training yesterday to watch Solas beat Hannah’s ass. That also meant she has Josie’s full attention.
“You seem skeptical of this information.”
Hannah was getting a bit tired of being poked at. And she could have sworn she was better at this whole acting thing than she seemed to be.
“I’m not.” Hannah lies, moving the feather of her quill over her hand. “I’m just a bit curious to how well this held up. It's a long time between then and now, languages change over time, and Thedas isn’t known for its viva voce.”
“Viva voce?”
Oh goddammit why did she have a loose tongue when tired.
“Viva voce— living voice, word of mouth, oral tradition. It’s Tevene. Picked it up when we got near there a bit ago.” Hannah scratches behind her ear and reminds herself she needed to bathe tonight. Her scalp was getting itchy. “It's the act of an elder repeating bits of story to a person over and over until they have the entire story memorized, and when that person becomes old they repeat the process. Some write it into the skin with a finger, to help them memorize the story. It can take days to months depending on the length of the story, but almost no one does it now. Not even the Dalish.”
Josie looked contemplative at the information. After a long moment she asks, “Is that how you both have so many stories memorized? By viva voce?”
Hannah laughs. “No. I was never so lucky to meet someone like that. We learned from liking the story. We may get parts of it wrong, but we try to stay truthful.”
Josie nods. She leans over, tapping Hannah’s paper. “Try taking your notes in mostly Common today. The better you do, the less time you spend with me this afternoon. Let's say… hm, five minutes for every full line?”
Hannah grins, showing teeth, and Josie returns the smile. “I take that challenge, Josephine.”
24 lines in Common so she got to skip writing class and maybe get a nap? Hell yeah. Bring it.
Josie smiles back. “We’ll see how you do. Five minutes a line, not including your previous ones.”
Hannah wasn’t a Jedi Master note taker like Noemi, screw all those college years needed for that. But she was a Jedi Knight, at least. She had this.
At the end, Hannah had 23 lines. Josie laughed when Hannah explained she forgot what Z was in Common, and had to write ‘zip’ in Tevene. And, bless Josie, she said Hannah could come in at the end right before etiquette lessons started.
For the third week in Thedas since the Breach fiasco, Hannah thinks she was doing pretty good.
When they finish for the day, Hannah packs up her things to leave Josie’s office. She’s at the door when Josie calls her back.
Hannah turns, waiting to find out what Josie needs. The diplomat pauses, look soft. “If you have trouble sleeping, I am sure Adan has a potion you could use. I am to understand you are not used to being in one place so long.”
“Uh, yeah.” Hannah rubs at her neck, smiles awkwardly back. “Thank you, Josephine.”
“Of course, Herald.”
Hannah holds in her cringe at the title and slips away, heading down the path to the cabin. She was intent on getting that nap, knowing the chance of Solas being asleep when she was happened to be very slim.
“Lady Herald! I would like to speak with you.”
And speak of the wolf… what was her luck to be found by those she was hiding from three days in a row? Cassandra two days in a row, and now Solas.
She rounds to walk to him even as he closes the last of the space, smile fixed onto her face. “Hi, Solas. What d’ya need?”
“The story you told the other day, of the ‘bzou’ and girl.” He places his hands at the small of his back, appearing somewhat earnest. “Where did you hear it? I wanted to look into it but found myself with nowhere to start.”
“I heard it in…” Hannah furrows her brows, thinking. Where could she hear it and it be too far for him to confirm? Antiva was a good idea. “Oh, jeez, I believe we were in Antiva? A very small village, so it may be a localized legend.”
“Antiva? You’ve traveled that far?”
Hannah knows immediately what he’s doing, or she hopes she does. She keeps smiling, nods, leads him toward a nearby bench. She sits and stretches her arms above her head until her back pops. “Yeah. I didn’t like the heat much, but then again I’ve always liked the cold better.”
“Which explains why you dress in so little.” He observes, tone a tad reproachful.
“Exactly why.” Hannah sits up straighter, pats away any dirt on her pants. “Though that is none of your business, I’d like to very pointedly add.”
He tilts his head in a differential way. “Of course. I merely—”
“Merely meant to suggest something rude, I imagine.” Hannah breaks in, and watches a small knot work its way into the space between his eyebrows. “I know you mean well, but this is my body. I dress it how I see fit, especially in hot weather.” She shrugs. “If you have a problem with it, kindly keep it to yourself.”
“I certainly shall.” He agrees, terse.
Hannah still wants to go back to the cabin. Now more than ever. She moves to stand, fixing her vest. “If that’s all, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Ah–”
Hannah knows the face she makes is terrible. She’s glad he can’t see it. Hannah takes a shallow breath, turns on heel to face him, and asks, “Yes?”
“Have you ever been to Tevinter?”
She blinks, surprised at the question. “No.” Then, unable to help herself, she adds, “Why?”
“Hm.” He stands as well, gently brushing away any dirt that must have accumulated as he sat. “Merely a curious observation. Some of the things the Lady Herald and you say are Tevene in nature.”
“I’m surprised you know any Tevene.” Hannah begins to walk, and he follows, a wolf with a scent. “They’re not known for liking us outside of chains, after all.”
“‘Us’?” The confusion sparks her ire, knowing what's coming. “Oh!” There it is, the prick. “You mean elves.”
He says it like someone says ‘that's shit you're standing in’ and she nearly punches his face in. Apparently being given magical powers and pointy ears made her more eager to respond to her violent tendencies. It may also stem from not being the first time Solas has said that to her.
Instead she stops walking, and he falters to stop in time to keep even with her. She crosses her arms. “You do that every time.”
“Pardon?”
“Don’t act stupid, it’s unbecoming of you.” She half-snarls, and knows several people are watching now. The elven Herald always kept her temper in check, always smiled and asked to help where she could, liked to look after the Elven kids so parents could work without worry. She must look something mad to have people stopping and staring. “Every time I rope us into the same category, as Elven people, you get all stuffy. Either you have an issue with my father being human, or you have an issue with being related to us common folk, whether Dalish, city raised, or other. With how much you go on about Elvhenan and the past, its truly shocking how much you dislike your lathallin.”
Solas blinks, seemingly surprised she’s speaking her mind, and so openly. So she takes a step closer and adds, with an upturn of her nose that would have Noemi, Anna, and Sirrah crowing in delight, “You must think pretty highly of yourself, considering none of us are the pretty, immortal Elvhen of the past. We should be supporting each other and helping each other, not distancing ourselves because of something as dumb as titles. Unless,” her voice drops so only he hears, “you have something to tell me.”
She weaves past him before he can retort, leaving him speechless and an angry red high on his cheeks. Hannah gives a little flick of her wrist in a goodbye wave.
Now for that nap.
“Wait, we’re switching?” Hannah blinks at a dour Cassandra and neutral Solas. Noemi looks aghast and a bit terrified at the prospect of being taught to fight by someone with magic instead of a sword. “Why?”
“We believe you are coming along well in combat with those of your respective abilities.” Solas explains. “And as such it would be a good time to start training you to counter those of a different class. In your case, Lady Hannah, Cassandra was the obvious option. For Lady Noemi, I was also the clear choice.”
“How am I supposed to learn to fight you if I don’t have magic?” Noemi asks.
“Do not worry,” Solas soothes, and it's actually pretty damn effective. “We merely wish to make sure you are able to hold your own against enemies that may be of a different training than you. Lady Noemi, you are proficient enough in close quarter combat to appease Cassandra on the field. She wishes to be sure the same can be said of you fighting someone better suited to magic or distanced fighting.”
“Yes.” Cassandra agrees, though it looks like she’s having her nails plucked out by saying it. “And I understand you, Lady Hannah, have come to meet Solas’s requirements for battle. Were you to end up face to face with a rogue Templar, you may not have your magic at hand. I want to make sure you will come out of your first battle, and those after, alive.”
Hannah bit her lip, sharing a look with Noemi. She couldn’t leave her friend alone with Solas. She also shouldn’t be alone with Cassandra. Despite being very un-Hannah’s type she still had a very persistent crush.
She glances aside, thinking harder. Though, she wonders hopefully, having my ass thrown around and thoroughly thrashed might fix that… hm.
Noemi grabs her hand, squeezing so hard her bones ached. Hannah looks back, sees the assurance clearly there.
I’ve got this. Trust me. I can do it.
Hannah had full faith she could. But still. The idea, the worry.
She fought the itch to chew at the inside of her cheek, an itch becoming steadily stronger the more stressed she got. She smiles weakly, nods.
“We plan to work together this morning,” Cassandra starts, watching them carefully. “Tomorrow, we will work separately.”
“That is–”
Whatever Solas is going to say is cut off and Hannah is really enjoying this Cut Solas Off streak going on. A scout is running for them, waving a hand, shouting, “Lady Heralds! Seeker Pentaghast!”
They are pretty far out, positioned in a clearing because Hannah’s fire was pretty volatile. She feels a little bad for the scout, who comes to a staggering stop, wheezing. He must have run the whole way here and looks pretty ill-fitted to his uniform, which he shouldn’t be because she’d started gathering requisition ingredients for Threnn and been aiding Harritt with similar requests.
Hannah really liked fetch quests and was a completion, so sue her.
When he stands back up, she notices his ears and knows it’s definitely Threnn not looking after everyone. No matter, a quick word with Harritt and it could be fixed after an exchange of money (and maybe another druffalo hide. God, she hated those persistent fuckers).
“Hey!” She moved to grab his shoulder and steady him. “What’s the problem?”
“You are,” he gasps, “needed at the Chantry immediately. The Nightingale requests you.”
Hannah’s eyebrows shoot up and Noemi comes closer, incredulous, “Leliana needs us?”
He nods quickly. “Yes, ma’am. At once.”
Cassandra is already striding back the way they’d all come. “Then we must not delay.”
Noemi makes haste to follow the Seeker, Solas trailing much slower. Hannah lags, making sure the scout has his breath back before ushering him to come with.
“Lady Herald,” he stutters, “I should be getting back.”
“Eventually, yeah.” Hannah agrees, and feels for her little pocket of coin. Satisfied to find she had brought it with, she keeps talking. “Wait outside the Chantry for me, okay? I’ll take you to have Harritt fix your armor. I can’t stand by and let you work in ill-fitted clothing. You could end up hurt worse than you should be.”
“But, ma’am, Lady Herald, I couldn’t possibly—”
“You can and will.” Hannah shakes her head. “And I’ll talk to Threnn about her assigning of items. You’re not the first I’ve noticed being given the wrong set of armor.”
“I’ll grow into it.” He weakly protests.
“You and I both know you won’t.” She chuckles. “If anyone asks why you’re at the Chantry, tell them the Heralds needed your help for something. I’ll tell Commander Cullen I’ve commandeered you for the rest of the day.”
He looks completely flabbergasted and a little pink in the cheeks that isn’t from exertion. He bows to her. “Th-thank you.”
“No problem. You’re name?”
“Alros, ma’am.”
Hannah hums as they come to the gates of Haven. “Nice name. Be proud of it.”
They reach the Chantry in short order and Alros is quiet the entire time. He moves to wait at the side, a little nervous, but a little settled too. The armor is so badly suited to him and she hopes Harritt can fix it.
Solas slows to walk with her. “You seemed very concerned for him.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Hannah picks up the pace, hoping he gets the message, as they move to enter the building. “He needs help and I doubt anyone else in a position of power will do it.” Her hair is feeling loose in her ponytail so she undoes the strip of leather, begins to work on pulling it back up. “Noemi would, but she hasn’t noticed what’s going on with Threnn yet.”
“You could make her aware.”
“She will on her own eventually.” Hannah responds, redoing the buttons on her vest now that there’s no incoming work out. “I’m not her mom.”
“You certainly seem intent to act as such.”
She bristles at that, it hitting something very angry in her that she keeps buckled down. Hannah stops walking to face him, demanding, “What is that supposed to mean?”
There’s a bit of satisfaction at the corner of his mouth. Payback for her assumptions yesterday, that she knew weren’t that far off. “I merely meant to suggest you spend less time protecting your fellow Herald or those around you and instead more on your own person.”
“You use that word ‘merely’ a lot with me.. I’m not stupid.” She spits. “And that wasn’t merely what you were suggesting. You wanted a rise out of me. Well, you fucking got it.”
Her skin tingles like it does before casting, she takes a deep breath and it immediately abates. He wouldn’t get her that riled so easily.
She points at him, knows Noemi and Cassandra are watching them, one wide-eyed and the other with arms crossed in disapproval but not going to stop them.
“You can get off your fucking high horse, Solas. I don’t give a shit what you’ve seen in the Fade if this is what it’ll make me like when I’m old and gray.” She continues, and watches the satisfaction on his face crumble. Good, she thinks. She wanted an ally out of him, but not at her expense. “I will continue to train under you, and Nomes will too, but every time you act like a dick from now on I will call you out on it. I’m already putting up with Threnn’s racism. I won’t put up with your classism.”
Hannah’s pokes his chest, demands, “Get it?”
Solas’s jaw locks up stubbornly, twitches. Hannah stares him down. The tension in his jaw eases and he says, as though about to have his foot chopped off, “Yes.”
“Fuckin’. Good.” She steps back. “You’re not welcome in this meeting anymore. Go away.”
She turns, marching toward the war room with a gait able to scare the Winter Soldier. Noemi glances between the two elves before racing after Hannah, grabbing her by the wrist and leaning close to whisper, “Why didn’t you tell me about Threnn?”
Oh fucking Christ tap dancing on a wheat ritz cracker. Hannah realizes right then he’d intentionally pissed her off for this. Maybe to also see how far he could push her, but mainly so she’d reveal Threnn was a racist asshole since no one would listen to Solas if he said something.
“Because it isn’t important. She gets away with it with other elves more than me. I’ve got a title. The rest are the ‘help’.” She snorts. “They’re treated little better than slaves.”
“Hannah…” Noemi trails, a warning to not speak about something they shouldn’t know and in sorrow.
“Don’t worry. I’ve been looking after us. Er, them.”
Noemi gives her a look that meant they’d talk more later before opening the door. Hannah and Cassandra pass through first, Noemi closing the door tightly behind them. Hannah refuses to look at the Seeker, aware she heard the entirety of both conversations. It was also nothing for the warrior to be concerned with unless Hannah decided to make it her concern.
Leliana, Cullen, and Josie are gathered around the table. Cullen and Josie share similar looks of unease but Leliana is as aloof as a cat.
“You wanted to speak with us?” Hannah asks.
“Yes.” Leliana begins. “We received word from Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.”
Hannah forces herself to not jerk forward, to not take a deep breath. To keep calm. Noemi doesn’t need to pretend, the confusion clear.
“Mother Giselle?” Noemi asks, coming closer to the war table. Her hands rest lightly against the lip, finger grazing the dark wood. The mark on her hand makes it glow eerily. “She’s apart of the Chantry?”
“Yes.” Josephine explains. “She wishes to speak with the both of you. She may be a chance to get some support within the Chantry.”
“She is not far,” Leliana encourages, “and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”
It is invaluable. It was a key point in the games. Everyone who played went to Mother Giselle, secured the Hinterlands, and brought her to Haven. Not doing so wasn’t an option.
“Then let's do it.” Hannah agrees immediately, looking to Noemi.
The nurse looks back, nodding. She looks over the map, carefully translating the text to find Redcliffe. She taps the name, looking over the terrain and memorizing it the best she could. A little blip of pride tugs at Hannah. “If she’s as important as you think, she’s one step closer to being able to get the rebel mages to side with our cause.”
Cullen pulls a face, still steadily campaigning for using the rebel Templars. Hannah didn’t think they were a good idea, even if she didn’t have magic. They encouraged the fear of magic instead of understanding, allowed peoples fear to twist them.
But if Noemi changed her mind and chose the Templars, Hannah could only try and change it back. They had to show a united front, at least until Noemi became Inquisitor, and that put any arguing behind heavy, closed doors.
Cullen sighs then, tapping the hilt of his sword like she sometimes tapped her foot. Nervously, like needing to get something out. “If you could, look for opportunities to expand the influence of the Inquisition while there.”
“We also need agents,” Josie agrees. “We need to extend our reach beyond this valley. And you are better suited than anyone to recruit them.”
Cassandra looks around the room. Nods at those gathered. “It is settled. We shall at noon tomorrow.”
Hannah could feel her magic itching under skin, like when sound and light and people began to feel like too much. But pleasantly. The wary look Cullen sends her says he can feel her magic too. But she can’t help her excitement, to finally be getting somewhere, to finally be doing something.
Hannah comes to stand by Noemi, shoulders touching, looking over the war table. It was a whole world they’d have to traverse, and the farthest Noemi has gone was the Eastern Seaboard. Hannah has only ever gone to Germany and Amsterdam. In the grand scheme of things, it was barely farther than Noemi.
“We can do this.” Noemi whispers.
Hannah isn’t sure who she says it too, but she agrees.
Warning that this? It’s LONG. Love y’all bishes, @uru-viel @amusewithaview @neverending-shenanigans. Also I hate you for getting me into this (not you tho Uru. You did nothing wrong this time.) For extra fun, listen to Bastille’s ‘Pompeii’ and Blackmore’s Night ‘All For One’ during this thing.
Noemi wakes up hunched over, chained to the floor, arms bound in a spreader bar. Her left palm aches and when she moves it, sickly green light sputters in her palm, pain lancing up her arm. She grits her teeth in pain.
Water drips steadily from the ceiling. Cold seeps through her clothes and into the marrow of her bones. Guards are stationed around the shadowy room, watching her with pure hatred. It takes her a moment to realize Hannah isn’t there, sits up, panic taking hold–
The door a yard or so away slams open, the light of a snow laden morning spilling through, sky dense with white clouds and the thatched roofs of a village. There is the sound of crying and anguish and Noemi wants to be out there, finding Hannah, helping whoever was hurt—
“You.”
Her eyes snap to the tall figure in the doorway, imposing in a way the red eyed man hadn’t been. It’s a woman, dark hair cropped short in a pixie cut with some grown long to be woven into a crown around her head. Her armor looks authentic and taken well care of. The sword on her hip is deadly.
Behind her is another woman, face hidden by the lilac hood she wears. The armored woman comes around to Noemi’s left, bending down to growl, “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now?”
Noemi jerks, eyes wide. Terror climbs up her throat and she thinks, Hannah. Hannah. Oh god did they kill her?
“The Conclave is destroyed.” She paces around Noemi, rage clear. Her accent is odd, a lilt of French that isn’t quite right. “Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”
Tears sting Noemi’s eyes at the woman’s words.
“...And the girl with you.”
She breathes out harshly, sagging in relief, bowing further. God her back would certainly be forever fucked up after this.
Then her palm is snatched up. The shock of it sends the light up, pain stealing her breath away. She gasps at the shock, nearly missing the demand, “Explain this.”
Noemi chokes back the pain, rasping, “I can’t.”
“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?” She demands, and the hooded woman is circling her now too. It’s like being in a den of wolves. “Neither could the other.”
“I don’t know what it is or how it got there!”
“You’re lying!” The letterman is snatched by the collar and she’s shaken, twice so hard her neck aches more than it already does, and the hooded woman pushes the armored one back.
“We need her, Cassandra.”
Noemi shakes her head, staring at them. “What is going on? What have I done?”
The hooded figure turns, staring down at her. Her voice is softer, nurturing, cajoling information from Noemi. Noemi sees no reason to lie to them.
“Do you remember what happened? How this began?”
“We...” She shakes her head. “We were in a ditch. We heard a woman asking for help. We went to help. Then there were these... these monsters... a light....” Noemi trails off, trembling, tears falling. She meets the woman’s gaze, nearly indiscernible in the dark of her hood. “She screamed my name. Is Hannah alright? Please tell me she’s okay.”
“You’re friend is fine. Angry to not see you, but fine.” The woman crosses her arms, a tilt to her mouth to denote confusion. “You said there was a woman?”
“Yes.” Noemi nods, trying to remember through the pain in her hand and the fear for her friend. So much had happened... “She reached out to me. Hannah told me not to. And then... ugh.” She lifts her hands to her face, pressing at her eyes.
“Go to the forward camp, Leliana.” Cassandra orders. “I will take her to the rift.”
Rift... Leliana... Cassandra…
It was so familiar to Noemi, and yet so distant. Why?
Leliana disappears out the door. Cassandra moves to unchain Noemi and she sits back, looking up into the woman’s eyes. “What did happen?”
Cassandra purses her lips. Says slowly, “It would be easier to show you.”
Cassandra helps Noemi to her feet, binds her hands in rope. Noemi heads after her, slowly so her numb feet didn’t send her face first into the floor.
She is lead outside, and flinches when a shock of violent green pulses in the sky. In her palm, the green light responds in kind. Far ahead, hidden by a mountain wall, a funnel of putrid green flows into (out of?) a massive hole in the sky, where rocks are suspended in air. Even from this distance the sound of breaking and crumbling stone can be heard.
Cassandra takes a few paces forward, leaving Noemi with the guards at the door. She shifts uneasily away from them, aware of the pissed off stares from them. They truly think she did whatever that was in the sky.
“We call it the Breach.” Cassandra explains. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with every passing hour.”
Demons... God fucking dammit they were real! This shit was real! They almost died and Hannah wielded lightning like fucking Thor and she took some lady’s fucking hand and woke up with a hand that glows fucking green.
Noemi snaps back to the conversation when Cassandra turns to her, something about explosions and the ‘Conclave’. She hunches in protectively.
“An explosion can do that?”
Of course it can, she thinks of ‘The Flash’ and what the Particle Accelerator did on that show.
“This one did. And unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the whole world.”
The Breach shifts, expands with a thunderous explosion of green outwards. Noemi screams as the green in her palm sparks, sending her to her knees. Tears wet her cheeks, dripping off her jaw. Cassandra drops to a knee before her, pointing at the Breach.
“Each time the Breach expands, so does your mark. It is killing you.” Noemi slowly lifts her head, finding her strength is being sapped each time the mark opens. “It may be the key to stopping this, but you haven’t much time.”
Noemi shudders, pressing her left hand down on the mark, hoping to alleviate some of the sting. She manages out, “How long has the Breach been open?”
“Three days.” Cassandra says. “We are surprised you woke up at all. Your friend was most distressed.”
Noemi lifts her gaze to meet Cassandra’s eyes. “Where’s she? My friend? You said she’s alive.”
“At the forward camp, held prisoner, but safe.” The woman looks into Noemi’s eyes, searching. “She will join us once we reach there.”
Noemi exhales, knowing there isn’t much choice. The Breach would kill her, and all these people, if she did nothing. And she wanted to see for herself that Hannah is okay. “I will help if I can.”
A tiny smile tugs at Cassandra’s mouth, approval clear. She stands, helps Noemi up, gently unlike the previous time.
“Good.” Noemi follows closely behind Cassandra as they walk. The people of the village stare after her, condemnation in their eyes. “They have decided your guilt. They need it.”
It was like a witch trial. And she was the witch.
“The people of Haven mourn Our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers.”
They get passed the villagers and begin to trek up the mountains. They follow a well trodden path, dark and muddy among the snow. Her shoes squelch in the mud and she wrinkles her nose in distaste, but powers on.
“It was a chance for peace between mages and templars.” Ahead is a building, scones lit on either side of the doorway. “She had brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead.”
Noemi realizes it’s a gate when it opens, revealing a bridge. The poetics Cassandra waxes about Divine Justinia fades into the background, Noemi gazing across the snowy bridge covered in barrels of foods, armor piles, people discussing battle plans and the Breach. Some pray over wrapped corpses. The opposite gate is far away, and her view of it is blocked when Cassandra comes around to cut her bindings.
“There will be a trial. I can promise little else.” She turns to go forward, urging Noemi to follow.
“Where are you taking me?” Noemi asks, rubbing feeling back into her wrists. The mark still aches, and she can see a small slit in her palm that has a sickly undertone to it. If she didn’t know better she’d think it infected the usual way and not with magic. “Besides the Breach and forward camp.”
“Your mark must be tested on something much smaller than the Breach.” Cassandra waves an arm at the stationed guards as they come closer. “Open the gate.”
They’ve barely passed the gate when her palm flares. She gasps, losing her footing. Cassandra saves her from slamming into the stone wall, holding her under the pain passes, then brushes off the jacket gently. There is concern now, a creeping realization in the warrior’s eyes that Noemi may very well be as simple and unassuming as she appears to be, if strange by her odd dressing and speech patterns.
“The pulses come faster now.” The warrior keeps going, as though unable to look Noemi in the eyes. “The larger the Breach grows, the more rift appears. We must hurry.”
“You...” Noemi slowly begins her walk forward, hesitant to run and risk what would happen should the mark flare up. “You said I survived the blast?”
“Yes.” Cassandra follows, silently urging Noemi to pick up the pace. “Those who found you said you and the other with you simply...” A hint of awe is there, saying, “Stepped out of a rift.”
Noemi snorts. “I doubt it was that simple.”
Cassandra cuts her a sharp look. “The Maker is mysterious in many ways. He must have protected you, if you truly claim you, or your friend, to not have caused this.” Her eyes shift forward.
“Nothing is ever so simple.” Noemi says. “We didn’t cause this, but I doubt who did will be easy to find.”
She’s given an appraising look, respect earned. Noemi wonders what it will be like walking around without armor or a way to protect herself, and decides that should a monster attack her then she was either fucked or going to get behind Cassandra.
“In either case, I was told a woman was behind you when you stepped out. No one knows who she was and have not seen her since.”
Cassandra continues to explain, how the valley was destroyed and the Temple of Ashes in ruins. They’ve nearly gotten across the second bridge when a gigantic boulder comes hurtling from the Breach. Noemi stumbles back, shifts to grab Cassandra and move, but it is too quick. The boulder hits the bridge, killing guards on impact and throwing her and Cassandra into the air. They slam into the bridge before the stones beneath them give way and go crashing down, hitting stones and splintered wood beams on the way down to the frozen river below.
A ringing is in her ears when she opens her eyes, head aching. She looks up, finds Cassandra is doing battle with a ghostly creature wrapped in old, dirt rags, bent inhumanly with bone-thin arms and needle-like nails. Behind the warrior, another rises from the frozen river. Noemi presses her hand to her temple and finds it wet with blood. She struggles to her feet, trying to shake off the pain.
A minor concussion probably, by the way her vision continues to swim and her stomach roils. Her palm aches, green dripping from it. Her instincts tell her to lift it and she does, pushing her pain through it. The ghostly creatures scream in agony as green surrounds them. The one Cassandra had been focused on disperses, leaving only one. Cassandra quickly moves to battle it, though it seems to have been stronger than the first.
Noemi looks around for something to throw and finds a sword. She bends down, picking it up. It’s lighter than she expected of a sword, maybe four or so pound of pure iron. She turns, feet slippery on the ice, and raises it as she closes in, swiping at the creature. Hot blood sprays across her clothes when she strikes, damaging an arm. She ducks when it turns to attack her, gives another wide swipe across it’s midsection, and Cassandra’s sword breaks through its chest before it can properly retaliate.
Wailing, it disperses in golden light. Noemi heaves, staring at the black blood on her clothes, fingers trembling on the hilt of the sword that’s tip points into the ice.
“Drop your weapon! Now!”
Noemi’s head snaps up to Cassandra, confused. She realizes she hasn’t let go of the sword and drops it. She’s shaking like a leaf.
“I, I, I...”
Concern, anger, and fear wars on Cassandra’s face. Concern wins out and she sheaths her sword, coming closer, hands out to show she meant no harm.
“I’ve never attacked anyone before.”
Cassandra thinks on what to say, and states, something chagrined in her voice, “You will likely need to again.”
“I’d rather not.”
Cassandra frowns, sighs, and goes to dig among the debris. She pulls out a belt and scabbard, holding it to Noemi. “You must. More will attack.”
Noemi doesn’t want to take it, but Cassandra is right. She struggles to wrap the belt around her waist, to put the sword in the scabbard. She gets it eventually, and Cassandra leads them on.
There are more of the creatures Cassandra called a Shade and a few green wraiths who hide on hills and keep away from their swords. Noemi doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to describe the searing pain she felt when a Shade struck her, needle clawing through her jackets and shirt to the soft flesh of her arm below. Her blood soaks her clothes and she mourns the letterman, knowing Hannah will be sad to see it so bloody and destroyed.
They reach the rift Cassandra had alluded to a lot faster than Noemi expected, a tear in space and time made of crystalline emerald and evil probably the height of Noemi herself and just as wide, the pulse, twisting, writhing glow of it making it appear larger. There are a few warriors and a magic user fighting a group of wraiths. She helps dispatch them the best she can, ducking two blows from a wraith Cassandra and her flanked, before they were all gone.
From the mess a bald man in green, the magic user Noemi notes, marches out, grabbing Noemi’s wrist. She jerks, moves to pull away, something visceral in her saying to not trust him, and he thrusts her hand at the rift. All her pain and fear surges up and through her, dispelling the pain in her arm as a beam hits the rift. It fights back, writhing and screaming, before she’s thrown back into Cassandra with how quickly her wrist is released in conjunction with the rift giving in. The rift closes with a squelching pop, leaving Noemi heaving, grasping her wrist and staring at the scar in her palm.
She glares at him. “What did you do?”
“I did nothing.” He says, nodding to her. “The credit is all yours.”
Noemi’s eyes narrow on him, but says nothing. “Whatever opened that Breach in the sky left that mark on your hand,” the man– elf, her mind corrects upon realizing his ears are like Hannah’s– explains. “I theorized that the mark might be able to close rifts opened in the Breach’s wake—and I was correct.”
“Meaning the mark may be able to close the Breach.” Cassandra realizes, hope igniting in her eyes.
“Possibly,” the elven man concedes, glancing to Cassandra before focusing on Noemi once more. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”
Noemi exhales, further exhaustion setting in. “Yay.”
“Good to know.” She turns, looking at the squat man with a crossbow. “Here I thought we’d be knee deep in demons forever.”
He fixes his gloves as he comes closer, grinning good-naturedly at Noemi. “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”
“Hannah would like you,” Noemi says, then covers her face in shame. “Christ, I’m so in shock I’m saying the first thing I think.”
He laughs. “It’s alright. I’m assuming Hannah is the elf that was with you. Seems to like fighting more than stories.”
Noemi blinks at this, but remembers the angry “You won’t fucking touch her, you bastard!” and the way lightning had filled her vision, wild and blue as ocean water. Hannah was usually really laid back, if a little passive-aggressive, but never violent. Unless, Noemi remembers with a sinking stomach, her friends were in trouble…
Oh no.
Noemi bites her lip, asking with no small amount of fear, “She hasn’t done anything uber stupid, has she? Hannah is really sweet, I promise, she’s just really freaking protective and this is a weird as shit situation.”
Varric blinks at her language, parsing through some of the more odd bits. Then his grin turns genuine. “She hasn’t done anything to me. Or to the guards that they didn’t already deserve. Hasn’t said a word since she was separated from you and only, uh, bites,” he chuckles at his word choice, “when people get too close.”
“We have more pressing matters, Varric.” Cassandra admonishes. “We must go meet Leliana.”
“What a great idea!” Varric agrees, giving the warrior a smirk.
“Yea– Er,” Noemi looks among them, at Cassandra’s quickly souring look.
“Absolutely not.” Cassandra settles a hand on her shoulder, urging her to go ahead as she rounds on Varric with a scoff. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but—”
“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.” He glances past her to Noemi, who had turned her attention to her wounded arm. She grimaces at the amount of blood, but was glad to see her clothing was helping it clot. It would be a bitch to peel off and clean later. “You can’t deny it.”
Cassandra turns away with a noise of utter disgust, marching forward. The elf gives Noemi a polite smile, motioning to himself. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”
Wary of him for how he had grabbed her without warning, she rocks back on her heels, returning the polite smile. Varric shifts on his feet, ready to go back into the fray but delighting in the small reprieve. “What he means is, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’.”
“You know more about the mark than you let on.” Noemi carefully says, watching for a change in his expression.
His eyes light up, an eagerness to talk, but then reigns it in. He smiles ruefully. “I did study it while you slept, stabilizing it to the best of my ability. Another time I would explain.”
He turns his attention to Cassandra, stating her name. “You should know the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner here is no mage, and the other couldn’t possibly cast such magic. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”
The warrior nods, it clear she had already realized that along the way. “Understood. We must reach the forward camp quickly.”
Everyone moves to follow, Varric proudly declaring as he passes Noemi, “Bianca is excited.”
“Bianca?” Noemi keeps pace with him, allowing Cassandra and Solas to lead. “She told me her name is Cassandra.”
Varric laughs, or, more accurately, chortles. “The Seeker is named Cassandra. Bianca,” and he reaches to his back, unhitching the crossbow to show Noemi, “is this beauty.”
Noemi hops the small barricade, winces at the pain in her ankle left over from the tumble from the collapsed bridge. “You named your crossbow?”
“Of course. You don’t name your swords?”
“I just got it. Cassandra let me keep it.”
“Ah.” He looks her over again as they make their way down the steep embankment. “Explains the way you swung it like a kid with a wooden sword.”
Noemi winces. “That obvious?”
“Eh, the clothes do most of the work. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a jacket that colorful not on a noble.” He grabs her elbow to steady her when her ankle twists on the ice. “Looks like you should be in a palace or something.”
She snorts. “Yeah, no. Hospitals are more my thing. This is Hannah’s. I was cold and she gave it to me.” She thinks about the blood and tears and stains. “She loves this jacket. She’ll be devastated.”
“Worse things to lose.”
“True, but…” She heaves a sigh, carefully moving across the frozen water. “We’re not really from here. We’re used to being in less dangerous situations.”
“This is Thedas.” He points out. “Hard to not find yourself in a dangerous situation eventually.”
The name is familiar. Annoyingly so. But Noemi doesn’t say as much. She pulls her lips into a facsimile smile. “We’re lucky like that.”
Varric looks interested, preparing to ask what she means, when there is a ghastly wail up ahead. Noemi curses, and knows for a fact she’s picked her potty mouth up from Hannah. She’s said ‘fuck’ ten too many times today.
Cassandra draws her sword, running ahead to clash with another wraith. Solas removes his staff from his back and moves it in a clean arc, casting out a wave of ice towards two more as a pair of Shades charge. Varric loads Bianca and fires a clean shot into one of the wraiths Solas had hit. Noemi draws her own sword, nervous to get close to a Shade again.
“Your holding it too tight.” Varric says, not even sparing a glance to her. Cassandra ducks a blow, holding up her shield to block another, and Varric fires into the wraith. It screams and is gone in golden light. “And your hands are too close. Makes it harder to swing.”
Noemi fixes her hold, but her grip stays iron tight. He huffs. “Good enough.”
Noemi moves in, swiping when one of the two Shades left turns to her. She misses and stumbles back when it lunges at her. Solas gets the other with a strong bout of magic and it pops. Noemi ducks under the grasping, spider-like fingers of the second and thrusts her sword up into its chest as Varric fires a shot. In her ear, the Shade screams in agony before it's gone. The wound in her upper arm aches, hot blood seeping out as her movements force the wound back open.
Her shoulders drop, sword digging into the thick ice, heaving for breath. She presses her left hand to her wounded arm, grunting at the sharp sting brought by touching the wound so carelessly.
“Shit that hurts.”
“Let me see.”
Solas invades her space. She takes a half-step back, then pauses at the careful way one hand has gripped her elbow, other peeling aside the fabric of her jackets and shirt with trained ease. His eyes are narrowed in calculation. It’s almost like looking in a mirror, the furrow of his brows as he assesses the damage and decides the best course of action to fix it, mind clearly working overtime.
“I do not have the mana to heal this, but I do have a potion. It should fix the worst of the damage, but you will need stitches.”
“Get me a clean needle and thread and I can do it.” Noemi says through gritted teeth as he poked at the wound. It was deeper than she had thought, the amount of blood worrying her now. It explains the increasing headache, brought on by blood loss.
Cassandra is at their side, face pinched in consternation at the ugliness on Noemi’s arm. “You should have said something.”
“I didn’t realize it was so bad.” Noemi weakly protests. “I’m used to fixing other people's wounds, not my own.”
“You are a healer?” Cassandra questions, confused. “You have not used any magic.”
“I’m a nurse. There’s a difference.” She misses Solas’s scrutinizing look, as though the word were archaic. She takes the offered vial he passes her, removing the cork. The liquid inside smells bittersweet, making her teeth ache. She swallows it in one go, choking on the harsh acidic tang left in her mouth. “Whoa, that’s like—like worse than Absinthe.”
The story of Hannah and her sharing a bottle of Absinthe like a couple of dumbasses would be left in the past where it belongs, but christ if that didn’t remind her of it. She notices the warmth in her fingers and toes right after, the way it centers around her wound and aching ankle. She pulls at the tears, watching the skin glow and appear to seal itself. She’s left with a shallow wound that still weeped blood, just long and deep enough to need stitches like Solas had expected.
“I’m guessing a nurse is a type of healer.” Varric joins the conversation finally, curiosity piqued. “Where did you say you and your friend are from again?”
“I didn’t.” Noemi says.
“Just that you’re not from here.”
“Yes.”
He steps closer, asking with a friendly smile, “And where are you from?”
A warning bell sounds in her head and she turns to Cassandra, shoving the empty vial and cork into her pocket. “We should go. The Breach is getting larger every minute we stand here.”
Cassandra, having been focused on Varric’s questions, nods, pushing aside her own interests in learning about Noemi to lead them forward. She puts herself between Cassandra and Solas this time, far away from Varric in the rear. She knows he knows she’s moved herself because of his nosing into her past, and hopes he doesn’t bring it up.
They make it across the river and up a small hill with no more hindrance outside of Noemi’s lack of running endurance. They begin the long trek up a flight of stairs, passing by crumbling ruins.
“So…” Varric asks. “Are you innocent?”
“Personally, I think so. But I don’t remember what happened.” Noemi huffs and puffs, reaching the top of the stairs.
“That’ll get you every time. Should have spun a story.”
“I’m not much of a on-the-fly storyteller.” Noemi snarks. “Never been my forte.”
“Hm, could always practice.”
“That is what you would have done.” Cassandra tells Varric.
Her mark flares up as they reach the top and she realizes another rift is close by. She can see the distant glow of another rift and hear the low wails of more rift creatures. She looks around Cassandra and sees a greater Shade covered in rusting armor, a few regular Shades, and four wraiths. She moves to draw her sword but Varric gets in front of her.
“Why not sit this one out.” He recommends, not unkindly. “You need a little more practice and this isn’t the best place.”
“I disagree,” Solas goes on amiably, already moving to cast a spell or something of the sort. “Learning on the battlefield truly helps things sink in.”
“Not when her mark is the only way to close the Breach.” Cassandra huffs, beheading the greater Shade after several swift moves. “We can focus on training you to fight after this.”
They make short work of the spirits. Cassandra urges them forward, finger to her lips to keep quiet, and it's an odd sense of deja vu with the movement, as though she had recently seen it. There are two small hills right before the rift and a similar group of spirits. Cassandra has Varric take the right hill, motioning for Noemi to hide on the left one.
It stings to be so quickly sidelined after helping fight twice, but gets why. She was just severely wounded, without knowing, and Cassandra now has help with more fighting prowess. So she settles back on her heels, watching them dispatch the creatures. Or, she would have if Cassandra’s sword hadn’t been forced aside, leaving her with only a shield to protect herself.
Noemi is stuck in minor indecision for only a moment, glancing at Varric and Solas busy with their own fights. She jumps from the hill, running to intercept a strike from the spirit. It’s stronger than the last one, forcing her to really grip the hilt and dig her heels in, forcing herself to hold against its supernatural strength. It screams at her, leaving her ears ringing, and pulls back.
Cassandra scrambles to grab her weapon, shouting at Noemi to get out of the way. Noemi glances back at Cassandra as she shoves back with all her force and then ducks away, dropping to the ground and rolling like she’s seen in action movies. Cassandra lets out a yell and there is golden light. When she looks, the Shade is gone, Cassandra heaving in great lungfuls of air. Then she turns to glare at Noemi.
“I told you to stay on the hill, out of sight!” Cassandra grabs her arm, helping her up. “You cannot keep hurting yourself. If you get terribly wounded, or are killed—”
“Then you’ve no way to close the Breach.” Noemi finishes, just a tad irritated. She hated being relegated to scapegoat, and one that wasn’t overly useful outside of the main objective either. Noemi was the last person to ever want to fight, that was true, but she was stuck in a place where she had to fight. She couldn’t expect these people to protect her and just stand there like a sad sack. “You’ve made that quite clear. But I can’t just sit on my ass and let you die, either.”
Cassandra draws back, eyebrows reaching her hairline. Then her face sets and she prepares to say something. Solas interrupts, calling across the field, “You must close the rift before more come through!”
Noemi sheaths her sword with more aggression than probably warranted and stalks to the rift, raising her hand. She closes her eyes, focuses on all the negative feelings building within her, and forcing them out, focusing on yanking the edges of the rift closed so no one else can be harmed. It’s easier than the first time, figuring out how to cajole the rift into closing with little fight. There is that squelch again, like pulling your shoe out a particularly strong bit of mud, and the rift is closed.
A tremor of exhaustion runs through her body. She opens her eyes, surprised to find the world swaying. Noemi shakes her head, heading for the gates. Cassandra calls to the guards to open the gate and it parts, allowing them passage.
“Whatever that thing on your hand is,” Varric passes by her, patting Noemi’s mid-back, “it’s useful.”
“Well done.” Solas gives her a nod of appreciation, walking instride with her but saying no more.
Cassandra leads them up to a man in religious garb, Leliana at his elbow, arguing quietly. He looks up at the sight up them, relief breaking across his face. Leliana comes around the table and in the sunlight Noemi can see her red hair cut into a bob, the sweetly carved angles of her face, and thinks it a dangerous combination for a spy.
“Chancellor Roderick, this is—”
He rudely cuts her off, relief turning into displeasure. “I know who she is.” He waves his arm at Noemi, like an interior designer waving away the wrong curtains presented to them. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal and her ally to Val Royeaux to face execution.”
Noemi bristles, more than a little terrified of death but even more angry that these people continued to call her and Hannah criminals. Varric grabs Noemi’s arms to stall her. He need not have because Cassandra beats her to punch, advancing on Chancellor Roderick with as much annoyance as her.
“‘Order me’? You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat!”
He scoffs. “And you a thug! A thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!”
Leliana, ever calm and quiet, says, “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.”
“Justinia is dead!” He argues. “We must elect a replacement and obey her orders on the matter!”
“And what about the Breach?” Noemi argues. “We need to close it.”
“You brought this on us in the first place!” He turns away before Noemi can manage a response, too angry to think properly at first. “Call a retreat, Seeker, our position here is hopeless.”
“We can stop this before it is too late.”
Noemi looks away from them, scanning the area for Hannah. If they wouldn’t let her talk, she had no reason to listen to them. She takes a step from the three, closer to Varric. She licks her lips, not seeing her friend in what few places to house a criminal there were. A tiny burble of panic claws its way to the surface.
She said Hannah was at the forward camp. This is the forward camp. Where are they keeping her?
The Breach roars above them, expanding, throwing out more rifts. The entirety of her hand from elbow to fingertip feels on fire but it's easier to manage than before, grabbing her wrist and pulling it in close to her chest. She curls over the mark as though her arm was damaged. Cassandra’s boots enter her field of vision and she looks up, meeting the Seeker’s eyes.
“How do you think we should proceed?”
“Now you’re asking my opinion?” Noemi almost rolls her eyes.
“You have the mark.”
Solas has a point, and Cassandra drives that point home, “And you are the one we must keep alive. Since we cannot agree on our own, you must.”
Noemi rubs at her eyes. This day kept getting worse and worse. She wasn’t much for battle tactics and while she could take charge but typically didn’t want to. That’s what doctors were for. She just made sure their orders didn’t fuck someone over.
She shakes her head, saying with a sigh, “We charge. If this mark keeps going, I won’t live for the trial anyway.” And wasn’t that a depression notion? It felt like she was just at a Ren Faire with Hannah, enjoying shitty wine in chilly November and watching a jousting match. “Let’s finish this now.”
Cassandra must approve because she orders Leliana to gather the troops. Then she heads for the tent at the Chancellor’s back, ignoring his ominous “On your head be the consequences, Seeker”, requesting Noemi to follow. She pulls back the flap into the low-lit interior, letting Noemi enter first.
It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust but when she does, her heart soars. Around the table covered by a map and little rolled parchments, nestled into the corner up against the stone wall of the bridge, is her friend. The younger woman is leaned back, hands bound in her lap, head tilted back in a way that meant she was asleep. Noemi comes around the table, dropping to her knees before her friend, reaching out to pull Hannah into a hug. “Hannah!”
“Wait!” Cassandra warns, but it’s…
Hannah jerks awake and yanks herself away before Noemi touches her, a crackle of electricity arcing along her skin at the incoming threat dissipating as quickly as it had come. She sucks in a shaky breath, watching Noemi’s hurt expression. Hannah sits up, staring at Noemi.
“I’m not dreaming, am I?”
“No!” Noemi then properly pulls Hannah into a hug, made awkward by the younger woman’s bound wrists. Hannah melts into it, pressing her face to Noemi’s neck. Hot tears dampen her skin and she holds Hannah closer. “Holy shit, I thought you were dead. When I woke up and you weren’t there…”
“I’m sorry,” Hannah apologizes. “They wouldn’t let me go with. When they started to take you I… I fought them too much.”
“Oh, Hannah.” Noemi sits back, gazing at her friend. She looked utterly exhausted, a darkness under her eyes not typically found there, shoulders taunt. Her shirt and vest were dirtied by mud and soot, face and neck no better. There was a bruise bloomed on her forehead dark purple and clearly painful, a cut running over it, where a sword hilt had to have struck her down. Noemi touches it very gently, sucking in a breath. “Your lucky to not have a concussion. This is huge.”
“I had a raging headache and issues focusing the first day, so I might have.”
Noemi helps Hannah up, taking a knife offered from Cassandra to cut the ropes. She runs her hands down Hannah arms and sides, checking for more bruising or wounds. She doesn’t find anything pressing and sighs in relief. Hannah carefully rubs her wrists, getting feeling back.
Hannah finally focuses on Noemi, smile brittle.“I was terrified they’d put me under Tranquil for not talking.”
“Tranquil?”
Hannah’s mouth opens, horrified realization in her gaze. Then she looks to Cassandra who watches them, listening just as intently. Hannah schools her expression into something much more calm and dips her head in deference to the woman. “Seeker Pentaghast.”
“So you do know of me.” Cassandra says, gaze curious.
“Many have heard of you.” Hannah says. Noemi keeps her mouth shut, realizing there is more to what is going on than she knows. When she gets a chance, Hannah will explain. “Even those who have no place to call home.”
Cassandra mulls this over, then gives her a nod of acceptance. “Your friend has spoken strongly of you. I hope you are as trustworthy as she.”
“We didn’t do this.” Hannah says, hands clenching, shoulders taunt. “I’ve heard every word Chancellor Roderick has said and it’s not our fault. I remember very little before your men attacked us, but I know…” Hannah shakes her head. “It’s useless arguing our case. You won’t believe us unless there's proof.”
“You have already had one person vouch for your collective innocence.” Cassandra slowly reveals, watching Hannah like a hawk. There is so little trust in her eyes as she looks at Hannah it makes Noemi defensive for her. “Two for you, in particular.”
“We need to go.” Noemi breaks in, stepping partially in front of Hannah. “The Breach is getting bigger.”
Hannah grabs her hand, looking up into Noemi’s eyes. “You’ll be okay.”
Noemi holds Hannah’s hand in both of hers. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”
“We won’t let any more people die, either.”
“And I’m not worried about them.”
Hannah blinks in surprise, opens her mouth, but seems she doesn’t have a response. Her eyes look wet and she sniffles. Then she chokes, “I love you, too.”
Noemi pulls her into another hug and Hannah melts. Hannah always melts when friends give her a hug. She’s seen her lift Stacey clear off the ground in delight from being bear hugged. But this time it’s different. It’s like tension is finally seeping out of her shoulders, dispersing because the situation suddenly feels easier. It really isn’t easier, but it feels that way and that’s what matters.
They break apart and Cassandra leads them from the tent. They meet up at the gates to exit the bridge, the remaining troops already gone ahead to clear the way. Solas looks them over, makes eye contact with Hannah, then dismisses her. Varric on the other hand introduces himself.
Her eyes light up when he gives his name. “I’ve heard of your books! I have quite a few of my own, up in here,” she taps her mind, “if you ever want to talk.”
There’s a bit of pleasant surprise in his eyes, glancing at Noemi briefly. Noemi merely smirks, also dreading the moment the two take over any conversation with the sharing of their own stories and ideas. Any plans would be derailed thanks to them, she had no doubt.
“While this is all good, we must get going.” Cassandra says, then narrows her eyes on Hannah. “You have no staff…”
Her friend presses her lips flat, a blip of concern in her eyes. Noemi has no idea why Hannah needs a staff, but by Varric’s look it is important she have one. And if Solas was a mage like her, the way he’d been twirling and swinging his staff earlier implied it was important to channeling magic.
“I should be fine without it for now.” Hannah assures after a moment. “I have a strong enough rein on my magic that a few fights shouldn’t hinder me.”
“I have no lyrium to spare for you, apostate.” Cassandra warns. “If you drain your magic, you will have no protection.”
Hannah’s jaw clenches imperceptibly, corner of her mouth twisting like she’d licked a lemon. Her eyes are sharper than when she’s hyper-focused, as though she’d suddenly found herself challenged and unwilling to back down. Rare seeing as she hated being confronted.
“I will be fine.” Her tone is frosty, and the chill in the air seems to descend a few degrees. “If I die, I’ll walk it off.”
Varric coughs to cover his laughter. “Someone’s got spunk.”
Hannah grins, a small chuckle bubbling up her throat. Noemi watches her light up a little, saying, “If we end up friends, Varric, you should know that between Noemi and I, I’m the one who thinks jumping off a waterfall in winter is fun. While naked. I’ll talk the hair off your chest if you’re not careful.”
Noemi rubs her face as Varric barks with laughter, a deep and rustic sound, herself groaning at the memory of Hannah skinny dipping. Stacey had sent her the video, the way Hannah had come flying from the trees and bushes as a pale blur of insanity topped by ashen hair and then jumped, curling into a ball before splashing. She’d wiped out Bailey, who had been in a bathing suit like a semi-normal person. Stacey, the only sane one, had refused to get in. Somehow neither Bailey or Hannah had gotten sick despite having to walk back to their camp soaking wet. “I still think you’re an idiot.”
“But I’m your idiot.” Hannah hums as Cassandra gives up waiting and heads forward. Noemi notices Varric’s even more delighted look at their brief exchange but dismisses it as Varric thinking their friendship weirdly cute, which it was.
The friends stick together as they hike up the steep hills, slogging through heavy snow. It’s easier to handle the cold with the layers she has on, and can see Hannah’s lips has a slight discoloration to them the longer they’re in the cold. At a leveling point in the incline, Noemi stops to pull off Hannah’s letterman, stopped by Hannah herself.
“You’re cold.” Noemi points out, and there’s a spark of challenge in Hannah’s gaze, a tiny crackle of blue lightning in them. The slight discoloration of her mouth eases, as though Hannah has cast a spell to help herself.
“I’m fine. You’re the human.” Hannah nudges her ahead. “Keep going.”
“You can just as easily die of hypothermia.” Noemi huffs, but gives in. Cassandra gives Noemi a helping hand when she sticks in the snow, near lifting the nurse clear out of it to set in front of her. Cassandra now at her back, a guiding force and needed push to keep her going up the mountain is helpful, but it sucks to not have Hannah to talk to. She can vaguely hear Solas’s and Hannah’s conversation, and Varric’s addition.
“I am sure you have a warming spell or two to keep yourself from dying.” Solas says, an almost condescending hint to his tone.
She doesn’t think she’s ever heard such vitriol from Hannah, however. “You’ll have to excuse me, then, since I’ve only had my magic for three days.”
“From what the guards who found you say, you nearly fried one of them. Doesn’t seem like something a new mage could do automatically.”
Hannah gives an abashed laugh but her actual response is too soft to be heard, taken by the mountain wind before it reaches her. A small part of herself knows the response is a lie, as much of everything else Hannah has told these people has been, finely blended with truths to deter them. Whatever Hannah tells Varric, beyond the bare minimum, is a lie. Whether he knows it or not, she’ll likely never know. But she knows it’s going to be one of many told today.
Cassandra grabs Noemi’s arm to stop her as they finally hit solid ground, frozen by the frigid winter wind and high altitude. Her ears have a dull thrum from the altitude they’ve all reached, her nose stings and tickles with the preparation to start dripping snot. Knows from the cattish sneeze somewhere behind her that Hannah’s ears have popped. Up ahead, faint thanks to the wind, Noemi can hear the faint crying and wailing of spirits. A tiny tremor runs down her spine, but Cassandra has easily moved in front of Noemi and Hannah has moved too, setting herself between her friend and danger.
Varric moves to find higher ground and Solas casts a silent spell, warmth growing inside Noemi as a faint blue shimmer glows along her skin and clothes. Hannah turns to her, grabbing her closest hand. Noemi notices that, of the two of them, Noemi’s hands are dirtier, caked in black blood and dirt, smeared by melting snow dampening the dried blood. Hannah’s are little better, but there is a distinct lack of recent use.
That would change shortly.
Hannah squeezes her hand, a tiny pressure against the green mark the Breach had seen fit to give her. Then she gives Noemi a forehead kiss and a soft, “Stay out of the way,” then rushes to follow the other four, electricity sparking in her palms now.
They make short work of what creatures there are. Solas deals ice damage to whatever comes his way or notices Noemi, careful to dodge or simply… step through them. It’s hard to describe the way he is one place then another without even an eyeblink, the wraith or shade turning rigid with ice. Hannah, on the other hand, is all lightning, quick on her toes and hair bristling with the crackling static produced by her power. Once, but only once, she takes a hit against her chest from a wraith and in retaliation grabs its spider-leg hands, not releasing even as it screams in her face and thrashes until it bursts in black blood and golden light.
Varric is found quickly in his vantage spot, but it doesn’t make each bolt from Bianca less fierce, less damaging. His steps are sturdy, holding his ground with any hit he takes and pushing forward. There’s a furrow to his brow, but a easy smile and movement to his gait, trusting the others to have his back. Cassandra is pure brawler, one who’s found a sword and realizes its uses are infinitely more killer than just her fists. Each swipe is at full strength, taunting whatever she’s battling, but there isn’t a smile, just a firm set to her jaw, eyes hard with a gleam of adrenaline.
Hannah returns to her first, and Noemi doesn’t realize she’s been biting her thumb nail in worry until she’s grabbed Hannah, demanding she stop pulling back so Noemi can check her. She pats Hannah’s sides down, looks in her eyes, in her mouth for blood, then demands her pain scale.
“Jesus Christ, I’m fine.” Hannah says, laughing.
“I saw it hit you! One of your lungs could have collapsed, or a rib could be bruised, cracked, or broken!”
“And I’m fine, I promise.” Hannah wraps her in a hug, squeezing a little. “Solas’s shield was still up. It was like bumping me. None of us are hurt.”
“Shield?” Noemi echoes softly, confused and so, so fearful suddenly. A physical strike up close that left marks behind was one thing, something she could treat, but internal injuries were nigh impossible without the necessary equipment. And this place- this world- was terrifyingly behind.
“The blue sparkle.” Hannah elaborates. “The warmth in your chest. A shield to protect against long ranged attacks and some up close ones.”
Noemi stares at Hannah, watches the calm acceptance dip into concern. She asks, softly, “Noemi?”
“I feel so lost suddenly.” She admits, trailing off. “What is going on…?”
Hannah shifts, wrapping one arm around Noemi’s waist, and tugging her to follow. It’s awkward with Hannah being a few inches shorter, but it’s pleasant to suddenly not be the somewhat leader.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get you home,” Hannah whispers, and Hannah wasn’t a person who should be able to whisper. She was a boisterous person, who’s voice rose and rose in excitement until someone asked her to chill out. “And I’ll explain later.”
Noemi nods, looking over everyone, checking for marks or bumps or gingerly held extremities. There aren’t any except a scratch with a few beads of blood above Cassandra’s eyebrow. Noemi didn’t need to fix that.
“Done fondling your friend?” Varric asks, making Hannah choke on a laugh and Noemi’s face turn pink.
“I, I wasn’t fondling her!” Noemi yelps. “I was checking for injuries! I can check you all, if you’d like.” She backpedals. “But she said Solas put up a shield and you dealt with the spirits before it fell so I don’t need to.”
“I think I’m good.” Varric shakes his head, turning to keep walking.
Cassandra gives Noemi a cursory glance, as though checking to make sure she was safe, then a brief glance at Hannah. The shorter woman looked strong and hale, returning Cassandra’s look. She gives a single nod and follows after Varric, Solas trailing without checking on them.
Noemi looks at Hannah, who glares at Solas’s back. “Hey.”
Hannah snaps her gaze to Noemi, glare turning into a smile, humming.
“You might light him on fire, glaring like that.”
“I don’t have the intent backing it.” Hannah says with an odd chill in her voice, dry and brittle as mid-winter. “And we need him, as much as I wish we didn’t.”
Hannah starts walking, now holding Noemi’s hand. She makes sure to keep a step ahead of Noemi, always scanning the place. Which Noemi knew would lessen once she felt they were safe, if that were plausible in this situation.
Or she’d thought her friend’s worry would lessen.
They finally reach the rest of the troops, passing burning carts and dead bodies. They round the bend to a set of stairs just as, up ahead, a falling boulder covered in green from the Breach strikes a man and kills him, throwing his corpse down several stairs. She gasps, covering her mouth. Hannah’s hand in hers squeezes in comfort, pulling her along.
Ahead comes the sound of fighting and Hannah drops Noemi’s hand, more lightning crackling in hands, lacing her fingers. Hannah’s doesn’t tell Noemi to stay back, just runs ahead and up the second stairs, passed the dead man. She disappears over a small drop and Noemi follows, watching her friend jump right into the thick of the mess, using her magic like she’d had it her entire life.
Noemi looks past the fighting to the rift where demons poured out and crouches down, lifting herself down the small drop. Immediately an armored greater Shade turns to her and she grabs the hilt of her sword, pulling it from its sheath. It lungs and she manages to parry it’s hit, kicks out on instinct so it falls back. She swings, taking its arm off in a clean hit.
She doesn’t see the second Shade coming up on her back, but does see the big, burly blond guy charging her way. She yelps at his advance, falling backwards in time to see him take out the lesser Shade in three quick, fluid moves. And then blue lightning obliterates the greater Shade.
“Noemi!” Hannah yells, locked in combat with Solas against a weird wendigo-ish skeleton monster. “The rift!”
“R-right!”
The blond grabs her elbow, helping her up. She gives him a stumbling “thanks” and runs across the makeshift battlefield. Cassandra beheads her wendigo skeleton and Solas shatters the other, the bleach-white bone remains flying across the area. She throws her hand up, pulling on the edges as she has before, yanking it closed even as it fought against her. It closes quicker than the other two, snapping shut with what sounded almost like a snarl.
Noemi manages to keep her footing, heaving, even as her hand goes numb. Solas walks close, looking amazed. “Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.”
“Thanks?” She shakes her hand hard until feeling returns, wiggling her fingers.
“Let’s hope it works on the big one,” Varric comes up, eyeing her hand and its wiggling fingers. “You okay?”
“I think using the mark so much is damaging the nerves.” Noemi observes, subdued, cradling her left hand. It was hard to imagine this as an elaborate dream when the pain all felt so real, the snow cool on her cheeks, the heat of fire and lightning so real. “It might also be the Breach growing.”
“Hm,” Solas steps closer, eyeing her hand. He reaches to take it and then finds himself blocked by Hannah, taking Noemi’s hand gently. Frustration briefly flashes in the elf’s blue gaze, washed away a second later to chilly calm. He heads over to Cassandra and the blond man conversing.
“Want me to massage it?” Hannah asks, already pressing deep circles into the back of Noemi’s hand, relieving what pain was starting to return. “You might be straining the tendons, like a painter or sketcher.”
“Sure.”
Varric comes closer in curiosity, watching as Hannah proceeds to spend a minute or two easing the tension and bringing back further feeling in her fingers, careful in her approach around the mark. She smiles at Noemi’s palm, running along Noemi’s lifeline before releasing her hand. “At least that wasn’t affected. Still got a lot of years of achievements ahead.”
“What does the palm crease have to do with years left to live?” Varric questions.
“Palmistry.” Hannah explains. “The line I pointed out is your lifeline. There are others, like your love line, destiny, head, and a few others. Maybe after this, I’ll read your palm. Tell you something about your future.”
Varric snorts. “Don’t think I need a fortune teller telling me my future.”
“Not a fortune teller if it’s free.” Hannah remarks and Noemi bites the inside of her cheek at his look, eyes wide and mouth parted. “It’s just a fun pastime.”
He quirks a brow. “Sounds like you got a lot of those.”
Hannah shrugs, pulling Noemi to Cassandra, Solas, and the man. Varric trails, further intrigued by the weird elf and human.
They enter the conversation near the end, catching Cassandra calling the man ‘commander.’ Hannah lights up beside her, recognition in her eyes. Noemi really wants an explanation to everything going on, but is also just really glad to have people willing to keep her alive while she figures it all out.
“I hope they’re right about you.” Noemi looks to the commander, trying not to show she didn’t catch half of what he said. “We’ve lost a lot of good men getting you here.”
“Uhm,” Noemi flounders, “I mean, I’m not much of a fighter. I’m doing what I can, though.”
She misses Hannah’s wince, but the commander seems to take it in stride. “That’s all we can ask.”
He turns back to Cassandra and she exhales, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. Hannah takes her hand again, squeezing in comfort. Noemi relaxes a fraction.
“Maker watch over you— for all our sakes.”
“Christ, that sounds fatalistic as fuck.” Noemi mutters as the commander and his men go back the way they’d come, the man even helping one of his men with a heavy limp and injured side go. Noemi was tempted to stop them, check the wounded, and then head forward. It would be better, making sure no one else died but…
“We need to go, Nomes.” Hannah says, and tugs her friend forward, to another drop.
Noemi pauses at the edge, staring at what lays ahead. Charred, twisted remains, some still flaming, all screaming in agony towards the sky. Melted stone, crumbling walls. And the stench. Burning hair mixing with the smell of cooked fat and flesh. No snow lays on the ground, the flames too hot. A breeze blows by, ruffling her hair, and her stomach rolls when she’s hit full force by the stench.
She presses her hand to her mouth as bile rises in her stomach, reminding her she hasn’t eaten in three days and is running on pure adrenaline. Her legs give out as her body heaves all that’s left in her stomach, stomach acid and water splashes over the ground. Hannah pulls her hair away, humming what sounded like “You’ll Be In My Heart”, rubbing her back in slow, wide circles.
She wishes she had her friend’s iron stomach right now, wishes she could be immune to what she’s seeing like the others. They’ve had time to come to grips with what lies ahead, and Noemi has been awake barely two hours.
Hannah pulls her up, leaning Noemi’s weight on her once her heaves has passed, still rubbing her back, still humming that damn Disney song. Noemi grabs her friend’s shirt, bunching it into her fists, burrowing close and breathing in her sweat and the smell that came with the living. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
“I really doubt she did this, Seeker,” Noemi hears Varric tell the warrior. “Not even a really good actress can throw up on command.”
“No, they cannot.” Cassandra agrees solemnly.
When Noemi manages to pull herself together and pull back, she sees how pale Hannah is, cheeks tinged green with her own unease. Hannah gives her a strong smile, patting her neck. “You good?”
“No.” Noemi swallows, suddenly exhausted. “All these people are dead. They died in agony. And there’s so many bodies, Hannah. All these people are—”
Hannah leans uncomfortably close, staring her in the eyes, palms cupping Noemi’s cheeks. Noemi can see tears, the way she was suppressing her own anguish at the sight. “Do not think about that, got that? I don’t giva fuck what happened here, not right now. They’re somewhere better now. But we’re here.” She knocks their heads together, enough to hurt. “We’ve got demons to stop, a rift to close, and our names to clear. Then we’ll mourn.” When Noemi doesn’t say or do anything, Hannah demands, “Got it?”
Noemi sniffles, nods, and Hannah settles back on her hunches. “Good. Get up. Every second we wait, that mark gets bigger and I’ve no intention of you dying, dammit. I love you.”
Hannah stands, helping Noemi up. Hannah looks the other three in the eyes, daring them to say anything, then hops over the edge. Solas and Varric follow. Hannah helps Noemi down before Cassandra joins them. They make their way over what may have once been the entry hall for the Temple of Sacred Ashes, down into a still-standing alcove.
Green washes over them as they come out on a balcony, looking up at a huge rift. It was easily the size of a bus. But it looked… wrong. Crystalline shards poked out at angles different from the other three rifts, light struggling to pass through. It was definitely going to be a bitch to close. Further up, far out of the realm of reaching without some form of flight, is the Breach, choking and sputtering out rifts at steady intervals.
“So… if I did die,” Noemi manages weakly in the face of the two openings to another world, “you’d learn necromancy and bring me back?”
“Wouldn’t need to. My anger at you being stupid enough to die, and my for letting you, would bring you back.”
Noemi laughs weakly. “Oh, nice.”
“You’re here! Thank the Maker!”
Noemi whips around, watching Leliana run up, men at her back. Soots and grime was on her cheeks and dulling her hood, but she didn’t look any worse for wear. Cassandra immediately jumps into commander mode, having the men leave to find places to hold around the ruined temple. Leliana goes to talk with her men, leaving Cassandra free to address Noemi.
“This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”
Noemi takes a deep breath, looking up at the Breach and the odd rift before them. “You’ve got a plan for this, right? That’s pretty damn high.”
“No.” Solas focuses on the rift. “This rift is the first and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”
“That sounds fake, but okay.”
What Noemi was going to dub ‘Solas’s Bitch Face’ made a brief appearance, a mix of confusion, consternation, and pure vexation from dealing with two weird women. Lucky for him, Cassandra thinks it a good plan and orders them to head down into the center of the temple ruins. Leliana rejoins them as they head down.
There are less bodies where they walk, but plenty of fires and rubble. And… green stuff, glowing along the walls. Noemi assumes its from the Breach.
“Bring forth the sacrifice.”
“What are we hearing?” Cassandra demands.
“At a guess: the person who created the Breach.”
No kidding. Noemi recognizes the voice, chills clawing down her spine. Hannah, sensing Noemi’s rising fear, grabs her hand.
And then she sees a low, red glow ahead, breaking up the green. Hannah tenses beside her, saying with a hint of panic. “Don’t get near that shit.”
“What? What is it?”
“That’s red lyrium,” Varric explains, his own hint of panic clear. “You seeing this, Seeker?” Cassandra confirms, brows pinching together. “What’s it doing here?”
Noemi hears singing, a faint sound that makes her both want to get closer to the red lyrium and run the opposite direction. Hannah yanks her to her other side, closer to the balcony and away from the red lyrium.
“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it.”
“Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”
“Keep the sacrifice still.”
“Hannah…” Noemi whispers, unsure. “I recognize that voice.”
Oddly steady, and visage set in determination, the human-turned-elf says, “Same.”
They comes down the steps, taking two at a time. An older voice speaks up, panicked, begging for help. Noemi’s skin crawls, her mind itching, trying to remind her of something. Hannah’s hand in hers squeezes, grounding her in the moment.
They jump over the drop together, looking at the rift. Noemi’s hand pulses with pain, green sparking along her hand. She lifts it, surprised at the way the pain quickly fades, leaving behind a numbness that wasn’t good.
“Someone help me!”
And then the strangest thing happened: Noemi heard her voice. It echoed, too loud and too sure of itself. But it was Noemi’s voice, demanding to know what the fuck was going on. Noemi looks up at the rift, eyes wide.
“That was your voice.” Noemi looks to Cassandra, trying to orient herself in what was happening. “Most Holy called out to you. But—”
Her response is lost by the rift giving a burst of energy, spreading over the area. A dark shadow rises up from where the rift is, crouching over an elderly woman in robes, bounding by red smoke. She recognized that woman, knew she’d seen her before.
Then herself, a copy of her with a green hue, comes from the edge, Hannah just behind her, terror on her face. The woman- Divine Justinia- begs them to leave, to ‘warn them.’ It’s a surreal amount of deja vu to be subject to, lucky to have someone to hold on to as this plays out.
“Aw, fuckin’ christ.” Hannah’s copy says, sounding as she has the past hour or so. “This’s really happenin’.”
“There are intruders,” the shadowy figure says, waving an imposing hand. “Kill them.”
Right before the strange replay ends, there is a shock of lightning and memory Noemi falls into memory Hannah’s hold as the tiny woman spits, feral and feline-like, “You won’t fucking touch her, you bastard!”
The memory bursts, popping like a soap bubble. Cassandra grabs Noemi, turning her to face her. “You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was the vision true? What are we seeing?”
Noemi shakes her head, gaping at Cassandra. Hannah pulls her out of the warrior’s hold, saying, “Leave her alone! She’s doesn’t remember!”
“But you do.” Cassandra says, and Hannah takes a half-step back, eyes blowing wide in confusion. “Do you not?”
Hannah opens her mouth, a lie on her tongue, but Solas speaks, calm in the face of Cassandra’s tempest of emotion.
“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.” Cassandra turns away, heading for Solas. He held answers they didn’t have, and Hannah exhales heavily. She looks up at Noemi, searching her face, then follows. Noemi trails, a well of confusion and anger beginning to grow in her.
Hannah did remember. She knew what was going on and wasn’t saying anything. Why wasn’t she explaining anything?
“The rift is not sealed, but it is closed. Albeit temporarily.” Solas plants his staff in the ground, eyeing Hannah curiously then focusing on Noemi. “I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”
Cassandra debates this, then nods, shouting to those stationed around the temple, “That means demons! Stand ready.”
“I dunno if I can open it.” Noemi says. “I can barely close them.”
“You can.” Hannah assures. She gives her a kiss on the cheek and moves away, summoning her magic. Cassandra meets Noemi’s gaze when she seeks another person for assurance, and when the warrior nods she feels a little better.
Cassandra narrows her eyes on Hannah. “You and I will be talking after this.”
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” Hannah replies. “Let’s just focus on not dying first, yeah?”
Cassandra acquiesces to this.
Noemi turns to rift, holding her hand out. She focuses on the rift, squeezing her eyes shut. She can feel where the openings are, like popped seams on an old pair of jeans. She could shut them, definitely. It would happen with a lot of fighting, but they wouldn’t have to fight whatever came out of the rift if she forced the seams closed.
Solas said reopening it would allow them to close it safely, though. Meaning this wasn’t safe, maybe even if she forced the openings closed. The threat of it staying open would remain.
So she clenches her right hand at her side, imagines taking hold of the rift on either side, and yanks it apart with all her strength. Like a buttoned shirt, it bursts open, throwing out bursts of fade magic. And in the center just a few meters away, becoming corporeal with a roar, is what looks like if a dragon mated with a komodo dragon and a tiefling, taking after the former. Noemi falls back, reaching to grab her sword as Cassandra bellow, “Now!”
“You need to disrupt the rift for hits to affect it,” Hannah yells to Noemi, right before she gives an inventive string of curses bound to make a sailor blush as the demon wields a lightning whip and strikes at Leliana, Hannah, and Varric, tacking at the end, “Fuck! It’s immune to lightning!”
“Apt assessment,” Solas calls, slinging ice spells left and right. “Have you figured out how to harness winter magic yet?”
“Clearly not!”
Noemi ducks a swipe from the demon, holding out the mark and trying to yank the damn rift closed. It fights her every step, and it retaliation the damn thing spits out two Shades and a wendigo wanna-be. Varric and Hannah come to help her take the three demons out, Hannah’s magic useless on the large demon.
“You and I are having,” Noemi rams her sword through the wendigo cousin, it blasting apart, “words after this! I need an explanation!”
“You and me both!” Hannah agrees, a little too cheerfully as she causes her Shade to explode. She is spattered in black blood now, hair sticking to her head, clothing in a sad state of distress likely to never be fixed after this. Her old sneakers were beyond saving, but they weren’t build for fighting monsters anyway. Noemi could feel bones pressing into the soles of her feet when she stepped on the wendigo’s remains.
“We should focus on that Pride demon.” Varric advises.
“Sure, when I figure out how to be Elsa.” Hannah snarks, wit harsher when stressed.
Noemi huffs. “That makes me Anna, right?”
Hannah is glaring at her hands, likely thinking ice, ice baby in the hopes it’ll summon what she needs to fight. “Super strength, hits an attacking wolf with a guitar? Yep. Personally you’re more Mulan, though. Honor to us all, and such.”
“Aww,” Noemi begins to mess with the rift again as Hannah crows at the snowball forming in her hand, “thanks.”
Noemi loses sight of Hannah in the chaos of more Shades, a wraith, and a greater Shade, but can hear her cursing and taunting. Noemi keeps herself focused on the rift and anything that comes out of it, trusting everyone to deal with the Pride demon.
The ground trembles with every step the Pride demon makes, rattling her bones and giving her reason to set her feet. The fight can’t actually last more than half an hour, but it feels like a year before Noemi can feel the rift finally giving under her pull, can see the Pride demon slowing down.
She sees Hannah, heaving, sweat along her face and neck, damping her underarms and chest, clearly exhausted and likely scraping the edges of her magic reserves. She gathers a glowing blue ball in her hand and lobs it at the Pride demon. It wails, a shriek that rattled Noemi’s teeth, and turns. It’s eyes settle on her friend and she can see the alarm, the sudden and all consuming fear as Hannah back pedals, its ire focused directly on her and something to be afraid of.
Noemi moves, a stumbling half-step to Hannah’s scared tumble backwards. The Pride demon swings his clawed fist, and she’s just gone. Her head snaps to where she hears her friend choke and scream, hitting the wall, then falling down in a heap.
“Hannah!”
Rage and panic flows over in her, narrowing her mind. She turns to the rift, holding her mark to it. It fights her, the last of its strength depleting under her unrelenting assault.
“You will close.” She commands the rift, stepping closer to the rift.
Somewhere behind her, Varric is at Hannah’s side, checking her pulse and tipping a healing potion into her mouth. Elsewhere, Leliana, Solas, and Cassandra with their men have pinned the Pride demon.
She can hear the rift whine, feel it creeping up her arms, trying to pull her in as its final bid at survival. She digs her heels in, grits her teeth, and says once more, “You will close to my will!”
There’s a shrieking explosion of green, her feet coming out from under her. Utter exhaustion consumes Noemi’s mind and her vision goes dark.
Hannah realizes something is wrong when her glasses make her eyes hurt and puts her gaze out of focus. She pulls them off, shoving them in her red letterman jacket’s pocket, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. Beside her Noemi moans, slowly sitting up. She’s dressed in her jeans and coat, shivering from the light snowfall around them. Hannah crawls over, tugging off her letterman jacket to toss over her friend.
Noemi protests a little, too disoriented to really fight it, but allows it to happen. Hannah wasn’t bothered by the cold much, anyway. Her vest, long-sleeved shirt, and tank top underneath helped stave it off, too. Noemi squints her eyes at Hannah, confusion clear, even as she struggles the pull the letterman jacket over her jacket, thin as the latter item was.
“Did you have elf-ears at the Ren Faire?”
Hannah frowns back, getting to her knees and slowly to her feet from there. “No. They were too expensive, remember?”
“Yeah...” Noemi continues to stare and Hannah reaches up to her ears. She startles at the sensation of skin far too long and thin and pointed to be her own, and yet it was. She felt the touch on her ears and it was a little worrying. “They look good on you with the hair.”
“Thanks....” Hannah turns to look around them. They seem to be stuck in a crevice of some sort, and the only way out was up. There was a loud, booming voice from above. Another, weaker and female, cried out for help. It made her skin crawl. She bends to take Noemi’s outstretched hand and tugs the nurse to her feet. Both rock a little, but Hannah steadies them. “I think we need to go. Now.”
“Go where?” Noemi turns to look.“Towards the voices?”
“If we’re quiet enough, they might not notice we crashed their panel.”
“I don’t think this is a panel.”
The two stare at each other, aware that Noemi was right. It was nice to imagine though.
“I’ll go first.” Hannah says. “Just to be safe.”
Noemi glares, putting her hands on her hips. “And why are you in charge? I’ll go first.”
“I know how to take a punch.” Hannah points out. “And give one. Lemme go first.” She pauses, an edge of fear in her voice as she says, “Please.”
Noemi wants to argue but Hannah had turned and is already climbing up the rock wall, slowly and carefully. Her hands turn dark with dirt, and on jagged stones on the wall Noemi sees traces of blood likely from Hannah’s hands. Noemi is careful to avoid the jagged stones and reminds herself to check her friend’s hands later– and rip her a new one for being so careless. She never took good care of her hands, surprising for a writer who wrote like her life depended on it.
Hannah pauses just shy of the leveled ground, peeking over. She lets herself ease back, craning her neck to look down to Noemi. She puts a finger to her lips.
There’s the brief realization that Hannah’s upper body strength shouldn’t have allowed such a journey, and neither should have Noemi’s, but they’ve made it anyway. She writes it off to Hysterical Strength and watches Hannah crawl over the edge before popping back around to urge Noemi up, glancing back frequently for anyone coming back.
Noemi takes Hannah’s hands, allows herself to be hauled up. She collapses on Hannah, pressing her face to her friend’s shoulder with a huff of exertion. Hannah pats her back, still a little distracted by the way her head tilts and her jaw works, trying hard to be quiet.
Noemi peels herself off of Hannah and they stand, moving to crouch behind a wall. It was a mess. Fires scattered around, the smell of charred flesh, twisted corpses screaming in agony towards the sky. They seemed to be in what was once a large building. A shadowy figure with eyes red as rubies is in the center, and an elderly woman in religious garb is held aloft. Demonic beasts and wraith-like creatures surround the duo, men in suits of armor dispersed amongst them.
“Someone!” The woman cries, weaker than the other times. “Help me! Please!”
Hannah’s hold on Noemi’s arms tighten reflexively, smearing over the white arms of the letterman jacket. The stains would never come out. Noemi glances back and sees Hannah has really, truly gone pale with shock, mouth gaping in surprise.
Noemi is prepared to ask ‘what’s wrong’ when the women once more begs for help and Noemi’s heart tugs, something reckless unfurling in her. She sees the same thing in Hannah, dampened by a sudden fierceness Noemi recognized when little kids were bullied or an animal was in need. The strange scent of electricity crackles and blue flickers in the green-brown gaze of her friend. Noemi doesn’t know how, but she knows Hannah has her back for whatever happens next and, assured of the assistance, comes out from behind the wall.
Noemi moves into the midst of the people, Hannah at her back. Her skin tingles with power that flickers off Hannah’s clothes and from her eyes, a warning to not come closer.
When her friend learned magic, she’d find out after this. Though seeing as Hannah was Wiccan, and tended to believe in fairies and dragons, it was no surprise if the young woman did find true magic.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Noemi demands angrily, totally aware she didn’t typically have the ovaries for such stupidity.
The old woman sighs in relief and yet pain. “You must go! You must warn the others!”
“Aw, fuckin’ christ.” Hannah says behind Noemi, Southern accent thickening in her worry. “This’s really happenin’.”
“There are intruders,” the shadowy figure says, waving an imposing hand. “Kill them.”
An arc of blue strikes the ground in front of Noemi, dispersing a wraith that had come from the floor and lunged at her. She falls back into Hannah’s hold as the tiny woman spits, feral and feline-like, “You won’t fucking touch her, you bastard!”
Noemi doesn’t remember what comes next, but there is fighting and lightning and ice. And there is a bright green light that she reaches for and Hannah’s distant yell of, “NOEMI! DON’T!”
The screaming has to have been hers.
Back from the dead with not an update for Rowanbirch Manor: Home for Dead and Lost Souls or Willful Kismet but instead another WIP! Say hello to the work of @amusewithaview and @neverending-shenanigans talking too much about Dragon Age: Inquisition and me dragging @uru-viel into it. If you can’t tell, she’s never played and I just started. Suffer with us on what I’ve fondly named The Dragon Age AU From Hell.
And I am aware of the POV shift half-way through. Whoops.
