Chapter 5
It was dark when they made it back to Haven. The mark in her hand was a helpful lantern back. The camp was quiet, both ex-prisoners slipping to their respective sleeping areas.
Her cabin was warm. The fire burning enough to fight the night's chill. She sat near, dumping her packs on the the floor. The pack that had been under the floor was covered in soot but was otherwise untouched. The one in the trees had seen better days. The enchantment held strong, but some of the fabric needed mending, buttons reattached, the straps needed to be completely redone.
She gathered her precious things and hid them beneath her bed within the other pack. Its enchantment wasn't as potent, but it'd work for now.
She leaned against her bed, knees to her chest, head resting in her hands. Thoughts sprint back and forth. Questions, conclusions, theories and fears. She knew she should sleep, but the pain in her hand, the unknown power that flowed through her.
She hummed a song her brother had made for her, on those nights when she couldn't attain sleep. Staring into the fire, she heard the laughs from her childhood, the teasing.
* * *
It was the smell of cooking meat that woke her from her makeshift bed of a cool floor. The fire had dimmed to near embers. She crawled and threw a few logs on, coaxing the flames with her magic. Glancing through the window from where she sat, she contemplated just staying in bed since it was already noonish.
That cooked meat swept through her nostrils again, stirring her to stand and stretch the soreness she could before heading to the small tavern within the hold. Flissa, the tavern's keeper, was kind if flustered as she gave Emma'lah food. A polite dismissal, and she absconded beyond the curtain wall, hoping to eat in private.
She made it five feet before a heavily accented voice called to her.
“Herald? Your Worship!” She mastered the annoyance in her face before turning, an ostentatiously dressed masked man trailing her. “You are needed in the Chantry.” His body was in a slight bow as he held an arm to her.
She brushed him aside, eating her breakfast and making her way to the holy building. The man jogged ahead of her, opening the door and, again, bowing.
She stopped in the doorway. “What's your name?”
“Huguet Leloup, your worship.”
“Huguet. You're a believer?”
“Of course, Herald.” His sincerity, his conviction, almost warmed that frozen part of her.
Almost.
“Thank you for your assistance,” she continued inside the building. “Where am I to—Ah.” Huguet had rushed past her, heading for Josephine's office. They'd arrived in the middle of a tense discussion, if the words that floated to her were any indication.
“The Inquisition cannot remain, Ambassador, if you can’t prove it was founded on Justinia’s orders.”
“This is an inopportune time, Marquis. More of the faithful flock here each day.” Huguet opened the door to Josephine's office with another deep bow. The ambassador looked relieved, elated, to see Emma. “But allow me to introduce you to the brave soul who risked her life to slow the magic of the Breach. Mistress Lavellan, this is the Marquis DuRellion, one of the Divine Justinia’s greatest supporters.”
His head lifted several inches, “And the rightful owner of Haven. House DuRellion lent Justinia these lands for a pilgrimage. This ‘Inquisition’ is not a beneficiary of this arrangement.” The Marquis' clothing was louder than his servants, putting Josephine's dress of turquoise and coral to shame.
“Oh my,” Emma let out a small laugh. She pitched her voice higher, as she'd learned to do decades ago, and tried for innocence, ignorance. “I have barely been conscious for more than twenty-four hours. This is the first I’ve heard of Haven having an owner outside the Chantry.”
DuRellion didn't sympathize. “My wife, Lady Machen of Denerim, has claim to Haven by ancient treaty with the monarchs of Ferelden. We were honored to lend its use to Divine Justinia. She is… she was a woman of supreme merit. I will not let an upstart order remain on her holy grounds.”
“Upstart?” she turned to the ambassador in feigned shock. “I thought the Inquisition was begun by the Left and Right Hands of the Divine?”
“It was.” Josephine assured.
“I’ve seen no written records from Sister Leliana or Seeker Pentaghast that Justinia approved the Inquisition.” DuRellion's constant peacocking was not lost on the women.
“If we won’t take her at her word, I’m afraid Seeker Pentaghast must challenge him to a duel.”
“What?”
“It is a matter of honor among the Nevarrans. Shall I arrange the bout for tonight?”
“No! No.” He coughed, adjusting his collar, “Perhaps my reaction to the Inquisition’s presence was somewhat hasty.”
“Only if you're sure.” Josephine said.
“I do apologize for the inconvenience we've brought to your wife.” Emma'lah offers. DuRellion let out a sigh.
Josephine jumped on the moment. “We face a dark time, Your Grace. Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us. She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they might seem.”
“I’ll think on it, Lady Montilyet. The Inquisition might stay in the meanwhile.” DuRellion left, Huguet bowed deeply to Emma before running after his master.
“That was annoying. Does he have a claim?”
“His Grace is one of the first of many dignitaries we must contend with.”
“You expect more? Many more?”
“Undoubtedly. And each visitor will spread the story of the Inquisition after they depart. An ambassador should ensure the tale is as complimentary as possible. Thedas’s politics have become… agitated as of late. I hope to guide us down smoother paths. Also,” she turned to Emma. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I was… intrusive. I will do my best to do better.” A messenger ran into the office before Emma could speak, passing off an envelope. “But please excuse me. I’ve much work to do before the day is done.”
* * *
“Harritt?” the clanging from the smithy rang in her teeth.
A bald man with an impressive ginger mustache raised his head, happy to see her. Their conversation was short. The blacksmith was kind, if gruff, showing her his area and allowing her to purchase the materials she needed, making sure she got the best pieces.
Her eyes kept drifting to the grunting soldiers training a short walk away. To the blond commander fussing at their missteps.
“If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead.” She'd heard something similar from a leader of her clan when she'd stop to look at a flower once while training.
Thanking Harritt once again, Emma began to make her way back to the cabin. Something about the pretty male shifted her direction.
“…prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.” He said to a lieutenant before him. The man confirmed his order as he went back to his group.
She was silent in her approach, startling the commander when she asked, “Shall I shoot a fireball at them?”
He laughed as he settled to the start, “It would certainly match your entrance.”
“That wasn’t my idea.”
“I’d be concerned if it was.”
“At least I got everyone’s attention.” She grinned wide at him.
He returned the smile. “That you did.”
“May I ask, why are yo—” a body shoves into her, sending into the commander's arms. A soldier had tripped out line. The woman righted herself was a, “Sorry.” before running back to her place. The two leaders laughed quietly, Cullen kept a hand on Emma'lah as he guided deeper into the camp.
“I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall. I was there during the mage uprising – I saw firsthand the devastation it caused. Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse.”
“You left the templars for this? You believe the Inquisition can work?”
“I do, Herald. The Chantry lost control of both templars and mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that. There’s so much we can—Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”
Shit. He's cuter than I thought. “No, but if you have one prepared I’d love to hear it.”
Cullen let out a laugh, “Another time perhaps.”
They both blushed slightly, while she pushed the conversation forward, “You seem to understand our situation. I'd appreciate your opinion.”
“I, ah…” he cleared his throat. “Our people are well-organized and committed. Despite what the clerics may think, we’re in the best position to help.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought?”
“I know what happens when order is lost and action comes too late. But, there’s still a lot of work ahead.”
A soldier approached and handed over a report. Emma watched as Cullen listened and nodded to the man, his kindness and authority overflowing. He looked back up at her, still with a smile as he rolled his eyes. “As I was saying.” Emma gave a small nod and excused herself.
* * *
The material from Harritt worked perfectly. She just needed to get the plant for the dye that tripled as a base for her enchantment and was a waterproofing agent. It also had medicinal purposes, so she made her way to the healer, Adan.
“I do not have any but I believe the elf—Solas?—He requested some not too long ago. Might see if he has any left.”
“And where would he be?” Adan pointed across the pathway, to where the tall mage stood, watching the Breach. “Oh.”
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Herald?”
“Uh, no. Thank you.” Why was her stomach suddenly in her throat?
* * *
She'd not been in the apothecary five minutes before she beelined to him, looking to the world like she was steeling herself for battle.
Solas kept his face calm, welcoming, while his mind raced at her approach. What does she want? Why is she coming here? She shouldn't be here. I need to leave, keep space. “The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all.” smoothly left his lips.
Her eyes shut at the title and she let out an exasperated growl, “Please don’t call me that.” The silence hit her as she realized what she said, how she said it. “Ah, shit. Fuck. I’m sorry. I… It’s just...” She loosed another growling groan, before taking a breath to steady herself. “I do want to help seal the Breach. If I even have a choice in that matter.” The last part muttered.
A pang fluttered through him at that comment. An unwilling participant, a slave in her own right. One that had the adoration from a religious sect, but one forced to it nonetheless. He walked to the low stone wall near his cabin, Emma following him hopping atop it. He looked out at the Breach.
“I have journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past of wars both famous and forgotten.” Turning back to her, “Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”
A grin tugged at the corners of her pretty, pink mouth. “You fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins? Isn’t that dangerous?”
A sheepishness overcame him. “I do set wards. And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.”
She leaned towards him, a conspirator with secrets to tell. He leaned in to her, intrigued. “And what of the viscous little nugs?”
He couldn't stop his grin, his brows shooting up at her words. “Why do you think I lure the spiders to protect me?” he purred.
She let out a joyous laugh and a pride swelled within his chest. She slipped off the wall in her outburst, Solas catching her as she reached out with a small yelp.
He did not move away once she was righted.
Her gaze went to the breach, thoughtful, “I hope to leave this life better, in some form. I suppose that applies to my time here as well.”
“Ah. Well, I wish you luck.” He straightened, nodding. “I will stay then, at least until the Breach has been closed.”
Her head snapped to him, face incredulous. “That was in doubt?”
“I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces and, unlike you,” He nodded to the hand that still rested on his arm. “I do not have a divine mark protecting me.” Her mouth pursed. “Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”
“You came here to help, Solas.” Her tone serious, an oath to him in all but words. “I won’t let them use that against you.”
“How would you stop them?”
“However I had to.” Her voice was quiet, fierce. So many words unsaid behind that tone.
He blinked at her, this kind woman sitting before him. “Thank you.” He collected himself with an inhale, forcing his eyes away. “For now, let us hope either the mages or the templars have the power to seal the Breach.”
A tenseness overcame her, a curtain falling into place. “Right.” The word uttered with a sudden coldness, her body pulling away from his. “Before I forget again, do you perhaps have some rabbitbrush?”
“I do.” Her eyes brightened, her body tensing a new, as if stopping her from movement. “May I ask why?”
“I need to repair my pack and rabbitbrush—” she stopped herself, corralling her excitement, stopping her words, “is the last thing I need. Would you be willing to part with some?”
Yes. “It depends, how much do you need?”
“Two to three bunches would be ideal, but one can work until I am able to procure more.”
“One moment.” He stepped from her to his current residence. He hadn't gotten enough for them both to have what they needed, but...
He walked out to her, “Is this enough?” he handed over three well packed bunches.
Her eyes went wide. “More than! Thank you. Would you like me to return what I don't use?”
I'd very much like that. “If you would like.”
She started off, then turned back. “Do you want it back whole? Or can I prep it? Grind it?”
“It has to be finely ground for my needs.”
“Understood!” she took off before he could finish.
Stay away. A voice gently rebuked.
There was a tightening in Solas' chest as he wanted to argue, wanted to say nothing would happen. But that want to fight alone told him the voice was right.
The Herald is proudly Dalish. She's a mage, yes, but she didn't know the Fade like he did. She carried his anchor and should mean nothing more.
He would teach if she was open.
Nothing more.
It couldn't be.
You never know. Another, deeper, more sarcastic voice retorted.