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Chapter Text

She shifted a few times before slowly opening her eyes. A throbbing pain accompanied the return to consciousness and even the faint light near her felt too sharp. As she tried to move, the clank of metal and a heaviness around her wrists brought her attention to the manacles gripping them. Her mouth felt dry and an unfamiliar weakness lingered. An odd absence of something she could not name accompanied that weakness.

“You are awake.” A calm masculine voice directed her attention towards the weak candlelight. “How do you feel?”

Making an attempt at sitting up, she realized the source of the throbbing pain was at the back of her head which was covered in bandages. “Where am I?” She whispered, the words feeling unnatural to her, as if her tongue was unaccustomed to them. 

“You are in the cellar of the Haven chantry.” 

“Haven?” Her mind took in the word, rolled it around in an emptiness forcibly seated over her memories. “I don’t remember... Fenedhis!” She hissed as sharp pain broke out from under the bandages. 

“I feared that would be the case.” The candlelight moved closer, farther away from the green glow. Soon she could see a sharp face of an elven man. “What can you last recall?” 

She closed her eyes for a moment, prodding the emptiness in her mind. When she opened her eyes again, the elf’s calm eyes watched her shake her head. 

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, then ran his hand over the bald head as if to brush away hair that once was there. “Ahn mar melin?” 

“Luthwén.” The answer escaped her lips before she thought about it. “Mahn ame?” She repeated her question in the language that her mind accepted faster. 

“You are in Haven Da’len . They found you and the other mage after the explosion. No one else survived it. Your head was badly injured. The other mage… I still have not figured out what the mark on her hand is.” He glanced at the source of green light behind him. “ Luthwén, ehn ane?” 

She closed her eyes again for a while, thinking. “ Ar ame Dalish … Ar ame Sael. ” 

A wrinkle of a frown appeared on the elf’s forehead and he brought the candlelight closer to Luthwén’s face, observing it for a while. 

Someone cleared their throat and the elf moved away, “My apologies. I was just trying to see her face properly.” He stood up speaking to someone standing outside her cell. “I cannot do much more for the other one, hopefully she will wake up soon.” 

“ Sule tael tasalal.” He nodded towards Luthwén and walked away. 

Luthwén could hear the snap of a lock as someone unlocked it, and briefly the candlelight the elf carried illuminated armour. Armour with a symbol of a sword on fire. Templar. 

With a pounding heart she pulled closer to the brick wall, feeling its dampness through her clothing. The weakness and disconnection became painfully clear when she realised what was happening. 

She could not tell why or who had told her of this, but she knew templars could suppress her magic abilities and drain her of mana. She also knew that being in the presence of a templar without her clan meant danger. Life threatening danger. 

She looked down at the manacles around her wrists, then towards the bar of her cell. Had they caught her and declared her… an apostate? But the elf mentioned an explosion… The emptiness in her mind felt even more oppressive as she struggled against it. 

Light burst into the dark room and Luthwén could finally see the outlines of the cellar. Bars spread along the back wall, not divided into smaller cells. Opposite to where she sat, she could see a figure with a green glow emanating from their hand hanging down from the cot. 

“I asked you to call me if one of them wakes up. Immediately.” The accented voice would have been sweet and endearing, if it wasn’t for the sharp edge of its words. 

No response came to the reprimand, but the rattle of a metal door followed. “You say she claims to be dalish and an apprentice to the keeper. Not an apostate.” The feminine voice inquired. 

Candlelight illuminated the corner of her cell and Luthwén cowered away from a pair of inquisitive blue eyes. 

“Then where are her vallaslin?”

Chapter Text

Cullen’s sword ran through the twisted body of rags and flesh one last time before the demon dissipated into green fragments pulled back into the rift.  He breathed out, only now realising he had held his breath while the demon disappeared before his eyes. Just a short pause before more poured out of the tear in reality.

“Commander!” A young man’s voice called out from behind him.

Cullen turned his head sharply, then closed his eyes as pain broke out in his head. After a few heartbeats, he opened his eyes again and looked for the voice calling him.

The boy was crouching over someone on the ground, the snow around them blood-stained. Another victim of this madness.

He rushed over, sheathing his sword.

“The demon tore through her before I could react.” The young man’s voice trembled as he stared down at the injured woman in his arms. Cullen’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“Take her back to the valley,” He ordered, not letting his thoughts pour into his voice. The wound on the woman’s abdomen was too large to heal, her vital organs damaged during that moment of inattention. She would be gone within minutes. But Cullen knew the young soldier was too shaken to continue fighting.

He did not want another death on his mind.

At the, now too familiar, sound of a rift opening again, Cullen drew his sword. With a stream of commands to his troops, he charged at the emerging creature.

Blocking the claws on its long fingers, he swung his sword back at it, meeting with little resistance. The creature appeared unphased by the cut off limb and continued its onslaught.

Somewhere behind him, someone cried out.

Fortifying his mind against doubts and the creeping thoughts of guilt, he attacked the creature again and did not look away till the rift closed with its remains pulled inside.

Breathing heavily, he supported himself up with his sword, feeling the muscles in his legs shaking from exhaustion.

He did not turn when he heard the snow crunching under approaching feet. He did not want to hear of another death. But instead of a soldier’s voice requesting his attention, a hand weighed down on his shoulder against the armour. “Go back to the valley, I’ll stand in your place for now.”

“I cannot leave. You need as many men out here.” He protested, not turning to face Cassandra, his eyes fixed on the humming closed rift.

“We also need you alive. Go rest.” Her voice sharpened with stubbornness. “Cullen, you’ve been here for hours, I can see you’re struggling to stand.”

“I can not be idle while men are out here in danger.” He spoke quietly, defying her orders.

“If you stay here and collapse you will put even more of our men in danger.” She snapped this time, forcing him to meet her uncompromising glare.

Cullen took a deep breath, steadying himself for arguing back, but his lungs burnt and his vision blurred. Letting his shoulders fall, he nodded and sheathed his sword. “Very well.”

As he walked away, he tried to ignore the spreading pool of red under another one of his fallen men. He tried to avoid seeing the empty stare of an unmoving face. He tried to pretend it was all a nightmare that would go away. But his steps guided him to the body and he found himself picking it up and carrying it away.

***

The cold water dripped from Cullen’s hair onto his bare shoulders as he struggled to pull on his trousers. His muscles burned and the dry coarseness of his throat forced another coughing fit. Gasping for air between the coughs, he finished dressing and buckled his armour.

When he came around the corner and walked back to the chantry, Leliana was already waiting for him. From the way her lips were pressed together, Cullen knew she had no good news to share.

“One of the prisoners woke up.” Leliana spoke up once they entered the chantry.

“The one with the mark?” He rubbed his forehead as they walked, massaging away the pain.

“The other one. She claims to be dalish and an apprentice to the keeper of her clan. What the dalish would call a First.”

“So she is not an apostate?” He murmured, finding it hard to concentrate as the throbbing pain refused to fade away.

“Not in her mind. Though she seems to be unable to recount anything close to the explosion… She cannot even tell me when she last saw her clan.” Leliana’s voice coloured with bitterness unusual for her.

“Do you believe her? Could she have lost her memory in this way?” He held the door open for her, then watched her take a seat by the table of their meeting room.

“With the way her wound looks, it is possible. I know of men who could not even recall their name after an injury like that. Besides, she does sound sincere if I say so myself.” Leliana nodded but kept frowning. “Though I cannot think of a reason why a dalish first would not have vallaslin.”

Cullen sighed with relief as he sat down, resting his feet. “Vallaslin?”

“Blood writing, as we’d call them. Her face lacks any sign of ever having them.” She played with the cuffs of her gloves.

Cullen frowned. If she was puzzled by their prisoner, then it would be of no use for him to even try begin understanding the situation. “Did she have anything to say about that?”

“She became distressed when I told her. My understanding of the language dalish use is limited, but Solas was trying to calm her down while she begged for an explanation of what had happened to her.”

Cullen nodded and tried to stretch his aching legs. “What of the other one?”

“Solas says that if she survives the next few hours she should start to recover. Her chances are low right now, but it would be in our interest that she lives.”

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, regretting it the moment his world rocked dizzyingly. “In our interest? This sounds like she is more than a suspect in causing the explosion.”

Leliana nodded, pulling her hood off and fixing the short-cropped ginger hair. “I do not like basing all our hopes on the words of an elven apostate, but, Solas claims that even though a mage, she could not have caused the explosion herself. He also theorised that the mark on her hand may be able to close the rifts and- Cullen you need to rest properly. I can see you are hardly focused. Go sleep.”

Cullen wanted to protest, but instead found himself being ushered out of the chantry towards his quarters.

Chapter Text

Luthwén looked up when the door opened, expecting to see the other prisoner return. Instead, a small elven woman entered, carrying a tray.

Flat ear . The thought felt like a reflex. Luthwén shook it off, realising she was in no position to judge the other elf. After all, her vallaslin were gone and she could not even recall the name of her clan.

As the woman approached Luthwén’s cell, the templar stepped into her way and took the tray, dismissing her silently. For a moment, the other elf met Luthwén’s gaze with a frown, reluctant to let go of the tray.

Disdain filled Luthwén as the templar blocked her view, as if even looking at her could hurt the woman. Was this how mages got treated in the circles?

This is why they rebelled. The memory surfaced without warning, connecting the pieces of information she gathered while listening to the other prisoner speak of a conclave. She remembered news of Kirkwall… Kirkwall… A city in the Free Marches… I have never been there… I only travelled… Ferelden.

The wooden tray was set down softly in front of her. Pulled out of her thoughts, Luthwén jerked away from the templar in fear. Not looking away from the sword strapped to his waist, she held her breath till he removed her manacles and left her cell, locking the door.

Once he returned to his usual position, she looked at the tray. First, she reached for the cup with steam rising from it and smelled it. Tea and elfroot. Without a second thought, her hand hovered above the cup and she attempted to access her reservoir of power. Only to find herself cut off from it.

With a nervous glance at the templar, she sighed, realising her instinctive reaction to elfroot was to magically enhance its effect. Healer. I used to heal… More memories surfaced. Piece by piece she uncovered information about herself.

Her learned memories appeared intact. She could recall the names of her gods and the tales she knew about them. She could recite spells and remember movements they required… but names of people, memories about herself and her life were gone. Stolen from her. Like her vallaslin.

Luthwén drank half of the tea before she picked up the plate with pieces of bread and dried meat.

***

The other prisoner never returned and Luthwén gradually grew tired of the futile struggle against the blank space in her memory. She did not want to sleep, too restless in the presence of the watchful templar.

For a while she had been alone. Her fingertips tingled with power returning to her in that moment. But before she could build up enough of it to use, her bladder begged for relief and she barely had enough time to tend to the needs in private.

When the templar returned, he was not alone. A man followed him, carrying a small crate. Luthwén returned to her cot, pressing closer to the wall when they entered her cell, the templar walking in first.

“If you want me to tend her wound you will have to step aside.” The bearded man grumbled and set down the crate next to Luthwén’s cot.

After a moment too long, the templar moved to the side, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

The feeling of disdain returned. He did not even trust her to not hurt a healer coming to help her?

“Girl, I’ll need you to turn your back to me so I can see the wound.” the healer’s tone was cold but not hostile.

Luthwén did as instructed, allowing him to access the bandaged injury. Holding her hair out of his way, she let him work, watching the templar in her peripheral vision.

The healer grumbled a lot, but his touch was careful, skilled. Smells of various herbs tickled her nose and she could name each one of them. A healer. I was surely a healer. They might let me go when I tell them…

The wooden door of the cellar opened and the templar, whose hand had moved away from his sword a while ago, snapped into attention. Luthwén wanted to turn her head to see who entered, but she feared the healer’s reprimand. He had already told her off once.

“At ease.” An unfamiliar male voice at the door ordered and the templar relaxed, “Sergeant go take a break.”

“Thank you commander.” The templar spoke up for the first time, his accent foreign to Luthwén, but surprisingly pleasing. Nevertheless, she still tensed as he moved past her.

“Now that you are here Commander and Seeker,” the man paused his work for a while, “I would like to remind you that I am no healer and most definitely not an apothecary.”

“We know Adan. However, right now the Inquisition has no one else skilled with using herbs. The chantry sisters are doing their best to tend the wounded, but their knowledge is limited to care.” A woman’s voice answered the man’s complaint.

His hands began moving again, bandaging up Luthwén’s wound. “Then you would do well to recruit someone.”

“I’ll personally look for someone when we arrive in the Hinterlands.” The woman’s tone matched Adan’s.

Luthwén felt the bandage secured in place when Adan stepped back and started packing away his supplies. “Wound looks good, it is healing well, but it will take time.”

Chapter Text

A trail of dense freckles spread from her nose to the side of her left cheek, the  right cheek wasn’t freckled, but had three scar lines running down towards her jaw. Thick curls of ginger hair fell into her pale face where the bandage did not hold them back, covering his view of the uneven pigment marking. When she brushed them away, he could see the fear in her large green eyes. She had noticed him observing her.

They all stood facing her, only the war table between them. He had noticed the curious way she eyed the map, as if she had never seen one that size before… or as if she was reading the positions of operation markers scattered across it.

Cullen rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, listening to the argument about their elven prisoner die down. No one seemed to know what to do about her.

Sibyl Travelyan’s mark had become a crucial asset to the Inquisition, and elevated her in the eyes of the people. When news spread of her calming the breach, many began calling her the Herald of Andraste and it became obvious that the Inquisition needed her.

But their prisoner Luthwén had become the scapegoat. With no one to blame for the death of beloved Divine Justinia, many remembered ‘the other survivor’, and concluded she had to have caused the destruction. Being an elf and a mage made it no easier for her. And since the circumstances around her presence at the conclave were unclear, even the people gathered around her now eyed her with distrust. 

To add to the chaos, the chantry declared both of the survivors heretics, but only requested the elf to be handed over for judgement.

Cullen did not know what to believe.

He refused to address Lady Travelyan as the Herald, and struggled to see past his distrust of mages. Just standing in one room with her made him uneasy. The collected dark haired woman, youngest of the Travelyan children, emanated strong magical power. When he first stood in this room with her, he tensed immediately, his hand on his sword hilt and his weight shifting automatically towards her. As he subconsciously braced himself for a fight, he saw the mage do the same in turn. He could feel her eyes on him, assessing his position, trying to spot his weaknesses before he found hers. She could feel his instinctive animosity just as he could feel hers.

The tension between them had not faded, and even now she occasionally looked up at him while listening to the prisoner.

“Adan keeps complaining he is not a healer,” Cassandra broke through the silence that had settled after no argument resulted in a decision. “No matter what doubts I have about Lady Luthwén’s story, I can see she does not lack skill in healing. I don’t see a reason why her talent should not be put to use.”

“That way the chantry may be placated for a while longer and she can remain under our guard… protection... till we have more information.” Josephine nodded dipping her quill in ink. 

“General hostility towards her may also lessen if the people see she is doing good and helping them.” Leliana agreed. “This is possibly the best option we have at this moment.”

“If that is the decision, I’ll establish a guard rotation to ensure safety.” Cullen spoke up and regretted his wording immediately. Two pairs of eyes fixed on him, the green caught between fear and anger, the grey burning with cold rage. But neither spoke up. 

“Well then, it is decided. Herald, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to talk to you.” Josephine gestured for Lady Travelyan to follow her out of the room, aware of the tension that Cullen’s remark caused.

“Oh,” Josephine paused surprised to find Sergeant Du Lac waiting behind the closed door and smiling moved out of the way to let him inside.

The templar was no longer clad in full armour. Instead, he wore the Inquisition uniform. He stepped inside and nodded to everyone respectfully, waiting for orders.  

“Sergeant, please take lady Luthwén to her room so she can change. Then please escort her to Adan.” Leliana spoke up before Cullen could, phrasing his thoughts in a much softer manner. He shot her a slight disapproving look for ordering his charges, but did not add anything.

When the door closed behind them. Cullen let out a sigh and leaned against the table. Cassandra and Leliana both crossed their arms and waited for him to look up.

“You’ll have to work on being more subtle.” Leliana scolded him when he finally decided to face them.

“What have I done wrong?” Cullen rubbed his forehead. 

“Besides not concealing your distrust towards Lady Travelyan, you also insulted both of the mages in this room. Creating the same kind of templar supervision as was enforced in the circles is an insult to their cooperation.” Leliana continued to scold with Cassandra silently agreeing. 

“But I-” He sighed feeling like a child scolded by a chantry sister, “I will be more careful.”

“Try talking to Lady Travelyan at some point Cullen, it might help with the distrust you two feel towards each other.” Cassandra half smiled and then walked out of the war room.

The spymaster nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. Since she was done scolding, she no longer hid her amusement at the situation. It irritated him slightly, but he brushed the feeling aside. Both of the women knew he was working to rid himself of many of his old templar habits. And they were aware of the long way still to go.

Talk to Lady Travelyan… How can that even remotely go well? It will be best for all of us if I keep my distance. He shook his head and headed out of the chantry.

Chapter Text

She bit down on her lip as she stared into the mirror at her own face. Her fingers followed an invisible trace of the intricate patterns that once framed her eyes, the movement so fluent she wondered how many times she had done this in the past.

The muted sound of footsteps behind her door reminded her of the time. She had already taken too long to fit into the clothes that have been left for her on the bed. Her plain brown dress reached the floor, hiding away her bare feet, and the undershirts’ long beige sleeves fell awkwardly over her palms, getting in the way as she attempted to braid her hair around the bandages.

Quickly, she wrapped a green woolen shawl around her neck and opened the door. The pacing templar turned to face her and smiled, the look of impatience Luthwén had expected absent from his ice blue eyes. Hesitantly she returned a tight lipped smile and by dipping her head indicated she was ready.

“If you’d follow me,” He moved to her side and began walking out of the chantry.

When they stepped outside, Luthwén hid her face into the thick shawl, cold wind pulling strands of her hair free from the braids. She fell a step behind the templar, keeping her eyes low, fixed on the snow below her feet.

What made her look up were not the hostile murmurs of people they passed, neither the surprised gasps of chantry sisters. It was the odd green tint on the snow, a light that felt unnatural. For a moment she thought her eyes played tricks on her, not used to natural light after days spent in the dark chantry cellars. But when she did look up, she stopped, horrified.

The emptiness in her mind did not recede, the sight revealed nothing new to her, evoking only fear. She remembered little. But the sky was not supposed to look like that. Was it?

Grey clouds circled a twisting hole in the sky above mountains that surrounded the small village she assumed was called Haven. Flickering and pulsing veins extended from the tear, weaving through the storm clouds and turning daylight sickly green. It looked like at any moment, the hole would swallow up the world or unleash hell on the valley. 

“What… what is that?” She pulled her shawl away from her lips so the templar could hear her. He had noticed she stopped and waited patiently while she gazed up in horror at the green wound.

“That is what remained after the explosion. The commander usually refers to it as the breach,” He looked up at the tear himself, not hiding his discomfort. “The Herald calmed it when she was taken from the cells, I think the mark on her hand had something to do with it.”

Luthwén nodded timidly, hiding her face once more and followed the templar again, taking the time to consider what he had said. This is what they have been blaming her for. This is what resulted in the deaths of all those mages and templars. And someone had opened it.

Her heart pounded in her chest, fear coursing through her veins. Her scattered memory did not offer reassurance or confirmation, she had no way of knowing whether she had indeed caused all this destruction. The only thing she clung onto was that her knowledge of magic focused on healing. And why would a healer wound the sky?

When the templar stopped, she looked up again, letting her thoughts fade as she observed the wooden hut that would be her workplace.

“It is good to see you out of the prison cell Luthwén,” The bald elf smiled at her when they reached the hut just as he stepped outside, holding flasks with coloured liquid. Luthwén could immediately recognise them as concentrated elfroot and dawn lotus extracts.

She dipped her head in a polite gesture, “Thank you…”

“Solas.” He smiled warmly at her, but then his eyes shifted to the templar patiently waiting by her side. “But excuse me, I have preparations to attend to, hopefully there will be time to talk later.”

Luthwén nodded, then slipped through the open door into the warmth of Adan’s hut.

“So they sent you.” Adan looked up from his work- plucking leaves of foxmint off a potted plant. His tone was flat as usual, but not hostile at all. “The Seeker told me you are a dalish healer,” His eyes scanned her face, confusion briefly flickering in his eyes when he found no vallaslin.

Luthwén shied away from his searching eyes for a moment, but then realised she had to gain the trust of these people and convince them she was indeed harmless, so she looked up and nodded. “The keeper’s first. I was taught everything the clan knows.”

“Very well. You’ll find the lists of requested items on the table over there.” Adan pointed at a table covered with papers and empty flasks and returned to his work.

The desk he had pointer out was the only messy surface in the alchemist’s workspace. Everything else was neatly organised, all herbs put away in their own designated spots, labeled boxes and flasks placed neatly on shelves.

Luthwén hesitantly unwrapped her shawl and looked around for a place to set it down, but before she could move, the templar who had silently stood by the door offered to take it from her, to let her work. Avoiding eye contact, she placed the shawl in his hands.

She then hurried over to the messy desk and began sorting through the items on it, piling up parchments and sorting the glass flasks according to size. When the desk had some order to it, Luthwén picked up the first list.

***

For hours they worked in silence, staying out of each others’ way, only now and then inquiring about the position of a herb or amount of elfroot left. Luthwén’s templar guard had left the hut at one point, but lingered outside in conversation with other men dressed in the Inquisition uniform.

A soft knock interrupted their silence, and with a gust of cold wind, the door opened. Adan looked up, while Luthwén only stole a side glance at the dark haired woman that entered. The one that others called the Herald. She had sharp facial features and a slender frame, her lips always pressed into a tight line. If Luthwén had not seen her wake up in the prison cell, confused and terrified just a day ago, she’d look away immediately.

Instead, she offered a slight smile and a nod, which the woman returned.

“You’re back. And in one piece.” Adan’s tone did not hide the bitterness about playing healer this entire time. But just like anything else he said, he did not intend to insult.

“You said you thought Master Taigen was working on something special.” the Herald unbuttoned her heavy fur coat and pulled out scrolls from a sewn-in pocket. “If it helps, I found his notes.”

Adan looked over the papers, taking a while to read through them, then laughed surprising both of the women. “The old codger was on the edge of a breakthrough here!” He moved over to the desk which Luthwén was using, spreading out the papers on it. “But he couldn’t see it. You want some of these mixed up, just give the word.”

“Thank you Adan. Solas is already gathering what we’ll need for the road to the Hinterlands, but I will keep it in mind.” She said softly, buttoning up her coat again and warming her gloved hands by the fireplace. “Luthwén, I asked Lady Pentaghast to discuss your… escort, with the commander.” Her grey eyes darkened slightly, “This is not the circle and he should realise that.”

Luthwén’s eyes widened a bit, facing the Herald again, “Thank you... my lady.” She dipped her head in a polite gesture that she had seen others do in the Herald’s presence.

“Please call me Sibyl. And don’t bow.” She shook her head, “Just a day ago we shared a prison cell. This,” She raised her hand that seemed to eminate a slight green glow, similar to the sky’s wound, even through the glove, “Does not make me any better than you.”

Luthwén smiled faintly and nodded, “Dareth shiral Sibyl.”  

Chapter Text

Cullen kept glancing towards the gates while overlooking the training of a new group of recruits.

Ever since Cassandra, Varric and the two mages left for the Hinterlands, he had been waiting for a messenger to update him on anything of importance. Leliana eventually grew tired of his restless pacing around the war table and politely asked him to get some fresh air. Naturally, he could not relax enough to walk around aimlessly, so he wandered over to the training grounds.

Most of the new recruits had come from settlements and villages near Haven, lacking any sort of combat training, but Josephine had informed him that the few Fereldan nobles who were sympathetic to the Inquisition’s cause were sending trained men that they could spare. He suspected it was less out of support, and more out of fear that the breach would affect their lands as well.

A movement by the gates caught his eye, and even though it wasn’t a messenger that he had been looking out for since sunrise, he started walking away from the noise of clashing blunt swords. Her fire red hair was hard to miss when everything around was covered in snow, and even though she was quick on her feet, slipping out of his line of sight before he had the chance to properly see what she was doing, he immediately knew it was her.

And without Sergeant Du Lac following her, his suspicion grew. Was she really trying to escape in broad daylight? It would be unexpected enough, so the Sergeant would not to pay close attention to her…

“Lady Luthwén?” He cleared his throat when he finally caught up to her, finding her observing a slope leading down to the frozen river, hidden from the direct sight of the outer camp.

She seemed to tense up at his voice, but turned around, clenching a basket with a knife and some herbs in it. “Commander.” She dipped her head, avoiding his gaze.

“Where-” He stopped himself, remembering Leliana’s words. Luthwén was clearly only gathering herbs for her work with Adan, there was no reason for him to be impolite. “Do you require any help? The camp grounds have been cleaned of threats, but it still isn’t safe for you to be alone.”

She looked up, a bit startled, “No.. I was… I was just collecting more elfroot because we ran out. I did not realise it was not safe to go alone. But I understand.” There was a brief flicker of anger in those large green eyes before she looked away again, “I will go find my guard.”

Her words carried and accent that he was not familiar with, one he could not assign to a nation. It seemed rather as if she had trouble with full sentences in the common tongue, taking a moment to think about each word’s pronunciation.

Cullen’s chest tightened with guilt, and he shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I apologize, that is not how I meant it.” He offered his hand to take the basket from her. “Let me help you. I could use some time away from the camp, if you wouldn’t mind my company.” He offered.

Perhaps practicing being more relaxed around mages with Luthwén would help him eventually have a civil conversation with Lady Travelyan.

She seemed to hesitate, holding the basket close to herself. But eventually nodded, passing it to him. “I was trying to get down to the base of the bridge,” She then turned to observe the slope again, gesturing to something down there. “I believe there might be a growth of elfroot that was shielded from the wind. It would make it easier to use for poultices.” She explained.

Once again, Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, regretting his immediate suspicion earlier and followed her down the slope, noting with surprise that she wore no shoes at all. What was it with elves and their lack of shoes? Surely her feet had to be cold. They were ankle-deep in snow, there was no way she did not feel the cold.

Her eyes brightened, and she smiled when they did indeed find a rich growth of elfroot, hidden by the wall of the bridge’s base, “Have there been any updates on Lady Travelyan’s journey?” She spoke up while cutting the plant, picking out the healthy stems.

“Not yet. I believe they must have just arrived today. So it will be a while till any message reaches us.” He looked around the camp, enjoying the silence.

“Are you worried about them Commander?” Luthwén asked simply, straightening up and placing the harvested elfroot into the basket, looking up at him. Instead of feeling uncomfortable or hostile, standing so close to her, he felt an innate need to trust the woman. He felt calmed by her presence. Even his everpresent headache seemed to quieten down for a while.

“From what I have heard, the Hinterlands are in chaos. Mages and templars attacking each other and everyone else.” He followed her over the frozen river, “Not to speak of the rifts that might have opened. The demons that crawl out of them…” He shuddered.

“Rifts?” She tilted her head slightly, appearing to not understand what he meant.

“Tears in the veil from what I understand. Demons can pass through them without taking possession of someone. They appeared with the explosion.” He explained, watching her closely for any sort of reaction. “Lady Travelyan’s mark allows her to seal them… but I am afraid I do not understand how that is possible. The elven apostate who left with them appears to understand it far better than I do. In fact, better than anyone else here does.”

A crease appeared on Luthwén’s freckled forehead, “You mean Solas?”

He let out a sigh, realising his mistake, of course she would take offense to it. Leliana was right. I have to get better at this, “Yes, I meant Solas. My apologies.”

She shook her head, and climbed up the bank of the river, looking around. “I think I understand your struggle to trust us, in a way.” She continued walking till she found another growth of elfroot. “I find it hard to… bond with the elves here. Because I was brought up believing that they are somehow inferior to me, for not following the traditions and trying to preserve what little we know of our history.” She touched her face then, tracing a pattern he could not see. “Of course, now I cannot even recall anything of my own history, and my vallaslin are gone.”

He breathed in, to speak, but she smiled sadly at him and shook her head, “But let us not speak of that. I have spent far too much time dwelling on it, and it has not brought my memory back. What of your past Commander, if you do not mind me asking?”

He thought for a while, “I was recruited to the Inquisition while I was still in Kirkwall, after the mage uprising. Cassandra sought a solution and I left the Templars to join her cause.” he turned to look at the swirling green hole in the sky, feeling the same dread as the first time he saw it. “At the time we thought we only had the mage and templar conflict on our hands. We hoped that the conclave would be the solution to the unrest.” He felt the weight of more herbs added to the basket and glanced down at the elven woman. “None of us expected this.”

She watched the breach for a while with him, and he couldn’t help but wonder what was on her mind. How did she even survive it?

“I think I have all the elfroot that I need for now,” She eventually spoke up. “Adan is probably already grumbling about being left alone to fend off the chantry sisters needing salves and poultices,” the corners of her lips twitched.

He smiled as well, “Is he treating you well? Adan tends to be quite…” He tried to find the correct word.

This time Luthwén chuckled shyly, “Yes. He can.” She agreed, “But he has been very good to me. He even fusses a bit if I have not taken a break for too long.” Then her smile faltered, “And if he doesn’t, Sergeant Du Lac does.”

“Is there an issue with the Sergeant?”

“Not with him,no. He is a pleasant man.” She shook her head, taking her basket from him as they were in sight of the outer camp again.

“Then what is the problem?” Cullen felt genuinely confused. He had been assigned to her for her safety. There were still too many people in Haven who thought she was the one to blame for the breach. So what issue would she have with his presence?

Luthwén stopped, watching his face for a moment with a slight frown. “Nothing, Commander. All is good. Thank you for the company.”

And with that, she was gone. Walking away from him and back inside the walls protecting Haven.

Chapter Text

Luthwén’s fingers were smudged with ink, trying to steady the parchment as she wrote down the instructions to a new mixture of herbs she had put together to help fight inflammation of wounds. The bowl next to her held ground elfroot, with two leaves of crystal grace that she was lucky enough to find in Adan’s supplies and a few drops of dawn lotus extract. She heated the mixture over a small flame, waiting for the smell to get stronger.

Brushing away loose strands of hair from her face, she looked out the window.

It had been over two weeks since Sibyl left for the Hinterlands, and from what Luthwén had heard, she was expected to return any time now. She had hoped to be gone by the time of their return, but with each passing day it seemed more unachievable. Not that she knew where she would go.

Ever since the Commander interrupted her attempt to find possible escape routes out of Haven, she had been more careful. Revisiting the same areas and never walking out of sight for too long. She knew they all still suspected her of opening the breach. And somehow she doubted they would ever find out who had really opened it. Which meant she had to leave before it was closed. Because that was when they would turn their attention to finding someone to blame for all that the breach had caused.

“Adan, would you please take this off the flame when it starts to boil? I promised Sister Freya that I would bring her another supply of poultices at midday.” Luthwén glanced at the alchemist, sitting by his table, eating. He nodded silently, and moved over to her desk, keeping an eye on the cooking concoction.

Wrapping a shawl around herself, she picked up the necessary supplies and slipped out of the hut. The wind bit at her cheeks, and her toes tingled with an uncomfortable sensation for a moment before she got used to the cold again.

As she headed in the direction of the chantry, she noticed Sergeant Du Lac was nowhere to be found. He usually lingered nearby, pacing around in the snow, unless he was sitting inside with her and Adan.

Luthwén did not dislike him. As she had told the commander, the sergeant was a pleasant man with a warm smile that she rather enjoyed seeing. But she felt uncomfortable knowing her every move was being watched. And he was a constant reminder of the lack of trust they had towards her and her magic.

Keeping to herself, not exactly paying attention to her surroundings, she made way for the chantry- supplies in hand. She only looked up once she reached the chantry. At this point, she had gotten used to the almost oppressively large building, carrying daily supplies to the chantry sisters tending to the wounded and sick. But this time the odd feeling of being out of place entering the place of shemlen worship returned. Possibly because without the Sergeant following her, she felt like she was trespassing or sneaking in. Pressing the crate of supplies closer to her chest, she crossed the threshold and hurried down the large central hall towards the makeshift ward. From the corner of her eye she noticed a few templars and men in inquisition colours kneeling by a statue in prayer; but too anxious to take a moment and observe the shemlen traditions, she hurried on.

“Sister Freya?” Luthwén cleared her throat, yet still spoke almost too quietly to be heard. “I brought the supplies you requested… I am also working on something for inflammation, it should be ready by tomorrow morning.”

Sister Freya looked up at her from the patient she was tending. He looked feverish, the uncovered wound on his chest a gruesome claw mark. Luthwén’s eyes lingered on it, baffled. This did not look like a wound that an animal could cause. It was too large, the individual claw marks too far apart. The animal’s claws would have to have been huge and long- almost like fingers.

It had to be the demons others kept mentioning.

“You brought these just in time. His fever is getting worse by the hour, even after I have made sure the wound is completely clean.” The dark haired sister dug around in the crate Luthwén was holding up and pulled out an elfroot and black elder potion.

“If… If you’d allow me, I could try see if the wound has any remains of… taint I could remove with magic.” Luthwén offered shyly, and even though she spoke quietly, the mention of magic hushed the entire room.

Sister Freya’s eyes had widened, momentarily forgetting she was trying to help the patient drink a potion. “I… I am not sure what the orders are on permitting magic…” Especially from you . She did not say it, but Luthwén could see it was on her mind. “But we have been struggling to calm the wound. Perhaps it would not do any harm…” She stepped aside, allowing Luthwén access to the soldier.

Luthwén felt the eyes of the entire room on her, and her hands trembled with anxiety as she held them inches above the wound. Closing her eyes, she drew from her reserve of power. Her fingerstips let off a gentle warm glow, and when she opened her eyes to watch the process, she could see the healing light sink into the wound. Cleanse away whatever demon taint that may have remained.

It took more out of her than she expected, so by the time the wound looked calmer, she had very little store of power left. But it had worked. The red irritated look of the wound was gone.

Sister Freya touched Luthwén’s arm, nodding her head gently. “Thank you Lady Luthwén.” She smiled at her. And when Luthwén dared look up from the patient at the rest of the room, several other chantry sisters were also smiling in gratitude. “We might ask for your help again, but I think you  have had enough for now. You look pale.”

Luthwén nodded silently, feeling warmth in her chest from the sudden feeling of being accepted for the first time since she woke up. And moreover, accepted for the very magic that had caused the distrust in the first place.

Once again, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and made way back to her workplace. This time however, she kept her head up, meeting the eyes of those she passed. And just outside the chantry, she met a familiar set of almond shaped grey eyes.

She had seen the elf servant when she was still held in her cell, she was the one to bring her food. Luthwén smiled a bit, giving her a nod. Even thought of speaking up.

But the look she received in return confused her enough to stop in place. The amount of hatred in her eyes matched nothing Luthwén had faced since being let out of the prison cell- there was burning anger and a determination of some sort.

“You. You caused all this!” The elven woman spat, “You should pay for this!” She rushed at her.

Luthwén had only enough time to see the light reflect off metal before she was thrown to the side. Uninjured. Sergeant Du Lac standing in her place. She could see the elf moving to strike again, and with the remains of her powers, a shimmering light blue barrier sprung up around the Sergeant. But it did not hold up against the attack, too weak to stay in place long enough.

A swarm of armed men surrounded her, blocking Luthwén’s view.

“No!” The elf yelled in frustration. “No! She deserves to die! She did this! She killed her! And them!” She struggled against the arms of men who had rushed to help the Sergeant.

“Lady Luthwén, are you okay?” The Sergeant crouched by her in the snow. His ice blue eyes searching her, looking for any injury.

Luthwén kept watching the servant girl in shock, watching her struggle against the templars taking her away, towards the cells. Any good feeling she had carried away from the ward was now gone, replaced by fear and conviction that she had to leave this place.

Surely more people thought what the elven woman did. They had to blame her. She had no magic mark on her hand that could fix things. She had no recollection of why she was at the conclave. She had nothing. In their eyes, she was an elven apostate. The perfect scapegoat.

“Lady Luthwén?” The Sergeant tried to get her attention again, touching her shoulder.

She jerked away, frightened. But finally looked at him. “You’re bleeding.” She gasped, noticing the torn fabric on his sleeve, blood staining his uniform.

“Only a cut. She did not aim well enough the first time.” he smiled, his usual warm smile. “Did she injure you? I should have been with you, but Sister Hannah offered to guide a prayer for us… I apologize.” His thickly accented voice was helping Luthwén calm down. She had to remain focused if she wanted to escape Haven. Fear would not help her.

“I am alright. Thank you Sergeant.” She brushed snow off her clothing and accepted his help standing up. “But that wound needs tending. What if she coated her blade in poison?”

“What happened here? Sergeant? Lady Luthwén?” The Commander’s voice startled both of them, and they turned their attention back to their surroundings, realising a rather large group had gathered around.

“Lady Luthwén was attacked.” An older man in grey robes spoke up. “As I keep saying, we are not safe here. The distrust towards us mages is getting out of hand!”

“That is because your kind killed the most holy!” A templar stepped forward.

“Lies! Your kind let her die!”

“Shut your mouth mage!” The templar moved to draw his sword, anger consuming him. Luthwén held her breath, backing away, only to bump into the Sergeant standing behind her.

“Enough!” The Commander moved between the arguing men, holding back the templar’s arm and shielding him from the mage who reached for his staff.

“Knight Captain!”

“That is not my title. We are not templars any longer. We are all a part of the Inquisition!” He pointed at both of the men, staring them down.

“And what does that mean exactly?” A new voice broke through the noise of arguments springing up around them. It agitated Luthwén, it’s pitch and tone unpleasant.

“Back already, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?” The Commander did not seem to even try hide his distaste for the man.

He was short, only appearing of adequate height because of the chantry gown he wore. His dark beady eyes flicked towards Luthwén briefly before fixing on the Commander again. “Clearly not, since the heretic is still here, rather than facing trial in Orlais.” He gestured to Luthwén.

She held her breath, trying to suppress the tremble. Trial? Orlais? They were sending her to be tried by the shemlen chantry? She had to leave. Sergeant Du Lac rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

A gesture of reassurance? Or did he notice her desire to flee?

“But I am more curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and it’s “Herald” will restore order as you’ve promised.” The Chancellor turned towards the gathered crowd that watched the argument with wide eyes.

The Commander’s response was drowned out by a horn being blown, followed by the announcement of the Herald’s return. Soon after, the gates opened and five figures walked forward, Lady Pentaghast at the front, Sibyl just a few steps behind.

“Enough. Return to your work.” The Commander waved his free hand at the gathered group and started walking towards Lady Pentaghast.

Luthwén watched the group, wondering what news they brought from the Hinterlands. And worrying what their return meant for her. A smile caught her attention, and she met his eyes soon after.

Solas gave her a slight nod, though frowned noticing her disheveled appearance and the proximity of the Sergeant to her.

“Lady Luthwén? You may have been right…” Sergeant Du Lac redirected her attention from Solas- who was still watching her. “The blade may have been poisoned.”