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Chapter Text

Thank the stars for levitation magic.  

The thought made its way into his mind as he marveled at the mirror. Dusty and spotted with age, Cedric couldn’t imagine trusting anyone to manually haul this ancient marvel all the way into his tower workshop. Even as he guided it up the stairs with his wand, it was hard to shake the horrific visions of it somehow crashing to the floor and splintering into a million tiny pieces. After all, as many were quick to remind him, he was a bit of a bumbling fool.

It was pure chance that he stumbled onto something so magnificent. The sorcerer seldom ventured from his tower, and when he did, it was almost always at the request of precocious, little Princess Sofia. Each time, he left with grand plans to acquire the amulet he so coveted—and each time, he returned empty-handed and more discouraged than before. Not this time however. This time he found something that could aid in his takeover far quicker and no one, not even Princess--

“Sorry to bother you Mr. Cedric, but I was wondering if I could borrow a book on potion making for class.”

Her voice, like the nauseatingly sweet tinkling of bells, snapped him out of his daydream in an instant. Heaving a loud sigh, he pivoted on his heels to raise a brow at young Princess Sofia. Normally he’d chastise her for failing to knock at least, but it seemed that he was far too enthralled with his treasure to notice he’d failed to close his door behind him.

“Princess, as you can surely see, I am in the midst of something far too important for interruptions.” he insisted, already moving to shoo her back down the tower steps. “I’m sure you can find another suitable book for your studies in the castle library. There simply isn’t time for me to help you with homework.” 

Unsurprisingly, his words seemed to fall on deaf ears as Sofia skirted around him to get a better look at the mirror. 

“Wow! What’s that, Mr. Cedric? It’s so shiny—did you just get it?” she asked, wearing the same starry-eyed look he had no doubt been wearing himself just moments ago. “I don’t think I’ve seen this in here before.”

In the blink of an eye, his irritation turned into giddy pride. While he’d never admit to it, she seemed to have that weakness of his pegged. It wasn’t often he got to gloat about his expertise on magic and mystical artifacts, and unlike most, Sofia wasn’t one to laugh at him when he did. Really, he’d planned on telling mother first, but he couldn’t wait.

“This, Princess, is none other than a fabled Eluvian Mirror!” Cedric declared, puffing out his chest as though he’d crafted it himself. “An artifact so rare and magnificent, it puts every treasure in the castle vaults to shame.”

His robes fluttered as he scurried to retrieve a book from his worktable. The tome was well-worn, its cracked leather cover nearly as ancient as the stories it held. He had spent so much time poring over its pages, dreaming of what it would be like to find any of the objects of power it described within. Coming as close as he had to the Amulet of Avalor was incredible enough, but in a stroke of dumb luck, he’d found yet another.

“According to legend, there used to be a number of these beauties all over the world. Each one a unique piece of art, and rumored to do incredible things. Now, over time some of them were destroyed or lost, and people forgot what their purpose was, but there are many theories. Some say the mirror can show you your future, others say it can lead you to your destiny.” 

Though those were the most prevalent theories, it was said that the mirrors could summon great power. Whether it meant it would grant him mystic power, or summon an army at his command, Cedric was never certain. He was coming closer and closer to finding out, however. Thumbing through the pages of speculative discourse on the mirror, he landed on a page with the words to an ancient incantation said to unlock the mirror’s mysteries. 

“That’s incredible Mr. Cedric!” Sofia breathed, her gaze lingering on the glass as her brow furrowed. “It’s like… it’s looking back at me,” she murmured, almost to herself. Her fingers grazed the surface.

Cedric thought he saw a ripple, but surely that was just his imagination… Right? Though, the air suddenly felt thick and warm. Sparks of magic seemed to tingle at the tips of his fingers.

“You know, I have the incantation that will supposedly unlock its secrets. Shall we see what it does?” he suggested, a thrill of anticipation surging through him.

Sofia stared pensively into the mirror. The longer she did, the heavier the atmosphere around them seemed to grow. There was something in her reflection that had her transfixed. Blinking, she finally turned and shook away the dazed look. Her eyes wide and earnest, she locked eyes with him. 

“You know, Mr. Cedric, something tells me we should.”

A sly, confident grin stretched across his face. Wand in hand, he ushered her to stand behind him, his eyes fixed on the book in his other hand. He simply couldn’t wait any longer to see how much of the legends were true. 

“Passagio aperta!”

There was a brilliant flash of light from his wand, but then…

“That’s odd.” he muttered as the mirror and the room around them remained unchanged. Gently tapping his wand against his palm, his mind went racing to figure out what might have gone wrong with the spell. “That should have worked.”

Sofia, quiet and pensive, moved out from behind him and approached the mirror again.Gently, she placed her hand against the glass, her eyes wide with curiosity and wonder. The amulet around her neck gave a soft glow, and faded after a moment.

“Mala thena eluvian. Ryn lasa revas.” Sofia murmured, her voice dreamlike and distant, as though the words had floated to her from somewhere far away. Her fingers brushed the glass, and the amulet at her neck pulsed with a soft light. 

“Sofia?” he asked, his voice sharp, but she didn’t seem to hear him. Her wide, blue eyes were fixed on the mirror, her expression blank but unafraid.

A sudden wave of magic radiated from her amulet, so intense it sent a chill crawling up Cedric’s spine. Sofia blinked, startled by the words that had just left her lips. 

“I… I don’t know where that came from,” she murmured, her fingers brushing the amulet. “It felt like someone was whispering to me.”

Cedric narrowed his eyes. “That wasn’t in the book,” he muttered, flipping through pages again. “That can’t possibly be the right incantation. What was it you said?”

Before he could let any sort of feelings of frustration or disquiet fully settle in, Cedric watched as the mirror pulsed with an eerie light, its surface rippling like liquid mercury. The glow bathed the room in silvery hues, casting sharp, wavering shadows that seemed to dance across the walls. Cedric’s breath hitched as a deep hum vibrated in his chest, the kind of magic that left an uncomfortable prickling sensation at the tips of his fingers.

Cedric yelped, stumbling backward and nearly dropping his wand as an armored hand suddenly thrust through the viscous surface of the mirror. Quickly after that, the rest of the figure it belonged to stumbled out of the mirror and their armored form clattered to the floor. There was a final bright flash of light and magic before the mirror returned to normal.

“Sofia, behind me!” he ordered, frantically clutching his wand like it might snap in half. Sofia, wide-eyed with a mix of awe and alarm, darted to his side and clung to the hem of his robe. The armored figure didn’t have a weapon in hand, but the sheathed sword at their hip didn’t go unnoticed. The thought of them drawing the weapon absolutely terrified him, but he was the only person here to stand between the Princess and the mystery figure.

The armored figure groaned softly, the sound muffled behind their helm as they struggled to push themselves upright. The metallic scrape of gauntlets against stone sent a shiver down Cedric’s spine. A sharp, coppery tang filled the air—blood. His wand trembled in his hand as his wide eyes darted from the figure’s muddied armor to the fresh, dark streaks staining the stones beneath them.

Flinching as the figure sat back on their heels, reaching for their helm, Cedric tried to think of any spell he could use to disable the intruder.

“Maker’s breath…” a distinctly feminine voice breathed. The figure removed her helmet and Cedric immediately felt a rush of warmth flood to his cheeks.

Kneeling before them was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her dark, reddish hair was pulled back into a bun, and a couple of loose locks had fallen to frame her delicate face. Her big, brown doe eyes stared at him, absolutely bewildered, and her rosy lips parted as she drew in a deep breath.

“Where am I?” the woman asked, concern and confusion creasing her brow. 

“You’re in Mr. Cedric’s tower!” Sofia chirped helpfully. 

“Sofia!” Cedric snapped sternly. “Hush!” 

As he looked over the woman a little more, the first thing he noted was that she had pointed ears, instead of rounded. If it wasn’t for her size, he might have suspected she was a pixie or an elf. 

 He also noted a faded emblem etched into the shoulder plate of her armor—a rearing griffon, wings outstretched in a silent screech. It meant nothing to him, but something about it felt old. Important.

“This… I was in the Crossroads…” the woman murmured, her brows furrowing more. Her lashes fluttered and she began to sway slightly. Her grip on her helmet went slack and it rolled from her lap and clattered to the floor. “Elina… She…”

The woman’s eyes rolled back, and she crumpled without warning. Cedric dove forward with a startled cry, his arms barely managing to catch her under the shoulders. The weight of her armor sent him stumbling, his knees striking the cold stone with a thud. 

“Oh no, is she okay?” Sofia asked, her little hands hovering uncertainly as she stared at the unconscious woman.

“I-I’m not sure.” Cedric stammered, utterly in shock as he tried to process everything that had happened in those few, short moments.

Chapter Text

Gradually regaining consciousness, Evaline surfaced from the depths of darkness. Her heart thundered in her chest, the rhythm echoing in her ears as she became dimly aware of soft murmurs around her. The call of the tainted darkspawn blood that sang in her veins was suddenly quiet. Her mind was still, and she could hardly move.

The softness of a bed beneath her felt foreign—wrong, even—after the cold, unyielding stone of the Crossroads. She inhaled deeply, catching a faint scent of lavender. It was calming, though her limbs remained heavy and unresponsive.

“James, don’t!” 

“I wasn’t gonna!”

Children’s voices hissed back and forth. As she struggled to move, let alone even open her eyes, a small flicker of relief stirred in her chest. If there were children, she was likely safe—at least for now.

“Amber, James, please behave yourselves.” a maternal voice chided softly. “I told you I’d bring you in here if you could be quiet and respectful.”

“I’m not doing anything!” the little girl’s voice hissed. “James was the one that was going to–”

Groaning softly, Evaline doubled her efforts to try and wake up a little more. Her arms felt heavy as she brought her hands to her face. With a deep inhale, she smoothed her palms over her face and back through her hair. She noted, with a faint surprise, that someone had removed her armor and unpinned her hair. 

“She’s waking up!” the boy’s voice exclaimed a little louder, immediately prompting the two other voices to shush him. 

There was the sound of a door opening at the other side of the room she was in, followed by a pair of different footsteps.

“Miranda, did I hear that right?” a man’s voice asked.

Evaline finally managed to pry her eyes open with great effort after a moment. Five figures stood before her, their curious gazes fixed on her. 

A tall, regal man with angular features and a warm, kind woman in a fine gown stood at the center, flanked by three children. Their expressions ranged from awe to suspicion.

“Sofia, you weren’t lying, she does have ears like an elf!” one of the children exclaimed. He was a sweet-looking boy with a broad grin and golden-blonde hair. The girl beside him, also blonde and bearing a striking resemblance to him, simply rolled her eyes. The other little girl stared at her with wide blue eyes. She had a head of brunette curls, the same shade as the woman beside her.

“I should hope so.” Evaline murmured, her lips pulling into a weary smile. “Last I checked, I am an elf.”

“No way, elves are small!” the boy retorted, his brow furrowing with consternation. “If you’re an elf, you must be a giant-elf!”

“James, please, let’s be polite to our guest.” the woman– Miranda, presumably– scolded softly.

In spite of just how thoroughly confused Evaline was by the boy’s declaration, she couldn’t help but chuckle softly. She had been accused of many things in her life, but being any sort of giant hadn’t ever been one of them. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t take offense so easily.” Evaline reassured them.

“Well that doesn’t mean that we can’t still put our best foot forward.” Miranda said with a gentle smile. “We should introduce ourselves, on that note. I am Queen Miranda of Enchancia.”

“And I am King Roland.” The man followed the Queen’s example without skipping a beat. “And these are our children, Prince James, Princess Amber and Princess Sofia.” One by one, the children nodded as they were named. Not a single one of them took their eyes off of her, but Sofia looked particularly enchanted with her.

“It is a sincere pleasure to meet you all.” Evaline said with a gracious nod. “My name is Evaline, but most call me Eva.”

Lurching forward, leaning over the foot of the bed, James looked at her with big, expectant eyes.

“Are you a knight?” he asked with unrestrained excitement. “Sofia said you were wearing armor when you came through Cedric’s mirror. She even said you had a sword with you!”

“James!” Roland warned. 

Evaline, despite the many questions swirling around in her head, was able to maintain her smile.

“It’s alright, I imagine you all have all manner of questions.” she said. “And to answer yours, young man, I am a Grey Warden and a mage.”

“A Grey Warden?” James repeated, his voice soft and full of awe. “What’s that?”

Now that was enough to make Evaline’s smile falter. There wasn’t a person in Thedas that didn’t know who the Grey Wardens were. In fact, now that she thought of it, The Queen said they were the rulers of Enchancia. In all her life, she had never heard of such a place. She didn’t know much about the world outside of the continent of Thedas, but she knew enough to wonder if she was even in the same world at all.

“Er, well the order of the Grey Wardens is quite well known where I come from.” she said, pushing herself a little more upright in the bed. With how plush the mattress and the mound of pillows behind her were, she had some difficulty not immediately sinking back into them.

“And where are you from?” Roland asked, his tone slightly cautious. 

“I hail from Ferelden on the continent of Thedas.” Evaline said, waiting to see if those names sparked any recognition. Unfortunately, they looked as confused as she was now.

“Well that’s um, that’s not one I’ve seen on any of my atlases.” Roland admitted, somewhat sheepish, but more suspicious. 

“That’s because she isn’t from anywhere in our world at all!” another male voice exclaimed from behind them. A thin, reedy man with a patch of white fringe on the front of his otherwise brunette head of hair came gliding into the room. His robes weren’t exactly like the mage’s robes she was used to, but she immediately recognized the man to be a mage like her.

“Cedric, what do you mean?” Miranda asked, watching him move over to the side of Evaline’s bed.

“The Eluvian, the mirror she came through, must be a portal from another world.” he said with a confident nod. 

“Another world?” Roland echoed with a snort of disbelief. 

“Actually, I think you might be right.” Evaline said, sitting up just a little straighter. “The Ancient Elvhen used Eluvians as gateways to get from one place to the next. They all connect to a space known as The Crossroads. It’s such ancient magic though, not much else is known about them.”

Cedric looked a little bewildered and flushed even. Her response seemed to throw him off just a little bit. Roland’s initial disbelief turned into contemplation as he stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“I see…” the King murmured. “This place you’re from, I would love to learn more about it when you’re feeling better. You were in pretty rough condition when we found you.”

Evaline’s gaze fell to her hands folded neatly in her lap. 

“Yes, I was quite lucky to have escaped the situation I was in prior to finding myself in The Crossroads.” she said softly. Immediately James’ mouth opened to blurt another question, but Roland firmly placed his hands on his shoulders and began ushering him out of the room.

“We shall have to discuss it in private later.” he said, his tone calm but firm, the weight of command evident even in his gentleness. “In the meantime, I’ll leave you to Cedric. He’s insisted on making sure you’re comfortable. If there’s anything you need, he’s your man.”

Queen Miranda moved to usher out Amber and Sofia as well. Sofia’s eyes stuck to her until the last possible second, and Evaline couldn’t resist giving her a small wave of her fingers. Then, as the door shut behind the royal family, she turned her gaze to the mage at her bedside.

Cedric seemed to have collected himself since her explanation of the workings of the eluvians. Looking down the bridge of his sharp, proud nose at her, there was an unaffected air about him. Something about the way he looked at her made the corners of her lips pull into a gentle smile. She wasn’t fooled by the mask.

“Well then, you must be the mage that helped me through your eluvian.” Evaline remarked. “Your name is Cedric, yes? It’s a pleasure to have a chance to properly meet you.”

Cedric’s haughty expression wavered as she spoke, his mouth twitching slightly. For a moment, he looked as though she’d asked him to recite the entire Royal Archives from memory. Then, with a sharp blink and an audible gulp, he straightened, his theatrical composure firmly back in place.

“A-ah, yes, I am Cedric, Royal Sorcerer of Enchancia.” he said, bowing with a flourish. 

“That is quite a title indeed.” Evaline said, with a respectful nod. “I am Evaline, former Warden Commander for the Grey Wardens. You can just call me Eva, though.”

Delicately, she offered her hand for a polite handshake. For a brief moment, all he could do was stare at her hand as if his brain had simply stopped working. Then, the lights turned back on behind his eyes and he took her hand to give it a good, strong shake.

Her grip was firm—solid, not delicate. Cedric blinked in surprise. Her palms and fingers were rough with old callouses, the kind earned from years of wielding something more substantial than a wand. Faint scars marked her skin, one in particular curling around her wrist like an old flame that had once kissed too close. Not recent. Long healed. But unmistakably magical.

Evaline, meanwhile, noted how clean her hands were. Someone had taken the time to scrub away the dirt beneath her nails, to wash away the dried blood and travel grime. Her wrists, which had been chafed from armor straps, had been carefully bandaged. She had not known softness like that in some time.

She looked up at him then, and for a fleeting second, neither spoke. There was something unspoken in the air between them—an unguarded moment passed from hand to hand.

“Eva,” he finally echoed, trying to shake off his mystified expression.

He hadn’t meant to say it aloud—certainly not in that tone. There was something far too soft in the way the name sat on his tongue, far too much wonder in the way he was still holding her gaze. He realized, with a start, that he was still holding her hand.

Quickly, Cedric released her grip and stepped back, clearing his throat with unnecessary vigor.

“Well then!” he said, voice snapping back into its usual theatrical pitch. “Yes, of course. You’ve clearly had quite the ordeal, and I… should not keep you from your rest.”

She arched an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching in faint amusement.

“I’ll have tea sent up,” he continued, already turning on his heel with a dramatic swirl of his robes. “Very good for shock. Not that I’m shocked, of course. Or you. Well—yes, tea.”

He reached the door, fumbled briefly with the latch, then stopped just long enough to glance back at her—one more time, more cautiously this time.

“I imagine we’ll be speaking more soon.”

And with that, he was gone.

Evaline sat in the stillness he left behind.

“Tea,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Maker… That does sound quite nice.”

Chapter Text

Sunlight poured into the large, lavish room from high windows that sat above rows, and rows of all manner of finery. Evaline stood stiffly at the center of a royal dressing chamber filled with soft light, rich fabrics. Everywhere she looked, something glittered. Gilded mirrors and racks of dresses lined the walls, delicate lace spilled from open wardrobes, and the plush carpet under her bare feet felt almost too fine to stand on.

“I do appreciate your hospitality, but really, this is just too much,” Evaline laughed, trying to mask just how truly overwhelmed she was. A silver sash fluttered over her head as one of the queen’s ladies fussed over the rich, blue gown Queen Miranda insisted she wear. Being invited to dinner was one thing; borrowing the queen’s clothes was another matter entirely.

“It’s not too much,” Princess Amber said brightly from the nearby dressing table, where she sat brushing her hair with rhythmic, practiced strokes. “It’s just different. You’ll get used to it.”

Offering a tight smile, she shifted slightly in the unfamiliar fabric. The gown pulled and flowed in ways she wasn’t accustomed to. It was far more suited for dancing than dodging a sword swing. “Not sure silk and I were ever meant to be friends.”

“You wear it well,” Queen Miranda said warmly as she entered the room, gliding toward her with the kind of effortless grace that made Evaline all the more aware of her own awkwardness. “Besides, I had a feeling that shade of blue would suit you.”

Fingers brushing the delicate beading that adorned the heavy folds of the skirt, Evaline’s gaze dipped toward the floor. Compliments made her uncomfortable on the best of days. When they came from royalty, it was like trying to dodge a fireball in a tunnel. She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, trying to will herself into looking like she belonged.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted the moment.

“Enter,” Miranda called.

Baileywick, the castle steward, stepped inside, clipboard already in hand, his expression fixed in its usual state of efficient disapproval. He spared only a glance at Evaline, making mental note of her bare feet on the plush carpet.

“Hmm. We’ll have to call on the royal cobbler to see if we have any slippers in your size,” he remarked, tapping his quill against the clipboard. “Any preference in material? Silver? Gold? Perhaps glass?”

“Glass?!” she squeaked, unable to mask her shock.

Baileywick didn’t even so much as look up. “We’ve had stranger requests. Though I should hope you won’t be fleeing the ballroom at midnight.”

“I don’t even own a ball gown,” she chuckled softly, eyeing the gown again. “Well… until now, apparently.”

Queen Miranda smiled as she crossed over to her and gently adjusted the silver sash. “I know this is all a bit much. But tonight isn’t about being perfect—it’s about being welcome.”

Evaline blinked, caught off guard by the softness in her tone. She shifted slightly under the weight of the gown, unsure how to carry herself in something so elegant.

Clearing his throat, Baileywick was keen on keeping them on schedule. “Sentiment aside, we’re expected in the dining hall in twenty-three minutes. Shall I add time for a detour to the royal cobbler, or are we hoping our guest can survive in bare feet?”

She sighed, a small huff escaping her lips. “I’ve survived worse.”

Sofia beamed from where she was perched beside Amber at the dressing table, smoothing down her skirts. “But you don’t have to tonight.”

Hesitating for a beat, Evaline gently bit her bottom lip, then nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But no glass, please.”

Baileywick scribbled a note with the solemnity of a wartime dispatch. “Noted. ‘Function over fashion,’ with minimal glitter.”

Queen Miranda chuckled softly and placed a hand on his arm. “Come along, Baileywick. Let’s see what options we can find for our guest’s feet.”

“Preferably something without a heel,” Evaline added quickly.

“Of course. Practicality reigns.” Baileywick sighed, longsuffering and resigned.

With a final amused glance over her shoulder, Miranda swept from the room, Baileywick trailing dutifully behind her, already muttering about fabric options and arch support.

For a moment, the door swung quietly shut, and the room fell into a gentle, companionable quiet.

Evaline exhaled slowly, the rigid set of her shoulders easing just slightly. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself until the bustle of royal preparations faded away.

Offering a warm, encouraging smile, Sofia hopped off the finely upholstered bench and began rifling through a nearby jewelry box. Amber, still smoothing out her golden curls, gave Evaline a sidelong glance—her expression a little mischievous, but not unkind.

“You know, glass slippers really would have been stunning with that gown,” she chirped, matter-of-factly. “But I suppose silver will match just as well.”

There had to be some sort of joke she was missing out on, Evaline figured. The idea of glass shoes seemed absolutely preposterous to her, but she didn’t need to say as much. As it stood, she already felt so terribly out of place.

Catching her reflection in the dressing table mirror, she felt her heart stall for a moment. While she definitely wasn’t finished getting ready, this was the most elegant she had ever looked. That made all the fussing and tugging of corset strings she had already endured just a little more bearable.

Though, she still had her worries about how dinner would go. Smoothing her hands over the bodice of her gown, she tilted her head inquisitively.

“Girls… Would it be terribly improper if I invited another guest to dinner?”

Both princesses exchanged glances, pausing to ponder who Evaline could possibly want to invite. She was a stranger in a strange land. It wasn’t as if she knew anybody else in Enchancia.

“I don’t think mom and dad would mind,” Sofia answered with a light shrug, stepping away from the jewelry box with a delicate silver necklace in hand. “Who did you have in mind, Miss Evaline?”

“Just, Eva, will do,” she corrected gently, her lips curving into a lopsided smile. “And I was hoping that Cedric might be able to join us.”

Amber’s brows raised and she exchanged another glance with Sofia. “ Cedric ? You want Cedric to join us for dinner?”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea!” Sofia chimed in, beaming at the idea. “Do you want me to go ask him right now?”

Fidgeting with her fingers, Evaline gave the princesses a sheepish look. “If it isn’t too much trouble. I just think I’d feel a little more at ease with another mage at the table.” It felt like a silly request now that she had voiced it, but Sofia seemed eager enough to chase the worry away.

The precocious princess scurried over, beckoning for her to lean down. “Here, let me help you put this on and then I can go ask him to join us,” she said cheerfully. As Evaline leaned over, Sofia looped the necklace around her neck and clasped it with practiced ease. Taking a step back to admire the delicate chain adorned with tiny stars of sapphire and diamond, she flashed her another bright grin.

Returning her smile with a gracious nod, Evaline felt some of her nervousness melt away. “Thank you, Sofia, truly.”

Without wasting another second, she swept out of the room, her skirts fluttering behind her like a determined little banner.

Amber watched her go, then shook her head with a soft laugh. “If anyone can convince Cedric, it’s Sofia.”

Evaline chuckled softly, though the sound was almost foreign in her own ears. She smoothed her hands over her skirt once more, willing herself to believe that everything would go off without a hitch—that she wouldn’t somehow make a fool of herself before the entire royal family.

By the time Baileywick returned with a neatly wrapped pair of silver slippers, her nerves had settled into a quiet, persistent hum beneath her ribs. It wasn’t long after she slipped on the ostentatious slippers that the time came to descend to the dining hall.

The corridors of the castle were wide and sunlit, polished to a gleaming shine that reflected the soft tap of their footsteps. She kept her hands neatly folded in front of her, her posture straight and assured despite the wild fluttering of her heartbeat. Appearances, she had learned long ago, mattered more than one’s actual feelings at gatherings like this.

Baileywick led the way with the solemnity of a man escorting an army to battle. That was something she could appreciate as much as she found it amusing.

When they finally reached the grand double doors of the dining hall, two footmen swung them open in perfect unison.

Inside, the room was a picture of opulence—high ceilings strung with glittering chandeliers, a long polished table laid out with fine porcelain and gleaming silverware. The royal family was already gathering. King Roland and Queen Miranda stood near the head of the table, exchanging a few quiet words. Prince James lounged a bit too casually in his chair, while Princess Sofia adjusted a golden napkin at her place setting.

And off to the side, almost blending into the heavy curtains, stood Cedric. He looked every bit as uncomfortable as she felt—stiff-backed, arms tucked tightly at his sides, his formal robes slightly askew as if he had put them on in a hurry. Amber gave her a sidelong glance, that little spark of mischief tucked in the corner of her mouth again. Delicately, she raised the hem of her skirts and sashayed to her spot at the table beside James.

For a brief moment, her gaze met Cedric’s and his posture stiffened just a hair more. He offered a nervous half-smile before moving to stand beside one of two open seats. Straightening her shoulders, Evaline crossed the threshold with measured steps, offering the King and Queen a respectful curtsy—a graceful, practiced motion that would have made Leliana proud.

“Thank you for having me, Your Majesties,” she said, her voice clear and even.

King Roland smiled warmly. “We’re honored to have you, Lady Evaline. Please, make yourself at home.”

She opened her mouth to gently correct him— Just Eva, please —but thought better of it. Titles were important in courts, and old habits were hard to break.

As she stepped forward toward the table, she caught movement from the corner of her eye.

Cedric, still looking as though he might prefer to melt back into the nearest curtain, hastened to pull out the chair nearest him. He managed it with an uncertain sort of grace, as if he half-expected to fumble the entire endeavor and be laughed out of the room.

Evaline paused, startled for just a moment by the gesture.

Then she offered him a warm, genuine smile, her first of the evening, and lowered herself into the seat with quiet poise. Cedric pushed the chair in carefully, avoiding meeting her gaze as he did.

“Thank you,” she murmured softly as he stepped back.

He gave an awkward half-bow, the tips of his ears going a little pink.

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath, straightening his robes as if that might somehow restore his dignity.

Smoothing her skirt once more, she folded her hands lightly in her lap, and caught the approving glance Queen Miranda gave her from across the table. That small, silent encouragement helped to ease the persistent hum of tension beneath her ribs.

A footman poured wine into delicate crystal goblets, and Evaline found herself grateful for the familiar ritual. Whatever else might be different here, some customs were the same everywhere: titles mattered, appearances mattered, and there was always far too much cutlery to make immediate sense of.

For a moment, the quiet sounds of the table filled the space. There was water being poured, a fork gently shifted, the faint creak of a chair as well. Evaline let the awkward silence settle around her like a heavy, woolen cloak, bracing for what would inevitably come next.

King Roland cleared his throat gently and raised his gaze toward her with warm curiosity. “So then, tell us a bit about yourself, Lady Evaline. This… other world you’re from—what’s it like?”

“Oh, well, I hardly know where to start,” Evaline said with a slight, nervous laugh. 

Cedric perked up slightly from his place beside her. “You mentioned you were a sorceress, yes?”

“Ah, a mage, actually,” she corrected gently, glancing sheepishly at her goblet. “Though I suppose the terms could be interchangeable here. I’m not certain at all about how magic works here.”

“Oh! I suppose it depends on who you ask,” Cedric said quickly, perhaps a little too eager to be helpful. “I trained at Hexley Hall, a prestigious sorcery academy here in Enchancia. Anything you could wish to know, I most certainly could tell you!”

That was precisely the reason why Evaline wished to invite Cedric. Immediately she felt a small sense of relief at the mention of something somewhat familiar.

“An academy?” she inquired, straightening up slightly. “That doesn’t sound too unlike the Circle back in Ferelden.”

Cedric blinked. “Circle? Is that a school?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Evaline said, her fingers tracing the rim of her goblet. “It’s where mages are trained on how to properly use their abilities. Children who show magical talent are taken there, often quite young.”

Another hush fell over the dining room, but it was far more oppressive than the last. She could practically feel it pressing down on her chest as acutely as she felt the eyes of everyone else on her. 

“Taken?” Miranda asked, her brow furrowed in concern. “What do you mean by taken?”

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Evaline cleared her throat, floundering for some way to explain. Judging by the shocked expressions of the children, that wasn’t something that happened here.

“The Chantry—” she paused again, the organization’s name seeming to cause more confusion. “The overarching religious order where I’m from, believes it’s safer to take young mages into their custody.”

“For their own protection?” Sofia asked, her expression caught somewhere between intrigue and unease.

Evaline’s lips pulled into a tight line. “That’s what they say, yes. To protect mages from themselves… and to protect others from us.”

Amber leaned forward slightly, frowning. “But that sounds like a prison.”

Fingers tightening around her goblet, Evaline’s voice came out soft and almost timid. “Sometimes… it felt like one.”

Cedric opened his mouth, then promptly closed it, apparently thinking better of whatever he had been about to say. Even James, who had thus far been poking halfheartedly at his vegetables, set his fork down and stared at them instead.

Queen Miranda, ever the diplomat, was the one to gently shift the mood. “That must have been a very difficult way to grow up.”

Evaline offered her a small, grateful smile. “It was. But I wasn’t alone. I had friends. Teachers who truly wanted to help. And I learned how to survive. How to thrive, even. Eventually.”

She glanced down at her plate, then added with a flicker of dry humor, “Though I imagine your Hexley Hall had better curtains. Ours tended to catch fire.”

That earned a tiny, startled laugh from Cedric—just enough to break the tension. 

Cedric’s laugh prompted James to perk up at last. “Wait, how often are we talking? Like once or twice?”

“Oh, no,” Evaline said dryly, reaching for her drink. “I once saw a set of drapes burst into flame because someone sneezed too hard.”

Sofia let out a soft gasp of awe. “Magic sneezes? That sounds… sort of amazing.”

“It was. Right up until we had to evacuate the dormitory.” Evaline chuckled, the sound coming easier to her now.

Laughter rippled gently around the table, diffusing what remained of the heaviness in the air. Conversation gradually resumed around her, as if the atmosphere had always been light. Sofia asked Miranda about the menu, James began quietly trading barbs with Amber, and even Cedric looked a touch less like he was planning an escape under the table.

Evaline sat in the middle of it all, a stranger wrapped in silk and silver, but for the first time that evening, she didn’t feel entirely out of place.

Chapter Text

The castle was quiet—eerily so. Not the kind of quiet that came with peace, but the sort that made Evaline feel like she was walking through a dream she didn’t remember falling into.

Barefoot and dressed in a borrowed nightgown, she padded softly through the halls. Every painting seemed to watch her pass, every gilded door more ornate than the last. She hadn’t meant to come this way, but her feet led her without thought.

Dinner with the royal family hadn’t gone as terribly as she thought it might, but she still felt unsettled. Since stumbling through the Eluvian, she couldn’t help but notice that the faint singing in her blood had quieted. The darkspawn taint still coursed through her veins, of that she was certain, but the Calling… There was something wrong with the calling she had been hearing.

She didn’t know whether to feel relief or dread.

What did it mean if the Calling didn’t follow her here? Was she truly beyond the reach of her fate? Or had she simply wandered too far to hear it?

There had been something strange about it though. The Calling had come to her too soon, and the timing of it was all too strange. The breach in the sky, that hole into the Fade– There shouldn’t have been a connection to it and the Blight… Shouldn’t there?

Her hand drifted toward her heart, resting over the place where she could sometimes feel it thrum through her blood. Nothing. No harmony. No whisper. Just the steady beat of her heart and the low hum of this strange castle’s magic beneath her bare feet.

And yet, her magic hadn’t left her.

That, perhaps, was the most unsettling part of all.

Even cut off from the Fade, of which she was sure, she could still summon light, shape flame, and will frost into existence. But it came from somewhere else now, somewhere she didn’t recognize. It obeyed her well enough, but the thread that once connected her to the world beyond the Veil had gone slack. She could no longer feel the familiar thrum of ancient spirits stirring at the edges of her awareness, nor sense the distant tides of the Fade rising and falling.

Whatever source of power existed in this place, it wasn’t hers. It didn’t feel earned. It felt… borrowed. She had no idea what that meant. Only that it left her hollow.

The corridor she wandered stretched longer than she expected. The golden sconces flickered with soft, unwavering light. They were enchanted, no doubt, to burn forever. 

The silence pressed in again, thick and velvet-soft. It was all too perfect. That was what unnerved her most. Every wall was pristine. Every cushion unrumpled. Every flower in its vase bloomed without blemish or wilt.

When she reached the end of the corridor, the polished stone gave way to rougher-hewn stone steps. The air grew cooler and dust tickled at her nose.

Up she went, drawn by a flickering glow. It was cooler and more chaotic than the golden light of the upper halls. The steps were cold beneath her bare feet, and the walls here were uneven, carved with little alcoves stuffed full of odd relics and glittering fragments of discarded spells. Where the castle below was gilded and spotless, this place breathed. It crackled. 

It lived.

She paused at the door at the top of the tower, flanked by a pair of imposing gargoyles. Soft light stretched outward toward from beneath the large, wooden door, beckoning her closer. She lifted her hand to knock, but hesitated. Instead, she gently pushed it open.

Cedric’s back was to her, hunched slightly over a cluttered worktable. The room was a mess of scrolls, bubbling flasks, and magical odds and ends that blinked and pulsed faintly. He was muttering to himself, pacing a few short steps, then stopping to scribble something down.

“This is ridiculous, it’s a mirror, not a portal. And that’s a spoon. Why would that help anything—”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

With a startled yelp, he spun around so fast he nearly tripped over his robe. A glittery puff of smoke exploded from one of the nearby flasks, startling them both.

“Merlin’s mushrooms—Evaline! You scared the life out of me!”

She offered a sheepish smile, stepping just inside. “Sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”

Smoothing a hand through his hair, he straightened up slightly and returned her sheepish grin for a nervous one. “Right, yes. Of course. Uh… neither could I. Obviously.”

She glanced at the table. “Looking at the Eluvian?”

He nodded. “Trying to. It’s not exactly a well-documented artifact. Most magical mirrors just make snide remarks or reflect poor posture or an unfortunate haircut.” He paused. “Not that yours… I mean, your hair is fine.”

Her brow quirked, but her smile softened.

“May I?” she asked, gesturing toward the nearest chair.

“Oh—yes! Yes, sit, please. Don’t mind the clutter. Or the possibly-sentient sugar bowl. I haven’t quite worked that out yet.”

She eased into the chair, taking a slow breath. “It’s strange. I’ve been to so many strange places in Thedas. Elvhen ruins. Deep Roads. The Brecilian Forest even. But this might be the first time I’ve felt… unmoored.”

Cedric’s fluster melted into something gentler. He didn’t interrupt, just leaned against the table, watching her quietly.

“I know I should be trying to get home. But part of me wonders if it even exists anymore,” she murmured. “Not the world, necessarily. I know Thedas is still there. But the life I had? The people I knew? They might all be gone.”

That certainly was a fear she had. However, the Calling– or rather the lack thereof– still disturbed her. Would it return if she went back?

A beat of silence passed between them.

Cedric cleared his throat, then hesitated. “I… I’m not sure what to say to that. Not in a way that wouldn’t sound utterly foolish, anyway.”

Evaline let out a breath of a laugh. “That’s alright. I don’t think there’s anything to say.”

He looked down at the Eluvian, its surface dull in the lamplight. “I might not know much about your world. Or Wardens. Or anything really...” He made a vague gesture, then glanced up and met her gaze. “But I do know what it’s like to feel out of place.”

That made her pause. Her eyes searched his face, and for once, he didn’t look away.

“You hide it well,” she said softly. “The discomfort.”

He gave a small, lopsided smile. “Years of practice. Comes with the territory when you’re the court’s least respected magical authority.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “That can’t be true.”

“Oh, but it is,” he said with a light chuckle. “Royal Sorcerer or not, I’m still the odd one out. Always have been. I’m a bit too common to stand equal with Royalty. Bit too bumbling for the scholars at Hexley Hall. And far too magical for the average village folk.”

He tried to keep it humorous, but there was a sliver of something quietly bitter beneath his words.

“I think I know the feeling,” Evaline said, folding her arms loosely over her chest. “Not quite an enchanter, not quite a soldier. Always outside of everything. Just… Watching.”

Their eyes met again, and this time, the silence felt a little less tense.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” he said after a beat, his voice dropping just a touch. “But the castle feels a little less polished when you’re in it. That’s… oddly comforting.”

Evaline blinked, surprised by his candidness. It could have been taken the wrong way, or seen as something of a joke. But she didn’t mock him for it. She only gave him a quiet, genuine smile.

“Thank you,” she murmured, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. “Glad to know I could bring something a little more–” She had to find the right word. “-- Grounded to Enchancia.”

He opened his mouth to reply. He was somewhere halfway between flustered and charmed. However, a sharp flutter of wings broke the moment.

Wormwood, his raven familiar, swooped down from a high shelf, landing on the edge of the worktable with a dramatic flap and an indignant caw. His feathers were puffed, his talons clicking against the wood as he glared at Cedric with unmistakable disapproval.

Cedric flinched. “Oh no. Don’t look at me like that. I was keeping an eye on the stabilization flask.”

Wormwood let out another loud croak and began pecking pointedly at a half-melted silver plate near the back of the table.

Evaline blinked. “Friend of yours?”

“Unfortunately,” Cedric muttered, scooping the singed metal up before the bird could knock it off entirely. “Wormwood thinks he runs this tower. He might not be wrong.”

The raven puffed up again, gave Evaline a long, suspicious stare, and then fluttered up to a nearby perch with a disgruntled ruffle of feathers.

“He’s been moody ever since I melted part of the observatory. Not on purpose, mind you.” Cedric sighed. 

The corners of Evaline’s lips twitched upward in amusement. “Should I be worried?”

“Only a smidgeon,” he said, straightening with exaggerated dignity. “Actually, since you’re here, I was about to try activating the Eluvian once more.”

Her eyes flicked to the mirror, still inert. “Already?”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “Well, I wasn’t planning on doing anything dramatic, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just a small prod, really. Like poking a slumbering beast with a stick and hoping it doesn’t wake up angry.”

“Comforting.” she said, arching a brow, but she couldn’t help the broad grin that curved her lips. 

“Only the mildest amount of risk involved,” he said with an awkward chuckle, plucking his wand up off a nearby worktable.

Evaline stepped closer to the Eluvian, her eyes tracing the delicate carvings along the mirror’s frame. She’d seen others like it, all linked to ancient Elvhen ways and lost knowledge. But this one felt… different. Or perhaps she did.

“It’s strange,” she murmured. “Even standing this close, I can’t feel it the way I used to. It’s like…” She hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s hard to describe. It’s like trying to see something through a fogged window.”

Cedric approached cautiously, holding his wand at the ready. “Then let’s see if we can clear the pane a bit, shall we?”

Clearing his throat, he held his wand high, an incantation on the tip of his tongue. Wormwood gave a skeptical croak from his perch, ruffling his feathers again. He hesitated for one beat more, his eyes flitting toward Evaline before he began.

“Malala thena eluvian! Ryn lassa reevas!” His voice boomed dramatically, repeating the strange incantation that Sofia had uttered to the best of his memory. 

Even with the incantation spoken and the wave of his wand, nothing happened. The silence that followed was almost insulting.

Cedric blinked, staring at the mirror expectantly. With another grating croak, Wormwood flapped up to a nearby shelf as if to remove himself from the inevitable fallout. Evaline pressed her lips into a thin line, her brow crinkling in consternation. 

“You’re certain that’s the right phrase?” she asked gently

“More or less. I’m fairly sure it’s what the princess said when she first activated it. I wrote it down phonetically.” he muttered, looking slightly wounded.

She cocked her head, brows furrowing slightly. “It sounded Elvhen… Mostly.”

His eyes brightened. “You recognized it?”

“Not all of it,” she admitted, taking a half-step closer. “It’s an old dialect. Some of the words are familiar—eluvian means ‘mirror,’ but the rest…” Her voice trailed off as she tried to summon long-buried scraps of what her Dalish mother taught her. “Ryn might mean ‘open.’ Or maybe ‘remember’?”

Tapping his wand lightly against his palm, he furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “So I said… something along the lines of ‘open up mirror’?”

Evaline stepped back again, her gaze lingering on the Eluvian’s surface. Still, it remained dark. But something about it felt different now. Not awakened, but aware. As if it had heard the attempt, even if it hadn’t answered.

“That wasn’t quite it,” she said softly. “But it wasn’t wrong, either.”

Cedric looked at her sidelong. “Close, then?”

She nodded. “Close enough to stir something. Just not enough to open it.”

The Eluvian gave no sign of confirmation, but the faintest shimmer of light curved along its edge. Something so faint it might have been imagined.

They both stared a moment longer.

Then Cedric exhaled and lowered his wand. “Well. That was thrilling.”

Evaline gave him a sideways glance. “You say that now. Wait until you get the words right and it pulls us both through without warning.”

He paused, then gave a very theatrical shudder. “Noted. I’ll be sure to hold onto something solid next time.”

Fingers brushing the ruffled cuffs of her sleeves, she chuckled softly and she turned away from the mirror. “It’s late,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure how time worked here. “You should get some rest.”

Cedric looked like he might argue. Perhaps with a joke, maybe with a stubborn insistence that he was just about to make a breakthrough, but then he watched the way her posture deflated and caught the weight she put behind her words.

Instead, he gave a small nod. “Right. Yes. Of course. Rest. Probably wise. Wouldn’t want to, you know, accidentally turn myself into a stoat again. That was… awkward.”

She offered a tired smile and crossed toward the door, pausing with her hand on the frame.

“Thank you,” she said again, more softly this time. “For trying. I know we’ll figure out the Eluvian eventually.”

Caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice, Cedric swallowed hard. He pressed his palm to the back of his neck, suddenly very aware of Wormwood watching him with something close to avian judgment.

“Of course,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Anytime you need somewhere a little less… polished.”

She nodded once, then slipped out the door, her footsteps soft against the cold stone steps as she descended back into the heart of the castle.

Left alone with the mirror, Cedric exhaled slowly. The Eluvian remained still, its surface dark—but that faint shimmer along the edge still lingered, like the memory of a dream that refused to fade.

Wormwood croaked from his perch.

“Oh hush,” Cedric muttered.

Chapter Text

Sunlight spilled over the hedges and glimmered off polished marble statues, catching on the folds of delicate parasols and the silver edges of tea service laid out on a picnic blanket. A soft breeze stirred the petals of the flowering arbor above, scattering a few pink blossoms onto the woven cloth below.

Evaline sat cross-legged with a delicate finger-sandwich in one hand, watching in mild amusement as James attempted to stack pastries into a small fortress.

“Amber, pass me an eclair,” James requested, holding out an expectant hand as he shifted a tart into a more stable position. “I’m gonna use that for the cannon.”

“Absolutely not,” Amber refused, sticking her nose in the air. “The last time you made an eclair cannon, I wound up wearing the cream filling.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” he pouted with a roll of his eyes.

Evaline took another bite of her sandwich to hide her grin. It was absurdly pleasant out in the palace gardens. Too warm. Too sunny. Too perfect, like a memory she didn’t trust. Everything here was soft around the edges, and she’d spent too long living in places that were all blade and shadow.

But she wasn’t about to complain.

“Tell us another story,” James blurted, suddenly flopping down beside her. “A real one. I can tell when you’re making things up.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, her lips bowing into a small mischievous grin. “I always tell real stories.”

“Mm-hm,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Like the one with the angry chicken spirit? That was real?”

“I may or may not have exaggerated the bit about it being a spirit,” she chuckled, gently nudging him with her shoulder. “But it was definitely angry.”

“Why was it angry?” Sofia asked, her eyes bright with curiosity. 

“I couldn’t tell you for sure, but it wasn’t nearly as angry as my friend Shale was when they saw the chicken chasing us.”

Pausing, she had to think twice about finishing that story. Shale wasn’t overly fond of birds and… Her eyes flitted toward a pair of birds perched nearby. She’d seen them before and they seemed to follow Sofia wherever she went.

Evaline cleared her throat. “Let’s just say the chicken didn’t stick around for very long after that. And we were finding feathers all over the village for weeks.”

James laughed, delighted. “Sounds like your friend really hated chickens.”

“Shale wasn’t terribly fond of anything with wings,” Evaline said, biting back the rest. They didn’t need to know the whole grim story about why. Even she would get upset thinking about Shale standing in that field, all alone for decades. She really needed to find less depressing stories to add to her repertoire.

For now, she tried not to worry too much. She let the sun warm her face, reclining back on her elbows with a sigh that felt almost too heavy for such a lovely day. Almost , but not quite.

It was strange how natural this felt. Sitting on a picnic blanket in a garden full of blooming roses and well-behaved royalty, nobody seemed to have a care in the world. It wasn’t just peaceful either. It was pleasant. A little surreal, maybe. But not in the horrifying Fade-illusion kind of way she was used to.

“Did your friend Shale fight with you and your other friends?” Sofia asked, her voice breaking the quiet of the garden again.

Evaline smiled faintly. “Shale was a walking mountain with a very specific attitude problem. They had our backs when it counted, though. We all fought well with one another against many dangers.”

James sat up a little straighter. “Did they teach you anything?”

“Other than the virtues of throwing rocks at your enemies? No, but I learned many things from my time as a Grey Warden.”

“You could teach us,” he said suddenly. “Not the rock-throwing part—unless you want to, I’m not picky—but the Warden stuff. Like how to fight!”

Arching a brow, Evaline couldn’t hold back a lopsided grin. “You want to learn Grey Warden combat. From me. At a tea party?”

“Technically a picnic,” Sofia said, thoughtfully. “But it could be fun!”

“I don’t see why not,” James added. “You said you’re a warrior.”

Amber looked like she was about to object but paused, tilting her head with a small, amused smirk. “I haven’t seen many lady warriors before. I’m sure a lesson would be very enlightening.”

That was enough to chase an amused huff out of her.

“Well, consider yourselves fortunate this won’t be a formal training ground. No blood. No blisters. Just grass stains and bruised pride.” she said, pushing herself up from the blanket and brushing crumbs from her lap. “Alright then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

They cleared a spot just beyond the blanket where the sun warmed the grass in soft golden patches. The floral perfume from the hedges mingled with the sweeter scent of jam tarts and the clean green scent of the open air.

Evaline rolled her shoulders and shook out her limbs, the shift from rest to readiness coming a little too easily. Some instincts never faded. 

“Let’s start with something simple,” she began. “Balance and stance. If you can’t hold your ground, you can’t win a fight.”

James immediately planted his feet shoulder-width apart and planted his fists on his hips in what he probably thought was a heroic pose.

“Am I doing it?” he asked.

“You’re doing something,” Evaline replied, grinning. “Let’s refine that before you sprain something important.”

Sofia was more careful. She caught her watching, mimicking, adjusting without being told. Amber stood off to the side with her arms crossed and an expression Evaline had seen on plenty of skeptical recruits.

“Fighting’s not about brute strength,” Evaline explained. “It’s about timing. About knowing your opponent—and yourself.”

“You sound like a philosopher,” Amber remarked with a slight lift of her brows.

“I’ve just been hit in the head enough times to learn a few things,” she replied, tossing her a grin. “Come on, then. Might as well see if your fancy dance footwork translates.”

Amber stepped forward with her usual practiced grace, posture perfect. Just a little too perfect, however. Controlled and precise, but not quite ready.

Evaline circled behind her. “Loosen your shoulders. This isn’t a ballroom.”

The princess gave her a cool glance, but adjusted.

The next several minutes passed in light laughter, adjustments, and more dramatic tumbles from James. Evaline demonstrated a few mock parries and simple disarm movements with a long blade of grass, careful to keep things gentle and clear.

To her surprise, Sofia was a quick learner. She was graceful and quiet, but had keen eyes that followed every motion. Amber picked things up well too, once she let go of the need to look perfect. And James… well, he was enthusiastic.

Eventually, they sank back onto the blanket, breathless and sun-warmed. The garden buzzed softly with bees and birdsong, as if nothing in the world could go wrong.

Evaline sat cross-legged, her palms on her knees, the old tension in her spine replaced by something far gentler.

“That,” she said, “was not bad at all.”

“You’re a better teacher than Professor Popov,” James panted. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she promised, giving James’s knee a gentle pat.

Sofia smiled, wiping sweat from her brow. “Why didn’t you use any magic, though?”

The question landed with more weight than it should have.

Amber tilted her head, voice deceptively light. “That’s a good question. For a mage, you rely on your sword more than your mystical talents.”

There was that inevitability that had been dangling over her head since she arrived.

Evaline flexed her fingers slightly, brushing a hand over the silvery scars that circled her wrists. They were old scars from her early days as an apprentice. Long-faded and barely noticeable to others. For her, they were still a stark reminder of a lesson that had been drilled into her relentlessly.

“Magic is a tool that should be used sparingly,” she said, her voice low and even. “It’s far more dangerous than any blade if utilized improperly.”

Amber didn’t flinch under Evaline’s answer. She simply smiled—poised, unreadable. “Still, I would have liked to see it.”

There was nothing overtly cruel in her tone. Nothing Evaline could point to and call a challenge. But something about the way she said it, the way her chin tilted slightly upward, stirred something sharp and restless just beneath Evaline’s skin.

James, oblivious to the tension, piped up, “Yeah! Just a little magic. Please?”

Evaline exhaled through her nose. She glanced down at her hands again. Her gaze traced over the light calluses from her sword, and the fainter ones left by spellwork.

She hadn’t cast since arriving. Not really. Not with intention.

Still, the air here welcomed it. She could feel it humming under her skin, like the air itself was waiting.

“Alright,” she said, rising slowly. “Just something small.”

Sofia perked up, watching with open interest. Even Amber straightened.

Stepping away a few paces from the blanket, Evaline planted her feet solidly in the grass. The scent of flowers carried on the breeze, mingling with something colder in her chest. She held up one hand, palm open.

A single flame. That was all she intended. A harmless flicker of fire. Something that was just enough to draw a circle in the air, and then fizzle out with a little flair.

Except she wasn’t reaching through the Veil and into the Fade. Magic came from something else here. Something that she could feel, but not fully understand.

The moment she reached for it—just brushed the edge of her magic—the world responded.

Power surged through her fingers, untamed and unfettered. The tiny flame she meant to summon exploded outward into a spiraling ring of fire, crackling hot and far too wide. The circle turned to a coil, then a pillar that leapt far too high before she could clamp it down.

The grass beneath her shoes hissed. Sparks rained down around her. The blanket flapped in the windless heat. One of the teacups cracked audibly.

Clenching her jaw, she drew her hands into her chest, trying to reign in the blaze before she totally lost control. The fire collapsed in on itself with a hiss and a pop, leaving a ring of scorched earth and smoke behind.

Silence fell like a heavy, velvet curtain.

The birdsong ceased. Even the ever-present garden breeze seemed to still, as if waiting to see what she’d do next.

Amber stared. Sofia’s mouth was parted in shock. Evaline didn’t move, her hands trembling just slightly at her sides.

“That…” she trailed off, her voice steady despite the crackle in her chest.

“That was incredible !” James whooped, throwing his fist into the air as he leapt to his feet. “Did you see that? It was like whoosh—and then fwoom!”

Evaline tried to answer, but her voice stuck in her throat.

Her hands had stopped shaking, but her pulse hadn’t slowed. Not yet. Not when the scorched grass at her feet still steamed faintly, a stark reminder of how close she’d come to losing control.

She hadn’t felt something like this in a very long time.

“Are you alright?” Sofia asked gently, her brow crinkled with concern.

Turning toward her, Evaline tried her best to hide the look of shock and dismay that threatened to creep into her features. The young princess’s expression wasn’t fearful, but it wasn’t carefree anymore either. It was wary. Thoughtful. 

That made it worse somehow.

“I’m fine,” she said, putting on a convincing smile. “I didn’t think I’d be showing off all that much, but it got away from me.”

Amber stood slowly, brushing ashes from her skirt.

“Well,” she said after a beat, her voice cool but impressed. “That was certainly… illuminating.”

Though she was able to maintain it, Evaline’s smile threatened to fade.

James flopped back onto the blanket, entirely unbothered. “You have to teach me that sometime. I’ll practice. I’ll be your apprentice! I’ll learn to not set the garden on fire, probably!”

Evaline let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She crouched to brush away a still-glowing ember with the side of her boot.

“Maybe,” she said softly. “But not today.”

Not until she figured out what went wrong.

Chapter Text

Pacing in front of the doors to a grand sitting room, Evaline couldn’t stop wringing her hands. Fingers traced old scars, memories of magical mishaps danced in her head, and the image of a ring of scorched lawn was burned into the forefront of her mind. It was a simple accident, but she couldn’t imagine the King and Queen would see it that way.

She had put the Prince and Princesses in danger. It wasn’t her intention, but that hardly mattered. Losing control like that was something she fought her whole life to avoid, and now she was terrified of the consequences.

As the doors swung open, Baileywick stood between them, watching her with his usual cool expression. 

With a startled yelp, she turned, the heavy fabric of her skirts swishing dramatically as she did.

“Their majesties King Roland and Queen Miranda are ready to see you now,” he informed her with a subtle bow of his head.

Nodding stiffly, her heart hammered somewhere near her throat. She crossed the threshold as though stepping into a tribunal rather than a parlor. The room was warmly lit. Plush armchairs gathered near a gentle fire, soft gold accents caught the light. It was nothing like the war councils or arcane halls she was used to. Somehow, that made it worse.

King Roland stood near the hearth, his hands clasped behind his back. Queen Miranda sat gracefully in one of the armchairs, her expression thoughtful. And beside her, perched with both hands folded in her lap, was Sofia.

Evaline’s breath hitched just slightly.

Sofia offered a tiny, reassuring smile. It wasn’t the carefree grin of a child caught up in a game, but the solemn kindness of someone who knew something serious had happened.

“Evaline,” Miranda greeted, rising to her feet. Her voice held no edge, only concern. “Thank you for coming.”

Evaline bowed her head, resisting the urge to drop into something deeper and more deferential. “Of course, Your Majesties. I—I’m sorry for the trouble. For the damage to the garden. For startling the children.”

“No one was hurt,” Roland said plainly, stepping forward. His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was a firm edge of authority behind it. “That’s what matters most.”

Swallowing hard, Evaline responded gently. “Still. What happened was… unexpected. Dangerous.”

Sofia stood, her voice quiet but steady. “It wasn’t her fault. She was just showing us a little magic. She didn’t mean for it to go that way.”

Miranda gave her daughter a soft nod of thanks before turning back to Evaline. “We understand you didn’t act with malice. And it’s clear that your magic doesn’t behave the same way here as it did in your world.”

“No. It doesn’t. I don’t understand it yet. And that frightens me more than I’d like to say.” Evaline admitted hesitantly.

There was a quiet beat.

Then Sofia rose from her seat, lifting her chin just enough to be brave. “Maybe Mr. Cedric could help.”

King Roland blinked, startled.

“He knows the way magic works here better than anyone,” The princess continued. “He’s studied it his whole life. And he understands what it’s like when people don’t always trust your magic.”

“Sofia…” Roland murmured, his brow furrowing.

But Miranda rose from her seat to join his side, placing a hand gently on his arm.

“She’s right,” the queen said softly. “Cedric has grown into his role more than most people realize. He could be a valuable guide for Evaline. That is, if she’s willing.”

Evaline hesitated, her eyes flicking between the three of them. The King’s initial reluctance was a bit troubling, but Sofia and the Queen seemed to trust in him. That said, she couldn’t say she was opposed to getting to know their royal sorcerer a little better either.

“I couldn’t possibly turn away an offer for help. Especially not if it keeps anyone else from getting hurt.” Evaline said with a gentle smile.

Roland didn’t look entirely convinced. “Just be careful. Cedric may be our Royal Sorcerer, but he has… a history of mishaps himself.”

Sofia crossed her arms. “He hasn’t had a mishap in ages.”

“Then we’ll see who’s the bigger risk. Him or me.” Evaline remarked with a wry smile.

That earned a small, amused chuckle from Miranda, and even Roland’s stern expression eased. Whatever mishaps Cedric had been accused of, Evaline couldn’t imagine it was anything as grave as summoning demons or becoming an abomination. All she could do was hope her faith in him wasn’t misplaced.

Relieved that her meeting with the King and Queen hadn’t gone all the horrible ways she had imagined, she was pleased to be excused to find Cedric. Although, she wasn’t alone in her journey. As she slipped out of the sitting room, Sofia quickly caught up with her and slid her little hand into hers.

“Tagging along to witness more mystical mayhem?” Evaline asked, scrunching her nose with a grin.

Sofia giggled. “I thought you might want someone who already knows how to find his tower. It’s kind of hidden.”

“Oh, it’s not all that hidden,” she said with a wry grin. “I found it easy enough a few nights ago. Mages and towers go together like bread and butter.”

“Is that true in your world too?” Sofia asked with a curious tilt of her head.

“Always.” Evaline said, her voice carrying an air of drama and mystique. “If there’s a mage and a tower involved, chances are something spectacular or terrifying is about to happen.” She squeezed Sofia’s hand gently. “But don’t worry. I’ll try to keep it to something spectacular, rather.”

They rounded a quiet corner of the upper wing, the soft hum of enchantments brushing faintly against Evaline’s senses. The magical current here felt different than it had in the garden. It was less wild, more… settled. Focused. 

Eventually, they stopped at a tall wooden door flanked by two gargoyles. A familiar sight. Evaline reached for the handle, pausing just a moment before knocking.

Inside, there was a pop, followed by a distinctly magical sizzle. Something clattered to the floor.

“Oh—Merlin’s mushrooms, where did I put that blasted charm? Wormwood, this is exactly why we don’t store tea next to transmutation runes!” Cedric ranted between coughs.

As the door creaked open, a plume of purple smoke billowed out toward them, followed by Cedric covered in violet soot. He hardly seemed surprised to see Princess Sofia, but after a sharp double take, he looked at Evaline with a bewildered expression.

“Oh, it’s you,” his voice nearly squeaked. 

Fanning away the smoke, Evaline hid a smile behind her hand and disguised a laugh with a cough. 

“I really should stop coming by unannounced,” she remarked with a sheepish look.

Cedric sputtered, pulling a singed handkerchief out of his sleeve. “Yes, well—that would certainly preserve my remaining dignity.”

Sofia tiptoed past the last of the smoke with a little wave. “Don’t worry, Mr. Cedric. We’ll help you clean up.”

“I should hope so,” he muttered, swiping at his robes with the handkerchief. Yet, it only seemed to shed more glitter and soot than it removed. “I’ve only just gotten the tower back in order after the last… incident.”

Procuring a handkerchief of her own, Evaline gently swiped away a smudge of violet from Cedric’s cheek.

“It’s the least we could do, especially since I’m about to ask you for a very big favor,” she said with an apologetic smile. 

Cedric blinked, his posture stiffening ever so slightly at the unexpected gentleness of the gesture. “Oh. Well. Ahem. I suppose I should be honored. Or possibly concerned.”

Evaline huffed a quiet laugh. “A little of both might be appropriate.”

Sofia had already started gathering the scattered remains of an overzealous scroll pile, stacking them neatly on a nearby table. “We told Mom and Dad about what happened in the garden,” she offered, glancing between them. “They understand it wasn’t Evaline’s fault. But they want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Cedric smoothed down his robes, visibly sobering. “Yes. Quite right. I heard about the… scorching.” He cleared his throat. “Frankly, I’m astonished you didn’t vaporize the royal teacups.”

“One of them cracked,” Evaline admitted with a wince. “Still feels like I got off lucky.”

He gave her a skeptical once-over, eyes narrowing with academic interest. “You said your magic doesn’t behave the same way here?”

“More like it doesn’t listen.” She flexed her fingers, the memory of flame and power still warm in her palms. “Back home, I knew where my power came from. What it was connected to. Here, it feels like trying to divert a river with a teaspoon.”

“Well, what sort of wand were you using to cast?” he asked, stroking his chin as he observed her thoughtfully.

“Wand?”

Cedric blinked, visibly thrown off-balance. “Yes. You know– wood , some sort of mystical core, channeling focus–  a wand .”

Evaline gave him a look halfway between confusion and amusement. “Like a staff? I was casting without one.”

His mouth opened, then shut again. “You… cast without a focus? That’s highly irregular.”

“Maybe here,” she said, lifting one hand and letting a soft trail of dormant mana hum across her fingertips. “But where I come from, a mage doesn’t necessarily need a wand to cast. Magic flows through us. It’s connected to the Fade—an entire realm of dreams and spirits. Power is drawn from that connection, not from objects.”

Cedric made a strangled noise that sounded somewhere between fascination and dismay. “That’s—wildly inefficient. And incredibly dangerous! How do you manage spell containment? Magical feedback? Structural flux control?”

Evaline tilted her head. “Discipline. Training. Years of intense training under a much more skilled enchanter.”

He stared at her for a long beat. Then he turned, muttering under his breath, and began rifling through a pile of glowing charms and peculiar tools. “No wonder you scorched half the lawn.”

“I said it was an accident.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Cedric replied, plucking his wand up off of a nearby worktable. “That’s what makes it worse.”

Sofia piped up from the other side of the room. “Evaline’s magic didn’t feel bad, though. It just felt… big. Like it didn’t have a place to go.”

That made both adults pause.

“That’s exactly what it felt like,” Evaline said, a small smile beginning to curve her lips. “Clever girl.”

Cedric tapped his wand lightly against his palm, thoughtful now rather than exasperated. “If your magic’s too big for the local currents, or simply not aligning with them, you might benefit from a stabilizing focus after all. Something to filter the power, give it direction.”

“You said something about a staff earlier,” Sofia chirped helpfully. “Maybe you could try magic with one and see if that works? If it helps you aim the magic better, it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

Hesitating a moment, Evaline thought about the tool she had come into Enchancia with. Her enchanted blade, Spellweaver. That had been how she channeled magic since the Fifth Blight but… It was overkill here.

“Alright,” she said at last, nodding firmly. “I’ll give it a shot. It’s been quite some time since I last worked with a staff, but it was a similar principle back in Thedas.”

Cedric clapped his hands once and spun toward his shelves, already muttering, “Now then… I believe I have an old staff around here somewhere.”

With a sharp caw, Wormwood flapped his wings toward a corner of the room where a length of pale, old, gnarled wood leaned against a bookcase. 

Evaline followed Wormwood’s direction with an arched brow. Cedric retrieved the staff with an air of reverence, brushing off a fine layer of dust before presenting it to her. 

“This belonged to my father before he retired as Royal Sorcerer,” he explained, his chest puffing up proudly. “It’s made from the rare aetherwood tree. It might be a good place for you to start with.”

She took it with both hands, feeling the hum of latent enchantment ripple faintly beneath her fingertips. The weight of the staff was unfamiliar… but not unwelcome. It wasn’t Thedosian. It wasn’t her ancient blade forged for the arcane warriors of old either, but it felt special in its own way. 

“Mr. Cedric, we should teach her a spell you’ve taught me!” Sofia suggested excitedly as the idea struck her. “Why not the bounceciglias spell?”

“Bounceciglias?” Evaline echoed with a laugh of disbelief. 

“It’s a fun little spell,” Sofia said with a wide grin. “It makes things bounce.”

“Most children Sofia’s age learn this spell,” Cedric added. “It would be a good a place as any to start.”

Evaline tilted her head, turning the staff in her hands. “Well, I suppose if I can conjure a ring of fire by accident, I can survive a bouncing spell on purpose.”

“Let’s start with something small, shall we? No need to bounce the royal tower.” Cedric suggested, raising his wand like a conductor’s baton toward a small gem on his worktable. 

With a broad grin, she raised the staff toward the gem as well. “Here goes nothing. Now… Is the silly incantation necessary?”

“My dear Lady Evaline,” Cedric addressed her, his tone dripping with melodramatic sincerity. “The silly incantation is everything. ”

Chapter Text

Magic in Enchancia was unique in such a whimsical way. After Cedric had lent her a staff and taught her some simple incantations, it seemed far less frightening than it had in the garden the previous day. Still, she knew well enough to keep her casting to a minimum. Things were still too unpredictable for her to feel comfortable just yet.

Evaline stood near the open window of Cedric’s tower, staff resting lightly in her hand as she watched purple butterflies drift lazily through the courtyard below. The breeze carried in the faintest scent of roses and something else much sweeter– something she couldn’t quite place. It was a far cry from the vague smell of wet dog that the air in Ferelden always seemed to carry.

She exhaled slowly, eyes closed, grounding herself.

“That was a heavy sigh,” Cedric remarked from behind her, still staring into the nearby eluvian as if it might suddenly give him the answer to unlock it once more. “Is everything alright?”

Evaline opened her eyes and turned slightly toward him, leaning the staff against the windowsill. “Just thinking.”

“That’s always dangerous,” he muttered, then flinched a little. “Not—not you specifically. I mean in general. Overthinking. It hardly leads anywhere good.”

“Speaking from experience?” she asked, wrinkling her nose with a teasing smile. “If you’re not careful, you might burst a blood vessel from staring at that mirror too hard.”

He huffed, turning his gaze away from the eluvian with a slight scowl. “This mirror has been infuriatingly uncooperative. Normally I can coax magical objects into behaving, but this one insists on being… cryptic.”

“Maybe it’s just shy,” she offered, her grin still playfully lopsided. “Or maybe it doesn’t like being stared at all day.”

“She has a point,” Sofia chimed in from a cushioned chair near the bookshelves. Her nose was still buried in a thick spellbook, but her eyes peeked over the edge with a knowing smile. “You’ve been glaring at it for hours. If I were that mirror, I’d want to stay closed up too.”

Cedric narrowed his eyes in mock offense. “I have not been glaring .”

“You have,” Evaline and Sofia said in unison.

He looked between them and sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. “Wonderful. A united front. Betrayed in my own tower.”

Wormwood let out a croak from his perch that sounded so chiding, Evaline would have sworn it was something along the lines of: ‘ I told you so .’ With a soft laugh, she pressed a hand to her heart and shook her head.

“I apologize, Cedric,” she said. “I tease too much. I have very much appreciated the hard work you’ve poured into helping me so far.” 

He met her gaze with a stunned expression. Something told her that he wasn’t entirely used to such complimentary talk as he flushed slightly. Though, before Cedric could attempt a response, the tower door flew open with a theatrical creak and thud.

“Guess who has exciting news!” came James’s voice as he and Amber burst inside, the latter practically glowing with enthusiasm. Amber held a scroll wrapped in a gold ribbon, while James had what appeared to be a half-eaten cupcake.

Cedric sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. “What did we say about knocking?”

“‘Knocking is courteous, but overrated when you’re royalty,’” James replied cheerfully, just before taking a far-too-big bite of his cupcake.

Evaline blinked at the sudden whirlwind of royal twins as Amber thrust the scroll into her hands. “It’s an invitation!” she declared.

“To a ball!” James added, through a mouthful of frosting.

She blinked again. “A ball?”

“Yes, a ball,” Amber reiterated with a near-imperceptible roll of her eyes. “Do they have those where you come from?”

“Well, yes, the royalty in Thedas are known to throw the occasional ball,” Evaline said, turning the invitation over in her hands. The royal wax seal shimmered so brilliantly, she wondered if it was actually made of gold. “I’ve heard that Empress Celene of Orlais holds at least one every season, each more elegant and ostentatious than the last.”

“Every season?” Amber gasped, almost as if she were offended. “Why so few?”

“Because they take months to prepare,” Evaline replied, a disbelieving laugh escaping her. “The nobility spend weeks politicking over invitations and fashion choices. If you so much wear the wrong shade of blue, whole houses of nobility would be shamed into obscurity.”

Assuming things didn’t end in a duel. Though, there didn’t need to be any talk of bloodshed. Not in front of the children.

“The ball tonight won’t be nearly that intense, Evaline. It’s not meant to overwhelm you. Just… welcome you.” Sofia gently reassured her, placing a hand on her arm.

Evaline’s thumb brushed lightly over the edge of the scroll. It still felt strange to be treated with such warmth. Her presence was something to celebrate here, rather than something to question or control.

“I appreciate the invitation,” she said softly. “But I’m not sure I belong at an event like this.”

“Why not?” Amber asked, frowning.

Evaline hesitated. “Because in my world, people like me aren’t invited to royal balls. As a mage… As an elf…” 

Trailing off, she watched as the room fell silent. Sofia squeezed Evaline’s arm a little tighter. Amber’s brow furrowed, not in confusion, but in something akin to outrage. 

“That’s ridiculous,” she hissed.

“Utterly ridiculous!” Cedric agreed, far more passionately than any of them were prepared for. 

Everyone turned to look at him.

“I mean, really ,” He scoffed, gesturing animatedly with one hand while the other clutched his wand like a conductor’s baton. “ Truly, the idea that someone with your talent, your intelligence, your decorum doesn’t belong at a royal ball is absolutely absurd.” 

Evaline stared at Cedric, taken off guard. There was something so earnest about his outburst. Something incredibly sincere, and it warmed something quiet in her chest.

“You really think I should go?” she asked him.

He looked at her then, no dramatic gestures, no grumbling. Just a steady, unguarded look. “I think you deserve to be celebrated. Not questioned. Not… sidelined. You belong there, Evaline. Whether you believe it yet or not.”

Her throat tightened unexpectedly, and for once, she found herself at a loss for words.

Amber clapped her hands. “Then it’s settled! Come on! We have a gown to pick!”

Sofia smiled, but her gaze lingered on Evaline’s face a moment longer, reading something deeper. Then she nodded and looped her arm through Evaline’s. “We’ll find something that suits you. Something beautiful.”

As the girls swept her toward the door, Evaline glanced back once more.

Cedric was straightening his robe, pretending he hadn’t just had an emotional outburst in front of the prince, the princesses and a battle-scarred stranger from another world. But when he looked up and caught her eye, he gave her the smallest of smiles.

Evaline returned it.

Then, before long, Evaline found herself sat quietly on a cushioned bench in front of a vanity, letting herself be fussed over.

Amber stood behind her, gently weaving bits of gold thread through Evaline’s dark hair. Sofia flitted between the wardrobe and her sister, laying out jewelry options with a thoughtful hum. Evaline kept her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze lowered to the floor. The ballgown they had picked out for her shimmered faintly with soft blues and silver embroidery, and she still wasn’t sure how they’d convinced her to wear it.

She hummed a soft tune under her breath, something simple, something old. Her mother used to sing it to her back in the Denerim Alienage, before everything changed. She could still remember helping her father grind herbs, or sitting at her mother’s feet while she stitched worn hems. 

Those were the lives she wished she’d inherit. It would be something humble, quiet, familiar. She never imagined she’d be in a place like this. Let alone invited to a ball.

“You have a lovely voice,” Sofia said gently, setting a delicate hairpin on the vanity. “What song is that?”

Evaline startled slightly, her cheeks warming. “Just something my mother used to sing. I… I can’t quite remember the words anymore.”

“That’s alright,” Sofia said, giving her a smile in the mirror. “It’s still beautiful.”

Evaline met her eyes in the reflection and tried to smile. But a knot lingered in her chest, stubborn and heavy.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not really. Not in this place of light and music and easy kindness. Not when all she’d ever known was adversity and war. In Thedas, she had fought tooth and nail to be recognized, only to remain an outsider. An elven mage, feared by the Chantry. A Warden, respected but still distrusted. Even as a Hero, she was just a story to be passed around in taverns. 

She was a myth. A warning. Never a person.

But here…

Here in Enchancia, she was just Evaline. She hadn’t needed to fight to be seen. She hadn’t needed to earn their love.

She was simply welcomed.

The thought hit her with such force that her eyes prickled unexpectedly.

Amber caught the look in the mirror and stilled her hands in Evaline’s hair. “Are you alright?”

Evaline nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yes. I just… I don’t think anyone’s ever made me feel this beautiful before.”

Amber looked mildly startled, and Sofia’s expression softened with knowing sympathy.

“You always were,” Sofia said. “Maybe it’s just easier to believe when someone else finally says it out loud.”

Evaline looked down at her hands, resting quietly in her lap. The silver embroidery on her gown glinted faintly in the candlelight, catching like stars on fabric. She touched the edge of the sleeve, marveling at the softness beneath her fingertips. Not long ago, everything she wore had been stitched for function. For survival. Now she was being dressed in things meant to shine.

Maybe it’s just easier to believe when someone else finally says it out loud.

Somebody had once.

A memory flickered like a candle in the dark, delicate and nearly lost. A hand brushing her cheek in the firelight. A voice, gentle and reverent, telling her she was something rare. Something extraordinary.

But that was a long time ago. Before the rift in the sky. Before she had been thrust into this world of wonder and enchantment.

She’d buried so much of that part of herself just to keep moving forward. One had to, when the world didn’t stop for grief. When being a Warden meant leaving softness behind in favor of sharp decisions and long nights with no comfort but one’s own battered spirit.

Evaline swallowed again and let out the softest exhale.

“Evaline?” Sofia asked softly, noticing the shift in her expression.

“I’m alright,” she replied, offering them both a small smile. “Just thinking.”

Sofia reached for her hand and gave it a little squeeze. “We’ll be right beside you tonight. Promise.”

A knock sounded at the door—James again, with no small flair. “You three ready? The ballroom’s practically humming with anticipation!”

Amber stood and smoothed her skirts. “Let them hum a little longer. A proper entrance is all about timing.”

“No, I hate to keep everyone waiting,” Evaline said with a sheepish look, rising to her feet. “We’ll be in shortly.”

As they moved toward the door, Evaline paused, her fingertips brushing the edge of the vanity. Her reflection still watched her, wide-eyed and a little uncertain. She almost didn’t recognize herself. And for once, that wasn’t a bad thing.

She didn’t have her Warden’s armor. She didn’t have her staff strapped to her back. There were no sigils of power or burden here, just soft fabric, quiet light, and the steady presence of people who saw her as something more than what she had survived.

Amber was already chattering about the orchestra’s opening number. Sofia lingered near, waiting to walk beside her. And Evaline—Evaline felt something unfamiliar rising in her chest. Not dread. Not duty.

Hope.

Maybe this place wasn’t home. Not yet. But it could be something like it for now. Something new.

She drew a breath, steady and full.

“All right,” she said softly. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

To say that the ball was a grand affair was an understatement. How the royal family and Baileywick managed to pull off so much work was beyond her. She might have suspected that magic was involved, but she had spent all day with their royal sorcerer, so that theory was out the window.

However it had happened, the castle was polished with such a brilliant sheen, she was certain she could see her reflection in just about every surface.

The grand ballroom had been transformed. Golden light spilled from towering chandeliers shaped like hanging stars, catching on glittering banners of silk and velvet that cascaded from the ceiling like waterfalls. A string quartet played from an elevated alcove above the floor, their music lilting like a summer breeze through the vast chamber.

Servants in crisp uniforms moved with practiced grace, carrying trays of sweets and crystal goblets filled with fruit-tinged punch. Tables along the walls boasted arrangements of exotic blooms: orchids, hydrangeas, and roses in every imaginable hue. All filled the air with a perfume so sweet it made her head spin.

Evaline turned slowly in place, unsure of where to look first. The sight of so many nobles in glittering finery, their sweeping gowns, gem-studded collars, and cloaks trimmed in fur, felt more like stepping into a painting than a real room. She gently tucked an errant curl behind her pointed ear, noting that she really was the only elf in attendance. 

Before she could so much as think about retreating, King Roland came striding toward her with a smile, another very regal-looking man hot on his heels as well. 

“Lady Evaline, you look very lovely this evening,” the king greeted with a warm smile, bowing his head to her. “This is my friend, King Magnus of Rudistan. He’s been very excited to meet you.”

Evaline dipped into a respectful curtsey, grateful she remembered how. “Thank you, Your Majesty. The castle looks… incredible.”

“Pah!” King Magnus laughed, tossing his head back in amusement. “This little soiree  that Roland threw together last minute? This is cute at best. You should have seen the ball I held last week in Rudistan! We had an ice sculpture of a crystal dragon that breathed actual fire. There were imported phoenixes from the Fire Isles that flapped overhead all night and spelled guests’ names in the sky with embers. Then, to top it all off, we had the famous Ten Rings Circus all the way from the kingdom of Wei-Ling performing for us all night long!”

Evaline laughed softly, trying to hide the creeping terror that threatened to overtake her. All of that sounded far too out of her league. Truly, she was out of her depth in a place like this. 

“That sounds… very impressive.”

“Oh, it was,” Magnus said with a smug nod. “Though the phoenixes did set one of the many royal tapestries ablaze. Still, worth it for the ambiance.”

King Roland chuckled, shooting a quick look at Evaline that conveyed that she wasn’t the only one that shared her horror. “Magnus always did have a taste for the dramatic.”

Magnus shot him a preening grin. “Guilty as charged.”

Evaline managed a polite smile, though inwardly she wasn’t sure whether to be charmed, baffled, or very alarmed.

Before Magnus could launch into another story—Evaline feared it might involve enchanted elephants or a waterfall made of champagne—a familiar voice chimed in from just over her shoulder.

“Ah yes,” Cedric said, in that signature dry tone of his. “Nothing says elegance like a fire hazard.”

Evaline turned, relief washing over her as Cedric and Sofia approached. The sorcerer looked as stiff as ever in his formal robes, his hair notably neater than it had been this afternoon after she accidentally summoned a gale of wind. Now she knew better than to make up her own incantations.

Sofia beamed up at Evaline, gently gathering her hand into one of her own. “You look beautiful! I was hoping we’d find you before the dancing starts.”

Evaline opened her mouth to reply—only to falter as a faint chill swept through her chest. It wasn’t the draft of an open balcony door or the nerves of being surrounded by royalty; it was something colder, heavier. A singing in her veins she thought she had left behind

Darkspawn .

It was faint, so faint she might have dismissed it as imagination if she weren’t so attuned to their presence. They shouldn’t be anywhere near Enchancia, much less within the palace walls.

She forced herself to smile at Sofia, burying the prickle of alarm beneath the practiced grace she’d learned long ago. Paranoia, she told herself. Maybe her senses were just playing tricks on her in all this noise and magic. After all nothing had followed her through the eluvian.

Sofia’s smile dimmed a fraction, her brows knitting in quiet concern. King Roland’s gaze flicked over Evaline’s face as though he’d caught the hesitation too, but he said nothing. Even Cedric’s eyes narrowed slightly—though whether it was suspicion or simple curiosity, she couldn’t tell.

Magnus, oblivious, clapped his hands together with a booming laugh. “Speaking of entertainment! I nearly forgot that during dessert, we had a troupe of dancing mermaids perform inside a giant glass sphere filled with enchanted seawater. Absolutely breathtaking.”

Evaline let out a small, polite laugh, but the sound felt thin in her own ears. The cold weight in her chest hadn’t faded. It lingered like a shadow just beyond the edges of the music and candlelight.

“That does sound spectacular, Your Majesty,” she remarked, determined to smother the dread she felt with polite conversation.

Magnus puffed out his chest, clearly pleased to have an appreciative audience. “Oh, it was! Of course, the merfolk insisted on singing, and by the end of it half the guests were under the table weeping into their cake. Magical music will do that to you, you know.”

Sofia’s fingers gave Evaline’s hand a gentle squeeze, her eyes searching her face as though she could read the unease buried there. Roland’s polite smile didn’t falter, but he shifted just enough to stand a little closer to her, a subtle, unspoken shield. Cedric’s gaze lingered a moment too long before flicking away, though she caught the faint twitch of his brow.

Magnus, blissfully unaware, barreled on. “Now, Evaline, my dear, Roland tells me that you were something of a folk hero where you come from. Tell me, what daring deeds are you known for?”

The music swelled again, strings weaving a glittering waltz through the air, but beneath it Evaline swore she could still feel the low, pulsing thrum of something dark pressing at the edges of her senses.

She drew in a steadying breath, trying to marshal her thoughts into something resembling a charming anecdote. “Oh, I’m not sure ‘folk hero’ is the right term. I simply… helped where I could.”

Though she always acknowledged her role in fighting the Fifth Blight with humility, something stung about being referred to as a simple folk hero.

Still, the sting was quickly overshadowed. The cold in her chest deepened, threading through her ribs like icewater. Her instincts screamed that she should be scanning the shadows, yet Magnus’s expectant grin held her in place like a net.

“Helped?” he prompted, leaning in with keen interest. “Don’t be modest! I want details! Did you fight off bandits? Slay a dragon? Rescue a prince from a cursed tower?”

Evaline forced a small smile, though her eyes kept flicking toward the arched doorways at the edge of the ballroom. Something was out there. Moving.

Sofia’s hand tightened around hers again, firmer this time, as if she could feel the tension in Evaline’s grip. Roland’s expression had shifted. It was still pleasant, but with the faint, guarded edge of a man weighing whether a situation required his intervention. Cedric, meanwhile, had gone utterly still, his sharp gaze tracking hers toward the far corner of the room.

“I… may have fought a few things,” she said, careful to keep her tone light. But her senses were screaming now, each pulse of the dark presence like the beat of a distant war drum.

Magnus’s grin widened, eyes sparkling with the eagerness of a man who had just remembered his favorite topic: himself .

“Well, perhaps you’re too modest to admit to your own heroics,” he boomed, “but I can tell you of my most dangerous encounter! It was only last winter,” he lowered his voice in mock seriousness. “When I came face to face with a bridge troll.”

Evaline’s brows raised as she quirked her head. “A bridge troll?”

“Oh yes,” Magnus said, puffing out his chest. “The brute was enormous. Twice my height, teeth like daggers. The villagers insisted the only way across was to pay his toll. Naturally, I refused. On principle!” He leaned in conspiratorially. “The principle being that I never carry small change.”

Sofia stifled a laugh, but Cedric didn’t bother. 

“Riveting,” the sorcerer murmured dryly.

Magnus barreled on again, still oblivious. “So I challenged him to a riddle contest. And do you know what? I won by distracting him with an elaborate story about a singing teapot until the sun came up and turned him to stone!”

Evaline tried to smile, but the words were a faint buzz under the steady, cold thrum in her chest. The shadows at the edge of the ballroom seemed to lean closer.

Magnus was still describing the troll’s petrified expression in vivid detail when there was a soft flutter of feathers that echoed from the rafters above.

Evaline’s ears twitched instinctively.

A flurry of black wings broke through the golden light as a large raven swooped down, weaving between the chandeliers before circling low over the gathering. The music faltered as the quartet stumbled over their notes, eyes tracking the bird’s sudden descent.

“Wormwood?” Cedric muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His brows drew together sharply. “What is he doing down here?”

The raven cawed once, a sharp, grating sound that cut across the polite murmur of the ballroom. He alighted on Cedric’s shoulder, feathers puffed, eyes like dark beads fixed on something across the room.

Evaline felt the chill in her chest twist tighter. The bird’s gaze was unblinking, his beak opening in a low, rasping croak. Sofia’s hand lifted to her amulet and her brows furrowed.

Magnus, oblivious, clapped a hand to Roland’s back. “See? Even the birds are here to hear my tale!”

Sofia’s hand tightened around Evaline’s. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered.

Wormwood shifted restlessly, talons digging into Cedric’s shoulder. His head turned in jerks, tracking something just beyond the crowd. Something that none of them could quite perceive.

Evaline’s gaze followed his line, skimming over the swirl of gowns and polished boots toward the shadowed archways. The cold weight in her chest had condensed into a hard, icy knot.

She could leave now. She could slip away before anyone else noticed and find whatever was causing this pulse of darkness. But leaving without a word risked a panic, and if she was wrong, she’d look like a fool before half the nobility in Enchancia.

A flicker of movement pulled her attention back to Cedric. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes met hers. For a heartbeat, they were perfectly still, the din of conversation and clink of crystal receding to a dull roar.

He knew.

Roland’s voice drifted at her side, still humoring Magnus’s recounting, but Evaline’s focus was already tilting toward the nearest exit. Her pulse kept pace with the music—fast, insistent, impossible to ignore.

If she waited too long, the choice would be made for her.

Her eyes snapped back to the ballroom just in time to catch a shifting shadow darkening the massive stained glass window at the far end of it. The intricate colors flickered and dimmed as the figure loomed—immense, hulking, and impossibly close.

Without a word, she began walking toward it, her eyes wide and fixed on the shadow. The nobles on the dance floor paused and moved out of her way with perplexed looks.

The shadow moved closer, and for a terrifying heartbeat, Evaline saw the sharp, brutal silhouette of massive horns atop the head of a creature she recognized all too well.

Sofia gasped, clutching her amulet. Cedric’s hand reached for his wand, eyes wide but controlled. King Roland’s poised smile vanished, replaced by a look of confusion that quickly shifted into horror.

And then—

Crash!

The stained glass exploded inward, showering the ballroom with a kaleidoscope of colored shards. Through the jagged breach loomed a monstrous shape, a darkspawn ogre’s hulking form blotting out the glow of the moon behind it.

Evaline’s breath caught as the nightmare she had feared stepped into the light.

Chapter Text

As multicolored shards of glass skittered about the dancefloor and settled at the feet of frozen noble men and women, there was an eerie stillness that captured the room. The collective breaths of everyone in the ballroom held with a sick sense of anticipation as the beast’s beady eyes scanned the room. 

Evaline’s heart leapt into her throat. She had seen creatures such as these before, in the Deep Roads and on blood-soaked battlefields, but never here. Never in a place of gilded walls and glowing chandeliers.

This wasn’t Thedas. But the Blight had followed her.

As the ogre’s eyes met hers, its lips pulled back into a snarling smirk that would have made anyone’s blood run chill. Then, with a roar that rattled the chandeliers above and down into the bones of those below, the creature lurched forward.

Guests scattered in shrill panic, silk gowns and polished shoes tripping over one another in the scramble for safety. Servants ducked beneath tables, guards rushed to draw steel, and the sickly scent of blight filled the air.

A pair of guards surged forward, blades flashing in the light of the moon that spilled into the room, but the creature was faster. One massive clawed hand seized a man guardsman and flung him like a rag doll. His body slammed into a marble column with a sickening crack before crumpling to the floor.

Evaline didn’t think—she  moved. 

In three strides she reached another guard, ripping the sword from his trembling hands. The weight of the blade was unfamiliar compared to her enchanted sword, but the edge gleamed sharp enough to make do. She raised it, squaring her stance as memories of battlefield chaos surged to the front of her mind.

“Go!” Queen Miranda’s sharp voice carried above the chaos as she clutched Sofia’s hand and grabbed Amber by the wrist, pulling both girls toward the nearest exit. Baileywick was already at her side, ushering James behind a toppled banquet table for cover.

King Roland, however, planted himself between the ogre and his fleeing family. His own blade rang free of its sheath as he barked orders to the remaining guards, his face grim and resolute.

The ogre’s red-rimmed eyes swept toward him, lips curling into a ghastly smile. It took a lumbering step toward him, only to stumble back as a burst of crackling light erupted at its face.

Cedric stood near the musicians alcove, wand braced in his hand. His eyes were wide, but his jaw set with determination as the glare of his spell flared. “Don’t you dare hurt them!” he cried, voice trembling but unyielding. The ogre roared in frustration, swiping at the air as the shimmer blinded it.

Evaline seized the opening, blade raised, heart pounding. She would not let this creature lay waste to this world. Not while she still drew breath.

With a fierce cry, she charged forward, sword flashing in the light. The blade’s edge met thick hide with a jarring clang as she slashed at its arm. The blow cut shallow, but it drew the beast’s attention away from the scattering nobles and squarely onto her.

Good , she thought grimly. Look at me .

The ogre bellowed, swinging its massive fist in a wide arc. She ducked beneath it, shoes skidding on shattered glass as the strike shattered a table where Sofia, James and Amber had been only moments ago. The children screamed, Miranda clutching them tighter as Baileywick shoved them toward another exit. 

Her stomach lurched. If she faltered for even a moment, they would all be crushed.

She pressed the attack, her sword a silver blur against the creature’s ashen flesh. Each strike sparked like flint on stone, driving it back a step at a time. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Roland rallying what guards remained, his blade raised high. His courage was unshaken, but she could see the fear behind his resolve.

He was a king, but not a soldier.

Another roar from the ogre sent tremors through the floor as it stomped forward, its eyes locking on the retreating queen and children. Its vision must have begun to clear.

Evaline lunged in front of its path, slashing across its leg to draw its fury back to her. The beast reeled, enraged, and raised a hand to swat her aside like an insect.

Another blinding flash seared across its vision. Cedric, pale but steady, loosed another spell from the alcove, his voice breaking with strain as he forced the magic through sheer will. “Over here, you foul brute!”

The ogre howled, swiping at the air, blinded and furious. She didn’t waste the moment. Gritting her teeth, she drove her blade upward in a desperate arc. The force rattled her arms to the bone, but she stood her ground. 

The upward strike barely slowed the ogre. It let out a guttural roar, more enraged than wounded, and swung its massive arm down with the weight of a falling tree. She braced, but the sheer force of the blow sent her flying. Her sword clattered across the floor as she slammed into the tiles, the impact stealing the breath from her lungs.

She forced herself up on trembling arms, vision swimming. The ogre loomed above her, nearly twice her height, its shadow blotting out the fractured moonlight spilling through the shattered window. Compared to the beast’s hulking frame, she looked almost fragile, a scrap of defiance dwarfed by blighted muscle and rage.

A guard tried to intercept, but the ogre swatted him aside with terrifying ease. Another step, and its massive foot came crashing down where Evaline had been a heartbeat earlier. She rolled, shards of glass cutting into her palms, her body screaming in protest.

Her fingers closed around the hilt of her sword once more. She rose, knees shaking, and forced herself back into a stance. The crowd was still scrambling for safety. She caught sight of Miranda, shielding her children with her own body as Baileywick urged them through a side door. Cedric, pale and sweating, was already trying to muster another spell.

Evaline grit her teeth, raising the sword again. She could not falter.

But deep down, a truth gnawed at her: her physical strength alone would not bring this monster down. 

The ogre snarled, its rancid breath hot against her face as it lunged again. She barely had time to lift her blade before the impact rattled through her arms, driving her back across the floor. Each blow was a storm against a stone, and she was cracking under its fury.

A crash split the air as the beast’s fist smashed through a marble pillar. Shards rained down, scattering across the polished floor. Screams rose anew as the few nobles that remained stumbled over one another in their frantic retreat. Their silks and jewels were no protection against falling stone.

Evaline staggered, her sword slipping in her silk-gloved grip. She cast a glance toward the queen. Miranda was nearly at the exit with the children and all she had to do was buy them a few extra moments to escape.

Raising both fists as though it meant to bring the entire ballroom down upon them, the ogre let out another savage bellow. She braced, knowing she could not block that kind of blow.

“Enough!”

The shout cracked like a whip across the chaos. Cedric stumbled out from the alcove, his robes askew, his wand clutched in white-knuckled fingers. He looked terrified. Yet he stood his ground between the monster and the queen’s retreat.

The ogre turned, lips peeling back in a sharp-toothed snarl.

His knees trembled, but he lifted his wand high. “You want a fight? I’ll give you a fight, you horrid beast! Electrica vis !”

The spell that burst forth was raw and desperate. Wild arcs of crackling force slammed into the ogre’s chest with enough power to stagger it back a step. It snarled, more enraged than wounded, and swung at him with a claw big enough to tear him in half.

“Cedric!” Evaline’s throat tore with the cry. She rushed forward, dragging the last of her strength into a sprint. Her blade met the beast’s wrist with a ringing clash, just enough to knock its strike wide before it could crush the sorcerer.

The ogre reeled back, furious, its vicious gaze darting between the tiny warrior before it and the trembling sorcerer who had dared strike it.

She planted herself in front of Cedric, her chest heaving. She could feel him at her back, clutching his wand, his breath coming in shallow, panicked bursts, but still standing. Still fighting.

She was far from alone in this fight.

But even with Cedric’s courage, even with her own sword, or the king’s guardsmen, she still knew this was not a battle she could win with blade and brawn. In spite of being cut off from the Fade, she could still feel the mystical forces that powered magic here tingling at her fingers. It was raw and untamed, but that might just be what she needed.

The ogre’s shadow swallowed them whole as it lunged again, fury shaking the walls themselves. Her blade trembled in her grip, the muscles in her arms protesting, her body on the edge of collapse. She could feel Cedric’s presence behind her—stalwart and stubborn, but utterly vulnerable—and she knew in her bones that one more blow would end them both.

Enough .

The air around her seemed to shift, heavy with the pressure of a storm about to break. With a sharp clang, she dropped her sword. Both hands rose, fingers curling as if grasping fire out of the void.

She stopped resisting.

Mystic forces beyond her understanding answered like a dam bursting. Power surged through her veins, white-hot and untamed. The chandeliers overhead rattled violently, flames roared to life in a spiraling pillar. A ripple of heat scorched across the marble, cracking it beneath her feet.

The ogre faltered, its roar dying into a guttural snarl of confusion.

Evaline’s eyes burned with an otherworldly light as she thrust her palms forward. 

Like a living thing, the fire sprang forth at her command.

It wasn’t a simple flame. It was a torrent. A searing wall of molten fury that blasted into the ogre’s chest and engulfed it. The stench of scorched flesh filled the air as the creature staggered back, bellowing in agony. The force of the spell slammed it through a half-toppled pillar, showering the room in stone and embers.

The beast thrashed, but the inferno clung to it with a startling ferocity, crawling up its limbs, wrapping it in coils of blistering light. Its roars rattled the very foundations of the palace, but Evaline only pressed harder, her voice breaking with a wordless cry as she poured every ounce of herself into the spell.

Hellfire roared, consuming everything in its path.

At last, the ogre crashed to its knees, its claws gouging deep furrows in the floor as it tried to hold itself upright. With one final howl, it toppled forward, the flames swallowing its body until nothing remained but a smoldering husk.

Silence fell.

Standing in the ruins of the ballroom, breath ragged, she looked down at her ruined gown. Flames flickered in her wake, and cracks split the marble where her power had struck. Around her, a few scattered nobles cowered behind shattered tables, eyes wide with fear and awe.

Cedric clutched her arm from behind, steadying her as her knees buckled. His voice was barely a trembling whisper, but it carried in the stunned quiet.

“You saved us.”

Evaline lifted her head, eyes dimming back to their natural shade. Magic still buzzed beneath her skin, and she could almost taste it like sparks on her tongue. The fire she conjured was stronger than intended still, but all she could feel was relief that it had seemingly obeyed her.

From across the ruined hall, a firm voice broke the silence.

“Indeed she did.”

King Roland stepped forward, his crown knocked askew, his coat singed with ash. He looked not at the destruction, nor at the nobles cowering in fear, but at her. His eyes, steady and clear, held no doubt.

“Not only do I owe you my life, but all of us here owe you our undying gratitude.”

Her breath hitched. For a moment, all she could do was stand there trembling, Cedric’s hand at her arm the only thing keeping her upright. She had fought for countless strangers before, but never had she been seen like this. To him, her presence wasn’t an obligation to serve. Her actions were received with grace and thanks.

For a heartbeat, silence lingered, fragile but heavy. Then King Magnus stepped forward, brushing ash from his sleeves, and raised his voice so all could hear.

“Three cheers for the heroic Lady Evaline!”

A celebratory cry rolled through the ruined hall, shaky at first, but gaining strength as more voices joined in. Nobles emerged from behind overturned tables, guards lowered their blades, and even the musicians still huddled near the alcove, added their voices to the chorus.

Evaline stood amidst the wreckage, wide-eyed and trembling, as the cheer swelled around her. She wasn’t used to applause. She wasn’t used to celebration. Yet here she was, fire still flickering in her veins, and for once the world didn’t look at her with fear. Just gratitude.

And in that moment, though her gown was torn and the ballroom lay in ruins, Evaline felt something she hadn’t in a long, long time.

Victorious .

Chapter Text

Cedric’s hands would not stop trembling. No matter how he gripped his wand, no matter how he folded them behind his back, the fine quiver remained. He thought it must be echoing in his voice too, but Evaline didn’t seem to notice. If she did, she was kind enough not to say.

She sat across from him now, calmly, as though she hadn’t just thrown herself headlong at a monster twice the size of the ballroom doors. Candlelight caught on the cuts along her arms, thin red lines from the shattered glass that still clung to her skirts. Most were fairly superficial, but there was one that caught her bicep that was still bleeding steadily.

“You’ll want to use a steady hand,” she said evenly, almost as though she were tutoring him instead of sitting there injured. Her tone was calm, steady, maddeningly unshaken. “Magic won’t do all the work for you.”

Cedric blinked at her, mouth half-open. “I—of course I know that! I’ve performed countless spells that require the utmost precision before.”

She gave him the smallest hint of a smile. It was something reassuring, not mocking. It was the sort of smile one might give a child too frightened to admit it was past his bedtime. Somehow, it only made his pulse race faster.

How could she be so calm?

He swallowed, trying to remember the proper incantation, and raised his wand. The tip hovered an inch above her skin, the faintest shimmer of light gathering. His hand shook despite every ounce of willpower. When was the last time he’d had to use a healing spell for something more than a scraped knee?

Evaline tilted her head, watching him with that maddening calm. “It’s only a few small cuts, Cedric,” she said softly. “I’ve had worse.” Tilting her head, she indicated a faded scar on her shoulder. He could only imagine what could have left such a mark on her.

The words should have reassured him, but instead they twisted something in his chest. ‘I’ve had worse’. She said it like someone might say the tea is just a touch lukewarm. Too ordinary. Too practiced.

He let out a breath, forcing his hand to still, and murmured the spell. A soft light drew itself neatly across her bicep, pulling the edges of the wound together. He heard her inhale sharply. Just a breath, but she didn’t even so much as flinch.

“See? Nothing to it,” Evaline said, her tone as even as before. But now, this close, he could see the pallor creeping into her face. The steadiness wasn’t the absence of fear. It was a mask.

And somehow, knowing that made his own hands steady at last.

Cedric shifted slightly, angling himself to reach another cut along her forearm. The glass had sliced cleanly there, just below the wrist, and a thin line of crimson traced her pale skin. He swallowed again, his mouth suddenly dry, and steadied the tip of his wand.

Evaline extended her arm without hesitation, palm turned up. The gesture was matter-of-fact, almost casual, but Cedric found his throat tightening at the quiet trust in it.

“Hold still,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

The light of the spell gathered again, warmer this time, more sure. The gash closed neatly, though not before he saw her jaw tighten—just for an instant—at the sting.

“You don’t even flinch,” he said before he could stop himself.

Her eyes flicked toward him, unreadable, then back to the gentle glow at the end of his wand. “There’s no point,” she replied simply. “Pain comes, and then it passes. Flinching doesn’t change that.”

Cedric hesitated, his wand hovering over her skin. “You speak about it as though it’s… ordinary.”

For a moment, Evaline didn’t answer. The silence stretched, heavy and strange, until she finally breathed out a quiet laugh. The sound was low and humorless. 

“Because it is.” She turned her hand slightly, and the candlelight caught another scar at her wrist, faded but still present enough to tell its story. “You stop counting after a while.”

He stared, words tangled in his throat. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to protest, to tell her that it shouldn’t be ordinary, or to ask how much worse she’d endured. But her expression, calm and guarded, kept him silent.

He could feel his cheeks warm slightly as he leaned over her arm. For a ridiculous second he wanted to apologize for trembling, then realized how absurd that sounded. “I—” he began, then swallowed the rest of the sentence down. The truth tasted more urgent than any small apology. “I was terrified tonight.”

Evaline’s eyes lifted to meet his, and for a fraction of a heartbeat the practiced calm faltered. Not gone. Just… thinned. 

“So was I,” she said, quietly, in a voice that sounded older than the rest of her. “Everyone is, if they admit it.”

Cedric blinked. The admission should have surprised him more, but somehow it comforted him. 

“Then why—” he started, then finished with less dignity than he’d have liked. “Why pretend you’re not?”

She considered him, the candlelight throwing soft shadows across her face. “Because someone has to be the steady one,” she said after a moment. “If everyone shows their fear, people falter.” Her fingers flexed where he’d mended her arm, careful and small. “You stood firm yourself. You did not falter.”

Heat rose in his chest at the praise. It felt undeserved, but warming nonetheless. He felt the old, ridiculous urge to make a joke to deflect it, to say he’d only been standing so he could get a better view of the action, but the night had knocked the wind out of his usual defenses. 

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he admitted instead. “I—” He paused, searching for the kernel of what he really meant. “I didn’t want you to be alone in it.”

Her lips twitched into something halfway between a smile and a grimace. “Company is a rare thing,” she said. “A good thing.” The words were small, almost private, and they made his chest expand in a way he hadn’t expected.

They sat in the hush after that. The castle beyond the tower window distant and muted, the echo of splintered glass and shouted orders already losing its sharpness. Cedric found himself watching the play of light along her scars, thinking how each one held a story he had not been meant to hear. 

“Do you ever regret it?” he asked, sooner than he intended. “All of the… The choosing to keep going?”

She looked at him then, properly looked, and the shadows in her eyes deepened in a way that made him uncomfortable and oddly honored. “Sometimes,” she said simply. “But regret is easy. The hard part is the next step. The next breath.” She turned her wrist so he could see the faded line near her palm. “You learn to take them anyway.”

He nodded, because there was nothing clever to say to that. Instead he finished the last of the small mending. A final, practiced pull of light left her skin whole. When he lowered his wand, her hand was still resting in his, soft and steady.

“Thank you,” she said finally, quietly enough that he felt it more than heard it. He could sense it wasn’t for the healing magic, but for the being-there. It settled around him like a heavy blanket he hadn’t known he needed.

The words lingered between them, heavier than the silence. Cedric studied her hand in his, the faint warmth of her skin grounding him more than any incantation ever had. 

‘Company is a rare thing.’

The thought slipped out before he could stop it. “Did you… leave anyone behind? In your world, I mean.”

For the first time since he’d begun tending her cuts, Evaline’s composure cracked. Her gaze drifted from him to the candle beside them, as though the flame might burn away the weight of the question. “Yes,” she said at last, so softly.” And—and no.”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line, as though she regretted even saying that much.

Cedric waited, wand lowering to the table beside them, but no further explanation came. The silence stretched until it threatened to snap.

“Yes and no?” he echoed gently. “That sounds… complicated.”

A flicker of a smile ghosted across her lips, brittle and fleeting. “You could say that.”

He wanted to ask more. Who? Why? How could it be both? The look in her eyes almost warned him off. They weren’t the eyes of someone unwilling to speak. They were the eyes of someone carrying so much that words would never do justice.

Yet, in spite of his better judgement, he found himself pressing.

“What’s his name?” he blurted the question, immediately shutting his mouth into a sheepish— no— guilty expression. It wasn’t his place to ask, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Evaline’s gaze snapped back to him, sharp enough that for a heartbeat he wished he could sink into the floorboards. But then it softened.Her fingers shifted in his hand, not pulling away, but curling faintly inward as though to hold on to something invisible.

“His name?” she echoed, her tone faintly amused. “There are many names. Fellow wardens, people I served with against the Fifth Blight… friends. Much of that was already far behind me before I came here though.”

He blinked, caught off guard. He had expected.. Well, he wasn’t sure what he had expected. A single name, perhaps. A tragic confession. Something tidy he could wrap his head around. But her answer was layered, tangled, and spoken with the kind of calm that made him realize just how many ghosts she must carry.

“That sounds…” He hesitated, fumbling for the right word. “Lonely.”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But company has a way of finding you in the strangest places.” Her gaze flicked down to their joined hands, still resting quietly together between them.

He felt his ears burn, but he didn’t look away. “I… I should ask,” he began hesitantly. “About earlier. The creature that attacked the ballroom… what was it?”

Evaline’s gaze flicked toward the window, to the moonlight spilling over the floor. She didn’t flinch, didn’t shiver, but the faint tightness at the corner of her eyes betrayed her memory of it.

“A darkspawn,” she said finally, voice quiet but precise. “An ogre.”

“A… what?” he asked, brow furrowing. The question sounded foolish even as it left his lips. He had seen the creature with his own eyes. It was towering, monstrous, all teeth and horns, but he had no name for it.

“A darkspawn,” Evaline repeated, her tone patient, far from the condescension he was used to. “They are… creatures from my world that carry blight. This, specifically, was an ogre.”

He swallowed hard, staring at her as though he might glean more by reading her expression than by asking questions. “Darkspawn…” He shook his head, trying to reconcile the word with the massive figure he’d seen fall in flames. His stomach twisted, not in fear, but in awe. 

The creature was terrifying beyond all imagination, and she had faced it without hesitation. And he had been there, watching as her power and resolve turned the horrid beast into nothing more than ash and fragments of bone.

“I’d never seen anything like it.” he murmured, the words barely audible.

Evaline’s hand squeezed his gently, a subtle anchor in his quiet workshop there in the tower. “Few have,” she said softly. “ But you stood your ground nevertheless. That was incredibly courageous of you.”

Now that wasn’t something anyone had accused him of before— being courageous.

Cedric felt warmth rise to his cheeks at her words, a strange pride twisting with the lingering terror of what he’d witnessed. “But I was just… frightened. So frightened. And yet… I stayed.”

Evaline’s gaze softened further, the faintest curve to her lips. “That is courage,” she said simply. 

He swallowed, letting the words settle like sunlight over chilled stone. The fear of the night, the chaos of the ballroom, the monstrous darkspawn… All of it shrank under the quiet weight of her presence. Looking down at their joined hands, then up at her face, he felt the world outside the tower fade completely into quiet insignificance. 

“I… I think I understand,” he said softly. 

With a gentle smile of his own, he let the warmth of her hand continue to anchor him. In that quiet, lingering moment, he realized that tonight—terrifying as it had been—he had found something steadier than fear. Something worth holding onto.

Chapter Text

The castle had not quite returned to normal.

Even two days after the ball, the halls still carried the hush of unease. Servants murmured as they crossed the marble floors, and guards stood straighter at their posts, spears clutched as though another beast might come tearing through the ballroom doors at any moment. Where there was usually laughter or song drifting through the corridors, there was only the faint echo of hurried footsteps.

Evaline felt every watchful glance like a weight between her shoulder blades. She could hardly blame them. She had brought her sword into their world, and with it came a monster that no fairy tale banquet had ever prepared them for. When she walked past, people bowed politely, but their eyes lingered too long, as though searching her face for some sign of the danger she carried with her.

She had lived among strangers before. There were always wary eyes, cautious trust, whispers behind her back. But here in Enchancia, the mistrust seemed sharper. These people had not chosen her. They had not needed her until the night the ogre crashed through their walls. Now it seemed that they looked at her as both savior and curse.

Baileywick passed her in the corridor with a stiff nod, carrying a scroll that looked very much like a security report. Queen Miranda and King Roland were closeted away with the royal guard most hours of the day. Even Cedric seemed jumpier than usual, scurrying between his workshop and the dining hall with his robes swishing nervously at his heels.

Evaline slowed her steps by a tall window, watching the gardens below. The world outside looked unchanged, as though nothing terrible had happened at all. James and Amber laughed by the fountains. The sun shone over the orchard. Yet inside these walls, the silence pressed close.

And beneath it all, guilt gnawed at her ribs like a restless, caged animal.

“Miss Evaline?”

The small voice drew her from the window. She turned to see Sofia standing a little way down the corridor, hands clasped in front of her as though she weren’t sure if she was welcome. Her amulet glimmered faintly at her collar, catching the sunlight.

Evaline straightened, the habit of a warrior kicking in, though she softened her voice. “Sofia. Shouldn’t you be with your brother and sister?”

“They’re playing tag in the gardens.” Sofia hesitated, then took a few careful steps closer. “I thought you might like some company.”

The words struck something deep, though Evaline tried not to let it show. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your games.”

Sofia shook her head. “You looked lonely.” She said it so simply, so honestly, that Evaline felt the walls she’d been holding up begin to quake.

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Sofia tilted her head, studying her with clear, curious eyes. “Everyone’s been whispering since the ball,” she admitted. “About you. About the ogre. But… I know what I saw. You protected us. You protected me.”

Swallowing hard, Evaline looked back toward the gardens. James and Amber’s laughter floated faintly on the breeze through the glass. “And yet I can’t help but wonder if it was my presence that drew the monster here in the first place.”

“But it would’ve hurt people if you weren’t here,” Sofia countered gently. “You made sure it didn’t. That matters more.”

The child’s certainty was disarming. Evaline found herself exhaling, tension she hadn’t realized she carried shedding from her shoulders.

“Maybe,” she said at last.

Sofia’s smile was small but steady. She reached out, slipping her hand into Evaline’s without hesitation. “Come outside with me? It’s really a nice day out. And you don’t have to feel alone there.”

Evaline stared down at their joined hands. Sofia’s hand was small, warm, and impossibly trusting against her calloused palm. For the first time since the attack, that incessant gnawing inside her ribs eased just a fraction.

The air in the gardens was lighter than the hush of the castle halls. Birds darted between the branches of the orchard trees, their songs threading through the warm afternoon breeze. James and Amber had moved farther off toward the fountains, their laughter carrying faintly, but Sofia led Evaline along the cobbled path toward a patch of sun-dappled lawn.

When they reached the garden, there was a rabbit nibbling intently at the edge of a flowerbed. He lifted his head when they approached, nose twitching as though suspicious of this new intruder in his territory. Evaline almost snorted at the look. It was laden with more judgment than was welcome from a rabbit.

Sofia crouched to gather him into her arms, smoothing her hand down the soft fur between his ears. “This is Clover,” she said, as though the name might mean something more than it did. “He likes making friends.”

Evaline tilted her head at the way the animal squirmed against Sofia’s hold, ears flicking. “I’m not convinced,” she said with a dry chuckle.

Unbothered, Sofia simply smiled and set the rabbit down. Clover bounded back toward the flowers, though not without glancing back once at Evaline, nose twitching furiously.

They walked farther into the garden, passing under an arch of ivy where roses climbed in neat spirals. The scent of them was stronger here, mingling with the sweetness of fresh grass and orchard fruit. It was a far cry from the damp earth of Ferelden, or even the grand but drafty halls of Redcliffe Castle. Everything in Enchancia seemed touched by careful hands and steady peace, things Evaline wasn’t sure she would ever be part of.

“You haven’t been smiling much recently,” Sofia observed after a while.

Evaline blinked, glancing down at her. “I suppose I have been a little dour as of late, haven’t I?”

“But you did smile a little, just now.”

The girl’s eyes shone with quiet certainty, as though catching her in a secret. Evaline huffed through her nose, not quite a laugh, and looked away. The truth was, the smallest things here—the sunshine, the gardens, even a seemingly judgemental little rabbit—pulled at her in ways she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t sure if it made her feel comforted, or more painfully out of place.

They reached the lawn, where the grass rolled down toward a low stone wall. Beyond it, the land dipped into gentle hills, dotted with wildflowers. Evaline found herself resting her hand against the wall, leaning her weight into it, as if anchoring herself.

“Do you miss it?” Sofia asked suddenly.

Evaline turned her head. “Miss what?”

“Where you’re from. Your real home.”

The question sank into her like a stone into water, quick and deep. She thought of Ferelden’s endless muddy fields, the smell of campfires and leather oil, the constant weight of duty pressing at the edges of every step. She thought of the faces—those lost to the Blight, those she had left behind.

“Every day,” Evaline admitted softly.

Sofia’s expression softened, but she didn’t look away. “Then… maybe you can tell me about it? What do you miss most?”

Evaline hesitated. Few ever asked her to speak of Ferelden without pity or politics behind the question. But Sofia asked it so simply, without pretense.

“I miss the people more than the place,” Evaline said after a pause. “The land was hard, the winters cruel. But there was warmth in it too, in the way strangers became kin when the fires burned low. I had a… sister of sorts. Not by blood, but by bond. We fought together, survived together. I don’t think I would have lived without her.”

Sofia’s eyes widened, full of childlike wonder. “What was she like?”

Lips twitching into the ghost of a smile, Evaline thought back to her early days outside of the Circle. “Sharp-tongued. Fierce. She carried herself like the world was a puzzle she’d already solved. But underneath all that… she understood. She saw me, when I was nothing but another warrior in the mud.” Her hand clenched faintly against the stone wall. “Her name was Morrigan.”

The breeze shifted then, cooler than before. It whispered across the roses, sending petals scattering over the grass like spilled rubies. A ripple of unease ran through Evaline, prickling her nape in a way no summer wind ever had.

Sofia, oblivious, leaned closer. “You should find her again someday. If she’s as important to you as Clover, or James and Amber are to me, maybe she misses you too.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but the garden itself seemed to stir. Shadows lengthened, ivy curled tighter around the arch they had passed beneath. A voice, rich and unmistakably familiar, cut through the hush.

“Perhaps she does.”

Evaline froze, her heart stuttering in her chest.

When she turned, Morrigan was standing just beyond the roses, a seeming specter from her past, eyes gleaming like molten gold.

The Witch of the Wilds smiled faintly. “It has been a long time indeed, has it not, my friend?” Her voice, low and velvety, threaded through the garden like smoke.

“Maker’s breath… Morrigan,” Evaline breathed, still staring. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts tangled between relief and disbelief. Ten years had passed, and yet Morrigan stood as though not a day had touched her.

Morrigan’s gaze flicked over Evaline, assessing, weighing. “So it is true. The once fabled Hero of Ferelden wanders yet. I half thought the Blight or the Wardens’ cursed Calling had claimed you long ago. You disappeared into the wind much as I had.”

Evaline’s breath hitched, caught between laughter and tears. “It’s been so long since I saw you last. I nearly thought I’d imagined you.”

Morrigan’s smile deepened, gentler now, carrying the weight of years. “A poor imagination, if I was all it could conjure. No, I am very real, and very glad to see you alive.”

The words loosened something in Evaline’s chest, a knot she hadn’t realized she carried. She stepped forward, the distance between them closing as if it had never been there at all as she gathered Morrigan's hands in hers. “I’ve missed you,” she said simply.

“As I you,” Morrigan returned, her tone softer than the garden air, though her gaze remained steady and unflinching. “I did not often admit it, but you may recall you were as a sister to me once. That truth has not faded with the years.”

Some part of her had almost expected barbs, riddles, the proud tilt of Morrigan’s chin. She had not expected such warmth. Not like this. It was enough to make a lump rise in her throat as she fought back tears of relief.

Beside them, Sofia’s small voice piped up, hesitant but bright with wonder. “Did you come through the mirror? Like Evaline did?”

Morrigan’s golden eyes slid toward her, sharp but not unkind. For a heartbeat, Evaline worried the girl might be met with one of Morrigan’s biting retorts. Instead, the witch inclined her head ever so slightly. “Indeed, child. The eluvian opened its paths for me as it once did for your guest. They are fickle doors, but they answer to those who know how to ask.”

Sofia’s eyes widened, fascination eclipsing any hint of fear. “Then… you came here on purpose?”

At that, Morrigan’s gaze returned to Evaline, the warmth of reunion giving way to something heavier. “I did.”

Tightening her hold on Morrigan’s hands, searching her face, Evaline felt her stomach give an uneasy twist. “Why?” Her voice dropped, almost a whisper. “Does this have to do with that rift? The one I saw before I left Ferelden?”

The faintest shadow crossed Morrigan’s features as her expression shifted. “You saw it, then.”

The memory of that green wound in the sky, burning against the horizon, clawed at Evaline’s chest. “I did. What is it? Have you any idea?”

“‘Tis a terrible omen,” Morrigan said softly, though her words cut like a blade. “Something tore a hole in the very fabric of the Veil and the Fade threatens to spill through. It could be the end of days as we know it.”

The garden seemed to still around them. Even the birdsong faltered.

Evaline felt Sofia’s hand brush against her sleeve, small and seeking reassurance. She placed a hand in Sofia’s, anchoring both of them as her thoughts raced.

After so many years apart, Evaline had dreamed their reunion would be simple joy. Instead, Morrigan’s presence carried the weight of the world they’d both left behind. It pressed down on her shoulders, reminding her that no matter how far she had come, Thedas would always need her.

Morrigan’s gaze lingered on her, steady and unflinching. “I did not come to burden you with shadows, yet the truth cannot be softened. Thedas stands upon the edge of ruin once more. The Wardens are scattered, the Chantry flounders, and few remain who remember what it is to fight for the whole of our world.”

Grip tightening on both Sofia and Morrigan, Evaline held onto their hands as if she might hold the two worlds together with her hands alone. “And so you came for me.”

“Who else?” Morrigan’s voice was low, weighted with something perilously close to reverence. “You who faced Urthemiel and lived. You who carried the Banner of the Grey Wardens when all others would have let it fall. You are the one who must return.”

Her chest ached, torn between the life she had stumbled into here and the endless call of the world she had bled for.

Sofia tilted her head, her voice small but certain. “Then… it sounds like they need you.”

Evaline looked down at her, struck by the clarity in the girl’s eyes. In Sofia’s simple truth, she heard echoes of campfires past, of comrades who had once trusted her to stand and keep standing when no one else could.

“Maker help me,” she murmured.

Morrigan’s fingers squeezed hers, that rare gentleness almost foreign upon her hand. But Evaline’s mind was already racing past the rift in the sky, back to the night of the ball, to the thing that had shattered Enchancia’s peace.

Her grip tightened on Morrigan’s hands. “If Thedas is in peril, then so too might this place be. That darkspawn, the ogre, it should never have been here. Had you known of its presence too?”

Morrigan’s golden eyes darkened, their glow catching faintly in the garden shadows. “I had wondered… I fear that beast’s presence here was no mere accident. It was called.”

The castle walls suddenly seemed thinner than paper. Evaline glanced down at Sofia, who held fast to her sleeve, her young face pale but steady. It made her heart ache in a way she hadn’t felt in some time.

“Then we must speak to the King and Queen,” Evaline said, her voice steadier than she felt. “They deserve to know what they are up against.”

“Agreed,” Morrigan murmured. “But tread carefully. People cling to their sense of safety. Shatter it, and they may not thank you for the truth.”

Evaline drew a breath, casting her eyes toward the looming towers of the castle. She could already imagine the uneasy stares, the whispers following her steps. Soon, the hush in those halls would break into open fear.

And beneath it all, the question gnawed like a wound that would not close: Who, or what, had opened the door for the ogre to cross into this world?

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun fell warm across the parlor, painting the walls in soft gold. China cups clinked delicately as servants passed between Queen Miranda and King Roland, refilling their tea. A plate of small frosted cakes sat between them, untouched. In spite of all that had happened recently, both King and Queen possessed an air of calm, as if all was right in the world.

Cedric, however, could not have looked less at ease. He perched on the very edge of his chair, thumbing with the rim of his saucer and gently clearing his throat every few moments as if testing the sound. His eyes darted from the king to the queen, then down into his teacup.

“Your Majesties,” he began haltingly, “about the… the events at the ball…”

Roland set his teacup down with a deliberate clink, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin before giving Cedric a weary look. Dark circles clung beneath the king’s eyes, betraying the sleep he had lost since the ogre attack. “Yes, Cedric,” he said, tone measured but heavy. “It has been on my mind as well.”

For a moment Cedric’s heart leapt. It was an opening, perhaps, a chance to finally prove he was more than the bumbling court sorcerer no one trusted. He leaned forward, teacup rattling against its saucer. 

“Precisely, sire! I’ve been giving the matter great thought myself, and I believe I could… Well, I might discover how such a creature found its way into the castle, if I only had—”

Roland raised a hand with a definite finality. “Your concern is noted. But this is not a puzzle solved by parlor tricks. This was a monster we’ve never seen the likes of, Cedric, and I cannot gamble the safety of my family, or my kingdom, on guesswork.”

Heat crawled up the back of Cedric’s neck. He ducked his head quickly toward his teacup, wishing he could shrink into it. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he murmured, though his hands continued to fidget.

Miranda’s voice, gentle as always, cut through the silence. “We are grateful for your vigilance, Cedric. I know you only wish to protect us.”

Her kindness should have soothed him, but Cedric only felt smaller under it. He wanted to prove himself. The Kingdom he so coveted was in danger, and he wanted to be the one that protected it. No one could scoff at him then.

He opened his mouth to try again, to insist he could be useful, but stopped short when the parlor doors creaked open. Freezing mid-breath, he half-expected Baileywick or another servant. Instead, three figures entered, two familiar and one not so much.

First came Sofia, her step hesitant yet steady, her hands folded primly before her. At her side was Evaline. She moved with a calm, measured grace that seemed to fill the room effortlessly. Her gaze was quiet but penetrating, and her very presence made Cedric’s pulse quicken. He could barely tear his eyes from her. 

The way she carried herself astounded him. She seemed so composed even in a court unfamiliar to her, yet somehow approachable, like someone he might dare hope to know better. Merlin’s beard, he really hoped he would get to know her better…

The third figure was a woman Cedric did not recognize. She moved with the same confidence as Evaline, yet sharper, like the cut of a hidden dagger beneath silk. Her clothing seemed utterly at odds with the modest dress he was accustomed to here in Enchancia. Her tight trousers and a shirt– that could hardly be called a shirt– showed off her slim figure in a way that he wasn’t prepared for.

A faint glint of bronze jewelry caught the sunlight as she shifted, drawing Cedric’s gaze before he could stop it. Every detail marked her as someone both foreign and fearless. The very thought of speaking in her presence made his cheeks burn.

Her golden eyes swept the room as though it were hers already, briefly alighting on Roland and Miranda before flicking past Cedric as if he were little more than another piece of furniture. A shiver ran down his spine, equal parts awe and intimidation.

Roland rose to his feet, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. “Sofia,” he said, his voice taut with both relief and concern. “Is everything alright? Who is this?”

Sofia clasped her hands tighter, glancing up at Evaline and then the stranger before looking back at her parents. “Mom… Dad… there’s something we need to explain. About the monster that attacked the castle.”

Miranda’s brow creased, her cup resting forgotten on its saucer. “The ogre?”

“Yes,” Evaline said, her tone steady. “I’ve told you a little about its origins, but I haven’t delved into all that it is. It is part of something far larger, and far deadlier, than what you faced that night.”

Cedric felt his throat dry, words lodging there like thorns. He had been trying all afternoon to speak, to warn them, to be important. And now here was Evaline, claiming the floor with the same calm certainty that had already dazzled the court. And the other woman, Cedric had no doubt she would only make him feel smaller still.

The stranger finally spoke, her voice low and commanding, with a faint edge of disdain. “If you would see your kingdom endure, you will listen. As Evaline explained, the darkness you glimpsed at your ball is but a shadow of what waits beyond.”

Swallowing hard, he found himself wishing his throat would clear itself. The parlor seemed suddenly smaller. Every glint of sunlight off Morrigan’s jewelry, every shift of Evaline’s posture, pulled at his attention like magnets. He fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve, wishing he could vanish or at least shrink to something less noticeable.

Roland’s eyes narrowed slightly, gaze flicking between Evaline and the stranger. “You seem to know quite a bit about the forces outside our kingdom,” he said, voice taut with both authority and worry. “Though I find myself at a loss. I don’t know your name, or your purpose here. Who are you? Are you a friend of Evaline’s?”

The woman tilted her head just slightly, letting a faint smirk curl like smoke at the corner of her lips. 

“I am Morrigan,” she said, smooth and deliberate. “Witch of the Wilds, and Advisor to Orlais. I have traveled far, and I have seen more than most can imagine. At that, I fought alongside dear Evaline many years ago when our world was threatened by dark forces.”

Cedric’s pulse quickened. Her name and titles alone seemed to carry significant weight. Yet it was the confidence in her voice, and the way she carried herself, that made him simultaneously admire and fear her. He could feel his cheeks warming even more, and he busied himself with his teacup to hide it, though the movement did little to calm him.

Evaline stepped slightly forward, her hand brushing subtly against Morrigan’s arm. It wasn’t a gesture of subservience, but a quiet signal that this woman, as strange and imposing as she was, had her trust. 

“Your majesties,” she said softly, but with an authority that drew attention, “Morrigan is one of my dearest friends, and I trust her implicitly. This is not just about the ogre. It is about a threat that just may span between our worlds. We must take it seriously.”

Miranda’s fingers tightened around her cup, though she did not raise it. “Spanning between worlds?” she echoed, her voice measured, though Cedric thought he caught a flicker of unease beneath.

“Indeed. In my world—Thedas—there is a wound in the Veil.” Morrigan’s hawk-like eyes glinted as she inclined her head. “It is a great rift in the sky. Through it spill horrors not meant to walk the waking lands. Demons claw free of the Fade, eager to claim flesh as their own.”

“The Veil? The Fade? I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Roland echoed, brow furrowing.

“Think of it as… a barrier.” Evaline’s voice was much gentler as she picked up the thread.  “On one side, the world of dreams and spirits. On the other, the waking world. That barrier has torn, and what belonged on one side is flooding into the other.”

Sofia’s eyes widened. “And that’s where demons come from?”

“Just so,” Morrigan purred. “And should the rift widen further, they will not stop at Thedas. Cracks in such a barrier have a way of reaching farther than one might expect. After all…” Her gaze swept the chamber, lingering on the remembered shadow of the ogre. “How else do you imagine a darkspawn found its way into your kingdom?”

The implication landed heavy. Cedric’s knuckles whitened around his cup. He had thought the beast a fluke, a nightmare conjured and defeated. But to hear it might be the first of many, made his stomach turn.

Queen Miranda finally set her cup aside, her hands folding neatly in her lap. “If what you say is true, then Evaline’s presence here seems less like an accident.”

Evaline’s eyes lowered for the briefest moment before she raised them again, steady and sure. “The Wardens—my order—have begun to falter. We are hearing something called the Calling. It is a song that should not come for us until the end of our years. I left Ferelden in search of a cure for our plight but I landed here by a twist of fate.” She let the thought hang, but Cedric felt the weight of it all the same.

“This ‘Calling’ you speak of… what does it mean for you, Evaline?” Miranda asked as her brows drew together.

This time, Evaline faltered. Her gaze dipped, the weight of unspoken truth pressing at the corners of her eyes. “That is not important now,” she said at last, tone measured, almost too even. “What matters is that my people are unraveling when they are needed most.”

“Indeed,” Morrigan interjected smoothly, seizing the pause. “And while the Wardens splinter, chaos spreads. That is why Evaline cannot linger here, no matter how pleasant the company. Thedas requires her strength. And, I suspect, so might Enchancia, should the breach grow bold enough to reach farther still.”

Roland exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming once against the arm of his chair. “So you are asking us to believe that my kingdom may be swept into a war from another world.”

“I am not asking, Your Majesty. I have come to warn. Whether you heed my warning is entirely up to you.” Morrigan said coolly, eyes gleaming.

The words left the parlor hushed, the air thick with a dread that not even the sunlight could dispel.

Sofia stepped forward, her hands clasped at her waist. Her voice, though quieter than Morrigan’s, carried a steadiness that turned both her parents’ eyes to her. “But Evaline has already helped us once. Without her, the ogre would have destroyed everything that night. If she says this threat is real, then we should listen. Maybe… maybe helping her find answers for her world will protect ours too.”

Evaline’s expression softened as she looked down at Sofia, warmth flickering across features that had been all steel moments before. “You’re wiser than many seasoned Wardens, my dear.”

Miranda reached for her daughter’s hand, worry in her eyes even as she seemed steadied by Sofia’s conviction. Roland, however, still looked deeply troubled, his gaze fixed on Evaline as though weighing whether to trust the fate of his kingdom to someone who had only just entered it.

Roland’s stern expression wavered as he looked between Sofia and Evaline. At last, his shoulders eased, the tension in his jaw softening. “My daughter has a way of cutting through to the truth. If standing with you, Evaline, means protecting both our worlds… then you have my support.”

Cedric could feel his heart plummet into the pit of his stomach even as relief lit Sofia’s face. He clutched the edge of his sleeves, voice cracking before he steadied it. “S-so that’s it then? You’re… leaving?”

Evaline turned toward him, surprise flickering in her eyes.

Before he could think better of it, Cedric stood abruptly, hands wringing together. “You can’t just vanish back to your world and leave us behind. Not after everything. If you’re going—” his throat tightened, but he pressed on, “—then I’ll go too.”

The room stilled at his words. Even Morrigan’s brow arched, a glimmer of amusement tugging at her lips.

“You?” she drawled, golden eyes sweeping over him as though measuring a child who had just proclaimed himself a warrior. “What possible use would you be in Thedas, court magician?”

Cedric flushed crimson but straightened, clutching at his wand as though it might anchor him. 

“I may not be… formidable,” he stammered, “but I am a sorcerer. I know spells, enchantments, protections! And I know Evaline—” his voice cracked, then steadied, softer but more earnest—“she shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Evaline shook her head, but her gaze was soft as she turned it to him. “Cedric… the road I walk is dark, dangerous, and without comfort. I would hate to see you hurt.”

“Well now,” Morrigan purred, eyes glinting with amusement as her lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “It seems your sorcerer is braver than I gave him credit for. Perhaps there is more to him than a few parlor tricks and timid incantations.”

Blinking, Cedric felt the heat in his cheeks climbing even higher. 

“I… I mean, I can help,” he insisted, voice stronger now, though still trembling at the edge. “I might not have your skill, or your experience, but I can learn! I will learn. And I won’t let her—” he caught himself, swallowing hard, “—I won’t let her face this alone.”

A mixture of exasperation and admiration crossed Evaline’s features. 

“Cedric,” she said gently, “your courage is… remarkable, but the path ahead isn’t a matter of bravery alone.”

“Perhaps not,” Morrigan interjected, leaning back against the wall with an air of nonchalance, “but courage is a rare and necessary thing. If he insists, it might serve our cause far better than his own self-doubt would suggest. Let him try. Let him prove himself.”

A spark of hope bloomed in his chest, his heart pounding wildly in it. He straightened fully, wand gripped tight in his hands. “Then I’ll go. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll learn, I’ll fight… I won’t be a burden.”

Evaline studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Very well, Cedric. But please, I ask you to understand that the dangers you will face are not trifles. The foes we face do not yield to hesitation.”

“I understand,” Cedric said, voice steady now, though his stomach fluttered with equal parts fear and excitement. “I won’t let you down.”

Morrigan’s smirk widened just slightly, and she inclined her head toward him, almost conspiratorially. “Good. I like to see determination where others would see only weakness. Let us hope it is enough.”

Shoulders sagging slightly, the tension in Cedric’s chest eased as Morrigan’s sly approval and Evaline’s tentative nod gave him the smallest thread of confidence. For the first time all afternoon, he felt like he might actually matter, like he could step into a role beyond timid court magician.

Straightening, Evaline’s calm authority filled the room once more. “Then we have little time to lose. If the rift continues to widen, waiting will only make matters worse. We must all prepare.”

Gaze sweeping over the parlor, Morrigan’s eyes landed briefly on Roland and Miranda with a flicker of warning. “If Thedas and Enchancia are to survive, we will need every ounce of wit, courage, and… determination available.”

The afternoon sunlight, warm and golden, caught on the edges of Morrigan’s jewelry and the crown atop Miranda’s head alike, casting long shadows across the room. Outside, the world continued in blissful ignorance of the coming storm. Inside, alliances were quietly forming, and the first tentative threads of a dangerous, necessary journey were being woven.

Cedric clutched his wand a little tighter, chin raised despite the rapid beating of his heart. Whatever lay ahead, he would not falter. Not now, not when Evaline had put her trust in him. He was ready to step into whatever dangers awaited.

Chapter Text

The workshop had never felt so crowded. Cedric’s scrolls and potion bottles had been swept aside to make room for the small crowd gathered before the looming mirror. The eluvian’s glassy surface shimmered with pale light. It seemed out of place here, ancient and forbidding among piles of dusty tomes and crooked shelves.

The Royal Family stood tightly knit before it. Queen Miranda’s hands were folded tightly in front of her, and King Roland’s posture was stiff with effort, as though formality might keep his emotions in check. Amber lingered near her mother, eyes shining with a mixture of worry and fascination, while James shuffled restlessly by the window. Sofia stood nearest to Cedric, her expression earnest in the way only she could manage.

Adjusting the strap of her pack and shifting uncomfortably, Evaline fought to keep her emotions at bay. She had faced darkspawn, ogres, and demons, but the weight of these goodbyes made her throat tighten.

“It feels strange,” Miranda said softly, her voice carrying a tremor. “You’ve only been here a short time, Evaline, and yet it seems as though you’ve always belonged.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Cedric, and the queen smiled faintly. “Promise me you’ll look after him?”

Evaline bowed her head with grave sincerity. “I swear it. He’ll not face what lies beyond that mirror alone.”

Cedric flushed at the words, adjusting his collar as if it had grown uncomfortably tight. “Well, yes, quite. I don’t see why everyone thinks I’ll be tripping over myself the moment we step through—”

Roland cut in with a firm nod. “Good man, Cedric. Make us proud.” The king’s words were meant as encouragement, but they carried the same note Evaline had begun to notice. It seemed as if Cedric’s survival was an afterthought, while she would be the true loss.

Amber stepped forward next, her usual composure wavered by something tender. “I’ll miss you,” she admitted, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she looked up at Evaline. Then, after a beat, she added with a quick glance at Cedric, “Both of you.”

“Don’t worry! We’ll hold down the castle while you’re gone,” James declared loudly with a grin that faltered under Miranda’s look.

Then, Sofia approached without hesitation. She threw her arms around Cedric first, hugging him tightly. “You can do this,” she whispered, pulling back to meet his startled eyes. “I believe in you.”

Cedric blinked at her, throat working as though words had been stolen from him. “Th-thank you, Princess,” he managed at last, voice softer than usual.

Sofia turned to Evaline next, her small arms wrapping warmly against the Warden’s armored waist. “Bring him back safe. Both of you, come back.”

Evaline returned the embrace, her stoic expression wavering. “I promise, we’ll both return safely.”

Behind them, Morrigan shifted impatiently, her arms folded and her eyes glittering. “Charming though these farewells may be, the eluvian will not wait forever.”

As if prompted, the eluvian’s glow deepened, silver ripples dancing across its surface like water disturbed by unseen hands. Cedric’s hands trembled at his sides, but he straightened and looked once more at his family, standing a little taller beneath Sofia’s faith.

“Right, then,” he said, and his voice did not crack this time. “Shall we?”

The moment they stepped into the Eluvian, the warmth of Enchancia fell away.

Cedric stumbled forward, his arms flailing for balance. The ground beneath him wasn’t exactly as he expected. It was a vast stone platform suspended in a sky without horizon. Above and below stretched an endless expanse of pale clouds, their slow churning threaded with streaks of ghostly light. Other islands drifted in the distance. Each of them were monumental slabs of rock and ruin, crowned with  forests and the crumbling remains of an ancient empire.

“The Fade…” Evaline’s voice was hushed, reverent despite herself. She had felt its touch many times, and had passed through the crossroads once before, but this was nothing like the dreamer’s haze she could barely recall. This place was sharp, steady, though the air still hummed with that familiar thrum of unreality.

Cedric turned in place, gawking at the strange but majestic scene around them. He had seen his share of wonders in Enchancia, but he hadn’t seen anything quite like this before. With a soft snort, Morrigan strode forward without hesitation. 

“These paths were carved by ancient hands, long before humankind thought to question such things,” she said, her voice carrying easily in the vastness. “The Eluvians rest here in their slumber, bridges between worlds. Stray too far, and you will find no return.”

Hugging his arms to his chest, Cedric swallowed hard. “Yes, well, no straying, then. Perfectly fine here, on the very solid, very not-collapsing stone island.”

Evaline barely heard him. Something stirred deep within her. It was almost impossible to ignore the insistent pull, like the Fade itself, was drawing her forward. She fixed her gaze on a nearby Eluvian, its surface rippling with faint green light. Mossy stone framed it, roots curling around the arch as though the forest beyond still clung to it in memory.

Morrigan followed her gaze, and a sharp smile touched her lips. “Ah. That one calls to you. Then it is settled.”

She lifted a hand toward it, and the mirror shimmered more brightly, its glow spreading like ripples in water.

“Well, nothing ominous about that. Not ominous at all.” Cedric said with a thin laugh.

“Brace yourself, little magician,” Morrigan said smoothly, stepping through without a backward glance. “As we warned before: the world beyond will not be as forgiving as the one you left behind.”

Evaline’s pulse quickened. Home was waiting, in all its ruin and beauty. She drew a steadying breath, then followed. Cedric lingered only a heartbeat more before the light swallowed him whole.

Stumbling as her boots struck damp earth, the sudden heaviness of Thedas pressed against Evaline's skin. The air was sharp and cool, rich with the smell of moss, loam, and old stone. Birds shrieked overhead as if startled by their arrival.

Cedric hit the ground a moment later with a graceless thud. He scrambled upright, brushing dirt from his robes. “I—I’m intact! Am I intact? Yes, I think so.” Then he froze, wide-eyed, staring at the ruined shrine that framed the Eluvian behind them. Ancient elven stone, weathered by centuries, rose around them, tangled with ivy and tree roots that seemed determined to reclaim it.

Morrigan stepped lightly from the mirror as though nothing had shifted at all. She lifted her chin, breathing deep. “The Emerald Graves,” she murmured. “How fitting.”

Evaline could feel the hair at the back of her neck prickle. The forest stretched endlessly around them, shafts of pale light spilling between towering trees. For a moment, she could only hear the deep singing of something ancient and terrible in her veins once more. It was all she could seem to focus on until the ground trembled.

A roar split the air, so loud it rattled the stones of the ruin. Whatever birds that remained erupted from the canopy above in black silhouettes, scattering across the sky.

“What in the blazes was that?” Cedric wheezed, clapping his hands over his ears.

Instincts flaring to life, Evaline’s hand flicked to the hilt of her sword. “Dragon.”

Another bellow shook the treetops, followed by the clash of steel and the thunder of magic. Shouts echoed faintly from beyond the ruins. Orders were being barked, the cries of warriors pitted against something vast mingling with them.

“Ah. It seems we arrive just in time,” Morrigan remarked with something close to cheer.

The forest trembled. A crash resounded, branches splitting as something enormous shifted in the distance.

Evaline set her jaw. She had left Thedas once. She had fought its horrors before. Now it was calling her back into the fray. She drew her enchanted blade just as another roar split the air and the beast came into view.

Through the tangle of trees, vast wings beat against the sky, scattering leaves like sparks. A Greater Mistral slammed into a clearing not far from the ruin, claws gouging deep furrows into the soil as shards of ice blasted from its maw. Frost spread in every direction as it bellowed, the ground freezing beneath its talons.

Breath catching in her throat, Evaline nearly faltered. She had faced dragons before, but time had not dulled the awe—or the fear.

Cedric staggered back until his shoulders hit the Eluvian’s glassy pane. “That—that isn’t a dragon. That’s a nightmare wearing scales!”

But it seemed they weren’t the only ones there to stand against it.

In the clearing, a massive qunari woman in gleaming armor barked orders as she slashed upward with a greatsword, each strike forcing the beast’s head back. The dragon reared back, frost swirling from its jaws, only to be forced down again by the giant, horned woman’s blade striking it like a thunderclap.

“Hold the line!” she roared, her voice cutting through the chaos.

A fireball streaked past her shoulder, exploding against the dragon’s neck in a spray of molten steam. A dark-haired man in finely tailored robes flicked his wrist, his smirk razor sharp. “Do try not to get frozen solid, Inquisitor. It’s dreadfully undignified.”

“Less chin-wagging at Inky, more stabbing the beastie!” A woman’s voice whooped from the ruins, accompanied arrows peppering the dragon’s eyes and wings.

Cedric flattened himself against a nearby arch, wand quivering in his grip. “This is utter madness! We have to run!”

But Evaline was already moving toward the danger. Instinct drowned out fear, her blade drawn in a single sure motion. She broke from the treeline and drove her sword into the dragon’s hind leg with brutal precision. Sparks of enchantment flared as steel bit through scale, forcing the beast to stumble sideways with a deafening bellow.

A qunari man with horns as broad as his shoulders barked a laugh, seizing the moment. “Now that’s how you get its attention!” He swung his greataxe in a wide arc, slamming it into the dragon’s chest with bone-shaking force.

The creature faltered, wings beating madly against the trees. Another fireblast from the dark-haired mage seared its throat, followed by a precise arrow from a hidden archer that buried itself in the beast’s eye.

“Down!” the qunari woman bellowed, plunging her greatsword deep into its skull as the dragon crashed into the clearing. The earth quaked under the weight of it, frost and blood spraying in a final shudder.

Silence fell, broken only by the hiss of ice steaming under the sun overhead.

Evaline stood with her chest heaving, sword dripping crimson dragon blood. The familiar burn of battle thrummed in her veins. She had come home to Thedas in the only way it ever seemed to welcome her: through peril and strife.

The dragon’s body slumped further down into the grass with a subtle shiver, earth trembling beneath its bulk. Frost still gleamed off its scales, the acrid tang of magic heavy in the air. For a moment, there was only the ragged sound of breathing.

Lowering her blade slowly, chest rising and falling with the battle’s rhythm, Evaline let her eyelids fall shut. Old instincts hummed in her veins, alive and unrelenting. She opened her eyes again only to find four more sets fixed squarely on her.

The qunari commander wiped her blade clean on the dragon’s wing, one brow arched high. “Well. You fight like someone who knows what they’re doing.”

A blonde elven woman leaned on her bow, grinning wide. “Or like someone who’s completely cracked. Either way, I like it.”

The dark-haired mage smirked, smoothing soot from his sleeve. “And Morrigan, of all people, arrives with friends. Either the world is ending or this day just became infinitely more entertaining.”

Morrigan only smiled, thin and sharp, like she’d been waiting for this moment.

Evaline’s fingers tightened on her sword hilt. She had left Thedas not so long ago, and already it felt as though it had swallowed her whole again. The forest around them held its breath, the air heavy with frost and smoke.

The qunari commander’s gaze swept over her, sharp and appraising. “I am Inquisitor Maara Adaar,” she said, voice firm, carrying over the clearing. “And you—who are you?”

The burly qunari man nudged his greataxe forward, grin teasing. “Yes, speak up. We’ve just survived a dragon together. Introductions seem polite.”

The dark-haired mage arched a brow, his smirk never fading. “I must admit, arriving like this does have a certain flair.”

Evaline met their stares steadily, heart still racing, and sunk her blade into the earth beside her feet. “I am Evaline Surana,” she said, voice calm but carrying the weight of experience. “And I fight where I must.”

Chapter Text

The smell of blood and smoke still hung thick in the air. Cedric couldn’t tear his eyes from the dragon’s carcass sprawled across the clearing, its vast wings crumpled like torn parchment, its scaled hide gouged and blackened. The thing's head lolled at an unnatural angle, steam still curling faintly from its slack jaws.

He had read about dragons of this caliber before, tucked into the margins of ancient tomes and bestiaries, but seeing one… Seeing it slain… That was another matter entirely. Its sheer size dwarfed everything else in sight. That anyone had stood against it at all seemed mad. That Evaline had stood with them was unthinkable.

And the strangers; the horned giants, the bow-wielding elf, the impeccably dressed mage, none of them looked particularly surprised to be alive. To them, this was an afternoon’s work. To Cedric, it was the stuff of nightmares.

Then Evaline spoke her name.

He had heard her say it before, of course. Evaline Surana, Hero of Ferelden. Always in that soft, almost embarrassed way of hers, as though she were confessing to a minor talent rather than something that sounded very much like the stuff of legends. He had grown used to it meaning little more than a polite introduction.

But here—oh. Here it was different.

The air in the clearing shifted like someone had drawn back a curtain. The horned woman’s eyes narrowed, sharp and measuring, and the big fellow’s grin faltered into surprise. Even the handsome one with the mustache stopped fussing at his sleeve to give Evaline a long, startled look. The blonde elf with the bow actually let out a laugh, bright and incredulous.

“The bloody Hero of stinking Ferelden,” she said, no mistaking the awe in her voice.

Cedric blinked. Hero.

He’d known, of course. Evaline had told him as much, but she’d never sounded like this. Not like someone who could shift the ground beneath their feet simply by stating her name.

Suddenly, Cedric was acutely aware of the frost clinging to his robe, the droplets on his cheek, and the way his wand hand still trembled if he didn’t keep it tucked firmly behind his back. He felt very much the wrong sort of companion for someone who could silence a battlefield with a word.

And then, horribly, the horned woman’s gaze flicked to him.

“And you?” she asked, voice as weighty as the dragon’s roar had been.

His throat went dry. “I—ah—Cedric,” he stammered, fumbling into a bow that nearly toppled him forward. “Of… Enchancia.”

The mustached mage arched a brow. The elf grinned wider. The big horned man chuckled like he’d just been handed a private joke.

Cedric wished, not for the first time in the short few moments he’d been here, that the Eluvian behind them would kindly reopen and swallow him whole.

“Enchancia?” the elf repeated, wrinkling her nose. “Never heard of it.”

“Sounds like the sort of backwater where you trip over chickens on your way to the well,” the mustached one added smoothly, though his eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Cedric’s ears burned. “It is not—well, there are chickens, certainly, but—”

Before he could dig himself in deeper, Morrigan’s voice cut cleanly through the moment. “Another world entirely,” she said, brisk and dismissive. “A realm you have no knowledge of, and no need to.”

The Inquisitor tilted her head, regarding Cedric with renewed sharpness. The weight of her gaze made him straighten despite himself.

“If Morrigan vouches for you, that’s enough for me,” she said at last. Her voice was steady, commanding, as though the dragon’s roar still lingered in her chest.

With a slow, careful breath, Cedric found himself unsure whether he should be relieved or terrified.

The big horned fellow grinned again, hefting his greataxe easily onto one shoulder. “Well then. Welcome to Thedas, Cedric of Chickenland.”

The elf snorted so hard she nearly dropped her bow.

Cedric decided not to correct him.

He then thumped the haft of his axe into the ground and leaned on it, his grin sharp as the blade of his weapon. “The Iron Bull. Commander of the Chargers.”

Right then and there, Cedric vowed to himself that he’d never stand too close to the giant of a man. Anyone who could sling that weapon around like a broomstick was not to be trifled with.

The mage bowed with theatrical polish. “Dorian Pavus. Tevinter’s finest. Though I do try to keep it a secret.” His smirk suggested otherwise.

Cedric smoothed his robe without meaning to, suddenly aware of how plain it looked.

The elf darted forward, quick as a spark. “Sera. Friends call me Sera. You’ll figure out if you get to.” She flashed Evaline a wide grin. “Hero, though. That’s a nice one.”

Evaline bowed her head, calm as ever. Cedric tried to imitate her composure, and managed it well enough. At least right up until his boot caught on a root and nearly pitched him into the dragon’s tail. Evaline’s hand shot out, steadying him before he could fully stumble.

“Careful,” she said, her voice calm, almost soothing, though her eyes flitted sharply to the others as if to dare them to laugh.

“I… thank you,” he stammered, straightening quickly and brushing imaginary dust from his robe. His ears burned. He was sure everyone had seen how clumsy he was.

The Inquisitor’s golden gaze moved over him, and for a heartbeat Cedric froze, expecting a reprimand. Instead, her brow crinkled in gentle concern, and Evaline gave her a small nod of reassurance.

Satisfied, she stepped forward then, her presence immediate and commanding. “We’ve lingered long enough,” she said, voice firm. “Ensure everyone is ready. Skyhold awaits.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Cedric once more, and he felt both scrutinized and oddly protected under her gaze.

He gave a slow, careful nod, still aware of frost clinging to his hair. Straightening as best he could, he felt his stomach give a slight flutter as Evaline fell into step beside him, and the group began moving.

Even as they set off, his mind spun with the impossible juxtaposition of the dragon, the legendary warriors beside him, and the fact that somehow he had managed not to faceplant entirely. Yet.

The path out of the clearing wound through the lush, green forest, sunlight glinting off stray icicles that hung like daggers from the branches. The dragon had left a clear path it seemed. Cedric stumbled over roots more than once, each time narrowly caught by Evaline’s steadying hand. He tried not to dwell on the fact that even this small effort left him winded, while the others seemed to move effortlessly.

He stole glances at the companions beside him. The Iron Bull’s massive strides swallowed the distance between trees in seconds, Dorian’s robes never ruffled and his smirk never faded, and Sera darted ahead and back, clearly enjoying the chance to tease Cedric’s clumsy progress. Morrigan, walked beside Evaline, the calm shadow to her light, and Cedric felt oddly safer just knowing she was near.

The landscape rolled past in a blur of verdant trees and sunlit clearings. Cedric tried to focus on anything—absolutely anything—besides the fact that he was utterly out of his depth. Even the smallest creatures seemed enormous in this world, and he couldn’t shake the thought that dragons were still lurking somewhere, watching. Evaline, of course, didn’t seem to notice, walking with the quiet assurance of someone who had faced far worse. Cedric could only hope to survive the trip to this Skyhold place.

The journey eventually carried them out of the Emerald Graves and into the wider stretches of a country called Orlais, where rolling hills and sunlit vineyards gave way to rougher, wilder terrain. Cedric’s boots sank into soft soil one moment and clattered across frozen rock seemingly the next, each step a reminder that he was far from Enchancia. He couldn’t help but gape at the vastness of the countryside. It was a lovely patchwork of villages, winding roads that cut through golden fields, and the occasional stone bridge arching gracefully over rushing rivers.

As they ascended into a place called the Frostback Mountains, the air grew thinner and colder, whipping Cedric’s hair into his eyes and turning his fingertips numb. Snow crunched underfoot, and jagged cliffs rose on either side, looming like silent sentinels. He marveled at how different everything felt from his world. From the sheer scale, the crispness of the sky, and the quiet that pressed down with the weight of the mountains, it utterly overwhelmed him. Even the small inns and waystations they passed looked hewn from the rock itself, austere and practical, unlike anything in Enchancia.

Cedric’s thoughts often wandered to the companions around him. Dorian muttered to the Inquisitor about the political implications of the terrain, Sera cackled at imagined booby traps, and the Iron Bull hummed a low, rhythmical tune that seemed to set the pace of their march. Evaline, as always, walked with the effortless confidence of someone who had faced far worse, and Cedric wondered if he would ever move with that kind of certainty. Morrigan, dark and watchful, occasionally glanced over the ridges ahead, noting potential threats or hidden paths. 

By the second day, the peaks of the Frostback Mountains rose higher, their snow-capped ridges glowing pale gold under the morning sun. Cedric’s legs ached, his boots stiff from the icy crust underfoot, and yet the sight that finally came into view made every misstep and stumble worthwhile.

Skyhold, a massive keep perched on a windswept plateau, its stone walls and towers stood proud against the wind and snow, and the banners of the Inquisition snapped in the breeze. Even from this distance, it radiated authority, history, and safety all at once. Cedric swallowed, chest tight with awe and a creeping sense of inadequacy.

The journey’s end came all at once. Cedric swallowed hard as the gates to the keep yawned open, revealing a courtyard thrumming with life. Soldiers drilled in neat formations, smiths hammered sparks into the wind, messengers hurried between towers with scrolls clutched tight to their chests. It was overwhelming. So much noise, movement, purpose. He hardly knew where to look first.

Until Evaline slowed.

Her step faltered, eyes fixed ahead. Cedric followed her gaze and spotted a man cutting across the yard. He was broad-shouldered, well-armored, every inch the sort who looked carved out of discipline itself. His expression was locked in the kind of stern focus Cedric could never manage.

Then his eyes found Evaline. He stopped dead.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Evaline’s brow furrowed faintly, as if she were sifting through years of memory. His face shifted from disbelief to something softer: shock laced with recognition.

“Warden Surana?” His voice carried, clear and unguarded. There was no mistaking the catch in it.

Evaline’s lips parted, surprise flickering across her features. “Cullen?”

The name meant nothing to Cedric, but the weight of it landed like a stone between them. The man strode forward, grasping her hands before she could quite decide whether to offer them. For a heartbeat, they simply stared at each other, caught between past and present.

His stomach twisted. Whoever this “Cullen” was, he clearly wasn’t just another soldier.

“Such a long face.”

Cedric startled. Morrigan had appeared at his side without a sound, her voice curling like smoke in his ear. He hadn’t even seen her move.

“She saved his life once,” Morrigan murmured, her eyes fixed on the reunion. “During the Blight. The Circle Tower had fallen. We found him bloodied, half-delirious, convinced the world itself was an illusion.”

He blinked. “Because of what? A spell?”

Her lips curved faintly. “A desire demon.” The words were precise, chosen for their sharpness. “It wore her face.”

Cedric’s throat closed as the pieces fell into place. He didn’t ask what else the demon had conjured. Cullen’s expression seemed to be answer enough.

The man laughed, low and quiet, the sound meant only for her. Evaline tilted her head in reply, half-smile softening her face.

Shifting, Cedric was suddenly aware of the cold biting his fingers again, of the ache in his legs, of how terribly small he felt among all of this. Skyhold loomed around him, a place of war and history. And Evaline stood at its heart, hands clasped in another man’s, smiling as though the years between them had melted away.

Lips pressed together, he was certain of only one thing. Whatever lay ahead in this keep of stone and banners, Evaline already belonged to it… and he did not.

Chapter Text

A war council.

Cedric could safely say he had never attended such a meeting before. Scheming in his tower with Wormwood was one thing, but standing beside a literal giant to go over strategy was a whole new beast. The longer he spent in this place, the smaller he felt.

Inquisitor Adaar had given him and Evaline a hurried lesson on the way down the hall. Important names, titles, and little hints to keep him from making a fool of himself. “Cullen, the commander, you’ve already met. Josephine, the diplomat. You’ll like her, she’s kind. Cassandra, you’ll know her by the scowl. Leliana, the spymaster is sharp as they come.” 

He’d repeated them under his breath until he thought he had it straight, though the knot in his stomach refused to loosen.

Now, seeing them gathered around the great War Table, he found her words falling neatly into place. He nearly wrinkled his nose at the sight of Cullen. His golden curls and that rugged scar over his lip… And of course Evaline had caught his eye.

Then, Josephine stood poised with a quill and parchment at hand, her smile ready but her eyes sharp. Cassandra was unmistakable, her expression so severe that Cedric shrank two inches without her even looking at him. And Leliana…

The redhead’s face changed the moment she saw Evaline. The steel in her features melted to warmth, and she crossed the chamber with a grace that made Cedric want to step aside just to give her room.

“Evaline,” Leliana said, her voice carrying a soft lilt. “It is good to see you again, after so long.”

Evaline’s guarded composure slipped, replaced by something gentler. “Leliana,” she breathed, and for once the smile she gave was unburdened. “It’s been ages since the blight, and you haven’t aged a single day. It’s such a relief to see you again after all this time.”

The two women clasped hands, the air between them charged with memory and recognition. Cedric glanced down at the table to give them privacy, though he couldn’t stop the swell of curiosity. What had it been like, facing down a cataclysm together? What had Evaline endured before he ever met her?

Cassandra cleared her throat sharply, and the moment broke. 

“And who is this?” she demanded, her accent as sharp as the disapproving set of her brow.

He froze. Heat rushed to his ears as Cassandra’s gaze pinned him like an insect under a glass. He opened his mouth, then immediately wished he hadn’t, because words were not lining up properly in his head.

“Er—well, I—”

Thankfully Evaline cut in smoothly, her hand resting briefly against his arm. “This is Cedric. He is with me.”

“With you?” Cassandra’s dark brows arched, suspicion sharp in her tone.

Evaline held her gaze unflinching. “A friend. An ally.”

That word, friend, rang in Cedric’s ears far louder than Cassandra’s scrutiny. Ally was fine, but friend… Friend made his chest feel strangely full.

Cassandra studied him a moment longer before she gave a single, terse nod and turned back toward the table. Cedric exhaled, realizing only then that he’d been holding his breath.

Merlin’s mushrooms, he thought. He hadn’t even done anything yet and he was already sweating. And here he’d thought court dinners with King Roland were nerve-racking.

Inquisitor Adaar cleared her throat and moved toward the head of the table.

“Well,” she said, her deep voice steady, “now that we are all here—” She paused, frowning slightly as her golden eyes swept the chamber. “Where is Hawke?”

Cedric blinked. He hadn’t realized someone was missing. He dared a glance at Evaline, who only gave the tiniest shrug, as if this sort of thing was expected.

The door behind them creaked open.

“Did someone say my name?” a voice drawled.

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Cedric whirled to see a woman striding in with casual confidence. Green eyes sparkling with mischief, a grin tugged at her mouth as though she’d been listening for just the right cue.

“Hawke,” Adaar said flatly, though the corner of her mouth twitched like she wasn’t entirely unamused.

“Apologies,” Hawke said, slipping past Cedric and Evaline with a dramatic sweep of her arm. “I was waylaid by a very persistent baker insisting I sample his wares. You’ll be glad to know the Inquisition’s pies are still of excellent quality.”

Cullen and Cassandra groaned. Leliana only arched a brow, and Josephine let out a soft giggle. Cedric, still blinking, had to clamp down the absurd urge to ask what sort of pie it was.

The Inquisitor only shook her head and gestured toward the table. “Very well. Now that everyone really is here—”

Hawke slid into her place across from Cedric and Evaline, propping a hand on the polished wood. As she leaned forward, she swiped the pad of her thumb along the corner of her mouth and licked away a trace of berry filling she must have missed on her way in. Then she caught Cedric staring and winked.

He felt his ears go hot and immediately looked down, pretending to study a line of ink on the map that might as well have been gibberish. Neptune’s nettles, was this woman even taking the meeting seriously?

The Inquisitor’s voice drew him back. “We have called this council to address the matter of the Grey Wardens. Their actions as of late cannot be ignored, nor the threat they may yet pose. We need a course forward.”

The air shifted. Even Cedric, who had only the faintest grasp of Warden history, felt the weight settle over the table.

Evaline stood a little straighter beside him.

"Threat?" she questioned. "Since when have the Wardens become a threat?"

Adaar’s tone was grave as she addressed Evaline’s challenge. “The Wardens have abandoned their posts in the Free Marches and Orlais. Scouts report them gathering in the west, with no explanation offered. We cannot pretend this is routine.”

“Their movements resemble a military campaign. If they intend to march, the Inquisition must be prepared.” Cullen added, arms crossed firmly over his chest.

“March?” Evaline scoffed, disbelief in her voice. “They’re Grey Wardens. Their duty is to stand against the Blight, not to seize territory.”

“And yet,” Leliana murmured, her gaze sharp as ever, “they vanish from the front and appear in hidden camps across the Hinterlands. Their intentions are obscured. That alone makes them dangerous.”

Hawke leaned in, bracing her palms on the table. “Not entirely obscured,” she said, a sly glint in her eye. “I’ve been working with… a contact. Someone who still has Warden ties.”

Evaline’s head snapped toward her, her expression taut with alarm. “A Warden? Who?”

But Hawke only gave a playful shrug, clearly enjoying the drama. “Someone who knows more than the rest of us, and someone I trust. That’s all I’ll say for now.”

Cedric, feeling hopelessly out of his depth, swallowed hard. Everyone else looked as though the ground had shifted beneath them, tension rising like a storm about to break.

It felt as if the room was closing in around Evaline. Every sharp word about the Wardens was another weight pressing against her shoulders. She stood tall, of course, chin high and gaze unwavering, but he’d seen the way her hands curled too tightly at her sides, the way her jaw stiffened ever so slightly.

He hated it.

This wasn’t the Evaline who had pulled him out of an ogre’s shadow or steadied his trembling hands after defeating a dragon. Here, she seemed cornered, as though surrounded not by allies but by hunters waiting to pounce.

His mouth went dry, but he forced himself to speak anyway. “M–maybe,” he said, voice thinner than he’d hoped, “instead of assuming the worst, you could… well… meet this contact? Whoever they are, they might explain what’s really going on.”

The chamber fell quiet. He immediately regretted it, heat prickling his face as a dozen important eyes swung his way. Cassandra looked like she was about to bite through steel. Leliana’s expression flickered with intrigue.

But Evaline glanced at him, and for just a breath, he saw the relief in her eyes. In spite of that, silence lingered in the chamber after Cedric’s timid suggestion, heavy and unblinking. He wished he could crawl under the War Table and vanish.

Then Adaar tilted her head, eyes narrowing in thought rather than disapproval. “An interesting point.”

Cullen frowned. “Inquisitor—”

She lifted a hand, cutting him off without looking. “If Hawke’s source is truly a Grey Warden, then meeting them may be our best chance to understand what’s driving their recent actions. We don’t have the luxury of dismissing potential allies out of hand.”

Leliana’s lips curved ever so slightly, though her gaze stayed fixed on Cedric, as if she were weighing him on some hidden scale. Josephine nodded, quill already twitching as though she were calculating how such a meeting might be arranged.

Cassandra, however, bristled. “We cannot walk blindly into whatever trap this may be.”

“Which is why,” Adaar said evenly, “we’ll walk in with our eyes open. Hawke, you’ll take the lead. Bring this contact forward.”

“Gladly,” Hawke replied, smirk tugging at her mouth as though Cedric had just handed her the winning play.

Cedric, still flushed from speaking out of turn, tried not to look too smug. He didn’t succeed entirely. Evaline’s hand brushed his sleeve in the subtlest of thanks, and that alone was worth every moment of scrutiny.

The Inquisitor’s horns reflected the firelight as she straightened. “Then it’s settled,” Adaar said. “We’ll convene again once Hawke’s contact agrees to meet. Josephine, coordinate the correspondence and ensure our routes remain discreet. Leliana—”

“I’ll make certain we are the only ones watching,” the spymaster murmured. “If this meeting turns sour, I’d rather know before we’re surrounded.”

Cullen’s jaw worked, the commander clearly unhappy but unwilling to challenge her decision further. “At least let me assign a detachment to escort you,” he said finally. “Hawke’s… unconventional methods don’t always lend themselves to subtlety.”

“Unconventional?” Hawke echoed, hand pressed to her chest in mock offense. “Commander, I’m wounded. My methods are perfectly subtle. You just have to squint.”

Cassandra muttered something sharp under her breath. Cedric couldn’t quite catch the words, but judging by the edge in her tone, it wasn’t a compliment. Leliana’s faint smirk suggested she agreed with Hawke anyway.

Adaar exhaled slowly, the low rumble in her chest suggesting she was used to this kind of bickering. “I’ll pass on the escort, Commander,” she said. “But I’ll take a few friends to make sure things don’t go sideways.”

Cullen nodded his head, though his frown didn’t ease.

For a moment, silence settled over the table. Cedric shifted on his feet, still half disbelieving that his idea hadn’t gotten him thrown out of the room. A few hours ago, he’d been worrying about potion measurements and spell ingredients, not council strategy with world leaders.

Evaline’s voice broke the quiet. “Where will we be meeting this contact?”

Hawke’s smirk returned. “That depends on how well my message travels. But don’t worry,” she said, leaning her weight on one hip with a rogue’s confidence. “If anyone can convince them to show their face, it’s me.”

Cedric wasn’t entirely sure if that was comforting or alarming.

“Then we’re adjourned,” Adaar said. “Prepare yourselves. We leave at dawn.”

The gathered advisors began to disperse, murmuring in low tones as parchment and ink were gathered from the table.

Cedric lingered, glancing once more at the great map spread before them. It was a tapestry of politics, danger, and names he barely understood. Somehow, he’d spoken up among them and hadn’t made a complete fool of himself.

Evaline turned toward him, a hint of pride flickering in her eyes.

“Not bad for your first war council,” she said quietly.

He smiled faintly, tugging at his sleeves to hide his nerves.

“Let’s hope I didn’t just volunteer us for something dreadful,” he murmured.

Hawke passed by on her way out, flashing him another wink as she clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, you definitely did.”

Chapter Text

The hours after the war council left his head spinning. So many new faces, so many new sights to take in… And yet, some things felt familiar enough to cling to: the bitter cold of the mountain air, the smell of damp earth beneath his boots. Ordinary things. Things he could anchor himself to.

Throughout the afternoon, he and Evaline were led through the keep; something ancient and elven, he was told when he stared a little too long under a ruined ceiling. Everywhere he looked, there were people moving with purpose. There were agents of the Inquisition, soldiers, scholars, and spies alike. Cedric was still foggy on what the Inquisition really was, but there were enough unforgettable personalities to keep him occupied. And more than a few that made him feel conspicuously ordinary.

By evening, the bustle of introductions and explanations had begun to fade, leaving only the hum of conversation in the corridors. Cedric felt the weight of all that observation settle into a quiet corner of his mind. He was tired, hungry, sore and absolutely positive he had a blister or two from all the foot-travel he had done in the last couple of days.

He wasn't built for things like this.

He wasn’t built for mountains, armies, or endless stairs.

And right now, he wasn’t built for anything that didn’t involve food.

Evaline’s laugh broke through his thoughts as if she’d read them. “Come on,” she said. “You look ready to fall over. Let’s get you something to eat. There’s a tavern in the keep. I believe they called it Herald’s Rest.”

“Merlin’s Mushrooms, I would love nothing more,” he groaned, harmonizing with the growl of his stomach as they departed down the front steps of the keep into the courtyard.

The scent hit him before the sound did. It smelled of roasting meat, bread, and something sweet and spiced that he couldn’t quite name. A heartbeat later came the murmur of voices, the scrape of chairs, the clatter of tankards.

Herald’s Rest was alive in a way the rest of Skyhold wasn’t. Firelight spilled from the great hearth, and warmth pooled thick in the air, carrying laughter and song on its back. The soldiers here had traded armor for roughspun tunics, and for the first time all day, Cedric felt like he wasn’t intruding somewhere he didn’t belong.

Evaline led the way through the crowd, her hand brushing his sleeve once when a passing soldier nearly jostled him. He had to wrestle back a small yelp of surprise as they moved toward a table near the back. It was close enough to the fire to feel the heat but far enough to watch the room without drawing attention. Cedric sank into the chair with a quiet sigh, stretching his sore legs beneath the table.

He had barely settled into his seat when a booming voice called across the room.

“Ayy! There they are!”

Cedric looked up to see Iron Bull waving a tankard from near the hearth, grin bright enough to rival the fire behind him. He waved them toward a table where a few others were already gathered. “Make some room, Chargers!”

A few of the Chargers— a motley crew of all kinds— shuffled aside. There was no ignoring that sort of invitation. Stifling a groan, Cedric begrudgingly picked himself up off of his seat and followed Evaline across the tavern to join Bull.

One, a lean man with short-cropped hair and an easy grin, saluted with mock precision. “Boss’s orders. Pull up a chair, friends.”

“Krem, this is Evaline and Cedric,” Bull said, gesturing between them with his tankard. “They survived two days in the snow with me, so they’ve earned a drink.”

Krem grinned. “Anyone who survives Bull’s storytelling deserves more than one.”

Evaline laughed as she sat. “Survive? We were delighted by each and every tale.”

“And I’ll take another ale myself,” Bull added, raising his tankard toward the barkeep.

Across the tavern, another voice piped up. It was deep, smooth, and full of dry amusement. “Maker’s breath, if this isn’t the strangest crowd I’ve seen all week.”

Cedric turned to find a dwarven man with a crossbow slung across his back and a roguish grin to match.

“Varric,” Bull greeted heartily. "Pull up a chair! Come meet the Hero of Ferelden and her visitor from a far off kingdom."

Varric sauntered over, the crossbow on his back gleaming faintly in the firelight. “Hero of Ferelden, huh?” he said with a grin, sliding into the empty seat beside Bull. “I thought the place felt a little more prestigious than usual.”

“I’d hoped to slip in unnoticed,” Evalline chuckled softly.

“Not a chance,” Varric said. “You could change your name and become the new Divine, and half the Inquisition would still be gossiping about how you took down an Archdemon.”

Cedric blinked. “You—you did what?”

Evaline winced, casting a sidelong look at him. “Ah. I may have left out a few details.”

Bull chuckled, clapping Cedric on the back with a hand the size of a skillet. “Don’t worry, little man. Everyone around here’s got some world-shattering story or another. You’ll get used to it.”

Cedric wasn’t so sure about that.

Before he could stammer out a response, the tavern door swung open, and the laughter dipped just enough for him to notice. Morrigan entered the tavern, striding through like she owned the air itself.

Her amber eyes swept over the room, narrowing faintly when they landed on Bull’s table. “I see the Inquisition’s finest have already fallen to drink,” she drawled.

Bull raised his tankard in salute. “Come on, Witch, even you need to unwind now and then.”

“I assure you, Iron Bull, I have no need of your… ale-soaked camaraderie.”

Varric leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Don’t listen to her. That’s just her way of saying she missed us.”

Evaline bit back a laugh behind her hand, and even Cedric couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

The laughter around the table rolled on, spilling into songs and stories that blurred together with the buzz of mead and the crackle of the hearth. Even Morrigan lingered longer than expected, though she sipped her wine like she was humoring the rest of them.

For a while, they just talked, swapping travel stories, half-truths, and jokes at each other’s expense. The tavern’s warmth, the smell of spice and smoke, the hum of conversation. It all wove into something that felt almost normal.

Then, in a quieter moment between drinks, Evaline tilted her head, thoughtful. “Bull… You called the Inquisitor Kadan earlier,” she said. “What does it mean?”

Bull blinked, caught off guard. “Huh. Didn’t realize I said it that often.”

Cedric smirked faintly. “You tend to shout it a lot when you’ve had too much ale.”

Bull laughed, but there was a softness under it now. “Fair point. Guess it slipped out of habit. It means my heart. Qunlat doesn’t really do pet names, so when we say that one, we mean it.”

Evaline’s brows lifted. “Oh.” She paused, frowning in quiet thought. “That’s what Sten used to call me.”

The smile dropped from Bull’s face. “Wait. Sten of the Beresaad? That Sten?”

She nodded. “He hardly spoke most of the time, but he addressed me by that word constantly. I never knew what it meant.”

Bull gave a low whistle. “Well, damn. He’s the Arishok now. Top of the Qunari chain of command. And if he called you Kadan, he meant it. Probably didn’t have a clue how to say it otherwise.”

Evaline stared at her cup, her expression caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. “He never told me.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Bull said gently. “He seems the type to let the meaning sit in the silence.”

The fire cracked, filling the space between them.

Then Morrigan’s voice slipped in like a shadow from Cedric's side, smooth and knowing. “He softened around her, you know,” she said. “That great, silent mountain of a man. I saw it even then. He watched her like someone trying to understand music for the first time.”

Cedric didn’t look up. He stared straight into his drink, willing his expression to stay neutral. “You don’t say,” he muttered. “Was there anyone not in love with her?”

Morrigan sipped delicately from her goblet. “I am certain the list is shorter, yes.”

For a heartbeat, there was silence — then a low whistle from Varric.

“Careful, pouty,” he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You say things like that too loud, and someone might think you’re jealous.”

"Jealous?!" Cedric sputtered, his cheeks flushing a hearty pink.

“Relax,” Varric chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “You’re in good company. The Warden seems to just have that effect on people.”

Cedric could feel the heat still creeping up his neck. “I am not jealous,” he insisted, a little too quickly. “Why would I be jealous?”

Bull barked a laugh loud enough to rattle the table. “Don’t take it too hard, mage. Happens to the best of us. Evaline here has got that whole fearless-warrior thing going for her. Impressive scars, fancy magic sword, big presence, and pretty to boot. You’d have to be blind not to look twice.”

“Three times, in my case,” Varric added.

“Four,” said Bull with a wink. At least… he assumed it was a wink. He couldn't tell with the eyepatch.

Even Morrigan looked faintly amused, one dark brow arching. “Truly, the lot of you are hopeless.”

Evaline, for her part, only shook her head with a weary smile. “Maker’s breath, you’re all children.”

Cedric seized the chance to hide behind his mug, though it did nothing to smother the grin tugging at his mouth. The teasing stung a little, but it wasn’t cruel. If anything, it felt… welcoming. Like the sort of easy camaraderie he’d watched from afar his whole life and never quite been part of.

Varric leaned forward, tapping his mug against Cedric’s. “You’ll get used to us knuckleheads eventually. Around here, sarcasm’s a love language.”

The conversation drifted after that, lighter again but never quite shaking the echo of what had passed. Laughter returned, but in smaller ripples now, punctuated by the clink of cups and the soft rise of a bard’s song somewhere near the hearth.

Cedric leaned back in his chair, half-lulled by the sound of it all. He wasn’t sure when the tavern had begun to feel warmer, only that the ache in his legs had dulled and the strangeness of the keep didn’t seem quite so large anymore. Maybe that was his now-full belly, or maybe it was the company, impossible as that still seemed.

Across the table, Bull and Krem were arguing cheerfully about the rules of some card game that involved far too many knives. Evaline was listening, smiling faintly, her hand resting against her mug but her thoughts far away. For a moment, Cedric wondered if she was thinking of Sten… Of a word that meant my heart.

He let the thought settle, tracing the rim of his cup with one finger. Back home, people had said things like “my dear” or “my love,” words so worn they barely meant anything at all. But Kadan. That sounded like something heavier. Something that stayed lodged in your ribs even after it was spoken.

He glanced at Evaline again, studying the soft light that played across her face. There was no sign she noticed. Maybe that was for the best.

Outside, the mountain wind moaned faintly through the cracks in the shutters, but the hearth held steady, stubborn against the cold. Cedric let out a quiet breath and smiled to himself. He wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring.

More councils? Likely more confusion, and more danger? But for the first time since stepping through that mirror, he didn’t feel entirely out of place. He raised his mug one last time, letting the warmth chase the last of the cold away.

Maybe Thedas wasn't so terrible after all.

Chapter Text

Mist hung low over Lake Calenhad, curling around the road like smoke from an unseen fire. The morning air was cold enough to bite, and even the horses seemed uneasy as the party made their slow ascent toward Redcliffe Castle.

Evaline rode ahead, posture perfectly straight despite the stiffness in her shoulders. To anyone else, she looked every inch the Hero of Ferelden.She was steady, unyielding, untouchable. But Cedric, who had learned to read the smallest shifts in her expression, could tell the air here weighed heavier on her than it should have. Every few minutes, her gaze would drift toward the water below, as if expecting to see ghosts rise from it.

Hawke led them up the winding path, her hood drawn low. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet since dawn, giving only clipped answers when anyone tried to question her about this “Warden contact.”

“Are you sure about this?” Inquisitor Adaar asked as they neared the gates. “You’ve been secretive even for your standards.”

Hawke’s smirk didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure. Just… don’t panic when you see who it is.”

Vivienne— one of the mages that accompanied them— gave a soft, amused hum. “You make it sound like we’re about to meet a dragon.”

Hawke only replied, “Depends on who you ask.”

Behind them, Ser Blackwall– another Grey Warden it seemed– cleared his throat. It was a rough, nervous sound. He’d been trying to fill the silence for the better part of an hour, but nothing quite stuck.

“Hard to believe this place still stands,” he said finally. “After what happened during the Blight. The stories say a young Warden led the defense here… That she turned the tide herself.”

He glanced sidelong at Evaline, a knowing gleam in his eye. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

Evaline’s voice was quiet but firm. “I was.”

“What was it like?”

She didn’t look at him. “Terrible.”

That effectively quieted him.

Cedric shot Blackwall a sympathetic look, but the man wouldn’t meet his eyes.

His hand tightened around his horse’s reins, the leather of his gloves creaking. It was strange… He seemed the sort to face down demons and bandits without blinking, yet a simple conversation with Evaline was enough to practically undo him.

Vivienne rode between them, gaze sweeping over the countryside. “Ferelden remains… charmingly rustic,” she said, as if that were the kindest word she could manage.

Cole, a strange young man with sad eyes, tilted his head toward the castle that loomed above them. His voice came soft, almost melodic:

“He’s waiting for her. Been waiting a long time. Doesn’t know if he’ll break or smile when he sees her.”

Everyone fell quiet after that.

By the time they reached the gates, the fog had thinned. Guards in the Fereldan colors stood at attention, spears crossed before the entryway. One of them stepped forward.

“You’re the Inquisition’s party?”

Hawke nodded. “We are. Tell your king his guests have arrived.”

At the word king, Cedric frowned. He glanced toward Evaline as her breath hitched almost imperceptibly. She didn’t say a word, but something in her expression shifted—recognition, disbelief, and something else Cedric couldn’t name.

Vivienne’s gaze lingered on the banners. “The King of Ferelden,” she said softly. “He couldn’t possibly be your Grey Warden contact, could he?”

Hawke didn’t look at her. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Cole whispered just loud enough for Cedric to catch, “Her heart knows before her mind does. That’s why it hurts already.”

Redcliffe Castle was not Skyhold, but it had its own kind of grandeur. The stone walls were darkened by age, tapestries heavy with the scent of smoke and time. Torches guttered in their sconces, their light catching on polished armor and the golden sigil of Ferelden that hung above the dais.

The guards led them through the castle and into the great hall. And there, seated on the throne, was a man who carried the weight of command as easily as most men carried a sword.

He looked younger than Cedric expected. He wasn’t boyish, exactly, but with a kind of weary kindness that didn’t fit the image of a ruler. His crown sat slightly askew, as though it had been set there in a hurry and simply never adjusted.

He rose when they entered. His expression was measured, diplomatic… until his gaze found Evaline.

The change was instant. Something sharp enough to feel in the air. His practiced composure fractured into disbelief, then relief, then something Cedric couldn’t name.

“Evaline?” the man said, his voice low and uncertain.

Evaline went very still. Whatever breath she’d drawn left her in a soft, unsteady exhale.

“Your Majesty,” she said finally, bowing her head with quiet formality.

Your Majesty.

Cedric blinked, the words slamming into him like a blow. The way she looked at him, the way she had addressed him… He looked from her to the man on the throne, feeling as if he had missed something very important.

The king gave a startled, disbelieving laugh, something full of half joy, half sorrow. “Oh, don’t do that,” he said softly. “Not you.”

He stepped down from the dais, the hem of his cloak brushing the stone. “Maker’s breath… I thought you were gone.”

Evaline didn’t look at him. Her voice, when it came, was quiet and steady in the way a blade is steady before it cuts. “You weren’t wrong to think so.”

The silence that followed was heavy and thick.

Hawke glanced toward the Inquisitor, lips pressed thin, but no one spoke. Even Vivienne, ever poised, seemed uncertain what to do with her hands.

Cedric’s heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest. Gone? What did that mean? How long had it been since they’d seen each other? How did she know him? No… why hadn’t she ever said anything about him?

The king took another careful step closer. His voice softened. “You look… as lovely as ever.”

Cedric could barely breathe. Every measured step the king took toward Evaline felt like a strike against his ribs. He had never seen her so… open, so exposed, without meaning to be.

Evaline’s hands were clenched at her sides, her shoulders rigid. She didn’t move closer, didn’t speak again. And yet Cedric could feel the weight of everything unsaid, hanging between them like a storm cloud waiting to break.

"Hello, Alistair," she managed to utter, her voice almost broken.

The King stopped just short of her, giving her space, but his eyes never left hers. “It’s… good to see you,” he said, softer this time, more careful. A flicker of hesitation passed across his face. “I—” He caught himself, straightening abruptly. “Forgive me. I should not… never mind.”

Evaline’s gaze was distant, fixed somewhere behind him. She seemed to weigh her words carefully before she spoke. “We have little time. The Inquisition did not come here to reminisce.”

The king’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. He nodded, his posture now regaining the calm authority of a ruler addressing his court. “Of course. We all have matters to discuss, and I will not hold us up any further.”

Inquisitor Adaar stepped forward, inclining their head toward the king. “We’ve come seeking your counsel. The Wardens have gone quiet. Hawke here told us that you might be the one who could advise us on this matter.”

Cedric’s mind struggled to catch up. Wardens? Quiet? He knew her from… Where? He shook his head almost imperceptibly, trying to reconcile the history he didn’t know with the woman standing so tautly before the king.

The King’s expression softened as he turned toward the rest of the party, masking the ache in his chest with the poise expected of a monarch. “I see. Then we must speak plainly."

Cedric blinked rapidly, as if the words themselves were too heavy to process. He could hear them as the King outlined the situation, but it was like listening from underwater.

“The Wardens have indeed gone quiet,” King Alistair said, his voice steady but tight. “Many have felt the Calling far earlier than any of us anticipated. Some are acting on it without guidance… some, I fear, dangerously so.”

He felt a jolt at that. The Calling? He didn’t understand, but the weight in King Alistair’s tone made it clear it was something serious. Something terrifying.

Evaline remained perfectly still, but Cedric caught the slight clench of her jaw, the way her hands pressed just a little too hard against her thighs. She was holding herself together for everyone else, and yet he could feel the tension radiating off her.

King Alistair continued. “I’ve discovered the source is false. I understand you’ve been working against an ancient Magister by the name of Corypheus? It seems he has manufactured a false Calling. The Wardens are convinced it is real. Many do not yet know the truth, and the few who do are trying to protect others from panic.”

Cedric’s pulse hammered in his ears. His head was spinning, and yet he tried to focus. Protect others? What kind of danger was this?

He looked at Evaline. Her back was straight, shoulders squared, but there was a tremor in the corner of her eye. The woman who had faced armies, darkspawn, and impossible odds was now… uncertain. Nervous.

King Alistair’s voice cut through the haze again. “While Evaline was away seeking a cure, Warden-Commander Clarel assumed leadership. Her plan is to summon an army of demons to finish the Blight once and for all.”

Cedric felt his stomach drop. He pressed his hands into his sides, trying to anchor himself. Demons? The Wardens? The words collided in his mind with Evaline’s quiet strength, the king’s pained authority, and the impossible situation they were all in.

He realized he wasn’t following everything. Names and dates and plans swirled together and left him dizzy. He could only watch. He watched King Alistair and Evaline, their subtle glances, the tension stretching between them… And all he could feel was the helpless panic curling in his chest.

Cole’s quiet voice reached him just barely above the others. “The heart sees everything, even when the mind does not,” he said. Cedric flinched, because yes, he was seeing. Too much, too fast.

The Inquisitor’s strong voice tried to cut through the chaos of his mind. “If Clarel succeeds, Thedas will not survive. And yet we cannot act without guidance. Evaline’s insight is… necessary.”

Cedric nodded absently, though he didn’t truly understand. His attention was no longer on the political argument or the plans being laid out. It was on her — Evaline — standing like a pillar of steel and grief all at once, while the man who had been her past moved quietly around her, careful and restrained.

Everything else, the war plans, the false Callings, the looming threat of demons… They faded into a distant, terrifying background. He couldn’t hear it properly. He could only feel it, like a storm pressing down on him, and try not to watch what might shatter her composure entirely.

Cedric’s gaze drifted again, taking in the fine lines of The King’s face, the faint crease in his brow that betrayed worry, the careful way he measured every word around Evaline. He noticed the slight tremor in her fingers, the way she flexed her hands as if to steel herself.

He wasn’t hearing all the words anymore. He was only seeing, only feeling. The weight of history between them, the unsaid regrets, the danger lurking just beyond the edges of the room was almost too much to take in.

Blackwall shifted uneasily beside him, and Cedric caught a flash of fear in the older man’s eyes. Even he, a supposed veteran of death and darkness, seemed to sense the enormity of what was being discussed.

Cole’s voice whispered again, ghostlike; “Storms are coming. They do not wait for hearts to be ready.”

Cedric swallowed, his throat tight. He wanted to speak, to ask questions, to make sense of any of it… But the words lodged somewhere between fear and awe.

The room felt impossibly small, yet infinite, filled with the weight of choices and consequences Cedric could barely imagine. And as Evaline and Alistair exchanged another subtle look, heavy with memory and sorrow, he knew with a sinking certainty that nothing would ever feel ordinary again.

Chapter Text

The great hall had emptied, but the silence left behind felt heavier than any clamor.

Cedric lingered near the door, unsure what to do with himself or where to go. His thoughts were a storm of half-formed questions and things he wished he hadn’t seen.

Evaline had left not long after the council adjourned, claiming she needed a walk. He’d thought to follow her, just to make sure she wasn’t alone. However, something in the look she'd given him stopped him cold. It hadn’t been anger. Just… a faraway ache.

Now he stood among the echoes of a history he didn’t understand, wondering if he’d imagined that flicker of pain when she’d said the king’s name.

“Brooding doesn’t suit you, spellbinder.”

Morrigan’s voice cut through the quiet like a knife through silk. Cedric startled slightly, glancing over his shoulder as she glided into the room, each step deliberate, her movements composed as a performance.

“I’m not brooding,” he said automatically. “Just thinking.”

“Ah. Thinking.” She tilted her head, the faintest curl of amusement on her lips. “A pastime that can be dangerous when done without supervision.”

He sighed and folded his arms. “If you came to mock me, you’ll have to take a number.”

“Please,” she drawled, crossing the room to stand beside him. “I would not deprive you of the chance to wallow in self-pity uninterrupted.”

“How very kind of you,” he muttered, the humor brittle in his voice.

Morrigan looked past him, to where faint sunlight spilled through tall windows. “She has gone to walk, yes? The Hero of Ferelden—alone, as she always does when her heart begins to ache.”

He looked up sharply. “You know, you don’t have to sound so smug about it.”

Her gaze flicked to him, sharp and assessing. “Smugness is an easy mask. Easier than compassion. I suspect that you, of all people, would understand that.”

That quieted him.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The torches crackled softly, their flames reflected in the gold of Morrigan’s keen eyes.

“She loved him,” Morrigan said at last, her tone casual, but far too precise to be idle. “Still does, though she’ll deny it even to herself. The kind of love that survives time and ruin is rare.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “And inconvenient.”

Cedric’s hands curled into fists as he crossed his arms tighter to his chest. “You say that like it’s something to be ashamed of.”

“She should not ever feel ashamed for it,” Morrigan replied. “'Tis simply dangerous. Love makes fools of even the strongest among us. It weakens resolve, clouds judgment. Tell me, would you not risk everything for someone who once looked at you the way she looked at him?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t certain he had an answer for that— not one he was willing to say aloud.

Morrigan smiled faintly, as if she’d already heard it anyway. “You see? You are learning.”

He rubbed at his eyes, growing weary. “I didn’t realize there was a lesson here.”

“There always is,” she murmured. “For you, perhaps it is this: not every wound can be healed with magic. Some simply linger until one learns to live around them.”

He looked at her then, startled by the note of sincerity buried beneath the bite of her words.

“Neptune’s nettles,” he muttered. “You almost sound kind.”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said briskly, turning toward the door. “If you wish to be useful, go find the Inquisitor. Leave brooding to those who’ve earned the right to it.”

And with that, she was gone, her silhouette fading into torchlight and shadow.

Cedric stared after her, the faintest smile tugging at his lips despite himself. Then his gaze drifted toward the courtyard where a familiar figure walked alone under the cloudy light of dawn, and his heart ached in ways no spell could soothe.

He lingered there a while longer. The rest of the castle was beginning to stir. He could hear footsteps in distant corridors, the low murmur of servants relighting torches and carrying trays.

“Was Morrigan needling you? She tends to do that all too well.”

Cedric jumped, turning toward the voice. The king stood in the doorway, crown absent, hair tousled, looking more like a man than a monarch. There was a gentleness in his stance, but something guarded too, as though he feared being seen.

“Your Majesty,” Cedric said quickly, straightening.

Alistair gave a small huff of laughter. “Don’t do that,” he said softly. “Maker’s breath, you sound just like she did.”

Cedric blinked. “Sorry. Habit.”

“No need to apologize.” Alistair leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, eyes on the fading light. “Old habits seem to be the theme of the day…You’re her companion now, aren’t you? The one who came through the mirror.”

“Something like that,” Cedric said after a moment of hesitation.

Alistair nodded slowly, as if that answered more than it did. “She always had a way of finding strays.” His voice softened. “Or maybe they found her. I never could tell.”

Cedric’s throat went dry. “She… She doesn’t talk about the past much.”

“No, she wouldn’t.” Alistair smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “There’s too much of it.”

Silence fell again, uncomfortably heavy. Both of them thinking of the same woman, neither daring to name her.

Finally, Cedric asked quietly, “Did you ever stop loving her?”

Alistair didn’t look at him. “You don’t really stop loving someone like Evaline,” he said, his voice low and warm. “You just learn to live with the part of yourself that still does.”

Cedric swallowed hard. “Morrigan said something like that.”

“Then she’s smarter than I remember,” Alistair said, mouth twitching into a wry smile. “Though I’d never tell her so to her face.”

That drew a faint, reluctant laugh out of Cedric.

The king glanced again toward the courtyard where Evaline’s silhouette lingered beneath the gray dawn. His expression softened. “She’s been carrying the weight of the world since the day I met her. I tried to help her once. I think part of me still wishes I could.”

Cedric’s jaw tightened. “Then why didn’t you?”

Alistair blinked, turning to look at him.

“Why didn’t you help her?” Cedric pressed, his voice steadier than he felt. “If you loved her. If you still do. You talk like she’s some legend carved in stone, but she’s real. She bleeds. She hurts. And you let her walk away like—” He stopped himself, biting back the rest.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The air between them felt thin, like something sacred had been cracked open.

Alistair’s expression didn’t harden, but it dimmed somehow.His eyes lowered to the worn flagstones beneath their feet. “You think I don’t know that?” he said quietly. “That I don’t remember every moment I could’ve fought harder?”

Cedric said nothing.

“She made her choice,” Alistair went on, voice rougher now. “And I respected it. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but… I thought it was what she needed. The Blight had ended, Ferelden was in ruins, and the people needed a king. She needed someone who could stay. I couldn’t be both.”

Cedric looked away, anger giving way to something smaller, more uncertain. “So you let her bear it all herself.”

Alistair exhaled slowly. “I told myself she was strong enough. That she always had been. But I think that was just a way of making peace with my own cowardice.”

That quiet admission caught Cedric off guard. He glanced up, and for the first time saw not a king. Not a hero. Just a man haunted by the shape of what he’d lost.

“I suppose,” Alistair said after a long pause, “we all find our own ways to live with what we’ve broken.”

Cedric didn’t trust himself to answer.

Outside, the dawn had brightened to pale gold. Evaline’s figure was gone from the courtyard, leaving only the whisper of wind against the old stone.

Alistair let out a long, soft sigh, and for a long while neither of them spoke. The dawn light crept higher across the flagstones, pale and cold. At last, the king straightened, offering a faint, weary smile.

“You should go to her,” he said softly. “If she’ll let you.” Then he turned and left, his footsteps fading into the dim corridors of Redcliffe Castle.

Cedric lingered, the echoes of their conversation still turning over in his mind. You don’t stop loving someone like Evaline…

He wasn’t sure if that comforted him or hurt worse.

When he finally stepped outside, the morning air bit at his skin. The courtyard was quiet, slick with dew. He found Evaline by the ramparts, her cloak drawn tight around her shoulders. She didn’t look at him when he approached, but she didn’t move away either. That was hopefully a good sign.

“You’ll catch cold out here,” he said, his voice soft, almost tentative.

She huffed out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “After everything else, I think I’ll manage.”

He smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You left in a hurry.”

“I needed air,” she murmured. “Too many ghosts in that room.”

He hesitated, then leaned on the wall beside her, mimicking her stance. For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable, exactly, but it wasn’t brittle either. Just… there.

“You miss him,” he said finally, surprising even himself with the honesty in his tone.

Her eyes flicked toward him, sharp, searching. For a heartbeat, he thought she might deny it. Then she sighed, gaze drifting back to the horizon. “I don’t know what I miss,” she said. “The man, or the hope I thought we shared.”

Silence returned, and for a moment he wondered if he should tell her— The King still loved her. There was no denying it, but it almost felt cruel to say so. Instead, he glanced down, noting the way her fingers curled against the chill. They were bare, reddened by the cold.

“Your hands,” he said softly, before he could stop himself. “They’re freezing.”

Evaline gave a faint, distracted hum. “I’ve endured worse.”

He hesitated. “Still.”

Without really thinking, he reached out, taking her hands in his. Her skin was rougher than he expected. It was calloused and scarred, alive in a way that startled him. He meant only to lend a little warmth, just a small kindness, but something in the air stirred at his touch. It shifted, quiet but potent.

A flicker of light pulsed between their palms, a shimmer like the breath of a fire catching.

Evaline’s eyes widened. “Cedric…”

“I didn’t—” he started, the magic dancing uncontrolled along his fingers, gentle heat spilling through his veins. He felt her pulse jump under his thumbs, a rhythm that didn’t feel entirely separate from his own. Then, as suddenly as it came, the energy stilled. Only warmth remained.

They both froze. The quiet of the courtyard pressed close again, but it wasn’t the same.

He dropped her hands as if he’d burned them. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I could—”

“It’s all right,” she said quickly, though her voice came softer now. She looked down at her hands, flexing them slowly. “I wondered if you could draw from the Fade here. It’s the first time I’ve seen you cast since we arrived.”

He nodded faintly, though the question lingered between them.

“I wasn’t even trying,” he murmured. “It just… answered me.”

Her gaze lifted to him then, steady and unreadable. “The Fade does that sometimes,” she said. “When it senses something special.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant by that, or if she really meant it at all. The thought left his throat dry. He looked away, to the lake glimmering beyond the battlements. Dawn had broken fully now, light scattering over the water like shards of glass.

Evaline followed his gaze, her expression distant but no longer quite so haunted. “It’s strange,” she said quietly. “Coming back here. I thought it would hurt more.”

“It doesn't?” he questioned with a tilt of his head.

That earned him the faintest smile. “No. It feels more like something I can manage.”

They stood together for a while longer, letting the morning settle around them. The chill didn’t seem so sharp anymore. When she finally turned toward the castle, he fell into step beside her without a word. Whatever ghosts still lingered in Redcliffe, they would face them together — one quiet breath, one fragile moment at a time, until dawn came again.

Chapter Text

Mist clung to the morning air, curling around the tents and banners. Evaline stood at the edge of the training grounds, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she watched the soldiers move with precise, practiced rhythm. Somewhere in the distance, Cullen’s voice barked orders, and the clang of steel on steel rang sharp against the quiet.

King Alistair had accompanied The Inquisitor’s party back to Skyhold, just a few days ago, to make preparations. They were going to march on the Grey Wardens at Adamant Fortress.

Cedric moved among the mages with a calm certainty that made her stomach twist. He was practicing a ward, shaping a circle of light in the air, and the glow bent and shimmered with an almost tangible weight. She hadn’t seen him in action like this before, not with the full measure of his skill. Every motion was deliberate, controlled, as if he could bend the magic to his will without effort.

Evaline’s chest tightened. He could stand here among the Inquisition’s mages it seemed… But did he belong with them? She swallowed against the fear that had been gnawing at her since the preparations began. He was strong, yes, but the battlefield was different from the safety of a training circle. Too many unknowns, too many dangers.

A subtle flick of his fingers and the ward flared brightly, then softened again, a pulse of light like a heartbeat. Evaline took a step closer, captivated despite herself. His concentration was absolute, his confidence undeniable. He wasn’t just talented, he was surprisingly powerful. And if he could focus like this under her watchful gaze, perhaps he could survive alongside the Inquisition.

Her thoughts wove between pride and anxiety. There would be demons– scores of them. He was already a gifted mage, but he didn’t know how to protect himself against them. She was confident he could be taught, but would there be enough time?

Cedric turned, catching her watching. His lips quirked in a small, almost shy smile, and Evaline’s stomach clenched. She returned his smile, but hands curled into fists at her sides. Part of her wanted to pull him away, keep him safe behind the walls of Skyhold where danger couldn’t touch him. 

I should keep him here… I should make him stay.

But another part of her recoiled at the thought of standing idle while the Inquisition marched into battle. She remembered the night of the ball, the ogre crashing into the ballroom, and how Cedric had used his magic to distract it just long enough for her to gain the upper hand. His timing and his courage had saved her then.

She could still see the flare of light, the way he moved without hesitation, the confidence in his eyes even in the chaos. That memory reminded her how competent he could be, especially when the stakes were high.

Cedric glanced up once more, and their eyes met. In that moment, there was an understanding between them, unspoken yet undeniable. Evaline felt her chest tighten, her resolve fraying at the edges. Whatever choice she made, it would not be easy.

Then, a voice at her side nearly made her flinch.

“An impressive display,” it said softly.

Evaline turned, realizing Solas– one of the Inquisitor’s trusted companion’s– must have been watching for some time. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on Cedric as though studying a rare phenomenon.

“He shows remarkable control for one so untrained,” he went on. “The Fade answers him readily. Almost eagerly.”

Her shoulders tensed. “You can feel that?”

Solas inclined his head. “His magic hums differently from ours. It does not carry the same cadence as that of Thedas, and yet the Fade bends to him as though it recognizes something familiar. Intriguing.”

Evaline followed his gaze back to Cedric, who had returned to his work. “He’s learned quickly,” she said, quieter now. “But the Fade here isn’t the same as the sort of magic he’s used to. It’s dangerous.”

“Everything worth wielding is dangerous,” Solas murmured. “And yet, you fear for him.”

She frowned, crossing her arms. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Perhaps,” he allowed. “But you know as well as I that fear can be a cage. If you do not allow him to stand beside you, you will forever wonder if he could have.”

Her breath caught in her throat. He wasn’t wrong, but the thought of losing Cedric on some barren field was a wound she couldn’t bear to imagine.

Solas’s expression softened, into something mercurial but almost kind. “Do not decide for him what he is capable of, Warden. Let him show you.”

With that, he inclined his head and turned away, his figure fading into the pale morning mist. Evaline watched him go, her thoughts a tangle of pride and dread. When she looked back to Cedric, he had finished his ward and was smiling faintly at the lingering light.

Let him show you, Solas had said. Easier said than done.

Later that evening, Evaline found Cedric long after the training grounds had gone silent. The sky above Skyhold glowed faintly with starlight, the mountains veiled in clouds. He was seated near the outer ramparts, a book open in his lap, his wand settled against the stone beside him.

“Still studying?” she asked gently.

He looked up, startled, then smiled. “Habit, I suppose. It helps me focus.”

Evaline hesitated before stepping closer. “There’s something I want to tell you. About what it means to be a mage in Thedas.”

Cedric blinked, sensing the shift in her tone. “All right.”

She sat beside him, drawing her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “Every Circle mage undergoes something called the Harrowing. It’s… a trial. You’re sent into the Fade, alone, and told to face whatever awaits you there. If you return, you’re considered ready to walk the world as a mage. If you fail…” Her gaze drifted out over the dark valley below. “You don’t return.”

He frowned. “That’s barbaric.”

A faint, humorless smile touched her lips. “It is. But it’s also how I proved I could survive.”

She told him of the spirit of Valor who had greeted her—a gleaming figure of light, voice calm and kind. Then of the sloth demon that followed, whispering doubt and temptation, urging her to surrender her will. And finally, of Mouse—the small, pitiful creature who had claimed to be her friend, who had guided her through the Fade, who had revealed himself at the end as a demon wearing kindness like a mask.

“I almost let him in,” she confessed, voice quiet. “He promised safety. Power. Freedom from fear. But I saw through him in time. I had to.”

Cedric’s face had gone pale, eyes wide with disbelief. “You mean… you had to face that alone? Every mage does?”

She nodded slowly. “It’s how we prove we can master ourselves. That we can be trusted not to fall to temptation.”

“That’s not trust,” Cedric said, shaking his head. “That’s cruelty.”

For a long moment, she looked at him and felt the weight of years pressing in her chest. “Maybe it is. But it’s the world I know.”

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the wind sighing over the mountains.

Finally, Cedric spoke, his voice low. “If that’s what waits for mages here, maybe I don’t belong on your battlefield.”

Evaline’s breath caught. She could see the fear in his eyes—the compassion too—and knew her answer before she could even think it through.

“No,” she said softly. “You don’t.”

He blinked, confused.

“I won’t risk you for this,” she continued. “You’ve seen enough of our wars. Enough of what our world demands. The Inquisition can march to Adamant without us.”

“Evaline—”

She turned toward him fully then, her expression steady but tender. “For once in my life, I’m choosing something for me. And I choose to stay.”

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The stars wheeled slowly overhead, and somewhere below, the sound of distant horns drifted up from the courtyard as soldiers prepared to march.

Evaline reached out, her fingers brushing his. “Let them fight their war. Just this once, I think I’ve earned a little peace.”

Cedric said nothing more. His silence carried its own kind of acceptance. Evaline lingered beside him a moment longer, staring out over the valley as the first gray hint of dawn crept along the horizon.

Peace. It was such a small word for something that had always eluded her.

She wasn’t sure what came next. All she was certain of was that when morning arrived, she would not be among those who marched.

Not long after, morning dawned gray and cold, mist hanging low over the mountains. The courtyard buzzed with motion. Soldiers checked weapons, scouts mounted their horses, the creak of wagon wheels rolled over damp stone.

Evaline at the entrance of the castle, cloak drawn tight, watching it all from a distance.

“Shouldn’t you be packing, too?”

The voice was warm, familiar, and touched with humor. Alistair came up beside her, helm tucked under one arm, the other resting casually on the pommel of his sword. The faint smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes.

“I heard you weren’t coming,” he added.

Evaline hesitated. “I’m not.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. The sounds of preparation filled the silence between them—the call of the quartermaster, the clatter of armor. Finally, he exhaled slowly through his nose. “You know, I thought I’d never see the day. Evaline Surana, passing up a good fight.”

She gave him a faint, tired smile. “I thought so too.”

He nodded, gaze fixed on the horizon. “You have your reasons, I’m sure.”

“I do.”

“Does it have anything to do with that mage from the other world?”

Her head turned sharply toward him, but his expression was gentle, teasing even. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Half the Inquisition has seen you two together. Maker’s breath, I think even Leliana’s ravens are gossiping about it.”

Evaline huffed a quiet laugh despite herself. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” Alistair’s tone softened. “Because it looks a lot like someone who’s finally found a reason to stop running headlong into danger.”

That made her pause. The wind stirred, catching the edge of her cloak. “Maybe I have,” she admitted. “After everything, I just… I’m tired, Alistair. Of losing people. Of fighting battles that never end.”

He studied her face for a long moment. There was understanding there, tinged with sadness, but no judgment. “You know, if anyone’s earned a rest, it’s you.”

She looked up at him, her throat tight. “You’re not angry?”

“Angry?” He chuckled softly. “Maker, no. I think I’m jealous. You’re getting out while the rest of us are still pretending we know what we’re doing.”

She smiled faintly, but her eyes glistened. “You’ll be fine. You always are.”

“Ah, you’ve clearly forgotten how many times you had to save me from my own sword.”

“I remember,” she said quietly.

He turned to face her fully then, expression shifting to something more serious, more final. “Just promise me one thing, Evaline.”

She swallowed. “What?”

“Don’t let this world take that peace away from you again. Not for anyone.”

The words landed heavier than he likely intended. Evaline felt something twist inside her. It was a mixture of gratitude and dread she couldn’t name.

“I promise,” she said softly.

He smiled at that, warm and familiar, the same smile he’d worn in countless battles past. Then he stepped forward and pulled her into a brief, firm embrace. It was over in a heartbeat, but she felt the weight of years in it. It was full of their shared scars, victories, and regrets– everything condensed into that single, simple gesture.

When he pulled back, he managed a crooked grin. “Don’t let Skyhold burn down while we’re gone, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best.”

He turned then, helmet in hand, and joined the line of departing soldiers. Evaline watched as he disappeared into the morning fog, the clatter of hooves and armor fading slowly until the courtyard fell silent once more.

Only then did she let herself breathe.

She stood there long after the last banners had vanished from sight, her heart heavy but her resolve steady. For once in her life, she had chosen to stay, and though the decision left an ache she couldn’t quite name, it also felt, in some quiet, unexpected way… right.

Chapter Text

Skyhold had never felt so still.

The great halls that once thrummed with marching boots and war-table debates now echoed with silence. The Inquisition banners hung motionless in the draft, their watchful eyes seemingly asleep. Even the torches seemed to burn more quietly.

Most of the Inquisition forces had ridden out days ago to the west, where many of the Grey Wardens had gone astray. Only a few had remained behind: Leliana, always the shadow in the rafters; Josephine, who kept the castle running through sheer will; Morrigan, newly returned and unsettlingly composed; and then Evaline, the one everyone hoped would lead them to victory.

And, of course, there was him.

Cedric still wasn’t sure what compelled Evaline to stay. But he’d seen the look in her eyes when the war party departed. It was one of a bone-deep fatigue that no amount of magic could heal. He hadn’t pressed her then.

Now, with only silence for company, the questions he’d been avoiding pressed back.

He wanted to ask about The Calling. He wanted to understand why her expression went distant and hollow whenever someone mentioned it. He wanted to know what it meant that she carried something inside her that even Solas spoke of with reverence and pity.

He wanted to understand it. He wanted to understand her.

Evaline stood near the war table, tracing a slender finger along the edge of the map of Ferelden. The candlelight caught in the curve of her jaw, and the traces of deep red through her dark hair. Cedric lingered by the doorway, the words clawing at his throat before he finally spoke.

“Can I ask you something?”

Her eyes flicked up, tired and cautious. “You can ask.”

“The Calling,” he said, hesitating. “You’ve mentioned it before. Everyone has. But no one seems willing to explain what it is.”

She studied him for a long moment, weighing something unseen. “It’s… what happens when a Grey Warden’s time runs out.”

“Time?” he pressed, feeling a deep-seated sense of dread settle into the pit of his stomach. She was being vague, but not quite vague enough. Whatever this phenomenon was, it didn't spell out anything good for her.

Evaline let out a slow breath, the kind that sounded more like surrender than exhale.

“We aren’t supposed to talk about it,” she said finally. “Not to outsiders. Not even to each other, if we can help it.”

Cedric frowned. “Then why—”

“Because it’s easier to pretend it doesn’t exist,” she cut in, voice flat. “The moment you give it words, it starts to feel real.”

She turned from the map and leaned both hands against the table’s edge, her knuckles pale under the pressure. “Every Grey Warden hears it eventually. A voice. A song. Faint at first, like something calling from beneath the earth.” Her gaze drifted somewhere distant, unfocused. “It’s the Blight. The taint we take into ourselves when we join. It doesn’t fade. It waits.”

He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. The implication of what she was telling him settled over him like the first creeping shadows of night after the sun set.

The Blight.

He had heard whispers of it. It was a creeping corruption, an unholy sickness that twisted the land and all it touched. The thought of it living inside her, coiled and patient, made his stomach turn.

He’d seen her fight with power that defied belief, but he’d never once thought of the cost. That every spell she cast, every step she took toward saving this world, was done while carrying a piece of the very thing that sought to destroy it.

And now she was telling him it waited.

Evaline’s voice was quiet when she spoke again. “When it starts… when the song grows louder… Most Wardens know their time is close. Some say it’s the Old Gods calling to us from beneath the Deep Roads. We’re drawn there, one by one.” She hesitated, her fingers curling against the edge of the table. “We go willingly. Because if we don’t, the taint consumes us.”

Cedric’s mouth went dry. “You mean…”

“We die,” she said simply. “Or worse. Some become what they swore to destroy.”

The silence that followed was heavy and absolute. Cedric could almost hear the faint echo of her words reverberating off the stone walls. For a heartbeat, he thought of the first time he’d met her. She was the impossible woman from another world who had faced dragons, darkspawn, and all manner of monsters. 

He’d believed her unstoppable. Unbreakable. Now, all he could see was the quiet resignation in her eyes.

Before he could speak, there was a soft clearing of someone’s throat from over his shoulder.

“Forgive the interruption,” came Josephine’s voice, careful and composed as ever. “But… Lady Morrigan is asking for you.”

Evaline’s head lifted slightly, though she didn’t turn. “Morrigan?” she repeated, the name soft but edged. “She must be…”

Disappointed? Irked? She had brought her back to Thedas to lead the charge, after all. Instead, she was here, letting Inquisitor Adaar and Alistair lead their forces to victory. Somehow it felt like it was his fault.

“She said it was important,” Josephine replied, her tone even, but her glance flicked between them with the faintest trace of concern.

Evaline hesitated only a heartbeat before nodding. “All right,” she murmured, her voice low. “Send her in.”

Josephine inclined her head and slipped out. A few seconds later, the echo of footsteps preceded Morrigan’s arrival.

She entered with her usual grace, smooth, deliberate, and self-assured, but there was something gentler in her eyes than Cedric had seen before. At her side walked a young boy, perhaps ten years old, with dark hair and a steady, curious gaze.

“Evaline,” Morrigan greeted, her voice poised between formality and familiarity. “There is someone I have wished for you to meet. I’ve wished it for quite some time actually.”

Evaline drew herself upright, but Cedric could see the subtle stiffness in her posture—the way she set her jaw just a fraction too tight. “Maker’s breath,” she breathed, her gaze drifting to the boy. “This must be…”

“Kieran,” Morrigan finished, her hand resting briefly on his shoulder. “My son.” A pause, then, more quietly. “And Alistair’s.”

Cedric’s breath caught. He looked at Evaline. Her face had gone very still.

“I thought it high time you met him,” Morrigan went on, her tone softer now. “You were there at the end of the Blight. You were there when I asked what no one else would agree to. You are owed at least that much.”

Evaline’s eyes flickered, emotion stirring beneath the surface. There had to be too many memories, too many ghosts. She stepped forward slowly, as though approaching a dream she wasn’t sure would hold if she moved too quickly.

Kieran tilted his head, studying her with open curiosity. “You know my father?” he asked.

Her throat tightened. “I do,” she managed. “He is… a good man.”

Morrigan’s gaze softened, just for an instant. “He is, indeed,” she echoed.

The silence that followed was tender, but brittle around the edges with too many things unsaid pressing in. Cedric stayed still by the doorway, watching, understanding just enough to feel the ache of it.

Evaline knelt slightly, so she was nearer the boy’s eye level. “You have his eyes,” she whispered. “And… your mother’s strength, I think.”

Kieran smiled faintly, not quite sure what to make of the emotion in her tone. “Mother says he is very brave.”

“She’s right,” Evaline said quietly. “He very much is.”

Morrigan lingered a moment longer, her gaze flicking between Evaline and Kieran. There was something uncharacteristically tender in her eyes. It was an awareness, perhaps, of the wound she had just reopened.

“Kieran,” she said softly, “why don’t you see if Mistress Josephine has any of those Antivan chocolates you liked so much? Tell her I said you may have one.”

The boy looked between the two women, uncertain, then nodded and slipped out with a polite bow that was almost too proper for his age. The door closed quietly behind him. For a heartbeat, the war room felt utterly still again.

Morrigan let out a slow breath. “You have every right to hate me,” she said at last. Her tone was calm, but not defensive—simply matter-of-fact. “You trusted me when no one else would, and I used that trust for something… beyond either of us.”

Evaline didn’t answer. Her fingers had curled into her palms, faint tremors running through them.

“I told myself it was necessary,” Morrigan continued. “That it was the only way to ensure that neither you, nor Alistair would die. But necessity is a poor balm for guilt, is it not?”

Evaline’s voice came out hoarse. “You got what you wanted. A legacy. A child. And I…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I buried mine.”

Something in Morrigan’s expression softened further, just for a heartbeat, before she gathered herself again. “Then perhaps, in some small way, this meeting balances the scales,” she murmured. “He deserved to know the face of the woman who allowed him to live before he ever drew breath.”

Cedric felt the breath catch in his throat. He glanced at Evaline, but she was staring at Morrigan, eyes glassy with the kind of grief that couldn’t quite find words.

Morrigan inclined her head slightly. It was an almost regal gesture, but not without warmth. “I will not intrude further. Take whatever time you need.”

She swept from the room as quietly as she had come, her cloak whispering across the stone floor, leaving behind only the faint scent of wild herbs and the silence that followed her everywhere.

When the door clicked shut, Evaline exhaled shakily and pressed both hands against the edge of the war table. Her shoulders trembled.

Cedric hesitated only a moment before stepping closer. “Evaline—”

“She was right,” she whispered, not looking at him. “I did agree to that ritual. But Maker help me, I never thought I’d have to see what it bore.”

Her voice broke on the last word. Cedric stood beside her in silence, the weight of her confession and the echo of that child’s eyes settling deep into the hollow between them.

For a long while, neither of them spoke. The boy’s footsteps had long since faded down the hall, swallowed by the echoing quiet of Skyhold. Only the soft crackle of the brazier remained, its faint light casting thin gold over the stone floor.

Cedric hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been gripping his sleeve until his fingers began to ache. He’d seen magic bend steel, shatter walls, summon storms… but none of it had ever felt as heavy as what had just passed between them.

Evaline stood utterly still, her gaze fixed on the embers in the fireplace as though she could see something within them that no one else could. The firelight caught on the faint curve of her cheek, and for a moment, she didn’t look like a hero or a legend or even a Warden. She looked… ordinary. Terribly, achingly ordinary.

He wanted to say something — anything — but every word felt too small for the space between them. So instead, he stayed quiet. It seemed the only kindness he could offer.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, the strength in it worn thin but still steady. “The past has a way of finding us,” she murmured. “Even when we’ve buried it.”

Cedric swallowed hard. “Do you ever wish it wouldn’t?”

She gave a faint, tired smile. “Sometimes. But wishing doesn’t change what was done… or what remains.”

Her words lingered between them, laden with such heartache. It was enough to make his own heart feel like it was constricted in his chest. The fire crackled softly, its glow ebbing as the last of the wood began to sink into ash.

Cedric shifted his weight, his throat tight. “Just a moment ago,” he said carefully, “when you spoke to Morrigan… you said, ‘I buried mine.’”

Evaline didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, she turned her head toward him. The firelight caught in her big, brown eyes — bright and wet — and for a heartbeat, he saw something raw flicker there before she hid it again behind that familiar composure.

A small, fragile smile curved her lips. “I did,” she said softly. “But that’s a story for another night.”

He wanted to press, but something in her expression, that quiet, weary gentleness, stopped him. So he only nodded. The silence between them was no longer heavy, only solemn. It was much like the closing of a door that wasn’t quite locked.

Outside, the wind whispered along the battlements, and Skyhold held its breath.