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the-darkness-does-not-bargain · 1 year

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Andraste 1: 1

Okay, here’s the actual beginning of this AU, finally. It’s a bit of a doozy, but part of that is because the game’s opener is really just that long. We introduce all the central players here and start to hint at some of the critical details of this story. I hope you like it!

Even weeks afterward, you can’t say with certainty what happened to you in the Fade. It’s all a big, green, glowing blur.

You were laying in your bed, watching water drip from the crack in the ceiling of your cell, when you heard heavy-booted feet running past the bars. You looked up, but they were already gone. Thinking that one of the other prisoners might just be trying to escape, you settled back down with a huff. They were an idiot, whoever they were. No one had managed to escape Aeonar in the 11 years that you’d been here. Anyone who tried was butchered by the Templars before they could take a single step outside.

Sure enough, shouts and screams started to echo through the walls, a lot of them. There were sounds of fighting too, steel clashing and magic flying. You sat up again, peering out through the bars as best you could. Maybe someone had started a riot.

You debated crawling out of your bed to go see, but before you could decide, your cell door swung open, and Sir Francis stood in its frame. Her ugly, wizened face was smirking at you, as per usual. But what was unusual was the fact that her sword was drawn. You were no stranger to her beatings, but she never used her sword for that, generally preferring a switch or a whip. She stared at you like a wolf stares at a rabbit, sending a shudder of fear through you that you could not suppress.

“Sir Francis? What’s going on?” You asked, much more meekly than you wanted. You had learned quickly upon your arrival that showing your fear only made things worse, so you hid it behind subtle defiance and jokes that would frustrate rather than excite. Something about this, however, about the way she looked at you, made you forget any quips or taunts you might have said.

“The reckoning has come, child,” Francis said, sounding far too pleased with herself. “The Maker is at last bringing His wrath upon your unnatural souls.” Without another word, she marched up to you, heedless of how you tried to scurry back on your useless legs, and raised her weapon above her head, bringing it down in a deadly thrust.

She stabbed you. She actually stabbed you through the chest, hard enough to drive her sword through the bed beneath you. You almost didn’t feel it, you were too shocked. The pain took several seconds to register, but by that point you couldn’t scream, only cough up blood helplessly as she pulled her blade out again with a sickening, wet sound.

She watched you choke on your own blood, fingers scraping over the gushing wound in your chest, and she smiled, bright and exultant. “Pray to Him while you can,” she advised, downright fucking gleeful. “He may yet have some mercy to show you.” Then she left. She just walked the fuck out, leaving you there in your bed as the world started to dissolve around you.

You whimpered, trying uselessly to put pressure on the wound, unable to sit up or even roll over to spit out the blood or the tears now streaming down your face. Someone, anyone please, I don’t want to die…

At first, you thought your prayers would go unanswered, that the Maker, if He was even real, had truly turned His back on you. But, as you started to lose yourself to the darkness behind your eyelids and the cold spreading from your chest to the tips of your fingers, you felt Her. Your Friend, the only one who had ever stood by you. You felt Her hand, incorporeal though it was, close around yours over your wound. Her warmth enveloped you, pulling you in, keeping you safe as your eyes fell shut.

From here, it starts getting fuzzy, and it doesn’t really become un-fuzzy until you wake up in a freezing cold prison cell with a circle of blades pointed at your throat.

You remember… a green-tinted wasteland, of craggy rocks and dead trees, a landscape distorted and discolored by an eerie, veridian glow. You remember being able to move (move, child!) and stand (get up!) for the first time in over a decade, and how you immediately had to run (run!!) from a horde of monsters determined to eat you alive or worse. You remember a figure, gleaming green and gold, reaching out its strange, ethereal hand to you, and you remember the more familiar hand of your Friend gripping you by the forearm and stretching your arm across the last few inches.. But when your fingers touch, the memory ends abruptly, and all is foggy until the door to your new cell creaks open, and the most intimidating woman you’ve ever met stands in front of you.

She introduces herself as Mother Superion, which is an immediate red flag in your book. That first impression is not helped when she starts interrogating you, hounding you with questions about explosions and Divine Justinia and a Conclave. She thinks you did something, that you killed people. She prowls around the room, stopping next to you, and then you feel her bony fingers, far stronger than they look, close around your left wrist and yank it upward. “Explain this,” she demands coldly, as a burst of green-gold light briefly illuminates the room.

“I can’t!” You shout, turning as best you can to look at Superion as she stalks behind you. “I don’t even know what that is! Whatever you think I did, I’m innocent! I don’t even know where I am!”

The interrogation is put on hold by the arrival of bad news, delivered by a steely woman in steel armor, with a big eye emblazoned on her chest plate. This woman glares at you with unmasked anger and mistrust, and Superion addresses her as Lilith. Lilith tells Superion that the “Breach” is “expanding again” and demons are pouring through it faster than before. “We cannot remain here,” she insists. “Beatrice and the others will not be able to hold the line much longer.”

“You are right,” Superion concedes, before regarding you with a piercing, quizzical stare. You wonder what she could possibly see that seems so dangerous. A teenage girl in chains, dressed in the same bloody, threadbare fatigues you had been wearing in your cell? No weapon, no staff, not even a trusty rock, you could hardly be considered a threat. “As for you,” she says, standing in front of you once more. “We have urgent matters to attend to, and you will be coming with us.” Her tone and expression demand no argument, which would normally encourage you to argue, but you rein the urge in. “As to your guilt…” Someone clearly hasn't heard of “innocent until proven guilty”, which is frankly on par for Chantry Templar assholes. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” She nods at the soldiers still pointing swords at your neck. At her silent command, they withdraw, and one of them roughly grabs your bound wrists to unchain them from the floor.

You rub your wrists idly and stand with all the grace of a baby halla. You haven’t had time to process the fact that your legs suddenly work, and you aren’t given the time now. Mother Superion is already outside the cell, and a hard poke against your lower back nearly knocks you to the floor again. “Move!” Lilith snarls, having evidently jammed the pommel of her sword into your spine to force you forward.

It’s even colder outside the cell, where no walls offer protection against the icy winds. You can’t contain a yelp when your nearly bare feet touch the snow, earning an eye roll from Lilith. Frowning, Mother Superion summons an idling soldier with the snap of her fingers, ordering him to fetch boots and a small, green gambeson. These she hands to you, not ungently.

You accept them with what you hope is evident skepticism. “Why are you giving me these?”

This earns you another eye roll. “Put them on,” the Mother commands. “It’s a treacherous hike from here to the Breach, and I won’t have you dying of frostbite before your trial can be held.”

“How kind of you,” you snark sourly, even as you clumsily pull on the boots and gambeson. At least you’ll be warmer now. “You keep mentioning this Breach thing. What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about that.” Superion points her cane toward the sky, and oh… okay yeah, that’s… bad, that’s really bad. Off in the distance, the sky has been rent open, at a singular, bleeding point above a smoking ruin. A familiar, eerie green light is pouring from the wound, along with strange falling objects that strike the earth with concussive impact. The air is alive with thunder and a wailing too unnatural to be the wind. “We call it the Breach, a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It is not the only such Rift, just the largest. There are many, all caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion can do that?”

The Mother inclines her head. “This one did. And unless we act, it may grow until it swallows the world.”

As you stare, dumbstruck, you feel your left hand explode in pain. You scream, falling to your knees on the snow-swept stones, writhing as the same green light of the sky wound emanates from your palm. After several eternal seconds of agony, feeling like someone is tearing the flesh from your finger bones, the light fades and the feeling passes. You are left gasping, curled around your left arm, free hand clutching mindlessly at slush.

“Each time the Breach expands, your Mark spreads, and it is killing you. It may also be the key to helping us stop this. If you want to see another sunrise, you will help us stop this,” Mother Superion explains coldly, but honestly.

“Shit, fuck,” You curse, still trying to get your breath back to speak coherently. “You say it may be the key? To doing what?”

“Closing the Breach,” Superion explains. “Whether that is possible is something we will discover shortly.”

“And you still think I’m guilty? You think I would do this to myself?”

“Not intentionally. Something clearly went wrong. But if you wish to prove your innocence, this is the only way.”

You stare each other down for several seconds before you give in, knowing she’s right. “Fine, I’ll go with you.”

“It is your only choice,” the Mother responds before turning and setting off down the path, letting Lilith drag you to your feet.

As a trio, you make your way as best you can towards the ruins underneath the Breach. Soldiers run in all directions around you, panicked and disorganized. Some stand shivering behind wooden barricades, eyes fixed forward like their lives depend on it. One sprints past you in the opposite direction, declaring, “Maker! It’s the end of the world!” Other people, civilians by your assessment, mill about nervously, gawking and glaring at you as you pass.

“They have decided your guilt,” Superion says grimly. “They need it. All of Haven mourns our Most Holy, Divine Justinia.”

“I don’t give a shit what they need. I’m not guilty!” You bark, loudly, returning each of their glares with your own. Lilith shoves your shoulder to keep you marching forward.

The Breach pulses once more during your trek, sending shockwaves of pain through you again, forcing Lilith to drag you to your feet a second time. “The pulses are coming faster now,” she says to Mother Superion, as if you’re just a sack of flour that had fallen from a wagon.

“The longer we tarry, the more the rifts appear, and the more demons we face. We must press onward.”

“You guys still haven’t told me what happened. Or where this place is. I was in Aeonar, I’ve never been here before in my life,” you insist, trying your best to keep pace with Mother Superion.

The Mother looks uncertain as she considers these words. “This is Haven, the nearest town to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where the Conclave was to be held. They say you stepped out of a Rift, and then fell unconscious. They say a woman was with you, but no one knows who she was. Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple.”

Well, that answers approximately none of your questions.

The real trouble doesn’t start until you reach the bridge. What should have been an easy jog from one side to the other is completely undone by one of the meteors expelled by the Breach. The stone beneath your feet falls away, sending the three of you plummeting into the ravine below, hitting several hard rocks on the way down.

Mother Superion lands with the most grace, although that isn’t saying much, and Lilith softens her fall by performing a roll upon landing, ending in a crouched position on the ice. You, conversely, land flat on your face, with your forehead split over and your nose dripping blood. Coughing, you pull yourself up as best you can, grabbing onto a wayward staff that had fallen from the bridge with you. You lean on the staff to get your bearings, and curse again when you see another meteor crash into the ground in front of you.

Monsters, demons, emerge from the smoke, their snarling mouths shrieking and their talons primed to tear into your flesh. Lilith charges the nearest one with a roar, driving her sword into its chest while blocking its claws with her shield. It screams and disappears in a puff of smoke, but another is quick to take its place. Mother Superion battles her own opponent, pulling a hidden blade from her cane and slashing away with practiced ease and efficiency. Okay, the two of them seem to have things well in hand. You are more inclined to take your new staff and find somewhere to hide until they win. You can barely walk, let alone fight. Combat magic was forbidden in Aeonar, on pain of execution.

This plan goes out the window the moment a demon gets up in your face. It bursts from the ground in front of you in a haze of rage, claws already primed to tear you apart. Combat magic or no, you’re going to have to deal with it. The demon strikes, and you block with the staff, only to be sent wheeling to the side, and you barely have time to right yourself before it attacks again, scoring a deep slash in your arm. Fuck.

Your heart pounds with fear as blood leaks down your arm. Hiding was Plan A, defending was Plan B. Both have failed, leaving you only with plan C, your worst one yet: offense.

You summon your magic and swiiing! the staff with all your might, managing to hit the demon in the head as it gears up for another swipe. When the end of the staff connects, there is an explosion of fire, a veritable inferno blowing the demon to smithereens where it stood. You are left standing gobsmacked, looking between the staff in your grip and the scorched ice where the demon once stood. Well, maybe you know some combat magic after all.

Lilith and Mother Superion are killing off the rest of the demons while you’re still coming to terms with what you just did. The pain in your face and arm are fading away, but your attention is stuck on your hands where they clutch the wooden staff.

You look up just as they finish, to find them staring at you with shock and anger. Lilith stalks toward you, sword still in hand, and points the blade at you. “Drop the staff! Now!” She demands.

You gape at her. “Drop it? That thing almost killed me and you want me to—”

It’s as if your very blood is set on fire. Suddenly, every one of your nerve endings is alight with blinding pain. For the third time in less than an hour, you fall to your knees, screaming. She’s doing this to you, that bitch. You remember now, one of the punishments used in Aeonar to discipline prisoners. The Templars would force them to drink a potion that would leave them convulsing and shrieking on the floor. It had never been used on you (Francis had always favored more traditional forms of violence), but you’d seen it done enough times. Somehow, Lilith is doing it to you without a potion, and you now understand how even the scariest prisoners, the ones there for actual crimes, could be reduced to whimpering piss puddles by the end of it.

“Lilith, enough!” Superion calls out. In an instant, the pain stops, leaving you boneless, wheezing, and dripping sweat onto the ice. Lilith looks aggrieved at being told to stop, lowering her arm but gripping her sword even more tightly.

“What… the fuck did you do to me?” You whimper. “Fucking Templar bitch!”

“Quiet, girl!” Superion hisses at you. “Get up. We have to keep moving.”

“Tell that to her! How does she expect me to get there if I can’t even defend myself?!”

The Mother looks displeased, but she concedes to your point. “That is true.” She looks at Lilith. “We cannot protect her against so many. She will have to fight for herself.”

“And you’re trusting her not to burn us alive the moment we turn our backs?” Lilith questions hotly.

Superion looks back at you dispassionately. “Even if she succeeded, she would die from the Mark’s growth within a day. She knows better than to try.” She says this with confidence while also staring you down like she thinks you’re still considering it. Which, sure, maybe you were when Lilith was using her Templar bullshit on you, but the following seconds provide you with renewed clarity of purpose. She's right. You really, really don’t want to die (again), so until you figure out how not to do that, you’re going to stick with the people that can slice through demons like soft cheese.

Once you can stand again, the three of you continue on. You encounter more demons along the way, and you wield your staff with more competence than you’ve ever felt. You clumsily but effectively fling balls of fire at wraiths and shades, pushing them back when they get too close and even killing a few.

As you draw closer and closer to the Breach, the sounds of combat grow louder. “Who’s fighting up there?” You ask Mother Superion as you ascend a set of snow-covered stairs.

“You’ll see soon,” she says. Vague bitch. “We must help them.”

Sure enough, the scene you stumble across at the top of the stairs is fucked. A large group of shades is closing in on a trio of combatants. Two are mages, to your surprise, an elf man and a human woman, both of whom wield their staves with grace and power you can scarcely dream of having. The third person is a woman standing off to one side, firing on the demons with some kind of crossbow. One shade moves to attack her, only to get the heavy butt of the crossbow slammed into its head, followed by a rapid succession of steel bolts through the chest until it vanishes. Despite their obvious prowess, the demon horde doesn’t let up. New shades and wraiths crop up almost out of thin air, and above the scene sits an ominous glowing mass of green stone and magic.

Lilith and Mother Superion charge in without hesitation, falling into formation with the other three with practiced efficiency. You are a second slower on the uptake, but you do participate, joining your fire with the elf’s frost and the woman’s lightning. The demons don’t quit, and the strange crystal orb above suddenly bursts apart, becoming a hazy cloud of green light. Even more worrisome, the mark on your hand seems to respond to it, beginning to glow the same color.

In an instant, the elf mage is next to you, gripping your forearm firmly but not roughly. Up close, you notice that he is bald and has inquisitive gray eyes that seem to look past you to something deep inside. You suppose he’s handsome in a uniquely elvish way, but it doesn’t do anything for you. He stares with furrowed brow at the glowing mark before turning and thrusting your hand at the strange green light.

The connection is instantaneous. As though matching like to like, the energy pouring from your hand extends outward and twines with the magic of the cloud, forming a chaotic, swirling beam like a lightning bolt between them. It’s unequal. In fact, whatever power is coming from your hand seems to be too much for the cloud. You watch as it is overtaken and drawn inwards, contracting until it is forcibly coalesced into a single point, which then expels a final burst of mana before disappearing entirely and taking the demons with it.

The elf releases your forearm, regarding you with a mysterious smile. “What did you do?” You ask him, looking between his face and your hand, which no longer glows.

“I did nothing,” he says mildly. “The credit is yours.”

“I did that?” You question, looking up at the now empty air.

“Whatever magic created the Breach also placed that Mark on your hand,” the man elaborates. “I theorized the Mark might be able to close the Rifts that opened in the Breach’s wake. And it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Mother Superion says from behind you, making you jump.

“Possibly,” the man concedes. He looks at you again, that odd smile unwavering. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Good to know,” a wry voice speaks from your right. It’s the woman with the crossbow. She’s pretty too, and serving major badass vibes with her long black coat and shiny crossbow. Something about her is familiar, but you can’t place what. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” She struts toward you with casual confidence. “I’m Mary. Nice to meet you, kid.” She doesn’t ask your name or offer a hand to shake, so you’re left a little lost on how to respond.

“Um, that’s… a really nice crossbow,” you stammer, cursing yourself silently for how stupid you sound.

She smirks at you, but her dark eyes are sharp, like they’re sizing you up. “This old girl?” She says. “Her and I have been through a lot together. She’ll be great company in the valley.”

“Absolutely not,” Lilith growls, stepping forward to glare at Mary. “Your help is appreciated, rogue, but—”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” Mary cuts in. She tsks, shaking her head. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

“What we need are trained warriors with competent combat skills,” Lilith denies angrily.

“Baby girl, I have an automatic crossbow,” Mary counters with sanctimonious gentleness. “When you have an automatic crossbow, you don’t need combat skills.” Okay, you like her. You’ve decided it.

“She is right, Lilith,” Mother Superion says, unexpectedly. “Mary and I have fought many battles together. She is more than competent, and her help will be invaluable.” Lilith concedes unhappily, but crosses her arms and glares while Mary keeps on grinning, smug as anything.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” the elf says. “I am pleased to see you still live.”

“What he means is ‘I kept that Mark from killing you while you slept’”, Mary elaborates.

“Not just me,” Solas counters. “Beatrice also helped a great deal.” He looks toward the human mage, who has yet to say anything. You turn to look at her too.

Your first thought is that she’s beautiful. Holy shit. Wow. She might be the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. She stands tall but unassuming, dressed in sleek, black combat robes. Her long black hair is pulled up in a tight bun, her skin is tan, and her cheeks are dusted with freckles. Her dark eyes watch you calmly, expressing neither mockery nor anger. There’s a quietness to her presence, a steadiness that makes you want to trust her, something you’ve never felt toward anyone before, let alone someone you’ve just met.

“Solas did most of the work,” she deflects humbly. “I merely assisted.” Her accent is Fereldan, which catches you off-guard. It’s the posh kind of Fereldan that speaks to nobility, but if she never spoke you would have assumed she was Orlesian, maybe from Montsimmard.

You have trouble tearing your eyes away from her, but you do have a pressing matter to address. “I’m Ava. You guys seem to know a lot about this thing,” you say to Solas, holding up your left hand.

“Solas is an apostate,” Mother Superion explains. “He is well-versed in such matters.”

“Technically all mages are apostates now, Mother Superion,” Solas responds matter-of-factly. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Beatrice shift uncomfortably at these words. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage.” There’s a pompousness to his statement that grates against you, even as he looks apologetically towards Beatrice and adds, “Not to offend or diminish your prowess, Beatrice.” To Mother Superion, he says, “Speaking of prowess, however, you should know that this magic is like nothing I have ever seen before. Ava may be a mage,” he says, indicating you. “But I find it hard to believe that any mage could have such power.”

Mother Superion looks between him and you. “Understood,” she says, her tone giving nothing away. “We must proceed to the forward camp.” She sets off without another word, Lilith and Beatrice falling in line behind her immediately. Your eyes follow Beatrice shamelessly as she goes. Solas follows at a slower pace, and Mary brings up the rear with you.

“Come on, kid,” she says, patting your shoulder. “We’ve got demons to kill.”

The next problem comes in the form of another Rift, positioned outside a sealed wooden gate blocking access to another bridge. Your little party charges into the fray as before, and you notice certain things about each of them as you fight. Lilith is like a bull throwing herself against the nearest enemy, but she’s not reckless. She keeps her guard up and never falters, able to return the harshest blow with one of her own in a dance she performs effortlessly. Mother Superion moves like a snake, sliding between foes and striking them down before they can hit the empty space where she was milliseconds ago. Mary keeps her distance but is always moving, always seeking to flank, always looking for weak points to exploit. Solas fights strategically, using his frost magic to isolate individual enemies and slow down groups before they can surround anyone else. He freezes a shade in place before it can attack Lilith’s flank, shattering it into a thousand pieces with another pulse of mana.

And Beatrice, well… Beatrice is just a full badass. For a mage, she doesn’t seem to care about keeping her distance. She weaves between demons, twirling her staff like a dancer, wreathing her body in arcs of lightning. She strikes as much with her staff as she does with her magic, cutting through wraiths with the sharp end and bashing shades with the blunt end. At one point, she even impales a shade, pushing it away from Solas before obliterating it with a concentrated burst of electricity. She makes you, with your flailing fire balls, look like a toddler waving a stick.

Solas directs you to aim your hand at the Rift to close it while he and the others occupy the demons. You do, and the same beam of Fade energy connects from your hand to the Rift, forcing it to close, and leaving your fingers tingling and throbbing in its wake.

“The Rift is closed,” Mother Superion calls out. “Open the gate!”

The heavy wooden doors creak open, held aloft by two battered looking soldiers, revealing the snowy bridge beyond. You’ve finally reached the forward camp.

Your group marches past the soldiers, the Chantry sisters tending the wounded, the rows of bodies hidden under tarps, and heads straight toward a man in Chantry dress leaning over a table. He looks up at your approach, and scowls at you specifically.

“Well,” he says, voice hard and carrying an arrogant, Orlesian lilt. “Here you are then.” He looks at Lilith and Mother Superion. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.” Okay, so he’s not friendly. Noted.

Mother Superion manages to look even more offended than you feel. “Order me?” She scoffs angrily. “You are a glorified clerk, Duretti. A bureaucrat!”

“And you are a thug,” Duretti counters. It's not the word you would have chosen to describe the Mother (and you can think of many), but she and Duretti seem to be familiar with each other, so maybe he knows something you don’t. “But a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!”

“I serve the Most Holy,” Superion asserts.

“Justinia is dead!” Duretti shouts, banging his fist on the table. “We must elect a replacement and obey her orders on the matter.”

You roll your eyes, unable to contain your snark any longer. “So no one’s actually in charge here. Great, I’m really feeling the power of the Faith right now.” Somewhere behind you, you hear Mary snort, and even Solas’s lips quirk upward. Beatrice, however, frowns like you’ve insulted her family or something.

Mother Superion ignores your quip, as does Duretti. “Call a retreat, Suzanne,” he says, beseeching. “Our position here is hopeless.”

Superion (Suzanne, your brain catalogs for later) shakes her head. “We can still stop this before it’s too late.”

“How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the Temple, even with your soldiers.”

“We must get to the Temple,” Lilith insists, stepping forward. “It’s the quickest route.”

“But not the safest,” Superion counters, although her tone is ponderous. “Our forces could charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

“But we lost contact with an entire squad on that path,” Beatrice says fervently, crossing her arms.

“It’s too risky,” Lilith agrees. “We must charge. We will lose men and precious time if we don’t.”

“Abandon this now,” Duretti cuts in, stubborn as anything. “Before more lives are lost.”

At that moment, the Breach pulses again with a thunderous cacophony, and your Mark responds in kind, drawing a pathetic whine from you. This draws everyone’s attention to you, and Beatrice appears at your side, hand outstretched as if to touch your arm, but unable to close the gap.

“Are you alright?” She asks, with genuine concern. You nod, unable to speak because you’re currently gritting your teeth against the pain. By her worried expression, you know she is unconvinced, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she asks you something most unexpected. “How do you think we should proceed?”

“You’re asking me?” You squeak, stupid with shock.

“You have the Mark,” Solas points out.

“And you are the one we must keep alive,” Superion concurs, even-toned. “Since we cannot agree on our own…”

You glance between all of them, trying to gauge if they actually mean what they’re saying. The last person who had ever asked your opinion about something was Diego, when he wanted to know if you thought the crack in the wall of his cell looked more like a bear or a dragon. They return your gaze steadily, including Lilith, although she’s obviously not happy about it.

And… you hate that you're about to agree with a fucking Templar, but… "You say charging ahead will be the fastest way?"

“Yes,” Lilith says confidently. “The Temple is just over the ridge. It’s a straight shot.” That sounds good to you. Knowing your luck, if you tried the mountain path, you would just fall off of it.

“Then I say we charge.” And, just to reinforce the fact that you’re still not cool with anything that’s happening right now, you scornfully add, “I won’t survive long enough for your trial. Whatever happens, happens now.”

Mother Superion nods. “Let’s go then.”

“On your head be the consequences, Suzanne,” Duretti mutters as you stalk past. Superion ignores him.

Your party progresses toward the ruins at a steady pace. You encounter more demons and another Rift. This time, you need no instruction on what to do. As soon as an opening presents itself, you stretch your hand toward it. This time, it doesn’t close immediately, but you feel something give way inside of it, causing all the demons to slow and still as though stunned. They don’t disappear however, and after a few moments they regain mobility and carry on as before. They attempt to rush you, clued in to your interference, and you ready your staff to start incinerating them.

You needn’t have bothered. Before a single demon can reach you, Beatrice is there, as fast and deadly as the lightning she summons. She’s like a storm, furious and inescapable. She destroys one shade and uses the momentum to propel her staff into another. You clutch your own dinky staff, wondering if you should help her, or if she even needs your help.

“Close the Rift, Ava!” She calls to you as she seamlessly blocks an attack. She throws her opponent back with a pulse of mana and carries on to the next. She’s unstoppable.

Doing what she says seems like the best use of your time, so you turn back to the Rift in question and go in for a second attempt. This time, when you feel it break, it breaks for good, closing with a crack. The tingling in your hand fades away faster than last time, and something in you feels stronger.

“Sealed, as before,” Solas comments, walking up to you. “You are becoming quite proficient at this.” He looks thoroughly unruffled, and on inspection, the rest of your companions also seem unharmed. “Were you hurt?”

“Huh? No.”

Solas looks at you with interest. He reaches out and touches your arm with careful fingers. Brow furrowing, you look down to see what he’s staring at. He’s touching a tear in your gambeson, a long slash crusted in dried blood. Your bare skin is exposed underneath. With a start, you remember that this was where the shade cut you back when you first picked up your staff after falling from the bridge. But looking at it now, your skin is unblemished. No sign of the wound exists apart from the blood on your sleeve. Shaken, you run your fingers along your face, trying to find where your forehead had split open on the rocks, but there’s nothing there.

“How interesting,” Solas says mysteriously. “Well, I’m glad you are unharmed. We should press onward.”

He turns away, but before you can ask after what he means, a new voice interrupts.

“Mother Superion, you managed to close the Rift. Well done!” Two new women are walking up to your group. One has dark skin decorated with scars, short, red-tinted hair, and muscles big enough to be seen even under her heavy armor. The other is a girl who looks to be your age, dressed in Chantry clothes with a head of dark, fluffy curls and a bow and quiver over one shoulder.

“Do not congratulate me, Dora,” Mother Superion says, indicating to you. “This is the prisoner’s doing.”

The prisoner has a name, ya know? You are tempted to say this, but Mary catches your eye and subtly shakes her head.

The buff woman regards you curiously. “Is it? I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people to get you here.”

“You’re not the only one hoping that.” Which is about as diplomatic as you can be. You’re getting really tired of this.

“The way to the Temple should be clear,” the curly-haired woman says, adjusting the strap of her quiver. “We can give you time, but you should hurry.”

“Right you are, Camila,” Superion agrees. “Let’s go. Dora, gather whoever remains and bring them here.”

“At once,” Dora confirms, already jogging away.

“Maker watch over you,” Camila says, smiling softly as she follows Dora.

You wonder what this Temple of Sacred Ashes looked like before the Conclave. You imagine some impressive, immaculate building dusted in snow, gleaming in the sunlight. Whatever it once was, it is a ruin now. A blasted heath littered with burning corpses. Pristine stonework lays shattered, staircases have been destroyed, and statues have crumbled to dust. In the center of it all sits a massive Rift, seemingly the base of the Breach itself.

“This is your chance to end this,” Superion says to you. “Are you ready?”

You stare at the Rift, following it all the way to the Breach itself, so far up in the sky as to be partially obscured by the clouds. It rumbles with thunder as whole boulders float in a slow orbit around it. No, you’re not fucking ready. Obviously.

“I’ll try,” you demure. “But I don’t know how to even get up to that thing, let alone close it.”

“No,” Solas denies, shaking his head. “This Rift was the first, and it is the key.”

“We have to try. The Maker is with us, He will see us through,” Beatrice says. She’s so steadfast. She has real faith, not in you, but in the rightness of this cause. Somehow, that’s enough. Even her bringing up the Maker doesn’t deter you. Her faith isn’t in you, but that’s okay. You’ll do what it takes to prove her right.

You pick your way through the debris, looking for the quickest path down. As you jog across ruined walkways, something weird happens (and given how your day has been, that’s really saying something).

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.” An unfamiliar voice, smooth and cold, echoes through the air of the Temple.

“What are we hearing?” Superion asks, her eyes darting around for signs of hidden enemies.

“Presumably the person who created the Breach,” Solas responds.

Strange spikes of glowing red stone dot the path you tread, and when you come upon one, you see Mary visibly recoil. “Shit. Suzanne, this is red lyrium.” Red lyrium? Up until now, you had assumed that green was the only color lyrium could come in.

“I see it, Mary,” Superion confirms grimly.

“What the fuck is it doing here?” Mary growls, staring at the crimson mass and gripping her crossbow even tighter than before.

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the Temple, corrupting it,” Solas suggests calmly, though his shoulders are tense.

“Whatever it is, it’s evil,” Mary spits, stepping away. “No one touch it, you hear?” She ushers you all past it without further delay.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

“Someone help me!”

Mother Superion gasps audibly. “That was Divine Justinia’s voice!” She speeds up impressively for a woman who uses a cane (even a sword-cane), and you struggle to keep up on your baby halla legs.

Eventually, you all make it to the base of the Temple, dropping down into the center of the heath where the large Rift sits. The Mark ignites at the proximity, but the pain is more bearable now, somehow, maybe because you closed the previous Rifts.

Divine Justinia’s plea rings out again as you stare at the floating crystal mass, and a distressingly familiar voice answers: your own.

“What the fuck is going on here?!”

Sure enough, the others recognize it as you do. Superion stares at you in shock. “That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you, but…”

Anything else she means to say is cut off abruptly. The Rift pulses, expelling a wave of blinding light, and in its wake, something like a vision plays out before your eyes.

A woman in ornate religious dress hangs suspended in mid-air, arms forcibly outstretched. She stares in horror at a shadow, tall and willowy, with glowing orange eyes. Some of the dialogue you’ve already heard is repeated, and then you show up out of nowhere. Literally. You are laying in a heap on the ground, barely holding yourself up by the elbows, and your body is glowing a soft, yellow-y gold. You recognize it instantly as the color of your Friend, who always comes when you ask her to, and this apparently is no exception. In the vision, you repeat your question, and Divine Justinia calls to you. “Run while you can! Warn them!”

The shadowy figure tilts its head, regarding you with its burning stare. “How curious to find such a revenant here,” it says. “What Great Spirit loves you so, child, to bring you back from death?” Somehow, you can almost see the thing, whatever it is, smiling. “A pity. Kill her, now.” There’s another brilliant flash of light, and the vision abruptly ends.

You stare at the space where the shadowy figure was, until you are unceremoniously yanked around by the arm, Mother Superion’s fingers clamped hard on your bicep. “You were there,” she says accusingly. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she truly…?” She sucks in a tremulous breath. “Was the vision true? What are we seeing?” She asks, more steadily.

“I don’t know!” You cry, pulling your arm out of her grip. She lets you go, which is good because you probably wouldn’t have succeeded otherwise. “I don’t remember!”

Solas steps in, looking at Superion. “It is echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.” He directs your attention to the Rift. “This Rift is not sealed, but it is closed. Albeit temporarily. I believe that with the Mark, we may open it, and then seal it properly and safely. However, doing so will attract attention from the other side.” Once he makes his point, his gaze shifts to you, and there’s a curiosity in it that you don’t like, that makes you nervous. It’s like he’s trying to figure something out about you.

Superion does not notice this. Her attention is on the gathered soldiers. “That means demons. Stand ready!”

It happens like this. Around you, everyone falls into formation. They spread out, surrounding the Rift on all sides. Soldiers ready their swords and axes, archers nock arrows, and everyone in your party gets ready to fight. Lilith, Camila, Dora, and Solas spread out, while Mary, Mother Superion, and Beatrice stay close to you. When everyone is in position, Mother Superion nods at you and draws her blade. You look at Mary, who gives you a cocksure smirk as she hoists her crossbow. Lastly, you look at Beatrice, and find her steady gaze watching you. She doesn’t smile, but her shoulders are straight and her bearing sure. “We’re with you”, she says, which fills you with more confidence than anything else so far.

You turn to the Rift and extend your hand. Things play out as they have before, with the energy of The Rift battling against the energy from the Mark, and everything seems to be going fine… up until a burst of Fade energy ejects from the mass, and a scaly, horn-covered demon the size of a house materializes out of thin air.

“This is such bullshit!” You lament, dropping your hand to face the beast.

“Now!” Superion shouts. “Kill the demon!”

The battle begins in earnest then. The enormous monster meets resistance from all angles. Arrows and bolts fly, pinging against its tough hide. You join your magic with Beatrice and Solas, pelting the thing with a full elemental onslaught, and foot soldiers ring its feet, diving in and out while trying to slash at its ankles. The demon is undeterred, cloaking itself in lightning and swiping at the nearest soldiers it can reach, sending them scattering. All the energy you’re throwing at it seems barely to bother it.

“We must strip its defenses!” Mother Superion calls. “Wear it down!”

“Ava, use the Rift!” Solas shouts at you. “The demon draws on its power!”

“Go, we’ll cover you,” Beatrice says, sharing a nod with Mary. In unison, they concentrate their fire on the beast, actually managing to get its attention, and they draw it slowly but surely away from you. Once again you are struck by the beauty of her movements, the devastating grace with which she commands magic. If any of you manage to survive this, you wonder if she’ll teach you some tricks.

For now, you focus on the Rift, reconnecting the energy streams. It’s draining work. You can feel the Mark drawing on your strength to fuel itself, and you start to worry it’ll come up short. But you push through, and as before, the Rift bursts open, stunning the demon and bringing it to its knees, allowing the soldiers to charge it like a swarm of rats. Lilith is right underneath it, driving her sword into its face. Dora takes point on its other side, slashing vigorously into its back. Camila and the other archers continue to rain arrows from above until it starts to resemble a pin cushion or a reverse Iron Maiden (you’ve actually seen one of those before).

You leave them to it, taking the time to catch your breath. Beatrice and Solas watch you concernedly, but you wave them away.

“I’m good,” you say, hoping you sound sure and that they don’t see your body shake.

Just like before, the demon recovers itself eventually, sending a shockwave of electricity that repels its attackers backwards. Lilith and Dora roll neatly with the impact, but the other warriors are not nearly so lucky. Most of them lay unconscious or dead around the beast, who now turns its evil, black eyes on you.

It charges. No amount of counter-fire can deter it this time. You are too slow, moving on jelly legs that don’t want to cooperate even to save your life.

It brings one massive claw down to cut you into pieces. Somewhere to your right, someone shouts “No!”, and then…

There’s no blood, or pain. There’s no impact. The demon didn’t hit you. Or rather, it definitely did, you realize, but somehow… didn’t. One moment, black talons were about to turn you to ribbons, and the next they missed, swerving wildly into empty air.

“Um, what?” You say dumbly. The demon seems just as surprised, but is quick to give it another try. It attempts to backhand you, and once again, its fist passes through you like you aren’t even there. This time you notice the problem it’s having. The moment it was due to make contact with you, your body changed, becoming like water or air, letting the claw pass through it seamlessly.

“Ah, I suspected as much,” Solas says mysteriously, sounding way too calm for the situation at hand.

The demon snarls, swiping furiously at you, and each time fails to connect as your body shifts in and out of solidity. It’s nothing to do with you. You instinctively tense to avoid each attack, but something else is making this happen to you.

While you stand there getting swiped at like an idiot, everyone else is taking advantage of the demon’s distraction. You hear the rattle of chains and look up to see them launch heavy grappling hooks into the demon’s back, leashing its limbs and dragging it away from you.

“Ava, attack the Rift!” Mary commands, already laying down fire to push it back further. You do as you’re told, feeling the Mark pull more and more of your energy away to break the Rift apart. But it does break, giving your allies more precious seconds to wail on the beast unimpeded. You, meanwhile, nearly fall over, only to be caught by Beatrice.

“Easy,” she murmurs to you, carefully setting you back on your feet. She steadies you with a hand on your arm, keeping the other on her staff, always ready. “You’re almost there. Can you feel the Rift weakening?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak while your lungs struggle for air.

“Once more should do it,” she says, always with more confidence than you feel. “Can you do that?”

“Y-yeah,” you pant. “I… I think so.” You hope so.

Your arm shakes with exhaustion as you raise it again, but Beatrice stands firm behind you, free hand gripping your shoulder. The beams connect a third time, all while the demon begins to pull free of its chains. You try to ignore it, to focus entirely on the Rift. You have the growing sense that it is collapsing under your power, under the Mark’s power. It bursts open again, and you can tell even before Solas confirms it that this time is the clincher. You push through, even as Beatrice has to drop her staff to hold you upright. You keep going, trusting her strength, and will the Rift to close.

There is a concussive propulsion of mana, and another large burst of green light, but the Rift disappears. The energy of the Breach recedes into the sky, out of sight.

That about does it for you. You fully collapse against Beatrice, who carefully lowers you to the ground. “Ava!” Several voices cry out, but you can’t tell whose is whose. You try to keep your eyes open, gazing up at the wound in the sky, but you finally lose the battle, passing out.

#warrior nun #dragon age #dragon age au #my writing #da: inquisition #ava silva #sister beatrice #wow this is long #but i'm happy with it #things may not continue in strict chronological order from here #i mean i guess they already weren't #if you thought you hated sister francis before hoo boy #and ava is already a simp for beatrice #love at first fight #i don't know what mary's crossbow should be named #bianca doesn't feel right but i don't have another name right now #solas is already getting clued in to what's going on with ava because he knows about spirits and shit #everyone else will have to figure it out on their own #stay tuned

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