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Thinking Makes It So

Summary:

It was just a job, or what was beginning to count as one in the sorry excuse for a life she was now leading. Honestly Ella had begun to expect that nothing would ever change. Of course, the Breach puts a hole in that theory, so to speak. As does the glowing green mark on her hand. Really, will wonders never cease?

The newly dubbed Herald of Andraste, however, doesn't exactly enjoy the spotlight suddenly thrust upon her. Just like everyone else, she has secrets. Unlike everyone else, her secrets have a potential for tearing apart the fledgling Inquisition at the seams. Hopefully this thing can get off the ground before everyone from Ferelden to Tevinter realizes that the girl they're currently prostrating to is an ex-slave with a questionable past. And honestly, she isn't so sure about the "ex".

Notes:

First things first, this is my first fanfiction, but not my first piece of writing. Second things second (as they generally are) this entire endeavor is more of a character exercise than anything else. I might do a couple more iterations with others, but this is a sort of test run. Feedback of any kind would be greatly appreciated, though I would prefer it more along the lines of constructive criticism, but in the end I guess its whatever floats you boat.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter 1: The Job

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

There was a moment of confusion when Ella forgot exactly what it was she was trying to do. Fighting through the haze of drugs that always seemed to leech its way into her mind, she looked around at the throng of bodies once more, pressing against each other in a lively and artificial display of friendship. Orlesians. She hated Orlesians. Her head pounded. No, she decided. At this particular point in time, she was inclined to hate everyone.

 

Guard duty, that was it. Definitely. There was a tug at her collar, not on it but in it in the usual uncomfortable manner. It told her to stay close to the man. She forgot his name. It didn’t really matter; they were all the same. All the same, all the same…

 

Ah, crap, she was drifting again. The collar reminded her to focus with a painful jolt, and she resisted the by now familiar urge to rub her neck. It would do more harm than good, she knew.

 

The man was moving again –Marcus? Magnus? Mark?- and so she moved too, a shadow, but better, because she had knives and fists and teeth. Shadows didn’t have those things, oh no, because they were shadows and shadows- Dear god that stung. A growl stirred in her throat as the collar attempted to zap her back into focus. Right. Guard duty.

 

She scanned the room with a practiced eye, picking out the mercenaries from the politicians, the mages from the Templars -mages? Ella bristled. No one had told her about mages. Actually, she mused, no one had told her anything. Funny how that worked. Through the drug-induced fog, she could barely remember murmurings of a Conclave, something to do with the mage-templar war. She hadn’t really cared to lock it into place in her memory; clumsy, but it hadn’t seemed important at the time. Perspective, she reminded herself. Need to keep perspective. Of course it was important; it was a war for fuck's sake.

 

She moved closer to the man –was it Martin? Maybe it was Martin- and tried her best to appear disinterested in the conversation around her. Scraps reached her and were dismissed; formalities, inquiries into health, the family, etc. Unimportant. All the while she kept one eye on the crowd bustling around them, up into the temple for the Conclave to start. A horned head emerged, leading a group of what were clearly mercenaries. They didn’t need to blend, didn’t want to. It was always better for them to be seen, always better to avert the conflict before it happened, especially if you were that big, that imposing, that obviously and logic-defyingly strong-

 

Another zap. Ella managed not to wince. She, on the other hand, well, she was a completely different story. When shit went down, and it always did, you could count on Ella to keep you alive and the other guys… not alive. Damn, these drugs were really doing a number on her. What did they give her? Didn’t they want her in fighting condition? They should have known that she didn’t need the drugs anymore; the collar was enough.

 

She glanced at the man –you know what? Going with Martin- and saw with narrowed eyes how he glanced worriedly in her direction, hands wringing, his obvious discomfort betrayed by the very quaver in his voice. Pathetic. The Game would eat him alive. And yet he must be a noble, or at least the son of one, in order to warrant her protection. He must have ordered the drugs; extra guarantee of safety and all that. Why hadn’t he just hired mercs, then? Ella earned another zap, which she admitted was deserved. She was way off task, and they were already under the gaping and admittedly impressive arches of the temple.

 

The crowed thinned slightly as people took seats and order could reign in the rabble. Martin sat in an unobtrusive spot, near enough to hear but not quite close enough to be of notice. Ella allowed herself to wrinkle her nose in frustration before positioning herself right behind him, hands hovering over her knives with as much nonchalance as she could muster; an impressive display. She had had a lot of practice. Now, what she didn’t understand, she decided after the long list of introductions and formalities and 'thank you's began to grow tedious, was why she was guarding someone so obviously unimportant? His family must be very wealthy, if there was no non-monetary gain to be had here. It just seemed so out of character for her master to put her in this position. Oh, maybe that was it. Did he want her uncomfortable? There were other ways to do that…

 

Her eyes darted up as she caught a flash of movement. A man rushed out of the room, hurriedly pulling his cloak over his head. None of our business the collar seemed to hum, a warning in its tune. Ella was inclined to disagree. Everything here was her business, it was only natural as a-

 

“Guard,” hissed Martin. Ella smoothly leaned over, offering an ear. “I want a drink.”

 

Internally, she sighed. Normally this display would warrant some suspicion, but given that this was about the 27th time this overgrown child had asked her for something so mundane she was willing to bet that he honestly wanted refreshment. She stared at him, hoping that he would be a tad more specific.

 

“Are you deaf? Now.”

 

Pursing her lips, Ella stood. She repressed the desire to sweep into an obnoxiously elaborate bow and decided that she would instead bring him the most alcoholic beverage she could find. Maybe drunkenly rambling in front of the representatives of Orlais and Ferelden combined would teach him some manners. Or get him executed. Either way.

 

It was surprisingly difficult to navigate the temple, and the potent although admittedly fading drugs combined with the exhaustion of standing on watch through the night for the last few days meant that she soon found herself very, very lost. Almost hopelessly so.

 

The collar tingled on her neck and she could almost hear its laughter. Yeah, alright, laugh it up, she thought irritably. We’re in this together. The tingling lessened, but it did not completely die down.

 

Room after room revealed nothing of interest save broken furniture and dust that hadn’t been swept in centuries. Immediately Ella was struck with the realization that a drink should not be this hard to find, but there was nothing more to do. So she kept wandering aimlessly, hoping to find something that would point the way. Suddenly, she heard voices.

 

Thanking every god that came to mind Ella went off at a brisk trot towards the sounds, slowing down slightly when she realized that the voices appeared to be raised. A fight? She drew a knife. The collar started, sputtered, shocking her with a million pinpricks of electricity. What did I do? It did not respond, instead seeming to be struggling with something. The hair on the back of her neck tingled, rising ever so slightly. She could taste magic on her tongue. Shit. The collar never seemed to do well with a sudden influx of magical energy.

 

Wait, a sudden influx of… that couldn’t be good. She crept forward, straining to make out what was being said and where the sound was coming from. Finally she reached a door that appeared to be the origin, but she still could not distinguish any words. The magic was definitely coming from there, though, a fact made painfully evident by the collar’s excitable shocking and burning. It almost sizzled when she touched open the door, throwing her off the slightest bit. Ella shook her head, fighting through the pain. She opened the door. The collar popped. She thought she heard herself shout, but that seemed ridiculous.

 

_________________

 

 

As she awoke, she felt the chains on her wrist. Her initial reaction was panic, raw and burning at her mind, clawing at her throat. She forced it down, locked it in place with a will of hard steel. Think rationally. What’s the last thing you remember?

 

I… don’t.

 

She couldn’t remember anything, it was all a blur of color and sound that made her woozy. With that she realized that the drugs had all but worn off. The drugs… Ah, yes. She remembered. A little. How she had ended up in chains, however, that was another story. Ella decided it would be best to maintain the appearance of unconsciousness and hoped that her momentary lapse of control betrayed nothing to whoever had imprisoned her. Compartmentalize. Assess the situation, the damage.

 

All her limbs seemed to be in place, so that was something. Past that, well, she felt like shit. Bruised, battered, beaten to hell. It was not encouraging, especially seeing as how she couldn’t remember what had caused it. Slowly, carefully, she tensed and stretched her toes, her feet, her legs, working up muscle by muscle in a cautious and meticulous examination of her body. Her legs were not broken; left side was a little bruised, especially around the hip. Up her torso she felt that her ribs on her left side were sore and was sure that they had been broken, even if they weren’t now. All this indicated a fall, and a particularly nasty one at that. She was a little surprised; usually she wasn’t so clumsy as to take a fall on one side like that.

 

Apart from some bruising, her right arm felt fine. Of course it did, she reasoned. The fall was on the left side. Mentally readying herself, Ella began an assessment of the left arm. Shoulder was sore, and the pain around the socket indicated that it had been dislocated. Not anymore, though. Someone had popped it back in, which was mildly troubling because who would go through all that trouble just to chain her up again? Someone with an agenda, that’s who. She almost scowled, but remember just in time that she was still supposed to be unconscious. Instead she mentally worked her way down the arm, finding that, though it was sore, it was certainly usable. The fall hadn’t damaged it nearly as much as it could have. Bruising, mild abrasions, some stitching. Her wrist, now, that was painful. Broken? No, but throbbing in a way that was downright unnatural. Tentatively she focused on her hand, her palm-

 

It burned, it burned like someone had taken a metal rod, plunged it into flames, and was now pressing it into the center of her palm, twisting the white-hot metal until the flesh shriveled and died. Only worse, so much worse. Twisting, pulsing, raking up her arm into her lungs so that she almost couldn’t breathe-

 

Breathe. She did. The pain subsided to a dull throb, a thousand pinpricks that needled at her palm but did not bring the agony that was before. It was almost like her collar-

 

Her collar. It… was it working? She couldn’t hear it, couldn’t feel it past the rub of leather on her neck. Usually it pulsed, like a heartbeat, like it was alive, but now it felt…

 

“Dead. Everyone who was at the Conclave has perished. And here you are… alive.”

 

Ella started, looking up with eyes that were too-wide, too-afraid. The pain had clearly addled her senses and so she forced her face to smooth, dragged the flesh into a calm disinterest. Everyone... dead? She said nothing.

 

The woman grabbed her hand and Ella couldn’t help but wince. “Explain. This.”

 

Now Ella was vexed. Explain? How was she supposed to explain when she couldn’t remember a thing past that stupid Martin and his stupid drink? How was she supposed to explain when the damned collar wouldn’t even let her say ‘hello’? Effectively, she was a mute. Or at least… she used to be. The collar is dead. Could it be?

 

“I… I can’t explain.” Her voice was hoarse, weak and raspy from underuse but it was hers. There were no words for that. None. She felt like she could cry, if she had the energy to spare.

 

“What do you mean you can’t?” Anger, yes, that was anger. Raw and powerful. This woman, she had lost something, or someone. The Conclave. If what she said was true…

 

“What do you mean ‘everyone’s dead’?” she shot back. Speaking felt good; too good. The words tumbled out like she was afraid she’d be struck dumb any second. “That’s impossible. There were soldiers, mages, mercenaries… someone must have survived.”

 

“Yes. Someone did survive. You.” She nearly spat the words, and Ella recoiled at the sheer amount of venom in her voice. She forced herself to look up, to examine. Heavy armor, Seeker emblem –oh shit-, natural fighting stance… aggressive, straightforward, loyal? Loyal. She seemed… familiar somehow. Not in the way one would find family familiar, but in the way one sees a face in the crowd, thought that he forgot it, and then is confronted with that very same face later.

 

“You’re right hand. The Right Hand. Cassandra Pentaghast.” There was no question in her voice, or awe. It was a statement, a fact. As was: “You’re wasting your time. I remember nothing.”

 

“You’re lying!” Cassandra snarled, and had Ella might have seen her life flash briefly before her eyes had she been a different kind of person. A soft hand landed on Cassandra’s shoulder, and Ella got the distinct impression of a dragon being reigned in by a gentle touch. The Left Hand. She was easy to identify, once Ella’s mind was already there.

 

“We need her, Cassandra.”

 

They needed her? Ella did not like the sound of that at all. She panicked a little, fidgeting against the chains. She almost felt like she could get out of them, given just a few more secon-

 

With a loud and rather dramatic clank, Cassandra released her, helped her up. It was odd, thought Ella distantly, being face to face with someone so fucking important. “What happened? What do you think I did?” Ella asked.

 

“It will be easier to show you.”

Notes:

Nice, we made it through. Wonderful. Good job team, round of applause, don't forget to pat yourself on the back. Updates will probably be sporadic, but frequent. This is turning out to be a fun side project, and I tend to work quickly on things that are fun. I might occasionally revisit old pages to edit.

Once again, I would be thrilled if you dropped a comment with any suggestions, as this is my first fanfic and my first time legitimately using this site. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2: Dancer

Notes:

And now for the heart-gripping sequence we all know and love: the journey to the Breach. Ah, how it taxes us. I've tried to avoid going into too much detail so we can get right on to the fun stuff, but as this is mainly a character exercise, I wanted to catch Ella's reactions to certain situations in-game.

Ella swears when she's frustrated. Like, a lot. Not particularly eloquent, but she tends to fall back on it as a coping mechanism.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Oh sweet fuck what in fuck’s name was that?

 

Cassandra called it the breach. Ella, in her own private dialogue, preferred to call it the fucking demon shithole. Fuck. Either one was fine, of course.

 

And she was going towards it. Like a fucking maniac. Because evidently she didn’t possess the proper amount of self-preservation that would inhabit, oh, a normal fucking human being. No, it had to be, ‘let’s go towards the magic fucking hole in the sky that literally shits demons.' Yeah, sounds great.

 

This amount of sarcasm was unhealthy. Ella breathed. In… out… in… out. She needed to compartmentalize. Focus on what was important. Breach: bad. That was easy enough. But what was more ‘bad’ than the Breach itself was the people it would kill if left unchecked. So she needed to think in utilitarian terms. If she needed to die to save the world, well, that was fine.

 

It wasn’t the death, though, was it? Ella’s thoughts turned grim as she raced to keep up with Cassandra. They were nearing a bridge with a rather excellent view of the Breach. No, it wasn’t the death. Honestly death seemed rather lovely. The demons, it was the demons. Fuck those.

 

Oh, and fuck this. She glanced up just as the universe decided to kick her while she was down and the giant fucking hole in the sky lobbed a giant fucking boulder at them. Ella felt time slow as the bridge collapsed beneath them. This time she managed to land correctly, rolling into the impact with a quiet grunt. She noted with approval that Cassandra did the same. It was good to know that the Divine hired competent people. Well, had hired. Ella sighed. The sheer amount of death that had wormed its way into her life was rapidly losing its novelty.

 

Demons, right. The thing crawled its way out of the ground with a vengeance, fixating on the first thing it could kill. At least it didn’t seem to be focused on possessing anybody. For now. Ella shuddered, perfectly happy to obey Cassandra’s command to stay put as the warrior charged on ahead. Normally she’d feel guilty at missing a fight, but the woman was definitely capable and in no need of assistance.

 

Shit, shit, shit. The ground bubbled in front of her as if the rock was boiling, molten chunks stone tinged with an unnatural green oozing from the ground as if it were an infected gash upon the crust of the earth. There was a sharp whine as a single clawed hand lunged from the globs of seething rock to dig its talons into the dirt. Ella could have frozen then and there; but that was not something she was accustomed to doing. She shoved the fear in a box and buried that box in the depths of her mind. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted two daggers, ripe for the taking. Very convenient. With a duck and a roll she slipped past the thing to grab the newly found weapons. The shade bellowed as it dragged itself into the real world.

 

“Let’s dance, demon,” Ella snarled, twirling the daggers expertly as she widened her stance, bouncing lightly on the balls of her toes. Really, it was good to have her blood pumping again.

 

Naturally Cassandra was upset that the person who was supposed to be a prisoner had gotten hold of weapons, but she quickly conceded that it would be difficult to proceed as an unarmed walking target. Very reasonable, Ella was liking her more and more. There was simply the small issue of the prisoner-jailor relationship they had. It nagged at her, as such things would. And her collar was heavy against her neck, still limp and lifeless. Thankfully the scarf she had worn to cover it remained intact, or every lowlife in Haven would know that she was a-

 

Wow, Ella. No need to use the ‘s’ word, right? Right.

 

Denial was ridiculous, but it could be important, at least temporarily. With a sigh, she realized that this was the exact same nonsense that she had been telling herself for years. It was always easier to submit, but did she ever learn? The scars pointed to a definitive ‘no’.

 

A few swiftly neutralized demons later and Ella could hear the distinct sound of a skirmish on the biting wind. Tightening her grip on her dagger she forged on ahead, giving no heed to Cassandra’s warning. This was a battlefield, albeit a poor excuse for one. This was where she belonged, not by the side of some second-rate noble’s son who wouldn’t be able to see her worth if it punched him square in the jaw. All right, so maybe the drugs hadn’t completely worn off. Less thinking, more stabbing.

 

There was no preamble to her attack, no artistry; she lunged at the first demon unfortunate enough to catch her eye, effectively ripping it to shreds in a matter of seconds. After that things became more complicated. Ducking, dodging, twisting, twirling into strikes and parries and ripostes with the natural grace of a lifetime of practice. A particularly nasty shade managed to catch her in the side with an outstretched claw as she barely wrenched her body away on light feet. Grimacing at her own clumsiness, Ella retaliated swiftly and with no mercy, ducking under yet another cumbersome blow and driving upwards with both daggers, arcing in such a way as to slice through the tattered flesh and leathery sinew. The thing collapsed as the sound of an approaching assailant reached her ear. With a snarl Ella spun on the ball of her foot, blades at the ready. Instead of a demon, which she fully expected, she was met with an admittedly startled elf. He raised his hands in a placating motion, and, to his credit, only the faintest sliver of shock wormed its way into his features. She made to turn once more, in order to verify that the battlefield was as clear as the elf seemed to think. Without anyone else to fight, she felt rather lost. As she turned, however, the elf grabbed her hand rather violently.


He shouted something, but Ella didn’t even hear it, furious as she was. There was still the red tinge to vision, indicating that she had gotten too enamored with the fight. And it was just a little skirmish, ugh like she was still a child. Desperately fighting to reign in wildly fluctuating emotions, she was not prepared for the elf to unceremoniously thrust her hand towards the cobweb of green light that she had been so successfully ignoring. So much for denial.

 

A cry pushed its way up her throat as her palm throbbed painfully, and she barely managed to strangle the noise. The blistering arc of magic that was now connecting her to this thing that so clearly reeked of the Fade was terrifying and left her struggling to hide both her emotions and the sheer agony that was coursing through her. The thing yanked at her stomach in the oddest and most unpleasant way, dragging her forward but at the same time freezing her to the ground so that the combination of sensations left her feeling like the rope in a brutal game of tug-of-war.

 

Finally, finally, finally Ella felt something slip. It was a hair out of place, a loose thread on fabric. She grabbed it and she tugged, fighting down nausea as the demon-portal closed with a loud and final snap. It took every inch of self-control not to sag into the elf who was, annoyingly enough, still holding her hand, appearing to be examining it. She was much to tired for that kind of shit. It took little effort to pull her hand away, but even that  left her woozy. Clutching her still sputtering hand to her chest, Ella glared daggers at the elf only because she suspected real daggers would not go over well with her new Seeker jailor.

 

“Whatever it is that you did, please warn me before you do it again,” Ella nearly spat.

 

Much to her chagrin, the elf appeared amused more than anything else, although there was also a healthy amount of patronizing condescension. Lovely.

 

“I did nothing but point you in the right direction. The rest was your doing,” he said in a calm and unassuming way that only grinded on her nerves. Ella forced herself into a more passive face, but evidently didn’t hide her distaste enough, for the elf continued. “I am pleased to see you still live.”

 

Now that was a loaded statement, but thankfully the dwarf with a strange looking crossbow stepped in to elaborate and, judging by his tone, to diffuse the situation.

 

“By that he means he kept that mark from killing you while you slept,” he says with a winning grin. Oh, this was getting better and better. Ella tried unsuccessfully to suppress her grimace. She turned to the elf.

 

“I suppose I owe you a debt, friend.” The words were forced, as was the smile that accompanied them, but in her state Ella could do nothing but hope that it wasn’t too obvious.

 

“Think nothing of it.” Came the smooth reply. Damn, ten seconds in and she already wanted to punch him in his smug face. It must be the adrenaline, she thought; there hadn’t been much opportunity for a fight before. And the collar was dead. The collar is dead. That was making every action exceedingly difficult to control as newfound freedom, predictably, went straight to her head.

 

“Varric Tethras, at your service,” piped the dwarf, sweeping into a low bow. Well, lower. Ella couldn’t help but smile at that. “Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tag-along.” He shot a look and a wink at Cassandra, who appeared to have her best irritable face on. Oh, there was a story behind this.

 

“I am Solas, if there are to be introductions.” The elf –Solas- seemed desperate to get on her nerves. The irritation wasn’t rational, she knew, but she couldn’t shake it: something was very wrong about him that she wasn’t quite able to place in her current exhaustion. Solas very amiably ignored her glare and turned to Cassandra. “The magic here is unlike anything I have ever seen, Seeker, and your prisoner is no mage. Honestly I find it difficult to believe-“

 

He was cut off by a strangled growl, and it took Ella a moment before she realized that the sound was coming from her. That was it, what angered her. The elf was a mage, of course. And now he was staring at her, head tilted quizzically as if he couldn’t possibly imagine what was wrong, the absolute gall. Control, need to get under control. She couldn’t lose herself, not here, not when there was work to be done. Deep breaths through gritted teeth as her hand clenched and unclenched spasmodically. She tore her glare away from him, determined not to think about it for at least the length of time the sky was ripped open. That seemed reasonable enough.

 

She could feel the others staring at her, their eyes boring holes in her back and Ella knew that she needed to give an Explanation, and quickly by the looks of Cassandra’s twitchy sword hand. Ella forced a laugh and a smile, pretending to wince in pain with the movement and clutching her marked hand tightly.

 

“Fuck this…” she muttered, to herself but loud enough for the others to hear. Glancing up she could see that the confusion had turned to pity. Nice, she still could rock a mask. Although, admittedly, this was an easier guise than most, as she didn’t need to fake much; her hand was in pain, Ella was just adept at ignoring such things, pushing them to the back of the mind alongside other useless luggage. She could assess injuries later.

 

“You okay there, Dancer?” Varric was the first to speak, and Ella bristled.

 

“Ella.”

 

“Sure thing, Dancer.” This was a joke to him, just a little pet name.

 

“My name is Ella,” she all but snarled.

 

“But you look so graceful, dancing about with your daggers like that,” the dwarf chuckled. Evidently he didn’t realize how close he was to one of those ‘pretty’ little daggers being lodged in his skull. Breathe. She did. It was just a nickname. Nicknames were normal. He didn’t mean it that way.

 

“Sure thing, Teapot,” Ella replied with a bit of a smirk. Varric seemed taken aback.

 

Teapot?” he said incredulously.

 

“Short and stout.”

 

There was a snort from behind, and Ella turned to see Cassandra, a tinge of red in her cheeks that could be attributed to the snow if it wasn’t clear how hard she was trying not to laugh.

 

“Something funny, Seeker?” Ella couldn’t resist the little snipe. Old habits.

 

“Nothing is funny about this,” Cassandra replied with a scowl. She had a point.

 

“Well, I suggest we get a move on!” said Varric cheerfully.

 

“No.”

 

“Come on Seeker-“

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“You need me, plain and simple. Have you seen the valley? Your soldiers aren’t in control.”

 

Cassandra made a noise that could only express disgust, but she made no further complaint. Varric grinned widely.

 

“It’s settled then. Come on, Dancer, Bianca’s itching to meet some demons.” With that he fondly patted the crossbow strapped to his back and went on his way, clambering rather humorously over a few displaced beams. Ella followed, as did the others.

 

A particularly strong gust swept over them and the cold bit further into her skin, making her shiver and clutch at her overcoat, unable to really do anything because she was already as buttoned up as possible. The Breach flickered above them, and Ella’s palm mimicked the motion. It was beautiful, in the way one finds a dragon to be beautiful. As they walked, she rubbed together stiffened fingers; the cheap gloves she wore were practically useless in the face of the Frostbacks. Somehow the wind found its way into every seam and gap, dragging at her limbs with chill in a way that bothered her to no end, as sluggish movements would make fighting difficult, especially with a style like hers. The wind bit most viciously, however, at her exposed face, frosting her eyelashes delicately and lashing at her cheeks with malice, creeping down her neck and through the soft, worn fabric of her scarf. With a low growl, Ella fidgeted with the tattered thing in an attempt to keep at least a semblance of warmth. Delicately she could feel the rough leather of the collar, hidden just underneath. Her teeth worried at a chapped lip. Warily, oh so warily, she pressed her hands to the thing and, when it showed no signs of life, underneath it to the scarred skin of her neck. She sighed, such a relief it was to lift some of that pressure; although the fear still gnawed at her mind, it will come back, it always comes back-

 

Cassandra gave a shout; Ella brought her hands to her daggers. More demons to kill.

 

Thankfully, with the added numbers, the newly formed party made short work of whatever the Breach could spit at them. Varric validated his apparent obsession with his crossbow, nailing shades and wisps alike with unprecedented accuracy and speed, so that Ella could do nothing but be impressed. Cassandra had already proved her worth and would continue to do so, clearly a skilled swordswoman. Solas, well… Ella didn’t like to think about him, nor did she particularly enjoy the prickle of his barrier on her skin. It was just as well that she could keep herself busy because she wasn’t sure how long the whole ordeal could go on before she snapped and just threw a knife at him, if only to get rid of the layer of magic that blanketed her, smothered her until she couldn’t-

 

Breathe. It was necessary. It was… helpful. She could admit this. She didn’t like it, but she recognized his worth. It was a bit irritating that her targets might suddenly freeze, however, transfixed where they stood by grasping fingers of frost. Sure, for a warrior like Cassandra that might be helpful, and Varric seemed used to working with mages so that he accounted for that sort of thing, but it threw Ella off when movements she had anticipated and even counted on simply ceased. As another wasted throwing dagger went spinning off into the snow where a shade should have been, Ella snarled quietly, forcing herself to remain calm even as the red threatened to tint her sight once again and she ripped through what was barely passable as flesh with a practiced hand. It was all too easy to fall back into that rhythm. The problem was that there was no direction this time, no one to mark friend from foe. She most certainly needed to watch herself, at least for the time being. Someone could get hurt.

 

If they had been fighting people, Ella suspected that she would be coated in blood by the time they reached the next bridge. As it was, all she had to show for the little scraps was a gash along her shoulder from when her feet had grown clumsy with cold. When Solas had offered to heal it, Ella had gritted her teeth into a passable smile and insisted that he had better things to do than waste his time one her. He hadn’t asked a second time, and whether it was because he saw the panicked glint in her eye or simply agreed that he needed to reserve his strength she was overwhelmingly grateful for his silence on the matter. Him flinging fireballs overhead, she could deal with. Using his magic on her, changing the way her flesh worked? It might cause a nervous breakdown, and that really wasn’t the sort of thing that she needed when so much hinged on her and her damned hand.


Another rift –that’s what they were calling them, anyway- closed, and another awful sensation in her chest. It felt like she was being pulled apart and squashed at the same time. As she shook her hand out, Varric and Solas commented on how useful it was. Useful, yes. Pleasant, no.

 

When Cassandra hurried forward Ella shadowed her without a thought, fingertips lightly brushing the hilts of her blades as she eyed the crowd through narrowed eyes for anyone who might be a threat. It was a reflex, a mistake, and Leliana was skilled enough to catch it, because of course she was, she was the fucking Left Hand. Cursing herself, Ella let her hands fall away from the daggers and brought her focus back to the conversation at hand. Hopefully the only thing Leliana gained from that little slip would be ‘mercenary’, which, while not entirely inaccurate, was something Ella was more than willing to give away if it threw the Left Hand off. Breathe. All she needed to do was close that Breach and then jump ship as soon as possible. Said Breach shuddered and Ella winced as her hand responded. Easier said than done, she supposed.

 

And there was the Chancellor, being about as useful as one could expect of a Chantry official. Only the irritable expressions of the two other women kept Ella from gutting him where he stood when he spoke of trials and executions, and nothing could keep her from scowling as the man blathered on and on about hopelessness and death and blah blah blah the Maker is with us and damn it will someone make this guy shut up?

 

Her prayers were answered by none other than Cassandra, a woman Ella was appreciating more and more as time passed. Straightforward and blunt. Not exactly a master politician, but at least she was competent and, if not agreeable, easy to talk to. With her, you knew where you stood. And suddenly they turn to Ella, asking her what route they should take.

 

“What? Half an hour ago you wanted me dead. He still wants me dead. Are you sure that I am the most qualified person for this decision?” In truth, Ella had not been a part of major decision-making process for a very long time. Most recently the most complicated question she had needed to answer for herself was ‘where do I put this dagger’ and the answer had always been ‘in that guy over there’; it was just a matter of specifics. If she messed up now, if could cost her the freedom she had so long sought after.

 

“You have the mark.” Solas spoke as if to a child, and Ella silently fumed.

 

“Yes, very perceptive. I am oh so impressed by your abilities, mage,” she snarled, shaking out her hand once more; the pain was bordering on distraction, and she couldn’t let that happen. Disapproval radiated from the elf, but he stayed blessedly silent. As did everyone else, awaiting her next move and, apparently, her decision.

 

“The mountains,” she finally sighed. “The faster we deal with this, the better.” And the sooner I can get the hell out of this shithole.

 

Varric flashed her a smile, but it was clear that Cassandra was unhappy with the choice. Ella almost expected her to override it, but the Seeker just nodded and set off at a brisk pace, everyone else falling into place behind her. Still shaking her hand, Ella followed. Soon the Chancellor’s grumbling faded and all they could hear was the howling wind and the distant but piercing sound of death.

Notes:

I'm pretty sure I use commas too much. If anyone wants to comment on it (-winkwink-) that would be appreciated. If not, drop a kudos. Or don't. Honestly if you're just reading it that's enough for me!

Thank you for reading my ramblings!

Chapter 3: That Kind of Day

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

After some time climbing, it became clear that the wind must be some sort of malicious force. How could it be otherwise when, no matter what rock they took shelter behind, no matter how large the outcropping they chose to shield them, a gust would always manage to find them and proceed to try its hand at sending them flying down the mountainside. The ladders were especially precarious, and though at first Ella tried to time her climb strategically in the gaps between chilled blasts she quickly found that there was nothing to be done and resigned herself to clinging for dear life to rungs that were so crusted with ice they could have been made of crystal. It might have been beautiful if one was indoors, or perhaps had packed a portable fire rune. Speaking of which… Ella shot what she hoped was a discreet glance at Solas. So far he had been nothing but courteous, if a little condescending, which made her feel a bit like a piece of shit for treating him as she had and how she no doubt would continue to act. He seemed the clever sort and hopefully he’d soon be able to comprehend the fact that though there was nothing she’d rather do than sit and have a nice long discussion on why she hated mages and how that was oh so unreasonable and perhaps she should work on overcoming her ingrained prejudice, there wasn’t a place safe enough in all of Thedas for such a conversation and she’d rather he’d just stay as far as was reasonably possible from her and her scant belongings and leave it at that. Doubtless it wouldn’t be an issue for long, anyway.

 

Ella squinted at the Breach as she waited for her new little ‘team’ to scale a particularly tall ladder. As soon as she dealt with that, she could finally enjoy her newfound freedom. She picked at the scarf again, not so much to adjust it -it was clear that no amount of fidgeting would keep out the brutal cold- but because she was in all honesty concerned. The collar had never done this before, never just ‘died’. Sometimes it was quieter, sure, but there was always life in it. A faint hum, the slightest hint of something akin to a heartbeat. This silence was disconcerting.

 

The party regrouped right outside the mines, partially because it was always good to organize a group before venturing into an enclosed space, but also, Ella suspected, because the mines looked terrifying and everyone was subconsciously daring each other to go first. Cassandra was the last to arrive and the first to break the stalemate, Ella noticed with a small grin. Good on her, taking one for the team. Varric and Ella readied themselves and Solas did his part by casting barriers about the whole group, much to Ella’s chagrin. She gritted her teeth and said nothing as the magic prickled uncomfortably about her skin and Cassandra charged into the mines with an ear-rending shout that would wake a deaf man miles away, echoing off of the walls in such a tight space and, hopefully, distracting the demons. If they could be distracted by such a thing, that was.

 

From there things went smoothly enough. The mines were fascinating, that much wasn’t up for debate, but they were not so fascinating that Ella wished to stay and examine every stone down to the foundation while the world burned outside. Mostly it chilled her in a way the wind never could, with the dark and the demons and the walls closing in, suffocating, please I can’t-

 

Breathe. She did. Barely, harsh and shallow but she did. With all of the smiting they were doing, no one seemed to notice, which was more than fine by her. In the end she was glad to feel the wind on her face like, if not an old friend, at least a consistent and reliable enemy. The cold she could cope with. The bodies scattered about the entrance, less so.

 

It wasn’t that they were dead per-say, because to be perfectly honest Ella had seen more than her fair share of dead people and the overwhelming nausea, the raw horror that afflicted those unaccustomed to such a sight no longer afflicted her, if it ever had. Hers was more of a slow gnawing pain, like an animal caught in a bear-trap, ripping at its own skin, dulled and near sedate as it desperately tried to escape from panic. What really disgusted her about these particular bodies was that they were so clearly mutilated, armor and skin alike shredded by merciless claws, faces still twisted into pain and fear, still screaming still screaming how are they still screaming.

 

It jolted her to realize that there really was screaming, carried by the wind as it ripped at their faces. Narrowing her eyes Ella darted into the snow, sprinting lithely across rock and ice alike with graceful ease. She didn’t bother to see if the others followed, didn’t really care, because there were people out there who were still alive, faces twisted into pain and fear but still screaming, still fighting. Maybe she had grown soft, but she couldn’t just let them die.

 

It wasn’t long before the telltale eerie green flickered across the snow and Ella could see the remaining scouts. There weren’t many, she realized with a grimace that quickly shifted to a snarl. Demons. Why was it always demons? And they thought her responsible for this? Clearly they didn’t know her at all, which in its own way was mildly comforting. Ella whirled into the fight, feet barely skimming the stone as she sunk her blades into a demon, dancing away as it let out a satisfying screech, turning towards her and away from the woman it had been terrorizing. As she flitted about its claws like a sparrow would a falcon, Ella couldn’t help but laugh. The thing was rather gangly, clumsy in its attacks and slow to turn, whereas she could whirl about, darting in to strike when it grew frustrated and left itself open. The thing howled again, a sound stripped of humanity that tore at the ears, but Ella simply gritted her teeth into a smile before taking advantage of its lack of focus, adjusting the grip on her blade with a bit of flourish and sending it flying, straight into the thing’s neck. It gurgled as it fell, as if trying to continue the hideous noise it had been making. Ella shifted her feet, propelled herself into a roll so that she might swiftly seize the knife and shot up with equal speed, legs set in a proper stance as her eyes took in a quick assessment.

 

Her newfound ‘friends’ had joined in, it seemed, and were making quick work of the remaining demons whose attention had been successfully diverted from the injured scouts. Good. A flicker of movement caught her eye: a shade creeping towards Cassandra, moving to flank. Or perhaps it was just lucky, as Ella still was unsure how much intelligence these particular demons possessed. It wouldn’t do to ponder on that now. In a flash, Ella was on the thing, leaping into the air with daggers bared and bearing down onto the mockery of flesh. The thing collapsed with a writhing shriek and Cassandra spared time for a nod of thanks before driving forward to bash in heads with her shield. The demons were quickly disposed of and the rift quickly closed thanks to whatever forsaken magic had decided to take up residence in her palm. Honestly, it was the slightest bit rude. She hadn’t asked anyone to make her hand glow. At least, she couldn’t remember asking for such a thing. The thought was troubling.

 

The horrid sensation that accompanied closing a rift was no longer so awful, because of familiarity to the feeling if nothing else. The scouts gave their ‘thank you’s, and Cassandra, surprisingly enough, shifted the gratitude to Ella.

 

“Well, you know, nothing like the mountain air. Clears the head, yes?” she nearly stammered. The attention was not welcome; she wanted as few people remembering her face as could possibly be managed.

 

The rest of the journey was more ladders but significantly less demons, for which everyone was grateful. At least the wind didn’t have talons, although sometimes it certainly felt that way. Ella was practically thrown from the last few rungs, the wind nearly wrenching her arm from its socket as it tossed her into a drift. She glared up at the mountain and it glared right back, looming over her with a force that said ‘and stay out’.

 

With a roll of her shoulders she turned to the temple, or at least what was left of it. From what she remembered through the haze, the building had been rather impressive, striking in the way it stood tall and imposing against the reckless frigid landscape. Now it was just… sad. Fallen stones and jutting rocks laced with the green of the Fade. Crumbling architecture that had once stood so grand. Though unsettling and rather depressing, ruined temples were something that Ella could deal with, but worse by far were the bodies.

 

The smell of charred flesh had been mercifully carried off by the mountain winds by the time they reached their origin. There was still quite enough devastation to go around, however. Corpses littered the expanse where the temple had once been, the last throes of agony immortalized in scorched statues of blistering flesh. Some held their arms in front of them, as if to protect themselves, and nearly all had faces twisted into a final scream. Ella was used to corpses; it was in the job description. This, though, was something else entirely. She was forced to dig deep into the well of experience and discipline acquired over a lifetime’s worth of dedication to her work in order to master her expression as they crossed what was effectively a graveyard, forcing herself into a stony mask of cold indifference, one that fit well. The others, however, didn’t appear to have her control. Although Varric and Cassandra were clearly used to death, horror ingrained itself into every aspect of their faces. In Cassandra this was quickly followed by a blistering anger, something that gave Ella the urge to flinch when by chance their eyes met briefly. In Varric there was a sort of resignation, which was terrifying in its own way. What had this dwarf seen, so that he could walk through here and find that he couldn’t expect anything more from the world? Solas, though, kept himself nearly as composed as Ella. Troubling, as he seemed unassuming enough, minus the magic of course. The only thing that she could glean from him was the faintest flicker of sadness, or perhaps regret. Maybe she just wasn’t as good at reading faces as she thought.

 

Something glinted in the uncertain light of the Breach, and Ella cautiously threaded her path across broken bodies to reach it. Crouching down next to yet another corpse –they all looked the same; no defining features so far as she could tell- she saw in its outstretched palm a medallion of sorts. Fixated by some gross fascination, Ella carefully pried it from the viselike grasp and held it up for examination. A lump of metal, twisted by the intense heat but still recognizable as a family crest. With narrowed eyes she realized that it was the same thing that had been gaudily emblazoned on every damned thing that man had owned –Martin had been his name, yes?- and that of course meant the corpse must belong to him. Well, she supposed that was payment enough for being such a bumbling brute who also happened to have a name steeped in money. She started from her thoughts as a heavily armored hand settled on her shoulder. Turning her head, Ella was met with the sympathetic eyes of the Seeker.

 

“Someone you know?” she murmured, as if speaking too loud might break some spell of grief or loss. Ella looked away, finding that she was gripping the metal hunk so tightly that it was digging into her palms. She forced herself to let it fall with a spasmodic jerk of her hand, and it landed in the dirt with a dull thud.

 

“Unfortunately,” she growled, shrugging off the hand and rising to face the ruined temple and, by proxy, the Breach.

 

Entering the building soon led to the arrival of the Left Hand, as well as many soldiers, all battered and battle-weary. Some, Ella noted with a frown, were limping or loosely clutching at arms. Were they so stretched for men that they couldn’t let the injured rest? Cassandra once again interrupted her thoughts.

 

“This is our chance to end this. Are you ready?”

 

Ella spared a glance towards the Breach, craning her neck in order to see the entire thing. Distantly she could feel her hand throbbing, a second heartbeat in tune with the pulsing magic that swirled above. This might kill her, she realized. That much magic coursing through her… it would be so much more than the rifts, of that she was certain. For a moment a fear struck her, swift and lancing as a spear, that whatever nonsense was currently in her veins would be able to sweep her away towards the Fade itself, to trap, if not her body, then her mind in that perpetual nightmare. Breathe. She swallowed the fear, smothered it like one would the spark that precedes a flame. Her features smoothed into that expressionless mask once more, Ella faced Cassandra with a nod of assent.

 

“I assume that there is a plan, then?” She heard herself say. “Besides ‘catapult the prisoner into the magic swirling hole in the sky and hope for the best’, that is.”

 

“This rift is where it all began,” said Solas. “It is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

 

There was far more speculation in this ‘plan’ than what Ella would usually be able to stomach, but seeing as how there didn’t seem to be any better options she simply acknowledged his words with yet another nod. “Let’s get to it, then.”

 

As they picked their way across the rubble, a voice thundered over them, disconnected and otherworldly.

 

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”

 

“Solas, what are we hearing.” Cassandra sounded more confused than scared, which was a testament to either her bravery or her acting skills, because Ella was scared shitless. The thing reeked of both cults and magic, two terrifying things that had apocalyptic tendencies when mashed together.

 

“At a guess? Whoever created the Breach,” the elf replied, calm as stone.

 

Red crystal surged from the walls, scrabbling wildly for a foothold amongst the debris. As they neared, Ella thought she could hear a faint melody brushing delicately against her ears like a tender caress. She was more than willing to heed Varric’s warning about the ‘red lyrium’, hurrying past it with a shudder.

 

As they searched for a way down, the voice continued to rumble overhead, punctuated by the voice of the Divine herself, which the Seeker was helpful enough to point out. Ella was perfectly content to ignore the voices of the dead, and was rather irritated that the rest seemed inclined to do the opposite. Disembodied voices were the definition of ‘not okay’, and pretending they didn’t exist was much better for her health and the health of those in her immediate vicinity. When they finally found a relatively safe place to leap down, they were accosted by a vision that vigorously contested her willful ignorance.

 

First there was an unpleasant revelation as her hand sputtered, burning with the life of the Breach, and Ella’s own voice rang out across the expanse. Almost immediately, as if to spite her sanity, the Fade manifested a dreamlike apparition, supposedly representative of the past. A figure, encased in shadows, holding the aloft with threads of magic the Divine, who in turn called out for help. Someone else, battering down the doors… oh shit. Shit. Ella, coming through the door, one hand on her throat as the collar stumbled over its death throes, taking in the scene with wide eyes.

 

“What the fuck-?” Ella winced at the sound of her voice, hoarse from underuse as the collar finally gave up. The Divine begged her to run, but the figure cloaked in shadows raised a hand and fixed the vision-Ella with a single too-long finger.

 

“We have and intruder. Kill the slave.” The vision disintegrated.

 

Ella could have screamed. She would have, honestly, if it hadn’t been so branded into her mind that such an act was futile, that no sound would escape the clutching hands of the collar. Because every action was tailored to be the perfect… what she was. What it had said. Slave. The thought was enough to bring bile to her throat, the taste of acid to her tongue. At last she gained enough self-awareness to realize that she had completely lost all control of her expression, her posture, the way her hands clenched and unclenched at her side, leaving crescent-moon furrows of blood in her palms. Quietly, with as much effort as she could muster, she tore the snarl from her face, dragging lips to cover bared teeth and ripping at muscles until they finally relaxed into a semblance of calm. Back straightened from a predatory arch, shoulders pushed back from a protective hunch. She couldn’t quite scrape the murder from her eyes, and her breath still fled clenched teeth in violent gasps, but she would take what she could get. It took even longer to banish the ringing from her ears, to hear what her obviously worried companions were saying to her as she glared at the empty space where the apparition had been. Fucking Fade.

 

“Dancer, are you in there?”

 

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I may have drifted for a moment. What were you saying, Varric?” There was no emotion, and she was unable to spare the extra effort it would take to insert one. It was hard enough to keep a growl from the words. Even so, Varric winced, presumably at the painful tranquility of her voice.

 

“I was just asking if you were okay.” He glanced at her neck, where the collar lay tucked under its scarf. Of course, in that vision they had seen it, glowing like a fucking sun as it shorted on the overabundance of magic.

 

“Of course I’m okay. What a question.” Ella loosed her daggers in a fluid motion, spinning them absentmindedly. “I believe we had a job to do, yes?”

 

Cassandra looked as if she wanted to barrage Ella with questions, but the latter refused to allow it. Instead, she shot a pointed look at Solas. “When I open this thing, demons are going to come flying out, aren’t they.” The elf nodded. Ella sighed. “Great. Just what I need. I suppose you all should ready yourselves, then.”

 

Cassandra called out some orders to the soldiers supporting them as Ella approached the rift. It was a nasty looking thing, like a badly patched wound left to fester as infection leeched into the blood. She couldn’t hear anything but the hum of the Fade and the screaming fury inside of her, and wasn’t sure which one she feared more. He had called her a slave. The gall. He’d seen through the patchwork web of lies she had weaved for her own sanity in a matter of seconds, shredding it as he did so. And, in the same span of time, he had revealed her true nature to the people who effectively held her life in their hands. And she didn’t even know his name, so it wasn’t like she could properly thank him.

 

What was she now, then? The thought struck her even as she reached out a hand, feeling the familiar but no less gut wrenching feeling of being simultaneously stretched and compressed until her muscles wept and the nerves in her hands were blistering with the heat. The collar was dead, did that mean she was no longer a slave? A strand fell from the thread linking her with the rift, and she wrapped it about her hand and tugged, feeling the rift fall open as she did so.

 

Of course, what would choose to claw its way out of the Fade but a massive pride demon? Because that was the sort of day Ella was having.

 

Arrows rained down on it, but the demon simply batted most of them away, the rest bouncing uselessly from armored hide. Varric sent off a bolt with a curse and managed to strike one of its eyes, but seeing as how it had five more of those Ella guessed that such an action would make it angry more than anything else. Judging by the roar that shook the very foundations of what remained of the temple, she was right. Daggers in hand, she chained her fear and leapt at the creature, striking at a soft spot behind its knee as she slid between its legs. Cassandra was rallying the men, shield high and proud against the demon’s merciless blows. Still, all they could really do was strike at its calves. It laughed, a deep and menacing noise that reverberated through the bones of everyone present, juggling electricity with a smug flick of its wrist. As it lifted its head in, well, pride, Ella caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an unarmored patch where the head met the neck. Not weak by any means, but certainly not as impenetrable as the thick armor that coated the rest of its body. She looked around for some support but it appeared that no one else had seen it, as they had been ducking for cover from a particularly nasty lash of electricity. From her vantage point behind the beast, she hadn’t had to hide. With a sigh, Ella gritted her teeth and sprinted towards its back, praying to every god she knew that it didn’t turn around. Whether it was luck or divine intervention she would never know, but the creature seemed so focused on its prey that it didn’t notice as she darted towards it, or even as she leapt into the air to land on its back, hands grasping for scales, spikes, any hold that could be found. Nor did it seem to feel her clamber nimbly up its back, one dagger clenched firmly between her teeth. In fact, it only seemed to realize that there was a small but furious girl climbing it like a backyard oak when she grasped hold of a spike that jutted from the side of its neck and swung, dagger now in her free hand and slashing at its throat. With a rumbling bellow it reached up with one clawed hand to bat her away, but not before the damage had been done and Ella’s blade was buried in its flesh. Still, the creature’s last blow connected, sending Ella flying towards the ground. She managed to gain enough awareness to roll into the dirt, spreading the impact through her shoulder and down her back, finally coming to a jarring halt by slamming into a large boulder just as the demon collapsed.

 

Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself up. A groan escaped her throat as every fiber of her being shrieked, willing her to be still. It felt like she had bruises on her bruises. And maybe a cracked rib. Or three. A voice pierced the haze of pain.

 

“Close the rift! Quickly!” She didn’t even know who said it, only knew that it was an order. Orders must be obeyed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone racing to help her as she placed one protesting leg in front of the other, one palm twitching with the mark and the other burning where stone had sliced flesh. Whoever it was, they never reached her. An outstretched hand in front of her –oh, that was her hand, wasn’t it? She observed with passive interest that it shook violently, then suddenly snapped to stillness as the mark reunited itself with the rift. Close it, close it.

 

Even in her state of distant awareness it was clear that something was going very wrong. The Breach was a vacuum of power, and it was taking more than she could give. She could feel constriction in her lungs, her heart struggling against her ribcage. There must be another way, one where her toes wouldn’t lose their feeling from lack of blood flow. There was a strong urge to close her eyes, fall to her knees, and let the last remnants of her energy flow from her and into the void above, but she was stronger than that. Ella had mastered the unruly corners of her mind long ago, and this was not the most difficult thing her will had faced. So when met with the urge to give up, she surged forward. The abyss stared at her and she stared right back, refusing to fall in. Grabbing hold of the thread that linked her to the rift, she pulled with every ounce of strength she had left, ripping at the fabric of the world in order to tear herself away, losing what remained of her consciousness as she did so.

Notes:

Once again, thank you for reading! If you see any issues or have any questions, feel free to drop a comment.

Chapter 4: Chantry Mothers and Templar Defectors and Mage Rebellions, Oh My

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Her dreams were blessedly non-existent and, as she awoke, Ella felt the relief and comfort that came with finally receiving a restful sleep. Although she suspected that her unnaturally deep slumber had been the work of medicine or magic or both, she brushed off the immediate revulsion at the thought and focused on the child who was now in her room. Well, the room she had been sleeping in, at least. Presumably it wasn’t actually hers.

 

She rose to greet her ‘guest’, wincing at her aching side as she did so. When she pressed a hand to her ribs, she noticed that it was swaddled tight in bandages. Immediately beginning to pick them loose, she directed her attention to the elf girl, who had dropped whatever it was she had been carrying and appeared to be shaking, eyes so wide that Ella swore she could see her own confused reflection in them.

 

“I-I didn’t mean t-to wake you, my lady,” the girl stammered. Ella was quite taken aback; it seemed like a few minutes ago when every face was screwed up in mistrust, and she could constantly feel the hate-filled eyes burning into her back.

 

“That’s, um, that’s quite alright, miss…?” The girl stared at her with wide eyes. Ella coughed. “That is, um, how long have I been unconscious, exactly?”

 

“A few d-days, lady Herald.” As if suddenly recalling something important, the girl sunk to her knees in a gesture of deference and respect. Words bubbled from her downturned face, the stammer disappearing as it was swept up by exuberance. “You stopped the Breach from spreading! Everyone says that you’ve been touched by Andraste; it’s all anyone has been talking about for-“ Then, as if catching herself, she bit her lip and became silent. Ella simply stared at her, blanket clutched to her chest in growing horror.

 

Touched by… Andraste? She barely mouthed the words, unwilling to speak them out loud. Apparently sensing the growing awkwardness that permeated the room, the girl rose and began slowly backing towards the door.

 

“I should tell lady Cassandra. She said to tell her when you awoke. She said ‘at once’.”

 

Ella started forward and winced as her ribs protested. “Ugh. Where is she? The Seeker, I mean.”

 

“In the Chantry, my lady. At once, she said.” And with that she fled, slamming the door behind her.

 

“…What?” Ella asked the resultant emptiness. It was, predictably, silent.

 

Sighing, she decided that a damage assessment was in order. Her hand still glowed, but more faintly this time, the pain having all but disappeared to be replaced with a strange pulse, like a heartbeat. The other hand was far worse, when strange magical marks were pushed aside. As she peeled away the bandages layer by layer Ella could see remains of various poultices dotting the course fabric, an omen for what lay beneath. The last swath was stuck to her skin, and it took a few minutes of careful coaxing and a few choice swears before the dratted thing was finally off. Holding up her hand to the light, she could see the full extent of the damage.

 

In truth it had been much worse. Ella could see the scarred remains of where the stone had sliced her palm when the demon threw her and the angry purple-yellow bruises about her fingers where they had been broken. Much of the skin was bright pink and unpleasantly hot and sticky when she poked at it, which meant that sliding across the rocks had rubbed away some of her flesh. It seemed to be healing well, considering.

 

The rest of her body wasn’t bad either, though it was a tad worse than her hand. Her ribs still ached, and she guessed that they hadn’t completely knitted themselves back together. Lifting her shirt confirmed an ugly splotch of patchwork bruising. Most of the wounds she had received from the clawed blows of demons were closed, now just a few more scars for her collection. With a grimace she realized that the healers who had tended her must have removed her shirt in order to treat her ribs. Which meant that they had seen her back. Not that they didn’t already know, what with the collar now displayed proud and scarf less –a quick scan of the room revealed that particular article of clothing draped across a desk- and with that figure at the temple so helpfully pointing it out to them. Slave. Damn it all.

 

Twisting her torso revealed that she could move, if with a fair amount of pain. If I can just get out of here before that girl fetches the Seeker… Ella kicked off the blankets, unable to hold back a sneer at her new ‘outfit’. Where were her clothes? Well, she supposed they weren’t her clothes per se, but she had been wearing them and they were rather comfortable, travel worn though they were. Kneading the heel of her palm into her forehead, she reasoned that she could just add that to the growing list of pure bullshit that the universe had managed to pile onto her in the last few days.

 

Sitting up on the bed, feet firmly on the floor, she leaned forward, testing how her legs would bear the weight. Although the damage seemed superficial, it never hurt to be sure. Or, apparently, it did. Ella groaned through clenched teeth as pain shot up her leg. Leaning over to check it only aggravated her ribs, and Ella cursed at length and extensively as she straightened once more. This entire endeavor was growing more hopeless by the second. If she couldn’t walk, she was damn certain she couldn’t run. And running was safety. Running was survival. That’s how it had always been.

 

Forcing herself to her feet, face twisted into pain but resolutely silent, Ella took step after agonizing step until after what felt like millennia she reached the desk that housed her scarf. If asked later, she would never admit that she sank into the furniture, clutching to its stability like a marooned sailor would driftwood. It took longer than she would have liked to successfully drape the scarf around her neck, and still she wished that there was a mirror or a pool of water, anything to make sure it was fulfilling its intended purpose. Running hands along her neck, tugging at the scarf, tentatively pushing under the collar, Ella felt with cautious fingers the evidence of years spent wearing such a thing. Scars from where it scraped, skin rubbed raw from the slightest movements. And still it was silent, dead to her exploration. Crinkling her nose, Ella lowered her hands to the desk, pushed off in stubborn deafness to her body’s protests. She slowly made her way to the door, steps measured, calm, and adeptly hiding the agony that wracked her every move. So far so good.

 

Ella opened the door, and immediately slammed it shut, leaning against the frame with harsh gasps of panic. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled it ajar, just enough for her to peek out. Sure enough, a crowd of people were just… standing there. Right outside. Waiting for something. Waiting for me. Mouth suddenly very dry, Ella forced herself to stand straight and proud. She shoved the door open all the way, paying no mind to the way the crowd seemed to collectively gasp the moment she showed her face. In a manner she hoped was discreet Ella allowed her eyes to roam the mass of people as she took slow and steady steps. They spilled out of every conceivable door, some of them taking to rooftops and scaffolding, and though they cleared a path for her as she moved it was clear that there would be no way for Ella to leave Haven without drawing considerable attention. Fuming, she considered her next move.

 

The girl had said Cassandra was in the Chantry. Ella supposed that that was as good a place to start as any. There was the simple matter of deciding which building was correct; the Chantry was always gaudy and opulent, and so it would take up the most space, be placed in the most prominent position, and be the most decorative. As the crowd parted before her she caught hushed snippets of conversation.

 

“…that’s the Herald, that is, they say she-“

 

“-Breach is still there, didn’t do a good job, did she?”

 

“She’s just a girl, I mean Maker I heard but I didn’t-“

 

“-say that Andraste herself guided her through the-“

 

“-supposed to have closed-“

 

“-saved us from-“

 

Finally, finally, finally she entered the damned building and shut the doors behind her, leaning against them as she released the coiling panic that had been writhing in her stomach. Blessed by Andraste. Ridiculous. Dangerous. So much for keeping a low profile.

 

The sound of raised voices washed over her, and Ella raised her head wearily, bristling at what she heard. The Chancellor, again. Threatening her freedom like the fool he was. The panic dissipated, burned away by pure rage. No one, no one, was ever putting her in chains again. Her hands reached for her daggers as she stalked towards the door, a snarl plastered on her face, and threw it open to reveal the war room and its startled occupants.

 

“Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial,” the Chancellor ordered.

 

Ella didn’t bother with words, she simply turned, palms wrapped about her blades and face set in the deadliest look she could possibly manage. The two guards, who had begun moving to follow the command, appeared to pale, looking up a bit hesitantly.

 

“Disregard that, and leave us.” Ella whirled with the slightest hint of confusion on Cassandra as she sent the guards outside. Was this woman protecting her? One moment she was a jailor, the next she was a guardian. It was baffling to say the least.

 

After a lovely exchange of thinly veiled threats and accusations, the Seeker revealed her intent. An Inquisition. Lovely. That could never go wrong. The Chancellor, predictably, quailed under Cassandra’s harsh gaze, swore that this wasn’t over, and fled the building, tail between his legs. Ella couldn’t help it; she chuckled.

 

“Well, this has all been rather entertaining. I’m ready to wake up now.” She smiled at the collection of confused and unamused faces before her. “Seriously. Whenever you’re ready.” Of course, nothing happened. “Damn,” she sighed, fidgeting with her scarf. “Worth a shot.”

 

“I suppose that means we can’t count on support from the Chantry?” murmured a man, the only one in the room. The way he held himself would scream soldier, even if he weren’t in full armor.

 

“Didn’t need them anyway, if you ask me,” replied Ella. “Better off without.”

 

“We aren’t ready,” sighed the Left Hand, Leliana. “No allies, no money, no Chantry support…”

 

“But we have no choice,” finished Cassandra. Leliana nodded, eyes narrowed slightly in thought.

 

“An Inquisition,” began Ella, slow and cautious with her words. “I’m sure you understand the implications…?”

 

“We do,” said Cassandra.

 

“Then I trust you will endeavor not to repeat-“

 

“We will.” The Seeker sighed, leaning on the table. Leliana continued for her.

 

“The original Inquisition existed to establish order in a world consumed by chaos. Though eventually the path became… muddied, we will attempt to live up to their original intent.”

 

“Understood,” replied Ella. She held up her marked hand, still pulsing with a faint green glow. “And I’m guessing you’ll need this.” She was greeted with nods of assent.

 

“You are the only one who can close the rifts,” said Cullen, as if by way of apology.

 

“Well, it would be ridiculous of me to think myself more important than all of Thedas, I suppose,” Ella sighed. “Very well, then. I’m your ‘Herald of Andraste’, or whatever else you might see fit. After all.” She swooped into a low and elaborate bow, a smile tugging at her lips. “I live to serve.”

 

The words had the desired effect. Immediately the atmosphere turned tense, almost everyone shuffling, averting their eyes. Leliana, it seemed, was the least affected. The Left Hand simply stared, watching and waiting. She was a dangerous one, and Ella knew it, even as she took stock of every single tell, every awkward glance, every twitch of the hand. She knew what they looked like when uncomfortable. It was a start.

 

“About that.” Leliana broke the silence. Behind the walls of her composure, Ella braced herself. “I’m afraid there’s no tactful way to put this, but what with you being, well-“

 

“A slave?” supplied Ella helpfully. And if she wasn’t able to keep the bite from her voice, well, nobody’s perfect. Leliana gave her a strained smile and continued: a testament to her character, really.

 

“Yes, of course. It is necessary, you see, to ensure that no one-“

 

“Is looking for me?” Ella could have laughed. She almost did. Pursing her lips, the Left Hand nodded. “It is nice of you to worry, really, but I wouldn’t.” A lie, and a bold-faced on at that, but Ella covered for it by tugging her scarf down, revealing the collar, noting the way eyes flickered down before they quickly, guiltily, looked away, as if caught staring at a barmaid in the tavern. “Even if they wanted me back –which I doubt, because honestly I am a huge pain in the ass- the collar is dead.”

 

“Dead?” Leliana asked, her tone polite and civil.

 

“Yes, dead!” Ella chuckled gleefully. “Something about the explosion, the Breach, I’m not sure, but it just… killed it. I’m not sure how else they would track me down, and even if they found me…” I would be able to fight. They would give orders and I wouldn’t have to obey, for once in my life I’d be able to fight. Ella smiled silently, shrugging.


The Antivan woman gave a polite little cough, stepping forward. “Well, I believe introductions are in order. I believe you’ve already met Seeker Cassandra and Leliana.” She gestured to the two in turn, and Ella nodded cordially.

 

“My position here requires a certain degree of-“ began Leliana, but she was cut off by Cassandra.

 

“She is our Spymaster.” Leliana winced.

 

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra,” she said dryly. The Seeker just shrugged.

 

“I am Josephine Montilyet, the Inquisition’s ambassador and diplomat. This is Commander Cullen, he will lead our forces.”

 

“Such as they are,” the man muttered to himself before glancing up. “We didn’t get a chance to meet before, but I’m told you were formidable. That being said, if you require any training, I am sure something could be arranged.” He must have seen the look on her face, because he continued. “Of course, it isn’t strictly necessary. Think on it; there’s always something new to be learned.”

 

It wasn’t a bad idea, but it also wasn’t a particularly good one. Ella decided to store it away for later thought. Instead she focused on something more urgent.

 

“Ella,” she said, motioning towards herself vaguely. “This… Herald of Andraste talk. Are you encouraging it, or-“

 

“We haven’t discouraged it,” answered Cassandra.

 

“You are aware that I am not exactly the picture-perfect ‘Chantry-girl’, right?” asked Ella with a certain degree of incredulity. “Because I’m perfectly willing to play along, but no one’s going to mistake me for a saint. Or a Herald, I guess.”

 

“They already have,” Leliana pointed out. Damn her and her logic.

 

“And, despite whatever your personal beliefs may be,” said Cassandra with a pointed stare. “You were exactly what we needed when we needed it.”

 

“Fine.” Never mind that it put a bad taste in her mouth, gallivanting as something she wasn’t. If these people needed her to be their damn Herald in order to let her fix the sky, then she’d be a Herald. Bring out the infants; it’s baby-blessing time.

 

She was drawn from this melancholy by Cassandra, who in turn drew the entire crew to the war table.

 

“You already know that we plan to close the Breach. In order to do this, we need power,” said the Seeker.

 

“Which is why we must approach the rebel mages,” finished Leliana. Ella bristled imperceptibly, not entirely paying attention as an argument evidently long in the making spiraled into circularity. Mages or Templars. That was basically the question of ‘who would I rather kill me’, which was easy enough: Templars could only run you through with a blade. Mages and demons, now, that was not a good way to go.

 

“It doesn’t matter; we don’t have the influence to approach either party,” said Josephine, predictably adept at quelling argument.

 

“We can change that,” replied Leliana. And so they went to work.

 

It was all rather interesting, Ella admitted to herself when they finally convened their meeting. Chantry mothers and Templar defectors and mage rebellions, oh my. She stretched and felt her back give a satisfying pop, eager to reach what was now her building and get started on her packing for the trip to the Hinterlands. Pushing open the wide doors of the Chantry revealed that it was long past midday, and seeing as she hadn’t eaten anything for at least the day, maybe more depending on whether or not they fed her when she was unconscious, she was convinced by a protesting stomach to seek out a late lunch. Or an early dinner. Or just a really overdue breakfast. She tried to smile through the pain that came with prolonged standing on injured legs; it couldn’t be helped, as she was sure sitting would show some amount of vulnerability, however small. Ella was adamant about showing as little weakness as possible in front of the Spymaster, especially after so much had already been revealed. It was fascinating, really, to see the little gears whirring away underneath that hood of hers, fitting together bits and pieces so that she could always claim the advantage. Ella would not let herself be tied to the Inquisition through blackmail or anything equally conniving.

 

Unfortunately there weren’t any posted signs to conveniently direct her towards something edible. With a sigh Ella settled for the next best thing and pushed open the doors to the tavern, reveling in the way the warmth wrapped her in a snug embrace. She pulled on a pair of tattered gloves, effectively hiding her hand from the passive observer. The tavern was full of drunk and drinking men and women, just crowded enough for anonymity, something Ella felt that she desperately needed. That and a drink. Maybe two.

 

Five mugs of whatever it was the barmaid was setting in front of her later, and Ella was beginning to feel a tingling at her fingertips. Humming in contentment, she stretched like a cat before the hearth, letting the warmth seep into her aching bones. It wasn’t long, however, before a familiar voice caught her ear.

 

“There we were, facing this enormous demon throwing lightning around like nothing. And the Herald, she scales the thing, like a damn squirrel. So I’m standing there, with Bianca, of course, and all I see is this crazy kid climbing a demon, and I’m saying to myself, ‘shit, where’s a pen when I need it?’”

 

“You forgot the part where the demon flung me across the room like a pillow, Varric,” called Ella dryly, looking up to find the dwarf in the crowd. There he was, standing on his chair, and he had attracted quite the following. She disliked the way their confusion turned to awe as they realized who she was, and the way they stared not at her face, but at her hand. She wrapped the offending article around her mug, shielding her palm from their eyes. Varric, at least, simply flashed her a lopsided grin.

 

“Yeah, but that was only after you ripped its throat out. You have to let me flesh in the story, Dancer.” Ella could almost hear the swagger in his voice, and she smiled.

 

“I’m just saying that you shouldn’t build up for such a let down.”

 

“The suspense, Dancer! It’s all in how you tell it.”

 

“Maybe…”

 

“See folks, she can be taught!”

 

“Maybe you should tell them about your nickname instead, Teapot.”

“Oh come on, Dancer, you’re killing me here.” The dwarf swooned dramatically, slumping against his chair. Ella noted with appreciation that the crowd was growing more comfortable; some were even giggling, albeit nervously. She’d take what she could get.

 

“If I was killing you, you’d be dead, Teapot.” Ella shot him her sweetest smile. He blew her a kiss in response, and she gagged, coughing dramatically as she banged a fist against her chest.

 

“Hey, get your ass over here, Dancer. I’m gonna by you a drink.”

 

Well, she couldn’t very well say no to that. “You know you’re just enabling me,” she said as she plopped down in the chair across from him, wincing internally as a little circle of space appeared between her and the rest of the patrons. So much for anonymity.

 

“Yeah, well, I’d be awfully hypocritical if I told you to stop. Besides, if anyone needs a drink, it’s you.” He leaned forward. “How you been, Dancer?”

“Alive.” Ella kept her face guarded. Varric seemed disappointed. He leaned back, drink in hand.

 

“Alive is good, I guess. Better than the alternative.”

 

“Sometimes.” She hadn’t meant to say it. A mistake, a mistake; this was the collar, or the absence of it. Without that control… shit she needed to pull herself together, or she was going to get herself killed. Luckily Varric wasn’t high on her list of potential threats. Sure, the dwarf could be a danger, but she doubted he would do anything to hurt her unless she desperately deserved it.

 

He was silent for a while, which was understandable. There wasn’t a proper response for that, not really. So Ella laughed and looked at her mug.

 

“Damn, listen to me. I’ve been hitting this way too hard, I think I’m going to have to call it a night,” she chuckled, glancing up at Varric. He smiled back, and though he didn’t seem fully convinced, it was something.

 

“Try not to get struck by lightning on the way to your quarters, Dancer,” he called as she walked past him, allowing her pain to translate as a semi-drunk stumble.

 

“With my luck, I’ll get hit twice,” she replied, stepping out into the chill. Night had ambushed Haven, seizing it with frigid talons and shadowed breath. Looking up, Ella could guess at where the stars might be breathtaking. If only the Breach hadn’t swallowed them up with its ghastly light.

Notes:

As per usual, thanks for reading. Feel free to comment if you have any questions, critique, or just want to talk.

Chapter 5: Gilded Garbage

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It took a couple hours of fruitless tossing and turning before Ella surrendered to the fact that she was never going to fall asleep. She was tired enough, sure, she reflected as she rubbed at weary eyes. There were just too many unknowns, not enough safeguards. Haven was open, understaffed, and unguarded. She’d be a fool to think herself safe here, and under no circumstance would her body rest when danger could be lurking. That was the excuse she told herself, and admittedly it was a good one. In truth, though, she didn’t want to sleep. No, she corrected herself. I don’t want to dream.

 

Ella had been plagued by nightmares since she was young. They’d never affected her sleeping, anyway, at least not in the early years. Of course, the more she experienced, the worse they became. And now, with the massive hole in the Veil and a duplicate burrowed into her hand, she couldn’t risk it.

 

She worried at her lower lip as she sat up in the bed and wondered what she would do with the spare time. Instinctively a hand reached for the collar, rolling the tough leather between fingertips as she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress and stood. Might as well try to get this thing off.

 

~~~~~~

 

After hours of every feasible method from slicing through the leather with a keen blade to burning it with an ember from the dying fire, Ella finally decided that it was early enough for rising to be acceptable. The collar remained, but that was unsurprising. Even ‘dead’, it maintained its resilience. A shame, but she couldn’t worry about it now, and so Ella dropped the now considerably duller knife she had been using into its sheath and began attaching various daggers to her person, a process which involved a multitude of belts and an excess of time. Fortunately familiar fingers made quick work of it, and she was soon ready to stow the whole mess under a cloak that someone had generously left for her. It was a simple thing and plain, but the dark fabric was thick and warm and the large hood meant that the cloak rose to her chin, shielding the collar from prying eyes. After that she pulled on threadbare gloves and word hunting boots before throwing open the door.

 

Thankfully there was no crowd of spectators this morning, although a few early risers did spare a reverent gaze her way. Pulling the hood up under the pretense of shielding her face from the cold, Ella hoped that maybe less of them would be able to recognize her. The distinct clang of a hammer on metal and the rising smoke of a forge drew her to the blacksmith, where she hoped to obtain a whetstone to sharpen the knives she had dulled. Through the large doors that marked the exit she could see the soldiers training diligently, the Commander with that ridiculous cloak of his prowling amongst them like an oversized housecat playing at being a lion, barking out instructions that even Ella could admit were rather competent. A smile graced her face when she finally made it to the blacksmith, only to be accosted by the head smith himself, Harrit, who insisted on showing her every inch of the forge and on calling her the ‘Herald’, something she was beginning to hate more with each passing breath. At last she was able to make her escape, whetstone in hand and of a mind to find somewhere more peaceful than the area sandwiched between the raucous blacksmith and the chaotic training grounds. That was, of course, before a rogue sword almost separated her head from her body.

 

It was only instinct that saved her; from a young age Ella had learned to follow her gut and get out of the way when she heard something racing through the air with that telltale whoosh. She really should have been paying more attention, she thought a little distantly as she wrenched her body to the side, leading with a jerk of her neck and following the motion smoothly. The sword sailed by, burrowing itself with a tremor in the snow and dirt about two feet behind her. She really should have been paying more attention, she thought distantly as she turned towards the recruits, green in more ways than one. A bunch of farmers turned soldier, it wasn’t surprising that a sword might go flying now and again. Perhaps they should invest in wrist-straps… This entertaining train of thought was quickly shattered.

 

“Maker’s brea- Herald are you alright?” shouted the Commander, barreling through his men, a couple of which actually wincing when they heard who she was. Kaffas, she really didn’t want to make a fuss over this.

 

“Yes, I’m fine Commander,” she called, forcing a smile and a strong set to her shoulders. “It’ll take more than a dropped sword to do me in, I assure you. So… back to training with you.”

 

“You almost died!” His disbelief robbed his voice of volume, and he might have seemed calm if a red wasn’t creeping across his face. Behind him, Ella could see one man in particular trying to make himself as small as possible. She shot him a grin before facing the Commander once more.

 

“I didn’t, though,” she pointed out. “I wandered a little too close. My mistake.”

 

“No, the mistake was that someone here has the sword-grip of a child,” he nearly growled, whipping around to glare at his men and presumably suss out the culprit, which wouldn’t be difficult considering it would be the only person without a damned sword. Grimacing, Ella yanked said sword from the snow bank and hurried over to the unfortunate soul before the Commander could tear him limb from limb, ducking under Cullen’s outstretched arm and grabbing the soldier’s hand.

 

“Name?” she barked gruffly.

 

“What are you-“ began the Commander, but Ella shot him the most venomous look she could conjure up and he fell reluctantly silent.

 

“Name, soldier,” Ella said, a little softer this time. The man was visible shaking, pale even against the snow and a green tint to his face. Almost decapitating your deified figurehead would do that to you.

 

“K-k-k-kerin, ma’am,” he managed to stammer in response.

 

“Kerin, do you know how to hold a sword?” A couple chuckles from the crowd; she ignored them.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Show me.” She pressed the grip into his trembling hand, closing the fingers around it. Gulping, Kerin did as he was told; clutching the sword like his life depended on it.

 

“Now get into a fighting stance.” The man shot her only one confused glance before her glower forced his eyes down and he obeyed, hesitantly dropping into a respectable stance, if a little short. Ella nodded, taking a step back and noting how the rest of the recruits were enraptured spectators. Good, might as well teach them something. She walked up to Kerin, roughly grabbing his hand and adjusted his fingers, talking as she did so.

 

“Your knuckles are white, Kerin; you are holding this too tightly.”

 

“But I dropped it-“

 

“When you hold it like this, you strain your fingers. You will tire, as will your grip. You should be prepared to fight for a long while, yes?” Ella grinned as she backed away, drawing out her already dulled daggers. “Defend.” She lunged forward, allowing him to parry her blades before darting back. “You will limit yourself by clinging to your blade. It is not a lifeline; it is a weapon, a tool. It cannot work when you hold it back. You should only be tightening your grip when contact is made. Again.” She struck at his side and he smoothly brought the sword around to catch the blades, the connection ringing true across the training grounds. Ella smiled at him. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” The question was more directed towards the Commander (who scowled) than at Kerin (who positively beamed). She rolled a shoulder, a quirk at her lip. “Now who’s next?”

 

It was Ella’s firm belief that the best teacher was experience, and nothing could get closer to a combat situation than sparring. Evidently the Commander shared this belief, or at least he was willing to humor her, shrugging off her little impromptu ‘lesson’ with a roll of his eyes and something muttered under his breath before acquiescing to her request to clear a little ring on the side where anyone willing and able could spar her. Unsurprisingly it took a little taunting to convince anyone to step in the ring with her; she was, after all, the Herald of Andraste. After a couple well-placed jibes about the fertility and masculinity of some of the soldiers, however, she was overwhelmed with volunteers. She hid a smile; sometimes a man’s ego could be the most delicate thing.

 

Quickly it became apparent that no fresh recruit was going to be able to beat her, even with her size and apparent age. A couple of the more veteran soldiers, Templars who had followed Cullen’s example, managed to hold their own for a respectable amount of time, but Ella had trained in combat for a good while longer than them, even with their extra years of life. It was relatively easy to exploit the knowledge that a Templar’s training revolved around the fighting of mages, not pesky little rogues. After pinning a particularly large brute in the snow-turned-slush by moving feet, knee on her windpipe, Ella heard the unmistakable sound of sarcastic applause. Rising from and offering a hand to her latest victim, she turned to find the source of the sound, even as she helped the Templar woman to her feet. It was, of course, Varric, perched atop a rock not too far away, a sheaf of papers in his lap and a quill in his hand. He waved cheerfully, and Ella reciprocated the gesture reluctantly. Deciding that maybe that was enough rolling in the snow for one day, Ella bid the recruits farewell and shoved her way out of the ring of rapidly dispersing bodies. Apparently the focus of their interest had been her.

 

“Hey Dancer! Putting our new soldiers through their paces I see,” said Varric when she drew near.

 

“Had to put them in their place. Can’t have anyone denying me as their personal savior, can I?” she replied in jest, craning her neck to peek over his shoulder. “What are you writing there, you artist you?”

 

“None of your business, you snoop you.” He quickly covered the scrawls with his arms before flashing her a winning smile. “Can’t have anyone leaking the secrets of my newest masterpiece.”

 

“Masterpiece?” Ella snorted.

 

“I’m thinking of calling it, And Then It Got Worse: A Herald’s Story.” She crossed her arms, scowling.

 

“No. You are not writing a book about me.”

 

“Come on, Dancer. The masses will want to know!”

 

“They’ll want to know what, exactly?” asked Ella, casually snatching a piece of paper from his little pile while he wasn’t looking. Varric reached to grab it, but she held it high above his arms, reading all the while. “That ‘The Herald had a smile that could charm a bear just as well as run it through’? I’m flattered, Teapot.”

 

“You should be,” said Varric, finally wresting the paper from her after a particularly powerful leap. “That’s much nicer than what I said about Hawke.”

 

“Alright, I’ll bite; what did you say about Hawke?”

 

“Ah, ah, ah, Dancer,” tutted Varric, shaking a finger. “No spoilers. Buy the book and see.”

 

“I’m not buying that trash you call literature, Tethras,” she let the end of her lips twitch up to show him that she was joking. Well, sort of.

 

“You must have read Swords and Shields,” he grinned, winking. “Admittedly not my best work, but I assure you, Tale of the Champion is worthy of at least a very fancy trashcan.”

 

“Solid gold?”

 

“I wouldn’t go that far. Maybe gilded.”

 

“Nice talk, Teapot,” Ella chuckled, looking up to see a harried looking Leliana meet her eyes from the gates. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

 

Leliana intercepted Ella halfway to the gate, face grim.

 

“Did someone kick your prized nug?” Ella joked weakly, still playing to Varric. Damn, she was sloppy. You made mistakes like this when you were eight. Pull yourself together. Predictably, the comment did nothing to lighten the Spymaster’s mood.

 

“There has been a development. You must leave for the Hinterlands at once,” Leliana said, simultaneously penning a letter in intriguing coded shorthand for the raven perched on her shoulder.

 

“What’s happened?” asked Ella evenly.

 

“The conflict between the mages and Templars traveled faster than we anticipated. They are nearing the refugees Mother Giselle is tending to now, and our forces there will be unable to hold them off for any long period of time, especially with their focus divided by the rifts. They are meant for skirmishes, not drawn out battles.” Ella nodded.

 

“Understood,” she said briskly, stalking through the large doors and into Haven. “Who is going?”

 

“You must meet with Mother Giselle; she asked for you by name.” Leliana’s face expressed her distaste at that. “Cassandra will go with you, as will the apostate, Solas.” Now it was Ella’s turn to grimace.

 

“Varric too, then,” she said. The Spymaster sighed.

 

“I take no responsibility for what they do to each other.”

 

“What, Varric and Cassandra?” Ella grinned. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

Notes:

Short chapter, mostly filler, next will likely be longer. Thank you for reading!

Will it be fine? Find out in the next thrilling installment.

Chapter 6: Bears Ruin Everything, A Hinterlands Tale

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

It was not fine. It was the exact opposite of fine.

 

Ella felt murder run through her veins as Varric and Cassandra began their bickering anew. Clenching her teeth, she forced herself to focus on the meal in front of her.

 

“Well if you don’t like the way I put up the tents, then maybe you should do it!” shouted Varric from where he was yanking on a length of rope presumably attached to the rumpled mess of canvas before him.

 

“That isn’t how it works, Varric,” Cassandra replied, exasperated, a bundle of firewood in her arms. “Everyone does a job, and everyone does that job right.”

 

Vishante kaffas that was it. She would not allow this to spiral into another hour of their damned shrieking.

 

“No. Stop it. Right now,” snarled Ella dropping the bowl of what was meant to be stew and leaping to her feet. Both Varric and Cassandra looked at her, a mixture of confusion and residual anger. She breathed deeply, speaking through gritted teeth. “I’ll put up the tents. Cassandra please put the wood next to the fire. Both of you find someplace to sit where you can’t see each other.” They opened their mouths as if to argue. “Did I stutter?” Varric scrambled out of sight, and Cassandra did as she was told. It’s like working with children, Ella fumed as she marched over to the tents.

 

They had made good time and were about half a day’s march from the Hinterlands, which was heartening considering that the sooner they dealt with this the sooner Varric and Cassandra could go back to just sullenly ignoring each other. What the hell did they do to each other? Ella wasn’t even sure she wanted to know. The whole mess seemed too complicated for her tastes.

 

The tents were set up and Ella volunteered yet again for the first watch. Other than the concerned look Varric shot her, no one paid her insistence any mind. She allowed herself a long revitalizing breath of cool air when everyone had finally settled down in his or her respective tent. Sinking onto an upturned log, she settled a dagger across her lap and kept watchful eyes on the surrounding black. It never hurt to be cautious. And if she woke Cassandra a full two shifts past when she should have, the Seeker didn’t comment on it.

 

Ella spent the remainder of the night in a desperate attempt to convince herself that this ‘not-sleeping-thing’ was fine, really. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done it before. Never mind that ‘before’ didn’t involve the fate of the world resting squarely on her shoulders. Maybe later she could find someplace safe and far away from the others to sink into whatever the Fade had in store for her, but for now she would simply have to grin and bear it, so that was exactly what she was going to do. She crawled out of the tent she shared with Cassandra with a loud yawn, stretching her arms over her head while making her way to where breakfast was being doled out. Solas, she noted with narrowed eyes, was staring her down rather disapprovingly. Mages. Ella shook her head as if in an attempt to dislodge a pesky gnat and accepted a hunk of stale bread and some unidentifiable meat.

 

On the ride to their camp in the Hinterlands, Ella noticed out of the corner of her eye a certain elven apostate making several attempts to get close to her, presumably for a little chat. Not feeling particularly amiable towards mages at this moment in time, with her hand flaring up and her neck chafing under the collar, Ella undertook various precautions in order to evade him. She chatted with Varric, exchanged outlooks with Cassandra, and even volunteered to scout the path ahead for a ways, all in order to keep herself and her sorry specimen of a horse moving away from Solas. Alas, she could not run forever. Solas seemed to have caught on, because when they halted for a short rest the elf intercepted her before she had the chance to escape into the woods under the pretense of checking their perimeter.

 

“May I have a word?” he asked, walking up to her smoothly. It was one of those questions that weren’t really questions; rhetorical orders, Ella liked to call them. She gritted her teeth into a smile.

 

“For you? Always,” she replied easily enough, motioning towards a small copse of trees away from their rest stop, all the while hovering one hand lazily about her daggers. If this was going to be a fight, it would be better fought away from the others, where she could handle it herself.

“There’s no need to play at polite, Herald,” he said when they were a suitable distance away. Ella placed a hand to her chest.

 

“Why, my dear apostate, I have no idea what you’re insinuating.”

 

“You fear magic, which, though disappointing, is understandable given your background.” Ella’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, and he continued. “That, however, is irrelevant. You haven’t been sleeping.”

 

“Why do you care?” She didn’t bother denying it; it would do no good. Although Ella had no idea how he could possibly know, she was sure he had somehow found a way. Mages.

 

“Why do I care?” He quirked a brow. “Could it be that I have a vested interest in saving this world, seeing as how I am one of its many inhabitants?”

 

“It’s the hand we need,” Ella reminded him, a strain to her voice. “Not me. And, given my ‘background’ I’m sure it’s no surprise that I have gone without rest for long periods of time before.”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to sleep, though?” he asked, exasperated. “There is no reason for this. If you are having difficulty, I could make you a potion that would easily-“

 

No,” she hissed, hand clenching spasmodically at her dagger. Reluctantly, she forced herself to relax. “That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

 

“If you fall asleep suddenly,” he said slowly, as if explaining to a child. “The mark on your hand could pull you more deeply into the Fade while you dream.”

 

“I already figured that out for my self; I may not be a mage, but I’m also not an idiot.”


Solas huffed, frustrated.

 

“It would be better if you experienced this on your own terms, as opposed to passing out from exhaustion.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind Solas,” she said in a voice that clearly implied the opposite. Motioning towards the others meaningfully, she began walking back. “We wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”

 

“No, indeed we wouldn’t,” he responded coolly, following her.

 

The rest of the ride was uneventful, with Solas having given up on talking to her and Varric sullen after yet another spat he and Cassandra had somehow gotten into during the five damn minutes she had been gone.

 

When they finally met up with a dwarf named Harding who seemed to be running the scouts, Ella was itching for a good fight. Apparently, that was what she would get. Mages and Templars, destroying the idyllic countryside with their squabbling. Some things never changed. After Varric attempted some joke about ‘Harding in Hightown’ and Cassandra seemed ready to strangle him, Ella quickly thanked Harding and hurried down the grassy stretch to the Crossroads where, theoretically, they would meet Mother Giselle.

 

The path was lined with gore, evidence of the fighting they could expect ahead. Ella unsheathed her daggers, and she heard the chatter of gears as Bianca was drawn out. Turning a corner revealed Templars battering themselves against Inquisition forces, wearing down the already exhausted men. Throwing on a grin, Ella dived into the fray, twirling about the first man’s shield with a calculated flick of her wrist, relieving him of much of his chest piece when a key leather strap was clipped. Varric made quick work of him after that, nailing the poor sod in the ribs. Ella had already moved on to her next target, working quickly. These men were sloppy, poor excuses for Templars. Probably why they needed to prove themselves by hunting out mages even when they were specifically told not to.

 

“Incoming!” someone shouted. Ella glanced up to see a fireball screaming towards them, aim far from true; it crashed into a small pond instead. Shaking her head in disgust, Ella darted forward to take out their spellcasters, letting the others deal with the mercenaries. Honestly, this was getting sad. They were atrocious at close-range combat, firing off wild spells in the hopes of pegging her. Most mages she fought at least had a basic understanding of staff fighting, but evidently the Circles didn’t teach it and these mages had never bothered to learn after they rebelled. Instead, the man Ella was cornering sent a wave of ice towards her feet. A clever tactic, but one she had seen before; Ella leapt forward into a feet first slide, avoiding becoming trapped under the sheet and allowing the ice to carry her into an effective tackle. After knocking the startled mage down, they grappled for all of three seconds before Ella slammed a knee into his throat with enough force to crush the windpipe. Unfortunately, mages were always slippery about dying. Before she managed to completely snuff him out, the man hastily brought forth some form of fire rune beneath them both, and Ella barely managed to kick his grasping hands away and leap before the ground burst into a tower of flames. Still the spell had scorched her side, burning unnaturally hot through the leather. Her skin seethed and festered and pain lanced her as staggered to her feet, nose wrinkling at the stench of burning flesh. Before her, she could see more Templars battering the rest. Forcing the pain into a tight little box, Ella raced forward to help.

 

One lightly armored Templar fell to a well-placed throwing dagger, and the rest were brought down by the combined efforts of the group. Varric turned to her with a grin, hoisting Bianca across his shoulders.

 

“Well, that was a nice little soiree, wouldn’t you say, Dancer?” he said with a grin as she neared. Ella smiled in kind.

 

“Oh, I’m sure it would have been lovely if someone hadn’t pulled an immolate out of his ass.” Ella moved a hand to uncover the blistering wound at her side. Varric winced sympathetically

 

Shit Dancer, you should let a healer take a look at that.” Ella shrugged.

 

“There are plenty of soldiers and refugees who need healing, and I can wait. Let’s just find this ‘Mother Giselle’ first.” She didn’t give Varric an opportunity to argue, but gratefully accepted the healing potion he pressed into her palm.

 

A couple hours later and they left the Crossroads with the dubious assistance of Mother Giselle and a request for ram’s meat of all things. Well, they had some time to kill, Ella supposed, and that seemed easy enough. It would also give her an excuse to avoid Varric’s insistence that she visit a healer and provide them with the opportunity to accrue influence. All in all, she thought it was a good plan.

 

A couple of hours after that and they came back to the Crossroads toting hastily bandaged wounds and a makeshift bearskin sack loaded with ram. The hunter they brought it to nearly cried with joy, and Ella was glad that someone was having a good day because that bear had certainly ruined any chance of her having one. Oh well.

 

On the way back to camp Ella managed to gather a large bundle of elfroot alongside some other choice herbs. Once there, she sat down in a sequestered spot and began to crush the mess with a mortar and pestle she had ‘borrowed’ from some Inquisition drawer. I don’t need a damn healer, she thought, lifting her shirt with a wince. When the mixture was crushed to her satisfaction, she spread it along the burn, hissing through her teeth all the while. She made a sort of makeshift bandage with her tunic; the thing was already ruined, and bandages were hard to come by in a war. Giving the dressing a cursory once-over, Ella decided that it was good enough to get Varric off her back. She did not need more healers putting their hands all over her, damn it.

 

After the glorious display that was sunset –the Hinterlands could be a beautiful place at times- Cassandra informed them that the next day would be dedicated to securing steeds from some horsemaster who had been cut off by the fighting. Made sense; troops need mounts. Ella nodded, took the first watch, as usual, ignored Solas’s pointed glare, and bid everyone a good night.

 

It took all of two hours for all hell to break loose. One second Ella was pacing the camp, eyes sharp against the darkness, and the next she heard the zip of an arrow, dodging the thing in the nick of time. Even as the arrow trembled in the dirt behind her Ella loosed a knife with a snarl, and heard a satisfying hiss of pain from her assailant. Not dead, though; didn’t fall out of the tree. Her mind whirred into action as she let out the loudest war cry she could manage and darted forward, blades flashing against the moonlight.

 

Poor time for an ambush, speaking of, Ella noted as she left the archer devoid of a throat and gurgling in the brush. The moon was nearly full, and the light would betray any attempts at stealth. Behind her, Ella heard the distinct sounds of people hurriedly throwing on essentials and stumbling into the open as well as a small scuffle or two. Whoever attacked must have retreated just as quickly.

 

Content that her assistance was unneeded, Ella knelt to inspect the archer’s corpse. His clothes didn’t scream of any particular allegiance, which was odd; she had understandably expected a Templar or a mage. It was possible that he was a mercenary… she unbuttoned his coat, rifled through his pockets, hoping to find something that might shed light on the matter. There, on his lapel, a metal symbol. It was difficult to see, even in the light of the moon, but she hissed as she rolled it beneath her fingers, recognizing the seal of a slaver. The immediate fears that screamed in her head were silenced with a huff. They could not have found her, and they most certainly would not waste resources looking for her. Some of the more bold slavers must have simply been taking advantage of the chaos caused by the mage rebellion. They must have mistaken them for a camp of refugees: easy prey.

 

Letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, Ella tore the button from his jacket and pocketed it. It wouldn’t do to trouble her newfound allies. If it became important she could always just tell Leliana, Ella reasoned. Even with her completely logical explanation, she couldn’t help but jump at every whisper of wind, and she didn’t need the Inquisition feeling the same paranoia. That’s all it was. Paranoia.

 

Back at camp, the Inquisition soldiers had taken care of the straggling slavers. Everyone seemed relieved to see her, and it occurred to Ella that they might have been worried about her absence. She hadn’t meant to cause concern, but she was so unused to working with partners and… Kaffas, the slaver’s button felt heavy in her pocket, the collar hot on her neck.

 

“You alright, Dancer?” asked Varric, worry in his eyes.

 

“Always,” she grinned. Cassandra heaved a sigh of relief.

 

“Why is it that trouble insists on following you around,” the Seeker muttered.

 

“I can’t help having such a magnetic personality,” Ella replied with a grin. Cassandra groaned, and Varric chuckled. For once the two weren’t at each other’s throats, which she supposed was a small blessing.

 

They cleared the bodies, set extra watches, and bid each other good night. If Ella wasn’t going to sleep before, she sure as hell wasn’t now. Instead she spent the darkest hours composing intricate plans for potential escape attempts, should she be captured. Not particularly rational or grounded in reality, but it made her feel better.

Notes:

The chapter title is slightly misleading; the bear is only mentioned in passing. But hey, it's the Hinterlands. You gotta have a bear. Don't blame me, it's the law. Contact your local congressman.

As always, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. This will start picking up more once we get some more characters (which will be soon), I promise.

Chapter 7: The Tevinter

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The Hinterlands was not particularly novel after the first day. Upon sunrise they set about securing horses, which was a rather tedious affair of menial tasks and pest control and the occasional demon thrown in because apparently the whole mess wasn’t fun enough already. After that there was the simple matter of packing up and heading back to Haven, supposedly to act on the information Mother Giselle had so kindly provided them with. On the return journey Ella allowed herself a light doze in the saddle of her new and improved steed, trusting the horse to keep a steady pace and save her from too many jolts.

 

Haven was a bustle of activity, with pilgrims put to work staggering under crates of donations from kindly patrons who were no doubt nobles taking a risk in the hopes of future gains should the Inquisition flourish against all odds. Ella nearly tripped over a gaggle of children screeching underfoot like so many puppies. Evidently the hole in the sky hadn’t put a damper on their enthusiasm, something Ella was grateful for. At least someone was happy. Nearly everyone she saw had features set in a grim line of resigned determination, the look one sees on a man who knows he is going to die but will try his damnest to wriggle out of it anyway.

 

Leliana caught her arm the moment she reached the main gates and told her that a war meeting would be convening immediately. With a resentful glare at her bloodstained armor Ella followed, relinquishing all hopes of a wash in her near future. The downturned faces and palms raised in subservience grated on her every nerve as they traipsed through, Leliana seeming to be leading her by the most roundabout and densely populated route possible. Showing off her figurehead, thought Ella rather morosely. Raising me up on a pedestal. Hopefully I can be out of here by the time the whole thing crumbles beneath me.

 

The Chantry for once offered some sanctuary, and as she escaped the hopeful, pleading eyes Ella managed to relax the slightest bit, muscles loosening and the knot in her stomach uncoiling, still very much aware of the threat posed by the woman next to her. The Spymaster didn’t seem to pay her any mind, but Ella knew that she would be paying close attention if the Left Hand was even half as good as her reputation would suggest.

 

“I trust you found Mother Giselle?” Leliana finally asked as they neared the war room.

 

“I’m sure you can trust in that just as much as I can trust in your people having given you a full report before I arrived,” Ella replied reaching ahead to hold open the door with a cordial smile, one which the Spymaster returned as she accepted the gesture and walked towards the table where the Seeker, the Commander, and the Ambassador were all poring over maps and letters.

 

“Very perceptive,” said the Spymaster, taking a position at the table.

 

“I aim to please,” muttered Ella absentmindedly, placing a hand against the course wood as she looked over the map. It was a very general piece of cartography, and so though it encapsulated a wide area it portrayed nothing with great detail. A few pins marked areas of interest and operations that were already underway. “As I’m sure you know, Mother Giselle has suggested that we speak to the Chantry, try and splinter their resolve.”

 

“I suspected she would say as much,” said the Spymaster, a pin dancing between long slender fingers. “Although I’m more interested in a certain encounter between your party and a band of… I am led to believe that they were bandits?”

 

There was no point in lying; her asking the question meant that she either already knew or she had her suspicions. If Ella didn’t fess that would only mean more digging, and she certainly could not afford that.

 

“Slavers,” Ella said, ignoring the immediate tension in the room. She dug the button from her pocket and tossed it on the table. “Not particularly professional. Probably desperate to make a quota and taking advantage of the chaos caused by the mage-templar war.” The Spymaster nodded, reaching for the button.

 

“Why didn’t you-?” began Cassandra in a blusterous anger, but Ella quickly cut her off.

 

“It wouldn’t do to worry you unnecessarily. The situation was under control, from what I remember.”

 

“Are you certain of your safety, Lady Herald?” asked the Ambassador, and Ella might have bristled but for the concern plain in her voice. Instead she smiled in a way she hoped was reassuring.

 

“I am not a Lady, Ambassador,” Ella chuckled. “And I wouldn’t call myself a Herald, either. But to answer your question: there is currently a hole in the sky, a dead Divine, and rifts springing up across the countryside intent on spitting out as many demons as possible. And my hand is now tied up in that mess. So no, I am not certain of my safety.”

 

“She was talking about the slavers,” said the Commander, exasperated.

 

“The slavers are a non-issue. They have nothing to do with me, and no one is stupid enough to target fully armored and healthy women. I will be fine.”

 

“They targeted our camp,” said the Seeker.

 

“They were mistaken. We drove them off quickly once they realized the camp was armed and guarded. They must have thought us to be refugees.” Ella was getting a bit short at the fixation on this topic. “I believe we have important matters to discuss?”

 

Reluctantly they all nodded in agreement and set about unraveling the Gordian knot that was mongering up enough influence to approach someone about closing the Breach. When it was decided after much back and forth that their best course of action would be to speak to the clerics, Ella was mortified at the revelation that it was her they were going to send. “’You have the mark’,” Ella muttered under her breath as they went their separate ways. “Well I also have a dagger that I could stick in your-“

 

“Dancer! You look particularly chipper today,” piped Varric as she walked past.

 

“Of course,” Ella forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “I’m positively brimming with joy at the prospect of convincing a bunch of old sods that I’m not a demon sent to murder their families.”

 

“Sounds like you could use a helping hand on this little venture.”

 

“What?” Ella looked up sharply. Varric was gazing at her intently, no hint of a jest in his eyes. “You can’t be serious. They want me dead, or have you not heard Chancellor Roderick’s shrieking?” She doubted this was the case; the man insisted on parking himself right outside of the Chantry, screaming at passersby.

 

“All the more reason to tag along.” The dwarf patted his crossbow fondly.

 

“You, my friend, have a knack for being in the most dangerous place possible,” Ella said with a laugh, shaking her head ever so slightly.

“What can I say; it’s a gift.” Varric beamed as he shrugged his shoulders. Though he held himself high, stress wore lines in his face and tugged at his smile. Ella actually had read Tale of the Champion, though she would deny it till her dying breath, and it was easily deduced that the dwarf was missing his old friends and struggling to stay afloat in this new environment. Varric, she reasoned, was devoting himself to their cause. It was the least she could do to ease his stress by acting the sarcastic little shit he was used to dealing with.

 

“Well pack your most ruffle-tastic outfit, Teapot,” she said. “I’ve heard it’s all the rage among the sophisticated.”


“I will accompany you as well.” It took every ounce of Ella’s willpower to calm her fluttered nerves and keep herself from wincing when Solas spoke. She smiled at him, meeting eyes that rang with challenge.

 

“Are you sure that is wise?” she asked. “You are, after all, an apostate.”

 

“All mages are technically apostates,” Solas replied coolly.

 

“Yes, but ‘technically’ doesn’t change much when it comes to sentiment. You are clearly not circle-bred. It might provoke no small amount of outrage.”

 

“Or it might convince the mob that swarming you would be dangerous.” Solas glanced towards the Breach. “It appears that you need all the help you can get.”

 

Ella fumed, biting back a retort that she was just fine on her own, thanks. It wasn’t clearly a dig at her, and could just have easily meant the Inquisition. At this very moment Varric was watching them with rapt attention, eyes narrowing slightly. She couldn’t afford to lose friends, the elf had a point, and she needed to resolve this.

 

“Then I’m sure you will be welcome on our little trip,” Ella said, the words grating at her throat. Solas looked pleased, almost gloating as he replied.

 

“Thank you, Herald. I hope the people’s faith in you isn’t ill founded. There is much that rests on your shoulders.”

 

Ella’s smile twisted ever so slightly; the words cut deeper than he knew. Surely he only meant it as a passing gibe, she reasoned as she forced the muscles in her face to relax. His triumph grew to intolerable heights when it was clear that he had gotten to her, and so Ella was quick to respond.

 

“I’m sure you are mistaken, master Solas.” With that he stiffened. Something there, something she was missing although she couldn’t place it. It was meant as a casual reminder of what she was, but he received it as something more. Good. “I am not, as you seem to think, the woman in charge of this lovely bunch; that would be Cassandra and Leliana. The Left and Right Hands, hunting down the Divine’s killer; fitting, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Yeah, but you’re the one with the hand, Dancer,” Varric cut in.

 

“And the one with Andraste’s blessing,” said Solas.

 

“That first thing is coincidence, and the second is bullshit. I am not in charge here. If I was, do you think I’d be going to Val Royeaux?”

 

“Where would you be, then?” Solas asked, the question loaded with expectation.

 

“As far away as possible.” Ella met his vehement disapproval with a smile. “Not all of us have the luxury of conjuring up a fireball when it all goes to shit.” And running is all I know how to do.

 

“I’m glad that the people have elected someone so self-centered as a savior,” Solas ground out before stalking away. Varric watched him until he disappeared around a corner, and then turned to Ella.

 

“What the hell was that?”

 

“Oh, you know. Just a friendly discussion amongst friends. So much friendship.” Her palm fizzled and she clenched it tightly to her side, even as Varric leveled a look of pure disbelief at her. Ella sighed. “Look, I’m sure you’ve been able to tell that my feelings for the apostate are… less than cordial.”

 

“A bit of an understatement, but go on,” Varric snorted.

 

“There is nothing else to say. We just… we don’t mix. It’s nothing personal.” But it was. It very much was. She disliked him for a number of very complex, very personal reasons that she didn’t care to share. She was sure he felt the same. There was no need to unload that on Varric.

 

“Well, that’s a shame. Chuckles is a riot.”

 

“I’m sure.” Ella’s smile was strained. “Now, if I am not mistaken, we have a trip to Val Royeaux to prepare for.”

 

The trip was long but uneventful, and though occasionally a rift might spring up it was easily dealt with. Ella was able to sequester the realization that she was fighting demons until long after the ordeals, when she could sneak off into the woods and batter herself against a tree until she finally caught a few short hours of blessed rest. If Solas noticed he didn’t comment, for which Ella was grateful. Wandering about like that was dangerous, but she saw no other alternative save talking about her problems, something that was laughable to even consider. She could not trust these people any more than they could throw her.

 

Of course, Val Royeaux was crawling with Templars. Ella tugged on her scarf nervously, keeping a wary distance from the clanking armor and blazing insignia. The collar was dead, this much was true, but there was a lingering fear that it would spark to life at any moment. If it did, the Templars would certainly be able to sense it. That would be unfortunate.

 

Although the woman speaking out against them was irritating at best and threatening at worst, it was difficult to suppress a snarl as the Templar knocked the old windbag to the ground with a solid hook. Still, she managed, keeping her expression level as she made eye contact with the Lord Seeker. There was something about him that struck her as odd and familiar, a certain flicker in his gaze. It was difficult to catch, even with him staring her down like a hawk might a hare. That alone was unsettling, and Ella did not need his subsequent announcements about the new nature of the Templar order to solidify her exceedingly negative opinion of him.

 

After that ordeal, almost getting hit by a message bearing arrow and the subsequent goose-chase that followed seemed almost relaxing, and as they found the clues pointing towards a malcontent who would need to be eliminated Ella could feel her spirits flutter in an attempt to rise, only to be immediately pinned to the ground by the double-magic-takedown that consisted of an invitation to a party run by Lady Vivienne herself and a plea from the Grand Enchanter to at least visit Redcliffe. The combination of Templars and magic left her jittery and eager to stab someone, so she opted to check out this man the notes had led them to against the warnings of her companions.

 

The blonde elf was a little off-kilter but if Ella played her cards right she was sure that this “Red Jenny” could be useful. Vivienne was more pleasant than Ella might have expected, obviously proficient in magic, circle-trained, very much in control. The knowledge that this mage at least wouldn’t go summoning demons on her made Ella at least a tad more comfortable, although she found it difficult to relax for a whole separate host of reasons. First and foremost being that this was a woman who played the Game, and one who played it well. Vivienne seemed to appreciate Ella’s particular talent for mincing words. Ella appreciated Vivienne’s poise and skill. The arrangement for the Madame de Fer to join the Inquisition went off without a hitch.

 

When they arrived at Haven, new companions in tow, everything seemed more or less the same with men and women alike bustling about in a desperate attempt to do the work of ten times their numbers. Ella dismounted with a groan, patting her horse absentmindedly as she stretched out the kinks in her back. She was going to be sore for the next couple days at least. The only solace was the knowledge that her work seemed to be over and that next couple of days would be full of rest and relaxation. She could have sworn that the universe itself laughed at such a thought.

 

Immediately Ella saw that, though it usually housed no small amount of women dressed in the religious garb, the path in front of the Chantry was empty. It was easy to find the source of this oddity, although not the cause: a man stood there awkwardly, trying to catch the attention of a number of people as they rushed by, seemingly intent on ignoring him. Intrigued, Ella walked over.

 

There didn’t seem to be a reason for the wide berth everyone was giving him, nor was there a cause for the immediate distrust Ella felt as she neared. Something struck her about this man, something familiar and altogether distasteful. Just as she pieced it together he opened his mouth once more.

 

“Hello? I have a message, if you’ve got the time. No one seems to be listening to me.”

 

Tevinter. He was a damned Tevinter.

Notes:

I've skimmed over a bunch of the characters, but Bull's will be next and in more detail. Don't worry, Sera and Vivienne will be back. It just seemed boring to go over quests that we've all played before.

Yeah, Ella has a bit of ingrained prejudice. Luckily, Krem is only a Soporati. Enough to piss her off, but not enough to make her freak out. There's a certain Altus in our future who will have a rough time...

Next: Spy Battles: The Re-Spyening

Chapter 8: The Test

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Ella didn’t know what the man said next. Instead her entire body struggling against itself, feeling the urge to leap forward into an attack while her mind screamed at her to run. Torn between fight and flight, frozen, blank, unmoving and almost unliving, can’t breathe can’t

 

Breathe. This was a Soporati; she could tell by his bearing, his speech. Military. No, ex-military. Mercenary. That was what he was talking about. A mercenary company, Storm Coast, something to do with Tevinter smugglers (fuck fuck fuck-), a man named Iron Bull. Odd name. Fake name. Stage name? Bull. Tal-Vashoth? Probably legit. Tal-Vashoth plus Tevinter ex-military??? Less so. Compartmentalize, compartmentalize, put it in a box and-

 

“Um, are you okay?” He looked concerned, a tad panicked; why wouldn’t he be? Currently Ella was staring him down with too-wide eyes, fists clenched tight at her side, body tensed and squared for a fight. Thankfully the rest of her face had fallen into practiced neutrality that had become an apt defense-mechanism over the years. She forced reluctant muscles to relax, drew her mouth into a smile.

 

“Apologies,” she said, voice blessedly even. “You just look like someone I knew.”

 

Immediately his demeanor changed to one of pity, sympathy; he assumed it was someone who was dead, based on her violent reaction. Good, good, this was good. She could do this. Breathe. The Tevinter continued, albeit reluctantly.

 

“Well, as I was saying, The Bull’s Chargers are the best company you’ll find. Come to the Storm Coast if you want to see us in action.”

 

“Thank you, I’d suggest speaking to our Ambassador, Lady Josephine. I’m afraid this is all above me.” Ella motioned for the man to follow, suppressed shudders when he did. It was years before he was safely shut up in the Ambassador’s office, ages before she made it back to her cabin. She locked the door with shaking hands and immediately collapsed, huddled in a shivering ball against the bedframe.

 

~~~

 

The Storm Coast was, predictably, very wet. Cursing the apt naming process of Fereldans Ella donned a hood that smelled of mold but thankfully shed water like a duck’s feathers and fidgeted at her new and improved gloves that did not seem to possess the same quality. Already her fingers were growing numb from the drizzle, an unwelcome feeling when she knew there might be 'Vints around any corner. Muttering under her breath, she deflected attempts at small-talk by Varric and attempted to ignore Solas and his casual use of magic. This whole expedition grated on her nerves. Of course Ella could see the practicality of obtaining mercenaries, especially when their own forces were so small. That didn’t mean she had to like it. And that definitely didn’t mean that she was the best person for the job. It was ridiculous. Why did they give her a house if she was never going to be able to use it?

 

Luckily the map was quite clear, and even in the rain the Charger’s camp was easy to find. Not so easily found were the Charger’s themselves. The camp was empty, dirt hastily tossed over smoldering embers, tents left empty and sagging under the rain. Hasty footprints led towards the beach, and Ella heard the faint shouts and shrieks of fighting on the sea-salt breeze. If Ella was on edge before, it was nothing compared to now. Those were no doubt Tevinters ahead, and that knowledge alone was enough to boil her blood and send sparks up her spine. Already red threatened her vision as she left her companions behind and darted towards the fighting, daggers flashing in her hands and the taste of the Fade on her tongue as her mark rippled and popped. The trees thinned and the soil gave way to loose sand until, all at once, a vast beach opened up in front of her, its sand already splattered with scarlet as the violent scuffle raged.

 

 ~~~

 

The Iron Bull would later say that the first time he saw the Herald of Andraste he thought she must be a rage demon incarnate.

 

Nothing had gone according to plan that day. The Storm Coast would do that to you. First their packs were soaked by a particularly heavy rainfall. Finding a campsite had been a disaster. At least three bears attacked them before they finally settled down amongst a dense bunch of trees that looked as if they might provide some protection from the rain, but instead only funneled the water directly onto their already drenched heads. And, finally, although he had wanted to wait at the camp until the Inquisition people arrived, the 'Vints had been a step ahead of his intelligence and they were forced to strike early. So, as he yanked his axe from a Tevinter skull The Iron Bull was in an understandably gloomy mood, one even putting down these smugglers couldn’t rectify. The entire thing had been botched, and they’d be pressed twice as hard to secure a job within the Inquisition. Not that he didn’t think his boys were capable of it, but it was just another pain in his ass that would keep him up at night.

 

So when The Iron Bull heard a strangled shout ring out from the trees, he braced himself for yet another setback. Understandably he was more than a little surprised when a lithe figure streaked into the fray, blades sinking into the shoulder of an unlucky spellcaster. Startled, the man raised his bladed staff, but the girl simply ducked the blow with a wrench of her daggers, drawing them up to his throat and claiming his life with a flourish. She seemed young for one so capable, Bull noted with a narrowed eye as she twirled into her next assault, her eyes focusing on a particularly ugly looking bruiser hefting a massive broadsword. The girl dived into her attack, rolling past a heavy blow that left sand flying where she had been but a moment before. In an instant the man collapsed with a gurgling scream, a ribbon of crimson across his throat. Before he even hit the ground the girl darted towards a third 'Vint, her motions fluid and graceful in a way Bull hadn’t seen since his run in with the Fog Warriors on Seheron. Different, though, in a way he couldn’t place. Another body thudded to the ground and he caught sight of the faint Inquisition insignia emblazoned on the blur of her gloves. The Iron Bull leaned on his greataxe with a lopsided grin, content to sit back and watch the show as in a breathtaking amount of time the Chargers found themselves confused and directionless, with no foe in sight. The girl herself looked the same, arcs of blood cascading from her twitching daggers as her eyes darted wildly, chest heaving in a way that did not speak of exhaustion but of an abundance of emotion: fear or anger her did not know. Probably both. Only for a moment, though, a flash so brief that he might have convinced himself it had never happened had he been a lesser man. As it was, he watched her pull the pieces of herself back into place, straighten into a graceful poise and an expressionless mask. It was a captivating process.

 

As she finally stilled Bull was able to take in her admittedly impressive figure. Red definitely worked for her, he decided as she made her way over to him with purpose, returning his easy grin as she did so. Bold, too. He didn’t seem to intimidate her. In fact… there was the slightest twitch in her shoulders, a protective hunch immediately suppressed when Krem neared. He nodded as his second asked if the throat-cutters should comb the field and noted the miniscule relaxation in the girl’s muscles when his Tevinter lieutenant left his side. Interesting. Judging by her aggressive display against those smugglers, the girl had it out for ‘Vints. He would definitely tuck that away for later, try and work through the numerous possibilities. She had reached him, taken up a position just far enough that she didn’t have to look up too much. Restraining his grin, he straightened to full height, stretching his arms out a bit for show. The girl pursed her lips, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

 

“I’m going to assume that you are The Iron Bull,” she said. Her voice was harsh, but had all of the qualities of once being soft. It was as if she hadn’t spoken in quite a while.

 

“That’s me,” he replied. “And I’m assuming that you’re with the Inquisition.”

 

“Perceptive.” At that she examined her hand, seemingly glancing at the eye on her glove. There was the faintest flicker of green against the weather-stained leather.

 

“I have to admit, I didn’t expect them to send the Herald of Andraste to deal with a merc company.”

 

“Well, you wouldn’t be the only one,” she said, irritation coloring her words in a way that suggested she was purposefully inserting the emotio. Subtle, but still enough for him to catch.

 

“I also didn’t expect the Herald to be so adept with daggers.”

 

“My name is Ella, The Iron Bull.”

 

“Nice name.” He shot her that ridiculous one-eyed wink that he knew left many disarmed with its absurdity. Not her, though, she only frowned. “Nice evasion, too.”

 

“I didn’t pick it, but no matter. And that wasn’t an evasion, I just wanted to clarify.”

 

“Still evading…”


“You never asked a question. Yes, I am good with knives. It’s useful.”

 

A shout from Skinner told him that more Inquisition people were approaching.

 

“Friends of yours?” he asked easily as he motioned towards the new arrivals.

 

“Debatable. Acquaintances, maybe? I know their names.” As she said this, the dwarf of their company smiled.

 

“Aw, Dancer, you know my name? I’m touched.”

 

“Sure thing… pal,” Ella smirked. The dwarf placed a hand to his chest in horror, and Bull snorted. At the sound she turned back to him, face melting into neutrality. Damn was that fascinating. “On to business. You seem capable. I’m sure you’re well worth the money. I am the slightest bit… wary, about your choice of companions.”

 

Instantly Bull’s smile grew strained. “Anyone in particular?”

 

“Well, your Dalish mage might turn some heads. If not her, then perhaps the casteless dwarf? Even you, The Iron Bull. We have an image to maintain; I’m sure you understand. Honestly what worries me most is your second.”

 

“Krem is damn good,” Bull snapped, his temper getting the better of him for a moment. Instantly she had him on the defensive. “And if you didn’t want to ‘turn heads’ you wouldn’t have broken off from the Chantry.”

 

“I’m sure,” she said with a smile that said she wasn’t. “I am still not particularly inclined to trust a Soporati who even Tevinter didn’t want. That isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.” Bull was having serious difficulty with his composure now, a storm just beneath his placid exterior. He could snap her neck right then and there was nothing she could do about it. In fact was halfway through planning exactly how he might be able to get away with it when the next damn thing came out of her mouth.

 

“Are you alright there, The Iron Bull? You seem to be struggling. Was something I said too complicated for you? I tried to use words under three syllables, but maybe that was too high a bar.”

 

Did she want to die? “Sorry, I just couldn’t hear you from all the way down there. Maybe you should get a ladder. You could build one from the pile of corpses you’ve so effectively created.”

 

“Well, at least I’m effective,” she said, a bit short. Heh. Short. “While we’re on the subject, who was your handler, Hissrad?”

 

“Who was your master, slave?” he snapped, raw fury and no small amount of confusion struggling to break free. How the hell did she know? Was he so obvious? He managed to scrub panic from his face and substitute rage instead as he stared her down, her face infuriatingly placid though occasionally he could catch a ripple of something else.

 

Their eyes were locked for what felt like an age, until finally Ella broke into a wide grin. The adversarial tilt to her posture melted away, leaving only a friendly glint to her eye and a relaxed posture that caught him off guard as his own anger reflexively thawed in response.

 

“I’ll put you in contact with our Ambassador for payment, The Iron Bull. You can make some arrangement or another with our Spymaster about your Ben Hassrath connections; I’m sure they could be of considerable use to our cause. If you’d like we can go back together. I’m eager to leave this shit-hole, aren’t you?” With that she pivoted into a graceful about-face and made her way towards the Seeker, presumably to brief her on whatever the hell had just happened. Krem approached him warily.

 

“What the fuck was that, chief?” he asked, anger and confusion tempering his voice.

 

“A good question, Krem,” began Bull slowly, a smile beginning to creep across his face. “I believe that was a test.”

 

She was good. Dangerously so. The Iron Bull chuckled. It would be nice to have a challenge.

Notes:

Spy Wars ~spy wars~ SPY WARS

I'm just really excited okay

As always thank you for reading my trash, feel free to drop a comment. Most of this stuff is pretty unedited so there might be some typos or clunky phrasing that you are welcome to correct me on or ask me about. Trust me, now that Bull is here this party will really pick up.

Also, if there's any confusion about the 'test' I will gladly clarify. I just don't want to overexplain for fear of ruining it, but at the same time I'm worried that it wasn't entirely clear.

Chapter 9: Even More Rain

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Rain,” muttered Ella between a series of carefully chosen curses. She fiddled with the saddlebags on her horse, grumbling as she did so. “More rain, and, wow, would you look at that? even more rain.”

 

“Lighten up Dancer,” called Varric from his stout pony who was now looking just as bedraggled as Ella felt.

 

“Oh I am positively radiant, Varric.” There was a sharp intake of breath that coalesced into an angry hiss as water wormed its way past her many layers and down her back. “Absolutely beaming. I would blind weaker men.”

 

“A little water never hurt anyone.” That was The Iron Bull, from further down the line. Ella shifted slightly in her saddle, giving him the most withering glare she could muster. It was disconcerting, how he insisted on riding a little ways behind, and though the rational Ella knew it was only because he wanted to be able to see the whole party so as to better fulfill his job, a more paranoid whisper in her mind insisted that he was just waiting to strike. She resigned herself to keeping him in her peripheral, something she was sure he would notice but likely wouldn’t care. It wasn’t personal, and he probably knew that. Just like he probably knew that she herself was more than she let on. Kaffas, it always was difficult to keep tabs on someone so like herself.

 

Difficult, but not impossible. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered the bewilderment that had ever so briefly flashed across his face when she had called him out on being Ben-Hassrath. Catching someone like him off guard always had given Ella this warm and fuzzy thrum in her chest, similar to the effect of a little too much liquor. It was dangerous, though, and might not have been worth the rush. The more Ella thought on it, the more she felt as if she could have pushed him towards snapping without bringing up his real occupation. Perhaps she had overplayed her hand, giving him too much. Then again, maybe he would assume that she had gotten the information from the Spymaster. Of course, he might… agh, playing this kind of game with other members of her… profession always had a way of wearing on her. It was hard to predict the actions of someone also reading you, near impossible to take into account constant adjustments that the skilled might make for something as simple as a twitch of a muscle. Maybe she should have played dumb. He would have found out anyway. There was just no right answer. Ella ground her teeth as yet another glob of rain smacked her right in the face. It’ll be what it’ll be.

 

She could feel his eyes on the small of her back when they settled for a soggy campsite –the rain had chased them even this far away from the Storm Coast- and even caught the cursory gaze drift a tad lower than what might be acceptable in other circles. Nothing she could do about it without giving away that she was watching him. This was absolutely infuriating; almost as bad as talking to the Spymaster. Everything she said, and even how she said it, would be heavily scrutinized. Kaffas, why had she suggested they travel back together?

 

To observe. Sitting a little ways from the others, hunched over and raking the embers of a dying fire, she did just that.

 

The Iron Bull was tall, even for a qunari. He had a certain look she had learned to pinpoint during her darker Tevinter days, a kind of sincere certainty in his eyes that he was doing what he was meant to do. It told her that he still followed the Qun. Something else, though, something sharper than the average grunt. He saw more than he let on, his eyes darted towards the important things, the things it would be useful to notice. Besides all that, the very fact that he was permitted to stray so far from Par Vollen indicated that he was a Ben-Hassrath agent. Hissrad was an easy leap; she just needed to quickly juggle some snippets of information to finish that little puzzle.

 

This, however, was no longer helpful. He was dangerous; she already knew this, could read it during their first encounter. There was more. There was always more. Ella allowed her eyes to stray ever so slightly from the fire, managed to feign a glance at the star-swathed sky.

 

She caught a glimpse of his leg, the brace that encased it with steel and leather. Expensive, fine craftsmanship. Obviously his mercenary career had been successful, even if it was just a cover for his true purpose. Missing a few fingers. All the scars indicated a war veteran. Or maybe just a seasoned mercenary. Ella might have cursed, but she needed to assume that he was watching. Patience. She could almost hear her trainer whispering at the back of her mind. Slowly rising to her feet, she tried for another lookover.

 

Definitely burn wounds, probably magical in origin. Mercenaries didn’t usually go after escaped circle mages; that was the Templars’s job. War veteran, then. Seheron was always the safe bet for qunari veterans, but she couldn’t be sure. Best not to act on that assumption; she tucked it away at the back of her mind.

 

Just as she was completing a little mental reorganization of every single fact she had managed to glean, Ella opened the flap of the tent she shared with Cassandra. She would certainly not sleep tonight with this unfamiliar merc crew on her doorstep, but there was no way that she would take the first watch when it would surely lead to even further scrutiny. Before she could duck under the canvas, however, she caught a blur of grey from the corner of her eye. It was the only warning she had before a heavy weight clapped down on her shoulder, and the only thing that saved the qunari from a fist in his face. As it was, Ella turned towards him expectantly, brow arched ever so slightly.

 

“Hey, boss, can we talk before you hit the sack?” Ella had never been able to describe a man’s voice as a rumble, and yet that was the closest word she could find. He sounded something akin to a mountain just before an avalanche. It made her nervous.

 

She simply nodded and allowed herself to be escorted towards a thicker copse of trees, eyes narrowing when she noticed a distinct lack of Inquisition soldiers in this specific area of the small camp they had established. He must have noticed, because he chuckled.

 

“I’m not going to kill you. How would I get paid?” he flashed her what she assumed was meant to be a winning smile; she met it with a safe cold indifference.

 

“Is there something you wished to discuss?” She settled on polite for her wording, still unsure as to how he might be played.

 

“Business, actually.”

 

“I’m afraid that I am but a lowly agent of the Inquisition, The Iron Bull,” said Ella through a smile. “Any financial discussion would be best had with our lovely ambassador-“

 

“You’re the Herald. Don’t try to deflect.”

 

“Of course,” Ella’s voice turned course as a slow anger simmered beneath her skin. “I am the Herald. Blessed of Andraste. My flaming hand and I are at your service.”

 

“Wow, touchy subject.”

 

“You have no idea.”

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about the coin. Not with you, anyway, obviously I want to talk about it eventually, it’s very important to me-“

 

“The point, please.”

 

“Of course,” The Iron Bull replied with a lopsided grin. “I’ll be blunt. As the figurehead of this organization, you’re going to make a lot of enemies. You’d do well to invest in a bodyguard.”

 

There was a moment of confusion when Ella forgot exactly what it was she was trying to do.

 

Ella didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or scream. In a fortunate turn of events, the two reactions strangled each other deep in her core, leaving her with a knot in her chest but mercifully silent. As she collected her person, painfully aware of the keen eyes across from her taking in every twitch of a muscle, every dart of the eyes, Ella cursed her incompetence. She really was out of practice if a little comment like that could set her off. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Put it in a box and-

 

“I think that I am perfectly capable on my own, thank you,” she said at last, forcing her panic into a cocky assurance, her fear into resentment.

 

“Yeah, but it’s always good to have someone watching your back,” he said, not giving the slightest reaction to her brief meltdown. But he noticed. He must have noticed.

 

“Hmph. Would you say that I need an extra pair of eyes?” asked Ella innocently.

 

The Iron Bull laughed, a great booming thing that might shake mountains to their roots. It was rich and sincere, and Ella rather liked it. Dangerous. A singular warning bell fired in the depths of her mind. What he wants you to feel. And yet it didn’t seem malicious, not to her.

 

“Well, I can’t give you that,” said Bull, the great qunari finally winding down from his laughing fit. “But I do have an axe.” He patted said axe fondly. Almost too fondly. Does everyone here have some weird weapon fetish?

 

“Good enough, I suppose.” Somehow he had disarmed her, made her feel more comfortable. Another bell clamored for attention. Ella gritted her teeth into a smile. “Welcome to the team, The Iron Bull.”

 

“Sure thing, Boss.” He extended one hand and Ella repressed a wince as she reciprocated.

 

“My name is Ella.”

 

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said with what she could only presume was an exaggerated wink. She couldn’t help but laugh at that, even as his hand enveloped her own. She had never thought of herself as small or weak, but compared to him… It would be good to have him on her side, she reasoned. He was strong, he was smart, and he had connections. So Ella muffled the bells and tucked them in their own personal box. She’d just have to be careful.

 

 

The journey back to Haven was uneventful, as were the next several days. All logistics and paperwork and menial tasks that set Ella at ease with their familiarity. There was something soothing about the mindless work that was heaving a sack of flour across the village, something rhythmic about the ache in her muscles and the sweat beading across her brow. It was its own kind of rest, which was just as well because Ella hadn’t been able to sleep since they had reached Haven. Whenever she felt herself drifting the Breach crackled menacingly at the fringes of her vision, her own palm thrumming with energy alongside it. Dreams under these conditions would not be happy. So Ella worked, and worked, and worked, and hoped that no one would notice. She should have known her luck had never been that strong.

 

It was Varric who finally needled her into joining them in the tavern, the dwarf painfully persistent when it came to sharing drinks. He managed to convince her with a round on him, though honestly she wasn’t sure where he was getting the money, nor where she might get some of her own. So as Ella, defeated, pushed open the tavern doors and allowed the liquor-tinged warmth to wash over her, she was met with the raucous cries of a familiar dwarf.

 

“Dancer! I was wondering when you would join us.” The dwarf was perched on a stool, obviously just having told a story to an enraptured audience. Said audience consisted of Sera, a very uncomfortable looking Solas, Bull, a smattering of the Chargers, and, surprisingly enough, Cullen. Ella hadn’t read the Commander as the sort to shirk his duties in order to go drinking, but then again she hadn’t looked into him all that much. The Spymaster was still her top priority, with the Ambassador close behind. The Iron Bull was high on the list.

 

“I told you I would be coming by tonight Varric.” Ella took a proffered seat with a gracious smile. “I also believe there was something said about buying me a drink…?”

 

Varric gave her his best mortified look before waving over a barmaid. “You think I would forget a promise like that? You wound me.”

 

“By all means, continue your story,” said Ella when she finally had a drink in hand. Varric waved her away, settling into his seat.

 

“Nah, I was already finished. The one about you and the pride demon, remember?”

 

“How could I forget? I think my ribs are still sore.”

 

The Iron Bull roared out a laugh that was loud and dangerous but still somehow made her want to smile. She scowled instead.

 

“I could totally see you doing something stupid like that, boss.”

 

“Careful Bull.” Ella shot him a wink. “Still haven’t paid you yet.”

 

“Yeah, but your Ambassador has. And I’ve already talked to your Spymaster. I’m all set.”

 

“Hmph. Well, I suppose my ego could take a few blows.” Ella took a long swig from her mug, barely registering the taste. “Well, would anyone else like to share a story? I think we are all tired of Teapot’s ramblings by now.”

 

To his credit, Varric managed to look the most offended she had ever seen him, though she did catch the faintest twitch of a smile at her lips. The Iron Bull shifted in his chair, the thing screeching a protest as he settled his eye on her intently.

 

“How about you, boss?”

 

Vishante kaffas. She muffled panic with laughter and waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t have any stories.”

 

“Oh, come on Dancer!” chuckled Varric. “Someone with your skills, I’m sure you have plenty to tell.”

 

She could have throttled the dwarf, though she knew he meant well. Open up, get to know the crew, improve team efficiency and get people to like her. But The Iron Bull was sitting right their, a smug grin on his face when he realized that he had her in a corner. There was only one thing to do in a situation like this.

 

“Let me reiterate.” She put on cool disregard. “I don’t have any stories you want to hear.”

 

That did the trick. Most were silent as eyes drifted uncomfortably to her neck. The Commander coughed nervously. The Iron Bull’s smile twitched downwards the slightest bit, but to her great chagrin it still endured.

 

“There must be something good, boss,” he pressed, despite an uncomfortable glance from Varric. “It can’t be all bad.”

 

She could have convinced herself that he sounded gentle, perhaps even sad, but that couldn’t be the case. He was just trying to manipulate her again, like she might another. It was a familiar ruse, and she refused to fall for it.

 

“I’ll try to think of something,” she agreed with a light laugh, feeling as the tension began to ease. Damn it, but maybe she could push it off until another night. That might give her more time to think up a reasonable lie. The Iron Bull, of course, had other plans.

 

“Just tell us when you’re ready,” he piped cheerfully with an easy smile. Eyes turned to her expectantly, and she could almost feel them branded on her flesh. A story. A good story. A happy story. Surely there was one.

 

She gritted her teeth. Most would give away to much about her past. She needed something inane, something that didn’t really matter much. But it also needed to be important enough to be told. Maybe she could twist something that already existed into an acceptable tale. And get a few digs in at Bull as payback.

 

“Once I met a demon,” she began a bit haltingly. The Iron Bull stiffened the slightest bit, and she smiled. “We hit it off. At least I think. That’s the thing about demons, you never really know if you’re, you know, pals or whatever.”

 

Solas spoke up, and Ell resisted the urge to ground her teeth. “What manner of spirit was this?” he asked as politely as could be.

 

“If you’re asking for a name, it was Malice.” Ella grinned as he paled slightly.

 

“That’s not much of a story, Dancer,” said Varric.

 

“Well I’m not much of a storyteller, Teapot,” she replied with a shrug.

 

She thanked every deity she knew that they left it at that.

Notes:

As always thank you for reading. Feel free to leave a comment about anything!

Chapter 10: Asala-taar

Notes:

Ok, so I was a bit nervous about this chapter, but the thing flowed so naturally when I wrote it that I'm just going to post it.

TW for PTSD and flashbacks.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Ella took pangs to avoid both The Iron Bull and Solas after that little incident, and so she leapt at the opportunity to follow some lead in the Hinterlands about a Warden. Although she feared the Spymaster, Ella also respected Leliana’s opinion and agreed that the sudden disappearance of the Wardens was odd and definitely worthy of investigation. So that was how, several days of bears and mud and rustic charm later, Ella returned to Haven with Warden Blackwall in tow. There was something odd about him, but considering how little she knew about Wardens that wasn’t all that unusual. He wasn’t high on her threat list, anyway; he rather reminded her of an oversized dog. With a lot of fur.

 

Their arrival at Haven was met with little fanfare, for which Ella was grateful. She slipped off of her horse with little ceremony and bid Blackwall farewell as he made his way over to the smithy for whatever reason. Leading her horse to the paddock brought her uncomfortably close to Charger tents, and so she tried to work as quickly as possible, clumsy fingers tugging at straps and loops in a bid to yank the stupid saddle from the horse. When finally she felt that she had done an acceptable job Ella walked briskly past the tents and up towards the impressive doors of Haven.

 

Instantly she was accosted by one of Leliana’s people –where was she finding them?- who directed her towards the Chantry. With a sigh Ella stretched her arms over her head, feeling her back release in a satisfying crack before she nodded and made her way towards the war room.

 

Mages or Templars. The decision seemed obvious to her. Ella’s fingers drummed the solid wood as the others argued, her eyes sweeping the map and taking note of every marker and its meaning. Even if miraculously she would be able to walk through Redcliffe without breaking down or, worse, drawing blood, there was no way that this ‘Herald’ was going to let a motley crew of mages use her as a conduit.

 

When she expressed such a sentiment, she was less than warmly received. Immediately Josephine and Leliana leapt down her throat with soothing sentiment and a sickening rationale that only strengthened her own resolve. If they wanted the mages, they would need to find a new Herald. The Commander seemed to be the only one who gave her his full support, although that wasn’t entirely unsurprising.

 

“Throwing magic at the Breach can only make it worse,” he reasoned, eyes hopeful.

 

“We have no idea if the Templars will even be capable of such a task,” shot back Leliana.

 

“Well, why don’t we find out?” Ella turned her head towards the Ambassador. “Lady Montilyet, how difficult would it be to secure a meeting at Therinfall?” The Antivan woman’s face took on a displeased appearance before she turned to her notes.


“It would take considerable effort, but it is certainly possible,” she replied after flipping through the papers. “Well within our limits, I would say.”

 

“How soon could the process begin?” asked Ella, running the tip of her finger along a dagger at her waste as she did so. Honestly this whole business was beginning to wear on her.

 

“Immediately, Lady Herald.” Ella’s nose scrunched up slightly when the Ambassador used the title, but she made no remark on it.

 

“That appears to be settled then!” Ella clapped her hands together, face a beam of false bravado. The Spymaster seemed flustered, or at least put off.

 

“Herald I am urging you to reconsider-“

 

“I’ve heard your complaints and your arguments, Spymaster. You are welcome to seek help from the mages, but make no mistake: I will not be here when they arrive.”

 

The Spymaster actually scowled at her before nodding and stalking off, presumably to pen a death threat or two. Honestly Ella knew very little about what their dear Nightingale actually did. That was something that needed to change. She tucked that resolution away for later and faced the rest of the assembled with a polite smile.

 

“Now if you do not mind, it is getting rather late. Or perhaps the right word is early? Either way, I’d prefer to catch a moment of rest before the sun rises.”

 

She didn’t bother to wait for approval, spinning elegantly about and pushing open the door without a sound before disappearing into the dark.

 

The thought of sleep repulsed her, as usual. As she left the Chantry the night air, still and crisp, graced her face with a dainty presence. A scan of Haven revealed that most lights were out and most people were inside, presumably sleeping. Good for them. Not wanting to accidentally run into anyone, and certainly not wanting to explain her insomnia, Ella lowered her hood and darted out of Haven, footprints light upon a fresh layer of snow. When she traversed the short distance that separated Haven from the woods she slowed, drawing out a dagger in case some stray creature became a little too friendly.

 

Walking aimlessly between the trunks cleared her head in a way nothing else could. Once or twice she was struck by the fantastical notion that she could run, right this instant, and there would be nothing they could do. She could be free.

 

No, I can’t. The Breach was irresistible to the eyes, and she allowed herself to be drawn towards it, palm thrumming as she stared. There’s still work to be done.

 

The crack of wood snapping wouldn’t have disturbed her, but the sharp intake of breath did. In a flash she whirled around, one hand wrapped around a dagger and the other poised to send a knife into whoever was stupid enough to sneak up on her. The Commander’s wide eyes met her own narrowed ones, and she reluctantly straightened, hands still loosely clutching the daggers.

 

“What are you doing out here?” he sputtered, and whether he was so thrown off by her presence or the fact that she nearly stuck a blade in him, she couldn’t say.

 

“I could ask you the same question,” Ella shot back with a sigh. She sheathed the blades. “But I won’t. I didn’t see you. You didn’t see me. Everyone’s happy.”

 

For a blessed moment the Commander nodded, dazed, and turned to go his own way, but something seemed to snap him out of it and he shook his head violently before turning back to her.

 

“No. It’s dangerous out here. I’ll take you back to Haven.”

 

“Commander are you honestly suggesting that I can’t take care of myself?” Ella might have been amused if the prospect didn’t enrage her so.

 

“Alone, anything could happen. No matter how skilled you claim to be, mistakes do occur, and these woods can be unpredictable.”

 

You are here alone, and you seem fine.” She was fuming, now. So much for clarity in nature and all of that garbage.

 

“Yes, but I am- that doesn’t- you can’t-“ he sighed, suddenly defeated. Ella noted how tired he seemed, and decided to change tact.

 

“I can’t sleep,” she muttered, the words like knives on her tongue. The Commander looked up.

 

“Neither can I,” he admitted, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. Her mark flared for just a second, nothing painful, but enough to illuminate the immediate surroundings. In the glow Ella could clearly see every line in his face, the way his shoulders seemed to slump, a bit of a tremor in his hands. She was told that he was a former Templar, but she realized that the stench of lyrium didn’t hang over him like tobacco did a smoker. He couldn’t have…

 

She didn’t pry. If it was true… His decision.

 

Still, she wasn’t completely devoid of sympathy. “Commander,” she began, hesitantly. “You’re right. It is dangerous to just wander out here.”

 

“Walk with me?” he supplied. She nodded, and fell into step when he started forward once more. They didn’t talk, the silence being comfortable, and instead allowed the forest to take them where it would. At some point they came to a gentle incline, the beginnings of a small hill, and they climbed up until they managed to reach the top, at which point the Commander sat. Ella followed suite, hugging her knees to her chest and marveling at the view. The Breach was beautiful, in its own terrifying sort of way.

 

“Soldier?” Cullen broke the silence, his voice barely a murmur but still ringing loud. Ella nodded, forcing a smile to her face.

 

“I would ask you the same, Commander, but seeing as how…”

 

“Ha, yes. The question would be excessive.” Another spell of nothing but the faint hush of the night creatures going about their lives.

 

“How old where you?” he asked, but Ella shook her head. This line of questioning was dangerous.

 

“I grew up fast.” Was her reply, and she hoped that was satisfyingly vague.

 

“And now?”

 

“Commander!” She held a hand to her chest in mock horror. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to ask a lady her age?” He laughed at that.

 

“My apologies, obviously manners have escaped me. That will happen in the dead of night.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you always so evasive?”

 

“What a question!”

 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

 

“Is it the dreams?” Damn, there she went again. She felt remotely comfortable with someone and then, bam, she said something immensely stupid. This was getting ridiculous. To his credit, Cullen didn’t wince. He simply leveled her with a long, indecipherable gaze then nodded, slowly.

 

“You?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“About…?”

 

“I’d rather not.” She hugged herself closer.

 

“That’s alright. I feel the same.” He paused, as if weighing his words. “Do you… ever regret…?”

 

“The killing?” He nodded, and she worried at her lower lip. “Regret, yes. But I don’t think I’d do it differently, given the chance.”

 

“How many have you-“

 

“No.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be.” She didn’t want his pity, and she didn’t need it. He nodded.

 

“So… Ella?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Ella what?”

 

“Just Ella.”

 

“How long has it been since you slept?” The question took her off guard, and she stared at him for a few heartbeats before regaining her composure.

 

“Well, technically I slept after doing… whatever it was that I did with the Breach.”

 

“That was magically induced; it doesn’t qualify.”

 

“I’d disagree, but if you insist, then the last time I truly slept would have been about a week before the Conclave.” Now it was Cullen’s turn to stare. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She backpedaled furiously. “Of course I’ve dozed a bit here and there, managed to catch a bit of-“

 

“You can’t be serious.”

 

She sighed. He was predictably straightforward and persistent. “I always am.”

“Why would you do that to yourself?”

 

“I didn’t. I was told to guard, and so I did. One of the infinite perks of being a slave.”

 

Silence, and an uncomfortable one at that. “There’s no need to be so skittish around the subject,” Ella snapped.

 

“I am not skittish.” The Commander sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose again. Headache, Ella observed. “I just… we don’t have that sort of… thing, here.”

 

“Not to be contrary, but clearly you do.”

 

“It is illegal.”

 

“When has a little thing like the law ever stopped anyone.”

 

“Are you speaking from experience?”

 

“Maybe.” Ella bit her lip. He was tired, hurting, couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t help herself, but maybe she could help him. So that was how, sitting on that little hill with the treetops sprawled out beneath them like a frozen sea, she began to talk.

 

It was little things, mostly. How when she was young she used to draw everywhere, little scraps of mission briefings, margins of books, and even on the walls when nothing else could be found. He responded in kind, telling her how he and his siblings would play at soldier, giggling as they tackled each other to the dirt, eyes downcast when their mother demanded to know what had happened to their clothes. She talked of a kitten she had once smuggled into her room, the way she fed it scraps of food and watched it grow with the wide and curious eyes of a child. He grinned, spoke of a scruffy mutt his company had adopted off the streets; they would sneak it food and affection in shifts, and it always returned the favor with a friendly bark and a brisk shake before consenting to a hug or pat.

 

They talked through the night, making sure to skirt anything serious, focusing on the brightest points of childhood or the proudest moments of their careers. Ella didn’t know when she had moved closer to him, but his cloak was warm enough to convince her that she didn’t care. Stupid, dangerous, but she could not shake the feeling that he was so like her caretaker growing up, a father and elder brother. And he had no trouble adopting one more sister. She lapsed, allowing an arm to fall over her as they talked in mumbles and murmurs, clear against the night. And the next morning she couldn’t even recall perhaps the greatest mistake of the night: falling asleep right there, curled up in his warmth.

 

When she awoke it was to the faint dusting of sunlight that pricked at her lashes. Cold panic gripped her as she realized she had actually been sleeping and next to a Templar, the Commander of all things and how could she possibly be such an insufferable idiot-

 

“Ella?”

 

She suppressed a wince, halfway through the process of extracting herself from his arms because of course that was where she had fallen asleep, right next to him, and all because she was experiencing feelings about these people who she couldn’t afford to feel for, not now, not with freedom hovering just out of reach, not when everyone is dead and kaffas kaffas kaffas why was he looking at her like that with concern and why did she care that he seemed almost hurt because she didn’t care couldn’t care won’t care-

 

“Yes Commander?” she said with a smile.

 

Too much all at once, too much emotion and freedom even though they still kept her on a leash, Herald, gilded bars to a gaudy cage with a collar spun of gold, still freedom went to her head and she started acting rash and stupid and sentimental, can’t afford to lose another-

 

“Are you okay?”

So much like her not-father, the man who cared for her when no once else would, dead bleeding broken all for her, always for her, why couldn’t they let me die, and now he’s staring right at her with weary eyes that don’t know, can’t know what she’s done and it eats at her stomach like the worst kind of poison and I’ve never been the praying type but inside she screamed for anyone listening to let her wake up wake up and she had fallen asleep right here, the mark in her palm a shining beacon to anything that wandered the Fade and no no no what if he had seen it dear fuck no what if-

“I’m fine,” she replied with a bright grin, bright teeth, bright everything blind them into believing.

She let her guard down so spectacularly that it was irreparable, had invented new heights of stupidity and now horror, growing horror as this is how I feel about them all because she cared now and that in itself was terrifying because if she cared then they could hurt her and why is this happening now why-

“Maybe we should head back to Haven,” said the Commander with a grin, wrapping himself tighter in his furred mantle. He laughed, and Ella responded in kind.

Why now, why was it this very second where it overwhelmed her, drowned her, pulling me under sharp teeth digging into thrashing flesh why, when she had finally managed a blessed night of rest in the warmth of another, someone sentient at that, never satisfied, you will always burn your bridges little sparrow and now, now through snow that burned her skin in a way she didn’t notice because everything burned now, burning screaming fighting against flames-

What if he saw, what if he found her, what if he was still alive and waiting somewhere in the darkest depths of the Fade for her to slip into a too-real dream, what if red hot claws of steel against flesh and throat raw from screaming wrists bloodied and bruised against cruel chains what if he found the collar and-

A hand caught her wrist. She smiled up at The Iron Bull, who looked down at her, concerned.

Concerned about her because she was a burden, a lifeless piece of flesh that happened to hold the key to salvation, because she was a prize a toy my pet, that’s all you are, all you’ll ever be-

The Commander seemed confused, but relenting. “Good day, Herald.”

The collar is dead, the collar is dead but what if he came back and whispered it to life sharp thorns against limbs pushing twisting flesh into a lifeless marionette she hadn’t dreamed, not even the slightest glimmer of the Fade, what if he had found her what if he had-

“Good day, Commander,” she said with the slightest wave, smiling all the while.

A smile is a mask a smile is a mask hold it tight hold it tight hold it tight-

“Boss.”

A hand on her wrist and a blade at her throat-

Boss.”

Dance for me-

Ella.

“Yes?” She glanced up once more with too-clear eyes and a face pulled tight against itself. The mask was slipping.

The mask is slipping how was she so incompetent that she could not even-

“You need to stop, right now.”

Porcelain shattering across her face not now not now-

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, you need to not be thinking it. Can you hear me?”

Are you deaf, cold hands on hers, they weren’t slimy then but they felt it afterwards-

“Ella. Ground yourself.”

What if he found me-

Pain sharp and real across her face.

Ella reeled, a hand to her nose, blood on her fingers. Her eyes wildly sought out the source of the blow, found the qunari. Growling, snarling, teeth bared and sharp.

“Alright. This is what you need? You need a fight?”

Rage boiling up inside of her, unrelenting in its ferocity as her anger redirected. She crouched, almost on all fours as she laid a steadying hand against the ground. Spitting and snapping target in front of her, the lumbering giant who dared to strike her. Foolish, an outrage, he will pay they will all pay and she lunged.

 

 

 

 

An agent found him, panicked under the calm he was currently training to perfect, and handed him a missive. The Iron Bull had been putting the Chargers through their paces, an early morning routine that tended to leave them sweaty and breathless. It wasn’t something they had a chance to do often, as they usually needed to be battle ready, and so he seized the opportunity when it came by to the great despair of his men.

 

A glance at the paper revealed why the agent seemed so twitchy. The Herald missing for the night, and they start readying the search parties. He sighed. They really did keep her on a tight leash, didn’t they? Fortunately for Red’s nerves he had an answer to this little conundrum, and he didn’t even need all of his Ben Hassrath training to puzzle it out: Bull had seen the Herald wander off into the woods the other night, followed by Cullen soon after. Either this was some sort of test, or their friendly neighborhood Spymaster was stretched thinner than he had thought. Maybe both. With an easy grin he handed the paper back to the agent.

 

“Don’t worry kid. Saw her head into the tavern last night. She’s probably still there. I’ll go get her.”

 

The agent seemed relieved and was quick to scamper off. It was probably best that Red didn’t know how often their prized Herald wandered off alone into the woods. And it was also best that the Herald didn’t know that he knew that. It seemed that this time she had stayed the night, and with the Commander no less. He wasn’t sure how to sort the emotions he felt at that. The kid obviously needed someone, and she seemed skittish around himself. The horns had a way of doing that, he admitted as he made his way down to the woods that edged Haven. She would have left a trail; the Herald was not an idiot. It wouldn’t do for her to get mauled by wolves because no one could find her.

 

There it was, a few branches brushed aside. He began picking out the path, allowing his mind to wander.

 

Of course he might have been attracted to her. Who wouldn’t be? The way she simply cut through enemies was undeniably impressive, but she also possessed a figure that she used to full advantage. Very aware of her body. Of her face. Immaculate control of her emotions. Where did she come from?

 

It seemed that he hadn’t needed to follow the trail at all, as the Commander himself walked down the way he had come, trailed by the Herald. Cullen seemed surprised but not embarrassed, which was a little unusual. The Iron Bull would have thought him to be sheepish when caught-

 

Oh. He could have cursed himself for being so slow. There had been nothing. They had just chanced upon each other in the woods because they both couldn’t sleep. Bull of all people should have seen that right away. Why did I immediately jump to-?

 

He didn’t dwell on it, couldn’t dwell when he saw the look on the Herald’s face. At first glance she seemed fine, restful, happy, even. Something drew his gaze back, however, something off-putting in her eyes, something that looked suspiciously and heart-wrenchingly familiar. He placed a hand on her wrist instinctively, hoping to hold her until he could figure out exactly what was wrong.

 

“Hey Cullen,” said Bull casually, leaning on a tree in an attempt to lessen the size difference and intimidation alike. The man looked rested and yet dogged by a lingering weariness that one night of sleep would not mend.

 

“Iron Bull! I didn’t expect to see you here-“

 

“Could I talk to the Herald for a moment? News from Red.”

 

“I’m sure that anything from Leliana could be said in front of me.“ The Commander crossed his arms, indignant. With his hair ruffled from wind and sleep, he struck a rather comical figure. Bull allowed himself a smile.

 

“It’s not really Inquisition news. She might not want you to hear it. Her call.”

 

“Oh.” Cullen paled slightly, casting a nervous glance towards the Herald. These people, they seemed to forget so easily, separated her from her past in a way that seemed unhealthy. “Well, I suppose I should take my leave. Good day, Herald.”

 

“Good day, Commander.” The lilt in her voice, the way her eyes wouldn’t exactly focus. Cullen walked away none the wiser, unaware that his life could have very well been in danger. The Iron Bull didn’t doubt for a single heartbeat that the Herald had a violent background, and people like that could turn dangerous in this state.

 

“Boss?” He tried gentle, a soft voice. Nothing. If anything she seemed to be worsening. Strangling a growl, he tried again, firmer this time.

 

Boss.” Still nothing. A twitch in her mouth, maybe, but she wasn’t looking at him.

 

Ella.


“Yes?” She looked at him then, unfocused and a little pale, a smile stretched tightly across her lips, firmly locked into place. He knew that look. Screaming on the inside.

 

“You need to stop, right now.”

 

Nothing, nothing at all. Grimacing, he knelt down and grabbed a lump of snow, rising up again and grasping her hands.

 

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, you need to not be thinking it. Can you hear me?” Her eyes were blank, face going slack. He squeezed her hands tighter, digging the ice into her palm. “Ella. Ground yourself.”

 

He was losing her, he could see it. Bull dropped her hands and, in a fit of desperation, clenched his fist and punched her square in the face.

 

Blood splattered from her nose as she stumbled backwards, eyes locking onto him with a new and refreshing intensity. That was an improvement. Probably. She was looking at him with an unrestrained rage that was extremely unnerving. At least they weren’t too close to Haven. This could get ugly.

 

“Alright. Is this what you need? You need a fight?”

 

There was a vicious snarl and he almost whirled around to find its source before he realized that it came from her. Gritting his teeth, The Iron Bull readied himself for a fight. He couldn’t hurt her, at least not too permanently, but clearly she needed to blow this off somehow. This would be something real to focus on.

 

Crouched down like some sort of wildcat, muscles bunching up in her legs, her shoulders, and Bull steeled himself for her attack. When she pounced, he was ready, catching her and following her momentum to slam her into the ground behind him. She scrambled up with an uncanny speed, something he really should have expected having seen her fight so many times but damn it all if he wasn’t unprepared for this sort of encounter.

 

Wild eyes and bared teeth, but at least she didn’t seem so lost anymore.

 

Asala-taar.

 

He hadn't seen it this bad since Seheron.

Notes:

If this seems unrealistic to anyone, please let me know. I've read that certain sensory stimuli are supposed to help people cope with PTSD triggers and tried to incorporate that.

Also, if it wasn't painfully clear, Ella's relationship with Cullen is 100% platonic. I think I might have over-clarified that, but I know sometimes people can get confused. A lot of media doesn't really portray platonic relationships between a guy and a girl, and so I think that makes it more difficult to write it convincingly because there's this expectation.

If Ella's sudden breakdown seems unexpected, that's because it is.

Chapter 11: Asaaranda

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Boiling hot rage clawing against the cage that was her flesh; anger for the insult, anger for the fallen, anger for her freedom and her lack thereof.

 

She snarled and growled and tore at the qunari, not quite remembering why she had begun but clinging to the fight nonetheless. They appeared to be evenly matched, the qunari being hard pressed to keep her at bay and Ella herself struggling to land her blows. Her nails managed to drag scarlet furrows at his side before he flung her off again, the blood sticky on her fingertips in a way that was discordantly familiar. Her head spun when she collided with the tree, eyes narrowed as she tried to shake the fog from her head. What am I doing? Eyes clear for a heartbeat, mouth dry before I’m fighting. Keep fighting. Lips pulled back into a feral snarl Ella pushed off from the scraggled bark with a wild vengeance, driving herself into the qunari with every ounce of strength she had. He staggered back a step with a soft grunt before catching her, pinning her against his body as she struggled against his grip. Can’t end here, fight, fight, fight. She sunk her teeth into his arm, ripping away as he dropped her.

 

The salty tang of blood on her tongue, different but the same. Warm, a fire in it that she had never before encountered. Different. Her eyes rose slowly to meet the singular gaze of The Iron Bull. Heartbeat fluttering, hands twitching, mouth dry but wet with blood his blood why-

 

Ella didn’t remember falling, sinking to her knees in the biting snow, staring at her hands the crimson crusted underneath her nails that would never come out it never comes out, please I scrub them raw but it never-

 

“Ella.”

 

That’s me. Her eyes snapped up once more, winced when they saw him, the scratches and bruises that she had put there. Muscles bunched beneath her skin as he neared, ready for the blow that was sure to come and she forced them to relax because tensing never helped just makes it worse-

 

“I’m going to come closer now. Is that alright?”

 

She was silent, confused, staring up at him with too-wide eyes and a face she couldn’t seem to manage anymore. He took a step back, palms up and outward.

 

“I don’t have to. I can leave.”

 

No.” It was a plea, hoarse and desperate and ripped from her throat by emotion that she didn’t know she still possessed. Don’t leave me here, please, not like this don’t-

 

“Ella.” Every time he said that name she felt as if a shackle was loosened. Ella. That’s me. He crouched, bringing himself low, making himself as small as could be. Still he loomed. Couldn’t help it. “Ella, may I touch you?”

 

Her head jerked into a nod. Here he was, asking for permission to touch her of all things when she had just torn him into little ribbons-

 

“I know what you’re thinking, and this-“ he motioned towards the red and black and purplish-green that littered his body. “This isn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

 

No. It was her fault. All of it was her fault. And yet he was helping her, being kind to her in a way that was unusual, unnerving, why, why-

 

Why?” she managed over the torrent of words that strangled her throat in their effort to be heard. A hand brushed her cheek and she leaned into the touch, desperate for the reminder that I’m real I’m here this isn’t a dream he didn’t find me-

 

“If I find out, you’ll be the first to know, asaaranda.”

 

Asaaranda.” The word was thick on her tongue and twisted at her mind, a memory of a memory kept locked away where it couldn’t hurt her. “Thunderstorm.” She was too far gone to either mind her words or to see the flash of surprise across his face.

 

“Yeah. Thunderstorm. That’s you.” The hands moved, gently wrapping around her and pulling her towards him, up and up and up until he stood, her limp in his arms. Warm, safe, I wish I could stay here forever-

 

The blood under her nails. The salt on her tongue. She struggled out of his grasp, staggered when she hit the ground. Eyes wild and desperate and confused and Bull seemed resigned to another session of ‘beat on the qunari’ and why-

 

“I hurt you.” The words started slow, a trickle that belied the stream before the gushing tide. “I lost myself and then I hurt you because I’m such a fucking idiot I can’t afford to feel like this but I do and I hurt you because I have no self control and this stupid collar and it’s happening again it’s happening again because I let myself get too attached, too involved, too sentimental and then I forgot what I was and I hurt you because I was clumsy and foolish and this always happens and-“

 

She let out a strangled squeak of surprise as he swept her up into his arms again.

 

“We are going to get cleaned up.”

 

“No you don’t- you can’t- I hurt you-“

 

“And I hurt you. I’m sure we’ve both done a lot worse to a lot of other people. We all make mistakes.”

 

I can’t afford to make mistakes.” Hysterical, near sobbing, no tears can’t let them see the weakness-

 

“Ella...”

 

“What if I had pulled a dagger on you? What if I had-“

 

“You wouldn’t have killed me.”


“How can you be so sure?”

 

Bull stopped, abruptly and she jolted forward in his arms. He breathed deeply and she could feel the crisp mountain air swelling against his chest.

 

“You said you felt like you were too attached.” Ella winced, cursing herself as her thoughts began to fall into place once more. He continued, seemingly ignoring her movement. “You’ve lost others, then? And it hurt you. Maybe you think that if it happened again it would break you, but it doesn’t have to be like-“

 

“It did break me.” She hadn’t meant to say it. She hadn’t meant to say any of this. Kaffas, if only she had just stayed in that shitty little house and spent another sleepless night tossing and turning by the fire like a normal person and-

 

“And yet here you are. You look pretty sound to me.”

 

“I tried to rip your face off. I bit you for fuck’s sake-“

 

“I’ll live. You’ll live. You’re sorry for biting a chunk of my arm off, I’m sorry for not noticing this sooner.”

 

“You have nothing to be sorry for-“

 

“And neither do you.” He fixed her with the full intensity of his eye, sharp and quick. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Ella.”

 

She almost started to believe him. Allowed him to ferry her off to wherever it was he intended to actually go, until the reality of it all came crashing down once again.

 

Splayed limbs torn flesh blood everywhere my fault my fault-

 

“No,” she hissed through a snarl barely on the safe side of feral. When he refused to release her again, Ella reached up to grab a horn, bringing him down and closer to her level. “Listen to me. Right now. I have everything to be sorry for. I am a horrible person who has done horrible things just so I could live a little longer in this horrible world, alright?” She felt him stiffen against her; perhaps the only benefit of being so encompassed by his arms.

 

“I’m still trying to figure you out, boss.” He spoke slowly, easing out the words in careful measure. “And I think that’s part of the problem. You hold yourself so close that even I have trouble reading you. This, right here, took maybe five minutes? And I just found out more about you than anything I could have scraped up in the last week. You hold everything inside and squeeze it tight as if that’ll make it stop. It won’t.”

 

I don’t want it to stop. I deserve it. I deserve this.

 

She bit a lip, her recovered restraint sticking the words in her throat and saving her from yet another fatal error. A deep breath unclenched her muscles. Another smoothed her face.

 

“This. This is exactly what I’m talking about.” The Iron Bull sounded frustrated. Ella glanced up at him, wearing a cold akin to the brisk air of the Frostbacks that tore at their skin.

 

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you are insinuating.” At last she managed to wrench herself from his grasp –or maybe he let her fall. Brushing what dirt and mud she could from her clothes briskly, Ella straightened, chin high as she gently wrapped herself in the mask she had crafted for her new position as Herald. Strong, distant and yet kind, at peace with the world and her place in it.


“That’s fine, boss.” His tone suggested the opposite, and she flashed him an easy smile. “Just remember that I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk.”

 

“We were attacked by wolves,” Ella said simply with a sweeping gesture that took in both of their states. She conveniently did not hear what he said last.

 

“Yeah, sure,” The Iron Bull sighed, defeated. “We were attacked by wolves.”

 

“Cassandra is going to murder us.”

 

“People are gonna think-“

 

“We were attacked by wolves.”

 

“Sure. That’s- sure.” The Iron Bull ground his teeth and growled ever so slightly for a heartbeat before he stilled himself. “I’m heading back to Haven. You should too.”

 

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

 

“You should come back now.”

 

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

 

“I will pick you up an carry you.”

 

“I’ll bite you again.” She shot him a wink, allowed her smile to tremble slightly before drawing it back up. “I just… I need a moment.”

 

He nodded, not bothering to mask his displeasure but relenting to her request. The Iron Bull disappeared into the woods with a disquieting speed for someone of his size. Ella stumbled back into a tree, digging the heel of her palms into her forehead. This entire ordeal had been a complete and utter disaster. The Iron Bull now knew more about her than she would ever want anyone to know, which moved him towards the top of her threat list. At this point he hovered just below the Spymaster, and that was only because Ella was relatively sure that she could manipulate the others into casting him out. The Nightingale was far too skilled and in too advantageous of a position to allow that to happen to herself.

 

Clearly she needed to reevaluate her situation. The mark in her palm shuddered unhelpfully, flaring up as Ella shook it out at her side, irritated. She was too close to these people. It left her vulnerable. After so long, she had latched onto the first people who had treated her with the bare minimum of humanity. It might have been humorous, if it didn’t leave her feeling so bare. Falling asleep, this close to the Breach? Definitely not the wisest. She took a steadying breath, refusing to fall into the spiral of whatever-the-fuck-that-was that had led her to such a ill-timed breakdown. She tucked it in a box and buried that box deep. No time to dwell, there were Templars to recruit. She wore the mask of a smile and made her easy way back to Haven.

Notes:

Honestly I'm not super happy with this chapter, but I like enough things about it that I don't want to just rewrite it. Some more insight into Ella's past, but not enough to really be satisfying. Will Bull just leave it at that? We all know he won't.

Oh boy, it's time for Templars. Gotta study up on that, I suppose.

As always, thank you for reading. Feel free to post a comment about anything at all!

Chapter 12: Envy

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It wasn’t easy to avoid the venomous glares that Solas shot her way, but Ella managed. Leliana posed a similar challenge, although the Spymaster seemed complacent enough after realizing that Ella would not budge on this issue. If it was a choice between Templars and mages, they were certainly going to recruit the Templars. No demons here, thanks.

 

The road to Therinfal was arduous, not due to any dangers or lack of upkeep, although surely those problems could not be discounted, but because the sheer volume of nobles accompanying them meant that Ella was required to juggle dispositions constantly. This man was a little older; flit, flirt, flatter. This woman was perhaps well read; quick and quiet, keen and soft. The posturing left her exhausted, but Ella found it necessary. If they wished to keep the Inquisition standing long enough to seal the Breach, they would need noble support. And besides, it wasn’t as if any of them would actually remember her face. The mark, that was key. A few well-timed flashes, a grimace of pain, the subtle manipulation of her fingers to cast the green haze off the metallic surface of her daggers, proudly on display at her waist. A warrior, and yet gentle. A natural leader, but so humble. It was stifling.

 

Even worse was the grating awareness of the Iron Bull’s intent observation. He hadn’t said a word about her… breakdown, but Ella was a fool if she didn’t think he had picked apart everything she had said that day a thousand times already. She was leaving herself exposed, playing so many like this, and he was certainly reading more than she would have liked. It doesn’t matter. The thought was firm but barely comforting. I’ll be out of here before it counts. The Breach was the priority, and the qunari could just stuff it. After the stupid hole in the sky was closed he wouldn’t even be able to find her, much less actually use any information he had managed to glean.

 

“-managed to find an entire field of royal elfroot! A wonderful addition to my garden.”

 

“Fascinating.” Ella heard herself say, making sure that the proper amount of interest was present in her tone. Her eyes darted towards Therinfal, now only a few hundred feet away. A rather unfriendly work of architecture. “And what of the crystal grace?”

 

“Why my dear Herald, we must preserve some professional secrets, no?” The man gave her a broad smile accompanied by an exaggerated wink. Ella laughed, responding in Orlesian.

 

“A wise attitude, my lord.” The man’s eyes lit up, and there was the hint of genuine emotion in the crinkles of his face. Ella always had liked the Orlesian language, the way it danced across the tongue, it’s beauty and grace –the fact that most native speakers believed that no one else could master it. Wielded wisely, it was an effective tool for securing alliance and friendship.

 

After exchanging a few more careful pleasantries, Ella extracted herself with a careful excuse and wound her way through the crowd of nobles and Inquisition agents alike who were awaiting a sign or message from the Lord Seeker and his Templars indicating that he had even noticed them. Tension was thick in the air and anxiety haunted the steps of many, although Ella was sure that these nobles would refuse to admit such a thing. No, not they. Proud players of the Game. They could never feel fear or something so trivial as nerves. Ella knew better. It’s fine to feel the fear, but don’t let it slip. Don’t let it command you. Secure it within a lockbox and fasten your mask tightly.

 

The thought was intrusive. The phantom of a memory, fingertips ghosting across pale skin, words on unmoving lips. Ella turned, tried to make it subtle. There had been a brush across her mind, she knew it, and it felt all too familiar. A swift sweep across the sea of masks revealed nothing to her. Cursing her own paranoia, Ella allowed herself to fiddle mindlessly with her collar, still tucked away under the tattered old scarf. If he were here, I would know.

 

She forced herself to smile pleasantly when the Seeker approached, allowed herself the affectation of disappointment and perhaps the slightest tinge of surprise when she said that no one seemed to be responding to their little gathering. The matter was troubling: they could not simply pack up and go home, not when they had dragged all of these nobles with them.

 

“Perhaps we should try a more direct approach,” Ella murmured, turning towards the stronghold. Her eyes darted back and found a worried looking Cassandra.

 

“I do not like that look,” grumbled the Seeker, crossing her arms. “That’s the look you had before you climbed a pride demon.”

 

“One time. It was one time.” Ella sighed. “I was just thinking that if we made some sort of display-“

 

“That word concerns me.”

 

“-of the mark’s magic-“

 

“This gets worse by the second.”

 

“-then we might get their attention,” finished Ella resolutely. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the large gray form of the Iron Bull hovering. “Eavesdropping isn’t considered polite amongst the higher-bred, the Iron Bull.”

 

“I’m not eavesdropping,” he grunted, taking a step closer and into view. “I was just listening.”

 

“It’s the same- forget it.” Ella started when she caught movement at the doors of the fortress. It appeared that they wouldn’t need a show after all, which was a small blessing considering how much she wished to evade the limelight.

 

“It appears that the Lord Seeker has finally deigned us worthy to bask in his presence,” said Ella, provoking a chuckle from Bull and a dark grumble from Cassandra.

 

Knight-Templar Barris seemed capable enough, and thought internally Ella bristled at the antagonism presented by Lord Abernache she preserved a placid front and made sure to observe the state of things as they entered the yard. It was odd; most of the Templars out and about were of younger. In fact Ella could find no one of senior rank monitoring the yard or its occupants, something that she found out of character with a military operation turned to a religious purpose. Both an army and a Chantry demanded a strict hierarchy. She filed this away for later, and simply resolved to be more aware of potential threats. One of which appeared almost immediately in the form of some strange flag ceremony.

 

Ella eyed the pennants with some combination of nervousness and irritation. There was no correct answer, and acquiescing to the ceremony would only place her under further scrutiny. It was a waste of time, a chance for the Lord Seeker to gather his wits. Ella needed him as witless as possible in these negotiations. There were no high ranking officers in the yard. Must still be inside. With the Lord Seeker. He couldn’t be planning some sort of ambush, could he?

 

Not again, not again. The wheel turns but it is still the same, different but the same. Still knives in bloodied backs and desperate beasts clawing at their own trapped skin.

 

There it was again. Suppressing a shudder and the urge to spin about wildly Ella fixed Barris with a hard stare and spoke with the intensity and loft of a nobleborn.

 

“This is a waste of time. There’s a hole in the sky, and it’s not going to close itself while I shuffle flags around. I demand to speak with the Lord Seeker immediately.” The Templar soured at that, but he did not argue.

 

“Very well. Follow me please.”

 

Barris seemed a decent sort, Ella decided after trailing him some ways through the castle. A good man stranded amidst bad orders. She could relate. There was a whisper at her mind again, but Ella forced it out before it could be heard. Something was very amiss here.

 

The Knight Captain who spoke to them was off. Ella could tell that with unwavering certainty. How and why, that was more difficult. Discreetly she unsheathed her daggers. The way he spoke, it sounded almost… culty. Ella’s face twisted. Cults and demons and magic.

 

Her blades intercepted his own before he could land a single blow, and a flick of her wrist left him weaponless, sword across the room. A swift knee to the stomach followed by a hook to his face left him sprawled on the ground, unconscious. His fellows weren’t so lucky.

 

They won’t die. This wasn’t entirely accurate. Ella sunk her dagger into the throat of an unlucky Templar. Or at least what used to be a Templar. They won’t stop fighting until they’re dead. Usually she could count on pain and exhaustion, factor it into her fighting. These… things, with red crystal sprouting from their flesh, they did not feel pain. They did not get tired. As she brought down another, a soft and intoxicating melody nudged at her ears. Red lyrium. What was it doing here?

 

Their race through the fortress was a constant red-soaked nightmare. The scarlet on her blades, the crimson on her face, the dazzling red that radiated from the corrupted Templars. Distantly she heard others try to reason with their former comrades. Also too familiar for her liking. Bury the box. She kept stabbing.

 

When they finally reached the Lord Seeker, Ella could feel the threads of her mind beginning to fray. Still screaming, how are they still screami- blood everywhere, it won’t come out I rub them raw but it wo- how could you do this to me I was always loyal plea- just let me die let me d-

 

“Should you open the negotiations, or should I?” Her own confidence was so foreign, so obviously a façade. Someone sniggered. Could they not see her for the front that she was? Stay strong. The Lord Seeker did not laugh, only stared at her in that offsetting manner that had concerned her in Val Royeaux. Too familiar it’s all too familiar.

 

Fast, faster than she believed a man could move he had her, shoved her against the wall like a ragdoll and he was strong dammit and-

 

The Fade. This is the Fade. Her immediate reaction was panic. Her secondary reaction was more panic. Third… there was just a lot of panic all around.

 

When she finally managed to calm herself, to take deep breaths and tuck it in a box and-

 

This is not the Fade. This is my mind. Any scrap of tranquility she had dredged up shattered with a resounding force that nearly brought her stumbling to her knees. A Fade-touched green haunted the edge of her vision, but she was here and she could feel and this is my mind-

 

“So much fear… is that who you are?”

 

Something snapped, a box spilled open. Ella glared about wildly, lips pulled back in a feral snarl. She would not say yes. I will not say yes.

 

“Anger, primal, savage… are you a beast inside your own mind? An animal trapped in the body of a human? Playing pretend, a trained bear-“

 

“You have no power over me, demon.”

 

You have no power over me....” It mimicked her in a strangled twisted mockery of her own voice. The green-touched mists about her began to roil, to twist into new shapes and forms.

 

“Who will let me know you?”

 

“No one will.” Ella forced the desperation from her voice. This is a demon. She had endured worse, worse than anyone could possibly imagine. She had not said yes then, and she refused to cave now. Not when so many lives rested squarely upon her shoulders. Well, her hand. “I am the only one who truly knows me.”

 

“I will know you better.” A hiss, bitter and cruel before melting into a memory of what might have been kindness. “I will know you, and then you won’t be alone. I will make you stronger.”

 

“Nice try, but I don’t make deals. Just a personal preference; maybe ask someone else?”

 

“I don’t make deals… maybe ask someone else?” Ella winced as it hissed out a mockery of her own voice once more. Out of the fog stepped the Spymaster, sharp eyes glazed over in a way that suggested a lifeless doll. Its voice took on that of Leliana, a mockery of its tone. “Will this shape let me know you?”

 

Ella remained silent, wondering if it indeed couldn’t touch her. If she was safe.

 

“You are a traitor,” growled not-Leliana, and Ella started up, teeth bared instinctively. “We should have locked you up when we had the chance.” Her hand reached out and Ella felt cold metal slinking up her legs, coiling about her arms. Chains.

 

No,” she whispered, struggling to free herself. The metal melted away, and when Ella looked up again it was Cullen who spoke to her, sword unsheathed and at the ready, pure wrath across his face.

 

“You are a monster,” not-Cullen hissed, bringing up his sword. “A murderer. I can’t believe I might have called you friend. You deserve worse than death.” He raised the sword. “But death is what I’ll give you.”

 

“Please.” Ella herself was unsure what she was asking for. She flinched from the cold steel streaking through the air-

 

A rough hand at her chin, tugging her upwards to the cold face of Josephine. A bruise blossomed at the diplomat’s cheek, blood seeped into the gold of her dress.

 

“You are a slave.” Ella bristled, recoiled, stumbled away and found that her back hit steel bars. A cage, all around her. Not-Josephine stepped forward, the mockery of a kind smile at her lips. “I’m sorry Lady Herald, but sympathetic contacts in Tevinter are too valuable to ignore. We will miss you, I hope that they treat you well.”

 

“They won’t.” Ella’s voice turned hoarse and desperate, hands scrabbling themselves bloody against the bars. “Josephi- Ambassador please they won’t you don’t understand you can’t please-“

 

“Afraid that they will betray you?” hissed the demon now, in a voice like her own. Josephine gasped, staggered, died. The cage melted away. “Afraid that they will know you?”

 

“What the fuck boss?” A rough hand slammed her against a wall that hadn’t been there before. Ella looked up to find Bull, seething and snarling. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have killed us. You did kill us.”

 

His hand fell away. Ella wrenched her fingers from him, found herself clutching a bloody dagger. Not-Bull slumped to the floor in a pool of scarlet. “I wouldn’t do that,” she whispered.

 

“I wouldn’t do that,” mocked the voice, growing ever more similar. Ella cursed, colorfully and violently, kicking and scratching at any solid object.

 

“I wouldn’t do that!” she growled, snarled, roared. The scene fell away with a wicked laugh.

 

“Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker.”

 

Ella felt a hand on her shoulder and struck wildly, spinning about in panic. This thing was trying to be her?

 

“Do you know what the Inquisition can become? You’ll see. When I’m done, the Elder One will kill you and ascend. Then I will be you.”

 

No. She could not, would not let that happen. Not here, not like this. She summoned the greater part of her will in a desperate bid to stabilize her sanity, shielding herself behind a cold wall of roiling anger coupled with an aloof certainty.

 

“I’m going to give you a chance to run now,” Ella growled between gritted teeth. “One chance to leave my fucking brain alone and run back to the Fade before I tear your sorry ass to shreds.”

 

It laughed again, a sound that crept through her veins like a slow poison. “So much anger. So much fear. You think you can defeat me? I know what keeps you awake at night, little sparrow.”

 

Ella choked on her own rage, a feral noise rumbling deep in her throat. “Do not call me that,” she finally managed to ground out. The demon just ignored her, still laughing.

 

“Glory is coming. And the Elder One wants you to serve him like everyone else: by dying in the right way.”

 

“Sounds like a nice guy. Great with kids, steady job; the works.” She managed to distance herself, to encase her fragile psyche with an equally fragile fortress of witticism. A facade of stability.

 

“Do not toy with me.” A roar, and the Commander was before her. “I am Envy and I will know you,” the demon hissed through Cullen’s teeth and Ella took a step backwards before she could gather herself. Not-Cullen brought himself closer, a blade in hand and a green-tinged glare to his eyes. “What you feel, what you think, what you see.” The voice trailed into a mockery of Ella’s, something that she was beginning to think was what they called in the professional business a Very Bad Thing.

 

Ah, the classic “No Place To Go But Forward” bit. Thought Ella a bit distantly as the scene coalesced into something physical. It appeared to be a facsimile of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, complete with scorched corpses. Ella scoffed, taking measured steps towards the clear exit. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that, demon,” she muttered.

 

The next vignette was also familiar: her, chained and bound beneath the Chantry with a furious Cassandra in her face. Missing the mark yet again. Ella forced herself to smirk, ripping and tearing her own body into something that vaguely resembled confidence.

 

The third room was… different. Her, in command of the Inquisition. What a thought. Conquest and nigh mad power-grabbing.

 

“This is not me.” She could say with utmost certainty. “You think that they would put me in charge? Are you kidding? So far I’m finding your little scare tactics lacking, demon.”

 

“No trust in yourself? Hiding behind a crumbling front of strength? Of confidence? You would not place yourself in power. Is that who you are?” Envy hissed from all sides, its voice reverberating off the eerie green mists of the not-Fade.

 

The figures dissolved, but the room did not. Instead it shifted, bringing forth… Ella lost even a semblance of control. Her hands went slack, a faint impact told her she had fallen to her knees. Chains and knives and hooks and-

 

Malice…” crooned the demon. “Will he let me know you?”

 

No please no stop-

 

“Hello there my pet.”

 

Screaming, screaming, how are they still screaming-

 

A hand at her chin, tilting her face up, up, up into the spiteful eyes of-

 

Fighting scrabbling against bloodied cobblestones chains ripping into flesh-

 

“Did you miss me, little sparrow?”

 

“No,” Ella whispered, a weak refusal. Not-Malice laughed with her voice.

 

“Malice was sloppy, lacking finesse. He knew you and he used you but he didn’t care to go further. I will do better. I will be you. You will die at the hands of the Elder One and my Inquisition will be glorious.”

 

“You’re hurting, helpless, hasty.” A voice tingled the back of her mind, tugging her away from despondence. Ella rose, stumbled backwards, fleeing the creature that haunted her dreams. “What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?”

 

They throw it away. Ella gasped for air, the breaths painful against her chest. They melt it down for scrap. That’s what they will do to me.

 

“No they won’t.”

 

“What are you?” Envy snarled, its voice beating against her skull. “Get out! This is my place!”

 

Ella managed to crawl away, far away from Malice and his eyes and his hands that always seemed to reek of gore, finding herself in a room that was suspiciously like her own back at Haven, although twisted slightly in a way that was unsettling, like when all of one’s furniture is moved a tad to the left. She backed out, fearful of Envy’s next move. It could find Malice. What else has it found?

 

“Wait,” called voice, soft and plaintive. Ella turned, almost against her will, dreading whatever specter this demon would force upon her next. She entered the room once more, and the voice appeared again, behind her.

 

“Envy is hurting you. Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel but not fake. I want to help.”

 

Ella stared at the boy and his oversized hat, feeling exceedingly overwhelmed.

 

“You, not Envy,” he added, as if that just cleared everything right up.

 

His voice was familiar, and Ella found that she was actually able to place it. The words that had brushed her mind all throughout Therinfal.

 

“Who are you,” she demanded. “And why were you… talking to me. Before. I my mind.” Kaffas, this was growing closer to a Tethras novel by the second.

 

“I’ve been watching. I’m Cole. We’re inside you. Or I am. You’re always inside you.”

 

“Unfortunately,” Ella muttered. Cole frowned under the brim of his hat.

 

“Scrabbling at walls you placed there, beating yourself bloody against your own fear. Guilt against the gore, the flame against the tip of a finger.” His frowned deepened.

 

“It’s easy to hear, harder to be a part of what you’re hearing. But I’m here, hearing, helping. I hope.”

 

“You’re a spirit,” muttered Ella, mostly to herself. She buried her hands in her face, digging her nails into the flesh. “Who did I piss off upstairs to deserve this bullshit?”

 

“Envy hurt you, is hurting you. I tried to help. Then I was here, in the hearing. It’s –it’s not usually like this.”

 

“I really wish my own head could make sense. Just once.” To her surprise, the boy laughed.

 

“It never works like that.”

 

“Truer words have never been spoken.” Ella sighed, running a hand up and through a tangled mess of hair. “Alright. Cole, you said? You’re gonna help me send this fucker packing?” Cole nodded, a lilt to his voice as he explained.

 

“All of this is Envy: people, places, power. If you keep going, Envy stretches. It takes strength to make more. Being one person is hard. Being many, too many, more and more, and Envy breaks down. You break out.”

 

“So you’re saying I need to let it fuck with me even more?”

 

Cole nodded, his head tilting oddly. Something in Ella snapped, bent, twisted and crumbled in a way that left her feeling quite like a door left hanging on its hinges. Her hands dropped, and she let loose a strangled laugh.

 

Fuck. Well, let’s get to it then.”

Notes:

Thank you for reading! I'd love some comments, about anything you'd like to say. This is a little unedited, so I might go back in and fix some things.

I didn't expect writing Cole to be such a challenge, but apparently you should not write for spirit boi at 1 in the morning. Most of this is from in-game, unfortunately, but I'll try to tackle some more original dialogue later on.

Chapter 13: Sharpened Fury

Notes:

Sorry this took so long, this was difficult to write. I wasn't sure what direction I wanted to go, and eventually settled with this. Hope you enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The nightmare scape Envy had made of her mind was not something Ella was particularly excited to explore. She forced her trembling limbs to still before peeking out of the room, Cole close behind. A blast of heat forced her back, stumbling over divots in the ground that she could have sworn had not been there before. Fire. It was playing on her fears, drawing out her emotion. Burning, shriveling flesh to blackened twisted flakes. Cole placed his hand on her shoulder, somehow grounding her.

 

“Envy twists at thoughts, tugs at fears. ‘I will know you’. This is your place, your thoughts. Ideas are loud here. Think of the sunlight, the fresh snow at your feet.”

 

“I…” Ella squeezed her eyes shut, shuddering breaths raking her lungs as she forced forward the memories of freedom and how sweet it had been. Running out into the sunlight, letting it spill upon her upturned face like a balm from the heavens. The way the snow burned her skin and reminded her that this is real and-

 

The fire faded, recoiling from her very presence. As she stepped into the room Ella found herself in a snow covered meadow bathed in soft sunlight. A door, oddly out of place in this landscape, stuck out amidst the white. Ella neared it, opened it, as Envy’s voice raked shivers across her spine.

 

“That thing can’t help you. I will see more!”

 

A blinding burst of white light, and the scene shifted to something darker. Ella stood tall, refused to shrink away as the floor beneath her feet blossomed into shivering blades of grass and trees rooted themselves in the crags of the stone-faced wall.

 

“You think you can control yourself? You think you can save them?

 

The grass shuddered and the ground before her began to churn, bloodied bodies cloaked in ragged cloth dragged from the ground. Ella felt bile rise in throat as she saw their throats ripped out, their ribs pried open, their flesh strewn about in crimson ribbons of splattered gore. Her pace stuttered, stalled, stopped altogether, stood with hands clenched at her sides and breath hissing through bared teeth.

 

Envy chuckled, low and mocking. “You will murder them. Let me in, let me see and I will ensure that does not happen.”

 

“It is lying,” murmured Cole from her side, and Ella opened eyes she hadn’t realized were shut tight. “Throat tight like too much water, drowning on blood, bones made bare to uncaring cold. It won’t keep them safe. You will.”

 

“But what if I-“ Ella’s hoarse protest was cut off by the spirit’s firm insistence.

 

“You will. This-“ He gestured towards the bodies. “-is not you.”

 

She bit back the sob, stuck it in her throat alongside the screaming clamor that threatened to climb its way up. Deep breaths and she walked forward. The world shifted again, Envy snarling in what she could only assume was pain or frustration.

 

“I will make the Inquisition great,” Envy roared, and a hollow reproduction of the war room fluttered before Ella’s eyes. “It will crush Thedas under its heel; none shall stand to resist the might of my creation.”

 

A tree root grasped at Ella’s ankle and she stumbled forward into a war-torn forest. Voices drifted on the smoke-drenched wind, frightened and desperate.

 

“What chance do we have if Val Royeaux has fallen? It’s only a matter of time before all of Orlais-“

 

“Don’t talk like that. We’ll make it. We just have to get out of here before they find us.”

 

“What about the rest-“

 

“Forget about them. The Inquisition has already murdered them. Wait-“ The voices grew quiet, a whisper about them. “Do you hear that?”

 

Ella didn’t remember stepping forward, didn’t recall telling her body to do such a thing. The bloodstained faces of two battle-weary fighters stared at her with horror, a fear that stabbed and twisted into her gut with it familiarity. Monster.

 

They drew their swords. She found daggers in her hands.

 

The life was draining from their gaping throats before the fight began.

 

Ella tried to drop the daggers but they were firm in her grasp, fingers stiff and unresponsive as they clenched tight against the grip, knuckles white. A light touch at her side and she looked down, saw Cole with his ridiculous hat shielding his face.

 

“It isn’t real. This won’t happen.”

 

Of course. So obvious, she shouldn’t have to be told, really. Still, as she danced her way through straggling warriors, as the bodies thudded against the uncaring dirt behind her, Ella couldn’t help but to repeat it under her breath like a mantra.

 

“This isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t real-“

 

Finally finally finally they reached the steps where it had all begun, and how was it so long ago and yet a heartbeat away? A blackened form streaked with green lifted her, slammed her helpless against the stone wall and she could feel the newer scars rip open and hot blood drip and spurt under her armor.

 

“Unfair, unfair,” the thing hissed, her but not her, a twisted mimic that mocked with stolen features that didn’t quite fit. “That thing kept you whole, kept you from giving me your shape.”

 

Its hand at her throat, searing into skin where it did not touch the collar. The collar. Even here it followed her, haunted her. Growling and spitting, Ella clawed at the arm, fingers burning against the sparks of Fade that coursed through its body.

 

“Let me go,” she snarled.

 

“Let me… go,” muttered the thing, stumbling over the words as it tried to pull its own voice into a semblance of hers. “Let me go. Let me…” It spat, bringing a sparking hand to her head. Ella flinched against the spurting heat, scrabbling for purchase against the not-flesh. It growled, low and threatening. “We’ll start again. More pain this time. The Elder One still comes.”

 

So close so hot so much pain can’t do this I can’t please stop and-

 

“It’s frightened of you.”

 

Cole’s voice tore Ella from the confines of her terror, brought her mind to heel. She glared down at Envy, saw as the creature turned to the spirit with a frustrated sneer.

 

“Get out of-“

 

It was distracted. Never again. A screech and Ella drove a knee into its skull. It stumbled, dropped her. Never again. A lunge and she tackled the thing, driving it back.

 

Envy snarled, a scream ripped through the green-tinged nightmare and Ella found herself, daggers in hand, face to face with a Lord Seeker Lucius whose form was in the process of shifting, skin rupturing into pale memory of flesh and gross mimicry of humanity. Envy skittered away, and Ella could not be sure if it was the demon who sent that low growl rumbling across the grounds. Eyes narrowed, teeth bared, she lunged at the creature, white-hot rage spurring her to violent pursuit. When it disappeared behind a magical barrier she snarled, a guttural noise deep in her throat, and threw herself against the wall, battering her body on the magic construct until the skin split along her shoulder and blood welled scarlet about her knuckles.

 

Someone was shouting. Perhaps it was her name. She heard nothing but the feral and insistent voice that pounded at her skull, screaming for revenge, for never again. And arm wrapped itself around her middle and she twisted in its grasp, wrenching her body away from the force that pulled her back, lashing lamely with any weapon at her immediate disposal. A deep voice growled in her ear.

 

“Ella. Asaaranda. Listen to me.”

 

She snarled but stopped thrashing, chest heaving against harsh breaths, eyes darting about but not seeing much of anything. The Iron Bull grimaced.

 

“We have an audience, boss. As much as I hate to say it, you might want to put on your Herald face right about now.”

 

She nodded, breaths stuttering in her throat as she forced them to slow. Her hands unclenched slowly, blood pooling in the crescent furrows her nails had left. Ella ripped the snarl from her face and molded her features into something more or less presentable. Nothing felt quite real and her mind was oddly detached from her body, but other than that she was fine. Ella tapped the arm that held her once, twice. She was dropped, fell gracefully to the floor.

 

“An Envy demon.” Her voice was strong, and the mask secure. Out of the corner of her eye she could see The Iron Bull frowning, but she wasn’t sure why. He had said it himself: this was necessary.

 

Ella started, forced frayed nerves to calm as Cassandra rushed to her side. Clearly the Seeker knew more about Envy than she herself did; in all honestly Ella had not even known that such a creature existed.

 

“Envy? Then the Lord Seeker…?”

 

“Caged or dead. Maker.” That was… what was his name? Barris, that was it. Her faculties were returning, albeit through a red haze that had settled over her mind. Breathe.

 

Red lyrium. He knew it must be risky. Ella managed to keep her face calm, allowed the fury to dissipate through a roll of her wrist. It was a mite hypocritical to be angry with this man who was just following orders. Been there. Done worse.

 

Besides, it was that demon who needed to burn.


She filed the rage to a singular point, fine and close and sharp. She let that be her focus. It was dangerous, for sure, but more dangerous would be trying to let all of that anger go.

 

“I can tell you first hand, it’s a clever liar.” Ella wasn’t speaking, but there was her voice ringing through the air. For a moment she panicked thought that perhaps Envy had truly succeeded, but no. It was all automatic, a growth in the mask. Focus. “Bring your best to stop it.”

 

Veterans, lyrium, and would you look at that, corrupted Templars storming the hall. Ella loosened her daggers and allowed herself to fall into what could only be described as a battle trance. All in all it was shaping up to be a lovely evening.

Notes:

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Chapter 14: I'm Sure

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The world was a blur of color, sound, and the overpowering odor of gangrenous flesh. A stilted song tugged at her mind, sickly sweet temptation on stilted chords and jarring melodies. Ella killed and found that it wasn’t hard. The difficult part was killing the right people, something she barely managed under a steadying hand from the Seeker and a soothing word from The Iron Bull. Scarlet spatters silent, arcing from silver blades like sparks of life ended.

 

A man charged her, sword aloft. Everything was red. She ducked the blow, sent a blade through his ribs. Still red. The world’s on fire.

 

Envy was white, haloed with the fiery crimson haze that left it stark against everyone else. Ella’s eyes narrowed, a growl on her lips. A heavy hand fell upon her shoulder and she dragged her gaze upwards, face still pulled into a feral snarl, to find The Iron Bull looming over her, fingers digging into her skin and just barely nudging the wrong side of painful. A low rumble in her throat and she shrugged off his hand, darting forward in one smooth motion with her daggers clenched tight against white-knuckles. There were words, but they fell flat against deaf ears, overrun with the scarlet that stained Ella’s senses. Her and Envy. Nothing else.

 

A sharp intake of breath and she lunged, daggers outstretched to strike at the creature’s hide. It swiped out to bat her aside but she wrenched her body to the ground, ducking underneath the grotesque limb and darting upwards, digging daggers into the pale flesh that sizzled and burned at her touch. The creature heaved a guttural screech and swung a fist down upon her with unnatural speed, dirt spraying upwards from where Ella had been but a heartbeat before.

 

She was behind it, now, and a leap and a jab at the junction of its shoulders struck true before it spun around, an elongated arm dashing her against stone and mud. A warm salty tang in her mouth and Ella spat, stood, screamed. Incoherent and wild, Never again.

 

A barrier sunk into her, constricting her lungs and suffocating her flesh, prodding her further into a red-fog rage. Ella threw herself at Envy, no care for the claws that sunk into her flesh or the blood that welled black and thickened over every rancid gash. Her daggers darted forward with a vicious fury fueled by incessant vengeance, drawing forth pale, sickly blood that dissipated as it struck solid ground. It splattered across her face, her hands. It sizzled, burned. She kept stabbing.

 

It was dead. She knew that. Of course she knew that. Words buzzed at her ears but the world was still red and she found that she couldn’t quite control the motion of her arms. Up down up down and the blades squelched into rotting flesh that drifted from the physical even as she drove strike after strike into its lifeless body.

 

It won’t die. It was dead but it wouldn’t die. Still here, still here, make it stop make it stop.

 

More words. A silver blur from the haze and Ella started, swung around with one dagger raised; the other still plunged into the sunken flesh. Lips drawn into a snarl she faced her new assailant, who seemed to back away.

 

It’s dead but it won’t die. Fingers groping through her mind, long and slender and hurting me why are you doing this? Looking for the pain, the fear, it wanted to be me, even I don’t want to be me it was still there, still sneaking across her thoughts and ripping at her mind.

 

An arm around her waste and she was bodily dragged from the fading demon. A hand at her wrist prevented her from lashing out. Two more grasped her legs. Some combination of effort pinned her to the red muddied grown as she struggled listlessly against the grasp, desperate eyes locked on the demon. It sank into the dirt, flakes of flesh flitting up into the air and burning up with a green spark as they returned to the Fade. Gone, now. Still here still here.

 

“Ella, can you hear me?” Words, harsh and quite against the roar of rage but yes she could hear him, so she nodded. That was what she did, wasn’t it? She obeyed.

 

“You good there boss?” Ah, that was The Iron Bull. She grinned, a trickle of something streaking across her cheek as she stifled a painful giggle. Ella shook her head.

 

She thought she could feel a hand shake against her. She didn’t know whose. “We’re gonna let you go now, okay?” Another nod, and the hands receded. Ella, back pressed into the worn flagstones, looked up at the sky but did not see it. She laughed again, the motion drawing agony from her ribs, which only made her laugh harder.

 

“What is wrong with her?” There was the Seeker. Thought she was being quiet, discreet, but Ella heard it. If only she knew. Another giggle, and Ella leaned her head back into the rock, back arching slightly. Sharp edges against flesh already pockmarked and it hurts it hurts it hurts but don’t let them see the weakness, so she laughed and reveled in the small bursts of agony that were her cracked ribs and the way her skin felt tattered and rotten because the outside is the same as the inside.

 

A hand at her chest and warmth pushed its way into her bones. Ella growled, a warning and a promise, but the hand did not shift. She opened one eye to find what she already expected: Solas, leaning over her with his damned magic in hand. Touching me, changing me. She would not let it happen. Never again.

 

Ella started upwards, snapping at the apostate with a gnashing of teeth and wrenching her body away from his grasp all in one fluid motion. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him retreat ever so slightly before she was pinned to the ground once more, hands forcing her from shaking off the magic that infected her with its vile touch and her stomach might have heaved if she had had the energy. As it was, she put up a feeble struggle before collapsing against their grip, letting the mage do his work.

 

Slowly a strange sort of sanity trickled back into her mind, a clarity that strangled the haze and left her battered and battle-worn. Solas’s hands still hovered above her torso, warm tendrils of magic seeping into her flesh and realigning her cracked ribs. With weary eyes she shifted slightly, finding the others. Cassandra, Varric, Bull… Sera was perched on a rooftop, looking extremely uncomfortable. Even Vivienne was nearby, terrorizing the nearest Templars into some task or another.

 

Ella squeezed her eyelids shut, as if that might keep the world out. A heavy hand rested on her shoulder and she opened them again.

 

“You good now, boss?”

 

No. Never. Ella nodded. She stood slowly, shaking off Solas as she did so. The Seeker approached, hand resting on the pommel of her sword.

 

“I’m not quite sure what that… display was,” she said sharply, lips pulled into a line. “But I suppose it matters very little. Reports are coming in, and it seems that the threat has passed.”

 

“For now,” Ella muttered, lips moving without her consent. Cassandra’s gaze grew ever so troubled.

 

“For now,” she echoed.

 

The Templars, of course, were in disarray. Ella suppressed a snarl, managed a semblance of professionalism, but she could not shake a strange sort of disgust for their behavior. It mingled unpleasantly with an overwhelming sense of pity born of uncomfortable familiarity. She knew this. She knew them. Seen this before. They stood before her lost and unsure, trained to follow but with no one left to lead. The mark burned heavy in her palm.

 

“You will serve the Inquisition and prove yourselves in the eyes of the people and the Maker once more.” Still Envy tugged at her mind. Do you really want these lives in your hands as well? She forced her grimace into a smile. This was what was best for Thedas, and would certainly save more lives. Sensing the dramatic opportunity, Ella gestured her marked hand towards the faint outline of the Breach hovering just above the horizon. In a strange fortunate timing her hand blistered against the cool air, spurting bouts of wild green light.

 

They knelt to her, and she smiled as a small part of her died.

 

The journey back to Haven was more stressful than dangerous, and she was careful to avoid anyone who might ask unreasonable questions. Cassandra was particularly easy to avoid, as she seemed a bit miffed that Ella had apparently disbanded the Templar Order, at least for the time being. Ella was fairly certain that their resident Seeker would be occupying herself with work, blowing off some steam before having a legitimate conversation. The need for space was understood and appreciated. Ella stayed away.

 

Vivienne, it seemed, was more curious than most. Given that the Enchanter happened to be an avid participant in the Game, however, Ella was sure that the Iron Lady would refrain from bombarding her with questions. She would remain restrained in manner and polite in mien. Any hint of confusion, anger, and even concern would be hidden beneath layers of formality and poise. Ella would evade.

 

The Iron Bull… she just avoided him. There was much to be done. Nobles needed unruffling, Templar’s needed their faith restored, requisitions needed to be made. It was within reason that Ella somehow found herself out of sight whenever the qunari made his rounds.

 

As it was, the so-called Herald of Andraste was currently consoling a young man, barely old enough to even be considered a Templar. Vivienne was nearby, sitting tall and proud atop her noble charger. The Iron Bull was nowhere to be seen, which suited Ella well.

 

“How can the Maker forgive us for what we have done?” The lad was stone-faced, struggling to hold back a sob but conditioned to know that he must keep his emotion under wraps. Ella managed a smile and a soft touch to his arm.

 

“You must first and foremost seek forgiveness from yourself,” she murmured. It didn’t feel right. I’ve never been the praying type.

 

“But we failed.”

 

“You were simply following orders. Those above you should have known better. You bear the least blame.”

 

“I should have known. We were betraying the ideals of-“

 

“They led you astray. What could you have done?”

 

Desperate denial, weaving webs of meaning until the horror has passed. There it was again. Ella glanced over her shoulder and thought she caught a glimpse of a wide-brimmed hat before it suddenly vanished. Resisting the urge to scowl, she turned back to the Templar, who seemed deep in contemplation.

 

“I… I don’t know. I could have left…” He seemed conflicted. This was good; he needed a little bit of doubt. I can’t let him blame himself.

 

“If you had left, another would have taken your place,” said Ella simply. “Instead you were there to take up your sword when the time was right.”

 

“I… Thank you, Your Worship.”

 

She batted away the urge to flinch with impatience. Instead she smiled with the slightest incline of her head. The Templar moved away, perhaps to receive some more healing. He did have a rather nasty looking cut on his arm.

 

“You handled that with utmost poise, my dear.”

 

It took much of her will to keep her from starting, more still to turn with a languid sort of grace to Madame de Fer. Ella adjusted her pace casually, maintaining a distance that didn’t force her to crane her neck upwards as she talked.

 

“If I didn’t know any better I might consider that to be a compliment, Lady Vivienne.”

 

“I wouldn’t be so hasty, darling. Templars are easily led.”

 

“They are rather fond of their leashes.” Ella kept her voice even as she quickly glanced about the immediate vicinity. No one there who might benefit from this conversation. “Perhaps that is what led us to such an impasse in the first place.”

 

“I’m sure.” That was Game-speak for ‘I’m not agreeing with you, but I am’. Could also mean the opposite, depending on context. Ella forced her face into a polite smile while attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance. Never let them see you try. It had been a while since she had even attempted the Game. This would be good practice. Vivienne continued. “My dear, I can’t help but notice that your accent is quite charming.”

 

‘Where are you from?’

 

“Is that so? I have never given it much thought.”

 

‘Not up for discussion.’

 

“It reminds me of Nevarran, but I’m sure that is of no consequence.” Vivienne tilted her head ever so slightly, and Ella was unsure about the meaning or validity of such a tell. Probably a false lead. “I’ve heard the cities of Nevarra are quite beautiful, although I’m sure that they are nothing compared to the majesty of Val Royeaux.”

 

‘Acknowledged. Have you been to Orlais?’ Ella was not asking enough questions.

 

“There isn’t much which compares to the majesty of Val Royeaux, especially during times of celebration. I’ve heard that the winter palace is lovely this time of year.”

 

‘Yes, once or twice. Have you been recently to Halamshiral?’

 

“Yes, there was a lively soiree about a year ago. The palace was positively gleaming in the snow. Empress Celene is quite a sight to behold, is she not?”

 

‘I have been there, but not recently. What is your opinion on the war?’

 

“She is lovely, for sure, but I do not pay much attention to such things.”

 

‘I have not yet chosen a side.’

 

That seemed to sate Lady Vivienne’s desire for knowledge, and the rest of their conversation was harmless prattle about the state of trade and the logistics required in gaining so many new mouths to feed and bodies to outfit. The Iron Bull made himself known, and Ella found herself beating a hasty retreat, forming what she hoped was an eloquent excuse about the state of the healing wagon (“Aiding our soldiers in a wagon of all things!”) and walked with purpose to the other side of their entourage. A hand caught her arm, and she ripped herself free, whirling around to face him. Because of course it was their over-friendly qunari who had grabbed her. Apparently he was finished with the little game of hide-and-go-seek they had been planning. A shame.

 

“I must admit I am become rather sick of your hands all over me,” Ella muttered with a scowl, hands on her hips though she wanted them curled protectively around her chest. No weakness.

 

“That’s not something I hear often,” he replied with a grin. “Especially from pretty ladies.”

 

“Well then it shouldn’t surprise you to hear it from me, then.” Ella was seeking out an escape route in a manner she hoped was inconspicuous.

 

“Give yourself some more credit, boss.”

 

“Yes, yes, I’m sure I’m very attractive,” she said shortly. “Men and women alike are swooning at my feet. Are we done here?”

 

“As a matter of fact, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

 

“No.” Ella began to walk away, but she was stopped once again by a hand on her arm. Breathe. “I’d suggest you release me. The consequences could be dire.”

 

“Fancy words. You been talking to Viv?” He did as she asked.

 

“I dare you to call her that to her face.”

 

“You’re deflecting again.”


“And you’re being insufferable. Good day.” Ella made to leave again.

 

“Wait.”


She only stopped because he had asked, and she wasn’t one to let a chance for positive reinforcement go to waste. Turning with a long-suffering sigh, she looked him straight in the eye. “Out with it, then.”

 

“Something messed you up back there.”

 

“If we are going to have this discussion, I’d rather it be in private.”

 

“Rather forward, don’t you think?”

 

“Or not at all. I have work to do.” Ella made her way to the healing wagon, but not before Bull called after her.

 

“We’ll talk at Haven. Your place.” She barely gave him a nod.

 

 

 

Notes:

This is pretty long, but when I split if up it was kind of short. Oh well.

Updates are coming a bit more slowly because of school and stuff. Your comments make me happy! I'm really glad people are liking this story so far. Hang on to your hats, cause it's going to be a wild ride.

Thank you so much for reading!

Chapter 15: Forgotten

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

Ella forgot. Or, rather, she forced the bad from her mind.

 

When the Commander extended a warm hand upon the almost ceremonial acceptance of Templar aid, Ella returned the gesture with strength and poise, refusing to let her eyes be dragged towards the sword at his side.

 

When the Ambassador offered a courteous smile and some generous compliment in regard to her dealings with the nobles, Ella replied with a polite laugh and a wide grin, steadying on the underside of her desk hands that insisted on trembling.

 

When the Spymaster requested an in depth report of the situation at Therinfal in light of the recent chaos, Ella agreed with the sentiment through even breaths, a voice needling at her mind, insisting that she never turn her back.

 

As far as Ella was concerned, nothing of particular note had occurred at Therinfal. It hadn’t happened. In order to enforce this mindset she kept herself largely apart from the others while the Templars were being settled, allowing the people who really ran the Inquisition to deal with the influx of problems she had caused. Most of the day she remained in her little cabin, hating every second that the walls closed in but dreading the eyes outside. At night she slipped away, into the woods. Ella didn’t run into Cullen again; she made sure of that.

 

An unfortunate side effect of this tactic was that she had pushed from her mind entirely the discussion she had had with the Iron Bull. The sun was just dipping beneath the green-streaked horizon and Ella was on the cusp of preparations for another night among the cold and tree trunks when a harsh rap at her door nearly spooked her from her skin. Reigning in her shuddering breaths Ella pulled on a mask of composure and opened the door with a smile.

 

 

The Iron Bull hadn’t wanted to press the issue. Their Herald had clearly suffered some sort of trauma, and that wasn’t something he wanted to charge into. So he waited and watched as she tucked all the messy corners into a tight little ball and neatly drew that little mask across her face. She was impressive, he’d give her that. Dangerous as well. She danced lightly with nobles just as she had with daggers. A word, to her, was a precise tool.

 

Not for the first time he wondered who she was and what she had been. A slave, obviously, but she had given him that, practically served it on a platter. That had been the test; only a witless fool wouldn’t have been able to puzzle that one out. And it seemed that Ella wasn’t in the habit of hiring fools.

 

Her combat style suggested assassin, but he had already sent off letters to his contacts in or near the Crows to no avail. The kid wasn’t Antivan, anyway. Not a dwarf, so she wasn’t Carta. Bard was his current guess –words behind masks that hid knives- but he doubted it all the same. The journey from Tevinter slave to Orlesian bard? Intriguing and unlikely. So the guessing game continued even as she studiously avoided him.

 

It was both irritating and impressive, the effectiveness with which she shut everyone out. He had barely managed to get a word in edgewise on the journey back and even then she was quick with her excuses. Haven itself was no better. The kid locked herself up, alternating between burying herself in the work of the war room and hiding away in her little cabin. She kept her patterns inconsistent because of course she did, and he was hard-pressed to intercept her in a manner that might seem casual. A week of playing cat and mouse and the Iron Bull had had enough. Let her sort her own damn problems out, then. No need to press the issue.

 

He had just come to this admittedly sulky conclusion sitting in his own spacious tent when a sharp crack and a fizzle like snow on fire brought him immediately to his feet, a weapon in his hands. His hand axe almost found itself in the boy’s skull before Bull remembered who the kid was: the Herald had called him Cole, had said that he was some kind of spirit and had helped her in Therinfal, but not much else. She had specifically instructed them not to hurt him, though, so the Iron Bull reluctantly sheathed the axe and resorted to staring the boy down.

 

Cole his tilted curiously, as an owl might, and wrung his hands with an outpour of words.


“Battered bloody by cold bars, a cage that follows and finds, ‘It’s dead but it won’t die’. Can’t let them see the hurt, can’t let them know she feels but it scrapes and scrabbles scarlet against her chest.”

 

That peaked Bull’s interest. “You talking about the boss?”

 

“She doesn’t like it when you call her that. A name that’s not a name. It reminds her of the dark.”

 

The Iron Bull sighed, reaching up to scratch at the base of a horn wearily. “Look whatever-your-name-is, it’s late-“

 

“She’s screaming on the inside, the Iron Bull. She forced the bad from her mind, but now it rots just beneath the flesh.”

 

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

 

“There is no one else.”

 

“There are plenty of people in this frozen-ass-”

 

“You helped. Before.”

 

Bull began to speak but stopped for a moment, staring at the Cole who stared back with wide impossibly blue eyes.

 

“It reminds her of the dark, when she wasn’t real. You made her real again. She was better.”

 

“You talk to her, then, if you know about all this.”

 

“She doesn’t see… no. She sees me, but she doesn’t see me. She makes herself forget. It’s like when I do it, but not. She won’t let me talk to her. Demons and dark, screaming silence, ‘I won’t say yes’.”

 

Bull fell into silence once more, sinking into a chair. That confirmed what he had already feared –the kid was hiding behind her masks while her soul slowly died. Asala-tar. If that was true, then it would only be a matter of time before she snapped again. She was the only one who could close that damn hole in the sky, so they needed her alive and at least mostly sane.

 

“You make excuses to do good things. Why?”

 

“You have to make sure the good things are for the right reasons.”

 

“What are the right reasons?”

 

“Fuck if I know.”

 

“…Shok ebasit hissra…?”

 

“Kind of.”

 

“I hope you help.”

 

“Yeah, so do I.”

 

With that the weird-ass spirit-boy was off. The Iron Bull shook his head with a heavy sigh before rising to his feet. Hopefully she would still be cooped up in her little cabin.

 

 

She had forgotten that he had wanted to speak with her. That registered faintly behind the courteous folds of her mind. “Why hello, The Iron Bull. How may I be of assistance this fine evening?”

 

A flicker of something across his face; Ella could not quite make it out. Fatigue clutched at her mind in a way that was most irksome, and the little things that she might usually notice had been lost to a sluggish haze. He leaned against the doorway in a way that was clearly deliberate in its nonchalance.

 

“An unexpected guest dropped into my tent.”

 

“I…” Ella stifled a yawn and instead narrowed her eyes. “What?”

 

“That kid from Therinfal.”

 

“What kid?” Pain in short sharp bursts, clawing screeching won’t say yes can’t say yes make it stop make it stop –Ella ripped the snarl from her face in an instant and shoved the errant memory back into its box. “Ah, yes. Cole. I hope you didn’t hurt him.”

 

“Nah. You said not to, and you’re paying me, so…”

 

“It is the Ambassador who orchestrates your payment.”

 

He only grunted in response. Ella sighed, running a hand through her hair.

 

“I’m not really in the mood for these games,” she muttered. Bull chuckled.

 

“You always get so blunt when you’re tired?”

 

“If the company is just right.” She tried for a smile and failed, but managed to salvage it as a yawn. “I should probably go-“

 

“To bed?” His foot was in the door. Could slip by him, catch him off guard and get under his arm. Back window’s open, worse comes to worse there’s the chimney.

 

“Do you have a problem with that?”

 

“Only that you’re lying.” Daggers are on me, could use the embers if I have to. Would make a good distraction.

 

She sighed heavily. “I don’t sleep much. It’s fine.”

 

“That isn’t the problem though, is it?”

 

I don’t pay you to be my fucking handler.” A slip, a mistake. The snap of harsh words on strained air and they both stilled. Sharp breaths of cold stinging at her chest as she forced calm into protesting limbs. “I apologize. That was not deserved.” The words were stiff.

 

“Boss… I wanted to talk to you. I told you when we were heading back. Do you remember?”

 

“Of course I do.” Of course she didn’t. It was in a box, and she didn’t dare go sifting through those when the hurt was still fresh.

 

“Do you know what I wanted to talk about?”

 

That gave her pause, although in truth it was perhaps a few short seconds of silence, teetering on the edge of a truth and a lie as she struggled to piece together what she hadn’t shoved away without dredging up what she had.

 

“I had assumed you wanted to ask about the Templars.”

 

“Nice. Broad, a blanket statement. Could apply to anything regarding Therinfal.” He sighed, reaching up to scratch absently at a horn. His voice seemed uncharacteristically strained. “You really don’t remember?”

 

She considered lying, but knew that he would see through it. And wouldn’t it be nice if, just this one time, she actually told the truth.

 

“I don’t remember much of what occurred at Therinfal.”

 

“You don’t seem to think that’s much of a problem.”

 

She shrugged. “If it was so bad that I needed to forget it, then I don’t want to go poking around.” It’s one of the few things about myself that I can trust.

 

“That’s not healthy.”

 

“Neither is stabbing your friends in the back.”

 

“We’re your friends?”

 

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Kaffas, save it save it. “I’ve fought alongside all of you. That builds a certain level of camaraderie.”

 

“I thought you said you didn’t want to play games.”


“Life’s a game. The Orlesians got that much right.”

 

“There was an Envy demon.”

 

Traitor monster slave, no no no I wouldn’t do that I wouldn’t do that

 

Fighting that was an eternity, and shoving it back into a box left her head pounding. She inhaled deeply through her nose and opened eyes that she hadn’t realized were shut tight.

 

Leave.” Her words were nothing more than a whisper, harsh but harmless. The Iron Bull tilted his head with a narrowed eye.

 

“So that’s what you’re gonna do? Just pretend it didn’t happen and hope that no one brings it up? You’re too smart for this, boss.”

 

“You don’t know me,” she all but hissed.

 

“It leaves you open.”

 

Ella growled, cursed, managed to keep from screaming as she rammed a dagger in the doorframe. Bull didn’t flinch, instead watched her with a steady eye. Slowly, by agonizing increments she regained her composure.

 

“What would you suggest, then,” she said through gritted teeth and heavy breaths.

 

“You were just heading to the woods, right? Mind if I join you?”

 

Rhetorical order.

 

“Of course I don't.”

 

 

Notes:

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH

This was honestly so difficult to write, and I'm not sure why. Ah well, at least it's finished now. Sorry for the wait.

As per usual, thank you so much for reading and your comments are all read and greatly appreciated!

Chapter 16: Tomorrow

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Soft footfalls left pale furrows in the fresh snow as they walked in what might have passed for companionable silence. Ella was tense. The Iron Bull was tense. Even the night held its breath in a restless gasp of hushed chill. Their eyes never met, but she could feel him glance her way every so often, and she was sure that he possessed the same awareness of her own gaze. His demeanor, however, betrayed nothing; calm and thoughtful, head tilted in an apparent appreciation of the natural wonders of Haven. Ella hoped that she looked much the same. In truth her grasp on presentation had become tenuous lately, and in recent days it was all she could do to pull on a smile and grind out an acceptable ‘hello’. The darkness dragged at her eyes, a promise of pain bated with the temptation of possible rest. Sleep, now that was a commodity she had rarely appreciated. Too dangerous. It was the restless corners of her mind that whispered those warnings, the part of her that shook under shadows and screamed at grasping hands. He’s out there.

 

All at once the woods broke upon them, a shifting sea of dense greenery that Ella was sure had once bustled with nighttime song, but in the aftermath of the Breach many creatures had fallen silent, huddled in holes and fearful of the spectral cackle of the massive tear in the Fade. She didn’t blame them; if not for the mark, she would likely be in a very similar situation. More daggers, though. One could never have too many, after all.

 

The lights of Haven faded from view and still not a word was shared between them. Silence seemed to blanket the forest, muffling the crunch of their boots on the snow and the occasional murmur of a roving insect too witless to stay hidden. When finally the Iron Bull spoke, it was like a knife tearing through that delicate cover.

 

“You’re tired.”

 

Gruff, as if passing it off for a passive observation. Ella knew better.

 

“We all are,” she replied simply, taking her time now as they picked their way across some particularly precarious tree roots. He made a noise half-way between a chuckle and a growl.

 

“Most of us sleep once in a while, though.”

 

“Well, no rest for the wicked, as they say.”

 

“That’s not really meant to be a guideline.”

 

“My bad. I must have misunderstood.” She sighed, digging the heel of her palm into her forehead as a sudden headache struck and then subsided. “Was there something you wished to talk about? Or are you just going to gripe about my sleeping habits.”

 

“You get this voice, when you’re pissed with me. Like, high up and condescending but harsh at the same time. It’s kind of cute.”

Her voice was low and deadpan. “Nothing about me is cute.”

 

He grunted. “You’re just pissed because you want to drink this one away in a quiet little corner but you can’t cause everyone’s staring at you constantly now. You feel like you have to be something more to them.” Looking at her, now, out of the corner of his eye and she did her best to ignore the gaze. “And you don’t sleep. That’s a problem.”

 

“You are not my mother.”

 

“Nah, and I’m no Tamrassan either. But the world’s a fucked up place and sometimes you can’t find exactly what you need. I figure I’ll work with what I’ve got.”

 

“That…” Ella sighed and brought her palm to a throbbing temple. “That made little sense, although I’m sure that was only due to my obviously sleep-deprived state.”

 

“You joke because you know it’s true.”

 

“So you want to tuck me into bed with a mug of hot cocoa?” Mistake mistake mistake. Warning bells pounding in her head because dammit I’m not supposed to know what chocolate is. “Maybe read me a bedtime story?”

 

If he noticed the blunder –and there was no doubt in her mind that he did- the Iron Bull did not comment on it.

 

“Nope. I’m gonna knock you over the head with some common sense.”

 

“Well, I do admit that sense has never quite been a strong point of mine.”

 

“There was an Envy demon at Therinfal and you just want to forget about it.”

 

Screeching, clawing at the walls of her mind as unbidden thoughts came bursting forth from their carefully apportioned boxes. Doubly unpleasant with their reawakening, a thousand times worse when experienced all at once.

 

“…Boss?”

 

A hand was shaking her, and that was when she realized that she had fallen, and a sharp pain at her cheek told her she had grazed the skin on a nearby root. Of course. She stood quickly, if a little unsteadily, dismissively knocking aside the proffered hand and preferring to settle herself on a tree trunk. A hand through her hair, hopefully straightening it out ever so slightly, and she managed to pull some semblance of order to her expression.

 

“I’d very much prefer that you keep those particular events to yourself.”

 

Why?”

 

“You sound vexed.”

 

“Yeah. That’s one word for it. I might have used something a little stronger, but sure. Color me vexed.”

 

“It is long and complicated and I’d rather not bore you.”

 

“I think we disagree on what’s boring.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you’d be surprised. There are no pictures, you see.”

 

“Low blow.” He didn’t even have the decency to even pretend to be offended. Ella huffed, shivering in an effort to hide a tremble.

 

“I’m aware.”

 

“Insulting my intelligence will get us nowhere.”

 

“On the contrary, I believe it might benefit me greatly.”

 

“Envy demon, boss.”

 

She winced once more, but seeing as how those particular boxes had already tumbled open courtesy of one irritating mercenary, the effect was not quite so strong.

 

“Yes. Envy demon. How could I forget.” There had to be a way to get him off of her considerably wearied back. Perhaps… he seemed rather comfortable with a lot of things –the mark of a harried past- but perhaps she could scare him off, as she had done time and time again with her advisors. It was worth a valiant shot, so long as she guarded any true information jealously. “I’m not particularly fond of demons, you know. Have had a few run ins with their kind in the past.”

 

He seemed uncomfortable, at least if she was reading him correctly. Not really squirming in his skin but at the beginnings of perturbed. It was a start. “You’ve mentioned.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure I have. I don’t like demons.”

 

“Does anyone?”

“Well…”

 

“Solas fucks with spirits, not demons. He talks about that shit all the time.” That wasn’t who she had meant, although it was better that his mind had gone there. Safer, and a sign that he was truly unsettled, at least in the slightest.

 

“I killed Envy. It’s dead, and that memory can die as well.”

 

“There’s other shit that won’t be that easy. You need that memory.”

 

“And when I do, I’ll steady myself and reach for it. It is not gone, The Iron Bull. You cannot truly erase what has been experienced.” Unfortunately.

 

“You don’t know how to cope.”

 

“I take offense. This is how I cope.”

 

“Yeah, and did that help back in Therinfal? You almost bit my hand off.”

 

Ella’s lips pursed into a frown. She did not remember such a thing, past a faint red haze and a mild twinge of reflexive guilt. The box remained buried, and she needed to defuse and escape this situation before that changed.

 

“I apologize for any damage I might have caused.”

 

“That doesn’t fix it, boss. I’m pretty sure you might have tried to throttle Solas if we hadn’t held you down.”

 

This was meandering dangerously close to memory, starting to dredge up thoughts and feelings she would rather tamp down. And he was doing it on purpose, pushing and prodding at where he knew it hurt most, even if he didn’t know why. “I don’t like magic, either,” she replied through gritted teeth.

 

“How are we supposed to know when you’re actually you?”

 

“Maybe that’s really me, and this is just pretend.”

 

Silence, cold and unforgiving silence and why did I say that and so tired I’m just so fucking tired because she couldn’t sleep, not now, not with the Breach and Envy and motherfucking Malice why did she have to-

 

Keep it together. She hadn’t lost yet. Sure, she might be on her last legs, but this could be salvaged. Blood everywhere, it won’t come out I rub them raw but it wo- she shunted it aside. Tried to ignore screaming how are they still- the thoughts that clamored for attention within walls closing in, suffocating, please I can’t-

 

Breathe. She laughed.

 

“You take everything so seriously.” A smile seared into her face, hot twisting metal but still she laughed.

 

“Sometimes when people make a joke, they’re hinting at something true,” he said with the beginnings of a scowl.

 

“How insightful.”

 

“I’m missing sleep for this.”

 

“By all means, don’t stay up on my account.”

 

“You are…” He sighed, reigning in his composure in a manner that was most familiar and brought the slightest mite of true warmth to her smile. “You are going to kill yourself if you keep this up.”

 

“How unfortunate.”

 

“Yeah, you know what boss, it is unfortunate.” Losing his temper again; it was becoming rather amusing. “You’re the only piece of shit who can fix that thing in the sky. There are demons everywhere now, and you are the only one standing between them and everyone else. If you die, everyone dies.” Less amusing.

 

“I won’t die.”

 

“Pretty confident for someone who flung herself at an Envy demon.”

 

The world’s on fire, never again never again it’s dead but it won’t die.

 

“I didn’t die.”

 

“You almost did.”

 

“But I didn’t.”

 

“We might not be there to save your ass next time.”

 

“I can take care of myself.”

 

“You keep saying that, but I’m not seeing any proof-“

 

It was fast. The time it took to register the fact that he had hit the ground was longer than the time it took to actually get there. Back pressed against the snow and there she was, looming over him with her knee on his throat and a hand at her side, resting idly along the slender hilt of a dagger. For the next couple seconds it was all he could do to blink bemusedly up at her while he tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened.

 

Ella saw the little gears turning behind those horns and she grinned down at him, a smile that wasn’t a smile. Grim, deadly, cold.

 

“I can take care of myself.”

 

“That isn’t what I meant and you know-“

 

“I’ll live. Isn’t that what matters?”

 

She was trying to draw him out, now. He knew it, and she knew that he knew it. He knew that she knew, and so on. The question wasn’t knowledge, at this point; the question was more along the lines of how many cards they were willing to show. What they were willing to sacrifice for the long game. Ella had shown her hand, confirmed much of what he had already known but revealing a little of what he hadn’t. How to avoid the move next time, for instance. Secrets were a precious commodity, even in such small quantity.

 

“Your mental state,” he replied slowly, not moving even though his knee was beginning to ache. Her own knee was still at his throat, hand twitching along her dagger, and for a moment he wasn’t really sure if she was all there. “Matters.”

 

Her head cocked to one side curiously. “Whatever for?”

 

“Leadership,” he grunted, shifting slightly. The knee pressed down lightly, and he stopped. “This thing falls to shit, you might as well be dead.”

 

“I’m not in charge,” she scoffed. “I’m just a vessel for the mark. I don’t matter.”

 

Something tugged at his face, and Ella thought it might have been sadness. Strange.

 

“Well, even then, it still matters. You’re actually proving why right now.”

 

His voice had become strained, and Ella belatedly realized that she had been applying far too much pressure on his throat. Expression blank, she lifted herself off of him and to her feet, not bothering to offer him a hand as she busily brushed the snow off of herself. He rose, and she fancied that she could hear the creaking of his joints. She wrinkled her nose. That was the sound of someone who did not care for his wounds. The disdain fell from her face when she realized that she wasn’t really one to talk. Pot, meet kettle.

 

There was really nothing to be said. Ella let the silence fall around and between them, allowed her thoughts to drift until he snapped them back to the present.


“They need you in one piece, or this is never going to work.”

 

Ella bristled, the hint of a snarl at her lips. “They need me? You’re cozying up to the wrong person, Hisraad. I’m just someone they can shove on a pedestal. I’m the person they’ll smother with blame when this all goes to shit.” She needed to stop talking, but it was just too much of him lying to her, too much pain and I remember and it was terrible agony and lies lies lying to get under my skin, burrow through flesh, poison from the inside as if he thought her a fool and “I thought I was free but this is just another cage.”

 

Bull leveled her with a long and thoughtful stare, a myriad of emotions flitting across his face but none of them permitted long enough for any sort of identification. Finally, with some hesitance but great certainty, he spoke.

 

“They’re not trying to trap you. They don’t want to hold you here, but they just don’t see another option.”

 

“That doesn’t make it better.”

 

“You think they’re trying to make you a slave?” She visibly winced at the word, too frayed and harried to conceal the motion. Bull’s frown deepened and he continued. “They aren’t. No one’s gonna put a collar on you.”

 

“Someone beat them to it,” she laughed hoarsely in a humorless attempt at levity.

 

“They aren’t gonna chain you up, either. When the Breach is sealed up and the rifts are closed, you can leave.”

 

“Truthfully I’m not sure I’ll survive long enough to-“ She strangled it at last, thank fuck. Saved herself from more damage and managed to cut that thread of conversation. Better late than never.

 

“I thought you said you could take care of yourself.” Of course he wasn’t going to just let that one go. Ella sighed.

 

“I’m not the best equipped when it comes to giant holes in the sky. I can’t say it ever came up.”

 

“The Breach isn’t gonna kill you.”

 

“No offense, but you are also not the best equipped when it comes to-“

 

“The Templars will repress it.”

 

“Which will only make my connection stronger.” Ella stopped herself before she could grind her teeth, drawing in a deep breath of cool air and reveling in the way it stabbed at her lungs with blades of ice. “Think of it like… a flame. I am one person. My light is small. The Breach is a hub for many spirits and demons and raw magical power. Its light is very, very large. But when the Templars suppress it, the Breach will dim. My light becomes brighter by comparison.”

 

“So far I’m not seeing any death here, boss.” He sounded doubtful. Like he thought her paranoid. She grew unsure of her words, a sensation that was becoming worryingly familiar.

 

“It isn’t death, really.” Ella felt a twisting at her fingers and glanced down to find that she was wringing her hands. She forced them to lie still. “I become brighter. A beacon. They’ll all be able to see me, then.”

 

“They…?”

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Clearly it does.”

 

“No, it doesn’t. You just want to make it matter so you can-“ Another steadying breath. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

His voice grew dangerous, a sort of calm anger that made her want to shudder. She didn’t, though, of course she didn’t. “So I can what, boss?”

 

“You are a spy. It’s only natural to be suspicious.” She waved a hand. “Think nothing of it.”

 

He was inclined to think much more than nothing, she knew, but thankfully he kept his mouth shut about it. One of his few endearing qualities, if one used the term ‘endearing’ lightly.

“This was smart of you,” she said, feeling a sudden lack of inhibition. His head tilted quizzically, the action comically exaggerated by the bend of his horns.

 

“A lot of things I do are smart. Gonna have to be more specific.”

 

“You took me out here. Away from Haven. I can’t hurt anyone out here.”

 

“You think you’re gonna hurt people boss?”

 

“I’ve already hurt people. So have you.”

 

“You’re deflecting.”

 

“I am tired. Very tired. But I can’t sleep.”

 

His gaze turned troubled as he turned to stare at her directly. “You’re being awfully free with-“

 

“I can’t sleep because I have dreams and… and I have dreams because of demons. And I wish I could say that it’s because of this fucked mark but I’d be lying, and I think I lie too much as it is.”

 

“Boss…”

 

“I drop my guard when I lunge. My hands fly out and a well-timed stroke could take me out pretty easily, if you know to look.”

 

He was silent, and it was uncomfortable. Ella almost made to leave but couldn’t quite press her protesting limbs into action. Her eyes raked across his face, desperate to discern intent in vain, as any flicker of emotion was lost in the shadow and glimmer of moonlight off snow.

 

“I thought I couldn’t be trusted. Ben Hassrath and all.”

 

“You can be trusted to act a certain way under certain conditions. Until whatever terms have brought you here expire, your goal is to close the Breach and figure out what caused it. Any threats to Thedas and, by extension, the Qun are of utmost concern. If I become a threat, you can be trusted to deal with that.”

 

“You need to sleep.”

 

“I think that has very little to do with our current conversation.”

 

“I don’t give a fuck what you think, boss.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like someone who wants a raise.”

 

“Talk to Solas.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“He’s cozy with that demon crap. He might be able to help you out.”

 

It took an unreasonable amount of effort to keep her fist from slamming into the side of his face. “I don’t need a mage to help me fall asleep.”

 

“Awfully close minded of you.”

 

“Surprising, I know.”

 

“It is.” Silence. She made to move, to run, but stopped when he spoke again. “Cullen?”

 

“The Commander is… I don’t need to trouble him with something like this.” That man had too much weighing down on him as it was. Iron Bull grunted, frustrated.

 

“What about Cassandra.”

 

“The Seeker-“

 

Cassandra.”

 

Ah, so he’d noticed that. Ella repressed a grimace. “The Seeker is busy.” The Seeker had also held the leash, if only briefly. It was petty and baseless, Ella knew (or at least thought she knew), but it would take time for that mistrust to subside.

 

“Re-“

 

“If you suggest our friendly Spymaster you’ll have to invest in another another eye-patch.”

 

“…Fair enough. Josephine?”

 

“Busy,” replied Ella shortly. Though it was relieving to have stepped away from Therinfal, her patience for this line of conversation was wearing dangerously thin.

 

“Talk to Varric, then. Or that demon-kid, whatever his name is. Or Viv.”


“She’s going to murder you if you keep calling her that.”

 

“Do you want to kill someone, boss? Cause that’s what’s gonna happen.”

 

Screaming still screaming

 

“I can take care of myself.”


“But can you take care of everyone else?”

 

Won’t come out, hands still red I

 

“That’s what Envy said,” she murmured. Something tugged at her gut and clutched at her throat, but she swallowed it down. Envy. It hadn’t lied, not really. Everything it had said came from her. That was the true horror of demons. Of the Fade.

 

He responded in kind, his voice brushing a whisper. “You need to talk Ella. You can’t bottle this one up.”

 

The snow was beautiful. White and pure and free. And sometimes a soft breeze caressed the forest, rustling trees and kicking up a soft dust that swirled about tree trunks and clung to the legs of passers by. Frigid air bit at her lungs and gnawed at her face in a way that might have been refreshing if-

 

“Ella.”

 

“Yes?” She couldn’t have this conversation. She was tired, she was weak, and the wounds were still open and sore. Salt in the wound.

 

“You good in there?”

 

“Of course.” She wasn’t. He seemed to understand.

 

“I’m not gonna tell Par Vollen your life story.”

 

He seemed honest; his pulse didn’t flutter when her eyes darted to his neck, and his gaze was steady. Still, he was like her, and that meant he could lie. Hisraad. They wouldn’t give him that title for nothing.

 

Can’t risk it. Even if he wasn’t lying… she just couldn’t. The less they knew, the better it would be when the Breach was closed. No strings, no trails, not this time. Run.

 

Envy, though… maybe it would help. Selectively. Have to be careful.

 

“Maybe.” Was all she said, arms crossed over her chest.

 

“That’s a lot for tonight anyway,” he replied, scratching a horn thoughtfully. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

 

“I thought I was the boss.” The joke fell flat. Neither of them acknowledged that.

 

“Tomorrow night.”

 

“I heard you the first time,” she growled, fingers twitching against her daggers. “Templars are arriving soon.”

 

“Tomorrow, Ella.”

 

Ella sighed. “Tomorrow.”

Notes:

Wow I do not like this. This was a bitch to write for no apparent reason.

There's a lot of dialogue and not a lot of action, for which I apologize. Hopefully it's fun dialogue.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to post questions or comments!

Chapter 17: A Busy Day

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

So much work to be done, it might have been easy to lose herself in it; but no, of course not, because there were so many of those reverent glances and hushed voices and those little nods of respect that made her flesh writhe and burn, and everywhere she turned there was someone who had an absolutely urgent message for the Herald of Andraste and even though that’s not my name she would turn and smile and laugh and do all the things that holy people are supposed to do because what else did they have?

 

The Templars were trickling in, and accommodations were sprouting up as they did like weeds on neglected farmland. Ella pulled a hood low over her face and shoved her hands into thick gloves, desperate for a speck of anonymity as she made her way across Haven, planning on aiding in setting up some shelter. The Breach would need to be discussed, she knew, and she was more than willing to hide from the upper echelons of the Inquisition for as long as possible if it meant staving off that conversation.

 

Unfortunately a hand caught her elbow on the way past the tavern.


“Dancer! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

 

Ella forced her grinding teeth into a smile as she turned to face Varric.

 

“You’ve started early, Teapot.”

 

“You flatter me, but I actually haven’t. Started, I mean.”

 

“Then why are you-?”

 

“Just walking by.” He shuffled slightly. “Dancer I kind of wanted to talk to you.”

 

Not him too. “Of course, what’s on your mind?”

 

“It’s just that… I haven’t seen you in a couple days. Asked around, and it seems like that’s been the case with almost everyone.”

 

“If you’re insinuating that I’m avoiding you-“

 

“I’m not insinuating anything. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

 

That gave Ella some pause. A reassurance would be empty and unconvincing. She spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully.

 

“The last few days have been… difficult.”


He snorted. “You could say that.”

 

“Yes, well, I admit that I haven’t precisely been handling it well. I thought it better if I just… took some time to myself. If only for a little while.”

 

“Dancer,” said Varric, fixing her with a pointed stare. “We’re here for you. To talk.”

 

“The gesture is appreciated, Teapot, but I’m sure that no one has time for-“

 

“We’ve all fought alongside you. I can’t speak for the others, but you’ve definitely saved my ass more than once. I mean shit, I’ve even seen you take a hit for Chuckles, and I know what you think of him.” He sighed. “I’m just saying; if you need to talk, we’ll make time.”

 

“I’ll think on it,” said Ella stiffly.

 

“Please do.” And with that he disappeared into the tavern.

 

It took a few bewildered moments before Ella’s mind could catch up with her body, which had begun to move towards the outskirts of Haven on its own. Was she so easily read? The Iron Bull was understandable, as were his motives, but Varric? What could he possibly have to gain?

Which of course led to the conclusion that he meant it, and that he was being honest. She soured at that thought. Honesty was dangerous, as was the fact that she was the smallest mite pleased that he seemed to truly care for her. It meant that her worst fears had been confirmed and she was in way too deep. Close the Breach, and then run. That was the plan. She couldn’t let a couple stray threads ruin it.

 

And still she had to keep them pacified. If they began to worry, they might grow suspicious and start to keep a closer eye on her. That would make it more difficult to run. It was why she had agreed to meet with the Iron Bull at nightfall. And it was why she turned and made her way towards the Chantry.

 

“You are like him. Fixing reasons for right. Why?”

 

“Hello, Cole.”

 

He gasped. “You see me!”

 

“Yes.” She did not turn her head.

 

“Flitting forms, faking friends from beyond. It hurts to look. You don’t have to.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why what?”

 

“You know.”

 

Ella sighed, bringing a hand to her temple. “I am assuming that the ‘he’ is the Iron Bull, yes?”

 

“You say his name, but it’s just another wall. Titles that shield you from feeling-“

“Yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“We are very much alike. Perhaps you should ask him instead?”

 

“I already did.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

’You have to make sure the good things are for the right reasons.’

 

“Intriguing. I suppose my justification is similar.”

 

“You change your voice so often. Doesn’t it hurt?”

 

“Stay on topic, please.”

 

“I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re so bright.”

 

Ella froze, and Cole was quick to speak again.

 

“He hasn’t found you.”

 

“That is what I want to hear.”


“It would hurt more if I lied. He hasn’t found you.”

How?”

 

“Solas told me not to tell.”

 

“The apostate is keeping him out of my-“

 

“He told me not to tell you.”

 

“You haven’t technically told me, Cole.”


“I know.”

 

Ella resisted the urge to growl, and instead rolled a wrist in an attempt to dispel her ever-mounting irritation. “Why would he do that? Does he know about-“


“You told him.”

 

“I did not.”


“Yes. At the tavern. Find a good story. Something to scare them. Keep them away. You told Solas about him.”

 

“He couldn’t have possibly figured it out.”

“He knows that you don’t like demons. So he keeps them away.”

She allowed herself a huff. “I suppose that means I must thank him, then.”


“He didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want you to be indebted to him.”

 

“That’s… oddly considerate.”

 

By then they had reached the intricate Chantry doors. Ella turned to bid Cole farewell, but he had already flitted off. Pressing a finger to her temple, she wearily inched open the door before slipping inside.

 

It was dim, which was to be expected. Not much money for glass in these parts, and windows were bad for insulation. So the faithful muttered their desperate prayers in darkened nooks and crannies, afforded the privacy of shadows, at least for the moment. Ella stepped softly, mindful of the souls who came here for a moment of quiet in a life that had been so disrupted. She found herself at the door to the war room before she hesitated.

 

Can I do this? It was a valid question. Ever since Envy, being around the Inquisition’s leadership, even briefly, left her drained and agitated. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain her composure, and at times she could actually feel herself slipping into another episode. It wasn’t pleasant. It would be even less pleasant if she let herself occupy the same room as them, unable to leave without a damn good excuse, unless she was fine with drawing attention. Which she wasn’t, of course.

 

While she idled at the door, however, she found her thoughts cut short by a certain blond ex-Templar throwing said door open, nearly smacking her in the face. Ella caught the look of seething irritation before he recognized her, and the face changed to one of stiff complacency. That was the look of a man who did not like his orders, but felt inclined to obey anyway. She didn’t like it shot her way.

 

“Greetings, Commander.”

 

“Where have you been?” Rather course, she thought, at least for him. He must truly be frustrated.

 

“Here and there.” Oh dear. His expression twisted, darkened, and too late Ella realized that noncommittal was most certainly the wrong way to go. Fortunately Josephine saved her from any further blunders by calling out from behind him.

 

“Lady Herald!” Ella nearly winced. Perhaps not so fortunate. “Please, come in. We were just discussing the Breach.”

 

Ella obeyed, gracefully sidestepping the Commander and walking into the room. “It seems to be a popular topic for conversation, these days.”


“So are you.” That was the Spymaster, and Ella’s smile became a chore.

 

“That was no intention of mine, I assure you.”

 

“When you run about as you do, you are bound to become a talking point,” said Leliana as Ella leaned casually against the war table, making a show of taking in the markers. In truth her gaze had grown unfocused, and she found her hands to be shaking unfavorably. They steadied against the wood, and she forced herself to breathe. The Commander reluctantly walked back into the room, drawing the door shut behind him.

 

Surrounded. She breathed deeply, digging her nails deeper into the wood and forcing herself to leave the daggers sheathed.

 

“We have been looking for you,” said Cassandra simply. Ella responded with an apologetic smile.

 

“I’m sorry. It was not my intention to be hidden.” Oh but it was, and such a bold-faced lie was dangerous. “I just didn’t want to be in the way.”

 

Cassandra huffed. “You are the Herald.”

 

“I’d disagree, but clearly my opinion is meaningless.”


“On this particular matter, what you think is largely unimportant, yes,” said the Spymaster. Ella shot her a too-bright smile.

 

“Thanks for clearing that up, chéri.” The Spymaster only scowled, and the Ambassador interjected hurriedly.

 

“I think that what Leliana is trying to say is that the people have already chosen you-“

 

“As their personal savior, yes.” Ella sighed. “I’m not arguing. I understand what is necessary.”

 

“We appreciate it.”


“Ever the diplomat.”


“You certainly are testy today.”

 

“A lack of sleep has a habit of doing that to a person, Commander.” That shut him up, but only peaked the Spymaster’s interest.

 

“You are not sleeping?”

 

Evade. “Are you? The Breach makes many things difficult.”

 

There was still suspicion in her eyes, but she seemed to drop it for now. “Very well. It’s good of you to join us, nonetheless.”

 

“I try my best.”

 

“We know you do,” replied the Ambassador. Ella had meant it to be sarcastic, but ah well.

 

They spoke briefly about the Templars, about sleeping arrangements and food distribution. Evidently the Commander was irate about their disbandment. Oh, he wouldn’t outright say it, but she could read it in his tone. He’d need some encouragement.

 

Next was the Breach, which was an altogether new level of uncomfortable. Ella’s palm actually flickered whenever she thought to long on the subject, jolting her with green spasms of static and reminding her unpleasantly of the rub of the collar on her neck, which in itself threatened to lead her down an even more uncomfortable train of thought. Everyone noticed, with varying levels of tact.

 

“Are you alright, Lady-“ said the Ambassador finally.

 

“I’m fine. And not a lady.” Ladies had money, as well as an unsettling lack of freedom. It was not something she aspired to.

 

“We can break now, if you wish,” said the Seeker. Ella was tempted, she really was, but the Spymaster’s careful stare gave her pause.

 

“That’s unnecessary, and we’re almost done here anyway,” she said at last, shaking out the offending hand at her side. “I believe we were talking formations?”

 

And so they continued, arguing the most practical positioning, the threat of red lyrium, and the practicality of the few mages they had scattered amongst the Templars. To which Ella, predictably, vehemently objected.

 

“This is already risky enough. Do you really want to pump magic into something we barely understand?” She’d be so bright. All corners of the Fade would be able to see her. How would she hide?

 

“She’s right,” said Cullen, and Ella had never been so thankful for her tenuous friendship with the man. He had apparently disagreed with her treatment of the Templars, but was not overtly spiteful about it. Loyal to a fault. She’d read Varric’s book. “The Templars will be enough.”

 

“How do you know that?” countered Leliana. “We need this to work. We should use every asset at our disposal.”

 

“I’ll make it work,” said Ella shortly. “No mages.”

 

“This is ridiculous.”

 

No. Mages.

 

“I know you are predisposed on the matter-“

 

“This has nothing to do with my past, Spymaster.” It did, but not in the way she thought. At least, not entirely. Complicated, complicated, complicated. This whole thing was a mess, but at least now they knew that she wasn’t dead and hopefully didn’t think that she was getting ready to run.

 

“Then pray tell why you insist.”

 

“I don’t want someone else’s magic inside me,” Ella ground out, nails digging into the wood beneath her fingers. “It would be… It is not pleasant.”

 

“They won’t be trying to hurt you.” Everyone else had grown uncomfortable, but she was pressing. Why? Ella felt inclined to press back.

 

“No one’s ever trying to hurt you, Nightingale. It’s always an unfortunate accident, is it not? That dagger in your back? Coincidence, I’m sure.”

 

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment Ella thought she had miss-stepped. But no, the Spymaster was finally silent, and that was worth a slip of the cards.


“I see.” Was all she muttered before Leliana stalked out of the room.

 

“What in… what was that about?” Cullen was bewildered; Ella didn’t blame him. She glanced at the Seeker and wasn’t surprised to find dark eyes fixed on herself. Cassandra knew. Josephine looked less confused than Cullen, but that was to be expected given her skillset. Both she and Cullen didn’t know. Interesting.

 

“I suppose we’ll end there, for today,” said the Ambassador, impressing even Ella with her composure. Assured and in control; Leliana was right to say that she was good. Dangerous as well. Ella silently bumped her up on the threat list. Words could hurt as much as daggers, she knew.

 

“That’s a wonderful idea,” she said. Ella was the first out the door. Made sure to keep her pace level, and tried her utmost not to push past the various faithful. The cold air that greeted her outside the Chantry was most refreshing, and Ella felt at last that she could truly breathe. The serenity was shattered when she caught sight of the Spymaster working diligently in her tent.

 

She tried not to eavesdrop. She really did. But there was something about betrayal and then another casual aside about assassination and that generally was enough to peak her interest. So it was that Ella found herself, hand splayed against a tent pole as she engaged in a heated debate concerning the nature of the Inquisition and its agents.

 

“It’s sloppy.”

 

“It is necessary.”

 

“A waste of resources.”

 

“He is a traitor. People are dead because of him.”

 

“Adding him to the list won’t help. No one just turns. There’s always a reason.”

 

Leliana let out a frustrated huff. “You aren’t going to let this go.”

 

“No, I am not,” replied Ella, crossing her arms.

 

“Fine. I’ll have him brought in. Alive, if possible.”


“I’m glad we could see eye to eye.” Ella affixed an offensively bright smile to her face, and the Spymaster scowled but complied.

 

Ella understood the necessity of death, she really did, but the scenario had seemed off, and she was faced with the sharp and rather unpleasant thought that no one should have to murder a friend. They didn’t know everything; should at least give him the benefit of the doubt.

 

Of course she had to walk right past Solas next, because today hadn’t been difficult enough. She tried to steadfastly ignore him and walk as fast as nonchalance would allow but he called her over, insisting that he examine her hand.

 

“The magic could yet grow, Herald.”

 

Damn him, he knew how to play her fears. So she let him poke and prod at her palm, sitting impatiently on a short wall of crumbling stone until he declared himself satisfied. She did not stand, but instead forced herself to remain and eye him demandingly.

 

“So?”

 

He looked up, surprised. “Pardon?”

 

“What is this oh so valuable information that you have gleaned?”

 

His nose wrinkled. “The mark appears to be stable, for now. I would suggest sleep, but I know you will not listen.”

 

“You learn fast.” Ella slid off the wall and away from the elf, who sighed and went back to his daily activities.

 

She avoided the main entrance to the tavern, slipping around the side of the building and squeezing between rock and woodwork, earning a stinging scrape to her cheek for her troubles before managing to find open ground on the other side.

 

Mounts had come in, recently; proper mounts sent from that lovely horsemaster. She decided that examining some horses would make a perfect excuse for her absence and made her careful way towards the stables.

 

Of course, nothing could ever be that easy. She hadn’t been with the charger ten minutes before the fence creaked behind her, groaning under the weight of what could only be her favorite qunari. She remarked on such observations with a cool voice, hands wandering lightly across the steed’s muzzle as she did so.

 

“Aw, boss, I’m your favorite?”

 

“Favorite qunari. I only know one.” He laughed at that. Loud and rumbling - Bull never did anything by halves.

 

“You’ve been busy today.”


“I’ve been out. I suppose it’s an improvement.”

 

“It is.” He stepped off the fence, much to the rotting wood’s relief, and walked to her side. Careful to maintain a safe distance, she noted and appreciated. “It’s a good horse. What are you gonna name it?”

 

She answered without a thought. “You don’t name horses.”

 

“Why not?” So innocent, so without insistence. Ella held her tongue before anything could slip.

 

“I am sure you could find an answer in your own teachings, qunari.”

 

“But what about your teachings, boss.”

 

“Contrary to popular belief, I am not an espouser of holy writs. I don’t preach.”

 

“Do you pray, though?”

 

“So many questions.”

 

“It’s kinda my job.”

 

“Yes, it is.” Her hands moved down the neck, checking the sleekness of the coat and tugging any tangles from the mane. The Iron Bull stepped closer, just a tad.

 

“What would you name him? If you did name horses?”

 

She was silent, for a time, humming tunelessly as she composed her thoughts. Honesty would not be painful here.

 

“I haven’t given it much thought. Probably something to do with freedom. Or blood. That’s his job. It’s what he’s meant to bring.”

 

“A name that’s a job description?”

 

“You just… don’t name horses. It’s a difficult habit to break.”

 

“Hm. It’s understandable. Too much attachment’s bad most of the time, ‘specially for a war mount.”

 

She grunted, growing sick of the diversion. “Why are you here?”

 

“Cause I said I would be. Tomorrow, remember?” There was a press behind the words, a sort of quiet insistence. Ella sighed.

 

“Yes, I remember. An unpleasant business, that.” She quashed a shudder, instead dusting herself off and turning towards him. “Anything in particular? It’s been a long day.”

 

“Yeah, I bet. You’ve been all over the place. The Tavern, the Chantry, the Tavern again…”

 

“Not now.” Her voice was sharp and toothed, the words steeped in venom and tinged with exhaustion. He paused and caught her eyes with his own.

 

“Sorry.”

 

Ella’s sudden anger dissipated, her hands shaking slightly as the abruptly cut off rage struggled to find an outlet. She forced them to still, sure that he saw it. Of course he saw it. How could he not?


This was stressful, that was all. And it would be over, soon.

 

Close the Breach and run. It might as well be her mantra, for how often her heart jumped to a frenzy and she was forced to repeat it to herself, over and over until finally she found stillness. The sleep thing certainly wasn’t helping.

 

“I have to go help set up tents,” muttered Ella.

 

“Why don’t I put the Chargers on it too? They’re not doing much, right now.”

 

Why was he being so damned considerate? It was making things unreasonably difficult. She muffled her scowl with a delicate smile.

 

“I’m sure that’s not what they’re paid for.”


“They’re here now, and you’re paying ‘em. You’re the boss, boss.”

 

“I think I’ve made it very clear that it is our lovely Ambassador who-“

 

“You mean Josephine?”

 

Ella fought the urge to ground her teeth and won. Barely.

 

“Yes, our Ambassador. One and the same, how good of you to notice.”


“Yep, that’s me. I notice things.”


“Indeed.” Kaffas, the struggle that kept a snarl from her voice was ballad-worthy. Ella’s eyes sought out the many listeners. The witnesses. This was not the place to have this conversation, and she was sure that he knew it. So why did he insist on-

 

“You know, this Inquisition thing is all well and good,” he said, reaching up to scratch a horn; the epitome of nonchalance, and she had to admit it was damn impressive the way he could play casual, so uninvolved that it teetered on forced but never quite crossed the line. “But you don’t have an Inquisitor.”

 

“I assumed that would be the Seeker,” replied Ella, the slightest confused and working her damnest not to show it. It had been a while since sleep had eluded her for this long, and teachings were beginning to swim and swirl at the forefront of her mind. What’s the play, find the play. Ella pushed it back impatiently; she knew her job, knew how to work.

 

“Huh. I woulda thought you’d go for Red.” So fucking innocent but what’s the play.

 

“Our Spymaster works behind a curtain. If she led, it would be from beyond a veil. Through others. The Seeker is strong. She is a holy figure. People flock to her because she practically radiates faith.

 

“So you’re saying that a holy figure should lead?”

 

“No.” Ella clenched her fist around the sputtering mark. What a massive tell, she really needed to remedy that. “Although it does help. The Seeker…”

 

“Cassandra.” An aside, how quaint.


“The Seeker is in an optimal position, given the circumstances. Close ties to the late Divine, a history of strength and faith, and the attitude to prove it. Distant nobility, royalty, even.”

 

“You have good intel.”

 

“She tells you, if you just ask her.” True, but her intel also happened to be exceptional. Or at least, it had been. Ella wasn’t about to admit that, though.

 

“What about Cullen?”

 

“The Commander doesn’t need that. He’s lost enough as it is. He’d flail without some structure.”

 

“He leads your forces.”


“He leads the Inquisition forces within a chain of command. It’s the illusion of order, but order nonetheless.”

 

“You and Cullen having a rough patch?”

 

She tried to catch his eye, but he wasn’t even looking at her, damn him. Just staring out into the fields, looking over the men and women eagerly donning patchwork uniforms and hefting swords made by the dozen. Ella pressed a thumb to her palm, intrigued by the resultant pain.

 

“The Commander-” This wordplay was growing insufferable. “-is simply irate about the state of our new Templar compatriots.”

 

“You start to talk all fancy.”

 

“The Iron-“

 

“It’s adorable.”

 

“The Iron Bull I don’t think that is quite relevant.”

 

“I think it is, though.”


“You talk too much.”

 

“You don’t talk enough.”

 

“So says the spy.”

 

“How you doing, boss? Honestly?”

 

She accidently met his eye, then, and was forced to tear her gaze away in order to maintain her decorum. Truly, he was masterful. She was tempted, very tempted, to fall into that obvious invitation of friendship, of camaraderie; but he was a spy, and a damn good one at that. His very title meant deception, and titles were not to be taken lightly. A name is everything, and yet… and yet. Honesty like that is hard to fake, so there must have been some truth to his words. Even if it was tempered by falsehood, it was better than nothing. Ella’s eyes fluttered shut as the mark flared once more, and she bit down a hiss of pain. It was growing more frequent, and she didn’t need the apostate’s aptitude with magic to know that to be a very-bad-thing. Close the breach and run. Easier said than done, perhaps, but a girl could dream.

 

A girl could dream, but she’d been burned before. Play it safe and close to the chest.

 

“I’m fine. Truly.” She flashed a weary smile and lightly placed her palm along the wooden fence, shielding the mark from view. “Just tired, is all. I’ll be better once we close the breach.”

 

Which was true. It was all true, and yet not, because if he was going to play that way then she was more than ready to reciprocate. Wrap the falsehoods in truth, it’ll go down easier.

 

He didn’t completely buy it, but it was never her intention to win him over entirely; she was reasonably sure that such a feat would be impossible. He sighed, leaning on the fence once more.

 

“Yeah, boss, I think we’ll all be better once the big-ass hole in the sky is gone.”

Notes:

Long chapter... is long? It feels disjointed, but so is Ella I guess.

Comments and kudos are appreciated. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 18: The Breach

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

The Templars had all arrived, save a few stragglers. Meaning that it was time. Ella threw a cloak over a motley menagerie of knives strapped to her person; last time the rift had spat out a pride demon, and Ella wanted to be ready for anything of that sort. Of course, there wasn’t much that a dagger could do against the Breach itself.

 

Outside the wind was cruel, a force that carried flecks of snow in hypnotic swirls, slicing at any exposed skin and leading Ella to throw up her hood and fuss with the scarf at her neck: the same worn and threadbare piece of fabric she had owned before this whole mess. She couldn’t bear to part with it.

 

Stepping into the already muddied snow brought her to the attention of Solas, who appeared to have been waiting outside of her little cabin. Odd. She forced a smile, Cole’s words coming to the forefront of her mind before she managed to push them back. He helped. It was disconcerting, disorientating, even, to stand before this mage and hate him for what he was even though she knew that he had helped and that he couldn’t help his own abilities, even if he wanted to, and what a distressingly familiar-

 

Breathe.

 

Not now. Not today. Her gaze was drawn to the Breach before it snapped back to the approaching apostate. She just needed to maintain the rapidly deteriorating shitshow that was Ella for one more day.

 

“Good morning, Herald.”

 

“To you as well.”

 

“It has come to my attention that-“ don’t do it “-even with the scarcity of resources at your disposal-“ don’t you dare say “-you are refusing to allow those mages who have found their way to Haven a role in closing the Breach.” Holy fucking-

 

Ella might have screamed, but there was always the small matter of propriety. She settled for a strained smile, couldn’t find anything better.

 

“Although your concern is gratifying, I am certain that the Templar’s abilities will be sufficient.”

 

“I am familiar with the Fade. It is my study. At least allow me to-“

 

Don’t touch me never touch me don’t

 

“It’s simply unnecessary, Solas,” she said, smile turning apologetic as her stomach began to writhe and the skin beneath her collar itched, even burned. “We wouldn’t want to create more risk than is already inherent-“

 

“Your Templars don’t understand the Breach. They require a guiding hand, as do you.”

 

They are not my Templars.

 

“I didn’t need your help last time.”

 

“Yes, and you almost died.”

 

“An unfortunate accident, sure to be remedied by the presence of so many experienced Templars.”

 

Solas flung his hands in the air, cool demeanor shattering. “You cannot simply bash your head against the Breach until it relents! This is beyond their skill.”

 

Her head hurt. Hurt like a nail between her eyes. You could kill a man that way, she knew. Driving pain, piercing through flesh and bone and

 

Breathe.

 

The pain was still there, and Solas glaring daggers through her flesh was not helping matters. A growl rose in her throat and she just barely strangled it, the noise escaping as a sharp exhale. Stepping forward was not something she remembered doing, but Ella reigned in her control as she started towards the elf, regaining her composure in a ripple of stone across her demeanor. Truth? She pondered on that delicately. Solas was surely hiding something, but near everyone was. He probably wasn’t going to hurt her, no matter how much her addled senses insisted this was the case. Half-truth, then.

 

“I am…” Not afraid, fear is the enemy, I am never afraid. “Concerned that the excess magic would attract the attention of unwanted guests.”

 

He took a half-step back, some of the anger draining from his face. Cole had told the truth, not that he had reason to lie. Solas certainly knew something about the whole mess.

 

“Herald,” he began, and she almost snorted. He used titles, the same as herself, to stay apart. An apostate, most certainly, staying aloof and unattached just in case he needed to drop everything and run. “There will be more soldiers, this time. Certainly they can protect you.”

 

She kept her face from twisting, restricting herself to a polite smile. The soldiers couldn’t help with him, that much she knew. Not unless they managed to kill her, and that didn’t seem likely. He was smart, he could play at being her for long enough. She kept her face from twisting, but the mark flared and she barely stifled a curse as it seared through her palm, sparking maddeningly.

 

“Herald?” His eyes darted to her palm and back to what she hoped was the pleasant demeanor of her face. Solas wasn’t stupid, unfortunately. She could see it in the flicker of his eyes, the ripple of his face when he was thinking, and he was always thinking. If The Iron Bull had not been Hisraad, had not been Ben Hassrath, then surely Solas would be a higher threat. A mage. A smart mage. The Chantry’s worst nightmare. Her palm flickered again, drawing a hiss from between clenched teeth. Solas’ mouth pursed into a grim line.

 

“They cannot reach you, at least not through the mark. The force would destroy them during transference.” His tone slowed, words picking their way down a treacherous slope. “An experienced mage could ensure it, however. I could mask your presence, in a way.”

 

He would not see her. She would be so bright but he wouldn’t see-

 

“Are you-“ She stopped herself, forced the hope and the breathless wonder from her voice as one draws poison from a wound. “Are you sure?”

 

“Reasonably so, yes.”

 

“But I’ll be so bright, how-“ Caught it, stopped it, get yourself in line.

 

“Weaker spirits may be drawn to the Breach, but they will be destroyed by the force of the mark and the suppression of the Templars. I can attempt to disperse your magic so that anything large enough to get through would not be able to detect it over their own presence.”

 

It sounded like a miracle, like a damn deus ex machina. Too good to be true. There’s no such thing as a free kindness. She wouldn’t question it, though. Couldn’t, without her words tumbling out like rocks in an avalanche. Her mark flickered once more, but the pain was less. At this point, she’d take what she could get.

 

“Alright,” said Ella with a nod.

 

“Then you will allow me to-“

 

“Yes. Do your magic shit just… keep me hidden.”

 

“Very well.”

 

And that was it. He was off to do whatever it was that Solas did and she was off towards the Chantry to hopefully ward off an ‘I told you so’ from the Spymaster and a ‘How dare you’ from the Commander. Both should be fun.

 

With that exciting prospect in mind, it really wasn’t surprising that her feet dragged her in the opposite direction. What was surprising was that she ended up at the stables, with the horse that was supposed to be hers but she was planning on leaving behind. She’d tried to drag pets through the wilderness before, and it never ended well.

 

The horse, which she’d been informed was a Ferelden Forder, was alarmingly affectionate for a war mount. The chestnut nuzzled everything in reach, mouthing at her hair when she got too close and her fingers when she tried to shove him away.

 

It. It away.

 

Ah shit.

 

The familiar groan of wood alerted her to The Iron Bull. “I thought you said you’re not supposed to get attached.”

 

Ah shit.

 

“It just likes attention,” she said with an even voice and a practiced smile. “I’m trying to brush it down but he keeps nuzzling me.”

 

“He just likes you. He doesn’t rub against anyone else like that.”

 

“I never even see it,” she muttered, turning to face Bull, who had somehow slipped off the fence without a sound. That was… unnerving. “How could it like me?”

 

“You treat him right. You been around horses a lot?”

 

“It almost sounds like you’re prying.”

“Me? Pry?”

 

“I used to. Be around horses, I mean.” She turned back to its mane, brush in hand. “Haven’t in a while, though.”

 

“Hmph. Gonna close the Breach, soon.”

 

Her hand stuttered before she stilled it. “That’s the plan.”

 

“They’re probably looking for you.” He said it gently, and she felt like it should have rankled her, made her feel infantilized but it didn’t. It just made her feel… tired.


“They can come find me, if they like. Besides-“ She glanced at the sky- “They need time to prepare. We aren’t marching up, yet.”

 

“Needed some time to yourself? With your horse?”

 

“I assumed that discretion would have been lesson number one in spy school.”

 

“Yeah, but with you it’s not like it would help. Might as well be up front.”

 

She couldn’t help being the slightest bit flattered. “I suppose.”

 

“You don’t have to answer.”

 

“That’s why I’m not answering.”

 

“Your hand’s on your dagger.”

 

She glanced down, and so it was. Ella forced both hands back to the task of brushing her… the horse and ignoring the gentle way he… it nuzzled at her neck.

 

“Do you plan on being there?” she asked absentmindedly.

 

“What, the Breach? For the closing ceremony or whatever?”

 

“Yes.”

“Of course.” He put a little too much feeling into the words and it made her twitch. That almost felt like… a slip. His next words were brisk, more casual. “I’m your bodyguard, remember? Can’t have you climbing up another Pride demon.”

 

Kaffas, has Teapot told everyone about that? It was one time. One time.”

 

“Yeah, one time. One, hilarious time.”

 

“I assure you that nothing of the sort will be happening.”

 

“Aw, too bad. Sounds fucking badass.”

 

Ella sighed, stepping away from the horse and dropping the course brush into a box. “I suppose I should go to the Chantry, now.”

 

“No point in putting it off.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Do you want company?”

 

Ella turned to glance at him. He was playing open and honest, kind and unassuming. His stance said ‘no pressure’ and his eyes said ‘I won’t hurt you’ but Ella could do the same and mean none of it. Still, it was tempting. He was so large that eyes were naturally drawn to him, and in comparison she’d seem small and not quite worth noticing. No desperate prayers, no pleading eyes and cracking voices.

 

Fuck it. She’d be gone soon, anyway.

 

“Sure.”

 

He grinned at her in a manner that just managed not to seem triumphant and started off, taking wide and easy steps up the well-worn path, not seeming to pay the gawkers any mind. Ella followed in his shadow, head down, hood up, legs moving at a light jog to keep up with his gait. The anonymity was a balm, a brief respite from the piercing stare of a hundred eyes. Bliss.

 

Ella took his hand when the Chantry doors closed behind them.

 

“Thank you,” she muttered.

 

“Any time.”

 

She pulled away quickly, pulling back the hood. Long and assured steps, head held high, her Herald mask pulled tightly across her face.

 

It was time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It burned. Like ice and fire, the sharp crack of a whip and the dull hiss of a brand it burned.

 

Last time Ella had been half-unconscious, the lull of injury pulling at her mind and dulling all sensation. Last time the Breach had been so overbearing, so all-being, so everything and anything that she could barely feel the desperate pounding of her heart.

 

The Templars made it quiet. The magic made her loud. The pain was sharp and overwhelming.

 

Breathe breathe breathe breathe

 

Her lungs seemed to rattle, wracked with laborious breath as she struggled to gasp. The Breach crackled, and she couldn’t hold back a cry as her hand responded and she nearly fell to her knees, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes with the effort of staying upright.

 

No weakness, no fear. She was not afraid. I am not afraid.

 

The fabric of the world was shredded, here, little wisps of thread that drifted in a windless sky. She plucked at each individual strand, struggling to weave them back together with hands that shook and eyes that blurred at the burning that seemed to sizzle and hiss through her veins and rip at her lungs as her legs shook and everything hurts but-

 

Breathe

 

It had been worse, and it will be better. Soon.

 

The last thread fell into place, and she felt a guiding hand that she did not think on for the risk of breaking down but that she later knew to be Solas. A cool wash of magic that only exhausted her already depleted will and something snapped shut and suddenly she was falling.

 

Someone caught her. There was cheering, people were happy and so she needed to be happy too because have to blend in, can’t stand out, safety in the shadows. She struggled briefly against weights that weren’t there but felt real before admitting a weary defeat and sinking into arms that seemed much more comfortable than anything else at that moment. The shadows can suck it.

Notes:

I don't know how magic works so this is all made up. Yay

Wow, what a lovely journey. Breach vanquished, the end. They all lived happily ever after.

Chapter 19: What Goes Up

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

When Ella awoke, she was warm and comfortable. An ache or two, perhaps, but better than she had felt in a long while. That Between amidst sleep and the waking world soothed her senses and led her to curl in upon herself, under the soft warm of the blankets.

 

Wrong.

 

She started forward, sitting up with eyes wide open, as she tried to find her bearings in a world that insisted on spinning. A hand pressed at her shoulder, pushing her down so that she lay flat once more, eyes still wide.

 

“Relax, boss. They just patched you up.”

 

“Why are you here?” Her voice was hoarse and her throat raw, like she had been screaming. Her head still swam with weariness and she shut her eyes tight before forcing them open again. The world refused to clear.

 

“Carried you down. Was just leaving, actually.”

 

“Wonderful,” she muttered, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead. “I was unconscious?”

 

“A little. Solas said it was to be expected, rush of magic or some crap.”

 

“Is the Breach…” No fear. She reigned in her voice, forced the uncertainty to a professional interest. “Is the Breach closed?”

 

“Solas seems to think so, yeah.”

 

“That’s…” A breathy laughed escaped her and she winced at a twinge in her palm. “Good.”

 

“Good,” he said with a mild exasperation. “Yeah, I’d say it’s pretty fucking good boss.”

 

“Where is everyone?”

 

“Celebrating, probably. That thing has been hanging over their heads for a while.”

 

“Hilarious, as always.”

 

“Hey, I aim to please.”

 

“You should join them.” Ella threw the blankets from her person and gingerly swiveled to rest her feet on the floor. The Iron Bull tilted his head, the action accented by his horns.

 

“You coming too, boss?”

 

“I…” She pressed a foot down, relieved to find that it did not hurt as much as she would have expected. The hurt must not have been of a physical kind and… there went the relief. “I suppose a couple of drinks couldn’t hurt.”

 

“Are you coming, boss?” Sharper, that time. Ella glanced up but found that she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Sentimental.

 

“It’s not really your business, qunari.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look, you want to run? Run. But don’t dick around about it.”

 

“I haven’t the slightest inkling of-“

 

“Don’t fuck with me, boss. You’re not fooling anyone.”

 

“If you are implying that-“

 

“I’m not ‘implying’. We aren’t dancing, alright? This is me, The Iron Bull, telling you, the boss, that if you’re running away you should at least do it honestly.”

 

“You have no right,” she hissed, hands clenched at her sides as she stumbled to her feet. Then the stillness, the composition, the don’t let them see the- “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

 

“I’m not asking- you are so fucking-“ He sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I am not judging you. No one is judging you. You have a right to leave. Breach is closed, and I’m hoping that you’re not the kind of person who’d just leave those rifts open to spit out demons and shit. Just like I’m hoping that you’re not the kind of person who could just leave without at least one last drink. Not without some regret, at least.”

 

The anger lost direction, and Ella felt it fall away. He was right, and that was the infuriating thing. She had grown attached against her best interests, and now she needed to carve the Inquisition from herself so she could finally walk free. A drink wouldn’t hurt. Couldn’t hurt, right?

 

“Just tonight. Just a drink,” she said softly. There was a quirk at the corner of his mouth as if he couldn’t help a smile.

 

Alarm bells. First fake, in her mind, because if she didn’t play this safe and close to her chest than she would never be able to cut them off. She shoved those in a box, because it was something she already knew, and was familiar with. I know my job.

 

Then real. Clattering against the ears and she tried to push them into a box but they just kept coming, and her eyes met Bull’s for just a moment, her confusion on the brink of swift action mirrored in his face, a teetering moment where time hung on a thread before it snapped under the weight of reality and suddenly the world was chaos.

 

Knives and belts and boots and gloves and a cloak over the mess, barely noticing when Bull helped and hardly caring how easily he was able to assist without quite interfering as people started to scream outside. Both pushed out the door to a bustling panic, with people running and rallying and Cullen already shouting orders, already on his way to the gates.

 

“Forces coming over the hills.”

 

“Under what banner?”

 

“None.”

 

None?

 

A thousand pinpricks of light on the hills, like stars but not quite because red hot burning and Ella almost fell apart. A hand on her back and she breathed, steadied herself and drew the mask tight. She needed to be the Herald, and so she held her head high and tried her damnest to keep her face from twisting as she took quick but measured steps towards Cullen.

 

“What’s the plan, Commander?” she asked, tone light and airy as if she had asked him the time of day. He turned to her with a stoic demeanor excepting a wrinkle in his nose.

 

“Haven is no fortress. We cannot sustain a siege, so we must go on the offensive. There are trebuchets at key areas around the-“

 

A struggle outside the gates: magic, Ella could almost smell it. Impacts, muffled explosions, and then silence.

 

“If someone could open this I’d appreciate it!”

 

That accent was Tevinter. Highborn Tevinter. Ella’s mask slipped, but she managed to catch it just as her face began to crumple in on itself, fastening it back even tighter than before. With a glance at Cullen, who seemed just as confused as her, she sighed, stalked forward, and threw open the glorified plywood that currently constituted the gates of Haven.

 

He looked young, handsome, and exhausted. Tattered and fraying at the edges as he leaned against his staff, bodies of his foes scattered about him. Impressive, was her first thought. Her second was quickly swept away in an unrelenting torrent of confusing and often conflicting emotion that threatened to overwhelm her mind. She could barely listen, nonetheless speak as the man struggled forth with his belated warning.

 

Dorian Pavus. She must have heard such a name before. Pavus, certainly. Not a Laetan, then, and the magic ruled out Soporati. For some reason she doubted that a Magister would wander this far from his estate. Altus. A fucking Altus. There was a hand at her back again, and she couldn’t help but lean into it. No one seemed to notice, which was a small blessing. When Pavus pointed, Ella’s eyes followed out of reflex as her mind pounced upon yet another name she recognized.

 

“Calpernia?’ Ella muttered, not quite meaning to. The vint’s eyes flashed to hers, and she just barely resisted a shudder.

 

“You know her?”

 

“Not important.” Put it in a box and-

 

She couldn’t quite remember where she had heard the name, but she was certain the knowledge would not help them.

 

“Mages. Venatori.” Ella nearly spat the word, and Pavus crooked a brow.

 

“I see you are familiar with-“

 

“More coming,” said Bull from behind her, shifting to loose his battle-axe. Ella nodded, breath escaping her in heavy gasps as she unsheathed her daggers and twirled them expertly in her hand for no reason other than that she just needed to do something even if it was so useless and-

 

Herald. You are the Herald. “Cullen, have the men load the trebuchets. I’ll cover them with Bull and-“ her eyes sought out who might be closest “-Cassandra. And Vivienne. Solas will provide cover for the soldiers at the trebuchet. Mages need to provide cover for skirmishers. Templars in a defensive perimeter around Haven, with a few at each trebuchet.”

 

Pavus lurched forward, and Ella just knew he was about to raise some objection even though the man was clearly spent. Fucking Altus. She whipped around to face him, eyes narrowed and not entirely focused on his face because there was a sort of breaking point for her when it came to vints and she figured it would not be wise to test that limit with an army at their doorstep.

 

“You. Can you heal?”

 

He blinked bemusedly before answering. “I have a rudimentary understanding of-“

 

“What’s your specialization?”

 

“I specialize in the arcane-“

 

“One word.”

 

“Necromancy,” he said, crossing his arms. Ella felt her eye twitch.

 

“Great… that’s just…. Rudimentary understanding you said?”

 

“I don’t-“

 

“Stay back. Help the civilians get to the Chantry.”

 

And there he went, being as predictably dramatic as once might expect and surging forward with a hand at his hip, the other adjusting the grip of his staff. The man drew his face into a haughty front of superiority that Ella had often seen before, and she chose not to let him speak, instead drawing her dagger between them.

 

“This is not Tevinter. And those are not Northern Templars. I don’t know you, and I most certainly don’t trust you. So cover the civilians and stay in the Chantry when they’re all inside, with the knowledge that if you make a false move I will not hesitate to strike you down.”

 

Ella saw the beginnings of a sneer on his face, but he held it back in favor of a raised chin and a cocky smile. “Hah! I’d like to see you try.”

 

Red threatened the edges of her vision and blood pounded against her ears as she shifted forward, daggers twisting in her hands and the mage’s eyes widening a fraction as he took a step back. A hand fell on her wrist, forcing her blade down, and Ella whirled around to snarl at Bull.

 

“Boss. We got forces incoming. Now isn’t the time.”

 

“Did you hear what he-“

 

“Did you hear what I said? Mages. Coming. Right now.”

 

“I am going to-“

 

“Fight.”

 

“But-“

 

Now, boss.” With that he practically flung her forward, and she stumbled a pace or two before relenting with a frustrated growl. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a weary, thoroughly confused Pavus and she pointed at him with a dagger.

 

“Help them fall back.” He gave her a terse nod before limping into Haven, leaning heavily on his staff. Ella almost rolled her eyes; fucking vints and their dramatics. He couldn’t even walk.

 

She didn’t spare it much thought before a fireball blossomed in the distance and she darted to the side, barely avoiding it. Another streak of light disintegrated in a brilliant flash against a barrier, and behind her she heard Solas shift, staff humming in his hands. Over the ridge Ella could barely make out movement in the darkness, a stirring of shadows as the onslaught reared before them, the crest of a wave that came crashing down on Haven with little ceremony.

 

Behind her Cullen rallied the men, gave orders, served as a beacon of stability in the writhing tide of battle. Ella silently thanked him for that; she would not be able to fulfill that role and fight at the same time. A steadying breath and she leapt forward, blades bare and lip curled up into a snarl.

 

Her first target was an errant spellcaster who had wandered close enough to pass the barriers woven in the sky. Close enough for Ella to stick to the shadows, encircle and approach him from behind. He noticed her too late, and she dodged a clumsy swing of his staff before sinking her dagger in his throat, ripping it free with a hideous squelch and an errant spurt of crimson as the body fell.

 

One down. Nine hundred ninety nine thousand to go, right?

 

Ducking a blade and sidestepping the deadly glimmer of an axe as two men approached her in an attempt to flank, Ella caught the next swordfall with the edge of her dagger, wrenching it out of reach before lunging forward and drawing both blades across his throat in a flourish, twisting around the body as it fell and pushing it towards the axe-wielding brute as he brought down another blow. The axe dug itself in the dying man, flesh and blood sucking at the metal as he struggled to free it for perhaps half a second before Ella’s dagger found his throat and, consequently, tore through it with no more ceremony than futile attempt at a scream that was the gurgle of blood in his mouth.

 

A sickening crunch of bone and Ella saw Bull strike down a mage with his obscenely large axe.

 

“I’m at five. You?” he called with a blood-spattered grin. She returned the smile, eyes darting towards a figure lurking behind him, the glint of drawn steel in its hands.

 

“Three,” she replied, shaking out a blade before sprinting towards him. “But it’s about to be four; take a knee.”

 

The fact that he did as she asked with no hesitation was surprising, but she shoved that shock into a box to be examined later. All that mattered in this moment was the pounding of her feet against the ground, the whistle of her daggers through the air, and her foe who too late saw her intention. Ella leapt as she neared Bull, using his knee as a springboard to launch her over the qunari and onto his assailant, kicking the man’s weapon away and jamming a dagger into his skull in one fell motion, dragging him to the ground as she landed in a low crouch. Bull rose slowly, good eye roaming the field.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No problem.”

 

The sharp hiss of magefire had them spinning into action once more, a bloody trail of bodies soon strewn across Haven’s doorstep in their desperate attempt to hold against the onslaught. Ella soon lost herself in the fog of battle, twisting in and out of the fray with a lifetime’s ease and trusting her time-sharpened senses to guide her in claiming life after life after life.

 

Still, it was not enough. The enemy was too many, and Haven too exposed. They were forced to retreat one agonizing step at a time, until their backs were nearly pressed against Haven’s gate. Even as they fought behind them the town was being swarmed. The trebuchet stopped firing, and Ella rallied weary troops to retake it, a mage who took her distraction as an opportunity finding his head cleaved in two by Bull’s axe. Ella started as blast of ice grazed her cheek, glancing up to see Bull rushing past her to the trebuchet.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No problem.”

 

One debt settled, then.

 

The trebuchet was overrun, and Ella nearly died several times in the desperate bid to retake it. Then the struggle to keep the damned thing as it was prepped, endless waves upon waves of nameless faces that sought her life and instead found their deaths. Her hand was slick with blood, and she could feel dry crusts of brown hardening in the cracks and pores of her face. Still they came. Still they fell.

 

Stillness, when the stone was launched. A breathless pause before it tumbled into a cliff and for one horrid moment Ella thought they had missed. Failed. A weight in her stomach, on her lungs like drowning but then the avalanche started and-

 

So many lives, wasted. Extinguished like the torches that flickered out in the deadly flurry of snow and ice. Better them than you. It had always been that way.

 

A ragged cheer arose among those men who survived, hoarse and battle-worn but still standing. Ella’s eyes met Bull’s, and she couldn’t help but return his grin. Couldn’t help but see the way it fell. The way his eye left her face, the way his expression twisted into slow, dawning horror.

 

Time slowed, and she saw the fire take the trebuchet. Fire that wasn’t fire; sick and putrid, festering with corruption. Saw it near her, threaten to overtake her as her body reacted too slow too slow-

 

A hand grabbed the back of her armor and wrenched her out of harms way. She could feel the heat on her face, see the sickly embers in the fire’s wake but she was… the hand was still at her neck, and she glanced up to see Bull.

 

She had almost died. She had almost died and Bull had come closer to the fire in order to save her. To pull her out of the way. My fault my fault my-

 

“Boss.” He spoke intently, and she managed to focus on his face. “No problem.”

 

No…

 

“No problem,” she echoed, albeit shakily. With a grim smile he clapped her on the back before turning to glance at the motherfucking dragon.

 

“I think we’re fucked.”

 

Ella managed a hollow laugh. “Yeah, you could say that again.”

 

“Boss, I think we’re fucked.”

Notes:

This isn't particularly well edited, but I was tired of staring at it. Sorry for any glaring errors.

Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, and so on.

Chapter 20: Against the Sea of Red

Notes:

Hey, long time no see! Sorry about the lateness; this chapter gave me a lot of trouble.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

They made their way to the gates, dodging bouts of magefire and blasts of ice and lightning as Bull kicked open a door for the smith and they hurried past the stables, the horse bucking and whinnying in its paddock.

 

The horse.

 

Fuck fuck fuck

 

Stupid sentimental piece of- Ella ran to the paddock and threw open the gate –you knew this would happen it always happens to idiot why are you- thrusting a hand through the reigns she ignored the way the leather bit and bled into her hand as Nuzzle started to bolt –you named it you actually named it I can’t believe- forced his head down, with sheer will she bullied him into following and he, being the war mount he was, obeyed after a moment of frenzied hesitation –risking everything for a horse are you insane how-

 

She ran a hand through Nuzzle’s mane, forcing herself to calm as she stared into a too-wide eye. In a fluid motion she found herself on his back, sitting straight and proud astride the chestnut even as The Iron Bull shot her a questioning and mildly amused look.

 

Urging Nuzzle to a gallop she loosed a throwing knife and flung it towards a mage, catching him in the neck and felling him mid-gesture. Another found a dagger in her ribs as she raised her staff, stumbling to the ground with robes stained crimson. A few strides brought Ella through the gate where she drew back the reigns and brought Nuzzle to a skittering halt next to Cullen. Behind her the remains of their army filtered through, panicked farmers turned soldiers dragging screaming wounded through the gate as Cullen urged them on, finally ordering it closed and barred as soon as it seemed that everyone had made it through. Not that it mattered.

 

All around her Ella could hear the sounds of war, the discordant melody of battle that jarred the senses and threw all into disarray. It hummed and tugged at the back of her mind alongside the tenuous yet never ending thrum of red lyrium. She could hear wood groaning and snapping under the sheer force of wave upon wave of the enemy, could smell the salt of sweat and taste the metal tang of blood on her tongue. Her grip on the reigns began to slip, and she caught herself. Her grip on her focus began to slip, and she almost fell.

 

“Herald?”

 

Her eyes met Cullen’s, she saw him standing strong against the impossible odds, wavering only when she herself seemed uncertain. She was their leader now, dammit. Their fucking Herald. Deep within she stretched her focus taught, painfully forced her limbs into swift assured movements as she drew a mask of surety across her face.

 

“What’s the situation?” Not the slightest tremor in her voice.

 

“Not good,” he said grimly. “Any time you might have gained us-“

 

“Lost to the dragon, yeah.” She pressed the heel of one hand into her forehead, the other tightening its grip on the reigns. “Defensible position?”

 

“The Chantry should be able to hold against that beast, but only for as long as we can defend it.”

 

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it, just make sure everyone gets to the Chantry. I’ll meet you there.”

 

His answer was a brisk nod and suddenly he was off, barking orders and rallying men. Ella glanced about, seeing that Bull, Cassandra, and Vivienne were still with her and gesturing for them to follow.

 

Ella had never liked fighting on horseback; she’d always felt a sort of nervous anger at being forced to rely on something else, at losing control over the few things she had left. Still, she made the best of a bad situation, using her height to survey the sad excuse for a battlefield and nudging Nuzzle to leap over any obstacles that might be in her way. She needed to be a beacon, something for people to look towards and find hope, because Ella knew too well that oftentimes the only thing that kept you alive and fighting to stay that way was hope. Poisonous, treacherous hope.

 

She didn’t want to waste her throwing knives on hopeless targets and there wasn’t a particularly plausible method of stabbing from horseback, and as such few found themselves at the end of her daggers. Occasionally Ella would actually stand and leap from Nuzzle, burying her blades deep into some spell caster’s neck before rolling off the falling body and grabbing the reins to hoist herself back into the saddle once more, so to speak. Nuzzle wasn’t actually wearing a saddle; it made things a little more difficult, but she managed.

 

They saved everyone they could, but every step through Haven was a struggle against an endless mob of red-tinged monstrosities. It was impossible to predict from where the next blow would fall, and though Vivienne’s barriers helped they were not foolproof. Cassandra caught a fireball to the side, her armor deflecting the brunt of the blow but her stifled cry and the unmistakable stench of smoldering flesh left Ella spitting with rage, barely hearing Bull’s curse as she leapt from Nuzzle’s back once more, taking to long strides before loosing a dagger, turning only when she heard the gurgling slump of a downed foe.

 

She slid to a now kneeling Cassandra, pressing a hand against the festering wound as Bull knocked away a blast of lightning with the Seeker’s dropped shield.

 

“I am fine. You must go, I will-“

 

“Catch up?” Ella shook her head fiercely, sliding an arm under Cassandra’s shoulders and lifting her to her feet. “You’ve done enough already, and it’s high time I walked; take Nuzzle.”

 

“…Nuzzle?”

 

“She means the horse.” Bull grunted as he ripped his axe free from yet another body. They just keep coming. “The horse with no name who apparently had a name all along.”

 

“Are you joking?” Ella scowled as she helped a limping Cassandra onto the horse. “Now?

 

“Though it is infinitely amusing, I would appreciate it if you two stopped bickering like a married couple.”

 

“Sorry ma’am.”

 

“I thought her name was Viv?”

 

Herald.”

 

“…sorry ma’am.”

 


Ella walked through the Chantry doors dragging a bloodied Threnn with one hand and leading a wild-eyed Nuzzle with the other, the click of the horse’s hooves on the cold stone floor echoing eerily through the empty ceilings and the near silent prayers as survivors clutched at each other and muttered quiet platitudes. Cassandra slumped in the saddle, beginning to sway just as the door slammed shut behind them, frantic hands heaving anything and everything to bar the iron wrought wood. Already Ella’s keen ears caught the scrape and slam of the enemy working its way inside.

 

We’re going to die.

 

She didn’t really see Roderick fall –her eyes weren’t quite in focus, and everything slower than a battle’s pace seemed blurry- but she did see how the ‘vint caught him mid-stumble. Ella stiffened as they neared, and relaxed by increments as the mage dragged Roderick to a nearby wall.

 

“He’s a brave man. He stood against the Venatori.”

 

“Briefly. I am no Templar.”

 

Ella pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead, forcing the world into focus once more. “Have there been any demands?” Her voice sounded hoarse and ragged. She did not like it, and tried to swallow it away.

 

“No,” said Cullen. “They haven’t issued demands or terms for surrender.”

 

“Perfect,” Ella muttered, scratching at a wrist for a few seconds before she could force herself to stop.

 

“There’s no bargaining with the mages either,” offered the ‘vint helpfully. “This Elder One takes what it wants. From what I gather in Redcliffe, it marched all this way to take your Herald.”

 

Ella might have screamed. Fortunately she’d learned that such a reaction was often futile. So instead she stood, still and silent, stared holes into the wooden pillars holding up those high vaulted ceilings where nothing roamed but unanswered prayers and the pleas of the condemned. Of those that she had condemned. Again and again and again and again and-

 

“He was never going to stop; would have just found something else. This isn’t Falerius. This isn’t like that.” Though she didn’t turn to look, there was no mistaking Cole’s soft voice. “Envy wasn’t right. Screams that aren’t mine but should be. Their hurts were not yours, are not yours. Not your fault.”

 

No one paid him any mind, and Ella suspected that they could neither see nor hear the boy, which was a relief. She didn’t want anyone knowing about that. Still, the words settled something in her chest, lifted a sort of tension from her gut that left her free to speak once more.

 

“If he wants me then he can have me.”

 

“Herald I-“

 

“Ella are you seri-“

 

Boss don’t be a-“

 

“It’s not like I’m worth much now, anyway,” Ella continued, heedless of their words. Her own voice seemed distant and cold, calculated as it usually was when she needed to separate herself from the cause and cost. “The Breach has been closed, and that was the major threat. We have talented mages, I’m sure the Rifts can be sealed through some other means.”

 

“You are not a thing, boss.”

 

She looked at Bull quizzically. “I never said-“

 

“Yes, you did.”

 

“Whatever the case.” The ‘vint cut in, voice a haughty drawl that naturally grated on her nerves. “I don’t think it will matter. This ‘Elder One’ is merciless; I doubt he’ll leave survivors either way.”

 

We’re going to die.

 

“There must be something,” Ella growled, hand reaching for her wrist once more. “There’s always something.”

 

“That avalanche was the only thing that seemed to slow them down,” said Cullen. Ella felt her expression turn the slightest bit feral, but at this point couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it.

 

“Then we’ll make another one. Bury them all.”

 

“We’d bury Haven as well, but…” said Cullen slowly. “At least we can choose where and how we die.” Ella nodded, furiously scratching at her wrist, nails biting into old scars, cutting at gnarled ridges. Pavus started forward, mustache quivering.

 

“No, that is unacceptable. As fitting an end as it might be, I did not come all this way just to be suffocated under the weight of a collapsing Chantry.” A sharp pain, and Ella knew that she had drawn blood; warm and heavy, beading along her palm and swelling at her fingers and-

All this way,” she snarled. “You came all this way? From where, if I may be so bold? Oh dear, the poor little Altus, walked all this way from daddy’s estate. Left behind a life of comfort, hm? I’m sure it must have been so difficult for you. Well, here’s something they don’t teach you in the Minrathous fucking Circle: life doesn’t owe you shit. It doesn’t care about your fancy titles and it certainly doesn’t care how far you walked to fall face first into your grave. At least you’ll have a grave. All this fucking way, just to die. I never even got the collar off. I was so fucking close but I never-“

 

Her hand bumped against his chest. She’d backed him against a wall, and yet she couldn’t recall having neared him in the first place. Breathe.

 

She did. Forced herself to don’t turn your back don’t turn her back on him, to rip the helpless anger from her body like gangrenous flesh. “I apologize. That was unnecessary.” The words were cotton in her mouth. Her face was still all twisted, and she couldn’t seem to smooth it shut. All of them glanced at each other, like they were in on something. It made her want to bristle, but she forced herself to do the opposite. Varric took half a step forward.

 

“Hey Dancer, is everything all right in-“

 

Don’t.” No, that was not right, with the hissing and the spitting. Ella tried again. “Please don’t call me that. Not now.” She managed to pull her lip up into what might have been a smirk. “But that’s a rather odd question. Is everything all right. I think you know the answer.”

 

Varric was not convinced by her delicate veneer of… what? Sarcasm? Fatalistic bravery? “Yeah, but-“

 

“No buts. The sisters should circulate, try to comfort people. We’ll need a team to load and fire the trebuchet. At the very least we’ll take half of them with us.”

 

“No.” Roderick staggered to his feet and Ella groaned.

 

“Chancellor, we don’t have time to argue in circles-“

 

“There… there is a path.”

 

And suddenly he had her undivided attention. “A path?”

 

“Yes. You wouldn’t know it… I’m the only one left. I… it can’t be a coincidence-“

 

“Could you lead them?”

 

“I am… yes.”

 

“Well then.” Ella’s smile came that much more easily as she allowed herself a huff of laughter. “That settles that, I suppose.” They won’t die for me. “But we’ll need a proper sending off for our good friend out there. A last avalanche sounds lovely, just about now.”

 

“I’m sure I could gather a few volunteers to-“ began Cullen, but Ella cut him off.

 

“He’s obsessed with me, is he not? I say we give him what he came for.”

 

“Boss, don’t tell me you think you can take that bastard down alone.”

 

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I can take care of myself.” She turned to Roderick. “Lead them away from here, and quickly. Cullen, have the soldiers cover the retreat. We might need scouts to search ahead, so Leliana you should-“

 

“What of your retreat?” asked Cullen. Ella looked at him, really looked at him, and saw both awe and denial. She couldn’t quite understand it; she was rather sure that she looked no different than usual. There was nothing to be said, really, so Ella just gave him a grim smile and set about rearranging her daggers.

 

“…Perhaps you will surprise it? Find a way?”

 

“Perhaps,” she said, and that was that.

 

Or not, it seemed, as several of the people who were now apparently her friends seemed adamant about accompanying her. I die alone, on my own terms, not dragging others into the abyss with me.

 

“If you can’t load the trebuchet, boss, then we all die.”

 

“I can do it, Bull. Worry about yourself.”

 

“Herald you can’t be serious-“

 

“Cassandra you can’t be serious, you can barely walk for fuck’s sake.”

 

“At least let us cover you or something.”

 

“And stand within the range of the avalanche? Don’t be an idiot, Varric. Or you, Sera,” she added when the elf began to brandish an arrow. “Honestly. I did the job I came to do. I’ve nothing else to offer but this, really.”

 

A hand clapped on her shoulder, and she sighed while refusing to look Bull in the eye.

 

“Bull, there is nothing you can say that is going to-“

 

“Just… try to stay alive boss. Pull some miracle out of your ass again.”

 

“I…” She didn’t want to. All debts were paid now that the Breach was closed, and though she still wore a collar around her neck she didn’t feel a slave, not with the walls crumbling around them and the people begging her to stay safe. In truth, there would be no better way to die. “I will. Try, that is.”

 

His hand squeezed her shoulder almost imperceptibly before he walked away, gathering the Chargers around him, and the skin where his hand had been felt cold, for some reason. She shook away that feeling as well as the remainder of people-who-might-be-friends in the next minute or so, finally walking with a confidence she wasn’t sure she felt towards the Chantry doors.

 

“Into the shadows,” she muttered, closing her eyes briefly before pushing forth against the tide of red song.

Notes:

Whew, that was a doozy. Also, here's a disclaimer: I love Dorian, he's one of my favorite characters. This isn't a Dorian hate-fic or some shit like that, Ella's just got her own issues, and this is mostly from her perspective.

As always, thank you for reading, and feel free to drop a kudos or a comment! They are always super appreciated.

Chapter 21: Strings of Red

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Wading through Haven was, perhaps, the most difficult thing she had ever done. Couldn’t stay long, had to keep moving, keep moving because she couldn’t be bogged down, there was no time no time no time-

 

And everywhere there was the song, thick on the air and making it difficult to breathe, nonetheless actually think straight always soothing at her ears just lay down, sleep sleep sleep that’s all there is now, little one but she was not weak I am not weak.

 

A mage crunched across the snow, away from the others, blocking her path through the alleyways of Haven. He looked young, vulnerable, lifeless and she didn’t want to don’t think about it she couldn’t, she couldn’t do so young I can’t

 

She retrieved her dagger as he fell. Kept moving. Keep moving.

 

Puppets held up by strings of red, they tried to catch her too but she was quick, she was strong, she was I will not fall I will not fall.

 

No more strings of red. Not today; not ever again.

 

Her blade sang its own melody, carved through broken flesh and rotting bone, leaving too-red ribbons of blood across the snow, across her skin. She managed to avoid the bulk of them, but still she left a path of bodies behind her, and there was no time to hide them.

 

Finally she reached the trebuchet, cutting down the few who guarded it with a few easy swipes before throwing herself against the machine. Tired, so tired, and every muscle screamed and popped but still she pushed and pushed until finally

 

She felt it before she heard it. A singing in her veins that seemed to pull at her blood, pulsing beneath the skin before the flimsy barrier splintered and shattered with the deafening clatter of a thousand trees groaning in the wind. She managed to jump to the side just as a blast of lightning sizzled into the wood where she had been standing a moment before.

 

Standing, Ella twirled a dagger about her fingers before tossing it towards the mage, who deflected it easily before slamming her staff into the ground once more. Battle-trained, she thought with a grimace, rolling away before the rune beneath her feet erupted in a gout of flame. Rolling away and into a wave of force that shoved her against a nearby building with a sickening crack that hopefully wasn’t anything important. A grunt and Ella was up again, teeth bared at the mage while adjusted the grip on her daggers. This was time she didn’t have, time that her friends needed. They were depending on her, oh fuck they needed her to do this or they would die, her fault her fault.

 

The mark shuddered in her hand, and Ella forced her snarl of pain into a grin. She needed to let them see her, let him see her. This ‘Elder One’. Otherwise all of this would be for nothing.

 

As she stood Ella felt the crackle of magic in her palm, the wisps of static that trembled through her arm and when she flicked a dagger towards the caster the green light fractured into a thousand fragments of the Fade, a blinding flash that danced across the red in a dazzling display of color. The mage raised a barrier, and the dagger clattered to the stone. A sickening squelch and the mage gasped, a knife in her back as Ella stood, panting, behind her. She fell, and Ella ripped the blade from her flesh dripping with too-red blood.

 

The trebuchet. She stumbled towards it, a hand pressed against her ribs. Wings, beating against the festering air. Shit. She tried to run, to dodge or hide or something but it was just too large, to powerful. Can’t let it hit the trebuchet.

 

The spray of blighted fire nearly hit her instead, but that was of no consequence.

 

The dragon landed with the ease and grace of a cat on the prowl, and as she struggled to her feet Ella was struck with the sickening thought that she was its prey.

 

And there, out of the fire like some twisted nightmare was the Elder One. Skin tattered and tainted by the lyrium’s touch, face stretched and scared so that it was a horrifying mockery of what humanity should be. Ella would not cower. She stood, hissing through clenched teeth at the pain but determined to face her newfound foe.

 

“Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.” He spoke to her as one might a child. Ella bristled, reaching for her daggers but finding that they weren’t there anymore, flung off to the side at some point of another. She settled for a vicious growl.

 

“Do you think you scare me, shitface?” she snarled. Something about this was unsettling. Well, more unsettling than it should be, at any rate. “I am not afraid.”

 

“Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies.” It strode forward, and Ella willed herself not to back down. “Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus.”

 

A Tevene name. That’s a Tevene name.

 

“You will kneel.” She felt… like she had to. It was an order, and orders were to be obeyed. Consequences, always consequences, always my fault my fault and walls closing in, suffocating, please I can’t breathing deep and shallow because the collar, the collar couldn’t be defeated. Her knees began to buckle. You are not a thing. Bull’s voice.

 

Never again.

 

“I will die first.” Clenched teeth, clenched fists, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as she faced down an amalgamation of nightmares, a creature who now simply regarded her as one might a lowly animal.

 

“That is likely, yes. It is of no consequence. I am here for the anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

 

Something she hadn’t noticed before, an orb in his hand, began to sputter with sickly red energy, wreathed in coils of writhing smoke that sizzled as he thrust it forth.

 

“It’s your fault, ‘Herald’. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose.”

 

Knives. Hot knives burning twisting flesh black and dry.

 

I do not know how you survived. But what marks you as ‘touched’, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

 

The mark, the stupid fucking mark sizzled and sparked. Her palm burned and then grew heavy; lead beading in the creases of her hand; quicksilver pulsing through her veins and up her arm; forcing her down, down to her knees I will not kneel but she did, she did in the end, she always did.

 

“And you, a slave, used the Anchor to undo my work. The gall.”

 

Ripples in the Fade, so strong that she could feel it itch and throb just below her skin and-

 

No. No no no no no no. Never again. Pain, chains, the ground hard against her knees never again. Scars deep and gnarled across her back, her neck, her wrists never again. Crying screaming beating on the walls with bloodied knuckles never again.

 

Never again would she let someone convince her that she was somehow less than human. I am not a thing I am not a thing I am not a thing

 

“Hubris isn’t really a good look for you.” She grinned through bloodstained teeth. “So kindly piss off and go play at godhood somewhere else. I won’t ask again.”

 

“There is no hubris to be had from that which does not exist.”

 

Words words words, pointless drabble with no meaning. All of her masters had talked this way. That was all he was, even as he lifted her from the ground as if she was nothing - never again, never again will I be nothing – just a prick who hadn’t yet realized that I will not break.

 

She felt her ribs crack as the wood of the trebuchet splintered against her back. Well, metaphorically anyway.

 

“I will not suffer the insult that is my work soiled and squandered by one wearing a collar. You must die.”

 

“You first bitch,” she hissed through clenched teeth. Now was the time; she would die fighting or not at all. She grabbed a dagger, hilt up in the scarlet snow, and forced herself to stand. Everything was red: the bodies, the ground, the thing that now stood in front of her; the red seeped into her vision and she snarled, teeth bared and dagger poised for what would certainly be her first and final strike, given how pain and exhaustion weighed at her limbs.

 

A light in the corner of her eye. Ella caught the arc of an arrow, wreathed in flames as it soared through the air. They had made it. Hope. She glanced to the side, at the now readied lever that would, presumably, bury Haven. Fuck, now she had hope.

 

She needed to help them, needed to bury this army so that her friends, damn her, would survive.

 

Now would be the time for a witty one liner. She kicked in the lever. But I guess I’ll just make one up later for Varric’s book.

 

Oh fuck it all to the Void she had promised Bull to try, and now she had hope. Could this day possible get any worse?

 

The impending avalanche rumbled in the distance, but Ella’s eyes were fixed upon Corypheus, who in turn only granted her an acrid glare before his pet dragon carried him aloft and away. The avalanche still thundered behind her. Oh. Apparently it can.

 

She had promised, she had promised and hope bloomed and blossomed in her chest like heartburn. She needed to… to… to do something, even if it only meant her life lasted but a moment longer. So she did what she was good at, and she ran.

 

Pain, but distant. Numbing cold. Darkness.

Notes:

Alllrighty. After this we'll probably get into more out of game stuff, which is more fun anyway. So... looking forward to that I guess! Sorry this chapter is super angsty but, to be fair, Ella's just pretty angsty in general. I guess angst's a guilty pleasure, what can you do?

As always, thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! I really appreciate your comments and kudos, and I'll try to be better about replying!

Chapter 22: Full of Sound and Fury

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Ella was drowning.

 

The realization was slow and dawning, but a realization nonetheless.

 

Little scraps of metal weighed her down as if they were ten times their size, and it seemed that the more she struggled the faster she fell, a faint light above shrinking into a single star. Darkness, all around, and shadows roaming at the edge of sight.

 

Water filled her lungs slowly but insistently, like sand in an hourglass. Like… water in a… a bowl? From a pitcher? That wasn’t slow. Whatever the case, it crushed her chest and swelled within her lungs with an unpleasantness that bordered on painful.

 

Breathe breathe breathe

 

 

 

 

Gasping, coughing, heaving; Ella awoke. Agony wracked her with every breath, lancing up her side in bursts of white-hot blindness whenever she moved.

 

Okay, okay. This is fine. She bent one leg, and then the other, clenching her teeth through the pain. Around her all that could be seen was light fractured through ice and snow and the shattered remnants of wood. Everything’s fine. Need to… need to compartmentalize. Assess the situation.

 

Her legs were battered, but they retained movement. Cuts and scrapes, pieces of wood jutting through flesh but she would still be able to walk, for a little while at least. That was a relief. Running was better, but walking would suffice.

 

Hips ached, but though the pain was deep and bruising she didn’t feel a break or dislocation, which was also good. More scrapes, more punctured flesh, but nothing too serious.

 

Crawling tentatively up her chest and… well. Broken ribs, certainly. Unclear how many. That was going to hurt like a bitch, and she couldn’t very well… if a lung had been punctured… just fuck. Her breathing didn’t feel that short, but she couldn’t be sure. Ella grimaced. She could just leave them be and risk damage to tissue, or she could bind them and face a possible lung collapse, followed by crippling pneumonia. Perfect. She resolved to decide later and moved up to her shoulders.

 

Thankfully nothing seemed dislocated, which in and of itself was a miracle. Deep bruising, but she could handle that. Down her arms, wrist on her unmarked hand seemed broken or twisted, somehow, with a possible broken finger, and she didn’t dare yet venture into the marked hand.

 

Concussion, probably. She had been unconscious, but hopefully that was due to something else. The world seemed to spin and her head was pounding, but she’d be able to push through that.

 

Okay. She made sure to breathe deeply, fighting to ignore the painful creak of her chest. The air bit at her throat, knives in her lungs. It’s cold in here.

 

Gingerly, and with much cursing, she scooted her way backwards until she could prop herself against a wall. Glancing down at her hands she found the skin had begun to pale, but from frostbite or blood loss she had no idea. Probably the former. Looking at her body she could tell that anything that would have caused loss of blood remained firmly lodged within her flesh. Lovely.

 

She could walk with the wood in her leg, but not the way it jutted out. Balance would be off, and she’d be stumbling as it was. With a hand she didn’t have the strength to keep from shaking, Ella fumbled for a dagger, finally finding one about an arm’s length away from her. Well, a little more than an arm’s length. Her body screamed as she reached for the hilt, leaving her gasping through her teeth when she finally snapped back, dagger clutched within her hand. Can’t afford the noise.

 

Quickly, but with as much care as could be managed, Ella drew her leg towards her and examined the shard. Probably a piece of the trebuchet. Slicing through her upper leg, it was astounding that it hadn’t shredded muscle. Still, it could not remain in its unwieldy state, and Ella grasped one end and began to cut through the wood, each pass of the blade sending shivers of pain up her leg. Finally it broke off, and all that remained was a sheered bit of lumber jutting from her skin. The other side received the same treatment and, though there was still a piece of wood lodged within her leg, it didn’t jut out quite as clumsily. Good. I can do this.

 

Anything smaller she was able to snap off, leaving shards of wood embedded in her flesh but leaving her with a freedom of movement that she would certainly need. Her head still pounded, and her vision swam as she shifted, trying to get to her feet. Trying being the operative word.

 

Ribs screaming, head aching, muscle and flesh tearing as her bones moved in ways that certainly weren’t natural.

 

There was nothing for it. She was binding her fucking ribs.

 

Somehow, with much clenching of teeth and labored breaths, Ella managed to unwind her breastband, unwilling to give up any more significant layer of protection from the elements. With careful fingers she pushed and prodded her ribs into place, desperately hoping that she hadn’t caused more damage in the process, before tightly winding the band about her waist. She tried moved again. This time the pain was bearable.

 

Standing was a thousand tongues of flame, hot iron on the skin that dragged and pressed but still she managed, tottering about on two legs like some collared circus bear. Grim thoughts don’t help grim situations. With a scowl Ella banished such thoughts from her mind and focused on lifting one leg, and then the other, and so on.

 

Ella nearly sobbed as her hand sputtered at her side, but she was stronger than that, no weakness, no fear. Pressing forward she saw the tattered edges of a rift seeping into the world, and she hastily stumbled backwards, planning to find another way around. Luck, it seemed, was feeling particularly ornery. Ella barely dragged her increasingly unresponsive body out of the way as the demon she just about turned into took a swipe at her. Great. Just great.

 

Before she could even begin to despair about the complete lack of plan forming within her pain-addled mind, the air began to hiss and shimmer, a faint mist of green fire dancing before her eyes and driving the demon back a wary step. The cold split with a resounding crack.

 

When Ella opened her eyes again she was alone. On one knee, arms pressed against her head to ward off some forgotten pain, she slowly looked about her to find that the demons and the rift were gone, and as she stood her hand stuttered and crackled like a fire. A fire fed by wet logs and damp bits of leaf litter, but a fire nonetheless.

 

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of this.

 

Hot fury blistered against the cold that had settled in her chest, and she shoved it down, down, down where it wouldn’t hurt her. Shoved it in a box and chained it to a wall before it burned her overmuch.

 

Walking was a dull litany of misery that bordered on torture; sharp pangs that forced the breath from her lungs when something inside her shifted, every step a pulse of agony that swelled against her skin, all accompanied by a deep-set ache that left lead in her limbs and made her want to collapse in a snow bank and never wake up.

 

Sleep, sleep, sleep…

 

But she was stronger than that. Had to be. Her twisted pride would not let her believe otherwise; but was it truly her pride that had her trudging through the deep snow? Was it pride that faced her towards winds that lashed and gnawed at any exposed skin? Ella couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t think so.

 

The snow was beautiful, in a way. Fresh and so cold, ice against the skin wind against the face kaffas if this is the last thing I feel before I die then so be it. That had been enough, once. Were things so different now? Clearly, seeing as how a stumble was the greatest hardship, and to falter was a worse pain than the groaning of her ribs. Before, a grave under fresh-fallen snow had been enough. To die free had been enough. And now, with the ruins of Haven behind, fighting through cold towards nothing, there’s nothing left but I don’t want to die.

 

It was no longer enough to die free. What was enough, then?

 

Greedy, greedy. What could sate her now, now that she had tasted what might have been freedom? Greedy little slave. But she wasn’t, not anymore. Not a slave, though the collar was still heavy on her neck and the scars ran deep across her flesh. Not a slave, but not quite free. What was she? Some abomination, set loose to roam the land, shambling awkwardly through fields and under forests and over shifting snow banks. Perhaps she’d been a fool. Perhaps she’d never truly been free; just a tantalizing facsimile, a sideshow. A spectacle.

 

That’s what they’d made her. A spectacle. Forget, forget, forget, but no, there were some things that could not be scraped from the mind, no matter how hard she clawed deep furrows in her skull, beat fists bloody against the walls and a spectacle, she didn’t deserve that, no one deserves this, but if anyone did deserve it it’s me, I deserve this.

 

She shouldn’t think about this. She couldn’t think about this, but if she tore her mind away all that was left was the aching of her feet and the howling of the wind and the howling of the wolves, the wolves, there were wolves. The cold dragged at her senses, and the monotony of white, white, more white all around is this death? was enough to tug at her eyes and cloud her senses. So no, she couldn’t tear her mind away from

 

What am I? A specta- no. She was, but not anymore. I am not what they made me. But it wasn’t just her, was it? Faces blur together in the dim light, names are best forgotten. Now all is bright and I can see… what? Who? I knew them better in the dark, knew the sob-wracked voices, the shuddering breaths of those too scared to speak, too weak to speak, too tired to speak but starving for the presence of another. She did not remember their names, still. The few faces she saw, those she remembered, but names are best forgotten.

 

Had he recognized her? Her thoughts began to idle as she skirted the burnt out husk of a camp. Ashes cold, scattered, but had he recognized her? An Altus, purebred and pedigreed, well versed in gossip and scandal. Surely if he didn’t know her, he knew of her. There had been no spark of   he sees me, they see me run hide leave this place now   on his face, but she had been greatly changed since then. Found her masks again and clung to them tightly, because the only way for her to be safe, truly safe, was to be someone else.

 

He had been to the house. Of that there was no doubt in her mind. Someone his age? Certainly young enough to, at the time, be enticed by the promise of something horrifying. Peeking through windows, giggling nervously, breathless at the thought of discovery but nonetheless sure that nothing would actually happen to them. The hot rage, again, burning a hole through her stomach and she chained it up tighter. She wondered if any visited the house still. Probably, but likelier still the whole matter had been largely forgotten, swept beneath a gaudy rug, a local folk tale used to scare children from their dreams. Perhaps they still dared each other to walk farther along the hallway, but that was all that remained.

 

Still, he had not recognized her. That was good. She smiled –more of a grimace than anything else- and felt her leg give way beneath her. Here she was, thinking of the fraud-ridden future while she slowly lost her fingers to frostbite. With a huff swallowed up by the winds she forced herself to keep moving, to limp and shuffle along like a wounded animal. The snow was growing shallower, and though dimly she knew this to be good the hope was just a dull flicker in her mind. What came after ‘good’, anyway? So there was less snow.

 

Where am I going? What a question. She hadn’t even answered what am I and now she was at where am I going. One thing at a time. What was it Bull had said? You are not a thing. Well, that was what she was not. What am I? She pursed her lips. Bringing Bull into this… it made her skin itch and burn, more so than it had under the relentless tug of snow and ice and wind. Lies, lies, lies, and for what? At this point…

 

She had stopped moving, but hardly noticed. On her knees in snow that piled around her, it will overtake me, build me a tomb of brilliant white, let it free me of this flesh.

 

She was going to die in the snow, stuck between slavery and freedom, a broken collar around her neck and gilded shackles about her soul, frustrated and dissatisfied, not knowing herself what am I?

 

Someone was shouting. She couldn’t see; it was all dark. Was it night? No, her eyes were closed. Warmth pressed against her, and they spoke again.

 

“Ella?”

 

That’s me. Ella, that was her name; she had forgotten again. What are you, what are you what a silly question, I am Ella.

Notes:

cool cool cool, so this was me trying a hand at a free-flowing voice to mimic a rapidly deteriorating thought process in someone who already has some serious psychological damage. I hope I managed to capture it in a way that is both intriguing and comprehensible.

Thank you for reading, it is very much appreciated! If you have any questions, critiques, or just want to chat about the weather, post a comment!

Chapter 23: Signifying Nothing

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

If one imagined an ancient willow, bent and beaten by the wind, still standing where all others had been uprooted and toppled to the cold ground, one might be able to conceive the mood that had fallen upon the makeshift camp huddled between the wind and ice. Sadness and sort of despair that smothered all good sense. Hope, sure, but only for a future of hardship and loss.

 

The Iron Bull and his Chargers had done good work. They had kept them safe along the treacherous path, steadying the injured and carrying those too weak to stand. When they reached a safe distance, he and his boys had helped set up camp and distribute blankets, and even assisted Cullen with makeshift guard rotations. They fetched wood, boiled water, and lent the few healers a hand where they could.

 

It was good to be busy. It made it easier to ignore the whistle of the signal flare, the deafening roar of the avalanche, the leathery flap of wings as that monster finally retreated. It kept his mind off of the fact that she had not made it back, that she would not make it back. Bury your dead and move on, but still he clung tight, too tight.

 

It wasn’t surprising, really, that when the chores ran dry, when there was nothing left to do but sit and plan and lick their wounds and he couldn’t even make up tasks for him and his boys, Bull found himself standing and waiting. Just at the edge of the firelight, just where the wind began to bite in earnest. He stood there and stared out upon where Haven used to be, and where she now surely was.

 

She had sacrificed herself for them. One life, for the lives of so many? It was a good thing. But if that was the case, why did it feel so wrong?

 

It was the intention, he decided. She had wanted to die, and such a want was selfish. With the mark, she was too important to the group, and with the power she had held she could have broken the stalemate that now wracked their leadership, could have led them far away from this loss and ruin and towards a fresh start. It had been, in all honesty, impractical to send her of all people. Better himself, or Cassandra, or even Cullen. Better anyone else.

 

But that was just it, wasn’t it? There hadn’t been anyone else. All were wounded or needed, and she had been right in the end: with the mark, she was the perfect distraction. Hadn’t wanted to drag others to death with her. It was right, damn it all, why couldn’t he just let it go and think about something more important?

 

“She’ll be back.” Bull nearly spooked as the Tevinter walked up next to him, leaning heavily on his staff. Had he really been so distracted?

 

“Unlikely,” he grunted, shifting his weight to one knee. When had that started aching? “That last slide wiped out Haven. Nothing’s climbing out of that.”

 

Next to him, the mage shrugged.

“Just a feeling. Call it intuition, if you will.” The man turned, then, and for the first time seemed to notice the hulking qunari he was speaking with. “Dorian Pavus, by the way. And before we get on with despising each other, I suppose I should thank you.”

 

Iron Bull allowed himself a grin. “What for?”

 

“For saving my life, I’m afraid. I do believe your darling Herald was about to stab me. Dreadful things, life debts, but I suppose it can’t be helped.” The mage wasn’t looking at him, Iron Bull realized. He was staring straight ahead and standing stiff as could be managed with whatever injury afflicted him. Could he actually be serious? Scratch that; of course he was. Stupid fucking ‘vints.

 

“The silence, if one could call the deafening groan of the wind silence, stretched for longer than was comfortable, and though this didn’t bother Bull much Dorian shifted, and coughed politely.

 

“If it isn’t too bold of me, perhaps I may ask why?” he said finally.

 

“Why what?” Bull’s smile grew as the mage huffed.

 

“Why your darling chosen of the Maker seemed intent on carving my heart out with a dagger?”

 

Bull’s smile faltered. “I’m not really sure if it’s my place to say.” He looked out over the endless white. She was dead, it wasn’t as if she’d be able to explain herself. “The Boss is… was, not particularly friendly with ‘vints. Or mages. And you’re, well…”

“Both of those, wrapped up in a rather fetching bow,” Dorian supplied. More silence. “A slave, then?” he asked, voice barely stretching above the wind.

 

“Yeah.” There was movement, a lumber of color against the white and Iron Bull slowly, casually, readied his axe. The last thing they needed was some of those fucked up demon wolves catching them by surprise. “Never talked about it much.”

 

“No I, er, don’t imagine she did,” said Dorian with a short cough. “You seem to be taking all of this rather well.”

 

“I’m qunari. She did her job, and now it’s time for us to do ours.” He squinted against the snow; the movement seemed to be getting closer, but it was lumbering along slowly. Injured, maybe? Of course the only thing that might survive that avalanche would be a demon wolf. He debated calling over an archer to pick it off from a distance.

 

“Ah, so you do still follow the Qun, then?” asked Dorian. Eggshells, everything was eggshells with him. It was like Krem during the early days, only about a thousand times worse.

 

“You got a problem with that?” He was careful to scrub any and all threat from his voice, to make it an inquiry and nothing more.

 

“As long as you don’t go about converting me, I suppose there won’t be any issue.”

 

Bull just nodded, eye still fixed on the figure. It looked like… it looked like a person. For a moment he thought that one of those red bastards had lived and he tightened his grip on the axe, but no. Hunched over, small, there wasn’t an aura of red about them. Her hand sputtered green, and she fell.

 

“Is that-“ Bull didn’t let him finish; he sprang forward, pushing through the snow with every last ounce of his strength as behind him Dorian shouted for a fresh bed and a healer.

 

When he reached her, even though he didn’t waste time staring he couldn’t help but notice the blue at her lips, the blood caked on pale skin, the way her wrist seemed bent at a wrong angle.

 

“Ella?”

 

She didn’t respond, but he could feel the breath escape her lungs.

 

He didn’t waste time staring, but he cursed the entire way back; a constant stream of mutterings punctuated by sharp swears when, by hasty carelessness or unlucky terrain, he jostled her in his arms. Every time her face creased in pain or her chest rattled, straining against the cold, the distance grew by a mile. In truth although the seconds stretched and strained against reality it took little time to reach the hillcrest, and less to reach the camp as, sliding and stumbling, he hurried with as much care as haste would allow down the hill.

 

People everywhere, gaunt and desperate and in his fucking way. Painfully aware that every second brought her closer to a final breath he shoved and shunted them aside, eye roving over the sparse crowd and picking out the healers, the helpers. He brought her towards them as Cullen shouted for the people to disperse.

 

A tent, a bed, hands plied with lyrium and bandages and though he offered assistance there were more than enough eager hands. Although they knew him and he had helped a little part of them still didn’t trust him; in times of hardship hatred and fear grow stronger. They snatched her up as if he had broken her, the assholes. They were the ones who had broken her. Dressed her up and showed her off, put her up on a pedestal and made her dance.

 

Those were the thoughts he was left with, sitting close but not too near the healers’ tent, lounging against a snow-capped boulder. Movement, and Bull’s eye darted towards the tent; Stitches lifted the flap and quickly fastened it closed behind him before making his way directly towards his Chief.

 

“Looks like she’ll be fine.” Stitches grabbed a stick and prodded the shuddering fire back to life. “Well not fine, but alive. Near tore herself up getting here, I reckon.”

 

“Alive’s better than what she was an hour ago,” Bull muttered. Raised voices carried on the wind, and both glanced towards where the crippled Inquisition’s leadership had renewed their argument with verve. Stitches raised a brow.

 

“We’re gonna be here for a while, then.” It wasn’t a question, so Iron Bull didn’t answer. “Well, at least that’ll give them some time in there. She was pretty bad, Chief.”

 

“I know.” Of course he knew; he carried her. He’d seen worse, he knew that he’d seen worse but for some reason the image of her limp and bloodied was seared into his mind like a brand.


Stitches shook his head. “I’m not talking about the injuries. Mind you, those were extensive; but I’m talking about the scars.”

 

Bull leaned back, tilting to quirk a brow at him. The Chargers had had their fair share of injuries, many of them–though hilarious in the retelling–horrific and gruesome at the time. Stitches had treated all of them with steady hands. He wasn’t one to flinch at scars; none of his company was, given the state of their Chief.

 

“Keeps muttering in her sleep, too,” Stitches continued, not quite meeting his gaze but keeping an eye on the healers’ tent in case he was needed again. “Most of it’s nonsense, to me anyway. But when they brought in that ‘vint mage, to help with the heat? I swear he got a few shades greener.”

 

Tevene, then. Not strange given what they knew her background. Nothing to write home about.

 

Stitches leaned closer, as if warming himself against the fire.

 

“Look Chief, remember those slavers in Nevarra? Those kids had burns and blisters on their wrists, from the chains. Take that and add five, ten years? Maybe more for all we know? That, on her wrists, ankles, up her legs… neck too, I think. Hard to tell under the collar.”

 

The collar. Iron Bull glanced towards where the higher-ups still bickered. Hopefully Red wasn’t too busy to ‘debrief’ (put the fear of the Maker in) those healers. Stitches sighed, and he brought his attention back to his worn and ragged healer.

 

“And her back… she needs help. Care. Honestly I’m not sure how she’s stayed upright these past few weeks. There are things I could give her; poultices, wraps, honestly even a heated rock for the ache would be better than–“

 

“And why are you telling me this?” Bull knew why. Stitches knew he knew, and snorted.

 

“Have you seen the way she looks at me? Runs in the opposite direction. I’m not even a mage, and she doesn’t want me within a mile. There’s hating healers, and then there’s that.”

 

“And why are you–“

 

“For Andraste’s sake, Chief! That girl needs long-term medical attention, and there is no way she’ll let me, or anyone else help her.” There was a shout from the tent, and Stitches started to his feet. “She likes you, I think. Or at least tolerates you. Just talk to her, if you get the chance.”

 

With that he grabbed his pack and walked briskly towards the tent, lifting the flap only to step aside as Dorian stumbled out, sweat on his brow even in the biting wind. Stitches ducked into the tent; Dorian, seeing Bull or perhaps the fire, stalked towards him and settled onto a log in a manner that was somehow graceful despite his obvious exhaustion.

 

There was a long silence, punctuated by the hiss and crackle of a damp fire. Iron Bull caught a stir in the corner of his eye and found a figure lurking, teetering on the bounds of what might be an acceptable distance. A shadow?

 

Finally Dorian huffed, and the campfire flared to a searing heat before sputtering to a simmer. He huffed once more. Iron Bull knew that the mage wanted him to speak first. He didn’t.

 

“Your Herald is a menace,” he said at last, all the more irked by the delay. Bull felt a smile creep onto his face.

 

“I take it she’s awake, then?”

 

“In a manner of speaking. She’s certainly not in possession of all of her faculties, if that’s what you’re asking. Oh, but she does have enough presence of mind to blindly strike at whatever handsome face might be close by.”

 

Bull chuckled. “Should’ve warned you. Other healers probably know by now.”

 

“Know what? That your chosen savior is a murderous lunatic?” Dorian hissed, hands in his hair. Bull’s smile dropped.

 

“Hey, the boss is alright.” He tried to say it softly, gently, but there must have been some underlying menace that he couldn’t quite scrape away, and Dorian flinched. Barely, nearly imperceptible, but there all the same.

 

“Apologies; I spoke rashly.” The mage’s voice was broken and tired, just like everyone else in this huddled camp. “But I was only trying to help. I may not be the most well versed in healing, but I know the basics. And I know fire and heat.”

 

“I know you’re helping. She knows too, but she’s got a lot of shit. It’s not an excuse,” he said quickly, when Dorian seemed ready to snap once more. “But it’s true. And she is a bit of a shit herself, so it makes things difficult. You came at a bad time. A really bad time.”

 

“Oh, did I? I had assumed that having your charming hovel razed by an archdemon was an everyday occurrence here in the south.”

 

“More like biweekly.”

 

“Well, isn’t that a relief.” Dorian sighed again, rising to his feet and, in a futile gesture of decorum, dusting off his pants. “I will retire for the evening, then. Before some wretched sky-beast snaps me up.”

 

He left; so did the shadow. So Red had a tail on him already. At least he knew she still had her shit together, even with the Inquisition in shambles. Their forces were a mess, and any ties they had to noble families were probably dust, just like Haven; but at least they still had their spies.

 

Bull stretched, his back popping and groaning in a manner that couldn’t be good. Somehow he’d been suckered into having another friendly conversation with the boss. Twice. And while he was sure she’d love him telling her to take some damn medicine, there was no way she’d be nearly as receptive to a ‘hey maybe stop trying to murder the ‘vint’.

He stood, giving the fire one last poke with a stick as he did so. That bridge was a ways off, and he had other things that were more pressing. His report, for one. There weren’t many ways to spin ‘we just got our asses handed to us’ in a positive light, but the night was young.

 

 

Notes:

This kicked my ass. But now we can get to some exciting shit, so I'm pumped.

Thanks for reading, drop a comment or a kudos! I read them, I'm just scared to reply!

Chapter 24: Rest

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

For the first time in a long time, Ella dreamt. It was not pleasant.

 

It was her typical fare: blood and death and pain, hot flashes of memories she kept chained up for a reason damn it, and the incessant burn of things that might be, mistakes she might make.

 

Vin, reaching out to her with gasping breaths, barely able to speak in anything but wheezes. She couldn’t see his body, because she hadn’t been able to; but the eyes, she remembered the eyes. Bright against the shrouded darkness but pale, so pale. Once they must have been blue like the sky, now they were greyed and cloudy. He reached out to her and she did nothing, because what could she do? Nothing, there was nothing I could do. She did nothing. Didn’t speak, didn’t even dare to hold his hand as he died, alone and in agony. Nothing.

 

She knew it was a dream, she knew the hazy blur of motion and emotion that left her sick, knew that it wasn’t real. Still, she did nothing.

 

When he finally fell silent, when he finally drifted into the shadows, she knew her relief would be short-lived. There was always someone else to replace the last, and if she ever ran out of ghosts her mind would invent some.

 

Even Malice, sometimes, although it was such a weak and watered down facsimile, a fraction of pain and horror, of the sheer terror he really was. It didn’t matter, though, because just seeing him was enough to bring her near tears. I am not weak. She tried not to speak, not to yell out or scream. She couldn’t remember where she had fallen asleep, and she didn’t need to be picked up by something real and infinitely more unpleasant.

 

She couldn’t remember where she had fallen asleep. Why she had fallen asleep. That Tevinter bastard. That fucking piece of shit who dared to touch her and throw her around like a ragdoll, she could still feel his infected hands on her skin, blistering with red lyrium. Could still hear his words, still feel his scorn. Everything hurt. She pushed through the pain and the haze because she needed to stay alive, if only to punch that fuck in the face.

 

Everything hurt. Her body felt broken, and she could actually feel the magic seeping into her bones, changing me, she struggled to stop feeling it, to sink back into dreams. A mistake, a mistake, but she was tired and cold and hurting and she didn’t think she’d be able to deal with that quite yet. Should have just woken up, wake up wake up

 

She was alone, and it was dark. Ice seeped into her bones as her breath misted in front of her, a plume of grey smoke that quickly melted into the flickering shadows.

 

“This isn’t real.” The words were meant to be strong and sure, but they hissed forth as a whisper. Doubt and sheer exhaustion weighed at her mind as the darkness shifted around her, roiling like the ocean in a silent storm.

 

A flash; bright, blinding light that faded to dimness, and the scene changed. Her hands were warm and wet, and she dared not look down at them. Not that it mattered. She knew what blood smelled like, and it was thick in the air.

 

She couldn’t close her eyes. That was the thing about dreams. Or her dreams, at least; she supposed that she couldn’t speak for everyone.

 

“This isn’t real, I’m not here, this isn’t real.” Stronger, that time. Maybe she could do this.

 

“That’s rather presumptuous. How do you know?” Oh sweet fuck shit balls

 

“You aren’t real. You’re just a figment of my imagination, you piece of shit.”

 

“There’s no need to be rude. Why don’t we talk this out?”


“Why don’t you leave me the fuck alone you–“

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped insulting me, Herald.”

No one had called her that in her dreams, before. There were plenty of options, if they didn’t use her name, but it had never been Herald.

 

“Who…” Steady, steady. “What are you?”

 

“Oh, does it matter?”

 

Yes.”

 

“Hmph. You are no fun. I’d heard, but I guess seeing is believing.”

 

“What are you.”

 

“What is it with humans and your obsession with names?”

 

Demon.” A hiss, barely audible between her teeth but the thing heard it, the thing laughed.

 

“Touchy, aren’t we? Well, rest easy darling Herald. I’m not here to possess you.”

 

Ella was silent. Don’t speak, don’t give it anything to work with.

 

“I just said I’m not here to possess you. Was I not…? oh, it’s no matter, I suppose. I’m here for a friend. With a message. They know. Where you are, what you are. They know, sweet little Herald with an attitude problem.”

 

Who knows?”

“You see, the fact that you have to ask that tells me that you have some serious issues. Perhaps you should make better choices, in the future?”

 

“I don’t have to listen to you.”

 

“Ooh, wrong again, because you do have to listen to me, actually. Until you wake up, anyway. Such strong dreams, but no control whatsoever; I suppose they were right about that as well–“

 

“I will kill you.”

 

“I mean there really is no need for that kind of rudeness, honestly, but what was the question again?”

 

Who.”

 

“Oh, yes, I forgot. Who indeed.”

 

“I’m not playing games with–“

“You should just go back easy, you know. Better in the long run.”

 

Ice in her lungs. “You’re a liar. You’re a fucking liar.”

 

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it? But I can help, see. I can help make all those problems disappear.

 

Oh thank the Maker. Never in her life had Ella been more relieved by a demon trying to possess her. “Fuck off.”

 

Pain pain pain fucking ow.

 

Ella laughed. “You think that scares me? If you can tell what I’m afraid of, you should be able to do better than that, don’t you think?”

 

The thing growled, low and guttural. “You’ll kill them all. They will find you and make you. Do you think you can resist? You didn’t before.”

 

“Well I guess I’ll just have to hide real good, won’t I?”

 

Its voice turned soft, almost crooning. “I can help you, I can help you get that collar off. A little power, a little force is all you need and they’ll never be able to control you again.”

 

“Yes, because you’ll be controlling me. I know how this works. It’s almost insulting that you think I’d fall for this.”

 

“Or maybe…” Something shifted in its tone, something that Ella decided was very not-okay. “Maybe I’ll just find him? Tell him where you are?”

“Just because you can read surface emotions doesn’t mean you know–“


“Malice? Truly? Yes, I can find him, he could make you–“

“He would kill you. He doesn’t share.” Quiet panic, but she forced it down because fucking Fade, because here emotions could betray you. “You won’t do it.”

 

“Ah but you’ve been so rude to me, little Herald. I said I didn’t want to possess you.”

“Yes, but you were a fucking liar.”

“See, that. That is not the type of language a Herald should be using. I’m sure that Malice could fix you, could make you a better Herald. I’m sure Malice could find me another vessel, yes… What if the Herald told the faithful that they needed to accept that voice in their dreams?”

 

“That is stupid, you’re stupid.” Fuck piece of shit motherfucking– “I’m not afraid.”

 

“Now who’s the liar?” tutted the thing. “And even worse, you lie to yourself, now that’s just no way for a leader to act. If you don’t want Malice, I suppose I could help, but it’s really one or the other, you know.”

 

It was lying. It had to be lying. There was no way it could even find him, even if it wanted to. And if she was possessed they would kill her, right? They would know, they would know that she was different.

 

Would they? Would they know? She wore so many different masks that even she was hard-pressed to say who she really was. Would they know?

 

No, no they wouldn’t but that was all the more reason not to give in, right? But if Malice… fuck him, fuck him and his face this wasn’t about Malice, this is about the fear demon in front of me.

 

But what if…?

 

“Ella?” Not Herald, but Ella. She could almost see the voice turn.

 

“Who dares to–“

 

Gone.

 

“You have strong dreams,” said Solas.

 

Stupid fucking mage piece of shit fuck.

 

“And loud thoughts.” He almost sounded amused.

 

“How do I know you’re not a demon,” she snapped, clutching her marked palm to her chest. She swore he rolled his eyes.

 

“Can you truly not tell? It is one thing to deny your magic in the waking world, but in your dreams surely you can–“

 

I am not a fucking mage you fucking asshole trash fuck.” If Ella had a dagger, it would have been in his face.

 

He seemed genuinely surprised. “Are you being honest? Surely your denial doesn’t stretch this far.”

 

“I. Am not. A mage.”

 

“Yes, you’ve already said that, but–“


“No, there are no buts, okay? Look just because you’re all high and mighty mister Fade extraordinaire, doesn’t mean shit.”

 

“Have you been speaking to Sera lately–“

I curse when I’m angry, o-fucking-kay?” She forced her breaths even. “And I am very angry right now.”

 

“Fine. I apologize. Can we please start over?”

She glared at him warily, before granting him a cautious nod.

 

“All right. I was working under the assumption that you were a mage–“

 

“A very fucking wrong assumption that–“

 

Please, let me speak.”

 

“Fine. Because you said please.”

 

“I sensed magic. I assumed that you must have magical capabilities, if small and easily hidden. That, and your dreams seem to attract many demons, even if one takes the mark into consideration. Do you understand why I might have felt this way?”

 

She did. She knew why, but the collar was dead, even the Templars couldn’t sense it, why could he?

 

“I will take that as a maybe. I’m sorry. I need you to be honest with both yourself and me. Are you a mage?”

No,” she said through clenched teeth.

 

“Then you truly have no way of defending yourself in the Fade.”

 

“I… no.”

 

“Would you care to explain how your connection grew this strong? If not magic?”

“Oh, it was magic. And no, I would not.”

 

He breathed deeply, as if calming himself. “Fine. We will continue this discussion later.”

 

“Says you,” muttered Ella, but he didn’t respond.

 

“Don’t you want to know how I am here?”

 

“I assumed it was some magic bullshit.”

 

“Well I… suppose that’s as good an answer as any.”

 

“What do you want, Solas.”

 

“Oh, so I have a name, now.”


“Fuck off.”

 

“I wanted to ensure that you were safe.”

“…and?”

 

“Is that not a good enough reason?”

 

“It’s never that simple. What else do you want.”

 

He sighed. “I wanted to speak with you. To know what happened at Haven. You faced this Elder One, and the more we know about him–the sooner we know about him–the better.”

 

Ah, yes. The Elder One. Corypheus

 

“Corypheus?” he said, and Ella realized that she must have spoken her thoughts aloud. Fucking Fade.

 

“Yeah,” she said, crossing her arms. “That was his name. What he said his name was, anyway. Had this… orb… thingy. Pattern on it like a fingerprint, and it glowed green, and then he…” Ella’s nose wrinkled. What had he been trying to do?

 

“He what?”

“I think… I think he was trying to rip the mark from my hand with it. But he couldn’t, for some reason. It was stuck. Feels different now, though. Like it was all tense and closed off before, and he unlocked it, somehow.”

 

“That is… intriguing.” He thought for a long while, but Ella felt the pause was more for effect than anything else. Whatever it was the he was mulling over, he already knew.


“Spit it out.”

 

“The artifact. It reminds me of something similar in Elvhen lore.”

“Of course it does.” It was Ella’s turn to pause, though she truly needed the time. “I suppose that makes sense. He was a Magister, claimed to have walked in the Fade. Either he thinks he was one of those ‘original darkspawn’ fucks, or he actually is. And Tevinter stole a lot of shit from the elves.”

 

“Yes.” There was something more, something he was holding back, but Ella was too tired for games. He could keep his secrets.

 

“Are we done here, then?”

 

“Not quite. I’ve wandered the Fade, searching for a place where the Inquisition could grow strong. I believe I’ve found one. A fortress, to the North.”

 

 

Ella woke and fell into slumber once more several times, although she didn’t dream again. She suspected that she had a certain apostate to thank for that, but she couldn’t bring herself to care one way or another. Magic touching me… she was just so tired.

 

Apparently at some point she had punched the ‘Vint in the face. Unfortunate. She didn’t remember it at all; ice and darkness and burning, always burning, heat seeping into flesh, shriveled skin. She didn’t quite remember waking then, only the brief flash of walls closing in, suffocating, please I can’t–before she fell asleep once more.

 

There was singing; a hushed murmur of a song that was kindled in the heart and leapt from every mouth with unerring certainty. Ella didn’t know the song, but she felt its rhythm in her bones, deep and calm and sure. She supposed that was enough. Darkness, again.

 

Every time she opened her eyes there was someone else by her little cot. It was as if they were keeping vigil, although she couldn’t quite figure out why. Surely there was something else for them to be doing, something better than making sure that she was still breathing. She tried to smile at them, when she could, but something in the slant of her mouth only deepened the creases of their faces.

 

 

“…The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees the light and goes toward the flame, she should see fire and go towards the Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall become her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword…”

 

“Some of us are trying to sleep, Seeker,” said Ella dryly, faced still pressed against the head of the cot. Cassandra started and stopped her recitation, turning to look at her.

 

“Some find the verses helpful, when it comes to sleeping.”

 

“Do you?”

 

Her nose crinkled. “Not lately.”

 

Oh. Ella hadn’t seen that one coming.

 

“I didn’t expect you to wake so soon,” said Cassandra finally. Ella tried to laugh, but the noise escaped as a cough that rattled her ribs instead.

 

“Why is that?” Ella managed to grind out around her wheezing. Pathetic.

 

Cassandra simply raised a brow. “I do not think I need to answer that. In any case, you should rest. We’re stuck here for the time being, anyway.”

 

“Wha- what do you mean?” Why was it so difficult to speak? It was as if every word stabbed her in the chest.

 

“Until we stop bickering and come to a solution, we’re not going anywhere. With all that has happened…” She sighed, running her hand over the hilt of her sword. “Tensions are high.”

 

A fortress to the North. She needed to get up get up.

 

Cassandra was pressing her back into the bed with a firm hand quicker than thought, but not before Ella’s body made it known with a deafening screech how much it disapproved of that course of action.

 

“Why do you insist upon injuring yourself constantly? It’s like watching a child.”

 

“A child?”

 

“You throw yourself at the ground, trusting that something will catch you.”

 

“…that metaphor is somehow insulting, confusing, and apt at the same time.”

 

“I aim to please. But the point still stands.”

 

Ella’s shoulders stuttered in the beginnings of a shrug, but she quickly thought better of it. “I’m a soldier. Isn’t that what soldiers do?”

“A soldier hopes to live, to fight another day. Sometimes, when I watch you… you throw yourself at the enemy, and onto their blades.”

 

“Maybe that’s how I survive.”

 

Cassandra huffed. “Then you were not taught well.”

 

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

“Barely.” She sighed. “You can’t mindlessly dash yourself against walls anymore. You have a purpose, even if you choose to ignore it.”

 

“I think ignoring it is my purpose.”

 

“That… makes little sense.”

 

“Think on it, Seeker.”

 

“…I will, if you promise me you’ll at least try to rest and heal.”

 

“I… you know what? Fine. But if I taste something weird in my food I swear that I will–“

 

Why would there be something in your food?” asked Cassandra, exasperated.

 

“Medicine bullshit,” Ella muttered.

 

“No one is going to slip a potion into your food without telling you.”

 

“You would be surprised. It’s just a warning, anyway.”

 

“Rest, Herald.”

 

“I think I’ve slept enough for a lifetime, thanks.”

 

“It’s only been a few days.”

 

“A few days?” Ella groaned into the cot. “People need to know I’m alive.”

 

“They know. You should worry more about yourself.”

 

“Yep. That’s me. Selfless Herald of Andraste.”

 

“I’m serious.”

“Serious? You? Really?”

 

Cassandra grumbled something, but Ella didn’t quite catch it. The darkness at the edge of her vision had caught up to her unawares, overtaking thought.

 

 

No prayer, this time, but the errant scratching of a pen on paper.

 

“Varric?”

 

“Nope, try again.”

 

“Bull.”

 

“There you go.”

 

Ella sighed, blinking open her eyes and squinting against the faint light of the flickering lamp. “What’re you writing?” Her speech was slurred. This is the worst.

 

“A report.”

 

“Ah. One of those good old: ‘mountain fell on me, but I’m still kicking I guess,’ memos.”

 

“Mountain didn’t fall on me, boss.”

 

“Please don’t call me that.” It was a mistake, barely more than a whisper. The creak and groan of her ribs was louder, but still he nodded, damn him.

 

“How are you doing?”

 

“I’ll be better once I get out of this tent.”

 

“You’ve been out of the tent.”

 

“I’ll amend my statement, then: I’ll be better once I get out of this tent while conscious.”

 

He laughed, quiet and low. “Stitches told me you talk in your sleep.”

 

“Bull, I’m starting to have this sinking suspicion that you never actually attended spy school.”

 

“You’re evading.”

 

“I’m joking.”

 

“And you’re still–“

 

“What do you want me to say?” she snapped, anger hot and seething in her voice. “Sometimes I talk in my sleep.”

 

“It’s not about what I want you to say, b- Ella.”


“You can call me boss, it’s fine.”

 

Again. Ella, you’re still dancing around–“

 

“You’re distressing me, Bull. I’m so distressed, the healers would be simply furious.”

 

He grunted. “You hate healers.”

 

“Yeah, but I also hate this conversation, so…”

 

“Fair enough,” he sighed. “Fine. But we will talk later.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, talk later.”

 

“Ella?”

 

“Shh, I’m sleeping.” And she was.

Notes:

And everybody was... just talking, mostly.

A lot of lines of thought, a lot of different ideas, another nice little mystery (hopefully).

As always, thank you for reading! Please drop a comment if you have questions, thoughts, want to discuss the current political spectrum of the international forum... you know, typical stuff. But seriously, I don't bite.

And if I haven't replied to your comments, it's because I'm just an awkward turtle who really appreciates reading them but can't quite figure out how to respond to compliments.

Chapter 25: An Echo

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

She was on a ship, rocking back and forth and back and forth and back and–

 

Why? She couldn’t recall. The only thing she could remember was the pitch of the ship, the arc of the waves as they stretched beneath the wood that seemed so flimsy as it lurch from left to right to left to right to left to–

 

And the dryness of her throat. The burning in her eyes, her nose, her lungs. The darkness. She remembered the darkness.

 

The darkness. She remembered… yes. That was why. Knives hidden up her sleeves, in her boots, under her skin. No. Maybe? Didn’t matter, all that mattered was the job.

 

Up down up down up down up down–

 

Stop.

 

Silly, can’t stop the sea. Can’t stop the ocean. Can only endure. Trace the lines of his face against your palm. Remember, remember, that’s what’s important. Blade in the dark, between the ribs, across the throat. Slash the lines of his face blood red. The job.

 

Don’t let the job go sideways to side to side to side to side to side to–

 

Stop.

 

 

She was on a wagon. Rocking. Pitching. Lurching. People were singing, sobbing. Her throat was dry, her lungs were stinging. But it was bright.

 

The snow caught the sunlight and made it dazzling.

 

She stirred, and someone did the same. A hand on her shoulder that burned with the contact get off get off don’t touch me

 

She pulled away, and the hand did as well.

 

“Bull?” She regretted saying it instantly, because not only was it weak, don’t show the but also it hurt, ripped her throat raw.

 

“You were dreaming, boss.”

 

“Oh.” She didn’t open her eyes. It was bright enough with them closed. “Did I…” Don’t ask. “Did I say anything?” Idiot.

 

“Nah, just moving around. Mumbled a bit, but nothing else.”

 

She opened her eyes. It was far too bright, and she hissed and groaned as she drew up a hand to cover her face. “I don’t remember falling asleep.”

 

“You were up front all yesterday, scouting around. Nearly collapsed at the campfire.”

 

Ah, yes. She remembered that. Running the paths was exhausting; her feet would sink into the unturned snow, the wind would bite into any and all exposed flesh, and the sun, always the sun, glaring off the white expanse.

 

“And now I’m in a wagon.”

 

“Yeah. It’s surprising, I know, but people seem to be of the opinion that you don’t get enough sleep.”

 

“How odd.” Her body creaked and groaned as she levered herself upright, leaning against the back of a crate so that she finally looked him in the eyes. Well, eye. The corner of her mouth quirked upwards. “Have there been any problems?”

 

He shook his head; always small, short movements, lest he accidentally impale someone on his horns. She fought to keep the smile from spreading as he spoke. “Nothing big. One of the carts got stuck, but me and the boys managed to drag it out.”

 

“Sounds fun. Sorry I missed the party.” Ella rolled a shoulder, cracking her back as she stretched her arms above her head. “Back into the thick of it, yeah?”

 

“Sure you don’t need some more rest, boss?” No pressure. He never pushed. Ella shook her head.

 

“Trust me, rest is the last thing I need.”

 

 

***

 

The ice was daggers on her skin, biting at her nose and tearing at her lungs. It was unpleasant.

 

“How do you Southerners stand it?” The Altus. Ella bit back a growl, conscious of eyes on her. Well. An eye. Bull laughed, a booming thing that almost made Ella worried about potential rockslides. Next to her, Varric sniggered.

 

“Come on Sparkler!” called the dwarf as they trudged along. “You said it yourself: you’re a pariah. Where’s that bravado?”

 

“I’ll give you bravado when I can feel my toes,” sniffed Pavus, kicking a snowbank for emphasis.

 

Damn pampered little mage boy. People were dying, and he was complaining about the cold. Unreasonable. Ella clambered over another hill, face screwed up in a snarl. She could be as unreasonable as she liked; it wasn’t as if she hadn’t earned it.

 

“See anything up there, Dancer?”

 

Ella glanced down with the beginnings of a grin. “Why, Teapot? Would you like me to get you a chair?”

 

Varric pressed a hand to his chest, staggering backwards. “Height jokes! I thought we were past this.”

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was…” She smirked, and Varric narrowed his eyes as if he knew what was coming. “…a low blow.” Bull laughed again, and Varric groaned.

 

“A dwarf just can’t catch a break around here,” he muttered, smiling in spite of himself.

 

“Yeah, well… I guess we’re just not in the business of ‘catching breaks’.” Ella slid down the other side of the hill less than gracefully, wincing at the scrape of ice-covered rock against any exposed skin.

 

“You can say that again,” said Bull, horns emerging over the hill behind her.


“I guess we’re not in the business of–“

 

A shift in the wind. “Everyone be quiet.”

 

And they were. Mostly. Ella could still hear the rustling of clothes, the harshness of breath. She could hear the confusion, the concern. But she could also hear the footsteps, even through these distractions; they dragged and clattered against the snow.

 

Reflexively her hands moved to sign: Several. Injured. Moving– but no, no one here would understand that. She stilled her hands, forced them to the hilts of her daggers as she made her way forward with careful steps that just barely dinted the snow. Ragged breaths reached her ears, alongside another pitiful scrape of a body against the ice and stone. Ella adjusted the grip on her daggers and rounded the corner.

 

Little things, quick flashes of information that her mind thought might be useful: man, young, battered, bloody, bits of exposed bone and a leg twisted at an odd angle. A face worn by hardship, recent and not. Blue lips. The barest flicker of the Fade about his skin. Most important: the empty footprints that surrounded him.

 

Her head twitched to the side as the whisper of cloth on skin caught her ear, and she flipped a dagger to grasp it by the blade before flinging it towards the sound. A sharp gasp and the thud of a body on the ground. Ella turned to see the glint of gold and red that marked Tevinter fashion before she felt the whisper of rearing magic to her left and flung another hasty dagger towards it. A fall: dead.

 

Two more, she could hear them, feel them, taste the Fade on her tongue and as she swiveled Ella drew two more daggers from within her cloak. A crackle of flames, and Ella smiled. Gotcha. She rolled to the side at the fireball and sprang forward, digging her blade into the man’s neck and ripping it free with a squelch and a burst of blood.

 

One more. The Fade went sharp, cool, crisp, and Ella ripped her foot free of the ice that clutched at her, snarling as she turned. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Bull, Varric, even Dorian at the ready, weapons drawn, but how dare he try to freeze her, trap her, cage her. A crackle of electricity, the air grew taught. How dare he. Ella lunged even as the tension snapped and a burst of lightning flew from his staff, and reflexively she brought up her daggers to disperse it. Wrong, wrong, wrong, a mistake; she’d lost those daggers ages ago. The electricity ran through her crossed blades, dancing across her fingertips, a hundred knives across her arms and it hurt. Still Ella bared her teeth and plunged her smoking daggers in his sides, letting them fall with him as she stumbled back, hands twitching.

 

She turned her hands over and winced; the flesh was raw and burnt, nothing terrible but just another injury that would need time and rest to heal. She hated those.

 

What were you thinking? she berated herself. It was an instinct, even if one she had thought long quashed, to block magic with her daggers. But those weren’t hers anymore, and hadn’t been since… fuck, she couldn’t even remember. The mark crackled and popped, probably at the magic, and she hissed, clenching her hand. She turned her head when she heard the sound of feet plowing through snow.

 

“That’s all of them, I think. One’s barely still alive, or at least he was.” Ella pointed at where the first man had lain, but Bull didn’t turn.

 

“A little warning next time?” said Bull, and Ella almost winced before she realized that he seemed more amused than annoyed. She forced a grin, dropping her hands to her sides.

 

“I had it under control,” she said simply. Varric scoffed as he scrambled down the hill.

 

“If ‘by control’ you mean ‘almost got my hands blown off’.”

 

“It was an error,” said Ella stiffly. “Won’t happen again.” Since no one else seemed to think it was important, she made her way to the injured ‘Vint, finding him easily enough. Wasn’t like he was going anywhere.

 

A young man, and definitely a mage. He seemed near death, and Ella knelt by him and felt for a pulse; it was weak, but there.

 

“Altus,” she called sharply, and Pavus’ nose wrinkled.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Can you heal him?”

 

He seemed surprised. “I can try to stabilize him, but we’ll need to take him back to–“

 

“Fewer words.”

 

He huffed. “A little bit,” he said, purposefully punctuating each syllable, as if speaking to a child. She didn’t let it rankle her; something else was catching her, something she couldn’t place. Ella motioned for him to start and sat back on her heels, thinking.

 

It took Pavus, really, to make the pieces click. The discomfort she felt around him called back things she’d rather not remember, and it was then that she realized the actually recognized the unconscious ‘Vint. His face was paled, lips blue, skin bloodied, but she knew him, somehow.

 

It wasn’t a bad feeling, she decided when Pavus had finally declared the man stable. He hadn’t been cruel, surely. In all honesty, she could muster up any remember hatred, and she had had that even for the ‘good’ ones. Maybe he had been an outsider? A kind stranger she had met once on the street? She didn’t think so. It was still unpleasant, whatever memory he was. Not a beacon of hope, or anything of the kind.

 

“Boss, are you sure you want to take him back to camp?”

 

“You are the worst spy ever.”

 

“You took a pretty rough hit, I just want to make sure that–“

 

“I’m not…” She sighed, rubbing a hand across her face. “There’s something. I can’t… I can’t place it but there’s something.”

 

Blessedly Bull seemed to understand, giving her a sharp nod before moving to pick up the man, but before he could the unconscious mage stirred, eyes fluttering open. Eyes. The eyes, she remembered the eyes.

 

“…Morn?” Ella couldn’t keep the words in, and at that point there wasn’t a lot keeping her from kneeling down beside him, over him. But… no. Confusion, in his eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Morn hadn’t been a mage. Morn hadn’t even been a man.

 

“You… you know Morn?” he managed in a shuddering whisper. Now it was Ella’s turn to be confused.


“Who are you,” she demanded, and the man flinched.

 

“I… Morn’s… she’s my sister.”

 

Oh, it made sense. Sort of. Morn had talked about a brother, a brother named… what was it?

 

Quen?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You… look a lot like her.”

 

“So I’ve been told.”

 

Ella heard Bull shift, and her grasp on her daggers tightened spasmodically. “And now you’re with the Venatori.” No emotion. Don’t give them an edge.

 

He sucked a breath between his teeth, chest rising with the sharp chill. “I’m not with them.”

 

Ella felt a wrinkle in her nose. “Hmm… let’s see.” She nudged his robes with her foot. “It sure does look like you’re–“


“I cannot possibly be the only one who has no idea what’s going on here, yes?” said Dorian, and Ella loosened her dagger slightly before she managed to breathe. She straightened, turned, and motioned towards the Quen.

 

“This is Quen. We found him in a snowbank while we were scouting ahead, and after I killed these other ‘Vints you actually fixed him up, if you recall, and then–“

 

“No need to get saucy, Dancer.”

 

“I am not–“ She quieted at a significant look from Bull, grumbling to herself before saying: “Look, he’s just a guy, alright?”

 

“A guy you know?” asked Bull. Ella rolled her eyes.

 

“I knew his sister, but they look alike. Twins.” She hesitated, turning towards a bewildered looking Quen. “What happened to Morn, anyway?”

 

“She’s safe.” It was his turn to pause, and the silence was punctuated by the harshness of his breath and the cold whispers in the wind. “I actually… she’s why I’m, you know… here.”

 

“Ah.” She understood. It was common, to buy another’s freedom through work. One of the reasons attachments could be a chore. But… “You’re not collared. And your clothes…”


“I’m not a slave,” he said; too sharp, too quick, too angry. Quen sighed, leaning his head back into the snow. “I got out. I’m a citizen, now. Well, I guess indentured. For Morn.”

“You’re paying her way out.” It wasn’t a question, and he nodded. “That’s noble, I guess.”

 

He seemed to be regaining his wits, something that Ella was glad for. If what he said was true, it was disheartening that he had gotten so far with an attitude like that. And Morn had been a clever bastard as well. “I’m at a disadvantage: you know my face, my name, and my sister, and yet I don’t know you.”

 

“Good.”

 

His eyes closed, and for a moment Ella thought that he had fallen unconscious again. But they snapped open once more, sharper. “You knew Morn. Slave?”

 

Ella’s turn to bristle, hand crackling at her side, but she didn’t deny it. Quen’s eyes darted towards the flash of green, widening a fraction.

 

“Herald.” He grinned: a bloody thing. “Fuck. The Herald’s a damned slave–“

“Watch it.” Something in her voice made him fall blessedly silent, and he reconsidered his words with caution, speaking slowly when he chose them.

 

“It’s just… I heard, you know? But they tried to cover it up. Insisted it wasn’t true. Strung someone up, for the whispers.” He leaned back with a hollow laugh. “Can’t let them know that it’s possible to actually get out, nonetheless get so high up as you.”

 

“You got out.” Though she knew it was unfair, she couldn’t keep the venom from her voice. “Just waltzed out of their, hands on fire–“

 

“You think this was easy?” he snapped, eyes blazing. “You have no idea how much I’ve sacrificed, just to get this far.”

 

“You’re working for them!”

 

“It was this or a collar.”

 

“I’d take the collar.”

He laughed again. “Oh, I can see that. Fuck, you really do have this sort of martyr complex, don’t you? How are you even still alive?”

 

Bull chuckled, and Ella whirled on him. “Something funny?”

 

“Nothing, nothing,” he shook his head unconvincingly. “It’s just nice to get some validation.”

 

“I am not a martyr,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “I’m just practical.”

 

“Nothing practical about the collar,” said Quen darkly. Ella sighed.

 

“Yeah.” She scratched at her nose, rubbing some feeling back into her face. “Did Morn ever mention me?”

 

“I haven’t spoken to her.”

 

“Then how do you know she’s–“

 

“I’ve seen her,” said Quen hastily. “I just haven’t spoken to her.”

 

Ella nodded. “We worked together for a while.”

 

“Really?” His eyes widened a fraction. “So you’re…” Ella nodded quickly, eyes sharp. He seemed to take the message, and didn’t finish the sentence. “Damn. Alright. And you’d still take the collar?”

 

“I… don’t know,” said Ella, hesitating. She didn’t need to justify herself to this… foe? slave? echo? Still, it was nice to talk to someone who would understand. “I snapped at you, it was undeserved. In truth… I just don’t know.”

 

He nodded slowly. “It’s easier with no strings. I got Morn’s sorry ass to look after, makes things even more complicated.”

 

A silence stretched between them, awkward and too-long as an unacknowledged question hung in the air: what now?

 

Quen would want to go back, to fulfill his servitude and free his sister. Ella had a duty to the Inquisition, and this man was, technically, the enemy. She could not let that happen.

 

He shivered, and Ella sighed.

 

“Let’s just get you back to camp,” she said. “Before you freeze to death.”

 

“Sounds fair.”

 

***

 

The walk back was… awkward, to say the least. They kept trying to ask her questions, Ella kept dodging, rolling, ducking. Bull, at least, had the tact to wait till later, but she knew that he would approach her eventually. Varric was persistent, and even Pavus could not seem to keep his curiosity at bay.

 

“So you two are acquainted?” the mage asked.

 

“None of your business,” said Ella.

 

“Forgive me, but I think it is my business if you’re dragging a member of the Venatori into the center of what remains of the Inquisition.”

 

“He is not of the Venatori.”

 

“Technically…” began Quen, but Ella stared him to silence.

 

“One cannot be held accountable for something done under duress,” she said, for both him and herself. It was an old battle, that, one that lurched between crippling self-blame and a confidence that bordered on arrogance. She could never seem to find a middle ground. Pavus grumbled into silence, and Varric picked up where he had left off.

 

“But you said you worked with this Morn? Doing what?” He had a keen nose for drama, she’d give him that.

 

“Varric…”

 

“Come on, Dancer, the readers want to know!”

 

“I’m a slave. We worked in the same household.” Technically, this was true. Quen snorted, and Ella sucked in a breath through her teeth. “I could still kill you.”

 

“Yeah, but will you?” The man sounded triumphant. “I mean, you didn’t before. You owe something to Morn?”

 

Her reply was too quick, and too sharp. “I don’t owe her anything.”

 

He seemed to finally take the hint and fell silent, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other as Bull supported most of his weight. Quiet, finally…

 

“If you owe nothing, then why are we taking him back to–“

 

Ella closed her eyes and sighed.

 

***

 

The Nightingale, finally, seemed to understand, with no questions asked. Leliana simply took one look at the man, nodded, and set about establishing a secure location to hold him. It rankled at Ella to cage or chain him, but she knew necessity. He could be a valuable asset, if played correctly.

 

“You haven’t told them?”

 

Or just an ass.

 

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re referring to.” Ella glanced around hastily; they were sitting in what seemed to be isolation, but she couldn’t be sure. Quens hands were bound behind him as a temporary solution, and Ella had volunteered to watch him while they set something up. No one seemed to want to come closer than necessary to a ‘Vint. Quen rolled his eyes.

 

“Come on, I’m not dense. I mean, Morn’s smarter, clearly, but that’s because… you know.”

 

There was no one around. “I thought she got you out,” Ella hissed. “I thought that was the point.”

 

“I mean…” Quen sighed. “She’s spent her entire life protecting me, saving me. I figured… time to return the favor, you know?”

 

Ella pressed a hand against his side, and he winced. She pulled a way. “Bang up job you’re doing so far.”

 

“It was going great,” he said furiously. “That is, until you dropped a fucking mountain on us.”

 

“’Us’? ‘Us’?” Ella shook her head. “You’re an idiot. Morn can handle herself, you should run while you can.”

 

“I’m not leaving her.”

 

“Did you hear me?”

 

“And they’re good to me.”

 

“Never mind. I take it back. You’re fucking brain-dead.”

 

“Get off of my ass,” he growled, shifting his arms behind him. “Just ‘cause you’re not a mage–“

 

“I do not want to be a mage. Fucking…” She waved her hands in frustration, before settling. “Fucking demons and shit.”

 

“Well then why…” He stopped. He smiled. “Alright, that was kind of impressive, but we were having a conversation.”

 

“If you tell them anything I will denounce you and your words, and I will orchestrate your death by grisly accident.”

 

Fuck, okay, a little defensive there. But, um, the fact that you’re threatening me tells me that they would believe me, so…”

 

“If you think you have any leverage here, then you are sorely misled.”

 

“I’m not trying to threaten you.” He paused. “Not yet, anyway. I don’t have a reason. I’m just trying to figure out how afraid of you I should be.”

 

“Morn really had her work cut out for her, didn’t she.”

 

“You know she’s not Falx, right? Not anymore.”

 

Ella stared at him and saw his pulse was steady and his eyes didn’t lie. “Falx doesn’t let people go.”

 

“They let you go.”

 

“If by ‘let me go’ you mean shoved me through a back door in the slave market.”

 

“Okay, but they still let you go.”

 

“Morn would be dead, if that was the case. I was an unusual circumstance.”

 

“So you were lucky.”

 

“I didn’t say that.” She sighed, tapping the mark absentmindedly. “There just isn’t much of a market for ex-Falx. Everyone knows what that means, and no one wants a slave that’s disobedient and trained to kill you in the quickest way possible.”

 

“Do you still have the brand?”

 

What?” Her head shot up to find him staring, a little wide-eyed, at a patch of exposed flesh on her arm.

 

“I mean, you must’ve… never mind.”

 

They were silent, for a while, and Ella heard the flicker of fire, the whisper of the wind, and the soft mutterings of people who had not yet fallen asleep. Quen broke the quiet.

 

“I need to go back to her.”


“I can’t let you do that.”

 

Why?

“You know where we are.”

 

“Well whose fault is that? You’re the one who brought me to–“


“This camp moves. I mean you know that we’re still alive, and in the mountains. That we’re on the move.”

 

“I won’t tell.”

 

“You won’t have a choice. They have ways. If it was Morn, maybe, but you…”

 

“I’m strong. She’s my sister, we’re related.”

 

“We fought together, killed together, and suffered together. I took beatings for her, and her for me. Each of us knew when the other was weak and compensated. We were a team. I am closer to her by bonds of pain and steel than what you could ever have by simple blood.”

 

“And still… you owe her nothing.”

 

“There are no debts in Falx. No loyalties. When the time came, she let me go.”

 

“Okay. Okay.” He paused, eyes flickering down, then up again. “But I’m still–“

 

“Strong? It’s not strength. You don’t stand against the pain, you bend with it.” She sighed deeply, rubbing her face with the heel of her palm. “What I’m saying is that I have years of training, both in the classroom and on the field. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that everyone breaks, in the end.”

 

She heard footsteps in the snow, and glanced up. A few of the Nightingale’s agents hovered at the edge of the campfire, and Ella stood.

 

“We’ll talk later,” she said, motioning for them to come forward. Quen hesitated as they lifted him to his feet, even as they began to steer him away before he looked her in the eye, and nodded.

 

Ella sighed, plopping back down on the log, head in her hands. It would take a long while to fall asleep with the thoughts racing across her mind.

Notes:

Long time no see, but the summer's been a little busy and this chapter killed me. In the end I just did what I wanted to do in the first place. I'm worried that this is getting a little too off canon/chock-full of original characters for people's tastes, but ah well. If there's confusion/annoyance, don't hesitate to leave a comment or message me and I'll strive to make the writing more clear, but there is supposed to be a bit of mystery around it still.

Hope you enjoy, thanks for reading, and if you like leave a kudos and a comment!

Chapter 26: The Play

Notes:

Hey, haven't updated in a while. Sorry about that, life's a real pain in the ass. Also sorry, this chapter might be a little rough, but I really just want to get it up here and out of the way so I can move on.

Trigger warning for an allusion to torture? It's blink and you'll miss it, probably wouldn't even notice if I hadn't said anything, but I feel like I should say it anyway just in case.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Her back was aching, again.

 

It hadn’t troubled her in a long while; too much to do, to worry about. But now the tasks ran short. The trek was long and arduous but nothing could truly be done but endure; and even when there was something to do, people would hardly let their precious Herald pick up a shovel or lift up a wagon. There was only so much patrolling she could do before they grew concerned, and so she was left to pacing along the long line of wagons until her feet grew numb in the hopes that it would drive the thoughts from her mind and the soreness from her scars.

 

She caught herself rubbing at her wrists for perhaps the hundredth time when the Nightingale approached her. Well, fell into step beside her would be more accurate; the Nightingale never did anything so mundane as approach.

 

“Your friend is stubborn, but he hasn’t posed a problem or a threat,” she said. Ella flexed her hand, cracking her wrist.

 

“He wouldn’t. I trust you haven’t done anything… untoward.”

 

“There is no reason for such actions, as of now.”

 

“Of course.” Ella glanced up and over the nearing snow banks, bringing up a hand to shield her eyes from the white glare. “I apologize for this inconvenience, but I felt the benefits could outweigh the risks.”

 

The Nightingale nodded. “So long as he continues to be so docile, it shouldn’t be an issue.”

 

“Then what did you wish to talk about?” Ella asked, eyes narrowing.

 

“Your past.” Ah. The Nightingale had seemed to recognize her desire to abandon this game of pretenses. “More than ever, the people see you as a beacon of light; if there is something in your no doubt colorful history that might damage this view, we need to know.”

 

Ella didn’t ask why. Damage control. She respected it, but… “There is nothing of interest.”

 

“I beg to differ,” said the Nightingale with the faintest of scoffs. “I understand your desire for anonymity, and I have tried to respect it, but the Inquisition can’t afford it anymore.”

 

No, you’ve just hit a dead-end in your digging,” Ella snapped before she could leash her tongue. A sigh, and she rubbed at her wrist again, twisting her fingers around the joint. “Did it ever occur to you that you found nothing because there is nothing to find?”

 

“Of course it did.” The Nightingale’s voice was strained, for a moment, but she covered it well. “However, I find it more likely that you are simply adept at covering your tracks.”

 

“I’m glad you think so highly of me,” said Ella with a grin. The Spymaster was not amused.

 

“Many of our records have been lost with Haven. Just because I have not found anything yet does not mean that I wouldn’t have, given more time.”

 

“Let it go.”

 

“Unfortunately it is my job to do the opposite of that, Herald.” Her expression softened for a moment, but Ella was pretty sure it was just a play. “It would be easier if you just told us now.”

 

it would be easier, pet    don’t struggle it will just hurt more   give up give up give up   it will all be better soon if you just give

 

No.” No, no that was wrong. The breath between her teeth, the clench of her jaw, that wrinkle in her nose. She smoothed her face and calmed her heart. “I’m sorry, but there are things that… were not meant to be shared. Is that enough for you?”

 

“Ella…” Oh boy. Like a disappointed mother, why was she playing it like this? Like she cared? “I know you’re afraid, but-“

 

“I am not afraid.” No fear no fear no fear no fear no

 

She stumbled in a particularly deep snow bank and winced as her back twinged. The Nightingale just pursed her lips.

 

“…Think it over. We’ll be here.” And then she was gone. Ella sighed, arching upwards with a satisfying pop of her back. That woman never did things by halves.

 

Am I being selfish? The thought was odd, because of course I am, I’m always selfish, I’ve never done a Good Thing in my life but still it struck her, needled at her like a stone in her shoe. At this point, was it selfish to keep so much to herself? Before it hadn’t mattered; she hadn’t mattered. But now…

 

Selfish was good. Selfish kept her alive. Selfish and running.

 

And booze.

 

Fuck she needed a drink. Dry ever since Haven, and that was a long time. Sure, she’d gone a lot longer without one, but never when she was… when she was out in the world.

 

Something about alcohol muffled the pain, both inside and… more inside, I guess. It deadened the nerves in her back and numbed the bones in her wrists until everything was hazy and sweet and she knew she wouldn’t remember the dreams.

 

She should have heard him come up behind her, and it was a testament to how lost in thought she really was that she actually jumped when he started speaking.

 

“You good, boss?”

 

Fucking piece of shit mother-

 

She flashed the Iron Bull a grin. “Other than the constant fear of imminent death by Archdemon, you mean?”

“Saw you talking to Red.”

 

“We were just discussing the weather. Wondering if it would be miserable and cold or cold and miserable.”

 

“Thought complaining about the cold was the ‘Vint’s thing.”

 

She hated that he said that. She hated it a lot. “I didn’t realize you were keeping score.”

He seemed to realize. “Not a contest. Don’t think anyone’s feeling particularly warm and toasty.”

 

“Yeah…” she rubbed a hand across her face with a sigh. “I need a drink.”

 

“Don’t we all.”

 

She just grunted, wincing a little as she rolled out her wrist again. Little tufts of snow began to drift past them, and Iron Bull sighed as Ella drew up her hood.

 

“Boss?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“You know you can talk to us, right?”

 

Ella tried unsuccessfully not to bristle, hand jerking towards her dagger before she forced it back.

 

“Ella…”

 

“I don’t need an ear; I need a drink.”

 

“Well you’re shit out of luck, then,” he said with the air of someone throwing his hands up. “We have tea. That’s it.”

 

“I know,” muttered Ella. “But I need a drink.”

 

They were both silent for a while, the snowfall growing thicker as Ella marveled at Bull’s lack of outerwear. He was wearing a shirt, but he still refused to cover his arms for some forsaken reason.

 

“Hey, Boss?” Almost hesitant, he reached up a hand to scratch at his horns.

 

“Yes?” she asked warily.

 

“I was talking to Stitches…”

 

Ella felt a wrinkle in her nose. “Please go on.”

“There’s no need for that,” said Bull, rolling his eye. “He just mentioned some–"

“Spit it out.”

Iron Bull grunted. “Old scars. Said that they needed taking care of.”

A pain in her back, because of course, and Ella’s fingers twitched with the effort of keeping them off her wrists. “They are taken care of.”

“That is the most… Boss, lies are supposed to be believable.”

“What do you want me to say?” she snapped. “It’s the way it is. I live with it.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want you to say.”

Ella didn’t say anything, just a wordless sound of frustration. Bull sighed.

 

“Look, Stitches seemed to think otherwise. That’s all. And…” He hesitated again, and Ella narrowed her eyes. What’s the play? “I know a little bit about scars. There are some ways to make the pain a little… less.”

 

“What does it even matter? They don’t affect my work.”

 

“Yeah, but isn’t your health important?”

 

She couldn’t find words, because the right answer, the one that sprung to her mind first, was the wrong thing to say. She knew that. But she couldn’t just say ‘Yes, of course’; the words were caught in her throat, flies in a web. Just silence, but that was wrong as well. Kaffas.

 

“I will… consider the options,” she muttered.

 

He grinned, that infuriating thing that just teetered on the edge of asinine and still it tugged at the corners of her own lips, drawing them up until she was smiling too, damn it, why am I smiling? She had just been cowed, humiliated, defeated. Ella scraped it from her face, forcing her features to a scowl that felt hollow, somehow still in jest and… what’s the play?

 

“See you around, boss,” he said, and he was gone. Dust in the wind. Big, giant, Qunari dust. With horns. Damn it, what’s the play?

 

Still damage control, just like with the Nightingale. That was it, that must be it, she was Herald, she was a figurehead, important, too precious to allow rust or ruin.

 

Must be.

 

“Sometimes, people just do nice things.”

 

It was a testament to either her control or her distraction that she didn’t stab the boy. As it was, she nearly choked on her thoughts, hissing as the mark sputtered at her side.

 

“Sorry,” said Cole.

 

“S’alright,” she muttered, pressing a thumb against her palm, wincing at a pain that still felt strange and unnatural. Ella supposed that she’d never get used to that.

 

“You might, eventually.”

 

Please don’t do that.”

 

“It’s… hard not to. You’re just so loud. So bright. Some things are hard to see, but some I can’t ignore.”

 

Ella sighed. “Is there anyway I could stop being so… bright?”

 

“Solas might know.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“He wants to help you.”

 

“I’ve lived enough to know that I don’t want help from a mage.”

 

“That’s not true,” muttered Cole, his eyes narrowing. “The lies make it simpler, but they still hurt you. You shouldn’t–“

 

“I don’t take orders from you,” hissed Ella, shrinking away. “I am not yours.”

“I’m not claiming you. Just helping. Sometimes people just want to–“

 

“The world isn’t that simple.”

 

“Maybe you just want to make it complicated, so there’s room for the masks and the boxes.”

 

Gone. Just… gone, literally vanished, one of the most disconcerting things Ella had ever witnessed. If Bull was dust in the wind, this kid was a single snowflake in a fucking blizzard. Had she even seen him in the first place? The fact that the others could confirm his presence was just as troubling as reassuring.

 

What’s the play?

 

He was a spirit. He had no play.

 

What’s the play?

 

He already had a body, he clearly was a spirit of Compassion; Ella knew enough about the Fade to understand that.

 

But what’s the

 

There was nothing he could want. No motive, nothing. Maybe he could turn into a demon later, but it wasn’t like that would be voluntary; helping her wasn’t a means to that end. At least she didn’t think so.

 

The play what’s

 

The kid just wanted to help.

 

What’s the

 

Ella was tired. Her back hurt, her wrists hurt, her feet and her ankles and her neck and her shoulders and her jaw and her fucking fingernails ached and nothing could dull it. Well. She knew what could dull it.

 

There wasn’t a fight to pick here, though. Couldn’t knock someone’s mug off a table, couldn’t punch a guardsman, couldn’t even find a little skirmish at the edge of some war or another. Fuck, she was some war or another. Wasn’t that a scary thought.

 

Hunting, maybe hunting. They needed food, right? Everyone always needed food. And food could fight back. The right food, anyway. She’d heard wolves in the pass, prowling at the edges of the campfire before quickly darting back into the safety of the woods.

 

Damn it, she didn’t want to pick a scrap with wolves. That wasn’t a fair fight. It was their home, there’d be no reason, and just… fuck. She’d feel worse afterwards.

 

Her fingernails hurt. That wasn’t even the cold, that was just… she supposed the other hurts had dredged that one up. I am not weak. She wasn’t, undoubtedly, because otherwise she wouldn’t be alive to have these aches in the first place.

 

They were setting up camp, sheltered from the wind by a cliff side’s rough embrace, and it was only when a man hastily relieved her of a pack of salvaged grain that she realized the day had come and gone. Typical.

 

They wouldn’t let her do anything, not even volunteer to guard. Said she needed sleep, as if. She didn’t need sleep. What she needed was a job. A job and a fight, but she was getting neither.

 

Restless feet led her to a hasty set up that was the laughable excuse for a war room, and she loitered for a moment at the edge of an approach, wasting time by watching the breath drift from her lips and tapping the edges of her numbed fingers against her thigh before the Spymaster made it obvious that she had been spotted with a raised brow.

 

Ella took a few steps forward, bridging that gap until she could rest her hands against the rickety table, and as she traced a finger against the whorls in the grain she couldn’t banish the thought that someone might have died just so they could bring this piece of wood. That someone else could have been saved if she wasn’t so fucking incompetent.

 

Damn it, why was she spiraling? They were all there, and they were looking at her.

 

“Anything new?” she asked. Cullen shook his head, but it was the Spymaster who answered.

 

“We’re still sending out scouts, but none have reported anything of note.”

 

“Keep looking. We’re dead in the water here, unless we find something.” Oh no, that was too much authority. Ella forced back a wince, tapping her fingertips against the table instead as she searched for any signs of pushback or resentment. None, this time, but she needed to be careful; tensions were high, and she wasn’t in charge. Responsible, but not in charge.

 

Cullen just nodded, offering a strained smile to her and the others. “Hunting parties have had limited success, but food is still running low. These are farmers and woodworkers, not survivalists. There have… already been deaths.”

 

“I know,” said Ella, drawing all of the emotion out of that statement. No weakness. She knew because she had seen it, the bodies slowly falling out of step as if drowning in air, collapsing under the weight of their own flesh. No weakness. “But we have to press on. There isn’t another choice.”

 

“We could request aid…” began the Ambassador, but Ella cut her off.

 

“From whom? Anyone who might have supported us is either dead or seriously reconsidering their stance. And we can’t let the Inquisition fall apart just to please some noble.” They were still needed; that Tevinter bastard was still out there. And he was going to burn.

 

“Stubbornness isn’t worth lives,” Josephine snapped, her calm veneer cracking under the strain of the past days. “We can’t afford to waste time on lofty ideals when people are dying. Maybe… maybe we should admit that we have lost.”

 

We haven’t lost.” She couldn’t tell them about the fortress. Too much explaining, too much risk, and she didn’t even know if Solas was telling the truth or not. The mage may have earned the bare minimum of trust, but she still didn’t know him. They needed to keep going, thought; she needed to see this through. To the end. “Haven might be gone, but we’re still alive. The Inquisition is still alive.”

 

High tensions made for circular arguments and they broke after a few hours having accomplished nothing, as usual. Why she was involved in these discussions at all was baffling to her, but she supposed it was encouraging; figureheads usually didn’t have a say in how things were run.

 

She dropped in on Quen, briefly, brushing past the guard and ducking into the small tent where he sat, hands cuffed together by bands that glowed with strange runes; magic-suppression. Where they had found the things she had know idea, but the fact that she was grateful for them made her feel nauseous.

 

“How’s it going, oh illustrious Herald.” Oh, great, he was awake.

 

“Not your business,” muttered Ella as she knelt by his side, roughly grabbing his chin to tilt his head, examining the skin intently.

 

“Well, most people buy me dinner first.”

 

Ella was silent, and Quen shuffled uncomfortably before she released him with a sigh, reaching down to grab his hands and pull back his sleeves, running a thumb along one forearm.

 

“I’m just making sure nothing… unsavory is going on.”

 

Quen just looked at her, and she sighed again, dropping the arms.

 

“It wouldn’t be the first time. But you don’t seem to have any bruising. Do your sides hurt?”

 

“I would tell you if something happened.”

 

“Are you sure? Or would you stay quiet and simmer. Use it as an excuse to hate me, and use that as an excuse to wish me harm in some ill-considered escape attempt.”

 

“Do you… do you hear the things you say?”

 

“Like I said,” Ella said with a shrug. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

 

“That implies that you’ve done that. And you’re clearly not the norm, so I wouldn’t be worried.”

 

“Yes, well, you’re clearly an overgrown child, so I suppose I shouldn’t be concerned about your silence when it comes to any discomfort.”

 

The corner of his mouth twitched up, and Ella held back a scowl as he spoke. “Have I hit a nerve?”

 

“I don’t know why I bother,” she snapped, standing briskly. “It’s not as if you’re a friend.”

 

“Well, that may be true, but it doesn’t seem like that’s something to hold against me, you know? Not a lot of people in that club, are there?”

 

“For good reason.” Ella left in what could be described as a huff, trying to ignore the way her skin itched and her nails why were they still… fucking damn it. Out of everything, that was what had stuck?

 

She needed to talk to Solas. There, that was something she could do, something to keep this strange pain at bay. The elf was always so hard to find anyway, maybe she would have to work at it.

 

No, he was just by the fire. Sipping from a cup. How disappointingly mundane. Well, at least he was alone.

 

“Greetings, Herald.”

 

“I need to speak with you.”

 

“Well, fortunately, that’s what you’re doing at this very moment.”

 

Ella sighed, rubbing at her face. “Hilarious. Varric’s nickname was apt.”

 

He actually smirked, hiding it unsuccessfully behind his mug. “What is it?”

 

“This… fortress. Are we close?”

 

“Very. Maybe a day or two more before our scouts find it.”

 

“Are you sure?

 

“Yes.”

 

How?

 

“I’ve seen it,” he said simply. Ella growled in frustration.

 

“Are you sure it wasn’t just a normal dream?”

 

“There is no such thing.”

 

“You know what I meant. It’s real?”

 

“Yes, it’s real. Have some trust.”

 

“You may have noticed, but that’s not really my style.”

 

“Oh, I’ve noticed.” She could have sworn that he rolled his eyes, but the fire was playing its usual tricks. “Just wait a couple more days, and then you can string me up for treason.”

 

“I’m not going to… thanks, Solas.”

 

“No issue, Ella.”

 

Great, well, that solved nothing. As she walked away from the fire she felt the pain flare up again, more insistent than before. It was a distraction, a fly hovering at the edge of her vision; except flies didn’t come with blood and baggage, and flies couldn’t make her wrists lock up so that she had to twist them around with an unsettling crack. Her fingernails. Kaffas, she wasn’t sleeping tonight.

 

But she had to lie in bed. It was part of the ruse, part of the mask, part of everyone’s insistence that she play at being human. Lie in bed while others took guard duty, and stare at the canvas ceiling, counting when it was rustled by the wind.

Notes:

Yay, character development? I'm already on the next chapter, so hopefully that'll come out really soon. Thanks for bearing with me! As always, any and all feedback is appreciated. If I haven't responded to a comment don't worry, I've read it and I love it, I'm just awkward.

Just as another heads up: the next chapter will open with a more specific description of torture. It's not particularly graphic, but it warrants a warning. Feel free to comment or message me with any questions about it! I just want to make sure I don't mess with someone.

Chapter 27: Nails

Notes:

Ayy, this is a long one, but they just kept talking, you know how it is.

TW for a graphic description of torture? You can probably guess by the title, but it's not super great. Also TW for a panic attack and coming out of one.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Her fingernails. She had known that was going to fuck her over.

 

Ella couldn’t remember exactly when she’d fallen asleep, but it had been a mistake, that was for damn sure. Shit shit shit I’m slipping I

 

She was cold, which was odd because she could feel the heat of the fire at her back. Behind her, just at the fringes of sight. Not a good sign. Where was she sitting? First things first: she was sitting. She was sitting on a chair.

 

Another bad sign: she couldn’t move her hands. She tried to look down, to see what was holding them there, but found that her head was much the same. Ah. There’s the third.

 

Everything was off. Distant. Hazy. Drugged?

 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a table. She didn’t like what she saw on the table.

 

And suddenly a man. Where did he come from? Didn’t matter, doesn’t matter, suddenly a man faceless but somehow staring. Voiceless but he spoke, and she shuddered at the meaning of the not-words. Everything was off.

 

No no no this wasn’t real. She was dreaming I’m dreaming I am

 

She was screaming. No. No she wasn’t; don’t let them see the weakness. No, she wasn’t screaming, because she was better than that. Better than this, why am I here? Panic filling her lungs drowning drowning drowning drowning why am I

 

She was cold. But the fire, the fire behind her, she knew what that was for, and maybe that was why she was cold. A shifting of iron, she knew it was iron but she couldn’t help but think of snakeskin against stone, a shuddering rasp that

 

What do you want what do you want what do you want from me?

 

It didn’t matter; she wouldn’t give it. That was the code, the principle. Stubborn.

 

She could smell it before anything else, the smell of burning flesh. Unsettling, because it wasn’t quite as foul as it should have been and yet it still was off something’s off

 

Dreaming. This is a dream, stop falling falling falling

 

Burning hissing agony agony I will not scream. I will not give them the satisfaction. I will not be a spectacle.

 

The way the iron pressing into her arm was almost dispassionate, but the hand that grabbed her face was not, twisting at her head, baring her cheek and fuck fuck fuck

 

White hot pain. Sparks of fire in her vision, she closed her eyes but she could still see the glow, still feel her skin peel and wither against the iron’s press, melting and burning fuck fuck fuck

 

I will not scream; even as her head jerked to the side, even as the fingers dug into her chin, nails biting to keep her still.

 

The fingernails. The fucking fingernails

 

Suddenly it was gone, still burning but gone, somehow. Time was melting, falling into itself in a blurry kaleidoscope of pain and cold and dark and

 

The image sharpened. Fine details, too many, an overload of information because even though she couldn’t see anything but what the movement of her eyes alone allowed, everything was crisp and in focus, the floors, the walls, the fire behind her and the cooling iron on the floor.

 

The table. A hand brushed over it almost delicately, dancing across the array of tools before settling on one.

 

She knew what was going to happen, and that somehow made it worse, so much worse, because the helplessness of it all was enough to make her sick, the waiting the waiting the waiting for something to happen, something she knew was going to happen but she could do nothing, always nothing.

 

Once again, the pain was secondary, somehow absent as she saw but didn’t see, felt but didn’t feel the blade dig under her nail, wrenching it free from the bed almost lazily. A weak clatter as it hit the stone, and then there was the fire. She would not scream. She would not.

 

The copper taste of blood in her mouth and she wondered how, how was that so when the only blood was at her fingertips. How, how, how, but she would not scream and oh, yes, that had consequences. She couldn’t free her lip from her teeth, couldn’t help but flinch at another press of the blade.

 

Every nail would be gone by the time this was over. She knew that. How did she know that?

 

Wake up you idiot, wake up wake up wake up

 

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the pain and the fire and the cold and the dark and the silence.

 

 

 

Bull was hovering. Quite a sight, that: the giant of a qunari wavering at the edge of a doorway, as if uncertain. He huffed. As if.

 

He blamed Stitches, really, for all of this. The sheer volume of disappointment that man could express in the squint of his eyes and a single twitch of his brows was second only to his Tama, and though Iron Bull could normally soldier past it, it seemed that the healer wasn’t willing to budge on this. This being Ella.

 

It didn’t matter how many times Bull told the man that she was not interested, likely would never be interested, and in fact was probably so averse to the idea of actually treating her own body with any modicum of respect that she might rip his remaining eye out at the mere suggestion. No, of course, because Stitches was of a single and devoted mind, something that Iron Bull usually could respect. Now, however, he was hovering outside the Herald’s door because he was caught between self-preservation and a disappointed healer. Damn it.

 

Well, at least there was one thing he could be sure of: he definitely wasn’t waking her up. It seemed like the Boss didn’t know how to sleep. Bull knocked at the tent pole, careful not to accidentally push over the piece of wood. He stepped back a little, to give her space; she’d be more amenable if he didn’t force her to look up at him right away. At least, he hoped. That, or she might think him to be patronizing her, trying to play her. Damn, it was always fucking eggshells with that woman.

 

He simmered for a few moments, and stepped forward to knock again. It… shouldn’t take such a long time to get up and pull back the tent flap; the tent was, while bigger than some of the others, still just a tent, and could only take a few footsteps to cross.

 

Well, if she doesn’t want to be bothered… Bull shook off the uncomfortable feeling that he was being a coward. Something else, too, that he couldn’t quite place; something like disappointment, something that rankled at him, so he ignored it and focused on coward. It wasn’t his fault that the Boss didn’t want to talk to anyone. There. Not a coward.

 

As he turned, Iron Bull caught the telltale crackle of magic. He whirled back around, catching another flicker of the mark. Well, flicker wasn’t quite the right…

 

The thing was fireworks. Like Rocky when he got too excited about a wall that needed tearing down. Like fucking gaatlok. That was a tell, he knew that was a tell, it meant that she was upset, or nervous, or angry; but she was just lying awake in her room. She was always just–

 

Clearly she wasn’t. There was no sound of struggle, so he could assume that there was no one else inside. Well, that meant she must be sleeping. Aw, shit, he really didn’t want to wake her up.

 

Coward.

 

Ignoring the obvious risk to his face, he knew she didn’t like it when people saw her sleep. Or heard her sleep. Something like that, something about sleeping, she hated it. He thought it had something to do with feeling weak or exposed, and he didn’t want her to be even more wary of him. How was he supposed to do his job if she hated him?

 

The light was moving. She was thrashing, and he was still hovering. Frozen. Fucking damn it, the Iron Bull did not freeze.

 

Bull ducked inside the tent.

 

 

 

She wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. She wouldn’t be a spectacle.

 

 

 

She was muttering. Nothing coherent, but he could make out a few words. Muttering between gritted teeth, and as her hand flashed once more, in the light he could make out streaks of red at her lip, in her snarl.

 

 

 

Couldn’t move, not her head not her legs not her arms her hands her wrists and her fingers clenched against the pain, trying to dig into the wood but with what with what?

 

 

 

And she certainly was thrashing. Limbs tangled in the blanket, hands clutching at anything before reaching for something else. It was like she was drowning. Bull took a step closer, kneeling down beside her before hesitating.

 

 

 

It was cold and dark and she couldn’t move her head but she could see everything. Everything but his face; why couldn’t she see his face? But no, no she could see everything, the rough stone walls the half-finished floors the blood the blood she could see the

 

 

 

He needed to wake her up, obviously. She was hurting, having a nightmare or worse, some freaky demon shit because who knew what that mark was doing to her. But he didn’t want to startle her, and he certainly didn’t want her hurting herself, mentally or physically. He could have kicked himself; look at him, freezing again. But what was he supposed to do. In the end it was her eyes. Screwed up tight, creased around the edges like she was in pain, and suddenly all rationale flew out the window. He was waking her up, damn it.

 

 

 

Ella woke up with her elbows pinned to her sides and was, understandably, distressed.

 

She couldn’t move her arms, couldn’t wrench herself free, and kicking didn’t seem to be getting her anywhere. It was dark, it was dark and she couldn’t see, really, because her eyes were closed or it was night or those strange flashes of green were blinding her; it didn’t matter, what mattered was that it was dark.

 

The arms around her–and they were arms, she eventually realized–tightened, although that might have been related to her heel connecting with something, maybe a shin. Or a knee. But they didn’t give, and in the haze of panic and fear and pain so much pain Ella felt that to be a Bad Thing, or perhaps even a Very Bad Thing.

 

Her hands twitched, fingers straining for some purchase; not that it would matter, all her nails were gone. So she abandoned that pretense and tried to twist her head around, maybe bite down on a hand or an arm, perhaps a shoulder. Someone was talking, but she couldn’t make out words. Soothing tone. She would not be fooled.

 

No sound, though. Not from her. I will not scream.

 

A growl deep in her throat, a rumble that scared even her, and she wrenched herself to the side, loosening the vice-like grasp just enough that she could slip onto the ground, whirling around and striking out, catching anything she could with–

 

There was something caught beneath her nails. Blood, skin, flesh, there was–

 

“Bull?” She sounded pathetic. Spectacle.

 

“Hey, Ella.”

 

“What are you–?“ Angry, not breathless but angry, she needed to be angry, that was the play. “What are you doing here.”

 

“Wanted to talk to you about something, figured you’d be awake.” Why was he so calm? He had no right, being so calm. “You weren’t,” he added lamely. Still calm, still cool, couldn’t get a read what’s the play what’s

 

“I can’t feel my hands.” That was true, but why did I say that?

 

“Okay.” It didn’t sound okay. “Okay.”


She still couldn’t really… see. Everything was bright and dark and so blurry, too many shapes crowding her vision.

 

Something cold was pressed into her palm, and she jumped half and inch. “How about now?” asked Bull. She knew it was Bull. How did she know that?

 

“I can’t… I…” It was a dull sort of chill, like ice seeping through your gloves, but at least it was something. She latched onto that something, tried to find stable ground as she felt herself flounder in shapes and shadows. “S’cold.”

 

“Yeah, it would be.” She thought he might be… laughing? A chuckle, it was a chuckle. He’s laughing at you, because you’re pathetic. Well, she supposed that made sense. “Do you want to sit down?”

 

Ella hadn’t realized she’d been standing, but she supposed that made sense, as she didn’t remember sitting. Do I want to sit down?

 

“…what?” Ah, yes. Very intelligent.

 

“Hey.” There was something at the side of her face. And something at the other side. Ergo, someone was holding both sides of her face. Brilliant deduction. “Hey, can you hear me?”

 

What a ridiculous question!

 

“I… maybe…?”

 

What a ridiculous answer!

 

“Okay, Ella, I want you to focus.”

 

She didn’t want to focus. Focus was bad; focus made the pain more sharp. You were supposed to drift, let it be blurry.

 

“Ella, look around you.”

 

She didn’t want to. There was a rule, there was a code, never give them what they want don’t answer questions don’t give in ever

 

“No.” Well, at least she was being firm.

 

“Ella…” Something was rubbing against her face. Maybe a thumb. It felt kind of nice. “Please.”

 

“…okay.” What happened to being firm?

 

She tried to look around, but it just made her dizzy; everything was blank and same, like being underwater, and she started having trouble finding up and down, clutching at something anything fuck.

 

“Ella.” Her eyes snapped back to the voice. “I want you to name five things you can see. Okay? Just five things.”

 

Simple, easy, she had five fingers, she could see those. The hands left her head as she glanced down, but

 

“I can’t.” A whisper, harsh and real and damn it he isn’t supposed to hear that, no one is supposed to hear that.

 

“Why not?” So fucking patient.

 

“It’s all…” Everything was blurred, and trying to pull it into focus was like shoving yarn through a needle meant for thread. More and more frayed as she tried to jam everything into place. Except

 

“There’s a fire.” Another whisper.

 

“There isn’t a fire in this tent, Ella.” Why was he lying? Why was he saying that name?

 

“…tent?”

 

“We’re in a tent right now. Do you see this?” Something was definitely in front of her face.

 

“I… it’s a dagger.”

 

“Right. Good. Only four more, okay?”

 

“There’s… there’s a blanket.” She pointed at it, tossed and tangled and threadbare and so itchy. “The tent pole, and… and that quill and that book, and a table and that–“

 

“Good. Good, you did it.” She could see him, now, not quite sharp but a little more clear. What’s the play, but it was quiet. He was louder.

 

“Now, how about four things? Four things you can touch.”

 

Four, of course, that was easy, that was less than five.

 

“It’s cold.”

 

“I know it is, Ella, but you can–“

 

“The collar.”

 

He fell silent, and she felt that she had done something wrong. Suddenly she very much did not want to do something wrong.

 

“Hey, hey it’s okay, it’s okay, relax, I got you.” There were hands on her arms, and she realized that she had been babbling frantic apologies, so she stopped doing that. “The collar is one thing.”

 

“It’s always there.”

 

“I know, I know, but how about three more? Just three more.”

 

She reached for her wrists, but he grabbed her hands before she could rub at them. “Um.” Really selling your eloquence here. “My… my fingers they… my nails…” she was whining now, what a fucking

 

“What’s wrong with your nails?”

 

“Gone.” Oh, how about you just spill everything while you’re at it? Hi my name is Ella and I’m both physically and emotionally damaged, irreversibly, how are you today?

 

He rubbed his fingers over hers. “Looks like they’re still here to me.”

 

Lies, lies, lies but she could feel the tips of his fingers, could feel that he was right, could feel

 

“I feel your hands.”

 

“Good, that’s–“

“They’re warm.” Remarkable observation.

 

He laughed again, and it was too nice. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Just two more things.”

 

“My hair, I can feel it on my neck, I need to cut it. And the knife I keep inside my shoe. It moved in my sleep.”

 

“Of course it did.” He sounded amused, but not in a way that made her nervous, like Falerius or Varus or that one with the mustache or– “Okay, now just three things that you can hear.”

 

Simple, simple.

 

“Your voice.”

 

“Yeah, that’s one.”

 

“The…” Shifting of iron on fire, splinter of bone, shuffle of feet on the unfinished floor and


“I’m right here, Ella. You’re right here.”

 

“The wind, on the tent.” A crackle of green at her palm, and she hissed. “And the mark.”

 

“Alright, I guess that counts. We’re almost done, okay?”

“Okay.”

 

“Just two things, that you can smell.”

 

The world was sharper, now, everything a little more in focus and as time passed Ella felt more and more like the most pathetic and worthless idiot in the world, but it was a feeling that she could hear herself actively suppressing, as if she wanted to stave it off for as long as possible. Smell. Two things.

 

“Sweat.” It was true. Like she’d been sleep running, or something. “And… weapon oil. For my daggers.”

 

“Great. Last one: just one thing that you can taste.”

 

“Blood.” It was in her mouth, on her lip, probably dripping down her chin. That was an obvious one.

 

“Okay.” He took a deep breath, and as Ella could feel his chest expand she realized that she was pressed against it. “Okay.”

 

“Okay,” she repeated.

 

Bull sighed. “Want to sit down?”

 

“Sure.”

 

They did, although it took a bit of doing, fitting both of them on the tiny cot. There was a lot more skin contact than Ella normally would have liked, but at this point…

 

“Well.” He made a strangled noise half way between a sigh and a chuckle. “Stitches was riding my ass, so I came here to ask you about, you know, actually caring for your injuries for once. Again.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“But then, obviously, got kind of distracted.”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Ella,” he said sharply, and she jumped a little before settling. Silence, and he tried again. “This is why you don’t sleep.”

 

It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer. He sighed.

 

“I knew that you probably had nightmares, but this is–“

 

“A little much, yeah.” Everything was still far away. Sharp, real, but far away.

 

“No. No, I just… shit, Ella, I’m sorry.”

 

Why are you sorry?

 

“I should have realized–“

“Don’t pull that shit. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

 

“You’re not the only one who has trouble sleeping.”

 

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped, crossing her arms.

 

“I’m just saying that there are people you can help.”

 

“I’m a little past ‘help’, Bull.”

 

“Don’t say that,” he said, so softly that she was sure it must have been a mistake. But no, he kept going. “No one is ‘past help’.”

 

Ella sighed, placing her head in her hands. “…Thank you, Bull. Thank you for… that. But it was a mistake, and it won’t happen again, so if you’d please could you just–“

 

“What, leave? You’re never going to get better if you just bottle this up and leave it to fester.”

 

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I knew I shouldn’t have slept tonight, I just made a mistake and–“

 

Sleeping is not a mistake. Look, there have been times where I’ve had to stay awake. There’s staying up for a mission, or to take guard duty, but then there’s this. I’ve seen it before, and it always ends up getting someone killed.”

 

“Oh, so now I’m selfish?” She was, she knew that, so why did it sting so much?

 

“That’s not what I said.”

“Yes, it is.”

 

“You’re twisting my words because you don’t like what I’m saying.”

 

“No. You know what?” She stood, unable to keep still for any longer. “I’ll tell you exactly what I’m doing.”

 

“Please, enlighten me.” He stayed seated, not that it really mattered. Fucking mountain of a man. His arms were crossed too, now. Ella began to pace.

 

“I’m trying to keep your nose out of my business, because I know that somehow, someday whatever this thing is, this Inquisition, it’s gonna end, and when it does everyone’s gonna leave and I’ll be alone again, so I can’t afford to get attached to anyone because at best they’ll be gone and at worst they’ll stick a knife in my back and strap me to a chair and have my fingernails pulled out one by one so I’m stuck keeping everyone at arm’s length by being just an unpleasant person in general, only I’m so good at it I’m pretty sure that even if I wanted to make friends I wouldn’t be able to, and even worse I don’t know who I am or what I am and I can never figure it out for myself because it’s always on to the next fucking crisis, isn’t it? Always the next big thing that I need to stab which I guess is good for me because it’s the only fucking thing I’m good at.”

 

Silence. She fucking hated silence.

 

There were hands at her wrists, and she realized several things at once. One: she’d been pacing. Two: she’d been scratching at her scars again. Three: Bull had stood. Four: that man was fucking tall, holy shit…

 

Five: he was holding her hands. It was warm. It was nice.

 

“You’re not.” He hesitated. “An unpleasant person, I mean.”

“Wow. Thanks.” She wasn’t speaking. That wasn’t her voice. That voice was far too confident, far too strong to be her voice right now.

 

“Ella…” He kept saying her name, fuck why did he keep saying her name? “You know that it’s alright to… care about people, right?”

 

Moment of truth: could she fasten a mask, right now. Nice and tight and here we go.

 

“Of course.” Ella smiled, and it was a little forced but it was still pretty good, if she did say so herself. A little forced, of course, was not enough for the Iron Bull. His hands tightened around hers.

 

“I’m serious. And you should know that all of them.” He jerked his head towards the camp, towards the Inquisition. “They care about you too. Fuck, I’m pretty sure Red’s been working herself to the bone between trying to keep this mess together and figuring out how to keep you safe. Solas is always looking at you with this… nervous concern in his eyes, like he thinks your sick or something and he doesn’t really know how to help. Varric, too. All his jokes, you think that’s just for his benefit? Him and Sera have a running count, a bet going on who can make you smile more often.”

 

“Bull, I…”

 

“No. No, you need to hear this. Ella, you need to fucking hear this, okay? Cullen thinks you’re brilliant, talks about you like you’re the best damn fighter he’s ever seen, wonders if you play chess, and he’s always sleeping less whenever you’re away. Blackwall; you remember Blackwall? You hardly even speak to the man and he’d fucking die for you. She’s obviously never gonna say it, but Viv’s always got this look when she’s around you, when you talk to her. Josephine picks out clothes for you, frets over you more than a fucking Tamrassan, did you not notice how she’s constantly asking about your health? About your safety? I don’t know what Cole is but he obviously cares about you, at least a little bit. Honestly that whole situation freaks me out so I try not to think about it too much, but fuck Ella! Even that damn Vint, even though you are constantly on his ass, he wants your respect. He sees the people around you, how they treat you and he knows that…”

 

Bull.” She didn’t know, she didn’t understand how she felt about this and she needed it to stop, needed time to figure out how she was supposed to react–

 

“Ella we thought you were dead. It was shit. For everyone.” His hands were still on her own, still clutching them, and she felt like she should pull away but she didn’t. “We… I stood there. Just… there was nothing else to do but… I just stood there. Please don’t… do this to yourself because you think that no one’s here for you. You aren’t alone, anymore.”

 

No.” No no no, she had to be alone. That was the only way, he didn’t “You don’t understand.” he didn’t understand, none of them could understand that she just “I have to be alone.”

 

His hands tightened around her own, and in his silence Ella could practically feel him pulling himself together. “Why.”

 

Wasn’t it obvious? “I hurt people. Always.”

 

“I haven’t seen a lot of that, Boss.”

 

“Yes, you have.” And she was picking up the pieces too, frantically smoothing the lines of her face and the clench of her hand. “I see a problem, and I kill it.”

 

“Yeah, but to help.” Bull seemed genuinely confused. As if any issue with this hadn’t occurred to him.

 

“No, that’s not…” Ella held back a snarl, with limited success. “People around me get hurt. Either by me or…”

 

“By the guys after you?” he suggested softly, and though she didn’t flinch it was a close thing.

 

“Not exactly, but… in a manner of speaking.”

 

“If you think you’re gonna hurt us, it might help to actually tell us about what’s–“

 

“No, that’ll only make it easier for them.” She spoke too quickly, without thinking.

 

“Boss, we want to help you.”

 

“I don’t need your help,” she spat, treating the last word as if it was bitter and vile.

 

“Really?” Bull pulled back, crossing his arms. “Because last I checked you can’t sleep, won’t take care of your injuries, and throw yourself at the knives of people who are trying to kill you.”

 

“See?” Ella tried for a grin, tilting her head to the side. “I’m doing just fine.”

 

Bull sighed, reaching up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m begging you here, Boss. Please, just let us–“

 

She didn’t need his pity. “Thank you for your time, the Iron Bull.”

 

It was a clear dismissal, and both of them knew that. Bull just snorted.

 

“Nope. Not tonight. We’re gonna talk about this.”

 

“Make me.”

 

“Maybe some other time.” He shot her a wink, that one-eyed wink that should have been ridiculous but somehow, against all odds, lessened the overbearing tension so that Ella stood a chance at breathing. “Let’s just sit down, and have a conversation.”

 

“You might have noticed, but I’m not particularly good at those.”

 

“Yeah, you are. You’re just not good at honest ones.”

 

“Ouch,” she said dryly, pulling out a stool. Why was there a stool in her tent? What idiot had insisted on that, along with a small writing desk? They’d serve better as firewood; she could write on the ground, and she could sit when she was dead.

 

Iron Bull was right; she wasn’t good at honesty. A blessing, given how often the truth could get her killed. So this would be easy, to just give him what he wanted and then send him on his way. Just lie, like always. Easy.

 

Bull eyed the tiny stool, raising a brow, and Ella sighed. “I’m not sitting while you stand. That’d just be ridiculous.” The height difference was already enough to make her uncomfortable.

 

He shrugged. “I doubt that thing can even support you. How ‘bout this?” He gestured towards the ground in a sweeping motion, settling down as he did so. Ella’s nose wrinkled as she heard a telltale pop in his joints, but she didn’t say anything, just sat down as well, cross-legged.

 

Breathe. “What do you wish to discuss?”

 

“Well, first off, you need to talk to Red. And Josephine and Cullen. Maybe even some others, too.”

 

Need is a very strong word.”

“Alright, how ‘bout I strongly suggest it, then?” he said, rolling his eye. “Trust me, it’s important to be honest with them.”

 

Ella snorted. “Awfully bold of you to be talking about trust.”

 

“Hey,” he brought a hand to his chest dramatically. “I’m a trustworthy guy. And I say you should talk to them.”

 

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll file that under never, but thanks for the advice.”

 

“Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but once things calm down a bit you should definitely–“

 

“You’re already sending all of this shit to Par Vollen. Those letters go through the Nightingale, unless I have more reason for distrust than I thought.”

 

“This isn’t letter stuff, boss.”

She quirked a brow, crossing her arms. “What is it, then?”

 

“Just…” he sighed and reached up to scratch at a horn. “I’m here to send back information, convince them that Thedas isn’t gonna explode–which is a feat in and of itself–and to keep this Inquisition from falling apart.”

 

“And I fall into the latter part of this equation.” She supposed it made sense. She had the mark, she was vulnerable and necessary, they couldn’t afford any slips when it came to that. Iron Bull nodded.

 

“So you can trust me when I say this: you should go to them. Work this out, make some arrangements to make damn sure that nothing hurts you again. Maybe even pull some strings, get some payback?” He flashed her a grin, but it was uneasy. Testing the waters.

 

“I don’t need revenge.” That was a lie. Well… no. She didn’t need it. “And I don’t need arrangements. But I will… consider.” Damn that was hard to spit out, like the words got caught in her throat.

 

“Hey, that’s all I ask.” He shifted, knee creaking as he ignored Ella’s significant glance. “Another thing: came here to talk about old wounds. Stitches won’t get off my ass.”

 

“Of course. Not your fault, at all. It isn’t as if you’re his superior, or anything.”

 

“Healers call the shots when it comes to injuries.” He shrugged with a small grin. “A real pain sometimes, but that’s just usually how it’s done.”

 

“I’m not of your company, Iron Bull,” she said coldly. I’m not yours.

 

“Wasn’t saying you were.” His voice was easy, smooth, too casual. “But it’s a habit. Basically, he ordered me.”

 

“And what would he suggest? A hot bath? Aroma therapy? Perhaps a soothing massage?”

“Hey, don’t knock massages, those things are great.” He reached into his pockets, and Ella tried to conceal how she stiffened, and more so how she relaxed when all he pulled out were a couple of smooth rocks.

 

“So you’re saying that I should sleep with these rocks beneath my pillow–“

 

“Don’t be an ass. They’re heat stones, see?” He turned one over, and indeed Ella could make out the faint spider-web lines of a rune inscribed upon it. There was a time where she’d have been able to smell that, taste it in the air, no matter how weak; was she truly so out of practice? Or was this something to do with the mark, and how it had affected the collar? Dark thoughts, for another time. Perhaps never.

 

“And so… I should activate the rune and then place them beneath my–“

“Stitches says you have a lot of old, deep scars. That you probably get a lot of aches.” He leaned forward, knee groaning as if to emphasize his point, and placed the rocks on the ground near her. “You can work through them with these, force out some of the tension. It’s not a cure-all, but it’ll at least help with the pain, and the stiffness.”

 

The pain kept her sharp. The pain helped her forget the dark and little sparrow and

 

Ella was scratching at her wrists, and she forced herself to stop. Okay, maybe some of these pains were bad, hurts that brought her back into shadows and blood. Maybe those ones, she could finally send away instead of leaning into them over and over again like old friends, spiteful lovers. She reached out, taking one of the rocks and turning it over in her hands.

 

“Thank you,” she said after a reluctant pause. “Maybe I should… speak to Stitches?”

 

“Yeah.” Bull sounded relieved, but that couldn’t be real. No matter what he said, no matter what she thought, there was still the play. “Yeah that would be great.”

 

“…Anything else?”

 

“Nah, that was it.” There were a million other things, and they both knew it, but still he stood and stretched and yawned as if this had been the most boring night of his life. “Nice talk boss, look forward to another one.”

 

She nodded, and he left.

 

It felt cold, all of the sudden, and very empty, as if there was too much space for someone as small as her in that ridiculously large tent. Ella passed a thumb over the rock without really looking at it, activating the heat rune and letting that warmth seep into her palms, like when she was blind and scared and Bull held her hands

 

…fuck. No. Fuck. It was Cullen all over again, only she didn’t feel as if she was breaking apart, torn up by fierce waves, which somehow made it all worse. No spiral, no desperate thoughts and tightly woven masks. Just a warm rock that reminded her of how his fingers had felt against the back of her hand. No, she couldn’t let this happen again. She would not let this happen again.

 

There was an easy truce, words and touches and carefully crafted smiles to play at friendship. This was not that. A line, a line and she’d crossed it, somewhere. Fuck.

 

Well that was it, she wouldn’t stray any further. No more of that, thank you; Ella was through with mourning. Any attachment she made was just a promise of future pain, she knew this, and yet she kept on making the same mistakes over and over and over and

 

No. She could do this. Ella shuffled over to her cot, leaning back into the fabric and trying to ignore the stiffness of her spine. “I can do this.”

 

There were so many lessons, so many scars marking both her skin and her mind. Morn was one, but there were many others. So many others. No names, only faces, but so many that she was afraid to count them all for fear of disturbing those boxes in her mind.

 

Play at friendship, secure your own safety, she could do that, she knew she could. Just save the world and then cut them out, cut all of them out.

 

Ella closed her eyes, drifting back into the heaviness of slumber as her hand tightened around the stone’s warmth. “I can do this,” she whispered, and she almost believed it.

Notes:

Phew! As always, thanks for reading, and for sticking with Ella on her perilous journey navigating the treacherous wastelands of "friendship", whatever that might be. Gonna get to Skyhold soon, get some action, yay, super fun. Plus more character development! Exciting!

I love the comments and kudos, sorry if I don't reply (it's probably because I didn't see it and feel awkward replying after so long) but it really warms my heart to see people enjoying this little thing.

Chapter 28: Skyhold

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

They had done it. They had done it.

 

Another miserable day of marching, arguing, stumbling through snowbanks that never seemed to end and finally, as Ella exchanged heated words with Josephine while the cold was practically stabbing her in the lungs, the scouts reported back.

 

Skyhold.

 

Glorious, huge, wonderful, a little broken and beaten, but weren’t they all? It had walls and ceilings and the sight of it against the stark white horizon alone was enough to keep her questions at bay. Oh boy, but there were questions.

 

Ella found that, though she had insisted to the point of bared teeth and knives in tables, to the point of fury and exhaustion and stubborn silence that they were to keep going, that they had to keep going, it wasn’t until she saw the keep itself that she realized a small voice inside of her had never really believed in it. All a show, an act in her desperate cycle of keep running and never again. But now…

 

How had Solas known? In his dreams, yes, of course, some convenient mage bullshit that, surprise surprise, she had no way to verify. And the longing, the relief and comfort in his eyes; the anticipation of return to a quiet hearth and home. Well, he was a bit of a hermit. Maybe he had just come across it, sometime in his travels? Maybe it had lent him shelter? Why lie? Why the name? Perhaps he was telling the truth. Perhaps she was just being paranoid.

 

Because she was. Being paranoid. Even Josephine, the soul of discretion, had commented on how jumpy she was at one of their morning meetings. Bull’s eye was on her, constantly, following the twitch of her fingers, how they strayed towards her knives. Too easy. Over and over, in her head, too easy.

 

But there was nothing, and that was almost the worse than something. Nothing lurked in the shadows (save the Nightingale’s agents, but in theory they were supposed to be there. Lurking). No eyes beyond the campfire’s light. The whispers she heard past the starlight? Just wind.

 

At the very least her fingernails had stopped itching, after what she had accurately dubbed the Disaster Night. Ever true to her word, Ella had visited Stitches. He had been… surprising. Not forceful, but firm. Almost as if he’s had to deal with stubborn bastards before. When she refused something outright, as if the very thought was foul and odorous, he didn’t press. Just dropped it, and moved on to the next option. Huh. Wonder who he learned that from. Clearly Iron Bull cared enough about his merc company to teach them a lesson or two.

 

That was another thing: the Iron Bull. She’d been successfully avoiding him with minimal effort (meaning he was allowing her to) and though that should have made her feel better it only made everything leagues worse. Sometimes Cole tried to talk to her about it, but the spirit still freaked her out enough that he avoided her, tried to keep her from unnecessary pain or whatever. Old wounds.

 

Too many thoughts in her head, too many worries and wonders and what ifs to keep track of. It hadn’t been this way before, she’d never had to–

 

“You good there, Dancer?”

 

Ugh. She was doing that thing again, with her face. “Of course, Teapot! Couldn’t be good-er.”

 

“Yeah, you know, that’s what you’d think, with the giant castle falling from the sky and landing at our feet. And yet…” Varric feigned deep thought, hand at his chin. “For some reason that defies explanation, you’re twitchier than a nug’s ass.”

“First of all, no one says that.”

 

“I say it, Dancer.”

 

“Case and point.”

 

“Ouch.” He didn’t sound hurt. Not even the decency to pretend, the bastard.

 

“Second of all,” said Ella, raising her chin. “I don’t get ‘twitchy’.”

 

“Alright, sure. I think you almost took a hand off that scout a minute ago, but sure.” Varric paused, for dramatic effect. “Can’t deny that look, though.”

 

“There is no look.”

 

“Yes there is! Hey, back me up, Sparkler.”

 

‘Sparkler’ would not ‘back him up’. No way in–

 

“It is rather long, to use the Southern expression.”

 

“See? And he would know what misery looks like, yeah Sparkler?”

 

“You’re rather more knowledgeable about the upper echelons of Tevinter society than I would have expected, Varric,” said Pavus, mustache twitching.

 

“Broody taught us a thing or two.”

 

Oh no, they were bantering. Ella sighed; was she in the mood for this?

 

“Aw, and it looks like Broody also taught her a thing or two. What, is it an ex-slave thing Dancer? Or should I say Broody Two? Broody the Second?”

 

It was a risky joke, and he knew it, but despite herself Ella couldn’t help a smile. And then she did notice how Varric caught Sera’s eye, flashed her a wink. How Sera stuck out her tongue and… oh my. Well, Ella assumed that that was a crude gesture. Although if it was anything sex-related, she pitied the next girl Sera took to bed.

 

Damn it. Bull had been right. That meant he could be right about everything else, too.

 

I can do this.

 

“Fenris, right?” she managed. Still smiling. Wipe that damn thing off your face, you are a grown ass woman.

 

“Yeah.” Varric’s mouth twisted. “Hey, did you–“

 

“Are you about to make the assumption that all slaves know each other? I am shocked, Teapot. Shocked and appalled.”

 

Pavus snorted, and for once Ella wasn’t seized by the sudden urge to strangle him. Baby steps? Varric chuckled.

 

“Sorry. You two are just a little similar is all.”

 

“Oh yes. Minus the lyrium tattoos. The gender. The ears. Very small things, but take them away and the similarity is breathtaking.”

 

“See, Broody had a sense of humor that snuck up on you, too.” Varric grinned. “Probably the only way he could put up with Hawke.”

 

He didn’t talk much about Hawke, but somehow she could tell that he was always thinking about her. Ella wondered for perhaps the 100th time why.

 

“Typically sarcasm and a dry wit are essential to surviving slavery,” she said without quite thinking it over. Shit, no pity no pity no… he was laughing.

 

“Essential to surviving a lot of life’s bullshit.”

 

“I’ll drink to that,” muttered Ella. A needling sort of silence that twisted at her mouth; damn was Varric persistent, and an expert in this sort of thing. He might’ve have made a good spy, in another life. The thought came unbidden. “Fenris… it was hard not to hear about it, you know? Rumors spread quickly, even from a household like that.” She snorted. “Especially from a household like that.”

 

“Yes, Danarius was… a deeply unpleasant man.” Pavus’s voice was unexpected, and even he sounded like he wasn’t sure why he was speaking.

 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Ella grumbled darkly. “Fucking bastard.”

 

“Fenris killed him, yes?” asked Pavus, and Varric nodded.

 

“Almost killed his sister too,” the dwarf added conversationally. “Hawke practically had to drag him away.”

 

“Because she betrayed him?” Ella said with a nod; she’d read the books, although some of what Varric put in them seemed either too personal or too far-fetched, but that… “Makes sense.”

 

“To kill your sister?” said Pavus incredulously, nose wrinkling as Ella shot him a glare.

 

“To tie up loose ends. She was an easily exploited weakness; Fenris had the right idea.”

 

“I’m not sure he was thinking it through that much, Dancer,” said Varric with a snort. “Elf was furious.”

 

“As he had every right to be,” Ella snapped. “The fact that his own sister would lead his former master straight to him is almost unthinkable.” Fuck, maybe that’s where the catch was? A traitor, a mole, a hunter waiting at their last camp to strike just as they reached the open expanse before the bridge… Ella forced her hands to still.

 

“Is loyalty like… a thing, then?” asked Varric tentatively. Ella sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

 

“No, no it’s not… of course you can’t blame someone for trying but I… he was out damn it!” She fumbled for pitch and tone, the spiraling volume of her voice. “He should have been a hero, an inspiration, not a tool for her to move up in the world.”

 

“Is this coming from personal experience, then?” mused Pavus in a casual tone that Ella didn’t like much, as if she were a subject of quiet inspection.

 

“I don’t see how that’s your business,” she growled. “In any case, no. I’ve never quite had the misfortune. Not having a family makes things simpler, really.”

 

“Huh. Yeah, I guess I could see that,” said Varric, scratching his chin. “Still, seems kind of lonely.”

 

“Safe is worth being lonely,” she muttered. Talking too much, she knew, but really at this point… specifics would hurt her. Not this. “Watching your own back is difficult, but it makes up for… a lot.”

 

“I can’t imagine,” murmured Pavus, and Ella bristled.

 

“No. You can’t.”

 

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise,” he snapped. Why wasn’t he arguing? Just kept agreeing, making her feel like a damn asshole. He was the asshole. That was just… how dare he… keep…… agreeing.

 

“I should go…” Ella paused, pinching the bridge of her nose. “…check on the preparations. New keep, and all that.”

 

“You good, Dancer?” asked Varric with an easy grin. Ugh, because her face was doing that thing again.

 

“Always,” she said, returning the smile. He nodded, but as she walked away Ella couldn’t help but notice the looks they exchanged, and how they made her skin crawl. Pity.

 

She didn’t need pity, she needed closure. She needed to see the knife the drug the play before it all went wrong, before it was too late, and why was he agreeing with her? He wasn’t supposed to, none of them were supposed to, they were all evil, all of them had deserved to I didn’t do anything wrong they deserved to

It felt like waiting for the next lash. That endless breath before they forced your head back underwater, the eternal darkness marked only by the harshness of your own breath and the clatter of iron doors. They always came back, always dragged you out for another round, that was simply the way of things. Even escape was just waiting to be caught again. A lull in the horror, a brief respite punctuated by quick, sharp, overwhelming agony when it all caught up to you.

 

It always went wrong, something was coming, something was always coming and she needed to be ready for it or she was going to die. That was the way of things.

 

Words drifted past the cacophony of thought, important words. She had claimed to be checking up on preparations, after all, so apparently her feet had covered for her and carried her all the way to the “command” tent. Cullen, Josephine, Cassandra, and the Nightingale, all deep in conversation and considerably less stressed than when she had last seen them. Maybe that was because of her absence, she should just walk away and–

 

“Oh, Ella!” called Josephine, waving her over. The rest glanced up as well, and now she was noticing the way Cullen’s eyes lit up when he saw her, damn it, this was the worst. “We were just discussing logistics.” The Ambassador said that as if it was the most interesting topic in the world.

 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude–“

 

“Nonsense,” said Cullen. Ella sighed, and wandered over to the hastily set up table.

 

No map, this time, but papers scattered across the wood. Ella picked one up carefully. “What are these?”

 

“Treaties, possible alliances, merchant ties, requisitions, staff and crafters that we have and those that we are going to need to hire,” said Josephine excitedly. Ah, of course. This was finally her element. Ella smiled and nodded, putting the paper down.

 

“So it’s finally over,” she muttered.

 

“Thanks, in no small part, to you.” Cassandra leaned onto her hands, mouth quirking upwards as Ella scoffed.

 

“While I’m sure playing savior has its benefits for morale, there’s no way that you can claim–“

 

“You allowed us all to escape in the first place,” said the Nightingale softly, not even glancing up from the scroll in her hands. “Without you, we never would have made it out of Haven, much less through the mountains.”

 

“I did what anyone would do.”

 

“You think that ‘anyone’ would willingly march up to an Archdemon, bring down a mountain on herself, and live?” It was Cullen’s turn to scoff. “Apologies, Herald, but that seems unlikely.”

 

“Look.” Ella’s smile turned strained. “I appreciate the sentiment, truly. But… I haven’t done much of anything, really. You all have been organizing, pushing us forward. Everyone’s done their part.”

 

“Well that’s not… entirely true,” said Josephine, shrugging lightly as Ella leveled her with a glare. “It was you who insisted that we continue marching forward.”

 

“Yeah, because that was our only option!” Ella raised her chin, crossing her arms. “What are you all trying to get at?”

 

“Nothing,” said the Nightingale with a smile that insisted this was anything but. “Just observing what you will not.”

 

“Well stop,” said Ella, rifling through the papers once more. “Observing, I mean. I just did what I had to do; like the rest of us.” That was the way of things.

 

“Whatever you say.” The Nightingale glanced up at the sound of crinkling paper, but there was still that quirk in her lip. “Is there something you’re looking for?”

 

“Just trying to get an idea of where we are,” muttered Ella, eyes roving across a page before setting it aside and reaching for another. “We’re short staffed. Do we need someone to scout the castle?”

 

“I’m sure we can find–“ began Cullen, before the Nightingale cut him off.

 

“If you would like to do the honors, we can assemble a small team that can assist you,” she said. Ella narrowed her eyes, staring down the other woman to let her know that, while she was uncertain what, exactly, was up, there was no doubt in her mind that it was something.

 

“That sounds good to me,” she said warily. “Anyone you had in mind?”

 

“It’s your team.” So noncommittal. As if she didn’t care, what’s the play?

 

“Sera, Iron Bull, Solas, Varric, maybe Cole. Would any of you be interested?”

 

Me,” said Cassandra, dropping her pile of papers with a little too much enthusiasm, earning her a glare from Josephine. She cleared her throat. “I only mean to say that, with the Commander being busy, I wouldn’t mind examining the fortifications up close.”

 

“Of course,” said Ella with a sly grin and a nod. “Well, what are we waiting for, then?”

 

 

 

It made sense. Sera was good at climbing, light on her feet. Solas was an expert on magic and the Fade; not to mention the one who had pointed her towards the keep in the first place, so it only seemed right. Varric was just good to have around, although she was loath to admit it. Iron Bull would be good muscle for anything unsavory they might find. Also a quick mind, he might be able to make something of their defenses, alongside Cassandra. And Cole was… well… Cole.

 

Of course, they would have to actually get into the keep, first.

 

“Are you sure that’s gonna hold?” asked Sera for perhaps the third time as they approached the bridge. A nice chokepoint. Easily defensible.

 

“Only one way to find out,” said Iron Bull cheerfully, axe slung across his shoulder. Ella sighed.

 

“I don’t see any cracks, everything looks pretty stable,” she said.

 

“There’s an old magic here, as well,” said Solas. “Perhaps it is maintaining the stonework?”

 

Ella let herself believe that it was the strong gust of wind that made her shudder. “Great,” she muttered. “Well, might as well get to it.”

 

Nothing had gone wrong yet, so that meant the bridge was going to collapse. What a thought to leap upon her as she cautiously picked her way across the stonework, what a thought indeed. No, it didn’t collapse. Well, on to the next possible disaster.

 

Ella sighed as they passed through the archway where surely the gates had once been, reveling in the brief respite from the wind… until it wasn’t brief. It was… warm. A wrinkle in her nose and she bent down, kneeling to drag a hand through the dirt. Dirt. Not snow.

 

“More magic?” she asked Solas. He just nodded, eyes elsewhere, and Ella groaned into her hands. Fuck it pricked at her skin, little tingles at the back of her neck. Old, very old. Almost suffocating, like strong perfume, although just as with an overbearing scent she got used to it after a while. In the interim, though, Iron Bull was glancing at her, and how did he know something was wrong?

 

She shook that thought away, staring up at the impressive battlements and feeling a tug at her lip. “Oh, this will do nicely.”

 

“This bridge needs repairs,” said Cassandra. “Most of it is in good shape, though. That would make good training grounds, over there.”

 

“Fuckin huge,” muttered Sera, nimbly climbing across some scattered stonework. “Could fit some shitebag’s mansion in here a ‘undred times over.”

 

Ella was already climbing the stairs to the great hall. “Or an army worthy of the Inquisition, once.” She smiled, pushing open the reluctant doors with a screech of metal and sneezing at a cloud of… oh that was not dust. The magic was so strong, seeping into every stone and sliver, coming up in plumes as it was disturbed. I can do this.

 

A large hand clapped across her shoulder, nearly throwing her off balance as she glared up at Bull for a brief moment, then back into the hall.

 

Huge. Grand. A little tousled by age of course; but the arches, the banisters, the fucking windows that somehow remained against the test of time… majestic. Yeah, I can definitely see us setting up here–

 

No, what the fuck, she couldn’t be thinking like that. What happened to seal the Breach and run? Oh, right, templars dragon avalanche. Now was the time, though. The debt was repaid.

 

Shit shit shit this was it, then. Still they wandered the hall, the shuffle of movement echoing across the cavernous expanse. This was where it went wrong. She would run, run far far away but they wouldn’t let her. Just a trick all along, a cruel game, didn’t think they’d let you go that easily, did you? She had the mark, after all, first sign of flight they’d lock her up, leash her chain her make her work for them.

 

They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t do that. Would they? Ella found herself staring towards Bull before she managed to drag her eyes away to studiously examine the masonry. No. They wouldn’t.

 

Fine, someone else, then. She’d leave and be snatched up immediately, surely there were eyes on them here, since the beginning always watching, always waiting.

 

She nearly jumped at the tug on her sleeve.

 

“It doesn’t have to be like that.” Cole, of course. “Sometimes things are just good.”

 

Ella scoffed. “Nothing comes without cost,” she muttered, catching Iron Bull’s curious stare out of the corner of her eye. “I can’t talk about this right now.”

 

“Yes you can. You should. You should talk to him, you always feel better.” He tilted his head, the action comically accentuated by his hat. “Well, for a little while. Then you’re just mad. Why are you mad for feeling better?”

 

“It’s not ‘feeling better’, it’s complacency. You wouldn’t understand.”

 

“There isn’t a knife, not in this darkness. Safe. Not walls closing in but the moonlit night.”

 

Open, wild, free, let the shadows be my shield and the stars my guide, the moon she smiles at me.

 

“I… thank you, Cole.”

 

The boy beamed, hat bobbing excitedly. “I helped! I helped the hurt, just like I said I would!”

 

“Please be quite.”

 

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

 

Ella sighed, striding away from him with purpose. Maybe… maybe he was right. She laughed at one of Sera’s jokes, unable to resist the smile as she stuck her tongue out at Varric. Bull’s hand came down upon her shoulder, and this time she didn’t flinch. Looking out across the hall, she saw a place fit for an Inquisition. For an army that had to be a beacon of hope to all of Thedas.

 

Maybe she would leave, maybe she wouldn’t; there was always the choice. For once she felt content, no longer straddling panic and fear, letting it cloud her mind. For once, she could breathe.

 

 

Notes:

Hey, long time no see, sorry about that, but the ball is still rolling slow and steady on this. Thanks for sticking with me, as always love your comments, questions, and concerns! Happy (belated) Valentines day!

Chapter 29: A Pleasant Conversation

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

“We’re holding him in one of the cells. He’s secure, but not uncomfortable.”

 

“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I care.” Ella ducked under a loose beam, minding where the stone was worn and uneven as she followed the Nightingale into the… well she supposed they were dungeons.

 

They didn’t have many prisoners at the moment, so renovation here was very low on the list of priorities. This meant that the draft was more like a gust at times, and that the dull roar of rushing water could be heard through holes in the rocks, echoing along the hallways.

 

Leliana stared at her pointedly, and Ella avoided her gaze.

 

“I believe those orders came from you, Herald.”

 

“I don’t give the orders,” Ella nearly snapped. She sighed, picking her way around some uncleared rubble. “And I never… I don’t care. He’s the enemy, it’s that simple.”

 

“But you also know him.”

 

“I know of him. I knew his sister, barely. We have nothing.” Ella turned towards the Nightingale. “You don’t need to worry about my dedication to the Inquisition, not when it comes to him.”

 

“I’m not worried.” Leliana waved at a set of guards, and they let them both past and through a row of cell doors that forced Ella to repress a shudder. “Even if there was some bias, I wouldn’t be worried. You’ll do what needs to be done.”

 

“Exactly.” Ella was almost relieved, and a little confused. What was this all about, then?

 

“I just think you’ll be able to talk to him. It’s unlikely he knows anything of real value, but if he does, he’ll tell you.”

 

Ella scoffed. “You know little of Tevinter.”

 

“Let’s try it, at the very least. Then if it doesn’t work we can put it aside, no?”

 

“Fine,” said Ella, trying her best not to sound sullen. She didn’t want to talk to Quen. Well, that wasn’t exactly the case, but it was easier to admit that than anything else. Anything true.

 

Because she did want to talk to him, very much so, and that right there made her scars itch. Made her feel a weight at her wrists, a sting at her back… made her feel trapped. She was right; it should mean nothing, because that was what they had: nothing. But the familiarity, even the few words they had shared before; the knowledge that this was a man who knew, even if it wasn’t quite the same; it all made her ache like a soak in a warm tub after years of trouble.  Or was it the other way round? Picking at a scab.

 

“Thank you, Herald,” said the Nightingale with that soft smile, the one that made Ella’s brow wrinkle.

 

Ella managed not to flinch at the clatter of an unlatched door, or to shudder as the iron whined at being dragged open. She didn’t quite manage to catch the tremor at her hands when the door slammed shut behind her with a clang.

 

And then it was just them.

 

Quen was sitting sedately in a wooden chair, a roughhewn desk in front of him. The wall held a bookshelf, and a simple rug that covered most of the stone floor. A bed, in the corner, small and disheveled; just like Quen.

 

There were dark circles under his eyes and his face was pale and scruffy, but it was still Quen, and he seemed unharmed. Ella ran through a brisk inspection and found that initial assessment accurate; Quen laughed as she ran a hand over his stomach.

 

“Again, no dinner?” There was a weight on his tone, even though his eyes did have that sparkle. He was tired, that much was clear. Ella rolled her eyes and stepped back, pulling up a chair herself.

 

“I’m just making sure,” she muttered.

 

“What, do you not trust them?” He was joking. Of course she didn’t trust them.

 

“I’m supposed to pry information out of you,” said Ella, leaning back in her chair. “Personally? I don’t think there’s much to pry about.”

 

“Oh? Am I not interesting enough for you?”

 

“You’re a grunt. A pawn who thinks he’s a bishop. I don’t think the Venatori would trust you with breakfast, much less their grand schemes.”

 

“Guess that’s your loss, then,” he said, but his voice was tight and his mouth had twisted. Ella sighed; he really was an amateur.

 

“What are you doing, Quen?” She placed a delicate hand on the table, trying to catch his eye. “You’re in over your head, and I think you know it.”

 

“What choice do I have?” he snapped, crossing his arms. “I’m doing this to survive; you of all people should understand.”

 

“Understand?” Ella let her voice harden, straightened in the chair. “No, Quen, I don’t understand. You’ve betrayed everything your sister fought for, and for what? So you could be the lapdog of some Magister who would throw your life away for a scrap of power? For influence? For amusement? What are you doing, Quen; what game do you think you’re playing?”

 

“What game do you think you’re playing?” Quen slammed his hands on the table, rising from his chair with a muffle clatter of wood on the carpet. “Pretty comfortable there on that high horse of yours, Herald.”

 

Ella had prepared a mask for this encounter, and it was tied tight; a good thing too, because she could feel the urge to frown, to scowl, to curl her hands into fists and let the nails dig into her palms. Instead she was calm, collected, composed. “You seem a little worked up; do you need a moment to collect yourself? Wouldn’t want anyone to know you’re just a hotheaded kid playing soldier.”

 

“Shut up,” he hissed. “I know what you’re doing; my sister was Falx.”

 

“Really? The resemblance is… slight. I’d never know you two were related, nonetheless twins. Suppose that’s a good thing, really; who’d want to end up like that?

 

Fuck you, you don’t know shit about my sister.”

 

“I know things about her that would haunt you, boy.”

 

“Well maybe that door opens both ways, Herald.”

 

The mask faltered for a moment, and Ella felt her eyes narrow before she managed to pull them back. “What are you—”

 

“I know everything,” he said with a sneer. “I know every little sordid detail.”

 

But before he had said—lies, always lies, of course. He’d caught her off guard, on their first meeting, with that face and those eyes. “Well ‘every’ seems a little much; I mean there were rather a lot of—”

 

“Don’t try to deflect. Do you think they’d still protect you, if they knew what you were? What you are?”

 

The mask slipped again, damn it, and she fumbled for a moment as she tried to fasten it back into place. Words words words, how had she let this novice get the upper hand? Weak, she was weak.

 

“You do, don’t you?” said Quen. He was sitting, now. Laughing, now. “You really think that.”

 

No, no she didn’t. She couldn’t afford to think such silly thoughts. She was what she was, and that meant that she had to hide, had to run; she could never trust them to—

 

The stone in her pocket. Son of a…

 

“And you think I’m delusional,” muttered Quen, a hand at his face.

 

“You are,” Ella snapped. “You are delusional, if you think you can beat them at their own game.”

 

“What game is that, Ella? Do you even know anymore?”

 

“You are a child, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“I’m the same age as you.”

 

“You are not.”

 

“Morn is my twin, and she’s close to your—”

 

“You’re not the same age as her, either.”

 

Quen raised a brow at her. “O… kay. So who’s delusional again, because…?”

 

“We… we grew up quickly. You wouldn’t understand.”

 

“I was a slave too.”

 

“Not like that.”

 

“Are you really making this some sort of competition?”

 

No, no I’m not…” How had this happened? Why was she having this fucking conversation? This was why, this was why she shouldn’t have wanted to talk to him.

 

This was why she had wanted to talk to him.

 

“Have you ever killed anyone, Quen?”

 

“Uh… yeah I mean I guess.”

 

Ella snorted. “That means you haven’t.”

 

“But I have!” said Quen defensively. “I’ve been in battles, I’ve thrown out fireballs and explosions. I’ve seen war.”

 

“That is not what I’m… have you ever killed someone up close? Seen the life fade from their eyes? Watch them fall off your blade?”

 

“…no.”

 

“We have. Me and Morn, and all the others. I saw my first death when I was seven. I killed my first mark at nine.”

 

Quen’s fingers danced along the table, and she could see him struggled to come up with words. “That doesn’t mean you’re older than me.”

 

Kaffas, Quen! It was grow up or die; and I wasn’t about to just lie down. Children don’t survive in Falx, so we grew up fast. I know that life hasn’t exactly been easy for you, but you have to understand this: I have seen some shit.”

 

“From what I’ve heard, you’ve also done some shit.” Quen sought her gaze and found it, Ella staring him down until he was forced to look away. “Fuck, okay, all I’m saying is you’re not exactly ‘high and mighty Herald’, you know? And when they find out…”

 

“They won’t find out,” said Ella simply.

 

“Because you’ll be long gone before they know it?” supplied Quen.

 

“Yes, because I’ll…” It should have been an easy thing to say, but the words stuck in her throat. She placed her head in her hands, tugging at the skin. What was wrong with her?

 

“You’re a mess, little sparrow.”

 

Ella stood, eyes wild and teeth bared. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

 

Quen raised his hands, trying to mask his fear. “I didn’t call you anything, kaffas, calm down. I just said that you’re a mess. Thought that was pretty obvious,” he added in a mutter.

 

Ella just nodded. Of course, of course that was all he had said. The collar felt heavy, and she cracked her neck before nodding. “You’re right.”

 

“Yeah, I know. I’m pretty smart,” he said with a tired grin. “Morn might have gotten the looks, but I got the brains.”

 

“You’re practically identical. And Morn is leagues smarter.”

 

“No need to be hurtful.”

 

“Just honest.” Ella sighed. “What am I going to do.”

 

“My advice? Run.”

 

“Thanks, I hadn’t thought of that.” Ella groaned, rolling a shoulder. “I don’t suppose you actually know anything about the Venatori? It’d make my life a lot easier.”

 

“Sorry, you’re shit out of luck. You’re right.” Quen let his forehead fall to the table with a dull thud. “They don’t tell me anything.”

 

“Children,” Ella muttered. “So dramatic.”

 

“Let’s not do this again.”

 

“I wasn’t, I wasn’t.”

 

“Thanks, because I don’t know if my heart could take it.” Quen sighed. “Guess you were right about that, too: I’d never be cut out for Falx.”

 

“Well, see what a few years of intensive training will get you,” said Ella with a smile. “You’ll either be proper Falx material, or you’ll be dead. Win either way.”

 

“Maker, your sense of humor’s just like Morn’s.” He paused, biting his lip.

 

“Some people can make that look work, and you’re not one of them; spit it out.”

 

“Well, I just… were you and Morn ever…?”

 

Soft glances over meals, quick touches after briefs, some blows landing gentle as they sparred, skin on skin, too close too close but fuck at least it felt like something, like quiet moments, like that infinite stretch of time between night and morning, between dreams and waking, like holding, just holding on through the nightmares and the scars and the painful consequence of failure, holding on as everything seem to fall away but at least she was there. Always.

 

Her back as she turned away.

 

“That isn’t your business.”

 

“Okay, okay, sorry I asked.”

 

“You should be.”

 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, I mean, we’re both very attractive people—”

 

“I thought of twenty seven ways to kill you the moment I walked into this room.”

 

“Okay, cool, yeah, sorry, I’m gonna stop talking now.”

 

Ella pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ignore the way her gut twisted itself into knots. “It’s… it’s alright. I overreacted. We were partners, nothing more. We couldn’t afford anything more.”

 

“…twenty seven?”

 

“Would you like me to list them?”

 

“No, I’d rather sleep tonight, thank you.” He coughed awkwardly, shuffling in his seat. “So… you know you’re gonna have to run eventually, right? You can’t stay here forever.”

 

“I know my business.”

“Yeah, but here’s the thing, I mean, it doesn’t really seem like you do, so…”

 

“I’ve only been free for a few months; I’m rusty. But trust me, I know how to cut people out.”

 

“Yeah, you and Morn both,” muttered Quen. “But seriously, I know you think I’m in over my head, but you… Herald?”

 

Ella shrugged. “It’s a hope thing.”

 

“Oh, wow,” Quen said with a laugh. “Now that’s just… didn’t think I’d hear you say that.”

“I’m not saying I believe in it.”

 

“Yeah, but what about the other obvious things about it? How it ties you to them? How it makes you accountable? Aren’t you suspicious?”

 

“Not anymore.” It was only once the words left her mouth that she realized she meant them.

 

“You are one crazy motherfucker, you know that?” Quen shook his head in disbelief. “And you say I’m an idiot.”

 

“You are an idiot. These people, they’re… they treat me well.”

 

“That’s what I said about the Venatori.”

 

“The Venatori are Tevinter, they don’t count.”

 

“I’ve seen at least two ‘Vints in your fucking castle, so don’t try that, okay? Nice castle by the way.”

 

“They aren’t those kinds of ‘Vints. And thank you.”

 

“You’re losing your touch. You can’t trust these people.”

“What do you know about trust,” snapped Ella.

 

“What do you know? Ella these people are using you, and you know it.”

 

“These people are my friends.” I can finally breathe again.

 

“Don’t be so sentimental.”

 

“I’m not, it’s just that… Quen you don’t understand. They treat me like a person.”

 

“Anyone could do that.”

 

“No one else has.”

 

“Ella…” Quen ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t just roll over because someone looked you in the eye and used your name when they talked to you. Have some standards.”

 

Venatori,” said Ella pointedly.

 

“Kaffas, where else am I gonna go? I’m a mage, Ella. What, you want me to run to a circle? Oh wait, they’re disbanded. Should I turn myself in to the Templars? Oh no, they’d kill me on sight. Should I find the rebel mages? Oh, would you look at that, they’re working with the Venatori now as fucking slaves. Good job on that one, by the way, nothing gets past you.”

 

“I’m not in charge here.”

 

“Okay, sure. The point is, I’ve got nowhere to run to.”

 

“Since when has that been a reason not to run?”

 

Quen groaned. “You’re deflecting. I can tell, Morn does it all the time. I’m just telling you the truth: you can’t trust these people. The Venatori told me all about them.”

 

“Yes. Real trustworthy, those Venatori.”

 

“Okay, two ex-bards? The Knight Captain from Kirkwall? A Red Jenny? A demon boy? A Ben Hassrath spy? Don’t pretend you’re ahead in the trust department.”

 

Ella bristled. “Don’t fucking lecture me. I know a good man when I see one, and Bull is a good man.”

 

Quen paused, thoughtfully. “You fixated.”

 

“Oh, very nice, you pick that up from Morn?”

 

“You fixated on the Ben Hassrath.”

 

“You emphasized it, what are you trying to—”

 

“And now you’re deflecting, oh Maker do you… do you like him?”

 

“I am not a child,” Ella snapped, hands clenched to fists. “I do not indulge in—”

“Do you like like him?”

 

“I don’t like anyone, fuck off and keep your opinions to yourself.” Ella desperately tried to tamp down her rising tone, to keep her face smooth all the while juggling the complex thoughts inside her head. Because she thought of Bull as a friend, and that was something new. Because she trusted him, and that was simply insane.

 

“This is going to bite you in the ass. Big time.”

“What do you know?”

 

“Who’s the child, now?”

 

“When I leave this room,” snarled Ella. “Who’s going to be free, and who’s going to be in a cage?”

 

Quen met her gaze with the beginnings of a triumphant smile. “You tell me, Herald.”

 

 

 

Notes:

Oh boy, so really long time no see, huh? Sorry about that, honestly I was having trouble with the direction of the story, and had to change up a few things/write ahead a few chapters to see what I liked best, and that took some time. Also, you know, life. Luckily that means there are a few chapters in reserve now! Maybe I could start a schedule, wouldn't that be novel. Anyway, next one will be out around the same time next week.

Hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave any comments, suggestions, critique, etc! I do read all of your comments and I really appreciate them, I just feel awkward replying after so long. Honestly reading them has driven me to really get on this and crank out some more chapters.

Chapter 30: Knife in the Dark

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

 

They couldn’t do this. They couldn’t do this.

 

She’d known from the start, fuck she’d known there must be a play a trick knives in the dark but this was so much worse than

 

The Nightingale, her knowing smile, why hadn’t she ran when she knew that

 

 

 

“What are they doing,” hissed Bull.

 

“Pretty obvious, chief.” Krem ran a hand through his hair, head craned towards where they stood. “Naming her Inquisitor.”

 

They couldn’t do that. There was nothing in the world that would be worse than that, not for her. Shit.

 

 

 

No no no and everyone was watching. Nowhere to run the dark the dark it was so bright she couldn’t see the dark gasping can’t breathe can’t breathe

 

She smiled that easy smile. Didn’t matter, up here; the only one she really had to fool was the Nightingale and there was no chance of that, not here, not now. Less pressure, she supposed.

 

This was the worst kind of cage. Oh, she’d thought “Herald” had been bad, but Inquisitor? Fuck she should have run, she should have run why didn’t she

 

 

 

“I’m gonna fucking kill them,” Bull muttered darkly. The sword, how trite; wasn’t like she’d ever fucking use it. He’d never understood weapons like that, useless tools.

 

“What was that, Tiny?”

 

“Nothing, Varric.”

 

 

 

She was going to fucking kill them.

 

There it was, anger, yes, that was much better than panic. It let her snatch up the sword, grit her teeth in a ferocity that only matched the fire in her eyes as she thrust it up high and looked out over… over…

 

No, no she couldn’t do this—in a box.

 

Oh kaffas they’re looking at me, they’re all looking at me, a spectacle—in a box, put it in a box.

 

What do they want from—box.

 

How am I supposed to keep them safe from—box.

 

They’re going to rip me from this pedestal and—box.

 

As soon as my back is turned knives knives in the—put it in a fucking box and pull yourself together, damn it.

 

 

 

“It was about time,” said Varric, comically stretching up onto his tiptoes in a half-hearted go at getting a good look. Bull just grunted. “I mean, she’s pretty much been leading already. Just making it official.”

 

“She isn’t a leader,” Bull growled. Krem glanced at him, shrugged, and nodded thoughtfully, but Varric stared at him sharply, a quirk in his brow.

 

“I thought you liked Dancer?”

 

“Yeah, I do,” he snapped. “Which is why I’m fucking—”

 

 

 

Furious, she was furious. Well, she was Inquisitor now, so she supposed she could take her horrible revenge. What a fucking laugh. No real power, there. Just a pretty collar, how could she have been so fucking stupid.

 

 

 

“She doesn’t deserve this,” said Bull, later, as they all shared a drink in the half-finished tavern, and Varric narrowed his eyes.

 

“She’s put herself through hell for us—”

 

“Yeah, so she deserves better.”

 

“…what?”

 

“Varric, I thought you were her friend.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Then you should know this. You should know that she doesn’t want it.”

 

“…”

 

“What?”

 

“Neither did Hawke, Tiny. Sometimes that’s just—”

 

“She isn’t fucking Hawke.”

 

Bull heard what had happened to Hawke. Shit, worse had already happened to Ella but… she didn’t need that. She didn’t need more. She needed… oh shit. Thinking back, desperately pulling out every file and scrap in his mind, every piece of information that he’d discovered about the Hera- the Inquisi- about Ella, tying it all together frantically, and what’s her next move? Oh shit.

 

 

 

An endless nightmare, days and nights and days again the time just… kept… stretching… on and on and on and

 

A grand tour. Parading her about, so everyone could get a good look. So stupid.

 

And a throne? Did they really expect her to sit on that? That right there was enough to make her laugh, though she quickly swallowed it: that she should sit in judgement over others. Fuck.

 

Shaped like the Chantry’s sunburst too, what a fucking joke. I’ve never been the praying type. If there was a Maker, or any other sort of god, damn they had a sick sense of humor.

 

“Are you feeling alright, Inquisitor?” asked Josephine

 

Every word was a blade at the tenuous strands of her nerves. Inquisitor. Fuck.

 

“Of course,” Ella said with a smile that looked too forced, she knew, but there wasn’t much to be done about that. The Nightingale said nothing, just lurked behind the others, unreadable but smug, certainly she must be smug to have pulled this bullshit, fuck, so quick it must have been on purpose, because the Nightingale had known that she was about two steps from bolting into the mountains. Barely moved everyone in before leading her by the nose up those stairs. By the fucking nose.

 

“You seem…” the Ambassador hesitated, clearly searching for a better word than unhinged, but having trouble. The Nightingale stepped in.

 

“It’s been a long day. Perhaps you should retire to your quarters?”

 

“To my…” They had barely begun renovating the castle. People were sleeping in the courtyard.  They were treating injured in the stables. “To my quarters.”

 

Just like that they were gone, and she was alone. She was on the ground. On a bed? Who could even tell anymore, the floor was carpeted and there was a fireplace and windows and a bathroom with faucets and a tub and she was sinking into a mattress that was so soft, too soft, grasping dragging drowning into

 

No. No she had prepared for this. She had known. Close the breach and run. Close the breach and run. She would run, she had to run right now before it all fell apart.

 

What a laugh. Ella dug her nails into her face, wringing out the sensation in fitful bursts. Before it all fell apart, what a laugh.

 

No she could do this. She needed to salvage what remained, cut out the gangrene with a knife if she had to and survive, keep running, far far far away where they would forget her and she could just lock it all in a box, a nice little box, and never think about it again.

 

The more she thought about it, the simpler it became. Obvious, really. Should have done it long ago, that would have made it all so much easier, but she’d been blinded. Duped. Who was in on it, she wondered? Who else had been scheming, waiting in the dark with the knife, with the poison, with the play? Does it matter? It shouldn’t.

 

It did. It did matter. The Nightingale, the Nightingale surely was the mastermind, the one pulling all these strings, but… fuck for a moment Ella had thought she’d cared. They were talking and listening and for just the barest moment… no, no, this was why, this was why she would never make strings, lest she tangle herself in gossamer strands and never escape.

 

Varric had been so kind, Sera made her laugh. There was no way that they could have- of course, of course how could she have been so stupid? There’s always a play, always.

 

She’d thought that Vivienne respected her but no, just toying with her like a fucking master, kaffas. Was that how the Altus felt too? Surely, surely he wanted her in her place. Both of them. A slave walking about uncollared? An affront; she was just a toy.

 

No one was free of suspicion. All were complicit. Blades in the dark blades in the dark she couldn’t let her guard down for even a second and it was her own damn fault, it never would have happen if she’d just cut the damn strings and moved on but

 

Oh fuck, but what about Bull?

 

Ella caught herself against a wall and realized that she was standing, that she was gathering clothes and food and drink and knives, so many knives. There was a clatter as something fell to the floor; whatever had been in her hands; she didn’t know what it was.

 

What about him? She didn’t care. She wouldn’t care. She couldn’t

 

There was a weight in her pocket, seeming to burn a hole in the fabric. The stone. Oh fuck, she cared. She’d thought herself human, at least to him; but that was nothing but a lie, nothing but a play. How could she be so. Fucking. Stupid.

 

She heard the shattering of glass, and the stone was no longer in her hand. Gone, all gone and fuck it hurt but she had brought it on herself, always. I deserve it, I deserve this.

 

The curtains rippled in the wind now unfettered, cool air seeping through where the windows had once been but Ella could barely feel it. Nothing compared to the burning pit in her stomach, that constant voice at the back of her mind that had escalated to a shrill screech: run run run run run

 

She ran, smooth and fast. Don’t take a horse, trail’s too obvious. Lock the door behind, from the inside. Stoke a fire nice and hot before you go, let them think it was embers when you left. Through the window now, cling from stone to stone and drop. Mask nice and tight; a merchant? A farmer? A soldier? Confidence, confidence, now slip into shadow.

 

Surely the Nightingale had eyes on her. Surely she’d already lost them. She was everyone, she was no one; now they would see how foolish they were, thinking they could trap a Falx.

 

 

 

Notes:

Oof. Here's another chapter, as promised. Ella's been walking on thin ice for some time, I guess this it what it took for it to finally shatter beneath her feet. Whatcha gonna do, amiright?

This one's a little short, I think, although at this point who even knows, so I might upload the next later today.

As always, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, and I welcome any comments, questions, critique, or concerns!

 

I think I might have mentioned it before, but in case I didn't, I'm playing it fast and loose with canon, at least where magic and Tevinter are concerned. Mostly because I haven't read any of the 'extra' stuff, just played the game, so I'm not even quite sure what is canon. From a games standpoint, Tevinter culture is underdeveloped, with just a few nods to what might be going on over there. Honestly I'm making this out to be far more divergent than it is, but just so you know, if it seems like I'm getting things 'wrong', then it's probably because I am. And I probably won't change it. Don't get me wrong, I'm one hundred percent happy to talk about theories and what magic/Tevinter/demons are actually like in canon, and it'd actually be cool to hear about it. Just don't be... you know... angry? about it? That's all, thanks for coming to my Ted Talk

Chapter 31: Gone

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Cullen paced about the table, hands flitting idly over newly set markers. Bull rolled his eye, adjusting his weight so that his knee didn’t ache so much while Red spoke rapidfire Orlesian with one of her birds. A person-bird, not a bird-bird.

 

“I don’t think that needs any explaining, Curly,” said Varric snidely, arms crossed in a corner.

 

“But she can’t just be… I mean she’s coming back.”

 

Bull pursed his lips. “Nah, she’s gone for good. Been itching to run since she got here, and now you’ve given her an excuse.”

 

Cullen whirled on him, and Josephine looked up from her reports. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Come on; did you really think making her Inquisitor was a good idea?” said Bull incredulously. His eye caught the clench of Red’s fist, but the others seemed bewildered.

 

“We were giving her legitimacy,” said Josephine. “We thought it might make her feel more secure.”

 

“She’s practically been leading us this entire time anyway.” Cullen fiddled with his sword, tearing his hand away to run it through his hair. “Maker, it was about time we made it official.”

 

“Yeah but did you ask her?” Sera’s legs dangled from a dresser as she spoke, hands twitching for her bow. “I mean, ask her about all that title shite. Big chair and a new name, yeah?”

 

“No, they didn’t,” said Iron Bull pointedly. “You could tell, because she froze. Boss never does that unless she’s fucking terrified.”

 

Varric snorted. “Dancer doesn’t get terrified. People get terrified of Dancer.”

 

“That’s a lie and you know it,” said Bull, making sure to keep his voice even. “That girl’s issues have issues.”

 

“She just started sleeping again,” said Cole softly. Sera let out a strangled sort of choke before toppling from the dresser where Cole now sat.

 

Oi, don’t pull that creepy demon shite on me, it’s fucking… creepy.”

 

“Sorry. You were worried.”

 

“What did you mean by that, Cole?” asked Solas from across the table.

 

“Can we please not allow the abomination in the war room.” Vivienne scowled at Cole, who dipped his head sheepishly, though not without some confusion.

 

“Cole is a member of our circle.” Solas glared at Vivienne, chin high. “At least, according to the Inquisitor.”

 

“The Inquisitor is gone,” muttered Dorian. The Pavus boy had his own corner, and everyone seemed to be giving him a little berth. “From what I understand about her, she won’t be found, not unless she wills it. That woman is an enigma wrapped in dragonhide and phoenix quills.”

 

“Nice metaphor, Sparkler, maybe you should think about taking up writing.”

 

Bull turned to Cole, disliking the way he had to crane his head upwards to talk to the boy. “Could you find her?”

 

As if sensing his thoughts, Cole slipped off the dresser, landing with a muffled thud. Bull didn’t quite like that either. “Yes.”

 

Varric groaned. “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place, kid?”

 

“She doesn’t want to be found. She’s hurting, and she needs time to heal.”

 

“You know her,” said Bull. “She’s not going to heal, she’s gonna fester. Pick at the wound. Someone needs to talk to her.”

 

“She… she made me promise. She doesn’t want to see you.”

 

Cullen’s brow wrinkled. “Why not?”

 

“Blades in the dark. The play. She thinks it’s finally happened.” Cole looked at Red. “She’s right, at least a bit. That makes the rest more real.”

 

Leliana dismissed the agent with a few parting words, glaring at Cole. “There is no play. She was being paranoid and overreacted.”

 

“Why didn’t you ask?”

 

Red hesitated.

 

“Leliana…?” Cassandra tilted her head, placing a hand on the table.

 

“Because she would have bolted,” Red muttered. “I couldn’t let her do that.”

 

“And you didn’t think she’d run anyway?” Bull rubbed at his face, leaning back against the wall. “She’s not a child and she’s not stupid; you weren’t going to be able to lock her in her room forever. Fuck, you couldn’t even manage it for a night.”

 

“I wasn’t trying to—she’s always been free to leave. I thought if we shocked her with it, didn’t give her time to overthink it…”

 

“She’s never done anything but overthink,” said Bull, exasperated.

 

“You’re smarter than this,” said Cassandra, disappointment coloring her words. Leliana rolled her eyes.

 

“No one is smart enough to predict her. She’s… wild. An unknown. How else were we supposed to keep the mark?”

 

“You trapped her with titles,” snapped Varric.

 

“I didn’t trap her with anything; I was just trying to give her an excuse to stay. I thought letting her see what was at stake—”

 

“Would make her panic? Cause that’s what it did,” said Bull. “Cole, just let me talk to her.”

 

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

 

“That’s fucking shit, I need to—”

 

“You least of all. The Iron Bull, she’s… very confused.”

 

Varric raised a brow at him, and Bull just scowled back. “Who can talk to her, then?”

 

Cole tilted his head, eyes narrowed in thought. “Maybe him. The twin. He reminds her of someone else and not at the same time; he confuses her. But at least he didn’t turn away, only she did that. She barely knows him, but he hasn’t betrayed her.”

 

“Neither have we,” said Cullen, and Bull shook his head.

 

“She thinks you have,” said Cole. “Anything to make running easier, to make the cut clean and swift.”

 

“You mean that boy in the dungeons, don’t you?” asked Dorian. He sighed as Cole nodded. “The strangest friends.”

 

“Those two weren’t friends,” muttered Iron Bull. “I don’t trust him.”

 

“Great, well that makes literally every single one of us,” said Varric, throwing his hands in the air. “Kid, there’s gotta be someone else…”

 

“There’s no one. Alone.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“I… don’t think that would be a good idea.”

 

“Cole,” said Solas. “You said she was sleeping again?”

 

“Yes. A little.”

 

“What changed?”

 

“Wait, hold that shite, why wasn’t she sleeping before?” asked Sera.

 

Cole paused for a moment, seeming to weigh something in his mind. “Furrows in the mind. Some things don’t heal.”

 

“I thought she was dealing with it,” muttered Cullen. “I should have checked in.”

 

“Dealing with what?” Sera ran her hands through already disheveled hair. “Stop talking like we know, yeah?”

 

“Well, she said she was a soldier, before. We talked about it one night back at Haven.”

 

Bull scoffed. “Ella’s no soldier.”

 

“Have you not seen her fight?” asked Cassandra, incredulous. “She’s quite efficient.”

 

“Yeah she’s a fucking menace, but I can’t see her in an army. Doesn’t have any sense of team, or coordination. She just… acts.”

 

“Bard,” muttered Red, almost under her breath. “Or Crow.”

 

“Yeah, but all my contacts ran dry,” Bull replied, and Red nodded in agreement.

 

“Mine too, but we must have missed something.”

 

“This isn’t better! You’re doing it too!” shouted Sera.

 

“Are we… are we suggesting that she was some sort of assassin?” asked Dorian, nose wrinkling.

 

“Yes, ‘Vint, keep up,” said Iron Bull with a strained grin. “Where else do you think she could’ve learned to move like that. Almost reminds me of Seheron. The Fog Warriors.”

 

“That’s where Fenris spent some time after escaping,” said Varric, growing intrigued. “Maybe she did the same.”

 

“How is this relevant to—” began Cassandra, but Dorian cut her off.

 

“I completely agree; none of this is relevant at all. You’re clearly looking in the wrong place. There are plenty of highly regarded assassin’s guilds in Tevinter. The Crows are amateurs, we did everything first.”

 

“Okay, try not too sound so proud next time Sparkler,” said Varric as both Iron Bull and Red shook their heads.

 

“She was a slave, I didn’t think you guys are so keen to give your slaves weapons and training,” said Iron Bull.

 

“I’ve been scouring Tevene records for her name, and though it’s common it never comes up in any assassin paperwork.”

 

“Yes, well, I imagine they use code names and the like,” said Dorian. “And you’d be surprised how many people arm their slaves; they make for good bodyguards.”

 

“Again, Sparkler, we need to work on tone—” began Varric.

 

“Can we please focus on finding the Herald instead of tearing apart her personal history?” Cassandra’s voice was forceful and exasperated. “This isn’t helping matters.”

 

“Maybe we can figure out where she’s going,” said Red.

 

“Or how she’s planning to hide,” added Iron Bull. “Her training’s important.”

 

“Hey, kid, could you tell us—aaand he’s gone.” Varric sighed, leaning back against a wall.

 

“Maybe he’s checking up on the Boss,” said Iron Bull. “Not following his own fucking rules.”

 

“He wouldn’t let her see him,” mused Solas. “Especially with how she reacts to anything involving the Fade. Honestly I’m surprised that she speaks to him.” Why did he sound irritated by that? Did he want to be angry with her? Bull briskly shook his head; that wasn’t important now.

 

“We must handle this news with care,” said Vivienne. “If this gets out, it could be disastrous.”

 

“Is that really—”

 

“She’s right, Cullen,” said Josephine, cutting him off. Red nodded.

 

“The Inquisition comes first. This needs to be contained.”

 

“Yes, fine,” said Cullen. “But there’s still the matter of finding—”

 

“Let’s talk to that ‘Vint boy,” said Iron Bull.

 

“Yeah.” Varric nodded. “Makes sense, he might know where she went.”

 

“Not all of us,” said Red. “He can be… skittish.”

 

“Who, then?” asked Solas.

 

“The Iron Bull, Dorian, Varric, and myself.” Red tapped her fingers along the table. “I’m sure Cole will make an appearance, whether we want him to or not.”

 

Bull snorted. “I thought you said he was skittish.”

 

“Yes,” said Red simply. “Sometimes a little fear can loosen tongues.”

 

“I’m not going to be your boogeyman,” said Dorian with a scowl.

 

“Oh, no, that’s me.” Iron Bull smirked at the mage, whose frown only deepened. “You’re just a familiar face. Kid’s been working with ‘Vints.”

 

Dorian huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine.”

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t a small cell, but Bull still had to duck in order to get through the door. He tried not to loom too much; difficult in the space, but he managed. This kid, this Quen, he looked tired. And surprised, though he managed to wipe it off of his face quickly. Still, Ella must have been able to read him like a book. He wondered, again, how they knew each other.

 

“Well this is a surprise,” said Quen, shifting in his chair. “A big ol’ party, just for me.”

 

Red took the lead, as they had discussed. Dorian and Bull mostly just lurked, with Varric as the unintimidating one by Red’s side. Classic. A little too classic, but this kid didn’t seem quite on Ella’s level, so it could work.

 

“I don’t usually have so many guests,” Quen continued, clearly a little unnerved by their silence. “Actually it’s usually one guest. In particular. Usually.”

 

“You’re talking about Ella?” asked Red. “I didn’t know you two were that close.”

 

Quen just laughed. “Yeah, okay, and that’s why you always send her to talk to me. Just two people, completely unrelated, nothing special. I’m not stupid.”

 

“You seem on edge.”

 

“I think maybe… all? Of you could kill me? Together it’s a little bit unnerving, so yeah, I’m on edge.”

 

“Ella could kill you.”

 

“Thanks for the reminder,” said Quen with a wry grin. “She’s made that point several times already. Once again, unnerving.”

 

“Did you two train together?”

 

Quen laughed uproariously, banging his fist on the table until the giggles subsided, and wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Ooh, oh that’s hilarious.”

 

“I’ll take that as a no.” Red smiled softly, and it was a little bit scary. “How do you know her, then?”

 

Quen’s eyes narrowed, and he fidgeted in his chair. “Why don’t you ask her?”

 

“Oh, you know how she is,” said Red with a laugh. “I wouldn’t want to bother her.”

 

“Okay, I’m only going to say this once: I am far more afraid of her than I am of all of you combined, so, just jot that down, cause that should answer the rest of your questions, bye, nice seeing you.”

 

“Doesn’t sound like a very healthy friendship.”

 

“We’re not friends,” said Quen, exasperated. “I don’t think Ella does friends. Or, at least, she didn’t. I don’t know what crap you guys have been feeding her, but it’s not gonna fool her for long, so just know that…” His head snapped up, eyes widening. “Oh, Maker. She’s fucking gone, isn’t she.”

 

“She’s just—”

 

“No, no don’t fucking… what did you do? She was practically singing your praises the last time I talked to her. Or, well, for her at least, she seemed… happy? Crazy, I know, but—”

 

“Ella’s in danger,” cut in Bull, and Quen’s eyes immediately shot towards him.

 

“First of all,” Quen said, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. “I highly doubt that, because she’s… you know. Second of all, why should I care? Like I said, we’re not friends.”

 

“You’re hiding her secrets,” said Red. “You know each other’s names.”

 

“That means nothing. Ella’s made it abundantly clear that she’s not, nor has she ever been in any sort of relationship with anyone.” There was a bit of a grumble in his voice that struck Iron Bull as odd.

 

“Someone in particular?” he suggested, and Quen’s nose wrinkled.

 

“That’s not… there’s nothing, okay? I have nothing for you.”

 

“You?”

 

Quen scoffed. “Are you suggesting that…? No, no sorry but that could never be. She’s not my type.”

 

“Ella said that she knew his sister,” said Red, looking back at Bull, who nodded.

 

“I said fuck off about it, okay?”

 

The Iron Bull ignored him. “Didn’t seem to care when she said it, too. Almost too much. Think she was hiding something?”

“Hey, hey, hey, listen to me—”

 

“Perhaps they were an item? Two assassins, two lovers,” said Red.

 

“Whoa, whoa who said anything about assassi—or about lovers, no one said that—”

 

“Pretty romantic,” said Varric with a smirk. “Maybe I should include it in my next novel?”

 

“Kaffas would you just leave it—”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Dorian, crossing his arms. “Seems a little melodramatic for your audience. Too much blood. Very Tevinter.”

 

Okay, okay I get it, that’s enough, please, thank you.” Quen banged his head against the table, voice muffled by the wood. “Oh Maker, she’s going to fucking kill me.”

 

“Well, if she’s going to already,” said Red all too cheerfully.

 

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Quen shot up, hands clasped together. “They were not… lovers, per se. I’m a little fuzzy on the details, because she insists that nothing was going on, but it was a little… defensive? And I mean Morn would never spill so that’s just a nonstarter, and honestly it’s just a little gross asking my sister about her sex life, especially then because there’s just… there’s just a lot there—”

 

“Are you finished?” asked Varric.

 

“Not quite.” Quen stood, and began to pace. “You just can’t tell her that I told you, okay? Because she would kill me, I’m being absolutely serious about that, she’s probably gonna murder me as is so at this point it’s all about the way I go, and I’d really like it to be nice and clean.”

 

Bull rolled his eye. “She’s not going to kill you.”

 

Quen scoffed. “Oh, you don’t know here very well at all, do you? Do you know what she said to me, when she pissed me off? She said she’d thought of 27 ways to kill me when she’d walked into the room.”

 

“Huh,” said Bull, eye narrowing thoughtfully. “I wonder what the 27th is.”

 

“Could we focus on your Herald, please? She’s rather important, you know, and there are bears out there.” Dorian shuddered. “So many bears.”

 

“Don’t forget the dragons,” added Varric helpfully.

 

“Look, you don’t need to worry about Ella, unless you really set her off, then you should worry. Big time. I mean, what did you guys do?”

 

“Named her Inquisitor,” said Varric, and Quen winced.

 

“Ooh… yeah, that would do it.”

 

“Do you know where she might be?” asked Red, a little exasperated.

 

“Uh, no. Well…” Quen hesitated. “Guess it really depends, you know, on what she’s thinking.”

 

“Please, do go on,” said Dorian.

 

“She’s probably super pissed. It’s possible that she’s not being the most careful, and normally that wouldn’t matter because… but…” Quen blanched. “Oh shit.”

 

Bull’s eye narrowed. “Spit it out.”

 

“Well, I hate to ask, but did she ever manage to get that collar off?”

 

All of four of them shared an uncomfortable glance.

 

“Not exactly,” said Varric.

 

“That’s… that’s bad. Really bad.”

 

“The point,” said Bull, struggling to keep his voice from rising.

 

“Well, don’t tell her I said this, because she’d kill me, but she was… you know… owned, by someone. And she’s kind of valuable, on account of her… skills. There’s probably some way of tracking her, in the collar. And if she’s a little out of it…”

 

“Oh shit,” said Varric.

 

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the gist of it.”

 

“She said that she was of no interest to them,” muttered Red.

 

“Did you really believe that?” asked Iron Bull.

 

“Of course not. But a location spell? I didn’t expect her to lie about something so big.”

 

“Maybe she doesn’t know about it,” said Varric.

 

“Oh, no, she definitely knows about it,” supplied Quen helpfully. “They have the same thing on Morn, it’s why they can’t run away for more than a week. One time Morn got a month, it was crazy.”

 

“We need to find her,” said Bull. “Before someone else does.”

 

“Yeah, well that’s easier said than done,” said Varric.

 

Dorian tilted his head, eyes narrowed in thought. “I might be able to use the spell, if I could just…” He shook his head briskly. “If I had seen it before, maybe, but now it’d be near impossible.”

 

“Okay, well that’s—” Dorian cut Bull off with a grin.

 

“I’m good at impossible.”

 

Suddenly there was someone standing on the table. Quen scrambled backwards, knocking the chair to the ground.

 

“What the fuck is—”

 

“Hey Cole,” said Varric, but Cole was urgent.

 

“You need to help, now. She won’t listen to me.”

 

“I thought we couldn’t be trusted?” said Varric light-heartedly, though there was an underlying bite to his words that Cole didn’t seem to notice.

 

“She won’t listen. Never again, never again, the shadows are crying I can’t I won’t let it happen again. She won’t listen to me, you have to stop her.”

 

“Whoa, slow down.” Varric placed a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “Stop her from what?”

 

“She wants to kill them. All of them. She wants to finally break the shackles, but she can’t I know she can’t, thorns tighten around thought, choking on silence, the job the job, so tired. Too tired.”

 

“Is she an idiot?” Quen stood from his chair, eyes wide. “She can’t just… they’re going to eviscerate her. Or worse.”

 

“Alright.” Varric brought a hand to his head. “What could be worse than—”

 

“The more of them she manages to kill, the worse it will be for her.” Quen groaned, tugging his hands through his hair. “Why is she going straight to them? She might as well send up a flare and bang on a drum, hold a sign above her said that says ‘I am a damn idiot, please capture me’.”


“She’s confused,” said Iron Bull. “Maybe… maybe there’s a part of her that wants to go back?”

 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” snapped Dorian. “She clearly hates Tevinter and everything about it.”

 

“World’s strange. She was raised on orders; sometimes that life’s just simpler.” Bull would know, though of course what Ella had gone through was nothing like the Qun. He had been given order and certainty, nothing like slavery. Cruel and unpredictable. Still, it was what she had known.

 

Now, please it doesn’t matter, we need to go now.”

 

“Cole’s right,” said Varric.

 

“Wait.” Quen reached out a hand then thought better of it as they all turned, pulling it back to cross his arms. “Look, you gotta understand… Ella’s probably really pissed at you guys. If this is where her mind is, you should be careful. And you should… just try to understand, okay? What she was. What she is.”

 

“What she is, is our friend,” grunted Bull. “And we’re going right now to pull her dumb ass out of the fire.”

 

 

Notes:

Long time no see, school's been kicking my ass, all that good stuff. Your comments are wonderful and I really appreciate them, y'all are the best, seriously.

I hope you enjoy! Spoiler alert: there's some angst a coming, so buckle up, it's gonna be a trip.

As always thanks for reading, I appreciate the comments and kudos so much, and I'm so glad people are enjoying this fic!

Chapter 32: Fletcher

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

A hooded man met them outside of dungeons; Dorian’s shadow, lurking less and less but still keeping a close eye on the Pavus boy. Now, however, he bowed his head to the Nightingale in broad daylight, fist pressed to his chest.

 

“My lady,” he muttered. Iron Bull didn’t like the shift of his eyes or the fidget in his hands, but he didn’t seem untrustworthy. Just cagey, maybe hiding a few secrets, nothing serious. A good candidate for an advanced agent but not quite ready, he could see why Red had handed him Pavus as an assignment. Close to home, little to lose, but still a reasonable test of mettle.

 

“I’ll manage information from here, see what we can find,” said Leliana briskly before even acknowledging the man. “Fletcher, go with them, and report.”

 

The man nodded, and Red was gone.

 

There was a brief bewildered silence, inevitably broken by Varric.

 

“So… Fletcher?”

 

“I’m good with bows,” said the man, motioning to the quiver on his back, partially obscured by his cloak. “And arrows.”

 

“Odd name.”

 

“My real one’s stranger.”

 

Dorian quirked a brow. “Oh, now you must tell.”

 

The man just shook his head with a small grin, the faintest scrap of a tattoo against his copper skin before the hood fell over his eyes once more. “Don’t we have somewhere to be?”

 

“No time to pack properly,” said Bull, sorting through a thousand thoughts at once. “Everyone split off, grab what you can, and meet at the stables. We’ll have to travel light. Cole, you can lead us to her?”

 

The boy nodded. “Hurry. Thorns, thorns, choking gasping I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, blood thick in my throat is this all I am?”

 

“Yeah, hurry, I got it.”

 

 

 

Bull hastily pulled on his armor, bits and pieces, scraps of metal and leather cobbled together from years of mercenary work. Over and over different scenarios ran through his head, followed by their respective solutions, their courses of action. If she’s alone… as he strapped on his chest plate. If she’s in the middle of the fight… as he pulled on his bracers. If she’s been captured… with his greaves. But what if she’s

 

The boss was tough. She’d be fine.

 

That didn’t make a difference, though, there had to be a plan, always.

 

Okay, so the boss was dead. Just… what if…

 

Limp in his arms, cold, unmoving, fuck I knew this was going to happen this is all my fault I knew

 

The boss was tough. She’d be fine. She’d be fine, but only if he hurried. He had to hurry.

 

The horses had been saddled by the time they all gathered, and Fletcher led the mounts out by the reins before their party saddled up. Light and quick, not much food, which should be fine. Cole told them that she was only a day’s journey away on horseback, last he’d seen her, which in itself was concerning but not surprising. That Venatori would skirt their fortress, sneak about the fringes of their sight in search of weakness was to be expected, at least until the Inquisition strengthened its foothold in Skyhold.

 

In all honesty what was most surprising was that she’d managed to make it so far on foot in the cold. Surely she must be tired by now, moving less quickly; certainly too sluggish to pick a fight.

 

“All the same. Done it before.”

 

Bull nearly startled from his saddle when Cole spoke, righting himself quickly to resume their steady canter.

 

“The boss isn’t immune to the cold, kid. She’s gotta stop eventually, even if she’s done it before.”

 

“Her blood runs hot.”

 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

 

Cole tilted his head in his own way, somehow still upon his stocky but light-footed mount. “Or maybe it’s cold? Both, I think.”

 

“That’s not an answer.”

 

“Never stop, never still, always running: hot. Don’t think, don’t care, keep your distance: cold.”

 

“Still doesn’t… you know what? I don’t even want to know anymore.”

 

 

 

Fletcher was a quiet man, only speaking when spoken to and even then not saying much. Even as Dorian and Varric pestered him with inane questions to pass the time.

 

“So how long have you been working for our lovely Spymaster?” asked Dorian.

 

“Long enough.”

 

“Come on, any stories?” asked Varric.

 

“None of interest.”

 

Reminded Bull of Ella, almost, but younger, inexperienced, and more brusque, visibly uncomfortable at the attention.

 

Dorian shifted in his saddle, staring at Fletcher. “I feel like I’ve seen you before, somehow. Have we met?”

 

The man coughed. “No, I don’t think so.”

 

“Strange,” said Dorian. “I have a good memory for faces, you know. Although yours is covered by that ghastly hood, what I can see of it is worth remembering.”

 

Fletcher’s cough tumbled into a fit, and he pounded at his chest until he could choke out a few insightful words. “Oh, that’s uh, well I guess I just… um.”

 

“Just one of those faces?” offered Varric, taking pity.

 

“Yeah, just one of those… you know, just one of those faces.”

 

“Get that a lot?” Varric prompted once more, and the man nodded furiously.

 

Bull couldn’t help a chuckle, allowing the conversation to drag him from their situation, from the danger. Nothing they could do about it now but ride. Nothing they could do…

 

Shit, could they go any faster? No, they’d tire out the horses, obviously. There was a logic to this, reason and rule, nothing they could do but ride so why was he overthinking? Why did he keep wondering how he could have seen it coming, how he could have kept it from happening? All in the past and you can’t change the past; that was the way of things.

 

The scenery was dull, though the companionship was anything but. Still, the monotony of snow only broken by emerging patches of mud did nothing to lift the mood. That burden was placed mostly on Varric, and even the dwarf was finding less and less to joke about, finding it more difficult to spin a tale or weave a story that might keep their minds off Ella, where she might be, what they might find. Damn, that girl was an idiot.

 

“After we save her ass, I’m going to fucking kill her,” growled Bull.

 

“And why’s that, Tiny?” asked Varric. Bull just grumbled incomprehensible nothings in response, and Dorian sniffed loudly.

 

“I’m more concerned about her killing us. Do you remember the first time we spoke?”

 

“Yeah, you made an ass of yourself and she pulled a knife on you, it was hilarious,” said Bull.

 

“That is not the word I’d use, but to each his own.”

 

“Which one, ass or hilarious?” prompted Varric.

 

“Well because you insist,” Dorian said with a roll of his shoulders. “I’d say I was being rather heroic. Do I dare say dashing?”

 

“Apparently you do,” said Fletcher quietly.

 

“Aha! So he does have a sense of humor. Though it too is bundled up in layers of cloth.”

 

“Something you might benefit from.” Fletcher fiddled with an knife as he rode, which Bull thought was probably dangerous, though it didn’t quite concern him enough to say anything.

 

“It’s not my fault that you Southerners have no sense of style,” said Dorian with his nose in the air, a grin on his face. “Why, does it distract you?”

 

Fletcher ducked his head only slightly, but enough. Bull would bet that he was blushing beneath the hood. Still, he managed to shoot back: “Only in that I fear it might blind me. There’s no reason for so many useless bits of metal.”

 

“Useless? Useless?” Dorian placed a hand to his chest. “I’m sorry that not everyone thinks it fit and proper to run around looking like a pile of blankets that has taken up residence on a vaguely human shaped lump. Or, and I shudder to even recognize it, but…” Dorian gestured wildly at Iron Bull. “That. Do you really think that is acceptable? Would you prefer that travesty of a pair of pants?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Bull with a grin. “I can think of several people who don’t seem to mind it much.”

 

“Oh really?” asked Varric. “Someone in particular?”

 

“Think before you speak, Varric,” Bull muttered, mood souring.

 

“Just asking.” Varric raised his hands defensively. “But you have to admit…”

 

“Think. Before—”

 

“I mean, it makes a dwarf wonder, you know? Can’t deny it…”

 

“Varric.”

 

“What are you two threatening each other about?” Dorian raised a brow. “And why must it interrupt my delightful conversation.”

 

“Varric thinks that The Iron Bull is sleeping with Ella,” said Cole helpfully.

 

“Oh,” said Dorian.

 

“That is not what I think!” Varric’s pony jittered forward a few steps, certainly not by his doing, certainly not to steer a little clearer of Bull’s towering warhorse. “I’m just saying that things might be a little… tense… between them.”

 

“We have an understanding,” said Bull stiffly. Really he couldn’t even say they were friends, not honestly. And here he was riding out into the fucking Frostbacks to keep her from doing something stupid. Again.

 

“An understanding?” Varric raised a brow. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

 

“What else would I call it?”

 

“Tension so thick you could slice it with a knife.” All of them turned to Fletcher in various states of shock. The man just shrugged. “I call it like I see it.”

 

“The only tension is whether or not she’s going to punch me in the face at any given moment.” Bull scowled. “You’re only hurting her with this, you know.”

 

Varric’s brow scrunched up. “What?”

“The association isn’t good for her. If you’re going to spread rumors, say she’s courting Josephine. Diplomat, good standing, name’s a bit shaky but respected. Same with Cassandra, the name’s there even if she’s distanced herself from it, and she’s a Seeker as well. Or Cullen, that’s scandalous but not outrageous. Blackwall, even, at least he’s a Warden.”

 

All the while Varric was shaking his head. “You’ve put far too much thought into this.”

 

“Into her reputation?” Bull felt his nose wrinkle, and heard a bite in his voice. “In the reputation of the Inquisition? These aren’t just words over a drink anymore, Varric.”

 

“They never were.”

 

“Then stop. We aren’t fucking. We barely even speak to each other. And I’m the most harmful person in the Inquisition for her to be associated with.” He paused thoughtfully. “Well, besides maybe Dorian…”

 

“Certainly not going to happen,” Dorian scoffed.

 

“Yeah, her feelings about you are pretty obvious, so probably not.”

 

“That is not what I was—”

 

“You’re an idiot, Tiny.”

 

“That’s not what I’ve been told.” Bull sighed. “Is it because I’m Qunari? Is that just too fascinating or exotic or something?”

 

“No, of course not.” Varric groaned. “Maker’s balls, if I’d known you were going to get this worked up, I wouldn’t have even mentioned it.”

 

“Like I said: think before you speak.”

 

 

 

“You are friends, The Iron Bull.”

 

The sun was beginning to set, and as it did the question of sleep was weighing on all of their minds, yet that was what the demon-boy wanted to talk about? He just grunted, but Cole persisted.

 

“She’s confused, now. That doesn’t mean you aren’t friends anymore.”

 

“We were never friends,” muttered Iron Bull. “Shit’s too complicated.”

 

Dying, dying, dead and it’s all my fault.”

“What the fuck did I say about sticking your fingers in my—”

 

“Those aren’t yours.”

 

Bull didn’t reply.

 

“She cares about you. Still, even over I must run away I must and never trust never lean. She’s confused because it hurts.”

 

“She’s skittish, and she bolted. That’s just who she is.”

 

“Why do you think she stayed?”

 

“Because she’s not a total asshole,” Bull snapped. “She has the mark, and she’s fucking pissed about it but she knows what that means.”

 

“She wanted to help,” said Cole softly, as if to himself. “But she’s spent so long telling herself not to. Always makes it worse. Eyes in the dark. No names.”

 

“Do you have something to say, or are you just trying to get on my nerves.”

 

“You’re friends, The Iron Bull. Even over Seheron, over shok ebasit hissra.”

 

The Iron Bull whipped around with the beginnings of a snarl, eye blazing, but Cole was gone.

 

 

 

In the end they rode through the night. It was shit for the horses, but none of them dared to suggest a halt, and none of them felt very tired anyway.

 

Irrational. The Iron Bull knew that they should stop, that they’d be useless if they were exhausted. Still he didn’t speak. Just kept riding, ignoring the way his joints began to ache and how a little voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to be reasonable. Fuck reasonable.

 

 

 

They only slowed when, abruptly, Cole drew up his reigns and… well he didn’t exactly do that, his horse didn’t have reigns for some messed up reason that Bull didn’t care to think on, but he did somehow slow down his horse and, eventually, come to a halt. They drew up beside him, glancing around.

 

The beginnings of a forest, at the base of the mountains. A good place for a person to get lost, or to lose herself.

 

“Is she close by?” asked Bull. Cole just nodded, head cocked as if listening. “Where?”

 

“It’s… difficult,” said Cole. “She’s too bright. Rings around the sun. Larger than she is.”

 

“Well that’s wonderful,” said Dorian, throwing up his hands. “What are we supposed to do now?”

 

“Now we track her down.” Iron Bull dismounted, eye scanning the underbrush for any sign of disturbance. Fletcher slid from his horse as well, fingers drumming against his thigh.

 

“Luckily that’s a specialty of mine,” he said, crouching in front of a tree. “If we can just find where the trail begins…”

 

“Well, you’re Dancer.” Varric paced as he spoke, walking a line between two trees. “Where do you start?”

 

Fresh, flowing, free.” Cole started forward.

 

“A river,” said Bull, and they rushed to follow.

 

Notes:

Our heroes ride into the cold to rescue their Herald! The shock! The intrigue! Who is this mysterious stranger? What will they find when they get there? Why am I talking like this?

Jesus, on the down side, college has kicked my ass so handily that I haven't updated in a month. On the upside, I've just handed in my last couple papers for a while, and all my midterms are over! Hooray! Please accept this part apologetic and part celebratory double upload.

Chapter 33: The Body

Notes:

Content warning for descriptions of violence. It's not described super in detail, but it's still not the greatest.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

It made sense. Rivers usually led somewhere; they were good to build around, for drinking water, mills, irrigation… also good to hide tracks. Which would make things a little difficult.

 

“Well, she couldn’t have followed the river forever,” said Fletcher, staring at the rushing body of water. “She must have split off at some point.”

 

“But where?” Dorian looked up at the sky in exasperation. “Why couldn’t she have just drowned her sorrows in liquor like the rest of us.”

 

“Okay, first of all Sparkler, if you’re calling it liquor, it’s probably too expensive for—”

 

“I found something,” called Fletcher. As they gathered around, he pointed out a patch of undergrowth. Nothing there, though… wait, no, there it was, Iron Bull saw the faintest imprint of a foot.

 

“That’s not Ella’s,” he muttered.

 

“I know.” Fletcher crouched by the print, glancing around the branches for any further clues. “But it belongs to someone.”

How do you know what the Herald’s footprint looks like?” Dorian had his hands to his face.

 

“This is too heavy, and the boot’s too large,” said Fletcher simply, but Bull grinned.

 

“What, is it too complicated for you?”

 

Dorian sniffed haughtily. “Nothing’s too complicated for me.”

 

“If she’s after someone, it’s probably whoever left this,” said Fletcher, ignoring them. “Not much in these woods, and there’s nothing else to draw attention.”

 

“Well, I suppose we should follow it too?” suggested Dorian. Fletcher nodded, and the mage sighed. “Let’s move along, then.”

 

It was slow going, especially as Fletcher had to walk stooped over, scanning the area for any sort of clue. A scrap of cloth here, some pack animal’s hair there. Soon the tracks grew more frequent, more heavy, as if the man had met up with others. No sign of Ella, though in the commotion of prints it would be easy to miss her light step. At least, that’s what Bull hoped.

 

Then Fletcher stopped, suddenly. It was easy to see why.

 

“Well that’s… horrifying,” said Dorian.

 

It was a man. An elf. Fucking… nailed to a tree. Arrows in his shoulders, in his chest pinning him to the bark behind… fuck. At least he was dead. Bull hoped it had been quick, but didn’t think it likely.

 

“What do you make of this,” asked Fletcher, calm. Sighing, Iron Bull knelt beside the body.

 

“Not much to make. Been here a while.” He noticed something, then, at the wrists… fuck. “He was shackled.”

 

“Do you think…?” began Varric, and Bull just nodded. The dwarf ran a hand through his hair. “Guess Ella was right.”

 

Bull’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

 

“Something she said, a while ago. Said slavers were taking advantage of the war, trying to meet quotas. We were jumped by a group of them in the Hinterlands.”

 

“Slavers don’t just kill healthy slaves. Not ones who are trying to ‘meet a quota’.” Bull turned back to the elf. Nameless. “These aren’t slavers.”

 

“We should come back for him,” said Dorian. He seemed remarkably calm, before Iron Bull remembered his specialization. Necromancy. Made sense that he’d been around dead bodies before. “Give him the proper rites, maybe try to find family.”

 

“Doubt we’ll be able to do that, but…” It was stupid. The dead were dead, and they needed to move on, Bull knew that. “We’ll come back, but we need to keep moving.”

 

Dorian just nodded.

 

 

 

They kept going, and soon even Dorian could pick up the trail. Not exactly trying to hide themselves, were they. Large group, too; a cart, horses, several on foot.

 

The fact that Ella thought she could take these guys grew more concerning by the second. They began to run.

 

Throughout it all, eerily silent. Sure there was birdsong and the rustle of small creatures, but nothing of war. No clatter of metal on metal, no screams. Just… peace. It was disconcerting.

 

Then there was a rustle in the branches, voices on the breeze, and all of them shared a single glance before they were armed and at the ready. Closer, closer with shifting leaves and snapping twigs. Frantic movement. Are they… running from something?

 

Forms burst through the brush, and before they noticed the armed retinue they made to keep running, keep fleeing. Until they did notice, then the first one skidded to a halt, eyes wide, wincing as the one behind ran into her and the Iron Bull had realized several heartbeats ago that these were not Venatori, and had already lowered his axe. The others did the same, warily, as the two parties stared each other down in a wide-eyed standstill.

 

They were slaves. Several of them. Some still had chains around their wrists, a couple had collars. All elves and humans of varying stature and complexion, all some degree of terrified. One, more brazen, stepped in front of the rest, brandishing what looked like a broken sword.

 

“We aren’t going back.” Behind him, a few nodded in silent agreement. The blankness to their gaze was that of one who has, seeing no alternative, accepted death. Grim. Resolute. It was chilling but not unfamiliar.

 

“We aren’t here to make you,” said Iron Bull, stepping forward with an easy grin, pretending not to notice the few that flinched backwards. “We’re not Venatori.”

 

You’re not,” said the elf with the sword. He pointed at Dorian and Fletcher, teeth bared. “But what about them?”

 

Dorian puffed up, eyes blazing, but before he could open his mouth Varric stepped in front of him.

 

“This guy? He’s no Venatori, just a flashy mage.”

 

Flashy?

 

“And I’m an agent of the Inquisition,” said Fletcher simply, gesturing to the clasp of his hood. “We’re here searching for one of ours. A woman, average height, broken nose, broad shoulders, very muscular. Have you seen anyone like that?”

 

Iron Bull admired his calm, although he caught a tremble in the man’s hands, the slightest twitch towards his now sheathed bow. Still impressive; he was being well-trained.

 

A girl near the back perked up, head tilting. Fuck, she was young. Young and scrawny, hair matted with dirt and twigs.

 

“It’s her,” she whispered.

 

“If that’s one of yours, you should rethink who you hire,” snapped the elf at the front. “Fucking possessed. Crazy.”

 

The Iron Bull felt himself bristle and forced it down. He couldn’t afford to intimidate these people, and he wasn’t sure why he was so defensive in the first place. Ella could be… Bull recalled Therinfal, Haven, everywhere she’d torn through men like paper and grinned all the while. Fuck, even that first meeting on the Storm Coast, she had been… he could see how they’d be frightened, but she was just doing her job. Like him.

 

“Yeah, Dancer can get a little enthusiastic, but she’s mostly harmless,” said Varric with a strained grin. The elf snorted.

 

“I highly doubt that, but I want nothing to do with it. She’s straight ahead, I’m sure you won’t be able to miss it. Now leave us.”

 

“You’d be safer with the Inquisition,” said Fletcher, stepping forward. “Strong walls, and warm food. The Frostbacks are no place for children, even this far down.”

 

“We’ll live.” The elf warily drew up his blade. “We’ve survived this long.”

 

“She freed you?” asked Iron Bull softly. The elf hesitated, before jerking his head into a nod.

 

“By accident, I think. She… we can’t be talking about the same person. I don’t think that one works for anything.”

 

“Yeah, we’re definitely talking about the same person.” Bull chuckled, shifting his weight, leaning back and away even as some part of him screamed to keep moving, to rush forward like a fool. Unimposing, unexpectant. “Can you tell us what you saw? What happened?”

 

“It was a blur. She came in the dark, I didn’t… there wasn’t much to see. Just a lot of blood, and then screaming. There was… a lot of screaming.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Different people. Hard to tell. Like I said, it was dark. I think she got thrown against the cages and…” His nose wrinkled, eyes darting back to the others as if to ask an unspoken question. A woman shrugged half-heartedly, and he turned back. “I dunno. I guess she must’ve picked up a key at some point, cause then the door was open. So we ran.”

 

“She broke it,” said the child. “I saw it. She twisted the lock between her hands.”

 

They were probably in shock. Bull glanced at Fletcher, raising a brow. The man sighed.

 

“I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on things…”

 

“Can’t be everywhere at once.”

 

“The Lady Nightingale…”

“We have this handled.”

 

Fletcher sighed once more, before straightening his back and facing the group of elves, still warily shifting at the edge of the clearing. “If you come with me, I’ll lead you to Skyhold. You can at least get supplies and a night’s rest, and then from there it’s up to you. On my honor.” There was a hint of a smile from under his hood.

 

“I…” The elf hesitated, glancing back at the rest. They were in a bad way, bruised and tired and hungry, and Iron Bull could see the gears turn in his head, calculating risk and reward, coming to the conclusion that no, they wouldn’t make it very far, not without leaving a few behind. Unacceptable. The elf nodded. “Just the night.”

 

“Of course.” Fletcher rolled his shoulders, beckoning them with a wave of his arm. As they began to follow he turned towards Iron Bull. “Don’t fuck up.”

 

Bull smiled grimly at him, shaking his head slightly. “We won’t.”

 

 

 

They carried on, not wanting for Fletcher’s tracking expertise as the trail was loud and brazen against the soft ground. Too many men, what was she thinking.

 

“Never again. She can’t let it happen again.”

 

“We know, kid,” said Varric softly, but fuck how Bull hated that.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

And he hated that even more. “Don’t be.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Still there was silence, which jarred unpleasantly with the slaves’ description. Sound would carry, especially screams or the clash of metal. Either they were too far away to hear, or the fight had ended one way or another. Bull wasn’t sure which he preferred.

 

Because Ella was good, but she couldn’t be this good. Couldn’t take on a couple dozen Venatori, alone and hungry and wild. There was no way she was thinking any of this through, no way she could come out of this on top.

 

“Kid, can you… hear her?” asked Varric.

 

Cole was silent, head tilted, before he simply said: “No.”

 

Bull felt frustration itch and burn behind his missing eye before he forced it back. “Why?”

 

“Something’s wrong. It’s all too loud and quiet at the same time. Constant, nothing changes, the same thoughts over and over, eyes in the dark never again no names no faces never again the walls the walls closing in never again—“

 

“Right, alright, we get it.” Varric sighed.

 

“I…” began Dorian. “I have to admit that I… I’m not exactly comfortable hearing her… are they thoughts? Is that what they are?”

 

“Kind of,” said Cole.

 

“Of course. Does that make anyone else feel strange? It gives me shivers,” he admitted.

“It’s necessary.” Bull fiddled with the handle of his axe. “Why, does that make you uncomfortable?”

 

“I think I’ve just stated that it does.”

 

Bull just grunted. That wasn’t what he meant, and he wasn’t sure if Dorian knew that or not. “For her sake or yours?”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

 

“Never mind.”

 

Dorian just threw his hands up into the air. “And this riveting conversation is what we sent that pretty face away for, is it?”

 

What, my face not good enough for you? It was too easy. But Bull wasn’t in the mood to respond, to joke, not when they were this close and still so uncertain. Too many what ifs…

 

“She’s still alive,” said Cole helpfully, and oh but he hated that. “Sorry.”

 

“No,” he managed to grind out between his teeth. “Thanks, kid.”

 

Suddenly the wind changed, and on it Iron Bull picked up a faint whiff of copper. Unmistakably blood, a scent that evoked images of gore and panicked shouts, but still there was only silence. If it was so strong he could smell it, there must have been a lot. And they must be close.

 

Blood and sweat, and the ground was flattened by frantic prints; the fleeing slaves, most likely. Then along the strengthening smell came faint words, a quiet voice to break that deathly silence, and all of them shared a single glance before surging forward with new urgency.

 

Notes:

Part two of the apology/celebratory double upload!

Oh ho ho, what's this? A cliff hanger? I swear the next part will be uploaded in a timely manner; it's actually already written, just needs some tweaking. Thank you all for bearing with me; I really appreciate all of your comments and support! We ain't getting off this angst train yet, my dudes. It's still truckin'.

Hope you like the story so far! Definitely leave a comment with your thoughts; I love reading them!

Chapter 34: Impossible Secrets

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

There was no more build up, no ceremony; they pushed past a final tree and burst into an open clearing, clearly where the Venatori had set up camp. Had.

 

“Maker,” whispered Varric, and his tone was something Bull could agree with.

 

It was a massacre. Scattered carts and littered bodies, blood spatters against the grass and the trees. Iron Bull’s eye flitted about in spite of himself, gathering quick bits of information and piecing them all together.

 

Slit throats at the outskirts of the camp; an ambush, picking off those furthest away from the center. The plan behind that betrayed more cohesive thought than Iron Bull had believed Ella capable of, at least in her current state of mind. One hanging from a tree, a rope looped around his neck and wrenched over a branch. Creative. A little sloppy, but creative.

 

Fuck, a couple of them didn’t look… great. He knelt by the bodies, nose wrinkling.

 

“What…” Dorian’s voice was hoarse, and he coughed once. “What did she do?

 

“She won,” said Iron Bull. “She fucking won.”

 

“No, nothing’s better, the same the same it won’t leave me.”

 

“She still won. I can’t fucking believe it.” This was insane, this was impossible… this was Ella.

 

“Do those guys have hands?” asked Varric, and Bull was almost surprised at how little his voice shook.

 

“Nope.”

 

“Great. Just checking.”

 

“A lot of these wounds seem like they were inflicted after death,” said Dorian, standing a healthy distance from the bodies. Apparently there was an upper limit to what he could take. Good to know.

 

Varric huffed. “Remember Envy?”

 

“I try not to,” muttered Bull.

 

“She just kept stabbing it.”

 

“Shock.”

“Yeah, but a lot of this just seems so… methodical.”

 

“Like I said: shock.”

It was Cole who stated the obvious. “She’s not here.”

 

“Yeah.” And it was a relief, really, because that meant she could still be alive. Yeah, Cole kept saying it, but he didn’t much trust the word of a demon. He’d believe it when he saw her breathing.

 

“Wonderful, what now?” Dorian ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the careful arrangement. “Besides a bottle of wine.”

 

“This is gonna take more than wine; this is a whiskey job,” said Varric, half joking.

 

“This is a maraas-lok job,” muttered Bull. A strange streak of blood caught his eye. “One of the bodies is missing.”



“There’s another one?” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. “When will this day end?”

 

“It was dragged.” He might not have as good an eye as Fletcher, but he considered himself competent in reading the land. Especially in the wake of a fight like this. “Someone dragged it away.”

 

Dorian broke the resultant silence with a sigh. “Let’s be off, then.”

 

 

 

Ella left with nothing but the clothes on her back and the knives against her skin. She almost went to Quen, first. Almost.

 

He’s not her. It was really that simple.

 

So she left alone, in the dark and the quiet, light steps hooded face keep running.

 

Everything was wrong, all of it had fallen apart and she was to blame, really, because it was her own damn fault for putting her trust in others when she had sworn to herself that never again would be so naïve. Again and again and again, she was caught in the tide and it was just… throwing her… against… the cliffs… till the rock bit her skin and blood stained the sea. And still, and still.

 

Simple. So simple. She needed to break the cycle. Maybe she couldn’t break the chains, cage, collar but the cycle… was that the first step?

 

Where it all began. Where it all went wrong.

 

I have to find her.

 

Simple.

 

 

 

A reedy scream rolled across their ears, muffled and dull but there all the same.

 

“Do you think that’s—“ began Varric, but Bull shook his head.

 

“That’s not Ella.” He wasn’t quite sure if he really knew that, or if it was just wishful thinking, but something pulled his thoughts in that direction and at this point, he was just going to go with his gut.

 

 

 

It was simple until she found the body.

 

She’d been calm, poised, determined. Everything was dull and all her bones ached but still her focus was sharp. The prints were easy to find, easier to track, just grab one and find out what I need to know and then. And then.

 

After the body everything just went red. Like knives beneath her skin, under her fingertips just begging to cut and bleed and fuck how her breath came in ragged bursts, a gale against her battered lungs and fuck how her hands shook against the hilts of her daggers and fuck how she wanted them dead. All of them. Every. Single. One.

 

Dead.

 

 

 

And so she fell. There was a knack, a rhythm to killing that Ella had learned alongside her letters. She had been raised in blood by murderers, and there came a point where thought was secondary. Where all she needed to do was let go.

 

She wanted to kill them all, so she did. Almost.

 

 

 

But she’d almost forgotten, hadn’t she? As she slowly shook off the rage and pain and hate, felt the red drain from her vision as again and again and again she kept stabbing but it just wouldn’t leave again and again and

 

She needed to find her. I have to

 

One, still alive. Chance or cowardice, she didn’t know, but she was fortunate. He wouldn’t be. Fuck but he wouldn’t be, not if she could help it.

 

He was saying words but she couldn’t quite hear them; like a hood over her head, like water around her ears, drowning drowning drowning I can’t move can’t breathe.

 

She was saying words, words she’d heard before on so many tongues, twisted mouths and glittering eyes shut up shut up shut up

 

I’m going to hurt you now.

 

His voice.

 

No, she wasn’t Malice. Malice had no reason, no method. Malice was simply cruel. This was barely even vengeance; this was just business. Just a job. Something she had to do.

 

She’d always learned that it was best to enjoy what you do.

 

 

 

Another scream, sharp and brief, more desperate than before until it was cut off unexpectedly. And then there was only silence. Bull’s eye darted towards Cole even as the spirit spoke.

 

“She’s still alive.”

 

Fuck but he hated—“Thank you.”

 

They ran, feet pounding against the grass, straddling the smears of blood that led them.

 

 

 

No. No. No.

 

Her hand was empty, blade in the grass, knees in the grass, face pressed into the grass but no no no no no no

 

Hands clutching at her sides, ruined everything ruined you ruin everything you touch.

 

Nails scraping any sort of sensation into her arms, her face, dull and numb like ice, like water, like ice water in a mountain spring washing the blood, the blood it never comes out, does it? It never will, it never stops.

 

But I—It never stops, little sparrow.

 

Let me help you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They found her. She was… they found her.

 

Maker,” Varric hissed between his teeth. Once again The Iron Bull was inclined to agree with the sentiment.

 

She didn’t look up, when they stepped into the clearing. Just knelt, hunched over, eyes wide and vacant and staring past the man in front of her. What was left of him, anyway.

 

“…Ella?”

 

She blinked, but didn’t speak. Cole started murmuring under his breath, little frenzied nothings that flitted through the already tense air.

Blood was already drying on her skin, caked onto her clothes and into her hair, dripping from her fingertips. Smeared across her face, staining her skin a dark and viscous crimson. There was a knife on the ground, next to her.

 

“Ella,” said Iron Bull, and still she did not respond.

 

The man across from her… he was dead. That much was pretty obvious. It didn’t look like it had been quick. Or shit, maybe it had. Violent, certainly. His eye darted back towards the knife.

 

Cole stepped forward, hesitant. “It isn’t your fault.”

 

Ella’s head snapped towards him, eyes suddenly sharp. Words played across her lips in an unfinished melody, half-formed sounds twitching at the corners of her mouth before falling away. Still, she was silent.

 

“You aren’t him. He isn’t you. Whispers in the dark, but you don’t have to listen.”

 

She hissed between clenched teeth, like she was struggling to keep the words in. “You know nothing.”

 

“I know you. Barefoot in the snow, laughing in the moonlight. Too many strings, caught and tangled in the web of must protect and cannot save.” Cole stepped forward, ignoring the way Ella’s fingers twisted through her hair, digging into her scalp. “Water in a desert, swallowed up by heat and sand but still you try. You fight. This is you; he is not.”

 

Something rippled, sparks of energy that Iron Bull thought must be from the mark. Still, it looked… different. But there was nothing else, Ella wasn’t a mage, she hated magic, there was no way that…

 

“Compassion,” she growled deep in her chest, low and dangerous. Light flared at her fingertips, and something seemed to shine in her eyes, something that made The Iron Bull grasp his battle axe. Her collar… shit, her collar.

 

It sputtered and sparked, flaring up in a sickly glow that spread across her shoulders, up her neck, shooting through what he now saw as strange runes, carved beneath the crisscrossing scars that littered her body.

 

Ella rose, slowly, turning towards them, a strange glow not in but past her eyes. “You know nothing.”

 

“Malice,” said Cole, voice simple and even. Bull felt ice up his spine, lead in his gut. Next to him, he heard Dorian curse and twirl his staff.

 

There was a ripple across her face, like the muscles couldn’t quite decide on their expression. She snarled, shaking her head fiercely. Then there was a grin, wild and feral. “Not quite. Not yet. But soon.”

 

“She is not you. She is not yours.”

 

“You—“

 

“It is wrong.”

 

“And what of you, Compassion? What makes you so special, that you may walk here and call yourself ‘right’.”

 

Cole shook his head, daggers twirling in his hands as he took a step backwards. “This is wrong.”

 

“You know nothing.” That… was it even her voice? Twisted, bent and forced into something else, something terrible.

“Ella?” One more time, he’d try just one more time. She… it looked at him, and it smiled.

 

“Try again.” Toothy, wicked, all sharp edges and glittering… malice. And suddenly it was fine, concentrated to a single point of narrowed hatred. “You—agh!”

 

The thing that wasn’t Ella stumbled, pressed a hand to her temple as her face screwed up, a battle playing across her lips before a fiercer smile overcame the rest. It’s voice dripped with glee. “Oh, she really doesn’t want to hurt you.”

 

It stepped forward, and The Iron Bull tightened his grip on his axe. This was the fucking worst. Fuck, this shit fucking sucked.

 

“Are you afraid?” It cocked her head, a stiff and unnatural movement that seemed to fight against itself. “You shouldn’t be. Not yet. After all, I can give you exactly what you want.”

 

“Stay the fuck away from me,” said Bull through gritted teeth, axe held out in front of him. He heard Varric load his crossbow, caught the sway of Dorian’s staff. The… what was it? It had to be a demon, right? But Ella wasn’t a mage, she couldn’t be a mage, none of it made any sense—

 

The demon, that’s what it had to be, raised Ella’s hands as if to calm them. Bull snorted. As if.

 

“Of course, I can talk from back here.” It actually… stopped. It did what he told it to.

 

“Don’t trust it,” snarled Dorian. “Don’t listen to anything it has to say.”

 

“Yeah, sorta figured on that one,” Varric shot over his shoulder as he raised his crossbow.

 

“That’s all quite fair,” said that thing. “I must admit, I don’t have much to offer, and yet…” Another grin stretching across the face, forcing muscles into place and stretching the skin unnaturally. “There is something that might interest you. A little information, perhaps?”

 

“Time, time, he needs time,” Cole muttered, and Iron Bull had to agree; this guy was stalling for something, and he didn’t want to know what it was. But how were they supposed to end this? Short of… this wasn’t a possession. Maybe they just needed to get that collar off?

 

“After all, I have access to everything.” It raised a hand, knocking it against Ella’s skull for emphasis. “Anything you want to know, is yours.”

 

“Why?” The Iron Bull found himself asking. Salvage, salvage, everything was going mists and red and he was struggling to stay afloat. “Why would you tell us anything?”

It shrugged, the movement stilted and stuttering. “Why does it matter to you? Isn’t this what you want? To know why? How? Who? I could tell you everything.” There was a sick sort of emphasis on the last word, a lingering tone that left you feeling like it knew something more and terrible.

 

The Iron Bull didn’t answer, fingers digging into the hilt of his axe like it was a piece of driftwood on stormy seas. What was he supposed to do? The thing was right; he needed that information. That was his job, his duty to the Qun. But it was… it was a demon, he couldn’t trust it, that would go against all of his teachings, everything he’d ever learned. Not to mention Ella…


She was still inside of there, separate from that thing. He could tell, from the way it moved, like it was fighting for control. Less now. It was winning.

 

It needed time, but so did he, damn it. He couldn’t have predicted this, couldn’t have prepared for something so strange and terrifying. How could he have known she’d win? How could he have known she’d lose? How could she have never told them about this?

 

“I see you’re having a bit of a quandary. Let me help you along. This information will help the Inquisition, won’t it? Finally, you’ll be able to figure out what it is that makes your dear Herald… oh, it’s Inquisitor now, isn’t it? Ah, well, what makes her tick. And you need something to pad out those reports, don’t you Hissraad?”

 

He snarled. Hearing that name, spoken by that voice

 

“Did that upset you? It’s the truth of your situation; you are a spy, first and foremost; just like her, actually. You’re so similar, I can already tell. Maybe…”

 

It got a look in its eyes that Bull really didn’t like, before it recoiled with an echoing snarl. A shuddering breath, and it looked back at him, wiping blood from its nose with a thoughtful gaze.

 

“Hmm… she didn’t like that one bit, did she?”

 

Ella was still in there. She had to be. No time to think about the how or why, he didn’t know shit about any of this demon crap, all he knew was that she was still in there and he was going to get her out.

 

“I knew this was going to be fun.”

 

“There are two things I’d like to know,” said Bull through gritted teeth. The thing smiled that toothy grin.

 

“Yes?” it purred, taking a step closer, sparks of power sizzling at its fingertips.

 

“First: how are you doing this?”

 

“Oh.” It pouted, twisting the face into something barely recognizable as the boss, as Ella. “That’s no fun, is it? Don’t you want to know about her? She’s done so many interesting things.”

 

“Second,” he said through clenched teeth. “How do we get you out?”

 

It snarled, eyes glittering with the power that swirled behind them. “It seems I was wrong. You’re no fun at all.”

 

 

Notes:

:-)

Chapter 35: Struggle

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

A flick of its hand, and Bull barely had time to wince as fire burst towards him, crashing into Dorian’s barrier with such force that the mage gritted his teeth.

 

The thing didn’t seem bothered. “She’s killed a lot of people, did you know that? Most of them didn’t deserve it. Maybe she does.”

 

Dorian swung his staff around. “I don’t think we can stop this without—“

 

“Do what you have to, but try not to kill her.” Iron Bull took a step forward, readying his axe once more. Next to him, Varric’s crossbow went off with a twang, the bolt flying towards the creature before it lazily batted it aside.

 

Crack, and Dorian’s staff slammed into the ground, just as Cole shouted something that was lost to the fizzle of electricity.

 

Crack and no less than three bolts of lightning slammed into Ella, a blinding flash of magic enveloping her body. Bull growled.

 

“I said not to kill her.”

 

“That isn’t Ella anymore.”

 

“She’s still in there.”

 

“We’re dealing with an abomination, Bull. She’s gone.”

 

Fuck, he was right. He was right, but he couldn’t…

 

It stood, still grinning. The lightning didn’t seem to bother it, didn’t seem to even slow it down, aside from making it pat out a few fires along Ella’s armor. In fact…

 

“You can’t use magic,” said Cole, eyes panicked. “That just makes him stronger. We need to drain his power.”

 

What?” Panic tinged Dorian’s voice as he spun his staff back around. “Pray tell, how are we supposed to do that?

 

“Without magic, we won’t be able to subdue her.” Varric cut right to the point, firing off another bolt, which the thing inside Ella dealt with easily. Too easily. Like it was…

 

“It’s playing with us,” growled Iron Bull.

 

“We must take her down,” said Dorian, voice near pleading. “Bull, I know you and her—“

 

“We need the mark,” said The Iron Bull shortly. “If she dies, what then?”

 

“What then, indeed.” A cold flash, a biting chill, and the thing stepped forward and out of existence, the space distorting around it. Bull blinked once, twice, three times before whirling around as the voice reappeared behind him. “She’s just a tool to you, isn’t she? Just another pawn for the Qun.”

 

A shout, and The Iron Bull brought down his battle axe, burying it in the ground where it had stood. He wrenched it free with a grunt, spinning around to find it standing next to Varric, who fired another crossbow at point-blank range, the bolt embedding itself deep into Ella’s shoulder.

 

The thing hissed, an awful noise like old gears, iron on rusty iron, until the sound crackled into an avalanche of hideous laughter. “You think that will stop me? It wouldn’t even stop her. A whole camp couldn’t stop her, and you think you have a chance? Now that I’m here? Nothing can stop us. And I won’t let you hurt her ever again.”

 

“We didn’t—“ began Varric, before another blast of magic slammed into him, shattering Dorian’s hasty barrier and throwing the dwarf back about ten feet before a tree brought his flight to a rude halt.

 

“Varric’s down,” said Cole simply, as if they hadn’t all been there to see it. Bull glanced back to check that the dwarf was still breathing, letting out a sigh of relief when he was.

 

“We have too—“ Dorian winced, feet sliding backwards as he struggled to hold his barrier against another wave. “Damn it, Bull, use that oversized axe of yours!”

 

“Yes, Hisraad.” The thing wearing Ella took a step back, arms spread and leaving her open. “Or is it just for show?”

 

Don’t—“ snarled Bull before he caught himself, twisting his hands around the axe. “You better leave before I make you.”

 

“Stop talking to it and—“ Crack, and Dorian’s barrier shattered, the mage crumpling with the force of it.

 

“Dorian’s down.”

 

“I know, I know.”

 

“You’re losing. Did you know that?” It dropped her arms, slipping daggers from their sheathes. “Poor little Hisraad. Now it’s just you and two demons. How does that make you feel?”

 

“A spark in the woods, it hasn’t rained, douse it quick—“

 

“Shut up Cole,” Bull snapped. “I’m not gonna listen to a fucking demon.”

 

“You… you mean Malice.” He sounded relieved. Iron Bull just grunted, taking a single, menacing step forward.

 

“No fun, no fun at all,” the thing tutted. “She lied to you. How does that make you feel?”

 

“I’m not—“

 

“She spoke to you as if you were friends, correct? She cheated you, Hisraad. I know this because I know her. She is a cheat.” Its voice grew low, venomous, strands of flame licking up Ella’s fingers. “She is a liar.”

 

Another step, axe raised in anticipation for a blow that never came, that he certainly couldn’t block. Was it still toying with him? Surely that game had lost its charm by now.

“Don’t you want to know what she’s done? Because I guarantee, it will happen again. History repeats, my friend.”

 

“We’re not friends.”

 

It laughed, hollow, empty. “Oh, yes, that’s abundantly clear. How about this: we’ll play a little game. Doesn’t that sound nice? I tell you something about you, and then I tell you something about her. You’d be surprised how enlightening that can be.”

 

Bull swung his axe down, the blade sinking into the soft dirt as Ella vanished. It spoke, from behind him.

 

“Here, I’ll give you an example. You find joy in killing, don’t you, Hisraad.”

 

Tugging his axe free, Bull whirled around, eye narrowed. “I’m not… I’m not playing this game.”

 

“Yes, you are, actually. See, you enjoy killing because you have to, because it’s always good to like what you do. It gives you a thrill, to rise to a challenge. To overcome someone who’s attacked you. I know that, because she noticed it.” It raised a hand to Ella’s head, tapping a single finger against her temple. “But she… well she has a different outlook entirely, doesn’t she?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“What, afraid of a little knowledge?” Its voice was sickeningly sympathetic, even as its eyes glimmered. “She loves it, Hisraad. No matter how much it sickens her, how much it haunts her, she can’t get enough of it. Seeing the life draining from someone’s eyes… there’s no sweeter drug, is there?”

 

“Shut up.”

“Oh, does that upset you? She’s a murderer. She may deny it, but she loves every second of a kill. It’s where she belongs. It’s when she feels alive. What else am I good for?”

 

Silence. The Iron Bull narrowed his eye, as the demon wrinkled Ella’s nose.

 

“Eyes in the dark,” said Cole, voice tumbling out in rushed half-thoughts. “But what about the man on the side of the road?”

 

“Shut up,” snarled the demon. “Hurting people is the only thing she’s good for.”

 

“What about the family in that little house, the nice one with the chimney? What about the girl on the battlefield? What about—”

 

“Will you—”

 

“What about Morn?”

 

Will you be quiet.”

 

“What about me?” said Cole in a whisper. “What about Varric? What about The Ir-“

 

Ella screamed, a sound like thunder and the clash of metal. The air around her rippled, magic bursting from her in a fierce wave of force. The Iron Bull hastily brought up his axe, his hand, anything to shield himself but… it never hit him. He turned to look at Cole, at Dorian and Varric. They were unharmed.

 

At last, as if she’d spent the last of her waning energy, she fell to one knee. Malice brought her head up sharply, eyes wide and feral, one hand reaching up to wipe the blood from her nose, only pulling away to let it flow freely down her chin.

 

“Compassion,” it hissed, voice hoarse. “You will pay for that.”

 

“This is wrong,” said Cole again. “Oil and water in a mason jar, shaking it up but it won’t mix. It will never mix.”

 

“You’re wrong, you’re wrong, you’re—”

 

The Iron Bull tightened his grip on his axe. It was distracted, pulled taught, exhausted. Maybe that was the last of its magic; it didn’t seem to crackle with power, sparks of light just beneath the skin. It had turned on Cole, and as it reached one trembling hand for a dagger, Bull rushed forward, axe raised.

 

She turned. She snarled. Ella lunged for him with a strangled growl, slashing at the air wildly as she did.

 

Bull ducked the blow and slammed the handle of his axe up into her chest. The air escaped her with a crack and a sickening wheeze, and she crumpled to the ground, arms wrapped around her waist and eyes screwed up in pain.

 

“One more chance,” growled Bull. “Get out and stay out.”

 

The thing laughed, full length shudders down her body with the breathless sound. “Oh, I want you to make me.”

 

He reached down, grabbed the front of her shirt, lifted her up, slammed her into a tree trunk. “Leave.”

 

“No. No, I want you to make me,” it snarled. “I want you to look me in the eyes and kill me.”

 

And Bull froze. I never freeze, but he froze, damn him. “…Ella?”

 

“Please. I can’t… I can’t stop this. You have to… I can’t…”

 

“Ella. Asaaranda. Listen to me. Just… five things, okay? Five things you can see. Can you do that for me?”

 

“I… see.” She twitched, winced, writhed against the tree as the marks at her collar, across her shoulders, sparked and sputtered. Finally, she took a shaky breath. “I see you, Bull. I don’t want to… I don’t want to hurt you. Please, please don’t let me—agh.”

 

The Iron Bull never freezes, but he fucking froze. There was too much and not enough, too many plays but no good answers, and he couldn’t. Fucking. Move.

 

It reached up with her hand, digging fingers into his wrist, prying him off of her as it pushed off of the tree with powerful legs, as it threw itself onto him.

 

As it slammed a knife into his gut.

 

It. Not Ella. Ella didn’t want to do this. It was his fault that this happened. She had asked him to kill her; she was an abomination, it was the right thing, she’d asked him to kill her and he froze.

 

He felt himself stumble. Heard thoughts flit through his head like wind in a hurricane, no substance to any of them. To many plays. No good answers. He hadn’t been able to save her. He’d failed the Qun. He’d failed the Inquisition. He’d failed Ella, and somehow that hurt the worst of all, worse than the knife in his side.

 

It was still there, he realized, even as he fell to his knees. The demon had jammed it in good, but if it had wanted to finish him off quick it should have ripped it back out again. Let him bleed out on the grass. Then go for Cole, then the two who were unconscious. Mage first. Then Varric. Then it should leave, disappear, to where? Maybe find Venatori? Would they help it? Would it help them?

 

Drifting, drifting, too many thoughts. He was kneeling, a hand pressed against his side. Ella was also kneeling. She was looking at him. Her hand was also pressed against his side. She was… there was lightning behind her eyes. Her jaw was set against the pain, wherever it was coming from. That seemed natural to her.

 

She was talking, but he couldn’t hear her. Words, words, words, always too many words with her. With him. Her hands were on his head. She was shouting now, and he couldn’t hear her but he knew what she was saying. Don’t fall asleep. Keep your eyes open. He’d heard it before, said it before. She had too, he was sure of it.

 

He should be dead by now. Was it toying with them? It was letting her hover, letting her press a hand against the wound, against his hand, letting the blood well between their fingers. It was letting—no. No, there was a fight, still. It was not allowing this.

 

Maybe… maybe that’s what it would take, then. He felt himself fall, felt her hands dart up to his chest, pushing him back. Yes, fall backwards. Knife was in the front; let gravity force the blood down. Don’t drive the blade deeper. Would she be able to…? Of course, why had there been a question. He felt the strain of her arms, saw the ripple of hardened muscle as she stopped his fall, pushed him slowly onto his back.

 

Less sparks, now, and he wondered what that meant. He wondered if… maybe he hadn’t failed. The mark wasn’t lost, and even as the words formed the thought tasted bitter on his tongue. He hadn’t failed the Qun, yes, the Inquisition was saved, yes, but would it have mattered? He wondered, and realized that he’d wondered it before. Would any of this matter, if they’d lost her? If he’d lost her?

 

A sharp pain at his side, immediately smothered by a firm hand pressing cloth against the open wound. She was strong, he knew that, but somehow it was all the more real, feeling the weight of that strength through one palm, all fighting the flow of his blood. Realer, still, knowing that strength, and still feeling the other hand lay gently against his chest. Calloused, worn, scarred, but still gentle. Still cautious.

 

He felt like, if anyone else could have survived Seheron, it was her. He’d never wish it upon her, knew she’d already lived through so much, but somehow, that was a comfort. To know that she was still fighting, even after all this time? That was a comfort. Even with all of the lies, even with the fucking demon, even with all of that, it was a comfort. She was…

 

Would he remember this later? A chuckle, deep and raspy and he felt his face twist at pain he could barely feel. Saw Ella bend down, say something, something he couldn’t hear. Probably to stop laughing. But why, when it was so funny? Here he was, worrying about a later. What did it matter?

 

This was how it always had to be. He’d die in service to the Qun. He’d never have to make a choice, make the choice. He’d die loyal, saving her.

 

She’ll blame herself. No, she’d move on. She’d lost people before. Each one’s carved a piece out of her. What if this time it takes everything? No, no he needed to die here, now, it was right, shok ebasit hissra, it was right.

 

Again the indecision, again he fucking froze, and what was it about her that always made him freeze?

 

Did he even have a choice? He’d lost a lot of blood, less because of her, but still a lot. He’d felt the knife drive into his flesh, felt it go deep. Fuck, but he’d like to die sure, to die certain.

 

A touch at the side of his face, and his eye fluttered open. He hadn’t realized it had been closed, to be honest. And she was there, just… staring at him. He’d never seen her like that before. No masks, no walls. Not enough energy to keep them up, he reckoned.

 

Was she…? No, she couldn’t be. He’d never seen her cry, not once. Even when she was screaming her frustration to the world, even when she was walking towards death he'd never seen her cry.

 

He wanted to… damn it. He wanted to live. Shok ebasit… fuck, but he wanted to live.

 

 

Notes:

:-)))

Chapter 36: Perspective

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

Fire. She was on fire. Flames licked up her arms, down her back, searing runes into her skin. No, no, no no no no

 

Words tugged at her lips; not her words but her voice. Always her voice.

 

Oh, but the tug of the Fade, the strands of magic hanging in the air, color and sound, taste of sulfur… when she-it-they reached out and tugged, felt the power thread through her fingers, it was like before. When there was no mark and no rifts, and the only thing that had mattered was her next target. Just like before, when the collar thrummed with life, a second heartbeat above and beneath her skin.

 

The collar sputtered, and she felt but did not feel the old scars flare up along her shoulders, searing heat into her flesh until she felt that her skin might burst from the force of the magic. She screamed, but no sound passed her lips.

 

No no no no no but Maker, she had forgotten how good this felt, with such power at her fingertips.

 

But she had to fight it. Always, always she had to fight, until little by little he strangled the struggle from her soul. That was how it had to be.

 

Mana swelling in her veins and snapping at her ankles, crackling at her teeth with an acrid aftertaste.

 

Don’t fight it, little sparrow, but he knew that she would. Even as he raised her arms and pulled at her lips he looked inwards, at her. Sank his talons into her mind until she could hardly think with the pain and the power, the power, Maker she’d forgotten the power.

 

They will never hurt you again. Let me help you. She was already so tired. Growling, snapping, straining at the ropes and the chains, but what could she do? Nothing.

 

But she would not hurt them. She would not.

 

Let me help, sparrow. Let me—

 

She would not.

 

Worthless, worthless you’re worthless.

 

I’m worthless.

 

No, no she would not.

 

Screaming, it burned it burned, but she purged the magic from her body, felt it leave an aching hole in her gut where it once was. Malice didn’t like that. He made his feelings clear.

 

But no, no she would not I will not hurt him, she refused, I am not a thing.

 

Then what are you? Certainly not a person. Something in between? You have no right to call yourself more than you are.

 

Malice was right, but it didn’t change anything. She would not hurt him. She would not hurt Bull.

 

Throwing off Malice, even for a little while, was wrestling with magma. With a creature made only of sharpened blades. It scored deep, blistering furrows along her soul, shredded the edges of her being, but still she fought to be still. For just a moment. That was all he would need.

 

She begged him to end it, and he would not.

 

She refused to hurt him and yet. And yet.

 

Blood, blood, blood on my hands beneath my nails in the creases of my skin it won’t come out I rub them raw but it wo—

 

Faces, the faces never the names but the faces the faces blurred together, blank eyes empty stares the blood the blood

 

See pet? said Malice, low and crooning but all encompassing, tunneling into the furrows of her mind and screeching against her ears.

 

This is what you are. This is what you do. Finish it.

 

I don’t—

 

Finish it, and let’s go home. I’ll take care of you.

 

But I

 

Pain, sharp and burning, the sting of a lash and the acrid tang of sizzling flesh pain pain pain—

 

I will not ask again. Malice coiled, settled, sank his talons deeper into her. Finish it. Now.

 

No. No more.

 

“Insolent little—” Ella felt herself snarl strangled curses under her breath, and though it was maggots under the skin, twisting flesh, though it made her skin writhe she caught that detail, that movement, centered herself around it until it was her and she was it and suddenly it was her voice, her words.

 

“No.” A whisper against the screaming, blistering fury bursting at her temples, threatening to spill from her ears, her mouth, trickling crimson from her nose.

 

And there was Bull. No.

 

A fervent prayer, a whisper to any god out there I’ve never been the praying type but Maker, if you’re real, if you were ever there throughout all of that, please, please, please just this once please—

 

He was breathing. Short and shallow but still his chest rose and fell, like the ocean only better because he didn’t make her feel sick to her stomach, make her feel walls closing in and knives beneath my skin, because he was something else that she didn’t quite understand but that, she knew now, she desperately didn’t want to lose.

 

He was kneeling, in the grass. Fire, at her neck, her shoulders, short bursts of fierce lightning as Malice tore at the inside of her skull.

 

Stop the bleeding. And then she was there, with him, and palm pressed around the hilt of her dagger, against his hand, blood welling between their fingers, the blood the blood I rub them raw but it wo—his hands were warm, still.

 

“Don’t close your eyes, stay awake, stay here, please,” she murmured in little nothings, mindful of how her lips shaped the words, grounding herself in the tug of the consonants and the pull of the vowels, in the way her hands trembled, in the flicker of the mark.

 

The mark.

 

It hummed, crackled, a burst of green fire with every static rumble of her collar, with every scrape of Malice’s claws.

 

The spark of an idea, and Malice tried to smother it, to crush seed beneath his heal and rip up the roots with cruel fingers. The mark flared up once more, and his rage was so fierce that Ella clutched at her head for fear of it tearing apart with the force of it.

 

Bull was falling. Forward, not where he should be, no no no, Ella ripped her hands from her head and braced them against his chest, slowly, carefully pushing him onto his back with as much caution as her battered bones would allow.

 

A pulse fluttered beneath her fingertips, even as his ribs creaked with gasping air.

 

The mark.

 

Malice screamed as she stood, rattled at the bars of her mind, scraped and scrabbled at the walls she’d built herself. He snarled, he crooned, whispered sweet promises and shrieked blistering threats, all of which she knew he’d make good on, if she allowed him.

 

She would not break. I do not break. Ella took one shuddering step after another, away from Bull, from the others, until it was far enough or her legs just couldn’t take it anymore, one or the other. She stumbled to her knees, hands finding her head once more as Malice let loose another screech, this one finding words that almost twisted at her tongue.

 

I’ll be back, I’ll be back, and next time I won’t be so kind.

 

“There won’t be a next time,” Ella snapped, even as she flinched away from the threat, the promise, prying trembling hands from her skull because there’s always a next time, little sparrow.

 

The mark, it called to her. Called to the Fade. For a moment, when strands of errant magic swirled through her fingers she had heard it, felt it; a call, Ella realized, that she had always heard, beneath everything, since Haven’s fall.

 

“Next time, then,” she snarled, raising her marked hand above her head and feeling the power sizzling just beneath her palm, like a brand but opposite, scalding, searing bone and threatening to burst from the flesh.

 

Sparrow, don’t you dare—

 

And Ella opened a rift.

 

 

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate the comments and the kudos, you guys are the best. I'm going to try to respond to comments more often from now on, so please feel free to post your questions or concerns!

Chapter 37: One Thing

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Malice was tethered to her by tenuous threads of magic, touches of Fade fastened to the leather runes of her collar and the seared markings on her skin.

 

Ella knew this.

 

His connection to her had slashed through the Fade cruelly and unnaturally, punching a crude hole in the Veil that would follow her for the rest of her life.


Ella knew this.

 

She was his. A gift, an offering, a pet; it didn’t matter, she was his and would always be his.

 

Ella knew this, all of this, because he’d told her.

 

What bothered her most now, wasn’t what had made her scars itch at the time. Back then, she’d always belonged to someone. Whether it be Falx or one in a string of Masters, Ella was under any ownership but her own.


The Fade, that had made her gut twist and writhe. She’d seen mages demonstrate the full scope of their magic, and she couldn’t say she was pleased with the results. Several of her scars would serve as a reminder of that particular fact: mages are not to be trusted.

 

And she’d seen some turn. Only a couple; once a slave unfortunate enough to be born with magical talent under a Master with a very… scientific mind. The other, a soldier in Seheron. Both were unpleasant to watch, and surely worse to experience.

 

But she’d been blessed with no natural connection to the Fade, safely tucked away by the Veil forevermore. Until Malice came along.

 

Her unfamiliarity with magic, coupled with the fact that it was the collar doing most of the heavy lifting when it came to breaking through the Veil, meant that Malice was able to seize control, for the most part, without the consent a mage would usually have to grant.

 

Cruel irony, then, that the very layers of runes and magic which granted him control would be the means of his exile from her mind. A weak tether. Unnatural, even by abomination standards.

 

She’d never been this close to a rift before. It was… unpleasant. Searing, shimmering magic tearing at her flesh, ripping at her clothes, her mind, little bits of self threatening to fly up into that green abyss. And Ella was tired. She was very, very tired, battered inside and out.

 

It would have been easy, so easy, to let go. To drift away and finally, finally rest.

 

But there was Bull, still bleeding, unconscious, lying in the dirt my fault my fault, and she had to make I have to make it right. So Ella screamed and cursed and bled, heavy beads of crimson bursting in the grass and not flying towards the Rift, towards whatever lay beyond the Veil.

 

And Malice screamed and cursed and burned, ash in the swirling wind that tore at her already tattered armor, carved deep furrows in her mind in a bid to drag her with him. The collar sparked and sputtered, just as it had all those months ago in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, when she’d thrown open a door and grabbed that stupid orb. Seemed like a lifetime ago.

 

At last, Ella felt the throes of Malice subside, felt the collar take one final gasp before it went dead once more, and with a shuddering click she wrenched the rift closed once more.

 

Silence.

 

Deafening, overwhelming, silence.

 

A stillness that lacked birdsong, the rustle of leaves, the chatter of small creatures in the undergrowth. Breathless and blessedly still.

 

Bull groaned, shifted, grasped a clump of grass in one spasming hand, and Ella darted towards him, legs trembling at the effort and her marked palm sparking painfully with white hot power. Alive. He was still alive.

 

She fell to her knees at his side, pressing one hand against the wound while the other tore a long strip of fabric from her clothes and… kaffas, why did he have to be so fucking huge? Even this would only wrap around his waist once, maybe twice if she pulled it tight as she could. With another curse Ella unbuckled the leather strips of her armor—they were practically shredded now anyway—and near tore off her shirt—it stuck to her in places where she’d been nicked or burned, and the thing was in tatters, better to rip it all off. Ella bundled the shirt into a ball and pressed it against the wound, taking the long strip she’d torn off and wrapping it tight around that bundle. That would stem the bleeding, hopefully. Ella wasn’t so sure; it’d been a long time since she’d had to administer care to someone else.

 

It as… he needed… he’d lost a lot of blood, she could tell. Elfroot, he needed elfroot. Surely they must have brought potions? She rifled through his bags, hissing sharply as she jerked back her hand. Broken glass.

 

Picking the shards from her hand she more carefully sifted through, but found nothing but shattered potions. Damn it, could anything ever go right?

 

The others. They must have potions. They must.

 

She took a step towards their unconscious forms before collapsing with a barely strangle yelp. While she had knelt by Bull, it seemed, her legs had decided to take matters into their own hands and make their displeasure known. Loudly.

 

Fine. If she needed to crawl, she’d crawl. It was painful, a slow and aching sort of agony that tightened lead weights around her limbs but Ella forced her muscles to move, to work their way towards the comatose bodies of her… friends? Allies? Possible potion repositories?

 

Everything seemed so fucking ridiculous. Quen, the stone, the Nightingale, that stupid fucking title they’d thrown at her and expected her to catch. How had she not seen it? The tugs on her mind, dragging her thoughts towards the worst. Putting words in mouths, little twitches in the face that never were. Just a trick of the eyes. And he’d been so careless, too, especially with that little trick with Quen.

 

Little sparrow. Why would Quen ever call her that? Why would she shrug it off as a figment of her imagination, proof of her damaged psyche? So obvious, now, so painfully clear just how long Malice had been looming, watching, waiting for her to slip up. It made her scars itch, her back ache, made the beds of her fingernails burn.

 

And now they knew; that was the worst part. They knew how she was I rub them raw but it never comes out, how she was a spectacle, a fucking spectacle. Just a disaster, a barrel of gaatlok. A liability. A monster.

 

No, that wasn’t the worst part. She’d hurt them. Never again, never again but that was all a fucking lie, wasn’t it, because she hurt them and she would hurt them again, and again, and again, and again because she never learned you never learn little

 

No. She would not let him haunt her like this, not so soon. Not when Bull was bleeding out just a few feet from her. She would not spiral.

 

Name five things you see.

 

She saw Varric, she saw Dori—the Pavus boy, unconscious my fault my faul—

 

She saw the sun filtering through the leaves. Catching the light on Dorian’s buckles. She saw Varric’s pouch, the craftsmanship on something so simple. She saw quills and loose sheets of paper in your traveling bag, Varric, really? She saw… in Dorian’s bag, she saw a little trinket, what must have been from some overpriced craft table in Minrathous. A serpent, wrapped tightly around a blossoming flower. She grasped it tightly in her palm, felt the edges dig into her skin.

 

Good. Now four things you can touch.

 

The petals of the flower looked soft and delicate but were tough and sharp. She felt the smoothed bone of that trinket, let it fall back into Dorian’s bag. She felt the rasp of parchment; a notebook, travel worn and cheaply bound, was this the best he could find? The cool touch of glass, the chill rush of relief shuddering through her veins. The grass beneath her hands.

 

Now, just three things you can hear.

 

The rustle of her pants. The hopeful swirl of liquid beneath her palm. Soft strains of hesitant birdsong, returning to the lightly swaying branches.

 

Two things you can smell.

 

Cracked leather and the salt tang of sweat. The bitter, pungent odor of elfroot.

 

One last thing, Ella. One thing you can taste.

 

Ella unstoppered the potion, placed her hand lightly at Bull’s lips, gently brought the vial to his mouth. She was calm, still, a peaceful kind of quiet that wasn’t the deafening rush of blood or the awful clang of a cell door but true, unfettered peace. So why could she feel her heart shudder and start? Her hands trembled as they tipped the vial, but though they ached she’d always been a steady hand, when she needed. And she found herself watching so closely, as if anxious, narrowed eyes tracing the lines of her face for any sign, and movement that might betray his awakening. So close.

 

One last thing.

 

Closer, she needed to be closer, or she’d miss something. Needed to lean down, to bring her face towards his—

 

A rustle, in the trees. Faint, but insistent. Ella jerked up, hands darting towards daggers that were no longer there.

 

“Don’t move.” A man, hood drawn over his face, stepped gingerly into the clearing, arrow nocked and drawn in his bow. “Stay where you are, Inquisitor.”

 

Ella stared down the arrowhead, bringing her hands slowly, deliberately, before her. Fingers splayed, palms upwards: empty.

 

“Alright,” said the man, shifting as he took a step forward. Ella caught the glint off his shoulder, the sun shining on his Inquisition pin before another rustle of fabric covered it. “Now, would you care to explain what the fuck happened here?”

 

 

Notes:

Who's slow burn? I don't know her.

Sorry for the kind of late update, hope it was worth the wait. Thank you for your lovely comments, and for taking the time to read this!

Just a quick q: if I made some kind of blog for this story and/or had a little Q and A thing with Ella and friends, would you all be interested in that? I'd love to find some way to interact with readers more, beyond just popping in with a little "thank you!" at the end of every chapter and in the comments. If people would like that, or if anyone has other ideas/suggestions, or even if you'd like to make a comment about the story, I'd love to hear it! Thank you so much, and until the next update!

Chapter 38: Aftermath

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

Ella’s knees ached, her fingers itched, her gut felt like it must be missing she felt so empty inside. Words, words, words running through her head filling her skull to bursting and still nothing worked its way onto her tongue. Tired, she was tired.

 

“I am going to ask one more time.” The man’s arm trembled slightly with the effort of keeping the bow drawn so tight. “What did you do?”

 

Tone was accusatory. This man, did she know this man? Face hidden by a hood but in daylight he could only hide so much. Was this… the Pavus boy’s shadow? One of the Nightingale’s, then? Dangerous, dangerous, what’s the play but she had nothing, could do nothing but sit dumbstruck like some witless fool with empty hands and a mind full of racing thoughts, none of which were worth saying.

 

He loosed the arrow, and she felt it fly past her face as if from a million miles away, feeling the dull burst of pain as it nicked her cheek. Quickly, smoothly, he nocked and drew another arrow.

 

“Nice shot.” All the things she could have said, and that was what she chose?

 

What happened.”

 

“Your arm would tire before I could tell the whole story.”

 

“Try me.”

 

Ella hesitated, and the man’s scowl deepened.

 

“I want you to understand what I’m seeing here,” he said through gritted teeth. “You are kneeling next to a bleeding qunari. The other members of the search party are also down. There is blood everywhere, all over you, all over them, and you are the only one left standing. What do you—”

 

“There are some things that can’t be explained,” Ella snapped. “And some people that can’t be trusted.”

 

He loosed the next arrow, and Ella recoiled slightly at the impact. She glanced down to see it protruding from her shoulder, blood welling around the feathered shaft.

 

“That wasn’t very nice,” she murmured.

 

Can’t be trusted?” the man snarled. “I can’t be trusted? You are— You’re supposed to be the Inquisitor, the Herald, but even you can’t ignore that, out of everyone in the Inquisition, you are the least trustworthy by far.”

 

Ella narrowed her eyes. “Your accent. Free Marches?”

 

“This is not about me.” The man already had another arrow nocked and ready.

 

“Ostwick?”

 

Answer my fucking question.”

 

“There was a demon, here. He’s gone now. That is best answer I can give.”

 

“That isn’t good enough.”

 

“Unfortunately, it has to be.” Ella let her hands fall to Bull’s chest, to feel the hesitant thrum of his heart against her palms. “We don’t have time for this. I don’t have time for this.”

 

“Put your hands back—”

 

“If you want to chain me up and take me back to the Nightingale, you’re more than welcome to try,” Ella snarled. “But this qunari still needs medical attention, and I’m sure the others wouldn’t be too happy about you leaving them behind in order to drag me off.”

 

“Then what do you suggest? That I let you go?”

 

“No,” said Ella. Yes, yes, no more chains no more cages no more collars—“No, I am not suggesting that. Please, just—”

 

“You want me to lower my guard, is that it? You to take me out too?”

 

Yes, that’s the play that’s the—No.” Ella brought her hands to her head, nails digging into her scalp. “No, I want you to… I need you to… here.” She held out her hands fingers curling into her palms.

 

“…What?”

 

“I assumed you have manacles of some kind, or at least a rope. If you are really so concerned, then…” the words were bile on her tongue, hot irons at her flesh “then chain me up. Just make sure they get medical care. Please.”

 

“I… alright.” Without lowering his bow the man took cautious steps forward a watchful eye pinned on Ella’s calm, unwavering form. He lowered his bow, placed the arrow back in its quiver, and quickly drew out a gleaming dagger. Ella snorted.

 

“She’s almost trained you too well,” she muttered. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t still be breathing.”

 

“That’s not exactly reassuring.”

 

“Well, you aren’t dead yet, are you?”

 

“Just keep your hands where I can see them.”

 

With just as much caution, he drew from his kit a long, well-made rope, and Ella felt a begrudging relief that she wouldn’t be forced to feel chains on her wrists once more. This she might be able to deal with, to maintain with calm poise.

 

The man grabbed one wrist and drew it behind her back, looping the rope around it as he did so. He paused, for just a moment, and Ella felt his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly before he composed himself and reached around to grab her other wrist.

 

“Not a pretty sight, is it.” Against all odds her voice was even. Good. She was finally finding her self-control again, after that mess.

 

“None of my business,” he said brusquely.

 

“Good answer.”

 

“Stand up. Let’s just… go to that tree over there.”

 

She did. She didn’t know why, but she let him tighten the knots around her wrists and she let him lead her to the tree trunk and she let him wrap the rope around her waist, around the tree, let him knot it tight against the bark so that she could hardly move her upper body at all. Her legs, of course, were still free, but that was little consolation; those were so sore they were practically useless, unable to even bear her weight, nonetheless assist in an escape.

 

Nausea, then, cold and viscous, rising up her throat and flooding her lungs. Insistent panic she fought to keep down, to put it in a box.

 

Put it in a box and tighten the mask. Ella breathed. Her lungs did not shudder.

 

Everything was still numb, like she’d been submerged in ice water and had gotten past the initial shock; just floating, unable to feel much of anything as her chest swelled with water. Breathe.

 

That was the key. Even breaths, not so deep as to lead her into slumber but not shallow either, not the short and quick gasps of hyperventilation. Either was death, always. Well, not always. But never pleasant, never kind, never—

 

“What’s your name?” she asked, head leaned back against the trunk. She could feel the knots and tangles of her hair, with the bark pressing into her scalp. Like this, she could pretend that it was holding her skull together. Breathe.

 

“Fletcher.” He leaned over Bull, pulling out his field kit and examining her hasty bandages as he did.

 

“Hm.” Ella let her eyes drift, let them settle on the rise and fall of Varric’s chest. “Well I suppose you are a good shot.”

 

“This is sloppy, but the worst of it’s healed.” Fletcher ignored her, still prodding the wound cautiously. “You used a healing potion?”

 

“Because it’d be pretty obnoxious, I think, to call yourself that unless you were a very good—”

 

“You’re talking an awful lot.”

 

“Well, you tended to see me around the Vint, didn’t you.” Ella couldn’t resist adding that sneer to her voice, as if by habit. “Not a true test of character.”

 

“I have other jobs. I’m not a babysitter.” He rifled through the bag, pulling out a needle and thread. “And, honestly, I’m not much of a medic either.”

 

You should let me—Ella managed to burn those words and leave them ashy on her tongue, before they could escape. Sure her hand might be steady, but it wasn’t as if she was the expert healer either.

 

“Seems like the cut’s shallower than it was,” Fletcher continued, threading the needle with precision. Of course. His hands wouldn’t tremble either; he was an archer. “Should only need to sew it up, and we’ll be able to move him without too much worry.”

 

“Good,” said Ella simply.

 

Fletcher hesitated, hovering above the wound before glancing up to catch Ella’s eye. “You know, I’m going to have to report this.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“To the Nightingale.”

 

Ella’s jaw tightened before she forced it to relax. “You’re an agent of the Inquisitio-“

 

“No, I’m an agent of the Spymaster of the Inquisition. I report to her. And she’ll have questions.”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

“You might want to take this time to think of some answers.”

 

“I don’t need advice from you,” Ella snapped, hands clenching around her bindings. Fletcher just shrugged before returning to his work.

 

“None of my business.”

 

“You’re damn right.”

 

They sat there for some time in a tense silence, Fletcher carefully sewing shut the wound in Bull’s side while Ella sat and stewed, wrinkling her nose slightly as the bone-deep aches rolled over her in waves.

 

And then Dorian coughed. The mage rolled over and sat up, blinking away sleep as if waking from a short nap. And then blinking a little more, at the scene before him.

 

“We’re not dead,” he said, after a moment of contemplation.

 

“Perceptive,” said Fletcher.

 

“And you,” Dorian continued, staring at an Ella who very much did not want to be stared at and was letting that fact be known in every crease of her face. “You are not dead.”

 

“Right again!” Fletcher cut the last thread with a flourish. “Two for two! Can you make it three?”

 

“I was unconscious.” Dorian placed a hand to his chest, eyes narrowing in thought. He held up his other hand sharply when Fletcher opened his mouth again, in that arrogant, insistent fashion that really rubbed Ella the wrong way. “You… are an abomination. And now, neither of us are dead.”

 

Ella refused to make eye contact and legitimize this conversation. Dorian huffed, waving his arms before wincing at the motion.

 

“Care to explain?”

 

“Not really,” said Ella.

 

“Fantastic. Amenable as ever. And where… where is your shirt?

 

“Well, it was holding all of Bull’s blood in, but I guess now it’s just lying on the ground.” Ella forced her lips to curl into a crooked smile. “Why, do you like what you—”

 

Where is the demon?” He sounded panicked, almost afraid, scrambling to his feet with his staff clutched in both hands.

 

“He stepped out, I’m afraid you’re stuck with just me for now.”

 

“No. No, that does not make any sense. That defies reason. Where could it have gone, if not…” Already he held his staff in front of him. Afraid. Afraid of her, because what else could he be? And he didn’t know the half of it, didn’t know the walls and can’t wash it out and the eyes in the dark eyes in the

 

He was afraid of her, and that was good. It was right. They would, should lock her up, chain her down in a thick-walled cell, make sure she could never—

 

Breathe.

 

“Did time magic make sense?” Ella growled through clenched teeth. “Did you rely on reason to bend the laws of reality?”

 

“This is different.”

 

“It is exactly the same. You just don’t see it yet.”

 

“Where is the—”

 

“He’s gone. Back in the Fade, probably.”

 

Probably?

 

“Well, it was an inexact process.”

 

“An inexact—you were an abomination.

 

“Ugh, stop shouting.” All three of them snapped to Varric, rising shakily to his feet as he rubbed his head.

 

“You good now, Dancer?”

 

What?

 

“I uh, wouldn’t say good, but I am certainly… better?”

 

“Alright. You ready to go home now?’

 

What?

 

How could he just… was he going to ignore… what was he…?

 

“Did you… did you hit your head?” She couldn’t help it, couldn’t hold her tongue, check the uncertainty of her voice.

 

“I mean, probably,” he said with a wry chuckle. “Not very hard, though, I think.”

 

“Are you sure?” asked Pavus, magic still simmering just above his skin. “Because you seem to be ignoring the very real problem we have before us.”

 

“Listen Sparkler, that is not the first time I’ve fought a demon, and it definitely won’t be the last.”

 

Abomination,” Pavus stressed.

 

“Yeah, those too. Look, I’m sure there’s gonna be plenty of time to explain later, but right now we gotta… what happened to Tiny?”

 

My fault my fault my—

 

“He’s injured, lost some blood, but he’ll live,” said Fletcher briskly, rising to his feet.

 

“Oh, it’s our favorite agent.”

 

“Nice to see you on your feet.” Fletcher brushed off his pants, casually fiddling with his dagger as he did. Ella rolled her eyes; she knew he was armed, he didn’t have to remind her.

 

“That was fast, unless you’re a lot quicker than we gave you credit for.”

 

“I didn’t have to travel very far, I could point out the path after a short ways. Besides, I did have a job to do.” Once again, with the pointed flash of his blades, the way he adjusted his throwing knives in their sheathes, it was all just so… obnoxious. In a subdued sort of way, but that just stoked Ella’s fury even more. He had caught her already, he didn’t need to show off. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t identified every weapon on his person the moment he entered the clearing; she wasn’t incompetent.

 

“You know this man, then?” she asked coolly, adjusting her hands slightly in the ropes.

 

“Yeah, Fletcher came down with us,” said Varric. “Seems like you two have gotten to know each other.” He didn’t mention the ropes, the blood, how there was only one person in this clearing who could have stabbed Bull. Was it courtesy? Certainly not ignorance; what’s the play what’s the—

 

That’s what got her into this mess. She forced her jaw to unclench, pierced her gaze to a distant tree trunk, and tried not to think too hard. Easy. She’d done that before; blindly followed orders, let her mind drift so that the pain didn’t bite—

 

Okay, maybe it wasn’t easy.

 

“Why are we ignoring this.” Pavus was increasingly frustrated, perhaps frightened. It was as if, the less threatening she acted, the more concerned he became.

 

“Because there’s nothing to do,” said Varric, and Ella heard the weariness leech into his voice. “It’s done. We’ll have to just… deal with the consequences.”

 

Consequences. Ella tried to tamp down on her wince, but she could quite keep the twitch from her nose or the flutter from her eyelids. Bull would have noticed, but she wasn’t sure if Varric did. She… she almost wished Bull could notice. Don’t think too much.

 

“I’m not comfortable with this,” said Pavus.

 

“Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear,” Ella snapped, and for a moment she could feel the ropes biting into her skin, although she couldn’t recall choosing to strain against them.

 

“Get in line,” muttered Fletcher; still, still with the fucking knives could he just give it a rest already—

 

“Well, we have a little time right now. We should probably wait a bit before moving Tiny, right? Let’s just talk this out.”

 

Oh, but Fletcher didn’t like that. Ella allowed her nose to wrinkle, her brow to furrow. If he was going to be so flashy with his advantage, she could pay him back in kind. She knew exactly what he wanted to do; what was the right thing to do.

 

Fletcher was an agent of the Inquisition, yes, but also of the Nightingale. Ella had been around her enough to know how she operated, and she was skilled. Efficient. She’d certainly want to do the right thing, which would be to take Ella back to Skyhold as quickly and quietly as possible, as if she’d never left. It would be to show her off once, twice, enough to let the crowd know she was fine, really. It would be to give his report, to listen to what the rest of the party had to say. To hear what she had to say.

 

The right choice would be to lock her in a cell until she finally confessed to every rotten facet of her past, finally pry those secrets she’d been so insistent on keeping. Not through force; as far as she knew the Nightingale never went quite as far. But through gentle persuasion, certainly. Nothing that would knock it out of her. Maybe they’d give up. Maybe they’d get frustrated. Maybe they’d realize what a danger she was, what a liability, that they should keep her in that cell, or perhaps one deeper, with heavier chains and stronger doors. Walls closing in I can’t—

 

Breathe.

 

At the very least, Fletcher didn’t want her talking unless he knew that the only ones who could hear were those that the Nightingale wanted to hear. That was right.

 

“Perhaps we should head back now,” he said. “I’m sure people are worried. Half can stay with the Iron Bull until he recovers, and half can escort the Inquisitor.” Escort. An intriguing euphemism.

 

“We’re safer as a group,” said Varric pointedly; a little too pointedly. He was a sharp one, Ella knew, and constantly surprising her because he was so damn good at acting unassuming.

 

“Yes, but—”

 

“She’s an abomination,” said Pavus, as if it were some shocking revelation, as if he hadn’t repeated that same fact over and over already. “All of us could barely stand against her; you can’t expect half of us to keep her at bay.”

 

“I know, but… we should…”

 

“Let’s just sit down and talk for a bit,” said Varric smoothly. “Figure this all out. Then we can head on our way.”

 

“Of course,” said Fletcher, as if that had been his opinion all along. Outnumbered, didn’t want to seem suspicious. A little late for that, boy.

 

Still, this wasn’t quite ideal for her, either. While she was confident in her abilities, and near certain that the Pavus boy, this young agent, and even Varric would be less able to suss out her lies than one of the Nightingale’s hand-picked interrogators, or even the woman herself, she was just so… tired. Words slipped from her tongue like sand through her fingers, and a fog had taken up residence somewhere within her mind.

 

“I don’t have much to say,” she muttered, painfully aware of how empty that was, how meaningless and stupid.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve lived a pretty boring life. No stories to tell,” said Varric, this time with a little more bite. “Maybe we can start small. Favorite foods, childhood pets, demons. Little things.”

 

“I can’t—Breathe. Ella caught herself, managed to pull back the fragments of her mind into some semblance of form. “Is there anything… in particular?”

 

Abomin—”

 

“Yes, alright, abomination, we get it.” Ella pressed her head back, desperate for the sharp edges of the bark to ground her but finding little relief. “Specific questions? I’m unsure where to start, here.”

 

“The beginning, perhaps?” suggested Fletcher. Ella’s eyes snapped towards him, but he didn’t meet her gaze, instead staring down at Bull.

 

Iron Bull. His breathing was more level. Almost… too level. Was he--?

 

“The demon, then.” An exasperated Pavus disrupted that tenuous strand of thought. “What kind is it.”


“Malice,” Ella managed to grind out. “I’m afraid I’m not exactly… educated on the subject. All I know is that his… its name is Malice.”

 

“Seems rather strong. And how long have you…” he hesitated, running a hand through already ruined hair with an expression that suggested he found this whole situation ridiculous. “How long, exactly, have you been an abomination.”

 

“I’m not… technically, an abomination.”

 

“Ah, yes. Demons and technicalities: a thrilling combination.”

 

“I knew someone who was possessed by a spirit,” said Varric. “Is it like that?”

 

“You mean Anders? I did read your book, I know what happened at Kirkwall.” Or, at least, your version of events. “No. At least, I don’t think so. Malice doesn’t possess me, really. It’s not, uh, a mutual understanding. That’s what Anders and… Justice? That’s what they had, right? Some sort of agreement?”

 

“Kind of,” said Varric. “Went sour in the end, though.”

 

“Yeah, well. What can you expect. Humans and demons don’t mix, you know.” Oil and water in a jar. Cole’s voice; where was he? He wasn’t lying around anywhere, and he was being awfully restrained, not popping up and chiming in.

 

“Except in your case…” said Pavus pointedly.

 

“We don’t mix,” Ella snapped. Breathe. “We… never mixed. It’s a complicated situation. But I’m not an abomination, and I don’t think I ever really was. I’m just… I’m mostly me, and sometimes I’m not.”

 

“That is the opposite of reassuring.”

 

“I gotta agree, sorry,” said Varric. “Why don’t you just start at the beginning? Tell us the how and why, Danc—”

 

Don’t call me—” Ella dug her nails into her palms, scars burning against her wrists. This was new, this was hard, this was dangerous and every inch of her skin was crawling with close the Breach and run but it was a little late for that, wasn’t it? She could hardly move, even if she hadn’t been tied to a tree. So much power suddenly bursting through her veins, then excised just as quickly; she felt empty, aching. Like she’d bled out onto the grass, and now it was an empty husk facing the consequences, always consequences

 

“Just tell us what happened, and we can work from there,” said Varric kindly, but what’s the play and knives in the dark, eyes in the dark. But there is no play. But warm weight in her hand, in her pocket, in her chest, fucking damn it

 

“It’s a—” she said reflexively, and Pavus looked as if he were going to burst.

 

“Long story?” he said. “Really, is it? I never would have guessed, truly, I would have thought becoming an abomination and attacking your friends was a simple affair.”

 

“I’m not an abomination,” said Ella wearily, and if her hands were free she’d rub them fiercely across her face. “Stop calling me that.”

 

“Unless you provide evidence to the contrary, I will—”

 

“I’m not a mage. Mages can’t be abominations.”

 

“Uh, Da—Ella…” began Varric, but Pavus cut him off.

 

Not a mage?” he repeated, fuming. “You just used magic, you tore through my barriers, you—you were possessed by a demon, what do you even mean—”

 

“I’m not a mage,” said Ella simply, and she couldn’t quite scrub the exhaustion from her voice. “Not now, not ever. Certain… events have occurred in my life that… that have led me to possess a… this is difficult.”

 

And that was no lie. It was difficult, to decide what to tell and what to hide, what to shove it in a box, what to obscure and obfuscate while still letting slip enough that maybe they’d be sated. Maybe they could leave her alone just long enough to run away run aw—

 

No. She would not, could not run from this again. That was settled in her mind.

 

“Malice. My…” The words burned her throat and scalded her tongue, like forcing liquid flames to drip, hesitant and smoldering, from her lips. “My collar. It isn’t what you might call standard.”

 

“Yes, your little friend told us as much.” Pavus was still clutching his staff, but it seemed like he had calmed slightly. Not exactly a high bar, as he’d been ready to take her head off with a fireball before, but still it was an improvement. “Some sort of tracking spell.”

Did he now. Ella felt her eyes narrow, but managed to keep all other suspicions from her face. She’d have to pay him a visit, if he thought he could—

 

Here and now.

 

“The tracking spell is irrelevant.”

 

“Not true.” Fletcher had decided to chime in, unfortunately. “If your location could be revealed at any time, that undermines a lot of our work. Why wouldn’t you report this to the Inquisition?”

 

“Because it was irrelevant.” Ella’s scars itched, and she imagined that the skin of her neck burned under the collar. Ghost pains. “The collar was dead. Either interacting with the anchor or the Breach killed it. It was… I had assumed that all the spells weaved into it were inactive.”

 

“Assumed?” asked Varric, and though he kept his tone even Ella could see the shift of disapproval in his hands. It wore on her.

 

“I had other priorities, if you remember,” she said tartly. “Dungeon, angry Seeker, hole in the sky, Archdemon. The Elder One.”

 

“Why not take off the collar?” Varric once again, with the simple questions. Of course, he was a natural investigator. How else would he have found all of those snippets for Champion; no way all of it was made up nonsense.

 

“I couldn’t. I’ve never been able to.” It was easier, she found, to let the words fall heavy without much thought. Easy but dangerous. Was there never a middle ground? Breathe.

 

“But you said that it was—”

 

“Everything external was dead. Some things… there are runes weaved into the collar. He should know.” Ella jerked her head towards Pavus. “That kind of thing’s common in Tevinter.”

 

“My household never—”

 

“I don’t care about your household. Are they not collared?”

 

He hesitated. It was enough.

 

“Some are just bands around your neck, it’s like a status symbol. Others are… well they’re more expensive, I guess. This one doesn’t come off. The tracking spell wasn’t baked into the collar like that; it was fixed on after the fact.”

 

“You should have said something.” Pavus seemed to have sobered a little more, though he still held his staff at the ready. “I’m sure I could have—”

 

“What, did you just assume I enjoyed wearing it?” Ella snapped. Breathe. Careful, cautious steps; anger would do her no good. Not here. In a box. “Besides. You wouldn’t have been able to help.” She hesitated, unsure. How much was too much? Fuck, she wished… no, this was better. Talking to Iron Bull might have felt easier, but in the end he was far more of a threat. Oh, fuck it. “It can only be taken off by my Master.”

 

And there it was. Silence. She hated silence, especially this kind, the loud kind. Thankfully it was short, and Varric recovered quickly.

 

“There’s probably another way. It’s just runes, right? I don’t know much about magic, but if we find an arcanist…”

 

That was a proposition brimming with promise, but Ella wasn’t exactly hopeful, especially after this latest disaster. Even if an arcanist would be able to tinker with her collar, even if they managed to keep from blowing up their hands or her head, then what? The play, the right play, would be to use such an arcanist to reactivate the runes, to strengthen the runes, to create runes of their own. Eyes in the dark eyes in the dark the right play would be to control, to overpower, to knife in the dark to twist the blade deep and make her nothing but a puppet. Spectacle, a specta—

 

No.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Well, do you know who this ‘master’ is?” asked Fletcher.

 

“Yes. Maybe. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“You don’t know?” Pavus was incredulous, and that coming from him was particularly…

 

Breathe.

 

“It’s finicky. The collar decides who counts as a… I was guarding a man at the Conclave. He’s dead now.” But that hadn’t been her Master. The collar might have recognized him, it might have not; there was no way to tell. Her true Master, though, she was sure it remembered. And she had no intention of tracking him down, not even for the kill. In a box, put it in a box.

 

“Well that’s… hm.” Varric scratched the scruff at his chin.

 

“The demon.” Though Pavus didn’t roll his eyes, his tone led Ella to believe that he was nearing that point.

 

“I will put it as simply as I can: Malice possesses the collar, not me. It acts as a… a conduit, I suppose.”

 

“Ridiculous,” Pavus snorted. “How would such a thing even work? You’d have to… unless you… actually, that’s quite fascinating. Who developed such a thing?”

Falerius. Oh, but she is a hairsbreadth from… no, she could not reveal such a thing. If nothing else, the pity would be unbearable, boiling blood and itching skin. At worst… some things were not meant to be shared.

 

“I wouldn’t know,” she said. “I just wear the thing.” Implied, there was an is that good enough for you?

 

It wasn’t, for any of them. She could tell by the crease of their faces, the shift of their hands, how the agent kept flashing his fucking knives as if he knew how to use them, as if he would dare to challenge her to knives in the dark the walls the as if he could even stomach the walls closing in can’t breathe can’t breathe.

 

She would say no more, just talk in circles with little nothings thrown in, and if they wanted anything else they’d have to show their true colors and get their hands dirty.

 

Kaffas. These thoughts had led her from the Inquisition in the first place; were they her own? Or were they his, residual threads of tangled manipulation, weaving a neat little web that snared her so easily. He knew her too well, was the real issue: a side effect of inhabiting the same skull for such extended periods of time. He knew her fears. Knew how to tug and prod, how to nudge her towards a frenzy.

 

Still, she could not deny that the fears remained, and that at least some of them had always been hers. Because she could  no fear no fear  she could deny it all she wanted  no fear never let them see  but the doubts lurked, creeping at the corner of her eye.

 

They talked for another hour, maybe two. Fletcher persisted longer than the rest; she suspected that he wished to take advantage of her exhaustion, to force her into a stumble, but he must have known that she was better trained than that. She had faced longer periods of sleep deprivation, had reached the point of walls closing in, of eyes in the dark. Again he seemed unwilling to commit; all flash. It was possible that the presence of so many witnesses stayed his hand, but even tired as she was Ella could read the signs. Even pressing verbally made him uncomfortable, as if he despised the confrontation. Honestly, it left her a little disappointed; clearly he wasn’t a good fit for this job, so why had the Nightingale sent him?

 

While Fletcher badgered her with questions that were easy enough to twist and dance around, Varric and Pavus began setting up camp. Dragging an unconscious qunari through the wilderness was deemed an unwise decision by everyone involved, and since he no longer seemed to be in any sort of critical condition, it would be better to wait until he could support at least a fraction of his own weight.

 

There was some debate on what to do with Ella, which she herself chose not to engage in. It seemed… off, somehow, to discuss the manner of one’s own imprisonment. In the end, Varric was outnumbered two to one; Cole was nowhere to be found, and Iron Bull was, well, passed out from blood loss. So Ella would remain tied to a tree. Great.

 

Fletcher checked the ropes, made sure the knots were secure—they were, it was the only thing she could give him credit for, honestly—and took the moment to remind her rather ominously that the Nightingale would still have questions.

 

“I would hope so. I haven’t exactly been impressed so far.”

 

She guessed that he didn’t much like that reply from the way he prowled off, but it’s what he deserved for being such a flashy little bastard. Could he be a noble’s son, some brat who couldn’t quite cut it for the Templars? It would explain why he reminded her of a snooty little Orlesian pup: all yap, no bite. Or perhaps too much bite, taking on far more than it could chew. Subdued, though. Obnoxious in a very… quiet way, as if he were used to people looking over him and therefore able to simmer from shadows. She did have a practiced eye; most likely didn’t notice just how eager he was to show off, to proudly display his hand and boast his advantage. She doubted it came up often, in his line of work.

 

The camp was sparse; clearly they had left in a hurry. Oh, that just twisted the blade right between her ribs. Still, they had basic tents and sleeping rolls, enough room to accommodate even Bull. From the quick glimpses she got of him, he seemed to be recovering well, no longer so gut wrenchingly ashen but instead a darker, more purplish grey.

 

And then it was night. No one was hungry, and everyone wanted to avoid any further attention, so they didn’t light a fire. Besides, the sky was clear and the light of the moon was more than enough to walk by. An ambush, tonight, would be ill-conceived, especially so close to Skyhold. Not like it had mattered to those Venatori she had dispatched.

 

Ah, now there was a puzzle that she might wrestle with, to force herself to stay occupied through the night. Because there was no fucking way she was sleeping out here in the open, in the middle of people who now considered her dangerous, while tied to a tree. And so close to that encounter with Malice, too; the dreams alone were enough to give her pause.

 

Alright, so the Venatori. Probably had been sent out before Skyhold had really been established and news had gotten out. Never received word that they were actually deep in enemy territory, just on a simply mission traveling to or from some stronghold, it didn’t really matter where. Damn it. That wasn’t quite the tangled knot she’d made it out to be.

 

But the slaves. They had a cart full of them, but why would they need that? Only an untrained slave would need to be kept under lock and key like that. Only an untrained slave would run so quickly, so readily, upon being freed. There was no hesitation in their eyes, no confusion; only fear and desperation. The former, she could now see, was probably caused by her. She had not been… of sound mind, when she attacked the camp. Unfortunate, but to be expected when all things were considered.

 

They were gathering slaves, then, carting them back to… somewhere. Oh, now it mattered. What were the slaves for? Did they need labor? Meat-shields? Blood-bags? The last was particularly unsettling; sacrifice enough pawns and the result could be devastating. If there was one group collecting wayward travelers and the easily separated, there would be others. How many? What was their plan?

 

And now her head hurt, ached, like being squeezed between a vice. Nothing could quite distract her from that or the smoldering embers all through her bones, the white-hot mercury in her veins. She’d been hurt worse, but this was the first time in a long time that she had felt quite so shit. Even in the aftermath of Haven, at least she hadn’t been bound, imprisoned. At least she’d saved them, instead of betraying them like this. Had she died there, maybe the would never have known. Maybe…

 

Maybe this, maybe that; none of it mattered. What now, then, what now?

 

Shit, she’d spent so long with close the breach and run. Now, with this Inquisitor nonsense… everything was over and done and she had lived but still they weren’t finished with her. Everything about it was maggots beneath her skin, from the lofty title to the knowledge that, even after everything they needed more from her. That this was just another collar around her neck, and for once she was struck with the possibility that they didn’t know, didn’t understand. Earnestly, with the utmost sincerity, perhaps they thought that… how could they not see it, though? Titles were chains, always, unless one had the power to back them up. Ella had no power; just words and a fancy chair and a nice room. Even those weren’t hers, they had been gifted, and she knew all too well that gifts could be easily ripped away.

 

What could the Inquisitor be, but a puppet? A spectacle?

They didn’t know. They came after her with swords sheathed, drawing their blades only when she struck first. Ultimately, had the betrayal been hers? It certainly seemed that way from this side of things. In the after. Because even after everything, they were the ones who had the audacity to seem hurt, saddened, betrayed by what she had done, by what she had accused them of. There were no other options: one, at least had thought it a good thing, what they did. And if one, why not all?

 

And there lay the danger. Doubt was good, doubt kept you alive; until it didn’t. Pushed in the wrong direction it could lead to catastrophe, because if one had meant her well then why not all and if all had meant her well then why shouldn’t she trust and if she should trust then the end result would always be the same: cages and collars and chains and pain, so much pain both inside and out.

 

But that was a constant. Herald had not spooked her so, had merely been an annoyance. She had been ready to flee at any moment, yes, but there was no reason life could not continue with Inquisitor.

 

Inquisitor. She shuddered at the thought.

 

Because the title implied something more. Something less immediate than walls closing in and knives in the dark and close the breach and run. It implied a future.

 

Truly an unfortunate collision of poor decisions and a damaged psyche, because, as it turned out, a future was the very thing Ella was least equipped to handle.

 

 

Just as that little knot began to work its way into her brow, Ella jerked to attention at the rustle of a tent flap. She’d been drifting, she realized with some derision, all of that slipping away as she recognized the tall horns silhouetted in the moonlight.

 

Bull was awake.

 

 

Notes:

psychic: *reads my mind as i'm writing*
me: *incomprehensible screaming*
psychic:
psychic: wtf??

Chapter 39: The Apology

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Iron Bull waved off Varric, who had taken up the watch. It took a little convincing, but a few whispers and well-executed grins of reassurance and the dwarf was back in his tent. Then they were alone, him standing upright if hunched a little to the side, and her sitting on the freezing ground, shirtless, still tied to a fucking tree.

 

She wanted him to say something. He didn’t. In the hush of night, that silence was nothing less than deafening.

 

Ella was tired, nerves frayed by a weary ache, veins throbbing with molten lead, and in the looming presence of Bull every sore and pain swelled to a crescendo, sharpened to a fine point needling into her skin.

 

“I’m sorry.” She spoke first, almost unbidden. The words were harsh and hollow in her throat, weak and wavering in the moonlight. Some part of her mind hated that, but it was perfunctory, an obligatory emotion that she could barely maintain. For once it was just nice to sound the way she actually felt and to mean it.

 

Bull glanced towards the tents, and Ella imagined she could see his ears strain, knew he was weighing the variables to decide whether or not Varric had fallen asleep. A trickle of fear, cold sweat, because  what’s the play  because here, in the darkened silence with her arms bound behind her back there was nothing that could stop him from burying his axe deep into her neck and finishing this once and for all. Eliminate the threat. That would be the right play.

 

It was not Bull’s, though, and she knew that. She hated that she knew that, in the same obligatory manner, but managed to rationalize it once again by necessity, through his actions while Malice had puppeted her. He could have cut the strings then, but he didn’t. It stood to reason that he wouldn’t now: there, a simple explanation for her assurance.

 

It seemed that Varric was asleep, because Bull drew closer and fuck but Ella could see the bruises faint but blossoming against his grey skin, could smell the tang of blood in his sweat and… the crooked stitches at his side, they were proud and bare and garish. My fault.

 

Finally, finally, finally he knelt in front of her, he spoke.

 

“We have a lot to talk about.”

 

Stones in her stomach, water in her lungs but she swallowed it, struggled to reign in her expression as she nodded slowly but did not answer. Never give them anything.

 

“I heard most of your explanation to Red’s man, but I think we both know that’s not even close to the whole picture.”

 

Shit, shit because of course he’d been awake, listening, waiting to regain enough strength to— no, no  that wasn’t the play but Bull was smart, Bull was cunning, Bull was a spy and Ella wasn’t quite so sure how long she could stay afloat in a storm like that on a ship as busted up as hers. Her scars itched and she couldn’t scratch them, she heard faint whispers at the edges of her mind like monsters in the corner of the eye; tricks of the dark. And worst of all she’d nearly killed him, wanted to kill him or at least felt the desire course through her unbidden, had lied and cheated and stabbed him in the fucking gut all because she was incapable and incompetent, because she couldn’t remember to keep her fucking strings untangled, to close the Breach and run, to remember eyes in the dark and

 

“It’s all right, Ella.”

 

What?

 

“It’s going to be all right.”

 

No no no, that was not… what’s the play what—he could not be—did he even realize that—mask mask mask keep the mask tight don’t let it slip don’t let it—was her fear so raw and terrible on her face, that he felt like he needed to—lies lies it’s all

 

“It isn’t.” Ella closed her eyes, head leaning back against the cold bark. “It isn’t, and you know that.”

 

It was like she could hear him frown. “One thing at a time.”

 

She noticed that he hadn’t quite denied her objection, but words were growing heavy in her chest and she didn’t care to force the conflict, to pry and prod until she could be justified in hating him again, until she could be safe in walls and boxes. That’s where Malice was, had been. Boxes.

 

“There’s… did no one feel like they should have—” He smothered the rising anger in his voice, but Ella’s eyes had already snapped open, shoulders tensing even as the jolt of motion sent another hot and cold flash of pain down her spine and a soft hiss of breath through her teeth. Iron Bull didn’t… he was angry, but not at her. That was a relief, however bent and twisted.

 

“There’s an arrow. In your shoulder.”

 

Oh. She’d kind of… forgotten. It was just a trembling voice swept up in the cacophonous symphony of hurt that was her wreck of a body. Vaguely she recalled the argument through that haze of the half-asleep.

 

“Pulling it out would result in blood loss,” she muttered. “It’s safe right now.”

 

“It isn’t safe—”

 

“Safe enough. Pavus didn’t want to get too close, and the little bird wanted the extra insurance against escape.”

 

“What about Varric.”

 

“He was outvoted. And he doesn’t know shit about arrow wounds, surprisingly enough. Guess you usually don’t treat the guys you shoot at.” Everything was submerged in icy water, numb and swirling about her ears. Whatever hurts wracked her voice were beyond her control; the twitches in her face were left unchecked. She had just enough sense of mind to see the furrow in Bull’s brow. The fact that he allowed himself that little tell was proof enough that he considered her too far gone to manage his own face. Or it was purposeful, a ploy of false pity, to lull her into—

 

Or he was just hurt, still. That clawed at the inside of her chest something awful.

 

“Where’s Cole?” he asked.

 

“I don’t know.” Ella felt the roughness of her voice grate at her throat. “He disappeared. For the best, probably, I don’t know what… it would be… I shouldn’t be near him, right now.”

 

“Okay.” It didn’t sound okay. “Okay. Let’s get you cleaned up a little, this is fucking ridiculous.” The anger there, again, and Ella couldn’t suppress that wince in her face, that twinge in her shoulders. Fuck. Everything was spinning.

 

She felt his hand at her own, and instinctively jerked away. He pulled back, slowly.

 

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Ella.” That’s my

 

“I can’t make the same promise.”

 

Silence, heavy and thick, like bile and gangrene.

 

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

 

She started, eyes darting towards his, scanning the lines of his face even as her lips pulled the words from her lungs.

 

“Yes.” Please. Desperate edges of her mind grinding against each other, cobweb strands of doubt and hate and fear because as he asked it was like a dam had burst somewhere inside of her and she needed touch, warmth, anything or she felt as if her skin would crack and splinter.

 

And she hated how she needed that. In a quiet voice, deep in the folds of her mind, but it gnawed at her bones and she hated it.

 

Then his hand was at her face and it all just… melted. Nothing big, nothing special; he just cradled her cheek with his palm while his thumb rubbed little circles and shit shit shit she felt like she could cry if she had the energy but fuck she had almost killed him and she didn’t deserve—I don’t deserve this I don’t

 

“We’re going to get that arrow out, okay?”

 

A nod. Barely. It was as if her body had gone limp, a bruised and beaten ragdoll tied to a tree, bursting at the seams.

 

“I’m gonna have to untie you. We’re gonna walk a little. We’ll sit down, pull it out, and then patch it up. Does that sound okay?”

 

Yes. Of course it sounded okay, was there any reason it shouldn’t? She heard the hitch of his breath as he bent forward, saw the barest twitch of a grimace on his face and ah, yes, of course.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Why, why did she have to sound so hollow, so desperate, as if she were a child, whining for a broken toy.

 

“Is the demon gone, Ella?” There was weight, behind that question, an urgency, and Ella hesitated because how could she know? She hadn’t before, hadn’t felt him lurking in the shadows, had been all knives in the dark and what’s the play so that she couldn’t see, couldn’t hear him stalking her steps until it was far too late.

 

Ella hurt people. It’s what she did.

 

But Malice… she tried her damnedest to repress the shudder, she really did, but it was just… she felt her limbs tremble ever so slightly. Malice was gone, for now. She’d felt him crawling and coiling in her mind, scraping at the inside of her skull, and after that she’d felt the fire. The burning pain as she stamped him out like a fever might a sickness. She had felt the Fade rip him from her body.

 

“He’s gone,” she said, finally. Bull nodded, and reached towards the ropes again, hesitating as Ella jerked away once more.

 

“I’m just going to untie you.”

 

“I know.”

 

Silence, and Ella broke first, because of course.

 

“Just because he’s gone doesn’t mean I’m safe.” The words tumbled from her mouth like stones, like thunder, like the rain at sea. “I could… what if I… I don’t want to hurt you.” Again, she added silently. Not again.

 

“The demon’s gone?” asked Bull simply, and Ella just nodded, unable to do much else. “Then I don’t see how you’re going to hurt me, or anyone. Seems like you’re having enough trouble keeping your eyes open.” 

 

She opened her mouth to protest, felt a trickle of hot anger at the back of her throat because how dare he I am not helpless I am not weak I am not

 

But he was right. He was right, and what’s the pla—but there was no play, he wasn’t going to hurt her and she couldn’t hurt him, not like this.

 

“All right,” she said. “All right.”

 

 

 

Iron Bull untied her slowly, carefully; quiet rustle in the night. He tried to avoid brushing against the arrow still embedded in her shoulder, tried to avoid the blistering anger that bubbled up inside of him whenever he failed to do so and she winced, too exhausted to keep her motions mastered. Anger at Fletcher, at Dorian, at Varric. Anger at himself.

 

Anger at her, even. Because she’d lied, because she’d hidden. She’d run away with this thing in her chest, around her neck. She’d run away to die.

 

He picked her up easily; too easily, he thought. The journey to Skyhold had been difficult, and he knew she must have been skipping more meals than was wise, had seen her giving scraps to others. She’d insisted that she wasn’t hungry, and honestly he had believed her, because hunger didn’t seem like something she felt. Hunger, thirst, exhaustion: it was a small hindrance to her, a necessity more than any sort of feeling. She hadn’t been hungry; that didn’t mean that she didn’t need the food.

 

Here, now, she looked like she felt it. The exhaustion, certainly. It wasn’t a cloak anymore, wasn’t a burden she carried with irritable ease; now it had seeped into her skin, filled her veins with lead and ice.

 

The Iron Bull didn’t know what to do; he was smart enough to admit that. This wasn’t exactly routine, even in these strange times, and without any prior experience to fall back on he felt a little… lost.

 

She was Ella, and then she wasn’t. She was Malice, and then she wasn’t.

 

She was gone. And then she wasn’t.

 

And she’d tried to kill him, a needling voice insisted at the back of his mind. That seemed important, although the words were wrong. She hadn’t tried to kill him; she’d tried not to and failed, and that made a difference, somehow.

 

She was quiet as he carried her off a little ways, just far enough that they could talk without fear of any eavesdroppers. He might have thought her to be sleeping, but no; her eyes were open, staring up at the night sky, almost unseeing but open all the same. She looked empty, through those eyes, and that scared him a little.

 

At last he settled her down on a soft patch of moonlit grass, helped her sit up against yet another tree, his hand bracing against her back as he did so, and he felt… she pulled away from his touch, settling herself against the tree trunk.

 

It was the barest of touches, he hadn’t quite seen it in the dark, but… Stitches had mentioned scars. With what he felt, even in that instant, Bull understood why his company healer had been so adamant, so disturbed. The skin had felt almost mangled.

 

Not like there weren’t enough scars littering the rest of her body, joined by a few fresh bruises and, of course, the arrow in her shoulder. She was still wearing a breastband, but it struck Bull then that this was the barest he’d ever seen her, even when they’d been out in the field. She’d never stripped past her shirt and pants, even when they’d found a good place to stop and wash up, even when everyone else at least dressed down to their small clothes in order to scrub the grime from their bodies; Ella didn’t seem the type to shy away from nudity, and she never did so, except when it came to herself.

 

“Where’s your shirt?” he asked, a bit annoyed with himself for not wondering sooner. Clearly it made her uncomfortable. He’d just been thrown off by this fucking… mess of a situation.

 

She actually shrugged like some sort of idiot, wincing as the motion pulled at her wounds.

“You don’t know?” Bull raised a brow as he gently examined the arrow, how it pierced through most of her shoulder. Oh, she was going to hate this.

 

“You were bleeding,” she said softly, eyes unfocused. “I… I stabbed you, and you were bleeding. I needed to… stop it.”

 

Shit. “It’s all right, Ella.”

 

That name, her name, it always made her melt into some semblance of relaxation, smoothed away some of the lines in her face; he hated the implications of that fact, hated how he knew it and still exploited it. For her, though. She needed it, it made her feel calm; maybe, if he said it enough, she’d accept it as a fact rather than an assurance, or a gift.

 

“Do you want me to get you another one?”

 

“From where?”

 

He hesitated. It wasn’t as if she’d have packed spares, and he certainly didn’t have any. “There should be a blanket in my pack—”

 

“I’m fine.” There she went, closing in on herself again. He managed to hold back a sigh, placing his hand lightly around where the arrow pierced her flesh.

 

“I’m gonna have to push this through. Otherwise—”

 

“Arrowhead will rip me up; I know how weapons work, Bull.” Her voice was snappish, as if she was trying to muster up some manufactured emotion; but still it was empty, hollow. A mask of porcelain, little cracks worming past the edges.

 

“Alright. I have a potion here, you can drink it once the arrow’s out. That should close up most of the wound.”

 

She nodded. Hesitated. A breathless moment where she wavered on some decision and fuck but it was fascinating to see the ebb and flow of rationale across her face, like cogs and gears of a machine laid bare. Fascinating and heartbreaking, because that meant she was just too exhausted, too beaten and bruised to care to conceal it.

 

“Do you have a… a branch or something? A piece of leather, or…”

 

“I have a knife, you could use the handle.”

 

She nodded, and let her head fall back against the tree trunk, half-lidded eyes staring up through the branches. Bull drew a knife from his belt and handed it to her, and for a moment he wondered whether she had actually fallen asleep, she was so still; but no, Ella brought up a hand slowly, as if through thick sludge, to grab hold of the knife, and brought it up to her face with even more resistance. At last she managed to get her teeth around the hilt, to muffle herself with the worn leather, and she let her hand drop with a huff, motioning vaguely towards him as she did.

 

This was going to hurt. A lot. But Ella knew that, he was sure, so there was no point in telling her. Besides, he had an inkling that she’d been through far worse. Still, he thought as he placed one hand at her shoulder and brought the other around the arrow-shaft, it felt strange to be causing it. Uncomfortable. Wrong. Like he was just another shadow in her dreams, the kind that made her mark flare up.

 

The quicker they got this over with, the better. The Iron Bull pushed the arrow further into Ella’s shoulder with as much haste as he dared, hyper-aware of the grind of her teeth in the dagger-hilt and the spasm of muscle beneath his hand. Aware of the quiet, even now. No sound, not even a muffled gasp of pain, escaped Ella’s chest. The only noise was the unsettling squelch of punctured flesh and the raspy breaths between them; and, after he finally pulled the blood-soaked arrow from her shoulder entirely, a few hasty swallows of healing potion.

 

Bull pressed some cloth against both the entrance and exit wounds, unsure how to break that silence. It hung, heavy in the air, thick in his throat, needling at the stitches in his side.

 

“I’m sorry.” Low and rasping, and Bull’s attention snapped towards Ella’s face only to see her eyes still distant, unfocused.

 

“It’s all right.” Because what was he supposed to say?

 

“No.” Her gaze tightened, a little bit of that fire smoldering in her voice before turning to ash past her lips, dying out once more. “No, I was an idiot. I didn’t… I didn’t think, about anything; I just ran. It was selfish.”

 

Bull was shaking his head before she’d even finished. “Not selfish. Dumb, maybe. Impulsive. But not unreasonable, and definitely not selfish. They sprung it on you.”

 

“I should have seen it coming. I wasn’t—it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

 

“There’s nothing to—”

 

“I’m sorry, Bull.”

 

He sighed, pulling his hands away from the wound now that most of the bleeding had stopped. “What are you sorry for?”

 

“What?”

 

“What are you sorry for? Do you know?”

 

She hesitated, although that was likely in part due to how run down she was, how beat to shit.

 

“I am sorry for… for stabbing you.”

 

“Why?”

 

“What do you mean, why? I stabbed you! In the gut, with a knife.”

 

“I’m still alive.”

 

“No thanks to me.”

 

“But why are you sorry?” asked the Iron Bull pointedly. Ella huffed, and winced at the creak of her ribs.

 

“Is that not the typical reaction to having stabbed a friend?”

 

“…are we friends, Ella?”

 

She froze. Almost imperceptibly, but not quite; all of her reactions were sluggish, and her mask was crumbling more as time dragged on.

 

“Of course,” she said briskly, in the air of someone who wanted to be thought a liar. “What else would we be?”

 

“Because I was under the impression that you ‘can take care of yourself’. That you work best alone.”

 

“I do work best alone,” she muttered quietly.

 

“What are you sorry for?” Bull pressed. “Stabbing a friend? Just that?”

 

“No,” Ella hissed between her teeth. “Of course not. It’s not just—I tried to kill you. All of you.”

 

“And you’re sorry, for that.”

 

“The word is starting to lose its meaning,” she said weakly, and Iron Bull narrowed his eye.

 

“You’re deflecting—”

 

Yes, I’m sorry for that. And before you fucking ask—” she said sharply, just as Bull moved to speak again. “I’m sorry because I try not to make a habit of stabbing people in the back.”

 

“You didn’t betray us, Ella.”

 

Yes I did.” She growled, deep and rumbling in her chest. “Yes I did, and you know it.”

 

“We looked for you. We initiated.”

 

“No. No, I initiated when I couldn’t fucking—” The words got caught in a garbled tangle somewhere in her throat. It was late, and Bull could feel the weight of the day wearing at him.

 

“You couldn’t what?

 

“I couldn’t tell that there was a demon inside my own fucking head.”

 

“…And that’s why you’re—”

 

“No, I’m not sorry,” she hissed. “I’m not fucking sorry for that, I’m fucking pissed, Bull. I am so fucking mad, it’s like it’s all just burning inside of me and I can’t do anything about it except…”

 

He saw her make a half-hearted attempt to pull some sort of mask over her face.

 

“Except what, Ella?” he pressed.

 

“You should have killed me. It was the right play.”

 

Bull felt the skin writhe around his fresh stitches. “Is that what you think?”

 

“You put yourse—everyone at risk. Run the numbers, qunari.” He didn’t quite like the sneer she put on that last word, and he saw her flinch away from his expression before he could bring his face to a nice even temper once more. Eggshells, just like Krem and Dorian and every other ‘Vint he’d ever met. He had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate that comparison.

 

“You’re angry that I didn’t kill you.”

 

“I’m angry that you didn’t make the right decision.”

 

“Which was to kill you?”

 

“Which was to mitigate the risk,” Ella snarled, hands twitching. “To contain the damage. To just… to just cut the fucking strings and run.”

 

“Run where?”

 

Anywhere. Just… run anywhere. Cut the… the strings and run and never stop.”

 

“Who are we talking about, Ella?”

 

She sighed, a shuddering, gasping thing. “I’m sorry… that I couldn’t keep my promises.”

 

“What promi—”

 

Never again.” Harsh and roughed by jagged edges, her voice bit into the night air.

 

Careful. Bull thought to himself, but really had he ever been anything but careful with her? Sometimes she seemed like glass in heavy hands, teetering towards shattered shards and bloodied skin, brittle bones that splintered at the slightest touch of the wind.

 

That was unfair, he knew. If she was glass, it was like the smooth specks that might wash up on the beach every now and then. Not prone to crack and crumble but worn down by the tides.

 

“Never again,” she repeated, softer this time. Ella drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, wincing as she did but otherwise ignoring what a foolish decision that was. “I promised myself… but I can’t seem to keep it. What am I worth, if I can’t even do that?”

 

A whole damn lot, if you ask me. “Does it even matter?” asked Bull. “You’re a person, Ella. It doesn’t matter what you’re worth.

 

“It does, though. That’s the problem: I’ll never be anything more than a contract. It’s all bonds and promises, and I used to be good at that, but…” She sighed, burying her head in her arms, and Bull saw how she dug her fingers into her legs, how she struggled to maintain composure. “I told the Inquisition that I would fight for them until the Breach was closed. I told myself that I would be gone the moment that happened. I told them that I was safe, that I was capable. I told myself that I wouldn’t stay long enough for it to matter.”

 

She looked up, past him and into the shadows beyond. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t let this happen. This always happens.”

 

“What?”

 

“I get too close, and then I fuck up. I hurt people.”

 

Bull snorted, and though Ella’s eyes snapped up at him in a blaze he refused to take it back with some expression of apology or another. Because it was ridiculous.

 

“So you think that you can’t make friends, because you’ll always just end up hurting them?” he asked incredulously.

 

“Attachment is a weakness.”

 

“Look, too much attachment is bad, but you can’t just go through life alone.”

 

“I can. I have to.”

 

“That’s just… that’s shit, Ella.”

 

“I thought you of all people would understand.”

 

“What, because I’m qunari?” Bull heard himself snap, forced his voice to level out with a deep breath. “Ella, the Qun isn’t about giving up on everyone around you. It’s doing what’s best for the whole. But the whole is also doing what’s best for you.”

 

“Please stop saying hole,” she said lamely, unable to land the proper inflection that would make the joke, that would break the tension, distract, deflect. He knew too well how she operated.

 

“If you isolate yourself, everyone is weaker because of it.”

 

“In the Qun,” said Ella pointedly. “But what about outside of it? What about Tal-Vashoth?”

 

It took two breaths, that time. Deep and rattling in his lungs. “What about them?”

 

“They are excised from the body. It’s like a blood sickness, in the limbs. Sometimes you just need to cut off the hand before it kills you.”

 

“And you’re the hand?”

 

“I’m a liability. I’m cutting off myself.”

 

“You are not… you aren’t like them.”

 

“Oh really?” she asked, and it felt like there should have been a fight smoldering beneath those words, but there was nothing. She both looked and sounded hollow. “How, Bull? I know what the qunari think of—”

 

“What do you know?” he snapped, and she winced, and he instantly regretted it. Three breaths. “How do you know?” he asked, softer that time.

 

“I… met a qunari. We talked. For a long time.”

 

“A qunari, or a—”

 

“A qunari. She was…” Ella sighed, fingers digging deeper into her skin. “I think she was a Tamassran. She never told me, though.”

 

“Where?” Bull didn’t quite know what else to say, to ask. She’d successfully derailed this conversation, even as exhausted as she was, and he had no idea how to take control again, or if he even should.

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Ella…”

 

“We had a lot of time to talk. That’s what’s important. Does that satisfy you?”

 

“I mean—”

 

“Of course not.” She laughed, softly, muffled by the crook of her arm. “I don’t care, though. It doesn’t matter; it shouldn’t matter. We talked. She taught me a lot of things. Shok ebasit hissra.” Her mouth stumbled around the Qunlat, and though her accent was atrocious, it wasn’t bad. Qunlat was a notoriously difficult language for outsiders; he was surprised that she managed to remember even that memorized section of—

 

“Many things,” she continued, in the same stilted tongue. “Life, the Qun, beliefs. I do not agree with all. Still interesting. Still respect her.”

 

She could speak Qunlat. Because of course she could.

 

“How long did you talk?” Bull finally managed to ask after sputtering on his words for a few moments. Ella shrugged.

 

“Long enough. Besides, I’ve always been good with languages.”

 

It was still ridiculous. He recalled struggling to teach Gatt even the basics, and he could barely stammer through a sentence after months on the road. Eventually he’d gotten him to someone more professional, but still… it was a long process. He knew it was easier to learn the younger you were, when you could still pick things like that up quickly, but Gatt had already been too old to ever…

 

Why had she been with a Tamassran? It didn’t make sense; she’d spent most of her life in Tevinter; she’d spent most of her life as a slave; Ella was about as far removed from Tamassran as a person could get, unless perhaps you tunneled down to live with the dwarves. She was being shifty, dodging the question, which made him want to think it was important, but if he was being honest with himself was she ever not dodging the question?

 

It was possible that Ella had been to Seheron, but he thought it unlikely that she stayed there very long; an assassin was of little use in a warzone, and only a skilled and trusted slave would be allowed to roam far enough to take out a mark deserving of such judicious elimination. A slave who could be counted on to return. They must have met in Tevinter, but how? Where? Why?

 

Rethink. Rephrase. Not why did she meet a Tamassran, but why was a Tamassran in Tevinter? A defector? A prisoner? Either way, the circumstances couldn’t be good.

 

This Tamassran was imprisoned, surely. For a long time. Perhaps long enough to share a language, to impart some philosophy. But she wouldn’t trust her captors with this knowledge, to do so would betray the Qun, and she would die before the thought crossed her mind. A fellow prisoner, however… that might fall under recruitment, might qualify as a potential convert should that prisoner ever escape.

 

The answer, then? Ella had been imprisoned alongside a Tamassran, on Tevinter soil. For long enough to learn the basics of a complex and foreign tongue.

 

She was staring at him, and considering how blank her eyes had become he was beginning to find that unsettling.

 

“Figured it out, then, Hisraad?

 

He bristled, hating the way she twisted that word on her tongue, hating how it sounded in her voice. Four breaths.

 

“It isn’t important—”

 

“Oh, no, clearly it is important,” she snarled with a sudden ferocity, summoning a simmering blaze from somewhere deep within her bones. “Please, do continue to think upon it. I wouldn’t want you to miss something, would I? Wouldn’t want you to lose such a fantastic opportunity.”

“If you want to say something, Ella, then—”

 

“I want to say nothing,” she hissed between clenched teeth, and then all at once that flame fizzled out, leaving nothing but smoke and ash. “I would much prefer it, you know, if I could just say nothing. Silence is a gift you don’t realize you have until you’ve fucking lost it, right?”

 

The Iron Bull allowed himself a weary sigh, glancing up at the stars before settling down, crosslegged, before her, ignoring the way his joints groaned their protest.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” he said.

“It’s like…” Ella gazed off, eyes unfocused once more. “It’s like stillness. No ripples, and everything’s just simple. You don’t say anything because there’s nothing to say; no questions, no objections, nothing important except the now, blood and your heartbeat and the job…” She trailed off, rolling that last word around her tongue thoughtfully. “The job…

 

“And what’s the job?” prompted Bull.

 

“That’s the best part; it doesn’t matter. It never matters, because there’s nothing to say; just things to do.”

 

“And what kind of things did you do?”

 

“I killed people. You know this already.”

 

“I want you to tell me, though.”

 

Why? Why do you need me to tell you when I’m already so loud?”

“It’ll feel better, if you tell me.”

 

It’ll hurt less,” said Ella, in a mock falsetto, “if you tell me.”

 

“Am I hurting you, Ella?” asked Bull as gently as he could muster.

“Everything hurts; what’s the difference anymore? ‘It’ll feel better’; ‘it’ll hurt less’; you’re in control, you make the pain stop. It’s all the same, and it’s all too loud.”

 

“Maybe it’s so loud that it just sounds the same.”

 

“Maybe, but then why does it matter? If it sounds the same, it might as well be the same.”

 

“You can’t just walk through life afraid of every—”

 

I am not afraid.

 

Blistering fury, as if it were singing the scruff at his jaw but no; just Ella, just the set of her brow and the fire in her eyes, even as it died to smoldering embers and she whispered, hoarse: “I am not afraid.”

 

“It’s all right to be, though.”


“Fear is a weakness.”

 

“Just like attachment?”

 

“Now you’re getting it.

“No, Ella I am not—” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and reaching up to scratch at a horn furiously. “Fear isn’t a weakness; it’s just a reaction. Just because you feel afraid doesn’t mean you’re weak, it’s fighting through the fear that makes you strong.”

 

“Any fear is a crack in your armor,” said Ella with the confidence of someone reciting her words from memory. “Better to never fear at all. A fearless killer is a superior killer.”

 

“And that’s what you are? A killer?”

 

Yes.” She sounded frustrated.

“But it sounds like you don’t want to be that, anymore.”

 

“Desire is inconsequential.” Again, as if from memory. “Wishes are for children; I am not a child.”

 

“If you were, would you be proud of yourself?”

 

A pause, a flicker of pained confusion on her face. “What?

 

“You’re not a child, yeah. Of course. But what would the child you used to be think of the person you are today?”

 

“I am… you are… you’re being an idiot of purpose.”

 

“Hurtful,” said Bull wryly.

 

“I was never a child. Children are… what I was, it wasn’t a child.”

 

“What was it, then?”

 

“It was… a blank slate. It was the template for what I have become.”

 

“What’s your earliest memory?”

 

“I…” Ella stared at him, nose wrinkling. “That doesn’t seem relevant to—”

 

“If you didn’t have a childhood, then what’s the first thing you can remember? It’s a simple question.”

 

Had she been in any other state, Iron Bull thought that she might have refused to answer, simply walked away in a huff. As it was she had already shared to much, had already worn herself too ragged to care too much about masks and motives and what cards to play. As it was, she leaned her head back against the tree trunk, brow wrinkled in thought.

 

“What’s yours?” she countered, finally, after a few minutes of breathless silence. And then it was Bull’s turn to furrow his brow.

 

“My first memory?” he asked, and she nodded. “Huh. Guess I never really thought of it too much.”

 

“Because it was unimportant.”

 

“Because it’s just… there. Like every other memory.”

 

“What’s your first important memory. The first thing that actually mattered.”

 

“I guess…” and he hesitated, because was this the play? Was he willing to share a piece of himself just to drag out another piece of her? He was sure it would be possible to prod and pry without giving anything up himself, but… that didn’t feel right, somehow. “Probably when my Tama put me in charge of the rest of the Imekari for the first time.”

 

“Because you felt grown,” said Ella, triumphant. “Because you had purpose; you had been shaped.”

 

Bull shrugged, almost too tired to argue. “I guess, but I don’t think it’s really that simple. It was more like… I felt proud. And I felt like she trusted me. I felt grown, yeah, but it was like I had shaped myself, not been shaped. I had become someone trustworthy.”

 

Ella snorted, and he shot her a glare. “Something funny?”

 

She shook her head, but still answered. “Hisraad the trustworthy.”

 

Bull soured a little at that, but the name had less heat behind it now, and he hated it far less when she said it without such fury.

 

“You never said yours.”

 

“Hm?” Ella responded in a piss-poor attempt at ignorance.

 

“What’s your first important memory.”

 

“First kill.”

 

“…And?”

 

“Seriously? Isn’t that enough for—”

 

“Sorry, it just seemed like there was more.” Bull raised his hands, palms open. “You don’t have to tell me—”

 

“You don’t want to know, Bull. It’s not… you don’t want to know, and I don’t really want to think about it right now. Okay?”

 

Bull pursed his lips, nose wrinkling. “Okay.”

 

“Okay,” repeated Ella, head falling against the tree trunk again, this time with a dull thunk. A brief pause, where it seemed that she was trying to swallow words she couldn’t quite keep down. “I’m not an abomination.”

 

“Yeah?” said Bull wearily.

 

“Yeah,” she said firmly, mouth setting into a resolute line. “I’m not possessed. I never… gave myself up. You know? It’s not, uh, conventional.”

 

“…and?”

 

“I’m not… I’m not weak—”

 

“I don’t think you’re weak, Ella.” The exhaustion that gnawed Bull’s bones made itself known in his tone. “No one thinks you’re weak.”

 

“Malice does,” she nearly whispered. “Sentimental. I’ve always struggled with… with attachment.”


Speaking about the demon, it made his hands twitch, ruffled at the unruly corners of his mind. “And you’re gonna listen to a demon?”

 

“He—it wasn’t the only one. Just the loudest, and the most recent. When it comes down to it, I can’t do what I need to do.”

 

“And what’s that? Die?”

 

“If that’s what needs to be done, then—”

 

“You’re idea of what’s ‘necessary’ is a little screwed up, you know that?”

 

“…I see what must be done. I do it. I’m the right tool for every job, a solution.” She hesitated, hand curling into a limp fist at her side. “Or, I used to be.”

“No one’s ‘the right tool for every job’.”

 

“I thought that’s what you are?”

 

“I’m… well, I’m no fucking Tamassran, I’ll tell you that.”

 

“Yeah. Well. Neither am I, I guess.” She burst out into a brief shudder of laughter, rattling in her ribs and surely pulling at her wounds.

 

“Something funny?” Bull eyed her cautiously, brow quirked.

 

“No, nothing. Just, you know. Everything’s so… fucked. Sometimes I wish things could be the way they were before, you know? But thinking like that is dangerous. You dwell in the past, you can’t see what’s coming for you in the future.”

 

“Sounds like an exhausting way to live.”

 

She began to shrug, but this time thought better of it, instead reaching up to prod at the wound in her shoulder experimentally. Baby steps. “I guess. But it’s a way to live.”

“I guess.”

 

“Well, how do you do it then?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Live?”

 

Bull huffed, chuckling under his breath. “How do I live? Pretty big question, don’t you think?”

 

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Ella looked away, eyes narrowing, before turning back to Bull. “I don’t… I’m sorry for lying to you.”

 

“Really?” The Iron Bull raised his chin, tilted his head, began to cross his arms before relaxing out of that initial surprise.

 

“Yeah,” said Ella simply, still not quite looking him in the eye. “If you’d known, you might have been able to prepare for it. You could’ve stopped me from… this.”

 

“Just a preventative measure you forgot to put in place, then?”

 

No, I—when you put it like that it—” Ella ground her teeth, fingers twitching in the grass. Bathed in moonlight, she was… her scars shimmered against her skin, muscle silvered by moonbeams and cast in sharp relief by drops of shadow. “I’m sorry because… we are… friends?”

 

Was that what they were, then? It seemed wrong, somehow, to claim friendship with someone he was meant to spy on. On her side, though… well, she had just almost killed him. Did that make them even? Shit, this whole thing was too complicated even for him, just a mess of tangled threads. But, when she said that… well, it sounded right. Almost.

 

Almost was enough, wasn’t it?

 

“I should have told you because you deserved to know,” she hurried on, clearly unnerved by his silence. “I was… I was apprehensive, I didn’t want the unknown, but… you’ve always been… you’ve been effective, when it comes to… to keeping me… grounded…?”

 

“Yeah. You aren’t too bad yourself, Ella.”

 

“Don’t fucking—” She made a strangled noise of frustration, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. “I’m trying to… this isn’t—”

 

“No, no, you’re doing great. Please go on.”

 

“If you’re going to be an insufferable prat about it then—”

 

“Thanks, Ella.”

 

“I—what?”

 

“You didn’t need to tell me anything. It’s your shit. I would have… it would have been nice if you had told me, but it’s not, you know, some sort of requirement. I don’t need your whole life story.” Even if it would be extremely useful to have. He locked that thought down, forced it into the corner of his mind. “Thanks for, uh, thinking that I deserved to know, though? Even after the fact, I guess.”

 

“Oh, uh… thanks, then. That’s… good to know.”

 

“But if you’re in over your head, or if you’re spiraling about something… you can come to me. You know that, right?”

 

“Really? Even now?”

 

“Of course.” Always. I’ll always help you, no matter what. And he forced that thought even deeper down, past consideration.

 

They sat there through the night, which was hell on both of their joints but at this point, did it even matter? Neither Bull nor Ella was keen on sleep, but they both needed the rest; after an hour or so companionable silence, they ended up passed out under the stars anyway.

 

An odd circumstance, definitely, and a risky one. But if either had any doubts, they didn’t raise them

Notes:

long time no see i guess? sorry about that, this chapter gave me a lot of trouble, honestly i'm still not completely happy with it but such is the way of things. it's a long boi, so hopefully that makes up for it?

also college has resumed its regularly scheduled programming of kicking me in the ass, so that's a bit of a roadblock. this conversation was a bit messy and took some time, so hopefully after pushing through it i'll be able to update more regularly.

once again thank you for reading, and i really appreciate the comments, and i'll try to respond best as i can! i'm also still thinking about setting up a blog or something for Ella and friends, maybe post some art and stuff, but i guess i'll see what life throws my way.

anyway it's fuckinnnn 3 in the morning so i'm gonna just yeet myself to bed, <3 you all