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dreadfutures · 3 months

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I was doubly inspired by this prompt from @rosella-writes for my #shadows in the sun AU for young!Ixchel & Kieran and what they get up to during DA4.

For @dadrunkwriting

Words: 2109

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Ixchel knew mana exhaustion when she saw it, and she was honestly surprised Kieran hadn’t died from it yet. He had been a dragon, and then himself, and then he had flung not only himself across a whole canyon but taken her with him in one Fade-step the likes of which she hadn’t thought possible.

She had been surprised enough when he was capable of speech after all of that, but his impressive reserves of strength or foolishness could not last forever, she supposed. He had collapsed not long after they had made their way to the other side of the mesa. It had been up to Ixchel, then, to carry him down to where the cliffs dripped into a valley of trees, where they might be hidden from those that pursued him. She hoped.

Ixchel nestled Kieran in the roots of a tree to keep him out of the wind, on a bed of leaves to keep him from losing too much heat to the ground. While he rested, she worked.

She was no stranger to finding her way in the wilderness without supplies, though she resented the fact that she had been forced to leave them in her mad dash to help Kieran. Her bedroll, the oiled tarp, and the wrapped packages of salted fish she had brought with her now lay scattered on the red floor of the desert to the southwest. Regardless, she had no trouble making a lean-to, and setting up some snares, and digging a pit for a low-smoke fire, with nothing but her hands and the tools she could find in nature. It was a matter of principle, if nothing else, that she was annoyed.

They were near water—she had made sure of that—and she had fortunately had her canteen, flint, and a few other small trinkets in the pockets that lined her clothes. She left Kieran to quickly refill the water she had drained while crossing the desert, and when she returned, she found him just on the cusp of waking.

She was relieved, and she plunked herself down beside him, ready to offer him a sip as soon as he could sit up.

“What happened to finding shelter?” he groaned, with the expression of a child pulled out of bed too early, and she considered upturning her canteen on his lap in retaliation.

“We’ve got cover from the wind, water nearby, dry earth, and plenty of game,” Ixchel said instead. “Your mother would be grateful for such bounty.”

She reached for him as he struggled to sit up on weakened arms, and he wrapped his hand around her singular wrist for support—but then he didn’t let go.

He held her there and stared at her intently, golden eyes like a dragon’s, like his mother’s, boring into hers.

“My mother is missing, ‘Chel,” he said soberly.

Ixchel hated how the news, which should have been a punch to the gut, was just another bitter truth she could roll with. She was not shaken like she should have been, and she returned his gaze without surprise.

“Have you heard about the—” she began, but Kieran cut her off.

“The evil gods returning? My grandmother warned us all of that a decade ago,” he said.

“Alright,” Ixchel said. “Tell me what you know.”

“After Papae died, Mamae let the Well guide us to places that were safe… Places where the ancient people hid from the Evanuris.” Kieran’s voice had softened a little, gaze turning glassy and distant. “But then—the Well warned us that nowhere was safe. That the refuges we had found belonged to Fen’Harel, and so would she if we stayed. We were going to make a decision together, but she disappeared in the night without a trace. She left everything: her staff, her books…”

“Do you think Mythal took her? Fen’Harel?” Ixchel asked. “Controlling the Well?”

Kieran shook his head vehemently. “No,” he said, “because Fen’Harel came looking for her. And—” he sucked in a breath, having grown pale as if he felt ill at what he was about to say “—I know that it wasn’t Mythal, either. The part of me that she took… Fen’Harel holds it now. I could feel it in him, and I know my grandmother wouldn’t have given it to him freely, not after everything she did to take it!”

Kieran’s grip had grown exceedingly tight around her wrist—enough to make her flinch. Despite his wiry frame, delicate in ways his mother was but his father wasn’t, he carried a surprising strength in his hands. He did not seem to realize it, fixated and nearly frantic as he continued his explanation:

“I think Mamae went looking for the same thing my father did. It was his only hope, and he failed, and I think it’s her only hope, too. Our only hope.”

“A cure for the Blight?” Ixchel asked.

“No!” Kieran exclaimed, as if she had uttered the most disappointingly stupid thing he had ever heard. “An untouched place, a place where time, and magic, and war, and death, and yes the Blight, have never trespassed.”

Ixchel pursed her lips and waited for him to continue, loathe to say something else to earn his disapproval. Her silence, unfortunately, seemed to earn the same outcome, for he released her hand and fisted both of his in his hair.

“It’s the only place where she wouldn’t be in danger of being controlled,” he said insistently, “because the Evanuris have no power there—and that’s why we need to lure them to her.”

“What?” Ixchel yanked her hand back from him, a fury rising in her that did surprise her. “If she made it there, she’s safe, Kieran. What the fuck do you mean ‘lure them to her’?!”

Before she knew what she was doing, she was on her feet. “She’s your mother, Kieran! I know she talks a lot of shit about sacrifice and using people but she’s your mother!”

“Do you think I don’t feel that!” Kieran shouted back, further shocking her, but not shocking her out of her anger. “This is the only option! I know—I just know this is what she wants us to do, since she can’t do it alone—”

“Gods above and below, maybe it’s what she wants you to do,” Ixchel spat, “but you can’t ask me—”

“To bring danger to the only person who’s ever treated you like family? That’s exactly why I am asking you!”

Kieran looked up at her with tears of desperation in his eyes, and she was haunted by his words, and by the eyes that looked so much like Morrigan’s.

Tears welled in her own eyes as his words sank in. He had given voice to something she had never had the courage to admit even to herself. But on a level that was fundamentally worse, he had noticed it in the first place—the one thing she had so dearly wished to hide when they last traveled together.

Morrigan and her Warden had taken her in like family, after Corypheus’ defeat scattered all her friends in the Inquisition to the far corners of the world. Morrigan had taught her elven, and ancient elvhen, when even Solas hadn’t deigned to. Morrigan had shown her a softness that her steely exterior hid from all but precious few. Morrigan had made her feel wanted, safe, and special, like no one else had ever made her feel.

Yes. Morrigan had been the closest thing to a mother to the young Inquisitor, and it went against every fiber of her being to jeopardize that.

Even if Ixchel had turned her back on them once before.

“You have no idea—” Ixchel didn’t know where she was going. “Do you think I owe—” But that was terribly, terribly wrong, too. “Kieran, I just—I can’t.”

“No,” he said bitterly, “and neither can I. Not alone.”

Ixchel’s lashes fluttered, sending hot tears spilling down her cheeks, and she took a step back, and then another, and then another, until Kieran was just a shadow in the crook at the base of the tree and she was beginning to melt into the forest.

Despite the anger and—and fear that filled her, she found herself calling out to him on reflex: “I’ll be back.”

“Take your time,” he said, sounding defeated.

Ixchel turned her back on him, and she walked away into the woods.

Instinct guided her where her turmoil-rattled mind could not. Her stomach was aching for food, and she needed to set up the snares for small animals, and to forage for some other forms of sustenance in the interim. One by one the ropes she had fashioned left her hands, placed on game trails she sensed more than saw. She dug up roots and nibbled at them to identify which ones might be worthwhile, ignoring dirt and fibers. And when she finally felt calm enough to think again, she found herself crawling in a dense thicket of tangled berry trees.

They were similar to those she had scavenged in Ferelden as a child: red-turned-black, with many tiny beads of juice squished together into oval gems. These, however, she found to have thorns.

Her blood welled berry-red in her thumb, drawing her out of her stormy fugue and back into the moment. As she sucked at the wound and considered the lay of the land, she gave thought to Kieran’s request.

It was no fault of his that his maternal lineage was tangled in occult mystery, curses, and cursed luck. It was not his fault that his mother had become entangled with the Well of Sorrows, submitted to the slavery of the Evanuris in one way or shape or form—if anything, that blame lay on Ixchel’s shoulders. And it was not Kieran’s fault that he had been left alone in this world, robbed first of a childhood, and of friendship, and then of his father… and now, his mother, too.

He needed Ixchel, and he had reason for seeking her out. It wasn’t unkind, at least at its core.

She was all he had left.

Her heart ached at that acknowledgment. She felt entirely unworthy of his hope, but it was fact: Morrigan and Halevune had taken her in, kept her safe, educated her, and brought her on their travels, with Kieran. They had been companions, and friends, for years. She cared deeply for his parents, and for him.

Who else could Kieran say that about?

She wished he had someone better equipped to help him than the meager shadow of the Inquisitor she had become in recent years.

Ixchel sniffled as she reached for the berries again, and with greater care she began to collect them. It was difficult and tedious work to avoid the thorns and apply enough force to pluck the fruit from the branches, all with one hand. It had been mid-afternoon when she’d left, and it was getting quite dark by the time she returned, laden with the spoils of the forest.

“You returned,” he said, and her heart sank, realizing he had thought she’d left him.

…Again.

Ixchel set down the folded cloth full of berries and began to dig roots out from where she’d stuffed them down her clothes.

“I did,” she grunted.

They were quiet as she smacked dirt off of the vegetation. When she went to figure out how to light the fire, Kieran saw her intentions and cast a simple spell, bringing sparks to life in the tinder.

“Thanks,” she said, and sat back with a thump on the ground beside him again, nestled against the tree. “Look, lethallin—”

“I don’t know if she made it, lethallan,” he said quickly, squeezing his fists in his lap. “I don’t know what we’ll find there. I don’t know how we’re going to lure the old gods to the edge of the world. But I know, I just know—”

Ixchel held out her fist in front of him, and he fell silent. Realizing he had misinterpreted the motion, she opened her hand and dropped a berry into his lap.

“I’ll help you,” she promised.

Kieran gave a wet laugh. “Why?”

She shifted uncomfortably and looked down at her thorn-pricked hand. “Because I don’t have a better idea, I’m tired of turning my back on the world, and…” Her throat worked in vain to keep the tears out of her voice. “…And I’m tired of being alone.”

Kieran rolled the berry in the palm of his hand, leaning into her shoulder like he had been struggling to keep himself upright.

“Yeah,” he said down to his hands. “Me too.”

#da drunk writing circle #shadows in the sun #these ones have thorns #everything is inverted in reflection

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