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herearedragons · 2 months ago

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Far From Home (Chapter 1: The Breach Ablaze)

13,893 words, gen, Pillars Of Eternity/Dragon Age: Inquisition crossover, Edér as the Herald of Andraste

cowritten with @curiouslavellan!!

read on AO3

spoiler warning: spoilers for the opening of Pillars Of Eternity: Deadfire.

Cassandra strode through Haven with a purpose she had lacked since the Divine was lost. She had not been idle; there was fighting to be done, endless horrible fighting against the demons constantly spilling from the Breach. But one of Leliana’s runners had come to pull her from the front with urgent news — their prisoner was stirring.

They knew little of the man, the only survivor of the explosion. No other lives could be saved from the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Even remains could not be recovered intact; those bodies that could still be recognized as such crumbled to more ashes as soon as they were touched. The prisoner had been carried from the scene with little more than scratches and bruises, apart from the mark on his hand.

It made his guilt obvious when little else was. They guessed he was Fereldan. He had the look for it, straw-blond and broadly built, though that was no guarantee. Human, male, estimated to be in his thirties, wearing an unfamiliar style of scale armor and with the sort of calluses on his hands that suggested he could use the sword they’d found beside him well enough.

She hurried through the gates. The people of Haven stared, as they had done since the disaster, as though any moment she might bring them some answer as to why the sky had been torn apart and their Most Holy torn from their sides. No one wanted her to have those answers more than she did, for her own sake as much as to placate their hopeless, haunted eyes.

The apostate who had volunteered his help stood outside his own cabin, and gave her a nod as she passed. Perhaps he had helped rouse the prisoner.

It mattered little how he woke, only that he had, and now Cassandra would drag the truth from him.

Leliana met her at the Chantry doors and fell into place beside and just slightly behind her. They exchanged no words — what else was there to say? — and made for the dungeons.

When she threw open the door, the sight that greeted her — four armed guards with their weapons drawn and aimed unerringly at their chained and kneeling charge — seemed inappropriate only in that it was too small a response.

The man on the floor could only be a monster. He had destroyed the final resting place of Andraste herself. He had broken any chance of peace in this war. He had killed her Divine.

He was grimacing at the mark on his hand like it was a particularly uncomfortable rash, and his eyes held no real fear when he looked up to see her and Leliana approach.

It only made Cassandra angrier.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she bit out, circling his position. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

“Well, that sounds awful,” he said, his frown deepening at her words, but still more confused than frightened or angry. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His dialect was unfamiliar. Not Fereldan, but also nothing else she’d heard, and Cassandra had traveled a great deal in her life. Nowhere had she met people who spoke like this, dragging out the vowels and letting consonants drop off the end of half his words. She was almost concerned that the drawl that made his words run together was symptomatic of a head wound. She shot a glance at Leliana, who gave the slightest twitch of her own head to indicate she’d never heard the like.

Which did nothing to make him more believable.

“Explain this,” she demanded, grabbing for his marked hand. The magic there sputtered to life a moment later, and he grunted, clearly in pain. She dropped the limb to avoid the shocks herself.

The prisoner shook his hand out as well as he could in chains, like flexing a muscle would rid him of the ache.

“I can’t,” he admitted a moment later, sounding almost as frustrated as she felt.

Almost.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“I mean I haven’t got a damned clue what this thing is. ”

“You’re lying!”

False sympathies, impertinent irreverence, bald-faced lies —

Leliana pushed Cassandra back by the shoulders when she lunged for him. “We need him, Cassandra.”

It was true, and stung all the worse for it.

Cassandra wouldn’t have killed him. She wasn’t stupid. But there was much a man could survive, and a few good hits would have put him in his place, made him realize his position.

Leliana knew that too, of course. She might have known it better than Cassandra did. A Right Hand could make a fist, but the Left Hand often worked in the dark, hidden places where no one would hear any screaming. Leliana was more than familiar with pain as a tool, and if she held Cassandra back from it, she had her reasons.

Cassandra would demand an explanation later, but for now she would accept that.

The prisoner watched their exchange with narrowed eyes. Thinking, perhaps, that he could outsmart them; Cassandra was looking forward to watching that hope crumble.

“I've got to admit, I'm kinda lost here,” he said slowly, as his gaze drifted from her to Leliana. “I'm sorry about your Conclave, whatever that is, but… can any of you ladies tell me where we are?”

He was toying with them, clearly. No one in their right mind could be this ignorant.

“Do you remember what happened?” Leliana asked, turning to him and taking over the interrogation. An old tactic, supplanting the aggressor with a more understanding voice, but one that often worked. “How this began?”

“Look, last I remember I was in Nekataka, in the Sacred Stair, with my crew. My captain volunteered us to help out some of the animancers with their tests. They flipped some switches, it got pretty bright, and next thing I know I’m being chased around some green Helscape without my friends.”

“Chased?” Leliana prompted.

“By…” He huffed. “I don’t know what. Knew I didn’t want them to catch me, so I ran and then… there was a woman. She reached out to me. Don’t remember anything after that.”

Something about the man's testimony gave her pause.

Putting aside from the nonsense words (animancers? Some new designation mages had taken on, she assumed), his account seemed… honest. He struggled for words in the way one did when turning inward, not casting about for ideas but trying to force a memory through. He spoke of a crew and captain with genuine worry in his tone, closer to fear at the thought of that separation than he had been at swordpoint.

If he was not lying, then, somehow, he was as clueless as he claimed to be.

As for his account of a woman helping him in the Fade…

Cassandra made a decision.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift.”

Her partner gave her a final nod and was swiftly on her way. When Cassandra knelt to unchain him from the floor, the prisoner met her eyes steadily, that grimace still present on his rugged face.

“If you know what’s going on, do you mind telling me?”

“It will be easier to show you,” Cassandra said, because she had no more answers than she had before the interrogation, and quite a few more questions.

𖤓

Edér was still putting the pieces together.

He had told his interrogators the truth: the most recent memory in his mind before waking up in a dungeon was running for his life from a swarm of things with too many eyes and too many legs, too many of then to fight off alone.

Then, somehow, there was a woman. He couldn't really explain where she came from, or who she was. Only that she reached out for him, and then there was light — not Helaine's firelight, not Selene's soft glow or the radiant gold of Xoti's spells; something sharper and brighter that erupted either from the woman or around her — and then he was on solid ground somewhere else. Then, he passed out.

And then he woke up here. Wherever "here" was.

Cassandra led him out of the dungeon, up the stone stairs and into brighter firelight. Upstairs, there was a big, almost empty hall; they walked through it quickly and he didn't have that much time to look around, but Edér's been in enough temples to know one when he saw it.

There were statues of some goddess; the lit braziers at her feet said Magran, and he'd almost relaxed, finally finding some familiarity, but then he saw the candles.

The candles, and the golden suns. Right by the statues and braziers, like some kind of joke.

What kind of people worshipped Magran and Eothas in the same temple?

He had half a mind to ask Cassandra about that, but it didn't seem like she was in a talking mood.

It was just a gut feeling so far, but something told him he wasn't in Neketaka anymore. He hadn't heard a single word that wasn't Aedyran since he woke up; not one ac or ekera murmured in the background. There were no aumaua anywhere, either. Everyone they passed by was folk, meadow folk most of them, although at one point he'd caught the eye of a savannah folk lady in a strange red-and-white garb embroidered with suns.

Suns everywhere…

Was he in Readceras?

That would be just his luck, wouldn't it? That the Vailians' damn teleporter would spit him out in the one place he really shouldn't be.

But Cassandra didn't sound Readceran, and neither did the other one; Leliana, Cassandra had called her. Their Aedyran sounded like it wasn't their first language.

Besides, if this was Readceras, he probably would've been dead already. He was wearing his Saint's War armor, for gods' sake, and he knew damn well that he had "Dyrwoodan farmer" written all over his face. He might as well have been wearing a sign saying "I helped kill your saint" around his neck.

But there was no mention of Eothas or Waidwen when they interrogated him, only this "Conclave".

A set of heavy double doors swung open before them, letting in a biting cold wind and a small flurry of snow, and blinding daylight spilled into the temple as he and Cassandra stepped outside.

Once he'd blinked the tears from his eyes and adjusted to the much brighter lights, he saw wooden cabins and tents; burning fires, and people either rushing to get somewhere or lingering in one spot, staring.

Some of them were staring at the opening temple doors.

Most of them were staring up.

There, high up in the cloudy sky, swirled an enormous whirlpool of green light. It took him a second to identify the dark shapes floating around it, and then he realized those were rocks. Chunks of mountain being ripped out and pulled up into the glow by some kind of force.

A new feeling wriggled into his mind, pushing aside the apprehension and confusion for a second.

Fear. The same kind he'd felt when he saw the adra statue walking away from Caed Nua, even before he saw the blazing stars on its brow.

It was the kind of fear that froze you in place, overwhelming you with the realization that here was something that could kill you so easily that no one would even notice. Something that didn't seem like it could be fought against, but you'd have to anyway.

It was a real shame that his hands were bound; the thing in the sky would've been an easier sight with a lit pipe in his hand. He could feel it in his pocket, along with his whiteleaf pouch; his captors didn't take it away.

As things were, all Edér could do was take a deep breath of cold mountain air, as if it could have the calming effect of whiteleaf smoke if he wished it hard enough.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra said. “It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such rift; just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Rift. Right. She mentioned that, back in the dungeon.

“…That what you wanted to show me?”

“In part.” She looked away from the Breach, and back at him. “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

So it was that kind of bad.

He probably should’ve felt stronger about that statement than he actually did; the feeling that did surface was more exhaustion than fear. Maybe a mind could take only so much fear of the world ending, and he’d used up all of his supply on a god returned from the dead.

Selene would know. But Selene wasn’t there.

Wherever she was — wherever both Watchers were, along with the rest of their crew — he hoped it was safer than here. He hoped that —

The pain in his hand, which he'd almost started getting used to, spiked so strongly and so suddenly that for a second he couldn’t think, hear or see anything around him. It was almost like being burned; he didn’t feel it in the cut on his hand anymore, instead it was crawling up his arm and towards his heart, and somehow it was also in his teeth and in his knees and behind the backs of his eyes.

Edér had never felt pain like that before, and he’d gotten hurt a lot.

Then the pain fell back, retreating into his palm again, and he found himself on his knees, in the snow, staring up at Cassandra and the Breach in the sky just over her shoulder.

There were green flashes in the clouds, almost like lightning. Maybe it was his imagination — he was still pulling himself together after whatever the Hel just happened — but he could feel the mark on his hand pulse in time with those flashes.

He met Cassandra’s eyes; grey, with deep shadows painted around them. She had a few scars on her face, showing that she'd had a fair share of scraps.

Her expression had changed. If she hadn’t tried to beat a confession out of him just a couple minutes ago, Edér might've said she was worried about him.

"Each time the Breach explands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you," she told him. "It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time."

Killing him… That wasn’t too hard to believe, after what he’d just felt. If his hand kept exploding like that, something would give out eventually; his heart, most likely.

She said it so matter-of-factly, too; she wasn’t trying to scare him, just sharing what she knew.

“…Now’s the part where you say there’s a fix for this, right?” he ventured.

Cassandra shook her head somberly, then stood up and helped him to his feet.

“I am not the one who studied your mark,” she said. “The man who did told us that it may help us seal the Breach. Perhaps doing so will save you, as well.”

Well. Not exactly what he hoped for, but it was something.

“It better,” Edér said. “I’ve got people to get back to.”

“Yes. Your crew and captain.” Cassandra gave him a sharp, probing look. “You are a sailor, then?”

“I’ve been sailing, but no. I’m a farmer.”

“And yet you arm and carry yourself like a soldier.”

“Well, I’m that, too. Was that. These days I’m fighting for my family, not for a country. Name’s Edér, by the way.”

Cassandra blinked, as if the fact that he had a name was a truth that needed to be reckoned with.

“I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast,” she said finally. “If you are as innocent as you claim to be, you should do as I say. But know that I will be watching you — closely.”

“Don’t worry,” Edér said, and added with a wink, “I’m used to being Watched.”

He knew the joke would be lost on her, but he made himself laugh, at least.

𖤓

Cassandra walked him through a place that looked like a small mountain village, overrun with way more people than it was built to house. Many of them wore armor and carried weapons; many wore the same red-and-white vestments he saw in the temple, and assumed to be some kind of priest garb.

The last time he’s had this many unfriendly eyes on him must’ve been all the way back in Gilded Vale. Traveling with the Watchers had really spoiled him; when he was standing next to them, folks were usually too busy staring at the two shiny women to pay him any mind.

Now, he was the shiny one. Edér couldn’t say he was enjoying it much.

“The people mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry,” Cassandra said as they walked, as if answering a question he didn’t ask. “The Conclave was hers.”

The names and titles were unfamiliar, but he was familiar enough with the overall language. That “Most Holy” Justinia was some kind of high priestess, and, from Cassandra’s earlier words, she had died in the explosion that caused the Breach. From the way Cassandra’s voice trembled when she spoke of her, Justinia meant something to her, personally.

“Did you know her?” he asked.

There was a pause before Cassandra answered:

“I was her Right Hand.”

Edér couldn’t see her face, but he didn’t need to. The way she said it was enough.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s always hard to lose a friend. Harder to lose someone worth following.”

“She was more than either of those things,” Cassandra replied fiercely, her grip tightening on the back of his neck; for a moment he thought she’d hit him after all, but then her grip relaxed again, and he heard her exhale.

“We lash out, like the sky,” she said, as if to herself. “But we must think beyond ourselves. As she did. Until the Breach is sealed.”

They’d left the village behind, by then; they had gone past the houses and the tents pitched outside, past more soldiers and priests. They were on a stone bridge now, facing a gate Edér supposed would lead them even closer to the Breach.

There were bodies laid out on the ground on one side of the bridge, hastily wrapped in fabric. Priests, and some soldiers, were standing over them, giving some kind of last rites; the wind whipped their hair and clothes around, carrying their words away along with the smoke of their torches.

As they passed by, Edér managed to make out a bit of the prayer: my Creator, judge me whole. No telling which god that would be.

That whole scene sent a chill creeping down his spine. Seeing the dead stacked like that brought back memories — not the kind he enjoyed lingering on.

Cassandra stopped him, then released her grip and circled around to face him, unsheathing a small knife. She didn’t hold it like she was going to use it on him, but then, Edér didn’t really know this woman, so he kept an eye on it anyway.

“There will be a trial,“ she said. “I can promise no more.“

Then, she stepped closer and cut the rope around his wrists. While he was working the stiffness out of his joints — treating his marked hand with care, in case an awkward movement could cause it to flare up again — she turned around and called out to the people further down the bridge:

“Open the gate! We are heading into the valley.“

She began to walk forward, and Edér followed. Now, this was starting to feel familiar.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what’s out there?“ he asked.

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach,“ Cassandra said. “I am taking you to such a rift. They will be waiting for us there.”

So she wasn’t going to just shove him towards the Breach and hope for the best. That was a relief, at least.

“Who’s waiting?“

“You’ll see soon enough.“

Beyond the gates, there was more of the landscape he was already starting to get used to. More hastily built fortifications, more folks running in the opposite direction to where they were going. Fires burning, the distant rumble of explosions somewhere far off. Bodies lying on the side of the road, abandoned in a retreat.

From where they were standing, it was impossible to tell what all those people were retreating from, or who was making the explosions happen; if this was a battle, the enemy forces were far out of sight.

It wasn’t the Saint’s War; it wasn’t even Yenwood. But the crawling feeling in his spine didn’t know that, or it didn’t care; his heart was beating faster, his eyes scanning for danger while also making sure he wasn’t losing track of Cassandra. The mark burned hotter in his palm, like it could feel his unrest, until about halfway down the path it flashed again, dropping him to his knees mid-stride.

Once it passed, Cassandra helped him back to his feet, wasting no words this time.

“The pulses are coming faster now,” was all she said, and then they were moving again.

Even that felt like something that had happened to him before: being knocked down as an enemy spell made the ground shake and jot out in sharp spikes; being pulled back to his feet and pushed forward before he could get skewered; then running as more spells scorched the earth where he had just stood.

His armor was a comforting weight, but his hands felt horribly empty.

“Hey, Cassandra — uh, Seeker — there some kind of battle happening here?“

“A constant one,“ she replied grimly. “The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.“

She’d mentioned “demons“ once before; said that the Breach was a gate to their world. Was that what they called the Beyond and its dwellers around here? That was the only thing he could think of, but something in the way she spoke about it was really strange.

“Demons, huh? What’d they look like?”

“They take many shapes. Rage, Hunger, Despair — we have battled all of those, and more.“

She was saying those words like they were names; names he was supposed to recognize.

“I… don’t think we have those where I’m from.“

“Blissful ignorance.“ Cassandra sounded almost amused, for a moment. “The templars in your home must be diligent. Where are you from, Edér the farmer?“

“Dyrwood. Dyrford, most recently.“

“Dyrwood… I’ve never heard of it. Is that in Ferelden?”

He’d never heard of Ferelden, either. And maybe it was the Dyrwoodan pride in him speaking, but it was weird that a woman who spoke Aedyran — so she must have known of Aedyr — had never heard of Dyrwood; with all the wars and the god-killing, they’d been kind of a big deal, even if not in the best way. Maybe they called it something different here?

“It’s, uh, it’s in the Eastern Reach. Used to be an Aedyran colony ‘til we got our independence. Broken Stone, Black Trees, Saint. That’s us.“

He never got to hear Cassandra’s response, because at that point the path they were walking on had turned into another stone bridge, and, as if Magran or Eothas or the ghost of Waidwen himself had decided to have the last laugh, suddenly the stone under their feet erupted with light.

Edér had a split second to understand what was happening, and it that split second all he could do was think: naw, there’s no way.

Would’ve been a dumb last thought, if that explosion did kill him.

As it was, whatever blew a hole in the bridge did it just far enough out that he and Cassandra got caught on the outskirts of the blast, rather than in the middle of it. The force of it threw them back, but the bridge crumbled underneath them, sending them tumbling down in a small landslide of rubble.

It wasn’t a long fall, but Edér hit enough rocks on the way down to know he’d feel it in his ribs later, and it was a wonder that neither of them cracked their head open. The ice they landed on took the blow without as much as cracking; for once, the aurochs’ breath had done them a favor.

Once the world stopped spinning, he found himself prone on rock-solid ice, staring up at a point of green light coming closer, closer, closer —

He knew a fireball when he saw one. That must have been what took out the bridge, too; when you didn’t see the spell coming beforehand, it could feel like the explosion just came out of nowhere.

Edér rolled over and pushed himself to his feet; he could take inventory of his injuries later, but the last thing you wanted to be doing with a fireball incoming was lounge on the ground.

By the time he was upright, so was Cassandra, and, to his relief, he could already see that the spell was going to miss them. It crashed down some distance away — green flames, not orange; Edér was no wizard, and couldn’t tell if that mattered — flashed, and sputtered out of existence.

And, where it fell, a creature had appeared.

It was a bulky, sinewy thing, half flesh and half shadow; sounded weird, but that was the best way he could describe it. It had a black withered torso like a kith’s and was draped in rags that hid the rest of it from view, including whatever it had for a face. From the way it shrieked, it probably wasn’t very kithlike under all those coverings.

Cassandra stepped forward, her sword unsheathed, her shield at the ready.

“That is a demon,“ she said to him. “Stay behind me!“

And, before Edér could say or do anything, she charged forward to meet the thing headfirst.

He was really missing his weapons now. If there was a fight happening, he couldn’t stay idle and wait for it to resolve itself; he had to do something, help somehow.

Keeping half an eye on the fight — the demon was trying to grab Cassandra, who had her shield wedged between it and herself, not letting it find purchase but also making it harder for her to do anything other than hack away at its limbs — Edér looked around, seeing if there was anything that would do him for a weapon; Hel, he’d even take a rock or a stick.

Then he saw something better — or, well, worse, but better for him. The upper half of a body sticking out from under the rubble. The same kind of helmet and armor the soldiers they’d seen on their way here wore.

The rubble wasn’t what killed her, he didn’t think. Her face was all blue, and not the godlike kind; more like the faces of kith who’d died to one of Aloth’s or Hiravias’ ice spells. A different fight happened there a while ago; she fell, and the body stayed there. Maybe they meant to come back for her, give her the rites like those other soldiers; it would be harder to dig her out now.

Her weapons were still there: a sword glinting under the rocks, and, a little further away, a shield. It was way easier to get them out than it would be the body.

“Thanks for that,“ he told the dead soldier, and turned back towards the fight — only to find himself face to face with the demon.

Or, well, a demon. That was a different one; Cassandra’s had one arm chopped off at the elbow, and this one had two arms. Unless it could regrow them. Edér supposed he was about to find out.

The sword was a lot like the one Cassandra was using, if simpler in make: straight blade, cross guard. That was more Helaine’s and Pallegina’s preference, but he’d practiced with something like it before and knew how it was different from a sabre. The shield was a round wooden one, almost exactly like the one he’d used before the sisters found that weird adra one in the ruins where they picked up Aloth, and decided that he should have it.

Point was, he had a good chance of not dying now, and that made him feel a lot better.

The demon made to grab for him, but he’d seen that move done on Cassandra and was ready to get out of the way. He was able to circle the thing quickly; it didn’t seem like it was very fast, or bright. From there, a strong blow to the back was enough to knock it down on its face, and then he stabbed at whatever parts looked like it really needed them to live until the shrieking stopped.

The moment the demon stopped moving, it melted away into glowing green fog and thick black sludge Edér figured he probably shouldn’t be touching.

That… didn’t look like it came from the Beyond. If anything, it was closer to the kind of thing you could find down in the Endless Paths, before Eothas turned them into an ash pit.

Another screech nearby; his head snapped towards it, and he saw Cassandra finish off the first demon. His was a different one, then.

There was a familiar subtle glow coming off her and the weapon she was holding; a similar kind of light would play on Pallegina’s armor when she charged into the fray, and Helaine, though with the latter it was more like her hair got a little brighter for a while.

It wasn’t surprising that she was a paladin. He kind of figured; she had that same presence. Could’ve been just her character, but character woudn’t have you casting auras.

“Got ‘em good,“ Edér called out towards her, half raising his shield arm in a friendly salute.

Cassandra did not return it. Instead, she turned her blade towards him, her eyes hard.

“Drop your weapon. Now.“

Right. She might have started to like him, but he was still a prisoner to her, and still a potential threat.

He didn’t have a sheath for the sword — the soldier probably had it; he’d have to look — but he did what he could to look friendly without outright dropping it, putting both arms down and to his sides, leaving himself exposed.

“Hey, hold on a second. Let’s talk about it.“

“There is nothing to talk about,“ Cassandra snapped.

“You sure about that? The sky’s raining monsters. You’re gonna run yourself ragged protecting both you and me, and that’s if one of them doesn’t snap my neck when you’re not looking.“

Edér saw the slightest grimace come across her face, and took that as encouragement.

“Listen, I don’t wanna fight you,“ he said. “I just want to get home, and for my hand to stop exploding. Doesn't have to happen in that order exactly.“

Cassandra held his gaze for a moment longer, then sighed and sheathed her sword.

“You are right,“ she said. “I cannot protect you. And I should remember you agreed to come willingly.“

She reached for a pouch on her belt, hanging opposite her sword sheath, and pulled out something small, glassy and red; potion bottles, Edér realized. Four of them, small enough to be all held together in her hand.

“Take these potions,“ she said, stepping closer and holding the bottles out to him. “Maker knows what we will face.“

“Thanks.”

Three of them he shoved into his pocket immediately, right alongside his whiteleaf; the fourth he held in his hand for a second, examining it. The liquid within had a subtle glow, and bits of something darker floating in it.

“What does it do?“ he asked.

“It will heal your wounds. Drink one if you are injured.“

“Just… regular healing?“

Cassandra raised an eyebrow:

“What did you think I would give you?“

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, where I’m from they make ‘em blue or purple.”

“This Dyrwood of yours,“ she said with a tinge of irritation. “Is the sky there green instead of blue, too?“

Edér gestured vaguely towards the Breach:

“I sure hope it isn’t.“

That seemed to pacify her; Cassandra nodded shortly, her expression settling back into that steely look he was learning, by now, to recognize as benevolent.

“Let us hope it never comes to that,“ she said. “Come. It is not far, now.“

From there, the path took them through rocks and snow and stretches of frozen river with ice so thick that the combined weight of two armored soldiers was nothing to it.

More demons showed up, some of them shades — that’s what Cassandra called the dark sinewy kind that first attacked them near the bridge — and some wisps; the latter Edér thought looked more like phantoms, what with being vaguely kith-shaped, but either way those were closer to the kind of thing he was used to fighting. Working in tandem with Cassandra, they had no problem dispatching them, with Cassandra baiting the spirit’s attack, leaving it open for Edér to slash open and scatter its essence on the wind.

He knew that they were getting close to their destination even before Cassandra told him; there was a sharp tug in his marked hand that felt like it was pulling him in a direction, and when he tried to see where it was coming from, his gaze drifted over to a hill with — yup, something green shining on top of it.

And there was fighting.

Once the two of them had scaled the steep incline, knee-deep in snow, the view fully opened before them: the edges of some kind of ruined building framed a skirmish between soldiers in the same kind of armor Edér expected to see by now — not knowing any better way to identify them, he’d dubbed them “Conclave soldiers” in his mind — and demons, all centered around a glowing green thing hanging a few feet in the air.

He didn’t need Cassandra to tell him that was the rift, or that they needed to help the others; before she could say anything, he was already in there, getting a shade’s attention with a slash across its back and backhanding it with his shield as it turned towards him. It was already wounded before Edér got there, and it didn’t take a lot to finish it off.

He turned, searching for a new target, and found one in a wisp aiming an attack at — huh, it wasn’t just soldiers fighting there.

A lanky-looking bald elf was holding his own against a shade with ice spells and a quarterstaff he was slinging around with impressive ease for a guy of his stature. Weirdly, he wasn’t using it to hit his enemies, but — using it like a wand, rod, or scepter, almost.

The caster briefly made eye contact with him as the wisp dissipated into a cloud, nodded his thanks, and froze the demon harassing him solid. Another shade came towards him, but Edér was already there, drawing its attention away, and then the thing collapsed right in front of him with a long, thick crossbow bolt sticking out of its skull. Its form fell apart and burned away into green sparks that got pulled right past Edér and into — black bones, he was standing right next to the rift and didn’t even realize it. His hand was burning like crazy, but he’d tuned the pain out for the duration of the fight.

Suddenly the elven caster was next to him, grabbing his marked hand and pulling it up towards the rift:

“Quickly, before more come through! — “

There was a flash of light, a jolt of pain from the palm of his hand that went all the way into his jaw, everything was green for a second, and then everyone went quiet and the elf let go of his hand.

The rift was gone.

Well, that was… easy? Not really, his shoulders were really starting to hurt from hacking shades apart — those things were dense — but, hey, nothing blew up. As far as he could tell.

And his hand hurt a little less than it did before.

“Nice work with the… uh, whatever you just did.” He really meant to say something friendly and thankful, but the ringing wasn’t quite gone from his ears yet and that was the best he could manage. “…Think I’m hearing some of those noises that only dogs hear. Hope that’s not permanent.”

“I should hope so,” the caster replied with half a smirk. “That being said, I did nothing; the credit is yours.”

Edér looked down at the mark; still glowing, but somehow less… angry than it was before. Or it was exactly the same, and he'd taken one too many blows to the head.

“Guess this thing can do some good after all,” he said. “You’re the researcher, right? The one that said we can use the mark.”

The elf nodded.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake — and it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra said quietly.

“Possibly,” the elf agreed, and, turning to Edér, remarked:

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

That was… good news, he was pretty sure. The “salvation” part rang a little hollow, maybe, but Edér was as much in favor of the sky having no holes in it as the next guy.

“Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

A dwarf in an open coat showcasing his bare chest — how the guy wasn’t freezing, Edér had no idea, but then again, he’d traveled with Zahua and Maneha — lowered an enormous crossbow that looked like it weighed maybe a quarter of what he himself did, pulled a couple of handles, and slung it over his shoulder.

“Varric Tethras,” the dwarf introduced himself, sauntering forward until they were standing face to face. “Rogue, storyteller — and, occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.” Here he glanced over at Cassandra and quickly winked, eliciting an annoyed noise from her; Edér got the sense there was some kind of grudge or inside joke he wasn’t privy to between the two.

Varric’s Aedyran was different. It sounded… Dyrwoodan. Not rural like Edér himself, but like someone had snatched the dwarf right off the street in Copperlane. Had he actually run into his countryman in — wherever they were?

“Edér Teylecg,” Edér said, matching Varric’s energy. “Farmer. Soldier. Sailor, kinda. I’m just trying to get back to my crew.”

The dwarf responded with a sympathetic grunt.

“Far from home, huh? Guess that makes two of us. Where are you from?”

“Gilded Vale. Ever heard of it?”

“Can’t say I have.” Varric narrowed his eyes, studying him for a moment. “Are you a Marcher, Farmer? I don’t think I’ve met anyone who sounds like you before.”

Well, that answered his question. Varric wasn’t Dyrwoodan, and whatever “Marcher” meant to him, he clearly wasn’t implying that Edér was from Stalwart.

“I’m from Dyrwood,” Edér said. “Thought you were too, for a second.”

“Nah, I’m from Kirkwall. And I’d still be there, if it wasn’t for our brave Seeker.” His gaze flicked over to Cassandra again. “Technically I’m a prisoner, just like you.“

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine,“ Cassandra said flatly. “Clearly, that is no longer necessary.“

“Yet, here I am,“ Varric shrugged. “Lucky for you, considering current events.“

There was definitely something happening between the two; Edér couldn’t for the life of him tell whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but, well, if Varric really was a prisoner like him… It seemed like he was doing alright. Hopefully that meant good things for Edér’s future, too.

“Well, if we’re fighting demons, I’m happy to have a guy with a huge crossbow on my side,“ Edér said. Judging by the smirk that crept onto Varric’s face, it must have been the right thing to say.

“Bianca’s one of a kind,“ the dwarf said. “And she’ll be great company in the valley.“

At that, Cassandra interrupted:

“Absolutely not. Your help is appreciated, Varric, but — “

Varric didn��t as much as flinch as she stepped towards him.

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.“

For a moment, it seemed as if Cassandra was going to blow up at him — but in the end, she just shook her head and, muttering an annoyed “ugh“ under her breath, turned away.

So she was more bark than bite. Right now, at least; Edér still remembered the way she was in the dungeons. There, her and that Leliana woman were in control, but out here… Well, like Varric said, it was a free-for-all. Cassandra might have had some kind of authority the others didn’t, but it wasn’t doing much good against the demons falling from the sky, and she seemed to realize that.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,“ the elven caster spoke up suddenly, startling him just a little; Edér had forgotten that the guy was still there. “I am pleased to see you still live.“

“He means, ��I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,’“ Varric piped up.

Huh. So he’d done more than just study it.

“Thanks,“ Edér said. “Now would be a real bad time to go back on the Wheel.“

Solas inclined his head slightly, as if to say that his gratitude was noted and accepted. Before he could say anything, however, Cassandra spoke again:

“Solas is an apostate, well-versed in such matters.”

The word didn’t mean anything to Edér, but it clearly meant something to her — and to Solas, judging from the look on his face.

“Technically all mages are now apostates, Cassandra,“ the elf said; he kept his voice calm, but it felt like he'd taken the remark as an insult. “My travels have allowed me to see much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage.“

Alright, now he was completely lost. Edér did his best to take inventory of the unfamiliar terms: Circle, Fade, apostate, mage… Mage as in archmage?

“I’ll be honest, I don’t understand this magic talk all that well,“ he said. “If you’re our wizard, I’m just gonna leave it to you. Seems you know what you’re doing — just tell me to duck when you go throwing fireballs.“

Solas met his words with a raised eyebrow and a… weird look, like Edér had said something funny without understanding it himself.

“I suppose my wisdom might be called into question, walking into a templar encampment as I did. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.“

Templars. That was another one; Cassandra had mentioned them earlier, something to do with demons. Edér considered finding out what those templars were about, why Solas was talking about them like they were dangerous — but on a second thought, questions like this would probably go better over drinks, once they’d dealt with the big hole in the sky.

So for now, he just shrugged and said:

“Sounds like someone should take care of that.”

That got a laugh from Varric; Solas simply nodded, unfazed, and replied:

“Hopefully, with your help this will be possible.“

Then he turned to Cassandra, continuing:

“Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner is no mage; indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

“Understood.” She nodded shortly. “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

And then she just turned and started walking. Solas followed in her footsteps without as much as glancing back; as Edér took off after them, Varric fell into step by his side, giving him a sympathetic look when their eyes met.

“Well,” the dwarf said, as if sharing a joke, “Bianca’s excited.”

𖤓

Demons were much less of a problem now that there were four of them, with more than just two swords and two shields to their name.

Solas, for all his strange casting habits, had a mean ice spell that hit with a precision Aloth never quite seemed to manage — and, hey, Edér had learned to deal with having to blink frost out of his eyes every now and then, but it was nice to not have to do that. Varric and Bianca were great, too; the bolts hit like an ogre’s club, sending shades staggering and vaporizing wisps out of existence.

With these two in tow, Edér’s and Cassandra’s role shifted from chasing after demons to playing sentry, holding a line in front of their less-armored ranged fighters to keep the demons from getting through to them. It was the same setup they had with the sisters and Aloth: Edér and Helaine up front, the wizard and cipher taking shots from the back.

Now with more people to manage, Cassandra was barking orders left and right; warning of incoming attacks, pointing out enemy weaknesses. Solas did his part too, often seeing the demon before Cassandra did; Varric, meanwhile, seemed to have made it his job to keep the mood light — from poking fun at the Seeker to bantering with Edér as they were catching their breath between skirmishes.

“So, are all Dyrwood farmers good fighters?” the dwarf asked him at some point, pulling a bolt out of a crack it had made in the ice.

“Those of ‘em who are still alive, yeah. Real passionate for arguing and setting fire to things, too. Are all Kirkwall storytellers this nosy?”

He’d meant it in good fun, and it seemed like Varric picked up on that; when he replied, it was with a chuckle:

“Well, there’s just one who’s really good at it.”

“Damn. Think you can introduce us?”

“Ha! I like you, Farmer.”

“You should be careful about befriending that dwarf,” Cassandra said, stepping closer to them. “He has a tendency to turn the exploits of his friends into novels.”

“Hey, that was just one time. And it was a bestseller! Either way, I’d need to know whether I’m writing about the killer of the Divine or an innocent victim.” Varric shot him a look. “So… Are you innocent?”

“Think so. I mean, I don’t really remember, but — I wouldn’t kill a priest. Trust me, I knew one that really made you think about it, and he walked away just fine.”

“Tevinters,” Varric grumbled; another word that meant nothing to him, but Edér didn’t manage to ask him about it; just then Cassandra called out to them, reminding that they should keep moving.

They fought their way to the forward camp. Leliana, the hooded ginger woman from before, was there too, and so were more soldiers and red-and-white-clad clergy; one man in particular was very unhappy to see them, and even more unhappy to find Edér walking around unbound and armed. He made some demands that Cassandra immediately shut down, and, since it seemed like she outranked him by a wide margin, the man — resentfully — complied.

The talk then turned to getting Edér to the Breach. Further ahead, the battle was still going; men and women holding back demons, dying in a fight that wouldn’t be over until that first rift was sealed. They could join the charge, try to get through with the safety of numbers — or take a side path, where a scouting party went missing, which couldn’t meant anything good.

Given the choice between a battlefield and something more like what he was used to with the Watchers, Edér was always going to choose the second option.

He’d had enough of battlefields in this lifetime. He’d go there again if the sisters needed him, but not one moment sooner. Besides, they had a strong party, and maybe those scouts were still alive; the soldiers in the valley would be dying whether Edér was there or not, but for those folks on the mountain path, maybe they could still make a difference.

It wasn’t until they were standing at the foot of a rickety ladder leading up to the beginning of the mountain path that it occurred to him how weird it was that Cassandra left the choice up to him in the first place, and that everyone seemed to just accept his decision.

Maybe it was the exploding hand. Then again, he had a feeling that if he waved a glowing hand at the folks back in Dyrford, getting them to agree on grain prices wouldn’t have been any easier.

The mountain path wasn’t as bad as the others made it out to be, at least in Edér’s eyes. More demons, tighter quarters to fight in, but that was about it; the place couldn’t hold a candle to the Endless Paths, or to the hallways of Durgan’s Battery.

They made it through. Closed one more rift, found the few scouts that were still standing and sent them back to camp; Edér was glad that some of them had made it, at least. Made taking the mountain path seem like the right call.

And then, there was the temple where the explosion had gone off.

When Edér saw the bodies from afar, he remembered the Engwithan machines and Caed Nua; the ashen husks left behind when a soul is pulled out of its body. Then, they got closer, and he realized that he was wrong.

Those people were not de-souled. They were burned alive by a heat so intense that it left them as nothing but bones and charred muscle, fused with the rock under their feet. Some of the corpses were, inexplicably, still smoldering.

After all he’d been through with the Watchers, Edér was now discovering yet another way to feel sick.

Part of him wondered if that is what the aftermath of the Godhammer looked like.

Durance would have had something to say about all this, he was sure. Something about being too weak to withstand the flames.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you,“ Cassandra said quietly. “They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.“

“Wish I could tell you,“ Edér muttered. No matter how hard he tried to reach deeper into his own memory, that figure never became any clearer; just a shape made of light.

Couldn’t have been anything to do with Eothas, could it? As far as he knew, Eothas was a man, or at least liked to be seen as one. There were the three Dawnstars, but he figured if they were around, the sisters would’ve mentioned seeing them in their visions.

They made their way through the rubble, trying their best not to step on any bones along the way. The wind blew smoke and ashes across the ruined temple; Edér covered his nose and mouth, and tried not to think too much about just what was getting blown into his eyes.

And then it was just… there. The Breach, huge and green and horrifying, up in the sky, with strands of light trailing down and weaving together into a knot in the middle of what once might have been a hall or a courtyard.

His hand was hurting again.

“The Breach is a long way up,“ Varric murmured to his right.

Edér kept staring up, vaguely aware that behind them, Cassandra and Leliana were discussing securing the perimeter, sending soldiers to take up positions around the temple. He wasn’t really sure what kept his eyes glued to that thing even though the sharp glow was kind of painful to look at; something about the Breach itself was like a question he couldn’t find an answer for.

Then, suddenly, Cassandra was in front of him, saying:

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

The sight of her snapped him out; Edér shook his head and ran a hand over his face, feeling the ash caught in his beard. Once they were done here, he was going to find a bucket of warm water to dunk his head into. He probably had people ash in his ears.

Alright, it was probably best to stop thinking about that and start thinking about how he was going to close this thing.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Anyone bring a ladder?“

“No,“ Solas chimed in, gesturing towards the glowing knot in the middle of the ruin. “This rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.“

“See, when the wizard’s saying perhaps, that’s how you know it’s really going to work.“

“I suppose you have a better idea, then?“ the elf retaliated.

“Wish I did,” Edér said. “I’m just hoping my hand’s not going to fall off, or explode and take me with it.“

“It is our best chance,“ Cassandra said sternly. “Let’s find a way down. And be careful.“

They were currently on what seemed like an upper level of… whatever this space was before the Breach leveled it. There were probably stairs, and, with any luck, they would be intact enough for the four of them to climb down.

As they turned right, beginning to follow a path that didn’t seem too badly damaged, a voice rang through the air, deep and seemingly sourceless.

“Now is the hour of our victory.“

Dragon, was Edér’s first thought. That’s how their voices sounded, resonant, coming out of a body many times larger than a kith’s. This one sounded like it was coming from everywhere, but that could be the echo tricking him, or they had a cipher dragon on their hands again.

“Bring forth the sacrifice.“

“What are we hearing?“ Cassandra whispered, and now Edér could be sure that he wasn’t the only one hearing the voice.

Which was good. None of his friends who were hearing voices on the regular spoke about it like it was fun; he wasn’t at all eager to try it out for himself.

“At a guess: the person who created the Breach,“ Solas replied.

“Definitely not me then,“ Edér said. “Been told I’ve got a nice voice before, but I know it’s not that impressive.“

Just then, they passed by a large red crystal; he’d seen some of them lining the walls of the temple, jutting out of the ground like adra, except it definitely wasn’t. Adra wasn’t red, and it didn’t make noise.

These ones did: a constant high-pitched hum, only audible once you got close.

“You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker,“ Varric murmured; from the tone of his voice, that wasn’t a good thing.

“I see it, Varric,“ Cassandra said flatly.

“But what’s it doing here?“

“Magic could have drawn on the lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it,“ Solas suggested.

“Guessing I shouldn’t be touching that,“ Edér said.

“Don’t,“ Varric replied sharply. “It’s evil.“

“Don’t touch the evil singing rocks. Got it.“

He was going to say something else, maybe ask the others what that lyrium thing was and what was it supposed to be like when not red and evil, but in the next moment it all went out of his head, because the voices started again.

The same one as before.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

A different one; a woman’s.

“Someone, help me! — “

At that, Cassandra gasped.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!“

They’d made it most of the way down, at this point; all that was separating them from the temple floor was a small drop. Cassandra hurried forward without even stopping to check that the rest of them were following, but she didn’t really need to worry; Edér was right behind her.

The moment his feet hit the ground, the mark on his hand flared up again, and he could see the knot of light that was the rift brighten in turn, as if responding to the mark — or was the mark responding to it? He didn’t know.

Again, the Divine’s voice sounded:

“Someone, help me!“

And then there was a noise, the same kind of crackling that came from the rifts and the humming that came from animancy machines and the sound of tearing, loud enough to shake the ground beneath their feet.

And then Edér heard his own voice. Just a grunt, at first, and the jangle of armor; sounded like he’d hit the ground pretty hard.

Then he heard himself call out.

“Selene? Selene! — “

There was fear in his voice; so much that it was kind of hard to recognize himself for a second.

“Helaine?… The Hel is this? Who are you people? And wha - hey, lady, are you alright up there?”

Now it sounded like he was pulling himself together, but there was still a frantic sound to it.

He couldn’t really blame himself, but it was kinda embarrassing to have this moment played out in front of an audience.

There was also the fact that he didn’t remember any of that happening, at all.

Meanwhile, Cassandra stepped closer to him, saying:

“That was your voice! Most Holy called out to you. But…“

Whatever she was going to say next was cut short by another flash of light from the rift, and this time it spread, forming images in the air above them.

Once it stopped being too bright to look at directly, Edér could make out the figure of a woman, dressed in red-and-white priest robes with significantly more gold on them than he’d seen elsewhere, being held up in the air by some kind of spell. A tall, shadowy figure with red burning eyes towered before her, the spell holding her far off the ground putting her at eye level with the creature.

“Run while you can! Warn them!“ she called out, addressing — oh.

There he was, in his Saint’s War armor, weapons still on him, picking himself up from the ground in a long-practiced motion; Edér can feel it in his arms and his spine and his knees just by looking at it.

And he was turning to the shadow now, squaring his shoulders the way he’d do whenever someone was trying to get rowdy with him, saying:

“Hey, get her down from there. This ain’t the way to treat an old lady.”

Even with the weirdness of the vision, Edér felt a spark of embarrassment flare within; had he known she was a woman of the cloth, he’d have been more respectful, addressed her correctly.

“We have an intruder,“ the tall creature rumbled in response to his words. That was the one that sounded like a dragon, though it clearly didn’t have wings or a tail, so it must have been something else. “Kill him. Now! —“

And then it just ended; another flash of light, and the rift was back to the way they found it. The mark on his hand, though, was buzzing restlessly, and the inside of his skull felt much the same.

“You were there!“ Cassandra cried out. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she?… Was that vision true? What are we seeing?“

With each question, she stepped closer to him, her hand hovering closer to the hilt of her sword. Edér took a step back, feeling that if he didn’t, she would have rammed him.

“Cassandra, I don’t remember!“

The response came out harsher than he wanted it too, tinged with the same panic he was feeling in the vision. Part of him was still caught up in it, trying to dig deeper down, to remember why he was calling out for Selene. Had something happened to her? Was she hurt?

Cassandra must have been feeling something similar, if Justinia was family to her. Wasn’t any reason for them to fight over it.

“Listen, I told you the truth,” Edér said, trying to get a hold of himself best as he could. “I don’t remember seeing, or saying, any of that. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, but I can’t know for sure. I’m sorry.“

“Echoes of what happened here,“ Solas said, approaching in the silence that followed. “The Fade bleeds into this place.“

“So it did happen?“ Edér asked.

“Likely so. Perhaps there are fragments that are missing, but the memory is recent, and strong.“

Well, that was just great.

It really was, in a way, because it proved that he wasn’t trying to kill that woman, and the teleporter didn’t do it either, but then… what did? The tall creature? Seemed likely.

Black bones, he hoped Selene and the others were alright.

Meanwhile, the wizard continued:

“This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.“

“Let me guess: more demons,“ Edér said.

“Yes,“ Cassandra said; when he turned to look at her, her face was set in a mask of grim determination.

She turned to face the archers positioned all over the upper level of the temple, where they first came in.

“Stand ready!“ Cassandra called out, and all of them nocked their arrows, pointing them towards the rift — which was also where Edér happened to be standing.

Ho thought to himself briefly how easy it would be for them to take him down; not even the enchantment on his armor would save him from this many arrows. Not that they had any reason to turn against him, but it was a good thing to remember.

He looked at Cassandra again. She nodded. He nodded back, stepped closer to the rift, and held his hand up.

Closing rifts, he’d learned by now, was painful. Now he learned that opening one wasn’t; the action almost carried a feeling of relief with it, the restless magic in his hand finding a way out.

There was a flash of light, and something shot out of the rift, coalescing into a creature as tall as three of him stacked on top of each other, armored and many-eyes and roaring, with a weird electric whip thing in one of its claw hands.

He couldn’t hold back a sigh. Whatever was responsible for deciding which demons to throw their way clearly didn’t intend for him to have it easy.

But if that thing was standing between him and getting back home, it had to go.

The four of them, backed by Leliana’s soldiers, got to work wearing the demon down, looking for an opening to do some damage. There was a quiet, grim determination to the fight now; gone were Varric’s quips, Solas’ warning calls more urgent than before.

Shades spilled out of the open rift, joining the fray. When Edér cut down one, another took its place, and it wasn’t until an unfamiliar soldier shoved a shade out of his way, taking over his position in the fight, and yelled at him to not waste his time, that he realized that was the right call.

Cursing himself for being that thick-skulled, he rushed to the rift, and raised his hand up again. Nobody said he had to wait until the demons were gone, right?

The moment his mark connected with the rift, he felt it: every single demon’s position on the battlefield like a burning pinprick, somehow distant and held in the palm of his hand at the same time. He wasn’t really thinking about what was happening, acting out of instinct, driven by the same force that made him plant his feet in the ground and hold the line against whatever was trying to kill him as his allies picked them off one by one.

He clutched the tether to the rift in his burning, aching hand, and pulled.

The battlefield erupted in howls; he coudn’t see what was happening behind his back or even to the side, paralyzed by a feeling like his skeleton was about to vibrate apart, but he knew he was hurting them.

So he pulled again, and again, and again, and then there was the sound of heavy thumps rushing towards him and he knew the big guy was coming, and it took all of his willpower to drop the tether and dive behind a pile of rubble just as the armored demon collided with the place where he was just standing, arrows sticking out of the gaps in its plates.

Edér pulled himself up just in time to see Cassandra rush forward, run over the demon’s spine while it was still sprawled on the ground, and drive her sword into the back of its neck again and again and again until an eruption of lightning threw her back, and the demon went still.

The soldiers were finishing off the last of the shades. All that he had to do was step forward and hold his hand up again.

He knew this was going to hurt a lot, but he was ready this time.

He squeezed his eyes shut, thought about Selene, and let it happen as the world went white behind his eyelids.

𖤓

There was nothing innately magical about the Herald, but he was easy to find in the Fade.

He stood out from the low haze of other dreamers in Haven. Most, Solas could read at a glance. He dipped in and out of those small corners of the Fade with ease, finding only the dull and mundane minds of the little village’s tired survivors. Edér’s was brighter, and took up more space; as much a beacon here as the Anchor made him in the physical world. Its boundaries were stronger, too. There would be little to learn from a distance.

When Solas slid into the edges of the man’s dream, the sensation hit him first. The way the air seemed to cling to him, warm and heavy with salt; the sounds of sea birds and overlapping voices; the colors of the sky nearing sunset, deep blue bleeding into gold and orange and pink; the thrum of some great power source itching under his skin.

That was what drew him deeper in. It was not the Anchor, nor any other magic he was familiar with, but it pulled in a way that was difficult to resist. As Solas had come with the intention to learn more, he did not bother trying.

He found himself observing Edér atop a stone tower. The cobbles felt solid underfoot, the texture of them scraping his bare feet. It was tangible in a way he hadn’t expected. He realized then that those sensations he had taken for granted were just as real. Too real for a mortal mind to shape; this had to be a spirit’s work.

The view from every side of the tower revealed the wider setting to be a large island settlement. He was most interested to see the mechanism built at the center of the roof, a series of iron instruments and copper wires constructed around a great, green crystal. It glowed with an inner light, electricity running through it at intervals with a crackling hum.

Some new form of lyrium? Not the natural blue or tainted red, but a third option…

Solas couldn’t commit to the idea. There was magic in it, that much was clear, but it didn’t sing to him the way lyrium always did, even in dreams. It was also unlikely to find such a large vein of lyrium exposed to the sky like that, as it naturally flourished underground.

People bustled around it, checking the machines, and Solas shifted his attention to examine them. Humans, mostly. None of them seemed more distinct than the others, and none tried to interact with the dreamer.

Just more memory then, not spirits embodying roles.

He found Edér again, this time with a dark-haired elven man at his side. They stood close besides each other, and as Solas watched, Edér leaned down to mutter something under his breath to the man. He looked up from the heavy tome he carried long enough to shoot a smirk back at the farmer. A friend, clearly, and more detailed in the memory for it, but the elf still lacked the presence Solas looked for to find a spirit in a scene. One had to be there.

Spirits of many different kinds sought out dreamers to observe and learn from. When they touched mortal minds, they took on familiar forms. The deception provided safety, and allowed them to exercise their core traits. Desire might find the face of some unrealized infatuation. Wisdom often imitated an elder, a natural font of advice. Hope was usually, though not always, a child, but spirits of Hope seldom spoke to mortals anyway.

That was why the sight of the women beyond Edér shocked him to stillness.

They were nearly a study in opposites. The first woman had skin as blue as proper lyrium, shining just as the crystal did but only from the glowing imprints of crescents that littered her face and arms. White hair in a smooth braid, and white horns curling back to the crown of her head, only made the pitch black of her eyes stand out from her face all the more.

The second was all fire. Cracks of molten heat spread across orange-tinted skin, blazing gold eyes, and a literal mane of flame pulled up in a high tail. Like the other, she had horns, but these were short and dark, growing vertically from her temples. The first woman wore leather and a deep green cloak, but the second was armored in full plate, her own light reflecting in the steel.

Solas knew no spirits that appeared like this, and, more pressingly, they were just as lifeless as any of the other people on the roof. Behind them, looking on as they spoke to one of the humans, were more unfamiliar beings. A woman easily surpassing his own height with olive green scales on her skin, dark markings, and a tropical bird on her shoulder. Beside her, a male not quite as large as a dwarf, sporting blue-green fur. All simple reflections.

There were no spirits in this dream. Somehow, even apparently unaware he was sleeping, Edér shaped the Fade as naturally and completely as those who called it home. Somehow he truly did know such a strange menagerie of people.

Solas finally approached, carefully posting himself just behind Edér. There was no need to draw the man’s attention yet, and more might be learned about this impossible place he knew.

The blue woman seemed the natural leader of the group. She led the conversation, the flaming warrior at her side occasionally chiming in while the rest simply watched and nodded along. He caught the intent of the exchange rather than any true words — language could be tricky in the Fade, where meaning was impressed through intent, but he understood enough. They were there for the crystal, or if they had not come for that reason, then they were being asked to use it now.

It was Edér’s emotional state that colored the exchange, being his dream and his memory. The feelings matched his easy demeanor in waking well enough, the stress of the situation they had faced the day before notwithstanding. He felt fondness for his companions, the elf at his side and the flaming woman and the glowing leader most of all. A good natured but dry humor presided when attention shifted to the crystal, something that might have been resignation but held no resentment. He seemed unsurprised when an agreement was made and the machines activated. He didn’t hesitate to join the rest of his fellows where they grouped together, bracing for something. He had only a healthy wariness, not fear, when the latent energy of the crystal spiked, and then —

Pain. Light. Darkness. Pain.

A flash of white. A flash of green.

Solas could not process it any more than Edér had, and to call his memory fragmented would have been generous. Something had gone wrong with that machine, something that broke him away from the others, broke him into the Fade — and here the memory picked up with Edér on the ground, groaning, a tantalizingly familiar power embedded in his hand and a horde of minor demons swarming towards him.

Solas pulled away. There was nothing useful left there.

He had what proof he had wanted, for all the good it had done. Edér was not from Ferelden, as the Seeker had assumed. The man was not from anywhere in Thedas, nor, Solas now suspected, anywhere beyond it that could be reached.

Some intersection of that spire on the island tower and the use of his orb by the magister had broken not just into the Fade, but through it. Beyond it. In the process, it had stolen a man from that plane into their own.

The man people were already calling Andraste’s Herald had been born on another world entirely.

Working subtly, Solas pulled the focus of the dream back to where it had begun, then let his presence be felt. It was something like walking down a hall with purposefully heavy steps, so that the person in the room at the end would hear your approach. Less grand than announcing oneself, but no less effective.

Edér turned from his friends to greet the intrusion.

“Solas? How’d you get all the way out here?”

“I merely followed you,” he replied, nodding slightly towards the man’s hand as he did. Edér frowned at it, realizing for the first time that the Anchor remained in place. Before Edér could get too distracted and possibly wake himself, Solas changed the subject again. “Your friends seem hard at work.”

“Some of ‘em, at least.” He shot a look over his shoulder at where the leader stood. He smiled so easily, Solas didn’t know whether to pity him or feel jealous about it. There was something beautifully simple about that kind of regard for another person. “The blue one over there, that’s Selene. She’s our captain, so she does the talking more often than not. Helaine when we need a friendlier touch.”

The setting shifted at his words, so smoothly even Solas found himself thrown off for a moment as the stone below him reformed into wooden planks and their high view from the tower was brought down to sea level. He and Edér stood side by side on the deck of a ship, looking up towards Selene where she stood at the helm.

Solas wondered if the woman was always as solemn as she appeared to be these memories. It said something about Edér, if that was the kind of person he admired. It said something else if she were not, and that side of her was what he clung to now.

The rest of those strange people were about the ship, even the flaming knight, which he thought was an odd risk on a wooden vessel. Beside her now was another new sight; a bare-chested, blue-skinned man, scaled also, who towered over her, laughing and preening, running his hands over the watery tentacles that seemed to comprise his own hair. They stood out so boldly among the normal mortals that filled the decks beside them, and yet no one stared.

“You have a… colorful crew,” Solas remarked.

The corner of Edér’s mouth curled up into a smirk.

“What gave it away, the fishman or the fire woman?”

Solas hesitated. It was against his nature to be blunt with his own ignorance, and he was wary of waking the man, but he would likely not get a better opening than the one Edér’s question offered.

“I have never seen such folk as your captain, or the others,” he admitted.

Edér’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Selene’s an elf. Or, she’s a godlike, but she’s from elves, not folk. So’s Helaine,” and there he gestured to the flaming knight, and then the beside her, “and Tekēhu’s Huana. You’ve never met a godlike?”

Solas shook his head. Godlike. A heady description — and a dangerous one.

“...I know they’re rare,” Edér said uncertainly, hands gone still on the ropes. Then he shook his head. “Not that rare, though. You must not get out much?”

“I confess, I have not even heard of them. What gods are they meant to resemble?”

Edér fully dropped the ropes then, facing him with a look of complete disbelief. “How have you… Ondra, for both the blue ones. Selene’s a moon type, Tekēhu’s sea. Helaine’s nearly the spittin’ image of Magran, according to all the statues, and you… you haven’t got a damned clue what I’m saying, do you?”

As he spoke, the edges of the dream roiled as Edér's thoughts lingered on his gods. Not enough to change the scene, not yet, but Solas could feel the shape of what he couldn't fully see. Divinity formed as sunlight, as storm, as murmurations of birds. He felt what it was to stand in their presence, surrounded, small. A single, distinct image - a titan of carved green stone marching over the world, crowned by pure light.

These gods were not like the Evanuris, Solas gathered, at least in form. As for the truth of their divinity, and their temperament… he could not say without knowing more, and the bulk of Edér's focus remained on their conversation.

The man’s emotions filled the space of his dream. Confusion, upset, some distant level of fear. Worry, overpowering worry, and a cold undercurrent of isolation that Solas knew well. When it settled, they stood in the snow, on the mountain overlooking Haven where they had first met.

Edér sighed, rubbing a hand over his brow with downcast eyes. “I’m not supposed to be the one getting into messes like this. That’s a Watcher’s job. ”

And what, Solas wanted to know, was a Watcher? He heard the importance in the title, but held back from asking — too much more stress, and the man would wake, and Solas would lose the opportunity for a graceful exit.

Resolving to visit Edér in the Fade again in the future, he began to pull back, drawing the Fade in close to obscure as much of his part in the dream as he could. With a little luck, the Anchor wouldn’t interfere, and Edér would think him no more than another product of his tired mind.

As the landscape of the dream began to fall away, the dreamer himself was the last to leave Solas’ sight, still talking, to himself more than anything now.

“They run headlong into it, and I follow,” he heard Edér say, and then sigh as he added, “She’d better catch up soon.”

𖤓

The sky was still mostly dark as Solas woke in his cabin, the hints of early dawn on the horizon overpowered by the Breach still hanging above them all. It was early enough that the guard rotation had not switched over yet; most of the settlement would still be asleep. The Herald, as Solas needed to get in the habit of calling the man, would doubtless sleep through most of the morning, if not the rest of the day. Just partially sealing the Breach had nearly drained him, and only time would restore his strength.

The Seeker would either be in the Chantry or on the training fields. He chanced the Chantry first and found his instincts correct. Finding her kneeling before a statue of her god’s wife, he stepped back and folded his arms behind himself to wait. The prayers were pointless, but they brought her comfort. More to the point, she would not easily forgive the insult of interrupting them.

“Draw your last breath, my friends. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be forgiven,” she finished, then finally raised her head and stood. “Solas. What news of the Herald?”

“I was able to see some of his dream. He is… unusually bright, in the Fade.” There was a fine line to walk between a useful display of skill and a threatening display of power. He had already told both her and the Nightingale that he was a dreamer mage, but there was no need for either of them, mundane as they were, to understand how such a thing worked. Especially for him. “I saw his homeland, and the crew he spoke of before. Seeker, I must tell you - this looked like no place I have ever heard of in Thedas, and its people were beyond strange.”

“How so?” Cassandra asked, frowning.

“Tropical islands, to begin with.”

“Par Vollen?”

“I do not believe so. There were no qunari,” he began. He let himself pause, let the words fall hesitantly and unsure. “But there were others. Furred people smaller than dwarves, scaled people larger than men. Others… one woman was made of flame. They seemed like any other member of the crew. Certainly the Herald did not treat them any differently. It was all entirely normal to him, so far as I could discern.”

Cassandra scoffed, a sound already familiar in less than a week of knowing the woman. Yet it did not escape his notice that she had glanced back at Andraste’s altar at his description of the so-called godlike. “These could simply be dreams.”

“The mind shapes the Fade in dreams,” he admitted. “But only using what it knows. Every face you have seen in a dream, you have seen before in life, if only in passing. I believe these were real memories.” He paused to let her absorb the words and begin to form her own thoughts before delivering the final statement. “The Herald is not of Thedas.”

She remained quiet for a long moment, working it over in her head. “A far continent, then. North, or across the sea.”

“Perhaps…” Solas replied. It would not change much, he thought, to let that be the story. It depended on what Edér said when he woke.

Edér seemed a talkative man.

“What other option is there?”

“He came from the Fade. Who is to say what is beyond it?” Solas knew the Chant stated there was nothing but the Maker’s realm there, and saw her jaw tick as she undoubtedly prepared to say so. Before she could, he added, “Or what power allowed him to pass through it.”

Green crystal. Unfamiliar magic. Some unorthodox method of experimentation, machinery mixed with the arcane, and all of it so obviously gone wrong. That, Solas knew, was what had sent the man to them.

But to the rest - to Cassandra - word of a woman’s silhouette behind him in the first Rift he’d fallen from and the partially healed sky were proof enough of divine intervention.

“It is enough to know he is foreign,” she stated. “For now. Thank you, Solas.”

He bowed his head to acknowledge her ending the conversation, and left the Chantry behind him. There was little to do now but wait for the man to wake.

#pillars of eternity #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #edér teylecg #to quote my own ao3 author's note.#WE NOT MAKING IT OUT OF THE VENN DIAGRAM WITH THIS ONE🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥#project: far from home #herearedragons writing

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