Chapter Text
Chapter One
The Inquisitor
It occurred to Inquisitor Cadash--as darkened dripping limbs descended, as skittering scrambling screeches filled her ears, as the shadow of the Nightmare crossed her vision—that there might not be a way out. Not this time.
A number of opportunities for escape flashed in her mind, like passages in a book being flipped in front of her. A million ways to get lost in the crowd at Val Royeux. A hundred ships departing for lands not yet touched by the Breach. Even the backwoods of Ferelden would have been better than this. Even if she drowned in a shipwreck or she starved to death in the woods, her body would return to the earth, where it belonged. She would at least die in a way that made sense.
With every passing moment, the pain of her Mark spread and splintered, like a series of switchblades snapping under her skin. She squandered every chance to leave, she thought, and now she was paying the price.
And for what, she asked herself. Did she get complacent? Did she really start to think she could actually accomplish what people thought the Herald of Andraste could do? Did she think she could kill a few demons and Red Templars and it’d be over? Or worse, was she actually developing a conscience?
How pitiful, Cadash thought. She’d have started her new life in Rivain by now, if only she hadn’t wanted to sleep with Warden Blackwall so bad. Which she did, to her credit. But then he had to start being nice to her and believing in her and all that dumb shit. Now they were both going to die for it.
He stood in front of her, shield raised, sword swinging, always careful to be close. Always so ready to protect her, the idiot.
Cassandra stood not far from them, and was doing the same with Vivienne. The mage was spinning translucent blue barriers, one after the other, only to be unraveled by the onslaught of demon tendrils. A rare bead of sweat dripped from her silver hat and down her sleek cheekbone. She must be running out of mana, or whatever it is mages run on. Vivienne always seemed to have an endless supply, a beautiful bastion of magic, ever at the ready. But this was too much, even for her. It was wrong to ask this of anyone.
The warriors had both been panting and wheezing for some time. They were all going to die here, in this miserable place, because of her.
Cadash heard their breathing. Every grunt, every gasp, like fish flooding past her while she sank in a river. A last act of cruelty, perhaps. She would hear all their screams before she was killed; saved for last, most likely. That would teach her to try and play hero.
Cadash looked across the way and found the other two warriors had also begun to falter. Warden Stroud, his movements steady and sure, pummeled every demon that came close with mace and shield. He was tired, his line of chase ever-shrinking. He reserved his shrinking pool of energy and focused only on enemies in direct sight. Practical, but still pointless.
Champion Hawke had a very different strategy. She moved swiftly, the steel of her half-sword sparked against the mucky green and grey of the Fade, like a star in a foggy and uncertain night. In one fluid, silver-blurred motion, she slashed across the chest of an approaching demon, then thrust the blade into a second. She flung herself at every passing enemy, stomping on skittering spiders along the way. Her grunts and hisses were as exhausted as the others, but carried a tinge of anger. She was pushing herself past her own limits, Cadash observed. A shame, it must mean she wanted to go home more than anything. She wouldn’t.
Whether by morality or spite, Cadash could not decide, and she resigned herself to fight until the last breath. Not like there was anywhere to run to, not this time. She ran for the last arrow she fired, tearing off those horrible spider things as she moved, swallowing the urge to scream. She yanked an arrow from the ground with her Fade-touched hand, the green light pulsing, the pain rising.
“Come on, come on, you stupid thing,” she hissed. “If you can get me in this fucking place, why can’t you get me out?”
The green creases on her hand spread. Tiny slivers of skin began to crack, like peeling paint, revealing a swirling, sickly green light. This had happened before. Sometimes, when she closed Rifts, a flake or two would fall off, but the hole it left stayed small. It never expanded to her fingers. Never hurt this much.
A flicker of green coursed upward, reaching for the base of her index finger, like parasites inside her palm crawling about, looking for an opening. She swallowed hard, trying to keep that same scream from bubbling up again.
The Nightmare howled, its jagged limbs toppling over. A rip in the Fade, a door, cutting itself into its domain, the force of its creation making the demon shudder. This wasn't part of its plan.
The rip was a yard away, behind the Nightmare, in a pool of murky green. Cadash squinted and dared to smile.
"Everyone!" she shouted, as high as her dwarven lungs would allow. She made a wide sweeping motion with her arm. "This way! Hurry! Before it gets up!"
She waited for the moment of recognition, when everyone looked for the rip. The old Cadash would have bolted and never look back. But all these people were fighting for her, dying for her. The least she could do was give them a chance.
Once she started running, her vision blurred. She heard stomping steps, huffs of hurried breaths, but they all mashed together. There was only the door. There could only be the door, the only thing that made sense in this moment. As she got closer, she dared to look within. Was that the grey brick of Adamant Fortress? The dark blue of night sky, the same time they fell into this horrible place? Yes, she thought. It must be, it had to be. It had better fucking be.
The group was approaching the door as the Nightmare regained its footing and rushed to intercept them. Cadash could feel the shake of the ground underneath as it drew ever closer, the shadow enveloping hers.
If they stopped to fight it again, it would be over. If they kept going at this pace, the worst that could happen was a claw at someone's back. Some damaged armor.
A small price to pay. There was only the escape, the door.
"Just go!" she cried again. "Don't look back!"
Cadash had a foot in the door when a scream yanked at her hairs, made her skin ripple. The shock of it almost overriding the pain of the splitting Mark.
But she had flung herself in, and couldn't stop.
She could already see the light of the outer rim, the power of this Mark doing all it could to keep the door open. As the pain persisted, she knew there was only seconds left. She would faint from the pain and exhaustion and the door would close. This was the best she could do.
The brisk cold of night, the smell of fires and scattered flesh, the bodies dangling from the battlements. Horrible as it was, it was a relief to feel it all, for everything to be real and make sense again; like she’d been drowning in darkness and was finally pulled free.
The scream reverberated in her ear, like it had been chasing her and finally caught her. As the pain hammered into her body and her eyes fell heavy, it hit her. She recognized the voice.
She heard a, "Wait, where's Hawke?" before collapsing face first on the floor.