Chapter Text
Act:1
Chapter 1 - A Cold and Desolate Past
The Grey Wardens
The Blight had ravaged the land for months; the armies of the great kings amassed for one last stand. As the sun burst through the clouds that boiled and churned in the dark sky, it illuminated a vast seething horde of Darkspawn with the Archdemon at its head.
It was then—when courage seemed to fail and all lost to death and despair—that the Grey Wardens came.
They arrived with the beating of wings like mighty war drums and stood before the armies of men. The Grey Wardens, grim and fearless, marched forth, ever between men and the encroaching Darkspawn. They formed a shield of their own bodies and held that line until the Archdemon was dead and the last Darkspawn lay trampled in the dirt. Then, demanding neither reward nor recognition for their sacrifice, the Grey Wardens departed. When the clouds rolled back and the sun shone full upon the blighted ground, the great kings knew that they had lost no men, that none of their blood had been spilled.
This is a tale about no battle the Grey Wardens have fought and yet about them all. They have always defended us from the Darkspawn, taking losses so we do not have to.
— Adaptation of a Grey Warden legend.
9:41 Dragon
22nd Verimensis / Wintermarch
Ferelden Hinterlands
Forannan Ravine
A shadow stalked in between the dense smog of the vast burning pyres, obscured by a heavy fur cloak and shrouded in dark impenetrable smoke, it crossed the twisted undergrowth and scorched earth with decisive steps, clutching the comforting fox fur while desperately trying to avoid the last biting winds of winter from the northern gales. On the horizon the sun had begun to creep through the thick veil of early morning cloud, the sun was but a pendant of dark orange light that crested the skyline and painted the heavens in hues of deep red and amber. She was bearing closer to fire, covering her mouth to avoid the sickeningly sweet smell of charred flesh; the lone figure wrapped her arms tight around herself, desperate to summon some warmth to her numb extremities. A celebrated beacon of Ferelden endurance and a link that had changed the relationship between Ferelden's magi and citizens over the past decade, one with a title the people of this land had placed on her shoulders with the responsibilities it entailed.
The Hero of Ferelden.
A legend, spoken with reverence by the nation she had saved, famed for not only her beauty and skill, but for her compassion and intelligence in uniting the nation with an age of peace not seen since before the Orlesian occupation. But fables are often embellished with great fabrications and romantic notions. Those that know the true woman behind the story tell a different story. Below the jagged rock perch she stood upon, the blackened mangled corpses of over sixty tainted monsters filled an arcane wrought pit, one that had been torn from the very earth by her magic. The twisted husks crackled and burned as the intense conjured flames purged their corruption with cleansing white fire, whilst Solona stood vigil for but a moment, taking in the scene before her with wary eyes. The almost boreal temperatures of the deathly still dawn gave the motionless woods above a dreamlike quality, with a dense blanket of soot and fog surrounded her, it looked as if time was stopped and awaiting further instructions by the way all was inert bar the gentle fluctuations of the smoke. On a weathered bluff amongst the gnarled oaks of an ancient grove, a small group of distinctly armoured warriors lay inert, the gathering standing solemnly in the lowlight, watching over a newly constructed ceremonial pyre with stoic, emotionless expressions.
A single warden was being tended too by his watch as they gave the final rights of remembrance, his body wrapped in an azure cloak bearing the heraldry of the silver griffon and his warden oath removed to be archived amongst the honoured dead of the young chapter. Her musings on his passing were interrupted by the rustle of plate that reverberated behind her, combined with the heavy imposing steps of a powerfully built Dwarven warrior, she had no doubt as to who it was. Oghren approached her left side quietly; he was remarkably reticent as he stood silently, watching Warden Astin being laid to rest. Out of the corner of her vision she could see him taking a quick hit of his hip flask, Valenta’s red no doubt.. .A favourite.
A gust of violent wind coated the pair in desiccated earth, the fine dust clinging to the material of their cloaks, colouring them in gentle patterns of amber and oak for but a moment until they shook it clear; Solona was smirking to herself in mirth when thoughts of her Warden Berserker’s past self crossed her wary mind. Compared to his current being he was but a drunken, filthy brute when she had met him at the Tapster’s Tavern in the Orzammar Commons all those years ago. Now though he had matured, becoming more level-headed and patient in battle, but let it be said his thirst for bloodlust hadn’t lessened over time just like his penchant for some of the cruellest, most powerful alcoholic spirits in Thedas. He was cleaner with more self-respect than she believed possible for the disgraced warrior prodigy of House Kondrat. He took his responsibility to nugget and Felsi more seriously, his beard was no longer a disgusting tangled mess but set in a pair of neat combed braids, while his armour was polished and well-kept with the warden tabard worn proudly across his chest. He looked every part the distinguished member of the Order.
“Hard to believe it’s been over ten 'sodding' years since we started doing this...” He trailed off, lost in memories as he took another swig of his ale.
The lack of sound in the valley was deafening as the time came, Solona’s head was held high as her Wardens looked to their commander. Striding forward confidently with a noble grace born of years spent in the company of highborns, she reached forward and ignited the cotton in a burst of sapphire flame. At that moment she looked serene and peaceful, so calm and collected in the face of another loss. Yet her body throbbed in exhaustion as her mana slowly rejuvenated, even in the face of her refusal to drink more lyrium she could feel it gathering within her naturally, rather than through the intense high from ingesting the mineral potions that was always followed by a dull burn. Her bones ached in fatigue from casting so many complex spells continuously, whilst her despair and worry lay hidden underneath her carefully cultivated mask; the only sign of weakness was the slight tremble in her hands as she clasped them behind her back and steeled herself.
"In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice." The gentle timbre of the remaining Wardens repeated the oath in tandem, quietly holding their composure in the face of losing a member of their Order.
Solona stood apart as she finished the saying, her soft voice so different from the dark, husky tone she normally adopted. “My brother in vigilance. Though you perished, you died with your blood joined with mine. I honour your sacrifice, and carry your memory into battle.”
She drew her hand to her chest in a salute. “Astin of Logerswold, I remember you.”
The wardens lowered their heads in respect of her words, each making silent prayers and benedictions to the Maker for such a dark occasion, the snapping of enkindled wood from the pyre as it engulfed the body was the only noise in the valley as the winds died down for a brief moment in respect of his fall. Solona drew away from the watch as they began to reminisce of their fallen brother, she had no place there. She was the Warden Commander, a figure of authority and legend relegated to the burden of command, tasked with leading an entire chapter of Grey Wardens. To shield the world in the shadows from the tainted monstrosities below the earth, it wasn’t possible to make the necessary decisions and sacrifices if she was compromised, especially by becoming too attached to those of her own Order. So remaining apart from the chapter as an aloof figurehead, one that was both revered and feared as she was throughout Ferelden was her only course.
“The mine is sealed, there’s no way after those lyrium charges that the sodding blighters are still tunnelling back up.” Sharpening her gaze on the newly sealed hollows, Solona grasped her staff and gestured Oghren to follow.
The sharp cold air of winter was a stark contrast to the state of Ferelden at this time of year, the leaves on the trees were already a vibrant spring green with flowers of honeysuckle and lavender having bloomed early. Sunlight radiated a gentle heat that warmed the skin, helping ward of the cutting chill of the brisk breeze, even with the last of the bitter weather grasping on to the start of the year, she could feel it slowly slipping away with each passing day. The sounds of bee’s buzzing through the wildflowers and the sight of rabbits exiting their burrows made it clear. Spring had come.
Their quest had begun after receiving a direct plea from refugees in the war-torn Hinterlands, Solona had brought a watch of wardens alongside herself to deal with the rumoured Darkspawn incursions. Unsurprisingly, Nate and Oghren had volunteered to support her efforts away from the main command team, they had ventured from a visit to Soldiers Peak, before turning south to provide aid after much deliberation on what size deployment was needed. The watch had moved through a small set of deep caves cut into the hills after being briefed at the crossroads, and had quietly approached an old mining complex, one built into the side of the cliffs in the Forannan ravine. The veteran warriors had prepared an ambush at the valley entrance and after baiting their foes had unleashed an array of magical glyphs and arrows, the spawn raiding party had been swiftly slaughtered in the precise surprise attack, even as they attempted in vain to hold their ground. Afterwards, during the clean up the watch had planted a small number of Lyrium explosives at key points to collapse the mine and seal the area permanently, preventing any further spawn from returning to the already dangerous area.
“I say we make a move now, jobs done and those refugees are fine. I’ve got a store of Chasind sack mead that needs drinking back at Vigil and I’m sure Felsi will wanna' show some appreciation for my sacrifices.” Solona grimaced as a set of indecent images concerning coupling drunken dwarves crossed her mind.
“It beats seeing you sit around and drink… “Her eyes met the tips of the hills as she glanced back towards the crossroads. “Gather the men. We need to move – soon. “Shaking her head in exasperation at Oghren’s quizzical face, she answered his unspoken question.
“I don’t want to see us engulfed in the spreading anarchy of the region.” Grasping her cloak tightly as another gust passed she gently ran her hand down her dragon-bone staff, watching her magical aura light up the cascading runes as her skin passed the polished bone.
Oghren snorted before resting his axe on the ground, leaning over the hilt he spoke quietly whilst the other wardens looked on. “The area ‘seemed’ quiet on the ride through, bar these blighted spawn, all was peaceful by Oghren's count.”
He was correct to an extent. On the journey through the Hinterlands, Solona had expected to be embroiled in the rabid clashes of apostate mages and rogue Templars that had been known to have overtaken most of the area. In truth they had encountered heavily patrolled roads, as squadrons of well armoured soldiers secured the areas and had subjugated most of the hostile camps in the region, they had refortified several of the smaller forts left over from the Orlesian occupation and were continuing to arrest the dissident factions as they fled in the organized military forces wake. Their dark iron armour was emblazoned with the constellation of ‘Visus’, better known as the watchful eye, though this icon was embossed with a sword passed through it in tribute to Andraste’s death. The crest was an ancient symbol designed at the beginning of an organization that shaped the history of southern Thedas over eight hundred years ago through fear, intimidation and war.
“We inform the local garrison at the refugee centre, and then we push north back to Soldiers Peak. We have more important matters than dealing with local politics.” Oghren grunted as he placed his flask away before turning to her.
“Those banners… that’s the Inquisition we have been hearing about isn’t it?” A lithe figure entered the edge of Solona’s eye line as he stalked up the small worn overlook, clad in thick Antivan leathers with a crested longbow slung across his back and thick dark hair grazing his shoulders, Solona would recognise her second in command anywhere.
Nathaniel Howe was the Warden Constable for her chapter; he led the day to day efforts of her forces. Coordinating with the crown, securing the Nobles support and leading the recruitment drives. Nathaniel ensured the Order ran effectively whilst working across Fereldan, and he was essential to her chapters continued existence. He gave a respectful nod before addressing Oghren.
“Indeed, they say the Herald of Andraste himself leads them.” Solona looked up to the sky as he spoke, her faith had never been strong but to believe that the Herald of the Makers bride had come in such dark times, that at least gave a flicker of hope to her cold heart.
“They seem well organized; their work in the Hinterlands and the Bannorn has almost brought the splinter factions infighting to an end.” Solona gave a disgusted grunt, even though that apparently in the past three months most of the anarchist magi and insubordinate Templars had been captured or killed, the devastation left behind was a huge impact on the now scarred area.
They had seen dozens of burnt out hamlets scattered throughout the hillsides, in the valleys vast towers of ice and molten rock spiralled skywards, wrought from uncontrolled elemental magic. They littered the landscape alongside slaughtered civilians and raided caravans that had been caught in the crossfire between the two factions. Razed strongholds and hastily constructed camps gave a clear indication of how intense and large of scale of the conflict had become in the recent months. Turning her attention back to the conversation she spoke directly to Nate. “This Inquisition – What do we know of it?”
“Little, I’m afraid… since our return to Fereldan six months ago it had been spoken of in but rumours before it was officially formed in Haven after the Conclave.” Nate seemed troubled; she knew the independent organization had grown tenfold in recent times, led by a council of advisers who had appointed the survivor of the Conclave as its figurehead, it had drawn many to its cause.
Pilgrims, zealots, heretics, those were just a few words the local Chantry sisters had referred to them as. Whilst many in the court saw them as a group of power hungry fanatics, one's that were exploiting the chaos for their own gains. But many of the common people saw them as their potential saviours, praising them as they fought back the demons that poured through the shattered cracks in the veil that had been born in the aftermath of the Breach's inception.
"Their troops are well equipped and trained, while they have agents spreading throughout the entirety of Ferelden and even parts of Orlais; from what I understand they are operating out of a war camp built around the Haven Chantry, overwatching the primordial Fade Breach that was once the Temple of Sacred Ashes.” Solona grimaced. The detonation of the temple had caused havoc throughout Ferelden and from what she’d heard even parts of the southern Free Marches and eastern Orlais. The shockwave of the explosion had torn over the Frostback Mountains with force, shattering the peaks and causing horrendous avalanches that left most of the main roads completely inaccessible, the forests of the Dales and southern Ferelden had been devastated as the unsuppressed energy cut the trees down like a scythe, wiping out entire woods and reaping whole forests in its wake.
Glass constructs over several hundred miles from the blast site had shattered, causing an untold number of deaths and injuries, while old masonry and stonework had collapsed from the sheer power of the explosion. It had caused severe damage across the Orlais and Ferelden, and in but a single moment and had dragged many interested parties to its inception point. In the fallout, the Veil had been severely weakened across southern Thedas with the Breach as its epicentre, rumours stated that the vast tear spewed forth ever growing hordes of demons from the sky by the day, like blood from a wound and the Inquisition were attempting to defend the surrounding area as a solution was searched for In order to close it. Meanwhile smaller rifts were materializing daily wherever the veil was naturally thin, and from what Solona understood it would take only a small blood magic ritual or sacrifice to cause a rift to open on purpose, allowing chaos to spread quickly through the southern kingdoms as uncontrollable bands of roaming monsters sundered forth into the world.
“The Herald has the ability to seal these fade rifts and travels with a small band of companions supported by the Inquisitions military, he’s closed most of the tears here in the Hinterlands already, those that were caused by such huge amounts of arcane energy being expelled in the fighting. From what I know the Nightingale controls their intelligence and subterfuge…” Solona smirked, oh yes she knew the Nightingale.
Sweet unassuming Leliana, her deadly skill was matched only by her intelligence and cunning. She hadn’t seen or heard from her in nearly three years since she began to work closely for Divine Justinia. It had been strange to fall out of contact like that, but Solona had needed to put aside everything to find a cure and Leliana was busy elsewhere. Her work was on her mind at all times, she couldn’t stop, not for anyone. The Calling was inevitable otherwise.
“With Lady Josephine Montilyet, formerly the ambassador of the Antivan crown court leading their diplomatic efforts, her grace and charm has won a large amount of the support for the organisation in a very short time period. With her influence the Inquisition will likely grow in power and stature quickly, and I have no doubt that she will only continue to build upon its reputation and gather more allies for the Inquisition in the coming months.”
So the fledgling force has quite the foundation, rumours had stated that it was ordered by Divine Justinia, that if in the aftermath of the conclave, a resolution to the Mage-Templar conflict was deemed unfeasible, then the Inquisition was to reform and restore order through whatever means necessary. Even by force.
“Finally the Marshall Commander of the Inquisition leads their military forces, from what I heard at the crossroads, he’s leading the troops here personally. They call him the Lion of Ferelden; though I can’t say much about him... judging by the state of the Inquisition troops and their recent successes he must be quite the capable leader.”
Solona snorted, The Lion of Fereldan? What a pretentious name. The man was probably an arrogant Nobleman’s son; she had dealt with enough at the Kings Court to know they exuded pompous titles and had a distinct love of self-importance.
“Finally the Herald himself is apparently a Free Marcher; he came from a Noble family to represent them as support for the Chantry, but his role there was unclear, he was the only survivor of the explosion.” From what she knew, the Herald had taken it upon himself to try and bring balance back to the lands as the Mage/Templar war came to a halt with the so many of their senior members dead. Now three months after the tragedy at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, with the leadership of the Templars and some of the most senior Mages in South-east Thedas having perished, alongside the entire Chantry hierarchy. The power vacuum in the Free Marches, Fereldan and Orlais was disturbing; it was no surprise that Nevarra and Tevinter were looking to their southern neighbour’s borders in the face of such a tragedy.
“Now this Inquisition aims to end the conflict and bring together a resolution that binds the two factions together for the future.” Solona smiled, she was glad Leliana had found a purpose in such a dark time, though the pain she must have felt in Divine Justinia’s death must be heart-breaking. She would write to her friend and offer her condolences, at best she could maybe provide token support for her movement, but her quest was too important to agree to Leliana’s probable request for her to join the organisation.
The First Inquisition
The birth of the Chantry took place more than nine ages ago; the mists of time have obscured once well-known facts. It is commonly believed the Chantry alone created the Templars and the Circle of Magi. Few recall there was ever an Inquisition. Those who do, believe, it pre-dated the Chantry, hunting cultists and mages in a reign of terror ending only upon its transformation into the Templar Order. This is not quite the truth.
One must keep in mind the state of Thedas prior to the Chantry's creation: a world where the only source of order—the Tevinter Imperium—had fallen apart. People blamed magic for the death of Andraste, the Blight, the terror they saw every day—and not without reason. Abominations and demons rampaged the countryside. No one was safe. Disparate groups of men and women initially formed the Seekers of Truth, determined to re-establish order because no one else would do what was necessary. The truth they sought, the question they tried to answer, was how to restore sanity in a world gone mad.
Was theirs a reign of terror? Perhaps. Evidence suggests they were as vigilant in their protection of mages as they were of regular people. When they intervened, they convened an ad hoc trial to determine the guilty party. This even application of justice led to their poor reputation; the Seekers came down against every group at one time or another, their "Inquisition" gaining notoriety for being on no one's side but their own. They considered themselves good people, however—followers of the Maker's true commandments. This was never more evident than when they lay down their banner in support of the fledgling Chantry. They believed with all their heart that the Templar Order was the answer a desperate Thedas needed in a terrible time. Ultimately, the Inquisition was composed of independent idealists, not Chantry zealots; that is the truth.
— From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.
Ferelden Hinterlands
Redcliffe West Road
They rode south after finishing the pyres and confirming the mine was sealed, passing through the lower farmlands of Astyr County. The watch's ride was uninterrupted so far as Solona sat back in her saddle and relaxed in the light of the early eve. She let her eyes wander over the golden rays of the sun as it washed over the newly grown leaves with warmth before she took a deep calming breath. Having turned on to the Redcliffe west road and began to slowly trot to the crossroads, judging by the suns position it was close to six in the evening and Solona was bone-tired from the day. She was looking forward to hot food and a warm bed. Gently urging Lipard forward as the clouds began to close in signalling rain, Solona grasped her long crimson locks and twisted it into a quick single braid. Ignoring the sting of the wind on her cheeks she raised her hood up and clasped her staff in her right hand, eager to escape such weather. As they approached the Lucius River Solona’s ears twitched. The wind, the running water of the upcoming river, birdsong, crackle of – the clattering of armour?…years of honing her senses in the Deep Roads to recognise potential threats, meant she was hyper aware of group movements and ambushes. Reaching out with her magical aura, she sent a gentle pulse of spirit magic and focused on its movement, it travelled quickly over the rock, earth and water around her, before a wide segment of the wave was dispelled harshly.
Her eyes narrowed perceptively towards the cliffs at the edge, where the churning water of the river blocked out the sound of rustling armour. Templars. She turned and eyed the treeline closely, they were just a mile from the crossroads but had seen no travellers, it was foreboding to find the roads so scarce. She cursed her lack of foresight and alertness, it was obvious things were not right here. Bringing her hand up, she motioned her seven wardens to dismount. “Something’s not right, stay alert.” She had already sensed one group of Templars to their front, now the distinct burn of active lyrium was pressing down on her, even from a distance at three separate points.
From the corner of the rockface ahead, a squadron of plate armoured Templars came into view, shining bright in the evening sun. She could feel them focusing their magic resistance as they called on the Lyrium in their blood to augment their abilities, coating themselves in magic nullifying spirit energy that would make most mages abilities useless. They were moving quickly like wolves tracking prey and had managed to intercept their path; clad in gilded helms of polished steel with huge tower shields, the twelve strong group took position in the parties’ direct route to the village and organized themselves into a wall of metal and flesh. She glanced back morosely as a secondary group of lighter armoured knights were approaching their rear, their weapons already drawn as they spread out carefully amongst the thickets, she could see the obvious restraint as the tried to repress their fervour to charge; in support – much to Solona’s regret – was a small force of archers that had emerged from the eastern treeline and were looking to harry her wardens flanks by their movements. They were surrounded and she couldn’t help but curse. Twenty six against eight is not a fair fight and I led us into this…
Furious at her failure to recognise such a significant ambush point, she ordered her men into a defensive formation as she slowly caressed the familiar texture of her staff. A single heavily equipped knight strode forth from the front group, he stood at maybe six foot and his elaborate winged helm marked him as a Knight Sergeant. Armed with an imposing silverite great sword and wearing Ferelden style full plate with dark tapered robes, he approached confidently with the blade in his left hand.
“Halt! Declare yourselves, now!” His voice was dark and hostile, almost dripping with violent anticipation for a fight.
“We are Grey Wardens, Templar. We have dealt with a Darkspawn excursion to the west and now seek to resupply at the crossroads settlement.” Solona kept her tone level; they could not win this fight through strength at arms, their best solution was to carefully avoid conflict and make their best speed to the settlement. Judging by the bloodlust in their leaders eyes, it is highly unlikely this will end peacefully.
“Grey Wardens are nothing more than Maleficar sympathisers, you there Mage! What gives you the right to pollute our world with your foul magic?” Solona knew fanaticism when she heard it, that inability to see the logic in a situation when clouded by personal beliefs; there was no backing away from this.
It was obvious these Templars would not listen to reason and now only saw a mage that was free of their shackles, with no senior officers to keep them in line and months of freedom to enact their own views, they were truly wild dogs that had gone feral in their hunt for magi.
“I serve the Order of the Grey; my foul magic is what ended the last Blight. Do you not recognise the heraldry of the Warden Commander of Ferelden?” Solona kept her eyes locked with the Templar leader as the others shifted nervously, she could see a band of riders approaching fast, far beyond the raging waterway, kicking up a cloud of dust in their trail but the sound of the river before them blocked the noise of their mounts.
Their leader had picked the approach well to mask their movements; she just hoped it wasn’t more Templars in support of their brethren.
“Ah the King's Mage whore, we would be doing the Court a favour in putting you down, stopping you from corrupting our fair monarch with your blood magic.” Solona growled harshly, she belonged to no man; and would slaughter these Templars for the next slanderous comment.
The man snarled and moved forward, his Templars forming an advancing line as they readied a charge; she was waiting for the archers to engage as she tightened her barriers around the watch, wrapping them in layers of tight spirit energy whilst working in tandem with Warden Alim to shore up their defences. She checked the treeline, but volleys of black arrows had started cutting down the auxiliaries’ in a storm of black shafted projectiles.
Pulling on the fade with her magic, she channelled an expanding firestorm to their rear. Slowly guiding the tempest of superheated air and flames across the thick dry leaves and grass and igniting the ground in a flash of intense hellfire, with one final swing of her staff she unleashed the maelstrom of white hot embers into the Templar force, sending them screaming in panic as the closest two were cooked alive in their own armour.
The rest retreated backwards in terror as the very earth itself was turned to glass under the blaze, she knew from experience that the curses and coughing of the survivors was the extent of their severely burnt lungs, a side-effect of such a devastating spell that wasn't dispelled before it was fully conceived. She knew that the only way to keep the battle in their favour was to divide the larger force, split off their squads and deal with them one on one, something she was already adapt at doing in the years of fighting hordes of Darkspawn.
Solona turned her attention forward as the first Templar in the forward unit met Warden-Ensign Harland blade to blade, the tow swapped blows in a blur of steel before Harland delivered a powerful shield bash to his opponent, driving him back dazed. The knight exposed himself from behind his shield to launch another attack, but instead of engaging the young Warden warrior, he received a precise barbed arrow to the exposed area of his throat from Nathaniel’s bow. He grasped the shaft tightly as he fell to his knees in shock; his comrade came forward to cover him, only find a second lodged itself in his right eye, ending his life instantly in a brutal execution.
Oghren bellowed an ear splitting war cry to her left, crashing towards the Knight-Sergeant with his axe, seeking to eviscerate him in his battle rage. Solona kept up her channelling as she launched incendiaries at the forward Templars to disrupt their formation, but was furious as they resounded harmlessly of their magic resistant bodies, calling her wardens to support her, she began to unleash walls of fire, dividing the Templars and exposing their flanks for her warriors to engage.
When her attention switched to those behind her once more, she watched as arrows from the treeline began to harass the rear knights as they struggled to avoid the still scorching earth of her now receding firestorm. He mind had already deciphered that the Templar ambush was set up in another group’s ploy to catch them off guard, and her wardens were clearly the bait, something she was not at all happy about.
The cloaked rangers were already securing the area and suppressingthe rear knights as they tried to reform, buying much needed time for her warriors to respond to the front of the battle lines where the main Templar squad was still bearing down on them. The closest swordsman that wasn’t engaged had pushed past a pair of her Wardens with another knight at his back.
Slamming her staff down and splitting the ground beneath his feet, she took advantage of the moment he stumbled, eyes locked on the longsword in his hand. Focusing her power and charging the metal with as much magic as she could, the man screamed as it scalded his arm when the silverite lit up in a bright orange lance of near molten slag, before she clasped her free hand, the remaining metal of the sword shattered – spraying hundreds of tiny superheated shards that shredded his armour, killing him instantly.
The second Templar that had followed him stumbled as the corpse of his brother knight fell to the floor in front of him, Solona reacted quickly and fired a powerful burst of force magic, throwing the man back at least half a dozen metres as he failed to react in time to stand against it. He was subsequently killed by Nathaniel as a pair of wicked hooked arrows burst through his plated chest, but the Templars were still pushing them back as she reeled round and tried in vain to break their attack whilst commanding her small group.
The horsemen were in plain view now as they crossed the shallows, her eyes widened as she took in their appearance. Free Marcher Templars? With long cavalry blades, wearing tunics and tabards bearing the sigil of the Inquisition, they charged across the now open ground past the river in a violent rumble of hooves. At their head rode a huge man armoured in full Silverite alloy plate, with a thick burgundy Orlesian Great bears fur stretched across his upper shoulders and back. He led the assault of the knights on a huge silver destrier as they tore into the unprepared Templars rear in a powerful roar of thunder and death.
He swung widely in an arc, decapitating the first man as he tried to turn and shield himself from their attack, followed up by leaping from his horse with more grace than she believed possible for a fully armoured knight and smashing his shield into the remaining foe. He moved like lighting, blocking another Knights blade and slashing across the previously staggered Templar's belly and kicking him back as the man screamed.
He then twisted, parrying the other Knights second blow with his shield as the blade screeched against the metal surface and bringing his sword across the man’s neck in a fatal blow. As the Templar fell clutching his throat in panic, with crimson gore soaking his hands and chest, the commander swung round in a snap and brought his sword down powerfully on the first knights head. He was too preoccupied with his exposed stomach that he didn't even respond to the swing, the blade made a sick screech of contact with the metal before severing his spinal cord and tearing through his chest in one fell cleave.
Advancing on the closest knight to him, the Templar charged shield first in response as he desperately attempted to avenge his fallen kin. The Commander twisted with the blow moving behind the man smoothly, bringing his leg out he drove a sharp stomp to the back the knight’s knee who buckled pitifully. He finished him by thrusting his blade through the man’s neck as he fell to his knees, gargling loudly, she watched as his body writhed and slowly began to still, before he fell to the floor with a harsh thud and a small cloud of dry dust.
Withdrawing his weapon slowly, he observed the area with a quick glance and then called his men to regroup when the last rogue Templar fell to their knees in surrender; Solona checked her surroundings as she panted heavily and withdrew her barriers. Glancing to Oghren, who had just succeeded in having split the Templar officer in two as he had aimed to, and was now laughing in glee, smirking at his commander before furrowing his brow at the unknown knight stood near her. She gestured him to move to her side as she quickly regarded the Inquisition members before her, turning back to the fight but keeping them in her line of view.
Out of immediate danger and with the vanguard dead, she unleashed her full power on the remaining pinned Templars, caught in the remaining dense shrubbery, she ignited a huge pillar of flame reducing them to ashes and sizzling flesh as they failed to escape the rough ground and hail of arrows, instead perishing under a powerful inferno.
She pulled down her hood and rested on her staff for support as she calmed herself, meanwhile the copper scent of blood mixed with the smell of melted metal, scorched leather and cooked flesh filled her nose, leaving her stomach twisting in discomfort. The last wounded Templars were rounded up by the Inquisition knights with an impressive efficiency, taking a deep breath she steadied herself and looked towards their Commander.
He stalked towards her quickly; standing at maybe 6’4 with a distinct aura of authority that only a 'veteran officer' could hold. As he advanced she studied his determined movements, his posture screamed Templar, something that explained his personal squads equipment and abilities – not too mention his distinct blade skills.
His armour was well cared for, cast in sable and ebony in the last of the days light where the sun beat down on the darkened Silverite. The mane of dark bear fur overhung his shoulder plates, curling just slightly over towards his chest. He had a half skirt robe from his lower back that reached down to his lower calves, before coming down on the around his legs leaving half of each exposed to view.
On his left vambrace was an ornate lion’s head that crested the edge of the fur, whilst a large intricate dagger was sheathed up his right arm that tucked slightly between the overlapping plate. With a simple engraved pommel topping his imposing bastard sword and the kite shield marked with the Inquisitions eye, it was obvious he was no ordinary knight. An imposing figure as most Templars were, there was something more in his stance, a confidence born from withstanding years of command and conflict, but his image was what struck her clear as day.
Lion of Ferelden, indeed.
She took in his movements and posture with consideration, they’re familiar. She couldn’t place why his stride was so recognizable. His steps were distinct, with each strike of his foot on the hard ground he came closer as her thoughts ran rampant, too familiar.
“It seems we made good time, you were lucky we intercepted the other group of Templars that were headed North to 'hunt' you. We wouldn’t have known of these otherwise, but then you were always were rather lucky, Warden-Commander Amell. “
She stiffened. That voice. The posture.She would recognise them amongst a crowd of a thousand. No! Anyone but him.
She drew on all her experience at court, schooling her face into a mask of complete stone. “It seems you’ve taken a new role Knight-Commander.” She drawled, displaying a false confidence that belayed her frayed nerves. Her heart was already thundering as he stopped just short of her men, glaring down at her directly. His huge frame filling her vision as she struggled to look anywhere but towards him, it may have been years but she had never forgotten how imposing he could be when fully armoured.
This was not a confrontation she would ever have been ready for. Maker, she’d run from it for a decade. Clenching her hands, she ignored the sweat gathering on her palms and took silent controlled breaths.
“That’s not my title; I suggest you stop 'hiding' amongst your men. Come forward so we can converse like adults.” He stated calmly.
She hated this, hated his patronising tone. Hated the way her emotions felt so raw and exposed. Adopting nonchalance, she slammed down her anxiety before she spoke. “Hiding? Hardly. I’m just cautious, to think a mage hater like you is not as dangerous as the rogue Templars we just faced, that would be foolish.”
She saw the momentary flinch despite his ramrod stance, good. She took a perverse pleasure in seeing her biting wit at work, having spent years between court and the battlefield honing her mind. She stepped forward, focusing on her anger as a crutch to steel herself, then moving to stride towards him confidently and flash a deadly smile. “Come now Knight Commander, remove that helm and let’s talk… like adults.”
He unbuckled his helmet slowly, pulling it clear of his head and tucking it neatly under his arm. Her heart lurched and her brain cursed in annoyance. He was better looking than in his youth… No not just better looking, he was now gorgeous. No longer the young man she had fallen so hopelessly in love with, where once his face still held the roundness of youth, now it had been carefully cut away as if carved by a sculptor. His work revealed an intensely masculine chiselled jaw and sharp cheekbones that were emphasised by the dark stubble adjoining his face.
His once curly hair was combed back neatly and his straight nose sat above the beautiful cupid bow lips that she was once so well acquainted with. A wicked scar ran across the left side of his mouth, turning the chantry good looks into something roguish with each small expression that pulled at his lips. 'She did so love rogues'. But worst of all, his eyes. His Maker forsaken dark amber eyes were still just as intense as they had been, just as they were when he haunted her dreams that weren’t filled with Darkspawn.
“Knight Commander Cullen, it’s been over a decade… not nearly long enough.” She’d played out this encounter a hundred times over in her head; her warped fantasies depicted him begging for mercy – pleading with her for forgiveness. Taking back everything he’d said at Kinloch. She loathed at how much it still hurt to just see him, having buried the dark thoughts of him under everything else, but still she never made a day without him crossing her mind – regrettably.
“It’s Marshall Commander Cullen, Warden Commander; I’m no longer with the Order. I was asked personally by Sister Leliana to search you out during your expedition here, she would like to talk to you in person and for you to meet the Herald.”No longer with Order?
Cullen held her gaze; while she struggled to comprehend his last sentence. Cullen for all he was, was a Templar. He had been born and bred with the chant in his veins, trained to be the best knight he could be. His only failure had been loving a mage, and she could still remember his distinct words as he screamed from that force cage of his shame and weakness for it.
“I don’t think you can ever leave the Templars commander, you can recognise it in you wherever you go.” She smirked “Surely you realise I can still feel the lyrium in your blood, forever leashed to your precious chantry.” She was being cruel yes, but she needed the fury as a focus. His men were carefully watching her now, but were still standing in an almost detached way much like their leader – clearly not surprised that the pair knew each other.
He stood unrelentingly, ignoring her barb completely. “I was told to give you this.” He handed a small parchment marked with a thick black wax bearing the resemblance of a raven. She broke the seal, as she read Leliana’s missive with apprehensive eyes, she felt a chill in her gut that was belied with a glimmer of hope.
Leliana knew of a lead in her quest to stop the Calling, but would only speak in person. Damn her.
Cullen stood emotionless as his eyes travelled across her men lazily, he was slowly examining her wardens and taking in their weapons and equipment with a calculated gaze; he seemed almost oblivious to her presence as he calmly awaited her reply. She was furious,I can’t keep my eyes of him and he ignores me like I’m just a stranger.
But she was someone who no longer knew him, she was being irrational and she knew that, having known only what little she’d heard from others about him. She had refused to watch over his life as the boy that she had loved became some kind of twisted Mage killer, shipped to Kirkwall to serve with Meredith Stannard of all people.
From what had happened, she could easily believe that he was a major cause in the eventual Mage uprising there as one of the chapters Knight-Captains, if the creature he had been transformed into during Kinloch’s uprising was left to his own devices, she had feared what he was capable of.
The story of Kirkwall’s fall varied so much that even to this day it was hard to really understand what had happened, but what had been accepted was that the Templars had forced the Mages into untold desperation before the Chantry was obliterated in a sign of defiance.
The remaining Magi in their recklessness fell to blood magic, unleashing demons and untold horrors upon the advancing knights as they attempted to perform the right of annulment. After the champion had rallied the remaining mages, the Knight Commander had attempted to execute the survivors and fell in single combat to Marian Hawke – allowing what few magi that lived to escape.
Ignoring the murmurings of her Wardens, Solona drew a circle around Cullen with her hand tapping her staff in thought.
“A trade then, information for my help?” Sighing wearily, she burned the parchment with a snap of her fingers and studied Cullen's reaction, he simply glanced at the conjured blue flame before resuming his observations of her men. “Well Templar, it will be just like old times.” His eyes flashed with anger at her casual words and biting tone.
Sensing a tender point in his defences she pushed, “What’s wrong Knight Commander? Does it 'infuriate' you to see a mage wondering freely?” His body was still as he turned his darkened gaze to her eyes.
“That is not my title any longer Warden, as for beingfree…” He leaned in close, like a lover with an intimate secret but his words were cold. “I know exactly what binds a Grey Warden, you have even less freedom then a circle mage.”
Her eyes flashed in defiance as she growled lowly, “You know nothing! To have the audacity to speak of bindings when you have your precious lyrium flowing through your blood. Templar.” Her last words came out as a hiss, her anger was palpable as she warred with simply letting her magical aura loose
He chuckled darkly and her eyes widened in surprise at his response. “I’d rather be leashed to Lyrium, than to be connected to the monstrous creatures of the taint. How long before you become one, Warden?” Her gut roiled as he spoke menacingly, the talk of becoming a ghoul brought her fears to the forefront. She trembled slightly as she swallowed against a thick throat and pushed aside the taste of bile on her tongue.
“I’d be careful with your words Amell, I know as much as you probably do.” Solona knew she looked stricken as he ripped away her carefully cultivated mask effortlessly, but he had no superior smirk or glint to his eyes in doing so – just a firm expression of disgust that looked down upon her.
He knows! He knows? How? Those are some of the Orders most carefully guarded secrets.
“Grey Wardens have killed to keep those truths hidden!” Her hushed tone was not lost on the surrounding groups, as they witnessed their leaders clashing with hissed words and dark expressions.
“I’m well aware; your Order has no high ground for you to spit on the Templars. If people knew even a fraction of the truth.” Her anger that had started as a gentle kindling erupted as he spoke, with teeth clenched as she struggled to hold back her magic and prevent herself ripping him apart she attempted to calm herself.
Clutching her cloak with one hand and grasping her staff tightly, she narrowed her eyes to slits as she spoke. “We do what is necessary to defeat the greatest threat to Thedas; your precious Order enslaves innocents for being born with a gift that they struggle to control, and instead of teaching – you subjugate them.”
“That is not the purpose of the Order and you know it, they are to guard and care for their charges. Perhaps you have spent too long living in the world of pragmatism to know the world is grey, not simply black and white. They do what is necessary for the good of both magi and mundanes.” Breathing deeply she swung round pointing a firm finger at his chest.
“Look what happened at Kirkwall! How many dead because your Templars failed to protect the innocent? You lost control and hundreds died because of it, so you cut down the mages without hesitation, it is you that is a monster, not them!” He snarled defiantly as he grasped his blade, his Templar abilities reared and she drew back in shock.
She could feel his anti-arcane resistances come to bear; it was like nothing she’d ever sensed. The sheer force of will to project so much concentrated spirit energy was unfathomable, and she could see the slight glow of pure white light in his hazel eyes as he glared at her.
His voice was artic and she could feel the sting of each carefully chosen word. “I didn’t burn an entire city of civilians.”
The fight was knocked out of her, the magic she had begun to channel drifted away as shame crept up her spine. Her eyes pricked with tears as she held her composure, on the surface she was emotionless, but beneath the façade she was spinning out of control. Taking a series of calming breaths she tried to pull herself together without showing her moment of weakness from his venomous words.
He moved forward calmly, his steps carrying him so he towered directly above her. Holding her gaze he levelled a disdainful look, before he turned away but paused after the third step. Glancing back over his shoulder he muttered slowly almost without care. “I have no idea who you truly are Warden Amell, it’s been ten years and you still somehow manage to hold a grudge.”
He spat the last word derisively, “You haven’t crossed my mind in a long time, so forgive me when your opinion means little to myself.” She held back her rebuke as he effortlessly barged over her possible responses. “But Leliana had asked me to personally escort you to Haven despite my reluctance, so put aside your grievances and make the arrangements.”
He strode away without a second look as Solona stood in solitude; her Wardens were reforming around the horses as the Inquisition knights lined up the surviving renegades, with one firm hand movement of their commander, six men were put to the sword. The squadron remounted after placing a marker for a patrol to clean up the area, ignoring the concerned glances of her Wardens. Clasping her waist with her arms, she felt empty and bitter after Cullen’s tirade, even after ten years he still had the ability to wound her like no other apparently.
His words flayed her conscious thoughts with agony; he’d said he hadn’t thought about her? Over the years even with the hateful thoughts she conjured of him he was never far from her mind, had he really just forgotten her? She didn’t know if that hurt more than imagining him hating her over the past years.
She called her second over as she considered her options. “Nate, get the Watch and Oghren back to Soldiers peak, I’ll go to visit the Inquisition spymaster. She has information and a new source; I need her for my research.” She turned away, “I’ll send word when I can.” He gave her an incredulous look before agreeing and turning away.
Glancing over to the Commander as he mounted his horse, her brain revised how poor an idea this was, despite the hesitation she made her decision, she could survive Cullen being here and would meet with Leliana. Hopefully she could ascertain this new lead and return to her Wardens quickly, but she couldn’t help but feel that things were not going to be so simple. They never are…