Chapter Text
Seven weeks after Adamant.
*****
Excerpt from Solas' journal
Mayhem was an understatement.
Infuriating. Chaotic. Insanity. Never since my awakening have I longed to go back underground, burying myself and shutting out the world until Sera’s incessant pattering melted away through time.
Idalya provides no distraction from this gauntlet of annoyance as she pushes ahead in silence. Two days into the journey and she’d stopped speaking. She only answers questions directed to her and most of the time she doesn’t hear those.
Her dreams and nightmares thunder across the Fade each night I find myself unable to escape from. Archdemons, darkspawn, the humans who spat into an innocent elven child’s face once in an Alienage- those are the easier ones to handle. Then come the dreams of her parents, fallen companions, demons ripping shredding the flesh from tower Templars and mage, or the other dreams I avoid.
We’ve been connected since the Warden foolishly stole my powers to save the Templar. I know her emotions, feel them within the pit of my soul, even as the girl hides her words. I feel her unending grief because we both can’t forgive our failures, can we?
I do not burden her with this knowledge. She carries enough worries inside without knowing I see what she’s too ashamed to speak.
Her powers have grown beyond mine in the Fade now. The consistency and soft foundation we travel through together reflected my control and manipulation of my emotions- she has none. Her discipline does not extend into the Fade where her powers have thrown everything out of balance.
Sleeplessness is corroding me, slowly removing pieces each day we travel further into godforsaken lands. It took five weeks to reach the Storm Coast and more within the Deep Roads while Idalya meticulously cleared passages of darkspawn, her eyes enraged and face coated in splattered corruption before she’d allow us to descend into the far reaches.
Two weeks without the sun and I feel trapped, surrounded by corruption, while the ground quakes beneath us. Apprehension has set into us all, besides the Warden who seems more comfortable in rotting lengths of tunnels than she did in Skyhold. Even Sera now speaks in whispers to the Iron Bull as they discuss the physical attributes of Idalya in the most vulgar terms imaginable.
I have become their comic relief. Their inappropriate jokes made at my expense for entertainment during these drawn-out days. I don’t judge them for trying to find any distraction from where we’re traveling. I enjoy my mental games of chess with Bull, but Sera’s patience wears thin after only a few rounds of being excluded.
This is the quiet part of the watch.
Dal and the others have drifted to the Fade while I purge my emotions to the page then burn them before the others awaken just to have someone to speak to. This writing has become my only source of comfort now that Idalya has locked everyone from her mind except those of us that can’t escape from it.
The Warden estimates a day journey until our destination. I am hopeful our time in the Deep Roads will find a resolution quickly. I long for my rotunda and my books, my private sleeping cot, and my paintings. I long for the sky and the sun.
But mostly I long for the girl who could smile that existed once in Skyhold.
*****
“Show me.”
Leliana peered up from her unending pile of missives, tension tight across the arch of her shoulders. She rose a sloped brow at the condescending witch standing too close to her desk.
“Pray tell me, what I’m supposed to be showing you, Morrigan?” The Witch of the Wilds scowled at her typical sarcasm.
She knew exactly what the witch wanted, but she’d be damned if she didn’t make her work for it.
Since returning to Skyhold with the Inquisition, Morrigan had peppered her questions regarding the ritual used to bring Idalya back into this undeserving world. She wanted to know the details, artifacts used, location, time of day, participants. If there was a question, she’d asked it in the month following Adamant.
The Spymaster couldn’t think of anyone who should know the details less than Morrigan. But keeping the witch ignorant required throwing a bone before she kept digging and managed in her unbearable stubbornness to unveil the truth.
“I will take you there… on one condition,” Morrigan’s golden cat eyes narrowed at her stipulation, even as Leliana could taste her need, her desperation for the knowledge. “I will show you where it happened and what we did. Afterward, you’ll never ask me another question about it. Deal?”
Morrigan sighed in relief, her feline features resuming their typical analyzing glare. “Do you think I enjoy speaking to you?” She scoffed. “Let’s go now.”
With a silent groan, Leliana headed titled back against her stiff shoulders as she calmed the instinct to put her dagger through the witch. It would eliminate so many issues.
“You know what… let’s get this over with.” She rose from behind her desk, her ravens squawking in protest at Morrigan’s agitating presence in the rookery. As she passed, Leliana cooed softly under her breath as she ran her fingers along the bottom edge of their cages and the birds calmed. None removed their eyes from the unwanted guest. Even birds were smart enough not to trust Morrigan.
It took Leliana’s last shred of self-control to not lead Morrigan back and forth across the fortress aimlessly until pointing at some arbitrary spot and saying this is the place. She wanted to be done dealing with the woman daily, and if this delayed more questions for just a week, it was worth it for every second of silence.
Exiting from the main hall into the courtyard, Morrigan hissed aloud at the lines of training Templars; the soldiers dodging controlled fireballs across the field as far as her eyes could see.
“Tell me. Which one was the Templar?” Even Morrigan wasn’t immune to the curiosity of gossip.
The witch wasn’t who she imagined having girlish chit-chat with, but it was better than discussing the war. Since their return, Josie rarely exited her office. Her plan appeared to be giving Cullen a run for his money as the resident workaholic of the Inquisition.
Her eyes scanned the fields until she spotted Barris’ broad and bare shoulders back at the watering bucket. He poured a jug over water over his head to wash away the sweat beading down his neck in the full summer sun hovering low over the fortress.
She motioned toward the unsuspecting Templar. “That one. Dark skin, nice eyes, lots of muscles.” Dal’s repeated fascination with warriors made far more sense when you observed them shirtless. As much as his presence annoyed her now, Ferelden’s King had been very easy on the eyes in his youth.
It was unsurprising when the witch took off. She marched through the lines of Templars who backed away from her determined path as she headed straight for Barris. She balled her twitching hands into fists, her chin pointed upright as she stopped uncomfortably close to the Knight-Commander who stared down at her with a confused expression. To his credit and training, Barris’ posture remained at ease despite Morrigan’s glaring.
Their silence lasted a few unmoving seconds, placing the other Templars on alert as Leliana watched them with concern. Everyone here had worked to make Skyhold a haven for mages after their alignment with the Order- even Evelyn embraced integrating their forces to their advantage. All it would take is one non-veiled threat against Skyhold’s Knight-Commander to throw months of work away.
Morrigan’s body language calmed as she finished analyzing the man. “He’s boring- completely average.” She yelled back in flippant disgust, before about facing and returning.
Leliana shrugged innocently in response to Barris’ questioning expression across the training grounds as the women turned toward Skyhold’s cells.
“That was unnecessary,” The Spymaster mumbled watching the Templars relax as Morrigan’s presence withdrew from their leader’s.
“So is he!” Morrigan spat, aghast once more at Dal’s type. “Why does she settle for these dim-witted dog lords when she deserves more?”
Leliana honestly chuckled as they reached the cells, the soldiers standing aside for their entrance. “And what type would you suggest? Never mind, I don’t want to know who’d deem appropriate.”
***
Morrigan narrowed her eyes toward the Spymaster as they entered the hallway for the holding cells. She didn’t trust Leliana to not throw her within the jails for no reason besides her questioning. The rogue didn’t slow her pace as she continued to the far end, an unnoticeable door built into the stone with a simple keyhole drilled into the framework stood in the shadows.
Withdrawing an iron key from her cloak, she opened the lock and slid the door open before motioning inside. Morrigan followed her guide while preparing the magic inside should the woman try to trap her inside.
Stepping inside Morrigan cringed. Her throat gagging at the strength of the residual magic locked behind the door. She turned back to analyze the stone. Skyhold hummed incessantly with ancient magic she’d felt from a distance as she approached. Now it appeared the fortress held far more secrets than she’d understood.
A simple stone table was the center of the large empty room. Dried rings of brown coated its surface and the surrounding floor. Morrigan could taste the remaining iron hovering in the air. A lot of blood had been spilled here.
“You claim Fiona channeled this ritual?” the witch scoffed. “Lies.” Fiona was a dying, old, gray-haired woman who could barely channel the energy to stand. When she’d heard the leader of Ferelden’s rebel mages was in Skyhold, she’d expected more than a woman winded after a few sentences.
“Her and a few volunteers from her former circle.” Leliana shrugged not acknowledging her disbelief. How stupid did she think she was?
“Tell me exactly how it happened.” Morrigan walked closer to examine the remnants of the ceremony. Her palms laid flat on the stone tables listening to its unique vibrations, the fortress’ song hummed into her flesh.
“Fiona laid out the artifacts. She followed the ritual the Wardens used for Urthemiel. They reanimated Dal. It’s not complicated.” She really thinks I’m an idiot.
“They bent the rules of what we know of the natural world. Magic of this magnitude requires a requires great power in exchange.”
Leliana’s jaw tightened, regretting the decision to bring her down here.
“This stays between us, Morrigan. All that blood? It’s Fiona’s. She used blood magic to power the artifacts. She almost killed herself.”
“That is your secret? Blood magic? Any idiot should realize that!”
“No, they wouldn’t. You weren’t here then. We’d only aligned with the Order weeks earlier while harboring Redcliffe’s mages. What would have happened if they’d discovered the leader of the rebels using blood magic beneath their noses on arrival?”
Morrigan paled, her jaw set in disgust. She’d seen the work of terror-filled, ignorant Templars through Kinloch. One of their worst now named Commander of the Inquisition. Those men never changed their biases, just the symbol on their armor. “They’d have slaughtered everyone without cause.”
“Then you understand. All of this remains a secret. You may doubt me, but do not doubt my duty to reduce bloodshed within these walls. These mages aren’t criminals, they were frightened refugees preyed upon by a force beyond their understanding. Their only crime was fear. Fiona wanted to repent; I gave her a way to start.”
Maybe they had one thing in common.
“Idalya would never forgive you if she knew.” The Warden was always wary of power she didn’t understand. She didn’t fault or label those who used it, but it was never a path she’d choose for herself.
A familiar sapphire and silver shroud crumpled on the floor in the corner caught her eye. She swallowed her emotions back with difficulty as memories flooded through her. Idalya’s body had been wrapped inside, the girl’s skin grayed and sunken as they draped the cloth over her before entombment
The witch knelt, running the tips of her fingers over the edge of the fabric. Her head tilted as she felt a weight shift underneath. Her eyes flicked up and Leliana was busy avoiding looking at anything in the center of the room. With delicate fingers, Morrigan pulled back the edge of the fabric. It was a piece of bone. An inch long, bleached white from the decay of time.
In a practiced move from her childhood, she palmed the piece of the bone, slipping it into the side of her waistband in a subtle gesture as she stood.
“Thank you.” Decency wasn’t her strongest suit, but she needed to pacify the woman to avoid suspicion. “I… I needed to know, to see where…”
The Spymaster nodded in understanding as Morrigan pushed down her annoyance at the gross display of empathy from the rogue- it was unbecoming from the cold woman.
“This fulfills my end of the bargain. No more questions?”
“I will bother you no further.” Morrigan rolled her eyes as she passed by the rogue, her hand gently moving past where her treasure was tucked safely from the Spymaster’s knowledge.