Chapter Text
Alamar, as it turned out, was even more Fereldan than Emmrich had expected. Harding was in her element, though, happily chatting away at how the island had used to be easy pickings for the pirates on neighbouring land masses, but in turn got through the last Blight mostly unscathed. The town of Alamar itself was nice enough, even if everything did smell like brine and fish. But the hills beyond? Utter misery.
They’d decided on the island for their trip because, once again, its remoteness allowed it to be mostly safe from the war and Blight plaguing the Fereldan mainland. According to the Inquisitor’s missives, broad swathes of the forest heartland of Andraste’s home had been overrun, amd the coast was plagued by Antaam dreadnoughts. Still, they managed to find an Eluvian that led to the northern coast of Ferelden, where they took a boat across the strait.
‘They,’ in this instance, being Harding and Emmrich, as planned, plus Lucanis. The Crow had asked if he could come with them after being essentially banned from Treviso under Illario’s orders - a danger to his family, preposterous! - and left in the Lighthouse by Rook to “recover and regain his strength.” Lucanis had been very polite and even a little reluctant in asking; Emmrich had needed only a quick glance over to Lace to check that she was actually happy to have the Antivan come along and not simply pretending to be nice.
“I can teach you how to cook over an open fire!” she’d gushed, clearly ecstatic. The Crow had simply smiled and said he’d bring a small collection of spices.
And so they went camping, the three of them. One a city predator, one used to the amenities of the university, and lastly Harding, who had spent a quarter of an hour just breathing in the scent of the wet oak wood once they’d left Alamar town. She seemed to overflow with joy over everything: the squirrels, the ferns, the wet ground, the hard ground, the heather on the hilltops. Emmrich tried to match her enthusiasm but found that the constant tripping over roots and rubble was getting on his nerves. He’d also left Manfred behind, though not by choice; according to Lace, Fereldan people were not very open to the idea of necromancy. She’d generally warned him not to do magic in front of people, especially nothing “unusual”. And told Spite to behave.
But, at least she was happy. She’d found a small abri for them to build camp and soon her and Lucanis were bickering about how best to grill mushrooms over the open fire. The Crow had dressed down for the occasion in simple boots, dark trousers and a linen shirt under a wool jacket. Emmrich had never seen the clothes before and the assassin looked less like his polished usual self and more… relaxed. It suited him, Emmrich thought.
Two days into their camping adventure - Emmrich was already counting down the hours until they would return to the Lighthouse, his room, his skeleton friend and the library - Lace wanted to show them a waterfall deeper in the hilly countryside. And so they trekked on, across hills covered in broom shrub and prickly thistle. It had been two days of bad sleep, of using a latrine dug into the ground, of venison - no thank you - and wild root vegetables - please let Lucanis cook those - and Emmrich was very ready to see at least one nice thing so the trip would feel a little less like a grave mistake.
The waterfall was beautiful, just not as lonely as Harding had hoped for. There were half a dozen people there, presumably locals, setting up fishing rods on the bank of the stream. They seemed surprised, but waved friendly enough; within minutes, Harding was chatting with them while Lucanis climbed the rocks next to the waterfall. When the dwarf came back, she shrugged and looked over her shoulder at the Fereldans.
“There's a small town nearby that’s taken in lots of refugees,” she said. “Collurcan. They even have a Chantry, so I guess not the untouched wilderness it used to be. But they said we can swim, no problem! The water’s clear and there’s no dangerous critters around.”
“Well, then … I suppose we swim.” Emmrich was not entirely happy to undress with half a village watching on and off from a little ways down the stream, but he was determined to wrest some kind of fun from this misadventure. So he carefully took off vest, shirt, boots, pants and socks until he was only in his smallclothes, folded everything neatly, and waded into the cold water.
He gasped and cringed at the frigid shock while Harding laughed. She marched into the water and then dipped under for a moment. When she came up, snorting like a happy walrus, Lucanis came climbing back down from the top of the waterfall. He eyed them both critically, but at least took off his boots and socks and rolled up his pants.
“It’s really quite cold,” Emmrich said, still working up the courage to submerge himself.
“Bracing!” Harding replied.
“I bet.” The Antivan stepped into the water and grimaced. “Icy is more like it.”
“There’s still snow on some of the mountains upriver!” Harding told them like it was great news, grinning from ear to ear.
“Well, it’s supposedly good for you to go swimming in cold water,” Emmrich tried to convince himself. He took another step, and another, and then he trod on something slippery and fell. Lucanis rushed over, cursing, and managed to grab him before he either hit his head on a stone or was carried away by the stream and now they were both up to their chests in cold water.
Lucanis, still mostly dressed, looked like he was ready to murder someone. He leaned in closer and whispered, “Remind me to never go camping with Harding again.”
“If you do me the same favor,” Emmrich whispered back. The Antivan grinned and shook his head.
“You wanted this,” Lucanis accused. “But now that I’m already in…” He moved away and began swimming with measured, elegant strokes, once over to the other side of the pool and then back to the deepest part where he had to tread water. “That’s enough fun for me; I’ll try and dry off,” he yelled over the rushing and hissing of the waterfall.
Harding swam up to him, pouting, and dunked him. It was just a playful little gesture, one she probably had done to other people under similar circumstances dozens of times, but Emmrich could see the moment when Lucanis’ eyes went wide and his hands began to rise and tried to call out a warning, but by then it was too late.
Spite’s wings unfolded violently, breaching the water’s surface and throwing Harding off before Lucanis launched himself up into the air and away in a shower of purple feathers. He reached the riverbank and stopped, breathing heavily.
“Sorry! I’m sorry!” squeaked Harding. “I didn’t…” Then she looked over to the villagers.
Emmrich followed her gaze. Every one of the locals stared at the man with the bone-and-shadow wings who was curled up on the pebbles and wet grass, knuckles paperwhite as he grabbed at the ground to steady himself. Their eyes were wide and wild, but not one of them twitched a muscle, transfixed like rabbits in scrubby grass, pinned in place by fear.
“We need to leave,” she said.
Emmrich rushed over to Lucanis as quickly as he could, stumbling over wet and slippery rocks, cursing in Nevarran. “It’s alright,” he called, then he was finally out of the water and falling to his knees next to the Crow. “Nothing happened.”
The wings folded away, disappeared, and Lucanis took one long, controlled breath. “I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t want you to see… this.”
“No, no, it’s my fault,” Harding protested. “I shouldn’t have pushed you under water.”
“You couldn’t know it would… surprise me like that. I didn’t know either.”
Lucanis stood and began to methodically wring water from his hair, sleeves, and the hem of his shirt and vest. “I guess we need to move?”
“Yeah. Two people already ran off.” Harding was quickly putting on her clothes and picking up her gear.
“And you don’t think your countrymen are just trying to get help?”
“I think they’re… they’re spooked. Fereldans are like their Mabari hounds - you don’t want to spook them. They’ll bite.”
“Wonderful”, Emmrich said, grappling with his pants. “Then let’s leave. Swiftly, and perhaps entirely.”
“That’s probably for the best.”
As they began to walk back, several of the people at the river followed them, always keeping them in sight. They didn’t call out and when Harding yelled a greeting, they didn’t react. Emmrich began to feel like a sheep with a pack of very quiet, determined herding dogs on his heels. When they finally saw their little campsite he was just about to thank the Maker for small mercies.
But that was when they heard the horses.
“Mierda .” Lucanis was already drawing a small knife that had been mostly hidden in a sheath inside his belt; of course he had a blade on him. Emmrich just made a beeline for his pack, where his staff lay. Several riders came out of the woods, armed and armored and cantering towards them, and when Emmrich got his hand on his weapon, a small flame of veilfire began to flicker brightly along the wood and bronze.
“Apostate!” someone yelled and Emmrich nearly looked around at whom they could mean, but… him? Surely not! He opened his mouth to protest, then stared, disbelieving, at the flame-and-sword symbols on the men’s cuirasses. The rider leading the troupe drew his sword and suddenly his eyes and the blade flashed white - and something hit Emmrich like a hammer to the brain. He dropped his staff and fell to his knees with a groan, clutching his head.
Hooves trampled the earth around him, then suddenly there was Lucanis standing over his prone form and he could hear the Antivan lilt and his anger both as he argued. Harding chimed in, her voice clipped and business-like. Slowly, Emmrich’s thoughts began to reassemble themselves into a coherent whole. He instinctively reached out for his magic, the ebb and flow of the Fade, and found it out of his reach. It was still there, he knew, but like a landscape beyond glass he was cut off from touching it. He swallowed down the sudden queasiness building in his stomach, concentrated on the real world around him, and caught the tail-end of the Harding’s tirade.
“... with the Inquisition! This is preposterous and I insist you let them leave with me, at once!”
“I cannot do that. The Reverend Mother has ordered me to bring the abomination in, whatever it- he is, and we will need to question the mage. It is protocol.”
“What protocol? I’m telling you, this is the sigil of the Inquisitor herself.”
“The protocol of the Chantry Renewed. We have no quarrel with you and if you tell the truth, you can most certainly bring a writ of this … inquisitor. Until then I must insist to take these two in, to the Chantry and the Tower.”
Emmrich began to stand and the templar pointed his sword at him again. “Don’t you dare ,” hissed Lucanis.
“Oh!” One of the other riders smirked at them. “Is the demon the robe’s plaything?”
“Watch your tongue!” Harding seemed to nearly rise off the ground in her anger and Emmrich began to feel a pulse, a heartbeat in the stone under his feet.
“It will be alright!” he said quickly. If she happened to show her abilities around these people, as a dwarf with never before seen magical powers? It would not go down well. “Lace, please.”
She turned around, eyes wet and cheeks red with righteous fury. “I can’t just let them take you!” she protested.
Emmrich shook his head and held up his hands placatingly. “They will take us to this Chantry,” he said. “Right? And you’ll be back in a few days, and everything will be cleared up.”
Her chin wobbled. “But…”
“Please go, Lace,” said Lucanis. “We’ll be fine.”
Harding sniffled, but then nodded with renewed resolution. “Alright. I’ll be quick. And you!” She pointed her finger at the assembled templars. “Don’t you dare hurt them or I will make you regret every decision that led you to this point in your life!”
The leader nodded, a little bemused, then turned to Lucanis and Emmrich. “Ser Mage, we’ll give you one of the horses. And you.” He looked at Lucanis. “Hand over your weapons."
The Crow huffed and cracked his neck, but began to divest himself of several knives, a garrotte wire and half a dozen tiny darts. One of the riders had dismounted and took all the weapons with a growing air of disbelief. Then he led the horse over to Emmrich and offered him help to get into the saddle.
It had been quite some time since he last had ridden a horse, but Emmrich’s knees were so wobbly at the moment that he was thankful to not have to walk. He turned around to look at Lucanis and saw the same man bind the Crow’s hands with rope before stepping up and tying the end of the rope to Emmrich’s saddle. Harding watched while packing her things, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line. Oddly enough, Lucanis himself seemed the most relaxed about the less than stellar position he was in - still in wet clothes and bound to a horse.
“Move out!” the leader of the templars ordered and Emmrich’s horse followed the rest. One of the armed men walked behind them on foot, as he had given his horse to the mage. And Lucanis kept pace with that horse, but what was he supposed to do - let it drag him along?
“I need your help,” Lucanis whispered after a few minutes of marching through the woods.
Emmrich leaned down. “Most certainly,” he said.
Lucanis smiled wryly. “With Spite,” he elaborated. “I don’t know what will happen or what they will do. But Spite needs to stay calm, to stay hidden. I don’t think it will help our situation if he takes me over, shows his wings and screams bloody murder.”
“No, definitely not. They… they were able to nullify my magic instantly, even before I cast a spell. They have lyrium augmentation, and seem more than willing to use it.”
“Good. I promise Spite control over my body for two days after this, if he stays hidden.”
No.
Emmrich blinked. “Ah.”
“ Exactly. Please, talk to him.”
Emmrich cast his gaze around; the templars were watching them, but the terrain was not easy to navigate and most were concentrated on their horses. “Spite,” he said, low and quiet. “You need- I want you to understand. If you act, if you show yourself, these men will hurt you.”
I will. Fight!
“They can blind you and bind your powers. Please. They will hurt both you and Lucanis. And…” Emmrich swallowed dryly, his head still ringing with pain. “And maybe even myself.”
There was a moment of silence, then a hiss. Promise.
The sudden wash of relief made Emmrich feel faint. “ Good, good. Thank you, Spite.”
Lucanis nodded, slowly, his bound hands bumping into Emmrich’s knee. “Thank you,” he echoed. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”