I cannot see the path.
Perhaps there is only abyss.
Trembling, I step forward,
In darkness enveloped.
-Trials 1:13
---
"I'm sorry, Commander-- haven't seen your man."
"What about an elf-- brown skin, hay-colored hair, leather armor…"
"See more than a few elves on my patrol, but not many in armor aside from yourself. Would've noticed that."
"Maybe try down by the docks," the other guard said. "Meaning no offense, ser, but an armed elf in this city ain't generally on the right side of the law. We pick up a lot of the rougher sorts down that way at The Drake's Take."
Velanna could see Tabris' jaw working, but she held her tongue. "Then I'll try there," she said through gritted teeth, turning on her heel and marching off.
"Maybe the kid found himself some company, lost track of time," Oghren said, trailing after her, then shook his head. "Ah, who am I kidding, he did something stupid."
"If he's not dead, I'm going to kill him," Tabris huffed, practically jogging towards the docks.
The Drake's Take was a dingy little bar jutting out of what looked like a shipping warehouse. The patrons, an eclectic assortment of humans, elves, and dwarves, seemed to keep to their drinks, and the atmosphere grew noticeably tense when the Wardens disrupted it in their pristine silver armor. A quick scan of the crowd revealed neither Anders nor Namaya.
"Something I can help you with?" The bartender was a squint-eyed human whose coarse red beard was interrupted by a startling gouge, white-purple scarring bisecting the jawline and traveling up to just under one eye.
"Won't trouble you long," Tabris said. "Just looking for someone-- one of my men, blond, tall, human-- or an elven friend of his, Namaya."
"Namaya? Yeah, I know her. Might remember seeing her sometime today… Hard to say."
Without hesitation, the Commander withdrew a handful of silvers from her purse, sliding them across the counter. The bartender pocketed them without examining them too closely.
"She's not here anymore, but I saw her a few hours ago. Mentioned she was leaving town, heading back to the Free Marches. Don't know why she'd want to go there, the whole place is loaded up with refugees from the Blight, yeah? But I suppose the guards'll have their hands too full with that lot to worry about some, eh, unorthodox trading."
"Do you know what ship she's taking?"
"Can't say I do," the man said. "Seemed in a hurry, though, so I'd bet on it being the first one out tomorrow morning."
"Thanks for your time," Tabris said, and led them back out into the evening air.
"The Port Authority might have a schedule for tomorrow," Nathaniel suggested, "though they've probably closed office for the night."
"We'll try anyway," Tabris said, dark and frustrated. "You good with breaking in to check the ledger, if it comes to that?"
"If you think that's the smartest course--"
"I don't think it's smart, but desperate times call for stupid measures," she said. "Damn it, Anders."
"You've fought about this before?" Velanna asked, finally giving in to her curiosity.
"It's complicated," Tabris grunted, stalking along the boardwalk and scanning the ships, as if Anders would leap out of one at any moment. She froze suddenly, transfixed by something further ahead, and raised her hand to stop the rest of them in their tracks, pointing silently.
Velanna peered ahead and saw an elf, ropy-limbed and clad in light leather armor, with dull shoulder-length hair, exchanging coin with a dockhand.
"Namaya," Tabris said, and began to approach.
Namaya turned as they drew within earshot, her eyes widening, and broke out into a full sprint, practically knocking her companion into the sea in her haste. Tabris launched after her, heavy boots pounding on the wooden walkway.
Velanna reacted, reaching for whatever life might be left in the wood. There was none to be found, but to her surprise, the kelp of the shallow seabed answered her call, and she drew on the natural mana within it to make it stretch and grow and reach-- it burst forth from between the slats, winding and twisting and grasping Namaya by the ankles. She collided hard with the dock, sliding an inch or two, but the vines held her tightly in place. Tabris seemed startled, but only hesitated a moment before she drew Namaya up by the collar of her jerkin.
"Sorry about that," she said, as Namaya blinked away her daze. She had landed on her chin, and blood bubbled out of her mouth where she had bit her tongue. Tabris hissed at the sight. "I'd help you out with that, but Anders is my healer, so..."
"Fuck 'ou," Namaya coughed, more blood dribbling down her chin.
"I just wanted to talk. You're the one who ran," Tabris said, but set Namaya down, allowing her to sit up. Velanna didn't let her loose just yet, though. "Where'd you send him?"
"He didn' tell you?" Namaya drew her palm across her mouth, wincing and spitting blood to her side.
"The sooner you give me the location, the sooner we're out of your hair," she said, and Velanna punctuated her promise by tightening the wet, slimy seaweed that coiled around Namaya's ankles.
"'Kay, 'kay, enuh," she slurred, words warped by her swollen tongue and the blood still welling in her mouth. Velanna rolled her eyes and knelt beside her, grasping the woman's bruised chin with ungentle fingers and sending a little wave of healing magic through them. The blood didn't disappear, but she could see on Namaya's face that the worst of the damage was fading. Anders may have been a more accomplished healer than Velanna, but she wasn't helpless. Namaya wrenched her chin from Velanna's hand, spitting out another foaming mouthful of blood. "There's no phylactery. It's a honeypot the Templars set up."
"Of course it is." Tabris looked even more furious than before. "Where are they."
"Are you going to let me go?"
"Yes," Tabris said, catching Velanna's eye and nodding her head. Velanna reluctantly released her spell, and the kelp went lax and limp where it was wound around Namaya's ankles. Scowling, she began to yank it off in wet, slimy strips. "But if you lie to me, you won't make it out of this city."
"There's a warehouse next to an abandoned distillery, a few blocks north of the barracks. That's where they were supposed to be waiting for him."
Tabris didn't wait to hear another word, rising to stand and heading quickly in the direction of the barracks, waving to the others to follow.
"He would've done the same to me," Namaya shouted after them, stumbling back to her feet. "If it meant he got away clean, he would've done exactly the same thing!"
Tabris gave no reply as she broke into a run, the others trailing behind her. She had a target, and like an arrow, she was bound for it.
"That was a useful trick," Nathaniel said quietly, keeping pace easily. His legs were really absurdly long, Velanna thought.
"A 'useful trick' is dabbing cinnamon oil behind your ears to ward off biting flies," Velanna huffed as she ran. "My magic is the result of hundreds of years of Dalish tradition."
Nathaniel's placid surface cracked a little, and he looked at Velanna, chagrined. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself, averting his eyes and pursing his lips, as if he had to force himself to hold his tongue.
"This looks like it could be the place, boss," Oghren said as they rounded a corner, stopping to peer into the clouded windows. Tabris examined the weathered sign over the door, then seemed to look past it, focusing on something beyond what any of them could see.
"I can feel him," she finally muttered. "His blood."
Velanna shuddered. She couldn't yet sense whatever Tabris could, but the thought alone chilled her. Could the rest of them now sense Velanna as well, as if she were no different from one of the darkspawn?
Tabris rattled the door handle, which was locked tight. She summoned Nathaniel with a glance, and he withdrew a roll of little metal tools from his belt. On one knee before the door, he carefully, almost surgically, picked at the mechanisms in the keyhole. Minutes later, it gave, the lock sliding open with a click.
"I've some useful tricks as well," he said under his breath to Velanna, as he drew the door open. She bristled, her ears going hot.
It was dark inside; the only light was the moonlight that spilled in through the open doorway and the faint glow of torchlight from a chamber in the back of the near-empty warehouse. It would have been unremarkable, had it not been for the mage tied to a post and the two Templars standing guard over him. Their armor was scorched in places, sweat on their brows, but they seemed otherwise unharmed. The same could not be said for Anders, who had blood streaking from a cut on his forehead, his hair sticking to his face and escaping from its tie. He was gagged, his eyes red-rimmed and furious.
"I didn't expect to see you, Commander," said one of the Templars, a woman with dark hair and a cold expression. "I assumed he had deserted the Grey Wardens as well. You made a poor choice with this one. Anders will never submit, not to us, and not to you." Anders lurched where he sat, rattling the manacles that held him to the post. Velanna realized then what they were-- a Templar tool, enchanted to silence a mage's spells. She had heard of it before, though she had never experienced the effect. If Anders had any mana left, it had been rendered useless by his bonds.
"Anders is a Warden, by the Right of Conscription and Queen Anora's own decree. You have no authority to hold him," Tabris said. Her hand hovered near the hilt of one of her swords, her voice as deadly a warning as the blade itself.
"He is an apostate, and a murderer," the Templar hissed. "The Chantry's authority supercedes the crown in this matter."
"Is it the Chantry's authority, or yours?" The Commander's hand flexed, itching to move but not daring to break the standstill. Velanna's own fingertips were buzzing with unspent mana, the incantation for a hex perched on the tip of her tongue, waiting for the calm to break. "If I brought this dispute to Knight-Commander Greagoir, what would he say?"
That struck a nerve, and the Templar drew her sword. Tabris mirrored her, drawing two sharply curved longswords from their sheaths, but neither woman moved any further.
"The Grey Wardens have ever been a haven for criminals and maleficar," the Templar muttered. "I do not know how you inspire such loyalty, Anders, but it will avail you naught." With that, she charged, shield-first, barrelling towards the Commander.
Velanna loosed her spell, a misdirection hex meant to addle the mind-- it landed, and her foe stumbled just enough for Tabris to successfully dodge the charge, side-stepping and sweeping her blades around in a wide arc to strike at the woman's back. The room erupted into chaos, Nathaniel darting to the side to find partial cover behind another pillar from which he could fire upon the other Templar, whose attention Velanna had drawn. She managed to fire off a walking bomb curse, turning the second Templar's blood to poison within his own veins, before the air around him burst and surged outward, like a great cloud of mushroom spores made of pure light. The wave struck her, and she staggered, her stomach turning. It was like waking from a dream of falling, your body solidly on the ground as it lurched-- she felt the magic that was a second nature to her, like breathing, suddenly blink away for just a moment, flickering.
Nathaniel's first arrow sailed past her as she faltered, ricocheting off the Templar's bucket-like helmet and knocking him back, unwounded, but startled.
Near them, the leader was struggling between Oghren's hammer and Tabris' swords-- the Commander had landed a hit in the gap of her breastplate, though not a deadly one, but focusing on Tabris left her back exposed to Oghren's wide, heavy swings. A chainmail skirt protected her legs from Tabris' deft blades, but when Oghren landed a hit, the armor crumpled in, sending the Templar sprawling. Tabris took the opening, kicking the woman's knee out from under her, and she went to the floor with a shout.
Her subordinate leapt to her defense, rushing in to knock Oghren's hammer from his hands with his shield. Oghren staggered, but held his grip, losing ground with each of the Templar's blows.
Another arrow whizzed by, aimed straight for the Templar's eyes, but the eye slot in a Templar's helmet was wide and thin, and blocked entry to projectiles, magical or otherwise. Nathaniel's arrow did not hit its mark, but it did knock the helmet askew, sending the Templar stumbling to set it right again and giving Oghren an opening to crush his leg. He fell to the ground as well, shouting in agony, his helmet clattering to the ground. Velanna could see now that her spell had taken root, despite the cleansing he had tried to unleash-- his eyes bulged, the veins in his face and neck pulsing sickeningly. Oghren drew back his hammer, aiming to crush the man with one heavy blow, but before his blow fell, blood burst from the man's face in great pressurized gouts, from eyes and ears and nose and mouth, in a hideous spray of gore. Oghren recoiled, either disgusted or disappointed she had taken his kill. The walking bomb was not the most elegant of Velanna's spells, but it certainly got the job done.
The leader scrambled back from Tabris' advance, but she had lost the advantage. Tabris kneed her in the face, crushing her nose, and then, with her knee planted on the Templar's sword arm keeping her prone, and her sword raised to block the Templar's shield, Tabris slid her blade between the Templar's breastplates, and between her ribs. She died choking on blood, her eyes going dull, her arms falling limp to the floor of the warehouse.
The room fell quiet. Nathaniel lowered his bow, walking over to offer Tabris a hand. She was panting with exertion, her face and armor flecked with blood. Her eyes looked oddly hollow. She wiped the worst of the blood off her swords before sheathing them again, and finally took Nathaniel's offered hand, hauling herself up to her feet.
"His chains," she said, looking at Nathaniel and nodding towards Anders, who had been intently watching the fight from across the room. He looked no more relaxed now than he had when they arrived.
"There should be a key," Nathaniel said, and Anders reacted violently to that, his speech muffled by the rag stuffed into his mouth. He began to jerk his head in the direction of the second Templar. Oghren looked down at the bloody mess held together by plate mail at his feet, roughly shoving it to and fro and rifling through pockets and pouches. He emerged with a heavy iron key. Oghren unshackled Anders, who yanked his hands out of the manacles as if they were burning him, tearing the gag away from his mouth and grimacing as he wiped tacky blood and hair from his face.
"Believe me now?" Anders coughed, his mouth dry, his cheeks rubbed raw. "Andraste's flaming fucking ass." He stumblingly climbed to his feet, glancing across at the two Templars bleeding into the floorboards. He spat, and it came out bloody.
"Do you need healing?" Tabris asked.
"I can heal myself," he said, and his hands sparked to life, glowing blue as he cast a minor healing spell. As his hand passed over his brow, the shallow gash knit and healed, though the dried blood on his face and in his hair remained. "Thanks ever so much."
Tabris took a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "We will discuss this later. Right now, we need to report this to the Guard."
"Report it?" Anders gaped. "Are you mad? They'll only--"
"Yes, Anders, report it, because they'll need an explanation for two dead Templars in their city, and unless you tell them about the phylactery, we did nothing wrong--"
"We didn't do anything wrong!"
"The amount of shit you got us all in tonight--"
"You're blaming me for what they did?"
"You took their bait! If you had obeyed my order, if you hadn't crossed that line, they would have no just cause, but--"
"'Just cause'?"
"You don't seem to understand," Tabris said, stepping closer to look Anders in the eye, "the position I'm in here. I'm Arlessa in name, but I'm here by the grace of the Queen and the goodwill of the people, and little else. If that changes? If the Chantry, the Banns, the Guard, decide I'm not worth the risk, I am fucked. This operation is fucked, our mission is fucked, your place here is fucked. Now, I am sorry this happened. I shut you down too harshly, maybe you weren't hearing what I was trying to tell you. But two rogue Templars is a problem we can handle. An angry Revered Mother demanding retribution for two slain Templars is not. We need to handle this like we have nothing to hide."
"You still can't even admit you were wrong," Anders said, shaking his head. "You can't admit I was right about them."
"You were right that these two Templars had a personal grudge against you, not that there's a conspiracy to take down mages in the Grey Warden ranks."
"Is it really so hard for you to believe that the Chantry could have a hidden agenda?"
"I know plenty about the Chantry's mistakes, and I'm not sorry these two stupid, short-sighted fucks are dead--"
"Finally, something we agree on."
"--but we need to keep a balance here. We can't act like our crimes, provoked or not, won't be answered for. Your recklessness put everything at risk."
"Crimes? Like him trying to kill you," Anders said, gesturing towards Nathaniel, "or her lighting a whole crowd of people on fire?" He pointed at Velanna. "I didn't even commit the murders they accused me of, Commander, and you want to lecture me about recklessness? Why don't you tell us about how you ended up here?"
Velanna opened her mouth to argue her irrelevance to their little spat, but the look on Tabris' face silenced her. Velanna had seen her angry before, and she had seen her shocked, but Velanna could not have told you where between those two Tabris was then. She was both, and far beyond them, and completely still.
"And what exactly," Tabris said, startling eyes unblinking, "do you know about that?"
"I know enough," Anders said, his eyes darting up and down, to Oghren and then back to her.
"Outside. Now. This conversation is over."
"I--"
"Outside."
Anders looked like there was nothing more he would like to do than continue to argue, but then he sagged, shaking his head and breathing out heavily.
"Fine. You're in charge," he said in tones that spoke clearly exactly how he felt about that.
They filed out, back into the open air of the city, and directly into a small troop of guardsmen, waiting for them with swords drawn and bows nocked.
"Good evening," the Commander said. "I need to report a crime."
---
The Guard-Captain was possibly the only man in Amaranthine with a bigger headache than the Warden-Commander at that moment.
"He was conscripted into the Grey Wardens, the terms of which were agreed upon by Queen Anora herself just last month. The Templars violated that agreement, abducted him, and held him against his will with the intent to send him back to the Circle to be made Tranquil. They drew weapons against us, and we had no choice but to defend ourselves."
"I believe you, Commander, I do," the Guard-Captain said. He was fully armored, but his hair was tousled and his eyes still drooped with sleep. Evidently he had been off duty when their problem demanded his attention. "But I will need to make inquiries. The Revered Mother must be notified, and she will demand unbiased answers."
"She'll have them. We fully intend to cooperate with the investigation, and I'd be happy to speak to the Revered Mother once I return, but we're heading for the Deep Roads tomorrow morning, and we can't be delayed any longer."
"You put me in a very difficult position, Warden-Commander."
"I know. I'm sorry. And if it weren't of such dire importance to the safety of the arling--"
"Yes, of course, just-- please, if you could at least give me a written statement of your account of events. Something to… smooth things over, while we sort this out."
Tabris cleared her throat, shifting where she stood, then said, "I will. And I think it would be worth your time to send a direct inquiry to Knight-Commander Greagoir. I think he'd like to know that his Templars are disobeying the laws of the land in the order's name."
"As you say, Commander," the Guard-Captain said with a sigh. He produced ink and paper for her, and bid them all a good night, leaving the rest of his headache to be dealt with by his underlings.
The Commander hesitated for a very long moment before she turned to Nathaniel. "Nathaniel," she said quietly. "Would you mind…"
Her meaning seemed to dawn on him, and he sprung into action, nodding his assent before sitting at the desk in the Captain's office and preparing to write. Velanna watched this unfold, frowning quietly as Tabris began to dictate the events of the evening, carefully omitting the involvement of Namaya and the fabrication about the phylacteries. Nathaniel dutifully copied down every word she said in clean, flowing script. Tabris looked almost embarrassed, but she and Nathaniel had clearly done this before at least once.
Velanna was completely baffled. Did she truly have Nathaniel so well under her heel? What was the purpose of this?
She discovered it when Tabris concluded her account and the time came for her to sign the statement. Nathaniel stood aside, and offered Tabris the quill. She signed haltingly, in thick, blocky letters, and she had to check the spelling of her own titles more than once.
They were allowed to leave in peace after that, thankfully. After all the drama and bloodshed of the day, Velanna would be more than happy to sleep in the most uncomfortably soft bed the humans could dream up. They returned to the Crown and Lion in uneasy silence.
Outside, Tabris paused, facing Anders directly for the first time since they'd left the warehouse. "Will you be staying with us?"
Anders looked like he wanted to be offended, but it was a fair question, and he seemed to concede that. "I wasn't planning on running away," he said. "I've no idea whether you believe that." The Commander nodded, content to let it rest, for now at least.
The inside of the inn was much quieter, now, hours into the evening, and they found their rooms and their beds in equal silence. Velanna lay awake for some time, thoughts rattling around in her head like marbles, but exhaustion soon overtook her, sending her to a deep, heavy sleep.
---
Days into their journey towards the Knotwood Hills, the tension had yet to subside. Anders was usually the most talkative and carefree member of their party, but he seemed determined not to answer anyone with more than a one or two word grunt unless there was a way to get a snide dig in on the Commander. Tabris never rose to the bait, though each time she paused a moment longer to compose herself before she returned to business. Nathaniel seemed unwilling to provoke either of them, and so he mostly stayed quiet, occasionally sharing odd bits of history or memories as they passed landmarks. The only one willing to go on as if nothing had occurred at all was, unfortunately, Oghren, who filled the long stretches of silence with a collection of Dwarven songs. The drinking songs and the marching songs blurred into each other so that Velanna could not tell the difference, if there was one. He was so loud, the ancestors Oghren swore by must have been able to hear his braying all the way down in their stone tombs.
In between the bouts of atonal singing, too many things occupied Velanna's thoughts. She had been so eager to toss away the reminder of her lost clan that she had given it to a flat-ear. It was only now catching up to her. She had worn the pendant for so long she had forgotten its presence entirely, and now that it was gone she felt its absence acutely. What would Ilshae have said, to see her giving away such a gift to a flat-ear? Would she feel anger? Resignation? Velanna was well-acquainted with Ilshae's disappointment. Tabris had watched her very closely at the time, but Velanna could not say how she had felt. They had disagreed, and Tabris had been hurt, but when she gave those elves her amulet, she had looked… curious. Velanna had surprised her. Was it a good thing?
Velanna was surprised by how much she cared that it was.
The thought made her uncomfortable, so she turned her mind back to a different, less personally troubling worry: the mystery of Nathaniel Howe's loyalty.
Nathaniel was Tabris' man through and through, that much was now clear to her, though the reasons why were still uncertain. She trusted him in a way that she rarely trusted Oghren or Anders. A month before he had sought her life, and now he wrote letters for her, her loyal servant. What must it have cost her pride, the first time she asked Nathaniel to do that for her? But Nathaniel had carried out the request with complete respect. Would he roll over as easily for any authority? Was it natural subservience, or was there some other reason he followed her command so readily?
Unlike the earlier days, when Nathaniel had taken her staring for confusion or curiosity and offered her friendship or whatever else, he now seemed increasingly aggravated every time he caught her examining him. He finally seemed aware that his overtures had not moved her.
Anders' words rang in her mind again. Conscription. He and Nathaniel had both been conscripted, and he had suggested that even Tabris had not chosen to become a Warden. The idea of choice seemed to be important to the Commander. She had even commended Velanna for hers. Had Velanna's choice been a true one, or had it been coerced by her circumstances? Nathaniel had been offered either death or service. Was that a choice? Forced into chains, do you struggle against them, or work within their confines?
The need to understand grew and grew, until she finally couldn't resist speaking aloud. "So you not only gave up on killing the Grey Warden who murdered your father, you actually joined the order," she said abruptly, and Nathaniel whipped around to face her as if she'd struck him a physical blow.
"Are you trying to pick a fight, Velanna?" She had yet to see him truly angry, and it sent a surge of adrenaline through her. She had not necessarily intended to antagonize him, but the steps were familiar and easy and almost relieving after such prolonged tension. "Baiting me like this is juvenile," he said, and averted his eyes again, trying to keep his focus on the road ahead of them.
"I just wanted to know how you felt," she said. She meant it honestly, but she didn't want to apologize, either. It had never been as easy for her to concede a point as it obviously was for Nathaniel.
"How do you feel knowing you murdered all those people because you were too arrogant to check your facts?" Nathaniel spat, refusing to look at her. Her heartbeat quickened, her blood rising. Yes, she knew how to fight.
"Warm and fuzzy," she said, a challenge, a taunt. No, I'm not some scared little elf girl you can sway with a couple of cheap compliments. I'm the bedtime story your cruel father told you to scare you away from danger, a monster driven out by her own clan. That's what everyone thinks in the end. Better you admit it now.
"You're a terrible person," he said, and the confirmation was satisfying, in a twisted way. It hurt, and because it hurt, it felt like the truth. "And your ears are clownish," he added, one last grumbling dig, and that caught her off guard.
"What?" she yelped, covering her ears with her hands before she could stop herself, then dropping them again as her face burned. "Who's juvenile now?!" Nathaniel did not answer her, stubbornly ignoring her, his shoulders taut with frustration. Tabris looked back at the both of them with a look of mild alarm, as if she were wondering if she would have to intervene, but the conversation had ended.
Velanna thought obsessively on it for hours afterward, intensely conscious of her appearance. She had never been beautiful, and she knew this. She accepted it. But the passive fact of her plainness and the outright confirmation that she stuck out like a sore thumb among humans, even compared to others of her kind, made her recount every strange look a human had ever given her, and made her shrink a little every time she pushed a stray lock of hair behind an ear.
The feeling churned and churned, contradiction on contradiction. The human was right about her, and she wanted him to admit it, and she hated him for admitting it, and it shamed her. Oghren launching into another tuneless mess of a song that effortlessly drowned out her thoughts was almost a relief.