Chapter Text
9:42 Dragon, Skyhold, Frostback Mountains, Ferelden/Orlesian border, Thedas
There are times I cannot help but feel as if “liaison to the Inquisition” is nothing more than a fancy title for herding cats. One would think that with a council of advisors to give their expertise, the Inquisitor would be able to reach his decisions quite easily.
If only ‘twere true.
How three people inevitably end up with six opinions thus delaying the simplest of decisions is beyond the understanding of the gods. ‘Tis not simply beyond comprehension how the Inquisitor has lasted as long as he has; ‘tis a bloody miracle.
Either that or perhaps their Maker really does watch over those lacking in wisdom.
“Then Corypheus is finished.”
The words of the Inquisition’s esteemed ambassador prove my point.
Josephine Montilyet is a lovely woman and quite adept at keeping the Inquisition running. But do the others notice what I do? The faintest quaver in her voice. The tiniest twitch at the corners of her lips. Do they hear the plea wreathed around her words instead of confidence?
Mayhap I do her a disservice. ‘Haps some residual naïveté remains despite her training and years of involvement in the Grand Game. Still, if the ambassador and chief diplomat to the Inquisition truly believes defeating the ancient, corrupted magister we are up against is that simple the Maker’s protection will do them and the rest of their group little good in what is to come.
Movement at the opposite end of the table redirects the focus of the conversation.
Since the end of the Fifth Blight and our travels together, I have avoided contact with any of my fellow traveling companions. Any necessity for communication ended with the defeat of the archdemon.
‘Twas my misfortune to discover upon arriving at the Imperial Court to serve at the Empress Celine’s whim to discover that Sister Leliana was also in Val Royeaux serving as the Divine’s spymaster. Those years were spent dancing around one another, avoiding encounters. Ironic, then, that we both ended up at Skyhold together serving the Inquisition as we had the Warden.
“If Corypheus is wise,” Leliana announces, “he will hide and rebuild his strength before he attacks again.”
My lips twist into a slow, wry smile. The Fifth Blight drew together a unique blend of talents, and during that time I came to realize that where the others could not, Leliana was capable of viewing and understanding the larger picture we faced. The Warden was often more focused on a narrower set of threads; Leliana’s was the hand that guided his attention where it was needed most.
Alas, I gave her too much credit then or perhaps the intervening years have only served to narrow that once wider vision. Surely, she cannot believe the very words that just passed her lips.
The War Room is silent but for the softest spit and hiss of a candle about to gutter out – yet another indication of just how long our ‘short’ meeting has already taken.
Impatience more than disgust directs my attention away to the Inquisition’s intrepid leader, Maxwell Trevelyan. As long and lanky as he is thoughtful – the man’s only downfall appears to be his wont to consider any and every possible angle before making a final decision.
While I can abide by the concept, he takes this to the extreme. He is as frustrating as a mabari who will not stop stealing from a travel pack!
At the moment, his gaze is focused on the map laid out across the table, his fingers tapping lightly against his chin in a most thoughtful manner...
Until my breath catches painfully in my chest as I realize he actually believes what Leliana has said.
It requires every ounce of effort and willpower on my part to hold my tongue and hide my level of frustration; ten years of raising a child has trained me well.
It is time to intervene...
“He will not hide.”
Four pairs of eyes turn my way, revealing varying degrees of shock and surprise. I wonder, briefly, if they realize any masks they have been wearing are laid bare before me. Not surprisingly, Leliana’s expression is one of disbelief. The ambassador’s normally pleasant smile has given way to dismay. Though he does well to try and hide it, there is no mistaking the look of consternation that tightens around Cullen’s lips. And yet, ‘tis the Inquisitor who surprises me most as he meets the rest with grim resolve.
Commander Cullen is the first to step up. Though he seemingly wants to argue against my point, he instead sighs and closes his eyes. He is a templar by training, and unexpectedly, one who will not avoid an uneasy truth in favor of an actual resolution to a problem.
A pity the rest do not abide by the same logic.
With his arms braced against the table, the Inquisitor stares at the map before him in silence. He has good reason for concern. No doubt he has realized what his commander has: that the majority of Inquisition troops have yet to return from the Arbor Wilds, leaving Skyhold woefully underdefended. “Meaning he will attack us directly, here at Skyhold,” he says as he taps the map with his finger over our location. There is no question in his words; any bubble of hope they all so easily grasped hold of mere seconds ago has been ripped away like a bandage from a wound.
Such clear thinking and acceptance of my announcement requires a reward. “Not necessarily,” I reply, dangling the slenderest thread of hope before him and the others, “but neither will he remain idle.”
An inelegant sniff wrapped in irritation drifts across the table in my direction. I do not have to look to know its origin. Since my arrival at Skyhold, it has been ever thus in any discussion in which we have both taken part. As back then, she absolutely refuses to accept my expertise in this – or any – matter.
“You seem to have great insight into Corypheus’ plans.” There is accusation in her tone, yet I ignore that as beneath I catch the faintest suggestion of acceptance, as evidenced by exhaustion and frustration. A year's worth of fighting against an ancient, corrupted, Tevinter magister responsible for the creation of the darkspawn we both fought against during the Blight. Truth, no matter its source, cannot be denied.
I do not doubt that they have fought a long and challenging battle thus far. Evidence of the Inquisition’s persistence surrounds me in this place. Yet they are no closer to defeating Corypheus now than they were at the beginning.
My thoughts are interrupted by the gentlest whisper of thoughts brushing the back of my mind; gradually stirring and strengthening until each word gifted to me is discernible. The language is foreign to me though drinking from the Well of Sorrows seems to have brought clarity in that regard.
Directing my words at Leliana though they are meant for the entire room, I explain, “The Well of Sorrows held many voices. And they speak to me now from across the ages.”
Another sniff, though perhaps with a fraction less irritation than before as she demands, “Are we supposed to believe that –”
I cut her off; we simply do not have the time to waste. “They hold wisdom,” I insist. “Secrets I never dreamed possible.” Her eyes narrow further; I match her expression in an attempt to impress upon her just how dire is our situation. “But even they fear what Corypheus has become.”
Again, the room falls to silence. The weight of quiet doom hangs as thick as fog around us.
‘Tis, an appropriate response.
Beside me, the Inquisitor is the first to stir. “Is Corypheus himself to be feared more than his army?”
‘Tis an excellent question. Pausing, I reach deep into the sea of voices now part of my consciousness.
“Possibly.” I am held back from continuing by an unexpected and... intriguing suggestion from within. Is that so?
The whispers flutter in assurance.
A slow smile curls around my lips, one that I cannot stop. Leliana’s scowl returns, darker than before. Cullen, I notice, is attentive, his eyes lighting with expectancy, while Josephine leans a little in my direction, a spark of hope flaring brightly in her eyes.
“You are fortunate,” I continue, sharing this new strategy, “for Corypheus has a weakness. The dragon he calls upon is not a true Archdemon.”
At first, triumph flickers in Leliana’s eyes; a battle won elsewhere, perhaps? Whatever the cause, her scowl fades and with it her disregard for my skills.
“’Tis simply a dragon, but ‘tis one in which he has placed a piece of himself. He has effectively bound the creature to him.” I nudge the voices, silently asking for more details, but for now they are silent. “Why exactly, I cannot say. Pride, no doubt, is a part. An effort to emulate the gods of old. That pride, however, can be exploited.”
Turning towards the Inquisitor, I share the final piece of information I have. “Kill his dragon and you will disrupt Corypheus’ ability to transfer into other bodies. That is the point at which he can be slain.”
Cullen’s sharp inhale of breath is worrisome at first yet he nods in acknowledgement quickly thereafter. ‘Tis a slow, calculated movement: a force of habit, no doubt, as his eyes tell a different story.
To his left, a smile returns to the ambassador’s face, her eyes widening even as she reaches for her quill and begins scribbling the notes of which she is so fond.
Unexpectedly, Leliana has no comment one way or another though it is far from easy agreement I find looking back at me. A subtle nod is her only sign of acknowledgement. For now, ‘tis enough.
No, the surprise comes from beside me. I turn towards the Inquisitor, arching my brow in silent question while inviting him to share his thoughts on the matter.
He does not disappoint, though his sarcasm does.
“Just kill his dragon?” he echoes, a wry twist to his lips. “Why didn’t we think of that before?”
I have shared what I must; there is no purpose in remaining in the room. On my way to the door, I offer, “There is a way to defeat the dragon, Inquisitor. One which will allow us to match Corypheus’ power in that battle. When you are ready to discuss it, come find me. Your assistance will be required.”
I walk through the door without another word.
~
For the first time since our return to Skyhold, I am free of any formal obligations. I have not seen my son since our departure for the Arbor Wilds, and thus head up to our rooms. It has been rare for us to be parted for more than a few hours at a time over the years and I am surprised at an unexpected wave of unease that takes hold. ‘Tis true, I would not call myself an overly protective mother; certain threats do exist, of course, of which I have made him aware. However, he is a good and obedient boy and not one to push those limits. I have no reason to feel disquiet and yet I do.
Reaching the stairs to our rooms, I begin to climb. I am near the top when, as I touch the wall of the keep, a chill races from the stone up my arm and settles in my shoulders. I am ready to brush it off as a gust from the other side of the door before me – the doors here are horribly ill-fitting to their frames and thus leave the rooms draughty – but in a strange twist of events, the whispers inside stir to life, sharp and quick, brushing against my consciousness once more. ‘Tis no longer a gentle meeting of minds as such but something more... alarming.
The move startles me and I stumble onto the landing. Unease, unexpected and urgent in a way I cannot put into words as an inexplicable need to be with Kieran nearly overwhelms.
My son and I are close. Had I been asked what I expected of motherhood years ago when he was first born, I would have viewed motherhood more as a duty than a gift. Yet as our time together has passed, I must admit I have found a certain level of... joy…in raising my son. Moments of unexpected delight so contrary to my own experience growing up. As unseemly as it might sound, I have missed him during our separation.
Ice cold talons of terror have only once in my life wrapped so tightly around my heart as to leave me helpless and, dare I say it, afraid. I was young then, perhaps still a bit naïve. I have grown much since that time but now, however, I have so much more to lose...
‘Tis with some trepidation I open the door to our rooms.
Unsurprisingly, I find them empty. ‘Tis not unusual, for Kieran has grown to love the gardens at Skyhold. He spends many an afternoon and as much free time as I will allow away from his studies under the tutelage of the elf who maintains the gardens for the Inquisition. Elan Ve’mal is a name I have heard murmured in many a salon at Empress Celine’s court; mostly in pure wonder why the woman cannot be tempted away from serving other heads of state to serve the Empress herself.
Skyhold’s gardens lie directly beneath our rooms yet a quick glance outside in that direction provides no reassurance for me. While many take time on this fair afternoon to wander the grounds, there is no trace of my son.
The chill ripples through me: a reminder rather than a return; a temptation seeking success.
Panic is an evil word. I am far too practical to allow such a pathetic state of emotion to control me to any degree let alone leave me shaking with worry or anxiety. I have spent far too many years on my own watching out first for myself and then for myself and my son, to give it such power.
And yet...
I retrace my steps back inside the great hall. If my pace is a few steps faster than usual, so be it.
He is in the Library, returned to his studies now that Dorian has returned.
Logic, I remind myself, is the only way in which I will find him.
My hand wraps around the iron handle of the door as realization hits; the chill now shifting to wrap tightly around my lungs as I struggle to fill them with air. Is this an attack? In the middle of Skyhold? ‘T’would not be unrealistic, I suppose, though I stand by my declaration to the Inquisitor earlier. Even if Corypheus decided upon such a tactic, it would take him time to accomplish such a feat.
And yet, I have enemies other than him. Probing quietly at the source, I take a moment to consider the possibilities. ‘Tis not Corypheus. The source of this is different, deeper, and far closer.
The softest of whispers stirs within and my heart leaps. The voices! Mayhap they will offer a suggestion...
‘Tis not hope they offer, but something far darker and more dreadful. Unifying into one single soul, echoing like many voices superimposed into one, they do not offer suggestion but rather cackle with growing laughter and absolute knowing. Horrified, I can barely breathe let alone move, and memories flood my mind until full recognition comes.
Sitting in camp and reading through my mother’s black grimoire, discovering what plans she’d had in store for me when I came of age...
Other women, raised from youth to adulthood, prepared in a similar manner to become a vessel for the spirit so that it might live on...
Horrified, I stumble on in the direction of the Library, certain I must be mistaken. I have taken all precautions over the years to make certain we were not found! ‘Tis impossible!
And yet, as my hand settles over my heart as I struggle to find breath, its hold is as tight as any dragon’s claw.
She knows! Somehow...she knows where we are!
No one in the Library has seen Kieran since his lessons earlier in the day. I race to the stable next. Perhaps he is watching the Warden, Blackwall, as he works on the children’s toys he likes to carve. A ‘magic’ of its own kind, Kieran once told me, to see a plain piece of wood become something with shape and form and so closely resembling a griffon.
He. Is. Not. THERE!
By the time I finish searching the grounds, there is only one possibility left: The Undercroft.
Kieran and Dagna have struck up an odd sort of friendship. A dwarf who knows more about enchanting than most mages? Yet, as unlikely as it sounds, ‘tis true. And she is more than willing to share that knowledge with my son. Mostly it’s theory, she told me. Dwarves can’t do magic, after all. And yet, to those without such skill as she, ‘tis impossible to think otherwise.
Not two minutes after my arrival, I sprint back into the hall from the Undercroft. ‘Tis a dream – it must be! A nightmare, more like. One that cleaves at the very depths of my heart and soul.
At this point, I am too distracted – focused! – by my missing son to notice my surroundings. I push my way past a hooded, slender frame in my hurry to find another place to look -
‘Tis the hand that clasps around my upper arm, the lack of gentleness in the touch as I turn back to find Leliana standing there, that pulls me momentarily from my thoughts. Her scowl is immediate; truly, I have to question whether she ever smiles like she used to during the Blight. But her features soften just as quickly into something resembling concern and confusion as she sees my face.
I want to laugh but I am afraid it will come out sounding hysterical if I do so. Is this to be the moment the Orlesian bard succeeds in reading me and my situation correctly? ‘T’would be the first...
“Morrigan?”
A larger, stronger hand settles on my shoulder as the Inquisitor steps close to my side. There is a hushed quality to his voice as though keeping his concern between us inside this too crowded room yet still speaking loud enough to catch my attention.
I look up in time to witness an expression of surprise narrow quickly into the confidence of command. Near my ear, he asks, “What is it?”
“Kieran,” I whisper, my voice cracking in the attempt even as I think I should keep my dilemma to myself. “I - Inquisitor, I cannot find my son!”
Mental protests to the contrary, even I hear the panic lacing my words.
He and Leliana share a quick look, her face slipping into a frown of consternation. “He was in the Library studying when last I saw him.”
“Earlier today, yes,” I agree, unable to stop the quaver in my voice. “’Tis there I sought him first, but they assure me he has not been seen this afternoon. I –” My voice catches again and I struggle to master it once more. “I have looked all over Skyhold and I cannot find him!”
The unified voices brush against my mind again, cackling in triumph this time. You thought I would not find you, girl...?
I stare at Leliana as the horror those words bring washes through me...
“He must be around here somewhere,” the Inquisitor insists as he guides us to the side of the room, away from prying eyes and curious ears.
Though spoken directly next to my ear, the words do not register. Still looking at Leliana, her face changes once more. Eyes widening, a soft gasp, a hint of a smile. Leaning towards me, she says, “You know something.”
There is triumph in her tone, an almost gleeful sound wrapped around the edges of her words. At first, I think the sound is directed towards me and my situation. I am about to pull away, for if neither will help me, I alone will find my son and get him to safety! Our very lives may depend upon it!
But as I pull myself free of the Inquisitor, Leliana takes my hand. Her touch is unexpectedly gentle as she guides me over to sit at a nearby table. She takes the seat next to me, our eyes meeting and for the first time since we met over a decade before, I recognize true concern aimed at me. She searches my face, her gaze at last settling upon mine as she says, “Tell me, Morrigan, and we will find him. Together.”
A shudder ripples through my shoulder. The Inquisitor’s hand returns. It is unexpectedly grounding. My only thoughts right now are for the safety of my son as I take a few minutes to share with them the little I know; Kieran has not been seen by anyone since earlier in the day. The voices have been taunting me; there is no other way in which to describe it.
Still holding my hands – likely reading my body language as much as listening to my words – Leliana says, “And you know who is behind this, yes?”
I open my mouth, a nod and the words at the ready. If Flemeth thinks she can hunt me in this place, she is mistaken! I am not afraid to face her alone, but to have the strength of the Inquisition backing me? I will accept the aid while I can.
Before I can respond, the Inquisitor stiffens beside me. Sharing my burden has brought a level of comfort I never could have imagined finding, let alone from these people. Yet something about the Inquisitor’s movement brings back all the panic and worry without thought. “Kieran?”
Gasping, I spin around, searching the crowded room. The Inquisitor starts moving towards my son even before I locate him, but the very moment I see him, I follow. Leliana is beside me the entire way.
There, exiting the doorway leading out of Josephine’s office, is my son.
The Inquisitor calls to him once more as he approaches.
Not only does Kieran not acknowledge the summons – a behavior completely out of character for him – he moves around the Inquisitor and continues down the hall towards the main exit.
The Inquisitor looks over at me, but I have no time to spare. I must reach my son and find out why he is acting thus!
Pushing my way through the crowd without a care or thought for those who are in the way, I almost catch up to him just as he makes a turn towards the gardens. Behind me, the Inquisitor shouts something over at Varric and the somewhat amiable dwarf ambles over to stop Kieran before he walks through the door. “Hey there, kiddo. What’s got you off in such a rush? No time for one of my stories about Orzammar today?”
While that question tells me much of the source of Kieran’s ideas about the dwarves, I have never been so grateful to another for having a connection to my son than I am in this moment.
As before, Kieran appears to ignore the conversation directed towards him. ‘Tis enough to slow him, however, and I scramble over, dropping to my knees before him. “Kieran!” I search his face for answers – any answers – as to where he’s been. Leliana arrives with the Inquisitor moments later, and they, with the help of Varric, form a small circle of protection and privacy around us. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the way my hand trembles as I lift it to brush some of his hair from his eyes. “Where have you been? I have been looking for you all over Skyhold!” There is only the mildest panic left in my voice now, the relief overwhelming it.
No one is more surprised than I when my son pushes my hand away and attempts to move around me and through the door to the gardens. Only, this time, I hear his whisper... “She is calling to me... I must go. She says now is the time...”
The panic returns... until I realize it is not panic, but anger. ‘Tis not just me my mother is reaching magically out to, but my son! He would not willingly go otherwise, for we have had this discussion many times over the years. If you are called to leave me, if a stranger asks for you to follow them, do not!
Sucking in a shaky breath and closing my eyes, I concentrate, drawing energy to my fingertips as I weave a slightly altered version of a spell that I know my mother likes to use to ‘encourage’ people to do her bidding.
Not surprisingly, Kieran struggles, to the point that both the Inquisitor and Varric reach out to help hold him still. I whisper words I remember learning in childhood while gently stroking the tips of my fingers across my son’s forehead from left to right and then crossing it from his crown to the tip of his nose. It takes a moment, but I know I have succeeded when my son blinks twice, his face crinkling in confusion as he looks around. “M-mother?”
“Yes!” I whisper, slightly disturbed by the urge to cry. Hastily wiping at a stray tear that leaks from my eye, I ask, “Where were you going, Kieran?”
Frowning, he finally whispers back, “Her... her voice was calling me.”
From beside him, Leliana crouches until she is eye to eye with him. “Who was calling you?”
“I do not know.”
A shiver slithers down my spine. There is no doubt in my mind who it must have been. And it makes sense. Somehow, she found me and because of that, my son. “Is she speaking to you now?” I ask. A frightening prospect, to say the least, and one that may limit my use to the Inquisition if my son and I must flee for our safety.
“No.”
Thank goodness!
Leliana arches a brow slightly in question at me. Given all the clues she has no doubt put together these past few minutes, I am not surprised when she asks, “Does this have to do with...”
The sincerity from before remains and I nod once at her. “Yes.”
Turning her attention back to Kieran, the bard gives my son the brightest of smiles. “Your mother and the Inquisitor have much they need to discuss, yes? Why don’t you come with me and Varric. We can go up to the Rookery where he can tell you his latest story about the dwarves!” She winks over at Varric who only rolls his eyes. It has not escaped even my notice that there is no love lost between our dwarven companion and his kin who live below the surface. “I hear there are even nugs in his latest chapter! Won’t that be fun?”
Kieran looks up at me. I am not surprised by the level of unease found there, as if he knows something has happened but he does not understand what or why. I manage a soft smile and a nod, and I will admit it stirs something in my heart to watch as, despite the unease, a sparkle of interest shines through once more. Reaching out towards him again, I ruffle his hair in a sign of genuine affection. “Go on. I will join you when the Inquisitor and I have finished speaking.”
Leliana is quick to encourage him as well. “I may even have some Orlesian chocolate stashed away up there, too!”
The temptation to laugh nearly gets the better of me this time, Leliana’s unexpected offer of sweets buoying Kieran’s steps. He, like other young children, has a love for most things sweet.
They are hardly through the door on the other side of the hall when the Inquisitor steps towards me, offering his hand and assisting me to my feet. When we are eye to eye, he smiles, one side slightly higher than the other. ‘Tis an expression that makes him look far younger than his years. “You said to find you when I wanted to discuss your plan to deal with Corypheus.”
Like the moon eclipsing the sun, darkness falls over us, the lightness from successfully saving my son fades once more. I nod, grimly. “Indeed. However, I would suggest that we have some unfinished business to attend, prior to that.”
He blinks. “We do?”
The hall is far too crowded for this discussion but the garden will give us privacy and fresh air to help clear the mind. ‘Twill also let me check for any lingering influence I need to keep away from my son. As we walk through the doorway together, I ask, “Think you that the threat to my son is resolved by a simple disruption spell? I assure you, Inquisitor, he is still very much in danger.”
As if to prove my point, the voices in my mind stir once more. Less concentrated as one, more agitated than before, but the message they send I understand all too easily.
“Do you remember what Abelas told us at the Well of Sorrows before he left us, Inquisitor?”
He smiles, the corners of his lips twitching in some sort of suppressed amusement, perhaps. “He told us a number of things, as I recall. You might need to be a little more specific.”
I lead him into the main part of the gardens but my attention is split between him and our surroundings. If Flemeth is present at Skyhold, I will know it. “Those who drink from the Well are bound to Mythal’s service for eternity.”
He is silent as he considers that. A nod is the only reply.
“The voices from the Well?” He nods again at my question. “They are the ones I heard earlier. The ones who told me they would find me and my son.”
All the while we have been talking, I have been using my magic to check for the presence of my mother. Suffice it to say, every mage has their own... magical flavor, if you will. I would recognize my mother’s immediately, if she were here.
She is not.
However, glancing in the back corner of the garden, where the eluvian is kept, I am able to detect...something. Magic, yes. Not the eluvian itself; again, ‘tis a magic I recognize easily enough. No, whatever this is, ‘tis nothing I have encountered before...
...and yet, the whispers inside me flutter excitedly.
The Inquisitor’s eyes widen in surprise as he looks at me. “Are you suggesting that your mother is somehow tied up in all of this?”
I laugh; small, soft, gentle. I do not aim to crush him with my words; I am simply relieved that he has been able to nearly make the complete jump. He is not a trained mage, after all. For that matter, I do not believe even the most well-trained mages in all of Thedas could make the jump in logic I have.
“I am suggesting,” I reply to give him time to absorb the full truth, “that my mother is possessed by Mythal, else how would she be able to speak to me using the voices?” I gesture in the direction of the eluvian’s room. “Come. We shall see if I am correct.”
I am three strides from him when he finally finds his voice. “What?”
A number of people out in the garden enjoying the sunshine or the view or simply wishing to converse in the fresh air quieten and look in his direction. His cheeks darken slightly with embarrassment as he hurries to catch up. “What do you mean?” he asks when he is beside me once more.
By now we have reached the doorway and I open it. The shimmer of the eluvian brightens the room; it is active. No one but myself has the knowledge to use it... except, perhaps, my mother.
“Come along, Inquisitor,” I say, adding the subtlest of challenges to my words. “I intend to put this to rest, once and for all.” Without waiting to see if he will follow, I step through the portal.