Chapter Text
Light…stone…stars…he was falling, or flying, tumbling, the world spun. Memories…dreams? A knife…blood…his blood? No, someone else’s…knife…cold blue…reality tearing…figures appearing…he grabbed the knife…the dagger…the world fell away, or…he fell from it.
“Do you realise what you’ve done!?”
Cold stone, he was lying face down, his body feeling both unbearably heavy, and extraordinarily light. As an angry voice pierced through his reeling thoughts.
“Do you understand what you’ve brought here, what you’ve let into this world!?”
His mind was still spinning, a confusing whirlpool of memory, he clung to the stone beneath him, feeling as if he would be swept away by unfathomable tides if he let go. He heard the woman’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer, his thoughts too confused, too chaotic to tame into a reasonable response.
There was a sigh, before she spoke once more, as if to herself, “You cannot blame a child for mistakes made in ignorance.” She then addressed him directly, her voice gentler, but with an undeniable tone of command, “Open your eyes and stand, I am protecting you from maelstroms of this place.”
Suddenly, his body felt normal, the air, that had felt tumultuous, settled to calm, and his thoughts went from chaotic to manageable. He slowly stood, his eyes opening to behold large square slabs, forming a steady floor. It disappeared into a strangely foggy distance, he felt like he was in a bubble of clarity, in a thick, sea fog, that muffled what was beyond. His memories were like that fog, there but, hazy, obviously present, but impossible to form into something coherent.
He slowly turned, seeing more fog and stone floor, his steps making no sound as he stumbled around, like such simple movement was foreign to him. Eventually, his gaze fell upon a tall, narrow flight of stone steps, that stretched up from where he stood to a narrow stone throne, its back towering above with a simple swirling pattern clearly visible above the head of the one sitting there.
She was dressed in a long, robe-like dress of deep blue, a hanging cloth panel in front of it bearing an intricate crest, reminiscent of flame. Intricately woven tassels of gold fringed the hems and sat around her waist like a belt. She sat with her chin resting upon her right hand, her pale green eyes, perhaps glowing a little, regarded him from a face kept in an expression of severity. Ribbons of pink and white weaved through dark green hair that seemingly waterfalled down her back, topped by an ornate headdress from which two tassels hung to frame her face.
She sat a little straighter in her throne, resting her hands upon its arms, “I am Sothis, but I am also known as the Beginning.” Her eyes bored into him, “This meeting should never have happened, your actions, though made with good intent, have collided powers that should never have touched.” She leaned forward a little, “Do you understand what you have done, Rook?”
Like a sudden gust had blown through, the fog in his mind cleared. He was Rook, he’d been with Varric, Harding and Neve, attempting to stop Solas from tearing down the Veil. Varric had tried to talk him down, but it wasn’t working, so he’d taken action.
He briefly closed his eyes, shaking his head as the memories of those frantic moments resurfaced, “When I disrupted Solas’ ritual…?”
“Yes.” Sothis leaned back in her throne once more, “That dagger was designed to pierce barriers like that veil, but when you disrupted the ritual, it briefly pierced far further than it was supposed to, beyond what you call the Fade. It both released and pulled in, a crack in what should never have been breached.” She sighed, “It was through this you fell, into this place. A place of whirling memory and dream, that, briefly, linked two worlds that would never have even touched.” She gestured at him, “That dagger dragged you through.”
He looked down, realising for the first time that he held a blade in his hand. Triangular and blue, bearing a glow of its own, topped with overlarge ring of gold. The dagger of Solas.
“While you were pulled through by accident, flung into this place of chaos, two self-proclaimed gods, trying to escape to your world, found their way to mine.” She stared down at him, her eyes flashing with anger, “They will bring destruction for they simply want to be gods, no matter which world they force to worship them.”
She briefly closed her eyes, “But I am not as I should be and cannot repel them myself.” She opened them again, “However, it was your actions that led to this, and while I do not wish to punish you for a mistake made in ignorance, a degree of responsibility should be taken.”
She stood and held her hand out towards him, “Those you know as elven gods will have lost much of their power, for they do not know the magic of my world. However, in time, they will learn to twist it to their ends, mold it as they wish, and dominate those considered beneath them.”
Rook felt power build, and some force started to pull at him, “Wait...!”
“Child,” Sothis stern expression briefly softened, “You will have time. Try to find me as I am in the real world. Perhaps it might return power I lack.”
And in a flash of green, Rook was gone.
Rhea stood silently as the platform slowly descended into the Holy Tomb.
She didn’t know why, but something called her down there, some feeling that pulled her towards this most sacred of places, where an empty throne sat. With her came Seteth and Flyann, her closest confidants and two of the few that knew of the deep history that slumbered here.
As the platform ground to a halt, Seteth pushed open a set of large double doors, revealing a balcony from which two short flights of stairs ran down either side towards a vast chamber. Built exclusively from stone, it was a massive space with two lines of pillars running down close to the walls. The open centre was filled with rows of large stone caskets, sat silently in vigil before the throne at the far end. Built upon a platform to which a set of narrow steps ran, it too was stone, its tall back patterned simply with a single swirl design as it sat in the dark, cold and empty.
As Rhea approached, magical torches gently came to life, burning with flames of a greenish hue, enough to light the way, but maintain a sombre atmosphere. She paused briefly between the row of caskets, an ancient sadness flickering over her face, before she resumed her walk, halting a respectable distance from the steps leading to the throne.
She had taken advantage of the secretive nature of this visit to shed the usual finery her position as Archbishop required. Wearing only a long, plain white dress, she had let her light green hair, usually topped with an ornate headdress, hang loosely down. She bore a small, sad smile as her pale green eyes regarded the throne, as if she was seeing someone sat there.
“Rhea.”
Seteth stood beside her, still dressed in his official garb of dark blue and white, accented by a cape. His eyes of deeper green looked to her from beneath a subtle circlet of silver, that sat upon a head of dark green hair, cut neatly to be long enough to be equal with his chin, under which stretched a precisely groomed beard.
“Are you sure that you feel something here. The Holy Tomb remains one of the most secure locations in Garreg Mach, I do not see how anything could occur.”
Rhea smiled at him, “Please indulge me Seteth.” She looked back to the throne, “Perhaps it is merely feelings of nostalgia, but I am sure I felt something pulling me down her, calling to me.”
Flaynn looked around the silent caskets, the young girl’s pale green eyes tinged with sadness. She reached up to briefly tidy her voluminous, light-green hair, arranging it to sit in rough, pigtail like bunches that hung in front of her shoulders.
“It always feels so sombre here, like an age of mourning that never truly went away.”
Rhea placed a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder, a moment of silent solidarity, before her eyes briefly narrowed, a surge of power pulling her attention.
“Seteth?”
“Yes, I sense it as well.”
They focused upon the space just before the steps to the throne, at first there was nothing, then a slow glow of green appeared. It grew larger and brighter, Flyann covered her eyes and moved closer to Seteth, but Rhea gazed unflinchingly into the light. She could feel the power build, focused and strong, but not hostile, until it suddenly dispersed, vanishing like smoke, the light blinking out of existence. In its place stood a figure, and Rhea caught a brief glimpse of eyes, the right gold, the left purple, before they rolled upwards and closed. Snapping into action, Rhea shot forwards and caught them, before they fell backwards onto the stone. She gently lowered them to a seated position, an arm around their shoulders to support their unconscious body. Seteth swiftly joined her, helping take the weight and being mindful of the strange blue blade still gripped in the stranger’s hand. Flaynn knelt in front of them, hands glowing with white light as she magically checked the health of their sudden visitor.
As the girl worked, Rhea studied his features. She’d initially seen him as a young man, but closer inspection suggested that he was perhaps closer to boyhood than he appeared. His green hair, not quite as dark as Seteth’s, nor as light as hers, was cut short and seemingly left unstyled. One of his most striking features was the red diamond patterns tattooed on both cheeks and his forehead, though she did not recognise the design as anything with particular meaning. His ears notably stuck out from the sides of his head, perhaps making him look a little more youthful alongside the faint upwards slant of the corners of his mouth. Despite being dressed in rugged, leather armour, she could tell he was strongly built, his weight in her arms confirming a likely muscular frame.
“I don’t think he’s seriously injured.” Flaynn looked between them, brow creased in confusion, “Where did he come from?”
“A question we will have to find an answer for later.” Rhea answered before focusing her gaze on Seteth, “Please help me get him to the infirmary.”
“And how are we going to explain this?” Seteth responded, even as he helped lift the boy up, “Everyone will question why we are wandering in with an unconscious stranger.”
“We will simply say we believe he was involved in a magical accident, one that has unintentionally warped him into the monastery, and that we will endeavour to get more details when he awakens.” She answered without hesitation.
Seteth sighed, “Of course, but I believe it best if we keep him appearing in the Holy Tomb to ourselves.”
Rhea nodded at him over their visitor’s head, “Indeed.”
Rook wasn’t necessarily a stranger to waking up in an infirmary.
Growing up, he’d woken to the ministrations of healers and seers several times. Even before officially being part of the lords he’d been in more than a few scrapes, fights, and accidents, an adventurous spirit and a reckless streak got him in trouble more than once. On top of that, his tinkering with tools and contraptions had also led to needing healing when experiments didn’t quite go as planned (a brief period as a captive of the Antaam had led to usable, but incomplete, knowledge of explosives).
In recent months, misadventures usually had him waking up to the concerned disapproval of Lace Harding (the dwarf woman usually the one tending to whatever injuries he’d got this time) and some sort of life lesson from Varric related to whatever he’d done. This time, he instead woke to a quiet infirmary, clean beds were lined up along the walls with a single desk down one end, close to the door. Behind this desk sat the only other person in the room, the woman glancing up from some papers in front of her as he sat up in bed.
“Ah good. I suspected you only needed some sleep.”
She got to her feet, and Rook assumed she was a healer. Dressed in a sort of white robe, not too dissimilar from what he’d seen Chantry members wear.
“While you had enough bumps and bruises to indicate that you’d been in quite the fight, it was far more likely that your body had finally demanded rest after functioning on adrenaline for a prolonged period of time.”
She stopped by his bed, a white glow briefly manifesting around her hand as she held it towards him, a patterned circle formed and swiftly disappeared and she nodded in satisfaction.
“The few minor injuries you had have healed nicely.” She clasped her hands in front of her, “You’re currently in the infirmary at Garreg Mach Monastery. Lady Rhea and Lord Seteth brought you in here last night.”
Rook frowned in confusion, Garreg Mach? He’d never heard of a place called that, even with his journey with Varric taking him from Rivain all the way to Minrathous. She’d also called it a monastery, and he couldn’t see any of the symbols of the Chantry anywhere.
He turned his frown towards her, “Garreg Mach?”
Her expression softened, “They did suggest that you might’ve come from quite far away.” She pulled up a nearby chair and sat down, “Garreg Mach Monastery sits in the Oghma Mountains, at the centre of the continent of Fódlan. It seems you were caught up in some sort of powerful Warp spell, that brought you here. You were found by Lady Rhea and Lord Seteth.”
Continent? He’d never heard of an entire continent called Fódlan! Though, no one knew much about what lay beyond Thedas. How had he come this far, he remembered the ritual, stopping it, and memories of a woman talking about a crack in what should never have been breached…wait…Solas’ dagger!
He frantically looked around the room, now realising that he was only dressed in the shirt and trousers he wore beneath his leather armour.
“Your belongings are over there.” The healer gestured towards the desk, and he spotted his swords, bow and quiver propped neatly beside it. Solas’ dagger was also present, its gold ring poking out the top of his quiver, and his pack sat beside the weapons, but there was no sign of his cloak or armour.
“Your leather armour was damaged, so its currently being mended, but your cloak was unfortunately shredded beyond repair. Your boots have been cleaned up and are down there beside the bed.”
As he quickly checked to find that, yes, his boots were arranged neatly where she’d indicated, the healer stood.
“Lady Rhea said that she wished to speak with you when you woke. However, I would suggest that you change into some cleaner clothes, if you have them. Those you’re currently wearing are not in a state that would be considered respectable for appearing before the Archbishop. I can get some for you if needed.”
“Erm…thanks, but I think I have some in my pack that’ll work.”
“Very good. I’ll be outside to give you some privacy, simply leave when you’re done and I’ll be there to bring you to the Archbishop.”
With that last instruction, she gave him a nod before briskly leaving the room. Rook sat for a few moments, still considering what he’d been told. Archbishop was a title he wasn’t familiar with, but he assumed they were the leader of this place he’d wound up in. He stood and made his way towards his gear, bare feet padding quietly over the wooden floorboards.
His pack appeared intact, seemingly unopened, and his swords were safely in their scabbards, wrapped carefully in the belt that kept them on his waist. His bow and quiver were also wrapped in the straps that normally held them to his back, and the few tools he kept on his belt were also still stored in their holders. He opened his pack and dug through the tightly packed contents, past the mirror Varric had given him, the chess set, his tools for tinkering, until he found the clothes that he had for the rare times they weren’t on the road.
Pulling out the silver-coloured vest-like top and the blue trousers, he paused in thought briefly before also extracting a plain linen shirt to go underneath the top. The vest was designed to fit neatly against his body, but it didn’t have any form of buttons to keep it closed at the front. He was willing to bet that meeting the Archbishop in clothing that didn’t fully cover his chest and stomach would be considered disrespectful.
Swiftly shedding his dirty clothes, he was soon dressed in his more casual attire, and he left the dirty stuff neatly on top of his pack. He adjusted the straps on his sandals and moved his boots beside the rest of his stuff. He automatically reached for his weapons, but then halted and left them be, carefully hanging Solas’ dagger at his side instead. He expected he wouldn’t be able to meet the Archbishop while carrying it, but he didn’t feel comfortable leaving it unattended in his pack considering what it could do. Hopefully there would be somewhere more secure he could leave it during the meeting.
As ready as he would ever be, he pulled the infirmary door open and stepped out into the corridor beyond. The healer was waiting opposite the door, speaking to a man in similar robes, and both of them looked his way as he exited the infirmary. She eyed him critically, her gaze lingering on Solas’ dagger at his waist before speaking.
“Unusual garb, but it is acceptable.”
Nodding briefly at her conversation partner, she gestured for Rook to follow, “This way please.”
She led him down the corridor, towards a set of large, ornate, double doors. They passed a couple more people in similar robes, with varying levels of ornamentation (perhaps an indication of rank?) and what looked to be a worker. The man dressed in simple shirt, trousers and boots as he swept the floor. As they walked, people noticeably left off their conversations and stared at him curiously, and he caught brief mutterings as he passed.
“Well, he’s certainly not from Fódlan.”
“Do you think he’s from Almyra, or Morfis?”
“Must be Morfis, I heard it was some sort of spell that brought him here.”
Rook kept going, ignoring the speculations of the quiet gossipers, though he did take mental note of the places they’d mentioned. A pair of knights flanked the double doors, equipped with full plate armour and bearing a sword each. They looked their way as they approached and the healer addressed them.
“The Archbishop wishes to speak with him.”
They briefly held their gazes upon Rook, their helms preventing him from seeing their expressions, but they soon turned and pushed the doors open, allowing him to see the white and silver capes that were part of their armour. They were embellished with a crest of some sort of shield with a white dragon curled around it, but he couldn’t get a better look as they soon stood aside to allow passage.
The healer gestured to the doors, “Please enter, and show suitable respect.”
Seteth watched the large doors of the Audience Chamber swing behind their unexpected guest, trying to make his normally stern expression gentler for them. Beside him, Rhea stood in her full Archbishop garb, her expression soft and compassionate.
As the boy approached, his eyes occasionally wandering around the chamber, Seteth found his attention drawn to his green hair, not to dissimilar from the hair of himself and Rhea. The boy awkwardly bowed, clearly unsure as to whether it was a thing he was supposed to do, and Rhea’s smile became more motherly.
“Thank you for joining us. It is good to see that you are indeed well. I am Rhea, I serve as Archbishop for the Church of Seiros.”
“And I am Seteth.” He added to Rhea’s introduction, “I serve as the Archbishop’s second.”
The boy looked between them both before giving a nervous smile, “I’m Rook, I’m part of the Lords of Fortune.”
His response alleviated a fear Seteth had had, that they wouldn’t have a shared language. Fortunately, it seemed that Rook spoke the same tongue as them. The question of how remained, since he and Rhea were both certain he did not hail from Fódlan. He had shown no recognition of the Church of Seiros name and anyone from their continent would be at least aware of it. The group he’d mentioned also rang no bells for Seteth, and while he was far from knowledgeable about every group present in Fódlan (several mercenary companies had fanciful or dramatic names), Rook bringing up the Lords of Fortune suggested the boy was used to them being at least known.
“Rook, as you might have guessed, we have questions for you.” Rhea inclined her head towards Rook, “And I am sure you have questions for us.”
“Perhaps the most pressing is how you appeared inside the Holy Tomb.” Seteth continued for her, “To us, it appeared that you’d possibly be caught in some sort of powerful Warp spell. Naturally we would like to know how that came to be.”
Rook gave an awkward grin and briefly rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, that’s a…complicated story.”
Rhea smiled in faint amusement, “Of that, I have no doubt, and I also have no doubt that it is likely a long one as well.” She began to walk regally towards her office, that was attached to the chamber, and signalled for Seteth to follow, “As such, we should probably take a seat before we begin.”
Gesturing Rook to join them, Seteth followed her into her office. He’d arranged for a table and comfortable chairs to be brought in, so they could sit in comfort as well as make it feel less of an interrogation. It would likely have been quite intimidating for Rook to answer their questions with the Archbishop sat behind her large, ornate desk.
A silver tea pot and dainty, patterned cups and saucers were already prepared, alongside an elegant, three-tiered cake stand, arrayed with a nice selection of treats from the kitchen. Rhea had been adamant that Rook be treated as an accidental victim of the situation, rather than a potential enemy, and Seteth wondered if she’d perhaps guessed more than she was telling him.
He politely held her seat out for her, waiting until she was seated before guiding Rook to another chair and then finally sitting down himself in the third. Rhea regally picked up the teapot and addressed their young guest.
“Would you like some tea before we begin Rook?”
For his part, Rook looked a little bewildered by the situation he found himself in, but he gave a smile, “Yes please.”
Soon, three cups were poured and, after encouraging Rook to start on the cakes, Rhea began the meeting properly.
“Now, please start at the beginning.”
Ultimately, it took several hours for Rook tell his story.
Not necessarily because the story itself was long, but because it involved concepts and knowledge that were basic to him, but unknown to Seteth and Rhea. Many times, the tale had to halt as he explained parts of it to them. Elves, Dwarves and Qunari apparently did not exist in Fódlan and neither did spirits nor demons. The Fade itself was a foreign concept to them, alongside the thought that people were born with the gift of magic. Magic in Fódlan seemed to run on different rules, and almost anyone could learn to wield it if they put in enough work. It became clearer and clearer that the magic he’d been caught up in had brought him very far away from Thedas indeed.
When it became clear that the story was going to take longer than anticipated, Rhea arranged for lunch to be delivered to them, so they could finish in a single sitting. She also occasionally called for a short halt, letting Rook stretch his stiff legs a little by doing a lap or two of the Audience Chamber.
Eventually, he reached the point where he disrupted Solas’ ritual, leading to the magical backlash that seemed to have caused his arrival in Fódlan. When he started on his meeting with the mysterious Sothis, both Rhea and Seteth’s demeanours changed notably. Seteth looked surprised, as if he’d said the last thing he’d expected, while Rhea looked more like some suspicion was being confirmed. Regardless, they did not interrupt as he continued until the point his memories finished, with Sothis casting some sort of magic at him.
They filled in what had likely followed this, he appeared in the Holy Tomb, was conscious for merely a moment before collapsing, and then brought to the infirmary. Rhea told people that they believed he’d been caught up in a powerful Warp spell gone wrong, and they’d wait for him to wake up to find out more, leading to the current meeting.
Once finished, Rook sat silently, looking between Rhea and Seteth. The Archbishop was leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed as if deep in thought or meditation, Seteth looked to her expectantly, but when she remained silent, he sighed and addressed Rook.
“Perhaps we should address the end of your tale first.” He paused, as if to gather his thoughts, “The woman you encountered, after disrupting the ritual. She is Fódlan’s Goddess.”
“Huh?”
Rook’s mind briefly halted, he’d met Fódlan’s goddess? How!?
“The primary role of the Church of Seiros is to uphold and spread the Goddess’ teachings, belief in her is the primary faith here.” He gave him a meaningful look, “Also, though it is not necessarily secret, people rarely use her name out of respect. She will mostly be referred to as ‘the Goddess’.”
Mind still a little bewildered from this knowledge, Rook defaulted to his more light-hearted responses, “So, saying I’ve been speaking to the Goddess…might be a bad idea?”
“Indeed.” Seteth frowned, “Fódlan tends to keep its distance from its neighbours, leading to less…open…views on those from beyond. If a foreigner claims to have heard the Goddess’ voice…”
“It could cause me a lot of problems.” Rook finished.
“Yes.”
While Rivain was barely influenced by the Chantry, he knew enough to guess that him saying he’d talked to Sothis here, would be like a Qunari walking into Orlais and declaring that they’d spoken to Andraste herself. He guessed he should count himself lucky that he’d said that to the heads of the church and they’d merely warned him of the dangers instead of calling for his execution.
“However, the fact she intervened speaks to the gravity of the situation.” Rhea opened her eyes, “It would be wise to proceed carefully.” She looked to Seteth, “Going by her words, we must be wary of other visitors from Thedas.”
“The two so-called elven gods?” Seteth questioned.
“Indeed.” Rhea frowned, “Having two interlopers claiming themselves as gods could bring chaos to Fódlan. Particularly if they have enough power to try and back their claims.”
“But didn’t she say that they would have lost much of their power?” Rook furrowed his brow, searching through his memories of his meeting with Sothis, “Something about them not knowing the magic of this world.”
“It has become clear that the way magic works here, is very different to how it works in Thedas.” Seteth answered, “It would stand to reason that they would have difficulty adapting to a new set of rules. However, power is power, and they could rapidly grow in strength once they understand it.”
“But that still gives us time.” Rhea sat further upright in her seat, projecting confidence, “If their power is indeed lessened, they will likely stay hidden until they feel they have the strength to move openly. Giving us the time to prepare and investigate before they strike.” She gave Seteth a knowing look, “And I believe there is one way we can begin doing that.”
Seteth frowned at her, before his eyes briefly widened in realisation, “I assume you mean…?”
“Yes.”
He pursed his lips, as if uneasy with whatever she was suggesting, “While I believe I understand your reasoning, enrolling him in such a manner at this late stage will raise suspicions.”
Rook kept glancing between them, knowing they were discussing something to do with him.
“So, what am I enrolling in?”
“The Officers Academy.” Rhea answered, clearly her mind set on the decision.
“The what?”
Seteth sighed, before turning to Rook to answer his question.
“The Officers Academy is an institution run by the church. In short, students from all over Fódlan enrol for a year, during which they live and learn together. They are taught martial and magic skills, as well as military tactics.”
“You want to enrol me in a military school?”
“While I have a suspicion that your individual skills are well-honed, you could still learn much here.” Rhea answered, “If these elven ‘gods’ from your home are indeed here, it would be wise for you to have spent your time here learning more ways to oppose them.” She smiled, “Also, many of the students will actually be close to your age, you might find your time with them quite fulfilling.”
Rook hesitated, feeling like he was being dragged along into something without much say in the matter. However, he didn’t exactly have much in the way of options. He was stuck in the middle of a continent he knew nothing about, had no obvious way of getting back to where he came from and to top it off, he had no idea what had happened to Solas after the ritual backfired. For all he knew, the Dreadwolf was in Fódlan as well and he would be looking for a way to finish what he started.
Like it or not, he’d become a piece on a very different board, one the players were still trying to decide how to use. This Officers Academy might be a way for him to get his bearings and have time to come up with something beyond rolling with the punches.
He grinned to hide his wariness at his decision, “I guess that could work.”