Chapter Text

On the final day of their voyage, at Dorian’s urging the night before, the group set off earlier than usual. Enaste had had the last watch of the night. She prepared breakfast early for everyone, spending some time afterwards grooming and spoiling Boss who seemed to relish all the attention. Her tent and belongings had already been packed. She sipped some tea as she handed him apple slices one at a time. She’d grown attached to the grumpy gelding and she hoped she would get to keep him beyond this journey, though with no income or other means to provide for him, she really didn’t know how she’d manage. She giggled as he nuzzled her pocket for more. “Maybe later. If you’re good.” She scratched his head and began to tack him up for the journey ahead.

It had been two days since the Qunari attack. Cullen hadn’t said a word to her yet, and she’d be damned if she was going to first. The whole thing seemed childish in hindsight but she couldn’t bring herself to bridge the gap. Dorian and her had been practicing basic magic and she’d finally managed to cast real fire the previous evening, although she’d almost lit her own hair up in the process. Casting without the aid of spirits on this side of the veil was a strain and drained her quickly. Dorian assured her that it would improve with practice, much like a muscle, but she wasn’t so sure. Shields, however, came easily to her and he was pleased at how long they lasted under pressure.

Dorian passed by to tack up his own horse, humming a tune under his breath. “You’re in an awfully good mood this morning, Magister Pavus” she said with a smile.

“I hate camping” he replied. “I can’t tell you how much I am looking forward to a nice long bath.”

The rest of the group packed up and they were on their way.

Just as dusk began to settle on the horizon, they rounded a corner up a path that branched off the road and came up on a large cabin. The door slammed open and a large Qunari wearing an eye patch emerged, charging straight for Dorian. Enaste’s breath caught at the sight but as everyone seemed relaxed about the whole display, she waited to see what would happen. The Qunari wrestled Dorian off his horse in a great bear hug that concluded with a long, passionate kiss. Her jaw dropped at the sight. Cullen rode by the couple, nodding to the Qunari. “Bull,” he said.

“Cullen!” He slapped the Commander on the shoulder, almost dismounting him. He turned his one eye to Enaste with a smile. “And this must be the Lady Enaste I’ve been hearing about.” He walked over to her and extended a hand. It took her a moment to take it but she shook his great paw.

Dorian came up behind him. “Enaste, meet The Iron Bull.”

“It was true!” She said.

“What was?”

“That you were rescued from an ambush by a Tal Vashoth.”

Bull’s eye grew serious but he nodded.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, a pleasure to meet you, Iron Bull. My first impression of Qunari wasn’t a pleasant one.”

Bull looked at Dorian with a frown. “We’ll talk. Let’s go inside. Enaste, you can leave your horse and settle in. Someone will take care of them.”

She dismounted and grabbed her pack. Night had fallen and the long day behind them had tired her out. Once inside, a young attendant showed her to a room where a bath had been prepared. Clothes had been laid on the bed. She closed the door and shed her travelling gear before sinking into the bath with a contended sigh.

In a blink, she found herself in a different house. She was asleep, she knew, in the bath in her room at the cabin. How long she’d been asleep, she couldn’t tell, but this dream wasn’t hers.

A man sat on a bed, her back to her, holding a woman to his chest. He rocked as he sang softly through tears, her head cradled against his chest. She moved to the side to get a better view, but the blond hair atop the man’s head told her who this dream belonged to before his face was clear. Her heart ached to see Cullen. At the time of the dream, he’d been severely underweight, the sorrow that he bore all the more poignant on his gaunt features. This was the woman who’d saved him on the day she died.

She sobbed at the sight and turned to leave him to his mourning. She hadn’t meant to intrude on such a private memory, but he turned at the noise. He could see her.

She felt a sharp tug at her feet and hands. She looked down at her hands. She frowned.

“Enaste? What is this?”

A flash of hands around her wrists and ankles, ropes, the study... Understanding dawned on her in a panic. She squeezed Cullen’s arms, staring into his eyes. “Cullen! In my room! You have to wake up! They’re taking me!”

“What?”

“Wake up, Cullen! In my room, please!” She gathered her strength as the dream began to blur and pushed him back, hard. “WAKE UP!”

Cullen awoke with a start, out of breath, his heart racing. It was still dark, but sleep had shed from his mind in an instant, the memory of his dream all too fresh. He grabbed his sword, listening for signs of trouble but couldn’t hear anything. He headed toward Enaste’s room, the sounds of struggle growing louder as he drew nearer. A maid stood in the hallway, a hand on her mouth, eyes agape. He grabbed her elbow and looked into her eyes to make sure she was listening. “Dorian! Get him! Now!” He pulled her back toward the bedrooms and watched her run a few steps before continuing on.

The room was empty when he reached it, water everywhere from the bath. He could hear the struggle down the stairs, headed for the yard. He ran after them, storming into the open air as Enaste kicked and cursed, stark naked in the moonlight, as best she could against restraints, slung over a Elven man’s shoulders.

The Elf looked back and pointed to Cullen, two of his companions coming between him and Enaste. They drew daggers and he knew they meant to fight to distract him.

Enaste saw Cullen come through the door and thought she might cry. They’d managed to drag her this far with the four of them, but she might be able to make it too hard to go further with just two of them. A burst of flames sprung up around one of them, catching his clothes on fire. She grabbed the belt of the man holding her over his shoulders as he began to walk away, pulling, hard, until she began to slide toward the ground. “Bitch” he cursed as he lost his balance, falling on top of her. She rolled out from under him and gathered her legs before kicking him in the head with both feet. The blow stunned him long enough for her to begin working on freeing her hands. Her feet came loose next.

She stood up and took a look around at the scene. The two rogues were giving Cullen a good fight, yet even in his night clothes, he looked menacing and fierce as his sword forced the two to dance deftly to avoid being cut down. Dorian and Bull had joined the fray, raining spells down and carving through two more who’d appeared from the shadows. The man she’d knocked unconscious, awake now, crept out in front of her, a small knife between his hands. He headed for Cullen at an angle that he’d be hard pressed to see him coming.

Enaste ran up and grabbed his arms, scrapping to get him to let the blade go. One of the two rogues who faced Cullen fell to a blow to his side while lightning sizzled somewhere in the Courtyard. Enaste stepped in closer to get better leverage against her opponent but he was stronger and heavier than she. He twisted on his feet, trying to pull her out of the way but she tripped on his foot, clinging to his arm for support. The weight threw him forward hard against her and she hit a pillar. The small blade slipped through between her upper ribs, burning like fire as it did.

“Fenedhis!” He hissed between his teeth, looking at the blade, hilt-deep in her ribs. He stepped back, letting her go in time to face a blood spattered Cullen coming past the bodies of his comrades with Dorian behind him. He turned and ran as guards, finally alerted, took the chase along with The Iron Bull.

Enaste slid along the pillar until she was on the ground. Cullen and Dorian ran over and took stock of her wound. “Poison” she said through clenched teeth.

“Meant for me”, Cullen spat.

“Bring her to my parlour,” Dorian said as he began to search the bodies. “They might have the antidote. If not, we’ll have to try an antivenom.”

Cullen stepped in closer. “Around my neck” he said, looking in her eyes as she slid her arm across. “This is going to hurt.” She nodded to indicate she was ready, screaming despite herself as he scooped her up. Her skin felt on fire, the burn radiating from the blade hotter with every heart beat. Her vision was blurring but she clung to Cullen’s shirt to keep hold of what consciousness she had left.

He lowered her to a long chair but the pressure made her scream out in pain. She wouldn’t let go of Cullen’s shirt, afraid if she did she might faint and never wake up. A door opened. A voice. Dorian.

Cullen’s hand touched her forehead. “She’s burning up fast. Give it to her now.”

“She’ll choke.”

A hand, cupping her chin, another behind her neck, gentle, strong. A cold vial against her lips. “Enaste, you must drink. Understand? Drink!”

The vial pressed harder, her lips parting. The liquid might as well have been molten lava, but drink she did, her hand gripping him ever tighter for a hold.

“It has to come out.”

A hand on her cheek. Shivers. Her blood ran cold now, tremors wracking her spine. The blade pulled out quickly but the white hot pain seared outward in a wave. Darkness fell over her eyes. Her fingers uncoiled as she collapsed.

She’d fainted. Probably. Or she’d died, but somehow she didn’t think she’d be ‘here’ if she had. “Hello again.” That voice. Feynriel. She turned to face the Half-Elf. He stood, calm, somehow regal in his plain clothes, a slight smile on his lips.

“You?”

He nodded. “I do hope my agents were not too harsh?”

“Why?”

He stepped closer but stopped before arm’s reach. “For some years now, I’ve been working as an agent of Fen’Harel. His name is Solas. He’s been searching for a gifted dreamer for some time.”

“Why?” She crossed her arms.

The smile reached further on his lips. “Always the stubborn one. He needs help” he said.

“I know who he is” she said, taking a step back. “The Dread Wolf.”

“Of course. They told you.”

“The Inquisitor did. And what is it, pray tell, Fen’Harel needs my help with?”

“The veil” he waved outward. “It’s a prison. Spirits, trapped here in semi-existence, turned to demons by the greed of mages the world over. Magic, snuffed almost into non-existence by the barrier from being so disconnected to the fade... we must tear it down. Free both worlds.”

Enaste’s eyes widened in shock. “So it’s true. He’d set the fade loose upon the world?”

He stepped forward, his eyes eager. “Imagine this,” he said as he swept his hand in a great arc. The rocky fade landscape changed before her eyes, towering white spires stretching up into the sky, floating walkways lit as if from within, wisps flying to and fro. Elves walked, taller than she, graceful, in flowing gowns or tunics of silk and material so light it shimmered. Magic resonated around her, humming in her ears, tingling at her fingertips. She had to blink to clear her gaze from the sheer brightness emanating from the very walls. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Feynriel took her hand, leading her to a balcony alcove that overlooked a city that stretched as far as eyes could see.

Her own clothes had changed, beautiful, inlaid material that she could barely feel on her skin. Her hair was tied up in a delicate braid laced with a golden diadem, diamonds adorning her brow and temples. “Arlathan” she whispered.

He nodded, his smile now warm and inviting. “This is what was lost. Magic beyond words, living among spirits as a part of nature. Elvhen immortality. Do you see?”

She could only stare at it all, speechless.

“This was his home. In a rage over the murder of Mythal, he brought the veil down onto the world to imprison the Evanuris forever. The effort cost him a thousand years of consciousness, only to find upon waking that what he had created was far worse. With the help of a dreamer no longer held back by the veil, he can rebuild this world. Undo his past mistake.”

“What would happen to the world now?”

“The raw chaos unleashed upon the world would tear asunder what we know today. A tragic cost.”

Her hand reached up to take his, holding it against her cheek for a moment to anchor herself. She was growing accustomed to the fade and dreaming, but this shining world of magic and ancient elves stirred her deeply. He reached up with his other hand to look into her eyes, waiting for an answer.

“Please take it away” she asked as she looked once more to the fabled land below the balcony. He closed his eyes and she did the same, the light was too bright, too painful. It made it hard to think. She pushed him away, gently, and he took a step back, a slight frown on his brow.

She shook out her hair and the updo and diadem disappeared. Her hand travelled across her face, leaving bruises in its wake, a split and swollen lip, a black eye, her maimed ear. “You’re mad,” she whispered. His frown deepened.

“What are you doing?”

Her hand continued to trace her body, removing his illusion, replacing it with her own dirt-smeared, bloodied and bruised skin, stopping at the dagger between her ribs. She clasped the hilt and pulled it out, coughing up blood as she did so.

“What is this?”

“This”, she said, dropping the dagger to the ground, “is the work of your agents.” The flash of fury in his eyes was unmistakable. “You want me to help you? Help you destroy the world so you can have some fantasy back? Do you even think the Dread Wolf will let some halfbreed live after he’s done?” She spat blood at his feet. “You’re a monster.” Anger built up as she spoke, her fists clenching, the air pulsing around her.

He stepped back, his staff between his hands. “Control your anger, Enaste.”

The pulsations came faster and louder. “Your agents failed. I’ll make sure you do too.”

He sprung into action before she could unleash the energy she’d gathered. His staff struck the ground and sent her tumbling into the void.

Enaste knew she was back in Dorian’s parlour as she crumbled to the floor, screaming, vision blurred, blood dripping from her mouth. She looked about and tried to move away from a looming shape to her left but her legs were too weak. A sharp pain in her side choked out any cry for help she might have had.

“Easy” said a voice. “Enaste, it’s me. Let me help you.” Cullen. She felt his hands reach under her to scoop her up again. She gagged from the pain. He placed her on the chaise again, clasping a cloth to her wound. “We pulled the dagger out after you drank the antidote, but we still need to close that wound.” Her eyes cleared, his eyes locked onto hers for a sense that she was fully awake. He took a vial out of his pocket. “Can you drink this? An elfroot potion should get you well on your way.” He removed the stopper and offered her the vial.

She nodded and drank the vial in small sips - every movement, every breath painful for several minutes as the potion worked its magic. “Thank you” she rasped.

He handed her a glass of water and she obliged. “Better?” He asked as he covered her with a sheet. She closed her eyes but nodded. His hand retreated from her rib and he took a look at the wound. “Better, but the healer will need to finish closing it.” He shook his head, angry. “Why? Why would you put yourself in such danger?”

She coughed, happy to see no blood in her hand. “To be fair,” she cleared her throat, “it was more an accident than anything else.” His puzzled expression brought a smirk to her lips. “I... tripped.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You... fell on the dagger by accident?”

“Pretty much.”

He laughed out loud, his serious features turned warm by the smile.

“Thank you, by the way” she said.

“What for?”

“Coming for me.”

His one-sided smile stretched his lips until little wrinkles touched the corner of his eyes. He sighed, leaning his forehead against hers. “Clever, by the way, warning me in a dream.”

She shifted in her seat. “Cullen, I’m...”, she sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on a private moment.”

“I’m just glad we were able to stop them in time.” His mouth closed on hers, at first gentle, deeper with each breath. Her hands slid up his chest, feeling his heartbeat under his warm skin, her fingertips tracing his muscles, up his neck and into his hair. She nibbled the scar on his upper lip and he groaned, but pulled himself away, both of them breathless.

A cough from the doorway made both of them look over. “Am I interrupting?” Dorian leaned on the doorframe, a sly smile curling his lips. Cullen stood up to his full height, crossing his arms while glaring at Dorian who seemed oblivious.

Enaste reached out to the fade, calling on the spirits. Magic began to pour into her, the soft glow seeping into the gash, mending flesh, and sealing the skin shut. Enaste relaxed despite herself, her head sinking into the cushions. Dorian took a look at the wound. “Well done.”

The Iron Bull filled the doorway when he stepped into the room. He handed a bag to Dorian who opened it and pulled out the orb. “They were after more than our friend.”

“It was Feynriel, working for Solas. He has been following us through my dreams.” She sat up a little as eyes turned to her. “I didn’t know he was doing it or I would have mentioned it sooner. He sent the Elves, said he needs a dreamer.”

Cullen shook his head, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck as he began to pace. “After the Inquisition disbanded, we began searching for a way to stop Solas. The Inquisitor... I mean, lady Lavellan feels he can be redeemed somehow, but I’m not certain. He’s eluded us, thanks to the eluvians. We’ve made no progress toward finding a solution to the veil.”

“This is why you came to Tevinter? Why a dreamer? Why not just a mage?”

Dorian shrugged, his fingers clasping his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps it’s needed for this orb? Who’s to say. Solas is a dreamer himself, why would he need another?” The silence that followed was answer enough.

“What else did he tell you?”

“Nothing useful. He showed me a memory of Arlathan. He said dreamers, once the veil is down, will be needed to rebuild it. Madness, I told him.” She shook her head. “He tossed me out before I could blink.” She stared out the window for some time as everyone stood pondering the future. “He’ll try again.”

Dorian nodded. “Yes.”

Enaste returned to her room, her mind racing. Somewhere in her readings on dreamers, she’d read a little of the somnaborium, orbs that looked like the one she’d given to Dorian. They were described as vessels of dreams, but little else. Solas had told the Inquisitor that some were dedicated to particular members of the Elvhen pantheon. A slow thought began to form. She sat at the desk, grabbing pen, ink and paper and began to write.

Cullen stirred from sleep, his mind grasping for what might have woken him. A light shuffle by his bed brought on a dose of adrenaline, sharpening his vision. He rose to sit, but a small hand held him to his bed. “Maker’s breath” he whispered, his hand running through his hair as relief replaced fear. “Enaste. Is everything alright?”

She smiled as she leaned closer, sitting on the bed next to him. “I can’t sleep.”

She slid over him until she straddled his hips, both hands on his face now as his own traveled up to her waist. “I’m sorry”, he said.

She put a finger to his lips. “No need for that.” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Just make it up to me.” He groaned as he kissed her neck, his hands tracing from her waist up to her ribs, shoulders, then into her hair. He sat up, his chest pressing against hers as he kissed her and she clasped his hair in her fists. His mouth moved down, sending shivers through her spine as he grazed her neck with his lips, nibbling here and there. His hands lowered to her waist and he lifted her up, her back arching so he could kiss her presented nipple. He kissed one, then moved to the other, staying there longer as she inhaled, raking his back with her fingernails.

She shifted her hips, feeling him, leaning in again to kiss him, the world a blur. His back lowered down to the mattress and she began to explore his chest, hands and mouth covering every inch. She found herself with her back on the mattress as he flipped her over, his callused hands gentle but assertive. His head moved, finding that sensitive spot along her pelvic bone that brought a low moan deep in her throat. Her hands clasped the sheets into fists as he reached further. Her eyes rolled back as the sensations intensified. Her own voice vaguely registered as she swore a tevene curse of pleasure that made the Commander laugh softly in her ear.

She guided him, in a frenzy to feel him, her legs wrapped around him, spurring him on. They exchanged caresses, kissing every inch, discovering each other through a passion and tenderness she’d never known. As she felt the singular heat return again, her nails digging into his shoulders, his own breathing quickened, his pace intensified, until, for a moment, their bodies merged, heartbeats as one, breathless.

She held his head for some time, running her fingers through his hair, enjoying his warmth and weight as he lay over her. He sighed as he rolled over, the smile on his lips spurring a giggle from her. “Commander Cullen,” she said as she curled into his neck, “I must say I am impressed.”

His chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Well, you did ask me to make up to you.”

She laughed. “Was that a joke, Mr. Rutherford?”

“I suppose it was.” His arm coiled under her head, bringing her closer and he kissed her forehead. “This was...”, he sighed.

She snuggled into him. “Get some rest, Cullen, just a few hours.”

Enaste waited for Cullen to fall back to sleep. She kissed his scar once more, tears in her eyes, before sneaking out of his room. The Iron Bull sat in the parlour, watching over the orb. “I can’t sleep. Why don’t you let me take over?” His eye lingered on her features but whatever he might have been thinking, she couldn’t guess. He stretched and thanked her before heading to Dorian’s room. She picked up the orb to look at it. It felt warmer than she remembered. She tossed it into a bag and ran out of the house. She grabbed Boss from the hitching post where’d she’d already tacked him and spurred him off into the distance. They’d have to be far enough behind or the whole plan would fail.

“Shit!” Iron Bull cursed and he went to fetch Dorian.

“Oh dear.” He put his tea down and they headed to Cullen’s room.

The Commander was awake in a moment. The look on Dorian’s face gave him pause. “What is it?”

“She’s taken the orb. She’s making a run for it.”

“What? What for?!”

“I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling. Let’s go.”

Cullen tossed whatever clothes he could grab in a moment’s notice. They rushed to the stables to get their mounts and follow as best they could despite her head start.

She pulled to a stop some miles out. She couldn’t see anything nearby. She waved her arms and yelled at Boss to leave, slapped him, but the old dolt just looked at her. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. “You have to go!” She pushed him and ran off further but he followed, looking for treats in her pocket. She fell to her knees and he came over to nuzzle her hair. She grabbed his face and kissed him between his nostrils. “You idiot... there’s no time.”

She took the orb out of her bag. It sizzled against her skin. She held it in her lap and closed her eyes. The dream came to her in an instant, the strength of it almost dizzying. The power of the orb was palpable even from the fade as she held it. She channeled on it, gathering, filling herself with its energy. Images came to her, too many to see. Spirits and demons began to cluster about her but they wouldn’t come near. Her mind raced as her body burned with power both in and out of the fade but she kept pulling in more.

“What are you doing?!” Her eyes opened to see Feynriel approaching her fade self. His eyes were wide as he stared at the orb and the power it bestowed.

“I told you. Making sure you fail.”

“You have no idea what this can do!”

“Neither do you.” The light around her grew, burning white hot. “Feel free to stay and find out.” She smiled as she pulled in every last drop of power from the orb that she could contain. Feynriel’s form began to smoulder as he tried to retreat. The sound of her own scream seemed so distant.

A bright, white light burst up and out into a beam off in the distance. The blast incinerated everything in its path for a mile around its point of origin. The horses spooked. The three riders had to fight to keep them from running away in the opposite direction. Cullen spurred his on as soon as it would listen, his heart in his chest. The grass and trees had burned down all around - in the centre, a dark black mass the only discernible shape. He dismounted but his feet wouldn’t carry him closer. His knees gave out. He didn’t want to see.

The Iron Bull lay a hand on his shoulder as he passed by while Dorian stayed with him. He walked up to the mound and knelt to get a closer look. He waved them to come closer as he began to lift a carcass. Dorian ran over in time to see Bull moving the cremated corpse of Enaste’s horse off of her. Her hair and clothes were singed, patches of her skin black. The shattered orb lay in her lap. He touched her cheek. She was breathing. “Cullen!”

The Iron Bull picked her up and carried her over to the Commander. When he saw her, asleep, his breath returned to his body in a gasp. He touched her cheek to feel its warmth. “How?”

Dorian shook his head. “I don’t know. The orb is shattered. And no breach... always a good thing. This doesn’t look like normal sleep. She may have entered uthenera.”

“How long can she survive like this?”

Dorian only shook his head, he didn’t know either. So much information had been lost on uthenera, and he himself had never studied it. “I will go through her notes, maybe she came across information. For now, all we can do is keep her comfortable.”

“The loss of this orb could make Solas desperate. We need to get the team moving, and fast.” Cullen stood. It was time, whether they were ready or not. The orb was out of play, but Solas wouldn’t be idle. He’d find a way.

Feynriel awoke from the dream with a scream, his skin charred, his clothes melted into it in chunks. A shadow approached his bedside. Eyes loomed out of the darkness to stare down at him. Cold. Feynriel reached a blackened hand to grasp at the shirt of the one standing next to him but he recoiled just out of reach. “You failed.” A deep, magnetic voice that chilled him to the bone. “We needed the orb. We needed the dreamer.”

“She’d never have... agreed. Too wild.”

“No. You were too weak, half-elf. Now I must seek... other means to accomplish what must be done.”

“Please,” he begged through clenched teeth, “help me.”

The shadow walked away. “You’ve earned your fate. As do we all. Dareth shiral, lethallin.”