Chapter Text

All she wanted to do was go home. Home to the Free Marches, to clan Lavellan. The Conclave had been destroyed, and Keeper Deshanna would waiting for Fen’Falon’s return and the information she brought. According to Lady Cassandra and Leliana, though, she could not return. About a quarter of the folk in Haven still wanted the elven mage dead for being involved in the death of the Divine, and a number of Chantry folk were demanding that Fen’Falon be sent to Val Royeaux for execution - no trial necessary. Cassandra had taken to posting an Inquisition warrior or scout at Fen’Falon’s door to prevent those folk from creeping in to kill her in her sleep.

A prisoner in all but name as a result, Fen’Falon found herself haunting the forested mountainsides outside the town to get away from everything. More people flowed into Haven every day as word of the Inquisition spread. For her own protection, Cassandra had told her, it would be best if she stayed with the Inqusition. Fen’Falon hoped that meant that when things settled down, she would be allowed to return to clan Lavellan.

The pine trees that permeated the mountainsides were an unfriendly bunch, disinclined towards climbers, much to Fen’Falon’s disappointment. It fast became a game of hers to find the coniferous trees - the maples and birchs - and lurk in their branches to watch who came and went from Haven. It was a shame that Leliana’s ravens flew so high, Fen’Falon thought it would be amusing to catch one and read its message.

Cullen had managed to convince a few of the templars to join as well, which caused Fen’Falon no end of anxiety.She stayed well away from them and from Cullen, unwilling to risk being mistaken for the more rabid apostates who roamed the lowland hills and valleys. Solas was nowhere to be found, in or outside of Haven. She knew he still resided in Haven for now - Cassandra was especially fond of badgering him about closing the breach permanently.

An entourage of well-dressed humans with darker skin and strange accents came through one day with a lady wearing cloth-of-gold, but with the look of a clerk. Fen’Falon followed the group back into Haven, curious to see what manner of supporter the fledgeling Inquisition had gained.

“Lady Montilyet, a pleasure to have you join us,” Leliana said, greeting the new woman outside the Chantry.

Montilyet curtsied gracefully. “The pleasure, no, honour is mine, Sister Leliana.” Fen’Falon watched as they walked into the Chantry, likely headed for another discussion with Cassandra and Cullen.

“Are you going to simply lurk up there all day, Herald?” came a voice from below her. Solas called up to the rooftop Fen’Falon was seated on, a grin of amusement on his face. She hoped this meant he had forgiven her, though if the apostate’s memory was anything like her own, it would take more than a few weeks to forget the slight she had visited upon him. Perhaps this would be her opportunity to make nice with the other elf.

“Of course not!” she called back. Fen’Falon slid down the roof tiles and swung from the eaves to land lightly on her feet next to Solas.

“I have been trying to find you, actually,” she said.

“To find me? How interesting,” said Solas.

“Yes. I wished to apologise for my behaviour back when we closed the rift. You had saved my life, and I repaid you with rudeness. Please forgive me.”

“It is nothing,” Solas said. “Think no more of it. I have traveled long and far, through the Fade and the waking world. I have seen ancient memories and events for which there are no tales, and walked the ruins of peoples long forgotten. I have slept in ancient battlefields and newborn forests. The rudeness of a moment of stress is easily forgotten in the face of such wonders.”

“You sleep on ancient battlefields and in old ruins? Isn’t that...dangerous? Sorry, I’m sure you’re perfectly safe, but...wow. That is very impressive for an apostate mage,” Fen’Falon hoped her inept stumbling was not putting Solas off of talking to her.

“Safe enough,” he replied. “I do set wards you know. And if you leave some food - a fresh rabbit usually - the giant spiders are often content enough to leave me alone. But that is nothing compared to you - who has physically walked out from the Fade, an act not seen since Tevinter Magisters broke the Golden City.”

Fen’Falon realised that this elf was much, much older than her, to have seen so much. She couldn’t wait to pick his brain for knowledge and history. “So, you’ve seen a lot then?” she asked.

“I have. Why do you ask?”

“Do you know how to close the breach? Permanently I mean?”

“I do. Unfortunately there is no way to do so without you, Herald. And it will take far more power than you can carry on your own. A power equal to that which opened it. We do not have the time nor the inclination to make you nearly a god in your own right. My advice to Lady Cassandra was to attempt to recruit the rebel mages. A worthy use of their power. But without you, without that mark, it will mean nothing.”

“Do you not wish to be there too?” It had not escaped Fen’Falon’s notice that Solas was talking as though he did not intend to see this through.

“Why should I? I am an apostate mage, and an elvhen on top of that. And unlike you, I do not have the protection that being the ‘Herald of Andraste’ brings to you. You they need to keep. I am simply a burden here, a worry in the back of their minds they would much rather be without.”

Fen’Falon had been worried about that, in truth. “We must stick together, you and I,” she told him. “We are the only two of our kind here. I will not let them harm you.” She would burn those who tried, those who would dare attack another elf in front of her. Maybe in doing so she could repay Solas for saving her life.

Solas looked thoughtful at that, turning his face from her to look out at the breach. He turned back to face her and nodded briefly. “I will stay then, at least until the breach is closed.”

“You weren’t planning on staying, were you?” Fen’Falon asked. “I do not blame you. They are all but keeping me prisoner here, this Inquisition. Cassandra says it is for my safety, but I chafe at not being allowed to return to my clan.”

“I was not. But perhaps you right. We mages should stick together, at least for now. It would be a shame to see my work to keep you alive go to waste should they decide you are guilty after all,” Solas said. Fen’Falon hoped that was not his way of being reassuring, for it made her more anxious than before to be reminded that some still thought her responsible for killing the Divine.

Fen’Falon saw that Cassandra was standing in the open doorway of the Haven Chantry, and they made eye contact. “I believe that Cassandra wants to talk to me,” she told Solas. “Can I ask you about your travels later?”

Solas favoured her with a tiny grin. “I would be happy to share my stories, Herald.”

Fen’Falon was part way to the Chantry when she called back, “And don’t call me that!”

Cassandra had indeed sought to speak with Fen’Falon and brought her to what was being referred to as the War Room. Cassandra and Solas had already spoken about recruiting the rebel mages, but the area around Redcliffe was more unstable than ever because of the rifts that had opened up in the Hinterlands of Ferelden.

“I see,” said Fen’Falon. “So I am a useful tool for the Inquisition. And what happens when I stop being useful? When we close the breach and the rifts are gone?”

Leliana and Cassandra traded glances. “You will be free to go home, Herald,” said Leliana.

“Look,” Fen’Falon started. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a herald of anything, most especially not your Andraste. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I just want to return to my clan and be normal again.”

Leliana spoke first. “It does not matter if you believe it or not, to many the story of how a golden woman shepherded you from the Fade makes clear evidence that you are the Herald of Andraste. Who else could that woman have been but Andraste herself, guiding you to us?”

“Leliana is right,” said Cassandra. “Whether it is true or not, the people believe. And perhaps in time, they will forget that they sought your execution.”

“Fine,” Fen’Falon grumbled. “So what now?”

“Now,” Cassandra said, and gestured to the large map tacked to the table in front of her, “Now we send you to Redcliffe. Find a way to these mages, to get them on our side. Close the rifts. Cullen has requested that we acquire horses while we are there, so do your best to convince Master Dennet to join us. After that, we shall see if we cannot close the breach.”

“Ah, I see,” said Fen’Falon. “So I am to be your errand boy, running to and fro to fix problems for you until I can be truly useful again.” She stalked out of the War Room, disgusted with herself for managing to get dragged into something of this magnitude. A short jump into a tree next to the Chantry saw her to the lowest level of the eaves, and her skill with climbing the rest of the way to the Chantry rooftop. No one looked for her up here, and she could see the whole of Haven and nearly to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, or at least where it used to be. Down below in the town, she could see as Cassandra and Cullen walked out of the Chantry, deep in conversation. Soldiers practiced with their weapons outside the town gate, in the makeshift camp Cullen had set up for them. Leliana prepared another of her birds to carry a message somewhere. And Solas stood outside near the apothecary, one finger tapping against his staff. Fen’Falon wondered if it was ‘later’ enough to ask him about the Fade.