It was Cassandra and Solas who accompanied Arethin to Redcliffe. Cassandra had insisted on coming, so Arethin had asked Solas to come as well. It made her feel better to have another person who spoke Dalish with her, and his knowledge of the Breach could well prove useful in closing the smaller rifts.
Haven was but a few weeks away from Redcliffe. Arethin made a note to mention the eluvian network to whoever turned up from the Coalition, as an eluvian stationed near the Breach would make bringing people there much easier.
There were rifts along the trail down the mountain, but most of them were small, and could be closed with ease. Arethin had been in this direction before, but only once or twice. Her Clan normally roamed far to the north, in the Free Marches, and after Keeper Merrill had begun restoring the eluvians, they felt little need to traverse Ferelden and Orlais.
The Inquisition largely controlled the trail, which was probably why the new Divine's forces weren't trying to get up the mountain—or perhaps they would simply come from the other side.
It was warmer down by the foothills, and Cassandra and Solas were both decent enough traveling companions.
Well, Cassandra was decent enough, until she started badgering Arethin about being the Herald of Andraste again.
“What possible reason would she have to visit me?” Arethin demanded, out of patience at last. “Unless she was going to give my people back the Dales, I hardly have much reason to speak with her. I could always tell her 'thank you for the Templars, Mistress Andraste, they literally tried to kill the Divine' for you.”
Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose. “Lavellan...”
“Cassandra, I barely hold with my own people's gods,” Arethin said. “Why would I hold with yours?”
“You need not be insulting about it,” Cassandra snapped.
“Well, I've been being called the Herald of Andraste for days now, and it is becoming very uncomfortable.”
“Titles forced upon the unwilling usually are,” Solas piped up.
“Quite true,” Arethin said.
Cassandra rolled her eyes and moved up ahead of them. Solas came to walk by Arethin's side, where previously he had been hanging back.
“You said that you do not hold with Dalish religion?” Solas asked her quietly.
“Ah—it's complicated,” she said with a grimace.
“I do not mean to intrude, if it is personal,” he said. “I was simply curious. You still bear the vallaslin, after all.”
“Oh, that's not religion,” she corrected.
“Is it not?” he raised his eyebrows.
“Well, the designs are supposed to match the gods,” Arethin explained. “But I don't think that matters so much as what they mean, do you see?”
“What do yours mean, if they do not represent Andruil?” his face bore an expression of polite interest, but his shoulders were tense.
“Strength and good hunting,” she said. “One could always use better hunting.” she glanced up at the sky as she thought. “Clarity of purpose. Do you see they look like a bow and an arrow?” she traced the markings on her cheeks and forehead, and he nodded. “An arrow will never be lost, cannot be caught.”
“Interesting,” his shoulders had relaxed somewhat and he looked more thoughtful. “Do all the Dalish think this way, or just you?”
“I could not say. It's another one of those questions that ends up with a hundred answers,” she rolled her eyes. “Here's a tale for you—one Clan found some evidence in a book somewhere that said vallaslin were slave markings, but then they also found another book from roughly the same time period that said the exact opposite, that vallaslin were high honors for those who served the Creators. Most people take the second opinion, but the first still exists, and the books are so blasted old we have no context over who was right or not. We don't even know if 'slave' in High Elvhen means the same thing it does in modern Common or Dalish. Or if we're even interpreting it right.”
Solas was quiet for a long moment, mulling that over.“Ah—the complications of archaeology,” he said at last, sighing.
“Exactly.” she shook her head. “And it can't be much better being a dreamer,” she added. “I've heard from Master Feynriel himself how complicated it is to understand memories in the Fade.”
“Quite true,” he said. “But it is far more useful than searching the physical remains of ruins alone.”
“I still have no idea why the Clans you ran into rejected you. Most Clans are happy to talk to a somniari. Were you searching on the Orlesian side? They tend to get the most bent out of shape about outsiders.”
“Well—west of the Frostbacks does appear to have a larger amount of easily accessible ruins,” he said slowly.
“Ah, then that is your problem,” she informed him. “And—well, before the Blight, most western Clans weren't very friendly either.”
“Why?”
She looked at him, and he seemed genuinely curious, so she tried to explain.
“Lots of Clans will tell you that the city folk abandoned their elvhen roots, that they aren't real elves anymore,” she said. “And it's true there's a great deal of bitterness there. How can we respect them, the feeling goes, if they do not respect themselves enough to remember their past?”
Solas hummed, his brows knit.
“But there are...other reasons.” she faltered, and he glanced at her. “Humans who push us away from cities, saying we poison wells or—or kill babies for blood magic—how are we to stay close to our cousins, when trying to do that gets us killed?” she shook her head. “I've known Templars and bandits alike who use city cousins for bait to raid on us, Dalish who went to the cities for a lover and got killed by the humans there, mages--” she cut herself off and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “If we don't trust others—if a Clan tells you to go away—there's a good chance it's because they were hurt one too many times by trusting.”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He had gone very pale.
“Are you alright?” she asked hesitantly.
“I am fine,” he said. “Has your Clan suffered anything like that?”
“Yes.” he waited, but she didn't elaborate. At length, he nodded and continued.
“I had not...realized the extent of the problem,” he admitted. “I thought...well. It seemed foolish to reject what I know, when I could tell them so much...”
“I know it hurts to be turned away from us,” she said. “I try not to do it. It's gotten better, but...”
“A habit once formed will continue.”
“Yes.”
The Hinterlands looked very nice, but even approaching them, they could feel the tatters and tears in the Veil.
Arethin shuddered. “This place is...unhealthy,” she muttered to herself. Solas nodded.
They met an Inquisition forward outpost. A dwarrowdam came to greet them, a woman named Scout Harding.
She raised her eyebrows when she saw Arethin, her gaze riveted to the mark on Arethin's hand.
“Heard you were Dalish, wasn't sure of it myself,” Harding said. “It's not like your people to get involved.”
Arethin scowled at her. “Where are you from?” she asked. She did not need to ride all the way out here just for her people to be dismissed.
“I'm a surfacer,” Harding's back straightened.
“I see that's where you get your ignorance from, then,” Arethin swept past her to look out over the valley. “If you were not, you would know better.”
“Hey—listen, I grew up here,” Harding came over to her side. “Seeing all those rifts open--”
“I know,” Arethin said, softening a bit. “It's the worst thing imaginable.”
Harding glared up at her. “Yeah,” she said. “So--”
“So, I shall to fix it,” Arethin said. “I'm the only one who can.” she looked down at Harding. “But I do not need to hear rude comments about my people while I do so, especially when they are not true.”
Harding went very red. “...alright,” she said at length.
“Where is this Mother Giselle?” she asked.
“Down near the crossroads,” Harding explained. “At the refugee camp.”
“Why is the camp there, instead of in Redcliffe?”
“Problems with the Templars and some of the mages made Lady Isolde close the city,” Harding said with a shrug.
“Problems?”
“Not everyone went with the Grand Enchanter,” she said. “And the Lord Seeker ordered his Templars to hunt down any mages they could find.”
“I see,” Arethin frowned. “This has affected those who are not mages and Templars very greatly?”
“Yeah. Some of the Templars have attacked farmers and civilians that aren't mages at all,” Harding said. “Some of the mages have been trying to work with the civilians, and the Templars have been attacking them, too.”
“We'll keep an eye out and see what we can do,” Arethin assured her.
They headed down to the crossroads. The road was unguarded, and there were many trees and rocks which bore the burnmarks of spellwork having been done. The crossroads themselves were surrounded by a barricade, and the three of them found themselves on the business end of several archers.
“I'm here about the rifts,” Arethin called, holding her hands up.
“You the Herald?” a man whose armor bore the insignia of the Inquisition called back.
“It's no business of mine if you call me that, but that's what people say,” Arethin said, grinding her teeth.
The archers glanced at each other, then let Arethin and her companions through.
“Corporal Vael,” the man with the Inquisition symbol stepped down off the barricade and introduced himself to her. “Heard you'd be coming.”
Arethin nodded. “I'm going to try and help with the rifts,” she said. “And I need to speak with Mother Giselle.”
Mother Giselle could be found tending to the wounded, murmuring softly to coax one injured soldier into letting a spirit healer look at him.
Arethin glanced sidelong at the soldier, who had a bad burn on one side, clearly inflicted by magic. He flinched back from the spirit healer, a plump woman who was pale with exhaustion.
Arethin sighed, and snapped her fingers in the soldier's face to get his attention. “Pull yourself together,” she instructed the soldier, her voice harsh. “Do you want to die when that wound gets infected?”
He stared up at her. “I...”
“Be grateful that this woman is willing to lay her hands on you at all,” Arethin informed him. “She could be in Denerim, yet she is here with you. Let her help, or hush.”
The man stared at her for a few more minutes, eyes wide, then lay back, and did not protest when the healer attended to his burn.
Arethin nodded in satisfaction. “Mother Giselle?”
Mother Giselle turned away from the soldier, an admonishing expression in her face. “You needn't be so cruel,” she said.
“I have no patience for those who refuse a healer's aid when it is freely given,” Arethin informed her, folding her arms.
Giselle's eyes flitted to the mark on Arethin's hand. “You are the one some are calling 'Herald of Andraste,'” the woman said, raising her eyebrows.
“People do call me that.”
“That is what the people believe.”
“Well, I hardly care what they believe, as long as I can fix the Breach,” Arethin said. “Now, I hear you might have some advice on how to deal with the Chantry?”
Giselle sighed. “They have been split into pieces,” she said. “The Lord Seeker and his Divine—the Templars who have split off—and of course Justinia and the Inquisition have created dissent.”
“Yes, exactly. I was under the impression you had some information to give me about that?”
“I do,” Giselle nodded. “You have a chance to bring the Chantry back to one unified voice, but favorable to you,”
“And why exactly would I want to do that?”
“If there is no united Chantry, the people will be without aim,” Giselle said. Arethin opened her mouth, but Giselle added “And if you do not unify the Chantry yourself, they will unify themselves, and it will quite possibly be against you.”
Arethin narrowed her eyes. “I see your point,” she said. “What do you suggest I do?”
“Go to Val Royeaux.”
“They would shoot me on sight.”
Giselle gave a slight smile. “Not necessarily.”
“Yes, necessarily.”
“Currently, it is under the control of General Dubois,” Giselle said. “A selfish woman who cares for her own survival and power above all else.” her eyes flicked to the mark on Arethin's hand. “And now, you are the one with that power.”
“I'd have to talk it over, but...” she appraised Giselle. “If it is as you say, then it is...worth considering.”
Giselle's smile widened. “Very good. You see, many of the Clerics in Val Royeaux are amenable to me, and to my efforts, when they might fear the Inquisition.”
“So you can help get us there?”
“I could. If I speak with them, they will allow you to come there.”
“Ah,” Arethin nodded and tilted her head back. “I see.”
“And if you go there, there is a chance to turn them in the direction you wish them to go.” Giselle's smile did not waver, but there was a dangerous glint in her eye when she added “Many are not pleased with the death of Justinia, and the proclamations of Themistoclea. Not pleased at all.”
“How long will it take you to persuade them?”
“I have already been attempting it. If you help to heal the rifts in the Hinterlands, then I will have more cause for my perspective.”
Arethin nodded. “I see. Well, we will close the rifts as soon as possible. We might be able to help with your Templar problem as well.”
She inclined her head. “My thanks.” She regarded Arethin for a long time, before adding “I honestly don't know if you were chosen,”
“I wasn't.”
“But that matters little. What matters is what you do with the power you have been given.”
“I suppose that's true.”
Giselle gave Arethin a parting bow, and Arethin returned to her companions.
“We need to take care of at least a few of the rifts here,” Arethin said. “How do you think we should do it?”
“Larger rifts might require more power than it is possible for you to give,” Solas pointed out.
“But those would be the ones causing the most problems,” Cassandra argued.
“Mayhap we should focus on the ones that are close to the people,” Arethin said. “And the Templar problem is getting very bad, as far as I can tell.”
Cassandra shook her head. “There is no reason for them to be here,” she said. “The Grand Enchanter is in Denerim. Unless...”
“Unless what?”
Cassandra let out a breath through her nose. “Perhaps Elthina cannot attack Denerim directly,” she said. “So she seeks instead to try and take those cities that are more vulnerable.”
“And what do we do if that is the case?”
“We must go to the lady of Redcliffe,” Cassandra decided. “We do not have a very strong hold in the Hinterlands, and speaking with her might prove a benefit.”
“And who is the lady?”
“Lady Isolde, she inherited Redcliffe when Arl Eamon died. Her own son is a mage, but I do not know where he is now.”
“Hm,” Arethin pursed her lips. She resisted the urge to hunt down the Templars surely camping in the Hinterlands, forcing herself to think of the greater danger. “Well, for now the rifts are the largest concern. If we come across Templars, we can deal with them,”
Something in her voice must have changed, because both Solas and Cassandra looked at her, brows knitted in worry, but neither said anything.
“If this Lady Isolde wishes to see us, she must send a messenger. I cannot hold with one who closes their doors to refugees.”
Cassandra frowned, but Solas looked mildly approving. They left the safety of the crossroads, to try and find the largest rifts.
The rifts that dotted the Hinterlands were many, and some were more unmanageable than others.
The first one they came across was too close to the refugees for comfort, a great open wound in the air. It brought with it the smell of the sea and three Despair demons that wailed and moaned.
Closing this rift was much easier than the larger Breach, and it still maintained that bizarre feeling that she was mending something physical.
When the rift was stitched closed with a crack and a lingering salty smell, she looked down at her hand.
“Does it trouble you?” Cassandra asked. The warrior was barely out of breath, though her face was red.
Arethin shook her head with a slight frown. “No...it just feels...strange.”
“You are using magic you are entirely unaccustomed to,” Solas said, putting his staff on his back. “Very powerful and dangerous magic. It will take some getting used to.”
Arethin sighed and glanced in the direction of the Breach. She turned to Cassandra. “Are there any other very large rifts that you know of?” she asked. “Not the size of the Breach, but...”
Cassandra shrugged. “I am afraid you will have to see yourself,” she said, her expression troubled.
“I'm just worried about finding a rift that's too large for me alone, like the Breach,” she said. “Not to disparage your assistance, Solas, but what if we encounter one that is too big for two mages?”
“That is a possibility,” Solas said. “However, I believe the majority of rifts were created by accident, and therefore will be much smaller and easier to close. The Breach was formed intentionally, so it is much larger and requires much more power to close.”
“But you don't know that for sure.”
“No,” Solas admitted. “I do not.”
Arethin clenched her fist. “We need more mages.”
“A prudent decision, in any case.”
It was not an exaggeration that the Hinterlands were full of Templars. There were none of the strange red Templars that had been seen, these were quite ordinary and posed ordinary threats.
Arethin, Solas and Cassandra took care of one of their camps, which was placed square in the middle of an abandoned farm. The Templars had their abilities, but they seemed sporadic and scattershot, a sure sign that their access to proper lyrium was limited. They got the group down to one Templar, a tall woman with the reflective eyes of someone elf-blooded.
Cassandra broke her leg, and they decided to ask her what exactly the Templars were doing here.
“Should be easy enough to understand,” the Templar snarled, glowering at Arethin. “The mages tore the sky open. Got to get through to Denerim to get the rest of 'em, Her Holiness says.”
“And why are you in the Hinterlands?” Arethin asked.
The Templar spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. “Can't get to Denerim without getting' the rest of Ferelden. Belongs rightly to the Chantry, anyway.”
“Lands do not belong to the Chantry,” Cassandra said.
“I don't think the Grand Cleric cares, Cassandra,” Arethin said.
“She is the Divine,” the Templar growled. “She's the one that speaks for the Maker—not some heathen knife-ear witch--”
Arethin drew a spectral blade from the air and pressed it to the Templar's throat. “I suggest you not say things like that around me,” she said. “Else you end up like your fellows.”
The Templar glared at her but said nothing else, and Arethin took the blade away.
“Where to next?” she asked her companions.
“What do you wish to do with her?” Cassandra pointed at the Templar. Arethin shrugged.
“I wasn't really planning on anything.”
Cassandra gave her a strange look, and quickly cut the Templar's throat.
Arethin sighed. “You didn't have to do that.”
“She could have become a problem later,” Cassandra said.
“I suppose. Still...would be nice to—not kill people once in a while.”
“Some deaths are necessary,” Solas said. “But all death is regrettable.”
After they had sealed the rifts close to the road, the highway was clear of demons, the hills cleared of Templars, and when that fact became common knowledge, the town of Redcliffe was opened again. They had been back at the Inquisition camp, preparing to leave for Haven, when a message came to them.
“Lady Lavellan,” Harding waved her over.
“What is it?” Arethin sighed.
“Lady Isolde sent you a message,” Harding held out a scroll sealed with the seal of Redcliffe.
Arethin opened the missive, which called her to the castle.
“I have not the time to answer this personally,” she said. “Now that the rifts are closed, we must be on our way. What should we do instead?” she asked her companions.
“Send an Inquisition member in your place?” Cassandra suggested.
“I can go,” Harding said. “We've met before, once or twice. Hopefully she won't be too offended.”
“Explain how dangerous the rifts are,” Cassandra suggested.
Harding's lips thinned. “She knows the dangers of magic,” she said.
Arethin raised her eyebrows. “Does she now?” she said. “Then perhaps she should have opened her doors to the refugees sooner.”
Harding blinked at Arethin. The dwarrowdam was a little uncertain about her still, and never seemed to know how to reply to the things she said.
“I'll—let you know that you feel that way, Ma'am,” she said.
“See that you do.”
When they returned to Haven, there were visitors. A great many visitors.
Outside the walls of the village, several aravels and even some halla were tied up and being watched by heavily armed Dalish hunters. There were wagons and ponies accompanied by dwarves and dwarrowdams in full armor as well, and that was just outside.
The residents of Haven avoided these newcomers, but Arethin saw no immediate arguments or altercations, which was likely all to the best.
Some of the Dalish hunters, upon spotting her, waved. She waved back, a little bemused. She hadn't been expecting quite this many people.
“How many people did you send your messages to?” Cassandra murmured, looking around in surprise.
“Just Deshanna,” Arethin said. “I suppose she must have told everyone else, and they all decided to come.”
Inside the walls, there were no wagons or aravels, but there were even more dwarven warriors and Dalish hunters. Several Dalish mages chatted with each other around a firepit, and a dwarrowdam argued with a Haven merchant.
Varric came to greet them.
“Lavellan,” he gave her a somewhat bitter grin, but glanced towards a Dalish mage and a dwarrowdam, and his smile grew more genuine. “Did you just invite everyone you knew?”
“I might have,” she said with a shrug.
Cassandra frowned, eyeing the long blades that the hunters wore.
Solas was tense as well, watching the Dalish with a wariness he didn't have when they were on the road.
A woman with the vallaslin of Elgar'nan and a mages' staff waved to Arethin. “Lavellan! First Lavellan!” she called, in Dalish.
“Ander'an atish'an,” Arethin greeted her. “What's going on?”
“Well, Keeper Lanaya wanted to ask you that,” the mage said.
Arethin's stomach dropped into her toes. “Lanaya? Keeper Lanaya is here?”
“And the Prince-Consort of Orzammar,” the mage grinned.
“Well...it's good they're taking it seriously, then,” Arethin said, pressing a hand to her mouth. She'd seen the Prince-Consort once or twice, and of course she knew Lanaya, but she'd never spoken to either of them personally. At best, she attended a meeting with Deshanna that Lanaya was also attending.
“What is going on?” Cassandra asked. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Arethin's voice cracked. “No,” she repeated, getting it under control. “It's alright. Help is here. Very important help,” she added to herself, feeling a little faint. “Come,” she said.
“Do you actually want me there this time?” Varric asked.
“You may come if you wish,” Arethin said. “Cassandra, Solas—I'll definitely need both of you.”
Varric grimaced. “I'm not really one for meetings,” he said. “You can tell me about it later.”
“Who is it who has arrived?” Cassandra asked.
“Keeper Lanaya and Prince-consort Arainai,” Arethin said, and Cassandra's eyes widened.
Lanaya, the Prince-Consort, Leliana, Josephine and Barris were already arguing the minute Arethin, Solas, and Cassandra set foot in the meeting room.
“Lavellan, you've returned,” Leliana said, looking up at her. “Good.”
“Yes, I'm back,” Arethin said. “Keeper Lanaya, ander'an atish'an,” she nodded towards Keeper Lanaya. “Your Majesty,” she made a somewhat more formal bow to the Prince-Consort.
“Ambassador Lavellan, I'm very pleased to see you alive and well,” Lanaya said with a friendly smile. She was a middle-aged woman with graying blonde hair, stocky and short. Her skin was tanned and weatherbeaten, an indication that she spent quite a lot of time in the outdoors. She wore leather armor, a fur cape, and a staff on her back.
“And we are quite pleased to meet the person who would save us all from the ending of the world,” the Prince-Consort said, his own smile foxlike and dangerous. He was taller than Lanaya, thin, with long, white-blond hair pulled into elaborate dwarven-style braids. Like Josephine, he was very brown, but lighter than either Barris or Arethin. He wore armor that, in true dwarven fashion, was both beautiful and quite functional. He also had a pair of Dalish daggers strapped to his back. “We extend our apologies that our lady wife could not be here—she so wishes she could come, but the needs of Orzammar come before everything.”
Arethin nodded. “Ah—this is Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast,” she gestured to Cassandra. “And Solas, who is our expert on the Fade.”
Cassandra glanced at Arethin, her brow furrowed, but she said “A pleasure to meet you.”
Lanaya nodded. She turned to Solas. “Are you from the Circle?” She asked. “A representative of the Grand Enchanters'--?”
“No,” Solas said. “I am affiliated with no group. I came to lend my assistance to the Inquisition when I saw the Breach split the sky.”
“Rare for an apostate to be so friendly to the Chantry,” the Prince-Consort said, his amber eyes watching Solas keenly.
“If the Breach is not sealed, we are all doomed. The Inquisition was here first.”
“Quite true.”
“Now, we understand that this land belongs to the Chantry,” Lanaya said. “Or as far as we are concerned, it does,” she and Josephine exchanged a look.
“Yes,” Josephine agreed. “There have been some land disputes, but nothing serious.”
“However, the fact of the matter is that the only person who can close the Breach is Ambassador Lavellan,” Lanaya added.
Arethin inclined her head. “Even the smallest rifts need me to close them,” she said.
“So quite obviously, we have a stake in this.”
“As allies?” Cassandra watched Lanaya, her eyes narrowed. “You did not seem very keen on being allies when General Dubois was storming Val Royeaux.”
“We were not,” Lanaya said. “But the Breach changes everything.”
“Quite true,” the Prince-Consort said. “And do not forget, Seeker, that it was we who sheltered Empress Celene while she fled from her country's infighting.”
“So what are you proposing?” Cassandra asked.
“Well, for one, stop acting as if our ambassador is part of your Chantry,” Lanaya said.
“She agreed--”
“I said I would help close the Breach, no more,” Arethin said, her tone very cool. “I did not sign on to be your prophetess.”
“Some are calling you 'the hand of Mythal,' rather out of spite,” the Prince-Consort smirked.
“Are they?” Arethin raised her eyebrows.
“Mm. And we have heard the title 'Elvhen Paragon' passed around several times. Enough for the Shaperate to grow interested.”
“An elvhen Paragon,” Solas spoke up. “Fascinating. I was under the impression only dwarves could be Paragons.”
“So was I, funnily enough,” the Prince-Consort said. “And so was my lady wife. However, it seems that since you might prevent the world from ending, you may also receive a unique title.” he chuckled. “Fascinating, no?”
“If she is here because of providence, it was the Maker's will, and no one else's,” Cassandra said, leaning forward.
“Providence? On the Maker's behalf?” Lanaya demanded. “If it's providence you're seeking, it could easily be from the Creators. You have no more actual proof that he exists than we do our gods.”
Cassandra sighed.
“Keeper, please,” Arethin pinched the bridge of her nose. “We don't need to bring religion into this—anyone's religion,” she shot Cassandra a look. “In any case, regardless of anything else, we still need to deal with the rest of the Chantry,” she said.
“Mother Giselle proposed we go to Val Royeaux,” Cassandra said. “She said she would be able to turn the clerics to our side.”
“Going there would be foolish, even if the Clerics were open to us,” Barris said with a grimace.
“I thought so as well.”
“Val Royeaux?” Lanaya blinked. “Why would you go there in the first place?”
“The only thing you would get there is an arrow between your eyes,” the Prince-Consort said.
“Or we would regain control of the Chantry,” Cassandra said. “If they are left alone, we will have another enemy to contend with.”
“Yes, you wouldn't want a third Divine mucking up your Chantry,” Lanaya said, letting a breath out through her nose.
Josephine slid in. “One way to gain control of the remaining clerics is to convince them that Mistress Lavellan is truly the Herald of Andraste, like many claim,” she said. “And if we regain sole control over the Chantry once more, we will also have a better handle on Orlais.”
Arethin gritted her teeth. “And let the Dalish think I've converted to your Chantry?” she snapped. “I don't think so. Whatever Giselle says she can do, it relies upon that idea.”
“I don't think any of us would think that,” Lanaya assured her. “At least, not anyone intelligent.” she rubbed her forehead. “We can't afford to let go of a resource because it may be...politically inconvenient.”
“Orzammar will lend its strength to yours,” the Prince-Consort said, glancing at Leliana. “We benefit no more from the Breach than anyone else. So, no matter what is chosen, we lend you our aid,” he nodded to Arethin.
Arethin felt that little drop in her stomach again. “Thank you, your Majesty,” she said, her throat a bit tight.
The Prince-Consort now turned to Cassandra and Leliana. “However, we lend our strength only to Ambassador Lavellan,” he said. “If she is displeased with your actions, we will withdraw as she wishes.” he tilted his head to one side. “We are her ally, not yours.”
Leliana frowned at him. “Zevran--”
“Ah, Leliana, would that we could make things as they were during the Blight,” he said, with a totally unconvincing sigh. “But we cannot. Your Chantry has caused far too many problems. We trust the Dalish, so we trust Ambassador Lavellan. Until your people show you are trustworthy, we remain her ally.”
Leliana still looked unhappy, but nodded. Cassandra bore a distinct scowl.
“We understand,” Josephine said, glancing at Leliana and Cassandra. “Many in the Chantry made an effort to sabotage our alliances with other countries. It is only reasonable that you would trust Ambassador Lavellan, but perhaps not the Inquisition.”
Arethin chanced a look at Solas. He looked fascinated, gray eyes gleaming as he watched the interplay between everyone.
“And what of you?” Cassandra asked Lanaya, folding her arms. “What do the Dalish decide?”
Lanaya looked to Arethin. “What is it you need?”
“Mages,” she said immediately. “And herbalists. I could--” she halted, and started again in Dalish. She didn't want more people than were necessary knowing what it was that she asked the Keeper. “I need to go many places,” she said. “Very quickly. The rifts threaten from here to the Approach. I need the eluvian network, Keeper.”
Lanaya was silent for a long time.
“This is not a small thing you ask,” she said at last, her tone uncertain.
Arethin suppressed a wince. “I know.”
“We can loan the Orzammar eluvian if you have need,” the Prince-Consort said in very thickly accented Dalish.
“Prince-Consort--” Lanaya protested.
“Sacrifice is an unpleasant necessity, but one needed to prevent the world from ending,” the Prince-Consort said, switching back to Common. “If the network prevents more places being attacked by demons--”
“I know, I know,” Lanaya sighed, going back to Common as well. “We simply have so few, Lavellan,” she said. “We've run into problems with reactivation--”
Arethin rubbed the back of her head. “I know, but if we don't at least have one, we'll take weeks to get to places that are in need,” she said. “At this rate, I can't even get to places where there are open eluvians. And I'm the only one who can close the rifts. No one else can do it.”
Lanaya closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“What are you speaking of?” Cassandra asked, eyes darting from one of them to the other.
“You need the network, I cannot dispute that,” Lanaya said, ignoring Cassandra's question.
“The network?” Leliana prompted.
At length, Lanaya heaved a sigh. “The eluvian network.”
Solas raised his eyebrows. “You have restored enough eluvians to reactivate the network?” he asked.
Arethin, the Prince-Consort and Lanaya all looked at him sharply.
“What do you know of it?” Lanaya asked.
“I have seen such a thing in the Fade,” Solas explained.
“He's a somniari,” Arethin added.
Lanaya relaxed. The Prince-Consort didn't.
“Ah, a somniari!” Lanaya said. “You should have said. Yes, we've reactivated the network in part—not the whole thing, and we still are trying to work out how to create an eluvian and link it to the network, but--”
“What is an eluvian?” Cassandra demanded, clearly out of patience.
“A tool used by the ancient elves,” Solas said. “A mirror that, when one walked through it, sent you from one place to another.”
Cassandra raised her eyebrows, her expression clearly disbelieving. “Such a thing exists?”
“Yes, I've used them many times,” Arethin said with a wave. “The only problem is that they're not comfortable for humans.”
“They're not overly pleasant for dwarves, either,” the Prince-Consort said. “Although they don't have any detrimental effect on them.”
“Wait, hold on,” Josephine said. “You are in possession of magical artifacts that can...transport someone anywhere they so choose?”
“Anywhere where there's another open eluvian,” Arethin clarified. “Which is part of the problem.”
“The Orzammar eluvian should be useful enough for now,” the Prince-Consort said, apparently having decided to plow on ahead and avoid explaining how the mirrors worked. “The gates of Orzammar are not nearly so far away as those of Val Royeaux or Denerim.”
“Very true,” Lanaya nodded. “And I believe there are several active eluvians in Orlais that would save time.”
Arethin sighed. “Well, as it stands now, we still need to decide about getting to Val Royeaux,” she said.
“Which I still think is a terrible idea," Josephine said.
“We should do it,” Cassandra said.
“I agree,” Leliana nodded. “The more we let the situation go, the more unstable it will get. We cannot have Elthina rallying them against us.”
They ultimately decided that to go to Val Royeaux, they would first travel to Orzammar (greeting Queen Aeducan as well) and use that eluvian to go to an area about a week's travel from Val Royeaux.
Arethin sighed and ran a hand over her head, taking a deep breath when she left the meeting.
She stood outside the Chantry, her heart pounding.
“Alright there?”
She glanced down, and saw that Varric had come to join her.
“I'm fine,” she said. “I have simply...I have never been in a meeting with the Prince-Consort before, or spoken with Keeper Lanaya. They are very...important.”
Varric grimaced. “Yeah, well, you meet important people when you get important yourself.”
“And you?” she looked him over. He looked less gaunt than he had before she had left, some more of the color coming back into his face. “Are you well?”
“Well, that hole in the sky is still there, so I'm not as good as I could be.”
“I am working on it, Master Tethras.”
“You know I was in Kirkwall when Queen Aeducan married him,” Varric said, leaning against the wall.
“The Prince-Consort?”
“Yeah. Craziest damn thing—the dwarves all threw a party, even the surfacers!”
“They wouldn't all be surfacers by that point,” Arethin pointed out. “The Queen had changed the laws by then.”
Varric nodded. “Point.”
“The Prince-Consort is not someone I would call trustworthy,” Cassandra had come out to trust them, a stormy expression on her face.
“You don't know him,” Arethin informed her, scowling.
“Neither do you.”
“No, but my people and his are allied. Your people drove the Queen and the Prince-Consort away.”
Cassandra's frown grew darker, then she sighed.
“You are right, in that respect,” she growled. “Lambert destroyed many of the Chantry's alliances with others.”
“If you knew it was happening, why did you let it?” Varric demanded.
Cassandra shook her head and folded her arms. “We thought we could control him,” she said. “So we acted as if we did not know what he planned.”
“And I'm certain that the Orlesians would have disliked an alliance with Orzammar or my people,” Arethin said.
“Perhaps not Queen Aeducan,” Cassandra pointed out.
“I wouldn't be too sure,” Varric said. “You didn't hear any of the gossip in Kirkwall about her after she got married, I bet it would only be worse in Orlais.”
Cassandra screwed her face up, clearly unhappy. “That is true,” she admitted. “Such nonsense I heard whenever we visited the court! One would think the court had never so much as seen a dwarf or an elf before.”
“Ambassador Lavellan,” Keeper Lanaya had come outside, and Arethin straightened.
“Keeper?”
“Might I speak with you?”
“Of course.”
Arethin followed Lanaya down to one of the larger aravels, presumably Lanaya's own. It was decorated with Dalish heraldry and the specific heraldry of Clan Leanvunlas. Lanaya hummed to herself and absently stroked the neck of one of the nearby halla. Arethin waited for her to speak, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Where does he come from, the somniari?” Lanaya asked.
“Somewhere to the north,” Arethin said. “He says he really doesn't know, couldn't place it on a map. Why do you ask?”
Lanaya's eyes narrowed. “Interesting.” she began to pace. “We still have not found that man Felassan.”
“The man who disappeared?” she'd heard all about him. A stranger who'd brought Ambassador Briala to the last meeting, then vanished quite literally into thin air. Arethin frowned. “Do you think Solas has something to do with him?”
“I'm not certain,” Lanaya frowned. “I simply find his presence...suspicious.”
“He saved my life,” Arethin said. “If he's some kind of spy, I couldn't tell you what his plan is.”
“How likely is it that an untrained mage—an untrained somniari—lives to adulthood, let alone to be middle-aged?” Lanaya posited.
“He's had some training,” Arethin said. “At least enough to know some control, and he says he's been isolated most of his life—that's how he avoided any of the nastier spirits.”
Lanaya pressed her lips together. “Keep an eye on him,” she advised. “There are still the strangest dreams—spirits keep speaking of friends and enemies who have arrived, who we don't have names for.”
Arethin furrowed her brow. “If you wish, Keeper,” she said. “But he's given me no reason to doubt him.”