“Empress Celene and general Dubois have called for peace talks in Halam'shiral,” Josephine said.
“Do we remember what happened the last time anyone attempted peace talks?” Arethin drawled. “Oh, yes. It was the Conclave. And it exploded.”
“Which is why we should be there,” Josephine said.
“So this one gets destroyed, too?”
“Lady Lavellan, please,” Josephine sighed.
Arethin raised her hands. “Fine. Peace talks.”
“Halam'shiral,” Ambassador Yara snorted. “That isn't offensive at all.”
“What do they have to do with us?” Arethin asked.
“For one, if Dubois indeed retains the title of Empress, it is quite likely she will be worse than Celene,” Briala said. “For another, it's possible that the Venatori are involved.”
“How so?”
“My people have recovered several Venatori agents sneaking around Halam'shiral—we have no idea why they were there, as they all killed themselves before we could interrogate them, but there is definitely a presence.”
“Corypheus has shown interest in Orlesian politics before,” Dorian pointed out, Vivienne nodding in agreement.
“Yes, Alexius attacked the loyal mages, instead of risking Ferelden,” Vivienne said. “It is possible he's trying to gain some resource from the Orlesian court.”
“Entirely possible,” Dorian agreed. “If he managed to get the alliance of any noble, or control over the throne, he would have control over a very large military force.”
Arethin rubbed her temples. “So,” she said. “We need to get to the peace talks, somehow.”
Cassandra straightened. “Even more so,” she said. “Elthina might attempt to affect them in one way or another. We cannot allow this.”
“No,” Arethin agreed.
“Is it possible to send a warning?”Ambassador Vhelan asked.
Leliana shook her head. “More than likely, they would ignore it, coming from us.”
“I might be able to convince Celene,” Briala said with a grimace, revulsion crossing her face at the mention of Celene. “And many of the court are still impressed with your closing of the Breach, Lavellan, heretic Dalish or no.”
“Be that as it may, the Southern Alliance is still largely unrecognized by the Orlesians,” Vivienne said. “We have very little leverage.” she pursed her lips.
“You were once the court mage,” Briala said, folding her arms. “Do we yet have nothing?”
“It is quite complex, my dear, as you well know,” Vivienne said.
“I think it is possible to manage,” Josephine said. “But it will be difficult. Perhaps publicly closing more of the remaining rifts will aid the Alliance's reputation.”
“Is there anywhere in particular that has a serious problem?” Arethin asked.
“Crestwood, and the Western Approach,” Josephine explained. “Several areas near the Approach have also been stricken. Venatori have also been very interested in the Approach and the Graves, digging around for artifacts, we believe, so it is possible to deal with both at the same time.”
Leliana sat up suddenly, as if a thought had just struck her. “Emprise du Lion has been out of contact for some time,” she said. “It's possible that they are affected by the civil war, or the Venatori or Red Templars are doing something there.”
“And if we can help, that would be Orlesian territory, and closer than the Approach,” Arethin said. “Look into it.”
Yara frowned, her eyes scanning over the map of Orlais on the table. “Emprise du Lion...that's technically Dales territory.”
“Is it?” Arethin looked over, and indeed it was. “Hm. So it is. What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” she said. said. “Not at the moment. I am simply...considering.”
“Considering what?”
“Well...if we had control of the throne, we might be able to get the Dales back,” she pointed out. “Just a thought. Saving their country has to count for something.”
Arethin looked at Yara, who glanced away from her.
“Reclaiming the Dales would be very low on our list of priorities, if it can even be done,” Vivienne said. “And we must consider what would happen in order for that to take place.” she raised her eyebrows.
“I would not say no to removing the Orlesian government from Halam'shiral,” Briala said. “Of course, might I remind you that Celene is the one who burned the city.”
“The nobles would never agree to such a thing.”
“That is the sign of an unstable ruler, however,” Josephine pointed out, her brows knit in a frown.
“And this is one reason we must consider affecting the peace talks in our favor,” Briala said. “Celene's behavior indicates very poorly if we were to ally.”
“Celene has no immediate heirs, so we cannot go to them--the closest would have been Grand Duke Gaspard, but as I understand it he died challenging Celene in Orzammar." Leliana glanced at Ambassador Vhelan, who nodded her confirmation. "Celene's main opponent is General Dubois, the primary attacker of Val Royeaux."
“Ugh,” Cassandra groaned. “That brute of a woman.”
“She is very warlike, and liable to turn on her enemies,” Leliana said. “She allied with Lambert and Elthina during the siege of Val Royeaux, but was entirely willing to ally with Justinia if Justinia gave her something better.”
“Practical,” Vhelan pointed out. “That is certainly far more stable than the other option, which includes 'lights own cities on fire.'”
“Practical in one instance isn't universal practicality,” Arethin said.
“No,” Cassandra agreed. “And if her greed for power outstrips the practical solution, then she will be a threat to us.”
“She is certainly power hungry,” Leliana said.
“Then we cannot support either of them,” Arethin said, and rubbed her forehead. “But if there's no Empress, the civil war continues...perhaps with Elthina calling more forces to her and turning them against us...”
“And Corypheus gets what he desires,” Josephine said. “Chaos.”
“Then what do we do?” Arethin asked.
The others looked at each other.
“Is there any other candidate we could put forward, perhaps?” Arethin asked.
Josephine and Leliana exchanged a concerned look.
Josephine sighed and rubbed her forehead “At this point, we could likely pick any of the Orlesian nobility and they would have equal claim to the throne,” she said. “The line of succession has been that fragmented.”
“Celene wished to remove any chance of opposition,” Briala said. “She refused to marry, and refused to have children. And her family is kept at arm's length.”
“Are we absolutely sure Celene doesn't have any bastards running around?” Arethin asked.
“Quite sure, Lavellan,” Briala said, her voice dry as dust.
“Then if we may choose who to support, we must pick someone quiet and stable,” Arethin said. “Someone who will cause no more trouble.”
“Ah,” Cassandra's face lit up. “I believe there is a third cousin of Celene's who is a Chantry Sister,” she said.
“That sounds familiar,” Leliana said.
“Perfect,” Arethin said. “Pick her. A Chantry Sister is probably less than likely to burn down a city or invade her neighbors.”
“And would this cousin even consent to rule?” Vivienne asked.
“She is not likely to,” Cassandra said. “But she should also understand the threats we are facing.”
Leliana would look for the cousin, and Josephine would gain more information about Emprise du Lion to try and see if there was some way the Alliance could gain more influence in Orlais. After a few days, they had the information on the Emprise, if not the cousin.
“Emprise du Lion is suffering from Red Templars taking up residence in their quarry,” Leliana explained.
“Why the quarry?” Arethin asked, exchanging a worried look with the others.
Leliana shook her head. “I am not certain, my scouts could not get close enough. We believe that they are likely growing red lyrium, but why there in particular is not certain.”
“We need to take care of that, and now,” Vhelan said.
“I agree,” Bann Teagan nodded. “This red lyrium cannot be allowed to spread.”
“Is there any way to get all of the people out of that province?” Briala asked. “People should not be allowed near any infection until it is cleared.”
“I agree,” Yara said.
“Those families have lived there for generations,” Cassandra said. “We cannot simply remove them.”
“Then we will have to go there and see what we can do,” Arethin said. “After all, it doesn't do any good to have both a red lyrium infection and rifts.”
Emprise du Lion was cold, unusually so for the time of year. It stood in the shadow of the mountains, and had been built among the ruins of Dalish buildings, which themselves had been built on Elvhen ruins.
There was a camp with Alliance soldiers, mostly Inquisition forces with one or two Orzammar soldiers—the Dalish didn't like to be in this area. Scout Harding was there, and briefed Arethin and her group (Cassandra and Sera), and told them what to expect.
The Red Templars had taken up in a nearby quarry, and were picking off townsfolk and taking them away. For what purpose, no one had any idea.
There was also a dragon's territory nearby, as well as some fascinating ruins and other features of geography, but they were really there for the Red Templars.
They managed to get rid of the Templar problem, but didn't come across any new information apart from that red lyrium could grow in dead bodies as well as living ones.
“Eugh,” Sera made a face and kicked at one of the dead Templars.
“Don't touch it,” Arethin warned her, grabbing her shoulder. “They're poison.”
Sera shuddered. “Creepy,”
“Normal lyrium does not behave like this,” Cassandra said, looking down at the red lyrium. “Why does red lyrium do so?”
“There's a theory that it's infected by the Blight,” Arethin said. “So it's just...moving to contaminate things with the Blight.”
Cassandra and Sera glanced at each other, unsure of what to make of this information.
They continued removing Templar camps, and eventually set up Alliance forward camps to try and protect the town. Arethin also closed several of the rifts, but the Alliance forces started to move the civilians away, so they could clear the red lyrium infection. The area, with its dragons, red lyrium, and rifts, was altogether much too dangerous for the few remaining civilians to stay. Even though Cassandra had mentioned the families that had been there, many people had already left, and when the few remaining were given an escape, they all left as well.
Last to deal with was Suledin Keep, where apparently a demon had taken up lodging.
“A demon?” Arethin raised her eyebrows. “I am sure Suledin Keep is full of many demons. What makes this one so special?”
“It's a pretty powerful demon, by all accounts,” Harding explained. “It gave itself a name and everything.”
“A name?”
“Calls itself Imshael.”
“Imshael?” Arethin frowned. “Where have I heard that name before?”
“That is a Forbidden One,” Cassandra exclaimed. “I have seen the name in books before. What is it doing here?”
Sera shuddered. “Ugh, demons,” she spat on the ground. “Better take care of them, yeah?”
“Agreed,” Arethin nodded. “It cannot be allowed to continue to cause problems.”
Suledin Keep was enormous, and was a strange amalgamation of Dalish and Orlesian architecture.
Huge statues of elvhen archers and wolves were set along the walls, but the walls themselves had clear signs of renovation and alteration.
“This place is...strange,” Arethin said.
“Don't like the elfiness,” Sera said. “But I kind of like the bows. Bows are good, yeah? Don't know why they have to be all elfy.”
“I just wonder why the Orlesians would keep all these,” Arethin looked up at an enormous wolf statue that watched over the main entrance to the Keep. “Most of the statues and buildings in the Dales got knocked down or destroyed in the invasion.”
“Maybe they liked 'em,” Sera said with a shrug. “Who knows what way all those poncy bastards jump?”
“That's true,” Arethin said.
They continued on through the Keep, where they found some lingering Red Templars and some red lyrium experiments. The Templars had been using giants to try and grow red lyrium in, with mixed results.
At the heart of the keep, they found Imshael.
He appeared as a blond man, tall, with a long coat. The only thing that separated him from seeming entirely human was that his face didn't seem to want to work quite right, and his smile had entirely too many teeth.
“And here you are,” he said. “Ugh. Friends of Fen'harel, I can practically smell it on you.”
Arethin blinked at him. “And who is to say we're his friends?”
“Oh, you can just tell, after a certain point,” he rolled his eyes. “It's not worth it to lie to me. You, in any case, are his friend. Anyway. I can give you--”
“You will give us nothing, demon,” Cassandra said.
“Choice. Spirit.” Imshael hissed. “I'm not a demon! Not one of those weak-willed perverted things that you idiots ruined with your fears and worries. No, no, no, I'm not like that at all.”
“What are you doing here?” Arethin wanted to know.
“Well, some of your people ruined the time I'd been having earlier, so I thought I'd see what these Templars were up to,” he said. “Nothing too interesting, really, all 'red lyrium' this and 'we're the inheritors of Thedas that,' mostly nonsense.” he shrugged.
“Oh. Well, in that case, will you leave?”
“What? Don't be ridiculous. I'm having such a lovely time.”
“Have it somewhere else!” Sera commanded of him, leveling her bow.
“Oh, Sera, Sera, little self-hating Sera,” Imshael laughed. “I mean, I would offer you something—I don't know, women? You'd like women, I bet.”
“Stop it,” Arethin said. “Leave her alone.”
Imshael leveled his gaze at her. “And you,” he said. “I bet Despair demons just have the loveliest time with you, don't they? Ugh, all that guilt, spilling off you in spades—no wonder you're Fen'harel's friend.” he smirked. “The blood of a people, the blood of one's son—what's the difference in the end?”
The blood drained from Arethin's face. She hurled a spell at him, and Cassandra and Sera took that as their cue to attack.
“Touchy, touchy!” Imshael taunted, his voice right in Arethin's ear. She whirled around, but he was already far away.
“I could give him back,” Imshael said. “Well—I could try. Would that make you happy, healer-who-can't-heal?”
“Shut up!” she snarled in Dalish,
Cassandra landed a blow on him, and he stumbled. She shouted in triumph, but then he vanished, to be replaced with the shape of a huge Pride demon. Sera's arrows bounced off him, so she threw a flask of something very flammable.
They all backed off as the demon caught fire, and Arethin hurled more spells. Sera threw several more flasks. The demon shifted through several other shapes, like a Despair demon and a Rage demon.
Cassandra felt a bit useless, as they had to stay very far back. The combination of flammable liquids and spells made Imshael too hazardous to go near with a sword, so Cassandra stood and waited for an opening that did not come.
At last, Imshael was gone. Arethin stood, breathing heavily.
“Are you...alright?” Cassandra asked.
“I'm fine,” Arethin snapped and looked away. “We should just leave.”
“Ugh,” Sera's chest was heaving. “Bastard.”
Arethin nodded, and didn't reply. They made their way back to the Alliance camp in silence, Cassandra and Sera exchanging worried looks. Arethin informed the soldiers that Suledin was clear. They rested at the camp, and then were on their way back to the nearest eluvian.
“Are you really alright?” Sera asked as they rode away from Emprise du Lion.
“What do you mean?” Arethin asked.
“That shite the demon said--”
“Forget it,” Arethin snapped.
Sera jerked back, startled at her tone. Then she scowled. “Oi, don't bite my bloody head off about it!”
“Sera,” Cassandra murmured.
“What?”
Cassandra carefully put a hand on Sera's shoulder. Sera stared at her, confused.
“It would be wisest not to ask about what it said,” Cassandra murmured in her ear.
“Why--?”
Cassandra shook her head. Sera, her expression a mixture of anger and worry, looked from her to Arethin, and didn't ask any more.
There was blood on her hands, up to her elbows. She was covered in it. She could smell in in the air, taste it when she licked her lips.
Around her there were bodies. Messy and bleeding and burnt, steel armor split open and blood spilling out.
She pressed down.
She was the healer, the protector. She was supposed to be the healer. She fixed things.
There was so much blood.
She knew blood. She had been around blood. Blood spilled out from between her fingers, over her hands, refusing to stay in, and her healing couldn't—it couldn't--
There had been—screaming—but now everything was quiet--
“Elladen,” she whispered. She glanced up to her son's face, saw his eyes glassy and his skin gone utterly ashen. “Elladen, stay awake,” she wanted to reach up and cradle his head but she didn't dare take her hands off his wound.
Stomach wound. The Templar's blade had gored him, gone through his stomach and come out his back. When she had reached with her magic she felt his insides torn and bleeding.
His breath was shallow, so shallow. One breath. Another.
“Please,” she said. “Ma'vherain, stay awake--”
He didn't respond.
“I will reach into the Beyond and drag you back,” she choked. “They can't have you yet.”
The healing wasn't working. She kept pouring her magic into the wound, but it didn't work, she'd gotten here too late--
Not too late, I can't be too late--
All that blood--
Monster--
Someone touched her shoulder.
She looked up.
“Solas?” she blinked, recognizing the man standing at her side. “We haven't met yet.”
“Lavellan,” he said. “You are dreaming.”
“What?” that couldn't be. She smelled blood and—when she looked towards Elladen--
He took her chin. “Lavellan, you need to focus on me,” he said, directing her gaze towards him instead of at Elladen. “This is very important. You are Fadewalking.”
She stared into his eyes, and something came into focus. The world around them burst, vanishing into thousands of tiny sparks.
He nodded, and took his hands away. “Better.” he said.
“Why are you here?” she demanded, surging to her feet and balling her hands into fists. “You shouldn't be here!”
“I did not mean to come here,” he said, hands raised. “Your dreams are bleeding into the larger Fade.”
“What? No—I don't--” she heaved a breath. “Get out!” she put her hands on his chest, shoved him away, leaving streaks of blood. “If you know this—if any of what you say is true—leave me alone!”
“I can't,” he said. “If you do not regain control of your dream, you are going to draw something here that is dangerous, or you will lose yourself.” he took her wrists. “Your mark is giving you more access to the Fade than you would normally have. You are dreamwalking.”
His hands were solid and stabilizing, and she took a deep breath.
“N-no,” she said. “That wouldn't—I can't--”
“Arethin,” she looked at him. “I need you to think. You are in the Fade. What do you do?”
She went very still, her eyes drifting to the image of the Black City overhead. She took several more deep breaths, and the smell of blood gradually began to fade.
“Better,” he said. “Now—find your way back to yourself. Can you do that?”
She nodded. “Yes—yes, I know how.” she pulled away from him and and looked around. She saw a familiar doorway, and felt herself grow very tired.
She felt like she were falling, and with a jolt, she awoke in her own bed. She sat up, her chest heaving. She looked around—she was in her own chamber. She stared down at her hands, and there was no blood.
She put on a dressing gown and hurried downstairs, searching for Solas.
She found him in his office, already awake.
“You,” she snapped, pointing at him. “What do you think you are doing?”
“I apologize for intruding,” he said.
“Why did you do that?” she demanded, slamming her hands on his desk. “You can't just do that!”
“I would not have done, but it became dangerous,” he said, brows knitted. “The mark responds to emotions, as well as to the state of the Veil around it. Your mind was accidentally sent further into the Fade than you anticipated. You left the safety of your own dreams, and began Fadewalking by accident.”
“You said,” she growled. “Why didn't you tell me that could happen? Did you want to see that?”
“No. I have no desire to see something that was clearly private,” he said. “I did not realize it would be so forceful—or draw so much attention. You could have been lost, or worse. Your nightmare had so much emotion attached it would have brought something very powerful had I not stopped you, and you were too entangled in it to see where you were.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. He returned her gaze steadily.
“Lavellan, a nightmare gone out of control is how many untrained somniari die,” he said. “Even those in Elvhenan.”
“And you didn't know it could happen like that? The mark could do that?”
“No. It--” he sighed. “I thought—I thought you had enough control over your dreams that it would not be a problem,” he admitted. “I did not realize—I am sorry. I did not consider it.”
She gritted her teeth. “I...have not ever had that happen before,” she said. “I have never just...fallen into the Fade like that.”
“No. And I am surprised that it only happened now. I worried, after Corypheus attacked Haven, but it did not happen then.”
“I—I don't know what changed,” she said. She glared at him. “Any other nasty surprises that the mark could be keeping?”
“It was made for a somniari,” he said. “I suppose it could be making your magic more like that of a natural somniari.”
“Is there any way to stop it?”
“No. You can gain control of it, however.”
“How?”
“There are many way. I could show you--”
“Don't,” she snapped. “I'll—I'll find the somniari from Clan Tualsalis, I don't—I don't want you to...” she trailed off.
“If that is what you wish,” he said. “But the longer you take to control it, the more likely you are to become lost, or draw unwanted attention.”
She didn't look at him.
Solas was quiet for a long time, so long that she turned to leave, assuming the conversation was over. “When I was much younger,” he said, surprising her. “Too young to be recognizable, my dreams quite often bled into the dreams of others, or I fell into them by accident.”
She tilted her head in his direction, gazing at one of the murals behind him. “The Fade worked like that?”
“It was not quite the same as it is now,” he said. He traced an outline on his desk with his finger. “But it was close enough that dreams could bleed. I had terrible nightmares, nightmares within nightmares, that terrified any nearby spirits and thoroughly disturbed the rest of others.”
“Why did you have nightmares?” she furrowed her brow, suspicious. “You don't have them now.”
“I have long since been able to control my dreams,” he said. “I had them for many reasons. Somniari are given to intense dreams of all kinds, and—well. There was always war, even then. The Evanuris had been warring since before I came to the world.”
“A very long time, then.”
“A very, very long time. In any case, you are not the first person whose dreams have reached others. Many times, someone else would have to shake me from a nightmare that I could not wake from myself.”
“Really.”
“The first time someone pulled me out of a nightmare, I woke up, and began to throw things at her,” he said, startling her into a laugh.
“Oh, you didn't!”
“I did,” he looked away, seeming somewhat sheepish. “She had seen something that—I had not wished her to see. So I believe your response is quite measured in comparison.”
She sighed and ran a hand over her head.
“How dangerous is it to train a somniari?” she asked. “Feynriel never mentioned problems like these. Or is it just you?”
“I have been told by reliable sources that I am an extremely difficult student, so I suspect that that reaction is not universal.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Indeed? I am not surprised.” she sighed. “It would take some time for Feynriel to get here,” she admitted. “And an ordinary dreamwalker won't do?”
He shook his head. “Not when you are in danger,” he said.
“And...I suppose...if...” she paused.
He waited.
She looked at him. She knew—she knew—that trusting Fen'harel was dangerous. He and Felassan had even admitted as such.
But she could not give legend the weight of true history. He was still her friend, in spite of everything.
“Very well,” she said at length. “You may show me what you know.”
When she fell asleep next, Solas was with her. She knew him the instant she saw him.
She looked around, seeing the world around them grow vague and foggy. “Where are we? Are we in your dream, or mine?”
“Neither,” he said. “We are in the Fade.”
She frowned. “I don't remember coming here.”
“The borders of your mind are easier to slip through,” he said. “This is something you need to be able to control, or you will come here by accident more often.”
“How do I control it?”
“You must first more quickly recognize when you have fallen out of your own dream.”
“I should already be able to do that,” she said with a frown. Usually the Fade was easy to recognize, and as she thought that, she started to see all the details that differentiated the Fade from her own mind.
“Under normal circumstances, yes. But most mages do not go into the Fade without intentionally willing it.”
“Has that always been true?”
He nodded. “The art of the somniari has existed as long as magic has,” he explained, and they began to walk along a path that developed before their feet. “Simply because there was no Veil does not mean that there were no borders at all. Everyone still had their own minds and dreams, and most did not fall between one or the other with as much ease as somniari.”
“Why does it happen?”
“Most somniari are simply born that way. Others learn. Or something causes them to be like that—but your case is extremely rare.”
She nodded. “Does the Veil make it easier or harder to be somniari?”
“The Veil makes it...complex,” he sighed.
“How so?”
“The Fade is the only place that feels...right,” he said. “It would be far too easy to stay here forever.”
She looked at him, startled. “It doesn't feel like that to me.”
“it wouldn't. You would need to have lived in the world before the Veil to make an accurate comparison.”
“I see,” she nodded. “Very well. Show me what it is that you know.”
Sometime later, she woke up, still feeling rather tired. This only made sense, as somniari was a magical skill, and using magic was like using any other gift. It was no wonder Solas slept all the time, if half the time he was working magic instead of actually resting.
She went to see him again.
“I appreciate the lesson,” she told him. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome.”
When Arethin left, Felassan came through the door on the other side of the room. It was clear he had been listening, and Solas suppressed a sigh.
“I told you this was better.” Felassan told him in Elvhen.
Solas raised his eyebrows at Felassan. “That has yet to be proven. And I would appreciate it if you did not eavesdrop on private conversations.”
Felassan narrowed his eyes, but affected a nonchalant shrug. “Someone has to keep a watch on you. Both of you. I know what the mark was meant for.”
Solas looked at him, gray eyes unwavering, and Felassan glanced away.
“Sethannas,” Solas said.
“Felassan.” he corrected.
“That is an obnoxious story and I do not appreciate the reference.”
“It's meant to be a joke.” Felassan folded his arms. “I wasn't even aware that you knew my name.”
“Why would I not know it?”
“I am only one of many soldiers.”
“Well—not so many, now.”
Felassan frowned. “I suppose that's true.”
“Regardless, Sethannas, I also am not fond of eavesdropping. Mistress Lavellan's business is her own, and to be shared only with those she chooses to share it with.”
“is it now?” Felassan raised an eyebrow. “I seem to recall that she's the one around whom a rather unnerving amount of events are coalescing.”
“That does not entitle you to listen to her conversations,” Solas' brows came together in a frown.
“Fine, fine,” Felassan raised his hands. “But don't blame me if--”
“I will blame you for her upset if she knows you are listening in on her.”
Felassan gritted his teeth. “Fine,” he said.
“They would have hurt other people.”
Arethin jumped, startled, and turned to see Cole at her side.
“What?”
“The Templars. Killing them doesn't make you a monster. They were monsters already.”
Arethin blinked at him, then the ramifications of what he said caught up with her. “Haven't I had enough people rummaging about in my head?” she demanded. “Can I have nothing to myself?”
He looked at her, unruffled. “The hurt is loud,” he said. “Very loud. I can't not hear it. I want to help...”
“Well, don't! Not this,” she shook her head. “You can't help this.”
“But I--”
“You. Can't.”
She stared him down, and he ducked under his hat, suddenly sheepish. She sighed. “You shouldn't do that,” she said. “Looking into people's minds like that.”
He looked up at last, expression confused. “Why?”
She stared at him, not sure how to answer that question at first. “Things are...private,” she said. “Do you...know what that means?”
“I hear the hurt. I can't not do that.”
She frowned at him. “When you...hear the hurt...what is that like?”
He blinked at her. “It's there, because it was already there. I could hear other things if I were made differently, but I'm not.”
“Isn't that confusing for you? Hearing all that hurt?”
He shook his head slowly. “No.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look,” she said at last. “It's more useful to people if you ask them if you can help before just voicing their thoughts, understand?”
“But then people won't want me to help. They're frightened of me.”
“All the more reason to take care.”
He looked at her, still rather confused. She glowered at him.
"If you don't want to do that, then stop looking in my thoughts," she instructed.
"I can't hear most of it," he said. "You're bright, like counting birds against the sun. Like Solas, sometimes. But sometimes, you're not."
"Well, that is a relief," she said. "But if you can't hear most of it, how about work on not hearing any of it?"
"That won't help much," he informed her.
"It's what I'd appreciate," she told him, and that was seemingly the end of that conversation.
The next person who decided to pry into her business was Sera. Arethin had gone a day or so with no one questioning her about her private life, and had thought that might be the end of it, when Sera intervened.
“So...that thing the demon said...”
“What about it?” Arethin glanced over her shoulder at Sera, who stood in the doorway of the war room, shifting from foot to foot.
Sera scuffed a foot on the ground. She shrugged.
“What is it?”
“I dunno,” she said. “It talked a lot of shite, and...”
“It isn't important,” Arethin looked away.
“Got you all tied up in knots.” she folded her arms.
“I'm fine.”
Sera glared at her, and Arethin sighed.
“Sera. I'm fine—I really am,” she tried to give Sera a smile, but it came out more like a grimace.
“You don't sound fine.”
Arethin took a deep breath. It seemed no one could resist prying into her personal affairs. “My son is dead,” Arethin snapped. “Is that what you wanted to hear? And that—demon—knew it, and he--” she cut herself off. “There,” she said. “That's all.”
Sera stared at her.
“Lavellan--” Sera stammered. “I—I didn't even know you had--”
Arethin shook her head. “No. Because I didn't want to tell anyone. Cassandra and Vivienne know because—well, when the Templars came to Haven--” she cut herself off.
“What've Templars got to do with it?”
“It was Templars that did it. That killed him.”
“Oh,” Sera breathed.
Arethin glowered at Sera. “That fear of magic—that hatred of mages—that did it. That killed him. That's where Templars come from.” she turned to Sera fully. “I'm sick of it,” she snapped. “I'm sick of my life being pried into by—by everyone, by people not already knowing that what they do hurts people like me--”
Sera held up her hands. “Oi, I didn't do anything,” she said, her voice unusually gentle. “I just—I heard what it said, and I...”
“Why does everyone want to know everything about me?” Arethin demanded. “It's not enough that Cassandra and Vivienne can't just take my word for it about Templars. Cole and Imshael and Solas have to get into my head—and you have to ask--”
“What's that about people getting in your head?” Sera asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Cole hears things, and Imshael did too,” Arethin said. “You know that. And my dreams—the mark makes everything—strange. I kept falling into the Fade—never mind. The point is that I'm sick of it. Isn't it enough that I'm trying to fix all the blasted problems everyone else created?”
Sera stared at her, not saying nything. Arethin took that as license to keep going.
“The Veil—the Chantry—the damned Orlesian war, Corypheus—I'm the one fixing it, and people feel that means they can pry into my life--” she cut herself off at Sera's expression. She turned away. “I'm sorry,” she said immediately. “I shouldn't—I shouldn't have said that.”
“Andraste's ass, Lavellan,” Sera reached out and put a tentative hand on Arethin's shoulder. “Why didn't you friggin' say something before?”
“What?” Arethin muttered.
“Thought you were just stuck up and elfy. I didn't know—I don't know any damn thing until I dig it up,” Sera said.
“I didn't think you'd want to hear it,” Arethin said stiffly. “It's not a pleasant story. And you've made your feelings about magic and the Dalish quite clear.”
“That doesn't mean I wouldn't care if a kid got hurt over it,” Sera snapped. “That's not—that's not right. Not ever.”
“Well. That is what fears of magic cause. That is what my people deal with. I'm not the only one.” she glowered at Sera. “That is what your 'mages are too frightening to be around' causes. It kills people.”
“Hang on, I didn't have anything to do with--”
“You and your Jennies didn't give a damn about mages or my people, or even the Alienages, till the Breach,” Arethin snarled. “I don't even know what you did except for bothering nobles—which,” she paused. “Alright, I suppose that's good. But for the love of all that is holy, did none of you think?”
Sera scowled. “Oi,” she snapped. “Don't get all up on me—I never did any of that.”
“No, you just care about what's normal,” Arethin said, plowing ahead ruthlessly. “Without giving a damn what that meant! It's normal for my people to get chased around like thieves and criminals—normal for mages to be locked up in those prisons—normal for Templars to--” she choked and cut herself off. She covered her eyes with one hand.
Sera stared at her, looking both angry and afraid. “Lavellan,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”
“What do you care?” Arethin demanded. “What does anyone care about except what I can give them?”
“That magic shite? Scary, alright?” Sera snapped. “And the elfy elves and your alliances and whatever—most of it's backwards and boring, no lie there.”
“Sera--”
“Most of what you friggin' talk about is weird, and doesn't make sense, and I don't—and you're wrong,” Sera continued. “But whatever happened to your boy? That's worse. Kids and grannies—they aren't supposed to get hurt.” she curled her fists and growled to herself. “They're not supposed to be in the middle of it.”
“Well, my son was,” Arethin said. “And Templars don't care who you are. If you're an apostate who fights back, they'll kill you.”
Sera shook her head. “They all talk a big game, Templars,” she said. “Whenever they come by, it's all demons this and that, but it wasn't any good seein' them around. Even if there was a demon, it wasn't any good. Just more people wavin' swords around and snatchin' people off the street. Figured it was fine—mages go to a tower, they get better, I guess. But a Templar never gets better. You go to the Templars, they know you die young.”
Arethin blinked at her. “What do you mean?”
Sera shrugged. “Never see old Templars around, do you?”
“I suppose not.”
“I didn't—I really didn't know,” Sera said. “You're always—you try to be friggin' calm about everything, right? Don't act like a normal person.”
“I can't,” Arethin shrugged. “If I acted like a normal person, no one would listen to a thing I said. Do you think anyone here is going to do what I need them to do if I just seem like a normal person?”
“So, what, you just scare people into doin' stuff for you?” Sera snorted. “Guess you can do that. 's not like havin' friends, though, is it?”
“No,” Arethin agreed. “It isn't.”
Sera huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Well, don't do that with me,” she instructed. “Throw all the fits you want. If you didn't, I'd never know a friggin' thing about you, right?”
Arethin laughed, then covered her mouth. “You...are a very odd person, Sera,” she said.
“Well, you hang out with demons all the time, so...I'm not the weirdest one here.”
"I suppose that's a fair point."