Sisters of Tevinter

What Goes Up

    Haven was alive with laughter, color and light. Bonfires were lit, people were dancing, drinking, being merry. The sun had set over the mountains, the twilight completely void of disturbance, the sky clear of sickly green lightning for the first time in months. 

     Jor was sitting on the edge of the upper levels, her knees pulled to her chest as she leaned against the cold stone of the cobbled walls. Below her, her soldiers were singing. She could see the potions master dancing like a drunken lunatic around the fire- Harritt and his wife were waltzing in the gentle moonlight. Mother Giselle, who had come a long way from the Crossroads to witness the dismissal of the Breach, was conversing with Leliana beside the chapel. The Nightingale was looking pleased and content, resting her head on the doorjamb of the temple. 

      Dane was barking somewhere below, chased off by the horsemaster and Jor caught a snippet of Kaisen's high, joyous laughter from the rooftops nearby. 

       "Marvelous, isn't it." Someone sat beside her, a bronze hand resting on her shoulder. 

       "Yeah..." Jor breathed, sighing. "I can't believe it's over. It feels like yesterday I got this stupid thing." She chuckled softly and looked down at her bare palm, which flickered a sleepy green. It seemed to know it was over too, as if the living thing had fulfilled its purpose and deserved a rest. 

       "It'll be interesting, living with that," Dorian said, tapping idle fingers against her wrist. "Unless you think it'll fade."

         "You're the magician, not me," Jor laughed. "Which reminds me-- Thanks for your help."

        "Of course. Notice how I hung back? I didn't want my dazzling display of talent to rob you of your moment of glory."

          Jor smiled, wondering how on earth this ridiculous Tevinter mage was growing on her. "I appreciate that." 

          The mage laughed. "You are patient, my dear. With me and many others. Gods, we should beat that out of you."

            "Isn't there someone that says patience is a virtue?" 

            "You need not be virtuous. You realize you could be as ruthless as you damn well please- you closed the Breach! Thedas owes you a bigger debt than any mortal in the history of anything at all." 

              The proposition was intriguing. Dorian was only joking, it was his way of congratulating her she supposed, and yet... "I think there's enough ruthlessness around the world these days." Jor smiled slightly and gestured at the stars that twinkled down at her like the eyes of old friends. "In the grand scheme of things, I'd like to die and have people say nice things at my funeral." 

             Dorian chuckled. "Should keep the service far away from family then, eh?"

              "No, Kaisen can come. It's my aunt Elleigh I'm worried about. She always thought I was too reclusive and headstrong." Jor wrinkled her nose teasingly. 

            "You are both. But I don't think that stops you from being nearly as good looking and fabulous as me." 

             Jor blushed and punched the mage's arm. "Stop that. My ego's inflated enough as it is."

             "Stop what?" Dorian grinned. "I'm sorry, darling, I couldn't hear you over the sound of your self esteem hitting the moon."

             The scholar scoffed, but couldn't hide her aching smile. "I don't suppose this temporary deafness will last?"

             "My ears are still ringing." Dorian raised his voice slightly, feigning confusion around his broad grin. "What's that? Speak up."

              "Oh good. So you won't hear me when I tell you you're an idiot. But you're a talented idiot I like to have around, and I'm grateful you seem to tolerate me."

               "Hm?" Dorian's gaze had softened, but he was still smiling. "I'm sorry?"

              "Oh, nothing." Playing along, Jor turned her gaze to the unblinking silver gaze of the moon, smiling slightly. Once again, Dorian wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He said nothing, but his own smile and warm presence seemed to say 'steady on.'

         There was suddenly a loud thud. The noise continued in a clamor, music and singing fading away into a confused jumble of crackling firepits and rattling steel. Below them, mystified soldiers were rising, throwing confused salutes or reaching for their weapons. Someone was shouting. 

         "Herald!" Commander Cullen, pale and drawn, called up at her from the lower levels. 

       Sensing trouble, the rush of Haven's chaos rising around her and urging her on, Jor disentangled herself from Dorian's arm, springing down off the wall. She landed with a frigid crunch in the snow and strode to the Commander's side. The Lion was already walking in the direction of the gates, his pace brisk and businesslike. 

        "What is it?" Jor asked, steadying her racing pulse and the dread building like a ball of putrid wax in her throat. She lengthened her strides to keep pace with Cullen as he tugged his cloak close around his shoulders, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword. 

         He didn't answer her, because the answer became clear immediately as they reached the gates. Someone was pounding at the doors within them, their voice raw and young. "Please. Please let me in- you have to know- the danger-"

      "Well?" Jor snapped her fingers at the soldiers standing uneasily at the doors. "Let's not stand around." 

       They saluted her and pulled the doors open, grimacing under their weight. Jor didn't understand their hesitation, nor the commander's. But he seemed to know something was wrong. 

        A young stripling of a boy in ragged leathers and a wide, drooping hat stumbled inside, his hands wrapped protectively over his abdomen, practically shaking with anxiety. "They are coming. I've come to warn you- They want to hurt you, I do not like them." 

    "Slow down, son," Cullen began uneasily, offering the boy a gloved hand. "What-"

      A long, low horn blast echoed off the rocks, ringing with challenge and distance. It rattled in Jor's ribcage like a curse and she lifted her head. Over the gates she saw the mountain come to life, strings of fire, the pinpricks of torches bleeding its night cloaked skin. Thousands of them. Lines and lines of light, stringing up and around the peaks like some kind of flaming snake. 

        Something glinted in the distance, catching Cullen's attention. The Lion lifted his head. The flash of red crystal and a lone figure in the furthest stretch of snow lowered its horn, a scarlet flag planted in the ice beside him. 

          "Templars," Cullen breathed, his voice a low hiss that fogged from his mouth. His eyes snapped to the two soldiers. "Arm yourselves," his tone rising to a roar: "We're under attack!" 

           Chaos erupted, and far away, Jor heard the distant beating of drums. Getting closer. A hot, dry wind shook her hair from its bindings, scorching her tongue and drying her mouth. 

        Oh no.