The New Ways of Old Gods Chapter 42

Part 42
The New Ways of Old Gods

Skyhold was injured.  An ugly wound, already bandaged with a lattice of planks and scaffolding, gaped  on its stone face.  The fortress had hemorrhaged brave souls out onto the snow.  Not the least of these were Cassandra Pentaghast and Iron Bull.  It took two days of  nigh constant funerals to ensure all of Skyhold's dead were given proper rites.  The pyres burned in the snow outside the fortress and the ashes were scooped carefully into earthen containers to be placed in a hall of memories.  A location had already been chosen for this after the Corypheus war.  A large, high ceilinged room under the fortress had been selected for the task.  No one was certain what it had been used for before Skyhold's skilled workers had created sturdy niches for the ashes of the dead to rest.

The smiths showed off their lesser known skills by creating placards for each urn, with the name of the fallen carefully etched on each.  Cassandra's full name wouldn't fit.  Astlyr didn't think her old friend would have minded.

An odd mood had fallen over the place in the days since the battle.  Astlyr and her company were dogged by a morose sadness that wouldn't leave them.  Like a heavy hand always resting on your shoulder, pushing down on you.  But there was also the absurd feeling of joy.  The battle hard won, the victory theirs once more.  The notion of being unbeatable.  It was strange to walk by the tavern at night and hear celebration from within, when all Astlyr wanted to do was round the corner to the practice yard and see Cassandra there, hacking away at a straw dummy, cheered on in her efforts by Iron Bull.

Now that the dead were seen to, and Skyhold fallen quietly into its strange state of mourning, the next most pressing issue was that of the elves.  They had been taken out of Skyhold and installed in a snow camp in the sheltered valley before the fortress.  The army-followers that Elgar'nan had not slain (children and those family members unable to fight) were found not far from where the enemy siege engines had been set.  Some of the elves, mostly the Dalish, had attempted to flee into the mountains, but even their knowledge of nature and skills with magic could not keep them alive in the Frostbacks in winter.  They were rounded up and brought back to the temporary camp.  Most had been docile enough, though some had resisted.  Skyhold dedicated many soldiers and much of the guard to keeping this camp under control while their leaders hashed out what was to be done with its new residents.

“There are just so many of them, and they're from so many different places,” King Alistair sighed.  He had installed himself on one of the steps to the dais.  No one seemed willing to step all the way up to the throne.  Astlyr had ordered chairs be brought in for her conference with the royal couple.  She didn't care to admit that the reason they were not meeting in the war room was because it was too painful to go in there without Cas.  She felt it, and she knew for a fact that it hurt Cullen deeply, so she called for the meeting to take place in the main hall.

“We have the numbers here,” Josephine held up her writing board, which was cradled, as ever, in the crook of her arm.  Her voice was husky with weariness and emotion.  Astlyr knew she had not been sleeping well these past few days.  “The majority are ex slaves.  Then Dalish, with the least being city elves from alienages.”

The king spoke up. “The elves from the Denerim alienage begged audience.  I spoke to their leader.  One Shianni, whom I had met during the Blight.  She assured me that by the time the enemy came to our gates their numbers were great.  Her people were told that they had two options.  To join this army, or to be slaughtered by it when it sacked the city.”

“They chose their side,” the queen spoke up.  She was on her feet, an elegant woman in a pale blue gown.  Her golden hair was in a perfect, braided bun and she even paced gracefully.  She was every inch a queen, so contrasted by her husband, who sat like a common solider on the step, one foot splayed casually out in front of him.  “Should they be given lenience because they were press-ganged?  The slaves would have had little choice in the matter as well.  To stay with cruel masters or join with the army.  Denerim's elves should not be treated any differently.”

“But we still haven't decided how they should be treated,” Astlyr groaned, rubbing the back of her neck, feeling annoyed.  She cut a glance towards where Ghilan'nain, Fen and Dirthamen sat.  Once again they had been invited to the meeting, but encouraged to be silent unless they had something very important to relate.  Astlyr had managed to explain a little of what they were to the king.  Ancient beings with some claim to the lives of the elvhen people.  Astlyr had mostly done this in hope of some leniency for them.  She knew full well what traditionally was done to traitors.

“The archers and warriors would have important fingers cut off, so they could no longer wield their weapons.  The mages would be made tranquil,” Alistair had explained with an unhappy look. It was clear that these outdated techniques for dealing with such people did not please him either.

“What other options have we?” Cullen had asked, though he looked anything but excited at the prospect of maiming their foes.  “We cannot simply kill them.  They've surrendered; are behaving peacefully.”

“That's because they know what she can do,” Alistair said, gesturing towards Astlyr.  The king had been far more than impressed when it was explained to him, in the barest detail, what Astlyr had become and how she had dealt with the god king.  Far from being alarmed, his eyes lit up and he seemed to think this new development an exciting one, even as Atlyr assured him she would not be transforming again, nor was she even certain she could.

“So we take them back to their slave masters?” Josephine said, her tone disgusted.  “And what of the Dalish?  Do we set them free, back to their nomadic lives as though nothing had happened?”

Alistair pondered for a long moment, hand rubbing his stubbled chin.  “Make them vassals of Skyhold?  Swear them to your service for a number of years.  Once they had served they will be freed to do as they like.”

“I believe that works better when the enemy are not so numerous,” the queen said, her tone gentle.  “To keep track of so many elves... impossible.  Most would fly as soon as they had the chance.  Some might even begin to have notions of attacking again.  Or of raiding nearby villages.  You have a great deal of clout-” the queen turned a deceptively demure gaze on Astlyr, “but I have my doubts as to your ability to keep all of these elves in line.  Especially when they come from such disparate lives and circumstances.”

“If we do not return the slaves we will likely lose any chance we had ay alliance with Tevinter,” Josie pointed out.  “And Halamshiral without its elven population will be crippled economically.  The poorest classes are often the ones holding up an economy.  Certainly some elves have remained, their city is not emptied.  Elgar'nan would have left some of his forces there, to keep control.  I suspect the Empress will soon retake her throne if she can, but it still leaves Halamshiral much changed.”

“Fuck Halamshiral,” Astlyr said and everyone stared at her.  She felt an odd pleasure in it.  “And I don't care about Tivinter either.  The only tie I have to them is one of their mages, and I'm not giving him back.”

Josie winced, trying to keep her calm expression as the queen shot her a dark look.  Astlyr chuckled at the notion that Anora might think Josephine could somehow act as Astlyr's handler.  The diplomat spoke in a voice that people usually reserved for children, “you may not wish to continue relations with Tevinter or Orlias, but Fereldan as a whole might.”

“I too would rather we found a way to avoid sending these people back into slavery,” the queen said, and Astlyr raised an appreciative eyebrow.  “But this might not be possible,” the woman finished.

“The elves only followed what's-his-name because they thought he was a god,” King Alistair pointed out, still musing, Astlyr knew, over her newfound power to transform.

Astlyr cut another look towards Fen, who was avoiding her eyes.  “I'm not going to pretend to be their god,” she snorted.

“I see few other options than the ones we have laid out,” Cullen gritted his teeth.  “Perhaps it would be best to return them.  The Dalish may be welcomed into alienages...” he trailed off.

“The overcrowding would be absurd,” queen Anora filled in for him.

“We're back to chopping off fingers or killing them.  We're talking in circles,” Alistair groaned.

Astlyr looked towards Fen'Harel where he sat with his fellows.  Ghilan'nain had her head bowed.  She was speaking to him, her white-gold hair falling into her lap.  Astlyr watched her for a long moment.   Finally she raised her head, her eyes sad.  She too had failed.  Fen's hands were balled into stubborn fists.

“We must have a ruling,” Anora said, her tone firmer.  There was a flash of something in her eyes which Astlyr wasn't certain if she admired, or found dangerous.  The look of one very used to being obeyed.  “The kindest thing may be to return the slaves to their masters, the city elves to stricter alienages and to cut off the fingers of the Dalish-”

“I won't make anyone tranquil,” Astlyr said, fiercely.

“Then what do you suggest we do with their mages? Slap them on the wrist and tell them not to use their magic any more?”  The queen had her hands on her hips.

“Majesty... these are a people,” a new voice, nervous and high, filled the hall.  Everyone's head snapped around.  Myfanwy had entered.  She was a small, slim shape at the end of the massive room.  Her hands were clasped in supplication to the rulers of Fereldan.  “These are not just an army.  Not merely a foe which had gathered against us.  This is a race.  Mine.”  She drew nearer, her voice uneasy, but stronger now.  For the first time Fen raised his head.

“Who is this?” the queen snapped.

“Myfanwy, this is a private meeting,” Cullen said kindly, rising to escort the elf out.  She dodged his ushering hands easily.

“I understand, Commander, but I have come to speak on behalf of my people, and I will not be swayed.” She lifted her chin.

Astlyr stood, feeling that she should send her friend from the room, but unwilling to do so just the same.  Instead she introduced, “this is Myfanwy, one of my inner circle.”

The elven woman did not miss Astlyr's introduction and smiled faintly, though her face remained pleading.  “Majesties, the elves of the Dalish once shunned myself and my brother for our beliefs.  We once lived in hiding because we feared the clans' wrath.  Yet still I ask you, please, find a solution that will allow my people to live and survive.  Slavery is no life.  Being forced into an alienage where there is not enough room is no life.  Being made tranquil is no life.”  She had stopped before the king, bowing in the way Astlyr had seen elves use before the very important.  Hands held out from her sides, palms down, bowing from the waist.

“I...”  King Alistair faltered.  “I'm sorry, miss.  I truly wish, more than anything, that I had a solution for your people.  They rose against us, and justice must be done.”  The king sounded so pained while saying this that Astlyr almost walked over and put a hand on his shoulder.

Myfanwy turned, her expression fierce, this time fixed on Fen'Harel, who visibly flinched.  “You know what I am.  What we all are,” he spoke, his tone quiet, almost unheard.  Astlyr had to lean forward.

“I know.  The People know.  They don't care.” Myfanwy answered.

“They should know.  We should not be worshiped as gods.  We're living beings, the same as you.”

“The People saw their 'gods' die two days ago.  They also saw you, The Dread Wolf, on the winning side.”

“It is a novelty,” Fen couldn't hide the smallest of grins that twitched the corners of his lips.

“If The People are to survive and be united, they need leaders,” Myfanwy looked to Ghilan'nain and Dirthamen as well.  The god of secrets, while still very pale and unhealthy looking due to his wound, had an intense expression in his dark eyes.

“What's going on here?” Queen Anora asked.

“Something good, I hope,” Astlyr said.

“Your people need you, Lord Fen'Harel.” Myfanwy pressed.

Fen blinked a few times, as though her final words had struck him like a blow.  “How can I-”

“We'll find a way,” Dirthamen put a hand on his friend's shoulder.  Ghilan'nain seemed to have some understanding of what was going on.  Her beautiful eyes bore a sharpness they had not before.  “It is time, friend.”

Fen stood up, deliberately, decisively.  “I will...speak to The People.”  he moved towards the exit, followed by Ghilan'nain and Myfanwy, who were helping Dirthamen limp along on crutches,

“What just happened?” King Alistair questioned, brows raised.  He had sat up on his step.

“The elves may have a new leader.  One who happens to be my close, personal friend,” Astlyr said.  “And one who I would trust to lead them.”

The queen opened her mouth to speak, but Cullen of all people cut her off, “I trust your majesties have every faith in your Inquisitor.  She has proven herself nothing but loyal to Fereldan.  Astlyr and Skyhold have twice stood between this country and disaster, and have come away the victor.  May I humbly recommend that we try it her way?”  He even dipped a small bow at the end, for good measure.

Anora looked baffled, but stalled in her argument.  Josephine stepped neatly in, “Now that the matter of the elves has been put aside for a moment, I had something else of import I wished to discuss with your majesties.  The title of Inquisitor and the fate of her Inquisition.”

Astlyr fought back one of her too-loud laughs.  Josie was in rare form, going for the throat so soon.  Whatever might be said of the diplomat, she certainly knew where her bread was buttered.

“What of it?” The King asked with genuine interest.  Anora looked uncomfortable.

“Well, it is a fine title in times of war.  A military title.  However, as Skyhold is fast becoming a permanent, nay, necessary, fixture here in Fereldan, I feel it is prudent to ensure that the services it offers may continue.  That Skyhold will always stand as a beacon of safety to those in need, and a firm warning to those that would threaten us.  Not to mention-” she artfully dipped her head, a gesture Astlyr had spotted being used at the winter palace.  “After Inquisitor Adaar's heroic actions to end the war with Corypheus, and to restore the veil, there was talk of a title.”

“Ah, yes,” the queen nodded, speaking a little too quickly.  “There was talk of an arling-”

“Ah, but if your majesty recalls, we responded to this offer, indicating that a higher title would be necessary to keep the appropriate level of leadership here in the Frostbacks, which, until now, did not fall under any Lord's specific rule.”

“Redcliff-” the queen began, but was smartly cut off as Josephine plowed on.  Astlyr had to hide her smile.

“We at Skyhold feel that nothing less than a Tyrnship will do.  This would encompass the Frostback Mountains, which act as a natural deterrent to those who might think to invade; as well as Redcliff and the surrounding area.  This would ensure that future 'Inquisitors', if you will, retain a vested interest in these lands, in maintaining them, and this fortress.  It would also ensure that your majesties would continue not to be bothered with the staffing, arming and funding of Skyhold.”

“It all sounds reasonable to me,” King Alistair said.  His blue eyes were sparkling and his lips twitched.  He too was trying to contain a grin.  He shot Astlyr a glance and she almost lost her composure when he included a wink.  “We haven't had a proper Tyrn since I took the throne.  I'm certain Teagan won't mind.  He hasn't been at Redcliff much these days.  The war drove him out.  The very war that Inquisitor Adaar won, as I recall.  I can see no issue-”

“Excellent,” Josie's quill scratch scratched across the parchment on her writing board.  “I shall begin making arrangements for the titling ceremony at once.  I would be best to get it out of the way while your majesties are still here.”

Astlyr shot a glance at Cullen, who was doing an extremely poor job of hiding the smile that wanted to show itself on his scarred face.  She longed for that smile.  It had hidden from her since the battle.  She rewarded his efforts with a smile of her own.  Though she found the idea of being made a Teyrna to be alarming at best, she knew that Josephine was probably correct.  This was the only way for her to keep her power in Skyhold, and for her to continue to stand as its leader.  When had she decided that was what she wanted?  When had the thought of giving up her command, and her people, become a more terrifying notion than having an impressive and imposing title heaped on her.  She realized that she would give a thousand awkward speeches if it meant she could stay.  Perhaps that would be the case.  She wondered if Teyrns had to do a lot of public speaking.

“And might I make another suggestion,” Josephine asked.  The queen was looking a bit windswept by the diplomat's mile a minute style.

“Of course,” King Alistair answered.

“With the new developments we have had today, I believe I may have an idea or two about the elf situation.”

~~~~~

“Do you think it's working?” Astlyr asked.  She, Cole and Cullen were standing on one of the few safe sections of wall which remained near where the gate had been torn open.  All around them work crews were bustling.  Mages and non mages alike were hard at work, already restoring Skyhold to its former glory.  Perhaps better.  She had overheard Rogers talking of improving the main gate with better alloys, and the mages discussing the use of spells in the mortar to make the wall exceptionally strong.

“I can't tell,” Cullen said, leaning his arms on the ramparts.

They were watching the elven prisoner camp.  Encircled by watchful soldiers, the elves within had gathered for a meeting.  Even from so high on the wall Astlyr could see how different they were from each other.  Many of the Teviner elves had tanner skin than their Southern counterparts.  The Dalish hung back and stuck together in a clump of green garb and tattooed faces.  The city elves seemed aloof, the most uncertain of the bunch.

The meeting with the king and queen had been adjourned, at least for the moment.  Josephine was still hard at work hashing out details with the two rulers, but Astlyr and Cullen were not required.  Josephine might have liked Astlyr to stay, but she knew she would be next to useless with the talks.  If there was nothing to stab, then she wasn't really all that helpful.  “I hope Fen's alright,” Astlyr said, leaning to rest against the wall as well.

“He's trying,” Cole said,  He was sitting on the rampart, one heel tap tapping against the cold stone.  He didn't mind the wind that whipped at his frail shape.  “The People are confused, frightened.  They thought their gods had returned and it was a lie.  Maybe he's lying too.”

“Do you know what he's telling them?” Astlyr asked, knowing the answer.

Cole shook his head, but still spoke, “Hands shake and sweat cold.  All those eyes.  Fear in my chest like a fist.  The wolf was banished from his pack and now he wants to come home, but what if he can't?  I don't want to be what I was.  I can't be what They were.  Winter wind and the smell of blood mingle and I taste terror.”

“He can handle it,” Cullen said, gently.  He moved to be directly beside Astlyr, looping an arm around her waist.  “You worry about him too much.”

“I worry about all of you, and I do it exactly the right amount,” Astlyr countered, squinting.  Something was moving down below in the camp.  Her eyes went wide as a huge, black shape appeared, looming over the elves.  The Dread Wolf.  He stood like a shadow, hunched and intimidating, but he did not strike out, but instead sat, docile.  Then, beside him, an elegant creature emerged.  A hala, with a coat as golden as the sun.  Her twisting antlers were a sight to behold, and she seemed to glow from within.  She stood beside the Dread Wolf without a hint of fear or mistrust.  Shortly a bear joined them, though it limped heavily, missing a rear paw.  Astlyr wondered if Dirthamen would still maintain the injury in his largest form, whatever that might be.  Though she had returned his foci to him, she had not seen him take his largest form.

“Cole?” she asked, not even looking at the boy, her eyes fixed on the strange animals below.

Her Spirit Companion knew that she wondered about the mood of the elves.  “Nervous, distrustful.  Noses run, wounds are still fresh.  Don't believe.  He was the evil one.  Mama said don't trust him, but the Lady Hala is with him, and the Secret Keeper.  The Dread Wolf keeps his word.  I remember the story.  Just never the way you want.”

“Are they going to follow him?” Astlyr asked urgently.

Cole did not reply.  A small elf, perhaps ten years old, it was difficult to tell from such distance, stepped towards the three animal gods.  She knelt, using her hands to form something in the snow.  Was it a little basin?  Then she took what looked to be a feather from her hair and laid it in the basin.  “She's making an offering,” Astlyr breathed.

One by one the elves knelt, doing the same as the girl.  Each placing some small trinket into the tiny altar they had made.  The three gods looked at one another.  Then they transformed back into their elvish forms.  They made their way slowly into the camp, stopping and seemingly exclaiming at every offering in turn, then returning each item to the giver.

“I will not be worshiped,” muttered Cole.

“I think it's working,” Cullen said, his expression clearing.  He had been squinting, and the gentle wrinkles at the corners of his eyes stood out.  Astlyr took a moment to appreciate them.  She found she endlessly loved every imperfection of his face.  A deep sense of relief overcame her.  Perhaps, for the first time since this whole damned 'god' issue had begun, they were getting things sorted out.  Part of her was still suspicious.  Part of her still did not trust Fen'Harel, but she knew she had to.  He was her friend, and now he was his people's best hope for a fulfilled and successful life.  She already felt terrible for all the elves she and her army had been forced to slay.

Then something else caught Astlyr's attention.  A group of her mages, moving with purpose, on the bridge below.  They were taking turns looking down into the ravine and talking to one another.  Astlyr thought she recognized a few of them.  Earth mages who had been instrumental in keeping Skyhold in one piece.  Curious, Astlyr moved towards the nearest, intact wall steps.  Cullen hurried to catch up and Cole teleported down to meet her.  She wove her way across the busy yard, watching the mages.  They still seemed to be pointing and gesturing to something below.

As Astlyr and company drew nearer the mages all raised staves and hands, their many-colored magics flaring to life and snaking through the air and downward.  Astlyr stopped, watching curiously.  

“What are they-?” Cullen began to ask, when there was a shuffling, rumbling sound from below the bridge.  The mage's were obviously straining now, pouring more power into their spells.  Cullen looked concerned, as though not entirely certain what they were doing was safe.  “Was the bridge damaged?  Should they be standing on it to-”

“Wait,” Cole said.  There was a hint of mirth in his voice, which Cullen had likely not detected.  Astlyr was impressed with her spirit friend.  Usually he had no concept of the dramatic.  He was steadily getting better and better at negotiating a human world, and how he and his powers fit into it.

Something came into view then, riding up past the edge of the bridge.  At first it looked to be a boulder, but then Astlyr saw it twitch.  “Alun?” she gasped, finally moving towards the mages, who were lifting the stone wolf's form carefully onto the bridge.

Once the magic around him was released, the wolf uncurled.  He looked a bit battered, but in one piece.  His ear was still missing, and there were long cracks all over his body, but he looked brightly at the mages and wagged his heavy tail in excitement.  The mages cheered and patted one another on the back.  They stopped when they saw Astlyr striding towards them.  “Ma'am,” the one who seemed to be in charge of this particular endeavor hurried to greet the newcomers.  Astlyr recognized her.  The elf with auburn hair who had been playing with Alun when they had returned with Dirthamen.  She was grinning from ear to ear.

“You found Alun,” Astlyr said, needlessly.

“We thought he must have been shattered when he fell from the bridge,” said another of the mages.  A young man with a lopsided smile.

The redheaded elf filled in, eagerly, as she petted Alun's stone side as though there was soft fur under her fingers.  “But then we realized that the snow down there is very deep.  So we tracked down your friend, Master Cole,” she gestured to the spirit boy.

“Well, you did, mostly,” admitted another of the mages.  This one was younger, and shot an uneasy glance towards Cole.

Astlyr gave her Companion a pleased look.  He was letting more and more of Skyhold see and remember him.  Allowing himself to be sought rather than doing the seeking.  This was a rare thing indeed.  He glanced shyly up at her from under the brim of his hat.  The flecks of green in his eyes remained, startling Astlyr from time to time.

“Cole told us that he could sense Alun down there.  Stuck in the snow,” said the smiling mage.

“Poor fellow had no way to tell us he was there, and he was stuck so deep into the packed snow that he couldn't get out,” the red haired elf crooned, still soothing Alun with her hands as though he were a child.  For his part, the stone wolf sat down on his haunches, the end of his tail wagging, and looked quite pleased to have been thought of and rescued.

“It is good to have you back, Alun,” Astlyr patted one of his thick legs.  “You were very brave in the battle.”

Wag wag, thud thud, went Alun's tail against the stones.  He reached down his nose and gave one of the mages a playful shove.  The man was knocked over, but laughed from his new position on the ground.

Astlyr couldn't help herself.  She smiled broadly.  The first big smile she had mustered in a while.  To her surprise and pleasure, Cullen mirrored her expression.  She couldn't stop herself.  She took him in her arms and planted a kiss on his lips.  The mages whistled and hooted, which made the templar blush.  Especially when Astlyr, grinning impishly against his lips, dipped him.

Cole interrupted the revels by plucking at Astlyr's sleeve.  She turned to her Companion, “what is it?”

“Varric needs to be told something,” Cole tilted his head, like a listening animal.

“Told something?”

“Yes.  'Hollow.  Empty inside.  She brought me and then she left me, and they always leave.  Bartrand, Hawke, Cas.  Thorns that stab my skin and won't work free.  I can't bleed in this place any more.'”

“Dammit,” Astlyr groaned.  “Where is he?”

“His rooms,” Cole answered, absently playing with a loose thread on his frayed tunic.

“What does he need to hear?” she asked as she turned to go.

Cole shrugged.  “He doesn't know.”

“Do you want me to-” Cullen moved to follow her.

“No, Kadan,” she pressed a gentle hand to his chest, “I'll go.  I'm the Inquisitor after all.  Troop morale is part of my job.”  'Apparently' she thought wryly.  Perhaps she would hire someone, now that it seemed she would be a permanent fixture at Skyhold.

She made her way back into the fortress and towards Varric's room.  Like Dorian, he had a small living space, though his was chosen for proximity to the tavern rather than the library.  Astlyr had wondered at this, as he could hear the loudest of the tavern patrons shouting, even through the stone walls, late into the night.  He claimed he liked it.  That it made him feel like he had his finger on the pulse of Skyhold.  He hated quiet.  Astlyr recalled this fondly as she approached his door.  It was slightly ajar and she could hear him move around inside.  She gave the door a little push and rapped on the frame with her knuckles.

The dwarf had his traveling packs out and open on his small bed.  His room was sparsely furnished, but heavily cluttered.  Every surface was a repository for books, papers, quills and charcoal sticks.  His walls were plastered with papers.  Elaborate outlines for stories he was working out in his head.  Lately these were accompanied by Myfanwy's drawings.  It always amused Astlyr to no end that the papers stopped at about her chest height on the walls.

Now, however, almost all these outlines were taken down.  Many were in carefully stacked piles on one of his two desks or on his bed.  He was clearly in the process of packing them up with string, or rolling the less hefty sheafs.   His stocky oak wardrobe was already empty and Bianca stood in the corner by the door, as though waiting for him.  At the moment Varric was struggling to tie up one of his packs.  It was difficult with one arm still in a sling.

Astlyr approached, reaching over him easily she tied up the pack.  He stopped, not looking up at her, just frozen for a moment.  Not in fear, she wasn't certain what he was feeling, but she carefully backed away, looking for something to sit on that she wouldn't crush.  In the end she settled for leaning against the wall.  “Going on a trip?  Should I suit up the team?”

Varric snorted, but didn't turn.  Instead he went back to organizing some more of his papers.  Astlyr folded her arms.  “Were you planning to leave without telling anyone?”  he didn't answer.  “Did you tell Myfanwy?  I doubt it, or I would have seen her looking very upset today.”

“She'll be fine,” Varric said, his voice was husky and dry.

“Will she?  She really admires you Varric.  Of all the people here that she could have bonded with as a friend, she chose you.”

“Stop it, Astlyr,” Varric turned.  His face was still tear stained, as though he hadn't washed it in the days since the battle.  Astlyr flinched at his use of her real name.  Like a weapon.  “She'll be alright.  You'll be alright.  Everyone will.” He said.

“Is that how your old friends felt?” She raised an eyebrow.  “At Kirkwall?”

“Hawke was the only one who ever kept in contact.  I sent Isabella a letter when he died.  Never heard back.”

“Were you planning on sending me your new address?” Astlyr asked, letting herself slide down the wall to sit on his floor, making it abundantly clear that she was here to stay.  A mountain seated in his bedroom.  She rested her arms on her knees and fixed him with a firm look, which he avoided.  If he was going to use her name as a weapon, she could fight back.

“Look, Astlyr, this can't keep happening.  I can't handle this any more.  All my best friends-” he bit off his words as emotion made his voice go high.  He turned his back to her.  When he collected himself he turned back, though only profile to her.  At least he had stopped packing.  “We live in a dangerous place.  We live in dangerous times.  Friends die as fast as I can make them.  I can't handle it any more.  I'm not that kind of person.”

“What kind of person?”

“I don't know,” he chuckled, a sound like someone was hitting him in the chest with their fists.

“Skyhold was the first place I ever made close friends,” Astlyr admitted, her own voice betraying a hint of the sorrow that was still fresh inside her.  “People who didn't just look at me and see a giant oaf.  Something to be feared.”

“Oh trust me, Pointy, when you first showed up, everyone was afraid of you.”

Astlyr smiled.  There it was.  Her nick name.  Was he softening?  No matter how much her friends might tell her she was good with people, she always felt like she was fumbling along in the dark for the right words, the right gestures.  Maybe she was just a supremely good guesser.  “But you all got over it.  You and...and Cas... were the first.  When you looked at me I never saw your eyes go wide like I was about to attack you.  You looked at me like a person.  Right out of the gate.”

“Sure,” Varric sighed, moving again, packing again.

Dammit.  Astlyr gritted her teeth.  She had been so happy when most of her new friends had decided to hang around after the Corypheus war.  Now one was readying to go, and he hadn't even been planning to tell her.  “Varric...”

“What?” he grunted, clumsily tying a sheaf of paper with a waxed string.

“What about the book you were writing about our adventures?  “'Thedas, and the Weird Shit We Found There, A History'?  You were going to have Myfanwy illustrate.”

“Plenty of writers are hermits,”

Astlyr laughed then, her too loud voice filling his little room to the rafters.  “You, a hermit?!  You'd go mad in a week!  Varric Tethras without people to talk to?  That's like the day without the sun.  Like a joke without a rude punch line!”

“Oh stop,” Varric lobbed something at her.  A stuffed nug.  She set the creature in her lap.

“I think you should stay, Varric,” she said, standing then, setting aside the nug and holding her hands slightly forward, palms towards her friend.  A gesture of trust.  “You may avoid the pain of our deaths, but you also avoid the joy of your life.  People.”

“I'll find other people.”

“We are your other people,” she said, taking a step towards him.  “You have a book to write, and Myfanwy has illustrations to draw for it, and I insist on having it read to me, by the author, as I fall asleep.  And think of Cole!  He loves you too, and he'll be devastated if you go.  He won't understand.  Plus, I was thinking of offering you another job.  As official Skyhold chronicler.  It'd pay.  I know you don't need the money but-”

“Pointy,” Varric raised a hand.  She stood in front of him now, close enough to touch.  He had to lean back to look her in the face.  “Shut up.”

“Sorry,” she said, looking contrite, or at least what she hoped was contrite.  It wasn't an expression she needed often.  Varric sighed heavily, as though letting go of a breath he had been holding the whole time.  “Look, I'll think about it.  I won't leave right this second, alright?  And if I do, I'll at least tell Puppy.”

“You promise?”

“Yes.  Maker!  What are you, my mother?”

Astlyr made a face and Varric laughed at this.  His smile almost seemed to hurt him.  As though the muscles of his face were already unused to his much accustomed expression.  Astlyr planted a hand on his back, ushering him towards the door before he could change his mind.  “Come on Varric, let's go check out what is left of the tavern.  I heard that most of the casks made it through the assault.”

“Hmmmm, you don't say,” the dwarf allowed himself to be ushered.  The two walked side by side down the corridor, Astlyr shortening her gait considerably so as not to outdistance her friend.  “Hey, Pointy.  Did you just make up that 'official chronicler' job?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so,” he grinned, a little bit of his old self showing through at last.

~~~~~

Dorian, limping about with the aid of a cane, and Titus were already well established at a table when Astlyr and Varric arrived.  The mage waved enthusiastically when he spotted them.  Though part of the tavern had been struck by falling debris during the battle, and even got a bit singed by dragon fire, the place remained open for business.  The tavern keeper clearly understood the important role the establishment played in the morale of Skyhold's populous.

It was as though word went around silently that a 'family dinner' had been called.  One by one people trickled in.  Cullen, Josie, Blackwall and even Viv, who was on the mend thanks to her own magics as well as Fen's.  Sera was already there and she clamored down from the rafters where she had been sharing space with a mouse she had befriended.

Even Krem, who looked world weary and sleep deprived, wandered over to join the bunch.  Though Fen and Myfanwy did not arrive, Astlyr understood that they had important business in the elvish camp that night.  Last in were Jones and Cole.  The guard captain had been given another promotion.  She was now head of Skyhold's entire guard.  Taking on part of Cassandra's old responsibilities.  Astlyr knew she could handle it.

Before long everyone was laughing and sharing tales.  Drinking to the health of fallen friends, and remembering their exploits.  Cole was the best at it.  Somehow his stories, while rambling and a little hard to understand at times, were the truest reflection of who Cassandra and Iron Bull had been.  More tears were shed, but arms went around shoulders until their 'puppy pile' as Sera called it, felt whole again.  Still, as they reveled, two chairs were set aside, a full glass placed on each, which everyone agreed should be their new tradition.

~~~~~

A wounded fortress atop a cliff; perched upon a snow blanketed mountain like a bird of prey, was bathed in light that evening.  The sound of laughter, both glad and sad, echoed through stone halls which had once stood abandoned for Ages.  A place of war and a place of homecoming.  A place which had seen battle and blood and stood against gods, more times than any building had a right to.

The place of Astlyr Adaar, Inquisitor of Skyhold.

~~~~~~

~Notes, letters and missives found on the desk of Verric Tethras.  Head Chronicler of Skyhold~


Inquisitor Adaar,

Or should that be: Teyrna Adaar?  Congratulations on the title.

I am certain you are most curious as to my whereabouts after our little chat in your lovely keep regarding the impending attack by Elgarn'nan and his forces.  Rest assured, I am alive and well, though I shall not be revealing my location to you at this time.  Too many eager ears.  I was, thankfully, able to summon the willpower to avoid your little skirmish entirely and now I travel where I please, researching the ancient Elvhen ways.  For, though we not have true gods in our midst, there are still many mysteries of that time which have yet to be discovered.  My special knowledge will certainly lend itself to such a task.

Should the time arrive when I have news of import I shall be certain to contact you again.

The Witch of the Wilds.

~A Missive from Iron Bull's Chargers.~

We found it, Boss.  Or rather, we found THEM.  Four of them.  Now we know how the elves were moving their army around so easily.  Dalish informs me that the mirrors might have been bound together magically, though she is uncertain exactly how.  I'm sure some of Skyhold's experts will soon have the method figured out.  We're standing guard over these beauties until you send an extraction team.  Wouldn't want the locals getting any sharp ideas.

~Krem

~A letter from the field.~

My flower,

Things are going surprisingly well down in the elven winter camp.  The slaves are fairing the worst, having been born to warmer climes, and having been poorly fed and looked after.  What children survived this war are a tough, scrappy lot.  One lad, Jared, reminds me of me a bit.  The other day I saw him heading up a team of youngsters and reenacting the Battle of The Gods.

Naturally the mood is still uncertain, and Fen has his work cut out for him.  Yet, with the army helping us build temporary cabins and Skyhold's extensive coffers being used however they can be (I leave such things up to you, my sweet one) I believe that the elves are truly beginning to understand, and even embrace their new life style.  Though, of course, some of the Dalish are still acting a wee bit big for their britches.  You know how they can be

I will return to Skyhold in a fortnight to resupply, and to visit you, my flower.  Until that sweet day, I keep the token you gave me close to my heart.

T.

~Attached is a smaller note in a different hand.~

Cole,
Please return this letter to where you found it!  We've discussed this.  You are to leave people's personal letters alone, even if you know I would value the information.

~Small note on a scrap of paper~
Varric,
Had Cole drop this off for you.  Come to the tavern later.  Astlyr says she'll play as long as the betting doesn't get too high.  Titus is new to this game.  We're going to make a killing.

D.

~Missive to Josephine~

My Dear Josephine,

Are you aware that people have begun referring to this Age as The Age of Adaar?  The scholars are in an uproar over this, as the next Age is not scheduled to begin for several decades yet.  I shall admit, it does rather roll off the tongue, but please do not inform our beloved Teyrna.  No need to give her an enlarged ego, when so much of her is already oversized.

My research is ongoing, and I intend to return to Skyhold with my findings soon.  The Circles are rebuilding, after a fashion.  Why waste a perfectly good mage tower?  Discipline is woefully lax, and most students merely travel to the towers for lessons, returning home at night.  Were I not so engaged with my own research, I might have a word or two with some of these lackluster First Enchanters that are cropping up with alarming frequency.

As yet, no one has been able to offer theories, or even much speculation, as to what our dear Inquisitor was able to do during The Battle of the Gods.  I suspect that Cole may have done something untoward, no matter how much Astlyr insists he had no evil intent, and the strange goings on were the result of both of their wills and abilities.

Shortly, I plan to write a paper on the subject of the Anchor and all of its various effects.  I shall, of course, be the first to do so, and my first hand knowledge will, I am certain, become immensely useful.

Until I return, please pop in and check on my tower.  We do not need another explosion.  We have recently acquired a shipment of extremely rare volumes.

Lady Vivienne,
First Enchanter to the Skyhold College of Magi




~Small Note~

Puppy,

I'll be working late.  Please have the kitchen send up more of those little scones.

~Rolled up Note~

Report-
The Empress has reinstalled herself on the throne, as tottery in her rule as she has ever been.  The remaining elves of Halashiral have once again been made to heel.  Your warnings of their loyalties have been taken into account by the empress.  Many elves have left the city by night, their location remains unknown.  The city is struggling to find itself with a greatly reduced lower class.  Things like this make me glad I'm not Orlesian.  Everybody kicks down.

Master Crow.  Left Hand of the Divine

~Letter from Divine Victoria~

Teyrna Astlyr Adaar,

I have sent a small contingent of my priestesses to your Teyrn in hopes of establishing several new Chantries for use by the humans and elves of your new lands.  To offer these people an alternative to their own 'gods' if they so choose.

My riders will make a stop at Skyhold to further discuss these plans.

Divine Victoria

~Small, rolled up letter~

Boss,

Had word that a villager near Redcliff claims to have spotted a gigantic hawk flying over their fields.  The Chargers and I will investigate.

Krem


~Ragged Note~

After speaking at some length with the leaders of the avvar I am pleased to report that they have agreed to be included in your Teyrn.  While I must say that their customs are very different, and a few times I was afraid for my life, they do seem more amused at my news than anything.  I was certain to inform them that their way of life and culture will not be threatened, and their lands shall remain theirs.  This pleased their leaders greatly and I have high hopes for future conversations.  I hope that most of these can be conducted by people more used to diplomatic missions.

Scout Harding.

~Notice from the Infirmary~

We have new additions!  The first children born at Skyhold!  Healer Audra and her husband have just announced the births of their twin children.  A girl and a boy.  The little boy is already going by the name Ernan, which I am told means “Iron” in some forgotten human tongue.  The little girl, who already has perfected a deadly glare of her very own, has been dubbed Cassandra.

Guard Captain Esther Jones


The End


Epilogue

“I knew you would come.”  the dragon turned, seeing the black wolf come loping slowly over the rise of a hill.  He was bathed in the muted, green-tinted light of the Fade, but his blue eyes shone out all the more brightly.  “Old Friend,” she welcomed him.

The wolf stopped, his tail was not raised in greeting.  He stared at her with his intelligent eyes, but said nothing.  The dragon pressed on.  “You did well.  We did well.  Our plan fell in to place perfectly.  A pity that I was forced to abandon that body.  It was a good one.  Never the less, this was a success.”

The wolf said nothing.

“You did far better than even I had hoped!  Stepping in to lead The People so quickly.  And how they took to you!  Unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome.  This means that our plans can move forward all the more quickly.  Your friend, Adaar, did just as we predicted, of course.  She certainly can be relied upon to get rid of pesky road blocks for us.  First Corypheus, then Elgar'nan.”

The wolf blinked slowly, but still did not speak.  His velvety ears gave the slightest twitch.

“Now all I must do is return myself to a body and the Old Gods will be restored anew.  As it should be.  You and I, ruling over the elves.  Just as was planned.”

The wolf moved then, dipping its head slightly it stepped to the side to accommodate another figure.  She seemed to appear from the air, a small, white rabbit hopping at her feet.  No.  Not a rabbit.  A spirit.  The dragon hissed.  The woman who now stood beside the wolf was tall, imposing and dominant.  On her head she bore two deadly looking horns, and on her hand the mark of the Fade.  She locked eyes with the dragon and smiled.