Chapter Text
Gale had never been inside a castle before. In Gransys, Gale’s people were only allowed in towns and on the road. Pawns were rarely hired for anything but mercenary work, and they had no drive to seek out any means of occupation on their own. So if it wasn’t for his own Arisen taking a vessel beyond their world to Thedas, his experiences probably would’ve stayed the same.
His Arisen, a woman of Cassardi descent, was tucked against the wall of the Winter Palace, trying to keep out of sight as a party played out around them. Marnie. Gale thought of her name like a litany, sweet on the tongue and powerful in meaning. Yet at the same time, it was just a name, and by her side all meaning of it fell away. To him, she was just Master, or Arisen. His creator. And at her side, the Pawn would remain to aid in her every endeavor, even if that meant a temporary abandonment of their primary goal to focus on someone else’s troubles for a while.
Although Marnie and Gale were busy with matters in their own land, they were compelled to seek out the tear in the Veil. A Dragon on a mountain could wait, and the sudden absence of a cult could let the people of Gransys rest. The Arisen could spare the time to go elsewhere for a while, so she did. The hole in the sky over Ferelden was closed by the time they got there, but they didn’t want their journey to be made in vain. They remained and awaited tasks to fall upon them. Still, Marnie had no idea how the Duke arranged for the two of them to intercept peace talks at the Orlesian Empress’ ball. Who tailored the clothes he sent for them would also be a mystery—or perhaps some cruel joke he was using to punish her for leaving.
“Those masks the Orlesians wear cover their faces,” Gale noted.
“Yes,” Marnie nodded. “’Tis custom here.”
“I can’t see their expressions. And you humans make so many of them.”
“Yes, I believe that’s the point,” Marnie nodded again.
So they resumed standing, waiting for something to happen. The peace talks wouldn’t begin for a while yet; they just had to survive until then. But just surviving was so boring, especially around so many people. Marnie had an appetite for fine clothes and fine foods. Couldn’t she find some way to entertain herself?
Her head raised at the sound of a familiar tune. Seeing this, Gale pushed off the wall and put his hands at his sides.
“Perhaps we’d get a better view from the dance floor,” he suggested.
Marnie couldn’t help but grin as she offered her hand. “Come on, Gale.”
The Arisen wasn’t much of a dancer anymore, but she did remember a waltz or two and a few Orlesian line dances from when she last visited the mainland. Marnie tugged Gale after her onto the lowered marble platform in the center of the ballroom. Dancers in flowing dresses spun around them, but Marnie navigated around them with ease. Marnie gave Gale a reassuring look, but he hardly needed it.
They fell in step with each other effortlessly. Even though Marnie had never taught the Pawn how to dance, Gale could’ve been practicing for centuries. The pair glided around the others just as they were supposed to, and for a moment Marnie found herself enjoying the night in a bit of a careless way. What did someone like her have to lose?
Gale’s eyes reluctantly drifted from his Arisen’s near-glowing smile. He looked to the dancers, content that no one seemed to be paying them any attention. He looked at the light shining off the marble. A part of him could hardly believe Marnie was of these people, even distantly. But it was there in the way she always dressed herself and her Pawn so meticulously, in combat when her footwork was less of a warrior and resembled something closer to dancing, the way she sang and spoke in tongues foreign to Gransys and almost all of Akadoria. He wondered what she would be like had she stayed in Orlais, but the thought alone pained him, for he couldn’t stand a world where she was not Arisen and he would not exist by her side.
Something in an upper level balcony caught Gale’s eye. When he looked, he felt as if his heart nearly stopped. A young man—if he was a man at all—wearing a wide-brimmed hat was watching them. His ice-blue eyes sat wide on his gaunt, sickly face. Something about the figure, something Gale couldn’t see or place from this distance, wrenched at Gale until he trembled. What was that?
Gale felt his shoe slip, and Marnie disguised his near-fall in a gracefully daring dip.
“Focus, Gale,” she growled.
“I’m sorry....”
Marnie pulled him upright again, and they continued as before.
Did you see something? she thought. She wanted to make sure none of the nobles could eavesdrop on their conversation.
“I’m not sure,” Gale braved another glance at the balcony, but no one was there. Still, he vividly remembered the young man that stood there, and the bewildered look in his wild eyes as he stared at Gale’s Arisen.
───── ・ ♡ ・ ─────
The Inquisition had their work cut out for them. Even after sealing the Breach in the sky, the Inquisitor Maxwell Trevelyan realized with dread that his work defeating Corypheus had just begun. Even so, the people of the Inquisition had found stable refuge in Skyhold, a fortress in the Frostback Mountains on the border joining Ferelden and Orlais. With refuge came stability, which meant they now had a base to operate from. Now, the fruits of their efforts would just take time. Which meant the Inquisitor could only take things one day at a time, or he’d combust.
Daily life in Skyhold varied for Trevelyan, but most days began with a walk around the hold to assess how things were going. If someone needed something, Trevelyan tried to see it to them. If his advisors had a word of one of the operations, Trevelyan called a war council. After setting his advisors to work, it was either errands, field work, or training. By the end of all that, Trevelyan might have a couple hours free before taking a meal and going to bed.
Today’s war council was shorter than usual. According to the Inquisition’s diplomat Josephine Montiliyet, the efforts to memorialize those lost at Haven was well-received by those of the Inquisition. Spymaster Leliana reported the rogue courier carrying fake manuscripts of one of Varric’s books turned up dead. And according to Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford, the Western Approach was ready for field work.
“It’s barely livable,” Cullen said. “But our forces set up a camp and are ready for your expedition, Inquisitor. There’s one more thing that might be of interest to you before you go.”
“Oh?” Trevelyan prompted.
Cullen raised the report from one of his agents off the table. “Knight-Captain Rylen stated they found a woman from overseas. It sounds like she’s interested in joining our cause.”
“Overseas?” Trevelyan asked. “From Tevinter or one of the Qunari islands?”
“Neither.” Cullen got an odd look in his eye Trevelyan couldn’t quite place. “She claimed she’s from Gransys. She stayed here of her own volition after a trade route made a stop in Val Royeaux a couple weeks ago.”
“A trade route from Gransys?” Jospehine asked, confused.
“He says she had the look,” Cullen affirmed. “The armor, the accent. Furthermore, she’s been surviving on her very own in the Western Approach for weeks. She doesn’t seem to let what’s out there get the better of her.”
“That means she’s probably a skilled survivalist, and probably not bad in a fight either,” Trevelyan considered it. If she was interested in joining the Inquisition, why did she go so far in the opposite direction?
“There was a trade vessel docked in Val Royeaux not long ago,” Leliana recalled. “My people already reported on it. For it to have been from Gransys raised a few suspicions.”
“Wait,” Trevelyan stopped. “What’s so suspicious about it?”
Josephine explained. “Gransys is the closest country across the ocean—a peninsular hanging off the continent of Akadoria. One port in Gransys runs a trade route to Thedas on occasion, but journeys can be separated by years or decades. They don’t have many consistent contacts in Thedas. Besides that, the waters around Gransys are allegedly too dangerous to make excursions with just any vessel. The last time anyone successfully made the trip had to be ten—no, fifteen years ago.”
Trevelyan’s gaze combed the advisors. There was still something he wasn’t picking up on. There was a trepidation in the room he still couldn’t justify.
“Should I be worried about recruiting someone from Gransys?” he asked.
Josephine looked to Leliana.
“It’s just strange, is all,” Leliana replied. “No one can escape a land that is allegedly so ravaged by monsters that their people can’t make a living, and then all of a sudden a single woman just shows up and asserts herself? Alongside all we’re dealing with, with the Breach, with Corypheus. It’s best to exercise caution, Inquisitor. We don’t know where she really comes from. It might be more trouble than it’s worth.”
“ Or ,” Cullen argued. “She could be a great asset.”
Trevelyan turned to Cullen. “Is she on her way here?”
“No,” Cullen shook his head. “She had business in the Western Approach, but if you find her while you’re out there, you might have a word.”
Which meant they’d be far from civilization with a suspicious stranger who was familiar with the land.
“You should take a full party with you, at least,” Josephine said. “And Leliana should send someone ahead. Just to be safe.”
“Leliana, did your people give you any information about the party from Gransys that stayed in Val Royeaux?”
“The ship stayed for a few days, then left,” she replied. “They stayed in the city and spent most of their time trading and ferrying cargo to warehouses. They were affiliated with the Courbet Trading Company—which is the only trading company that has conducted business in Gransys. The only thing concerning about the journey would be their timing. The Breach was sealed just before they arrived. If they somehow knew about it, they might be testing Thedas for vulnerabilities.”
“Does Gransys have some political problem with Thedas?” Trevelyan asked.
“The allied nations of Akadoria have a standing peace treaty with Orlais,” Josephine explained. “There was a short period of Orlesian occupation in Hearthstone.”
“If Hearthstone wanted to get back at them, they might be testing the waters now,” Leliana added. “Inquisitor, if it’s not too much to ask, I’m sure it’ll put us at an advantage to bring the Gransian woman here. If she’s here for a reason that doesn’t involve the Inquisition, it’ll give us an upper hand in Orlais’ court to have the most information about her first. If nothing else, you could bring her here so we’ll have eyes on her.”
“I understand,” Trevelyan nodded. He looked over the map on the war table a final time. So much to do.... “Let’s go with Josephine’s idea. I want to take a party to the Western Approach as soon as possible. Leliana, send some people ahead. When are Solas and Cole returning?”
“We haven’t received word yet,” Josephine replied apologetically. After a particularly promising report from scouts in the Hinterlands, Solas had taken Cole with him on a one-on-one expedition to investigate an elven shrine in the area. The pair had departed only a few days ago, and knowing Solas, he’d probably take his time with his research. Not to mention how Cole would possibly get sidetracked and delay them even further. “It might be another couple weeks, at least.”
Trevelyan frowned. “Then we’ll just have to make do without them. I’ll assemble a team and head out in the morning.”
“Yes, Inquisitor.”
- ♡ -
As the meeting concluded, Trevelyan exited to the main hall, already fighting off a slight headache those meetings usually gave him. To think, they still had so much left to do. And after the destruction of Haven, they were just waiting. Waiting for Varric’s friend Hawke to arrive, waiting to hold Crestwood to the point they could make contact with the Grey Warden there, waiting for Solas and Cole to return. It was agonizing. Trevelyan felt like he was always running, always working, but at the same time, it felt like he was doing nothing at all.
“Ah,” Dorian took note of him as they encountered each other in the main hall. “I know that look. Post-meeting malaise, is it, Trevelyan?”
“Is it that obvious?” Trevelyan asked. Maybe the Herald of Andraste, as he was often called, was supposed to have more stamina.
“Not really. I’m just getting used to things here,” Dorian replied. “Like Sera putting a caterpillar in my soap dish, Cassandra fretting over terrible literature, Iron Bull... in his entirety, honestly.”
“Right,” Trevelyan couldn’t hide a small smirk. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d be up for a trip. I think you’d come in handy.”
“Oh, joy ,” Dorian sighed. “I love it when you call me out for battle. Or wandering in the ass end of nowhere. So which is it going to be this time?”
- ♡ -
The Western Approach was miserable in any and every sense of the word. For company, the Inquisitor had brought Varric, the Iron Bull, and Dorian. Trevelyan would've liked to bring Cole or Solas along to get a more familiar feel for the lay of the land, but things being what they were, he was left with a Tevinter mage, a spy, and a charismatic novelist.
The Western Approach was by far the most barren place Trevelyan had ever trekked. The dunes of sand were high, hot, and they scattered in the wind. Outcroppings of weathered rock and sandstone gave the desert character, and occasional, blessed shade. There were fewer gullies here than in the Forbidden Oasis, and, for a more important matter, much less water. They made sure they were well-stocked at the camp before setting off.
Scout Harding had no positive things to say about this place. Unpleasant weather, bandits on the prowl, a dragon, sand . She called it hell on earth, and right from the start, Trevelyan only agreed with her.
“What of the woman from Gransys?” Trevelyan asked before they set out. “Has anyone given you word?”
“Not much to go off of, I’m afraid. There is a woman like that skulking about,” Harding said. “She comes by every day or so to make sure we've got enough supplies and water. She’s riding a pale horse—it should stick out among the sand.”
“Right,” Trevelyan nodded. “Thank you. Any idea where they might be now?”
“Follow the river when you find it,” she suggested. “She probably wouldn’t set up camp far from a water source. And if they drop in today, we’ll hold them up here for you.”
“Thanks again.”
“Anytime, Inquisitor.”
With that, they set out. A pathway leading northeast of the initial Inquisition camp carried the party along the dunes bordering the area. Though they intended to find the traveler while they were here, Trevelyan’s priority was holding the area for the Inquisition. To record the state of landmarks, establish camps, make notes of things that would need work from greater forces before being explored further—those were Trevelyan’s primary goals.
The atmosphere was miserable. The wind was infrequent, but each gust sent hot grains of sand lashing into the hair and eyes of the group. The sun was unbearably hot, and the sand underfoot seemed to radiate that heat in kind. Waves danced in the air. More than once the party thought they were happening upon an oasis or pond only to find the mirage disappearing within minutes. It left them feeling vulnerable and out of their depth. Had they not had a camp to return to, it’s quite possible anyone unprepared could expire out here within hours. As such, they each seemed to conserve themselves. Even Varric didn’t waste any breath complaining about their surroundings.
Once they found a small spring, (thankfully real this time), some of the tension broke. A suitable campsite shouldn’t be far from here. Water would be an invaluable resource to any Inquisition forces out here. As they looked, Dorian couldn’t help but notice how the sand underfoot looked recently disturbed.
“Could these be made by a horse, you think?” Dorian asked.
Trevelyan looked. “Yeah. Let’s see where they lead.”
The flat sand around the creek became hard rock that rose into a steep gully. The Inquisitor's party went along the brim of the gully carefully; if any of them fell, it wouldn’t be easy getting back up. Once they made it to the peak of the gully, they were able to see a modest but well-kept campsite in the shade of the cliff face. A campfire and cooking spit, one tent, and a couple canvas sacks holding supplies were all arranged in the shade. Among that, seven people, armed and dressed in random pieces of armor, ransacked the campsite in a rushed and careless manner.
“It doesn’t look like they’re supposed to be there,” Dorian said.
“Bandits, most likely,” Varric added. “Looks like they’re raiding the camp.”
“What gave them away?” Iron Bull asked. “The ransacking or the sneaking?”
Trevelyan’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword. He was considering their next moves carefully. Seven bandits in a small space against the four of them....
“I didn’t think they’d all sleep in one tent,” Dorian replied.
“Well, not with that attitude they won’t—”
An arrow suddenly darted through the campsite from behind the bluff, lodging into a bandit’s throat. The man collapsed, and the rest of them began to scatter and shout, drawing their weapons and looking for an enemy.
“Let’s go!” Trevelyan ordered, before any of them could get away.
Trevelyan drew his sword and held his shield ahead of him to ward off an arrow loosed by one of the bandits. Once in range, he gave his sword a quick swing, the steel lashing into the bandit’s uncovered torso. The Iron Bull wasn’t far behind, swinging his battle axe in a wide arc to take out three enemies at once. Varric and Dorian remained at a distance, covering the others with secondary arrows and spells respectively.
Amidst the whistle of arrows and spells and the thud of metal against flesh, the Inquisitor could feel the thunder of approaching hooves. He didn’t dare look away from the heat of the fight, but he didn’t have to. Before long, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pale dun horse galloping just outside the fray. The horse halted, shuffling into an anxious rear as its rider took aim again. Trevelyan’s eyes widened. Were they aiming at him?!
He heard the flick of the bowstring and raised his shield reflexively. Not a second later, he heard the arrow sink into flesh and turned his head. A bandit had been just behind him, now impaled and going limp at the archer’s doing. Trevelyan looked back to give them a grateful look, but the horse was already off again, darting behind the bluff once more. Then the Inquisitor felt the uprising energy of magic surround them before the field was engulfed in flames.
The fire was no hotter than a lukewarm cup of water, and Trevelyan knew what burning felt like. This was friendly fire. Whoever was responsible didn’t want to harm them. Trevelyan waved his arm, and the others regrouped just away from the fire in response to his command. Once they were a significant distance away, Trevelyan saw that whoever cast the spell had conjured a circuit of flame that quickly reduced the bandits to ash.
“Dorian, did you—”
But Dorian looked just as confused as the rest of them. Once the flames died down, Trevelyan heard hoofbeats again, this time slower and gentler. They all turned to see the horse and rider trotting into the clearing again. Another person joined the rider, jogging out from behind the cliff bluff and climbing onto the horse’s back with little difficulty. The horse got close, finally letting Trevelyan get a good look at them.
The horse certainly matched Harding’s description, with a pale tan body that spread into deep brown socks and hair. Judging by the thick, arching neck, the full, low-set tail, and the slightly convex profile of the head, it was definitely of Orlesian Courser breeding—versatile for sport and war alike. The first rider was a woman with olive tan skin and short but thick black hair. Her armor left very little of her body visible; she wore a full set of red leather armor over clothes of rich purple and crimson red. A black cloak clasped around her shoulders probably spared her from the heat and sun. Alongside her bow, Trevelyan caught a glimpse of jagged, brutal-looking daggers tucked into loops hanging off her belt. That was no belt knife.
The other rider almost towered over the woman—a man, a mage, pale with dark brown hair and distinctly Orlesian features. His blue robe covered him from ankle to wrist, but Trevelyan caught glimpses of glinting metal on his hands and shoes. The staff tucked over his shoulder was made of simple wood with a curious red gem almost the shape of a human heart at the top. Trevelyan wondered what kind of magic such a staff was intended for. The mage regarded Trevelyan with an odd, disdainful, but slightly intrigued expression, and Trevelyan instantly got the impression he was a strange boy. Someone like Cole, if Cole were normal.
“Is everyone alright?” the woman asked. Her voice fit her face; she seemed about Trevelyan’s age.
“Yes,” Trevelyan spoke for the group. “And to your credit, I think you two may have had something to do with that.”
“You could’ve handled yourselves, I’m sure,” the woman replied plainly. “We simply didn’t know who to fight at first, in truth.”
Now that she spoke at some length, the others could hear her distinct Gransian accent. Her emphasis, her word choice, the way she spoke sounded overly-formal and almost antique. She almost looked sheepish, as if she knew she couldn’t help sounding distinctly other . Trevelyan did what he could to put her at ease.
“That’s alright,” he said. “You’re the travelers from Gransys, I take it?”
“’Twould depend on who’s asking.”
“We’re with the Inquisition,” Trevelyan introduced. “A group of our forces said you might be interested in joining our cause.”
“Oh, for truth?!” All trepidation the woman had instantly fell away in favor of excitement and great interest. She slid down from the horse’s back, and the mage shuffled in her place to hold the horse’s reins delicately with his fingers. Trevelyan thought he caught a flash of red on the boy’s palm—like blood, but he didn’t mention it.
“Well... yes,” the woman said. “Should you have us.”
Now that she had two feet on the ground, Trevelyan realized she was easily a head or so shorter than him. Her arms were folded, her face serious but not unfriendly. Alright. Now the real assessment could begin.
“I wasn’t aware there was more than one of you,” Trevelyan admitted. “Let alone that one of you was a mage.”
He glanced at the young man on the horse, who redirected his gaze to his companion.
“That’s my brother Gale,” the woman introduced. “He’s a healer, primarily, and he is well-disciplined. My name is Marnie Courbet. I use daggers, predominantly.”
“He can do more than heal, that’s for sure,” Dorian grinned.
“Yes. ‘Tis good should he ever need to defend himself. But he kept you four intact.”
“I’m guessing you’re the primary offense of this operation?”
“Yes. I get in the way, and Gale watches my back. We’re rarely in the company of larger groups, but I’m sure he’ll adapt.”
She seemed to take every opportunity to talk about him. Defensively, Trevelyan noted. He wasn’t sure why.
“How exactly are mages trained overseas?” Trevelyan asked, more out of curiosity of her attitude than any real concern about Gale.
“Sorry?”
“How was Gale trained? He seems skilled for his age is all I’m saying.”
“By a... trainer?” Marnie seemed confused and almost worried. Then she understood. “Ah, you mean.... No, he was trained by experienced sorcerers in Gransys—our inns oft employ trainers who can aid all types of people seeking to sharpen their skills. From bows to branches, as they say.”
“Oh. And I presume that’s where you got most of your skills as well?”
“Yes.”
“I see. What exactly can you two contribute?”
“Bodies for work and battle both,” Marnie replied. “I grew up in a fishing village afore taking up bow and blade. We have experience in scouting missions, collecting resources, and culling the unwanted, from bandit to monster. And you’ve seen a bit of our work in combat. As long as it’s not rubbing elbows with nobility, we’re both apt.”
“Not very politically engaged, are you?”
“No.”
Trevelyan continued. “Would either of you be able to join me in the field?”
“Either of us,” Marnie confirmed. “But I prefer we stay together. I’ll be fully responsible for him; if you need me and let him tag along, I’ll make sure he pulls his own weight.”
“Two heads are better,” Trevelyan agreed. That about settled it for him. There was only one other thing.... “What do you have to say about it? Gale, was it?”
Trevelyan gently addressed the mage, who looked like he hadn’t moved during the entire conversation. Gale blinked and startled a little bit, like he hadn’t been fully there until he was spoken to. He looked shyly at Marnie, unsure what to do. She narrowed her eyes momentarily, a subtlety that the others definitely caught.
“I... Yes. Whatever Marnie wants.” His accent was slightly different than Marnie’s. He didn’t speak again after that.
“Well, then, that settles it,” Trevelyan concluded, tamping down the awkward uneasy feeling in his stomach. “Welcome to the Inquisition.”
The anchor in his hand throbbed once, very slowly. He thought nothing of it. Perhaps the Veil was particularly thin here.
“Night will be setting soon,” Marnie looked westward where the sun was casting its final rays over the red dunes. “You’re welcome to rest at our camp, if you help us clean up.”
“I appreciate that immensely,” Trevelyan replied. “It won’t be a problem at all.”
“Visibility is higher on the ridge,” Gale said, looking to Marnie as if the others weren’t even there. “Best we camped there for tonight.”
“Sounds good,” Marnie turned and tugged on the horse’s reins while Gale dismounted and began gathering what was left of their supplies.
- ♡ -
Together, the group gathered what remained of Marnie and Gale’s camp and moved to the top of the ravine. They set up camp far from the cliff’s edge, embedding their campgrounds within the silhouette of their surroundings so they wouldn’t stand out in the emptiness. Trevelyan left an Inquisition banner standing in the ground, a signal for Inquisition forces to make a proper camp here when they got the chance. Altogether, their mission was off to a successful start.
Trevelyan could probably stand to stay out there another day or two, but he knew his companions probably weren’t thrilled to spend more time out here than they had to. Still, he wanted to do as much as possible before leaving again. He’d give it one more day, and hopefully Marnie and Gale didn’t mind being dragged along.
“You can head to Skyhold on your own, if you’re ready,” Trevelyan said as he ate an evening meal by the fire. “But if you can help us navigate the area, I’d appreciate it. I don’t suppose you’ve gotten familiar with the area during your stay, have you?”
“Of course, I’ll gladly help you hold the area,” Marnie nodded. She got up and tugged a folded map out of the front of her tunic. “Let’s see what you’re looking for.”
She sat so close to Trevelyan their thighs touched as she compared Trevelyan’s map with her smaller but heavily annotated one. Iron Bull tilted his head just slightly, but corrected himself before Marnie or Gale noticed. Gale wasn’t eating. He hadn’t even had so much as a drink of water. And he never seemed to tire of standing watch at the edge of their camp. Iron Bull wasn’t sure Trevelyan was noticing any of these things.
Once Trevelyan and Marnie had a route mapped out, Trevelyan turned in for the night. Iron Bull followed suit shortly after, and Dorian went to the creek to clean up before bed. That left Varric, Gale, and Marnie sitting around the fire. Gale curled up on his side with his head in Marnie’s lap, and Varric sat across from them. Marnie’s fingers picked the tangles out of Gale’s hair with enough precision the boy didn’t even flinch. He almost seemed half-dead to the world as his glass-eyed gaze stuck to the fire.
Soon, Varric broke the silence.
“That’s a good horse,” he looked at the steed ground-tied and grazing nearby. “She’s a war breed, isn’t she? Anything else probably would’ve spooked and thrown a rider in a fight like we had today.”
“She’s of a good kind,” Marnie agreed wistfully. “Her name’s Serafina. We needed something strong enough to carry two of us, but the draft breeds are too slow and gentle. We needed something with a streak of courage.”
“And you found it, clearly,” Varric nodded. “So what’s a fisher from Gransys doing out in the Western Approach anyway? I mean, I know you wanted to join the Inquisition—or see what it’s all about—but wouldn’t it be a lot easier and more comfortable staying in Val Royeaux or a town somewhere?”
“And spend a fortune in lodging fees when I can camp out unimpeded? No, thank you.”
Varric actually laughed once. “So you’d buy a horse, but you won’t spend a little coin on a couple beds?”
“Let me put it this way.” Marnie opened a hand to gesture to the horse. “Investment.” She shifted her hand to gesture to one of the tents. “Drivel. Does that make sense?”
“Fair enough,” Varric agreed. “So when did ‘culling the unwanted’ come in? Are the fish made of tougher stuff overseas?”
“You could say that,” Marnie grinned. “Although, the goblins, griffins, and wolf packs terrorizing every stretch of land in the country make for some pretty daring adventurers.”
She said it sheepishly, but Varric didn’t see what there was to be embarrassed about. If she was serious, then it was no question where the two of them learned to fight like that.
“It seems like the rumors about Gransys raising tough survivalists is true, then,” Varric noted. “Good to know.”
“Rumors?” Marnie tilted her head with a confused look. “I hope your company didn’t think anything bad of us. What exactly do these rumors say about us?”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” Varric assured. “Just that Gransys is overrun with shit and anyone capable of camping out there can take a man ten times their size in a fight.”
“’Tis true,” Marnie agreed. “I’m actually surprised we haven’t had more trouble out here for so long. ‘Tis almost a vacation for us.”
“Coming to the mainland because you saw a giant hole in the sky doesn’t exactly meet everyone’s idea of a vacation.”
Marnie didn’t say anything, just fixated him with a wry smirk. Varric relented considerably after that. He didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.
“Don’t worry, I was just making conversation,” he leaned back with a placating grin. “I’m only interested because, well, I’m an author. And it’s an interesting story. Mysterious adventurers from an all-but-forgotten land, riding a majestic steed, bearing fine armor and skills from battles left only to the imagination? It’s compelling stuff, I tell you.”
Marnie grinned and rolled her eyes. “Yes, ‘tis nothing more attractive than a man who says he’s an author.”
Gale spoke up from her lap. "Marnie, we've read some of his books. Swords and Shields , Chapter four—"
Marnie clasped a hand over his mouth, and Gale looked thoroughly annoyed at her. Varric grinned with amusement.
“Now, where did you find that one? Tell me you didn’t go into a shop and pay actual money for that one in particular.”
“Actually,” Marnie tried hiding a grin of her own. “Gale found it at the bottom of some rubbish heap in Val Royeaux.”
“That figures. So, what’d you think?”
Marnie shrugged and refused to look at him. Was she blushing? "'Twas lovely. All books are."
A new voice joined them as Dorian stepped back into camp.
"I'll need to get you more refined tastes, then," he sighed, heading to his tent. "I'm turning in for the night, so if you need me, don't. "
Varric chuckled. "Don't mind him. He's just moody because we had to camp out. Although I don't disagree with him about the book..."
Marnie gave him a look, but she seemed a lot more relaxed now. Varric decided to quit while he was ahead.
“I think I’ll turn in too,” he said, standing up from his place by the fire and heading into his tent. “The Inquisitor said he’ll take first watch, whenever you’re ready.”
Marnie nodded. “I think I’ll sit up for a little while.”
Once the flaps of his tent were closed behind him and Marnie and Gale were left alone once more by the fire, she visibly relaxed. Gale sat up in a swift, smooth motion.
“Ought we retire?” he suggested.
Marnie gave him an odd look. Her lips turned up as if in a smile, but her eyebrows knitted together as if she was displeased. Altogether, she looked more apologetic than anything.
“Alright,” she agreed.
She timidly woke Trevelyan while Gale disappeared into their tent. Trevelyan sat by the fire while Marnie checked on a few things before going to bed. Tugging on the horse’s lead to make sure she wasn’t going anywhere, checking to make sure Gale had restored their water supply. It was all in order. Still, Marnie was restless. She lingered on the edge of the camp, looking out over the moonlit dunes for a long moment. She seemed to be holding her breath, as if waiting for something. Trevelyan opened his mouth to ask her something— Looking for something? —but he couldn’t come up with the words before she turned away and traipsed to her tent.
“Good night,” she called quietly.
“Yeah,” Trevelyan returned. “Sleep well.”
Marnie settled in her canvas bedroll with Gale sitting cross-legged on the ground beside her. It was a tight fit. Perhaps it was too ambitious to say they shared a single tent. Usually, Gale stood watch outside unless Marnie needed him for something; it wasn’t like he needed to sleep. Or eat, for that matter. Keeping his true nature a secret would be tricky.
I should be keeping watch outside.
Marnie heard Gale’s voice as loud and as clear as she would have if he’d spoken aloud. But as she opened her eyes to look at him, his lips didn’t budge. Gale and Marnie were speaking to each other in their own minds now. They wouldn’t have to worry about being overheard this way.
You can sense if anything’s amiss from in here. Your people have heightened senses, do they not? Marnie thought dismissively, similarly only speaking the thoughts directly into his head. Gale seemed disturbed still.
We came here for another reason, he reminded her.
Marnie’s eyes hardened just slightly. Put it out of your mind. We’ll have plenty of time to get back to it later.
Gale nodded and dropped it immediately. As you wish.
Marnie settled again, turning her back to him and pulling the top of her bedroll over her ear. She didn’t move again, and once her breathing grew slow and heavy, Gale figured she’d fallen asleep. He looked away. He acted as if he could see through the canvas tent to where Trevelyan was sitting and keeping watch. Surely the Inquisitor could be trusted with a simple job, but how long did Marnie expect to keep their true nature a secret? There had to be a good reason Marnie was keeping everything from them.
- ♡ -
The rest of the Western Approach was held without any incidents. Marnie and Gale had freshly cleared out the area, keeping monsters and bandits alike to a reasonable low. Aside from that, Marnie seemed to know exactly where the monsters would be and took the Inquisition off paths and through rugged terrain just to avoid any unnecessary battle.
“Let’s leave Sera here,” Marnie suggested.
Varric and Iron Bull shared a glance, as they had almost any time Marnie referenced her horse. A subtle way of asking each other, So when is this going to become a Thing? Marnie dismounted and held both hands up for Gale as he practically fell out of the saddle.
“This way,” Marnie shuffled sideways through some underbrush
“Is this really necessary?” Dorian called from his place further down their single-file line. “This feels very excessive when there’s a path right there.”
“You think so?” Marnie glanced over her shoulder with her eyebrows raised and a ghost of a smirk almost settling on her face. Her eyes flicked to Gale, and Dorian looked over his shoulder. Gale was standing at the back of their formation, staff drawn and scowl glued to the brush on the other side of the path. Trevelyan felt like his heart skipped a beat. A pack of large hyenas took refuge by the water in the oasis. One of the creatures dipped its head into the water only to raise it and shake forcefully. It didn’t seem to have noticed them yet, fortunately. Trevelyan did not want to reckon with that brute’s claws today.
“Let’s go,” Marnie whispered. She, Trevelyan, Varric, and Dorian made their way through the brush as quickly and quietly as possible. Only Iron Bull lingered for only a moment, sizing up the pack. There were only seven of them, surely the Inquisition could take them. It wasn’t like Trevelyan brought him along for nothing.
Iron Bull glanced at Gale and jumped slightly. Gale wasn’t looking at the dogs anymore; he’d moved uncomfortably close to Iron Bull and just stood there staring at the ground. Did he need by? Iron Bull was surprised the boy hadn’t said anything, even though he was clearly annoyed. Iron Bull tried keeping his face neutral as he caught up with the others.
Once they walked the narrow trail on the ridge, Marnie stepped down another set of crude and unevenly-spaced shelves in the rock. Getting down was much easier than a trip up, at least. Once everyone had skidded, jumped, or scrambled to solid ground once more, Marnie stood just ahead with her hands on her hips.
“Here we are,” she announced. An abandoned mine lay before them. “Another of your skull contraptions rests just beyond. And if we double back that way, we’ll find the castle—I think that’s where your Still Ruins lie.”
“You know, you could stand to add, ‘suitable guide’ to your references,” Dorian stated.
“Didn’t I?” Marnie asked. “I’m no stranger to escorting people through the wilds. Helpless people, at that.”
“We’re in good company, then,” Dorian said sarcastically, but not unkindly.
“ You don’t want to stay out here one more moment than you have to,” Marnie reminded him with a grin on her face. “I’m just saving time.”
“Thank you, Marnie,” Trevelyan said. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were leading me.”
Marnie flushed. “Oh—shall I leave it to you from now on?”
“Not until we’re out of here,” Dorian said, stepping past Trevelyan and walking in the direction she indicated earlier. As he passed Trevelyan, he stage-whispered, “ Don’t discourage her yet. I want to be heading back by tomorrow.”
“Fair enough,” Trevelyan nodded.
- ♡ -
With Marnie’s help, the Inquisition party made enough progress holding the area that Trevelyan felt satisfied enough to call it a day. They headed back to Skyhold the next morning. The trip was a long one, but the otherwise dull journey was livened up with frequent conversation, with a considerable amount of it involving their new recruits.
“So, Marnie, was it?” Dorian started.
“Yes?” she looked at him from where she slumped on the horse’s back. Gale was sitting side saddle behind her again, his arms around her waist and his head on her shoulder.
“Courbet’s an Orlesian name, isn’t it?” Dorian pressed.
“... And?” Her tone was less polite this time.
“It’s just something I noticed is all,” Dorian replied. “With things as they are, I thought you’d have a more Gransian surname like....”
“Goodfisher?”
“Seriously?” Dorian raised his eyebrows. He regretted it a moment later as he realized she was entirely sincere.
“That wouldn’t be Courbet as in the Orlesian trading company, would it?” Varric asked.
“Yes,” Marnie replied. “My father founded that company. He’s the only Orlesian to get within miles of Gransys, and he was well rewarded for it.”
“No shit,” Varric sounded pleasantly surprised. “He made a killing trading things from abroad. I knew he had a daughter, but... not a son.”
Marnie smiled a little too quickly. “He never mentioned it? Gale wasn’t ever apprenticed on the mainland as I was—perhaps that’s why.”
“Perhaps...”
“’Twas never easy getting out of there,” Marnie said. “He only came to our port. ‘Tis where the rest of my family’s from.”
“Cassardis,” Gale spoke up from behind her, still gazing at the ground in a disinterested fashion. “Where shore and sky and water meet. A keystone of worlds.”
Marnie put one hand over his and tilted her head a little. “You alright? You’ve been quiet today.”
Gale inhaled sharply and straightened, surprised he’d caused her worry. “I’m fine.”
“Besides,” Marnie returned her attention to the others. “The Brine’s been more and more lively over the last score years. Now foreign trades are so few and far between that there’s no point to them.”
“The Brine?” Iron Bull asked.
“Monsters in the water,” Marnie explained. “All you see is red pooling like blood, and then it takes you. ‘Twill consume vessels and people alike, anywhere the water’s too deep to stand.”
“That’s... creepy,” Iron Bull finally found a satisfactory word.
Gale looked at him for the first time, and Iron Bull took him in. The boy was vaguely sullen, but there was a cheerfulness in his expression, aloofness and... self-assuredness. He couldn’t have been much younger than Marnie, but something about him indicated otherwise. And his eyes were a shape and shade of honey brown eerily similar, if not identical, to Marnie’s. Otherwise, they looked nothing alike.
“’Tis the least of our worries,” his voice was impeccably eloquent, words woven like fine silk. He was obviously well-read for his upbringing. “At least one can avoid the Brine.”
Trevelyan sighed. “So Gransys is overrun with monsters too, huh?”
“We’re better off than we could be,” Marnie replied diplomatically.
“So, Gale,” Dorian interjected. “What was your upbringing like, with the magic and everything?”
“Er...” Gale blinked, then looked at Marnie for help. Dorian chuckled, but took it in his stride. Gale pressed his face against Marnie’s shoulder.
“Forgive him,” Marnie apologized. “He’s unused to strangers.”
“I didn’t mean to frighten him,” Dorian said. “I’m sure coming to Orlais was quite a change for you, what with the mage rebellion, and the Towers. It can’t be easy coming here with a mage in tow.”
“Yes,” Marnie nodded. “I was worried about keeping him close to me. ‘Tis part of why I insist we stay together.”
“I only wished to compliment his work,” Dorian continued. “He’s young to be so magically apt.”
Gale chuckled exactly as Dorian had. Marnie elbowed his other side where others hopefully couldn’t see. Gale straightened and looked at Dorian.
“What do you mean?” Gale asked. “You’re a mage, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Dorian preened. “Although I grew up in Tevinter. Those with magical talents are bred and groomed into power. Unlike in the lands to the south, where mages are kept in Towers and controlled until they come of age. Even then, they’re treated like criminals. I wanted to know how things compared in Gransys.”
“Well...” Gale spoke. “Magical talent is rare, but considering how few people there are in Gransys, it may be proportional. They’re trained by religious orders, or they’re self-taught. Marnie’s cousin Quina is currently in training, but she’s the only other mage I know of, personally.”
“ Marnie’s cousin?” Iron Bull asked.
“ Our cousin?” Gale mimicked his tone. “ Maker .”
Marnie laughed. “Coming here was a shock in that regard. There’s so many people here as well. ‘Tis overwhelming.”
“You’ll be fine,” Varric reassured her. “You’re with the Inquisition. Most people won’t bother us, and those that do usually have another thing coming in the form of brute force, social manipulation, or occasional assassination. If you ever have any problems, talk to our diplomatic adviser. She can work miracles.”
“I appreciate that.”
Marnie felt Gale’s hand squeeze her sleeve, and a question press against her mind.
“How much further is it?” she asked. They’d been traveling for days already.
“We still have quite a ways to go,” Trevelyan admitted. “You made it pretty far from Val Royeaux. That’s just over halfway to Skyhold from the Western Approach.”
Marnie grimaced. She’d hoped she’d get to sleep in a real bed by now.
“What brought you two out to the middle of nowhere anyhow?” Iron Bull asked.
“Oh, we were looking for sand,” Marnie replied.
“Sand?”
“Mm-hmm,” Marnie nodded.
- ♡ -
The days leading up to their return to Skyhold carried on like that. When they finally arrived to Skyhold, it was late in the evening. The Inquisitor had sent a runner ahead of them to confirm Marnie and Gale’s recruitment, so accommodations were already made up for them. Marnie left Serafina in the capable hands of their stablemaster and wasn’t seen again once someone showed her to her room. Due to the state of the castle and the unexpected extra person, only one room was set aside for the two of them to share. Trevelyan assured Marnie that the arrangement was temporary and that she’d get her own room as soon as resources allowed, but Marnie fervently refused the offer. She preferred sharing a room with Gale anyway. Any offers of bringing in another bed, regardless of the trouble or lack thereof, were similarly dismissed. The room was perfect as-is.
The room itself was a spacious stone room in the main dormitories of the castle. With a fireplace, queen sized four-poster bed, and a window seat cradled in a tall dome of diamond-framed glass, the room was big enough to house both of them. Marnie didn’t even think she’d stayed somewhere this nice since leaving her hometown. A tour would have to wait until the morning, for once Marnie and Gale settled in their room, Marnie was too exhausted to do anything but change into clean clothes and flop into the queen-sized mattress alone. She dozed off while Gale tucked her in properly and settled in a chair by the bed, a place that would act as his post for the night.