Chapter Text
Even frazzled and dizzy and reeling from the pain the Mark caused her, Amarina kept her composure. When the mark ripped through her again in front of Solas, Varric, Cassandra, Leliana and Chancellor Rodrick, she kept her feet, taking several deep breathes. But she did not cry out, no awkward sounds or faint whimpers. She looked down at the Mark as if it had personally offended her.
Cassandra looked at Leliana. “Take our soldiers into the valley.”
“On your head be the consequences, Seeker.”
Cassandra looked away with great dignity. But Amarina Trevelyan had finally heard enough.
“My lord,” Amarina said, lifting her chin, as the burning numbness crept up her arm again. “Lady Pentaghast is doing everything she can to save the people here, including yourself. This rudeness is unnecessary and unbecoming of a Chantry servant when Lady Pentaghast and Lady Leliana were the Left and Right hands of the Divine. While you would do nothing, Lord Chancellor, they would act.” And she turned smartly to stride after the Seeker.
Rodrick looked stunned for a moment and then scowled.
Varric chuckled to himself as he followed.
Amarina was the second daughter of Lord Trevelyan of Ostwick. The fifth child and the youngest. Classically trained in violin, lute, harpsichord and dance, she was made to be a lady. By three, she was eager to please and her hero was her eldest brother, Ethan. She would rather read than fight, discuss philosophy over politics and paint over camping—but she was also raised not to complain. If she must express her disapproval of any situation, she was to handle herself with poise. Always.
She took to it with determination. Of her three brothers and elder sister, they had all been successful and clever. As the youngest, nothing she could do would ever surpass anything they had done but she also could never do less. Currently filthy, covered in sweat, blood and grime, she’d been spoken to very rudely by several people and she was considerably frightened by the demons. She was no mage and while the elven apostate, Master Solas, seemed strangely calm about everything, she could not reflect that level of control just now. So she tried to keep herself quiet so as not to betray her fear.
She opened her palm to the rift and hoped her will would do the rest.
The others watched the rift pulse and then the human was slammed back into one of the remaining walls. Her body curled up and then went limp as she fell unconscious. Cassandra raced over to her, gently rolling the woman onto her back.
“Is she alive?” Leliana asked.
“Yes, barely. We should get her back to Haven. Solas?”
The elf was gazing up at the rift. “It is no longer growing. She seems to have stopped that, at least.”
Cassandra scooped up the noble. “Get a horse, if we have one.”
She carried the young lady back to the forward camp, maneuvering her carefully when they had to climb ladders. Cullen met them at the camp, where he took a turn carrying the woman. He mounted a horse, perching her carefully in front of him.
She didn’t wake up for four days.
Josephine was very pleased with this Herald of Andraste. It would be a dream to sell her to the nobles. She had beautiful fire red hair, green eyes and fair skin. She was willowy and slender and graceful. From the report she read from Leliana, she had extensive knowledge about noble families and had attended school in Orlais for a time. Josephine could hardly believe her luck.
And if her research into her siblings had any truth, they all appeared to have impeccable reputations. Amarina, Ian, Joanna and Ethan Trevelyan had all attended to their schooling in Val Royeaux. The third eldest child, James, had opted instead for Antiva City! Strangely, Amarina appeared to be the only one who had not completed all her requirements. A curious decision from her parents, apparently. The reasoning for it had not been noted in her file from the finishing school she had attended. Though it had been around the start of the Fifth Blight—so that was likely the reason.
When she met the young lady, she was not disappointed. Though she had apparently just awakened after her ordeal at the Breach, she had cleaned herself up, arranged her hair in heavy coil of braid, pinned to her head and dressed in her clothes only after having scrubbed each piece down. She held herself straight-backed, seeming to unconsciously press her fingertips together like Orlesians did, while Cassandra introduced Josephine and Cullen.
The young noble inclined her head to each of them politely. To Lady Pentaghast and Lady Leliana. Cullen didn’t seem to know what to do when she referred to him as Lord Commander. And to Josephine herself, she was Lady Ambassador. The Herald did not break face or composure during the conversation, though if her eyes seemed more hollow, it was hardly unexpected. Thousands of people had died, her own parents and eldest brother among them.
When Amarina left them, Leliana looked at the other three. “What do you think?”
Josephine smiled. “She will be a dream to sell to the nobles. The only problem is that she didn’t complete finishing school in Val Royeaux. I wonder why she left.”
“According to my notes, she may have had some scandalous dealings with an older man. But not all my agents have reported back.”
Cassandra and Cullen both rolled their eyes a little.
“I wonder if she has any skill at the Game,” Josephine pondered aloud but looked to Leliana.
“She must? Or at least be acquainted with it, if she stayed for any length of time in Val Royeaux.”
“Okay, I’m going back to my recruits,” Cullen said, waving a little and walking out.
Cassandra grunted and followed him.
Josephine scribbled down a few notes, still smiling. “I think she will be excellent—at least where the nobles are concerned. Did you see—she even cleaned up the armor we gave her to wear.”
“She couldn’t appear disheveled in front of us. That’s good. Attention to detail.” Leliana beamed.
“She seems….a little shy though?”
“Yes, I believe she enjoyed reading rather than combat.”
“This is going to be much easier than I thought!”
“All right, uh, Lady Trevelyan. You’re going to have to learn to defend yourself. Were you…given any combat training at all?” Cullen asked her carefully.
“Yes, Lord Commander, I was. I trained with a saber and dagger.”
“Are you proficient, my lady?”
She opened her mouth and then hesitated. “Well,” she said finally, “I…” And then she sighed. “I’m not sure, Lord Commander. I never took to it very well. However, given the circumstances, I am absolutely willing to continue learning.”
Cullen nodded a little. “I see. Then, I will pair you up with one of our instructors. Leliana indicated that you were, at one point, a dancer?”
“Yes, Lord Commander.” She brightened a little. “I excelled at Orlesian ballet and the school of Lord Stephano Felott—which was a style mostly reminiscent of the flamenco artform of Antiva.”
“Oh, well.” Cullen looked down at his notes and cleared his throat. “I….have to admit….um. I’m sorry, my lady—I don’t know what that means in regards to…which musculature groups you have strengthened via….dance.”
“Oh!” Her hand touched her chest. “I’m so sorry, Lord Commander. I didn’t think. I apologize, sincerely. Ballet focuses primarily on muscle control of the legs and abdominal area; the core, if you will. Flamenco is a little more, um, exuberant. But again, the focus is on muscle control—though it uses the whole body, it’s quicker and tends to be stylistic and sensual.”
Cullen floundered for a moment. “All right,” he managed. “Um. All right. So you’ve built up a lot of strength mostly in your…ahem…lower half. Uh—so I would like to have you try a few different kinds of weapons, if you are amiable, my lady. We can get you a one-sided blade, a saber or cutlass and daggers as well. But I would like to have you try a pole-arm because they require a great deal of abdominal control. As well as a bow, to build up the strength in your arms. Not that you don’t have it, um, my lady. But just as a…uh….uh. Precaution.”
“Of course, Lord Commander.”
Cullen chuckled a little. “Um, my lady, I have no title outside the Inquisition—you do not have to call me ‘Lord Commander’.”
Amarina smiled gently at him. “Oh, I was not aware. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, ser. It was only that, you have shown such chivalry and kindness through this entire ordeal, despite it being likely much harder on all of you than this is on me. However, of course, if it does bother you—I can switch to whatever you might prefer? Ser Rutherford, perhaps? Or Ser Cullen?”
“I’m not a knight any longer.”
“You seem one to me, ser,” she said gently.
Cullen stared at her for a moment and then awkwardly scratched his hair. “Well, I—Ser Cullen will be just fine. Will suffice. My lady.”
“Of course, Ser Cullen,” she said politely, folding her hands over each other in her lap.
“Uh, good then. I will make the arrangements today and you can begin tomorrow, if you like?”
“I would love to. Thank you so much for your assistance. You have shown such integrity and fortitude. You have my utmost respect, Ser Cullen.”
“I. Well. Thank you. Or, I mean. You’re welcome. Well—that’s all I needed. So if you’ve other matters to attend, please feel free to take your leave.”
“Ah, yes, Ser. I was advised to seek out the blacksmith, Master Harritt.” She stood up from her chair in the makeshift war room. Cullen stood up as well. She inclined her head to Cullen in a respectful nod. “Until tomorrow, Ser Cullen.” And she turned and left the room.
Cullen took a deep breath and sunk into his chair again. He rubbed his temple until the door opened and Leliana and Josephine came through.
“Commander,” Leliana said, smirking. “I heard you had a meeting with Lady Herald.”
Cullen sighed, blinking at the table. “I…I’m not sure I’m the right person to be dealing with her.”
“You’re the commander. Surely she didn’t disrespect you?” Josephine inquired, sitting down across from him.
“No, not at all. She’s just very….I can’t tell what she’s thinking. It’s all….odd.”
“She would make a good bard if we could get her to pick up a weapon.”
“Well, that’s accomplished at least. I’m setting her up with Master Alma and Master Harker tomorrow morning to begin seeing what her strengths would lend to her. She must learn to defend herself competently.”
“Did she tell you she was a dancing student of Stephano Felott?” Leliana asked.
Josephine’s eyes lit up. “Really! What styles?”
“Uh,” Cullen looked through his notes. “She told me she was….that she excelled in…Orlesian ballet?” He shrugged a little. “And she also studied with…yeah, Stepheno Felott—who was…some kind of flamco Antiva—“
“Flamenco,” Josephine corrected. “She studied with Stepheno Felott? And she studied Orlesian ballet. Ah! I have letters to write.” Josephine beamed as she headed out eagerly.
“I think she’s the most excited out of anyone,” Leliana said, sitting in the seat Josephine had abandoned. “Does something trouble you about her? The Herald, I mean?”
Cullen shrugged a little. “She’s just…she’s just so carefully composed. It’s sort of creepy.”
Leliana laughed. “I rather get the feeling that she was aware of the Game but didn’t play. So she learned to school her expressions but did not necessarily understand the ebb and flow of power in words. Which is for the best really when one is surrounded by players and wants simply to get by unnoticed. She doesn’t seem to have the ruthlessness the Game requires.”
“Thank the Maker for that,” Cullen said. “I just don’t know what to do with her. I admit, I was sort of expecting someone like you or Cassandra. Not Josephine.”
“Oh, but Josie is so excited.”
Cullen paged through his notes again. “What is Flamenco?”
Leliana laughed again. "When you get brave enough, ask the Herald for a demonstration."
Master Elizabetha Alma was one of the finest pike commanders Ferelden had to offer. Master Harker was an Antivan swordsman. He professed to be the first Fire Sword and champion duelist of Antiva City.
He bowed to her over his arm. “My lady Herald. They tell me you have studied under Stephano Felott? Impressive. So you have respect for Antivan art.”
She dipped a small curtsy. “I am humbled to say, Master Harker, that I did indeed study under Stephano Felott. Maker guide his steps.”
“I knew him, a phenomenal man. His style is very compatible with Antivan Fire Dancing. So we shall begin there. Show me your saber.”
She unsheathed it. It was a beautifully curved blade. “It was my elder brother’s sword.”
“Superb craftsmanship,” said Harker, running fingers through his wavy dark hair. “Did your elder brother study Antivan swordsmanship?”
“No, he did not. He was primarily Marcher-taught. Though he was very skilled.” She glanced down at it a little, touching the leather-wrapped hilt.
“Was?”
“Oh, I apologize, Master Harker. He was at the Conclave.”
Harker saw her eyes become far away as she retreated, pulling up the mask of poise instead.
“I see. I’m sorry for your loss, My Lady. Let us get started.” He brought out two wooden practice blades.
She took it. Her hold was shaky but her stance was solid. Antivan Fire Dancing was about speed, pinpoint accuracy and precision strikes to vital spots. One always kept on their toes, like a flickering flame. And he was right, her study of dance lent her an advantage to balance and strength.
She still didn’t really enjoy being sweaty and grimy but there was a certain satisfaction after a hard day’s work. As she felt when learning to ride horses Ferelden-style or a successful memorization and performance of Duchess Pearl Cartier’s notoriously difficult Magnifique Jardin D'hiver (which had taken her two weeks of intense study to master on the harpsichord).
She was covered in bruises and sweat after the day’s lesson and she had to go see Master Alma immediately after. That woman was Ferelden through and through and got right down to business. The woman sniffed at her a little but kept her opinions quiet, to which Amarina was grateful. She still felt frazzled inside and keeping up the composed mask was starting to become difficult.
By the time she was released, it was nearly night. She staggered back to her little room, shutting the door behind her. She put down her brother’s sword and sat down on the bed. She took a deep, shuddering breath and glanced up. The window allowed her an unhindered view of the Breach.
She bowed her head and, as quietly as possible, sobbed.
Master Tethras was a delight. He was very funny and when she told him that she had read Hard in Hightown, he offered to sign them on the spot as soon as she got new copies (she’d brought hers to the Conclave, so they were dust now).
“Thank you so much, Master Tethras. I don’t mean to be a bother. I know you must get all kinds of attention when you might simply wish to be left alone.”
“Eh, I don’t mind, Firefly.”
“Firefly? Is that the nickname you’ve chosen for me?”
“Is that okay?”
“Of course, Master Tethras. I take it as a compliment that you’ve given me one. All of your friends in A Tale of the Champion had one.”
Varric laughed. “Now that is a standard that I like.”
“You are utterly charming, Master Tethras. Ladies must stand no chance against you.”
“My heart was won by only one. And when one has won, one is done.”
“Ah, is that the mysterious Bianca?”
Varric grinned and winked. “Could be. Who knows?”
The kindly Master Tethras, intense Lady Pentaghast and scholarly Master Solas all accompanied her to Val Royeaux. Cassandra continued her training on the road. Cassandra was more like Master Alma, brute power. Every night, Amarina found herself bruised and battered. Every morning, she woke exhausted. Though she couldn’t be sure if that was the training or just the events at the Conclave weighing on her. She’d started dreaming of her eldest brother, Ethan. He’d been the only one who hadn’t disparaged her when she’d had to leave Val Royeaux. He was broad-shouldered and handsome, on his way to becoming a full chevalier. His was the death that truly hurt.
But if she might learn to wield his sword properly, perhaps she might continue on in his memory. So when she was hurting from training, she tried to remember him.
At their camp, she slipped off into the dark to a small stream. She sat by the river, cleaning up. She found herself rocking back and forth quietly. The movement was somehow soothing.
A soft crunch of wet leaves heralded Solas’ approach. It was still nearly silent from his bare feet but she got the feeling he had made a sound on purpose. She looked up at him and stood. “Master Solas,” she greeted.
He inclined his noble head to her. “Varric asked me to check on you. Are you all right?”
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry, Master Solas. I was merely taking a few moments to myself.”
“I apologize for disturbing you, Lady Trevelyan.”
“It is no matter. You are welcome company, Master Solas.”
“Did you know many elves before now?”
“My family employed a few and a few of my instructors were elves. They have an ear for music that I could only dream of having. They are so graceful and fast, yet—their lithe forms belie their strength.”
“It’s not often I hear human nobles express admiration for elves.”
“Yes, my mother and father disapproved of…how I treated our elven servants. But when I went to Val Royeaux, one of them came with me. She was a true friend while I was there.”
“Did you participate in their Great Game?”
“I learned of it and I…attempted to study it. I know the theoretical steps but I never truly excelled, I don’t think. I was young and there were other distractions, as one might find in such a city. The royal capital was…a dream for me at first. So much art and history and their libraries were the biggest I’d ever seen.”
Solas smiled a little. “Yet, you say ‘at first’. Did that end?”
“Rather abruptly, I’m afraid, Master Solas. My father called me back to Ostwick after we had word that a Blight was starting in southern Ferelden. I finished my work with tutors.”
“You must have been sad to leave.”
The tiniest flicker went through her eyes. It wasn’t even half a second. That Solas saw it at all was only because of the full moon and her lantern.
But whatever it was, nothing else in her expression changed and she merely nodded. “Indeed. But—it was for the best.”
He peered at her and she clearly felt it because he saw how her eyes seemed to empty of all emotion. She was still smiling gently but all the emotion was gone. It was like looking at a statue. He nodded politely. “I’m sorry for your loss. I heard that your parents and your eldest brother perished at the Conclave.”
“Yes, they did. A great loss—my eldest brother was truly a good man. Now my elder sister will take over the family. Josephine has contacted her, I believe.”
“Do you believe she will assist us?”
“I cannot be sure, in all honesty, Master Solas. She was rather headstrong and preferred to travel instead of deal in politics. She may pass it on to one of my remaining two brothers. She’s very fierce. Admirable in some ways, and very difficult in others.”
“But…you’re her sister.”
“We’ve not always gotten along,” Amarina said, a little more delicately. “Well, perhaps we might return to the others?” She turned away from him, picking up her cloak and sword to head back to the fire.
Solas watched her as she walked away. He could sense a faint trembling through her. She was holding onto her continued composure by a thread. Speaking of her siblings seemed to make the trembling more pronounced, settling slowly as she walked back to the camp.
She volunteered to take the first watch. She wasn’t much use in a fight just yet—but she could at least, allow her companions to get some real rest. She would do what she could.
So she sat by the fire, looking around every few moments from her book. It was called The Foxglove and the Manor of Bold Horses, a mystery story about a thief living a double life in Halamshiral. Eventually, she found she could no longer focus on it. Before, she had loved such stories but now…it just seemed grey and pointless. Still, she respectfully marked her page and put it in her bag. Perhaps in Val Royeaux she could find some books about astronomy. That might be useful for mapmaking or finding direction in the dark?
She glanced up as a slight creak of leather. Varric got up, pulling some tobacco and a pipe from his satchel. He wandered over to the fire. “You were supposed to wake me an hour ago, Firefly.”
“I’m afraid I’m…not very good at perceiving time of night, Master Tethras. I don’t know how fast the moon moves by the hour. And you all have been doing so much, I thought you could use some extra rest.”
“You’ll learn,” Varric said, kindly. “Now that those two are asleep….I’ve been meaning to ask: how are you holding up?”
Her throat closed up and the trembling inside of her intensified again. She looked at the fire, struggling to get it under control. Such a simple question, asked with sincerity—was that truly all it took to have the seams of her control ready to unravel? “I…”
Varric lit his pipe, watching her carefully. He watched her swallow very hard.
She glanced at him, seeing how he was still observing her. “I’m sorry. I’m…a bit…” She swallowed a rough breath. “I’m not…myself.” Her eyes were welling up and she looked away, stubbornly attempting to keep her mask.
“Firefly, you’ve been through a lot.”
She took a sharp breath, feeling it crack and break apart. She fought back a dry sob and swiftly covered her mouth and nose with her hand.
“It’s all right, Firefly.” Varric gently touched her shoulder.
Amarina bowed her head, shaking with effort to keep her hitched sobs silent.
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