Chapter Text
The evening sun beat down on the back of her aching shoulders, the heat seeping into her sweat and blood-covered skin unpleasantly as she trudged the final stretch of distance into the Crossroads. Not even the breeze helped to soothe the deep muscle burn wracking Tav’s exhausted being.
Attempting to wipe the sweat from her brow does little but further smear blood and grime over her dirty face. Glancing down at her sleeve, she grimaces, covered in viscera as it was, the fabric was unsalvageable. The third in less than two weeks.
Bone-tired and feeling on the verge of collapse, Tav took a few seconds to drain the last of her water, greedily gulping down the liquid to quench the dryness that had taken up residence in her throat. As much as she wished to do nothing more than collapse and sleep for at least a month, people were relying on her.
Food was scarce, and with more refugees flooding the Crossroads by the day, keeping them all fed was becoming downright impossible. The Mage-Templar conflict had ramped up all over Thedas following the disastrous end to Divine Justinia’s Conclave, and the Fereldan Hinterlands especially had been thrown into full-blown chaos.
The once lush and sprawling hillsides had been transformed into a battleground. Blood soaked the earth, buildings burned, and stray magic razed what was likely once a peaceful environment. The worst was the corpses that littered the region, many burnt beyond recognition or left to rot at the hands of paranoid Templars as the displaced refugees were forced to flee their homes for fear of joining the ever-growing numbers of the dead.
Tavara was hardly a stranger to death. She’d seen it in droves over the course of her years on the seas and had been the cause of many a life’s end herself. Even more so since the Absolute cult’s rise to power, but there was something about the mindless violence ravaging the land that caused her great sorrow.
There was no secret entity pulling the strings from behind the curtains or godly chosen intent on world domination. Just the sheer depravity of people drunk on power and hatred, determined to hurt everyone and everything around them.
A sudden pang of hunger gnawing at her gut prompts Tav into movement once more. Wiping the sweat from her hands, she stands with a groan, stretching her arms upwards until her spine pops. Grasping the net filled with the day’s bounty, she resumes her trek back towards the Crossroads.
Hunting wasn’t normally within her purview of skills, especially when most of her magic tended to fry or freeze most living things beyond recognition or use. However, navigating the deadly onslaught of the rebel mages and templars was. Catching a few fish and the occasional ram had become more of a by-product of clearing out the various threats to the inhabitants of the region.
Traversing the Hinterlands alone was a damn near death sentence even before the sky had split and started spitting out demons in droves.
At least so she’d heard.
But Tav refused to sit back and let the displaced people of the Crossroad’s starve. Especially not when they’d taken her in. Had nursed her back to health, clothed her, and provided shelter when they had so little to spare.
Getting her hands dirty with the blood of mages and templars alike was the least she could do.
Tav feels the magic crackling through the air and reverberating through the earth before she sees the battle. The taste of lightning tickles her tongue as the burning scent of ozone permeates her senses; the clang of metal and the roar of conflict wash over her as she crests the final hill leading to the Crossroads.
Between one second and the next, Tav dropped her haul, drew her dual scimitars and launched herself into the fray. She quickly lets herself fall into the familiar steps, the ebb and flow of a dance she’d long since perfected the routine for. Her blades slide through armour and flesh alike as she spins between opponents, darting in and out of reach from the increasingly furious templars and mages.
A crack of lightning collides with her back, the force interrupting her next step and forcing her to duck and roll under the swing of a templar’s sword that would have decapitated anyone just a second slower. Whirling around, she quickly locates the culprit, a stunned mage staring at her in disbelief at her lack of crispiness.
Teeth bared in a feral imitation of a grin, Tav stows one of her blades. They’re cordoned off from the rest of the fight, the mage having backed up behind a building and out of most people’s sight, an otherwise sound tactical call, if Tav hadn’t been around.
Calling forth the roiling storm of crackling magic beneath her skin, sparkling blue static forms in her free hand, elongating into a whip that curls around the terrified mage’s bicep. The agonised scream he lets out is abruptly cut short, morphing into a deathly gurgle as Tav yanks him forward and onto the tip of her awaiting scimitar.
Planting a foot on the dying man’s chest, she slid her blade free before nearly immediately burying it into the neck of a templar who’d attempted to take advantage of her turned back. With a huff, she attempts to blow some of the hair that had fallen from her braid out of her eyes whilst quickly scanning the battlefield for her next target.
The enemy numbers had thinned considerably, and it was then that Tav noticed the newcomers. While she wasn’t on a first-name basis with the ever-increasing number of inhabitants flocking to the area they deemed safest in the Hinterlands, it was evident the group weren’t refugees.
They all wore well-crafted armour, tailored to their respective bodies and not just a mish-mash of ill-fitting pieces plucked from available corpses, and their weapons were of high quality too. Nor did they possess the downtrodden countenance or desperation typical of people forcibly displaced from their homes.
The elven mage perhaps looked the part at least, but even mid-battle as he was, Tav could tell he carried himself with a confidence she’d yet to see from any Thedosian elves.
A blade aimed towards the unguarded back of the human rogue has Tav flashing into a misty step. Whether it's the surprised shout of the templar or the sudden thrum of magic at his back that grabs the man’s attention, he turns just in time to witness her cut down his would-be killer.
Shocked cinnamon eyes bore into lime green as the battle surrounding them died down. It’s not his eyes that catch her focus for long; however, it’s the pulsating, roiling mass of magic attached to his hand. Instinctively, she recoils, drawing her magic close, coiling it beneath her skin and away from the hungry void.
He opens his mouth, presumably to speak, but is interrupted by the shout of “Herald!”
It’s the severe-looking warrior woman, who moves with a speed that’s frankly impressive for one so heavily armoured. Narrowed eyes frantically assessed the newly identified Herald for any sign of injury, and Tav takes the time to assess her in turn. Up close, she was even more impressive. High cheekbones and an angular jawbone create a regal beauty. The scar bisecting her cheek did little to diminish her loveliness; in Tav’s professional opinion, it only added to it.
“Calm yourself, Cassandra. I remain perfectly intact, thanks in part to our new friend here.” The Herald turned towards Tav with an expectant look on his handsome face.
“Tavara.” She offers, attempting to wipe the blood from her blades, ultimately giving up and casting a quick prestidigitation when she only succeeds in smearing the blood around.
“I’ve never seen someone cast like that before.” Cassandra eyed her with suspicion, then again, Tav got the impression the woman’s face was often stuck like that.
“I’m not surprised, given what I’ve heard of your circles.” The look of mistrust deepens.
“You—”
“Seeker Cassandra!”
Tav’s saved from whatever scathing interrogation the fierce woman was preparing to dish out by the arrival of Corporal Vale. Deciding it was time for a prompt tactical retreat, Tav turned and darted back towards her haul of the day.
Logically, Maxwell Trevelyan had known the Hinterlands were a mess of chaos and violence. You could barely take a step without stumbling across some battle or tripping over a corpse.
He’d been thoroughly briefed by the Inquisition’s advisors, and again on the road by Cassandra, and he thought he’d been prepared. But hearing and seeing, as he was quickly learning, were two vastly different things.
There were no words to describe the sheer, visceral terror of being thrown into battle after battle with neither side willing to listen to reason. Of having magic thrown violently every which way, every step dogged by a rogue blade, shield, or axe aiming to kill indiscriminately.
No report could express the depravity of witnessing the corpses littering the roads, the bodies of children mangled beyond recognition. People were left to rot, alone and forgotten, nothing more than food for the wild animals.
The Crossroads brought a new wave of despair; the refugees were barely hanging on by a thread. The living conditions were abominable, and the sick and dying occupied cots and tents almost as far as the eye could see.
Mother Giselle had been doing her best to help, but she was just one woman struggling against the overwhelming tide. They were running out of food, clothes and other supplies. People were cold, hungry and dying every day, and they’d continue to do so unless they, unless he helped.
By the time the sun set, he’d compiled what felt like an entire book’s worth of tasks to be completed, and the future seemed bleaker than ever. The knot of agony that had settled in his chest when he first laid eyes upon the breach grew heavier with every waking moment until Max felt it threaten to suffocate him.
The mark on his hand flared to life, crackling as if in response to his inner turmoil, mocking him.
Herald of Andraste, they called him, reverent whispers and awed looks following him wherever he went. It grated, his skin prickling in discomfort with every stare focused on his being.
He wished they’d stop. He wished it would all stop. He wished—
A bowl of food is suddenly thrust in front of his face, cutting through his self-flagellation, “Cassandra, I don’t—you’re not Cassandra.” He trails off dumbly, cheeks flushing when the woman from before, Tavara, he recalled, smiles in amusement.
“What gave me away? Was it my gorgeous flowing locks? Or perhaps it was the lack of scowl that seems to be painted on her face.” Her lips turned downward in a surprisingly accurate rendition of Cassandra’s resting face.
Despite himself, Maxwell laughs, chest already feeling a little lighter in her presence. “Now, are you going to take this bowl or am I gonna have to feed you myself?”
Ducking his head, he takes the bowl with quiet thanks. She stares for a few seconds, waiting until he takes a tentative bite before spinning on her heel.
“Wait!” He’s reaching out to grasp a wrist before he can think better of it, flushing once more when she simply stares at him with a raised brow before her gaze drops to the wrist he’s still holding. “Right, sorry about that, just—I was wondering if you’d like to sit. Please.” He tacks on lamely.
Slumping on the log beside him, she stretches her legs out, crossing them at the ankle as she turns to face him. “Do I get a name then?”
A name? Had he not— “Ah!, Maxwell Trevelyan, call me Max. Forgive me, I’m not usually so…” he trailed off, waving a hand vaguely through the air.
“Awkward?”
“Yes.” He admits, blush extending to the tips of his ears.
“It’s for the better, actually. In my experience, you can never trust a man who never falters in his charm; they’ve usually got something to hide.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“Perhaps, but not one we’ll visit tonight.”
“Ah, but you’re saying there’s a chance in the future?” He nudges her shoulder, grinning when she rolls her eyes.
“Shut up and eat your stew, Herald.”
“Oh, not you too!” He moans and is momentarily taken aback when Tavara smiles before breaking into a peal of laughter.
“Ok, Maxwell.”
“Max, please. Just, Max.”
“Alright, just Max, call me Tav, yeah?”
“Tav.” He breathes, as if testing it out on his tongue. “Pleasure to meet you, Tav.”
“Likewise, Max, even if the circumstances are pretty grim.” The abrupt reminder of where they are, the last week he’s experienced, has his grin disappearing, stomach turning as he places the nearly empty bowl on the ground.
“You were out hunting earlier, for the refugees?”
“Someone’s gotta do it.” She hums, tilting her head as she waits for him to finish whatever trail his thoughts have taken.
“And that someone’s you? You’re not from around here; you could leave anytime you wanted, get away from this mess.”
“I could.” She acknowledges, and it's his turn to wait as she contemplates her next words. “Truthfully, I’m far from the most honourable person. There was a time I’d just as easily rob you blind as lend a helping hand. But… the people of the Crossroads took me in, nursed me back to health when they didn’t have the supplies to spare. I owe these people a life debt, and I’ll see it repaid.”
She doesn’t wait to see his reaction, instead glancing up at the unfamiliar night sky in the futile hopes she’ll recognise at least one of the stars this time.
Max swallows her words, letting them sit for a while before he shrugs. “I don’t know, sounds pretty honourable to me.”
“Must be getting soft then.” She murmurs, glancing at the stars a little longer before it starts to hurt too much and turns back to focus on him.
“You must know the Hinterlands pretty well then.”
“Yes?” Tav hesitates, wary at the sudden switch in conversation.
“And you handle yourself pretty well in a fight…”
“Just ask what you so desperately want to.” She sighs, waiting for the inevitable.
“Join me—us, the inquisition that is. We could really use someone with your talents.”
“You barely know me. What if I’m secretly some evil cult leader intent on world domination?” Max blinks, nose scrunching a little at the example before laughing.
“Sure, but I’d like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character.” Averting her gaze, Tav weighs her options as she runs a hand down her face. Staying at the Crossroads wasn’t exactly a long-term option, and though the Inquisition was in its infancy, with it came resources and reach. Not to mention Max still staring intently at the side of her face.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“I mean, I’m not going to force you, but—”
“Fine, but I’ll need to sort out a few things here first, and you need to talk with the Seeker first. I don’t want to be skewered by your bodyguard.”
“She’s not my—Fine.” He acquiesces, holding his palms up when Tav shoots him an unimpressed stare. “You won’t regret this! I promise!”
“Well, that remains to be seen, I guess.” Standing, she wipes the dirt from her hands on her, admittedly, equally dirty trousers, ruffling Max’s hair and relishing in the squawk he lets out as she strolls away. “That remains to be seen.”