Halam'shivanas

Prologue:

The mouth of the pit was wide and the Tevinter ruin that towered above it had crumbled away in spots. The rushing howl of wind filled the cavernous opening to this lair, like a lonely wolf on a moonless night. The solid stone rose high above her as she stepped forward, as bared-faced and determined as the rocks around her. She was alone, and she needed this. This was her decision; she felt it in her very blood as the ground shook with each breath the dragon took.

His shoulders slumped. She watch him fumble with the pieces, a child with a broken toy. There was such an intense loss on his face that she'd felt her heart clench and shatter for him, despite the pain anger for which she had him to blame. There was relief too, relief that he was alive, that any of her friends were alive, but especially him. The Breach was gone, the sky healed, but for a scar. And yet here Solas sat before her as though they'd lost the battle.

'I'm sorry,' she had said, for she sensed the importance of this artifact, though she had no way of knowing why it grieved him so to have lost it, 'I know you wanted to recover it whole,' And when he did not turn she grasped for something to make him feel better, 'perhaps we could repair it.' She stopped herself from reaching out, though her body trembled in staying her hand. Then he did turn and his face bore the blank palour of regret.

The dragon shifted in its sleep. Hot breath billowed from the dragon's nostrils and the pit filled with the steam of melting ice. It seemed to thaw her heart as well, allowing her frustration, her pain to fill her. She shoved it away, cool, icy discipline taking her. It was the only way. She raised her right hand to the sword, Halam'shivanas, slung across her back.

"The sweet sacrifice of duty" a name that seemed all too appropriate for what she'd given up in the last year. Her clan was gone, her family taken, people had given their lives in service to her. She'd given up her freedoms, taken the weight of Thedas on her tiny shoulders, given everything so that the world wouldn't be swallowed up by the crazed dreams of an immortal man who'd brought more pain to the world than any other. Yet the greatest sacrifice she'd made, was not one she had noticed. It had been slow to capture her and until he was gone, she had not realised the transformation. It had stalked her through each step she took, spread its jaws to trip her as she drifted into love, and finally tore into her with its shining ivory teeth when her vallaslin were gone. In all her careful pride, Enya had forsaken her Dalish heritage, for though she still felt a great connection to it, she knew that no elf would recognize her birthright now.

'It is beyond repair,' he had replied and she saw the flicker of pain, hopelessness in his eyes. She had known it, grasped for anything to give him hope, but he bore that absent, troubled expression she could only find in the corners of his eyes. In that moment, he seemed so incredibly old. She had nodded her acceptance of this simple fact and made her way toward the steps to join her comrades, hoping he would follow, knowing he wouldn't. 'I want you to know that what we had was real.' She'd sucked in a breath and turned to him, her eyes as green as the Breach had been. met his, as stormy as the healed sky had become. It was a small moment, one that lasted an eternity, and then she turned away, biting back tears to savour her victory. Even if it didn't feel like one.

Enya drew her elvhen greatsword, and wielded it with one hand. Her eyes danced in the mist from the dragon's breath, even as she reached deep within herself to listen to the voices of the Vir'abellasan. They whispered to her, in clear lilting phrases, for the longer she heard them, the stronger they became, the stronger she became. To attack this dragon in its sleep would be low and thoughtless, lacking honour. She focused her will, directing the elements that roiled inside her to cut free an icicle. It fell behind the gentle curve of the dragoness' wing and she awoke with a spine-chilling roar.

It had come as a surprise to Enya when, a fortnight past the defeat of Corypheus, her dreams had grown cold and twisted and she found herself deep in the Fade. She had awoken to the voices of The Well and found herself shivering in sheets of ice. Enya had told no one, convinced herself that this episode was but a strange happenstance and fell back into sleep. But it was not an isolated incident.

The dragon's roar ended in a scalding stream of fire that sizzled past the delicate taper of Enya's ear as she danced forward and to the side, erecting a wall of ice before her. She wended her way around the dragoness' Faded magic, staring at the emerald glow of her eyes as she sunk Halam'shivanas into her flank.

Enya told no one at first, choosing to keep her strange dreams and creations to herself. It seemed that a fitful and touched mind might be at fault, for she'd never heard of magic awakening in someone past their sixteenth winter. Still, it persisted and she allowed the gentle, caring voices of Mythal's ancient priests to hone her quickly into proficiency, yet they offered no explanation.

The dragon roared and lashed out at her, but Enya had expected the blow and ducked underneath the creature to avoid it, cutting into her tail in the process. She sent a ball of lightning upward into the dragoness' soft underbelly and reached out with her mark, to feel her adversary's mind. It was confused, erratic thoughts flying questioning, a drive to great aggression yet without purpose. Empathy overwhelmed Enya, for she knew this blindness.

'You have a new heart inside you,' Cole had said as she past him on the ramparts one day. It had been two months and her practice of magic and the sword had left her aching both mentally and physically. It was so simple a phrase, so innocent, and yet his words confused her. She had asked him for more. 'sweet breath, the smell of coco on your face. The sheets are cool against hot skin. Soft whispers. Your name, his name. Ar lath, ma vehnan. Silence. Sobs shake the shoulders but end in anger. A forgotten promise deep in the belly. It hurts, but there is happiness.' And then she understood all too well.

She cut into the dragon's front leg, digging deep beneath the scales to where the muscle parted, ushering her to the bone. The roar of pain filled the air but she could not hear it. She had gone numb, all sensation lost. The world around her faded into blurs of color as she forced herself to act with a warriors instinct, lashing out with the Mark and her magic as well as her sword. Enya had grown extremely proficient and this was her test. She was pushing herself to the breaking pointing, off on her own to best a high dragon, driven by her need for answers.

Enya wasn't afraid of death. Falon'din had haunted her steps from the time she was a child. First her father, her mother, now her Clan, to join them in the Beyond seemed almost a blessing, but for the burden she carried on her shoulders and the responsibility she carried inside her. What she did fear was failure. The doubt that came with Cole's words, the questioning that had filled her threatened to engulf her in an abyss of indecision. And so she'd decided to fight a dragon, leave her own fate up to her skill. If she survived, then it was time to reveal the secrets she'd been hiding, and if she failed…then the Inquisition would pass into Cullen's capable hands.

She stumbled backward, knocked off balance by the swing of the dragon's tail. It caught the back of her heal and sent her sprawling on the ground. A burst of ice, little shards, flew toward the dragon's confused eyes and ripped into them, blinding her. Enya used the time to leap back onto her feet and break the air above the dragoness with an emerald rift. The dragon reared, her eyes rolling and slammed her forefeet into the ground where Enya had just lain. It erupted with flames, but she was safe. The dragon began to disintegrate, her very essence pulled into the Fade through the tear in the veil. Enya charged forward and plunged her blade into the dragon's chest. She watched as the last bit of her fell away and felt the dragoness' peace as her madness was lifted.

The rift hissed and cracked and Enya closed her eyes and listened to the sound, now familiar as crickets in a summer garden. The fog of her breath clung to her eyelashes in the frosty afternoon sunlight. She raised her Marked hand and closed it tightly, crushing the light that flowed from it. The implosion echoed through the ruin, bouncing off the walls in endless percussion. She opened her eyes and watched the stillness of snow.

It had not been long enough for Cassandra to ascend the Sunburst Throne. Preparations were well under their way and Josephine often informed the Seeker of just that. It was nearly always met by a disgusted sigh, as though she regretted that she had been chosen. While Enya knew quite well the hatred her friend had for pomp, she also knew that Cassandra saw that it was necessary. The months that she had stayed with the Inquisition had helped Enya more than the Seeker, could ever know.

As Enya rode up the pass outside of Skyhold, it was Cassandra's angered face she knew she would see first, likely followed by Cullen and Dorian in quick succession. She called her black coursier to a halt as she reached the first set of Inquisition banners and stared up at Skyhold, her home. Its grey towers climbed upward, reaching and pressing against the clouds. Tarasyl'an Te'las, it was called, the place where the sky was held back, and she couldn't think of a better metaphor. Not for the first time, she wondered who had built the fortress that now stood a top that mountain and what had stood there before. These were questions to which, try as she might, she had not been able to find answers. More fodder for the endless pile of mysteries that had become her legacy.

The wind stung as it snagged on the helm of her rich emerald cloak and tugged it along a ragged cut across her collar bone. She shivered as it bit through her clothes and armour, chilling her to the depth of her soul. Enya glanced down at her hands, the pink ends of her fingers peeking out from the ends of her gloves and sent a warming blast of fire from them. Her stallion shied and she calmed him with a few quiet words. Theneras was him name, for he was the color of night, the time for dreaming and together they had fought nightmares.

Enya grasped her reins in one hand and clucked to Theneras. He began to walk again, slow steady strides that lulled her. She found her free hand had come to rest gently on her stomach. Cole's words repeated in her mind, 'You have a new heart inside you.' And with that thrill of fear, she found reassurance.