Chapter Text
Aaravos woke in camp the next day with every joint in his body throbbing, his nails aching as if they were being pulled up, and his head aching. This was… better than he expected, actually. What woke him was not the pain, but the hunger.
He needed earth. No… no what he needed was Earth.
He rolled out of his cot without bothering to stand, without even thinking of it, landing on a rug meant to keep the tent warmer and swept it aside. He clawed at the ground of the tent, pulling up handsfuls of rich loam, and it was not enough. He was not enough. He could not take enough to sate his need.
And yet, Earth was generous in this place, in the loam of this soil. Power flowed into him, free, freely given. It was not enough. A day of good rain could not undo a year of drought, and he was three centuries into his, but it was how you started.
Started….
He, for whom time was as natural as some people found walking, lost track. He did not know how long he lay there, face pressed into the scrape he’d carved into the raw earth, breathing in the damp smell of freshly exposed dirt, petrichor, and magic.
This place had been wounded, terribly, some years ago now. Something hungry and grasping had clawed at it, tried to destroy it. Tried to devour it. Defiance was written in every needle on every tree, in every humble patch of moss, in the farmer’s fields.
Alive, alive, alive! It sang it’s defiance to his senses with the persistence of a child.
Still here, murmured the roots, of the trees that arched beneath them, shadow trees as mirrors to their upper selves. In spite. To spite. We are still here.
Deeper, the roots of the mountain crooned-- hurt still, for stone healed slowly, but unbroken. We will not be pulled up. We will not be thrown down.
The fields-- the fields were singing, soft, constant and proud. They came back for us. They came back for us! We will come back for them.
The mages of earth thought they were so clever, so wise, but they did not give to their fields the way a powerless farmer was forced to-- nurturing it, feeding it in all the things it liked. All the earth mages he had known knew that the world was aware of them, but so few had regarded it rightly, considering their own needs and projecting rather than the hungers of soil and root, worm and moss.
The earth craved rot. Heavy laden beds of leaves, the leavings of farm animals, and the leavings of the things that ate the farm animals. It’s appetites were disturbing, to those who considered themselves so highly.
To a human peasant, trying desperately to scrape by, sating their needs was often accidental, and always natural. They too were eaters of flesh, and it was their nature to share.
The fields loved the farmers, and cared not at all that the farmers were deaf to their singing. But they saw that he did hear, and were curious rather than aloof, unused to those who could hear the song.
The fields worked by elven hands in his home would have watched his suffering indifferently, with no move to help a creature desperately gulping down so much of the ambient power.
These lands considered him, and his need, and after a long moment, poured power through him, like water through a sieve.
He gasped, almost aspirating dirt and not noting it, twitching in place, shivering and shaking as he tried to control his reaction.
These lands wished to be kind. Wished to be generous. They were not rich lands-- but they knew themselves to be under attack, and desired that the ones who were not this faceless horror that they hated be strong.
He wondered who had taught the land this love, for it was a quiet and ferocious thing. Someone had rained blood and sweat on this land, to defend it, and the land remembered with love.
It was too much. It hurt. He wept with pain and need and wished it would never end, even as he felt raw in every hollow place within. It did not fill him-- he was a Startouch, and he had been hungry a long time.
But it did try.
Bless it.
He wasn’t sure what to get a land, eager to give him what would strengthen him, but he owed it something. Something big.
Or… maybe this was the sort of debt that was paid forward, not back.
He reached out a hand and clawed into vibrant, living dirt, and listened as the world crooned comfort and strength to him, accepting his presence as a mother might simply laugh and set another place at the table when her children brought a friend home for a meal. No warnings given, or needed.
Welcome. Well-come. Well, come!
He did not know how long he lay there, basking in welcome, drowning in generosity. But he could not pretend to be normal, when someone entered the tent, and was too tired to try.
“Hey, you fall out of bed?”
“No,” he told her, honestly. She must have taken it for a joke, because she laughed.
“You know, if you need a hand, all you have to do is ask,” she said, and then she was helping him sit up. He did not very much want to be sitting up, but… but he needed to… he needed…
The coil of power around them shifted, moving with him rather than releasing him. Supporting. Strengthening. Feeding. It expressed some curiosity about Asala, but when she proved as deaf to it’s songs as anyone else around, it offered her one last coiling embrace and returned it’s full attentions to him.
Welcome!
“You scared us,” Asala said, helping him dust off his clothes and frowning. “Red clay is going to be a right bastard to wash out of this… shiny gauze stuff. You look good in it I give you that, but I don’t envy you the task of cleaning it.”
He snorted and waved a hand. Others would have needed to use water. But he was deep in the power of earth-- so he pulled it, delicately, respectfully, from the fiber of the cloth directly, and it came eager to his hand.
“Well. Andraste’s sacred knickers, aren’t you special?”
The words might have been insulting, except for the laughter in her eyes, and the hand still on his shoulder, holding him up. He took a deep breath, and found himself capable of smiling, and acting smug. “I am, yes. It’s good to have people finally see that. And my skills as a laundress are only one of my most prized!!!”
She laughed. Good.
“I should go let the others know you’re up,” she said, and he felt to his horror, a frisson of dread. That she was holding back questions did not mean it would remain so. He had displayed weakness, whatever the world thought of him-- or this area, so generous. There would be no way to hide it-- no way to hide his weakness.
And what would these people do, if he was not useful?
“Everyone was worried,” Asala said, quieter. Her eyes flicked up, focused on his clenched hands, and looked away as he tried to make them relax. “But… if you need another few minutes, I can delay a little. If you ask me questions, it’ll be easier for me to pretend it wasn’t deliberate.” He looked at her, sharply. She half smiled. “There’s this old vet in my company-- mostly mixes potions and the like, but he used to be the guy who did a lot of knifework, in the front. Could throw a blade like no one I ever met, five years ago. Joints got bad. We took him off front line work, but… well, if we ever spelled it out the old bastard would be ashamed. He’s stupid like that. So, we talk about how important the potions are… and they are, don’t get me wrong-- and he stays and mixes them. Everyone is happy. He trains some of the new guys, now and then. On good days. But… using up someone just because they aren’t as durable as a woodsman’s axe… it’s stupid. No one is.”
He shuddered. Shut his eyes a moment. “Did I undo our hard work?”
She snorted. “I think Mother Giselle would fight if you asked her to. And Chantry Mothers aren’t usually trained for combat.”
“The robes would prove a hinderance.”
“Oh yes. But she’d make up for it in zeal.” Asala smiled. “Come on, mage, ask questions. More.”
“Where are we?”
“Our camp. We transported you under cover of darkness, so no one got to see the blessed Herald of Andraste flopped over and out. We thought you’d be out of it for another day or so, but I-- we, will be glad to be wrong.”
He wracked his brain. The one thing he truly wanted to ask, he did not think he could.
“Vos?”
A nickname? It had been a long time since anyone dared. He liked it, so he gave her what she wanted-- lifting his eyes to hers.
“I find it difficult to believe this cost us nothing.”
Her eyes softened. “The Chantry, whatever it’s flaws, teaches that a willingness to sacrifice to the needs of the greater good is… valuable. Over the years, people have come to abuse that-- to demand more than they had any right to. But you? Everything you had to give in that moment, you offered, even though it cost you. Mother Giselle was willing before. Now? She’s very nearly as devoted as the people you saved at the Temple. Give yourself a little credit-- you painted a whole portrait of your personality in miniature for the simple delight of all to see. She just liked it, a lot, same as the rest of us.”
But it is weakness, to collapse, he thought, and thought of the times fits of rage and despair had left him kneeling before the mirror.
Asala sat on the edge of his bed. “You hurt anywhere? You landed pretty funny, did you have any aches?”
He ached. He ached a lot. He wasn’t… sure that was related. “I’ll… just keep an eye out for it.”
“Hungry?”
Ravenous. “Perhaps a bit.”
“If you’re holding off because you don’t want to alert anyone else, you should know that I can only delay this so much. If you have a tray of food in front of you at least, I don’t think anyone will dare to stop you from taking obscenely long to answer because your mouth is full. Which will probably reduce the fussing in total, though it won’t stop it. Cassandra is going to punch a hole in a rock if we leave her to her own devices much longer.”
“Well, by all means,” he said, mouth going dry. “We must spare the scenery.”
***
Cassandra rolled in like a storm. Solas was there, like a fog that rolled in while you were asleep.
Really the only person who walked in like a normal person was Varric.
“Shiny! I thought we’d managed to kill you for a moment there. Glad to see we fucked that up too.”
Aaravos nearly choked-- not at the words which were obviously a joke… and rather a good one in his eyes… but rather at the look Solas and Cassandra both leveled at the dwarf. In perfect unison no less. He wondered if they realized… then decided it was funnier if they didn’t.
Managing to swallow, he gasped out “Consistency is key. Try better.”
“It’s good to have goals,” Varric agreed. Aaravos decided any friend of Varric’s was already in his good books. Perhaps this Champion of Kirkwall would also be a delight. Or perhaps they would merely be sane, with Varric for ballast.
Ballast, he needed. More than that, he craved it.
“So, in the interests of improving our attempts, what the hell happened back there, Shiny?”
“I was incautious,” he managed, and ate a rather large forkful of… it tasted like some kind of oat porridge. Fresh berries in it. The honey was local-- he could feel it. “I got caught up in healing, and I didn’t….” think. He didn’t think. He also didn’t feel the problem, but that was deliberate.
“You should have felt exhaustion.” Solas’ eyes were, as ever, too sharp and too clear. He wanted to like him. He had the sort of sharp clarity broken glass had. If he had been his companion in the study of magic or his student, then he would have adored the man. But instead, he was their figurehead, and they were his… supplicants? Petitioners? And he dared show no weakness.
The trouble was, of course, that the elf was correct. He should have felt it. Had he not blocked off so much of his sense of pain, he would have felt it. But saying that defeated the fracking point of blocking the pain, and he had not survived so much to falter now.
He pretended he could not feel the elf’s eyes on him.
“Unless your power is so different that you do not feel it?”
The concept of lying about magic rankled more than the idea of being found out. “No. I should have. But it’s been a very long time since I had occasion to use that much power.”
The elf’s eyes narrowed. “You must be more cautious.”
That was an easy one. “Agreed.”
The elf’s eyes narrowed further, but staring as a method of attempting to cow someone? This he could most assuredly do.
A moment later, the Seeker… whatever that meant, they hadn’t precisely been socializing long, stepped closer. “You must be more cautious. We cannot cover for you if we are not permitted to, and we cannot aid you if we are not given the notice that such is needed.”
“Of course.”
He didn’t think he’d ever uttered more bland words.
Cassandra’s face twisted, but she said nothing, only stared.
Varric came to everyone’s salvation once again. “Good. Hey, how are you feeling, Shiny? Because I hate to tell you this, but the local wildlife is mostly bears.”
“… that seems… ecologically improbable.”
***
“The dwarf was right,” Aaravos muttered to himself, savoring the play of sunlight and wind over his skin. “This ecosystem is mostly bears. This is deeply troubling.”
Bears were a little like banthers, but without the felid aspects. He’d seen their like before, a long time ago-- he hadn’t thought any still existed. As it turned out, they were apparently fine, alive and a little too well.
“Why do they never directly attack you?” Cassandra asked, panting. “I am not objecting-- I have armor. But…”
“They do, don’t be ridiculous.” It had taken them most of a day to accept that he still needed to get out of the tent and help with their other objectives. And a night’s rest to convince them he was recovered enough to do so. “You are however, in front, yelling at them, and shiny. As a large predator, that will absolutely get their attention.” And with the land’s power still feeding into him, he was… no longer quite an intruder. The bears simply overlooked him. Usually.
He could read the history of the place, a little. The… sickness, or invasion, that this place was still fighting to be free of, that had been not so very long ago, as the land had rekonned things.
But it had been a lifetime, for the bears.
When the intelligent species had retreated, the bears had whelped and raised their young in the wilderness left behind, and as the places that were safe to be grew fewer, that had often meant moving into places that smelled of people, sometimes even eating left behind human and elven and dwarven carcasses.
The bears had been hit by the horrors too, but they had whelped and whelped again with impunity in the years to follow, and the people… mostly humans in this area, with some elves, had been slow to return.
The bears had needed something to cull their numbers for a generation now, and something to teach them fear. Then, something large had moved in and chased them out of a good portion of their range. No fear, large numbers, and a disruption. It was all these things ever took.
They were fixing it, in the messy and bloody ways available to them.
At least bears were decent eating, if prepared properly.
Besides, they had a town to feed. And he’d hunted rams with them, yes, but the rams would only go so far.
If these people knew how to handle furs and preserve meat, this many damned bears might well last that little nest of refugees until the spring.
Also, he was going to eat meat tonight. That was always a good thing to look forward to, after so long without.
“You sure they’re safe to eat?” Varric sounded dubious. “The meat looks good, yes, but—”
He smiled. “There are spells to check these things, and more besides. Normally I wouldn’t chance it with them acting oddly, but… the spells come back clean.”
“That is… downright useful. Huh.”
Stephanie, who was always slightly more talkative when Cassandra was looking another direction, smiled. “It’s easier to find ways to serve people if you actually interact with them and learn what they need.”
She rather spoiled the effect by going stiff when Cassandra glanced at her, but that was… to be expected, apparently.
“Where the hell are we?” Cassandra asked, rather than commenting. It was one of the things he liked about her-- she wasn’t trying to scare that brilliant little soul. Alas, it still came naturally.
“In the Hinterlands, do pay attention,” he said, to see the flash of irritation, and divert it from Stephanie, just the same.
“Are we lost? Again?”
“We were not lost,” Solas said serenely, because he also enjoyed baiting Cassandra.
They might make a good team one day, if they didn’t kill each other first. All of them.
“Our path naturally led up and down a mountain?”
“You call that a mountain?” Revas sneered. Presumably she was grumpy because she could be shapeshifting into a bear and was instead, not giving her secrets away.
Aaravos tutted. “Would you have preferred to walk directly into the knot of fighting templars and mages?”
“…. Yes,” she said honestly, and he laughed. “But I do take your point. Are we back on track to our original goal?”
“Horses, yes. They should be up ahead.”
“… Do you ride much?” Solas asked, deceptively innocent. He was fishing. But… Well.
“Not in a long time. I look forward to it.” There was joy, in riding. A dance, between yourself and something that, physically, was more than an equal. There was pleasure in it yielding to you, in it’s choice to do so at the simple signals you could offer. You were not in charge, when you rode, you were dancing.
He had been long without company. Dancing sounded lovely.
“Are they mostly horses, where you used to ride?”
Still fishing. But… but why not? He ached for the connection, however foolish. However shallow. “That depends on the species and clan you ride with. There are great cats that are ridden by the moonshadow elves-- though that is not wise. Their spines are not built for it. Some deer, and some dare even to take flying mounts… though given the rarity of the gift of communion with beasts, that is damned foolish. Even a horse can take offense and remove you from it’s back, and that can be fatal, though usually it is not so bad as that. In the sky? You give offense to your mount, and you die. Madness.”
They stopped and stared at him. He sighed, and wished, now, that he had not spoken.
“… So you’re reasonably well acquainted with riding, itself?” Solas asked, as if he was driving only to that point and in that moment, Aaravos loved him like a brother. “It is hard to cut an imposing figure if you are unable to keep your seat. How is your balance?”
He laughed, and remembered flying. He should do so again, bathe in the sky and sunlight or moonlight. “I think my balance is up to the task.”
“Cocky.”
“Either I am correct, or you will have the delightful spectacle of watching me ride as if drunk. Victory or a show. Either is a win in my books.”
***
As it happens, there is nothing at all wrong with his balance.
He was not naturally one with animal empathy, but he had learned to imitate it, as if learning a foreign language, just as he had learned the connection to Earth that had allowed that empathy. Sliding onto the back of a horse… admittedly after jumping through some hoops to assure the horsemaster that they would be fit keepers for his beasts, felt like returning to a favored old haunt.
Opening his mind and feeling the horse’s delight at his contact felt like a greeting from an old friend, thought long since lost. It had been well cared for, it loved it’s masters, and the prospect of greater communion improving it’s understanding of his desire thrilled it.
It wished to serve and serve well. Not always a common trait. If one tenth of the horses were thus, then the Inquisiton had tripped over a jewel, not in the rough, but cut and polished to perfection before being lost and forgotten.
He made his pleasure manifest to the beast, and it answered his delight with it’s own.
“He likes you,” the horse’s former owner commented, satisfied with his choice. “Good.”
“He’s eager to please,” he said, and saw his praise warm Dennet’s eyes.
“It’s always good to place them properly. Have you named him yet?”
He patted the stallion’s neck. “He does not have a name?”
Master Dennet shook his head. “He has been waiting for one.”
“… I will think on it. To make one worthy of him.”