Chapter Text
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“He’s here!”
“What are you babbling about?”
“The Conclave survivor, Trevelyan. He’s at the gates with the Inquisition’s forces.”
Teon listened discreetly to the murmuring chantry sisters. He was bent over an injured guard that had found himself struck with a rogue templar’s arrow. His hands ghosted over the deep wound in the guard’s bare shoulder, blue sparks humming from his fingertips. It made him appear distracted enough for the sisters to boldly gossip.
“It was only a matter of time I suppose.”
“I was sure I heard mages claim Fiona had invited him, yet everyone seems bewildered by the Inquisition’s presence.”
“I certainly heard no such thing. I can’t imagine Fiona doing so after bending to the whims of this magister.”
A stab of annoyance caused him to lose focus. The guard hissed in pain and Teon muttered an apology. The wound was healed enough to allow the sisters to take over, especially as the guard sent him a warning glare, so he stood and went to wash his bloodied hands in a nearby bucket of water.
A stern expression reflected back at him. Teon’s icy eyes contrasted with his dark hair that frustratingly tickled his ears. His gaze purposefully avoided the thin scar that trailed across his neck. His hands plunged in, splashing away his sour face. Even with the warm glow of midday the water was freezing and comforting shivers ran up his arms. A gentle breeze rustled the trees around them, but it was hard to ignore the growing commotion from the village. Even those injured in the grass tried to lift themselves up in hopes of catching a glimpse of the survivor.
To say Teon was shocked when word spread that Ewan Trevelyan had been the sole survivor of the disastrous Conclave was an understatement. To then have said Trevelyan appear in Redcliffe with this newly formed Inquisition was, well, the last thing he needed. He could avoid Ewan, busy himself with healing those lying outside the village chantry. As long as he stayed far away from the main village or The Gull and Lantern tavern he was sure it would all be fine—
“Teon?”
Sweet Maker.
His head snapped up to find Ewan towering over him. The expression was far more friendly than he had expected. That sparkle in those big green eyes, that slight smirk tugging at his lower lip. Andraste’s tits, his auburn hair still caught the light perfectly, shimmering just as it had with candles in the Circle. Teon wiped his wet hands with a rag and stood. He forced himself to appear neutral even as his heart thumped away in his chest.
“Trevelyan,” he greeted evenly. “I’ve heard some disturbing things about you.”
A chortle escaped those full lips. “It certainly makes a change, doesn’t it?”
Before Teon could respond a sudden weight enveloped him. Ewan hugged him tightly, arms flung around his neck without a care. Teon stiffened, acutely aware of Ewan’s companions watching curiously. His teeth set on edge when he spotted a Seeker amongst them. Her face scrunched as if a ram had just taken a shit at her feet.
“I’d hoped you weren’t at the Conclave but I couldn’t have known. I’m grateful to see you alive.” Ewan breathed into his ear. The warmth burned it, searing heat travelling to his cheeks.
He had to step back, create distance again if he wanted to keep his composure. Ewan dutifully released him when he felt the other pull away. For a moment a tense silence engulfed them. Those green eyes seemed to search for something, something that had long blown out inside Teon.
The dwarf cut through the awkwardness. “So do we get an introduction or do you two need some privacy?”
Ewan was about to answer when the Seeker stormed forward, grasping his arm hard. “Herald we do not have time for this.”
Teon raised an eyebrow. “Herald?”
The Seeker turned on him, teeth bared. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Teon swallowed the rising anger and smiled coldly. “I quite agree.” He bowed his head to Ewan. "It is good to see you alive too, Trevelyan, but I must get back to work the same as you.”
Without a second glance he stormed away. He didn’t need to see Ewan’s face to feel the hurt stare that stabbed the back of his head. Determination propelled him toward the tavern. In truth, he needed a strong drink. Whatever business Ewan had with the chantry was none of his, not that Ewan had ever shown much faith in The Maker. Perhaps he was fruitlessly praying that Fiona would change her mind. His determination suddenly wavered. Tendrils of guilt pained his chest. To leave things so abrupt was unfair, especially if tales of his recent ordeal were even partly true. Teon’s feet froze. He growled, cursed Ewan under his breath, then turned back to climb the steps to the chantry.
It was oddly empty. Quiet. The sisters were no longer around, the injured guard also gone. Surely, they couldn’t have moved him into the chantry so quickly? When his hand touched the wooden door a shock ran through his entire body. It was the familiar rumble of magic yet there was something wrong to it. Unnatural. He heaved the door open only to be blinded by a green light. Unholy screeches filled his ears, long claws swiped at armour, and a heavy weight crushed his chest.
Demons.
It was chaos. Flashes of spells and swords and arrows alike. The pews were merely splinters, tables flung into the stone pillars. It reeked of death. A blazing Terror suddenly screamed at him, stumbling forward with its long claws ready to kill. It never got the chance to hit. A shard of ice pierced its open mouth and up through its skull. It gargled then limply slid down the shard before evaporating into nothing, the tip of the shard dripping with red. Teon’s raised hand shook violently. He grabbed it with his other to keep it steady, even as his fingertips crackled with magic.
Further in the Chantry a rift pulsed. Ewan lifted his hand and a gasp caught in Teon’s throat. Ewan’s hand glowed with the same colour as the rift. A beam connected the two, a jagged tentacle that caused a painful grimace across Ewan’s freckled face. With one flick the rift imploded, the green glow fading away and once again the Chantry’s undisturbed candles were the only light. Heavy gasps and rattling armour filled the sudden quiet. Then, a hearty laugh.
“How does that work, exactly?” Asked the owner of the laugh. A man Teon did not recognise, despite the staff twirling between his copper fingers identifying him to be a mage. “You don’t know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and ‘boom’!”
Ewan could only nod, a small light still pulsing in his palm. However, Teon found it difficult to concentrate on the mark with a sword pressed against his throat.
“I warned you!” The Seeker barked. Blood smeared her cheeks, making her look rabid. The sword firmly fitted in his scar. “Did you know about this? Answer me!”
“Cassandra, stop!” Ewan shouted.
He leapt over debris to stand between Teon and the enraged Seeker. A hand ghosted shakily over the hilt of her brandished sword.
“He is an apostate,” Cassandra snarled.
Teon scoffed. “Perceptive, Seeker. Would it be worth telling you Redcliffe is full of them?”
Cassandra tried to lurch forward but Ewan stood his ground. “Like Solas said, we all are apostates now. He had nothing to do with this, I can attest to that.”
“If it matters I can also attest to his innocence,” the other mage chimed in. “Unless some healing mage can somehow distort time, which I highly doubt, it’s more likely he simply stumbled on this the same as us.”
“I’ll question you in a moment,” she snapped. Her hard glare landed on Ewan. “I cannot trust him.”
“Then trust me.”
Cassandra’s lip curled but she lowered her sword. “Make sure he says nothing of what he witnessed here.”
“I will,” Ewan promised.
She stormed off to interrogate the newcomer, it seemed. Ewan sighed, his unmarked hand rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes shifted uncomfortably. He was actually unable to speak, remarkable. Teon crossed his arms in hopes to better hide his shaking.
“That rift,” he began, “it’s because of the Breach, isn’t it?”
“It is, we think.”
“And your hand…”
Ewan’s jaw clenched. “It didn’t destroy the Conclave. I didn’t destroy the Conclave.”
Teon nodded slowly. Absorbing. “I never believed you did. You couldn’t. Is that Seeker keeping you prisoner?”
“No, no!” He stammered. “I mean she did at first. However, I joined the Inquisition willingly. She trusts me.”
Teon snorted. “A Seeker trusting a mage? It truly is the end times.”
Ewan huffed a short laugh. Then, he hardened. “You should go, it's not safe here.”
“I can see that. I’ll be discreet, for your sake. It really is good to see you, Ewan.”
That damned smile of his that stretched his freckles. Irresistible.
“And you. Perhaps, we can speak more once I’m done here.”
Teon’s body screamed for him to decline. “I would like that.” Idiot. He quickly added, “so you can at least explain what exactly is going on here.”
A few hours later and a fellow mage informed him Ewan had summoned him to the tavern. He considered not going and instead go to bed, the day was beginning to darken after all, but he resigned himself to civility. Upon entering the tavern he was directed upstairs by the barman to a private table that overlooked the main hall. Ewan sat with his companions, bar the Seeker, Cassandra. Ewan gleefully motioned for Teon to join them.
He sat in the chair closest to the exit.
“Teon, I would like you to meet Varric and Blackwall.”
The taller one that he surmised was Blackwall simply grumbled a greeting. The dwarf, Varric, outstretched a hand. Teon shook it cautiously.
“Saw you make that icicle back there, pretty good.”
“Thank you,” Teon muttered. He was quick to put his hands into his lap.
“Ewan was just explaining how you met at Ostwick’s circle.”
“Yes,” he answered carefully. “My family fled to the Free Marches during the Blight.”
“As many did,” Varric responded. A hint of sympathy beneath the gruffness. “My friend’s family did the same. Did it take you to Kirkwall?”
“Briefly. We moved on to Ostwick within days, though.”
“You were a late bloomer,” Ewan interjected. “Fourteen, I recall.”
Teon nodded curtly. “I set fire to my sister’s doll after a childish argument, accidentally of course. Well, it’s obvious where I ended up.”
Blackwall made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snigger. He took a massive swig from the tankard in his strong grip, beer dribbling down his blackened beard. “You didn’t come here to reminisce though, right?”
“No,” Teon agreed. “I want to know why the Inquisition is here.”
“We were invited by Fiona,” Ewan explained firmly.
“And yet we’ve not been told of this. As far as the rebel mages are concerned we are allied with a magister, Alexius.”
“And you support this?” Ewan questioned, though, it sounded more like an accusation.
His companions studied him carefully. Of course, he was summoned here to see whether he was a potential ally. It made sense. Ewan was not in the position to convince Fiona, even as a mage he had always been a neutral party in the war. Teon, however, was one of them. Not important enough to make direct decisions, he was just a healing mage still, but if Ewan had asked enough people he would know Teon was respected well amongst the rebels.
After all, he had been the one to change Ostwick’s neutral stance.
“I do not,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “It troubled me why Tevinter would suddenly be interested in our faction, especially right after news of the Conclave. It seemed too…calculated. Even if I could, I won’t convince Fiona to join the Inquisition.”
Ewan’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t ask you to.”
Teon shook his head. “You don’t have to. It’s obvious this isn’t just a social meeting with an old friend. You need the rebels for something or you wouldn’t be here, and I suspect it has something to do with that massive hole in the sky.”
Varric grinned. “You’re pretty switched on, kid. For some healer anyhow.”
Blackwall, however, bared his teeth. “So you know this has to do with the Breach and you still won’t do anything to help?”
“It’s not that simple,” he argued. “As you keep reminding me I’m just some healer. I have no power to convince Fiona or anyone for that matter.”
Ewan leaned forward, eyes firmly locked on Teon. “You certainly managed to convince the mages at Ostwick’s Circle. I remember.”
Teon sneered. “Remember or told? You were not at the Circle when it occurred. You’ve not exactly given me much of a reason to believe the Inquisition is worth arguing for.”
Ewan fell back in his chair, confusion and hurt contorting his face. “We’re trying to help people and restore order. You saw the rift in the Chantry, the demons, that was because of Alexius.”
“Careful!” Teon hissed. He glanced down at the patrons below, he swore a few quickly looked away from his gaze but he couldn’t be certain. Even with the commotion there was surely someone attempting to listen. Reluctantly, Teon returned his attention to Ewan. “That is a serious accusation to make, one that would require substantial evidence.”
“We have witnesses to it. Alexius is using all of you for his own ends, he is no friend to the rebel mages.” Ewan paused, head lowered. “The Inquisition needs mages to help close the Breach, to do so might help change some minds about your cause.’’
“So we’ll be prisoners again, just in someone else’s chains.”
“That is not true.”
“And you’ll guarantee that?’’
Ewan hardened. “Yes.”
Teon scoffed. “I’m just supposed to trust the word of a man who chose the oppression of his own because it was more convenient. Are your companions aware of that little detail?”
The air was sucked out of the room, coldness sparking in his fingers below the table. He scrunched them into fists, willing the building magic to calm.
“Perhaps we should join Cassandra at the gates,” Varric said, nudging Blackwall. “Just to make sure she’s not interrogating some poor guard.”
Blackwall frowned but it eventually clicked. He shrugged, downed the rest of his drink and plodded away with Varric not far behind. Varric gave Ewan a short nod before he vanished downstairs.
Ewan slouched in his chair, his finger rubbing mindless circles in his marked palm. Teon chewed the inside of his cheek. He gingerly placed his hand on the table with his palm open in invitation. The marked hand fell into it carefully, Teon’s healer instincts kicked in as he studied the strange gash that ran from the middle finger to the wrist. Without the green glow it looked like any other natural scar, yet it vibrated beneath Teon’s nimble fingers as they traced the line.
“Does it hurt often?” He murmured, breathless from the familiar touch. It took a lot to not reminisce about what those hands had touched so very long ago.
“No, only when a rift is near. I gather you’ve never seen anything like it?”
“Surprisingly my travels haven’t made me come across a glowing hand, no.”
Ewan suddenly pulled away, shoving it against his chest as if it burned. In truth, it was his head that burned with betrayal. “To have you of all people misjudge my intentions…”
Teon sighed. “I did not misjudge. I disagreed and told you so even back then.”
“What—what happened to you?” Ewan stammered. “You’re not the man I remember. You could be cold, but this? Your first priority has always been to help people. Why are you refusing to help us, help save Thedas?”
He opened his mouth to retort but no words came out. It closed shut. He owed it to Ewan to at least think before spouting more harmful words. A lot of conflicting emotions rumbled around his skull. So much had happened since they had last met, so much he wanted to explain but knew it was simply unsafe to do so. Too many eyes and ears. It didn’t stop his mind from pulling up those frightful memories, flashes of violence vibrant behind his eyes. Vile droplets of blood trickling down a pink mouth as ice punctured flesh. A scream filled his ears. Shrill.
When he finally spoke his voice was strangled. “I thought joining the rebel mages and healing any that asked for it would make some amends for what I’ve done, but nothing can fix it. I can’t take it back. I have to put all my faith in Fiona if I am to at least make my sins worth it.”
Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He had been so alone with Ewan gone to visit his family. The cruelty of forcing him to undertake his Harrowing then of all times, with his mind warped by anguished feelings…of course it ended poorly. He survived it, barely, but a part of him was lost to the Fade.
“If that Seeker knew the truth of what I’ve done, what I am, they would make me Tranquil. I can’t…I can’t become Tranquil and lose myself.” His hands shook violently on the table.
“Teon…” Ewan clasped his hands over his shaking ones. “I would never let that happen.”
“Promise me,” he demanded. “Promise me if I tell Fiona you are worth trusting that you will protect us from them.”
His hand was squeezed, just as Ewan had done many years ago when Teon first came to the circle. He had been so afraid. Alone. Whimpering quietly beneath the bed sheets desperate for no one to hear. Ewan had stirred in the bed beside him, a hand wordlessly snaking inside his sheet to grasp his own. Understanding. Eventually, loving.
“On my life, I promise you I’ll protect you. All of you.”