The Power of Words

Dragon Age: Inquisition One-Shot

(inspired in part by this amazing piece of art by enigmaticagentalice​, but also because I woke up with the sads and had to write them out)
 

Rating: General Audience
Characters: Cassandra Pentaghast, Corypheus, Martin Trevelyan
Additional Tags: In Hushed Whispers, Alternate Future, Character Study, Dark, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Friendship
 

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The sound came once more, echoing like the drums in her head that never ceased. The rumble and roar as something heavy landed heavily in the courtyard of the Castle was a familiar sound to those locked within the dungeon of Redcliffe Castle by this point, and they knew exactly what it meant: the Elder One had arrived.

Cassandra pushed herself up, though it took more effort than it had on previous days. She’d made an oath to herself when she’d been thrown in this cell, after the Herald had been destroyed by the Magister’s spell: they would never find her helpless. When her time came, she would die fighting.

It was the only way to stay sane, to dim the sound of the drums.

Each time he came to her, it grew harder to remember that oath. The red in her vision now was due to the red lyrium and not her anger, and her body knew nothing but pain with every movement, when the crystals ground into her bones and flesh. Soon she would be like Fiona, a prisoner of the red shards in her body, unable to move and unable to resist.

So she had to resist now, while she still could. And that was why she was on her feet, ready to face him, when the door opened and the tall figure glided into the room.

“Seeker.” His greeting never changed, a smug declaration both of her nature and the reason for his visit. “I see you still suffer from the delusion that there is hope for you. It’s rather charming, actually.”

She held on to her silence, knowing it infuriated him the most. Defiance he mocked, and anger only amused him, but silence? It was her way if ignoring him.

And the Elder One hated to be ignored.

“I see you are back to playing this tiresome game,” he noted with a sigh. “I learned how to break the Seekers long ago, remember. Samson was very useful for that endeavor. I can break you, too.”

She closed her eyes and swallowed, remembering when they had proved it to her, remembering the sight of her fellow Seekers killing Inquisition soldiers and their families. The words of a prayer rose to her lips, but did not emerge. She would not let him win.

“Then I will ask the question, as I always do: will you join me?” The long arm stretched out, the talons that were his fingers unfolding as he once again made the offer.

Cassandra knew that the pain would start if she didn’t answer quickly enough, and each time he came to her cell, she came one step closer to doing as he wished. But that time had not yet come. When the pain hit, a rope of red magic which wove around her body and lit all her nerves on fire at once, she simply crumpled to her knees, breathing harshly and still refusing to look at him.

“I’m sure you will be overjoyed to hear that we have found the last of your long lost friends from the Inquisition.” His voice was, as always, smooth, hypnotic, compelling - but the words... the words remained horrifying. “Some of my pets will be enjoying the company of the Commander for quite some time to come. He even seemed to recognize some of them. Old friends, perhaps?”

Cassandra’s whole body shook, both from pain and in reaction to what she’d learned. She knew what his pets were. If Cullen were lucky, they would only be shades and rage demons. If he were unlucky... The week when she’d been pushed into Nightmare’s realm still haunted her, and she knew she would never be able to sleep through a night again, even were she to be miraculously healed. His dark chuckle echoed through the dank jail as she whispered, “No. Not Cullen, not with them.”

”It won’t take long to break him. The weakness is already there, laced through his body like a bright blue beacon, and the demons have been waiting a long time for him,” the Elder One taunted. “Soon we will turn it red, and he will be a shining star. For a while.”

She shuddered, remembering the rumors of Samson’s fate once the armor had no longer been able to hold back the rising tide of red lyrium. “Cullen...” She bowed her head. “I’m sorry.”

“You could have taken this burden from him. But you chose instead your own way, your own pride. I will let you see him one last time - when I send him to kill you.” The Elder One chuckled as she flinched. “It has been a pleasure as always, my dear. Perhaps next time, you will submit, as is necessary. Until then...” A gesture banished the spell around her, and she collapsed on the floor, welcoming the darkness as it closed in.

His parting words, however, chased her into oblivion: “Remember that the world belongs to me.”

How many hours it took for her to regain her senses, or how many minutes it took for her to push herself into a sitting position, she never knew. The drums in her mind woke her, as always, and for a long time, she simply sat there, trying to quiet them. She only knew that she was as close to hopeless as she had been since she had seen the Herald destroyed. Was it worth it? Was there truly a reason for her to keep fighting? The Elder One spoke the truth, after all - there would never be a future without him in it.

Taking a calm, steadying breath, she closed her eyes and turned to the Chant, as she always did. Though she started weak, the further she progressed, the stronger her voice became.

“Many are those who wander in sin,
Despairing that they are lost forever,
But the one who repents, who has faith
Unshaken by the darkness of the world,
And boasts not, nor gloats
Over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight
In the Maker's law and creations, she shall know
The peace of the Maker's benediction.
The Light shall lead her safely
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.
For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.”

When she paused to take a deep breath, she heard a dear voice, an impossible voice, whisper her name. “Cassandra.”

Her eyes flew open, finding a phantom before her. Her eyes widened as she saw the Herald, the same as the day she’d last seen him. With a gasp, she said, “You’ve returned to us. Can it be? Has Andraste given us another chance?” He had appeared when she had been speaking the Chant, after all...

But no. The past year simply wouldn’t let her believe that. The sight of him filled her with an overwhelming sense of guilt, for those who had died - or worse, had been lost to the Elder One and his ‘pets’. Even as he reached into his glove and pulled out his ever-present lockpick to open the door to her jail cell, she cried, “Maker forgive me. I failed you. I failed everyone. The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life.”

A sad little smile came to his face as he stepped into her cell. Without a word, he crouched in front of her and took her hand, holding it between his own as his unsullied green eyes met hers. “I’m not back from the dead, Cassandra. I just got... Well, this is hard to explain.”

But explain he did, he and the Tevinter mage with him, as he helped her to her feet. It sounded impossible, a miracle, but then, this was the same man who had emerged from the Fade, alive when all others at the Conclave had died. This was the Herald of Andraste, Martin Trevelyan, and before the events in Redcliffe’s throne room a year ago, she would have sworn that he could overcome any obstacle, no matter how difficult.

Perhaps it was time to believe in him again.

“You’re here now,” she said decisively.

He smiled and nodded. “I’m here now. I will fix this. I promise.”

Andraste has given another chance. Sending a silent prayer to the Maker and his Bride, Cassandra nodded. “And I will help you. As always.”