Chapter Text
“When I woke up, Little was curled around me, cleaning the vomit and Maker knows what else from my face, and I was drenched in my own shit.”
Kallian let her eyes open from where they had been closed for the entirety of her tale to Leliana, who sat across the small table from her, untouched goblets of wine in front of them both. She didn't look at her wife in the light of the single candle between them on the tabletop, focusing instead on the flame itself, letting the yellow glare sear into her retinas. She flinched against the sting and instead turned her eyes to the door, the whitish-blue ghost of the light remaining just as vivid as the memories she'd just relived.
“It was like my body had its own mind. It would lurch, and more black stuff would pour out of me from both ends, and I couldn't do anything to control it. It was like that for days. Maker, the fuckin' smell. I thought I was dying. I thought I had poisoned myself, and Oghren did, too. He thought I was dead when he carried me out of the thaig.”
Kal paused to think about the complete absence of time, then gave a little shrug and shook her head. “Maybe I was. I don't really know, even now. All I know is that after days of being sick, the darkspawn in my head got quieter and quieter, until I couldn't hear it anymore. Then I started to feel better.” She made a gesture at Leliana, braving the first glance at her. “You know the rest.”
Leliana's face was slack, her eyes glossed over from an unblinking stare, the silvery blue accented by the reflection of the burning wick before them. She was looking at Kallian as if she were seeing her for the first time all over again, and for some reason it made heat spread up Kal's neck to her ears, which were twitching uncomfortably in the stretch of silence. It felt like hours before Leliana released a long breath and slowly sat back in her chair, the wood creaking beneath movement. She ran a gloved hand through her hair and then looked back at Kallian with wide eyes.
“I... I find I don't know what to say.” Leliana's voice was barely louder than a whisper. “I knew that it wouldn't be a pretty tale, but I had no idea.... I am not sure I would have been able to do it.”
“I had years to come to terms with what I would have to do. I'd rather slit my own throat than back down from my fears.”
Leliana nodded. “I know that. Maker's breath. You truly are the bravest person I've ever known.”
Kallian didn't try to hold back her derisive snort or the roll of her eyes. “I was desperate, Leliana. Bravery had fuck all to do with it. I was too bleeding cowardly to die the hero's death. I just wanted to come home to you whole.” Her body sagged in her chair suddenly, as if all the strength left in her had just evaporated. But it didn't feel bad. It felt like relief. “And here I am. Whole, if bloody exhausted.”
The spymaster stood up and moved around the little table until she was kneeling on one knee in front of Kal. “Whole, and bloody beautiful.” A hand came up to cradle her jaw carefully. “Thank you for telling me, my love. I realize it wasn't easy.”
Kallian covered the hand with hers and leaned her face into the touch. “Thank you for waiting for me. I realize it wasn't easy.” A lump rose in her throat that she swallowed back hard as tears welled up. It merely bounced back and made her voice raspy when she continued. “I'm bloody grateful in ways I'll never be able to say. I don't have the words for it.”
“You don't need them. I understand.” The bard rose just enough to press her forehead to Kallian's. “I forgive you, Kallian. Start forgiving yourself now.”
The elf gave a huff of laughter around the rock in her throat. “I'll try, but no promises. The scariest part of this entire story was walking up those stairs to face you after all that time.”
Leliana pursed her lips into a frown, but her eyes danced with gentle teasing. “There's no way I am scarier than a broodmother.”
The joke made some of the tension in Kal's shoulders lessen, and the lump diminished.
“You're certainly prettier.” The deadpan deliverance made Leliana roll her eyes, but she smiled at the retort. The fact that they had somewhat settled into their old ways of banter soothed Kallian. It made her feel like she belonged somewhere for the first time since Cassandra Pentaghast had found them all those years ago.
“Still ever the charmer, I see.” A perfectly groomed eyebrow rose with the statement, a corner of Leliana's mouth tugged up. “You've always known just what to say to get me out of my small clothes, hmm?”
The memory of Leliana pinning her to her desk earlier in the day came to the front of her mind in full force, and her face heated up. She knew that it was said mostly in jest, but she wouldn't deny the slight hope that it might have meant more. Her lack of witty comeback gave Leliana a pause, her eyes searching Kal's for a long moment. Then she lightly cleared her throat and stood, a hand held out for Kallian to take. She did so without a second thought and allowed herself to easily be pulled to her feet and into an embrace.
When they were standing chest to chest, Leliana bent down to brush her lips on Kal's. “There is such a conflict in how I see you now, as opposed to how I remember you.” Light blue eyes scanned over Kallian's face, and the hands on her waist rose to tangle themselves in her overgrown head of hair. “I remember a girl that had recently found herself burdened into becoming a woman grown. I remember sarcasm and resentment, belied with a warmth and kindness that I had never experienced in anyone before.”
The fingers threaded through her umber locks began to lightly scratch at her scalp, and Kallian's skin prickled with chills. “You were so lost, like you had done your task and didn't know where to go after, or who you were under the mantle of Grey Warden. You were only yourself for me. You were the Hero of Ferelden for everyone else, as if you needed me to remind you who you were when we were alone.”
“I did.”
“But you no longer require that.”
“I don't.”
The fingers in Kal's hair tightened just enough to tilt her face upwards, and it sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine. Leliana lowered her mouth as if she were going to kiss her but bypassed her lips in favor of tracing the line of her jaw. Her wife guided her head to the side as she rested her lips against the shell of her ear.
“Qu'est-ce que t'exiges de moi maintenant?”
The question posed to her in Leliana's native tongue made her knees slightly weaker, and the smug smile she felt grow against her ear told her it did not go unnoticed. The intent behind the query was clear in the way Leliana began to kiss her earlobe, and the smallest pressure of suckling made Kal shake. One of the bard's hands left her hair to slide down her back and fish for the bottom of her tunic. She pulled it free and slipped her hand beneath so that her calloused fingertips ghosted across Kallian's belt line over and over.
Kallian's eyelids fluttered closed, and she gave a long sigh through her nose, giving in by burying her face into the crook of Leliana's neck and clenching her hands into the purple hood pooled on the bard's shoulders. “I guess we're just gonna have to find out. Because I have no fuckin' clue, and my mind is on other things. Your fault, too.”
A giggle escaped Leliana, and she pulled back to give Kal a slow look up and down. “I disagree. I would never have believed myself capable of being more attracted to you than I've always been, but here we are.” She leaned forward and under the umber wave of Kal's hair, and soft lips danced up her neck as punctuation.
“Maker's breath,” she whispered, fighting her eyes trying to close, tingles shooting through her with the shem’s lips on her skin. It had been so fucking long, and she was scared that if she closed them, Leliana would be gone again when she opened them once more. “You're really here this time? I'm not dreaming?”
“I'm here. We both are.” Leliana's breath ghosted across the flesh wet from her open-mouthed kisses and Kallian shivered at the sensation. “You dreamed of me?”
“All the fuckin' time,” Kal admitted in a whisper, letting go of Leliana's hood in favor of running her hand down her wife's arm. “Memories. Relived in such vivid detail that I would wake, shaking from the pleasure... or the pain.”
A finger lifted Kal's face so that they were eye to eye as Leliana drew back to search her face. “I would dream of you when I deigned to sleep. Your voice. Your arms. Your smile and laugh in the firelight of whatever camp we'd have. I would give all the finery in the world away to have those nights with you again.”
Warmth spread through Kallian's chest, extending into her limbs at the words. “I would have those nights with you again, once this is over and Corypheus is dead.”
Leliana bit her lip, a guilty glint flashing through her eyes that confused Kal, but it was gone before the duelist could question her bard to its origin. Instead, their lips came together again, and Leliana intertwined their fingers on both hands to lead Kallian forward as she moved for the bed in the corner.
Once, long ago, this was a dance of which Kallian knew every step, every nuance. It was so well practiced that she could recite it from memory if asked. But now, at that moment... she was scared. She feared what Leliana's reactions to her new scars would be, scared of her performance being subpar from Leliana's recollection of their hundreds of times being together like they were now. She had disappointed her wife in so many ways through the years, and this? This could just be another tally.
“Shh.” The shush came the moment that Leliana's hands pulled Kal's tunic over her head and let it drop to the floorboards. “I know what you're thinking.”
Kal couldn't hold back the dry chuckle of irony. “You always do,” she murmured with a shake of her head. “I could never hide my thoughts from you.”
“You wear them so loudly, mon coeur. I read them right from your face, from your kiss.” Leliana stroked the newly bared skin of her upper arm, a gesture of comfort. “We do not have to do anything you do not want to do, Kal.”
Kal laughed a desperate sort of laugh, looking up at Leliana with tears. “You're bloody mad if you think that I don't want this. But I am nervous. It's been so long. I feel like a bloody maiden or something.”
Leliana tucked her hair back, letting a single finger trace down the length of her ear, causing Kallian to shudder and bite her own lip to hold back a whimper. “I'm nervous, too, yes?” Leliana admitted softly, her breath uneven. “But more so, I very much want to know my wife between the sheets again.” Her eyes mapped the darker skin of Kallian's exposed torso, lingering on the nasty scar on her collarbone. “There is much to acquaint myself with, it seems.”
Kallian's hands shook as she reached for the buckle of Leliana's hooded robe at her shoulder, but the Lady Nightingale stood patiently and allowed her to remove it. Once the thing had joined her tunic on the floor, she released a deep breath she didn't even realize she had held. Leliana seemed so much more... hers... without it. As if the cloak itself were a personality that Leliana donned every time duty called.
Leliana shed her gloves, and quickly unbuckled her chain mail as she gave Kal a curious look. “Why do you stare at me so?”
“How could I not? Just... look at you.” Kal huffed, making a gesture at her wife.
Leliana gave her a small grin. “I'm still fully clothed.”
“No,” Kallian disagreed, shaking her head. “You were bare the moment that hooded cloak fell free.”
The bard made a soft noise of understanding but didn't speak on it. She merely shed her own under shirt and pulled Kallian back to her in a slow kiss that made Kal's knees weak. As gifted as her wife was with words, she never had to say a thing to make Kallian feel the love she had for her. Every kiss, every breath, every touch told her in so much more definitive ways. That was something that had not changed through her absence. The warmth of her skin on hers was like coming home.
There was no hurry to anything that happened after. It was a reacquainting of body and soul, slow to the point of purity. For every time before that they'd been intimate, there had been words breathed in Orlesian and the King's Tongue alike, but not this time. Nothing was said aside from a few errant whispers of names, a scattered breath of declaration at each peak of pleasure. Time had changed them, both more mature than they were; more mindful of what the act meant between them.
And after the last quiver was had by both, they found themselves on their sides facing one another, sharing the same pillow. Leliana was tracing the line of Kallian's jaw, cerulean eyes on silver. There was barely any space between their lips, hips flush with their legs tangled together.
“I have to go soon,” the bard lamented quietly. “The dawn is coming, and I have a long meeting today.”
“Anything exciting other than my trip to Denerim?” Kallian asked softly, squeezing her thighs around Leliana's that was caught between them.
Leliana gave her a tired smile. “Yes, actually. A ball at the Winter Palace in just over a fortnight. It's rather a shame you won't be able to come.”
Kallian huffed a laugh in disagreement. “Not my scene, love. Have fun.”
Leliana sighed wistfully. “If only it were for the joy of it. There are machinations in play on Celene's life. We're only attending to stop them... or at least make sure that the royal derriere that gets the throne is one that is grateful to us. The war in Orlais has torn the nation in half; Corypheus looks to use that to his advantage. We need to cement a ruler, or we will have even larger problems than the war.” She paused as if she were at war herself, struggling with a decision. Then her eyes softened, and she released a breath.
“There are rumors,” Leliana began hesitantly, “that the Empress has taken in an apostate as a magical advisor.”
Kallian's brow furrowed. “That isn't new, is it? Hasn't there been an Imperial Enchanter before? That woman here, Vivienne? I recall that being a bit of a ruckus years ago.”
Leliana nodded slowly. “Yes, well. With Vivienne taking her leave of the Court to serve the Inquisition, Celene has filled the vacancy with someone else.”
There was something in the tone that Leliana used that made Kallian very curious. It was almost leading her into asking, so she did. “Who?”
“Morrigan.”
The single name made Kal sit up on an elbow in bed, looking down at Leliana in shock. “Morrigan? My Morrigan? Why are you just now telling me this?”
Leliana pursed her lips at Kallian's use of the possessive regarding the apostate for which the red head had so much distaste. It was a point of jealousy for her that Kallian had loved the wild woman as much as Leliana herself, though in an entirely different manner. The witch had been somewhat of a sibling to Kal, closer to her than anyone in their little band of heroes back then, excepting Leliana. Her friendship with Oghren mostly came about after the arch demon was dead.
“I have not confirmed for myself that the rumors are true. I didn't want to get your hopes up if they were not. I see I failed at that.”
Kallian sat all the way up, putting her naked back against the wooden headboard of their bed. She wrapped her arms around her knees, scoffing at the thought of Morrigan at Court. “There's no fuckin' way. Can you imagine her serving the Empress? Because I fuckin' can't.”
Leliana also pushed up into a sitting position, mirroring her with her knees to her chest. “Yes, I can-- especially with the nation in civil discord. I would imagine her to gain something by having Celene's ear, but what it is I do not know. I realize you were close to her, but she used you, and she used Alistair.”
Kal shook her head vehemently. “No. I owe it to her that I am even sitting here now, Leliana. You know that. I know you don't like her but give her that credit.” Kallian swallowed thickly.
“The child?” she asked quietly, looking at the rumpled linen at her feet.
“None of my agents have reported a child with her. I shouldn't want to think what that may or may not mean.”
Kal heaved a sigh, looking over at her wife. “You shouldn't, but you do,” she clarified, and Leliana gave a single nod of confirmation.
“It is my job to know everything, remember? That hole in the story is suspicious, even more so than her presence in the Orlesian Court.”
“Now I wish I were going to this bloody ball of yours, if only to see her again.” Kal's chest ached with missing her friend, and Leliana reached over with an arm to tuck her beneath it. Kallian snuggled into the warmth, burying her face into the crook of Leliana's neck, kissing one of the few marks she'd left in her wake of love making.
“If I see her... is there anything you'd like me to say?” Leliana whispered, tilting her face down to kiss the top of Kal's messy head.
Kal nodded. “Tell her I still think of her. Tell her that she is still a voice of logic in my mind, and that I won't ever forget her.”
Leliana released a breath. “I will never understand what you see in her.”
Kal shrugged. “Like I told her when she said the same of you... you don't have to. And you understand one thing, at least. Where my heart is, Leliana. Where it has been since I walked into that tavern in Lothering eleven years ago.”
“I know, ma coeur. I know.”
Evelyn's entire body hurt. Her neck, her thighs, her back, her arms, her stomach. It felt like she had gotten in a fist fight with a Pride demon and come out on the losing side. But she was still dragging herself down the stairs with a smile, heading towards the war room the morning after a very eventful night with Sera, and their delightful new toy. At least she wasn't having trouble walking in quite the same way her imp was, slightly wobbly on her feet as she followed Evelyn down to the Great Hall.
“Dunno how I'm supposed to train when I can't even friggin' walk right,” the elf was grumbling under her breath as they came to the door. “This is your fault, you friggin' loony.”
Evelyn stopped in front of the closed wooden door to show Sera a crooked grin. “You weren't complaining last night, my imp. In fact, as I recall, you begged for it.”
She didn't even bother dodging the solid punch Sera gave her upper arm, just winced with the pain of it. But she did grab Sera's fist before she could pull it back to herself, tugging the girl forward into a sweet kiss. “Give it a few days and I'll let you get your full revenge, I promise.”
“Oh, you better.”
One more kiss, then Evelyn pulled away to open the door and let Sera out into the Great Hall first. She watched her limp away with a smugness she hadn't felt in a very long time, a very substantial sense of accomplishment. Then she turned around with a sigh to head to the war room, her head held high despite the blatant marks on her neck above her collar. She knew several pairs of eyes had already noticed the dark spots and were likely eyeing the limping archer with just as much suspicion. The thought only made Evelyn’s grin wider.
Josephine's face was priceless as she glanced at Evelyn upon her entrance to her office; then did a double take at the bruising. Ever polite, she did not comment, but she didn't have to; the widening of her slate-colored eyes was enough to tell the assassin that it was quite the picture.
“Good morning, Your Worship,” Josephine greeted her, inclining her head as she made notes at her desk. “I am still finishing up the minutes from yesterday's meeting. If you wait a moment, I thought we might walk to the council together?”
Evelyn's eyebrows furrowed at the unusual request. “Of course. Is everything all right?”
“Mmm, quite. I had a bit of an event last night with the bann.”
Evelyn rolled her eyes and crossed her arms to keep her hands from shaking. “Already? He hasn't even been in the castle a day.”
“Apparently, upon his arrival to his quarters, he discovered them too small for 'a man of his stature', but I'm almost positive he spoke not of his titles.”
Evelyn covered her mouth as she gave a snort of laughter, but Josephine continued on as if she didn't hear it.
“He relayed to me that he decided to wait until morning to see me for more proper accommodation, but then when he tried to lie down in the bed, he... fell through the supports. Hard.”
Evelyn burst into outright cackling. She held her ribs and let the tears stream down her face as she imagined the scene vividly in her mind as Josephine told her. Maker's balls, if only she could have been there to see it. Josephine giggled just a little with her, then coughed lightly to compose herself, glancing back down at her work.
“I fear that the last I saw of him, he was headed to the clinic. I sent word to your sister and Lady Hawke, of course. They should not find him there unless they wish it so.”
Evelyn's laughter died off and she finally wiped her eyes. “Oh, thank you for that, even if it hurts to laugh. I had a long night, as well. Bethany cleared me for duty last night. Sera and I celebrated.”
Josephine raised an eyebrow with a pointed look at the Inquisitor's neck. “As your friend, Evelyn... if your neck is any indication, one can only hope you remembered to shut the balcony doors this time.”
Evelyn waggled her eyebrows and gave a sweeping bow. “I aim to raise morale in any capacity, dear Josie.”
“It certainly... raises something.” If Evelyn hadn't been looking for a reply, she wouldn't have heard it, but the little mutter sent her off into another fit of giggles.
The door behind them opened as Josephine gathered her writing board and rose to her feet, and Evelyn glanced back to see Leliana enter the office. The bard flashed them a smile as she came into the room, her hood barely concealing the glint Evelyn could still see in her eyes. Something made her eyes scan down the woman, and she realized her entire posture was different than she was used to seeing. Leliana seemed... relaxed? Was that even possible?
“Good morning,” she greeted them both with a nod. “I have new information about the Empress's new arcane advisor, and it isn't good.”
Evelyn gave a dry chuckle, still eyeing her to figure out what was different. “If it's not good news, why the hell are you grinning like that?”
Leliana didn't reply, but she turned her face just enough so Josephine wouldn't see the wink she gave the Inquisitor. Evelyn blinked rapidly, the truth of it hitting her. Her friend had obviously had a very positive conversation with Tabris. She cleared her expression just as Josephine looked back in their direction as she came around her desk. That was Leliana's business, not hers to give away. But Josephine was already staring at Leliana in that subtly shrewd way she had, eyes slightly narrowed.
But she spoke bluntly. “Something is... different with you, Leliana.”
Evelyn's eyes widened at Josephine's lack of hesitation, and she shot a look at Leliana when the red head tittered a laugh. “I had a lovely evening with Kal, that is all. Now, tell me about the bann's complaints I received on my desk.”
“You, too? Maker's fucking balls.” Evelyn threw up her hands and turned on her heels to move for the door to the war room's corridor. “You both have my apologies and my sympathies, as well as my full permission to respond to the man however you'd like.”
“I’m not entirely certain my preference of problem solving is the answer to this particular man,” Leliana lamented with a light sigh. “I read rants about everything from failing support beams in his bed, to the location of the bed, itself.”
Josephine gave her a single nod as the three of them made for the door to the War Room’s corridor. “He likely had copies made and sent to everyone in a position of power here, excepting the Inquisitor.”
Evelyn scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Because he knows exactly what good that would do for him: none.”
Cullen was already waiting for them when they entered the large room, the young sun streaming in through stained glass behind him. The colors danced on his fur cloak as he stood straight and saluted at their entrance. Evelyn returned the salute as she took her usual place at the table, almost opposite Cullen.
“Good morning,” he greeted them all, nodding to each woman individually. “I awoke to a missive from the bann, something about beds? I hadn’t had my cup of tea when I read it, so the details didn’t quite click.”
Collective sighs came from the three women, who all gave one another a withering look. It was Josie that addressed Cullen on the matter.
“My first order of business once our meeting is concluded is to see to the bann. By the Maker’s good will, maybe we can adjust Evelyn’s schedule to include him today, so that we might see the back of him sooner rather than later.” She gave the Inquisitor a steady stare, and Evelyn felt like a child scolded.
“Fine, I’ll make the time to see the bann today. I agree, the faster he’s gone, the better for all of us,” she conceded with a defeated tone. Everything inside of her felt sick at the prospect, because knowing her father, he would want Evelyn alone for this chat. He wouldn’t want witnesses.
As if reading her mind, Leliana gave a single shake of her head. “You won’t be alone for it, even if the bann thinks it so,” she promised. “I’m sure with Bull and Cassandra outside the door, Sera in the rafters, and several of my trusted agents scattered within, there will be no room for the bann to try anything he may think to try.”
Evelyn did feel relieved with the words, and she gave a grateful nod back to Leliana. “So, what’s this news you have coming out of Orlais?”
The bard opened one of the folded notes in her hands and placed it on the table for everyone to see. “My agents have finally confirmed rumors about the new mage in the Court. Her name is Morrigan, and I knew her. She has always been self-interested, and her presence at Celene’s side concerns me.”
“Self-interested in what way?” Evelyn leaned over to read the words scrawled on the vellum, reading that Morrigan was indeed in place, but no motivations for such had been discovered. It also mentioned that she was without child, and that gave Evelyn a pause. “What’s this about a child?”
All sets of eyes were on Leliana, who shifted almost uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “This isn’t a widely known fact,” she started slowly, not making eye contact with anyone. “Morrigan is responsible for Kallian surviving the arch demon. She and Alistair Theirin performed a ritual the night before the battle in Denerim. She allowed herself to become with child in order to absorb the Old God’s soul from the arch demon; instead of Kallian or Alistair absorbing it and dying.”
No one said anything for a moment, before Cullen cleared his throat, his brow furrowed with concern.
“This apostate had a child, a royal bastard, which has the soul of an arch demon?” His question was asked for clarification, but Evelyn could see the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. She knew this information unsettled him greatly.
Leliana shook her head, her shoulder rising and falling in a shallow shrug. “That was the ritual. But my agents have seen no evidence to her being a mother. She is cunning, and if she did not want anyone to know of its existence, no one will.”
Cullen threw his hands up in the air and began to pace the length of the table angrily. Then his mouth exploded. “That kind of magic can only be one kind of magic: blood magic! And if this apostate is a blood mage, we have even more issues to deal with at Halamshiral. I want as many agents on this woman as you can pile, Spymaster! The Venatori have a spy in the Court, and I am now almost positive it is this mage!”
Evelyn was shocked at his outburst, though she shouldn’t have been. She knew the man’s history, knew his stance on magic in general. He was the main reason her survival at Adamant was so hush hush. It wouldn’t do for him to know that Merrill had led the way to saving her life in that very vein of magic. She opened her mouth to respond, but Leliana’s voice cut her off.
“I don’t disagree, Commander, and I have as many agents in the halls of the palace as I dare,” the spymaster shot back waspishly in response to his tone. “If you have doubts about my people’s capabilities, I suggest we speak about it in a civil discussion. I won’t have you marching around this room, having a tantrum.”
“Perhaps,” Josephine interjected calmly when Cullen opened his mouth to angrily retort, “we should plan the trip itself, and manage the logistics later with cooler tempers.”
“Agreed.” Evelyn finally found her voice, still glancing between Leliana and Cullen. “We have more pressing issues than personal feelings.” She meant the words to cowl both of her advisors, and they had the intended effect.
Cullen took a deep breath and steadied himself with a curt nod in Evelyn’s direction. “Of course, Inquisitor.”
Evelyn gave one last look at both of them before focusing on Josephine. “The invitation?” she prompted gently, trying to control the environmental mood.
Josephine plucked an envelope from behind the vellum on her portable desk, handing it over to Evelyn. “Our invitation comes from the Grand Duke. He would like us to join as his guests. There is a limitation on party size, but that is a general Orlesian custom. It serves the purpose of knowing who exactly is coming in plain sight, and how much food and drink to serve.”
“Mmm.” Evelyn hummed disinterestedly, reading over the fancy script. “Ten of us. We four are a given. Sera.”
She pointedly ignored the looks her advisors shared when she mentioned her lover.
“Cassandra. Bull. Dorian. Solas. Vivienne.”
“It could prove useful to have Cole there in secret,” Leliana murmured pensively. “Do you think he would agree?”
“I can ask him,” Evelyn agreed with a nod. “He would be an asset the Venatori wouldn’t predict.”
Cullen’s soft scoff was ignored by everyone, and he didn’t speak to elaborate on it. Evelyn was grateful for that. It was always a fight with him here when magic or the Fade was involved. He was as ignorant of the subject as the rest of them yet held a delusion he was more versed on it due to his templar training. The Inquisitor couldn’t have disagreed more.
“While you’re doing so, I will be contacting tailors for our evening wear. The budget is generous, so I doubt I will have any trouble hiring a team.” Josephine scribbled away on her pad, not looking up at anyone. So, the next line delivered flatly made Evelyn chuckle.
“I trust you to remind Sera not to smear mustard down the front of her dress this time, Inquisitor.”
The suite below the Inquisitor’s wasn’t quite as decadent, but Ellen still found it to be the most lavish room she’d known since leaving Ostwick eleven years before. The décor was very Free Marches, indicative that Evelyn held sway over that part when Josephine had given orders to the laborers. The bed itself was the best part, a feather stuffed cloud large enough to hold several people, much less just her intended and herself. The linens were soft and well sewn, the blankets heavy to seal away the residual chill in the stone walls of the castle. The nearly two weeks of waking up in the finery had found her reluctant to leave it, holding Bethany hostage in it far longer than either of them should be.
This morning was different. This morning found her not knowing those silk sheets at all the night before. Instead, she was still dressed in the robes she had worn the day before, seated at the small table provided for them near the grand fireplace. She was surrounded by scrolls and books, trying desperately to distract herself from her father’s presence in Skyhold. A dried ink well and a ratty quill sat to her left, forgotten. The beginnings of a thesis based on the Inquisitor’s recovery was outlined on the vellum before her, but her eyes were trained vacantly at the flames breathing in the grate.
He doesn’t know I’m here. If I stay out of his sight, he doesn’t have to.
It had almost become a chant.
A slight rustle of cloth too close to her elbow broke her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see Bethany standing there. Her intended was bleary eyed, hair ruffled, and still dressed in her wrinkled gown. Beth rubbed at one eye, yawning widely as she used her other eye to look at the scribbles on the paper Ellen had started.
“All night?” she asked Ellen sleepily. Ellen nodded.
“A lot on my mind, love,” she answered truthfully. She reached for Bethany’s hand and brushed her lips across her knuckles.
“Want to toss some off? I’ll catch it.” The offer was freely given with a squeeze of her hand, and it made Ellen give a tired smile in return.
“The bann, mostly. Evelyn. Corypheus.”
Bethany let go of Ellen’s hand to circle the table and sat down in a chair beside her. “So, nothing new, then. Let’s talk details. What exactly about the bann?”
A dry laugh escaped her throat. “It would be easier to list the things I haven’t thought about him. The man has been plaguing me since I saw that carriage, and he doesn’t even know I’m here.”
There was that phrase again. She swallowed a lump that formed in her throat.
“…do you plan to sequester yourself here for the week that he will be at Skyhold?”
Ellen rubbed her face with both hands at Beth’s question, then stood up and began to pace the rug in front of the fireplace, eyes on her boots as she moved. “I don’t know,” she muttered sullenly. She was quite displeased that her mind hadn’t made itself, and she was still weighing out the risks versus the reward. “Part of me wants to flaunt my life in front of him, so he knows I am happy, just to make him miserable. But the other part is very much a scared little girl hyperventilating in the corner of a dark bedroom, listening to her twin being—”.
Her words were cut off because her throat seized up, causing her to choke on the next despicable words that were to follow. Ellen’s hand flew up to her mouth, covering it completely as some things from Baby Ellen’s eyes and ears clicked. Her steps on the rug stopped as she froze. She hadn’t thought about those nights in years. She had completely forgotten until that moment.
It was honestly confusing to her why the memories came back so forcefully now. The older Trevelyan twin hadn’t understood what was happening then, why some nights Evelyn would be so sleepy, so early. Why the bann would come into…
Her stomach suddenly and violently lurched, and she quickly turned away from Beth and dashed to the chamber pot just around the corner, her hand still clenched around her mouth, but now to hold back her dinner from last night. She made it, voiding her stomach into a thankfully empty pot. Shock, repulsion and confusion quickly warped into a deep grief, causing her to sob as she gagged and heaved, gripping the doorframe in one hand and her right knee with the other.
Controlling her emotions was the farthest thing from her mind as she felt that grief begin to morph again, this time to scalding rage. The heaves began to slow, then to stop, and she spat into the pot a final time before she unfolded herself. Her mind was racing.
No, no, no. Can’t let him near her. I don’t care if he knows I am here or not. I couldn’t protect her from him then; but I fucking can, now. I’ll kill him. I’ll do whatever it takes to be the monster he always told me I was.
The hot tears sliding down her face as she wiped her mouth on her sleeve were only matched in temperature by the molten lava of her anger roiling in her gut. Her resolve hardened in that anger like steel in a forge. She sniffed back the next set of sobs, finally noticing Bethany in the doorway. She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders as their eyes met, Beth’s worried browns, to Ellen’s enraged emerald and blue.
“Ellen?” Concern colored her voice, but the sound of her name from Beth was a balm to the storm inside. It was an anchor that Ellen didn’t realize she needed until she felt a familiar, cold sensation across her skin. Her magic had ignited without her consent, and the sensation she felt was the electricity fizzling out when Bethany spoke.
“I’m fine,” Ellen lied in a whisper, choking back another wave of rage.
“You’re not,” Bethany corrected gently, moving slowly to stand in front of her, but seemed hesitant to touch her. “And that’s okay. We can manage it. But I need you to breathe, love. Come with me.”
It was easy to take the hand Bethany offered her, easy to follow her back to the larger room, and to the sofa by the fire. Her heart was still thumping wildly in her chest as she perched on the edge, not fully committed to sitting when everything inside of her wanted to flee the room and find the bann for vigilante justice. Bethany trusted her not to, what with how she fully pressed to the back of it, knees drawn beneath her, close enough to reach for if Ellen wanted, yet far away enough to let her breathe.
It was silent in the few moments after sitting, and Ellen took it to try and regulate her body, her mind. She took deep breaths, worked her fingers against the fabric of her robes to try and ease some of her restlessness, rubbing her palms on her thighs. Beth patiently waited for her to be able to articulate her thoughts and feelings, like always.
“We can’t let the bann be alone with Evelyn.” When Ellen finally spoke the words, they sounded dull, like it wasn’t the most important thing she had to say. Just those few minutes of realization had completely drained her, added to her sleepless night. She was exhausted, now.
Bethany didn’t reply at first, the only sound coming from the logs shifting and cracking in the fireplace. Ellen didn’t elaborate. She couldn’t because saying those words out loud might mean the line between mage and abomination. She couldn’t let herself dwell on it; she had already lost control of her magic once today. But Beth, being Beth, didn’t have to hear them. Sadness belied the worry, an acceptance of the missing words that her body had physically rejected from being said.
“I think I understand,” she murmured, eyes still holding that same emotion, her tone matching. “And she won’t be. No one in this castle would allow that to happen, my love.”
Ellen finally allowed her spine to unlock, and she sank into the back of the sofa, deflated. “I know that… but what has already been done can’t go on ignored. I doubt she has any recollection of it. He would do something that always made her drowsy and she would sleep early and heavily.”
Bethany’s eyes closed, her nostrils flaring slightly in anger, but she kept her composure well, just as always. “That man is worse than any demon from the Fade but losing you to one because of him would destroy me, as well. A week, Ellen, we just have to survive the week.” Her eyes opened, and that sadness was replaced with determination. “And we will. All of us, just as Evelyn said the other night.”
“I believe you,” Ellen said in almost amazement. She did believe her. A few minutes ago, her world was closing in, and now… The light was there just because Bethany said so.
“Good.” Bethany gave her a nod, and a smile. It did the trick, and Ellen couldn’t help but genuinely smile back, even as exhausted as it was. “All right, come on. Let’s get you in a bath and into bed.”
“What?” Ellen looked at the window, clearly seeing the light of dawn outside of it, purplish orange mountains half in the shadow of the castle. “I thought we wanted to work today?”
Bethany shook her head. “No, you’re going to nap. If you wake up in a few hours and want to come down, that’s fine. You’re not going to deplete yourself healing people.”
“But you’re going?” Ellen was kind of putout, upset that not only was she barred from her work, but that Bethany clearly intended to go on without her.
“I need to check in, at the very least. There are two critical beds there, and several that are close to being cleared for duty. I don’t know how the mages all look to me like I’m some kind of boss, but they sadly do.”
“Right, no clue at all, Bethany Hawke.” Ellen emphasized her surname, but Bethany was already shaking her head.
“If bloodlines or names had anything to do with it, you’d be the boss, Trevelyan.”
Ellen sighed dramatically. “Right as always, dear.”
Beth stood up, and Ellen followed her obediently to the second-best thing about being the Inquisitor’s twin: the bathtub. Built with some kind of steam heating something or another, dwarves at their fucking finest, in her opinion. No heating pots of water over a fire and pouring it into the tub. The waterspout over the basin spewed water already warm through banging pipes, but once you shut them down and sank into the heat, the noise was gone, and all was worth it.
Her only gripe was that it wasn’t big enough to fit both at the same time. Her long legs took up every bit of the length even bent at the knees, and it wasn’t deep enough for Beth to rest on top of her. That would be something she would keep in mind for their home, when they deigned to settle into one. She wanted a giant tub, and one of these dwarven constructs above it.
“All right,” Beth said when the tub was full, and she had shut off the valve. “In you go.”
She waited until Ellen was settled in the steaming tub before she leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead.
“I’m going to get dressed, then go grab some breakfast to bring back, all right?”
Ellen nodded, then let her head fall back against the edge of the basin. She had just allowed her eyes to slide closed when three sharp raps sounded from the door to their chambers. She sat back up in the water and twisted her head around to investigate the main chamber behind her. She heard Bethany answer the door, and thank someone, then the sound of the door closing. She relaxed back into the water, and a moment later Bethany came back into the washroom, a short note in hand.
“What’s that about?” Ellen asked curiously, leaning up again.
“The bann in currently in the clinic, with a bruised tailbone.” Bethany’s face was soft. “The ambassador wanted us to know so we wouldn’t be surprised once we arrived. That was very kind of her.”
Ellen nodded, then reached for the bar of rose scented soap on the little shelf by the tub. “I wonder what happened that gave him a bruised tailbone?”
“It says he fell through the slats of his bed.” Bethany looked up from the paper to meet her eyes. “I won’t go, if you truly wish me not to. But I don’t want you to go at all, now that I know he’s there. Not even later, unless he is gone.”
“I’ll have to face him, eventually. I can’t hide in this room for the next week. Besides that, I need to face him. I must, for my own sanity and growth.”
“Fifteen minutes ago, I couldn’t touch you to get your attention without being shocked. Calling your name repeatedly, trying to break you out of that spiral… not today, Ellen. Please?”
Ellen pursed her lips and began scrubbing at her skin to work off her agitation with the situation. “Fine,” she relented a moment later. “Not today. But soon.”
Skyhold
Dora jerked awake in the dim light of her bunk room, sweat pouring from her skin and drenching her linens. Her heart was pounding away at her breastbone, the cadence thunderous in her ears. She rubbed her eyes hard, blinking several times in the cool light of the early morning streaming through the window, trying to process what she’d just witnessed in the Fade.
The Fade
At first, the scene was gorgeous. It was all elaborate buildings, twisting skywards with architecture like none Dora had ever seen. Some of the ancient elvhen ruins she’d explored throughout her studies held their flavor, though none had come close to comparison. She could see the flickers of spirits in some of the dwellings, going about as if living a true life. She saw several standing next to what appeared to be a bath house, the pools steaming in the cool air surrounding her. She saw another group, these spirits more defined and sporting pointed ears, entering a tall building to the right of the bath house.
Is this… Elvhenan? Echoes of it? How?
It was night wherever she stood in this place, the stars above visible through branches of trees, and crystalline spires that twinkled in the moonlight. The road beneath her feet was gently lit with glowing stones, a soft light to illuminate the path before her. Dora wandered along it, eyes trying in vain to absorb everything she was seeing. It was just so… peaceful. Perfect, in a way. This was the nicest walk she’d ever taken, breathing in the smell of incense as she passed another crystalline structure with no walls, only those twisted spires. She could also smell the unmistakable aroma of books from inside, making her smile to herself as she eyed the numerous bookcases that circled the open room. As her eyes tilted upwards, she saw that it became solid further up, the top obscured by clouds floating past miles and miles above the ground.
“Vir Dirthara.”
The whisper came unbidden in the very back of her mind, and she turned to see the speaker, only to find herself alone. The echo of the voice of the owner of this memory plane, perhaps?
“You’re in no danger here. I only wish to show you what was lost, and how.”
The words were spoken in the language of The People, but in a long-forgotten dialect that the Dalish elf only knew through her books and lessons as the First in her clan. But before she could answer the voice to evaluate her theory, the very earth beneath her feet shook, catching her off guard.
“The quakes. Our People were justly terrified that the ground itself was angry, that it would open and swallow us whole. The Children of the Stone, the Titans, the war with them. When the Titan fell, we discovered lyrium.”
The scene around her changed now, damp air pressing in and no stars shining above. The smell was dank, musty, earthen. But there was also the sweet smell of lyrium. She turned in a full circle and froze when she saw the scene in front of her. A pair of spirits vaguely shaped as a female and male elf, were pointing at a group of shorter spirits that were stout, dwarves. The dwarven spirits were mining a wall in the cave, which was practically bleeding lyrium. The scenes were eerily silent, especially as she watched them swing picks and expected to hear it collide with the stone wall on every pass.
“We didn’t fully grasp the connection the Children of the Stone had with the Titans. These dwarves’ minds were broken, and we tried to give them purpose. That’s what we told ourselves. They were immune to the effects, and our only source of mining the blood from the Titan.”
The scene shifted again, only this time there was an elaborate statue of a beautiful elven woman, and spirits of dwarves were gathered around its base, still chiseling the stone to perfection. Dora noted that they were still underground, likely in some thaig lost to Blights and Time.
“Lyrium became the catalyst for the downfall. Powerful mages began to call themselves gods and live as such with sworn followers that were merely cannon fodder and slaves to pit against each other in cock measuring contests. Folly, fools floundering. Jealousy and treachery.”
A large fire suddenly consumed everything around her, and she felt the scorching heat envelop her. She screamed and was still screaming when she found herself in another scene, this one of a council chamber. Nine figures sat at attention.
Then it flashed to lavish temples, elves flattened in worship and bringing offerings.
Flashes of sweating tangles of thousands of elves in various patterns of vallaslin, war cries and blood and the smell of arcana burning the air.
Another flash, standing amid an enormous arena styled fighting pit, two spirits dueling to the end of each other, while two more prominent spirits watched on in clear disapproval from high boxed thrones. It was only when one stood victorious that she saw the faint outline of vallaslin she knew very well; it was a replica of her own.
She didn’t have time to process it before--
The next flash, the scent of seawater and fetid seaweed, rotten fish and brine. A dark room with a shimmering pool of thick, grey fluid. Spirits walking into the pool shaped as elves at first; but coming out as deformed creatures with too many parts, or not enough… parts that weren’t necessarily from the same species. A shadow of a long, segmented creature slithered along one wall, and Dora’s heart fell into the pit of her stomach in fear as she heard sound for the first time: a sickly-sweet, high-pitched cackle.
Flashed again to pull her out of that nightmare and into the same council chambers as before, an elven woman dead on the floor this time, a male kneeled beside her, cradling her head.
“Everything they had done was monstrous. But this was the worst of it. She was everything good the Evanuris ever was. And they murdered her for it.”
Dora’s eyes lit up in recognition of the tale. “Mythal,” she croaked in a dry whisper, her voice cracking from disuse.
“Correct.”
Now Dora knew the voice was addressing her directly this whole time, and not an echo of the memory as she had thought. Again, no time to process before another flash occurred.
A male elf in a wolf’s skin, standing before a line of elves in various outlines of vallaslin, holding his hand to their faces and appearing to take away the markings. She knew that wolf. Her People used him as a warning. That elf was Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf.
“They were never gods. Merely greedy, cruel beings that believed they owned everything they touched… including their own People that they used against each other at every turn, brandings marking what slaves were who’s.”
Dora’s hand found itself reaching up to the dark half of her face, fingertips brushing the familiar texture. Her skin had been different ever since receiving her rites to adulthood. She knew without the help of silver how to trace the patterns.
“Yes.” The voice answered her unasked question. “The Dalish wear their slave markings with ignorant pride. It is a rite among your people, a declaration of character. Yours is interesting, that of vengeance, yet I sense no anger in you.”
“You’ve yet to piss me off,” she muttered, rankled at the tone it held. “And you don’t know my story.”
“I know more than you realize, young one.”
The scene changed again, only this time it was familiar. Three aravels were tightly encircled around a large fire, and six halla were corralled just left of them. Four elves were seated around the flames, and Dora knew that four more slumbered in the aravels. This night was familiar because she had lived it. This was the worst night of her life, twenty summers ago. This was the only lie she had ever told Hawke, back in the beginning of this part of her journey. She told the Champion of Kirkwall that she had no recollection of her parents or her former clan. She remembered enough because of the small carving of the wolf, and she remembered this night eight years later.
Keeper Deshanna sat with her back to the woods, her head of full silver hair appearing white in the firelight. Jedorii sat on her left, carving arrow shafts and laughing at a joke that Muiran made, her sun-bleached hair gleaming as it fell over her face.
Dora felt her stomach give a flip, seeing the young hunter’s smile again. Jedorii had been her first crush, two years her senior and freshly marked as an adult with Andruil’s vallaslin. So full of life, just bursting with it as she reached over and slugged her best friend, Muiran, in her arm.
The scene changed again, this time to the mage’s quarters in Skyhold.
“I won’t make you relive that. We know what happens only moments later.”
“Thank you,” Dora whispered, looking around the mage’s tower sadly. A band of shemlen bandits had descended on them. Only the Keeper, Muiran, and Dora had survived to report back to the rest of their clan. Dora had lost Jedorii’s smile forever that night.
She took a deep breath to steady herself, then asked the inevitable question. “I must ask… who are you? How do you know these things?”
Silence met her question for a few seconds.
“…because I am the one that they called Fen’Harel. I lived it. Those were my memories. And I have seen your dreams, walked with you in the Fade.”
A cold feeling settled over her, all the warnings she’d heard ever since she was a little girl running through her mind. The trickster god. The Dread Wolf. “May the Dread Wolf never hear your footsteps,” she whispered despite herself. She closed her eyes, released a long breath, then opened them. “What do you want?”
“Your ear.”