Trial of Faith: Cathaire's Grasp
Rated T
I do want to say that these are NOT written in order at this point. Sorry my muse is a jerk, I hate her too sometimes. Also again I have not finished inquisition (not going to happen at this point.) and I've at this point only read about a quarter of masked Empire (so it doesn't count either). Take this as an AU series if you will. You may be able to figure out the theme I'm loosely following by now. My inquisitor was an Adaar, but I am borrowing the Trevelyans for a moment.
Briala of Orlais stared at a war map of Thedas, her mind awash in turmoil. Celene may have found respite within her embrace as she journeyed beyond the veil, but under the harshness of day she found the strength to become the Lioness once again. Any attempt to see her for anything other than business of the Dales had been kindly, politely, but ultimately, resolutely denied. Briala knew she was running out of time. Celene wouldn't lie to her…not now, but that didn't mean that she couldn't attempt to harden her heart. Her human's solemn words the morning after Celene had passed the night within her embrace had easily displayed her intent.
"Briala, I will always offer you honesty and fairness but that is all we can share. You shall be my Marquise of the Dales and I swear to you that we shall build an Orlais that every elvhan citizen will be proud to call home."
Briala had spent her life observing Celene: learning everything about her, studying her, in part for her own survival but primarily because her moonlight was her favorite subject. Celene was a perfectionist, and failure wounded her deeply. In her rule she learned from it, adapted to it, but when it came to them…it would seem that she hemorrhaged in her soul, unable to adapt, yet unable to move on as well. Briala could no longer deny that her moonlight loved her fiercely, and that their separation was only destroying them both. Yet she didn't know how to soothe the bitter hurt that separated them. The spymaster hugged her arms tightly against her sides; a pained groan lurching from her broken spirit.
Her soul was starved for its pair, and before such pangs could be denied and bitterly ignored, but in light of Celene's recent confessions it would seem her weary heart had rallied against her. Yet now Celene didn't believe in them enough to attempt to mend their rift. She believed that Briala could walk away from her again…while she stayed behind mired in heartbreak and regret. She believed that Briala wanted nothing more than her power…and perhaps a beautiful Empress to conquer, but never to love.
The spymaster slammed her fist against the war map in frustration and remorse. She had walked away, but it had not been unscathed, and despite what Celene believed doing so had been the hardest choice she'd ever made. Celene had haunted her dreams for so long, while the thought of her parent's anguish and the death of so many of her people were the only things kept her from returning to the Empress. She had hated that she would have been willing to embrace her parent's murderer once again, to ignore cries of pain and charred flesh for one more hidden caress or furtive smile. One more night spent intertwined with her Empress' passionate cries ringing in her ears, and her touch branding her skin had almost been a worthy price to betray her people, her family. Guilt and rage allowed her to wage war against her heart to swallow down the insistent hunger that lapped at her soul like wildfire, and now fate had come to collect like the slow arrow of the Dread Wolf.
Yet it wasn't that simple…not really. Celene had been correct; defying Mantillion would have only led to all of their deaths and would have merely pushed Gaspard that much closer to the throne. Celene's silence had not saved her parents but it hadn't been the cause of their deaths either. Briala had finally come to terms with that as she held her beloved through her fitful slumber. Orlais may be a land of cruelty and discord for an elvhan, but it was still the only home she had ever known.
If Gaspard had successfully claimed the throne and managed to rule with any strength even that small comfort would be lost to every child of the Creators. She whispered a small prayer of thanks to Inquisitor Adaar for preventing that from happening; for having the insight needed to keep Gaspard and his sister at bay and giving Briala some semblance of a chance at reclaiming her moonlight. Of course now the loss of Celene's faith in the love they shared meant that the Empress would be guarded against any attempt at reconciliation beyond their political union. She was after all the Grandmaster of the Game, and the Last Valmont learned the hard way that love was wrought on the end of poisoned daggers.
Despite these harsh lessons, Celene had long defied the nobility and pushed for elvhan inclusion and respect even as the Game attempted to thwart her at every turn. She continued her push for equality even after Briala had left her, setting much of the nobility against her and fueling the Civil War Briala herself had sparked. If her actions were merely a ploy, Briala had to admit that it was both a foolish one and that her moonlight possessed incredible patience for her endgame. Still, the Empress of Orlais always followed her own mind, despite the clamoring demands of the Game...or Briala herself.
However despite all of her wisdom, her vhenan'ara misunderstood her intent, although at this point Briala could hardly blame her. She could almost applaud herself for how thoroughly and how cruelly she put Celene aside...Mantillion, may she burn forever, would have been proud. Even now the thought of her moonlight's stricken, haunted face as the depth of her betrayal dawned upon her scalded her soul. Briala had consoled herself then, telling herself that Celene had gotten what she deserved that a shem could never truly feel love and be faithful. Now armed with the truth of Celene's heart, Briala could hear the tremors in a voice that never wavered, could remember the restless energy within a body normally composed and poised. She didn't understand how she'd managed to take one step believing that her moonlight had ever been a monster...that she had ever been anything more than what the Game demanded her to be.
She hungered for Celene, all of her: every smile, every embrace, every rare laugh, ever learned fact excitedly retold. Even the cunning and ruthlessness the Game had forced upon Celene was to be cherished and adored. Briala had always seen all of Celene but now, now finally she could accept all of her, the kind, gentle lover and the ruthless, logical lioness of the Grand Game. It was not the Empress that she sought now…only the woman…only her woman. The spymaster stared at the Free Marches in abject hatred. It would be hard enough to convince Celene of the sureness of their love, but now one of the barbarian lords…a bastard no less, had the gall to attempt to court and befriend the Empress of Orlais.
Evelyn Trevelyan.
Normally such an attempt would mean little to Briala; none of the court or the dignitaries realized yet that even if Briala never won back her rightful place, a man would not even be worthy of the Empress' consideration. The Lioness could play the Game, but Celene's heart could only burn for her own sex. Yet now it was a woman that desired Celene; Trevelyan was human in the ways that mattered and elvhan enough to be familiar to Celene and take her off guard. It infuriated her to no end that Trevelyan could be half elvhan and because of the nature of elf-blood she could walk among humans and gain acceptance that was openly denied a pure elvhan. In fact what resistance the Trevelyans met was self-inflicted. They wore their elvhan blood like a badge of honor, yet blissfully unaware of what it truly meant to exist as an elf born a citizen to a human empire.
Before, the knowledge that only she had been allowed to caress Celene's silken form; that only her kisses and her touch had been the only ones that Celene had ever known, would have bolstered her with arrogance and pride…but there was something different about this country lord. Celene's smiles were genuine and her laughter, like the sound of tinkling bells upon a warm breeze, poured forth freely and often at the half blood's embellished stories. Her moonlight honestly liked the bumpkin idiot; and while they would meet resistance for the inability to produce an heir between them, a human looking elf blood would be easier to sway the court to accept. Celene believed that all Briala would ever offer her would be a dagger within her belly; she'd spoken of her longing but how long would it take for her weary battered heart to seek succor within a more acceptable embrace?
She couldn't allow her moonlight to give her ethereal light to another.
Snarling in frustration, the former spymaster moved away from the war table to her wardrobe and quickly changed into servant's clothes and donned a servant's mask. After all, it would not do for the Marquise of the Dales to be caught skulking about the palace. Celene had been in meetings with various dignitaries all day, but Briala knew that her beloved had blocked off an inordinate amount of time to spend with her brutish guest before she would retire for the evening. Carefully, she moved to a nearby servant's passage; this one used by the spymaster only and locked against standard use. Celene had changed nothing even after all this time; Briala could always easily come and go as she pleased. Quietly, she slipped inside and moved quickly toward Celene's salon. The spymaster paused as she heard the warm, velvet tones of her moonlight's voice counter the rougher ones of the barbarian lord. Settling herself into a crouch, the spymaster pressed her sensitive ears to the faux wall and listened in.
"My mother was a Dalish Huntress…she found my father…a hedge mage, after he had been attacked by werewolves. He had been lucky…as he had not been tainted, but it took time for his wounds to heal. Time is nourishment to love's flower…they grew close and were openly married. I am the result of that union. Disease wiped out the other successors to the Trevelyan lands and my father returned after brokering a deal with the Templars to take over his father's place."
Celene smiled softly as she contemplated her guest. Here was a woman, living proof that an Elvhan and a Human could find love and sustain it. The Trevelyans endured scorn for their Elvhan blood but the people loved them and under that support they were steadily gaining power. Darius Trevelyan never hid his wife, never presented her as less than what she was; his beloved and his equal. Moreover Bann Trevelyan was far more cunning than his daughter represented him as. He effectively blackmailed the Templar Order into allowing him to take his place as the sole heir of his Bannon forming a small but effective imbalance of power within Ostwick. House Trevelyan had been known for its ties to the Chantry and Bann Trevelyan had managed to use the upheaval in the Chantry to both secure more power and keep the chantry boot from his neck.
Celene could only feel shame and wonder that a country lord could do what she as Empress could not. For a moment she wondered what life would have been like if she'd taken Briala as her wife and queen. The chantry would've risen against them, but even the Divine couldn't risk tearing Orlais apart without the strong backing of a noble in line for the throne. Through Lady Mantillion's evil and Celene's cunning there was no such noble within Orlais. Gaspard's rise to power was merely because Celene and Briala could never truly act in concert. Together they controlled the major players of the game, but apart they could only collapse under the weight of a greedy, squabbling Orlais. Now that Gaspard and his vile sister lay in chains and stripped of their titles there was no usurper that could keep them apart.
Yet it did not matter, none of it did. This was the world they lived in, and here Briala would never love her fully. Too many scars and barriers prevented them from knowing truest love shared. The world had deemed her sunlight to be little more than an animal, and it didn't matter that Celene saw Briala's blinding brilliance. Celene's feelings alone would never be enough, she knew that logically…but her foolish heart refused to let go. She sought the sun, longed to gaze upon its brilliance and touch its warmth...despite death being the only reward for her devotion. And after her most recent failure, foolishly laying her soul bare to her temptress, she needed to shore up her defenses against any ploy Briala might present to her.
"I can only hope that one day, that the world shall be so enlightened Lady Trevelyan. Your legacy shall be one of peace and understanding…perhaps for humans and elvhan alike."
The elf blood smiled beatifically even as a blush began to darken her cheeks at the Empress' words. Boldly she laid a hand upon one of Celene's and the Lioness managed to tame the instinct to flinch or rebuke the contact.
"All I wish is to make my parents proud. Still, call me Evelyn, please dear Empress."
Celene smiled softly but didn't adjust her address for the minor noble. She found Evelyn Trevelyan's insights to be wonderful and her company enchanting, but she could not waver on decorum lest other players of the Game take advantage. Evelyn started off as a standard visit between nobles, as King Alistair's instance on fostering good relations between Orlais and Fereldan had prompted Celene to open her court to Fereldan and Free Marches nobility, in spite of the complaints of her court. Yet a shared interest in astronomy and language had allowed Celene to indulge the scholar within and as they began to speak more frequently, Celene was certain that the beautiful noble had taken an interest in her.
For a moment, Celene wished that she could respond. She wished that her heart could feel something other than friendship when her heart's desire scorned her so. She had passed the night within Briala's embrace, but they had not come to a resolution, yet despite that Celene dared to give hope life within her heart. Morrigan had called her a fool once, but placed her in the company of the Hero of Fereldan for also valuing love so strongly; so the Empress indulged her advisor's more flippant, abrasive nature and took the rebuke for the compliment that it was. Still if she was a fool, she was an exacting one...what would one want with a flame when one had known the radiance of the sun?
Celene looked upon a form too tall and stocky with a warrior's build, instead of delicate, lithe strength kept carefully hidden servant's clothing and suited to the shadows. There was a bronzing of lightly scarred skin, but it came from years of working in the sun with loyal subjects instead of a natural mocha crème accented sweetly with freckles. Raven hair fell easily in loose ringlets instead of vibrant, playful curls of cinnamon and fire. Celene blinked as she realized the turn her thoughts had taken and she thanked the Maker for the ability to drift yet still pay attention to conversation directed at her.
"I trust… that you shall at least stay long enough for the party that I am holding in honor of all of our visiting friends from Fereldan and the Free Marches next week, yes? It would delight me greatly to speak with you further…Evelyn." Celene paled beneath her mask as she saw a full face blush surge all the way down the younger woman's neck and she tried again to no avail to summon some semblance of attraction. She could easily recognize Evelyn's beauty but regretfully, it meant nothing to her. She would have to tread lightly so as to not hurt her newfound friend. They were so few and far between upon the throne and she longed for at least one friend that didn't seek to use her. Smiling flirtatiously, Lady Trevelyan took her leave and Celene let out the breath that she didn't realize she was holding.
The weary Empress moved to her dressing chambers and removed her mask while lightly dabbing her face with cool water, hoping to stave off her impending headache. She stared at her reflection within the nearby mirror and all she could see was her failures. Failure to protect Briala, failure to give her a world that acknowledged her magnificence, failure to prevent Briala from losing her only family merely because fate had placed her within her path. Everything she touched...turned to ash...even her beloved Orlais resisted her attempts to create a bastion of culture and knowledge, to leave a mark upon the world that would reverberate into eternity. Briala had attempted to entreat her to stay, but she couldn't let weakness and familiarity damn them both. Briala deserved a chance to love freely…and perhaps so did she as well. The Empress chuckled ruefully at the foolish thought; she knew that her heart was lost and that she would never be free of love's cruel embrace. She would die, still in love with a woman that could only rightly despise her.
Even now Briala haunted her; she could hear her laughter in the air like a beautiful song that was fading and could never be sung again. The Empress of Orlais sighed at the thought as she began to loosen her corset. She had her wardrobe altered in such a fashion that she could tie the bone crushingly ridiculous corsets herself, as she had remained unwilling to have a new handmaiden take Briala's place. These rooms, the task of removing these clothes and caressing the body that lay hidden underneath: all of these things belonged to Briala alone. For a moment Celene could feel small yet surprisingly strong hands removing her corset, pushing the dress off her shoulders, the warmth of a sweet kiss pressed sensuously upon her neck even as those knowing hands worked her dress all the way down. Briala had always been a tortuous lover; she would move away and busy herself with performing her duties, tidying and putting away clothes, while Celene slowly went mad with longing. Just before the Empress of Orlais lost herself and went to her, beloved Briala would return like a cool breeze on a summer's day, her hands working their magic upon Celene's tense form.
Celene often initiated kisses between the two of them but their courtship had emboldened Briala; transforming her once timid companion into her amorous pursuer, the elvhan almost always initiating their love making. After the pain of betrayal had shown her love to be one-sided, the mere frustration and embarrassment at being constantly denied the chance to have the Empress of her heart come undone within her embrace gave way to the sour realization that Briala wanted to mitigate as much time spent in her oppressor's presence as possible. Had her sunlight ever felt anything within Celene's embrace? Likely not, after all what woman would desire the touch of her defiler? Celene tried to let that knowledge harden her heart, but all she could feel was her pain and her never-ending yearning to please and comfort Briala.
The Empress stood and moved towards her bed trying to shake the memory of her sunlight's presence from the room, but even in memory, Celene was a servant of her heart. Pausing, Celene braced her forearm against the wall, her free hand roaming over her taut form, attempting to recapture the love she had lost so long ago. She had to believe that at least once in their tumultuous courtship that her sunlight had truly loved her; that at some point the warmth of the sun was for her alone. The alternative would drive her mad otherwise. The Lioness' imagination flared in response to her aching heart, supplying her overwrought nerves with Briala's touch. She could feel those wondrous hands upon her body, holding her still even as she longed to turn and pull her beloved into her embrace, she could hear that warm velvet voice playful and commanding in lilting Orlaisian and Elvhan. Celene Valmont may have ruled Orlais, but beloved Briala ruled the Empress of Orlais and Celene longed to pay tribute to her sovereign.
Here in these chambers, Celene could indulge her weak heart before the Lioness had to face her duplicitous, ravenous subjects. Here, Celene could honestly give herself to her beloved even if only in memory. With a hiss she trailed her hand down her body, imitating Briala's lazy, sure strokes, only hesitating for a moment as she reached the well of her desire. Biting her lower lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, Celene focused every ounce of her willpower into conjuring her beloved where she needed her most; letting out a pained hiss as she felt her lover dip her fingers teasingly against her aching core and swirling within the silken wetness wantonly.
"...Bria..."
The spymaster moved within the well known labyrinth of secret passageways with urgent stealth and settled against the door that led to the inner chambers of Celene's salon the moment she heard the bastard lord take her leave. She poised her hand to rap against the door lightly, only to pause in mid action as Celene's voice in a very familiar tone reached her sensitive ears. Briala pressed her hands against the barred door, cursing the implicit denial it represented. By the Maker she could hear her, she could hear her vehnara calling for her, and the breathy cries laced equally with pain and desire shattered her. How could Celene believe that this was what she wanted, what she needed? That she could revel in her Lioness' pain and longing and feel nothing?
She closed her eyes, fighting tears as she let herself drown in Celene's sweet cries and moans of delight. Her heart gnashed and lunged at her breast, demanding that the she destroy this barrier between them yet there was nothing she could do to break down the door. Celene had an enchantment placed upon the secret door; using the proper passcode would allow it to become translucent or to open, but in a painful stroke of luck Celene had only changed the magic phrase to unlock the door. Is this what the destruction of trust had turned them into...forcing Briala to become a voyeur to her beloved even as they both longed for each other?
Briala couldn't bear to speak the incantation to allow her to see Celene, knowing watching her moonlight pleasure herself with her name upon her sweet lips and being denied her would surely drive her insane. Yet she couldn't bear to leave either, each sigh and moan tugging at her soul even as the beautiful sounds lacerated her. Upon the sound of one particularly breathy moan, Briala lost the battle against herself and whispered the incantation to make the door translucent and she let out a ragged moan at the sight of Celene, mere steps away in full view as she touched herself with Briala's name upon her lips.
Celene should not have to seek satisfaction by her own hand when she had a willing lover in Briala. The former spymaster was ready to admit she was more than willing as her bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Her heart ached as she watched tears finally spill from Celene's eyes even as she stroked herself with more fervor. Briala frowned at the sight. Celene enjoyed a more delicate, teasing touch, her desire always kept razor sharp by her yearning heart and denial enforced upon her by the Game and her throne. A forceful caress was too much, too overwhelming, easily sliding from pleasure to pain and Briala knew that her coeur was punishing herself. Did she regret the love she still felt?
"Briala!" The Empress growled out her name from behind clenched teeth, always aware of listening ears but for the denied Marquise, she might as well as shouted it at the top of her lungs. The former spymaster struggled not to lunge at the enchanted entrance, knowing no amount of force would remove its barrier and reunite her with Celene. Even if she ran back and took the normal route to the Empress' chambers she would likely be denied entry so late at night and Celene would already be poised and ready to receive company; all traces of passion removed from her composed form, her lapse buried and forgotten. Briala slid to her knees, pressing her hand against the magical barrier; for an enemy it would have burned, but for her all it did was remind her of the gulf between herself and the woman she loved.
Blinking back bitter tears, Briala cast one last look towards her Lioness, her heart breaking as she watched Celene slide to her knees, her hand still buried within her sweetness, tears of frustration and bittersweet release wracking her tall, trembling frame. Gritting her teeth in frustration, Briala had to find a way to bring her stubborn mate back to where she belonged…by Briala's side and within her arms. With unsteady steps the spymaster crept back to her rooms, prepared to have to fight her way beyond the veil, with the memory of her moonlight's passion filled cries ringing in her ears and her soul's ravenous hunger for blessed moonlight breaking an already shattered heart even further.
Thanks for coming along for the ride, please read and review.
8/2017 R. Niiyama