Meredith looked on at the Gallows courtyard as it grew nearer. Her fingers were tightened around the pendant she wore, silently praying as her fingertips ran over the smoothly finished metal. Maker guide her, she would not fail Him now.
Orsino was a lunatic. She had known it to be true from the beginning, when they were first introduced all those years ago. At the time she had been thankful to no longer have to work with the First Enchanter previous, that that pain in her side was finally removed, and she could work with the fresh meat that was given to her. She would mold him and make him into the perfect First Enchanter for Kirkwall, subservient when ordered and strong when they needed him. She got Orsino instead: headstrong, cocksure Orsino. The man was more a nuisance than he was worth his salt more often than not, more apt to infuriate her than he was to listen to reason. She had spent a lot of time trying to reason with the man, trying to speak calmly and keep her temper in check.
She remembered a time in particular when there was a riot in the city, a proverbial mob marching on the gates of the Circle. They were scared, terrified of the alleged "blood mage" that had been abducting women in the night. Had it not been for her and her Templars, they would have broken in and slain every one of those mages. Orsino had given her the argument of the century afterward, demanding she retract the curfew she had instated once the riot was squashed. He would not relent, and neither would she. As Templar, and as the Knight Commander, it was her duty not only to protect the people from the Mages, but also to protect the Mages from the people who would try to do them harm. Nonetheless Orsino didn't seem very grateful for her kindness. This was before she had ever ordered a single midnight walkthrough of the Circle. She had so much trust then.
Orsino was the only living man to know her secret: after her sister Amelia was turned into an abomination before her very eyes, murdering her entire family, the entire village, she had not come out unscathed. Whatever magic it was that Amelia had used, it ailed her. Since the attack she would have days or weeks of rose-colored, blotched rashes rise on her skin that made her body burn and her muscles throb. She started wearing a hood to hide the blemishes that dared crawl up her neck; she'd be damned if anyone thought her weak due to illness. Along with discomfort, however, the illness did bring weakness, exhaustion, nauseousness, and Maker's breath the nightmares she would have. She could do little more than lift her head some days. If it were not for the routine magical care, countering magic curse with magic curse, she would have died long ago.
She had not expected the "appointments" she had with Orsino to feel so … nice. It made her want him, crave him like she did the lyrium they did not receive often enough. She had thought then that she was under some spell of his, sure she had been warped into fantasizing, thinking of herself dragging him off to her chambers and not letting him see sunlight for days.
She remembered vividly a night when his touch had not been unwelcome. He was angry with her over a recent decision, and was putting up a fuss over needing to be by her, let alone touching her skin. Meredith had not been overly thrilled about seeing him either, she was just as angry as he was. The man had a problem with listening. If he heard her words he rarely showed sign of it until he was overstepping his boundaries and she would be forced to put him in line, though he never took it laying down and always put up more of a fight than the incident was ever worth. They had sat in silence, their normal banter an afterthought after their argument following Orsino's latest transgression, though thoughts of tearing his robes off and wiping that smug look off his face lingered in her head. Before she knew it she was on top of him, kissing him, her tongue jammed down his throat as she unlatched and unbuckled his robes and his pants and his boots. Judging by the way he clawed at her clothes and freed her of the articles she wore just as he did, she gathered he was not against the idea of her pinning him to the ground and riding him until he came so hard his head spun, invigorated by the magic running through her veins. She couldn't remember how but they ended up in her chambers, holding one another as if they were some sort of couple, and he told her that night that she just may be the death of him.
His fiery touch, the magic, the heated arguments that didn't cease, they all melded into a blur of sex-filled nights and passion that lit a fire in her, made her want him all that much more. She knew eventually she would grow dependent upon him. She was already dependent of the magic in his fingers. She knew then that it would it get much worse. She then refused his magic, refused him in her bed, refused his advances. The blemishes returned with a vengeance, made her so sore she could barely move and the pain grew worse by the day until she could not leave her chambers. She was forced to cancel meetings, and though he was as far out of the loop as she could control she knew Cullen was unsure of her return. She hid behind the lie of being a recluse well enough. Orsino pleaded with her to just let him take care of her, but Meredith would have none of it. She had been too close as it was. She had let him in too far and she would not stand for it. She would find a way to be self-sufficient or she would die.
Had she not learned of the Dwarf with pure Lyrium he had found in the deep roads she had no doubts it would have been the end for her.
Orsino was not convinced she had overcome her illness on her own as she claimed. All the same, their reunion was a passionate one; the idol made her feel things she never before had, made his body all that more beautiful, made her feel so alive she almost couldn't stand it. He didn't seem to have many complaints. He always said her bed was more comfortable than his, anyway.
As they laid together that night he had looked her in the eyes and told her he worried for her, and she laughed in his face. Worry, over her. She stared into the face of Death and come through victorious, and she assured him there was nothing to be worried over. She was alive, and he with her, and what else had there been to think or worry over? He had not seemed satisfied with the answer; he grumbled and told her he worried all the same, that he did not know what she had gotten into but she needed to be careful. She rolled her eyes and laid her head down on his shoulder, as she was wont to do when they were in bed together, and told him that were he not careful he would overstep his boundaries too far, and she would have to take drastic measures. She got the impression that he thought her jesting at the time, but she assured him with a pull on his shoulders and rough kiss that she was not. She could not lose him. She needed him to trust her.
That night seemed so far away now, as she looked at the sword she held in her hand. Orsino was such a bastard the way he was so sure he knew what was right, would know no compromise, would never, ever shut up. The man never listened, he always shrugged her off and ignored her when it was most important for him to just listen to her words.
She told him she would not hold back if he overstepped too far, and he had. She told him so, and if she could not get him to stand down she knew there was no other choice.
She would not give her heart the opportunity to break the way the pain in her chest told her it wanted to. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing tears in her eyes. If she could somehow convince him that she was only doing the right thing for her City, for the Chantry, for them all… If she could just get him to listen, she could fix this. She could fix everything.
As she stepped into the gallows, the Champion stood before her, and Orsino was not with them, and she knew she was too late.