Josephine Montilyet was pacing. She had been pacing for some time, despite the fact that she was missing the long awaited audience with the young Duke de Montfort, of the Council of Heralds. She was fiddling with her clipboard in a most uncharacteristic fashion, and it wasn't until Cullen found Leliana and brought her into the almost-repaired office that the Antivan ambassador paid any mind to her company.

"Josie?"

The Ambassador let out a tiny, weak whimper before clearing her throat. She did not speak until she was certain she would not stammer: "I had the letter translated. Rather, I had the elvhen within the letter translated to the Common tongue."

"What letter?"

Josephine shot her a vaguely exasperated glare, then passed the clipboard over the desk. The candle had well and truly melted by that point, but the wax had not marred the childlike script. Leliana recognised the bulky, unpractised hand of Inquisitor Lavellan before she remembered the origin of the letter, found at the bedside in the elf womans' quarters. "Of course, the letter," she said, "Josie, you're making Duke de Montfort wait for the audience you requested. I'm not sure that's wise."

"I'm well aware of the importance of the meeting. It pales in comparison to this - alliances are not as vital now. His meeting can wait. But the translation - read the elvish script, Leliana."

Leliana's mouth moved, though she didn't waste her effort on trying to recite the repeating vowel sounds aloud. Emma uth... "This means nothing to me, Josie." But a soft brown hand placed the translation over the letter, long fingers tapping it twice before she withdrew her hands. Leliana took her time reading over the translation. Then she paused and went back, starting again, peering closer to the page. Shaking her head, she looked up at her more diplomatic, patient friend - who was wringing her hands out of unfamiliar franticness.

"Does she mean that Solas lied to her? When he left?"

"Oh, Josie, no. She would say we if that were the case. No, believe you'll find that this is more relevant to their falling out, their 'break up', as it were, when Solas dismissed her. I'm not sure what words are exchanged, but she wasn't the same afterwards."

"'Why am I always deceived'," the Ambassador recited the translation, scrawled in the crisp, unfamiliar hand of whoever had written the note - Trevelyan, Leliana read at the end of the note, before returning her attention to Josephine's stress. "'Do I not deserve rest, love, blessing? I'm not safe from the fear of heartbreak. I'm sorry that I allowed such arrogance, to wish to find joy. I will not repeat this mistake. I won't be more alone in Skyhold until the end of my journey'. 'I am alert now'. What does it mean, Leliana?"

"I'd say she was hurt that our apostate gave her no explanation. He cheated her of her culture, after all -"

"She sounds positively misera - oh!"

Leliana jumped slightly, startled by the exclamation, and instinctively reached for the dagger concealed at her thigh. "What?" she asked, voice slightly too sharp.

"Oh, no, she didn't - how could I - oh."

"Josephine, finish a sentence, please."

"Lavellan is dead."

"She's what?"

"Not her," Josephine said, beginning to see the meaning of the heroines' words; they take away your name. "The clan. Leliana, clan Lavellan died in that Free Marches town - the one with the 'disease' in the alienage - oh, what was it called? Windsleigh - no, that's further East -"

"Wycombe," Leliana breathed, wincing. She'd seen the Inquisitor early on, and used Josephine to gather information on the only survivor of the Conclave. Stories of exploring the forests for days aside, Lavellan had described nothing but good memories of the Dalish, her family, whether by blood or mere race. There had been no visible reaction when the news of their slaughter had reached Skyhold, the report written in Josephine's deft hand - which of course their leader hadn't been able to read clearly. That was why there'd been no reaction: the elf had not understood. She'd merely nodded and asked for the Denerim report from Cullen. Leliana had thought it an admirable quality, as she knew the costs of distraction after trailing Warden Amell for so long, but this - this was bordering on ridiculous. "Why did we need an illiterate leader?"

"Leliana!"

"It's what she is, Josie: illiterate. Unable to read or write. She needed to be taught both!"

"She could read Common quite well - it's just writing, and she was functionally illiterate, thank you- and since she is - was Dalish, naturally she's not going to need to know it all, not when she's meant to be a huntress."

"Scout, actually."

"Not the point. She would never have needed either of those skills if not for us. What have we done to her?"

Leliana clasped her fingers behind her back, raising an eyebrow slightly. Without offering her thoughts, she turned to the window, to peer out at the snow-capped mountains. Josephine, still fretting, trailed after her.

"What do we do?"
"We do nothing."

"What? How can we - if anything happens to her, Leliana, anything, it will be my fault!"

Leliana chuckled dismissively, her mind churning as she devised the beginnings of a plan. "She can look after herself, Josie. Try to convince Cullen to side with me if you wish it, but I will not be swayed. He will probably see my point, regardless."

"Leliana -"

"She doesn't need our help. As she points out in the letter, it's our fault she's in the mess."

Josephine couldn't argue with that. When the Spymaster had departed, however, she grit her teeth and threw her clipboard at the wall, where it clattered to the ground, the candle dying against the stone. "Mierda!"

She was staring at the crumbling stone when Cole found her an hour later, as a favour for Ser Blackwall.

"Cold, careless, now gone. How could I be so blind?"

She sighed. "Hello, Cole. By all means, come right in."

"Hello, Josephine. I could hear you hurting, and I asked Blackwall if I could help find you. He is on the battlements, watching, waiting, worried."

"Oh. Thank you." Unthinking, she raised a hand and wiped it across her mouth, smearing her lipstick slightly. The spirit - now more human than ever thought possible, thanks to Varric and Solas and the Inquisitor - moved closer to her, too close for her to feel comfortable, and he tilted his head.

"Worried, wilting, Fearing, fighting, fleeing. Where has she gone? Titles take names lost to history, hunting and hindering and helping her, all at once. It ends, it has to, in blood or in fire. Dragon, dying, defeated, dead. Apathetic leader asks all, dismissive and distracted, aloof and isolated. Disappears into darkness, doom no longer dominant. Foreign made familiar: nameless, loveless, joyless, friendless. Private promises punctured by pain: why her? Why now?"

The Antivan ambassador heaved a single long sigh, then straightened in an attempt to hold the proper posture for someone of her standing. "Cole, I appreciate your concern - I really do. I think you'll find, however -"

The door crashed open, the heavy wood smashing against the wall. It ought to have splintered, really, given the force applied - it certainly made enough of a racket. The nobles in the hall would have a field day with the gossip, and it would doubtless spread to Val Royeaux by the next sunrise. The woman in the doorway didn't look like she cared, flicking her dark hair out of her eyes as she moved closer, snapping at Josephine,

"Where did you get this report?"

Cole drew his daggers, but the translator ignored him, unblinking gaze of Josephine's confused face. "Lady Trevelyan, I assure you -"

"Where?"

"I - it's one of the reports from Markham. It's coded, isn't it? Leliana's people were supposed to translate, not you. I must have given you -"

"It's not a cipher - well, it is, but too simple to bother with - anyway - Lady Montilyet, it only makes sense if you translate the Elvish to Tevene and the Tevene to common. Regardless - do you have any idea what this is?"

Josephine stared at the Trevelyan translator, shaking her head. Of course she had no clue, as she did not understand Elvish or Tevene, how could he expect her to?

"Fear, biting, tearing; nerves twitching, twanging, tainted. Monsters making monstrous mess, chaos calling clansmen closer."

"You know!"

Cole shook his head. "But I feel that you are afraid. We can help."

"Help with what?" Josephine wondered if this was what listening to Cole was usually like.

"Monsters in Markham, Lady Montilyet."

"There are 'monsters' everywhere, Lady Trevelyan. Markham is not alone. It will be dealt with -"

"The council is dead."

Word count: 1486