"Rumor has it that you spent quite some time in the Commander's office last night," Dorian said. Ivy stumbled, almost dropping her staff.
Their morning practice was just wrapping up. She'd brought up her concern about carrying a heavier staff, and Dorian had roped in one of the swordsmen to see if she could even swing a blade – or a magic blade – hard enough to matter. Her sword arm wasn't anything to write home about. But that was hardly surprising. Wielding a staff takes different muscles entirely.
"Well, aren't you well-informed." She wasn't inclined to elaborate. His eyes glinted with mischief. He clearly thought something scandalous and delightful was going on with her and Cullen.
Which couldn't be further from the truth.
She'd thought about it. Standing in his bedroom, listening to him move around in the office below. Her fingers shook when she skimmed out of her wet clothes. And, well, it wasn't much of a stretch to leave her pants off with her shirt. They were both wet. Unpleasant. And it had certainly occurred to her that maybe, just perhaps, the man would like what he saw.
All those years ago in the Circle she'd thought about it more than once. Maybe back then it was just the idea of being wanted. His blushes couldn't have been more obvious. She wasn't sure she would have ever done anything too salacious, but she'd read enough torrid Orleisian romances to know that having a tall, muscular man fawn at her feet would be a great deal of fun.
But he was sweet, back then. She remembered.
And then catastrophe stole all their chances. And she'd thought his personal hell stole all the kindness from him, too. All the soft, sweet pieces of him that she'd seen in the glints of his smile and the care he took of his men these past few weeks. She thought, before she came here to Skyhold, that those parts of him were a casualty of the Blight. One of many. He seemed to have recovered them.
Now that she was older, more experienced, she could think of better places for a man built like him to fall than at her feet. And she didn't think it would be fun—she knew it would.
"Are congratulations in order?" Dorian pressed. She sighed. He could at least keep his voice down. They were just now leaving the bailey, drifting toward other duties with everyone else who came out for morning practice.
"Are you picturing an epic romance, Dorian? Two young lovers torn apart by the Blight, reunited a decade later? I'm sorry to disappoint, my friend, but that isn't the kind of epic story I take part in," she teased him. He recoiled in fake surprise, although the look on his face was very shrewd.
"What? No romance? My dear, I had no idea you were living such a life. Truly, the angels must weep," Dorian said. Despite herself, she laughed.
And accidentally made eye contact with Cullen, who was stalking toward the main hall not ten feet away from her.
He didn't look at all amused.
"So what were the two of you doing, then?" Dorian asked.
"Playing chess. How do you even know about it?" she asked. She decided on the spot that Dorian did not need to know about Cullen lending her his shirt. She had it, folded up in her pack in her room. Maybe she'd remember to give it back. Maybe not. It was big enough to wear on its own, practically, and very soft.
"You wouldn't believe how quickly gossip spreads," Cullen chimed in, his voice so low it was almost a growl. She could just imagine him growling like that, right in her ear, all the things he wanted to do to her.
He was back in his customary armor and cloak. Was the shirt peeking through between his shoulder plates and gauntlets as soft as the one she'd borrowed?
It really was a pity he didn't seem interested.
"Sorry," she said, to Cullen. He raised an eyebrow in inquiry. "About the rumors. I didn't mean to make you lose face in front of your men."
"I wouldn't say he lost face," Dorian chuckled. "You are, after all, the Hero of Fereldan."
"Dorian," Cullen snapped, the single word both warning and command. To her very great surprise, Dorian backed off.
"Oh, would you look at that. I think I see a very handsome elf standing all on his own," Dorian said, as if ignoring Cullen. It would have been a good exit line, true or not, but Lavellan actually was standing up on the dais talking with Josephine. Dorian gave her a little wave goodbye, continued to ignore Cullen, and skipped off to join his lover up by the throne.
No one could say he didn't have style.
Cullen sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck in an old self-conscious gesture. Ivy patted him on the arm. It was meant to be reassuring, but the poor man nearly jumped out of his skin when she touched him. He seemed to instantly regret the overreaction.
"Sorry," he said. "I just, don't need any help embarrassing myself in front of you. Apparently. Not that I could possibly stop Dorian if I tried."
"No one can stop Dorian." People were streaming around them in the hall. Their steps were slow, now. She was angling toward the Undercroft. Dagna should be just about ready for their first experiment. If she knew the young dwarf- and she did – Dagna had probably been up all night tinkering with it.
The Inquisition mages wanted to start with red lyrium. Which was fine with her. She'd tried out her theories on a few darkspawn she managed to find on the road. So far, she was absolutely certain that she knew how to remove the Blight from a living creature. And according to Dagna, the Inquisition had some evidence that lyrium was alive. In a way.
The darkspawn she'd experimented on all disintegrated as soon as the Blight was removed. Which sort of confirmed that they were simply a very specific form of undead. She wasn't sure what red lyrium would do—it could return to normal, or shatter, or change into something new.
"I was wondering, actually, if you had a moment. To talk." Cullen studied her out of the corner of his eye. He seemed exceptionally nervous. She'd told him last night about her plans to run the experiment today. Maybe it was about that. These Skyhold folks were incredibly cautious.
"Sure," she said. He gave her a little shaky nod and led her through the door to the War Room. But instead of continuing on toward Josephine's office he took her down a flight of stairs toward the kitchens. They turned, in the lower hall, and he led her through a massive wooden door into what appeared to be another library.
Every surface was covered in dust. No one had made any attempt to clear out spiders, either, and their webs were everywhere. The place smelled of damp stone and very old books, and for just a moment she was viscerally reminded of the Tower. She drew a shaky breath, and leaned against the ancient table.
"This is. . . I wanted to ask you. Privately. What you meant just before you left, last night," Cullen said.
What?
The tips of his ears were very pink. His hands rested on the pommel of his sword, not in threat but out of old comfort-seeking habit. What was it she'd said just before she left?
"About catastrophe stealing all our chances?" she guessed. He breathed out a long, slow breath, watching her face. But he did not seem to realize it was a question. "Do you think differently?"
"I didn't realize. . ." He stopped, cleared his throat, tried again. "I didn't know there were any chances. To lose."
All right, now he wasn't making any sense.
His eyes were wide and dark, staring down at her. With the scent of old books filling her nose and the sight of him looming over her in that gleaming armor, she could have sworn it was nearly like travelling back in time. Her heart raced in her chest. She felt almost like a young girl again, stumbling toward her first brush with confusing feelings.
Was that what he meant?
Was he transported back to being that young man who stammered at the sight of her?
"You mean, our chances to be together?" she hazarded. He took a half step forward, hesitant but focused. Like the world was narrow, and small, and contained only this room and the both of them in it.
"I never thought you. . . did you ever. . ." He seemed to struggle to find the words. The pink blush on the tips of his ears was joined by the flush in his cheeks. Clearly embarrassed, he covered his eyes with one hand, rubbing at the tense lines of his own brow. "Maker's breath."
She let him find his own words, her heart thudding in her own ears. She didn't want to assume. But if he didn't get around to it soon she might faint from the anticipation. It would be the only time in her life she'd ever fainted from anything less severe than catastrophic blood loss but there had to be a first time for everything.
"I know how I felt. How I feel," he said. His voice was soft and low. It almost seemed impossibly, wrong, that it could be the same voice that just growled at Dorian and shouted orders at soldiers all morning. But it was. She licked lips gone inexplicably dry. "But I never thought you might. . . feel. . . anything for me."
Oh, Andraste's knickerweasels, this was more serious than she ever thought.
He didn't take his hand down from over his eyes. Like if he looked at her, his courage would fail him. Which was ridiculous. She was entirely certain his courage had never failed him in his entire life.
Just like hers had never failed her.
So why would it be easier to be facing down a horde in the Deep Roads than having this conversation?
"Of course I. . ." If only she could think of a joke. Something witty, to defuse the tension crackling in this room. Damnit, why couldn't he just kiss her like a normal human being?
She choked, unable to finish the thought. She didn't even know what she wanted to say. But the silence stretched, between them. And after a long time, he ran the hand that covered his eyes back through his hair and looked at her at last. His smile was more brave than genuine.
"Of course." His voice was still very soft. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to cause any distress. Please just forget I said anything."
Oh. He thought she was rejecting him.
He was already turning, leaving her down here in this library that smelled just like their old home. And it was entirely, utterly unacceptable.
She was across the room in two steps. She grabbed a handful of the fluffy feathers puffing off his shoulders, and stopped him. He didn't turn. He just stared ahead, as if looking at her would be too much. He used to do that, back in the Circle. After they talked, late at night, or she teased him.
So she did what she wanted to do, all those years ago.
She leaned up, on her tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His stubble pricked at her lips, but his face was warm. He sighed, and relaxed by inches, leaning down a little so she didn't have to strain so hard to reach him.
Her hand on his arm, to steady herself, she pressed little kisses to his jaw, his cheekbone, the top of the scar that cut through his lip. And then she pressed her lips gently against his.
His careful stillness snapped like a plucked bowstring.
His hands were sliding along her jaw, into her hair. His body was pressing her, pushing her backwards, back into the wall of shelves. She hit it with a thud and a crash, and books fell all around them.
That seemed to wake him up.
He jerked away from her as if her touch burned his skin. His eyes were dark and wild.
"I'm sorry! I –" he said, panic lacing his tone. But she grabbed him by the leather straps holding his armor to his cloak, and she kissed him again. This time he melted into her, letting go of some fear or inhibition that had kept him distant for far too long.
He pinned her to the shelves, pressed her between the broad, hard expanse of his body and the old wood behind her. She made a little sound, deep in her throat, and he deepened their kiss, tasting her with a hunger that seemed endless and insatiable.
And it wasn't enough for her, either.
She pulled him closer, encouraging him. His thigh slipped between hers, his hand slid down her hip and pulled her leg up to wrap around his waist. She could feel him through his breeches and her leathers, hard and hot and insistent. When she ground against him, he growled into her mouth.
Maker's bloody wounds, if he wanted to have her right here and now against these shelves she wouldn't say no.
His fingertips trailed along her neck toward her hair, his thumb rubbing along the line of her jaw. The feel of his leather gloves against her skin make her breath come sharp, made her moan into his mouth. His hips twitched and jerked against her, providing pressure almost just where she wanted it most and making her absolutely crazy.
"Ivy." He whispered her name against her lips. It shuddered through her, making her body tremble against his. His hand clenched on her hip, holding her still. "Maker, I-"
Laughter, mischievous as a child's, filled the air, followed by the slam of a door and guttural cursing. Cullen's whole body tensed. But no one came near them. The laughter and cursing trailed away, as though someone were being chased by another, more irritable, someone.
He did not move to kiss her again. He did look, long and hard, at her eyes, her mouth, the place in her throat where he could no doubt see her pulse hammering against her skin. The moment stretched between them and left the yearning, aching unfulfilled want inside her still, deep in her belly.
"It's hard to believe I'm awake," he whispered. His thigh was still between hers, his body holding her to the shelves. Every move, every breath, made their bodies touch.
"So you dream about me often?" She was teasing, but she hoped he did answer. His thumb brushed softly against her cheek.
"Almost every night," he admitted. "Mind you, they usually aren't good dreams. Not- not like this. Now, if you were to explode in a shower of red lyrium right about now that would be a good clue I was still dreaming."
Something about what he was telling her nagged at a half-forgotten memory, but it was terribly out of place in this moment. Here, with his hand tight on her hip and his mouth just inches from her own, she wanted to only think about good things. She filed that away for later and took advantage of where he was to press another kiss against his mouth.
It was a long, long time before they parted. And it was, of course, his idea. He set her down, carefully, as though she were fragile as an egg. But his smile was bright and genuine, and just for her. Her heart still fluttered in her chest.
Had they really just done that?
When could she do it again?
"We should. . ." He smiled down at her, and reached for her one last time. Just to caress her cheek in the palm of his hand. "I mean, people will begin to miss us. Maker forbid, they might actually come looking for us. We should . . . return."
"Right. Poor Dagna. She's probably been waiting since dawn to rip the Blight out of some red lyrium," she acknowledged. He nodded, but he was leaning in, his hand still on her cheek. He kissed her. Soft, and sweet, and all too briefly.
"I admit, I'm uneasy knowing the two of you are working together now. I'm not sure Skyhold can withstand a sizeable explosion from within," he said. He did not seem to be joking. She grinned anyway, rocking on her heels.
"It's not like we haven't worked together before. And everyone who was supposed to survive made it out," she said. His eyebrows lifted, lip quirking in that maddening little half smile. "I'm the one who helped her get out of Orzammar and into the Circle in the first place, you know. I took her message to the Grand Enchanter. And Irving owed me."
"So this is all your doing," Cullen noted. He swallowed, smile briefly giving way to a thoughtful frown. "Come to think of it, a lot of what shaped the Inquisition is your doing. You did kill the dragon that previously guarded Haven, which is what allowed the Conclave to meet there."
"Yep."
"And you did spare Anders in Amaranthine."
"Who hasn't made friends with an abomination or two?"
"I don't think I have."
"You're missing out."
If he'd just stop staring at her with those puppy dog eyes she could wiggle her fingers farewell and sail on out without a qualm.
"You should go on upstairs," he said, as if he could read her mind. He stepped back, stopped touching her. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. He was right. It was past time. She smiled, hand clenching with the effort of not squeezing his hand when she walked past because if she touched him again she wouldn't leave. And she jogged back upstairs.
It was the work of a moment to slip out through the busy hall. No one seemed to pay her much attention. Which was just fine with her.
She went directly to the Undercroft. Dagna was, as she expected, impatiently hammering away at some new invention. The dwarf threw up her hands with an exclamation of frustration when Ivy walked in.
"Where have you been? No, nevermind. Let me just—" Dagna brutally smashed whatever it was she was working on with her hammer, knocking it into a groove on one of her machines where it would reliably stay put. "I want to see what it does!"
"Yes, absolutely," Ivy laughed.
Dagna had the ceremonial space set up just like she'd suggested. Her earlier experiments with darkspawn stragglers weren't nearly this ornate. But they also didn't take place inside a heavily populated fortress. So, precautions were sensible. She'd set up the red lyrium inside an apparatus that she assured everyone that would listen would contain anything. Absolutely anything, from a demon to a grenade.
The door opened behind her, and Cullen steeped through. If he was just going to follow her, why not walk with her? Those dreaded rumors Dorian mentioned?
Dagna paused in her scurrying just long enough to give him an opportunity to interrupt her if he was there to say something important. When he did not, she simply continued. She made Ivy take two steps further back. Then she gave the mage a thumbs-up.
Ivy did not want to use her staff for this. She wanted to feel the magic, let it go herself—especially if one day soon she'd feel it directed at her.
The ritual was difficult to figure out, but simple to execute. Much like changing one's physical form. And, just like turning into a giant spider, it took a few minutes. But it was worth it. She'd spent the last few years of her life coming up with this, and she had plenty of good information to start with. The work of Avernus, Morrigan, and even Jowan was incorporated into her final product. It was her best guess at how to replicate what happened to Fiona in the Deep Roads, the thing that made her not a Warden anymore.
Everybody always tried to fix the Blight like it was an illness. And it was. It moved like any other blood-borne disease. But disease is part of the natural world. And the Blight was, for lack of a better term, unnatural. It had to do with the Fade, and the Veil, in a way she didn't quite understand. From what she could determine the Fade and the real world wanted to be the same, and they were separated not by anything physical but by a certain perspective, a method of being, a magic rooted in what might be Ancient Tevinter or might be even older.
The Blight was just the most terrible side effect of that separation, of the Veil and the consequences for tampering with it. The Mage Collective shared their research on rift magic with her while they were developing it, and it was the final piece to the puzzle for her. She couldn't reverse time or heal the Blight. That was beyond anyone. But she could reshape the wrongness of the Blight, bring balance back to the pieces of the being that was corrupted.
She felt it gather, and let it stream out. Slowly. She was still practicing this. Dagna's apparatus made it more difficult. She'd talk to the dwarf about that.
But she just about had it.
The red was leaching out of the lyrium. It shone, brilliant blue, not bloody red. It was—
BOOM.
The lyrium exploded into tiny fragments, nearly dust. It coated the entire inside of Dagna's apparatus. But it was blue. The dust was blue, not red.
"Oh, hey, so that kind of worked?" Dagna said. Ivy grinned at her, and stretched. She worked her jaw open, trying to pop it. Working that particular spell made her tense all over.
"That doesn't look like the best idea."
Ivy looked up, startled, to find Lavellan standing at the top of the stairs. He stood with his hip slung wide, hand resting on it, casual as if he were watching some Rivani play.
"It was a good idea, Warden. But I don't think my spymaster will forgive me if I let you blow yourself up," he continued. Wait, what was he saying?
"It reacts differently with living tissue," she assured him. He shook his head, softly. Did this half-grown stripling of a mage think he could tell her what risks she was going to take? "I assure you there is little danger of exploding."
"Just think of the hand bills," he drawled. "Inquisition Blows Up Hero of Fereldan. No thank you." She started to walk toward him, mouth curling in a snarl, but reminded herself that she was standing in his fortress.
"What if I can demonstrate to you that this is perfectly safe for a living creature? Lyrium is volatile anyway, as you well know," she pointed out. He grimaced his uncertainty.
"If you could, that might be something. But I dislike the idea of sacrificing Wardens for this," he said. She bit her tongue on all the comments about Adamant that came to mind.
"I was thinking darkspawn," she said.
"Oh. Well, if you can un-blight a couple darkspawn, that would be quite the show," Lavellan said. His smile turned condescending. As if in his twenty-some-odd years of life he'd seen enough to think he could tell her what was possible and what wasn't.
She took her leave before she said something she'd regret.
Scowling, Ivy kicked and stomped her way up the stairs to Leliana's rookery. Leli's spies gave her a wide berth. Smart people. Leliana trained them well.
Her old friend was seated at a plain wooden table, writing something. As always, the candles on her little altar to Andraste were lit. Ivy considered this space to be a good indication of Leliana's true character. If she wanted, she could get herself a big imposing desk like Josephine. She could wear pretty heeled boots all over Skyhold. She could decorate her office with fine tapestries, nice statues, and no one would think twice about it. But, with all the resources of the Inquisition at her disposal, she kept a humble little table and a small altar.
And a nice stock of wine.
"There you are. Did Lavellan find you?" Leliana asked. Oh. Great. People were looking for her earlier. When she was making out with Cullen in the library like some kind of teenager.
Well, more accurately, like she wanted to when she was a teenager.
"He found me." Ivy decided on the spot that Leliana didn't need to know anything about how she spent her morning. "He wasn't very reassured by Dagna's test. Apparently I've given him the impression that I'm going to blow myself up."
"Well, that explains the thundercloud that's following you around," Leliana smiled. Ivy glanced up. There was not, in fact, a literal thundercloud. But as a mage she felt she needed to check. Magic manifests in odd ways sometimes and there's a first time for everything. "What will you do now?"
"Well, I can either sneak off and just do things my way, which, you know I always prefer that." It's so cumbersome to work with other people. They go so slowly, and need so many assurances. "Or I can capture a couple of hurlocks and make a big demonstration out of them. They're less combustible than lyrium."
"Ah." Leliana set her quill down. Her gaze was very shrewd. "I'm surprised that you haven't already just tried it out on yourself, to be honest. Not that I'm encouraging you to do so."
"I would, if it was just about figuring out if it worked," Ivy said. She slumped down onto the bench across the table from Leliana. Several of Leliana's people milled around, and since they were all spies they no doubt were hanging on every word. But that didn't bother Ivy. Not with this topic. "You know Weisshaupt isn't going to approve of this. No matter how safe it is or isn't, it's a change to the fundamental nature of the Order. If there's a way out? We're a different organization than we ever have been."
"Not to mention the feeling of betrayal the older Wardens will feel. Their friends went to the Deep Roads to die, and now people don't have to suffer that same fate? Some people feel the need to perpetuate pain just because if it was avoidable then their loved ones suffered in vain," Leliana added.
"They're going to oppose this," Ivy said, grimly. She tapped her fingertips on the table. "But if it's big, and showy? If everyone in the Inquisition sees it, talks about it, writes it down—maybe I can make sure this cure doesn't get lost."
"You might have a better ally there than you think," Leliana said. The corner of her mouth curled up. "I wrote to King Alistair—"
"Oh, Leli—"
"He's a fellow Gray Warden, is he not? And a friend? I was surprised that you hadn't told him-"
"You know damn well why I didn't tell him what I was doing!" Ivy snapped. "Meddlesome giant hero might as well stick a 'kill me' sign on his back for all the care he takes of his own life and I-"
"You might as well do the same?" Leliana suggested. She looked, for just a moment, as mischievous as the young bard she used to be. Ivy huffed her disapproval. But there was no point arguing with Leliana about it, the damage was already done.
"So I assume he's on his way?" Ivy said. Alistair would take any chance to abandon his royal duties temporarily. Besides, she knew she was one of his big soft spots. The giant lug would come down very hard against her volunteering to be the first Warden cured. He'd probably want that honor himself. Not least because if he was cured he'd finally feel free to marry that Cousland woman.
Ivy could just hear him now, waxing poetic about how he'd be honored to risk his life for the honor of marrying the woman he loved. Which would be entirely ridiculous and counter-productive. She wanted him alive for the next forty years, with at least one good heir and a couple of spares, to ensure Fereldon wouldn't descend into chaos after all her hard work to save it.
"His Majesty will arrive in approximately two weeks," Leliana said, delicately. Great. Just great. With a heavy sigh, Ivy pushed off from the table and stood. "Where are you going?"
"I need to talk to Dagna about some cages that might be strong enough to hold a Hurlock. Or twenty. If I don't get those back here before Alistair arrives he's going to want to come darkspawn hunting with me," Ivy said. She pointed at Leliana. "You need to help. You just advanced my timetable considerably. I'm going to need some raw materials, I'm sure."
"Not a problem. But, ah, all uses of Inquisition materials are going to have to be cleared through Lavellan," Leliana reminded her. Stifling a frustrated scream, Ivy went back downstairs. She and Dagna were going to have to work fast.
