Skyhold was magnificent, even in its state of disrepair. Trevelyan couldn't help but marvel at it. Such impressive architecture, tucked away in the security of the Frostbacks, a forgotten sanctuary. As Inquisitor, she vowed to see it restored to its proper glory.
Inquisitor. The title still sounded foreign to Trevelyan's ears, and every time someone addressed her as such she had to resist her natural instinct to look over her shoulder before remembering that they meant her.
She had been blindsided by the offer of the title, though in hindsight she knew she shouldn't have been. Walking up the steps to Skyhold's castle with Cassandra, hearing her say that the Inquisition needed a leader, it all felt like abstract strategy. But then she'd seen Leliana holding a ceremonial sword, the redhead watching her with knowing eyes, and it clicked into place.
"Me?" she'd said, foolishly, voice rising an octave.
Cassandra had seemed amused, corners of her lips turning up. "Yes, you," she drawled, clapping her friend on the shoulder, causing the rogue to take a few stumbling steps towards the spymaster.
Trevelyan looked to Leliana, to the ornate sword in her hands, mind spinning. "I…" I am no leader, she thought. Cullen was a leader, Cassandra was a leader. She was – she was just a fighter, and luckily enough up until this point, a survivor.
Leliana seemed to read her mind, or at least the doubt that was plastered across her face. "You have never been just an ordinary soldier, not to them," she said lowly, nodding to the crowd that was beginning to form below. "At first they – we – needed your mark. Now we need you," she said, gaze connecting with Trevelyan's own.
Trevelyan cast her eyes to those gathered below. Soldiers, agents, stablehands, commoners; all watching her, anxious, waiting. They'd all been through hell and back, they'd all bled and lost, and now there was a palpable sense of hope in their eyes. Trevelyan nodded, steeling herself. If this was what they needed, she wouldn't dream of refusing them.
She grabbed the sword, holding it to her. It was deceptively light for its enormous size, hollow on the inside, all show. "The Inquisition will stand for what is right, for all of us. Together, we will fight for a better world."
Leliana smiled. "I would expect no less," she said, almost to herself.
Cassandra came forward and nodded at her. "Wherever you lead us."
And like that she'd become the Inquisitor. She had been drawn into a flurry of activity since then, planning their next steps, overseeing rebuilding of Skyhold, welcoming newcomers and visiting nobles, approving missions. It was time-consuming and tiring, but it left her feeling fulfilled, with a new sense of purpose, and she could tell the feeling was infectious. On the journey, everyone had been morose and morale had barely been limping along, but now people were smiling, whistling, laughing. The other day she even caught Cassandra reading one of Varric's books, and despite the warrior's embarrassment and Trevelyan's teasing, the light-hearted mood hadn't been dampened. In her darker moments, Trevelyan thought the feeling was almost manic, a sheer veil over grief and guilt at the fall of Haven, but she was determined to see it last as long as it could.
In all the commotion, there was only one person she hadn't seen much of, and that was Leliana. Ever since their fight, Trevelyan felt uncertain whenever she was near the other woman (was she still angry? annoyed? what was she thinking?). She knew Leliana had more pressing matters to devote her attention to than Trevelyan, and likely had even less free time than she did, but still she felt the spymaster's absence keenly. They hadn't spoken one-on-one since…Trevelyan thought back. It had been since their argument. Maker, that felt like ages ago.
"You could go up there, you know," Dorian remarked after the fifth time she'd glanced at the stairs to the rookery. "She doesn't bite. Probably. Unlike those filthy birds of hers."
Trevelyan was leaning her back on the stone railing across from where the Tevinter mage was kneeling, scouring a bookcase for a specific book that he couldn't seem to find.
"I shouldn't disturb her." Should she? The spymaster did work herself too hard, maybe a break would do her well. Then again, if she was still annoyed, that "break" might involve breaking something of Trevelyan's…The brunette rubbed the back of her neck, thoughts turning in circles.
Dorian stood up, empty handed, and brushed the dust from his robe. He fixed Trevelyan with an accusing stare. "You, my friend, are afraid."
"I'm not afraid," she protested. Dorian gave her a withering look. "Alright, so maybe I am a bit. But …" And there was the rub. She couldn't really explain why she was afraid. Because the redhead could kick her ass in at least a dozen ways? Trevelyan was fairly sure she wouldn't, and if she did then Trevelyan trusted her judgement enough to know she deserved it. Maybe 'afraid' was too strong a word; nervous was closer, but that wasn't any easier to explain.
"A very convincing argument you put forth!" Dorian walked over to her, patting her on the shoulder. "Now go on." He pushed her, gently but with surprising strength for a mage, towards the steps. Amusement twinkled in his eyes, and underneath it, understanding. Trevelyan wanted to groan. If there was one thing she definitely didn't want to get out, it was her infatuation with the spymaster. How awkward that would make her advisor meetings, Trevelyan cringed internally at the thought.
She glanced up the stairs, hesitating, before nodding and beginning her ascent. Dorian watched her go, mustache twitching as he tried to hold back a grin.
When she got to the top step, she paused, taking in the area around her. This was the first time she'd been to the rookery. It was a simple and utilitarian set up: a desk and a writing table, cages both with and without ravens in them, a few agents sitting on benches and whispering furtively among themselves. Despite the few windows and added torchlight, light was in short supply, and the room was cast in shadow.
Cullen was speaking with Leliana, and as she neared the pair she caught the tail-end of their conversation.
"I'm sorry," Leliana said, her face stoic but her voice thick with regret.
Cullen nodded, lowering his eyes. "So am I," he said softly, before turning and walking away.
Trevelyan took his spot, noticing the small scroll clutched in the spymaster's hand.
Leliana looked down at it as well, her grip on the scroll tightening. "The names of those we lost at Haven," she supplied. With the commander gone, her expression crumpled, and she braced her arms on the desk and leaned on it, staring down at the wood without really seeing it. Trevelyan felt a pang in her chest at the sight, a feeling that overrode her nervousness.
"You must blame me for this." Leliana didn't look up as she said it, but Trevelyan could hear the self-loathing in her voice. Had she been blaming herself this entire time? If Trevelyan had known that, she would've stopped by the second she'd had a chance to put a stop to that nonsense.
She came to stand beside the redhead, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's not your fault. Put the blame with Corypheus, where it's due."
Leliana looked up at her, blue eyes swirling with conflicting emotions. Then she slipped from Trevelyan's grip, going to stand by a nearby window. "I keep wondering if I could've done something different." She shook her head. "When the first of my lookouts went missing, I pulled the rest back, awaiting more information. If they'd stayed in the field…" Her voice hardened, and Trevelyan watched her hands clench into fists.
"Then they would've died, and Haven would've been taken anyway," Trevelyan said with certainty, knowing Corypheus was a force they wouldn't have been prepared to deal with no matter what they could've done differently. "You care for your people. That's a good thing."
Leliana crossed her arms, turning back to the other woman. "Is it? My people know their duty, they know the risks. They understand that the Inquisition may call upon them to give their lives," she said fiercely, frowning.
Trevelyan felt a flare of frustration at this old argument rearing its ugly head again. "Your people –our people– aren't just tools to be used and discarded. Every single member of the Inquisition is worth more than that." She took an earnest step forward. "Your instincts were right, their lives matter." She saw Leliana's brows furrow and pressed on. "They mean a great deal – you must know that, or else those names wouldn't hurt as much as they do." She nodded at the scroll.
The spymaster was silent a moment, closing her eyes and bringing a hand up to massage her temples. Her face had become carefully expressionless, so Trevelyan could only guess at what she was thinking. "Can we really afford such sentimentality right now?" The question wasn't argumentative, it was almost plaintive. Trevelyan was sympathetic – sentimentality, caring, was heart-wrenching, it hurt; it would be easier, simpler, to be emotionless and duty-bound.
"Without sentimentality, we'd be no better than Corypheus and his demons and Venatori." She walked up to the window, looking out the glass on all the people milling in the courtyard below. The next words she spoke were warm with conviction. "The Inquisition isn't just fighting against something. It's fighting for something; for hope, for a more promising future." She glanced at Leliana with a small smile. "You made that happen, you know. We wouldn't be where we are without you."
Leliana scoffed, turning away. "And look where we are now, fleeing into the mountains with our tail tucked between our legs. A fine job I've done, no?" She moved to walk away.
"Stop," Trevelyan said, more forcefully than she'd intended, darting a hand out and catching the spymaster's wrist, preventing her from leaving. "With all that's happened, with everything that's working against the Inquisition, the last thing you need is to turn against yourself." Her voice was low, pleading. "You have to stop being your own worst enemy, Leliana. Please."
They stared at each other. At some point, Trevelyan had taken the redhead's hand (When? She didn't remember; it felt so natural.) and held it between them like a lifeline. Though there wasn't that much space between them, really – another step or two and she'd be treading on the spymaster's toes. It was then that she noticed Leliana was a few inches taller than her, a fact that seemed important somehow.
Leliana's frown softened into an almost-smile, the unhappy crease between her brows easing. "You-"
Before she could continue, a throat cleared behind them. "Ah, Sister Nightingale, the report you requested. Is…this a bad time?" The agent fidgeted, eyes flitting between the two women uncertainly.
Trevelyan felt herself flush, and she ducked her head to hide it. "Duty calls," she said, attempting a light-hearted tone, her heart beating quick and erratic in her chest. She dropped the spymaster's hand and stood aside.
In an instant, Leliana's professional demeanor fell into place, and she strode forward. Trevelyan waited a moment, watching her address the rather twitchy agent, noticing that the spymaster had finally set the scroll she'd been holding aside. Trevelyan hoped that she'd take their conversation to heart, and with that thought and a final glance at the redhead, she took her leave.
And though she wasn't aware of it, Leliana's eyes followed her the entire time.