A/N: A smidge NSFW there at the end. Just a teensy, weensy bit.
Also, sorry this took so long. But most of the next chapter is written, so hopefully you won't have to wait so long for the next one.
Chapter 12: A Surprise
Revka could not concentrate on her work. She didn't know what to do, or who she could talk to. She couldn't speak with Josephine of this. The woman was far too proper, and had therefore likely never had any experience with something like this. Not that she was completely innocent in the way of things… but Revka could not imagine the woman had ever made a single mistake in her life. Cullen was the obvious choice, but he was a man. He had no true knowledge of such things, and besides that, while it did involve him, Revka wanted advice, a confidante, before she spoke with him. He would simply overreact, and that was not what the younger Amell girl needed right now.
Leliana was the obvious choice. They were sisters in all but name, and the former bard had been a confidante and mentor of sorts to Revka for years. But… her paramour was a woman. Would she understand?
Really? She used to be a bard. It is not as though Solona is the only person Leliana has ever bedded. She is either barren, or far more careful than I.
Truthfully, Revka was embarrassed. She feared chastisement. But she ought not to. Leliana was kind, and even though the world was utter chaos at the moment, the spymaster would have time for her family. Right?
Making her decision, Revka left hers and Josephine's office in the Chantry, finding Leliana and her two burly mabari at her tent outside. The dogs' heads perked up, and then Leliana was turning, frowning until she saw who approached. The spymaster looked immediately concerned, however. Probably because I wear my feelings on my face around her, just as Solona does.
"Is everything all right, Revka?"
The diplomat shook her head. Now that she was here, her feelings threatened to overwhelm her. Leliana was beside her in a heartbeat, tugging her back into the shadows and relative privacy of the Chantry.
"What is the matter, Revka?"
Revka took a deep breath, looked straight into Leliana's eyes, and said the words in a whisper. "I am with child, Leliana."
The spymaster's eyes got very big. She leaned forward and hissed, "You are certain?"
"This is my second time not bleeding, and I have been sick in the mornings more often than not since… for more than a week." She had been about to say, "since the Conclave," but upon reflection that would have been rather tactless.
Leliana pursed her lips, took Revka by the sleeve, and led her elsewhere.
They ended up in the larder, and Leliana was speaking as soon as the door was shut. "How were you not careful?! We have the herbs here, well-stocked, should anyone need them!"
The spymaster turned, holding out several pinched-off leaves that Revka knew would make a bitter brew. She was not fond of it. And she would have to drink a great deal of it in order to be assured the pregnancy was well and truly ended. Not to mention the discomfort of the miscarriage it would cause. She took the herbs from her friend, but still felt the need to defend herself.
"He doesn't finish…" Oh dear, saying these things out loud is far more awkward than I thought…
"What?" Leliana said, impatient.
"Inside," Revka finished, feeling her cheeks flare.
Leliana raised a single eyebrow. "Really? Every time? Every time he finishes elsewhere? Because you would not be in this predicament if that were true."
"Maker, I didn't know this would be so difficult to speak of…"
Leliana merely fixed her with a sardonic look. "You can do it, but you cannot speak of it?"
"This is new to me, Leliana! I was always careful in Orlais, but this… this is different! I never stayed the night, never minded getting up and drinking the awful tea, and never met anyone I came back to again and again like this! But this…"
"What?"
"It's him," Revka said, shoulders slumping slightly. "He is… so wonderfully him. I stay every night. We are not always careful, because I want nothing more than to be closer to him. He brings me such pleasure, and… I love him." She looked down at the herbs in her hands. Pushing them back toward Leliana, she added, "And I don't think I want these."
Leliana took the herbs, cocking her head to the side, clearly puzzled. "You… want the child?"
"I… I think I do. I think I need to go speak with Cullen…" Now Leliana looked as panicked as Revka had felt not five minutes before. "Leliana? What is wrong?"
"I pursued this option first. I didn't even think you might… You love him. Of course you might want this child. Maker, I feel a monster, Revka."
Revka shook her head, emphatic. "No, Leliana. Do not do that. You have such tremendous guilt… I came to you for a confidante, but I also came to you for this," she said, indicating the herbs. "Now that I am here, however… I want this." She indicated her belly, though of course she was not yet showing. "Or, at least, I want to discuss it with Cullen. But you are not a monster, Leliana."
Leliana nodded. "You are right. And this is not about me. It is just… this place, the things that happened here during the Blight as well as the Conclave… I killed a boy bent on killing Solona, in this very building! I am still out of sorts and I don't know how to find my center again. I wish…"
Revka stopped her, hand on her shoulder. "I know, Leliana. And I wish, as well. You are each other's center. And she is missing everything by being away. But I have to believe that the Divine would not send her away to do something that could be done by another. And something tells me we have not seen the last of her. Perhaps it is foolish dreaming, but I cannot ignore the feeling."
Leliana held her gaze for a moment. "You are so young, and so sure. How do you do it?"
Revka smiled. "I had incredibly good teachers in my sisters. Now come. I disturbed your work. You go back to it, and I… will speak with Cullen. The poor man has one hell of an afternoon ahead of him… and after so recently reconciling about Solona, too."
The corners of Leliana's lips turned down at that. "So it was an argument, then?"
Revka nodded, sighing. "It took us days to sort it out completely. He was wrong for keeping it from me, and I could have perhaps been less defensive. But this… that is child's play compared to this. This will make us or break us, I imagine."
Leliana pulled her into a fierce embrace. "And I will still be here for either outcome. For celebration or commiseration. And it is still early yet. If you need… just let me know if you change your mind, yes? I would not have you go through that alone. I have done it. I do not recommend it."
Revka smiled, hugging Leliana tightly in return. "If I could tell you all I have already, then I can definitely tell you that. But… I have a good feeling. I think this will all be all right, in the end."
Releasing her, Leliana nodded. "Come. I will not keep you from your errand."
They left the larder together, the herbs back in their place on the shelf.
Zanneth frowned. "I'm glad you all understand what's going on, but can someone please explain to me?"
Varric chuckled around a mouthful of ale. "It'd be easy if you spent any time in a city, Zanneth," he said once he'd swallowed. "In any city, you've got a wide variety of people, with a wide variety of wealth. You've got the rich nobles with servants who they tell to do shit for them. You've got the middle class like me, who actually work for their wealth, and you've got the dirt-poor who have to eke out a living emptying chamber pots as servants or maybe work on the dock or in a brothel or something like that. There are varying levels in there, but that's essentially the three layers, getting bigger from the top down. Sera here has a network of that third level. It's the largest, and it's the most resentful with the truest reasons for that resentment.
"And let me tell you – nobles think nothing of them. Servants hear all kinds of shit nobles wouldn't want other nobles to hear. Servants see things no one should have to see. Servants are blackmailed and cajoled into doing things no one should ever have to do. Red Jenny's 'Friends' are these people, and they've got it out for the nobles who've wronged them. It's their only recourse against the upper classes, and it feels even better because it comes from a place the nugshit-eating nobility would never have guessed – the people who empty their chamber pots, cook their meals, and, on occasion, have barely-consensual sex with them when they're bored. Nobles think they have all this power. But it would crumble around them if the lower classes could be rallied.
"Luckily for the nobility… the poor are so downtrodden and blind to their own power in their numbers, it would take an act of the Maker Himself in order to actually rally them effectively," Varric finished, taking another pull at his flagon.
"Somehow I feel like that novel you just recited could have been much shorter," Cassandra muttured darkly, brows furrowed. "You speak in paragraphs, Varric."
"Ah, but would it have been as thorough? As pretty?" the dwarf asked, winking at Zanneth. The Dalish elf chuckled quietly, shaking her head. She agreed with Cassandra that Varric was rather long-winded, but still she could not deny that he had given her a better picture of something entirely foreign to her.
Zanneth cleared her throat before addressing Sera, who was matching the heavier dwarf drink for drink without showing her drunkenness. Perhaps elves could drink more than the other races? Zanneth did not know – she was only just barely keeping meals down and did not wish to try this bitter-smelling brew they imbibed. "So you… organize all the complaints of the little people, as you call them, and arrange nasty accidents for nobles, essentially?"
"Right!" the blonde elf said, her tone bright as she nodded enthusiastically. "Glad you fin'ly get it! Not always nasty like death, sometimes just nasty like… one time I stole a whole guard company's knickers, right? Then started a fire in the back of the barracks and they had to run out without breeches! Public humiliation of their lord. It was the funniest thin' to watch! Oh, and they were talkin' about it for weeks!" Sera laughed loudly, slamming the table. "No breeches!" she shouted, before devolving into a fit of mad cackling.
"This is all so… new," Zanneth murmured, shaking her head.
"How so?" Cassandra asked.
"The Dalish do not have cities, Cassandra." It was Solas who answered. He didn't seem to notice the slight frown Zanneth threw his way. Why did he know so much about the Dalish and yet claimed not to be part of a clan at any point in his life? "All are on equal standing in a clan, pulling their weight equally. It is true that some have different roles, like the Keeper and his First, who are perhaps above the rest by the simple fact that they lead the clan. But in the end, everyone has a role to fill for the greater good of the clan as a whole."
"Sounds an awful lot like the Qun," Bull chimed in. His eye wandered from person to person, full of lust, but his ears listened. Zanneth liked that. Quite honestly, Zanneth liked him, despite thinking what he'd said about her leading the humans' Inquisition laughable. Solas just left a bitter taste in her mouth.
"Indeed. Though less rigid, it is true that it looks more like the Qun than it does human society," Solas said, nodding his head. "Though I do not agree with the role of the Keeper, personally."
"What is wrong with the role of the Keeper?" Zanneth could not keep her tone neutral.
Her grandmother, her only living family and the one to raise her and Hyune, was the Keeper of her clan. She was warm and soft, but stern when needed, and fulfilled her role well, guiding their clan to prosperous places, even while their normal hunting grounds had been inaccessible to them during this bloody human conflict.
Solas's hazel eyes – sometimes looking brown, sometimes looking blue – snapped to Zanneth's. "The Keeper's role as mage and leader of the clan, providing guidance and keeping the peace, is laudable. It is magic and wisdom combined to keep the clan safe, to keep the unit cohesive. But as a Keeper of Lore… the Dalish fumble in the dark, using words and half-remembered customs that are theirs no longer. It would be best to come up with new traditions, new magicks, than to try to keep alive a thing long-dead." His eyes roved over her face as he spoke, his nostrils puckering in a manner that suggested a foul smell. "You never know if you're keeping alive a tradition that ought to be left for the ages to consume."
"And what do you know of it?" Zanneth demanded, sitting up straighter in her seat. She could feel Cassandra stiffen next to her. The others fell silent, and even Bull pulled his gaze from whatever pretty form he planned next to seduce, watching Zanneth and Solas intently. "I see no vallaslin upon your face. You hail from no Dalish clan. What right have you to judge us for how we choose to live? Your disdain has no basis – you merely think yourself better, than us and the flat-ears, and judge us in the meantime."
"Look, I don't like egg-head here anymore'n you do, but you hafta admit the Dalish have their heads up their arses," Sera said, pulling both other elves' attention to her. "You think he thinks he's better'n you? You think you're better'n us. Call us 'flat-ear' an' dismiss us like we're no better'n the mud on your boots. You just did it, too! You're both pretentious arseholes with your heads swellin' so big with your own importance that you can't see the other people in the world. 'Elf' this an' 'lethallan' that. People are people an' they all deserve to be helped! Not just because they have pointy ears an' run around a forest killin' deer or whatever you do. Your 'traditions' are meanin'less in the face of hunger an' the killin' of innocents to keep 'em quiet!"
Zanneth blinked a moment, dumbfounded. Sera seemed so… flighty. But the words that had just come out of her mouth were accusatory. And smart. And well thought-out. And they angered Zanneth. How dare she dismiss the Dalish so quickly? She knew nothing of life out in the forest!
But she was right. You called her flat-ear, dismissed her and her kind, right in front of her. Are you no better than Solas?
That's different, she countered internally, defiant. The flat-ears have lost their way.
Or perhaps they just have a different way.
Cassandra cut in before more anger could be slung across the table. "Is that why you want to join the Inquisition, Sera? To help the common person? Elf and human and dwarf and everyone else?"
The blonde elf nodded. "Yeah. We need thin's normal again so coin an' favors an' news can flow. An'… well, I have people, contacts, that no one else prob'ly thought to have, yeah? People up there like you, shoving your cods around, don't really think of the little people. I can bring a whole network of 'em to you. Eyes 'n ears 'n whatnot. An' you've got the Herald! An' there's a blighted hole in the sky! An'… I want to help, all righ'? If you don't want me then just say so, but I think my people can help. I think I can help."
Zanneth, temper still simmering from the argument that Cassandra had forcefully diverted them all from, still did not miss the Seeker's blinking in shock. Cassandra had clearly not expected that answer.
Before anyone could say anything more, however, Zanneth's ears picked up a peculiar sound. Years of light sleeping and hunting for her survival took over, and before she even knew what she was doing, the Dalish elf was throwing herself into Cassandra's lap. A dagger plunged into the wooden table instead of Zanneth's neck. The hand holding it tried in vain to pull the weapon out of the wood, giving the Dalish elf a chance to look up at the man. He looked frightened, as his blow had not connected and he was now weaponless.
The world was pandemonium. Bull was on his feet and leaping over the table in a heartbeat, knocking the man back. Cassandra found her feet, lifted Zanneth with her, and drew a dagger all in the same move. Varric, too, was on his feet, his crossbow loaded and aimed at the man's face. Sera was already gone from Zanneth's side. She had the Herald's would-be assassin on his knees, his arm wrenched behind his back. He squirmed and she twisted further, and Zanneth's sensitive ears heard the pop that told her his shoulder had been jerked from its socket.
Well, his squeal of pain told her that, too.
Strong for a city elf, Zanneth thought to herself.
All was then suddenly quiet. Bull approached the man, all hard muscle and murderous demeanor, cracking the knuckles of his fists in a threatening manner. "Talk," was all he said, but it made the hairs on the back of Zanneth's neck rise. She and Cassandra moved forward to get a better look at the man.
"That's the heretic! The one who killed the Divine! Who put the hole in the sky! I heard 'em outside the Cathedral!" He whimpered. His forehead was covered in sweat. And his ravings were high-pitched and almost crazy-sounding. Almost. Zanneth watched as those in the common room with them began gasping and whispering. They believed him.
By the Dread Wolf, did this really have to happen now? Zanneth had been hoping for one more night not on a ship. She was enjoying being able to keep her meals down.
"Out of my inn!" the proprietor was yelling, brandishing his own crossbow. "I don't want no heretics here! And take that charlatan with you. No one attempts murder in my tavern. Honestly, the holy city of Val Royeaux, and you're busting heads and pulling weapons… Out!"
Bull smirked, grabbing the man by his tunic as Sera released him. "Come on, little man. We'll continue this talk outside," he growled. Sera skipped after them, while Varric and Solas headed immediately to their rooms to gather their things.
"Come," Cassandra said to Zanneth, replacing her dagger in its sheath. "We need to get our things, as well."
"Lady Pentaghast?"
Zanneth and Cassandra turned as one to see an elven servant in the fineries of some House or other – Zanneth of course could not say which – approach them. "Yes?" Cassandra said, everything about her manner tense, on alert. "Are you here to cause more trouble?"
"On the contrary," he said, his accent clear that he did not originally hail from Orlais. "I come on behalf of Madame de Fer. She heard you were in the city and wished to extend an invitation to her wing of the de Ghyslain estates. I was not sure it was you until the unfortunate display I just witnessed. It… seems you are in need of lodgings?"
Cassandra sighed, shaking her head as she relaxed. "Yes, it would appear that we are. Am I to assume Madame de Fer offers her guest rooms to us?"
The man smiled, nodding. "Indeed, you are correct. Do you accept the invitation?"
Cassandra looked to Zanneth. "We have nowhere else to go. No inn in the city will take us after that public display of violence, even if we did not start it."
"Then I suppose we have little choice," the elf said. "Is traveling with you always this much of an adventure?"
"Sometimes," Cassandra said, a wry smile on her lips. "Though I suspect the excitement has a great deal to do with you," she added, eyes on Zanneth's now-gloved left hand. Looking up to the elven servant, Cassandra nodded. "Yes, we accept. I regret that we will not meet Madame de Fer's likely exquisite taste in fashion, however, as we have been traveling."
"An understandable condition," the elf said with a bow. "My Lady will be able to compensate without problem. I will await your convenience out in the street. I have a carriage. Though it will not accommodate… every member of your party, I fear."
Zanneth chuckled. "The Iron Bull can keep up on foot. Indeed, I believe he could trot all day through the countryside carrying me on his shoulders. He will be fine."
The servant smiled, nodding. "Very well. I will see you when you are ready to depart."
Shaking her head, Cassandra moved past Zanneth. "Come. Gathering our things will take precious little time."
"There appears to be some of soiree in progress," Varric said, looking out the carriage window.
Cassandra frowned. "Really? Of all nights for us to arrive as guests here, it has to be on the night of a ridiculous party?" she muttered. She hated the parties of the Orlesian nobility. She barely had the patience for them at the best of times. Now, after this day? She already felt drained and she had not even seen the party with her own eyes.
Their elven guide looked unsure. "Is Lady Pentaghast concerned about proper attire? I assure you, we can have you cleaned and dressed in no time."
Cassandra sighed, looking to the polite young man. Or old. Damn these elven faces, they are so difficult to place in age. "It is not that. I am afraid I never developed a taste for… parties." Even the word felt sour in her mouth. "The Orlesian Game never suited me."
"The Seeker prefers hitting her problems to make them go away," Varric quipped, earning a chuckle from Solas.
Cassandra glowered, looking away. "I will make do. I do not wish to seem an ungrateful guest. It has just been... a trying day."
"This is a fair point," Solas said. His expression was almost a smile. Sometimes Cassandra wanted to punch it off his smug face. "You watched that display at the Chantry, picked up this… creature-"
"Hey!" Sera complained, leaning over Cassandra to try to smack Solas. "'M not an idiot! I can read your tone just fine, piss-face!"
Cassandra suddenly sat forward, reaching for the door. "That's enough!" she shouted. "I will walk the rest of the way! I tire of riding with children!" Opening the door, she was out of the carriage and on her feet.
It took several seconds for her to realize she was not alone. "I'm sorry I let her come along," Zanneth's voice sounded softly behind her.
Cassandra turned with a start, eyes on the elf's boots. "I had no idea you had followed me. Are your boots magic of some sort?"
Zanneth's smile was small. "No. I merely learned how to walk the forest without upsetting even a twig. Cobblestone is simple to walk silently upon, in comparison."
"Right." Cassandra turned, walking in the carriage's wake. Up ahead, next to the carriage, The Iron Bull had turned, cocking his great head to the side at them. Cassandra shook her head, gesturing him away. He shrugged and turned around again, trotting to keep up with the carriage.
Zanneth tried again. "I… hope you're not upset with me?"
"What? Oh. No, I am not upset with any of you. And as much as I do not personally enjoy her company, I do believe Sera is right that her network could be useful to us. And she was immediate in protecting you. In hindsight I should have let Sera smack Solas, honestly. Whether or not she grates on my nerves, it was rather rude to insult her so, particularly in front of that servant. No, I am just… nothing about this day has gone as I had hoped. Even the fact that the Chantry will no longer be a problem happened in the worst possible way."
Zanneth nodded, walking silently next to her. Cassandra took a moment to study the Dalish elf. The first thing one saw was her white fuzz of hair, growing ever longer, and the deep-red crawling tattoos upon her pale visage. If one looked past these, one would see deep, dark brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a forehead which sloped directly into the delicate bridge of her nose, as did all elves'. Her lips were the same red as her tattoos, and her ears were long, even for an elf, extending back past the line of her scalp.
But underneath… underneath, Cassandra saw so much. Those tattoos, acquired at the cusp of adulthood, had to have been painful. To withstand such was impressive. And to know they extended beyond her face? Cassandra was doubly impressed. And the elf possessed such grace, such poise. Perhaps not in the traditional sense – if she were to be put into a dress, she would likely not be the picture of feminine grace – but she walked silently and carefully, like a cat stalking a mouse at every turn. Her impassive expression belied the thought she put into every word, every action. Her silence, too, spoke to how much consideration Zanneth gave everything around her.
Being in a city such as Val Royeaux must have been sensory overload for the poor elf, accustomed to the rhythm and sway of the forest as she was.
"This must all be very confusing for you," Cassandra ventured.
Zanneth's eyes snapped to her own. "Yes. It is all very strange. It's so… so loud here. I thought Haven was noisy and chaotic, but it is nothing compared to what I have seen in this place."
"And it is about to get louder and more chaotic, in some ways," Cassandra mused, smirking. "Stay by my side, and I shall ward off those easily intimidated. We are stepping into a party, and the small-minded nobles of Orlais will be upon the Dalish curiosity like… well, like flies on shit."
Zanneth snorted a laugh, making Cassandra smile. The expression suited the elf's visage. Quietly, she hoped to put it there more often.
They walked the rest of the way to the estate in the distance in silence. But it was comfortable. The evening air was becoming chilled, though walking in her traveling leathers kept the Seeker perfectly warm. Zanneth, too, seemed completely happy with the brisk walk despite the chill. Of course she is, Cassandra thought to herself. How much colder is the forest at night, alone on a hunt?
They reached the estate just as the carriage was pulling away to take their baggage up to their rooms. Cassandra shook her head at the eclectic band of misfits she had with her. Three elves, a dwarf, and a bloody qunari. How they had made it this far the Seeker could not rightly say.
To Cassandra's surprise, Madame de Fer – whom the Seeker knew as Lady Vivienne – met them upon the steps. Her appearance was striking, designed at every point to strike doubt into the minds and hearts of those she encountered. She was enshrouded in mystery, playing upon the fear of mages while at the same time disarming with her polite speech, cultured accent, and the peculiar way she could look down her nose at you even should you stand taller than her. She was a courtier and a powerful mage, and she did not let you forget either fact whilst in her presence.
"Ah, Seeker Pentaghast," came the high, elegant voice, speaking in the common tongue.
"Lady Vivienne," Cassandra greeted, parting the crowd of her companions and stepping forward to take the enchantress's outstretched hand. The woman was masked, her characteristic high headdress making her an indomitable figure, but her manner was all shrewd politeness. Indeed, the woman was always so cold Cassandra fancied she felt a permanent chill in the air when she was near.
After a kiss on each cheek by the masked woman, they parted, looking each other up and down. Vivienne spoke first. "I swear, my dear, that even if you dragged yourself through mud and fire, you would stand more elegantly before me than anyone I have ever met. It is good to see you again, especially with the chaos that has befallen our lands."
Cassandra smirked. They were not close, but they had of course met in court, and she had found they were of a similar mind on many things. Never openly, of course – what player of the Game spoke openly of what they thought? But nonetheless, Cassandra knew some of Lady Vivienne's mind, and it aligned with her own thinking more often than not.
"I admit I was surprised by the timeliness of your invitation. You had eyes in the Cathedral's square?"
"One must keep oneself informed, darling, I'm sure you understand. That you would join me tonight, however, was a complete surprise."
"Yes, well. We found ourselves… ejected from our lodgings."
Lady Vivienne's eyes traveled to each of Cassandra's companions in turn as she said, "I simply cannot imagine why."
The Seeker smirked yet again. "Surprisingly, the eclectic nature of our little group was not what did it. Someone took it upon himself to rid of the world of Andraste's Herald after hearing what the clerics had to say about her. Attempt murder in an inn, and the proprietor throws all parties out, no matter who initiated the violence."
"So it is true? You have the Herald here with you?"
Cassandra nodded, turning and beckoning to Zanneth. The elf stepped forward, looking unsure, though not shy in any way. Indeed, she held herself tall, her back straight, her weapons carried with an ease born of practice. "Yes. This is the one they call Andraste's Herald. Though her name is Zanneth, of the Lavellan clan. Zanneth, this is the Lady Vivienne, First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle and Enchantress to the Imperial Court."
"Charmed, dear," the mage said, holding out her hand for Zanneth to take. The elf again looked unsure, but she took the woman's hand and did a fair imitation of a curtsey. Cassandra was surprised. Where did she learn that? A quick look at Varric's pleased expression and nod of approval informed her of the answer. At least he is good for something other than a story over a pint, she thought, hiding her derisive snort.
"I am grateful for the invitation to stay as your guest," Zanneth said, her voice clear, in its upper register, as it had been in the Cathedral square. Normally, it was low and husky in comparison. But Cassandra usually only heard the elf when it was the two of them and she was speaking quietly, candidly. The idea that Cassandra had heard the elf's "true" voice made her stomach flutter the slightest bit, for reasons the Seeker could not begin to unravel.
"You are more than welcome, dear," Vivienne intoned, eyes shrewd under her mask. That was the problem with masks. Most people wearing them assumed their expressions were hidden. But the eyes were clearly visible, and Cassandra, ever the warrior, knew to look there for a person's true intent.
But Vivienne knew this as well. She had to. So she was either not hiding her expression purposely, or it was affected for their benefit. What was her game?
The problem with the Game. It makes you assume everything is a game. Thank the Maker the Divine did not play such games with myself and Leliana.
"Come inside, please. I am sure you are tired and hungry. You are more than welcome to the soiree, but I would imagine a quiet evening is in order for most of you." Her eyes landed upon Bull, and it was clear to Cassandra that Vivienne did not particularly want the giant qunari in her party among her other guests. Cassandra almost chuckled. From what she had gleaned of the woman over the years, she very much liked to have control of a situation. The Iron Bull was one giant wrench in anyone's control.
The enchantress led them all inside, and they were quickly shown to their rooms.
"Use your shield! If he were your enemy, you'd be dead!" Cullen shouted over the field. His more experienced soldiers, as well as those of the Bull's Chargers, were sparring with the raw recruits who had enlisted after the Conclave. Most of them had spent their lives as fishermen and maids, dockworkers and laundresses, farmers and fieldhands. Nearly all of them had families, children running around the village. Thank the Maker no children had gone up to the Temple for the Conclave. Dead people were bad enough. But dead children? Cullen was hard-pressed to think of anything more tragic than broken little bodies in the devastation.
Cullen had seen far too much of that particular horror. The children of the Ferelden Circle Tower had mostly been saved, by the Senior Enchanter Wynne and her apprentices. Only one or two of them had been taken by Uldred and his accomplices, all of them turned to abominations, as they were too young, too undisciplined to withstand the pressure. It was disgusting.
The children of Kirkwall had not been spared Meredith's insanity, however. Cullen had watched Damian Hawke put down her crazed elf companion who had taken up Meredith's insane cause. He had been the one to not compromise. Even the templars who agreed with Meredith had sent the mage children on their way, warning them to find a safe place to hide until the chaos was over. But that elf… Cullen had met him once or twice. Fenris was his name. The commander had watched the former Tevinter slave slaughter mage children who came running his way for help. If Hawke had not gotten there first, Cullen would have executed the man for his crimes, without any hesitation. But Hawke had beaten him to it, a scream of rage so pure falling from her lips that Cullen had thanked the Maker fate had never put himself and the Champion of Kirkwall at odds. He had not been sure he would live to tell the tale had they ever.
Cullen's musings were cut short by the familiar light touch of a hand to his shoulder. Turning, he saw Revka had walked up behind him. He greeted her with a warm hug, but could immediately tell that something was the matter. She did not relax into his embrace, and as he pulled away, he saw the tense set to her shoulders, the line between her brows. She was worried.
"Revka? Is something wrong?" he asked.
"I need to speak with you. Right now." Her eyes darted around as she added, "Privately."
Cullen furrowed his brow. "Can it not wait? I am overseeing the training…"
"I would not ask if it could wait, Cullen," she said, her voice low, her gaze intense. "I never come to you with inane requests."
He nodded. "That is true." Looking up, he called over the closest competent person he saw. "Cremesius!"
The lieutenant of the Bull's Chargers stopped what he was doing and trotted over. He was a little on the short side, and not as stockily-built as some, but he knew what he was doing, was more than willing to instruct someone bigger than him, and could deliver a thrashing with the best of them. Cullen had not yet seen the man's ass meet the ground.
"Yes, Commander?"
"The ambassador needs my attention for a moment." The set of the man's brows made it clear to Cullen what Cremesius was thinking. I bet she does, they said. But the man remained silent. "Keep them training until I return?"
"Not a problem, ser."
Cullen nodded. "Push them. They need to go to their beds exhausted. We do not have time to coddle our soldiers." What few we have, he added silently to himself.
The smaller man grinned. "It'll be my pleasure," he said, turning and immediately shouting. "All right, maggots! You heard the man! Chargers, horns up! Pretend you're the chief and give these baby-faced raw recruits a thrashing!"
Cullen chuckled. If anyone's baby-faced, it's the man yelling right now. Turning, the commander held his elbow out for Revka. "Will my cabin suffice?"
She took his arm with a wan smile. "That will be fine."
With the door closed behind them, Revka's nervousness increased. Cullen stood by the door, but she paced the small space of his cabin, not meeting his eyes. "Revka, please, still yourself and speak with me? Is this about your sister? I thought… I thought we had resolved that?"
Revka finally met his eyes, and he saw just how agonized she had become. "It's not that. I… find myself unsure of what to say."
He moved for her, hoping to take her into his arms, to comfort her, but she caught his shoulders, holding him at arm's length. It was… incredibly unlike her. "Revka, you are worrying me. Please tell me what is amiss?"
She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and steeling herself. Without opening them, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I… think I am with child, Cullen."
He watched her lips move, heard the words, and yet it took him a moment to truly understand them. "You… you're pregnant? But I rarely finish… and there are herbs… have you not been taking them?"
Revka's eyes snapped open, and he knew he had said the wrong thing. "We are not always careful, Cullen," she hissed, removing her hands from his shoulders and turning away from him. "And when do you see me drink the tea? I try to leave you, to take those precautions, and you simply hold on more tightly. You do not want me to leave, and I do not want to leave you. So do not pin this solely on me, Cullen. If left to my own devices, I assure you this would not happen."
He tripped over himself to correct his error. "I did not mean blame! I just… I am shocked, Revka! I thought…" He sighed, slumping back into a chair. "A child? I had never even considered…"
She took back up her pacing. "It is not too late to take the herbs. They cause miscarriage. It… it will be painful. But I can go get them now, make the tea, and-"
"No!"
Revka stopped, turning to face him, a curious look in her eyes. She looked… hopeful. "No?"
"I…" Cullen ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "Is it so wrong to want this?"
"I want this, too, Cullen," Revka breathed, finally approaching him. She let him draw her into his lap, facing each other. Then she was kissing his forehead, cradling his face in both hands. "I have always been careful with others. But you… it's you, Cullen. I want you, I want your children, and… I feel foolish for wanting it."
He smirked up at her, luxuriating in her soft breaths being blown over his face. "Why foolish? Hasn't this been your goal from the start? It felt very much as though I was being hunted."
Her cheeks bloomed, her hands falling to his shoulders. "I… yes, I did have my eye on you from the start. But I would never become pregnant on purpose just to pin you down, Cullen. I want you, and I want you to want me. Not be stuck with me."
He took one of her hands in his, kissing it before looking back up into her beautiful grey eyes. "And I do. Revka…" He paused, giving the impulse that suddenly came over him a moment's thought. Did he want this? He wanted the child. And he did not want the child without this woman in his lap. Yes. Yes, he wanted this. "Will you marry me, Revka? We can be a little family. It's already here, in this space between us, and I assure you it all thrives off your love, myself included."
Revka's grin was slow in forming, but oh so genuine, and then her arms were around his neck, her lips on his, her head nodding as she gasped the word "yes" over and over between kisses. They shifted, barely willing to part as their passions rose. Finally, he was inside her, surrounded by love and warmth, perfectly at home and accepted by the woman he loved. Cremesius could keep an eye on the recruits for a little longer. Making love to his intended was more important in this moment.