Act VI:i
Bethany cursed under her breath when hot wax singed the edge of her fingers. She waved the scalded digits, frantically pulling her papers out of the way of the slow moving river that made its way down her desk. Once all the documents were safe she lit a fresh candle off the old, extinguishing the guttering flame and waiting for the dribbling to cool. It was easier to clean the wax after it had set, she'd learned this after multiple late night accidents with her lighting.
Morrigan was right about me and candles. The mage sighed. She marked her place in the book and set aside her studying for the night. A full moon hanging in the distance told her it was nearing midnight and she still hadn't found anything different. How many times had she reread Fiona's journals and letters? A dozen times? A dozen score? There was never going to be anything new but it was easier to review what she knew rather than think of all the things she didn't.
"I thought you might still be awake." The gentle laughter startled Bethany, reflexes bringing her to her feet before she recognized her cousin.
"Solona! Are you alright? Did you need me?" the sight of the Hero in her doorway at this late hour filled her with fresh worry, "Did one of the spells break? Does a potion taste wrong?"
"Relax, cousin!" the Warden rested a soothing hand on her relation's shoulder, guiding her to sit back down, "I couldn't sleep again. Apparently it runs in the family."
"Oh, right." The younger mage felt blood in her cheeks as sparkling eyes laughed silently at her overreaction. The Warden had complained several times now about sleepless nights, sometimes tactfully mentioning being cold and other times outright cursing the emptiness of her bed. Neither were problems Bethany could fix. What she could do was put on the kettle.
When the two mages were together in the Deep Roads Solona taught the young warden a particular tea that could stave off the worst of the dragon song nightmares. Perhaps tonight it could simply lull them to sleep. As she went through the familiar ritual of making the brew they fell into easy conversation. The cousins often found themselves first reminiscing about the Grey Wardens they knew. Ferelden, Orlais, Weisshaupt, there had been so many. A mournful silence inevitably fell as names piled up on the tips of their tongues, all the fallen friends and allies lost along the way. Nathaniel, Velanna, Stroud, Anders – well, towards the end there was really only Justice.
It was inevitably talk of family that broke the sadness. Solona had never known her blood relations. The Circles had a cruel policy of breaking up siblings so that even now she did not know where the rest of Revka's children were sent, though she was constantly sending out queries and letters. But now she had her cousins. She had real family. They all clung to what little was left.
"I received a letter from Charade," Bethany remembered with excitement, "She sent it to the estate but Aveline brought it with her when she came. Tantervale seems to suit her well though she misses the coast. Uncle Gamlen has actually stopped drinking, or at least he's hiding it better from her. Oh, and she mentioned something about having friends in the Inquisition! A crazy girl named Jenny? I meant to ask Leliana about that."
"Oh yes, be sure to do that. Just wait 'til she hasn't got anything breakable in her hands." Solona's grin promised she knew all about Jennies. The young Hawke reached for the kettle as it whistled and only the Hero's abrupt hand on her wrist reminded her to grab a towel. She was more absent minded these days, distracted within a heartbeat by her own thoughts. Too much to think about.
With the tea safely poured, the two mages settled back comfortably, talk of family leading to more current friends. Bethany was related to two heroes of Thedas; each of them, in turn, connected to a third. It was inevitable that their circle of associates overlapped.
"I saw you talking with Commander Rutherford yesterday." The Hero's arched eyebrow marked the blush creeping up her cousin's cheek once more.
"It was good to see an old friend." The younger warden tried to disguise her enthusiasm but knew it bled through every word.
"You'll want to work on making that line a bit more convincing before your sister gets back." Solona quickly sipped her tea to keep from laughing too hard. She was pleased to see that the younger woman's confidence was stronger these days. She wasn't ashamed of her affections or interests. She didn't doubt herself as she once did.
"You knew Cullen at the Circle, didn't you? What was he like back then?" Bethany's gaze drifted toward the past, unfocused on the room around them.
"Cullen at Calenhad Circle," the Warden paused thoughtfully, "He was a Templar. What do you expect? He was more decent than most of them but I can't pretend we were friends. He seemed like a good man, a bit troubled sometimes. Nervous, I suppose. I never quite understood his deep and abiding love for an organized weapons rack."
"You're joking." Bethany protested, annoyed at the teasing.
"I'm not! He really likes shiny things all in neat rows," Solona defended herself, "You had to have noticed that he practically squeaks when he walks. It's not natural to polish your armor that often. Seems a bit of a metaphor, don't you think?"
"Oh, you're terrible." The younger cousin laughed, only realizing as she heard the sound that it had been days since she'd done so. There was never as much laughter when her sister was away. But then, there was less shouting with Isabela gone so it was a toss-up.
"Maybe you can help fix that? Get him interested in some other hobbies?" the Hero mercilessly prodded on.
"Stop!" Bethany needed to stop smiling, her cheeks were getting sore. The muscles relaxed as her thoughts turned further away, "To think, all those years my family kept me hidden in Lothering; if the Templars found out, I'd have been sent to the Circle where both of you already were."
"And he could've been tempted by demons in your form instead of mine. I think that would have been better for all of us." Solona rolled her eyes as she remembered the poor man revealing that she was his own deepest, torturing desire. In front of everyone.
"Or," the young Hawke's eyes sparked with challenge, "I could've been recruited to the wardens instead of you and found my way to a particular Chantry sister back in Lothering."
She didn't for a moment think any turn of events could have made her the Hero of Ferelden. But the ludicrous assertion was worth it just to hear her cousin's burst of surprised laughter.
"You did that anyway from what I understand! Leliana has many fond memories of you visiting the Chantry. You know listening to her stories is the fastest way to a bard's heart." Solona smirked as she scolded, imagining her redheaded love sitting with the young girl for hours in the pews, regaling her with poetic adventures. The scarred sister had loved Bethany's innocence; it reminded her of a lost piece of herself. It was a rare gift in this world – one the Hero didn't believe she'd ever possessed.
"Relax, cousin. I simply loved her accent and her tales," the younger mage assured, "And I needed somewhere to pass time while Hawke met the tavern maid."
"Which one?" Solona's brow arched up curiously. She couldn't remember more than a handful of faces from the abandoned village they'd passed through a decade before. Who would have caught a young Hawke's eye?
"Any of them." Bethany shrugged. How many hours had she whiled away in the comfortable glow of the Chantry, waiting for her elder sister to finish her games? She was glad that Hawke took her along, giving her the chance to get out of the cage of their home. Carver always wanted to join as well but picked fights with every boy in the village. After the third time that Marian rescued their brother from a boy twice his size she refused to bring him along anymore.
"She's changed a bit, hasn't she?" The Hero chuckled, notes of familiarity and experience warming her tone. She already knew that answer. Who would have thought that the tempestuous pirate that crossed paths with the Hero of Ferelden would one day be tamed by her cousin? Then again, who expected a Circle mage to give her heart to a lay sister?
Not for the first time (or last) the youngest Hawke wondered at just how much similarity there might be between her sister and cousin. Both heroes, to be sure, but the parallels seemed to run deeper. Both had the cavalier bravery to rush into battle without thought of consequence, an instinct to protect others at risk to themselves, the desire to end suffering for as many people as possible simply because they hated seeing anyone cry. Perhaps, like Hawke, Solona had also preferred life without any strings attached? Did the Warden flirt shamelessly with everyone who crossed her path before realizing she only wanted one person's attention for the rest of her life? Which did she fall into first with Leliana: love or bed?
"Our hearts make saints and sinners of us all." Bethany finally shrugged, pushing aside ruminations too deep for this hour of the night.
"And insomniacs." Solona leaned forward, holding out her nearly empty tea cup in toast. Both cousins smiled in commiseration as the tiny, porcelain clink faded to silence.
Well past midnight and no one on the Siren's Call II was going to sleep. The crew were mostly manning pumps and trying to control what was left of the sails. They were aimed for the nearest coastline but it would take the rest of the night to reach shallow water with this damage. Despite all the injuries and danger, everyone was smiling. Boisterous laughter and ribald jokes sailed back and forth across the smoking deck. Surviving a battle with the Qunari was already a triumph. Actually sinking that big bastard? No one was going to believe this one. Hawke smiled as she thought of Varric trying to pull this tale off in the taverns. They'd call bullshit on him as soon as he opened his mouth. Not that it would matter once he added some demons and a kidnapped princess.
Hawke spotted the one person on deck not smiling like a madman. Ironic, since she was pretty damn close to being the maddest one around. Elani was pacing back and forth, wearing a groove into the wood boards and repeating calculations under her breath.
"Pretty brave what you did," the Champion stepped directly into the path of the obsessive pacing, "Saving the Lady? And I'd bet three sovereigns you're a terrible swimmer."
"Only three? I must've made the dive look better than usual. Maker's ass, my ribs hurt from that jump." Elani shook her head, running a pained hand over the injured bones.
"So why do it? Any one of us could've gone for her in another second but you were off the spot too fast for anyone else to even try." Hawke had been confused by the instantaneous reaction from the elf. It didn't seem in her nature to engage in random acts of selfless heroism.
"She's got the cipher. For all I know she is the cipher. Without her the record doesn't get decoded and if your boss in Orlais doesn't get her answers, I don't get paid." Elani bit one thumbnail, then frowned at the taste of salt water and explosives, spitting it out.
"I can suddenly see why that might matter. Seeing as the Qunari are all hunting for you. And your stolen black powder." Hawke nodded to the satchel around the elf's neck. The way her arrows shattered that dreadnought hull into pieces? There could be no doubt what she was hiding.
"If all they wanted was the tins of powder I'd have tossed them over back in Rivain and we'd be free as a Marcher with no smalls," Elani laughed, shaking her head, "I didn't steal the powder, Hawke. I made it."
"Holy Maker. Are you serious?" Hawke's shocked breath instantly turned to a whisper. Her mind flashed back to Kirkwall: an upset Arishok and stolen recipe and horrendous scandal reminding everyone that – next to holy relics – the Qunari were most jealous of their secrets.
"Took me long enough but yeah, I broke in and got hold of the recipe. Took a few tries to get it right but now I have it down solid." The elf grinned, tapping her pointy-eared head with a conspiratorial grin of glee.
"No wonder the bastards are chasing you! Don't you tell a soul, understand? That's a secret that can make you rich and dead in the same second." The Champion unconsciously tugged the strap of Elani's satchel further onto her shoulder. Small wonder she was so desperate for her coin! This thief needed to disappear. Yesterday.
"Don't think I don't know it," Elani shook her head, "Stupid stuff has my ass tighter than a Most Holy's – sorry, I forgot you know her."
"She would be flattered, I assure you." Zevran's gentle laughter floated down from the rigging above. Both women looked up to spot the handsomely smiling rogue.
"Sneaky type, aren't you?" the thief challenged as he dropped from the ropes.
"I have found that observing the fascinations of womankind often requires respectful distances," the elf bowed gallantly, "Yet when you are all so alluring can you blame me for stealing closer to catch some delicate waft of your delights?"
"You really haven't changed, Zevran." Hawke laughed. She had a soft spot for the assassin. Not just because of their shared entertainments on the Wounded Coast. He'd freed Isabela from her marriage. If not for him the Fereldan rogue would never have found just who she wished to Champion. Kirkwall claimed Hawke as their own but she knew - long before that fateful battle - she belonged only to the Queen of the Eastern Seas. She had the scars to prove it.
"My charms serve a purpose, dear Champion. This lady, for example, she has born tremendous burden. Should not her soul be given release for some few seconds of pleasure? Does not everyone deserve to forget themselves and be reborn, if only for a moment, into the bosom of the Maker for a kiss of grace?" Zevran has eased himself into Elani's personal space. The thief was regarding him with naked curiosity.
"You're stuck on an awful lot of crazy talk for a mate that just wants some boot-knocking. Ever think of asking straight?" Elani's arched brow cut through all the bullshit, daring Zevran to utter one more superfluous word.
"Very well," The Antivan's smile didn't falter, "Would you care to knock boots?"
"Love to. Come on, has to be some empty cabins below. You don't mind if I bring the book, right?" Elani turned to head for the stairs, the same simple eagerness in her step as a child heading for playtime.
"Of course not. I can be quite flexible." Zevran followed, disbelieving grin spreading wide.
"Ooh, promising. Do you know the Antivan Carpet Cleaner?" the thief clapped her hands, far too innocent an enthusiasm for such questions.
"My dear lady, I know the woman who invented it. However, I do not recommend it on these floors." The former Crow shook his head, clucking his tongue sagaciously.
"Oh, right. Splinters. Well, we'll just get a bit creative then. Don't bother yourself if I call you Eva." Elani shrugged and ducked below decks.
"I have been called worse." Zevran accepted the terms with touch of bemusement, then disappeared.
"Atta girl, Cuddles." Hawke laughed to herself, crossing the deck to climb the helm.
She found Isabela peering desperately into an eyeglass, punching holes into the darkness. Trying to make out a coastline at this hour was as much art as skill. The Champion thought she could hear the distant crash of breakers on shore but that could just as easily be the waves against their own hull. The pirate's seriousness as a captain was a different and unexpected pleasure. Who knew responsibility could be so sexy?
"You should probably thank Morrigan when you get a chance." Hawke strode over and rested her hands on the railing.
"For saving our asses or not blowing my ship completely to splinters?" Isabela didn't stop her careful scouring of the horizon. According to the maps and stars they knew roughly where they were, but finding shoals without rock was rare in this part of the Amaranthine. Assuming they were still in the ocean. They might have already crossed into the Waking Sea. They had to find safe shore by dawn since the men could only keep pumping water for so many hours before they'd collapse.
"Either one. I'll be tickled if you manage to make it to the word 'thanks' before you start fighting again." Hawke knew the animosity between her lover and the apostate went back well before her time. Some people just rubbed each other the wrong way. Although, in this particular case, there'd been no rubbing at all.
"Well, if you want a good tickling I'm sure I could manage with some toys I stole from the Rose." Isabela grinned. If her eye weren't pressed to the spyglass she probably would've winked.
"Don't go teasing, Bela. The ship is sinking and we're trying to run aground. Now isn't the time to taunt me with ideas of feathers." Hawke shook her head but grinned at the pirate's unfailing ability to be inappropriate and tempting. Never one without the other.
"I'd say it's the perfect time," The captain laughed, then the amusement vanished from her face, "Son of a whore!"
"Zevran would be very hurt if he heard that." The Champion chided, chuckling beneath her breath.
"Bloody ox-men," Isabela groaned, tiredly handing the spyglass over, "That's twice now. It's starting to feel personal."
"I can't see anything." Hawke didn't have her lover's practiced eye and all she could make out was dark water under dark sky hitting dark land.
"It's the Wounded Coast. Like I haven't spent enough time stuck there already." The captain crossed her arms and glared out at the shore. The Champion felt her heart skip a beat, a rush of excitement filling her lungs. She pulled Isabela closer, wrapping arms around the sailor from behind so they could both look to the black coastline.
"I guess that's the Maker's sense of humor for you. Some people get condemned to an eternity in the Void but us? We get to go back to Kirkwall." Hawke couldn't stop the smile slowly spreading across her face. If there was an afterlife, she hoped it smelled like the Hanged Man on a Saturday night.
Eve stirred, her internal alarm announcing it was second watch. She struggled up from the bedroll, trying to not make any noise as she fumbled for her boots. She could've been silent as the snow in Emprise du Lion, Cassandra still woke beside her. An arm reached out, snaking around her waist to prevent her leaving.
"Where are you going?" The Seeker's accent was slow and thick when she was still partially asleep, the soft cadences she'd absorbed in Orlais turning into curls.
"I want to make sure Solace is still here." The Inquisitor confessed, certain that she was being unreasonable but unable to help the biting paranoia that had awakened her.
"She can't run again. I told Bull to put two on watch, one to guard the camp and the other to keep an eye on her." Cassandra smirked sleepily, amused that Trevelyan hadn't thought of the same.
"You're sure? Cole gets distracted. So does Sera." Eve continued to fret, fingers twitching around her boot.
"Blackwall does not. And neither will Grim," the Seeker woke enough to rise up behind her lover, wrapping her other arm around her shoulders, "I also told Dalish to put glyphs around her tent. She can't go anywhere."
"Dalish?" Eve thought back to the ugly look the Charger's mage had given Solace, "Maker preserve the girl if she needs to take a piss."
"Maker preserve her if she dares run again," Cassandra corrected, resting a soft kiss on the Inquisitor's ear, "Come back to sleep. She's not escaping tonight."
"I'm being ridiculous, aren't I?" Eve sighed, kicking off the one boot she'd slipped on and letting herself be drawn back to the ground. She felt the Seeker's shrug through a subtle shift of the arms holding her.
"What is the saying? Fool me once, shame on you," the words tickled her ear, "Fool me twice, shame on me," there was a hint of laughter in her breath, "Fool me three times, I feed you to the wyverns."
"I definitely like that." The Inquisitor chuckled and rolled over, facing the Seeker to catch her smile.
"You are taking it very personally, this business of her escaping." Cassandra reached up to brush the worry lines knitting around Eve's eyes.
"It feels," Trevelyan struggled to find a handle on emotions that weren't even thoughts yet, "Familiar. I know that urge to run. It's sudden and unreasonable and it can hit all at once no matter how much your mind tells you not to."
"She reminds you of yourself." The Seeker easily deciphered fact out of the other woman's confusion. The inquisitor instinctively drew her lover closer, immersing herself in the familiar scent and warmth before finding her words.
"I didn't want to run. It truly didn't cross my mind. From the moment I woke up in Haven I just wanted my memories back and to prove I was innocent and to help in any way I could," Eve thought back to the first time she saw the hole in the sky, the air so thick with fear she could taste it, "But then I had a sword in my hands and no shackles and this crazy, instantaneous voice in my head just begging me:GO."
"I thought you were going to," Cassandra quietly agreed, voice echoing the same memory, "I feared I would have to drag you back in chains once more. But then I saw it pass. You simply dropped the weapon and surrendered. I must confess, I've often wondered why."
"Other than the fact that you were yelling at me?" Trevelyan leaned back to give her an incredulous look, then laughed when a finger gouged her side, "No, I saw how angry you were."
"I'm always angry, just ask Varric." The Seeker pointed out the obvious, humor and pride lacing together in her smile.
"No, you were frustrated and out of control, you needed me. I could see how much you cared about what was going on and I suddenly felt I'd be better off with you than away from you." The Inquisitor recalled throwing her sword onto the frozen lake, waiting for the Seeker's reaction. The Nevarran warrior had surprised her after that. Just as she'd been doing almost every day since.
"I think it was because you were afraid I would hurt you." Cassandra teased, luring Eve back from memories.
"The thought did cross my mind. Several times. Per day. For the first month." Trevelyan layered the confessions on top of each other, watching the Seeker's smile turn to a laugh.
"And now?" Cassandra could purr in a low tone that melted Eve's bones. Had anyone told her a year ago during those days at Haven that she would one night be laying in the Seeker's arms, she would've had them locked up to dry out. Had she always been this woman beneath the armor? Flirtatious, gentle, even subtly teasing if you knew how to listen. Did anyone else ever see this side of her or was it the Inquisitor's alone to savor?
"Now I know you could hurt me worse than any person in my entire life," Eve saw the smile beginning to vanish from her lover's face and quickly continued, "Yet I've never felt safer."
"Close, Inquisitor. Very close. That wit of yours will be your undoing one day." Cassandra scolded.
"It can't. That's your job." Trevelyan grinned. The Seeker accepted her apology with a solid jab to the ribs, followed by a kiss.
Morrigan grew up running free through the Korcari Wilds, seldom on only two legs. She'd ripped at fellow wolves, seething with pride and warring for dominion of a pack. She'd prowled as a bear; ribs hollow for want of food, desperate need driving the hunt ever farther afield and nearly mad with aching hunger. She'd suffered the blinding rage of getting caught in a snare; violence lashing out at the hunters, the trap and even the wounded paw, knowing only the need to hurt because of pain.
The emotions of animals were primal, simple and above all: pure. The starving wolf didn't care about being alpha. The trapped bear forgot hunger. Mating season drove suicidal madness into every instinct and being hunted meant only a command to flee. There was no confusion of feelings in animal form, no tangle of thoughts wreaking havoc in multiple parts of the mind. Not like the way humans could feel. Not like what her head was doing now.
She sat wearily on the aged and splintered cabin floor, leaning back against the wall, one hand still loosely holding Ravenel's wrist to keep track of the weak rhythms of survival. Spikes of pride like wolves chased around the injured bear behind her eyes and she fought to slow everything down, to simply catch hold of any one thought. The howl of her ego demanded attention first, ringing back and forth in her ears with accusations and blame. How could she not have known?
Looking down at the sleeping assassin she repeated the question that was railing at her, fingers pointing in every direction and furious to have been caught unawares. Even now, with a heavy wool blanket pulled up to Ravenel's chin it was impossible to believe what her eyes had told her. She studied the face, cataloging each detail, searching for the clue she'd missed. She traced the slender jaw, gliding higher up a cheek, authenticating every curve and angle as delicate as Orlesian porcelain. Long eyelashes, full lips – she throttled the voice that remembered exactly how they felt – lengthy curls of hair as shiny and black as ruffled raven wings. There was no indication, no clue to the truth unless an eye invented what it needed to see. No one could have known.
That only left the growling irritation to deal with. The persistent anger that wanted to lash out at everything around her. From the numbing shock of her first realization, the rising heat of injury had steadily increased, setting her jaw on edge and curling her fingers into fists. This emotion spread like a web in every direction and each time she plucked at a strand it broke but left no less of itself smothering her mind. The smoldering irritation flailed in every direction, trying to break free but growing ever more tangled. When Morrigan's mind warred with itself there was a single voice that inevitably rose up from within her thoughts.
Poor child. Do you even know why you're upset? Flemeth's laughter bled out of her memories, accusing her ignorance, mocking her naiveté.
Ravenel de Vici is a man. The simple fact felt like a hollow explanation even within her own mind.
Oh? I would've thought you'd be pleased. After all, men are so much more easily manipulated. A quick solution for any passing need. The distant recollection of noisome bedsprings and rude dismissals brought a rise of color to Morrigan's cheeks.
He isn't that sort of man. Why it mattered to make the distinction, the apostate wasn't sure but it felt important. Her eyes darted to the sleeping assassin. Death was still hollowing a wan fragility into his sleeping features, face a beautiful martyrdom.
Most men are that sort, child. Flemeth laughed once more, reveling in her daughter's complicated innocence. But now you have met one that isn't. Very well. He is a man unlike any other. I didn't know you'd developed a preference about such things.
I haven't. I don't care. People were universally terrible and disappointing, regardless of race or sex. The witch had long since stopped expecting better.
Ah, I see. I hear it there, in your voice where that childish spike of anger bursts out. Like the temper tantrums you used to throw. You always wanted your way, Morrigan. You long for control and you loathe disappointment. So much easier to simply not care than to admit you might get hurt, isn't it?
I'm not disappointed. Her denial was about as convincing as one of Zevran's compliments.
No. You're well beyond that already, you're hurt. He was toying with you. All that charm and camaraderie, the apologies and confessions? All a game to lure you in and see just how weak you might become. I warned you this would happen if you dropped your guard. You failed to see danger, you fell into the assassin's trap and now you're in pain.
That's not what hurts! Morrigan's answer snapped with conviction, temper growing hot and burning through complaints and confusion like paper. The injury had intensified to a white pinpoint.
Really? Then, pray, do enlighten me. The teasing tone was enjoying her anger, dancing playfully around every spike and lull of rage.
Ravenel made me think of you! Morrigan's accusation broke through like the fire of a canon, creating a crater of silence in the space of her thoughts.
You deceived me. She could feel the righteous indignation building, intensifying every word. You refused to explain yourself, wove mysteries and questions around every aspect of your life until it was impossible to know you. You lied to me. For decades. And you've never changed. The heat of fury gave way to bitterness, memories like sour acid eating through her mind. If I'm hurt it's because what she did reminded me of you. But no one can cause pain like you, mother. She certainly can't.
Mmm. And now it's 'she' again, is it? Flemeth's parting words were smug but oddly pleased with Morrigan's conclusion. Her voice faded back into the shadows of Morrigan's mind without further comment. There wasn't even a laugh.
A touch yanked her out of her thoughts. A familiar sensation that brought back shades of the Archive; possessiveness and urgency and apology wrapped around her wrist. Ravenel was awake.
Comments, questions, criticisms all welcome. Flowers on the left, cyanide on the right, please.