21
"If you do not act, you know I will… on my own terms." The voice was disproportionally warm to the threat of its words. "I will have no choice."
"I know… I should have come back sooner." Deshanna lazily dragged her aching foot off Amaury's knee with a sigh. "But there were some complications with the trade and it nearly threw off our entire network in Ghislain."
"Yes… merchants got too enthusiastic comparing cocks, I believe you said."
"Posturing may be necessary but not when my operatives start dying for the sake of some rich man's ego." She was in no mood to speak of that mess anytime soon. "I had to pull a lot of strings to buy myself time to sneak off here."
Her large, cerulean eyes glanced over the man sitting in the chair across from her. He sat in breeches and a simple gray tunic, undone to expose the skin of his collar bones and chest; impossibly smooth and a warm, umber brown shade that always begged her fingers to touch it.
She had missed him. Particularly his voice, the way his lips moved with each word.
He watched her in return, chestnut eyes always daring to go on, to tell them more. They were the tools of his trade.
"How is she?"
He stifled a short chuckle. "Well… your interesting word choice must run in the family."
"That… yes, we Lavellan women are known for that."
"It adds to your charm." Amaury's smile extended up to his eyes briefly, before it receded and was replaced by something more serious.
For six years, Etain had lived as a secluded ward in Amaury and his sister's care. Well, a ward in Deshanna's arrangement, a scribe and errand girl in the eyes of everyone outside the estate. For the first few months she proved a strain, withering away, refusing to eat, or speak beyond that which was absolutely necessary. She slept for days, it seemed. Amaury had practically decided she would die.
But when the shock passed, flickers of some angry flame awakened in her. One born of regret and survivor's guilt, of wishing she had done more. Of wishing she had done it sooner. But there was no turning back time. For a long while she dwelled in her own anger, avoiding others, irritated and frustrated and full of blame.
Finally, she seemed to level out, seeking Amaury or his sister, Elodie, just to have someone listen to her. She returned to being - or at least pretending to be - something reminiscent of a normal child. Though there were times Amaury found himself fearing the intelligence behind her eyes. He feared it would grow too cold, too calculating. Unfeeling, devoid of sympathy and pity.
Then it happened. A year past, Etain and a human girl a year older - Piper - were out to deliver a message to a merchant and run errands in town. Amaury didn't hear what happened until the next morning, when Etain and Piper returned bloodied and dirty.
The merchant was murdered in his home. The girls stumbled in on the act and were attacked by the perpetrators. They went after Piper first.
Not one, of four made it past Etain. Charred from the inside out, the city guards had mentioned. Rumors around town spread of noises like the snapping of lightning in the distance, near the merchant's modest estate.
If Piper had seen anything, she kept it to herself, saying next to nothing of the details of their escape.
Looking back on it, Amaury regretted his outburst. He had been livid with the girl. Her wrathful actions were dangerous. She aught to have ran, ran for help. Everything hinged on her remaining anonymous, on no one knowing of her abilities. What if one of the assassins survived? What if someone had seen them leave the estate? Did she realize what would have happened to all of them? What if Piper was scared into talking?
He yelled, and cursed and locked Etain up in a small room. He feared her as if she was a trained feline that reverted to a wild beast in his home.
And so came the fire, the anger and the wrath. Etain had grasped the concept of what exactly she had done, for the second time in her short life, and what it meant: she was dangerous, she was to be feared and loathed. All of which gave her power over others, or at least some primitive semblance of it. She proved an even greater strain then, pushing the limits of Amaury's hospitality and patience.
Her only salvation was his own helpless, thorough devotion to Deshanna.
That, and the brutal but necessary lesson in humility she earned herself from Amaury's sister, Elodie. She was a circle mage in Hasmal, before becoming an arcane advisor for a wealthy cousin in Northern Nevarra. There were rumors of her being recruited into the ranks of the Mortalitasi, but little more than speculation existed.
"Amaury…" Deshanna's voice brought his eyes back to her. "How is she?" She reiterated, toning down the slightest hint of anxiousness.
"Etain…" He rubbed his forehead and his knee bounced up and back down in rapid succession. "You remember when Elodie had taken her eight months past? Training in magic, supposedly. Without the Chantry's consent. She took her away at her worst, when she began scaring the other servants." He paused.
"She is smart, that girl. But she was becoming too smart for her own good. She knew what power it all granted her and she learned she could use it to her advantage, to abuse it. That is until Elodie caught wind of it. I… I am not entirely sure what her actions fully entailed. But something happened. Something to knock her back down to earth… I can guess though." His tone was laced with a nervousness that his shifting eyes displayed.
"I know." Deshanna said softly, rubbing her thumb along the deep slashing scar on her index finger. "I believe the Chantry calls it a Harrowing."
Amaury's jaw set loud enough to make Deshanna cringe. "How do you know?"
"She told me. In her last letter." She knew her calm voice would set him off as soon as the words left her mouth.
"And you're fine with that? My sister forces a Harrowing upon a child, for Maker's sake! Without the Templars for safety-"
"Her templar was there. She was there."
"And that makes it alright? How can you not see the danger she subjected herself and the child to?!"
"I see it. I also understand the necessity of it. Elodie knows what she's doing."
"My darling, you frighten me sometimes." His tone grew cold as he leaned back in his chair, as if to put more distance between himself and Deshanna. "And what of the consequences? If word gets out about what Elodie had done… you understand what will happen of all of us, don't you? Of what we have worked so hard to establish?"
"I know." Deshanna glanced down at her feet. "I'm taking her home."
"What?"
"Etain. I am taking Etain back to the Clan."
"How…?"
"Our Keeper has passed on to the Beyond." She murmured, trying not to think about her conflicting feelings of relief and shame about being relieved.
Amaury's gaze lingered on her face for a few moments, scrutinizing, analyzing. She saw him briefly grit his teeth. "Unaided?"
Deshanna held his gaze firmly. "Does that matter?"
"I suppose not." His eye was once again drawn to the blood writing adorning her face, stark lines across her sun kissed skin - favor of Dirthamen, the Dalish god associated with secrets, knowledge and deceit. A bold statement to her determination to preserve her own, to what she was capable of. How fitting. He wondered how much of her aunt would rub off on young Etain. Already far too much.
He wasn't one to speak either. Being a bard did not exactly serve as an ideal role model.
"She's alright. Though whatever she went through left her renouncing her magic. She practically loathes it."
"Fantastic." Despite the sarcasm in her tone, she breathed a sigh of relief that Amaury had moved forward in their conversation.
"Are you sure? She would do well in a Circle. If Elodie and she could keep what happened a secret, she would be accepted, trained and taken care of."
"No." The blue eyes narrowed menacingly. "No towers. She is Dalish, and so she will remain. She is my family… She belongs with her people and she will help move us forward into a better future, rather than linger in the shadows, fading away and drowning in long lost stories."
She hated that smile; the one that told her he had all the intentions figured out.
"A protege, then?" He decided against mentioning how convenient it must have been now that Etain was educated in their human ways, their languages, their gestures and practices.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"No. Maybe not. Possibly dangerous, though." "Alright, Amaury. You believe the Circles are the only ones capable of dealing with mages… How have we foolish Dalish managed to survive and deal with magic for centuries without Templars? Last I heard your shemlen methods work no better than ours, if not worse. Magic is inherently powerful and dangerous because it is misunderstood or misused by the ignorant or overzealous or weak. If it comes down to it, which it won't, she would do just as much damage in a Circle as she would in our Clan." Her voice fluctuated in volume, irritation prickling her fingers. "But she needs us just as much as my clan needs her. No tower could ever say the same."
She hated that sigh, too. The soft sound that signaled he saw no point in arguing with her, and would save it for another time, while distracting her with one or another affectionate gesture. He leaned forward and took hold of each of the chair legs, dragging it closer to himself along with her. His immaculately proportioned hands gently slid up her legs to her waist.
"You're mad at me." His words were light enough to pass as a quiet hum.
"Why do you think this thing you are doing is going to work?" Deshanna raised her chin higher and lowered her brow.
"Because it does." His hands pulled her closer to the edge of the chair, close enough to smell her long, rain frizzled hair.
She tried, and failed, at suppressing a smile. "That's not playing fair."
"Playing fair with you? I'd never win."
"By the gods, sometimes I think I have a bigger dick than you do."
"Considering how much you enjoyed our last soiree, you and I can both attest to the inaccuracy of that statement." Her purred into the nape of her neck.
"That just makes it more of an insult."
"I don't think I care at the moment." He muttered between gentle sweeps of his lips across her skin.
She let out a soft giggle and her hands found his cheeks, pushing his head away from her neck.
"Don't change the fucking subject, my love." Her voice was sweetly innocent, all while her eyes retained an animalistic fierceness to them.
He sighed and rolled his eyes. "You know how I feel about that kind of language."
"You love me more so you'll chastise me for it but deal with it… Where is she? How is she doing?"
"She's taken up swordplay since she returned with Elodie. Because of the whole 'I renounce my own magic' thing. Foolish child. She's doing anything and everything to not think about whatever happened. She's going through my books faster than I can keep track. The other youths tell me she's up at the break of dawn and getting yelled at by the captain of my guard. First he kept laughing and shooing her off. Now I hear he's replaced her wooden training sword with a steel one." The irritation in his voice was tense enough to make Deshanna uncomfortable. "She's always doing something, reading, learning, practicing. Anything to work herself to thorough exhaustion before seeking sleep. I think she has nightmares. I fear for what she'll do when this whole playing stone-faced breaks. When she realizes drowning out the truth and pretending to be someone else doesn't work."
Deshanna rubbed her thumb gently on his jaw, thinking. "Don't. It isn't your burden any longer. She'll be with me. When she breaks, I'll keep all the pieces together and teach her to rebuild and reshape. Like the rest of her People, she'll learn." Her face was lit with a blind determination that made Amaury's throat tighten.
"I hope so, Deshanna." Amaury's eyes glinted with a grave light that sent shivers up her spine. "For everyone's sake."
Coming back to Skyhold felt almost as surreal as returning to her Clan after years living as a human's ward; home, but seen through a darkened filter. Once again, there were secrets to keep, a web of lies to spin, and guilt enough to drown in.
Lavellan stepped through the Eluvian, feeling torn between hesitation and anticipation. She didn't have more than a moment to dwell on it. Morrigan stepped through last, and turned to the Eluvian, deactivating it. She lingered there a moment, considering.
Etain inhaled a lung full of air and doubled over, trying to prevent the shaking. Her thoughts were already planning out her course of action: with the help of Leliana's best scouts and several capable soldiers they could go back, they could clear out that section of the Eluvians and find Briala… If she was still alive.
The soft hiss of magic pulled her attention toward the raven haired witch. Energy was weaving along her skin.
Etain took hold of Morrigan's arm. "What are you doing?"
Morrigan's eyes narrowed, not taking kindly to interference. "Is that a serious inquiry?"
"If it's what I think you're about to do, yes." Lavellan hissed, positioning herself in front of the Eluvian.
The witch sighed, her lips pursing in irritation. Despite Lavellan's protest, the mirror began to crack behind her.
Etain spun around and glared at the fragmented glass in absolute terror.
Again, again, her plans were dashed to pieces. Literally. Her hands raked into her shortened hair and she groaned in frustration.
"Briala-"
"Is no longer your concern, Inquisitor." Morrigan's voice took on a heavy mentoring tone that made Lavellan's skin crawl. Since when had she lost all say in any of these matters?
"She IS my concern. She may not be dead, we cannot simply abandon her!"
"We already have. You have more pressing matters at hand," Morrigan's arms crossed and her gaze bore through Lavellan's skull. "This way we may have inconvenienced our opponent for a while longer. Don't dwell on the insignificant."
Etain gaped at the witch in shock. Her palm burned at the mere insinuation of what it now held, and she turned away from Morrigan. She had faced such judgements a hundred times before, and yet it was sickening all the same each time. The insignificant. She struggled to find the words for her own thoughts as to just how wrong everything felt. Like knowing she was wading in a pit she had dug too deep and would never get out of.
Having little desire to see Morrigan for another second, she pulled the door open, stepping into a cold mountain night. Mostly she did it to escape before the irrational urge to bash the witch's head against the glass presented itself.
The air was cold and invigorating. She thought she could stand there for hours until the sun came up. The gardens were so familiar, with defiant snowdrifts lingering in corners that remained perpetually in shadow.
"Inquisitor?" A voice called from across the open grounds. Etain turned toward the sound, straightening her shoulders and pulling her face into a mask of calm.
A guard was glaring at her as if doubting his own vision. She had no semblance of a clue as to how her disappearance progressed in Skyhold. Was everyone aware of the fact, or did Leliana keep it under covers?
"We came through the Eluvian… and deactivated it." She fought the urge to turn on Morrigan. Her face remained unreadable. "Maintain your station."
The soldier frowned but nodded obediently, shrugging beneath his heavy cloak. "Yes, Herald."
Etain nodded a farewell and marched down the walkway toward the main hall. She was inclined to guess Leliana had convinced the others to remain silent on the matter.
Again, the process repeated with the guards within the throne room. She said little but acted as if hardly anything was out of the ordinary. Before she headed through the door to the residential tower, she turned back and signaled to one of the soldiers.
"Make sure our guests don't leave Skyhold." She commanded, gesturing toward Zevran and Morrigan. "I'm sure they're sensible enough to not try it," she added menacingly.
"Of course, Inquisitor." He turned to a fellow soldier nearby. "Wake one of the matrons, they can help settle them into guest rooms and provide food."
She didn't spare a rearward glance and stepped through the tower doors. Dorian followed her through.
"Well," he sighed, "that went well."
"Maker, the Creators - I don't even know who's in charge, but for fuck's sake why couldn't we have made it to the Deep Roads without a hitch?!" She snarled under her breath, each step of the stairwell growing too high for her feet to overcome.
"I can't believe I am saying this with the total cockup that was the Crossroads - but I doubt the Deep Roads would have been much better."
"You do realize I still have to venture out to them, don't you? And I will probably ask you to come along?"
"I want that golden palanquin then."
"I'll see what I can do."
Dorian's hand reached out and grasped her wrist, stopping Etain short of the first landing in the tower. He stopped directly in front of her.
"About Briala…"
"I cannot do anything about her now that Morrigan completely took the reins from my hands." Etain muttered, loud enough for only the two of them.
"If she yet lives… whatever we were after, she knows its location… How bad have we mishandled this if they - whoever that may be - get that information from her?"
Etain swallowed. Again, she fought with the notion of trust, and how much she should and shouldn't reveal. Briala's words had begun to sting, only because they were mostly right.
"Bad." Etain clenched and unfurled her left hand. "Because if she is alive, and if she cracks, who ever was racing us will know I have it."
Dorian frowned. "You have 'it'? What is 'it'?"
"A key. To Mythal's Eluvian." Her hand remained down. "To whatever is left of Mythal, I think."
The nod was too slow to be fully understanding. "How…when did you get it? We were with you the entire time."
"Morrigan had it all along. She gave it to me while you were all sleeping."
"What was the point of all that then?"
"I am the wrong person to ask. She wouldn't tell me much. But she has a reason, and it must be dire enough for her to relinquish such a thing to me."
His mouth opened and decided to clink shut, debating some internal thought. After a moment, he went back to her words. "What makes you think this Eluvian holds whatever is left of an ancient goddess?"
"Call it instinct." Etain mumbled and turned towards the stairs again. "This stays between us, and us only… I need to think this through carefully before I do or say anything else."
Then she shook her head. "No. I need a bath."
Dorian nodded in agreement and split off on the landing leading to his quarters, leaving Etain to make the suddenly grueling climb up to the top of the tower on her own.
No rest for the wicked. Such a simple phrase, overused to the point of being annoying, and yet it still somehow rang true when she thought it. The sheer amount of worries gnawing on Etain's conscience left her feeling as if her brain was unraveling itself in her skull.
A long bath left her limbs feeling clumsy and disobedient. A soft, warm bed left her staring wide eyed at the ceiling. A stiff drink left her feeling nauseous.
She begged for sleep to deaf ears, wishing to be anyone else in the full expanse of the keep, slumbering in the dark of night. Was it so much to ask for one night of dreamless, dead sleep?
So she wandered, feeling like Skyhold's resident ghost, haunting the halls aimlessly.
Her mind and feet were in a complete disconnect: one flying her past the rotunda doors, quickly before she would get the idea to walk in, the other urging her to do just that. Which was responsible for which urge, she wasn't sure.
Her palm shined, anxious sweat glistening on the skin as she reached out to touch the handle. It was foolish, what did she expect?
She would see an empty room. Whatever memories it held, she would overlook them. It was just a room. Just stone, and plaster and furniture.
It was eerily quiet, with the occasional rustle of feathers far up above. Not a soul lingered in the tower. The furniture hadn't moved, though it collected a layer of dust. The frescoes on the wall still silently told the Inquisition's story, her story, as it would until it would be scraped off the walls by the next wave of Skyhold occupants. Or until the ravages of time crumbled the stones into the mountainside.
Etain tried not to think about all of her actions being recorded in history books and paintings across Thedas, and just how much they already deviated from the truth. How much more her name and story would twist and morph into something that never happened and someone she never was. How much her story would parallel her predecessor, and eventually be erased from history all together.
Etain's fingers brushed the dust from the small end table at the far end of the room, the collection of brushes untouched since their master abandoned them. Her eyes drifted back up toward the frescoes, drawn by some magnetizing force.
The explosion at the Conclave, as if it were someone else's lifetime ago. The birth of the Inquisition. Everything leading up to the unfinished panel, the Elder One's defeat.
The sword… the lyrium dragon, Corypheus's key to effective immortality. Why the wolf? What did that have to do with anything? Etain frowned and let her focus wander across every fresco in the room. Why were there wolves in the earlier panels? A symbol for their Inquisition, rising up in defiance of all?
The wolf in the last panel… Etain glared at it as if her eyes would make it speak. Something was strange about it. It did not look so much like a typical wolf. Or a dog. Or…
Dragon? Her lips pursed to the side in thought. She had never noticed the oddity in the artwork. Did it have to do with Mythal? Her guardian? Was that what was truly on the walls, and not a wolf representing the Inquisition? She could almost laugh. Even here, Mythal pulled the stings.
It was all symbolism, of course. And yet she now wondered if the Inquisition - if she, and her circle - were the weapon, the sword. The tool, not the hand that wields it.
Yet it still didn't clarify much. Why those symbols? What was Solas telling all who looked upon his creation?
It bothered her - like knowing she were missing a vital piece of the puzzle but was doomed to never find it because it was taken away.
Rather, it left. Without a word. Without explanation.
Her thumb gently traced circles around the small lump in her scarred palm, as if consulting the silent key wedged into her skin. Coaxing some sort of answer, a shred of a hint as to what she was to do next.
With a shudder of her shoulders, Etain twisted her cloak tighter around herself and sat down on the couch. The half-done panel loomed behind her, silently displaying its unfinished story.
Her sigh sounded like a rush of wind circling around the walls. A pair of novels were abandoned on the opposite end of the sofa, stacked haphazardly atop one another. She reached for the top one, opening it gingerly.
A study on Thaig architecture and infrastructure within the Deep Roads. Or so the first several pages implied. She kept reading until her eyes grew heavy and sleep finally, finally found her.
She blew into the tent like a furious hurricane wind, the fabric ripping back with a loud slap.
Outraged, disappointed. Pissed off.
Hair slick with sweat stuck to the skin of her neck. Her armor was discolored with blood, scorch marks and filth. The golden hilt of her sword reflected the light of the red flames writhing in the lanterns. Her gauntlets clicked against the angled metal of her helmet as she slipped it off, the openings leaving soot marks on her ivory skin. It was suddenly a bit easier to breathe. And to yell.
She didn't, despite anger practically vibrating her bones into soup. She could have shouted loud enough to exhaust her own voice, she could have torn the woman before her to pieces.
But she didn't. She raised her chin high, taking in a slow breath, watching the huntress before her.
The striking features only accentuated the predatory, sly look in the woman's eyes… Eyes depthless and black as the night skies, set beneath feathery long lashes and thick, strong brows. Her black hair was haphazardly undone, plastered to her dewy, bronzed skin like threads of ripped silk.
As if anticipating a berating, the huntress' wide nostrils flared and her full lips pressed together in a scowl. The armor that still remained was dark as her hair, form fitting and practical. She sat and awaited in fuming silence.
The healer fretting over the wound in the woman's side grew a more nervous, light blue eyes shifting between the two. His skin had a more sallow tint to it, as if he himself was injured - yet it was only the result of the awkward silence and the heat of Mythal's gaze upon his back. His red vallaslin, bearing favor of Andruil, grew more and more prominent as his hands dithered with what to do next.
"Leave." The huntress commanded, her voice an airier, higher pitch than her fierce appearance implied. She watched the healer shuffle out of the room with her head tilted to the side. Crossing her legs, she turned toward Mythal, pausing to give her a hard glare.
"I'd like to thank you for your assistance," her fingers picked up a chalice from the table nearby. "You were swift and-"
"I've seen them." Mythal's low timbre hung in the air, the insinuation serving as much of a purpose as an accusation.
Andruil tasted her drink with a quiet hum of approval. "Advantageous, wouldn't you say?"
"For a price too high." She kept any emphasis out of her voice. The words themselves were enough. The confidence in Andruil's face cracked, and she looked on at Mythal with a false smile.
Mythal had all the confirmation she needed: the subtle change in Andruil's eyes, the increasing confusion of all the best healers, a stolen glimpse of the faint contusions on her side, the frequent treks into lands forbidden. The armor that was in early stages of forging. The screams at night.
"Do not become your own undoing."
Andruil's head tilted back with a melodic laugh and her chalice refilled itself.
Everything came to a screeching halt and burst into darkness briefly before flashing back to what seemed to be reality. The rotunda. Exactly as Etain had seen it before she fell asleep.
Except it wasn't. She was still dreaming. The lighting was just a shade off, and she couldn't smell the faint hint of paint and the flowers near the couch.
Etain remained still, allowing her eyes to carefully inspect the room. She wasn't a dreamer. She couldn't reconstruct the world in her dreams. She was seeing someone else's dream, or was someone making her see it? Why had Mythal cut her vision short so abruptly?
It had been so long since she'd had an ordinary dream, that she didn't even consider it a possibility. Everything had grown to have meaning and purpose behind it.
Eyes. Faintly catching the light of the braziers in the dark of the hallway, dimly glowing silver. The door to the outer walkways was open, darkness of night still reigning beyond. Yet it let in just enough light to reveal a silhouette.
Her teeth grit into each other and her breath hitched somewhere in her throat, eyes wide and fixed on the gray wolf in the doorway. Her heartbeat echoed off the walls, the sound fleeing into the heights of the tower. Etain felt the shiver creep across her skin as her insides seemed to fold onto themselves.
It watched her with intelligent eyes, thinking, debating. Ears pressed back by a small degree, the wolf prowled into the tower, padding lightly to a stop directly across the room from her.
Perhaps she shouldn't have maintained unblinking eye contact with the beast, but she hadn't thought about it until the creature was already across from her. How did it even get into the castle? Past the gates, past the guards, past the damn doors?
It is a dream. The fact did little to reassure her when the massive wolf continued to glare at her from such a negligible distance. If it decided to attack, she'd have no where to hide or run in time. Magic and her own limbs will be her only defense.
It is a dream. I would simply wake up. Etain knew she was lying to herself. She could also die. Maybe. But what was she to do? It was better to feed herself hope in that moment.
It watched her silently, as if surprised she was there. That she could see it. The moonstone eyes burrowed into her own gaze, as if asking something.
It was unnatural to see fear in a predator's eyes. Etain couldn't quite accept it, but her mind kept telling her the beast was just as frightened as she was: its head was lowered, ears folded back, tail hanging low and curling slightly between its hind legs.
Only a dream. Etain's slowly pushed herself a few inches forward and her leg unfolded from under her, preparing her body to stand up.
The wolf shrank back. Don't, it warned without words.
Her leg continued to slowly move out from beneath her body and her foot touched the floor. The movement elicited a curling of its lips, sharp white teeth glinting, though its eyes remained afraid.
She wondered what the beast thought she was going to do. She merely planned to walk out of the room, and hopefully out of the dream.
Its eyes narrowed after some unknown thought, and something between an ear splitting howl and a thousand voices shouting shook the vision from her eyes.
"Wake up!"
Etain's sleep had been so sound that when her eyes snapped open furiously, Leliana glared at her for a split second without realizing she had awoken. Sister Nightingale withdrew her hand and froze, unsure of whether the elf had fully regained consciousness. She had gone so pale and still, her breath shallow but rapid. There was something eerily disturbing about Lavellan now; she had the air of some creature thrown into a pit of snakes.
And just as fast, something snapped and her eyes shifted down to her hands. Her chest heaved with a deep breath. "S-," the words wouldn't come out for a moment.
"Sorry. Bad dream." Etain tried again after a gulp of air. No more staring at wolves on the walls, she told herself.
"It's… quite alright." Leliana hadn't expected to be nervous to speak with her. She had so many questions, wanted so many answers, but it all paled next to the shame she felt for being outplayed. "It is I who should apologize. For everything."
Etain sat up straight and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "How long was I asleep?"
Leliana sighed, anxious and annoyed at once that her remark went unanswered. "I do not know, a few hours perhaps. It is sun up… How did you get back? What happened?"
"We were in the Crossroads, Morrigan lead us out through her Eluvian." There was no point in dancing around. The situation had moved well past discrepancies.
"Crossroads?" Leliana frowned.
"Yes…" Etain's eyes shifted to Leliana. "It's…" She paused and shook her head once. It felt as if the unfinished panel behind her was breathing down her neck. "We should go somewhere else. Somewhere with no unwanted distractions."
With no prying ears and eyes. Leliana wasn't sure if Etain actually used the excuse of being in the haunt of her former lover to imply her mistrust of Skyhold inhabitants, or if she actually was distracted by the room.
"As you wish, Inquisitor, follow me."
Etain pushed herself off the sofa, eyes nervously drifting into the doorways, checking for some unseen threat. They walked up the stairwell into the rookery, Lavellan briefly answering questions about her wellbeing and any injuries.
Leliana's lips tingled, wanting to throw every question and suspicion and theory at her, seeking answers. But for now she was limited to generic inquiries, lest anyone else hears them.
They rounded Leliana's preferred table and she sat down closest to the window. Etain brushed her shortened hair behind her ears and sat down. The light did her no favors. Etain was never one to seem her age, a soul far too old and disillusioned in a youthful vessel. Yet now it dimmed even further. She looked older, years older than when she first arrived. She had earned more scars, and the first, faint creases formed at the corners of her eyes. The past two weeks left her cheeks a bit less full, her bone structure appearing more angled. Her long waves were cropped to just below her chin.
"I wanted to apologize, Inquisitor. Maker knows, there are no words sufficient enough to make up for my mistake…"
"A lesson in humility." Lavellan avoided fidgeting with her left hand. "For you and me both… So long as we learn from it and never overestimate our capabilities again."
"A lesson it certainly was… In much more than one way. " Leliana pressed her elbows into the table and leaned forward. "I'm in desperate need of clarification. What happened?"
Etain took a preparatory breath of morning air that smelled faintly of bird feathers and beeswax candles. Then she told Leliana everything, from the beginning - save for the nature of the Eluvian dreams and the artifact hiding beneath her skin - to their unanticipated, fumbling escape.
Leliana listened to Lavellan without interruption. She supposed it would be best to deal with Briala's capture first.
"So there is another way into the Eluvian network?" Leliana asked.
"Yes. There must be several. Though all useless to us. Briala was the only one who could unlock them, lest Morrigan is hiding another portal she can access."
"Yet your pursuers found a way in without her. Which means there have to be more access points with different keys."
"And none of that makes a difference for us, considering we have no way of unlocking them."
Leliana drummed her fingers on the table, lost in deep thought. Lavellan made a random observation that she'd never seen Leliana without gloves on her hands.
The drumming stopped and Sister Nightingale's hands went in search of something in the neat piles at the edge of her workspace. She pulled out a map and spread it out before them, turning it sideways so it was easily legible to both parties.
"Can you show me where you were first ambushed?"
Lavellan's finger brushed a point she deemed most accurate for their entry - northernmost boundary of the Dales.
"Perhaps…" Leliana muttered to herself. Her blue eyes glanced out the window briefly, as if recounting a list or some scrap of information filed away in the depths of her mind. "We have had a few odd occurrences."
She twisted in the chair by a slight degree, hands spreading the map out almost methodically. "In the past month, there have been three reports of scouts and agents disappearing. With the first, I thought it nothing more than unfortunate accident or run-in in the wilds, something not so uncommon in the winter. Afterall, the scout disappeared in the scarcely populated regions of the Dales. But then came the second. And then three more. All peculiarity familiar in circumstance. All in the Northern Dales. Our agents are highly trained, it becomes much more than an accident when three retinues go missing."
Lavellan's mind jumped to the worst case scenario. "No evidence to violence? Foul play? Bodies?"
"None. They simply disappear… This last event occurred only several days prior. Three disappeared. Two returned without so much a hint of what could have happened. It was as if they just wandered off and never returned."
"This has happened on three separate occasions?" Etain crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at the map. The locations were all within a relatively short radius of where the Eluvians were hidden.
Leliana nodded.
"What of … you mentioned familiar circumstances? Any similarities in what happened? In who disappeared - maybe a position or rank, relations?"
"Elves." Leliana said, sitting back in her chair. "They have all been my elven agents. With not much else in common save for faith and duty to the Inquisition. It may have been a coincidence, of course, though I will not wait to find out."
Her head motioned toward the map. "And now that you have told me about your ambush, I'm finding it difficult to not connect it all together."
"What are we doing to deal with the disappearances? What of Briala?" Etain felt a prodding at her temples and forehead, signaling a headache coming on. She wanted to sleep, tired of always hearing something go wrong, tired of not having a restful night since she drank from the Well. Her exhaustion turned to the opposite urge to hit something. Hard.
"Cullen had sent the Chargers to investigate the area. I will send another reinforced retinue to clear out the ruins you entered the Eluvians from. Perhaps there would be something to find. As for Briala… Until we find a way in, or this evasive entity withdraws from the network, we can only pray that she yet lives. If they have any sense and finesse in political matters, they would keep her alive."
"I'm not sure any of that was comforting." Etain's headache still nagged beneath her skull. "She would have been very useful dealing with Celene."
"Celene doesn't have to know Briala isn't with us. We have all we need."
"Can we actually pull that off?"
Leliana's lips pulled into her scheming smile. She reached into the folds of her clothing, hidden from view by the table, and brought up a small metal object.
"Where did you get this, Inquisitor?"
It was the strange coin Zevran had pushed into her hand before this whole Crossroads nightmare began. Her fingers reached for it, turning it to look at the symbol stamped into the metal. If Leliana had it, she knew she had gone through her chambers from top to bottom. Oddly enough, Etain felt relieved.
"Zevran. He handed it to me the day before he pushed me off the damn mountain."
A darkness clouded Leliana's eyes for a brief second, her features pulling into a scowl. Etain had seen that look before, in the Chantry at Valence. That same look that left Etain's skin crawling, seeing what price the Inquisition has extracted from her spymaster. Sometimes Lavellan feared Leliana was growing hard and cold as steel.
And you're a hypocrite, she told herself. Etain set the coin down hastily, as if the metal had suddenly turned white hot.
"With Briala gone-"
"He's our next available advantage." Leliana's voice was sharp as steel. So the insult of Zevran's scam ran deep. Which could potentially be a difficult situation with his presence in the keep. Being the only remaining link to Celene's gambit may be the only thing keeping him alive.
"Zevran was Briala's work," Lavellan said. "He had nothing to do with the initial attempt… We must be careful keeping him here. It may be an advantage or quite the opposite."
"I will not give him much of a choice." Leliana seethed. "Meet with Josephine and I after sundown. It will give us all a bit of time to think and figure out which strings to pull."
What about Cullen? The question was on the tip of her tongue, but Etain hesitated. How much did Leliana know? The lull in the conversation dragged on.
"Who are you, Etain?" Leliana asked before Lavellan could find the right words for her inquiry.
Etain frowned. "What?"
"Your missives. That little trick was used only by a few schools of Orlesian bards. Where did you learn it? Where did you learn musical notation? In fact, the closer I look, the more confused I become of your origins."
Etain's face remained impassive. "Maybe because you are expecting something that isn't there."
"Perhaps, perhaps not. It still does not answer how you are so familiar with human espionage tactics."
This time Etain smiled. "Human?" She asked, no warmth to her features. "Leliana, they're simple 'espionage tactics' that have been used for centuries. By everyone. When you have to deal with different races and cultures and political playing fields, people learn to adapt and adopt."
Leliana nodded. "I suppose that is correct. But I meant where did you learn it?"
Etain straightened up, leaning forward to rest her elbows and hands on the table. "What's your theory? What have you found so far?"
"Etain, of clan Lavellan. First to Deshanna. Yours was one of the more progressive clans in the Free Marches. Your clan often traded with both humans and other Dalish. Not only supplies and goods… Deshanna is good at what she does, but there comes a time when one becomes too good to remain hidden. Shadows begin to emerge. Traces, hints, evidence. She was no stranger to the Game - to information brokering- was she?"
"No. Not at all. Several of my Clan are well informed in its arts."
Leliana smiled. "Ah, and that is why you were sent to the Conclave."
"I was sent to the Conclave because Deshanna's most important connection was murdered." Etain left the reasons - both the true and the superficial - for Amaury's death unspoken. Nor did she reveal the extent of the damage that had done, nor that she learned his murderer was here in Skyhold with them. But she did give Leliana another shred of truth to placate her curiosity. "It happened amidst the mage - templar tensions. It impeded her work and threatened to destroy everything we had toiled toward. We needed an answer, we needed a back up and we needed new connections."
"And so you went."
"And so I am here."
"There was no trace of you leaving or arriving in the shipyards or docks. I presumed you may have traveled by land. Yet there was no trace there either. So I let go the assumption that you traveled alone, or without a cover. Upon further scrutiny, I came across information about a Nevarran arcane advisor - Elodie - and her travel party, which included an elven scribe… The name hadn't sounded too important at the time. Even after her unfortunate death at the Conclave."
Etain swallowed the faint pang of pain at the back of her throat.
"Until I linked it to a bard named Amaury, killed three years before the Conclave. No other connection to you aside from the neat little trick of altering musical scores as a way of transmitting messages."
"All correct." Etain didn't delay in her answers. "I was not hiding it. I simply didn't advertise my connection to the Sauveterre siblings."
"Nor would it have been prudent to do so. As I have said, you have simply roused my curiosity… How did Clan Lavellan become acquainted with them?"
"That you would have to ask Keeper Deshanna. I've known Amaury and Elodie ever since I was a child." Etain had no intention of revealing everything. Just the bare, truthful minimum. "They frequently cooperated and traded information and support."
"All this time and no one knew Clan Lavellan was weaving its own threads into the fabric of the Game."
"To us, it was simply survival."
"It's a bit more artful than survival, Inquisitor. More of a reawakening." She smiled. "I must say I've grown quite fascinated with Deshanna's work and your involvement. Your Clan is making ripples in history."
Lavellan glossed over the statement. "Have we received any word from Wycome?" She still felt the shock scamper down her spine each time she remembered how close her Clan had come to being massacred had Cullen not suggested fortifying the city.
"The mixed Council is holding up well… Order has been restored, along with trade, and human-elven relations are improving. Slowly and cautiously, but they are improving." Leliana twisted the map back toward herself. "A blessing, really. A shining example of just how beneficial cooperation can be for the good of all."
"Let us hope it lasts."
"If no one gets haughty about it. So long as the Inquisition remains strong, the nobles in surrounding city-states wouldn't be too keen on angering us with transgressions against Wycome." She glanced at the map for a second longer. "Oh, while we are on the topic of the Free Marches… Master Tethras is returning to Kirkwall. He will set out in a few days."
Etain's hands slipped off the table and into her lap. Everyone is slowly leaving. Returning home, to their previous lives. She wondered when it would be her turn, and whether it would even be voluntary. "Oh," was all she had managed.
"Perhaps you should go speak with him. He was as worried about your disappearance as we were." Leliana's gaze lingered on Etain's face. "And get some food while you're at it. You look a little drawn."
"How odd, I cannot imagine why." Lavellan hadn't paid attention to the knot in her belly and just how hungry she actually was.
"At least you haven't lost your awful sense of humor."
"Give it a few days." She heaved herself up out of the chair. She felt a shred of delight in getting a chance to speak with the storyteller, but it dimmed in comparison to the news of his departure.
And yet it was better than drifting back into her thoughts. Anything to keep her mind off of her dream, to keep the wolf out of her thoughts, if only for a few hours.