Author's note: To be honest, I dislike this chapter. Then again, I have read and reread it enough times to know it by heart by now. But hey, I reached the 25th chapter. I see that as a threshold.
In this chapter: She's not dead yet! Yay!
025.
Diana considers very seriously about entering the Temple in her old armor. Cold, heavy and messy to step into, the muddle of metal and leather is comforting and as an unexpected on a mage as a belly-button-long V cut on a chantry robe. Confusion and surprise are far easier to handle than a military inspection.
Alas, she is there as a First Enchanter and her scarlet robe makes her feel like she scooped it out of the garbage when compared to the bright garments carried by her fellow mages. At least it doesn't look like she sold herself over half Hightown to buy it?
It's a sad day when she's been reduced into finding whatever positive point she can because everything else makes her feel very small and that isn't something the Enchanter is used to.
There is a long row of First and Senior Enchanters to one side. There is an equally long row of Knight-Commanders and Captains on the other. There is the Divine right in front.
There is also a window to the left and Diana has a quick urge to dive off it.
They all glare but none better than the Divine herself. The tiny little glare induced hole being carved between her eyes has to be physical because Diana sure as the Fade can feel it enlarging with every passing second. It is like the old woman has read all the blasphemous moments of her life, all the odd curses and many ways she has crossed the Chantry, including the huge detail of being capable of shooting fire out of her hands and boning the Commander on a daily basis, and then proceeded to execute her in her own mind in extreme excruciating detail.
The Enchanter won't say it's unnerving since there is a nervous twitch on her eyebrow saying it for her.
"First Enchanter Diana of the Ferelden Circle, I assume."
Ah! Take that, Seeker! The Divine just gave her that title. She'll totally gloat about this once one continent away from the woman. When she's very sure she's alone. Behind heavily locked doors.
There is something in Justinia that gets to her. The head honcho of the Chantry feels like Wynne times one thousand and, as if that isn't enough to be upsetting, her presence is noble and impassive, grandfather Amell trademark at his best. That is one lovechild the world didn't need to ever see.
"Yes, Most Holy."
Unlike Grandfather Amell, however, Divine Justinia has a very prominent mole at the tip of her nose. Diana stares at it because it is the only part of the woman's face which has yet to learn to glare back.
"I have been informed it was your Circle which chose to give origin to the present situation."
"No, Most Holy."
"No?" An eyebrow is brandished like a weapon, rising sharply in an attempt to reach the elder's hairline. Disbelief rolls off the woman in tsunami-like proportions in a deadlier manner than any spell. "I have several testimonies that say otherwise, Enchanter."
"There wasn't a lot of choice involved," her mouth continues, clearly not bothering with such a silly thing like not getting her killed off. A crazy ass apostate blew up a building, a crazy bitch ordered us dead and our flipping insane First almost turned himself into an Abomination which would likely end with all of his divided into countless bloody pieces on the floor. "People were trying to kill us. We were very much against it."
"I see." She does not. "So you agree with the rebellion?"
If there's a quicker way to paint a red target on her back, the Enchanter sure doesn't know what it is.
"You really need to make that question, Most Holy?"
Because the answer's really obvious but I'd really like to walk out without an entire entourage of Templars wanting my head any more than they already do.
"Yes." The Divine's voice falls in the large hall like a commandment. "First Enchanter Vivienne is of the firm conviction that the whole rebellion is ridiculous." Yes, well, that one probably never dropped by Kirkwall at its best, never mind at its worst. "Grand Enchanter Fiona believes the Circles are little more than prisons and wants them gone. First Enchanter Irving thinks the Ferelden Circle was an example of a good Circle up until the moment when it was overtaken. What do you think, First Enchanter?"
Diana thinks many things; it's a curse of being her.
Whoever Vivienne is, she's taking way too much lyrium. The Grand Enchanter is right but that the strategy of burning the house down to make it better is sort of stupid. Irving is deluded as ever. And she, Ferelden and Kirkwall Circle survivor, knows one thing about those broken Circles that neither of those Great Enchanters do. They are her home. She was sheltered, jailed, taught and tested in fire and blood all inside those forsaken walls. She is Diana and Diana is the mage those walls raised and she wishes to be no other because she's damned good at it.
"Every time we tried saying we needed less of Circle prisons and more of Circle schools, no one paid any attention."
Close the door behind them as they enter and they will keep trying to get out. Give them the chance, give them the option to learn and study, who wouldn't prefer that to waddle outside in the mud and cold? Things want to eat them on the outside.
"We live better than half the population in Thedas," Diana continues before the very last strings of her courage snap into nothing. "But when you rip us out from our families and then spend all our lives telling us how we're cursed at every corner? It sort of breeds resentment. When you trap us. When you forbid us to have families. So what if I want to have a bunch of red-headed babies? What's your issue with that? Most Holy, I mean."
Is that a smile? Maker above, her lips, they are twisting. That is a smile, right? It's just that it's sort of close to someone watching a scrumptious meal and Diana's not sure whether she should strip or ask for someone to bring steaks in. "Besides the obvious, Enchanter, you are also a blonde."
"So?" The mage blurts out.
"Considering your family history, in time I will have to deal with small city-wide revolutions performed by several light-haired mages with a penchant for world domination."
"I haven't ruled anything yet."
"I'm concerned that that is your issue with my statement." The Divine makes a long pause, sharp eyes flaying her to her very bones. This is not a Conclave. This is a trial and Diana is uncomfortably sitting on the accused's perch with a backlog of crimes pinned on her back.
"I have been surrounded by mages my whole life, First Enchanter." And Maker above, the woman sounds old. "I have read the Chant. I can't say your situation is just but it is necessary. The rest of us; we're afraid. We don't know how to deal with things we aren't capable of understanding. Of course, any person with a blade is a weapon. A mage is a weapon. But just as a knife doesn't make one a murderer, magic does not equal insanity. I know this."
She should be careful. Any more logic is spoken and Templar heads are going to stain the ceiling.
"Then."
Justinia continues as if she hadn't wasted a perfectly good uttered word. "But they don't. They cower at shadows and wrap their arms around what little they have of worth. To keep peace, I need to pacify all. I need those who can listen, to listen properly. So I."
"Pacify the masses by sweeping bombs under a carpet?" If Diana could snip her lips off without appearing to be insane, she would.
"Not anymore. Your people made sure I couldn't do it anymore."
The shame she feels about that is currently being swept under the carpet.
"Wasn't my people who blew up the Chantry. Or Hawke's." Technically. "It wasn't us who decided killing an entire building of people who couldn't do a thing since they were jailed at the moment was a cheery good idea. It was—"
Her stupid traitorous mouth which really deserves a death sentence by this point is still spewing off accusations but, thankfully, no one's paying any attention. That would be because the Hall doors behind her, the ones closed tightly after her entrance, are now wide open and the Knight-Commander – her Knight-Commander, not the twenty or so who stare at her as if wondering if she'll do them the favor of just dropping dead because bloodstained blades are just a mess – is currently stumbling through the threshold, bowing deeply to the leader of the church.
"Ah. I thought it was my turn to enter, Most Holy." Bullshit! Bullshit! Dearest Andraste and all her undergarments, he's trying to be sneaky. Diana is very aware her jaw is meeting the floor but honestly! It's like watching an old dog jumping into a rope and beginning to juggle. "I humbly beg for your forgiveness."
Translation: Amell, your voice was carrying outside. I heard. The entirety of Haven heard. Stop being suicidal.
Yes. Well. She's certainly not alone in that!
Cullen's expression is so sad, so unassumingly sweet and sad that she can't help but to think of a puppy kicked into the cold winter in the dead of night.
Damn, did he practice that at a mirror?
"Of course you do," the Divine comments mildly.
Fall for it, woman. Doesn't he look innocent enough?
"But I suppose this means our conversation has gone on long enough, First Enchanter," Justinia continues in a tone of voice that has not buying it written all over it.
The door closes behind them once more, effectively locking them away from the cats and dogs which are now free to try and eat each other.
xxxXXXxxx
"How did it go?"
She's not dead yet. That's how it went. Ah ah.
She's not hysterical. She's not.
Diana doesn't remember trembling in the mess in Kirkwall. There was no time to. It is why she's truly surprised when Cullen's hands rest on her arms and rub strongly as if trying to push heat into her skin. When she raises her eyes, he's frowning. It's not a rare event but it's usually because of something she did, not something that was done to her. An old woman scared her out of wits. The huge amount of unleashed Templars probably helped but that woman, shaking fingers all over her fate, got to her.
"As useless as we expected?" Her fingers tiptoe over his new armor to take hold of a very small edge of his purple sash, grasping the useless silk against her skin. "You know nothing we say is going to change anything."
"You are being cynical. The Divine herself asked us here."
"The Seeker ordered us here, Cullen," Diana corrects primly. Little by little, her body feels more like hers again, solid and steady and non-frightened. "Because the remaining option would be to come back empty-headed and confess she can't find an armored mage who goes around responding to Champion of Kirkwall while traveling with a silver haired elf who is covered in shiny tattoos from top to bottom."
There's a pause.
"Top to bottom?"
"We talked shop."
"We talked?"
It's amazing the details he chooses focus on.
"I only let him know you have a very tight butt. And two moles right above it."
"Diana!"
"Hush and go back to the proper discussion."
The sunshine of Haven lights their way outside of the Chantry, guiding their footsteps back into the village proper. It's a pretty village. She can't see any of the bodies which the Warden seeded everywhere either. Very proper.
"I have something to tell you and you're not going to like it," Cullen continues, taking her arm as they walk further away from the Templar encampment. "It involves the Seeker."
"You better not be about to tell me you're exchanging me for me. For one, I have better breasts. For another, you won't be getting any from that until you're eighty and can't get it up."
"Diana!"
"You're going to wear out my name." He seems serious, his I'm-a-Templar-listen-mage kind of serious, and Diana knows any lightheartedness has gone out the window. She swallows the next piece of helpful banter (it involves describing for just how little time longer he'll keep his 'tool' if he does exchange her for anyone) and allows him to be a man and take her arm.
She regrets it after two minutes of his conversation.
It is his arm which keeps her right by his side instead of walking off and ignoring his words ever existed. It is also it that stops her from covering her ears and uttering lalala as loud as humanly possible. Which is right what he wanted. Which makes him a manipulator, what in the Maker's name? Where did he learn these things?
Guess, idiot.
Right. Diana nods mentally to her brain, salutes it for a job well done and proceeds to lay down the law.
"You're not doing this Inquisition thing."
It's a declaration set in stone.
"Amell."
"No." Her hands release him with a little added push before Diana stalks off. She doesn't exactly walk anywhere. The simple fact that she is moving, wobbling from place to place keeps her from using her unspent energy on something more human and in a far more spectacular fashion. "We're good in the Tower. We're safe. We're mostly being fed. We have a sort of good life." And she's tired of running after people. She's not supposed to. She wants to be in the Tower, her big overcompensating home decorated with grey bars.
"I think it is very decent."
"Shut up. I'm not talking with you. I'm talking at you. Why do you want to screw it up!" It's not a question.
Cullen is not like her. He believes in duty, in doing things for the greater good because that's the right thing to do and that's what makes him happy. Diana believes in reaching the next day in one wholly attached piece, preferably with those few people which she likes in a similar state. She believes in not trying to fix up everyone else's messes and that the revolution is, basically, a bunch of kids trying to build up something by banging wooden cubes together. She believes they have given enough of their lives to other people already.
"Because if we don't, the Tower's going to end up as a battlefield eventually," he retorts sensibly. "And we will all have to fight again."
Again, she stalks off. It feels like she's arguing with a wall. It has been years since they have met, years since they have actually talked with each other, a little less since she has claimed to know this man. Never has he been more stubborn than now and she. Will. Not. Have. It.
He stays in the exact same place as if he knows Diana is going to come back. Which she does, not because he's waiting or anything, but because she's not done.
"You're being practical."
"I'm trying to, yes."
It's not a good thing.
"It's annoying the Fade out of me."
"Can't do a thing about it."
Off goes the pacing.
"How about shutting up and hightailing back to the Tower? I'll even let you win an argument."
He opens his mouth. She can see the argument just about to leave into the eerie silence, a can't do, ma'am, she can just hear it already as she prepares the much better argument of you damn right can when an explosion rocks the floor beneath them.
It is like the world is ending.
The houses around them shake, the earth trembles and a type of rain which feels too dusty and wrong begins to fall. Diana doesn't notice though. Not it or Cullen who curses loudly and pulls her against the protection of his armor. Her body is ripped apart, her mind is broken and the Fade is taking over everything, stretching until it feels like every cell in her body is screaming from the overload of sensations. She is shattered. She is nothing. She is everything in between the earth and the Fade and back again.
The mage is also coughing before she knows it, tears slipping through her barely open eyes. There's some point in which her knees begin to hurt like there's no tomorrow and that is likely one of the many reasons for her to be crying. It doesn't matter though. She's too far gone, trying to keep herself grounded in her own body when the Fade is right there, right behind the metaphorical curtain, ready to push her right into it
Vaguely, she feels the ground beneath her still shaking, a rain of dust and rock falling all around, destroying houses and old foundations alike. Above her, there's suddenly the sky, a bright, shiny green which reminds her of meadows and not the bloody sky.
"What's going on?"
Cullen's question goes unanswered. She's too busy looking at the sudden hole carved in the makerforsaken sky while the chorus of screams and accusations fills her ears with 'it's your fault, mages/Templars/insert whatever you want to blame here' by all who should be worried with the fact that the Fade went insane instead of trying to one up each other. Diana has yet to resort to full-blown murder to get her points across but she really feels like it's high time to give it a try.
"Is there a hole in the sky?" Her companion asks in all his obviousness.
"Yep." In the goddamned sky.
"I thought so." The resignation is almost painful. "Is it too late to return to the Tower and pretend nothing's going on?"
"Yep." Her conscience sighs loudly and shakes its shoulders in defeat. "Let's see if the Seeker's breathing," Diana mutters. "If you're staying, I'm making sure you get a babysitter."