Act VI:v
The Inquisitor had once heard Cassandra describe the full investigation process of the Seekers of Truth. Whatever Varric may have claimed, they stopped just short of physical torture. But only just. And they were allowed every other possible latitude for extracting fact. The Seeker had once told her of an interview she conducted with a rogue Knight Captain that went on for a solid 34 hours until the man collapsed from exhaustion. In his sleep, he confessed everything they needed to know.
Eve was beginning to feel that was the only method that might work on Solace. They'd been gathered in this backroom for nearly two hours now. The Chant had long since finished echoing for the day, nobles and dignitaries sufficiently stroked and dismissed by Divine Victoria's attentions. Now it was just the six of them. Leliana with Solona and Bethany at her sides; Solace with the Inquistor and Seeker Pentaghast at either arm. The mage answered questions with as few words as possible and each time the subject of Tranquility came up there was only stubborn silence. Eve was getting frustrated; she couldn't imagine how Leliana managed to continue smiling.
"I have been talking with the former First Enchanter of Montsimmard," the redhead rested back in her seat, eyes still bright as she studied her quarry, "He tells me that when you were a child you were repeatedly punished for claiming to be friends with demons."
"I had a wild imagination." Solace shrugged off the accusation. She'd turned defensive the moment the Chant ended, her full guard slamming back into place. Her sarcasm deflected questions like a suit of armor.
"Years later your peers accused you of the same activity. That time you denied it but were punished all the same." Leliana continued, watching for the hints of pain that cut like knives beneath the blonde's stubborn glare. Mages weren't quite like other people. They could turn their skin to rock or heal wounds instantly. Circle discipline often had to be creative. And severe.
"Would you like to see the scars?" Solace had caught the faint shimmer of pity in the Divine's crystal eyes. She didn't care for it.
"Punished for telling the truth and punished the same for lying. What lesson did they expect you to learn, I wonder? It seems they only taught you to stay silent, yes?" Leliana mused, noting the twitch of muscle that was Solace holding back words. If she could break that control, she could reach answers.
"I got very good at keeping my mouth shut, Most Holy." The mage replied, oddly respectful despite the circumstances. She knew the thread she was walking. Anyone with authority issues quickly learns precisely how far they can push.
"A skill which must have served you well for years. One that you feel you must use now. You think me an enemy, as do many mages. Yet, you can see I care a great deal for your kind." The Divine's head tilted to Bethany and Solona beside her.
Her gaze lingered a trifle more affectionately on the Hero but it was only a fraction of a second's indulgence. Eve barely caught the look but she definitely saw Warden Amell's fingers twitch in response, controlling the impulse to reach out and touch. The Inquisitor couldn't imagine how two women who'd been in love for ten years handled letting the Chantry separate them. Her own glance slipped to Cassandra, mentally daring the Maker to even try and take her away. I'd show them a real Exalted March. As if the Seeker could read her mind the warrior's eye caught Eve's. Cassandra's brow arched with a twist of scolding amusement, silently urging Trevelyan to focus on the situation at hand. There would be time for other thoughts later.
"'Magic exists to serve man,'" Solace quoted the familiar verse with a bitter laugh, "Which means mages must be servants as well, doesn't it? We're tools, not people. When a smith strikes his thumb he curses the hammer, not himself."
"I wish that to change. I will not restore the Circle of Magi nor the Templar Order. I would see mages protected and equal but above all: Free. I will not withhold the Rite of Reversal but I need you to tell me the truth so we can open the way for others." Leliana was on her feet now, approaching the blonde and daring her to break the penetrative gaze that had locked onto her soul. That look had shattered criminals and royalty alike. When Sister Nightingale turned her full attention to stripping someone's defenses she could slip in through their eyes as easily as an open window.
"It's not going to work." Solace muttered, mournful but awed in the same breath. Trevelyan could practically hear the woman's thoughts beginning to unravel under the mercilessly sincere scrutiny.
"It will if you'll help me." The Divine's voice assured, reaching out to brush a soothing touch over the mage's arm.
"No, it won't! There's nothing to work with!" Solace drew back, an agony of anger and confusion warring in her face, "You want me to tell you how I broke the Reversal? Give up the bizarre secret to success and the names of the people that helped? I can't!"
"She isn't going to hurt any of them. They'll be safe. We need their help, Solace." Cassandra stopped the mage's retreat, metal gauntlets catching her rising fists and holding her in place. Despite the control of her touch the Seeker's voice was surprisingly gentle.
"No, you don't understand. It won't work because it never happened," the mage's confession choked with frustration, "I never had any Rite of Reversal. I didn't need to! The first one never took."
"What?" The Inquisitor's demand was pure reflex, like wheezing after getting punched in the gut. She could see confusion in every other face in the room, doubts and questions flying silently through the air.
"The Rite of Tranquility. It never worked to begin with." Solace shook her head, avoiding every eye seeking hers.
"It looks to have completed successfully." Leliana pushed the mage's sleeve up, revealing the scorched lyrium brand of a Monstimmard Tranquil. Cassandra released her grip on the blonde's arms, moving to inspect the mark as well. The faint glow on her skin had the recognizable silver light, throbbing with her pulse.
"Damn thing hurt like three licks from a Rage Demon's tongue but when it was over I didn't feel any different. I don't know exactly how being Tranquil is supposed to feel but I'm pretty sure it doesn't include being pissed about being dragged back and wanting to gut the bunch of armored bastards standing all around me." Solace tugged her sleeve down, hiding the brand.
"You led everyone to believe it had worked, that you were Tranquil." The Seeker was partly perplexed but mostly irritated. She didn't like surprises. Eve had learned that the hard way a few months before when she deliberately caught her lover off guard and received a black eye in reward.
"Wake up surrounded by a bunch of Templars that want you dead and you'll get good at acting on the spot too." Solace laughed once more, the same hollow, sarcastic sound that bit more than rang.
"Then you can still perform magic?" Leliana's eyes betrayed that her thoughts had already moved far beyond the immediate conversation. She was working on a larger puzzle and only picking out necessary pieces from this moment.
"No. I guess that part of it worked," the mage frowned, "I can dream and walk the Fade. I can sort of feel the magic still there but it's all locked up. None of my spells work anymore. Not even the fire starter and I really liked that trick."
The Inquisitor could practically hear the gears of the former spymaster's mind. This new riddle was a fragment of the picture she was assembling, she had to find where it fit. The bard glanced between her two mage allies, wordlessly gathering consensus. Wardens Hawke and Amell shared identically pensive but unreadable expressions. It probably ran in the family. With the barest hint of a nod, Leliana gracefully rose.
"This will require some further thought and discussion. We will meet again tomorrow to continue the matter. In the meantime, mage Solace, you are my guest. Please avail yourself of our hospitality. Inquisitor, Seeker." The Divine offered her verdict and bid goodnight, sweeping from the room with both mages urgently following. Trevelyan had a feeling there would be very little sleep tonight for those three. And the sky would be dark with raven messengers come morning.
The Inquisitor silently listened to the departing footsteps. Once she was certain there was no chance of being overheard she turned to the mage. Solace looked like a soldier who'd survived battle but lost the war; spent and miserable, clinging to shreds of defiance and pride.
"You could have saved us all a lot of trouble if you'd just spoken up when we met." Trevelyan sighed, rubbing a tired hand over the knots in her neck. She wanted to be furious at the girl but the shock had been so complete that the only refuge for her sanity was laughter.
"Would you have believed me?" the mage's chuckle confessed that her mental state was no better. Panic destroyed reason when it hit and sucked out emotion as it left.
"Me? Maker, no!" Eve instantly scoffed, "But the Seeker here has a long history of listening to people and finding the truth."
"We still would have brought you to the Divine. That was what she commanded, that was what we had to do." Cassandra clarified firmly. Absolutely nothing the mage might have said or done would have stopped them bringing her to Val Royeaux. She'd only succeeded in delaying the inevitable and pissing off some very powerful women. The sag of her shoulders suggested that she'd finally concluded as much for herself.
"So what happens now?" Solace looked nervously between them, shades of rope and cages in her eyes.
"We leave the Divine to sort out what she wishes. We let servants escort us to rooms and we trust you not to run," the Seeker shrugged, then glanced deliberately to Trevelyan, "Isn't that right, Inquisitor?"
Eve heard the subtle note of threat beneath the question. The mage was Leliana's problem now and Cassandra was ready to be done babysitting.
"You're done trying to escape, right?" She cast a suspicious eye over Solace.
"No reason left to run," the mage confirmed wearily, "Not like I have any more secrets to hide."
"Then yes. That's exactly what we do." The Inquisitor gave a final nod of assent. Habit had her reaching for the blonde's arm as they left the room but the Seeker caught Trevelyan's hand, pulling her away.
"She is not our prisoner anymore," Cassandra reminded her as a servant appeared and escorted Solace to a prepared room, then she leaned in to add quietly, "And I believe we have earned our privacy."
"Privacy, Seeker? In the house of the All-Seeing Maker?" Eve felt a smile chasing away her fatigue. That Nevarran accent purred so deliciously when she dropped to such low tones.
"He is a Father and Creator. Not a voyeur." Cassandra corrected the theological error, eyes growing darker with every passing pace.
"He'll want to be tonight." The Inquisitor murmured under her breath. Her lover caught the words, lips curling into the promise of sin.
The Hanged Man had a different allure for everyone. For Varric it was the prospect of a room full of people on whom he could test out new card tricks and tall tales. Isabela was called by the variety of indulgences: liquor, sex and a good fight all readily available. Hawke was drawn to the relaxed freedom (and Isabela). Aveline came along to stop crimes (And Isabela). Merrill was just delighted to be in the company of friends. Particularly since Isabela was currently telling her the story of their recent adventures and inventing some spectacularly creative twists in the tea cart. Aveline gave up correcting her after the mage politely asked her to stop ruining it.
The Guard Captain had other worries anyway, keeping one eye on Elani and Zevran across the room. The two elves were entertaining themselves running a hustle on half a dozen men playing Wicked Grace. Elani was the intoxicated beginner, losing at the game in such an adorably befuddled way that none of the other players noticed Zevran palming coins.
"She plays drunk very well." Donnic observed as the blonde burst into a fit of giggles, leaning forward against the table in a way that emphasized her already displayed cleavage.
"I think you'll find it's actually the reverse. She plays well very drunk." Aveline was certain that no one could lose so atrociously unless they were an expert.
"I'd pay good coin to see her play with Isabela." Hawke agreed with her friend. The pirate immediately heard mention of her name, turning to her Champion with a predatory smirk.
"Is that so? And how much would you pay to join in the fun?" the Rivaini slid her hand up the Fereldan rogue's thigh.
"You, me and Cuddles?" Hawke pondered the question, catching the fingers on her leg but not moving them away, "I'm sure we could work out a satisfactory exchange rate. But we'd have to invite Zevran as well, he looks so sad when he gets left out."
"Don't tease a woman, Hawke." Isabela's eyes glinted excitedly, breath laced with amusement and whiskey. She leaned close enough to capture the Champion's lips but pulled away at the last second, laughing all the louder when Hawke's reflexes caught her and dragged her back.
"Maker knows who the tease is around here." She whispered playfully into the pirate's ear before releasing her completely. The sailor let out a soft, pleased rumble; more purr than laughter. She easily turned back to resume her conversation with Merrill, hand remaining comfortably at rest on Hawke's thigh.
Varric enjoyed watching the entertainment that always abounded with the Champion and Queen of the Eastern Seas in one room but his eyes kept darting to the bar. Morrigan had gone in search of a drink other than sour whiskey and Ravenel had instantly followed. Curiosity and suspicion had been steadily chasing each other at faster speeds in his mind for the entire day and now the writer smelled story.
"The dents in this damn mug feel like trying to hang onto an ugly face. I'm gonna get another." Varric rose and crossed the tavern quickly. He found a small space on the corner of the bar counter, lined up his sight straight through another patron's armpit, and settled in to listen.
"Do you really think he can find actual wine in that rat hole he calls a cellar?" Ravenel watched Corff rapidly vanish below the floors, the reek of nervous sweat still lingering in the air. Morrigan had that effect on people.
"Nothing so fine as an Antivan vintage but certainly a bottle that contains what once were grapes. If we're fortunate it will contain little else." The witch's shoulder rose a fraction and fell again, willing to be amused by the effort if not the result.
"Still, it gave me pretext to find you alone," Ravenel slid closer to the apostate, earning a pleased but skeptical glance, "I stole a few moments earlier today and bought you a gift."
"Indeed? What a strange impulse. Are you trying to bribe me for affections?" Morrigan's harsh question was turned inside out by the humor in her eyes.
"I doubt there is enough coin in all Thedas to buy what you would not give, my lady," de Vici laughed and pulled a cloth-wrapped bundle from some hidden fold of her dress, "I wish nothing in return. That is what makes it a gift."
Morrigan's expression was almost a frown, suspicious as she unfolded the cloth. Even in the dim light of the tavern Varric recognized the glint of gold.
"I saw you looking at it when we were in the Hightown shops. It seemed fitting for you." Ravenel quickly explained, smiling confidence concealing all but the slightest tremor of nerves.
The witch held up her present, hands and eyes examining it carefully. Now Varric could see its shape: coiled tail, long neck, a carved motif of wings. A golden dragon figurine, Nug knuckles! Those go for more than 300 sovereigns. The dwarf was no stranger to expensive indulgences but even he was shocked by the rich gift.
"I had thought, perhaps, to buy it for Kieran. For as long as he has been able to speak, he has asked after dragons. I think they are his greatest love." Morrigan murmured, similarly stunned by the gesture.
"Then he and I will have much in common." The Antivan's nerves vanished, relief flooding her manner with calm suave. Before the witch could reply Corff returned, proudly brandishing two bottles.
Morrigan swiftly rewrapped the valuable carving and secreted it on her person, turning to busy herself with questions of vintage and price. Ravenel looked a trifle annoyed by the interruption, obviously eager to hear whatever coy or cutting reply the witch intended. That irritation tripled when another man at the bar seized this as his one opportunity to talk to the beautiful Lady.
Well, shit, this should be good. Varric smirked as he watched the beginnings of catastrophe.
"If you'll permit me, my lovely spirit of beauty," Oh, Maker, he wasn't just drunk; he was a poet, "I must confess I am struck by the shade of your eyes, like two purple cabbages hungry to be devoured by –,"
Whatever he'd intended to say was lost as the man's eyes rolled up in his head. He collapsed, head bouncing off the edge of the bar before falling to a heap on the floor. Ravenel looked curiously at the aspiring flatterer and then noticed Morrigan standing above him. The witch was trying not to look smug and failing miserably.
"So I can't kill nobles in Hightown but you can roll drunks in the taverns?" de Vici crossed her arms with the challenge of an argument. A snore near her feet promised the poet was alive and probably off in lurid, badly worded dreams.
"You are in my care. I did not wish you to strain your stitches laughing at him." The apostate dismissed the accusation with a roll of her magnificently golden eyes.
"Oh really? Always thinking of me, are you?" Ravenel's hooded gaze shouted the meaning her voice only whispered.
"If I were, I would not be likely to share." Morrigan had a natural gift for giving one answer with her words and another with her tone.
"I'm guessing, my Lady, that you do not share much." The assassin chuckled, accepting the playful rebuff with a practiced air of aplomb. She reached for one of the bottles of wine and found Morrigan suddenly close in her space, only inches from skin.
"You would be incorrect," the witch replied, "I do not share at all."
Without another word the two women returned to the table of friends. Morrigan was smirking as she opened the wine but Ravenel's mask was cracked with hints of how completely she'd almost come undone.
"That's definitely a chapter." Varric muttered to himself as he sank back into his seat.
"Editor still riding your ass then?" Hawke picked up on the enigmatic comment. The dwarf quickly tucked away everything he had witnessed, holding his mug out for a refill.
"Flaming nugshit, she reamed me so hard I should be sitting on pillows." He groaned his reply, laughing under the complaint. Every time he saw that woman he was amazed to leave with all his body parts intact. She had been after him for almost a year now: the Inquisition, the Inquisition, the Inquisition. A book about the exploits of Lady Trevelyan and her company of the faithful would make more gold than the army of Ancestors digging for a decade. Problem was, he wouldn't be around to enjoy it because Cassandra would kill him.
There was no way to tell the Inquisitor's story without dragging the Seeker into the pages and that wasn't going to happen with her breathing down his neck. Or breathing at all, actually. The book would just have to make his kids a fortune in the future. After he finished it. And got to work on the kids.
"So what trick of charm did you use this time to buy her patience?" The Champion knew the writer well. He never left negotiations without having taken the upper hand.
"Told her I had a new serial in mind. Dark as 'Hard in Hightown' and steamy as 'Swords and Shields.' Danger, romance, magic of all kinds!" Varric reprised his bold sales pitch, excited by his own imagination.
"What's it going to be called?" Hawke clearly enjoyed the description.
"'Corruptions of an Apostate,'" the dwarf grinned, eyes sliding toward the distracted Morrigan and de Vici, "What can I say? I found myself inspired."
"I see," The Champion followed his gaze, biting the inside of her cheek to hold back any laughter, "Just don't forget to include a few twists. Your readers have high expectations of you. They want to be surprised."
"Trust me, Hawke. This one writes itself." Varric beamed, grabbing the bottle from her hand to top both their mugs. The two rogues toasted with silent smiles, happy as ever to be wrapped in private conspiracies.
Cassandra had never heard a sound more beautiful than Eve's. Not the Chant of Light or blessing of the Divine or any triumph of battle could compare to the sighing, breathy need desperate against her ear. That she could control it with a shift of her fingers, changing the speed and pitch at will, was an intoxicating power. From low, longing moans to sharp, urgent gasps and everything in between; it was all music and Cassandra could coax a symphony from her lover's lips.
The Seeker had been quick to learn the basics of a woman's body, eager to please and impress. After that, however, she set to work deliberately and thoroughly exploring every inch of the Inquisitor, memorizing each touch and shudder and sound that was uniquely hers. She didn't know if these newfound skills would work on any other woman but it didn't matter. She never wanted anyone else. Only this woman, over and over, forever.
The muscles moving against her suddenly tightened, Eve's body clenching as if to rip itself apart. Cassandra held her, watching as the beautiful warrior arched into her touch, head thrown back. The Inquisitor's jaw fought to stay closed, a loud sigh of release hissing through clenched teeth. Then she melted completely into the sheets beneath, into Cassandra's hands. The Seeker cradled her, dragging out each trembling aftershock until there was nothing left but boneless relief. Eve's chest heaved as she panted for breath, finally capturing enough air to speak. Cassandra kissed her parted lips before any words escaped, stroking the still twitching muscles in her cheek.
"You were trying terribly hard not to blaspheme." The Seeker purred when they drew apart, amusement and affection entwined on her tongue. That the woman worried over what might make Cassandra uncomfortable in the Grand Cathedral was endearing.
"With how that felt? My love, I was trying not to die." The Inquisitor shook her head, managing only to chuckle with what breath she had. If Cassandra were not already flushed from their exertions she would've felt herself redden with the praise. She took pride in so many aspects of her life, she never expected pleasing a lover would become one of the most important. Not until I loved. Her eyes drank in Eve as she faded into the exhaustion of their night, lids fluttering to fight sleep and remain present but already losing. She traced a finger down the curve of her throat, like a line of poetry, placing a kiss on her collarbone to dot the end.
Even in the sultry night air her skin began to cool, drawing her closer to Eve and pulling up the mangled sheets. Breath warmed her face in the slow rhythm of sleep as she settled into the pillows. She was spent; muscles fatigued, body deliciously languid and satisfied. Her own mind drifted toward dreams, thoughts replaying the indulgent hours of the night. She couldn't tolerate the wanton, animal lust of the pirate and her lover. Nor could she imagine the now chaste affections of the Divine. But this? This was passion that she understood. The Inquisitor had reached out and given her everything she'd wanted but hadn't dared expect. Thank the Maker. She sighed her prayer, resting her forehead against Eve. And thank you.
The closing scene wasn't exactly vital to plot development but it was still far too fun to skip writing.
As Mae might say: I can resist anything but temptation.
Thanks again to the handful of you who've been so helpful with reviews and comments. Getting close to the crucial turning scenes and then from there it's a swift descent so I hope you're all patient just a bit longer.