Leliana
Esmerelle did not back away. Instead, she smiled, placed her hands atop her desk, and leaned forward in a position that screamed of confrontation.
"Is this the Ferelden I have bled for?" she asked, and the firelight glinted off her too-white teeth. "A country that would send foreigners to exact the king's justice?"
"Is this the woman who would rule a territory?" I parried, all salt and insouciance. "One who would judge a heritage based upon so fleeting a marker as an accent? Not to mention my extreme doubt that you have even torn your nails in defense of this land…unlike some."
Unlike me. This land…where I was born…where my blood and that of the woman I love has been spilled so many times over. How dare she make this claim!? How dare she hold herself alongside the likes of those such as Salem Cousland…the woman who is this land?
"Oh?" Esmerelle moved from behind her desk, sinuous, like a great, lithe mountain cat. "Are you one of those who fell beneath the warden's spell? Are you here to enact 'the king's justice,' as you say, out of some misguided sense of hero worship? That woman perished on the end of my knife. If strength and decisiveness are qualities that fitting leaders must lack, then I am afraid I have held this city under false pretenses."
My jaw clenched at the dismissive tone with which she spoke, that she referenced Salem as though she were a dog in need of a mercy killing. Something weak, fragile, to be toyed with. Lost, yes. Burdened, yes. But never weak.
"Strength and decisiveness?" I questioned, reaching beneath my sleeve and grabbing the hilt of my knife, a particular weapon that I had not needed to use in what seemed like an eternity.
A blade for treachery, Marjolaine's words, icy and conniving, a blade for secrets. My gift to you, pretty thing.
"Yes." Esmerelle's eyes lit. "Fitting qualities in an arlessa, would you not think? We needn't find ourselves at odds, Chantry girl…though…" her eyes slanted at me, "I highly doubt that is the truth of what you are. I could make you very wealthy, sate your mind so that you forget this," she fluttered the paper, "little triviality."
Triviality? You attempted to kill my wife!
"Gold has long since lost its lustre in my eyes. There are far worthier causes in life, and I am not in the least tempted by your offer."
"An Orlesian…forsaking wealth?" Esmerelle stepped closer, thinking that I did not notice her ever so soft, ever so predictable approach. "How very amusing. I have bargained with your kind, Chantry girl. Name your price, and I will meet it."
"Your mind could never fathom the wealth I possess already." Love, acceptance, patience, beauty…all things Salem has given me. "I cannot be purchased, and you cannot escape."
"Had I so desired, I could have called my guards down upon you like a pack of wolves the instant you dropped your pretense." Esmerelle snarled. "You are in the belly of the beast, my dear; I suggest you find a price or the cost will be your life."
"So be it."
I called her bluff, knowing that I had tested her pride to its limit. She had been taken in by my ruse, and a woman such as Esmerelle would let none other accomplish what she thought were her tasks…that was why her knife, in her hand, had pierced Salem's body.
And it is the reason she will not call for aid. Any moment now…
Esmerelle lunged, pulling a blade, carefully concealed at her back, from its sheath. I dodged the swipe with a minute movement, toying with her as her attacks became more frantic and frustrated. I lifted the catch on my wrist sheath, preparing my own weapon as I turned away from a slash to my side.
"You…damn…dancing harpy!" Esmerelle shrilled, cutting through thin air in the place I had stood not mere moments before.
It is a dance, I thought, lifting my hand and striking her wrist, bruising the tender skin and veins, as she aimed the knife for my torso.
Esmerelle grimaced, but continued her attack, determined to prove her strength, her ability, her willingness to kill in order to flee from justice. Her blade whispered through my hair as I stepped backwards, smiling at her as her breathing grew harsher; as she gathered herself for one final assault.
She thrust for my throat and I clapped her blade between my hands, stepping back and pulling her forward, twisting the knife until it fell from her grip. She backpedaled and I followed, curling my hand into a fist, the knuckle of my index finger protruding. I brought it, with gentle pressure, against Esmerelle's skin, on the left side of her throat, where neck met jaw. A quick thrust into the sensitive pressure point sent Esmerelle to her knees, clutching her throat, gasping for breath.
I took the writ of execution from where it had fallen on the floor, and thrust it into Esmerelle's face. Her skin had grown pale as she continued to breathe in short, choking spurts. I pulled my knife from its place and held the gleaming blade before Esmerelle. I knelt before her, a smile perched on my lips.
"This, Esmerelle," I placed the writ over her heart, a message and a promise, that none could escape, "is strength, decisiveness…and justice."
I brought my blade down, piercing the writ to her chest, watching as her face paled yet further, as blood began to stain the paper trapped beneath the knife. Esmerelle's eyes gazed at me, wrathful, fearful, haunted and hunted.
"And this…" I softened my tone, removing the knife, thumbing a catch in the grip that released, by virtue of a dwarven crafted spring, the blade from its resting place in the hilt. Only a bead of blood gleamed on the tip…it had barely broken skin. "…is mercy."
Shock spiraled across Esmerelle's face as she stared down at the writ, at her heart, which remained undamaged, still intact, beating, whole.
"What is…the meaning…of this?" she panted as she began to tremble from fear. "You were…surely…going to…kill me."
"Death takes many forms, Esmerelle." I tucked my blade away. "And I would see you meet justice at the hands of a woman far, far more intuitive than I, who is certain to mete an appropriate punishment for your crimes."
"W…who?" Esmerelle struggled to rise and I clamped my hand on her shoulder, preventing her movements.
"The woman you attempted to kill, of course." I pressed my thumb against the pressure point that had felled her, leant by her ear, and whispered. "You failed, Esmerelle. Remember that, and fear as you never have before."
I gouged my thumb into the sensitive bundle of nerves and Esmerelle crumpled to the ground. I quickly rolled the writ and tucked it inside my sleeve before letting out an ear-splitting the shriek.
A noxious clatter filled the room as four guards poured in, swords drawn. "What is it?" one of them asked, looking around. "What happened?"
I stood, backing away from Esmerelle's prone form, placing a trembling hand against my mouth, which hung open in feigned shock. "The…milady just collapsed. Oh, ser, I fear she might be ill!"
"Fetch a healer." the guard snapped, and two of his fellows rushed out.
"Ser, there's…there's no time." I pleaded, looking at him with fearful, beseeching eyes. "The letter…King Alistair has appointed Esmerelle arlessa of Amaranthine…she must be seen to as soon as possible, and the Chantry is not far. Please, ser, we have skilled healers there."
He paused, looking between his mistress and me, the scared, frightened, eager-to-aid lay sister. "As you say."
He sheathed his sword and lifted Esmerelle's limp body in his arms, nodding to me as he adjusted to his burden.
"Lead the way, sister."
"Of…of course, ser." I replied, timid, moving through the door, but not without a practiced, worried glance backward.
A life for a life and the whole world dies, I recalled Zevran's thoughts on the subject of his work. But find what makes a man fear, find what makes him tremble in the night, become that nightmare, and death has a new face, a face that taunts the living. Mercy can be more cruel than death, if meted in the hands of someone possessing wisdom.
And who, I asked myself, feeling the warm glow of pride, is more wise than the woman who knitted together a fragemented country, my fragmented heart, and made both of them whole?