CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - DRESS REHEARSAL

Althaea looked in the mirror, and barely recognized the woman standing in front of it. She could hardly believe how quickly the time had gone by; the Feast of the Eternal Flame was a scant three days away. She'd trained with the Sun for hours on end, and the rest of her time had been spent devouring Mae's collection of special arcana; books lay helter-skelter across the room, evidence of the urgency which she'd given her task.

By this time next year I'll have forgotten more about forbidden countermagics than most enchanters outside of the Imperium will ever learn. There were a few pieces she did make careful note of, techniques that she imagined had been the basis for Templar training, at one point; these had been in Mae's office under lock and key, so dangerous were they to have. She hadn't been sure she could work any of the methods described, and hadn't had the courage to ask Mae to be the mage she tried them on, so the knowledge had remained purely theoretical.

She sighed, and divested herself of her training garment, a leotard that reminded her of her dancing lessons, a lifetime ago. Three days. In three days she'd be wearing the silks the Archon was providing the Sun for their performance, a suit of flashy orange and black; the flames of it clashed terribly with the copper of her stolen hair.

She looked in the mirror again. Maker, it had been ages since she'd been in this kind of shape. The weeks of training had stripped the academic puppy fat from her frame and replaced it with lean, sinuous cords of muscle. The only downside seemed to be that her already small breasts had become, for all intents and purposes, nonexistent. She turned around, eyed her backside, and smiled. Silver linings.

When she took her eyes away from her reflection, she found herself face-to-chest with Fenris. She yelped in surprise and backed into the mirror, which would have fallen to the floor and smashed to bits without his timely intervention.

She wondered if the indignation she was feeling had translated properly, because he simply grinned and said, "hello." The indignation melted into something else entirely as his eyes roamed up and down the planes of her naked body; she felt a little exposed.

"You caught me inspecting myself," she laughed, and he met that with an appreciative little hum.

"Do you like what you see?" he asked, his tone both genuinely inquisitive and a little coy.

"It depends," she said. She'd always secretly despaired of her Maker-given physique. It was small and slight and, given her propensity for wearing clothing suitable for athletic activity in her youth, she'd very often been mistaken for a boy. The marked differences between her own development and her twin sister Alexia's had only exaggerated the issue; while the elder had blossomed into a curvaceous woman, Althaea had remained awkward and stick-thin, with narrow hips and knobbly knees. The teasing had never ended, not really, and she remembered how Marius had been a sort of island from the incessant jibes. Even the Cuervo boy she'd been dowried to before...before everything...seemed to have disapproved. He had, that is, until she'd nocked an arrow and shot an apple out of his hand. After that, they'd reached an understanding: don't make fun of me, and I won't 'miss'.

Fenris interrupted her thoughts by reaching down and cupping one of her buttocks, exhaling with a possessive growl from the back of his throat. "Regardless," he said, "I approve wholeheartedly." He crushed her to him and leaned in for a kiss; she stood on her toes to help him out a bit. You tall, tall man, why must you be so...hmm. He tasted, as he always did, of spice and juniper, heady and sweet, and she let the world around her pale away.

He pulled out of the kiss with a smile, leading her to the bed, and she remembered what she was going to do before she had been so rudely interrupted. "Oh, no," she said. "I was going to bathe, love - I've been training all day."

"As have I," he said, sitting on the bed and pulling her astride him. She realized that she hadn't noticed, but he was glistening with a sheen of sweat as well, a little newer than her own. The smell of it clung to him, strong, but not entirely unpleasant. It was an earthy smell, a deep one. She laughed as she thought about whether another person might think the same, and he frowned.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," she said, and giggled. His adorably confused face made her titter turn into a genuine laugh, and she pushed him down into the sheets.

"You're getting stronger," he said with an astonished little laugh.

"I think you failed to notice the kind of athleticism required of my performance, love."

He ran his hands from her shoulders to her thighs, then shook his head. "On the contrary, I noticed it on a regular basis...I've just never mentioned how often I've noticed it."

That caught her by surprise. "Have I been distracting you from your training all this time?"

"Absolutely you have," he purred. "Certainly you didn't think Nigel was besting me so often, did you?" He ran his fingers through her freshly shorn hair, stopping to knead at the nape of her neck, and she stretched into his touch.

He pulled her in close to him and held her there, and she listened to the placid beating of his heart. He was silent for a while, as if gathering his thoughts, and the levity of the moment seemed to wash away with one slow sigh. "You leave tomorrow," he said, softly.

She knew this was one of his regrets, this inability to follow her into the Spire. She knew she'd trapped him by binding him to an oath that he would remain here while she went about the business of stealing her mamae from her father's hands. In reality, she was just as trapped by that oath as he; she was terrified that there would be a moment in which she would need his sword and turn to find that it wasn't there. But there were two things she couldn't risk at this moment - losing Cora, and losing him.

"I'll be fine," she said, and though she meant for it to sound confident, her voice quavered and shook. "I'll wear my amulet the entire time, and you'll see me every night...there are only three."

Three more nights. In three more nights she'd be spiriting her mamae from the Spire; in four, she'd be on the fastest ship to Kirkwall, or Llomerryn again if she'd have to go that way. "We'll be a family again after this, you know." She wondered how he'd fare under the ministrations of a doting mother; Cora would fuss and cluck over him, would fret over the state of his clothes and constantly tell him he wasn't eating enough. She might even wonder when she'd be getting a grandchild to spoil, she thought with a smile.

She reminded herself never to let Cora and Leandra in the same room together. That'd be an unholy union indeed, and she shuddered at the thought.

"Family," he muttered, the ghost of a smile playing across his face. "I...must admit, I've thought about what that might be like." he shifted a little in the bed. "I've seen little bits, here and there, and pieced together a vision of it."

"Will you tell me?" she asked.

"The first I saw was of Hawke and his sister, Bethany. He cared for her in a way I never thought one person could care for another, with no reservations, no strings attached. He would have given the world for her, and he wasn't himself for a long time after she passed." He shifted around a bit. "I saw how Leandra took care of him, and how she took care of you, and I often wondered if those were the kinds of things my mother did for me. Maker," he said, "I'm not even sure I was loved as a child -"

Althaea scoffed. "Don't be daft. Of course you were. You said yourself you retained your knowledge, if not your memories. How else could you have learned to love?"

He sighed. "I don't know, I -"

"It doesn't matter, even if you weren't. You are loved, Fenris, here and now. You'd have to be blind not to see it." She clasped his hand and held it to her heart, and mumbled, "besides, it's in your name."

"My...wait. What?"

"Leto," she said. "In the old Tevene, it's a word that translates to 'joy' or 'good fortune'. Don't you think your mother knew that, when she named you?"

"I..." he stopped, his mouth opening and closing as if he were searching for the right thing to say, "I don't know."

"I think she did," she said. "And...it's the name I would like to give our son. Our joy. Our good fortune."

He let out an astonished little chuckle. "And he would be loved, wouldn't he?"

"Yes, my heart. He would be loved."

Fenris took a deep breath; when he let it out, it came in a slow shudder. He smiled. "It's a good name."

"If you want to keep it for yourself..."

"No," he said. "I tried being Leto. They still use it, but...it doesn't feel right - I think I will always be Fenris. But if we give it to our son, it would be...appropriate, I think." Silence, for a little while. "I imagine he might become who I would have been, were I not so tainted by my experience."

"Do you think of him?"

"Every day. I think of him, and I fear for him, and I love him, and he isn't here...he isn't even a quickening in your womb."

No, not yet, she thought. I still drink my tea at night. "You fear for him?"

He nodded. "The lyrium in my blood," he said. "It permeates everything. I feel it everywhere. What if it's in my seed? What if I've poisoned him before he's even taken root? I...I can't imagine living, knowing that I was the one who poisoned my son. What if - what if it makes him a mage?"

"You wouldn't love him if he were a mage?"

It was his turn to scoff, now. "Maker, Althaea. I'd love our son if he was the Archdemon himself. I just - "

"Lyrium or no lyrium, love, the chances are high he would be one anyway. Your sister is a mage. My father, my mother, all but one of my siblings are mages. The odds are against us in that regard."

"Who will teach him?"

"I don't know," she said. "Perhaps, by then, the Circle will be a place to learn control and thrive by using it. I do know that you'll be the one to teach him the strength of spirit necessary to tame his demon, if he has one."

"Truly?"

"Truly." Enough of this talk. She straddled him and began to kiss along his jawline and up to his ear, making him shudder in pleasure. "He will be beautiful, he will be strong, and I want to meet him very soon."

"When the time comes, amara, I will only be too happy to oblige."

Good, she thought, and helped him put his anxiety to rest on this, the eve of her departure.


"One more time, from the top," Phineas called from the floor. Althaea and the two other Suns in the silks climbed back up to their neutral start position. The small practice quartet readied their instruments for another go, and the dancers on the floor moved back to where the rest of the stage would soon be complete.

She smiled as she folded a small seat for herself out of the long bolt of fabric hung from the rafters of the Spire. The principal performer, a young elven woman possessed of incredible grace and strength, stretched in her perch.

As she wound her way through the choreography for what seemed to be the last time, she thought of a great many things. She thought of Fenris, and how much she regretted not having his presence. Maker, it had only been a few hours since they'd arrived and gotten straight to work, but still. She imagined what Cora would look like. It had been nine years - had she aged a day, or did she look as young as Althaea had always remembered? Would she recognize her? Had Phoebus succeeded in letting her know Althaea was on the way, as he promised he would?

The music started again and Phineas called off a count from his position in front of the musicians. The routine was simple enough; she and the other Sun simply existed to frame the principal performer, so a few simple twists, extensions and drops were all that were required of them. It left her time to think.

When she looked down from her hold, she saw the last person she was expecting enter her field of vision, almost lost her nerve, and overcorrected, tangling a leg in the weave of the silk.

"Fox!" Phineas cried. "What is your problem?" He then groveled in front of the Archon, begging forgiveness, she supposed, but she couldn't hear his words. He stared up into the rafters, squinting, and let his gaze linger for longer than she was comfortable with.

Did he recognize her? No, how could he? She was wearing the amulet, though it was tucked away in the high neck of the performance outfit she was wearing. She looked at her hands, which were the color-that-wasn't-hers and were lacking freckles. No. He couldn't have.

Phineas barked at the troupe, who sighed and took it from the top, all on account of her stupid mistake, and when he finally ordered them out of the rafters for the evening, he smacked her upside the head and groveled in front of Gaius, this time.

Gaius, who had Mother's coloring and Father's face, simply stared her down. She resisted the urge to stare back - as she might have when she was still Amalthaea - and instead mumbled a very quiet, very subservient "my apologies, Your Grace."

"See to it that that doesn't happen again," Gaius said to Phineas, "or I will have her killed, and Magister Tilani will not see recompense for her purchase price."

"Yes, Your Grace," Phineas said, and dragged Althaea by the ear in a showy display. He deposited her backstage, where Nigel waited.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Nigel hissed. "I saw everything, girl. You cannot lose your nerve. Not when everything is on the line."

"I know," she said, rubbing her ear. She knew Phineas had to make things as convincing as possible, but that was ridiculous.

"Did he recognize you?"

"I don't think so," she said, "but Gaius was definitely eyeing me up." She wrung her hands together, and the rest of the company came streaming through the stage door, laughing quietly among themselves.

"Nice one, Fox," said one of the floor dancers - Alair, perhaps? - a sprightly human male that had skin black as night. "Maybe next time you can fall proper and take the pressure off Bella, eh, since she can't seem to stay en pointe." Bella sneered at him and walked past her, clocking Althaea in the shoulder as she went.

Nigel grabbed her by that shoulder and shook her. "Keep your head. You're almost free and clear." He let her go, and she turned to leave.

"Oh, Amelia?" he called out as she began to head toward the slave chambers where the Sun were being quartered. "Now might be a good time to fetch yourself something from the kitchens."

Now that was a good idea. She went to change into something a little less ostentatious and follow his suggestion.


The kitchens of the Spire were cavernous and it seemed they were staffed at all hours of the day and night. When Althaea arrived, she was greeted by a couple of the junior staff and shown around; several other Suns were gathered on the far end of the room, which had been hastily assembled into a mess hall of sorts.

She scanned the kitchens, then flagged one of the younger slaves down. "I'm looking for Cora," she said. "Uh, old family friend." The girl looked a little surprised that a human slave would be asking after an elven one - even in the slave caste, humans still seemed to consider themselves a notch above the elvhen - but nodded and smiled uncomfortably.

"She's in the root cellar, taking one last inventory," she said, pointing in the direction from which she'd come. "Better hurry, though. I think she's going to be retiring for the evening soon."

When she descended the stairs into the root cellar, she heard a voice mumbling to itself in the far corner. Her breath hitched as she went in its direction, and her heart nearly stopped when she looked upon Cora's face for the first time in nearly ten years. Memories flooded through her mind: the first weeks in which she lay, bedridden and bored as only an active child relegated to sick time could be; the first time she'd snuck into the slave quarters with her book of tales; the look which had appeared on her face when she and Marius had stood in front of her, very proudly holding each other's hands.

She must have looked very odd indeed, because Cora looked up from her inventory sheet with a most curious expression, and simply said, "Renata? No. Nevermind, child. Just an old woman's eyes. Are you lost?"

Althaea shook her head mutely, unable to say any of the things she wanted to say. "No," she finally gulped. "I was looking for you."

She wanted to fall into this woman's arms, crying mamae, mamae, as she had after dozens of scraped knees and little knife cuts. But Cora didn't know the not-her, or if she did, she thought she was someone named Renata. Was she going senile? She couldn't be; she didn't look a day older than Althaea remembered.

"I, um...I..."

"Wait," Cora said, looking at her with an appraising eye. A memory seemed to bloom in her eyes, and then she went to the cellar entry and closed the door. "I was wondering when you'd come," she said, and reached around Althaea's neck to unclasp her amulet.

"It's really you," Cora said, as she felt the shift happen. Then she gathered Althaea up into her arms, petting her head.

"Mamae," Althaea breathed. Nine years.

Nine long years, half spent in servitude, the other in a semi-permanent state of flight. Nine years, and she was home again, or as home as home could get.

Home was in a root cellar. Well, there could be worse places for their grand re-entry into each other's lives - a dungeon, perhaps, or a remote cave.

"I've come to take you home," she said. "If you want to go, mamae. I live in the South now, and...and we can be free. Together."

"You came all this way for me?"

Althaea nodded. "I owed it to you to try," she said.

Cora crossed over to a crate, sat on it, and patted the other side. Althaea obliged her, and leaned her head into one of the older woman's slight shoulders.

"You have grown up so much," she said. "Tell me how you've fared."

And Althaea did; skipping over the more unpleasant portions of her tale, she told Cora about her escape, her time with the Chantry, her falling out with them, her relationship with Fenris. Cora simply nodded and smiled, asking the occasional question.

"...and I'm not afraid anymore, mamae, and I want us to be a family. Please tell me you'll come."

"I'll come, little one, don't you fret." She fingered the medallion. "This is an interesting little cantrip, filia. Where did you get it?"

Althaea explained about her week in Llomerryn, the Seer. "She said it showed the other half of my blood, mamae, but this other face doesn't look like anyone I know."

"No," Cora muttered, "of course it wouldn't."

Althaea was confused. What did Cora know that she didn't? "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure you're ready for this, sweetling, and a root cellar is not the best place to chat with you about such deep things." She got up and handed Althaea the little golden amulet. "Let's go for a walk; there's a very nice fountain hidden on the grounds where we can sit...away from wandering ears."

She was confused, but followed Cora through the kitchen, where members of the Sun were eating and drinking to their hearts' content, to a service corridor, and out to the gardens.

"Mamae, who is 'Renata'?" she asked, as they walked along. Cora hushed her and continued walking. "All in good time," she said. "Maker, but you were always so impulsive."

Althaea frowned. She liked to think she had gotten better about that, seeing as it was that personality trait which had gotten her into so much trouble in the first place. They finally reached the secret little garden, and Cora sat her down.

"I always love to come here," she said. "It's quiet and I can just take a moment to relax and think about things. I've thought about you a lot, wondered how you fared."

Well, things had been a little rough in the beginning, but Althaea thought she was having a pretty good go of it, these days. New name, new profession, new life, and no indication that Aloysius was any the wiser, despite the Chantry's threats. She said nothing.

"You never met Renata," she said. "She went away after you were weaned."

"So she was...my wet nurse?" Althaea knew she'd had one; her and Alexia's births had been hard on her mother, and the story was that struggled to feed both the girls enough. Had she been born in a lower caste, she might have been given up for dead.

"No," Cora said, in her infinitely patient voice. "She was your mother."


Postscript: Dun dun DUNNNNNNN. By the way, I only need TWO more reviews until one lucky reviewer gets a gift fic, don't forget! ~3k words on the subject of your choice in the Kindred AU.

I am writing the next chapter as we speak, so please stay tuned.