Act VII:iii
Leliana had spent many nights in camp sitting by the fire, learning its lessons. It was not the flame she watched but the fragile, fluttering wings that danced in the smoke and inevitably drew too close to the lick of heat. Each pale insect was hypnotized by the allure of light, the promise of heat and none could draw back before vanishing in a puff of ash. The bard knew what it was to be pulled by forces too strong to resist, to be mesmerized by flashes that blinded your eyes and warmth that caressed your skin until you forgot entirely the threat that lay beneath. Leliana had been burned once. She wouldn't let it happen again.
She still loved the pull of danger, though. She could taste it in the air like campfire smoke on a far breeze. She'd simply learned to circle from a wary distance, close enough to be illuminated but never slipping from the security of shadow. The current shadow she had found was below a statue of Our Lady at Valerian Fields. She'd been drawn to the subdued noises of anger and now she tucked herself into the dark corner, watching from a distance.
"The mages of the Spire are accountable to the Templars." The Grand Cleric of Orlais was trying to walk away from a heavily armed and clearly angry warrior.
"And the Templars are accountable to the Chantry. In Val Royeaux that means you! Or has rising in ranks made you forgetful?" The foreign accent had a growl of temper barely under control.
"You forget your place, Seeker." The holy woman put all her haughty authority behind the single rebuke. It would've had most of a congregation cowering in shame.
"And you forget I knew your predecessor. I saw Callista full of self-importance and foolishness. She let ambition blind her into forsaking her duties. You would not wish to walk that same slippery slope." The Seeker only drew herself taller, eyes a pair of daggers and her jaw set to bite.
"How dare you! I would never betray the Most Holy!" The Grand Cleric sputtered, utterly aghast at the comparison.
"That is what we trust. All eyes are on you, Your Grace. The White Spire demands attention, sort your house." The warrior turned away, effectively dismissing herself from the conversation. Leliana could see the cleric's throat bobbing with objections but not a one made it past the chastened woman's lips. She stomped off in the opposite direction, leaving the grand corridor empty save for one bard and an approaching Seeker.
"You are even more impressive than I thought." Leliana stepped out of the shadows, unperturbed by the warrior reflexively reaching for her sword at the sudden movement.
"Have we met?" The Seeker's hand stayed on the pommel, blade only partially drawn as she evaluated the potential threat. Sister Nightingale could see the woman's dark eyes scouring her person, surgically taking her apart to decide whether she was worth violence.
"In views; often. In person? Never," the redhead conceded the rueful truth, "But there comes a time when both hands must grasp the same tool, yes?"
"Leliana." The warrior instantly deciphered the subtle clue, her sword sliding back into its sheath.
"In person, Seeker Pentaghast." The Left Hand executed a graceful curtsy, only rendered a fraction less charming by her heavy leathers and weaponry.
"You are younger than I imagined." Cassandra, for her part, didn't even bother to bow. Pompous etiquette could only be demanded of her when she was acting officially as Right Hand. She continued her scrutiny of the woman she'd long been in correspondence with. Indeed, before her eyes actually stood the closest ally she had in all Thedas. But it was the first she'd ever seen of her.
"And you are prettier than I expected." Leliana countered, allowing a smile to play about her lips.
She'd only ever seen the Seeker from a distance: across a square, far below in a courtyard, at the head of a procession; she'd never had opportunity to study the woman from within scant feet. To say she was striking would be an understatement. The Nevarran warrior radiated power, not just in the intensity of her person but in the iron vise of her control that kept it all contained in one being. The scars, which for most Orlesian and Nevarran noblewomen would be cause for hermitage or suicide, only augmented the casual strength of her expression. This was not a lady, this was a hero. The Right Hand of the Divine had earned her title and paid for it in flesh and blood a thousand times over. No wonder Justinia had wanted her to stay on.
"Are we to spend the day exchanging pleasantries?" The Seeker's brow twitched impatiently, reminding Leliana she had a task to fulfill.
"It would not be hard. An hour's worth of compliments occur to me in just these few minutes. You are right, however, there is business at hand." The bard nodded for Cassandra to walk with her, heading for more secluded parts of the cathedral.
"You mentioned a tool?" Seeker Pentaghast wasn't easily given to trust. She'd spent years rooting corruption and treachery out of the ranks of the Chantry. Templars, mages, sisters, clerics – no one was immune from the harsh questions of her skepticism. But the Left and Right Hands had already accomplished amazing feats with their alliance. They'd managed to quash threats, punish abusers and stay the tide that was inevitably pushing Southern Thedas to war. Unfortunately, it was still a losing battle. Cassandra instinctively knew that if Leliana had sought her out, the situation had grown dire indeed.
"A weapon, in fact. One that Divine Beatrix entrusted to you. The time to wield it is growing near, if we do not act soon then necessity will take the choice from our hands." Sister Nightingale stopped when they were far from any doors or windows, distant from any possible prying eyes and snooping ears. The Seeker frowned, knowing instantly what her ally meant.
"The people will not understand." She shook her head. The taste of revolt was heavy in the air of all Thedas, tensions strung tight as bowstrings waiting to let death fly.
"Then we must make them," Leliana's voice wasn't command but conviction, this was the only path they had left, "Cassandra, we've been racing the storm but now we are nearly caught. We have served as Hands of the Chantry for years. If that means we must now take up its sword, so be it."
The Seeker mulled the words. She had been apart from any order for years, answering only to the Divine. It had bred in her an instinct to never just blindly obey and be wary of those who do. She served whole-souled but it was only to those causes she felt sincerely right. She questioned, scrutinized, saw the flaws and cracks in the logic of absolute loyalties and the direction they led. She would not begin a task such as this unless she believed. Leliana didn't hold her breath but she did keep her tongue, waiting for the final verdict.
"So be it. An Inquisition. We will stop this war before it begins." Cassandra nodded, firmly convinced.
"Excellent. The first thing we need is a leader, yes?" Sister Nightingale's smile chased all shadow from her eyes. They resumed walking down the corridor, talking in quiet murmurs; Left and Right Hand perfectly aligned.
Leliana could vividly recall the details of her first meeting with Seeker Pentaghast. She remembered Lady Cecilie telling her the story of the Nevarran noble that took holy orders to protect the Chantry, the warrior who proved herself a dragon-slaying hero and saved the Divine when she was little more than a youth. Leliana had not expected to one day be allied with the same woman. After adventuring with the Hero of Ferelden she couldn't be awed, but she was delighted nonetheless.
Six years since they had first been united in common purpose and Sister Nightingale thought no less of Seeker Pentaghast. If anything, the warrior only improved in her estimation. The spymaster had never been one to rely on the opinions of others but when Cassandra chose to speak, Leliana always heard what she had to say. So, when the Seeker told her that she believed Solace, it left the new Divine more to ponder. A message had returned from Montsimmard, Vivienne adamantly certain that no one had ever mishandled the Rite of Tranquility, least of all the former First Enchanter of the Circle. He'd performed the ritual dozens of times in his career at the tower and not a one had anything less than successful (No one would dare use the term 'satisfactory') results. Though Madame de Fer's report on the young mage was fairly sincere and even a tad affectionate, between the lines Leliana could clearly read her assumption: Tranquility does not fail, the girl is lying.
When Leliana confided these details briefly to Cassandra before the opening of the Chant, the Seeker had leveled her with the same cool, scrutinizing gaze she'd used when they first met.
"I do not believe that is so. If she were so accomplished a liar, she would not have fled being discovered. She might even have continued to pretend to be fully Tranquil." The Seeker's simple logic was impeccable and she argued only on the basis of fact, not emotion. But feeling glittered in the flecks of gold in her eyes. It was the spark of indignation, offense on behalf of the wrongly accused. Cassandra had devoted her life to protecting the innocent, the righteous and the helpless on behalf of the Chantry. Something had moved her to believe Solace fell into these categories.
Not righteous. Not in general, anyway. Leliana's spies had been thorough in tracing the mage's history. Montsimmard was a lenient Circle, the girl had obviously enjoyed exploiting her freedoms. Until they were gradually stripped one by one. Innocent would be something of a stretch as well, unless it meant only that she wasn't currently guilty of a specific crime. That they knew of. Helpless, then. What other word could there be for a mage without magic?
Vivienne whispering deception on one side, Cassandra demanding justice on the other. Leliana looked down at the blonde in the audience. In a room full of bored politicians, ostentatious royalty and scheming clergy, the mage hadn't paid attention to anything but the Chant for the entire day. She might still be the precise symbol Divine Victoria needed in order to gather mages into the fold. Or she could be a massive lightning rod strapped to the top of the Chantry and begging for trouble.
Thinking of trouble, Leliana's eyes drifted out the open doors of the balcony, taking in the distant cityscape, Is that smoke?
"Oi, Buckles!" Sera's foot stomped repeatedly over the Inquisitor's head. The angry, rapid noise sounded like she was either putting out a fire or trying a new dance step.
"Yes, Sera?" Trevelyan leaned back to yell up, wondering which bizarre line of conversation they would embark on this time.
In the last two hours Sera had wanted to discuss any number of improbable topics. The questions ranged from wondering who the first person was that decided to eat Drufallo testicles, to demanding to know what purpose pigeons served in the Maker's plan other than shitting on all of Thedas. In between were questions about Qunari horns, ('So not having 'em is a rank thing? Like smaller is better? Huh, you lot ARE weird') the Inquisitor's opinion on silk versus lace versus nothing at all ('Like your Seeker's preference, hey?') and the hour all three of them spent inventing new euphemisms for use in the Grand Cathedral. 'Son of a nug' was the clear winner. After knowing the elf for this long Trevelyan was never surprised by what came out of her mouth, only confused as to how to answer without first whacking her head vigorously into a wall. Conversations with Sera went better with either liquor or brain damage.
"Hawke's back. Thought you'd want to know." The archer reported matter-of-factly, bored with the mundane detail.
"How do you know?" The Inquisitor skeptically rose to her feet.
"'Cause the bloody harbor's on fire. I'd call that a dead giveaway!" Sera's sharp laugh and further comment went completely unheeded as Trevelyan rushed to the far end of the balcony and leaned out, seeing the pillar of black cloud rising inarguably from the docks.
"Looks like they've already started having some fun." Iron Bull joined her, face cracking into a grin as he guessed what she was thinking.
"Let's go enjoy the show, shall we?" The Inquisitor offered the suggestion casually but she felt excitement sharpen her breath, her pulse speeding eagerly ahead even as her feet moved to race off the balcony.
"Wait for me!" Sera clambered down from the roof, flipping to the floor and chasing after the warriors.
One of the perks of having an 8' horned Qunari companion was that getting through crowds was never a problem. People heard the sound of his charge, looked up and saw only a mass of muscle and sharp points bearing down on them and they instantly parted like a quake had split the streets. Trevelyan and Sera simply had to stay close behind, enjoying the ease of running in the wake of his terror. Eve knew they were getting close to the docks when she noticed people on the side no longer standing still but flooding in the opposite direction. Many of them either bleeding or screaming.
They hit the harbor and the Inquisitor was immediately put in mind of the elaborate paintings she'd seen of the Fade. Chaos and activity on all sides; battle, anger, fear and yelling, tortured souls either fleeing for their lives or giving into their own rage and joining the fight. Mercenaries, sailors, civilians, guards, everyone was attacking everyone else and it looked like half the population of the pier had ended up in the water only to climb out and resume fighting. Scattered throughout the mess was a handful of demons reveling in it all.
"Damn it, Hawke! This is five fights in as many days!" Aveline swung hard into a massive attacker, driving him away from innocents trying to escape.
"I know! And I only had to start two of them!" The Champion laughed back, slipping under a swinging axe and rolling away. She and Isabela fought near each other, ascribing a wide circle like the orbit of planets, anyone caught in their pull was swiftly destroyed.
The smoke and ash filling the air rose off a docked ship, the sails and mast completely engulfed in flame. How in the Maker's-? Before the Inquisitor could even finish wondering her instincts drove her to one side, narrowly dodging a ball of fire. It hit the wall behind her and left a scorched bloom.
"Whoop! Sorry!" the accent was all the more familiar with its traces of chagrinned apology.
"Merrill?" Sera started forward, ready to run into the battle to find the elven mage but Trevelyan held her back.
"They can handle themselves." She advised. The last thing this fight needed was one more crazed and deadly participant. Underscoring that fact, all three had to duck when a mercenary was sent flying over their heads by a blast of magic.
"Was that a bad one? I think it was." Merrill's innocent confusion continued to wander to their ears.
The thought of mages dragged Eve's eyes over the pier, finally spotting Morrigan holding her ground against the tide of carnage. She was a pinpoint of controlled calm, barriers forcing the entire war to move around her without encroaching on her space. Three would-be assailants charged the witch; one turned instantly to ice, a second was blasted off the pier and the third suddenly collapsed. Eve hadn't even noticed the well-dressed noblewoman until she flashed out of the chaos long enough to retrieve her dagger from the back of his neck. Morrigan returned the favor, the sharp end of her staff slicing through the armor of a fourth attacker they hadn't seen.
A loud explosion thundered across the harbor, a knot of fighters blown off the dock by the force and others jumping into water to put out their flames. Magic and explosives were swiftly thinning the numbers, dimming the enthusiasm of all the civilians and sailors who'd only thought this a chance to take a few licks at each other and gang up on guards.
"Elani, put your shit away! There're innocents out here!" Varric's order shouted from the far end of the pier, he and Bianca picking off targets with pinpoint precision.
"Sodding dwarf." The grumbled reply came from nearly overhead, twisting the Inquisitor's eyes upward.
An elf had found purchase on a narrow window ledge, a perfect vantage for firing into the crowds. She grimaced and swung her crossbow back into its holster before taking a flying leap off her purchase. The blonde caught the arm of a lamppost, feet kicking a mercenary into the ocean before she flipped over and landed on the back of a second. Trevelayn watched as her arms caught him tight around the neck, legs interlocking over his chest. The man struggled, gasping as the air was choked from his lungs and throat simultaneously. It looked - for all the world - like he was giving the elf a piggy-back ride. Except he was turning purple. He collapsed to the dock and the woman identified as Elani disentangled herself, finishing with a heavy boot to his gut for good measure before she vanished into the fray.
The Inquisitor couldn't see Zevran but she could track him through the battle by the sudden shouts and bursts of accented laughter that danced airily around the pier. The nine allies were pockets of destruction scattered across the pier.
"Sorry! I thought you – oh, you are! Not sorry!" Merrill delighted to find she was attacking the right people.
"All yours, Big Girl!" Isabela kicked a mercenary straight into Aveline's arcing blow.
"Dragon lady gonna put on a show again?" Elani dove under a man's legs, twisting and kicking up at the crucial moment to drop him to his knees in tears.
"You want the whole city going up in flame?" Varric shouted back, Bianca's heavy arrow firing through three men, pinning the last two against each other on a wall.
"'Twould improve the odor." Morrigan was moving now, striding purposefully across the dock. Her arms might have been spread wide in an open embrace except a wall of force was moving ahead of her, plowing everyone out of her path.
They were down to the dregs of the fight now, stragglers and stubborn fools that didn't know when to quit. A mercenary dragged himself back up onto the pier behind the witch, racing after her. There was a blur of grey and he was back in the water, this time sinking down beneath a bloom of crimson.
"Terribly sorry, I think that one was yours." The noblewoman caught up to Morrigan, smile ever so smug. The witch didn't reply, save for a haughty tilt of chin that couldn't quite hide her smirk.
"Shame, was that all of them?" Isabela pulled her dagger back out of the last mercenary, looking over the collapsed mass of humanity that littered the docks. No answer met her beyond the suffering groans of the living that wished they weren't so lucky.
"Sorry, 'Bela. Want me to shake one of them and pretend it's alive like I do with my hound?" Hawke offered, laughing at the pirate's pout.
"Would that be with a toy or an actual corpse?" The Inquisitor stepped over various bodies as she approached the blood spattered friends. The Champion's smile spread wider when she turned and spotted Trevelyan.
"What can I say? I spoil him." Hawke playfully dodged the question with a helpless shrug.
Before Eve could say more a blur of blonde shot past at eye level. Sera darted across the pier and swung Merrill off her feet. She spun the mage around, forgetting how slippery the docks were. The archer lost her balance and they both tumbled over in a tangle, laughing without trying to get up.
"You come all this way to just to see me, then?" Sera got the upper hand, delighting in her triumph.
"No. I came to see the Inquisition. I thought they might give me a lift to Skyhold so that- Oh," Merrill's stream of consciousness finally caught up to the actual answer, "Yes, I did actually."
"'S what I thought." The blonde grinned before using her lips to express herself less verbally. Sera never did anything halfway so when she kissed Merrill she poured herself into it, wordlessly conveying all her pleasure at the reunion. The brunette's trapped moan promised that she abandoned herself just as easily.
"They do know what they're lying in, don't they?" Hawke's brow twisted, amused but revolted all at once.
"She's a blood mage, sweets. It probably adds an extra layer of kink." Isabela wrapped an arm around the Champion's shoulders to draw her attention away.
"Worried about us, Your Inquisitorship?" Varric grinned, hoisting his crossbow onto his shoulder like a primitive man carrying a conquered bride. It was an oddly ironic gesture, seeing as everyone knew all the power in the relationship belonged to Bianca. She was inanimate yet she literally called the shots.
"I couldn't pass up a chance to watch all of you in action," Eve gestured to the widespread destruction and smoldering ruins, "Though I think this might have been a rather tame exhibition."
"Not really. We only do worse when there's a nutter mage bent on revolt hanging about." Isabela was carefully inspecting each of her blades, polishing away blood and checking for nicks.
"I suppose Val Royeaux should be grateful that the two mages with you today are more stable." Trevelyan would never dare apply the word 'sane' to either woman. A light yelp and interrupted giggle announced that Merrill had reversed positions with Sera.
"Relatively, anyway," Hawke turned to check on Morrigan and suddenly her eyes were bright as cut diamond, "Isabela, I won!"
"Bollocks! You sure?" the pirate appeared at Hawke's side. The Champion pointed to Morrigan, who happened to be standing next to Lady de Vici and inspecting two thin slices on her cheek. A panicked civilian got lucky twice – first when the edge of his daggers accidentally caught the assassin's face and then for a second time when she didn't slit his throat on the spot.
"Scratched, just like I said. That'll be four sovereigns. We'll worry about the rest tonight." Hawke smugly held out one hand for payment.
"No. No bloody way. Those are blade marks, not nail cuts." Isabela folded her arms and set her jaw with an iron will that promised they'd be fighting this until the Maker returned to Black City.
"I never said the scratches had to be from Morrigan. I only said they'd be there." The Champion gloated in her victory. Winning by a technicality was still winning, after all.
"Not a chance, sweets. The bet was that the ice bitch would be a rough lover. No proof, no win." The Captain was pointedly ignoring the indignant glowering of both apostate and assassin, each promising death in its own unique way.
"Maker's breath! Don't you two have enough going on in your own private life?" Aveline was sick of this conversation and the mental images it involved "Why must you insist on involving others?"
"Cause there's always room for more, Big Girl," Isabela winked to the guardswoman before turning back to Hawke, "There's no way I admit you've won. Not unless the Crow strips down and her back looks like she went three rounds with a wyvern."
"Unholy mother of demons!" Lady de Vici's patience finally broke.
The Crow strode over to the arguing group and yanked up her sleeve. For a split second everyone thought she might reveal marks, livid red confessions of intimacy that would settle any dispute. But the tan skin was smooth and unmarred. The audience barely had time to absorb that revelation before Ravenel grabbed the witch's hand. The apostate reflexively tried to pull away but it was no use, in less than a second the assassin had dragged Morrigan's nails up the vulnerable flesh of her wrist, four angry welts rising and then trickling blood.
"Hawke wins the bet," Ravenel commanded, firm glare darting between the two rogues, "Now, if you're quite done being utterly juvenile?"
The assassin spun on her heel and strode away on the docks, leaving her shell-shocked audience in silence. There's a story there. The Inquisitor would never dare to put a word to Morrigan's thoughts or feelings; she was far too private and confusing a woman for simple explanations. Still, there was something undeniably curious about the way the apostate levelled a final biting glare at the two betting rogues before turning to wordlessly follow de Vici. Watching them walk away - rigidly maintaining personal space but only its very edge – Trevelyan felt an inkling of recognition. It was the same way she and Cassandra walked together in public. Perhaps the famed Witch of the Wilds was even more complicated than she'd thought?
The contemplative stillness was broken by two sudden shrieks and a loud splash. Sera and Merrill had just rolled off the dock.
Sorry this update took longer than usual. I'm actually out of town and trying to write in between a number of other activities. If posting is slow, please be patient with me. But if my characterizations/voices/plot start getting fuddled or confused please let me know. Maintaining focus with all this other stuff going on is proving challenging. So please, review and keep me in line!
