Chapter XXVIII – The Inquisitor

Genevieve woke with something heavy pressed against her chest. Beside her, Blackwall was snoring softly, and at the foot of the bed, a great mabari hound with a brindle coat and cropped ears was moving his legs in sleep, chasing some dreamed up rabbit. Gently, she smoothed her fingers over the figure using her chest as a pillow.

A little head peaked up at her and blue eyes found hers. She felt a sudden tug in her chest, as if someone had taken hold of her heartstrings and given them a good yank. Tears prickled in the corner of her eyes because she knew who this was.

"Son," the word tasted funny on her tongue, but she liked it. His hair was feathery, but it was black. He couldn't have been any more than three. Justin, she suddenly knew. His name is Justin, named after Divine Justinia. Thomas was the oldest at nine and was beginning to insist he was old enough for a real blade; Cassy was named for Divine Victoria and at eight, Genevieve suspected her magic would show soon; Natalia and Martin—twins, six, and both would be mages, she just knew it; Justin was three, although he would insist three-and-a-half; and then, of course, there was her little Derrek, not yet old enough to walk. All these memories came flooding back as if she was reliving them. She knew everything, although she felt like she couldn't actually remember being there.

Sweet Maker, how many babes do I have? She smoothed Justin's hair again and he crawled up to her and placed a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek.

"I had a nightmare, Mama," he whispered.

"That's no good, sweetling; you want to tell me about it?" she let him nestle into her and she held him close.

"You and Papa got into a fight," he began, his voice a scared whimper.

"Oh?"

"A big one and you got mad," it seemed he didn't want to tell her the rest, but she coaxed it out of him with a few soft words. "…and you got so mad that you burned him up and when Uncle Cullen tried to stop you, you burned him up too."

It was disturbing to say the least. She expected his nightmare might have some imagined monster under his bed that she would have to chase out and prove to him it was his imagination. But this?

"I would never do that," she told him. "Papa and I love each other,"

"Never ever?"

"Never ever," she smiled and kissed his forehead. "Now, why don't you wake up Papa and we can go down for breakfast?"

Justin needed little encouragement; he jumped over to Blackwall's side of the bed and started shaking him and yelling in his ear. There was a lot of groaning and irritated mumbling as Genevieve got up and padded over to the crib where baby Derrek slept. The baby cooed and reached up with a tiny hand.

Genevieve met his hand with a finger. He clutched her finger with a baby's strength; she knew deep in her heart that this one was going to take after his Da and his namesake. He might even be Commander of the Inquisition or a Seeker of Truth, maybe a chevalier in service to the Empire. It didn't matter, he was destined for knighthood and the thought made her swell with a mother's pride.

Although, right now, he was a babe and he looked hungry. She'd nursed five other children and she knew that eager look. Gently, she lifted him out of the crib and cradled him in her arms. Blackwall had finally sat up and Justin was lying on top of the hound, playfully tugging the dog's ears.

"Justin, Grunt's a dog not a horse," Blackwall grumbled, stood up and pulled the boy off the dog. "Go on down to the kitchens, we've a busy day to day."

Genevieve smiled. Blackwall had aged with dignity. His beard and hair were slightly peppered with gray, but the line of worry around his eyes had changed to laugh lines and he'd taken on a little weight, the kind that came with good harvests and mild winters. The kind that proved a time of peace. He was as handsome as they day she'd first met him.

"Good morning, little bird," it warmed her to know that she was still his little bird, even though they were getting on in years. She sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs by the fireplace, Derrek cooed eagerly as she bared a breast for him to nurse.

Blackwall smiled and went to kiss the top of her head. "How're you feeling?" he asked and started getting dressed for the day.

"Alright," she answered.

"I know you took a potion, and you'd think after six I'd get used to it, but I hate it when you feel sick."

She wasn't very sure what he was taking about, until it hit her like a ton of bricks. For half a moment she had completely forgotten. I'm pregnant. She laughed and Blackwall fixed her with a curious look. "Oh Blackwall," she chuckled. "I seem to have lapses in memory—it's like my head is filled with air,"

"Blackwall?" he smiled awkwardly. "You haven't called me that in years."

"I haven't?"

This time he laughed. "I see what you mean, forgetful indeed." Dressed in clean clothes, Blackwall—Thom—Genevieve reminded herself, kissed her again, kissed their youngest son, and pressed a kiss to his fingers before placing his hand on her belly. "I'll send someone up to help with Derrek,"

"Thank you; be down in a bit,"

Thom left, the hound followed after him, and she relished the morning silence. Her room looked much the same as it had all those years ago, although she had moved the glass jars of herbs higher up on the bookshelf and had moved all the papers that usually covered her desk to a place where grasping children's fingers couldn't get them. There were toys in the corner too, hand carved griffons and dragons, little wooden Inquisition soldiers, and a rocking dracolisk that looked suspiciously like Fiend. It was Thom's work; he was always making new toys for their children.

Derrek quit suckling, Genevieve covered herself and patting her baby's back until he left out a little burp. Still cradling him, she stepped out on the balcony and felt the chill of cool air. Winter was on its way, and although she liked the chill wind, she closed the door back up and bundled Derrek closer.

An elven and human servant came in a few minutes later, the elf happily took Derrek and sang to him as she changed his nappy and dressed him. The other servant, Mary, Genevieve recalled her name, helped her dress. It was a fine blue dress trimmed in eggshell white lace and with a cape lined in fennec fur.

"Shall I ensure the children wash and dress, your Worship?" Robyn—the elf, Genevieve remembered—asked. Derrek was settled comfortably in her arms, his dressing gown was sown with nug skin to keep him warm. "The Divine will be here within the hour,"

The Divine, Maker's breath how could I have forgotten? "Yes, of course; make sure Thomas cleans behind his ears." He was at that stage where he insisted that knights didn't wash and cleanliness was for ladies and not warriors. Genevieve begged to differ; she would not present her unclean brood to the Divine. "And if he gives you trouble, bring him right to me,"

"Yes, your Worship." The elf left them.

"I'm not going to fit in this one soon," Genevieve commented as Mary tightened the laces.

"Not with another wee one on the way," Mary chuckled and Genevieve touched her stomach, she wasn't showing a bump, but she knew the tightness in her dress wasn't from too many sweets. "Lady Montiylet will want to speak to you, your Worship—about the Divine,"

"Of course," Genevieve ran a brush through her hair; she still kept it short all the better to keep it out of sticky baby hands. "I'm sure everything is perfect, but she'll find something to worry about."

Mary played with Genevieve's hair for a moment then smiled. "You look beautiful, your Worship."

Genevieve smiled and Mary excused herself. When the servant left, Josephine came up. She looked pristine as ever, although her voice betrayed an inner anxiety. "The Divine is in the Valley, Inquisitor—I needed to go over a last few minute things with you."

"Go on," Genevieve smiled, she desired a cup of tea and some honeyed toast, but it seemed it would have to wait on the Divine's pleasure.

"I pushed back breakfast—instead it will be a private affair, you, the Divine, and your family, Mother Giselle," Genevieve nodded and Josephine continued. "And for the feast—I know Ser Rainer prefers roasted boar, but I changed the main entrée to beef. As you know, this is a very important day; marking the Anniversary of the Elder One's defeat I want everything to be perfect. Boar doesn't seem like the kind of thing to serve on such a momentous occasion."

Genevieve scratched her head, but nodded assumingly to Josephine. How many years had it been? She couldn't remember.

"It's alright Josephine, beef, boar, I don't care. Just make sure there's chicken, you know how picky the twins are."

"Of course,"

"And if I'm busy with the Divine, make sure someone keeps an eye on Thomas, I do not want a repeat of the Winterstide feast." He was their trouble maker, spirited, fearless, stubborn, "like his mum," Thom always insisted.

"Of course," Josephine smiled and sighed. "It only feels like it was yesterday, doesn't it? He's been dead for ten years, but sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, thinking we're still fighting."

Genevieve nodded and spoke wistfully, almost as if a cloud of fog covered the past. "And I have six children; somehow the whole bloody world has managed to not destroy itself,"

"Even so, we'll be around to fix it." Josephine flashed one of her stunning smile and winked.

"I suppose so," Genevieve smoothed the fur collar of her cape. "We should probably go down now; I need to make my inspection,"

Josephine laughed. "The last time I saw Justin he was covered in jam; Belinda is going to spoil him, he's got your sweet tooth, you know."

"Don't remind me," Genevieve laughed and they went downstairs.

She spotted her little Cassandra first. At eight, Cassy was already proving that one day she would be prettier than her mother. She had her father's eyes and her mother's hair and she carried herself like a proper noble lady. Her teacher was a Chantry Sister formerly of a noble Orlesian house, and she had been teaching young Cassandra everything it took to be a noblewoman.

Right now, Cassy was sitting at one of the long tables as a group of Orlesian ambassadors fawned over how pretty she was and what a lovely young woman she was going to grow into.

"You'll have your mother's magic, I'm sure of it," Vivienne had arrived a few days ago; and while she was a friend and certainly a powerful mage, Genevieve wasn't sure she wanted her to be courting her daughter for the Circle of Magi.

Genevieve approached and Cassy jumped up from where she was sitting. "Good morning, mother," she curtsied and all the nobles around her aww'd in utter delight. "Grand Enchanter Vivienne was telling me about the Circle of Magi—were you once an enchanter in the Circle?"

"I was," she answered and leaned down to kiss her daughter's forehead. "Good morning Vivienne,"

"Inquisitor, you're positively glowing. Do you think it'll be a boy or a girl?" Vivienne asked.

Genevieve never put much thought into the gender of her children. It wasn't like she needed an heir to inherit the position of Inquisitor, but, she already had three boys… "I wouldn't mind another girl, even things out a bit, you know?"

"Of course, darling," Vivienne smiled and the nobles around her all cooed their hopes for another adorable little Inquisition girl.

After enduring their well-wishes and pandering, Genevieve turned back to Vivienne and her daughter.

"Have you given any more thought to my proposal?" the Grand Enchanter pressed.

Genevieve frowned, she had given it thought, at least she thought she had. In any event, she didn't want to let her Cassy go just yet. As of yet there was no guarantee that she was even a mage and she did not relish the thought of sending her daughter into a nest of vipers like the Circle of Magi or the Orlesian Court. She didn't want her to be a piece in Vivienne's game.

"I still have my trepidation," she answered, then looked down at Cassy. "Go fetch your brothers, love; I would like to inspect them before the Divine arrives."

Ever eager to please, Cassy left them, giving Genevieve a chance to vent her true feelings. "I am not sure the Circle is the place for her, Vivienne,"

"I know darling, but think of the things I could teach her? She would make a fine Knight Enchanter,"

"I don't doubt your teaching, I will never doubt that. But the Inquisition still has enemies, even in Val Royeaux."

Vivienne didn't argue this, and then excused herself as Thom approached, their children with him, and Derrek cradled in his arms. "I've gathered the troops for inspection, Inquisitor," he chuckled. "Fall in," the children arranged themselves in order from oldest to youngest as they did on every feast day. The Inquisitor had to keep up appearances, even with her own family. Her children were very good at it, as if they understood the life they had been born into. That wasn't to say they didn't break the rules or get into fights or cause scenes—because they were children, and that's what children do—but they were well behaved and polite.

Thomas had met the Divine once as a babe; as a new mother, Genevieve had refused to leave her newborn even when called away on business in the capital. Divine Victoria had been more than pleased to meet him and she had blessed him with her own hands. The other children had never met the Divine in person, but knew of her. Genevieve was raising six Andrastians and the Divine had a habit of sending them toys, books, and letters. She could only imagine that they were nervous about meeting the most powerful woman in the world—one who doted on them from afar.

"Thomas took a bath, I checked." Thom laughed and ruffled his son's brown hair. "And if he's a good lad, I'm sure the Divine would like to see him train in the yard,"

Thomas' eyes brightened; he had his father's eyes and he was already getting lanky. One day he would be taller than her. "Really mum? Can I?"

Genevieve smiled. "I would never deny Her Holiness the right to see such a mighty warrior in action," this put a huge smile on his face and he swore to behave himself.

"You look very pretty today, Cassandra," Genevieve would address each child in turn, although Cass hardly needed to be reminded about her behavior. She was even wearing the dress the Divine had sent to her for her Name-Day.

No man could look at the twins and say they were not Thom Rainer's children. They had his hair and his eyes and his chin too. Natalia had a little bit of her mother's fine bone structure. But there was no denying who their father was. But they were going to have her magic—she could just tell. Unlike Cassy, who hadn't shown any apparent abilities, there were times when the two seemed to disappear into thin air or do something that didn't seem possible for six year olds. She had yet to test them, but only because she felt so certain.

"Natalia, do you think you might sing tonight before the feast?" She had been taking singing lessons with Cassandra while her brothers trained. Natalia was shy, but she agreed, and Martin asked if the Divine would want to see him practice too.

"Of course," Divine Victoria would be in Skyhold for a few weeks, there was plenty of time for them to get a chance to show off.

Now it was Justin's turn. He wore a new, green velvet doublet and as of yet it was not stained. But there was still a few minutes before the Divine arrived in the yard, that was plenty of time for someone like him to get into a mud puddle or a jam jar.

"You're to stay clean," she warned him. "I very much like this color on you, darling, and I don't want to see it ruined. And if you do get dirty, it'll be another bath for you." That was a threat that always seemed to work. Justin hated bathing more than his father once had.

Thom chuckled, "Best listen to her, Justin; your mum is serious when it comes to bathing," he leaned over and kissed her cheek and before they knew it, it was time to assemble in the yard and greet Divine Victoria.

The yard was richly decorated, Inquisition flags flapped right alongside Chantry flags. Three great big tents had been erected along with a stage for dancing. Josephine had outdone herself—tonight was going to be the largest feast Skyhold had ever seen. Below, Cullen was organizing the troops into two columns; one held the Inquisition flag aloft and the other held the Chantry sun. Polished armor glinted in the morning light, voice rose up in celebration; Genevieve took a deep breath and felt proud of the things she had accomplished.

Josephine and Leliana joined Genevieve and her family on the stone steps. "The mood is infectious," Leliana commented, and Genevieve had to agree.

Cullen came up the steps after getting his men in order. He was about to say something when the gates creaked and screeched open and the heavy fall of hoof beats fell upon the stone bridge and into the yard. Genevieve recognized Divine Victoria immediately. She wasn't dressed in the traditional gown and hat of the Divine, but it golden armor, a sword and shield strapped to her back. She expected the escort of Templars and Seekers, what she hadn't expected was Varric riding beside her like a guest of honor.

A hushed silence came over the yard as Genevieve went forward, took up the hem of her skirt and bowed, Thom and her children followed suit, and the Divine dismounted. It didn't take very long for Cassandra's harsh demeanor to change, she smiled and spread her arms as wide as her armor would allow.

"Herald of Andraste—Inquisitor—Genevieve, my friend," they embraced.

"Your Perfection," Genevieve bowed again and kissed the Divine's hand. "May I present my children—Thomas, Cassandra, the twins Natalia and Martin, Justin, and baby Derrek,"

The Divine inspected them in turn. Thomas kissed her hand when she had offered it for a shake, Genevieve couldn't help but smile. Cassy curtsied—twice, eliciting a laugh from Victoria. "You look like your mother," she smiled. The Divine went down the line, meeting each of Genevieve's children in turn, and then greeting Thom and the advisors.

Varric laughed as he came up the steps. "Just look at them all; and you didn't name a single one after me,"

"Dorian said the very same thing the last time he visited." Genevieve chuckled, and vaguely recalled seeing Dorian, although it was a long, long time ago; "Honestly, I'm not sure the world is ready for another Dorian or Varric—one of each will suffice." It was so easy to fall back into their old ways. Varric was easy to joke with and he always would be.

With the salutation ceremony over, they retired to the keep, where a private breakfast was being served. The Divine took a few minutes to get out of her armor and into a tunic—she still hadn't put on her hat or gown, she typically saved that for important Chantry business. It was a lovely, if not wild breakfast. They had a lot to catch up on and Cassandra (as she insisted in private) wanted a chance to get to know each child in turn.

As noon came around, Genevieve excused herself; "Some of us need a nap," she insisted. Although Justin was a toddler and he had been given permission to stay up for the feast, that didn't exclude him from a nap. And Derrek was probably hungry too.

"Oh let me help," Cassandra smiled, and held out her arms for the baby. Genevieve couldn't deny her, although she never would have pegged the Divine as motherly. But she held Derrek carefully, as if she had been caring for children her entire lift.

Their first stop was to tuck Justin into his bed, he complained the whole way, but once his head hit his pillow he was out. Derrek, on the other hand, was hungry. He suckled peacefully while Genevieve and Cassandra chatted.

"They're beautiful, absolutely beautiful." Cassandra was saying. "There were times when I forgot what we were fighting for, times when I thought everything was lost. But now I know—we did the right thing,"

Genevieve nodded. "We did,"

"It's too bad the others can't be here to celebrate."

"They visit when they can," Genevieve smiled; although she would have been able to recall a time when anyone had visited. "So how did Varric end up in your company?"

Cassandra laughed, "He brought me a book and decided it would be best if we traveled together. It wasn't unpleasant,"

They continued chatting until Derrek had his fill. After a good burp, Genevieve put him down for a nap and ensured Robyn knew to check on him. Cassandra excused herself so that she could go freshen up. Genevieve was thankful for the downtime. With the feast would come speeches, toasting, and a long night of pandering nobles. Lady Clarice was absolutely positive that Thomas would make the perfect husband for her third-cousin's son's daughter despite the fact that Thomas was nine and the other a newborn.

While she was contemplating a nap of her own, Mary found her and told her that Ser Marbrand had been asking for her. She panicked momentarily and realized that she hadn't even noticed the guards who'd been at her side all day. It was as if she was so used to their presence that they had become background objects, hardly worthy of her attention.

"Of course," she muttered, trying to remember where Ser Marbrand was. In the end she didn't have too, she followed Mary up the stairs and to the guest quarters. Marbrand's room was warm and cozy; someone had pulled back the curtains and let the sun in.

Marbrand looked…older. Much older. His hair had gone totally grey and he'd lost most of his muscle mass. He was skinny, worryingly so. He was muttering—no singing to himself, he didn't notice her until she was sitting on the bed beside him.

A string of drool was trailing down his chin. Genevieve took a handkerchief she always kept in her pocket and dabbed the spit away with a gentle hand. He smiled when their eyes met. "Oh child, you're sunlight on a cloudy day,"

"Good day to you too, Ser," she smoothed his white hair and kissed his temple. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," he answered. Then he looked at her and frowned. "You shouldn't be out of bed, child, if the Knight-Captain catches you, it'll be the rod."

Genevieve smiled and took his hand in hers. "It's alright, I've been given special permission," that swayed his fears and he smiled again. "Are you hungry?"

He shook his head weakly. She wasn't sure he had eaten, but she wasn't going to force the issue. She would just make sure that something was sent up for him later. He needed help eating now, his hands couldn't hold steady. Even now, his hand was shaking wildly.

Gently, she smoothed her fingers over the top of his hand. His skin was papery and pale. Blue, broken, and swollen veins crisscrossed up his thin wrist. These hands had once held a mighty sword in her defense, had once held her while she screamed in grief for her brother, had soothed her when she was a frightened child…Now, she cared for him as he once had.

"Shall we read the Chant?" she asked. He was looking up at the ceiling, his attention elsewhere. Sometimes he would fall silent and look at the ceiling for hours, sometimes he would wake in the middle of the night and someone would have to get up her to calm him. The lyrium had eaten away at him, taking many of the things that had made Ser Marbrand, Ser Marbrand.

Genevieve dabbed a little more drool from the corner of his mouth, took a copy of the Chant of Light out of the bedside table drawer and read to him until night fell and it was time for the feast.

With husband and children on one side and the Divine, Chantry attendants, and her advisors on the other, Genevieve stood up, her goblet raised. The tents had been richly decorated with flowers and hanging lanterns. Her chair had been draped in Inquisition colors and the bear fur cloak Thom had given her years ago hung carefully over the arm, there in case she felt a chill.

"Another year," she started and the tent fell into a jubilant silence. "Of peace and plenty; we celebrate, but we also remember those who gave their lives so we could be here today. We salute the victorious dead and their sacrifice," there was a somber swallowing of drink and she continued. "Let us stay diligent against all threats against peace and freedom, and pray for another decade of absolute boredom!"

"Here, here!" Thom shouted and the crowd erupted into cheers and laughter only to quiet again when Genevieve asked Cassandra to say grace. The Divine gave a quick grace and then the first of many courses was brought out.

Noble guests required courses, decorum, and dinner was expected to go along at a certain pace. As always in these situations, Genevieve wished she was dinning with her soldiers, who got their meat and potatoes all at once and didn't need twelve spoons. The first course was a squash soup, a few bites and she pushed it aside in anticipation for the next course.

She spotted Cassy gently stirring her soup and staring at the orange liquid as if she expected a monster to rise from her bowl. "If you don't like it darling, you don't have to eat it," she leaned over and whispered to her.

"Thank you mother," Cassy said politely, "But Sister Fabia says a proper lady tries everything placed before her, some children don't get to eat as well as we do,"

Genevieve smiled and watched as Cassy lifted her soup spoon and finally tried the squash. She pushed it aside then, and took a sip from her goblet. Genevieve laughed and advised her daughter that she wouldn't tell Sister Fabia if she felt dubious about another course.

The night went on with music and dancing, a main course of roasted beef and a dozen desert choices. Still very much a servant of her sweet tooth, Genevieve tried every pastry they brought before her and when Justin crawled into her lap, she fed him little bits of stewed berries and let him nuzzle against her until he fell asleep. Thom offered to take him to bed, but she was feeling tired herself.

It took another twenty minutes to round up the rest of her children and usher them off to bed. Thomas insisted, through yawns, that he was old enough to stay up with his Da, but Genevieve was unmoved. To soften the blow, she gave him the very important and knightly responsibility of escorting his younger siblings to their bedrooms.

After seeing Justin to bed, Genevieve climbed up to her quarters, checked on Baby Derrek; a wet nurse had fed him while she attended the feast. He was sleeping soundly, so she climbed out of her feasting clothes and into a nightgown. The Fade swallowed her up, almost before her head hit her pillow.

Her dreams were filled with blood and pain. She could hear her friends, heard Blackwall calling her name. It was like she stood at the end of a long tunnel and he was on the other side, shouting for her attention. There was a horrible ache in her side and her head felt like it was spinning.

And it felt real. Too real. She fought to drag herself up out of the crushing pain. She was drowning in the agony, it filled her mouth and lungs and stomach. The struggle was exhausting her, pulling her back down into the bloody, painful muck.

Then suddenly, she broke free, wrapped up in silks and furs, with Thom beside her. "Are you alright?" he asked, putting his arms around her waist and pulling her close. "You were thrashing,"

She let him cradle her head against his shoulder. "A dream—nightmare."

"Well, you're here now," he whispered and it stuck her as odd, but she ignored it in favor of his gentle embrace. "No one can take you from us,"

XXXX

The morning was crisp and cool, Cassandra was eager to see Thomas and the Martin spar. Genevieve had breakfast set up in the yard; she and Cassandra sat down in foldable camp chairs and watched the two boys hack away with wooden swords on straw-filled dummies. The other children where off at their lessons; Martin and Thomas would join their siblings when they finished with practice.

"Keep that shield up, son," Thom shouted at Thomas. The boy was having trouble keeping himself balanced with a shield.

"They'll be skilled warriors one day," Cassandra commented after a time.

"They had plenty of people teaching them, Thom does most days, but Cullen has been taking more time to train them as well. And Sera always wants to teach them archery when she comes in, Red Jenny keeps her away most of the time though,"

Cassandra chuckled. "Archery is a good skill to know,"

When the boys had been worked into a sweat, Thom released them from practice and they were free to go to lessons. Cassandra complimented the boys before they went up to the keep and Thom promised to see them both up to their lessons—Thomas had a habit of skipping if someone didn't escort him.

Genevieve took the peace of quiet as a chance to show Cassandra her garden. She had been lovingly tending it for years and now it bloomed brighter and smelled more fragrant than it ever had. She grew every breed of elfroot, blood lotus, dragonthorn, dawn lotus, and every other medicinal plant—enough to keep Skyhold in healing potions and ointments for years.

After touring the garden, they retired to the chapel and prayed together the way they had many years ago. It was serene; no one dared bother the Divine and the Herald of Andraste, especially when at prayer. Well, no one but Justin, who's lessons were shorter than the rest of his siblings.

Justin wanted to show the Divine his rock collection; he picked them up wherever he went. Genevieve recalled taking him for a walk through the garden once and finding his pockets bulging and weighed down with stones. Cassandra humored him though, and oh'ed and ah'ed as he showed her his favorite rocks.

Lunch rolled around, the children, and her advisors joined them in the great hall below Josephine's office. After they ate, Cassy recited each of the Divine's in order, the Ages they had served, and if they had any great accomplishments; she ended with "Divine Victoria, Dragon Age, founder of the Inquisition and Friend to the Herald of Andraste." There was applause, Cassy curtsied and took her seat as Natalia rose to sing a song.

By the time lunch had been cleared away, Thomas was begging to take his horse for a ride. He was old enough to ride on his own, and Genevieve had gifted him a horse from the stables, a pony bred from Thom's own war horse, Warden. Thomas loved the horse, but he had asked for a dracolisk like his Mum's. Finding a female to breed Fiend had been no easy—and very expensive—task, Genevieve was confident that one day Thomas could ride his own dracolisk, but she wasn't about to let a ten year old near one.

"I'm old enough, Mama, please?" he tried again as they walked down to the stables.

Cassandra laughed; "I still don't know what your mother sees in those creatures—they've become very fashionable in Val Royeaux, no thanks to you. Every day it seems a groom or civilian gets bitten,"

Genevieve laughed; "Well, I never expected that Orlesian Nobles would fixate on that aspect of my character. I figured they would still be digesting the 'she's a mage' bit." Thomas tried again, grabbing the hem of her tunic with his fingers.

"Please, Ma?"

"Thomas, we've had this talk before; you're not old enough,"

"Did your mother ever tell you the story of how her dracolisk nearly bit off her hand?" Cassandra chuckled.

"He did not nearly take off my hand! Maker's Breath, every time someone tells that story it gets bigger and bigger—he breathed fire, he nearly ate me, he ate a stable boy…"

"They breathe fire?" Thomas asked, overly excited. His enthusiasm was a little worrisome and for a moment she contemplated going out and killing all the dragons in Thedas so that he never ever came across one.

"They do not," Genevieve muttered. She called for Thomas's horse to be saddled and he looked so disappointed that she nearly couldn't stand it. "Oh, alright, but you'll ride with me," she gave in; she always had trouble denying her children anything. The desire to give them the childhood she never had sometimes became too difficult a hurdle to jump.

"Genevieve, you know you can't ride," Thom said; she didn't remember him being with them on their way down to the stable. "Not in your condition,"

"My condition?" She asked, confused.

"The baby," he answered.

The memory felt weird when it came back to her. She barely remembered the conversation she'd had yesterday with Vivienne, who she hadn't seen all day. And the talk she'd had with Varric…about names?

"Fiend is gentle," she explained, she'd ridden pregnant before, slowly and sidesaddle.

Thom shook his head. "Genevieve, you can't…"

"Then call up a carriage, I would like to see my son ride his horse," she looked at Thomas, "I'm sorry, darling, another time though, I promise."

"You should rest," he was more insistent. "I don't want you or the baby to get hurt,"

She nearly rolled her eyes, "You're being overly cautious; I'll be fine in the carriage,"

"There will be other times," Cassandra chimed in her two cents.

"Argh, you're all insufferable." Genevieve grumbled and commanded the stable master to fetch the carriage. He hesitated and looked at Thom, so Genevieve added, with more venom then she'd intended. "I'm sorry, is he Inquisitor, or am I?" That got the man moving, and made Thom groan.

"And I'm the insufferable one?" Thom muttered.

That probably would have started a fight, if Mary hadn't appeared and informed her that Derrek was inconsolable and needed his mother. Genevieve relented, cancelled the order for the carriage, apologized to the stable master for letting her temper get the better of her, insisted that Thomas was to ride his horse, and excused herself.

XXXX

She tried not to be upset when they returned later that night; dinner was a private, quiet affair. When the children were sent to bed, the adults retired to the atrium in the library. It had been converted into a comfortable sitting room, Solas's original paintings still circled the hall though, they were too beautiful to paint over.

Varric told them a story in between sips of wine, though Genevieve didn't imbibe, she ensured her friend's glasses were filled. Vivienne took the last few swallows from a vintage bottle of merlot.

"Looks like we're out," Varric chuckled, rosy cheeked from the alcohol.

"I'll get another bottle, more red?" Genevieve asked, rising from her seat.

Thom stood up. "I'll find a servant, have them bring up another bottle,"

"It's late, dear, I'll get it. No sense in bothering anyone over it." Genevieve started for the kitchens, Thom followed after her. The kitchens were quiet, the baker was preparing for the morning, but he hardly noticed them as they made their way through the kitchen.

"Genevieve," Thom snapped as she reached the cellar door. He had grabbed her arm and stopped her from opening it.

"You're being unusually ridiculous," Genevieve growled, snatching her arm back. She couldn't remember a time he had ever grabbed her so roughly.

"The cellars are cold and filled with a half inch of water, remember the leak?" She vaguely remembered something about water seeping into the cellar. But it didn't feel right—it felt like that had been a long time ago and the problem was fixed.

In fact, she was certain. The idea that there was water in the cellar was untrue.

"Why are you lying to me?" she demanded. "There's no water in the cellar, that was years ago, when we first came here."

Thom stopped in his tracks. "I'm not lying," he insisted. Then when she reached for the door again, he grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

Nearly tripping on her own feet, Genevieve pulled her arm free of his grasp and fixed him with a glare. "Blackwall," she growled, low in her throat. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but I swear—" she paused. "We have guests, go up there and entertain them. We will talk about this later."

Then she opened the door and stepped into the dark cellar.

She summoned a wisp of light, but it barely cut through the blackness. The stairs seemed to go on for an eternity, but she finally made it to the bottom. She looked up and hoped to see the door she'd left open. There was nothing but an all-consuming darkness.

Carefully, she called another wisp and sent it shooting up into the dark; she followed it until the light winked out, the shadow swallowing it.

Genevieve didn't recall the cellar being this dark and this expansive. Still, she was determined to venture forth, no matter how terribly cold and spooky the vault was. She didn't step in any water; the ground was slick, but nothing more. Carefully, she reached out of the wall and found the stones dry. She let them guide her deeper in the chamber.

She couldn't remember the cellar being this large. There was supposed to be a torch too, but she hadn't found it. Her wisp was barely penetrating the dark so she summoned a few more, they didn't help very much.

The deeper she went in, the darker it seemed. And now she was hearing noises. The drip of water, the ruffle of fabric, the squeak of a mouse. And other things—things that lingered on the edge of hearing, sounds that could only be imagined. But Genevieve knew she wasn't imagining them, they were too real. They were the sounds that had echoed through her dreams the night before.

Her side was beginning to hurt, to burn. She pulled up the hem of her tunic and saw the wretched wound in her side.

She had been stabbed. Someone had knitted the wound with fire. Her skin was blistering red; she could feel the heat emanating from it. In the cold, it almost steamed.

Suddenly, Genevieve was smothered up in darkness. Her wisps died against her will, leaving her blinded. She could hear the sound of feet skittering against stone, heard the vicious cackle of darkspawn, heard her friends screaming her name.

"Maker, protect me," she whispered and held up her hand, summoning a burst of flame. The flamed cracked and lit up the area around her. She could see the dull, glowing eyes of darkspawn, saw that it wasn't water on the floor—it was blood.

Then it hit her—hard—so hard it nearly knocked her off her feet. This isn't real. Panicked enveloped her. Her reasonable-self tried to tell her to run forward into the dark, to stretch the demon thin and weaken it; but her fear won out and she ran for the stairs.

She rushed back the way she came, found the stairs and climbed them two at a time. The door had been closed behind her, and the jam stuck, forcing her to slam her shoulder against it. Finally, it gave way and she fell to the kitchen floor.

Thom stood, looking down at her. He did not offer help, nor show concern. "I told you not to go down there," he said, Genevieve forced herself onto her feet and felt a fool for not following her own advice.

"You're not Blackwall—or Thom, or whoever," she growled.

"Why didn't you listen?" He demanded. "Why didn't you listen to me?"

Things were slowly coming into focus and she was starting to remember things. Bits and pieces, the fear demon…the desire demon… the faith spirit. Andraste forgive me, I fell right into it. Quickly, Genevieve pushed past Thom and made for the main hall. She had to find the source of these illusions, she needed to stretch the beast thin and force its hand.

It was as if the tone of the world had changed. Her friends, servants, soldiers, and even her own children were gathering in the hall, they watched her as she passed. It was eerily quiet, disturbingly so. Their eyes were blank and no one spoke a word.

As she passed by her children, they all looked up at her, their eyes shinny with tears in one last ditch effort to stop her. But she had to remind herself that they weren't real. None of this was real. She looked away and made to move past them. But Justin stepped in front of her, tears in his eyes.

"Mama," the boy whispered and reached up with a small hand.

She didn't meet his hand. Instead, fighting tears, she stepped away from him and continued down the hall. Not real, not real, he is not real.

"Mama,"

"Stop, you are not real." She muttered, she reached the door, grabbed the ornate handle.

"So you would abandon us? Abandon your children? Your husband? Your friends?" she did not look at Blackwall, she couldn't. Thinking about him, their children—this life—it was too much. She wanted it. She wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything before. It was sweet and soft and peaceful. There was no more fighting, no more darkspawn, just peace and quiet and the life she had only ever dreamed about.

"I can't abandon what never was," she sighed and forced open the door.

There was nothing outside but raw, green Fade. Genevieve closed the door and turned around. This was a demon's lair, not the well-meaning Faith Spirit's gift.

"There never was a Faith Spirit, was there?" she asked and received no answer. "And I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker." Still no answer. "Just come out, I know what you are, demon,"

"Demon?" Blackwall stepped forward. "No need for such a negative term," his voice was slow and slurred, even and calm. He droned, like he was trying to put her to sleep. "I made this place just for you, filled it with everything you could want, why would you want to leave?"

"You're a sloth demon," Genevieve could feel a weakness in her limbs, the demon had been rooting around in her head for Maker knew how long, it knew all the tricks and the best way to make her complacent. She had to fight it.

She yawned, Blackwall smiled. "You're tired, little bird, let's go upstairs and get some rest and we can pretend this never happened,"

"No." She barked. "Show me what you really look like!"

"Now, now, no need for yelling,"

"I see through your tricks, demon, release me or fight me," Genevieve had to stand firm; she needed to get out of this fever dream.

Blackwall laughed and the rest of the hall followed after. The hall changed, now it was surreal, the hall elongated, the windows lengthened, the laughter warped into a confusing mess of noise. Genevieve slammed her hands against her ears and tried to block it out, but it was in her bones, her skull. The demon had had hold of her from the beginning; it had had plenty of time to figure her out, to learn her weaknesses and her strengths.

But it must be stretched thin; keeping up an illusion like this must have drained it. She would have to move quickly. The demon's influence was strong around her; it was making her sleepy, or at least making her feel like she was. It took every remaining ounce of strength she had to strike.

The demon didn't seem to expect her attack, it roared as fire burst around him. His roar morphed into screams; most of the illusions disappeared—Cassandra, Varric, Vivienne, her advisors and soldiers and servants. She struck Blackwall's look alike again, this time with lightning. She was going to finish this, going to destroy the demon and get out of this nightmare.

Then she was blindsided by Cassy. The girl hit her so hard, Genevieve fell to the ground, the other children followed. They grabbed at her clothes, clawed at her eyes, ripped her hair up in clumps.

It was too much.

It's the demon, it's the demon, they are not real, she tried to tell herself. But when she reached out to strike she saw Justin's blue eyes full of tears. He had told her his dream—how she set them on fire. It was coming true.

But it wasn't real! The rational side of herself screamed. None of this is real!

Genevieve made herself fling up a barrier. The children slammed their fists against the barrier, their voice fluctuating in a horrid wail. Blackwall was standing off to the side, the demon hadn't changed back into its true form. It meant to torment her, make her kill them all if she wanted to get out.

"I can put it back," the demon was saying. "I can make it like this never happened. Rest, little bird, rest."

Forcing herself onto her feet, Genevieve watched as he begged her to stop…and it was tempting, so very tempting. But his promises were through grit teeth and his skin was falling off in melted, gory masses. He was no Blackwall—it wasn't even Thom Rainer—and these children were illusions meant to hurt her.

This was a torture chamber, and she was thinking about staying.

I am not the kind of person who gets to have those things she's dream of, finally, truly admitting it, hurt. It hurt more than the time she'd broken her hand in the Emerald Graves, more than the injuries she'd earned fighting Corypheus… but it was enough to remind her that she was in the Waking World, and there were people there who needed her.

This time, she attacked and she didn't let up. The sloth demon roared in anger now and screamed something about her being more trouble than she was worth.

"Damn right," Genevieve growled and flung up a barrage of energy bolts. The demon ran at her, he was losing strength and couldn't keep up his illusions. The children now looked like warped monsters with claws and jagged teeth.

The Blackwall look-alike tackled her, knocking the wind out of her and driving her head against the hard stone. The children were disappearing one by one, as the demon reclaimed his power. Genevieve called for a rock, it flung across the room and threw the demon off her, bits of stone and blood and bone flew into the air.

Burn you son of a bitch, Genevieve laid down a fire trap, then struck with lighting. The demon got its feet back and growled at her like some wild beast. It charged again, setting off the fire traps. The fire burst around them, the demon screamed in agony, fell to the ground, giving Genevieve the chance to finish it.

But the demon rose to its feet, skin melted, clothes burned to cinders. "You bitch!" it roared and charged again. "I'll just kill you and take your corpse!"

Genevieve dodged, but the demon grabbed her arm and flung her back. She hit the ground, cracking her skull against the stone. Then the demon kicked her, screaming expletives. He picked her up by the collar of her shirt and flung her against the wall.

"The transition could have been peaceful, you would never have known. I've been digging around in your subconscious for days now…I was so close." Its voice was a slow, languid hiss, the mark of a sloth demon. "But now, you'll suffer, yes. Suffer."

She was dizzy and tired, but she could sense the demon drawing closer. She raised her hand and called forth a bolt of lightning. She poured every last ounce of power in the attack, let it take the last store of mana she had.

I might just kill us both, she thought, as the bolt arched through the short space between them, caught the demon in the chest. The creature screamed, its illusion finally melting off. Now it stood in its true form, a floating mass of ugly grey skin with chains around its chest. "Whore!" the demon shrieked and lunged. Genevieve lashed out with her foot as it drew closer, the lightning still coursing through its body. The demon fell back, weak…loosing.

Genevieve rose to her feet as quickly as she could and struck the final blow. It was over before she even knew it.

Breathing heavily, she listened for a moment before making any move. There were snores around her. Varric and the Prince were lying nearby, sleeping. She heard the scuffle of boots against stone, a muffled cough, and the hushed voices of Lady Hawke and the Queen.

"If we don't get out of here soon," Cassandra's voice was easy to discern in the quiet. "We're going to die here,"

"We may have to come back the way we came,"

Genevieve felt tears come to her eyes when she heard his voice. She made herself get to her elbows, her bones were stiff and the movement nearly exhausted her. "Blackwall," she hissed through dried, cracked lips. And he was there before her elbows gave out in exhaustion. "I need water," she muttered next, "and food, and Maker's breath someone bring me my bag, I need something for the pain,"

Blackwall smiled and signaled Cassandra. "And you'll have it; you'll have anything you want."

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