A:N: This is kinda a personal quest chapter for Coline, throwing in some backstory... part two will come on Sunday. I hope it doesn't bore you all to tears, I do try to keep things interesting when I can xD.
The Lafayettes
Coline left the main hall, stiff, tried and irritated. She hated nobility; she had for a long time now. They were all the same; all selfish chattes* who wanted nothing more than to further their wealth, their position of power, the size of their land or their homes. She was sick of them all, and she was sick of always being the Warden who had to reason with them. She hated it, she hated them. These Fereldan ones were no different from Orlais; the only differences were the accents and the clothes they wore. The entire ceremony was ridiculous – Wardens, ruling an Arling! Absurde. They had more important things to be doing than shaking hands with and placating these pathetic dog lords.
She walked down the corridor, rolling her shoulders. "What a pointless waste of time," she huffed.
Nathaniel fell into step beside her, his strides long and sure. "For you, perhaps."
She frowned. "And it wasn't for you?"
"I meant for the Commander."
She glanced at him, scanning that emotionless face of his. "She means to draw out her attackers," Coline realised. He gave her a small nod. "And will you be helping with that?"
"That remains to be seen."
"It's a risky move, hosting a party, hoping they will try to kill her. There will be a lot of variables to consider," Coline mused, thinking back to another party, almost a lifetime ago. "I guess there is a queue to kill her, now. Are you planning on getting in line?" she asked loftily.
"No."
Coline snorted. "Lost all your bravado, have you, Howe?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You came here to kill her, then you just wanted to steal your stuff back, and now you are, what? Fighting at her side?" she scoffed. "It is odd, is all."
"She showed me a kindness I had not expected to receive upon coming back to Ferelden. I had nothing but a smeared name. Is it so wrong of me to accept this opportunity to try to build my family's name back up?"
"I suppose assassinating the Queen of Ferelden wouldn't really help with that."
"Not particularly."
"It was a pretty dumb idea in the first place."
Nathaniel sighed. "Words spoken by the only person present who has actually assassinated someone."
She stopped walking and folded her arms. "You don't know the circumstances, Howe," she spat.
"No. I do not." His gaze shifted to something behind her before returning to her. "Looks like you have company. She was eyeing you for much of the ceremony." He nodded and left her standing in the corridor.
"My lady," a small voice said from behind her.
Coline turned and cocked her head to the side. "Ser Tamra," she said coolly. "What is it?"
The woman looked around nervously. "I have information for you. It is regarding your step-mother's daughter." Coline swallowed, her features darkening. "She is in the city," Tamra continued in a whisper.
Coline moved closer. "Where is she staying?" she all but hissed.
"I saw her get off a boat as I was leaving to come here. I do not know where she is staying, I imagine it is in the city though. I thought it best to warn you."
"It is definitely her?"
"I would know her anywhere. She is Orlais' sweetheart," Tamra said confidently.
Coline nodded. "Thank you. Now leave."
Tamra didn't need to be told twice and skittered off down the corridor. It paid to know which nobles were worth keeping in your pocket; scoping out the nobles here had been one of the first things she did upon arriving in Ferelden.
She stormed off to her quarters, rage coiling inside of her. She slammed the door to her room and paced, her fine Orlesian boots clinking on the hard stone with each frantic step. Charmaine, she was a classically beautiful blonde, with bright blue eyes, a cute button nose and dimples in her cheeks. They called her ma jolie chérie in Orlais: my beautiful darling. Coline shuddered. She hated that spoilt little bitch. Her mother… Esme Lafayette had been no better; a well-loved woman, wealthy and beautiful, until Coline had ended her wretched life.
Coline's real mother had died when she was just a teen; her father, Claude, had remarried just two months later to Esme, which meant Coline had to live with her and Charmaine. She had been grieving, and her father had just replaced her mother – it hurt. But that did not hurt as much as the following few years of her life.
Slowly, she was excluded more and more, saw her father less and less as her step-mother and sister stole her father away from her. He tried to make time for her, but she knew he had money problems and pleasing his new wife was the only way he would be able to look after her. As a troubled teen she had not understood; she had rebelled against them all, always so angry. She didn't understand, she couldn't, she despised these intruders; they were not welcome. Her father explained time and time again that if he hadn't remarried so soon that he would have lost the house – the house Coline's real mother had designed, had spent most of her life watching come to life. But that did not make the situation any easier to bear.
Things had gotten much, much worse when she had turned sixteen. Her father had wanted to marry her off; she had refused, and her step-mother had then asked her to move out. Again, Coline had refused. Instead, she had asked for her inheritance. None came. She was refused it. And then she was kicked out. She had asked her father not to do it, but he had needed to keep Esme and Charmaine happy, which they were decidedly not while Coline was around. She could have begged, she could have gotten on her knees and pleaded, but she was a noble through and through. She would not grovel.
Coline had hated her father for a long time after that. What good was their mother's pride and joy, their family home if they were not a family anymore? She could have stayed with friends, but to let them see her out on the streets with not a penny to her name… it was unthinkable. And so she had adamantly refused to depend upon others to survive. She had decided to find her own way. But that had meant living on the streets for a time. At first she had tried to find dropped coins on the ground or garbage thrown away by nobles that she could sell. She had looked for work, asking to be paid with food if they could not afford the coin. But she had quickly learned how unforgiving Val Royeaux could be to those with no coin. She had slept on the streets, in parks when she could sneak in at night, other times in alleys or doorways.
It had been hard.
She was not certain at which point she had become desperate enough to offer her own body up for coin. But it didn't matter when she had a belly full of food and some coin in her pocket. It had been quick, the loss of her sense of superiority; starvation had a habit of doing that to you. You became desperate, willing to do anything. She was attractive, so coin came easily; it was not until one man was particularly rough with her that she decided she needed to learn how to fight.
There were enough street urchins in a city of that size to teach her some basic skills. Theft was the first skill she learned. Ironically, it had been Rafael to teach her such a thing. They had only crossed paths one or two times, and neither of them cared for the other; he had a group of people he worked with, whereas she preferred to be alone. It had been thanks to his contacts though that she was able to purchase the poison.
As much as she had hated her father, she had still loved him and she had missed him. Most of her anger had been directed at her step-mother, instead. That shrew had ruined her life. Whenever some ugly, fat old man stuffed his prick between her legs she had let that hatred wash over her – anger was her only anchor, the only thing stopping her from losing her mind, from letting everything overwhelm her. She latched onto it with a vice-like grip. Survive and hate. That is all she knew for years.
Until, one day she saw her father in the market.
He had been so shocked to see her, so relieved. His hug had been the first welcomed human contact she had experienced for so long. She sobbed into his shoulder. That time she begged, pleaded for him to take her home. But still he could not. He told her how he wanted a divorce; he was just trying to figure out a way to do that without losing the house to Esme. He had sobbed too. He looked so old, so tired; he had told her that Esme was awful to him, that Charmaine was no better, but the house was all he had left of Coline's mother, and he wouldn't, he couldn't lose that.
They had agreed to meet at the market each week. And each week he had told her the awful things Esme had done, of the endless wants and needs of her and her daughter. Each week he had looked more and more frail more and more exhausted and broken. Life on the streets was about survival; you had to take action if you wanted to live, and her father looked to be dying from the stress of it all. And so, acting is exactly what she had done.
It had not been difficult. Esme had held a party for her 'fortieth' Name Day – in reality she was fifty. Coline had slipped into her old home, knowing every low wall, every tree branch, every open window. She had stolen away into the bedrooms, dressed herself in a fancy Orlesian mask and one of Charmaine's gowns, a dark blue thing that hung off of her scrawny frame, before she had headed outside to the party.
Her father had been giving a speech, drawing everyone's eyes to him. Patience and waiting for opportunity, those things had been burned into her, and so she had waited for Esme to put her glass down. It had been a quick drop and the poison had mixed in with the deep red wine perfectly; nobody noticed, nobody said anything, not even as Esme picked the glass back up and drank. Nobody had stopped her leaving either as Esme clutched her neck, choking in agony as blood gurgled out of her mouth. In the panic, Coline had escaped easily, smiling smugly. It wasn't until the next day that she had been detained by the guard and charged with the murder of her step-mother. Her father had begged the authorities for her life, but the guards and the magistrates would not listen. Only the Wardens could save her, and they had. She had begged them, on her knees. Stroud had pitied her and had accepted, and she had promised to work harder than any other recruit, and she had. She was a damn good Warden.
She liked being a Warden, most of the time. No, she wasn't a fan of the blood or the deaths or the gore or the bad weather… but she did like the structure, the discipline, and having a purpose. She needed that, it stopped her from… panicking.
But Charmaine coming to Amaranthine meant her old life was threatening her new one. If that bitch was here, it could only be for revenge. Coline paced some more; it was times like these that she needed Tamsin. She needed to feel in control of something when everything else was falling apart. But Tamsin was gone, her anchor was gone, and now she was just drifting, clinging onto her superior's orders, focusing on tasks she could complete… She stopped pacing. She was not going to let Charmaine ruin her life further. She would take a page from the Commander's book and act.
She stalked down the stairs, deciding to try the dining hall first – a safe bet to find at least one Warden; they were always eating. And as luck would have it she found two. Lenny was sipping a cup of tea, nothing unusual there, and Nathaniel was tucking into some kind of stew, dunking in his bread occasionally.
She marched up to them both and stopped just short of the table. "I require the both of you," she said evenly, not letting them see how close she was to breaking point.
They both looked up and frowned at her. "There is something I need to take care of in the city," she explained. "I will tell you on the way."
"I-I'm expecting Olivia back t-today," Lenny said, shaking his head.
"It will be a short trip, trust me," she said sharply.
Nathaniel stood, with a huff. "I'll go get my bow."
Lenny sighed, but rose to his feet too.
…
They approached Amaranthine just as it began to spit with rain, much to Coline's annoyance; her hair always frizzed in the rain, and if she was to confront Charmaine she wanted to do it with every advantage she could get. Feeling beautiful made you more confident, something Coline sorely needed right now.
"So, you and Olivia are dating?" Nathaniel cautiously asked.
Lenny glanced over at the black haired rogue. "We're married," he quietly corrected.
"Oh… I did not know," Howe said, his attempt to hide his surprise was a total failure, even Lenny saw it.
"Well w-we are," he said as evenly as he could manage.
Howe was quiet for a minute, obviously not wanting to step on any more egg shells. "Been married long?"
"Three years," Lenny said with a slight smile.
"Congratulations," Nathaniel said genuinely. "It must be interesting with all of the darkspawn getting in the way."
Lenny nodded, as he brushed his hair back from his long face. "Something l-like that."
"She's strong, I can attest to that, got quite a shield bash on her."
"You don't need t-to compliment her. I already f-forgave you for the attack. And she will understand too."
Nathaniel gave him a half-smile. "Will the other... Rafael, was it? Be so forgiving?"
Lenny lifted his head enough to smirk at him. "You'll h-have to wait and see."
"If you boys are quite done bonding, we're at the city. Eyes open," Coline said as she walked through the city's gates.
"What are we looking for exactly?" Nathaniel asked, as they stood in the square looking around like children on Satinalia.
"Look for a gorgeous blonde haired woman with big blue eyes," Coline said as she glanced around the crowds with a sigh; there were a lot of blonde ladies.
"There's a blonde," Nathaniel supplied helpfully.
"Another over there," Lenny pointed out.
Coline glared at both of them.
"There's another," Nathaniel said with a slight smirk.
She ran a hand through her hair; this was futile.
She tried to think of where Charmaine would go, what she would do. The Chantry bell started to ring for afternoon prayers, and Coline clicked her fingers. "She was a devout Andrastian!"
"You think she came all this way to pray in Amaranthine's Chantry?" Nathaniel said incredulously.
"Got any other ideas, slick?" Coline snapped.
"None, my lady," he said, in challenge to the nickname she had used; she glared at him even as her cheeks blushed slightly. She headed through the crowds, cursing under her breath; Nathaniel was having an unusual effect on her, one she did not care to see grow.
Coline took the steps two at a time, and walked in through the Chantry doors. She scanned the backs of heads, until her eyes rested on some long soft blonde waves. The woman was knelt, praying at the front. Coline put her hood up and slid into a pew; Nathaniel and Lenny did the same.
"Is that her?" Nathaniel whispered.
"Yes," Coline uttered quietly.
"What now?"
"Now, we wait."
A/N: As I said at the top, next part will come Sunday from Lenny's POV to give him some more backstory. Then it will be back to the main crew back at the Keep next week. As always, thank you ElyssaCousland for your wonderful beta skills.
Also. Thank you so much for the reviews/faves/follows guys! Soon I will most likely be hitting 100 reviews and 6,000 views, so two milestones. *dances* I won't offer up an official gift fic (I still have two to do after all!) but if anybody has ideas - preferably involving Inquisition - that they'd like to see turned into a fic, I might just pick a fave suggestion and write a little something up... if that's something you all want, of course.
Oh yeah, and Chatte kinda means cunt, but maybe not, cause I don't speak French.
