I know a lot of people thought the last chapter was the ending but I couldn't resist following Bioware's own pattern and closing the story out with a party.
Act IX: iv
The Sunburst Throne was surprisingly plush. The velvet cushion was re-stuffed regularly so that no Divine backside was ever sore. A necessity, given that the Most Holy spent so much of her life on that throne that each could've worn a groove into stone. Leliana had thought the seat of her station would feel more . . . severe; cramped at the very least, if not hard and cold. Those were the hallmarks of power, were they not? She had often watched the Inquisitor slouch in her Judgement Seat, trying to give the illusion of ease when it was all too clear that she was discomfited by the chair and its burdens alike. She struggled with that responsibility but carried it out nonetheless, with mercy and cunning but mostly humor. It inspired even greater loyalty and affection in her followers. Great power should not rest too comfortably.
Divine Victoria settled into the throne, contemplating the paradox of the most powerful seat in all southern Thedas being as soft and yielding as fine feathers. Human authority was strict and unforgiving, perhaps the Sunburst Throne needed to remind its occupant that the Maker's way was better.
"You're going to be sitting in that thing for the rest of your life, don't you want to stretch your legs a bit first?" The Warden leaned against one side of the massive seat, sweeping her eyes across the audience chamber.
"In this room I must always be the Divine, even when it is only filled with friends." Leliana gave a simple shake of her head, the corner of her mouth lifted in pleasure despite resignation.
All of Val Royeaux was bathed in light and noise this night. Loud revelries, brewing riots, religious arguments and political panic spread from one edge of the capital to the other; only the Grand Cathedral nestled in the middle in utter calm. Amidst all the chaos and festivity that accompanied any major shift in the Game, no one would be able to hear the sounds of laughter and life coming from the Divine's throne room.
They'd cleared all the benches. From here on anyone wishing to stand before the Divine would in fact, have to stand. Tables along the far wall were groaning with Orlesian dainties and drinks, a banquet of pastries, canapes and sweets to rival what had been offered the nobles on the Eve of the Divine. Except tonight no one was worried about appearances, propriety or even table manners. Leliana allowed herself a laughing sigh as she spotted shoes poking out from underneath one of the tablecloths. Rather, one pair of shoes and ten petite, curling toes. Sera and Merrill undoubtedly, enjoying the makeshift privacy along with a few bottles of wine and the missing tray of chocolates. She'd specifically told the serving staff not to use any of the good silver tonight.
This room had probably never hosted such a bizarre and irreverent collection of guests yet the new Divine couldn't help but feel it was right. The Chantry was not meant to be the domain of pious spinsters and wealthy aristocrats alone. Andraste proclaimed the need for righteousness, faith and repentance but she also preached a message of redemption, love and tolerance (except for Tevinter magisters, of course). Surely, had the Prophet triumphed in Minrathous rather than being betrayed, she would have thrown a celebration such as this for all the allies that stood at her side. Perhaps with less frequent bouts of stifled blasphemy.
A faint sizzling noise caught her attention and Leliana spotted Elani and Rocky in a corner, arguing over whose fault it was that one of the fireworks nearly hit the southern tower. Apparently the only way to settle the matter was with a miniature reenactment of their pyrotechnics and Aveline barely had time to grab the flare from Rocky and throw it out a window before it exploded. The bright blue and purple of Qunari powder combined with Rocky's own special ingredients created a cornea-searing bloom of color before vanishing once more. The two explosive enthusiasts might have protested but a glare from the guard captain sent them back to their own arguments. At least with each other there was a chance of winning.
Movement caught Leliana's eye and wry humor filled her smile. She knew that sooner or later Josephine would come.
"You know you do not have to remain by my side, yes? Particularly not when I am about to be chastised." The Divine shifted Solona's focus to the approaching ambassador.
"There's nowhere I'd rather be," the Warden refused escape, then smiled, "Beside, I want to see this. I imagine it's rather like getting mauled by an adorable puppy."
"Fereldans. Always with dogs on the mind." Leliana laughed but swiftly stilled her expression as Josephine reached them. Her ubiquitous note board was absent for a change but her eyes promised she'd been deluged in paperwork the moment the day's ceremony ended.
"You took an incredible risk today, Leliana." The ambassador scolded, concern softening the complaint.
"Andrasteans need signs, Josie. What the people saw today will make its way across Thedas much faster than any complaint over reforms." The Divine knew the power of stories. Rumor and gossip turned facts into mysteries, mortals into legends. Like Varric, she understood that the only way to make people believe was to let them fill in the gaps for themselves. Too many details spoil the wonder.
"Fast indeed!" Josephine's chuckle could almost have been sarcastic if she were not so polite, "Half of Orlais has already heard that you summoned a demon to the Grand Cathedral."
"The truth will catch up." Leliana was unperturbed. In a lifetime of deceptions and secrets she had learned that truth could never be buried. It turned up in forgotten documents, lost witnesses, deathbed confessions, vindictive enemies; nothing stayed hidden forever and the more impossible the truth, the faster it spread.
"Which is what? Was it all a trick? Was it a spirit, an illusion, Andraste herself? There will be many questions." The Antivan's brow was slightly lined, already phrasing official statements in her mind.
"It wasn't a trick or a demon. Beyond that, it doesn't matter. People were moved today, they believe as never before. They have hope again, yes? That is what will spread." Leliana's gaze wandered to the lights of the city below.
"It has been said the Chantry would need a miracle to survive," Josephine lured her friend's eyes back to her own playful smile, "I think it would be safe to say you have provided one."
King Alistair rested on the balustrade of the balcony outside the audience chamber. The wine was good and the night air cooled its heat in his blood. He was glad Anora chose not to attend this evening, despite Solona's insistent invitation. The Queen never stopped being queen and would've been horribly out of place amongst this crowd. Not to mention she would've insisted he wear his formal attire. Two weeks in all those layers of frilly brocade, just so that Ferelden would look presentable to Orlais. It felt good to be back in breeches and leathers. With Leliana in Chantry garb, Morrigan sporting her familiar scant clothing, Isabela's unchanged display of cleavage and Zevran's eternally charming smile, it was easy to feel time slipping between his fingers. Of course, Solona was the same no matter what she wore. The woman had changed robes for a uniform, uniform for armor and now armor for freedom. Standing so steadfast at Leliana's side, the Hero had never looked more at peace. Maker knew she deserved it.
"Your Majesty." Commander Rutherford nodded greeting as he came onto the balcony.
"Commander." Alistair returned, the formal title uncomfortable on such a casual night. Cullen was silent for a time, cooling his own head from the noise and wine. When he did turn his attention to the Fereldan royal he immediately noticed where Alistair's gaze had been.
"I've been wondering," the blonde allowed his own eyes to fall on the Hero, "Does the taint make wardens prettier with age?"
Clearly the man had drunk enough to be fully relaxed, even in the presence of his king. Fortunately, said king was also relaxed enough to chuckle at the question. Shared history had a way of breaking down pretension.
"That depends, Commander, how attractive do you find me right now?" Alistair grinned when the former Templar laughed. The humor faded into a sigh and both men inevitably found their attention drawn back to the beautiful woman at the side of the Divine.
"She doesn't age at all. She acquires battle scars while I only seem to be getting wrinkles of late." Cullen's furrowed brow intensified the lines he spoke of. Waging war was far harder when he had to be on the front lines and behind a desk.
"She carries herself differently these days," Alistair added his own observation, "She used to be so driven, as if she had to do everything everyone asked just to live up to the titles they gave her."
"I've known other women like that." The Commander instinctively looked to Hawke, then the Inquisitor. Perhaps it was no coincidence that the Hero and Champion both chose to disappear from the world that had made so many demands of them. How long before it drove Trevelyan away as well? It was comforting that both of those heroes had eventually returned.
Solona especially was encouraging, she was calmer. She seemed to have thrown the weight of the world off her shoulders. Just as well, since it was now Leliana's turn to carry the burdens of leadership. The Warden could now give her love the support and relief she would need, just as the bard had once been safe haven for her Hero. Laughter too, as that was Solona's particular gift; demonstrated when she leaned closer to the redhead's ear and murmured some comment that made the Divine burst into a melodic sound of delight.
"How long did it take you to figure out . . .?" Cullen didn't know quite how to finish the question.
"That I never had a chance with her?" Alistair easily filled in the gap, "About the time we met Princess Stabbity over there. You?"
"I had the misfortune of interrupting her with another apprentice. The other girl was so startled she cast a grease spell under their feet and they both collapsed." Rutherford could still feel his cheeks redden at the memory.
"Oh dear. That's terrible," the King immediately sympathized, resting a hand on the man's shoulder, "I think you must start from the beginning and tell me everything."
"All I have to tell you is that young Solona said that if I stayed one second longer she was going to charge me coin. I believe once I left she used her staff to wedge the door shut." Cullen vaguely recalled one of the cooks complaining later that day about a mess in the storeroom and how swiftly he'd avoided hearing anything about honey.
"Yeees," Alistair drew out the pensive thought, "That does sound like her. She was never one to let others get in the way of what she wanted."
"Definitely a family trait," The Commander's rueful chuckle had echoes of the dozens of arguments he'd lost against Hawke during their time in Kirkwall, "But I suppose it all worked out for the best."
The second comment accompanied a smile spreading across the rugged planes of his face. Bethany was making her way towards them. The younger Hawke managed to blend much of her cousin and sister into one. After a life on the run as an apostate she was wary of the Chantry, not angry or bitter. Training with the wardens had given her some of the confidence that so permeated the Champion but without any of the brashness. Her kind nature had been chafed, given just enough callous to survive without having to surrender to apathy. Despite everything she had endured she retained the innocence of hope and it filled Cullen with terrifying wonder to know she trusted him with all that was left.
"I'm late, I apologize. I got distracted with some reports from Weisshaupt and when I realized what time it was -," Bethany frowned, ducking her head slightly, "I must look a mess."
"You're everything I could want to see." Cullen corrected her, the past few minutes' conversation lending even more sincerity to his words. Memories held little allure when the present reality offered so much more.
"Careful, talk too smooth and Hawke will think you're trying to seduce me." The mage blushed, a sweet contrast to the smile teasing on her lips.
"There could be worse ideas." The Commander wasn't particularly practiced at charm. He was trained to be simple and direct. It was his good fortune that combining those traits with genuine emotion was more than enough to delight the object of his affections. Bethany had grown up with a sister that could coax the knickers off a statue; Cullen's honesty was exactly what she needed.
"Oh yes? You must tell me some of them." The youngest Hawke took the Commander's hands, tugging lightly. They both bowed deference to the king, receiving a generous nod of approval that let them be excused.
"All worked out. Right." Alistair sighed, watching the two depart. He raised his glass in a silent toast. Solona got to be the Hero of Ferelden, he got to be king and Cullen . . . Cullen got a beautiful mage warden pulling him down for a kiss.
"Don't look now, sweets, but your sister has her tongue down Shiny's throat." Isabela chuckled as Hawke's eyes rolled heavenward. The Champion turned to spot Bethany and Cullen's fairly chaste kiss near the balcony. Watching the fumbling, shy romance between her sister and the former knight-captain always raised a volley of conflicted emotion. Her dominant instinct, trained from years of protecting her family from Templars, was to slit the man's throat and whisk Bethany away to some distant exile. Fortunately, her second reaction was almost as strong and it begged her to just take the two of them to the Rose and let them bloody well learn how to properly do what they so pathetically were attempting.
"Maker's ass, thirty years old and they both still act like virgins." Hawke sighed, wondering if she should count that as a success or failure on her part as a sister.
"They act like they're in love, Hawke. It's different." Varric corrected, observing the two with the trained eye of storyteller gathering material. Templars and mages were always great for a romance serial.
"It's boring." Isabela corrected, already tired of watching the amateurs.
"Not everyone has to be near-death experiences and orgies, Rivaini. Somebody's got to be normal." The dwarf reminded them with the grin of a man who'd made a fortune off telling tales of those exact adventures.
"Like you? Humming love songs to your crossbow in the middle of the night?" Hawke teased, whistling a few bars of the tune that always graced the air when Varric was on watch.
"I'm a romantic," The blonde easily shrugged, refusing to be embarrassed, "It keeps me out of the kind of trouble you two are always in. Speaking of – what are you doing now that the job is done?"
"Finding more trouble." The Champion immediately replied with a smirk. Her eyes darted to Isabela, silently suggesting the pirate take lead. They hadn't actually discussed any details. There was only one simple plan.
"We'll put back to sea." the sailor's rich voice caressed that fact, eyes alight with visions of far off horizons.
Hawke was very aware that she had kept Isabela on land for far too long already. She knew that if she asked the pirate to give up the sea she would, just as Isabela knew that Hawke would never ask. The Siren's Call II had arrived in port a few days before. The crew was confined on board to prevent further damage to the wrecked harbor but that wouldn't last long.
"Sure you're ready for that, Hawke? Means letting go of your sister's leash." Varric nodded once more to Bethany, the mage currently laughing as Cullen spat out a particularly disgusting piece of cheese. 'Close your eyes and open your mouth' was a very dangerous game in Orlais.
The Champion lingered on the sight of her sister's smile. It was wonderful to see her relaxed, at ease with herself and everyone around her. The pressure of her fears had finally abated and even though there were shadows in her life – the wardens, blights, the Calling – her whole face was bright. If being with a spit-shined soldier made her feel that secure, Hawke was hardly going to interfere. Outside inappropriate questions, gifts and at least one good terrifying threat about what would happen if the man ever hurt her.
"She's safe and happy. That's all mother ever wanted for us." Hawke felt Isabela's hand squeeze her own, a reflex that always accompanied mention of Leandra.
It had taken years to recover from the trauma of her mother's gruesome death. Longer still to make peace with what had been a tumultuous and demanding relationship while she was alive. Occasionally, she and Bethany would sit and remember as much as they could. The feel of her hair when they played with it as children, the tone of her laugh, the smell of those awful raisin cakes she insisted were good for them, the sheer power of her tongue if anyone dared insult her family. They tried to focus on only the good; to block out the memories of her tears when father died, or the blame and anger that swelled up on the edge of her grief and always lashed in the wrong direction. Most of all, they tried to forget her fear. So long as they remembered her happy, they could keep their own pain at bay.
"It's good she'll still be with family. I don't see anybody hurting Sunshine with your cousin watching her back." Varric's voice was gentler as he waited for Hawke to emerge from the silence that followed thoughts of her mother.
"She'll utterly corrupt the girl with romantic ideas," Isabela sighed mournfully, "It's too late for the Warden and her songbird but I'd hoped to save Bethany from such a dull fate."
"It suits her, Rivaini. Being back in the sun has probably helped but I'd bet you my granny's axe that the Hero's glow comes from being with Nightingale." The dwarf didn't bother to mention that his granny never had an axe. She preferred maces.
Hawke studied her cousin, pulling up the memory of their meetings back when the Warden was still a denizen of the Deep Roads. She definitely had color again, even a flush to her cheeks occasionally when the Divine's eyes communicated some secret message. The woman she'd met years before had been gaunt, like a ghost of herself, walking the world to complete a mission so that she could achieve peace. She must have succeeded. Being with Leliana again had filled in the cracks and holes of her soul and made her complete. She looked softer.
"I wonder just how much she's changed?" Isabela muttered thoughtfully, eyes scrutinizing the woman even more carefully than Hawke. She could do that of course, having seen the woman naked.
"More than you're going to find out," The Champion snapped her fingers in front of her lover's face, luring her attention back, "Don't pout, it makes you irresistible and there are far too many potential victims in this room."
"Come now, sweet thing," Isabela slid her hand over Hawke's hip, pulling her closer, "All these delectable choices. Surely I could lure one or two to join us."
"The bed only holds so many, 'Bela," The Champion shook her head firmly before leaning down to offer a raw whisper in the pirate's ear, "And I already invited Cuddles and Zevran for some fun."
"You darling!" The Rivaini sailor let out throaty laugh of delight, throwing her arms around her lover's neck, "What did I do to deserve you?"
"Something very, very, very bad." Hawke grinned, letting herself be drawn down to a kiss, appetite and affection wrestling for dominance in their lips. A few whistles, cat calls and compliments from around the room promised that their audience appreciated the display. Feeling the demand of Isabela's mouth, intoxicating caresses alternated with plunder, Hawke was glad her sister would never know what she was missing.
The Inquisitor had grown used to the eccentricities of her allies. She no longer was flustered by Isabela's brazen flirtations, irritated by Vivienne's arrogance, deceived by Varric's stories or confused by Sera's mood swings. At times she still found herself worried by Blackwall's pensive silences or Cassandra's temper (when there was no obvious cause) and she'd learned to not go anywhere near Iron Bull's quarters unless she knew precisely where Dorian was.
The only friend that continually left her bewildered was Cole. If she tried to think too hard about why he did anything her mind would twist into a knot and he'd inevitably show up as though she'd been screaming at the top of her lungs. The turnips and plums and daggers all made sense in their own way but a hundred other odd events could always be traced back to the spirit-turned-flesh's compulsions. Right now, though she was doing her best to ignore it, she was fully aware that he was hiding behind her.
"I believe your whore friend is trying to set a new record for blasphemies." Cassandra's mouth was a thin line of distaste, turning away from the spectacle of Isabela and Hawke. Just in time too, as she missed the sailor's hand groping Champion ass. That had to have made Isabela's top ten list of offensive things to do in her life. #5: fondle my girlfriend in the Maker's house with the Divine watching.
"Since when is she my friend? She's an asset to the Inquisition." Trevelyan defended both herself and, by extension, the pirate. It was harder to maintain a sincerely wounded expression when the Rivaini's moan reached them across the hall. Bloody woman just loved putting on a show. It was all Eve could do not to crack a smile.
"Her assets are hardly the point of contention." The Seeker's frown would have terrified enemies and poured dread even into the hearts of friends. The Inquisitor, however, saw the twitch of muscle in her cheek, the part of her fighting not to smirk and betray her sarcasm. Pure of heart and spirit she might be, but Cassandra had learned the subtle repartee of innuendo and Eve was tempted to drag the woman into a kiss of her own just to reward that stunning riposte. Barbed jokes about Isabela's cleavage! Trevelyan didn't think she could love the woman more.
A few months ago the Seeker would have violently ripped the two women apart, incurring the Champion's wrath and turning the holy room into a battlefield. Learning the nature and intensity of their relationship had mellowed that particular instinct. Respect for Hawke and even a grudging acknowledgment of Isabela's strengths had made her more tolerant. Instead of walking over and thumping both of them on the head, she simply looked to Aveline and smiled when the guard captain gave a small nod. The redheaded Fereldan was far better at subduing the two rogues and seldom suffered any bodily harm. Hurting her would be like trying to chip iron.
"Flaming balls!" Isabela cursed, fingers brushing her lower lip and coming away with blood after Aveline had yanked Hawke so sharply away.
"You've had worse, slattern." The guard captain teased, utterly unfazed by the pirate's blasphemy and Hawke's indignant scowl.
"I wouldn't know, Big Girl, I haven't had you yet." Isabela shot back, smirk as indomitable as ever.
"If you two can't control yourselves then I'll have you escorted to your chambers or a cell, whichever you prefer." Aveline ignored the sultry suggestion, focusing her attention on Hawke since it was only the Champion that could make Isabela behave. About 75% of the time.
"Hmm, the cells of the Grand Cathedral?" The pirate contemplated the choice, "Are there chantry robes and some whips? Ooh, a rack maybe."
"Hawke, get her out of here before the Maker returns just to punish you." Aveline sighed, the fondness in her voice reaching the edges of its patience.
"He wasn't invited to the cells." The Champion shook her head firmly, wrapping an arm around Isabela's waist to lead the sailor away. Only the Rivaini's exotic laughter remained behind.
Inquisitor Trevelyan felt half her mouth pull into an ironic smile, pleased to find that of the all the constants in the universe, Isabela and Hawke were the most immutable. From the first time they met she'd known the pirate to be brazen, thieving, duplicitous, wanton and utterly, completely devoted to her Champion. Hawke was the same, but with less aggressively sexual overtones. They consumed each other completely and Eve often wondered how either survived so many years of such intensity. Fires that burned so hot were usually the first to fade.
"Lust, love, longing, leaving, let me back, let me in, love is loss is life," Cole's voice answered the unspoken thoughts, "Weather the sea, steer the storm. Anchors and anvils don't sit the same."
"Cole," Trevelyan finally turned her head enough to see the blonde, "Why have you been hiding behind me for the last half hour?"
"The Fade's touch fades, awake and aware and far away in the abyss. An inch that is indefinite, feeling the familiar but afraid. She wants to find." The boy's circular explanation sounded like pain and Eve reached out a hand to steady him. Flesh he might be but his mind remained untethered, wandering between this world and that beyond. It was difficult to hear him speak of others' suffering because he absorbed it into himself, every sadness and pain he ended became part of who he was.
"Solace asked for his help," Cassandra explained, "She felt she was out of practice breaking the Veil and sensing spirits. Though she summoned Grace without issue today, I believe she is nervous about her ability to do so regularly in the future."
"It's a heavy responsibility. To be the sole medium for a spirit that can free the Tranquil." The Inquisitor released her hold of Cole's shoulder. The mage in question was still on the far side of the room, face lined in concentration as she sought to pinpoint the concealed spirit.
"Imagine my thoughts about trying to train them into seekers. An army of mages without discipline, magic or control of their emotions." Seeker Pentaghast had a way of scowling at the ground whenever she felt the universe was laughing at her.
"An assumption based on one man, Cassandra. Pharamond was Tranquil for decades before he was freed; by a demon, not a spirit of faith. We cannot predict what will happen when Grace releases the others." Trevelyan had read the book of the Order, all the information on the Rite of Tranquility and what it entailed. She'd also read Pharamond's papers and the report Wynne sent to Divine Justinia. There were more holes than facts.
"Even if we knew it to be dangerous, we would still have to try; to balance the world once more. It is fitting that Seekers gave birth to tranquility and it is now the Tranquil that will make Seekers." Cassandra also spied Solace, the blonde chewing her lip as she scanned the room. It was only when the mage closed her eyes that the wrinkles on her brow vanished and her mouth turned into a tiny smile.
"But we should probably warn the mages at Skyhold to put their lyrium in a safe place. Just in case." Eve pointed out, watching as Solace - eyes still shut - made a direct line towards them.
"Agreed." The Seeker confirmed, also curious about the strange precision of the girl's movement. The Orlesian stopped less than a foot away from Trevelyan and when her hand shot out it was within an inch of her face. But the touch didn't grace the Inquisitor, resting instead on the brim of Cole's hat.
"Found you." Solace grinned, opening her eyes.
"Twice took time; doubting, denying, trying to turn away. You brush the Veil and shudder before it breaks." Cole reached up and grazed one finger against the hand touching him, his words a blend of sadness and scolding.
"I'll do better this time." The mage stated with absolute certainty. The spirit's only response was a small smile and then he vanished. Eve hadn't seen that trick for quite some time; she hadn't known he could still do it so well. Solace chewed her lower lip in concentration, looking around before a confident smirk spread over her face and she charged off in the direction of nothing.
"Well, that's going to be fun." The Inquisitor turned back to Cassandra, shrugging helplessly as she always did when yet another batshit crazy ally was added to their company.
"You have a very warped idea of amusement." The Seeker frowned, watching the first of the new Order pushing through unsuspecting groups of people as she engaged in a supernatural game of hide and seek.
"You would know, Cassandra." Eve dropped her eyes, savoring the long journey from the Nevarran's booted legs all the way back up to her lips.
"You do enjoy being a sore temptation, don't you, Inquisitor?" The Seeker had tracked every inch of Trevelyan's gaze and her mouth parted slightly before she regained control.
"I enjoy anything I do with you, Seeker." Eve shot the title right back. She wasn't expecting a hand to reach around her neck, drawing her close for the other warrior to whisper words for her alone.
"I enjoy everything you do. But it is the effort that makes every triumph sweeter." Cassandra's breath fell across the Inquisitor's cheek and she shuddered, clenching her fists to keep from grabbing hold of the woman's mantle.
"I suppose," Trevelyan had to lick her suddenly dry lips, "I could just throw you over my shoulder and haul you from the room. Effort enough?"
"Inviting though that is," the Seeker's laugh dismissed the very idea, "It would take far greater strength for us to remain here, polite, involved and supportive of our ally's triumph. Let us put her first. That way, when I have you alone, there will be no guilt."
"Maker, Cassandra," Eve could feel her bones getting weaker with every hot breath against her ear, "You do ask the impossible."
"Only because I know what you are capable of doing, my love." The Seeker stepped back, exultant laughter sparkling in her eyes and the turn of her lips. Whatever power it had taken for her to pull away from the tightening desire between them, it was obviously worth it in the triumph of her smile.
"That's it," Trevelyan scowled, realizing how thoroughly she'd been manipulated and how much she'd loved every second, "I'm blaspheming tonight. A lot."
"I'm counting on it." Cassandra allowed herself the wider smile that would've been pleasure on most faces but was smug victory on her. She started to turn and walk away but Eve caught her arm and pulled her back, savoring the startled breath against her face and eyes that turned almost black gazing at her. There was nothing about this woman that she didn't want to conquer and surrender to all at once, to absorb and be overwhelmed by, to be joined together and know they were one for as many minutes or hours or years as the universe would allow.
"I love you." The Inquisitor hated that the words sounded so strangled in her throat. She'd said them dozens of times to the Seeker but each time it felt like a raw confession, every repetition new in its passion. The words didn't feel like enough. Not when so many emotions and thoughts bubbled inside of her, begging to compose volumes of poetry, lyrical melodies, entire paintings of brightly colored rapture. She couldn't do any of that and the frustration gnawed at the edges of her words, pouring desperate sincerity into an otherwise simple affection.
"I know." Cassandra brushed a hand over Eve's lips, understanding the unspoken extents of feeling, the limited boundaries of words for everything that existed between them. She grazed her lips against the Inquisitor's cheek, the barest hint of contact and promise. With that assurance Trevelyan released the Seeker, certain that they would resume the conversation in more private and permissive quarters.
She'd been lucky to be born into a noble family. Lucky to survive the destruction of Haven and the chaos of the past two years. Lucky to rise above every petty political squabble, defeat enemies and assume a leadership unparalleled in Thedas. Yet nothing made her feel like she had Andraste's own blessing like the sight of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, turning briefly as she walked away, favoring her with a genuine smile.
Warden Amell made her way out of the Divine's audience chamber shortly after Leliana had retired for the night. Their allies would likely continue reveling until they passed out or dawn light seared the alcohol behind their eyes. She would've stayed with them once, delighting in the gluttonous celebrations of victory and life. It seemed less important now, commemorating every small triumph when the greater war was still at large. She envied her friends their ease and happiness because they had no idea of the climatic battles that were about to be waged all across Thedas.
As much as Leliana had planned, strategized, blackmailed and bribed, there would still be resistance to the reforms. Stubborn nobles would refuse to recognize elves; scarred farmers would never forgive the mages. The months ahead were laced with dangers like magical glyphs on a battlefield. Even with a miracle at her fingertips, Divine Victoria would have to fight for every inch of the ground she wished to restore to the Maker's original plan. Fortunately, the former bard was accustomed to such wars. She'd been seneschal for the only hope of all Thedas in the face of Corypheus and still people fought her, the Inquisition and everything they represented. Was there anything more human than resisting deliverance?
The Hero was startled from her thoughts when hands snuck out of shadow and wrapped around her, pulling her back against a hard but curvaceous form.
"You delicious slattern," Isabela purred in the mage's ear, "How far along are you?"
Solona's instinctive reaction was confusion, denial, anything other than answering the question honestly. But she knew Isabela. Their meeting might have been brief and long ago but the rogue had learned the mage incredibly well in that single night and the same was true in reverse. She could tell by the way deft fingers slid down her abdomen, caressing the flesh below her navel, Isabela already knew all the answers and was only testing to see if the famed Hero might lie.
"Ten weeks." Solona confessed, part of her mind wondering if the pirate could actually feel the tiny life this early.
"No wonder the ice bitch and kitten keep such a close eye on you. They have to make sure the magic's working. It is magic isn't it?" Isabela's hands had begun to explore with an almost clinical curiosity, "I know there's no way you'd let anyone other than the songbird touch you. But I'd love to hear the details."
"Do you have any idea how hard it is for Grey Wardens to conceive?" the Hero's words weren't as harsh as her laugh, "You could count on one hand the number of warden children born in a century."
"I'd heard that," the pirate's more teasing personality relented, coming around to face the woman straight on, "So all those potions you've been drinking, they weren't for the Calling at all, were they?"
"It started with that, a way to break the Joining. But now," Solona paused, wondering how she could explain, "Having a child might be part of the cure but that seems like the least important thing in the world anymore."
Morrigan and Bethany had pored over every inch of Fiona's records. They both got it into their heads that it was a mixture of the Architect's magic and her pregnancy that removed the taint from her blood. It took a lot of magic to let a warden conceive. Old spells, rare potions, dangerous ingredients perfectly balanced to create life where death had taken root. It had taken a lot of research and failure and even now, ten weeks along, Solona went to bed each night terrified that the dragonsong would return to her dreams, that the taint would race back through her blood and kill the fragile miracle they were trying so hard to protect. She didn't want to have a child to cure the Calling; she wanted to cure the Calling so she could have her child. The two were inextricably bound together.
"You'll make a good mother, sweet thing. Maker knows I'd recognize a bad one." Isabela could be surprisingly perceptive. It was part of what made her so bloody dangerous. The gentle assurance in her tone soothed away the worry that always gnawed into the Warden's mind when she thought about the perils that lay ahead. The pirate had obviously gotten much better with emotions over the last decade. Her cousin's influence, no doubt. And thinking of Hawke . . .
"Did you actually leave sex just to come satisfy your suspicions?" The Hero demanded, trying to find clues in the sailor's appearance. It was impossible. Scantily clad, disheveled and decadent, Isabela always looked like she was three steps from the nearest bed.
"Do you know your cousin at all?" The Rivaini's rich voice hummed with laughter, "No, sweets. I didn't abandon Hawke to torment you. She's off getting a few things to make the evening . . . memorable."
"Isn't everything with you?" Solona knew that she and her cousin shared the same crooked smile when they were amused. It never failed to bring a glimmer of affection to Isabela's eyes.
"Flatterer. I always liked that tongue of yours. So skilled." The sailor smiled, moving in closer as if to revisit a few choice memories.
"As I recall, you liked Leliana better." The Hero chuckled, breaking the seductive air. She was used to Isabela's flirtations, though they made her a trifle uncomfortable when Hawke was around. That was when the pirate became truly wicked as she so loved tormenting them both.
"Don't be hurt, sweet thing. There's skill and then there's Maker-given gift. But since you brought up the songbird," the pirate's eyes turned mischievous, "Are you going to tell me how she's involved in this little trick or leave me to my own sordid imaginings?"
Solona's sigh was too amused to be scolding. Of course Isabela would come back to that detail. It was a question that would eventually start coming up more and more in the coming months, when loose clothing wouldn't be enough to keep secrets. She hadn't worked out precisely what to tell people when they began asking. In fact, she liked the idea of giving a different answer to every suspicious query. She could weave stories of mystery lovers, secret marriages, forbidden liaisons with powerful nobles – the more scandalous the gossip the further it spread, leaving the truth miles away.
Just now, however, just this once, she didn't want to lie.
"You can't tell anyone, Isabela, not even Hawke." The Hero took the pirate's arm, drawing her closer to speak quietly.
"She'll find out eventually, Warden. Hawke's a bloody hound when it comes to smelling secrets." The sailor objected, years of frustration confessed in the annoyance of her eyes.
"Not until she's born. Then I don't care who knows. Can you keep it to yourself that long?" Solona saw a nod and knew that if anyone could keep a secret, it was a woman like Isabela. She'd woven so many lies and mysteries into her past that no one even knew her true name.
"You already know it's a girl?" The Rivaini frowned skeptically. She'd watched the seers in her home country try to predict the genders of unborn children with everything from magical pendants to pissing on plants. They were still wrong more than 50% of the time, which was bloody ridiculous when there were only two options.
"It's definitely a girl," the mage's smile widened, enjoying the pirate's tortured curiosity, "If we're lucky she'll have red hair and a beautiful voice."
Without another word she released the pirate and resumed the walk to her room. Let Isabela make of that detail any elaborate fantasy she liked. Solona was happy to keep the truth between herself, Leliana and some very rare books. Whether she cured the Calling or not, their child would be a miracle. The one that made everything else possible, even for the Divine.
I'd love to hear reactions but please, don't put spoilers in the reviews! All that's left is the epilogue so if there are any nagging questions, this is the last chance to ask. Hope everyone's enjoyed.