Jealous Pride
Cole had managed to get me distracted, so that without me fully realizing it, my irritation, no, fury, with Dorian, was temporarily alleviated. It will return, I am sure, once I am faced with another display of the kind I've just seen. But for now, my mood is much improved.
There's no outward reaction from Iron Bull at my presence, even though I am aware that Leliana had specifically informed him of it. It is always calm before a storm; and I can feel he is watching me, biding his time and analyzing his course of action.
Being forced to remain on guard at all times is very exhausting. I am sure Fen is unaware what precisely he was asking of me. It is starting to take a large toll on me, when the already stressful environment suddenly turned into deadly-dangerous.
I welcome the deployment orders with relief; especially since the Chargers are to remain in Skyhold. It can't be a coincidence, Leliana is definitely intending on keeping us purposefully away from each other, as much as possible. Very wise, on her part. I am grateful for her farsightedness.
We are directed towards Wounded Coast, in Ferelden. It has already been a site to Inquisition's operations, but apparently, Venatori movements have been sighted in the area, as well as some bandits taking refuge on the cliffs. The situation needs to be reevaluated, anew, and the main force will follow in the scouts wake, with a week of delay.
In practice, it means barely two days of difference, because soldiers on foot are much slower than mounted scouts, and even with the necessity of surmising terrain, it gives us a lot of time to get the job done.
During this, first in my Inquisition career real assignment, the differences between me and scout Harding become more apparent than ever. What before had me merely gritting my teeth in annoyance, now becomes blatant disregard of her orders. She simply doesn't know how to use me properly, and by not asking about it, is wasting a damn good resource.
I'm finished with localizing the bandits in mere hours after our arrival, and with no more tasks ahead of me, aside from observing their activity - which there's little to none to speak of - I am bored out of my mind. Without remorse, I leave my partner - a younger, overly excited youngster barely out of childhood - with a firm instruction to stick to the hideout I've prepared, no matter what happens. And I go do some scouting of my own.
The winds on the Wounded Coast are harsh and unpleasant, tasting of salt and always wet. I find myself dearly missing my wonderful, double-lined coat from Antiva. Unfortunately, it is also one of the signature parts of Quicksilver's outfit, a very characteristic design; and I curse my own lack of foresight, to have a similar one prepared for Fea's needs. Less flashy, and more practical, of identical general properties.
The forest here is thin and providing little to no cover, so most of the spying on the Venatori camp has to be done under the cover of night. The last hours of daytime I spend on acquainting myself with the camp's surroundings, encountering an old Elvhen ruin within the crooks of the mountain. To my utter distaste, it seems to be a shrine in Andruil's favour. The area and conditions certainly fit her preferred, harsh hunting grounds, so it shouldn't have been a surprise, but I would have expected it to have fallen into disarray, a long time ago.
Not only it is mostly intact, but also, the briefest brush of my aura has me momentarily flipping backwards, defensively dodging energy discharge. The damn wards are still active.
On the positive side, Fen will be overjoyed. There must be something pretty powerful stuck there, if it has kept them up for this long. I know he has been looking for such little gems, leftovers of Arlathan's power, in the spare time he had from his regular duties.
Sneaking into the Venatori camp under the cover of night is a kid's play. For once, the wind is in my favour, instead of being a blasted inconvenience, because I do not have to further dampen my naturally quiet steps with magic. It is more than loud enough to cover for me.
There's nothing too unusual about this outpost, aside from the fact they seem to be guarding, badly, an entrance to the Deep Roads. I would have told them it was a sure way to attract attention, and they'd better simply disguise it with a natural landfall instead. Well, their loss is Inquisition's gain, because now, they will be aware of the danger this way brings - it being a possible enemy attack route.
In the time remaining for the Inquisition's arrival, I do some more sneaking around, while analysing my findings. At a guess, the only way for a large army to move undetected, and appear right under Inquisition's noses, ready to strike, must have been the Deep Roads. The mages and the Venatori must have been preparing for a while already; I am surprised Leliana hasn't made any preventive moves; nor realized something was amiss before the attack. Even if they were unaware of Corypheus' existence back then, it was only expected that the mages would reach to the Inquisition's opposition.
I am pretty sure scout Harding is very disapproving towards my blatant disregard of her orders. Yet, considering my own undefined standing within the organisation, on my return she merely purses her lips, before dismissing me.
I am sure it would have ended up being merely that, but then comes Fen, and upsets the uneasy peace we had between us.
It starts off innocuously enough, with Ellana Lavellan asking about the report regarding the Wounded Coast state of affairs. The answer scout Harding gives is concise, and pretty accurate - only they have missed a few things; for starters, the other scouts did not bother infiltrating the Venatori camp. I begin wondering whether I should take her to the side and inform of my own findings, when Dalish girl thanks Lace Harding for her work. But the opportunity is denied from me, when Fen inserts himself in the affair.
'A moment, if you will, Inquisitor.' All eyes turn to look at him, while he casts a speculative glance in my direction. 'Fea?'
'Yeees?' Don't do this, Fen, just don't. I do not want relationship with my superior any more screwed than it already is.
'Any additional insight?'
Damn.
I glare at him irritably, but Fen remains unabashed, raising his eyebrow to urge me on. With a defeated sigh, I come to the center of the clearing, taking a bite of the apple in my hand on the way; pretending I do not see the weighty gaze of Harding upon me.
'Firstly, the bandits are just a bunch or refugees, former farmers, driven out of their homes by the mage-templar war. So far, they haven't even attacked anyone; the weapons and armour they've got is from looting the corpses on their way. Scavengers, rather than predators; and I would bet they could be easily reasoned with.' I pause, taking another bite of the apple. Scout Leader behind my back lets out an angry hiss, but I'm done caring. The milk has already been spilled; and more, had she actually asked me about anything, I would have told her that, without her being humiliated in front of the leadership. Her loss.
'There are signs of giants, having a lair up in the mountains, so I would advise caution, and avoiding the northern part of the region, if possible. Once angered, they are, as you surely know, a pain to deal with.'
Agreeable nods surround me, even Seeker suddenly appreciative of my presence. I finish up the apple, and throw away the core, wiping my hands on the handkerchief.
'The Venatori are only patrolling the closest surroundings, sticking to their camp like a terrified rats. If you so desired, I could take out the sentries under the cover of night without anyone realizing it for a while.' I roll my eyes at the blatant disregard of security on the part of my enemies. Really, these people had something - a lot - to do with mages, coming from Tevinter. Did they expect there to be none among the Inquisition ranks, solely because the organization supported Templars? I would have loved to understand what do their leaders think; if they think anything at all.
'They are guarding entrance to the Deep Roads, and, at a guess, one of the Red Lyrium distribution routes. I was unable to take a look inside the caves, to see for myself whether there's a mine there, or whether it is merely a way they use to transport it.'
'And, lastly, but I doubt it would interest anyone but Solas… Catch.' I throw to Fen one of the stones I picked up on the steps near the Shrine, with intricate rune-work on it. 'A ruin, to the east. Careful, wards are still active, and I couldn't check it out.'
He nods, curiously examining the piece in his hands.
'We appreciate your hard work, Fea of the Wings.' Speaks up, unexpectedly, Cassandra Pentaghast, and I glance at her, surprised. Her hostility towards me has lessened significantly, faced with this proof of my competence - she clearly values able people. I feel a surge of gratitude towards Fen, and realize that once again - as always? - he was a better judge of the situation than myself, looked at deeper implications; understanding people around him more. Regardless how it puts me on the spot with Scout Lace Harding, Seeker's approval means much more than this minor inconvenience.
I really should get used to the fact that he is, and most likely always will be, wiser, of the two of us.
The look in Scout Harding's eyes promises me a painful retribution, later, but she smiles, thinly, and nods.
'Serah Fea is a talented addition to the squad.' A miracle she did not choke on the words, they sound so forced and unnatural.
I shrug neutrally, indifferent to their approval. I do not need them to tell me I am good at what I am doing; I know it.
Varric Tethras and the Inquisitor are sent to talk with the farmers-turned-almost-bandits. They look the least threatening, and the dwarf is a master at speechcraft. Of course, we lie in wait as a backup, in case the negotiations fall through; but soon, our precautions turn out to be unnecessary.
I am unaware, and uncaring, of the details behind the proposal offered to the farmers. When darkness falls, I retrace my steps back to the Venatori camp; and at the opportune moment, slit the throats of sentries with practiced certainty. When blood from their veins colours my fingers, I look at it dispassionately, and marvel at how used I've become to this. This… coldness and detachment, the more years pass for me on Thedas.
I clench my fingers into fist, decisively casting off the unnecessary thoughts. Time to get moving.
The following carnage is quick and definite; people inside caught off-guard in their sleep. I observe from the sidelines as Venatori forces are efficiently wiped out. It's not like I couldn't join in; but ever since the memorable assault on their fortress, I was reminded of my limits. Without my magic, my mangled up leg is too much of a hindrance to allow for an even fight with armored opponents. I would only get in the way; and I would absolutely hate relying on Fen to cover for my openings, again.
We spend a few more days on the Coast, keeping away from the dragon's nest and giants' lair, but otherwise, investigating every crook and stone for suspicious activity. By the end of the week, area is nearly wholly subjugated, aside from parts of it inhabited by deadly creatures.
The evening before our departure back to Skyhold, Fen and Inquisitor spend on analysing the artifact found in the ruin.
I cast a speculative glance at the young child who is supposed to lead the Inquisition. The look she sends to Fen is unmistakably loving, devoted. And while he seems wholly engrossed in the crescent-shaped object filled with magic I can feel even from the distance, my heart wrenches at the sight.
Suddenly, my disability, my blindness to magic, is harder to bear than ever. Even though I know I have no one to blame but myself. I have done it to myself. Yet, the fact that I will be never fully able to share his passion with him hurts. No matter how far in magical theory I progress, I'll never see things the way they do it. Not grasping the intricacies of shapes and colours, following only touch and feel; my superior aura manipulation will always hit the wall. Limit.
Had it been only about that, I would merely grit my teeth, and persevere. I have learned to take some pride in the way I've dealt with this; and no matter how much their vivid discussion leaves me feeling excluded, I have accepted my flawed self.
But there's more to it.
It hurts, being replaced. I can easily see what could have attracted him to her. That must be the reason why I can barely stand her - because when I look at her, I see a mirror of myself. And I am the broken surface of glass, not her; Ellana is the perfect, unblemished one. There's a certain light in her, a brightness, yet unshaded, even after what befell her – she's different, somehow. Maybe she can remain pure, vivid, no matter the circumstances. An unquenchable flame in the darkness.
I certainly couldn't.
A murderer with more innocent lives on my hands than I can count. Many of them died meaninglessly, simply because I saw no other way. Because quick death was the only mercy within my strength, my reach, to give them.
She would have done differently, I am certain. They are world shapers, Ellana, and Fen, it connects them.
Me?
I am only a traveller, lost on the wrong side of a fairy tale.
I walk away from the campsite, swallowing my pain, and the moment sentries are out of sight, pick up the pace, until I run, heedless of the burn in my lungs. When I put a significant distance between me and the camp, I let my magic lose, uncaring of the danger. I need to run myself down, to let out this pain, screaming inside of me, or I'll go crazy.
Stupid, stupid Fean'Na. You knew what you were signing up for, right from the start.
Finally, my knees feel weak, my legs are shaking, and my mana is dry. Doing the last fade step, I am literally scraping the bottom of my reserves, and it wakes me up from my emotional breakdown. My disfigured leg is burning from the overuse and strain, reminding me that I am damaged goods, and behaving like an emotional teenager certainly won't improve my situation.
Careless of me. I left myself literally defenceless, away from the camp, at mercy of the local fauna.
Never again, I swear to myself, limping back to the camp - and not only I've made a considerable distance, but my pace is snail-slow. Never I'll allow myself this much indulgence, ever again.
I return just before the sunrise, disregarding the strange looks given to me by the guards. Carefully, soundlessly, grimacing a bit at the pain it causes, I dress my wound away from the prying eyes. Changing from my soaked outfit, both from my sweat, and from the wind, I wash away the grime, before swiftly jumping into fresh clothes. When the morning comes, there's nothing to tell the story of my sleepless night, aside from the paleness of my skin.
And the constant tingle in my leg, but I take care not to show any signs of it outwardly. The least I could do is not make a spectacle out of myself.
The Inquisitor and her companions are returning witj the scout unit back to Skyhold, the soldiers remaining behind. Considering my inner turmoil, I would have preferred they stayed as well. Alas, life has rarely ever gone along with my wishes.
To make matters more uncomfortable, Varric Tethras begins interrogating me - because calling it merely a questioning would have been taking it lightly - about Wings. And I can see the others are listening in with interest. The only one not too apparent about it is Fen, but I am nearly certain he does as well. Nearly.
I am still not all that proficient at reading him. But I am getting there.
'So you are saying that people join because they want to?' The note of scepticism in dwarf's voice makes me visibly bristle.
'We free a lot of slaves.' I reply coldly, unable to keep my indignation at bay.
'So it's a mutually beneficial deal.' Varric prods me further, and my nerves snap, audibly in my ears. How dare he suggests we are forcing anyone to do anything?!
'No. There's no deal.' My voice could freeze the atmosphere around us, and Varris realizes he might have crossed some invisible line, because he backs away from me. Good instinct in him, I've got to admit, because I am nearly ready to throttle him. 'It's called gratitude, master Tethras. I know the concept might be foreign to a businessman' I spit the word, to ensure he knows I do not mean it favourably, 'like yourself; but among people whom we've returned their lives back, it is actually a pretty common thing.'
I scowl, before adding.
'We've never had to ask; nor have we ever lacked manpower.' Having said this, I prick the horse, letting it be known I treat the conversation as finished. It would be better for them all if they followed my suggestion, or I won't be responsible for my actions.
Sensing my rattled mood, I am left blissfully alone until our return back to Skyhold, where fortunately, other things occupy their attention. Sera and Madame de Fer had returned from Val Royeaux in our absence, bearing news from Orlais.
I strain my own ears, fishing for information myself. I begin feeling somewhat isolated, uncomfortable, as if walking blind, restricted from the access to my usual sources. Bianca would laugh, if she knew just how right she was, when she described me as obsessive. But damn it all, knowledge is power; and I am losing my hold on it.
What reaches my ears, however, is that the Inquisition has figured out the next move Corypheus is likely to make. The documents and reports found in Templar Fortress, Therinfal Redoubt, suggested he intends on creating turmoil within Orlais, perceived by him as the only nation capable of negatively impacting his plans for Thedas.
More turmoil, to be accurate. Though I have my own, private suspicion there might be more to the scheme than just that.
Personally, I think he is severely underestimating Tevinter, and Ferelden. Magisters have large reserves of power. While part of them is involved in the constant war with Qunari, if the Archon ever decided to deal with the Venatori, he certainly would have the means to do it. It is unbelieveable how much potential the only nation openly supporting its mages holds. If they weren't so focused on internal squabbling and weakening themselves with Blood Magic…
Andraste really broke their faith in their own power; no matter how they pose otherwise. It is a bitter truth, because I have preferred Thedas under Tevinter rule, to what it is now. Alas.
And Ferelden has this crazy mobilisation thing going, which was shown during the Blight, and before that, when they were fighting for their independence of the Orlesian rule. They are so damn proud, I would have easily found common language with them - only their treatment of my kind leaves a lot to be desired. Well, there are no perfect people, and no perfect nations.
The sad thing is, 'Vints are the ones treating Elvhen, once they are free, best - for all that they were the ones to enslave us, originally. Creators must love the irony; Thedas is literally overflowing with it.
The days pass, and again, I play messenger, while the Inquisition's leadership is up to their necks in plans and nearly panicking, because they are unable to make any progress.
It has been determined that whatever's going to happen, will likely take place during the peace talks, which are going to be held during Grand Masquerade, held in Winter Palace. It is only a few months away, and the preparations need to be laid down much earlier. The Inquisition agents are at their wits end trying to get an 'in', lacking a formal invitation. Without it, they would be merely intruders, and chased out.
Only not a one person who could extend such invite has any desire of doing so.
Celene stands by the Chantry, and their official stance on the Inquisition's heresy remains as unyielding as ever. A weak Empress like her wouldn't risk enraging her benefactors by going directly against their directives, not to mention, I can tell, she sees no advantage in that. I wouldn't too, in her position.
Duke Gaspard, on the other hand, while not bound in any way by Chantry's directives, as he had disengaged himself from them the moment they threw themselves behind Celene, has no interest in the Inquisition. From his perspective, we haven't done anything noteworthy, as the Inquisition's activities were mostly in Hinterlands, and Storm Coast, both of which are Ferelden; their short stunt in the mostly uninhabited Hissing Wastes has passed without much notice. And, as an Orlesian noble, Gaspard looks down on the dog lords, and nothing the Inquisition had achieved there holds any meaning in his eyes.
While it would, at first glance, appear beneficial for the Inquisition to try and earn his favour by expediting more effort in Orlais, time is slipping, and the likelihood of changing his opinion in time for the event is slim.
The third person, who could possibly be approached, duchess Florianne, is both mysterious, and elusive. Her organization of the Ball comes as a surprise, as thus far, she had held herself on the sidelines of the battle. However, the fact that she values her apparent neutrality in the matters regarding her brother and cousin, allowing her such thing in a first place, is a valid reason why she would strive to avoid doing anything that could endanger that perception of her. Inviting a private army to the peace talks is sure to rise a few eyebrows… and much more.
I reach these conclusions relatively quickly, but remain undecided on how to proceed with all these knowledge. My influence could tip things in Inquisition's favour, but… The question is, whether I want to use it.
Finally, bitterly, I realize there's simply not enough information for me to go by.
Ha. A leader of the best spy network in Thedas, at your service. Fate likes to make a joke of me.
It means I've got to reach out to a person who knows more - even though I've been avoiding him, a bit, recently. A tip of the hat to my feelings, as well as me deciding to give myself a small break.
I catch him in the gardens, inspecting some of the plants there. He turn to face me the moment I come, and I feel a cautious, inspectional brush of his aura, almost immediately withdrawing.
'Tell me, Fen, is it really essential to involve ourselves in Orlesian disputes?' I do not waste time beating around the bush - especially since we are alone.
I could care less for Orlais, more, I would gladly let them fester in their own problems, let them destroy themselves - or wait for Corypheus to do it. Both Celene, and Gaspard, have a responsibility for the burning of Halamshiral. As does the whole Orlais, really, with their disparaging attitudes and disdain and intolerance. That is a tragedy I am unable to forget quite so easily. And forgiveness is on a whole different spectrum.
Let them all burn, burn down to ashes. The bigoted fanatics.
'I do not think much of them, myself.' Fen says with a sigh. So he did hear of Halamshiral. Not surprising - who didn't? 'Alas. Inquisition requires more military support.'
And Orlais is the one place where the Inquisition could get it, needs not be phrased out loud.
There is a point in that, with the 'Vints both disinterested, and engaged with the Qunari, and Ferelden weakened after Blight, still in recovery. While I consider both of them capable of stopping the Blighted Magister, it would require time. Time during which the Inquisition would become a smoking memory.
The civil war has, at the very least, resulted in the whole Holy Empire being up in arms, people mustered and equipped, waiting for the axe to fall, and the final confrontation between their lieges to begin.
I nod, walking away with a thoughtful frown.
Later, I inform Leliana of my plans, and make my way to Val Royeaux. I have been neglecting my duties - again - and this time, Valeria's past accusations would be true.
The shining jewel of Orlais, Val Royeaux, is one of the places I seriously despise. I have many problems with it, beginning with entirely unreasonable one - it is neither Arlathan, nor is it Minrathous. Goudy, too much gold and the stupid flag-like things flapping in the air above, stretching between the windows. One would think I would welcome them, easing up travelling across the roofs the way they do; but I don't. I've never required such crutches and cheats to help me along, and I see no reasons to use them even when they are provided on the golden plate.
Bethany greets me with enthusiasm, and a whole stack of reports, at which I groan, unhappily. But I sit down, and read through them, dutifully, while confirming my information, as well as thinking on the issues of the recent weeks. Specifically the whole Winter Palace business.
Finally, comfortable with my state of knowledge, I relax. And make a decision.
If Fen says it's necessary, then most likely, it is. I've promised to help him, and so I shall.
I have no way of affecting the two females, but Gaspard is a whole different matter. He has certain ties with Tevinter, in fact, he has been trying to court Archon's eldest daughter for years, since his wife's death. Radonis hasn't replied, as of yet, unwilling to send his daughter to a man who had already lost one battle for the throne, and may very well lose the war. The Archon is far too shrewd for that, and will await the conclusion of the battle in Orlais, before responding to the proposal in a definitive way.
This, however, gives me an angle I can pursue. With a firm instructions to get my letter directly to Tessarian's hands, I sit down, gazing at the parchment. After careful consideration, I begin writing.
'Magister Lucanus,
You would have never guessed, but I have managed to find our wayward boy entangled with the Inquisition. For now, he appears unwilling to leave, and forcing him out would be counterproductive, so I am keeping a close watch over him. Hopefully, I will be able to impart some wisdom on him, as well as keep him alive, throughout this mess.
It would seem it is our best interest for the whole Corypheus business to be done and over with as fast as possible.
Partially pertaining to that, I do have a personal favour to ask of you. Tessarian, you have met, I believe, duke Gaspard de Chalons, during his visit in the Empire, haven't you? …'