27

Leliana's feet carried her swiftly down the stairs, fingers careful not to crumple the missive in her hand. She hastily made her way into Josephine's office and shut the door behind her. "We have quite a situation."

Josephine glanced up and proceeded to finish what she was writing as Leliana made it across the room. "An understatement, no doubt," Josephine motioned to her notes. "Care to start?"

"I had received this from Charter. It's from one of her contacts in Val Royeaux." Leliana handed Josephine a tattered roll of parchment, the seal broken.

Josephine unfurled it and spread the parchment out on her desk. It was a pamphlet, propaganda. A rough image of an obscure figure, her elven ears overly emphasized, vallaslin and eyes glowing in the dark, lingering in the shadows behind the Orlesian throne. The figure made the Empress in her throne look small and fragile in comparison. A hand with an Inquisition signet ring held Celine's crown haphazardly over the woman's head, letting it hover there. The darkness itself billowed out at the bottom of the throne like thick smoke, slowly filling Celine's opulent throne room.

"What is this?" Josephine asked.

"Found all over the alienages, and servant pubs. Propaganda from factions of Briala's rebellion… there are others, more or less direct; all insinuating Lavellan's cooperation with Briala's efforts."

"This is… not good." Josephine inspected the image closely, with a nervous shake of her head. It wasn't hard to figure out who the figure was supposed to be - with its easily recognizable vallaslin.

"Like you said… an understatement if there ever had been one. This is bold. Stupidly bold." Leliana crossed her arms. "They hadn't even bothered with subtlety… or better symbolism." Though whoever had created the original image certainly put in a bit of work.

"Surely, we can negate this? Try to staunch the circulation and production of these pamphlets? Reach out to our elven connections and appeal to them?"

Leliana shook her head dismissively. "Wouldn't work. This is beyond our control now, and any attempts to stop their spread could possibly do us more harm than good. However, this a sign of a bigger problem, " Leliana paused and pointed to the pamphlet. "My contacts have concerns about the rebellions. Word is Briala hasn't been seen in weeks. Her second in command is trying to maintain order, but tensions are forcing her plans into motion prematurely… they are becoming more disorganized and less controlled."

"Hm…" Josephine considered the Spymaster's words for a moment. "I want to say that this is too audacious for Briala… she was - maybe still is - an apt player of the Game," she picked up the parchment again and sighed, gathering her thoughts. "If she is alive… there is a chance that audacity is exactly what she was going for. To draw more support, to make it a show of growing power and influence. To fluster us and irk Celine, and send a message to the nobility that they are not immune…"

"That the Civil War was a failure, and in no small part because of the Inquisition. The Empire fears Briala will manage to entangle us into her machinations. Celine's reign will suffer from this, as the rebellions were what forced her hand in burning the alienage. It may push her to more drastic action." Leliana uncrossed her arms and shook her head briefly.

Josephine smiled bitterly and turned to her notes. "My turn to share. Have a look," she handed Leliana a small scrap of parchment.

Leliana read the lines of showy script from a Comtesse in favors with Josephine. Leliana's frustration escaped her with a noisy exhale.

"She beat us to it." She muttered angrily.

"Yes," Josephine retrieved the letter, giving it another once over. It relayed a recent announcement by the Crown of the failed attempt on the Spymaster's life, orchestrated by the enemies of the Inquisition. Celine had proclaimed the willingness to help protect the governing heads of the Inquisition and support the security measures of the organization by sharing the wisdom of her experience. Of course, there was also the not so nuanced suggestion that the Inquisition should defer to her and become part of the Orlesian monarchy, seeing as how it could not possibly function properly on its own. The letter then ended with some pointless pleasantries, as if to diminish the insult.

"We are losing grip of the situation," Leliana said, every word carrying the weight of what it meant. "We have dallied on this too long, and now she'd turned her own blunder back into an advantage."

"Don't you think I know that?" Josephine snapped back, in a very rare moment of irritation. Her nerves were frayed, and she allowed herself to look as stressed as she felt.

Leliana physically backed off, stepping away to sit in one of the chairs by the fire. She rubbed her forehead briefly and stared at the flames."We need to regain the upper hand."

"Not that I wouldn't prefer other avenues, but… we may have to turn to the assassination attempt… We would have to use that against Celine, appeal to the nobles that favor us… I certainly hope Cassandra is able to help."

"But with this development… If we go public with it being Celine's assassination attempt…" Leliana didn't finish her thought, but pulled Zevran's coin out of her pocket, toying with it.

"No, that may not work," she continued. "Let's safely assume Celine and the courts have seen these pamphlets, and coupled with the rising tensions and building rebellion, the Empress is in hot water… The court was already questioning her authority; questioning her resolve to remain in power and do so effectively. Has she lost the nerve? The skill? Has the Game finally outpaced her? So she uses her failure as a distraction and concocts a story around it to diminish our own standing…"

The spymaster paused and turned back to Josephine, playing out the scenario in her mind. "Now… shall we say we expose her attempt to kill me - and we can add the attempt on Lavellan's life for extra measure. We may garner support from the houses that are tied to our wellbeing. Or the few that genuinely favor us. But the rest will jump on the scandal like starved vultures. Celine could easily twist this in her favor. Use this as a bold statement that she isn't afraid to strike at the hearts of anyone who dares oppose or even question her."

Josephine frowned and leaned back in her chair. "Wouldn't the fact that she had failed in the attempt only show that she was overestimating her reach? It would only reinforce the rumors that she is losing her handle of the Grand Game."

"Orlesian courts are brewing with claims that the Empress has lost her fire. This will be just the spark she would need to convince them otherwise. She could easily claim that she had intended for the attempts to be nothing more than that - attempts. A clear message that the Inquisition is not out of her reach. That she is still the reigning power, and not afraid to act ruthlessly to maintain control."

Their discourse had lulled to a pause, and the Ambassador glanced down at the pamphlet once more. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, not fearing to show a little of her weariness around Leliana.

"The Game is not as thrilling as it once had been," she admitted.

"Careful, Josie. We musn't allow those thoughts, even to ourselves… That's how the dust gets in."

"I know, it's just… it never seems to end."

"Lavellan should have allowed Celine's downfall when she had the chance." Leliana didn't hold back her opinion of the events at Halamshiral. Not that she had ever kept it secret between the four of them.

Josephine tilted her head to the side disapprovingly, as this was certainly a point of contention for her and Leliana. And an unnerving reminder of how much more ruthless her dear friend could be. Secretly, Josephine was glad Lavellan hadn't given into Leliana's guidance that night at the Palace. Even if it had possibly left them with a messier conundrum.

"Let's not focus on the past. That cannot be undone."

Leliana didn't answer immediately, just held onto Josephine's gaze.

"We need Cassandra's answer." The Ambassador continued, "but in the meantime, we need to double down our support and influence in the outskirts. We must gain more control of the Empire's supply lines. Control the vessels pumping blood into the heart."

"Poetic."

Josephine dismissed the sarcastic comment with a roll of her eyes. "We had all agreed to maintain ourselves at a distance, to remain inscrutable. This is our best course of action for now. If we do this right, we might distract the courts with silence while we render them more and more dependent on our merchants and supply routes."

Leliana raised herself up and faced her friend. "And so we will… I'll see what else I can find. But, should the Inquisitor's Orzammar excursion go well, we will gain significant leverage over the lyrium supply to the Chantry in Orlais, and perhaps broker a few direct trade agreements in the process."

"That is the goal… Our efforts have already eliminated the need for Orlesian middle men in trading with our major Nevarran contacts, and we have secured direct contracts with Northern Orlais and the Marcher states. Trade with Antiva is on the mend, along with the Montilyet reputation… Slow and steady, but we are on our way to having a firm chokehold on the Empire. And until we hear from the Grand Cathedral, our answer is showing the Empire we have no need to stoop to murder to flex our power."

"That's that then," Leliana inhaled and stepped away with a lazy twist and wandered over to the fire, not entirely pleased with the solution but unwilling to argue it further. She brushed her finger over the mantle, looking at the painting and ornaments thoughtfully. "Have you spoken to Morrigan?"

At this, Josephine sighed. "Yes… I have."

"And?"

Josephine hesitated briefly, twisting the quill between her fingers. "She was very cooperative at first. She suggested a few ruins to explore for access points, but little more past that. I've only spoken to her twice after that, and hardly more than in passing. She has been thoroughly combing through our library and is very difficult to find when she doesn't want to be found."

Leliana scoffed. "She comes and goes as she pleases, and there is nothing we could do to stop that." Leliana was all too familiar with the woman's shapeshifting abilities. It was quite an enviable advantage, and certainly an infuriating nuisance. "She confided in Lavellan and no one else. They've talked in private multiple times before Lavellan departed, and always out of ear shot. Does that strike you as odd?"

"Yes and no. What are your thoughts about it?"

"Morrigan was quite eager to put distance between herself and our organization - particularly the Inquisitor, after the defeat of Corypheus. She vanished as soon as she had the chance, and was less than tolerable of Lavellan. Then she shows up out of nowhere, part of the disappearing act? And proceeds to speak at length to Lavellan, and Lavellan only?"

"Maybe it is favorable timing that the Inquisitor is heading into the Deep Roads. Away from Morrigan, and in a very inaccessible area. It would be much harder for anyone to get near her with a full retinue and the Commander."

Leliana tried to hide a sly grin, but Josephine had already caught it. The ambassador shook her head, amused. There was hardly anything subtle about Cullen's thoughts on Lavellan. He spent a good portion of the night they had all drank with Varric looking like he was sitting on hot coals, and if he looked at Etain too long, he'd implode. It was a great source of entertainment.

Before they could commence a string of off handed jokes about it, there was a knock at Josephine's door. Leliana opened it to Josephine's assistant, who rushed in with word of a visiting historian from the University of Orlais.

Leliana excused herself with a promise to catch up again at dinner time. She departed the grand hall with all the information she needed. She made her way through the keep, checking in with her scouts and making her usual late morning rounds.

She was walking through the courtyards when she spotted Zevran lurking near the tavern.

"What in Andraste's holy name happened to you?" Leliana said, though with no hint of genuine concern. More like amusement, and some annoyance. She hadn't seen, or frankly cared to see the man since the night Varric left. She'd been given reports that he was still in the castle and hadn't made any attempts at sending any communiques, and that's all she had cared about.

Zevran had seen better days: his freshly acquired injuries were starting to heal, the bruises becoming less conspicuous, fading away. He didn't see a healer for them, nursing his injuries old school. A busted lip, a direct hit to the eye socket, a limp in his step.

Yet he grinned proudly. "Made my peace with some gentlemen I may have had…" he shrugged as he searched for the right words, "rubbed the wrong way?"

Leliana all but rolled her eyes. "Mm, that certainly looks like a peaceful resolution."

"This is nothing. A scuffle, to balance things out."

"Why?" Leliana tilted her head to the side.

"Sweet Nightingale, I just like keeping the odds in my favor."

"Which one was it? Or both of them?"

"What does it look like?"

Leliana smirked. "For either one of them that looks like they were feeling merciful."

"That is so reassuring."

"Don't expect any pity from me. Or leniency."

"I wouldn't dare!" Zevran proclaimed, his ego and demeanor nowhere near as bruised as his body.

"When did you go through with this bright idea?"

"Yes, well, that may have been the less thought out part of my plan-"

Leliana laughed, "As opposed to what? Did you think they'd actually let you live down what you've done to Etain and Dorian? That after all was said and done you'd get a clap on the shoulder and share an ale?"

"I may have underestimated their coordination and abilities that night. Your Commander was very grumpy about something, and drunk enough to act out on it. The giant Qunari wasn't much better. Poor timing on my part, yes."

Leliana was becoming more and more amused by Zevran's situation. "There was no plan. You ran into them by accident, didn't you?"

Zevran cleared his throat and grinned. "Sometimes diplomacy comes in different shapes and forms and at unexpected times."

"Oh it certainly does." She glanced over his injuries once more, and judging him capable, decided to progress the conversation where it needed to go.

Leliana inhaled and reluctantly said "I have a job for you."

The spring sunset splashed violet and pink across the clouds in the sky, shading the Storm Coast terrain in a warm glow. The retinue was busy setting up camp for the night, lucky enough not to be thoroughly drenched as would be normal for the region. Fortunately, it was the dry month, during which the downpours and gales relented and the landscape wasn't obscured by fog or sheets of cold rain.

Another day's journey and they would reach the fissure near Orzammar.

Lavellan ruffled through her satchel, trying to restore order and organization to the papers within. She had a collection of sketched maps and notes she'd made mixed in with letters from Wycome, reread several times over. Her mind felt foggy all evening, requiring more effort than usual to dredge through the information. Yet the anxiety set in just the same.

She'd gotten the missives as they prepared to leave Skyhold, just a few days prior. Now that their entire regiment was settling in for the night, she was able to sit down and read through them more carefully. She had lingered the longest on the letters from Keeper Deshanna. Her clan had their own disappearances as well, though far fewer than other clans and city elves. Keeper had sent out scouts to surveil areas where elves were last seen, and investigate the rare few Eluvians known to exist in the Marches.

They came up with nothing past speculation. There was little connection between those who had gone, or where they'd gone, aside from disappearing without a trace. Leaving their belongings and unfinished business behind.

And now her Clan had began to ask other, more personal questions as well. Would their Etain Lavellan return to resume her duties? Or would it be the far removed Inquisitor, returning to the Marches burdened with more power and influence than the Dalish clans could have dreamed of?

No doubt a varied bouquet of rumors had reached Etain's clansmen in Wycome on a regular basis. It was uncustomary enough that her Clan now lived in a city, that for now they had a permanent base, that the Dalish were living side by side with humans, dwarves, city elves… Although she was in favor of this new coexistence, Etain was sure this development would be met with some caustic criticisms at the next Arlathvhen.

Questions were rising as to the intentions of the 'infamous Inquisitor'. Whose side was she on? Did she give up her Gods for a new, more lucrative deity? After all, serving as the Herald of Andraste had earned her quite a reputation - or several, depending on who was asked - and a sizable purse. She'd received some of the best training in magic and combat available to anyone in Thedas; with the help of the Spymaster, Lavellan had access to eyes and ears in every corner of the continent; a formidable army at her back, and merchants to control the flow of coin.

If she returned to Wycome, she'd never be able to go back to the Etain that had left. For better or for worse. Even though Deshanna hadn't outwardly phrased any of it in her letters, the undertone and nuances were there, and loud enough for Etain to catch on. It was easier for clansmen who were proud of her achievements to consider her one of their own when she was far away - an abstraction. For others, she and her Clan were a liability, a threat, an embarrassment, an unwanted anchor that had dragged the Dalish into the world of the shemlen and removed any chance of autonomy and seclusion in their reclusive, tradition upholding ways.

It didn't hurt as much as it should have. Maybe Etain had grown numb to the rumors, to the constant scrutiny, to abandoning traditions. When was the last time she'd prayed to her Gods? Observed rituals that were once routine and second nature to her Clan, her people? It had been months… Maybe she'd have a better chance at returning to anonymity if she didn't go back to the Clans.

Or maybe her mind was too crammed with things that seemed far bigger than the opinion of clansmen; the Voices of the Well, the visions from Mythal. Or whatever was masquerading as Mythal.

Or as Fen'Harel.

Her skin prickled with sharp needles at the mere thought that perhaps the man she never quite saw in full detail was the one Evanuris she hadn't seen. Perhaps she wasn't seeing just any wolf, but THE wolf.

Quite the stretch, she told herself. Too much of an assumption. After all, the Fade could not be relied on to always show the truth of things.

It was more likely she was seeing someone in service to Mythal, or at the farthest reach - to Fen'Harel.

A few loud voices pulled her out of her thoughts and the not-so-productive rummaging in her bag. She had needlessly reorganized everything in it twice in the last half hour, pointedly ignoring the cold metal of the flask that hid in one of the pockets. Etain closed the bag and stepped away from her tent and glanced toward the far end of the camp where the sounds came from.

One of the soldiers had dropped the firewood he was carrying, receiving some half-hearted chastising from his compatriots before the helped him gather it back up. Cullen walked past them with a nod, making his rounds, checking in with Inquisition members in the camp. The work was winding down, and clusters of people began to form around their customary places. Some gathered around the cooking fires, others just beyond the tents, overlooking the rugged coastline. The sound of the place was beginning to change to the mellow chatter of evening.

Lavellan's gaze drifted among the people, but kept stubbornly returning to the Commander. He was unlikely to notice her where she was, so she let herself watch him a moment longer as she pretended to inspect the supply wagon she was standing by.

Unlike her, he was keeping himself busy and checking in with the Inquisition's people. Checking in on how his directives were playing out, with what was lacking and what needed to be done before they set out again in the morning.

Unlike her, hiding behind the space her title occasionally provided, and behind useless busywork. She should have been there with him, if not instead of him, doing her part as the Inquisitor. But the mere thought made her feel exhausted and overwhelmed. Like everything else, lately.

Lavellan's handling of the inane disappearance situation only layered on top of the tension that undermined nearly every conversation she and Cullen had. An undercurrent to every meal shared, to all the time spent next to each other, even without speaking a word.

Through the trip, they'd talked when they could, trying to return to some semblance of normality, occasionally lightening up and sharing a laugh - but it was brief. In the end it was just a temporary reprieve while they lingered in this odd state of being. If she was being honest with herself, it was beginning to wear on their friendship.

Etain had a nagging feeling about the night Varric left. She didn't remember anything past their drunken antics in the kitchen; Varric, Cullen, Dorian, the Iron Bull and Lavellan herself had migrated down into the depths of the keep, closer to the food, and the cellar. From what she remembered they'd spent the better part of the night drinking, exchanging stories of reckless, sometimes hapless, occurrences in their lives. From what the kitchen staff were grumbling about come morning - they'd left the room in a total disarray, with enough bottles drained to inebriate a giant.

There were fragments, fuzzy and hardly coherent. It was hard to tell what was memory and what was her mind filling in the blanks. But she knew that something happened. Whatever it was made it clear - even through the haze of alcoholic inebriation- that "friendship" was no longer a sufficient enough term. There was never anything simple about it to begin with, and it was becoming more challenging to be so dismissive about how far she'd let her manipulations evolve into something she no longer had control over.

She hadn't learned her lesson after all.

"Well aren't you broody…"

Lavellan nearly slid down the side of the wagon, being caught off guard like she was. She was so focused on gawking at Cullen she hadn't even noticed Dorian's arrival behind her, a steaming mug in his hand. A leather bound journal was tucked securely under his arm. Dorian laughed at her reaction and stopped next to her.

"Oh, brooding indeed!" He teased, glancing in the direction she'd been looking. "The view from here is quite… " He turned to her with a smug grin on his face, not even bothering to hide it, "strapping."

Lavellan felt the blood rush to her cheeks and tips of her ears, but she fought it off by not rising to the bait. Still grinning, he took a sip of his drink.

"Sometimes taking a moment to watch others can put things into perspective." She answered, crossing her arms.

"Yes, well, much as I see the appeal in watching that particular person from this particular perspective… especially with this fantastic lighting and the lack of armor…" He broke off, awarding her one last fiendish smile. "I don't think this is actually helping anything."

Lavellan frowned and narrowed her eyes at him. "You're one to talk."

"Precisely. I did the same thing and I'm saving you the trouble of finding out it's a shitty plan." Dorian turned back to watching the people around them. Lavellan stayed facing him, afraid of looking back in Cullen's direction and being caught.

"Well, thank you for that, but in my case, I don't think there's much that should be helped." She said, trying to sound sure of her words.

"Ugh," Dorian nearly succeeded at mimicking Cassandra's groan. "Where is smart-ass Lavellan, I want her back."

Etain scoffed, "I think I might have driven her off too."

"Doubtful. She'll come out when it's at my expense." Dorian let out a lengthy exhale and lazily turned to Lavellan once more. "You must do something, he's starting to hound me with questions."

"Sorry, but that is the least of my problems," She stopped herself short and glanced around, seeking out any prying eyes and ears. Lavellan lowered her head, feigning interest in her boots. "Besides, what do you suggest I do? Talk to the former Templar about … bad dreams?" She didn't want to risk saying anything that wasn't vague. Besides, Dorian didn't need much detail to catch her meaning.

"Well, I wouldn't start with that…"

She awarded him a pointed look but kept her head down. "I keep thinking it's better if I don't start with anything…"

"Mmhmm. Until the next time we drink." He smirked, though there was a scolding note to his tone.

Lavellan grit her teeth and bit back an irritated response. He was right, after all. She glanced down at the journal he was holding, seeking any possible distraction. "What's that?"

He gave her a knowing once over but went along with the change of topic. "Well, since you're dragging me along into the bowels of the earth," he pulled the notebook out held it out for her to see. The patterns on the leather exterior were intricate, with a simple enchanted locking mechanism along the side.

Dorian reached over and opened the journal, allowing Lavellan a glimpse of the dense but neatly compiled notes, calculations and myriad of diagrams within. Not that Etain could read Tevene. "I've collected what I needed of my past work with Alexius searching for a cure for the darkspawn corruption. Figured this would be a once in a lifetime opportunity to continue the effort so close to the source."

"You have a point there…" Lavellan flipped through the pages carefully. "Have you been able to find more?"

"Not since Felix had passed." There was still a melancholy note to his voice, but Dorian brushed it off before Lavellan could say anything about it. "At least not until this venture was announced. I had decided to dig through my notes and Skyhold archives. I'm hopeful I can gather more information from our Dwarven hosts. Or… from the drastically less appealing but no doubt inevitable alternative… the darkspawn themselves."

"Yet another occupational hazard." Lavellan mirrored the displeased expression on Dorian's face. "I know very little of the darkspawn and the corruption…" She continued as she perused the pages. "As much as I would like to say I do not wish to get any more familiar with it… I'll do what I can to help you."

She was glad to see Dorian return to his scholarly pursuits once more. If anyone could make progress to finding the cure for the Blight, it would be Dorian. Beyond the obvious significance of such a discovery, it would thrust the Inquisition to the forefront of the academic pursuits of Thedas as well. More leverage and influence, which meant more bargaining power.

It made her think it may be prudent for her to do the same, and use the resources she had at hand to contribute to both learning and preserving history she'd seen firsthand. It was her duty as the future Keeper of Clan Lavellan, wasn't it?

She handed the journal back to Dorian. He returned the notebook to its previous place beneath his arm. "I suppose I can't ask you to leave me in Orzammar for the duration of the excursion."

"You can ask. But it's not like I grant access to the Dwarven kingdom."

"You're the bloody Inquisitor. I'd venture to say you could work something out without breaking too much of a sweat any longer."

At that, Etain scoffed and rolled her eyes. "My laundry and nerves would beg to differ."

Dorian took another sip of his tea, as if fueling up for the sly retort he was about to unleash on her again.

"Much as I'd like to say you should just go find a particular someone to help you with those nerves of yours," he pointed with his chin to the open area near the cooking fires again. "I may have missed my chance. While you keep brooding in such picturesque manner…You might actually get your wish. Just wait until 'fixing things' is no longer an option."

Etain waited for him to continue, but hearing no further comment, followed his gaze. A human merchant accompanying the retinue was in the middle of what seemed to be an amusing conversation with the Commander. The woman was a regular in these locales, often brokering trade between Skyhold and the human and dwarven outposts in the area. She had been one of the first to enter into contracts with the Inquisition here. She shaded her eyes from the sun and was saying something to Cullen, smiling cheek to cheek. He seemed to laugh in response, and the young woman joined him as he continued on his way across the camp.

"Plenty of takers for our strapping Commander." Dorian muttered, turning back toward Lavellan. She was staring at him, not at Cullen or the merchant. Her expression was difficult to read, her eyes intense but the rest of her face showing no emotion.

Dorian scoffed. "Of course now you'll tell me you hadn't noticed."

Lavellan's expression didn't change and she glared at him a brief moment longer. Then she turned and began to walk away. "I have work to do."

"About this you mean?" He asked impishly, gesturing to the Commander.

"Definitely not." Lavellan didn't glance back. She tried ignoring her thoughts for a moment, tried to drown them out in the sounds around her as she made her way through the camp. Laughter, clatter of pottery, chatter, neighing of horses and crackling of fires.

Not wanting to brave stepping into another conversation with anyone, Etain abandoned any thoughts of finding something hot to drink and walked toward the tents.

She knew she was avoiding fixing anything since she and Dorian had returned, avoided coming to grips with the situation she made so much worse in the Skyhold prayer room. Avoidance was so much easier. It felt easier to pretend to ignore it, to write everything off as charade of affection that was always a means to an end.

Too bad the mere thought of that 'charade' tingled her nerves and left her palms clammy. Too bad Cullen lingered in her thoughts more often than she cared to admit. And too fucking bad she was so far beyond the need for such manipulations any longer. She felt like she was losing grips with what was real, what felt real and what was her own mind distorting things out of habit. She was losing track of the lies she fed herself. Etain was exhausted, mentally and physically, running on months of restless nights. Creators, what she wouldn't give for dreamless, dead sleep again.

There were fewer tents than would normally be seen at camp, given their retinue was stopping for only one night. She had the luxury of sleeping in the command tent, taller and wider than the rest. It was empty at the moment, though she knew it would fill up as the others retired for the night. She expended a small amount of mana to light the small lantern inside, giving off just enough light to see and read by.

Etain set up her bedroll, shrugging off her coat and satchel. She pulled out her letters, deciding to occupy herself with sketching out more maps and notes based on Deshanna's information, or scrounging up a report she didn't really need to make. But if it kept her mind from unearthing all the shit and guilt and hateful things that it kept hidden, well, it was worth any effort.

When she reached in to retrieve her ink and quill, her fingers touched the solid, engraved surface of the flask and she froze.

Shame surfaced, trying to squeeze its way alongside the frustration she felt. Some Keeper she would make. A non-believer that turns to strong drink to try and ignore the whispers of the so called gods and their servants.

Etain lowered herself onto her bedroll with papers in hand, trying not to think of the implications of her hiding liquor for her descent into one of the most dangerous places in Thedas.