Denerim, 2 weeks ago
"...and if I manage to find an herbalist versed in sheep, then the crisis is adverted?" The king watched as his words settled over the wrinkled old man in front of him, wringing his hat worriedly about his flock.
As if I'm going to tell someone to be off with his head. The king let his eyes follow his thoughts, scanning down to where the skinny human's knees shook in his rough spun trousers... those trousers likely being the nicest thing he possessed to wear to court. What do they say about me to have this man so afraid?
"I only worry I'll not able to harvest enough wool for this winter, if I lose any of my flock, Your Majesty," he plead earnestly, eyes wide and beseeching. "I reckon this seems small to you, but the market will suffer."
Alistair Theirin studied the man for a moment longer, then lightly cleared his throat and leaned over to whisper to Ser Cauthrien, the older woman a constant beside her king's side. "Do we actually have herbalists that could help him?"
Cauthrien's stone expression did not waver as she spoke in low, aside tone. "Perhaps, I can ask at the apothecary."
"Better you than me," Alistair muttered back, hearing the single deep-throated chuckle the woman gave him. He turned his full attention back to his petitioner, and gave a nod. "The masses won't go cold this winter, sir. I'll have a look for an herbalist for your flock."
The man hit his knee so hard in supplication that Alistair visibly winced at the clack sound it made when it connected to the stone underfoot; that couldn't have felt good on bones as aged as his.
"Thank you, Your Highness! Thank you!" His relief was palpable, and it made Alistair wonder why the man seemed as if he had been expecting another answer instead.
He felt a stab of pity when the man's farmhands had to help him back to his feet, and he gave the man a parting nod of respect before he vanished from sight. No one else gathered in his throne room stepped forward to speak, and his brown eyes searched all of their faces for any indication that he needed stay here any longer. Finding none, he cleared his throat loudly and gave a wave of his hand. "Dismissed for the day. Thank you."
He sat through the murmured departures and bows, salutes, what have you. Then once the room was empty aside from himself and the commander of his army, he stood to his feet with a long stretch. His daily hearings with the kingdom were tedious, monotonous things that ate the greater portion of his days. The rest was spent reading reports and reciting to scribes, his nights were food and drink, and sneaking off to see his favorite girls when he could.
A small grin tugged at one side of his mouth as a bouncy little half-elf crossed his mind, the bittersweet sound of her name for him making his heart swell. It had been a few weeks since he had been privileged with her company, he was starting to feel the ache of separation from her. Holding his Sprout was one of the only things that made him feel like everything he'd done was worth it.
"Would you care to accompany me on a ride through the city? We can stop by that damnable apothecary, if you'd like." Alistair tried to be nonchalant with his suggestion, praying to the Maker that the woman would turn him down. His... friendship... was not a secret from Cauthrien, but she had always held that the less she knew about his relationship to the girl, the better.
But she knew. It was hard to look at the two of them interact and not see the truth of it, physically and emotionally.
"Nay, I'll ride about tomorrow. I have some things to attend to this evening with the captain of the guard."
Alistair gave her a shrewd look as the two slowly made their way from the throne room. "Is there anything I should know?"
She gave a shake of her head. "Nothing to worry your royal little head about, Your Majesty. Just pesky rats that need some cheese in traps. Our men are capable of handling it without much fuss, I'm sure."
He gave her a nod, trusting her word that it was under control. The euphemism wasn't lost on him, he knew she did not mean literal rats, but he was used to vermin in the castle. But Cauthrien had always proven quite the exterminator. "I suppose that means I am dining alone this night, then?"
The old warrior gave a single inclination of her head. "The sooner I put boots on the ground and mabari noses in cracks, the better, Alistair."
The drop of formality told him of the severity. He swallowed hard, the ease of his acceptance now devolving into a slight worry. A wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows, and Cauthrien's stoic demeanor softened towards him for a moment. "You know I'd never allow anything ill to befall you. Please trust me and my men."
"It isn't that," Alistair sighed, licking his lips. "The rumors from the dockyards have me on edge, and now more rats... how many more infestations can we handle before all of my cheese is gone?"
"All the better that you're a cheese hoarder, then."
Alistair gave a snort and elbowed his commander in jest. "Regardless, tread lightly, my friend. I don't care to try to replace loyalty like yours."
Cauthrien saluted him when the two reached the entryway where they would part. "Never, my King."
Hours later saw him in the dungeons of the castle, dressed in dark leathers with a hooded cloak, a wooden sword strapped to his hip, but his real one on his back. He was using the secret tunnel beneath the castle to exit out into Denerim via the sewer system. This particular tunnel didn't exist until after his arrival back from Antiva eight years ago, when he fell in love with a woman from the Alienage, and had reason to have it commissioned. It was a dark and dingy walk, but the canals were low until high tide, so he need not tread in the water. The same thought still crossed his mind every time he made the familiar trek: if he were not king, he would not have to sneak in the sewers to visit loved ones. But it was always followed the thought that had he not been king, he would still be an active member of the Grey... and Sprout... well...
The Alienage in Denerim had changed in his time in power, his act of support in Kallian naming Shianni as the first Bann of the elven sector of Denerim having set a precedent in reformation. The elves themselves had named the same woman as hahren after the death of Valendrian some years back. A more sheer force of personality couldn't have held those roles simultaneously, with her sharp eyes and whetted tongue; not even Shianni's famous cousin, Kallian Tabris. Well spoken, well read, and fair minded, the elf had led her people into a place of not-quite-prominence, but a tentative respect from their human neighbors... most, at least. There were some that were ever staunch in their prejudices, and Alistair could not do anything to change opinions, but when those opinions spurned acts of violence... he was not merciful.
But more than a leader for her people, Shianni had been there for Alistair, himself, when he returned a nearly broken man from his Antivan adventure with Tethras and the Captain. She was the sole person alive aside from the three of them that knew the whole story, and she was the gentle voice that reminded him that the small time he'd had with Maric was not a tease from the Fade, but a gift. It had been she that found him so drunk he couldn't remember his name, much less that he was the King of Ferelden. It had been she that nursed him for three days in her own home, chastising him the entire time on his behavior, but being an understanding ear all at once.
It was Shianni that was his first true friend since Kallian.
The house he came upon was small, but it was well built and larger than the one room shanty that the owner had grown up in with her uncle and cousins. Alistair knew it was a point of pride for the woman, and it made warmth fill his chest to know she had reason. The windows were still lit with candlelight despite the late hour, and he wondered if she somehow knew he would be coming to visit. He raised a single knuckle and tapped on the door twice, hearing running feet across the wooden planks inside like brontos on stampede.
How one tiny set of feet makes so much noise, I'll never know.
He could hear a feminine voice calling out "Liawyn! Don't open it until–!"
It was useless. The door swung open and Alistair was looking down at a beaming grin that belonged to the most beautiful little girl in the world. The light from the room behind her gave her strawberry blonde hair an ethereal glow, and arms immediately shot upwards so he could pick her up.
"Uncle Ali!" Her delighted squeal bounced back off the mud bricks of the house across the street, and he quickly shushed her as he swept her off her feet and into his arms, squeezing her to his chest. He stepped inside the house and quickly shut the door behind him without putting her back down. He caught an amused smirk on the girl's mother's face as she leaned against a wall and watched the spectacle, and he gave her a smile over Liawyn's shoulder. The smirk transformed until the redhead was beaming back at him much in the same way as her daughter.
Yes, Shianni was his first real friend since Kallian. She was also his first love, ever.
"Ma said you might be over soon, and I asked the Maker if you could come, and you did!" The little voice in his ear prattled on as if he had never shushed her, truly her parents' daughter, as both her mother and father had tough times knowing when to be quiet. Liawyn pushed back so she could see his face as he held her. "And guess what, Uncle Ali? Soris and Valora are gonna have another baby! Silla is getting a brother or sister, and I'm jealous."
Alistair gave a surprised look at Shianni, who covered her grin with a hand as she tried not to outright laugh at her daughter's gossiping. She gave a tiny shrug to the look Alistair gave her, and a helpless gesture at the girl now squirming in his grasp to get down.
"Oho! That's great news, Sprout," he said to Liawyn as he placed her on the floor. "But I have some news, too. There was a darkspawn ogre eating all the cookies in the market... but I managed to swipe a few before I came." He reached beneath his cloak and produced a small box of desserts that made the child's face light up.
"And you killed the ogre?!"
He nodded solemnly. "And I killed the ogre."
"Show me how!" Cookies were completely forgotten when bright green eyes dropped to see the wooden sword on his belt. Liawyn knew exactly what its presence meant.
He made a gesture towards the back of the house where her bedroom lie. "Go get your armor and your sword while I say hello to your mother. Then we'll spar."
The box of cookies hit the floor, and brontos charged in the direction Alistair indicated. He knew from experience that he had less than two minutes before the child would reappear in her tiny suit of leather armor he'd had Wade make for her, bearing her own sword that was a twin to his wooden one. He needed to make the best of those two minutes.
Shianni was of the same mind.
As soon as he was on his feet, she was replacing Liawyn in his arms, pulling his face down to hers for a heartfelt kiss.
"We missed you," she whispered against his lips a second later, and he answered with another kiss.
It was the Maker's own joke that the only woman he had ever wanted to marry was an elf.
"I'm sorry," he whispered back mournfully, letting his kisses travel across her gently lined face, the pain in his chest like icy knives. He was so selfish, and she deserved so much more than he could ever give her. "I came when I could."
She pulled back to cup his freshly shaven jaw. "I know."
The words were said with a sad smile, one he was more familiar with than he liked. It was the one he saw most often, the one he invoked the most. But his smile back at her was no happier. For all that had passed between them, what he would not give to be able to call this house his home, for that was what it truly was... just because his girls were here. They were his home.
"Almost ready!" The yell pulled them out of the shared look they were having, both looking down the hall as they stepped away to place space between them.
He gave Shianni a sideways look, raising an eyebrow at her. "Sprout says she's jealous Silla is getting a sibling..."
Shianni scoffed and rolled her eyes, but the pink tinge on her cheeks told him that his words had hit home. "Sprout says a lot," she shot back, giving him a light slap on the chest as she moved past him to take the cookies their daughter had dropped to a cupboard. Her ears slightly drooped. "Besides," she added softly, "you probably... can't, anymore."
Oh. That. The taint. Right. "Yeah," he muttered, rubbing his neck uncomfortably. "I guess you're right." He neglected to mention that technically she was free to procreate with whomever she wished. It was futile. He hated the thought of her with anyone else, and Shianni was loyal to him as he was to her. Neither had other lovers in spite of their respective freedoms to do so.
"Can you stay long enough to spend some time with both of us?" The hope in those green eyes spoke louder than the words, and he gave her an affirming smile.
"Of course. Cauthrien has the rats under control." The words were out of his mouth before he meant them to be, addled in her eyes as he always found himself. He hadn't meant to mention that to her, because she would only worry. But his damnable tongue and his lovesick heart... and his libido.
Shianni's eyes narrowed as her ears perked up, and her mouth opened to speak as her arms came up and crossed over her chest. She was winding up for a lecture, but the rumble of their daughter's onslaught cut it off before she could do more than draw breath for it.
"Your weapon, ser!" The child brandished her wooden sword in a fighting stance, a fierce determination in her eyes that could only have come from Shianni.
For only seven summers, Sprout had shown herself to be precocious and remarkably self aware. She was a quick learner, and loved the stories about her famous cousin that she'd never met. Alistair and Shianni had known different sides of Kallian, so the girl had the best of both storytellers in her mother and her "uncle". Both had kept their tales age appropriate... even the fact that Alistair wasn't her uncle. Especially that.
He hated it. He loathed doing to her what his father had done to him, denying her existence as his own seed. So he tried his best to make up for that by being there, where Maric never was for him. He had been a constant presence in her life, even if it was mostly after the sun had fallen and the moon was high, he had made it his goal to see his daughter when he could. One day, many summers away, he would tell her the truth. He had already privately recognized her as his heir in documents well hidden, and even Shianni didn't know it. Liawyn couldn't know he was her father, but the Maker himself would have to stop him from being one. Alistair prayed every night that wouldn't happen.
Right now, he drew his wooden sword and Shianni stepped further back towards her kitchen, watching with a smile on her lips. "At your leisure, my lady," Alistair intoned with a formal bow, which Sprout returned.
His sparring match with her ended with him lying sprawled on the floor "dead", while Liawyn ran circles around him screaming "For Ferelden!", and Shianni politely clapping from the sidelines for their performance.
"You know what brave warriors like to do after a daring battle?" Shianni asked her spawn, scooping her up on her next pass.
"A pint of ale!"
Alistair cracked an eye open to catch the quick glare she shot him, knowing that particular story had to come from him. He gave her a sheepish grin from the floor, then pushed himself up.
"No, love. They want to sleep!"
"I'll sleep when I'm dead!" Liawyn struggled on her mother's grip, completely hyped up from her play fight, but Alistair knew how to bargain with her.
"Maker's breath, Sprout. Didn't I ever tell you about the time I had to fight a group of qunari with only a dwarf and a pirate to back me up? I wanted to sleep for weeks!" The kid lived for stories, and the way she immediately ceased movement in Shianni's arms and looked over at him, he knew he hooked her.
"No, sir! Will you tell me?"
He raised a finger. "Only if you listen to your mother and get ready for bed."
"Fine," the girl mumbled, her bottom lip pouting just a bit. "I hate it when you guys do this."
"It's called compromise, sweetheart," Shianni told her, kissing her forehead. "You have lessons in the morning, so you need to rest your mind."
"'S rested," Liawyn pouted anyway, but she didn't argue further as Shianni carried her to her room.
It was nearly dawn before the sewers saw his shadow making his way back to where he had to be. The sun had not risen, the streets of Denerim had been quiet. So why he felt someone behind him in a place no one else should be was beyond him. Why that person thought how Alistair remained alive this long was by being a fool, was also beyond him. So while the look of surprise on his would-be assassin's face amused him, his dragon bone blade going through the man had caused his clothes to be a bloody mess. He would have to answer some questions about that in the castle, no doubt, but at least Cauthrien wouldn't be surprised. Alistair was well aware that he had just killed one of the rats she had mentioned to him the day before.
The moment he crested the stairs out of the dungeon, he was bellowing for someone to find Cauthrien, sending servants scattering in every direction in search of the commander. He slammed open the doors to his chambers, tossing his sword to the side with a clamor and ripping his way out of his leathers. His private entry to the castle was compromised, meaning this visit to the Alienage would be his last for quite some time, and it was not settling well on his stomach.
What if they saw where I was coming from? Maker's breath, I'm glad I killed them.
He snatched the lever down on the dwarven mechanism over his stone tub, his face hard in his anger. It was like he was cursed in his waking hours just as surely as his dreams. How fleeting his blissful time with his girls. How fleeting it always was, and how sobering this attempt on his life was. He was the king.
"Your Majesty?" Cauthrien's voice carried into the main room of his chambers, and he clenched his jaw at the sound of his title.
"A moment, Cauthrien," he called back from behind the slightly ajar door to his bathing chamber.
He quickly washed himself while Cauthrien continued to talk from the other room. "What in the Maker's name happened? There's blood everywhere. Are you all right?"
"None of it is mine. I encountered one of your rats on my way back from my morning stroll."
"That's the second one overnight. We caught a woman posing as a laundry maid, a Tevinter mage. Lucky for me, Forte was there. He sapped her magic, and then she slit her own throat rather than be captured."
"How lovely. They seem like charming people. Why are they here?" He snapped the query, and then deflated a bit, feeling guilty for throwing his anger at Cauthrien undeservedly.
Silence met his question for a moment, then he heard his commander clear her throat. "It appears that they are a part of the Venatori, Your Highness. That Tevinter faction that reveres Corypheus."
Alistair let his eyes slide closed. Corypheus was beyond the Denerim city guard, the Royal Guard, or even the Ferelden army. "Summon a scribe. I wish to write Leliana."
It was past time to get the Inquisition involved.
Skyhold, present
Kallian woke up to an empty bed, but she wasn't disappointed. Leliana was nothing if not efficient in her works, and that meant the woman hardly slept. She had been so as the Left Hand, and the elf was not shocked that she was the same as the Inquisition's spymaster. This certainly wasn't the first time she'd awoken with one side of the bed cooler than hers.
Instead of pulling herself from beneath the duvet, she rolled over and buried her face in the pillow they'd shared. The hint of soap and salt lingered on the linen, and Kal breathed it and out for a moment before she resigned herself to getting out of the warmth. Skyhold was cold, colder than Denerim, and Kallian shivered a bit as she crossed the room to pull on clothes. Her stomach was grumbling softly, and she realized that was what had woken her to begin with. There was no telling how long the day had run until she saw the sun for herself.
She made sure she had the silver for some food at the tavern, then pulled her weapon harness over her shoulders and fastened it with practiced fingers, her twin swords sheathed securely against her back. She blew out the stump of wax that still had a low flame, taking note that if it hadn't burned out, then it must still be morning. And true enough, the sun was still low in the east when she opened the wooden door to the grey sky a moment later.
She found herself walking through the gardens with a lightness she hadn't felt in years. It was as if she had shed some iron skin that had encapsulated her all this time, and she hadn't even realized it was there until it wasn't. Even the colors of the trees in the small enclosure burned brighter with the rising sun, more so than any of her prior mornings making this same trek. Sleeping in the same bed with Leliana for the first time had done wonders for her beaten body, and her manic paranoia that kept her awake most nights. The elf could scarcely believe that she slept so deeply that she did not feel it when her wife left the bed; usually, just the sound of mice scratching on floors was like Chantry bells to her.
But she didn't forget the request the bard had made of her. She owed Leliana a long talk now that they were on speaking terms that didn't include a precariously close banister behind her, and a three story drop on top of a quiet elf named Solas. Kal pondered on that for a second as she paused by the gazebo to gaze up at the sky. They had not discussed when they would have the conversation, just that it indeed needed to happen. If she were honest with herself, she was almost eager to tell it for the first time since she lived it. But only to have the words said and done to the one person she would likely ever speak them to.
The tavern was predictably empty at the early hour, just the dwarf that ran the place and a single serving girl. Kallian didn't bother the woman, going up to the bar herself to talk to the man behind it. He gave a low grunt in way of greeting when she leaned against the wood, and she nodded back. She didn't need to make nice, and she appreciated that he didn't seem to, either.
"Let me guess," he started off sarcastically. "Eggs, bread, sausage, and piss weak wine."
"Four silver. Good man." Kal tossed the coins onto the counter top as he turned to pour her mug of wine. "Toss a few more sausages, actually. Two silvers worth." She placed two more silver onto the pile. Little would be hungry when she eventually found her, and she wanted to have something on hand. She'd had to warn the mabari off the chickens in the barnyard more than once, and she did not put it past the dog to sneak a clucker or two.
"You want the extra wrapped? It's for your dog, aye? I'll throw a few more; she's pretty one."
Was she really so predictable? It wasn't like she had a lot to do around the castle, to be fair, so she had developed somewhat of a routine in her time there. But having a stranger call it out aloud to her was unsettling. She needed to find some work or a hobby to break her monotony. Fighting whomever was willing in the sparring ring only got her so far.
She was almost done eating when the tavern door opened and let sunlight flood the wooden planks of the floor. She winced at the flash, then her eyes adjusted to see a woman dwarf she'd seen around the castle more than once. She was freckled with ginger hair twisted into a braided bun, a bow and quiver strapped on her back. She wore the Inquisition scout uniform, and Kallian had since learned that the scouts reported to her wife, same as the spies, and the elf briefly wondered if they were one in the same. If that were the case, it would explain why she had seen this particular dwarf so much in the past eleven days. The woman had likely been tailing her on Leliana's orders.
Kallian found herself surprised when the archer's eyes found hers and held them, then walked directly over to her table with a disarming smile. "Good morning," she said cheerfully, pulling out a chair across from Kal and seating herself. "Lead Scout Lieutenant Harding."
Kallian took a bite of the sausage in her hand, chewing thoughtfully. "That's a mouthful, mate. Tabris."
"Scout Harding is fine. I suppose you may know why I'm here?"
The elf gave her a shrug. "Leliana sent you?"
The dwarf smiled again. "She would like you to see her at her post when you can."
"Do any of you people ever sleep?" Kal sighed, pushing the rest of her plate away from her and draining her cup. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and gave a nod to the waiting scout. "I'll be up when I get my dog."
Harding nodded back. "Understood, ma'am. I'll let her know. And welcome to Skyhold."
Kal gave her a sarcastic smirk. "Couldn't have said it while you were tailing me this whole time, mate?"
Harding gave a shrug. "I was told that it didn't matter if you knew. If I hadn't wanted you to see, you wouldn't have." A somewhat colder smile followed the words, but then she was getting to her feet, and the smile was as warm again as it was when she approached.
"And if I cared I was being tailed, I would have asked if you wanted a ladder to get off my back." She also stood, feeling a need to remain on an eye level with this woman. Something about her was more dangerous than she let on, and Kallian wouldn't be intimidated by it.
"I don't want to be at odds with you, Warden. I'm merely a messenger right now, and I'm no longer your shadow. It was a pleasure to finally meet one of my childhood heroes. Good day." She gave Kal a bow, and the elf felt her ears burn in shame at her assumptions. The dwarf was sincere when she called her a hero, and she could only swallow the lump it caused.
"Good day, Harding." She watched the woman leave the tavern, then sighed heavily. She grabbed the eight sausages wrapped in a cloth for Little, then gave a nod to the barkeep before making her way out into the upper courtyard.
She put her fingers to her lips and let a sharp whistle ring out, looking expectantly over the low wall that she could see the barn, where she expected Little to bound out. She wasn't disappointed, and she grinned as she watched her mabari tear through the slowly growing crowd of people below.
"Good morning." Kal beamed, reaching out and scratching her behind the ear before offering the bundle of meat. "Got some breakfast for you, if you're interested?"
A happy bark and a dancing circle answered the question, making Kallian giggle as she untied the wrap. "We're going to see Leliana. She sent a messenger for me this morning. She wants us to meet at her post, though, so I don't think it's personal."
Little was ignoring her in favor of catching the links Kal was tossing to her, jaws snapping and slobber flying. If only her life was as simple as having sausage hand fed to her. It certainly seemed content enough for her mabari.
The rookery was mostly empty, save a few scouts gathered in a small circle on the opposite side from Leliana's desk, where the bard herself was leaned over an open map. The sunlight shined in slants through the arrow slats to her wife's right, dust particles dancing in its wake. It striped the dimness in a way that when Leliana looked up briefly as Kal and Little topped the steps, it struck her eyes just right as the bard flashed a pleased smile at her that made her belly give a flip. Maker's breath, but she was glad to be here.
"Hello," Leliana said softly, straightening up and moving around her desk to greet them. "I am sorry I left so quickly this morning. I had to check in."
Kallian nodded. "I understand. I was dead to the world, apparently. I haven't slept so well in a very long time."
Leliana gave a glance at the cluster of her people across the rookery, then reached out to briefly clasp Kal's fingers. "Nor have I. Come. I have something to show you."
She circled back around to her prior position, shifting a few pieces of paper around before selecting a single one and handing it out towards Kal. She took it and looked down at the signature first, reading Alistair's name there. The Venatori had penetrated the castle in Denerim, and he was in direct danger. The longer she stared at the words, the more she knew what was coming. A rock formed in her gut with the knowledge she was going to be asked to leave so soon, and she couldn't didn't even have the heart to laugh at Alistair's blundering with his scribe.
"You want me to go to Denerim." It wasn't a question, and she didn't pose it as one. She saw Leliana give a single nod from her peripheral.
"I was going to ask if you wanted to, yes. You have a personal stake there in more than one way."
Kallian's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"If Alistair is a target, then Shianni may be one, as well."
Now she was seriously confused. She placed the parchment back on the desk and gave her wife a questioning look. "What are you talking about?"
Leliana glanced at the group of scouts again, then cleared her throat to get their attention. "Leave us."
Those two words had all of them skittering for the stairs before Kallian could register they'd moved at all. Once their footsteps had faded off downstairs, Leliana cleared her throat again. "Alistair and Shianni have carried on a dalliance for quite some time now."
"A dalliance?" Kal repeated the phrasing, her ears twitching. "You mean he's banging my cousin?"
Leliana made an exasperated noise at her, giggling under her breath. "It's more than that, Kal. They've been in love for years."
Kallian staggered over to the lone chair in front of Leliana's desk and collapsed into it, covering her face. "Maker's balls, you're joking. How the hell did that happen?"
"You'll have to ask them about the details, but from my sources, it was because she was there when he needed someone, and much the same for her." Leliana paused, biting her lip as if she was caught torn. "There is... a child."
Kal shot right back up to her feet as rage rolled through her. "What?!" But Leliana was already moving to calm her down before she could yell any more about it.
"Shh," Leliana cautioned her sharply, yet quietly, placing a finger on her lips. "Not another word. Listen."
When it became clear she would fume in silence, Leliana removed her finger and stepped back a space and continued to speak in just more than a whisper. "Her name is Liawyn, and she is seven. Alistair wrote me five years ago, asking for my confidence in a matter, and I met with him in Denerim. He privately naturalized her, and I hid the documents for him. Shianni does not know. She believes the child to be a bastard, and Liawyn does not know Alistair is her father. She knows him as an uncle."
Kal digested all of this, waiting for something to cool her temper, but all she could think was that he'd gone and made her blood his royal whore. And more than that, fathered a bastard, despite the fact he knew what it felt like to grow up without a father. She'd thought better of him than that. That was the worst part. She'd pressed for him to take that crown because she truly believed he was a good man and would serve as a fair ruler. This was too much.
"I know what you're thinking." Leliana tilted her head with a frown of disapproval. "You're wrong, Kal. It isn't how you imagine."
"Isn't it?" Kallian growled back, clenching her fists at her side. "How is it different than how any other shem kings treat elven subjects, Leliana?"
"Different in the fact that it was Shianni that pursued it. Your cousin fell just as hard as Alistair did, my love. And wasn't it you that told me once that sometimes these things just happen?" The words were said patiently in a tone that spoke of how well Leliana knew her, even after all these years. She had known this anger was coming, but she also knew how to quell it when it rose, and had prepared for it. The bard cautiously reached out and linked their fingers together at the first knuckle, then twisted so that she grasped her entire palm. "Shianni is not the first elf to fall in love with a human, no?"
The fight left Kal with an audible sound of air leaving her lungs, and she deflated as Leliana gave a slight tug on her hands that pulled her forward to be wrapped in her arms. "No," Kal sighed into the chain mail vest her wife wore. "She's not."
The bard pulled back just enough to lift Kal's chin and press a soft kiss on her lips. "Alistair isn't the first human to fall in love with an elf, either." There was a steady seriousness in her eyes, and it made Kal's heart kick up a notch. But then it was gone, and so was Leliana, stepping away again to return to her desk.
Kal cleared her throat of the lump there, and twisted her ring on finger. "When do you want me to leave?"
"I've yet to bring this to Evelyn, so I'll do that at the meeting this morning. Then there are some arrangements that must be made. You will have a partner for this, her name is Argent and she is my best assassin. Don't take it personally if she isn't talkative."
"Evelyn, huh?" Somehow the rest of that missed Kal as her wife referred to the Inquisitor by name. "First name basis with the Inquisitor?"
Leliana gave her a warning look that was diluted with amusement. "She is a dear friend. One I truly cherish."
Kallian bit her lip to keep her retort at bay. She saw something in the Inquisitor's eyes when asked about Leliana the night she met the young woman that made her feel a little more than jealous, though she didn't know why. All she knew was that if Evelyn Trevelyan liked breath in her lungs, she would keep her eyes to herself when it came to Leliana.
"Stop it."
Kal's jaw dropped and she held her hands up in innocence. "What?"
"I can practically hear you marking territory in your mind."
"I'm not–!"
"You are." Leliana pressed her lips together and gave a tiny shake of her head. "Don't waste your energy holding a grudge that isn't even real, Kallian."
Heat flooded her face and ears, and she ducked a bit to try to hide it. "I'm sorry," she said stiffly after a moment. "It is hard not to feel irrelevant to you among your chosen family, even when we're trying to mend this."
"Irrelevant?" Leliana's eyes bored into hers when she looked back at her wife at the repetition. There was a long moment where they just stared in silence, then something cracked in Leliana's gaze.
Hands were picking Kallian up by the backs of her thighs before she even realized her wife had moved. Lips were against hers in a way they had not been in years, a tongue delving deeply and devouring her mercilessly. Her back collided against something hard, her swords digging into her shoulder blades uncomfortably. When her hands braced on the surface on both sides, she felt the papers scattered on her wife's desk. It dawned on her that Leliana had her pinned to it by her hips, the hands once on her thighs now pulling her tunic free of her pants to slide under it and run over the skin of her stomach. It was an immediate reaction for her body to start pounding all over, begging for those hands to touch her everywhere at once.
It was over too soon. Almost as abruptly as they began, the kisses tapered off, and the touches went from hunger to whispering promises. "We can't do this here," Leliana panted against her neck when she let her face bury itself there. "But you're not irrelevant. The farthest from it that I can imagine. You're the only thing that is relevant to me, anymore, Kallian."
Kal raised a shaking hand to cradle her wife's head, closing her eyes and willing her heart to slow down in her chest, and her core to cease its insistent throbbing. "I know that, deep down. I do."
"I know you do." Leliana reluctantly pushed herself up, then offered Kal a hand to sit up. She ran her fingers through Kallian's messy hair, trying to smooth the look. "Could... could I come to you tonight?"
The enthusiastic nod the elf gave her almost made her dizzy. "Please?"
Leliana leaned forward to press a final kiss on her lips. "Evelyn's father is due to arrive today. It may be late, but I will come. I promise."
Kallian nodded. "That's all right. I'll be there."
Keep it simple for the first day. Move the slats under his mattress. As round as he is, he'll hit the floor hard. I'd pay to see that.
Sera snickered under breath as she moved down the corridor towards where Ruffles had told her. No one had even noticed her coming in, and she hadn't even used one of the vials Shiny had given her. It was right when most of the staff was preparing for the main dinner, and the others were preparing rooms for bed, so most of their quarters were empty as she passed. But she still made sure to listen and look before she dropped the first vial, right before she drew upon his door. She stopped and marveled at the way her hands shimmered into ripples, just like the first time. Despite all of the times she had seen Evelyn do it, she had always wondered if she would be brave enough to try it if she were asked. Probably not at first, because she had thought it was magic of some kind, only to find out it was alchemy, just like her fire. Dorian tried to tell her once that they were one in the same, or near enough, but he was wrong.
It wasn't the same at all.
The thief opened the door and slid in quietly, gently closing it behind her before she turned to the room at large. The space wasn't big like some rooms in the castle, but it wasn't small by definition. It was lightly furnished with a bed, a basin table with a single drawer, a small dresser, and a two person table with a small tea set. Her eyes quickly darted to the bed and she hurried over to lie on her back to reach beneath. The wooden panel that served as support easily slid to the ends, but the mattress did not fall. When Sera climbed to her feet, she was pleased to see there was barely a telltale sag in the middle of it.
She eyed the fireplace next, noting that horse hair would be a good one... toss in a bundle and flee the scent. Powdered rashvine in his sheets or his knickers, or both. Fish in his rafters. Salt in his sugar jar. A drop of felandaris oil in his wine to give him the shits... a few drops more if she wanted to kill him.
One by one, ideas came to her as she looked around the room, mapping it for further planning. She had pranked so much, for so long, that it was second nature for her to be able to look at anything and come up with something, even if the tricks weren't always the most creative or original. They still got the point across, still made things happen... her face darkened. Because if things didn't happen, the pranks weren't pranks, anymore. They were promises.
She slipped back out of the room, satisfied that she still was unseen. She had some gathering to do before she sought Evelyn out for dinner, starting at the stables to get some horse hair. She wouldn't have to use the last vial just yet, because she was no stranger to the barn. She would come by and talk to Beardy sometimes when she was bored and Evelyn was busy doing Inquisitor things.
The barn wasn't as busy during this time of day, no need to move the horses around before dinner time. The stable hands were huddled around a fire outside, passing a bottle between them, and paid her no mind as she nonchalantly sauntered past them and into the tack room. The brushes hung on a wall near a door to the stables proper, but they had been cleaned after their use.
"Maker's balls," she cursed, looking around for a bin or something that might hold the discarded hair. She didn't see anything, and she didn't want to make a big scene by just rifling through random shite out in the barn. A noise from the main interior through the door made her grin to herself with reminder that she had eyes in the barn, Beardy might know when they brush the horses.
"Hey." Sera announced herself as she strode through the doorway, seeing Blackwall on a chair by the fire with his sword across his lap and his whetstone in one hand.
"Hey yourself. Bored?" He went back to sharpening his blade, and Sera gave a shrug as she looked over the wooden rocking toy he'd been working on for a while.
"A bit. Shiny has Inquisitor stuff right now. I'm pulling pranks, need some horse hair."
Blackwall's thick eyebrows pulled together and the older man stared for a moment before he looked away and continued his task. "I don't want to know. They send what's extra to the tailor for making bindings."
Piss.
"Hmm... got to be something I can use." Sera tapped a finger on her lip in thought, and Blackwall gave her a sideways glance.
"All right, I give up. What are you doing with it?"
Sera gave him a devious smile. "Burning it."
His nose wrinkled up. "That's disgusting."
"That's the point, Beardy."
He made a gesture with the hand holding his whetstone. "Those ropes are horse hair. They smell like death when they burn, too."
Sera turned around and saw the generous coil of rope, making a face at how heavy it looked. "Reckon I could cut a bit off. Should work. Thanks, Beardy."
"For what? I don't know what you're talking about." He ignored her further as she pulled her waist knife free to cut some of the rope loose.
"Cards tonight?" Sera called the question back over her shoulder as she made for the exit to go stash the rope in her room.
"Just like every night. See you later, Sera."
The upper courtyard was still bustling with movement from the bann's arrival, with stewards under Josephine shouting and pointing to quarters. She rolled her eyes as she passed the man himself coming out of the Great Hall, blustering to a wrinkled elven man about being rudely dismissed. She let her look linger on him for a few moments, then shook her head as she continued towards the tavern. She couldn't see where the twins could be from his daddy-bags, at all.
The tavern wasn't full, yet, so it was easier than usual to navigate through it to the stairs. Bull was there with Rocky, Krem, and Skinner, the four of them pouring over maps with half eaten plates scattered on the table. Bull gave her a wink as she passed them, and she gave him a grin. Her foot had barely touched the bottom step when the music in the tavern changed to something else entirely that she had never heard from the bard she had threatened so long ago.
The tune was upbeat, plucky, and for some reason caught her attention harder than anything else she had ever heard the woman play in the near year she had been with the Inquisition. Then Maryden's voice started to sing.
"Sera was never an agreeable girl."
There was more after that, but the sound of her name made her freeze to the steps with a single thought so loud that it drowned out whatever lyrics followed that opening line.
What the friggin' shit?!
Heat flooded through every part of Sera's body, from her toes to the tips of her ears. The worst part was she didn't know if it was embarrassment, flattery, or just plain old pissed off. The last emotion was the most familiar, so she went with that one as she backtracked down the few steps she'd made it up, face screwed up in anger. When she turned right around the corner of the main fire place in the middle of the tavern floor, there was a scratch on the strings as Maryden saw the rage.
"A little friggin' creepy, yeah?" Sera demanded of the bard, gesturing at the instrument she held.
Maryden gulped up and down a few times, her face stark white from blood loss. "I– I meant no disrespect. You're a hero to so many, myself included– ."
A hand flying up at the word "hero" cut off anything else she was going to say. "I'm no one's hero. I do what's right." Her face was still very warm, but she had to admit it wasn't all from the anger, anymore. That had hit her somewhere in her heart, and she didn't want to think about it. "Just... just don't play it when I'm here. Not my place to tell you anything else, but I don't wanna hear it. Okay?"
The bard gave a nod. "Again, my apologies. But just know it is one of my most requested songs."
Sera didn't know what to do with that, so she just shrugged uncomfortably. "Whatever. Just don't play it when I'm here."
She turned around and fled back up the stairs without looking over to catch Bull's eye that she could feel on her back as she ascended. She didn't look at anyone upstairs as she made a beeline for her closed door, fumbling in her side pouch for the key to get inside. Despite the fact that she rarely spent nights in her own room, it was still a sanctuary within Skyhold for her, just as much as the Inquisitor's Tower. It held all her things, which had accumulated into... a lot... during her time within the Inquisition. She supposed it made sense, considering that this was the first time in a long time that she had stable quarters to return to that wasn't paid for by the week.
The door closing and locking behind her drained some of the heat from her cheeks and ears, and some of the tension in her shoulders. She leaned against the wood for a moment, looking up at the bare rafters of her roof. A hero. Right. The bard was just obsessed or something. The hero thing was just an excuse... right? Her throat was dry as she swallowed back some of the emotion she was feeling, and she rolled her eyes at herself with a scoff.
Stupid. Hero. That's Shiny, Cass, Hawke, the Warden... they're the bloody heroes.
She crossed the room and tossed the rope onto a shelf where she could still see it. If it got lost in the clutter, she would never find it again. She searched around for a bit, finding random things that could help in the coming week that the bann would be there, finding her rashvine powder and her felandaris oil. She stashed them with the rope, and then something caught her eye that she couldn't believe she missed on the way in. There was mail on her bed, nothing important because all of her Jenny reports went to Shiny's desk so Josephine and Leliana would know she would get them. One piece of this mail made her heart kick up in excitement, though, because it was a box.
Weeks ago, before they had left Griffon Wing Keep, Sera had written Leliana with a discreet request as far as ordering an item for her. She figured if anyone in Skyhold knew where to get the best, it would be the Orlesian that had spent so much of her youth seducing people for political gains. That item had to be what was in the black nondescript package, and if it were, then things were going to be very interesting for her and Evelyn soon.
When she flipped open the lid, she found a note folded on the top of the paper covering its contents. She put the box down in favor of opening it to read, then snorted in amusement when she saw the scrawl.
"Sera, I know you asked for straps, but this design is better. Trust me. Tried and true."
It was signed Knifey Shivdark, and a part of Sera died at the thought that Leliana knew that nickname for her. But if she were signing off on something so personal with it, Sera reasoned it meant she wasn't too offended. She tossed the spymaster's note aside and curiously peeled the paper off the toy, picking it up for closer inspection. There were no straps, but it had a portion that was obviously meant to go inside the person wearing it, complete with a nice little nook for their nub to rub when their hips moved. Her lip poked out a bit as she traced a finger over the groove, and then ran a hand up the leathery length of it. It wasn't large, but it wasn't small, either. Just enough, like she'd asked.
"Knew she would get it right," Sera murmured to herself. She was already thinking about what she wanted to do to Evelyn... and oddly, what she may want Evelyn to do to her, even though taking it wasn't really her thing. But just like with everything else about the woman, it was different with her; the thought of Evelyn being that deep inside of her was appealing in more than one way.
Breaking herself out of that trance, she glanced around for a bag to stash the box in so she wasn't being obvious with it when she made it back to Evelyn. She still wanted this to be a surprise, a much better one than what Evelyn usually gave her, but she didn't really want the first time to be in the tavern where the walls were so thin... she wanted to make their Inquisitor squeal, and... that was private. Those noises were for her ears only. The tower was the best place for that.
An old knapsack served her purpose, and she made quick work of it before she missed her chance to drop it off before dinner. The sky was almost completely dark now, so it wouldn't be long before that bell sounded.
She found the Inquisitor's tower thankfully empty, and hurried over to the side table near her side of the bed, pulling the box free of the bag. She pulled the drawer open, and then jumped sky high when a familiar voice behind her asked curiously, "What's that?"
The box flew out of her hands and hit the floor, the lid popped free, and the fancy sex toy rolled out to come to rest at Evelyn's bare feet. Sera's eyes slowly dragged up from the toy on the floor to the dawning realization in her lover's eyes as the human stood there with her hair dripping wet, wrapped in a towel. The tower hadn't been empty, after all; Evelyn had been in bath when she came up.
Of all the times for her ears to fail her, it had to be this one?
"Shit."
Dora leaned on one elbow at a table in the mage's tower of Skyhold, an open book in front of her and a quill in one hand while the other absentmindedly played with a lock of her long hair. She wasn't reading or taking notes like she'd set out to do when she left her bunk upstairs that morning. Here it was late afternoon, and she had managed to do anything but be distracted every fifteen minutes. But in her defense, she'd caught eyes on her from across the room more than once, as well.
Different shades of green would meet, faces would darken with blood to their cheeks, and then they both would look away, only to rinse and repeat the process for eight or ten hours a day, whether they were studying or in the clinic, healing together. The only time it was safe to speak for either of them was when someone else was in the room with them. And even then, there was a halla bloated on hay in the room.
Dora hadn't felt like this since she was a girl, eyeballing the hunters when they returned to camp, sweaty with sinewy muscles prominent. But this wasn't the same thing, not exactly. Because she didn't look at Merrill and think the things she thought when she would watch the hunters. It was... tamer, in a way, and wilder in others. It was instinctual to meet those eyes, not hormonal. It wasn't the same at all.
But what did she know about such matters? It wasn't like she was experienced in those things, and only had inklings of what was happening because of books she'd read, and her own body's reactions... and her magic. Her magic reacted to Merrill in a way it never had to anyone else. There were hundreds of mages at Skyhold, and she could find Merrill with her eyes closed, just by the significant hum her magic emitted. It was her favorite song after hearing it for five months.
Her hand went into her robes and her thumb rubbed across a smooth, familiar surface. The weight was heavier in her pocket than it had ever been in the entire twenty-eight summers since she had received it. But ever since she had the idea to give it to Merrill as a gift of esalath, the small carved chunk of sylvan felt like iron. It had been a parting gift from her real parents when she was given to the Lavellan clan. It was the most of what she remembered about them, being as she was but four when she saw them last. She remembered her mother had hair like hers, and that was all.
Her thumb traced over the wooden wolf, tracing the lines of its snout like so many times before. It had been rough once, but her constant touching of the figure over the years had worn it down to a smoothness that sand couldn't. It had been a constant, steadfast companion... much like Merrill, ever since she had met the strange woman in Jader. Every day saw the two of them together, just like they were at the moment. Dora wanted to make that a permanent fixture in her life, and wanted to give her little fen to her.
But there was the matter of the night after they'd met. Dora didn't want to be the one to question anything, and to be honest... she wouldn't change anything between them now. They worked well together, and neither minded silence when in practice, and Dora loved to hear her ramble when they weren't. Giving her the wolf could change all of that, and not in a way that Dora favored.
But those looks.
They spoke volumes without words. If her gut was right... then the wolf wouldn't be unwelcome.
She canted her eyes left again, catching Merrill staring again, only this time Dora gave her a small smile, which grew with the blush that came up Merrill's neck. They were alone in the tower on this floor, and Dora took advantage of that to pick up her book and move to the table where Merrill sat, scribbling onto a sheath of vellum. Merrill moved over slightly as Dora approached, giving the other mage plenty of room on the table top to work alongside her.
"I wondered why you were reading all the way over there," Merrill murmured, glancing at the text in the book Dora laid down open.
"Just happened to be where I sat." Dora sighed in contentment as she settled in next to Merrill, their elbows brushing lightly. "Working on anything interesting?"
"Just some historical notes." Her hand replaced the quill into its well, and rolled up the vellum before Dora could see much more than mentions of Mythal. "I've been having dreams, and they're... confusing. So, I'm just... brushing up."
Dora frowned slightly, looking at the rolled scroll. "Is it anything I can help with?"
"Oh, no! No, it's nothing like that. Just..." Merrill's eyes scanned the room, and found the door. "I'm hungry. Are you hungry? Is it time for food? We can meet–"
Dora's hand lying on her forearm cut off the spiel she was about to fall into. "Is everything all right, Merrill?"
Merrill hesitated, looking down at the tanned hand on her sleeve for a moment, before she looked up at Dora from beneath her eyelashes. Dora swallowed hard at the tug in her chest. Creators, this woman was beautiful. "No." Merrill's admittance ended Dora's thought process and she focused on the other elf's words, instead. "Yes. I don't know. I don't want to talk about it, yet. I want to be sure before I do. Is that okay?"
Dora gave her a nod and reluctantly pulled her hand away, placing it on the table between them instead. "Of course. I can listen whenever you're ready for an ear."
Merrill cautiously reached out and laid her hand on top of Dora's. "I know."
A small squeeze accompanied the words, and Dora looked up at Merrill, her mouth suddenly very dry. There was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes, and she felt compelled to stave that off. She turned her own hand upwards and interlocked their fingers, but did not say anything else. This gesture alone told her she had been right in feeling like it was a mutual thing between them. The pull was so strong, how could it not be?
A few moments passed, then Dora was almost physically startled when Merrill tensed up, pulled her hand away and suddenly got to her feet. "I'm sorry, I have to find Hawke and Isabela. I need to... to..."
Merrill was having an internal combustion about her feelings, though Dora didn't know how she knew. Hawke and Isabela were always the people Merrill ran to when she needed advice or protection. It made sense she would want to talk this out with them, as well.
Dora reached up and touched her face. "It's all right, Merrill. I understand."
Her reassurance seemed to have the effect she desired, as Merrill's face relaxed, and her shoulders fell out of their defensive position. She gave Dora a jerky nod. "Thank you. But I'll find you after?"
Dora nodded back. "Please do. Maybe if... if you're all right with it after you talk to them... we could talk? About it?" About us. About what we're doing.
Merrill swallowed audibly as she closed her book and slid it into her satchel. "I would like that, yes."
Dora gave her an encouraging smile that made the younger woman smile back, if only weakly. "Dareth shiral."
She watched Merrill bustle out of the room before she leaned onto her elbows and covered her face. The doubts were back, that maybe she had pushed too much. Sighing heavily, Dora uncovered her face and pulled the little wolf from the inner pocket of her robes. She tapped her fingers against the wood, her lips pursed tightly. No, no it wouldn't do to give this to her. Not yet.
Stowing it back into its home, she pulled her book closer to her and began to read again.