Beta-read by brightspot149. Thank you!


A strange snuffling and snorting greeted them as they rode into Skyhold's stables. Ciri peered over the stall door from her perch on Zephyr's back, and two beady black eyes set on either side of a long, hairless gray snout peered back.

"What in Andraste's name –?" Cassandra exclaimed.

It wiggled its long, skinny ears and snuffled again, shaking its heavy, horned head.

"I see the nuggalope bait worked," Ciri said dryly as she dismounted. "Iron Bull should be pleased."

The grooms came forward to take their reins, and she turned to look at the rickety cart they'd yet to unload. As if he'd felt her eyes on him, Servis sat up and waved his bound hands at her, smirking behind the gag.

"Cassandra, will you see that our guest makes it to the dungeons safely?" she asked. "He can cool his heels there while I decide what to do with him."

"I'll see to it," Cassandra said. She gave the bound Venatori mage a fierce scowl. "You'll behave yourself, 'wormy,' or I'll have the Champion cast Nightmare on you again."

Servis shook his head firmly. "M-mm!"

Ciri judged that Cassandra had him well enough in hand, and she looked to Solas. "Will you take the staff from the ruins to Dorian?"

"I'd be happy to." He looked her over with veiled concern. "When will you come to the workroom for your next session?"

She flexed her marked hand reflexively, thinking for a moment. "Tomorrow morning," she decided. "After breakfast. There's too much left to do today."

"I'll see you after breakfast, then," he said.

Ciri bade the others a quick farewell and left for the main hall with her saddlebags slung over her arm. There seemed to be more scouts wandering the grounds than usual, she noticed, though their hoods were all pushed down to expose their faces.

Odd.

She slipped into the main hall and passed by the mingling nobles unnoticed, grateful that the weeks of accumulated grime from the road effectively made her invisible to the wealthy and powerful. She disappeared behind the door to her quarters and climbed the stairs on weary legs.

Triss greeted her from behind her desk as she dropped her bags by the loveseat. A bouquet of four-petaled white flowers with deep pink centers sat in front of her, almost glowing in the light of the afternoon sun.

"The scouts saw your approach and had water brought up," she said, gesturing to a basin on top of her dresser. "There's no time for a bath, I'm afraid."

"That's fine. Run me through what we're discussing?"

Ciri stripped off her armor and pulled her soiled linen shirt over her head, crossing the room to the basin of steaming water. She splashed some on her face, then picked up the bar of soap and dipped the washcloth into the basin to scrub herself more thoroughly.

"Our approach to the situation at Adamant Fortress, for one," Triss said. "Now that you're back, I'm afraid it's time to turn around and head right back out."

"Of course it is. We lingered over-long in the Western Approach; I'm not surprised."

Triss made a small sound of agreement. "Duke Cyril de Montfort wrote to you here. He's grateful to the Inquisition for their help with the wyverns at his family's hunting lodge and would be happy to intercede with the empress regarding Griffon Wing Keep."

"Did we lose anyone fighting the wyverns?" Ciri asked, setting down the washcloth and soap and searching through the dresser drawers for clean clothes.

"One soldier died, and two others were injured badly." Triss went silent a moment, then asked, "What exactly made the wyverns behave like that? You blamed Corypheus in the last meeting."

Ciri pulled on a fresh shirt in dark indigo and turned to face Triss. "That was a lie. This world was affected by its own Conjunction of the Spheres. I hypothesized that was the case and decided to face a wyvern in Crestwood with my silver sword and draconid oil. Somehow the oil and silver triggered some sort of ancestral memory in the monster, forced it to change back to what it was before its ancestors came to Thedas."

"And all the other wyverns in Thedas were affected the same way?" Triss asked.

Ciri nodded. "It's why I've put my silver blade and oils away. The spirits have their own means of protecting Thedas from the monsters. The Witcher's way upsets a very delicate balance."

"Geralt and Yenna would be interested to know."

"You can tell them next time you go back, though I don't know what the point would be," Ciri said. "Attempting to fight the monsters my way only made things worse."

"They're curious about this world. Any scrap of information about it and you would make them happy."

"I know," Ciri said quietly. "I miss them, too."

Triss looked down at the desk and flipped through the thin stack of parchment before her. "Finish cleaning up, and I'll make the rest of this quick."

Ciri traded her heavy wool and leather trousers for clean, charcoal-colored trousers of fine lambswool and tended to her messy, unwashed hair as Triss ran through the list of subjects. With her feet shod again and her hair pulled back in a braided bun, she turned toward Triss once more.

"Where are the flowers from?" she asked.

Triss smiled. "Owain brought them up for you from the garden. They're called Andraste's Grace. We've been using them in the potion for the Templars, but they're pretty, too."

Ciri brought her nose to the bouquet and closed her eyes, inhaling the soft, warm fragrance. "That's lovely."

On a whim, she broke off a blossom and tucked it behind her ear.

"To the War Room," she said.

Triss scooped up the stack of papers and stood. "Don't worry. It shouldn't be as bad as the last meeting."

"I'll hold you to that."


Ciri and Triss were the last to arrive. The other advisors murmured greetings from around the table. Owain gave Ciri a warm smile at the sight of the flower tucked in her hair.

"How are you?" Ciri asked Josephine as the meeting started.

Josephine managed a small, tired smile. "Well enough, thank you. Judge Auld and Comtesse Dionne have both responded positively to my requests. All that's left is to find a suitable minister to ratify the documents. Michault Du Paraquette has agreed that once his family's noble title is restored, he'll move to call off the assassins."

Ciri studied her quietly. The past month and a half had worn on her friend, marking dark circles beneath her pretty eyes and tracing faint lines of strain by her mouth. She seemed preoccupied by something. Even as Ciri watched her, her eyes went distant and sad.

"Josephine?"

Josephine shook her head slightly. "It's nothing. To business?"

Ciri didn't press the matter. "The minor things first, I suppose. This ongoing business in Wycome. I see that Keeper Istimaethoriel has written again about the situation. The duke is dead, the nobles have fled, and the Dalish elves are in charge? I wasn't expecting that outcome."

"Neither were we," Leliana said. "But the nobles have turned to the nearby city-states with tales of murderous elves and riled them into marching on Wycome."

"Diplomacy may win the day again," Josephine said, but she sounded hesitant.

Cullen stepped forward. "I disagree. This will end poorly if we don't scare them off with a show of force."

Ciri looked at him for a moment in mild curiosity. She'd thought he was past the worst of the withdrawal, but he looked – not sick, like before, but stressed. What happened while I was away?

"The commander has the right of it," Owain said. "Marcher nobles are an intemperate lot. You won't appease them with words when they're this set on a fight."

"Speaking from experience?" she asked with a wry smile.

He grinned. "Possibly."

"Will we have enough soldiers to spare for this?" she asked. "We're heading to Adamant Fortress soon."

Cullen frowned. "Three squads should be sufficient if we send the Bull's Chargers with them as backup."

That sounded like a good idea. They hadn't given the Iron Bull's mercenary band much to do so far, and they were a considerable expense.

"See to it, then. Next –" She glanced down at the parchment Triss had given her. "Dagna's report on the Anchor. She writes that it's akin to a skeleton key to the Fade. Theoretically, it could create rifts if turned to that purpose. There's also a bit in here about being the size of a mountain and having a thought that's all of her people's thoughts…I'm not sure what that's about."

"She does work with some questionable substances," Raúl suggested.

It rang a bell, though. "No, I'm sure I've come across something about it. It will come to me eventually."

"That ability to create rifts is likely a small part of what Corypheus intended it for, judging by the Breach," Chancellor Roderick said. "That's a dangerous gift."

"I wouldn't want to," Ciri assured him. "The stronger the Veil is, the better."

"Then it's all to the good that the Maker put it on your hand, and not anyone else's."

Ciri shuffled the parchment and looked up at Triss. "You've made progress on the cure for lyrium addiction?"

"We have a final version," Triss corrected her. "We tested it on some of the blood samples and it worked as we'd hoped. Clemence and Evelyn were instrumental in figuring out the proportions for the last potion."

Raúl softly thumped a proud-looking Owain's shoulder. "Of course they were," he said.

"That's my sister," Owain said simply. "Thank you, Triss."

"Yes, thank you," Cullen added. In contrast to the other former Templars, he seemed almost conflicted at the news, a regretful look coming into his eyes. "Please pass on my gratitude to Clemence…and to Evelyn."

"You should thank her yourself, Commander," Triss said.

Cullen shook his head. "Unfortunately, we don't have the time to be out of commission while your potion works," he said, changing the subject. "We'll have to wait until after we've dealt with the Wardens at Adamant Fortress."

"I assume you have thoughts on that?" Ciri asked.

"We've been putting together plans since your raven arrived," Owain told her. "Erimond seems like the greatest danger here, though given what Stroud told you of the ensorcelled mages, we'll likely face stiff resistance and a heavy presence of demons in the fortress."

"Adamant's a venerable fort, but its walls are ancient," Cullen said. "With the right equipment, we could take them down with little trouble."

Josephine frowned. "There was a dearth of volunteers, unfortunately, but Duke Bastien de Ghislain's son Laurent and Duke Cyril de Montfort reached out to Lady Seryl of Jader to convince her to aid us. Her sappers will meet you there with her trebuchets."

"Please write Lady Seryl an appropriately thankful letter," Ciri said. "And extend my sincere gratitude to Lord Laurent and Duke Cyril for their assistance."

Josephine nodded and made a note on her clipboard.

"Who do you intend to take with you?" Leliana asked. "Messere von Everec would be a good choice."

Josephine's hands tightened around the edges of her clipboard.

"Josephine?" Ciri said.

Josephine swallowed and looked away. "I am well guarded here. He should be at your side for this battle."

"If you're sure." She had missed his company. "As for the rest, Varric and Solas, certainly. And –"

She hesitated.

"Blackwall," she said.

Leliana's eyes sharpened, but all she said was, "Are you certain?"

"I know their strengths, and I can rely on them in battle," Ciri said. "The others we'll split into two groups and assign a squad of soldiers each. Cassandra, Dorian, and Cole to one group, and the Iron Bull, Vivienne, and Sera to another."

"I'll see to it they have good men and women assigned to them," Cullen said. "We've arranged to meet Lady Seryl's sappers in three and a half weeks. That will give you time to rest before we muster our forces and head out."

"We leave the day after tomorrow," Ciri said. "Where will you be in all this?"

"Raúl and I will be in the vanguard," Owain said with calm assurance. "The commander will coordinate the attack from outside the walls."

Ciri knew Owain was nearly her equal when she stuck to straight sword fighting. She had to trust he'd come through the battle safely. "Don't take risks," she said softly.

His eyes were intense as they met hers. "Same to you."

She held his gaze for a moment, then looked back at Cullen. "I assume you three have the army's logistics worked out? Supply lines, requisitions, equipment?"

"We do," he confirmed. "We're ready to march on your order."

"Then I believe that's all. Leliana, if you could stay behind for a moment, I'd like a word with you."

Triss and the other advisors filed out of the War Room. Owain lingered in the doorway for a few seconds. "I'll see you at supper?" he asked.

"Of course," Ciri agreed. "I'll look for you in the hall."

He gave her a warm smile and left, shutting the door behind him.

"Ser Owain has good taste in flowers," Leliana said. She gestured to the blossom tucked behind Ciri's ear. "My mother loved Andraste's Grace. She'd dry them and put them in her wardrobe to freshen her clothes. The scent has always reminded me of my childhood."

Leliana seemed almost wistful, her sharp eyes muted as they lingered on the flower.

Ciri reached up to touch it gently. "Do you go out to the garden often?"

"When work doesn't demand my presence in the rookery," Leliana said. "I find it soothing." The softness in her eyes faded slightly, and she asked, "What did you require of me, Inquisitor?"

"Blackwall," Ciri said simply. "Do you know who he really is?"

Leliana shook her head. "I'm at a loss. I believed him to be a Grey Warden as he said when he first arrived, but I became suspicious not long after."

"What tipped you off?"

"He claims to have been in Ferelden during the Blight," Leliana said. "That's simply not possible. All the Grey Wardens in Ferelden but King Alistair and Queen Elissa were killed at Ostagar, and Warden-Constable Gordon Blackwall was stationed in Val Chevin at the time."

"Both Stroud and King Alistair spoke highly of Warden Blackwall, but they know of him by reputation only," Ciri said, turning the problem over in her mind. "Warden Blackwall is, or was, clearly a real person. But the man claiming to be Warden Blackwall is not him."

Leliana made a soft sound of agreement, then said, "And yet, it's equally clear he's here out of a sincere desire to help. He wouldn't have stood with you during Corypheus' attack on Haven otherwise, or aided you in Crestwood or the Western Approach."

"Claiming expertise he doesn't have is dangerous," Ciri countered. "We went into a darkspawn-filled ruin in the Western Approach, and I never would have known about broodmothers or how contagious the Blight is if Blackwall had been the only 'Warden' with us. And when we were in Crestwood, we ate fish from a lake that might have been contaminated by Blight. I only had the meal because I trusted his word as a Warden that it was safe."

Leliana looked grim at that. "You have a fair point. Broodmothers are a unique evil, and if you'd been unknowingly tainted on bad advice, the entire Inquisition would have collapsed. Not to mention the Grey Warden treaties we invoked, though I'll admit that was my idea."

"King Alistair has already agreed to give them his support, so it's not a complete loss," Ciri told her. "But still…"

"What do you want to do?"

"I'm not sure," Ciri admitted. "I like the man, whoever he is. He reminds me of Vernon Roche and Ves, in a way – veterans of Temeria's special forces. He has that military bearing and earthy sense of humor, and he seems devoted to doing good."

"Military veterans?" Leliana cocked her head in interest. "That may be a lead. Would you like me to look into it?"

"Please do, and bring what you find to me," Ciri said. "Something else that might help is a song Cole sang that disturbed him greatly. How did it go… 'Mockingbird, mockingbird, quiet and still, what do you see from the top of that hill?'"

"'Can you see up? Can you see down?'" Leliana sang quietly. "'Can you see the dead things all around town?' It's a children's rhyme that's popular in the towns around Lake Celestine. That is helpful. A Marcher military veteran who is unsettled by a regional Orlesian children's song…curious."

"In the meantime, I'll keep him with me for the battle," Ciri said. "I believe I can trust him at my back, and his concern for the Wardens does seem genuine."

"True," Leliana agreed. "I'll put my agents on this at once. If there's anything else?"

Ciri hesitated. "Is there any news about Papillon?"

"Some." Leliana beckoned her over to the map, where she took a handful of raven tokens and placed them on cities and towns in a rough circle around Lydes – Val Royeaux, Halamshiral, Val Foret, and Verchiel. "Her presence is felt most strongly here, less so the farther from Lydes one goes. Strangely, there's no sign of her influence anywhere in Lydes, but it's the center of the web."

"So you think Agnesot is her backer?" Ciri asked.

"Only recently. And before Lydes was the center, it was Verchiel." Leliana picked up the tokens again and said quietly, a note of caution in her voice, "Grand Duchess Florianne holds Lydes now that Duke Remache has died."

"Then the peace talks are sure to be interesting, aren't they?" Ciri gave her a grateful nod. "Thank you for the information, Leliana. I appreciate it."

Leliana gave her another small smile, her eyes warm. "It's my pleasure, Inquisitor. Have a good evening."

Ciri left the War Room at a brisk walk, slowing as she approached Josephine's office. Her friend sat behind her desk, hard at work as usual, but there was a listlessness to her movements that concerned her. From the way Enchanter Letia and Rona snuck glances at her as they kept guard from the settee, she wasn't the only one to find it troubling.

"Are you alright, Josephine?" she asked.

Josephine looked up from her paperwork, a pensive expression falling from her face as she met Ciri's eyes. "I'm well, thank you," she said politely.

"You seem troubled," Ciri pressed.

Josephine looked away briefly. "It's…I'm thinking some things over."

Ciri made a guess. "We'll have the House of Repose dealt with soon."

"It's not that, it's… Did you know?" Josephine asked. She glanced at Letia and Rona and lowered her voice. "About Olgierd's past."

Oh.

"I did," she said, equally quietly. "My father is the one who helped him. He told me the story."

"I don't know what to think." Josephine dropped her hands to her lap, her fingers twisting together in an anxious gesture. "My mind and heart are at war with each other."

Ciri drew closer, and she rested a consoling hand on Josephine's shoulder. "When I first met him, I was determined not to like him," she said softly. "But I couldn't. He wasn't at all like I'd imagined him to be. I'd pictured a monster and found a man instead. All that he's been here in Thedas, everything you've seen, that's truly him."

Josephine frowned down at her knotted fingers. "How do you forgive someone for something like that? Is it even my place to forgive it? He's been nothing but a perfect gentleman with me, and yet…"

"And yet, now you know." Ciri squeezed her shoulder and pulled her hand back. "I can't tell you what to do. The man you met in Haven is Olgierd – thoughtful, chivalrous, witty, cultured, and a bit melancholy. It's up to you if you can live with his past or not."

Josephine sighed. "I…he is so dear. But what he did…" She looked up at Ciri again, a plea in her eyes. "Keep him safe at Adamant for me?"

"You have my word," Ciri promised her.

"Thank you." Josephine turned back to her paperwork, pensiveness settling across her face again.

Ciri gave Letia and Rona quiet greetings on her way out of the office. There wasn't much time before supper, and she wanted to find Dorian. She had questions about their prisoner – and about the Venatori.


She found Dorian in his usual nook in the library, slouched in his armchair with a letter in his hand and grief in his eyes. His new staff leaned against the bookcase beside him, looking just as eerie as it had when they'd found it.

"Dorian?"

He dropped the letter to his lap and cleared his throat. "Ah. Maevaris sent word from Minrathous."

"More information about Corypheus?"

"Something a bit more personal, I'm afraid." He folded the letter with gentle hands and tucked it into a nearby book. "Felix succumbed to his illness."

Ciri's heart clenched at Dorian's clear sorrow. "I'm sorry. He was a good man."

"He was," Dorian agreed. "But I'm glad he's not suffering any longer. Mae wrote that when he went back to Tevinter, he attended a session of the Magisterium and spoke out against the Venatori and Corypheus. Praised you and the Inquisition. He always was as good as his word."

"Does Alexius know yet?" Ciri asked.

Dorian hunched his shoulders. "I haven't found it in me to even speak to him again. This would be a poor start to things. But he does deserve to know, doesn't he?" He slumped back deeper in his chair and gave Ciri a quizzical look, pushing his sorrow aside. "But what brings you to my little corner of the library?"

"We ran into Venatori in the Western Approach," Ciri told him. "Some of their leaders were killed, but we captured one, a Crassius Servis. He said he studied at the Minrathous Circle of Magi. You mentioned that you attended that school."

"Among a dozen others," Dorian said, flicking his fingers dismissively. "But 'Servis'? That's a laetan surname at best, and one that tends to be changed by petition to a magistrate due to its implications. It's more common among the servorum. Like the Ferelden occupational surnames, 'Smith' and 'Tanner'."

"So you're saying –"

"I'm saying only what anyone who knows Tevene would know," he said. "He must have been quite talented to get a place at the Minrathous Circle. And worked quite hard to obtain a position of authority in the Venatori."

'Ambitious little worm,' the warrior had called him. Was that why? Did they see it as a betrayal?

Ciri lowered her voice. "Speaking of slaves."

Dorian grimaced. "Oh, dear."

"Were you aware that the Venatori were using slave warriors? Because that came as something of a shock to me."

"It seemed obvious," Dorian said. "Even back in Redcliffe, no self-respecting free man of Tevinter would go around armed and armored like something out of a gladiatorial stage production. That's window dressing to show off their merchandise, not anything sensible or useful."

"Yes, well, I didn't know that," Ciri whispered furiously. "I didn't know anything about your culture except what little you and Evelyn have told me! I thought those collars were gorgets!"

"Should I have told you?" he asked her.

"Yes! We could have prevented at least a dozen more deaths if I'd known."

He raised his eyebrows. "Truly? How unusual. How did you manage that?"

"Hawke did it," Ciri said. "Fenris taught her some Tevene. She called out for them to stand down, and they did. Cole picked the locks on their collars, and we gave them supplies and let them go on their way."

"You didn't invite them to join the cause?"

"Cassandra did," Ciri told him quietly. "They'd heard there was an altus in the Inquisition and didn't want to be enslaved again."

Dorian winced. "Ah. The 'dread Tevinter magister' strikes again. From a rather unexpected direction, no less."

"Do you have slaves back in Tevinter?" she asked, a sour feeling rising in her stomach.

"I don't," he said swiftly. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and added with reluctance, "My family has four – all well treated, I assure you."

She took a step back, crossing her arms. Perhaps her time as Bonhart's prisoner, and as an unwilling arena fighter, had made her more sympathetic than she would have otherwise been. But she understood just a little what it meant to have her freedom denied to her. She couldn't say that the Continent was without fault. Nilfgaard's war tactics took refugees and turned them into cheap slave labor and military conscripts. Even her beloved Skellige took thralls. She'd seen the hopeless faces of the dancing women in Kaer Trolde's hall dozens of times as a child and thought little of it then.

She'd hoped to find better here, and it was bitterly disappointing to learn otherwise.

"It's a vile practice," she said evenly.

"And yet it endures," Dorian said. "Did you know that the last archon who tried to abolish slavery was promptly assassinated? And slave uprisings are always put down in such a bloody fashion that it takes generations before another one is attempted."

Ciri looked at him seriously. "You said you and Alexius wanted to reform Tevinter. Is this one of those things you thought needed reformation?"

Dorian's eyes slid away from hers. "We hadn't discussed that. We spoke of corruption in the Magisterium, nepotism, abuse of blood magic – Tevinter's economy would collapse without slavery, you understand."

"I understand that change can be painful," Ciri said. "Someone with power needs to speak out."

"You overestimate just how much power one pariah has, even a pariah with the right family name." He winced. "You're going to get me assassinated, too, I hope you know."

"Won't Maevaris help you?"

He looked tentatively hopeful at that. "Mae does have a little cohort of fellow idealists in the Magisterium. They might be willing to consider it."

"I hope so."

Dorian gave her a decisive smile and changed the subject. "Solas tells me you found this fascinating staff in a ruin frozen in time. It feels a bit like Alexius' amulet. Not quite as volatile, thankfully, but still, very interesting. And the aesthetic fits well with my specialization," he added with a gesture to the polished white skull at the top of the staff.

"I'm glad you like it," she said. "You would have found the Still Ruins quite intriguing, I'm sure."

"I appreciate the souvenir, though I would like to be included in your next outing," he said. "I'm running out of books to read, even if Max's old professors did come through for him."

"The horror," Ciri said dryly. "I'd love to have time to curl up with a good book."

"Is that a yes?"

"That's a yes," Ciri agreed. "After Adamant. Wherever it is the advisors send me, you can come."

"Splendid."

"You should spend some time with Maxwell while you can," she told him. "We march the day after tomorrow."

"I'm meeting him down in the hall for supper. Will you join us?" Dorian asked as he stood from his armchair.

"I'd be happy to, though we'll have to find Owain first," Ciri said.

Dorian laughed. "Unless he's already seated, that shouldn't be hard at all. Tell me, dear lady, do you ever get a crick in your neck when you kiss him?"

Ciri swatted his arm, laughing a bit herself as they ventured down the stairs. "Wouldn't you like to know!"

"Oh, but I'm serious," Dorian continued. "Do you think the new apprentices at the Markham Circle were told to go stand under Ser Owain if they were ever lost, and someone would be around to collect them eventually?"

"You're terrible!"

Owain waved to them as they entered the main hall, Maxwell at his side. Ciri bit back laughter – he stood at least a head taller than almost everyone around him. He really was ridiculously tall for a human. She wouldn't change a thing about him, though.

"Welcome back," Maxwell said as Ciri went up on tiptoe to brush a kiss on Owain's cheek.

"It's good to be back," she said, smiling. "What's for supper?"

"Roast goose," Owain told her. "The cooks heard you were arriving today."

They crowded in at the table together, Ciri's side pressed up against Owain's. She knocked her foot against his playfully as her stomach rumbled.

Two relationships had crumbled while she'd been away, and much was still unsettled – Blackwall, Papillon, Servis. But she couldn't solve everything in one short day. Not with Adamant looming on the horizon.

Later, she decided, reaching for a serving bowl. Tomorrow's problems can keep a while longer.


I'm considering moving my posting day from Sunday to Saturday and keeping the same hour. Let me know if this is better or worse for you as readers!

Your comments are always so appreciated, and they're super motivating as I write ahead.