beta-read by brightspot149. Thank you!
Hey readers. FFN is eating updates right now.
So until this is figured out, you can find chapter 48 on AO3 at archiveofourown dot org / works / 21735094 /chapters / 66720712
Triss ambushed Ciri just outside Skyhold's stables, her eyes sharp with anger and her brow creased in a dark frown.
"You entered the demonic plane physically?" she demanded, low and furious. She looped her arm through Ciri's as they walked back toward the main hall, Olgierd, Cullen, and Owain trailing close behind.
"The Fade," Ciri corrected her. "And it was that or plummet to our deaths. I take it our letter arrived?"
"Yes, we heard about that, and about your decision to forgive and ally with the Wardens, and to hand over the magister to them." Triss huffed in disapproval. "And your fight with the dragon. Are you trying to make Geralt and Yenna kill me?"
"I'm trying to do what's right, to keep people from dying, and to be the leader they expect me to be," Ciri shot back. "I didn't ask for any of this, but I'm doing my best, Triss. We came out of the Fade in one piece. The Warden mages are free from Corypheus' influence. We survived the fight with the dragon. You don't need to tell Geralt and Lady Yennefer even half of it."
Triss' frown deepened. "That wasn't the agreement you made with them."
"No, but the danger has passed, and there's little enough they can do here without Geralt getting taken for an abomination or my whole past being called into question by their presence."
She missed them so much she ached with it sometimes. She longed to have Geralt's steady good sense and terrible humor nearby, and to be able to turn to Yennefer for practical advice and comfort when she felt alone and confused. But the story Leliana and Josephine had woven for her background balanced precariously on a lie: her parents were deceased in Thedas. If one lie fell apart, all the others would in short order, and the Inquisition's failure would be on her shoulders.
She had to go on without them.
"I'll downplay things, but I won't lie," Triss told her. She took a breath and gave Ciri a regretful smile as her anger faded. "I think I've lied to them enough for one lifetime."
"They still call you friend," Ciri said. "I imagine it's all water under the bridge by now. It would have to be with how long all of you live."
"Grudges are useless when you might see three hundred years or more," Triss agreed.
At the top of the steps to the main hall, the doors opened, and Leliana and Josephine came out to welcome them. Leliana met Ciri's eyes and flashed a small scroll at her, concealed in the palm of her hand. Josephine, however, looked beyond her, and as she reached the top of the stairs, Olgierd's steady tread stopped just behind on the stair below.
Josephine took a step forward, reaching past Ciri tentatively, and Olgierd reached back to take her hand in his.
"We heard about what happened in the Fade," she said, her voice full of sympathy. "Olgierd…I'm so sorry for your loss."
"He was brave to the end, and he saved our lives," Olgierd said quietly. "Cole did warn me. You can't keep Adventure out of a fight." He looked between Josephine and Leliana. "Is it safe for you to be out here with just the one guard?"
Josephine smiled at that and squeezed his hand once before pulling hers back – reluctantly, Ciri thought.
"I found a minister who was willing to assist me, and Maxwell Trevelyan traveled to Val Royeaux to bargain with her on my behalf. He sent word from the city as soon as the documents were signed, and I sent a letter to the Du Paraquettes in Val Foret," she said. "The contract was annulled five days ago. There's no longer a price on my life."
"You've no idea how glad I am to hear it." Olgierd's hand twitched at his side, and he leaned forward just the slightest bit. "To know you're safe again – that's all that matters."
Josephine glanced at Ciri and the others assembled on the stairs, then met Olgierd's eyes again. "I would like to speak with you after we have our meeting. If you'd still like to have that conversation, of course."
"Indeed I would." He lowered his voice as a mix of trepidation and wistfulness flickered across his face. "Your room?"
Josephine nodded. "My room. I'll see you there in an hour and a half, no more than that."
"I'll be there."
Leliana cleared her throat and stepped forward. "We'll give you time to get the dust off the road, Inquisitor, but we do need to discuss Adamant and other matters. Shall we convene in the War Room in forty-five minutes?"
"That's agreeable," Ciri said.
She fell into step with Leliana as they entered the main hall, and felt her spymaster pass the small scroll to her surreptitiously.
"Your lead bore fruit," Leliana murmured. "I found answers for you."
"Thank you." She hesitated. "Is it – very bad?"
Leliana's gaze flickered down to the scroll tucked in Ciri's hand. "That is a matter of opinion, I suppose, but I wouldn't call it good. We can discuss it later, after you've washed up. The servants have prepared a bath for you."
Ciri bade everyone a brief farewell, giving Owain a swift kiss on the cheek, and went through the door to the stairs leading to her room. The steaming bathtub at the foot of the bed tempted her, but she unfurled the little scroll first and let her eyes fall to the crisp handwriting that crossed it.
Her heart dropped, and she rolled it back up again and shoved it deep into her belt pouch.
What was she supposed to do with this information? What now?
The War Room held the full complement of advisors when Ciri arrived, her hair still damp and road dust still clinging to her boots. Owain, Raúl, and Cullen all looked fresher for the brief reprieve, and they were deep in conversation with Triss as she came through the door.
"Is there something I'm missing?" Ciri asked.
"No, you're right on time," Triss said. "Maybe you can tell the Commander he needs to take a few days off to take the potion now before work picks up again."
"You're proposing that the entire military command be put out of commission for days. What if there's an emergency?" Cullen crossed his arms and frowned heavily. "We can't afford it."
"You and Ser Rylen should take it first," Ciri suggested. "Owain, Raúl, and Rona can do so after you've recovered. Any former Templars who want to take it after that can have access once they've made it through. Triss, do you have enough ingredients?"
"We have plenty, and we have some made up right now," Triss said. "The battle at Adamant is over, which is what you were waiting on last time, Commander. There's no better time to get it over with than today."
He still looked reluctant, and Owain spoke up. "My sister wouldn't make anything harmful. And Rona would say the same of her brother."
"Very well." Cullen uncrossed his arms, his shoulders sagging. "Shall we go to your workroom after the meeting?"
"It would be better if you took it in the infirmary," Triss told him. At the look he gave her, she explained, "The lyrium only has a few ways to come out. We'll need to stay near the chamber pots and emesis basins."
"Oh. Wonderful."
"Moving on," Leliana said delicately. "No one will second-guess your choice on how to handle the Wardens, Inquisitor. But we were wondering if anything happened in the Fade that we should know about besides the unfortunate passing of Adventure."
"Yes, the missive from Adamant only said that you recovered your memories," Chancellor Roderick said. "It left off what, exactly, those recovered memories were."
"I couldn't trust it to a letter," Ciri said. "We learned how I got the anchor, and what happened to the Divine."
"Hm." Josephine set down her clipboard and quill on the giant table, her eyes knowing. "This is something we would do well to keep secret, I take it."
"It is." Ciri reflexively clenched her marked hand. "Corypheus had ensorcelled Warden mages with him. He was using an orb of some sort to drain the life from the Divine while the mages held her trapped with magic. That's when I came into the room. When he looked away from the Divine, she slapped the orb from his hands. It rolled to my feet and I picked it up, and then…" She held up her hand.
"Maker." Chancellor Roderick shook his head in disbelief. "It's a wayward spell? Happenstance?"
"Not happenstance," Leliana asserted. "If we accept that the Maker has influence over everything, then the Inquisitor touching this orb was His doing. As was the anchor."
"I… Thank you, Sister," Chancellor Roderick said, though he still looked unsettled. "You're right, of course. This is as the Maker willed it. But the Orlesians certainly wouldn't see it that way. You're right to keep it a secret, Lady Ciri."
"What's this orb that Corypheus used?" Raúl asked. "That doesn't sound like any sort of magic I encountered as a Templar."
Ciri thought swiftly. Now that they knew Corypheus was the villain behind it all, allowing a little bit of information about the orb to be known shouldn't do any damage to the elves in the Inquisition. And she had mixed feelings about Solas of late. What if holding his secrets was in some way helping him "trick" her and the Inquisition at large?
"I suspect it's Elvhen," she said. "Stolen from a tomb or ruins, I don't doubt, to power whatever spell Corypheus was trying to cast."
"That would explain why the anchor's magic is so compatible with your own," Leliana agreed. "It's a shame that a darkspawn could corrupt such an ancient artifact. I hope there's a way to retrieve it and cleanse it of the taint."
"That should be further down our list of priorities than keeping the origins of Corypheus' orb to ourselves," Owain said. "It could easily be twisted to cast the elves as enemies scheming to destroy Thedas."
"I wouldn't put it past the Orlesian nobility," Raúl said. "Nor Agnesot."
"Is there news there, Chancellor?" Ciri asked.
"Oh, yes," he said with grim humor. "She and her fellow excommunicants have decided on the next Divine. Agnesot is no more. She's Divine Renata the Second now, and Lydes is the new seat of the faith."
"She can claim it all she likes. She doesn't have the Sunburst throne, and the remaining grand clerics didn't vote for her," Leliana said angrily.
"The lack of a new Divine has caused worry among the people," Josephine said. "But they didn't take well to this. I've heard rumors that they're calling her the 'Red Divine,' as a match to the 'Black Divine' in Tevinter."
An uneasy silence fell at her words, and not for the first time, Ciri recalled what she'd learned in the dark future. Lydes had fallen to Corypheus – become a red lyrium farm. They'd need to address that sooner rather than later.
"Whatever the case," Leliana said after a moment, "we'll need to proceed very carefully. Lydes is Grand Duchess Florianne's stronghold as well as Agnesot's territory, and we must stay on the duchess' good side if we are to secure an invitation to her peace talks."
Ciri disliked leaving a threat like that unhandled, but she understood Leliana's reasoning. "Have those peace talks become more than just vague plans?"
"She intends to hold them in five months," Josephine said. "In the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. That ought to give us enough time to find a way to get you there, along with a small entourage, and arrange for new formal clothes to be made for everyone."
"Why the Winter Palace?" Ciri asked. "It's early spring already. By the time the peace talks are held, it will be summer."
"But Val Royeaux is Empress Celene's seat, and would give her the advantage," Josephine told her. "The Winter Palace is as close to neutral grounds as they might manage without resorting to favoring one of the nobles and using their estate. And make no mistake, every noble has a preferred victor in mind."
"I suppose I understand." Ciri looked around. "Was there anything else?"
"There was," Leliana said. "Cullen and Owain's choice to send soldiers and the Bull's Chargers to Wycome paid off. The nobles advancing on the city stopped in their tracks when they saw the Inquisition's flag flying, and Lady Guinevere was able to discuss matters with them calmly. As it stands, Wycome is now ruled by a citizen council, with Keeper Istimaethoriel at its head."
"A Dalish elf is in charge of the city? They're practicing self-governance?" Ciri looked to Josephine for confirmation, and she nodded. "Well. That's exceedingly strange, but far better than I'd hoped for. I'm glad something good came out of that mess."
"As are we all," Leliana agreed.
"There's also the matter of Crassius Servis," Josephine said. "Something should be done with him."
"Was there any more information about him in the correspondence I had sent back to Skyhold?" Ciri asked Leliana.
"Yes, and my agents uncovered some information on his activities out in the Western Approach while you were away," Leliana said. "I'll have it sent up to your desk for review if you'd like."
"I'll take a look at it tomorrow. Servis can wait one more day, at least."
Leliana inclined her head in agreement. "I believe that's the last of it, Inquisitor, though we do have that small matter to discuss in private."
"If you'll follow me, Commander, we'll go find Ser Rylen and get started," Triss said.
Cullen followed Triss out the door, still looking quite reluctant. Chancellor Roderick and Raúl left behind them with short farewells, and Owain caught Ciri's eye as he put his hand on the door.
"Supper?"
"Of course," she said, smiling.
Josephine lingered, straightening her parchment on her clipboard and fussing with the cuffs of her sleeves. Leliana eyed her in resigned amusement.
"Don't you have a rakish gentleman mage waiting for you, Josie?"
"I do, it's only…" Josephine looked at Ciri. "I kept him waiting so long. And now he's in mourning again. I'm afraid I'll make a mess of things."
"You can't possibly," Ciri assured her. "Go. Talk to him."
Josephine took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked out the door.
"I suppose that's it," Leliana sighed. "I told him I'd accept him if Josie did. And I don't go back on my word."
"He'll treat her well," Ciri said.
Leliana looked thoughtful. "Perhaps you're right. But anyway, Inquisitor. The 'Blackwall' matter."
Ciri brushed her hand over her belt pouch. "You wrote that his name is Thom Rainier. And that he was a captain in the imperial army of Orlais."
"My agents are certain of it," Leliana said. "Chandler found an old wanted poster of Rainier near Lake Celestine. His face is unbearded in it, but the eyes, nose, and brows are unmistakable."
"And he really…" Ciri trailed off. "He really killed four children? Led his men to kill that whole family for coin?"
"On the orders of Ser Robert Chapuis, to deprive Empress Celene of one of her generals and give Gaspard an edge in his pursuit of the throne," Leliana confirmed. "Word got out immediately, of course, and Rainier and his men all fled for their lives. Most of them were captured and hanged. Rainier turned to mercenary work, then disappeared just over a year and a half ago. We now know that he'd taken on Gordon Blackwall's identity."
"But why?" Ciri asked. "And why join so public a cause?"
She felt sick at the thought. He'd been akin to a brother Witcher in her mind before she'd realized he'd been lying, but this was beyond anything she'd imagined. All the terrible things she'd done as a bandit, all the many crimes that could be laid at Olgierd's feet – neither of them had killed children. Even at Olgierd's worst, he'd had a code he'd killed his own men for violating. Geralt had told her that.
"Perhaps they crossed paths, and something happened to Warden Blackwall," Leliana said. "Perhaps he felt like he needed to carry on in his place."
"He does seem to have adopted the Warden cause and ethos as his own." Ciri drew closer to the table and picked up one of the pewter key tokens to fiddle with. "He had to know he'd be found out eventually if he joined the Inquisition. He could have stayed an anonymous wandering 'Warden' for the rest of his life. But he's been brave, valorous even. That draws attention. As do his missteps when contrasted with Warden Stroud."
"Sometimes, when people do terrible things or experience great suffering, they take on a new role, even a new identity," Leliana told her. "The change can provide comfort, a new foundation to build on. In Rainier's case, he may have immersed himself so thoroughly in the role of Blackwall that he couldn't keep away from a good cause."
Ciri had a feeling that Leliana was speaking from personal experience. Still, she wouldn't pry. "You may be right."
"How would you like to handle this?" Leliana asked.
"Nothing in his behavior, or in the morals he espouses, says 'child-killer' to me," Ciri said. "I know he's a wanted man, and that harboring him may bring trouble down on our heads, but I've fought alongside him several times now. He defended the people in Haven against overwhelming odds. He volunteered to help Stroud in the Western Approach and was badly injured for his trouble. I think he's a changed man."
"A changed man who's lying about his identity and knows so little about the Wardens that it very nearly got you into trouble a few times now," Leliana pointed out. "If we were still relying on him as our Grey Warden to back up the treaties we invoked, we'd incur the wrath of heads of state and nobles across Thedas when the truth comes out. And it will come out."
"Yes. I know." Ciri rolled the pewter marker across the Frostbacks idly. "Do you think Malika Cadash knows his past?"
"It's possible. She plays things close to her chest, for all her friendliness."
"I'd like to see if we can nudge him into coming forward with this on his own," she decided. "If he doesn't, then we'll watch him, and we'll wait. Something will happen."
Leliana gave her a sharp nod. "Leave it to me, Inquisitor. I'll have a quiet word with Scout Malika this evening. Was there anything else?"
"There is." Ciri set the token down and straightened. "Could you have someone look into Solas' background as well? He says he comes from a small village to the north. If you could find it, I'd appreciate it."
"Is this a priority?" Leliana asked, her eyes keen.
"I – yes. I believe so."
"Then I'll send an agent out at once."
Ciri turned from the table, then paused as a memory came to her. "There was one other thing. In the Fade, I remembered my escape with the Divine. She told me to tell you she was sorry."
"Yes." Leliana's voice was quiet. "She apologized to me on her deathbed. She didn't make much sense. She said she'd failed me. I don't know why she would. Justinia saved my life. She never failed me." She cleared her throat. "But thank you for telling me."
"If there's anything I can do –"
"I'll let you know."
Ciri left her behind then, heading out the door to find something to occupy herself with. Now that she had a few brief hours to herself, perhaps she might steal some time with a book in the library. It had been a while since she'd read for pleasure, after all.
Olgierd looked up at the sound of hurried footsteps coming his way. Josephine strode down the outer balcony toward him, soft curls escaping her braided bun and a look of faint anxiety on her face. He straightened from his slouch against the railing and came to meet her.
"I didn't keep you waiting long, did I?" Josephine asked.
"Nay. I've been out here but a few minutes. I needed the time to freshen up." He extended his hand to her, half afraid she wouldn't take it, and felt something ease in his heart when her hand slipped into his. "You look well."
She patted her hair with her free hand, blushing faintly. "I look like I've been on my feet all day. But you're kind to say so. I do feel well. Far better than I did when my life was in danger."
"It's a relief to hear you'll not be hunted any longer." He squeezed her fingers gently and nodded toward her door. "Shall we?"
Josephine reached for the handle without letting go of Olgierd's hand. "Yes. Do come in. Please."
Olgierd followed her into her room, attached as he was to her soft, slender hand, and waited as she shut the door behind them. She led him to the armchair in the corner, and this time it was his turn to sit in it and hers to stand before him, her hand reclaimed.
Josephine looked down at him, and as he looked back, her serious eyes gentled just the slightest bit.
"Oh, my dear Olgierd," she said with a sigh. "Did you know I used to be a bard in Val Royeaux?"
"I'd no idea." He leaned forward in the chair. "I cannot picture it, to be honest. Such a cutthroat life isn't in your nature."
"No," she agreed softly. "No, I had to learn that the hard way."
"What happened, Josephine?"
"Like many young noble men and women of university age, I decided to learn the Grand Game by putting on a mask and becoming a bard," Josephine said. "I sang, played music, made charming conversation…and spied. I had a noble patron who sent me here and there on small errands. On one memorable occasion, I encountered another bard sent to kill my patron. We fought – scrapped, perhaps, is the better word – at the top of a steep flight of stairs. He drew a knife, and I pushed him away. He fell."
She hugged her arms around herself. "You can imagine what happened."
"I can." He gripped the arms of the chair, his heart aching at the look on Josephine's face.
"I rushed to the bottom of the stairs, but it was too late. And his mask...his mask had fallen from his face." She turned from him, her arms dropping to her sides again. "I knew him. He was a friend of mine from the university. It was such a waste of life!"
"Oh, dove." He stood from the armchair and went to her. She still fit perfectly within his arms. "I do admire your tender heart. He'd have killed you had you not protected yourself, you know this."
"I do." She pulled back from his embrace a little to smile up at him faintly. "No one has called me dove in over a month. I've missed that."
"I'll call you that every day if you like." Reluctantly, he released her and stepped back. "But you bring this up for a reason, I expect."
Josephine didn't let him get far. She caught his rough, scarred hand and held it between both of hers, her hazel eyes fixed on the heavy rings he wore. "Yes. A reminder to myself that we promised from the start not to judge each other by our pasts. I suppose I should have known that you'd respond so kindly."
"You made that promise before you heard the worst of it," Olgierd said. "I don't hold it against you."
"Your confession was troubling, to say the least," Josephine said. "I couldn't stop picturing my own father dying like that. And I know your world doesn't have the same concept of maleficar that Thedas does, but trapping your wife with demons and denying her the right to divorce you is an awful thing."
"We haven't maleficar, but goetia, demonology, is a forbidden art," he admitted. "I learned it so I might summon O'Dimm and break the contract."
She glanced up at that, a look of wry, unwilling amusement in her eyes. "That doesn't help."
"My apologies. I'll not be less honest with you, however."
"One of the many things I appreciate about you," she said, aiming a small smile at his hand. "Still, I had to admit to myself that if I was willing to accept that you'd led a band of raiders into peasant villages before you were cursed, then I couldn't suddenly decide that whatever crimes you committed after you were cursed were unacceptable."
"It's no easy thing to accept," he said. "What I did –"
"What you did was monstrous," she interrupted, her voice unbearably gentle. "But you weren't a monster through your own choice. You said you wished to live as though there were no tomorrow, not as though you had no heart. It's not my place to forgive it, but you have my forgiveness anyway."
He felt the heavy weight of old sins crack and crumble away beneath her kind gaze. "Josephine –"
"You do." Her voice firmed. "But we shall make a pact, going forward. We must always be honest with each other. You and Iris promised each other a marriage without secrets. I cannot give you even a courtship without that. As a diplomat, I must keep people's confidence. But honesty in our personal lives, that's something we should strive for."
"You have my word."
"And…" Josephine looked down at his hand again, then back up, her eyes wary. "And if either of us ever wishes to leave, we will let each other go."
"Oh, dove." He reached out with his free hand to cup her smooth cheek. "I'll not clip your wings."
She laughed a little and dropped his hand with a final squeeze. "You have the heart of a poet, my dear one."
"Perish the thought."
"Mm. Some magnificent warrior-poet, off fighting grand battles and singing songs around the campfire, casting spells and leaving women enthralled in every town he passes through."
"I've only eyes for one." He lowered his voice. "Is all well between us, Josephine? Truly?"
"All is well," she said. "But are you? Your loss of Adventure was so recent."
For a heartbeat, the need to downplay the loss rose in him.
Honesty.
"It aches," he admitted. "He told me to look to my dreams for him, and he pushed me into Ciri and Solas' arms and ran out to fight that creature alone. Every night, I do as he bade. But my dreams are flat and rote. Whatever spirit has taken Vlodimir's role, they aren't Adventure. They aren't Vlod. I've lost him twice now."
"I'm so sorry," she said again, her face full of sympathy.
"It was a far better death than he had the first time," Olgierd said quietly. "I never forgave myself for that. Told everyone he died a hero in the thick of battle rather than admit O'Dimm arranged for a table to break open his head. At my behest, no less. This death, taking on a demon the size of Skyhold's main hall to protect the rest of us, is the sort of thing bards tell tales of to adoring crowds."
"Are you certain he died?" she asked. "I've heard it's different with spirits."
"We saw him disappear, not fall," Olgierd told her. "But I haven't much hope. He'd have returned by now if he lived."
"Then I'll hold out hope for you," she said kindly. "My heart is less battered than yours. I can withstand the disappointment if I turn out to be wrong."
Olgierd swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "You're a jewel among women."
"We have a partnership," Josephine said, and she laced her fingers through his. "We share our joys and sorrows."
"My dearest Josephine." He pulled her into his arms and pressed a kiss to the side of her silky hair. "A partnership it is."
"Kiss me," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I have missed your kisses."
He held her close, savoring the feel of the warmth of her body pressed against his, the scent of her perfume winding itself around his head, and he dropped his lips to hers. She returned the kiss sweetly, her soft lips parting beneath his.
His pulse quickened, and fierce joy raced through him. Her hand came up to cup the back of his head, her fingers threading through the short horsetail tied there. He shivered and tugged her closer, one hand slowly sliding down to rest on her hip.
Their lips parted, and Josephine took a slow, slightly unsteady breath. "That was…not how I remember our last kiss."
"Was that too much, dove?"
"It's just enough, I think." She hesitated. "Unless you would rather have more, in which case, we will need to have another discussion."
He tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and smiled. "We spoke of this before. Our journey together is just as valuable as our destination. There's no rush."
Remembering either version of his brother hurt to do, but he'd never been like Vlodimir with his peasant lasses, milkmaids, and naïfs. He'd given his heart only twice now, and he'd long outgrown any interest in dalliances. If Josephine wished to move slowly, that was fine by him.
She leaned back in and kissed him gently, then rested her head on his shoulder. "You are so very dear. Hold me?"
"For as long as you like."
They stood together in the corner of her room, his cheek resting on the top of her head and their arms around each other as they quietly breathed together. And as the light slowly turned pink and gold outside her small window, Olgierd felt more at peace than he had in over thirty-five years.
