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Owain came up the stairs to Ciri's quarters as she twisted her damp hair back into a loose bun and slipped her feet into her boots again. He took a single look at her face and crossed the room to pull her into a warm hug.
"I heard what happened," he said. "Are you holding up alright?"
"I don't know," she admitted. She leaned into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his back. "I don't think it could have gone any better with the way the red lyrium was affecting us. But Mahanon was one of ours, and he died for us. I fear for Mihris, though. She holds far too much guilt for someone so young."
"The scouts will escort her safely back to Wycome." She felt him press his lips to the top of her head before he loosened his hold.
Before he could step back completely, she tugged him down into a warm, lingering kiss. "I missed you."
"I missed you, too." His smile held a hint of worry. "You aren't still affected by your exposure to the red lyrium, are you?"
Ciri shook her head and let him go. "Once we were a day away again, the headache cleared up for good. I feel fine. But the Inquisition should pull back from that region altogether. It's not safe for anyone but the Grey Wardens."
"They're already moving out." He handed her a thin stack of parchment and said somewhat apologetically, "I wish there was more time to brief you, but Cullen's wearing a groove in the War Room floor. The correspondence the Grey Wardens sent back from the Sahrnia quarry has had him on edge for days."
"Let's not keep them waiting, then," Ciri said with a sigh. She flipped through the pages, her eyes skimming across the writing, and gave him a nod.
A low, rasping hoot sounded from the balcony, and she looked up to see a snowy owl take flight. She tensed.
"Are owls like that common in the Frostbacks?"
"There's a pair of snowy owls nesting in the barn," Owain told her. "The grooms haven't shooed them out because they keep the mice down. Why?"
"Philippa Eilhart can polymorph into an owl—shapeshift," she clarified. She turned from the balcony and forced her shoulders to unclench. "But there are guards on the portal at your family's estate. I'm probably just imagining things."
"I'll tell the men to be on the lookout for, ah, suspicious owl activity anyway," he said. "There's no harm in taking precautions."
Ciri went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, laughing softly. "Thank you. Though I expect the soldiers will think us mad for it."
He laughed and started to head down the stairs. "They get bored without something to gossip about. It'll keep them entertained, at least, even if nothing comes of it. I can ask Rona to lead the investigation, if you like. She's steady."
"That would be good," Ciri agreed. "But tell her to be careful. Philippa's dangerous, more dangerous than the mages here, and a good portion of that is how clever she is."
"I will." He made a thoughtful sound under his breath. "What does Eilhart look like when she's not covered in feathers?"
"Innocuous, honestly," Ciri said. "Pretty, and young. Dark hair, and dark eyes, when she has them. Light skin and freckles. She wears dark clothes, or red ones, and black agate jewelry. You'll know her when you see her."
"I'll spread the word. But don't borrow trouble. In all likelihood, it's just one of the owls from the barn."
She sincerely hoped so.
He ran her through all the items on the list as they headed through the hall and towards the War Room, keeping his points succinct. Ciri followed along closely and interjected a question or two at one of the more outlandish items. The briefing, as short as it was, wrapped up just as they reached the door.
Josephine intercepted her as soon as she came inside. "Is Olgierd—There was a diplomatic matter I couldn't get away from," she said in a rush, her hands twisting anxiously before her. "I read the report, but is he well?"
"He's unharmed," Ciri assured her. "Solas healed him completely. But it was… difficult for him. Emotionally. He'll want to talk to you, I'm sure."
"That's—" Josephine took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Alright. He came back uninjured. Thank you for keeping your word on that. I'll seek him out after the meeting and see how he is."
Ciri reached out and squeezed Josephine's hand, and she moved past her to join the others around the map. After a moment, Josephine came to stand at her side. Owain took his place by Cullen and Raúl on the other side of the table.
"I got the very quick version of all this," she said, setting the agenda items down on the map. "Cullen, Owain tells me there's something important about Samson? Something to do with his armor?"
"Yes, Inquisitor." Cullen straightened and nodded at the stack of parchment. "The Grey Wardens sent on all the correspondence they found in the quarry by raven. One of those letters held critical information for us. Samson wrote to one of the red Templars there demanding 'twice the usual red lyrium' for a person named Maddox to modify his armor, saying it had to be perfect for when he takes over as the 'Vessel.'"
Ciri frowned. "That doesn't sound good. Do we know what the 'Vessel' is supposed to be?"
"No, but we do know who Maddox is." Cullen looked briefly ashamed before steeling himself to speak on. "He was once a mage friend of Samson's when Samson still served in the Kirkwall Circle. Maddox formed a romantic attachment with a woman outside the Circle, and Samson carried letters between them. When it was discovered, Samson was expelled from the Order, and Maddox was made Tranquil."
"Like Clemence was," Ciri said, and Cullen nodded. "Was this common? Cutting mages off from the outside world like that? Making them Tranquil if they broke those rules?"
"It varied by Circle," Owain said. Ciri could easily read the regret and honesty in his face. "A noble like my sister was able to communicate freely with our family, and from everything she's said, she enjoyed her time at the Ostwick Circle. But without money or a title, or in stricter Circles… yes. Mages were isolated from their families, and their families were discouraged from keeping their ties. I couldn't say if what happened to Clemence or Maddox was common, but it wasn't rare."
"That's vile," Ciri said flatly.
Cullen hesitated, then said, "No one here will argue that. I won't argue that. The Templar Order went too far."
"Good." Ciri drummed her fingers on the table in thought. "So Samson was kicked out of the Order for doing a decent thing. I didn't expect that."
"It doesn't excuse any of what he's done since, though," Raúl pointed out. "Look at the mess he's made of the Order. That Carta dwarf you interrogated in the Deep Roads said his Dasher spoke to a human with pasty skin and stringy black hair—that sounds like Samson to me. Which means he's been involved in this red lyrium business from the start."
"No, he's fully culpable for his part in the spread of the blighted lyrium," Ciri agreed. "He could have made any number of different choices along the way, and he didn't. But he went back for Maddox before he left Kirkwall to join Corypheus…that says something about the man he was once."
"Perhaps so," Cullen said. "Regardless, Inquisitor, we need answers about that armor if we're to know what Samson meant about becoming the 'Vessel', which means finding Maddox. I took the liberty of having Leliana's scouts watch less-trafficked trade routes and hit upon a possible location."
He planted one of his markers in the northwest of Orlais, a few days outside of Ghislain. "They spotted red Templars escorting a supply caravan here, to a location in the wilderness. With your permission, I'd like to accompany you when you go."
"Granted," Ciri told him. "I assume you'll want to leave soon?"
"In the next few days," he said. "After you're rested."
"There is a complication," Leliana interjected. She tapped the map to the east of Crestwood. "Cassandra and my agents have tracked down where the real Lord Seeker Lucius Corin is hiding with the remainder of the Seekers of Truth. Here, in Caer Oswin. They killed one of my scouts for venturing too near, which is what tipped us off. I suspect they might change locations soon if they believe we're onto them."
"So this is just as time-sensitive," Ciri said, and Leliana nodded.
Ciri crossed her arms and frowned down at the table. Two pressing issues, both taking her in opposite directions. If she could teleport…
"Cassandra can lead the excursion herself," she said at last. "Olgierd will go with her. It's up to her who else she takes."
Owain set a raised fist marker over Caer Oswin. "I'll let her know."
"Next…" Ciri flipped to another page. "Why is King Bhelen of Orzammar requesting our aid instead of the Grey Wardens'?"
"We are the Grey Wardens' allies," Josephine said. "Even their nominal superiors for the time being, given how the battle at Adamant Fortress ended."
"Regardless, no. We don't have time, and the Blight is too dangerous to risk our people to. We'll pass this on to the Wardens. But ask them to write up a report for us afterward."
"We'll do that." Josephine set a key-shaped marker over the entrance to Orzammar, and a matching one on Soldier's Peak. "And speaking of the Wardens…. We read the report from Sahrnia. They have truly declared a Blight?"
"Yes," Ciri said, looking around at her gathered advisors. "We still have a portion of the resources the treaties allowed us, but the Grey Wardens are taking the blighted lyrium, and the red Templars, extremely seriously. As well as anyone aiding them. Mistress Poulin is in their custody now, and I don't fancy her odds of surviving their trial."
She leaned over the map and tapped Sahrnia, Lydes, the Western Approach, Crestwood, the Storm Coast, and the Hinterlands. "They've sent squads with their stakes and potions here, and they'll await word from us if we find red lyrium in other places."
"With any luck, this 'Blight' will be over quickly," Cullen muttered.
"From your lips to the Maker's ears," Josephine said. "Was there anything else?"
Ciri hesitated. "There's only one other thing, but you might consider it important." She held up her marked hand. "At the rate Triss and Solas are working, this will be off me in a matter of months, six at the most. I don't intend to leave before we've dealt with Corypheus and Solas, but after that, the Inquisition will have to manage without me. I'm going home."
"Might consider it important?" Chancellor Roderick echoed. "Lady Ciri, really. One of the most powerful political and religious figures in Thedas disappearing back into obscurity is a matter of great concern."
"And yet that's what I intend," Ciri said. "I've never made that a secret. So if the Inquisition plans to continue after I leave, then you should consider if you'll transition to making decisions as a council, or if you want to find another candidate to replace me."
"You'll be down an advisor either way," Owain added. "I'm going with her when she leaves."
Triss spoke up. "So am I."
Ciri looked across the table to Owain and met his eyes. They crinkled up at the corners as he gave her that small, warm smile that always seemed like it was only meant for her, and she felt a smile break across her face in response.
"We understand," Josephine told her kindly, and Ciri looked over to see her absently touch her ring. "You have a life to get back to. We'll see to it that the Inquisition doesn't falter without you, and that our military and diplomatic efforts hold."
"And I suppose we should start putting together a list of candidates as well," Cullen said. "I know Cassandra wanted Marian Hawke to lead us, but with Hawke comes Anders now that he's no longer possessed."
"Andraste preserve us," Chancellor Roderick muttered.
"A problem for another day," Josephine said. "Shall we adjourn?"
Ciri smiled at her. "I think we're done."
"Then if you'll excuse me, everyone." Josephine turned and strode from the War Room, her clipboard tucked beneath her arm.
Leliana laughed softly as the door shut again. "I'll go and start to put together my recommendations for your replacement."
"We'll do likewise," Cullen said with a nod to Owain and Raúl.
"And you're coming with me," Triss told Ciri firmly. "It's time for another treatment on the mark. And I want details about what happened in Emprise du Lion."
"You'll get them," she told Triss and threw a quick, "See you at supper?" to Owain over her shoulder as Triss tucked her arm through Ciri's and steered her toward the door.
"Wouldn't miss it for anything," he said, chuckling as she disappeared around the doorframe.
Ciri tightened her hold on Triss' arm for a moment. "Ask away, Triss. But at a guess, the answer to your first question is yes. The red lyrium really is that bad."
Olgierd entered his room wearily, saddlebags slung over his arm. His injuries from his desperate fight with Adventure had healed weeks ago, without so much as the faintest line to show for the blood the spirit had drawn. But his back and legs ached from the days of riding, and he wanted nothing more than a hot bath and some time with the woman he loved.
Steam rose in pale wisps from the washbasin on the table against the wall, and he grunted softly in dissatisfaction and dropped his saddlebags beside the door. A bath wasn't in the cards, then. He turned to the bed to disrobe and stopped short.
A gorgeous lute lay propped against his pillows, the soft amber tones of the bowl and lighter brown of the body almost glowing in the room's candlelight. The rosette behind the strings was intricately carved, and even the pegs had a shine to them.
He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to lightly pluck a string. The note sounded sweetly through the room, high and clear. He strummed his fingers across all of them and smiled. Whoever had gifted it to him, and he had his suspicions, had been thoughtful enough to tune it before leaving it for him to find.
Reluctantly, he drew his hand back and stood to undress. He'd be able to play at his leisure once he'd cleaned off.
When the washbasin water was cool and gray with dirt and dust, and he felt half-human again, he went to the wardrobe for fresh clothes. For once he stopped at a shirt and trousers, forgoing his customary robe, and returned to his bed to recline against the pillows. With the lute in his lap, his legs stretched out before him and bare feet poking out of the ends of his trousers, he brought his arm around the body and set his other hand on the neck.
One song rolled into another and into yet another, and he hummed under his breath along to the rich notes filling the air. His fingers ached after so long not touching lute strings, the calluses long disappeared. But still he played on.
Unthinkingly, his fingers began to play the opening notes to another familiar song, and he faltered.
That had always been Vlodimir's favorite tune in life. Would it have been the Fade's Vlod's, too, when he still had those memories?
"Someone's lady is like a berry," he sang quietly. "She's like a blossom of cherry. But thanks to you, oh my saber, I'm growing weary."
Olgierd sighed and set the lute beside him, rubbing his fingertips across his lips. Imshael hadn't needed to be O'Dimm to be dangerous. He'd very nearly broken his promise to Josephine in his attempt to keep Adventure alive and unharmed. And to try and force him to choose between Adventure and Ciri, of all things—
He hoped Adventure was doing well in the Fade, wherever he was. He'd keep an eye on his dreams, as Vlod had told him to. Perhaps one day they might even bear fruit.
He closed his eyes and let his mind drift, trying not to think about Adventure's black, blank stare, or the moment Imshael had smiled at him with O'Dimm's face, threatened his closest friend with O'Dimm's voice.
"Brotherly affection," he muttered. "Gods help me."
Ciri was too close in age to Josephine for him to be comfortable calling it fatherly affection, and she had an admirable father already as it was. But he'd ridden with some of the men and women in the Wild Ones for years, decades even, and not felt even a portion of the regard and trust that he had for Ciri. She had, in a very real way, filled that hollow spot at his side where he used to be able to find Vlodimir. Adventure had done the same later, but Ciri had been the first to start to heal that constant ache of loss.
He hadn't expected a demon to lay bare the depth of his care for his friend. He hadn't even put it into words himself. Brotherly affection.
He'd been a shite brother before. Whatever came, he'd not betray Ciri. This time, he'd do better.
A light knock on his door made him open his eyes and look over. "Come in."
Josephine slipped inside, and he sat up hastily. She held up a hand to keep him from getting up. "No, stay," she entreated him, crossing his room to sit beside him. Her hand fell lightly on the center of his chest, and her eyes gazed into his. "The report said you were injured, but Ciri told me Solas healed you."
"Not a single new scar," he told her, "as promised. The injuries were unavoidable, I fear, though I did my best."
"I believe you." She kissed him softly and drew back, concern pulling a shadow over her face. "I heard it was difficult."
"Difficult as it was, it could have been far worse," he said honestly. "Imshael read my thoughts somehow, saw O'Dimm in my mind. Saw what I'd done. He took on his form and tried to make me choose between Ciri and Adventure. He bound Adventure and pitted him against me, made me fight him. But in the end… It wasn't O'Dimm. And that likely made all the difference."
"You said the demon that cursed you had been defeated before," Josephine said. Her hand gripped his shirt front. "That the witcher told you how."
"He had been, and Geralt did." Olgierd rested his hand over Josephine's. "In hindsight, it was hubris, just a bit. Wanting to be the one to put an end to him."
"And now that you've found out otherwise?"
"I must satisfy myself with what the witcher told me the morning we parted," he said. "O'Dimm was defeated. I'm free and safe, and my soul is my own."
"And you're here in Thedas," she added quietly. "With me."
He brushed a kiss across her lips and smiled. "And my life is all the better for it."
"Do you think you'll ever go back to the Continent again?" she asked.
"I can't rule it out entirely, but it's doubtful. There's nothing there for me now but people and places I'd rather forget—and who'd likely rather forget me in turn. And if I did go back, I wouldn't stay. Not for anything."
He carefully shifted the lute over nearer to the edge of the bed and moved to the middle, reclining back against the pillows again, and he held his arm out to Josephine. "Come and scandalize a dozen Orlesian matrons with me, dove."
"What an invitation!" she said with a laugh. She lay down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and settling her arm across his chest. "Do you like the lute?"
"It's a beautiful instrument, and a thoughtful gift. Thank you. When did you find the time?"
"I didn't."
He tilted his head to look at her, and she aimed a brilliant smile at him. "Oh?"
"My parents wrote back while you were away. They understand I'd choose you regardless, but they've given their blessing and approval, and they sent it as a gift, to welcome you to our family." She laughed. "I suspect between Yvette and myself, they were quite tired of hearing us go on about your virtues. But they did add that they are sincerely grateful you protected us at the Winter Palace."
"As if I could do any less." He kissed her softly and pulled her closer. "I must admit, it's a relief to start off on the right foot with the future in-laws for a change."
"They will love you," she told him, tightening her hold around his chest. "They're good people who only wish the best for their children, and they know how happy you make me."
"Something I intend to keep doing, so long as there's life in me." He stroked back a loose tendril of hair from her face. "It's right kind of your parents to welcome me like that. I'll do my best not to lose their regard. I wouldn't want to put you at odds with them over your choice of husband."
She laughed again. "Between Yvette's inability to stick with a suitor for longer than a month, Laurien's preference for men, Antoine's utter lack of interest in anything but art, and Tomás being too young to court, my declaration that I'd marry you and none other quite honestly settled their worries about the continuation of the family line."
"Hm." He toyed with her hair, letting it run through his fingers idly. "They didn't wonder at a strange older man with no title turning their daughter's head? A mage, no less?"
"You're ridiculous," she said, pinching his side lightly. "You tried to convince me to end it. You even brought Redanian food into it. If anyone's head is turned, dearest, it's yours."
"I am besotted," he agreed fondly.
"As to the rest, it went much as I expected," she said. "They didn't turn up their noses at your lack of a title, and Mother and Father have a similar age gap between them—don't start," she warned him playfully. "We're not telling them all of it. You're a decade older than me, no more."
He twirled her hair around his finger and tugged very gently, letting it spiral off in a loose curl. "So I am."
"They were hesitant about your magic, but they're willing to embrace the new freedom for mages that Ciri and the Inquisition are championing." She brushed a kiss across his mouth and smiled. "They accept this, my love. They welcome it."
Olgierd kissed her back, at a rare loss for words. That after all he'd been through, after all he'd done, he might find not just some measure of peace, but happiness… love….
He kissed her again, and her hand slid from his side and up his chest to finish its journey on his shoulder as her lips parted beneath his. She pressed closer as he deepened the kiss, his hand falling from her hair to her cheek. With a soft sound of pleasure, she moved from his side to lie on top of him, and he let his free hand wander down her back.
A long, lazy minute passed that way, heat building in his veins at her warm weight against his chest and her lips on his. She pulled away reluctantly and met his eyes.
"All my nights," she said. "That's what you said."
"I did," he said quietly. "I meant every word."
"We're to be wed. My family has given their blessing. And I—I could have lost you when you went to Sahrnia." She reached out and lightly stroked the side of his face. "I don't want to wait any longer."
He gently squeezed her hip and kept his eyes on hers. "Are you certain? There's no rush."
"I'm certain." She leaned in to kiss him again. "Take me to bed. Or—" She laughed. "Further to bed."
He laughed as well and drew her back into his arms. "Far be it from me to argue with a lady."
And he lost himself in the sweetness of her mouth again, every beat of his heart pulsing with love and joy and desire.
If you want to read what happened after the fade to black, it can be found here at archiveofourown dot org / works /29088702 / chapters / 80973331