Thank you all for reading! Particular thanks to suilven for her thoughtful and swift betaing!
Varric closed the door and leaned back against it, sighing. "That was a close shave."
"Don't you dare." Bianca smiled at him. "I like your stubble just the way it is."
He chuckled. "No, I meant talking Stones out of making me go to the Winter Palace."
"Why shouldn't you go?"
"Two words: Merchants' Guild. Oh, and a third—publishers. My publishers insist that I go over worse in Orlais than Fereldan lamb and pea stew. In fact, they implied that if I step foot among the Orlesian nobility, they might throw some at me."
"I find that hard to believe." Bianca stretched luxuriously. "How did you score such a nice bed, anyway?"
"Ruffles. She insisted Stones have the best dwarf-size furniture there was, something about a happy Inquisitor being a charming Inquisitor. It wasn't hard to convince her to order some extra for the other dwarves around." Responding to Bianca's invitingly crooked finger, he climbed on the bed, crawling across to her. "And what would you know about people's reactions to my books anyway? You've never read any."
"Well, no, that's true," Bianca conceded. One of her hands trailed down through his chest hair to the buckle of his belt. "But I listen to what people say about them. I like that your books are so well-received."
"Do you?" He held himself above her while she disrobed him. "That's generous of you."
"Of course." She cupped his face in her hands. "You're mine, Varric Tethras, and don't you forget it."
With her mouth on his, her hands rediscovering familiar places, he didn't think it was possible for him ever to forget. He settled on top of her, kissing her back with fervor. All too soon she would stop letting him talk her into staying and be off to keep an eye on the thaig, but for just this moment she was his, too, and he intended to take full advantage of it.
The familiar worn satchel sat open on the bed, ready for her to throw her clothes into it, such as she had. It had been a long time since Lilias had worn clothes suitable for a formal ball; in fact, she had never really enjoyed the experience, preferring comfort over style in every case. She had tried to convince Alistair, and then Thule, that she shouldn't even be coming along with the Inquisition's party to Halamshiral, that their association with the disgraced and controversial Champion of Kirkwall was hardly something to flaunt. Many there were likely to believe everything that had happened was her fault, from the destruction of Kirkwall's Chantry to the Conclave, and she wasn't so sure they were wrong. Poor Anders. Surely there was some way she could have saved him, helped him … even if that had meant killing him, maybe that would have been better for everyone.
Presented with that argument, Thule had grinned his charming grin, the one Lilias suspected had gotten a lot of women to do what he wanted, and said he was far more controversial than she was, and wouldn't it be nice if he had someone around who could take the pressure off him. Alistair had merely looked at her with eyes like the mabari pup Carver had once begged for that they couldn't afford, and how could Lilias turn him down?
Well, she could have. She should have, she told herself, frowning at her image in the glass. This whole idea of his that they should start over was crazy. He said things had changed, but her cousin's name was practically branded on his forehead, not to mention on the brain beneath it … and the heart. That hadn't changed, no matter how much he protested, and Lilias wanted even less than before to be her cousin's stand-in. When she wasn't even sure who she was anymore, how could she compete with the image of Thedas's most perfect woman?
Sometimes she wished that she had a picture of Leyden, that she had met her cousin, if only once, so she could have seen the similarity between them for herself. There had been times, in those short, dizzying weeks in Kirkwall, when she had talked to her reflection in the mirror as if it was Leyden, trapped there in some world beyond the looking glass, making the case for why Leyden should remove her hooks from Alistair and leave him to find new happiness … but she had never fully convinced herself, much less the shade of her famous cousin.
Could she now? She frowned at the reflection, the thin face and the dark circles under the blue eyes. If she couldn't make him forget Leyden in the bloom of her youth and confidence, how was she ever going to manage it now?
"These uniforms do not flatter anyone. You know that, I presume?" Leliana frowned at her friend, who was lying on her stomach across Leliana's bed.
"Perhaps not," Josephine conceded, "but we will present a unified front. Besides, there was no time, not to find a tailor who could fit everyone."
"At least the Inquisitor has decided not to ask the Iron Bull to accompany us. Although I must admit that watching those shoulders strain the fabric of his jacket might have been worth it." The two women exchanged a wicked grin.
"That may be just what you need, my friend," Josephine observed.
"I've considered it, but …" Leliana thought of Bethany. "I am sadly not tempted."
"I understand. I truly do. But spending your life alone is hardly the answer, either."
"Look who's talking, Josie! When was the last time you looked longingly at someone?"
Josephine sighed. "Longer ago than I care to admit. However, that may be changing." She flushed slightly.
"The letter from your mother? You aren't considering this arranged marriage, are you?"
"I have agreed to meet Lord Otranto, yes. I understand he will be at the ball."
"Ah." The uniforms made even more sense, now. Josie didn't want to look her best for this man her mother wished her to marry; she was testing him.
"Don't give me that look, Leliana! I have a duty—"
"To your family, yes. And your duty to yourself?"
Josephine got up and came across the room to Leliana, looking her square in the eye. "Where is your duty to yourself, my friend? You cannot allow the Inquisition to consume all that you are, or your role here to harden you into something that is not you."
She held her friend's gaze as long as she could, then looked down, blinking back a hot sting of tears. "You're right, Josie. I know you're right. But … It is not as easy as you make it sound."
Josephine smiled. "You know yourself best, obviously," she said in a tone that made that claim sound doubtful. "I should go; I have uniforms to distribute and I am arranging the horses for tomorrow morning's departure. Ah, perhaps you have not yet been informed—it has been decided to take advantage of our partnership with the Grey Wardens by bringing a representative along with us."
"Oh?" Leliana tried not to sound interested; she could see exactly where Josie was going with this, and didn't want to take the bait like a kitten after string.
"I believe his name is Nathaniel Howe."
"I've heard of him," Leliana said noncommittally, wondering how exactly Josephine knew about their talk on the battlements. Sometimes she thought her friend ought to have been the spymaster.
"Have you now?" Eyes twinkling, Josephine ducked out of the room, leaving Leliana shaking her head, but with a smile on her face. She did love the Game, after all, and playing it while avoiding Josie's clever attempts to trap her into bed with an attractive Grey Warden did sound like an entertaining way to stretch her skills. Yes, perhaps this would be an enjoyable journey after all.
Cullen's packing job went smoothly. He was pleased with the new uniforms, although he felt they would all be fairly conspicuous in the bright red jackets. Still, surely Leliana had already considered that the Inquisitor might need to go unnoticed at times and planned for it … and after all, Thule had been part of the Carta for many years, so no doubt he knew well enough how to slip through a crowd.
He rolled a shirt efficiently, tucking it into his open valise, and then wrapped a bottle of the pomade he used on his hair in a strip of linen, so it wouldn't break, and tucked it in as well. Foolish vanity, no doubt, but on the other hand, his unruly curls did have a tendency to make him look too young for his job when he left them alone.
A knock sounded on his office door, and he went to the edge of his loft and called out, "Enter!", looking down.
A familiar small figure came in, red hair parted and drawn back in a hasty bun secured by a quill. Cullen smiled.
Dagna was looking around in confusion, and he said, "Up here," before climbing down the ladder.
She flushed slightly. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"No, not at all. I was just packing, preparing for the journey to Orlais."
"Oh. Actually, that's why I came." She proffered a small package.
"What is this?" Cullen took it from her, carefully unwrapping the paper. He found a vial of a clear liquid, and he frowned at it, then at Dagna.
"It's … for you. I made it up after I analyzed your blood. If you feel the pains, from the lyrium …"
He frowned a bit harder at the vial. "Dagna. I have no desire to replace my reliance on the lyrium with a reliance on another substance."
"No, of course you don't! This isn't to rely on, only to help with the symptoms. Only one drop, mixed in with water—nothing alcoholic, no tea—and it should stop the pains. It can't help with the—the cravings, but at least you won't have to worry about pain keeping you from your duties."
"I see." Cullen looked down at her. "I'm sorry. I should not have jumped to conclusions."
"I wasn't clear." She swallowed, and he felt badly seeing how nervous she seemed. He wondered if she regretted letting him see how she felt. He was flattered, of course, but he was hardly the kind of man any woman should be involved with—certainly not with the need for the lyrium still so strong in him, not when he felt the weakness in himself, the fallibility, the vulnerability to the sibilant whispers of the demons in his dreams, every day.
"You shouldn't have to be," he told her gently. "Above all, in the past years, you of all people have earned my trust, over and over. Thank you for this. I appreciate it."
"My pleasure, you know that." Dagna hesitated, then hastily she added, "Safe travels," and hurried from the room.
Cullen closed his fingers around the vial, filled with hope that at last he had something with which to combat at least part of his troubles, and with a fluttering of the stomach he didn't dare consider too thoroughly.
The morning dawned cool and bright. The horses for the Inquisition's party were saddled and bridled, lined up ready to be mounted, with Horsemaster Dennet fussing about them.
Alistair smiled, watching the old man, seeing how much he cared for the animals and how little use he had for the people who were to ride them. Teagan was still steaming that the Inquisition had spirited Dennet away right out from under his nose, but it was clear the man enjoyed being where he was, and the animals were in beautiful condition, especially considering the lack of land around Skyhold for exercise and the difficulty of getting enough fodder to keep them healthy and well-fed up the mountain roads.
His own horse was ready, and he patted it affectionately on the rump. "Everything ready, Panos?" he asked his captain of the guard, who had insisted on accompanying him to Halamshiral.
"Yes, sire. Are—" Panos hesitated.
"Speak, man. I hate it when people don't ask me questions they clearly think I need to be asked but which they think will just make me upset."
Panos frowned, trying to get through that tangle of grammar, and Alistair wished him good luck with it. He kept hoping age would make it easier to put his thoughts together, but so far there was no sign of such an improvement. "Are you certain this journey is a good idea? You aren't exactly Empress Celene's favorite person."
"What, you mean because she proposed a 'suitable union' and I declined to allow Orlais to buy its way into Ferelden through my bed? I'm sure that's all in a day's work for an experienced head of state."
"Yes, sire." Panos turned away to check on his own horse, clearly not convinced of anything but the futility of continuing the discussion.
Alistair wasn't interested anyway, because Lilias had appeared at the top of the stairs leading down from the main keep. She was saying good-bye to Merrill, who was staying on at Skyhold. Alistair thought it was a good sign that Lilias was willing to make the journey without Merrill, who seemed to act for her much as a security blanket did a small child. She was coming down the stairs toward him now, and he met her at the bottom, smiling, pleased to see a similar smile stretching her wide mouth and lighting her blue eyes. "Fine day for a ride, isn't it?"
"It is."
"I'm … glad we're going together."
A shadow crossed her eyes, and for a moment he thought she would protest his use of the word together. Then she gathered herself with a visible effort and dispelled the shadow. "I am, too. Alistair?"
"Yes?"
"If …" Lilias took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, and he thought how very beautiful she was, how strong. "If you screw this up and hurt me again, I will …"
He caught her hand, holding it tightly in his. "You won't have to. I won't. I promise."
She looked suspicious, but she nodded, and she left her hand in his as he led her to her horse and helped her onto it.
There was nothing more irritating about being the Inquisitor than traveling, Thule thought crossly. His choices for travel were either to ride a standard-sized horse and look like a foolish child in a specially designed saddle on top of an animal far, far bigger than he was … or to ride a pony and be constantly shouting up at everyone—and still look like a foolish child.
For this trip, he had opted for the pony, preferring the slightly greater dignity of riding an animal properly sized to his stature, but amidst all the humans he felt ridiculously tiny. He very much regretted having been talked into letting Varric stay behind. At the very least, maybe he should have prevailed on Harding to come along. He scolded himself for his lack of forethought.
Another giant horse came alongside his, and he looked up, seeing Cassandra next to him. Of all people, to have her see him this way … She would never take seriously any attempts to woo her now.
As if she had read his mind, she looked down at him and said, "Inquisitor."
"Thule," he reminded her, an edge to his voice that he couldn't quite hide.
"Thule," she said in the same tone. "I … cannot stop thinking of our earlier discussion."
He couldn't, either, but he wasn't sure he wanted to continue it right now.
"You don't … actually intend to go through with courting me, do you?"
"Is there some reason why I shouldn't?" he asked, more sharply than he'd intended. "Is it so unbelievable that I might want to?"
She frowned. "I have heard … stories. Of your … prowess."
"Oh." A smile came to his face unbidden. He was rather proud of that well- (and hard-) earned reputation.
"And of your treatment of the girls afterward."
"Just because I never felt the need to settle down before—"
Cassandra's eyes widened. "Do you now?"
He realized what he had said, and was surprised that he didn't want to take it back. "I don't not want to."
"That is hardly a ringing endorsement."
"We're hardly in a place where I would want to unveil my innermost thoughts, either," he pointed out. "Is that all, my reputation?"
"I … no, that is not all. I also thought—you have so much else to occupy your energies …"
He caught her eye, not an easy feat given the difference in the size of their animals and the need to actually guide his pony. "You let me worry about my energies."
She heard the double entendre, not that he'd tried too hard to hide it. Her cheeks pinkened a little, and he wondered what she would look like in the full height of her … energies. Then he drew his thoughts off that particular topic, since going too far in that direction would make spending the rest of the day on this pony even more uncomfortable than it was already going to be.
In a low voice, Cassandra said, "It wasn't meant to be a challenge! You needn't do it simply because I suggested you could not."
"Well, now I do." His mood was definitely improving; Cassandra had that effect on him. He grinned at her. "Besides, I happen to like a challenge."
"You are impossible."
"I've been told that before."
She sighed heavily. "You enjoy making things complicated, don't you?"
"I've been told that before, too." He reached for her hand, another difficult feat, and caught the tips of her fingers in his. "It's very simple, Cassandra. In these past months, I've learned to care for you."
"I … believe you," she said hesitantly, "yet …"
"You don't sound like you believe me."
"It is … difficult. I have never told anyone …"
"That under that taciturn shell beats a romantic heart? That book you were reading told me that."
"Yes, but … more than that. I have never … asked anyone …"
He tightened his grip on her fingers. "I know you haven't. I know what you've trusted me with. I'm not going to hurt you, Cassandra."
She looked down at him skeptically, drawing her hand away. "Aren't you? We shall see." She spurred her horse ahead.
Thule sat his pony more easily, watching her go. He supposed he should question these feelings he had for her, that were so unlike what he had felt for any woman before. But … she was Cassandra. She was magnificent, so strong and proud and soft and thoughtful and intelligent and brave and … lonely. He was all those things, too, and the similarities between them called to him, drawing him to her side again and again. He wanted her, all of her. What was to question about that?