Thank you all for reading! Particular thanks to suilven for her amazing betaing skills!
Alistair unpacked in his rooms, thinking how much more familiar they felt than his much more palatial version in the palace in Denerim. He had never bothered redecorating—in truth, he had never felt it was his place. To him, it was still Cailan's bedroom he was sleeping in, and even though he disliked the garish furnishings his brother had chosen, he would have felt ghoulish replacing them.
Here, the decorations were more tasteful, the furnishing plain but of good quality. He knew Josephine was unhappy that he wouldn't accept the larger suite kept for the most important guests, but he had pointed out to her, firmly, how thoroughly all those nice things would be lost on him and how much more the Inquisition needed to impress the next noble to ride in than it did him. She had at last acquiesced, and now he had his couple of comfortable rooms to spread out in, no better than any other minor dignitary.
A knock sounded at the door, and Panos came in, carrying a stack of messages that had arrived during their absence at Halamshiral.
Alistair groaned. "Already?"
"Apparently they have been arriving steadily all the time we were away, Your Majesty."
"Of course they have. All from Teagan?"
Panos riffled through the stack, then nodded.
"Give me the most recent one, then."
Alistair ripped it open and scanned the lines in Teagan's fine handwriting. It was growing a touch straggly here and there, he noticed. His uncle was getting older. It made him sad—Teagan had always been the one with a sense of humor, the one to notice the disgrace that was Alistair and make him feel as though maybe he wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened to Redcliffe. And now he was increasingly stuffy and angry and querulous.
The letter held all of those things, along with a stern lecture on Alistair's laxity in having dropped all his responsibilities into Teagan's lap, and a hint that if he came home with a bride—finally—all would be forgiven.
"As if he really wants me back," Alistair said bitterly. "He's much happier running the country by himself than he would be if I were there bumbling around and getting in his way."
Panos observed a discreet silence, as Alistair had expected he would, and Alistair sighed and sat down behind his desk to compose a reply.
Dear Uncle,
Got your letter. Am sorry you feel overwhelmed. Spoke to Celene; she seems well and isn't dead, which was the goal. Still not marrying her. Also, not coming back to Denerim. Defeating Corypheus is the most important task facing Thedas right now, and the Inquisition can use the help. Actual help, with swords, that I'm good at, not face-saving help, with pens, that I'm awful at. You're better at that than I am, you have the royal seal and my permission to use it, and we both know that you'd much rather I wasn't hovering over your shoulder asking a thousand questions all the time.
As always, I'm sorry to have failed to live up to your expectations. It's the only thing I've ever really managed to do, though, so I'd think you would be used to it by now.
Your very apologetic nephew,
Alistair
He sealed the letter and handed it off to Panos, who bowed and took it to be mailed. Alistair leaned back in his chair and sighed. He had told Teagan the whole truth, as far as it went, but how to tell him that he didn't think he ever wanted to go back to Denerim at all? Could he even do that? Was it allowed? He didn't know.
In response to a summons from Josephine, Thule knocked on her office door. When he opened it, he found a Revered Mother, one he had never seen before, in the visitor's chair. She nodded at him as he came in. "Inquisitor."
"Revered Mother."
"Mother Hillaire is here to—"
She cut Josephine off. "We are here to bring several people back to Val Royeaux. The matter is urgent."
"I am well aware of that," Josephine responded, a faint edge to her tone. "But as I have said, that is quite impossible at the moment. We will see to the matter as soon as possible."
"And how soon will that be?"
"It is difficult to say. We are still searching for Corypheus."
"And in the meantime I am to tell the council, what, that it must wait?" Mother Hillaire asked in outrage.
Thule sighed. "It appears a new crisis has popped up to take the place of the one we've just resolved?"
Josephine nodded. "Yes."
"I am sorry to place this burden on your shoulders," Mother Hillaire said stiffly, "but you are the only one who can help."
"That seems to be a common opinion. What can I do for you?" Thule asked.
"You see, with the political situation put to rest, our minds have at last turned to a most important question: the next Divine."
"I'm surprised such an important decision has waited this long."
"With so many Grand Clerics lost at the Conclave, it has been difficult to put together a new Conclave, much less a slate of candidates. And now … we must have the Left and Right Hands of Divine Justinia V."
"The Left and Right Hands?" Thule repeated. Leliana. And Cassandra. His Cassandra. "Impossible."
"I have already told you, Mother Hillaire, that Lady Leliana and Seeker Cassandra cannot be spared from their duties," Josephine said. Her tone made it clear she was holding on to her patience with both hands.
"But surely with the support of the Empire, the Inquisition can get by without just two souls?" Mother Hillaire protested.
"We can't get by without those particular two, no," Thule told her. He crossed his arms, hoping the gesture would make his point seem even more inarguable. "And why do you need both of them?"
"They were Her Holiness's two most trusted advisors. They represent her legacy, her hopes for peace in Thedas."
"I would like to think the Inquisition does, as well," Josephine pointed out.
Mother Hillaire continued as though Josephine hadn't interrupted. "They could rally the remaining Grand Clerics to follow as no candidate from the clergy has been able to."
It took Thule a moment to understand the implication she seemed to be making. Candidates? Did they want Leliana and Cassandra to become the Divine? He didn't want to put the idea into her head if it wasn't there, but he wanted to confirm that he'd heard her correctly. "Can you explain just what it is you're asking of them?"
Mother Hillaire blinked in surprise. "Apparently, I have not made myself clear. We need them to serve as candidates for the role of Divine."
Thule nearly took a step back, so shocked was he by the admission. He met Josephine's eyes, seeing a sympathy there that said she understood what he was feeling. If Cassandra were to become Divine … well, that would end any chance of them ever having a relationship. If Leliana were to become Divine, the Inquisition would be crippled, possibly beyond recovery. He couldn't allow this, certainly not now.
"Everyone with the political support to succeed Justinia perished with her. Those who remain are unable to gather the majority of votes from the Conclave of Grand Clerics. They have been deadlocked for entirely too long, and the Chantry remains leaderless, a condition that is not good for anyone."
"How long does the Chantry need them for?"
Mother Hillaire frowned at him. Apparently his denial at the idea of losing Cassandra was making him thick-headed, because she certainly appeared to think she had given him enough information to answer that question. "Several months at least," she said, as though she were speaking to a small child. "And if one of them is crowned Divine, she would not be returning to the Inquisition."
"These are key members of the Inquisition. You're talking about crippling our leadership." Thule shook his head determinedly. "I can't allow this."
"For the sake of Thedas, we must ask you to make this sacrifice—"
Josephine cut in, sharply. "Not at this time."
Mother Hillaire got to her feet. "I will be speaking with both of them during my stay here."
"But of course." Josephine got up, too, her courtly manner renewed. "We hope you enjoy your stay."
Thule didn't. He hoped she had a miserable time. But he conjured up a charming smile. "Yes, please let us know if there's anything you require while you're here."
Mother Hillaire gave them both a chilly bow and left the room. As soon as she was gone, Thule sank into Josephine's chair. "Andraste's knickers! That's the last thing I wanted to hear today. Or ever."
"I know." Josephine sat back down, smoothing her skirts. "I wish I could have dealt with her myself—but this is not going to go away. You had to know."
"You're right. I did." He looked up at Josephine. "How long can I delay this?"
She frowned thoughtfully. "They have only sent one person so far, and she is relatively low level … and has no idea how to get what she wants. I would say another three rounds before it becomes crucial. Perhaps four months, maybe five?"
It was a reprieve, but not enough, and Josephine knew it.
"The real problem, Inquisitor, will be ambition. Once Mother Hillaire tells Leliana and Cassandra that they are candidates for Divine …" She shrugged. "When great power appears to be within your grasp, it is difficult not to reach for it."
Thule groaned quietly to himself. She was right; both women wanted to change the world, and what better way to do it than as Divine?
"Sister Nightingale, I beg you will reconsider—"
Leliana held up a hand, and Mother Hillaire stopped speaking. "I understand the situation perfectly well. For right now, the Inquisition must be my focus. If I leave, the pursuit of Corypheus will be set back, perhaps even foiled entirely. But I am, of course, sensitive to the needs of the Chantry and will consider your petition as soon as there is time to do so."
Mother Hillaire gave some thought to arguing further, but apparently read Leliana's set face correctly, because she bowed and made her way out of the Rookery.
Left alone, but for her scouts, Leliana leaned her elbows on the edge of the railing, looking far down below into Solas's study. To be Divine! To take the reins of the Chantry and build it into a welcoming home for everyone who fled to its arms! Despite her firmness with the Revered Mother, Leliana was intoxicated by the idea—the power within the title and the seat on the Sunburst Throne, the extent to which her influence could lead. She could change so many things.
She was even further delighted that the seeds she had sown so carefully months ago had taken root. It had been she who had planted the idea that the next Divine needn't be from the clergy, by the simple expedient of pooh-poohing the concept loudly before anyone else had brought it up. From that day to this one, and to this … well, it wasn't an offer, but it could be. Cassandra had eyes for the Inquisitor; she wouldn't be a serious threat. Yes, in many ways the Sunburst Throne appeared to be Leliana's for the taking. If it was what she truly wanted …
"So what will we call you?" said the familiar voice at her elbow. "Hortensia V?"
Leliana smiled. Nathaniel appeared out of nowhere so easily, and so often, that she was no longer surprised when he did so. She wasn't certain why, except that perhaps she understood best what he had been through, the shadows he carried. Alistair was darkened from what he was, but shadows stood little chance around the King's head. He was too innocent at heart, too cheerful and simple. Nathaniel had great depths, which was why he sunk to them so often. "You heard, then?"
"That you're being considered for Divine? Yes. I do hope you'll pick something a bit less dowdy than Hortensia."
"What do you think I should choose?"
He frowned. "Leliana suits you. It's a pity you have to change it."
She glanced at him sharply, but he was staring off into space, considering the question, no indication on his face or in his posture that he had meant anything by the remark. Perhaps she had played the Game too long, hearing innuendo and subtext where there was none. "In truth," she said, "I never thought the idea of me, or Cassandra, as Justinia's successor would gain momentum."
"But you hoped it would."
"I had … given it some thought," she admitted cautiously. "With the other candidates out of the picture …" She shrugged. "The possibility existed."
"The Chantry seems to be doing fine on its own so far."
She raised her eyebrows. "Fine? Is that what you call this?"
"You're blaming Corypheus on the lack of a Divine? Wouldn't that be the other way around?"
"The Divine is the Chantry. You cannot have one without the other."
"What if we don't need a Chantry?" Nathaniel had turned to face her, his grey eyes studying her seriously.
"We do," she said, certain of it. "You think Thedas hates mages now? If the Chantry falls, taking with it the faith people have clung to for generations, don't you think the people will blame magic? And the elves? And the dwarves and the Qunari and Tevinter? And when you lose, and you blame, then you fight. Everyone fighting everyone."
Nathaniel smiled, but without humor. "You really don't think much of people, do you?"
"I've seen too many of them not to know their basest natures."
His smile faded. "I can understand that."
"People care for simple things, things they can hold and touch and taste and understand. Their world is small, and everything beyond it is unknown and something to fear." She shook her head. "They will continue to live like this, unless they can be shown another way."
"You think you can show people how not to fear? I hadn't pegged you for a dreamer. Tell me, Leliana, is there nothing you fear?" His eyes were on hers, dark and intense, looking for the answer, as if it mattered to him to know.
She felt a sudden stab of panic—what if he was a spy, sent to find her weaknesses? But then it subsided, because she knew who he was, and what he wanted: a guide, someone to show him how to come back from the abyss. "There are things that I fear," she answered. "They make me want to work harder, to fight harder, to clear the shadows of the fear from my mind and see clearly. Right now, chief among those is Corypheus." Leliana pushed herself away from the railing. "For now, that is my focus. When we have defeated him, then it will be time to think about finding a new Divine."
She left him there at the railing, staring down into the depths of the building, seeing only darkness.