Thanks to all of you for reading! Special thanks to suilven, beta extraordinaire!
Varric didn't even bother to look at the name written on the package the page handed him. It was the same square corners and neat brown wrapping and complicated knot of twine the others had been. And he knew that knot—it was the shape his heart had been tied into since the day he'd met Bianca.
Picking the small box up gingerly with two fingers, he tossed it over his shoulder and into the fire. After a while, whatever was inside began to pop and squeal and hiss. Eventually it gave a sharp bang, causing Ruffles and a snooty noble from Antiva to jump.
He looked up at them, smiling. "Sometimes a story just has to end with a bang, don't you think?"
The noble smiled back awkwardly, not certain if he was being serious or not, and Ruffles gave one of her best glares in Varric's direction. It was almost scary. There was only one woman scarier, and she was all Varric could think of. His thoughts mostly tended toward thinking about how much he didn't want to think about her … but they all had her name underlying them, her sweet face hovering just at the back of them.
Hawke had been sweet to try to convince him that she shared some of the blame for all this shit, but it was ever more clear that he had been at the bottom of all of it: the thaig, the red lyrium, Corypheus, and now this. Betrayed by the one woman he had trusted above all others—and betrayed so predictably, too. How had he not known Bianca would want to study the stuff, that she would go as far as she needed to in order to learn? It was who she was; it was what he loved about her, that incorrigible curiosity, that hunger to learn. And that was the damnable part of it all—he couldn't even blame her. She had acted exactly according to her nature, and what she was learning was valuable. Red lyrium as a living entity? That meant something. Someday it would be important, and she would have found it out. But at what cost? And that was what Bianca never saw. The work, the knowledge, the study always meant more to her than the people they touched.
But the people were Varric's bread and butter, his consuming interest. Where she saw a puzzle to solve, he saw the pain and the humor and the love woven into the mystery. It was why she kept sending him fancy little doodads as an apology, because she thought that was all it took, and why he threw them out but couldn't bring himself to send them back, because he knew she would never understand. Not really.
What had he done to himself, that this was where his life had come to? A decade-long relationship with a woman who really only loved her work, and one he wasn't allowed to officially go near, to boot, and a whole lot of money made off of other people's stories, and days spent slogging through the mud and the marsh and the mountains after stronger, braver people who let him tag along and pretend he was making a difference in the world?
He looked down at the blank page in front of him, reached into the equally blank space in his mind for words that simply weren't there right now, and sighed. "Varric, old boy, you're a mess, do you know that?" he muttered to himself.
A passing page stared at him, wide-eyed, and he pretended not to notice. Let her stare at the famous dwarf author talking to himself. Why not? Cultivating a reputation as an eccentric old curmudgeon seemed to be all that was left for him now—he might as well embrace it.
Thule stuck his hands in his pockets as he shuffled across the courtyard. Between Bianca's betrayal of Varric by giving the thaig, and red lyrium, to Corypheus and the news about Blackwall's imposture, not to mention the constant nagging worry that he was about to lose Cassandra to the Sunburst Throne, it had been a long week. And of course, the problem with being the guy at the top was that there was no one to foist any of these issues, or the myriad others waiting for his attention, off on. There was nothing to be done about Bianca; that horse was well and truly out of the barn now, no forcing it back in. And Cassandra would make her own decision sooner or later. But whether to leave Blackwall—Thom Rainier—languishing in an Orlesian jail cell … that was all on Thule. Leliana and Alistair thought he should go free because he had tried to be noble. Cullen thought he should stay there because he had betrayed his men, and apparently Rainier himself leaned in that direction as well. Thule didn't care what the man deserved. He had to weigh the good of the Inquisition, rather than the good of the man. And the Inquisition could use Rainier's sword arm … but it also needed the world to see that it wasn't going to use its influence on a man who deserved the punishment he was about to get.
It was in these moments that Thule blessed his time in the Carta. When he made the decision, he would act on it, and he wouldn't look back. The Carta had drummed that into him—the good of the mission was paramount, because the good of the Carta lay behind the mission. All other concerns were secondary.
He climbed the steps to the keep, still stewing on where Rainier could do the most good for the Inquisition, passing by Varric, who was working, but without enthusiasm. Something had gone out of the other dwarf with the revelation of Bianca's betrayal. Thule had been unimpressed with the threats she had made regarding Varric's safety—it was her fault they were all in this mess, in a very real way, and if she cared so much about Varric she ought to have stayed and fought at his side. But all that was neither here nor there, because she had never intended to stay, and Varric was still here, and he was lost with her, evidently. Thule wondered what he could do for his friend.
"Inquisitor, my dear. Just the person I was looking for."
He looked up, and up, at Lady Vivienne. It was a lovely view he had of her charms, at his height, and she well knew it, as he could see by the widening of her smile. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked.
"I wondered if you had a moment for a brief chat."
"Of course."
He followed her up to the sitting area she had claimed—a plummy spot, just above the main doors, always sunny because of the large windows, and commanding an excellent view of both courtyards. No wonder she always seemed so certain of herself. Clearly she took steps to make sure she knew as much as was possible about what was going on. Thule wondered if he had underestimated her.
He took a seat on a beautifully upholstered settee, one low enough that he felt comfortable on it but high enough that he didn't feel like a child, while Vivienne stretched out her long legs on the settee opposite.
"I do apologize for tearing you away from your duties, my dear. I know you must have a great deal on your mind, but I need to speak with you."
He raised his eyebrows, waiting for the substance.
Vivienne nodded, getting straight to business. He liked that she knew how to read a signal, and wasn't going to waste his time with unnecessary pleasantries. "After the ball at the Winter Palace, the Inquisition's influence has spread significantly, as you know. And you also know that the Grand Clerics are becoming increasingly desperate to name a successor to Justinia."
Thule wasn't surprised that she knew; Mother Hillaire was still here, and had not been quiet about the Grand Clerics' intentions. "You think my influence and the Grand Clerics are connected? If they were, Mother Hillaire would have been sent packing when she first arrived."
"Oh, my dear, in some ways you are such an innocent! If you had any less influence, the Chantry would have hauled their chosen candidates away by now, regardless of your wishes. The only reason Leliana and Cassandra are still here is because they fear courting your enmity."
"Huh." He digested that for a minute. It was gratifying … but also frightening, because it revealed the limits of his influence. He wasn't going to be able to make this go away.
"Yes. You cannot keep them from looking in the most likely places for a successor, no matter how little you may want them to. Nor will they invite you to the vote. But you may still influence them, if you are clever, and think in less … expected directions."
Thule was no slow top—he got her implication well enough. "You?"
Vivienne smiled at his perspicacity. "To sit on the Sunburst Throne, a candidate should have grace, charm, and a will of solid steel."
He looked at her elegant form, at her lovely smile, and heard the implacability in her voice. "I see your point."
"And, may I add, that in the absence of a better candidate … Leliana has the charm and grace, but she also has ideas that are unpalatable to many. Cassandra lacks those attributes, but there is no question of the strength of her will, and she is considered by most to be the more traditional candidate." Vivienne delicately raised her eyebrows in a "need I say more?" gesture.
Thule felt much as he imagined a fly must when the spider has trapped him inescapably, only in this case, he had built the web himself. He also felt a flash of concern—if Vivienne knew him well enough to use his affection for Cassandra against him, how many others knew he could be reached through her as well? That was something to consider. He should talk to Cassandra about it. No, no, he really shouldn't, he thought, both amused and alarmed that even in this situation, his first thought was to share his burden with Cassandra.
Vivienne was smiling at him, and he felt he had allowed this conversation to continue too far under her steam. "So what would your ideal Divine do with her power?" he asked.
"Restore the Circles and the Templars, of course. I know, Leliana believes mages can govern themselves, but we have seen that their self-control has limits, and someone must be there to police them beyond those limits. Those institutions have protected Thedas for ages; they cannot be tossed aside lightly without serious repercussions, as I believe we are all learning to our cost. We cannot allow anarchists to continue to threaten the lives of the innocent."
Thule had a hard time arguing with that point. An uncontrolled, and uncontrollable, mage was a danger to everyone.
Vivienne went on, "After we have restored sanity to the world, there will be time then to address voices of dissent and to begin reorganization sensibly, with some forethought and care."
She made a good case, he had to admit. Thule cleared his throat and got to his feet. "I will give this careful consideration."
"I knew you would. And with proper guidance, I have no doubt that you will steer the Grand Clerics in the proper direction."
"I wouldn't count on anything," he said, nettled by how smoothly she assumed she had made her case.
"Naturally not, of course. Corypheus remains to be dealt with, and that is a threat far greater than that of a leaderless Chantry. We can all agree on that. But I'm sure I don't have to remind you that we must all be very aware of what we do and say, for the Conclave is most certainly doing the same."
"The Conclave, the Carta, the Merchants' Guild, Tevinter, Orlais, Ferelden, Weisshaupt … you name it, they're all watching us."
"Such is the way of nations," Vivienne agreed. "However, in this case, we have the opportunity to turn that oversight into our advantage. The Conclave is looking to the Inquisition to provide a sign of the Maker's will. It is your decision whether we will give them one." She got to her feet, smiling down at him. "And in my experience, you are quite good at making the right decision."
"Well, I thank you for the vote of confidence, Lady Vivienne," he said, grinning at the openness of her flattery. She clearly subscribed to the theory that if you want a bitter pill to go down easily, you coat it in lots of honey. The question, however, remained. Was she right? Was she the best candidate? Would he be jeopardizing Thedas if he gave Vivienne to the Chantry in order to keep Leliana and Cassandra here where they were needed—and wanted, in the latter case?
Just what he'd wanted. Another dilemma.
Cullen rolled up his sleeve, watching Dagna as she tied the tourniquet around his upper arm and searched for a vein with her syringe. It didn't bother him to feel the sharp prick of the needle or watch it sink into his skin, although he was bemused after so many years of taking lyrium to watch the blood come out rather than the lyrium go in.
"Almost done," Dagna said reassuringly. "You can relax." She took off the tourniquet to let the blood flow freely into the tube.
Relax. Cullen tried, but he had never quite grasped the concept. Always, from childhood, he had been earnest. Driven. Trying to do his best, to get everything right. That left little space for being able to let go and leave things to the Maker, many times though he had tried to learn how.
Dagna smiled, understanding him without him needing to speak, as she did so often. "Why don't you tell me what's bothering you? That helps sometimes." She withdrew the needle, clamping a piece of cloth down over the insertion site. "Here, hold this."
Cullen did so, watching as she took the vial of blood over to her worktable. "It's nothing."
"You always say that, and it never is. Spill."
He smiled. She knew him well. "It's this thing with Warden Blackwall. Er, Thom Rainier."
"Oh. That's bothering a lot of people. Lace was down here yesterday; she's devastated."
It surprised Cullen not at all that Dagna and Scout Harding were friends—both skilled in their chosen paths, both cheerful and considerate of others. He was saddened by Harding's pain. It was easy to forget that amidst Rainier's crimes he had done many good things. The Inquisition's children missed him and the toys he made, as well. "I wish I thought there was a happy ending for them."
Dagna turned to look at him. "Don't you?"
"No. Rainier confessed to his crimes when he didn't have to. He is ready to pay for what he's done—he expects to. And … I believe he is too damaged to think of himself as an appropriate choice for a woman, especially one of Harding's quality." He wasn't blind to the parallels in the situation. He wasn't in a physical jail, but he dwelt in a prison nonetheless.
There was an unwonted seriousness in Dagna's face as she held his gaze, indicating she understood the deeper meaning as well. "Damage can't be fixed on your own, Cullen. You need other people to help you heal."
"And if you harm the other person beyond repair in the process? What then?"
"It can be just as harmful to be pushed away, to have to watch someone you lo—care about struggle against their torments alone, knowing you could help if they would only let you."
"I have let you, Dagna," Cullen said, nodding toward the table of vials. It was the first time he had spoken even this openly to her about her feelings for him.
"I know, but only so far and no farther … and only that because I insisted and so did the Inquisitor. Cullen, you have to let me in. I know …" She took a step toward him, her small fingers covering the hand that still held the cloth over his wound. "I know everything you've been through, everything that's been done to you and I'm still here, trying to help. Can't you try to trust me with your—with more?"
She was very close to him, her green eyes bright with hope and unshed tears, and Cullen thought she was beautiful. How had he never noticed how beautiful she was before? But she asked too much. More than was good for her, more than he could safely yield. He tugged his arm away. "I'm sorry. I can't," he muttered, and he hurried from the Undercroft.
It was warmer in the keep, but he was chilled to the bone, wondering what he had lost in letting fear drive him from her. He tried to imagine a life without her cheery presence in it, and it felt dismal indeed.