Thank you all for reading! Special thanks to suilven for her speedy and exceptional betaing! No update next week while my kids are on break, but we'll be back in two weeks.
Alistair found Morrigan in the garden, kneeling next to a plant and methodically stripping off its leaves. She looked up as he approached and got gracefully to her feet, brushing the dirt off her bare knees. Any other woman of her looks he would have found fetching, kneeling here in the garden and tending plants—but not Morrigan. Where she was concerned, he mostly worried about what vile brew she was planning to create with those leaves.
"So. You have returned from Orlais, and now you have come to me to find out why I revealed to you the truth about your precious Leyden."
"Got it in one."
"Naturally. You are easier to read than a mabari."
"Mabari are very intelligent animals!"
"Exactly." Morrigan actually smiled at how neatly he had walked into that one, and Alistair frowned.
"Do you really get that much entertainment out of insulting me?"
"Truthfully, no. It requires too little work to accomplish."
He rolled his eyes. "And there she goes again."
"Ask your question, Alistair. Once these leaves wilt they are of limited use."
"I'll just walk with you."
She raised her eyebrows. "You wish me to take you to my room?"
"No! Maker, no. Fine," he snapped, as she smiled again, mocking him. "Why did you tell me about the ritual?"
"The ritual that never was? Because you deserved to know."
"Because you wanted to torment me."
"Is that truly what you think? Why should I have needed to tell you the truth in order to torture you? You had accomplished that task quite nicely all on your own … well, with a little help from Leyden herself, and from those who would call themselves your friends. You have clung to the memory of a dead woman to keep from living your life, you have pined for a love that existed largely in your head, and you have neglected the great work of ruling your nation that was given you to do while you moped about and wished to be loved. Tell me, Alistair, how much more thoroughly could I have tortured you?"
He stared at her, unable to speak. Because she was right; he knew she was right. He had hurt himself far, far worse than she had any power to do. And in all of this, Morrigan, shockingly enough, was the most blameless. She, at least, had tried to offer a solution, to save Leyden's life, as he himself had begged to be allowed to do.
Morrigan was watching him, a carefully measured amount of sympathy in her eyes. "You see it now, do you not?"
"Yes, I see it," Alistair admitted grudgingly. "But why now?"
She shrugged one shoulder. "I have not seen you since that night."
"You could have written."
"Oh, indeed, I am certain you would have accepted a letter from me and not torn it up on sight."
"Yes, all right, I would have," Alistair conceded.
"A better question is why Leliana had not told you, since she was listening that night, and knew what happened. But we both know that the reaction of every woman you have ever met—except for me, it appears—is to wrap you in cotton wool and pretend that you are too fragile to be allowed to think for yourself. You enjoy that, don't you, Alistair?"
"No." It was the truth, he told himself … but it wasn't, either. Because he liked being coddled, and pretending to be too stupid to know things, and acting as though he was too much of a bumbler to be a good king—or any king at all, for that matter.
"You know as well as I do that is a lie." Morrigan looked at the leaves in her hand. "I must go. And so must you. Alistair, do not waste any more of your life on lies. For all our sakes."
She turned and walked away, her hips swaying beneath the leather skirt. Could that be the same one? Alistair wondered. Surely not. Not that it mattered what Morrigan wore. It mattered that what she had said was right. He had to stop lying to himself—and he had to decide whether his destiny was to take the throne he had inherited from a father and a brother he'd never known and make it his, or whether his destiny somehow lay elsewhere.
But he'd never made a major decision like this for himself, and as he walked through the garden he realized he wasn't entirely certain how.
There was utter silence here in the back of Skyhold. It was a silence Leliana had counted on, that and the darkness of the dead of night. It was hard to explain to herself what she had done; it would be harder to explain to Thule, once that became necessary. When informed of Blackwall's true name and the nature of his crimes, the dwarf had looked as angry as Leliana had ever seen him, and he had said that if Blackwall/Rainier wanted to languish in prison, it was probably the best place for him.
But even in the face of the Inquisitor washing his hands of the situation, Leliana couldn't let it go. So she had quietly arranged for Blackwall—Rainier. She must start thinking of him as Rainier. She had arranged for Rainier to be transferred to her custody. It had cost her a great deal in traded favors, favors she had saved up over many years … but she felt better now that it was accomplished.
Carefully she unlocked the side gate. It was at the end of a hidden path around the fortress, in a part of Skyhold where only the scullery maids typically came. Compost piles littered the area, the smell rank and rich.
And of course, Leliana's ever-present shadow was by her side, lounging against the wall, acting in his role as her self-appointed conscience. She wondered why she put up with Nathaniel, given that he so rarely had anything to say that she wanted to hear.
But then, she thought, twisting the key in the lock that held the gate closed, no one else was willing to tell her the things she needed to hear. Even Josie couched her rare criticisms in her politest tones. And Thule was often less than pleased, but his chosen methods of expressing that displeasure involved his personal brand of frankness and charm and direct ordering. Nathaniel, on the other hand, took a positive pleasure in telling Leliana everything he thought she needed to be told. And he had said a mouthful about this particular decision. As a Warden, Nathaniel was both bemused and a bit offended at Rainier's imposture, and generally seemed of Thule's mindset that he should be left to suffer in the bed he had made for himself.
Leliana got the gate open, poking her head out. The man in the black clothes who had been paid to deliver her the prisoner was standing there, as was Rainier, his head bowed and his hands shackled. A certain letter, carefully kept for just such an occasion, changed hands, the man in black bowed, and he was gone as if he had never been there.
Reaching for Rainier's arm, Leliana pulled him inside Skyhold and locked the gate again.
"Now what?" Nathaniel said, so softly Leliana could barely hear him.
"Now we lock him away in the forgotten dungeons beneath Skyhold and wait."
"Forgotten dungeons?" Rainier laughed bitterly. "Might as well be here as anywhere. I'm a man worth forgetting."
"No argument," Nathaniel told him.
"That is not true. You are a good man, and you tried your best to atone. Many of us have done worse—far worse—and been extolled for our actions." Leliana put a hand on Rainier's arm and guided him to the back door of the keep. "I just need to convince the Inquisitor to see it my way."
"Why?"
Both men were looking at her, and Leliana cleared her throat, unable to come up with a good answer. "Because. All right? Because. Now, let's find the dungeon."
She led them down the dark hallways beneath the keep, which she had made it her business to memorize as soon as they had moved in, and locked Rainier away in the cell she had prepared for him. Food, water, candles, a few books. He would be comfortable there for several days.
In some ways, she thought maybe she envied him. A few days away from the world sounded a lot better than a desk full of dispatches, many of which had a death at the other end. Leliana didn't regret what she had made of her life, but she couldn't entirely forget that once she had been a Chantry sister, devoting her energies to life rather than death.
Lilias leaned on the edge of the stone wall, looking out over Skyhold. It was quiet up here on the back side of the battlements; most people tended to stay at the front, near the tavern and the entrance and Cullen's office. She had been looking for solitude, so she came up the back stairs from the gardens.
It was lovely up here, with the sun shining down on her and the breeze ruffling her hair. She had been wearing it down while she stayed at Skyhold, but she'd have to start putting it up again when she started going out on expeditions. Assuming she ever got up the nerve to broach the subject with the Inquisitor. He was a friendly man, but she was hesitant to ask to take on any of his work—and she didn't want to see in his all-too-open blue eyes that he didn't think she was up to it anymore. The Champion of Kirkwall had been a long time ago; what if she had lost her edge?
She turned her head as the familiar red-and-white headdress of Mother Giselle came up the stairs. "I'm sorry, am I in your way?"
"Not in the least. In fact, I came up to speak with you."
"With me?" Lilias was Andrastean, but she had never considered herself particularly devout. She didn't know what she could do for the Chantry. Not to mention that the Chantry hadn't wanted her to have anything to do with it in a long time, considering that she still bore a share of the guilt for what Anders had done. Not that that had been her fault, but … in the eyes of the world, he had been her companion, and that made her complicit. And she probably was. She should have seen how unhinged he was becoming and taken steps to deal with him. Instead, she had let him trick her into gathering ingredients for the very bomb he had used. That was on her shoulders, firmly and heavily.
Mother Giselle stood next to her, leaning her own elbows on the wall. "You are troubled."
"Isn't everyone?"
"Yes, I suppose they are."
Lilias shrugged. "I'll be fine."
"You are struggling to find your place. Until you do, you will not have peace."
"Sure, but it isn't as though I can say I need to find my place and then, poof!, be there."
Mother Giselle chuckled. "No. The Maker doesn't deal in instant answers; He likes to see His people work toward their goals themselves."
"Then there's no shortcut."
"Perhaps not … but you will not find what you are looking for hovering here above the gardens, holding back the questions you need to be asking."
Lilias glanced over, seeing the smile on her face. "You've been talking to Josephine."
"Perhaps. You may not believe this, Champion, but many of us believe in you—we believe your story is not over, and you have a great deal left to offer Thedas in general, and the Inquisition in particular. But you must believe in yourself, as well, or nothing will change."
"I understand. Or … I think I do. But the last time I tried to do things for the benefit of Thedas in general, and Kirkwall in particular … well, we all know how that ended. And I'm afraid—"
"And that is your trouble. You are afraid. Fear paralyzes us. It keeps us from becoming who we need to be. Corypheus, and those like him, trade on fear. The Maker counts on us to overcome our fear."
Lilias recognized the truth in what the other woman was saying, but she still felt that cold finger of doubt on her spine as she contemplated the possibility of taking a more active role.
"Do something for me, will you, Champion?"
"What's that?"
"Conquer your fear enough to speak to the Inquisitor. Do it today. And then if he believes in you enough to give you a task, then take his belief, and my own, and the Ambassador's, and let them lift you up until you can believe in yourself again."
Lilias thought about it for a moment, then decided. "All right. Yes. I'll do that. Thank you, Mother Giselle."
The Revered Mother nodded, straightening and moving toward the stairs. At the top she stopped and waited, looking pointedly back at Lilias, who smiled and joined her. Apparently "do it today" meant "do it now".
As they descended the steps, Mother Giselle hesitated visibly, then said, "There is something else I wanted to speak with you about."
"What's that?"
"One of the Inquisitor's companions. The Tevinter."
"Dorian?" Lilias asked in surprise. "What about him?"
"I … have been in contact with his family. House Pavus, out of Qarinus. Are you familiar with them?"
Lilias shook her head.
"They have sent me a letter describing their estrangement with their son and pleading for my aid in effecting a reconciliation. But they wish it to be a secret, fearing that if he knew they were attempting to contact him, he would refuse."
This conversation was giving rise to many questions in Lilias's mind. She spoke the first one that came to mind. "Why are you asking me?"
"Well …" Mother Giselle cleared her throat. Nervously, Lilias thought. "The Inquisitor has many demands, and I had hoped that if I spoke to you …"
"I barely know Dorian."
"Indeed. The family is concerned about his decision to take up with the Inquisition, to turn his back on his homeland. As a former refugee, I thought you could speak to him about—"
"Being stranded?"
Mother Giselle nodded. "Exactly."
"But you also want me to facilitate his presence at a meeting without his knowledge."
"Deceit is … not my usual means of operation, but in this case, the family greatly fears that Dorian's pride will not allow him to bend. They believe that if he were to find himself in the same room with a family retainer, there would be a … softening in the young man."
Lilias could imagine having the chance to see her own mother again. They had never gotten along, particularly, but there had never been open hostility, either. Perhaps this was a similar situation. But lying to someone she barely knew felt wrong. "I don't understand why they would contact a member of the White Chantry rather than the Inquisitor himself, or the Ambassador."
"The Chantries may be different, but they represent the same thing, something familiar to the family. They don't know the Inquisitor, who is, after all, very different, and I believe they feared to go through official channels with Lady Josephine for the reasons I have already given." She turned to Lilias. "If any good can come of this, we must try."
"I don't disagree with you, necessarily, but the secrecy doesn't sit well with me. Frankly, it smells like a trap."
"Such a question did occur to me, whether this is a plot by those mages, the Venatori. Another reason to put this in capable hands, Champion."
"All right." Lilias nodded. "I will speak to Dorian about this. However, I don't want any part in dragging someone off to a family reunion they don't want."
"I feared you might say as much. Very well; I will respond to the family once you have spoken with the young man, letting them know if he has agreed to the rendezvous."
"Where?"
"At the tavern in Redcliffe. A family retainer will be there to take him onward to meet with his parents."
It still smelled like a trap to Lilias, which made her extremely curious what Dorian would say. She hadn't spoken much with him, other than the trip to the Deep Roads; she hoped he wouldn't take her interference in this matter amiss.