A/N: a note on pronunciation:
Per—"pear" secondary accent
e—"eh" no accent
dur—"do͝or" like in "endure," main accent
a—"ah" no accent
Also, this chapter gets a little rough in spots. I apologize now; Cassandra especially seemed harder to write than I had anticipated. I hope you enjoy…
Chapter Five: Peredura
"…gave a brief account regrading how she broke her leg, and the spoiled healing potions. He was exhausted, so I didn't press him for details. Good morning, Madam Herald," Cullen broke off his report as she opened the door to the war room. "Sorry we started without you, but we haven't gotten far. I was just telling the others what Bull told me, as little as it was, about your… Oh!" he broke off, seeing the massive qunari step into the room behind her.
The Herald had assumed her normal posture, slouching and hiding behind her long brown hair. She didn't look up at them—she could tell who was there just by where each one stood. She heard everyone turn around to face her, could feel their eyes on her and Bull as they walked around the table. It wasn't where she normally stood, but today she knew they'd all want to see her, question her, put her on trial. She stopped at the end of the table, and waited until she heard Bull stop moving behind her. "Good morning. I'm sorry for being late and, ah, and for taking over the meeting like this, but I, er, I have something I need to tell all of you."
Cullen glanced around at the others, but if anyone else knew what was going on, they didn't show it. To his right Leliana stood closest to the Herald, her head tilted curiously, and on his left Josephine paused in her scribbling to listen. Across from him Cassandra stood up straighter and crossed her arms, and Varric unconcernedly leaned his forearms on the table so he could see around her. At the other end of the table stood Solas, leaning on his staff, his eyes a mystery as always. No, no one was acting out of the ordinary, except maybe Bull.
Bull had never been invited to attend one of these meetings, so his presence was singular enough, but his stance was even more unnerving. He was behind the Herald and slightly to the side, leaning back and cocking one leg to plant his foot and shoulders against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, a seemingly very relaxed posed, meant to lull people into thinking he wasn't two steps away from a fight. It made the hairs on the back of Cullen's neck stand on end. Something very serious was going on, especially if the qunari felt he had to be ready to protect the Herald. Very, very slowly he put his left hand on his scabbard, his right hand hanging loose but ready. Glancing again at Cassandra he saw she had changed her posture and hooked her thumb into her belt, inches away from the pommel of her sword. Well, he thought to himself, at least two of them were ready for whatever was about to happen.
He couldn't have been more wrong.
The Herald had been quiet this whole time, chewing her lip, staring down at the table. Finally she spoke, her words as soft as her hair. "I don't know how to…" She sighed, wanting to look back at Bull, to let him tell the others, but she knew she had to be the one. Thinking of Bull gave her an idea, at least of how to start. She lifted her chin as Vivienne would advise, the curtain of her hair parting to show her face. Staring at a spot on the wall just to the side of Solas's elbow, not wanting to look at anyone, to see their expressions of shock and disgust, she pulled her hair back. Not just away from her face, not just showing the jagged scar on her cheek, but back behind her ears. Or what was left of them.
"Maker's breath." Cullen felt like his knees wanted to turn to jelly. He stared, unable to stop no matter how rude, at the side of her head. Someone had cut off the upper part of her ear, and presumably the other ear, too, judging by Cassandra's hiss. It was a precise cut, clean, neat, but it made no sense. He couldn't imagine there would be a person who would trim off the top part of a girl's ears like that. Or why they would do such a thing. Unless…
"You're an elf?" Leliana was the first to put the question to voice.
The Herald nodded, letting go of her hair. "There's more," her voice was barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat, staring down at the table once more, hiding behind the straight and shining brown locks. "I… I'm from Tevinter."
Dead silence greeted her statement. No one moved, overly conscious of the qunari just behind her shoulder. Cullen barely dared to breathe, his mind refusing to speculate on the evidence at hand, even as his eyes continued to stare at the side of her head, now covered with her dark brown hair. An elf from Tevinter would mean… Suddenly Josephine's quill landed on the table, its drop sounding surprisingly loud for a feather. Varric was next, clearing his throat and muttering a, "Well… shit." Perversely Cullen wanted to thank them for interrupting his thoughts, not quite ready to accept the truth standing before him; he didn't want to think that the Herald could be a Tevinter spy.
"So," again Leliana was the one who spoke, "I take this to mean you don't have amnesia." Her voice was soft, not from sympathy or compassion, but with barely suppressed anger and hurt over this seeming treachery. She, too, acted aware of Bull's protective stance, her hands straying to the small of her back and her concealed daggers.
Something didn't quite add up, in Cullen's opinion. The Herald couldn't be a Tevinter spy. He knew Bull, knew of Bull's hatred for Tevinters; there was no possible way he could be coerced into protecting a Tevinter spy. Yet he continued to stand behind the Herald, unmoved by the revelation that she was an elf from Tevinter. Perhaps he wasn't standing there so much to support her, as to make sure she confessed. Cullen looked closer at his stance, trying to determine if Bull was being protective, or incarcerating.
The Herald shook her head, flicking her eyes to Leliana, her tone of voice eager to be believed. "No. I mean, I really don't remember what happened at the Conclave. I've tried, but everything about that's gone. When I told you all earlier that I couldn't remember, I knew you misunderstood, but I… I couldn't correct you. I was just…" she paused to sniff, trying very hard not to cry, "I was scared."
"Scared?" Cassandra's accent thickened with her ire, "You were scared? Of us? Why? Do you fear what will happen when you tell us the truth? Are you a spy? Sent by Tevinter magisters to infiltrate the Conclave?"
"Easy, Seeker," Varric said, touching her elbow lightly while eying Bull. The qunari hadn't shifted an inch, but there was an energy rolling off him like a physical force. "I don't think that's quite what's going on here."
"You don't? But I do. I think she's here now, because Bull discovered she was a spy!" she spat out the words.
"I think," Bull answered, not coming out of his stance as he came to the Herald's aid, "You should close your mouth and listen to her. If my suspicions are correct, what she has to say is going to be hard to hear, and harder for her to tell. And, yes, I did find out about her ears a few days ago, after we got back from the Hinterlands. She wasn't awake at the time; I was putting her to bed after her leg had been reset, so she didn't know I'd seen them. When I heard the rest of you had gotten back, well," he delicately left out his bout of drinking, "I figured it was time to come clean. I encourage her to come here and tell you the truth, before you found out another way and got the wrong idea."
Cullen had to agree. Varric was seeing something in the Herald, something the rest of them—with the exception of Bull—hadn't noticed. He tried to discern what it could be, but all he could see was a scared young woman trying desperately not to piss herself. "Let's hear her out, Cassandra, before we jump to conclusions."
Bull gave an approving sort of huff, and relaxed again.
Leliana looked straight at her face, doing her best to see through the overgrown bangs and into her eyes. She waited a moment, assessing the Herald's minutiae responses, before asking, "Are you a spy?"
Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widening even further until they looked like dark brown pools. "I… no… no, I'm not. I'm a… was a slave."
"A… slave…?" Cassandra sounded perplexed.
The Herald nodded emphatically, trembling now, continuing to look like she was on the verge of tears, or overwhelming fright. Bull moved slowly, aware of but ignoring the way Cassandra and Cullen both gripped the pommels of their swords. Instead he set a large hand on her shoulder, engulfing it, having to move his thumb to the other side of her neck as there wasn't enough room. "I figured as much. Think about how she acts: willing to do whatever's asked of her, eager to please, fearful of causing displeasure. Yeah, put that with the disfigurement of her ears, I knew she had to be a slave. There's… well, I know a lot of different kinds of bastards. There's only one kind who could do that to another person, abuse them and mess their minds up, and leave them too scared or ashamed to tell anyone about it. Had to be a Vint, probably a magister judging by how expertly fucked up her mind is."
The Herald didn't think her mind was fucked up, as Bull put it. She could think clearly, she was her own person, and she didn't go around doing whatever anyone asked of her. Well, all right, she did do everything she was asked, but only in regards with the Breach, because she was the only person who had the mark…
"Is he right?" Josephine asked.
The question resounded within her heart, causing tears to fill her eyes. She could see it now: here she stood, in front of people she thought of as friends, nearly pissing herself she was so scared of telling them the truth, wanting—almost needing—to remain loyal to a brutal and ruthless master. "Yes," she all but sobbed. Bull was right; things were definitely fucked up.
"All right," Leliana leaned forward, setting her hands on the table. "Let's start at the beginning. Why were you at the Conclave?"
"My master brought me there," she answered immediately, obediently.
"Your master? What was his name?" Josephine asked, quill poised once more, ready to take notes.
"I…" she shook her head, trembling despite Bull's reassuring squeeze. "I can't. I simply can't. There's power in a name. If I say it… if he hears… even if he's dead… he's too powerful… he'll…"
"That's superstition," Solas offered, his voice calm. In fact, he seemed to be the calmest person there, still leaning on his staff as he had been when this whole thing started.
"Maybe," she allowed, perhaps pouting just a little, "But it's a superstition I believe in." Yet, she knew Solas was right; she wanted him to be right; she needed him to be right. She worried at her lip, battling with personal demons, trying to give up a lifetime of ingrained behaviors and beliefs. "His name is—was Vivianus Vicici. He was a Tevinter magister, a high ranking one. He…" she stopped as suddenly as she started, again at a loss to find the right words. And again, she decided her scars would tell the story—as Bull put it—better than she could. Her coat was still unfastened, so it wasn't hard for her to pull the hem of her tunic free from her leggings, and lift it up far enough to show her abdomen.
Again Cullen wanted to swear. Again he stared rudely at the girl. Her skin was marked, in a macabre and sick sort of beautiful way, with scars. These scars weren't like the one on her face. They were cuts, purposeful and designed, creating patterns of lines and swirls, some places thicker as if they had been repeatedly opened. The scars seemed to be all over her body. They reached around behind her back, and disappeared beneath her tunic above and the waistband of her leggings below.
"You know," Varric opined, "I've got a friend with marks like that. Another former slave of a Tevinter magister. Only his are made from lyrium and were burned into his skin. Same sort of curvy lines, though." He looked away to catch Bull's eye. "Tevinter magisters are a breed of bastard all their own, aren't they?"
"Blood magic?" Cassandra was still spitting, only now with shock. "There was a Tevinter blood mage at the Conclave? Why!" she demanded. "Why was he there? What was he doing? What did he have to do with the Divine's death? With the explosion?"
"I don't know, I don't know, I can't remember, I've tried, I really have, but it just isn't there, my memories of that are gone…" The Herald's babbling broke down into tears as she let go of her tunic to hide her face. Even Cullen could tell her failure to remember was real, her disappointment over her inability was honest. He held out a hand to Cassandra, signaling her to calm down, and back down, as Bull was looking angry and protective once more, his hand stroking the Herald's shoulder.
"It's all right," Cullen said, trying to sound calm. "You're safe now, you're free. Though we've never felt what you're going through, we all appreciate how hard this must be for you, shaking off the shackles of a lifetime of obedience. And, yes, we're upset, but we're not upset with you, Madam Herald, we're…" he paused, a new thought coming to him. "We're upset and angry over what your master did, both to you in your past, and what he must have done at the Conclave. By the way, what is your name?" He tossed the question out casually, trying that new thought he'd had, hoping to put her a little bit at ease. It worked, the tears slowing down to a hiccough and her face lifting just far enough for one dark brown eye to peek at him. Encouraged, he continued, "I'm assuming, since you don't have amnesia, aside from around the time of the explosion, that you do remember your name. It would be nice to call you something other than 'Madam Herald' once in a while."
She licked her lips, pulling her hands away from her face and twisting her fingers in front of her stomach. "Peredura."
"Peredura," he repeated, inclining his head as if he was meeting her for the first time. "I believe you're implying that your former master was a blood mage? I'm assuming he, ah…" his words petered out, no longer wanting to ask if he brought her to the Conclave to perform blood magic. "Tell us what you can."
"My mast… er, my former master was a high ranking magister," she began. "He liked to use blood magic. He was good at it. I know that much, because he practiced it, not openly, but often enough. And people knew to come to him, if there was something they needed done and they didn't want to get their own hands dirty."
"He had to have been powerful," Bull added, "If it was such an open secret, but he was never arrested. Even in Tevinter, blood magic is illegal."
She gave a little shudder, "He was powerful. He… he liked to use me on… save me for the special cases."
"Including whatever he was doing at the Conclave?" Leliana prompted.
The Herald—Peredura nodded. "He was posing as a, um, Tranquil, I think you call them? Yes, a Tranquil. I was to act as his assistant or servant, taking care of him, because I guess a Tranquil wouldn't be able to take care of themselves." Her voice lifted up, like she was asking a question, and she glanced at Cassandra. The Seeker nodded, as if what she said made perfect sense, though she continued to scowl. Peredura swallowed and took up her narration. "He, ah, said I was supposed to be a family member, a poor relation or something, but I couldn't pass for a human, not with my ears, so…"
Cullen's blood turned to ice. Thinking of that bastard, Peredura's former master, feeling so confident and secure in his possession of her body, telling her like one would explain to a child that she needed to pass for human, as he calmly mutilated her. The leather of his glove creaked as his hand sought to crush the crossbar of his sword.
"Fucking Vint!" Bull growled, expressing everyone's feelings succinctly.
Peredura flinched at the heat in his voice, coming as it did from just over her shoulder, but she knew it wasn't directed at her. She wiped away a tear or two that had escaped when she jumped. "I don't know why he came here. I was a slave; he didn't share his thoughts with me. He only had me around to bleed for him."
"Did he use you often?"
She nodded again in answer to Josephine's softly spoken question. "Like I said, he used me for the special situations, the important ones. He would sometimes use other slaves, usually if I hadn't recovered enough from the last time, but I was his favorite. He said… he said… my blood was… special… it held power… made his magic stronger…" Her words broke off, and she tried to hide her face once more. Bull's hand left her shoulder to pet the length of her hair in long, soothing strokes.
"Is there any truth in that?" Leliana asked, her question directed to the other end of the table. All eyes turned to Solas, giving Peredura a chance to collect herself. "Could that have something to do with why there is that mark on her hand? Could there be something in Peredura's constitution or temperament that makes her better suited than any other person to use this power that can open and close rifts?"
Solas shrugged. "Blood is blood, nothing more, nothing less. Yes, it holds power, power than can be used in magic, but no one's blood is different from any other's. As for Peredura being special," he smiled down the length of the table at her, "I think we all can agree on that. But not for the same reasons as this… Vivianus person believed. You remember, I did examine her closely those first few days. I found no reason, no hidden detail or dormant ability, other than the mark, that would set her apart from another."
"Yet you didn't see her ears or those scars?" Cassandra was still upset, looking for a target—anything—upon which to vent her spleen, since the true villain, Vivianus, was disappointingly absent.
"Did you think I stripped her when I examined her?" he defended himself, sounding slightly miffed. Somehow, he knew someone was going to make an issue of his obvious lack of observational skills. Though he had suspected Peredura was an elf, he had never tried to confirm it, so he could honestly say he did not KNOW. Luckily, he had a reasonable excuse ready. "I looked at her using magic. I looked for any signs that magic had been recently used on her, or may have left a residual aura about her, anything that might have been related to the explosion and the Breach. I had no reason to examine her physically. I'm not a lecher," he sniffed.
"We're getting off topic here," Varric stepped in between them, since he was already standing between them. He looked back at Peredura, who was once more in control of herself, and asked, "Your former master brought you to the Conclave, in disguise, presumably to spy on the proceedings. Or did he intend to use blood magic?"
"I don't know," she repeated for what had to be the hundredth time. "He didn't tell me why we were coming here or what he was going to do, only how I was to act and what I should say if anyone spoke to me. I can remember walking across the bridge, and the long hike up the mountain." She did leave out how she had been feeling, coming out of her stupor, wanting more, needing more… "And when we got inside, he… he took my hand and… and that was a signal that I was supposed to say something, make an excuse for us to leave the others. I did so, we stepped into a side room, and…"
She tried. She tried so hard to remember. But her mind was blank, empty of whatever events had taken place from that point to when she woke up, in a cell beneath this very room, chained and under heavy guard, sick from the mark and…
"I believe you've told us all you can regarding the Conclave," Leliana set her hand on Peredura's shoulder. "But there are other questions."
"Yeah," Bull spoke up, "Like how long did it take you to prepare for this? I mean, you're from Tevinter, right? So you speak Tevene. Or do you speak Elven because you are one? It's just, well, you're pretty good at speaking the common tongue they use here in Ferelden. I was wondering if you had a talent for picking up languages or something."
Peredura shook her head. "No, I don't. I might have spoken Elven when I was little; I don't remember much from my childhood. But I spoke only Tevene until shortly before coming here. My master gave me the knowledge of your language, through magic."
Bull whistled through his teeth. "Neat trick. I might want to try that, next time I've got to pick up another tongue. It took me months to learn this one. Do you remember how he did it?"
She dropped her gaze down to the table again. "I misspoke earlier; I should have said: he used blood magic. It was when he did this," she gestured to an ear. "And I wouldn't recommend it. He… he found a Tranquil, captured her, made me watch and listen while he questioned her. Then he… he took my ears. He used my blood and the Tranquil's blood, and used magic to take some of her memories out of her head and put them into mine. They're still there; they haven't faded. I can go to them, sift through them if I need a word or some particular piece of knowledge. But they're… different… not me… like there's someone else inside me, trapped in a cage, and it feels like I'm forcing that other person to tell me everything she knows whenever I use it." She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself.
Leliana gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before pulling away. "Well, that explains how a Tevinter knew so much about a Tranquil he could impersonate one."
"What happened to the Tranquil?" Josephine asked hesitantly. "Does she no longer have these memories? Or are they shared between you? Was a reflection, or a copy, put into your thoughts?"
"I don't know; my master killed her right after the ritual."
Silence greeted that statement, as everyone there imagined the literally bloodthirsty individual who could accomplish such deeds, who had been her master, who was now—presumably—dead.
"I have a question," Solas spoke up, a little hesitantly. Yet his tone was kind, tender, reassuring, and she nodded for him to continue. "I believe you said earlier that you might have spoken Elven when you were a child, but you cannot remember. Did something happen when you were little, something that keeps you from remembering?"
"It's not easy to explain," she shrugged. "I… I wasn't always a slave, I don't think. I remember when I was little, I lived with my parents in a covered wagon."
"An aravel?" Leliana asked.
Again she shrugged. "I don't know what it was called. It might have been, whatever that… arvel thing is. I only know it was my mother, my father and me, and we traveled all over Tevinter, living out of the wagon. Father made little trinkets out of pewter he sold to people, and mother would do odd jobs, like take in washing, whenever we stopped."
"Were there any other elves?" Solas pressed. After she shook her head, he hummed, "Interesting."
"So what happened?" Josephine asked. "It's just that, I don't understand how you could go from a child living with her parents, to a slave owned by that… monster."
Peredura tightened her hold on herself, as if she could hug herself, hug herself like her mother or father would have, to give comfort, to chase away a bad dream, to care. Tears tried to flood her eyes, but she resolutely held them back. She had lied to these people, kept the truth from them—she had to regain their trust. The emotional pain it was causing her was the price she paid for betraying them in the first place.
"I was seven or eight years old," she began, her voice almost as small as the child she had been, "It was at night. I had been asleep, but I woke up; I'm not sure why. I was alone inside the wagon. Mama and Papa were gone. It was bright, too bright for nighttime. And there was a roaring sound, something loud, like thunder, but it never died, it kept roaring, and every so often there was a louder burst of sound." She ran her hands up and down her arms. "I was scared, so I got up and went outside to look for Mama and Papa. Only I couldn't find them. There was too much smoke, lit by that strange light, making it too hard to see more than a couple of feet. I shouted for them, but I don't think anyone could have heard me over all of the noise. I think there had been some sort of explosion that started a great fire, and the fire was causing more explosions. And all the smoke was lit up by the fire, making it hard to see.
"I started walking away from the wagon, and…" she touched her cheek, "There was another explosion. A big one, close by. Something hit me, hot and sharp, in my face, and all along my leg. I was lifted off my feet and thrown through the air. I think I was knocked unconscious. When I opened my eyes, I saw him. A mage. He wore fancy robes, but they were singed and burned away in places, and his face was red, and part of his hair had gotten burned. He was looking down at me, a strange expression on his face. I asked him for help. Asked him to find my Mamae. He didn't speak to me, but he reached his hand down. I thought he was going to pick me up, but he didn't.
"He touched my cheek," she continued, almost trancelike, the words coming out of their own volition, "Where I was bleeding. When he lifted his hand away, his fingertips were coated with my blood. I watched it drip back down on me. He brought his fingers to his face and stared at my blood. Then he started casting spells, swinging his staff, magic coming from his hands and his staff and bursting like a bubble around him—around us. I… I could feel it. I could feel his magic, coming from inside me. Not that I was using magic, but the power, the… the… the strength, pulsed out of me with every heartbeat.
"He was draining me," her voice dropped to nearly a whisper, but as no one was daring to breathe, they all could hear her. "Draining my life, my soul, pulling it out of me with my blood. I was so weak. So numb. The roaring had stopped, but I don't think I could've heard it anyway. And the strangely lit smoke was gone, too. I think the tip of his staff was glowing, giving off light, because I could see him, a shadow outlined in light. He bent over me, smiling, but it wasn't a kind smile. It was… eager… hungry… it scared me… He picked me up, and I asked him where my mother was, and he told me she was dead. Everyone was dead except us. But it would be all right. He'd take care of me. And in return, I was to help him with his magic.
"There's not much else," she rubbed her arms again. "He put me in a cell, and only took me out to… to cut me, to bleed me, whenever he had a ritual to perform. He said I was special, my blood was special, that it was strong with magic, made him more powerful. He didn't use me for anything else, only bleeding. And he was careful with me, never bled me too far, like he sometimes would with other slaves. He wanted to keep me, to use me for a long time…"
"How long?" Josephine's soft and gentle voice was almost blasphemous asking such a cruel question.
"Sixteen years."
Cullen wanted to be sick. Outwardly he was stoic and calm, unmoving and unmoved by the tragic tale. Inwardly he raged at the Blight-damned mage who could do all those things to a child, an innocent. Well, he reconsidered, she wasn't a child any longer. He had thought her thinness was due to youth, that she was in that stage of life somewhere between childhood and womanhood, gangly and awkward and just about to blossom. Now he could see—mentally drawing in the ear tips that were no longer there—she was elven, a fully grown elven woman, of… twenty-three? Twenty-four? Her face, whenever she lifted it far enough to come out from behind her bangs, though youthful and soft, held years of weight, of hard experiences. Yet she had remained far too ignorant of simple things, like friendship and affection, aiding the illusion of youthfulness.
"I haven't thought about that night for years," Peredura spoke so suddenly, he nearly jumped. "It was easier, better to forget, less painful. I kept trying to escape for the first couple of months. And my master… my former master was very angry each time. He… he started drugging me, to keep me quiet, to keep me from running. And I knew, if I wanted more, I had to behave, had to obey. So it was… it was easier… to forget about everything… than to know… I'd never have it… again… never be free… never see them… my parents…"
The tears finally won. No one spoke for the next several minutes while she cried, while she struggled against the pain and fought to get back in control of herself. At last Bull had enough. He turned her and held her against his chest, cradling her gently in his arms, granting her a place of refuge where she could let herself feel the pain, let herself remember, and still hide—a little bit—from the others.
"Fucking Vint!"
"You said that already, Tiny," Varric quipped lightly. "Not so creative in the insult department, are you? Tell you what: meet me later this evening in the tavern, and we'll put our heads together and see what sort of injurious descriptions we can come up with for this son of a bitch."
"If you're buying the drinks, sure."
"Me?" Varric placed his hand over his chest modestly. "I'm broke. I'm not a mercenary on the payroll of the Inquisition. I'm only a lowly adventurer, an unwelcome tagalong, living off the charity of others."
Bull laughed, giving Peredura a gentle pat on the back. "All right, Varric, first round's on me." He looked down at her, noting that she had quieted somewhat. "You okay now, Boss."
She nodded, but wouldn't meet his eyes. "I think so."
Peredura finished wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her coat, wishing she had a handkerchief. As if by magic one appeared before her, passed to her by Leliana. She took it and uttered her thanks, but Leliana only gave a slight shake of her head before flicking her gaze to the corner of her eye. Peredura was a little confused by what that meant, but she didn't try to figure it out. Instead she unfolded the handkerchief, intending to use it, but hesitated. In one corner were stitched the initials "CSR" in very neat and flowing embroidery. She remembered that Commander Cullen's last name began with an "R," but when she looked up to thank him, he was resolutely avoiding making eye contact, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, a slight tint of pink on his cheeks. She didn't understand why he would deny such a thoughtful gesture, but she also allowed him his anonymity.
She used the handkerchief, thought about passing it back, thought better of it, and slipped it into her pocket.
"Peredura." Cassandra's voice crashed into her thoughts, the sharp tone making her want to jump, to hide behind Bull. Her next words, however, left Peredura amazed. "Thank you for coming forward. I can't imagine what you've been through, but I can appreciate that it was hard for you to do this. I know that I, at least, can sometimes be a bit… unapproachable."
"That's putting it mildly," Varric muttered. Cassandra ignored him.
"I especially was at the start of this morning. I regret that my actions may have given you cause to fear us."
"No," Peredura shook her head. "No, Seeker Cassandra, it wasn't you. Yes, I was scared. But not of you. I was scared you'd be mad at me for lying to you, for keeping the truth from you. I was scared you'd lock me up again, or… or you'd punish me or something. But mostly I was scared I'd lose this. I…" she gestured with her hand, encompassing the whole room, "I like this. I like being friends with you all, and listening to these discussions, and being a part of something important. I was scared you wouldn't want me around any more. I… I didn't want to lose that… lose your respect…" She sniffed, but refrained from taking out the handkerchief, forcing herself to lock her eyes with Cassandra. "You're like a big sister to me, or what I imagine a big sister would be like. I thought you'd feel disappointed in me, that I'd let you down, somehow."
"You haven't," Cassandra affirmed. "You've been very brave, coming here, telling us the truth. Even if we cannot comprehend what you've been through, we can all appreciate the courage it took for you to come forward. And, I will admit," she sighed heavily, as if what she was saying cost her something intangible, "I feel some sisterly affection towards you as well."
Peredura started crying again, though she couldn't have said why. Half blind with tears, she started hesitantly in Cassandra's direction. Cassandra finished the journey for her, coming up and putting her arms around the trembling woman. Though her breastplate was cold and hard against Peredura's cheek, there was no way she was going to let go. She'd lied to these people, betrayed them, and they had forgiven her. She couldn't understand how, or why, but she was very grateful. She wouldn't betray them again!
"You've been truthful with us," Cassandra said quietly, "I think it's time we were truthful with you."
Peredura sniffed, pulling back just far enough to see her face. Someone else started speaking before she could ask what Cassandra meant.
"I agree," Cullen added the weight of his opinion behind Cassandra's, turning to face Leliana, who was shaking her head adamantly. "This changes matters. She needs to know. It might help if she understood what was happening, she might remember something that could help us identify…"
"Fine," she broke over his words, giving in less than gracefully, "But I will not have this aired in front of a confessed spy." Her finger pointed accusingly at Bull.
He gave a goodnatured chuckle, taking no offense at her accusation, as he had made it clear from the beginning he was Ben-Hassrath. "I think that's my cue to leave." Bull turned towards Peredura, setting a hand on her shoulder, mindful of Cassandra's arm still around her. "You'll be okay now, Boss. You see that, right?" She nodded, and he let her go. "Good girl. I'll be in the tavern, Varric. Don't keep me waiting too long, or I might start without you."
"I'm not worried," he brushed aside the mild warning. "I've gotten a taste for how limited your imagination is when it comes to name-calling."
"Maybe so, but there's still my thirst to contend with." He laughed again, letting himself out of the room. Peredura could hear his laughter echoing through the main hall, slowly fading as the door swung closed behind him and he walked away.
"I want to go on the record," Leliana began, glancing at Josephine. Apparently, she was serious, pausing until Josephine began to scribble with her quill. "I don't think you should know, Peredura. For your own safety, you understand. What you are about to learn, may disturb you. It will certainly cause you to act differently, which—for reasons that will become obvious—is something we cannot afford."
Peredura swallowed. "I understand," she tried to give assurance.
"No, you do not," Leliana countered.
"Perhaps we should start at the beginning," Cullen spoke, shifting subtly and drawing Peredura's attention. "It happened while you were still unconscious, those first few days. Someone tried to break in to where we were holding you." He felt himself wanting to cave in. Seeing her face, still a little blotchy from her tears, her soft brown eyes focused on him and full of concern, one hand holding Cassandra's for support—he didn't want to be the one to tell her. But he had insisted she should know, had begun to speak, he had to finished. "Someone who wanted to kill you."
Those soft brown eyes blinked at him, only once, "Kill me?"
"We didn't put much significance on it," Solas added, "Not at first. You were the only person who survived what happened at the Conclave. Understandably, it looked suspicious. There were several people who demanded your trial; it wouldn't take a great stretch of the imagination to see how someone could decide to take matters into their own hands."
"Whoever he was, he got scared off," Varric added, wanting to play his part in reassuring her. "You had a lot of guards around you, all the time. He must've realized it would be too difficult to reach you unseen."
"He?" she asked, feeling chilled.
"We found a footprint," Leliana spoke, her voice a little softer, now that it seemed Peredura was handling the matter reasonably well, "Male by the size of it, next to a knife outside a corner window. We assumed he had tried to break into the chantry, saw there were too many guards and realized that he couldn't get close enough to you to use the knife. Undoubtedly he retreated to think of a new plan, and probably dropped the knife lest it incriminate him."
"Though we all took turns watching you, there were other attempts," Cassandra continued. "Your tumble down the steps. Slipping on the patch of ice outside Solas' cabin. The supply crates falling on you."
"Those were all accidents," she shook her head, "Weren't they?"
"They appeared to be so," Cassandra nodded, "At least, we never had any proof that they were caused by anyone. Not until what happened at the lake."
"I was up by the trebuchets," Varric took up this part, as he had been the one who had made the discovery, "When you had your little swimming lesson. I was too far away to be of any help, but I had a good view of everything. Including the bridge at the far end of the lake. There were flashes coming from one of the arches beneath the bridge, flashes like someone using magic. One flash when you tripped. Another when the ice broke."
Peredura felt a shiver run down her spine, not wanting to hear, unable to stop her ears. "A mage? A male mage?"
Varric nodded. "Judging by the size and shape of the footprint, we've ruled out qunari and elven, and dwarves can't do magic. That leaves human."
"A male human mage," she repeated, feeling the shiver try to grow into a tremble. Suddenly the mental block broke. She shot a look at Solas, her expression growing reproachful. "And you said there was no power in a name. But it's him, isn't it? It's my master. He's alive, somehow, and he's trying to kill me…"
"I was afraid she couldn't handle this," Leliana murmured.
"We don't know who he is," Cullen tried to calm her, "Only that he's a male human mage. That fits the description of a lot of people here in Haven. Of course, he doesn't have to be here in town. For all we know, he could be hiding just outside in the hills, watching and waiting for any opportunity to strike."
"That's… not helping, Curly," Varric muttered, eying her clinging to Cassandra's side.
"Listen to me, Peredura," Solas spoke, calmly, though his voice carried an authoritative weight he rarely used, the syllables crisp and clean. "Your former master is dead. He died, along with everyone else, at the Conclave. You are the only one who survived. Undoubtedly, it was the mark on your hand that ensured your survival. You alone have that mark; so you alone lived through the explosion. Whatever else happened, whatever intent or purpose he brought you here for, whatever power he may have held over you, is no longer effective. Vivianus Vicici is dead!"
She hiccoughed, staring at Solas, desperately wanting to admit he was right. She felt sick to her stomach, that twisted knot of fear, that she had misbehaved, that he would know and find her, that she would be punished… She took a shuddering breath, pushing aside the emotion, telling herself she was safe, her master was dead, she wasn't a slave, there was no longer anything to fear—except maybe spiders.
Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, watching her closely to see if she would calm down or finish her spiral into hysterics. Cullen willed her to be strong, though he also made a contingency plan to handle matters if she proved unable. The last thing they needed was for the Herald of Andraste to run screaming from the chantry…
"The potions."
"What was that?" Leliana asked, surprised.
"The potions," Peredura repeated, lifting her face a little. "After I broke my leg, I tried taking a potion, but they were off. Rancid. I could only manage a little bit before I was sick. But it was a healing potion; I'd had enough so that my leg started to heal by the time Bull brought me back here. That means someone tampered with the potions, hoping I'd get hurt and have to take one. That was another attempt, wasn't it?"
Leliana shook her head, "We were just about to discuss that when you came in. I don't think it was an attempt. It seems too desperate, too unreliable. There was no way he could be sure you would need a potion, much less that you would be the one taking it."
"But he is getting desperate," she argued. "I've been here, what, two months already? Longer? He keeps trying to kill me, to make it look like an accident, but he keeps failing. He'd have to be getting upset by now, frustrated, trying different things, even if there's only the slightest chance…" She broke off, her brow furrowing. "Who is he?"
"We don't know," Solas answered, "But we—all of us—are working to keep you safe. He won't succeed, no matter what he tries."
She thought about it for a moment, about her little accidents, the trips and falls, the potions, the lake… Each time someone had been there to catch her, to watch out for her, to pull her out of danger. She was never alone. Even while she slept, there was someone just outside her door, within hailing distance, ready to respond should she need it.
"Peredura," Leliana was hesitant, still not happy about including her in these discussions. Seeing as she was able to handle the situation, Leliana decided she might as well use her. "This person might be trying to kill you because he knows you. Have you seen anyone who looks familiar to you? Someone from Tevinter? Perhaps a friend of your master's? Or a family member?"
She shook her head. "He didn't have a family," she said softly. "And he was too cruel to have any real friends. There were people whom he met with, discussed business with, and… and performed magic with," she almost faltered at this point. "But no one who, well, held affection towards him." She looked Leliana straight in the eyes, "I haven't seen anyone I recognize from Tevinter. I would tell you, now, if I had. I will tell you, if I do."
She nodded. "Thank you, Peredura. I think it would be safe to say, if you do see someone from your past, someone who had known Vivianus, that he would likely be our assassin."
"Do you have any suspects?"
Josephine coughed, "Not exactly…"
"What she's trying not to say," Varric stepped forward, "Is that at one point, everyone's been suspect. Even Chuckles here."
"Me?" Solas sounded a bit surprised.
"Well, you did show up rather conveniently. And you're a male mage. Luckily Josephine pointed out the fact that you run around barefoot, so you couldn't have left a boot print in the snow beneath the bridge."
"That's comforting, I suppose."
"Sera, too."
"What?" Peredura sounded shocked. "No, not Sera, she's a friend…"
"She also approached us, wanting to join," Leliana pointed out carefully.
"So did Bull," Peredura countered. "And Vivienne. And a lot of other people."
"Bull isn't a mage. And Vivienne wears the wrong type of boot, even if her feet were large enough."
"Sera's not a mage. Nor male. Nor human." Peredura was frustrated, thinking Leliana was being obtuse and unreasonable.
"She might be working for this mage," the spymaster continued unperturbed. "She was with you just before the incident at the lake. You were chasing her, when you went out over the ice. It could very well be, she had been hired by the mage to come here, make friends with you, and find a way to lure you onto the lake."
Peredura was shaking her head, unwilling to believe it.
"What happened that day? What caused you to chase her?"
"I…" she bit her lip, stealing a glance at Cullen, who was resolutely avoiding eye contact again. She was alone in her defense of Sera. And, truthfully, the timing was a little too perfect. Maybe the mage had been hiding beneath the bridge, thinking and planning, and just happened to look up and see her foolishly chasing Sera over the ice. Maybe. Or maybe not.
"Sera and I were, well, she kissed me. Then she started talking about how she felt, and asking how I felt, and I didn't understand. I'd never been kissed before. I didn't know that I could feel differently than her, and that it was okay. We, well, when it looked like I didn't feel the same way, she got mad, started walking away, and I went after her. I didn't want to lose her as a friend, that was all. When I got to the shore, I started hearing your scouts shouting that the ice was thin. But Sera was already out there, and I didn't think she had heard, so I tried to warn her." She focused on Leliana's face as she concluded, "I see how it could look, how Sera may be involved, but she's done nothing since. It might be coincidence."
"There are an awful lot of coincidences piling up."
Peredura nodded, agreeing with Leliana's statement. "Agreed. So, what can I do?"
"Nothing…"
"It's me he's trying to kill," she argued, growing a little miffed at Leliana's heavy-handedness, feeling like she was being told to hide behind a tree and let everyone else risk their lives—for her. "What can I do to prevent that? How can I help you keep me safe?"
"First," she crossed her arms and cocked a hip, "Don't do anything dangerous, like stand next to a barrel of pitch, or run out over a frozen lake, or walk around without your escort."
"I've chosen them specifically to guard you," Cullen added. "They're all former templars. They can keep you safe from mages."
There were templars in Tevinter, Peredura knew, but they were little more than law enforcers on the payroll of the most powerful magisters—like her late master. She didn't have as much confidence in them as Cullen seemed to. Still, it was a thoughtful gesture, and she nodded her gratitude. "But everything I do is dangerous," she added. "I'm the only one who can close rifts, remember? I have to run all over Ferelden and Orlais, fighting demons, not to mention the rogue mages and templars we come across."
"Which is why we send Cassandra and so many others with you, whenever you have to leave Haven. Also, with a bit of training, you should be better able to handle yourself, should you need to," Cullen offered.
"I've taken training," she protested, wondering why no one ever seemed to notice she had some skill. Sure, that leaping shot maneuver had been sheer luck, but if she could do it once, she could do it again. "With Varric. And Sera…"
"Varric's specialty is with the crossbow," Cullen countered. "No offense, but that is a singular weapon, and not something you could use. As for Sera, well, I'm not too sure how much formal training she's had, either. Regardless of her trustworthiness," he added when it looked like Leliana was about to protest. He let out a heavy breath, "I want you to start training. With my recruits. Whenever you're not out on some mission. Every morning at least until noon, perhaps longer if it's needed. Understood?"
She tried to imagine what training with Cullen would be like. She didn't know if he could use a bow, but maybe he had other training in mind. Either way, the thought of spending her mornings with him made her heart, well, sort of, hiccough. "Yes, ser," she nodded.
"And keep your eyes open," Cassandra stressed. "Forewarned is forearmed. Now that you know you're in danger, watch for this mage."
"And if you see anyone familiar," Leliana pressed, "Anyone you recognize from Tevinter, from your past or Vivianus' past, let us know immediately. Is that clear?"
Again she nodded, "Perfectly, ma'am."
"Good." Leliana continued to look like she wanted to be upset, but even she had to admit Peredura was handling the news better than hoped. "Now, if that business is settled, let's discuss the offer we have from the Grand Enchanter."
"It's a trap," Cullen muttered darkly. "The mages have already broken from their Circles, denounced any sort of authority or safeguard against misuse of magic, declared themselves outlaws, attacked our forces as well as templars. Now we're to believe they want to join the Inquisition willingly?"
"Whether or not it's a trap, we can use them. Magic created the Breach…"
Peredura tried to tune out the argument. It was nothing new, the same argument they had before she left to recruit Blackwall. The same argument they'd been having ever since she came back from Val Royeaux. She sighed, feeling like she was blending into the wooden paneling once more, a part of but apart from the others.
"We could go over this again and again, but we're only saying the same things, and getting nowhere," Josephine commented.
"You're going to have to make a decision soon," Peredura heard herself saying into the pause after her statement. She had been thinking to herself, never dreaming her words could find their way out of her mouth.
"What would you suggest?" Josephine asked.
"I… me…?"
"You're the only one who hasn't voiced an opinion," she continued, "And you are a very important part of this Inquisition. After all, it is the Herald of Andraste everyone wishes to see. So, whom do you think should we approach?"
She felt that lump tighten in her throat again. They all looked at her, waiting for her response, waiting for her to make a decision, to throw her meager weight behind one side or the other.
Mages or templars.
"We'll go to Redcliffe," she heard herself saying, "And speak with Grand Enchanter Fiona. She approached us," she continued before Cullen could argue. "Maybe this is a trap, but at least we know where to find the mages. It would take time to search for the templars, and who knows how much time we have? Besides, magic created the Breach; magic can close it."
Cullen, surprisingly, didn't argue. "Who will you take with you?"
"Cassandra," Peredura continued, "And Varric."
"And Bull, no doubt," Cassandra commented dryly.
"It's nice and balanced," she offered, her thoughts half a step in front of her mouth this time. "An elf, a human, a dwarf, and a qunari. It would speak a lot for the Inquisition, that we're open and accepting of all races."
"But we're the only ones who know you're an elf," Leliana countered, "Nor do I think you want everyone to know. It would raise a lot of inconvenient questions."
"Oh, right," she sighed, thinking of how hard it had been to tell these people—her friends—the truth. Having to tell strangers, like the Grand Enchanter, would be humiliating and tortuous.
"We'll take Solas with us," Cassandra decided.
"Me? A… what do you call me, a hedge mage? My very presence would affront their sensibilities."
"You and Sera are the only elves—besides Peredura—high in the Inquisition. Sera is, forgive me," she nodded to Peredura, "A bit undiplomatic, even if she wasn't suspect. Having a mage in the group would be a good idea. Again, balance. And Vivienne is too pro-circle; trust me, she would be a greater affront than your self-trained background."
"That's settled, then," Cullen rapped the table with his knuckles. "It'll be Peredura, Cassandra, Varric, Bull, and Solas. When will you leave?"
"Tomorrow. Day break." Cassandra's statement was strong and confident. Absently, Peredura wondered why they always had to leave at dawn. They could leave this afternoon, or tomorrow afternoon; there were lots of lovely times to leave for a trip. But Cassandra always had to leave at first light.
Peredura sighed. Good thing she liked mornings.
BREAK
Why was she doing this, Peredura asked herself, standing outside in the predawn light, her feet slowly freezing in the snow—even though she was wearing boots. Two former templars, different ones than yesterday, stood a discreet distance from her, pretending to scan for danger while trying not to notice her hesitation just outside their commander's tent.
"Kaffas," she muttered under her breath. She was a grown woman. Standing outside the tent of a grown man. What she wanted to do would take all of a minute, maybe less. There was no reason for her to feel guilty or foolish or ashamed…
"Commander Cullen?" she called. Though the words came out impulsively, before she lost her nerve, she kept the tone soft. Just in case he was sleeping. Which was very probable.
"Come," was the answer, strong and slightly curious and very much awake. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and slipped her thin frame past the tent flaps.
It was darker inside the tent, but not by much, the single lamp turned up full and hanging from a hook in one of the posts. On a small camp table beneath it was a half-finished bowl of porridge and a day-old roll. A small wooden box lay open next to these, strange tools inside and a small vial that glowed with the light blue of lyrium. Cullen stood next to the light, already dressed, though he had yet to don his breastplate or mantle. He had his shoulder to the opening, a report in his hands, and looked up as she entered.
"Madam Herald," he sounded surprised. She supposed she couldn't blame him; it wasn't like she had ever come to his tent before. But the formal tone put her off. Yesterday he had said he wanted to know her name, so he wouldn't have to call her by her title. "I thought you'd be gone already."
"Oh, ah, no, net yet," she stood just within the tent, her fingers toying with the ties to the flaps behind her back. "Soon."
He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, waiting for something.
"Well, um," she mentally kicked herself. "I wanted to give you this, before I left." She pulled something small and flat from her pocket and handed it over to him. "I suppose I could have given it to the servants, to launder, and give back to you, but I wanted to make sure, myself. It was thoughtful of you, lending it to me yesterday. And I wanted to, well, to return it, the favor, the thoughtfulness. So, um, here it is."
"My handkerchief?" he looked at the neatly folded and creased square of white cloth, clean and dry and… He lifted it a little closer to his face. "What is that smell?"
"Oh, um," she felt her cheeks begin to heat up, though just a moment before she had been freezing cold. She supposed it was because the tent was warm, and she was already wearing her helmet, the cheek guards hanging loose. "I was told the scent was…"
"Lilacs!"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"My mother," he paused, staring at the handkerchief with a strange look on his face. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, inhaling the scent again. "My mother had a row of lilac bushes behind our house when I was little. I remember the smell, how they'd bloom every spring, the bright purple color."
"I've never seen a lilac bush," she said very quietly, "They sound beautiful."
"They are," he agreed. He opened his eyes suddenly, piercing her with his gaze, while he questioned her, "Did you wash this yourself? With your own soap?"
"I, er, well, yes, I did, I wanted to make sure it was clean, before giving it back to you." Then it was her turn to ask, "How did you know it was my own soap?"
"The smell," he gestured with the cloth. "The other day, after your, er, dip into the lake, when I came by to check on you after your bath, I could smell something floral about you. I figured it was your soap, though I didn't place the lilac until just now." He had that strange look on his face, just for a moment longer. Then he tossed the handkerchief down onto the table beside his half-finished breakfast.
Her eyes followed it down to the table. "It's beautiful embroidery."
He had noticed that the small box was open, and tried to close it inconspicuously. "Hmm," his eyes returned to the report in his hand as he answered. "My sister. Mia. Every few years, she tracks me down, sends a letter and a package of some stuff she thinks would be thoughtful. This last time it was handkerchiefs. A score of them." He looked up from his clipboard, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If you ever need one…"
"I'll be sure to ask," she finished, smiling just as slightly. At some point she had moved further into the tent, away from the flaps, closer to his side. She could look up at his face, and in the lantern light, his eyes looked green… "What color are your eyes?"
Cullen was shocked, not exactly sure how they had gone from talking about handkerchiefs to flirting over eye color. "I… I… beg your pardon?"
"Your eyes look green this morning," she said, her tone suggesting she was slightly preoccupied, her own eyes flickering back and forth between his. He tried to take a step back, but she pursued, her stare and intentions persistent. "Now that I think about it, they usually look light brown. But the other day, when I fell into the lake, and you came in after me, I thought your eyes were green, like they look today. But, they're both colors, aren't they. Brown in the center, and green around the edges…"
"They're hazel." She was far too close into his personal space, making him want to swallow thickly. Not that he minded, exactly, but, well, it wasn't proper. He had reports to work on, recruits to train, resources to procure… And she was the Herald of Andraste, respected, above reproach. Even if she had until recently been a slave, she was now much more than that. And he was commander of her troops.
"Madam Herald!" a voice called from somewhere outside.
He seized his opportunity to escape. "Sounds like Seeker Cassandra is ready to depart."
Peredura heard him, the thought of Cassandra looking for her bringing her out of her trance. She blinked, wondering how she had gotten so close to Cullen. "Um, yes, I suppose I should get going. I'll, er," her voice dribbled down to nothing. She was suddenly feeling hot all over again, her heart hammering in her chest as if she had been running for miles. "I'll see you when I get back." Then she fled.
She reached the tent opening, her fingers fumbling as she tried to brush the flaps aside before exiting. She tripped, stumbled hurriedly away from Cullen's tent, and righted herself. Then she fastened her cheek guards and looked for Cassandra, trying very, very hard to forget how silly she had just been acting.
A/N: okay, breathe. Just breathe for a second. Now, if you wanna rant at me for anything, go right ahead, I can take it, but please do so discreetly. Please don't put any spoilers or anything specific in your review, just in case someone is reading these reviews, trying to decide whether or not to read the story. If they read some major plot point (like my Inquisitor is an elf, not a human), well, it kinda spoils the surprise, ya know? Thanks ;D