Based on the dapromptexchange post: "The inquisitor finds out that Solas left her with more than a broken heart - she is pregnant. She also discovers Solas' true identity. Does she hide her pregnancy? Disappear somewhere? How will the companions react and what are the consequences of bearing a child of the Dread Wolf? How would Solas react?"


Reporting directly to Fen'Harel was like taking a shot of straight lyrium—or so Siobhan imagined. The breathless racing of her heart at being in the same room with him felt far headier than anything she'd ingested before, even though he had told her at the start of this debriefing that she didn't need to stand so straight and she certainly didn't need to get onto her knees.

"Yes, my lord," she had replied in a high, breathy voice, feeling her heart stutter in her chest. She'd never in all her life seen an elf so finely armored in person. He looked like he'd stepped right out of one of grandma's stories about Dalish Halamshiral, or Arlathan, and being framed by the tall, arching window behind the vast table on which he laid out his plans only added to the mystique. The bookshelves filled with secrets Siobhan didn't know, the notes scratched out on parchment scattered around the map that took up much of the table…she had the sudden urge to pinch herself.

"There's no need for that either," he told her, unease in his expression. "Finian tells me you have a report on the Inquisition."

"I do," she agreed, and began. She had been contacted by Fen'Harel's agents mere months after Corypheus' ignominious defeat, and when she had agreed to join the cause, she had been shipped off to Skyhold to apply for a job. Quartermaster Morris had brought her on, as many were looking to depart with the primary work of the Inquisition done, and Siobhan had made every effort to get in touch with Inquisitor Lavellan herself. Here was where her ears were a boon—Inquisitor Lavellan supposedly loved the chance to bring her own into the Inquisition, and wished most fervently for their success. She had expected the Inquisitor, she supposed, to be a more suspicious type. "I met the Inquisitor a few months back."

Siobhan had told herself to be patient, but every day that passed with her no more than a nobody servant minding the halls frustrated her. There was no purpose to her being here if she was not close to Lavellan! But none of her scheming had gotten her into those hallowed quarters yet—not until she "chanced" to be around when the Inquisitor needed to carry a vast stack of books back to her room. After that, each little push into the Inquisitor's life was easier, until it was Siobhan that the Inquisitor looked for when she needed something.

Even when his gaze wandered from her, Siobhan felt that Fen'Harel listened; he had brought her into this room to soak up all the knowledge he could from her, and he did not waste his resources. He paced behind the table, and drew his fingers along the smooth wood, some deep machinations at work in his mind that Siobhan could not fathom. Her mother had scoffed at the stories of old elven gods—what would she say now, to Siobhan standing before one?

"So you are close to the Inquisitor?" he asked.

"Yes, my—yes. I see her every morning and every night, and she trusts me to run her letters to the rookery. Sometimes she tells me about her clan, and if I ask her for stories about the Inquisition, she gives them up."

Fen'Harel's hand stilled on the table, his face drawing, like the close of curtains over a window. Then his stormy gray gaze snapped up to Siobhan's, and she felt a shiver run up her back.

"What stories does she tell?"

"Oh, silly things, mostly," Siobhan said, trying to keep a dismissive note from her voice. Fen'Harel seemed wary of the Inquisitor—he treated her like a rival, which Siobhan wasn't sure was warranted. His power and cunning far outstripped hers; Siobhan did not foresee much trouble from the Inquisition—not when Fen'Harel and his agents were up to fighting form. "The time Sera nearly drove Commander Cullen mad by making the legs of his desk uneven; some noble that Lady Montilyet put in his place; the time some shem or another ended up spending an entire afternoon carving toys for some children in some village." Siobhan could have told him the entire stories if he wanted them; her memory was sharp, which was part of why Finian trusted her with this assignment. "Nothing that really matters. I don't think she likes talking about the serious stuff."

Slowly, Fen'Harel nodded, and seemed to pull himself from some distant place to be present with Siobhan again. Could he feel the press of the Veil? Siobhan had no idea what a mage of his power might be aware of as a matter of course.

"And she does not mean to disband the Inquisition?"

"Not yet," Siobhan confirmed. Another nod—other agents had reported the same. "The talk among her folk is there's clean-up still to be done. I think she just—"

"Thank you," Fen'Harel interrupted, and Siobhan fell silent at once. "Among her advisors—are they all still present?"

"Sister Nightingale is going to be called off soon," Siobhan said, as she had told Finian last month. "Everyone seems to be saying she's going to be elected the next divine."

"Her or…" Fen'Harel's gaze turned to the map spread out between them on the table, and although he moved nothing on it, Siobhan could see the pieces shifting and turning in his mind, testing first one strategy, then another, like a chess player trying to follow the possible chain reactions of each potential move. "And the others?"

"Lady Montilyet, Commander Cullen, and Seeker Pentaghast are all still there," she said. "Others come and go." Frankly she wasn't sure how important the others were. Sera had left just after Siobhan joined, gone galivanting off with her Red Jennys, and Thom Rainier had been sent to the Grey Wardens not long before that. There were a few others who kept Inquisitor Lavellan company, but none with the political weight of the advisory panel.

"What about First Enchanter Vivienne, our so-called Madame de Fer?" Fen'Harel asked.

Siobhan knew her—a human with a chilly stare, a proud jaw, and sharper observation than anyone ought to have. All Siobhan knew of Vivienne she knew from Lavellan herself, because she had never once managed to catch Vivienne in conversation with the Inquisitor. The statuesque Orlesian mage would simply wait for Siobhan to leave, no matter how long it took her to finish whatever task she was pretending to do. It drove her to distraction, because Inquisitor Lavellan and Madame Vivienne spoke so often! She knew the Inquisitor trusted Vivienne, but it was apparent Vivienne did not trust her—though what she, a lowly elven servant, could have possibly done to earn the mistrust of this powerful human mage she hadn't the slightest idea (that was what got her more than anything—she was so careful, and ought to be below the notice of anyone but her fellow servants, and yet somehow Madame Vivienne was put off her, as if she could sense Siobhan was not to be trusted).

"She's still there," Siobhan confirmed grudgingly. "If she's going to book it soon, I don't know about it. She never talks around me. But she and Lavellan twitter away like birds. They spar together, too. If I can win her over, I'm sure I can hear some of what they say."

Fen'Harel gave a sharp exhale through his nose, almost like a snort.

"I would not waste too much of my time with that," he said. "Madame Vivienne is not the trusting sort. Certainly not as far as her reputation in Orlais is concerned." Siobhan marveled at how much Fen'Harel knew personally. With his network of spies, he could have sat back and simply managed them, but he seemed to have encyclopedic knowledge of everything they told him. Then again, if he merely managed them, he would not accomplish nearly as much.

"What about Master Pavus?" Fen'Harel asked, plucking his quill from its rest to make a note on the parchment he had been working at when Siobhan was let in. "Has he had enough of the south yet?"

"I think so," Siobhan said. "He talks a lot with the Inquisitor too, but he never notices me. He's planning on going back to Tevinter soon. He's homesick and says he has business in Minrathous."

"The Inquisitor is in agreement with that?"

"Not really," Siobhan said with a shrug. "She won't keep him there. But she's always asking him to stay 'just a bit longer, Dorian.' She's managed to convince him this long, but he's finally put his foot down, and she got weepy about it." Imagine—the Inquisitor, crying! "Says he wishes he could stay, but he can't. Probably will keep in touch with her though—there was lots of hugging after that."

"I see." More scratching on the parchment. "Lady Montilyet, she doesn't think he should stay?"

"The Inquisition is adjusting, she says," Siobhan reported. "From a battle force to a peacekeeping force. They're not beggars anymore, and they'll have work for quite a long while with all the damage in Thedas what needs repairing. Only thing I've heard her say to Pavus about it is that Lavellan'll miss him. Otherwise, she's happy to buy him a ticket back home."

"Mm." Fen'Harel straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back, surveying the map of Thedas in silence. Siobhan waited with him. It was always a marvel to her how calm and soft his voice was. The first time she heard the Dread Wolf speak, she had expected something savage, she supposed. Something deep and booming, reminiscent of a wolf's guttural growl. But he had a gentle bearing. Not weak, but neither easily provoked. With this gentility, he persuaded his agents into sharing as much as they knew, as well as their ideas and speculations, so they felt almost that they worked with him, not for him.

"There's something else, my lord," Siobhan said, holding her breath as soon as she spoke. Most masters did not care to hear the ideas of their servants—Siobhan had tasted the back of a hand before for it.

"Yes?" Fen'Harel lifted his eyes to her face.

"I...I don't know if it's important to us really," she said, "but it will change her attitude and she may…think differently about running the Inquisition. But I'm not sure yet; it's early to tell."

"What is it?"

Siobhan took a breath.

"I think the Inquisitor is going to have a baby."

Fen'Harel went wholly still, like an animal poised to leap. He didn't even seem to breath, and Siobhan was sure of one thing: she had his attention (and so, her worst fear, that he would dismiss her theorizing as a foolish waste of time, was dispelled).

"What makes you think that?" His voice was so low it was barely a whisper, and Siobhan almost leaned forward to try to hear better. "Are you certain? Has someone told you this?"

"No, nobody said so. She seems peaky in the mornings though, and she sleeps later than usual," Siobhan said. "I've seen lots of pregnant women in the alienage. There are just…things. She holds herself different. She walks different. If it's true, I don't think she knows yet. She hasn't told anyone that I heard." She waited for another question, but Fen'Harel said nothing else. With a sharp jerk of a movement, he turned away from the table and its map, and strode to the bookshelves, which he looked at, and did not touch. He paced back to the table, and then over to the shelves again.

"You're right, Siobhan," he said. "This could change the way she approaches the Inquisition. Please keep an eye on it; I would like to know what else you can learn. Make sure you stay close to her. You are her maid and already she trusts you—make yourself her friend, and there is nothing she will keep from you. I would like you to report directly to me, going forward," he added, turning to face her with that placid, coaxing voice that sounded like Siobhan could well turn him down if she chose. "I will speak with Finian, if that's well with you."

"Yes, of course, my lord!" Siobhan bobbed her head. "I would be so grateful!" Excitement burst in her chest like the crush of a fresh grape on her tongue. Reporting directly to the Dread Wolf! Perhaps someday she would tell Finian what to do!

"Good. Thank you, Siobhan. You may go. Send Finian in, please."

Siobhan bowed and curtseyed and backed out of the office, and could barely stop herself from clicking her heels as she skipped down the hall to where Finian was writing correspondence.

"Lord Fen'Harel wants to see you," she said, jerking her thumb in the direction of the office, unable to stop the grin from pulling at her face, making the splash of freckles across the middle of her face wink, and showing a wonky lower row of teeth, and canines pointed more in than down.

"What's that look for?" he asked, setting his quill down with a faint frown.

"I'm to report directly to Fen'Harel now," she said, not bothering to try to keep the smugness from her voice. Without waiting for a response, she turned sharply and carried on down the hall, her grin spreading from ear-to-ear. Make friends with the Inquisitor—that shouldn't be too hard to do, and how Fen'Harel would reward her!