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Blight-Queller
Epilogue
The Grand Inquisitor
-(=DAO=)-
The room is cozy and bright and the chirping of birds can be heard outside.
He is thin and haggard and has dark circles shadowing his eyes.
The woman sitting across him is small and cute and has an impish smile.
The room looks nothing like a prison.
Nor does he look anything like the man who quelled the blight.
Nor does the woman look anything like the Inquisitor whose brilliance has crushed the enemies of the Chantry, blood mages and rogue templars alike.
But in truth they are exactly those very things which they seem not to be.
For the room is a prison; and he is the Blight-Queller himself; as is she the Grand Inquisitor.
They are all object lessons – in the fact that some things are not what they seem.
"Grand Inquisitor, to what do I own the tremendous pleasure of your visit?"
The heaviest of irony dripped from his lips, but she just ignored it, and simply smiled.
It was a wide, wicked smile, full of teeth and unsubtle suggestiveness.
It made people uncomfortable.
Doubtlessly she knew that.
And doubtlessly that was why she did it.
The Grand Inquisitor spoke, her voice light and warm and friendly.
"I have an offer to make you. Are you interested, Amell the Genocide?"
His eyes narrowed a fraction, and he said, in a monotone,
"The Genocide?"
"The darkspawn gave it to you, did they not? You said as much yourself. And what a fantastic name it is."
His eyes were like flints now, and his voice correspondingly cold and flat.
"How so."
"Why, don't you remember your High Tevene? The word genocide means the destruction of a people, in whole or in part. And I'm sure you'll agree that the killing of a thousand elves – the entire population of the Denerim Alienage – would count, no?"
He didn't respond, but let his glare speak more eloquently for his anger than words ever could.
She was poking him, probing him.
She did it because it would reveal weaknesses.
And weaknesses could be exploited.
But two could play at that game.
"Genocide? A term not to be thrown about lightly, but I suppose you would choose to use it, wouldn't you? After all, you of all people must find what I did at Fort Drakon abominable. As a member of the Chantry, for breaking its first and most solemn law. As an elf, for using your people as tools. But above all..."
Here he gives a smile, cold and thin.
"As a former Tevinter slave, for using the exact kind of magic your masters would have used on you."
He expects her to frown, to snap back, to be angry – but she doesn't. Instead, she gives a slight smile.
"Interesting. Why do you think that I was once a slave in Tevinter?"
"It was obvious. At least to me. You're an elf, with a trace of a Tevinter accent, so sheer dumb probability makes it a good bet that you were once a slave yourself. From the way you speak it's also quite apparent that you're educated, but of course most people, let alone elves, aren't fortunate enough to receive an education... unless they're a Tevinter Magister's slaves, who are sometimes made to serve their master in secretarial roles too sensitive to trust to freemen – one's own property is least likely to betray you, no? But also..."
He points to her throat.
"I believe I see the faint shadow of a scar from a slave collar."
He finishes his explanation.
And she bursts into a great, wide smile.
She looks genuinely happy.
It was most discomfiting.
"Wonderful! A brilliant attempt! Someone not as clever as me might even have fallen for it. Now..."
Her grin widens.
"... why don't you tell me how you actually came to believe that about me?"
He considers her, and then shrugs, mentally.
"I heard the guards speak about you. Guard duty isn't the most interesting thing in the world, so they talk a fair bit. There – nothing much to it. And since I've been good enough to tell you that... it's your turn to tell me how you knew – or suspected – that I didn't actually deduce your personal history merely from your appearance."
He didn't think it was even physically possible, but her grin widened again. Of course. She is all too happy to show off, and perhaps to mock him in the bargain.
"It was obvious. At least to me. My legend isn't nearly as famous as yours, of course, but still word gets around, and as you've said yourself, bored guards are like old women at the market – they do enjoy gossiping.
"And besides, I've never worn a slave collar in my life. Most slaves do; but my master –"
Here her mouth twisted somewhat.
"– never saw the need for it. When you mentioned it, I knew that chances were you were simply trying to fool me."
Her smile returned.
"Your eyes were telling too. Did you know? The dilation of a person's pupils are an unfailing indication of the amount of cognitive effort they are engaged with at that very moment. If you're just doing something relatively easy, like holding ordinary conversation, then the pupils of your eyes shouldn't have increased in size at all. On the other hand, if you're doing something mentally strenuous, like multiplying large numbers without the benefit of pen and paper... or like trying to deduce someone's personal history merely from their appearance... well, then they do dilate, from the stress and in proportion to the mental effort being made. Yours didn't. Which suggested that you were pulling metaphorical shit out of your metaphorical ass – trying to pretend that you could conjure the details of my past out of thin air, so as to unsettle me."
Her smile was smug. Insufferably so. The last time he had seen a smile so smug it was many months ago, when he last looked into a mirror.
Fair enough – there was plenty for her to be smug about. Even he was impressed. The rumours weren't unfounded, then. The genius of Val Royeaux. As brilliant as she was whispered to be.
But...
"What do you want, Grand Inquisitor? Having this little battle of wits – which I graciously concede defeat in to you – was an amusing diversion, but you didn't come here just for that, did you?"
"No."
She scrunched her face up a little, and played with her hair, twisting it around her finger, as she considered how to best phrase her next words.
"As I said earlier on, I have an offer.
"I will spare your life, and let you live despite what you did.
"And in return, you will help me to vanquish a great evil – an evil greater than any other – the greatest evil, in fact, that the world has ever seen."
Silence met her proclamation.
His voice quiet, he says,
"You cannot possibly mean that. Not after how far I've fallen; not after all the evil I've done; not after the mountain of corpses that I've made. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you – you of all people – will just let me go?"
Her smile had faded. She said mildly,
"Really? Is it so surprising? If I were the vindictive sort, I would have thought that letting you live is by far the most satisfying punishment. After all, your magic is gone. I wonder how it must feel – to be as powerful as a god one instance, and the next to be but a mere mortal?"
It was true. Just as Morrigan had warned him. His great victory over the Archdemon was achieved by the most dangerous piece of magic in history. And dangerous magic has its price. He had broken his own mind, and though the healers had managed to fit the pieces back together to keep him alive, his shattered connection to the Fade was beyond saving.
The Grand Inquisitor let him mull over that point for a few seconds.
Then she continued, with her wicked smile back in full force.
"And perhaps I've taken a liking to you? You're a bastard, but not unentertaining. You aren't as completely heartless as I would have thought, which was a pleasant surprise. You're arrogant, but then so am I – and if I disliked people for having too much pride, then I'll have to hate myself most of all, and truth be told I'm not a great purveyor of self-loathing."
Now her voice dropped to a near-whisper, barely audible. Unconsciously, he leaned forward to hear her.
"And maybe – just maybe – I sympathize with what you did, and why you did it?"
His eyes went wide. He couldn't quite believe his ears. He shook his head, and asked,
"Truly? You agree? That it's right to do evil so as to bring about the greater good, and all that?"
He laughed, a laughter that was bitter and harsh.
The Grand Inquisitor replied, her voice as level as ever.
"Why not? If I recall correctly, when I said, during the trial, that the Rite of Tranquillity is a necessary evil, you accused me of being just the same as you. "We two are not so very different after all" were the exact words you said. And how true they were. I've buried my own hands in blood myself, for the best of purposes."
He smiled. Unlike hers, it was not a pleasant smile. It was the smile of self-loathing and schadenfreude.
"Ah! So you're one of us. One of the monsters that dwell here –"
He waved one hand about.
"– in the depths. How are you finding the moral abyss? It's dark in here, isn't it?"
She inclined her head, as if in agreement.
"Dark, yes. But someone has to be here. If everyone lives out there in the light who is going to keep the monsters in the shadows at bay?"
He considered her, for long seconds.
Finally, he spoke. Again his voice was quiet, and without inflection.
"Perhaps you really are making this offer in all earnestness. But what makes you think I'll accept it?
"I am tired. So very tired. I have quelled the blight and saved lives beyond counting. I have strived so very long for this singular goal and I have finally achieved it. There is nothing I will ever do that will be even a fraction as important as what I've already done. My life is over. There is nothing left of me, least of all anything that can help you."
She took in his words, her eyes closed as if deep in thought. Then she opened them, and, tilting her head, giving a small, sad smile, asked,
"Do you really wish to die that very much?"
He gasped – a sharp intake of breath made as if he was in pain.
That... was something Morrigan had said to him. In one of their last conversations, no less.
How dare this woman...
Anger was good. Anger made you feel justified, feel right. Anger kept the regrets and self-doubt at bay. But the anger that he wished would surface failed to come. For the blade had cut too deep, and felt too much like truth.
The Grand Inquisitor continued speaking, her voice mercilessly calm and utterly reasonable.
"Live. There is still a world out there to be experienced. A million things to be done and tried. Joy and sadness, success and failure, love and regret. So live."
Close. She is so close.
Then she leaned forward, and put a hand on his chest. He would have pushed her away, but then she looked him in the eyes and said,
"Besides, you do not have my leave to die. Not yet. You owe me, Amell."
Despite his mouth feeling as if it were paralyzed, he murmured,
"What do you mean? I owe you nothing."
"Yes, you do. Because..."
And here she slid out of her chair, and, almost straddling him, pushed her face up close to his, and whispered,
"I forgive you. Know that, even if the whole world hates you, I alone do not blame you for what you did. I accept you, sins and guilt and recriminations all."
He choked up. Shaking his head, he hissed,
"There is nothing to forgive. I did what I had to! It was justified!"
That last word was strangled. Even to his ears it sounded hollow.
And in response, she invaded his personal space even further. Now she actually straddled him, her face so close to his that their lips almost touched –
"Perhaps it was. And so your mind tells you, but your heart fails to listen, doesn't it? Thus the nightmares, thus the guilt, thus that unrelenting nagging doubt at the back of your mind that no amount of rationalization can banish. I know because I've felt it before myself. I know you're experiencing it too. And I know that I'm the only one who can save you from it."
"I –"
He couldn't speak.
And she continued. With every word she spoke, her breath tickled him like kisses in the wind.
"So I forgive you. Despite being the Chantry's most devoted servant, and its greatest weapon. Despite being an elf, like one of your thousand victims. Despite being a slave who has had her own painful and humiliating and horrifying experiences with blood magic. I. forgive. you."
His vision was blurry, and it took him some time to realize that he was crying. Him. Crying. He could not even remember the last time he had cried. Had he ever? Not that he could remember. Not when he immolated his father, nor when he killed his friends, nor when he stabbed his lover. Yet now... the tears in his eyes could not be denied. All the pent up emotions of the past six months and of the long years before, came pouring out all of a sudden, in that one instance. He sobbed, and wept, and cried. Whether it was catharsis or mental breakdown, he could not say.
She hugged him.
Which meant that he didn't catch the quirking of her lips. The way her ears twitched. The look in her eyes.
They all said one thing.
You are mine now, body and soul.
And now came the final touch.
She continued speaking, her mouth by his ear, her voice pouring into him like sweet music, like a drug that could not be resisted, like water to a man thirsty and lost in the desert.
"And above all, Amell, you are bound by duty and high principle to help me. To use your favourite phrase – this is for the greater good. If you refuse, then you are admitting that pursuing the greater good is not the only thing that matters..."
And if he did that, it would mean admitting that what happened in Denerim was not necessary ruthlessness, but despicable evil.
And of course he could never admit that.
He sat there, looking at her, but not truly seeing her. Finally he muttered,
"So what is this great evil you keep harping on about?"
She smiled.
Hers, now and forever.
-(=DAO=)-
A/N: Been trying and failing to get this uploaded to FFNet this whole week. Remember to read and review, and ask any questions that you want answered.