Varric sat at the table in the Hawke Estate's dining room with a pounding head held in his hands. "Brandy and red wine, what in the Maker's name was I thinking?" he moaned. Bodahn had just left after his cheery 'Good Morning' was greeted by a grunt and a red-eyed stare.
He was back after some time, carrying a mug of evil-smelling brew. "Drink this right down, Serah, it will cure what ails you."
Despite the house-man's lowered voice, the dwarf winced and covered his ears. "Right, ohh… thanks Bodahn, I think." He looked up and squinted. "Mornin' Hawke. How's your head?" he asked. He looked at the mug and took a tentative swallow.
"Not as bad as it could be." He turned and managed a weak smile. "Good morning Bodahn-How's Sandal?"
"Why, he's fine, Serah Hawke, never better. Thank you for asking."
"Got anything for a headache?" he asked, lowering his voice in deference to his friend sitting across the table. He knew better than to ask for something to eat-That was for later.
Sandal's father was smiling again. "I made a double batch of mother's recipe this morning-Coming right up!"
"Hey Hawke, where ya' been?" the bar-maid greeted him as soon as he stepped into the Hanged Man. He remembered her-She always had a ready, open smile, and a kind word. "Go right on up. He's expectin' ya'."
He smiled in return and just nodded, embarrassed that he'd forgotten her name. Lucida? Lucinda? Something like that.
He rapped and pulled open the newly-rebuilt door to Varric's suite. He made a big show of examining the joinery. "That's some door… tired of beating the women off with a stick? Or is it bill collectors? I can never be sure."
His friend looked up from his writing and laid the quill down. "I don't know which is worse, but it works for them both." He pulled a face. "You know about us dwarfs, the women just can't resist."
"So how goes it?" Hawke sat down and fingered a pile of note-paper stacked on his side of his friend's granite-topped dining table.
"Once the headache eased off, I managed to move along at a good clip." He moved the quill and pushed the ink bottle out of reach. "I just noted the salient points. The story, I'll write when time permits."
Hawke got up and crossed the room to close the door. "Varric, I was thinking about what we talked about last night. How secure are your notes? If any of it got out…"
He held up a hand. "Not to worry, my friend," he interrupted, turning his notes around for Hawke to read. "Now, what does that say?"
He looked where the dwarf was pointing, then looked again. "Huh! It's dwarven, isn't it?" he shook his head. Not a word written there made any sense to him. "Who'da thought… but can anyone read it?" he wondered aloud.
"Very few of the living," he confided. "It's an old cypher I found in some of Bartrand's junk from Orzammar. It's simple to learn and it works with almost any alphabet. I used our local dialect, so it's not as secure as it could be, but it's secure enough. I can teach it to you if you want."
"It might come in handy. Now, when can we find the time?"
"Not a problem. I have a note with the base form here. Keep it and just memorize the words. They can be written in sequence to decode the writing. I've learned it, so it's like a second language. Give it some practice and you'll be writing it without help in no time."
He looked at the note and folded it into a pocket. "So, Bodahn told me you wanted to discuss something…?"
"Hawke, you can't leave until I find out more about your… interest in the Grand Cleric. Of all the women in Kirkwall, why her?"
"Well, you sent me there to find that book and sure, she caught me, but then she let me go. She didn't have to. I've never met a woman like her." He had that far-away look on his face, again.
"She's taken vows, Hawke. She's in service to the Maker, no man. You know that, right?" He set Bianca up on the table and fiddled with a catch. An alarmingly loud click didn't seem to bother him.
He ignored Varric's pointed question. "The second year? The second year." He watched as the dwarf field stripped his weapon and started wiping off parts with an oiled cloth."We finished paying off our uncle's debt to the smugglers, who paid the bribe to let us into the city. It was worth it, I guess. We learned our way around and who it was wise to avoid, thanks to you my friend."
"I know. I'd joined you by then." He'd heard this part before. He changed the subject. "So, when did you see her next? I still can't figure out how you got by her guards, she's the Chantry's leader, for Andraste's sake."
"Remember the Hawke Estate's entrance in the sewers? We found it looking for grandfather's will. There's a side passage, with a hidden trap-door. It comes out just behind the main hearth in the cleric's quarters."
Must've missed it, somehow," the dwarf mused. Seldom did something like that escape his notice. "So, you've been seeing her… regularly. When did you first believe that you even had a chance with her?"
Hawke had to smile. "The first time I knew… We were discussing the tranquil. It was when she showed me the real Elthina…
"Mages that I've talked to say they'd prefer death over being made tranquil," I challenged her. We were seated in an alcove off the cleric's private library.
She gave me a challenging look in return. "Those so-called mages obviously have no experience-They have never been made tranquil. They have probably yet to even meet one." Her chin came up. "Their opinions hinge upon myths, hear-say."
"Still, my lady, they're little more than slaves." I shot back. "How do you justify that?"
She smiled at my lapse, but made no comment. "Young man, our mages vow to serve the Maker, and through him, all of humanity. Dead… how can they do that? I risk repeating myself when I say becoming an abomination is a death sentence for any mage."
I had no answer to that. I shook my head and looked away.
She continued, "Most of our tranquils keep their learned skills, only their talent with magic is blunted. To protect them from evil denizens in the Fade, the connection with the Fade, their dreams, are deadened. A side affect of the process also removes their emotional centers. Only those mage candidates who are hunted by demons in their dreams are even considered for the Rite of Tranquility, a condemnation. Their will must be strong enough to resist possession."
"So, how do you know?" I challenged her. "You hold their very future in your hands."
She smiled knowingly. "That, I cannot tell you. Suffice it to say, that is what our Templars are trained to do. Before their Harrowing, mages are closely watched for signs of distress in their sleep." She took a deep breath, watching me for signs of boredom. Seeing none, she said, "Those that fail their Harrowing, or take too long to complete it, are executed by the Templars, and very few are condemned before their most important final test."
I couldn't help but recall Anders' outrage at what was now called The Tranquil Solution, where a Templar, Ser Alrik by name, was taking Chantry matters into his own hands. "Rumor has it, Lady Elthina, that even true mages, ones who have passed their Harrowing, are being condemned for simply speaking out against their unjust treatment."
Her unruffled air slipped. "That, Serah Hawke, is a problem…" she was looking for the words. "…that has come to my attention. It is something that needs to be addressed. Meredith, it seems, needs some reining-in," she mused, shaking her head in resignation.
She went on, "As an aside, Brother Genitivi found references to another type of Harrowing and the Rite of Tranquility. An obscure tome written by a Tevinter Magister tells of mage battles in the Fade where the loser, if killed in the Fade, becomes tranquil. He has found no more evidence to support or deny that finding. Recent events have kept us too busy to follow up that claim. It is a shame."
"Anything I can do to aid you and the Chantry, Your Grace," I said. "You have only to ask."
"You have my eternal gratitude, Serah Hawke," she replied with a radiant smile…
"So she did hear the rumors," Varric said. He set his newly-cleaned and tensioned crossbow into the corner and returned to his notes. "The war between Orsino and Meredith was about to boil over. The Qunari threat was on the rise as well. Not a good time for Kirkwall."
"That wasn't the end of our discussion of the tranquil-Not by a long shot." He picked up a note that had somehow found its way to the floor. "Just after Elthina defused the public confrontation between the Circle and the Templars, I got a note from her. She wished to see me privately. 'Let no one see you on your way here,' it said…
After Nella showed me into the Grand Cleric's private sitting room, she tapped on the bed-chamber door and slipped inside. An advantage to her being tranquil was that she didn't seem bothered when a man suddenly appeared in her Lady's private chambers without an escort.
"Pardon my intrusion, Your Grace, I was in the area and…"
Was she expecting me? Possibly. Her dressing gown, though of simple cut, complemented a full, mature figure. "Good Even, Serah Hawke," she knew the dance as well as I. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"A matter has come to light that needs your immediate attention, Your… Grace." I tipped her a shadow of a wink.
She surprised me when she winked back and said, "Nella, dear, you can finish your copying and read chapter three in your missal before retiring. Please see that I am not disturbed without warning." Her smile of conspiracy made her look years younger.
"Certainly, Your Grace," she said with a practiced curtsey. "Serah Hawke." She closed the door quietly when she left.
"Thank you for coming. I may need your help with a matter related to what we discussed before. But first, let me show you something. Please, pour the wine while I get that something from the other room."
I looked at the bottle that was warming on a fixture in the hearth. "No Second Century?" I asked. There were still the three bottles I'd given her in the rack half-hidden in the far corner. I could see them from the fireplace.
"No Messere, not tonight." Was she teasing me? Her face told me it was so. "Please, wait right there. There's something I want you to see." My eyes couldn't help but follow her as she went into a side room, leaving the door ajar.
I took some time to look around the sitting room. Elthina truly lived here. Framed portraits and pen-and-ink sketches lined the walls. Some I recognized, some I didn't. Most were spare, but well done-The subjects' personalities were there. Two completed portraits really stood out; One was a portrait of Andraste, done in oil, that captured her emotions at her final ordeal. This one hung over the mantle, occupying a place of prominence.
The wine was of interest. It was a bottle of Burdock Red, but from the First Century. I didn't think any existed, but yet, here it was, uncorked and breathing-waiting for us. Upon turning, I walked over to look at the second portrait, hung on the far wall. It was another beautifully executed oil with three subjects, arm-in-arm; A very young Elthina flanked by a man and a woman. All three wore the robes of a Chantry acolyte.
"Here we are." She had returned like a shadow and set a stack of portrait-size art paper on the table next to two wine glasses. "Please, pour." She invited, with a smile that belied an impatient gesture.
I had to smile at her enthusiasm, it did become her. "I was wondering about that portrait, there." I picked up a glass, poured a sample and passed it to her. "You are in the middle. Who are the others?"
She made a show of examining the wine in the light, sniffed, tasted, sighed with pleasure, and held the crystal up to be filled. "Oh that… that is a reminder of the end of my mis-spent youth; Done by a Chantry artist just before our ordination."
When our glasses touched, my world slowed, stood still, then started turning again. I was lost in her eyes. We drank.
She broke the spell. "On my right is Sister Petrine. She's now a Revered Mother. She seems happy with a… demotion-Doesn't aspire to anything more." She sighed. "We still correspond… but her letters get fewer as time goes by."
"She's a very prolific writer," I remarked. "Her Chantry histories are not as dry as I expected either."
"Sweet Petrine…" she murmured. Looking over her glass of wine, she continued, "And on my left is Brother Genitivi. Have you heard of his quest to find the Ashes of Andraste? My dear brother has made his mark in history."
"That was the story of the Hero of Ferelden," I quipped. "The ashes had a part in beating the Dragon Age Blight. There was an Antivan history book that mentioned it. I don't remember where my sister got it, though. Odd that Sister Petrine was silent about it."
"Not really," she replied. "If you consider the controversy about revealing that the Urn of Sacred Ashes had really been found. Petrine's book was suppressed. Our Most Holy, The Devine, was furious when the story leaked out. I suppose that had something to do with Petrine's silence about it. Her letters were angry at first, then resigned. She was inconsolable…"
"You two were getting right cozy by then," the dwarf observed.
" At first, I was just someone who intrigued her-A strange bug crawling along on her window ledge. After awhile, after I got to know her, she seemed… lonely. It was like there was no-one to tell how she really felt-Did anyone really care? As time went by, she went from defending the Chantry's cut-and-dried doctrine to speaking her own heart and mind."
Varric was thoughtful. "That could be a dangerous stance for her, but an enviable position for you, my friend." He leaned back in his chair, ignoring the ominous sounds of protest it made. "She was starting to trust you," he concluded. "So, what about… what did she want to show you?" His leering wink said he had a good idea.
He shook his head. Same old Varric! "We had been talking about the tranquil." He made a show of straightening his friend's stack of notes in front of him. "We were both pretty well loosened up by the wine…"
"Back to our talk of the tranquil." She set her wine glass aside and ran a careful hand across the top sheet on the table. "My Nella… was condemned at just about the time you, your family and the new Guard Captain…" She smiled at my look of surprise. "… arrived here in Kirkwall. In spite of her abilities, she was unable to deal with the pressures of the Fade. It got to the point where the poor thing was too terrified to lie down for long. Exhaustion claims us all, eventually… she actually petitioned the First Enchanter for release from her commitment. That wasn't possible-It was too late. She… didn't go willingly…" She put her head in her hands.
She stiffened when my hands slid around her shoulders, then she relaxed and leaned back. "You saved her life," I whispered into her ear. "The demon didn't claim her. A small victory in a long, bitter war. You said it yourself, Lady; Dead, we cannot serve the Maker."
She placed her hands on mine and squeezed. "What's done is done. Let me show you this." Then a thought seemed to occur to her. "Hawke, Cale, if I may," she squeezed my hands again, "We are at a crossroad now. If we are to continue our… friendship, there is something you need to understand."
"Yes, Lady?"
She closed her eyes. "As you know, I occupy a station here that I take very seriously. Propriety must be observed… in the public arena, I represent the Chantry here in Kirkwall. There is a line that must never be crossed. I must have your word never to cross that line before we can continue."
"You have it. My Lady… Elthina. On my honor."
"So bound, Serah Cale. It has been so long since anyone has called me by my given name," she murmured wistfully.
My hands were still on her shoulders, pressing, kneading. She seemed to be enjoying the attention.
"I wanted to show you this," she said, lifting the top sheet so I could see the text. It was a hand-lettered copy of The Chant of Light, First Verse. "One of my Nella's talents is with making copies. She can print three different scripts. This sheet is a cull. Can you see her errors?"
I looked at the graceful, looping letters carefully. Seeing no mistakes, I said, "It looks perfect to me-Where are they?"
She pointed with a flourish to three places. "Here and here, the periods are blurred, they look like commas. And here, there's a mis-shaped tail on an R, it looks like a P. Still, it is a marvelous effort." Her eyes shone with her pride.
"How long would something like this take to do?" I wondered.
She was almost purring at my touch now. "As complex as this script is, a competent print would take, oh, as many as eight hours." She, again, looked over her shoulder at me, making me pause. "Nella did this in about three hours."
"She's very talented. It's a blessing to have her here."
"My thought, exactly. She is a blessing. Here…" She set that page aside and picked up the next. "What is your first thought when you see this?"
I recognized them right away. In the sketch, she was kissing Nella's forehead. "That's really good. That's you and that's Nella. She drew this? I've always wondered, how does an artist draw themselves?"
"She drew a self-portrait, using a mirror, and then using the sketch of herself, finished the work."
"My sister draws some. She says self-portraits are the hardest to do," I said. "I can't believe she drew herself that well. What did she name it?"
"Yes, indeed she did. Let's go ask her." Elthina stood and turned to me. "Now, please come with me and observe-We'll talk when we return here…
Varric looked up from his notes. "Mum's the word on this too?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Right you are. If this got out, she'd be ruined… and then, my friend, you'd be ruined."
"Word to the wise and all that, got it." He raised his hands and walked to the door. "Let me see what's on the menu, I'm starved. You staying for dinner? I'm buying."
"Sure, can't pass that up."
He returned shortly with word that the pot roast would be out of the oven within the hour and two plates would be sent up. "Service fit for a king," he sighed and turned to the next page in his notebook. He dipped his pen in the ink bottle and poised it over the page. "Set the scene for me Hawke. You observed the Grand Cleric's house-girl and a sketch…"
I followed her to a room she called The Reading Room. Seated at a table, lit by two oil lamps, was Elthina's house-girl, Nella, working with a quill that she dipped into an ink bottle, touched to a piece of scrap paper and returned to her copying. There was an accomplished speed and economy to her movements. We took a few moments to watch her working.
When she finished a line, she looked up and turned to us. "Serah Hawke, Your Grace, Good Even to you." Like most of her kind, she bore a calm, slightly distracted look. The brand on her forehead was a jarring reminder that she was a tranquil. Without it, she might have been called attractive.
"And to you as well, Nella. Please, come attend me," she pulled a chair out at a reading table with its own lamp lit. Setting the sketch on the table, she seated her charge and said, "Serah Hawke, here, was admiring your work and has come up with a question-A good one-I think; What shall we name this?"
She looked up at us and then back at the line-drawing. Her unsteady hand lingered over the image of Elthina-Just touching it with her fingertips. She looked up again and said, "Your Grace loves Nella." She looked away in confusion.
Her eyes were shining. "Very good!" she winked at me and said, "I like your caption and Serah Hawke does as well." She replaced the sketch with a small book, rubbing Nella's back affectionately. "Now, please read chapter four in your missal and finish your copying to the chapter's end before you turn in for the night."
"Yes… Your… Grace." She said slowly.
When we returned to the study, she picked up her wine glass. "So, Ser… Cale. What do you think?"
I hesitated, thinking. Finally, I said, "She seemed ill-at-ease. I didn't think the tranquil did that. Could something be bothering her?"
"That is a sharp observation. They usually don't." She took a sip of wine and considered. "She has always had little fits of agitation, but will calm down eventually. I fear for her sanity-Those fits can be indicative of a coming break-down. Still, she's been with me for four years now and instead of the fits getting worse, they are getting shorter and happen less often."
I held up the wine bottle and refilled our glasses while she pondered Nella's condition.
She sighed and continued, "Sister Petrine, Brother Genitivi, and I have researched the subject. We have found three general categories for tranquils: Basal, Domestic, and Higher-Order, for want of better terms. The Basal Tranquil is just that-basic. He tends to excel at menial tasks. Tasks that others… may be reluctant to perform. The Domestic Tranquil can be trusted with more demanding work. Their rudimentary reasoning ability gives them more flexibility than their Basal brethren-They can solve most problems posed to them. And finally, we come to the Higher-Order Tranquil. A true Higher-Order Tranquil is the backbone of the Chantry's day-to-day operation. It's their efforts that bring in the funds we need. Sales of their crafted items are our mainstay."
She was more thoughtful, now. "However, their higher intelligence can harbor a cunning, ruthless nature that rivals most non-tranquils. Couple that with no conscience or social values, and you have created a human monster. The Higher-Order Tranquil has no sense of right-or-wrong. He or she needs less supervision, but can also do the greatest harm."
"So, Nella is a Domestic?"
"A Domestic Tranquil," she corrected. "Or, more accurately, she is somewhere between the true Domestic Tranquil and a Higher-Order Tranquil. Her intelligence tests at somewhere between the two. But she retains a Domestic Tranquil title for her, until now, attenuated emotions. We may need to change her title with recent developments, though."
"From all I've heard so far, a tranquil's life is influenced by who they live with. They aren't really good or evil, but can be influenced?"
Her smile returned. "Precisely, with care, they can contribute as much as anyone or with evil influence, can do great harm. That brings us to why I… asked to see you. Have you ever heard of tranquils living outside the influence of any Circle of Magi?"
I snapped my fingers. "Wasn't there a rumor of an apostate that was doing traffic in tranquils? He was in Lowtown, wasn't he?"
"It was Darktown. And he was a Maleficar, a Blood-Mage." She shuddered. "A skirmish in the south end claimed three of our Templars. He… they didn't even get a description, escaped easily, but not before a survivor noted a warrior with a sunburst-brand on his forehead-A tranquil! Bearing arms!"
"Chantry Law forbids anyone from arming tranquils or tranquils from taking up arms themselves, if I remember right."
"Correct," she agreed. "Our research leads us to believe that Higher-Order Tranquils can be possessed by some demons on this side of the Veil. Under the right conditions, it is possible. Some tracts obtained from The Imperium in Tevinter suggest that Maleficar take a special interest in the Higher-Order Tranquil." She sighed. "Be that as it may, I need someone to look into the possibility of a Warrior-Tranquil living in Darktown. If he can be captured… studying him would give us valuable information that we just do not have now."
"Hmm, you've talked to the right man, Your Grace. I can put together a group that can get it done. I can't promise your tranquil will survive, but we'll do our best."
"Then, that is all that I can ask, Serah." She picked up the wine bottle to refill our glasses."Please let me know when you set out. I'll need to prepare the infirmary for our guest…
"Set the time-frame up here, Hawke," Varric scribbled his last note and looked up. "That was about the time we were setting up the Deep Roads expedition."
"Right. You and your brother were tied up with family business. You had the finances all set up and we were holding until a trade snarl could be untangled."
"I can't say I'm sorry enough… if I'd gone with you… If we'd only got that bastard Maleficar, then your mother…"
"Let yourself up-What's done is done." he interrupted. "I blame myself for that fiasco. If it hadn't been for Aveline, we'd be mourning Merrill as well." The pain of loss was still sharp. "But let me finish this. You asked me how I knew when I first had a chance with Elthina…
"I'll need to prepare the infirmary for our guest," she said, with a downward glance at something on the table. She picked up her wine glass and drank.
I followed her gaze to the sketches on the table. One in particular caught my eye. It was of Elthina in her bath. Her full breasts jutted out saucily. Her nipples were artfully concealed by a froth of soapsuds. Nella, holding her right shoulder, was applying soap to her back with a sponge. The Grand Cleric's eyes were closed in an expression of supreme bliss. She was obviously enjoying herself.
"What have we here?" I asked, sliding it out for a better look. "My Lady… Elthina, I am speechless." I held it up to admire its… technique.
She looked over my shoulder, and when she saw the image, her face fell. "You are NOT supposed to see that!" Her Chantry face appeared, all business. She held out a hand.
"Too late, Lady," I grinned, teasing her. "What's done is done." I held it up to give it a sideways look. When she reached for it, I pulled it away-just out of her reach.
She was really getting angry. Her mouth was a thin, straight line. Her eyes, those beautiful grey eyes, were slits. "Do not… do not force me to call the guard," she all but hissed. I couldn't believe it, she actually stamped her foot.
My foolish grin stayed in place, goading her. "Hmm, I didn't think of that. Maybe they'd want to see it too. It's very well executed."
Her eyes were daggers. Her mouth trembled as she picked up the cull copy of the Chant of Light and hid her face with it. The young girl in her was still there-It was good to see.
Those dancing grey eyes entreated me over that sheet of paper. "Please? May I have it back?" she whispered. That should have been a warning.
"Nay, Lady, I think I'll just keep this." I looked at it again. "Wouldn't it make a nice plate for Our Lady's Left Hand? Sure. The only question is which chapter?"
I wasn't ready for her rush. When it came, it knocked us both over a leather-upholstered divan set away from the far wall. My hands around her waist kept her from tumbling over the other side. The bath sketch landed on the floor behind us.
My hands explored the flare of her hips. Then went up her back and paused. "It looks like I've got you right where you want me." I teased her, taking in the scent of rose-water, wine, and healthy woman. The sound of a bell tolling sounded far away.
She didn't speak. With a hand on each of my shoulders, she stared intently into my eyes.
Gentle pressure on her back brought her face closer. She didn't resist, but she didn't come willingly either. "Come to me, come to me willingly," I coaxed with a whisper.
When she lifted her chin, my lips found her throat. Her pulse beat strong, steady. My teeth nipped, making her moan. She stiffened and looked up as the door to the Reading Room opened. My first thought was the changing guard was checking rooms.
It wasn't the guard, it was Nella. "The evening bell has rung, Your Grace," she intoned. "I'll turn down the bed. Shall I sleep in the Annex tonight?" She paused at the bed-chamber door.
"No… no dear." She sat up and collected herself. She kissed her fingertips and touched them to my lips. "Messere Hawke was just leaving…"
"The story of your life, Hawke," Varric seemed amused. "Always being interrupted. I'm surprised the Templars don't know about you and their renowned leader by then." A knock at the door interrupted him. "Dinner time-It's about time." He went to the door. "When we finish. I want to hear about the Maleficar and the Warrior Tranquil…"
A/N Many thanks to my friend, Wyl, for helping me keep the stupid mistakes to a minimum. C.
Profuse thanks to Anesor for pointing out some interesting gaps here and there.