So this chapter took longer than expected. Shoutout to my ever generous beta reader xMorbidxAngelx and my awesome friends who allow me to pester them over this little story. Most importantly, shoutout to YOU-yes you-for patiently waiting!
"So! Here we are again. Another day, another opportunity to teach a valuable lesson: murdering princes is bad!"
It is the tall officer. Yet again. The same officer that has been interrogating them all week. And as with the rest of the week, Cassandra Pentaghast needs to remind herself that this is a different time. It is a different world. In here she does not dole out mercy but instead has to hope for some. She bows her head or else she would not help but glare at the obnoxious officer who has now proceeded to preen, striding back and forth in front of the metal table.
Every day they spend in Jader their situation becomes more scarce. And it shows. She tries not to take notice, after all she is not without heart, especially for friends. But whatever is happening with Leliana?
Right on cue the Right Hand of the Divine glances over her former counterpart.
Twelve years by Divine Justinia's side and three more by the Inquisitor's they have worked hand in hand. One would think all those time would be enough to know a person. And yet, here they are. If there used to be a river between them, now there is an ocean. She admits, she feels too passionately about Chantry doctrines sometimes. Leliana, well, she is far more lenient in her morals than most people are comfortable with. Still, they used to have a bridge between them that goes over their differences. Now it is burnt to bits and she is not sure who has thrown the first match.
She tried to understand. Maker knows she did, for the sake of her friend. Very few had known of the effect Justinia's death has had on Leliana. And then the Inquisitor had to follow. She raised her concern during the early stage—the Spymaster should not have involved herself with the Inquisitor in the first place! She just knew, didn't she? And then she had to leave for Val Royeaux, watching from the distance as Leliana crumbles under Skyhold's faltering weight.
But the recent days' Leliana? Something is different. It is like a candle has died out. This Leliana just does not care anymore, it is clear to her. About anything. Perhaps about anyone. She cannot help but worry that it has been putting more strain in their already tenuous situation.
"Leliana!" Cassandra calls out for the unpredictable redhead who has been lurking by the window. What could she possibly be plotting at this moment? Does it ever end with her? "It's time for the interrogation. Come sit with us!"
Cassandra sees a jolt and she is glad she is still capable of eliciting a response. So long as they are still able to reach her, it does not really matter at the moment how superficial. The only important thing is to stay alive. Survive.
Leliana takes her sweet time and the watchful Right Hand feels her grasp on the vacant seat grow tighter.
Like she could afford all the time in the world. I would not be surprised if she believes that as well.
Cassandra resists what she feels is a more than deserved eye roll. Her sight instead lands on Ambassador Montilyet who eases the chair from her white knuckled grip. The lady gives an almost imperceptible side nod towards the direction of the officer. Cassandra does not need to look at him to know he has been taking notes.
Finally, Leliana reaches them and takes the vacant seat. It feels like the entire room is watching her take her time crossing her legs, straightening her clothes that is the same bright orange like everybody else's, and then playing with her matching fiery hair.
"Please, don't let me keep you." It was the officer with his usual acerbic tone. He did not even take two minutes needling Leliana, and Cassandra feels some satisfaction in that. Someone has to put Leliana on notice, before she well and truly slips away to whatever void she is diving into.
There is a groan and it did not take long for everyone to look the witch Morrigan's way. She supposes it cannot be helped. Every time they see this officer it has always been the same. True enough, Leliana is the same way towards all the officers and soldiers. Same pettiness, same dance, same catty back and forth. All, she feels, have been nothing but a waste of their already limited time. She takes hold of her knees, bracing for whatever Leliana is going to reply. She waits… and waits. Finally it became apparent that nothing will come.
"Well, well… nothing witty for me this afternoon? Finally bottomed out, huh?" The officer asks the very questions on her mind. She tries catching Leliana's eyes this time. This used to be natural between the two of them. Back in the day when they had their own dance. They were so in sync with their passion in serving Thedas that all the rest did not really matter. Now all she sees is a pair of eyes that looks past.
Cassandra was still locked in an empty staring contest with Leliana when she hears shuffling from across the table. She did not even notice the black and sleek object the officer has with him until he is opening it. He turns it towards them just as it is coming to life… and beaming their faces in its lit up front.
"Is that—"
"You? Yes, there's no mistaking a group of assassins now is there?" The officer cuts the ambassador off and Cassandra has to work hard on concentrating on their image instead of looking up. They may be handcuffed but the officer is still well within striking distance.
"All this gloating is just cloying at this stage. Get to the point." Cassandra snaps her head to see Leliana staring down the officer. Back is the usual mocking chill in her voice and her foot is now tapping at the table's base.
"Ah! She's finally awake! I have to say, it's taking longer every day to get you back down to Thedas, wherever your mind has been taking you. Do you have a boyfriend you need to go home to?"
From where Cassandra is sitting she could hear the ambassador's sharp intake of breath. She closes her eyes, unsure where to aim her dagger stares. To Lady Montilyet who should know better by now than to be so easily prodded? To the officer who is, if she is being blunt about it, just doing his job to poke at all the sore spots? Or does she unleash her frustration to the one true cause of all these things? She feels frustration bubbling from her gut and she has to look out the window, getting ready to pour out the rising, hot irritation somewhere.
But it's too late. Their reactions were more than enough for the officer to pick up on. "So there is a significant someone. Tell me, what would you do if some lunatic decided to slit his throat? Would you still be so damn calm and collected then?"
"Sorry, officer, but you would not have made my list anyway."
That tapping. Cassandra is already starting to choose which part of Leliana to stop first, her tongue or her foot. She dedicates more of her attention to the sunny day outside, watching the soldiers who are by then concluding the day's training.
"Is this conversation really essential to this afternoon's interrogation? We would be more than willing to cooperate on other matters, Lieutenant." It was Lady Montilyet, ever the diplomat of the group. Cassandra can't help but have her heart go the hapless Antivan's way. Surely the woman feels just as flat footed as she has been this past week.
"But what if I do? There's only one way to find out." The officer continues to prod back without abandon. He snaps his fingers and without preamble hops out of his seat. It takes him two long strides to reach the door and just like that, they find themselves all alone. Left to the tapping.
Cassandra finds herself finally unable to hold back and zeroes in on the nonchalant redhead beside her. Her legs are still crossed and now that her main amusement has left the room, has gone back to inspecting her hair. She has more than half a mind to let Leliana hear it, and yet, she sits there. Unable to put into words the spectacle that her friend is making of herself. It is another handful of seconds of narrowed eyed, intense glaring until she turns to Morrigan instead.
"What are we going to do?"
"Make her stop with the annoying foot tapping, for one," Morrigan intones.
"This is going to be a long day." All Cassandra could do was to massage her throbbing temples, willing the headache to die down. She looks up from her misery as soon as she hears the door swing. What her eyes landed on, instead, makes the throbbing come alive into a deafening pounding!
"I thought I'd bring in these flowers," the officer chuckles as he peeks from behind a flower pot. The three stalks have a simple arrangement, as if it is meant to draw the eyes to the red and white petals. She hears a chuckle from her left and in a beat killed it off from Morrigan's lips with a snarl. At least the sorceress has the mind to pick when to push. Because this is definitely not one of those times.
All the airy sunlight from outdoors could not suffice to warm the creeping chill in the room. True enough, the tapping has died down. The silence starts to envelope them as three pairs of eyes travel from the flowers to Leliana and then back again. She spies Leliana to the right as the spymaster stiffens in her chair. There's a sadness in Cassandra's heart just as she sees the empty look once again.
"It's a special delivery just for you, my red haired lady!" The demon places the flowers by the right side of the table. "Freshly picked Andraste's Grace in this glorious afternoon! Aren't they your favorites?"
"Please, officer. This is quite enough." Josephine leans towards the table, her arms shielding Leliana.
"Oh, I agree. This is enough." A hard voice bounces off the room's four walls. Standing by the doorway is a man roughly in his 50's. He is clad in a formal uniform, different from the customary green camouflage. His chest shines in the afternoon sun with all his medals that are lined up. His face, however, brings all the gloom and thunder that is not at all promising for their circumstance.
"Major!" Cassandra does not think it possible for the officer in front of them to lose his luster any quicker. He almost tips his chair over as he salutes, weathering the glower of the much senior man. He stands in attention the entire time the Major sweeps the room with eagle eyes. With the man's every step the already charged air in the room thickens. Cassandra fends off the suffocating tension by swallowing a lump of air.
"I didn't think traumatizing already compromised women is part of your job description, Lieutenant. Or is it?" The Major stops in front of the junior officer, his eyes and his shoulders firm and squared.
There's a couple of seconds hesitation but finally the adherence to the chain of command wins. "Sir, no sir!"
"Your work is done here. You are dismissed!" The Major returns the salute after what seems to be an eternity, eyes still sharp as daggers.
"Sir, thank you, sir!" The Lieutenant strides out of the room and closes the room behind him. Cassandra would let out a relieved sigh but is too occupied with the intense eyes now surveying the four of them.
"Ferelden didn't always have the most advanced military. But we sure fielded the most determined soldiers." The senior officer seizes the metal chair without breaking eye contact. Cassandra focuses on the jingling sounds his medals produce as he takes a seat. "Make no mistake, an attack on the future sovereign will be perceived as an attack on Ferelden. It will be seen as an attack on what the throne symbolizes for the nation, which is stability. And continuity. It will be taken as an upfront to what Fereldans have worked long and hard to attain, which is a fair place on the table in this continent."
Cassandra feels her confidence crumble under the officer's weighted words and stare. She draws her gaze back out the window, trying to ignore the bandages peeling from the wound that is still smarting. As the day draws to an end, she watches two soldiers salute the Fereldan flag while a third one lowers it from the pole. She has had enough of this for the past week. Enough of the shame, of the remorse. Enough of being made to bear what she—what they—had become the second they attacked their rescuer. True enough, it was not known to them at the time that they were in the presence of royalty. But to her, it is even worse that they were driven to attack a dedicated soldier. What has he ever done that afternoon, aside from serving his country? Aside from helping the needy?
She cannot take it anymore. As the trio of soldiers finish folding the flag, she tears her eyes away and slams her fists on the table. She feels a pair of eyes train on her. It is tempting to just let go of all that she has bottled up but she cannot take that reprieve, too, can she? It is not her that has had the worst experience in the course of the week. She thinks of the innocent officer whom they have heard had fled the base. A prince who is no longer secure in his home. What will become of him because of them?
The glimpse of their image in criminal clothes cuts like a jagged shard of glass. Cassandra tries to wash away the sting with a sharp breath. "Please… you have to understand. It was not us."
She looks up to see the officer's hand on top of hers. Sympathy was the last thing she expected and the gesture keeps Cassandra's bubbling anxiety from spilling over. "Then please, my lady, help us understand."
The reverence stops her from her tracks. It is only a week without hearing it and somehow it feels like a world away. Now it all makes sense. The heightened provocations to make them lose composure. The flower. These people had already discovered who they really are. She catches Lady Josephine looking at her. No words are needed to confirm that they are in the same way of thinking. If they are to get the help they need, then they would have to give these people what they want.
The complete truth.
"I just don't understand. Why are you in Orlais?" The phone static does not do well in masking his wife's disappointment. Ian can't help but grunt from its weight that comes all the way back from Denerim.
"My darling, I needed to be here. The Lord Chamber—"
"That was two days ago, Ian! Movie night was one thing. It's your son's birthday today!"
Her mounting frustration makes words launch out of his mouth in an unfiltered slingshot. "What does he want? I'm in Val Royeaux and I can get him anything he wants!"
"He wants his father home! You know James has been waiting—"
A sigh from the other line is all the signal he needs. He closes his eyes to ward off the guilt. This is not the time to allow himself to be distracted.
A moment later, the sparring match resumes. "Some boys would ask for all sort of things, Ian. Our son only wanted a complete family for dinner, just for once."
"Jessica—"
The normally stoic chief of staff cannot hold off the guilt any longer. But any bubbling emotion is kept in the bottle as he is cut off.
"Don't even promise to make it up to us. I've heard it all before. We've heard it all before."
The sharpness of her tone ends in a pointed snap. It takes Ian another second to realize that he's no longer talking to anyone. Still he finds himself still willing for the conversation to carry on, but all he gets is a busy tone. He puts the receiver back in the cradle and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"… This would be the eighth disappearance in the last ten days around Lake Calenhad. Whether they are all connected to the recent health cases is yet to be determined. Authorities, therefore, are driven to dissuade citizens from leaving their homes and cause unwarranted hysteria—"
Ian tosses the remote control in disgust right as the wall mounted TV shuts off.
Whirlwind can't even describe the past 48 hours for the weary chief of staff. A last minute flight brought him from stormy Denerim to sunny Val Royeaux and it has been a flurry of meetings ever since. True enough, he has made this corner room at the Fereldan Embassy as a nerve center of sorts. For in all the 11th hour meetings and proposals, the foundation of his mission is deliberate and methodical.
Word flew in that the still missing prince has been spotted in the outskirts of Val Royeaux not three days ago. No wonder the Lord Chamberlain felt the need to step in. After all, they were talking about one of the most densely populated areas in the continent, if not the world. The fact that Prince Nikolai is risking getting found out by the public is a definite game changer. Ian can't even get himself to think about the implications; the future commander of the armed forces shirking his post for a frolic in the glamorous Orlesian sun? The media would be all over it. True enough, it has triggered a rat race in the cobbled streets of Val Royeaux and Ferelden has just dived in front and center.
Still, the heavens seem to have finally given him some room to maneuver. During his research. he has found another potential piece to this frantic puzzle. One that is all but shying away in the outskirts of the city. But however obscure the bomb is hidden, it is a bomb still. A hazard that is bound to set off at the slightest touch. Just thinking of diffusing the little surprise sends him yet another pulsating headache. He takes a sip of bubbly water, fooling himself that it will somehow drown the throbbing.
He can only take a small reprieve that at least now he knows what lies before him. Such is why he has gone through painstaking lengths to assemble some stepping stones. For traction. After all, high stakes do come with high rewards. And the rewards of this little sojourn of his is bringing back a wayward prince back to the Fereldan capital.
He looks down to his schedule to end the day.
Day 1
1̶:̶0̶0̶-̶3̶:̶0̶0̶p̶m̶:̶ ̶F̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶s̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶S̶c̶i̶e̶n̶t̶i̶f̶i̶c̶ ̶S̶o̶c̶i̶e̶t̶y̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶A̶n̶d̶e̶r̶f̶e̶l̶s̶ ̶(̶F̶S̶S̶A̶)̶-
4̶:̶0̶0̶-̶8̶:̶0̶0̶p̶m̶:̶ ̶M̶e̶e̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶y̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶c̶a̶s̶u̶a̶l̶t̶i̶e̶s̶ ̶–̶ ̶F̶r̶o̶s̶t̶b̶a̶c̶k̶s̶ ̶i̶n̶c̶i̶d̶e̶n̶t̶
Day 2
9̶:̶0̶0̶-̶1̶1̶:̶3̶0̶a̶m̶:̶ ̶O̶r̶l̶e̶s̶i̶a̶n̶ ̶H̶i̶s̶t̶o̶r̶i̶c̶a̶l̶ ̶S̶o̶c̶i̶e̶t̶y̶ ̶ ̶2̶:̶0̶0̶
4̶:̶0̶0̶p̶m̶:̶ ̶U̶n̶i̶v̶e̶r̶s̶i̶t̶i̶e̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶C̶o̶l̶l̶e̶g̶i̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶S̶y̶s̶t̶e̶m̶s̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶F̶r̶e̶e̶ ̶M̶a̶r̶c̶h̶e̶s̶ ̶(̶U̶C̶S̶F̶M̶)̶
5:30-8:00pm: Thedosian Heritage
Ian finds himself nodding, seeing the extent of his agenda that he has braved through thus far. A beat and he walks around the desk. And so the Great Game begins.
The chief of staff makes a dimple on his third necktie of the day and fixes his half spectacle glasses atop the bridge of his nose. It would have been more ideal to change the rest of his outfit as well, especially given the magnitude of his dinner meeting. As a Fereldan, however, there's a limit to what he would put up with in regards Orlesians and their roundabout ways. The makeshift office's panoramic windows glisten in Orlesian summer sun. He avoids the rays on his way out, willing his pink shirt and polka dotted tie to dim down a bit.
The hotel is only a block away from the embassy and so Ian has decided to walk. Before long he finds himself staring up at a building with four great marble pillars. The façade practically glows in all the shimmering and sparkling gold. The floor is cushioned by red carpets sprawled throughout. Armed with folders of the past couple of day's conquests, he marches in. The cheerful summer sun is replaced by tens of smaller beams, all just as bright and inviting.
"Bonsoir monsieur! Bienvenue!" Ian tears his attention away from the alluring lights to the equally sunny valet beaming at him.
"Bonsoir," Ian replies. "I have a reservation for 5:30, table for two."
"Cheerful outfit, half spectacles. Are you by any chance Monsieur Ian Olafson?" The valet peers through his black and red head gear.
"Yes. Indeed, I am." Ian tries hard not to peek down to his polka dotted tie. Still, he is unable to stop his free hand as it straightens his half-Windsor knot.
"Excellent! Your booth is right this way!" The undiluted sunny smile is back and Ian finds himself following the attendant. Into the vast room they go, past mazes of fine diners and even finer cutlery. His mind wanders back to the time last Christmas when Jessica tried to persuade him into buying a set of similar dinnerware. He wonders if she would appreciate a dinner at this place, just them three. He allows his sights to perch elsewhere, dodging a stinging memory as it slashes past.
He could have been having dinner with his family right now. No matter. It only means he must pull off this meeting without a hitch if he wants to be back home at the soonest possible time. He must pull this off.
"Monsieur, your dinner awaits."
Ian finds himself frowning at the valet's expectant look. For a brief second he shakes his head and sends the man a cordial smile as thanks. He pivots towards the booth and allows his smile to grow into something friendlier. There in front of him is a woman in her late 20's. Her inquisitive olive eyes are framed by strips of wavy black hair that cascade from a bun. A pair of silky, slender arms are crossed in the way that all Val Royeaux-raised noble ladies do, with a finger tapping at a wine glass.
"Lady Montilyet, good evening." He nods in greeting as he settles himself on the bench opposite her, trying hard to be graceful amidst the ruffling of folders and papers. He checks his watch as subtle as he could manage as he tidies up the stack. Judging by the woman's arched eyebrow, however, he knows she has caught on. After all, Lady Gabriella of the famed Montilyet house is a true player of the game through and through. Just like so many of her predecessors before her. Getting to their dinner meeting earlier than the appointed time is an advantage point she would happily take.
"Word has it you have been moving puzzle pieces, Ian." She waves a waiter over, putting down her glass to receive the menu. Not a second later, she gestures towards the chilled wine in a way that is so elegant that Ian finds it painful to even decline.
"Words do have ways to get around here faster, so it seems." Ian sends the waiter an appreciative smile as he makes room for his own glass of wine.
"It's what makes Val Royeaux's streets glimmer more in the sun." Her eyes sparkle as if making a point.
"Ah. Now we know what's making Denerim fall short." He averts his eyes from his tie for the fourth time since entering the hotel.
"And are you taking notes to take back home?" Lady Gabriella takes notice of the documents beside him, her lips curving to an amused half smile.
"I'm afraid we don't have the cobblestones to match, my lady."
"And yet, here you are…"
"Do I stand out from the rest of the tourists?"
Ian chuckles as Lady Gabriella slips out a grin, her eyes fixed on his flamboyant outfit. They both nod to the waiter as the man leaves with their orders. As soon as he is out of earshot, she speaks again.
"The Chief of Staff of Ferelden's Royal House rushing to meet the FSSA, the Historical Society, and the UCSFM in two days when he's had two decades to do so. Is Ferelden finally sick of ranking second to last in Thedas in academic and scientific research?"
Ian is hit with a shift so sudden. His genial smile is wiped from his space in a split second. He looks straight to the woman in front of her. The sparkle in her eyes are gone. As is the amused smile.
"We do have the top ranking university in the world, my lady." The bright lights and high arching windows makes him feel like the rest of the room is waiting for him to perform. He is left with nothing else to do than fiddle with the stem of his wine glass.
"True. But it's also the only one in the top 10. And even then it's ranked lower than the rest of the list when it comes to research grants. Not to mention that none of the government-funded Fereldan schools even touched the top 20."
Lady Gabriella seem to take no penance in making him squirm. But then again, he should have expected such. Did he really expect any different in walking into the lion den willingly?
"Which is why we're eager to make the most of this visit. To… rebuild bridges." His fingers slide ever so higher up the tall, sweaty glass stem. The rosé swirls on and grows more enticing by the second. He finds his throat growing drier and his necktie getting tighter.
"You have quite some rebuilding to undertake, then. Is that what this romantic dinner meeting is all about, hm?"
Just as Ian is getting ready to respond, he feels a tap on his left shoulder. He looks up to find himself face to face with the son of the Duke of Amaranthine.
"Ian", the young man beams across the table, "Hi, Gabbie!"
"Gerald. Weren't you supposed to be two countries north of Orlais?" Lady Gabriella sends him back a curt nod. It does little to allay the sunshine that the young man has brought with him, however.
"Come now. Why would I sentence myself to Antiva when it's such a lovely day outside? Besides, I was just passing by to greet Ian here." Right on cue he redirects his attention to the older man next to him. "You, sir, are a legend for sneaking Nikolai some free time to come with us to the dunes!"
With the bright lights, Ian finds the audience focused on him. Re-arranging his spectacles does little in warding off two pairs of aristocratic eyes. Finally he gives them a wry smile, and then surrenders to the relief that the undemanding stem of rosé is willing to give.
"Well, I'm glad to know that the situation back home has settled enough for the heir to the throne to be afforded an escape!" Lady Montilyet seizes the opportunity. All the while, Ian wipes the water droplets from his glass as he withstands her laser-like eyes. He couldn't be any more thankful as their dinner arrives.
"Oh, you're just about to have dinner. I best get on my way then!" The duke's son strides away and Ian just barely keeps it together not to ask him where the crown prince is heading next.
"Ian. What is this?" The frost is unmistakable as Lady Gabriella wastes no second. With that, Ian peels desperate eyes away from the leaving man's back. If he leaves his table now, Ian will still be able to reach him by the restaurant doors. His legs are coiled, buzzing for action. And yet, the severe weight from a pair of olive eyes makes him stay seated. A minute passes. And then two. He saves the chilled rosé from a tepid fate and downs it all in one go.
"The crown prince has been missing." He lets the news sink in. For her and for him. Finally he gathers enough will to continue. "For a full week we are left without any leads—"
"Until now, which is why you're here." She pushes her plate forward. With her elbows where her dinner used to be, she leans in. No doubt assessing the unfolding train wreck that is him.
"It's only a matter of time until information trickles down to the media. And with all that is happening in Ferelden—the outbreak, the disappearances, the impending chaos as Lake Calenhad gets deserted…"
"People will not take kindly to a tone deaf prince. On the same breadth, I also do not take kindly to people who are out to use me."
The shtick is up. Ian knows this. He comes in to this meeting with one foot already dangling on the cliff. Every step is crucial and grows trickier by the minute. He needs solid footing if he is to salvage his Orlesian trip. The weary chief of staff reaches for the wine cradle and pours another glass.
"What are you here for? To get to me?" Her voice is low but the icy tone is unmistakable.
"My lady, please do not think ill. This meeting has been put in place in behalf of the Fereldan govern—"
"To find your prince through me!"
"It is not what you think at all. My lady, please—"
"All those calls I had been receiving. Those people actually believed that Ferelden is changing its tune. That your government is sincere in reaching out. And—" She puts a firm hand by the table's side as Ian sees a flash of recollection in her eyes, "The victims' families! Oh I refuse to be a part of this… cynical use of grieving people!"
"My lady. I assure you that the past couple of days has been spent in utmost good faith!"
"Ian. I'm going to ask again or I'm going to leak it myself that Ferelden's government is so disorganized that they managed to lose their crown prince." She finishes her own glass of wine before giving Ian her complete attention. "Why am I here?"
"We—I felt that your presence and support in my endeavor to reach out to the academic community will be met with higher success as Ferelden—"
"I gave you a chance. You're not listening. This meeting is over!" Ian is jolted by reality as Lady Montilyet prepares to stand up. His legs that had been coiled for a while act on their own and he finds himself standing upright, their table left to wobble between them.
"Gabbie. He's back. And he's here in Orlais."