Chapter 10
Another Step forward
Shaking, cold, wet sweat drips down his face, betrayal approaching his tongue. The blade rests hard on his throat. Even the smallest drop, hitting the floor, echoes in the stone room.
"My brothers!" He breaks out in despair. "I don't know what you speak of."
His eyes, reflecting the fear that builds up inside, heart pounding against his breath. Traces of red line his face from the blood filling his veins. She presses harder on his broad chest.
"Tell us where it is!" She towers over the dwarf who sits vulnerable on his stone throne. Dark in her intent. Leliana, devoid of any emotion stares down into the elder dwarves eyes invoking fear.
Brovil steps in front of the restrained dwarf, "This is not the time to play hero, friend. We have already spoke to the others. We know you hold the information we seek and our human friend here does not need you to find it." The three dwarves, stand behind Leliana. Holding firm in the devotion to the cause, pressure the hardened dwarf.
"My family, they will lose everything, I cannot betray the masters." His pleas fall on empty hearts.
"Your family will lose more than that if you refuse." Leliana's blade now beginning to cut in, just breaking flesh. The dwarf refuses, staring into the eyes of his enemy. He has made his position clear. Leliana's eyes narrow as she cuts deep and fast leaving him lifeless on his stone throne.
"Stubborn as ever." She wipes her blade, with a delicate grace. His blood wiped from her hands. Shaking his head, "if they knew what they stand in favor of." Brovil releases his disappointment.
"Let's recover what we came for, before anyone comes looking. Dispose of him." Leliana begins searching the room. The dwarven brothers joining her while the scouts carry out the dwarf's body to place him in the underground. Ano gestures to his brother, pointing at the lockbox behind the stone seat, still dripping fresh with blood. Brovil, picks the lock, revealing a key to the deep roads and some scribbled instructions on a parchment. Leliana has gathered some ancient texts. Collecting the items, the group leaves in haste; discovery not an option.
Lavellan and her party have returned to Skyhold. Leaving the comforts of the elven village was bittersweet for them all. Although, it is clear that Muin was hit the hardest. Before Lavellan can take a moment to catch up, she must check in with her advisers. The Great Hall holds many voices, gossip and conversations echo around her. Whispers of the struggles of those questioning why they must release their slaves, twisting their stance into a kindness. Arguing that the elves know only, this way of life. Varric is busy at the table, warmed by the fire. Dealing with the release of his new series no doubt. Eager to get to business, Lavellan shadows this same focus as she makes her way to the war room. Passing Josephine as she gathers her paperwork to meet the call. Cullen and Leliana soon follow in behind. The map, still filled with the challenges facing the Inquisition.
"The reports from Sera's request have come in. It seems that a family in Val Royeaux had been funding a Magister's claimed research and on hearing word the Inquisition was hunting any rogue factions, had decided to pull their funding. In retaliation, the Magister cursed the head of the household, infecting him with a demon who was killing off the elven servants. It was an easy enough task to kill this demon. The connection to the magister, was the fruitful result. Uncovering these cells, is a major focus. Leliana has already sent spies to follow this lead." The Magisters fate, set.
"Why do I get the feeling that we will have to rid all of Tevinter to end this?" Cullen lets out his wish.
"It would solve many issues, but would not look favorable." Josephine answers his wishful thought.
Cullen lets out an irritated sigh, his distaste for Orlais never held back.
Josephine, reporting the meeting with Briala and Celene, "I am afraid you may need to stay your tongue, Cullen. You may find yourself attending an event sooner than later." Josephine leads on to the affair they are planning, once they have settled the negotiations.
"Leliana, I trust we have made progress with the dwarves?"
"Indeed, we secured the documents and found a new passage in the deep roads that leads to a highly secured area. My scouts turned back, after discovering the manner in which it was guarded. It will need your attention. We have cleared the way, when you are ready." Leliana points out the marker with such a delicate movement of hands.
"Your full cooperation with Abelas and his elves will be needed, please send them any scrolls and artifacts needed for their research."
"Having the support of these clans is of dire importance." Leliana takes the lead, knowing their seclusion is a life-or-death matter.
One more trip out of the war room, one more walk past Josephine's busy desk, the crackling of the fire. One more walk through the great hall, one more step towards the end. Lavellan walks up the steps, to meet with her dear friend. He has returned from his visit with the scholars and has much to discuss.
"I never would have imagined, my father." Dorian starts out with the immediate thought affecting him.
"I assume his information was useful?"
"Quite, with the information found we can directly tie the enslavement as well as the ties to the Magister's involved in buying out of the dwarven treaties. Did you know that in these agreements, the dwarves sold their own people into the service of Tevinter? Just rewriting their history, no big deal." Dorian rests his hand on his chin, "I wonder what greed must lay inside someone to agree to such terms, or demon." Dorian, moving his hand from his chin looks solid at Lavellan.
"You think possession was at play?"
"What else could have influenced such an agreement, you'd have to have been mad. Oh! Take our people's freedom and rewrite the history to your favor. Sure sounds good to us!"
"It's a valid point. Demons shaping history, just as gods. The fighting never ends, so much life wasted. Freedom lost, dreams broken, fear consuming everyone. These are not the works of gods."
"Are they not?" Dorian looks with intent at Lavellan. "Not every god has pure resolve, as you well know."
"Dorian, Corypheus was no god, though he begged for their power, he corrupted everything he took. Those are not the actions of a god."
"I suppose that makes sense, depending on how you view these gods."
"I view them as the forces that give us strength to fight what has imprisoned us all, to stop the corruption. Sometimes, the wrong people find them. Do you disagree?"
"Not at all, in fact that view brings more comfort than you know." Dorian walks towards the ledge of the rotunda. Looking down at the paintings, depicting Lavellan's choices below. "If this is just a corruption, then it's something that might be fixed, cured. It means that my people have hope. We have a way out of being the all-evil Tevinter Imperium." Dorian uses his vocal to stress the spooky sentiments people hold.
"We have hope." Dorian smiles in the optimism he holds. "Without you, who would even know of this hope? You never tire, going on as if they were written for you. Do you ever stop and wonder - what if we cannot stop it?" Dorian always keeping her in check. She smiles remembering that she beat him in their last game match. "Of course I wonder, but if I don't have hope, then my path fades and we are left without trying, without knowing. I'd rather try and fail, than turn away." Lavellan meets his play. "Plus, I have the company of some amazing people who I cannot let down. The world just would not be as wonderful without them in it." Smiling in her cunning way she joins Dorian's gaze down at the paintings below.
"Do you ever miss him?"
"Everyday." She confides in her dear friend.
Leaving her friend to his thoughts in this peaceful moment, Lavellan heads to the Great Hall balcony. Vivienne now in her service reestablishing the rite of circles and working to find a noble balance that favors all; Muin now replaces the enchanter's position at the helm of the Hall. It is hard to remember how powerful the small elf is at times. Her delicate grace has such an easing pureness. Then again Lavellan has never been on the other side of her blades. Muin sits writing something down in haste. Lavellan stands waiting for the quill to stop as not to disturb her in her moment.
"I greet you." Muin says quietly as she finishes her letter, now standing to meet eyes with Lavellan.
"I did not mean to interrupt."
"It is nothing, think no more of it. I just, I just wanted to get a message to Abelas." Her face warms.
"You two new each other well?"
"He came to my village to help with our training, becoming a sentinel is not a feat that happens without much devotion. He helped me. I guess he saw more in me, than I saw in myself at the time. He helped me to learn beyond myself. If it were not for him, I don't think I would have made it far. Though he refuses such notions." She brushes back a long strand of hair that had found a way to fall from her pointed ear.
"He was your trainer, that's romantic." Lavellan's smile pushes at her for more detail.
"Oh! No, no. I hold great honor for him, he was a great mentor. I own him much. Including my knee." She smiles thinking of his bold rescue.
"Oh come on, Muin. The looks you two shared tells me something more." Lavellan pushes further. "In service…" Muin begins before Lavellan cuts her off. "You are freed of that service Muin, it is just us talking."
She smiles, knowing that Lavellan might not fully understand that her service remains, though she recognizes the gesture of inviting friendship.
"I suppose there could be more, but it's been so long. You understand, living without love, it never leaves you. It holds you, whispering dreams in the night. Never letting you go. What is a life worth living if there is not someone to share that with? When our kind lived in the magic, this wait would seem as nothing. Now that magic fades, we age as we lose more and more. It is frightening to not know what time you have." Her hand, slender and frail brushes back a wisp of hair. Delicate in all of her features, it was immensely difficult to wrap ones head around her brutality; proving easy to become lost in her.
"Are you at risk?" Lavellan more curious about how immortality works, breaks her gaze.
"Not for as long as I hold our song, but if all is truly lost? I am uncertain of what happens to us. I sorrow for what you must struggle through, Lethallan. I hope you find the answer you need. Know this, as I have come to know you, I do truly hope you choose happiness."
"Do all of you have the ability to search inside ones thoughts and feelings so deeply?"
"Do you not?" Muin questions Lavellan. "You cannot look at a friend and know what they feel or how they think? You carry this as well, but how much do you practice it? Do you visit them in dreams? Walking their path in the fade? They are spirits too, connected to the veil. In truth, we would know more of one another if we would just meet as spirits, nothing to obstruct from a deeper understanding." With an ever-so graceful movement she invites Lavellan to join her.
Unraveling the hard surfaces of the world and disclosing everything veiled. Together they stand, facing each other in Setheneran. "Here you can know me."
Muin smiles at her friend, ready to show her the pieces that make up who she is.
A vision comes into focus as an aspect of Muin walks, swaying her hips slowly, to a fallen elf. The elf recently collapsed from battle – still breathing. His wounds mark him deep. Blood soaking his thin elven armor. His eyes already losing the light as he reaches for her, coughing up his blood from the wounds within. Like a vision, her light begins to glow. Her silken robes flowing open exposing her golden armor as she leans further down to face him. The tips of her long white hair falls to his body; adding another layer of red from his blood. Locking her eyes on the fallen elf she pulls what life is left inside of him out; releasing him from the torment that tore through his body. Her large gray eyes – sunken in and filled with despair – teem with tears as they begin to break. Those tears dropping down to her peach lips go unnoticed until one tickles her nose. Raising her dirty blood-stained hand to wipe the tear away, she looks up and out to see the many more fallen, left behind to die – reaching out still fighting for life. The bottoms of her robes stained in the elven blood and dirt from the broken ground. Her hands drop to her side, darkened from the many times she touched the wounds of all the elvhen, fallen to the war. As she slowly rises to walk to the next, Lavellan realizes that Muin must have touched every one of them in their last moments. The two elf's watch as Muin's story continues to unfold, a sentinel healer.
Lavellan wakes finding herself in her bed, comforted in knowing her friend in spirit as well as the warrior that fights by her side. She no longer needs to understand Muin's fight.