I'm back, and this time with angst.
It smells like wetness and rot in the chantry undercroft, a stench that finds its way into your nose and lingers on your clothes whether you like it or not. Anya's been in nicer places; she's been in nicer prison cells. She's definitely going to need a nice, long, hot bath. She can feel her sweat-soaked curls sticking to her face and her shirt clinging to her chest and hugging her sides.
Oh, and she doesn't have her legs anymore. That's new. She doesn't know if it's the elfroot or the adrenaline, but she's not as upset as she thought she'd be. She's angry, sure, but that's more a result of being locked in a dirty cell and bound with lyrium-blocking cuffs. Is there really a point to them, though? She doesn't need magic to hurt people; she just needs a long stick, preferably one with a pointy end.
With a grunt, she leans over and grabs the cell bars with her hands and drags her body over, trying to ignore her healing stumps, which still hurt like a bitch, more so as they're scraped across the dirty stone floor. It's chilly in the dungeon, too, which isn't exactly helping. She leans against the wall, resting her cheek against the cold bricks. They haven't even left anyone to watch her either, which somewhat offends her. Sure she may have some difficulty moving, but give her a solid hour and some sticks and she'd figure something out.
Her ears perk up when she hears voices in a distant part of the undercroft. It sounds like two women speaking and coming closer, and although the echoes spread far enough for her to hear, they're too hushed to understand.
"Are you sure about this?" one voice says -she has an accent. Nevarran.
"It should be me," the second voice replies; this one is lilting with a hint of Orlesian in it. The sound of it makes Anya's delirious mind blank. She knows this voice. "Go back upstairs, Cassandra. I can handle this."
Anya hears Cassandra relent and say, "As you wish. I will be in the war room if you need me."
The next minute or so is filled with silence and the sound of boots on cobblestone ricocheting against the walls. Anya's chest feels tight and her breathing comes out in short, anxious puffs. With every soft footstep, every second that passes, her flesh objects. There's a knife in her heart, buried deep, untouched for ten years as her muscles furled and closed around it; and now she feels what was once dormant awaken, and a badly healed wound twitches.
Her shadow appears first, and then the rest of her. Has she always been this tall? Anya can't remember. Her face is obscured by a dark violet hood, but there's no doubt it's her. She still smells like lavender and iron; it's strange that it hasn't changed in ten years. Maybe Anya's dead -maybe that would explain it. She drags a wooden stool from the corner of the room and places it right in front of the bars of Anya's cell before taking a seat.
"Well, isn't this funny," Anya croaks, grinning and looking at the shadows dancing around Leliana's face. "Is this where the Maker sends the bad girls when they die? Because I have a few complaints."
Leliana's expression is stoic, with deep lines digging into her brow and shadows coloring the hollows of her eyes; it makes her porcelain face look much older. "You think you're dead?"
Anya shrugs and closes her eyes, settling her aching back into the wall. "No, you're right. I could still be alive. So am I in the Fade then? Are you a demon? If you are, you should know someone's used this trick on me before. A desire demon -Ondire I believe his name was. Pleasant fellow, until he tried to kill me."
With her sharp, unblinking gaze, Leliana listens to Anya's fevered rambling. "You are not in the Fade; no. But you already know that, don't you?"
Anya relaxes her muscles, eyes still shut like the entire exchange is lulling her to sleep. "You know, if you're a demon, you're terrible at pretending to be Leli. Just giving you some constructive criticism. Ondire was much more convincing. He was a good lay, too."
Leliana's eye twitches in irritation, but her voice remains unyieldingly calm as she speaks. "Why do you think you're in the Fade?"
Animosity flares briefly across Anya's normally detached countenance, and her eyes snap open. "Oh, come now. See this is what I mean. If you were the real Leli, you'd know that you've been dead for ten years."
"You've been dead for five years," Leliana replies, frowning. "And yet, here we both are."
Anya grins, hooking her fingers idly through the bars of her cell. "I had everyone fooled, and it wasn't even on purpose really. That aside, if the real Leliana's death was faked, I don't know if I would want to talk to her," she remarks dismissively.
She can see Leliana tense up, her leatherbound fingers grasp at the tabard draped over her lap. "I did not fake anything. And how are you any different?"
Anya winces, scraping at the cobblestone beneath her, feeling the dirt lodge itself beneath her nails. "We're plenty different. I was ruined when you died. If you were alive, why would you let me believe you were gone?"
This Leliana looks lost for words. She leans forward, placing her elbows against her knees and staring at Anya, almost as if the right response were hidden in the lines of her face. "I'm… sorry. Unfortunately, whether you believe I am real or not, you need to answer my questions." She forces her tone to be cold and impartial. Whatever did or did not happen between them can't get in the way of finding Justinia's killer.
Anya doesn't say anything, sighing deeply and relaxing her torso again. It's hard to tell what she's thinking as her chest rises and falls shallowly, like there's something heavy sitting on top of her. Perhaps it's simply the atmosphere, or the years they spent apart, the volumes of words they have for each other, sitting unspoken at the backs of their throats.
"Why were you at the conclave?" Leliana demands.
"Warden business."
"Do you admit to travelling with the apostate known as Anders?"
"Yes."
"Did you know about Anders' plan to destroy the conclave?"
For a brief moment, the mask of calm on Anya's face is disturbed. "Anders did not destroy the conclave."
"Do you know who did?"
"It was me."
Leliana's throat dries up, making each breath feel like sand scraping through her windpipe. It's has to be a lie. "You what?"
"I blew up the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Is that what you want to hear?"
It's hard to look Anya directly in the face at this point. She's admitting to this with such audacity, and why wouldn't she? Anya has always been glib and arrogant, but she has some nerve lying about this "I want to hear the truth!" Leliana snaps.
"Then it was me," Anya says, shrugging, her brown eyes glinting faintly in the torchlight. "I went there specifically to blow up the temple. Anders had no idea."
Leliana can't control the volume of her voice anymore. "If you're defending him, Anya -"
"I'm not defending him! I killed Divine Justinia." Anya jerks her head to face her interrogator and repeats her words very slowly so Leliana can see every word passing through her lips. "I killed Divine Justinia and I'd do it again."
"You…" Leliana tries to pull a coherent thought from her own head -something that she could say that would make sense in this context, but none of it makes sense. The thoughts and images in her head are thousands of tiny puzzle pieces in a brown pile, and none of them fit together. "If that is true, then you should have stayed dead," she finally spits out.
She staggers to her feet, her body suddenly feeling very heavy, like she'd just taken control of someone else and her mind is trying to adjust. Her stomach is churning and she's not sure if it's disgust, fear, or fury -perhaps even a mixture of the three. The prisoner's face remains placid and almost content in a way.
"Rot in the Void, Anya," Leliana hisses. Her blood is rushing to her head, and she fears if she remains here any longer, she may just snap the elf's neck. Anya has left Leliana to pick up the scraps of her self-control off the ground before she turns on her heel and marches out of the dungeon, boots slamming against the ground like a giant. If that's the game Anya wants to play, then Leliana will have to remind her that she's won every game they've ever played, and she's not about to lose now.
For the better part of the day, Areina has been asking around about her older sister, Eirwa, to no avail. It looks like nobody in Haven has ever encountered such an elf. All she can hope for at this point is for Eirwa to have somehow found her way back north to meet up with their clan. She's been trying to find a good time to meet up with Josephine and ask her if they could contact Clan Lavellan, but it has been hard to step foot in the Haven chantry since the early afternoon.
It's no secret now that the Hero of Ferelden is suspected to be involved in the murder of Divine Justinia and it seems like none of the heads of the Inquisition are happy about this. From the moment the Hero awoke, the four leaders have been in a screaming match in the war room -a match which they have, thankfully, left Areina out of. The loudest are Leliana and Cullen's voices, with Cassandra's voice butting in to try and settle things down every once in a while. Most of the clerics in the Chantry have been sitting in uncomfortable silence, mumbling the Chant of Light to themselves, as if that would down out the noise.
Although the Hero of Ferelden is a prisoner, Areina can't help the curiosity that she feels whenever she thinks about her. Against her better judgement, she makes her way along the chantry, past the clerics, and towards the sturdy wooden door leading down into the dungeon. If she's quick, maybe she can get a word with the warden commander.
She stares at the door, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as she runs her hands over the rough surface. As she leans in to push the door open, she hears the door to the war room burst open and someone exclaiming, "Mistress Lavellan!"
Areina turns around abruptly, nearly losing her balance in the process. She nearly shrieks in fright before realizing that it's just Josephine, holding a hand to her temples. "Ah, Josephine!" Areina greets, sucking in her bottom lip sheepishly.
"I ask that you not disturb the prisoner, Mistress Lavellan," Josephine warns. Her voice sounds hoarse and tired. She sighs and indicates the door to her own office, which is conveniently located beside the door to the undercroft.
Areina follows Josephine into the office, which is arguably the nicest part of the chantry. The study is quite large, containing several shelves full of books -more books than Areina has seen in one place for a long time. She was never allowed to keep many books while travelling with her clan because they're heavy and made moving around harder.
On one side of the room, an elven woman in circle mage robes is hunched over a table, scribbling notes. Areina has seen her around Haven and has always wanted to talk to her, but she has given off such an intimidating aura thus far. Now isn't really a good time either as the woman looks incredibly irritated, and who wouldn't be if they were trying to work with all that noise.
In the center of the study is Josephine's own desk. It's quite neat considering all the work Josephine has to do for the Inquisition on a daily basis. All her papers and books are in neat piles and there is a porcelain jar of quills by her workspace.
When Josephine takes a seat behind her bureau, Areina sits down in one of the comfortable-looking seats on the other side of the desk, placing her hands in her lap and twiddling her thumbs.
"Sorry," she mumbles, watching Josephine quietly straighten her clothes and tidy up her hair, brushing any loose strands behind her ears.
Josephine gives her a startled look, pausing briefly before saying, "Oh, I- You must think I called you in here to scold you. No, I am sorry if I gave that impression." She smiles, the small mole at the bottom of her cheek rising with the gesture. "Rather, I called you in here to talk. My colleagues have been… rather passionately debating for quite a while. I needed some fresh air."
Areina smiles sympathetically at her. They can still hear the arguing from inside Josephine's office. "We can talk outside of the chantry. The weather is really nice outside."
Josephine cocks her head to the side, seemingly turning the proposition about in her mind. When she hears a rather aggressive shout from Cassandra, however, her mind is made. She smiles gratefully, as if Areina personally gave her permission to leave. "Perhaps that would not be such a terrible idea."
"Great!" Areina says, clumsily standing up.
Getting to her feet as well, Josephine casts a meaningful look over at the quiet elven woman. "Minaeve, perhaps you would like to join us? It must be difficult to concentrate at the moment."
"Me? M'lady?" The woman, Minaeve, turns around in her seat. She has a soft spoken and hesitant way about her and each movement she makes is slow and deliberate, like she's afraid to make a mistake. "Thank you, Lady Montilyet, but I don't mind the noise." She has a Dalish accent, which surprises Areina, but in spite of being an adult, she doesn't have Vallaslin, so she must have left the Dalish when she was very young.
"Are you certain?" Josephine asks hesitantly. "It may do you some good to get some fresh air with us."
"It is kind of you to worry, M'lady, but I should finish studying these samples," Minaeve tells her firmly but kindly.
Josephine moves to stand beside Areina before nodding and saying, "Very well, then."
The village of Haven is slowly recovering, looking more like a village and less like a gathering of war-torn refugees with each passing day. More merchants have been showing up at the Inquisition's doorstep to trade and perhaps even get a glimpse of the fabled Herald of Andraste. The sun is beginning to set on the village, but that hasn't deterred the merchants, all of whom are bellowing out advertisements for their wares, resulting in an incomprehensible cacophony of voices.
Josephine and Areina make their way through an alleyway between a villager's house and an old storage building in order to avoid gawking eyes, the setting sun casting long shadows ahead of them. Josephine lets out a musical giggle as she stumbles over a wooden plank and looks back at Areina apologetically. "Ah this reminds me of when I was a girl, hiding out in dark alleyways."
Areina smiles back. "I didn't know you had such an adventurous past, Lady Montilyet."
Josephine is a charming sight, climbing over crates in her golden silks and Antivan leather boots. She ducks behind the storage building and peeks out to say, "Please, there is no need to be so formal. Call me Josephine. We are, after all, sneaking around like thieves."
"Alright, Josephine. Then you should call me, Rey," Areina cheerfully informs her, climbing over to her and letting her lead them into another alleyway.
Josephine lends Areina her hand and says, "Just a bit more now, Rey." At hearing Josephine use her nickname, Areina feels her entire face glow as if by magic.
When the two women emerge from between another set of buildings, they see a young woman standing on a crate to light the lanterns outside of a rather large building, which stands out among the rest. A large sign dangles above the door, waving slightly as the nighttime breeze picks up in speed.
"The tavern?" Areina questions, allowing herself to be pulled towards the building.
"Why not?" Josephine replies. "I could use a drink after everything that's happened today."
The woman by the door gracefully descends from her crate and turns to greet Josephine and Areina. She's a very beautiful woman, with soft auburn hair resting on her shoulder in a messy plait, dressed in a simple Fereldan dress. Her bodice accentuates her bosom, which is rather large, and cuts off at her wide hips; and only sheer willpower can keep Areina from staring. She dusts off her skirts and and bows her head. "Lady Montilyet, welcome!" She then bows her head to Areina. "And you must be the Lady Herald, right?" There's a hint of fear in the way she addresses Areina, like she expects to be reprimanded even though she's done nothing wrong.
"Good evening, Flissa. This is Mistress Lavellan," Josephine says, indicating Areina. "Areina, this is Flissa, the proprietor of the Singing Maiden."
"It's nice to meet you, Flissa," Areina says, trying to look as open as possible.
"If you're lookin' for a drink I'll make sure you're well taken care of," Flissa promises. Her voice is jittery, like she's trying not to say the wrong thing. "Come on in!" she says, holding open the door.
The Singing Maiden is a building unlike any other human building Areina has seen. The atmosphere is bright and warm, but also very intimidating. It smells faintly of sweat, spice and something else she can't quite place. Several Haven villagers are grouped up -some are dancing, some are drinking, and some are singing. A bard is leisurely strumming her lute in the corner of the room, while a drunk woman tries to chat with her. It's all so foreign to Areina, and she feels herself unconsciously gravitating towards Josephine.
Flissa seats the pair at a table for two in a well-lit area of the tavern before sashaying towards the bar to take orders from the crowd that has gathered around it. Again, Areina finds it hard to tear her eyes away from her as she walks away. She shakes her head, blushing and looking down at the table.
"Are you alright, Lady- I mean, Rey?"
Areina looks up to find a concerned Josephine looking back, pouting slightly, her glossed lips glimmering faintly in the candlelight. "Oh, I'm alright!" she reassures. "I've just never been to a tavern before. Are they all so big and smelly?" She scrunches her nose and links her fingers together on the table's surface.
Josephine laughs, a sound that Areina has come to find incredibly pleasant. She does it with such grace and charisma that there's absolutely no doubt why this woman is the Inquisition's chief diplomat. "Oh, it is a part of their appeal!" she gushes, and then quickly sobers to add, "You do not feel uncomfortable, do you? If so, then we can sit somewhere else."
Areina raises her hands and waves them as if to completely dismiss the notion. "No! No, I don't mind at all!" Placing her hands down into her lap again, she asks, "What is it you wanted to talk to me about, by the way?"
"Oh!" Josephine cries out, and Areina can see her mentally beating herself up. "I had nearly forgotten about that! Forgive me, and I dragged you all the way out here -"
"Josephine!" Areina interrupts her. "Relax! I'm here because I want to be here. You don't have to worry about me," she reassures her.
Josephine's eyes brighten briefly. "I wanted to ask if you are comfortable here in Haven. I know you've barely been awake a day, but this all must be very new to you. Are you alright?"
"I'll be fine as soon as I know my sister is alright," Areina informs her, feeling her pleasant mood slowly seep out of her as her anxiety from earlier settles back in its place.
With a small pout, Josephine hums with sympathy. "Ah, yes. Cassandra told me about your sister. You have not had any luck finding her among the refugees?"
"No…" Areina murmurs in response. "I was hoping the Inquisition could help me contact my clan. Maybe she's found her way back to the Free Marches."
"Without you?" Josephine questions softly before realizing the meaning of her words, her lips shutting to a firm line.
Areina shrugs, anxiously cocooning herself in her own arms and squeezing her torso. "Eiry wouldn't have gone looking for me. She's a smart girl -smarter than me. Stronger, too. One look at the wreckage at the temple and she'd assume I was dead and go back north. Losing the clan's First is bad enough, but losing a good hunter…"
Josephine frowns. "I suppose we could contact Clan Lavellan. We should let them know that you are safe and in good hands. They must be worried. And if your sister is with them, she would be overjoyed to know that you are well."
"I would be very grateful, Josephine. Thank you!" Areina tries to relax her arms so she doesn't look like a fidgeting despair demon. "I hope it's not too much trouble."
"Oh, it is no trouble at all!"
Flissa returns with two goblets and a flagon of mead, placing them on the table in front of the two women. "Have a lovely evening, Lady Montilyet, Lady Herald."
"I'd like to get to know you better, Josephine," Areina says, using Flissa's arrival as an opportunity to change the subject.
"Well, My Lady, the night is still young," Josephine remarks, pouring some mead for the both of them.
Areina can feel her worry begin to melt away again. It's definitely something in the way Josephine purrs each syllable that comes through her lips like every word she says is a mystical tale. She reminds Areina of the warm nights she would spend with her clanmates under the moonlight, sitting at the edges of lakes and kicking their feet in the cool water. And perhaps that's what makes Josephine such an effective diplomat; she reminds everyone she speaks to of home.