One Step Ahead Chapter 7
Leliana shivered slightly as she descended into the dark stone dungeons of the Haven chantry. She remembered when she had first come to Haven with Aedan Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden- though he had only been a young, inexperienced Grey Warden then.
Maker, it seems so different now.
Has the world changed, or have I?
The Haven they had first encountered was a nightmare hidden in plain sight. She had known something was terribly wrong from the beginning, just as she felt the sick sensation that something was terribly wrong now.
They reached the dungeons. Leliana turned to face the man calling himself Aaron. Even with his eyes concealed behind black fabric, he seemed unable to meet her gaze.
Leliana began losing her patience with him. "Well, you wanted an audience from me, and here I am. Now tell me what this was all about, and Maker help you if I deem your message unworthy of all this death and suffering."
"I... would not have sought you out if I did not think your action was a dire necessity," Aaron said, bowing his head slightly. "This has nothing to do with religion or politics. I was searching for a companion of the Warden-Commander, and you were the best candidate."
So this is because of Aedan? That only confirms my suspicions about you, Leliana thought grimly. For now, the best tactic would be to keep you off balance.
"If you came to bring me word of the Grey Wardens' disappearance, then you are wasting my time. I have known about it for months, and have been undergoing my own investigations into the matter. Unless you have relevant information to add, I suggest you leave such matters to me." Leliana said coldly.
Aaron straightened slightly, and was silent for a moment beifore speaking. "That was part of it, yes. But I have less information than you about why the Wardens disappeared, I suspect. No, this concerns another matter—I sought you out because you were the only one who might be able to tell me how to contact the Warden-Commander."
"Aedan is in the unexplored reaches of the West," Leliana lied effortlessly. "He is beyond your reach, or mine. I would not put you in contact with him even if I knew how, not until I knew exactly who and what you are. What is this really about?"
"By now you know that I am something of a scholar, yes? To make a long story short, I have made a discovery of vital importance. Several, in fact. Not this," said Aaron, dismissively waving his marked hand, "But incredibly consequential nonetheless. I am... not the person to act upon these discoveries, but the Warden-Commander most definitely is. I would trust no other with what I have found."
If that was bait, it was remarkably effective. Leliana burned with curiosity, but she stifled it. Right now, the Breach was more important than whatever tale Aaron could come up with to tempt her into contacting Aedan. For all she knew, it could be a trap intended to flush out the last remaining Grey Warden.
"I cannot act on these... concerns... until you tell me just who you are." Leliana said bluntly.
Aaron seemed to be growing more nervous. He wrung his spiky gauntlets together, the silverite making a faint screeching noise, and he still wouldn't look directly at her. "Forgive me. Letting this become known would endanger... far too much. But I am also afraid of what will happen if I do not offer you full disclosure right away, and you discover something on your own. You are the only one here that might be able to understand, but I'm not certain you know what I think you do. That, and I have no way of knowing how you will react if you don't already know. So, I'm essentially trapped until I know more. Does that make sense?"
Leliana nodded. She had seen this scenario so many times, it had actually become a clichéd tactic in the Game—using the pretext of a fake confession to probe someone's knowledge. Countering it was child's play; Leliana would simply play along and keep her cards close to her chest.
"I am a spymaster. Keeping secrets is what I do. And you already know I have every motive to keep you safe." Leliana said, staring unblinkingly up at the expressionless mask of metal Aaron wore.
"This... framing my explanation would be a lot simpler if you told me what you already know, or have guessed." Aaron said hesitantly.
Leliana crossed her arms. "If I were to guess, I would say you are a Grey Warden, either an exile or a deserter. And you are probably hearing the Calling, as well."
Aaron staggered back a step, then went completely rigid.
Leliana gave him a chastising look and scoffed. "Did you think you were being subtle? I would have to be a very poor spymaster indeed to miss so many hints. You did not know me, but you knew of me through the Hero of Ferelden, the Grey Warden who ended the Fifth Blight. I was there when the Breach showed us that vision, and the shadowed figure asked if you were 'another Warden.' Your armor is very expensive, not the gear of a common warrior or mercenary, and certainly not an apostate living on the fringes of society. It is also made of Silverite, which is favored by Grey Wardens for its its natural ability to cleanse the Blight. The Wardens are the only legitimate organization that would have no qualms accepting an apostate such as yourself, and are the only ones able to protect one from the Circle. Your message to me only confirms your affiliation with them."
"And the Calling? What led you to that conclusion?" Aaron asked, his voice sounding as if he were on the verge of panic.
"The entire organization of the Wardens has vanished, and now we know they might be involved in the Breach, going by that vision. Whether it was done by the Wardens themselves or something else, for them to disappear all at once requires planning. Discipline." Leliana gestured up and down at Aaron. "And yet, here you are. If you were indeed a Warden, the only explanation for why you hadn't disappeared would be that you are an exile or a deserter. The single most likely reason for any Warden to leave the Order is the Calling, which you all must eventually undertake. It would also explain why you don't show your face—you either don't want to be recognized as an outcast, or the corruption is already showing, or both."
Aaron had gone completely still. Leliana took that to mean she had scared him.
Good.
"...I severely underestimated you." Aaron said after a long pause, sounding half-apologetic and half-awed. "Your inductive reasoning capability is astounding. I would never have expected someone to come so close to the truth based on such little evidence. I had thought that if I shared nothing about myself, people would simply make their own assumptions, and only see what they wanted to. It's a phenomenon called confirmation bias. I believed it would protect me in this instance, but... Clearly, the flaw in that plan was anyone who knew a great deal about the Grey Wardens."
"I'm not interested in your flattery, Aaron." Leliana said harshly. "Tell me the truth. I gather my guess was not completely correct?"
Aaron glanced around, as if worried someone was watching. "Yes. But before I say more, you should know that I hold the Order and the Warden-Commander in the highest regard. The similarity of my alias to Aedan's name is no coincidence."
Leliana's eyebrows could not have shot up any higher at that.
"It is only because he trusted you that I am here telling you this," Aaron continued, his rasping voice dropping to a low whisper. "Tell me, Sister Leliana—what do you know of the Warden-Commander's 'allies' during his war, a decade ago, in the Arling of Amaranthine?"
The realization hit Leliana with all the icy violence of an avalanche, and she gasped. Her reaction went against everything she had been taught in the Game, but this was simply too much, and the shock went straight to her most primal instincts. The implications burst forth like a dam breaking, the connections forming faster than she could react to them.
The old wound of Aedan's missives, which at first she had disbelieved.
The vicious arguments over a decision that she had believed to be utterly indefensible.
The heart-rending sense of betrayal she had felt towards the one she had once trusted above all others.
The sleepless nights wondering what new horrors would be unleashed from the dead, lightless realms beneath the world.
It all locked together in an inexorable chain of logic that led to only one awful conclusion, an epiphany that Leliana tried to deny even as she realized it explained everything.
Aaron isn't a Grey Warden. He's the inverse of a Grey Warden.
'Aaron' is an Awakened darkspawn.
Leliana's hidden dagger was in her palm in half a second.
The thing calling itself Aaron didn't so much as flinch.
Leliana's grip on her dagger tightened, her heart pounding. "You—you're one of them, aren't you? The darkspawn that can talk."
Black slits stared back at her. "I... was once called the Watcher. The blood that Warden Utha gave me severed my mind from the rest of the darkspawn. I cannot hear the Song of the Old Gods. I am free to make my own choices... just as you are."
She ought to have stabbed it, right then, before it could prepare a magical attack or try to strike her—yet fear, hopelessness, and sheer confusion caused her to hesitate, just long enough to realize that win or lose, she had no good options. They still needed the mark.
"You are quite obviously an intelligent person." the darkspawn said, its tone frank. Mysteriously, it had dropped its slow manner of speech and was now talking at a normal rate, though the odd accent remained. "We both know that the Blight must be destroyed, along with all of my unenlightened brethren, so I'm not going to call you a bigot or say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Under the circumstances, your suspicion of me is completely justified."
Leliana was utterly baffled. The fact that a darkspawn was talking to her and not attacking was bizarre enough, but it actually seemed to be trying to convince her it was a traitor to its own kind.
"I'm not about to believe that you're on my side just because you tell me so." Leliana said, raising the dagger closer to its neck.
The darkspawn slowly lifted its hands up to its helmet. "Then allow me to provide further evidence of my good intentions."
Leliana kept her grip tight on the dagger, wary of some kind of trick. The creature gently removed its helm, revealing only a black cowl that hid his features. It placed the helm under one arm, and with the other, removed the cowl.
Chills raced down Leliana's entire body.
While ghouls resembled corpses succumbing to rot, and most common darkspawn were thin, skeletal creatures, Leliana had noticed that the leaders of packs of darkspawn were bigger, more whole, like the Blight was nearly finished supplanting every part that had once been human. This darkspawn, the Watcher, looked like the Blight had completed its twisted design. He actually resembled a Grey Warden in the advanced stages of the Calling.
The creature was so close to human, yet so very wrong. His skin was thick, like scar tissue, and deathly pale. Black veins stood out against the white like ink bleeding through paper, showing the unspeakable, virulent infection that saturated his entire being. Unlike many darkspawn, he was whole enough to have lips, ears, and a nose, though these too were marred. His patchy, straight black hair reached nearly to his shoulders and was slicked back, exposing a hairline made jagged by scar tissue. Though this all made him look much more human than most darkspawn, there was nothing human at all about the black plates of chitin that covered the sides and back of his thick neck, and which continued down unseen.
But the most unsettling part were his eyes, standing out amidst tattoos that resembled smudged tears of black blood. They were large, the irises crimson, the scleras shot through with so many black veins that they looked gray, and the pupils were milky and clouded over. They looked for all the world like the sightless eyes of a plagued corpse—yet those eyes intently studied Leliana, alive, alert, and filled with terrifying intelligence.
"Observe," the Watcher said, exposing teeth that were a mockery of a human's, all in the same places, but gray and sharpened to points.
The Watcher pressed the knifelike armored sheath covering his index finger into the thick skin of his cheek, narrowing his cloudy eyes slightly as he punctured his own skin. Thick, sludgy black blood welled up and trickled down his face alongside the tattoos, and before Leliana's eyes, the tiny wound closed. The lone globule of inky blood dripped down the Watcher's chin and splattered onto his chestplate. With a tiny hiss, the blood boiled so violently that it looked like it was desperately trying to fling itself away from the metal. Then, the armor seemed to faintly glow with blue-silver light, and the blood vanished, leaving only a wisp of greasy, acrid smoke to indicate it was ever there.
"Silverite enchantments," Leliana said, recognizing the familiar light.
The Watcher smiled slightly. "Correct. You truly are the most perceptive human I've met—barring the Warden-Commander, of course."
"What was this meant to prove?" Leliana asked. She was so deeply disturbed by the thing's alien, unnatural intelligence that it was all she could do to retain her composure, much less try to decipher its meaning.
The Watcher's expression became serious. "I could easily have conducted my business with the people of the Surface without these protections, tainting everything I touched. The Blight sickness is too slow and too subtle to be traced back to me, unless I were to deliberately advance it. Instead, I spent months searching for and assembling this set of silverite armor, and these runes. This armor protects your kind from my disease, but it prevents me from using my Blight magic at all, and is painful for me to so much as touch with my bare skin. It confers no benefit to me, and essentially cripples me in many respects. Yet I—"
The Watcher's head suddenly darted to the side, nearly causing Leliana to plunge her dagger into his neck in panic. "Someone is coming."
Leliana strained to listen, and she could just barely hear raised voices echoing down from the stone stairway.
The Watcher quickly replaced its cowl and jammed his helm back onto his head.
"Listen," he hissed. "I don't have time to prove my moral character to you, and you have a choice to make right now. Stall for the opportunity to make a better decision, or act rashly and lose your chance. I will not remain here if you expose me. You know what the Warden-Commander—what Aedan would do in this situation. I can only hope you have as much sense as he."
The voices were growing louder. Leliana recognized them as belonging to Cassandra and Chancellor Roderick. She had but moments to make the most important decision she had ever been forced to make.
Leliana had never felt more judged in her entire life. Not when speaking to the Guardian of the Gauntlet, nor even when confronting Marjolaine. It was as if the eyes of everyone she had ever known were watching her, disgusted by what they saw. She felt filthy just for considering working with one of these creatures, as Aedan had done. If she did the same, it would make her the worst sort of hypocrite. She would be betraying all those that fought with her against the Blight, not to mention all the darkspawn's victims, all the women that they brutalized, all the men that they had butchered and devoured... She still had nightmares about what had become of Laryn and Hespith.
Either way she chose, she felt like she would come to terribly regret the decision.
Leliana lowered the dagger. The action felt hollow and pointless—something in the hurlock's bearing told her he had been totally unconcerned with the dagger from the beginning—but it was a crushing surrender nonetheless. Leliana swallowed her shame, and nodded once to the foul creature.
"I will tell no one of this," she said quietly.
And so I go down the road of darkness.
Somehow, Leliana had always known she would betray everything she once stood for. After all, she had never been the good person she pretended to be.
Aaron had been expecting the distrust. How many times had he played out this very conversation in his imagination? It had been his obsession for weeks. He knew it was only natural for her to hate him, but this was one of the Warden-Commander's allies. The way she had looked at him, the fear and disgust, it hurt. In a way, it was the first time he had ever been judged for being what he was—the dwarves in the old tomes and the Memories Aaron had studied certainly offered him no judgement, beyond the condemnation of deafening silence in their dead thaigs.
Do I simply lack whatever quality the Warden-Commander saw in the Architect and the Messenger? Or is he the only human that would work willingly with my kind?
Aaron knew it was not rational to feel ashamed for being what he was. It was not his fault for being born, and he had certainly not consented to be cut off from the Song. Yet he felt guilty and ashamed regardless. Emotions didn't care about logic, it seemed. Aaron watched Sister Leliana, saw the cold hatred in her eyes.
I will have to leave after all...
Aaron watched in raw shock as the human nodded and lowered her weapon. After she had reacted so poorly, he hadn't actually expected to be able to salvage the situation.
No sooner did he open his mouth to thank Leliana than a furious man in the red-and-white robes of the Chantry reached the bottom of the stairs, followed shortly by Seeker Cassandra and a pair of armored templars.
"There he is! Arrest the fugitive immediately!" the robed man said, pointing at Aaron. "I want him brought to Val Royeaux to face execution!"
"Wait, wait, wait! Is this even legal?! Don't I get a trial?!" Aaron stammered, his eyes darting between the two templars.
Seeker Cassandra raised her arms to block the two templars from advancing. "Disregard that order, and leave us," she said authoritatively, directing a venomous glare at the robed man.
The two templars exchanged a look. The man on the left spoke up. "Er, Seeker, the apostate—"
"—Is going nowhere. Now leave, while you still have your teeth." Cassandra said, utterly unwavering.
The two templars hurriedly saluted Cassandra, then tromped back up the stairs. Aaron thought it would have been comical, had it not been his own head at stake.
"Why are you really here, Roderick?" Sister Leliana asked coolly.
"I had to see if someone was in charge around here!" the man named Roderick thundered. "I find myself shut out and countermanded at every turn! And now the fugitive is roaming freely, hailed as a hero?! I've never seen such incompetence!"
Aaron felt a twinge of dread. This man was clearly some sort of leader. He could prove to be a powerful enemy, if provoked.
"Ser," Aaron said, forcing his voice to be calm, "I believe you may not be entirely informed. There was—"
"Indeed, I haven't been informed! Even in this chaos, this insubordination is inexcusable, Seeker!" Roderick said, his doughy face turning red.
Cassandra jabbed a finger at Roderick's chest. "I don't report to you! If you think you can seize power in the wake of the Divine's death—"
"Enough!" Leliana said sharply, stepping between the two. "Chancellor Roderick, it is just as well that you are here. Let us resolve the issue of authority, here and now. Cassandra, it's time. Do you have it?"
Cassandra's eyes widened. "I... yes, I grabbed it just in case. But the Knight—Aaron—is he...?"
"I know who he is, and I'm handling it. He will work with us to stop the Breach, as he says." Leliana said, giving Aaron an indecipherable look. He nodded back.
Roderick regarded the two women with skepticism. "What is this?"
Cassandra reached into the heavy knapsack at her hip and withdrew a thick tome with a metal eye symbol on the cover. Roderick blanched as his eyes fell to the symbol.
"You know what this is, Chancellor." Cassandra said, then spared a glance at Aaron. "This is a writ from Divine Justinia, granting us the authority to act."
Aaron watched, fascinated, as Cassandra marched forward resolutely, forcing Roderick back with sheer force of personality.
"As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn." Cassandra declared, her voice ringing powerfully in the stone room. "Together, we will close the Breach, find those responsible, and restore order—with or without your approval."
The Inquisition? What is this Inquisition? Aaron wondered, marveling at his own conceit. Had he really thought that studying dwarven philosophy and culture in the Deep Roads would prepare him for this madness? He had absolutely no idea what was happening, though it certainly felt momentous. Though the uncertainty of even being near these humans was still a terrifying prospect, Aaron somehow felt more determined to work with them to set things right. He supposed that made sense, how could someone witness such a passionate display and not be moved?
"Unacceptable," Roderick snarled. "Using Justinia's name to raise up this, this maleficar as the Knight of Andraste? The very one who created the Breach in the first place!? The Chantry will not stand for it! I will not stand for it! This criminal will face justice!"
Aaron regarded Roderick with stunned incredulity. "What? That's madness! And if you really believed I created the Breach, why would you be antagonizing me? I never even claimed that—"
"You see?! He's threatening me!" Roderick accused.
"I have done no such thing!" Aaron seethed. "Besides, it makes no sense that you would want to execute the only one that can seal rifts!"
"According to you!" Roderick countered. "The Breach is still in the sky, how terribly convenient for your little charade! For all we know, you intended it that way!"
"But how could you know that?" Aaron demanded, stepping forward. "You weren't even there! The visions that the Fade showed us clearly—"
"What a coincidence that the Fade, the realm of lies from whence you came, would just happen to show you something that exonerates you! Now, who do we know that can manipulate the Fade, again? Oh, yes, I believe they're called mages?" Roderick said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"But—that—" Aaron sputtered. His fists were clenched and shaking with anger, and his voice was steadily rising. His thoughts were becoming less coherent, the lost threads of his arguments and objections utterly scattered by Roderick's interruptions.
Debate isn't supposed to be like this! Why, why can't I think clearly? How can he be allowed to be so illogical?! How can he not see?! Aaron inwardly raged.
"We considered the possibility of… tampering, and dismissed it." Cassandra said, making to intervene. Leliana put her hand on Cassandra's shoulder, shaking her head.
"So the fact that he is the sole survivor, cast out of the Fade, bearing the same magic used to create the rifts—just a coincidence? Don't insult me." Roderick scoffed.
"No one is claiming it was a coincidence! For all we know, there is a single reason those circumstances are all correlated!" Aaron said defensively.
"So you confess that you are the one responsible!" Roderick said triumphantly.
Aaron jerked back as though Roderick had slapped him. The sheer, twisted mendacity of the statement was stunning.
"WHAT is WRONG with you!?" Aaron exploded. "Leaping to conclusions based on nothing isn't just pointless, it's irresponsible! If I'm innocent, the real culprits will not stand idle just because you've burned me in effigy! How does it—"
The realization that Chancellor Roderick was deliberately provoking him hit Aaron like a hammer. His rage guttered and went out like a candle, replaced by confusion and fear. He had no instincts, no experience in avoiding a trap such as this. As such, he had no idea how to respond, other than to voice his amazement aloud.
"You… you don't really believe that, you can't believe that, it's just not logical—but you want me to get angry, make a mistake. You would endanger your own life just to see me lose my temper, so that I would be vilified, eliminated?"
Roderick's soft face contorted with rage. "Absolutely. You are a danger to the Chantry—to all of us! Perhaps moreso than the Breach!"
Aaron shook his head, feeling drained and shaky as the anger left him. "How could I, a single individual, possibly qualify as a greater threat than the Breach, which threatens this entire realm?"
"It isn't what you are, it's what you will become!" Roderick said vehemently. "When the Imperial Chantry split off, it caused Exalted Marches, incalculable death and suffering! Maker only knows how much, for the hostilities are still very much active! If you are to become recognized as the Knight of Andraste, what's to stop you from becoming the leader of a cult, even posthumously?! We may be looking at the formation of yet another sect, and yet more war, at a time when we can hardly afford it! Your divisiveness could be the factor that makes Thedas unable to respond to the Breach!"
Aaron was struck speechless. After all the fallacies and baseless accusations, this was a very sound and persuasive argument, one he didn't have an answer for.
"Chancellor," Aaron said finally, "I will concede that disunity could be as deadly as the Breach, but I don't see how executing the only one able to close the rifts could possibly help. If I were to publicly denounce all the rumors of my connection to Andraste before the Chantry and Thedas, do you think that would suffice?"
"You can't be serious!" Cassandra exclaimed. Leliana merely narrowed her eyes, her scowl deepening.
Roderick glowered up at Aaron. "It's too late. There is nothing you can do at this point. The Chantry can't be seen cooperating with you, or this new Inquisition, until the election of a new Divine."
"And how long would that take, Chancellor? Are we to simply let more people die and nations crumble in the interim?" Cassandra said sharply. "Oh, by all means, let us dither and argue over politics while the world burns to ashes around us, and demons tear apart what remains!"
"We cannot afford to pursue this recklessly," Roderick snapped back. "Your Inquisition lacks both sanction and legitimacy. It cannot possibly—"
With a sudden spark of understanding, Aaron could see that this argument was not constructive. No one would change their minds, they would only entrench and argue their point, waiting for the others to relent—which they would never do. Aaron desperately prodded his mind to think of a solution, or at least remember the scientific works he had read regarding the psychology of persuasion. It seemed muddled in his recollection, but he at least remembered that he needed to defuse the emotions, and seek common ground somehow.
Aaron stepped forward, holding his arms out. "Excuse me, Chancellor, but I think some perspective is in order. I'm certain everyone here wants an end to this crisis. This does not have to be a case where people divide into factions. We have an extremely obvious external problem to face, and an unambiguously evil enemy in common. If we can't work together to address this threat, it may well doom us all. And if that happened, we would deserve it. So why are we pretending like we even have the luxury not to cooperate?"
"Aaron is correct," Cassandra said. "Chancellor, the fact remains that Aaron holds the only way to seal the rifts, and possibly end this madness. You can accept this and help, or you can pretend this isn't happening and do nothing. Either way, you will not prevent the Inquisition from doing what is necessary to save everyone. Justinia gave her life for this cause, and so shall I, if the Maker wills it."
Chancellor Roderick stared at Cassandra, his upper lip twitching, and with a whip of robes, stormed out of the room.
Cassandra turned to Leliana. "Why did you stop me? What was the point of letting those two get into a shouting match?" she demanded.
Leliana gave Aaron a calculating look. "I needed to see how he would react."
Aaron didn't appreciate being tested in such a manner, but at least he hadn't lost his temper completely. Given how aggravating Roderick was being, he thought he deserved just a little bit of credit from her.
"I don't think Roderick would have seen reason regardless," Cassandra conceded, "But that may have just made things worse for us."
Leliana gave a single humorless chuckle, causing Cassandra to raise an eyebrow at her. "Are you feeling all right?"
Aaron quickly decided he did not want this line of inquiry to continue. "Excuse me," he said, sliding past the two women. "I'm going to try to make things right between Roderick and I."
Cassandra snorted. "Good luck with that. The man is stubborn as a mule."
"He isn't the only one that can be stubborn," Aaron said, with one last glance at Leliana. She actually looked thoughtful for a moment, before her cynical mask reasserted itself.
Well, Aaron thought, it's a start.
Hopelessness.
For two days, that was what had greeted Chancellor Roderick wherever he turned. He could not force himself to look upon the Breach for too long, such was the pain he felt. Instead, he took in the pale faces of soldiers that had given up hope, the grieving sobs wracking their bodies, the shine of tears, the stuttering, hollow recitations of the Chant of Light. That terrible green light seemed to sap the very life from all of them. It was all he could do to keep his own composure, those first two terrible days.
Roderick had been amazed when he saw the long tendril of light erupt and then vanish, leaving only the vortex in the clouds behind. It had given him hope again.
Then, the Left Hand of the Divine had finally deigned to tell him how exactly that 'miracle' had come about.
And so Roderick's hope had turned to horror.
The worst part was that he could understand how the disaster had happened, and it wasn't anything in his power to prevent. Roderick always had possessed an intuitive grasp of people, which was how he had become the Chancellor to Her Perfection in the first place. Here, he could see the soldiers and civilians, see their suffering, and understood all too well their reflexive impulse to grasp at whatever shred of hope was offered to them. Just as a drowning man would cling to a rope, so too would these men and women take for their savior a fugitive from justice, a maleficar, by inventing the absurd lie that he was a knight sent to them by Andraste.
Roderick didn't even blame them, if for no other reason than the fact that decades of politics had taught Roderick that the masses were not competent enough to bear responsibility for anything of consequence. But for the Right and Left Hands to elevate that lie by calling for an Inquisition, to cynically use the maleficar as their primary symbol and tool… it was unforgivable, and disastrous. Roderick's gambit had failed, now he had to leave to regroup and come up with another plan, the only thing left to do was to contain this catastrophe…
Roderick heard the doors of the chantry opening behind him, followed by approaching footsteps.
It was the usurper himself, following Roderick out into the snowy path in front of the chantry.
"Enough!" Roderick shouted at the empty air, his voice breaking. "If you people would just stop hounding me, I'd be able to…"
Roderick took a few more steps, then stopped. No, he would not run from this. He turned to face Aaron.
Roderick Asignon was a short in stature, and had never been athletic, not even in his youth. Yet he stood, not quite strong, but unwavering, as the giant, armored maleficar walked over to him, looming over him without even trying. The maleficar's ability to effortlessly destroy Roderick failed to move him. Roderick had not once been cowed by mere bullies or the threat of violence in his life, and he would not be now.
"Chancellor Roderick," the low, rough voice intoned. "I apologize for the way I acted earlier. Please. I… don't want to be your enemy. I only want to help however I can. I believe you do, too."
Roderick's retort died in his throat. There was truth, there, his trained intuition was telling him. Roderick coughed thrice and tried to order his thoughts.
"…This isn't something you can help, even if you genuinely wanted to," Roderick said with a sigh. In that moment, he just couldn't bring himself to be anything other than completely candid. "That may seem unfair to you, and perhaps it is. But necessity dictates that you be dealt with, and quickly, before you become a problem."
There was a long silence, but as it stretched it was as if the tension was slowly ratcheting down between them.
"Why do you think I am guilty of this?" Aaron finally asked, his voice now soft and sibilant. "Why do so many people here treat me as if I am either good or evil? As if those are the only two things I can be? I am only… only a person. I don't even believe that people can be perfectly good or evil. So why? Why can't you just see me as a person?"
Roderick knew the true answer, that he didn't believe Aaron guilty. But he also knew that this was the answer he must never speak aloud, just as he knew the false answer he must give, but he found it difficult to say. Aaron was in genuine pain, he could hear it in that voice and see it in those shoulders, and he hadn't expected to be facing such vulnerability instead of a show of intimidation.
Truly, Roderick's honed empathy was a double-edged sword at times.
Roderick made a snap decision to explain his viewpoint instead of simply lying—if for no other reason than to assuage his own conscience in preparation for what must be done.
"You are more than just a person for the same reason we regard the Divine as the embodiment of perfection," Roderick said, realizing just a second too late what it was that he just said, and who he had said it to. He quickly backtracked. "What I mean is, it has nothing to do with you, it is about what you symbolize to people. The Divine is a mortal human, of course, but the symbol she embodies is infallible, must be infallible to the people, just as you must be either a savior or a villain to them, in this darkest time. The complications and uncertainty of the truth would be too much to accept… It doesn't matter what I believe you've done."
"Utilitarian ethics? From a theologian?" Aaron muttered disbelievingly. "I never expected to be seen as a necessary sacrifice for the greater good… But I have absolutely no intention to form a cult. That must count for something, surely?"
"Your intentions aren't important! They, the people, will look to an active force to guide them, now, not the decapitated Chantry! Divine Beatrix, she… I think we had all had become accustomed to a Divine who was unable to act. A mere figurehead. That is why... Divine Justinia... she came as such a shock to me, to everyone…"
Even mentioning Justinia sent a stabbing pain to Roderick's heart. He felt her loss more keenly than the loss of a limb. Though he would never admit this to anyone save the absent Maker, Roderick had hated Justinia at first. Before Justinia, he had unofficially ruled the Chantry in Beatrix's name as she slipped further and further into her dotage. When Justinia had seized that power from him, it had felt like he was losing everything. He didn't understand until much later why she had kept him after taking Beatrix's place, even though she surely knew he was bitter. Justinia had gambled that she could win Roderick over and use his talents, and in that, she had succeeded.
Justinia had been an endless font of frustration for Roderick, making his life very difficult indeed, for she acted in defiance of all secular politics and the delicate internecine struggles within the Chantry. And yet, even as she exercised her will in a way that Roderick thought was too rash, she had eventually won his true admiration and loyalty. Not simply because she was an intelligent and worthy leader, always one step ahead of Roderick, but because she was quite possibly the greatest soul to walk Thedas since Andraste herself. She was singularly devout, brave, compassionate, shrewd, and utterly unyielding—the world could not help but quake before her power, and Roderick stood in awe of her machinations even as he was dismayed by their consequences.
And now this unworthy heathen was threatening to take her place, intentionally or not… Roderick could not help but oppose that with every fiber of his being. If that meant stepping back into his lapsed role of being the unofficial leader of the Chantry, then so be it. He would not be glad to do it, but this time, he would do it for Justinia and the Chantry, not simply for himself.
The other man did not speak as the silence between them stretched. With an embarrassed start, Roderick realized that he had been crying. He turned his head from the other man's view, to hide his shame.
"I'm sorry I couldn't save them," Aaron said, very quietly. "I can only infer from the vision—I don't actually remember—but I think I tried to stop this. To save the Divine."
"You failed," Roderick said, his voice cracking. It wasn't an accusation, just an observation of the injustice of the world, that this apostate should live, while all the others had perished.
Roderick dried his eyes, and looked back at Aaron. "It is done, and there is no changing it now… We need to look to the future. And I don't see how that future can include you."
"Quite frankly, Chancellor, I don't think any of us have a choice in the matter. If we wish to stop the demons, we need to either use the mark on my hand, or find some other way to seal rifts. Until we can explore those other options thoroughly, can we at least agree to a truce?" Aaron asked, making an open gesture with his hands.
Roderick didn't respond. Instead, he searched Aaron's body language, tried to peer past the dark fabric behind the slits in his helmet.
"Who are you?" said Roderick, the words heavy with emotion.
You could barely see Aaron's flinch. "…That's not important right now. Can it not simply suffice that I am here, and I wish to help? Truly, in light of all we face, is that not enough?"
"No," Roderick shook his head. "No, it isn't."
Roderick turned and walked away, trying desperately to escape the feelings of guilt pressing in on him.
Maker forgive me for what must be done.
A/N: Congratulations to those new readers that guessed Aaron's identity correctly, and to reviewer ogmios86! At some point later in the story, I will add some bonus content as a prize, per their request. For all others, I will be offering another bonus for anyone who manages to figure out how Aaron is seemingly able to appear and disappear from otherwise inaccessible places. Good luck!
For those who have not played Awakening or may have forgotten some of the details, the Awakened darkspawn are darkspawn that have been given a modified version of the Grey Wardens' Joining ritual by one of the Magisters Sidereal, the Architect, which freed them from the compulsion of the Old Gods. A human mage broodmother, known only as the Mother, led a rebellion against the Architect. The Watcher, AKA Aaron, possesses the facial tattoos of the Mother's faction, and in terms of physical appearance he is pretty much a dead ringer for her. This is not a coincidence.
Thanks for reading, following, and reviewing!