Thank you for continuing to read the story! This was an extremely fun chapter to write... the latter part, at least. It gets pretty heavy early on.
Song inspiration is "¿Viva La Gloria?" by Green Day and refers here to Tallis.
Chapter 35: No Place Like Home, No Place To Go
For a week after Caitlyn had interceded and then publicly led the captive Qunari diplomats through Lowtown, news and gossip in Kirkwall were curiously benign, entirely devoid of ominous rumors involving Elthina, Meredith, or even the Arishok. The period of quiet was unsettling to Caitlyn. Were her foes just licking their wounds and plotting quietly? It seemed likely, and Caitlyn did not like the uncertainty, especially since Petrice held a third rally soon after the march through Lowtown.
"I heard that you had business with a Qunari defector once," the priest said afterward, eyeing Caitlyn with interest.
"Yes," she confirmed. "A Tal-Vashoth, as they're called. He named himself Maraas after he defected and wanted to become a mercenary sellsword."
"Indeed, the Qunari do not even permit the use of proper names," Petrice said, shaking her head in derision. "If the ruling class decides that your lot in life shall be different, they get to change the word you're called by as a name—the word marking your very identity. Nothing belongs to the individual person in the Qun, not even one's unique Maker-given identity. Ser Varnell believes they are absent from the Maker's sight, but in this he is wrong. We are to bring the light of the Maker to all peoples."
Caitlyn had realized long ago that Petrice's dislike of the Qun was not an affectation in the slightest and was not just because the Qun was not Andrastian. She was certainly using it to advance her ambition, but she also believed in what she was saying, and she took every opportunity to express her opinions on the topic, even to people who she knew already agreed with her. And although Caitlyn agreed that it was awful to be denied the right even to a name, but to be defined—by top-down command—exclusively by the type of work one did for society at a given moment, she was disinclined right at the moment to indulge Petrice's rant. The Qunari were not going to conquer Kirkwall. Petrice's rallies had riled up quite enough people that if the Arishok did attempt it, they would be in for a fight. If there had been no rallies, if the only opposition to the Qunari had been the violent, unsavory, unsympathetic group that had stolen the poison gas formula, perhaps the population would be more quiescent. But that was definitely not the case. The threat with which Petrice was obsessed would not come to pass, Caitlyn was sure of it. What Caitlyn was instead worried about were the human foes she faced—and their disturbing silence.
Caitlyn tried to clear her thoughts of her present mild annoyance. "You're right," she said briefly. "Maraas had to choose a name for himself because he had never had one, and even then, the word he chose means 'nothing' in his own language."
Petrice pursed her lips at that. "That suggests that he still feels beholden to the Qun, even though he has left it. I hope that this changes for him in the future. But I mentioned him for a reason. I think it would be very compelling to have one of these Tal-Vashoth to speak beside me at a rally, to tell the people what it is like to live under the Qun as someone who knows about it firsthand."
"Well, he is a free man," Caitlyn said, "so you can certainly talk to him about that. I don't know where he lives, but he patronizes the Hanged Man in Lowtown, so you might find him there. But I should warn you, when I last worked with him, he was disinclined to take a side and wanted to avoid politics. He just wanted to go his own way."
Petrice was visibly disappointed. "You do not think you have any influence with him, then?"
"I doubt it. He was pretty independent. It was the first time in his life that that was the case, so he didn't want to be 'influenced' too much by anyone," she said—but even as she spoke, something else jogged her memory. "Though—I just remembered something. A couple of years ago, he came to Anders' clinic, badly injured, because some loyal Qunari had tried to kill him. He defeated them, obviously, but they mutilated his horns. He might well bear a grudge now because of that."
Petrice's eyes were gleaming in hunger at this information. "I will definitely seek him out, in that case," she said. "A Qunari defector who was attacked and bears disfiguring scars because of their determination to kill those who leave! His words would be compelling indeed, I think."
Caitlyn found it distasteful for someone who had been injured and maltreated to be exploited in such a way by someone who likely did not care two coppers about his specific, personal suffering. Petrice clearly just wanted him for a symbol. But Caitlyn supposed that a part of rallying support for a cause was to find people who had been harmed and to get them to tell their stories. It was certainly what she and Anders meant to do with their own story, and Maraas was more than capable of saying no if he wanted to keep to himself. If he did appear at one of the rallies, it would be because he had chosen to.
Mal picked up the small staff—about the size of a cane, very far from the length of a typical staff for an adult mage—and gazed ahead at the empty stone space in the basement that his parents had cleared out for him. He focused hard, his childlike face contorting in concentration—until a flurry of snow burst from the staff, propelled toward the empty space. It was small and most of it disappeared in the air before it reached the wall, but Caitlyn beamed at him. After a lesson about the basics of elemental magic, and a firm lecture on the dangers involved, Mal had managed to cast an element on his very first try. He turned back to smile proudly at his mother.
Tears were forming in her eyes as she mussed his hair. He is growing up so fast, she thought, trying to blink them away. That is the first staff I ever used, and then I passed it down to Bethany when she first did magic, but... to see my own child using it now... and then, someday, he will graduate to another one. Who will have it after him? No one will use it unless he has mage children of his own someday...
"I'm tired, Mother," Mal said. "I don't know why, but it hit me suddenly!"
"Mother"? she thought with a pang. What about "Mamma"? I won't ask him about it—it's his decision, since he isn't being teased by other children about what he calls me—but that is painful too, since he would only do it because he thinks on his own that it sounds more mature. "You must have used a lot of mana to cast that spell," she said. His face fell, and she quickly spoke to reassure him. "That doesn't mean you did anything wrong! It's to be expected when any mage tries something they've never done before."
"Even grown mages?"
"Even us," she confirmed. "When I learn a new spell, I use up more magical energy to cast it at first. Then I get used to it and my magic adjusts. So does your father. It'll be the same for you, dear, with practice."
He smiled as she took his hand and they turned around together to leave the basement. As they approached the entrance to the stairs, she saw Anders. He had been standing in the shadows, holding a purring Ser Pounce-a-Lot, watching the whole time. A proud smile was on his face.
"Did you see?" Mal asked his father eagerly. "I cast snow!"
"You did!" Anders said. "And I did see you. You're such a fast learner."
Mal managed a sleepy smile as they led him to his bedroom.
"Is everything all right, darling?"
Caitlyn had been seated at the vanity in their bedroom, staring blankly into the Tevinter glass mirror, but not even looking at her reflection. She turned around and found Anders gazing at her with concern. She forced a mild smile on her face. "I'm fine," she said.
"Are you sure? You've seemed preoccupied all evening, even when you were practicing spells with Mal."
Suddenly the tears that she had been holding back filled the corners of her eyes again. She blinked furiously, trying to stop them from coming, and whipped her head back around so that he wouldn't see.
"Hey," he said, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms gently around her. "It's all right. You can let them fall in front of me. Don't be ashamed..."
She leaned into his embrace, allowing her cheeks to become wet, even though it did embarrass her. Anders had not even been able to see Mal's first three years; what would he think when he learned why she was so emotional tonight? But she had to tell him now, she realized.
"He called me 'Mother,'" she choked out. "Not 'Mamma.' He must think 'Mother' sounds more grown-up. And tonight was the first time he used a staff. My first staff. And Bethany's, after I..." She swallowed. Grew out of it, she thought. "Had a more powerful one," she finished weakly.
Anders realized what she had avoided saying. He held her, letting her get it all out.
"And I'm so sorry," she whispered to him. "I know you missed his earliest years due to the inexcusable cruelty of others, so I have no right to cry to you about this, the normal development of a healthy child—"
"Don't say that," he said. "Don't shame yourself for having feelings." He sighed heavily and choked back a sudden sob of his own. "I wish I could give you another child," he whispered next to her ear. "I wish that more than almost anything—well, anything that might actually be possible. Obviously I wish that your father and sister were still with us, but that's..." He choked again. "Having another child could not replace the years with him that I missed, but you're right to cry that he is growing up and you... we... won't be able to..."
"To experience these things again with a little brother or sister for him," she finished. "They happen, so brief and fleeting, and then the moments are gone, and we'll never get to see them again for another child. I won't be 'Mamma' again... and when he outgrows that staff, there will be no one..." Her face was wet and hot from crying. She suppressed a hiccup. "Maybe—Lady Cousland did send that potion that she thinks might be a cure for the Calling. Maybe that Warden Avernus could..."
Anders had tried not to dwell on his infertility, to focus instead on the miracle of finding his family again, but he could not banish that very hope from his own mind, even though he had no word that any such research was in progress. He knew it was a dangerous hope, one that could get them both badly hurt if he allowed himself to believe in it without cause, but it was still one that nagged in his thoughts, unable to be put down for good. "I could suggest it," he finally said. "I don't know how important it is to anyone else. Your brother, maybe. The Warden-Commander isn't trying to conceive, of course. But the King of Ferelden..." He sighed. "Don't get your hopes up, though."
She swallowed another sob and tried to control herself. "It's part of life to watch children grow up," she whispered. "Someday, I will be too old to have children. At least, I hope so," she said in a bit of dark humor. "Still... this is different from that, and I didn't think it would hurt this much. I was upset for you when you first told me, in 9:31. I didn't think about myself then. He was still a toddler then, and I just... couldn't imagine him older, even though I knew, of course, that he would be. But now..." She extricated herself from his embrace and gazed ahead unhappily. "I feel awful about being so sad about this. You were the one who missed things that he did. I saw all of his milestones. But I think we both wanted more children..."
He wrapped her tightly in his arms again, determined not to let her go. "We did," he said in a whisper. "We wanted a lot of things then." He stroked her hair gently and sadly.
"I think we would have been happy with that simple life. Father wanted to be a freeholder, you know. We were tenant farmers. He wanted to own his own farm at last. I... don't think we could have stayed in Lothering much longer if you and Father had come back, but maybe we would have moved..." She trailed off; where could they have moved? The only place in Ferelden that was not affected by the Blight, the brutal civil war, or the Architect's war was Gwaren. That was the only place in Ferelden where she could have lived out her peaceful dream. They certainly could not have come to Kirkwall if Malcolm Hawke, known here for being the apostate who had eloped with a noblewoman, was with them. And then what would have become of the additional children she and Anders would have had? Mal was a mage, and if he'd had any siblings—if he does have any in the future, she thought in sad determination, even though she did not believe it herself—they likely would be mages too. The large family with Anders that she pined for would forever have had a sword hanging over it, the sword of the Templar Order. Even now that is the case, Caitlyn thought, but we have a plan to fight and win, rather than hide and run and condemn our children to do the same.
"It couldn't have happened," she finally whispered, clinging to him, as the realization filled her. "We would have had to hide just like my parents did, and with every child we would have had, we would have had an additional fear: 'Will this one be taken away?' I do not think that my sister had to die... or that all of our suffering was truly necessary... but the dream of that simple, quiet life was always impossible for us, one way or the other." She swallowed hard. "I just hope..." The tears started again. "It's hard enough to watch him grow up. I don't want to lose even more... to be taken from him, and from you, because of achieving my ambitions and working to bring about that change. I think it is on the cusp of happening, the fulfillment of the ambition, I mean," she said, realizing that her tension about the period of quiet on the political front was another source of her emotional distress. Something was about to happen; she could feel it, and after it did, things would probably move quickly. If she was right, major change to their lives was coming swiftly, and that was frightening.
"We are the ones who will change the world," he said. "I know how that sounds... but I think it's true."
"So do I," she managed, giving him another hug. "I just hope that we don't have to sacrifice too much more to do it. If we'd had that simple life, we would've lived in helpless fear... but we have had a taste of normal life these past three years and I don't want to lose it now. Maybe that is selfish, but so be it. I know that we are working to create a world where other mages can have what we couldn't, but I want some things too now, things for us. What we have now does not have to be sacrificed, and I am determined that it won't."
He held her, enveloping her smaller body completely in his arms like the protector that he wanted to be, caressing her, massaging the tension out of her shoulders, and stroking her hair. It was down her back once again. "I will write to Vigil's Keep about... the other," he said, not needing to elucidate. "I have no idea if they are even working on it. Since King Alistair is a Warden, and he's the last of his line, it seems like they might be... but I don't know. If it isn't possible, then at least we will know."
She finally shed the last of her tears and nodded, squeezing him tightly. "There is a lot of peace in knowing something for certain, even if it is a sad thing. It doesn't gnaw at you as much. It's why, when Carver brought Father's body back but you were in the Circle..." She broke off, not needing to finish.
He understood. "And for what it's worth, my love... I'm so glad that we have what we do. It's so much more than what I feared... what I thought, what we both thought, for a time."
"You're right," she said, her voice barely audible.
He smiled. "You're here. Mal is here. We are a family. A small one, but a real one. We're training our son in magic and then falling into each other's arms at night as a couple. I was able to honor my promise to your father for Carver and your mother. And someday, I think—maybe someday soon—the fears will lift."
She nodded, feeling at peace. What would I do without you? she thought as they headed to bed.
Caitlyn was much calmer the next morning, after a night of snuggling and closeness. As Anders sat down at the desk to write a letter to the Fereldan Wardens before heading to the clinic, she realized that she should probably write one herself—but one that would likely need to go much further. Something is about to happen, she thought again, as she scratched out a quick note to "Nightingale, Left Hand of the Divine." And if it involves the Grand Cleric, it's important that Justinia know whom to appoint to replace Elthina.
Anders sent his letter by a courier and tramped down to the clinic with Mal in tow. Reliable couriers who took mail to Ferelden were easy to find in Kirkwall; Highever was the closest port to the city, and since the restoration of the Cousland line, trade flowed freely and frequently. Most Fereldan post went on those ships. But a journey to Val Royeaux was much longer and more expensive, so ships did not arrive and depart as frequently, and therefore couriers to the Orlesian capital were harder to come by. Caitlyn sent Orana to the harbor with the sealed letter and a handful of coins that ought to cover the expense. As she waited for Orana to return, a knock sounded on the front door.
Caitlyn answered the door herself and found herself facing a messenger bedecked in what had to be Orlesian clothing. It seemed almost feminine to her, in fact; his doublet and breeches were puffed and tucked to an absurd degree, and a hat with an enormous white feather topped his head. Anders wears feathers so much better, she thought.
The man bowed deeply. "Greetings, madame. I am here to deliver messages from Duke Prosper de Montfort of Orlais to the gentlefolk of Kirkwall," he said in a heavily accented voice.
Caitlyn accepted the scroll he offered her, which was tied with fancy ribbon and sealed with a wax imprint of a wyvern. "Thank you," she said awkwardly. This was probably one of the Duke's own people, she realized; she had certainly never noticed a personage like this in town among the usual couriers. "I suppose the Duke has paid you—"
The man nodded quickly. "Oui, madame. You owe me nothing."
Baldwin got to his feet and barked curiously at the odd-looking man. The Orlesian's plucked eyebrows rose high on his face. "Oh! This is one of the famous mabari of Ferelden, is it not?" he said to Caitlyn. Something else caught his attention before she could respond. "And a little kitty-kitty too!"
Caitlyn forbore from rolling her eyes. "Yes," she said, shooing the cat and dog away. "My purebred mabari Baldwin and my husband's cat Pounce." She was not sure why she had not said Pounce's full name; the Orlesians certainly had no right to judge anything for being ostentatious and silly. And if the messenger looked like this, Caitlyn was scarcely able to imagine what the Duke himself dressed like.
"My Duke has a fine pet as well," the messenger said, smiling, as he doffed his hat to her. "He hopes that you will be able to meet him and his pet Leopold soon. Good day to you, madame."
She closed the door behind the departing courier and carried the elaborate scroll over to her desk, popping the seal and untangling the ribbon as she did. She flattened the scroll on the desktop and read the letter, exasperation filling her with every word.
.
To Lady Leandra Amell Hawke, Lady Caitlyn Hawke, Warden Anders, Warden Carver Hawke, and Serah Malcolm Hawke II:
It is my honor to invite your family to my wyvern hunt at Chateau Haine this Kingsway, an annual tradition of my House. I also offer the hospitality of my chateau to all attendees. As you may know, I am the first cousin once removed of Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Celene of Orlais, and I flatter myself that the accommodations I offer my guests please the Empress herself.
I apologize and humbly beg your pardon for failing to issue this invitation to you in Dragon 9:32 or 9:33; I was unaware of the restoration of your family manor and title until recently. The hunt and party are greatly anticipated social events for certain nobility of Orlais, the Free Marches, and Ferelden, and I dearly hope that you will forgive my oversight and grace the chateau with your presence.
Cordially,
Duke Prosper de Montfort of House Montfort of Orlais
Chateau Haine
.
Caitlyn threw the scroll down in extreme annoyance. "Something is about to happen"? she thought mockingly. Something, indeed—an invitation to an arrogant Orlesian duke's hunting party, apparently! "Serah Malcolm Hawke II." Who told him to refer to Mal that way? I've never written his name as "the Second" in my life, and it's not even correct in his case since he's named for Anders too. And "the accommodations please the Empress herself"! What a pompous arse. She did not want to go; it seemed like an event that she wouldn't enjoy at all, but at the same time, the politically ambitious part of her realized that it might be necessary to attend an event like this, especially if her Hightown allies were also going. I'll have to find out if Ser Marlein and Comte de Launcet are planning to attend, she thought sourly. Still, this was extremely irritating. If the rapidly growing tensions in Kirkwall did not get resolved comparatively soon, she might be out of town at the climax of events. That would be a disaster.
She was still shaking her head and fuming when Anders and Mal returned home for lunch. When she passed him the letter to read, and he quickly began to guffaw at it, she managed a smile at last. "I probably have to go, though," she said reluctantly.
"I see your point, but what did wyverns ever do to us?" Anders asked, passing it back to her with a grin.
"I haven't even told you about the messenger himself. Listen to this." She launched into a colorful description of the courier's clothing and manner.
"He referred to Pounce as a 'little kitty-kitty'?" Anders said indignantly when she reached that part. He bent down and scooped up the yellow cat, who was rubbing on his ankles. The cat meowed in agreement with Anders. "That's exactly right, Pounce. You're a ferocious Warden cat, aren't you?" Another meow sounded from his lap, and Mal chuckled at his father.
Leandra spoke up. "It is a shame that Carver probably won't be able to go. I remember the Montfort hunting parties. My family was always invited, along with several other Kirkwall noble families, including the de Launcets."
I suppose I do have to go, then, Caitlyn thought. They are one family I'm cultivating. She dreaded it, but it seemed inevitable.
"You don't have to dress in the Orlesian style, though, especially if you hunt," she assured her daughter. "Few did, at least in my day. It is not the Imperial Court, however much the Duke may wish to leverage his connections, and it is also technically located in the Free Marches."
At least there is that, she thought.
"So, it looks as if I really do have to go to this foppish Orlesian hunt," Caitlyn groused to Varric and Merrill after visiting Ser Marlein and Comte de Launcet—his silly wife and daughters, in fact, rather than the man himself. She had at least learned a useful piece of information from Comtesse Dulci—their son, Emile, was a Circle mage and she was extremely unhappy about being unable to see him—but the visit had otherwise been wretched. The daughters were snooty and rude, despite their mother's feeble attempts to make them behave appropriately to a guest, and the comtesse herself was deeply ignorant of anything except social gossip. Still, from what Caitlyn could glean from that gossip, it was apparent that most of the people in Hightown whom she wanted to cultivate—or who Ser Marlein thought were sympathetic to mages—had been invited.
"Eh, I don't envy you," Varric said. "Sorry, Hawke. That's tough."
"As Anders said, what did wyverns ever do to us?" she said wryly. "Dragons, yes—but I've only killed the dragons that threatened me. I wouldn't hunt them for the thrill of it. Everything about this is distasteful to me. Still," she said, trying to be philosophical, "I guess I have to look at it as an important opportunity to make connections and allies."
Varric nodded. "That's the only way to get through shit like this."
She was about to chuckle darkly in agreement with him when the group was attacked from all sides.
Her eyes were wide with shock as one Antivan Crow after another emerged from the alleys to attack them. "What in the Void is this?" she screamed, felling them with fireballs, trying to avoid the whisper of temptation in her brain to use blood magic.
They kept coming. Clearly, Caitlyn—or one of her friends—had made an enemy with very deep pockets, but she had no idea who it was or what offense she had supposedly committed. This did not seem like the way that Elthina or Meredith would operate, certainly not Meredith, but she could not fathom whom else she had offended this much.
Crows continued to emerge, and at last Caitlyn gave in. She did not need to wound herself; she had already been cut in combat, so she took the path of least resistance and used the open wound to cast a powerful mass hemorrhage on the Crows. I'm glad Anders didn't see that, she thought. Or Fenris. They were on the same block as Fenris's house. She wondered if the commotion might draw his attention. The street was oddly deserted.
As the enemies staggered, blood suddenly dripping from their midsections, an elf leaped from a nearby rooftop and unsheathed two sharp daggers from her back. Without waiting a second, she began to stab and slice the Crows' throats.
At last the Crows fell to the ground, gurgling out their lives, and the elf turned around with a flourish, sheathing her blades again.
"You're Hawke," she said.
Caitlyn was on her guard at once. The appearance of this person seemed far too convenient. "I am," she said suspiciously. "And you are?"
"I am called Tallis."
"Right," Caitlyn said. That did not seem like an Elvhen name to her, either in the Dalish or the alienage linguistic tradition, but she was hardly a scholar in Elvhen languages, so she supposed she could be wrong. "Pleased to meet you. I'm grateful for your help, though I have to ask..."
"I didn't hire them," Tallis said at once—a bit too quickly. "I followed them because they were pursuing you, and so was I."
"Apparently," she replied evenly. "I know why they were pursuing me, obviously, but why were you?"
Tallis forced an irritated scowl off her face. "I heard that you were invited to the Orlesian duke's hunting party," she said. At these words, Caitlyn's suspicions rose even more; how could anyone know that except some sort of spy? "You're going, then?"
Something about Tallis's voice severely grated on Caitlyn's nerves. It was petulant, impatient, and entitled. She tried to put that aside, telling herself that this irritation was triggered by the fact that she was suspicious of Tallis's fortuitous appearance. "You know," she said, though her voice was still cool, "before I say anything, I'm rather curious about why you're interested in my possible attendance at an Orlesian party."
Tallis suppressed a huff. "All right. The Duke... has something that he has no right to have. It's a gem. A gem called 'Heart of the Many.' I need you to get it back."
Caitlyn narrowed her eyes sharply. "What do you think I am, some sort of hired thief?"
Tallis shifted. "I heard that..."
"If that's what you heard about me, you need a new source," she said. "If the Duke really did steal a gem from you, I am willing to help recover your rightful property peacefully, but I need a lot more proof than this."
"Look," Tallis said, "I thought it'd be an adventure."
"And apparently you thought I wouldn't have any questions about the mission or you? I received my invitation to Duke Prosper's estate just this morning. The only way you could have known is if you were spying on the messenger's stops or had already spied on the Duke's estate itself."
"I just said he has something that he has no right to have. How do you suppose I know that?"
Caitlyn tried to suppress herself from casting a flame in sheer anger. "Look, I am grateful for your assistance just now in dispatching the Crows. Still, you have to see that this would look strange—to put it mildly! You listened to them long enough to know that they were hunting me, if you're telling the truth that you didn't already know that they were after me. If they discussed that, they might have discussed other things. Who hired them?"
"I have no idea. Are you going to help me or not?"
The sheer entitlement in the question sparked a surge in Caitlyn's rage that she could not suppress. A flame escaped from her right palm inadvertently and dissipated in the air. "No, I really don't think I am," she snarled, "and you have a lot of nerve expecting me to do it just because you ask! If you can prove that this gem is yours and you answer my questions about how you happen to know so much about my plans, then maybe we can talk, but..."
"Hawke? What's going on?"
Caitlyn glanced up to see that Fenris had indeed been drawn out of his house by the action on the street and was approaching, the greatsword that he had won from the elven anti-Qunari fanatic in hand.
"Fenris!" she exclaimed in greeting. "We were just attacked by the Antivan Crows. Attacked on the street in broad daylight. This woman appeared toward the end of the fight to finish the stragglers off... and we're questioning her."
Fenris reached the group and raised his eyebrows, suspicious as well.
"She says her name is Tallis and that she wants me to recover a gem from an Orlesian duke that's called 'Heart of the Many,'" Caitlyn explained to him. "I admit I'm suspicious, because I was just invited to this duke's chateau this very morning..."
"Hawke," Fenris said quietly, his gaze darting warily to Tallis, "let's talk alone. You need to know two things."
Tallis suddenly looked ready to grab her daggers off her back and attack, but Varric and Merrill were faster. Merrill froze her in place with a telekinetic spell and Varric took the opportunity to relieve her of her visible weapons.
"'Tallis' is a Qunlat word," Fenris said. "It means 'one who solves problems'... or 'assassin.' And 'Heart of the Many' is the translation of the Qunlat word 'Ben-Hassrath,' who are... more or less... the 'priests' of the Qun. As well as the assassins, spies, and cultural enforcers," he said, glaring darkly at Tallis. "It's the only way a woman is allowed to carry blades in the Qun."
Caitlyn reached for her staff at once. This was worse than her darkest suspicions, which had been that Tallis had hired the Crows and was lying about it. "Is that so?" she growled.
Tallis glared back. "You don't know the full truth."
"I'm sure I don't," she agreed tartly, "and I'm also sure that you're not going to tell it to me! A Qunari spy and assassin! And you actually planned to lie and trick me into working for them! It's not a gem at all, is it, since 'Heart of the Many' means something very important to the Qunari?" She glowered, her sharp mind working quickly. "This is espionage, isn't it?"
"You don't understand," the elf repeated. "Why don't you let me talk?"
"Because you'll say whatever you need to say to achieve your objective," she replied. "You've already proven that. You'll have the chance to talk, don't worry about that—but I think you need to meet a couple of people first."
Petrice was waiting in the Lowtown house when Caitlyn and her friends marched Tallis inside, her hands bound and her daggers—as well as a flask of a poisonous chemical bomb—removed from her person. Behind her was... well, not Ser Varnell anymore, Caitlyn supposed, and he was no longer wearing Templar armor, but she wasn't surprised at all that he was still in town. Anders was also standing in the doorway, waiting for her, having received Merrill's message before the priest had received Varric's. Mal was apparently at home with Leandra, for which Caitlyn silently thanked him.
Tallis's sharp gaze darted from the ring on Caitlyn's left ring finger to the one on Anders'. "So, you're the husband behind her throne?" she said to him.
"You're making friends everywhere today, aren't you?" Caitlyn muttered, trying to suppress her magic from bursting out again.
Anders looked as though he had been on the cusp of making a joke, but the glower on Caitlyn's face changed his mind. "She doesn't have a throne, but if she did, I'd stand beside her," he said instead. He peered back at the Qunari elf. "And you converted to the Qun. How did that happen? Did you just wake up one morning and decide, 'what I really need in my life is a big guy with horns telling me everything I should think'?"
"You wouldn't understand," she said petulantly. "You have apparently never looked at the world and wondered where the justice is, the equality."
Oh, no, Caitlyn thought. She grimaced, clapping her right hand over her eyes, not even wanting to look. Here goes everything, if he loses control...
"Do not tell me that I don't long for equality and justice!" he exploded. Caitlyn peeked through her fingers; at least the eponymous spirit had not taken him over, but as she brought her hand away from her face, she noticed that Petrice and Varnell were rather taken aback by this vehement reaction. "You have no idea, you little—" He broke off, shaking his head and glaring darkly. "The Qunari make the Circle of Magi look like a pleasant vacation."
"Yes," said Tallis defiantly.
"And you're—"
Caitlyn cut in before this got any worse. "That's enough, Anders. We all know what the Qunari do to mages, and I wouldn't expect one of them, least of all a willing convert, to have a problem with it. Tallis. You wanted a chance to talk, and you'll have that, but first, you're going to answer my questions."
Tallis shifted. "This is not the proper procedure," she protested. "Why have you taken me here, to this... place... instead of to the official authorities?"
"That's none of your concern," Caitlyn said. "You said you wanted the chance to talk. Now you have it, and I strongly suggest that you tell the truth about what you intended."
"Are you going to execute me?"
"I will if you lie again, including by omission. Tell the truth and I'll spare you," she said coolly. Varnell shook his head and grunted in disapproval, and Petrice's lips thinned as well, but she was not going to let them bully her. As infuriated as she was that Tallis had intended to involve her in Qunari plotting without her knowledge, executing a helpful prisoner seemed exactly like murder to her, no matter who or what Tallis was.
Tallis scowled. "And if I'm truthful, what I get is a prison cell."
"You're a spy. What did you expect would happen if you got caught, especially in Kirkwall, where your own Arishok currently sits, issuing almost daily threats to the city about 'the Qun demanding an accounting'?" She breathed heavily. "This just further confirms something to me. If your people even engage in diplomacy, you would be the sort of person who would be a diplomat... yet the Arishok didn't order you to do that recently."
"I'm not acting on the Arishok's orders."
She peered skeptically at Tallis. "He is the leader of your people, and you take commands from your leaders."
"There are three leaders, and I report to the Ariqun."
"That's actually true," Fenris said quietly.
Caitlyn persisted. "Are you telling me that if the Arishok issued a command to you, you wouldn't be bound to obey it?"
Tallis scowled at the floor. "All right, I would, but he hasn't ordered me to do anything. I'm not sure he even knows that I am here."
It appeared that Caitlyn was going to have to pry answers out of Tallis as though using pliers. Gritting her teeth, she continued. "Then why are you here? And what is at Duke Prosper's chateau that you wanted?"
Tallis hesitated for a moment, evidently contemplating a prison sentence versus a death sentence, before answering. "There is a list of... agents... who live in Orlais."
"Spies, you mean."
"You don't understand," she repeated once again. Caitlyn found that she was getting extremely sick of hearing that condescending statement. "He will get it from a Tal-Vashoth. That's one who—"
"I know what a Tal-Vashoth is, so don't tell me I don't understand that," she snapped.
"Right. Well, he'll have them killed. I just want to save innocent lives."
"You have an interesting definition of innocence," Caitlyn said. "They are spies for a hostile power. In our countries, that's treason—and I suspect that in Par Vollen, spies for Tevinter would also be regarded as traitors."
"Some of them have families!" she exclaimed. "Their spouses and children will be killed too!"
"Oh, so there are spies for the Qunari who do something that is forbidden by the Qun?" Caitlyn retorted. "I told you not to lie."
"Some of them have left the Qun!" Tallis pleaded. "Look, Hawke, I'm not doing this on anyone's orders, actually. I really am not. The Ariqun... the Ben-Hassrath... have written them off as acceptable losses. I... disagree with that." She seemed frightened by the words she had just uttered, but she soldiered on. "I just want to save their lives."
For the first time since she had encountered Tallis, Caitlyn thought that there might be some sincerity in the elf's voice that wasn't just angrily defiant or self-righteous. If she isn't lying about this... Quickly she made her decision. "We have contacts in Orlais," she said. "I'll send word to make sure every one of these people is checked out before the Duke does anything, and I'll also make sure that spouses and children aren't punished."
Petrice seemed torn for a moment, as this clearly was meant to encompass her as an Orlesian by birth, but she also was aware of Caitlyn's correspondent relationship with the Left Hand of the Divine. After that moment of hesitation, she nodded.
"I think it's time to take you to meet the Captain of the Guard now," Caitlyn said to Tallis. "If your story checks out, you won't be put to death."
Tallis's eyes widened in despair as the group, minus the former Templar who was hiding from the Grand Cleric, marched her out of the shack.
Aveline quickly understood the situation and had Tallis locked up in a holding cell, making sure that a female guard strip-searched her for all knives, poison flasks, and lock-picking tools first. There were several of these hidden in her leathers, so she certainly would have been able to escape.
After that, they left the jail and headed to the Keep. Viscount Dumar was extremely distressed by the story that Caitlyn, Petrice, and the others shared with him. He had already been taken aback when they interrupted a meeting he was having with Elthina and Sebastian, and the story that Caitlyn related was even more disturbing to him.
He wrung his hands fiercely as Caitlyn concluded her narrative with Tallis's imprisonment. "I don't know," he said in a whiny, weak tone. "I just don't know... the Arishok... he might take offense if we imprison one of them..."
"Viscount, this is your city."
"Yes, but you told me that he tried to have me assassinated before. I don't want to provoke him."
Caitlyn sucked in her breath sharply, disgusted with this weakness.
"Tallis claimed that the Arishok might not even know that she was here," Petrice offered, her eyes gleaming. "You could just order her execution and he might not ever know."
Check your bloodlust for one second, won't you? Caitlyn thought. In a dark moment, she wished she could just fireball everyone here—minus Anders and her friends. That moment passed when she felt Anders' hand gently touch her shoulder. She breathed, relaxing, as Dumar spoke again.
"No!" he exclaimed. "I can't do that! She is a female elf, even if she has converted to the Qun, and she is not guilty of murder."
"That we know of," muttered Anders.
Dumar did not hear him. "It would be unseemly. I know what to do," he said at once, as if the greatest idea in the world had occurred to him. "I should turn her over to her own people. You said that you are going to have the ones who are innocent protected anyway, after all. Yes, that's what I will do."
Caitlyn could scarcely believe this, even from Viscount Dumar. She supposed, with a gulp of regret, that she had set the precedent by returning the delegates to the Arishok even when they had meant to assassinate Dumar, but still, it seemed a lot worse to return a known spy than a group of soldiers who had to follow orders under penalty of death. Petrice looked utterly infuriated, and even Anders and their friends were staring at Dumar's back with contempt as he led the way to the jail. Elthina and Sebastian remained behind.
When Aveline reached the cell block where Tallis was being held, she sucked in her breath sharply at the sight before her. Saemus Dumar, the Viscount's son, was talking quietly with Tallis through the bars of her cell door.
"What are you doing here?" Dumar exclaimed to his son. "You aren't allowed here alone and you know it! Get out!"
When Saemus drew away from the cell, Caitlyn instantly noticed the soppy, lovestruck expression on his young face. You utter fool, she thought. Don't you know that the Qunari would not let you have a sweetheart, let alone a Ben-Hassrath? Saemus scampered away, turning back once to give Tallis a parting smile, as Caitlyn shook her head.
Tallis was horrified when she was told her fate. Behind her bars, she got on her knees, pleading desperately, her eyes wide with terror. "Please!" she begged. "Please don't turn me over to the Arishok!"
Caitlyn folded her arms across her chest. "In my opinion, the Viscount is showing you more mercy than you deserve. I would have kept you in this cell. Why are you so obviously scared of his justice?"
She cast her gaze down at the floor for a moment before looking Caitlyn in the eye again. Her eyes were still wide and frightened. "I was telling the truth when I said I was acting on my own, without being ordered," she burst out. "The Arishok... if he learned that..."
"But you said you wanted to help save lives. Surely he will be persuaded to show mercy because of that," Dumar said, even as Petrice scoffed audibly and Caitlyn and Anders shook their heads in silent derision.
Tallis stared back at him in disbelief. Finally, she croaked, all the bravado and petulance finally gone from her voice, "There was something else I haven't told you yet."
"Why does that not surprise me?" Caitlyn said. "Let's hear it, then."
Tallis closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, then let it out in a whoosh. "I can prove what I'm about to say. Earlier, Hawke mentioned that my presence here seemed further confirmation to her that there had been an assassination attempt on you, Viscount, since I am Ben-Hassrath but wasn't sent to the Keep to negotiate. I can confirm that it absolutely was an assassination squad that you thwarted, Hawke—and moreover, that the present Grand Cleric knew that and wanted it to reach him!"
Petrice drew breath sharply. Caitlyn's eyes widened in shock, as did those of everyone else present—but she instantly distrusted this reveal. "You had better be able to prove that," she said at once.
Tallis rummaged through her leathers, withdrawing a small book that had not been confiscated when she was locked in the cell. She paged through it, at last finding a short note that she took out and handed to the Viscount without a word. As he read it, everyone else clustered nearby, hovering near him to read it as well.
.
M—
The arrangements are complete and both troublemakers are on their way to Darktown. I hardly care whether the oxmen or the terrorists kill them. If they happen to diminish the numbers of the oxmen too greatly for the squad to complete its mission, the deaths of the "delegates" should still provoke the Arishok sufficiently to attack. There is a second group of oxmen that you should let in if they arrive, but whether they do or not, you should vacate the Keep and come to the Chantry as soon as possible for your own safety. Seneschal Bran unfortunately had to be told that I allegedly wanted to "save" the delegates, but he will die in the inevitable attack, so that loose end will be tied off. Come to the Chantry as soon as you can.
E.
.
Viscount Dumar began to shake and sweat, almost tearing the letter that he held. "This... this is her handwriting," he whispered. "I have seen it too often not to recognize it..."
"Treason," Petrice whispered in undisguised glee.
"How did you come by this?" Caitlyn exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock. This was the very thing she had feared when she had dealt with the squad the previous week, that Elthina had known their true intent and had wanted them to reach Dumar after killing her, Petrice, and Elthina's other enemies.
"I've followed a lot of people around," Tallis replied. "I intercepted her messenger. Bought him a drink. Doctored it. No, I did not seduce him," she added when Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. "He had no idea what was going on or he wouldn't have allowed my attentions to delay him. I switched the note with a decoy when he was sleeping it off, but apparently you folks had already dealt peacefully with the Arishok's delegates when he woke up."
"The Arishok's assassins," Caitlyn corrected pointedly. "I don't suppose you know whom the note was intended for."
"No. I was just gathering interesting intelligence, and when I learned what had happened, I didn't think I would need it, but I still kept the note just in case. As I said, I just want to save lives."
It was intended for someone with the initial M, Caitlyn thought. Mettin, the Templar who serves... or used to serve, at least... in the Viscount's office? Or... Meredith? She spared a sideways glance at Anders and realized that he was pondering this very question.
"Please don't give me to the Arishok," Tallis pleaded again, pleased with the reaction of her captors to this letter and hopeful that it would make them understand.
Dumar passed the letter to Caitlyn at last and then turned back to the prisoner. "No," he said dumbly. "Of course not."
Anders took Caitlyn's hand as they variously stormed, pranced, or trembled back up the stairs out of the jail. Even though they were walking very quickly, he was able to caress her, soothing her nerves a bit. She turned to him gratefully, trying to catch her breath. I was right, she thought. It's happening. I just hope my note to Leliana wasn't too late.
Elthina was obviously not expecting the group to return with a provable accusation of high treason. Dumar was unable to even utter the words, his voice failing him halfway through the explanation, as he turned aside faintly. Caitlyn picked up where he left off. Her strength was not lagging in the least.
"And so," she continued fiercely, "the Ben-Hassrath was able to produce this note, which she said she intercepted from your messenger in a pub. Not only does it make perfect sense with the sequence of events that took place, Viscount Dumar recognized the handwriting as yours!"
Elthina stared back in utter fury. Beside her, Sebastian placed a hand on her shoulder to offer moral support, and he glared back at Caitlyn as well, but did not interrupt his mentor. "How dare you accuse me, you arrogant Fereldan upstart!" she snarled. "And on the word of an elven Qunari spy!"
"Who had a note in your handwriting."
"Lies! She obviously forged it!"
Petrice stepped forward, smirking. "You knew that the seal was taken," she said. "I know this for a fact. You thought I didn't. You knew it was taken, and I thought it was only because you wanted to get Serah Hawke, Varnell, and me killed—but clearly, you intended much more than that."
"You snake," sneered Elthina. She reached in her priestly robes. Caitlyn gasped, instantly realizing what the priest was going to do, and ducked, pulling Anders down with her.
Elthina's knife barely missed Petrice's forehead. It thudded into the carpet behind her.
"All right," Dumar said, finally finding something approximating a spine. He stepped forward. "That's quite enough! Grand Cleric, I must insist..."
"Are you really going to condemn her on the basis of a document from a Qunari spy?" Sebastian said. "They do not believe in Andraste and the Maker. It would be in their interest to remove the religious leadership of Kirkwall."
"Did you not see that she just threw a knife at my head? If that's not an admission of guilt, what is? And you speak as though there is no one who could—" Petrice began.
"I demand the right to a trial!" exclaimed Elthina. "A trial by the Chantry, not the secular authorities who deal with common criminals. I am a high priest of Our Lady Andraste—"
"And a traitor," put in Anders.
"Close your lips, Warden," she said, sneering the word out sarcastically.
"You will have a trial," said Dumar.
"Viscount," Caitlyn said, turning to him, "she is accused of conspiring against you. She should be tried in Kirkwall's court, whatever she may think."
He considered for a moment. "You are right, Hawke." He motioned for Aveline to take her into custody.
"This is an outrage!" Elthina exclaimed as Aveline approached her.
"I do as I am bid... Grand Cleric. You are under arrest for high treason against the Viscount of Kirkwall," Aveline said, taking her arms and cuffing them.
"I need a tonic," declared Dumar. "I cannot believe..."
Sebastian stared bleakly as she was marched away to the cells. He gave one look at Caitlyn, Anders, and their companions, dismay and reproof in his face, then shook his head and shuffled away.
Word that the Grand Cleric had been arrested for treason spread like wildfire. By the time Caitlyn and Anders had seen all their friends home—and she remembered, at last, that Isabela had been absent for this event too—the news had already reached Hightown. Ser Marlein Selbrech and Dulci de Launcet were visiting when Caitlyn and Anders reached the Hawke house.
"Shocking!" exclaimed the Comtesse. "I can hardly believe it!"
"Why not?" Anders said daringly as he took a seat beside his overexcited son.
"Well, she is a priest, after all."
"She's been useless in this entire crisis, and she has never taken any interest in helping most people in Kirkwall," he argued. "She's never permitted a copper of charity to the refugees or the elves of the alienage, and when flu struck the Fereldan population in 9:32, she even backed Knight-Commander Meredith in refusing me Circle Healers to help quell the outbreak."
Madame de Launcet was struck silent.
"It seems that we will soon have new leadership in the Chantry," ventured Ser Marlein, with a meaningful glance at Caitlyn. "After that..."
"Do not hesitate to leap." The words of Flemeth from four years ago suddenly flooded Caitlyn's mind. She took a deep breath. "Viscount Dumar was extremely weak in this crisis too, in my opinion," she said. "His primary concern was to avoid offending the Arishok—and this is after he knew that the Arishok tried to have him assassinated, and might try again! He even wanted to turn over the spy to the Qunari."
"I will call the nobles of Kirkwall to a vote of no confidence in his leadership at the earliest reasonable opportunity," said Ser Marlein.
Leandra spoke up. "But if Viscount Dumar is deposed... his son is too young to rule... oh!" She gasped in shock and covered her mouth as it hit her.
"Yes, Mother," Caitlyn confirmed with a wry grin.
"But my dear—you are a mage!"
Caitlyn closed her eyes momentarily, then opened them and faced her noble allies. "There you are. If you hadn't guessed already, you know now. I am a mage, married to another mage."
"And—" Mal spoke up, then instantly closed his lips. He seemed to understand that it might be inadvisable to reveal that he had inherited his parents' talent.
"But Mother Petrice has known this from the moment I met her—actually, even before that. And..." She took a deep breath. "The new Divine also knows it."
"Divine Justinia... knows of you?" Ser Marlein said in surprise.
"She does. I was... friends with her Left Hand in Ferelden, before she became the Left Hand. Justinia favors Circle reform, as does Petrice."
"That's good enough for me," said the landed knight.
"I am sure it will be good enough for Guillaume too," said Madame de Launcet. "Our poor Emile... how I miss him..."
"I must ask you to keep this a secret for a while yet," Caitlyn said. She trusted to Ser Marlein's discretion, but perhaps not so much to Dulci de Launcet's. "If it comes out too soon, I too would be separated from my family—from my mother, brother, husband, and son."
"Of course," said the Comtesse. "I shall not tell a soul except Guillaume."
"Then he needs to understand to keep it to himself."
"I will tell him so."
A knock sounded on the door. Leandra rose to answer it, revealing Varric.
"Hawke," he said, nodding. "Bl—Anders. Mistress and Little Hawke. And I see I'm interrupting other guests. My apologies," he said with a curt bow to the noblewomen. "I just thought you might be interested to know—events are moving really quickly now. The Arishok has just declared Tallis Tal-Vashoth for confirming the assassination plot on the Viscount." He smiled grimly as he took a seat. "That also, of course, all but proves the Grand Cleric's treason."
Notes: The premise of Mark of the Assassin is that a foreign spy lies and tricks Hawke into being an accessory to murder and espionage, to benefit a country that either has sacked Hawke's city or is going to, for no real reason except that Duke Prosper is a typical noble asshole. However, he never did anything to Hawke's family and there are several decent people at the party, including Bann/Arl Teagan and the de Launcets. (I think Leliana is there, too.) If Hawke is anything other than a non-romanced male warrior/rogue with no family left, Hawke would lose everything she values most if she lived under the Qun, so I just cannot come up with a good reason why a Hawke like Caitlyn would want to help them.
Yeah, Tallis becoming Tal-Vashoth in this AU is indeed my own petty personal vengeance custom-tailored to strike her where it would hurt the most. I admit it. But we have not heard the last of her...
