Despite its ownership changing hands several times in the preceding years, the study in Vigil's Keep was more or less unchanged from its pre-Blight state. Portraits had been replaced by maps, and whatever smaller items of value were once inside had either been given to Delilah Howe or disappeared sometime in the interim between Arl Howe's removal and the Wardens' installation. The large desk, the bookshelves, and the bearskin rug remained the same.
Zevran explored the study with great interest, despite there being very little of interest to find. He picked up a tall wooden carving of a mostly humanoid figure raising slightly misshapen arms over their head. He looked askance at Adara, brows raised.
From her cross-legged position atop the desk—sitting behind it made her feel like a child playing pretend—Adara shrugged. "A hunter from the city gave it to me as a thank-you for returning some stuff to him. He said he carved it himself." It was a very kind gesture, but Micah needed a lot more practice, to put it gently.
Zevran studied the carving. "Is it supposed to be you?"
Adara frowned. "Maker, I hope not. I assumed it was Andraste. Or maybe a golem."
"Ah, the beauty of artistic interpretation," Zevran said, clicking his tongue. "They usually do not depict Andraste with pointed ears, though."
"Is that what those are? I thought it was some kind of headpiece. Well, I definitely don't have—" She made exaggerated gestures to indicate very, very, very large breasts.
Zevran was incredibly entertained by the stupid thing, and Adara wished she had overcome her feelings of guilt and used the carving for firewood upon receiving it. "You could tell people it is a fertility totem," he said with deep amusement.
Adara pulled her lips to one side in a rueful almost-smirk. "Wouldn't that be ironic?"
"Are we going to talk about anything important anytime soon?" Carver said from where he stood near the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. Zevran's Crow companion, Reshida, matched his posture. Jowan, sitting in a wooden chair with his legs stretched in front of him, filled out the little gathering.
Zevran tsked at Adara. "So grumpy, this one. Are you sure there isn't a governess looking for him for his naptime?"
Carver's scowl was impressive, even for him, and Adara gave Zevran a look. "Zev," she said, her voice placid but containing a note of warning: don't tease. "I want him here." To Carver she said: "We're waiting for Garevel. If there's a security risk, he needs to hear about it."
As if summoned by his name, the guard captain turned seneschal let himself into the study. He crossed his arms and bowed to Adara. "Apologies, Commander. Scuffle in the training yard."
Adara turned her head towards Zevran, hoping she could maintain her calm composure in the face of whatever he was going to tell her. "Everyone here knows about the incident yesterday," she said. Hopefully no one else in Vigil's Keep had heard about it yet. "Zevran here says he knows something about the group the attackers belonged to."
Zevran set the ugly carving on the desk and patted it on the head before speaking. "They are part of a very loose organization that call themselves the Faithful. They came to my attention when they visited Antiva City in search of a contract on the Warden Commander's life." He looked at Adara and reached out to pat her knee. "I told them no, of course."
"Thank you," she said, finding a small smile for her old friend, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Based on their name, I think I can guess what I've done to piss them off." Not done, rather, but simply been. For some, it was blasphemous and unthinkable for an elf—and a mage—to have so much freedom and power. "But why now? I left court." Once the euphoria from surviving the Blight had faded, many were horrified to see that King Alistair's closest advisor, his right hand, was an elven mage. Whispers arose that she must be bewitching the king with blood magic. Adara thought those whispers had ceased once Alistair dismissed her.
She was beginning to realize that Alistair may have sent her away for her own safety as much as he'd done it for the good of the kingdom.
Zevran spread his hands to show he was not sure of his answer. "I believe they consider their grievances to be greater than politics." He nodded his head towards Reshida. "We have some of their correspondence for you to see. It is… ah, not favorable towards you."
The woman presented Adara with a small pile of intercepted letters. Adara opened the first one and quickly felt sick to her stomach.
It is a blasphemy most grave for an elf to rule over man. It spits in the face of the Maker, and I shudder to think what the Maker's wrath will look like when he comes to punish us for allowing it.
Magic exists to serve man, never to rule over him. We cannot allow a knife-ear and a witch to continue tainting Ferelden with her heresy. She makes a mockery of us from her seat of power. I fear that, should she remain in power, heretical ideas will spread. Across borders and seas, until there is nothing left but magic and corruption.
She stopped reading. The letters all appeared to contain more of the same sentiments. Everyone in the room was watching her, and she struggled not to visibly react. It wasn't a surprise to learn that enough people thought this way to mount an assassination attempt, but it made her heart sink all the same. I never asked for any of this! All I ever wanted was to be free, she screamed in her head. She looked down as she massaged her temples, hoping to conceal whatever her face was showing.
"What else?" she said to Zevran.
"Unfortunately, not as much as I would like," he admitted. "I know nothing about the head of the snake, so to speak. It is a diffuse group that seems to be mostly disgruntled Chantry types, with templars sprinkled in. They have at least one patron in Orlais. Perhaps more."
"So what now?" Adara said with resignation in her voice. There didn't appear to be an answer besides spending the rest of her life in paranoia.
"Have no fear, Warden," Zevran said, his voice too cheerful given the circumstances. "My people are searching for the patron's contact point here in Ferelden. I have also asked that our friend Leliana employ some of her talents in Orlais."
"You know where she is?" Adara asked with some surprise.
"You are not the only who likes to write letters," Zevran shrugged. "She is in Val Royeaux, working with the Chantry. I daresay she will not have a difficult time finding more information than I have."
"So we just… wait? That's it?" Carver spoke up, sounding mightily unimpressed. "They nearly killed her yesterday, and we can bet on them trying again. We can't just wait." The frustration in his voice somehow threatened to bring a flush to her cheeks.
"Forewarned is forearmed," Garevel said. "Limiting access to Vigil's Keep for the time being may be a wise idea, Commander."
Adara nodded.
Garevel hesitated before saying: "I would also recommend that you do not leave the Keep's walls without guard escort."
Trapped again. Vigil's Keep was a far cry from the Circle Tower, and a Grey Warden a far cry from a mage apprentice, but it seemed that she would never be rid of the chains that her circumstances had created for her. She would always feel the weight of them.
Adara nodded again, fighting hard to keep a storm of emotions from showing on her face. "I think we've heard enough for now. You're dismissed, all of you. I need…" Maker. What did she need? "I need to think, I suppose."
And probably have a good long cry when no one was watching.