#*dragonpain

Merrill did not mind travelling alone, although this distance was longer than any she had attempted before. She wanted to speak to Hawke but she was afraid of what might happen if Hawke talked back. 

When she reached the fortress she was greeted by soldiers and made to wait in the grand hall. Dalish banners decorated the steps outside but within the dragons on the walls made her feel uneasy; and the statues by the throne reminded her far too much of Kirkwall. She leaned against her staff, gripping it with one hand, and waitied. 

“Aneth ara, Inquisitor” she said carefully to the bright-faced Dalish elf who walked out to greet her. 

She waited until Lavellan approached, until she was sufficiently close.

“Andaran at-”  

The sharp sound of the slap resounded across the hall. Inquisition agents and guests alike turned their attention to the two elves. Merrill paid them no mind. Sasha waved them down. 

“I’m sorry,” Merrill said, finally lowering her gaze, holding onto her staff with both hands now. 

“No, I...never apologise to me,” Sasha replied, reaching out to the other elf’s shoulder. 

Merrill’s eyes followed the Inquisitor’s arm all the way back to her face. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second. 

“People who described you said you looked fearsome. They said half your face was shrouded in darkness. I assumed they meant your vallaslin, but your face is...bare.”

Sasha’s arm dropped, but she took a step closer to Merrill as if she wanted to soothe her. The latter woman fought the urge to pull away defensively. She frowned, swallowing the tightness in her mouth that would have made her cry had her eyes not been so dry. 

The Inquisitor’s face took on a solemn quality, sharp edges usually softened by her smiles suddenly prominent. Merrill wondered if this was the expression she had had on when she had been with Hawke. If the tone of voice Sasha used at that moment had also delivered the final sentence Carlyn had ever heard.

“Go on,” Merrill urged, “what is it?”

“That was a game we played when you were little, because you wouldn't let mother get anywhere near you with a pair of scissors!”

“No. We made a deal, all those years ago back in Lowtown. You wouldn’t ever look like her.”

Carlyn shrugged defensively. 

“I’m on my own.”

“So am I.”

This time Carver lifted his head to look at Carlyn and she wondered if she would ever be capable of missing Bethany as much as he did.  

She took a few steps towards him and stretched her hand out to his face.  

“In that case, you have to uphold your side of the bargain too,” she said, running the back of her fingers over his jaw, “so that neither of us reminds the other of anyone else.”      

                                                                ***                                             

Isabela burst into the estate with a hurried “Thanks, sweet thing,” as soon as Orana oppened the door for her, taking the stairs two steps at a time when she didn’t imediately see Carlyn in the main room.  

“Hawke? Hawke, are you in...”

She slowed her pace when she realized the door to Hawke’s bedroom was wide open. She could hear the soft snipping of scissors coming from inside. 

“...here...”

Carlyn and Carver were standing together in front of a mirror the older Hawke had had mounted on the far side of the left wall. From what Isabela could see, Carver had taken off the heavier parts of his warden armour and was shaving, occasionally leaning down to clean his blade in the washbasin in front of him. At his side, and directly within Isabela’s view, Carlyn was carefully cutting off sections of the hair she had spent three years growing out. Watching the dark tresses fall around the other woman’s feet stirred up a strange, old sort of discomfort in the pirate.   

Just as she prepared to say something, to specifically get Hawke’s attention, Carlyn nudged Carver playfully out of the way.  

“You’re hogging my space.”

He regained his balance and stared straight at his sister, lips pursed into a thin line. 

“Oh,” he said finally, “I don’t remember your space being that big. Have you gained weight, sister? Or is just that massive Champion ego?”

Carlyn turned back towards the mirror.

“If you cut yourself before you finish shaving, it will absolutely be my doing.”

Carver grinned. His eyes shifted briefly towards the door and he caught Isabela’s gaze, but her hand was already moving upwards. She set a finger against her lips, and moved soundlessly away from the door with a wink, resigning herself to the fact that her news could definitely wait. 

She drew in a breath of clean, fresh air, before pushing the large door by planting her feet into the ground and leaning her entire weight on it. She sneaked in through the crack she had made, gritting her teeth against the sudden onslaught of cold from within.

The fire burning in the hearth offered no warmth or comfort. It was an unnatural, pale blue that cast little light on the room’s windowless brick walls. The fireplace itself was made of simple sturdy stone, not unlike many other things in the Necropolis. On the other hand, the shelves built into the entirety of the far wall allowed rows and rows of books to line the fireplace, immediately erasing any doubts about who the room belonged to. As she closed the door, Cassandra noticed the light from the torches in the hallway outside catching on the surface of one of the walls; she could swear there was thin layer of slime covering the brick. She pressed her back up against the wooden surface, which she implicitly trusted, and tried her best not to breathe.

Her uncle’s friends were fast asleep.

A man was sat upright in a black velvet armchair to the left of the fire. Across from him was another, identical but empty, armchair which Cassandra assumed might have been used by her uncle. She couldn’t see much of the man’s face from where she was standing but she could definitely tell his eyes were closed, as his head was thrown back slightly over the side of the armchair. 

At any rate, the eight-year-old’s attention was drawn far more readily to the figure sitting on the sofa before her. The sofa was turned to face the unwelcoming fire, so the visage of whoever was sat there was completely out of view. Cassandra could only see dark hair pulled up tightly in a high braided bun, reminiscent of a style she had heard her cousins say had gone out of fashion at least three years ago. She had heard them say it on the one occasion when they had visited at her uncle’s request. She hadn’t appreciated the visit.

Holding her arms down firmly at her sides, she made her way across the room, towards the sofa. When she had managed to reach it without the carpetless stone floor opening up to swallow her whole, she regained a sliver of courage and edged her way around with careful steps. One step, two steps, three, around the back of the sofa, to its right arm to keep the man in the armchair in view; one could never be too careful around corpses, even when they were sleeping. 

Three more steps and she pushed her legs against one of the sofa’s cushions, side by side with the legs of the mysterious figure. It was a woman. A lady even, wearing a white silk dress with a thin gold belt around her middle. Cassandra leaned down and squinted to get a better look at the belt buckle. She noticed it was decorated with the Pentaghast crest, yet this only confused her further, as she had never seen a Pentaghast wear such simple clothing. She wasn’t sure any of them were allowed to. 

“Who are you?” 

Cassandra almost bit her tongue as her jaw clenched and her eyes widened. She considered holding her breath and standing still, but soon realised that wasn’t a viable option. Whoever this woman was, she was now awake. The child lifted her head slowly, prepared to lash out and run if the situation required it. 

The mysterious woman regarded Cassandra with a slight frown, features too stiff to do more. Something about her eyes, even faded as they were, something about the way they moved and the way she tried to smile reminded Cassandra of Anthony. 

Her brother had a few memories of their parents and had told her some stories, but his descriptions were vague, tending to concentrate on sounds and smells rather than physical aspects. 

“You remind me of my baby girl,” the woman said, reaching out to touch Cassandra’s face. 

Her hand reminded the child of one of her porcelain dolls as it made its way down her cheek.

“But you are too old to be her,” she spoke slowly as if forming words was an arduous chore. “What is your name?” 

Cassandra opened her mouth, wishing to answer the woman’s question then leave, but light from the hallway flooded in before she could say anything. 

 “Cassandra!” 

Vestalus Pentaghast was a patient and soft spoken man, as his position required him to be. Unfortunately, his niece had never had the chance to see that side of him. He was unintentionally cold and distant as his work did not mix particularly well with rearing a young girl, but her insistence and curiosity often placed her in his way in an incredibly inconvenient manner. In her eyes, he was either never there or always angry. 

Cassandra gave the woman one last look. She was now mouthing the girl’s name silently, shock clear on her face. The child heard her uncle step into the room and without a second thought, put her head down and ran for the door. He moved out of her way. 

Halfway up the steps she changed her mind, turned, and rushed back.

“Uncle, wait!”

Cassandra stretched her hand out towards the closing door. As soon as it opened once more she bowed her head but tried to keep her eyes on her uncle’s face.

“Was that, that woman was that…mother?”

“No. Your parents are dead, child.”

“But she -”

“The dead cannot come back to life, child. Pray that that never changes. For if it does, the end will truly be upon us.”

“That blighted fool better not be dead or maker help me,” Tabris trailed off as she felt a stinging pain behind her eyes.

She swallowed the imminent threat of tears before they could cloud her vision and led her mare cautiously through the open, unguarded gates.

The front courtyard was completely empty. No dead bodies, no darkspawn, not even any trace of demons. Tabris dismounted and paused to listen. Dust storms were a common occurrence in the Anderfels and the wind often howled like a broken beast. Still, even with the gate gaping wide, Weishaupt was incredibly quiet; unnaturally still.

“Alright, stay here,” the warden commander said with a weak smile, leaving her mount in the empty stable. She felt the knot in her stomach that she had been living with for the past fortnight twist and tighten, but she pressed on.

With the sun rising behind her she walked up to the entrance and pulled on one of the heavy doors, silently praying that things would be simple and it would just budge without protest. When it did, Tabris immediately questioned whether she had been praying for the wrong thing.

She stepped into the darkened hallway in the hopes that there would be a lit torch or candle somewhere further in. Regardless of what was or wasn’t further in however, she did not have any other choice. Her quest had finally come to a head, and a successful one at that, yet when she had returned east and travelled to Skyhold she had been met with the news that Alistair had travelled to Weishaupt and had not been heard from since. She set out as soon as she was able with minimal supplies and even less preparation against both her own better judgement and the advice of the Inquisitior, but it wasn’t like she was going to stand idly around. She had requested that she be allowed to travel alone, so as not to endanger any Inquisition agents. After three days of riding without pause she managed to put a fair amount of distance between herself and the scouts the Inquisitor had sent after her.

“They will find us eventually. Perhaps it’s for the best.”

Tabris had also gotten fairly used to talking to herself in the long stretches of time she had spent traveling alone. As she moved further into the hallway, the darkness enveloped her almost completely. She had to reach her arns out in an attempt to feel her way forward, since her eyes had been rendered completely useless. Two more steps, slow and measured this time, and a loud bang shook the walls on either side of her.

She felt him before she heard him, the taint within her body identifying its match.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

A flickering light appeared in the distance, but it seemed largely unable to beat back the shadows engulfing it. Still, there was no mistaking the voice that called out from that direction.

“Alistair?”

“What?”

The question sounded incredulous. He wasn’t asking her to repeat herself. He couldn’t believe his ears.

With her arms still preceeding the rest of her body, Tabris fell into a clumsy jog, eyes glued to the light in the distance, fully prepared for the inevitable impact. When she had closed more than half the distance between them, she was at last able to see the man whose fate had been  uncertain until that very moment. He was covered in blood, holding a torch in one hand and a sword in the other. His face was gaunt, his skin sickeningly pale. Tabris had not slowed her pace at all, so she crashed into Alistair, wrapping her arms around his neck and causing him to stagger backwards. He stank of darkspawn blood, but she pressed herself against him without reservation, reaching up to anchor her fingers in his hair, not particularly willing to ever let go.

“I almost lost you,” she said, slightly louder than she had intended, her tone more desperate than she had thought it would be. “Don’t ever do that to me again, do you understand?”

Alistair did not return the embrace, partly because he was physically unable to and partly because he seemed completely frozen with shock. Or was it anger?

“You. You are here. Why are you here? Why have you come?”

Tabris pulled herself away only to be met with a stern, stony expression from her lover.

“I wasn’t about to simply leave you to whatever fate may have befallen you. The plan was that I would find the cure and we would be reunited. You do, remember that, right?”

“Of course I…”

Alistair sheathed his sword and reached out for Tabris’s hand with his own. He squeezed his fingers around hers and she wondered just what kind of horrors he had been facing down since this mess had begun.

“The door won’t open from the inside,” he continued, “We cannot leave.”

“Where are the other wardens?”

“Further in. Some are dead, but I - ”

“What happened here?”

Alistair’s crooked smile made Tabris’s heart clench painfully in her chest. He let go of her hand. He seemed hopeless, helpless as if he had resigned himself to death until this point. Now that she had returned to him however, things were automatically different. He was stuck between being weeping with joy and screaming in agony, between pushing her as far away from him as possible and holding her as close and forgetting about everything that was happening around them.

A rage boiled inside Tabris as her question remained unanswered.  

“Oh by the endless void, I did not get that fucking cure so I could die because the Warden order has forgotten how to light candles! We are getting out of here whether you like it or not, Alistair, if I have to drag every single warden out by the ear!”

Thus, while the alienage celebrated her return, the human common folk seemed uncertain of their position. The nobles on the other hand, were divided between the group who felt Amaranthine got what it deserved, the group who seemed completely unperturbed, and those who branded Tabris as Ferelden’s new public enemy. If anything, Esther Tabris was mostly amused by the grandiose speeches which declared in no uncertain terms that Vigil’s Keep would not become Weissaupt and Ferelen was not the Anderfels. She would have to let her third favourite mage know.

Her absolute favourite part about visiting Denerim however, was the person waiting for her at the gates, decked out in heavy warden armour, with the widest grin she had ever seen on his face. She quickened her pace as soon as she caught sight of him and fell wholeheartedly into his hug. She may have never told him that she loved him, and honestly that whole concept was still something she was grappling with, but Esther had always found physical affection easy to give.

Reaching up with one hand, she traced her fingers lightly over Alistair’s cheek.

“You’ve shaved,” she said with mock surprise.

“I thought I shouldn’t give Anora too many reasons to turn her nose up at me.”

Esther stepped back and folded her arms across her chest.

“Oh, I am sorry, I meant her majesty, the Queen,” Alistair continued.

“Still a better ruler than you,” Esther murmured as she walked past him and through the city gates.

“Still not complaining!”

They walked through the bustling streets of Denerim side by side and Esther felt like she’d never been happier to be home. As much as she had suggested during the Blight that home was wherever she was, and as bad as Denerim had been to her over the years, it felt good to be able to openly return to her birthplace.

At least, for about ten minutes or so, until they made it close enough to The Pearl for Tabris to notice a hooded woman standing by the door. Although she was surrounded by a fair number of people, and her face and weapons were completely concealed, the black cloak with a frayed hem was intended to be recognisable. While assassins may usually rely heavily on stealth, they were also greatly prone to showing off. Esther would know.

Swiftly but quietly, Esther grabbed Alistair by the arm and pulled him into the nearest alleyway, pushing him up against the wall, then paying absolutely no attention to him as she peered around the corner.

“Whoah, hey, you didn’t even check if the alley was empty,” Alistair said, completely bewildered yet not exactly protesting.

Esther shushed him, turning her head to check for any strangers.

Apart from a stray cat that quickly scurried away under the elf’s scrutinizing stare and the pungent smell that had taken on a life of its own, the narrow passage was devoid of any other elves or humans.

“So, what are we doing here?”

“None of the things going through your head right now,” Esther replied, holding back a smile.

“Hey-”

“There’s an assassin waiting just outside The Pearl and she’s here for me.”

“Crow?”

The elf nodded. “Some kind of subset. I met one of her colleagues at the Keep soon after some of the nobles fled.”

“You faced down an assassin, and didn’t tell me.”  

“I faced down more than-” she stopped as the expression on Alistair’s face darkened and tried a different approach. She continued while avoiding his gaze, “Yes, I faced down an assassin. He was very skilled, he almost got me, but fortunately he choose to approach me in closed quarters. In my chambers, to be exact. Big mistake. On the bright side, I know what I’m dealing with.”

“On the bright side?”

“Not the time.”

Alistair mumbled indignantly but Esther ignored him.    

“If I try to sneak past, she’ll catch me. I cannot let her see me. I would be able to evade her attacks, but it will definitely put other bystanders in danger.”

“Wait, couldn’t you just stop her attacks? Didn’t you once say you had the best reflexes in the whole of Thedas?”

“I was drunk, Alistair, and that’s not funny,” she smacked his shoulder, “And keep your voice down, we’re way too close as is.”

Alistair moved to the edge of the wall and peeked around the corner. Esther leaned into him to get a look while remaining as concealed as possible. Turning back, he gave her a smug grin. It was short lived however, falling away as soon as he caught sight of her wide eyes and tight lips.

“We can’t go past her but I don’t want to lose her. What do we do? Help me out here!”

Alistair opened and closed his mouth silently a few times, seemingly discarding a couple of suggestions before making his mind up.  

“Alright, I have an idea. We can’t simply distract her; she would see that coming a mile away,” Esther nodded slowly as Alistair spoke, “but we could always pull a double bluff. Just hear me out! I go out there, spend a short amount of time pretending to distract her, which will convince her that you would be sneaking up behind so she will think she’s safe. But when you come out from cover, I give your position away. She either has to face you head-on or run. Either way, I am still behind her.”

“You are not fast enough.”

The shield on Alistair’s back scraped against the wall as he shrugged.

“I have a shield.”

Esther hid her smile in his shoulder, then pushed herself up on her toes so she could whisper in his ear.    

“This is, without a doubt, the stupidest plan you’ve ever had.”

“Buuuut…?

“Of course I’m in,” she said, planting a light kiss on his cheek.  

The plan worked as well as could have been expected. Alistair walked up to the assassin who was immediately put on guard, her eyes taking in her surroundings, checking for any sign of her real target, her fingers twitching by the most accessible dagger. He positioned himself at her side, so as not to be in Esther’s way and fumbled his way through a couple of minutes of small talk while the Warden Commander loaded her crossbow.

Esther took a deep breath then slowly walked out into the open, but didn’t need to wait for Alistair to carry out the next part of his plan, as ordinary folk are hardly likely to keep a straight face when a crossbow is being pointed in their general direction.

The assassin may have been sharp and quick on her feet, but she was thrown off for a sufficient amount of time to barely miss the arrow aimed at her shoulder and and thus become completely unable to get out of the way when Alistair bashed her with his shield. She was knocked down and the warden held her there by the point of his sword.

“Out of my way,” Esther spat, stalking up to the assassin, with her crossbow on her back once more and a dagger in hand.

“Esther-”

“Out of my way, Theirin.”

He stepped back and looked away while the elf crouched down and wordlessly sank her blade into the defeated assassin’s chest. The patrons who had been loitering outside The Pearl had all found other urgent business to attend to, save for a handful who were watching the scene from one of the windows.

“The city guard should be here soon,” Alistair said, sheathing his sword.

The Warden Commander straightened and turned to face him, taking small measured steps towards him until she was as close as she could possibly be.

“You can talk them down. I promise I won’t stab anyone this time.”

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” Alistair replied, wrapping an arm around Esther’s waist.

“This is what it’s like, being in love with a wanted woman, Alistair.”

“Me, in love? Who told you that?”

“No, you’re right, the word I was looking for was ‘smitten’.”

Alistair leaned in for a kiss, but Esther pulled back, motioning to the group at the window with her head. “We have an audience.”

“It’s nothing they haven’t seen before. I think.”

“Later.”

Alistair sighed.

The Inquisitor grinned as she moved her queen across the board. She met Leliana’s gaze slowly, her eyes dragging up over the spymaster’s crossed legs and her masked smirk.

“I thought it might make her angry,” Sasha said, without a hint of remorse in her voice. “I suppose I should apologize?”

“You are not required to,” Leliana replied, turning her attention back to the board. “Although you might want to send Josephine in if the situation deteriorates. And if I know my clerics as I do,” she continued, moving one of her mages into an offensive position,“it will.”

Sasha seized the opportunity to use one of her pawns to take Leliana’s mage. Which honestly served her right, seeing as the Inquisitor had lost one of her knights just a few minutes ago. 

“Your clerics? Seeing yourself as Divine already, sister Nightingale?”

A clear laugh, like a bell breaking a lazy early morning silence, escaped the spymaster’s throat. 

“First of all, impulsive moves motivated only by revenge like that one are what lose you wars, Inquisitor Lavellan. Secondly, oui, I am simply itching to increase the number of innocent lives I am directly responsible for. I cannot wait to sit on the Sunburst Throne, however did you know?”

Sasha Lavellan watched the spymaster make her next move, completely enraptured by the woman sitting before her. Her experiences with humans had been sparse before Conclave, but the great heroes and incredible personalities she had read about in books had conflated her expectations considerably. 

That is not to say she compared the humans she met to characters from fiction. On the contrary, her standards had been set entirely by the historical accounts she had spent her childhood pouring over, or, at a stretch, the legends with at least a seed of truth in them. Yet somehow none of the humans she had met before came anywhere close to image she had formed in her mind. Until Leliana. Spymaster of the Inquisition, former Left Hand of the Divine, veteran of the fifth Blight and best friend of the Hero of Ferelden. She was exactly the kind of person legends were based on. Sasha wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to place her in a position that would allow her to change the face of the world forever. 

“I will have you know I am offended,” the Inquisitor said finally, looking away when Leliana caught her staring. She stared at the board instead, squinting her eyes in the glare of the mid-afternoon sun, but her mind was suddenly filled with plans of drumming up support to solidify her advisor’s position. The chess pieces lost their definition and Sasha soon realized she was concentrating intently on a pawn for no discernible reason. She made a move at random and continued her initial verbalized thought. 

“I have had to carry all this responsibility on my own for a while and, while I must admit that I did not consider it until I was directly confronted with the idea, having someone I can trust with my life as the Divine would be a great advantage. To put it lightly.”   

“I am offended that I cannot keep your attention long enough for you to succesfully finish a game with me, Inquisitor,” Leliana said with a jovial tone. “And, although I understand where you are coming from, prenez garde à qui vous fiez.”

“My Orlesian is still not quite up to scratch. Beware...?

“Neither are your chess skills, apparently. Who you trust. Check mate.”

Sasha threw her hands up in the air and leaned back across the back of her chair so far that its front legs were lifted off the floor. 

“Oh, I have been slain by the great Sister Nightingale, whatever shall I do?”

“Perhaps find a way to break the news to Madame de Fer, if you truly mean what you say.”

Sasha’s chair came crashing back down rather unceremoniously, but Leliana did not even flinch. The Inquisitor set her elbows on the table and, attempting not to disturb the board, leaned in closer to her advisor. 

“I am going to need a big present,” she whispered.

“I will speak to Josie,” Leliana whispered back, reciprocating Sasha’s actions. 

“Thank you,” Sasha finally said after a few very long seconds of simply staring, unashamedly this time, at the formidable human before her.

At the end of the first week, in the the middle of a history class Josephine is completely enraptured by, she is passed a neatly folded note. It is unsigned but urges her to meet in the garden behind the dormitories after sunset. She spends the afternoon pacing around in her room, considering what she would do if it turned out to be a group of Orlesian girls who wanted to attack or humiliate her. 

Instead it proves to be a small group of Antivan girls who were purposefully separated from one another and who all find themselves in a situation very similar to Josephine's. The aim of the school was to harden them. To 'civilize' them. To teach them the intricacies of the Great Game whether they liked it or not. But that's not quite how things work in Antiva. 

Now picture them banding together and picture Josephine coming into her own by representing them. They learn to play the Game as well as any other student but any sign of direct opposition against them is met with a very public and very assertive response. Imagine Josephine gathering a crowd to reveal her enemies' weaknesses; making a scene, but only when she is certain she will win, as the game requires. Imagine Josephine becoming a class representative and giving impassioned speeches, arguing her case against the school faculty, respectfully demanding more incentives and deserved allowances for the girls. 

Imagine Josephine proudly wearing the latest Antivan fashion, yet learning how to turn her own face into a potent mask so that her need to wear a real mask is removed. She jokingly claims it saves her money.           

As she leaned her head against one of her numb arms, she heard a faint sound in the distance, growing louder with each passing second.

“Tell me why I am here, there must be some way around this, please! The Herald is dead, what more could you possibly want from me?”

“Josephine? No!”

Leliana’s heart began to race and before she realized it she was frantically rattling her chains, swinging within the limits of her confinement, trying to find a way to get free.

A loud blow was followed by a sharp shriek, then deafening silence.

“No.”

This time Leliana’s protest was closer to a whimper, a reluctant, unwilling prayer that Josephine was still alive. Or perhaps that she was dead. Perhaps that would have been kinder. Yet Leliana did not want to admit just how much she feared being alone.

As the door to the chamber opened and light flooded in, Leliana’s expression shifted back to one of pure disdain. She straightened her back as best she could and stared down the two figures who were dragging a limp ambassador into the room. She continued to watch from the corner of her eye as they shackled the other woman down to the table at Leliana’s side, then left without another word.

The door was slammed shut and darkness prevailed once more.

At first, Leliana found her voice was hoarse and she could not formulate any sounds. She coughed, then shouted in an attempt to clear it. When her incoherent sounds failed to rouse the ambassador, she tried again.

“Josie...Josephine. Josephine! Josephine, wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

They wouldn’t have bothered to shackle her if she had been dead. Leliana held her breath and listened nonetheless. When she heard her friend’s slow, rhythmic breathing, she resumed shouting and rattling her chains until her throat was sore, then continued until one of the Venatori agents walked in and slapped her hard across the face.  

In the dim light, Leliana noticed Josephine opening her eyes.

She spit in the agent’s face to distract attention from the ambassador, but he remained unfazed. He must have been new. He simply turned and exited the room.

Josephine tried to sit up in the darkness, realized she was unable to, then called out in a weak voice.

“Leliana? Leliana, is that you?”

“Hush, he is still outside,” the spymaster replied, in a tone far more composed than it had been a few minutes ago.

They stayed like that, in complete silence for a while, listening to one another’s breathing. Leliana’s was steady and regular, while Josephine’s was uneven and consistently interrupted by heavy sobs. Eventually, the pointed sound of footsteps carried the agent away from the door and Leliana turned her head towards Josephine for no practical reason other than that it felt comfortable; ordinary even.

“Josephine? Are you still with me?”

“Ye-yes. I am here, I am. What have they done to you? I thought you were dead I thought -”

Josephine broke into tears.

“No, no, no, Josephine please,” Leliana clenched and unclenched her fists and rolled her head back as she recomposed herself. “Josephine Montilyet, listen to me very carefully. Is your family still alive?”

“Some of them are,” rage had overtaken the ambassador’s tone incredibly easily. “I heard the Venatori talking while I was in a cell. They are still searching. I am willing to bet Yvette is giving them hell.”

“Well, you’ve never lost a gamble before.”

It hurt to smile but both women did, regardless.

“Alright. You are familiar with how this works, yes? They will come in, they will ask you questions, they will cut and hit, they will bruise skin and break bones. They are not good at their jobs. They will ask leading questions like ‘what was the Inquisition planning?’ or,” Leliana paused to catch her breath, “‘how did the Herald know about the ritual?’ You must answer.”

“What?”

“Answer. Make things up. Tell them what they want to hear. Tell them the Herald was a mistake. An unforeseen circumstance. The Inquisition used the Herald to fill a gap because, because Divine Justinia was dead.”

Josephine let out a tired sigh.

“What is this supposed to accomplish?”

“They will let you go. They would have no reason to keep you.”

“Then why are they keeping you?”

“I...I do not know,” Leliana lied.

The women were interrupted by the sound of the door being pushed open and Josephine was robbed of the chance to accuse her friend of being dishonest.

The Venatori did not ask the ambassador any questions. She was there to serve merely as a control element to the experiment being run on the spymaster. They infected her with the taint and watched the decay. They cut her open until she screamed then hit her until she stopped. Leliana spent Josephine’s waking hours consoling her. She spent every quiet moment, while Josephine battled nightmares in fitful sleep, crying until she could barely open her eyes.

It took weeks for Josephine to die. The wave of relief that washed over Leliana when it finally happened made her sick to her stomach.

Unfortunately, her respite only lasted for a couple of days.

When the Herald finally came to her rescue, the image would still be seared into Leliana’s mind. It would flash behind her eyes even as she processed the ‘situation’, the ‘mistake’, the ‘future that never should have come to pass’.

Two days after Josephine’s death, she heard the sound of multiple pairs of feet striding towards the door and she braced herself for another Inquisition agent, a scout, or maybe a chantry sister to be brought in.

Instead, a metal breastplate caught the light as the door opened. Leliana’s eyes were immediately drawn down to the gryphon insignia in the center.