#also a siege of Skyhold would be great at some point. should have been in the game.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"True enough. Got enough enemies as it stands. Don't need her added to that long list, seeking me out. Got nothing to prove with any pissing contests around here either. Prefer to let my work out in the field against Corypheus' abominations and cult speak for itself."

Eskel's low, amused tone returned to her swiftly with a chuckle of his own, following her at her prompting, making their way out of the war room gradually and down the subsequent corridor. Passing through her office soon after, Ambassador Montilyet looked up from her desk and the messenger she was consulting with, doing a double take, an expression of surprise crossing her pretty Antivan features at the sight of him accompanying the Inquisitor. A look he received more of when they made it out into the main hall... along with whispers his enhanced senses picked up. Not hostile, at least, a welcome change from what was usually said about him, but certainly bewildered and curious. Nothing he wasn't used to, at any rate. He supposed it was compounded by how rarely he went out around the keep during the day... he was an oddity. He looked back at her throne and over the guards and other folk around the hall, marred features smiling politely, trading a respectful nod with the dwarven rogue storyteller Varric as they passed his spot near a fireplace, then focusing on making his way with Ellana outside, the cool mountain air greeting them. He breathed it in... and almost felt like he was home, again. Maybe he was, and just didn't know it yet. It was the longest he had settled into a place outside of Kaer Morhen, at least. Moving down the stone steps, crossing over the yard towards the awaiting inn, he became aware of the further eyes turning their way.

The Witcher wasn't sure if they were more staring at her, the beloved Herald of their Andraste, symbol of their order and Thedas' best hope, or him, the mysterious mutated stranger and suspicious outsider of the Inquisition. It was an amusing thought, regardless. He would always be the stranger, on some level. It was the nature of his profession and existence, the Path and his destiny. Though he did offer Scout Harding the polite nod she deserved. The moment they approached the Herald's Rest, his enchanted medallion began to hum... detecting the presence of the spirit calling itself Cole that lived in the establishment, taking the form of a pale, unusual yet skilled young man, who traded a wave with Ellana. It was strange to be fighting alongside one... especially considering he was usually slaying similar beings for coin. Entering the tavern, the music and chatter greeted them, a few conversations breaking off at the sight of them again... he ignored it, settling down at the table she indicated with her, ordering a drink as well before focusing his viper eyes and senses back upon her. He was hardly surprised to hear of her favorite area in Skyhold... had heard some whispers about her and the mysterious elven mage called Solas who resided there. Personally, his instincts told him to trust the elf no more than he trusted the haughty Orlesian Sorceress Vivienne. Nodding at the Inquisitor's words, his deep, languid voice returning to her with a smile of his marred visage.

"It could grow on me, I'm sure, especially given the present company. Might prefer the lower courtyard, but I'd also like to take a crack at that forge of yours in the undercroft at some point. Not as good as some of the experts you picked up for blacksmithing, but not half bad either. Everyone at my school learned to work a forge... learned many useful skills for the Path and on it."

@starwrittenfates

"We all could use them, that's for sure. Especially these days. Good days for my line of work... but not so much for the rest of the world, including myself outside of work."

Eskel's low, grimly amused voice returned to his client with a shake of his head, looking down to the map sprawled out on the war table and all the pieces on it, daggers embedded into certain spots. He could scarcely imagine running a war, directing numerous others, advisers, allies, politics, the fate of nations... especially having stood on his own for so long. Having to weigh every decision and repercussion for others, everyone seeking something... and no shortage of enemies, including those pretending to be allies. It was a new experience, being around a variety of personalities and motives this long, full of lessons every day, it seemed. Different from hunting Demons, Wyverns or giant spiders in some forest, cavern or village, or Darkspawn down in the Deep Roads. In the latter case, it was only the Legion of the Dead and Grey Wardens he had fought beside, and even then on a short term basis. Life was simpler in the Deep Roads, such as it was. The personalities of the doomed dwarves and Wardens aligning well with his own. Little idle socializing, more drinking and slaying monsters. Not like it was at Skyhold, another world entirely he was adapting to, even at his age.

There had been a good deal of losses so far in the campaign against Corypheus, between his Dragon and his cult of followers and Demon hordes... he imagined there would be a good more yet before all was said and done, including many of those occupying Skyhold. It was a matter of time before the Darkspawn Magister marched his army this way, made a siege of it, most likely. Skyhold had become a hub in the world, everyone knew where it was now, despite its remote location on the border of Orlais and Ferelden, and how to get there. The heart of the Inquisition. He would do all he could to make sure the place didn't end up like Kaer Morhen all over again. In the meantime, it was best to make the most of things while they all still could. However long they lasted. At her generous and unexpected offer when he had been ready to head back down to the lower courtyard, the Witcher's viper eyes returned to the alluring Inquisitor's emerald pair... and his marred visage smiled, nodding. He took Ellana's hand carefully, raising it slightly to kiss the back of it gently, giving it a grateful squeeze before letting it go again and drawing back a bit, clearing her way. Deep tone murmuring to the elven lady again.

"Certainly I would, Lady Lavellan. Much appreciated. Would go change into my armor and weapons, usually need them at a tavern... but I reckon I can make an exception around here. Especially in your company. Ready when you are."

@starwrittenfates

[loversandantiheroes]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Lyrium Withdrawal, Lyrium Addiction, visual and auditory hallucinations, Mild Gore, Hurt/Comfort, first comes the hurt, then comes the comfort, I swear there will be comfort

The threat of Adamant looms, and the cracks begin to show.  Big, huge, and many thanks to @songofproserpine, @aloy-sobek, and @juliannos for beta reading this chapter.  I’ve spent a lot of time on this trying to get it right.  Here’s hoping I succeeded.

---------------------------------

Adamant.

“Read it again,” Cullen said, stone-faced, praying he had heard wrong

Josephine sat behind her desk, eyes wide with that same alarmed disbelief he felt, but she nodded just the same, cleared her throat, and began to read.

The Wardens are compromised.  A Magister of the Venatori, Livius Erimond has infiltrated their ranks and convinced them their only chance of ensuring an end to the Blights before the Calling consumes them is to raise a demon army and march upon the Deep Roads and kill the Old Gods before they can be corrupted.  What we stumbled upon appears to have been the first attempt at the binding ritual.  Erimond instructed a small group of Warden mages to each kill one of their fellows, some sort of blood magic ritual to draw and bind a demon.  More concerning: while the ritual places the demon in the thrall of the mage that bound it, it also binds the mage to Corypheus.  The familiarity of this is not lost on me, I remember Redcliffe too well.  We have dispatched the ‘test group’, but Erimond has escaped.  Hawke and Stroud have scouted west on Stroud’s hunch and have found the Wardens occupying an ancient stronghold called Adamant.  I do not know the name, but I imagine at least one of you does, and Stroud’s face when he spoke of it tells me more than I wish to know.   We return for Skyhold at once.  We must plan, and we must plan quickly.

Josephine laid the missive down gingerly.  “This is...dire.”

“Adamant has been unbreachable for centuries,” Leliana said, her voice cold and hushed like a dagger in the dark..

“Centuries ago they did not have trebuchets,” Cullen said, striving for a confidence he did not in any way feel.  “We need sappers.”

“I believe one of Bull’s Chargers is a sapper,” Leliana suggested.  “And we have Dagna.  That is at least a start.  I will do some digging, see who else we have that may be of use.”

Josephine began rifling through papers on her desk.  “I believe I may be able to call in a favor for siege equipment.  Not all nobles deal purely in coin and gossip.”

“That just leaves us with enthralled Wardens and demons,” Leliana muttered darkly.  “They could house over a thousand men there.”

The pain in Cullen’s head flared, a sharp pulse at his temples.  “Our Templars should be prepared.  Our people should be prepared.”

“The Inquisitor returns with haste,” Josephine said.  “Two weeks by horse relay, perhaps less.  That gives us some time to prepare.”

Cullen scowled.  “Another five to make the march back out there with enforcements, and that’s on top of preparations.  Andraste preserve us, Erimond could fill Adamant in that time if he has enough mages among the Wardens.”

“How many of your remaining Templars are at Skyhold, Commander?” Leliana asked.

“Nowhere near enough.  I will send word, recall as many as possible to Skyhold.”  He turned on his heel, gripping the hilt of his sword, and made for his office.

Unbreachable.  Maker, if only the walls were their only worry.

* * *

Preparations had to be made, even before the Inquisitor’s return.  Cullen sent dozens of letters, ordering an immediate return to base for every Templar they had in the field.  The numbers were considerably less than he cared for, barely over fifty all told, with perhaps a half dozen veterans among them.  A rueful little voice nattered in his ear, reminding him if they had only gone to the Templars, if he had the full force of the Order at his disposal….  But of course, he didn’t.  The choice had been made.  And given the actions of the demon Krem said had been impersonating the Lord Seeker, sending the Herald into Therinfal Redoubt would have been like driving a lamb into a slaughtering pen.  It was not the alliance he regretted, it was the loss.

And so the week went, a flurry of activity and too-little sleep.  The headache persisted and brought with it a faint, charred smell that followed him as he went about his duties, craning his neck to search for signs of smoke.  The itch came soon after, bone-deep and low, something that made him want to twist and squirm in his own skin.  Cullen was too disciplined for that, too stubborn.  

But he moved, and he kept moving.  He paced constantly.  Inspections doubled.  A sand pit was hastily constructed near the practice yard to give the men some idea of what they might face if the fight took them outside of the fortress walls.  The time he spent in the sparring ring jumped dramatically.  And even there he was restless, moving and rolling and driving aside the less practiced with an alarming ferocity.  None were injured, but more than a few soldiers left the ring with their practice weapons cracked and their heads hung in exhausted defeat.

His soldiers bore his agitation.  The staff on the other hand were less equipped to handle it.  He was short with them, an irritation that grew steadily worse as the week wore on, until it was a fight to keep his fool mouth shut before he berated some poor maid for doing their job too close to him, or a runner for slamming doors they swore they had not touched.  Overworked was the polite whisper.  Arsehole was the less polite version, and he couldn’t claim it was unearned.  His behavior was regrettably noted.  None seemed to mark the reason behind it, save for Cassandra who kept a wary, albeit distant, eye on him, but said nothing.

The thirst returned soon after.  A familiar addition, and one he considered to be no great concern.  Cullen had long since learned to ration his water.  And if his tongue worried restlessly over too-dry lips and his throat ached with the need for something colder, cleaner, bluer - well, what of that?  Pain was pain, and he could take it.  And he did.  More and more each day.  Until the headaches were inescapable and his joints felt like fire and broken glass.  The remedies helped, when good sense came to him in the grounding guise of Aadhlei’s voice and overrode his pride, urging him to finally send slips to the infirmary for the potions that would dull the pain, or settle his stomach enough to keep half a hurried meal down, or to sleep for longer than an hour at night without jerking awake to the muffled sounds of phantom explosions.

And so he endured.  He had little choice else.  The cost of failure was far too high.  It was a well-worn slog, horrible but at the very least predictable, until the ninth day.

Morning found him pulling on his armor, hair combed but face unshaven, fighting to still the tremors in his hands enough to buckle on his breastplate.  A missive had arrived by raven the night before declaring the Inquisitor had just passed Halamshiral.  Four days left, three if she kept up the relay.  There had been no direct letters since she had left the Western Approach, and he could not claim that he did not feel their absence, or hers.  It had been well over a month since she had left Skyhold with Hawke and Stroud in tow. He realized with a glum sort of wistfulness that this was almost certainly the longest they had spent apart since they had met.  

Yet the relief he expected with the news of her return was nowhere to be found.  Instead all he felt was a cold, creeping dread that snaked its way through his gut like a wire.  She would return, and she would look to him with trust in those soft green eyes that had shaken him free of so many nightmares, and she would expect him to give council.  And what did he have?  A migraine and a rather impressive case of the shits.  Fine council, indeed.

Idiot boy.

Cullen froze.  The voice was clear and harsh, a mocking sneer.  And Maker, it sounded close.  Close enough that Cullen fancied if he turned he would see the Knight-Commander’s eyes, steel shot through with red, mere inches from his own.

“You’re dead,” he said, voice taut.  He pulled his gorget over his head and set to fastening it down.  “At least have the decency to be silent.”

You called me mad.  My own Knight-Captain stood against me.  And for what?  To protect blood mages.  And now here they stand again.  Weak and foolish Wardens turning to blood magic to save their own skins.  They will paint Thedas red in blood and lyrium and it will be on your head.

And then the room was gone.  All around was chaos; the steel-on-steel clash of combat, the sizzling crack and pull of magic, but even that was drowned out by the sounds of pure panic and carnage.

The choice was yours, Knight-Captain.  Blessed are those that stand before the wicked and do not falter.  And when have you done anything but falter?

Cullen pushed his fists against his eyes.  Skyhold.  Not Kirkwall.  Look up.

Cullen lifted his head, desperate, searching for the skylight that was - should be there.  It wasn’t.  Above him hung a slate-grey sky, thick with smoke and storm clouds, tinged red where the fires burned highest.  Kirkwall was burning.  Again?  Still?  Maker, did it even matter?  Kirkwall burned and he had let it happen.  Had, in point of fact, helped build the pyre.

The world flickered like a candle flame in a sudden draft and Kirkwall was gone.  High stone walls surrounded him, a sprawl of putrid, pulsing flesh climbing up it like diseased ivy.  He could smell it, the sweetness of its rancidity almost enough to mask the old-copper scent of blood.  And the blood was everywhere.  Bodies lay in mutilated piles around him, some mangled beyond recognition, but others were still painfully familiar.  Farris’s head regarded him with bland, slack-jawed terror from the end of a spike, one eye rolled up to the ceiling.  A few feet away, from the base of a pile protruded an arm, surprisingly whole, with smooth skin broken by a long pink scar that stopped near the elbow.  ‘A bandit with a broken dagger,’ Annalise would tell anyone that listened, but the reality of it had been a clumsy fall into a stack of pottery.  

Cullen’s stomach twisted, gorge rising.  He saw all of it through a shimmering haze of violet, a barrier, a prison.  They had stuck him here to watch the slaughter.  How many had been cut down before his eyes?  How many torn apart?  How many left broken and begging for death for hours before their pleas were granted?

He felt a spasm wrack his body, making him shake and rattle in his armor like a specter in a ghost story.  Lyrium withdrawal, his first true taste of it, etched into his mind with blood and screaming.

You couldn’t save them, Meredith spoke up in a voice like ice.  What makes you think you can protect the men that serve you now, or that posturing maleficarum that calls herself Inquisitor?  You were a failure even with the lyrium in your veins, you are a fool to think you could be more without it.  You lead them into death, boy.  That’s all you know how to do.

“NO!” he roared, fists lashing out to strike the barrier and finding only empty air and darkness.

Skyhold, he told himself desperately.  Not Kirkwall, not Kinloch!  Damn your eyes, Rutherford, look up!  Find it!

Again he craned his neck up, conjuring the image of the window in his mind.  Greens and browns and blues, tall trees and running dogs and the sky beyond it.  On its heels came the afterthought of Aadhlei standing beneath it, the sunlight in her hair and the light touch of her fingers on the inside of his wrist, a scent of herbs clinging to her hair and faint lilac on her skin.

One moment there was only darkness above him, thick, black, and endless. The next moment he was staring up at the skylight above his bed, glinting prettily in the first pale gold of morning.

Cullen crumpled to his knees on the floor of his bedroom, hung his head, and wept.

* * *

The wind cut cold across Skyhold’s battlements, chilling the sweat that stood out stark against Cullen’s face as he caught sight of the line of horses speeding toward the front gate.  He wavered, swaying on his feet, the pounding in his head increasing threefold.  Aadhlei rode at the forefront, he recognized her not by her mount but by the shade of her cloak and the staff strapped to her back.  He had held out some shred of hope that the sight of her might bolster the last cracking remains of his resolve, that he might find strength enough to endure for her sake, if not for his.  Maker, he had hoped….

Meredith’s voice rang out in his head, cold and sharp as a surgeon’s blade.  Your pride will be the death of her.

It was in his head.  It was only in his head this time, and he knew it.  But even that could not stop the twisting in his chest.  There was no comfort here.  No comfort anywhere.  A small sound, weak and defeated, escaped his lips in a rush of white vapor.

I can’t.

Though his knees felt hot and loose and ready to buckle, they bore him swiftly enough down the stairs towards the place where the Seeker stood, testing a fresh blade.  “A word please, Lady Cassandra.  I require your...opinion on a matter.”

She regarded him coolly, casting a brief glance to the gate as shouts of the Inquisitor’s approach rang out.  “I don’t suppose I need to ask what this is about.”

“In private,” he half-snarled, jerking his head toward the door of the smithy.  “Please.”

Cassandra gave him an assessing look, then nodded grimly.  “As you say.”

Cullen strode ahead, shoving the door open with enough force to startle one of Harritt’s apprentices into dropping the sword he was grinding.

“Out,” Cullen said, pointing at the far door.

“Begging your pardon, Commander?” Harritt said, his eyebrows hovering about halfway up his bald head in his surprise.  “All due respect, ser, but this is my-”

“Out!”

The apprentices were out the door before Harritt had even the chance to toss the half-forged steel back in the embers.  He followed, begrudgingly, bitching under his breath as he went.

As the door shut behind him, Cassandra spoke.  “The answer is no.”

Cullen turned on his heel, wobbling.  “Do I have no say in this at all?”

“If I thought it necessary, Cullen, I would have relieved you of your command already.  That I have not should be the only answer you need.”

“Maker’s breath, will you just listen to me?”

She folded her arms, scowling.  “Very well, Commander.  I am listening.”

“I,” he faltered almost immediately, pride again taking control of his tongue.  He set to pacing in front of the forge, sweat pouring down the sides of his face to pool under his armor.  Maker how could he sweat, he was bloody freezing.  Slowly the words ground out of him.  “I cannot do this.”

He began to unpack it, or at least he tried to, giving a halting index of symptoms and incidents.  Try as he might, he couldn’t quite find the words to explain the worst of it, dancing around the visions and voices and memories with all the care of a wounded animal trying to hide a lame and mangled leg.  When he had finished as best he could he turned again to Cassandra, breathing a little too raggedly, hoping to see some shift in her face, some sign she understood.

“I do not believe your concerns to be unfounded, Commander,” she began.

“Thank you.” “However, I do not believe it warrants your resignation or replacement.”

“What?” he spat, incredulous.

“We face our first true test of battle as a unified force against Corypheus soon.  It is understandable that you might begin to doubt-”

“This is beyond doubt, Seeker.  If I am made to lead our people into battle in this condition we will fail.  Our people will die.  The Inquisitor will- I cannot let that happen!  I will not!”

Cassandra’s scowl deepened.  “You asked for my opinion and I’ve given it.  What more do you expect of me?”

“I expect you to keep your word,” Cullen sneered, rubbing at another sudden spike at his temples.  “It’s relentless, I can’t-”

“You give yourself too little credit,” she said.  

Another time he might’ve seen it for what it was - a compliment, a confidence in his abilities.  But he was too fogged with pain and the nattering of too-close memories.  The sweat was in his eyes, stinging, and the smell of fire and steel lit up his nerves.

“If I’m unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this.  Would you rather save face than admit-”

The door behind him swung open quietly, the faintest squeak of a hinge, and he wheeled at the sound.  “I said get OUT!” he roared.

And then his eyes cleared, and all his fire died.  Standing in the doorway, wind-chapped and exhausted in her stained travelling clothes, was Aadhlei.  She stared at him for a long beat, too shocked to speak.  Coward that he was, he couldn’t bear the thought of what she might say when her voice returned.  Cullen hung his head and stalked out the door, too ashamed to look at her, mumbling in a low and ragged voice: “Forgive me.”

Part of him was sure she wouldn’t.  Another part of him, small and painfully bitter, was sure she would.  He could not say which was worse.

[veridium]

A return to a Skyhold brings the Inquisitor and Chief Ambassador Montilyet back to reality, but something has irrevocably shifted past the point of no return. Entering on horseback together hardly speaks of a platonic ambivalence, after all. The trajectory is interrupted by a new challenge on the horizon: Adamant Fortress, and the Grey Wardens. The room for indecisiveness is rapidly shrinking.

The towering walls of Skyhold reached for the skies, and its might extended along with it as the group finally made their way through the first gate and across the bridge. Theia could feel her grip on Josephine’s waist – which had scarcely left its spot for more than a moment or two at a time – grip slightly tighter in anticipation of letting her go. Josephine did not avoid this; in fact, the security she felt there against her chest and in the saddle was a memory she would hold closely tucked in her heart for the rest of her days.

“Ah! At long last, our fortress invites us back into its arms,” Vivienne called out from her carriage window. Riding her horse next to it was the Seeker, who could not help but grin with relief as they had finally returned from a most temperamental excursion.

Soon, the roaring sound of the second gate erupted through the cavernous mountain air, opening itself up for them. The shadows it cast as the sunlight behind the fortress flickered through its square patterned holes reflected on their contented, tired faces.

Pulling into the courtyard, Theia’s eyes scanned the stairwell and walkways for any Advisors or allies who had gathered around to be a welcome-home reception. Cheerfully, Varric waved to her from the fence guarding the upper yard, and then her eyes also found Iron Bull who nodded austerely in her direction.

She saw Leliana standing at the very top of the stairs, hands at her sides, looking like she had just managed to make it in time after the horn had blown, announcing their arrival.

The Spymaster’s discerning green eyes locked on the sight of her friend in the lap of the Inquisitor, in a rare show of creativity for the Ambassador who had upheld decorum like it was her most valued virtue. This made her intrigued as to just how much the reports she had collected from the Scouts’ ravens left out.

Back at the Courtyard ground level, Commander Cullen approached Theia’s horse, as she gently pulled the reigns until the animal halted.

“Inquisitor, glad to see you have returned in one piece. There are reports on your desk that have collected in your absence, but, I assure you nothing out of the ordinary has occurred here as far as our military is concerned,” he said light-heartedly. It took him a moment – and Josephine using both her hands to toss back her hood – to realize Theia’s accompaniment was of particular familiarity to him.

“Oh, Lady Ambassador, I—“

“What, Cullen? Did you not see me here? Was my dress so adequate a camouflage?” Josephine teased, a smile on her lips softening the blow.

Cullen sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps seeing you in such a casual shape left you unrecognizable to the unwise eye,” he jested back.

Theia couldn’t help but bite back a laugh, resting her pursed lips on Josephine’s shoulder for a moment as she tried her best to not egg either side on with her reaction. Swallowing it, she raised her face and spoke.

“Thank you Commander, I’ll see to my duties at once. I’m especially looking forward to the any scouting reports we’ve received from Hawke. Has there been any word?”

“A report came in early this morning via Raven. Leliana will be able to provide insight after you read it.”

“Thank you, that is just what I was hoping to hear.”

As Cullen nodded and withdrew from the conversation so as to check in with the troops that had come with them, she released the reigns from her hands and dismounted, landing gingerly on the ground as her concern turned immediately to Lady Montilyet who remained seated. She reached her hands up, and when Josephine took hold she braced the tension of her fall as she slid off the side, landing rather tucked between the horse’s side and Theia’s chest.

“I suppose that in return for this, you must expect me to avoid you to balance things out?” she asked quickly, while she still had her in front of her, and most of her attention.

Josephine let her hands linger on Theia’s upper arms as she listened to her question. She looked past the Inquisitor’s soldier, at her friend’s pale and observant face as she watched them from above. Exhaling, she turned her eyes back to her.

“No, but, do allow me to attend to my duties. I am sure we both have quite the workload awaiting us,” she spoke decisively.

“Fair enough. Happy writing, my Lady. I will have the treaties delivered to your office as soon as I can,” Theia said, before letting her break free from her hold. She watched the Ambassador collect her skirts as she walked briskly towards and starting up the stairs. Then, it became time to unpack, debrief, and become acquainted with the next challenge at hand.

Before that, however, some more warm greetings from good friends. An arrow shot from the upper level grounds, hitting the ground right beside Theia’s feet. She did not flinch one ounce of weight, however, and in fact looked as if she had been expecting it.

“Ah, so you missed me after all, Sera?!” she called out jovially, slipping her riding gloves off of her hands. From that point, she could see Sera’s petite stature stand up from a crouched position. Sera gave a smug grin in return for the happy remark.

“Inquisitor, back from the clutches of those fancy pants in Monty-lard. Good to know,” Sera called out, before walking back to what Theia would assume was her room in the pub…or the Undercroft.

Theia turned around and was met again with a friendly face, this time Dorian as he swaggered to her side coolly. “My friend, I do hope you will regale me with every inch of intrigue you encountered on your journey. The way you entered atop a thundering steed with a fair maiden at your side tells me you had quite the time,” he mused, crossing his arms.

“Dorian, it is good to see you. I never thought I would meet people who would make me miss how grounded you are,” she giggled, slapping Dorian’s arm with a riding glove.

“Inquisitor, if I am to be your standard for human candor, then I suggest you take up more drinking,” he replied, a warm smile appearing on his lips.

“You’re right, I should. Perhaps tonight.”

Theia patted him on the shoulder before she made her way over to the carriages, catching the last of the boxes being unloaded. She stood at the Seeker’s side as she did so.

“Seeker, thank you for accompanying us. I am always honored that you put up with me and whatever trouble follows me around Thedas.”

Cassandra shook her head. “It seems as though the Maker wishes me to bear witness to all of your entanglements. I can only assume this is the more mild of circumstances we will find ourselves in,” her observant personality shining through her words.

“Well, whatever happens next, be sure to not hold back if you ever want me to get my shit together.”

“I never tried otherwise, Inquisitor.”

--

The War Council meeting that took place an hour later brought an important decision to the center of all concerns. Theia had found her way to the piles of parchment at her desk, and indeed a scouting report had found its way from Hawke’s hands to theirs. The Adamant fortress was confirmed as being used to house the Grey Wardens while they worked to prevent future Blights by utilizing blood magic, compelled to do so by the widespread Calling evoked by Corypheus. This conclusion left little outside options available besides direct siege.

“This has to happen fast. If the Western Approach was an experiment, they must be nearing full execution,” Leliana said, walking around the corner of the table in a pacing maneuver.

“Cullen, your opinion on the age of the fort makes sense, but that still means we need considerable manpower,” Theia thought out loud, her hip leaning on the edge of the table as she eyed the region south of the Hissing Wastes, where Adamant embedded itself through the ages.

“Yes, but we have that now. And, given some more time to prepare, we can be even stronger,” the Commander insisted.

“I can continue communications with nearby nobles who have resources for transporting and fortifying siege equipment. The fortress will require usage of more than just foot soldiers and archers,” the Ambassador spoke as she wrote.

“We need trebuchets, something to break down the door, and infrastructure to support backlash,” Leliana fed off of Josephine’s thought process.

“They’ll be expecting us, with that despicable puppet at their side acting on Corypheus’s behalf. Warden Clarel has gotten herself in deep,” the Inquisitor holding her thumb against her chin.

“Yes, but she is one woman. A woman with power, but one person nonetheless. The Wardens are protective of their ranks, but they are not all without reason. Thought it may be too late to salvage the Templars, the Wardens may yet hold hope,” Leliana would wager, even with her lover off in the great wide somewhere, that there were more than just the Hero of Fereldan who would stand for reason.

“Very well. I want training to buckle-down with the troops. We march within the week, as soon as Hawke and Stroud return to confirm any last intel. Until then, we should send a Raven to ask if they can confirm possible locations of back passages for scouts before they withdraw their mission. Commander, let me know if I can assist with any restocking efforts of food and raw materials. I will work with Dagna and the Blacksmith to make sure we have everyone outfitted properly. With the latest shipments of Silverite and Dawnstone from Sarhnia region, Dagna and I should have some fun. I will see everyone tonight for supper.”

With that, The Inquisitor convened the meeting, and the Council members were free to go back to their duties. The looming anticipation of Adamant took hold of the air soon afterward with a most brutish grip.

--

“So, you await a return to battle once more,” Josephine’s voice echoed from inside Theia’s bedchamber, out to the balcony where she stood watching the sunset down over the mountains. The Inquisitor’s arms were folded as she stood in contemplation, although now her visitor called her attention to the present moment. Perhaps she was the better for it.

“Alas, I fear the only times we will ever have for each other are either during haphazard diplomatic affairs or the eve of my return to danger’s most welcoming breast,” Theia played, pivoting on her hip so as to look back at the Lady Ambassador, who was making her way out to join her. She had changed back into her gold and purple robes, looking as if they had never rode across snow-capped mountain valleys or danced on the floor of a sweaty, packed dance hall.

“You tease, but I know it weighs heavily on your mind. I’ve seen the look in your eyes before missions are begun,” Josephine lamented, at last arriving at the Inquisitor’s side.

“Oh? Are you suggesting I’m not always a peach to be around?” Theia continued to press a sense of humor into a conversation that Josephine clearly wanted to be serious. It was a confirmed suspicion when she saw Josephine’s eyes, giving her that look of quit it.

“Theia, a moment of honesty,” Lady Montilyet suggested.

Theia’s chest tensed with the pressure of the breath she held onto, trying to put together her thoughts. Her face let down the façade of wit and was now authentically in-touch with the brevity of the situation.

“I have always been ambitious in my studies, Josephine. Being a powerful and capable Mage has always been a goal of mine. Thinking about what the Wardens are gambling with, and how many people they have probably already lost and yet stand to lose, it makes me feel hollow to know such choices can be made if people are scared enough beyond sense. Blood magic is…controversial, to say the least. I cannot deny I feel intimidated by the risk of encountering a legion of Grey Wardens with the capabilities Blood Magic bestows.”

“Surely, though, the extent to which they have been able to master it has not been fully realized yet. I am not familiar as you are, but my impression of the process is that it takes time and ritual investment.”

“True, but what has yet stood in the way of Grey Wardens when they are being hunted down by time and death?” Theia shifted her weight between her feet as she talked.

“History would say the worst and most depraved of enemies,” Josephine replied, turning around to face the Inquisitor from the side. “This is why the Inquisition exists, and this is why we must succeed in our endeavors.”

“You make it sound as if there is no other possible outcome to be realized.”

“That is because there is none. If we fail, that is the end.”

“Look at you, gloom and doom before your first glass of wine with dinner.”

“Agh, it has been a long day, perhaps my sense of humor has gone to bed before I have.”

Theia grinned and turned back, walking inside to her desk and eyeing the papers she had been working on. “Tell me, Josephine, were you ever intimidated by me?” Theia asked from over her shoulder as her hands moved to organize the parchments into more tidy piles.

“Of course, who was not? You were—are, the Herald, after all.”

“Yes, but I mean me as a person. You know, underneath all that fame and superstition.”

Josephine’s eyes narrowed as she followed after her, standing a few feet away when she answered.

“I suppose so, but…in a way, I sympathized with you. When I first laid eyes on you, my first thought was of how young you seemed. Yet, your eyes and words spoke of experiences beyond the limits of your youth.”

Theia’s eyebrows raised as she turned around to face the Ambassador. “I suppose it went away then when you realized just how imperfect I was.”

“No, it merely changed to respect. Intimidation prolonged is simply a sign of underlying insecurity within oneself. Rarely is it the pure objective existence of a given person.”

“I am sure you have had many experiences to teach you that wisdom,” Theia sat back on the end of her desk, hands gripping the table surface edge. “I must say, listening to you talk makes everything feel like a matter of winning a chess game. Like the next maneuver is just right in front of your face.”

Josephine smiled softly, coming in closer until she was close enough to take hold of Theia’s hands that she watched tensely grip on the table. It was always one of the easiest ways to tell if Theia was hiding stress, the way she dislocated the feeling into other limbs of her body just so.

“People who master talking do not always master action. This is why entities like our Council are so vital, they combine both into something truly forceful,” Josephine comforted, intertwining her fingers with hers.

Theia paused before responding, her gaze lowering so as to watch their hands interweave together. Her mouth opened, but she let out a breath, stalling just a few seconds more.

“You know when you make me nervous, I can feel the anchor?”

“Really? It is that responsive? I thought it just reacted to the rifts.”

“No, it is embedded in my nerves, I think. It almost acts in concert with them. Back at the pub, that night…I felt it under the skin of my palm.”

“Should we be concerned? Has it always done this, Theia?”

“Yes, it is hardly new. I just thought it was a funny thing. First my eyes, with their colors, and now this Anchor. I’m like a walking light beacon of emotions,” she joked half-heartedly. A moment of silence compelled her to see what Josephine’s facial expression was, and when she saw the concern in it, she could only smirk bitter-sweetly.

“My Love, only one of us can be the somber one. The other must spur their temper until eventually they bite back and snap out of their sadness. I thought we rehearsed this enough for you to get the cue.”

“Theia, mi amor, if it were me in your position you would be there to hold my hands and comfort me through my despair. Let me be of service to you in that way,” Josephine muttered, leaning her upper body into her, until their foreheads touched.

Another moment passed of melancholy. Theia had wrapped her hands around Josephine’s waist, and in turn the Ambassador’s hands rested on her chest.

“Tell me you will come to me tonight. I don’t care how busy you are, bring your work. Let me watch you work with only the bedsheets to drape this body of yours. You can use my back as a hard surface to write on. I don’t care,” Theia asked, the sweetness aching in her voice.

The invitation warmed Josephine’s face, thinking of the quiet peace that would surround them if they could just fast-forward to that distinct moment, paying no mind to dinner or socialization. This interim visit could turn into an entire night of them, and they could reclaim what they had found in the mountains, keep recreating it over and over.

“Theia, until the night you leave for Adamant, you will not fall asleep alone. This I can most definitely arrange,” she smiled.

Theia’s eyes glowed with happiness that she was trying hard not to have burst forth from her body like a dozen crazed butterflies.

“Alright, but, you stick me with that quill of yours and you will be at my mercy,” she replied, biting her lip.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, surely,” Josephine nudged her nose against hers, “but if it happens, it happens.”

--

Dinner was less ceremonial than if there were visiting dignitaries to entertain. When it was simply the Inquisition, people walking between tables, grabbing food as they mingled, and there was no toast or heavy-handed ritual of entry for the Advisors or the Inquisitor herself. Theia liked these dinners best; she could be more of herself, and she was allowed to let her guard down. Whether or not she did so,

From her seat at the end of one of the banquet tables, the Inquisitor watched as the laughter and casual conversation warmed the room, and it made her less restless than she was when she was hulled up in her room, deep in thought about the upcoming siege on Adamant fortress. She had to decide which allies would be at her side, explore schematics for armor and weapon reinforcements with Dagna in time to have them crafted, see that any and all back-up plans should anything go awry were properly agreed upon. Her head was always submerged in the preparations of battle when it came time to prepare.

“Inquisitor, why do you look as though you just climbed out of a pit of demons just to find someone had stolen your last dessert pastry?” Varric’s warm and humoring voice sounded off by her left ear. Snapping herself out of her mind, she turned and smiled.

“Varric, is that a question or a testimony of guilt?” her voice ached with bittersweetness.

“You know me, I never admit to anything unless it enhances my ability to get out of an even worse mistake,” he chuckled, patting her on the shoulder with his hand. “This is the first dinner you’ve gotten to just relax, and you’re doing anything but.”

“I have a lot on my mind, and I am tired from the morning’s ride. Surely Dorian and the rest of you can make up for the absence of my poor jokes and sarcasm.”

“Honestly? That task might be more daunting than the one with the hole in the sky. Take care, Inquisitor, to take your breaks where you got ‘em,” Varric smiled and headed back to his seat. His life had made him an exceptionally qualified judge of the wits and character of women who were tasked with saving people from imminent danger.

Scanning the room, she noticed two of her Advisors were missing from the Hall. The Commander had ate and gone back to his barracks without much fuss or wasted time, which meant Leliana and Josephine were the only two remaining who hadn’t shown themselves. She had hoped it wasn’t due to anything that would inspire a lecture on safe sex or “How to Love In Time of Apocalypse 101.” But, knowing the Spymaster, it was probably just that.

--

Indeed, even with the echo the tower created, Leliana found it the most trustworthy location to invite her friend to so as to talk about private matters. They sat beside each other on the bench by her work table, the Ravens cawing and fluttering wings as they awaited their evening meals.

“So,” Leliana sat back against the wall, “you have found an exception to your many rules and regulations of behavior, no?” she had been closed off from Josephine while caring for her duties, sure, but that did not mean Leliana did not care, or that she would stand idly by while she watched her friend embark through uncharted territory.

Josephine tucked an ankle behind the other, sitting with proper posture, even as her face and shoulder softened thinking about the complexity of her situation.

“I have so many differing opinions and perspectives in my mind about what is best. First, I have my own, which says I should not jeopardize what I have worked so hard for. Then, I have words like the ones Vivienne said to me, saying to be unapologetic and unburdened by the idle minds of others. Then…”

“There’s her.”

Josephine’s lipsed pursed as she made eye contact with her. “And she is so determined and assured in this, I almost forget I am supposed to be the expert on Diplomacy and Politics.”

“There is truth to that, Josie, but you must also take into consideration just how fast she has had to learn how to maneuver and present herself. You learned through years of practice, diligence, and repetition. She has learned via the motivation to survive.”

“Then why am I here? To be a snobbish reminder that the opinions of rich nobles are more important than they actually are?”

“No, you are here because without your abilities and knowledge, we would founder. We cannot simply support the weight of military power and spies and expect all of Thedas to see us as more than a splintered group of violent rebels.”

Josephine rubbed her hands as her thoughts raced. Her eyes wandered, trying to make some sense, some kind of linear thought.

“I wrote to Mother of my...circumstance.”

“And?”

“She is curious at best, ruthlessly judgemental at worst. I defend her without fail, but even I must admit Yvette’s distaste for Mother’s critical nature is not completely unfounded.”

“Your Mother is a shrewd woman who expects her daughters to be the same. It’s not a crime to hope the girls you raise into women are courageous and independent.”

“Yes, but I have dedicated my life to honoring that commitment, and now just as I have found one thing that does not align with those goals -- or, perhaps, complicates them is more precise wording -- everything starts to go awry.”

“Josie, perhaps the Inquisitor is right, and you are running before you should walk. Pulling a muscle before the sprint is hardly wise,” Leliana sat back from the wall, resting her hands on her knees.

“I just wish something would arise, some kind of sign, then. Something that shows me I am acting in the right ways, especially after that dream I had.”

“You had the last three days happen to you and you still need a sign? Maker, Josie, no wonder she is ready to chew through wood.”

“Leliana, spare me,” Josephine put her face into her hands as she hunched over her gathered lap. “I am simply trying to do what is best for everyone involved.”

“I know all-too-well your motivations, Josephine, which is why I did some diplomatic work of my own.” Leliana stood from the bench and made her way to the tower railing. “Sera! You may come upstairs now!” she called down.

Sera, being the person whom everyone could always depend upon to make a remarkable entrance, opted out of the stairs. Instead, she swung up and over the railing, having jumped from the library railing up to the third story with ease. Josephine blinked at the abruptness of her appearance, watching the rogue elf swing a leg around the wood rails and hop onto the ground.

“Spymaster, my pleasure. Lady Josie.” she nodded to both of them, scratching the side of her hip.

Leliana couldn’t help but grin with empathy for Sera’s mischief and dexterity.

“Sera, why don’t you tell my friend here what you took great care to find out using your contacts,” Leliana gathered her hands behind her waist as she turned to look in Josephine’s direction.

“Sure, though, I gotta admit my friends are real curious now, somethin’ about women gettin’ all cuddly with other women. They were more than giddy to help,” Sera grinned, leaning back on the rail.

“Leliana, what did you and Sera do?” Josephine said curtly, rising from her seat in order to stand level with them.

“Hush, Josie, just give us a chance,” Leliana shook her head, opening the floor again for Sera. “Go ahead.”

“Nobles are all in a tizzy about who catches the Inquisitor’s eye and arse, no doubt ‘bout it. But we dropped some hints here and there, nothing dirty or...anything, about a certain diplomaty-woman catchin’ her eye. My people say that there’s no sign of trouble or hurt feelins in their ranks. We seein’ nothing too scary or concerning on our end, and our end tends to be where you get to see the Bronto’s backside of all the intrigy-stuff. Assassination plots, poison’ins, orders to spit in wine, spyin,’ that sorta stuff.”

Josephine couldn’t help but hold her breath as she did her best to make sense of what Sera was saying. When it all came together -- after about 10 seconds of critical thinking -- her attention turned to Leliana.

“So, you trial-ballooned an affair between a Diplomat and the Inquisitor to see if there would be any backlash? I should have predicted you would do something like this,” the Ambassador folded her arms.

“If you had, you would have stopped me. Sometimes it is useful to be overlooked; besides, it is my trade to go undetected,” Leliana grinned out the side of her mouth with smug accomplishment.

“This is simply a select few rumors, though. More than triple the amount are sifted through before midday in Val Royeaux. We both know everyone gossips about the many possible suitors the Inquisitor may have, such discourse is fleeting and intemperate.”

“Yes, but you may use that to your advantage. But, I would advise a more confident approach than hiding behind the ebb and flow of Court gossip. Use your abilities to your advantage -- what do you do best? You arrange and strike accords.”

Sera couldn’t help but be slightly perturbed at the nausea of aristocratic talk.

“Josie -- if I could call ya that for a second -- Josie, listen. You got your head so far up in the crust of the pie you don’t see how the dish gets baked. The people like it when they see their own selves in you people with all the power and riches and...whatever it is you spend your time playin’ ‘round with.”

“Sera is right -- if you reinforce your play.”

Josephine found herself amused underneath the tension of the situation, seeing Leliana and Sera working together, seeming to converse across two separate dialects.

“Alright, alright, I see what you are trying to get across. Thank you Sera, for taking the time.”

“It’s all good, Ambassy-der. Any time gals need help gettin’ together, my bow is ready,” she chirped back. She then nodded a farewell to the Spymaster, before grabbing at the railing and hopping over.

From below, a very unnerved Solas could be heard asking -- in a tone that said it had not been the first time -- to use the stairs. Then, a giggle that quickly grew more distant, as Sera made her exit.

“Leliana, I must say, I am surprised that you would be so forthcoming in your encouragement of this...relationship. I thought you’d sooner see one of my suitors hung off from a banner pole than nudge them closer in my direction. Tell me, have you taken a page from Seeker Pentaghast’s novels?” a smile on Lady Montilyet’s face grew as she teased.

“Josie, I am fiercely defensive of you. But, I can also see how this makes you happy. Perhaps I see it more than you do at times,” Leliana stepped closer now. “I have discussed this with the Inquisitor, but, I wish for you to know it is possible to love someone in these times of great peril. It may not always feel that way, but it is true. I trust you to be smart and decisive enough to do what must be done, otherwise, I would not have invited you to join us here as an Advisor.”

“You asked me here to be a Diplomat, not to entrench my personal affairs at the heart of a historical force for peace.”

“Yes, and the Hero of Fereldan was tasked with ending a Blight and defeating an archdemon, and must now find a way to survive that which comes for all Wardens with absolution. I still expect letters from her, as she does from me. I still trust her love, as she does mine.”

“Yes, but I am not you. I am not a woman hardened by war, savvy with such matters. I have so little to share in her experience besides intelligence and compassion.”

“Do not even think of that, Josie. I have watched your eyes turn dark with tenacity as you’ve defended that which is most important to you. You may not shoot an arrow or wield a sword, or cast magic, but you are powerful and formidable beyond question. Is that why you have held back so much from this? You fear she will distance herself from you?”

“No. Yes. Maybe--Agh!” Josephine began to pace, rubbing the back of her head with anxiety.

“Maker, Josie, is there nothing you will not let get in the way?”

“It is not that I am meaning for it to happen, Leliana. Nothing would make life easier for me than to simply forget all of these intricacies and inferences and simply be at her side, simple-minded and careless. You must understand that I am configuring with both my nerves as an Ambassador and as a woman who is unfamiliar with such fervent feelings.”

“I see.” Leliana stood by her side, her face softening with compassion.

“Yes. So, forgive me of your heroic tales of love on the front lines do very little to assuage me. It is not that I do not appreciate it, it is that I do not see myself in the reflection of such experiences. And...I fear that she will stop seeing me in the reflection of her own journey, her own histories. Where does that leave me, then?”

Leliana looked away, trying to avoid Josephine’s discerning stare as she compiled her thoughts. Clearly, her friend had been spinning about this to the point of emotional exhaustion. It was a wonder how she hid it so well -- well, it was Josephine. That would be an answer enough.

“Josephine,” Leliana spoke her full name now, “If you do not go for it, you will never truly know. All you will be left with is the certainty of both of you moving on, and that reflection of yours will indeed dissipate. I know you have an adoration for certainties, but, is that one you really want?”

Josephine’s chin lowered as she gazed into the void. The question was a good one, for it feeling so obvious.

“Thank you for talking me through this, Leliana. I will take care to contemplate all the information you have so generously cultivated for me.”

Dinner was awaiting them. And, after that, a certain woman would await her.