#also i think my funny little space elf should be allowed to have TWO swords

[realwizardshit]

kind of a little bit want to start playing star trek online again............ wonder if they ever made the 3rd person combat any better

[w-h-4-t]

Random DAI Drabble: She’s Doing What?...Again?

Pairing: Female Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet

All I’m gon say is I had fun writing my idiot OC Qunari Elf Inquisitor into a silly situation.  

Headcannon: Josephine and Leliana are the older sisters that torment their little brother Cullen.

I saw the Andrastini video of Like a Prayer and I just couldn’t help myself. It’s the best shit I’ve seen all month. 

The Drabbles also live here, on A03

****

The Inquisitor was not normal. Everyone had been given time to acclimatize to her behavior; Sera number 2 as people often called her. There were obvious ways in which they differed, of course. First of all, the Inquisitor wasn’t as disrespectful. Secondly, Harel could do something Sera wished she could, but couldn’t.

The Advisors, called to a War Meeting once again, filed into the broken hallway, dodging the cold breeze that filtered through the crumbling wall. Josephine and Leliana stood closely together, discussing some matter of politics or shared task.

Cullen, on the other hand, remained as quiet as usual, his hand passing nervously over his hair to ensure the curls were at maximum stylishness. A dollop of pomade would continue to be the theory he told everyone. A smirk lit the normally serious Commanders face. None shall know his hairstyling secrets. 

And from its place on his head, Cullen’s hand flew down to his sword pommel as a loud thump came from the War Room. Leliana didn’t let his jumpiness slip.

 “Well, I am certainly glad we have a brave knight here to slay the dreaded door,” she quipped, causing Josephine to hide a giggle beneath her hand.

 Much like a Mabari’s ears flatten at being scolded, so too did Cullen’s expression turn. He began sputtering, trying to get the attention off of him but alas, he failed.

 “Oh, brave knight,” Josephine started, trying her best not to let the laughter overcome her, “M-may I gift upon you, a favor, should you slay the table destroying our precious farmla-” she had withdrawn a handkerchief from her pocket, only to falter her speech midway, finally doubling over slightly in laughter, using the cloth to suppress her giggles.

 “You two are...tch.” the Commander tuts, his face sullen as he’s lovingly picked on by the two Advisors.

 Another thump comes from the War Room. 

 Cullen’s dour expression turns, lighting up in wary curiosity, “I’m not just hearing things? Am I?” he says, his brows furrowing, “There’s something going on in there,” he moves to draw his sword, “The Inquisitor could be in trouble.”

Leliana is as quick as her sharp eyes are perceptive, grabbing Cullen’s hand before it scrapes against its scabbard, “There is no need,” she says with a playful smile, “Our Inquisitor is more than fine.”

 The three stand outside the War Room as another thump comes from within, followed by two more and a string of Elvhen curses.

 “Perfectly fine,” Leliana repeats, her hand moving from the Commanders to press lightly against the door.

 Josephine, in all her inquisitive splendor, couldn’t help but be dreadfully curious as to what was happening in the War Room, something Leliana had yet to speak of. 

 Harel was not the secretive type, her love was an open book and Josephine, a prolific reader. Even so, everyone had the right to bear their little unspoken things, regardless of how painfully interesting they may be. 

 And as data collection was one of her more minor duties, Josephine still felt the urge to know things pressing her with a near pummeling force.

 “Leli,” Josephine says, leaning into the Spymaster, “What is she doing?”

 Instead of speaking, Leliana puts a finger up to her lips, her blue eyes alight with mischief, a memory of a younger, impish Orlesian came blasting through the cold shell of the current Spymaster.

 From behind the pair, the slight shuffle of armor makes itself known, causing both ladies to turn in synchronicity to give an incredulous look to the Commander. He stares like a pup, eyes big with interest as he tries his best to lessen the clinking metal.

 Leliana silently beckons him forward, her eyes wide in exasperation as he takes a few steps forward, a few loud steps. He huddles in closely, far closer than he’s ever been to the ladies and focuses his attention to the seam of the door as Leliana pushes it open.

  Through the small crack, they can all see Harel, in the space the Advisors normally stood, spinning like an out-of-control top. The window was open and the faintest sounds of music from the tavern could be heard. The Qunari elf leapt around, a thump following her landing as she danced in reckless abandon. Her style was an odd combination of lustful Rivaini swaying and formless, laughable Ferelden jigs. 

 Cullen sputtered, causing a gloved hand and a tawny hand to clap over his mouth in alarm. 

 Harel remained unperturbed as she hopped around the War Room like a Halla in heat, her hips moving, arms flailing, eyes closed, lips parted singing softly. Josephine’s eyes go wide as the horned woman bends forward, lashing her braid in a full circle before her hips follow the movement. 

 Maker’s bloody breath.

 Sweat begins to shine on her grey skin, her forehead slick and white hair, damp. She gets up on her tiptoes before completing yet another few spins, bending forward to the area where Josephine would be, her hand outstretched.

“Would you have this dance, My Lady?” Harel whispers before her face scrunches in confusion, “Wait no, will you dance with me? Would you have to dance? Fuckin’ common tongue.” 

 And at once, to everyone’s surprise, she begins a ballroom dance, her moves matching the beat of the tavern music as she holds her invisible dance partner. She sweeps around the 'ballroom' and Cullen tries, he really tries, not to laugh. 

 It’s helped by the fact there were still two hands over his mouth.  

 “Dearest Josephine, you are a splendid dancer,” the Qunari elf speaks into the air, “Ah yes, Wycome indeed robbed me of fuckin’ class but I can still move!”

 There’s a poorly hidden smile on Josephine’s face as she watches Harel spin around, her cheeks alight with a flush as she tried to suppress a small laugh. What a funny little soul her Herald was. 

 He’s intrigued, the Honnleath man, as he leans in to try and see better.

 This causes the door to open wide, a resounding creak echoing through the War Room. Not that anyone heard the squeaking hinges over the sound of Leliana and Josephine groaning and chastising Cullen. 

 All the lustrous grey faded from Harel’s skin as she let her arms drop at once; her skin ashen in embarrassment. 

“S-shanedan, my Antaam,” she sputters, trying to change the subject, “That means hi and body like a group of warriors…” she stands straight, moving quickly from her place at the War Table, “I mean, we have a Ben-Hassrath and an Ashkaari but no one needs…”

 Harel sighs as she looks away, green eyes stuck to the floor as the Advisors walk in, “How much did you see?”

 “Oh,” Josephine says with a smile, walking forward quickly, her hand coming up to brush against Harel’s shoulder, “We only just arrived.”

 “She’s lying.” Leliana said mid-cough, “We saw everything,” again poorly disguised behind a few coughs, “Who said that?” she finishes, feigning ignorance as she walks towards her usual spot. 

 Harel’s face immediately scrunches up in embarrassment, her face for once, another colour, reddening as much as her grey skin would allow. 

 “Quite a skill you've got there, Inquisitor,” Cullen mutters as he walks past her, patting her shoulder before trundling off to his spot.

 “Will you shut your fuck? Hmmmm????” Harel retorts, her eyes wide and lips pressed into a thin line.

 “Now Harel, my love, my darling little Halla,” Josephine speak just a little too sweetly, “There is absolutely nothing wrong with dancing alone,” her hand is still light in its touch, avoiding the droplets of sweat, “It is a perfectly acceptable means of expressing oneself, something you have done with… an...enviable...amount of energy.”

 Harel’s ears flatten as her mood sours just a little, “Love the way you took a pause there, Josie,” the Qunari elf crosses her arms, ignoring the music from the window, “Real show of support you are.”

 Josephine pulls the Inquisitor’s shoulder just a little, beckoning her to walk in tandem. There’s a small pout from the Antivan which shakes Harel’s bad mood just a little.

 “If you wanted to dance with me, you could always ask,” she brings up a tawny hand to pinch Harel’s cheek, “I am certainly agreeable to it. Remember Halamshiral?” the pinch turns into a soft patting, “I would have no qualms.”

 The embarrassed elf thinks, her eyes darting all over the War Room before she steps away from Josephine, spinning away before she stops, wobbling slightly, her hand outstretched, “Dance with me, Lady Montilyet?”

 A small laugh escapes Josephine as she slips her hand into Harel’s; the Qunari elf immediately presses their bodies together far closer than a waltz or a public event would allow.

 “I suppose the reports can wait,” Cullen says quietly to Leliana as he watches the pair spin around the War Room, his eyes flicking to the map,” Did you know Lake Calenhad looks like a bunny?”

 The Spymaster gives a hum of approval as she watches Harel sloppily and quickly dance with the Ambassador, bracing her legs to the ground before lifting her up in one quick motion. Harel spins her, carefully, laughing the whole time while Josephine latched onto the odd half-breed, ignoring the sweat pouring off the Inquisitor. 

 “This would make it the fifth time I’ve caught her doing this,” Leliana whispers to Cullen as Josephine begs to be put down, “You’d think by now she’d choose somewhere other than the War Room to do this.”

 The Advisors watch as Josephine is placed down with care, encircled in Harel’s arms as she tries to regain her balance, listing to the side ever so slightly; her hair in a right mess. 

 “I don’t know,” Cullen starts, a smile on his face, “I think this room could benefit from a little Rivani dancing.”

 Leliana doesn’t respond at first, a small huff of laughter escaping from beneath her hood. She steps to the side, elbowing Cullen a little, drawing a small exclamation from the Commander that’s drowned under Josephine’s and Harel’s joyous banter.

 “Don’t be a lecher.”

[kaoruyogi]

How to Win Wars and Influence Nobles (Ch. 3)

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content! (Eventually)

Check it out on AO3!

You’d think a video game lawyer could just drop into a pseudo-medieval universe filled with magic and demons and be totally okay with it, right?

Nah.

In the wake of her brother, Spencer’s, disappearance, Belle dropped into Thedas with luggage, but without a clue. After a brief but memorable panic attack, she resolved to be the best goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. Even if she was the only goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. And even if that obstinate asshole, Cullen, wouldn’t stop giving her the side-eye every time she walked into a room…Or every time he walked into a room with her in it…Or every time they walked into a room together…Or–Fuck it. You get it.

Chapter 3: The Whole Fucking Time

Belle was nervous. Not pee-your-pants nervous, but twist-your-gut, nauseous nervous. If the Inquisitor didn’t believe her, or if he didn’t like her from what she’d heard, she’d be tossed out of Skyhold on her ear. A stranger in a strange land. Worse, really. A stranger in a strange dimension. She would be left to fend for herself in a world she’d only had five days about which to educate herself.

She stood still anyway, waiting on a landing on the stairs in front of the main hall. Josephine stood beside her. The Antivan woman’s presence was galvanizing, in a way. She’d been sweet and welcoming from the start, never doubting the veracity of Belle’s story. At least, not outwardly.

Not like Cullen. That man was as outward as they came. Belle wondered if he’d ever in his life had a secret emotion, or if he had ever smiled, for that matter. He was so dour, even after startling her half to death in the kitchen two nights before. He still frowned and glowered and scowled at her as they waited for the Inquisitor’s arrival through Skyhold’s gates.

Cullen was detoxing. She could tell the moment she got close to him that night. He had a heavy sheen of sweat over him that made his face glisten and dampened his tunic. He was up in the dead center of the night while both moons—this place had two fucking moons—were high in the sky. His breathing alternated from deep to shallow in irregular increments, and his eyes held a kind of thick wateriness that shined over pupils that refused to stay one size, but were too large. He stared at her too intensely to be having a migraine and stood too straight to be suffering from the flu. So she settled on withdrawal.

Belle had seen it enough. People who were brought into the station jail for DUI or possession with intent to sell or burglary sweated and panted and woke screaming. Their pupils would be all manner of fucked up while they waited in the lobby for their property, calling her on the counter phone enough times to make her go out to tell them to sit down before they got arrested a second time. Most of them were squirrellier than Cullen, though. His stillness was rather remarkable, if she was honest.

A cheer rolled up from the small crowd gathered by the massive gate, and Belle’s gut rolled up in answer. Why had thinking about Cullen distracted her so? She barely had time to see the Inquisitor ride into Skyhold, waving and smiling to his adoring welcoming committee while the staff strapped to his back swayed to the beat of his horse’s footfalls.

He was a handsome man in the way her brother was a handsome man. He reminded her a lot of Spencer, really. They had the same tawny skin, similar builds, and haircuts that were so alike it was unsettling. But Spencer’s smile was either subtle or tremendous. He had no in-betweens or moderation. The Inquisitor bore a middling smile as he rode in, trained and just toothy enough to make it seem like he wasn’t as tired as he was. The sag of his eyes and the slight slump of his shoulders gave that away.

Belle’s heart ached for a moment at the loss of her brother. Even if he came back home, she would be gone. She had no idea for how long. It might have been forever. The cheery, unfiltered dwarf in the basement with the missing wall and huge waterfall had no clue either. At least she was funny.

Riding in behind the Inquisitor, Belle’s eyes catalogued a beautiful, stern-faced woman, an ethereal looking young man wearing an enormous hat, and an aloof elf with a bald head that resembled an egg. A group of soldiers marched in after them, bedraggled and proud. Their shoulders slouched only as much as their armor would allow. They walked at a steady and calculated pace they no doubt counted off in their heads from time to time. One, two, one, two, one, two, one, t—

Spencer. That tremendous grin that made people fawn over him beamed out from the ranks of those exhausted soldiers. He was tired, but bore an extra spring in his step.

Belle stared at him so hard she thought her eyes might fly out of her skull to see him up close. Her hands trembled at her sides. Her body knew it was him, despite her brain’s screaming logic that no, it couldn’t be. How could he also be in Thedas? What were the odds?

Her lips formed the nickname she’d called him since they were kids. “P.”

Josephine said something about not hearing her, so she whispered it again. “P.” She couldn’t believe she was saying it. She couldn’t believe he was there. Right there. Marching along with a group of soldiers like he’d never vanished off the face of the earth.

“What?” Josephine asked.

Belle could contain herself no longer. She knew it was him. There was no mistaking her baby brother. Her blood. She called his name as much to placate the advisors as to tell him she was there. They were both there. “Spencer!”

That too-big smile dropped and her little brother’s head lifted up, his eyes flitting about, seeking the voice he knew in his bones. Belle was bright enough to stand out. She always was. Her red hair and bleach white skin glowed under the afternoon sun. She lifted her arm anyway, calling out to him a second time even louder, if that was possible.

He froze when his blue eyes landed on her. A young woman marching behind him couldn’t stop counting her steps and collided with his shoulder instead of avoiding him. He didn’t look at her, though. His eyes were locked on his sister. Disbelief adorned his features in the same way Belle imagined it must have colored hers. Spencer stepped out of the rank and file just enough for them to pass by him. He said her nickname. She couldn’t hear it, but she knew he said it. “Bete.”

Belle wasn’t sure when she’d started running down the stairs. She might not have noticed she was if she hadn’t almost nerfed it near the bottom of the steps. All she knew was that her brother was closer every time she blinked. Her eyes and nostrils burned, her throat pressed in on itself. Tears were pouring out. They must have been. There was a coolness across her cheeks she should not have felt. She failed to give even one shit.

Everything hurt when their bodies slammed together. Spencer was coated in armor from head to toe. It pinched and pressed into her fleshy bits. She still didn’t care. They squeezed each other so tight she wondered if she might dent the metal.

She knew she’d gone full ugly cry. Her lips had twisted into a grotesque grimace, her eyes were pinched mostly shut, and her nose leaked its viscous nastiness. It was the kind of cry that would ruin even the most expensive waterproof mascara. Ruin a whole face of makeup, really. Thank God she wasn’t wearing any. Noisy, compressed sobs exploded out of her chest, and they got worse when she felt Spencer’s body shuddering against her. Her shoulder was wet from his tears, as was his, she was sure.

“Oh my God, Belle, oh my God. Oh God you found me. Oh God I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too, P.” Her voice came out in a series of high pitched squeaks. “I found you. I can’t believe I found you. Don’t you ever disappear on me again. Don’t you ever.”

Spencer sniffled and let out a weak laugh against her shoulder. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

Belle pulled back just enough to look at his face. He’d been getting so much sun. His skin had soaked up a deep tan so different from when he’d been stuck on the night shift at the station house. A layer of blackish-brown dirt coated his face and settled in all the creases. His tears mapped clean trails down his cheeks through the grime. His eyes glistened like a fast moving river, clear and cool. His lips were dry and a little cracked, she could tell even when he smiled at her.

“Have you been here the whole fucking time?” Belle felt herself laugh when she said it. It was a laugh she couldn’t hold down. It bubbled out of her in a manifestation of her joy and relief, effervescent as a hot spring or a bottle of champagne. It didn’t matter that she was crying.

“Yeah.” He sort of smeared his hand through her hair to look at her. She hated it when he did that. But she was still having trouble caring. “This thing opened up in the foothills while I was running and grabbed me.”

“A rift-wormhole thing? All green and weird?”

“Yeah. You too?” Spencer asked. Belle could only nod. “Shit. I had no idea space-time anomalies like that were a thing.”

“I’m still not sure they are. Where did you come out?” She wiped her finger under her nose. So gross.

“At the Temple of Sacred Ashes a little ways down the mountains.”

“They told me that’s where I came out, too. Then what?”

“I was all fucked up and confused, and this weird demon thing cut up my chest pretty good before the Commander found me,” Spencer said. “He saved me and put me to work with a sword and shield after I got healed. Hey, did you know they have fucking magic here?”

Belle chuckled through her tears. “Yeah, I’m making friends with a couple mages here. They’re teaching me stuff about Thedosian—” she enunciated the word carefully, “—magic and politics. A lot of weird shit is going on. And I think I may have volunteered myself to be the Inquisition’s attorney.” They shared a strange look and a watery laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I got busted up when I landed, and I’ve been knocked around a little here and there. But they have these kickass healing potions and stuff here, so everything’s been alright. I’ve been looking-a-like—look-a-liking? I’ve been a look-a-like for the Inquisitor. He’s a pretty chill guy, y’know.”

“Oh, he’s fucking ‘chill,’ huh?” Belle hugged her brother close again. “He fucking better be. Otherwise we’re in big goddamn trouble.” She squeezed him tighter. “I love you. And I missed you, bruder.”

“Same here, schwester.” Silly Yiddish sibling endearments they’d picked up from their parents.

“How do you two know each other?” a woman’s deep and accented voice asked.

Belle turned just enough to see the dark-haired, stern-faced woman staring at them. Walnut eyes burned suspicion into Belle like a branding iron. The hard woman bore a deep and old scar on her cheek. The firm set of her jaw suited her somewhat angular features, and chiseled cheekbones made her dubiousness beautiful. This must have been Cassandra.

The Seeker’s stare was as analytical as it was aggressive. It was an expression Belle was becoming far too accustomed to seeing. Everyone had been looking at her like that for days. Trying to figure her out. She understood, to a point. Her unconscious body and belongings had, after all, come falling through a hole that ordinarily spewed out demons—this place also had fucking demons.

It seemed Belle had been looking back in silence for too long. Cullen stepped in behind the Seeker and barked at Spencer. “Recruit Dolan!”

To Belle’s shock, Spencer ripped himself from her arms. He stood at attention and thumped his fist on his chest in salute like a good little indoctrinated soldier. It was worrisome. “Yes, Commander?”

“You heard Seeker Cassandra’s question. How do you know this woman?” The way Cullen said “woman” made Belle want to hit him. The way he said a lot of things made Belle want to hit him.

“He’s my little brother,” she said before Spencer could answer. She sniffled and wiped away what was left of their tearful reunion with the heel of her hand.

She watched with no small amount of amusement as confusion washed over everyone in view. It always had, even back home. Looks were exchanged, and eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, seeking some form of similarity in their faces. There wasn’t any.

Another male voice piped up behind her. “This is your sister, Dolan?”

Belle looked over her shoulder without turning her body. The voice belonged to the Inquisitor. He stood with his arms folded across his robed chest. A half smile played about his lips.

“She is, Inquisitor,” said Spencer.

The young man rounded them, taking a position beside the Seeker. He was a few years older than Spencer, Belle noticed now that he was closer. Slim lines had formed on his forehead from what may have been either persistent skepticism or persistent amusement. Still, he couldn’t have been any older than her.

“You realize that’s rather hard to believe on sight, don’t you?” the Inquisitor asked.

“He looks more like his mother, and I look more like our father. His mother is also a different race than mine was,” Belle said, inserting herself again into the conversation. She should not have been left out of it in the first place.

“Was she an elf or Qunari or something?”

Belle and Spencer snorted in unison. She’d met a Qunari in the tavern, Iron Bull. He was a friend of the Inquisitor’s, and looked exactly like his namesake. He was massive and horned with one eye. He was also one of the first people to greet her with any sort of warmth. He was crass and lewd, and she loved it. He reminded her of some of the cops she used to work with. She didn’t even mind when he propositioned her. She’d been a little flattered, though she was fairly certain that his proclivities were pretty expansive. Despite her curiosity about…things, she turned him down.

It seemed ludicrous, in any case, that Spencer could have been half that. “Race doesn’t mean the same thing here as it does where we come from. Spencer’s mom came from a different part of the world, but she was still human. We’re all humans there. It’s just that my mom was from a paler place and his was from Israel. Kind of like your Rivain from what I’ve read and seen in my five days here.”

The Inquisitor hummed. “But you have the same father?”

“Mmhmm.”

He looked at them again and shrugged, the tilted grin returning to his face. “Alright then.” He reached for Belle’s hand and introduced himself. “Maxim Trevelyan. But please call me Max. And for the love of the Maker, please don’t call me Inquisitor.”

Ha. Another Max. This Max was very different from her paralegal, though. She shook his hand and smiled, grateful for the strange familiarity. “Belle Dolan. It’s lovely to meet you Max.”

“You are too trusting, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said. She and Cullen must get along just swimmingly, Belle thought.

“I’m not suggesting we just bring her into the war room and put her to work without asking them both some questions. I’m just accepting that she and Spencer are siblings. Relax, Cassandra.”

The dark-haired Seeker made a disgusted noise that sounded like “ech.” Josephine and Leliana approached with soft footsteps. Josephine laid a delicate hand on Max’s forearm, and Belle could see something between them in the way he looked back at her.

“Perhaps we might begin asking those questions now, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, “if you are feeling up to it.” The sweetness in her tone made Belle want to reach out and hug her.

Max’s half smile turned into a whole one as he looked at his ambassador. “An excellent idea, Josephine.”

The lot of them—Max, Spencer, Belle, Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen—started up the stairs into the main hall. Max beckoned to the bald elf to follow along. Solas, Belle heard him called around Skyhold. He nodded and joined in behind them. They passed through several doors before reaching a midsized room with two windows, a long table, and chairs. It reminded Belle of a conference room. If Belle and Spencer made it through this, she would have to remember where this room was. It was perfect for negotiations. It was sparse, and could remain so for a potentially hostile party. She could also set it up to be more inviting for a friendly negotiation. She chided herself for slipping back into lawyer mode while her actual life was on the line.

Everyone took their seats around the table, with Belle making certain to sit next to her brother. She had not slipped across dimensions to find him only to be parted by something as silly as a conference table. He nudged her with his still-armored shoulder and smiled. She realized she’d had a severe expression on her face and tried to relax her mouth. She wondered if Spencer understood their state of peril. He was smart, but he was still young. He may have been a first responder, but the severity of a situation could often escape his attention. He didn’t have the life experience to fear for his own life like she feared for it.

Questions came in waves from everyone at the table. Belle and Spencer told those present about their lives before being pulled into Thedas. They talked about her mother’s death in a car crash when she was on the way to pick Belle up from kindergarten. They talked about their only semi-religious father’s journey to a temple bereavement group where he met Spencer’s mother, who was mourning the loss of a friend. They talked about Belle “choosing” a different baby brother when her uncle held her up to the window in the neonatal unit. They talked about broken bones and sports and college and career choices. They talked about themselves until the sun set on Skyhold.

Then the questions about Thedas began. “What are your opinions on the Circle of Magi?” Max asked.

Spencer answered first. “Honestly, I haven’t been around that stuff for long enough to have formulated an opinion.” A diplomatic answer, if a bit flippant in his choice of words.

Max looked at Belle, an expert in the diplomatic answer. “Well, from what I understand of the Circle, it seems like a massive human rights violation.” This was not a diplomatic answer. There was a diplomatic answer to the question, but it would have been a lie. Lies would not save her or her brother.

“What do you mean by that?” Cullen asked, his fur having been ruffled by Belle’s response. His fist clenched tight in his leather glove.

“I mean,” she said, glaring at him, “that indefinite imprisonment without a trial, alone, is a violation of a person’s rights. That’s not even considering mass summary execution and lobotomization. That an entire culture of people in multiple nations seemed to accept this as an unquestionable fact of life until recently is baffling to me. And, frankly, nauseating.”

That leather glove creaked. That clenched fist trembled. Cullen looked like he wanted to hurl himself across the table and throttle her. Alternatively, he looked like he was trying not to vomit. “The Circle may not be a perfect solution but—”

“It’s not even a good solution, Cullen,” said Max, cutting the Commander’s statement off at the knees. It was the first time Belle had seen Max angry. “You and I have both experienced the Circle and the terrible things that happen there. You didn’t leave the Order because you felt good about what they were doing, and I didn’t free the mages because I thought we were all just fine under the Chantry’s thumb. I appreciate Belle’s candor on the matter, and happen to agree.”

Belle wished she could have enjoyed watching Cullen get shut down. But a look of profound shame drew his eyes down and away from everyone. They seemed unfocused, like he was remembering something that made him swallow hard. What Max said had touched a sensitive nerve. Perhaps it had dredged up a painful memory. Whatever it was, Cullen had been silenced, and Belle felt a pang of empathy and guilt at his sudden retreat.

The questioning continued for some time. Questions about Corypheus—the bad guy in this scenario, as far as Belle could tell—questions from Solas about what might have caused the rifts that swallowed and transported the siblings—he blustered and speculated, but he had no clue—and questions about their capabilities to be of continued use to the Inquisition. Hours passed, and Belle started to feel the immediate danger to their lives lift and fade away. She mused to herself then that this was the longest job interview she’d ever undergone. The day had long since shifted itself deep into night when everyone decided to wrap up. About fucking time.

“I can’t see any reason why these two shouldn’t be allowed to stay and work for the Inquisition,” said Max. “Can any of you?”

Silent heads shook, and Cassandra said, “I have not heard any lies from either of them, and it seems their interests align with ours.” She added, “For now.”

Cullen remained still and reticent throughout the exchange, though his eyes were once more focused on Belle.

“Excellent,” Max said. His cheerful demeanor belied the exhaustion apparent in his tone. “Then I’m going to declare, or whatever it is that I’m supposed to do at times like this, that Spencer and Belle Dolan may remain with the Inquisition. Spencer will continue his duties under Cullen and in my personal guard, and Belle will begin her diplomatic work with Josephine as soon as both ladies deem it feasible.” He stood. “I further declare that I am going to bed. I will see you all in the morning. Or maybe the afternoon.”

Belle liked Max. She saw reflections of herself in him. She hoped that she would enjoy working with him for however long she was stuck in Thedas. It couldn’t be for too long, though.

Everyone began filing out of the room behind him. Belle stopped Spencer and said, in a hushed voice, “I can’t stay here for as long as they seem to think we’ll be here. We have to go home. I’m going to fucking die here.”

Spencer shook his head, a confused look on his face. “What are you talking about? The Inquisitor just said we were safe and could stay.”

“I know you’re the picture of health, P, but think for a second. I’m not a healthy person, and I have exactly thirty-three days until I run out of my GI meds. Thirty-four until my inhalers run out. And thirty-fucking-two until I run out of painkillers for the shit this place is doing to my neck, back, and migraines.”

“But no one knows how to get us home,” Spencer said. “We have to make do here until they figure it out. Maybe you should see the healers.”

“Or maybe we should push the efforts to get us home and put some pressure on people to focus on it. If herbs worked for this stuff, people wouldn’t have needed to invent powerful chemicals to help me breathe and not vomit every time I ate or rolled on my right side.” Belle was reaching. She knew she was. She was scared. She knew she shouldn’t have been putting it on her brother. It hadn’t stopped her.

He looked worried, and she felt instant remorse at having said any of it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. I’ll go see the healers soon. Are you going to stay with me tonight? I have a whole tower to myself.” She was asking more for herself than for him.

Spencer eyed her for a moment before answering. “Nah, I’m going to head back to the barracks. I don’t need anyone seeing me any differently. It’s better for the unit if we all stay together.”

“Okay, but we’ll talk tomorrow, alright?”

He nodded, and she hugged him tight. He didn’t need her hovering over him, but she wasn’t going to lose him ever again now that she’d found him. Never again. “Night, bruder,” she said into his hair.

“Night, schwester.”

Belle hung back when Spencer left. She just needed to take a few deep breaths before she walked out where anyone else could see her. It had been an emotionally taxing day, and she didn’t want to cry in front of anyone. Nor did she want to make it obvious she had been crying with her nose and eyes getting all red and raw. She stared at the candlelit wooden door, watching the vague outline of her shadow flicker over the oaky grain. She inhaled slowly, counting to four as she did. She held her breath in her lungs, counting to five. She let it out, counting to six. The jumble that was her mind eased with every second.

She was about to repeat the process when a large hand pressed on her bicep. Belle spun and gasped, and hissed out a “Shit!” when she saw who touched her. Cullen stood there with an unreadable expression on his face. She hadn’t noticed that he never followed everyone else out. Bad situational awareness on her part. He’d been silent as she’d shared murmured words with her brother. He’d waited until they were alone to approach her.

Perhaps she should have been worried about his intentions. He had, however, numerous opportunities to hurt or kill her if he wanted. Instead, she suspected he wanted to discuss what she said to him two nights before.

He was silent for several beats before he found his voice. “What did you mean when you said ‘detox’ before?” He spoke low and with a hint of uncertainty. Just a hint.

“It means detoxification. The process of chemicals or toxins leaving the body, usually alcohol or narcotics,” she said. Cullen looked a touch confused. “Withdrawal. When you stop taking something you’ve been taking for a long time.”

Recognition passed across his face, along with a flash of what might have been terror. The second vanished as quick as it came, making Belle question whether she had imagined it. He said nothing. He just stared at her. His lips parted twice, as if he was about to speak but decided against it.

“What were you taking?” asked Belle, breaking the laden silence that hung between them.

Cullen hesitated. Long seconds passed before his answer. “Lyrium,” he said, like it was a secret disgrace.

“Max said you left the Order, and a few people around here have mentioned you used to be a Templar. Did that have anything to do with this?” Belle hadn’t gotten the chance to read enough about the specifics of being a Templar, only what they did in the Circle and the reasons they opposed the mages.

“It did.”

“And I can only assume, because you waited until everyone else left, that they don’t know you’ve stopped taking this stuff.”

“Cassandra is aware. But the Inquisitor…” He hesitated again, no doubt wondering if he should have said anything at all. “I have not yet told him.”

Belle sighed through her nose. “That’s less than optimal. I have no plan to tell him, though, if that’s your concern. But you should, especially if this can negatively impact your work.”

Cullen seemed offended by an insinuation she hadn’t made. “It has yet to.” He was getting hostile with her, as he was wont to do.

She could feel her irritation boiling just below the surface. “Great. Good for you.” Maybe a little closer to the surface than she thought.

His brow furrowed. Deep lines formed there, made deeper by years of similar angry expressions. He didn’t say anything. He just scowled and stared.

“Great, well I’m going to bed. I’ve had a rather trying day. I just found out my brother, who I thought was dead, has been alive and under your impaired command for the past three months. So, pardon me while I go try to digest that information. Oh, but only once I’ve climbed that godforsaken ladder. You have a fan-fucking-tastic evening.”

Belle turned from him and pulled the door open so hard she almost wrenched her shoulder. Obstinate son of a bitch, she thought.

“Asshole,” she said.

*****