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partystoragechest · 6 months ago

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A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, the Ladies say their farewells. But--

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 2,750. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 44: Not Over Yet

Despite their late night, the Ladies were duty-bound to wake early. Lady Samient was to leave before the sun rose. They all had to be there to see her off.

They gathered in the courtyard, the first rays of light creeping over the mountains. It would be that light which would guide her retinue—no more than a dozen troops, for small was discreet—to the Free Marches.

“Do you think Vichy will be glad to see me, looking like this?” Samient asked, of the Inquisition armour she wore—identical to that of the soldiers who lingered nearby.

“I think it shan’t matter what you wear,” said Trevelyan, “he will simply be happy it’s you.”

“And at least you shall be matching,” Lady Erridge teased.

Samient laughed, the joke causing her to settle somewhat. Trevelyan had never seen her Ladyship quite so nervous as this. It was a shame she would miss the reunion, for she so wished to know what Samient was like in the presence of her lover. What a happy, silly mess she might be!

“Do not worry about your father,” the Baroness reassured her. “Lady Montilyet and I shall deal with all that. You focus upon the journey home.”

Samient nodded. “Thank you.”

A Captain shouted out orders, drawing attention to the retinue as it shifted into formation. The time was nigh. Samient brought her hair up, and tied it into a bun atop her head. Her ears exposed, she ran a finger over the very tips—pointed and proud.

“Shame they’ll have to go straight back under a helm,” she muttered.

“Though not for much longer,” Trevelyand reminded her.

Samient smiled. “And never again after that.”

Such preparations did not go unnoticed, for her Dalish liaison—a young Elven man called Loranil—took the opportunity to hurry up, and report in. “Your Ladyship,” he said, “we’re ready to march.”

“I suppose I should make my way, then,” Samient mumbled. She sighed, and stared at the Ladies. “I, um… I don’t know what to say...”

“Oh, come here!” Lady Erridge cried. She threw her arms around Samient, smothering her with a hug. “Come on, you two!”

Trevelyan and the Baroness joined her, for Lady Erridge had the right of it. No words were necessary. Their embrace said it all. It was a promise of unflinching devotion, no matter how far apart.

“We love you,” whispered Erridge.

“I know.” Samient sniffled back tears. “I love you too.”

“Have a safe journey,” Trevelyan said.

“And write as soon as you can,” the Baroness added. “Tell us everything of your Clan.”

Samient parted. “I will. I will.” Taking a deep breath, she managed to say it. That inevitable word. “Farewell, all of you. I love you. Be happy. Please.”

Though they longed to keep her, and though she longed to stay, forever was impossible. But, in an attempt to delay its end, the Ladies remained, and would wait until Lady Samient was truly gone.

No, Giles. She wished to be remembered as Giles.

Giles found her place within the regiment. A few words were spoken between her and the soldiers, which caused her to smile. She placed her helm upon her head—it concealed the tears—and, with one final look back, she marched out of Skyhold.

May Ghila’nain guide her home.

***

No sooner than the remaining Ladies had recovered from this, than it was Lady Erridge’s turn.

Her carriage had arrived. They all had gathered. Her things were packed. Orroat’s horse was hitched. It was time.

Naturally, Lady Erridge was inconsolable. Whimpering, tear-stained, and red, she threw herself into Orroat’s arms, and begged: “Can’t we stay just one week more?”

But Lady Orroat shook her head. “I would agree to your every request, my love, but I am afraid if I say yes, you shall never leave.” She tapped Erridge lovingly upon the nose. “And I do not know how the Bann will continue to survive without you. Your poor mother had to sew a dozen more handkerchiefs for him, last time I visited.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Don’t worry”—Orroat dabbed her dear Lady’s eyes, ineffective as it was—“we always managed to see each other as children, so this will be done as well—and we’ll pass through here plenty, I imagine!” She turned to Trevelyan and Touledy. “And you are always welcome in Coldon, of course!”

“I would be glad to visit,” said the Baroness.

“As would I,” Trevelyan agreed.

Lady Erridge whirled, and grabbed hold of their hands. “Oh, please do! I do not wish this to be our last meeting!”

Trevelyan feigned shock. “Why, are we uninvited from your wedding!?”

“Oh, no, no! Of course you are invited. What a wonderful day that shall be. No—a week! It shall be an entire week of festivities! I promise you.” She looked at Orroat. “Don’t you think?”

“If you so wish, my love.”

“Thank you, my love.”

Their outrageously saccharine nature was the only thing, at that moment, keeping Trevelyan from crying, for she could not help but smile to see it.

“I’m afraid the carriage is ready, Tam,” said Orroat, solemnly. “We’ll need to clear the mountain range before sundown, so we’ll have to be gone soon.”

“Oh, dear!” cried Erridge.

Petrified by the weight of the knowledge that her next moments with the Ladies would be her last, she almost hesitated. But such moments as these were not to be squandered! Lady Erridge surged forward, bundling both Trevelyan and Touledy into her arms. The loveliest, warmest, kindest hug yet.

“You know,” murmured Erridge, “were it not for you, I would have never known myself in love with dear Hul. It was only in befriending you that I realised my feelings for her were different.” She snuggled in closer. “Though just as precious.”

“We love you,” whispered Trevelyan.

“We do,” said Touledy.

“I love you both,” Erridge replied.

It was this sentiment that seemed to provide her the strength to step away, for nothing could be so enduring. But even as her fingers slipped from Trevelyan’s arm, she whispered to her:

“I’ll miss you terribly, Wicky.”

Trevelyan smiled, a tear in her eye. “And I you.”

But missing her would have to do—the carriage was loaded, the drivers seated. Lady Orroat opened the door.

“Are you ready, my love?”

“I think so,” Erridge replied.

She offered her hand. Lady Orroat took it, and kissed it, and guided Lady Erridge into the carriage—but did not follow. Not yet. Instead, she looked to the Ladies.

“Thank you for caring for my dear Tam so well,” she told them. “I cannot express how much it means, to know she is loved. I hope to make her even half as happy as you have.”

Trevelyan nodded. “Good. For if you break her heart, we shall kill you.”

“Painfully,” the Baroness added.

Lady Orroat grinned. “I would expect no more and deserve no less.”

She clambered into the carriage, settling in beside her dear Lady. Trevelyan watched, quite satisfied that their message had been heard, and that Lady Erridge was in good hands.

And those good hands kept her stable, as Erridge fumbled over Orroat’s lap, to poke her head out of the window. “Farewell!” she called. “We shall meet again! I love you!”

The signal was given, the reins taken up. The carriage began to trundle away.

“We shall meet again!” Erridge repeated, as it slipped into the gatehouse. Her voice echoed off the stone. “Farewell!”

“Farewell!” the Ladies cried. “Safe journey! Farewell!”

She vanished, the carriage rumbling over the old stone bridge. Trevelyan imagined that, within it, at that very moment, Lady Orroat had taken Lady Erridge’s hand, and held it tight. It was not so hard to believe.

Good. The sooner they were married, the sooner they would all see each other again. For now, though, sadness remained a most stalwart companion.

Trevelyan pulled her napkin from a pocket—the poor little cloth only just having dried from its use earlier in the morning—and dabbed at her eyes. It was a wonder she had any tears left! The Baroness dried her own, and looked to Lady Trevelyan. Wordlessly, they linked their arms together. Two Ladies left.

“Come,” she said, “my carriage will not be ready for another hour, so let us pass the time. May I see your new quarters, before I go?”

A good distraction. Trevelyan nodded.

Together, they wandered back towards the keep, and into the Great Hall. It was much calmer today than yesterday. Only the ordinary sort of rumpus and ruckus.

In search of Trevelyan’s new quarters, the Ladies headed not for the rotunda door and the guest suites above, but for the door to Montilyet’s parlour. Tucked within, they knew well enough, was the landing that preceded her lounge. And off this landing, there were two sets of stairs.

They took the ascending route, to where a different set of suites awaited. Stretching out above the parlour, snaking into the Inquisitor’s tower, this corridor housed the rooms of the Inquisition’s innermost circle.

“I couldn’t quite believe it, when she told me where it was,” Trevelyan admitted.

“It is a privilege to be amongst them,” mused Touledy.

They turned into the tower, ascended a little ways up… and soon enough, came across a door.

“This is it,” Trevelyan said, turning the key. “Though I warn you—it’s not mightily impressive.”

She opened it, and shuffled in. The Baroness followed, and put on a good show of admiration—but Trevelyan knew it was merely politeness.

This room she’d been given was a touch smaller than her guest room. Understandable, really. Guests were to be impressed with comfort; residents simply needed somewhere to sleep. The furnishings were more basic, too—but better than the ones she’d had in the Circle, by far.

The bed, though not four-poster, was of a sufficient size. “Though you’ll not test this one,” she teased the Baroness.

“Oh, I believe that is someone else’s duty.”

Trevelyan laughed. “And here is my desk!” she quickly continued, proudly showing off the little bureau. “I’m so pleased to have this. I’ll be able to work here, should the Undercroft be too busy. Oh, and look!”

She pointed to the window just above it, that permitted morning light to filter into the room. The Baroness peered out, and gasped at what she saw.

“Oh! Are these not the same mountains we saw from your stargazing spot?”

Trevelyan nodded emphatically. “Yes! I can sit here, on a night, and look out—without having to get so cold!”

Touledy smirked. “But how then will you secretly rendezvous with the Commander, hm?”

“I believe you’ve already suggested a method!”

They laughed, and Touledy regarded the room once more. There was little else of note—a trunk and drawers, for storage, and a pair of chairs—but she nodded approvingly nevertheless.

“It may not be much, but I think it is lovely.”

Trevelyan grinned. “I know. So do I. And—”

There was a rapid knock at the door. Trevelyan perked. The Baroness’ carriage could not have been ready so soon? She hurried over, and opened the door. A scout stood on the other side.

“Morning, your Ladyship. This just arrived for you—urgent.”

They handed over a small scrap of vellum. She could tell by the scrawled writing that it was a bird-message, transcribed.

“Thank you,” she said, letting them hurry on their way. She shut the door, and returned to Touledy.

“Who is it from?” her Ladyship asked.

Trevelyan steeled herself. There was no seal to warn her, but the timing itself was enough. “I think I know.

Though her soul screamed not to, her eyes began to scan the words:

Daughter,

If there is no engagment, there is no reason for you to stay. We shall be travelling to Val Royeaux. Meet us there, or we shall have you fetched.

Bann Trevelyan

Trevelyan’s lungs stopped. The paper fell from her hand, spinning to the ground. They couldn’t—she gasped—they couldn’t just come for her? They couldn’t take her away. No, no—

Touledy, leaning hard on her cane, managed to collect the message from the floor, and read it for herself. Her eyes widened.

“Stay calm, Lady Trevelyan. Everything will be all right.”

Trevelyan shook her head. “But they—but they… I didn’t think they would come get me! I thought they would just leave me be. Why won’t they leave me be?”

Shaking, she found the arm of a chair. The Baroness guided her into it.

“Shh, stay calm. It is all right. You are of the Inquisition now. You have protection. They cannot simply pluck you from Skyhold. We should tell Lady Montilyet of this. She still owes you a debt.”

The Baroness rose, and hurried to the door, sticking her head out. Grunting, she rushed back.

“The scout is gone,” she explained, “so I shall find Montilyet myself. You remain here. Stay calm, all right? Breathe. All right? Breathe.”

Trevelyan did as instructed, taking breaths in, and pushing them forcefully back out.

“Good,” cooed Touledy, stroking her arm, “very good. I will be a moment. Just a moment. We will have this sorted, I promise you.”

Touledy gathered herself, and left the room. Her cane tapped away at a heightened rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

But when it quieted at last, Trevelyan was left with only the sound of her own breathing. She clasped her hands together, until her knuckles turned pale, and held them against her chest. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

A knock at the door. Touledy was sooner than promised.

“Come in!” she cried.

“Arcanist?” came the reply.

Trevelyan turned. The Commander stood in her door. She lost her breath again.

“Are you all right?” he said, abandoning what he carried upon her dresser, and pulling a chair up beside her. “What’s wrong?”

She pressed a hand to her mouth, unable to say it without crying. “My parents…”

No use. She passed him the message, instead. He read it. His face fell. His head shook.

“No,” he said. “They cannot take you from Skyhold.”

“They’ll try.”

“Then what if…” He tried to catch her eye. “What if you simply told them we were engaged? Would that settle them? If that is, if that’s what they want?”

“No!” Trevelyan stood, tears falling anew. “I don’t want to do what they want! I want to do what I want! I wanted to be done with them! I just…” She bowed her head, and wept. “I wanted to be free.”

She felt her body buckle—but no sooner than it had, than it was held upright. The Commander enveloped her in his arms, and held her tight against his chest. She clung to him in turn, buried her head within the fur of his mantle. It was all him, keeping her together.

“No one can take you from Skyhold without your consent,” he murmured. “I promised, you are safe within these walls. They could send an army. They will not take you from m—here.”

Trevelyan nodded. Her breathing slowed. She believed him. She believed him.

Footsteps—hurried, heeled footsteps—neared.

“Lady Trevelyan!” came Montilyet’s voice, as she rounded into the room. “The Baroness has just told me! Are you well?”

Trevelyan shook her head. The Commander, slowly, gently released her into Lady Montilyet’s arms.

“It’s all right, Lady Trevelyan,” she told her. “I will go to Val Royeaux myself if I have to! You are an Arcanist of the Inquisition, and you belong here.”

Trevelyan muttered, “I want to stay.”

“I know. You will.”

Further footsteps. Trevelyan glanced toward the door, and saw the Baroness had arrived as well. But—the Commander was gone.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“He slipped away,” the Baroness said. She wandered over to the dresser, and admired the bouquet of flowers that had appeared upon it. “But it seems he left you a gift. I shall find someone to fetch a vase of water.”

The Baroness withdrew. Lady Montilyet sat Trevelyan down, and brought the flowers to her. Trevelyan accepted the arrangement, gladly. Such a beautiful little bouquet. Poppies and spinwort, crystal grace and daisies. Put together by one with no knowledge of floristry. Ever more beautiful for it.

“Trust me,” said Lady Montilyet, sitting beside her. “I can deal with the Bann and Lady Trevelyan. In my sleep.”

But Trevelyan shook her head. “No,” she said. “I want to deal with them myself.”

#cullen rutherford #commander cullen #cullen x trevelyan #unwanted #unwanted fic #so here's a chapter i genuinely cried while writing #though it may not be over yet and we still have six chapters to go #this is the last we'll see of erridge and samient #which is a shame because they would've loved to face the final boss #so many red herrings for the villain in this story #when they were introduced in the first few lines of the prologue #anyway hi jess i know you read all of these. did you miss last chapter? ignore if you didnt!! just making sure

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chiropterx · 2 years ago

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What does Man-Bat think of his fellow rogues?

Putting this under the cut as it got longer than expected!

It's hard to say exactly as currently Man-Bat hasn't had much experience with other villains in Gotham? Between Kirk and himself, there's only a handful he's interacted with but it's enough to formulate his own thoughts and feelings! First of all, it goes without saying his most positive relationship is with @thewomanwholaughs - Man-Bat is very fond of this Joker for she always gives him yummy treats in the form of bananas and blood, plus she makes a fuss out of him which he enjoys very much! You know how it goes, feed an animal food it likes, treat it well and soon enough it'll start seeing your presence as a positive thing. That's how it works with these two, though it's doubtful Joker would enjoy Kirk's company anywhere near as much as she enjoys the bat's! Otis Flannegan is next, and their relationship is very different from that of the Joker as Kirk met Otis first. Man-Bat stumbled across him later, when he was curled up underground where it was dark and quiet and Otis just... happened to cross his path. Later on, Man-Bat would come to instinctually recognize Otis and playfully snatch him up in his claws, an action which nearly gave poor Otis a heart attack! It wasn't a malicious action on Man-Bat's behalf, but being so big and strong where Otis is not and comparatively weighs very little, it's fortunate the Ratcatcher didn't get more than a scare from this particular incident. Man-Bat is wary of Killer Croc. Kirk may have (very) positive memories of Waylon Jones but so far they don't carry over to Man-Bat quite the same way they do with Otis? Crocodiles are big and more than that, they are predators. Perhaps it's natural instinct to want to avoid something that can chomp on you just as readily but Man-Bat prefers giving Croc a wide berth and leaving the waters to him while he keeps to the skies. When it comes to the Scarecrow, Man-Bat considers him a presence to avoid. Fear gas has a marked scent and anywhere that reeks of the stuff will be a place the bat avoids. Jonathan Crane is a different story and further interactions may change this, but so far the association with fear gas, fear and the villain's scent doesn't encourage Man-Bat. Viktor Zsasz is an interesting one. Kirk has never met them, but Man-Bat has and currently sees Viktor as another predator not unlike himself. If anything, Man-Bat probably regards as a positive factor because wherever Zsasz goes, blood is sure to follow. Man-Bat will almost certainly follow Viktor if he happens to see or detect their presence somewhere close by, regarding them as a source of food and social peer. Mary Dahl (otherwise known as Baby Doll) is a force to be reckoned with. Initially Man-Bat was fooled by her small size and appearance, thinking her an easy source of prey. Nothing could have been further from the truth when she defended herself fiercely, and not only that, Mary herself has no issue letting Kirk exactly what she thinks about him (and it's not much). Due to this, Man-Bat is more inclined to give Mary a wide berth in future or at least treat her with respect. Last but not least is Oswald Cobblepot, aka the Penguin. Lately the mob boss has shown interest in Kirk's work and is not shy about making demands of it. This has frightened Kirk very much and that negativity has crossed over to Man-Bat in a very big way. Fear is one of the most primal instincts and because of this, Man-Bat sees Oswald as a threat and will treat him accordingly. Other villains have yet to make a significant impact but otherwise Man-Bat considers them like most other people; their ambitions and goals are their own, something he has little interest in unless they get in his way.

#anonymous #;; asks #Thank you foir sending this nonny!#I'm sorry it took a few days to answer also #But I had a lot of fun answering it #I may have missed a few people and for that I apologize in advance #This is right off the top of my head though #And pertains only to fellow mutuals who have shaped Man-Bat's point of view #Otherwise other villains will have their own 'clean slate' per say #Most of the time Man-Bat doesn't care about big plots or schemes #Just likes food and cozy places to roost in #And beating the shit out of Batman

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