#unpopular characterisation of mother giselle

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 30 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical threat and violence; unpopular characterisation of an NPC Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Absolution

Rory shook her head stubbornly. "There's nothing to talk about."

Beside her, Cullen nodded easily, not pushing for words. "All right," he conceded, reaching to pour himself a drink from the jug. He cupped it in both hands, staring into space as he waited.

The silence dragged on, neither one of them speaking. Outside, there was only the sound of the wind against the shutters; inside, the occasional crackling pop from the logs on the fire. Rory glared at the cup in her hands, hating this helpless feeling in the face of the anger roiling inside her. She couldn't remember feeling like this, not since her brother had died. Then, it had lasted a full year; this agitated, restless temper that soured her mood and made her all but impossible to live with. She'd thought she had grown out of it, let it go, but no ... it was still there, festering in her soul, biding its time with destructive patience for the chance to explode once again.

"Why does it matter?" she burst out, when the silence became too much to bear. "What I believe in has no bearing on whether or not I am good at my job! I don't force my opinions on anyone - why should it make any difference whether I believe in the Maker or not?"

"It shouldn't matter," Cullen said in a mild tone. "But religion is central to our lives, to the lives of all the races. Many people don't understand how someone can choose not to believe."

"And are you one of them?" Rory demanded, wishing she didn't sound so aggressive. "Does this somehow make me less in your eyes?"

"Only if my belief lessens me in yours," he told her, speaking carefully. It seemed as though he didn't want to prod that temper into a true explosion.

"When have I ever shown disrespect for anyone's beliefs?" she exclaimed, hurt that such an idea would even cross his mind. "It's not my place to say what you should believe in; it's not anyone's place to decide anything for you. Faith, real faith, is a gift, and it's one I was never given. My parents poisoned the whole concept for me - they used their faith against me when I doubted. You know what they told me when I left? That I was condemned in the eyes of their god, and deserved to live a miserable life alone for turning my back on him."

"That isn't faith," he said quietly. "Not true faith. No one who truly believes in the Maker would ever say such a thing. He gave us the means to think for ourselves; doubts are a natural consequence of that."

"And religion is supposed to help you overcome those doubts with structure and compassion," she answered heatedly. "Not beat you with duty until you'll say anything to make it stop. I was thirteen when my little brother died because of a religious practice ... and it was my fault."

"Rory ..." Cullen's hand covered her own as her anger showed itself, not in harsh words and temper, but in a sudden flood of guilty tears.

"It's true, it was my fault," she insisted, sniffing violently as she wiped away the first fall of those tears with a rough hand. "I'm the reason he got hurt at all. He wanted to play, and I just wanted him to leave me alone. I pushed him, and he fell onto some broken glass. And three days later, he was dead."

Cullen said nothing, somehow sensing that she needed to say it all. That was why he had brought her out here, why he had pulled Fabian from his duties in the pilgrims' camp for the night. She had been holding onto this for too long. She needed someone to listen.

"I begged them to take him to a doctor," she went on blindly. "It wasn't like they couldn't afford to get him the best care money could buy, but no, they were sure it was God's will, and that Lorcan's fate had already been decided. So I prayed. I prayed so hard; I cried and I begged; I promised to be better, if only my little brother would get well again. And instead, I watched him die, all because I wanted an hour to myself. You know, they didn't even cry? It was divine will, they said. He was obviously born just to die that way. What kind of god does that?"

"No god I know of," he murmured, both hands now enveloping her one. She couldn't bear to look at him, afraid of seeing pity in his eyes.

"I loved my little brother," she told him, saying it aloud for the first time in years. "And instead of letting me grieve, their priest told us to live as though he'd never existed. They got rid of everything, because their religion demanded it. I was punished any time I mentioned him. According to that priest, I was wicked for not accepting the truth as he saw it. I hate that I tried to forget him. I hate that I was so desperate for their approval that I tried so hard to wipe that little boy from my mind. But I couldn't do it. In the end, I wouldn't do it. And they threw me out." She drew in a sharp breath, dashing at the salt water dripping from her chin. "So no, I don't believe in God, or the Maker, or whatever name you want to give it. I believe in what I can see and touch, I believe in people. And I'm still being punished for killing my little brother."

"No." Cullen's denial was swift and absolute. "Rory, no. You didn't kill him. You were barely more than a child, hardly responsible for yourself, let alone anyone else. Your mistake did not kill him. Unreasoning belief killed him, and you have paid too great a price for it."

"I'm still paying," she pointed out bitterly. "Because I don't believe, because I don't bow to the Chantry, I'm a target. If I had lied and pretended, Giselle couldn't have done that to me."

His jaw set angrily. "She would have found another way to attack you," he said darkly. "For whatever reason, she believes herself deserving of authority here. Caring for the sick and injured - they are an easy target for someone who wants to build a power-base from their gratitude."

"That's not why I do this," she began, but he cut her off quickly.

"I know," he assured her, lifting one hand to wrap his arm about her waist, holding her close as they sat together. "I understand better why you are a healer; how you have become so good at it. It has very little to do with yourself, and all to do with preventing the past from repeating itself. Your reasons are noble. Hers, I believe, are not."

"She might honestly think she could do a better job than me," Rory offered, wondering why, after all that, she was trying to defend a woman who had dragged the darkest part of her past out for her own satisfaction.

"She might, but she's wrong," Cullen told her firmly. "She wants influence within the Inquisition - not for the Chantry, but for herself. Like Madame De Fer, she has placed herself to gain power, but unlike Madame, she will not admit to it. Mother Giselle is typical of many who populate the Chantry's ranks - priests and sisters who are the reason I do not believe in the Chantry any longer."

Her head reared back from his shoulder, shocked to hear him say that. Throughout everything he had endured, Cullen's faith had always seemed so central to his being, the one constant in his painful lifetime. He smiled faintly at the look on her face.

"I believe in the Maker," he said in a gentle tone. "I believe in Andraste. But I do not believe the Chantry truly represents them any longer. It is too political, too power-hungry, too judgmental. It has been decades since the Chantry truly cared for the poor and oppressed. I have no faith in the organization, nor the institutions it has founded. My faith, my belief, is for the Maker and His Bride."

"But you go to the services," she countered in confusion. "You sing the Chant, I've seen you."

"I do," he agreed quietly, one soft hand wiping the drying tears from her face. "The services are familiar. They offer me a structure I have known since childhood. Even at my darkest, I attended the Chantry; I recited the Chant of Light. The quiet such times offer is a comfort to me. The Chant itself gives me a way to voice my prayers when the words will not come. But I no longer confess my sins to anyone but the Maker; I see no reason to defer to a priesthood that has lost sight of its original purpose." Her face dry, he leaned close to kiss the tip of her nose. "I understand you better than you might think. And I will not allow the Chantry to hurt you again."

Relief flooded through her as she looked into his eyes. He doesn't mind. He doesn't think I'm a monster for not having faith. "I'm sorry I shut the door in your face," she apologized suddenly.

He chuckled lightly. "The mood you were in, I count myself fortunate that you didn't throw anything at me," he answered, glad to see her smile weakly.

"I've never told anyone that story," she confessed in a soft voice. "Not even Ria. She had her own problems."

"Then Ria wasn't your sister?" he asked, though his tone suggested he had already suspected this. Ria was always in the stories of her past, but she had never referred to the woman as her sister.

Rory shook her head, hoping he wouldn't mind that everyone's assumption had been wrong. "Not by blood," she told him, feeling a weight lift from her heart with these confessions. She had to hold so much to her chest, it felt good to give voice to at least some of her hidden secrets. "She was my best friend ... the only real family I've ever had. We were both alone and broken when we met, but it was like I'd known her all my life. A little like how I feel with you."

"She would have carried you through the village on her shoulder to make you calm down, would she?" His question brimmed with amusement as he considered this - Ria had been several inches shorter than Rory.

She snorted with laughter. "No, Ria would probably have told me to snap out of it," she admitted in a rueful tone. "She wasn't good with temper tantrums."

"The implication being that I am?" he asked a little incredulously.

"Well, I'm not angry any more," she pointed out, wiping her nose with one awkward hand. She sighed resignedly. "Things aren't going to be very comfortable in the Chantry for a while, are they?"

Cullen smiled his hidden smile, gently stroking an escaped strand of red hair from her face. "She won't bother you again," he promised her faithfully. "Leliana will have seen to that. You belong to us, sweeting. We protect our own."

He gathered her into his arms then, letting her bury her face in the soft fur of his mantle as she nuzzled into him. Whatever she had done to deserve the loyalty and understanding of these people, she hoped she never lost it. She'd been alone once, abandoned by the people who should have loved her. She never wanted to feel so isolated again. The Inquisition - Evy, Rylen, Kaaras, Cullen - they were her family now. And no misguided priest was going to destroy that for her. Not again.

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 29 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical threat and violence; unpopular characterisation of an NPC Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

For Which A Title Did Not Present Itself

"I actually have no idea if the compound will be stable in storage - the mixture could become highly volatile if left too long."

Rory nodded as Minaeve spoke. "So this is something we should be making fresh each time it needs to be applied?" she queried curiously.

"It's not ideal, I know," the elven researcher told her. "But the consensus among the Tranquil is that this may be the only way to neutralize the toxin that the greater shades secrete."

"Well, it's infinitely better than watching someone die in horrific pain," Rory mused, blotting her notes to roll them up. She enjoyed her regular meetings with Minaeve; the novice mage might be caustic, but she definitely knew her stuff. "Did the witherstalk ointment help with the chemical burns?"

"Oh, it did," Minaeve agreed, with the merest suggestion of a satisfied smile. "We added a drop of ram's blood, and that accelerated the pain-relieving aspect. Strange, but effective."

"I never would have thought to add blood," Rory admitted, fascinated by this previously unknown combination. "Another odd ingredient to keep in stock."

"Don't buy it from Seggrit," the researched warned suspiciously. "Half of what he supplied at the beginning was useless."

"No fear of that." Rory laughed. "He won't even acknowledge my presence since I slapped him."

Minaeve's lips pulled taut in a rare smile. "I'm still sorry I missed that. Was there anything else you needed?"

Rory shook her head with a smile of her own. "No, I'll let you get back to work. Thank you."

"It's what I'm here for, healer."

Tucking the scroll up her sleeve for now, Rory nodded to Josephine as she left the room, stepping into the nave of the Chantry to find Chancellor Roderick in full oration. The subject wasn't immediately clear, but the man seemed to have gathered specific people to hear him speak this time. Cullen was there, as was Leliana, both looking as though they would dearly like to shut the chancellor's mouth in a less than polite manner; Mother Giselle was also present, together with Sisters Teres and Minah. No doubt Vivienne was lurking in her alcove, listening with interest.

"I find it fascinating, chancellor," Leliana was saying, "that you chose to bring this up when both Cassandra and the Herald are away from Haven."

"I cannot predict when the evidence will be brought to me," Roderick replied in his officious way. "Nor can I stand by and do nothing when such evidence is presented."

"The Chantry does not have authority over the Inquisition," Cullen reminded him yet again. "You have no power here to accuse one of our own."

"With respect, commander, yours is not an impartial voice in this debate," Mother Giselle interjected mildly.

"Perhaps we should worry less about partiality, and instead invite the one whom you have accused to speak for herself," Leliana suggested, her pale eyes rising from the little gathering. "Healer Rory ... join us, please."

Alarm flared in Rory's mind as she automatically moved to obey the Left Hand of the Divine. Accused? What have I been accused of? She could think of any number of things that had rubbed people up the wrong way, but she was pretty sure she hadn't done anything major enough to warrant officially sanctioned Chantry hostility. Unless all of it put together somehow made her a threat.

"Chancellor Roderick, everyone should have the right to defend themselves," Leliana went on. "This is your opportunity to see if your evidence holds water."

Scowling, Roderick turned his stern gaze onto Rory. "You stand accused in the Maker's eyes of heresy, healer," he said with a flourish. "Were this a court of law, how would you plead?"

Rory stared at him, her mouth open. That certainly hadn't been on her list of things to worry about. Heresy? Seriously? That was surely scraping the bottom of the barrel. Her mouth shut with a snap. "Not applicable," she told him firmly. "Who accused me?"

"There is no need for you to know such a thing," the chancellor informed her, but Leliana ignored him.

"Mother Giselle and her lay sisters here have laid the charge against you," the spymaster said calmly.

"Did they really." Rory's unfriendly gaze turned to take in the three robed women. "So I've been accused of heresy by a revered mother who objects to my refusal to bow to her every whim; a sister who makes a habit of trying to steal confidential notes from my clinic; and another sister who almost killed someone three days ago because she decided she knew better than me how much medicine to give someone. Three people, in fact, who don't like me. And their word is considered evidence against me?"

"The word of any member of the Chantry is ..." Roderick trailed off as his brain caught up with his ears, aghast eyes snapping toward the lay sisters. "Almost killed someone?"

Giselle, too, had twisted to look at Sister Minah. "I was not aware of this."

"No one was," Rory said, her voice cold with anger. "Because we were able to correct the mistake, and the sister seemed willing to absorb the lesson it taught her. Evidently my trust was poorly placed."

"Is this true, Minah?" Giselle asked of her inferior coolly.

Sister Minah fidgeted awkwardly. "I ... made a mistake," she admitted finally. "But my report was accurate, mother!"

"Yet by omitting important detail, you render your evidence untrustworthy," Roderick glowered in annoyance. "Even I know that certain violence is required to purge a stomach. Your tale, sister, is inadmissible."

"As to the words of Sister Teres, I can confirm the healer's suspicion," Leliana added with cool confidence. "The sister has been seen several times attempting to break into the chest where the healer keeps her confidential notes on us all."

Roderick didn't need to let that sink in - he'd been treated not too long ago for a somewhat embarrassing complaint of his own. He knew Rory had notes on him in that chest. "This is your evidence, mother Giselle?" he asked sternly. "The word of a thief and a would-be killer?"

"I stand by my own testimony, chancellor," Giselle stated, her lined face set in what might almost have been anger at the way her seemingly solid accusation had crumbled around her. All credit to her, though, she kept on her course. "This woman is a heretic. She does not sing the Chant, nor does she attend services. She does not pray, even if her patients would benefit from it. She does not show deference to the Chantry, or to Andraste's holy representatives."

"The Chantry has done nothing to earn my deference," Rory heard herself snarl, flaming anger rising to replace the cold at this self-serving accusation.

"You accuse her of being a heretic, yet nothing you say points toward heresy," Cullen pointed out, his expression grim. "All I hear is the false accusation of a woman who believes herself superior."

"Your opinion of this woman cannot be trusted." Giselle frowned at the commander. "Your attachment to her could implicate you in her wrongdoing."

"And your attack is nothing but the spiteful vengeance of a woman who isn't used to not getting her own way," Cullen countered smartly.

"Enough!" Roderick glared at them both until they backed down. His frowning gaze found Rory. "Healer, we can settle this with one question ... do you believe in the Maker?"

She met his gaze in silent fury at the way ego had been allowed to put her in this situation. Her religious belief, or lack of it, was no one's business but her own. "No, chancellor, I don't," she told him fiercely. "I don't believe in the Maker, the elvhen gods, the Stone, or even Koslun."

"Then you are no heretic. There cannot be heresy without belief." He sighed, shaking his head. "There is no point in pursuing this."

"And you would trust such a person with the well-being of the people?" Giselle demanded incredulously, clearly not prepared to just let it go. "A person with no spiritual element to their being is unfit to be a healer."

"Better an atheist who knows what she's doing than a fanatic who doses weak men with four mouthfuls of undiluted poppy juice!" Rory shot back at her, unwilling to let that insult pass.

"I demand to know why you have no belief in the most Holy of Holies," Giselle persisted, looming over the healer as she took a step closer. "Why you think yourself above such a fundamental truth as the Maker's love for Andraste and us all."

Cornered and angry, something in Rory cracked. "Because unreasoning belief in a higher power killed my little brother!" she snapped in response. "He was ten years old - a cut on his leg got infected, and prayer, the only thing my parents would give him, didn't save his life. Why should I believe in a being who keeps his followers ignorant and condemns a child to a needless, painful death?"

Giselle stared at her, all her high dudgeon fled in the face of the answer she had sought. She had clearly been expecting some other reply - an evasion, perhaps, or even a selfish declaration that gods weren't real. But no ... Rory had good reason not to believe. She glared at the Revered Mother, furious with herself for the tears in her eyes, her heart rubbed raw by the memory she'd been forced to share. How dare they assume her reasons were selfish ones, just because they had a faith she lacked?

She turned to Cullen and Leliana, both of whom seemed shocked by what she'd been badgered into sharing.

"I want the Chantry out of my clinic," she told them harshly. "They can't be trusted."

"You are not in a position to make such demands," Roderick blustered, but abruptly stilled when Cullen rounded on him.

"You have abused your position, chancellor, by allowing this farce to go on for so long," the commander growled. "This has been nothing less than a sustained personal attack. I will be placing a guard on the clinic. No member of the Chantry will be allowed entry without invitation by the healers themselves. This has gone on long enough."

"Indeed," Leliana agreed coldly. "We are done here. Mother Giselle; Sisters Teres, Minah ... a word."

Steaming with unexpressed anger she had been holding onto for more than a decade, Rory turned on her heel, storming toward the doors that lead out into the village. They opened before her - thank you, Vivienne - and she continued out into Haven, her fists clenched and her expression black.

How dare they? How dare they think they were better than her, just because they believed? Her parents had believed, too - believed so much that they had watched their son die for lack of medical care and called it divine will. Her refusal to accept that had turned them against her; it was the reason, in fact, that she'd run away at fourteen. And she'd slowly come to terms with the understanding that faith was a comfort to many people, learning not to judge them badly for it. Yet these so-called priests, so certain in their faith ... She didn't even have words for them. They truly thought themselves her betters, when most of them wouldn't even raise a hand to help if someone collapsed in front of them. It was infuriating. How could they possibly put themselves on a par with Sister Carys in Frosthelm, or Mother Lisl, or Divine Justinia - all truer representatives of Andraste the Maker than those power-hungry wolves.

Evy took one look at her expression when she entered the clinic, and wisely decided not to ask what was wrong. Anger like that was not to be prodded, certainly not in front of patient. She simply kept her head down and applied herself to her duties, not even speaking up when Rory shut the door on Cullen's attempt to cajole her out of her black mood. Suffice it to say, it was not a comfortable afternoon for either healer. Yet dinnertime brought a surprise.

Rory had sent Evy to dinner, still too worked up herself to eat. Alone in the clinic with two sleeping patients, she was startled when the door opened to admit Cullen, Fabian, and four others she didn't know.

"What's going on?" she demanded, her voice hushed to avoid disturbing her patients.

"You're taking the night off, I'm training some nurses for you," Fabian told her promptly. "This is Netta, Luis, Andra, and Melcor, and by morning, you'll have a rota in place that keeps you and Evy from falling off your feet."

"Now wait just a min- "

"You missed dinner, again," Cullen told her sternly. "I will not allow that to become a habit. Now, are you walking, or am I carrying you?"

Rory frowned at him, not appreciating the way she was being steamrollered. "I'm not leaving the clinic, I have too much to -"

"Carrying it is." In one smooth motion, Cullen bent and hoisted her over his shoulder, turning to make his way out of the clinic even as she flailed.

"Put me down," Rory demanded, her banked anger flaring as they passed the tavern and she caught sight of Varric's grin. "I mean it, Cullen, put me down!"

"No." That was it, just no. No explanation of why, or even where he was taking her, though that much was easily discernible when he turned right out of Haven and joined the path into the woods.

"This is humiliating," she informed him tartly, her breathing a little constricted by the press of his shoulder into her diaphragm.

"You're not fighting to get down," he pointed out with annoying confidence.

"What's the point?" she countered, her own tone resigned. "It's a long way to fall from up here, and knowing my luck, I'd break something important. Like your neck."

"Your concern is overwhelming."

Ducking to get into the cabin, he locked the door before bending to set her on her feet, looking long into her eyes with a serious gaze. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him, because he turned her about, giving her a push toward a table in front of the fire laid with a plated meal.

"Sit. Eat."

In sullen acquiescence, she did as she was told, eating the plate of roasted meat and vegetables in silence. All the while, he watched her, not saying a word himself. Part of her resented the heavy-handed coddling; part of her appreciated that he seemed to know her so well. She was quite capable of skipping several meals when her mood was this low, and it was strangely reassuring to know that Cullen clearly wasn't going to let that happen. He made sure her cup stayed full, only moving to sit beside her when she had finished every morsel and sat in steaming silence in the firelight.

"Now," he said quietly, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Talk to me."

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 31 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical threat and violence; unpopular characterisation of an NPC Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

I, Spy

"Um, Rory? There's a ... man ... here to see you."

"Busy," Rory called back, not even glancing up from her current task.

She was picking maggots out of a wound - maggots she'd put there a few hours ago - much to the disgust of the patient himself. He was oddly enthralled, though, not having believed her when she'd promised the maggots would clean up the necrotic wound much faster than she could. She was right, too; the crawling larvae had picked the deep gash clean of all dead tissue, not interested in living flesh. Now all that remained was to clean and dress the wound, and hope he remembered to come back to have the dressing checked before it went necrotic through lack of care again.

Evy was holding clinic, but it sounded as though she'd come up against something that had stumped her. Rory could hear her apologizing to whoever it was.

"It's fine, I'll wait."

Now there was a voice she recognized. No wonder Evy sounded nervous - the Iron Bull had a big presence, even if you could somehow discount his physical size. The Chargers had arrived the night before, bedding down in their own slightly chaotic camp just outside Haven's gates. Rory was eager to pick their healer's brains about wound care. Still, it was no surprise that Evy was uncomfortable - Kaaras still made her nervous, so no wonder she was eager to hand the Iron Bull over to her senior, unaware that Rory had her own reasons for being wary of the newest Qunari in the village. But it was her job, and she might be able to pick up some news about what Kaaras was doing out there in the world right now.

It took several minutes to clean and pack the wound before her, using cobwebs to stifle the flow of fresh blood before she wrapped the whole thing in several layers of bandage. Tucking his pants leg down over the new dressing, she let him sit up and put his own boot on, packing away the unused bandages as he did so.

"I want to see you back here in two days," she told the man, a local wood-cutter named Aedan who was only in need of her because he'd managed to miss the tree and hit himself with his axe. Frankly, he was lucky not to have tetanus. "If this gets infected or goes necrotic again, we might have no choice but to amputate."

"You can't do that, mistress, I've a family to support," Aedan objected as he rose to his feet.

"Then you need to look after yourself and come back when I tell you do," Rory informed him pointedly. "If you decide to ignore me again, you will only have yourself to blame."

"I'll come back," he promised with a wide-eyed nod. "I'll tell my kids, they'll make sure I do."

"Good."

Rory smiled, sending him off as she returned her maggots to their bucket and set about thoroughly washing her hands and wrists. She was never going to get used to working on flesh and bone without gloves.

"Scare tactics," Bull's rumbling voice said approvingly. "Nicely done."

Rory glanced up at the gasp that erupted from one of the in-patients, drying her hands as she did so. The big Qunari filled the doorway, hunched over to peer inside curiously at the three occupied beds, and the healer and nurses tending them. A quick look at her colleagues and patients showed that he was more than a little intimidating. And it wasn't a shock, really. Kaaras was big, but the Iron Bull was huge. And half-naked. That chest should be illegal, she heard the inner fangirl squeak excitedly. Oh, hello, you've woken up again, have you? Pillowy man bosoms! ... oh, good grief.

"This is a private ward, actually," she heard herself say. "Could you ...?"

The Ben-Hassrath agent eyed her for a moment as she gestured toward him. "My pleasure," he said, ducking to back up as she moved to leave the patients in Andra's capable hands, closing the door firmly behind her.

Evy was standing by the desk, her eyes wide as she stared at the Iron Bull. She caught Rory's amused glance and blushed, forcing herself to look away from their very male visitor. "Should ... should I do the ... thing?" she asked her senior nervously. "With the sisters?"

Taking pity on her friend - whom she knew still blushed and giggled when Rylen took his shirt off - Rory nodded. "You might as well," she agreed. "Oh, and could you thank Mother Giselle? That lotus she had gathered was very helpful."

"I can do that," Evy assured her, gathering her basket of supplies before heading for the door.

The young Trevelyan had grown used to being the go-between for Rory and the Revered Mother over the last few days. It was awkward for Rory herself to speak to Giselle or her lay sisters after that debacle in the Chantry, and likely always would be, but the two sides had come to an accord; namely, that they all stopped sniping at each other and accepted the help offered on both sides. There was even going to be a short service held in the clinic once a week for the patients unable to attend the Chantry itself - Rory's idea, offered tentatively through Evy as an olive branch. Mother Giselle had responded by asking if the healers could spare some time each week to teach basic care to some of her people, and had taken it upon herself to keep an eye on their stock. If anything began to dwindle, it was replenished within days on Mother Giselle's orders. So while it was unlikely they were ever going to be friends, at least there was a productive truce now. Perhaps the dragon wasn't as bad as all that.

As Evy made her escape, Rory sat down at the desk, gesturing for Bull to make himself comfortable. "You wanted to see me?"

"Just making the rounds," the massive warrior assured her, settling his bulk onto the stool set aside for visiting patients. "Introducing myself ... the Iron Bull, leader of the Bull's Chargers." He gestured toward the doors. "Sorry about that - I figured you would all be used to Qunari by now."

"To be fair, you're a very big Qunari," she pointed out through a friendly smile. "Between the eye-patch, the horns, and the ... impressive physique, I'm pretty sure you have most of the village either deeply intimidated or intensely curious."

Bull laughed. "You're right, I do," he agreed with easy confidence. "Fair amount of lust, too."

Rory felt her cheeks pink. "Good to know," she said, laughing a little herself. She was absolutely devoted to Cullen, but she wasn't blind. Bull was sex on legs, and what's worse, he knew it. "Is that why you're here? Do you need to stock up on lubricant?"

This drew a louder laugh from the mercenary leader. "First time a human healer's asked me that," he crowed cheerfully. "But seriously ... Stitches, our healer, wanted me to ask if you have any supplies to spare."

"And he sent the leader of the Chargers to ask for him, did he?" Her eyes narrowed with suspicious amusement.

"No, it's just my flimsy pretext for getting a consult with a pretty redhead," Bull admitted openly, his one eye admiring her where she sat. Just because I'm a redhead.

Despite the squeaky voice in her head shouting Ride the Bull! Ride the Bull!, Rory rolled her eyes. "A taken redhead," she corrected him, ignoring her own blushing. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Ah, you southerners and your committed relationships," he lamented comically, but she thought she saw faint approval in his singular gaze.

"I'm sure you'll have no shortage of people willing and eager to, um ... work off a little tension with you," she assured him with a low laugh. He certainly spreads his oats in the game.

"True, I'm not hurting for partners," he conceded readily. His gaze sharpened. "I was wondering, though ... who do you work for?"

The question surprised her enough that she answered without considering why he was asking that. "The Inquisition, obviously."

"Who else?" Bull asked, and now there was no sign of easy humor. "What I mean is, are we all on the same side here?"

Rory stared at him, feeling the beginnings of fear prickle down her spine. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she told him, her hackles starting to rise.

"Really?" He leaned back, studying her for a very uncomfortable few minutes. It was only when she started to fidget that he spoke again. "You caught my eye this morning. You watch everyone, making sure you say the right thing, do the right thing, making sure you fit in. There's a secret you're sitting on, something that makes you worried to be found out. Professional courtesy, you understand. I want you to know I know."

There was no denying the flash of fear that gripped her as he spoke. Why hadn't she considered this scenario? Of course he would leap to the obvious conclusion. She had a secret; she must be a spy. But who did he think she was spying for, that was the question. And what he might do if his orders came back against her. Bull at this point was definitely an agent of the Qun - he would report the presence of a suspected rival spying on the Inquisition, and he might well receive orders to kill her.

"I'm not a spy," she quavered, wondering if she could make it to the door before he snapped her neck, and knowing with sickening certainty that she couldn't. "Really, honestly, I'm not. I just ... I'm not from here, and ... I don't ... no one would trust me if ... I swear, I swear, I'm not a spy. I'm just trying to get by!"

It was unnerving to be the focus of that steady, one-eyed gaze; to know that he had seen how much she didn't fit here so easily. Her mouth was dry as she faced him, trying to hold down the panic that had her heart racing. Right now, her life was totally in his hands. She found herself hoping that he killed her; that, at least, would be easier than a public denouncement. Every friend she had made would turn their backs, hurt by her duplicity; Cullen would be devastated to discover his trust had been so poorly placed again. She didn't think she could bear to see them all hurt so badly by a lie that she'd only told to protect herself in the first place. She could feel the despair already making itself known ... and then, the miracle happened.

Iron Bull leaned forward, frowning as he noted the true fear in every nuance of her face and form. "No," he said finally, his tone gentle with thought. "No, you're really not, are you." It wasn't a question. "Fear, real fear, is impossible to fake. And no spy would be so afraid as you are right now." He held her gaze for another long moment, eventually leaning back as his expression smoothed. "Whatever you're running from, it won't find you here. And if it does, the Iron Bull will kick its ass."

She'd never felt fear melt into sudden security before. It was a shock to the system, draining the color from her face, setting her hands to shaking as she drew in a querulous breath. In ... out ... in ... he's decided you're not a threat, this is good. In ... out ... A large hand appeared in front of her face, offering her a cup.

"Drink, little red," Bull told her gently. "It's just water."

He watched as she gulped down one mouthful of the painfully cold liquid, then another, the mere act of drinking helping to slow her breathing and calm her thumping heart. It was the closest she'd ever come to a panic attack - strange, that the one who had created that moment of heart-stopping terror was the one now working to calm her down. And it's working, too. With Bull on one knee beside her, she slowly relaxed, trusting that he really didn't mean her any harm. Despite his role under the Qun, the character was startlingly honest, and it seemed that was true of the flesh and blood reality, too.

"That's better," he drawled in approval as she came back to herself. "You don't look so good with no color in your cheeks."

"Is it obvious?" she blurted out worriedly. "That I ... that I'm not from around here?"

He shook his horned head, settling himself back on the stool once again. "Only to me," he assured her. "Maybe to your spymaster. But she trusts you. No danger there."

"Okay." It was still alarming to think that Leliana saw what Bull had seen, but the bard hadn't moved against her. That was encouraging. "Sorry, I, um ..."

"Didn't mean to scare you so bad," the big Qunari said, dismissing her apology. "Just had to be sure, you know? We're good, little red."

Rory bit her lip, surprised to feel herself smile, in spite of her fright. "Little red?" she asked. Why does everyone feel the need to give me nicknames? Cupcake, Ror, sweeting, and now little red?

Bull snorted with laughter. "You're little, and you're a redhead," he explained easily enough. "Cullen's redhead, but still ... redhead."

Despite herself, he'd piqued her interest. "How do you know that? You've only been here one night."

"He bristled up like a lion on guard when I asked who you were." Bull shrugged, grinning at her expression. "Doesn't take much to spot a possessive lover, even if he is wound tighter than the Arishok."

She bit her lip again, oddly touched that the commander was possessive over her. I really do owe him some company tonight, she reminded herself. It was about time she trusted her new nurses to do their job without her supervision. They still hadn't quite reached the point where loving words and kisses became truly intimate, but she felt sure they'd get there. Eventually.

"Anyway, I've got a real reason for being here, too," Iron Bull told her, reaching up to run a cautious fingers over the leather wrapped about his right horn. "This is rubbing down to the quick. Gets painful after a while."

Now here was a challenge. "I don't know much about Qunari, but I can take a look," she offered, rising to her feet for a better vantage point. "May I?"

"Go right ahead."

He was right about the rubbing. The leather strap that helped to secure his eye-patch in place had worn a groove into his horn, deep enough that it almost looked in danger of bleeding. Do horns bleed, she wondered, considering her options. The answer to his problem seemed simple, but she wasn't sure it was workable for him. Still, he had said it was painful, which meant there was living tissue there, so he might not have a choice but to make it work for him.

"Is it possible to re-site the strap?" she asked, reaching for a cloth and water to gently clean the groove, testing it for tenderness or sensitivity. "I don't think it's possible to pad this deep a mark without irritating the tissue underneath."

"I've been hoping not to have to move it," the big mercenary admitted reluctantly. "It's a bitch to get the patch comfortable. What about a pain reliever instead?"

"Hmm ..." Frowning, Rory considered her rack of ointments and potions. "Well, there's one ointment that might help," she suggested thoughtfully. "I usually use it on toothache and arthritic joints, but it does contain elfroot, and that little plant work wonders on just about everything."

"You think my horns are like teeth?" he asked, not sounding impressed.

"I don't know anything about horns," she told him truthfully. "But this does look like it will only get more painful as the strap rubs deeper. I think you should get a wider strap, if it can't be moved, but the ointment should help with the irritation."

"It's worth a try," he conceded, letting her smear a generous amount onto the groove in his horn. "I'll let you know if it works."

"If it doesn't, we can try something else," she promised, wiping her hands clean as he wrapped the leather back into place. "Adan should be able to come up with something." Or Master Dennet, she thought, keeping that to herself. Bull wasn't an animal, but she might need the horsemaster's expertise to work up a treatment for an injury to his horn.

"You're the boss, little red." The Qunari spy rose to his feet, towering over her once again. It was just as well she already felt small around most humans here, otherwise this might have upset her again.

"Kaaras is the boss," she corrected him with a smile.

"Not yet," Bull pointed out, his grin pretending to know all sorts of things she didn't. "Stitches'll stop by later." He stretched, patting her gently on top of her head. "Thanks."

"My pleasure."

As soon as he was gone, she sank back into her seat, shaking all over once again. Holy crap on a cracker ... that was too close.