Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Inquisitor Sylvanni Lavellan hated going to bed.

The door to her personal chambers in Skyhold closed behind her with a solid sounding click, and she leaned back against it, head lolling back to rest against the wood and eyes closed. She wished the day wasn’t over. She wished everyone else was still awake and about. She wished her own tired exhaustion would have let her avoid sleeping just a little longer.

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the rooms themselves. In fact, she had some of the nicest rooms in the keep, and certainly the best view from her balconies. They were well furnished, beautifully designed, and altogether what one would expect for the most powerful member of a powerful institution like the Inquisition.

And yet, she hated every moment she had to spend in her quarters, because as soon as she left the main hall behind, she was alone. The one thing she could not stomach about her rooms was that they were always, unfailingly empty. No company but herself.

She simply stood, leaning back against the door on feet tired from a long day, focusing on the feeling of her body’s own soreness as a way to distract herself. Surrounded by the multitudes of friends and allies as she was during the day, it was not loneliness which made her dread retiring each night, but rather, fear.

With no one else around her, there was no escape from her thoughts. An actor could not take the stage with no audience. No one wore a mask when they had no one to hide from. A storyteller could spin no tales if no one would listen.

Sylvanni could not be the Inquisitor with no one around to need her.

She’d taken on the part so well, she hardly remembered what her life had been like before the events at Haven. It started as a survival tactic. She had been a prisoner, and would have done anything to convince the Inquisition that she was innocent, that she meant no harm. She’d stepped into the responsibility of closing the rifts in the Fade because she was the only person who could. She’d taken on the mantle of Herald of Andraste for the protection the new status could afford her, realizing that if she was no one special, she was likely to end up imprisoned, dead, or Tranquil.

Then, it had started to give people hope. She saw that her position, the ideal that she was coming to represent, was helping people through a time of chaos and uncertainty. Playing the part of the Herald didn’t feel natural to her, but it felt like the right thing to do at least. When she was asked to become the Inquisitor, it simply seemed like another necessary responsibility, another chance to do good by the people of Thedas. She felt she could lead this group well, make something of the Inquisition. Make it powerful enough that they could challenge and defeat Corypheus.

It had to be done. Someone had to do it. Someone had to step up and be the Herald. Be the Inquisitor. The Inquisition needed a leader, or they would fall and falter. It simply happened to be her. All she could do was give them her best, couldn’t she?

She had become what they needed her to be. A religious figure as the Herald of Andraste, a symbol of hope and fate. A fair judge, presiding over wrongdoers from her throne, and choosing punishments that had to be deserved and just. A tactician, moving resources and troops across the table and the continent. A politician, able to decipher the intrigue and plots of Thedas’ most powerful nobles and rules, and savvy enough to hold her own in the twisted machinations of the Game.

To her companions, she needed to be different things as well, and she did her best to adapt to what they needed. A listening ear for Varric. A comrade in arms to Blackwall. An employer and occasional drinking partner for Bull. A best friend for Sera. A foundation for Cassandra. A protégée for Vivienne. A kinswoman to Solas. A family for Dorian. A protector for Cole.

To Cullen’s soldiers, she was the banner waving at the front lines of the army. Leliana’s spies saw her as the keystone, the one holding all of the secrets and seeing the full picture. She was leverage for Josephine, a name with influence that could be used to move their opponents and allies as needed.

So many needs, so many things she needed to be if she wished to see them succeed. The burden of being the Inquisitor wasn’t the responsibility for one role, but adapting to the mask as it changed, shifting faces and actions and self to match her situation, like a chameleon’s scales against an ever-changing, never-ending sequence of backgrounds.

But who was she when she was alone? When those needs dropped away in the small hours of the night, when her responsibilities laid themselves down from her shoulders to rest until the next day, who was she? She couldn’t remember anymore. That terrified her. Terrified her beyond words.

In these nights, surrounded by the quiet of her chambers with no company but her own, her fears haunted her. They whispered that she’d worn the mask for too long, that there was nothing underneath the persona of the Inquisitor. That she’d faked her way through everything she’d needed to be that she didn’t know what was real anymore. If there was any part of her that was still real.

She undressed and readied herself for bed, feeling a horrible emptiness within, like a puppet putting itself away for the night. She tried to think of who she’d been before the Inquisition, before Haven. She loved her clan, but there had always been something about her that didn’t fit in with them. She’d done her duty as First, excelled at her studies in magic, but there was always a slight tension between her and her fellow clanmates. Resentment because she’d been the First? Jealousy that she’d picked up magic quickly? A part of her still wondered if she’d been sent to spy at the Conclave because she didn’t quite click with those she’d grown up with. Perhaps they’d thought she could serve Clan Lavellan better away from them.

Now it didn’t matter who she’d been then. Clan Lavellan was gone. She hadn’t been able to serve them at all. She’d read the report on her own, hearing from Josephine’s negotiators that her clan had been scattered – those that hadn’t been killed. She remembered reading those words, that nothing could have been done to save them, hitting her like a blow to her chest. She’d found a quiet spot alone, down in the broken, dusty prison cells, and had cried herself dry over the loss of them. That had been back in Haven, but it hurt her still, like an old wound that didn’t ever heal right, sore and aching with every day, every hour, every moment. She still hadn’t talked to anyone about it. She couldn’t find the words.

Perhaps it was better, not having anything to tie her to her past. Nothing to distract her from her duties in the present, right? It wasn’t as though she would have been able to go back now. Word of the Herald of Andraste had spread through the Chantries of Orlais and Ferelden, possibly farther. Now, the name Inquisitor Lavellan was known far and wide, and she was fast becoming a leader to rival the powers of Empress Celene or King Alistair and Queen Anora. If she defeated Corypheus – and the alternative was unthinkable – she had little doubt she would take her place as a figure of legend. An unsettling thought, that, but in terms of the burdens she had to carry, it was simply another on the list.

Regardless, she wouldn’t have ever been able to go back. Stepping back down to be Keeper of Clan Lavellan never would have worked. Even if they had survived, another First would have been appointed while she was away. They would have gone on without her. One way or another, she would have left Lavellan behind forever. The young Dalish mage Sylvanni wasn’t what the Inquisition needed. She’d set that version of herself aside, and now she’d moved on too far to pick it up again. She didn’t know who she’d become in the meantime, beneath it all. She feared she hadn’t become anyone at all.

She lay back in a bed that almost seemed too soft, as it always did after she returned to the keep after a few weeks sleeping on the road, and stared up at the lofted ceiling. Quiet nights on her own, she felt so empty. Try as she might to keep her mind focused on what still needed to be done and her responsibilities, the dangers of her introspection circled, lying in wait and watching for a weak point to strike. She never felt weaker than when the mask dropped away. Her inner demons had nothing to do with the Fade. What would the Inquisition think if it found out their leader’s greatest fear was nothing more than herself?

She forced her eyes closed, trying to will her body’s exhaustion to pull her into unconsciousness. Those questions of who she was, who she would be when this was all over, who she had become, seemed to whisper at her from all sides. She knew they were always there, always haunting her, but the silence seemed to only make them stronger.

She told herself that it didn’t matter who she was. Not until this was over. The Inquisition did not need Sylvanni Lavellan, whoever she might be. Thedas did not need her. They needed the Inquisitor, and until this was all over, that was who she would be. She clung to that rationale like a lifeline, pushing away thoughts of herself for another day, and waited for sleep to claim her.

Chapter Text

Sylvanni Lavellan paused outside of Cullen's slightly opened door, listening to the sound of his voice inside with a smile. Something about the way he talked just seemed to relax her, especially after a long day of training. She didn't pay attention to what was being said, but decided not to linger too long, lest she seem to be eavesdropping.

With a small knock of warning, she pushed the door open all the way and stepped inside. "Commander?"

Cullen looked up, eyebrows raising just a touch when he saw who it was. "Inquisitor." He turned back to the captain he'd been speaking with. "I think that was everything. I'd like those reports by tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Commander."

“You are dismissed, Captain.”

The woman saluted, then turned to leave, sheepishly averting her eyes from Sylvanni after an embarrassed moment of eye contact. Sylvanni plastered a kind smile on her face, hoping she wasn’t blushing. She knew rumors had started circling the keep about her relationship with the Commander, but that didn’t make the sidelong glances from seemingly everyone any less awkward to endure.

As the door shut behind the soldier, Cullen’s expression softened. “It’s good to see you.”

She absently pulled her hair from behind her ears, letting it fall forward to cover them. “I was wondering if you had some free time this afternoon?”

“For you? Always.” He straightened a few reports on his desk. “Were you hoping we could take a stroll out on the battlements later?”

Sylvanni blushed, realizing how similar her request had sounded to her usual requests for alone time with him. “Actually, I was looking for something other than a kiss today. Not that that doesn’t sound lovely, though.”

He blinked, seeming embarrassed, though he tried to cover it with a nervous sounding cough. Though her intention hadn’t been to fluster him, she had to admit there was something endearing about seeing him put off balance. “Oh, well. Of course. What did you have in mind?”

“It’s somewhat of a strange request, actually,” she said. “I was wondering if you might be willing to teach me how to use a sword.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Teach you to use a sword? That’s… not something many mages would request. Have you decided to stop using a staff for some reason?”

“Not… exactly.” She walked forward, sitting down on the edge of his desk. “Do you remember the operation to recruit experts to train me?”

He nodded, though his expression said he wasn’t following.

“I’ve decided to take Commander Helaine as my tutor. You are looking at the newest member of the order of Knight-Enchanters.”

She pulled out the newly forged hilt of her blade to show him, though she didn’t summon the power to form the sword itself. Learning the basics of how to use the weapon had been her task of the last few days, and Helaine had finally decided she was competent enough to use it on her own, though it would take practice to master, of course.

Cullen stepped forward to get a closer look. "A Knight-Enchanter? That's an impressive choice."

His tone was nothing but supportive, yet she felt a twinge of self-consciousness. Did he think it was foolish? A girl like her trying to fight on the front lines? The Keeper had called hers a "mage's figure"; petite and slender, even for an elf. A part of her still wondered if she wouldn't be better off staying back and casting from afar.

Cullen’s line of thinking seemed to be mirroring her own. “Are you sure you want to fight on the front lines of battle?”

She had learned quickly to hide insecurities behind confidence when she’d stepped into the role of Inquisitor. “What?” she asked him, with a self-assured smile. “You think I can’t handle myself in a close quarters fight?”

“No, of course not,” he said, quickly trying to backtrack. “I was only trying to--”

She laid a hand on his arm, cutting him off. “Cullen, it’s okay. I… understand why you’d ask. I’ve been thinking the same things since I decided to do this. Since before that, even, if I’m being honest. I didn’t mean to sound contrary with you. I’ve just gotten used to acting defensive against critiques while playing Inquisitor that I don’t always know when to stop.”

“Play Inquisitor, Lavellan?”

She sighed. “Surely you of all people would realize how much of a mask that persona is. You’re one of the few people with whom I feel comfortable letting it down.”

He gave a small nod, sitting down beside her on the desk. The feathers of his cape brushed her ear. “I suppose it seems to come to you so naturally, even I forget.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I suppose.”

“It was meant to be one. Inquis…” He paused, amending his address. “Sylvanni, you’re a natural leader, and I believe you were exactly what the Inquisition needed. I have worked closely with people in positions of power for a good part of my life, and I don’t know that I have ever seen someone placed under such pressure perform so admirably. Even aside from your situation, I have never served under a better leader.”

She couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. Sera’s influence, no doubt. “You mean I’m not the only leader you’ve ‘served under’?”

“Maker’s breath,” he swore, cheeks turning nearly as red as his cape. “That’s not at all what I was trying to--”

She pulled his head sideways, and cut him off with a quick kiss. “I know, but I couldn’t resist.”  She sat back and leaned against his arm. “I have thought about these things, however. I know I’m not exactly the picture of a front lines warrior, but there’s just something that feels right about being as close to the action as possible. You can’t understand your enemy, you can’t feel the fight standing back and out of danger. I don’t feel entirely comfortable letting others take blows for me when I might be able to help by fighting at their side.

“It’s been that way with the Inquisition as a whole, as well. Even if I weren’t the only one capable of closing the rifts, I don’t think I’d be content to stay in Skyhold and direct our resources from the war table alone. We do a lot of good that way, but I need to be out there, doing things on my own, and fixing problems firsthand. Staying clear of the action has never been an appealing choice to me, Cullen.

"I didn’t come here to talk the Inquisition, however.” Absently, she started tossing her bladeless hilt with her off hand. “I know you’re very busy with, well, being the Commander, and everything. If you don’t have time, I’m sure Cassandra or Blackwall could help me with this. I simply thought I should ask you first, as you are my first choice.”

“I appreciate hearing that I’m your top candidate,” he said, the blush in his cheeks still slowly fading away from her teasing. “I have some free time tomorrow, if you’d like. Are you certain I’m the right person to be training you, however? I imagine using a Knight-Enchanter’s blade is rather different from a regular sword. I’m not sure I will be of much help.”

“Commander Helaine has assured me that they are entirely different, actually,” she said. “My training in how to use the spirit blade is almost entirely her teaching, though Vivienne has given me a few tips in passing since she heard.”

“If the two are so different…”

“Why would I ask to learn?” She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “It just felt right, I suppose. If I’m going to be up close with the enemy, I want to understand how their strategy and tactics work, even if I’m not using them myself. There’s a part of me that thinks if I’m going to be using a sword, even a magical one, I ought to know the basics of using a real one as well. I don’t expect I’ll be trading my staff for a sword out in the field any time soon, but I’d be a somewhat embarrassing knight if I couldn’t handle myself around a normal sword when I needed to.”

He nodded a few times. “That makes sense. I have a few hours of open time after midday tomorrow if you’d like to meet then. I could requisition one of the spaces atop the towers to give us some privacy.”

She smiled. “I appreciate that. Probably best if the men don’t see their Inquisitor fumbling about with a sword for the first time.”

“I agree.” He stood, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. “I, however, am looking forward to seeing you out of your element. You seem to take to these things so naturally, I think I could use a reminder that you’re still human.”

Sylvanni raised an eyebrow at his choice of words, then not-so-subtly raised a hand to tap her ear.

Cullen winced. “Er, elven. Sorry. You knew what I meant.”

She smiled at him, raising up on tiptoes to give him a small kiss on the cheek. “Yes, I did, Commander. I’ll see you tomorrow. And, thank you for this. It means a lot to me.”

He bowed his head as she started to walk away. “Any time, Inquisitor.”

Chapter Text

"Before we begin," Cullen said, shrugging out of his cape and gently folding it on a bench, "I'd like to see what you already know."

It was a warm afternoon, despite the altitude of Skyhold, and Sylvanni was sure Cullen was grateful for the excuse to get out from under his heavy feather mantle. She herself was wearing a lighter tunic and pants than the usual formal clothes she wore around the keep, something that gave her a good range of motion and that she wouldn't worry about sweating in.

"Are you sure you're not just curious what the blade looks like in action?" Despite her teasing tone, she stepped up to one of the training dummies, pulling out the spirit blade hilt.

"I have seen Knight-Enchanters before, you know," he said, leaning back against the stone wall of the tower top. "Though never this closely, I'll admit. Regardless, the first step in training someone is assessing what the student already knows."

Sylvanni turned to face the target, falling into the stance Helaine had taught and adjusting her grip on the hilt. "The tactics of a Knight-Enchanter," she quoted, "are founded in two principles: motion and cadence."

She stepped forward, swinging her arm as the blade lanced forth from her hand in a burst of light. "Motion. The spirit blade is not a weapon meant to be held static. Slashes and sweeps must combine speed and precision. One should use the momentum of the strike to help conjure the blade, imagining that the blade is being flung forth from the hand with the initiation and retracted on the back swing."

She timed her slashes with her steps, making her way around the dummy as she worked as she'd been taught. She thought the stuffed wooden figure had been enchanted to resist spirit energy, which explained why she wasn't slicing it to ribbons with every stroke.

"Cadence," she continued. "It is the folly of the novice to try to summon the blade once and keep it held steady. Despite the appearance of the blade, it is a spell, not a tangible weapon, for which the hilt is merely the focus. Holding the spell is foolishness, and will only leave the mage drained, weak, and powerless. There must be a rhythm to its casting and a rhythm to its use. It is most efficient to use the blade in cadence, calling and dismissing, in and out, matching casts with breaths and steps. Energy expended to create, followed by a breath of pause to recover for the next."

She finished the exercise, making the full circuit to where she'd begun, then turned back to look at Cullen. Her heartbeat was elevated, but not racing. Helaine had been running her through these drills for the past week, often asking her to explain while she worked as she'd done here. Vocal reinforcement of the ideas, she'd said. Talking was meant to keep her focused and controlled as she worked lest she attempt to throw all of her energy into the attacks.

She felt a small surge of pride in seeing the impressed look on Cullen's face. "Commander Helaine has trained you well, I see,” he said. “You weren't joking when you said the form was rather different from that of a normal sword, however."

She nodded, slipping the hilt back into its tailored loop on her belt. "That's why I'm here."

He stood up fully, carrying a dulled practice sword over to her. "Here. Your grip should be the similar, at least. However, you'll want to hold this sword firmly enough that you won't lose it, yet not so tightly that you hurt your hand when it strikes something."

He pulled his own sword free from the scabbard at his waist and she could see that he was carrying a practice blade as well. Now it was his turn to step up to the target and fall into stance to demonstrate. He didn’t run through a full routine as she had, just made a few practice strikes at the dummy, sword making rhythmic thunks against the wood as the dull blade hit.

He turned back toward her. “You said that using your blade was all about motion. The basics of using a real sword comes down to stability. We drill recruits on their footwork and stances because being able to keep balanced and steady in a fight is the most important aspect of using a sword. If your opponent can knock you over, they will win.”

She nodded, running a hand along the flat of the sword. “Makes sense.”

“A steel sword won’t pass through your enemies without effort.”

She grinned at him. “Unless perhaps Bull were the one using it.”

He chuckled. “Unless perhaps Bull were the one using it. Those of us with less than a Qunari’s strength have to make do how we can. What’s important to remember about a regular sword is that a soldier’s armor should not be the first line of defense. The sword should be. It is as much a tool for attack as it is for defense. Properly learning to block and parry incoming attacks without losing control is as crucial as learning to strike properly. All of that comes from a stable stance.”

Sylvanni nodded again, trying to mimic the stance he’d used. She was starting to realize that these kinds of things were more about feeling it correctly than simply copying the appearance. If this was anything like Knight-Enchanter training, it would probably take her a little while to find the stance correctly, but once she had it, she’d be able to get back to it easily enough.

She placed her feet, like she thought he had, but ‘balance and stability’ weren’t the words that came to mind to describe how she felt. “I… don’t think this is quite right.”

He sheathed his sword. “Here, let me help you.” He reached forward as if to adjust her shoulders, then pulled back just before touching her, deciding instead to try to talk her into correcting the stance instead by describing what was wrong. He would have her fix something about the way she was standing -- her feet’s width, the height of her elbows, the rotation of her shoulders -- and then stand back and inspect. Each time he came forward, she noticed that he’d start to reach to shift her, then pull himself away and talk through it instead.

She watched him pull back for what must have been the tenth time, and finally tipped her head in his direction with a questioning look. “Cullen, is everything okay?”

He stopped, a frown touching his lips. “Of course, why do you ask?”

She dropped the stance, making sure she’d be able to get back to it before she did, and fell into a relaxed posture with her hand on her hip. “You seem nervous, and you’re acting strange.”

The frown deepened. “Strange, how?”

“You keep acting like you’re going to fix something about my stance, and then draw back before you do.”

“Ah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to...” He sighed. “It seemed… improper, I suppose. If I were training a female recruit one-on-one, it would be best if I kept physical contact to a minimum.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I suppose I appreciate that on behalf of our female recruits, but if it would be easier for you to teach me by moving me into the stance, you’re perfectly welcome to. I mean, I’m not just any female recruit. I think you and I have stolen enough kisses on the battlements for you to know I don’t have a problem with physical contact, Cullen. Especially with you.”

“Well, when you say it like that, I suppose it sounds a bit silly of me,” he said. “I simply… This is a different situation than a stroll on the battlements, and I wouldn’t want to seem to be taking advantages. I didn’t want you to feel like I was grabbing you, or forcing you to do anything. I’ve always hated watching captains who feel like they have the right to manhandle those under their command to get them in line. I’ve served under several as well and it was never a pleasant experience.”

“I imagine not,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I don’t think your caution was silly at all. It’s sweet. Respectful, even. I appreciate it. If it makes things easier for you, though, you have my full permission to move me as you please. I don’t mind at all.”

He gave a small nod. “It does, actually. Thank you.” He started forward, then paused again. “You’re sure?”

She shot him a flat look. “Cullen. It’s fine.” She fell back into stance, practice sword held before her.

Finally, she felt, the lesson began. He started with her grip. His hands, so much larger than hers, calloused and scarred from the life of a soldier, enveloped her own, shifting her, holding her grip secure. He moved to her arms next, working on each side to adjust the angle of her wrists, then elbows, then shoulders. From shoulders, he moved back, standing behind her and turning her, ever so gently to straighten her out. A soft pressure right between her shoulder blades, inching her balance forward, off of her heels and onto the balls of her feet.

His hands moved downward, holding her hips, shifting her with infinitesimal precision. Despite her explicitly given permission, his corrections were soft and his touch was gentle, hands never lingering longer than they needed to. He knelt down on one knee, fixing her feet and legs, then quickly upward again to check that she hadn’t changed anything.

“There,” he said, nodding in approval as he stepped back and looked her over. She tried to commit the pose to memory. “How does that feel?”

It felt right, and she tried to commit the pose to memory. “Solid, and steady,” she said. “Standing like this, I feel like I’d be able to find off an attack if it came.”

He laughed, a warm sound to match the afternoon weather. “Don’t get ahead of yourself just yet. You have a long way to go before I would call you a swordswoman. Let’s focus on the stance for now, and worry about fending off attacks later. Relax and shake yourself loose, then try to get back into stance again.”

She did as asked, and when she was back in position, he checked her over again. Careful touches from him corrected form, spacing, and balance once more, though there were fewer this time than the first set up. The time after that, even fewer. A tiny part of Sylvanni thought about messing up intentionally, as there was something comforting about the gentle pushes and pulls, but doing that wouldn’t help her learn.

By the end of the afternoon, she was able to assume the proper stance with little to no correction, and Cullen had begun to teach her a few basic thrusts and slashes. He was an excellent instructor, blending clear explanation, demonstration, and tactile reinforcement to help her grasp the techniques. She was well aware how far she had to go before she would even be considered passable with a sword, but so long as she could learn from him, she felt she had a good chance.

Beyond that, she couldn’t think of a more pleasant way to spend an afternoon of free time. She was surprised when the evening bells rang, unable to believe she had spent so much time with him already. She felt tired, after running drills and techniques all afternoon, and the steel practice sword wasn’t nearly as light to swing about as the ethereal spirit blade, but it was the weariness of a hard day’s work. The loose weakness she felt in her arms and legs promised soreness tomorrow, but she felt it was a small price to pay for the experience.

Cullen waited for the bells to stop before speaking. “I think that would be as good a signal as any to dismiss this session. We probably ought to wash before dinner as well. I think Josephine nearly ran me from the keep the last time I tried to sit for a meal without cleaning up first. I’m not sure she would demand that the Inquisitor leave, however.”

Sylvanni ran a hand across her forehead, wiping away the sweat there. “I think it best we don’t antagonize poor Josephine any more than usual. Besides, I think getting clean sounds like an excellent idea.” She glanced down at her loose practice clothing. “This isn’t exactly proper dinner attire anyway.”

He picked up his cape and mantle from where he’d laid them on the bench, forgoing putting them on in the heat and leaving the heavy fabric and feathers folded over his arm instead. “You’re a very quick learner, Sylvanni. You may not have a warrior’s physique, but you have an excellent sense of yourself. You remember techniques and corrections with remarkable accuracy.”

“I’ve learned to become a quick learner at a lot of things, these past few months, Cullen,” she said. She broke into a smile before she could dwell too long on that thought. “But haven’t you ever been told it isn’t polite to comment on a lady’s physique?”

He smiled back, her teasing tone enough to keep him from feeling embarrassed. “Then I shall comment on her mind instead, when I say that she is one of the finest students I’ve had the pleasure of teaching. If you would like me to help you like this again, I would be more than willing to do so.”

She walked up to him, standing on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss. “As guilty as I feel for stealing away the Inquisition’s Commander for an entire afternoon, I do think that would be lovely.” She handed the practice sword back to him.

“What is the Inquisition’s Commander, if he is not also the Inquisitor’s Commander, Inquisitor?”

She smiled. “A valid point, that. I do think we need to be going, however, if we do not wish to be late, Commander.”

Their quarters were in opposite directions, and with his things gathered, Cullen started to walk back towards his tower as Sylvanni turned toward the main keep. “Will I see you at dinner, then?” he asked, walking backward to stay facing her.

She nodded, calling over her shoulder. “Let us hope Josephine finds no reason to send either of us out!”

Chapter Text

“Cullen?” Sylvanni asked, leaned back against him in front of the fire.

It was a cold night in Skyhold, with a snowstorm blowing in over the mountains. Most training exercises and operations had finished early for the day, with everyone headed indoors to keep warm. Fire pits and hearths were lit all over the keep, and she’d heard the tavern was full to bursting.

The Inquisitor and Commander had found a quiet enough corner in the main hall, over near where Varric usually stood, though the storytelling dwarf was absent for the moment. Perhaps it was untoward of Sylvanni to have been sitting so close with Cullen out in the open like this, but there were few enough seats in the hall that it was justifiable, she thought. Besides, it wasn’t as if most of the Inquisition was unaware of her involvement with him, even if they did usually try to keep their relationship out of public spaces out of respect.

“Hmm?” He’d pulled his cape and mantle over her small shoulders as they’d sat, and it was blessedly warm as she leaned against him. The chairs around their table had been stolen away to other hearths and tables, leaving the two of them with some open space around them, if not actual privacy.

“Do you ever wish I was human?”

He stayed silent for a long moment. “Why do you ask that?”

She didn’t look up to try to read his reaction, and she wasn’t entirely able to gauge how he felt about the question from tone alone. Was he upset for her, surprised that she’d been thinking this? Guilty, as though she’d stumbled on the truth? She couldn’t be sure. She prayed it wasn’t the last.

“I mean, it’s obvious that the Inquisition would have been better off if I weren’t Dalish, isn’t it? Half of the heresy surrounding the idea that I was the Herald came from the fact that Andraste would never have chosen an elf as her representative. Those sidelong glances and under-the-breath comments at Halamshiral conveyed that idea rather clearly. ‘Oh, no that can’t be the Inquisitor, I’m sure she’s just a servant or something.’ No one would question a human Inquisitor. Not for the reasons they question me. How many opportunities have we missed on account of prejudices against people like me?”

He leaned his head forward over her shoulder, trying to catch sight of her expression. She looked down, not meeting his eyes, but she didn't need to in order to read the worry in him.

"Sylvanni," he said quietly. "Did something happen? Did someone say something to you?" The arm wrapped around her shoulders tightened slightly, the soft embrace turning protective. "If one of our men..."

She laid a hand on his knee, stopping him. "No one said anything to me, Cullen. Josephine took care of that in my first few weeks. But no one needed to say anything about me for me to know it to be true."

"It isn't true," he said, his voice firm. "You were, and are, exactly what the Inquisition needed. What's making you think like this? I thought you were proud of your Dalish heritage."

"I am," she said. "But I can be proud of something while recognizing it as a weakness to our position."

"Yes,” he said slowly, “someone human may have originally had an easier time gaining allies, but that's not important. Think of the things that you, as a Dalish elf, can accomplish. You have influence that few Dalish ever have, and I see you using that to make things better for them. Your showing at Halamshiral showed that you're every bit as competent as the Orlesian nobility. More so even. I think it does the courtiers good to be beaten at their own Game, especially by someone they underestimated. You showed them that they were wrong about you. You're showing the entire world that they're wrong about the Dalish."

She fell quiet at that, mulling his words over. She realized absently that the way they were sitting, with his arm and cape wrapped around her, there wasn't any question about their relationship. She told herself that it was okay because no one was really paying attention to them, but if she was being honest, she really just didn't care anymore tonight.

"I just don't want to be a liability," she said softly.

"You aren't,” he said, still holding her tightly. “Not everything has to be about the Inquisition. You are more than simply the Inquisitor, Sylvanni. You’ve given so much for this cause. You’ll only make yourself mad feeling guilty over things you cannot give up. And shouldn’t give up, even if it were possible. You’re Dalish, and you’re proud to be so. That isn’t something to feel bad about, certainly not on account of something so trivial as our political status.”

She felt a small warmth inside that had nothing to do with the fire, a little glow in the center of her chest. He was probably right. And hearing his words made her fears retreat, just slightly. A small step back, a little more breathing room in her mind. As her fears about herself made space, however, another related fear started making whispers.

“You technically haven’t answered the question,” she said slowly, wondering if pursuing this line of thought was a good idea at all. “The Inquisition aside, would you prefer if I were human?”

Cullen stilled, realizing what she meant, and his grip on her arm loosened. “I.... Of course not. Is that something you believed? I would never… I wouldn’t dream of changing a single thing about you.”

It was the answer she had expected, and she believed he was sincere. However, that wasn’t necessarily the worry that she’d had. His hand reached up to gently brush against her hair -- and her ears beneath the dark brown locks -- and she forced herself not to react to the affectionate touch.

I shouldn’t ask, she thought. That should be enough for me, and I should leave it at that. She almost did. But that little fear would keep nagging at her, she knew, and she might never have an opportunity while they were on this topic again. I shouldn’t ask… but I need to know.

“So, would you say that you… prefer me, because I am an elf, then?”

His hand froze, mid-stroke.

With the embarrassing question hanging out in the air, somehow Sylvanni’s mind decided that the best way to fix this was to keep talking, perhaps in hopes that she’d be able to bury the awkwardness with more words. She should have realized she would only dig herself in deeper.

“I mean,” she said quickly, wishing she’d never brought the topic up, “I’ve heard that there are men who have a preference for elven women. Small stature, delicate features, perhaps even the vallaslin are alluring to some.”

“Sylvanni…” Cullen’s voice sounded strained.

She should have let him talk, but she feared his answer. “I know you mentioned the Hero of Ferelden too, your… youthful infatuation, yes? She was an elven mage too, wasn’t she? I’ve seen portraits of her, in markets and the like, and I can’t help but notice... similarities. A mage, an elf, brown hair, blue eyes. She wasn’t Dalish, so she didn’t have vallaslin, but even so I--”

Before she could finish her sentence, Cullen turned her quickly, leaning down and cutting her off by pressing his lips to her own. He closed his eyes, and there was something forceful in the kiss, as though he was trying to make her understand something by the action. Her eyes went wide, a panic rising as her worries about his affection suddenly flared up with worries that they were in public, people would see them and she would…

Then it all just simply faded away. He held onto her, insistently, and she simply closed her eyes and relaxed, letting her mind forget for a moment that anything existed outside of the two of them.

He finally pulled back, meeting her eyes with a deep stare. She suspected he’d used the kiss to give himself a moment to think, and a small part of her found it ironic that his pause for thought had shut her mind down completely. She found her heart racing, breath coming just a little bit faster, though surely it hadn’t lasted very long.

“Sylvanni,” he said, the name spoken slowly and calmly. “You are a beautiful woman, and I thought Eliane was a beautiful woman as well. But you must know that my affection for you is so much deeper than anything as shallow as your appearance or your race. I care about you because you are kind, compassionate, determined, and decisive. You are an amazing leader and an even more incredible person. That is why I care about you, Sylvanni. You must know that.”

His expression was serious, tone insistent. She stared back for a long moment before she finally smiled and reached up to give him a small kiss, lips just brushing together. Then she pulled close to him, pressing her head against his chest. When they’d begun this night, she’d had her back against his chest, both of them facing the fire. Over the course of the conversation, she’d ended up turned to face him, curling up as close to him as she could.

“I’m sorry, I do know that. I shouldn’t have asked at all,” she said quietly, head tucked against his shoulder. “It was rude of me, but… I had to know, Cullen. I didn’t really think… but I had to know.”

He placed a hand on her back, rubbing slow, even circles between her shoulder blades. “It’s all right. I understand, Sylvanni. You don’t need to explain anything.”

The two sat in a comfortable silence for a long while, and she just savored the feeling of being safe in Skyhold. She was used to a life out on the road, travelling far and wide, falling asleep each day miles from where she’d woken up that morning. Dalish clans were nomadic, of course. But there was something to be said for having one place to call home. It was a new concept for her, but one to which she was swiftly growing accustomed. She felt as though she could spend forever like this, with the snowy mountain wind howling outside, and she safely indoors, warm from the fire, from his cloak wrapped around her, and from Cullen himself holding her close.

Eventually she spoke up, voice slightly muffled with her head on his shoulder. “You called her Eliane.”

“Hmm?”

“The Hero of Ferelden. Warden-Commander Surana,” she said. “You’re on first-name terms with her?”

She could feel his chest move as he chuckled. “I suppose I probably shouldn’t be,” he said. “If we were to meet now, we would be almost like strangers, I should think. I knew her for years in the Circle, though, and there’s a part of me that still thinks of her as my friend from my time in Lake Calenhad, before the Blight, before she joined the Wardens. We were close, as I told you, perhaps closer than we should have been, though nothing untoward ever happened between us. Especially considering that I attended her Harrowing. That almost feels like a different life, now.”

“Harrowings,” she said, unable to keep from frowning. “Shemlen always call the Dalish ‘savages’, but we aren’t the ones who intentionally lure demons to young mages and murder them if they aren’t strong enough to fight them off.”

“I…” Cullen’s voice sounded hurt, just the faintest bit. “There is a lot that is wrong with the Circles, I can agree. That is a part of why I left.”

She cursed herself inwardly. He was a Templar, Sylvanni. He probably ‘murdered’ any number of abominations, as you just accused him. From the sound of it, that isn’t something he’s proud of, and you were insensitive enough to bring it up.

“I heard rumors about her, the Warden-Commander, I mean,” she said, grasping for a topic that would move away from the Circles without being a complete non-sequitur. “Is it true that she and the King of Ferelden…?”

“Ah,” he said, “Leliana and Morrigan actually traveled with her. I’m sure they would know better than I, if you are truly curious. It would not surprise me, though. She and King Alistair worked together very closely to stop the Blight, and they were two of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden after the Battle of Ostagar. If it is true, he is a lucky man.”

He paused and pulled away from her just enough to look down. She met his eyes in return, and he smiled. “But I am luckier by far.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Luckier than the King of Ferelden?”

He leaned down and kissed her again, long and lingering this time, then pulled her close to whisper into her hair. “I would not trade you for all the kingdoms of Thedas.”

She wrapped her arms around him as well beneath the cloak, closing her eyes with a smile. “Nor I you.”

Chapter Text

Sylvanni didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep in front of the fire until she woke up to someone setting her down gently on her bed. She made a small noise, blinking as she made out Cullen’s features above her in the dim light of her quarters.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I did not mean to wake you. The hall had mostly emptied by the time I realized you’d fallen asleep, and I thought it best that I not disturb you. It was only a short distance to carry you up here.”

Her mind immediately latched onto a worry: ‘mostly emptied.’ Who had seen her, even if there were only a few? It probably wasn’t good for her people to see the Inquisitor being carried to bed by the Commander of her armies, like a child having foolishly attempted to stay up past her bedtime. What was done was done, however, and she didn’t need to focus on that right now.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she said. “That was very kind.”

He lowered his head briefly, though whether it was a nod of acknowledgement for her thanks or a small bow as he excused himself, she couldn’t say. Perhaps both. “I should leave you to your rest, Inquisitor. Goodnight.” He started to walk toward the door.

“Wait, Cullen,” she said quickly, feeling her fears begin to rise within her. Alone in her quarters, trapped in solitude. That emptiness gnawing at her from within, those thoughts surrounding her, whispering that nothing about her was real.

She knew the words were spoken in a moment of weakness, but she couldn’t face them tonight, not when he was right here. Not when he could keep them at bay. He was real. If there was one thing in her life that was, it came from him. Normally she could steel herself to face her inner demons each night, mentally prepare for her fears, but to wake up and have safety so close, only to let him leave her behind and fall into that darkness… she couldn’t do it.

Not tonight.

He paused, looking back. He’d called her by her title -- normally the sign between them that their personal time was over -- but she’d used his name instead of confirming the farewell with his title. She knew he was considering the implications of that. “Sylvanni?”

“Don’t go. Please.”

He seemed to consider the request for a long while. They both knew this was dangerous territory. It was night, and she was asking him to stay with her in her quarters. “Is… everything alright?”

“I just…” She sighed. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

His posture shifted: defensive. “I don’t know if that would be a good id--”

“Not like that,” she said, cutting him off before he could finish saying no. “You’re right, that would be a bad idea, so I’m not asking you to do anything improper. But… I need someone here. I can’t face myself tonight. I don’t think I can handle being alone with my thoughts and I’m afraid if you leave, they’ll suffocate me.” Her voice was trembling by the end of her plea.

His expression softened into concern as he saw that it was fear, not seduction, which had moved her to call him back. Slowly he walked back, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Sylvanni, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

She shook her head gently, embarrassed to find herself close to tears. “I’m afraid, Cullen. Do you ever feel like you’re not real? Like you’re only pretending to be someone else? Like you’ve been pretending for so long that you don’t remember who you actually are underneath it all?”

Cullen frowned. “You’re afraid that you aren’t real?”

“I haven’t been real since I stepped out of the Fade at Haven,” she said, pulling her knees up in a defensive posture and resting her forehead on top of them.

She couldn’t see his expression anymore, but his voice sounded concerned. “You think that walking in the Fade, that mark on your hand -- you think that changed you? Changed something about who you are?”

“Not in the way that you’re thinking,” she whispered. “The Inquisition changed me. The responsibility of what everyone needs me to be. What Thedas needs me to be. I told myself at the very beginning that I would do whatever it took to prove I was innocent, and that turned into ‘whatever it took to seal the Breach.’ Now the Inquisition needs me to do whatever it takes to defeat Corypheus. I can’t be myself when the fate of the world is literally in the palm of my hand. I have to be more than that. So much more than that.”

“Sylvanni…” He laid a hand on her foot gently.

“I’ve been wearing this mask for too long now. I don’t know who I am when I take it off anymore. What is the real me like, underneath all of this? Does she even exist anymore? What am I going to be when all of this is over? I find myself clinging to what the Inquisitor needs to be like a lifeline, because I’m terrified that one day it will be gone and I’ll find nothing but emptiness left in its place. Every night I sit in here, alone and that I might not be anyone. In the quiet of night, I turn to face myself and find nothing but the void.”

She raised her head from her legs, searching for something from him -- reassurance, comfort, something, anything -- and found him moving to embrace her again instead. She didn’t have time to uncurl herself, but his arms were long enough to wrap around her, knees and all. He held her tightly, and he felt like strength and silence to her. A foundation to hold to in the storm, and the comfort of true silence, as though his touch had quieted the accusations of her mind, if only for this moment.

It was enough.

No, in the quiet and the emptiness, it was everything.

“I don’t know if I have answers, Sylvanni,” he said, still holding her tight. “Perhaps those are questions only you can find the solution to. But I will stay beside you as you search for them, as long as you wish me to be here. You don’t need to be alone.”

“You’ll stay tonight?” The question was quiet, hesitant. She knew it was a selfish request, and one that would likely only cause trouble for both of them. If there had been rumors and whispers before, this would only throw fuel on the fire.

“Of course,” he said. “As long as you need me.”

She let him hold her for a while, then finally started to untuck her legs. He released her, letting her lay down and arrange herself in a sleeping position. He shifted so that he was out of her way, then moved close enough again to softly lay a hand on her back, rubbing a soothing pattern. Quietly he began to hum a song like a lullaby, and she recognized something familiar in the tune. It was the hymn those remnants of the Inquisition had sung after the Battle of Haven, that snowy night in the mountain passes.

She hadn’t known the words when they’d sung then, and Cullen didn’t sing any now, but the melody brought comfort. She felt she could remember what the song meant, if not what it said. Hope, even in the darkest of times.

She fell asleep feeling safe and whole in her own bed for the first time since this had all began.

Chapter Text

Early the next morning, Sylvanni awoke to the sound of a soft knock on the door outside her rooms. She sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes, then looked to the side, noticing that she wasn’t alone. Cullen, still wrapped in his cloak and mantle, snored quietly in one of the plush chairs beside her bed. She smiled faintly, though she did feel guilty having kept him from his own bed last night. Still, he seemed comfortable enough and was sleeping soundly.

The quiet knocking came again, reminding her why she’d woken. Perhaps her more sensitive hearing had let her catch it, or perhaps Cullen was simply a sounder sleeper than her, for the sound didn’t cause him to stir. She hadn’t changed out of her clothes last night, so she stood up, stretched, and straightened the wrinkles from her shirt and trousers.

She walked over to find Leliana at the bottom of the stairs, on her way up. The knocks had been more of a warning than a request, it seemed. Sylvanni stepped back to let her into the chambers themselves.

“My Lady Inquisitor,” Leliana said quietly. “Normally I would not have woken you so early, but I have a report I believe you will want to see as soon as possible.” Her eyes flicked to Cullen for a moment and she smiled. “I had a feeling I might find him up here, though fully clothed and dozing in your chair is a pleasant surprise.”

Sylvanni felt a blush rise to her cheeks at that comment, but she did her best to ignore it. “What was this report you wanted me to see? Should I wake the Commander as well?”

“I will leave sharing this information with him at your discretion, once you’ve seen. Let him rest for now.” Leliana nodded toward one of the balconies, and Sylvanni followed her out, grabbing a coat as she walked to shield against the morning chill. Away from the sleeping Cullen, the two could converse at a more normal volume.

Leliana turned back toward her, pulling a sealed piece of paper from her sleeve. “You remember the request we received from your clan a few months ago? They told us they were under attack by bandits, yes?”

Sylvanni felt as though the stones had dropped out from beneath her feet. Thinking back to the moment she’d read the report on that mission sent her into a freefall just as surely, and the impact at the bottom felt no less painful than if she’d fallen to the courtyard below. Josephine had reached out to a nobleman in the area, Duke Antoine of Wycome, but he had been unable to help her clan in time. ‘Scattered or killed.’ The words of that letter had been seared into her mind.

Aloud, she answered hollowly. “It would be difficult to forget.”

Leliana gave her a sympathetic smile. “Ah, yes. Well, something about the Duke’s letter to us didn’t sit quite right with me, so I sent a few of my agents out to investigate the situations. It was a feeling, an instinct, but I think you will be interested in what they found.”

Sylvanni took the paper from her spymaster, breaking the seal and opening it up. As she scanned over its contents, Leliana summarized for her.

“It seems the bandits who attacked your clan were not bandits at all, but rather a mercenary group. They were hired to wipe out your clan, Inquisitor. My agents ‘politely asked’ a few of this band’s members and it seems they are most likely in the employ of Duke Antoine himself.”

Sylvanni took a long, controlled breath. In, out. In, out. “You mean to say, the person we asked to help save my clan…”

“...was likely the very person trying to kill them in the first place,” Leliana finished.

“The person who succeeded in killing them,” Sylvanni said through gritted teeth. For months, thoughts of what had happened to her clan brought only sadness. A bandit group was nameless, anonymous. It was a random tragedy, selfish humans putting their needs before the lives of others, and willing to kill in order to steal. It was horrible, but there wasn’t anything she could have done about it.

Now, though? Now she had a name, had a person to blame for what had occurred. Finally, she had a target. This wasn’t a random unfortunate event, it was murder. And she’d asked this man to help, which made it a betrayal on top of it all. Her sadness was still there, but beneath it, a righteous anger started to boil up. Hatred, disgust, rage.

Leliana watched her as Sylvanni held the report in a white-knuckled grip. “There are signs that he may be working with the Red Templars or Venatori as well. Inquisitor, if you would like to take action against this man, I still have agents in the area. A few assassins among them, if you would like him killed for his crimes. Or they could ‘acquire’ him instead, bring him here to Skyhold for judgment.”

Sylvanni folded the paper report stiffly, tucking it into her jacket. “No, they were my clan. I will deal with this Duke Antoine myself. They deserve that much.” She turned, walking back into her quarters with a determined step. “Can you send down to the kitchens for rations? I’ll pack my things here and plan to leave before midday, if possible.”

The spymaster nodded, expression saying that she’d expected as much. As she stepped back inside, she glanced at Cullen, still sleeping in Sylvanni’s chair. “Are you going to tell him where you are going, or would you like me to tell him something for you?”

Sylvanni felt a bit of her anger ebb away looking at Cullen, and for a moment, she hesitated. If he were leaving, she would have wanted him to wake her to tell her what was going on. But she hadn’t even been able to bring up that her clan had been killed yet. She couldn’t go through all of that with him right now. He deserved better than that, but she couldn’t give it.

“I’ll leave a note for him,” she said, turning away. “If he asks, you can say I was called away on an urgent matter. It’s true enough.”

Leliana paused, then nodded. “If you like.”

Chapter Text

Solas

Servants had been set to packing supplies, rations were being gathered, and all in all, preparations were underway for Sylvanni’s imminent departure from Skyhold. The only thing left for her to gather personally then, was the group she wished to take with her on this trip.

Solas looked up from the notes he was reading as she walked into his rotunda. “Inquisitor?”

“Solas, are you busy?”

He set his notes aside, giving her his full attention. “Nothing that cannot wait a while. How may I help?”

“An... urgent matter has come up and I would have you with me, if you're available." Too stiff, too formal. She could hear it in her own voice, and she knew why it was there. She was too emotional, too many feelings boiling beneath the surface. She was shutting down to try to keep in control, but she wasn't conveying normalcy as she did so.

Solas, perceptive as always, could tell. His eyebrows drew together in concern. “Lethallan, is everything alright?"

She took a deep breath. "It will be." She turned to go. "We leave at midday."

Iron Bull

"You look like a woman with a job," Iron Bull said as she approached, the Qunari's face splitting in a wide grin. "What's the plan, boss?”

He lounged in his chair on his side of the tavern, but Sylvanni didn’t bother to sit. She was planning on making this quick. “I’ve gotten word of a nobleman who seems to be fond of committing atrocities and slaughtering innocents. Elves especially. Leliana believes he might be affiliated with Corypheus and the Red Templars, but his crimes warrant he be stopped and brought to justice, regardless of his reasoning or affiliation. I intend to see to him personally, and I don’t have any plans on making it a pleasant experience for him.”

Bull started stretching, as though he needed to prepare himself to stand. “Sounds like an asshole, boss. You want me to bring some ‘unpleasantness’ to this mission, I assume?”

Her lips pulled into a hard smile. The mercenary always did seem to provoke a rougher side from her. “I’m rather hoping you’ll be able to terrify him into a faint, to tell the truth.”

He laughed. “For you, boss? I’ll make sure to scare him shitless.”

Sera

Sylvanni didn't manage to finish walking up the stairs before Sera stopped her. "Hold it there,” the archer said, raising a warding hand. “You got a face. Yeah, that one you’re making at me right now. Something’s wrong, and not just regular wrong, but like really wrong, innit? You look like someone who found their boots fulla mud this morning."

"Sera, I don't--"

"Yeah, you do. I'd know. I've filled someone's boots with mud before and they looked right like that when they found out. Besides, you been talkin' to Bull down there, and one of the serving girls said you were talking to Solas 'bout an hour ago, so I know you’ve got some kind of plan. And it’s got something to do with you having mud-boot face, so I already don’t like it."

Sylvanni could see that Sera had no intention of stopping anytime soon, so she simply folded her arms and waited for her friend to be done.

“That cute blonde in the kitchens with the nice backside said you’re practically cleaning out the pantries with the amount of rations you’re asking for, so this is gonna be a long journey, which normally I ain’t got a problem with, but you’re in this weird muddy-boots funk and I’m not feeling getting trapped in dumb boring conversations for weeks on the road with the egghead and the gray cow while you’re being all broody, ya feel?”

Sylvanni gave a small sigh. For someone who spent about half of her conversations being nigh unintelligible, the archer was surprisingly perceptive. Perhaps that’s just how friends were, though. “Sera, yes, something is wrong. But I’d like you to be one of the ones to help me come and fix it. I wouldn’t ask you to join us if I didn’t feel like it was important.”

“Yeah,” Sera said, pulling the word out into a long drawl, “but I’m just saying, if there were anyone else to do it, maybe you could go ask them first? It’s not my fault you’re acting all weird right now, and I don’t really want to be around for weeks with you being weird. Sorry luv, but that’s just--”

“It’s about my clan,” Sylvanni snapped, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Sera paused for a moment, then her face slowly pulled into a grimace, as though she’d smelled one of Varric’s socks. “Eugh, you know if you were tryin’ to convince me, that’s a pretty rubbish way to do it. Not really a fan of elfy elves you know, and well, you’re not bad, but Dalish are like the elfiest of elfy elves and I don’t think--”

“They were murdered,” Sylvanni said, voice flat.

Sera’s mouth closed with a snap, and she blinked a few times. In the sudden silence, Sylvanni decided to continue. She hadn’t been planning on telling her companions what this was really about until they were on the road, but conversations with Sera tended to take unexpected turns, she’d learned. Besides, she thought if Sera had found out on the road that this was about Sylvanni’s clan, she might have felt as though she’d been tricked into coming or something.

"A nobleman near where they were camped," Sylvanni went on. "Slaughtered the whole clan. Everyone I knew before coming here is dead because of him. And the worst part?" Sylvanni shook her head slowly. "We asked him to help them. The Inquisition sent him a request for aid, and he had the gall to murder them all and then write back and tell us that there was nothing he could have done.

“So I’m going after him myself,” she said, feeling her nails biting into her hands as she clenched her fists. “He won’t get away with this. I know you don’t like Dalish, but honestly, I just want to see the look on his face when Inquisitor Lavellan shows up at his doorstep with two other ‘knife-ears’ at her side and a giant Qunari mercenary at their back. Let that be the sight of justice he sees coming to make him pay for his crimes.”

Sera was quiet for a while, thinking it over as her face cycled through various expressions of consideration. “Well… alright when you put it that way, not much choice, is there? Does sound like a bit of fun, huh. You know what this noble prick’s problem is? Probably can’t see how much of an arse he is. Lotsa dumb nobles in their fancy pants got the same problem, makes them kick down the real people. Couple ‘a arrows through his eyes oughta help clear that vision right up, ya think?”

Sylvanni gave her a grim smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

Chapter Text

Sylvanni had no intention of waiting to be announced. She pushed her way past a rather stunned looking steward in Duke Antoine’s entryway, walking with a determined step farther into the house once the door was opened. The steward was left, bewildered, in her wake as he first tried to get her to stop, then settled on simply trying to keep up with her.

It had been a long journey. She’d waited long enough.

It was currently early evening, the sun setting outside, and Duke Antoine was in his dining room, enjoying an early meal. He was an oily looking man, unhandsome but not unfashionable. The table was set with an extravagant meal, even for nobility, despite the fact that he was the only person in attendance. The idea that a man who was so monstrous could live in such luxury turned Sylvanni’s stomach.

Antoine looked up in surprise from his spot at the head of the table, spoon poised halfway to his mouth at the sight of three fully armored elves and a Qunari walking into his house as though they owned the place. Sylvanni looked into his eyes and saw confusion there. Worry perhaps, but not yet fear.

She planned to fix that.

The steward, much to his credit, managed to squeeze his way past the party only moments after they entered, giving the Duke a small bow. “Lady Inquisitor Lavellan, and companions, my Lord.” He sounded only slightly out of breath.

There it was. Oh, he hid it well. Just a slight widening of the eyes, the barest hint of stiffness entering his posture, but she’d been watching for the reaction. Terror. She hoped the sight of her had made his heart leap into his throat. She hoped that his heart was racing. It was only natural. He should be afraid of her. She’d do far more to him before she was done.

Outwardly, at least, he maintained a good semblance of composure. He picked up the napkin from his lap, folding it on the table beside his silverware, but he gripped the fabric just a little too tightly. “My Lady,” he said, giving a small still-seated bow in her direction. “Please join me at the table. You have no doubt traveled a long way. To what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected company?”

She made no move to sit. “You may address me as Inquisitor Lavellan, Duke Antoine, or simply Inquisitor. My business here is personal, of course. After receiving your tragic correspondence regarding the fate of my clan, it seemed only fitting that I travel here, to mourn them and to express my gratitude to you.”

He had the air of a cornered fox about him, wary and watching for an opportunity to strike. “Your gratitude?”

‘Of course,” she said. “For what aid you were able to give Clan Lavellan in this time. You were their last ally, the last person to work with those I called my own. In a way, I could consider you family for the service you provided to them.” Saying the words made her want to gag, but she pushed through it.

“The Inquisitor is too kind,” he said carefully.

“Yes, she is,” Sylvanni said under her breath. She continued more audibly, covering the muttering with a small cough. “It is a rare misfortune that my entire clan should fall to something so disorganized as a group of bandits. Especially with your aid, is it not? A group of lawless thieves, able to overcome the combined forces of a Dalish clan and a Duke’s retinue. They must be impressive indeed. How many men did you lose in their defense?”

“Very few, Lady Inquisitor,” he said. “As I informed your ambassador in my letter, the problem was that my men arrived too late to help your clan, not that they were overwhelmed.”

She gave a small nod and a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Of course. My mistake. Tell me, did you march with your men? Or was Corypheus satisfied with you giving the order to exterminate a group of innocents without leaving the comfort of your own home?”

His eyes widened as her tone turned savage with the accusation, and he immediately started reaching for his sword. When she started to move forward, he stood and started calling for guards. She cast a spell without even thinking, stepping through the Fade in order to blink across the room. As she peeled back to reality, she used the momentum lent by the spell to shove the Duke back against the wall. His sword clattered to the floor as she pushed him back, cries for his guards cutting off with a strangled noise...

As a mage, she seldom found reason to use the dagger she carried in combat, but as Antoine stumbled backward, she found the small blade in her hand. She brought it up next to his neck with savage quickness, a quiet snarl escaping her lips. Her staff had a blade on the end, and it would have been sharp enough to threaten him, but she wanted to be close. She wanted him to look into her eyes as she forced him to yield, no room to breathe, no room to escape.

Behind her came the clanks and stomps of armored men entering the room, accompanied by a rather creative string of swears from Sera. From the sound of it, they were quite a crowd, but Sylvanni didn’t turn to look. She simply held Antoine with her knife pressed against his neck, pinning him to the wall as much with a stony glare as with the knife blade.

“Inquisitor,” Solas said calmly somewhere off to her left. “We appear to be both outnumbered and surrounded.”

“These ain’t house guards either,” Iron Bull rumbled. “I know the look of mercs when I see ‘em.”

Sylvanni wondered if she should be surprised by how calm she felt, even with the odds against them if this inevitably turned to a fight. She wanted to believe that it was simple confidence in their skills, but if she was being honest, all she seemed to be able to care about was the Duke. So long as she had him trapped, little else seemed to matter to her.

She pushed her knife closer, and Antoine whimpered, flinching slightly as the blade made a small cut. “My dear Duke Antoine,” she said in a voice that could have cut steel. “It seems that the ‘bandits’ who attacked my clan have come after you in the safety of your own home. Lucky that the Inquisition is here to protect you from them, isn’t it?”

“Please,” Antoine begged, breathing as shallowly as possible to keep her dagger from cutting him. “Have mercy, Lady Inquisitor.”

“Mercy?” she snarled. “You have the audacity to ask me for mercy after what you’ve done?”

“The men,” he said. “Please, they were only following my orders.”

She took a small step backward, extending her arm to keep the dagger at his throat. “I will consider that your confession.”

Without warning, she whipped her hand up in front of her face, using the motion to focus a blast of spirit energy outward in all directions. The duke’s head snapped backward as he was flung against the wall, collapsing into a slump as she whirled to face the room of mercenaries. Solas reacted immediately to her aggressive move, throwing up a barrier around the four of them. None too soon, either, as two of the mercenaries had been carrying bows. The conjured protection flared with light as it deflected two arrows from her, its magic weakening noticeably where they hit.

The dining room was not terribly large, but there was enough space to move around in at least. Sera was already letting arrows fly, each one finding their targets. Iron Bull let out a war cry, charging across the room as some four or five mercenaries converged on him. Solas had pulled out his staff and was incapacitating the archers from afar, and Sylvanni’s first instinct was to join him, but she paused for just a heartbeat. Thoughts racing in the onset of a fight, she realized what she wanted to do.

Antoine groaned behind her, not unconscious, but certainly not in fighting condition either. She didn’t want him to make him fear that he’d upset a mage using her arcane power, or even that he’d upset the Inquisitor using political power. She wanted him to know the fear of facing the Herald of Andraste, the only person who could stand against Corypheus.

The only person in Thedas with power to tear open the Fade.

Leaving her staff in the sheath at her back, she raised her arm, bracing the wrist with her other hand and felt her mark flash and spark as she drew power from it. A green light burst into being over the table as she brought the Rift into being. The screeching noise as reality was torn apart was almost deafening in the confined space. Men began to scream as the raw energy ripped into them. She was able to protect her companions from the spirit energy, in the same way she protected them from all of her spells, and the three of them paused, watching as her Rift incapacitated the entire room.

It didn’t take long to finish. Opening Rifts like this was always brutally effective work. Just to be on the safe side, she waited until all of the mercenaries had stopped moving before finally releasing the Fade and letting the tear snap back closed again.

She slumped just slightly, the effort of holding the tear open for so long having drained her, then turned back to look at the Duke. He’d been outside the range of the Rift’s effects, but he’d seen everything. He was shaking, face bloodlessly white and his expression seemed frozen in an open-mouthed gape. When her eyes fell on him, he flinched visibly.

Good. As it should be.

“W-what… what are you g-going to do with me?” From the way his voice was shaking, Antoine might have been on the verge of tears. She considered that a personal victory as well.

Her eyes flicked to Bull, and she nodded for the Qunari to tie up Skyhold’s latest prisoner. “You, Duke Antoine? You’re coming with us.”

Chapter Text

The upside to the hole in Cullen’s ceiling was that it was easy to hear things going on outside. It was one of the reasons he gave when Josephine started pestering him to get the carpenters to fix it, though if he was honest with himself, he felt like it would be a waste to spend resources on his own comfort. The increased audibility was a perk though.

Especially when he’d been on edge waiting for word of Sylvanni for weeks.

“Movement on the horizon! Riders approach!”

The yell was muffled, but Cullen caught it, standing immediately. He walked out to the center platform in between the two front towers, taking a spyglass from one of the soldiers. The five riders were far out, but he could recognize her from here.

“It’s the Lady Inquisitor,” he called, collapsing the spyglass with a snap. “Open the gates!”

He handed the glass away, and hurried to the nearest set of stairs. All of Skyhold seemed to get caught up in an excited bustle as word of the Inquisitor’s return spread. Cullen wanted to be there to meet her in the courtyard after whatever she’d been through. He’d managed to get Josephine to tell him what was really going on, because asking Leliana had been as fruitless as ever, but despite seeing a copy of the correspondence, he still couldn’t quite believe it.

Her entire clan killed? And she hadn’t said a word. To him or to anyone else, it seemed. How had she carried that alone, in silence? He feared she’d done it to protect him, because she hadn’t wanted to bother anyone else with her problems. It still hurt, however, feeling like she didn’t trust him enough. He told himself that probably wasn’t it, but that didn’t make his doubts go away.

He’d been worrying about her for weeks. For her safety on this trip, for the things she’d confessed that night before disappearing, and most prominently, for the pain she must have been feeling these past few months, alone and without reaching out. Whatever was really going on, they would sort through this. Now that he knew, he could help. As he watched her ride into the courtyard, however, something told him that this might be more difficult than he had first believed.

Sylvanni’s eyes were not her own.

He pulled up short, pausing as a worried frown crossed his face. The face he knew so well almost seemed a stranger’s. The warm, kind confidence he had come to expect from her was gone, and in its place he saw cold cruelty instead. Her gaze landed on him for a moment and her mask faltered, letting a hint of shame through the hard outer shell, but it was gone in a moment as she tore her eyes away.

She held the reins to another horse besides the one she was riding, and he saw that the rider there had had his hands tied to the saddle horn. It would seem she’d managed to find Duke Antoine after all. The Iron Bull, Sera, and Solas rode in behind her and the prisoner, falling into a light formation as the guards began to lower the gates again.

Sylvanni slipped from her saddle with customary grace, then walked over to see to the duke. A deft motion untied him from the saddle while leaving his hands still bound, and she all but dragged him from the horse, throwing him none-too-gently to the ground once he was detached. The duke attempted to break his fall, but tied wrists made the motion awkward, and he hit the cobblestones with a breathless grunt of pain.

A few of the guards hurried forward to grab him and haul him to his feet. Sylvanni gave a commanding nod in their direction. “Take the former duke down to the holding cells and let the guard there know she’s to throw him in the least comfortable cell we have. He is to receive nothing but water and gruel until such a time as I can deign to deal with him.”

The higher ranked of the two guards snapped a salute. “Yes, Lady Inquisitor.”

Sylvanni handed the two reins she’d been holding off to a groom who stepped forward, then started pulling off her riding gloves. She picked out a runner as she walked toward the main hall. “Ser, please inform my Advisors that I’ve returned and that I would like to meet at the war table in fifteen minutes. I’ll speak with them there.”

The girl nodded, saluting as well. She gave a small glance toward Cullen, decided that he was probably exempted from that order, as he’d been close enough to hear the call himself, then she took off at a sprint to find Leliana and Josephine.

Cullen walked forward, falling into step behind Sylvanni. Something seemed to stiffen in her walk as he did so, but he pressed on. “I’m glad you’ve returned safely. Did everything turn out as you’d expected?”

She glanced his direction for half a heartbeat before forcing her eyes forward once more. “We’re back, and we have him. That’s all that matters.”

He laid a hand on her arm, not liking the stiffness in her tone. “Sylvanni…”

She stopped, and he could feel her arm tense through the fabric of her coat, though she kept her eyes forward. “Commander, I would prefer to discuss these matters at the war table. Perhaps you should prepare any reports I may have missed in the meantime.”

The formal address and dismissal felt like a slap, and he blinked, lowering his arm. “If you prefer, Inquisitor.”

“I would. Thank you.” Without looking at him, she resumed her purposeful stride, making for her quarters to change out of her travelling clothes, no doubt.

He stood in the entrance of the Great Hall, watching her walk away and trying to figure out what had just happened. He felt torn between worrying over the knowledge that something was very wrong with her, and the hurt from the harsh way she’d forced him away. Finally, he simply shook his head and quietly walked back to his desk to grab his papers.

Chapter Text

The wounded look on Cullen's face haunted Sylvanni all the way back to her quarters, all through the time it took her to change out of her armor, and for the walk back down to the war room. It wasn't fair to him, the way she'd acted, and she knew that. But she wasn't ready to let him back in yet.

She couldn't talk to him about what has happened, about what she was feeling after all of this. She'd been afraid of this on the road and she'd known as soon as she saw him. She was forcing her way through this by keeping an iron clasp on her emotions.

He would break her defenses, send cracks through her mask. He always did, and she loved him for that, but she needed this mask for now. She still didn't know what to do with Antoine, despite having the entire trip back to think about it. She couldn't face Cullen until this was all over, one way or another.

Leliana and Josephine were already chatting quietly in the war room when she pushed open the heavy wooden door. Both paused their conversation to nod respectfully toward her as she entered.

"I was pleased to hear of your safe return, Inquisitor," Leliana said. "And congratulations on your successful acquisition."

"Inquisitor, I must convey my deepest apologies," Josephine said, clasping her hands together. "I feel so foolish to have suggested we reach out to Antoine. I had no idea of his true character, and I cannot help but feel that your loss is my fault."

Sylvanni held up a hand. "Don't blame yourself, Josephine. It was no one's fault but Antoine's, and I intend to see him pay for it."

The door's hinges squeaked behind her as Cullen entered the room. She turned briefly to watch him walk up to the table, a sheaf of papers under his arm. His expression was guarded as he nodded to her, and she forced herself to remember that this what she needed, for now.

There was a small pause as Leliana and Josephine -- both of them far too experienced at reading people to miss the tension between their Commander and Inquisitor -- assessed the situation. They were both as tactful as they were astute, and there was nary a reaction from either, but Sylvanni had no doubt that they'd figured it that something was going on.

"Have you decided how, exactly, you are planning to exact that payment from him, my lady?" Leliana asked.

Dozens of possibilities fluttered to life in Sylvanni's mind, the same thoughts she'd had trouble sorting through since she'd captured him cluttering her decision. She shook her head, as much an answer to Leliana as an attempt to clear the thoughts away. "Not yet," she admitted, "though for now, I think he will be fine sitting in that cell for a while." A thought occurred to her. "Leliana, you believe he may have had ties to the Red Templars or Venatori?"

"I did, Lady Inquisitor. My agents found traces of red lyrium in the wells around the city."

Sylvanni nodded thoughtfully. "See if your agents can get any intel out of him. Let them know they are authorized to use whatever methods they see fit, save killing him, to get answers.”

Leliana nodded, but Cullen frowned. She steeled herself against his disapproval, telling herself that this was just, that Antoine deserved it, and it was a tactically sound decision. What right did he have to disapprove of her choice? She was the Inquisitor, and it was her call to make.

She found it difficult to concentrate through the rest of the reports, mind turning over the issue of Antoine and how she would reconcile with Cullen over this. Her judgment would come first, her duty to her clan and their memory, and then she could deal with her commander.

Now, if only she could figure out what to actually do with Antoine.

Chapter Text

She had been wondering how long it would take before Cullen sought her out. She considered it either a testament to his restraint -- or perhaps an indicator of how upset he was with her -- that he managed to last a day and a half before coming to find her.

She was training with the sword again when she heard his footsteps behind her. She didn’t stop to acknowledge him as he walked up, some illogical part of her brain hoping he might give up and leave her alone if she just kept at it long enough. He wouldn’t, and she knew it, but she would hold out as long as she could at least.

While she’d called these exercises ‘training’ in her mind, it wasn’t exactly the most truthful of appellations. There was nothing controlled or precise about the attacks she was using against this training dummy. She wasn’t trying to perfect a form or keep her stance or improve much of anything, really.

She’d just wanted to hit something. Very hard. Repeatedly.

The practice sword struck the padded target over and over, each thunk sending a satisfying jolt up her arm. It hurt. Her arms were sore and her palms stung, but there was just something that felt right about finally letting her aggression out on this. Her mind was still twisted up in complicated decisions, but with each hit, she felt like the knots loosened. If she could just spend enough time out here working through everything, perhaps she’d figure this all out.

“Your stance is off,” Cullen said quietly behind her. “I know I taught you better than that, Inquisitor.”

She paused, glaring at the dummy like this was its fault as she decided whether or not she wanted to give in and turn around. With a sigh, she lowered the dulled practice sword and faced him. She forced her expression to a passive, guarded calm. She had everything under control.

“To be honest, Cullen,” she said, “I don’t really want to talk about my clan and Duke Antoine right now. I don’t really want to talk about anything at all, actually.”

“As evidenced by your rather undiplomatic handling of your opponent,” he said, nodding to her target. “Would you prefer we talk about swordplay instead?” He pulled out a practice sword of his own, tossing it lightly to adjust his grip. “Would you prefer an actual sparring partner?”

She eyed him, rubbing the hilt on her sword thoughtfully as she tried to figure out what his angle was here. He wanted to talk through everything with her, and she had a very good feeling he was hoping he could bring it up if they were together. An offer to spar was a way to break the ice.

The ice that she had specifically placed between them.

If she wanted to keep her distance, she knew she should say no. But she couldn’t think of any way to refuse him without being outright rude or hurtful. Her isolation had been a choice made based on her concerns, not in response to anything he had done. She didn’t want to hurt him any more than she already had, especially considering that this whole mess was her fault in the first place.

Besides, she was weak. She missed him.

So, instead of responding, she fell into the proper stance this time, raising her blade to him. He followed suit, and the two slowly began to circle. He stepped to meet her first, blades coming together in a simple swing and block. She returned an attack, letting him catch her sword as well. It wasn’t a true sparring match. He was a master with decades of experience and she a beginner who had started a few months ago. A true fight between them would be as short as it was unproductive as a teaching tool. Instead, they simply traded blows in an even rhythm, back and forth. An attack, a defense, a slash, a block. Controlled steps and precise movements.

She focused on letting the motions become instinctive reactions. She wanted swordplay to eventually feel like spellcasting to her. Something she didn’t need to think about, something she could simply do. However, she remembered the years of practice it had taken her to reach that point with her magic, and she knew it would likely take even longer before she became comfortable with the sword.

Cullen never pushed her too hard, never came at her too quickly, and yet she didn’t feel like he was going too easy on her either. His pace was steady, but not too challenging. He kept her right at the edge of her skill. Of course, what was challenging for her was simple to him. Fending off his attacks took her full attention, but he probably barely needed to think about what he was doing.

“I’m not upset that you didn’t tell me about your clan,” he said, voice quiet and steady despite the physical exertion. “I was, at first. But it wasn’t my business to know. I want you to know that I’m not angry with you for that.”

She realized that this had most likely been his intention. Originally she had thought he would try to bring up the topic between bouts, but no such luck. By keeping her focus on the training, he had an advantage, an opportunity for conversation. Her defenses were lowered, like this. She needed to concentrate on what she was doing, and she didn’t have near as much ability to get out of the conversation or keep him at bay the way she normally would.

“It wasn’t that.” The remark was punctuated with a small grunt as she was nearly too slow with a parry, his blow catching her wrist at an odd angle. Talking in the midst of this was manageable, but she couldn’t let herself think too hard about it. “It’s just… It happened so long ago, it seems. Months. We were back in Haven at the time, and I… I didn’t have anyone. Yes, I was an ally of the Inquisition, but there was a part of me that still worried that I would be dragged away in shackles at any moment to stand trial for the murder of the Divine. I wasn’t close to you then, not like we are now.”

He pursed his lips. “Like we are now.”

She frowned at that, feeling the comment like an accusation against the way she’d been treating him since she’d returned to Skyhold. It was deserved, she would admit, but it still hurt. She pretended to not have heard it.

“After that, there wasn’t a good time to bring it up. Josephine knew because she’d been the recipient of the Duke’s letter, and Leliana knew because she’s Leliana, I assume, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything to anyone else. To be honest, I tried to avoid thinking about it. We had enough responsibilities to keep me occupied and… it hurt less that way.”

She changed rhythm to execute a quick flurry of three strikes against him, each of which he blocked easily. A triplet amongst the quarter-note clangs they’d been tapping out thus far. “When Leliana found out Antoine was behind it,” she continued, “I didn’t have time to think about what I was doing. I just left. I couldn’t think of anything other than getting ahold of him as quickly as possible. I know, I should have explained things to you, but I was afraid it would take too long. I was afraid that if I started to talk about what had happened, I would end up pulling myself back to where I was in Haven, and I didn’t have the time or energy to put myself back there. I didn’t want to go back to feeling like that. I thought if I could just push forward, just hold onto the purpose of apprehending Antoine, that that could be enough. But it was unfair of me to leave you in the dark in order to accomplish that.”

He mulled her words over in silence, not breaking the cadence of their practice, though her flourish had encouraged him to make his maneuvers slightly more complex as well. Hit, hit, hit-tap-hit, hit, hit, tap-tap hit. “I understand,” he said finally. "As I said, I'm not upset."

"About that, at least," she said, putting a little more force than necessary behind her next swing.

He gave her an even look, pausing just briefly to do so. An outside observer likely wouldn’t have noticed, but within the steady pattern of the exercise, the hesitation stood out. “I’m not upset,” he said slowly. “I’m worried about you. You haven’t seemed like yourself since you returned.”

Something about that phrasing pricked at her. She ignored the feeling, forcing her frustration out through the strikes. The clangs grew louder as she put more force behind her movements, not even thinking about what she was doing. “I’ll be fine,” she said, voice hard. “This will all be over as soon as Antoine has been dealt with.”

His eyes flicked to her sword, noting the increased aggression. "That's part of what I'm worried about. How are you planning on dealing with him exactly?"

"I don't know, okay?" Her tone slipped away from her by the end of that sentence, drifting towards a shout. She caught herself before she lost her temper, pulling in a slow, tense breath to try to calm herself down. She stepped back, breaking away from the exercise and lowering her sword. If they were going to have this conversation -- and it seemed they unfortunately were -- she needed her full attention. “I seem to remember explicitly saying that I didn’t want to talk about this.”

He lowered his sword as well. “Do you think it’s something you need to talk about, though?”

His voice was calm and non-aggressive, but it sounded too much like a criticism for her to stomach. “Fine! Do you want to know what I really want to do?” The words were snapped and harsh, and deep down she knew he didn’t deserve to be treated like this, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “I want him to suffer. I don’t want him simply pried at for information; I want him punished, thoroughly. I want to be the one holding the knife while I make him feel every bit of pain that he put my clan through. I want him to feel the pain he put me through. Until it’s more than he can endure, until he begs for the death he deserves. And when I finally grant it, I want him to know it is out of no sense of mercy, and only because his death serves to remove the stain of him from the world.”

She was breathing heavily by the end of her tirade, far more than the training would have justified. She wanted him to be mad at her for shouting, wanted him to yell back. To parry her verbal strike as he did with the physical, and return one of his own against her. A different kind of sparring through which she could let her frustration out.

But he didn’t deflect this attack, he didn’t raise his defenses against her. His expression held nothing but concern, and that fact only served to frustrate her further. She’d thrown everything she’d had into it, and he hadn’t raised a finger to stop this blow, taking the full brunt of her anger and offering no retaliation. She felt awful, guilty for losing control, but the stronger part said that he’d pushed her into this conversation, that she’d told him she needed to be alone and he’d dragged this out of her. It was unquestionably her fault, but all she could feel was that it was his.

“Sylvanni,” his voice was gentle, but she would have preferred if he’d shouted at her.

She held up her hands, tearing her eyes away from him in a wave of ashamed anger. “No, no I can’t do this. I’m sorry, but I’m done training for the day.”

She dropped the practice sword to the stones with a jarring clatter, knowing it was a childish move, but she needed to be away from here, away from him. As she turned to stalk away, she saw him reach forward, as if he might clasp her arm and hold her back, keep her there where he could help her work through everything she was facing. She knew he wished to help fix what she was going through, just as he’d done before, to correct her stance on this just like he had with the sword. A part of her wanted to let him, to let him work through all the adjustments her mind needed to make until she felt steady on her feet once more.

But he pulled back, hesitating just as he had before, and for once she was glad for it, leaving him behind without a backwards glance.

Chapter Text

Sylvanni couldn’t hold onto her anger at Cullen for very long. She knew that he had nothing to do with her being upset and he was only trying to help her. That burning rage she felt at Antoine, the rage she’d mistakenly used to lash out at Cullen, had burned away quickly, leaving behind a sore ache of regret in its wake. She'd messed this situation up, and it was therefore her responsibility to make things right.

This time, she was the one to seek him out. She gave a quick knock of warning before entering his office. "Cullen, I--"

She cut off as he looked up at her with a startled expression, holding a small wooden box in his hand. Her knock had apparently gone unheard, and he closed the lid with a guilty snap. There was an air of shame about him, as though she'd caught him in the midst of something he shouldn’t have been doing.

The pieces clicked into place. "Cullen, is that lyrium?" She hadn’t seen much of the box he’d accidentally thrown at her head a few months ago, but it looked similar enough.

He set the box down on his desk with a heavy sigh, pressing his palms to the table on either side of it and bowing his head as though it were too great an effort to hold it up any longer. “Yes, Inquisitor. It is.”

He drew himself upright once more, his hand slipping upwards to rub at his neck, just behind the ear. She recognized the habit of his, though where she normally found the gesture an endearing tic of nervousness, in that moment, it seemed to belie a weariness in him. As though there were some ache within him that he sought to work free as he spoke. “I wish greatly that you hadn’t seen that.”

She crossed the room to his desk, thoughts of what had passed between them earlier disappearing behind her concern. “Are you okay? Have you... started taking it again? I thought you said you would speak with me or Cassandra before made any changes like that.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I have not. I retain that small measure control, at least. I will not… falter. Not now. I want you to know I wasn’t actually planning on taking any. I simply… the song grows so insistent sometimes. I wished to see it, was all. It was a momentary weakness, Inquisitor. I will not let it happen again.”

He closed his hand atop the box, and she leaned across the desk to lay her hand atop his, trying to catch his eye. “Cullen, I’m sorry. I’m sure the way I’ve been treating you these past few days hasn’t helped. This is partially my fault.”

That got him to look at her, a stern glance, but not angry. “No, it isn’t. You have enough burdens to carry without trying to pick up mine as well. You are not responsible for my lapses.” He sighed softly, and his posture relaxed. “However, I am glad you came in when you did, much as I would have preferred you not witness this. I would not have taken it, I know, but seeing you strengthened me.”

She gave his hand a small squeeze, pulling a leg up so that she was sitting on the desk. “Does it help you to have it close like this? Or would you prefer that I do something with it for you?”

He pulled back, picking up the box and tapping the lid absently. “No, I think it would be best for you to take it. It was not wise for me to have kept it nearby.”

Cullen handed the lyrium to her and she tried to take it as gently as possible. She had a feeling this was a difficult object to let go of, and she wanted to make it as painless as she could. She’d pass the box along to Cassandra and she would get it to one of their templars, most likely. For now, she set it down on the opposite side of her, out of his line of sight. She laced her fingers in between his again for reassurance, wondering if the gesture would be effective when his hand dwarfed hers so entirely.

“I need to apologize,” she said, looking down. “You were right, I need to talk about this. You were only trying to help me and I pushed you away. It was foolish and selfish. I thought I could figure this out on my own, but I was wrong. I can’t do this alone, and I shouldn’t have abandoned you when I knew you were struggling with lyrium still.”

He stepped around the desk without letting go of her hand and pulled her into an embrace. She let the motion pull her to her feet and wrapped her arms around him as well. She was continually amazed at how gentle he could be, even while wearing armor. He’d worn armor of one kind or another for most of his life, she supposed, and moving within it likely felt perfectly natural to him. She rested her head against his chest, soft fur tickling her nose.

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” he said quietly. “I’ve been so worried.”

She sighed. “I don’t know that I am alright, Cullen.” Coming here, talking to him, she felt like something had been righted inside her, but the issue remained. Beneath the warmth of talking with him, the dark tangle of her issue with her clan and Antoine writhed, as impenetrable as ever. She felt no closer to a solution than when she’d first dragged the man back to Skyhold.

He pulled away to look at her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “We can work through this, together. You’ve been pulling me through this struggle with lyrium, I want to be able to help you as well. We’ll find a solution to this, I’m sure.”

His tone was determined and she was glad that one of them felt sure about this, because couldn't find a similar optimism within herself.

"I hope so," she said.

He glanced toward the window, noting the sunset throwing brilliant red and oranges across the mountain backdrop. "It's growing late. Would you like to talk about this over dinner? I've found food can make a difficult conversation easier."

She hadn't realized she was hungry until he said something, but she'd been training with Commander Helaine for a good portion of the day and had worked up an appetite. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, actually."

Chapter Text

Sylvanni had found quickly that both she and Cullen enjoyed simple foods, a shared commonality that had originally made her feel comfortable around him. Templars were fed with soldier’s rations, cheap food that was easily mass produced for barracks-worth of soldiers. For her own experience, before she’d come to Skyhold, she’d had nearly every meal with her clan. They’d eaten what they hunted in their travels, occasionally gathering grains and herbs to cook things to go with the hunters’ catches. They’d carried some grains and nonperishables purchased in cities in their aravels as well, but Dalish fare was never terribly complex.

Thus, Sylvanni had found that the extravagant dishes often prepared by the Inquisition’s chefs felt overwhelming. Josephine had specifically recruited a gourmet chef and a squad of sous-chefs from Val Royaux, and for the first few dishes she’d pushed through with a polite smile, though the spices and scents coming from the plates had felt like an assault on the senses. She’d wished to be polite, but hadn’t been able to completely hide an amused smile when she’d caught Cullen forcing his way through the fine meals as well.

The chef, to her credit, was a master, and beyond being able to construct elaborate meals, she was also able to adapt to the wishes of those she served. She’d been very attentive, and upon realizing that complexity was overwhelming both the Commander and the Inquisitor, she’d quickly accommodated their preferences, serving preparations much more to their liking.

The chef was also used to Cullen taking dinners away from the main hall, carrying food back to his desk to continue working. Sylvanni usually tried to eat in the main hall with other members of the Inquisition, but tonight, the chef didn’t bat an eye at her request for a dinner for two to be carried away. A small smile and nod was the only acknowledgement of what was going on, as she handed the cloth-covered basket off to Sylvanni.

Cullen and Sylvanni found a quiet spot down beneath the main halls of Skyhold, nestled among the innumerable dusty hallways and storage rooms filled with artifacts or other things the Inquisition had nowhere to set about. As Sera was fond of saying, ‘stuff needs a place’. There was a small room with a few cushioned benches and a table that they finally settled into, pulling out the warm wrapped bundles.

The contents were expectedly simple: Two small loaves of warm, brown bread with a tiny container of butter. Slices of tender meat, seasoned simply with no broths or sauces to mask the natural flavor. A wedge of creamy white cheese with crouton-like rounds, and finally some kind of sweet sliced fruit for dessert. It was high quality, much better than she would have had on the roads, or Cullen would have had in the barracks, but nothing like the lavish meals Josephine might have requested for them. To many it would have seemed overly plain, but to the two of them, it felt lavish.

As they’d walked, Sylvanni had picked up a bottle of wine from the rack down in the cellars, one of the little collection she’d started as she’d stumbled across various spirits across Thedas. Two small glasses had been tucked into the basket as well, and the two sipped on the well-aged wine in between bites of their meal.

Cullen sat on the bench beside her, both of them angled slightly to face one another, knees touching between them. “How are you feeling?”

She appreciated that that was how he started the conversation, asking about her wellbeing. “I don’t know, Cullen.” She took a small bite of the fluffy bread, thinking as she chewed. “All of those things I said on the battlements, I meant them, though I shouldn't have lost my temper as I did."

"The things you wished to do to Antoine, you mean?"

She nodded. "Maybe it's wrong to want to make someone else suffer, but I feel it’s justified. He deserves anything and everything I can think to do to him. He’s a monster, and he should be punished. It isn’t just for my clan either, it’s also for the elves in Wycome’s alienage that he slaughtered. It’s for the townspeople he infected with red lyrium. They deserve to have him pay recompense for what he’s done. Sometimes I feel my real problem is that there couldn’t possibly be any pain terrible enough to match his crimes."

Those crimes had turned out to be more numerous than she had expected. Leliana’s agents had produced a report of their interrogation of Antoine. She hadn’t thought it possible to be more horrified by what the man had done, but he’d proved her wrong.  He had been surprisingly compliant in questioning, it seemed, providing answers with no need for her agents to resort to torture.

The truth of what he’d done seemed almost incomprehensible. Antoine had admitted to being the orchestrator of a plan to harvest the entire human population of the town of Wycome for red lyrium and lay the blame for the tragedy at the feet of the elves. Red lyrium crystals were placed in most of the city’s wells, though the Wycome alienage’s well was left alone. The city elves’ seeming immunity to the outbreak allowed the duke to perpetuate the belief that this was an elven disease, causing a panic in town over the ‘Knife-Eared Plague.’ Clan Lavellan, camped in a valley near the town, were blamed as the carriers of this epidemic. Clan Lavellan was killed by Antoine’s mercenary ‘bandits’, and the rising panic in the city allowed the Duke to justify the extermination of the alienage as well. With no one left to oppose his plan, the people of Wycome had quickly succumbed to the lyrium’s influence.

“He is a monster, and I want to be the one to punish him,” she continued, voice turning hard. “I feel I deserve to be the one to make him suffer. Just as he made me suffer, and on behalf of my clan and the suffering he put them through. I want to be the one to give back to him everything he’s done. Perhaps that’s not something I should want to do, but I do.”

Cullen stayed quiet as she talked, just listening. When she finished, he laid a hand on her knee. “Sylvanni, this is why I’m worried. This isn’t you. Ever since you’ve gotten back you haven’t been acting like yourself.”

He’d said something similar on the battlements and she’d figured out why it bothered her, now. “How can you know?” The words were insistent, but they weren’t an accusation, not quite. “How do you know that this isn’t the real me? I told you the night before I left that I don’t even know who I am anymore. I don’t know who I am behind the mask of the Inquisitor, and then something like this happens. I didn’t go after Antoine for the Inquisition. I didn’t do it because of his connection to Corypheus. I chased him down for me, for my clan, and for what he did to them. It’s the first action I take in months that has nothing to do with my role as the Inquisitor. When I finally face down Antoine, this is who I turn out to be! How is that not an indicator of who I really am, Cullen?”

He wrapped an arm around her suddenly, pulling her into an embrace. “You don’t have to be this person,” he said, voice soft, but insistent in her ear. “If anyone has the ability to choose who they are, it would be you. You talk so often about playing parts, but you have such control over your actions and choices. It is astounding how well you handle yourself, even in situations where it would be understandable to slip up or lose composure. You don’t have to be anyone you don’t want to be.”

“What if I do?” She whispered the words into his shoulder, feeling distant. “What if this is what I want?” She pulled away, something within her saying it was wrong to be held in affection while she talked about these kinds of things. “I said I wanted to be the one to ‘hold the knife’ but honestly, I want to do more than that. I… I know how to do things. Knives are messy, but magic? Dalish clans are far less restrictive than Circles and I’ve been trained in spells that I’ve never found a reason to use. For someone like him, I don’t see any reason to hold myself back.”

Cullen’s hand tightened on her leg, his entire posture going stiff. “You… want to torture him with magic?”

"It'd be the best way," she said. “It's what I'm best at, it would be a technique personal to me. If I am to be the one to do this, then I should do it my way. There’s less of a chance I’d mess something up. I would hate to a merciful escape into death before I was done to him. I…”

She trailed off. Something was wrong, she could tell that much. Cullen’s breathing had slowed, each motion of his chest deliberate, as though he were trying to force it under extreme control. His grip on her leg was like a vice, but she didn’t sense an intention behind his hold. It seemed rather that he’d forgotten he was touching her at all.

She frowned, not understanding the reason behind a reaction of this strength. He’d understood what she’d been talking about before, hadn’t he? Surely he wasn’t just now figuring out she was considering a truly severe punishment for her clan’s murderer. “Cullen, what is it? If you’re worried about my methods, it won't be blood magic. I know better than to mess with something dangerous like that. You know that I would never…”

“It isn’t just the idea of blood magic,” he said, voice hard. “I...You would use your powers to torture Antoine?”

“Do you not think he deserves it?” She gave him a disbelieving look. Yes, he’d been a templar once, but he wasn’t anymore. She wondered how he could even imply something like this? “Everyone I knew is dead because of him and I’m not going to let him get away unpunished!” Her vision began to blur and she realized there were angry tears in her eyes. “Everyone. You can’t know what that feels like. You still have your family. I have no one now, and he’s to blame.”

He looked as though he’d been carved from ice. “My family aren’t the only people I’ve cared about in my life. At least you weren’t forced to watch them die,” he said, haunted. “I can thank the Maker for that much, at least.”

That wasn’t at all she’d expected him to say. Her frown deepened. “Cullen…?”

He gave her an even look, breathing slowly. “You don’t know what really happened at the Lake Calenhad circle, do you?”

She’d thought she had, right up until he’d said that. “It was... attacked during the Blight, wasn’t it? You said that Warden-Commander Surana saved you and the mages there from the darkspawn. You were reassigned to Kirkwall after that.”

He shook his head, eyes closing slowly. “Not darkspawn. The Circle fell during the Blight, but it was not darkspawn which broke us. If only it had been. No, we were overrun from the inside.” His voice grew distant. “A faction of blood mages took control, summoning demons and forcing mages to either join with them or be turned into abominations against their will. They tortured and killed every templar within those walls. They twisted us, playing with our minds like a child plays with toys, reckless and heedless of whether their experiments would break us.

“We were the targets for every shred of resentment they’d ever held for templars or the Circle , and they tried to wring every agony from us to satisfy their need for revenge. When Eliane-- When the Warden found me, I was the only one left. Every other templar that Uldred and his followers had captured were dead. The things I said to her then, I wish I could take them back. I thought she was a demon in disguise, a new torturer wearing the face of my friend. I lashed out. I was cruel. A small regret among my many, but there nonetheless.”

Sylvanni listened to him speak, his quiet words the only sound between them. In the dark, empty rooms deep below Skyhold, she felt as though she could almost picture the halls of that broken Circle, such as he described. “Cullen, I’m so sorry.” The words felt bland in her mouth. Insufficient. “I thought your… history with bad magic came from Kirkwall. I had no idea.”

His eyes, still closed, squeezed shut suddenly, and she had the distinct impression that talking about this was causing him pain. She felt powerless, unsure what she should do to help, unsure if there’s anything she could do to help.

“It began there in Ferelden, long before Kirkwall, I’m afraid,” he said softly.

He opened his eyes finally, meeting her own. She felt as though the insistence behind that look could hold her in place more soundly than chains. It was fear and concern and need, it was demand that she understand what he was saying to her.

“When I finally understood who she was,” he said, “I… I asked her to do something horrible. I thank the Maker to this day that she was strong enough to tell me ‘no.’ I knew that the First Enchanter and many of the other mages that had been dragged into the Harrowing chamber were just as much prisoners as I was, but… I told her to kill them all. I begged her for it. It didn’t matter to me that they weren’t a part of Uldred’s schemes; they had magic, and that was enough. If magic had put me through so much agony, in my mind, all mages deserved to have just as little mercy as those blood mages had shown me.

“In Kirkwall, I only grew worse. I used what had happened in the Ferelden Circle to justify what the Order did. I told myself that we were protecting people, that any leniency towards the mages would only get people hurt, that Meredith knew what she was doing.” He looked down, closing his eyes in shame. “A competent Knight-Captain would have stopped her before things had the chance to escalate as far as they did, but… I didn’t want to. I hid behind flimsy justifications for the choices we made, but I know that beneath it all, I wanted mages to hurt as I had. We penned mages like animals in cages, and I could have stopped it. I spoke of protecting the people of Kirkwall from magic, but I was blinded by my own hatred, consumed by it.”

Sylvanni pulled closer to him, raising a hand to touch his face. She was surprised to find his cheeks were wet, though his voice had sounded steady. His head was bowed, and he wouldn’t look at her. The way he looked, sitting beside her here, it harrowed her. Her commander looked utterly defeated, bent and bowed by the weight of his own conscience. She had never seen him like this, not even back at Haven when he had believed they were all going to die. A protective instinct within her said she would do anything to never see him look like this again.

“I am haunted by my memories,” Cullen said, and now she could hear the slight tremble in his voice. “But while the memories of what was done to me in Ferelden are horrifying, it is the memories of the things I chose to do in Kirkwall that I fear most of all.”

She wrapped herself close to him, wishing there was a spell to make this go away, a barrier she could raise to protect him from those memories, a blade she could conjure to defeat his pain. Unfortunately, she had nothing more than herself, and she felt entirely insufficient. “Cullen, you’ve changed now, no one could deny that. That’s why you left the templars, and now you’re winning this fight against lyrium as well. You aren’t that person anymore.”

He glanced up at her, and his gaze was steadier than she would have expected. “I know that. But I’m worried that’s who you might become.”

Sylvanni stiffened, drawing back in confusion. “Who I might…. What do you mean?”

“The way you’ve begun to talk about Antoine and what he did to your clan…” He paused. “It sounds almost familiar.”

“You think someone like that deserves mercy?” The accusation came out louder than she’d meant it to.

“No, of course not,” he said firmly. “Antoine is unquestionably a monster, and he deserves to face justice for what he’s done. I’m simply worried that in your desire to give his crimes to an apt punishment, you may do things you won’t be able to take back. I know I did. What Uldred did to me -- and what Antoine has done to you -- they’re unforgivable, but it was my choices and my reactions afterwards, motivated by my misplaced sense of justice or vengeance or whatever it might have been, that I regret most. I wish that I had had someone tell me in Kirkwall that however justified my reactions were, they weren’t worth destroying myself over. I’m only just now beginning to get myself back. I don’t want to see you lose yourself the same way.”

He took her hands in his, and she fell silent. His entreaty, and the earnestness with which he made it, affected her, and finding out the full story of his time before Kirkwall had evoked a sympathetic state of mind. That didn’t negate everything she had felt before this, all the things she had wanted, and to be honest, that she still wanted, to do to Antoine. He hadn’t silenced the voices that said that Antoine’s actions every shred of vicious justice she could inflict upon him.

“What if you’re right,” he said, after seeing she wasn’t ready to respond yet. “What if there is no punishment severe enough to answer what he’s done? Would you destroy yourself attempting to find it anyway? I’m not saying that you should forgive him, or even that you shouldn’t hate him, but I don’t want you to let your decision here define who you are. It isn’t worth it to give him that control over you. He isn’t worth it.”

She let out a long breath, still feeling conflicted, but somehow looser. The twisted knot of her thoughts wasn’t untangled yet, but it had started to relax. “What would you have me do, then?” The words were whispered, and strangely, she found herself on the verge of tears as well. She wasn’t entirely sure why.

In lieu of an immediate response, he reached forward and pulled her into another hug, stroking her hair as he held her close. “I’m not sure,” he finally said. “They were your clan, and this is still your decision. But when you make it, I want you to think of yourself before you think of him. Give him justice, but above that, I want you to be sure you can live with yourself afterward. Don’t let his vileness force you into doing something you will regret.”

She nodded against his shoulder, and for a long while they simply sat together in that embrace, wine and dinner forgotten. When she finally pulled back, she managed to force a small smile. “Thank you, Cullen. I still need to think about this, but I feel better. You were right, this was something I needed to hear.” Remembering what exactly he’d told her made her pause, however. “What about you? Are you alright after telling me all of this?”

The smile that crossed his face seemed far more genuine than the one she’d offered him a moment ago. “I am, but I appreciate your concern.” He glanced at the basket, still mostly full of food. “Shall we finish the meal, Inquisitor?”

Hearing the title strengthened her. It was her mask, and the mask was a crutch, but right now  it supported her. Yes, she would worry about whether or not she was strong enough to walk without it, but in this moment of vulnerability, she simply appreciated having something to lean against as she found her feet again. For everything else she might be, she was the Inquisitor, and she could draw herself up around that fact.

She nodded, with a smile that was slightly more real this time. “That sounds lovely, Commander.”

Chapter Text

Though talking through the issue with Cullen had brought Sylvanni closer to her final decision, she felt there was one more step she needed to take before she was truly ready. The long staircase underneath Skyhold’s gardens felt dim and cramped, despite the torches on the walls. She wondered if the original architects of the keep had done that intentionally, as a way to effect that sense of inescapability upon prisoners even as they were being ushered in.

The guard at the bottom of the stairs saluted her as she walked into the room. Sylvanni nodded for the woman to fall at ease, but was pleased to see Cullen’s soldiers well-trained enough to be attentive even on boring guard duties such as watching the cells. Sylvanni gave the guard a questioning look, and the woman gestured off to the left. There was only one prisoner being held here at the moment, only one person she could be here to see.

Antoine was asleep as the Inquisitor stepped up to the bars of his cell door. The pitiful creature huddled on dark stone was a far cry from the noble duke she had intruded upon all those weeks ago. She observed silently for a few moments, then, not entirely sure what had drawn her to come look at him, she turned to leave.

A careless scrape of her boot roused him, and she paused, turning back as he sat up with a groan. “Wha… who’s there?” His eyes focused, and there was something intensely satisfying in his terrified flinch upon recognizing her. “I-I was starting to wonder if you would show up. What do you want?”

She faced him fully, crossing her arms. “I am told you were excessively forthcoming in questioning. My agents say they needed to use very little… encouragement to get you to talk.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

She simply stared at him.

“If you’re worried that I’ve held anything back,” he said, the words like a groan, “I haven’t. I can assure you, your agents have everything.”

“How?” Her voice was steel. “How could you choose to kill hundreds of people; wiping out my clan,  exterminating the alienage, sacrificing the entire population of Wycome to red lyrium; and yet, feel so little dedication to your cause that you didn’t even hesitate to tell everything you know the moment your enemies capture you? When I heard what you had done, I assumed you must have been a fanatic, a true believer. Yet you appear to have no loyalty whatsoever.”

His eyes had a hollow cast when they met hers through the dark lighting. “Are you here to criticize my lack of faith, Lady Inquisitor?”

“I am here in an attempt to understand what manner of creature I have locked up. Did you enjoy it? Did you agree to carry out these plans as a means of gaining some twisted sense of pleasure? What reason could you possibly have to justify what you’ve done?”

“Is there anything I could say that would make what I’ve done right?” His question was empty, tone utterly flat. “Is there any reason I could give which would satisfy you?”

She pursed her lips. “Perhaps not,” she admitted. “Since you have been so helpful thus far, answer me this: why did you give up your information so easily, Antoine?”

He sat up, meeting her eyes with an utterly empty gaze. This was a man with nothing left but resignation for the end. “Lady Inquisitor, I think we both know I will not leave this keep alive. On the impossible chance that I were to escape or that you would spare me, I would find no allies to return to. Corypheus and the Red Templars would kill me for the failure of being captured. Is it so surprising I did not wish to endure torture for those who would kill me, given the chance?”

“No,” she said. “What is surprising is that anyone would give allegiance to such people in the first place.”

He made a small grunt and turned away from her, though what meaning he meant to convey by the sound, Sylvanni couldn’t guess. By any interpretation, it seemed the conversation was over. Much as she disliked allowing him to dictate the terms on which she spoke with him, if she was being honest, she didn’t truly want to say anything more to him. Making a forced attempt to continue would only be petty. She wouldn’t deign to give him even that much.

Looking at the huddled, dirty once-nobleman, Sylvanni realized Cullen was right. This miserable creature was barely worth the effort of hating him. He certainly didn’t deserve the price she would pay if she destroyed herself in an attempt at retribution. She would give him nothing more of herself than the modicum of justice for her crimes. He was not even worthy of her loathing.

With that realization, she felt the last loop in her knotted thoughts pull free. What needed to be done fell into line with what she wished for herself, and her final decision fell into place. She knew where to go from here. She was ready.

“You will be brought before the judgment of the Inquisition tomorrow at dawn. I shall hear whatever defense you choose to make, and will mete out punishment for your crime as I see fit.” She paused, but he gave no reaction, nothing to indicate he had even heard her. “I suggest you make what peace you can with your Maker.”

He said nothing more to her, so she turned away, nodding to the lone guard as she made her way back up the stairs to Skyhold proper.

Chapter Text

There was no time that the mask of the Inquisitor felt more natural to Sylvanni than when she was sitting in judgment over prisoners. The Herald of Andraste, sitting on her throne of flames, flanked by guards on the dais in the very center of the main hall of her fortress of Skyhold. She felt powerful here. The part she needed to play was simpler to adopt when she was in this role, surrounded by its trappings.

Despite the early hour, the hall was filled with people, anticipatory whispers causing a low hum of conversation. Everyone wanted to see what would happen it seemed. The word had gotten out. Today was the day. The Inquisitor would here judge the man who had killed her clan. No one wanted to miss out on that. Sylvanni’s judgments of prisoners were always popular events around Skyhold, but this one was especially personal to the Inquisitor, and therefore even more likely to draw a crowd.

Sylvanni gave a small nod, crossing one leg atop the other as she signaled that it was time to begin. The heavy doors at the other end swung open, effecting a silence across the hall as conversations fell away. Antoine’s hands were bound before him, and two guards kept careful hold on his arms as he was walked into the hall, down the long corridor of gawkers to stand before the throne of the Inquisitor. He did not look up to meet Sylvanni’s eyes as he was brought forward.

When the guards stopped, he stumbled, falling to his knees. There was an air of defeated apathy in the motion, and on his own, Sylvanni thought he might have chosen to remain on the floor rather than summon the energy to pick himself back up. That was reason enough for her to deny him it.

“The prisoner faces judgement on his feet,” she said firmly. The guards quickly complied, pulling him back up.

Josephine stepped forward, off to one side of the dias, her candlelit clipboard held firmly in her hand. Cullen had offered to preside over the hearing, knowing that this decision had a personal element to it for Sylvanni, but Josephine had wished to be the one to officiate. She still felt that what had happened had partially been her fault, though Sylvanni did not hold her to blame. Reaching out to Antoine for help had been her idea, and she wanted to be a part of the proceedings to make things right again.

“My Lady Inquisitor,” Josephine began, accented voice carrying clearly over the crowd. “Before you today is Antoine, former Duke of Wycome. Suspected of involvement in a conspiracy against your clan, he was arrested by your hand and brought to Skyhold for judgment. The Inquisition has since discovered that his crimes are more numerous than we would have previously imagined.

“Today, he stands accused of genocide, conspiracy, and treason as an ally of Corypheus and the Red Templars. He was the leader of a plot to poison the wells of Wycome with red lyrium, causing the entire human population of the town to be corrupted and harvested. To cover his crimes, Antoine disguised the effects as an epidemic, claiming that his people were struck by a plague carried by the elves. With this rationale, he purged Wycome’s alienage, killing all of the elves who lived within. Dalish Clan Lavellan, camped nearby, were blamed as the original source, and were wiped out by mercenaries in Antoine’s employ, under the guise of bandit attacks.

“All this, he has himself confessed to our agents, in the presence of multiple witnesses. He has claimed full responsibility for his actions, and has even given what little information he has on the movements and plans of our enemies since he was captured. Whether this cooperation is a mitigating factor in his sentence falls to you to decide, Inquisitor.”

Josephine's professional tone throughout the speech was to her credit. Despite hearing the atrocities that Antoine had committed all lined up like this, Sylvanni felt calm, composed. The knot was straightened out within her, and she knew what she planned to do. She had no purpose for her burning anger from before. It would only cloud judgment at this point.

"Does the prisoner have anything to say in his defense?" Sylvanni asked, though the question was more a matter of formality than anything else. He hasn't wished to defend himself in the cells; she doubted he would do so now.

Antoine did not look at her. "Nothing I say will matter to you or anyone who listens here. I chose my side, I did as I was asked to do. None of the accusations against me are untrue. Nothing I say will change your mind. All that remains is what you do next."

She nodded slowly; the answer was what she had expected. “I simply wonder what it must be like to have done so many horrible things and not be able to offer even a single word in your own defense. No justifications, nothing. How must it feel?”

At this, the man lifted his hollow eyes to meet hers. “Perhaps one day you’ll know, Inquisitor.”

Her hatred of him, the burning rage that wished to consume her, threatened to flare up again. She forced it down, pinning it into inefficacy beneath the steel weight of the Inquisitor’s mask. He had no place to judge her, to judge her choices. Her anger was not an asset to her at the moment, so she would not pay it any heed. She controlled her emotions; they did not control her.

When she next spoke, her voice was authoritative, not simply the leader of the Inquisition, but the Inquisition itself personified. “Antoine of Wycome, upon the basis of the evidence gathered and upon the word of your own confession, you are hereby found guilty of every charge brought against you. Written falsehoods to agents of the Inquisition, the perpetration of belief in a false ‘Knife-Eared Plague,’ the massacre of Dalish Clan Lavellan, the purge of Wycome’s alienage, the infection of your townspeople with red lyrium with the intent to harvest them, and finally, high treason in swearing loyalty to a creature like Corypheus.

“As punishment for these crimes,” she continued, “the Inquisition sentences you to death and officially gives the responsibility of your execution to Clan Lavellan.”

Murmurs ran through the hall at this. Clan Lavellan had been wiped out, and whenever the Inquisition had dealt with political prisoners in the past, it had always been done under its own name and power. Experienced players of The Game were curious, analyzing the unconventional move for hidden meanings or posturing. Those unaware of politics simply felt confusion at the strange declaration.

Antoine’s eyes simply narrowed, and she held his gaze. She cared very little if he thought her sentence was unconventional. This was right. This was for her clan.

“At Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel’s death, I, as Clan Lavelan’s First, have succeeded her as Keeper. My clan is gone, but as Keeper, it is my duty to see their deaths avenged and their murderer brought to justice. I accept the responsibility of your life, and I shall conduct your execution not as the Inquisitor, but as Keeper. Your death shall be my first and last act as Keeper of Lavellan, after which, the clan will officially be disbanded. This, I hereby decree, in the witness of all who have gathered here today. The execution is set for one week’s time."

The finality in the statement made it clear that the judgment was over, and she nodded to the guards to take Antoine back to his cell. He held his ground for a moment, not letting them pull him away. “Why the wait, Inquisitor? Why not just get it over with?”

“I have no need to explain my reasoning to you,” she said evenly. “Even if I did, you may be assured that this decision had nothing to do with you.”

The guard pulled on Antoine’s arm again, more roughly this time, and he finally turned and allowed himself to be led back out the long corridor to the keep’s doors. With the spectacle finished, a buzz of conversations picked up amongst the watchers, then slowly began to taper away as the crowd dispersed. Sylvanni stayed seated on the throne as they left, Inquisition guards standing at attention to either side of her.

As the room cleared out, Cullen came to stand beside her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “How do you feel?”

She allowed herself a small smile. “I’m not sure one is meant to feel anything good after something like this. I don’t think I feel wrong about it, at the very least. That will have to be enough, won’t it?”

“It will be.” He gave her shoulder a small squeeze, then offered a hand to help her stand. She didn’t need assistance, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless. 

Chapter Text

There were two reasons for the delay in Antoine’s execution. One had been personal. She wished to have some small measure of time between committing to her sentence and actually carrying it out. There was still a small part of her that felt she was letting Antoine off too easy, that her clan deserved real justice. But as time passed, she felt more and more certain that she was doing the right thing. Her clan wouldn’t want torture, and they wouldn’t want her to become a monster on their behalf. This was the best way. The execution would honor their memory, not sully it.

The second reason was rather more out of her control: politics. Wycome was not as large of a city as Kirkwall or Starkhaven, but it was big enough to survive as its own city-state. The Inquisitor couldn’t exactly walk into the city and take its leader prisoner without there being political repercussions.

A successor had been appointed quickly, a man of no relation to Antoine who had been working trying to take control of the Duchy for years . Considering the decimated state of the city in the aftermath of Antoine’s machinations and the revelation of what the Inquisition had discovered about the Duke’s role in what happened, the new leadership of Wycome had been compliant with what Sylvanni had done. She had feared, at first this new Duke would try to claim the right to punish Antoine himself, but he had said he would respect the Inquisition’s judgment. The city was in too weakened a state to disagree anyway. Leaving the responsibility of handling Antoine’s punishment to an outside authority like the Inquisition was likely seen as a burden of obligation that was being relieved.

That said, the new Duke had written the Inquisition when he had heard what had happened, requesting a delay. He felt it would be proper for him to attend the execution, hence, the need for delay in order that he might make the trip down to Skyhold with his retinue. Josephine and Sylvanni had agreed. Even if Wycome didn’t have the strength to pose a threat, it was a simple enough request. It was a trying time for the city as they tried to rebuild and recover; the Inquisition would offer what compliance it could.

Sylvanni stood in the courtyard with Cullen and Josephine to greet the Duke as the gates clanged shut behind the last of his entourage. The man himself was standing before them, and Sylvanni allowed Josephine to handle most of the pleasantries. She herself and Cullen were mostly only there for decorum. Leliana had declined to attend, feeling a spymaster would likely not be missed.

“...and of course, I must express my condolences to you, Lady Inquisitor, for the fate which has befallen your clan.” He turned to Sylvanni with this, and she found herself putting on a smile as she was drawn into the conversation. “This is a most terrible event, and I cannot help feeling that I must share a part of the blame that this has happened within our city. Antoine should have been discovered and ousted before this could come about.”

There was something about the man that felt stereotypically… human, much as she hated to admit it. He spoke with the same kind of cordial tone she’d come to expect from members of the nobility. As always, she found it difficult to judge if the politeness was tinged with insincerity or if that was simply the way nobles talked. She was starting to think that it might be a feature of accent: that noblemen spoke this way because everyone else around them always had, and thought no more of it than that. He had an absent sense to him. Rather than the cunning noble manipulator who stayed abreast of everything around him, he seemed to be entirely unaware of things outside of his immediate concern. The kind of noble Sera would have a laughably easy time pranking, but that was probably not effective enough to have accomplished something to deserve punishment in the first place.

While Sylvanni thought she didn’t quite like this nobleman, she wouldn’t quite go all the way to saying she disliked him either.

“The fault is not yours,” Sylvanni said politely. Much as she wished to blame his negligence, she could not hold him to direct maliciousness. Beyond that, he was a guest. Better to focus on those who had done this intentionally. “And I intend to see those who are at fault brought to justice swiftly. Both Antoine and the master he serves.”

“Yes, an admirable mindset. I simply wish to extend my thanks for you delaying your hand long enough--”

“Commander!” The shout came down from the top of the wall, cutting off the rest of the sentence. Cullen and Sylvanni both looked up, sensing urgency in the call. “We’ve spotted watchers in the distance, ser!”

Cullen turned to the nobleman, addressing him for the first time. “My Lord, are there any more of your people outside the walls?”

“Oh? Oh, no, everyone should be in.” He looked around, as though trying to reconsider whether or not he could have missed someone. “That’s why the doors were closed, wasn’t it?”

“Is there a chance you were followed?”

Sylvanni felt she didn’t need to hear the answer to that question, and a glance at Cullen said that he had come to the same conclusion. There was a very good chance he was followed. This man was exactly the kind of person that would be easy to sneak around. Both Sylvanni and Cullen took off at a run toward the stairs up to the ramparts, leaving Josephine to politely usher their guest into the keep as the issue was seen to.

The soldier who had called out met them at the top of the stairs with a hurried salute. “They’re up in the crags above the road, and they’re definitely watching while trying not to be seen. We’re guessing they’re armed, but it’s hard to say. They’re travelling lightly, whoever they are. Our best guess is that they’re scouts, but for whom, we cannot say.”

Skyhold’s location wasn’t exactly a secret, especially with the Inquisition’s power growing greater with each day, but that didn’t mean scouts wouldn’t be an issue. Scouts could be a harbinger of a greater force, or they could be a team sent out to conduct sabotage. Sylvanni had approved enough missions for Leliana to understand how devastating a small team working under cover could be. Travellers to Skyhold, even those who came unannounced, wouldn’t avoid the roads unless they had a very good reason, especially not in the steep terrain of the Frostbacks around the keep.

One of the scouts handed a looking glass to both Cullen and her, and they both raised them to look. It took a few moments of searching, but the lookout managed to point them out. Sylvanni trained her glass on the group, twisting the dials to bring the distant image into focus.

“It’s unlikely that there would be an army this close to Skyhold without our knowledge,” Cullen said beside her. “I doubt they’re scouting for an assault. In that case, they’re likely a long ways from whoever sent them.”

“They could be a strike team,” one of the scouts suggested. “Or they might be doing reconnaissance, and reporting back on us to someone. Could be Venatori.”

“Or Red Templars,” Cullen said.

“Or the Qun,” Sylvanni said without looking up. “Or some other group entirely. It’s difficult to know for sure.” It was difficult to tell much of anything when she couldn’t get a clear image of them. Between her difficulty focusing and the fact that they were trying not to be seen, she couldn’t make out much of anything.

“Commander,” the scout said, “we have archers in position to fire on them, and a few mages who believe they can cast at that distance. Or, we could send a stealth team to try to capture them for information.”

“I think it wisest that we try to bring them in,” Cullen said, “but the decision is the Inquisitor’s.”

She was about to agree with his choice -- it was sound tactical advice -- when she managed to find the right position on the lenses and the image snapped into focus. One of the distant watchers looked out toward the fortress and she finally managed to get a good look. She felt a shock, as though someone had cast an electric spell through her, running from her spine to her toes. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

“Hold your fire,” she ordered, lowering the spyglass quickly and handing it off. Her head was rushing to find a logical explanation. She must have mis-seen but she had to know. She needed to see for herself.

Cullen sensed something was wrong. “Inquisitor?”

She wasn’t really thinking about what she was doing as she swept her hand to the side, casting a barrier around herself. In moments that required quick decision making, she worked on instinct, and this was no exception. Before she could second-guess herself, she stepped forward, planted her hands on the rough stone of Skyhold’s ramparts, and vaulted over the side.

Cullen’s panicked shout of: “Inquisitor!” behind her was the last thing she heard as she free fell to the ground below.

Chapter Text

Sylvanni hit the ground with a grunt at the impact, catching herself on hands and knees. Falling the entire length of Skyhold’s wall made her feel as though she had shattered her legs, but as always, the barrier had taken the damage of the fall, not she herself. A trick she’d learned out exploring and had served her well among the cliffs and precipices across Thedas. Sometimes there just wasn’t time to take the easy and careful way down.

As she picked herself back up, she immediately broke into a run, tearing across the long bridge out into the Frostbacks. She knew the area around Skyhold well, and she knew how to find the place where they’d spotted the watchers. They were near the road, and she didn’t need to get excessively close before a warrior stood up from the hiding spot, baring a sword in her direction.

“Stop there,” he shouted. “We don’t want to hurt you, but we will if you make us!”

Despite the threatening words, Sylvanni’s face broke into a smile. “Rowan?”

A small woman stood up into view beside him, a staff in hand. The top of her white hair barely came up to his shoulder. Rowan towered over everyone, and Mihsa had always been on the petite side. As she stood, Rowan looked toward her, seeming worried that she’d revealed herself.

“Sylvanni?” Mihsa asked.

Another woman popped up out of hiding on Rowan’s other side, looking about quickly as she heard Mihsa say the name. The sparks on the end of her staff died out as her eyes found Sylvanni, then she broke into a smile. Sylvanni was surprised at seeing the magic; though she and Kepi had never been excessively close, she’d thought she would have known there was another mage about.

Yet another voice spoke up behind Sylvanni, feminine and casual. “Well, that’s a little bit unexpected.” Sylvanni hadn’t even seen that she’d been flanked until she’d heard the sound, and was suddenly very grateful that the long knives in the woman’s hands were being sheathed in the leathers on her back rather than between Sylvanni’s shoulder blades. Dyani certainly knew how to move without being spotted.

As she’d turned to see Dyani, Sylvanni caught sight of a fifth person off a small ways up, hidden in the rocks above the path. She wouldn’t have noticed Mythri if the woman hadn’t moved to relax the draw on her bow. How Mythri was able to blend in so well with her surroundings with that red hair of hers, Sylvanni had never been able to guess.

The hostile postures relaxed around the group, giving way to surprise as each of the five elves recognized her. Sylvanni felt on the verge of laughter, confused delighted laughter at seeing familiar faces around her. She turned in a circle, focusing on each one in turn. “Kepi, Rowan, Mihsa, Dyani, and Mythri. I… I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?”

Mythri walked forward, sliding her way carefully down the incline, slinging her bow back into place on her back. “Followed the noble shem. Heard he was headed for the Inquisition, and thought we would see if he might lead us here too.”

Dyani nodded. “We’ve been on our own for a while, and… it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“We…” Kepi started, then paused to find a better way to phrase what she was going to say. “Someone needed to tell you. We didn’t have any other way of contacting you.”

Sylvanni felt a small chill. She had a feeling she knew what was coming next, but with all of them speaking over each other in an attempt to tell her, she couldn’t find a good way to interrupt to cut them off. They’d travelled all this distance to say these words and she couldn’t find it within her to stop them and say it wasn’t necessary.

“It’s about the clan and the Keeper,” Rowan said solemnly, his deep voice an obvious counterpart to his travelling companions’. “Sylvanni, something terrible has happened. There were bandits--”

“--but unlike any bandits that had attacked us before,” Mihsa interrupted. “They just kept coming after us, like they weren’t even interested in stealing our things. They wanted us dead. The Keeper tried to send a letter to you here, asking for help, but it must have gotten lost on the way or something.”

“They’re gone,” Rowan said, waiting until Mihsa paused before taking the conversation back. “The clan is… gone. The Keeper fell and almost everyone else did too. There might have been a few others who managed to make it out, but we never met back up with them. They’ve probably found other clans to join by now, if they survived.”

Kepi seemed to be watching Sylvanni for a reaction to the news. “I’m sorry, Sylvanni. There wasn’t anything we could do.”

A small smile crossed Sylvanni’s face. The expression was not the reaction that the others had expected, but she couldn’t bring herself to suppress it.

It wasn’t that she was happy to hear this, but that they had come so far to be sure that she knew. These five could not imagine the kind of power and resources the Inquisition had, with Leliana’s eyes and ears in all places, and they had worried that Sylvanni might never find out. They tried to be gentle as they shared what had happened to them, yet she was standing and listening to them on the other side of the full story.

The news of the clan’s loss had hollowed her out months ago, and she had had no one with whom she could share her grief. She’d found all the terrible context of what had happened, learned the full extent of Antoine’s crimes. The pain of her loss of the clan almost seemed to be buried underneath, first, the drive for justice, and then beneath all the new atrocities that had surfaced.

Seeing these five familiar faces, that little pain, buried all this time, seemed to lessen just slightly. Here, they thought they were bringing terrible news. They feared they would devastate her. Yet all she could feel was that she was glad that she wasn’t alone. They came to tell her that her clan was dead, but she could only hear that at least these few had survived.

“I knew,” Sylvanni said quietly. “I can’t express how much it means that you came to tell me, though. We received the letter and we tried to send help but… It’s a long story. I’ll tell you everything, but the clan wasn’t killed by bandits. Something far worse.”

“Inquisitor!” Cullen’s voice carried across the space as he came running up, a quartet of Inquisition guards trailing behind him. Sylvanni was impressed by how quickly he could run in his armor, but such was the benefit of his training.

“It’s alright,” Sylvanni called back to him, smiling. “They’re allies.”

Rowan gave her a questioning look. “Inquisitor?”

She gave a small shrug, trying to hide the proud smile at the mention of her title. Cullen waved for the four soldiers to stay back, seeing as there wasn’t danger, and then walked the rest of the distance to the group of elves.

As he approached, Sylvanni addressed the rest of the group. “May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s armies.” She turned back to him. “Commander, this is… Clan Lavellan.”

“Or what’s left of it,” Dyani added.

Cullen hid his surprise well, just a slight widening of the eyes before he nodded his head in a quick bow.  “It is an honor to welcome you to Skyhold.”

“You should come inside with us,” Sylvanni said. “All of you. You’ve had a long journey. It’s long past time you had some rest.”

Chapter Text

Sylvanni always liked the name ‘the Herald’s Rest.’ More than the simple aesthetic of the name, she loved the way Skyhold’s little tavern embodied its name. Despite her rank, Sylvanni never felt as though she were intruding or that her presence made the other patrons uncomfortable. She assumed that there were fewer behavioral problems while she was present, but there was never a sense of stiffness or awkward formality from the members of the Inquisition when she entered. There was an easy comfort about the Herald’s Rest that seemed to make it clear that sometimes, even the Inquisitor was a person who wanted to relax and kick her heels up with a warm drink and good music.

After long weeks on the road, Sylvanni thought the welcoming atmosphere of  the tavern would be a needed relief for her clanmates, a place to finally sit down and relax.

They talked together, and for a while it felt like there were too many things to tell, too many stories that needed to be shared. Sylvanni told them of Antoine, of the plot which had stolen their clan away, of her quest to capture him and the plans for his execution. They told her of the attacks in the weeks leading up to that final, fateful battle when all had been lost. Sylvanni spoke of the declaration that she was the Herald of Andraste, of becoming the Inquisitor, recruiting her allies, and the threat that Corypheus and the Breach posed. They shared stories of their weeks on their own, banding together just to try to survive, and the challenges they’d faced out in the wilds. There were tales of things that had happened in the clan after Sylvanni had left for the conclave, and she talked about the experiences she’d had out exploring Thedas for the Inquisition.

Around them in the tavern, Sylvanni could feel the curious eyes of onlookers, though the looks were never rude or invasive. News traveled fast through the keep and she was sure that within an hour of walking through the gates, most people had heard that members of the Inquisitor’s lost clan had arrived. They were curious, interested in this new element, but ever polite. There was a bubble of space around the table of elves, as other tavern-goers looked on from a distance, but left room for the sake of respectful privacy.

Sylvanni noticed this only absently, as one notices the stars on a clear night because they are expected to be there. She knew the culture of the Inquisition and she could have guessed how they would react. Confirming her prediction was an unintentional act, and not one that she paid much thought. Her focus was on her companions, on the stories and catching up, on making up for all the things she had missed.

As they talked, the afternoon light slanted sideways before fading into the evening red and disappearing altogether. Candles and lanterns were lit, and the room took on a warm glow and the hearths were tended to, keeping the chill of the evening mountain air at bay. Drinks were ordered, passed around, sipped and savored. Sylvanni drank in moderation, as always. It wouldn’t do for members of the Inquisition to see their leader lose her inhibitions. She’d only done that once, and it was only because Bull had seemed to need someone to drink with.

After a while, the group started to trail away. Mythri and Dyani headed out together, wanting to explore some of the rest of Skyhold. Mythri said she felt more comfortable with a good mental map of wherever they were staying. Dyani wanted to see if she could find any good hiding spots. A little while later Kepi excused herself as well, explaining that she thought it might be a good idea to try to meet people.

Sylvanni stayed behind with Mihsa and Rowan, though the latter had laid his head down atop crossed arms and seemed to be drifting off to sleep. Sylvanni didn’t mind; he’d had a long journey. Besides, she and Mihsa had known each other well enough to be comfortable talking just the two of them. ‘Friends’ seemed too strong a word for their relationship before, but Sylvanni hadn’t exactly been friends with anyone in her clan. Duties as the First had encouraged her to keep distant from just about everyone, and she hadn’t minded solitude.

Time had passed since the last time she was with her clan, however, and things had changed. Things seemed more comfortable after hours of catching up and reminiscing.

“I still can’t believe it,” Mihsa said, shaking her head. “Scapegoats for a fake plague. That’s the reason our clan’s dead. I’m not sure whether I’m horrified by the monstrosity of it, or sickened by the meaninglessness.”

Sylvanni gave a soft smile. “I understand the sentiment.”

“I think I almost would have preferred that he were just another noble shem who hated elves, you know?” Mihsa said. “At least that would have been about us. It might have meant something that way. But this? He could have picked a merchant caravan to pin his outbreak on, or a strange looking foreigner. Or a patch of flowers outside of his terrible town. Clan Lavellan didn’t even mean anything to him. We just happened to be the nearby thing he picked to blame. Just something to destroy in order to sell his story and hide his crimes.”

“Not hidden well enough. He’ll pay for it with his life,” Sylvanni said, keeping her voice calm. There was still a part of her that said just his life wasn’t payment enough, but it was getting quieter.

“I think I want to watch you do it,” Mihsa said. “It will be you doing it, won’t it be?”

Sylvanni nodded.

“Good,” Mihsa said. “I never thought I’d want to see someone be killed, but I’m fairly certain I want to see this one. I thought about going down to see him locked away, like you were saying. I don’t think I could face someone like that, though. Not after what he’s done. I don’t really have any desire to see a monster like that. I think that’s where Kepi went, though. She talked about meeting people, but I think she meant him.”

Sylvanni didn’t have much of a response to that. She hadn’t known Kepi well, and Mihsa would know her better after spending months traveling together in this small group. Sylvanni had told all of them that Antoine was locked in the dungeon cells currently, and that they were free to visit if they wished. Everyone mourned in their own way, she knew. If seeing the person responsible might help, she wanted to be sure they knew they were allowed to do so.

“Did you know she was a mage?” Mihsa asked. “Before you left for the Conclave?”

Sylvanni shook her head. “I had no idea, honestly. I didn’t talk much with her, but she must have hid it exceptionally well. I did know you were a mage, Mihsa.”

Mihsa gave a small laugh, hiding behind her cup as though embarrassed she’d been caught. “I think the Keeper knew about me too, though I tried very hard to be careful not to reveal myself. I’m fairly certain that it was out of kindness that she pretended she had no idea. Kepi surprised me though. Until the moment she picked up a staff on the night of the attack, I never would have guessed.”

“Perhaps you could have been First, in my absence.”

“I thought about revealing myself and asking for the role, you know. After we heard you were staying with the Inquisition, the Keeper was trying to decide whether or not we should appoint a new First. We never did, though.”

Sylvanni felt pleased about that for some reason. Strange, how she could fear competition for a title that no longer existed. If one wished to say she was Keeper, she was a Keeper with no clan. It shouldn’t matter whether or not Lavellan had had another First, but she liked hearing that they had not.

“So,” Sylvanni said, deciding to change the subject, acting on an instinct she’d felt sparked when they’d first reunited today, then reaffirmed throughout the day’s conversation. Her eyes slid sideways to the sleeping elven warrior, though she addressed Mihsa still. Rowan seemed to be snoring softly beside them, a small bit of drool pooling on the table. “You and Rowan?”

Misha blinked at the friendly accusation, a small blush rising to her cheeks. She was only off-put for a moment however, before raising an eyebrow and quickly shooting back: “So, you and that human commander?”

Sylvanni felt herself blushing in return, but she covered her surprise with a laugh. “How did you figure it out?”

“Oh, it wasn’t anything you did, of course,” Mihsa said. “But you didn’t see the look on his face when he was running toward us, thinking you might be in danger.”

Sylvanni gave a fond sigh. “He worries too much for me sometimes.”

Mihsa shrugged. “I think it’s sweet. I never would have guessed that our lofty First would be the one to fall for a shem, though.”

The term was fond, teasing, and brought a smile to Sylvanni’s face. Shemlen Cullen. Her own ‘quick child.’

“I don’t think I would have guessed it either,” she said quietly, almost with a note of awe. “It was one of those things that just seemed to spring up from the circumstances. I think after everything that happened, even though there have been so many terrible things, I’m glad that somehow it led to this.”

“I know what you mean,” Mihsa said, leaning her head against the sleeping Rowan’s shoulder. He stirred slightly, but did not wake. “I don’t think I will ever be okay with the fact that the clan is gone, but I also wonder if I ever would have noticed Rowan if things had stayed the way they were. It was just like, something fell into place in the midst of everything else falling apart.”

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few moments, a silence of agreement.  They both understood the experience, and therefore there was no reason to explain what they felt any further. In a simple span of quiet, they could find comfort in knowing that they understood and were understood in turn by the other.

Mihsa’s phrasing gave Sylvanni an opening to ask a question she’d been turning over. “Now that the clan is gone, though,” she asked slowly. “What do you think you’ll do next? Try to find another Dalish clan to join up with? There are some who might look for a mage, if they need a First.”

“It was something we talked about between ourselves for a while actually,” Mihsa said. “I’m guessing if any of the others survived, that’s what they did. But none of use five felt it would be right to just try to seek out another clan like that, so soon after what had happened. It never really did feel right. Maybe it was the five of us staying together on our own, but I think we still felt too much like we were Lavellans to become anything else.

“Someone mentioned that you were probably still with the Inquisition, and then we thought we should try to come tell you what had happened. It was more difficult than we would have thought. We didn’t exactly know where the Inquisition was and none of us had contacts. Finally we found someone traveling in to meet you and decided to follow at a safe distance.”

Mihsa sighed. “Not that you needed us to come and tell you, we come to find out. You and your spies already found out more about what really happened than we could have guessed.”

Sylvanni smiled. “I appreciate the gesture nonetheless. It means a great deal to me.”

“Well, we kind of made a decision on the road,” Mihsa continued. “Considering everything that we find out has happened with you in the meantime, I think it makes even more sense now. I mean, the clan is gone, yes, but you were the First. When the Keeper died, you became our leader, right? Then we find out that you’re already a leader, here. You’re in charge of something as large and powerful as this Inquisition, so… well, it just makes sense doesn’t it?”

Sylvanni wasn’t quite following. “What makes sense, exactly?”

“We’d like to join the Inquisition,” Mihsa said with a small shrug. “If you’ve room for us, of course. I can’t speak for the others directly, but I know they were thinking the same thing. If you were the First, then you’re the leader now. And if you’re leading the Inquisition, then the Inquisition is what we’ll follow. Besides, all this stuff about Corypheus and Venatori and red lyrium is something that needs to be dealt with. If red lyrium is the reason they killed our clan, then I want to be part of stopping the people behind it.”

For some reason, at that moment Sylvanni found the mask of the Inquisitor difficult to conjure. She'd formally accepted agents of the Inquisition any number of times, but this felt different. Perhaps because she'd known them before all of this. She thought perhaps she might be grateful for the difficulty in assuming her role. It made her personally feel just that much more real.

Her eyes were misty, but she didn’t try to hide the reaction this time. It didn’t feel right to pretend this wasn’t affecting her. “Thank you, Mihsa,” she said softly. “It would be my honor to accept you and the others as official members of the Inquisition. I don’t just mean that in the formal sense. Truly, I am honored.”

Mihsa smiled, seeming to grasp the depth of meaning behind Sylvanni’s words. “You’re doing good things here, I think. The way all these people follow you, Sylv: you’re a good leader. Keeper Deshanna would have been proud.”

The mist coalesced, and Sylvanni felt the tears slip free as she blinked. Her voice, when she found it, was no more than a whisper behind a smile. “Thank you, Mihsa. Thank you.”

Chapter Text

The sound of quick footsteps was accompanied by an energetic set of calls. “Lady Sylvanni? Er, I mean, Inquisitor? Or should it be Lady Inquisitor?”

Sylvanni turned at the sound, knowing that she needed to look downward to find the speaker as she recognized the voice. “Any and all of those addresses are fine, Dagna.”

“Well that’s a relief,” the dwarven arcanist said with a grin. She was carrying a wide, flat box as she came to a stop in front of the Inquisitor. It wasn’t often that Sylvanni saw Dagna outside of the undercroft, but it seemed she’d ventured out into the main hall to make a delivery.

“How can I help you?” Sylvanni asked.

“I was actually hoping that I might be able to help you, to tell the truth!” Dagna said. “See, I’ve been working on something on the side. Some of the agents found a set of schematics tucked away in one of the dragon lairs that you hunted, really an amazing find. So, I decided to take a crack at it on the side. I know you didn’t specifically ask for new armor, and I didn’t really tell you about it, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”

The woman held the box out, proffering it proudly. “What with the execution tomorrow, I rushed to get it done in time. Not that it’s a rushed job, of course! You know me, I always make sure I’m making the best. Harritt did a really good job with the metalwork and settings and all that stuff and I threw a few extra enchantment perks in there, just for good luck’s sake. I really think we managed to pull off a masterwork with this one, Inquisitor.”

Sylvanni took the package, wondering absently how Dagna so easily carried something this heavy. Casting usually required lighter armors than say, a front-lines warrior would wear, but Sylvanni was used to there being some kind of chain and plate on her outfits. Even the lighter styles weren’t entirely without weight. Besides, ever since she’d started fighting up close as a Knight-Enchanter, she’d wanted to be sure she could take hits and look like she could as well.

She pulled the ties on the package, lifting the top off. The armor lay in pieces inside, and Sylvanni quickly took inventory of everything included. There was a close-fit chain shirt with matching leggings, meant to be worn under the rest. A pair of silvery pauldrons with a double layer and a matching set of bracers for her forearms. It wasn’t until she found the pieces underneath that she realized what she was holding. The verdant green breastplate and skirt plates were unmistakable. The leather train and sash were of a deep blue, but the designs carefully crafted upon them were intimately familiar.

Dagna popped up onto her tiptoes to watch the unboxing, then turned to watch Sylvanni’s face to gauge her reaction. “We tried to make it as accurate as possible, following that schematic exactly. I even asked Dalish -- you know, the ‘archer’ who’s not quite an archer in Iron Bull’s company? -- if she knew anything about how everything was supposed to look and she gave us some feedback. I mean, I guess we could have asked you to be sure, but like I said, I really wanted to surprise you with it.”

Sylvanni found herself at a loss for words as everything she thought of saying seemed to catch in her throat. Her eyes welled up again, though from what -- nostalgia, gratefulness, mourning, joy -- she couldn’t say for sure. She struggled to find a proper reaction to something so unexpected.

A full set of Keeper robes. Dagna had somehow found a way to make Dalish Keeper armor for her.

Dagna seemed to decide the Inquisitor’s silence called for more talking of her own. “Well, we did take some liberties with the materials, like the sash under the belt and the leather panelling? I dyed those blue, since you always ask for blue armors before and they look so pretty with your eyes and tattoos, but maybe that’s inaccurate? Or offensive? By the ancestors, I hope it’s not offensive; we really weren’t trying to offend you!”

Dagna’s worry seemed to chip a few words free from Sylvanni, and she smiled. “Dagna,” she said quietly. “It’s perfect.”

“Really?” The young arcanist beamed. “Oh that’s a relief. I’m so glad you like it! When I heard you what you said at the judgment, about the clan and being the Keeper and all of that sort of thing, I just knew I had to get it finished in time. It wouldn’t be right any other time. Now, tomorrow, you’ll have the right armor! You’ll really look the part! I think. I hope! If I made it right, that is…”

Sylvanni’s smile grew. “I think it’s exactly what I needed. Maybe I’ll come down and look at those schematics at some point. I’m curious about looking through any Dalish documents like that our agents have found. This is… remarkable work, and I’m impressed that you managed to construct this from plans alone.”

Dagna blushed. “Well, I mean, you definitely still need to try it on. Make sure nothing pinches or is too loose or tight anywhere. If you get it back to me by the end of the day, I can probably get the adjustments finished before the big day tomorrow? It’s first thing in the morning, isn’t it?”

Sylvanni felt her thoughts grow more somber at the thought of the execution. Tomorrow. Tomorrow it would be over. She simply nodded in response to Dagna’s question.

“In that case, you should definitely get some good rest tonight. That always helps me before something important. Also, I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I think you did the right thing, Inquisitor. It couldn’t have been easy, everything with Antoine and your clan, but you were so controlled and sure of yourself. I mean, I haven’t talked to me family since I left Orzammar, but if anything happened to them, I’d be a wreck. So, yeah, I don’t know what I’m trying to say exactly, but I think you did well. It was… inspiring, I think!”

“Thank you, Dagna,” Sylvanni said, gathering the armor. “That means a lot to me, actually. I know my clan would be honored to have me represent them in something as well-made as this.”

Dagna mimed a curtsy as best she could in her work outfit. “Happy to serve. The honor’s all mine, Inquisitor.”

Chapter Text

Sylvanni expected to feel different when it was over.

A sense of completion, perhaps, a finality to her actions as the last undertaking was brought to a close. Perhaps a sense of righteous surety as justice was served, the criminal given his fair punishment. Maybe deep down, she’d even expected the small thrill of pleasure in taking revenge upon the one who had wronged her and her kin.

Most of all, she wanted to feel she understood herself in the wake of it. Somehow she’d thought she could find herself in this event, pin down whatever shreds of her were real in this decision.

In the end, she felt very little as she took Antoine’s life. He had not met her gaze through the entire endeavor, and while she felt she would have been strong enough to look this man in the eyes before killing him, a part of her was glad that he did not make her. It was over quickly, a sterile and official ritual, as clean as a death could be. It was better than he deserved, but her choice had been made, and this was right.

The morning was bright, with a small lingering chill from the previous night, and she wore the Keeper armor, perfect, impeccable, and new. Belts over deep blue sash over green armor over chainmail and every detail of it perfect. Though she carried the Inquisitor’s sword to accomplish the task, there was no doubt from the way she was dressed: here she was Dalish, through and through, the final Keeper of Clan Lavellan taking her first and last official act as such.

She spoke briefly with each of the Lavellan survivors afterward, but it didn’t quite feel right. Each of them was processing in their own way and she didn’t know them well enough in this context to know what she should be for them. Pleasantries and polite words weren’t enough, but none of them could find anything more. Eventually she left them to themselves, each to deal with the events as they personally saw fit.

Her fellow Inquisition members seemed to keep their distance as well. Not in an unfriendly way, but there was a sense of respectful deference, a somber overcast to the brief conversations she had with them. They seemed to think she would prefer alone time in order to work through her experience, but truly, she wished for the opposite. She wanted roles to cling to, masks to wear. Introspection in the aftermath seemed like the last thing she needed.

Instead, she spent the day busying herself in work. She read reports, she spent hours at the war table, deploying agents and troops and courtiers. She spent some time in training with Commander Helaine. She saw to the needs of her Inquisition, serving as their Inquisitor, and clinging to anything that would let her escape her own thoughts.

Time could not be stopped, however, and the sun inevitably slipped downward. She took dinner in the main hall, surrounding herself with familiar faces and visiting strangers. The slight sense of awkwardness in conversation as topic flitted around many ideas without touching upon the execution was noticeable but not intolerable. She knew what they would be talking about if she had not been there. She felt she needed to be there anyway.

Finally the necessity of tomorrow’s early morning duties pressed upon her, and she could no longer put off retiring to bed. The dread of facing herself loomed, but she had run out of ways to hide from it. The door to her quarters seemed like an ancient foe, in one aspect familiar as she’d faced it each night, and in another, wholly unknown as she dreaded what she might find within herself after the events of the day. Her feet felt heavy as she walked to the door.

“Inquisitor?”

She turned, grateful for any possible delay and ever pleased to see the speaker. “Commander.”

He smiled fondly, stepping close to her, voice softening. “Sylvanni.”

“Cullen,” she answered back, matching his quiet tone with her own, a small smile on her lips.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly? I’m not entirely sure.” The empty solitude of her quarters seemed like a physical presence behind her. A small part of her concern was likely the simple fact that she didn’t know what she’d find once she was alone.

“Would you prefer company tonight?” It was a soft question, borne of concern for her well being, borne of a desire to comfort her, to offer his support. In another context, perhaps it might have come across as something like an amorous proposition, but here, it was no more than simple companionship, someone to lean upon in a difficult time.

Despite her understanding of his intentions, she couldn’t help but glance at the hall. Not everyone would read their actions the same way. “People will talk.”

He gave a small shrug. “They already do, don’t they?”

She had to admit this was true. The side of her that was the Inquisitor’s mask whispered about propriety and showing weakness. The side of her that feared solitude ached with how powerfully she wished to not be alone. So often, the mask won out. But she’d worn the mask all day, all through this endeavor with Antoine, and for so very long before that.

She could set it aside for one night.

“I would... very much appreciate company tonight,” she said quietly. She stepped backward, still facing him, and opened the door behind her to her quarters. Her fears seemed to ebb away from nothing more than his presence, and deep within, she could feel something that was real.

She had, for so long, become that which everyone required her to be, shifting herself to fit their needs and expectations. She changed herself in the face of necessity, amending who she was to fit the situation at hand. She was as she was needed.

Perhaps Cullen was not so different to her. Or rather, perhaps the difference was that in him, she found someone who needed nothing more from her than who she truly was. Someone who desired nothing more than her real self.

And, that which she was most thankful for, someone who would say beside her as figured out whoever she might really be beneath it all.