Chapter Text
“I’ve made the most fascinating friends.”
-Josephine Montilyet
(Skyhold, a decade prior)
The fire crackled as Josephine stoked the hearth in her Ambassadorial Office. Her diplomatic staff had long since departed for the evening, and she felt so terribly cold tonight. Skyhold was always freezing to the warm-natured Antivan, and these Winter nights were especially miserable. Or more accurately, they had been miserable. For some time, especially as the Frostbacks’ treacherous passes made travel a complicated endeavor this time of year, Josephine had not spent her late-nights in the office alone. They had even been a source of joy.
A stolen kiss here, an embrace there, but more than anything, was a sense of presence; Josephine could compose letters well into the deepest hours of the night while Louise read on geography and politics. Even when occupied and in silence, they gave each other a sense of belonging they didn’t even know they needed before now.
But that was then. Tonight, the office was empty, and her loneliness pressing down upon her, making her overwork all the more taxing. Less than a two weeks prior, her world had been turned upside down when a routine letter from her parents brought news of an unexpected engagement. A grievous misunderstanding, as Mother and Father had seemingly expected the news to brighten their beloved daughter's life, unaware it nearly shattered her. She would solve this, prevent it from happening; she knew she could, but the effort might take a year or more. It was paramount her family's honor not be impugned by reckless or selfish action on her part. And until then, she could not possibly be in Louise’s company. Keeping it secret would not be enough. Josephine cared for Louise, perhaps love was the proper word at this point, but in either case to build their relationship with deception was unacceptable. Perhaps Josephine the bard might have, but not the woman who emerged from that crucible. She might engage all her faculties in cleverness and cunning in her work, but in her personal life, she would keep her Antivan heart. It broke her to see Louise’s face on being told, and Josephine felt low: low and petty. But she had no choice. She could not stain neither her family nor Louise’s reputation.
She was so desperately alone. Self-recriminations followed. Why? Why do this? I was happy on my own for years. Her selfishness, as she saw it in reciprocating an interest she had deluded herself into not seeing for so long, had only brought pain in the end. Not just for herself, but for a gentle soul in Louise. But even worse, the hope that Louise might hold on for the year or more it might take to settle accounts with the Otranto’s was real enough that when it inevitably would die, as it surely must, she would wither away as well. The poets were wrong. Far better to have never loved than to deal with this disaster of her making. I'm so terribly stupid!
“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" She took out her anger on the fire logs, jabbing at them forcefully, and then slammed the poker into its stand with a loud clang and an audible “Fuck!” Her breathing was heavy, hands still clenched from her outburst, though perhaps far-away in distant Antiva, a Lady of a House felt a slight disturbance.
”I think you got-’em, Ruffles.”
Josephine turned with a start as Varric Tethras walked into her office, a stack of papers in his hand, and an easy-going, wry smile on his face. Although, the former bard could not escape noticing, his eyes had a soft and knowing quality regardless of his active mouth. Regardless, she was mortified. I am a Montilyet, I don't curse, and I certainly don't thrown tantrums! She stood up, posture perfect, and with an ease that disturbed even herself at times, erased all appearance of worry and grief on her face. Masks did not need to be literal.
”Master Tethras! I apologize for the display. These cold nights-“
”Sure.” Varric replied casually, not at all believing Josephine would raise a fuss over something as mundane as the cold. Before the dwarf could ask the obvious questions, Josephine attempted deflection.
”Those papers? Correspondence with the Free Marches? I can take those from you.”
Varric shook his head slightly and scoffed. “Really, Ruffles? I’m here at one in the morning to give you mail? Gotta do better than that. You’re slipping.” He turned from her, walked to the fireplace, and unceremoniously dumped the papers into the fire. As the flames briefly flared up, he slapped his hands together with a satisfied look. “Kindling courtesy of the Merchant’s Guild. I know it gets drafty in here and I don’t want to be colder than I have to for this.”
This? What does he mean? “I’m sorry? Forgive me but I’m not following-“
Varric plopped down with little ado onto one of the armrests before the fire, lazily waving a hand for her to do likewise. Taken-aback and profoundly embarrassed, there was nothing else to do but follow along. He rolled his tongue in his mouth, sighed, and began to speak. "I know what's going on, you know what's going on. So let's just cut the bullshit, from one artist to another in it. Alright?" Despite the bluntness in his tone, his sly grin and self-deprecation served as a rhetorical blanket, an invitation to be open without fear. But not just yet, her composed facade pierced but still standing. Except her eyes, which though they could mask their sorrow could not conceal their exhaustion.
"How late are you working these nights? Hell, I think even Cole's asleep at this hour. Or whatever the kid does."
"There may have been more than one rather long-"
"See, this is the part where you deflect, I poke, and then at some point I give up or you open up. Trust me, I know how this goes. Author's gift, or curse, I can't decide which. But, let's just not and instead skip past all that. You're overworked, under-appreciated, and a perfectionist bound to snap at some point soon. And... if we're honest, a lot of that you put on yourself because you don't trust that others can be as capable as yourself. Seriously, you may want to look into that." He continued, "and now, making it worse, your heart's wounded and now you can no longer bear the strain." He gave a comforting and empathetic look even as he kept removing layer upon layer of all the artifice she had built up. Josephine could only stare at the dwarf. Her mouth had a tendency to always be slightly open, but now it was open wide as he kept going. "You're smart, scary smart. But you miss some things." He paused, holding her gaze.
"What, Varric?" She asked, eschewing formalities.
"You're not alone. You just need to open that door sometimes. I mean, not literally- you'll let the heat out, but ya'know, metaphorically. Everyone gets a little intimidated of you and they think they can't possibly help. You're sweet as some Orlesian confectionary and probably couldn't outfight a nug, but there's more to stature than all that. It's the way you always act like you can do it all. And to your credit, you come really close. But you can't keep it up forever. Nobody can. You take on more and more, breaking down inside each time. Unlike that enchanted candle of yours you always have around, you'll burn out. We can't have a world without Ruffles, can we?" As Josephine stared dumbstruck at Varric's gift at reading other's lives as if characters in his own novels, he chewed his lip a moment, then to Josephine's surprise put on a truly wretched attempt at a rough Ferelden accent. "And that's not how spoiled rich Little Lady Prissy-Pants should be, innit?"
Josephine blinked. And without meaning to, a rather undignified snort broke the resulting silence. She held up a hand to her face, laughing, and the embarrassment, both for herself and at Varric, eased the blow dealt by an airing out of her myriad of problems. Even so, her mind jolted awake. "Wait... Sera? Did Sera call me... what was it? Little Lady Prissy-Pants?" She sounded out the phrase slowly, her Antivan accent weighing each syllable. Exaggerated indignation elevated her voice. "Prissy Pants?! What precisely is wrong with my wardrobe?"
"I notice you didn't comment on the whole 'spoiled rich' part."
"Talking about personal finances is uncouth."
"Not beating the allegations on the prissy part, Ruffles."
"Oh, that is- that is-" She smiled, not her usual composed and reserved smile that projected a mixture of warmth mixed with dignity, but a wide, honest, toothy grin she only let out when at ease. "Rather amusing. Though, pray do not tell her. She would be insufferable."
"Honor of a Deshyr. Hmmm... on second thought that means less than nothing, come to think of it. Anyway, your secret is safe with me. And for the record, I always liked your look. Ruffles and all. Don't change it for anyone. But, ah! I'm off-track. The point, is we're here for you, and I don't just mean Curly and Nightingale. Delegate some. And if she were here.... I know Glowy would be with me saying the exact same thing. She's worried about you."
Josephine's heart warmed at the mention of Louise, or Glowy as Varric so eloquently called her. But just as quickly her mind caught the dwarf's slip, and the Antivan demonstrated how she had mastered The Game. "Then Louise is not here now. Here meaning Skyhold, or else she would accompany you, as you clearly have communicated to one another on all this. But I know the schedule of expeditions, and there are none. Meaning she left quickly, likely tonight with minimal entourage." Her mouth opened wide again in revelation at Louise's likely purpose and her cunning tone shifted to shock and aggravation. "Oh, Maker! I must attend to this. I'll leave for Val Royeaux in the morning." It was now Varric's turn to be on the back foot as he shifted in his seat. "Oh, don't look surprised Master Tethras, it's obvious now. You said I should delegate, then excellent, you can start assisting me by reviewing financials tomorrow while I'm away." Josephine stood up, her face undecided if she was proud or furious at Louise. Likely both.
"Be gentle with her Ruffles, she's trying to help. Just like I said. There's love for you if you let it in."
As Josephine stood up, preparing to make last minute arrangements, she glanced at the dwarf.
"Thank you, Varric."
"Anytime, Ruffles."
(Beneath Minrathous, the present)
“Lady Montilyet? Lady Montilyet?… Lady Mon-til-yet?!”
For a moment, if only for a moment, Josephine was in her bedchamber in Antiva. Surely any time now Francesca, or perhaps Luisa, would knock on her door, offering a hot cup of coffee to start her day. Unfortunately, the searing pain in her left side, the dark, torch-lit surroundings, and a very eager to please young elven woman with impressively poor pronunciation of her surname served as reminders that this was not so. She was in a Shadow Dragon outpost somewhere in the depths beneath the Imperium's capital, and it was best to ignore the occasional scurrying sounds, not to mention the sheer weight pressing down upon the catacombs holding her and her present company. The heavy fog on her thinking was finally lifting, and while she did not attempt to sit up for fear of further injuring herself, she did her best to salvage a small amount of dignity despite laying in in bed. Josephine felt a tad exposed, wearing a borrowed chemise, but a glance across the small chamber revealed her satin shirt, velvet coat, trousers, stockings, and her scarf hanging and drying from a certainly needed wash. She especially missed the scarf, as she found it rather flattering when worn relatively high on her neck these days. Oh, I'm being addressed! Her overactive mind was clearly back to normal.
“Yes? It is Elene. Isn’t it?” She answered slowly, the words tumbling out of her mouth with less grace than she preferred, a consequence of facial muscles just now waking up. Elene nodded, and the elf sat on a nearby small wooden chair by Josephine's cot. Elene’s face lit up at the recognition of her name, eyes wide and a smile forming. She took a moment, as if working up no small amount of courage, and began to speak quickly.
“Lady Josephine! Or, Lady Montilyet! I'm not sure which to use!" Josephine began to answer, but the elf had started and it became clear it was best to just let the girl get it all out. "I wanted to see how you were doing. But now you're awake! The mage said you’d be okay after his treatment but I told him, and I was very firm: that wasn’t good enough. Not just words. That I’d make sure you recovered properly. And- and, that’s what I did. Never left your side, except to work on your garments. That's a lot of layers, you know? Not that there's anything wrong with that, I'm sure that's an Antivan custom. Or Orlesian? I've never been to either, but I know you have! You've been everywhere.” Elene nodded repeatedly, building herself up as she went along even as her voice had an ever-present nervous quality. It all was, despite the horribleness of the situation, admittedly cute for Josephine to watch. Josephine gave a soft smile, well aware what a small gesture such as that could mean to a person like Elene. What was more, as Josephine's listened, it was clear she had a... fan. Not common, but not unknown to her by this stage in life. She remembered how Miss. Harding would always stare slack-jawed when Josephine and her diplomatic staff made their way through Skyhold's grounds. Be kind, Josie.
“Thank you, truly. I cannot recall everything that has occurred, but do know that I am immensely grateful. You saved my life, at risk of your own.”
Josephine reached an arm over to Elene, placing a hand on the elves'. A rather significant gesture in Tevinter, as she certainly knew, but one that needed doing. “And I truly, and most deeply, share your sense of loss regarding Lady Anstasian." Elene was thunderstruck. She looked away momentarily, her breath shaky at the warm, genuine words coming from the Antivan.
Rather excitable girl. But I must focus. I haven’t the faintest notion of what is going on beyond what I’ve picked up on by listening covertly, pretending to sleep. And time is of the essence; Louise may be in danger or perhaps searching all of Minrathous for me. Regardless, I am vulnerable and seeming a burden will not do, that will make matters far more difficult. Best to make a small show, it won't be easy as I am now, but I can browbeat these "Shadow Dragons." Then, no longer being at a disadvantage, I can ask for information from a position of strength.
"No!" Her mind countered. You’ve grown too cynical, Josie. Look at her, she’d trade all she owns for a bit of praise. Acknowledge her and she’ll tell you everything she can. Niceness before knives.
“Elene, you wish to see justice for Lady Anstasian?” She paused a moment, prepared for the resulting nod before it even happened. “And, you know who I am, and what I represent. What the Inquisitor represents.” Josephine allowed Elene time to acknowledge but was sure to hold the eye contact longer than strictly necessary. Hold a moment, keep her fixed. It was, Josephine reasoned, a little excessive, but displays of authority and presence were occasionally needed even when cooperation and not coercion was desired. Be kind, but a little authoritative.
“I do, my Lady.” Elene responded, her posture straighter.
“Yes, I knew you would.” Josephine allowed a soft smile. “Then I beg you answer my questions with the comfort that…” What to say? Despite being Tevene, the look in her eyes at “Inquisition” makes that the obvious choice. Use that. Josephine found her words, “the comfort of aiding the Inquisition in its hour of need. In a way only you can do.” That the Inquisition doesn't technically exist is beside the point.
Elene swallowed, her face genuinely shaking slightly in her emotionally overwhelmed state, and she began to answer. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. What do you need to know? I want to help.”
Help. That’s revealing. Not “serve” but to help. She wishes to be a part of something grander, not an instrument. Good.
“Thank you. Firstly, the state of my injuries? I assume I have been numbed through the administration of herbs and poultices? And my treatment, what was involved?”
“Yes, My Lady. A mage doctor, well- he acts as a doctor for them. "Them." Further verification she does not yet see herself within the Shadow Dragon cohort. Remember this. Elene continued, "I don’t properly know if he actually is one, honestly. Well he... I don’t know how to describe it... but he wiggled his hands and he had a very serious expression while doing it.” Her eyes narrowed as if she recollected something useful. “Yes, that was just it, a wiggle of the fingers and a ‘aha!’ or perhaps it was more an ‘ahem.’ Oh dear, I don’t know which, I’m sorry.”
I was young too, once. But she's got a mind on her, just lacking confidence.
Josephine softly smiled and a chuckle introduced a little noise into a small, torchlit chamber otherwise quiet beyond the crackling of fire. “A... 'wiggle of the fingers?' Is that your professional diagnosis?” Her attempt to introduce levity.
Seeing Elene’s face become crestfallen, Josephine quickly backpedaled from her effort at humor. She never was gifted at comedy. Intentionally, that is. “What I mean to say... is that I lack the arcane mastery necessary to make sense of what sounds like a very thorough description. I'm sure knowing the hand motions would prove useful to a more expert audience than myself. But might you educate a layperson on what the mage stated about my condition?" The girl needs to be handled with care. No self-confidence beyond what I give her. But… I am fond of her. There’s an underlying brightness.
This has the intended effect and Elene more confidently explained some of the gaps in Josephine’s memory. The mage, an associate of the Shadow Dragons with the terribly disappointing moniker of Stitches (Josephine had hoped for something more dashing), was no stranger to stab wounds and had worked with ease. Apparently, "The Venatori meant to draw blood and... I'm sorry... blood magic was the plan from what I overheard." Maker! Thus why Theia was fatally stabbed in the neck whereas the Venatori assailant aimed for my side. I wasn't meant to be killed. Not yet, at any rate. Which is quite frankly more disturbing than a simply mishandled attack. That the Venatori desire my blood at all is beyond concerning, and I need not be a mage to understand the implications. Josephine shuddered as Elene continued. How horribly macabre! But I must give thanks to Andraste when all this is over; my wound was closed, treated for infection, and I should theoretically be able to be upright and mobile so long as I do not overly tax myself. With less quick thinking by this Elene and... what was his name.. Delos? I would be dead.
So much to take in. Whims of fate? Or destiny? Not for me to decide, I reckon.
Much as Josephine had instructed Louise in a finer understanding of politics and finance, Louise had aided Josephine in matters of safety and risk management, recognizing that Josephine was essentially a gambler regardless of her personality, and thus occasionally needed reminders of when to use caution. And part of that mutual education was a new acknowledgment by the Antivan that in a crisis she needed to secure herself before aiding others. Otherwise, one risked dooming all in misplaced, if admirable, haste. But now, safe for the moment in the keeping of an organization that was in alignment with their ideals and connected in the web of events of recent weeks that formed their life now, she was finally in a position to inquire and act on Louise's circumstances.
Josephine pushed her palms into the cot, using the leverage to sit up. Her side stung, like a jagged knife piercing her, and she gasped. "Lady Josephine!" Elene called out with worry, but Josephine closed her eyes, winced, and waved her off. "Just... a moment, please." If Louise hobbled her way back to the Exalted Council sans arm... I can do this. Dig deep, Josie. You need not be the Aegis, you just need to stand up. After a moment Josephine was sitting upright, legs slung down the side of the cot. Holding out a hand, not asking for assistance but rather expecting it, she began to stand, her muscles weak from possible days in her state. Elene was positively beside herself in not knowing what to do with her "patient", but held on tight and supported her weight, allowing Josephine to test her mobility. Better than expected, once I'm in motion, it's the start of activity that's excruciating.
"Lady Josephine! What are you doing?!" Elene shouted, her voice echoing along the limestone walls. Josephine turned to the elf, who had a genuine look of conviction on her face. That's unexpected but... but that's good. I can work with that. She'll challenge me. That's ideal, actually. Josephine paused, still somewhat unsure on her feet, but drew herself up.
"Miss Elene, Lady Inquisitor Adaar may well be in danger, whether by virtue of seeking my location or of threats to her own person. I have no intention of storming the Venatori of Minrathous, but I also will not lie in bed while she risks all. No. I will not do such a thing. And I know she is in danger, or else you would have informed me earlier on her whereabouts to sooth my certain anxiety on the matter." Preempting Elene's stuttering protest, "I do not call you dishonest. You were acting on my behalf, wherein an announcement that Lady Adaar was missing might inhibit my recovery. I understand, but in turn you must understand why I must hasten our schedule."
"But, but, but... what do you intend to do? I'm not even a true Shadow Dragon. I overheard that the Inquisitor was last seen in Docktown, and then nothing except more Venatori sightings than usual. But... I'm just Elene. I manage a tower- managed a tower. I can't do anything about the Venatori!"
"And yet you eavesdropped on an underground organization, brought down an assassin, and conducted life-saving medical treatment? You underestimate yourself." Josephine spoke with a rising volume to her voice, using the same tone when she would recognize members of her former diplomatic staff when they made positive contributions. "But please, do not worry. I am not so foolhardy as to wander in the catacombs of Minrathous. No, we will plan our moves as I walk and regain my mobility. Excessive bravado is not my intention."
Elene was relieved in part, but it was still difficult to grasp the scene before her. A woman who minutes before seemed likely to remain in bed for some time was now upright, stretching her legs, and already planning future actions. It all felt surreal. But it was distinctly Josephine. "But... we should wait, Lady Josephine. The Shadow Dragons use this as a way stop I think, and I certainly don't know the ways in and out. Eventually, more will arrive and we can do- I don't know... something. Maybe Delos?"
"An outpost with medical supplies, ready quantities of torches, and... relatively clean bedding is one in which the paths in and out are discoverable and quite likely recorded to assist in aiding with resupply. We will find what we need in terms of information. Once on the surface, I know who to ask and how, and I am certain you can prove resourceful yourself."
"I understand, Lady Josephine, I really do, but we don't even know anything about where the Inquisitor might have gone after their Docktown rendezvous." She's getting bolder with me, less overly compliant. Perfect.
"You seem a woman of honor." Elene stared at Josephine, as such a compliment was not a usual remark made to a serving elf of Minrathous, even to those free. "I am as well. And I made a promise to Lady Adaar. I told her, on a morning I shall never forget, that whatever the future holds, she would not face it alone. And a Montilyet keeps her word."
(The Montilyet Estate, some weeks earlier)
The chirping of birds, the occasional rustling amongst the grapevines from the sea breeze, and the sound of wagon wheels along country lanes were not enough to distract her anxious mind.
Josephine stood, arms crossed, biting her lip as she gazed back at the Estate. She was in a pair of breeches, fine but practical leather boots, and a white and breathable cotton blouse. On her head was sun hat, hair worn down. By her side was a walking stick, adorned with a carved Montilyet crest, made by her father. Nothing she would ever wear publicly, but ideal for taking in the vineyards or on her daily walks to clear her mind. She always held a brisk pace, and she was feeling the consequence of that now, not in the same shape as yesteryear. She caught her breath for moment, wiping her brow. But this was no ordinary morning, try as she might to pretend. She sighed, and the little self-contained world that gave her such pleasure felt like such a cruel joke. That even the sturdy manor was only like so much sand when compared to what might come. She and Louise were up at night, resting after a weary day earlier in the week, when they saw the wounded sky through the office window.
There had been nothing to do at that moment. It was possibly the end as far as Josephine knew, and she could tell Louise felt the same. There was no reason to wake and frighten the others at the estate, all that could be done was hope that Master Tethras and his team were in place to act. Josephine and Louise had spent that night together on the office sofa, hand in hand, praying more than once, and then… the dawn came. And the next day. And the next. The sky was healed. Was that it? Was it over? Or what? The uncertainty was almost as bad.
Louise tried to help as she could. But was nothing to be done until more was learned, and everyone knew to reach them- no, reach Louise, if we are honest- and so they stayed put. Not even venturing into the city. This morning, sensing Josephine’s anxiety, Louise found the Antivan on her walk, her heavy but orderly footfalls signaling Josephine of her arrival. Josephine turned, and there was Louise, towering as ever, carrying a folding table and two chairs, missing arm or no. Her face with its usual soft smile and the thoughtful melancholy that never left those eyes. Whatever else the tongue-waggers of Antiva City said, Louise had a noble bearing regardless of her origin. Josephine always believed that.
They had been arguing more lately, nothing extraordinary just the reality of a couple long past the initial honeymoon. But each of them was making an effort to get past this stretch and Josephine smiled at seeing her unexpected company on her morning walk. Louise began to speak, “You’ve always had a quick stride, Lady Montilyet. Thought I wouldn’t catch you in time. You really can’t just relax, even for one day like we talked about."
“Is that so?” Josephine answered, hand on hip in mock indignation.
“You had a note on your desk, with, and I quote, ‘Morning stroll from nine to ten.’ That’s not exactly the spirit of relaxing if you follow an itinerary.”
“We’ve had this exact conversation before, you know. And I do take more breaks. And fewer late nights. I do learn, dear.”
“You remember every conversation, don’t you?” Louise replied, grinning as she began unfolding the wooden table in a shaded spot between the rows of vines. Teasing was never mean, and always playful between the two, often with wordplay.
Josephine smirked. “Someone has to. Though I suppose it’s not always a gift,” But then she walked forward and took one of the chairs from Louise, and began arranging the impromptu brunch with her partner, softening her tone with warmth, “but it is a treasure when it comes to you, darling. I can recall even our small-talk at Haven. I was rather naive, imagining you were truly invested in Orlesian property law.
"True enough, you could have been reciting Ferelden prose and I would have enjoyed your company. But for the record, you have to admit, I did pay attention." Louise rejoined.
"Undoubtedly, love, I would never have reciprocated if I did not respect your mind." Josephine angled her head up towards Louise. Contrary to assumptions by outsiders to their relationship, she never actually felt small in Louise's physical presence. It all simply felt right, though Josephine routinely encouraged Louise there was no need to slouch or bend down. And it was with that degree of comfort and closeness that she delved deeper into their relationship, even the less pleasant aspects. "I know I’ve been…” Josephine walked up to Louise and reached an arm upwards towards her, resting it on her shoulder as best she could. “And I don’t know what time we do or don’t have left. But I want us to be like we were. And I’m sorry. I've been short, and I recognize distant at times.”
Louise knelt down, and gave Josephine one of those embraces only a Qunari could. Josephine loved it, never for a single moment ever feeling frightened at the strength and size involved. She buried her face along Louise’s neck, and breathed in. Maker, I love her.
“I don’t know what happens next, Josie. But, I promise, we face it together. Just like you said those years ago. I only wanted to keep you safe but, I went too far and… it made you feel excluded. I was wrong.” Louise’s voice caught.
“No, it’s alright now. Leave that all behind. Let’s just have now.” Josephine squeezed tight. “Please. I.. have… I know I have been far too hesitant about… and the years keep passing, but I wanted the moment to be right when I- when I ask-“
A long moment passed. And as had happened so often in their relationship, the world would not permit simple domestic bliss. The sound of footsteps was heard in an adjacent row of vines, followed by a hesitant voice calling out, “Lady Inquisitor!? Lady Inquisitor!?” Josephine winced. Not again. Is it so wrong to wish fate spare us? It takes and takes and takes!
Josephine let go first, stepping back as Louise stood up and straightened her open jacket. With another sigh, Josephine gave a look up at Louise and a light snap of her fingers, which signaled the Qunari to bend down. At which point Josephine fixed the hair around Louise’s horns. Satisfied she nodded her assent, and the two turned and stood side by side as the messenger stepped into view. He was an human in a worn traveling cloak much too warm for the climate but ideal for concealment and a rolled up letter in one hand. One of Charter’s people. The agent looked at Louise, then at Josephine and seemed a little at a loss. Not the first time an agent was puzzled on whom to address first while on the Montilyet Estate. Louise stayed quiet, and Josephine quickly recognized she was purposefully being given control of this, which was appreciated but also made her feel pitied.
Josephine took a moment to comport herself with an aura of authority measured with warmth. “A message, I’ll have that my good man. You must be tired, please feel free to make use of the Estate. Tell Matteo at the gate you that have our blessing and we will see to your needs.”
But... the agent didn’t move. The man’s eyes darted to Louise, and he held onto a rolled up parchment tightly.
“The letter, I’ll have that, thank you.” Josephine repeated, with more firmness and less warmth.
“My Lady, it’s for the Inquisitor’s eyes only. I’m sorry… but I can’t.” He answered, his eyes continuing to glance at Louise, clearly hoping for a release. But Louise said nothing, simply looking down at the messenger, making a conscious effort not to show Josephine up.
"The letter, please. I am Lady Josephine Montilyet; you know who I am and that I am held in trust" Still nothing.
And as Josephine stared at this agent of Charter, she began to see red. All her insecurity condensed into this one stubborn man. Every time she was overlooked for her role within the former Inquisition due to not swinging a sword or loosing an arrow flared in her mind. On one occasion, she had been referred to as Louise's assistant. That had wrecked her for weeks. Unfortunately for the agent, he took the brunt of her stampede of memories. She brusquely stepped forward, snatched the letter from his grasp and barked out, “I was the Inquisition’s Ambassador and I Am Master of this estate!” She was very close now, her nostrils flared and her brows narrowed. When he shrank back, she breathed in and out for a moment, took a long blink, and with bardic control of her emotions, calmed down rapidly, stating, “to the estate, now. You’ll receive refreshments and a rest before your next journey. Go. Now.” She gave a curt nod and turned away. That was as much a dismissal as she felt comfortable giving.
As the messenger ambled towards the Manor rather faster than they had arrived, Josephine looked up at Louise. “Was I too harsh? I don’t like being abrupt.” Louise shook her head. “No, nothing too much. And even if you were, you did offer rest and a drink- I think you’re forgiven for a little Montilyet-style 'feistiness.'”
“I can be truly feisty. Assuredly so! Just now.”
“That was a little feisty, yes, but where's that Antivan exuberance you keep saying you actually have?” Louise chuckled.
“Enough exuberance to send you running, darling. I recall the duel those many years ago; you looked more frightened of me than of Adorno's sword that morning.”
“Touché."
“Indeed, though I suppose he's not so frightening now as my brother-in-law. But now let’s see what we have here.” The brief moment of levity faded and now the letter needed addressing. There was, she reminded herself to stave off her mounting worry, a real chance that all was well. Perhaps everything had been solved and Varric had written for Josephine to host a celebration upon the successful conclusion of this Dread Wolf affair. She had promised him that years ago. Everyone would be invited of course, even the Iron Bull despite his incessant requests that Josephine share a "cold one," with him, whatever that means. The world would be one she could actually make sense of again: The Antaam’s invasion of Antiva, the Imperium, and the Free Marches was the sort of problem she could rationalize and aim to solve. But the possible undoing of the Veil? That was… beyond her reckoning and it made her decidedly uncomfortable. It made her feel small.
Josephine held out a hand and instinctively Louise placed a penknife to cut open the seal. They didn’t need to communicate such things. Josephine sliced it open, took a deep breath and looked back up at her love. Louise has a nervous pallor to her face. She’s more scared than I am…How out of the loop have I been kept? She began to read aloud.
“Very well, let me see…hmmm... this is dearest Lace Harding’s hand. Not Varric's?" She continued.
“Inquisitor Adaar, I am profoundly sorry to report that Varric…" Her voice caught as she repeated and tried to press on in vain hope the words would change, "I am profoundly sorry to report that Varric Tethras gave his life..."
No. No. NO. Please, No!
Her eyes quickly scanned the rest of the first page to verify she wasn’t misreading. Then again. She dropped the letter and her eyes were already watering as she clenched her fists. Her face hardened and lips curled into an anger that rose up to match her grief, threatening to choke it in its rage.
Trapped in the Fade is too good for that fucking elf. That treasonous... wretched...He deserves to DIE…
But she couldn’t vocalize that anger, and as swiftly as it grew- it shrank as sadness took primacy in her heart. She had once seen Solas as a friend, perhaps even a mentor whom she respected, and she had felt honored to win his approval. More than a few afternoons at Skyhold had the two making pleasant conversation that Solas genuinely took delight in. That made it hurt so much worse.
He may deserve death for what he did, but by that standard, didn't I those many years ago as well? Paolo, Varric, Solas, Josephine: We’re all lost souls, aren't we? Deserving another chance? Is there any who could stand before the Maker without shame?
Louise looked no less stung by this news, and with her remaining arm picked up the letter from the ground and read quickly for herself. “I should have been there. I let him die, Josie. In my stead, like a coward.” Louise looked into the distance, eyes beginning to water.
“No. What could you have done?”
“Anything!”
“You would have died too! You told me of when you confronted him through the mirrors. He turned men and women to stone. To stone! You can’t fight that, not even you, my love. And you tried to talk him down before he had years to harden his heart."
“Varric was my friend. I should have tried something.” Louise spoke as tears began to earnestly flow.
"And he was mine too! I could never share bonds of combat as you must have, but he was my Varric and I his 'Ruffles.' And I would have us both make meaning of his sacrifice. Together, as I promised you once at Skyhold. And I keep my promises. He would want that, I know it."
Louise's face quivered and she nodded, not in assent, as that was not her's to give. Rather, as recognition that as partners, they would face an uncertain road together in what might prove a struggle hopeless in its course, but necessary all the same. Not needing to say anything as she walked forward, Louise embraced Josephine tightly as they both began to weep unashamedly together between the grapevines of the House of Montilyet.
To Be Continued... "Tis" time we advance the plot forward.