Cyrus had to admit, he wasnât sure how he felt about this.
Normally, when he met new people, he didnât give a damn what they thought of him, and so he felt free to just say or do whatever he liked, regardless of accepted courtesy or social norms about behavior. But that was because he also didnât really care about people in general. It was easy to disregard what someone thought of you if they didnât matter to you, and heâd learned early in life that cultivating genuine apathy was an excellent way to survive. It was now almost universal, and when heâd been in Tevinter, that had served him extremely well.
And yet. It had left him in a rather unfortunate position now. Because he did care, to a certain extent, what these people would think of him, because his sister cared about them, and they about her. He wasnât such an utter cad that he couldnât see that, and couldnât understand that it was significant, that they were real components to her happiness, and that being around them had changed her, in ways he was still struggling to fully understand. So⊠there was a point to which he desired that they should like him, as wellâthat he should not leave a bad impression upon them as he did with almost everyone eventually.
He did not know how to guarantee that. He didnât know how to make people like him. He could wear any number of pleasant or charming false faces, but he didnât know how to be himself in a way that was even remotely similar to any of those.
It occurred to Cyrus that, outside of a few very specific contexts, he might not even know who he really was, at all.
The thought left him disgruntled and uncomfortable, and he doubted very much that such a question could be answered on the rest of the way to the tavern, where they were supposedly meeting four members of the Argent Lions for dinner, which meant he was going into this quite unprepared, which was exactly the opposite of how he preferred to tackle new problems. Still, he walked willingly enough alongside Estella, though admittedly he might only have been actually moving because she was tugging him forward by the elbow.
âYouâre thinking so loud I can almost hear you,â Estella said from her spot beside him and several inches down. She turned her face up to meet his eyes, and hers seemed a bit more amused than anything. âAnd youâre tense as a lyre-string. They donât bite, Cy. Just⊠donât beâŠâ She trailed off, her brows furrowing. âYou know how when we talked to Vesryn and you were kind of a bit threatening, or, um⊠smug? Just donât do that. People donât like that.â She patted his bicep with her free hand, the one with the mark on it, and steered him around to the front door of the tavern. He grimaced. Cyrus didn't remember being particularly smug at any point... this might be more difficult than he'd anticipated.
A swirl of warm air escaped when she pulled the door open so they could enter, knocking her boots on the half-step up to clear them of the worst of the snow before she let go of his arm and led the way inside. The tavern had a homey feel to it, most of it bathed in honey-gold firelight. A few of the tables were occupied, but none by any party so noticeable as the one at the center of the room, set up at one of the longer tables. Presently, there were four seated there, with room for two more.
Of those present, there were two elves, one human, and a Qunari. The last took up the most space, but no more than someone of his dimensions naturally required, in any case. Unlike a large number of the Qunâs runaways, he still painted his face and neck with vitaar, the patterns predominantly triangular, the red paint a sharp contrast with the steely grey of his skin and the dark gold of his eyes. His horns swept back from his head, ending some inches behind his crown, tipped upwards in an almost-graceful arc. The human man was stocky rather than tall, perhaps only two or three inches taller than Estella. His blond hair bore evidence of a fresh cut, recently shaved on either side. The rest was short as well, but not as much so. His back was to the door, so apart from that, it was hard to tell much about him.
The elves were a study in contrast, in some respects. The first was a dark-haired man, nearing six feet in height, with the build of a warrior, but a bit of a roguish charisma about him. He had extremely relaxed, almost lackadaisical body language, and was barefaced in the typical manner of elves from the city. The other, Cyrus had actually met, in the Fallow Mire. When not miserably wet, Lia was blonde, and the dark green vallaslin on her face were more evident.
Estella slid into the seat next to her with an easiness that was not especially like her, a sure sign of her comfort and familiarity with them. That left the seat next to the Qunari open for Cyrus, who took it after a moment's hesitation.
âEnjoying the night off, everyone?â Estella inquired, settling her cloak over the back of her chair.
âItâs about damn time for one,â the blond man replied, his tone a bit petulant. âThe new corporals are helping, but Commander Leon runs these people almost as hard as Commander Lucien runs us, and I think it might actually be harder when we have to lead the drills instead of just doing them.â
âYes, woe is us,â the elven man replied, clearly sarcastically, but mildly so. âAt least weâre not running all about Thedas closing rifts in the Fade. They saved all that headache for our dear Estella.â He raised a brow, shifting slightly to regard Cyrus. âWho seems to have finally brought us her infamous brother. Weâve heard a great deal about you, Cyrus. Mostly good things.â He grinned, tossing his head to clear some wayward strands of hair out of the way of his jade-colored eyes.
âI have no idea what youâre talking about,â Estella replied, with a prim tone that was clearly put-on, because she was smiling, too. âBut yes. Everyone, this is my brother, Cyrus. Cy, these are the Argent Lions. Well, some of them anyway. Thatâs Corââ she indicated the male elfââAnd Donnelly, who was in Redcliffe with us. Hissradâs the one with the vitaar, and youâve also met Lia, whoâs serving as the Inquisitionâs lead scout right now, though she was one of us first.â
Well, they were certainly a motley lot, werenât they? Cyrus had admittedly had little cause to meet any sellswords over the course of his lifeâthe closest person he knew to any degree at all was Thalia, and she would have sneered at him for describing her so. This bunch, though⊠they didnât really seem to fit the things heâd commonly been told about mercenaries. For one, there supposedly werenât a lot of elite companies who employed nonhumans; a few probably had elves or dwarves, but a Qunari? That was quite unexpected. They were also a great deal more⊠sober, than heâd anticipated, in more than one sense of the term. There was no mistaking that they could employ humor and the like, as evinced by the one called Cor, but not a one of them was either slovenly or drunk despite the hour, and indeed they also seemed to lack the hardscrabble sort of appearance heâd espied in a few roadside bars on his travels. Perhaps that was only a factor of their comparative youth, or the fact that they were regularly employed, he didnât know enough to say.
He was slightly unnerved to realize that sheâd already spoken of him to them, but he wasnât sure why he hadnât expected that. Sheâd known these individuals for years; for most people, that was plenty of time to talk at least to some degree about oneâs history and personal life. Even more than before, however, he felt disarmed. Estella hadnât told him much of them. Perhaps because heâd never thought to ask her. Refusing to let his discomfort become apparent, Cyrus smiled at the four of them, inclining himself at the waist in a quasi-bow, made a bit less serious by the fact that he was sitting.
âPerhaps Iâd best not add anything to the account, then. Stellulam does tend to see the best in people, and if what you know about me is mostly good, I think I could only do worse, speaking for myself.â While delivered with the light inflection of a jest, there was nothing false about his statements. He figured that was probably the best he could doâtell something like the truth where he could, but keep things amusing. He at least knew he could be good for wit; everything else was much more questionable.
Cor and Lia grinned at that, while Donnelly outright laughed. Even the stoic-looking Qunari cracked a smile, and it was he who spoke. âI think that is true of most of us,â he replied, but anything further was interrupted by the arrival of a round of drinks and some food, which it was a fair guess the Lions had ordered in advance. It seemed they preferred to dine in the manner of many a larger groupârather than everyone ordering for themselves, there was simply a large number of dishes for everyone to take from as they chose. It would seem that Hissrad was in charge of the purse strings, because he removed a small satchel from his belt and tossed it casually to the barkeep, who snatched it out of the air with a grin.
âAlways a pleasure doing business with you lot,â she said, and made her way back over to the bar.
âReally, though, Cyrus, do tell us a little bit about yourself,â Cor ventured, moving what seemed to be the leg of a pheasant over to his plate, along with a heaping portion of some steamed vegetable slathered in melted cheese. âStel mentioned you were a mage?â
That was a bit of an understatement, now wasnât it? Cyrus glanced across the table at his sister, but he knew he should probably field the implied question himself. But really, what was he supposed to say to that? âWhy yes, in fact, Iâm exactly the kind of mage that everyone else in the world hates and fears most.â He was supposed to be leaving a good impression on these people, wasnât he?
âI am.â His response was cautious, almost circumspect. He doubted they had much of a problem with mages as such, for by now they had to know that Estella was one as well, but⊠a mage and a magisterâs apprentice were very different things. âWhat I practice is⊠in the south, I suppose the closest thing would be a Knight-Enchanter. The basic principle is the same, anyway, though Iâve never had any affiliation with a Chantry or anything as such.â Feeling that heâd probably said enough about that for the time being, he turned the question around.
âBut what about all of you? I suspect you know more of me than I could get through in a sitting, considering how well you know my sister. It seems unfair, I confess.â He let his smile inch wider, arching a brow as if to invite any of them to comment. Given that he was no longer immediately expected to speak, he went about the process of securing his own dinner as well, having politely waited for the Lions to do the same first.
Estella smiled back at him, as though heâd done something she was quite happy about, but she kept quiet, allowing her friends to answer the question on their own terms. Donnelly, having just swallowed, took up the query first. âNot particularly interesting, myself,â he said with a shrug. âMy parents are farmers from Ostwick, in the Free Marches. I joined up with the Lions during the initial round of recruiting, on a visit to Kirkwall. Mum was ripshit pissed, but dad never had a problem with it.â He lifted his tankard and took a draught before he finished. âRight now, I do a lot of the groundwork for the Inquisition, once weâve pushed into a place. I can relate to what the locals have to deal with, and Iâm not bad with cartography and topography, so I draw a lot of maps when Iâm not busy swinging a sword at things.â
Cor snorted. âI joined up when Donny there did. Difference was, I got to Kirkwall on a slave ship, bound for Tevinter. Just so happened a bunch of nutty folks raided the thing and let all of us go when it docked near Kirkwall. One of them let my mother, sister and I live in his spare room in Lowtown. Turns out he was a prince the whole time.â He clearly derived some considerable amusement from telling the story. âNot that youâd guess just from meeting him. Heâs good like that.â Though his body language conveyed ease and lightness, it was clear that he took the last statement at least quite seriously.
âI did not join until the Lions had already moved to Orlais,â Hissrad put in, pausing in his tactical assault of a heaping plate of steaming food. He sat back slightly in his chair, causing the wood to creak softly, though it didnât seem to be in any danger of failing to support his weight. âBy that time, I had already left the fighting on Seheron. But fighting is what I know, and the Lions provided a place for me to do that in a way that satisfied my desire to serve a cause greater than my own gain. Also, the wage is very good.â His aureate eyes held a hint of mirth.
âHis joining test was to fight one of the corporals,â Donnelly put in. âCould have picked any of us, and he went with Stel.â
âShe looked least sure,â Hissrad defended. âA company who promoted a corporal without giving her a measure of esteem for her own aptitude was not one I thought I wanted to be part of.â
âYeah,â Cor parried, âbut then you actually fought her and asked to be in her squad, remember?â Hissrad had no reply for that, and had the grace to look slightly chastened, shrugging as if to brush off the matter. That left only one Lion.
âAnd what of you, Lia?"
"Kirkwall born and bred," the elf answered, before gesturing up to her face. "Don't let the tattoo fool you. I'm a quarter Dalish, at most. Grew up in the alienage. Kirkwall was... not a stable place then. Had my fair share of troubles growing up, but I had my fair share of friends, too." Both of those statements seemed to have quite a bit of weight for her. It was likely she was trivializing it for the sake of not being dramatic, given the casual setting.
"I was too young for mercenary work when the Lions came to town, but I signed up as soon as I was able. I'd gotten some good training before, and started doing scout work once the commander thought I was ready." She looked thoughtful for a moment.
"D'you think this'll be over soon, by any chance? With the mages from Redcliffe on our side, we should be able to make a move on the Breach, right?"
It was the question, wasnât it? If all the Inquisition had to do was close the Breach, then they should be ready for it no sooner than the mages arrived and he came up with some way to use all that magic to assist Stellulam and Romulus in actually getting the thing closed. Simply hurling magic at it would not do, of course, but Cyrus was fairly confident he could figure out what needed to be done, and that the number of mages they were getting would be sufficient to do it. Heâd be certain if he had any idea what had caused the thing in the first place, but unfortunately that was information that no one had, despite the way the Spymasterâs agents probed after the information like ferrets.
Cyrus circled the mouth of his tankard with a finger. There was a slight ding on one part, doubtless where someone had dropped it, or used it to hit something, but because he was left-handed anyway, it was on the far side. âOne part of it will be.â He made the assertion with some reserve, not because he doubted the veracity of it, but because he didnât think the part in question was enough. âSupposing we are successful in closing the Breach, the immediate threat posed by it will be eliminated. But doing that still leaves many questions. How was it caused? Who was responsible? Could they do it again? How might they react to our interference? The answers to those items might well mean much more work. Though whether that work will be the Inquisitionâs or not is another matter.â He smiled slightly, the expression somehow both easy and grim.
Heâd seen a future, after all. It seemed unlikely that the Elder One vanished simply because the Breach closed. And if not⊠what they would achieve by their work thus far might be nothing more than a bandage on a mortal woundâan effective method of slowing death, but far from anything resembling true salvation.
He suspected heâd made things too serious, now. Perhaps he should have answered with more flippancy?
Lia didn't seem to take the news too harshly, at any rate. "Well, this has been a learning experience, to be sure, but I'm looking forward to getting back to the other Lions, whenever it happens. Less world-saving, better pay."
âHear, hear,â Donnelly replied, and Hissrad nodded. Cor shrugged, looking decidedly less certain.
âI donât know. I kind of enjoy this whole âsaving the worldâ thing. Feels important.â It was hard to tell for certain how much of that was truth and how much of it was humor, but a fair guess would have been that it had elements of both. âI do miss court, though, a little bit. Courtâs fun.â
Estella snorted. âFor you, maybe.â There was a point where the rest were silent for a beat too long, and Donnelly even flinched, but almost as one, they relaxed again. It was almost as though theyâd been anticipating something that did not, in fact, occur, and Cor shook his head. Cyrus's eyes narrowed fractionally, but he did not comment.
âWhat can I say? Nobles love me. I bet Cyrus understands, donât you, Cyrus?â The elven youth raised a brow, taking a draught from his tankard.
He shrugged. He could understand why Cor thought that wayâprobably heâd never been to court before his work with the Lions, and probably he was now viewed as an extremely interesting oddity, in part for his race and in part for his profession and closeness to a prince. If one navigated a situation like that properly, there was a lot of gain to be made and a lot of fun to be had doing so. âI hate to say it, but the pretense does eventually wear thin. Or at least, it has for me. But that doesnât mean thereâs nothing to recommend it, depending on oneâs interests.â
âSee? Definitely not all bad.â Cor tipped his chair back with a foot, balancing on the back legs of it and pulling his tankard down to a knee. âNow, Iâm pretty sure this is the part where you tell us embarrassing stories about what Stel was like as a kid, and we trade you for embarrassing stories about what sheâs been like for the last six years.â Donnelly snickered, and Hissrad appeared to be trying to hide a smile.
Estella herself frowned, clearly not fond of the idea. âHow about we donât do that, and say we did? Or just not say anything about it at all?â
âOn the contrary, that sounds like a marvelous suggestion.â Cyrus was all mischief now. If Stellulam was going to insist that he make friends, he was going to do so in whatever way most amused him, and right now a little bit of petty vengeance seemed like the perfect thing. âI like the way you think. Now, when Stellulam and I were sixâŠâ
Normally, when he met new people, he didnât give a damn what they thought of him, and so he felt free to just say or do whatever he liked, regardless of accepted courtesy or social norms about behavior. But that was because he also didnât really care about people in general. It was easy to disregard what someone thought of you if they didnât matter to you, and heâd learned early in life that cultivating genuine apathy was an excellent way to survive. It was now almost universal, and when heâd been in Tevinter, that had served him extremely well.
And yet. It had left him in a rather unfortunate position now. Because he did care, to a certain extent, what these people would think of him, because his sister cared about them, and they about her. He wasnât such an utter cad that he couldnât see that, and couldnât understand that it was significant, that they were real components to her happiness, and that being around them had changed her, in ways he was still struggling to fully understand. So⊠there was a point to which he desired that they should like him, as wellâthat he should not leave a bad impression upon them as he did with almost everyone eventually.
He did not know how to guarantee that. He didnât know how to make people like him. He could wear any number of pleasant or charming false faces, but he didnât know how to be himself in a way that was even remotely similar to any of those.
It occurred to Cyrus that, outside of a few very specific contexts, he might not even know who he really was, at all.
The thought left him disgruntled and uncomfortable, and he doubted very much that such a question could be answered on the rest of the way to the tavern, where they were supposedly meeting four members of the Argent Lions for dinner, which meant he was going into this quite unprepared, which was exactly the opposite of how he preferred to tackle new problems. Still, he walked willingly enough alongside Estella, though admittedly he might only have been actually moving because she was tugging him forward by the elbow.
âYouâre thinking so loud I can almost hear you,â Estella said from her spot beside him and several inches down. She turned her face up to meet his eyes, and hers seemed a bit more amused than anything. âAnd youâre tense as a lyre-string. They donât bite, Cy. Just⊠donât beâŠâ She trailed off, her brows furrowing. âYou know how when we talked to Vesryn and you were kind of a bit threatening, or, um⊠smug? Just donât do that. People donât like that.â She patted his bicep with her free hand, the one with the mark on it, and steered him around to the front door of the tavern. He grimaced. Cyrus didn't remember being particularly smug at any point... this might be more difficult than he'd anticipated.
A swirl of warm air escaped when she pulled the door open so they could enter, knocking her boots on the half-step up to clear them of the worst of the snow before she let go of his arm and led the way inside. The tavern had a homey feel to it, most of it bathed in honey-gold firelight. A few of the tables were occupied, but none by any party so noticeable as the one at the center of the room, set up at one of the longer tables. Presently, there were four seated there, with room for two more.
Of those present, there were two elves, one human, and a Qunari. The last took up the most space, but no more than someone of his dimensions naturally required, in any case. Unlike a large number of the Qunâs runaways, he still painted his face and neck with vitaar, the patterns predominantly triangular, the red paint a sharp contrast with the steely grey of his skin and the dark gold of his eyes. His horns swept back from his head, ending some inches behind his crown, tipped upwards in an almost-graceful arc. The human man was stocky rather than tall, perhaps only two or three inches taller than Estella. His blond hair bore evidence of a fresh cut, recently shaved on either side. The rest was short as well, but not as much so. His back was to the door, so apart from that, it was hard to tell much about him.
The elves were a study in contrast, in some respects. The first was a dark-haired man, nearing six feet in height, with the build of a warrior, but a bit of a roguish charisma about him. He had extremely relaxed, almost lackadaisical body language, and was barefaced in the typical manner of elves from the city. The other, Cyrus had actually met, in the Fallow Mire. When not miserably wet, Lia was blonde, and the dark green vallaslin on her face were more evident.
Estella slid into the seat next to her with an easiness that was not especially like her, a sure sign of her comfort and familiarity with them. That left the seat next to the Qunari open for Cyrus, who took it after a moment's hesitation.
âEnjoying the night off, everyone?â Estella inquired, settling her cloak over the back of her chair.
âItâs about damn time for one,â the blond man replied, his tone a bit petulant. âThe new corporals are helping, but Commander Leon runs these people almost as hard as Commander Lucien runs us, and I think it might actually be harder when we have to lead the drills instead of just doing them.â
âYes, woe is us,â the elven man replied, clearly sarcastically, but mildly so. âAt least weâre not running all about Thedas closing rifts in the Fade. They saved all that headache for our dear Estella.â He raised a brow, shifting slightly to regard Cyrus. âWho seems to have finally brought us her infamous brother. Weâve heard a great deal about you, Cyrus. Mostly good things.â He grinned, tossing his head to clear some wayward strands of hair out of the way of his jade-colored eyes.
âI have no idea what youâre talking about,â Estella replied, with a prim tone that was clearly put-on, because she was smiling, too. âBut yes. Everyone, this is my brother, Cyrus. Cy, these are the Argent Lions. Well, some of them anyway. Thatâs Corââ she indicated the male elfââAnd Donnelly, who was in Redcliffe with us. Hissradâs the one with the vitaar, and youâve also met Lia, whoâs serving as the Inquisitionâs lead scout right now, though she was one of us first.â
Well, they were certainly a motley lot, werenât they? Cyrus had admittedly had little cause to meet any sellswords over the course of his lifeâthe closest person he knew to any degree at all was Thalia, and she would have sneered at him for describing her so. This bunch, though⊠they didnât really seem to fit the things heâd commonly been told about mercenaries. For one, there supposedly werenât a lot of elite companies who employed nonhumans; a few probably had elves or dwarves, but a Qunari? That was quite unexpected. They were also a great deal more⊠sober, than heâd anticipated, in more than one sense of the term. There was no mistaking that they could employ humor and the like, as evinced by the one called Cor, but not a one of them was either slovenly or drunk despite the hour, and indeed they also seemed to lack the hardscrabble sort of appearance heâd espied in a few roadside bars on his travels. Perhaps that was only a factor of their comparative youth, or the fact that they were regularly employed, he didnât know enough to say.
He was slightly unnerved to realize that sheâd already spoken of him to them, but he wasnât sure why he hadnât expected that. Sheâd known these individuals for years; for most people, that was plenty of time to talk at least to some degree about oneâs history and personal life. Even more than before, however, he felt disarmed. Estella hadnât told him much of them. Perhaps because heâd never thought to ask her. Refusing to let his discomfort become apparent, Cyrus smiled at the four of them, inclining himself at the waist in a quasi-bow, made a bit less serious by the fact that he was sitting.
âPerhaps Iâd best not add anything to the account, then. Stellulam does tend to see the best in people, and if what you know about me is mostly good, I think I could only do worse, speaking for myself.â While delivered with the light inflection of a jest, there was nothing false about his statements. He figured that was probably the best he could doâtell something like the truth where he could, but keep things amusing. He at least knew he could be good for wit; everything else was much more questionable.
Cor and Lia grinned at that, while Donnelly outright laughed. Even the stoic-looking Qunari cracked a smile, and it was he who spoke. âI think that is true of most of us,â he replied, but anything further was interrupted by the arrival of a round of drinks and some food, which it was a fair guess the Lions had ordered in advance. It seemed they preferred to dine in the manner of many a larger groupârather than everyone ordering for themselves, there was simply a large number of dishes for everyone to take from as they chose. It would seem that Hissrad was in charge of the purse strings, because he removed a small satchel from his belt and tossed it casually to the barkeep, who snatched it out of the air with a grin.
âAlways a pleasure doing business with you lot,â she said, and made her way back over to the bar.
âReally, though, Cyrus, do tell us a little bit about yourself,â Cor ventured, moving what seemed to be the leg of a pheasant over to his plate, along with a heaping portion of some steamed vegetable slathered in melted cheese. âStel mentioned you were a mage?â
That was a bit of an understatement, now wasnât it? Cyrus glanced across the table at his sister, but he knew he should probably field the implied question himself. But really, what was he supposed to say to that? âWhy yes, in fact, Iâm exactly the kind of mage that everyone else in the world hates and fears most.â He was supposed to be leaving a good impression on these people, wasnât he?
âI am.â His response was cautious, almost circumspect. He doubted they had much of a problem with mages as such, for by now they had to know that Estella was one as well, but⊠a mage and a magisterâs apprentice were very different things. âWhat I practice is⊠in the south, I suppose the closest thing would be a Knight-Enchanter. The basic principle is the same, anyway, though Iâve never had any affiliation with a Chantry or anything as such.â Feeling that heâd probably said enough about that for the time being, he turned the question around.
âBut what about all of you? I suspect you know more of me than I could get through in a sitting, considering how well you know my sister. It seems unfair, I confess.â He let his smile inch wider, arching a brow as if to invite any of them to comment. Given that he was no longer immediately expected to speak, he went about the process of securing his own dinner as well, having politely waited for the Lions to do the same first.
Estella smiled back at him, as though heâd done something she was quite happy about, but she kept quiet, allowing her friends to answer the question on their own terms. Donnelly, having just swallowed, took up the query first. âNot particularly interesting, myself,â he said with a shrug. âMy parents are farmers from Ostwick, in the Free Marches. I joined up with the Lions during the initial round of recruiting, on a visit to Kirkwall. Mum was ripshit pissed, but dad never had a problem with it.â He lifted his tankard and took a draught before he finished. âRight now, I do a lot of the groundwork for the Inquisition, once weâve pushed into a place. I can relate to what the locals have to deal with, and Iâm not bad with cartography and topography, so I draw a lot of maps when Iâm not busy swinging a sword at things.â
Cor snorted. âI joined up when Donny there did. Difference was, I got to Kirkwall on a slave ship, bound for Tevinter. Just so happened a bunch of nutty folks raided the thing and let all of us go when it docked near Kirkwall. One of them let my mother, sister and I live in his spare room in Lowtown. Turns out he was a prince the whole time.â He clearly derived some considerable amusement from telling the story. âNot that youâd guess just from meeting him. Heâs good like that.â Though his body language conveyed ease and lightness, it was clear that he took the last statement at least quite seriously.
âI did not join until the Lions had already moved to Orlais,â Hissrad put in, pausing in his tactical assault of a heaping plate of steaming food. He sat back slightly in his chair, causing the wood to creak softly, though it didnât seem to be in any danger of failing to support his weight. âBy that time, I had already left the fighting on Seheron. But fighting is what I know, and the Lions provided a place for me to do that in a way that satisfied my desire to serve a cause greater than my own gain. Also, the wage is very good.â His aureate eyes held a hint of mirth.
âHis joining test was to fight one of the corporals,â Donnelly put in. âCould have picked any of us, and he went with Stel.â
âShe looked least sure,â Hissrad defended. âA company who promoted a corporal without giving her a measure of esteem for her own aptitude was not one I thought I wanted to be part of.â
âYeah,â Cor parried, âbut then you actually fought her and asked to be in her squad, remember?â Hissrad had no reply for that, and had the grace to look slightly chastened, shrugging as if to brush off the matter. That left only one Lion.
âAnd what of you, Lia?"
"Kirkwall born and bred," the elf answered, before gesturing up to her face. "Don't let the tattoo fool you. I'm a quarter Dalish, at most. Grew up in the alienage. Kirkwall was... not a stable place then. Had my fair share of troubles growing up, but I had my fair share of friends, too." Both of those statements seemed to have quite a bit of weight for her. It was likely she was trivializing it for the sake of not being dramatic, given the casual setting.
"I was too young for mercenary work when the Lions came to town, but I signed up as soon as I was able. I'd gotten some good training before, and started doing scout work once the commander thought I was ready." She looked thoughtful for a moment.
"D'you think this'll be over soon, by any chance? With the mages from Redcliffe on our side, we should be able to make a move on the Breach, right?"
It was the question, wasnât it? If all the Inquisition had to do was close the Breach, then they should be ready for it no sooner than the mages arrived and he came up with some way to use all that magic to assist Stellulam and Romulus in actually getting the thing closed. Simply hurling magic at it would not do, of course, but Cyrus was fairly confident he could figure out what needed to be done, and that the number of mages they were getting would be sufficient to do it. Heâd be certain if he had any idea what had caused the thing in the first place, but unfortunately that was information that no one had, despite the way the Spymasterâs agents probed after the information like ferrets.
Cyrus circled the mouth of his tankard with a finger. There was a slight ding on one part, doubtless where someone had dropped it, or used it to hit something, but because he was left-handed anyway, it was on the far side. âOne part of it will be.â He made the assertion with some reserve, not because he doubted the veracity of it, but because he didnât think the part in question was enough. âSupposing we are successful in closing the Breach, the immediate threat posed by it will be eliminated. But doing that still leaves many questions. How was it caused? Who was responsible? Could they do it again? How might they react to our interference? The answers to those items might well mean much more work. Though whether that work will be the Inquisitionâs or not is another matter.â He smiled slightly, the expression somehow both easy and grim.
Heâd seen a future, after all. It seemed unlikely that the Elder One vanished simply because the Breach closed. And if not⊠what they would achieve by their work thus far might be nothing more than a bandage on a mortal woundâan effective method of slowing death, but far from anything resembling true salvation.
He suspected heâd made things too serious, now. Perhaps he should have answered with more flippancy?
Lia didn't seem to take the news too harshly, at any rate. "Well, this has been a learning experience, to be sure, but I'm looking forward to getting back to the other Lions, whenever it happens. Less world-saving, better pay."
âHear, hear,â Donnelly replied, and Hissrad nodded. Cor shrugged, looking decidedly less certain.
âI donât know. I kind of enjoy this whole âsaving the worldâ thing. Feels important.â It was hard to tell for certain how much of that was truth and how much of it was humor, but a fair guess would have been that it had elements of both. âI do miss court, though, a little bit. Courtâs fun.â
Estella snorted. âFor you, maybe.â There was a point where the rest were silent for a beat too long, and Donnelly even flinched, but almost as one, they relaxed again. It was almost as though theyâd been anticipating something that did not, in fact, occur, and Cor shook his head. Cyrus's eyes narrowed fractionally, but he did not comment.
âWhat can I say? Nobles love me. I bet Cyrus understands, donât you, Cyrus?â The elven youth raised a brow, taking a draught from his tankard.
He shrugged. He could understand why Cor thought that wayâprobably heâd never been to court before his work with the Lions, and probably he was now viewed as an extremely interesting oddity, in part for his race and in part for his profession and closeness to a prince. If one navigated a situation like that properly, there was a lot of gain to be made and a lot of fun to be had doing so. âI hate to say it, but the pretense does eventually wear thin. Or at least, it has for me. But that doesnât mean thereâs nothing to recommend it, depending on oneâs interests.â
âSee? Definitely not all bad.â Cor tipped his chair back with a foot, balancing on the back legs of it and pulling his tankard down to a knee. âNow, Iâm pretty sure this is the part where you tell us embarrassing stories about what Stel was like as a kid, and we trade you for embarrassing stories about what sheâs been like for the last six years.â Donnelly snickered, and Hissrad appeared to be trying to hide a smile.
Estella herself frowned, clearly not fond of the idea. âHow about we donât do that, and say we did? Or just not say anything about it at all?â
âOn the contrary, that sounds like a marvelous suggestion.â Cyrus was all mischief now. If Stellulam was going to insist that he make friends, he was going to do so in whatever way most amused him, and right now a little bit of petty vengeance seemed like the perfect thing. âI like the way you think. Now, when Stellulam and I were sixâŠâ