Dear Estella,
I hope this letter finds you well. I wish we had happier things to correspond about. Hopefully it's something we'll keep working towards, together.
I wanted to thank you personally for giving Kirkwall the chance to find its own closure for what happened at Pike's hands. After deliberation, I determined that his death was the only outcome that was acceptable. The severity of his crimes, and the danger he still posed, was simply too much to allow for leniency. It brought me no joy, but I carried out the act myself. Elias Pike will not harm anyone ever again.
It feels like a small, insufficient piece of justice for Elthina, and everyone else caught in the fighting. And for Nostariel. But it will have to do for now, until we can find a way to stop our enemies for good. Remain strong, and continue the work the Inquisition has been doing. And remember that Kirkwall will always be a home for you, if you find yourself in need.
I hope we can meet again soon. Stay safe.
Your friend,
Sophia
Estella straightened, reaching up to the back of her neck with her right hand and trying to ease the knot she could feel forming there. The news was hardly good, and it certainly wasn't pleasant, but it was something. Closure, maybe, and at least some indication that she hadn't chosen wrongly in sending Pike back to Kirkwall. She'd have to write back eventually, but for now she set the letter aside, thinking that it would be a good time to take a break, and maybe go make sure Cyrus ate something. He seemed to be hungry more regularly now; the problem was no longer that he didn't notice his health or got distracted by other things. On the contrary, she wondered if maybe he weren't almost... punishing himself in a way, by refusing to take better care with it. At the very least, he was depressed, and unmotivated to do much of anything.
But she supposed he had good reason to be, if ever there was one, and she was determined to let him take the time he needed to come around on his own. She couldn't force him to get better, however much her heart broke at the state he was in right now. All she could do was look after him to the extent he'd let her, and hope that he found the other side of this soon. She'd even taken to praying again, though she wasn't really sure to whom. Maybe it didn't matter.
A knock alerted her to the presence of a visitor; she frowned slightly and double-checked the list at her right elbow. Nothing scheduled, so she dearly hoped it was a friend and not more bad news. “Come in," she called, just loud enough to be heard through the door.
It opened, though the elf who stepped inside was not one of her more frequent visitors. Harellan, he'd called himself when the others had asked. He had a quiet sort of assurance in his motions, though his body language was reserved, clearly not designed to draw attention to himself. "Lady Inquisitor." He smiled when he said it, something softening the proud angles of his face. "I was hoping I might have a word. Or rather, quite a number of them. But I wouldn't want to keep you from anything important. Is this a good time?"
She was struck, watching him, by something that had struck her once before, when she was too busy to really give it much thought. Estella wasn't sure what to make of the fact that he was so familiar. Actually... now that he was close enough, she knew she knew him. Rarely ever did she forget a face, and though much had changed about his, it wasn't enough to convince her she was wrong.
“...Falon? You're Falon, aren't you? We've..." Met wasn't really the word she wanted there. They'd known each other, for a time, interacted on a few occasions, blended into the memories of Tevinter and the Chantry. Small pieces, tidbits of memory. She'd never thought to see him again any more than she'd thought she'd see anyone from Tevinter again. At this point, however, it hardly surprised her. She wondered if anything in the world was really just what it seemed to be, or if she simply hadn't found most of the twists yet.
He, however, appeared quite surprised. "You recognized me." It was spoken with a tone of near-bafflement, but his expression of the same was quickly chased away by a fuller smile. If anything, he seemed genuinely delighted. "I never expected you would. But yes, I am he. Or was, I suppose. It's part of what I wanted to talk with you about."
Estella had to admit to being a little intrigued by this development. The Falon she remembered was a Chantry servant, one who looked after the animals, mostly. Even important clerics needed transportation, and thus grooms and stablehands to maintain them. She hadn't for a moment supposed that he was a mage, nor apparently such a formidable one. What he was doing here, she couldn't possibly imagine. “Oh, um, of course. Please, sit. There's tea, and something to eat, if you'd like?" The service tray sat untouched on the corner of her desk. Perhaps her brother wasn't the only one who needed to think more often about his health.
Once they were both settled, tea in-hand, Estella cupped her hands around her mug of it, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. “I hope you'll forgive the welcome you no doubt received. It's... the Inquisition has been coping with some rather uncomfortable situations, lately, and it's become... difficult, to trust those who would call themselves our allies. Everything went all right, though? When they spoke to you?" She had more questions than she knew how to order, but that seemed like the most urgent of them, at least. “Oh. Should I call you Harellan now?" It was, admittedly, not a very nice name, as far as its meaning went, but if it was the one he used, she didn't want to be rude.
"Harellan is fine, though in truth I'd be content regardless of what you chose to call me." He took a small sip of tea, apparently finding the flavor agreeable, and set the cup back down on his knee. "And you've no cause to worry. I understand why they were cautious, and frankly I'm glad of it. They now care for something very precious to me, you see."
Precious to him? Estella tilted her head to the side, considering that. Well, he did know Cyrus, and apparently cared enough about what happened to him to risk attacking the Venatori, so perhaps that made sense. “Is that why you left Tevinter and came here? It's not exactly a conventional career change." Granted, both of the Inquisitors had done the same thing, if she left the description that general. Just in different ways and along different timelines.
The question seemed to amuse him for some reason, a little flicker of it appearing in his eyes. Mirth, purely. "In a manner of speaking, yes. Though I left Tevinter quite some time ago, in fact. Cyrus and I traveled together for about a year; after that, I let Thalia keep an eye on him for me. I don't believe he found my presence all that agreeable, in truth." What to make of that part wasn't completely clear, as it didn't seem to diminish his mood in the slightest. "Since then, I have wandered, for the most part. Much of that time, I spent looking for you, in fact. I confess you were not easy to find, even for me."
That did surprise her. Estella's brows furrowed, and she pursed her lips. She'd thought she was leaving behind only two connections of any importance when she departed the Imperium. In fact, she'd been certain of it. She was certain of it, and both of them had encouraged her to go. She'd not have found the strength if it were otherwise. “But... why?" He stated it like it were merely an offhand remark, something that was simply obvious and hardly needed the saying at all. But she was unconvinced that it was such a given. “It's not... no one put you up to this, did they?"
She hated to even think of that possibility, but she couldn't deny that it was possible she was in very real danger right now, if he'd been sent for a particular reason. It had never troubled her before, and Cyrus and Master Horatio had told her it wouldn't. She'd believed them, but... what if they were mistaken? Her frame tensed; slowly she eased her hands away from the teacup. Just blurting her hypothesis hadn't done her any favors, but she wasn't sure how to react, yet.
"What?" For a moment, Harellan simply appeared confused, then a look more akin to horror widened his eyes and parted his lips as he seemed to recognize the tenor of her reaction. "No, no, of course not! I would never—no. Please, Estella. I promise you've nothing to fear from me. Quite... quite the opposite, in fact." The subtle amusement had vanished entirely, replaced by genuine distress; he set his teacup aside, halfway to rising out of his chair before clearly deciding against it and sitting back down, but on the edge this time.
The sincerity of his reaction was convincing. Besides, if he'd really meant to do her harm, it would have been easy to manage it before now. He'd passed muster with Lady Marceline and Leon and Rilien, even, which was as good an indication of her safety here as anything. She felt guilty now; clearly her reaction had hurt him, in some way, but she still didn't know why. Why would it bother him so much? He seemed hardly concerned with the suspicion of the others.
“What do you mean, the opposite?" She said it quietly, trying to make herself relax, breathe normally again and not hold herself so rigidly.
He sighed, the sound passing softly into the space between them. It took him a minute to regain his equilibrium as well, it seemed; the smile he offered was a tad strained. "I would like to teach you." Pausing a moment to let that sink in, he elaborated a few seconds later, setting both his hands on his knees. "Magic, specifically. I would say 'like I taught Cyrus,' but actually it wouldn't be the same at all."
If anything, that confused her further, though at least that was the extent of it: confusion. The suspicion subsided as quickly as it had arisen. Estella licked her lips, chewing uncomfortably on the bottom one, and then shaking her head. “Even if you think it would be different, I'm not sure you understand what you're volunteering to do. I barely have enough magic to do simple things; I'm not gifted like he is." It hit her that she'd misspoken, and she swallowed. “...was."
Harellan shook his head emphatically, rippling the dark tail gathered at his crown. "Of course your magic isn't the same as his. That doesn't mean you aren't gifted—it just means you've been taught in ways that make no sense for your particular gift." He met her eyes with apparent seriousness. "Not all magic is the same, and not all of it can be taught in the same way. The people who have tried to teach you have failed to identify the ways in which yours is different. That is not a mistake I will make. Of that, you can be certain."
Estella was immediately skeptical. Not of the fact that Harellan believed what he said. That was clearly true. But she was skeptical of the statements themselves. She found it very difficult to believe that her teacher had been mistaken about the nature of her magic. Besides, all apprentices learned basically the same things, didn't they? She'd never progressed any further than that, so it was hardly a matter of having chosen an unsuitable subfield to specialize in.
But.
But what if he was right?
She'd never have dared to think so, before. Never have even considered the possibility that maybe not all of it was as lost as she'd believed. That maybe there was something at which she wouldn't continue to fail, on and on without ceasing. Perhaps because before, she'd never been forced to help lead a huge organization designed to stop a crazed darkspawn former Magister from tearing the world apart. And though the Inquisition was far from perfect... it hadn't failed yet, either. The thought felt dangerous to even have. Like maybe, just maybe, things were changing for her. The years of failure after failure were turning out to mean something.
And so it was at least possible that Harellan was right. Possible that there might be something else she could fail at with purpose. With the hope of success at the end, to be striven for until reached. Just maybe.
Still, there was an obvious question. “How could...?" She struggled to find the right way to phrase it, without sounding impolite. “How do you know what my magic is like, though?" She supposed Cyrus could have told him some things, but she seldom did magic in front of her brother, exactly because it was especially embarrassing to be so terrible at it in front of someone who was so excellent.
Harellan took a deep breath then. He seemed to be steeling himself for something, though the question surely hadn't been that strange. "Because—" he cut himself off, sounding truly uncertain for the first time in the conversation, even including the tense moment earlier. He sighed, and smiled wryly.
"Because your mother's magic was just like it."
Estella blinked, taking in a sharp breath. “My—but, um." She opened her mouth to try and turn that into something that made sense, but the words simply wouldn't come.
Only seldom did Estella ever think much about her parents, anymore, but then she never ran into anyone who knew them, so that wasn't surprising. It had preoccupied her thoughts often, when she was a girl: she knew little of her mother but her name, and of her father, she knew nothing at all. “How... how did you know her? to even know what her magic was like?"
He was silent for a long time, then, one hand curling into a fist on his knee and the other finding the back of his head, scrubbing at the shorn hair there. "I knew her very well. Better than most people ever did, I expect. But it was your father I knew first." A heavy sigh slumped him a bit at the shoulders. "There's no easy way to say this. Your father was my brother. My twin, in fact. They... run in the family." He winced, almost, meeting her eyes again with an expression best described as apologetic. "I know that's probably difficult for you to believe. I wish one of them could be here to tell you this instead of me, but... they aren't. And I can't... I can't not tell you anymore. It killed me to do it, back then. Watching you grow from a distance like I did."
She was dumbstruck. For interminable seconds, she just stared at him, uncomprehending at first, and then slowly with something more akin to understanding. If she looked hard enough, she could almost see it. For the most part, they looked nothing alike, of course, but something in the slope of his brow and the shape of his nose wasn't unlike Cyrus's. If he bore any resemblance to his brother, that was some sign that he spoke truly. And... their mother had had copper-colored hair. As had their grandfather. Estella's had always been the wrong color, but it was a match to his, ink-black. Not so unusual on its own, but...
But.
Like the other things he'd said, it was just possible. Dozens more questions occurred to her all at once, like the sudden shedding of leaves from the ginkgo trees in the garden, that lost the yellow ones in the space of some single day in autumn, or like raindrops striking the roof in a storm. Some feeling she could not name welled in her chest, rising in her throat until it felt like it would choke her.
“I..." She lost the thread, swallowed, then tried again. “I'm... I'm going to need some time to think about this." Her words were soft, spoken with fear of offense, but she wasn't the kind of person who could accept such a change in her understanding of the world and her place in it so quickly. She'd needed months to acclimate to the idea that no one in Kirkwall wanted to hurt her. Longer than that to come to terms with other important truths. Some were still works in progress even now.
She hoped she wasn't disappointing him.
Harellan seemed to accept her words with equanimity, though, even if the smile he gave was tinged with melancholy. "I understand, Estella. If you would like to see me again, I suspect I'll help in the stables for a while. If you don't... I promise I will do my utmost not to bother you. Please don't feel... obligated to do anything in particular. My offer to teach you stands regardless." He stood, moving his empty teacup back to the service tray. For a moment, he paused there, half bent at the edge of her desk, as though he wanted to say something else, but he visibly restrained himself from it, at least until he got to the door.
There, he lingered, and turned around halfway. "If I may say so... you remind me very much of her. Genny. But you also remind me of him. Mahvir, was his name. He loved you, in a way he'd never loved anything else in his life. And he was softhearted enough for that to mean a lot." Turning back, he departed without another word.
Estella leaned back in her chair, running her hands down her face. Her fingers came back a little wet, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care.
I hope this letter finds you well. I wish we had happier things to correspond about. Hopefully it's something we'll keep working towards, together.
I wanted to thank you personally for giving Kirkwall the chance to find its own closure for what happened at Pike's hands. After deliberation, I determined that his death was the only outcome that was acceptable. The severity of his crimes, and the danger he still posed, was simply too much to allow for leniency. It brought me no joy, but I carried out the act myself. Elias Pike will not harm anyone ever again.
It feels like a small, insufficient piece of justice for Elthina, and everyone else caught in the fighting. And for Nostariel. But it will have to do for now, until we can find a way to stop our enemies for good. Remain strong, and continue the work the Inquisition has been doing. And remember that Kirkwall will always be a home for you, if you find yourself in need.
I hope we can meet again soon. Stay safe.
Your friend,
Sophia
Estella straightened, reaching up to the back of her neck with her right hand and trying to ease the knot she could feel forming there. The news was hardly good, and it certainly wasn't pleasant, but it was something. Closure, maybe, and at least some indication that she hadn't chosen wrongly in sending Pike back to Kirkwall. She'd have to write back eventually, but for now she set the letter aside, thinking that it would be a good time to take a break, and maybe go make sure Cyrus ate something. He seemed to be hungry more regularly now; the problem was no longer that he didn't notice his health or got distracted by other things. On the contrary, she wondered if maybe he weren't almost... punishing himself in a way, by refusing to take better care with it. At the very least, he was depressed, and unmotivated to do much of anything.
But she supposed he had good reason to be, if ever there was one, and she was determined to let him take the time he needed to come around on his own. She couldn't force him to get better, however much her heart broke at the state he was in right now. All she could do was look after him to the extent he'd let her, and hope that he found the other side of this soon. She'd even taken to praying again, though she wasn't really sure to whom. Maybe it didn't matter.
A knock alerted her to the presence of a visitor; she frowned slightly and double-checked the list at her right elbow. Nothing scheduled, so she dearly hoped it was a friend and not more bad news. “Come in," she called, just loud enough to be heard through the door.
It opened, though the elf who stepped inside was not one of her more frequent visitors. Harellan, he'd called himself when the others had asked. He had a quiet sort of assurance in his motions, though his body language was reserved, clearly not designed to draw attention to himself. "Lady Inquisitor." He smiled when he said it, something softening the proud angles of his face. "I was hoping I might have a word. Or rather, quite a number of them. But I wouldn't want to keep you from anything important. Is this a good time?"
She was struck, watching him, by something that had struck her once before, when she was too busy to really give it much thought. Estella wasn't sure what to make of the fact that he was so familiar. Actually... now that he was close enough, she knew she knew him. Rarely ever did she forget a face, and though much had changed about his, it wasn't enough to convince her she was wrong.
“...Falon? You're Falon, aren't you? We've..." Met wasn't really the word she wanted there. They'd known each other, for a time, interacted on a few occasions, blended into the memories of Tevinter and the Chantry. Small pieces, tidbits of memory. She'd never thought to see him again any more than she'd thought she'd see anyone from Tevinter again. At this point, however, it hardly surprised her. She wondered if anything in the world was really just what it seemed to be, or if she simply hadn't found most of the twists yet.
He, however, appeared quite surprised. "You recognized me." It was spoken with a tone of near-bafflement, but his expression of the same was quickly chased away by a fuller smile. If anything, he seemed genuinely delighted. "I never expected you would. But yes, I am he. Or was, I suppose. It's part of what I wanted to talk with you about."
Estella had to admit to being a little intrigued by this development. The Falon she remembered was a Chantry servant, one who looked after the animals, mostly. Even important clerics needed transportation, and thus grooms and stablehands to maintain them. She hadn't for a moment supposed that he was a mage, nor apparently such a formidable one. What he was doing here, she couldn't possibly imagine. “Oh, um, of course. Please, sit. There's tea, and something to eat, if you'd like?" The service tray sat untouched on the corner of her desk. Perhaps her brother wasn't the only one who needed to think more often about his health.
Once they were both settled, tea in-hand, Estella cupped her hands around her mug of it, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. “I hope you'll forgive the welcome you no doubt received. It's... the Inquisition has been coping with some rather uncomfortable situations, lately, and it's become... difficult, to trust those who would call themselves our allies. Everything went all right, though? When they spoke to you?" She had more questions than she knew how to order, but that seemed like the most urgent of them, at least. “Oh. Should I call you Harellan now?" It was, admittedly, not a very nice name, as far as its meaning went, but if it was the one he used, she didn't want to be rude.
"Harellan is fine, though in truth I'd be content regardless of what you chose to call me." He took a small sip of tea, apparently finding the flavor agreeable, and set the cup back down on his knee. "And you've no cause to worry. I understand why they were cautious, and frankly I'm glad of it. They now care for something very precious to me, you see."
Precious to him? Estella tilted her head to the side, considering that. Well, he did know Cyrus, and apparently cared enough about what happened to him to risk attacking the Venatori, so perhaps that made sense. “Is that why you left Tevinter and came here? It's not exactly a conventional career change." Granted, both of the Inquisitors had done the same thing, if she left the description that general. Just in different ways and along different timelines.
The question seemed to amuse him for some reason, a little flicker of it appearing in his eyes. Mirth, purely. "In a manner of speaking, yes. Though I left Tevinter quite some time ago, in fact. Cyrus and I traveled together for about a year; after that, I let Thalia keep an eye on him for me. I don't believe he found my presence all that agreeable, in truth." What to make of that part wasn't completely clear, as it didn't seem to diminish his mood in the slightest. "Since then, I have wandered, for the most part. Much of that time, I spent looking for you, in fact. I confess you were not easy to find, even for me."
That did surprise her. Estella's brows furrowed, and she pursed her lips. She'd thought she was leaving behind only two connections of any importance when she departed the Imperium. In fact, she'd been certain of it. She was certain of it, and both of them had encouraged her to go. She'd not have found the strength if it were otherwise. “But... why?" He stated it like it were merely an offhand remark, something that was simply obvious and hardly needed the saying at all. But she was unconvinced that it was such a given. “It's not... no one put you up to this, did they?"
She hated to even think of that possibility, but she couldn't deny that it was possible she was in very real danger right now, if he'd been sent for a particular reason. It had never troubled her before, and Cyrus and Master Horatio had told her it wouldn't. She'd believed them, but... what if they were mistaken? Her frame tensed; slowly she eased her hands away from the teacup. Just blurting her hypothesis hadn't done her any favors, but she wasn't sure how to react, yet.
"What?" For a moment, Harellan simply appeared confused, then a look more akin to horror widened his eyes and parted his lips as he seemed to recognize the tenor of her reaction. "No, no, of course not! I would never—no. Please, Estella. I promise you've nothing to fear from me. Quite... quite the opposite, in fact." The subtle amusement had vanished entirely, replaced by genuine distress; he set his teacup aside, halfway to rising out of his chair before clearly deciding against it and sitting back down, but on the edge this time.
The sincerity of his reaction was convincing. Besides, if he'd really meant to do her harm, it would have been easy to manage it before now. He'd passed muster with Lady Marceline and Leon and Rilien, even, which was as good an indication of her safety here as anything. She felt guilty now; clearly her reaction had hurt him, in some way, but she still didn't know why. Why would it bother him so much? He seemed hardly concerned with the suspicion of the others.
“What do you mean, the opposite?" She said it quietly, trying to make herself relax, breathe normally again and not hold herself so rigidly.
He sighed, the sound passing softly into the space between them. It took him a minute to regain his equilibrium as well, it seemed; the smile he offered was a tad strained. "I would like to teach you." Pausing a moment to let that sink in, he elaborated a few seconds later, setting both his hands on his knees. "Magic, specifically. I would say 'like I taught Cyrus,' but actually it wouldn't be the same at all."
If anything, that confused her further, though at least that was the extent of it: confusion. The suspicion subsided as quickly as it had arisen. Estella licked her lips, chewing uncomfortably on the bottom one, and then shaking her head. “Even if you think it would be different, I'm not sure you understand what you're volunteering to do. I barely have enough magic to do simple things; I'm not gifted like he is." It hit her that she'd misspoken, and she swallowed. “...was."
Harellan shook his head emphatically, rippling the dark tail gathered at his crown. "Of course your magic isn't the same as his. That doesn't mean you aren't gifted—it just means you've been taught in ways that make no sense for your particular gift." He met her eyes with apparent seriousness. "Not all magic is the same, and not all of it can be taught in the same way. The people who have tried to teach you have failed to identify the ways in which yours is different. That is not a mistake I will make. Of that, you can be certain."
Estella was immediately skeptical. Not of the fact that Harellan believed what he said. That was clearly true. But she was skeptical of the statements themselves. She found it very difficult to believe that her teacher had been mistaken about the nature of her magic. Besides, all apprentices learned basically the same things, didn't they? She'd never progressed any further than that, so it was hardly a matter of having chosen an unsuitable subfield to specialize in.
But.
But what if he was right?
She'd never have dared to think so, before. Never have even considered the possibility that maybe not all of it was as lost as she'd believed. That maybe there was something at which she wouldn't continue to fail, on and on without ceasing. Perhaps because before, she'd never been forced to help lead a huge organization designed to stop a crazed darkspawn former Magister from tearing the world apart. And though the Inquisition was far from perfect... it hadn't failed yet, either. The thought felt dangerous to even have. Like maybe, just maybe, things were changing for her. The years of failure after failure were turning out to mean something.
And so it was at least possible that Harellan was right. Possible that there might be something else she could fail at with purpose. With the hope of success at the end, to be striven for until reached. Just maybe.
Still, there was an obvious question. “How could...?" She struggled to find the right way to phrase it, without sounding impolite. “How do you know what my magic is like, though?" She supposed Cyrus could have told him some things, but she seldom did magic in front of her brother, exactly because it was especially embarrassing to be so terrible at it in front of someone who was so excellent.
Harellan took a deep breath then. He seemed to be steeling himself for something, though the question surely hadn't been that strange. "Because—" he cut himself off, sounding truly uncertain for the first time in the conversation, even including the tense moment earlier. He sighed, and smiled wryly.
"Because your mother's magic was just like it."
Estella blinked, taking in a sharp breath. “My—but, um." She opened her mouth to try and turn that into something that made sense, but the words simply wouldn't come.
Only seldom did Estella ever think much about her parents, anymore, but then she never ran into anyone who knew them, so that wasn't surprising. It had preoccupied her thoughts often, when she was a girl: she knew little of her mother but her name, and of her father, she knew nothing at all. “How... how did you know her? to even know what her magic was like?"
He was silent for a long time, then, one hand curling into a fist on his knee and the other finding the back of his head, scrubbing at the shorn hair there. "I knew her very well. Better than most people ever did, I expect. But it was your father I knew first." A heavy sigh slumped him a bit at the shoulders. "There's no easy way to say this. Your father was my brother. My twin, in fact. They... run in the family." He winced, almost, meeting her eyes again with an expression best described as apologetic. "I know that's probably difficult for you to believe. I wish one of them could be here to tell you this instead of me, but... they aren't. And I can't... I can't not tell you anymore. It killed me to do it, back then. Watching you grow from a distance like I did."
She was dumbstruck. For interminable seconds, she just stared at him, uncomprehending at first, and then slowly with something more akin to understanding. If she looked hard enough, she could almost see it. For the most part, they looked nothing alike, of course, but something in the slope of his brow and the shape of his nose wasn't unlike Cyrus's. If he bore any resemblance to his brother, that was some sign that he spoke truly. And... their mother had had copper-colored hair. As had their grandfather. Estella's had always been the wrong color, but it was a match to his, ink-black. Not so unusual on its own, but...
But.
Like the other things he'd said, it was just possible. Dozens more questions occurred to her all at once, like the sudden shedding of leaves from the ginkgo trees in the garden, that lost the yellow ones in the space of some single day in autumn, or like raindrops striking the roof in a storm. Some feeling she could not name welled in her chest, rising in her throat until it felt like it would choke her.
“I..." She lost the thread, swallowed, then tried again. “I'm... I'm going to need some time to think about this." Her words were soft, spoken with fear of offense, but she wasn't the kind of person who could accept such a change in her understanding of the world and her place in it so quickly. She'd needed months to acclimate to the idea that no one in Kirkwall wanted to hurt her. Longer than that to come to terms with other important truths. Some were still works in progress even now.
She hoped she wasn't disappointing him.
Harellan seemed to accept her words with equanimity, though, even if the smile he gave was tinged with melancholy. "I understand, Estella. If you would like to see me again, I suspect I'll help in the stables for a while. If you don't... I promise I will do my utmost not to bother you. Please don't feel... obligated to do anything in particular. My offer to teach you stands regardless." He stood, moving his empty teacup back to the service tray. For a moment, he paused there, half bent at the edge of her desk, as though he wanted to say something else, but he visibly restrained himself from it, at least until he got to the door.
There, he lingered, and turned around halfway. "If I may say so... you remind me very much of her. Genny. But you also remind me of him. Mahvir, was his name. He loved you, in a way he'd never loved anything else in his life. And he was softhearted enough for that to mean a lot." Turning back, he departed without another word.
Estella leaned back in her chair, running her hands down her face. Her fingers came back a little wet, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care.