Cyrus settled into another chair in the dingy bar, across the way from Leon, gesturing wordlessly for Zahra to take the one next to him. That left the one beside Leon for Romulus.
At the very least, Zahra's fatherâMaccio, it seemedâwas willing to talk to them. She herself still didn't seem to be in a position to do much talking, so he picked up the thread of conversation Leon had begun. âWe're not trouble for you, no. But there are quite a number of Contee men about, even here. Ran into a few back in Pressa, as well. Any idea why they'd be around now, of all times?"
At the mention of the Contee family name, Maccio seemed to come alive. Unadulterated fury contorted his face. He raked his gaze over the assembled people seated at his table, never quite stopping to meet any of their faces. âThose fucking whore-sons,â spit flew from his lips as he slapped a hand flat against the table, nearly upending his cup, âtheyâve taken everything from me. What more? What more could they want?â
His voice had risen to a hoarse yell. Unaware, or clearly uncaring if anyone heard him. Only a few heads turned their way before turning back to their own business: disinterested. Lucky enough for them. Zahra only shifted beside Cyrus, mouth still working for a response, though he was quick to interrupt once more, with a curt, bitter laugh, âThat Faraji bastard wants to know if Iâm stewing in my waste, I bet. Alone.â His chest fell and rose, before his shoulders finally sagged.
âWhat business does this Inquisition have with Contee?â There were accusatory undertones, as if he did not quite believe their tale. He pointed a crooked finger in Cyrusâs direction and gave his head a shake, âwhoâs this girl who pointed you in my direction?â
It was Romulus, however, who answered. "That would be Zahra here." He looked to be eyeing this Maccio quite closely from where he sat, his hood finally pulled back to reveal his Rivaini features. For once, somewhere where he didn't look like a foreigner. Even if he still was. He'd certainly had his own father-child reunion moment, and while it didn't seem as though he expected anything of the sort here, he was obviously on edge. "Captain Zahra Tavish, of the Riptide. Her ship and crew are an invaluable part of the Inquisition."
âZahra?â
The inflection sounded incredulous. A little, humorless laugh accompanied it. Maccioâs gaze stared through Romulus: unwavering. His hand slipped off the table, into his lap. A breath puffed out, stinking of ale. His mouth gawped open for a moment before he licked his lips and tilted his head to the side, âNow, what kind of cruel lie is that.â
âItâs true,â only then did Zahra break her silence, softly. Unsure. Reluctant. If she could have looked anymore uncomfortable in her seat, she might have crawled away. Maccio, at least, appeared somewhat confused by the new voice. Recognition did not flicker there, only wariness.
He scraped his chair backwards and stood up, gesturing his hand in the air as if he were searching for something, âIf thatâs true, then come here.â
Zahra did not immediately oblige, sitting in her seat like a child whoâd been punished. Much smaller, in spirit. Only when Maccio cleared his throat and wagged his fingers did she push away from the table and make her away around Cyrus to stand in front of him. She raked her nails across her forearm, nearly squirming. She managed to find her voice as he raised a hand and brushed them across her cheekbones, thumb tracing lines, âIâm sorry. Iââ The expression on his face flattened and another flash of anger twisted on his face, burning just as brightly, quick as the slap he leveled across her face.
From the noise she made, she clearly hadnât expected the reaction. One of her hands shot forward and caught the corner of the table, halting her sway. Nearly toppling onto Cyrus. She stayed motionless, stuck in place, as he rounded on her, âZahra? My daughter. The one who ran off. Abandoned us here. Come here to do what exactly? Did you finally feel guilty after all these years?â Bitterness bled from his mouth, spilled over. Voice hitching to an angry swell. âItâs a little late for that, girl.â
Cyrus shot up out of his seat as soon as she'd reeled backwards, steadying her with his hands at her shoulders, just the lightest touch that could still be effective. He felt his own ire rising; he did not particularly appreciate the sight of someone striking their child, adult though she may be. He swore the skin on his back itched. But he gritted his teeth, tamping down on the flame before it grew into anything uncontainable. âWould you have preferred never? Because she could well have done that instead." His tone was a bit sharper than he'd intended.
He took a deep breath through his nose. âAs Romulus pointed out, she is hardly alone. And as Leon indicated earlier, we are here about what happened to your family. It was only brought to our attention recently what the situation had become. Maleus sent a message." Perhaps the name of a child he did not bear so much bitterness for would force the conversation back to some semblance of civility. Cyrus realized he was squeezing Zahra's shoulders a bit too tightly and murmured an apology, dropping them and taking a step backwards.
Zahra hadnât raised her head but steadied against Cyrus, until she, too, stepped away from Maccio. She drew a hand mid-way to her face, before dropping it back down to her side. Rendered speechless. A muscle jumped along her jawline, and even though he was blind, she appeared to be struggling to meet his withering gaze.
Maccioâs lip peeled back against his teeth. Contempt clear. His expression was as dark and enigmatic as midnight, violent as a wounded animal. Perhaps heâd been wounded so long that heâd become a different beast. âWhat would I have to lose? My life? Thatâs already been taken. You wouldnâtknow. How could you understand my loss!â His finger prodded the air each time. Harshly. He seemed to reject anything else as if it did not matter or exist, exuding an aura which was as close to poison as it could be. Sick. Spiritually, physically; overwhelmingly ill. Zahra shrunk against the words; maintaining her distance, as well as her silence.
Only when Maleus was mentioned did he seem to deflate. The sweltering temper sifted away like sand pouring through outstretched fingers; shoulders sagging and mouth trembling into a hard line. âMaleus? My son. He still livesâŠ?â His voice was softer this time, less rough around the edges.
Zahra shifted from foot to foot at Cyrusâ side, though she seemed surprised by the tremble of her voice, the desperate lilt, âHe told me. Us. That you were still here. I think he wanted us to come get you. Youâre not safe here anymore.â That much was obvious. Even so, at the sound of her voice, a flicker of hostility reappeared. Not with as much fervor. His countenance was clear: defeated.
It was not Zahra that he spoke to, but Leon. Swinging his head in the direction he may have assumed him to be still seated in. âThe Inquisition wishes to free my family of its shackles? For her?â Then, he turned his gaze to his daughter, sightless eyes staring straight through, âProve it. Atone for what youâve done. Iâll come along to make sure to it that you do.â Gratitude seemed far away: an impossible sentiment. It would not be squeezed from him. He turned away from them and patted at the back of his chair, seeking his cane.
Leon's expression was difficult to read, but in the end, he nodded slightly, speaking as well to clarify. "Very well then. A solution will take time, but once we have the necessary information and resources, we shall undertake this." He paused, his eyes moving to Zahra. "Did you have further business here? If not, we should get moving before the Contee servants find us again."
In a world that mightâve gone dull and gray, or black with darkness, where his daughter, once thought bright, promising and obedient⊠was no longer any of those things, Maccio merely bobbed his head in a nod. Barely listening. Back to the husk theyâd stumbled in on. He appeared much older now. Snatching up his cane in his hand and tapping it on the floor, using it to lean on every now and again. A crutch. Easier to hate someone else, than himself. It was clear that heâd chosen her to blame. And her alone.
Zahraâs gaze finally rose from the floor, regarding Leon. She offered him a thin smile, though it didnât reach her eyes. Hardly lifted the corners up. Whatever fire sheâd had from their most recent battle had been leeched out. Dried. Smothered under Maccioâs boot. âNo. No, thereâs nothing left to do here.â A pause. âYouâre right. We should go back.â There was a moment where she appeared as if she was going to help her father to the door, though she only hesitated and stepped aside, allowing him to lead the way towards the door.
From there, it was much the same process, in reverse. It was easier to avoid the Tevinter guards, as there were fewer of them now, but of course having an elderly blind man with the group made it harder in turn. Fortunately, there were no issues, and Leon had no more difficulty rowing five people than he had with four, though it was close quarters in the boat itself.
Maccio was eventually situated in a room below deck, and the navigatorâNixium, Cyrus recalled her name wasâturned them back towards the south. They'd dock in Jader this time, to minimize overland travel. Orlais was a sight more hospitable to the Inquisition than Ferelden was, anyhow.
About an hour into the journey, Cyrus approached the upper decks himself. That had been... rather a lot to take in, on Zahra's part, he was sure. He couldn't say he'd ever experienced anything of the kind, but imagining how it must feel was a little easier than he'd expected, and there wasn't anything about it that seemed pleasant. So after smearing his face and arms with a tincture made primarily from aloe that might do something to protect him from the sun, he set about the task to trying to find the ship's captain.
He found her at the bow of the ship with her feet poised between the beams and forearms perched atop the railing. Her upper body was angled over it as if she were balancing herself. Swaying against the tepid breeze like a child balanced between the beams of a fence. Maccio was nowhere in sight. Sheâd already told him that if he needed anything, anyone aboard the Riptide would help him. His own response lacked the biting edge heâd displayed in Llomerryn, though it had been just as curt. Cold, even.
Her face was turned towards the horizon, hidden from view. She appeared to be studying the sun lowering itself across the pastel sky. Pink hues had already begun to show, threaded with orange. Nightfall would soon take them. Fortunately theyâd had time to board the Riptide before trying to navigate out of the inlet. Night transformed the waters into an inky swell, concealing shallow rocks and other obstacles. Their exit had been thus far successful. Zahraâs mood, however, seemed anything but lively. Her curly hair whipped around her face, though she made no attempt to push it from her eyes.
He approached quietly, feeling his mouth turn down. He didn't make any attempt to be particularly stealthy though; there wasn't any reason to and he wasn't especially skilled at it even if there had been. He chose a spot next to her, standing with his back to the same railing she faced, then hopped up the few inches it took to be sitting on it, letting his legs anchor him to the secondary rail below. He was good with balance. He wondered if that mightn't have been a mistake, though; Zahra was always considerably shorter than him, and this only magnified the fact.
Well, too late now. Cyrus let himself slouch a little, resting his forearms on his knees. That helped. âI feel stupid, asking how you are. Obviously you're not feeling particularly happy at the momentâit's right there on your face." He expelled a breath through his nose. Why were the simplest of social interactions so mystifying now? It wasn't like he'd had trouble offering condolences before. He knew what the words were, how to make the sentiment sound right.
He just didn't know what to do when he actually felt the things he was attempting to express. The words seemed inadequate, somehow, in a way they hadn't before. He took in a new breath, well-aware of the fact that he wasn't going to be able to make anything better. That was the rub above all, maybe. He'd once taken it for granted that his words mattered no more to anyone who heard than they mattered to him in the saying. But a friendship, a real one, went both ways. He settled for something that might be more useful than his sympathies.
âAnything I can do for you?" He tried not to grit his teeth at the inanity of asking that. Tried not to assume there simply couldn't be. He wasn't sure he succeeded at either.
âI thought I had the most handsome face in all of the Inquisition.â
Zahraâs tone lacked the biting aphorism it usually held. The wit dry and brittle. She certainly looked miserable, like grief-doused wet wood, until she huffed out a drawn out sigh and gave her head a shake, stretching out her arms in front of her. She only turned to look up at him when she pressed her cheek against the railing and wrinkled her nose, eyes rolling to meet his for a moment. They were slightly puffy. Red-rimmed. Though they were dry, now. She looked a mess; and had obviously holed herself up somewhere, out of sight, before finding herself a new perch here.
She cleared her throat and wiggled her fingers out towards the ocean. Towards the rolling waves slapping against the Riptideâs belly. The retreating sunlightâand home, eventually. Her mouth tipped into a shadow of a smile, as she dragged her forearm across the beam so that she could perch her chin across it instead. âSomething as strong as dragonâs piss would be nice. You wouldnât have any of that hidden on your person, would you?â A clever turn of phrase of remembered misery in the Heraldâs Rest. His. Hers.
âAh, but brooding only makes us handsomer, or so I've heard. Sadly I've yet to notice any such thing." He shook his head. âOne tankard of dragon's piss, on me. As soon as we get back, as I'm not hiding any right now, no."
"Any chance Anderfels whiskey will do?" Leon hadn't been far, closer to the prow of the ship than they were, but enough of the conversation must have carried that he caught it. "I don't have a lot, but there's some." He unhooked what looked like a small flask from his beltâviridium, from the dark green pall of itâand took the several steps necessary to offer it to Zahra. "Tastes a bit better, in my humble opinion."
Zahra dramatically leaned back while still holding the railing and eyed Leon, upside down. Curls dragging down in a tangle. Her smile warbled appreciation even if she looked exhausted. She made a hmâing noise, before allowing her legs to slide between the rails until she could plop down on her rear, âIâll gladly accept both of those offers. Anderfels whiskey now, and dragonâs piss later.â There a pause, and a withered exhale, âWe do make a fine group of handsome broods, donât we?â
A laugh crackled from her. The sound of it was off. Unlike her usual roar. What was supposed to sound like a booming, ridiculous thing turned tinny, small: forced. Her hand reached back back behind her head until the bottle was settled in her palm. She closed her fingers around it, uncorked it with her thumb and drew it to her lips, tipping her head back for a long dredge. Another exhale, this time somewhat relieved. Probably from the whiskey warming her belly. For a moment she seemed to still. She patted a hand against the ground, indicating that Leon should join them as well, and set the flask at her side.
âI just wanted to say,â her voice wavered, caught on something before steadying itself off. Steeling for something that sounded like an apology. Or acceptance. âMy father. He wasnât like that before. Heâs not⊠he had a point back there, you know?â She stared out across the waves once more, and lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug. âWhat he said. He was right.â
âWhich part?" Cyrus shifted his grip slightly on the rail under his palms. âThere's no arguing that you left. But nothing that happened after then was your fault. You couldn't possibly have known what Faraji was going to do, and even if you had, the responsibility wouldn't have been yours." It was a point she'd helped make abundantly clear in his own case: there were things one could rightfully blame oneself for, and things that were simply too far beyond one's control. Things that had to be left at the feet of the people who'd really caused them, however much guilt he or she might feel about them.
"Not that knowing that helps the guilt, I expect," Leon added, his thoughts clearly in the same vein. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the rail, gingerly at first, then more solidly once he was sure there was no unexpected weakness in the structure.
Any other day she might have argued. Or spun something clever to divert the topic before they could delve too deep. Unearth carefully tailored half-truths, dressed in something more pleasant. It wasnât often that Zahra chose to speak about herself: a theme that he may have shared as well. Not until it was dragged out into the open. Grew too ugly to sweep under the rug. In this case, she seemed at least receptive to their words. Her hand came to rest back on the flask, before she decidedly took another swig.
A thump indicated that sheâd replaced it beside her. âI know, itâs stupid⊠but I keep thinking if Iâd stayed. If I did things differently. He wouldnât. They wouldnât. Things wouldnât have turned out so badly. Not for them.â Another breath. Harsher this time. She pressed her forehead up against one of the rails and let out a scoff, âIâm not good and Iâm not repentant.â Her hands clasped onto the railings; trembled, ever so slightly. âI almost wish Maleus hadnât sent that letter. How awful is that?â
âWell within the normal human range of awful, I think." Cyrus shrugged, then hopped off the rail so he could plant himself next to her instead, swiping the flask for a moment so he could take a nip himself, before offering it up to Leon. The whiskey was the same he'd tasted before, what seemed almost a lifetime ago, not long after their arrival in Skyhold. âYou can resent them for dumping this on you if you want, you know. It's within your rights. If they'd never tried to sell you off in the first place, none of this would be happening, so you're fixing someone else's mess."
He exhaled heavily. âBut you'll do it. That already makes you leagues better than some people. Probably better than I'd be, in the same situation." He tried to imagine doing something like this on Tiberius's behalf, but from the immediate flash of anger he felt, he almost certainly wouldn't have. Better not to think about Tiberiusâit only made him seethe.
"Hard to control our feelings," Leon added, sipping from the flask before handing it back down to Cyrus so he could set it on the deck once more. The breeze in from the sea was nice, cooling the heat of the sun beating down on the deck and stirring their hair. "But our actions... those seem like the better things to measure ourselves by, don't they? And it's like Cyrus said: you'll do it. We will. Nothing left to fault, then."
Zahraâs snorted and bumped her shoulder against Cyrusâs, âWell within the normal human range of awful. Iâm not sure if I should feel better or worse.â She parroted it with a wobbly smile, more genuine this time. A jest. The closest thing to one since dragging themselves off of Llomerrynâs shoreline, at least. Her eyes swung up towards Leon and drifted back towards the horizon. âSomeone elseâs mess⊠that doesnât sound so bad.â
Several times, her jawline worked. As if she couldnât find the words. Until she finally did.
âYou will, wonât you? Be there.â The Inquisition. We. Another laugh. Soft and hard, all at once. A plea or bargain. Hard to tell with someone like her, staring off into the nothing. The sun had fully retreated and along with it the last remnants of furious orange, pale pinks and somber yellows. Stars had begun peeping across the murky skies, and the moon along with them. She seemed to understand well enough that she couldnât do it alone. Perhaps, that she would not, otherwise.
Cyrus snorted. âOf course we will. If we can't stop a measly Magister, we can hardly deal with Corypheus. It'll be good practice." He offered her an uncertain smile of his own, then turned his eyes out to the darkening sky.
At the very least, Zahra's fatherâMaccio, it seemedâwas willing to talk to them. She herself still didn't seem to be in a position to do much talking, so he picked up the thread of conversation Leon had begun. âWe're not trouble for you, no. But there are quite a number of Contee men about, even here. Ran into a few back in Pressa, as well. Any idea why they'd be around now, of all times?"
At the mention of the Contee family name, Maccio seemed to come alive. Unadulterated fury contorted his face. He raked his gaze over the assembled people seated at his table, never quite stopping to meet any of their faces. âThose fucking whore-sons,â spit flew from his lips as he slapped a hand flat against the table, nearly upending his cup, âtheyâve taken everything from me. What more? What more could they want?â
His voice had risen to a hoarse yell. Unaware, or clearly uncaring if anyone heard him. Only a few heads turned their way before turning back to their own business: disinterested. Lucky enough for them. Zahra only shifted beside Cyrus, mouth still working for a response, though he was quick to interrupt once more, with a curt, bitter laugh, âThat Faraji bastard wants to know if Iâm stewing in my waste, I bet. Alone.â His chest fell and rose, before his shoulders finally sagged.
âWhat business does this Inquisition have with Contee?â There were accusatory undertones, as if he did not quite believe their tale. He pointed a crooked finger in Cyrusâs direction and gave his head a shake, âwhoâs this girl who pointed you in my direction?â
It was Romulus, however, who answered. "That would be Zahra here." He looked to be eyeing this Maccio quite closely from where he sat, his hood finally pulled back to reveal his Rivaini features. For once, somewhere where he didn't look like a foreigner. Even if he still was. He'd certainly had his own father-child reunion moment, and while it didn't seem as though he expected anything of the sort here, he was obviously on edge. "Captain Zahra Tavish, of the Riptide. Her ship and crew are an invaluable part of the Inquisition."
âZahra?â
The inflection sounded incredulous. A little, humorless laugh accompanied it. Maccioâs gaze stared through Romulus: unwavering. His hand slipped off the table, into his lap. A breath puffed out, stinking of ale. His mouth gawped open for a moment before he licked his lips and tilted his head to the side, âNow, what kind of cruel lie is that.â
âItâs true,â only then did Zahra break her silence, softly. Unsure. Reluctant. If she could have looked anymore uncomfortable in her seat, she might have crawled away. Maccio, at least, appeared somewhat confused by the new voice. Recognition did not flicker there, only wariness.
He scraped his chair backwards and stood up, gesturing his hand in the air as if he were searching for something, âIf thatâs true, then come here.â
Zahra did not immediately oblige, sitting in her seat like a child whoâd been punished. Much smaller, in spirit. Only when Maccio cleared his throat and wagged his fingers did she push away from the table and make her away around Cyrus to stand in front of him. She raked her nails across her forearm, nearly squirming. She managed to find her voice as he raised a hand and brushed them across her cheekbones, thumb tracing lines, âIâm sorry. Iââ The expression on his face flattened and another flash of anger twisted on his face, burning just as brightly, quick as the slap he leveled across her face.
From the noise she made, she clearly hadnât expected the reaction. One of her hands shot forward and caught the corner of the table, halting her sway. Nearly toppling onto Cyrus. She stayed motionless, stuck in place, as he rounded on her, âZahra? My daughter. The one who ran off. Abandoned us here. Come here to do what exactly? Did you finally feel guilty after all these years?â Bitterness bled from his mouth, spilled over. Voice hitching to an angry swell. âItâs a little late for that, girl.â
Cyrus shot up out of his seat as soon as she'd reeled backwards, steadying her with his hands at her shoulders, just the lightest touch that could still be effective. He felt his own ire rising; he did not particularly appreciate the sight of someone striking their child, adult though she may be. He swore the skin on his back itched. But he gritted his teeth, tamping down on the flame before it grew into anything uncontainable. âWould you have preferred never? Because she could well have done that instead." His tone was a bit sharper than he'd intended.
He took a deep breath through his nose. âAs Romulus pointed out, she is hardly alone. And as Leon indicated earlier, we are here about what happened to your family. It was only brought to our attention recently what the situation had become. Maleus sent a message." Perhaps the name of a child he did not bear so much bitterness for would force the conversation back to some semblance of civility. Cyrus realized he was squeezing Zahra's shoulders a bit too tightly and murmured an apology, dropping them and taking a step backwards.
Zahra hadnât raised her head but steadied against Cyrus, until she, too, stepped away from Maccio. She drew a hand mid-way to her face, before dropping it back down to her side. Rendered speechless. A muscle jumped along her jawline, and even though he was blind, she appeared to be struggling to meet his withering gaze.
Maccioâs lip peeled back against his teeth. Contempt clear. His expression was as dark and enigmatic as midnight, violent as a wounded animal. Perhaps heâd been wounded so long that heâd become a different beast. âWhat would I have to lose? My life? Thatâs already been taken. You wouldnâtknow. How could you understand my loss!â His finger prodded the air each time. Harshly. He seemed to reject anything else as if it did not matter or exist, exuding an aura which was as close to poison as it could be. Sick. Spiritually, physically; overwhelmingly ill. Zahra shrunk against the words; maintaining her distance, as well as her silence.
Only when Maleus was mentioned did he seem to deflate. The sweltering temper sifted away like sand pouring through outstretched fingers; shoulders sagging and mouth trembling into a hard line. âMaleus? My son. He still livesâŠ?â His voice was softer this time, less rough around the edges.
Zahra shifted from foot to foot at Cyrusâ side, though she seemed surprised by the tremble of her voice, the desperate lilt, âHe told me. Us. That you were still here. I think he wanted us to come get you. Youâre not safe here anymore.â That much was obvious. Even so, at the sound of her voice, a flicker of hostility reappeared. Not with as much fervor. His countenance was clear: defeated.
It was not Zahra that he spoke to, but Leon. Swinging his head in the direction he may have assumed him to be still seated in. âThe Inquisition wishes to free my family of its shackles? For her?â Then, he turned his gaze to his daughter, sightless eyes staring straight through, âProve it. Atone for what youâve done. Iâll come along to make sure to it that you do.â Gratitude seemed far away: an impossible sentiment. It would not be squeezed from him. He turned away from them and patted at the back of his chair, seeking his cane.
Leon's expression was difficult to read, but in the end, he nodded slightly, speaking as well to clarify. "Very well then. A solution will take time, but once we have the necessary information and resources, we shall undertake this." He paused, his eyes moving to Zahra. "Did you have further business here? If not, we should get moving before the Contee servants find us again."
In a world that mightâve gone dull and gray, or black with darkness, where his daughter, once thought bright, promising and obedient⊠was no longer any of those things, Maccio merely bobbed his head in a nod. Barely listening. Back to the husk theyâd stumbled in on. He appeared much older now. Snatching up his cane in his hand and tapping it on the floor, using it to lean on every now and again. A crutch. Easier to hate someone else, than himself. It was clear that heâd chosen her to blame. And her alone.
Zahraâs gaze finally rose from the floor, regarding Leon. She offered him a thin smile, though it didnât reach her eyes. Hardly lifted the corners up. Whatever fire sheâd had from their most recent battle had been leeched out. Dried. Smothered under Maccioâs boot. âNo. No, thereâs nothing left to do here.â A pause. âYouâre right. We should go back.â There was a moment where she appeared as if she was going to help her father to the door, though she only hesitated and stepped aside, allowing him to lead the way towards the door.
From there, it was much the same process, in reverse. It was easier to avoid the Tevinter guards, as there were fewer of them now, but of course having an elderly blind man with the group made it harder in turn. Fortunately, there were no issues, and Leon had no more difficulty rowing five people than he had with four, though it was close quarters in the boat itself.
Maccio was eventually situated in a room below deck, and the navigatorâNixium, Cyrus recalled her name wasâturned them back towards the south. They'd dock in Jader this time, to minimize overland travel. Orlais was a sight more hospitable to the Inquisition than Ferelden was, anyhow.
About an hour into the journey, Cyrus approached the upper decks himself. That had been... rather a lot to take in, on Zahra's part, he was sure. He couldn't say he'd ever experienced anything of the kind, but imagining how it must feel was a little easier than he'd expected, and there wasn't anything about it that seemed pleasant. So after smearing his face and arms with a tincture made primarily from aloe that might do something to protect him from the sun, he set about the task to trying to find the ship's captain.
He found her at the bow of the ship with her feet poised between the beams and forearms perched atop the railing. Her upper body was angled over it as if she were balancing herself. Swaying against the tepid breeze like a child balanced between the beams of a fence. Maccio was nowhere in sight. Sheâd already told him that if he needed anything, anyone aboard the Riptide would help him. His own response lacked the biting edge heâd displayed in Llomerryn, though it had been just as curt. Cold, even.
Her face was turned towards the horizon, hidden from view. She appeared to be studying the sun lowering itself across the pastel sky. Pink hues had already begun to show, threaded with orange. Nightfall would soon take them. Fortunately theyâd had time to board the Riptide before trying to navigate out of the inlet. Night transformed the waters into an inky swell, concealing shallow rocks and other obstacles. Their exit had been thus far successful. Zahraâs mood, however, seemed anything but lively. Her curly hair whipped around her face, though she made no attempt to push it from her eyes.
He approached quietly, feeling his mouth turn down. He didn't make any attempt to be particularly stealthy though; there wasn't any reason to and he wasn't especially skilled at it even if there had been. He chose a spot next to her, standing with his back to the same railing she faced, then hopped up the few inches it took to be sitting on it, letting his legs anchor him to the secondary rail below. He was good with balance. He wondered if that mightn't have been a mistake, though; Zahra was always considerably shorter than him, and this only magnified the fact.
Well, too late now. Cyrus let himself slouch a little, resting his forearms on his knees. That helped. âI feel stupid, asking how you are. Obviously you're not feeling particularly happy at the momentâit's right there on your face." He expelled a breath through his nose. Why were the simplest of social interactions so mystifying now? It wasn't like he'd had trouble offering condolences before. He knew what the words were, how to make the sentiment sound right.
He just didn't know what to do when he actually felt the things he was attempting to express. The words seemed inadequate, somehow, in a way they hadn't before. He took in a new breath, well-aware of the fact that he wasn't going to be able to make anything better. That was the rub above all, maybe. He'd once taken it for granted that his words mattered no more to anyone who heard than they mattered to him in the saying. But a friendship, a real one, went both ways. He settled for something that might be more useful than his sympathies.
âAnything I can do for you?" He tried not to grit his teeth at the inanity of asking that. Tried not to assume there simply couldn't be. He wasn't sure he succeeded at either.
âI thought I had the most handsome face in all of the Inquisition.â
Zahraâs tone lacked the biting aphorism it usually held. The wit dry and brittle. She certainly looked miserable, like grief-doused wet wood, until she huffed out a drawn out sigh and gave her head a shake, stretching out her arms in front of her. She only turned to look up at him when she pressed her cheek against the railing and wrinkled her nose, eyes rolling to meet his for a moment. They were slightly puffy. Red-rimmed. Though they were dry, now. She looked a mess; and had obviously holed herself up somewhere, out of sight, before finding herself a new perch here.
She cleared her throat and wiggled her fingers out towards the ocean. Towards the rolling waves slapping against the Riptideâs belly. The retreating sunlightâand home, eventually. Her mouth tipped into a shadow of a smile, as she dragged her forearm across the beam so that she could perch her chin across it instead. âSomething as strong as dragonâs piss would be nice. You wouldnât have any of that hidden on your person, would you?â A clever turn of phrase of remembered misery in the Heraldâs Rest. His. Hers.
âAh, but brooding only makes us handsomer, or so I've heard. Sadly I've yet to notice any such thing." He shook his head. âOne tankard of dragon's piss, on me. As soon as we get back, as I'm not hiding any right now, no."
"Any chance Anderfels whiskey will do?" Leon hadn't been far, closer to the prow of the ship than they were, but enough of the conversation must have carried that he caught it. "I don't have a lot, but there's some." He unhooked what looked like a small flask from his beltâviridium, from the dark green pall of itâand took the several steps necessary to offer it to Zahra. "Tastes a bit better, in my humble opinion."
Zahra dramatically leaned back while still holding the railing and eyed Leon, upside down. Curls dragging down in a tangle. Her smile warbled appreciation even if she looked exhausted. She made a hmâing noise, before allowing her legs to slide between the rails until she could plop down on her rear, âIâll gladly accept both of those offers. Anderfels whiskey now, and dragonâs piss later.â There a pause, and a withered exhale, âWe do make a fine group of handsome broods, donât we?â
A laugh crackled from her. The sound of it was off. Unlike her usual roar. What was supposed to sound like a booming, ridiculous thing turned tinny, small: forced. Her hand reached back back behind her head until the bottle was settled in her palm. She closed her fingers around it, uncorked it with her thumb and drew it to her lips, tipping her head back for a long dredge. Another exhale, this time somewhat relieved. Probably from the whiskey warming her belly. For a moment she seemed to still. She patted a hand against the ground, indicating that Leon should join them as well, and set the flask at her side.
âI just wanted to say,â her voice wavered, caught on something before steadying itself off. Steeling for something that sounded like an apology. Or acceptance. âMy father. He wasnât like that before. Heâs not⊠he had a point back there, you know?â She stared out across the waves once more, and lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug. âWhat he said. He was right.â
âWhich part?" Cyrus shifted his grip slightly on the rail under his palms. âThere's no arguing that you left. But nothing that happened after then was your fault. You couldn't possibly have known what Faraji was going to do, and even if you had, the responsibility wouldn't have been yours." It was a point she'd helped make abundantly clear in his own case: there were things one could rightfully blame oneself for, and things that were simply too far beyond one's control. Things that had to be left at the feet of the people who'd really caused them, however much guilt he or she might feel about them.
"Not that knowing that helps the guilt, I expect," Leon added, his thoughts clearly in the same vein. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the rail, gingerly at first, then more solidly once he was sure there was no unexpected weakness in the structure.
Any other day she might have argued. Or spun something clever to divert the topic before they could delve too deep. Unearth carefully tailored half-truths, dressed in something more pleasant. It wasnât often that Zahra chose to speak about herself: a theme that he may have shared as well. Not until it was dragged out into the open. Grew too ugly to sweep under the rug. In this case, she seemed at least receptive to their words. Her hand came to rest back on the flask, before she decidedly took another swig.
A thump indicated that sheâd replaced it beside her. âI know, itâs stupid⊠but I keep thinking if Iâd stayed. If I did things differently. He wouldnât. They wouldnât. Things wouldnât have turned out so badly. Not for them.â Another breath. Harsher this time. She pressed her forehead up against one of the rails and let out a scoff, âIâm not good and Iâm not repentant.â Her hands clasped onto the railings; trembled, ever so slightly. âI almost wish Maleus hadnât sent that letter. How awful is that?â
âWell within the normal human range of awful, I think." Cyrus shrugged, then hopped off the rail so he could plant himself next to her instead, swiping the flask for a moment so he could take a nip himself, before offering it up to Leon. The whiskey was the same he'd tasted before, what seemed almost a lifetime ago, not long after their arrival in Skyhold. âYou can resent them for dumping this on you if you want, you know. It's within your rights. If they'd never tried to sell you off in the first place, none of this would be happening, so you're fixing someone else's mess."
He exhaled heavily. âBut you'll do it. That already makes you leagues better than some people. Probably better than I'd be, in the same situation." He tried to imagine doing something like this on Tiberius's behalf, but from the immediate flash of anger he felt, he almost certainly wouldn't have. Better not to think about Tiberiusâit only made him seethe.
"Hard to control our feelings," Leon added, sipping from the flask before handing it back down to Cyrus so he could set it on the deck once more. The breeze in from the sea was nice, cooling the heat of the sun beating down on the deck and stirring their hair. "But our actions... those seem like the better things to measure ourselves by, don't they? And it's like Cyrus said: you'll do it. We will. Nothing left to fault, then."
Zahraâs snorted and bumped her shoulder against Cyrusâs, âWell within the normal human range of awful. Iâm not sure if I should feel better or worse.â She parroted it with a wobbly smile, more genuine this time. A jest. The closest thing to one since dragging themselves off of Llomerrynâs shoreline, at least. Her eyes swung up towards Leon and drifted back towards the horizon. âSomeone elseâs mess⊠that doesnât sound so bad.â
Several times, her jawline worked. As if she couldnât find the words. Until she finally did.
âYou will, wonât you? Be there.â The Inquisition. We. Another laugh. Soft and hard, all at once. A plea or bargain. Hard to tell with someone like her, staring off into the nothing. The sun had fully retreated and along with it the last remnants of furious orange, pale pinks and somber yellows. Stars had begun peeping across the murky skies, and the moon along with them. She seemed to understand well enough that she couldnât do it alone. Perhaps, that she would not, otherwise.
Cyrus snorted. âOf course we will. If we can't stop a measly Magister, we can hardly deal with Corypheus. It'll be good practice." He offered her an uncertain smile of his own, then turned his eyes out to the darkening sky.