No longer creatures of the Makerâs light.
From the height of heaven they plunged,
And Tevinter saw them burn across the sky like falling stars
Where they touched the earth,
Twisted darkness grew, poisoned by their hate.
And the clouds covered them and wept.
â Canticle of Silence 3:14
If the Irregulars were anything, they were people that actively tried to give Zahra heart-attacks; en masse.
Between scraping up the broken-bodied duo, Amalia and Ithilian, and seeing the others traipse through the front door, all in one piece, but with Stel sporting new, frighteningly central wounds⊠she figured theyâd be the end of her. Grey hairs, abound. Not that it was all that surprising. Sheâd heard the gist of their travels over wine, and the warmth of Catusâs lounge. Brandâs promised bottles were empty by the end of it. It appeared as if their journey hadnât been any less demanding then their own. Trudging through forests and shrubbery in search of family. Facing ancient ruins and elven descendants. Undergoing grueling trials and coming out of it successful. That, in itself, hadnât surprised her at all.
They were tight-lipped about the rest of it. She didnât mind. There were things best left unsaid. Whatever they had done hadnât been fruitless. Vesryn looked somewhat better than what she remembered. Still gaunt. Still pale. But even she couldnât miss the brightness to those green eyes of his. Sheâd said as much. Teased that he could have his most handsome in the Inquisition throne back if heâd like. Sheâd been keeping it warm. The smile sheâd earned bordered on a scoff, the ghost of a grin that she hadnât seen in awhile. The relief sheâd felt seeing them all there was palpable; hearing their story and regaling them with her own reminded her of being at the Heraldâs Rest. Comfortable. At ease, in such an alien place.
In retrospect, Minrathous made her skin crawl.
In all likelihood, the estate itself was as gaudy and impractical as any Tevinter noblemanâs house. While she might have fully imposed herself on the manâs generosity, milking it for whatever he was worth⊠she felt no inclination to do anything but wander the halls, poking her head into different quarters just to keep herself occupied. To keep herself in motion. Even if Bastian had been all too accommodating to their cause, she couldnât help but feel confined. How much it reminded her of what could have been had she lived here, in such an estate. Gold-trimmed. Walls decorated with portraits and banners and depictions she could only guess at. Stark coloration and hallways that made her feel smaller than she was. The whole damn place made her feel small.
It made her think of how close she was to them. To him.
Zahra paused in front of the large double-doors leading down into Bastianâs front yard. Ridiculously large. She failed to see the point. No one here was quite as tall as Leon, so why the bloody hell? The thought only distracted her for a moment before it was fouled by other things plaguing her mind. Sheâd passed down the hallway several times already. Frankly, she was getting tired of it but always seemed to find herself standing in front of them, arms crossed. A soft sigh puffed from her lips, annoyed by something she couldnât quite put her finger on. An itch she couldnât scratch.
The door swung open and she froze in place, not quite expecting anyone to have come from outside. A small figure weaseled themselves into the crack in the door, diminutive enough to only warrant a small space, and promptly shut it behind them with the heel of their boot. It took her a moment to realize that she was standing there; mouth gawping open to find a greeting and finding none. Bouncing black curls. Sharp-featured. No more than fifteen years old. Hard to tell, though. Dressed as all the other servants were, the Bastian house emblem emblazoned on her tunic. Sheâd seen the elven girl before, working in Bastianâs kitchen. An aid, perhaps? No matter how well they were treated, slave still sounded too sour in her mouth.
Bright eyes pivoted up to hers as she held a piece of rolled parchment in her hand, flapping it in the air, âYou are Lady⊠Zahra? Er, Tavish?â Her voice was soft and low, a tickle of a grin easing her mouth up at the edges. Mischievous in every sense of the word. There was a hanging pause, as if she was expecting something. She slowly retracted the paper back to her side and stared at her. Openly. She certainly didn't think it was rude at all.
âAh, yes. Yes. That would be me.â It took Zahra a moment to find her tongue, clearing her throat behind one of her hands, and turning to face her properly. She arched an eyebrow down at her and smoothed her hands down the front of her shirt, wondering. Considering the letter in her hand, now held behind her back. She couldn't tear her eyes off of it. Hoping. Wishing. A trickle of dread ran down her spine, and a longing that surprised even her.
âThis has your name on it, Lady. Dunno who. Dropped it off at the door and ran off, way I see it. Donât happen too often.â The way she emphasized lady made her think that she was openly mocking her, or didnât care so much about formalities. Neither did she. She liked her already, this wee lass. Bastian had good company. âSâpose you should have it, then. If youâse who you say you are.â
The servant-girl hadnât given her much time to react let alone thank her, seeing how forcefully she pushed the letter into her stomach before scampering off down the hallway. A whirlwind gusting in and disappearing as if she hadnât ever been there at all. She snatched it up before it could fall to the floor. It felt familiar. A flash of red caught her peripherals, dragging her gaze down. She felt cold and hot all at once, bristling at the wax symbol underneath her thumb. A dragon. Coiling serpents. The Contee sigil. She was already in movement. Thoughts jumbled over each other, threatening to spill. She stomped down the hallway, clutching the damned letter to her pounding chest until she reached Cyrusâs doorway. He was probably there.
She hoped he was.
With letter in hand, Zahra knocked her knuckles against the wooden frame, a little more forcefully than sheâd meant to. âCy? Cy? You in there?â
It didn't take Cyrus long to appear. He of all of them looked least changed by the results of whatever had taken place in Arlathan forest, though there was a certain pinch to his expression. She was coming to recognize it as one that showed up when he was brooding over something, which he did a lot, but not as often as he'd used to, maybe. His eyes moved from hers, down to the letter in her hands, and he stepped aside immediately, wordlessly bidding her to enter the room.
It was as nice as any of the other guest accommodations, if distinctly impersonal. No books strewn all over the place, or random bits and bobs, or the big-eyed shadow of a cat that always slept in his chair back at Skyhold. The table was almost completely clear of anything, actually, except a few sheets of parchment and some charcoal. It looked like he'd been doodling.
âThis is probably insensitive of me, but I sort of hope that envelope means we have something to do."
Zahra tried not to bowl him over in the process of entering his room, holding the letter aloft in a similar fashion as the little elven-girl had. She hadnât halted her advance until she stood next to the oaken table pushed up against the furthest wall, beckoning him over with a tilt of her head. Her eyes trailed across the sheets of parchment already stretched over its surface, and she paused. Doodles. Heâd been doodling in here. The imaginary was enough to stagger her maddening thoughts.
Pouring over books during their stay was what sheâd expected. Bastian had them in droves: his own personal library, at their service. Even in her frenetic state, sheâd noticed the pensive look on his face. Thoughtful, a ruminating sulk. Broody. Sheâd seen it before. Subtle as they were, she was coming to know the small signs he revealed. There was something on his mind as well. This would be a good distraction. He looked like he needed it as much as she did.
âYouâre not the only one,â sheâd been teething at the bit to hear any bit of news since coming to Minrathous. It was foolish to think that just because theyâd come here, anything would happen at all. They played on Corveusâs terms now, not their own. She dug her finger into the corner of the letter and dragged it across, tearing it open, in order to tug the letter out. It only took her a moment to smooth it out across the surface of the table, set beside Cyrus's doodles. She paused, eyebrows screwing up. Completely, utterly alien. The words made no sense to her. Swirling letters in fine penmanship, meticulously written, forming words she'd never read before.
Avanna.
âWhat the hellââ she prodded a finger in the middle of the page, hard, and made an ugly sound in the back of her throat, âis this? Itâs⊠I canât read this.â
âIt's Tevene." Cyrus picked up the letter, smoothing out the creases with his hands as well as he could, before scanning it over. No doubt the language was no challenge to him, as he was both a native of the Imperium and educated enough to know several tongues besides. âHe wants to meet you in a public location. Specifically one in front of the Grand Proving Arena, though apparently we're not allowed to take the most public route there. He suggests that you bring friends, and reminds you that nothing comes for free, though he has as yet refused to name his terms."
Tsking softly, he tossed the letter back down onto the table with a soft whump. âIt can only be something quite unpalatable. No doubt he hopes to draw you in and reveal it to you only when you feel you have no choice but to pay." He crossed his arms, finding and holding her eyes. âI can get you there the way he wants, of course. But I do advise caution... and not bringing along anyone you think especially unsubtle or vulnerable to manipulation, as he surely intends to attempt it."
A breath sifted from Zahraâs lips as she leaned her shoulder against the wall. Of course, heâd chosen a language she couldnât understand⊠but he knew her friends well enough to know that some of them had come from Tevinter. However vicariously, he knew of them. That fact hadnât eluded her thoughts either. How much he knew didnât really matter. It was enough to set her on edge, set her teeth to grinding. How had he known they were here?
She scrubbed a hand over her face, and let it drop back down to the corner of the table. She eyed the letter once more. âA mystery man with a nameless price. Manâs a wee bit pretentious.â It didnât sound all too appealing given the fact that they didnât know what those terms were, but if he was reaching out to them, it was something he believed them capable of granting. Besides, the decision had already been made. She would go. She would ask him to go, as well. Her gaze met his once more, and held it there, âDonât sâpose I have much choice in the matter.â
The implication was clear as a bell. In between the lines, stark as daylight. She didn't have to ask him. She knew the answer, as readily as she knew her own if he needed anything from her. Without his support, she wouldn't have come nearly this far. Maybe, she wouldn't have done it at all. He seemed to think that she would, in any likelihood. Save her family. An obvious choice to so many people. She thought differently. The people she surrounded herself with made her a better person; softer, in some cases.
Someone who wouldnât steer away from their goals. Leon immediately jumped to mind. Solid as a stone, that one. Sheâd need that aplomb at her side, and as Commander of the Inquisition, she doubted heâd be swayed by much in the means of manipulation. What could a man say to any of them? How would he try and manipulate them? Magic. It was a dangerous factor. One that she did not understand: its boundaries, its extent. Her other choice was obvious: Rom. He was as subtle as they came, quiet as a mouse. Being familiar with Minrathous and how nobles operated certainly helped. âWe should ask Leon. Rom, too. If theyâll come.â
She was asking a lot, after all.
Cyrus considered the selections for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. âConsidering the parameters, they'd probably be best suited." He didn't seem to harbor any doubt that they'd agree to it, eitherânot after everything. âIf you would like to do the asking, I'll inform the others of our departure, make sure they know where to look if something goes wrong." Perhaps he knew where the Contee estate was, or at least had a way of finding out. Minrathous wasn't that large a place, after all.
He turned as if to leave, but then reversed his direction again, pursing his lips. âWe'll... we'll find them, you know. And if the price isn't one you're inclined to pay, we'll find a way around it. I've been told I'm fairly good at that sort of thing." He offered an uncomfortable half-smile, then resumed his exit, intent no doubt on informing the others of what was about to transpire.
They would do it if Zahra asked them to. It was peculiar, even now. Knowing that she had people in her life who would be willing to go so far for such a selfish reason. One that had no guarantees, no assurances; certainly no certainties that Corveus was telling the truth. He wanted something from her. From them all. Even so. Even so. Theyâd go with her. Her smile was genuine as she nodded her head and inclined her chin back towards the door, almost feeling abashed by his statement, âAlright then, Iâll go get them. Meet back in the lounge?â
As soon as he skirted out the doorway, she pushed herself away from the wall and stepped into the hallway. Following the soft sound of retreating footsteps. She watched Cyrusâs retreating back and swore to herself never to make any more foolish assumptions. Not when it came to her friends. Theyâd never given her any reason to before. There was a bloom of too-grateful, too-lucky spreading throughout her chest like wildfire; she was undeserving of it. Of them.
Her deliberation broke with a crooked smile as she strode in the opposite direction.
They were something sheâd gladly, willingly hold close.
Between scraping up the broken-bodied duo, Amalia and Ithilian, and seeing the others traipse through the front door, all in one piece, but with Stel sporting new, frighteningly central wounds⊠she figured theyâd be the end of her. Grey hairs, abound. Not that it was all that surprising. Sheâd heard the gist of their travels over wine, and the warmth of Catusâs lounge. Brandâs promised bottles were empty by the end of it. It appeared as if their journey hadnât been any less demanding then their own. Trudging through forests and shrubbery in search of family. Facing ancient ruins and elven descendants. Undergoing grueling trials and coming out of it successful. That, in itself, hadnât surprised her at all.
They were tight-lipped about the rest of it. She didnât mind. There were things best left unsaid. Whatever they had done hadnât been fruitless. Vesryn looked somewhat better than what she remembered. Still gaunt. Still pale. But even she couldnât miss the brightness to those green eyes of his. Sheâd said as much. Teased that he could have his most handsome in the Inquisition throne back if heâd like. Sheâd been keeping it warm. The smile sheâd earned bordered on a scoff, the ghost of a grin that she hadnât seen in awhile. The relief sheâd felt seeing them all there was palpable; hearing their story and regaling them with her own reminded her of being at the Heraldâs Rest. Comfortable. At ease, in such an alien place.
In retrospect, Minrathous made her skin crawl.
In all likelihood, the estate itself was as gaudy and impractical as any Tevinter noblemanâs house. While she might have fully imposed herself on the manâs generosity, milking it for whatever he was worth⊠she felt no inclination to do anything but wander the halls, poking her head into different quarters just to keep herself occupied. To keep herself in motion. Even if Bastian had been all too accommodating to their cause, she couldnât help but feel confined. How much it reminded her of what could have been had she lived here, in such an estate. Gold-trimmed. Walls decorated with portraits and banners and depictions she could only guess at. Stark coloration and hallways that made her feel smaller than she was. The whole damn place made her feel small.
It made her think of how close she was to them. To him.
Zahra paused in front of the large double-doors leading down into Bastianâs front yard. Ridiculously large. She failed to see the point. No one here was quite as tall as Leon, so why the bloody hell? The thought only distracted her for a moment before it was fouled by other things plaguing her mind. Sheâd passed down the hallway several times already. Frankly, she was getting tired of it but always seemed to find herself standing in front of them, arms crossed. A soft sigh puffed from her lips, annoyed by something she couldnât quite put her finger on. An itch she couldnât scratch.
The door swung open and she froze in place, not quite expecting anyone to have come from outside. A small figure weaseled themselves into the crack in the door, diminutive enough to only warrant a small space, and promptly shut it behind them with the heel of their boot. It took her a moment to realize that she was standing there; mouth gawping open to find a greeting and finding none. Bouncing black curls. Sharp-featured. No more than fifteen years old. Hard to tell, though. Dressed as all the other servants were, the Bastian house emblem emblazoned on her tunic. Sheâd seen the elven girl before, working in Bastianâs kitchen. An aid, perhaps? No matter how well they were treated, slave still sounded too sour in her mouth.
Bright eyes pivoted up to hers as she held a piece of rolled parchment in her hand, flapping it in the air, âYou are Lady⊠Zahra? Er, Tavish?â Her voice was soft and low, a tickle of a grin easing her mouth up at the edges. Mischievous in every sense of the word. There was a hanging pause, as if she was expecting something. She slowly retracted the paper back to her side and stared at her. Openly. She certainly didn't think it was rude at all.
âAh, yes. Yes. That would be me.â It took Zahra a moment to find her tongue, clearing her throat behind one of her hands, and turning to face her properly. She arched an eyebrow down at her and smoothed her hands down the front of her shirt, wondering. Considering the letter in her hand, now held behind her back. She couldn't tear her eyes off of it. Hoping. Wishing. A trickle of dread ran down her spine, and a longing that surprised even her.
âThis has your name on it, Lady. Dunno who. Dropped it off at the door and ran off, way I see it. Donât happen too often.â The way she emphasized lady made her think that she was openly mocking her, or didnât care so much about formalities. Neither did she. She liked her already, this wee lass. Bastian had good company. âSâpose you should have it, then. If youâse who you say you are.â
The servant-girl hadnât given her much time to react let alone thank her, seeing how forcefully she pushed the letter into her stomach before scampering off down the hallway. A whirlwind gusting in and disappearing as if she hadnât ever been there at all. She snatched it up before it could fall to the floor. It felt familiar. A flash of red caught her peripherals, dragging her gaze down. She felt cold and hot all at once, bristling at the wax symbol underneath her thumb. A dragon. Coiling serpents. The Contee sigil. She was already in movement. Thoughts jumbled over each other, threatening to spill. She stomped down the hallway, clutching the damned letter to her pounding chest until she reached Cyrusâs doorway. He was probably there.
She hoped he was.
With letter in hand, Zahra knocked her knuckles against the wooden frame, a little more forcefully than sheâd meant to. âCy? Cy? You in there?â
It didn't take Cyrus long to appear. He of all of them looked least changed by the results of whatever had taken place in Arlathan forest, though there was a certain pinch to his expression. She was coming to recognize it as one that showed up when he was brooding over something, which he did a lot, but not as often as he'd used to, maybe. His eyes moved from hers, down to the letter in her hands, and he stepped aside immediately, wordlessly bidding her to enter the room.
It was as nice as any of the other guest accommodations, if distinctly impersonal. No books strewn all over the place, or random bits and bobs, or the big-eyed shadow of a cat that always slept in his chair back at Skyhold. The table was almost completely clear of anything, actually, except a few sheets of parchment and some charcoal. It looked like he'd been doodling.
âThis is probably insensitive of me, but I sort of hope that envelope means we have something to do."
Zahra tried not to bowl him over in the process of entering his room, holding the letter aloft in a similar fashion as the little elven-girl had. She hadnât halted her advance until she stood next to the oaken table pushed up against the furthest wall, beckoning him over with a tilt of her head. Her eyes trailed across the sheets of parchment already stretched over its surface, and she paused. Doodles. Heâd been doodling in here. The imaginary was enough to stagger her maddening thoughts.
Pouring over books during their stay was what sheâd expected. Bastian had them in droves: his own personal library, at their service. Even in her frenetic state, sheâd noticed the pensive look on his face. Thoughtful, a ruminating sulk. Broody. Sheâd seen it before. Subtle as they were, she was coming to know the small signs he revealed. There was something on his mind as well. This would be a good distraction. He looked like he needed it as much as she did.
âYouâre not the only one,â sheâd been teething at the bit to hear any bit of news since coming to Minrathous. It was foolish to think that just because theyâd come here, anything would happen at all. They played on Corveusâs terms now, not their own. She dug her finger into the corner of the letter and dragged it across, tearing it open, in order to tug the letter out. It only took her a moment to smooth it out across the surface of the table, set beside Cyrus's doodles. She paused, eyebrows screwing up. Completely, utterly alien. The words made no sense to her. Swirling letters in fine penmanship, meticulously written, forming words she'd never read before.
Avanna.
âWhat the hellââ she prodded a finger in the middle of the page, hard, and made an ugly sound in the back of her throat, âis this? Itâs⊠I canât read this.â
âIt's Tevene." Cyrus picked up the letter, smoothing out the creases with his hands as well as he could, before scanning it over. No doubt the language was no challenge to him, as he was both a native of the Imperium and educated enough to know several tongues besides. âHe wants to meet you in a public location. Specifically one in front of the Grand Proving Arena, though apparently we're not allowed to take the most public route there. He suggests that you bring friends, and reminds you that nothing comes for free, though he has as yet refused to name his terms."
Tsking softly, he tossed the letter back down onto the table with a soft whump. âIt can only be something quite unpalatable. No doubt he hopes to draw you in and reveal it to you only when you feel you have no choice but to pay." He crossed his arms, finding and holding her eyes. âI can get you there the way he wants, of course. But I do advise caution... and not bringing along anyone you think especially unsubtle or vulnerable to manipulation, as he surely intends to attempt it."
A breath sifted from Zahraâs lips as she leaned her shoulder against the wall. Of course, heâd chosen a language she couldnât understand⊠but he knew her friends well enough to know that some of them had come from Tevinter. However vicariously, he knew of them. That fact hadnât eluded her thoughts either. How much he knew didnât really matter. It was enough to set her on edge, set her teeth to grinding. How had he known they were here?
She scrubbed a hand over her face, and let it drop back down to the corner of the table. She eyed the letter once more. âA mystery man with a nameless price. Manâs a wee bit pretentious.â It didnât sound all too appealing given the fact that they didnât know what those terms were, but if he was reaching out to them, it was something he believed them capable of granting. Besides, the decision had already been made. She would go. She would ask him to go, as well. Her gaze met his once more, and held it there, âDonât sâpose I have much choice in the matter.â
The implication was clear as a bell. In between the lines, stark as daylight. She didn't have to ask him. She knew the answer, as readily as she knew her own if he needed anything from her. Without his support, she wouldn't have come nearly this far. Maybe, she wouldn't have done it at all. He seemed to think that she would, in any likelihood. Save her family. An obvious choice to so many people. She thought differently. The people she surrounded herself with made her a better person; softer, in some cases.
Someone who wouldnât steer away from their goals. Leon immediately jumped to mind. Solid as a stone, that one. Sheâd need that aplomb at her side, and as Commander of the Inquisition, she doubted heâd be swayed by much in the means of manipulation. What could a man say to any of them? How would he try and manipulate them? Magic. It was a dangerous factor. One that she did not understand: its boundaries, its extent. Her other choice was obvious: Rom. He was as subtle as they came, quiet as a mouse. Being familiar with Minrathous and how nobles operated certainly helped. âWe should ask Leon. Rom, too. If theyâll come.â
She was asking a lot, after all.
Cyrus considered the selections for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. âConsidering the parameters, they'd probably be best suited." He didn't seem to harbor any doubt that they'd agree to it, eitherânot after everything. âIf you would like to do the asking, I'll inform the others of our departure, make sure they know where to look if something goes wrong." Perhaps he knew where the Contee estate was, or at least had a way of finding out. Minrathous wasn't that large a place, after all.
He turned as if to leave, but then reversed his direction again, pursing his lips. âWe'll... we'll find them, you know. And if the price isn't one you're inclined to pay, we'll find a way around it. I've been told I'm fairly good at that sort of thing." He offered an uncomfortable half-smile, then resumed his exit, intent no doubt on informing the others of what was about to transpire.
They would do it if Zahra asked them to. It was peculiar, even now. Knowing that she had people in her life who would be willing to go so far for such a selfish reason. One that had no guarantees, no assurances; certainly no certainties that Corveus was telling the truth. He wanted something from her. From them all. Even so. Even so. Theyâd go with her. Her smile was genuine as she nodded her head and inclined her chin back towards the door, almost feeling abashed by his statement, âAlright then, Iâll go get them. Meet back in the lounge?â
As soon as he skirted out the doorway, she pushed herself away from the wall and stepped into the hallway. Following the soft sound of retreating footsteps. She watched Cyrusâs retreating back and swore to herself never to make any more foolish assumptions. Not when it came to her friends. Theyâd never given her any reason to before. There was a bloom of too-grateful, too-lucky spreading throughout her chest like wildfire; she was undeserving of it. Of them.
Her deliberation broke with a crooked smile as she strode in the opposite direction.
They were something sheâd gladly, willingly hold close.