The celebratory mood was slow to ebb from Skyhold, as though the walls and everyone within them fought to hold on to the flush of Khari's victory. Leon could understand that perfectly well—only seldom were their triumphs so unmitigated. Rarely did the celebrations take place near no funerals or solemn remembrances of those lost. And of course, it was not so often that they represented such obvious achievement. Anyone who knew the first thing about Khari, or even just the first thing about Orlais and its chevaliers understood just how tremendous a thing she'd accomplished. Perhaps the line of thought was that if one of them could manage something like that, then the rest of them ought to be able to overcome their collective obstacles as well, if only they were willing to work for it.
Even he was almost taken in by the thought. There was a beauty to it, and a purity. Sometimes, people did get what they deserved, because they tried hard enough and willed it strongly enough and took their destinies in their own hands.
But it was a harder thing to cling to in his own condition. The hope that perseverance would yield the desired result. That his trials, too, could be overcome if only he could find the strength within himself to make it so. Some things in the world simply weren't like that. He had to remind himself that her dream had seemed to be one of those things, and then she'd done it anyway.
His hands ached; the quill in his right shook so badly he'd never be able to make anything legible with it. Setting it down on the desk—getting it into its inkwell without spilling was simply out of the question—Leon curled his fingers into a fist, considering his bony knuckles with a frown. He'd not been this thin since he was fifteen, suddenly four inches taller than he'd been the year before and unable to keep up with his own growth. That had ached, too, but not like this.
Khari had once asked him if the Maker made him instead of two separate people. Sometimes he felt so mismatched to himself that he wondered the same. Especially now, when his spirit wanted nothing more than to live but his body felt half-dead already. It just wouldn't obey his commands anymore. Even walking was becoming difficult, something he could no longer do without the aid of a sturdy wooden cane or someone else's shoulder. It made him sick to even think about.
His time was well and truly running out, now. Just thinking about it made his throat feel tight, the tremors deepening until they rattled his spine. He'd never used to fear death, least of all death in the service of a noble cause. It had been an utterly insignificant idea, one with no power over him.
But now—now.
The door opened, dulled morning light temporarily flooding through it along with a flurry of thick snowflakes. Winter's grasp on Skyhold lasted a long time indeed, and no doubt would squeeze them several more times still. Séverine slipped through the door and closed it behind her, her face half concealed by the hood of her snow-dusted cloak. She made a noticeable effort to keep her face down; if Leon didn't know better, he might've thought she was hiding it from him. But he'd witnessed the lengths she'd gone to celebrate Khari's achievement last night.
Her greatest obstacle at the moment was the headache, no doubt.
"That ass of an elf," she muttered, hand stroking her forehead. "He'd better be feeling this too." She sank into a chair on the other side of his desk. "Took a potion for the headache, only to have a new one form right after it."
Finally she pulled back her hood, slowly as though the extra stimulus on her eyes would hurt her. They settled on Leon, and indeed she almost seemed struck, though not the sort of shock a head pain would create. "Shit," she breathed. "I'll stop moaning. Can I... help you with anything?" She glanced at the quill and parchment. "Writing something, maybe?"
Leon shook his head quickly, forcing the edges of his mouth up in the best smile he could muster. He had a feeling it looked more like a grimace than anything; the knowledge only exacerbated the burning of his face. He'd never grown comfortable with his companions seeing the extent of his condition—but it became more and more difficult to marshal a stoic demeanor with each passing day. "It's quite all right," he said, finding his normal mild tone with less difficulty than the right expression. "I've little enough of it to do. The tremors will pass shortly."
Of late, some combination of Reed and Cor handled most of his documentation—thankfully the amount that truly fell only to him was rather limited, and he could complete it in intermittent periods throughout the day. Stretching his capabilities, to be sure, but his infirmity was somewhat predictable, and he used the information as well as he possibly could.
"It seems you and Vesryn both celebrated quite thoroughly last night." Some of his tension eased; having something to think about other than the obvious was a welcome respite. "I'll have to ask him sometime if he ends up with two hangovers or only half of one."
"Now there's a strange thought." She seemed to melt in the chair somewhat, relishing the opportunity to take the weight off and relax. "Just my way of congratulating Khari, I guess. Since I wasn't able to witness it happen." Séverine had been far too occupied to take the trip to Val Royeaux. Remarkable as Khari's accomplishments were, the Knight-Commander had something just as important looming ahead of her.
She groaned, settling her hands on her stomach. "Never imagined Justinia drunk. Or hungover. Seems like that sort of thing is beneath being Divine." She laughed softly, though her nervousness was laced into it. "There's another strange thought."
"Well, perhaps in public," Leon conceded. "But Justinia was actually from a more worldly background than most assume. I cannot attest to her private habits, but then few people could." All of them had died along with her—not even Ophelia had known her especially well, despite her high position in the Seekers' organization. It made sense that one would have to choose one's confidants very carefully in a position like that. No doubt the real friends of a Divine were few.
He flexed his hands a few times; they were easing somewhat in their tremors. He could swear it was all the worse when he focused on it, but perhaps the correlation was only in his head. "It seems the strange thoughts have been hanging over you?" Not that anyone should expect any differently. It was a momentous thing they'd asked her to consider. Unlike most people asked to take up such an important position, Séverine had not been prepared for it beforehand. She'd likely never have been the remotest candidate, but for a catastrophic intervention no one had foreseen. That could only make it that much more burdensome.
"I almost wish I had it like Estella and Romulus did," she said. She tugged herself up a little higher, like she refused to let the headache of her morning after get the best of her for long. "All in an instant, just wake up with the responsibility and deal with it. I've gotten pretty good at that." She'd certainly had practice. So much of their work had been reactionary, for Séverine in particular. For all their lack of subtlety in battle, the Red Templars had an uncanny knack for surprise.
"Instead it's just waiting for me, my reward at the end of what might be my hardest fight." The way she said it made it sound like she didn't particularly think of it as a reward, despite the fact that her new position would be literally at the top of the Chantry, possessing more power and influence than almost anyone, if she utilized the rank properly. "I'm trying to use it as motivation, but I've had to settle for the thought of vengeance. Base desire though that might be." She exhaled a long breath through her nostrils.
"I want to kill him with my own weapon for what he did. For what he took from us."
Leon couldn't say he had any experience with the feeling. As he was on the average day, the thought of real violence sat uneasy at best. Not that he didn't understand the impulse to it, just that he'd never experienced it in kind. When the time came for him to do harm, he became... different. And it was never about vengeance then. There was neither righteousness nor hatred to it, just—
Well, just nothing. It was rage and ferocity and exultation and he sank into it, like a stone into a bog. It was just instinct. His ideals guided the application, to be sure. He never stepped on a battlefield he was not willing to occupy. But in the act itself, there was nothing personal or idealistic or even cynical. Just the raw feeling and bare mechanics of death.
"I don't think that's... wrong." He hesitated over the word, unsure if that was exactly what she'd been getting at. "I think I of all people have to say that whatever can get you onto and back off the field alive is the right approach. With luck, there will be a day when none of it's needed anymore. When you can let it go. If that happens to be the day you slay him, then... good. Better than it festering and lingering past then." He certainly knew a thing or two about that.
"Despite everything they did before Kirkwall, it didn't feel personal." Her gaze became distant as she thought back. "Maybe I would've described it that way back then, but it doesn't compare to now." She steepled her fingers together at her waist. The talking seemed to be doing her headache some good, or at least it was distracting her from it.
"They were just another enemy until they took someone important from me. Especially when..." She hesitated, looking dejected. "When I didn't get to say goodbye, I suppose. Didn't get to say a lot of things." She let that linger, and didn't elaborate. There wasn't much need to.
She blinked, and shook her head. "But I need to focus, now that we've found Carver. That's what I came to report, actually. Well, we've almost found him."
He accepted the shift to more concrete matters with a small nod. It wasn't as though he failed to understand what she meant, and he was certainly no help there. But this part, he might be a bit more use for. "You've narrowed the possibilities in some significant way?" Even a mid-sized geographic region would be helpful. Something the scouts could use.
She nodded. "They bypassed the Emerald Graves and fled into the mountains. The Frostbacks. They've been right under our noses." Of course, the Frostbacks were a massive mountain range with very few passages even remotely safe to travel through. Even their scouts could only safely keep a watch on the immediate mountains and paths surrounding them, not nearly the whole range.
"We sit on the Fereldan side, and it's almost certain the Reds are somewhere on the Orlesian side. There are a few fortresses that we know of they could be using, and it's possible there are more ancient castles like Skyhold we don't know about yet. I'm having the scouts work slowly, no need to risk them. We have eyes on all the routes out, so if they try to make a move, we'll know."
Her expression hardened until it was grim. "Wherever they are, it'll be another siege. I doubt it'll be over as fast as Kirkwall was."
Leon made a soft noise of agreement. Kirkwall had been a rather extraordinary situation, with extraordinary help, and many allies with not only formidable skills in battle but also a great deal of important knowledge. There was a marked difference between maps and schematics and firsthand knowledge. "You're most likely right." He frowned, the expression proving too stubborn to smooth away.
"I don't know how much help I'll be, when the time comes. Likely not much, but if there's anything I can do in the meantime, don't hesitate." The siege, when it came, would likely require most everyone they could spare, and no doubt he'd be included in some capacity. But as it stood, his days of commanding from the front were behind him, barring a miracle he couldn't even bring himself to pray for.
"When those tremors are gone again," she said, "perhaps we can get word to the Emperor. I'd welcome having some chevaliers at our side, next time we take to the field."
He mustered a wry smile in place of the scowl. "As I hear it, the job of corresponding with His Radiance on matters of import falls to Romulus these days. But I suppose I could manage this one." With a small shake of his head, he set the subject aside and chose another. "In the meantime, I think I'll send down for some tea. Might help that headache a little, and then you can tell me about how the troops are doing."
Even he was almost taken in by the thought. There was a beauty to it, and a purity. Sometimes, people did get what they deserved, because they tried hard enough and willed it strongly enough and took their destinies in their own hands.
But it was a harder thing to cling to in his own condition. The hope that perseverance would yield the desired result. That his trials, too, could be overcome if only he could find the strength within himself to make it so. Some things in the world simply weren't like that. He had to remind himself that her dream had seemed to be one of those things, and then she'd done it anyway.
His hands ached; the quill in his right shook so badly he'd never be able to make anything legible with it. Setting it down on the desk—getting it into its inkwell without spilling was simply out of the question—Leon curled his fingers into a fist, considering his bony knuckles with a frown. He'd not been this thin since he was fifteen, suddenly four inches taller than he'd been the year before and unable to keep up with his own growth. That had ached, too, but not like this.
Khari had once asked him if the Maker made him instead of two separate people. Sometimes he felt so mismatched to himself that he wondered the same. Especially now, when his spirit wanted nothing more than to live but his body felt half-dead already. It just wouldn't obey his commands anymore. Even walking was becoming difficult, something he could no longer do without the aid of a sturdy wooden cane or someone else's shoulder. It made him sick to even think about.
His time was well and truly running out, now. Just thinking about it made his throat feel tight, the tremors deepening until they rattled his spine. He'd never used to fear death, least of all death in the service of a noble cause. It had been an utterly insignificant idea, one with no power over him.
But now—now.
The door opened, dulled morning light temporarily flooding through it along with a flurry of thick snowflakes. Winter's grasp on Skyhold lasted a long time indeed, and no doubt would squeeze them several more times still. Séverine slipped through the door and closed it behind her, her face half concealed by the hood of her snow-dusted cloak. She made a noticeable effort to keep her face down; if Leon didn't know better, he might've thought she was hiding it from him. But he'd witnessed the lengths she'd gone to celebrate Khari's achievement last night.
Her greatest obstacle at the moment was the headache, no doubt.
"That ass of an elf," she muttered, hand stroking her forehead. "He'd better be feeling this too." She sank into a chair on the other side of his desk. "Took a potion for the headache, only to have a new one form right after it."
Finally she pulled back her hood, slowly as though the extra stimulus on her eyes would hurt her. They settled on Leon, and indeed she almost seemed struck, though not the sort of shock a head pain would create. "Shit," she breathed. "I'll stop moaning. Can I... help you with anything?" She glanced at the quill and parchment. "Writing something, maybe?"
Leon shook his head quickly, forcing the edges of his mouth up in the best smile he could muster. He had a feeling it looked more like a grimace than anything; the knowledge only exacerbated the burning of his face. He'd never grown comfortable with his companions seeing the extent of his condition—but it became more and more difficult to marshal a stoic demeanor with each passing day. "It's quite all right," he said, finding his normal mild tone with less difficulty than the right expression. "I've little enough of it to do. The tremors will pass shortly."
Of late, some combination of Reed and Cor handled most of his documentation—thankfully the amount that truly fell only to him was rather limited, and he could complete it in intermittent periods throughout the day. Stretching his capabilities, to be sure, but his infirmity was somewhat predictable, and he used the information as well as he possibly could.
"It seems you and Vesryn both celebrated quite thoroughly last night." Some of his tension eased; having something to think about other than the obvious was a welcome respite. "I'll have to ask him sometime if he ends up with two hangovers or only half of one."
"Now there's a strange thought." She seemed to melt in the chair somewhat, relishing the opportunity to take the weight off and relax. "Just my way of congratulating Khari, I guess. Since I wasn't able to witness it happen." Séverine had been far too occupied to take the trip to Val Royeaux. Remarkable as Khari's accomplishments were, the Knight-Commander had something just as important looming ahead of her.
She groaned, settling her hands on her stomach. "Never imagined Justinia drunk. Or hungover. Seems like that sort of thing is beneath being Divine." She laughed softly, though her nervousness was laced into it. "There's another strange thought."
"Well, perhaps in public," Leon conceded. "But Justinia was actually from a more worldly background than most assume. I cannot attest to her private habits, but then few people could." All of them had died along with her—not even Ophelia had known her especially well, despite her high position in the Seekers' organization. It made sense that one would have to choose one's confidants very carefully in a position like that. No doubt the real friends of a Divine were few.
He flexed his hands a few times; they were easing somewhat in their tremors. He could swear it was all the worse when he focused on it, but perhaps the correlation was only in his head. "It seems the strange thoughts have been hanging over you?" Not that anyone should expect any differently. It was a momentous thing they'd asked her to consider. Unlike most people asked to take up such an important position, Séverine had not been prepared for it beforehand. She'd likely never have been the remotest candidate, but for a catastrophic intervention no one had foreseen. That could only make it that much more burdensome.
"I almost wish I had it like Estella and Romulus did," she said. She tugged herself up a little higher, like she refused to let the headache of her morning after get the best of her for long. "All in an instant, just wake up with the responsibility and deal with it. I've gotten pretty good at that." She'd certainly had practice. So much of their work had been reactionary, for Séverine in particular. For all their lack of subtlety in battle, the Red Templars had an uncanny knack for surprise.
"Instead it's just waiting for me, my reward at the end of what might be my hardest fight." The way she said it made it sound like she didn't particularly think of it as a reward, despite the fact that her new position would be literally at the top of the Chantry, possessing more power and influence than almost anyone, if she utilized the rank properly. "I'm trying to use it as motivation, but I've had to settle for the thought of vengeance. Base desire though that might be." She exhaled a long breath through her nostrils.
"I want to kill him with my own weapon for what he did. For what he took from us."
Leon couldn't say he had any experience with the feeling. As he was on the average day, the thought of real violence sat uneasy at best. Not that he didn't understand the impulse to it, just that he'd never experienced it in kind. When the time came for him to do harm, he became... different. And it was never about vengeance then. There was neither righteousness nor hatred to it, just—
Well, just nothing. It was rage and ferocity and exultation and he sank into it, like a stone into a bog. It was just instinct. His ideals guided the application, to be sure. He never stepped on a battlefield he was not willing to occupy. But in the act itself, there was nothing personal or idealistic or even cynical. Just the raw feeling and bare mechanics of death.
"I don't think that's... wrong." He hesitated over the word, unsure if that was exactly what she'd been getting at. "I think I of all people have to say that whatever can get you onto and back off the field alive is the right approach. With luck, there will be a day when none of it's needed anymore. When you can let it go. If that happens to be the day you slay him, then... good. Better than it festering and lingering past then." He certainly knew a thing or two about that.
"Despite everything they did before Kirkwall, it didn't feel personal." Her gaze became distant as she thought back. "Maybe I would've described it that way back then, but it doesn't compare to now." She steepled her fingers together at her waist. The talking seemed to be doing her headache some good, or at least it was distracting her from it.
"They were just another enemy until they took someone important from me. Especially when..." She hesitated, looking dejected. "When I didn't get to say goodbye, I suppose. Didn't get to say a lot of things." She let that linger, and didn't elaborate. There wasn't much need to.
She blinked, and shook her head. "But I need to focus, now that we've found Carver. That's what I came to report, actually. Well, we've almost found him."
He accepted the shift to more concrete matters with a small nod. It wasn't as though he failed to understand what she meant, and he was certainly no help there. But this part, he might be a bit more use for. "You've narrowed the possibilities in some significant way?" Even a mid-sized geographic region would be helpful. Something the scouts could use.
She nodded. "They bypassed the Emerald Graves and fled into the mountains. The Frostbacks. They've been right under our noses." Of course, the Frostbacks were a massive mountain range with very few passages even remotely safe to travel through. Even their scouts could only safely keep a watch on the immediate mountains and paths surrounding them, not nearly the whole range.
"We sit on the Fereldan side, and it's almost certain the Reds are somewhere on the Orlesian side. There are a few fortresses that we know of they could be using, and it's possible there are more ancient castles like Skyhold we don't know about yet. I'm having the scouts work slowly, no need to risk them. We have eyes on all the routes out, so if they try to make a move, we'll know."
Her expression hardened until it was grim. "Wherever they are, it'll be another siege. I doubt it'll be over as fast as Kirkwall was."
Leon made a soft noise of agreement. Kirkwall had been a rather extraordinary situation, with extraordinary help, and many allies with not only formidable skills in battle but also a great deal of important knowledge. There was a marked difference between maps and schematics and firsthand knowledge. "You're most likely right." He frowned, the expression proving too stubborn to smooth away.
"I don't know how much help I'll be, when the time comes. Likely not much, but if there's anything I can do in the meantime, don't hesitate." The siege, when it came, would likely require most everyone they could spare, and no doubt he'd be included in some capacity. But as it stood, his days of commanding from the front were behind him, barring a miracle he couldn't even bring himself to pray for.
"When those tremors are gone again," she said, "perhaps we can get word to the Emperor. I'd welcome having some chevaliers at our side, next time we take to the field."
He mustered a wry smile in place of the scowl. "As I hear it, the job of corresponding with His Radiance on matters of import falls to Romulus these days. But I suppose I could manage this one." With a small shake of his head, he set the subject aside and chose another. "In the meantime, I think I'll send down for some tea. Might help that headache a little, and then you can tell me about how the troops are doing."