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peopleofthedas2011-05-06 09:22 pm
Trouble & Strife: Chapter Fifty Six
Much love as always to
bellaknoti the Comma Fairy, who kindly tidies up my chapters. Link to the beginning, for anyone joining us for the first time: www.fanfiction.net/s/6144534/1/Trouble_S
Title: Trouble & Strife: Chapter Fifty Six
Characters: today we have Alistair, Maddy, Zevran, Philippe, Leliana, Anders, Fergus and Brother Guido
Rating: T
This chapter: Reunited...
-oOo-
It was impossible to know how much time had passed. Periods spent awake were an eternity of agony, marked by the creaking of the cart and the jolting as it hit the occasional pothole. Fever ripped through his body, bringing uncontrollable shivers. Cool cloths were applied to the right side of his face, bringing a mixture of burning pain and blessed relief. He couldn’t see properly, everything was blurred and the light was hurtful.
Philippe anchored himself in the murmur of Zevran’s voice, which reassured him almost as much as the strong, slim fingers laced through his own. You are safe, help is coming. Open your mouth, carefully, here is another leaf. Sleep, amore.
The next time he awoke it was to find his sister’s small hand cupped inside his, and it was the familiar, cheerful voice of a healing mage which assailed his ears.
“…significant nerve damage, which I can heal, but there will be some scarring. The right eye, however…” Philippe could hear the shrug in Anders’ voice. “If I’d been here… but after this amount of time all I can do is try.”
The sudden torrent of cool energy on his face was, quite frankly, amazing. The pain receded, and when he flexed his jaw, it no longer felt as though his skin moved like old, cracked leather. A cautious attempt to open his eyes was forestalled by a large hand descending over them and a fresh wash of energy pouring through his right eye. Nerves fizzled and the whole eyeball itched so much that Philippe was desperate to rub the lid.
“Hang in there; this is probably going to hurt.” Considering how much pain Anders had already erased, Philippe doubted it, but the mage was correct. The next pulse of energy through his eye stabbed like a knife and he cried out, squeezing the hand still holding his until Maddy made a small meep of distress. Immediately there were fingers prising open his free hand, strong fingers backed by Zev’s voice telling him to hold on. Philippe grasped this lifeline just in time for the next stabbing pulse, crushing the assassin’s hand in his own as agony lanced through his eye.
“I’ll try one more time.” Anders’ soft murmur barely reached him through the blurry, messy sense of being entirely out of control, but their meaning was made clear by the sheer scale of the next thrust of insistent energy. The hands he was holding retreated into a far distance, while the sensation of Anders’ hand, heavy over his eyes, lost focus. Philippe slipped away from the world, back down into the dark where there was nothing.
-oOo-
“The votes we’ve garnered will not be enough, Your Holiness.” Brother Guido’s assistant, Sister Letitia, was a hawk-nosed middle-aged woman of brutal efficiency. “I’ve been studying Ferelden law and, for a vote of this nature, two-thirds majority is required for it to succeed. By my calculation we currently hold one quarter of the nobles. If we assume that Teyrn Cousland and Arl Wulff are in the Queen’s pocket, then the King holds just over half the vote currently. The remainder are vacillating, but given the improvements the Queen can make to fortunes in the Bannorn, they are likely to go with the Crown unless given sufficient grounds to oppose it.”
“Then we must provide such grounds.” The vote must fail; it was the only way to solve this without provoking King Alistair into exposing the Chantry’s less… ethical… dealings. “What do you have for me?”
“Well, many of the nobles have relatives either in the Templars or the Circle, so rumours of drugs and enforced Tranquillity are damaging our reputation with them. The common people, however, are still largely terrified of mages. If we can use that to bring the nobles around…”
Sister Letitia was unlikely to raise such a nebulous point unless she had a solid suggestion on how to achieve their aim. Consequently, Brother Guido curbed his impatience and waited for her to continue.
The Sister fished in the leather satchel she used for her papers and was never parted from. “We aren’t the only ones thinking this way, Your Holiness. The King’s advisors appear to have similar ideas. I found this tacked to a wall in the Denerim market. There are a lot of them around.”
The sheet was large and written in a flourishing, eye-catching script. Phrases leapt out, bringing an interested gleam to the Legate’s eye. “This is to be held tomorrow?”
“So it says, Your Holiness, although my information is that the King’s mage left the city in a hurry this morning.”
“Let me know the instant he returns. If this spectacle is to go ahead, then I may make good use of the opportunity.”
-oOo-
By the time word arrived that the Queen’s entourage had been sighted approaching the Denerim gates, Alistair was nearly breaking up the furniture in a frenzy of anxiety. The arrival of a messenger in royal livery, stating that assassins had attacked the Queen’s camp, and requesting that Anders ride immediately to assist the wounded, had brought his heart to his mouth. Alistair had been all for riding out with Anders there and then, and it had required the combined persuasive efforts of Teagan, Eamon and Leliana to dissuade him.
A more thorough perusal of Cedric’s short note had given him at least a modicum of comfort. Maddy was unharmed and under heavy guard. Philippe had been the target and was badly injured. This made no sense at all to Alistair, but settled him sufficiently that he was able to listen to the entreaties of his advisors. They were right, he couldn’t afford to leave now; the Landsmeet was imminent and every second counted.
That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.
Alistair stopped only long enough to fling on a fresh shirt and doublet, and make a vague futile attempt to bring his hair into some kind of order, before charging off to meet his wife. He paused at the gates of the Palace District, nodding to the guard commander on duty there to open them in readiness. They could hear the distant cheers that heralded Maddy’s approach; it seemed the common folk had turned out in force to greet her.
“Alistair!” He turned at the hail, to see Leliana walking with brisk steps across the courtyard, beaming from ear to ear. “Oh, I am so happy they are home. Everyone will be together again, n’est ce-pas?”
“Maker, yes.” Alistair had missed Maddy, missed her more than he’d thought possible, but he’d missed the others too. He’d even missed Zevran, which he would never have imagined. They were a team, and the prospect of dealing with the Landsmeet felt infinitely more achievable with his team around him. “I hope Philippe is all right. I feel responsible, with him being injured in a camp full of my guards. Ced’s letter didn’t say what injuries he’d sustained.”
Leliana patted his arm. “Do not worry so; Anders will have fixed him up. Wynne worked miracles time and time again for us, and Anders is even better.”
“I hope so, I-” Alistair stopped, a sudden frown creasing his forehead. The sounds outside had changed, the shouts and cheers turning to a full-throated roar.
Something was happening.
-oOo-
Everything changed so fast. They were home; a dirty home, still only half-rebuilt from darkspawn attacks, but home nevertheless. Although she had one anxious eye on her brother, now restored to the saddle but not… quite… himself, Maddy was smiling to the cheering crowds, who seemed to be cheering her obviously pregnant belly as much as her. There were cries of ‘Maker save Queen Madeleina!’ and ‘Andraste bless the Theirin heirs!’
There were other shouts too, ones which confused her, references to ‘the Blessed Lady’ and ‘living Andraste’. That’s what seemed to cause a problem, only scuffles at first, easily quenched under the general enthusiasm of the crowd. The commoners had followed her from the Market through the Noble District, obviously hoping for a glimpse of her reunion with their King, and here the scuffles began to look like real fights, as the crowd grew larger and opinion seemed to divide sharply. There were cries of ‘sacrilege’ and roars of defiance in response.
That’s when a shining globe of protective energy erupted around Madeleina.
Anders no doubt meant well, but the sight of magic encasing their Queen inflamed the crowd even further. The fights were turning into a full-blown riot. Kallian, riding close beside Maddy, had drawn two full-length swords from the sheaths on her saddle, and was kicking viciously at anyone who allowed the brawling to fling them into the path of Maddy’s increasingly skittish horse. One man, who failed to take Kalli’s kicks as fair warning, turned and made the mistake of trying to pull the elf from her mount. Maddy turned her head away, sickened by the sight of him falling below their hooves with his head half sliced from his body.
Hands grasped her reins from the other side. Cedric, his shield raised protectively, bellowed over the noise of the crowd. “We have to get to the Palace District, close the gates!” Pressing forward meant encouraging the horses to ride people down; bodies churned and grappled in all directions, while bystanders screamed and tried to get away from the fighting. It was chaos. A man charged at Maddy, his face distorted in a scream of rage, and Kallian‘s blades flashed, cutting him down without hesitation.
The sound of blaring horns and the thunder of hooves could be heard above the racket, and the crowd ahead scattered, allowing glimpses of shining armour and sharp spears. The relief on Maddy’s face was mirrored in Cedric’s; the Royal guard had turned out to bolster their numbers and take them to safety. In their midst was a beloved face above a burnished shield.
“Mon mari,” she whispered and although no-one could have heard the words, she saw his worried expression light up when her lips formed them.
-oOo-
As soon as it became clear that the crowd was turning ugly, Alistair wasted no time in calling the guard to horse. When he also called for a sword and shield and a horse of his own, Leliana protested.
“You have no armour, Alistair!”
“I don’t care, my wife is out there!”
They rode through the Noble District, following the sounds of conflict, seeing frightened individuals fleeing the scene of the riot. Only once they turned the final corner did the extent of the situation become apparent; the usually quiet streets were in uproar, the city guard utterly unable to keep order. Guards both in the livery of the King’s Own, and that of Highever, encircled a small group including a tiny figure enclosed in shimmering shield of magic. Alistair could see Fergus Cousland and Cedric at the head of the group, shields held over the pregnant Queen, while their troops tried to force a path.
“Clear the way, do whatever you have to!” Fear for his wife and children fuelled Alistair’s determination, making his instruction to the Guard Commander at his side more brutal than his usual wont. The Commander rapped out sharp orders and horns sounded. The horses surged forwards, closing the distance to the Queen’s beleaguered force, literally riding down those in their path. Alistair saw Maddy raise her head at the sound of the horns, and his heart lifted. She seemed unharmed and he was determined to keep her that way.
They pushed through the crowd, scattering bodies, and only once he reached Maddy’s side did Alistair give a new order. “Get us to the Palace gates and then disperse this rabble.”
With the weight of so many mounted soldiers at their disposal, cutting through the crowd was easier. Many had already begun to slink away, not wishing to be around for the King’s retribution. Only once the Palace gates had closed behind them did Alistair relax his guard, handing his weapons over to a squire and dismounting in time to assist his beloved down from her horse himself. The feel of her thickened waist under his hands, the sight of her little freckled face with the fear fading from it, was a blessing. His own terror for her safety began to recede and he wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face in his chest.
“Thank the Maker you’re safe, love.”
There was a distinct sniffle from against his doublet and Maddy’s face when she raised it to him was woebegone. “Oh, mon mari, I missed you so. It was dreadful being alone; I was une reine terrible without you to guide me.” She tugged urgently on his sleeve as the rest of the party dismounted. “Alistair, about Philippe, I let him down so badly and now… when you see him, you mustn’t-”
Whatever it was he mustn’t do was interrupted by the arrival of Teyrn Cousland, wishing to pay his respects to his King. Alistair turned to him a shade reluctantly, not only because he didn’t want to let go of Maddy, but also because… well… this was Melissa’s brother and Alistair never met him without feeling some residual guilt that Mel had been the one to die. It was difficult now, with a wife and the prospect of children to brighten his life, to think ‘it should have been me’, but the ghost still lingered, especially in the presence of this dark-haired, dark-eyed man who so resembled his sister.
“Your Majesty.” Teyrn Cousland bowed as befitted his rank and held out his hand. “Such a welcome you laid on for us.” His brown eyes twinkled, even though they still simmered with battle fever.
“Yes, sorry about that.” Alistair gently disengaged himself from Maddy to clasp hands with the Teyrn. “We seem to be having a powerful effect on the populace right now, for some reason. I imagine you were intent on reaching your own estate, rather than the Palace?” At Fergus’ nod, Alistair continued. “Thank you for remaining to assist. It would probably be best to allow the guard time to bring the situation under control. In the meantime, my Chamberlain will see to your comfo…”
While they had been speaking the grooms had been busily removing the weary, skittish horses to the stables. The decrease in horseflesh allowed Alistair to see, over Fergus’ shoulder, the rest of the group and the sight of one of them drove all coherent thought out of Alistair’s head.
Maker’s Breath, what happened?
Philippe had been half turned away, instructing the groom about some items in his saddlebags, only his left side visible. It was when he turned that Alistair’s speech stuttered to a halt. The right side of his face…
It wasn’t the first time Alistair had seen such injuries. Previously, though, they had been on strangers or, more often, on corpses bearing marks of Zevran’s personal attention. The right eye was covered with a thick pad, held on with a bandage wound around his head. Crawling out from below the bandage was a mass of scar tissue, some shiny smooth, some heavily pocked, which covered pretty much all of Philippe’s cheek, jaw and throat. The corner of his mouth was twisted slightly where it had healed, giving him a cynical look at odds with his mild manner and sweet temper.
By the time Alistair realised he was staring, Philippe had turned fully. The remaining deep blue eye which met his held unutterable hurt, dropping away from his gaze while Philippe shifted to turn his face away, hiding the scars from his brother-in-law’s eyes. His posture was hunched, shy, completely unlike his usual straight-backed stance.
A sharp poke in the ribs from his wife brought Alistair to his senses, in time to see both Zevran’s minatory glare and Maddy’s reproachful frown turned his way. Oops. Staring was presumably what Maddy had been saying he mustn’t do.
-oOo-
It took some time to settle everything. The Palace guard, supplemented by a belated contingent of city guard who had hurried up from the Market District, broke up the incipient riot, flinging the worst offenders into jail, knocking heads and dispersing the rest. Bertram, Alistair’s Chamberlain, took the Teyrn under his wing, assigning him some temporary rooms where he could rest and freshen up, and ensuring that his men received similar treatment in the barracks and his servants below stairs. Arl Wulff had parted from Maddy prior to the incident in the Noble District and was, one hoped, safely in his own estate by now.
Once all the orders had been given and everyone greeted properly, Alistair carted his wife off to their quarters. And none too soon, in his opinion.
“Maker, Maddy, I missed you so much.” They had been parted only a few weeks, but with everything that was happening it felt like an age. With a complete disregard for her increased weight, he scooped her up and settled on a sofa with her on his knee. “Tell me everything.” Alistair ran a hand over her swelling stomach. “Starting with this; you’re well?”
“Tired more and more, but well, yes. Oh Alistair, they moved! I was so sad that you were not there to feel it.” Her small hand closed over his large one, and she snuggled into his lap with a contented sigh. “Now they do so quite often, so you shall feel your children move soon.”
“Wow.” Moving children. That made them… real. Wow. It was hard to think about anything else except the warm, comforting weight of his wife and the presence of babies in her belly, but time was short. Now that the Arl and Teyrn were finally here the Landsmeet would have to be held quickly. Before that damnable Legate does any more damage. “I want to hear everything that’s happened, Maddy, but first of all, what in the Maker’s name happened to Philippe?”
Maddy sat up, distressed. “Oh, mon mari, it was terrible. When Zevran said there was an assassin in camp we were all so sure he had come for me. We had so many guards set around me at night, and all the time… Oh, I could kill Celene for this.”
“Celene, Celene ordered a contract on Philippe?” Alistair was outraged. “She’s his sister, a cold-hearted reptile of a sister, but still his sister.”
“No, not her. It was that, that salope who Celene was trying to marry him to. Not enough to ruin his life, to force him into an unhappy marriage. No, instead she tries to tie him to a murderess, and now… Oh, Alistair, you saw him, you saw how he tries to hide. He’s so broken and I don’t know what to do.”
Alistair hugged her and produced a handkerchief for the tears that trickled down her face. “Maker, Maddy, I didn’t even know he was to be married. Go back to the beginning…”
-oOo-
The palace just wasn’t secure enough. A child could scale to these balconies; a baby could open these windows. Zevran prowled from corridor to corridor, making the lives of various guards and senior servants hell with his criticisms and demands. Eventually he found Bertram, the King’s Chamberlain, who at least recognised him and took his strictures seriously. He dragged the hapless man from one wing to another, making demand upon demand until they were both exhausted.
It couldn’t be made safe enough, nowhere could.
Zev hadn’t slept in three days, not since he’d first spotted that maledetto ragazzo in camp. A Crow could go much longer without sleep, but not without some form of rest. Ever since the attack he’d been active, focussed. He was still wired, unable to stop, unable to meditate, his brain still buzzing busily. He dismissed the thankful Chamberlain and went to his comfortable rooms, but it was no use, he couldn’t rest here, not when-
Not when there might still be danger.
It was foolish, he knew. The cell had been eliminated and the Principessa was unlikely to send more. But too much remained unresolved, too much remained unsaid, and Philippe had gone into hiding like a wounded animal after seeing Alistair’s expression.
“Affanculo. Fuck it.”
Grabbing a pair of daggers, Zevran exited the room in a final burst of grim energy, heading for the wing housing the King and Queen, and their immediate family, which had already endured the bulk of his proposed security measures.
-oOo-
With the King and Queen securely tucked up in their apartments enjoying a cosy reunion, Kallian had the luxury of time to herself for the first time in weeks. Having washed and unpacked, she wasted no time in diving back out into the city, cutting through a quiet corner of the Noble District and threading her way through the busy Market District. She pulled a few curious looks for her fine arms and armour, but nowhere near as many as she would have expected. The reason for this became apparent once she reached the gates of the Alienage, and saw some of the elves entering and leaving: a fair few of them were armed and wearing simple, shabby dock-guard’s armour.
That was her first shock.
The next came when she entered the Alienage proper and saw the improvements there; houses that had been dilapidated beyond repair had been pulled down and rebuilt, while those merely needing a new roof or a few new planks in their walls had received the care they needed.
There seemed to be very few people around, though. Admittedly it was the middle of the afternoon, but usually about half the Alienage was out of work, so there would always be people hanging around, looking morose.
Now there was just a scattering of women and children, a few elderly and-
“Kalli!” She spun at the familiar voice, to see Shianni barrelling towards her, beaming all over her face. “I heard that the Queen was back, so I finished work early, hoping you’d come down here. Wow, look at you.” Shianni spun her friend around, surveying her fine leathers, her eyes round with wonder. “You look fantastic.”
Kallian shrugged, her face tinged with colour, uncomfortable with the admiration in her cousin’s eyes. “S’just what I need for my work, no big deal.” She perked up a trifle at a stray thought. “And hey, I’m not the only one armed! What’s been going on?”
“All kinds of things. Your King Alistair has been busy.” Shianni tucked her arm through Kallian’s. “I’ll tell you all about it over a drink. You brought a drink, right?” She grinned when Kalli produced a bottle from under her cloak. “That’s my girl. C’mon, let’s go inside and get warm; it’s bitter here once the sun goes down.”
The telling took some time. Telling of Kallian’s adventures took longer. Shianni sat open-mouthed while Kalli described, in fits and starts and short reluctant sentences, how she’d been arrested in Redcliffe for the murder of a noble and how the King and Queen had saved her. She skimmed over the sore spots in her story; how she’d broken down in the jail and how the shem- how her friends had come and supported her. That memory was a precious one, too precious to share over a bottle.
“And they all treat you… like what?” Shianni’s curiosity was evident in her sharp face, supported on her hands with her elbows on the table between them. “Like an elf, or not? You’re a Knight of Ferelden, for the Maker’s sake, the first elven one… ever… as far as I know. Ser Kallian.” She tasted the words, savouring them as she spoke. “What’s it like?”
“S’no different, really. I’m the Queen’s bodyguard. I can wear my armour and weapons openly, which is great. I was sick of that damned dress.” Kalli struggled to put it into words. The camaraderie with some of the King’s Own, and especially Ced. The affection that had slowly grown up with Maddy, and even with Alistair a bit. When they met other nobles, their guards behaved like guards the world over, but she had standing now, and the right to tell them to go boil their heads. But with Shianni sat watching her it was all so hard to explain.
“You remember when Maddy first came here, and Valendrian wanted me to take this job?” Shianni nodded, and Kalli pressed on. “I hated shem nobles so bad; I thought they were all alike. And here was this little Orlesian shem in her expensive clothes, trying to tell me that in some ways her life and mine were the same. I wanted to punch her.” Kalli frowned, remembering. “But I went to work for her anyway, and you know why?”
“Because it was a great job?”
“No, although there’s no denyin’ that it was.” Kalli took another slug, straight out of the bottle. It was an expensive wine, picked up in the Market on the way across to the Alienage. The shopkeeper had assumed she was buying it for her employers. “I took the job because she thought I was worth arguing with. It didn’t matter that her argument was garbage, that she had no idea what my life was like. Maddy spoke to me like it mattered what I thought. No shem had ever done that.”
“Right, I get that.” Shianni plucked the bottle from her fingers and took a swig herself. “And now they all care what you think. They all have to recognise that you count.”
Kalli shrugged. “I dunno about that. But she still does.”
After that they changed the subject, Shianni recounting who was newly married, or moved away, all the normal gossip of Alienage life. It was nice to spend a few hours with her cousin, although if Kalli was honest with herself, she felt distanced from everyone else who popped in to say hello as the evening progressed. She saw the way their eyes travelled over her fine armour, her gleaming daggers. It was the same way the servants in the manors and castles they had stayed in looked at her. She was ‘Palace’ now, something separate, something other. There was no real place for her here, not anymore. For the first time, she realised why Zevran was as he was. She’d envied his poise, his ability to behave as though his elven heritage was an irrelevance, but hadn’t truly understood it. People looked at him and saw ‘Crow’ not elf. He was accustomed to being defined by something other than his ears. And now, finally, so was she.
-oOo-
“Entrez.”
Philippe remained by the window, looking out over Maddy’s barren winter garden, as he responded to the knock at the door. He had no desire to be gawked at by the servants.
“If we must remain in this abominably unsafe palazzo, mio principe, then you must resign yourself to sharing.” Philippe turned sharply, to find Zevran hanging his weapon baldric from a hook. The daggers it contained had been flung on the bed. “Unless, of course, you wish me to develop unbecoming bags under my eyes? No? I thought not.” Leather armour was being unbuckled and placed, piece by piece, upon the empty armour stand with which every room in Ferelden appeared to be equipped.
The sight of Zevran, apparently undressing in his rooms, stole all thought from Philippe for a moment. It returned in fragments, beginning with an obvious one. “Zevran, what are you doing here?”
“Is it not obvious? I am preparing to sleep. It would seem that here is the only place where I may have a small chance to do so.” Zevran was down to shirt and trousers and appeared to be satisfied with this level of undress. He slid the daggers under one of the pillows and flung himself down on the bed with a tired sigh, closing his eyes. There were indeed smudges under those eyes and Philippe frowned, remembering how often he had woken during that nightmare time to find Zev in attendance on him. “I should have done this earlier. If I had, then I would have been able to protect you.” A shadow crossed the assassin’s beautiful face, and the sleepy golden eyes he opened held guilt. “I am sorry, tesoro, I failed you.”
“Non, absolument pas.” Whatever other demons may be troubling Philippe, he was quite, quite certain about this, at least. “You saved my life, and I-” Tears pricked his left eye, while the right burned where the tear duct had been. “I am grateful,” he added lamely. Nothing could do justice to what had occurred, and certainly not mere words. “Sleep, Zevran, now is not the time for talk.” He pulled the loops which held back the heavy curtains, excluding the fading light of a winter’s afternoon and plunging the room into dimness, and then went to sit by the fire where he could see well enough to write and read.
“Promise you will not leave the room without me.” The words were drowsy, but insistent, and Philippe smiled with an edge of bitterness.
“I promise.” The words came easily. After all, where could I take this monster face which makes children cry and even my friends stare in horror?
-oOo-
The hour was late when a shadow slipped over the wall of the Cathedral, entering through a high window and ghosting down a single hall to the intended destination. No attempt was made to bypass the pair of Templars on the door, she was expected and they nodded her through without a word.
The man seated at the desk looked up at her entry and smiled.
“Sister Leliana, thank you for coming. Please, be seated.”
“I am not a Sister, Your Holiness. I was only ever a lay-sister and I left the Chantry a long time ago.” Leliana took the seat opposite that he offered her and regarded the Legate warily.
“A great loss to the Chantry, no doubt, and yet what you went on to achieve during the Blight was extremely worthy work. The Maker works in mysterious ways.”
“In that, we are in agreement, Your Holiness.” She cocked her head like a bird, regarding him curiously. “But on little else, at this time, no? So, I have to wonder why you asked me to meet with you.”
Brother Guido folded his hands on the desk, surveying her in his turn. His demeanour was calm and his gaze steady. “You already know the answer to that, do you not? It is my wish to prevent a disastrous rift between Ferelden and the Chantry. Surely you would agree that it would be better to avoid such a thing?”
The bland look she sent him brought a sigh of irritation to his thin lips. “Do not waste my time with protestations of ignorance, Sorella, you and I both know what your friend King Alistair intends. What I do not understand is how one so devout as yourself can support him in this. To cut off the faithful from the support of the Chantry, to remove them from the bosom of Andraste’s love; this is a terrible thing.”
A slightly stubborn look came into Leliana’s angelic blue eyes. “The Chantry does not hold a monopoly on Andraste’s love, Your Holiness. It is available to everyone. And I already told you I am not a Sister.”
The Legate smiled, pleased at her understanding of Antivan. “I beg to disagree; you hold the Maker too close to your heart to be aught else. You will return to us one day, I think. For the moment all I ask is that you examine your conscience and decide whether you truly wish for this terrible chasm to open before the Fereldan people.” He tapped a finger on the desk and his next words held just a shade of hesitation. “The errors of the Chantry do not go unrecognised. These will be… corrected, in the days to come. If Ferelden will only wait, if King Alistair will delay his rash action, then I can assure you that the Chantry will have leadership in which he may place his trust.”
Leliana’s lips parted slightly, demonstrating how well she had understood. “Not merely the Fereldan Chantry, if I read you correctly.”
He didn’t respond directly, and she didn’t expect him to. “Use your influence to prevent this rash and unnecessary action, please.” The Brother stood, holding out his hand to bid her farewell. “You know, I heard you sing once, at the house of some Orlesian noble, I forget which. You sung beautifully, with all the full-throated joy and abandon of a nightingale. Your voice is not the least of the gifts the Maker bestowed upon you.” The grasp of Brother Guido’s hand was dry and firm and he escorted her to the door with courtly courtesy. “Whatever the outcome of this matter, Sorella, if you decide to return to the Chantry, come see me. It would please me greatly to have your assistance in our efforts to secure the future of the faithful.”
oOo-
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It's worse, somehow, that it's Philippe, who is such a nice guy, and that it wasn't even personal. The Antivan bint wanted him dead because he was a potential problem; she hadn't met him, and had no idea he wasn't looking forward to getting married either.
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Oh my, the last two chapters have been heart wrenching, and exciting.
I love this line, such a great opener and it just spoke to Zevran's thoughts and mood perfectly.
But I'm still so sad for Phillipe.
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I hadn't thought through why Zevran doesn't think of himself as "elf" first, but Kallian's thoughts gave me a reasonable explanation.
So, the Legate thinks to manipulate Leliana? I think not. Hmmmmmm, and the whole Chantry coming under new leadership? Interesting. The question then becomes "Is this a bargaining chip for the Legate, or something which actually might be in the works?".
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Something that might be in the works? *eyes flicker towards DA2 codex entries* Whatever gave you that idea?
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Just one smallish thing... "Entrer" in French is "to enter". "Enter" (invitation) will be "Entrez".
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And Brother Guido. What nefarious plans are hatching in the back of his mind? As for Alistair placing his trust in new leadership? Somehow, I can't see that happening.