Lavellan

The marking is in honor of the elven goddess Sylaise, the hearthkeeper. It's said that she gave us fire and showed us how to use it, and gave us the knowledge of healing with both herbs and magic. For a long time I felt my devotion to her was misplaced - I was a hunter. Surely I should have pledged myself to Andruil instead. Now, however, in my role as the Inquisitor, perhaps I had not been wrong. The sky burns, and I must heal it, mustn't I? Perhaps I could have spun a logical tail for any vallaslin I'd chosen. I suppose it doesn't matter now.

I'm on the last waterskin now, holding it under the surface with both hands, and I find that I'm tense. Angry. I'm holding the bag like one might hold a small creature to drown it, and I find that this is all I want to do. In that water is the reflection of the last of Clan Lavellan. I am the last. I'm not good enough to be the last.

All the way back to camp I'm scowling, my eyes dark. The others can see it immediately that something's wrong with me, though Cole ends up being the one to say something first.

"You're hurting more" he wonders, biting his lower lip.

He's not wrong. "I am going to ask you all for a favor. Tonight I'm going for a walk. I will return by dawn. If anyone asks you where I am - say that I have gone for a walk. If they ask you in future what I did this night - tell them that I went for a walk."

Dorian looks a little confused, but Blackwall seems to understand. "Enjoy your stroll then. Mind that you take protection; lots of bandits out there still, looking for trophies."

I duck into my tent and pull on my armor fully, and I slip two daggers into sheathes on my back. The last item I tuck into my pocket is a needle, housed in a vile. The small, metal cylinder is filled with spider venom, just enough for what I need. When I leave the tent, I incline my head to the rest of my party, then slip away, nearly invisible.

Heading towards the Duke's residence is easy. The humans here think so little of the Dalish that they don't know how our hunters move and work. They don't know that walls mean nothing, and that locks mean less than nothing. I'm in his residence within the hour, slipping by sleepy, jaded guards. They aren't in danger, though perhaps they should be. I know that if I want this vengeance, truly want it, I can't indulge in too much violence. I can only allow myself the target, and only quietly.

The Duke himself is fast asleep, his large, lavishly-appointed quarters empty of attendants or guards. His snoring is more than enough to hide the soft sounds I make, letting me walk right up to the bed. I pull out the vile and unstopper it, the needle's head embedded in the cork. The point glistens with a sticky, green ichor, and I press my hand over his mouth as I push the tip of the needle into his neck.

I've hunted with poisons before. I know what spider ichor does, and I know how long it takes to work. The Duke grunts and struggles against me, but I hold him down against the bed, one hand on his mouth and the other on his throat, muffling his cries for help, until at last he settles down and looks at me, paralyzed.

"You know who I am, yes?" I whisper, slowly pulling my hand away. His breathing shakes, and I press a knee to the side of his mattress, looming over him as my smile coils. "Of course you do..."

I pull the dagger by my right shoulder out of its sheath, the blade slender and elegant. A Venatori weapon, lifted from one of their fallen back in the Hinterlands. The Duke's death isn't quick, and the paralytic allows him no escape, only a shaking silence as I dispatch him at my leisure. I'm sure the gods frown upon me, but right now I don't care. The Dalish of old used to hunt humans for sport - surely they can't fault me for choosing such deserving quarry.

Leaving the Duke's chambers is as easy as it was entering them, and as I slip out through the servant's quarters, I drop the Venatori blade down the latrine. Perhaps they'll find it. Perhaps not.

Good to my word I'm back before dawn. The loss of one dagger isn't commented on, and before we set out again I pack away the remaining blade and vial, and set my bow and quiver onto my back once more, also favoring hooded robes in place of my armor when we break camp and head south on horseback.

By the time we arrive at Skyhold, there are already rumors of the Duke's death. Some are shocked, while others say he was a wicked man and deserved it. Of course, I offer no opinion. It would be impolitic for me to do so.

I'm the Inquisitor, after all.

A day or two after our arrival back at the castle, I'm at the war table again with my advisers. Cullen is tasked with taking a small force and seeing to a small tower of mages that have sealed themselves inside, likely as a protective measure against the town around them. Josephine is still working on an assignment to tip the scales here and there in the Orlesian court, so that only our supporters find success in the game, and our detractors mysteriously find their means of influence blocked. Leliana is assigned a mission to gather information near the Emerald Graves, and this is a project that clearly interests her. Not many humans are allowed in there, after all.

Yet when I dismiss them, Leliana remains, looking at the piece set on the map near Wycome. In her gentle hybrid Orlais-Ferelden accent, she coyly notes "Curious how the Duke was mutilated, no?" looking at me from beneath her hood.

"Mutilated?" I ask blandly. "I'd heard that he'd been murdered..."

She gestures dismissively with slight irritation. "Yes, everyone has heard that. What hasn't been shared with the populace is that it looks like his body was used for blood magic. The cuts are precise and placed in the proper way, though it looks like the ritual was interrupted..." she narrows her eyes at me "...or was made to look that way."

I only look back at her, my lips a straight line.

Unexpectedly, the corner of her mouth quirks up, and she walks closer, her voice softening to something near a whisper. "You had dissuaded me once from slaying a traitor in my ranks, Inquisitor. I spared that man, back in Haven. You said that he might still be of use to us."

In a hiss, I respond "The Duke was of use to no one...", letting my anger flow out of me before I calm myself and meet her eyes again, as coyly as she meets mine "...but his successor will be, won't he?" I've read Leliana's reports on the Duke's family. I know that his successor is a young nephew who loathed his uncle, and would do anything to make himself seem superior.

Leliana looks over the board, crossing her arms over her chest in thought. "We could easily groom him to do as we please." I join her at the map, considering how we might go about that, mapping out connections in my mind between this noble and that one, until at last she murmurs "You are playing the game now, and your skill is considerable. Be advised, however, to be less perfect, hmm?"

I glance at her from the corners of my eyes. "Oh?"

After a deep breath she nods. "Yes. The report states that the assailant had a smooth, confident hand with the blade. None of the cuts looked rushed. Surely, if the assailant had required a hasty retreat, at least one of them, the last, would have been rushed, and there wouldn't have been enough cuts to dispatch him. But there were. There were just enough." Her blue eyes level her entire attention upon me, and I meet them with my own. "Consider the entire tale you mean to tell, and play the role even as you play the game. That someone meant to murder him is clear. Only the very best will realize this was an assassination, masked as something else."

"Or they would, if you didn't have the only copy of the physician's records" I add, and she smiles, knowing she's been caught.

"I am here to serve, Inquisitor, in every way that I can. It might interest you to know that those specialist trainers you've requested have just arrived this morning. You have three options of course, but I think the best one has already been lain before you." My spymaster's eyes flick to the side as she recalls a piece of information, then she glances back at me. "Her name is Heir. Seek her out."

At last I smile, my black lips pulling into a grin that shows even my white teeth rakishly as I turn away towards the wicket door. "In that case, I must go. I'd surely hate to keep her waiting."

The Amulet

"Living a lie... it festers inside you, like poison. You have to fight for what's in your heart."

It's been some weeks since I'd accompanied Dorian to Redcliff, where we'd encountered his father at the inn. To learn that he'd been parted from his family over their disgust at his preferences - it's beyond my understanding. How had he suffered such a thing for so long, feeling that way? I wish I'd said something then, to let him know that he wasn't alone, that he is not the only man who enjoys the company of men.

Our discussion back at Skyhold had ended in a kiss. I... wanted it. We'd been flirting since he'd arrived, of course. Then again, he and I both flirt with nearly everyone. That's how we work, and I suspect we do it for similar reasons. Yet in that moment, in that sunny alcove in the quiet library, he'd dropped the facade. He was hurting and alone, and I felt something familiar there. Maybe it was selfish to kiss him, though he didn't seem to mind it.

Since then things have gone back to normal, I suppose. Missions and trips, forays out into the vicious wilderness. But I'm distracted, glancing over at him as we ride down the road with Blackwall and Cassandra. The two warriors are far ahead, discussing matters, mission details, things I can't quiet make out. I'm glad to leave such things in their care - it's their specialty.

Dorian seems disinclined towards chatting this trip. At times I catch him looking at me, his hazel eyes half hidden by lashes before his gaze flick away casually. But this isn't casual... yet it's not more. Do I want it to be more? I'd gotten Leliana's note a few days ago, detailing Dorian's argument with a merchant outside of Skyhold. When I'd asked him about it, he'd made it clear that he didn't want me involved. Of course, I'm not the sort to let something like that go.

I'd met with the man in Val Royeaux, discovering why he wanted the amulet, and what it would take for him to relinquish it. So that's what I've done. Or, rather, what I've had my advisors attend to. Word had just gotten back to me this morning before we'd left - Messieur Ponchard has been extended an invitation to his league of Celestine, just as he'd desired, and has given up the amulet as he'd agreed to.

And right now, the trinket is locked in my desk, back at Skyhold.

I'd wanted to talk to Dorian about it, to give it to him and just settle this, but the mission is important. I suppose they're all important, and things will just have to wait. Still, it's killing me. The ride feels so tedious, and it's hell to be stuck with my own thoughts for hours on end. I want to chat with him, to talk about nonsense. To just... hear him speak to me, and smile at me, and look at me openly.

In a fit of frustration, I frown and dig my heels into my steed, making it suddenly squeal and rear up before dashing ahead. The others look startled, and Cassandra and Blackwall reign over their own horses as I drive mine ahead. This is completely childish, I know, but I don't know what else to do.

Our camp for the night is nestled in beneath a copse of pines, sheltered from the night's wind by the upper swaths of a valley. The fire crackles merrily, and the remnants of the gamebirds I'd shot are being buried in the firepit, the slender, delicate bones blackening in the flames. Someone brought a bottle or two of wine, and it's helping. I smile and joke, smirking when I should, putting them at ease. That odd fit of pique before is all but forgotten, likely chocked up to stress.

That night I offer to take first watch. I'm not going to be getting much sleep anyway, and it's better to have them be comfortable if I can't. The evening here is pleasant - the rolling hills and greensward of the Hinterlands is only a few miles away now, and I know we'll reach it without incident tomorrow. My shoulder rests against the trunk of the ash tree I've chosen for my perch, and my boots sway some twenty feet from the ground. Being a hunter, well, I'm quite used to spending time up in trees.

"Tell me, would it be less distasteful to call your people squirrels?"

My amber eyes blink and look down, finding the dark silhouette below with the silky voice. "How do you mean?"

He chuckles and leans his shoulder against my tree, the metal bits on his outfit glinting in the moonlight, like a field of stars. "The cretins down here call your people rabbits. But rabbits don't climb trees like you do."

I don't mean to smile, but I do, my black lips parting and my white teeth glinting in the moonlight. "No, I suppose they don't. Though I can't say I'd take to being addressed as squirrel, either."

Dorian grunts, looking further down the valley. A few minutes go by in silence, the chirps of crickets and calls of nightbirds filling the darkness, until at last he says "What was that, on the road today?"

Damn. "Don't worry about it, Dorian. I have a lot on my mind" I explain, trying to sound dismissive.

"Well, if you need to go take a walk tonight, I might join you, hmm?" He remains where he is as I quietly climb down from my perch, his head turning slightly towards me as I walk towards him, placing my hand on the tree by his shoulder. "Has it brought you any closure, Ufaro?" he asks quietly.

For a second I thought he was going to pry. I don't know why I feel so suspicious about it. When did I stop trusting people? Does being good at the game mean losing faith in others? Will they all become tools? "Some. Enough, I suppose." My tone makes it clear that I'm not entirely sure about that. I'd like to think that murdering the Duke of Wycome has been enough. It's the only chance I'll ever have to make things anywhere close to right.

Dorian moves closer and cups my cheek, but I turn my eyes down. I can't bear his judgment, if he's giving it. Not even if he approves. When his lips press to mine I shiver, not having expected the kiss. I hardly resist as he guides me back, until my spine is against the bark and his body is against mine, trapping me warmly and possessively. His frame is larger than mine. He's human, after all, and I'm elven, so it's not a shock. Still, my fingers lift nervously, sliding over his hips and higher, moving over his ribs, until at last might right hand slides along his bare, muscular left arm.

When skin touches skin, he breathes out through his nose, warming my cheek as he presses closer, deepening the kiss. I feel dizzy, wanting him and needing this, and I close my eyes to try and forget everything else. His tongue still tastes like wine, and for a moment I imagine what it might be like to trickle drops of that vintage over his elegant body, and sip them up again. The thought makes me moan softly, and he only chuckles into my mouth, pulling away to look down at me.

"I'm a good kisser, it's quite true" he purrs, and shyly I adjust myself, feeling my cheeks burn.

"Yes, well..." My mind goes somewhat blank, and I'm trapped between the warring urges of wanting him to go farther, and being afraid to invite him, in fear of what he'll think of me once I reveal the amulet to him. I don't want to upset him, but I don't want to reject him. This is so complicated. "I'm a screamer. I may wake the others, and they need their sleep."

Dorian just blinks, and I bite my lower lip as the silence becomes unbearable. And then he laughs, nearly doubling over, and I groan with embarassment. In truth, I'm very discrete and quiet, but I had to tell him something.

"Dorian, gods above, will you shut up?!" I hiss, shoving him lightly in the shoulder.

He presses his lips together, though he's still giggling through them even as he wanders off. Before he gets too far, he lifts a hand. "Go and get some rest. It's my turn on watch." He holds it together for three seconds before spluttering all over himself, leaning back against a tree and covering his mouth to stifle himself. Bastard.

When I head back to camp all I want to do is sleep. But Cassandra and Blackwall just glance at me from their bedrolls, which leaves me feeling caught. "Dorian relieved me" I offer lamely.

"He's good at that, from what I hear..." Blackwall mutters with a smirk, and Cassandra snickers.

"No! Just... Oh, shut up. All of you." I'm intensely surly, and I curl up in my sleeping roll, frowning with embarassment, my back to the rest of them for the remainder of the night.

Our business in the Hinterlands is concluded the next day, and the journey back to Skyhold is uneventful. I'm still nervous about how Dorian's going to feel about things, of course, but being distracted with memories of that kiss against the tree helps. Maybe I should have let him relieve me, or maybe I should have relieved myself. Of course, if I'd been caught doing that, Cassandra and Blackwall would never, ever have let me live it down. I think, in that case, I'd prefer to just deliver myself to Corypheus with a bow and be done with it.

When we get back, I give everyone an hour to settle back in, but no longer. I want this over with, however it goes. At the right time, I ascend the curved stairwell from Solas's quarters up to the library, and I find Dorian in his typical spot, by his alcove. I'm plain with him about what happened, wanting to be honest, and trying to make it clear that I wanted to help him, given that things hadn't gone as he'd hoped with his father.

Despite some hesitation about how things might seem, being so near to me and all, I assure him that I don't really care how it looks to others. I may play the game like everyone else, but that's put aside for him. I have to. I need something in my life to be honest. In the end he gives in, thanking me, sincerely grateful for the effort I went to, and for the efforts of my advisors. Perhaps this was a selfish thing on my part, but seeing him happy makes me happy. And the way he kisses me is quite a plus.

I find it curious when he quietly asks if I've been up in my quarters lately. Maybe he's left a present up there for me. I suppose I'd better go check.

I'm feeling so relieved that the short walk down from the library, through the great hall, and up to my quarters is more an exercise in floating. He doesn't hate me. He kissed me again, in fact. I'm certain that's a good thing, right? I'm far better at flirting than romance. I've not had much opportunity to practice, sadly, so every little thing he does catches me by surprise. I think he likes that, to be honest.

My room is the same as it always is. I don't indulge in many fineries, save for my bow and my bed. Surely that says something about me, but if I'm to fight unceasing horrors, I'd at least like to sleep in a canopy bed when I'm back in Skyhold - I ask for so little. My brows knit as I glance at it - the sheets are turned down neatly, and there's no sign of a note or anything on the bed, my couch, or my desk. What had he meant?

"So..."

The voice slithers across the room, and I turn to look as Dorian finishes ascending the stairs into my chambers. I do my best to play it cool, though as he begins to explain how he's not a nice man, and would prefer something more primal than simple flirting, it's difficult to keep my eyes from half-lidding with desire. And when he circles around me, and practically growls the question how bad does the Inquisitor want to be? It takes every bit of will power I have to hide my nerves and say I thought you'd never ask.