Dragon Age Inquisition: Faith

Letters

Leliana had known that Naia and Zevran would not remain at Skyhold, but some part of her was still wistful when the elves told her that they were headed to Denerim.

“No more vanishing acts. I promise,” Naia said, giving her a warm hug outside the stables the morning of her departure. “From now on we’ll always leave you a way to contact us.” She stepped back and held Leliana’s shoulders. “But I am not leading any Inquisitions, present or future. I think you’ve done well with Lady Trevelyan, so try to keep her alive.”

“I kept you alive during the Blight, did I not?” Leliana teased. “With some help, of course,” she added, nodding at Zevran.

“Why thank you, my dear Leliana,” he said. “It has been a pleasure, as always.”

When Leliana turned back to Naia, the Warden had pulled a folded letter out of her saddlebag. “Before we go, I need a favor,” she said, slightly apologetically. “In six months, if something happens to me—which it won’t,” she said quickly when she saw Leliana’s expression. “But if anything happens I need you to give this to Alistair.” She handed the spymaster the letter. “Six months. No sooner. And don’t read it.”

Leliana turned the paper over in her hands. It had been a long time since anyone had trusted her not to open a letter. “I will keep it safe.”

Naia grinned. “Thank you. I promised I'd give someone a chance to get something done before I shared what's in there, but I know Alistair. If I give him this letter to keep it will worry him ragged until the day he can open it.”

Impulsively, Leliana stepped forward and hugged the Hero of Ferelden again. “I will miss you. I—you remind me of the person I wish to be.”

“You will find your way back,” Naia said quietly, and with complete certainty.

 *******************************************

“My Lady Inquisitor. Might I have a word?”

Cecily tried to keep her expression serene as she turned towards Mother Giselle. She knew the woman had only acted from concern, and she knew that the Revered Mother certainly had not been the source of the gossip, but the way Dorian had looked when he’d been forced to repeat those rumors—that was hard to forget. “Of course, Mother Giselle,” she said, only a bit coldly. “What may I do for you?”

The Revered Mother looked deeply uncomfortable. “It is good of you to speak with me. I … First, let me say that I know how this will seem, given our previous conversation about the Tevinter. But I have been in contact with his family. House Pavus, out of Qarinus. Are you familiar with them?”

“Only from what Dorian has told me,” Cecily said. She knew that Dorian was not on good terms with his parents, but kept that to herself; she doubted Dorian wanted her discussing his family problems with the Revered Mother.

“Do you know much of his … situation?”

Cecily kept her face politely curious. When she said nothing, Mother Giselle continued. “The family sent me a letter describing an estrangement from their son and begging for my aid. They wish to arrange a meeting, quietly, without telling him. They fear it is the only way he will come. They will send a retainer to meet him at Redcliffe Tavern, and take him from there to see his family.”

Cecily’s mouth dropped open. She tried to think of a kind way to say what came next. “Mother Giselle, I fear you may have been misled,” she said gently. “A letter from Qarinus, seeking help with tricking one of the Inquisition’s key members into a secret meeting? It is almost certainly a Venatori trap.”

“This had occurred to me, yes,” Mother Giselle said. “Which is why I put it in your hands, Inquisitor. But I believe it is what it seems. A plea from parents who are worried about their son, who wish to understand why he left them and sought out what seems to them a strange cause.” She handed Cecily a letter bearing a heavy wax seal. “I would speak to the young man myself, but—well, he does not care for me.” Her expression admitted that perhaps he had cause.

Cecily frowned down at the letter. “I will take this under advisement. Thank you, Mother Giselle.”

As the Revered Mother walked away, Cecily ran her fingers over the heavy parchment of the letter; it felt weighty, expensive, in accordance with what little she knew of Dorian’s family. She wondered if she should take this to Leliana, but—no. I’ll show this to Dorian first. It’s his family, after all. And if it’s a trap, perhaps he’ll know.

 *

“‘I know my son?’ What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble!”

Dorian was as agitated as Cecily had ever seen him, his handsome face tight with stress, his mouth set in anger. “This is so typical. I’m willing to bet this ‘retainer’ is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter.” He shook the letter in disgust. “All this talk of how he misses me, how confused they all are by my absence. He knows perfectly well why I left!”

“Why did you leave?” Cecily asked.

“They don’t care for my choices, nor I for theirs,” Dorian said. His tone did not invite further questioning.

“Perhaps it’s not from your father at all, then. It could be a trap,” she suggested. “In fact, that was rather my first assumption.”

Dorian shook his head. “It looks like my father’s handwriting. And I wouldn’t put it past the man to arrange some sort of elaborate scheme to get me back to Tevinter—although once I would have said he would never stoop so low.” He sighed. “I—thank you for bringing this to me. And for not knocking me over the head yourself so you could drag me to Redcliffe without me ever being the wiser, as Mother Giselle would have had you do.” He let out a harsh little chortle. “I wonder how much they’re paying this ‘retainer’ to wait around on the chance I show up?”

“If you want to go, say the word,” Cecily said. “And if not—well, that retainer will doubtless grow quite wealthy waiting.”

He sighed. “I will think on it.” His dark eyes glinted. “Although I must admit that I am curious to see who they sent.”

 *******************************************

It sounded so bloody easy in his head, Cullen reflected as he walked into his office two days after his return to Skyhold. A short sentence, simple. And, he hoped, not unexpected. But he wanted it to be right. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure what right would look like. Should he tell her what she meant to him, how much he admired her courage and her kindness and her mind? Tell her how beautiful she was? Or simply kiss her and then ask, Cecily, will you spend the night with me? Perhaps the last option would be best, given his talent for fumbling what he meant to say when it came to these things.

He thought he would have to fight to focus on his work that day. The report at the top of his pile, however, immediately drew his full attention.

Commander—Our efforts have borne fruit. Red Templars have been spotted escorting the supplies you told us to watch for. See the enclosed maps and reports from our patrols. Shall we prepare a squadron?

After he had read the reports, and examined the maps, and made very, very sure, Cullen lowered the papers and drew a shallow, shuddering breath. The Inquisition had found Samson—and the Inquisitor would have to go to face him.

He could not always be at her side. But he could be there for this.