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Chapter Text

9:35 Dragon

The Iron Bull was getting tired of Fisher. As a Qunari, Bull had no problem following orders, even when he disagreed with them, as long as they made sense and fulfilled a purpose.

Fisher was mercurial and flighty, especially when he indulged in spirits. Once they had a job, he was competent enough, but even then he was a mediocre commander, not enforcing enough discipline to get the job done promptly and smartly, which often got them reduced payment in consequence. When they were between jobs, though? That’s when Bull really thought about creating his own mercenary company. That’s also when he could guess who would follow him if he did.

Krem was a given, of course. The kid was impatiently waiting for him to sort everything out and get them out of here (Fisher was a sexist asshole).

Stitches was a sure thing. The veteran of the Fifth Blight got in enough disagreements with Fisher.

Rocky was highly likely. He tolerated Fisher, but he prefered Bull. They were buddies.

Grim was a good possibility. He was hard to judge most days, but Bull was pretty sure that he daydreamed about getting rid of Fisher. The looks thrown at their leader’s back after he got teased about being mute were clear enough.

Five was a good number to start a mercenary company, especially with a healer and a sapper in the mix. The only issue left now was money. Fisher had a lot of flaws, but he had a good network, especially among merchants, and Bull wasn’t sure he could make use of it. He hadn’t managed to win most of them over. He blamed his impressive physique. 

Before they made secession, they needed to find a first mission, one that would allow them to make a reputation for themselves. From there, Bull was sure he could do better than most of the riff-raff he had met.

As he pondered where he could get what he needed, he got distracted by Krem waving at him from the tavern door. The Tevinter looked worried. Bull rose, leaving behind the men he wouldn’t trust in his own band. 

Outside, Krem pointed at Fisher and his right-hand man, an ugly Rivaini called Pedro. They were lingering by a nearby well and seemed to be harassing a kid. Bull nodded in approval at Krem. He had made him swear he would call him in case of trouble instead of dealing with it alone, and Krem had agreed with a minimum of protests. Neither of them trusted those two when they were drunk.

“Boss,” Bull called as he stepped in. As the two humans turned toward him, Bull finally got a good view of their victim. He was older than Bull thought, but only because he was an elf, and that in itself told him everything he needed to know. “The boys are waiting for you, boss,” he said, hoping to get them to leave without much trouble. 

“Yeah, yeah, just a sec, Bull. I gotta deal with that little shit there,” Fisher replied, trying to grab the teen who managed to evade him only to be kicked to the ground by Pedro.

“Boss,” Bull insisted, stepping forward to intercept any other hit.

“Leave me alone! I’m under Lady Blanche’s protection!” The boy shouted, crawling back against the well and trying to get up.

Fisher burst into laughter. “Good one, kiddo! Heard that, boys?! The rabbit is under a Lady’s protection! As what? Her pet?!” He made to kick the elf again, but Bull ‘inadvertently’ pushed him out of balance as he stepped forward to look at the kid.

Bull wouldn’t dismiss the boy’s claim so fast. For an elf, he looked well-fed enough. His clothes weren’t of the same quality a noble’s servant would have, but they were clean and whole. A ‘Lady Blanche’ also rang a bell in Bull’s memory. He had heard about a noblewoman leading an orphanage in the area, with some snide comments about her accepting every race.

“Hey, Bull, watch it,” Fisher groused, now firmly annoyed. 

The situation might have gotten delicate if they hadn’t been interrupted by a soft voice calling: “Liam.”

“Lady Blanche!” The teenager took advantage of Pedro’s distraction to jump on his feet and run toward the newcomer. 

The Lady was wearing heavy fur around her shoulders and hands to protect herself from the winter cold. As fitting of the meaning of her Orlesian name, it was white, and so was the heavy coat hiding her stature. She was tall but not frail, which contradicted her sickly pale skin, the only sign of weakness in a model of elegance, and not the trendy Orlesian elegance either, a simpler, tasteful one. No frills, no heavy gold, no mask. Her large hood hid her hair, but her makeup was minimal and effective, giving her sharp dark eyes and strong lips currently pursed in displeasure at the mercenaries.

She didn’t flinch when the kid pressed his filthy self against her coat. On the contrary, she held him against her, sharing her warmth with him, and smoothing her gloved hands over his mussed hair. “You’re way past your curfew, young man,” she told him, disapproving.

The kid mumbled an excuse, but Lady Blanche only pushed him toward the matron lingering by her side. They walked away, leaving the noblewoman with only an old Chevalier for company.

Fisher had enough presence of mind not to make an enemy of a noble. He bowed obsequiously. “I’m sorry, my Lady, I wasn’t aware he belonged to you.”

“All children of this town are under the Comtesse’s protection, stranger,” the Chevalier said as he stepped forward with a hand on his pommel. “Don’t let me catch you harassing anyone again.”

Bull could see Fisher clenching his jaws and holding back his usual taunts. He bowed again, more stiffly. “I was merely reminding him to watch where he ran.”

“By pushing him to the ground?” the Lady derided. “A dubious method. I expect better behavior.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

She didn’t move and neither did the Chevalier, which left no other choice to Fisher than to bow again before taking his leave, like a snubbed dog with his tail behind his legs. Pedro followed.

While Krem was waiting only a few feet away, Bull lingered. The Lady was eyeing him, and not in a frightened or fetishist way. Her gaze was attentive, curious and interested. Their eyes met. She neither got flustered, falsely coy or cocky. Bull hadn’t met many bas women staying so serene around him. He immediately took a liking to her, and apparently, it was mutual.

“When you get rid of him, come see me,” she said.

“You got it.”

She nodded gracefully in farewell and turned around, her Chevalier on her heels.

“What was that?” Krem asked as he joined him.

Bull threw an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “Our first client!”

“Does that mean we’ll finally leave?”

“That's right!”

“Thank the Maker. I’m all for you eye-fucking the nobles if that finally get us somewhere.”

Bull tutted disapprovingly. “There was no eye-fucking, Krem. That was eye-foreplay.  She’s a Lady . She has standards.” 

Krem groaned in disgust. “Pretty low standards if she'd bother with you.”

Bull laughed cheerfully and squeezed tighter, getting a funny little squeak of protest from the Tevinter and a fist to the side. 

oOo

“Madame, the Qunari is here to see you.”

Charles’ disapproval was clear, but they had already discussed the subject a few weeks ago when he had questioned her invitation to the mercenary. Blanche had made her choice. Despite her respect for the old Chevalier, this wasn’t up to debate. 

“Let him in.”

Sitting languidly on a couch, her feet up on a pillow and her elbow propped up, Blanche de Lamare nervously adjusted a curl of red hair over her forehead before smoothing her satin dress with a pale hand. 

Her guests came in, introduced by a maid. Blanche settled in the impassiveness required by the Grand Game. She used to hate it when she was young, but it had become a defense mechanism ingrained in her as much as in any other noble. She wasn’t one of its most ardent players, however, and she drew the line at wearing a mask in her own home (which she extended to her home town). Her plush lips and wide eyes were nothing to be ashamed of, but most ladies would have tried to hide her too-big nose and forehead, or at least powdered blush on her pallid skin. She couldn’t be bothered to care.

She was more interested in her guests’ appearance. The Iron Bull’s stature was impressive. He was also more charismatic and handsome than she had remembered from the tales of her previous life. His lieutenant, Cremissius Aclassi, was as androgynous as she remembered, however, and it was quite charming in itself. 

Her pulse was racing as she gazed upon the first concrete proof of the truthfulness of her memories. Since she was young enough to notice, she remembered a previous life in which Thedas had been part of stories rather than the world she lived in. She had questioned her sanity so much that it had led to a very difficult youth and put her health in danger. 

There they were, finally. The Bull’s Chargers, officially formed two weeks ago, when she had been the first to hire them. As soon as she had seen him, she had known. This was her chance to remove all her doubts, to prove to herself that she wasn’t the over-imaginative and delirious woman her family and husband had called her. 

Her fingers shook with anxiety. She clutched her hands together as she met the attentive eye of the Iron Bull.

They bowed politely and greeted her with the proper courtesy before speaking of their mission. 

“Your information was correct,” the Iron Bull said. “The Callier were attacked on their way to Lake Celestine by a squad of the Orlesian army. We intercepted them, got them to turn around, and then escorted the Callier to their destination. They’re all safe, Lord, Lady and children.”

The Callier had a villa near Lake Celestine, not too far from the De Lamare's domain. When she had heard they were on their way back from the capital, Blanche had remembered how they had died in those strange and yet truthful memories of her. For the first time, she had tried to change fate... and it had worked?! She didn't know what to think of that. She had half-expected the Chargers to come back and tell her she was imagining things (they wouldn't have been the first).

“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied softly. “The soldiers?”

“They fled. Banged up, but all alive, as you requested. There were no deaths on either side,” he informed her with a satisfied smile.

She had specifically promised them a bonus if they managed such a feat, and she nodded approvingly. “Excellent. Did you see their leader?”

“Sure thing. Dark hair, tall, strong shoulders, good nose, and eyebrows. The guy isn’t ugly or weak, and he has a hell of a glare,” Bull said with a laugh at the memory. 

“His men called him Captain,” his second added.

“Yeah, and pretty sure one said Thom, but don’t quote me on that.”

Blanche nodded thoughtfully. Thom… It was Blackwall’s real name, wasn’t it? She was pretty sure of it, but this was fuzzy…

“By the way, Lord Callier gave me a letter for his anonymous benefactor,” the Bull said as he produced an envelope. “Not that he didn’t insist to know your name, mind you. His bribes were generous.”

She held out a hand to accept the message. He took his time to step forward and hand it over, meeting her eyes with a lopsided smile. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. 

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. The secret is safe with us. You paid for our silence.”

“I did,” she agreed, opening the envelope without much curiosity. To be honest, she hadn’t saved the Callier from the goodness of her heart. She had thought it was the best way to test her memories, check if she could have an impact on the history as she remembered it (the Blight in Ferelden had gone as expected), and maybe lighten Blackwall’s conscience, if somehow it worked. While the Callier were some of the most decent nobles she knew, their families weren’t close. Their death would have been sad, but so had been the thousands of Fereldan lives lost in the Blight, and Orlais hadn’t batted an eyelash.

The letter of thanks was short and to the point. Lord Callier complimented the Bull’s Chargers and spoke of being in debt to her. He promised to help whoever would return this letter to him to pay his debt. Considering how powerful he was in the Grand Game as a favorite of the Empress, this was worth a lot of gold. Nobles would kill to obtain it. 

Blanche put it aside on her tea table and focused on her guests. The lieutenant was looking around at the boudoir’s decor, tasteful but more understated than most noble Orlesians' household. The Iron Bull was watching her. 

“Thank you for your service,” she said, smoothing her corset. “You proved to be as effective and reliable as you pretended to be. I’ll be sure to recommend you and contact you again shall the need arises. In the meantime, see Elvin on the way out, he’ll pay you the full amount agreed on for your work and the respect of my requests.” She made sure of it by looking at her silent maid who bowed in understanding and left. 

The Iron Bull eyed Krem who nodded and followed the maid. The Qunari stayed.

“I appreciate you giving us a chance.”

“As I appreciated you standing up for one of my protégés.” 

“I saw the orphanage on the way. The kids look happy. They have free access to your gardens. A bold choice.” He took a few steps forward, pretending to do so to look through the windows offering a beautiful view of the gardens in which little silhouettes could be seen running and playing. Their laughter could be heard distantly.

He was fishing. For what, Blanche wasn’t sure. She rested her chin on her raised fingers and tilted her head. “An obvious one to me. Who if not children need wide and secure space?”

“Do you have a thing for souls in need, Madame?” He tilted his head to watch her with his good eye.

She smiled softly. “I suppose you could say so.”

“I get it. I do too.” He winked with a friendly smile.

Blanche was getting an inkling of what he was after, but to her surprise, he turned around instead of continuing his overture.

“We’ll leave tomorrow for Val Foret. It was a pleasure, Madame.”

“The Iron Bull,” she called before she could truly think about it. She realized belatedly that this was exactly what he wanted. She had been played like a fresh player of the Grand Game, and… she could care less about it.

To his credit, when he turned around to face her, none of his satisfaction showed.

Blanche shifted, putting her feet down on the plush carpet and straightening slowly. The migraine she kept at bay with a careful posture and the sofa bathed in shadows came back in full force. She winced, pressed a finger to a temple, and pushed through.

“I have a few friends in Val Foret. Let me write you a letter of recommendation before you go.”

He was next to her in two steps, catching her hand as she stood up so she could lean on him. Startled by his close imposing presence, she looked up and met an assessing eye.

“Headache?”

“Oh, I have terrible migraines sometimes,” Blanche admitted with a sigh. She was considering going back to bed when the mercenaries had arrived. 

“Ah, that would explain the rumors about your health.”

She waved fingers dismissively as she walked to her desk, allowing him to hold her arm although it was unnecessary. “Between other things.” 

His fingers brushed her neck ‘accidentally’ as she sat down. He stayed close, too close according to the rules of etiquette. “Your people like you. They’re quick to dismiss the claims of your late husband… not popular that one, was he?”

“The Comte de Lamare was missed by few,” Blanche commented noncommittally (she’d rather forget that man altogether). She chose elegant stationery, ink, and quill. She was intent on what she did to focus on something else than his heat at her side, his salty and metallic smell, or his long shadow kindly hiding her from the glare of the sunlight. 

“I imagine. No good men call their wives a madwoman.”

Her quill didn’t falter on the paper. The Iron Bull had clearly done his research about her, and that word was bound to pop up. While her good deeds for her people had managed to erase most of the doubts about her, there will always be those who would bring back claims of her insanity on the table. She was resigned to that.

“One of my brothers has a mansion in Val Foret,” she said instead. “He has many friends in town, especially among the merchants. If anyone needs mercenaries, he’ll know.”

“I appreciate it, Madame.”

Blanche finished her letter, signed it, and carefully folded it in an envelope once the ink was dry before sealing it with green wax. When she handed it over, the Iron Bull caught her hand instead of the paper. She looked up, and their eyes met in a silent assessment. Slowly, he leaned forward, still holding her hand, his calloused fingers slowly sliding down her wrist in a surprisingly tender caress. 

“Never tried it personally, but I heard orgasms could help with headaches. Do you want to test it?” he asked. It was a blunt offer, and yet his voice was so low and gentle that it didn’t sound rude. How this man could be so rough and yet so soft was beyond her. 

It didn’t stop her from blushing, but it made it easier to accept the offer when it sounded like a simple suggestion of medicinal treatment.

He helped her stand up, and she gestured toward the door to her bedroom. 

Her maids knew her well: the heavy velvet curtains had been closed so she could rest in peace. When Bull closed the door behind him, they were plunged into darkness. Blanche startled when he touched her waist, but she leaned into the touch when he kissed her cheek. 

Once their eyes were accustomed to the dark, he gently pushed her toward the bed. She felt the pull on the laces of her corset and could only think of how relieved she’d be to be freed from the contraption. She removed the pins keeping her hair up, letting the curls fall on her shoulders. When the corset fell to the ground, she crawled in the middle of the mattress and curled up with her head on a pillow, already feeling better in the dark with the freedom to breathe.

When the Iron Bull climbed on after her, she opened her arms with curiosity and an earning for something new and intimate. She had never been held tenderly by a man before. Wouldn’t it be ironical if the first to do so was one of those they called savage beasts?

Chapter Text

9:37 Dragon

“Chief. Letter from the White Lady.”

The Iron Bull looked away from his men training together and accepted the mail offered by Krem. The heavy paper of the envelope and the green wax stamped with the De Lamare heraldry was a regular occurrence. Only the new Chargers found it surprising, and Dalish continued the tradition by muttering an interrogative: “White Lady?”

“Our sponsor,” Stitches explained.

“The chief’s paramour,” Rocky added. “One of them, at least.”

Each Charger shared their own definition or nickname for the lady. Well rehearsed, the matter always amused them.

The Iron Bull ignored them, focused on the missive. As entertaining as his troops found his correspondence, it was never empty words and sweet nothings.

Krem was well aware of it. He kept an eye on the Iron Bull while he took pity of Dalish and informed her of the identity of the famous White Lady, nicknamed thus because it was easier to pronounce than her Orlesian first name.

“Chief?” Krem asked when the Iron Bull pushed back from the wall he was leaning on.

“Pack up everyone,” their leader ordered placidly. “We’re leaving after lunch.”

“For where?”

“Back to Orlais. Blanche has a job for us.”

While the Chargers went to obey, Krem followed the Iron Bull away from any prying ears. “A job? We didn’t work for her since our first time. She isn’t really the kind of people who need us. What’s up?”  

Instead of answering, Bull handed over the letter.

Skipping the pleasantries, Krem skimmed through.

“I don’t get it. She says it isn’t urgent, but she asks we leave right away?”

Bull grunted and shared his interpretation: “She wants us away from the Free Marches.”

Krem raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Bull pointed at a sentence in particular: “I hope your mission won’t bring you close to the restless and infamous Kirkwall.”

“She’s speaking about their distaste for Qunari over there, right?”

Bull rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Partly, but there is something else.”

“Like what?”

“I’ll know when I’ll hear about it.”

Two weeks later, while on their way to Orlais, they took a simple job in Nevarra (clearing a nest of giant spiders, no big deal). That’s when the news reached them: the Kirkwall chantry had been blown up, and the mages had rebelled. The rebellion was spreading.

Krem looked away from the courier spreading the news in town and met his chief’s sharp gaze.

That was it.

But how did she know?

oOo

The Chargers arrived at the Château de La Mare during the orphans’ free time after their school day. When they caught sight of the dozen men and women of all sizes and races walking in the garden, the kids froze in the middle of their games and watched them pass by with wide eyes. One of the eldest ones recovered and ran ahead of them toward a patio.

“My Ladyyyy! There are people with weapons!”

A gauzy silhouette came to lean on the railing separating her from a pond. She raised a hand to protect her eyes from the sun as she watched her visitors.

“That’s the Chargers, Delan. Do you remember what I said about the Chargers?”

The ten years old boy perked up and shouted back to the orphans: “They’re friends!”

The standstill ended abruptly. The children waved, the boldest stepping closer to see the mercenaries and their scary weapons. Dalish, Krem and Stitches stopped willingly to answer their questions. A few others (like Skinner, who had joined them only a week ago in Val Chevin) had no other choice than to submit. Most of them were hindered.

Only the Iron Bull continued his way, the children too impressed to do anything but stare.

Blanche waited for him at the top of the two steps leading to the patio, which put her at his eyes’ level. He kissed her hand with a charming smirk.

She smiled. “Welcome back, the Iron Bull. I hope your journey was pleasant.”

“There were no signs of the mages’ rebellion.”

She nodded and stepped away in a vain attempt to hide her slight twitch. She lay down on a sunbed and fanned herself. Her skin had more colors than the last time they had met. She must have taken the sun: she had freckles and looked healthier. There were several letters on the small table by her side.

He followed, his long shadow falling over her. “Will you tell me how you knew?”

She pursed her lips. “I cannot.” She couldn’t risk it. Despite all her affection for him, the first man to show her tenderness and care, she was no fool. Very few would accept her strangeness. Even less would understand.

The Iron Bull nodded calmly. “I thought so.” He sat down next to her knees without a care for protocol and respectful distance. He glanced at the kids bullying his men into entertaining them. “There are more of them than I thought. How many kids do you have in that orphanage of yours?

“Currently, sixty-four. Many come from beyond my lands, brought by families who can’t raise them or by friends of deceased parents, or sent by the neighboring Chantries and nobles.”

“You have a good reputation.”

“The orphanage does, yes, I’m glad to say. It has been six years now since I first opened it. Some of our previous wards have left and spread the word.”

“I only see small kids. Where are the oldest?”

“Apprenticeship,” she replied. “At eleven years old, they can start to learn a trade.”

“Nice. Any want to be mercenaries?” he asked with a grin.

She waved toward the castle. “Ser Charles train those who request fighting knowledge in the lower courtyard.” At Bull’s smirk, she shook her head fondly. “I’m sure your experience would be invaluable to them.”

“I’ll drop by. What about the kids we saw on the road to the village? They were with a Chantry sister. They’re apprenticing to be priests? They seemed a bit young.”

“They’re the villagers’ children, but they go to school here. They can stay to play if they want, but most often their parents need them to help at home.”

“And school is free, isn’t it?”

“Of course.”

Bull nodded slowly, leaning forward with an elbow on his knees to watch the kids playing with his men. “You know, it’s the first time I find something of the Qun in the South.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s how I was raised. Communally. Free school. Apprenticeship in the afternoon once you’re old enough… That’s my childhood, right there.”

Blanche shifted to lean against his back. When he didn’t react, she let her chin rest on his shoulder to watch with him the children laughing. “Is it a good memory?”

“Yeah.”

She hummed. “I’m glad.”

Bull breathed in slowly before glancing down at her. “Tell me why you need us.”

She pressed her lips together, looking for words.

“Something mysterious you know?” he guessed.

“Of a sort. I have reasons to believe that a civil war will soon fall upon Orlais.”

“Gaspard de Chalons?”

She nodded, watching his reactions intently, but he was inexpressive.

“I have been lucky since I rule over these lands, but I won’t let luck decide the fate of my people. I need to take preemptive measures.”

“Like preparing your kids to fight?”

The glare she threw him was the most vindictive look he had ever seen from her. “I do not force them to do anything, and I’d rather they didn’t need to fight, but most of them didn’t have an easy life and wish to know how to defend themselves. I won’t refuse them that.”

“Of course,” he said, placating.

“A local defense group wouldn’t provide the reputation I need anyway.”

“Reputation?”

“I want this town to be a safe place, a haven. It has always been my goal, and I dare say people have become more open-minded and helpful. Dalish clans come to trade more regularly, and we haven’t had any trouble in years.”

The Comtesse wasn’t particularly prideful, as proven by her unwillingness to take the reputation of her orphanage as her own success, but she talked of this with more joy he had ever seen her expressed.

“This won’t help us in case of a civil war, however. On the contrary, it might arouse hostility from those who defend discrimination. Which is why I need a deterrent against any attack, and that’s where you come in.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I want the Chargers to establish their base here. You’d be fed and housed freely whenever you’re not on a mission. If you train the children, I can also compensate—”

The Iron Bull raised a hand to stop her. “I see what you’re trying to do here, and as much as I’d like to help, it’s not good enough: we’d be gone most often than not. Anyone determined enough would just wait until we leave.”

“But if your group grows enough, you won’t need all your Chargers to leave with you for each mission, would you?” she asked earnestly, and he realized this mattered more to her than he had thought.

“Sure, but I’m not looking to recruit just for the sake of recruiting. I prefer quality over quantity, you know.”

Blanche took a piece of paper out of one of her pockets.

Bull accepted it with a raised eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Potential recruits around here and potential missions which won’t need you to go far. If you reach twenty members, consider settling here.”

Bull skimmed through, curious. The list mentioned, among others, magic trees in the Dales, a lady dwarf fond of sharp knives, and an elusive elf with a thing for locks and stunts. “Damn,” he muttered, “you’re a woman after my heart. Can I ask how you know about those two?”

“The dwarf cut the strap of Charles’ saddle when he trotted too close to her and got her covered in mud. The horse was unharmed.”

Bull whistled in approval. He wanted that one.

“The elf came into my bedroom and broke into my jewelry box. He didn’t wake me, my cat did. He managed to avoid all my staff with acrobatics that were quite a sight. Oh, if you recruit him, could you convince him to give me back the snowflake necklace? He can keep the rest, but that one is dear to me. It was a gift from my mother.”

Bull tilted his head to observe her. An Orlesian noble with a heart of gold, how peculiar. He tucked the paper in his trousers’ pocket. “All right, I’ll consider it, Comtesse.”

She had a beautiful smile.

oOo

The dwarf, Brosca, was an exile from Orzammar who had lived through the Fifth Blight. She could throw knives and even juggle with them. Bull loved her. When he tried to lift her for a hug, she cut off the belt holding up his pants. She fit among the Chargers perfectly.  

The elf was harder. He was slippery and thought that the Chargers were sent after him to retrieve the jewelry he had stolen. Calming him down had been tricky. Bull liked him all the more for it — and his Antivan accent and complexion didn’t hurt. Lethan was pretty and had a tongue as sharp as Brosca’s blades. To give back the necklace to Blanche, he had the gall to break into her rooms again and put the jewelry back in its box.  

Then there was a group of bandits (just misled elves failing to find any other ways to survive, really). Bull recruited them after killing their boss when he got the stupid idea to steal from them.

There were also a few others along the way to and from the Dales. Bull liked to collect strays. If they were a bit too young, well, it was lucky that he knew exactly the right place for them to be cared for. (“Chief, I get that you want to bring the kid to the orphanage, but no one knows how to take care of a two-year-old in the meantime! … Oh, nevermind, Brosca got this.”)

They were twenty-five in less than four months. When the Civil War broke between De Chalons and the Empress, the Bull’s Chargers were firmly established in Val Fleuri. They had many admirers in the orphanage.

Blanche had old houses refurbished for the newcomers. 

Val Fleuri was a small town of a few hundred habitants. It was built along a tributary of Lake Celestine, but not on its borders. It was close enough to everything that matters, halfway between Verchiel and Montsimmard, but not directly on the Imperial Highway. It was a good position for the Chargers, central enough for deployment but calm enough for a peaceful rest.  

The town had lost some families years before due to the high taxes the Comte de Lamare had demanded and his general unfairness. That one was better dead. Poisoned in Val Royeaux, a victim of the Grand Game, the villagers had said with a tone which suggested: “good riddance.”

Blanche had lowered the taxes, but her reputation had kept people away. Only a few elves had settled in once they heard she was fair to their race.  

Charming the rest of the population was relatively easy. Bull was a charming man, after all. The activity and money they brought also helped. At least half of the Chargers could be found in the tavern each evening. They livened things up.

It was such a night when a servant from the castle showed up with red cheeks and short breath. At nineteen years old, Jules was one of the oldest orphans still around. He was working for the Comtesse as a messenger and hunter.

He looked like he had run all the way to the inn. He had Bull’s attention as soon as he stepped in. When he made a beeline for their table, Bull whispered a few words of apologies to the waitress who regularly ended up in his lap after the rush hour. The widow (he was quite fond of those) glanced at Jules and stood up without complaining, using the opportunity to fill any empty glass.

“What’s wrong?” Bull asked.

“The Comtesse is asking for you,” Jules replied.

On Bull’s left, Lethan raised a cheeky brow. On the right, Krem frowned. Bull agreed with that last stance. The Comtesse didn’t do such calls. They still had sex, sure, but only when he visited and most often when he offered (she had ways to make him offer, but she didn’t demand). And Jules wouldn’t look worried if this was it.

Bull stood up without a word, throwing Krem a look demanding vigilance. The lieutenant nodded in agreement.

“What’s going on?” Bull asked once Jules and he were alone in the deserted street. Fortunately, the largest moon was full and the sky was clear enough that they could see where they walked despite the late hour.

Jules looked nervously around nonetheless and walked closer to murmur: “The lady is having one of her fits.”

“Fit?”

“You know… Her fits of madness…”

That wasn’t the kind of things Bull was thinking of. He didn’t like the way it sounded. “No, I don’t know, Jules. I have never seen her have one.”

“I guess it has been a while,” Jules muttered to himself. “It’s getting rarer.”

For a fit of madness, Jules didn’t look really scared. In Bull’s experiences, really mad people tended to be violent, and they didn’t have the presence of mind to call their paramour for help.

“Why did she call for me?”

“She said she needs you. Ser Charles thinks you make her feel safe, although he doesn’t get why.”

“Alright. Describe what happens when the Comtesse has a ‘fit’.”

“She gets all fidgety and nervous. She paces around like a beast in a cage and twists her fingers like this,” Jules explained as he imitated someone wringing his hands. “If it happens in the middle of the night, like now, she wakes up suddenly and in a sweat. Sometimes, she cries. Oh, and she breathes really fast! If anyone tries to stop her or say something, it gets worse. Also, she loses all appetite. Once, she didn’t eat for two days!”

Bull made a disgusted noise as comprehension dawned on him. “That’s not madness.”

Jules looked at him with wide eyes. “That’s what the Comte called it.”

“Yeah? Well, that one’s better dead.”

“That’s true,” Jules admitted with a tilt of his head and a huff. He was trotting to keep up with Bull’s fast pace. “What is it then?”

“It’s a sickness of the soul.”

“Madame is sick?”

“What are you two blabbering about?!” They had reached the gates of the castle, where Charles was waiting with his arms crossed and a displeased look. He had thrown a cloak on top of his nightclothes and was holding a lantern. The fifty years old Chevalier glared at Jules. “Didn’t I tell you not to gossip about the Comtesse?”

“He just told me what I needed to know,” Bull said. “The Comtesse has panic attacks. I know about them. I’ll help.”

Charles had to power walk to keep up with Bull, which didn’t improve his mood. “Nonsense, she—”

“Remember the last time you were scared, really scared,” Bull cut in. “There’s a danger your brain doesn’t think you can handle. Your brain panics. Tells you to run, to fight, to do something, anything to escape. That’s what’s happening to her. Her brain thinks she’s in danger. Except there is nothing she can escape from. So she paces, she breathes too fast, she’s scared…” Bull glanced to the old warrior’s face and nodded at the widening of his eyes. “Now you get it.”

“But why? I made a vow to protect her, to keep her safe. There’s no danger! I always tell her that, but she never calms down!”

“It just makes her feel worse, so Anne asks that you leave,” Jules pointed out on the other side of Bull. He ducked behind the large Qunari to escape Charles’ glare.

They stepped into the castle itself. The hallways were dark and empty of any souls. Most of the staff was sound asleep.

“She knows there isn’t any danger,” Bull replied. “That’s the point. Her brain is messing up. Just like yours messes up when it tells you that your fingers are on fire when you don’t have any.”

Charles’ left hand curled into a fist at the reminder of his three missing phalanges and their phantom pains.

“So, she isn’t mad, but sick and scared,” Jules summed up. “That makes a damn lot of sense. Madame never looked mad to me.”

Before Bull could reply, they stepped into the wing of the Comtesse’s apartments. Blanche was pacing in the hallway. Her maid was holding a lantern, droopy-eyed (Anne wasn’t in her prime anymore). As soon as Blanche caught sight of the Iron Bull, she ran to him. Bull opened his arms and embraced her, kissing her forehead. She was shaking like a leaf.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” He patted her head over her satin bonnet. “Why don’t we go outside? It’s a beautiful night. Let’s take a walk, get some fresh air. What do you think?” When she nodded, he glanced to her lady in waiting who hurried back inside the bedroom to get a warm coat and shoes. “I’ll take care of her, you can go back to sleep,” he said to Jules and Charles.

Jules agreed without hesitation. “I hope you get better quickly, Madame,” he said before leaving.

Charles hesitated, but a nod from Blanche convinced him it was alright to leave her.

“I’m sorry. I’m wasting your night,” Blanche murmured a few moments later while they went down the stairs to the garden.

“Not at all,” Bull replied with a shrug. He patted her hand tucked in his elbow. “It wasn’t particularly exciting. I’m all for varying experiences. Come on now, Comtesse, let’s breathe together, alright? Breathe as we walk.”

Bull’s deep voice counted and guided her through deeper breathing as they walked around the hedges highlighted by the moon. The fresh air helped fight the sweat and hot flush of panic, but after a while, Bull noticed she was shivering. He turned them around to go back inside. She was already doing better. Her fingers on his arm were less tense and shaking.

Still, when they arrived at the stairs leading back inside, she stared at them with distaste. Panic attacks were exhausting.

“Let me carry you,” Bull said.

Blanche finished the walk nestled in his arms, her head on his shoulder. “I was hoping you’d understand,” she admitted in a murmur when they stepped into her bedroom.

“I do,” he confirmed while helping her with her clothes to get back under the blankets. When she tugged on his arm in a silent request to join her, he went along without hesitation. His ankle was starting to hurt with the cold. Curling up with a warm body was welcomed.

The following morning, Bull woke up when Blanche slid out of his arms. She left for her adjoining bathroom. Bull took his time to rise, looking around the room decorated in white wood and gold. 

There were several letters on the bedside table. He reached for them and checked the senders. Like all the others he had seen before, they were from former wards of the Comtesse. While many of them left to find work, love, or adventure elsewhere, they always wrote regularly to their benefactor. They told her about how they were doing, but also any rumors and news they gathered wherever they were. 

Bull figured that’s how, with her sharp mind, she managed to guess what would happen next in Kirkwall and Orlais. She had a small spy network. He was impressed. From what he could gather, it’s not like she even used it for her own gain. He had watched her write back once. She had simply advised her former ward on how to deal with the situation he had described for his own good. That was it: mountains of secrets at her fingertips, and she used them to make sure those she cared for would not suffer from them. That was strangely humbling.

“Bull?”

He looked up to find Blanche in the doorway to the bathroom.

She was only wearing a nightgown, the light showing through and outlining her generous curves. “I’m drawing a bath. Would you care to join me?”

“I’ll be there,” he replied with a grin.

She nodded and closed the door behind her to keep the warmth. She hadn’t said anything about the letters. No surprise there, he had always thought she was letting them conspicuous for his benefit. She wanted him to read them. So he wouldn’t be surprised if he stumbled over those secrets? Maybe.

Bull folded back the letters and put them back where he found them. He went to enjoy the luxurious bathtub and its hot water. It came directly from a water reserve warmed by the sun on the rooftop and brought by dwarven plumbing. A soft body to cuddle was also a good bonus.

This was the best place in the South.

oOo

Sat at her dressing table in the bathroom, Blanche brushed her hair slowly. She glanced at the Iron Bull in the mirror and smiled at his enjoyment of a warm and perfumed bath. He was massaging his left ankle thoroughly, breathing in deeply to take in the smell of embrium. She had poured a few drops of its oil in the hot water. It had many therapeutic properties. She usually used it for her migraines.

She had less of those lately. She also had fewer panic attacks, and none since Iron Bull had settled in town... until yesterday. It was proof that while a good set of mind helped to relieve the worst of it, she couldn’t get rid of them.

The anxiety was still there. She had to do something with her hands less she twisted them. She couldn’t stay in Bull’s arms for long, feeling too still and caged. And the thoughts… the thoughts had kept her from falling asleep, reminding her of her never-ending doubts.

Despite the proof of the validity of her knowledge, despite the reminder that she could be cherished, the question stayed: was she good enough? Could she use all those memories to make a difference? Or at least to protect those she cared for?

She put down the hairbrush and opened a small jar of cream. She spread it over her dry skin, brushing the freckles which had appeared with her renewed habit to take the sun. The light bothered her less, provoked fewer migraines, and she needed it to read with her bad eyesight. If only they could have decent glasses around here… but nevermind.

She still had some time before the Inquisition began, but she worried. Maker, she worried. The War of the Lions was bad enough. She hoped that she had done enough to protect her people. She tried her best to be of use to the Iron Bull, between the shelter for his men and the secrets for his Qunari handlers. He wouldn’t stay just for her, but for all of this? Hopefully. 

It might be enough for now, but when the Chargers would leave for Haven, what then? And after that, once the Inquisition ended... What of the conflict started by Solas? She had children of all races in the orphanage. She knew it bothered many. Would it be an advantage or a target on their back when the elves would revolt?

Maker, she worried.

This knowledge was a curse. What did it ever bring her other than pain? Her father had disdained her. Her mother and siblings had pitied her. Her husband had ridiculed her. She had cried and withered, convinced of her own insanity. Now that she knew herself sane, what comfort could she find in memories of a chaotic future? What help could she find in the schooling from a different word, with different rules and cultures?

“Blanche.”

Startled, she looked away from her hands made smooth by the cream she rubbed into them. She met Bull’s eyes in the mirror.

“I can hear you think from there.”

She smiled self-consciously and closed the jar before reaching for a bottle of perfume. “It’s nothing.”

Bull snorted and rose slowly, letting the water pour from him like a waterfall off a cliff. He grabbed the towel left on the side and rubbed his chest efficiently before stepping out and drying the rest. He was done by the time Blanche had put down her bottle. He threw the wet towel in a basket for the maid and bowed over Blanche to kiss her cheek.

“If it’s nothing, then you won’t mind if I keep that mind busy with better thoughts, eh?”

His large arm went under her breasts over her chemise and held her close as he kissed down her neck. Blanche blushed and rested her fingers on his strong hold, comforted by the contact.

“Damn, you smell good. Jasmine?”

“Y-yes, and lily of the valley.”

“It fits you.” He nuzzled her skin and pulled her up. “Come on, I need to taste you.”

“Bull, wait.”

“Come on, Comtesse, let me distract you.”

“No, I mean.” Blanche raised hesitant fingers to her lips before pointing to the door. “I think Anne is in the bedroom, and you’re…” She pointed to his nakedness.

Bull chuckled. It wouldn’t be the first time that Anne would get a good view of him, but with her age, it would probably be kinder to spare her.

“Oy! Anne!” he shouted. “Coming in, watch out for the axe!”

“Andraste’s ashes, not again,” they could hear her swear before a door slammed.

Blanche giggled, and Bull smirked before lifting her over his shoulder. She squeaked and tried to right herself, but she had to abort the gesture when they passed through the doorway.

“You’re so tall!”

He cackled. “Getting dizzy?”

“I might— Oh, that scar is new,” she realized, brushing red skin on his side. “You shouldn’t carry me, it’s pulling on the skin.”

“You worry too much, Comtesse,” he replied while dropping her off on the bed. “I have a tough hide.”

Blanche tried to straighten, but Bull pushed her back and crawled over her. His lips covered hers, his hand cupped her jaw, and surrender was the only option left.

Chapter Text

9:39 Dragon

“The Comtesse is asking for you.”

Bull nodded in understanding at Jules and then pushed him toward the training ground. His Chargers were training the teens who asked to be taught to defend themselves. Jules didn’t need much persuasion to agree to train. The young man had potential.

Leaving Krem and Charles to supervise, Bull stepped into the castle. Girls learning to be maids were trailing the more experienced servants of the house. One of them stumbled when she tried to move out of his way smoothly like she had been taught. Bull caught her by the back of her shirt and put her back on her feet. He recognized her as one of the newer orphans from a large city. Still skittish. Used to seeing nobles and soldiers mistreat the little people, most likely.

“Easy, kiddo. No punishment around here. Learn at your rhythm.”

“Yes, Ser. Thank you, Ser,” she mumbled with her eyes down.

“Don’t mumble, dear, speak clearly,” her tutor told her. “The Iron Bull won’t hurt you.”

“Might be a bit hard of hearing though, am I right?” Bull teased the old servant who laughed and nudged him toward the apartments of the Comtesse.

“Go on, silly. She’s waiting.”

“Something’s wrong?”

“She got a letter from Montsimmard, I heard.”

“Thanks, Elise.”  

When Bull reached Blanche’s office, she was facing a window with her arms crossed and a thoughtful look. There was a ten-year-old sitting with a doll in an armchair too big for her. Lucie was a new addition to the orphanage, but Blanche had taken a special interest to her a month after her arrival. At least, that’s what Bull had heard since he had been away until recently. From what he had gathered, the kid had had a panic attack. Blanche probably related and wanted to teach her personally. They were often seen together now. Bull didn’t approve of singling out the kid, but it wasn’t his decision to make.

“You called?” Bull asked, ruffling the girl’s hair as he passed by her.

Blanche nodded and glanced at Lucie. Without a word, the girl stood up and went to play in Blanche’s adjoining bedroom. This spoke of habit. Were they truly so close?

“Funding the orphanage is becoming problematic,” Blanche admitted once they were alone. “The numbers grow, but not my revenues. The neighboring Chantries and nobles have become much too eager to send us their mouths to feed without any compensations. The situation is not viable. To resolve it, I have reached out to a Revered Mother I trust in Montsimmard. I was hoping Mother Margot would have suggestions. She did more than that. She convinced a noble to hold a fundraising party.” She went back to sit down at her desk. “It’s in two weeks, in Montsimmard. My presence is necessary, but considering the situation with the War of Lions…”

“You need a good escort. Sure. I can prepare a team.”

“Thank you.”

“Who are you planning to bring with you?”

“On that matter… Lucie will be coming with us.”

Bull frowned. He went around the desk and sat in front of it. “It’s not my place to comment on your choices with the kids, but the road is no place for a young traumatized girl.”

“I know.” Blanche glanced at the door of her bedroom. “But I’m not planning on a return trip for her. She’ll stay there.”

“What are you hiding?”

Blanche hesitated and met his eyes. He waited patiently until she admitted: “She’s a mage. During her panic attack, when I tried to comfort her, she burned me.”

Bull hissed and rested his forearms on his knees. “Are you okay?”

Blanche covered her wrist distractedly. There was no bandage to be seen. “It was superficial. What matters is that she needs training. I’ll bring her to the Circle of Magi of Montsimmard. It has a good reputation… as much as a Circle can have one.”

“It has been two weeks. You could have let the Templars bring her, it’s their job.”

“No.”

“Bl—”

She glared at him. “No! Every child showing magic in my orphanage will be treated with all the kindness and consideration that any other child deserves. I can’t be sure that the Templars will take good care of them, therefore I’ll not put a child in their care. This decision has been made from the start, and it will not change.”

Bull realized he had never taken the time to think about this scenario. It was bound to happen, though. With so many children, some would obviously have magic. “It’s not the first time it happens.”

“No.”

“What did you do?”

“I bring them to Montsimmard myself, every time. If I can, without letting anyone know. Once, the news spread. I had no other choice than to accept a Templar escort, but the child stayed in my care from the gates of the orphanage to the gates of the Circle.”

“How many times?”

Her lips wobbled. “Three. This will be the fourth time. I have been planning the trip. It’s just as well that I can combine those two occasions.” She breathed in sharply like one would to hold back tears.

“And the Templars, the Chantry, let you?”

“The children end up at the Circle, and the costs are on me. What do they have to complain about?!”

“Someone did, though.”

“I might have hissed at a Knight-Templar or two.”

“I’d have liked to see it,” Bull admitted with a grin. “I understand now why the Templars of Val Fleuri are so discreet. They’re scared of you.”

Blanche rolled her eyes but didn’t exactly deny it either.

Bull stood up and went around the desk to cup Blanche’s face and dry a stray tear with his thumb. “It’s alright, Tama. Take care of the kid, and we’ll keep you both safe.”

Blanche gave him a grateful smile.

oOo

Traveling with the Comtesse de Lamare was a new experience for the Chargers. It was similar to any other escort, of course. They planned every day based on the inns they could stop at. They had to take into consideration the carriage and the breaks to let the Comtesse stretch her legs and relieve herself.

They had never seen her out of her lands, however. At such, it surprised them all when she appeared in travel attire. Bull’s eyes lingered on the tight pants, regretting briefly that the fitted long coat hid her bottom —which he knew to be quite voluptuous.

“Love the hat,” he commented instead.

Blanche glanced over her shoulder, tilted back her wide-brimmed brown hat with white feathers and threw him a wink before climbing into the carriage.

As they got moving, Krem adjusted his pace to Bull’s and leaned close to ask: “Is it just me or did the Comtesse become… bolder?”

Bull simply smirked in answer. Krem got the message and went ahead, knowing he didn’t want to hear more about how that development had come to pass.

The trip was uneventful. The few times there might have been a hint of trouble, the troublemakers took a look at Bull and the matter was resolved.

At Montsimmard, they stopped at the Circle of Magi first.

“No need to delay,” Blanche had said. “I have already prepared Lucie as much as I can. At this point, she just needs to get it over with.”

Bull knocked at the massive doors and announced their identities and the motive of their presence. They were let in immediately. The carriage stopped in the middle of a beautiful courtyard.

A Templar stepped forward before Bull could. He opened the carriage’s door.

“My Lady,” he said, bowing, “welcome back.” He offered his hand and helped Blanche climb down.

She had traded her hat for a light grey and gold mask representing a bear. Bull took note of it with curiosity. He was familiar enough with the Grand Game by now to know that a mask represented a family. That wasn’t the De Lamare’s mask. He had seen it before. A servant had shown it to him. The De Lamare wear a swan mask, black, silver, and orange. It might be the traditional mask of Blanche’s family of birth. It was rare for a wife to wear it, but then she was now a widow and her husband had been an asshole so she could do whatever she wanted. There was a message behind this choice, though. Either her renunciation of her family by alliance (which was dying anyway, the Comte had been one of its last descendants) or her family of birth’s protection. Maybe both.

“Good afternoon, Knight-Captain Lenoir,” she was saying.

“We received your letter two days ago. Everything is ready for your ward. This is she?”

“Yes. Lucie, come forward, dear. This is the Knight-Captain I told you about.”

The young girl curtsied and looked around shyly.

“Hello, young apprentice. Welcome to the Circle of Montsimmard. Come in. The First Enchanter will greet you, and the three other wards of the Comtesse will be able to show you around.”

Bull watched as the three of them stepped into the building. For a prison, the place looked pretty good, and there were no bars to be seen.

The Chargers used the stables to care for the horses. Once they were done, they sat on stone benches surrounded by flower beds with colorful buntings above their heads.

“I was expecting worse,” Krem commented.

“It’s the favorite Circle of nobles. It has to look good,” Dalish muttered, speaking low in an effort not to be noticed by the Templars. “But you don’t know what happens behind doors.”

“The White Lady wouldn’t leave the kids here if she didn’t trust them,” Stitches pointed out.

“Let’s not start that conversation again, especially not here,” Bull interrupted, keeping the patrolling Templars in his line of view. The Chargers were free to have their own opinion on everything, and they often debate passionately, but there was a place and a time for this. It certainly wasn’t here and now.

Dalish pursued her lips but stayed quiet. The last time they had talked about it, she had been overheard by the Comtesse who had taken offense and commented curtly: “If you’re not willing to teach the child how to use her power, defend herself and stay hidden for the rest of her life, then I have no use of your opinion.” It had been the first time the Lady had ever been harsh with a Charger, and it had cast a chill.

Bothered by the memory as much as by the moving Templars surrounding them, the Chargers stayed quiet for the rest of the hour needed for Blanche to come back.

This time, when she came out, she was in the company of a tall black woman with a mage staff. The Enchanter was wearing clothes as expensive as a noblewoman. Bull went to join them while the Chargers prepared horses and carriage.

“Thank you, Vivienne.”

“As I said, my dear, it’s always refreshing to welcome your pupils, well-informed and taught as they are. I wished each apprentice had received your guidance.”

Blanche tilted her head. “I do my best.”

“Always so modest. You do the Maker’s work, you mean.” Vivienne glanced at the Iron Bull with a hint of curiosity but dismissed him quickly. “I’ll see you at the party, my dear. We’ll have the orphanage well-funded by the end of the night, trust me.”

“I do,” Blanche admitted sincerely. “I was worried, I have to admit, before I knew you were involved in the planning, but your name removed any doubts.”

“As it should,” Vivienne pointed out with a sharp smile.

Blanche giggled (actually giggled?! Bull nearly did a double-take). “Oh, I’m relieved you’ll be by my side for the night. I dread those events so much, but with you, I’ll be spared boredom and backstabbing.”

“Say no more,” Vivienne said, patting her hand. “Keep your worries for the children, I’ll handle the rest.”

The carriage was moved forward, and the women said goodbye. When Bull helped Blanche climb in, he felt her fingers tense and twitch in his.  

An hour later, they had been welcomed into the mansion of the Marquis De Montsimmard, the host of the fundraiser.

Bull followed Blanche to her room, stepping inside first and checking it was safe before letting her come in. He was going to take his leave when he noticed her shaking hands and pinched lips. Understanding, he closed the door behind her and embraced her. She pressed herself against his chest and held him close.

He stayed quiet.

Blanche might have the spirit of a Tamassran, but she had the heart of a mother.

oOo

The next day was spent preparing the party. Bull let his men explore Montsimmard and personally kept an eye on Blanche from afar. The Comtesse looked less enthusiast than her hosts about the whole affair, but she put a brave face on and demanded peonies instead of roses, and red napkins instead of gold ones, as expected of her.

The Marquis de Montsimmard and his wife were experts of the Grand Game, and their gossip was a mine of information.

If Bull stayed close, it wasn’t just for his current mission. The War of the Lions greatly interested the Qunari. Among the silverware and the porcelain, state secrets were flowing easier when tensions were higher. You just had to listen to the right person at the right time.

For now, Blanche had gone back to her room to dress up for the evening. Lost in his thoughts, Bull was lingering in front of her door.

“Chief!” Krem paused and did a double-take at Bull’s chest. “Damn, the Comtesse convinced you to put on a shirt?!”

“I wear shirts sometimes, Krem,” Bull replied with a huff.

“Not that kind of shirts.”

It had frills along the edges.

“We made a deal. I wear the shirt, but I can let it open,” Bull explained as he adjusted the sides to reveal an enticing triangle of scared skin. “I think it looks good like that.”

“Uh, right. But, the pants?”

“What’s wrong with my pants? Blanche said the same thing.”

“Large pants just don’t go with it, Chief,” Krem explained with a circle of his finger to indicate the whole outfit.

“Fine. I’m gonna change!” Bull grumbled and left for his own room.

Chuckling to himself, Krem knocked at the door of the Comtesse.

“What is it?”

“A letter for you, my Lady.”

“Come in.”

She was sitting at a dressing table in a chemise falling off her shoulders, her hair pinned artfully on top of her head with only a few curls to brush her pale skin. The view was intimate, and Krem blushed at the sight. Focused on the make-up she was applying, Blanche didn’t notice it.

“Who is it from?”

“A templar brought it from the Circle of Magi.”

Dropping the brush she was using to apply blush on her cheekbones, Blanche turned around and held out an eager hand. She ripped open the envelope and read it avidly. Her shoulders slumped in relief when she was done.

“I asked Lucie to write to me as soon as she could to tell me what she thought of the Circle,” she explained, turning back to her mirror. “She likes it. She gets along with the other children. I’m so glad.”

Krem watched her smile softly as she spoke. They rarely had the occasion to speak more than a few words to each other, but he had never doubted her gentleness. It emanated from her like warmth from a flame.  

“Do you agree with your friend, Lieutenant?”

“Ma’am?”

She met his eyes in the mirror. “Dalish said I was a coward for sending the children to the Circle. Do you agree?”

Krem hesitated, shifted on his feet, and then crossed his hands behind his back. “Coward isn’t a word I’d used to describe you, Ma’am.”

She stared at her reflection, dipped the tip of her finger in a jar, and applied red paint to her lips. “I used to be one... Maybe I still am,” she murmured as she cleaned her hands.

“Well… with all due respect, Ma’am, the Chief doesn’t like cowards… and he likes you a lot.”

Surprised, she turned around to face him. Her red lips stretched into a beautiful smile. “Thank you, Lieutenant. That will be all.”

Krem bowed and left as the Comtesse held up a dress of red and gold silk. He was leaving the hallway when Bull came back from his quarters in tight leather pants.

“Good enough?” he asked.

“You’re going to turn heads,” Krem approved with a roll of his eyes.

“More than usual, you mean?” Bull teased before tilting his chin toward the Comtesse’s door. “She was pleased with the letter?”

“Yes. Lucie’s happy.”

“Good, good. Now, let’s get this show on the road.”

oOo

An Orlesian party was… excessive, exuberant, and exhausting.

Blanche couldn’t be more thankful for Vivienne’s presence and expertise. Between her and the De Montsimmard, who all loved to hear themselves talk, she had been spared a long public speech. Small talk with all the sponsors who wanted to hear how she educated their “future staff”, that, she could handle. It was nothing new. On the contrary, it offered her good prospects of employment for the children. By talking to them, at least she could discover if they would be good employers.

Mother Margot started the donations by showing the example of the Chantry. She handed over a small purse and incited the “children of the Maker” to reward such commendable efforts to protect and nurture the needy. Excessive speech, as often, but it came from the heart, and Blanche spent a few minutes to thank her for all her efforts. She was truly a good woman, despite her wordy sermons.

Vivienne was… Vivienne had always been a diamond in Blanche’s word. They had met many years ago at a party. Blanche’s brother, a friend of the Duke de Ghislain, had introduced them. They had smiled, made small talk, and Blanche had gone to have a small panic attack in the gardens. Meeting Vivienne had been like a needle in her brain, reminding her of all those thoughts she had no explanation for, and yet her knowledge of her existence had been perfectly explicable. Blanche’s vivid imagination could have invented a whole story and future about the Enchanter based on things she’d have heard from her brother. That was possible, right? She was delusional after all.

Meeting Vivienne had been completely unlike meeting the Iron Bull. Her knowledge of his existence was unexplainable by any other means than her ‘reincarnation’, and thus it had been her prompt to believe in herself.

Nonetheless, Blanche had been charmed by the Enchanter. Lady Vivienne was magnetic, brilliant, and so self-assured. She was what Blanche had always aspired to be. She had been in awe, but this was such an obvious weakness in the Grand Game that she had done her best to hide it. Vivienne probably hadn’t been fooled, but she had been kind enough to never comment on it.

Their friendship had developed slowly. It had truly started when Blanche had shown up at the Circle of Magi for the first time. Vivienne had been pleasantly surprised by the trust Blanche showed in her leadership of the Circle. They had spent hours talking about so many subjects that night had fallen. They had to continue this conversation by regular correspondence, which Blanche religiously maintained to get regular news of the children she left there as well as advice from one of the sharpest minds she knew.

So, yes, Vivienne was the highlight of the party.

“Tell me, my dear,” she asked Blanche. “Who’s your bodyguard?”

“The Iron Bull. He’s the leader of his mercenary band, the Bull’s Chargers.”

“Mh. A tacky name.”

Blanche smiled at the comment. “His work is better than his talent for words.”

“I’d hope so.” Vivienne held her glass nonchalantly as she stared at Bull from behind her half-mask. He was keeping a respectful distance, staying near the walls as was appropriate for the staff. “At least those clothes are better than what he wore at the Circle.”

“At my insistence,” Blanche admitted.

Vivienne patted her arm. “I expected no less from you, my dear.”

Sometimes, it was hard not to glow at Vivienne’s approval.

It was past five in the morning when the last guests had found their way to a bed. When Blanche arrives at hers, she found it occupied with a naked Bull propped up against a mountain of pillows. She had sent him ahead once she had been alone with the De Montsimmard.

He looked up from a letter he was reading at the light of a candle.

“Hey. All done, at least?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, putting the letters of credit she had collected on her dressing table with the Chantry’s purse. “With these, the orphanage should be safe for a few years. It’s more money I hoped for. ”

“Good. What’s the program for tomorrow… or rather today?”

“Sleep,” she replied while trying to undo the laces of her dress.

“Come here,” he said, gesturing for her. She sat next to him, and he freed her from the corset.

“I’m exhausted,” she admitted, stretching her neck as she removed the pins holding her hair up. “I can’t believe some do this several times a week.”

“They have nothing else to do.”

“Clearly.”

She pushed down and away the fabric, letting it fall off her without care, simply stepping out of it to reach the dressing table where she used water to clean her make-up. When she had dried herself, she came back to bed. Climbing by Bull’s side, she fell more than lay over him and hugged him.

He chuckled at the big sigh of relief she let out and patted her head. “Good night then, Comtesse.”

“‘Night.”

Bull blew on the candle. He would finish his letter for the Ben-Hassrath later. For now, he had an ‘asset’ to cuddle.

oOo

The return trip wasn’t as peaceful as the first.

On the second day, the Chargers had to get rid of a few bandits too well trained to be anything else than deserters from the army. Safe in the carriage where she listened to the fight, Blanche felt thankful that Lucie had been spared the ordeal. Men didn’t die quietly.

On the third day, a few hours away from Val Fleuri, she felt the carriage slow down unexpectedly and heard the Chargers talk between themselves in tense words. She looked up from her book and called: “The Iron Bull?”

The carriage stopped completely. Bull appeared a moment later at the window, but he was looking further along the road. “Refugees,” he explained.

She closed her book and put it aside. “How many?”

“Around thirty. Probably the inhabitants of a small village. I’ll talk to them.”

“No,” she immediately replied. “You’ll scare them. I will.”

“Despair can make people aggressive, my Lady,” he warned her.

“There will be no despair on my lands,” she stated, pushing open the door and climbing out without waiting for his help. She jumped on the dusty road and walked ahead of the mercenaries. They watched her in surprise and looked to Bull for guidance. “Don’t follow me,” she told him as he did exactly that. “I’m sorry, but you’re not what they need right now. Lieutenant, with me.”

Krem jumped down of his horse hastily and followed.

The refugees, families of humans and a few elves, had stopped on the side of the road when they heard them, probably expecting to be pushed away by the armed men. When they saw a noblewoman coming to meet them, they whispered and fret. One man stepped forward. He was well built but was missing an eye. It was probably why he hadn’t been drafted into one of the armies.

“My lady,” he said as he bowed.

“I’m Blanche de La Mare, Comtesse de Val Fleuri, and owner of the lands beyond these woods,” she introduced herself firmly, watching over the group of poor and tired gents. They were mostly women, young children, and old people. “Where do you come from?

“The Exalted Plains, my Lady. Our village was burnt by soldiers.”

“So far?! It’s a week away on foot. Have you found no shelter on the way?”

“No, my Lady. They chased us away. There were too many refugees.”

“I see,” she murmured with pinched lips. “Well, you’re all welcome at Val Fleuri if you wish.”

The adults perked up in hope at the news. The children were mostly dozing on their feet.

“Truly, my Lady?” their leader asked, hesitant, as if he thought it too good to be true.

“Of course, I won’t push away someone in need. What are your trades?”

“Most of us are farmers or shepherds, my Lady.”

She nodded. “The harvest promises to be good this year, we always need hands. I’ll have my people help you settle. Work hard and you’ll be welcomed in no time.”

“We will, my Lady! We’re hard workers, I promise you, you won’t be disappointed.”

“I believe you. You have walked this far, after all. Will you all be able to walk a bit further? We’re still a few hours away from town.”

They all nodded bravely and stubbornly, as if afraid that if they didn’t she would leave them behind and go back on her decision. Blanche watched over them critically.

“The children can go in my carriage,” she decided. “They’re small, six of them should fit, although it’ll be cramped. Krem…”

She turned to the lieutenant who had listened silently until then.

“The horses can take seven adults and a few kids,” Krem volunteered without batting an eyelash.

“Excellent,” Blanche approved and immediately went to sort who could continue on foot and who couldn’t.

“I’m fine, my Lady,” an elf tried to protest when she told her to join the children inside the carriage with her son on her lap.

Blanche looked down at the young woman’s waist judgmentally and pointed an imperious thumb toward her carriage. The elf blushed, spread her hands protectively over her round stomach, and went to obey without another word.

“I can walk,” an old man tried to say next.

Blanche stared at his broken walking stick, at his stubborn expression and then pointed at his grandson, not older than eight years old. “Can he stay on a horse alone?”

The old man blinked and hesitated.

“Then you’re going on the horse with him. Let’s hurry up, everyone. In the carriage, on the horses! We have to be in Val Fleuri before the night so we can get you all settled.”

The Chargers, recovered from their surprise, had gotten down from their horses and helped the refugees up efficiently.

“I forgot to say,” Blanche shouted for everyone to hear her. “The soldiers are the Bull’s Chargers. They’re scary, but they don’t bite. Their leader’s like that because he ate too much soup when he was a baby.”

Chuckles sounded out.

Bull stopped by Blanche’s side with a put-upon look. “Come on, Comtesse, don’t lie to the kids. No amounts of soup can make you that awesome.”

He held out his horse by the leash, keeping it still for her to mount on its large back. The placid draft horse had been a gift from Blanche to celebrate the second year of the Chargers' presence in Val Fleuri. Able to take Bull’s weight without fatigue and calm in every circumstance, he had thus been named Taashath (‘calm’ in Qunlat, she had been told).

Blanche climbed on without hesitation and then held out her hand to the last child, a teen elf who stared at her hand as if it hung the moon. In the end, she needed Bull’s help to climb, and she was so tense that Blanche spent half an hour to calm her down. The lady ignored the child’s smell as best as she could, looking around her to keep an eye on everyone as an excuse to breathe fresh air.

Helping the refugees to settle in Val Fleuri was an ordeal.

It was past midnight when Blanche had managed to find a roof, a bed, and a plate for each of them. She ended up in the middle of town to find it asleep and deserted, apart from Bull. The mercenary had let his men go hours ago but kept an eye on Blanche while he ate.

He pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning on. He offered her a bottle of water and an apple.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he said and put an arm around her shoulders.

She hummed in agreement, following him without question.

Chapter Text

9:40 Dragon

When Bull came back from a mission in Ferelden after a month away, he checked on the Chargers who had stayed, as usual. He shared with them how Grim had managed to hurt himself because of a halla, of all things. Afterward, he went to the castle. Greeting the kids took him a while. They liked to get every detail they could about his trips.

“Where is the Comtesse?” he asked Sister Louise, who taught the children how to read and write as well as history.

Blanche could always be found in the orphanage in the mornings. She taught maths and sciences. This morning, it was a retired bard, René, who taught music and dancing to the kids instead. He liked to make enigmatic comments about his past as a spy and assassin while he was at it.

“She has a visitor,” Louise explained. “Her brother.”

Bull nodded and left for the private aisle of the castle. He found Blanche in the living room. She was sitting on a sofa with a full glass of white wine in hand while her older brother was standing with a glass of red.

The Marquis Etienne Montclair was a handsome man in his late thirties. The hair color and eyes were the only things the two siblings shared. He was thin where his sister was curvy. His hair was straight with a fancy beard trimmed close. They had six years of difference, but he looked younger than his age. He often acted like it too.

Bull had met him when Blanche had written him a letter of recommendation. The Marquis had been a huge and enthusiastic help, apparently pleased by his sister’s letter. They had separated in good terms, and Bull had found him pleasant enough. So why was the Marquis glaring at him?

“Your Grace,” Bull greeted him with a bow. “Madame.”

“Ah, you’re here,” the nobleman said with distaste. “We were just talking about you.”

“Etienne,” Blanche warned him with a frown.

“No, no, I’ll not be silent while a man takes advantage of you. You, vile oxman, are a scoundrel.”

“Etienne! No racism under my roof!” Blanche protested, standing up. “And don’t—”

“It’s fine, Madame,” Bull reassured her. “I’d like to hear it.”

“You’ve infringed upon my sister’s honor and taken advantage of her hospitality for far too long.”

Blanche made a sound about her ‘honor’, but she was too embarrassed to comment. Bull raised an eyebrow, amused.

“I’ll defend her if she won’t do it herself,” Etienne insisted, gesturing with his glass in hand.

“Oh, she can do it just fine with words,” Bull commented calmly, “and I can always teach her to do it with swords, if necessary.”

He had meant to say it in jest, thinking the rhyme amusing, but the effect it had on the siblings was unexpected. Blanche froze and shifted away from her brother, who had gone from tomato red to egg white.

“No swords! No blades!” he shouted. He took a step forward and grabbed on Bull’s harness. “Never near my sister!”

Surprised, Bull blinked and looked down at the man trying to manhandle him. “Now, I get she is no soldier type, but she’s no fainting damsel either.”

“You don’t understand, you dumb horn-head!”

“Etienne!”

“Maybe you should explain then,” Bull replied, feeling like he had stumbled on an important detail.

“No sharp blades near my sister, that’s all you need to know!”

Blanche pulled her brother back by his fancy scarf. The man had no other choice than to let Bull go to avoid strangulation. “Stop it,” she told him.

“You have said too much or not enough,” Bull said, squinting.

“She can’t be trusted with them,” Etienne added before drinking the rest of his wine and putting the glass down brusquely. He pointed at Bull. “And you can’t be trusted with her. She has been hurt enough, you have to leave.”

“No! I told you, Etienne. I trust him.”

“That just shows he has manipulated you, mon ange. I’ll have him and his Chargers leave by tomorrow. I’ll call the Chevaliers if need be.”

“Will you stop?!” Blanche shouted.

“Snowflake—”

“Shut up! Just shut up! You’re the one trying to manipulate me with your pet names and overprotection. I’m not a child anymore, Etienne! I know what I want, and I can make my own decisions! I want Bull here! I trust him, and that trust has been built over five years, it’s nothing new! But you come here, for the first time in ages, and you think you can decide what goes in my life, in my orphanage, in my town? No! I have done fine without you, and I’ll continue to do so!”

“I’m just trying to protect you, dear.”

Blanche shook her head and stepped away when he tried to touch her. “No. You’re overcompensating to quell your guilt like you always do. You aren’t around for years and suddenly you show up and try to fix everything. That’s not how it works! I’m not a child anymore, Etienne. Stop trying to hide blades for me. Stop trying to keep men away from me. Just stop. I know what I need now, and it’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “I need my brother to be there for me, not when it’s convenient for him, but when I really need him. And I need him to trust me to know when that is.”

Silence settled between them for a moment. Etienne was the first to look away. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said before leaving.

Blanche slouched into an armchair and drank a sip of her glass. She made a face.

Bull went to pour her some cider instead. She disliked wine and only asked for white when she had to pretend. Her preference went for sweet drinks. He handed it over without a word, accepting the wine in exchange. He waited until they had taken a few sips before asking:

“Why did he hide blades?”

She didn’t reply and didn’t meet his eyes.

“Accident?”

“... No.”

There was only one other explanation. Bull didn’t like it, but unfortunately, it made far too much sense considering Blanche’s past and reputation.

“There are no scars on you.”

“Etienne stopped me before I could,” she admitted, staring into the golden liquid. “It scared him a lot. That’s why he’s so adamant about it.”

“When was it?”

“I was thirteen.”

Bull rubbed his stubble and came to sit by her side. “Did something push you to do it?”

She refused to meet his gaze or answer, still playing with the glass. He reached for her free hand and intertwined their fingers.

“I get it’s frowned upon by the Chantry, but we both know you don’t care about it, so… that’s not what you’re ashamed about.” He caressed the back of her hand distractedly. “There is this quote from the Qun: ‘Existence is a choice’. Suicides happen under the Qun, on and out of the battlefield. It’s seen as somewhat of a waste for the community, but a fair end: it’s their choice.” He pressed their palms together, highlighting the size difference. “But it’s not a choice you make on a whim. I know because I thought about it, in Seheron.” Bull pulled their joined hands to his lips, kissing her skin tenderly. He succeeded in drawing her gaze to him. Their eyes met, and he said sincerely: “I understand, Blanche. You don’t have to hide from me.”

Her fingers squeezed his. After a moment, she replied: “There was this uncle who stayed at home for a while. He tried to abuse me several times. I always managed to escape, but when I tried to talk about it with father... he didn’t believe me. So, I thought…” Her eyes clouded, and her voice wavered.

Bull put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She leaned into him as he kissed her forehead.

“I thought it was the only way to make it stop,” she whispered.

“You told that to your brother?”

“Yes. He… I think he threatened him. The git left, and he had a horse accident soon after. I never had to see him again.

“Good. Was it the only time you tried to do it?”

“I had no blades afterwards,” she pointed out.

“Blanche,” Bull gently chided her, caressing her cheek.

“... When I was twenty-four. Father made me marry Richard. I didn’t want to. I begged him not to make me. Everyone knew Richard was a violent lout. But father has never listened to me a day in my life. He had too many debts. Richard had promised him to help. It was just business.”

She curled up against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He understood that meeting his eyes would have been too much for her.

“I couldn’t do it at home. Etienne had told the servants to watch me. I had to wait until we arrived in Val Fleuri. The staff here didn’t know I wasn’t allowed any sharp blades. So… a week after the wedding, I had a dagger. I was going to...”

“What stopped you?”

Suddenly, she snorted. Bull pulled back in surprise to see her face.

“It’s… Maker, it’s ridiculous, when I think back about it…” She breathed in and started her story: “It was late at night. I was in my bedroom, with the knife raised above my heart, like this,” she said while showing the gesture. “And then, suddenly, Richard barges in. He’s drunk, and he doesn’t look at me, he’s just babbling and stripping. There’s just one candle on the night table behind me. He looks my way, and he finally sees me, but instead of making the connection like Etienne did… He screams. Maker, Bull, you should have heard it, it was so shrill and piercing! He falls to the ground, flailing, and crawls back against the wall, begging for mercy!”

“He thought you were trying to kill him,” Bull realized, his expression clearing with amusement.

“Yes! I couldn’t believe it! He was so pathetic!” She straightened suddenly and caught Bull by the shoulders. “He… He wetted himself!”

Bull roared with laughter.

“Just because he saw me with a knife!”

“What did you do?”

“The first thing which came up to mind: I jumped on my feet, rushed toward him, and threatened him.” Miming holding a dagger, she made a fierce expression and hissed: “Touch me ever again and I’ll kill you! Do you understand?! I’ll kill you!” She let her hand fall and grinned sheepishly. “And he swore on Andraste’s ashes and all his ancestors that he’d do whatever I wanted. He was so drunk… I don’t know exactly what he remembered of all of this, surely the alcohol must have made it far worse in his mind because the next day he avoided me like the plague. He never touched me ever again after that. Anytime I thought he might, I just had to grab a knife like the dagger that day, and he went deathly pale and left.”

She settled and came back to her position curled up against Bull.

“Of course, he told everyone who’d listen that I was raging mad after that, but at least I had peace. And eventually, the staff realized they should listen to me instead of him. It helped that he was often away at court.”

Bull kissed her forehead. “So, never again since?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if you ever wanted to do it again?”

She looked up at him. “As long as you care, I wouldn’t do it.”

He caressed her cheek tenderly. “But you’d tell me if you wished to.”

“If you want me to.”

“I do.”

She nodded.

“Good,” Bull murmured. He cupped the back of her head and kissed her, slow and tender.

The door opened suddenly, startling them away from each other. Etienne was back, and he glared at their proximity.

“He can stay,” he said, “but you’d tell me if I need to hunt him down like a buffalo.”

“Not with that comment, I won’t,” Blanche replied dryly. “And did you just listen at the door?”

“Needs must.” To Bull, he announced: “I'd do anything for my sister. I would hunt you down.”

“You’d be welcomed to try.”

“I would do it!”

“Etienne,” Blanche warned him.

“I have done it before! Twice!”

“Would you shut— Wait. Twice?! When was the second time?”

Etienne blinked at his sister. “Which one did you know about?”

“Richard! Obviously! I complain to you about him, you both go to Val Royeaux, and suddenly he ends up dead?”

Bull watched the conversation, not without his usual amusement for the family gossip of Orlesian nobles. It never failed to entertain. So, the Comte de Lamare had been killed by his brother-in-law? Interesting.

“Oh... uncle Hubert’s accident?!” Blanche breathed.

“Obviously, who else?” Etienne admitted with a wave of his hands.

“Well, there was—”

“No, that was natural. The old fart had to kick the bucket sooner or later with everything he drank and smoked…”

Bull’s amusement dimmed at the implication that yet another man had pestered Blanche. Unfortunately, before he could learn more, Blanche waved a hand and changed the subject.

“Nevermind. We should let sleeping dogs lie. Bull doesn’t need to hear all of this since your threats won’t come to pass, Etienne. Stop being so overbearing and just be a decent, normal brother for once.”

Etienne blinked, looked baffled and then asked: “What do normal brothers do?”

Blanche sighed in fond exasperation and stood up. “Just… give me a hug and let’s go for a walk. I want your opinion on a few things.”

“Oh... I can do that.” Etienne complied easily.

 Over her brother’s shoulder, Blanche met her lover’s eye. “I’ll see you later, Bull?”

“Sure thing, Madame,” he agreed before taking his leave.

oOo

Etienne was gone after a few days. Bull had made himself scarce in the meantime. He finally showed up on a rainy day. He stepped into Blanche’s office, sat on the couch, and lifted his boots on the coffee table.

She was doing her accounts. He could tell at the way she greeted him distractedly and didn’t comment about his dirty shoes. Only worry about money could make her so focused. He let her finished, admiring her slender fingers drafting calculations like an expert. Blanche ruled her lands with a dedication he had rarely seen in any landowner. She could teach a thing or two to some merchants.

She finally wrote the result of her sums in her ledger and closed it with a satisfied expression. Val Fleuri wouldn’t be in bankruptcy anytime soon.

“I noticed there are new buildings in construction,” he commented.

“Ah, yes. The workshops for the new alchemist and artist.”

Bull raised a surprised eyebrow. Blanche threw him a satisfied smile.

“Both students of the University of Orlais. I’m so happy I managed to poach them. They’re a couple, and the painter is an elf. I managed to convince them of coming to Val Fleuri thanks to our reputation of no discrimination. Elves in the university are often pestered and plagiarized, and I’m hoping they’ll feel good enough in town that they’ll invite their friends to settle here.”

“Are you planning to compete with the University?”

“Of course not, that would just bring trouble. No, I’m just hoping to diversify the opportunities for the orphans’ apprenticeships. I offered advantages to the newcomers, but in return, they committed to taking at least an apprentice at all time. I have some very promising kids for art and chemistry.”

Bull hummed, impressed. “What’s next?”

“Oh, I’m corresponding with a surgeon. She’s harder to convince. I mentioned our healer was an elf of Dalish origins, and she got shifty. A Dalish issue, I think, not the elf part. I’m hoping to resolve this cultural conflict soon,” Blanche explained as she stood up. “It would be a relief to have more medical specialists in town. A herbalist and a healer aren’t enough anymore with the population increasing. Stitches helps, but he isn’t always around.”

“With those new workshops, the town is expanding to the gates of the castle.”

“Yes. I always disliked how much the castle was offset. It felt lonely. I’m planning to have a new square around the gates, with all the important shops around. The dwarf in charge of the construction has made a beautiful sketch. I love it. Do you want to see it?” she asked excitedly, already looking for it in her drawers.

Bull stood up and looked over Blanche’s shoulder.

“See this?” she asked, pointing at gutters. “We talked about evacuation and sewers. It would be pricey and take a lot of time, but pipes helped so much in the castle, I’d love to extend it to the city.”

“You’re the one who got the pipes made?” Bull asked.

“Oh, there were already parts of it. The castle is built over an ancient elvhen construction, and they reused some of it, but it needed to be renovated for it to work as it should. When I arrived here, some terrible smells were coming from the pond and the river from time to time. The drainage was terrible. I managed to convince the Comte to let me hire an engineer to resolve it. He did wonders, so I called him back for those new plans I had,” Blanche explained enthusiastically.

She looked up and met his eyes. Pausing at their intensity, she blushed. “I’m sorry, I’m babbling. You didn’t come here to hear me talk about sewers,” she said as she folded the sketches and put them back in her drawers.

“I didn’t,” Bull admitted, “but I like seeing you so passionate.”

She gave him a shy but pleased smile.

“And I’m all for ridding the South of smells.”

She chuckled and let him pull her against his side. Embracing his waist, she tilted her head up for a kiss. Their lips brushed softly before she pulled back and said: “Oh. I have something for you.”

“For me?”

Blanche bit her lips and grabbed a little box from her desk. Bull opened it, curious. He found two long, large and colorful strips inside.

“Ribbons?” One blood red, and the other emerald green.

“You…” She cleared her throat and blushed. “You said that you wanted to tie me up more often, like you sometimes do with scarfs, but we had this discussion about my dislike for ropes… Afterward, I thought that maybe this…” She didn’t finish her sentence, too embarrassed.

Bull’s face lit up. “I can wrap this around you?”

She nodded.

“Perfect!”

“This is alright, then?

“Better than alright! And you chose such pretty colors, perfect for your skin. You’ll look gorgeous,” Bull commented, excited, as he unrolled the ribbons to check their length.

Blanche watched him silently, pressing her hands together.

Bull noticed it and kissed her temple. “May I?” he asked, holding her hand.

She nodded hesitantly.

Slowly, he wrapped the red ribbon around her bare forearm, crossing it regularly down to her wrist. He reached for her other arm and started anew on it from her wrist to her elbow. Her hands were tied together, but it wasn’t constraining.

“If you want to undo it, you just roll your wrists like this and then pull here,” Bull explained.

“I can undo it myself?”

Bull smiled and caressed her cheek. “This is your choice. Be it a knot to undo or a word to say… From start to finish, this will always be your choice.”

She smiled back tentatively before straightening her back. “Then, take me to bed.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

oOo

It was early in the night when Blanche was awakened by loud voices and her door slamming open. It was early, but Bull had exhausted her. Yet, the Qunari wasn’t sleeping next to her, and she had a moment of fright to find herself alone in this agitation.

“How dare you barge in the Comtesse’s room?!” Charles was hissing. She relaxed at his voice. He would protect her.

“I have to talk to her! Please! My lady, please!”

Hastily putting on the nightdress which had been pushed away in a corner of her bed, Blanche called from behind the curtains of her canopy bed: “What is it?!”

“They’re killing us, my lady! They’re killing us! Please, please, help us.”

Blanche pushed aside the curtains at the sound of crying. Her hair was a mess and the nightdress revealed far more skin than she’d reveal to a stranger, but she couldn’t resist such distress.

She recognized the supplicant kneeling on the floor at the light of the candles carried by her staff. They were trying to haul him out of the room. He was a young elf, one of the refugees she had welcomed since the beginning of the civil war.

“Leave him,” she ordered her staff. “Anne, my dressing gown.” She put a foot down on the fur carpet (a gift from Bull: it was the pelt of a bear he had killed on her lands after it threatened people) and slid out of her bed. “Explain yourself, Uriel, I don’t understand. Who is killing who?”

Uriel was shaken by such sobbing that he couldn’t answer. Charles did it for him, explaining somberly:

“The news has just reached us, Madame. The Empress has ordered the repression of the uprising in Halamshiral. The elf district has been burned down.”

Lifting a hand to her lips to hold back a gasp, Blanche closed her eyes and repressed her tears.  

“My family, my Lady,” Uriel whimpered. “My sister and her family, they’re houseless. It will be winter soon. They’re killing us.”

Slipping on her dressing gown, Blanche tied it around her waist and kneel in front of him. “Uriel, your family is always welcome here. I’d accept every elf in need if I could, but there is little I can do otherwise. I wish I could…” She wished she could change the world, but as kind as fate had been at her birth, a Comtesse alone was still powerless to change centuries of discrimination and oppression.

“Can I tell them to come? Please, I know they were already thinking about making the trip, but now… they have nothing left."

“I’ll have new houses built, but it’ll take time, Uriel.”

“I’ll house them until then! It’s no problem. They can be useful, my Lady, I promise. They’re great tailors! They served nobles. They can make you beautiful dresses, I know it!”

“It’s alright, Uriel, I believe you. They’ll be welcome, regardless, you know this.”

Uriel squeezed her hands in thanks, overcome by a new wave of emotions that left him speechless. She embraced him and rubbed his back.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“I— I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I’ll bring them back.”

“Ask the Iron Bull if he can spare a few of his men to protect you on the road, Uriel. I’ll pay.” Blanche lifted a hand toward her office. “Anne, bring me eighty silvers. It should be enough to cover the trip.”

Uriel made a noise of protest, but she cupped his face and met his eyes head-on: “Listen. I know you’re upset, Maker knows I understand. But the road is dangerous and Halamshiral will be filled with aggressive Chevaliers. You have to be careful. Keep your head down and let the Chargers handle the rest, alright?”

Uriel nodded frantically. “Thank you, my Lady.”

“Thank me by coming back safely with your family.”

Blanche watched him leave with his shoulders hunched. Tightening her gown around her, Blanche looked outside her window at the crescent moon. She wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anytime soon.

“Empress of Fire. What a fitting nickname, Celene,” she sighed.

An hour later, Bull found her bundled in blankets on the window seat, only lit by the moons.

“I knew you wouldn’t be sleeping,” he said softly before sitting opposite her. He caught her naked feet peeking from the fabric and lifted them on his lap, warming them between his large hands.

“Can you send a few Chargers with Uriel?” she asked tiredly.

“Brosca will lead them. She can handle any Chevalier.”

Blanche snorted and pressed her cheek against the cold window. “That’s true. If there’s anyone Charles is scared of, it’s her.”

Bull rubbed her ankles as he shared her contemplation of the park, so quiet and serene.

“Where were you?” she asked as an afterthought.

“I checked on Grim. Stitches said he’ll make a full recovery.”

“That’s good.”

“I thought I’d be back before you noticed I left. You were sleeping like a log.”

“I was.”

Bull watched her profile. It wasn’t often he couldn’t read her. “Are you upset I left?”

“You always leave, Bull.” Slowly, she turned to meet his eyes. “What matters is that you come back.”

The moonlight was so dim that he only caught a glint of her grey eyes. She watched him with pure acceptance, radiating kindness, and patience. She was gorgeous.

“I can’t promise you that,” he whispered nonetheless. It had to be said.

“I never demanded any promise from you, love,” she replied before turning back to watch the sky.

The endearment, the first he ever heard say, made him pause before he commented: “You ask very little.”

“Respect. Kindness. It’s all that matters.” She raised a finger to draw in the condensation. “Anything more is a gift that I’ll receive with gratefulness, but expectations only bring disappointment.”

Bull watched her heart become a four-leaf clover in a circle. “You realize that Uriel will come back with more than his family.”

She hummed. “I was thinking that Val Fleuri needed a specialized industry. His family are tailors. We have shepherds, a lot of wool, linen… Did you know that Elise is an excellent weaver? Anne does wonderful embroidery. They teach the children in the afternoon when it’s rainy. They make me lovely things for my birthdays: handkerchieves, scarves, stockings…” She stared distractedly at her bare feet, only kept warm by Bull. “So... Textile specialization would be perfect. I’d need to contact a few people to organize silk production, though.” She flexed her feet against his thigh. “What do you think?”

“I think you can do everything you set your sights on.”

She pushed her feet against his stomach and made a pouty face.

He chuckled. “Sounds good to me, Comtesse. If you want to handle production from start to finish, you’ll need dyes though.”

“That’s true. I’ll have to ask our new alchemist. Oh, and his wife likes fashion design if I remember well.”

“It seems you have everything in hand then.”

She hummed in satisfaction and then crawled into his lap.

“I have a plan,” she agreed and rested her head on his shoulder.

Later, when she complained of the cold, he lifted her with his hands under her ass and brought her back to bed. She kicked him in retaliation before immediately pressing herself against his side.

He sighed. “And now your feet are freezing cold.”

She tucked them between his legs.

“You’re damn lucky I like you, Comtesse.”

“I am.”

“Now, don’t be cute,” he grumbled, huffed, and then reached down to grab her feet. “Give them here. I’m gonna warm them up so we can finally get some damn sleep.”

She giggled and wiggled her toes against his rough callus.

“Damn it, even your feet are all soft and baby smooth,” he grumbled.

Warmed up from heart to toes, Blanche slowly drifted into sleep. She was at peace. Her mind was set.

oOo

The red ribbon slid through Blanche’s fingers. She twisted it distractedly around her left wrist.

She was staring out of the window at the Iron Bull running after a young elven boy who had stolen his eyepatch. The boy was Uriel’s nephew. They had come back from Halamshiral without trouble thanks to Brosca and the Chargers. There had been fourteen refugees in total. More would come once the news spread that elves were welcome in Val Fleuri.

The sight brought a fond smile to Blanche’s lips. She could hear the Chargers laugh and tease their boss.

This was her home and her people, but for how long? That question truly haunted her, but to win against anxiety, you had to be proactive. It was time for her to make a change instead of enduring it.

‘The Tale of a Champion’ was opened on her desk. She stared at it and reached for the letters waiting beside it. There were three. Each had taken her hours and numerous attempts to write. The mere decision to do it had taken years. What would they change? Maybe nothing. Maybe too much and for the worst. But could she stay quiet with a clear conscience?

No.

Not anymore.

She had done it long enough.

She could have helped so many times. It was starting to haunt her.

She had to try.

Slowly, Blanche sat at her desk and folded the first letter. She had kept it short and cryptic for anonymity as much as secrecy. Letters were never perfectly confidential. Varric Tethras was smart enough to figure it out. Hopefully not smart enough to figure her out. She had done her best to use different handwriting from her usual, and she had planned to make its delivery long and complex.

“Red is the lyrium,

Tainted is the blood,

Blight is in the stone.

The disease will spread

And turn flesh to rock.

Feed it and it grows,

Mine it and it kills

Sword and circle both.”

Blanche closed the envelope and reached for the second one. For Cassandra Pentaghast, she had chosen a more classic and limpid style. She doubted that the stubborn and loyal woman would listen to any of it before the Conclave, but afterwards, maybe, she’d understand...

“Do not trust the Lord Seeker.

To Envy he’ll surrender

To not let go of power.

Murder of all called brother,

Corruption of the Order,

Allegiance to the Elder.”

For the Warden-Commander of Orlais, Blanche had truly no idea of what would have the most effect on her. She made it short and to the point but only understandable by a Warden:

“When the last song

On the whole Order falls,

Do not trust the false calls.

The time is wrong.

Beware blood promises

And demons accomplices

To defeat the old gods,

Those are loaded odds.”  

Blanche closed the letters with wax without color or seal.

She had thought about writing more: to the Divine, to Great Enchanter Fiona, or even to King Alistair. After much consideration, she had decided that it would be fruitless. The Divine’s mail was screened, without any doubt, by Leliana probably but also by some others. The likelihood of the message reaching the Divine and being taken seriously was minimal. Likewise for King Alistair. And Great Enchanter Fiona would be too suspicious of ‘mysterious’ mail considering her situation. All Blanche would manage to do was endangering herself and the couriers she entrusted the letters to. It wouldn’t be worth it.

Blanche sighed and reached for the letters, eager to get rid of them. Once they were on the road, it was out of her hands. She’d have tried. Fate would decide.

A knock at the door warned her of the arrival of her couriers. She welcomed Jules, René, and Charles.

Yes, fate would decide.

She just had to nudge it a little bit in the right direction.

Chapter Text

9:41 Dragon

It happened an evening of spring. 

Blanche had been waiting for it, gazing toward the East since she knew the Conclave had started. Despite her foreknowledge, it still startled her as much as any other. 

The green light came first, rising in the sky as she looked away from Charles. It was beautiful and terrifying. Then, there was the explosion, a ring of light spreading across the sky. Belatedly, the sound of the Veil tearing apart reached them, as loud as thunder, except that the Breach was opening hundreds of kilometers away, not dozens. 

It must have been deafening in Haven, was her first thought as she stood and watched the Breach shine like a new moon. No, it must have been worse than that. It must have destroyed every window. The ashes of the temple would have fallen back on the city, the embers threatening to put every roof and tree on fire even before the demons did. 

“Andraste’s ashes!” Charles shouted, spooked by the sight.  

What an appropriate curse for the event. 

“What's that?”

“That,” Blanche murmured, “is the Conclave gone in ashes.”

“The Conclave?”

Blanche turned around, dragging herself away from the hypnotizing sight. “We’ll be leaving in two days for Val Royeaux, Charles.”

“Madame?!” He ran after her. “Why?”

“I need to speak with Lady Vivienne. She left Montsimmard for the Palace last I heard.”

“Where are you going now, my Lady?”

“To the orphanage. The children will need to be comforted,” she explained distantly. 

She had this all planned. She was following her script, written over six years. 

It would be alright. She had a plan. She could do this.

oOo

Five days were necessary to travel from Val Fleuri to Val Royeaux. Blanche arrived at the news that a woman able to stop the Breach had been found. 

The Herald of Andraste was a Vashoth.

Blanche pinched her lips and fanned herself to hide her troubled expression. A Vashoth wasn’t ideal. It would be harder for Adaar to charm the Orlesian court and Solas. 

Turning away from the gossiping mass, Blanche chided herself for such pessimistic reasoning. If it would be harder for Adaar, then it just meant she had to help her more.

At least, the Herald was a woman. That would help. The Chantry would look on a woman being the Herald of Andraste with a more favorable eye. 

No, who was she kidding? A Tal-Vashoth? Favored by Andraste? They’d never believe it. 

Fate had a damn sense of humor.

Val Royeaux was closer to the Breach, and Blanche had a perfect view from the Ghislain Estate where Vivienne was accommodating her.

“I admit, my dear, that I expected you to stay close to your wards in this troubled time,” Vivienne said as they shared tea and pastries, soon after Blanche’s arrival.

“I thought I would at first,” Blanche admitted truthfully. She had planned to stay safely away, in the beginning, but six years to think and grow in character had changed her mind. “But it occurred to me that I might be more useful where I can make a difference, and who else but you to enlighten me about this ‘Breach’ and suggest courses of action?”

“You could have written.”

“And received outdated news? No, this is different than the civil war, this has the potential to evolve too fast and too drastically for a passive approach.”

Vivienne granted her a tight smile. “I completely agree, my dear. Which is why I plan to be in the thick of things.”

“At Haven?”

“Indeed.” Vivienne sipped her tea and looked through the east windows. “The Inquisition will come to Val Royeaux soon, to seek the support of the Chantry. I’ll introduce myself then and offer my services.”

“What do you think of the Inquisition?”

“It was the only option left considering the situation. We shall see how it handles the multiple troubles it has to deal with.”

“And the ‘Herald of Andraste’?”

Vivienne made a face. “I’ll hold my judgment for now.” She reached for a meringue. "But never mind that. Tell me about that neighbor of yours, my dear. Still bothering you?"

oOo

On the day the Herald of Andraste was announced in Val Royeaux, Blanche had taken a seat on the balcony surrounding the Summer Bazaar. There was a small restaurant on the upper level which was quite expensive but had a great view. 

Blanche settled in a chair as soon as the establishment opened, at eleven in the morning. Charles followed silently with his usual faithfulness, but lately, he had been watching her wondering what had bitten her. Case in point: she barely noticed when a waiter came to ask for their order. She never ignored people, but right now, she was watching the marketplace with her binoculars as if she expected the appearance of the Empress herself.

“Un chocolat chaud pour Madame, s’il vous plait,” he ordered for her. “And a coffee for me with cream and sugar.” He expected this would be a long day. 

After a moment, Blanche finally put down the binoculars and made a dismissive sound.

“Not yet,” she announced before looking around her. “I could go for a hot chocolate. Where’s the waiter?”

“He went to make you one, Madame. I ordered.”

“Oh.” Blanche blinked and then adjusted her mask over her eyes. She hated wearing it all day, but nothing else was acceptable in Val Royeaux for a noble. At least the half-mask was sufficient, else she wouldn’t be able to eat. The half-mask also had the advantage of being simpler in design with only the colors of her family and a few symbols to distinguish it from another. “You know me so well. Thank you, Charles.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Will Madame tell me what we’re waiting for?”

“The Herald of Andraste. They should come by today, but not yet. The Revered Mother hasn’t arrived yet nor the Templars.”

“You’re well-informed, My Lady.”

Blanche hummed. “Vivienne’s information is never wrong.”

“Did she come?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she was in the shadows, like us, but we’ll not see her. She’ll send someone to invite the Herald. She can’t be seen to be too eager.” 

They had time for a drink, a full lunch, and a digestive before the marketplace started to fill and buzz. They noticed the Templars first. How could they not, with their full armor glistening under the sun? 

Blanche checked them, but she didn’t find any familiar face. She had been hoping her younger brother would be among them and that she’d manage to speak to him despite the confusion. It had been a pipe dream. For all that she knew, Oscar Montclair had died in the Mage-Templar War, his body thrown in a mass grave if he had gotten any burial at all. They had been estranged since Oscar had left for the Templars at fifteen years old. He had never replied to her letters. Still, she’d like to know for sure...

Following her eyes, Charles asked: “Did Lord Etienne manage to find your youngest?”

“Not that I know of,” Blanche sighed. “I have little hope, anyway. It’s not the first time I asked him to find out Oscar’s location. He rarely followed up on it. ‘Out of sight, out of mind ’ describes him far too well.”

“Where was Oscar the last time you heard about him?”

“In Ferelden, chasing apostates…”

“Ah,” Charles said in understanding. 

There was little chance that with such location and occupation, Oscar wouldn’t have been involved in the war. That was exactly what she had feared, ages ago, when she tried to convince him not to join the Order. The more she had insisted, the more he had dug his heels in. He had been hoping for her support, and she had antagonized him. She had blamed herself for so long when he failed to reply to her letters. She had been foolish to insist so much, she knew no-one ever listened and only trouble came from her insistence, but she had done it anyway… and nothing had changed. 

Her mind drifted to the three letters she had sent. Would they make things worse too?

Charles pushed the plate with the last pastries toward her in an obvious attempt to lighten her mood. She threw him a smile and grabbed a chouquette before turning her eyes and mind back on task. 

She tilted her hat to protect herself from the light and lifted her binoculars to watch the Avenue of Reflective Thought, the entrance to the Bazaar.

“The Revered Mother's preaching,” Charles commented.

“Hevara’s one of the main candidates to the succession of Divine Victoria. There’s no doubt she has a lot to say… Ah. Here they come.”

The Herald’s team was quite a sight. At this distance, Blanche couldn’t see much else than their main features. She snorted. 

“A Tal-Vashoth, a dwarf, an elf, and a human enters the Summer Baazar… That sounds like the beginning of one of those jokes you and the Chargers like.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, Madame.”

Blanche sent the Chevalier an unimpressed glance. 

Charles cleared his throat. “That’s one too many for a good joke anyway. You should remove the human.”

“I wouldn’t remove Cassandra Pentaghast. That would be a waste.”

“Lady Pentaghast is here?!” Charles straightened and tried to catch a sight of the newcomers for the first time.

Blanche raised a surprised eyebrow. “Is there something I should know, Charles?”

“She protected the Divine from a high dragon!”

“You have a crush on her,” Blanche realized with delight.

“Who wouldn’t?!”

“... Alright, fair point. Still, I’m keeping this in mind for future blackmail.” When he ignored her comment in favor of looking for the Seeker, Blanche sighed and took pity on him. She lent him her binoculars.

She had most of the information she wanted anyway: history was following her knowledge of the events. Good. She would have a better view of the Herald and her team at the party held by Vivienne.

Blanche stared distractedly at the crowd around the Revered Mother and the Herald. She could only see the agitation, not hear it. 

She was startled when Charles cursed.

“A templar just hit the Revered Mother! What is this kind of conduct?!”

Oh… She might have forgotten that part. 

She shook her head and stood up. “We have seen enough. We should go, Charles, before the crowd scatters and we end up in the middle of it. Let’s avoid the Templars in particular.”

“That’s deplorable,” Charles muttered as he followed her. 

As they stepped down from the upper floor, they passed by an elf who Blanche barely noticed at first. She froze and did a double-take. Great Enchanter Fiona hadn’t seen her, focused on the gathering. For a moment, Blanche was tempted to say something, but she reminded herself that it would be useless. With the time magic, Fiona would never remember this anyway.

She moved along.  

oOo

Blanche had forgotten that Vivienne hadn’t invited the Herald’s entire team to her salon. Only Adaar stepped in Ghislain Estate. 

At least, Blanche was closer now, even if she still hid on the first floor. 

Adaar was a formidable woman. She was a warrior, and it showed. Tall, muscular, and confident, she walked in like a mercenary would, assessing her environment. 

She reminded Blanche of the Iron Bull very much. Also… she had red hair.

Shaking her head at her distracting thoughts, Blanche chose to leave instead of seeing the whole show Vivienne had planned. No need to overthink it all. If Bull ended up in a romance with Adaar, well… It was fate, wasn’t it? He had made no promise to her, and she had made no demand. He could also end up with Dorian Pavus. She should stop thinking about the possibilities.

She went out to the gardens.

The Ghislain Estate was one of the finest mansions in Val Royeaux. Its gardens went all around the building with fountains in every corner. Blanche loved it as much as she disdained its excess. 

Pulling her shawl over her shoulders to protect herself from the evening’s chill, Blanche turned at a corner of the convoluted hedges.

“Wow.” Someone said as they nearly collided.

“Oh, dear.” Blanche took a hasty step back. She had nearly walked into a dwarf. How embarrassing, but she truly hadn’t seen him. “My apologies!”

“Eh. No harm's done.”

Blanche blinked and stepped aside to let the light of the torches pass her, showing her interlocutor. Golden hair with half of it tied back, a red and gold shirt with the top buttons undone, and a crossbow on his back…

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, but are you…”

The dwarf raised an eyebrow and bowed. “Varric Tethras, at your service.”

She smiled in delight. “You are! I’m so happy to meet you!”

“Do I have the pleasure to meet a fan?”

“Of course!” Blanche squeezed her shawl before realizing her impoliteness. She curtsied. “Forgive me. I’m Comtesse Blanche de Lamare. I love your books, Master Tethras. I read them all.”

“Did you, really? All of them? I hope not.”

“I did. From The Dasher's Men to the Tale of the Champion!”

“Well, damn. You’re dedicated. I didn’t even know The Dasher’s Men was published in Orlais.”

“It isn’t. My brother brought it to me from one of his trips to the Free Marches. I wanted a full collection,” she explained as an excuse. She couldn’t tell him that she had wanted to read it all because his name reminded her of old memories… Etienne had found it weird enough that she wanted every book written by a dwarf he had never heard about instead of some local delicacies (but Etienne had long ago decided to stop wondering about her fancies).

“Which is your favorite then?”

“It’s not very original, I’m afraid, but the Tale of the Champion is so much more fascinating for being real.”

“No shame in that. There’s a reason it’s my most popular work. And I must admit to a special fondness for it.”

Blanche grinned, feeling a bit silly for the genuine delight she felt at meeting the writer, but he was such a nice and fascinating man! After meeting the Iron Bull, he had been the one she was hoping to meet. 

“What part did you like the most?” the dwarf kindly asked, unbothered by her silent admiration.

“Mh… I never thought of it,” she admitted. “I think… The parts when Hawke meets for the first time the people who would become his family.”

Varric tilted his head curiously, surprised by the answer. “Why, if I may ask?”

“Because, after losing everything, it showed that he could rebuild and have a future worth living for.”

“It ended badly for some.”

“For some,” she agreed. “May I ask how is Ser Fenris, Master Tethras?”

Nodding in understanding, Varric replied with a smile: “He and Hawke are inseparable.”

“The future might bring a lot of pain, but there is love too to look forward to. I like that.”

“That’s a nice way to look at it. A hopeful one.”

“Hope sometimes is all we have. For having lost it several times, I cherish it.”

Varric considered her thoughtfully before they were interrupted by a call. They turned around to see a high silhouette among the statues.

“Cassandra is getting impatient.”

“Ah, damn. I’m coming, Chuckles!” Varric smiled apologetically at Blanche. “Sorry, I have to go. It seems I won’t get that Champagne after all.” He took a step away. 

Staring at his back, Blanche felt bereft in a way she couldn’t explain. She offered impulsively:

“I could bring you some?” As Varric turned back toward her, she added hastily: “You joined the Inquisition, have you not? You’re waiting in the front yard for the Inquisitor. It must be a bore. I could bring you drinks.”

“That would be kind of you, My Lady, but I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“Not at all. It will only take a moment,” she promised and turned around to quickly climb up the stairs to the mansion.

She entered by the entrance to the kitchen aisle and surprised two elven servants procrastinating. They startled at her appearance and straightened hastily.

“Oh, don’t bother for me,” she said distractedly. “Could I borrow one of your trays, maybe? With a few glasses of Champagne.” She searched through her belt and pulled out a few coppers. 

The youngest one, Muriel, flashed her a friendly smile. The servants knew her since she had been living in the estate for several days. She had gained a reputation as a kind and generous lady.

“Of course, my Lady. How many glasses?”

“Three…”

“And a glass of cider?”

She chuckled. “Am I so predictable? Yes, please.”

“Petits fours?”

“Only if it’s not a bother.”

She had a full tray prepared in less than a minute. Blanche fetched some more coppers for their trouble.

“I can carry it for you, my Lady,” Muriel offered when she stared at it hesitantly.

“To the front yard, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. This way.” Muriel showed her a shortcut avoiding the reception hall. They went through discreet paths in the garden. They were plunged into darkness. Blanche would have been lost if she hadn’t been following a step behind Muriel, but she found it quite amusing. She could hear guests talking in the lighted and public spaces, but none of them could see her. The elves’ ability to see in the dark was enviable.

“Careful on the stairs, my Lady,” Muriel warned her as he went down like an acrobat without a drop of Champagne lost.

Blanche leaned on the stone walls not to fall. They had arrived at the front yard, as promised, but the last step was more of a leap. Unfazed, Muriel had put down his tray on the wall before jumping. He offered her his hand for balance.

“You enjoy dragging me through these paths, don’t you?” she accused, not without humor.

He grinned. “What can I say, my Lady, you make it look so effortless.”

Blanche snorted and shook her feet to get rid of her shoes with much too high talons for such a jump. She leaped down in a cloud of green and gold silk. “Liar.”

Muriel bent down with a flourish to help her put her shoes back on. 

“Thank you,” she said before offering him a piece of silver when he stood up.

His bow was more respectful before he disappeared back the way he came.

“You have a fondness for back roads, Comtesse?”

Blanche turned around to see Varric approach her. Cassandra and Solas were sitting on a low wall further from the door.

“Only when playful servants like to drag me through them.” She gestured to the tray waiting for them. “Here, as promised.”

“Bless you.” Varric turned around to gesture at his companions to come. “Comtesse, may I introduce the Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and Solas?” he said, waving at each. “Seeker, this is the Comtesse de Lamare I was telling you about.”

“Well met, my Lady,” Cassandra said formally.

“I’m honored, Lady Seeker,” Blanche said as she genuflected. She handed her a glass of Champagne and turned to Solas to give him another. “Ser Solas, good evening.”

He thanked her politely. Blanche didn’t linger on him, worried to betray her knowledge. She turned toward Varric instead and handed him the last glass of Champagne while she took the cider. With her free hand, she offered the tray of petits fours. 

“Please, help yourself. You must be so bored and cold waiting here.”

“You bet,” Varric agreed, helping himself without hesitation, pushing the others to follow. “Mh. What’s that?”

“Goat cheese, nuts, and honey on toast I believe,” Blanche replied. “I asked for the classic options. You don’t want to try the trendy ones.”

“Why not?”

“The latest trend is fish eggs dipped into sour jam.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

“My thought, exactly. I recommend the bouchées à la reine. You should eat them while they’re still warm. They’re delicious, as long as you like mushrooms.”

“Any desserts for Solas?” Varric asked. “He has a sweet tooth.”

Solas tilted his head in agreement.

“I do too,” Blanche admitted with an understanding smile. “Here, try the orange pie. The meringue is excellent.”

They chatted while emptying the tray. Varric was, without surprise, an excellent conversationalist. He entertained them with a story of a horrible cook pretending to be Orlesian, and somehow managed to end up naturally to quite another subject:

“This Enchanter clearly has a much better cook, but what do you think of her?”

“Vivienne? Oh, she’s…” Blanche paused to find the right words. “It’s impossible to be indifferent about her. You ever love her or you hate her, or a bit of both.”

“And how do you feel?” Solas asked.

“I owe her a lot, and I aspire to have her confidence. So, I suppose I do love her, but I’m not the kind to love blindly,” Blanche admitted, adjusting her mask over her nose. “Vivienne is smart and adaptable, and yet very much averse to change. Her opinions are written in stone, and you’d have much difficulty changing her mind.”

“But is she dependable?” Cassandra asked.

“Oh, yes. If she promises to help you close the Breach, she will. You can trust her on that. If she dislikes you, she’ll just make your life impossible while she does.”

“Great,” Varric commented cheerfully. “That reminds me of someone else we just hired.”

“That’s probably the only thing they have in common,” Solas commented.

The door of the manor opened, and Adaar stepped out. The Inquisition team left to check on her and ask about the meeting. 

Blanche could have stayed and been introduced. She chose to leave discreetly. This, all of it, was already a lot for her poor nerves. Her heart was beating fast. She had just talked to Varric Tethras! Oh, and also Cassandra Pentaghast (Charles would be disappointed he had missed her), and of course, Solas. Yes, it was enough emotions for a day.

She was planning to retire since she had done what she had come for. Unfortunately, she had just stepped inside when a noblewoman called and reached for her, pulling her among the small group she was talking to. 

“Did you see what happened this afternoon in the Summer Bazaar?”

“I did,” Blanche confirmed, trying to identify who she was talking to. With her poor experience in socialization, it was a good thing she had a decent memory. That was the Duchesse de Savrenne, a supporter of Celene.

“How shocking, don’t you think? A templar hitting a Revered Mother?!”

“And we were saying the other day that the Order couldn’t fall much lower,” an older gentleman commented. The Duke de Freyen, if she wasn’t mistaken.

She was surrounded by high nobility, and she couldn’t help but wonder why she had been brought in their little gathering.

“You have been staying with Madame de Fer, haven’t you? Have you heard anything?”

Ah, that was it. They were looking for a source of gossip in the absence of Vivienne.

She was going to respond in the negative when an old idea she had considered (and put aside due to the risks) came up to mind. Impulsively, she went for it:

“In light of such rash actions, one can’t help but be reminded of Kirkwall, don’t you think?”

She had their complete attention. ‘Kirkwall’ had been one of the favorite subjects of the Orlesian nobility since the Qunari occupation. The publication of ‘The Tale of the Champion’ had just made it worse.

“Are you referring to…”

“Meredith the Mad, of course.”

“Seekers of the Truth don’t use lyrium,” one of them immediately commented with the tone of a pseudo-erudite. “Lord Seeker Lucius couldn’t be driven mad by red lyrium.”

“But he doesn’t need to be,” Blanche replied, forging on. In the Great Game, you sometimes had to hold on tight in fear of being trampled due to the wrong word. If she let it go now, she would be the one called mad (a too easy feat with the reputation her late husband had given her). “Thirst for power is so easy to come by these days. I think we can all think of another example,” she commented, turning toward the Duchesse to leave no doubt that she was referring to Gaspard de Chalons. The supporters of Celene were all too eager to nod in approval. “And what did the Tale of the Champion taught us about the Order if not that one corrupted leader can bring them to the vilest actions?”

“That’s true,” the Duke agreed. “And we have all seen the consequences. We wouldn’t be here today without that mess at Kirkwall. And then that Seeker has the gall to complain about us?! Did you hear him today? We should be ashamed? We have failed? The nerve!”

“Yes, and his arrogance! The only destiny that demands respect is his?! Val Royeaux is unworthy?!” 

There. They had taken the bait. Blanche relaxed marginally and unfolded her fan to give herself some air. She had gotten much too hot with that burst of fear and adrenaline at speaking out loud.

A few more nobles were brought into the discussion. Nobles who had family among the Templars, Blanche realized.

“Lutetia, my dear. Your youngest son was with the Lord Seeker today, wasn’t he? Did you hear about him?” the Duchesse asked.

“No, but I trust his judgment.”

“Should you?” the pseudo-erudite commented snidely.

Lutetia glared at him. Blanche figured they didn’t appreciate each other and jumped in before this could diverge from the original subject.

“Is your son an officer, Comtesse?”

“Not yet, but soon, I’m sure…”

“No doubt he’ll rise in the ranks,” Blanche placated her, “but you know, I’m sure, how little the non-officers are told.” 

“That’s true,” Lutetia admitted, “he could tell me so little when the war started. I was quite worried.”

“I understand,” Blanche said, leaning toward her. “I worry about my younger brother too. He certainly didn’t read the Tale of the Champion, and I doubt they talked about it in the Order. What will happen if he’s offered red lyrium? Will he know to refuse it? I don’t think so.”

“But the red lyrium has been destroyed, hasn’t it?!” 

“There is a whole statue of it in the middle of Kirkwall, didn’t you know?” the erudite pointed out, for once playing into Blanche’s hands.

“You think the templars could use it?!”

“What would stop them? Certainly not their Lord Seeker with how mad for power he is.”

“Maybe you should reach out to your son, Lutetia, while he’s still in Val Royeaux. They leave tomorrow, I hear,” the Duchesse suggested.

“I… Yes, I will.”

“Do tell us more if you learn anything.”

“At least warn him about the red lyrium,” Blanche slipped in, fanning herself as if she didn’t care much about the subject. “If no one will, it’s your duty as his family.”

Lutetia nodded with a worried purse of her lips. She took her leave soon enough. Blanche followed. 

That… had gone much better than she expected.

Chapter Text

A week later, in Haven

Blackwall had used the first excuse available to pull the Iron Bull aside. They were cutting wood far enough from the training ground that they weren’t watched, but close enough that the noise of swords clashing covered their discussion.

“I won’t say anything,” Bull said before Blackwall could find his words. He had no interest in making him stew. “But you should.” Lifting the axe he had been handed, Bull neatly cut a log in two. “Take it from an expert in secrets, they tend to blow into your face at the worst time. Better to let it out in your own terms.”

Leaning on the shaft of the axe resting between his feet, Blackwall watched him silently. They had recognized each other when they met eyes for the first time in Haven. Bull was just unforgettable like that, and he had a good memory for faces. Krem had been suspicious too, but his doubts were only confirmed when Blackwall had asked to speak to Bull alone.

“That’s why you admitted you were a Qunari spy from the start?” 

“Yep.”

“You’re still valuable. What will happen when they know I’m not the Warden they need, but an ex-soldier who had to desert because of his failed assassination attempt?”

Bull shrugged. “If you’re valuable now, you’ll still be when they learn the truth. You know how to fight, and you learned enough about the Grey Wardens while you prepared to be one.”

“How do you know that?”

“What else is left for a wanted deserter? Especially one who took the name of the Warden he met? The one he looked up too enough to honor his memory?”

“That’s a way to see it. I’m not sure they will.”

“If you don’t tell them yourself? Probably not. But the cards are in your hands, so better play them right.”

When Blackwall failed to reply, Bull went back to cutting wood. A moment later, Blackwall joined in, using the mindless work to clear his mind.

“I have a question,” he said after a while. “Why didn’t you kill us that day? You didn’t even try.”

“Our orders were to make you run away, with a bonus if there were no lives lost.”

Blackwall glanced at him, perplexed. “Who hired you?”

Bull smirked, wordlessly expressing: ‘ that’s for me to know and you to wonder ’. “My turn: what’s your real name?”

“... Rainier. Thom Rainier, Captain of the Orlesian Army. For what it was worth…”

“Come on,” Bull encouraged him. “Let it out.” 

“I… accepted the mission to rise in the ranks. I didn’t know Callier would be with his family, but it didn’t excuse the attack of a civilian. My men didn’t know anything at all. They turned on me after it, and they were right to. I ran, and I realized… what an idiot I have been for a long time. This defeat… well, it’s probably the only one I’d ever be grateful for. ”

“Well, Rainier.” Bull patted his shoulder. “Think it over. You’re no murderer. By joining a good cause, you can redeem yourself. No need to hide behind an emblem.”

Having cut half of the logs available, Bull put down his axe and turned to go back to the training ground where the Chargers were warming up.  

“Wait,” Blackwall called. “It’s thanks to you if I don’t have their blood on my hands… Thank you.”

Bull smirked. “Don’t thank me. Just following orders, remember?”

“You won’t tell me their name. How am I supposed to thank them?” Blackwall pointed out, raising a hand in defeat.

“I’ll let them know,” Bull promised before walking away. 

oOo

Bull had brought half of the Chargers for the mission during which the Herald recruited them. He called for the rest as soon as they were settled in Haven. It took them two weeks to arrive. They brought with them more than he expected.

“Uh, chief,” Krem said as they watched horses and carts came in, “I didn’t know you asked for all that.”

“I didn’t.”

Brosca, who he often left in charge at Val Fleuri in his absence, came up to them. Jules, who was definitely not supposed to be here, was following her. 

They reached them at the same time as Cullen, Josephine and Leliana. Bull made short introductions before raising an inquiring eyebrow toward Brosca. Instead of answering, she elbowed Jules in the hip. He bowed and handed over a letter to the advisors.

“The Comtesse de Lamare offers her support to the Inquisition and sends you these goods to help in your efforts to stabilize the region and close the Breach. The letter contains a full inventory, but it’s mainly blankets, clothes and food. There is also a list of the people who volunteered to work here with details on their skills. I, myself, put my experience as a hunter and messenger to the service of the Inquisition.”

Josephine accepted the letter with shining eyes and opened it with contained eagerness. Leliana stared at the new volunteers before glancing at the Iron Bull.

“You’re friend with the Comtesse. Did you ask her this?”

Bull spread his hands in a show of innocence. “I just told her I would be working for you from now on.”

“You vouched for them,” Jules pointed out. “The Lady said you approved of the Herald and the way they work here. That’s why she let us come.” 

Brosca grunted with her hands on her hips. “She also said that if they’re crazy enough to volunteer, it’s clearly not because of how she raised them, and that you should take responsibility for putting ideas of adventure in their head. So, congrats, Boss, you have custody of the kids. If they get hurt, she’ll chew you out.”

Krem snorted. 

Bull crossed his arms defensively, went to speak and then tilted his head in consideration. Coming to the conclusion that Brosca and Blanche weren’t exactly wrong, he bowed his head in defeat and said to the councilors: “I’ll help you with assignments. Just don’t let Jules anywhere near bears.” 

Brosca snorted.  

Jules protested: “Hey, that was once, Bull. Once! That’s unfair!”

“He’ll do fine as a courier,” Bull continued to say to Leliana. “He’s good with horses and has a good head for geography.”

“That’s true. Can I be a courier?” Jules asked immediately with shining eyes and a beaming grin. “I love traveling.”

Cullen looked away from the inventory he was reading over Josephine’s shoulder and glanced at the eager young man sceptically. “Can you defend yourself and your parcel?”

“Yes, Ser!”

“I trained him. He’ll do… as long as he runs from bears,” Bull promised.

“Lady Blanche made sure I did,” Jules commented while shivering. “The lecture… damn scary,” he muttered.

“I don’t remember the Comtesse being so… interesting,” Leliana commented with a considering look.

“She’s rarely seen at court,” Josephine pointed out as she folded the letter. “Her late husband always excused her due to poor health. I have only seen her once, long ago, with her brother, at Montsimmard. She seemed quite delicate, indeed. Her orphanage, however, has been the subject of gossip for its quality education. Do you remember that promising bard, Armel? He was taught here, you know.”

Leliana hummed in thought. Bull had a hunch that she didn’t appreciate her lack of knowledge about their new ally. Her spies would have some more work to do.

oOo

Later that day, Bull finally had the time and peace to read the private letter Jules had given him.

“My dear friend,

It pleases me to hear of your approval of the Inquisition. That you chose to join them was no great surprise. I knew you wouldn’t stay indifferent to the sky tearing open, and I feel better knowing you’re working to resolve it. I’m not the only one: the children were concerned about the Breach, but I informed them that the Chargers were hired to help, and they have faith that you will resolve the matter promptly. However, they insisted that I tell you to hurry up as it is — I quote — “not a fetching color for the sky.” I trust that this demand will incite you to hasten, as it should.”

Bull cackled and hit his leg, drawing the attention of his men. “Listen to that, Chargers!” He read them the part about the children, and they cheered.

“Not a fetching color,” Dalish repeated with a grin.

“How Orlesian,” Stitches pointed out, but he was chuckling too. 

Bull continued with his silent reading while the rest of them played cards.

“I admit to quite a lot of worry about this matter, and I might have been too obvious about it. There were more volunteers than I expected when I asked who would like to bring goods to the Inquisition, and all of them were ready to stay and help. I don’t know what to think of it. I worry all the more now, for them and you, both!

“Haven is just a village in the Frostback Mountains, a village which must have been damaged quite a lot by the explosion of the temple. And now there is a big hole in the Veil right next to it. How welcoming is that? And yet, Jules watched me in the eyes and said: “We’ll help, Madame. You don’t have to worry, the children will be safe, we’ll make sure of it.” Bless his soul, but I blame you for making him so adventurous. First, he ran into a bear — that you had to kill!— and now a Breach. What next? … Don’t answer that. The right answer is ‘nothing’. Nothing should come next.”

Bull chuckled and crossed his ankles. Blanche’s letters never failed to entertain him. She had grown in confidence with time and revealed a sense of humor he loved.

“And yet I know there will be something. So here, I am, the Iron Bull, requesting that you watch over my people once again. I can’t make demands of the Inquisition, and I can’t be sure that Jules and the others will write me (although he better should! I ordered him to! Remind him I want a letter every month, with more than two sentences!), so please do let me know if they need anything or if the Inquisition doesn’t treat them well.”

“Hey, Jules,” Bull said to the young man who had joined his men for a game.

“Yeah?” 

“One letter a month with more than two sentences. Blanche’s orders.”

“I know. She already told me twice!”

Bull lowered the letter and stared at him calmly.

Jules groaned and threw his head back. “Fine! I’ll write tonight, okay?”

“Good boy.”

The Chargers snickered and teased Jules until he shouted back:

“Alright, losers. I might be ‘mama’s boy’, but who here has a mother as awesome as mine? None of you, okay!” He ignored the booing and sat up straight. “You know I’m damn right!”

“Calm down, Chargers,” Bull called. “...He has a point.”

More booing.

“You’re definitely not a fair judge,” Krem pointed out with a roll of his eyes.

Bull laughed and ignored his men’s comments and defenses of their mothers.

“On the matter of the Herald, I caught sight of her in Val Royeaux. You say she’s an experienced soldier, which is good considering the work waiting for her. However, if she was a member of a Tal-Vashoth group, does she know how to lead a diverse organization like you do? She’ll need to. I trust that you’ll lend her your experience.”

Ah, Blanche, true to herself: always pushing others to share their knowledge and wisdom for the betterment of all. Damn, he was fond of that woman. 

“As for Haven, I’m coming back to my concern for everyone’s safety in this place. I imagine it quite fragile and damaged by the explosion. Is it? What is needed for it to be safer? Could I help? Please, do let me know if I can.

Take care.

Yours,

Blanche.

PS: If you ever hear about a templar named Oscar Montclair, please let me know. Even if the worst happened, I need to know.”

Bull folded the letter and tapped it against his chin.

“Hey, Jules. When did Blanche go to Val Royeaux?”

“Uh?” Jules looked up from his cards and blinked owlishly. “Mh… After the Breach opened, she went with Charles.”

“And she met the Herald there?”

“She saw her from afar, I think. She only said she was shorter but prettier than you, at least. Oh, and she went to a party. She met Varric Tethras there, she was very happy about that.”

Bull hummed in understanding and stood up. Finding Varric was easy enough. He was sitting by a fire, talking to Solas. Bull sat down beside them with a grunt. The ground was lower as he got older it seemed sometimes.

“Hey, glad I’m catching the both of you. You were at that party in Val Royeaux, right?”

“That’s a generous way of putting it,” Solas commented neutrally.

“The Herald was invited. We were not,” Varric explained. “The Seeker insisted we waited for her outside. You know, just in case she got assaulted by a petit four .”

“Yeah? What did you do?”

“Oh, I just went to take a look…”

“... And meet a fan,” Solas added, teasing.

“What can I say, Chuckles, Orlesians have the most refined tastes, didn’t you know?” Varric replied with a hand on his chest.

“She was drinking cider instead of Champagne,” Solas commented, amused.

“How do you know that?”

“The smell. And cider is a shade darker than Champagne. I wondered about her motives at first, but she didn’t seem to mean harm. A pregnancy, maybe.”

“Nah,” Bull stepped in. “She just dislikes most alcohol. So, you met Blanche.”

“You know her?” Solas asked, curious.

“Yeah. She’s a patron. She gave us our first mission and a place to settle during downtimes.”

“Really? I didn’t believe her to be the type to mix with mercenaries,” Solas admitted. “I heard she supported the Inquisition, but I thought it was due to her interest in Master Tethras.”

“Ha. You give me too much credit, Chuckles. Just because she’s a fan—”

“She was flirting with you,” Solas pointed out.

Bull raised an interested brow.

“Nah, that’s just how Orlesians talk,” Varric denied. “Orlesians’ flirting is more aggressive. Trust me, I have seen it.”

“That’s not Blanche’s style. I knew she was a fan of your works. I guess you caught her eye too. Good for you!” Bull said as he tapped Varric’s back.

“Thanks, but no, thanks. Nobles are too much work.” 

“You’re so familiar with her that you call her by her first name, the Iron Bull,” Solas pointed out, staring at him curiously. “Why is that?”

“It’s been six years since we met. We’re friends, by now.”

Varric tilted his head in surprise. “You? Friend with a noble? An Orlesian one?”

Bull stood up, grinning. “I’m friends with everyone, Varric. That’s what a good spy does.”

“Okay. That’s creepy. Thanks.”

Chuckling, Bull left as he had come. 

So, that’s how Blanche had seen the Herald. He still wondered what she had gone to do in Val Royeaux in the first place. She rarely traveled on a whim. He may learn more from Enchanter Vivienne.  

oOo

In an unexpected turn of event, Vivienne came to see Bull before he could catch her.

“The Iron Bull.”

Bull looked away from the Chargers training together and turned toward her. “Hey, Vivienne.” 

At his side, Krem hesitated, wondering if he should leave them alone, but at the following exchange, he decided to eavesdrop shamelessly.

“It’s Enchanter Vivienne, Court Mage to the Empire of Orlais, or Madame de Fer.”

“Oh. Right, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am.”

Krem held back a smirk. Oh, that was priceless.

“Hmm. Yes, "ma'am" works as well.” Vivienne stared him down critically. “Blanche told me you’d be there.”

“She did?”

“She believed that your lieutenant would convince you of the importance of the event,” she explained, turning her intense observation on Krem. It wiped the smirk off his lips, and he tried his best not to fidget. 

“Heard that, Krem?”

“Clearly, the White Lady knows where all the brain cells are among the Chargers,” Krem replied, lifting his chin proudly.

Bull snorted. “I heard that you met her in Val Royeaux, ma’am.”

“She spent a few days with me, yes. We shared our concerns about the situation.”

“That’s why she came?”

“She wanted my opinion and to observe by herself the developments regarding the Inquisition. Once she made up her mind, she didn’t wait to contribute in her own way, as you heard.”

“Yeah, the food, clothes and blankets weren’t much of a surprise. Her old students though…”

“As fond as she’s of them, Blanche isn’t the kind to coddle her wards needlessly. She knows when she has to let them go to stand on their own two feet.”

"Is that why you like her?"

"Among other things," Vivienne admitted, crossing her arms and raising a hand to her chin. “This isn’t what brought me here, however...”  

“Yes?”

“Does she know you’re a Qunari spy?”

Krem tensed, but Bull shrugged calmly. “It never came up in conversation.”

“How convenient,” Vivienne commented snidely. “And what would she think of the news when it inevitably reaches her?”

Bull crossed his arms too and pondered it. “I don’t think she would be very surprised, actually.” A doubt came to his mind, but he pushed it to the side for later review. 

“I’d hate to see you abuse of her openness.”

“What would happen if I did?” Bull asked, by pure curiosity.

Vivienne stared him down. He refrained from fidgeting.

“I’m an expert at the Grand Game, my dear. Dealing with nuisances is an art I refine every day.”

Bull nodded. “Got it.”

“Good.” She turned around and walked away with as much presence as if she had been in a palace instead of a muddy training ground.

“Chief?” Krem questioned hesitantly.

Bull sighed wistfully. “Come on, Krem. Let’s fight.”

oOo

“You okay, Chief?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Didn’t I just throw your ass in the mud?” 

Krem rolled his eyes and tugged on his sticky pants with annoyance. They were in the public baths for men organized by Lady Josephine. It was a big word to describe a warm chalet in which hot water was always available, but it was better than what most villages of this size got. It had been ‘imperative’ with so many soldiers training daily. 

As always when Krem took a bath, they were alone. A Charger was keeping other men away to avoid any questions. Lethan had been happy to volunteer so he could flirt with the woman in charge of maintaining the place. 

Bull had already stripped naked. He went to the pot in the fireplace and poured hot water into two buckets. He added generous helpings of melting snow as neither of them liked to wash with scalding water.

“You seem distracted,” Krem insisted. “Is it because of the White Lady’s letter?” He finally managed to remove his clothes and threw them in the basket they would bring to the laundresses. 

“Just thinking. If those damn demons got me tomorrow, you’d take charge of the Chargers, right, Krem?”

“Sure thing. I’m just waiting for you to croak to be the chief, Chief,” Krem pointed out. He turned his back to Bull to remove his breast band.

Bull cackled before plunging his head into his bucket (or at least the part which could go in with his horns in the way). When he emerged, flinging water everywhere, he rubbed his face and continued: “You’d stay at Val Fleuri?”

“I guess so. There’s nowhere else better as far as I’ve seen.”

“So you’d take care of Blanche for me.”

Krem threw him a suspicious look over his shoulder. He was cleaning himself with a washcloth, like the civilized man he was (compared to Bull). “I’d keep an eye on her, sure.”

“You’d have to take her to bed regularly. She needs to relax with all the worrying she does.”

Krem sighed. “She wouldn’t be interested, Chief. She knows about me.”

Bull made a questioning noise as he rubbed behind his ears.

“She knows. One time during Summerday, I had menstrual cramps. She brought me a goatskin with hot water. ‘For your stomach’, she said, ‘it does wonders. Just pretend it’s cider I asked you to hold for me.’ I have no idea how she guessed.”

“She’s observant like that. So what? She said anything else?”

“No, never, but she doesn’t think of me as a man. That time, in Montsimmard, when I brought her the letter, she was just in a chemise, and she didn’t care. Ladies like that don’t show themselves in their undergarments to men.”

Bull snorted. “She trusts you, and she thinks you’re not interested in her.”

“What?” Krem straightened up. “Why? And how do you know?”

“I asked,” he replied as if it was obvious. “She thinks you see her like ‘the chief’s girl’ and someone too fancy—”

“Wow, wait, back up. You asked?!”

“Yeah, I asked once if she wanted you to stay when I was away so she’d have someone to warm her bed,” he admitted with a cheeky grin.

Krem reached for the first available thing, a ladle, and threw it at Bull’s face. “You better be kidding!”

Bull caught the ladle before it could connect and threw it back. “Nope. You’re the only one of the Chargers she’s interested in.”

The ladle clattered to the wooden ground: Krem was too dazed to care for it. He turned back to his bucket and rubbed himself raw as he pondered this. Well, damn, he’d have never thought…

Bull let the silence settle between them, satisfied that he had successfully distracted Krem. He would have been unable to answer his first question since he didn’t know himself what bothered him exactly. He felt like Blanche was hiding something from him, but he couldn’t guess what. Was it that she knew he was a Qunari spy? It had crossed his mind when Vivienne had talked about it, that some of her past behaviours might hint toward it. The way she had left letters with secrets for him to find, her non-judgemental acceptance of his rare nostalgic explanations about Par Vollen, the fact that she never questioned any of his requests… He had thought...

 Bathing his aching ankle in the warm water once he had cleaned himself, Bull stared into the flames of the hearth.

He had thought that she did all that because she was in love with him. He couldn’t have misinterpret that. No, the subtlety was in her motives: she loved him, but everything she did was not to be attributed to blind love. Naive, she could be. Blind, never. No, on the contrary, she loved him despite the full knowledge of his allegiance. Therefore, everything she did was not because she had no idea about his objectives but because she was fully aware of them and willing to indulge them so she could keep him close. 

Well, damn. That made sense.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Except that he loved her sharp mind. 

“Chief?”

He hummed, distracted.

“Hypothetically speaking, if you were dead, I’d definitely do my best to comfort the White Lady.”

Bull burst into laughter and grabbed Krem by the neck, mindful of not touching too low. “That’s my boy! But you don’t need to wait for me to be cold, Krem. You can make your offer anytime.”

“What? No, it’s obvious she has it bad for you.”

“So?” Bull replied before drying himself. 

Krem sighed and didn’t bother replying. Understanding the strange way Qunari thought about relationships was beyond his pay grade.

They stepped out of the baths and were greeted by an argument between Lethan and some templars.

“Sorry, guys,” Bull said cheerfully. “All of that is a little too much for you to handle.” He gestured vaguely in a way that men never failed to interpret as a reference to his virility.

They snorted and huffed, but the tension disappeared into good-natured jibes.

“Hey,” Bull said before the templars could step inside. “Does a templar named Oscar Montclair ring any bell? His sister’s looking for him.”

“An Orlesian?” Rylen asked.

“Yes, but his last known location was in Ferelden.”

“You might want to check with Lysette. We came from the Free Marches, but she’s from around here.” He pointed out a silhouette walking toward the bath for women.

Bull thanked them and left his men to intercept Lysette. The woman stopped at his call and watched him suspiciously. At his question, she crossed her arms and frowned.

“Oscar Montclair… Yeah, it rings a bell. I met him briefly at the beginning of my training. He was an apostate hunter. I remember him because he was an Orlesian working with a Fereldan and they seemed friends. That’s unusual enough.”

“When was it?”

“Just before everything went pear-shaped. Sorry, but I don’t know what he became since. Everyone scattered. All I can tell you is that he wasn’t at the Conclave.” 

“That’s good to know. Do you remember the name of that friend?”

“Mh… Barris, I think. 

“Thanks.”

oOo

This was the first mission Bull went on with Adaar. The first mission and they had a high dragon to kill!

“Boss. Serious talk,” he said after putting down his greataxe and stretching. Damn, that had been a crazy awesome fight! “If you treat me like this each time, I’m never leaving.”

Herah sent him a fierce grin and jumped down from the Fereldan Frostback she had brought down. She had managed to climb him while Bull distracted him. Damn, if he had doubts about her before, there were none left.

Behind them, Sera had more or less collapsed to the ground, still amazed that they had survived that. Her clothes were destroyed by several close-calls and dives to safety. Vivienne was much more composed, obviously, but she had sat down on a boulder to recover. Her lyrium stock was completely empty. Her hat had long been lost, maybe burnt. 

Inquisition scouts were slowly coming down into the valley, in awe and reverent. They helped the soldiers who had assisted them against the dragonlings before pulling back on Herah’s order. Most of them were alive but hurt.

“Bull. This might not be the best moment, but can I have a word?”

“I’m all out of things to hit. Go ahead.”

“How do you do it?” She gestured toward the Inquisition members. “How do you deal with all of this?”

“I’m guessing that not having a magic hole in my hand helps, but if you specify I might be able to help more,” he replied, smiling. He couldn’t be in a better mood, which was probably why she was asking now.

Herah huffed and pushed back the strands of red hair which had escaped her braids. “You’re Qunari, and yet you lead and work with non-Qunari like it’s no big deal.”

“Yeah, that might have something to do with having no other choice for the last ten years,” he pointed out, wiping off some of the blood dripping from one of his light wounds. “I get why you, Tal-Vashoth, made your own mercenary group, but it’s double-edged.”

Herah looked around them silently without meeting his eyes. She was alone, away from the Valo-kas, her friends and family, and the only man who looked like her couldn’t have had a more different life than hers.

“Hey. The truth is… you do your job the best you can, you find the good ones and ignore the others… or punch them, if necessary.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep. The way other people think of you, it’s their problem, not yours.”

“What if they make it yours?”

“Punch them,” he offered, laughing. “Seriously, Adaar, there are always some assholes, but you’ll feel better focusing on the good ones.”

“Did you meet many?”

“Well, the Chargers… and, yeah, a few others.”

“This is all over my head.”

“You’re doing fine. One step at a time, and just know when to delegate,” he reassured her, patting her shoulder. “Now, I’m thinking I should get a memento of that fight. What do you think? Claw? Tooth?”

“Uh, sure, if you have someone in mind to give half of yours…”

“Ah. So Vashoth know that tradition?”

“My parents liked it. They downsized to a wyvern though, it’s less rare… Wait. I should take one too. We might not get the same occasion twice.” 

“Now you’re talking.”

Chapter Text

Two weeks after coming back from Val Royeaux, Blanche emerged from her bedroom, freed from a migraine who had kept her in the dark for three days.

The orphanage was her first destination. It was the afternoon already, so she checked with the teachers first, asking them if everything had gone well in her absence. She went to see the young children playing in the garden afterwards. She had to listen diligently to many eager reports and questions about her health. So, it took time to notice a gathering near the gazebo.

“Hello everyone,” she said as she approached. “What’s going on?”

The four children startled, straightened and lined up immediately. Blanche narrowed her eyes at them. She only asked children to line up when they had been naughty, and they had spontaneously taken the stance.

“Alright. What’s wrong?”

Despite their silent admission of guilt, none of them replied. Blanche had to observe them to realize the problem.

“Damien, is that blood?!” The nine-year-old boy had stains on his clothes, big stains. He was holding his arms behind him and biting his lips. “Are you hurt?! Please, show me!” When he didn’t cooperate, she crouched in front of him. “Whatever happened, I promise I won’t get angry, Damien. Right now, I’m worried: that looks like a lot of blood, I need to see if you’re hurt.”

Slowly, he showed her his arm.

She gasped and turned pale. “Maker’s breath!”

The boy had deep and long scratches all over his arm. There were makeshift bandages tied around to stop the blood flow, but they were already stained and messed up. His friends’ work, no doubt. They were taught basic first aid.

“What happened? You’re losing far too much blood!”

She removed her scarf and tied it around the small arm in a much effective bandage. “Let’s get you to the healer, right away! Follow me, everyone! You have some explanations to give!”

They cooperated easily, reassured that she had taken charge.

“What did this, Damien? It looks like an animal’s claws. Did something attack you?” When no-one answered her, she sighed. “I’m guessing that you disobeyed my orders and went to play somewhere you shouldn’t have. I’m not angry, but I need to know what happened.”

“We went to the ruins, My Lady,” a girl finally admitted.

“Older kids said it was pretty and safe. We just wanted to check it out, real fast,” another added.

“But Damien saw a light through the trees and went to see.”

“A huge thing attacked him!”

“What huge thing?” Blanche asked. “Describe it to me, it’s important.”

The children turned toward Damien who was far too pale for Blanche’s comfort. “It was tall and grey. It had no legs, but two big arms and just one eye! It jumped on me, like that!” He threw his good arm forward with his hand curled into claws.

“... Damien, what did the light look like?”

“It was green! Like the Breach!”

“Oh, Maker,” Blanche breathed. A rift. She had a fade rift in her backyard. Of all the things she had feared, this had never come to mind. She could only be glad that it hadn’t appeared closer! The elven ruins were at the edge of the castle’s propriety. She had forbidden the children to go there and warned her staff because the old stones could be dangerous. Well, that was her main reason… There were others.

Blanche left Damien with the healers, chided the little culprits about the danger of going somewhere they had been warned about, and talked to the orphanage’s staff.

As she went to investigate, Charles met her in the maze separating the main grounds from the ruins.

“Anne told me there was something dangerous in the ruins,” he said. “What is it? Shouldn't I bring more men?”

“No. We aren’t going to kill it. I just want to see how bad is it. I fear that this is linked to the Breach. There have been rumors of small ‘breaches’ appearing randomly in the country. They call them rifts, and like the Breach, only the Herald of Andraste can close them. I don’t think we can do anything else than keep people away from it and wait for the Herald to come this way.”

“What attacked the children then?”

“Demons sometimes come out of them.”

“Demons?! My Lady, I can’t let you go anywhere near it!”

“They don’t move far from the rifts. I won’t get close enough for an attack, and you’re here to shield me, aren’t you?”

Charles sighed like he always did when she ignored his demands. “Then at least stay behind me.”

She conceded to his request.

The elven ruins were beautiful in an “architecture blending with nature” or “nature reasserting itself” kind of way. Blanche could understand the fascination of the children. This place was more than a thousand years old, though. Pillars and arches sometimes crumbled without warning.

They were part of an old construction that included the foundations of the castle and the canals in the garden leading to the pond and further away to Lake Celestine. The irrigation of the gardens was owed to the elves.

The ruins started with stairs at the end of the maze. They led up a hill to a large archway (under which you should never linger). The cobblestone path starting them was surrounded by foundations not much higher than Blanche’s thigh, although some had high pillars which made them dangerous. Trees, bushes, and grasses were growing among them. At the end of the path though… Blanche always saw it first. It was blindingly obvious to the eyes of an initiated. Small stairs, five steps, and then you reached a lovingly decorated mirror, high and large.

An eluvian.

Well, it was obvious to her, but so many plants had grown around it that very few identified it for what it was. Mirror was a generous term after all. The surface was murky and stained. It looked more like polished stone.

Blanche had deliberately chosen to leave it as she had found it. Very few people had seen it. Most were well-behaved enough to follow her recommendations. She didn’t need anyone to focus on it and guess what it was and what it could do. That was far more interest than her people, her castle, and her orphanage needed.

“I see it,” Charles said, bringing her out of her thoughts.

She followed his line of sight to notice a characteristic green glow. It was hidden further in the ruins, where a forest had grown.

“Can you see anything else?”

“Mh… Looks like movement, and more glowy things. They really don’t go far, do they?”

“There’s that, at least,” Blanche sighed in relief. “We’ll warn the children and the staff, explain that the danger is even greater now.”

“What’s that?” Charles said as he pulled out his sword and shifted his shield in front of him.

A glowing orb was coming toward them. It ignored Charles, turned around them, and then focused on Blanche, spinning around her. She tried to bat it away like a fly, but the contact was unpleasant. She hissed.

“Damn magical, demonic bullshit,” Charles grumbled, as he took Blanche in his arms and raised his shield to cover her.

“It doesn’t seem to be able to do much, but we should go, now,” Blanche said.

“Agreed. I’ll put something at the end of the maze. A warning trap. I think I have an old rune for that, somewhere...”

That evening, Blanche and Charles made a joint announcement to impress the seriousness of the danger in small adventurous minds.

“I’ll remind you that, even if you disobey me, if you’re injured, you’re to come to us immediately. I wouldn’t punish you, your injury would be punishment enough. Never delay care, no matter the reason,” Blanche insisted. It pained her sometimes, but for children who had had rough lives before joining the orphanage, that kind of thing needed to be said and repeated.

oOo

“If the Chargers were still here, I could ask them to go with you and deal with it,” Blanche said at breakfast the next day. “But I can’t risk you going without competent backup, Charles. You’re our main defense, I need you in good health. It isn’t worth the risk.”

“I understand, My Lady,” Charles grumbled while aggressively buttering his toast to let out his frustration. He had offered to go back with more men, but they weren’t soldiers by trade, mainly burly men knowing how to handle a blade. Against demons, it was far too great a risk.  

Elise was serving them. After filling Blanche’s glass of apple juice anew, she bowed her head. “If My Lady allows me…”

“Of course, Elise, speak up,” Blanche agreed before biting into a fluffy waffle. She loved her cooks.

“If My Lady is looking for men-at-arms, there are two in the inn right now.”

“Really? Who are they?”

“A dark-haired man, really handsome if I can say so. I didn’t catch his name, I only stayed long enough to grab my man, you see. The other is a tall elf with white hair and strange markings. Fenris is his name, I believe.”

Blanche choked on her mouthful and grabbed her glass of apple juice to make it pass.

“Is that so?” she squeaked. “Do you know why they’re here?”

“My husband said they were talking about following slavers.”

“Slavers? In Orlais?” Charles said doubtfully.

Celene, despite her faults, had been very strict about upholding the laws against slavery. If it was rare before, it was even more so nowadays since extremely frowned upon. The nobles who partake in the practice were ostracized from Court and could lose a lot.

“That’s what my man said. The human replied that some slavers still work in Orlais. They grab elves and bring them to Tevinter.”

“Maker—” Charles’ exclamation was cut out by the glass of Blanche loudly meeting the table.

“Are there any here?!”

Elise took a step back at her mistress’ exclamation and flush of anger. “I’m not sure, My Lady—”

“I need to speak to them. Slavers! On my lands?!” Her orphanage was full of young elves who would be easy prey to slavers.

“I can send for them, My Lady,” Elise offered.

“No, I’ll go to them. It will be quicker.”

“I’ll escort you,” Charles offered.

“No. Protect the children. Make sure that no one can hurt them,” she ordered. She hurried to finish her meal and then left in a rush.

Slavers! One more thing she had to worry about… Will unexpected dangers never cease to pop up?!

Blanche grabbed a horse in the stables despite her preference for walking, eager to catch Hawke and Fenris before they could leave. She couldn’t believe her chance to meet them, but she could do without the motive.

She arrived at the inn in record time (she usually took the time to speak to every habitant wishing to talk to her, that day she only waved at them). Recently renamed “The Chargers’ rest”, the inn had grown and been renovated thanks to all the money the Chargers had spent there.

The stable boy helped her get down: she had been in such a hurry that she hadn’t taken the time to change into riding clothes. She hated riding in a dress, but needs must.

“Are the dark man and the white elf still there?” she asked the boy as she fetched a copper.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Excellent, thank you.”

The inn was quiet and mostly empty. Only some of the patrons were still eating breakfast. The innkeeper and his wife were absent, probably in the kitchen.

A flash of white betrayed its bearer. Blanche made a beeline toward it. Two watchful pairs of eyes followed her approach. They were as handsome as she remembered. Oh, and Maker, with their wary expressions, they were even more intimidating than Varric Tethras and his friends. If she didn’t have a good reason to speak to them, she might have felt too shy to bother them.

“Messieurs,” she greeted them, bowing her head. “I’m the Comtesse Blanche de Lamare, owner of those lands. I have just been informed of your presence.”

“Well met, my Lady,” Hawke replied. “What can we do for you?”

“I’ve been told you were speaking of slavers in Orlais. Are you there because some of them work around here?”

“We believe so.”

“Andraste preserves me. This is too much in one week,” she murmured to herself.

Hawke eyed her warily and pulled a chair from another table.

“Why don’t you sit?” he offered.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Maybe we should introduce ourselves first. I’m Hawke, and this is Fenris.”

“Oh.” Blanche blushed and glanced at them, one after the other. “I’m sorry, I was rude, but I know who you are. My maid mentioned your name, and I… well…”

“You read the book,” Fenris stated with a fatalism who spoke of experience.

“Yes.” Blanche smiled at them timidly. “I’m pleased to meet you both. I hope you’ve been doing well since you left Kirkwall.”

The query seemed to surprise them both.

“Well enough, I guess. Thank you for asking,” Hawke replied. He leaned on an elbow, more relaxed than when she had shown up.

“You’ve been hunting slavers, I presume…”

“We have. We got a tip on activity around here.”

“Do you know more? Who are their targets for example?”

“Why do you ask?” Fenris seemed more suspicious of her than Hawke. She didn’t blame him, she probably could have handled this better.

“I’m worried for the orphanage,” she admitted honestly to compensate for her earlier brusqueness.

“The orphanage…” Hawke’s eyes widened in understanding. “You have elves?”

“Yes, the orphanage takes children of all races. Elves are nearly half of our wards.”

Hawke and Fenris exchanged a look.

“I heard there were human kids. I didn’t think…” Hawke admitted.

Orphanages in Orlais were most often segregated: they took humans or elves. They were rarely mixed like Blanche’s institution. When they were… well, the races were rarely treated equally.  

“That could be their target,” Fenris admitted.

Blanche pressed her hands together. “That’s what I was worried about.”

“Madame!” The innkeeper had come out of the kitchen. “Good day to you, my lady. What can I get you? Some fine cider?”

“Something stronger would be more appropriate. These are tiring days…”

“Don’t say no more. I’ll make you a great pick-me-up, you can count on me,” he said, pulling out a bottle of liqueur.

“What else got you in a tizzy?” Hawke asked.

“Yesterday, I found out that there is a… I don’t know if you heard of them. A rift? From the Breach?”

“There is a fade rift around here?”

“Yes! Right behind the castle, in elven ruins. Children found it, and one of them got hurt. Nothing too bad, fortunately, but that shade could have done much worse.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

The innkeeper handed over a small glass to Blanche who drank it down in one go. He laughed when she handed it back to him.

“Bottoms up. The Iron Bull would be proud, ma’am!”

She offered him a small smile. Certainly, she’d have never done that before meeting the Qunari. He had been the one to introduce her to this ‘pick-me-up’ which never failed to relax and boost her at the same time. She didn’t know what it contained except that it was syrupy and tasted very sweet and sour, as such it was best swallowed in one go. To be honest, she preferred not to know.

“Tell him to hurry up for me, please. It’s not the same without them around here.”

“I agree, and I will,” she promised before turning back to their guests. “What are your plans then?”

“We were thinking of exploring the surroundings, but if the orphanage is a target, it might be better to check it out first,” Hawke replied, glancing at Fenris as he spoke. The elf nodded in approval.

“By all means, please, come,” Blanche agreed gladfully.

They left the inn, grabbed a horse each, and ride back to the castle. On her left, Hawke had a bow and daggers at his belt. On his other side, Fenris had an impressive sword secured to his back. They were both wearing fetching leather with some plates.

“So, that orphanage, it’s yours?” Hawke asked.

“Yes, I founded it,” she confirmed proudly. “It’s eight years old now.”

“How many elves are there?” Fenris asked.

“Mh… Let me think. Several just left to help at Haven, so, that makes… Forty-two. We have ninety-three children in total.”

“That’s… a lot for such a town,” Hawke pointed out.

“Yes, it is. Many come from beyond my lands. The number never ceases to rise. We got a lot due to the civil war of course, and there were the consequences of the uprising in Halamshiral. That’s when we got a lot of elves.”

They approached the castle enough to see it in the distance. She pointed at it. “The orphanage used to be in the annex of the castle alone, but I had to convert some of the classrooms into more bedrooms, so some of the lessons happen in the castle itself now.”

They stepped through the wide and high metal gates decorated with swans. The main path was framed with young trees — Blanche had them planted when she moved in, the park was too bare for her tastes.

“The stables and workshops are on the left, the orphanage on the right, and the castle in the middle. All of them are connected on the ground floor. As for the orphanage, the bedrooms on the first floor are for the eldest children. The ground floor used to be for lessons and dining only, but as I said, I had to move the youngest there.”

“The youngest are alone there?” Fenris asked, frowning.

“Yes, with their caretakers. It’s easier if there’s an issue, they’re closer. It’s also less warm in summer but better heated in winter.”

“It makes them an easy target.”

Hawke explained his lover’s comment: “Slavers always go for the weakest. Young kids far from anyone else with just a few locks, windows, and nannies to defend them… It’s an easy target.”

Blanche looked for words. “I… hadn’t thought of that.”

“Why would you?” Fenris sighed, his expression softening. “You clearly care for them.”

“I do, and I want them to be safe here. Please, if you have suggestions on how to improve their safety, let me know.”

Blanche showed them around, glad that the children were all at their lessons so there couldn’t be any interruption.

“Where do the elves sleep?” Fenris asked when they were in the bedroom for the youngest boys, from two to five years old (the infants stayed with the caretakers when they had some).

Blanche shrugged and gestured around. “Here. Are you asking me for their beds? I have honestly no idea, they like to swap. Once, I went to check on a sick child in the middle of the night, and I ended up waking up the wrong one because they had swapped for the ill kid to be more comfortable.”

“So… you treat them all equally?” Fenris asked.

“Yes, of course. Kindness and fairness are my main demands regarding the staff.”

“And you never had any trouble with that?”

“Oh, some, inevitably. I changed the mind of most people… and the others weren’t worth it.”

A maid appeared and bowed as she explained: “Forgive me, my Lady, but the Vicomte de Melun is here and asking for you.”

“Speaking of trouble. What does he want?”

“He has a child with him, to ‘leave in your charitable hands’, he said.”

Blanche sighed loudly.

“A problem?” Hawke asked.

“The hypocrisy of men. The Vicomte is a neighbor who likes nothing more than to belittle me and my ‘charity case’,” she explained, gesturing at the orphanage. “But he doesn’t see the issue in sending me orphans without any financial contribution. In any case, I should free the poor child from this boor’s company. Please, excuse me, and feel free to look around. Marion, here, is a former ward, she’ll be able to answer all your questions. Marion, if you see Ser Charles, do tell him those gentlemen are welcome here to help us against the slavers.”

Blanche left to find her guest in the reception room, where he should be. She ended up finding him in the garden. The gall of this man never ceased to annoy her.

“Vicomte,” she called. “What brings you?”

Gérard de Melun was a fifty years old man with silver hair but a muscled body. He was an active hunter, too much so, in fact: they had had disputes when his hunts intrude on her grounds. He turned around to meet her, showing the two people in his company: a small elvhen boy, ten to thirteen years old, and a man in Orlesian noble garb with tanned skin.

She had the strangest feeling at their sight: a shiver of warning, a doubt at their honesty, as if she was staring at the beginning of a play, a deadly one.

“Comtesse, here you are. We’ve been waiting.”

“You wouldn’t have if you had bothered to announce your visit,” she replied sharply.

“We were admiring your gardens,” he said, ignoring her. “I’m so glad you still have the money to maintain your grounds with everything you spend on that obsession of yours.”

Used to his behavior, she asked: “Is this the child you want to place in my care?” She stepped forward to introduce herself, but the unknown man got between them. She threw him a suspicious glance but focused on the boy: “Hello dear, my name is Blanche de—”

“Yes, yes,” Gérard interrupted again. “We know.”

“Do you? I’m glad since I still don’t know the names of those you brought into my house, Vicomte,” she replied sharply. “Your manners get worse and worse with the time you spend hunting beasts.”

A blush of anger rose to his cheeks, but he walked away stubbornly to point at the canals. “A work of art those, it’s too bad you have so little interest in them. Your husband, on the other hand, was—”

“My husband never cared for them,” she interrupted impatiently. “They were renovated on my orders. You’re trying my patience, Vicomte. If you just came to bring me the boy, then your work is done, you may leave.”

”Him? Oh, he doesn’t matter.”

“How dare you—?!” Blanche exclaimed, outraged. She turned to address the boy and reassure him. That’s when she finally managed to meet his eyes. His dilated pupils were staring into space. “What…”

“Let’s end this,” the unknown man said impatiently.

“The plan was to go into the maze!” Gérard complained, but his associate had already reached for the boy, pulling out a knife from inside his coat.

Before Blanche could intervene or even scream, the Vicomte grabbed her from behind, pressing a blade to her throat. She was powerless to stop the brutal murder of the boy, slaughtered and ripped open in two quick and merciless strikes.

She screamed in fright and horror at the blood spurting. She tried to take a step back, but the Vicomte was still holding her, indifferent to the boy’s fate. His blade was cutting her, but in her shock, she could barely feel it.

Instead of dropping to the ground, the blood levitated and surrounded the corpse which morphed into a horrifying sight. Blood magic, she realized distantly. This man was a mage. A Tevinter one, probably, related to the slavers. That elf was certainly a slave. He was becoming an abomination.

She was released, but she was too shocked to realize it at first. She only moved when the abomination roared. Terrified, she screamed again and started to run. The flight would later be very vague in her memories.

She entered the maze because its tall hedges seemed to offer more protection than the open garden, but the abomination blazed through them. When she reached the exit, a loud noise sounded out, piercing through her panic. The alarm rune that Charles had left there.

She ran up the stairs leading to the elven ruins. It left her breathless. Her heart was beating so fast that she felt it would burst before that abomination could kill her.

The ruins had little protection to offer. She ran to the eluvian because it was the only thing she could see in her panic. She ran to it and cowered behind it, in a move that no one in their right mind would have found of any use.

However, the abomination was close enough that when she dived behind the eluvian as it tried to strike her, the blow reached the mirror. A normal mirror would have broken. This one fought back. A ring of fire burst from it, burning the abomination… and Blanche.

She rolled to the ground, screaming, pressing her burning clothes to the dirt to stifle the flames. She patted her hair down frantically, and rolled away, away from the danger, away from the pain. Tears of pain and terror filled her eyes. She couldn’t see anything even if she had the will to stare at the abomination coming back to finish her. That little fire couldn’t have eliminated it, surely.

Yet, when Charles found her a moment later (seconds, minutes, hours?), his shout waking her up from a dazed shock that cloud all her memories, there was only a pile of ashes in front of the eluvian (intact and more visible than before: the vegetation climbing around it had been reduced to ashes). The explosion of fire had been directed at its assailant. She was just collateral damage.

“Madame,” Charles called, frantic. He fell to his knees in front of her. “Madame, are you alright? where are you hurt?!”

Distantly, Blanche noticed Hawke and Fenris running to join them.

She burst into tears.

Hawke and Fenris exchanged an uneasy glance. The Comtesse had been kind and sweet enough that it hurt them both to see her in such a state. Fenris gripped his sword tighter. The blade was stained by the blood of the Tevinter mage they fought. The Vicomte had tried to run, but Hawke had thrown a knife at his back and ordered the staff who had come running to keep him down (they were eager to obey).

They had been too far to help, but they had seen the scene from the other side of the gardens. What had happened here, in the ruins, however, was rather hard to tell. Hawke gestured with his chin toward the green glow between trees. The Fade Rift they had been told about. Did the abomination and another demon fought and annihilated each other? A rage demon maybe, it would explain Blanche’s burns.

It would be useless to ask her, she seemed deep in shock.

The Chevalier, an abrupt but professional man, was rubbing his mistress’ back awkwardly. “It’s over now, madame.”

“It burns. W-water,” she managed to say through her sobs and hiccups.

“Let me carry her,” Hawke offered since Charles was wearing heavy armor. He lifted her, sprinted away, down the stairs, and through the damaged maze.

“The canals,” Blanche said, her tears dying down.

Hawke kneeled next to the trench as wide and half as deep as a bathtub. She rolled into it and completely immersed herself, only emerging after a moment long enough to worry Hawke.

“Better?”

She only nodded in reply. She had gone silent and stayed so for a long while.

oOo

“I’m so sorry, Madame, but I don’t think I can save it.” The hairdresser stared sadly at the strands of red hair falling in her hands as she tried to comb it to evaluate the damage (it was bad).

“Will I be bald?” Blanche asked in the detached voice that defined her since she had started talking again.

It was late in the evening now. She had spent a long time in a cold bath while the healer prepared salve for her burns. Treating them and bandaging them all had taken time as well. She had stayed mum during all of it. Only Charles’ report had gotten her to speak a few words.

“No! No, I don’t think it’s that bad. I can keep a few centimeters, my Lady.”

“I see.”

“... You could wear a wig?”

“No. I trust you to make me presentable.”

Blanche watched her hair fall to the ground, stony-faced. The long hair which used to reach her breasts had been in a braid when it caught fire. It was lucky that it started at the tip thus avoiding her scalp. The hairdresser had to cut short at the back but managed to keep some length to the top and front sides. Blanche could have passed for a modern woman in the old world she vaguely remembered.

She left her room, wearing a loose dress to let her body breathe. She had burns over her thighs and chest, but fortunately, they were relatively light. The worse were her hands, which she had used to put out the fire on her head, and her neck, where the fur collar of her coat had caught fire. All of it would heal within a few weeks, and the healer had been hopeful that it wouldn’t scar. However, she looked like the beginning of a mummy, and the pain was excruciating (“it’s a good sign, my lady,” the healer had said, “if you didn’t feel pain then the burn would be very deep”). The concoction against the pain made her head fuzzy.

The servants she passed on the way pressed themselves against the wall, fearful to touch her and make the pain worse. Many of them had seen her brought inside in a sorry state. The whole castle had been traumatized by the event.

Blanche knew that the children, confined inside when the alarm had sounded, had heard the news and worried about her. She couldn’t see them yet, though. She might not manage to contain her tears in front of them, and they needed her to be strong above all else.

Her bandaged hands stayed at her side as she reached her destination. She stared at the handle of the door with loathing.

A young maid, still an apprentice, approached. “Do you want me to open it, my lady?” she asked timidly.

Blanche couldn’t use her hands for anything. Any pressure on the skin gave her terrible pain. She nodded reluctantly. The helplessness was frustrating, but she had to accept it. There was no point in resisting.

Charles, Hawke, and Fenris stood up or straightened when she came in.

“What did you learn?” she asked before they could ask her how she was. That question was best left unanswered.

The Vicomte de Melun was in bed, unconscious. The knife Hawke had thrown at him had hit vital organs. The healer had given him only a few more hours to live, at most.

No one in the castle would cry over it.

“The Tevinter slavers were ‘associates of a friend’, apparently,” Hawke explained. “They made a deal. The Vicomte would help them if they got rid of you first. They would have pretended that the kid was a mage who became an abomination of his own will. Then, they were supposed to take advantage of the disorder your death would have caused to kidnap orphans at night.”

“It means there are still slavers around, waiting for a signal to attack,” Fenris added. “We need to find them and deal with them. They might have other slaves with them.”

“We were planning to search the surrounding country tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother,” Blanche replied. “As soon as he’s dead, we’ll go to the Château de Melun and find the answer there. In the meantime, please, stay. I’d feel better with you here.”

“It would be our pleasure.”

oOo

The next day, a solemn procession reached the Castle of Melun. In town, people stopped and stared at them, or rather at Blanche, whose bandages were showing at the edges of her dress and whose hair was odd, and at the cart covered in a white sheet. The sheet was pulled down to uncover the head of the dead Vicomte.

The silence was complete.

Blanche had a reputation as the kind and smiling Comtesse. There was no smile and no kindness to be seen that day. She was wearing a full mask, the one representing her husband’s family which had a darker reputation and scarier decoration.

They stopped in the front yard of the Castle of Melun.

“We’re not staying,” Charles told the stable boy who offered to deal with their horses. To the maid coming forward, he said: “Let the Vicomtesse know that the Comtesse de Lamare demands to see her, immediately. And unless she wants her late husband dumped in your well, she should hurry.

The Vicomtesse de Melun wasn’t as bad as her husband. She was just… passive and indifferent to most things and people. All that mattered to her was her comfort, but she wasn’t an idiot.

She came to meet them quickly enough. At the way she glanced at the cart and then at Blanche, lingering on her bandages, she perfectly understood the situation.

Servants were coming out of the castle and stables to eavesdrop on the conversation and learn what was going on.

“The Vicomte Gérard de Melun attacked the Comtesse Blanche de Lamare without provocation in front of witnesses, yesterday morning,” Charles stated loudly. “What’s more, this attempt on her life was made with the participation of a Tevinter mage practicing blood magic and slavery, two of the most barbaric and illicit crimes in the Orlesian Empire. Thus, the Vicomte is guilty of attempted murder and association with slavers and blood mages. He tried to flee the scene of the crime and died of the injuries he received to apprehend him.”

The servants burst into shocked whispers, but the Vicomtesse showed no surprise, proof that she had at least inklings of her husband’s intents.

“I see. Justice has been rendered then,” she remarked calmly. “Thank you for bringing back his body.” She gestured at two men who approached hesitantly. The mention of blood magic was enough to make people scared of anything related to it.

Fenris and Hawke shifted their horses in the way.

“Do you really think it would be so easy?” Blanche asked, staring at her neighbor coldly. “Oh, he’s dead, subject over? I don’t think so, Mariette.”

The Vicomtesse turned toward her and observed her injuries through her mask. “I’m sorry for the harm he caused you, Blanche, but you know how impulsive and bullhead he was. I could do nothing to—”

“I don’t care about your platitudes!” Blanche snapped. Her mare, feeling her anger, stamped and took a step forward. “The harm the Vicomte caused me is nothing compared to the infamy of his actions and associations. I could have you and your whole family stripped of all your possession and titles for such crimes!” She looked around pointedly. “These lands would do very well to expand mine. And you always liked to praise your son’s manor in Val Royeaux. I could do with a residence there, or I might create another orphanage, why not? You wouldn’t be there anymore to complain about it after all.”

Helene’s posture became meeker. “My Lady is too kind to—”

“Quiet!” Blanche demanded. She felt ready to fall apart. Being on horseback was excruciating for her, but she had insisted: the carriage would have been just as bad and wouldn’t have shown the same power and determination. Pain, both physical and mental, was getting at her, though. “Hawke,” she called.

Bless his soul, the man understood her request. “The Vicomte associated with Tevinter slavers. One of them was killed, but we know there are more and that they might have slaves with them. We want their exact position and all the information you have about them.”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t try My Lady's patience,” Charles warned with a hand on the pommel of his sword.

The Vicomtesse hesitated and met Blanche’s eyes. She only found coldness and none of the gentleness she used to take advantage of. She yielded. “They’re in the abandoned dockyards near the lake.”

“We’ll take your husband’s correspondence,” Hawke said before dismounting.

“And if you wish to keep your lands, Madame,” Charles added, “I suggest you offer generous compensation for the damages your husband caused. It’s only justice after all.”

Chapter Text

Around the same time, in Haven

“I’ll be leaving for Redcliffe tomorrow,” Herah Adaar explained to her companions. 

They had been called to the war room after the advisors had finished their debate on whether they should go to the mages or the templars first. 

Bull was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. The mages, then. He couldn’t disagree: leaving the Tevinters to do whatever they wanted with the mages of the South didn’t sit well with him or any Qunari.

“Solas and Vivienne will accompany me.”

The two mages nodded in agreement as if there had never been any doubt of their participation.

“Cassandra can’t come, it might upset the mages. So I need another volunteer.”

The warriors and rogues eyed each other. None of them was particularly eager to get involved with magic.

“Nope,” Sera bailed first. “I didn’t sign up for magic bullshit.”

“The Breach is magic bullshit,” Herah pointed out without batting an eyelash. “But very well. Boys?”

Blackwall volunteered first. He leaned forward and bowed his head. “I’m at your service, my lady.”

Since Herah had defended him after he had admitted to his lie, Blackwall was entirely loyal to her. Bull even suspected the beginning of a crush. The warrior had told him all about the conversation while they were sharing a beer. Josephine and Herah had been in favor of forgiving him for his lie and keeping him from the start. Cullen had been won over by their arguments, apparently well-placed to agree to redemption and second chances (Bull suspected Cullen's time as a Templar had been... dark; the Commander definitely had a few skeletons in his closet). Leliana had been the most upset. In the end, she had agreed to the others' stance, but she had demanded Blackwall forewent every mark of the Grey Wardens. Afterwards, Blackwall had talked to her privately and managed to convince her he only meant to honor his mentor by keeping the surname. Thus, Thom Blackwall was now a member of the Inquisition like any other.

“Then, it’s decided. We’ll be leaving tomo—”

A loud knocking at the door interrupted Herah. Cullen went to open, displeased.

“We demanded not to be interrupted. What is it?!” he asked the guards.

“I’m sorry, Commander, but men just arrived, bloody and in bad shape. They pretend to be Seekers of the Truth, and they demanded to see Lady Cassandra urgently.”

Cassandra left in a rush, and Cullen followed. The rest of them went along to see what all the fuss was about.

The newcomers were surrounded by soldiers and Chargers with weapons drawn. There were three, bloody and hurt. Their armors wore the sigil of the Seekers of Truth, but they were far from the pristine example you’d expect from their Order.

“Daniel!” Cassandra shouted, reaching for their leader. “What happened?”

“You were right. He betrayed us.”

“Lord Seeker Lucius?! What did he do?”

“He tried to separate us from the Templars without explaining why. When we tried to question him, he led us into a trap.” Daniel glanced at his companions. “Two didn't make it.”

“We should move this to the war room,” Leliana stepped in. 

“I’ll have healers brought,” Josephine added.

Bull watched the small group step into the Chantry, wondering how fucked up things had managed to get once again. 

After a small hour of interrogation, Herah stepped out of the Chantry with Leliana and Josephine. They had left ex-templars and seekers together to discuss and relax.

Herah caught sight of the Iron Bull watching the entrance patiently and made a beeline for him. 

“How bad?” he asked.

“Bad,” she replied curtly. “Things have changed with the Templars. Cassandra and Cullen want me to go to them. Leliana is still on the mages. Josephine and I don't know what to think anymore.”

“Okay.”

“No, not okay. Bull, I—”

“— need to let out some steam. I get you. Let’s go.” He pushed her toward the exit of the village and the training grounds.

Herah usually favored sword and shield, but she grabbed the staff Bull offered her without hesitation. Qunari warriors started to fight with staves. It seemed Vashoth did the same.

They went at each other without hesitation or reservation. Quickly, the soldiers training around them stopped and pulled back to give them more space. Even more just stopped to watch them spar. The Chargers were first among them.

Qunari and Vashoth had a long reach. With a staff, that reach was nearly double. Herah tended to favor a quicker and more agile style than Bull’s blunt and strong approach. It made their spar a sight to behold.

“You know how to keep a cool head even when you’re angry,” Bull commented after a moment. “Good on you. But that’s not the goal here. Let it out.”

Herah was breathing loudly.

“Come on, Vashoth!”

She grabbed her staff with both hands and shouted as she attacked without any of the finesse she had used before. She hurled herself at him, jumping to bring her staff down violently. Bull blocked and slipped to the side.

Herah’s staff broke, loudly. She landed, rolled, and stood up to attack with the two broken halves.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Bull encouraged her, using both ends of his staff to parry the consecutive blows.

After a brief exchange, he managed to strike her arm, forcing her to let go of one of her weapons. She went with the movement and threw him a side kick which hit his side. He wasn’t so easy to move though, and she was the one destabilized. She fell to the ground on her back, losing her other staff.

She rose on her elbows instead of rolling to get back up again. She was trying to catch her breath.

“Better?”

She nodded. He offered his hand to help her up. Once she was on her feet, their public clapped in approval before scattering.

“Nice fight,” Varric commented as he approached with Solas. “Is there a problem?”

“Tough choices are tough,” Bull replied as he went to retrieve Herah’s fallen weapons.

“Urgh,” she growled. “Why can’t we do both?”

“If this refers to the Mages and Templars, we can’t have an alliance with both,” Solas pointed out.

“I know! Josephine reminded me, but—” Herah stopped mid-word. By happenstance, she faced the Breach. She stared at it for a short moment before spinning around. “We don’t need an alliance.”

“Don’t we?” Varric asked, sceptical.

She jogged toward the Chantry. “Get everyone! Back to the meeting room!”

In the war room, the Seekers had been patched up and were sitting in front of empty plates and glasses at one end of the table. All faces were grim. 

“Alright, to sum up: Lord Seeker Lucius attacked his own men, which leads us to think that the Templars and the Seekers gathered in Therinfal Redoubt are in danger,” Herah explained to the companions who had just arrived.

“You talked of a trap,” Bull pointed out, glancing at the Seekers. “Who attacked you? Your brothers?”

“No,” Daniel replied. “Members of the Order of Fiery Promise, enemies of the Seekers. Madmen that the Lord Seeker... that Lucius should never have worked with.”

“Ah. A turncoat, then.”

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed. “This is reason to believe that the Templars and the Seekers can still be saved if we stop Lucius now, but we have to move immediately. Maker’s know what he’ll do now that his victims managed to escape.”

“Change of plan then? We’re going to the Templars instead?” Blackwall asked.

“We haven’t managed to find an agreement on that matter,” Josephine said politely.

“The Mages still need to be removed from the Imperium’s reach,” Leliana pointed out.

“We do both,” Herah stated. She raised her hands to stave off protests. “I know, we can’t have an alliance with both Templars and Mages. They can’t put up with each other and all that.”

Sera snickered at Herah’s exasperated expression.

“But this isn’t about an alliance anymore. In fact, we don’t need an alliance with any of them.”

“We need them to seal the Breach,” Solas intervene.

“We need people with certain powers to seal the Breach,” she corrected. “Do we need the Templar Order or the Rebel Mages to sign up a piece of paper and say we’re allies? No, we don’t. This Inquisition has been created not by the will of an organization but by the will of individuals. They’re right here.” 

She looked at Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine and Cullen. They glanced at each other and listened. 

“It has come so far and grown thanks to the decision of other individuals who saw a threat and decided to do something about it.” 

She looked at her companions, one by one.

“Now, I get that it would be great if the Chantry, the Mages or the Templars could make up their mind and help, but we don’t need all of them. We need the smart ones like Enchanter Vivienne, the altruist ones like Mother Giselle and the brave ones like Knight-Captain Rylen. Those are the ones I want by my side.”

“Indeed, my dear, well said,” Vivienne approved. “Unfortunately, quality is rare to come by.”

“True enough. But if we go to the Mages and the Templars —who both managed to get themselves in a mess, somehow. If we go to them and help them… why should we be the one asking for anything? At the end of it all, they have a simple choice: continue to follow the words of leaders who brought them to their downfall, or do something worthwhile and help to close the giant green thing in the damn sky by joining the Inquisition. I’d rather give a choice to each of them and only have the help of those who are worth it.”

“Could that work?“ Cassandra wondered.

“It’s risky. Templars won’t leave the order voluntarily,” Cullen said, rubbing his jaw.

“Won’t they? Why is there a dozen of them running around then?” Bull asked.

The Commander blinked and tilted his head. “Point taken. Will the volunteers be enough, though?”

“It’s either that or leave a danger at our door, which is also risky,” Leliana said. “I agree with the Herald. Josephine?”

“I…” The Ambassador seemed a bit dazed. “Dismissing the power of an alliance goes against everything I’ve been taught, but… I find this quite exciting actually,” she admitted with a grin. “The power of individuals over that of organizations. Fascinating idea. If this works and we manage to recruit both Templars and Mages, thus uniting them for the same cause, the Inquisition could do what the Chantry has failed and thus become stronger than it!” She bounced, shaking her quill. At the amused looks she got, she straightened and cleared her throat. “Risky, yes, but worth it. I agree.”

“Uniting the Mages and the Templars is a bit…” Cullen started but failed to find the right word.

“Hopeless?” Varric suggested.

“Ambitious?” Cassandra offered at the same time.

“Presumptuous,” Solas stated. “If it’s even feasible, is it advisable? It’s bound to be a volatile situation.”

“What d’ya want instead? Let them continue to do whatever they want?” Sera asked aggressively, glaring at Solas from the corner of the table on which she was sitting, cross-legged. “Let’s just knock their heads together and tell them to fucking grow up and stop killing innocent little people, ya? I’m with Adaar. Only recruiting those who care about the fucking glowing thing makes sense. The others can go—”

“I agree,” Blackwall said loudly to cover his friend’s lewd suggestion. “Things won’t improve if they don’t learn to cooperate.”

“Vivienne?” Herah asked, glancing at the Enchanter, who had stayed surprisingly quiet.

“The leadership of the Templar Order and the Rebels certainly needs to be reviewed,” she said. “Bringing them back under the control of the Inquisition might be the necessary change to get peace. Certainly, you can’t do much worse than what has been done before.” 

Bull nodded when he met Herah’s eyes and simply commented: “So, two teams?”

“Yes,” the Herald agreed. “Vivienne, Solas and Blackwall, still with me for the mages. Cassandra, you lead the other team to investigate the Templars.”

“My men will be focused on infiltrating Redcliffe,” Leliana warned.

“I could spare our templars,” Cullen offered.

“The Chargers can help,” Bull volunteered, “but we’ll need people to slip in rather than charge upfront.”

“No demons, no mages? I’m in,” Sera jumped in.

Varric rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I guess I have nothing better to do.”

“Your motivation is duly noted, Varric,” Cassandra drawled, glaring at him.

Instead of getting angry, Varric crossed his arms and held his ground. “Hey, Seeker, you warned your friends that Lucius would betray them, and you said in Val Royeaux that he was acting wrong, so why didn’t you try to stop him then?”

“It’s true that you seemed unsure about him at the time,” Solas agreed. “Yet, you didn’t challenge him.”

Cassandra breathed in loudly and pulled back from the table she was leaning on. She hesitated but when everyone waited for her answer, she sighed and let it out: “I received a warning. It was anonymous, but it accused the Lord Seeker. I didn’t want to believe it at first but since Val Royeaux… I had doubts. So I sent a letter to Daniel, asking him to be cautious.”

“A warning?” Leliana repeated. “You didn’t tell me about it.”

“It was an intern affair to the Seekers,” Cassandra said before pulling a paper out of a pocket. She cleared her throat and read it out loud:

 “Do not trust the Lord Seeker. 

 To Envy he’ll surrender 

 To not let go of power. 

 Murder of all called brother, 

 Corruption of the Order, 

 Allegiance to the Elder.” 

Sera made a disparaging sound and most faces were unimpressed by the poetry, but Varric reached for the letter.

“Let me see it.” At Cassandra’s distrust, he insisted: “Let me see the handwriting, Seeker.”

Cassandra turned the paper so he could see it from the other side of the table.

“Shit,” Varric breathed before looking around him. “I got one too. Same style. Same handwriting. But mine’s about lyrium.”

“Lyrium?” Solas questioned.

“Red lyrium,” Varric clarified before reaching for his pocket and unfolding a similar paper. 

 “Red is the lyrium, 

 Tainted is the blood, 

 Blight is in the stone. 

 The disease will spread 

 And turn flesh to rock. 

 Feed it and it grows, 

 Mine it and it kills 

 Sword and circle both.” 

Cassandra went to comment, but Solas beat her to it:

“Two anonymous messages from the same hand, about two different subjects, but both sent to the people it might concern the most. That can’t be a coincidence.”

“What are you thinking?” Bull asked.

“‘ Kills sword and circle both ’ refers to the mages and the templars. Red lyrium is a threat to both.”

“It’s poison for everyone,” Varric grumbled.

“Yes, but Cassandra’s note refers to ‘ corruption of the Order ’. There are many ways to corrupt an organization, but if these messages come from the same person, then there must be a link between both subjects.”

“You think the Lord Seeker would corrupt the Order with red lyrium?” Cullen asked.

Solas tilted his head. “I believe it’s a possibility.”

“That would explain it.” The Seekers had been more or less forgotten during the discussion, but Daniel met Cassandra’s eyes. “Why he would separate us from the Templars and ‘ murder ’ us. We know red lyrium shouldn’t be used, and we don't need it. He can’t corrupt us if that’s his plan for the Templars.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered under his breath as he rubbed his forehead. “That’s…”

“Bad. Meredith was awful enough. All the templars under red lyrium?” Varric shook his head. “It would be madness.”

“Which is why it has to be stopped,” Herah concluded. “You all have your team. We leave tomorrow morning.”

On the way out, Bull patted Herah’s shoulder. “Well done delegating, Boss.” 

oOo

Therinfal Redoubt was in the middle of the Southron Hills, between the Hinterlands and the Brecilian Forest, southeast of Ferelden.

By the time they reached it, Herah had long finished with the mages in Redcliffe, but they would learn of that later.

It was far from any town, a deserted place without anything interesting around. Perfect for some sinister plan, not for reorganizing the Templar order.

They paused at the last inn before the castle to rest and gather information. The innkeeper was happy enough to talk for some more coppers once he heard who they were working for.

“I don’t see them much, Ser. I bring them food every week. They empty my cart and pay me in their courtyard. I always speak to their quartermaster, see the same soldiers, and that’s it. They’re not talkative. If they weren’t eating so much and I hadn’t seen them all march past, I could think that there are no more than twenty in there.”

“And how many are they exactly?” Varric asked.

“Oh, at least ten times that, Ser, if not more. I stopped counting after a while, you know.”

“And you always see the same?” Bull insisted.

“Yes.”

Once they were alone, Bull commented: “Sounds to me like they’re divided.”

“They should be rotating the shifts. This is wrong,” Cassandra added.

Bull was going to reply when a client walking down the stairs caught his attention. “Excuse me,” he said to his table as he stood up. 

The familiar face saw him approach and paused near the counter. “The Iron Bull. What are you doing here?”

“I’m on a job, Marquis. I should be the one asking: you’re far from Orlais.”

Proof that he wasn’t in his usual element, Etienne Montclair had foregone his mask. He was also wearing clothes more appropriate for travel than the usual Orlesian garb. 

“I’m on a mission!” he replied proudly. “I shall not disappoint Blanche again. I finally managed to pinpoint our little brother’s location. A dear friend of mine, Comtesse Lutetia, has informed me that her son mentioned Oscar. They both followed Lord Seeker Lucius here. I shall speak to him tomorrow!”

The innkeeper made a disparaging noise. “Good luck with that.”

Etienne made a face and went to speak up. Bull interrupted. He didn’t have time for the Orlesian/Fereldan animosity.

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t the first wanting to speak to the Templars. They never open their door to anyone.” 

“Alright,” Bull drawled, catching Etienne by the shoulder before he could explain how different he was. He dragged him to the Inquisition's table.

Sera and Lethan had come back from their scouting. The fortress was too difficult to infiltrate. So they couldn’t go in with stealth, they couldn’t go in with a nice speech… Ruse, it was!

oOo

The next day, Etienne, Bull and Krem walked to the door of Therinfal Redoubt. Bull shouted to the watchtower:

“The Marquis Etienne Montclair wishes to speak to his brother, Oscar Montclair, of a grave family matter.”

After a moment, a templar bent over the crenel and shouted: “What matter?”

“The death of their sister, the Comtesse Blanche de Lamare.”

The templars were expected to prioritize the Order over their family, Cassandra had explained, but one exception was always made: the death of a close family member. The siblings’ parents had died years ago: their mother first, from a miscarriage when they were teenagers, and then their father eight years ago. So, Blanche had to die. Bull was sure she wouldn't hold it against them. It was for a good cause after all.

It took some time, but the gate opened.

“It’s showtime,” Bull commented. “I hope you’re ready, Marquis.”

“Trust me,  mon ami . I have done some theatre, and I was quite good!”

Bull and Krem watched their surroundings attentively, counting the number of templars (twenty all around the courtyard) and observing their behavior (tense and bored at the same time). They were shown into a small room, a chapel, probably used by the guards on duty for daily prayers.

They were made to wait, for a long time. Etienne started to pace, arms crossed.

“Are they doing this on purpose? How rude.”

Bull held back a smirk. Those two last words reminded him of Blanche. She pronounced them the same way: like a commentary on the offenders’ appalling personality rather than an offense. 

A Templar in full armor finally came in. He removed his helmet when the door closed.

The Montclair were tall. Blanche reached Bull’s shoulders. Etienne reached his chin. Oscar Montclair was one of the tallest humans Bull had met: he managed to reach his nose. Most importantly, contrary to his brother, Oscar had shoulders matching his size. Tall and strong, he was massive. His red hair was fierce, and his dark eyes piercing. His sight must have terrified more than a few mages.

“How did it happen?” he asked brusquely, with a deep and hoarse voice.

“Well, hello to you too, brother,” Etienne grumbled.

Oscar stared at him, unimpressed, which seemed to unnerve his elder brother. Bull suspected that the fifteen years old boy Etienne remembered had changed quite a lot.

Etienne cleared his throat and tried to recover. “I wanted to tell you the news in person—”

“Spare me. How did it happen? Was it her asshole of a neighbour? Or is it your fault and the Grand Game?”

“Excuse me? My fault?!”

“She’s rarely sick. It can’t have been a pregnancy. And she only ever complained about her neighbour and you, so which is it?”

“So you read her letters?!” Etienne exclaimed, seizing the first excuse to delay the answer. “You never wrote back! She thought the letters didn’t reach you.”

Oscar shifted from one foot to another, his first sign of emotion, of guilt. “Just answer the damn question! You were supposed to watch over her!” Ah, so the news made him angry. Good.

“I did my best,” Etienne defended himself. “She isn’t an obedient girl anymore. She has become quite a feisty little thing, I’d have you know!”

Oscar went to reply and then froze. He squinted at his brother and then glanced at the two mercenaries leaning against the wall. Bull knew that Etienne had screwed up, but he kept a relaxed posture. Etienne could still save the deal.

“Isn’t?”

“Yes?”

“You talk of her in the present.”

“Oh…" Etienne rested a hand on his heart and bowed his head. "The loss is still so recent… I can’t believe I won’t see—”

With surprising speed considering he wore heavy armor, Oscar stepped forward and grabbed his brother by the vest. “You’re lying.”

“Wha— I assure you that—”

“Shut up. I knew something was fishy!” He turned toward the Iron Bull and Krem when they tried to intervene. “This is a ploy. Why?”

“Did you take red lyrium, brother?” Etienne asked. He had dropped the act. His voice was solemn. “Blanche wrote to you about my trip to Kirkwall. I saw the statue of Mad Meredith with my own eyes, she told you that, didn’t she?”

Oscar let go of his brother and took a step back, keeping all three men in his field of vision. He didn’t reply.

“Do you trust the Lord Seeker Lucius?” Etienne insisted while smoothing his clothes. “He turned against his brothers, did you know that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Seekers who came with him. They’re not here anymore, are they?”

“They were sent to find and bring the other templars back here.”

“No, they weren't,” Bull spoke up. “They were sent away to be murdered because they don’t take lyrium, and red lyrium can’t corrupt them. They managed to escape and ran to find Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. That’s why we’re here.”

“You’re with the Inquisition,” Oscar realized.

“Yes.”

The templar shifted, hesitated and then went for the door. Bull and Krem exchanged a wary glance, but Oscar didn’t call for reinforcements. He only brought in one more templar, a man with dark skin. 

“This is Delrin Barris," Oscar introduced him before telling him: "They lied. Blanche is fine." He frowned and glared at his brother. "She better be!"

"Yes, yes, she's great," Etienne promised with a negligent hand gesture.

"Why such a lie? It's cruel!" Barris protested, outraged. 

"Sorry. We didn't have much of a choice to see what was going on inside," Bull replied with a shrug.

"They're with the Inquisition," Oscar explained before telling them: "We never took red lyrium. The officers went first to set an example, but rumors are going around…” The two templars exchanged a somber look. “Tell us everything.”

oOo

At the end of the day, Therinfal Redoubt was… a bit of a mess.

Bull jumped down from the battlements where he had finished one last Red Templar. A look around had convinced him they had control of the place. The Inquisition members and Chargers were going around, helping the Templars who had fought with them and gathering the dead bodies.

After a while, the surviving Templars gathered around Cassandra. She was busy bickering with Varric about the red lyrium. Bull kept an ear open while checking on his men. 

“We have to burn them, like anything Blighted.”

“How can lyrium have the Blight? It’s stone. Ore!”

“Don’t ask me, Seeker. The poem said so, not me, and we agreed that it was right about the rest. Although, if you believe it then... lyrium is alive—”

“That’s preposterous!”

“You're always so quick to dismiss what bothers you..." Varric glanced to the side. "Nevermind. We'll talk about this later. It looks like you have a speech to do.”

“Wh—” Cassandra froze and stared at the Templars gathered at the bottom of the stairs she was standing on. Varric used the excuse to skedaddle. He stopped by Bull’s side, who offered him a compassionate smirk and received a sigh in answer.

“The Order’s in shambles, Lady Seeker,” Barris pointed out. “What are we to do?”

Next to him, sitting on the ground, Oscar was nursing his wounds: a burn to the temple, a heavy blow to the side and a broken foot. The man was a giant among humans, and he fought like a shield protecting his brothers. He had taken more than his share of blows without hesitation. The guy had guts. Bull loved him. 

Cassandra hesitated. She wasn’t one for big speeches and honors. Bull had noticed how much she preferred Adaar to deal with those, but here and now she couldn’t hide behind anyone. She had to take the lead. She recognized it and did her duty:

“Templars,” she called with a strong voice who commanded the attention of even those scattered around. “You’ve been betrayed. By those you trusted. By those you looked up to.”

Nice start, Bull thought. She showed she understood them. She had their attention.

“This is a difficult time. Your purpose is challenged, and your duty becomes unclear… and you have been left without guidance.” She straightened and looked around at the expectant faces watching her. “I could offer to be what you need… I won’t.”

Looks and whispers were exchanged.

“I won’t, because I believe the choice is yours!" She shifted and stood proudly with a hand on her hips. "I’ll tell you this: you’re needed. You’ll always be needed, for you’re the Guardians of the Just and…” She paused expectantly.

The answer came as the Templars straightened: “The Protectors of the Innocent.”

“This is what you’ve been taught on your first days among the Order. This is what you’ve sworn to uphold, first and foremost. It has been forgotten. No more. Who are you?!”

“Guardians of the Just! Protectors of the Innocent!”

Cassandra recited: 

“Blessed are they who stand before

The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.

Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.” 

And the Templars, some of whom kneeled, answered: 

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.

In their blood, the Maker's will is written.”

Cassandra continued, more at ease now: “You’ve taken the vows. You know what your purpose is. What your sacred duty is. Whatever you’ve been told before, whichever doubts you had before, can you question even one second what’s the real danger to the Just, to the Innocent?” She turned around and pointed at the Breach. “This is it!” 

She waited for them all to stare at the green glow.

“I could offer you to ally with the Inquisition. I could command you to join. I’ll do neither. Each of you will be welcomed if you think you’ll find among us the purpose you lost and be able to fulfill your duty. It will not be forced. This is your choice. I shall warn you, though: the same offer will be made to the mages. If you can’t accept to work alongside them, as equals. If you can’t abide by your sworn vow to protect Mages as you protect every Innocent, then you have no place among the Inquisition."

Her eyes wandered over the sea of hesitant Templars.

"I shall remind you that:

All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands,

From the lowest slaves

To the highest kings.

Those who bring harm

Without provocation to the least of His children

Are hated and accursed by the Maker. ” 

“Mh…” Varric muttered while he took notes. “I heard her talk with Adaar about what they should say to Templars and Mages. They got their speeches straight, you know. She improvised most of it though. Not bad. Although she could have done without those last verses.”

“I disagree,” Bull replied as he observed the Templars who had been despondent a few minutes before become more determined and proud. Oscar had even made the effort to stand despite his foot. “This matters to them. It’s what they needed to hear.”

“... Well, they’re Templars,” Varric admitted with a shrug. “Abrupt end, though.”

Indeed, Cassandra seemed a bit awkward now, with nothing else to add. 

The silence was broken by a strong voice: “I’m a Guardian of the Just, a Protector of the Innocent. With the Maker as my witness, I lend my sword to the Inquisition.”

Barris had pulled out his sword and pointed it toward the Breach. His friends, Oscar first among them, followed his example one moment after. It spread.

Rare were the ones who didn’t join the Inquisition. Bull tried to remember all their faces. 

“Now that’s done,” Varric muttered. “Can we focus on burning all that red stuff?”

“Yeah, and on catching that damn demon running around!” Sera piped up, appearing suddenly and leaning against Bull.

“You didn’t catch him, then?” he asked.

“Nah, it ran. The damn thing’s like a spooky ghost,” Sera grumbled, shivering theatrically. “I thought we wouldn’t get this bullshit by coming here instead of going to the mages, but what do we have? An Envy demon with, like, really fucked up limbs, and a weirdo with daggers, of all things. Daggers are  my  thing.” 

Bull snorted. 

Yeah, what a day. He'd have to spare Blanche most of it in his next letter. The news that her brother was alive would soften the rest.

Chapter Text

A week after Therinfal Redoubt = Two after the attempt on Blanche’s life

At the arrival of the Templars, a week after the Mages, Haven was overcrowded and ready to blow, or rather to come to blows. The Chargers started to bet on what would go wrong first. The Iron Bull had a good idea, but he kept it for himself. Insider’s privilege.

The conversations inside the war room never ceased to entertain. Only a few of the Companions were present that day (Sera had no interest in it, and Blackwall was helping the newcomers settle), but it was enlightening.

“The Templars and Mages can’t help simultaneously,” Solas announced. “They cancel each other.”

In the silence that followed, Herah stared at him, wide-eyed, and raised a hand. “You couldn’t say that earlier?!”

“I apologize. I thought it would be obvious enough. The Mages can give you the energy sufficient to close the Breach as it is. The Templars can reduce the Breach enough for you to close it on your own. It’s one or the other.”

“So we have to choose one of them anyway?” Cullen asked with a huff.

“That won’t go well,” Josephine commented.

Herah sighed and pressed a hand to her face. “Solas, do me a favor and point out the obvious next time.”

“I shall endeavor to,” Solas replied with a bow.

“What do we choose then? The most numerous?” Cassandra asked.

“That would be the mages,” Leliana said.

“There isn’t a big difference. The Templars would take it as a slight,” Cullen warned.

“Indeed,” Vivienne agreed. “Especially if the mages are without surveillance.”

“Great,” Varric muttered while he took notes.

Bull stayed silent, listening with his arms crossed.

“Ok, ok,” Herah muttered to herself. “Solas, walk me through closing the Breach. What would happen? Something like the first time? Will there be demons?”

“Hypothetically… no,” Solas replied after a moment of thought. He joined his hands behind his back and widened his stance. “See the Breach like a hole in a dam. The Fade was beyond the dam and pouring into this world. The flow was so powerful that its pressure widened the hole. What you did at the time could be compared to plugging this hole. As you did, the Fade continued to pour into this world which allowed demons to continue to come in. Now, the plug is in place, there’s no flow. What needs to be done is just sealing it, thus making the dam whole again.” He looked around the table. “Is that clear enough?”

“Enlightening,” Josephine replied with an approving smile.

“A crude metaphor, but effective,” Vivienne admitted.

Herah walked away from the table, pacing with her hands on her hips. “That’s no good.”

“No demons is rather good in my book,” Bull commented.

“If there had been demons then it would have been easy. Mages deal with Breach. Templars deal with demons and protect Mages… and me. Everyone plays their role. Everyone’s happy,” she explained with hand gestures.

“I see your point,” Josephine approved.

“Speculation is of no use,” Vivienne said. “You have delayed the inevitable, but you now have to make a choice. Whoever helps close the Breach will go down in history.”

“And whoever doesn’t will resent the Inquisition,” Leliana added.

“No pressure,” Varric commented sarcastically.

“You’re not helping, dwarf,” Cassandra hissed.

“Opinions?” Herah demanded as she came back to the table and leaned heavily on it.

“The mages,” Solas said immediately. “It would allow you to expend less energy.”

“Is pouring more energy into the Breach really what we need?” Vivienne retorted. “Reducing it seems the wiser call.”

“Agreed,” Cullen said.

Cassandra nodded in approval. Herah glanced at her two other advisors.

“The mages deserve the chance to prove themselves to the world,” Leliana said. She ignored Vivienne’s disdainful huff.

“Choosing the templars would be diplomatically more easy on the long term,” Josephine admitted, almost reluctantly.

“I’m with Nightingale,” Varric said when Herah looked at him.

Bull shrugged when it was his turn to speak. “All that matter to me is to close it.”

“Yeah,” Herah sighed. She straightened. “Alright. I need time to think. Cassandra, you wanted to check on the Seekers and said it was urgent. Let’s go now.”

“Postponing won’t help, my dear,” Vivienne warned her. “Leaving Templars and Mages in the expectative won’t make things easier.”

“It should,” she replied curtly. Her tiredness and frustration showed. “They won’t get over their hate without cohabiting. You all have your favorite. Well, do wonders and tell them to grow the fuck up. I’m taking Cassandra, Sera, and Varric with me. Bull, since you have no favorite, you’re on mediator duty. Knock their heads together if need be.”

“Will do, Boss,” Bull agreed with a sharp smile.

She walked out, and Bull followed. Before he could offer her to spar so she could relax, a mage intercepted them.

“Herald,” he called before noticing Bull and stopping. “Oh, another Vashoth?”

Bull eyed the Tevinter dismissively. “Not quite.”

“The Iron Bull, meet Dorian Pavus. He’s the one who helped with that time bullshit. Dorian, this is the Iron Bull. He’s a Qunari spy.”

The face the Altus made, somewhere between a gasp and a grimace, was quite entertaining. Bull gave him his best toothy smirk to make it last.

“Wh— And you’re letting him stay?!”

Herah, never one to care about political animosity, shrugged and continued on her way out of the Chantry. “Sure. Just as I’m letting you stay. People who can fight and are willing to help without being jerks are all I need. The rest is not what I’m paid for… oh, yeah, scratch that, I’m not paid, period.”

“You just have to ask to get whatever you want,” Bull commented.

“Except peace.”

He chuckled and tilted his head. “Fair enough. Do you want to spar?”

“No, thanks. I’m going to ride for days... yet again. My muscles will hate me soon enough. No need to start early.”

Bull laughed and patted her shoulder. “Got it. Good luck, Boss.”

He left, not without listening to the hushed voice of the Tevinter asking Herah about her trust in him. So, that was one more man to keep an eye on and tell home about.

oOo

At the same time, at Gherlen’s Pass

Hawke kept an eye on the stairs leading to the first floor of the inn. The place was lively with travelers coming and going between Ferelden and Orlais. He had noticed a few undesirable individuals, and he would hate for them to disturb their companion. It was unfortunate, but like most Orlesian ladies, Blanche de Lamare attracted attention. The attire tended to do that (even though, Blanche had toned it down). Just because she had immediately gone to a private bedroom didn’t mean she was necessarily safe.

Fenris put down two glasses on the table and sat opposite him.

“I’m not used to playing escort,” Hawke commented. “It’s harder than it looks.”

“Are you reconsidering your assurance to the Chevalier that we’d be enough to watch her?” Fenris ventured.

“Maybe.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at him.

“Ok, yeah, definitely,” he sighed. “I’m missing Aveline right about now. She would be perfect for the job. She could sleep in her room and everything.” Hawke grabbed a beer and sipped at it.

“You’re also missing Bethany,” Fenris guessed.

Hawke didn’t reply, which was admission enough.

“She reminded me of her too,” Fenris admitted. He tried to lighten the mood by suggesting: “It must be the crying.”

“No,” Hawke replied soberly. “It’s the heart. Hearts of gold, chipped but still whole.”

“Are you trying to imitate Varric again?”

Hawke snorted and lightened up somewhat. “He must have rubbed on me more than we thought.”

Fenris smiled and intertwined their fingers in silent support.

After their dinner, they left the loud crowd for an early night. Before going to their room, Hawke knocked at Blanche’s door. She had the best room in the inn. It was warm and spacious.

She looked up at them from a rocking chair next to the fireplace. The notebook she was regularly working on was closed in her lap. At her distant look, they could guess that she had been lost in her thoughts. She did that a lot since the aggression. Charles had told them it was a regression to her younger years, but there was little any of them could do.   

“We’re going to retire for the night,” Hawke said. “Do you need anything?”

She smiled at them, as kind as she had always been. “No, thank you.”

“Alright, lock behind us then. We’re in the next room, just knock on the wall if you need us.”

She nodded without a word. When Hawke wished her a good night and went to close the door, she called him back: “Hawke.”

“Yes?”

“Could… could I have a word with you, please?”

“Sure.” Hawke glanced at Fenris who nodded and left for their room. “What is it?” Hawke asked as he came in.

“I... “ She sighed and stared at the flames. “This is a private question, please feel free to ignore it if you wish, but I wondered…”

Hawke leaned on the lintel of the fireplace and waited patiently.

“If you had known what waited for you in Kirkwall... if you had to do it all over again… would you?”

He watched her thoughtfully. “Yeah… but I’d do it better.”

“What if you couldn’t? If history is written in stone.”

“I don’t believe that, so I’d try anyway.”

“Even if it hurts?”

“It would hurt more not to.”

She nodded in understanding and visibly bit her lips as her eyes became shiny.

“Hey,” Hawke breathed. He crouched next to her and laid his hand on hers. “Sometimes life hurts and it sucks, but things will be okay, alright? You’ve got this friend in Haven, right? The Iron Bull? And your brothers? They’ll help. And you met Varric. There’s no-one better than Varric to lighten the mood.”

She offered him a weak smile. “I’d hate to impose.”

“Nonsense. He loves an audience. I’ll write him a letter and let him know to give it his all. If he can’t get you to laugh, I’ll be extremely disappointed,” Hawke insisted with a solemn face.

Her smile widened in amusement. “Poor dwarf. I’m sure he already has enough to deal with.”

“Believe me, you’d be a welcome distraction. In fact, you’d do me a service by making sure he can find an attentive ear.”

She chuckled. “Pushing your friends to look after each other. Well played. Is it how you handled your group of misfits?”

“You know it.” He winked at her.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “You’re a good man.”

“And you’re a great lady. Don’t let this bring you down, alright?” After a light hug, he left her for the night.

oOo

Three days later  

The plan had always been for Blanche to stay away from Haven. Theoretically, there were no benefits to her presence in the village: it was too early for the Inquisition to welcome noble guests, the village was too small and poorly equipped, the place was much too far from Val Fleuri, and the danger was much too great. She’d just have been a hindrance and an uncomfortable one at that.

She had planned on visiting Skyhold. There was more to do there. That had been the plan.  

No battle plan survived first contact with the enemy.

She hadn’t planned on so many of her people (nineteen in total) volunteering to help the Inquisition. She hadn’t planned on her lost brother being part of the Templars who would fight their corrupted brethren and pledge themselves to the Inquisition. She hadn’t planned on missing the Iron Bull so much.

So, here it was: Haven.

Blanche led her horse to the side of the road and let the caravan she was accompanying pass her by. She needed to take the scene in.

Haven was bigger than she expected. In some ways, it seemed better. In some others, worse. There were a lot of tents. Many more tents than in her memories. In the cold of the mountains in spring, this thin protection seemed so inadequate. There were less snow and more mud. Less ice on the lake and more muddy water. The smells were not unusual for such a village. The green glow was.

If you took in the whole view, however, with the snowy Frostback Mountains behind, the pine forest around and the sun bravely outdoing the Breach, then… yes, it could be called pretty.

Keeping the big picture in mind was key to put aside the knowledge of how this would soon end.

Taking place at the end of the caravan, Blanche stepped inside Haven with the determination to keep an open mind.

There were so many people around. It showed how much the Breach was a concern, and the Inquisition had managed to bring together all these people in a few weeks only. That was remarkable. She noticed mage staves, templar armors, pointed ears, and dwarves all around. So much diversity brought a smile to her lips.

The news that both Templars and Mages had been saved and recruited was incredible. After the ordeal she had gone through, it had brought some hope and courage to her heart. Was it her doing? Had she changed things? Or was history simply different than the story she remembered? She didn’t know what to think, but it felt like a breath of fresh air. The future didn’t have to be as bad as she feared. There was hope. She had to continue, to try her best. She couldn’t give up after this.

“My Lady, may I help you?” She looked down to see a man reaching for the reins of her horse. With long brown hair and beard, a padded doublet and a sword at his belt, he looked like a soldier at rest.

“Yes, thank you,” she agreed, handing the reins over before climbing down. The hood of her long coat fell back as she did. She quickly brought it back over her short hair.

“Welcome at Haven. What brings you?”

“I have a few people to meet,” she replied, pulling her coat tighter around her. It was so cold, she couldn’t fathom volunteering to live here.

“You should probably see Lady Josephine first.”

“Yes. I warned her of my arrival, but I believe she was expecting me tomorrow. I just met this caravan on the way and asked if I could accompany them.”

People were helping to unload the carts of food and goods. The hustle and bustle covered their discussion, forcing them to stand close to hear each other.

“You’ll probably find her at the Chantry, my Lady.”

“I’ll go then, but I should introduce myself first: I’m the Comtesse Blanche de Lamare,” she said, bowing her head in greeting.

“Thom Blackwall."

She had thought so. She smiled softly. “Well met, Monsieur.”

A dwarf passed them by with a box on a shoulder. He stopped to stare at Blanche.

“What do you want?” Blackwall asked him, frowning at his rudeness.

“Good evening to you too, Rocky,” Blanche said, smiling at the familiar Charger.

“Ma’am. Sorry. ‘Thought I was seeing things for a moment. What are ya doing alone here?” He looked around at the caravan. “Did you make the trip alone?!”

“No,” she reassured him, “I left my escort at the last inn and joined this caravan.”

Rocky grunted in understanding. “Let me get the Chief for you.” Without waiting for an answer, he walked away at a fast pace.

Blanche followed, more leisurely.

Blackwall fell into step with a speculative expression. “You’re the patron.”

“I am.”

“The one who gave the Chargers their first mission?”

“That’s me,” she confirmed, smiling at him as understanding dawned on him.

She waited, but words seemed to fail him. He stayed quiet.

Allowing him the time to think, she turned her attention back on Rocky, who had reached the training grounds and called for the Iron Bull. When the Qunari answered the call, Blanche caught sight of him, a head above everyone else. Just the sight of him warmed her heart. Each time he left, she tried to put thoughts of him aside, to focus on the orphanage, the castle, her people... It got harder and harder. Now, each time he came back to her, it was like rediscovering him and all the little details she liked.   

Rocky gestured toward her, and Bull looked in her direction.

Blanche sped up and threw over her shoulder: “I was glad to hear you’re redeeming yourself, Ser Rainier. I wish you the best of luck.”

“BLANCHE!” Bull shouted over the field, eating the distance between them with giant steps.

She grinned at his eagerness and reached for him. Before she could try to hug him, he had grabbed her under the thighs and lifted her to his level. She squealed in surprise and delight. He had never been so bold in public.

“You’re early!”

Holding onto his neck, Blanche couldn’t keep the hood over her hair.

“Hey, nice hair!”

“You think so?” she asked, more shyly than she had meant to.

“Sure thing.” He turned around and shouted: “Hoy, Chargers! Look who’s it!”

The mercenaries had left the training ground, following their chief. They waved tired arms toward Blanche with mixed shouts of: “Hey, Comtesse! Welcome, Ma’am! Hi, White Lady!”

“Krem, look at that hair!”

The lieutenant walked up to them and grinned at Blanche. “It looks cute, Ma’am.”

“See? Krem says it’s cute.”

“Then it can only be true,” Blanche concluded, playing into the old but amusing pretense that Krem was the only source of wisdom and honesty among the Chargers. Despite the light banter, it meant a lot to her. She relaxed and grinned to the mercenaries. She freed one of her hands to wave at them. “Come on, let me down,” she asked Bull. She might not be on her lands, but she needed to maintain a certain level of dignity all the same.

He complied but kept a hand on her back. She lingered longer than she needed to in his embrace, taking in his familiar smell of sweat, iron, and vitaar, and basking in his warmth and strength.

Bull glanced at an approaching man. “Hey, Blackwall. You met the patron?”

“I did. My Lady, I’ll take your horse to the stables and hold your bags for you. If I could have a word then, I’d be obliged.”

“Certainly.”

Blackwall nodded politely and left with her horse.

“So you told him. Good,” Bull approved. “He was dying to know. Come on, now, I know why you’re here. He’s this way.”

“What makes you think I’m not here for you?”

“Ha! I wished.” His hand went higher, to her neck, as they left the Chargers to Krem’s good care. “We have a lot to talk about,” he said, softer, “but first, can I see your hands?”

Blanche paused and looked up to meet his eyes. “Charles wrote to you,” she realized.

“He knows you. You never write about yourself when things are really bad." He nudged her chin with a knuckle. "I knew something was up anyway. I wrote that your brother’s hurt but alive, and suddenly you’re coming. Don’t get me wrong, I know you're eager to see him, but a letter of one sentence, Blanche, really?”

She bit her lips to keep the tears from spilling.

“Hey. Come on.” Bull cupped the back of her head and gently rubbed her scalp. His thick and strong fingers would make a mess of her hair, but the relaxing touch was worth it. “It’s over. You’re here.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That the Vicomte Asshole attacked you with some Tevinter bastard slaver mage and that you got burnt.” What he wouldn’t tell her was that he had gone to cut whole steres of wood to relieve his anger and burning need to hit something. He had known that something was wrong when he had gotten Blanche’s letter, true, but he hadn’t expected it to be that bad.

She nodded and slowly removed her leather gloves. Although the burns were healed, her skin was still raw and extremely sensitive to temperature and pressure. She offered them to Bull for evaluation. Holding them tenderly, Bull nodded his head in approval. He still wanted to hit something at the sight of the red skin, but it could wait.

“Alright. That’s good. Your neck?”

“The same,” she replied. She was wearing a silk scarf despite the cold because both wool and fur irritated her skin.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Meeting his eye was easy, holding his intense gaze was harder.

“You’re gorgeous and fucking badass.”

She snorted. “Because I caught fire?”

“Because you survived, dressed down the Vicomtesse, dealt with those slavers, and freed the slaves, offering them a new home. That’s fucking badass, okay? Charles’s singing your praises, and he’s damn right.”

She tried to smile and nodded.

“Come on, let’s get you to your brother, Josephine, and then once you’re settled we’ll talk it out.”

The Templars had their encampment not far from the training grounds. Blanche’s eyes were first drawn to a blond man with a fur collar. He stood out among the rest of the soldiers.

“Hey. Sorry for interrupting Cullen, I’ll be just a sec,” Bull said. “Barris, where’s your shadow?”

“Oscar’s in our tent. Why?”

Blanche stepped out from behind Bull’s back and glanced at the famous Barris curiously. Their eyes met.

Barris straightened, bowing his head immediately. “My Lady.”

“Yeah, I think you got it. It’s the hair, right?” Bull commented, amused. After a nudge from Blanche, he added: “This is Blanche de Lamare, born Montclair. Comtesse, meet Delrin Barris, your brother’s best friend, and Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition.”

Understanding the situation, Cullen nodded belatedly. Blanche greeted them with a polite smile.

“It’s the third tent,” Barris said, pointing at it.

“I’ll be waiting here,” Bull offered.

Thus, Blanche walked alone to the tent. She put her gloves back on and adjusted her hair nervously. It had been so long since she had seen him… nearly fifteen years now. She had speculated about how he had grown, how he would accept her… Now was the time to know. She stopped in front of the tent, breathed in deeply and then called: “Oscar?”

There was no answer, but she heard noises inside, hesitant steps coming closer, and then the flap was pushed aside. They were nose to nose.

“Blanche,” he breathed.

She threw her arms around his neck. Startled, Oscar stepped back, and the flap fell closed behind her. After a moment of shock, he tentatively hugged her back.

“I thought you were dead,” she said, her head pressed to his collarbone to hide her tears.

“... I’m sorry.”

She held him tighter. “I thought that you died, hating me.”

He leaned into her. “I don’t hate you.”

“Then why didn’t you reply?!”

“Because I’m an idiot. I was angry at first, and then I was just… ashamed.”

“Idiot!”

“I know.”

She sniffled loudly. “The Iron Bull said you were hurt, but that you didn’t take red lyrium.”

“I didn’t. All those years ago, you told me to be careful about lyrium. I listened.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She looked up and pulled back to meet his eyes. “Good.” At least, her warnings had done a little bit of good. She cupped his face. “Oh Maker, is that a burn?”

“Yeah. That, a few broken ribs and the damn foot.”

Blanche looked down to notice a splint. “Oh, dear.”

He watched her and her quivering lips warily. “Are you going to cry?”

She threw him a defensive look. “I went through a lot lately, okay?! Don’t judge me!” She poked at his chest, accusatory. “It’s partly your fault!”

Oscar raised his hands in surrender. “Ok, ok. Damn, Etienne was right, you got feisty.”

She hit his shoulder and then dragged him to his camp bed so he could tell her everything. Or maybe not, there was far too much to say, for both of them. Just the last weeks would be a good start and his plans for the coming ones since they were at it.

When she left the tent fifteen minutes later, she found the three men where she had left them, debating about some kind of strategy or whatever.

“You look angry,” Bull commented with a raised eyebrow. It was rare enough to be noted.

“My brother’s an idiot. It’s either that or crying. Do you want me to cry?” she asked, challenging.

“I’ll pass. What’s wrong?”

“Fifteen years! Fifteen years and he hasn’t changed one bit. He leaves me without news, thinking he’s dead, and now that he’s badly hurt he insists to stay. He’ll need months before he can fight again! What’s the point?! His stubbornness will drive me mad.” She turned toward the two (ex-)templars watching the scene and pointed at them. “I hope you wrote to your family recently, messieurs.” At their guilty look, she slapped both of them on the forearm. “That’s in the name of your families. Bless their worried souls.”

Bull laughed, so Blanche slapped his arm too. At this point, her hand already hurt, after all.

“Show me to Lady Josephine,” she demanded, walking away.

Bull chuckled and followed. “You’re feisty angry. I love it.”

“I’m glad my feelings entertain you.”

“You have two types of anger: the feisty one, or the cold one. The cold one isn’t funny because it usually means something bad happened. The feisty one is, because you start insulting and hitting people, like that time Charles left a child outside and lost him. You slapped him on the head with your fan at least six times and called him a “silly noodle of a man”. Priceless. He looked like a scolded dog.”

She huffed.

“Then there was that time I came inside during a storm and hugged you while you were reading. I got you and the letter all wet. You chased me all over your apartments. You remember that one, Blanche? Because I do… especially the end,” he commented with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

She blushed and hurried some more. “Yes, I remember.”

“There was also that time with your cats…”

“I get your point!”

He chuckled again. “Good times.”

Chapter Text

The Ambassador’s office was dark. It was only lighted by candles and the fireplace, but it was warmer than the nave of the Chantry they had gone through. Blanche sat in a chair opposite Josephine’s desk and rested her hands on her thighs, crossed over one another.

“You’re planning to seal the Breach in four days?”

“Indeed,” Josephine confirmed. “The Herald and Lady Cassandra Pentaghast had to handle an urgent matter, but they should be back soon. We’ll handle the Breach then.”

“I see.”

So, she needed to be gone in four days. That shouldn’t be an issue. Getting her disabled brother to come with her so he didn’t have to trek through the snow for days, though? That was going to be a headache.

Josephine smiled warmly and put down her quill.

“Tell me about yourself, Lady Blanche. We never had the chance to speak face-to-face, but your letters are a delight, and Enchanter Vivienne speaks highly of you.”

The Ambassador had invited her for dinner, but they were still waiting on a few others. So, small talk it was.

“I’m terrible at talking about myself,” Blanche admitted. “What do you wish to know?”

Josephine’s questions were good-natured. She was a delight to talk to. They had corresponded regularly, but she was even more of a pleasure in person: her sweet voice with a rolling accent, her honest smile, and her good disposition were great tools to charm her interlocutors. Blanche didn’t plan to resist.

Once Leliana joined them, the conversation turned to a discrete interrogation which was more reminiscent of the Grand Game and thus quite tiring. Leliana’s interest in the orphanage left Blanche a bit wary. While she was always proud to talk about it (and she had been happily answering to Josephine a few minutes before), she wondered why a spymaster would be interested. Hopefully, it was just personal curiosity and not the beginning of a sinister plot.

At least, Etienne and Vivienne appeared. She hugged her brother and kissed Vivienne’s cheek.

“What happened to your hair?” Etienne asked with a horrified look. She knew he favored traditional appearances, but it still stung a little.

“It’s lovely,” Vivienne commented. She rested a hand on Blanche’s back. “It fits you.”

Blanche smiled at her, grateful for her sharp mind and subtle support.

Her brother loved nothing more than to talk about himself, thus he took most of the discussion upon his shoulders. Blanche was happy to let him, even when he had embarrassing childhood stories to share. Despite the quality of the food and the overall good humor of the discussion, she was glad to take her leave. After the long travel, they had exhausted her.

She was to share Etienne’s chalet, the ‘guest room’ of Haven. Josephine had been embarrassed they had to share, but Blanche had reassured her that Etienne was perfectly capable of sleeping on a bed camp. He could sleep anywhere.

However, before she could find refuge there, she needed her saddlebags.

The night had fallen during dinner. Finding her way back to the stables would be tricky. Fortunately, she didn’t have to.

“Madame,” a deep voice called as she passed by a cabin.

She startled but relaxed when she recognized the silhouette of Blackwall highlighted by the green glow of the Breach.

“Ser Blackwall.”

“I heard you’d be staying here. I brought your bags.”

“Oh, is it here?” She looked around. Her eyesight wasn’t any better in the dark, on the contrary. “Yes, of course, the second on the right. Thank you, Ser, I’d have gotten lost, I believe.”

“May I carry them inside for you?”

Blanche opened the door with the key she had been given and let Blackwall enter. The chalet was only one room, but it looked perfectly clean and comfortable. She asked Blackwall to put the bags at the bottom of the bed.

“Let me make a fire for you,” he volunteered next.

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“It’s the least I can do to repay you,” he insisted, crouching in front of the fireplace.

“But you have nothing to repay.”

“I’d have been a murderer without you. Worse, a child killer…” Using the tools available, Blackwall lighted a candle first.

Blanche closed the door behind her to keep the cold out and pressed her hands together. There was little she could say about that, so she didn’t.

“I… I had a lot of time to think. That day changed my life. I don’t like the man I was then.”

“Do you like who you’re now?”

“I’m trying.”

Walking to the bed, she sat on the mattress, only a few steps away from him.

“I think it’s brave, what you do, helping the Inquisition.”

“I didn’t start the right way. I lied, about who I was.”

“The Iron Bull mentioned that. But you came clean, and they accepted you, didn’t they?”

“Yes. Lady Josephine and Lady Herah have been most understanding.”

“Well, then… It seems like you have a second chance.”

He lighted the tinder on fire and glanced at her. “Thanks to you.”

She leaned on her hands. “I’m quite fond of giving second chances,” she admitted. “All I ever ask is that they’re well used.”

“I won’t disappoint you,” he promised, his profile lighted by the flames licking at the dry logs.

“I believe you.”

oOo

Sometime after Blackwall’s departure, a knock at the door had Blanche looking up from the letter she was writing. Guessing the identity of her guest, she went to let Bull in.

“Etienne’s at the tavern. It seemed like a good time.”

“It is, I was just writing a letter to Charles to reassure him I arrived safely.”

“I’m surprised he let you leave without him.”

“I had a good escort. We only parted ways when I met the caravan since it was well-protected,” she explained. Hawke and Fenris had made sure that she was safe before leaving to go look for the Grey Wardens. They had been too wary of the Inquisition to come with her, and she couldn’t blame them. They had already gone through a lot.

She climbed on tiptoes to throw her arms around his shoulders and beg for a kiss. He indulged her and embraced her warmly.

Before she could speak up, Bull pushed her toward the bed. She went willingly but was surprised when he started to unbutton her vest and then her shirt.

“Didn’t you want to talk?”

“I did, but I want you more,” he replied with a wiggle of his eyebrows. At her blush, he laughed. “How does that surprise you? You didn’t miss me?” He teased her, mischievous.

“Of course, I did,” she admitted, letting her clothes slid down her arms. “I always miss you when you’re away. I just thought that you had had your pick…”

“But I didn’t have you,” he replied simply. “And, really, Comtesse. I told you before that you in pants, that’s pretty neat. You in leather pants? Damn!” He cupped her backside shamelessly.

Left in her brassiere and pants, Blanche pressed herself against her lover, pleased by the contact after so long apart. She pressed her palms to the uneven planes of his skin, relishing the warmth and comfort she had missed so much.

“I needed the protection for riding. I assure you I’ll be back in a dress tomorrow. The chafing is terrible.”

“Too bad… Why don’t you keep them on a bit more then?”

He sat down on the bed, back to the wall and pulled her on his lap. She made herself comfortable. This was one of her favorite positions for cuddles, and one of his favorites for sex. The following kiss was... long, really long. Bull's good hand found its way to her short hair and settled there to play with it, smoothing and tugging in turns.

“It’s fluffy,” he commented when they parted for air. “Now… I’m wondering what it will look like after sex.”

The answer was: messy.

Blanche blew on it to get a few strands away from her eyes, too tired to do the effort to move her hands. Bull had finished to exhaust her.

Chuckling at her state, he nuzzled the sensitive red skin of her collarbone and dropped butterfly kisses all over it. She whined and pushed him back.

“It tickles,” she grumbled.

It amused him more, but he kissed her face instead. He adjusted their position, lying down on his back with her nestled against his right side. He stared at the framework of the ceiling while rubbing her back.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She pressed her face against his skin and shuddered. For a long time, she didn’t talk, but he knew better than to think she had fallen asleep. Sleep never came easy to her, and probably even less so nowadays.

“They killed the boy… like it was nothing.”

“He was nothing to them.”

She shook against him. He stretched a hand over her back, letting his warmth help her relax before he rubbed gently at the knotted muscles. He worked her body like a familiar instrument, pressing at the tense points of her shoulders. He let her rub her cheek against his skin and gave her the time to recover in silence the words that always escaped her when her anxiety became too much.

“Your nightmares are about that? Not the abomination or the burns?”

“That too, of course,” she sighed, “but it’s not something I have to worry about daily.” She rolled on her back and stared at the wooden beams. “Whereas I had to leave the orphanage,” she admitted, her eyes filled with tears, “because every time I saw a child reminding me of him… I was in tears. How anyone can do that, Bull? I don’t understand.”

“Maybe it’s better you don’t. You don’t need to understand assholes to know all they need is a fist to the face.”

“I can’t change things if I don’t understand them.”

“That’s your problem, Comtesse,” he replied, folding a leg up. “You want to change everyone and everything. You can’t do that. Sometimes, when the crop is sick, it’s better to burn everything to the ground and start over.”

She stared at his profile, shaken by the idea but most of all because it reminded her of Solas’ stance and determination to bring down the whole world to build a better one. Why? This one wasn’t perfect certainly, but how anyone could bear the thought of such destruction? Of the pain it brought?

"Wait, shit," he breathed, "sorry, that's a bad a—"

"It's fine. But is that the Qunari speaking, I wonder?”

“Qunari don’t waste things. Burning everything is a waste. We certainly don’t slaughter kids.” He glanced to the side to meet her eyes. “So, you know.”

She raised a questioning brow.

“That I’m Ben-hassrath.”

“Vivienne sent me a concerned letter.”

“But you knew before that.”

“I may have had my doubts,” she admitted, looking back at the curved beams.

“And you don’t care. In fact, you helped.”

“I facilitated your acquisition of a few secrets, at best,” she tempered.

“Playing with words? That’s my job,” he teased, his warm breath caressing her cheek. “Why?”

She pressed the side of her face in the soft feather mattress (Josephine had spared no expenses for the Inquisition’s guests) to watch him. “I think you know why.”

He didn’t reply, too willing to keep whatever was between them unspoken and undefined.

The silence stretched, and Blanche closed her eyes. It was alright. This was good enough.

Half an hour later, Bull bundled his sleeping lover in blankets and left before her brother could see him.

oOo

The next day, Blanche went around the village.

Bull watched her from afar, following her tour around town as she checked on each of those who came from Val Fleuri. It was easy to keep track of her. Since he was asked to play mediator, Bull lingered where he could easily be seen and keep an eye out. What’s more, Blanche’s people flocked to their Comtesse like sheeps to their shepherd. She only needed to be in their vicinity for them to drop their task and walk to her. They curtsied or bowed and greeted her warmly. Then, she offered them a hug or a treat (fruit jellies and candies, Bull knew: he had gone through her bags and took one for himself, she always had the good stuff) if they used to be one of her kids, a pat on the shoulder and a smile if they were one of her serfs. They talked, always about the same questions: “How are you? How does the Inquisition treat you? Do you like Haven? Do you need anything?”

Rinse and repeat.

Too bad that Jules was on a mission, Bull thought. The kid would be disappointed to have missed her.

“Is the bogeyman getting distracted on the task?”

Bull glanced to the side and smirked at Solas. “Cullen has everything well in hands.”

“Yes, I heard about that argument.” The apostate was standing with his hands behind his back, his attention on Blanche. Standing near the bakery on the other side of the road, she was laughing at something an elf cook was telling her while Blanche did her hair in a complex braid.

Leaning back on his makeshift stool (a cask), Bull glanced at Solas’ expression curiously. “Is something bothering you?” The apostate looked like he was trying to figure something out.

Solas shook his head and looked away. “Not at all. I was wondering, since you were so idle, if I could interest you in a game of chess?”

“Sure thing. Bring it on. I’ll have my revenge.”

“We shall see.”

They had an actual game of chess, for a change, which made things much easier and allowed Bull to look around regularly, checking on the antagonistic elements he liked to keep in his field of vision. Most Templars and Mages were surprisingly willing to, if not cooperate, at least ignore each other. There were always exceptions.

Each time one of those exceptions walked away from Bull, he caught the eyes of a Charger and sent them after them.

“Don’t they notice anything?” Solas asked curiously.

“Nah. My guys are trained, and those idiots are the self-centered kind.”

“I’d expect Leliana’s scouts to handle this.”

“They keep an eye out, but they’re too busy to be there all day long.”

“Did the Chargers had to intervene?”

“Once or twice. They had to pretend to be walking by and show off their weapons a bit. Nothing too bad.”

“Do you think it’s sustainable?”

Bull didn’t reply. Blanche was walking toward them. She smiled at him and stopped by his side to glance at their game.

“Did you finally find someone at your level?”

“Solas is giving me a hard time,” Bull admitted honestly.

She rested a forearm on his shoulder. “I’m glad to hear it. After all those times you beat me mercilessly, I want to see you lose.”

“Hey!”

“I'm counting on you, Ser Solas.” She smiled at him.

 The elf bowed his head regally. “I shall endeavor not to disappoint.”

“You should be on my side,” Bull grumbled with a twinkling eye.

“I’m not above wishing for revenge,” she replied, chuckling. “I’m sorry, I’m interrupting your concentration. I just wished to let you know I’ll be in the Chantry, Iron Bull. Mother Giselle asked me to teach a few lessons to the children.”

“Got it. Have fun,” he replied. Once she was out of earshot, he moved his pawn to take one of Solas’ and answered his previous question: “I think they should hit a few things together. Demons would do.”

“Really? That’s your solution?”

The Qunari shrugged nonchalantly. “In my personal experience, there’s no quicker way to trust someone than to hit shit together.”

“Is such a trust serious?”

“It’s just the foundations. After that, you build on them and check if they are rotten or not. Like us.”

“Us?”

“You couldn’t speak more than two words to me before I bashed that guy’s helmet for you and you froze the other one for me, remember?” Bull smirked at him and spread a hand to show the game of chess. “And we’re building on that.”

Solas raised an amused eyebrow. “What if it is rotten?”

“Only one way to know: you keep on building until it crumbles.”

The elf tilted his head in thought. “... And the higher it is, the harder the fall.”

“You got it.”

oOo

There were few children at Haven, fortunately. Only a dozen. That was already far too many. Once Blanche had a few minutes to herself, she twisted her fingers in thought. She had to find a way to get those children away from Haven. Them, and all the people too frail to make a long trek in the snow. She couldn’t leave knowing what they would go through.

But how? Any warning she could give would put her under scrutiny. She couldn’t afford that. She had far too much to lose.

She stared at the Breach, trying to find inspiration in its swirling mass, to divine a solution in its glow.

“You get used to it.”

Startled, Blanche turned around to meet Krem’s eyes.

The lieutenant smiled at her kindly. “Hopefully, not for long anymore.”

“Yes, so I have been told,” she replied, nodding. She crossed her arms to stop herself from fidgeting but still looked back at the green maelstrom.

“Are you staying until it’s done? Witnessing History, as some say?”

“No. No, I don’t think so. I have already been away from the orphanage for too long.”

“Of course.” Krem nodded in understanding and stepped forward to stand close by her side. They were out of the way of the village’s alleys, not far from the apothecary. “I heard what happened at Val Fleuri…” He hesitated. “If there's anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

Blanche blinked in surprise. Her tense expression softened into a small smile. “Thank you. Just…" She shrugged. "If you see anyone hurting a child, punch them for me.”

“It would be my utmost pleasure, Ma’am,” Krem replied solemnly.

She chuckled and leaned toward him. “The Chargers have been dearly missed. I hope you’re doing well in the Inquisition.”

“Nothing to complain about. I’ve seen far much worse places and groups.”

“Yes, it’s rather good, isn’t it?” she replied, her fingers tapping her arms absent-mindedly.  

“Something's bothering you?”

“When isn’t there?” she sighed before shaking her head.

“I can get the Chief for you.”

“Unfortunately, the Iron Bull doesn’t have the solution to all of my worries.”

“Probably not… but he’s rather good at making you forget them,” Krem commented slyly.

She laughed. “He is, but let’s not bother him too often, he’d get bored of me. Tell me instead what you have been up to, Krem.” She reached for him and slid her arm around his. She was a bit taller than him, and she met his surprised eyes with a soft look. “Distract me?”

He cleared his throat. “As you wish.”

“The children miss you all, you know.”

Krem grinned. “We miss the little nugs too. But, you know, we have to make sure the sky gets back to a more fetching color.”

She laughed at the reminder of the letter she had sent. “Indeed.”

They went to the tavern, which was relatively quiet at this time of the day. They sat side by side at a round table with light drinks, and Krem shared with her the last mischiefs and feats of the Chargers. They laughed and chatted easily in soft voices.

In the background, a bard was playing a simple tune. Krem glanced at her sometimes. After a while, Blanche vaguely remembered that they could end together in that old story. She looked at the woman with more interest, wondering if she should help.

A chair scraping against the ground put a stop to that thought.

“Look at that!” Bull said as he sat down on her left with a large grin. “You got the Comtesse in the tavern, Krem? Well done!”

“Warmth and good company are all the incentives I needed,” she pointed out.

“That didn’t work at Val Fleuri.”

“It wasn’t freezing cold at Val Fleuri.”

Krem and Bull laughed.

“That’s damn right,” Krem agreed, “and one good reason to be missing it.”

A waitress brought an ale for Bull. The tankard was noticeably larger than Krem’s.

“I was telling her about our last missions, Chief.”

“Yeah? You made us look good when we saved her brother?”

“What do you mean, made it look good? I just told her the truth: that we saved the day, obviously.”

“Damn right.”

Blanche snorted at their banter.

A large group came in and sat at the next table. Bull shifted closer to Blanche to give them space. Blanche shifted closer to Krem by politeness. Bull leaned toward her, resting an arm on the back of her chair. She crossed her legs the other way to accommodate him, her shin now touching Krem’s. Warmth wasn’t an issue anymore.

“Thank you, for finding him,” she told Bull.

He shrugged. “It was luck.”

“How come the Inquisition both went to the Templars and the Mages?”

“Herah and the advisors had settled on the Mages, but Seekers show up and said the Templars were in danger.”

“Really? Seekers?”

“Yeah. Their boss tried to get them all killed,” Krem replied somberly. “They were lucky Lady Cassandra had warned them.”

“Lady Pentaghast?”

“She got a tip,” Bull explained with a shrug.

“That’s lucky,” Blanche managed to say in reply. She took a sip of her drink to hide her glee. It had worked! Cassandra had listened to the letter and acted. Blanche had changed history! It meant she could do more! She had to continue.

Bull sent her a look. He had noticed the quiver of her voice. To cover for it, she laughed, shaking her head. “I can’t believe that’s what made the difference.” She slid a hand under the table to squeeze his thigh. “You must be my lucky star.”

“Lucky star… Weird expression, that one,” Bull commented.

“Why?” She grinned at him. “Aren’t you shining like one?”

Krem snickered.

“I don’t shine. I gleam at best, with sweat.”

“You just need to polish your eyepatch a bit, and it would shine. You could blind your enemies with it.”

Bull rubbed his chin in thought. “Uh… not a bad idea.”

Krem snorted.

“Vivienne would have suggestions to make it the height of fashion. Diamonds, maybe?”

Krem nearly spat out beer in a fit of laughter.

Bull glanced at her suspiciously, wondering if she was mocking him. She gave him her most innocent look.

“Diamonds are overdone. Dawnstone would do. It’s shiny.”

“Dawnstone, then. I’ll remember that… for your birthday.”

“Oh, come on, you know I don’t have a birthday!” he whined.

“Then choose one!” Blanche and Krem shouted at the same time. Krem had gotten over his hilarity just for that. It was a familiar struggle. Qunari didn’t keep track of the exact day of birth, only of the month, and they didn’t celebrate it either. The Chargers and Blanche had suggested many times that he chose a day over the years, but he had never settled on one.

Bull made a face, hesitated, and then asked hopefully: “And I’d get a dawnstone eyepatch?”

“It would be magnificent,” she promised.

“Fine. The day I met Krem would do then, I guess. It was in the month of my birth.”

“Aww, that’s cute,” Blanche approved. “When was it?”

“Solace, the twenty-third,” Krem replied immediately. He froze when he noticed their stares. “What?”

“That came out really fast, Krem,” Bull pointed out.

“Well, some people have what we call memory,” he replied dryly.

"Never heard of it."

Blanche chuckled and fondly listened to their bickering.

oOo

The day after, Cassandra and Adaar came back. They had saved a dozen Seekers from whatever madness their leader had invented. Blanche watched them come in and waited for Varric to rest a little before going to find him in the evening. He was sitting next to a fire, writing in a notebook.

“Master Tethras, may I interrupt you?” she asked politely, her hands joined in front of her.

He looked up, blinking owlishly, and removed the glasses he was wearing. “Uh. Lady Blanche, right? I didn’t know you were in Haven.”

“I arrived two days ago for a family matter.”

“Ah, right. Your brother, the Templar, right?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “But this isn’t why I’m bothering you. Since we saw each other in Val Royeaux…” She glanced around to check that no-one was listening. “I met two of your friends.”

“Did you?” He looked a bit wary, probably wondering if these were true friends she was talking about.

“They escorted me for most of the way but prefered to stop far enough from Haven, so they gave me a letter for you.” She removed an envelope from an inside pocket of her coat and offered it to Varric.

He accepted it and turned it around, wary of its absence of writing, before opening it. His eyes widened when he recognized the handwriting of the letter, and he read avidly.

Blanche went to fetch an empty box, put it down next to Varric and sat down. She waited patiently.

“Where did you say you left them?” he asked when he was done.

“The LakeSide Inn, but they weren’t supposed to stay long.”

He nodded in understanding. “Well, my Lady… Hawke has nothing but compliments to say about you.”

“Likewise,” she replied with a smile. “I was so pleased to meet him and see how kind he was. You barely exaggerated!”

He pressed a hand to his chest. “Me? Exaggerating? Perish the thought!”

She chuckled at his exaggerated expression.

“Come on, then, tell me everything,” he said, leaning toward her.

“Only if you do the same,” she answered. “What happened to those poor Seekers? They look like they have gone through the Void and back.”

“Yeah. Let me tell you, that Lord Seeker Lucius was seriously messed up,” Varric commented before telling her about what they had found at Caer Oswin.

From what Blanche could remember and understand of the events, they had gone mostly as they should have. The Seekers had only benefited from Cassandra’s warning and early arrival, allowing part of them to survive.

As promised, Blanche told Varric about her own adventure, but she glossed over the details. Instead, she talked at length of her travel with Hawke and Fenris. That was a safer subject and one that Varric was interested in.

They parted ways when the dwarf decided to go to the tavern.

Going in the middle of the day was one thing, but in the evening this place was packed with a far too rowdy crowd for Blanche’s tastes. She needed space and peace. Especially now that old memories and doubts were coming back to haunt her, all too eager to find her alone and brooding. She had tried to push them away, and during the day it worked, mostly. The evenings and the mornings, when there was nothing important to occupy her mind, though… they were always the worst.

She went back to her chalet. There was a dying fire in the hearth. She was reaching for a new log when movement in the corner of her eyes scared her. She stepped back with a hand to her chest in fright, a scream on her lips.

“I won’t hurt you.”

The scream died short. Her eyes went wide.

“Yes, I’m Cole. You know me?”

“Oh, dear,” she breathed, as her thoughts escaped her control and gave her entirely away.

“How do you know all that?” Cole tilted his head in wonder. “… Oh. Memories, old and broken, haunting dreams and days, scaring and puzzling. No-one ever listens. It’s a curse.”

 “It is.” She leaned on a chair, shaken by her thoughts laid bare and his unexpected appearance changing... well, everything.

“It isn’t. It brought him. Strong, warm, patient and kind. He listens.”

Tears came to her eyes, and she dried them impatiently. “Not for long.”

Cole bowed his head as he realized what she meant. There was a choice to be made in the future. It was looming in Blanche's mind. More than anything else, the Iron Bull losing the Chargers could break their relationship.  “You can change things.”

“Can I?” She glanced out of the window at the green glow of the Breach they couldn’t see but which was omnipresent in Haven.

“I can help.”

She blinked and observed him more intently. Cole, she was ashamed to say, hadn’t been in her thoughts much as an obstacle. She had been wary of Solas, but she had barely thought of Cole. In a quite appropriate way, her memories of him were less clear than others. She knew one thing: he was indeed willing to help. And, it turned out, that he was more than willing to listen. He understood.

“Yes, I do. Stranded and different, we want to help.”

“Yes, we do,” she agreed with a tentative smile. “I’m happy to meet you, Cole.” So happy she could hug him.

He looked up, his hat tilting back to reveal a hint of his wide eyes. “I… don’t know how it’s done… a hug.”

She giggled. “Do you want me to show you?”

“It would make you happy.”

“Yes, it would,” she confirmed. She opened her arms in invitation. After a moment of hesitation, he stepped forward slowly. “A little closer,” she encouraged him. When he was close enough, she lifted his hands on her back and then went to embrace him. “See? Like this. Not too tight. Just your arms resting around the other.”

“That’s… nice.” He was stiff, but he’d get it with time.

“Yes, it is. It’s even better with someone you like very much. You’ll see.”

“I like everyone.”

“All equally?”

“... Mean, bland, nubbed by lyrium and paranoid, they’re blind to the pain…” He blinked. “No, not equally.”

She smiled encouragingly and patted his shoulder. “It’s alright. We can’t like everyone. That’s why hugs are only for someone you like very much.”

“You like me.”

“I certainly do. I think that we can help each other and everyone else too. What do you think?”

He tilted his head, reading her thoughts curiously before nodding. “Yes.”

The Inquisition had done the impossible by helping both Templars and Mages, thus greatly depleting Corypheus’ forces. Blanche had wondered if it would be sufficient to save Haven, but she greatly doubted it. The Elder One still had the Venatori, the red lyrium, the corrupted dragon, and whatever influence he had on the Grey Wardens. He wasn’t defeated yet, and no matter the strength of his forces, he would try to get his revenge. He was going to attack Haven, she was sure of it.

They had to warn the Inquisition, somehow.

Chapter Text

Blanche explained some of her circumstances to Cole.

“A past life?” he asked with a curious tilt of his head.

“I think so. I’m not sure. It’s a little fuzzy. Please keep this for yourself? No-one should know. People wouldn’t understand.”

“Because you’re different.”

“Yes.”

“I understand. I’m too. People don’t like that.”

She smiled at him sympathetically. She had forgotten most of the details concerning how he had become who he was today, but something told her he wouldn’t like talking about it. She understood that all too well.

“How did you come to Haven?” she asked, wondering how things had changed from what she remembered.

“I can hide. I followed the Templars here.”

“Why?

“To help.”

“But what is your purpose, Cole?” At the confused tilt of his head, his hat falling on his ear, Blanche clarified: “What do you want to do with your life?”

“Help.”

“You go where you can help?”

“Yes. And you?”

Blanche stopped with her mouth open for another question. Yes, what about her? What did she want to do with her life? Wasn’t she exactly like Cole: blindly going where she could help? Doing what she could? At Val Fleuri and at Haven, all she ever did was react to what came her way. She had been more proactive lately, but she was still going with the flow. What was her purpose? That was a question she had purposefully avoided.

A hit at the door (because it wasn’t a knock, it sounded more like a kick) stopped her in her thoughts. She turned to glance out of the window. The night had fallen.

“Blanche, it’s me,” Bull called.

Turning to look back at Cole with wide eyes, Blanche blinked when she found only empty space. Right. That part would need some getting used to.

With that solved, she went to open the door.

Bull had both hands full of bowls, which explained why he couldn’t knock like a civilized individual.

“Varric said you weren’t feeling well. I brought you soup so we could eat together,” he explained as she let him in.

“Oh.” Blanche smiled softly. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “I already lost too much at cards.” He put down the bowls on a small table and lifted it until it was next to the bed without spilling a drop.

Blanche followed him. Once he was sitting on the bed, she rested a hand on his shoulder and leaned close to kiss his cheek, avoiding the stubble and brushing an old scar with her lips. “It was thoughtful of you.”

“I’m a thoughtful guy.”

“I know,” she agreed. He could be extremely considerate when he wanted to. In fact, if he wasn’t, you had either pissed him off or he was trying to get something out of you.

She went to sit on the other side of the round table, but he pulled her into his lap with her back to his chest. He kissed her temple.

“You alright?”

“Yes. I just needed to be alone for a bit.”

He grunted. “Got ya.”

She reached for a bowl. The soup was more of a stew with pieces of vegetables and unidentified meat floating in a thick broth. She tasted it and found it surprisingly good for something done in a small overcrowded village. The meat was some sort of game: the taste was strong even after marinating in what tasted like wine and herbs.

“The soup is alright with you?”

“Sure. I’m not sick, I can eat.”

He snorted. “Sera thought a Countess wouldn’t like it. Not posh enough. Said I wouldn’t get lucky with that.”

“This was meant to get you lucky?” Blanche scoffed.

“Damn. It didn’t work?” He smirked. “Sera—” He was cut off by the spoon Blanche slipped between his lips. He ate his food dutifully, watching her with sparkling eyes.

Blanche adjusted her position on his lap so she could spoon-feed him. She watched him fondly and kissed his lips before going for another spoon of stew.

“I like to think that you know me better than this ‘Sera’ does.”

“Yeah. That’s why I told her I only needed to show up and flex my arms to get lucky,” he replied cheekily.

She groaned in distaste and put the bowl down.

He laughed and kissed her hair. “Kidding. I respect our deal, Countess. No worries.” He reached for the bowl left untouched and return the favor by offering her a full spoon.

She ate self-consciously and licked her lips to keep drops from running down her chin. Bull followed the move with an interested eye. He kissed her lips hungrily.

“Eat your food,” she chided him, chuckling. After a moment of eating peacefully, she said: “You know, I’d understand if you wanted to end it.” It was difficult, but it needed to be stated.

The deal had been agreed on when their relationship had become more regular than ‘a night every three months’. It contained four rules: open relationship (for both of them, but they both knew it was for Bull’s benefit, Blanche never slept with anyone else), restrained public displays of affection (for Blanche’s benefit), no bawdy talk to others about their relationship (looking at you, the Iron Bull), and being committed to each other when together.

“Why would I?”

“Well, you’re staying with the Inquisition longer than your other jobs, so you might meet someone you’re most interested in than me…”

He grunted and fed her another spoonful. “Didn’t meet anyone like that yet. … Now, if I could convince the Seeker… but she’s not interested.”

“I’d forgive you for favoring Lady Pentaghast over me,” Blanche commented solemnly. “I’d do it too if she was interested in women.”

Bull watched her with a sharp and shiny eye. “Now, that’s… damn hot.”

“If you’re thinking of a threesome, it would never happen,” Blanche pointed out as she fed him.

He daydreamed while eating. “But you’d be okay with a threesome?”

“With someone nice, and you? I’d consider it.” She valiantly held back a blush.

“Now, that’s important: what’s your definition of nice?”

“I mean, someone kind and sweet, and patient.” She could see him eliminating and selecting potential candidates. She rolled her eyes and fed him another spoonful. “And someone I know and can trust.”

He eliminated some more. She ate before the food got cold.

“Blackwall.”

She choked on a piece of carrot. Not that she would mind, but really, she felt like that would be a bit premature. She didn’t really know him...

He grunted. “Although he’s getting really attached to Herah and the Ambassador… They might do their own threesome!” He commented cheerfully.

“Maker,” she sighed while patting her chest to catch her breath. “Just eat your food, would you?”

He accepted his bowl and complied obediently, but it didn’t stop him. “Sorry about Varric though, it can’t work: he’s selective.”

She blinked. “Why do you apologize?”

“I heard you were flirting with him at that party.”

“I was not!”

“That wasn’t Solas’ opinion.”

She huffed. “Well, Solas can keep his opinion for himself!”

“So you aren’t interested in Varric?”

She munched on a piece of tough meat while glaring at him.

He smirked. “That’s what I thought. Sorry, you’ll have to make do with that chest.” He waved at himself and his bare, scarred skin. She knew he had thick skin and great resistance to temperatures, combined to a robust constitution that kept him safe from most common illnesses, but really, in the middle of the mountains, he was pushing it.

She rolled her eyes and ignored him in favor of cutting a too big piece of parsnip with the edge of her spoon.

 “I’ll have to introduce you to a few people.”

“You’re not introducing me to people so we can have a threesome! I’ll never be able to talk to them normally if you do.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell you.”

“Now I’ll have doubts about everyone. You’re the worst.”

“That’s why you like me. By the way, what do you think of Cullen?”

She squeaked.

“Yeah, you’re right, he isn’t the type for a threesome.”

She hit him. “The worst!”

oOo

The next day, Blanche met Josephine for breakfast and asked a favor.

“It would only take a few minutes,” she promised her, “but I believe you’d want to hear the information I have discovered before taking any decision.”

Josephine watched her curiously over her jam tartlet. “I could relay that information for you.”

“I’d gladly agree, but it better come from the source.”

“An informant? How intriguing!”

Josephine agreed easily and pushed the bowl of fruits toward her.

It was astonishingly simple to talk to one of the best players of the Grand Game.

An hour later, Blanche walked into the Chantry with Cole by her side. The Herald, the Advisors, and the Companions had a meeting planned about sealing the Breach. However, the Herald had to make her report on her previous mission first. Josephine had promised they could speak after that.

Blanche was nervous, but years of the Great Game had taught her not to show anything. She still wore a mask for the occasion, to help her nerves and keep with traditions. She stopped in front of the door guarded by two soldiers.

“They should be ready for us soon,” Blanche commented. “We’ll—”

She turned around to discover that Cole had disappeared. She noticed him crouching near an old woman praying in front of a statue of Andraste. His lips moved for a short moment before he disappeared and came back to Blanche’s side.

“She was hurting,” he explained.

Blanche nodded. “I understand, and you did well to help, but I need you to stay with me for the meeting, Cole. It’s important.”

“Yes, but the washerwoman hurts. She needs help.”

“Can it wait a little?”

“Yes…”

“Then we’ll do it afterward.”

“Alright… I won’t leave, but we can do that if you want.”

She smiled at him and offered her hand. He looked at it hesitantly before taking it. Blanche adjusted their grip so it would be less stiff and awkward.

“Like this?”

“Yes.”

A moment later, the door opened. Josephine gestured for them to come in.

Blanche led Cole inside.

“May I introduce the Comtesse Blanche de Lamar—”

The Ambassador was interrupted by Sera screaming and pointing at Cole:

“That’s the damn demon!”

Blanche squeezed Cole’s hand in reassurance. “Now, no need to be rude. This is Cole—”

“Blanche, step away from it,” Bull demanded as he came to her, flexing his fist.

She glared at him. “You should step aside, the Iron Bull. I’m talking.” She turned to the rest of the room and continued: “Cole wishes to help the Inquisition. He has information of importance.”

“He’s a demon!” Sera repeated. “He was at Therinfal Redoubt, I saw him! He dropped out of nowhere and tried to mess up with our mind.”

“I tried to help, to warn you about Envy,” Cole defended himself.

“Isn’t he the one who killed a few Red Templars?” Varric wondered.

“Demons don’t help,” Solas pointed out.

“High demons are manipulative and cunning,” Cullen replied with his sword half-unsheathed.

Blanche sighed in exasperation as the debate began. She had been expecting it, but she had hoped they could postpone it to after the explanations. She pulled Cole forward, went around the Iron Bull, bypassed most of the Companions and went directly to the head of the table.

“Lady Adaar,” she greeted the silent Herald. She genuflected. “Well met, My Lady. I’d be most obliged if you could listen to Cole’s explanation.”

Bent over the map with her hands on the table, the Vashoth had observed the ongoings without a word. She blinked at Blanche in surprise at being called upon and then glanced at Cole. She straightened and nodded.

“Alright.”

“Thank you.” Blanche turned toward Cole and gave him an encouraging smile. Their whole plan rested on his shoulders now.

“The Elder One’s coming,” Cole blurted out.

The rest of the room had quieted down when ignored, and those first words convinced them to listen.

“He’s very angry. You took his templars and his mages, but he still can hurt you. He’ll come when you least expect it. Your victory will be his.”

“What does that mean?” Herah asked, frowning.

“When the Breach is closed,” Solas translated. “It would be your victory…”

“... and people would celebrate, let down their guard,” Bull completed. “It’s a good strategy. It makes sense.”

“How did you come upon this information?” Leliana asked.

“I listened,” Cole replied noncommittally.

To Blanche’s thoughts, but they didn’t need to know that. In fact, it was vague enough that it could mean a million things. That was the beauty of giving information via Cole.

“Why going to Lady Blanche first?”

Blanche blinked in surprise. She hadn’t really thought of that. Why did Cole come to her in the first place?

“You’re bright,” Cole said, staring at her, replying to her thoughts more than Leliana’s question. “You spread love, but you feel pain. I wanted to help you so you can help people.”

“Oh.” Her expression softened and closed at the same time. She lowered her voice to say: “That’s kind of you, but you can’t really help me about that pain, you know.”

“They killed him, innocent and young. Blood, so much blood. You couldn’t help.”

She swallowed and then cleared her throat. “No, I couldn’t.” She tried to smile but it looked more like a wince. “That’s the hard part, to accept that you can’t save everyone. I know that. I just need time to accept it.”

“So you’re helping now.”

“Yes. For me, the best way to move on is to help elsewhere.” Blanche turned to say to Leliana: “I didn’t really think about why he came to me. He could help, but you wouldn’t have listened, so I came along.”

“Blanche—” Bull tried to say.

She tutted. “Oh, don’t you start. You’re hardly in a position to tell me who I should trust when you were the first I gave a chance to. You have horns. He has…” She made a vague hand gesture. “...different powers than the norm. Details. What matters is inside.”

“Blanche—” Vivienne tried in turn.

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree,” Blanche concluded, ignoring everyone to focus on the Herald. She would later realize how dismissive she was, but she had a low tolerance for disagreements and Cole had just made it worse. “I hope that helped, Lady Adaar. Whether you trust Cole or not, certainly you can agree that preventive measures should be taken, just in case.”

Herah watched her and Cole thoughtfully but nodded. “Sure.”

“I’m glad. If his information proves to be true, please consider letting him stay and help. He’s very intent about it. In the meantime, we’ll leave you to confer.” She turned around and pulled her new friend by the hand. “Come on, Cole.”

“Can we go help the washerwoman?”

“Certainly. Lead the way. But remember: don’t disappear on me or I can’t help.”

oOo

“Blanche.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the call and prepared herself for a discussion she wasn’t eager for. Bull was walking toward her with an expression he rarely wore with her: displeasure. Solas and Vivienne were with him. Wonderful. This was going to be a lovely conversation, she could tell.

She sighed and readjusted her position. That wooden log wasn’t very comfortable.

“The Iron Bull,” she replied dismissively. She had needlework to do.

“Where is he?”

“Cole volunteered to look for the young boy of the washerwoman. He’s lost.”

“Blanche—”

“I won’t change my mind,” she interrupted, “Cole isn’t a demon. He’s perfectly nice and wants to help, that’s all that matters!”

He groaned, threw his hands up and then left in a huff. Blanche held back a wince.

At least they had some nice days together before their tiff...

“You’re being quite rash, my dear,” Vivienne commented disapprovingly. However, she wasn’t the kind to insist needlessly. She turned around and threw over her shoulder as she left: “Whether Cole is a spirit or a demon is irrelevant. Neither can be trusted, my dear. Remember that.”

“Yes, Vivienne,” she replied dutifully. Left alone with Solas, she glanced at him, expectant. Was he going to chide her too? That would take the cake.

“May I sit?” he simply asked.

“Certainly. You’d have to pardon me for the lack of comfort of the furniture, however.”

“I shall.” He watched her work silently for a while before commenting: “That fabric doesn’t look like something you’d wear.”

“It’s a shirt of the lost child. His mother scolded him for ripping it. He fled in tears…”

“...and got lost. I see. Why are you mending it?”

“Because the reason the mother scolded him so bad is that she’s too overworked to do it herself.”

“You’re mending the shirt for a washerwoman.”

“Yes.”

She could feel his stare on her profile. She tried not to let it distract her. Her needlework certainly wasn’t the best around, but she wanted the repair to last.

“I see why a spirit of compassion would be attracted to you,” he finally commented.

She hummed. “I’m quite fond of him.”

“What I find curious is your lack of concern for it. Haven’t you been taught to fear spirits and demons? Or at least distrust them?”

Blanche took a moment to think over her answer. “My education is my own.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was rather free as a child. My mother was kind, and my father didn’t care much about what I did as long as I didn’t bother him. As far as he was concerned, all I needed to know was how to be a decent wife and noblewoman. Dance lessons. Etiquette lessons. That’s what he gave me. I was supposed to learn the rest at the Chantry, but I’m not very devout. I take the Chant with a grain of salt. I taught myself out of books. I found ‘Beyond the Veil: Spirits and Demons’ by Enchanter Mirdromel quite interesting.”

“You had access to magic books?”

She threw him a mischievous smile. “When I went into town, I was given money to buy any clothes or accessories I wanted. A noble has to be at the latest trend you see. Most often, I didn’t go to the tailor or the jeweller, but to the bookstore. The librarian knew me well enough after some time and kept interesting books for me.”

Solas raised an amused eyebrow. “And your father never noticed?”

“Sometimes, he asked where the money went. I replied that I had given the money to charity. Which wasn’t a complete lie… just not all of it. After a while, he stopped asking.”

Solas chuckled and shook his head. “I see. I do hope you had other teachers than Enchanter Mirdromel, however.”

“I never stop to learn, Ser Solas.”

“My shirt!”

Blanche startled and looked up to find that Cole had arrived with a five-year-old boy. She smiled at him. “Hey there. Your shirt will be like new in just a moment, dear. One last knot. I cut the thread and… here you go!” She handed it over. “Why don’t you show your mummy everything is alright?”

“Yes! Thanks!”

The boy pressed the shirt to his heart and ran away toward the wash house. Solas stood up to face Cole.

“Cole, I wished to speak to you, if I may.”

“Yes.”

Blanche rose and smiled at Cole. “I’ll see you later.”

oOo

Solas had confirmed that Cole was a Spirit of Compassion, vouching for him, and the Herald had decided it was good enough for her.

The decision had been made: the Mages would help to close the Breach, and the Templars would defend Haven against the Elder One, whoever he was. Thus, each group had its role to play and could keep their chin high.

The next day, in the early morning, a caravan was organized to send to safety civilians and injured soldiers. They would go to the Crossroads and wait there for news.

Blanche was going to leave with them.

Before the departure, she went to find the Iron Bull. They hadn’t spoken since her rebuff of his concern. She refused to leave in these terms, especially with what awaited.

Haven was unusually busy. Near the gates on the valley side, the caravan was growing in size. On the mountainside, mages were getting ready to accompany the Herald to the ruins of the Temple.

On the training grounds, she only saw Krem and the Chargers, but no Qunari. Krem came to meet her as soon as he noticed her.

“My lady, are you leaving?”

“Soon.”

“I bet you want to see the Chief, right?” At her nod, Krem pointed toward the smithy. “He went to get his axe repaired.”

Blanche thanked him and skirted the training grounds toward the forge. Bull was leaning back against the wooden fence as he spoke to a blacksmith. She realized as she moved closer that there was someone else behind him: Dorian Pavus.

She had caught sight of the Tevinter around Haven and at the meeting the day before, but she didn’t really have the time or reason to worry about him. Seeing him so close to Bull, old worries came back to mind. She did her best to squash them.

They were arguing, she realized as she came near. Which didn’t mean anything, a little voice in her head reminded her. That was the beauty of their relationship that they started enemies (or at least hostile) and grew to be more.

It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. Her relationship with Bull was honest and open. He could do whatever (or rather whoever) he wanted… as long as she wasn’t around.

Bull caught sight of Blanche but didn’t move a finger. So, he was truly upset with her. Great.

“The Iron Bull.”

“Your Ladyship.”

Oh. Her official form of address. Scratched ‘upset’: he was pissed.

Dorian leaned forward to better see the scene. Based on his expression, he was perfectly aware of the rumors circulating about their relationship (a Qunari and an Orlesian noble, how juicy. How much time before the news reached Tevinter?) and he enjoyed their tiff. Well, at least someone was entertained...  

“May I have a word?”

Bull moved reluctantly and threw over his shoulder: “Make it shine for me, Harritt!”

“That’s not how it freaking works!” was his reply.

Bull chuckled, but his amusement disappeared as soon as the two of them were alone near the forest. He waited with his arms crossed for her to speak.

“I’m leaving with the caravan.”

“I heard that Barris convinced your brother to come with you. You must be happy.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “But I don’t want to leave with you angry at me.”

“I’m not angry. You did your thing. It’s working out... for now. Good for you.”

Bull was a master of passive-aggressiveness, but it had rarely been directed at her. It hurt. Especially because she didn’t know how to arrange things. If she had done something wrong, she would apologize, but she had no regrets.

“Please, tell me how to fix it,” she requested in a wavering voice.

He shrugged, unfazed. “There’s nothing to fix. It’s fine.”

His indifference hurt more than the burns ever had. Tears came to her eyes once again (and she had thought she had been doing better lately, but no, it seemed she was and would always be a crybaby). “I—I see. Then… I’ll see you later.” She turned around to hide her crumpling face. “Good luck,” she said before leaving quickly.

Her sight was a blur as she quickly walked past everything. With her face down, she could only see the feet of the people around her which allowed her to avoid them.

She passed by Krem. He stared at her back, surprised by the brush-off, before it registered that she was crying. “Shit,” he groaned, before making his way to the smithy. Bull was reaching it when Krem grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back toward a quiet corner. They both ignored the Tevinter who was getting ready to needle the Qunari.

“What did you say to her?” Krem asked with his hands on his hips.

“Nothing that’s your concern.”

“She was crying, Chief.”

Bull shrugged. “Not my fault.”

“Not your fault? You can make anyone laugh or fall into your arms and you have no idea how to keep your lover from crying? Bull-fucking-shit, and a big one coming from you, Chief.” Krem crossed his arms and stood his ground, glaring at his boss without hesitation.

“If that bothers you so much, just go and comfort her,” Bull replied dismissively.

Krem kicked his shin-guard. “Shut up and listen, you idiot. You’re hurt she chose to believe that spirit over you, and you refuse to admit it.”

“Am not,” Bull denied. “I don’t care.”

Krem threw him his most unimpressed look.

Bull sighed, pressed a hand to his face, and then nodded. “Fuck. Fine! I am.”

“So, go talk to her and tell her that, damn it! Then kiss the hell out of her to stop her from crying.”

Bull’s heavy hand fell on Krem’s shoulder and squeezed like a vicious seal of approval. Krem grumbled and stretched his shoulder as he watched him leave. Really. He should demand a raise. Couple counseling wasn’t part of his responsibilities.

The area around the valley gates was crowded with people getting ready to leave and saying goodbye to friends. Bull caught sight of the Montclair’s brothers and went to them.

“Do you know where Blanche is?” he asked without preamble.

“She said she forgot something in the chalet,” Oscar replied, leaning on his brother’s shoulder.

“Her eyes were red. Are you the reason she cried?” Etienne asked, suspicious. When Bull ignored him and headed toward the Chantry, he shouted at his back: “I warned you about hurting her!”

Bull reached the chalet and knocked at the door. There was no response, but he tried the handle and it opened.

Blanche was crying on the bed, bathed in the light coming from the window. She tried to calm down when he came in, but Bull didn’t wait for it. He crouched in front of her and opened his arms in invitation.

“Hey. Come here.”

She threw herself in his arms. “Please, don’t be angry with me!”

“I’m not, Blanche. I promise, I am not… anymore,” he replied, rubbing her back. “I’m sorry, gorgeous. I was an asshole, out there. I was hurt, and I wanted to make you hurt too. I’m sorry.” He kissed her temple and hugged her tightly.

Blanche sniffled and pressed her cheek to his. “Hurt?”

“Vexed, I guess you could say. But it was no reason to push you away, especially when you’re on edge. Krem gave me an earful.”

Her fingers curled around his axe’s harness. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry. I just thought it was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I know.” He grunted suddenly. “Shit. My ankle. Wait a sec.”

Blanche pulled back, worried. Bull leaned on the bed to stand up, shaking his left ankle before sitting down heavily beside Blanche. He rested his foot down more carefully and found the right position before offering his arms to Blanche again. She pressed herself against his side. She had taken the opportunity to dry her cheeks, but her eyes and skin were still red.

“I handled it badly,” Bull admitted. “It’s on me.”

“I shouldn’t have been so dismissive. It’s on us both.” She lifted a hand to his cheek. The tip of her fingers caressed his jaw and then scratched his beard when he leant into the touch. “I trust your opinion very much, you know, but there are some subjects on which you’re not… objective.”

“And you’re too trusting.”

“I’ll give you that,” she conceded with a tilt of her head. “But you have your… guts, like you call it, and I have my own instinct. They work for different things, but I have never been wrong, have I?”

He sighed but nodded and reached for her free hand. “I’m giving this… Cole, the benefit of the doubt. We’ll see.”

She smiled and craned her neck to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. “Be careful on the roads.”

“Only if you also are careful against whatever awaits you here.”

He smirked. “You know me, Comtesse. I’m always careful.

“Not. You forgot the not.”

His smirk widened into a beam before he laughed. Once he had calmed down, he tilted his head down and caught her lips for a deep kiss.

When he escorted her back to her brothers, Blanche swatted Etienne’s forearm before he could threaten her lover. “Everything’s fine. Let’s go.”

Bull helped her up on her horse and lingered to keep it still while they made their last goodbyes.

“Write to me as soon as you can,” she requested in a murmur.

“You got it,” he promised.

oOo

The Breach was closed. Finally.

After nearly two months spent under that green glow, Haven had rediscovered the natural light of the stars and the moons. It completely changed the mood of the small town, especially with the bonfires created all around to celebrate their success.  

However, the festivities weren’t what they could have been. There was no alcohol flowing freely. Maryden was playing a cheery tune but only a few people were dancing: the last civilians to stay and the mages with enough energy to spare. Soldiers, scouts, and Templars were expectant and tense. The waiting part was always the worst.

Bull left Krem to keep an eye on the Chargers and went to join the advisors and Herah. They were suddenly standing close to each other and talking in hushed voices. Something had changed.

“Boss?”

Herah met his eyes, solemn.

He nodded in understanding. So, the spirit had been right. “How bad is it?”

“Only a hundred at worst,” Leliana replied.

“We can handle it,” Cullen replied confidently. “It would have been more difficult without a warning, but right now we’re ready—”

“Fire! FIRE!”

They spun around to see flames rising from a roof. Soldiers ran to the well.

“Sabotage,” Bull realized. “The advancing forces are a distraction to keep your attention. They have agents inside the walls!”

“Damn it,” Cullen hissed. Used and trained in traditional warfare, he hesitated on how to deal with it.

“I’m on it,” Bull immediately volunteered. “Chargers! Horns up!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Spread out! Hunt for saboteurs!”

The mercenaries claimed their agreement and immediately jumped into action.

Bull pulled out his greataxe and twirled it. “We’ve still got this.”

They all agreed.

Of course, that was until the dragon showed up.

oOo

At the Crossroads, Blanche had been looking in the direction of Haven since the Breach had been closed. Refugees and members of the Inquisition were celebrating the event cheerfully and noisily, but she sat to the side of the festivities.

“They’ll be alright,” Oscar told her.

“I know.”

“They’re ready to handle anything.”

No, not anything, not a dragon, Blanche thought.

“I’m glad Ser Barris convinced you to leave,” she admitted instead. “He seems to be a good man and a great friend.”

“He is,” Oscar agreed before gnawing at a bone to remove the last traces of meat.

Blanche looked away from the mountains to glance at him curiously.

“What?” he asked, defensive.

“You…” She tilted her head. “Oscar, do you lov—”

“No!”

His shout attracted the attention of their older brother, but Blanche waved dismissively to Etienne who shrugged and went back to his dancing.

“You haven’t changed,” she told Oscar. “You’d still be as terrible at the Great Game as you were years ago. That was an awful lie.” At his silence, she patted his arm. “There is no shame in a crush, Oscar. Especially not for a good man.”

“He’s not interested in men,” Oscar murmured.

“Did you ask him?”

“No. Years ago, a cleric confessed to him. He told me about it, said he wasn’t interested.”

“Oh. I see…” She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry. I know unrequited love hurts.”

“He’s my best friend. As long as I have that, it’s all that matter,” Oscar replied without looking at her. He threw the bone in the fire they were sitting next to.

“I understand better why you were so determined to stay with him. But take heart, you’ll go back to him once you’re healed.”

“Yeah.”

Feeling that her brother wasn’t in a mood for more conversation, Blanche let the silence settle between them and turned her attention back to the Frostback Mountains. She was lucky that the moons were shining brightly today. There were a few clouds over the mountains, and they were far away, but she could still pinpoint the general area of Haven.

She frowned. Was that fire or was she imagining things?

“Etienne,” she called toward their elder brother. He was now standing to the side with a bottle of wine in hand and was flirting with an Inquisition scout. “Can you bring me the spyglass, please?” When he failed to move, she clicked her fingers urgently.

He sighed and walked to their saddlebags. “Fine, fine. What am I, your servant?”

Blanche ignored his comment and pointed the lens toward Haven.

Yes, that was a fire.

Maker, she hoped they would be alright.

Chapter Text

“Blanche,

I write as promised, but this won’t reach you anytime soon. There is no mail service in the middle of those damn mountains. I’ll add bits and pieces to this until we reach civilization again.

Everyone is more or less fine. They will survive anyway. 

I’ll hand it to the demon, Cole, or whatever: he was right, and his warning probably saved lives. Civilians in this mess would have been bad. Because winter had to make its last comeback the night we got attacked, of course. A blizzard in the middle of an evacuation was just what we needed, the cherry on top of a three-layer cake (in order: saboteurs, charging enemies, dragon). 

Oh, yeah, I didn’t tell you about the dragon. You know how much I love dragons. I didn’t like this one. It was… wrong. Since when do dragons obey anyone? The answer should be never and no one, that’s all the charm of them. 

So, snow. Damn, snow and mountains aren’t my thing. It’s so cold I had to put on a damn shirt or get frozen nipples, can you believe it? 

I’m writing this in bits by the way. It’s the second week of walking through the mountains by now. We were promised a castle. Probably ruins, but still a castle. Better defense, hopefully… can’t do much worse. No offense to the Commander, he did his best.

So, that castle? Yeah, pretty good for ruins. Surprisingly good. I was expecting… not that. You’d like it. Skyhold, it’s called. It could become much better than Haven. We’ll be working on it.

There is work to do and a road to send mail, so this is your letter, sweetheart.

I’m not dead yet.

The Iron Bull.”

“My dear,

I was so glad to receive your letter. It lifted a weight off my heart. We had to leave the Hinterlands the day after we evacuated Haven despite the lack of news regarding your state. The region was overcrowded. 

Etienne, Oscar, and I went back to Orlais. Some refugees joined us, but the trip was complicated by the last remnants of winter you mentioned. My thoughts went to you when we were forced to wait at Gherlen’s Pass for the snow to be cleared out. I was hoping you had chosen the option of safety and covered yourself, I’m glad you didn’t let your pride endanger you. It would have been most upsetting. After all, you’re all the more dashing when fabric stretches over your large shoulders.

We are now safely in Val Fleuri, despite a long and dreary journey. It has been more than a month since I have seen you, and I miss you terribly. I hope Skyhold has welcomed you and the weary Inquisition with a solid roof and strong walls. I look forward to seeing it. 

Tell me, what of the Chargers? and Lady Herah? How are they?

Val Fleuri is well. The Chargers are dearly missed, of course, by the innkeeper more than any other. He misses his most faithful and generous clients. The children were very eager to welcome me back and hear tales of the Inquisition. I had to borrow some of your stories to satisfy them. I’m sorry to have robbed you of this opportunity, but needs must.

As for myself, I have found another subject of worry (it never stops): Oscar and his dependence on lyrium. We had long conversations on the road. I worry about him continuing to take it. He worries about stopping it. I’m afraid we won’t find a middle ground without outside help. He mentioned that Commander Rutherford left the Templar Order. I was hoping you could give him the joined letter whenever he seems not too overworked (as difficult as it might be, I trust you to find the right time). I don’t want to add to his troubles, but an experienced opinion would be welcome.

Yours,

Blanche.”

“Commander Rutherford,

I hope this letter finds you well. I can imagine how heavy and plentiful your work is, and I hate to add any to your days, but I’m in dear need of your advice.

As you know, my brother, Oscar, is with me to recover from his injuries. I wish him to use this opportunity to stop consuming lyrium. Despite the risks, I sincerely believe it would be better for him to stop as soon as possible rather than continue with its consumption until its unfortunate end. He has many objections to the idea and, despite my best efforts, he refuses to hear me out due to my lack of experience with the Order’s customs.

He mentioned that you had left the Order and didn't take lyrium anymore. He wouldn’t hear of bothering you with the matter, however. I believe I have no other choice and thus write to you without his knowledge. We are in need of your counsel, Ser, and of your experience.

What do you think of stopping lyrium? Do you agree with Oscar when he says it would amount to leaving the Order? Would you recommend another Templar to do it? If yes, following which guidelines and with what risks?

Anything you would be willing to share would be helpful. And if you’d be so kind, would you mind writing a few words to Oscar? I would be most grateful. 

Sincerely,

Comtesse Blanche de Lamare.”

oOo

Three months later

Blanche smiled as her staff and wards welcomed the Inquisition into her home with polite bows and welcoming words. Filed in two rows on each side of the alleyway, children and servants eagerly watched the newcomers.

The Inquisitor and her companions had been invited to the Château de La Mare while scouts and soldiers were organizing a camp on the outskirts of Val Fleuri. 

The Inquisition was growing since they had closed the Breach, pushed back the Elder One, and established themselves in the refurbished Skyhold. The loss of Haven (very similar to how Blanche had remembered it), far from weakening them, had become a symbol of the danger they held back from the rest of Orlais and Ferelden. They had proved themselves as a force to reckon with.

Blanche was siding with them. It was risky, but she had decided to go all in. She had allowed the Inquisition to use her lands for an encampment in the area. Hopefully, she wouldn’t regret it. The innkeeper was already overjoyed by the new clients it would bring, thus compensating for the loss of the Chargers.

“Welcome to the Château de La Mare, Inquisitor Adaar,” Blanche greeted the Vashoth, genuflecting briefly. 

“Thanks for inviting us,” Herah replied distractingly while looking around at the people watching them.

Blanche shifted closer to whisper at her: “I understand if it makes you uncomfortable, but it’s an Orlesian custom for all staff and members of a household to greet guests of importance. They were all eager to see you. Just smile or wave at them, and they will be happy.”

Herah took her advice and addressed a small smile at the children watching her. The orphans smiled back. Some even waved or whispered excitedly between them.

“They’re children. They just want to meet their new hero. The one who brought back the right color to the sky,” Blanche explained before turning to her other guests. She greeted Vivienne and Varric warmly and welcomed Cassandra, Solas, and Blackwall with a smile.

“My Lady,” Blackwall said, stepping in prudently for an introduction, “this is Sera.”

“Welcome Sera.”

“Nice digs,” she commented, side-eyeing her warily.

“Thank you. I like to think so,” Blanche replied with a grin before turning to the last two men. “The Iron Bull! Welcome home!” She lifted her arms for a hug.

“Comtesse! Nice dress!” He bent down and lifted her off her feet to hug her tight. 

She laughed at the greeting and squeezed back before asking to be put down with a wiggle of her feet. Her dress was in the latest Orlesian fashion, but most importantly it was in shades of pink. No need to say who she had chosen it for.

“Would you introduce us?” she asked, turning toward the last guest. “I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure to formally meet Monsieur .”

“Blanche, meet Altus Dorian Pavus. Dorian, this is the Comtesse Blanche de Lamare.”

“My Lady,” Dorian said, bowing and reaching for her hand.

“ Monsieur , welcome to my house,” she said while allowing the baisemain . She looked around. “Aren’t we missing one?”

“I’m here.”

Blanche turned around and grinned at Cole. “There you are! How are you, Cole?”

“I am… fine?” he replied tentatively while he stayed still to let her hug him. Belatedly, he remembered he had to hug her back.

“Good! Now you’re all here, come in, come in! The trip must have been long and exhausting. Come sit in the living room. Dinner will be ready soon.”

She led the way inside, showing her guests around the hall and rooms with the ease of experience. She didn’t entertain often, but it was part of her duties.

The living room had been prepared for them with a variety of seats in a circle. Once they were all settled, maids went around, offering drinks and snacks to the travelers.

“How was your way through the Dales?” Blanche asked Herah, who was sitting on her right as her guest of honor.

The Inquisitor made a face, apparently wondering if she should be honest about it.

“That bad?” Blanche sighed. “They calmed down during the winter, but it was too much to hope that it would last.”

Vivienne, holding a glass of her favorite sparkling wine, commented: “It’s worse than you can imagine, my dear. The Emprise du Lion is poisoned by red lyrium. The Emerald Graves are filled with deserters and refugees fighting each other. As for the Exalted Plains, it turned out to be in the hands of the undead more than any army.”

The rest of the companions chimed in and shared their observations on the poor state of the south of Orlais. During the friendly debate and discussion, Blanche kept an eye on her staff standing near the walls. Like every good host, she made sure that her guests wanted for nothing and that their glasses stayed full.

Vivienne and Dorian lifted their glass whenever they wished for something, their experience in nobility showing clearly. Cassandra and Varric were less prompt to do so, but they still did it when necessary. The rest of them never did. Keeping an eye on them specifically, Blanche caught the eyes of a maid as soon as it was necessary and directed them toward the guest in need. Not that she always had to: it was part of the maids’ job, and they did well, but two of them were still apprentices, trying their hand at the position. One of them in particular tended to get distracted. Blanche took note to discuss her options if this job didn’t fit her.

A bell rang in the next room.

Blanche lifted her empty glass. “ Mesdames et messieurs , dinner is served. If you’d follow me.”

A maid appeared with a plate, and Blanche put down her glass as she stood up. Vivienne followed her graciously, and the rest of them complied.

“The orphanage’s growing,” Vivienne commented by her side. “There were far more children than I remember from my last visit.”

“Indeed. War has been most unkind to families and, thanks to you, I had the means to welcome new wards.” 

“We’ll have to find you more funding at the Winter Palace. You’ll be there, of course.”

“Yes. Etienne will bring me as his plus one.” 

“His wife is still bedridden, I presume. Excellent.”

Blanche tilted her head in silent reproach. She had very little in common with her sister-in-law, but still, she wasn’t a bad person and her poor health was unfortunate.

Vivienne gestured dismissively. “You know what I mean.”

They stepped into the dining room where the long table was decorated with elaborate flower ornaments. The children had a lot of fun preparing them.

“Charming,” Vivienne commented approvingly before going to the chair on the left of the head of the table.

Blanche invited Herah to her right and let the rest of them sit as they wished.

“For your enjoyment tonight, I invited several children from the orphanage to perform,” Blanche commented as she gestured toward a corner of the room, where four teenagers were standing with instruments. “They’re training to be bards and musicians, and this is an excellent occasion for them to practice in a formal setting. Please be indulgent but honest so they can improve.”  

Waiters came in, and dinner started.

“So, the scouts said there’s a Fade Rift around here,” Herah said during a lull in the conversation.

“Yes, absolutely,” Blanche confirmed. “In the elvhen ruins, behind the castle.”

“Elvhen ruins?” Solas asked as he leaned forward on Herah’s other side. 

Blanche nodded as she chewed on her salad. “Not in a very good state, unfortunately. I already had its access forbidden due to the danger of the old stones falling from time to time. It didn’t stop some children from wandering where they shouldn’t have and getting hurt, mind you.”

“We can close it tomorrow morning,” Herah offered.

“Certainly, if you wish to, but the Iron Bull would have to show you the way. Charles and I have to preside at a trial.”

“A trial?”

“Yes. Dispensing justice is part of my responsibilities to my people.”

Herah hesitated. “Would you mind if I watch that trial? The advisors want me to judge some of the people we arrested for helping Corypheus or attacking us. I’m not too sure about the whole thing.”

“It’s a public trial. You’re welcome to attend if you wish to. However, you’ll find the type of affairs I have to judge quite different from yours.”

“Peasants squabbling about some cattle?” Vivienne asked, derisive.

“I wished it would be the extent of it,” Blanche replied with a sigh.

Perceptive, Solas frowned and asked: “What is the matter judged tomorrow?”

“Rape.” 

oOo

Dinner ended late and was followed by a few more drinks back in the living room. Solas excused himself first.

“I’d like to take a walk before sleep, if I may,” he said quietly to Blanche as he came to her side.

“Certainly. If you wish to see the ruins, their entrance is at the end of the maze. Please, be careful of the old pillars. They’re quite unstable.”

A hint of surprise passed through Solas’ eyes before he bowed his head in acceptance. 

Blanche lifted a hand for a maid. The one who answered was the most distracted one. Blanche held back a sigh. She had had doubts as to what caused this much distraction, and she had her answer. The young elf was fighting not to blush as she kept her eyes down. Well, there wasn’t much Blanche could do against a crush. 

“Liliane, please show Ser Solas the way to his room and then to the gardens.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Wondering distractedly what information Solas would get from the besotted girl, Blanche turned her attention back to the conversation. She realized as she did that Sera had disappeared. Cole was gone too, but that was nothing surprising. Blackwall was the next to take his leave, probably to go find his wayward friend. The others followed one by one until only the Iron Bull remained. The maids were gone to lead the guests to their rooms. 

They were alone in the living room lit by several candelabras. He was lounging on a couch while she sat on an opposite armchair. They watched each other with half-closed eyes.

“Come here,” he said with a wave of his fingers.

She stood up and walked to him. He spun a finger. She twirled to show off her dress, spreading her arms for balance. The full skirt fluttered in waves of pink, showing her matching shoes and their dawnstone buckles.

Bull leaned forward, breathing deeply, and reached for her. She went along, pulled in by his warm hand on the small of his back. She cupped his cheek and smiled tenderly.

“You like it?”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“The first dress done in Val Fleuri’s silk,” she commented proudly. “It’s a first draft. The tailors are working on my dress for the Winter Palace. I’m hoping to show it off and promote—”

He interrupted by pulling her into his lap, and she squealed in a mix of surprise and delight. 

“Sorry, can’t hear you,” he said with a sharp smirk. “All I can think of is how good you’ll look in bed.”

“If you tear it, I’ll slap you,” she warned.

“Oh, I won’t.” He kissed along her cheek, down her neck to her cleavage. “I want to see you in it again and again, just to have the pleasure to take it off you.”

She giggled and pushed him back. “Fine, fine! Let’s go.”

On the way to her bedroom, they met Solas coming back from the gardens. Blanche didn’t try to hide the way they were holding hands, it was a bit too late for that.

“Ser Solas. Did you have a good walk?”

“Not sleeping in the ruins, tonight?” Bull asked.

“I did, yes, thank you. And no, the Iron Bull, I think the castle is close enough, I might as well enjoy a bed while I can.”

Blanche nudged Bull before he could tease her guest and replied: “Please do. My staff did their best to prepare the best accommodations for all of you.”

“I won’t let it go to waste, then. Good night, my Lady.”

They bid him a good night as well and went their own way. Blanche sent Bull a fondly reproving look. He raised a hand in his defense.

“Hey, the guy’s fond of ruins. I’m just trying to bond, that’s all.”

“Right,” she drawled before sighing and shaking her head. “I wonder sometimes…”

“What? How you met a guy as cool as me?”

“Something like that, yes.”  

She pushed the door to her bedroom. It was lit by the moonlight coming from the windows and a magic night light, an orb glowing blue in the dark: a gift from Vivienne. The orb threw rippling patterns on the walls. Blanche loved it. Bull didn’t at first, but he had gotten used to it and now admitted that the magic was pretty. 

The light caught on the beads sewn to Blanche’s dress. He watched her sit down on the bed to remove her heels, jewelry, and the ornaments in her hair. She stared back, questioning him with a raised eyebrow.

Her bare feet peeked out under the layers of silk. He came to kneel in front of her and reached for her ankles, lifting them on his lap. He massaged them for a moment before his hands slid up, to her calves and the back of her knees. Their eyes met, and she smiled in a silent agreement before he lifted her dress and his head disappeared under the skirts.

oOo 

There had never been a throne in the Château of Val Fleuri, but the reception room sometimes had a chair with a high back that could pass for one. It was only brought out for occasions during which the Seigneur of the lands was called upon. 

It was extremely uncomfortable for long stretches of time, and those affairs never were short. Blanche had it covered with pillows. Charles was standing a step in front and to the right of her.

At the back of the room, rows of seats had been lined up for the public. In between, two groups stood opposite each other: the plaintiff and the defendant, both with their lawyers.

Lawyers weren’t exactly Blanche’s invention, but they were usually the privilege of the wealthy. The Comtesse de Lamare had made history by stating that any plaintiff and defendant could ask for one freely: she would be the one compensating them. The lawyers of Val Fleuri, the two of them, were scholars whose education had been reviewed and supplemented by Blanche. She only granted them the title after many hours of training. She trusted their fairness and understanding of their duties.

Lady Virginie stepped forward first and bowed.

“My Lady. Today, I’m representing the plaintiff: Melina, weaver at the service of her Ladyship. Arrived two years ago from Halamshiral, Melina is currently eighteen years old, single, and living with her parents and siblings in town.”

Ser Roger came next:

“The defendant is Laslo, farmer. Born in Val Fleuri, he’s twenty-eight and living on his property on the outskirts of town, granted by your Ladyship.”

“The plaintiff accuses Laslo of rape leading to the conception of an illegitimate child.”

“The defendant denies the accusation. The plaintiff consented to sexual intercourse.”

With her elbows resting on the armrests, Blanche crossed her hands in front of her. “Melina is pregnant? How advanced is the pregnancy?”

Melina, a slender elf with pale features, bowed when Virginie gestured for her to speak up. “Three months, my Lady,” she said in a voice so soft it was hard to hear.

That’s why lawyers were necessary. You could always count on them to be heard loud and clear. 

“I’d like the judge and assembly to take note that the disputed night happened three months ago, but the plaintiff waited until now to press charges,” Roger pointed out.

“Irrelevant,” Virginie retorted. “Victims have five years to press charges. Three months are nothing.”

Three months was everything. Women rarely reported rape if there wasn’t a pregnancy afterward. Rape could be covered up. Illegitimate pregnancy couldn’t be.

Blanche stayed quiet and let the lawyers defend their clients like they were taught to. When they started to bicker about technicalities, her eyes drifted to the rows of seats where many of the members of the Inquisition had chosen to witness the judgment. Herah was listening closely, easily visible above all other heads. Blanche understood her unease about what was asked of her. The first judgments she had to pass as Comtesse had been… difficult. She had decided to review the procedures after a charismatic merchant had completely wiped the floor with a poor farmer too anxious to speak publicly. Now that the conditions were better, she was more confident in her judgments.

Once both sides had pleaded their case and called their witnesses, Blanche met Charles’ eyes.

“The Comtesse will withdraw and ponder her decision,” he announced to the room. “Please, stand up and wait for the judgment to be passed.”

Blanche left by a side door leading to a hall. Anne was waiting for her with a glass of water. Blanche sipped it while looking out of the window at cats playing in the grass. 

“Sister Louise is letting you know the lessons are going well, but Ninon has been excused to her room after she fell asleep.”

“Her insomnia again,” Blanche sighed. “I’ll go see her as soon as I have time. Thank you, Anne.”

Once alone, Blanche crossed her arms and closed her eyes. She asked herself the three questions: is the crime true? Is the victim heard? Is the punishment fair? 

With the replies in mind, she went back inside.

“The Comtesse will give her verdict!” Charles called.

Standing in front of her seat, Blanche crossed her hands and waited for silence. “Rape happens when no consent is given. Consent can not be given in an intoxicated state. Witnesses have confirmed that Melina was drunk enough that she couldn’t walk without help that night. Therefore, she couldn’t consent. The defendant, who was more sober than the plaintiff, abused her situation of weakness. As such, I recognize him guilty of rape.”

Melina burst out in tears of relief in the arms of her parents. 

Laslo turned pale and tried to plead one last time: “My Lady! Please! I was drunk too! I didn’t know what I was doing!”

Blanche didn’t bat an eye. “Is this the defense of the accused?” 

Ser Rogers confirmed, for lack of a better option.

“Abuse of alcohol is no excuse. One has to bear the consequences of their actions. Thus you’ll pay for the medical bills, the uprising of the child, and the fines, as planned by the law. However… I’ll give you an option regarding your sentence.” She paused, thinking it through before offering: “Five months in prison or alcohol abstinence for life.”

Murmurs went through the public. The innkeeper who had come as a witness shifted uneasily. Laslo had been a regular client.

Although he tried to protest, Laslo finally agreed to the abstinence clause as his sentence. 

“I hereby decree that Laslo de Val Fleuri is forbidden to consume alcohol and that anyone helping him to circumvent the law will be punished for the offense of ‘aiding and abetting’,” Blanche declared, glancing at the secretary scribing the trial. “To the lawyers, I give the duty to arrange all details between the parties as planned by the law.”

Ten minutes later, Herah found Blanche in the garden. The Comtesse was standing by the canals, listening to the water as it flew into the pond. This sound always calmed her.

“That was very insightful,” the Inquisitor said. “You’re a fair judge, and smart. I wouldn’t have thought to force that man to stop drinking.”

“It comes from experience,” Blanche replied. She snorted. “And practicality. Prison is costly and mostly ineffective. I only use it when there’s no other option available.”

“How do you do it? Make such choices?”

“Give yourself time to consider it. Never make it on impulse. If the problem is too complex, I sometimes take the night to think it over. Do your best to consider all points of view… and then pray you won’t make a terrible mistake.” 

“Did you… ever?” 

“None that I’ve seen the consequences of, yet… but those things can take time.” Blanche turned around to face Herah, looking up at her solemn expression. “But you won’t have the same issues and consequences to face.”

Herah tilted her head forward and then to the side. “I can make decisions in battle, or on the spot when there’s an emergency… but if I have time to think it over… I always doubt myself.”

“I understand that all too well. I can’t tell you it will stop with time, but it will get easier. Make sure you do your best, and once it’s done… tell that little anxious voice in your head to just scram . No time for chit-chat as a busy and awesome Inquisitor!”

Herah burst into laughter and squeezed Blanche’s shoulder. “I see why the Iron Bull likes you so much.”

Blanche smiled and patted her new friend’s hand. “Likewise.”

oOo

The Iron Bull, Vivienne, and Solas volunteered to help Herah with the Fade Rift. Charles led them to the ruins late in the afternoon.

Frowning, Bull stared at the maze, or what was left of it. Half of the hedges were on the ground. “What’s going on?”

“The Countess is having the maze removed,” Charles explained. “It was badly damaged by the abomination.” He looked ready to add something for Bull, but he glanced at the others and said instead: “And she claims it isn’t in fashion anymore.”

“Indeed,” Vivienne commented. “Such mazes were trending during the Blessed Age.”

“She wants to rearrange it for the children.”

Bull grunted. “I liked that maze,” he commented, but he had already guessed what Charles meant to say: it brought bad memories to Blanche, and probably nightmares of getting lost and cornered inside by the abomination. 

“The ruins are at the top of that hill. Watch your steps on the old stairs,” Charles advised.

Bull had only gone once to the ruins. He had been curious about them, and Blanche had agreed to show him around all her propriety. He had never come back. Old stones weren’t really that interesting. 

They didn’t change much. Except that now he could spot a few differences: there were black marks on the stone around the old mirror, which he didn’t really remember being a mirror (wasn’t it just a tangle of climbing plants?), and there was a glowing green light through the wild trees growing in the ruins.

“Nice view,” Herah commented, choosing to focus on the (obstructed) panorama of the castle and the surrounding lands, up to Lake Celestine in the distance. “It must have been pretty when those buildings were still standing. It’s strange that they didn’t maintain them. It seems like a waste.”

“There isn’t enough space here for any castle worthy of the name, my dear,” Vivienne chided her, not unkindly.

“Some people can’t recognize a boon when it’s under their nose,” Solas commented ambiguously before walking toward the green glow. “Shall we?”

Herah winced and flexed her left hand. “Let’s.”

Closing the Rift was routine. Fighting demons, and all that. Bull was grumbling about them when they came out of the trees to find Blanche standing in front of the mirror, staring at the dark marks with a tense expression.

“My Lady,” Charles called, walking quicker. “You shouldn’t have come.”

Blanche was startled and turned around to smile weakly. “I had to. I can’t let bad memories hinder me, and this was the best time.” She glanced at Bull and then the rest of them. “With you here, I was safe. I trust the Rift didn’t cause you much trouble?”

“None,” Bull confirmed as he stepped closer to her, offering his silent support.

“I’m glad.”

“I wondered, Lady Blanche, if you knew the history of this place?” Solas asked.

She welcomed the change of topic. “A bit. I found some old documents in the library. It is, unfortunately, the history of most elven ruins. It was claimed when humans invaded the lands and its former story was lost to time. The only information of interest I could find was that the name de ‘Lamare’ could be of elven origins instead of Orlesian.” 

“How so?” Vivienne asked.

“It would have been part of the name of the elven village.”

“Lathmaran,” Solas said. When they turned toward him, he added: “That’s how it was called.”

“Truly? Does it mean anything?”

“The place of our love.”

Blanche blinked in surprise. “That’s lovely.” She smiled and tilted her head. “I like that poetic origin.”

“Even if it was butchered and appropriated by your ancestors?” he asked with his hands crossed behind his back and his feet planted, ready to stand his ground.

She wasn’t interested in a fight or a debate, but she still held his eyes. “Their sins are theirs, Ser Solas. I can’t bear the weight of them, even if I wanted to. I can only do better.”

His steely eyes studied her (and, no doubt, found her wanting). “That won’t make it right.”

There was nothing he could say that she had never thought of. She had made her peace with the inherited guilt by finding a way of atonement. It was her way. It might not be perfect, but it was what she could do at her level, and that had to be worth something. 

“I can’t bring justice to the long dead. Only the well-being of the living matters to me.” She started to turn around, her eyes moving away last. “On that , I have a modicum of power.” She smiled at the rest of the group watching them silently. “May I offer you all a refreshment? Please, come inside.”

“I’d appreciate some of your floral tea, my dear,” Vivienne agreed as she took her arm.

Bull and Solas were the last to walk away. The elf was watching the mirror. The Qunari was watching him.

“She’s the wrong person to pick a bone with about that, you know,” Bull said.

“I know,” Solas replied, dragging his eyes away from the damaged elven ruins. He walked to the stairs. 

“What got under your skin?”

Solas glanced over his shoulder to meet Bull’s eyes. “The fact that she’s precisely the wrong person to pick a bone with.”

Bull hummed. He couldn’t pretend to understand, but he knew to pick his battles. “Care for a game?”

“If you’re so eager to lose, how could I refuse?” 

oOo 

Late in the evening, Bull was caressing Blanche’s back distractedly.

“You’re coming back with us, then?” 

She hummed and shifted her head on a pillow to get some strands of hair out of her face. She was too tired to use her hands. Bull had had them tied up for a while. 

“Herah agreed," she confirmed.

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a thumb down her spine. “Roads aren’t getting any safer, you’d—”

A knock at the door interrupted him.

“What is it?” Blanche called.

“It’s Ser Oscar, Madame.”

Blanche rolled out of the sheets. She reached for her nightdress and dressing gown, dressing hastily. Bull followed her example without question.

“How bad is it?” Blanche questioned while putting on slippers clumsily.

“He’s screaming and hitting dummies in the training ground.”

“Charles?”

“Is watching him.”

Blanche opened the door for Anne who came to her rescue by arranging her nightdress and tying the gown. 

“I’m afraid some of your guests heard him, Madame.”

“Who?”

“Lady Pentaghast’s room is the closest.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing,” Blanche muttered to herself as she walked briskly toward the training grounds. 

Anne ran inside the bedroom, passing by the Iron Bull who was pulling on his boots. They both walked after the Comtesse, the first with a hairbrush and the second with his belt which he tied on the way.

“How bad is he?” Bull asked.

Blanche didn’t look at him, not when Anne was trying to brush her hair into submission while on the move. “It’s inconsistent. Let’s say he’s more often in a good disposition nowadays.”

“How bad can he get?” Bull reformulated.

“Shouting. Breaking things. Throwing things…”

“Attacking people?”

“Only Charles. He’s the only one ever trying to stop him. I gave orders to the staff. They stay away from him, so he leaves them alone.”

As they reached the ground floor, they found more people watching from the windows. One of them turned at their passage and called to Blanche:

“The Lady Seeker went to help Charles, my Lady!”

Indeed, Cassandra was standing her ground, only wearing a shirt and pants but holding a sword and shield. 

“You want to hit something, Knight-Templar? Then come at me,” she ordered.

Oscar was bare-chested and barefoot. He was flushed and sweaty. During fits, he always felt too hot. The warm weather didn’t help. It infuriated him and hitting something was the only thing that seemed to calm him down. Charles let him blow off some steam and only stepped in to stop Oscar from injuring himself.

Blanche stayed to the side to watch as Cassandra led her brother from a brawl to a duel which slowly turned into a conversation interspersed with half-hearted strikes. 

“Looks like the Seeker has it well in hand,” Bull pointed out.

“Yes. I… don’t remember Oscar being so attentive to anyone in a while.”

“Cassandra has a way with Templars, and she has experience with lyrium detox. You can trust her. I bet it will do your brother some good to talk to her.”

Blanche nodded and let Bull lead her back to her room. 

She would be grateful if her brother’s torments could be soothed, even a little. Commander Rutherford was kind enough to keep a regular correspondence with Oscar, but it didn't have the same weight as a face-to-face.

Chapter Text

The trip back to Skyhold took more than a week. They stopped regularly so Herah could deal with matters demanding her attention. 

Blanche was glad about it. It shortened the time spent on horseback, which wasn’t her favorite means of transportation (she preferred walking with her own two feet, thank you very much). 

It also helped her brother to vent some of his excess energy and restlessness. Oscar was determined to return to the Inquisition, to help in Skyhold in any way he could, even if he couldn’t fight yet, and most importantly to see Barris again. Blanche was all for it if it gave him a goal to keep fighting his dependence, and Cassandra’s daily presence and counsel truly did him a lot of good.

Blanche tried to be helpful wherever they stopped when the companions left to fight or explore. Most of those places were Inquisition camps where scouts didn’t know what to do with her. They watched a countess cook with wide eyes and disbelieving whispers. She ignored all the gossip and welcomed Bull with a smile and a kiss. He regularly came back from their trips in the wilderness with herbs and wild vegetables for her.

“This is weird,” Sera commented after the third time it happened.

“What is?” Blanche asked as she chopped wild garlic above the pot.

“You two. Mostly you.”

“Why is that?”

“You’re Fancy Comtesse and whatnot, and yet you’re playing house with Bull of all people. Not just for some hanky panky like some but actually—” She made some kissing noises and hand gestures Blanche only vaguely understood from the context. “What’s your deal?"

“Is it so unbelievable that we just like each other?”

“Yes!”

“If you say so. Would you please add some wood to the fire?” 

Sera made a weird noise, waved her hands toward the sky for some reason, but complied.

Once she had left, Blanche looked at the Iron Bull questioningly. 

“Nobles don’t say please to people like her,” he explained without looking away from the axe he was sharpening.

Oscar snorted from where he lay on a few crates with an arm over his aching head. “Blanche was born with L’Etiquette ingrained in her brain before she knew how to read. Mom used to say that the first words she uttered were “Thank you”.”

Bull laughed. “I can imagine it.”

Blanche sent them a falsely annoyed glare. She was all too happy that Bull and Oscar were friendly, even at her expense. The thing with that joke was that it might actually be true. She didn’t really remember it, of course, but according to their mum — when she was still of this world, may the Maker welcome her in his embrace — Blanche had been a precocious and well-spoken child. Memories of another life might do that.

“Politeness is important,” she stated, raising her chin proudly.

“I still remember the lectures you got when you thanked the staff,” Oscar reminisced, lowering his arm and looking into space. “Father was exasperated. Never got you to stop, though. You just smiled and mouthed the words behind his back. First time I ever saw anyone defying him. That’s what I call bravery: doing the right thing despite it all. I wanted to do that, in my own way.”

Blanche threw him a startled look at his unexpected confession, but his face clouded over in pain and he hid again from the sun. Dorian, who was passing by, stopped at his side and, with a wave of his hand, offered a cold touch over Oscar’s temples. The Tevinter had started to offer this treatment sometime over the journey. Maybe because he liked the sharp tongue of an interlocutor with whom he chatted easily (when Oscar was in a good enough mood) or maybe because Oscar reminded him of Commander Cullen, Blanche wasn’t sure.

When they stopped in towns or keeps, there was enough staff that Blanche felt like she could relax and be pampered as everyone expected her to be. 

“There was a demon here, you know,” Sera told her in Suledin Keep.

Blanche pulled the collar of her coat tighter around her neck. She didn’t know the Emprise du Lion would be so cold in the middle of summer. The snow had only melted a month ago, or so she had been told. 

“Is that so?” 

“It offered deals and all that. Bull’d have made one.”

“No, he wouldn’t have.”

“What d’ya know? It offered him virgins.”

“The Iron Bull’s afraid of demons. He’d rather kill them all than say a word to them.”

“Damn straight.”

Blanche turned around and welcomed Bull with a smile as he climbed the stairs to them. “You’re here. Can you give me a hug? I’m so cold.”

He opened his arms with a grin and embraced her tight. She tucked her bare hands against his warm skin.

“You’re so mushy,” Sera complained before leaving.

“Are we?” Blanche asked, a bit skeptical.

“Don’t worry about it. She’s grumpy that you aren’t rising to her baits.”

Sera had been trying to provoke Blanche every chance she got, attempting to make her jealous or angry in turns. It had sometimes been mean, but most often just annoying. Blanche tried to avoid her.

“Is it something I said or did?”

“Nah. Just the fancy title. She’s trying to find the chink in your armor, the flaw that will allow her to put you back on the shelf of ‘noble assholes’ with all the others. Soon enough she will relent and put you on the ‘weird goody two-shoes nobles’ shelf where Josephine is and be done with it.”

“I see... Well, I’d be in good company at least. Come with me to my room?”

“You bet. Let’s get you warm up.”

“I know!”

Blanche startled. Sera had come back with a victorious grin and was pointing at her.

“I got it! You’re kinky!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Behind your innocent looks, I bet you’re super kinky and that’s why you two are all over each other!”

“Wha—?”

“Right,” Bull drawled, interrupting Blanche’s bafflement. “Good work figuring it out, Sera. Now, excuse us, there’s a bed calling…”

Sera made a sound of disgust and disappeared hastily, knocking into the shoulder of an oncoming Solas as she did. The mage sighed as he watched her walk away without an apology before looking at the couple with an inquiring eyebrow.

“Has Sera given up on her bias?”

“Not yet,” Bull replied with a snort. 

“Now,” Blanche stepped in , “I don’t think we’re the right people to judge… If she is prudish, we should respect her modesty.”

Bull cracked up at her sarcasm and patted her shoulder.

The corner of Solas’ lips lifted with amusement before he slipped away.

Blanche followed her lover to her (their, unofficially) assigned room without a word. 

“Are you upset?” he asked when the door was closed behind them.

“Mh?” She removed her coat and draped it over a chair, walking closer to the fireplace to warm her hands.

“About what Sera said.”

“Oh, no, not really. I was just… It just reminded me of something, that’s all.” She shook her head and tried to give him a smile, but that wouldn’t fool him. 

He reached for her and caressed her cheek. “Tell me.”

“You’re going to say I’m being silly…”

“Did I ever?”

She smiled when she realized how true that was. “Alright. I was wondering the opposite of what Sera was thinking, actually… I wondered if I was… adventurous enough for you.”

Bull snorted and sat down on the edge of the bed.

She pointed at him in warning not to mock her.

“You aren’t being silly, you are being insecure. Did I ever complain?”

“No, but there are some things you like that we don’t do, so I wondered…”

“We don’t do it because you don’t like it. Pain is one of your limits and that’s ok. I wouldn’t like it if it doesn’t please you, so it’s hardly worth talking about.” He reached for her, grabbed a handful of buttocks, and pulled her into his arms. “But since we’re on the topic, there is something that bothers me.”

“What is it?” she asked, frowning, with her hands on his shoulders. She distractedly pressed into the hard trapezius muscles which always tensed at the end of the day due to the weight of Bull’s horns and his weapon. She had to apply a lot of pressure for the massage to make a difference.

He tilted his head into her hands with a pleased grunt. “The fact that you only talk about what I want. When’s the last time you asked about something independent of what I like, uh?”

She blinked and tried to find an honest answer. “Roleplay?”

“Yeah, that was years ago,” he pointed out, pinching her waist. “And it’s damn fun, so I’m waiting for the next bright idea you might have. Care to share?”

“I… nothing comes to mind.”

“Uhuh. I don’t buy it. I know that face.” He pinched her chin. “That’s your ‘I have something in mind but I’m too embarrassed to say it’ face. And we already covered this is a no-judgment zone, so out with it.”

“Bull,” she whined, trying to escape his grip. He kissed and licked the line of her jaw. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you, uh? So you’ll make me say it for you?”

“Say what?”

“You like Solas.”

“Certainly.” She didn't hide it: she had taken several occasions to speak to Solas over the trip. She wished to understand him better, beyond what she recalled, and she liked listening to him, he had a lot of knowledge to share. After a while, he had taken her overtures as an open invitation to chat, and they could be found talking often enough, about anything: politics, history, magic, sciences, or art... “He’s fascinating, I like talking to hi—eep!” She held onto his shoulders after he spanked her unexpectedly. 

“I’m not talking about his mind but his body. You have the hots for him. Don’t think I didn’t catch those glances at his backside or the way you eye him when he fights.” He raised a hand when she went to protest. “Don’t get me wrong, I totally get it. That’s some great ass, right there.”

Blanche turned scarlet. “Bull!”

“All I’m saying is: we talked about threesomes, you know I’m all for it.”

“He would never agree!”

“Ah,” he said with a self-satisfied smile, “so you’re interested.”

She huffed and looked away. “It’s a moot point since he wouldn’t be.”

“I’m not so sure. Solas has a romance type, true, but just for sex? He could surprise you. He’s adventurous enough. I bet he’s willing to try. Can’t know if we don’t ask.”

“Oh, I’m not.” She shook her head and stepped back. 

“What’s the worst that will happen? That he says no?” He shrugged.

“What if he’s uncomfortable afterward and refuses to speak to me again?” She would rather keep a friendly relationship with an ancient ‘god’ intending to change the world.

Bull snorted. “Uncomfortable that a lovely dame finds him attractive? I told him that he’s hot, and he still can look me in the eye.” He stood up. “I’ll ask. Just stay here and if he says no you won’t hear a word more about it.”

“Good.”

“But I bet he says yes.”

Blanche shook her head, unconvinced: she recalled that only a female elf could get Solas’ affection, and even then it wasn’t really sexual (from what she could remember). She just hoped that Bull was right to think Solas wouldn’t be upset but willing to forget and forgive. 

Convinced that this would be a night like any other, she undid her hair, brushed it, changed into her nightclothes, and slipped into the bed with a book. She curled up and rubbed her stocking-clad feet against each other, impatient to have Bull back so he could warm her up as promised. 

Turned toward the nearest candlelight as she was, she had her back to the door. When it opened with the familiar strength of her lover, she commented as she lifted on an elbow and turned around:

“I hope you didn’t upset…” 

Solas stepped in.

“...him.” 

She blinked in surprise. 

Bull laughed at her face as he closed the door behind them.

“Told you.”

“I was not upset,” Solas replied as he stood with his arms behind his back. “The Iron Bull has been… persuasive.”

“He can be,” she admitted before glancing at her lover’s grin with fond exasperation. “Yes, yes, be smug. I should know better than to bet against you.” She ignored his grin to wave Solas forward. “Come, join me. It’s so cold. I couldn’t wait for you without a mass of blankets.”

“That’s actually one of my selling arguments: getting him warm up,” Bull informed her with a wink. “Nobles get the better rooms, you know… and the best beds.”

“Do we? Well, I’m happy to share,” she said while smiling at Solas as he stopped by the bedside. She held out her hand and drew him in.

"Much obliged," Solas murmured as he kneeled on the mattress.

"Likewise," Bull added as he tilted his head with a blatant look toward Solas' butt.

Blanche and Solas stared at him, unimpressed, especially when Bull grinned at them, amused by their twin looks. Their cheeks were closed together, and Blanche leaned closer, commenting:

"I know a way to make him control his tongue."

"Is it possible? I'd be curious to see it."

" Defransdim , strip," she commanded. The Iron Bull obeyed without talking back.

" Defransdim? " Solas repeated questioningly.

Blanche made an embarrassed expression at having to explain it. "It's qunlat for the male genitals. It's an agreed signal between us that if I call him so — and he doesn't disagree, of course — he's only here to... for my pleasure... ours, in this instance."

Solas raised an eyebrow. Blanche interpreted it as a mix of amusement and approval, which was positive enough in her book.

She gestured for Bull to join them. Time to get this show on the road... or, rather, bed.

As superior as her bed was, welcoming three people including a Qunari was a challenge . It was sturdy enough to survive their romp though , so Blanche couldn't complain: the Iron Bull had been the death of several pieces of furniture over the years.

Still, they managed and settled down for the night, one resting on each side of Bull’s massive chest, legs and arms brushing.

Blanche, as a light sleeper, opened her eyes when Solas tried to slip away.

“Are you leaving?” she murmured, blinking and shifting to look toward the window to judge the time. The sun hadn’t risen yet. Only the light of the moons drifted through the curtains, highlighting silhouettes.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Solas replied, raised on an elbow.

“You aren’t,” she mumbled, settling her head back down on Bull’s biceps. “Stay. You’ll be cold in your room. Unless you’re expected?”

“I doubt Dorian would notice my absence, ensconced as he is in your brother’s room.”

“What?” That got her awake and straightening before Bull started chuckling.

“I take it The Iron Bull didn’t tell you.”

Blanche glared at the Qunari despite knowing he couldn’t see her in the dark. “No, he didn’t. He loves to keep secrets, waiting to see how long it will take me to learn them. How long has it been going on?”

Bull patted the small of her back. “Barely a week. It does your brother some good. Keeps him distracted.”

“I’m hardly opposed, just surprised,” she mumbled and then sighed, lying back down and smooching her cheek against warm skin. She yawned. “All the more reasons to stay, Solas. You’d be truly cold in an empty room.”

“Don't mind if I do.”

When the sun finally woke them up, they had to motivate each other to leave the bed despite the cold. They washed up and dressed while chatting companionably, and when Solas left he was as courteous as either.

He was barely gone for a minute before Blanche broke and asked Bull:

"Do you think it went well? The defransdim play wasn't too much, was it?"

"Nah. I think it was a great idea. He'd have been uncomfortable if I had seemed in charge. He liked it. Don't take it to heart if he doesn't come back for a second round, though. He'll probably beat himself up for his 'lapse of judgment' and won't have curiosity as an excuse anymore to bend his principles twice."

The Iron Bull was right, of course: Solas never mentioned the night again and stayed strictly friendly, drawing back if he ever thought anything more was hinted at.

Well. Blanche contented herself with her memories of the night.

oOo

Skyhold was much better than Haven. 

The castle was even more impressive than in Blanche’s memories or even her wildest dreams. It was bigger and more complex, but also more crowded. 

“Yeah,” Bull agreed when he caught her gaping. “Pretty nice digs, uh?”

Exploring it all took two days. Blanche felt like a child in a new playground. 

She had to attend a meeting about the peace talks scheduled at Halamshiral in a month.

She listened to Leliana's explanation of what was at stake: the life of the Empress and the future of Orlais. Blanche was rather confident about it all since she remembered who would be the assassin. Even if Herah had difficulties with the Court, she could help her more directly than she had ever been able to before. Her assistance was actually expected and welcomed.

“Many of our allies will be in attendance, such as Madame de Lamare,” Josephine added and turned toward Blanche who smiled at the full room. “But it will be an excellent opportunity for us to convince more nobles and merchants to join our cause. As such, we need to make an excellent impression, and we can’t afford… missteps, literally and figuratively. The main party will need to know Orlesian etiquette and the most popular dances.”

Commander Cullen made a face, like someone who had been told bad news in advance but still hadn’t gotten over it. 

“Leliana, Vivienne, and I will help, but as we’re rather busy, Lady Blanche has agreed to support most of the teaching.”

Blanche straightened as eyes turned to her. “You’re welcome to ask me any question you have in our spare time, but I’ll schedule regular lessons for those officially invited. Attendance is mandatory for them, facultative for the rest of you.”

She glanced at those who would ‘officially’ attend. The advisors had to be present, of course. As for the companions, Herah had chosen to bring Cassandra, Varric, Dorian, and the Iron Bull. To increase their number, Vivienne was coming with her own invitation as Enchanter to the Imperial Court. 

Solas, Cole, Sera, and Blackwall would be backstage, working with the Inquisition staff infiltrated .

It was a prudent and politically wise choice, following Josephine and Leliana’s suggestions. Except for a detail: Vivienne was supposed to take Dorian’s place. Blanche had been the one to express the opinion that Vivienne being publicly introduced as a member of the Inquisition would be less of an advantage than having one more agent inside. Dorian also had enough experience with nobles that Tevinters’ reputation would be less of a drawback compared to the scandalous mystery it would add to the Inquisition for scoring his cooperation.

And so Blanche became familiar with many among the Inquisition by teaching them L'Etiquette , the rules of Orlesian manners.

Her students were more numerous than she had thought. While those who had to had shown up, Vivienne, Solas, Blackwall, Josephine, and Leliana had all been curious enough to show at some point. Sera came most often, in part to make trouble and mock the dancers. Several scouts were also curious enough to pass by, including a red-headed dwarf who introduced herself as Lace Harding.

It wasn’t an issue. Blanche had taught for long enough that very few public flustered her. In fact, it was a blessing: she used this opportunity to put them all on the same page.

“There are many things to learn about the Great Game,” she started, standing in the middle of a large room, surrounded by twenty people. Her eyes drifted over the neophytes and veterans of power plays. “The most important one... is that it’s not played alone. Especially not for you, as representatives of the Inquisition. You’re part of a whole. Your actions will impact how you’re seen, you, your friends, and your allies. I do not say this to stress you, I say this to remind you that you’re not alone. So if you require assistance, there are a few ways you can ask for help, from a simple 'come here' to 'get rid of this oaf'. I'll teach you a few signals that you should remember. They're usually made with fans by the ladies, but they can be adapted to hand gestures."

Sera cost her a few fans trying to apply the 'silly handwaving' as she called it , but it amused her so much that she seemed to forget she ever disliked (or distrusted?) Blanche. By the time she had memorized all the gestures and Blanche complimented her, Sera was actually using fan language to flirt with her, having convinced her, somehow, that it was indispensable to know 'in case someone flirts with Cully and we have to rescue him, you know!' (somehow, this argument made sense).

oOo

The peace talks at the Winter Palace were progressing as Bull had expected them to. Watching the nobles gossip while keeping an eye on the Inquisitor and the rest of their party, Bull wondered if Leliana, Vivienne, and Josephine would manage to save this evening from complete disaster. They had their work cut out for them.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Bull stared at the red shiny fabric and idly wondered if the stitches would rip if he flexed a bit more. That would be funny.

A swish of fabric by his side caught his attention. He looked down to admire Blanche in a blue and green dress trimmed with gold. Once again, Val Fleuri had risen to the challenge. The Comtesse looked as good as if she had been dressed by the finest tailors of Val Royeaux. Her cleavage in particular was quite to Bull’s tastes.

“You might need some extra help.”

Blanche pulled a letter from a hidden pocket in the folds of her dress and held it out between two gloved fingers. 

When he opened it, Bull recognized familiar words. The letter of ‘I owe you’ by Lord Callier. 

“You never used it?”

“Of course not. What use would I have for it? Take it. Lady Montilyet will know how to use it.”

“Callier will want to know who it comes from.”

“Then it’s a good thing Lady Montilyet will not know the answer, isn’t it ?” 

“And if he refuses to cooperate without a name?”

Blanche lifted her chin and considered the eventuality with pursed lips. 

“Dance with me.”

“Pardon?”

“Dance with me. Callier will understand on his own.”

“You sure? There will be gossip.”

“I’m the madwoman, remember? Gossip is nothing new,” she replied while closing her fan with a sharp move. She walked toward the dance floor without waiting.

Raising an eyebrow, Bull smirked. He liked that bold leading side of her that came up at the most delightful times. Chuckling, Bull tucked the letter inside his jacket and went to have some fun.  

A few minutes later, when Bull handed the paper to Josephine, she read it with wide eyes and looked over his shoulder at the countess walking away. Josephine met Bull’s eyes in silent question. He smiled placidly before stepping back to the railing to watch the couples twirling downstairs. He had a nice dance.

Later, Lord Callier found him and asked: “It was her, wasn’t it? The Comtesse de Lamare?”

Bull raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, My Lord.” 

Callier noted the absence of denial and smoothed his goatee thoughtfully. “How unexpected…” he murmured to himself before turning to talk to the Empress.

As he left, Bull's eyes were drawn along his path and noticed Cullen's hands gesturing nervously behind his back. He snorted and gestured for Dorian to save the Commander from the Orlesians' attention.

Several hours later, Herah having received the Empress's promise of alliance, they went back to the Inquisition's base (a summer villa belonging to a friend of Josephine) in small groups.

It was the middle of the night, but they were all to meet to debrief, so the whole crew brought to Orlais was lounging around the reception hall.

Arriving among the last with Herah, the Iron Bull noticed Blanche sitting on a couch, half-draped over Dorian to leave more space to Solas and Varric sitting with them. She seemed sleepy but quite cozy as she chatted with them.

People noticed the Inquisitor and quieted down. Herah stepped forward to be seen by all.

"Inquisition. Tonight, we stopped the Venatori and kept the peace in Orlais. The Empress have pledged her support to our cause." Whistles and exclamations sounded out. "This couldn't have been done without all of your work. You outdid yourselves. Well done, and thank you. Long live the Inquisition!"

Cheering and applause filled the room, and those who had managed to get some drinks raised cups or bottles enthusiastically .

"And now, everyone who can, get some fucking sleep, I know I will!" Herah added when the noise died down enough for her to do so.

Laughter and muttering of agreement welcome this invitation, and people started to leave.

Dorian gestured for Bull.

"Be a dear and get this poor darling to her bed, would you? She's ready to fall asleep on me."

"You're so comfy and smell so nice, Dorian," Blanche murmured, her eyes closing on her own. "You can't blame me."

"I certainly can't, my dear, but I do prefer your brother's embrace."

Bull lifted Blanche in his arms bridal style, and she sighed as her head settled on his shoulder with the ease of familiarity.

"You'd do such a good brother-in-law, Dorian," she commented, already half-asleep.

The Tevinter turned an interesting shade of red, Bull noted with a smirk.

oOo

After the peace talks, her assistance being unneeded, Blanche had gone back to Val Fleuri. From there, she had learned of the battle of Adamant Fortress. It had gone as she remembered it. A Warden named Stroud had been stuck in the Fade.

From what she had gathered, her letter to the Warden-Commander had little impact, if it had even reached her. She was saddened to hear of the Grey Wardens' loss, but she couldn't expect her little gestures to produce miracles.

A few weeks later, she was called back to Skyhold. 

As she stepped out of her carriage to greet Lady Josephine and make small talk, the Bull’s Chargers ran to meet their families and friends who had made the journey with her. Stitches threw his daughter in the air with a laugh of delight. Rocky went to hug his wife. Skinner waited for her mother to join her, scowling at the hug but complying.

The Iron Bull was nowhere in sight.

Once Josephine had welcomed her, both noblewomen were surprised when the Inquisitor herself offered to show her the way to her apartments.

Understanding, Blanche followed and waited for them to be alone. As she expected, as soon as they were in a deserted hallway, Herah stopped and turned to ask:

“How did you know?”

“Inquisitor?”

“At the Winter Palace, you told me to always make sure the Iron Bull had his Chargers. I thought you were warning me not to make him choose between his troops and the Inquisition, but you weren’t, were you?”

“I’m glad you heeded my warning,” she replied noncommittally.

Herah pursed his lips. “Are you a spy too?”

Blanche chuckled. “No. I wouldn’t be a good one.” She hesitated, but she had to give something to her friend and she trusted her enough to admit: “My talents are more… occult in nature.”

Herah frowned. “Magic?”

“Nothing nefarious, I assure you. I’m simply… intuitive, you could say.”

“Right… As long as that ‘intuition’ doesn’t serve the wrong crowd.”

“I have always been careful to keep to myself as much as possible.”

“Wise choice.” Herah nodded in understanding and then gestured toward a door. “Those are your apartments. You already know the way to Bull’s.”

Blanche curtsied as she thanked her and watched her leave, grateful that she hadn’t made a big deal out of her warning. She had bigger things to worry about, no doubt. 

After settling in her apartments, Blanche made her way to Bull’s door and knocked tentatively. The order to come in was given in a rough voice which told Blanche a bit about what to expect.

The Iron Bull was sprawled across his bed. He looked like he had a hangover, and she knew for a fact that it required a lot of alcohol (she had heard many men complain after the mercenary had outlasted them all).

He lifted the arm he was keeping over his eyes to glance at the newcomer. He grunted when he recognized her and hid his eyes from the light again. “So, Krem called you.”

Blanche stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “He mentioned you might appreciate the company of a friend.” She went to sit on the wooden chest that was the only other piece of furniture in the small room. Bull never needed much. 

“I’m going mad.”

“Madness is overrated,” she replied, kicking her shoes off and lifting her feet to rest them on the edge of the bed. She poked at his thigh. “I would know.”

Bull captured her ankle with his free hand. He didn’t reply. 

As a teacher and caregiver, Blanche had to learn to read people and adapt her methods to their moods and needs. The Iron Bull might have been harder to read than children at first, but she knew him well enough by now.

This situation needed a more hands-on approach. She climbed on Bull’s lap, straddling his legs while lifting her skirts as best as she could.

“Talk or sex?”

When in this kind of mood (often brought by thoughts of the Qun, although he wouldn’t admit it), Bull liked to be given simple choices. 

“Sex,” he replied immediately, his hands going to her hips.

“Am I in charge or are you in charge?”

“You.”

“Am I Tamassran or Comtesse?”

“Comtesse.”

“Alright.” She slapped his forearms. “Hands off, mercenary. You’re here for mon bon plaisir . You do as I say and nothing else.”

Bull let out a deep, slow growl of pleasure. “Oui, madame.”

“Open my bodice.” She slapped his hands away again. “With your teeth.”

Another groan and Bull was putty in her hands, lowering his head to her cleavage with eagerness.

An hour later, when she finally let him lie down again on the bed, he buried his face in her belly and rubbed it all over her skin. She scratched his scalp gently, stroking around the horns and down his neck, all the points of tension she knew by heart.

“ Kadan ,” he breathed.

She froze, surprised. Had he… ? Did it mean what she remembered? When he mumbled a few more words of qunlat, she dared to ask:

“What are you saying, my dear?”

He looked up, his sharp eye clearer than ever: “I said: love, you’re my soul, this is the way things are meant to be.”

With a lump in her throat, Blanche didn’t know what to say in answer, but Bull rose on an elbow and bent over her to ruffle in a backpack he used as a bedside table. He pulled out two silver necklaces holding each half of a large tooth.

“This is for you, kadan ,” he told her, offering her one. “One for you, one for me.”

With wide eyes, she pressed a hand to her lips to hold back a sob or a gasp or whatever embarrassing sound she could feel growing in her throat.

“I’m no longer of the Qun, but I have the Chargers… and you. Right?”

She batted tears out of her eyes and managed to let out: “Always, my love. Always.” Cupping his face between her hands, she kissed him until they were breathless. “I’ll always be there for you, mon amour .”

“ Meravas .” 

So shall it be.

oOo Two years later oOo

Blanche sighed as she read the last letter from the Iron Bull. His description of the events at the Winter Palace was succinct , but the main points were there: the truth about Solas and the disbandment of the Inquisition. As she remembered.

The Chargers were planned to return to Val Fleuri in several groups during the next month. Things would go back to normal, to their routine pre-Inquisition, with little changed. 

Her brother, Oscar, would leave for Tevinter with Dorian after taking two years to focus on his recovery with Commander Cullen and thinking on what he truly wanted. His heart had decided. Once again, she would see him little (but at least this time he would write, she made Dorian promise to make sure of it!).

Most importantly, from then on, Blanche wouldn’t know anything about the future. She would be as clueless as everyone else. She would have no more impact on the fate of the world. She could sleep as easily as the innocents and the ignorants. She would be just like any other, a Comtesse with an orphanage to lead and just a few important connections to the wide world.

She tapped the paper as she stared into the light of the candle bathing her desk. She didn’t know how to feel about this ending. She should feel happy, relieved: she had the Iron Bull’s love, she had managed to change a few things for the best without being discovered, all that mattered to her had endured, and she could wash her hands of the future. And yet…

She didn’t know the future anymore.

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. It seemed that knowledge had mattered more to her than she thought.

She had to put it to rest, now. 

She rose, took her candle with her , and moved toward her adjoining bedroom. This had kept her up long enough. She had to sleep, to wake up with the energy necessary to lead both a county and an orphanage. That was certainly enough to keep one well-occupied.

Closing the door of the office behind her, she turned toward her bed as the light of her candle flickered. She jerked back violently, spraying hot wax on the wooden floor and her robe.

Solas — no, Fen’harel — was standing near the open window of her balcony in golden armor, watching her quietly and unmoving. Behind him, an elf lit by moonlight was pointing an armed bow toward her in a clear warning.

The scene lasted for a minute of silence as Blanche pulled herself together. She took a step to the side to rest her candle on the nearest furniture, unwilling to burn herself or start a fire because of her trembling hands.

“Solas,” she managed to breathe. “ Bienvenue à Val Fleuri ,” she said, recovering some strength as she found some familiar words to recover. “What can I do for you?” 

He tilted his head toward her bed. “Sit down, Madame . You’re shivering.”

How kind of him to pretend he was concerned and not giving her orders in her own home. She complied without a word.

Solas followed, stepping closer, while his armed man lowered his bow and closed the window behind him without looking away from her.

“Put the knife on the bedside table.”

“What knife?” she asked without thinking.

He raised an eyebrow at her and his eyes slid to her thighs pointedly. If she had taken the time to think it through, she would have remembered that Solas had once shared her morning routine and had taken note as she put on the garter holding a stiletto knife, an old gift from Bull that he made her wear everyday. It had in fact been the subject of a few minutes of banter between the three of them.

“I’m in my night clothes, in my house,” she pointed out. “I’m not wearing it.”

At his skeptical eyebrow, she sighed and briefly lifted her nightgown up to the top of her thighs to prove her words.

He bowed his head in concession. “My apologies. I only meant to prevent any rash intention if the Iron Bull had given you ideas.”

“I'm not the rash one in our relationship, nor the martial one. What do you want from me, Solas?” she asked, smoothing the fabric over her lap.

“The key to the display case holding the elvhen artifacts in your library.”

She pulled on the chatelaine chain at her waist and looked for the right key among her large collection. The one asked for was small, golden, and engraved with an elven symbol to be easily identifiable. She handed it over without a word.

“Is everything that your family recovered there?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure you have had the castle searched from cellar to attic,” she said, not without sarcasm. He had free access to the library or even the whole grounds during his stay in the castle. She had had nothing to hide. And even if he hadn’t taken advantage of it himself, she had no doubt that his agents, whether spirits or elves, members of her household or not , had done what he could not.

Solas handed over the key to his agent who slipped out of the room by the hallway door. He wasn’t fast enough to hide the silhouette of a maid waiting for him. 

“Anything in safes outside of the castle?”

She sighed. “Solas. I’m running an orphanage. I don’t have any safes. I’ve sold anything unnecessary from what I inherited, and that didn’t include elvhen artifacts. Anything that matters is freely exhibited in the castle, so you’re aware of it.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgment. 

“In that case, thank you for your cooperation. We’ll leave you poorer from a few exhibits, but don’t fear, I won’t disturb you again.”

As he turned away, she breathed: “Solas.”

He stopped but didn’t look at her.

“What will happen to my children… when you tear down the Veil?” 

Her voice quivered despite her attempts to stay calm and collected. Her bottom lip trembled and she bit it as she squeezed her hands together.

She didn’t know. She had no idea what would happen next, and this terrified her because she had so much to lose now, even more than before the Inquisition.

Slowly, he faced her again and observed the sorry sight she must present. Whether by compassion or pity, he seemed to soften.

“I’ll take measures to mitigate the consequences. I’ll ask friends of mine, spirits, to watch over the children, to make your orphanage a safe place when the time comes.”

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and sagged like a puppet cut from its strings, strings of tension and fears. 

“You promise?” she asked, watching him for reassurance, desperate for some certainty.

“You have my word.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she murmured, closing her eyes in relief and pressing her palms together in front of her face to still them. “All I want is to keep them safe.” 

“A spirit of care and kindness in the most unlikely place,” Solas murmured, tilting his head. He stepped forward slowly, as if without conscious thought, and reached toward her, his fingers brushing hers.

“Would you… Could you warn me before… before you do it? So I can make sure they’re all at home.”

He pulled back. “And warn the Inquisitor?” 

She reached for him, holding onto his hand, before he could pull away completely.

“It’s just Herah Adaar now,” she reminded him, not unkindly. “And what would that change?” Except to warn all those she cherished to prepare, to be ready. 

He tilted his head in acquiescence. “True enough. Very well. I’ll ensure you have enough forewarning.”

“Thank you.”

There was a moment of silence as Solas stared at her and she felt unable to word another sentence together after managing to get two concessions out of him. 

“ Dareth shiral, falon.”

She closed her eyes as he left as discreetly as he had come.

“Goodbye, my friend.”