Emerald-green wax dripped steadily onto the back of the envelope, and Lucien carefully tipped the vessel back when enough had accrued to properly seal it. He stamped the cooling liquid with his personal seal, rather than that belonging to the company, and then set it aside to solidify the rest of the way, tidying his desk of the writing implements and documentation heād been referencing. Some of those, heād probably be asked to send along as well, eventually, but for now, he would keep them with him.
It was actually, he supposed, a rather extraordinary tale, in its way. Or maybe it only seemed so because it had managed to neatly entangle so many particularly noteworthy threads, and not much else. The story that Rassan told them, after Rilien had used his alchemy to revive her, was simple enough to be believable, but complex enough to elude the obvious guesses. As it happened, she explained, she had been on the run ever since the Qunari left Kirkwall. As the Ariqunās chosen successor and spiritual advisor to the Arishok, she had been with him the whole time he resided there, and she believed (apparently rightly, according to Amalia) that his failure to honor the Qun by his rash actions in the city would fall partly upon her as well, likely meaning a severe demotion and punishment for her failure to check him as she was supposed to.
Rather than face that punishment, she had fled in the aftermath of the battle, and spent the next several years trying to find a way to protect herself from the Qunās long arm, the Ben-Hassrath. Not trained to defend herself, Rassan had known she would need protection from elsewhere, and all she had to trade for it was what she knewāquite a lot, considering her position in Qunari hierarchy. That was where, she explained, Prosper had come in. His frequent visits to the Marches, believed to be due to a mysterious lover, were in fact meetings with Rassan, negotiations in good faith for the information the Duke had believed the Empress would be interested in, regarding Qunari agents in the Empire.
That was where things got more complicated. Rassan swore up and down that she had no idea who Marcus was, or how he knew to be there when he did. She also promised that whatever had implicated Amalia rather than herself in this exchange, and therefore caused the Ariqun to send assassins after the former, was not her doing. That left the group to assume, with little by way of hard evidence, that Marcus was responsible for that, too, with the intent, most likely, of luring Amalia to the Dukeās estate, where the Qunari had believed she would go. Prosper, though indeed in regular correspondence with Gaspard de Chalons, did not seem to have intended to betray Celene in favor of joining him, or at least he was undecided in the matter. His role appeared to have been the honest desire to gain valuable information about Qunari spies in Orlais, and in return, offer asylum to a woman who genuinely feared for her life. Whatever the case, the Duke was dead, Marcus had the information, and Rassan had decided to travel further south, in an attempt to evade further pursuit.
The Magisterās motives, and his methods of seeing them fulfilled, made little more sense to Lucien a week out than they did on the day, but he supposed he didnāt really have the full picture. Most outsiders knew little of Tevinter politics, and less of the individual Magisters that engaged in it. He supposed Amalia might know more, but he wasnāt going to try and pry it out of her. He was just glad she and Ithilian were aliveāit hadnāt been the most certain thing, when they finally found them.
Standing from his desk, Lucien took up the now-dry letter and tucked it under one arm along with his sketchbook and a small satchel of drawing supplies, rolling his shoulders and rubbing at the back of his neck with the other hand. Even wearing no armor at all, sitting and doing paperwork for too long tended to make him sore in ways that marching all day or drilling for hours just didnāt. He supposed it all depended on what you were used to. Stepping out of the barracks, he pulled his less-formal, maroon cloak over his shoulders, his breath visible in even the middle of the afternoon. It wasnāt as bad as winters in the south, but this year, Kirkwall seemed to have encountered quite the cold snap. But the sun was bright overhead, and it wasnāt so terrible, really.
He dropped his letter with the usual courier on his way up to Hightown, boots crunching in the inch or so of snow on the ground at this lower altitude. Of course, it had all been swept away in Hightown proper, and he was not in the least impeded on his way to Sophiaās, where he knocked, announced himself, and then let himself in, hanging his cloak on a hook in the entranceway. If he looked up, he could see a head of blonde hair, settled near the fireplace in the sitting area on the other side of the railing that divided the second floor overlook from the foyer. Smiling to himself, Lucien stepped out of his boots and padded up the stairs. Sophia was on one of the sofas in the sitting area, a book in her hands. The fire must have been going for a while, because the warmth of it was quite obvious, permeating the chamber. Setting his sketchbook and satchel down on an end table, Lucien stood in front of it for a moment, holding his hands out to return some heat to them.
āInteresting reading, I hope?ā
"This" Sophia announced, "is The Fires of the Deep, by Rodrigo Calzari." Her legs were curled up beneath her and out of sight under a soft blanket, thrown over a comfortable-looking dress of a light, pale green color. "I picked it up from the market this morning. Haven't put it down since I got home." The vendors were thankfully able to sell their wares from under the protection of covered awnings, but the cold still drove away many buyers, and Sophia noted that she'd gotten a very good price on this particular tome.
"It's very exciting. There's an errant knight in search of redemption, trying to clear his name of a king's murder. This Nevarran necromancy cult keeps showing up to stop him, and they have now captured the woman he loves. Twice." She frowned slightly. "I'm not too fond of those parts, actually. But it's still very enthralling. I've heard there are sequels I might pick up as well." It had been much too long since she'd thought to curl up next to a warm fire and read a good book, and now that she had the time, at least for a little while, she thought it best to take advantage.
Lucien smiled, the expression narrowing his eyes somewhat, and shook his head slightly. He had a feeling heād heard of the book somewhere before, actually, or at least the authorās name sounded familiar. āLiliās quite fond of works in that genre as well. Iāll ask her about her favorites next time I write her, in case you devour the sequels just as quickly.ā Lucien tended towards nonfiction and poetry, himself, but he could understand the appeal of the novel anyway.
Stepping away from the fire, he took up a seat near Sophiaās feet, resting his own, crossed at the ankles, on an ottoman in front of the spot. Taking up his sketchbook and some charcoals, he opened to a blank page and started to trace out the most basic lines of what he wanted to draw next, the light scratching of the pencil on paper and the occasional turn of a page joining the crackle of the fire as the muted ambient noise in the room. Lucien let his mind empty of the rest of his concerns while he did thisāit was, in a sense, a necessary and almost sacred part of his life. He didnāt let himself think about anything but the art and its subject, when so engaged, which was, he would readily admit, a rather essential part of coping with the sometimes ponderous weights he was otherwise beholden to bear.
It had once been something he would only do with his mother, and then something he would only do alone, but he found he didnāt mind keeping Sophiaās company in these moments, either. Heād never bring it up as such, but he couldnāt help but notice.
He wasnāt sure exactly how long theyād spent like that, but when he blinked and tilted his head at the image that had emerged, he smiled ruefully at himself and closed the book over. He was loath to interrupt the comfortable silence, but he knew he had to. āHave you given any more thought to whether you intend to become Viscountess?ā He asked the question quietly, and perhaps rightly soāit was something they hadnāt really directly addressed. Heād thought, not without reason, that it would be better to leave the matter lie in the immediate aftermath of all that had occurred, and in the intervening years, heād justā¦ continued to leave it. He had thoughts on the matter, of course, but he wouldnāt volunteer them without being asked. It was hardly his decision to make, after all.
Sophia's thoughts had been elsewhere, and as such the question came a little abruptly. It wasn't the kind of question just asked on a whim. And while she had let her mind linger on it quite often recently, in that moment she had pushed out everything that existed beyond her front door. It was nicer to just think about the warmth of the fire, the softness of the couch, Lucien's presence beside her, the story in her hands, which she was relatively certain would turn out alright for the hero.
She closed the book softly, setting it down in her lap. "I have," she answered, equally as quiet. There was only the crackling of the flames, which had died down somewhat, to compete with. "And... I do intend to. I should have, when my time came. But I just couldn't. I always knew that I would have to take the throne when my father passed, I just... could never have imagined it happening like that." The memory still haunted her, and would always haunt her, of those darkest days of her life, her father's death so shortly after her brother's, slain by the two opposing forces she'd tried to keep from each other for so long.
"I've delayed too long to simply take it back now," she conceded. "Meredith has come to value her position, and will not give it up to me now that she knows I will not be held by her strings." Sophia could always force the issue, and she knew she would have the city guard behind her, and Lucien's strength, and a great deal of the people, but the Templars had faced such a situation before in Kirkwall, and had proven themselves formidable. She would not throw her city into a civil conflict that took lives, not if there was any other way. Patience, she suspected, would reveal a better way, something that could force Meredith to step down.
"But... yes, that is next for me now. Viscountess."
The corner of Lucienās lip quirked, but there was something about it that seemed almost melancholy, if only for a second. He turned his eyes back down to the plain leather cover of his sketchbook, running a hand over it thoughtfully, then nodded. āI doubt I need to say it by this point, but if there is anything I can do to help, you have only to ask.ā
He sighed, unusually heavily, and continued. āThe situation in Orlaisā¦ itās getting contentious. Thereās talk of rebellion stirring. Nothing solid, butā¦ Celene is not as well-liked as she used to be, and my friends are certain that it will eventually boil over into something unpleasant. Maybe not as soon as theyād feared, knowing that the Grand Duke doesnāt seem to be planning anything specific as of yet, but I do not doubt that things will start to move within the next year or two.ā He lifted his eyes to glance over at her, and smiled wryly. āI was going to try and find a nicer way of telling you that, but admittedly, Iām not sure there is one.ā
But the truth was, theyād both known it would happen eventually. Heād left off saying this much until sheād decided what she was going to do, because he didnāt want his own considerations to factor in, even unintentionally. They both had duties to do, and in some way, it was knowing she would do hers even after everything sheād been through that made him feel strong enough to do his as well.
The implications of the unrest in Orlais had not been lost upon Sophia, but knowing that the waterfall was approaching and actually acknowledging it, doing something about, were two vastly different things. She supposed that moment was rapidly arriving. But it wasn't here yet. Not yet. She set the book down on the sofa, sliding herself down into a horizontal position, her head roughly behind Lucien's neck, where she gently toyed with the ends of his hair with her fingers.
"There is no perfect way through it all, is there?" she said, not expecting an answer, for she knew it already. "No way for us to marry, to have everything that we want. If I abandon my duty, I would be no fit bride for royalty, for I'd be nothing more than a common woman with a sword." It was entirely possible that she was indeed already that, but given the choice between two fathers, she had declared herself to be the daughter of the worthier man. "If you abandoned your duty, it would destroy everything you've worked to rebuild since you arrived here. We could always flee together, ride to some remote part of the world and forget everything..." She actually smiled at the thought, and how ludicrous it was, even if the simplicity of it was beautiful. "But I doubt either of us would be satisfied, knowing what we left behind."
That was the heart of the matter, it seemed, that such an important part of why they loved each other was their dedication to ultimately doing what was best. Normally that self-sacrifice only required effort, or blood, or bravery. It was cruel for it to require them to separate. But it was the way they were, and they could not change some things, no matter how hard they tried.
"We're not out of time yet, though," she said, kissing his neck. "And Maker forgive me, for I intend to savor every moment while it lasts."
Lucien shuddered slightly, letting his sketchbook fall to the floor with a soft thud, and twisted where he sat, feathering his fingers over Sophiaās jaw, leaning down to place a soft kiss on her mouth. It really was ironic, that he should feel heād finally found someone who understood him, inside and out, challenged him to be as good as he wanted to be and better, could easily walk in step with him as they tried to forge their way forward. Sometimes, he felt like she probably had to slow down a little so he could keep up, even, but he loved that about her, too. That he should have met such a person, only to know that they would face down an obstacle that they could not climb, at least not yet.
āOne day,ā he murmured, adjusting them so that he wasnāt twisted around to reach her. More or less, heād ended up with Sophia half-draped over him, but he couldnāt say he minded in the slightest. āOne day, when things are stable, both here and there. If you still want me then, weāll find a way.ā Perhaps, in this one thing, heād allow himself to use all that power he was supposedly entitled to for a selfish end. Not when the foundations of his country were shaking beneath him, not when her city still teetered about between forces pulling every which-way at it, butā¦ after that. One day, when things were better.
But until then, she was quite rightāthey had time left to them yet.
It was actually, he supposed, a rather extraordinary tale, in its way. Or maybe it only seemed so because it had managed to neatly entangle so many particularly noteworthy threads, and not much else. The story that Rassan told them, after Rilien had used his alchemy to revive her, was simple enough to be believable, but complex enough to elude the obvious guesses. As it happened, she explained, she had been on the run ever since the Qunari left Kirkwall. As the Ariqunās chosen successor and spiritual advisor to the Arishok, she had been with him the whole time he resided there, and she believed (apparently rightly, according to Amalia) that his failure to honor the Qun by his rash actions in the city would fall partly upon her as well, likely meaning a severe demotion and punishment for her failure to check him as she was supposed to.
Rather than face that punishment, she had fled in the aftermath of the battle, and spent the next several years trying to find a way to protect herself from the Qunās long arm, the Ben-Hassrath. Not trained to defend herself, Rassan had known she would need protection from elsewhere, and all she had to trade for it was what she knewāquite a lot, considering her position in Qunari hierarchy. That was where, she explained, Prosper had come in. His frequent visits to the Marches, believed to be due to a mysterious lover, were in fact meetings with Rassan, negotiations in good faith for the information the Duke had believed the Empress would be interested in, regarding Qunari agents in the Empire.
That was where things got more complicated. Rassan swore up and down that she had no idea who Marcus was, or how he knew to be there when he did. She also promised that whatever had implicated Amalia rather than herself in this exchange, and therefore caused the Ariqun to send assassins after the former, was not her doing. That left the group to assume, with little by way of hard evidence, that Marcus was responsible for that, too, with the intent, most likely, of luring Amalia to the Dukeās estate, where the Qunari had believed she would go. Prosper, though indeed in regular correspondence with Gaspard de Chalons, did not seem to have intended to betray Celene in favor of joining him, or at least he was undecided in the matter. His role appeared to have been the honest desire to gain valuable information about Qunari spies in Orlais, and in return, offer asylum to a woman who genuinely feared for her life. Whatever the case, the Duke was dead, Marcus had the information, and Rassan had decided to travel further south, in an attempt to evade further pursuit.
The Magisterās motives, and his methods of seeing them fulfilled, made little more sense to Lucien a week out than they did on the day, but he supposed he didnāt really have the full picture. Most outsiders knew little of Tevinter politics, and less of the individual Magisters that engaged in it. He supposed Amalia might know more, but he wasnāt going to try and pry it out of her. He was just glad she and Ithilian were aliveāit hadnāt been the most certain thing, when they finally found them.
Standing from his desk, Lucien took up the now-dry letter and tucked it under one arm along with his sketchbook and a small satchel of drawing supplies, rolling his shoulders and rubbing at the back of his neck with the other hand. Even wearing no armor at all, sitting and doing paperwork for too long tended to make him sore in ways that marching all day or drilling for hours just didnāt. He supposed it all depended on what you were used to. Stepping out of the barracks, he pulled his less-formal, maroon cloak over his shoulders, his breath visible in even the middle of the afternoon. It wasnāt as bad as winters in the south, but this year, Kirkwall seemed to have encountered quite the cold snap. But the sun was bright overhead, and it wasnāt so terrible, really.
He dropped his letter with the usual courier on his way up to Hightown, boots crunching in the inch or so of snow on the ground at this lower altitude. Of course, it had all been swept away in Hightown proper, and he was not in the least impeded on his way to Sophiaās, where he knocked, announced himself, and then let himself in, hanging his cloak on a hook in the entranceway. If he looked up, he could see a head of blonde hair, settled near the fireplace in the sitting area on the other side of the railing that divided the second floor overlook from the foyer. Smiling to himself, Lucien stepped out of his boots and padded up the stairs. Sophia was on one of the sofas in the sitting area, a book in her hands. The fire must have been going for a while, because the warmth of it was quite obvious, permeating the chamber. Setting his sketchbook and satchel down on an end table, Lucien stood in front of it for a moment, holding his hands out to return some heat to them.
āInteresting reading, I hope?ā
"This" Sophia announced, "is The Fires of the Deep, by Rodrigo Calzari." Her legs were curled up beneath her and out of sight under a soft blanket, thrown over a comfortable-looking dress of a light, pale green color. "I picked it up from the market this morning. Haven't put it down since I got home." The vendors were thankfully able to sell their wares from under the protection of covered awnings, but the cold still drove away many buyers, and Sophia noted that she'd gotten a very good price on this particular tome.
"It's very exciting. There's an errant knight in search of redemption, trying to clear his name of a king's murder. This Nevarran necromancy cult keeps showing up to stop him, and they have now captured the woman he loves. Twice." She frowned slightly. "I'm not too fond of those parts, actually. But it's still very enthralling. I've heard there are sequels I might pick up as well." It had been much too long since she'd thought to curl up next to a warm fire and read a good book, and now that she had the time, at least for a little while, she thought it best to take advantage.
Lucien smiled, the expression narrowing his eyes somewhat, and shook his head slightly. He had a feeling heād heard of the book somewhere before, actually, or at least the authorās name sounded familiar. āLiliās quite fond of works in that genre as well. Iāll ask her about her favorites next time I write her, in case you devour the sequels just as quickly.ā Lucien tended towards nonfiction and poetry, himself, but he could understand the appeal of the novel anyway.
Stepping away from the fire, he took up a seat near Sophiaās feet, resting his own, crossed at the ankles, on an ottoman in front of the spot. Taking up his sketchbook and some charcoals, he opened to a blank page and started to trace out the most basic lines of what he wanted to draw next, the light scratching of the pencil on paper and the occasional turn of a page joining the crackle of the fire as the muted ambient noise in the room. Lucien let his mind empty of the rest of his concerns while he did thisāit was, in a sense, a necessary and almost sacred part of his life. He didnāt let himself think about anything but the art and its subject, when so engaged, which was, he would readily admit, a rather essential part of coping with the sometimes ponderous weights he was otherwise beholden to bear.
It had once been something he would only do with his mother, and then something he would only do alone, but he found he didnāt mind keeping Sophiaās company in these moments, either. Heād never bring it up as such, but he couldnāt help but notice.
He wasnāt sure exactly how long theyād spent like that, but when he blinked and tilted his head at the image that had emerged, he smiled ruefully at himself and closed the book over. He was loath to interrupt the comfortable silence, but he knew he had to. āHave you given any more thought to whether you intend to become Viscountess?ā He asked the question quietly, and perhaps rightly soāit was something they hadnāt really directly addressed. Heād thought, not without reason, that it would be better to leave the matter lie in the immediate aftermath of all that had occurred, and in the intervening years, heād justā¦ continued to leave it. He had thoughts on the matter, of course, but he wouldnāt volunteer them without being asked. It was hardly his decision to make, after all.
Sophia's thoughts had been elsewhere, and as such the question came a little abruptly. It wasn't the kind of question just asked on a whim. And while she had let her mind linger on it quite often recently, in that moment she had pushed out everything that existed beyond her front door. It was nicer to just think about the warmth of the fire, the softness of the couch, Lucien's presence beside her, the story in her hands, which she was relatively certain would turn out alright for the hero.
She closed the book softly, setting it down in her lap. "I have," she answered, equally as quiet. There was only the crackling of the flames, which had died down somewhat, to compete with. "And... I do intend to. I should have, when my time came. But I just couldn't. I always knew that I would have to take the throne when my father passed, I just... could never have imagined it happening like that." The memory still haunted her, and would always haunt her, of those darkest days of her life, her father's death so shortly after her brother's, slain by the two opposing forces she'd tried to keep from each other for so long.
"I've delayed too long to simply take it back now," she conceded. "Meredith has come to value her position, and will not give it up to me now that she knows I will not be held by her strings." Sophia could always force the issue, and she knew she would have the city guard behind her, and Lucien's strength, and a great deal of the people, but the Templars had faced such a situation before in Kirkwall, and had proven themselves formidable. She would not throw her city into a civil conflict that took lives, not if there was any other way. Patience, she suspected, would reveal a better way, something that could force Meredith to step down.
"But... yes, that is next for me now. Viscountess."
The corner of Lucienās lip quirked, but there was something about it that seemed almost melancholy, if only for a second. He turned his eyes back down to the plain leather cover of his sketchbook, running a hand over it thoughtfully, then nodded. āI doubt I need to say it by this point, but if there is anything I can do to help, you have only to ask.ā
He sighed, unusually heavily, and continued. āThe situation in Orlaisā¦ itās getting contentious. Thereās talk of rebellion stirring. Nothing solid, butā¦ Celene is not as well-liked as she used to be, and my friends are certain that it will eventually boil over into something unpleasant. Maybe not as soon as theyād feared, knowing that the Grand Duke doesnāt seem to be planning anything specific as of yet, but I do not doubt that things will start to move within the next year or two.ā He lifted his eyes to glance over at her, and smiled wryly. āI was going to try and find a nicer way of telling you that, but admittedly, Iām not sure there is one.ā
But the truth was, theyād both known it would happen eventually. Heād left off saying this much until sheād decided what she was going to do, because he didnāt want his own considerations to factor in, even unintentionally. They both had duties to do, and in some way, it was knowing she would do hers even after everything sheād been through that made him feel strong enough to do his as well.
The implications of the unrest in Orlais had not been lost upon Sophia, but knowing that the waterfall was approaching and actually acknowledging it, doing something about, were two vastly different things. She supposed that moment was rapidly arriving. But it wasn't here yet. Not yet. She set the book down on the sofa, sliding herself down into a horizontal position, her head roughly behind Lucien's neck, where she gently toyed with the ends of his hair with her fingers.
"There is no perfect way through it all, is there?" she said, not expecting an answer, for she knew it already. "No way for us to marry, to have everything that we want. If I abandon my duty, I would be no fit bride for royalty, for I'd be nothing more than a common woman with a sword." It was entirely possible that she was indeed already that, but given the choice between two fathers, she had declared herself to be the daughter of the worthier man. "If you abandoned your duty, it would destroy everything you've worked to rebuild since you arrived here. We could always flee together, ride to some remote part of the world and forget everything..." She actually smiled at the thought, and how ludicrous it was, even if the simplicity of it was beautiful. "But I doubt either of us would be satisfied, knowing what we left behind."
That was the heart of the matter, it seemed, that such an important part of why they loved each other was their dedication to ultimately doing what was best. Normally that self-sacrifice only required effort, or blood, or bravery. It was cruel for it to require them to separate. But it was the way they were, and they could not change some things, no matter how hard they tried.
"We're not out of time yet, though," she said, kissing his neck. "And Maker forgive me, for I intend to savor every moment while it lasts."
Lucien shuddered slightly, letting his sketchbook fall to the floor with a soft thud, and twisted where he sat, feathering his fingers over Sophiaās jaw, leaning down to place a soft kiss on her mouth. It really was ironic, that he should feel heād finally found someone who understood him, inside and out, challenged him to be as good as he wanted to be and better, could easily walk in step with him as they tried to forge their way forward. Sometimes, he felt like she probably had to slow down a little so he could keep up, even, but he loved that about her, too. That he should have met such a person, only to know that they would face down an obstacle that they could not climb, at least not yet.
āOne day,ā he murmured, adjusting them so that he wasnāt twisted around to reach her. More or less, heād ended up with Sophia half-draped over him, but he couldnāt say he minded in the slightest. āOne day, when things are stable, both here and there. If you still want me then, weāll find a way.ā Perhaps, in this one thing, heād allow himself to use all that power he was supposedly entitled to for a selfish end. Not when the foundations of his country were shaking beneath him, not when her city still teetered about between forces pulling every which-way at it, butā¦ after that. One day, when things were better.
But until then, she was quite rightāthey had time left to them yet.