Chapter Text
It is late when Sister Nightingale sees him in the small room she calls her office.
He knows he needs to be careful, to choose and pick his words wisely, lest she sees through him and immediately throws him out of this organization that is the Inquisition and at the same time isn’t anymore.
Lord Fen’Harel gave him precise instructions: he must learn what they know and plan, try to discover who their new allies are, ruin their work only if strictly necessary, and do what they say so that they don’t become wary of him and recognize him.
He heard many things about Sister Leliana - now Divine Victoria - and they are all true. Her voice is kind, her tone collected, as she speaks and asks him innocent questions about his family, his past jobs, his reasons to be here. But her eyes are cold, sharp like daggers, and they never move from his face.
Despite his training, despite his experience, despite the strength of his faith for what he is fighting for, he is scared.
He gives her the answers and backstory he has meticulously prepared beforehand: he lost his family due to the Breach, he worked as a runner and messenger and still has good legs, he is somewhat decent with a sword.
“Why do you wish to help us? The Inquisition is disbanded. I cannot guarantee you a good pay as we are now.”
“The Inquisition did many good things for Thedas and I admire that.” It’s true and even Lord Fen’Harel does. He always speaks of the Inquisition with respect and fondness.
He always speaks of the Inquisitor with a soft, melancholic light in his eyes.
“I didn’t join before and I regret it, so I want to help now. I am not a warrior nor a tactician, but if I can do something, even a small something, then I’ll be happy.”
“The one we face now is different from Corypheus.” Sister Leliana insists, narrowing her eyes. “In fact, he may be even more dangerous than him, if we don’t succeed in changing his mind.”
So they don’t want to eliminate Lord Fen’Harel? He is not sure whether he knows this or not, but it’s an important detail, so he is going to store it in his mind as vital information, the first he gathered since he stepped into this base.
“You are not Dalish, are you?” the Divine continues and he shakes his head.
“I heard about the Dread Wolf, though, Your Holiness. I am familiar with the stories.”
“If you are here, it means you believe what the Inquisitor says.”
He shrugs uncomfortably on the hard chair, meeting her eyes.
“I don’t understand much about these things, Most Holy.” he lies, hands on his lap, humble and candid. “But if the end of the world is coming again, then I want to help this time.”
Sister Nightingale ponders his words, fingers tapping against her mouth, gaze lost into the distance, into the dark sky without clouds visible from the small window in the room.
“Very well.” she says at last and the corners of her mouth are raised. Or maybe it’s just the light. “We will keep an eye on you, like we do with all the new elven agents. It is nothing personal, but we need to take all the necessary precautions.”
“I understand.” he says with a respectful bow of his head and he really does.
- - - -
The organization is small - a speck of dust compared to the mighty Inquisition of months ago -, but the people in it work hard as if nothing has changed and there are so many missions, objectives, and things to discover, find, and read that at first he doesn’t even have time to write his reports for Lord Fen’Harel.
When he finally can hide in a corner and write down all the things he has seen and found, a week has passed. He sends the message just like Lord Fen’Harel has taught him and the others - through another agent, in his case an old elf who brings food supplies to the base weekly, who will give it in turn to another trusted friend and so on, until it finally reaches the Wolf.
It’s a long, slow, and cautious way to send a message, but he can’t expect his boss to visit him in dreams to hear how things are going. The Wolf has too many things to do, too many places to check and control, too many thoughts swirl in his mind. Everyone can see how heavy his duty is and how much he hurts when the Inquisitor is mentioned. The last thing he needs is to check on each of his agents in their sleep.
So the new messenger discreetly passes his coded message to his companion and goes to take care of the new task Sister Nightingale has given him.
He still hasn’t seen the Inquisitor.
He always hears her mentioned, everyone talks about her, everyone pronounces her name - she is Lady Lavellan now and she is a secret to him.
One of his friends who served in the Inquisition told him that she saw her multiple times while working at Skyhold. She was one of the maidens there, so she often cleaned the laundry or brought food up in the Inquisitor’s rooms.
“She is pretty and kind.” she told him with a smile. Then she looked around, not wanting to be heard by the Wolf, and whispered: “She and Lord Fen’Harel looked very happy together. He always smiled when she was with him. I had never seen him like that before.”
Now, part of him wants to see the woman who stole the Dread Wolf’s heart, who makes him doubt and hesitate, who wants to change his mind and not kill him even if he is planning the complete revolution of the current world.
He thinks about his friend’s words, her wistful and romantic sighs as she recalled the scenes she had seen in the fortress, and he feels a bit envious. He never saw his boss being a doofus in love. He never saw Lord Fen’Harel eating frilly cakes with Lady Lavellan on his lap. He never saw them giggling and kissing in the rotunda before she had to go the War Room.
He only saw his sorrowful face as he looked out of the window in his room, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders slumped by responsibility and duty. He only heard the polite and serious tone of his voice, the slight crack in it when he asked him to protect the Inquisitor if necessary. He only saw his pain, regret, and nostalgia in his steel blue eyes.
He wonders if Lady Lavellan’s eyes look the same.
- - - -
Two days after his message has been delivered, Lord Fen’Harel himself visits him in his dreams.
He lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched scream when he senses his powerful presence behind his back during an innocuous and peaceful dream.
“My apologies. I did not mean to frighten you.” the Wolf says without sounding sorry at all. He is more like concerned, in a great hurry even. He waits a beat, then: “You have not sent word, my friend.”
“I…” the agent stammers, hoping the heartattack he almost had won’t kill him in the waking world. “I did, my lord! Just two days ago! I gave it to the old man that brings milk and food to the base, as you instructed.”
Fen’Harel frowns and his jaw tightens. As usual, his hands are behind his back and he looks stiff, elegant, almost regal, but also cold and distant.
The agent is pretty sure he was way more relaxed than this when he was in the Inquisition. His friend told him so too.
“Why did you sent the message so late? Did something happen?” Fen’Harel quirks one eyebrow. “I also feared you had already been discovered. Sister Leliana is a formidable spymaster, but…”
“Oh, she really is! That’s why it took me so long, sir. I needed to be absolutely sure she or her agents couldn’t see me or read what I was writing. Also…” he makes an embarrassed sound, rubbing his neck. “Er… we had much to do.”
“Oh?” now both Fen’Harel’s eyebrows rise. “Did you find something?”
“I know that they are looking for people outside of Ferelden and Orlais. Tevinter, I heard. The Inquisitor’s magister friend, Dorian Pavus, has something to do with it, but I still don’t know the details.”
Fen’Harel’s expression changes immediately as the Inquisitor is mentioned. His gaze becomes tender, almost hopeful, as he asks in a soft, small voice: “How is she?”
The agent can’t help but stare at that quick, surprising change, but he manages to answer without missing a beat: “I… I think she’s fine, sir. Never heard anything bad. I’ve not seen her yet, though, she rarely leaves her room.”
The Wolf looks down and the agent stands there awkwardly, waiting for his next question. He is embarrassed, but also curious, and he would like to know more about the mysterious woman that changed Thedas and his lord so much.
He doesn’t dare ask, though, so he stays quiet until Fen’Harel raises his head, his face a polite and cold mask again, and says: “I won’t bother your sleep any longer. I suppose all the information I need to know are in your letter.”
“Yes, my lord! I have nothing new to report at the moment.” he blinks and corrects himself: “There is only… one thing.”
Fen’Harel frowns again and tired lines form under his eyes and on his forehead. It’s a disheartening sight.
“The Inquisition. Well, this organization which is not the Inquisition. They are not trying to kill you, my lord. Lady Lavellan is trying to find a way to change your mind.” he pronounces the words as if they are a great secret, something private that doesn’t concern him, but it’s a piece of information nonetheless and he must report it.
Apparently Fen’Harel knew about this, because he smiles - a little, sad thing that barely moves his lips - and nods.
“Always so full of hope.” he whispers and even if his smile is not that much, his tone is sweet, loving, and his eyes are bright.
There is hope in them, the agent notices, hope and love, and he feels embarrassed again, but also more intrigued than ever. He misses his friend and the long talks they used to have about this relationship, this love that made their lord laugh, joke, and dance.
“Is there anything else I can do, my lord?” he asks and he isn’t surprised when the Wolf tells him to find a way to see Lady Lavellan. He doesn’t specify the reason, only that he must see her, and the agent politely reassures him that he will do his best to approach her and the secrets she kept in her room and desk.
But he knows that’s not the real reason his lord wants him to see her.
He wakes up slowly, without hurry, his head light. He doesn’t even remember what he was dreaming before Lord Fen’Harel’s arrival.
Then the other members of the organization - his new companions, humans, elves, and dwarves that don’t suspect who he really is - start to get up as well and some of them greet him, wish him a good morning, or ask him to join them for breakfast.
He wonders if his lord felt so wretched and false during his early days in the old Inquisition too.
- - - -
He finally meets Lady Lavellan a few days later.
He has some letters and messages to deliver to Sister Nightingale - most are from the Chantry, but the rest are from various parts of Thedas and he accurately memorizes the names for his report.
He knocks at the door of the Divine’s room, too engrossed in reading those names for the millionth time to pay attention to the voices coming from inside.
“Come in!” the woman says and he opens the door, remembering to look away from the letters so that he doesn’t look suspicious or too curious for his own good.
He freezes on the doorstep.
There is another woman in the room - elven, her frame deceptively lithe and frail. She is young - very young, he thinks, and he can’t help but compare her years to his lord’s infinitely older age.
He feels embarrassed and awkward again.
Then his gaze falls on her stump: she doesn’t hide it and her simple, comfortable clothes don’t remind him of the leader of an organization, but of a wanderer instead.
There is grace and beauty in her - his friend was right, she is beautiful -, but also a great sadness, the same that he always sees in his lord.
Yes, her eyes look like his. But there is something different in them, a determination that Lord Fen’Harel lacks, a fire that drives her forward and reassures those who look at her.
She smiles at him - a small, but kind smile - and even if she is clearly tired and overwhelmed by too many things to do, she still finds the time and strength to speak to him.
“You are new.” she says and he babbles an unintelligible answer, taken aback. Even if this organization is small and almost empty compared to the old Inquisition, there is still a good number of people working in it and he can’t believe she remembers every single one. Maybe Sister Nightingale talked about him? If she did, why? Maybe she…
“I never saw you before.” Lady Lavellan continues and his surprise increases. “I met the new scouts Leliana found, but you are a new face.”
“He’s one of the new messengers.” the Divine explains and she turns to him with a smirk. “He’s quite good at his job. Fast and reliable.”
“Really?” Lady Lavellan chuckles, the sound frail like glass, but just as clear. “Thank you for joining us. We need people like you.”
His mouth goes dry.
“T-Thank you, my lady.” he stammers. His gaze lingers on her pale cheeks. He knows she had vallaslin once. His friend told him that Lady Lavellan made Lord Fen’Harel remove them, the night they broke up. She saw her come back to Skyhold alone and crying, her face bare.
His friend was very sad that day.
Lady Lavellan asks him his name and he tells her, unable to look away from her, unable to move his eyes from the woman that holds the Dread Wolf’s heart in her hands and only wants to save him.
His friend told him that she saw them practice for the Ball at Halamshiral and he tries to imagine this small girl in the strong arms of his lord as they swirl in the rotunda, their laughter and giggles as they joke and kiss.
It’s hard to do, because his lord never smiles now, let alone laugh, but he feels he can picture him doing that with this young woman. There is something in her that tells him she really can change Lord Fen’Harel’s heart and he is nearly scared, completely intimidated.
“Are those for me?” Lady Nightingale asks, distracting him from his thoughts; he hands her the missives, then waits, all tense and anxious, for his next task.
“You may go for now.” the Divine says and he bows his head, giving one last glance to Lady Lavellan before leaving the room. She nods at him, that same small, kind smile from before on her lips, and he feels sad, as if something good is missing, as if something bad happened, but it shouldn’t have happened.
He regrets the current situation between this woman and the man he serves, he feels sorry for them, but he doesn’t clearly know why. He is only supposed to follow Lord Fen’Harel’s orders, to help him restore the world of the Elves as it was, not feel sorry for his love life.
And yet, as he closes the door behind himself and steals one last look, he sees something he didn’t see before.
A familiar jawbone pendant hangs from Lady Lavellan’s neck and rests on her chest; she touches it with her right hand as she speaks with Leliana, her fingers delicately caressing the teeth and the worn leather strings.
There is longing, nostalgia, and a wish for comfort in her touch and he finally understands and shares the sadness his friend felt years ago.