( Leliana is in the Rookery. No great surprise, because when is she not? Perhaps Alistair could tell by the occasional caw of a raven, or the occasional sound of shoes in a stone floor and wind whipping past the small windows.
The evidence she has is inching close to damning, her nerves burning as she pages through Varric's damnable book and lines up the bare scraps of information that her scouts have brought her concerning the mage Detlef. It is not far beyond suspicion yet, but the pieces seem to fit too well, and she hopes against hope that she is wrong, that there are other explanations. She hopes they did not truly miss this so long.
Anders, of course, was a Grey Warden. A deserter, true, but one of their ranks all the same. If such a man were in Skyhold, it was likely that one Grey Warden knew - at least one, Nathaniel Howe, and Bethany Hawke. And where two knew, it seems feasible that it could spread, unless their loyalty was to their friend before their order, or if they were all of them bound to the secret.
Leliana hesitates (not visually, Maker, she's better than that) and picks up the crystal, allowing herself something of a friendly tone. )
[ It doesn't occur to him to feel guilty, or he might not be able to stop himself from sounding it. When one of them isn't talking, the sound of snow crunching under his feet might make it through. ]
Looking smug and burly whenever anyone else complains about being cold has always been so important to me. I hate it here. You ought to come visit, though. We could kill something together, for old time's sake.
( lightly, and falsely so, even if she is very good at making things sound as she hopes they do. )
Tempting as that is, I'm afraid I'm otherwise engaged. Perhaps next time? Or we could visit the Deep Roads for a bit of nostalgia, if that suits you better?
( Better with Alistair not to ask a question too bluntly, not to let it seem like the only reason for this conversation. )
Nostalgia for you, maybe. I spend half my life down there.
[ That is, obviously, an exaggeration. But he doesn't think Fifth Blight when he thinks about the Deep Roads. He thinks last Tuesday. But he sounds pleasant enough, oblivious, teasing— ]
( It's nice to tease each other for a moment, even if things will never really be as they once were. She has changed too much for that, and she is not so very sure she would wish to subject what she is not to Alistair, when Zevran already seemed so disturbed by the change in her.
But this is a window she can take advantage of for a slight shift in their conversation. )
Not as much as I would like. I've been involved in a rather complex investigation. It's related to a Grey Warden, in fact, though I could imagine your Order no longer considering him one of theirs.
Once a Warden, always a Warden, [ is the cheerful response, before he's had time to think about who she could feasibly be asking after or why, ] except for the Grand Enchanter, who remains a mystery to us all.
[ And this is where his mind catches up. There's a shift in his tone—an attempt not to change it at all, with the resulting strain that artifice always causes him. It's not as damning as if she could see his face, and he's always been fairly good at lying by omission and by piling so many intentionally stupid words on top of the truth that no one notices. But to a trained ear, there's falsity. ]
Otherwise there's a whole list I'd stop counting, personally.
Edited (line breaks are nice) 2016-03-02 23:35 (UTC)
Ah, Fiona. I have heard it said that the exception proves the rule, no?
( She's never sure if she enjoys the thought, or is annoyed by it.
His tone has her head canting a little, eyes narrowing as she watches the crystal as intently as if she were looking upon his face, though a little more concerned than she generally allows herself to appear publicly, these days.
But you are so forgiving, she could say. She holds her tongue. )
What of Anders, then? The mage that blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall? He travelled with Jonas, just as you and I once did.
( bluntness, then, but bluntness under the guise of a question that she hopes will not condemn them both. )
No one traveled with Jonas just as we did, [ Alistair says. ] Everyone else got royal, Warden-Commander Jonas. They probably had to call him Your Highness. Or ser, at least. We never had to call him ser.
[ That's probably all of the stalling, diversionary blather he can get away with without sounding more suspicious instead of less. Now he's on a bit of a roll, though, it's easier to keep going. ]
Was Anders his name? I thought he was an Ander—he's still one of us, though, sure. Unless blowing up Chantries has been a cure for the taint all this time. I wouldn't let that get out, or you may have a problem. Another one, I mean. For your collection.
They also lacked you and Morrigan's bickering. ( Rather dryly, because she has much bigger things to worry about right now than one of the many chips Alistair has accumulated to decorate his shouldres.
That is in poor taste, even for Alistair, even for his bitterness about the Chantry, and it makes her jaw clench. )
Alistair. ( Not quite a warning - and yet. They have argued over the Chantry before, but they times were different. They were different. ) This is not the time to make light of so many deaths.
( But he asked, and so she will answer: ) I am attempting to track his whereabouts. As you say, I already have a collection of problems. I would not see Anders create any more, for the Inquisition or beyond it.
You were grateful for the entertainment. Admit it. It wasn't as funny as you trying to convert her, of course, but I tried.
[ He has no comment on the appropriateness of his humor. There's always death; he always jokes about it. And he's never been good at objective calculations. A hundred or more faceless people died in Kirkwall several years ago, because of Anders. A half-dozen Alistair can actually see and touch are alive because of him here and now.
And they're going to tell her. Alistair isn't there to alert the others that she knows or put himself between her and Anders, if it came to that, so he sticks to the plan, which is to let Hercules and Nathaniel handle it. Now with an exciting Part B: lie to the person who is essentially his oldest friend. What a great plan. ]
If he's hearing the Calling like the rest of us, he's either gone West with the others or—we wouldn't usually let it go on this long or get this loud, you know, if we didn't think there might be hope. He could have already solved the problem for you. But if you'd like to loan us your army, I'd be happy to go ask Clarel if she's seen him.
( dryly: ) I'm so glad I was a source of great amusement.
( Good information, and useful. For all that, she can't help a quiet sigh. Something is gnawing at her, something in his tone or his-- voice, but perhaps it is the ever looming Warden issue. )
You know it is not so simple as us lending you an army. ( The Wardens are not the only concern, and there are so very many factors to consider. If you'd like to loan us an army, as if it were a simple matter of the Inquisition not wanting to offer aid. Hopefully he did not truly think such a thing, he did have a tendency to hyperbole... but he is Alistair, and Alistair is an emotional man.
Even so, ) Thank you. Would you be amenable to informing me, should you hear anything?
I know, I know. I fully expect we'll have to kill a pack of werewolves and crown a new dwarven king before anything can be done.
[ Nothing is ever easy, especially when you're too polite (or politically savvy) to conscript your friends' soldiers and requisition their supplies.
He is emotional, though. And tired. If she'd like to believe, for now, that he wouldn't lie to her, there's exhaustion and disappointment and an endless song in his head to blame for the way his voice strains to sound gamely pleasant. ]
Of course, Leliana. [ sobs ] But if you want me to spy for you, I want a good code name.
And keep Shale entertained all the while, I know. Perhaps if we said Corypheus were an avian overlord of some description...
( She loves Shale, but their stony friend, but patience had never really been Shale's greatest virtue.
This doesn't sit well with her. It isn't right, but there are any number of reasons for Alistair to sound off, and her first thought is not easily tipped to my oldest friend is lying to me. Surely she is over thinking it; Alistair and she had always agreed on so much, even if the Chantry had never been on of those things. Surely he would understand the gravity of this? Surely he would not lie.
She has been on edge since the Conclave, and Evelyn and Zevran and each thing has piled atop the other, and now she would suspect even Alistair of deception? No. She must be wrong. )
A fair trade. ( She considers for perhaps... ten seconds, before offering ) Nug de l'acier.
( NUG OF STEEL. Not "lacey nug," though perhaps that could also apply. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
timeywimey bc!!! stuff
The evidence she has is inching close to damning, her nerves burning as she pages through Varric's damnable book and lines up the bare scraps of information that her scouts have brought her concerning the mage Detlef. It is not far beyond suspicion yet, but the pieces seem to fit too well, and she hopes against hope that she is wrong, that there are other explanations. She hopes they did not truly miss this so long.
Anders, of course, was a Grey Warden. A deserter, true, but one of their ranks all the same. If such a man were in Skyhold, it was likely that one Grey Warden knew - at least one, Nathaniel Howe, and Bethany Hawke. And where two knew, it seems feasible that it could spread, unless their loyalty was to their friend before their order, or if they were all of them bound to the secret.
Leliana hesitates (not visually, Maker, she's better than that) and picks up the crystal, allowing herself something of a friendly tone. )
I hope you're keeping warm out there, Alistair.
STUFF
[ It doesn't occur to him to feel guilty, or he might not be able to stop himself from sounding it. When one of them isn't talking, the sound of snow crunching under his feet might make it through. ]
Looking smug and burly whenever anyone else complains about being cold has always been so important to me. I hate it here. You ought to come visit, though. We could kill something together, for old time's sake.
SO MUCH STUFF
( lightly, and falsely so, even if she is very good at making things sound as she hopes they do. )
Tempting as that is, I'm afraid I'm otherwise engaged. Perhaps next time? Or we could visit the Deep Roads for a bit of nostalgia, if that suits you better?
( Better with Alistair not to ask a question too bluntly, not to let it seem like the only reason for this conversation. )
no subject
[ That is, obviously, an exaggeration. But he doesn't think Fifth Blight when he thinks about the Deep Roads. He thinks last Tuesday. But he sounds pleasant enough, oblivious, teasing— ]
Can't you have someone else watch the birds?
[ Because that's clearly all she does. ]
no subject
Ah, that gets a breath of laughter. )
I fear you may be overlooking some of the nuances of my role, Alistair. I am a little more useful than that.
( only a little though )
no subject
[ Better? ]
Have you spoken to Zevran lately?
no subject
( It's nice to tease each other for a moment, even if things will never really be as they once were. She has changed too much for that, and she is not so very sure she would wish to subject what she is not to Alistair, when Zevran already seemed so disturbed by the change in her.
But this is a window she can take advantage of for a slight shift in their conversation. )
Not as much as I would like. I've been involved in a rather complex investigation. It's related to a Grey Warden, in fact, though I could imagine your Order no longer considering him one of theirs.
no subject
[ And this is where his mind catches up. There's a shift in his tone—an attempt not to change it at all, with the resulting strain that artifice always causes him. It's not as damning as if she could see his face, and he's always been fairly good at lying by omission and by piling so many intentionally stupid words on top of the truth that no one notices. But to a trained ear, there's falsity. ]
Otherwise there's a whole list I'd stop counting, personally.
no subject
( She's never sure if she enjoys the thought, or is annoyed by it.
His tone has her head canting a little, eyes narrowing as she watches the crystal as intently as if she were looking upon his face, though a little more concerned than she generally allows herself to appear publicly, these days.
But you are so forgiving, she could say. She holds her tongue. )
What of Anders, then? The mage that blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall? He travelled with Jonas, just as you and I once did.
( bluntness, then, but bluntness under the guise of a question that she hopes will not condemn them both. )
no subject
No one traveled with Jonas just as we did, [ Alistair says. ] Everyone else got royal, Warden-Commander Jonas. They probably had to call him Your Highness. Or ser, at least. We never had to call him ser.
[ That's probably all of the stalling, diversionary blather he can get away with without sounding more suspicious instead of less. Now he's on a bit of a roll, though, it's easier to keep going. ]
Was Anders his name? I thought he was an Ander—he's still one of us, though, sure. Unless blowing up Chantries has been a cure for the taint all this time. I wouldn't let that get out, or you may have a problem. Another one, I mean. For your collection.
no subject
That is in poor taste, even for Alistair, even for his bitterness about the Chantry, and it makes her jaw clench. )
Alistair. ( Not quite a warning - and yet. They have argued over the Chantry before, but they times were different. They were different. ) This is not the time to make light of so many deaths.
( But he asked, and so she will answer: ) I am attempting to track his whereabouts. As you say, I already have a collection of problems. I would not see Anders create any more, for the Inquisition or beyond it.
no subject
[ He has no comment on the appropriateness of his humor. There's always death; he always jokes about it. And he's never been good at objective calculations. A hundred or more faceless people died in Kirkwall several years ago, because of Anders. A half-dozen Alistair can actually see and touch are alive because of him here and now.
And they're going to tell her. Alistair isn't there to alert the others that she knows or put himself between her and Anders, if it came to that, so he sticks to the plan, which is to let Hercules and Nathaniel handle it. Now with an exciting Part B: lie to the person who is essentially his oldest friend. What a great plan. ]
If he's hearing the Calling like the rest of us, he's either gone West with the others or—we wouldn't usually let it go on this long or get this loud, you know, if we didn't think there might be hope. He could have already solved the problem for you. But if you'd like to loan us your army, I'd be happy to go ask Clarel if she's seen him.
no subject
( Good information, and useful. For all that, she can't help a quiet sigh. Something is gnawing at her, something in his tone or his-- voice, but perhaps it is the ever looming Warden issue. )
You know it is not so simple as us lending you an army. ( The Wardens are not the only concern, and there are so very many factors to consider. If you'd like to loan us an army, as if it were a simple matter of the Inquisition not wanting to offer aid. Hopefully he did not truly think such a thing, he did have a tendency to hyperbole... but he is Alistair, and Alistair is an emotional man.
Even so, ) Thank you. Would you be amenable to informing me, should you hear anything?
no subject
[ Nothing is ever easy, especially when you're too polite (or politically savvy) to conscript your friends' soldiers and requisition their supplies.
He is emotional, though. And tired. If she'd like to believe, for now, that he wouldn't lie to her, there's exhaustion and disappointment and an endless song in his head to blame for the way his voice strains to sound gamely pleasant. ]
Of course, Leliana. [ sobs ] But if you want me to spy for you, I want a good code name.
no subject
( She loves Shale, but their stony friend, but patience had never really been Shale's greatest virtue.
This doesn't sit well with her. It isn't right, but there are any number of reasons for Alistair to sound off, and her first thought is not easily tipped to my oldest friend is lying to me. Surely she is over thinking it; Alistair and she had always agreed on so much, even if the Chantry had never been on of those things. Surely he would understand the gravity of this? Surely he would not lie.
She has been on edge since the Conclave, and Evelyn and Zevran and each thing has piled atop the other, and now she would suspect even Alistair of deception? No. She must be wrong. )
A fair trade. ( She considers for perhaps... ten seconds, before offering ) Nug de l'acier.
( NUG OF STEEL. Not "lacey nug," though perhaps that could also apply. )