[sandbox]

[bringspeopletogether]

The letter he finally sends is maybe a little more impolitic than it ought to be, but if he doesn't send something now, he'll still be writing when his Calling arrives.



Fiona,

Ivette Cousland is looking for you. The name might ring a bell. Hero of Ferelden? Slayed the Archdemon some years ago?

Anyway. She's not having any luck, so I thought I'd try my hand at getting in touch.

Cousland's been searching for a cure for the Calling these past five years or so; she even retired as Warden-Commander of Vigil's Keep so she could pursue her research better. She knows your leaving the Wardens wasn't like mine. You didn't just walk away from Weisshaupt: you managed to un-Join somehow, with no ill effects. You're our last, best lead on the matter, so you can understand why she's rather eager to speak to you. It's very likely she doesn't have much time left, what with it being almost a decade and a half since her Joining and living through a Blight.

Frankly, I don't expect I have much time left, either.

Cullen and I are in South Reach these days. I'll always know where to find Cousland, if you'd rather speak with her directly. For all our sakes, I hope you'll be in touch.

--Alistair





Two weeks later, a raven knocks its beak against their window frame.

This is a matter best discussed in person, says the note attached to its leg. I can be to South Reach by the end of the month.

It's signed only with the letter F. Alistair spends the next few hours talking up a nervous storm, hands digging in his hair, half anxious, half furious. (This is exactly what he didn't want: for her to read this as an overture. For her to think she could have any claim to Alistair's time, Alistair's space, outside of giving him and Cousland the information they needed.)

Then he writes a letter to Cousland and sends the raven on its way.

Comments

[howtoactfereldan]

So when Cullen comes in, soaked to the skin, it's to a quiet domestic scene. Not a very homey one, though.

"Right," he says to Alistair, a little awkward. "Let me dry off, and I can see to those?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair looks up, his expression shifting to mild alarm at Cullen's dripping-wet state.

(Too wound up to even properly appreciate a soaked Cullen. What is the world coming to?)

"If you'd like," he says. "Can I -- no, you've got a handle on it, I'm sure, it's just a towel and...yes. Right. There's bacon for you when you're back. Cold, but it's there. And more tea -- ?"

Apparently, a meal with little to no speaking means it all comes tumbling out later.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen laughs quietly. "Yes." And aims a crooked, warm grin at Alistair. "Proceed with your work, Theirin." It slips out without thinking; it doesn't even occur to him that Fiona's there. "I'll stop dripping and take care of everything."

[bringspeopletogether]

(Fiona's grip tenses on her teacup at the unexpected nickname; she forcibly relaxes half a beat later.)

That smile chases off another handful of Alistair's nerves. He finds himself mirroring it -- and wishing, for a fierce but fleeting moment, that he could wrap his arms around Cullen and just stay there, ignoring their guests for the entire rest of the day. Or just a couple hours, maybe. Enough for him to regain his footing as they face whatever Fiona will say.

"All right," he says. "Thank you."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen squeezes Alistair's hand and heads back toward the bedroom.

[highnever]

"Well!" Ivette says brightly. "Shall we begin?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Fiona exhales. Sets down her tea with a single perfect clink.

"I believe so," she says, and Alistair -- all his excuses extinguished -- sets down the dishtowel he'd been using to dry off the plates. Silently, he takes a seat next to Ivette, leaving a chair empty on his other side for whenever Cullen returns.

The silence stretches an extra few beats as Fiona gathers her thoughts.

"You must understand," she says at last. "When I tell this -- I am still not entirely certain, to this day, what particular confluence of magic and chance and -- " A swift glance to Alistair. "Even you, perhaps. How that all came together to stop my Calling. I have my suspicions, but even Weisshaupt couldn't pinpoint the exact cause." A dry smile. "I suspect there would be far more of us who avoided our Calling if they did."

She folds her hands behind her mug.

"So I'll tell it as completely as I can, and I hope you'll forgive me for what seems like meandering."

[highnever]

Ivette reaches down to a small bag she brought inside, picks up her research journal -- with a few of the loose pages positioned awry -- and drops it on the table. A pen set follows next.

"At your leisure, Enchanter."

(She thought better of saying we're all ears.)

[bringspeopletogether]

She nods.




"One of our own had been taken by the darkspawn." Calm. Measured. "The brother of my Warden-Commander. We had some idea of where he was, but no knowledge of what we might find in that particular section of the Deep Roads." She holds Alistair's gaze a moment until, visibly uncomfortable, he pretends to be fascinated by Ivette's notebook. "King Maric did. So Warden-Commander Genevieve asked if he would be willing to serve as our guide -- and he agreed.

"Before we set off we were gifted brooches by the First Enchanter of Kinloch that would supposedly hide us from the darkspawn." The corner of her mouth twists. "In reality they served to accelerate the taint in all of us. Within several days all of us could hear the beginnings of the Calling, except for -- "

She stops. Presses her lips together, briefly, before continuing on.

"Except for Duncan."

Alistair's head shoots up. "Duncan?" he repeats, not quite comprehending. "Duncan was with you?"

Fiona nods. "Yes. He was."

[highnever]

Ivette looks up from the notes she's taking. Looks at Alistair.

"Thirty-odd years ago," she says, softly. "Yes? He'd have been... not a Warden for very long, then."

She glances down at her notes again. "Why would Maric risk himself and the throne in that way? Was there really no one else who could go?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Fiona sighs, softly.

"A question we asked as well," she murmurs. "Bregan -- Genevieve's brother -- had information that could begin a Blight if it fell into darkspawn hands. Swiftness was paramount, and Maric saw it as part of his duty to protect Ferelden. Beyond that, only he and one other -- Loghain, I believe? -- knew where to go. So..."

She spreads her hands.

"Maric went."

[highnever]

Ivette looks sidelong at Alistair, doing some quick arithmetic in her head.

Casually: "That would have been... let's see. Queen Rowan died in 9:8, yes? And Maric permitted us to return to Ferelden in 9:10."

So no doubt he believed Loghain would make a good regent for a young Cailan, who would barely be out of short pants. Explains why Maric wanted a suicide mission, she thinks.

"So... after Rowan's death, then."

[bringspeopletogether]

Absent, and slow for now, Alistair's begun to tap his thumb against the table. He's gone back to watching Ivette's journal.

"Rather soon after, yes," says Fiona. "And...I'm certain that was part of it as well. He was not a happy man when I met him, much as he tried to pretend otherwise."

It isn't a pointed remark, not like that, but Alistair stops tapping his thumb all the same.

[highnever]

"My father -- " Her voice is steady. "From everything he said about the days of the rebellion... it's not clear if Maric was ever a happy man."

She's not looking at Alistair.

"They weren't close, not like Loghain and Maric were, but... close enough."




(Cullen, she's sure, has heard all of this. He comes out of the bedroom with a fixedly calm expression she ruefully recognizes, and goes to attend to the dishes.)

[bringspeopletogether]

"You said all of you heard the Calling except Duncan," says Alistair, a bit too loudly. (Maker's breath, can they please talk about something besides his poor poor father.) "Why? Why him in particular?"

"He'd stolen an enchanted dagger from the First Enchanter before we left." At Alistair's raised eyebrow, she smiles, a little. "Oh, yes, he was quite the brash and brazen thief when he was younger. It's part of how he ended up a Warden."

"He mentioned something like that." Alistair bends his head on the pretense of rubbing the back of his neck. "Never went into very much detail about it."

"Yes, well," says Fiona with a quiet sigh. "Anyway. The dagger he stole offered protection against the taint. It turned out the First Enchanter was not on our side, but on the side of the darkspawn, and had grown very skilled in Blight magic."

[highnever]

Ivette immediately begins flipping through the journal. "He wouldn't have been the first by any means," she murmurs. "Plenty of darkspawn worshipers throughout history. He's awfully late, though... wait. Yes. A cult calling themselves the Empty Ones. From Nevarra."

She glances up at Fiona. "But I'm guessing that his reasoning was more complicated than the widespread despair after the death of Andraste."

[bringspeopletogether]

"At its core, no. Not terribly complicated." That dry, humorless smile is back. "Just what all corrupt men wish: power. He'd struck a deal with a darkspawn known as the Architect -- "

Alistair, who'd glanced over his shoulder to Cullen, snaps back around to Fiona, eyes wide.

[highnever]

The grim thunderousness of Ivette's expression says much. Calm, steely: "That one is known to us. It caused the Fifth Blight with its experiments."

[bringspeopletogether]

Fiona's turn for her eyes to widen -- and then she curses, low and bitter, as she casts her gaze aside.

"I can't say I'm surprised it ended that way." Just as low, and with a small, simmering thread of anger. "When we crossed paths with him -- it -- the Architect believed the best way to ensure peace between mankind and darkspawn was to spread the taint across Thedas, then forge an alliance with whoever survived."

[highnever]

"It kept that belief, and then some." She sets down the pen, lest she snap it in two. "About six months after the Blight's end, it resurfaced in the arling of Amaranthine, the seat of the Wardens of Ferelden. It decided that it needed the blood of Wardens in order to break the darkspawn of the mandate to find the Old Gods, thus giving darkspawn an individual will. It led to dissension in the darkspawn ranks." Cold. Not very nice. "Not everyone wanted to be free of it, you see. You'd think it would have better sense than to have started with a broodmother.

"At any rate. It did not survive its final encounter with the Wardens."

By which Ivette means my knives.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Good."

Quiet, and fierce -- though it shades closer to regret a moment later.

"I only wish he had not survived his first encounter with us."

[highnever]

Ivette makes herself take a sip of tea.

She deliberately picks up her pen again. "I do wonder -- the First Enchanter had a dagger holding off the Blight's effects. What did he hope to get from the Architect?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen finishes putting the dishes away and pours himself a cup, and brings it over to the table.

He doesn't say anything, as he lowers himself into the chair by Alistair. But he's paler than he ought to be.

(Uldred.)

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair looks up, mustering a wan, unfelt smile. Immediately, his hand seeks out one of Cullen's beneath the table and holds fast.

"The means to create that dagger in the first place," Fiona's saying. "And the brooches that damaged us so. The Architect taught him all the Blight magic a human could possibly learn -- gave him a power no other possessed -- and all he had to do was help it spread the taint."

[highnever]

Ivette's brow lowers.

"Blight magic," she repeats. "Meaning he could... accelerate it, or stop its spread. By enchanting objects. Anything else?"