Chapter Text
Kirkwall wasn’t so different from Denerim, Wynne thought, as she made her way past merchants hawking their wares in the Hightown marketplace. The similar sights and sounds made it seem almost as if she’d never left Fereldan. All it was missing was the smell of wet dog. After refusing to take the position of first enchanter, the newly instated queen Anora had appointed her a court advisor, and while the role came with many perks, including the freedom to move about as she wished, it came with several responsibilities as well, not the least of which was acting as an ambassador to foreign circles.
The mage sighed as she continued walking with a singular purpose. This was hardly the first time she had had to act in her official capacity, but it was certainly the most trying. Her Majesty had called meeting with her and the Chancellor few weeks prior, explaining that she had some reports of unrest in the Kirkwall Circle. Aeducan, or Chancellor Aeducan, though she hated it when her friends called her by such a title, had suggested that Wynne go and investigate. The Uldred incident was still fresh in their minds, even years later. This was how Wynne found herself on a boat to the Free Marches with instructions to stay for as long as necessary, staff strapped to her back and her official documents kept securely in a pouch strapped to her waist. Kirkwall wasn’t exactly known for their hospitality towards mages.
Her first stop as she made her way out of the docks was the Gallows, a stately structure that befitted its ominous name. There she had what was probably one of the tensest meetings of her life, and she had been present for the Landsmeet. During her time in Kinloch Hold, it was not uncommon to see the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander arguing over something or another, in the First Enchanter’s study, the corridors, the library, or anywhere else in the circle tower really. First Enchanter Orsino and Knight-Commander Meredith made Irving and Gregoir seem like the best of friends. Meredith had hard eyes and a determined set to her jaw, and while she couldn’t be described as courteous, she was at the very least civil during their discussions. Orsino was younger than Irving, though he carried himself with the same presence, and seemed to be of a rather good natured sort, though his frustration at the current mage-templar situation could easily be seen. Both had assured her that the current tensions between the two groups wouldn’t lead to anything nearly as disastrous as what occurred in Fereldan. Wynne wasn’t entirely convinced, especially when Orsino stayed behind a few moments after the meeting to urge her to discuss the matter with the Grand Cleric.
***
Wynne had always loved the chantry, no matter which city she found herself in. Even in the Circle Tower, the chapel had been one of her favorite places. There was something immensely reassuring about the low candle light and soft murmurings of prayer which surrounded her as she entered. She found a chantry sister who seemed to be idle and requested an audience with the grand cleric. She was lead to a room to the side, where she was met by a woman with kind eyes and a welcoming smile.
“Ah, our visitor from the Fereldan Circle.”
“Were you expecting me, Grand Cleric?”
“I was informed of your arrival. Please, take a seat.”
Wynne lowered herself into the offered chair, and the Grand Cleric Elthina offered her another smile.
“You seem troubled.”
“These have been troubling times.”
“And you have been very much involved, haven’t you Wynne.”
Wynne nodded slowly “I fear that things will only get worse as time passes.”
The Grand Cleric inclined her head, a willing audience, as Wynne, unable to help herself, spilled out her worries for the time ahead. The two spoke for well over an hour, and at the end of it, Wynne was offered a place to stay within the chantry walls and invited to return to talk anytime. It wasn’t until she was being shown to her room that she realized that she had never asked Elthina what she intended to do about the circle.
***
Wynne finally did get the Chantry’s opinion on the conflict after several visits with Elthina. By now, there was none but the most basic sense of formality between them, to the point where they were addressing each other by name, rather than title. Elthina, it turned out, seemed to prefer to be neutral party, understanding both sides of the conflict and choosing not to intervene for one or the other. There was a time, back before Ostagar and Uldred and the Landsmeet and the blight, when she would have agreed with her. But now, well now, she had her doubts. She kept these to herself though, and merely took another sip of her tea, moving the conversation back to more pleasant topics.
***
None of her companions in Fereldan knew, but Wynne had been a mother once. She never got to see her baby, he was taken away from her as soon as he was born, but still, she had been a mother and she supposed those instincts never really faded. She knew Team Warden, as Alistair had once dubbed them, all considered her to be the group mother, and she was oddly proud of that title. She was the healer, the councilor, and the protector, and when her friends were hurting, she was hurting. She had felt it most acutely when Alistair had left them all, spitting angry, bitter words at the woman he claimed to love. She watched him storm out of the assembly, shoulders straighter than she’d ever seen and not a falter in his step. She’d seen the despair on Tabris’ face as she struggled to hold back tears, the shock and outrage on Aeducan’s as her grip tightened on her sheathed sword as though she was wishing she could run the man through, the incredulity and betrayal on Leliana’s which was mirrored with slightly less intensity on Zevren’s, and her heart had broken. Her friends (her children) were hurting, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Elthina, she realized was also a mother of sorts, or at least she considered herself one to all the brothers and sisters of the chantry, as well as every other lost soul who entered its doors looking for guidance. Their conversations would often turn to their “children”. This was how Wynne came to learn of Sebastian, the heir to the throne of Starkhaven, who was filled with anger and thirst for revenge, and who seemed to be calming down after being adopted into the company of a charismatic young woman named Hawke. Listening to Elthina tell their exploits with a little exasperation coloring her voice always left Wynne with a smile on her face and an ache in her chest.
***
The Chantry had almost become a second home by now, and their daily chats now occurred at a regular hour, and were a refreshing reprieve from dealing with Meredith and Orsino all day long. Wynne had just poured the tea, when there was a tentative knock on the door.
“Come in” called Elthina.
The young man who entered had red hair, blue eyes, and a vaguely guilty expression. He was dressed in shining white armor and had a bow strapped to his back.
“I apologize if I’m interrupting something Grand Cleric”
“Not at all Sebastian. This is Wynne our guest from the Fereldan Circle.”
Sebastian nodded politely in her direction, and she smiled at him.
“I just came to ask for leave this evening.” he paused for a moment, struggling for the right words “my, er, appearance is requested in Lowtown.”
“Oh?” asked Elthina, inclining her head “by Hawke, I presume?”
“Yes, and Alistair as well.”
Wynne’s head snapped up at the name, and she fixed Sebastian with a piercing look. She tried to keep her face impassive. There was a distinct possibility that it wasn’t the same Alistair. There had to be hundreds of Alistairs in Fereldan alone. Sebastian shifted nervously under her gaze.
“This Alistair, is he a tall, blonde young man with a rather ridiculous sense of humor.”
“He could be described that way, yes.”
Wynne wasn’t exactly sure what emotion she was feeling, whether she was angry or delighted. She tried to calm herself, she still had no way of knowing for sure. There was only one thing to do. She had to see for herself.
“Would you mind terribly if I accompanied you, young man? I never did get the chance to see Lowtown.”
Sebastian looked distinctly uncomfortable. “It’s really not that nice of a place.”
Elthina chose that moment to speak up. “Sebastian, that’s hardly courteous.”
The man gulped “Are you quite sure you want to come?”
“Oh most definitely.”
Wynne fixed him with the kind of look that she usually used to get Tabris and Aeducan to be on their best behavior. She didn’t have to look to see that Elthina was doing the same next to her. She could pinpoint the moment he caved. He sighed and held the door open for her, allowing her to leave the room first, though not before she heard him mutter “Oh maker, he’s going to kill me.”
***
Entering the seedy bar, Wynne could tell why Sebastian was so careful in his wording, it was hardly the sort of place you would expect a chantry brother to visit, unless he was trying to get the patrons to see the error of their ways.
“My friends are over there.” He said resignedly, pointing at a table quite close to the bar. It was quite a large crowd, four humans, an elf, and a dwarf. They seemed to be having a good time, involved in a game of cards. One of the humans had his back to her, but he sat in a way that was very familiar, and Wynne was starting to suspect her initial thoughts had been correct.
“Varric you son of a bitch! How did you manage that!?”
That clinched it, there was no doubt remaining in her mind. She knew that voice. Delight, relief, and cold fury fought for dominance, and she stood rooted to the spot. Sebastian cleared his throat awkwardly.
“I’ll just go on ahead then…”
She nodded dumbly as he made his way to the table, taking the seat next to Alistair. The man clapped his shoulder, and she recovered her senses enough to move forward. She could see Sebastian mutter something in a hurried, panicked voice, and Alistair’s confused expression. She cleared her throat, and the blond tensed.
“Alistair Theirin. You had better have a good explanation for this.”