Dorian of House Pavus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tevinteraltus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2018-03-06 11:35 pm
tevinteraltus) wrote in riverviewlogs2018-03-06 11:35 pm
Entry tags:
This is just a friendly game, right...? | Closed
who: Cullen Rutherford (happiertimes) and Dorian Pavus (tevinteraltus)
what: Just a friendly game of Chess...?
when: March 6th; Evening
where: the Guard Barracks because Cullen decided to live there (sigh)
warnings: None as of yet, though Dorian's ego should have a disclaimer
Cullen's text had been a pleasant surprise to say the least, though no one need know he was pleased, after months of solitude with no one but strangers from other worlds for company to have more fellows from home arrive. Iona had been first, of course, and the most welcome. He hadn't felt closer to anyone in his memory than he did her, and her presence was a comfort far more than she probably realized. Now, there had been others of course: Anders, the man who'd caused all the ruckus they'd just cleaned up, and Hawke, though not a Hawke he'd known, but those of the Inner Circle, his dearest friend, and now his Commander...well, the Commander of the Inquisitions Forces at any rate? Welcome to be sure.
That he enjoyed the Commander's company was an added bonus, and had come as a pleasant surprise, considering his previous profession and the Imperium's general stance on mages and their own lackluster Templars. He'd never had occasion to share his own beliefs with the commander on the topic, and he actually wondered how he'd feel about Dorian's ideals. Not that this evening, equipped with a serviceable chess set, and a reasonably price full-bodied red wine, was the one on which to find out. This was to be time spent with, at least as far as Dorian was concerned, a friend. He had precious few of them, and while Cullen was a rather tightly-wound spring most days, Dorian still liked him.
There was something painfully appropriate about learning Cullen had taken up residence at the Guard barracks, but he wasn't expecting the sparseness of the facility as he arrived. Not many people lived here, it seemed. That was, somehow, sad. The common room wasn't too difficult to find, as the array was something like the communal housing he shared with Iona and the others on his floor. He'd even made it a point to be on time, which Cullen should appreciate. Dorian's usually the time to be fashionably late.
Dorian's done a fairly decent job of adapting to "modern" style, though his fashion tastes are still a little more eclectic than mainstream. He arrives dressed down at least, and sets the bottle of wine on a table in the common room of the barracks before casting his gaze around and setting the chess set down as well, and casts a look about for the Commander and his host.
happiertimes) and Dorian Pavus (tevinteraltus)what: Just a friendly game of Chess...?
when: March 6th; Evening
where: the Guard Barracks because Cullen decided to live there (sigh)
warnings: None as of yet, though Dorian's ego should have a disclaimer
Cullen's text had been a pleasant surprise to say the least, though no one need know he was pleased, after months of solitude with no one but strangers from other worlds for company to have more fellows from home arrive. Iona had been first, of course, and the most welcome. He hadn't felt closer to anyone in his memory than he did her, and her presence was a comfort far more than she probably realized. Now, there had been others of course: Anders, the man who'd caused all the ruckus they'd just cleaned up, and Hawke, though not a Hawke he'd known, but those of the Inner Circle, his dearest friend, and now his Commander...well, the Commander of the Inquisitions Forces at any rate? Welcome to be sure.
That he enjoyed the Commander's company was an added bonus, and had come as a pleasant surprise, considering his previous profession and the Imperium's general stance on mages and their own lackluster Templars. He'd never had occasion to share his own beliefs with the commander on the topic, and he actually wondered how he'd feel about Dorian's ideals. Not that this evening, equipped with a serviceable chess set, and a reasonably price full-bodied red wine, was the one on which to find out. This was to be time spent with, at least as far as Dorian was concerned, a friend. He had precious few of them, and while Cullen was a rather tightly-wound spring most days, Dorian still liked him.
There was something painfully appropriate about learning Cullen had taken up residence at the Guard barracks, but he wasn't expecting the sparseness of the facility as he arrived. Not many people lived here, it seemed. That was, somehow, sad. The common room wasn't too difficult to find, as the array was something like the communal housing he shared with Iona and the others on his floor. He'd even made it a point to be on time, which Cullen should appreciate. Dorian's usually the time to be fashionably late.
Dorian's done a fairly decent job of adapting to "modern" style, though his fashion tastes are still a little more eclectic than mainstream. He arrives dressed down at least, and sets the bottle of wine on a table in the common room of the barracks before casting his gaze around and setting the chess set down as well, and casts a look about for the Commander and his host.
no subject
When Dorian comes into the common room, Cullen enters from the galley. He's carrying two glasses that will do for the wine and a plate of what appears to be sandwiches for the both of them. It's nothing fancy, but they'll do to make sure that neither man gets drunk off of the wine.
What's most alarming to anyone who knows him is that he is not walking around in armor. In fact, he looks rather casual. The only stable are his boots, which he would never replace.
"I expected you to show up at least ten minutes late. Isn't that the fashionable time to arrive in all circles?"
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"A regrettable facet of public transportation is it's propensity for promptness." He spread his arms wide for a moment, as though displaying himself. "I, as you can see, have no need for such things as timely fashion. I am, after all, quite adaptable."
He let his arms fall, and raised a slightly appreciative eyebrow at the tray he'd brought. "I wasn't expecting to be fed, though, or...that you could cook, though I suppose that was less than charitable of me. I apologize."
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"But it's nice to see that you can adapt to life's hardships." Cullen shakes his head as he places the plate of sandwiches and the glasses on the table nearest the box holding the chess board and pieces. "I wouldn't go so far as to call this cooking, but before I was a Templar, I was a commoner. Besides, it's not as if I kept the same hours as the rest of the Inquisition. Seemed rather rude to wake up one of the kitchen maids to make me a sandwich in the middle of the night.
"There are still no peeled grapes."
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He smiled placidly at Cullen's criticism, though. The Commander didn't have any idea how much Dorian had adapted since he'd chosen to walk away from his father, his family, and all the riches they held to stand up for his own interests. He'd grown even more after meeting up with the lot of them, but that didn't really matter here, either. Since arriving in the Quarantine, he'd learned more than he ever thought possible, had met people from all walks of life, and had actually started settling in to the idea of making a home here, at least until they were able to return him to Thedas and what needed to be done.
"You know, Cullen, when I first arrived in the Hinterlands of Ferelden, I wasn't able to stay in Redcliffe for fear of discovery. For three weeks, I camped in those chilly hills. Alone. Skyhold was a luxury after that, and I'm certain you can fold a much more satisfying sandwich. My lessons at the Circles in which I've studied never included a lecture from the scullery maids."
no subject
Dorian's words make him frown. He knows what the weather in Ferelden is like on a good day, having spent the first eighteen years of his life there, in one way or another. And in the hills of the Frostback Mountains and the few plains in the Hinterlands, even a good day could end in bitterly cold nights. And none of the caves were ever completely dry. There was a reason that the rest of Thedas said that his homeland smelled of wet dog, the near constant rain.
"Skyhold is, for as old as it is, a luxury to any army. As a palace, it pales to the Viscount's Keep of Kirkwall or Halamshiral in Orlais. But it was a very nice place for what we needed at the time." He pushes the plate in Dorian's direction.
"Besides, I never got a lecture from any of the kitchen workers over the years. It was my older sister."
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He rolled his shoulder in a shrug as he directed his gaze to the plate and had a seat, taking Cullen's motion as an invitation. "Palaces are overrated. They may be littered with soft cushions, towering demonstrations of art and architecture, but they can also be foreboding and lonely."
If there was any reasoning behind that comment, he didn't give one. Instead, he picked up one of the sandwiches, giving it an appraising look but not taking a bite of of yet. Instead, he looked back to the commander. "You have a sister." He nodded as though that bit of information was good to know. "And she saw fit to to see to your self-sufficiency. That was kind of her." He looked back to the sandwich. "I don't have any siblings, so I was the sole focus of the Pavus legacy, which," smirking somewhat sardonically, he looked back to Cullen, "as I'm sure you can imagine, didn't include culinary pursuits. We have servants for that." But he did take a bite then, and looked pleasantly surprised, chewing and swallowing before continuing. "Any knowledge I have of cooking as been self-taught, and is woefully inferior." Which was to say he liked the sandwich. "My meals are edible. We'll leave it at that."
no subject
Cullen nods at the comments about palaces being lonely. He's heard as much from a few others over the years, including the Hero of Ferelden herself. Besides, Skyhold was a fortress, much more appropriate for the Inquisition's forces than Haven ever could have been.
He is a little surprised at Dorian's comment about his sister until he realizes that most of the conversations about his family have been with either Mahanon, Leliana or Cassandra. "I actually have two sisters. Mia is the older and Rosalie is the baby. And then there's my younger brother, Branson. But my mother taught Mia how to be a good wife. And when she realised that I was serious about becoming a Templar, not only did she insist in helping me train, she made sure that I could at least make myself a sandwich.
"She can be a little imperious sometimes, but I think that's from being the oldest of four and having me as her younger brother."
no subject
He listened intently to Cullen's explanation of his family. He only had a textbook knowledge of peasant households, of course, but it sounded like a place where comradery was commonplace. He listened with an almost envious attention, actually, though he did chuckle at Cullen's self-deprecating joke. "I imagine that would make anyone imperious, Cullen, having you for a younger brother."
It did afford a segue for him. He'd really rather not talk about his family, how getting his father's attention required perfection or acting out, how he'd been expelled from two Circles before finding one he liked, how he only finished his training and attained his titles, Enchanter, Senior Enchanter, after having been taken under the wing of the man who'd nearly damned the world with the ability to rip apart the fabric of time just to save his son from a fate none could heal.
No. This was a much better line of questioning. "Though, all I've read of the southern Templars suggests most initiates are given to the order, or conscripted. You chose to become a Templar?"
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"Believe it or not, I am not the worst of the Rutherford siblings." That would be Rosalie. Not that he's going to share that bit of information with Dorian. Let the mage try to discover which of his siblings is really the terror.
"While it's true that most Templars are given to the Order from a young age or are taken from the children send to the Chantry, there are some that believe that the Order is there to help protect innocents from demons and runaway magic. I joined because I wanted to help people. I was thirteen when the Templars in Honnleath and my parents agreed that I could join." Maker, talking about this makes him want a drink. "When it became obvious that the Order was no longer trying to help the innocents, I left."
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"I would never believe you were the worst, Cullen. You're far too straight-laced for that." He smiled, remembering the Commander's admittedly innocent defeat at the hands of Josephine. It had been almost sad...if it wasn't so amusing.
"Noble, though I suppose in the end, we're all in the Inquisition because some institution or another which vowed to have the peoples' best interests at heart...didn't." And on that note, it was very much time to open that bottle. "Commander, if you'd set the board, I'll see to it we go thirsty."
no subject
"I don't think anyone has used the words "straight-laced" to describe me before. I'm pretty sure that Varric has said that my face would crack if I smiled and implied that I could deal with a vast amount of sex to relax. Sera also mentioned something about a rod." And yet, Cullen hasn't killed either one of the rogues. So, that says something about his restraint at least.
Dorian, if you mention that terrible time out loud, you will find yourself so quickly out that door.
"Well, even Divine Justinia was aware that the way we were doing things before was flawed." Cullen goes about setting the board up for their game. "That's why she wanted to found the Inquistion in the first place. It wasn't just to end the Mage-Templar War."
He's not going to demean the entire three year strife by referring to it solely as the "mage rebellion". The Order had just as much to do with the damage caused as the mages voting to leave the Circles. Of course, adding in ancient Darkspawn Magisters, crazed Lord Seekers and Time Magic-wielding Tevene magisters only made things worse.
"I only hope that Mahanon backing Vivienne to become the Divine is a step in the right direction for all of Thedas."
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"I can't say either of them were wrong, Commander, but I also understand you've been under a great deal of stress the majority of your career, from what I've heard." And Dorian was well aware different people handled such responsibilities differently than others.
That will never be mentioned when they're sober, Cullen, don't worry.
Mage-Templar War was an astute enough title for the conflict and Dorian didn't correct him. In fact, historians would, most likely, refer to the time rather similarly, though colored with various hearsay and happenstance, opinion and vitriol. It was so hard to find a good historian these days.
"Vivienne...?" Having sorted out their drinks, Dorian leaned back in his chair as Cullen prepared their board. "Not the best choice in my opinion, though I suppose as a terrible Tevene mage, I have no vote." He paused, though. "Who is this Mahanon that his opinion matters so much?"
no subject
"Stress...That, I think, is a bit of an understatement in the last few years."
Dorian, be a bro and just never mention that. Ever.
"I will admit that Vivienne would not have been my first choice. Cassandra and Leliana were both better candidates and would've been better supported by the surviving clerics. However, I believe that she does have a very moderate sort of view on how the Chantry, Order and Circles should work together. It's not as radical as what Leliana wanted and it's not as austere as Cassandra's.
"Plus, I believe that Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan would like to keep his lover instead of giving her away to the Maker."
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"Yes. Why, it's as though the entire world rested on our success or failure! Hardly more than a minor nuisance, really."
The frown of confusion that had begun to spread over Dorian's face as Cullen began to comment on the pros and cons of potential Divines had, of course, very little to do with Cullen's preference and deepened even further at that name. That name was very, monumentally, wrong.
"Mahanon Lavellan is the Inquisitor?" He held up a hand, shaking his head to still any other comment. "Cullen. This is very serious, potentially ground-breaking, and...isn't the sort of conversation to have over chess, but...I don't know this Mahanon. I know an Iona Lavellan, a woman whose grace, wit, charm, bravery, and heroism are rivaled by none, but...she is my Inquisitor, not this...Mahanon."
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"Yes, because one regularly fights against Darkspawn Magisters from over 1000 years ago. It's an everyday occurrence back home."
Even while he talks about the struggle of picking amongst the candidate for Divine, he knows where the dissonance is. Can read Dorian's face for the surprise he expected.
"Imagine my surprise when I arrived and on my second day here, Dorian, that I met Inquisitor Iona Lavellan then. A stranger wearing a title I've only known to belong to Ameridan and a Dalish hunter by the name of Mahanon."
Go on, imagine it.
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"It was, for some time. Also," he raised a hand to illustrate his point, "let us not forget Hawke also faced Corypheus. We weren't the first."
He did try to imagine it, and it didn't take much effort to pull it off. He breathed a sigh, looking down at their assembled but untouched game board.
"I imagine it feels rather like this." Troubling, uncomfortable, a tad be nauseating. "You've met her, then? She...is worthy of the title, even if she believes differently. I think...it's that reluctance, that fear that gives her the power she needs."
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"Yes, mustn't forget the Champion and Varric got conned by the Wardens to letting Corypheus free."
The game is untouched, but the wine is coming in handy. As are the sandwiches. Some decent ham and cheese on thick, fresh bread. Almost like being back home for a brief moment. "I had the pleasure of meeting her a day or so after I arrived. And her reluctance is something she shares with the Inquisitor Lavellan I know. He really didn't like being flung into situations anymore than the rest of us."
Cullen takes a rather uncivilized drink of the wine before sighing and rubbing his forehead momentarily.
"She seems perfectly lovely, Dorian, but I don't know anything about her except a name and her clan." And that he's attracted to her, if he's being honest. "But she knows me. It's....disconcerting to think that literally anyone could've been in her place at the Conclave and to have proof of it shoved in my face."
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He finished off his glass of wine and refilled before responding, shaking his head as he did so. He honestly didn't care of Cullen hadn't needed a refill yet. He was something of a lush, he realized that.
"Not anyone, Cullen. Don't be so hasty. Perhaps anyone of Clan Lavellan, yes, but there's nothing suggesting just anyone at all could have been tapped as Andraste's Herald. You're over-reacting."
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"And there's nothing stating that it couldn't have been, Dorian. You and I are both too smart to not have thought about that possibility." It's comforting that the Lavellan clan is a common thread between Iona and Mahanon, but it's not enough. "There were plenty of others at the Conclave that just as easily could have become the Inquisitor versus the people that we know."
He's calm enough now because this isn't the first time he's had this thought. Not even since he first met Iona.
"But tell me what she's like. Vague words don't convey a person."
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"True, and I suppose we should thank the Maker there wasn't only one in the Multiverse capable of standing against Corypheus, assuming Mahanon was also successful."
He took a long pull from his refilled wine glass as he settled back in his chair, relaxing from the tension of a few moment previous, though whether that was a function of the slight change in topic or being halfway through his second glass of wine was anyone's guess.
"What is she like? Would you care to try posing a more vague question? This one is nearly succinct." It was more a delay than anything. Dorian, who never ran out of words, always found himself falling short when tasked with describing the Inquisitor, his greatest and first true friend beyond Felix. He cast his gaze to his half empty glass, idly turning it in his fingers as he began. "She is...fierce, devoted, passionate and...caring. She didn't ask for this burden, but she carries it with a poise and grace that are enviable to say the least. She's a comfort, a steadfast companion and...an inspiration." He looked up from his musing to meet Cullen's gaze, his expression more serious than Cullen has had occasion to see it often. "I can think of none other I'd wish to stand with against oblivion."
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"Let the blade pass through the flesh,
Let my blood touch the ground,
Let my cries touch their hearts.
Let mine be the last sacrifice.
"If only She had been the last sacrifice needed. Yes, Mahanon and the rest of us were successful in defeating Corypheus, but there was no other choice in the matter, was there?"
What glass of wine? It's gone. So gone. And Cullen reaches over to pour himself a healthy glass and sits back in his chair. This game is not happening, but it was only a partial ruse. What Dorian says next is more important. His friend's devotion isn't the least bit surprising, considering he'd known that Dorian was half in love with Mahanon before he'd started seeing the Iron Bull.
"All members of Clan Lavellan must be like that. Of course, being that they are the only Dalish clan that bothered to be invested in any portion of what the Conclave might've meant for them." It's a fact that is a little saddening. "She has an interesting sense of humor."
no subject
"Perhaps...and perhaps that is why they were chosen. Who can say?" Cullen's commentary on Iona's sense of humor caught the Altus' attention, though, and he raised an eyebrow before taking another pull from his wine glass.
"Interesting turn of phrase. What did I miss?"
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"I think that's the one thing Corypheus forgot about the living. We don't care for dying anymore than he did. I suppose a thousand years as a demented Darkspawn didn't help."
He sets his half-empty glass down and runs a hand through his hair. "What did you miss? Dorian, I met her quite literally in the middle of the street. She called out to me and then proceeded to flirt with me. I think." No need to mention that he flirted back with a total stranger. "But I found her to be quick witted and charming. Less gruff than the Inquisitor I knew back home. Although, I've noticed that she refuses to call me by my personal name since that first time."
no subject
But Iona was clearly a more important topic for the Commander, a point which Dorian found immensely interesting. There were rumors back home, half-whispers of a sort, but nothing solid. Curiouser and curiouser.
"Iona is certainly both of those things, and thoroughly irrepressible, at least when it counts, though I warn you, she flirts quite a bit. And what not?" He made a questioning motion with his hand. "Flirting is fun." He nodded though, still smiling. "And that bothers you?"
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Magic is meant to serve man, Dorian.
And of course Iona is the more interesting topic to talk about. Corypheus is dead.
"Flirting has its place, I admit. Especially with a pretty face behind the remarks." And Iona is that and much, much, much more. "It doesn't bother me, per say, but it seems...odd. It's always Serah Rutherford or Commander. And it seems forced on her end."
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That he is, Cullen, and Iona, in fact, is very much not.
"Perhaps she means to put you at ease, and alleviate her own discomfort. It's rather...off-putting to possess memories another does not." The latter was spoken a tad pointedly. It hasn't even occurred to him that the events at Redcliffe may not have proceeded in Cullen's version of their universe as they had in his own.
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Look, Corypheus died and he should have been dead over a millennium. That's all there is to it. And, well, Iona is an Inquisitor, even if she's not the one that Cullen is familiar with. And they're all stuck here together.
And Dorian's remark isn't missed. Cullen frowns in thought.
"Yes, I can imagine it would be. I heard from...you what transpired in the alternate future. This is strange, but it's not apocalyptic."
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"Well, we sit here as living proof: alternate realities exist. Are we replicas of one another's memories, or projections? That is the question to which I'd like an answer."
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Cullen does get the ridiculousness of some of the Revered Mothers and clerics. Roderick was extremely annoying but no less a man of the cloth. It's part of the reason he hadn't let anyone assassinate the man, despite wanting to punch him himself to get him to shut up.
It would've been worse if anyone had done something to him after all.
"I never doubted the fact that alternate realities existed. Perhaps there's a universe where I never joined the Order and remained an ignorant farm boy in Honnleath until the Fifth Blight." It sounds idyllic now that he's spent his entire adult life struggling against something or the other back home. "As for what we are, I wouldn't know where to start. Perhaps we're reflections of one another's reality, the same pieces on a board, rotating around a different king, however still on the same side."
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But that was hardly the point of this little interaction, and what was would require more research than he was prepared to perform just at the moment. "There are boundless possibilities, really, but I'm certain, if there's to be any information found in this place related to it, it would be the library...or perhaps the archives at the Research institute. I'll have a go and let you know what I find."
Still, even that wasn't much of the point, now was it?
"But I would assume, my dear Commander, you didn't call me here to send me in a book-keeping errand."
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But, you know, Cullen is willing to let it go so they can continue on with their actual conversation.
"So, you're telling me that I shouldn't hold my breath while you do research into the matter?" Have a smirk, Dorian. He's only teasing you.
"No, that's not while I called you over here. As much as I respect your talents and your mind, it is your knowledge of Iona Lavellan I wished to speak to you about. I am at a disadvantage with her knowing a great deal about me and I nearly nothing about her, aside from the fact that she is of the Lavellan clan and she's your Inquisitor."
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"One should never hold one's breath when research is involved, Cullen. You can't rush genius." Have a smirk in response, Cullen. Two can play that game.
"Ah, ha." He nods, as though he'd suspected that all along, and why should he let the fine Commander believe any differently? "And how would you have me going about telling you of the lovely lady of clan Lavellan?"
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"I see you still think highly of yourself but I rather happen to like breathing, so I will definitely pass on waiting."
And since he's figured that Dorian might be reading into it more than he really wants, he's not sure that there's any way to salvage it from being taken poorly.
"Anything you can share about her would be nice. Such as the last thing she remembers from Thedas, who else was in your party, her stance with the mages and Templars over who helped seal the Breach, the important details."
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Contrary to popular belief, Dorian could respect when he wasn't the center of attention or the topic of conversation, though the path theirs had taken quickly colored his smirk with slight apprehension and prompted him to refill his glass.
"Ah, yes. Straight to business. Of course." And he waits until he's taking a healthy pull from that refilled glass before he continues. "How do you recall the assault on Adamant Fortress?"
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He just doesn't feel the need to crow about his own achievements like someone else in the room.
"Messy, bloody and a fucking disaster area. Grey Wardens using blood magic because they thought they were all facing the end of their lives at once." He's yet to figure out if King Alistair and his wife have fallen prey to that, but he trusts the man who rules Ferelden to do the best he can for their shared homeland.
Although, the next thought makes him almost angry as he thinks about it. One of the truly few things he'd ever disagreed with Mahanon's decisions over—and in public, no less. "Bloody Venatori mage ripped open a Rift, pulling the Inquisitor, his party, Stroud and Hawke into the Fade bodily. And when they returned, Garrett Hawke was not with them."
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Dorian's gaze darkened at the Commander's recount. It would seem that yes, things went south rather forcefully regardless of origin world. His expression didn't shift overmuch, only reflecting his own dark memories of the time, and he took a long pull from his wine before nodding.
"Yes, quite." He turned his wine glass between his fingers, shifting his gaze to watch its contents as he continued. "It wasn't a pleasant jaunt in the Fade, you know. Hawke...remained to buy us time to escape." He took a breath, releasing a sigh and not returning his gaze to Cullen. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, distant. Regretful. "She was forced to choose, you know, who would remain. It's...uncomfortable, knowing someone who saved a city sacrificed themselves to save you, and I imagine more so for her. So many are counting on her." He drifted into silence, pulling more words together and finishing that second glass of wine before looking back to the Commander.
"Adamant, more than any other tactical agenda he had yet to face, put into stark relief how much people were relying upon her to succeed. Our foire into the future was a warning, we came back with an itinerary, but that? Adamant showed Iona and us all that Corypheus would have his way, one way or another. Stopping one plot only opened up seven more. Back home, we licked our wounds and plotted as well, and we were successful. Iona? Here? She's still in triage."
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"I never thought the trip into the Fade was easy for anyone. I saw what you all looked like when you returned. Cassandra could barely stand and Varric was both so angry he couldn't string two words together and had to be put into a deep sleep so that we could heal his wounds."
He refuses to talk about how Dorian had returned. It had been a near thing. Losing Hawke had been salt in the wounds for so many. Especially since it was Varric who'd had to write the letters to Carver and Merrill about Garrett's fate.
"You're telling me that she's just returned from Adamant? Has she dealt with the Orlesian court yet?"