InsaneJournal

If someone had told Caspian a year ago that he’d be sitting at the Golden Skull across from his former mentor, sharing wine and civil conversation, he might have laughed. It would not have been a particularly amused or cheerful laugh, for indeed, he had never thought something like this would happen, yet here they were, somehow. Over the last few months, his discomfort had faded somewhat, to the point where they could speak almost normally.

And still, it had been odd to work beside her on the night the undead had poured from the Necropolis. There had been so many that of course the existing Mortalitasi were inadequate to herd them back to their places, so he’d stepped in, hardly thinking about it until he’d found himself casting at her side. It had felt almost like a glimpse into an alternate life, the path not taken. After, of course, she had returned to the Circle and he to the outpost, but he understood that the events of the night had probably weighed on her heavily. She had been very busy recently, but had unexpectedly accepted his very first invitation to meet at the tavern.

Perhaps, fast or not fast, she just needed a drink. In her shoes, he suspected he might need several.

They had yet to broach the subject, however. They spoke of less significant things - of new Warden recruits, holiday celebrations among the apprentice pages, even the briefest touch on politics, though he had steered the conversation away from that at the earliest opportunity. But it was on both their minds, he knew, so finally, he ventured, “If you are willing to tell me - have things at the Circle settled from the latest incident?”

Her hand tightened slightly around her glass, but Pilar refused to pick it up. It had been terrible, shocking, and stressful enough for drinking to serve a purpose. But she refused to give it power over her, for a terrible subject her mind felt uncomfortable with to be relieved first and foremost with alcohol. No, that shame and horror stayed with her. The depth of what that mage had done hit her harder than any previous incident with the undead. Even the one in early Harvestmere… at least it had been a foreign mage. And it certainly had not been a Mortalitasi and a high ranking one at that.

“In the way politics settles nearly immediately to any new reality, yes,” Pilar sighed. The reverberations, the consequences, had hardly begun raining down. But politics waited for no one to recover, and Pilar had begun doing what needed to be done, what she had to do. And that, itself, was at least as taxing. “But no one is settled, no one in the order,” she added. Even his allies were appalled and tainted by association, looked at with concern and accusation. How hadn’t they known? How hadn’t they done something? Pilar did not encourage it, but the feelings were there.

“I can only imagine that many have questions to ask of you,” Cas responded with a sigh. He might not have been privy to the inner workings of the Circle, but gossip spread everywhere, and of course people had plenty to say about this. The Nevarrans respected and revered their dead; this use of them must have seemed barbaric to most.

It had seemed almost sacrilegious to him, when he had first done it. But necessity was the mother of invention.

“I cannot say for certain what his aim might have been,” the younger mage at last said, quietly, “but the number he tried for was foolhardy at best. I will admit that in my experience, raising the dead to fight the living is… extremely useful, but if you can’t control them, they are no longer serving their function.”

There were questions for everyone, but as a senior and well-connected member, Pilar fielded as many as she could. It undermined everything they worked for, and it undermined Nevarra in the negotiations. It had accomplished no good, and the Necropolis was not the place to experiment with the dead. Those dead rested; their duty was done. It was Mortalitasi’s duty to look after them, to serve them. Not the other way around. The honor came from service. For the umpteenth time, those thoughts crashed through her mind. Any little thing set them off again. And the feelings with them.

“You have experience,” Pilar stated, sounding exhausted once more. “Because you are in the appropriate position to do so. Because you fight, and you are a necromancer. If anyone should experiment with how many dead can be raised to fight, with the means of increasing that, it is the Grey Wardens.” Anger rumbled underneath, deep deep anger, but none of it was directed at Caspian. “It was pride to think he could toy with these matters and save us all,” she exclaimed. And if the dead had not killed him, as he deserved, perhaps they would have had another pride demon to contend with.

“Was that what he was trying to do?” He supposed she would know best. He sighed. “I can’t entirely fault his logic. The dead do not tire, they do not feel pain, they can fight fiercely if properly directed. On many occasions, they have turned the tide of battle for me. And you’re right, of course - we have experimented with it.” Deep underground, when their numbers were few and the enemies numerous, he and the other necromancers in the order had stretched themselves thin trying to even the odds. “A number large enough to substitute for an army is not sustainable, even with the use of less orthodox methods.” Just because he had never turned to blood magic did not mean that he didn’t have comrades who leaned on it when they thought the matter appropriate. Even that wasn’t enough.

His use of the dead still twisted in her stomach. It ran counter to her beliefs about the dead. But when the dead were wardens (would they not wish that?) or darkspawn (the Maker’s enemies), there was reason. And their rest was not some peaceful slumber interrupted. Uneasiness lingered, but Pilar accepted the reality of the Grey Wardens’ situation, of Caspian’s. At least there was a place, and anyone with those sorts of ideas, with the urge to take action on that front, could take the vow to defeat the Blight and do what was needed for it. “You have already guessed it,” Pilar sighed, “It was merely a test, an effort to control a ‘small’ army, so that Nevarra could defeat the Blight without Orlais’ or Tevinter’s aid. A fool’s dream.” Patriot though she was, even Pilar knew that they needed other armies.

Taking a sip of her wine, Pilar considered the red liquid, the wrong shade, the wrong consistency for blood. “The Tevene controlled twelve. Perfectly, until she was possessed,” Pilar shared, a well kept secret.

Caspian tried to keep the pain and sorrow from his face at mention of ‘the Tevene.’ She was no more than that, now. But though he had always felt something off from her, her actions and subsequent death had utterly shattered someone precious to him. Even thinking about her was difficult, but of course, she would come up. And though he hadn’t known this part, somehow, it managed not to surprise him. He hadn’t liked Olivier Castillo, but the man hadn’t deserved to die for this.

And none of that mattered, here.

“I have seen a blood mage direct as many,” he admitted, very softly. “I maintain that it isn’t sustainable over longer periods of time, unless the power supply is unlimited.” But no one bled forever. “A short skirmish, perhaps, but not a battle.”

There were too many secrets within the Order, secrets from each other, secrets taken to the grave. In one month, they had lost two senior members, both tied to acts of necromancy. That aspect of the palace incident had not been made publicly known, but it remained true. What had Olivier been up to? Pilar had loved her friend, now also laid to rest, but these secrets were killing people and disrupting the dead. If it continued, if it became worse, she did not know what would happen. It tempted the Blight to take them all.

Pilar nodded, though she wondered if somewhere in Tevinter there was a mage who could defy Caspian’s declaration. If a young girl had come so close, what more could full magisters do? “I hope, though I cannot simply leave it to feelings, that this latest incident will discourage anyone who might consider similar actions,” Pilar said. “And we will have to focus even greater efforts on the hearts, minds, and actions of those in our order. The only advantage of losing some political esteem is that it will turn aside secular action.” The words were quiet. Few Mortalitasi were willing to admit as much, even to other mages in the Circle. But Pilar was tired of the even smaller circle of Mortalitasi as heart’s companions. And she had lost the one she would have been most comfortable speaking to.

“For your sake, I hope so too,” said Caspian. He understood better than most the desperation - the situation was very dire - and yet, he didn’t think this was the answer. If it had been, he had no doubt he would be on the front lines right now, implementing it as a stopgap, in place of the aid that neighboring nations were so slow to send. He was no skilled politician, but he was beginning to suspect that this was being dragged out in part to ensure Nevarra was on the brink of death before anything was done. Then the foreign armies would be seen as saviors, liberators - and it would be even easier to take the country apart, if its people were so worn and exhausted from the Blight that any change seemed for the better.

Damn it, what was Aurelian waiting for? Cas only hoped there were other factors in play that he didn’t understand which caused his cousin to add to the delay. Otherwise, this was foolhardy to the extreme.

“If there is anything further I can do to assist, I hope you’ll tell me.” He was not a member of the order, but he was skilled in his own right. When it came to matters like these, he had significantly more practical experience, as well. He would do what he could, if she came to him.

Pilar nodded. Nevarra was weaker than she had been in a long time. And its mages still had not entirely recovered from the annulment that had been done before her magic had shown itself. So long ago now, that was, that many in the Circle forgot about it. Even the Mortalitasi had many people who took their prized positions only as something they had earned, not as something that had been ripe for the taking by the deaths of Mortalitasi before them. No one had been spared, no one.

A horrible thought passed through her. If people did not learn, if dangerous incidents continued, this city could be annulled. And if that happened, Pilar would join the wardens before the order could be enacted against her. And she would bring as many mages as she could with her. Better to fight and save Nevarra, the world, than to die in such a waste of life and talent.

“If there is some help I can think of, I will ask,” Pilar replied. “I always would have, pride be damned. But there would be no bending of pride now.” And that last part made her smile. They, at least, were far better than she had believed possible.

“Let this be the one positive thing about all of this, then,” he agreed. He trusted that if she said she would reach out, he would hear from her if and when he was needed. Until then, he hardly lacked for things to fill his time. “Perhaps a lighter topic?” he suggested. “While it was hardly equal to the author’s imagination in that first book you brought me, I’ll admit that Satinalia at the outpost can get fairly rowdy. I have a few stories I can share, if you like.”

At worst, he’d get her mind off of things for a while, at best, he might lighten her mood with the absurdity of the things his comrades got up to. And honestly, sometimes a drink and a laugh were enough. He’d made do at times with even less.