faderift | [closed] I waited for you but I never told you where I was

WHO: Julius and Petrana
WHAT: Airing of grievances, inadvertently
WHEN: Slightly forward-dated to sometime after the end of the phylactery discussion
WHERE: Petrana's office
NOTES: No warnings for now

Julius is no stranger to handling a variety of unpleasant events quietly and privately. It's what he prefers, generally, and if it's been a rough few months for him... it's been a rough few months for a lot of people. He hasn't made any particular connection between the stress he's been through and why the results of the discussion over what to request of the Inquisition in regards to the phylacteries rankled him so deeply. It was nothing particularly worse than the discussions that had led up to the rebellion, the arguments almost predictable in their content, if not always in their sources.

In point of fact, Julius hadn't been planning to discuss it, or himself, at all. He'd been hoping to see Petrana back to herself after more time had passed since her recovery. He'd thought dinner might be pleasant, and wine to go with it. (If she wanted to talk business instead, there was plenty of business to go around.)

And yet, despite all his good intentions, he found himself several glasses in and saying, "Of course I don't want to derail the Inqusition's work, anyone who wants that would have left already. Being here in the first place is proof of good faith for more or less any mage who doesn't have an anchor shard, but the people who will see that are probably the people who won't need convincing to smash the things."

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“Voss strikes me as a woman most prepared,” Petra observes, and while calculating is not the same as diplomatic, it's nevertheless both admirable and useful. In diplomacy there is room for—even need of—a streak of ruthlessness, and while she doesn't know Voss well...

She has approved of what she's seen. An intelligent, considered, proactive woman; the Inquisition needs more of those. It ought to be grateful for those it has.

“As you strike me a most sensible man. I should think less of you, Julius, did I believe the thought would never occur.”

"I should've made more connections sooner," he says, frankly. "The people who know me from before the Inquisition may like me personally," at least some of them, "but on the whole know they disagree with my politics. Foolish to think I'd have more time to build new alliances, I suppose, but here we are. Here I am," he corrects. "You have plenty of problems of your own, but at least not this one directly."

As part of her work, of course. The Inquisition's choice would make it harder or easier for her to do her job. But no one had her blood in a vial.

(Nor his, he thinks guilty and uneasily, but he still hasn't decided what to do about that news.)

"My point, inasmuch as I did have one, is that anyone who stops to think for a moment will see that if all the mages agree on anything, it's an unusual day. We didn't even all agree on the rebellion." And while they don't all agree on the strike, he hasn't heard any of them advocating the position that the Inquisition should keep the phylacteries.

Her gaze falls for a moment on her wedding ring, perfect stone and broken spell; remembers Anders' offer to help her destroy it, and the way her fingers had curled tight under her palm, reluctant. No. The rifts had made short work of that problem, for her—

it does not merit speaking of, this moment. She sips her wine and thinks because there's no need to divert conversation down a dead end and not, because she has no immediate desire to remind Julius she wears a wedding band.

“It may not be my problem,” after a moment, “but it is one very near to my heart, all the same. I have very high hopes of the Inquisition. I would be most disappointed to find them wanting in this.”

"And here I am, berating myself for having enough faith to be broken," Julius observes with a rueful smile. "That said, no one would be more relieved than I if they simply did the right thing the first time and all this anxiety turns out to be unnecessary."

He doesn't know if he'd leave, if they try the work stoppage and it doesn't change anything. He hopes he'll know before it comes to that.

"You are very good to allow me to spend your time venting my frustration this way, regardless."

The tight way she smiles into her glass—

Yes, wouldn't that be lovely. She talks a good game, hoping, but if they were going to capitulate so easily then all of this would look different, wouldn't it? She wouldn't be going around her colleagues, Skyhold wouldn't need nearly so long to think on what they might yet do, mages wouldn't have to dig their heels in to be heard...

Sometimes that war of theirs feels closer than others. Of all the dogs snapping at their heels, she thinks perhaps she fears that bite the most; that the Inquisition will lose its credibility when it needs it most, that they will come apart at the seams entirely and this world will burn because they couldn't pull together long enough to put it out. Perhaps it should twinge differently in her conscience that she did not simply do as was counselled and allow the decision that is not hers to make be made, a fait accompli; what part will she have played, if the worst happens?

She looks up from the wine at Julius, whose faith does not look so very broken from where she sits, and thinks: I have acted within my conscience, very firmly. And she makes no decisions, no demands, only determines that Kirkwall's mages ought not be caught off-guard. It is a matter, surely, of respect.

“I consider you a friend,” she says, mirroring his smile. “I'd not turn away a friend in his trial.”

Julius' faith isn't broken yet, and that strikes him as worse than the alternative. He'd originally thought the Inquisition simply the best of several bad options, the most likely way to fight an undeniably growing thread while earning himself some social capital to leverage in whatever came after. An organization that had places for everyone from Anders to Loghain Mac Tir was one that he was fairly confident would not turn him away.

But the reminder that, for all their rhetoric, their leaders may see many of them as tools rather than allies is an unexpectedly bitter one when he intellectually knows he shouldn't have expected otherwise.

Instead of saying any of that, though, he softens slightly. "I consider you a friend as well," he says, "and in the unlikely event you ever feel the need for so much candor about something irritating you, I would gladly return the favor." He doubts she's going to be so frank with him any time soon, no matter how much she likes him, but it's a well-meant offer nonetheless.

[closed] I waited for you but I never told you where I was

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