"Are they so keen on semantic distinctions in Ferelden?" Definite amusement, now. "Will the Grammarian simply blame himself for not wording the oath more carefully to preclude you writing the full truth and then knowingly allowing it to be altered before delivery? Fascinating. Very well."
Her expression doesn't change and her mouth keeps moving, and she considers whether to correct him that she doesn't care about a pipeline to Ferelden, or the ten minutes it will take her to unmask each new replacement, she just needs warm bodies that know even a scrap about the work, but beneath it some part of her is clenched tight and quietly chanting shit. Of course he's written about her already. Because he was looking and she wasn't. Because she wanted to be useful too badly to conceal what use she would be. Was too sick of wearing someone else's skin to care about the danger to her own. And now there is some report filed away in Denerim with her real name and maybe her likeness too depending on his skills, something she has avoided for decades and now she's dropped it in the lap of some cut-rate seducer from Ferelden of all places. It's the stuff spy nightmares are made of.
"Look," she says, and her tone shifts, arms flattening on the tabletop to angle her forward over them. Cool, still, but a slight lessening of the distance in her tone, as well. He's made his priorities clear enough to necessitate a change in tactics, but she doesn't overplay it, still all business just with a thread of conviction now woven through. "You aren't sworn simply to tell your queen the truth; you are sworn, above all, to protect Ferelden and its interests. You were at Ghislain. You know what we face, and you know if Orlais falls the Frostbacks won't slow them long. I'm not asking you to work against your country. I'm asking you to keep a few irrelevant details from them in order to do work that will save Fereldan lives in the long-term. Or you can go back to drinking yourself to death and sending them bits of gossip about the people who do the real work."
no subject
Her expression doesn't change and her mouth keeps moving, and she considers whether to correct him that she doesn't care about a pipeline to Ferelden, or the ten minutes it will take her to unmask each new replacement, she just needs warm bodies that know even a scrap about the work, but beneath it some part of her is clenched tight and quietly chanting shit. Of course he's written about her already. Because he was looking and she wasn't. Because she wanted to be useful too badly to conceal what use she would be. Was too sick of wearing someone else's skin to care about the danger to her own. And now there is some report filed away in Denerim with her real name and maybe her likeness too depending on his skills, something she has avoided for decades and now she's dropped it in the lap of some cut-rate seducer from Ferelden of all places. It's the stuff spy nightmares are made of.
"Look," she says, and her tone shifts, arms flattening on the tabletop to angle her forward over them. Cool, still, but a slight lessening of the distance in her tone, as well. He's made his priorities clear enough to necessitate a change in tactics, but she doesn't overplay it, still all business just with a thread of conviction now woven through. "You aren't sworn simply to tell your queen the truth; you are sworn, above all, to protect Ferelden and its interests. You were at Ghislain. You know what we face, and you know if Orlais falls the Frostbacks won't slow them long. I'm not asking you to work against your country. I'm asking you to keep a few irrelevant details from them in order to do work that will save Fereldan lives in the long-term. Or you can go back to drinking yourself to death and sending them bits of gossip about the people who do the real work."