Blood from Stone [AU]

[Coquette Blacquin]

She bows her head. "Alright."

[Marian Hawke]

Liz reluctantly pries her cold fingers off the warm, soft body. "Vig?"

[Vigile]

"I shall remain of course. A paladin does not desert his post." Giving Liz one last nuzzle, he slips out of her hands and pads across the air to Cindy. "If I may be so bold, a warm drink and a blanket for milady?" He tosses that last to Varric, in murmured dwarven.

[Marian Hawke]

"I'm fine," protests Liz, her voice a whisper. 

[Varric]

"Then a little pampering won't hurt you." Damn, didn't grab my travel bag. "We can grab something hot on the way home."

[Marian Hawke]

Liz nods, shivering slightly as she jams her hands in her pockets. Turning to leave, she pauses only long enough to say, in a voice like sandpaper, "I hope... I hope you find someone to trust, Cindy."

Then she's gone, crawling through the short length of tunnel and finagling up the ladder. She waits at the top for Varric to catch up, but only just, before continuing on her way.

[Coquette Blacquin]

Kyle was the first to arrive at the temple, heading to one of the private rooms inside where Seli does some of her consultations. They're private; soundproof, scrying-proof, a good place to have a conversation you don't want overheard. Assuming both parties show up.

The door opens, interrupting his pacing, his worry. The figure that enters isn't his daughter; it's The Scale, tall and imposing and masculine even with a cat dogging his heels. The impersonal silver mask, the long cloak that nearly hides his body, the way he holds his head high, as though he knows he's the impartial hand of Justice... it's been a long time since Kyle's seen that.

[Smith Family]

It had been fear that Kyle had felt, after Varric had tracked him down at his shop were he'd gone straight from the za'Frane household. Shame had come swiftly on that emotion's heels, a sick, greasy feeling as he tried to recall the last time he'd had a heart-to-heart talk with his remaining daughter. He's been busy with work, yes. Rebuilding a reputation even half as good as he'd had in Glaley was no small feat, especially in the much stiffer competition to be found in Nyra. Far great population means more demand, yes, but also more supply. And his knack with magical enchants isn't nearly so far here. And there's the issue of moving, not just across town but from city to city. Of helping his newly adult son start his life. Of helping his wife find new friends and make their new house a home. Of making new friends himself. And yet... 

If he'd gone straight from that moment to speak with Cindy, he'd have come hat in hand, apologies thick on his tongue. But he hadn't. He'd gone home first. He'd seen his Jaina, eyes red and swollen, skin pale. He'd seen the deep, never healed fear on her face, in the tremble of her hands. He'd felt the same fear in himself well up, despite Varric's sworn word that Cindy is alive, is in the city still and not alone. He'd had an entire afternoon to wait emotions churning and thoughts racing in circle. He'd had to explain to Will why Jaina was barely speaking after Aveline sent the young man home early. He'd had to dance around things neither had ever spoken of, though both knew the other knew. He'd had to lie to his wife, again. 

"Take that damn mask off." Kyle glares at Cindy, hands tightly grasped, the command being snapped as soon as the door closes.

[Coquette Blacquin]

The figure in the door halts, the expression impossible to read behind that damn mask. It leaves the mouth free, and he can see the deep violet eyes, but the nuance is lost, and what he can see is hard, cold, a mask under a mask.

The cloak settles around the figure, chin held high, refusing to be cowed. Refusing to be anything but a symbol. 

Please. Trust someone. 

With a simple motion, the gloved hand lifts, and unhooks the clasp on the cloak, letting it fall to the floor, revealing the plain black silks he wears underneath. A moment later and the belt lands atop it, complete with the rapier Kyle had so lovingly crafted. When he finally removes the mask, it's not his daughter's face that's revealed: it's a stranger, an elven man, despite the hair and eyes being nearly the same shade. He steps forward, placing the mask on the table, bowing his head slightly.

[Smith Family]

Kyle stares a moment. "Gods, you really are a child," he mutters. "As in 'child of', not age. Mostly. That was right out of the parent-child handbook, leaving that illusion on and still following the letter of what I said."

[Coquette Blacquin]

"You want to remove the illusions?"

Her voice doesn't match the form; the form is male, but her voice is high, tight, and unmistakably feminine. It's not her usual voice with him either; she's cultivated a more common, lower-class accent, but now she pronounces each syllable perfectly, vowels slightly clipped, in the fashion befitting a young noblewoman of Glaley. She removes the ribbon at the end of her braid, leaving the real one intact beneath, as her face shifts back to the one he's known -- not quite her everyday face, not her Cindy face, but one that shows every bit of the sharp angles in her face, the points to her ears. Half-elven, and taking more after her elven side than her human, more angular than even Liz.

Her eyes are red from crying. Her braid is mussed, more disheveled than he's ever seen it. She looks past him, not seeming to see him at all. She places the worn felt hat on the table beside the mask.

"Let us begin with the illusion that you are my parent."

[Smith Family]

Kyle flinches, his shoulders sagging a second before he squares them. "We don't share blood, no. But we opened our home to you, called you daughter and you accepted it. I suppose it's something you can throw away, at least on your side of things." He looks at her directly, eyes sad and temper still simmering, though banked for now. "I'd always hoped you... no. I've known you loved us, since before you put that damn thing on. It's right now that I have to hope."

[Coquette Blacquin]

She can't help herself --  a shiver runs down her spine, and for a moment she looks pained. Only a moment, however; she regains her calm an instant later, her mind churning but her face impassive.

"My name is Coquette Blacquin. I am the daughter of Judge Harrod Blacquin and his wife Melindre. I was the Silver Scale, and I liked to believe I did some small good in the world. I like to believe I brought justice to the downtrodden. But in the end, it seems all I am is a spoiled nobleman's daughter, playing at being a hero. I brought pain and hardship and lies into your family, and for that, I do not dare ask for forgiveness. All I ask is that you remember the good I did."

Her piece said, she turns to leave, not bothering to reclaim her things. This was a mistake. This was a horrible, horrible mistake.

[Smith Family]

Kyle isn't fast or trained to fight. He's strong, yes, stronger than Cindy- or whoever she wishes to be- by a fair margin. But she could break the grip he uses to hold her wrist if she wishes, by hurting him or with simple skill and deftness. "I don't care about- about all that. Who you came from," he says in a low voice. "I'd... well. Truth be told, I'd suspected. Not so much during, but in the year apart. After seeing your face, your hair... A young imisy elf noblewoman with silver hair and skill with a rapier? I'll admit, I thought for a while, until the news of Coquette Blacquin's tragic death went around, that you were Melindre's bastard."

[Coquette Blacquin]

She flinches -- really, truly flinches, a tell far too obvious to feel right coming from her lying body. "There might be a few of those running around, but I am not one."