Say my name like a scripture (Keep my heart beating like a drum)

[toguide]

Skyhold is a quiet, an expectation at this hour, when Liaran approaches it, a lone figure with little more than the pack on his back and the staff in his hand. He needs little more in truth, the Dalish are all used to a hard life and more would only make the trek harder, many miles from the Free Marchers to the Orlesian boarder, all on foot. Halla are sacred, too much to be risked and horses cost coin he doesn't have. Feet are free and they have carried him well enough for the majority of this journey, even if it has taken many months.

But many months had already passed before he had even set out. In truth Liaran had not fully agreed with Istimaethoriel's plan to send Isetriel to this meeting of the humans. She was still a touch too reckless, stubborn as an ox and her tongue could still be biting. It would be better to send him, he had argued, but Istimaethoriel had only shook her head, her own voice as stubborn as it was soft. No, it was a test, to see if Isetriel was truly ready. To see if she would remain with the clan, or if she would be better leaving, seeking her own fortune.

It had been one of the few times Liaran had raised his voice.

But in the end it had mattered little. Isetriel had gone, and he had stayed and Isetriel had been dragged into this mess of human making. Lifted aloft with the title of Herald to their goddess, as if that wasn't a noose. He recalls staring at each mark of her letter home, the words an attempt to reassure, trying to find what was hidden. He knew Isetriel, better than anyone else. Was one of the few she had opened up to, and he knew, even if her words didn't say it, she was scared. Terrified, probably and that was enough to make his decision. Istimaethoriel could accept it, or she could learn to understand it, but he wasn't staying here, waiting for more news. He would go, see how she was at the very least.

Now, standing at the gates to this ancient keep her wonders if he should have sent a letter. Maybe, he thinks as he gives his name to the guard, makes his request. "I'm here to see the Inquisitor," he says, the title strange on his tongue. Here to see Isetriel, but no that is her name, a name he isn't sure she's shared with these shems and he won't give it till he's sure. And they march him up the stairs to wait in this great hall as they fetch her, it's late, she'll probably be sleeping they say and he has a moment of regret but no. It's worth waking her and Liaran nods, taking a seat on the stairs before this ridiculous throne. It's fine. He'll wait.

He'll always wait.