Upwards Mobility
“Please, have a seat,” Leliana’s softly accented voice says. You swallow, hard, and do so, legs now trembling more from nerves than alcohol. “It seems you had a much more eventful trip than we anticipated.”
“I’m… sorry for your loss,” you say, directing this towards Lady Montiliyet. “It… just happened so fast…”
“Baptiste’s death was a tragic waste,” Lady Montiliyet says mournfully. But she quickly straightens herself. “But neither your doing nor what we are here to discuss. The Inquisition is pleased you were able to salvage the mission. If you have time, at some point I would love to have a written report on everything that happened, but for now…”
“If you could walk us through what happened, in brief. An oral report,” Leliana says.
“Of course.”
And you do… a tastefully edited version, of course. You pick up at Baptiste’s untimely death and go from there, glossing over how you bluffed your way into the hotel and university as chiefly bluster and the name of the Inquisition.
“You identified yourself as an ambassador?” Leliana says, fortunately sounding more amused than angry.
“Ah… Yes, sorry,” you say with a bit of a wince. “It was the first thing that came to mind.”
“It worked,” Leliana replies with a shrug. “That’s what counts.”
“It must have worked marvelously,” Lady Montiliyet says, picking up a sheaf of paper. “You obtained every single tome that was asked for—and in some cases, multiple versions.”
“A lot of the requests were… vague. Mine included,” you explain. “One of them just read ‘whatever you can find me on ancient dwarven records of lyrium madness.’ I had to extrapolate.”
“You did a marvelous job; that is not in question,” Lady Montiliyet says. “I was wondering more about how you managed to obtain some of these more… unconventional tomes.”
“Ah, well…” you say, purposefully rubbing your nose sheepishly. “I believe I have to apologize for that as well. There seems to have been a bit of a misunderstanding. Whatever Garrick and the others were there to do… speak to the Chantry on the University’s behalf? Garrick apparently told the Chancellor to send his gratitude to the ambassador. I have no doubt he meant you, my Lady, but the Chancellor assumed he meant me.”
You pause to take stock of their expressions. Lady Montiliyet looks surprised. Leliana is somewhat more difficult to read. You definitely see amusement: a good sign. But there’s something you don’t like glinting in her eyes. You need to tread very carefully.
“You took credit?” Lady Montiliyet says, shock evident in her voice.
“I apologize, my Lady, but yes. I did. As ‘thanks,’ and in order to expedite our departure, the Chancellor gave me access to all of their archives. Hence the rarer tomes.”
“Not all of these tomes could be found in the University’s archives,” interjects Leliana.
“Ah… no, admittedly. Baptiste had in his affects a list of bookstores in Val Royeaux. And, well… I lived in Val Royeaux as a linguist and bookbinder for years. I had my own contacts.”
“And you put them to use for the Inquisition.”
“Of course, serah.”
Leliana looks thoughtful. You don’t like it. “Tell me, how many of these contacts are with the elven underground in Val Royeaux?”
You hesitate only briefly. “None, directly. Indirectly, however… Well, my contact’s contacts aren’t really my responsibility, or my business.”
“What about Liberté Noir? Is he a contact?”
You blink, the confusion on your face genuine. You had expected questions about Banal’ras, but… Noir? That pompous ass? Why would they think…?
“Certainly not.”
“And yet you so happen to appear with a Qunari ‘servant’ freed from a Baron he made a fool of?” Leliana asks sharply.
Oh… Oh! Banal’ras, you wily asshole! He had certainly earned that extra tome. Noir was a cocky asshole, and him going after the Baron on his own was much more likely than Banal’ras doing the same. You hadn’t asked Banal’ras to cover up his involvement, or yours. This was a bonus, and a very helpful one. Perhaps you weren’t the only one who had remembered your anniversary.
“I discovered the Qunari during an auction I was attending with Solas,” you say calmly, crossing your legs as you alter your planned lies about Banal’ras to suit Noir instead. “I passed the information on through my contacts. I didn’t know it had reached the ears of any one of import.”
“How did the Qunari come to be with you, then?”
“I… may have mentioned there was to be a Tal-Vashoth mercenary leaving in a party with me, and that if someone was to want to make an example of the Baron, I could provide a way to smuggle his ‘pet’ out of the city. I knew someone had delivered, not who.”
“Do you know nothing of Liberté Noir, then?”
“Only what I’ve heard. I didn’t think anyone so well known would involve themselves, but I suppose it makes sense. Noir is well-known for striking down anyone shown to have Tevinter sympathies, although I didn’t realize just ‘enslaving a Qunari’ counted. I suppose I can see how it would.”
“As it turns out, the Baron’s sympathies with Tevinter were a bit more… direct.”
“Oh?” you say, your feigned surprise perfectly genuine.
“Yes. He had been in contact with known Venatori agents, in fact.”
“Maker! Well, I suppose what they say about lying with dogs is correct, then. I’m glad the Baron was exposed, and I’m glad I could help the enslaved Qunari, in the process.”
“He’s signed on with the Inquisition, as it so happens,” Leliana says.
“He mentioned he might,” you say with a nod. “I encouraged it. Better than being another Tal-Vashoth bandit.”
Leliana is quiet for a moment.
“Well!” Lady Montiliyet interjects. “It seems you had a much more adventurous time in Val Royeaux than we had anticipated.”
“Things went sideways quickly after we lost Baptiste,” you admit sadly. “I could only do what I felt was best.”
“You did well,” Leliana says suddenly. “You’re a fast thinker, and you have useful contacts in Val Royeaux.”
“Leliana does love it when she’s right,” Lady Montiliyet says with a soft chuckle.
Leliana looks you up and down, then seems to decide something, nodding softly to herself. “As of tomorrow, you are on my payroll, not the library’s,” she announces.
You let your jaw gape slightly in shock. “I… Pardon?”
“I can make better use of you as an agent than I can as a librarian. You will begin training with my people immediately, and I’ll want a more thorough listing of your contacts in the future. However, your first focus must still be on the tome. These two weeks have put it behind schedule, through no fault of yours. When can you have it completed?”
“I, uh… I… Perhaps… two… three weeks, if I’m allowed full focus?” you say weakly. “Pardon me, but what did you mean ‘training with your people’?”
“You’ve been training with the Iron Bull. That’s good,” Leliana says. “But he’s still out on his own job at the moment. Until he returns, your mornings will be taken by one of my own. You’ve already met her, in fact… Argent. She will do to evaluate you, until I find a more permanent arrangement.”
“Is that… really necessary? I’m a linguist! I don’t need Argent’s, uh… particular skill set.”
“All of my people know how to defend themselves. It’s an occupational hazard, and you’re no use if you wind up dead in a bandit attack,” she says firmly. You wince; so does Lady Montiliyet. “Oh… Sorry, Josie.”
“No, you’re right,” Lady Montiliyet says with a sigh. “When you get a chance, Miss Emma, do write up a report on your trip. We can discuss it in-depth at a later time. I’m sure Leliana would be interested in that, as well.”
“Of course, my Lady.”
By the time you get out of that room, you feel like heading right back to the tavern and getting drunk, properly this time. But something better finds you before you can get all the way there. You jump when he first appears, but recognize his outline almost instantly, your momentary fear swept away in the rush of happiness.
“Cole!” you exclaim, immediately wrapping him in a hug. He’s the only person you can be so comfortable with. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“You’ve been very busy,” he says. “And you were someone else for a while. Dirth’len, Dirth’len, she has you repeat it until even you believe it’s true. But if you’re not Dirth’len, who are you?”
“I’m Emma,” you say pulling back from him.
“No, you’re not. It doesn’t fit.”
“Neither does your hat, but you don’t hear me going on about it.”
“What if you give it away, like you did the others?” he says with a frown. “You gave her your name, a little love to light her life. A hand-me-down, like worn clothing too tight. You outgrew her. Will you outgrow Emma?”
“I didn’t need them anymore,” you say with an uncomfortable shrug. “Come on, Cole. Let’s climb up on the roof. I need a distraction.”
And Cole is a beautiful distraction. Even when he pesters you about things you don’t want to be pestered about, which he does frequently.
“You and Solas are better now. You’re more like him. I wonder if he’s more like you?”
“I’m surprised you haven’t already gone to see him, Cole.”
“He’s very busy. There are a lot of books, and Belassan was upset.”
You groan. “Ooooh, he’s going to be so mad… I left him to do all the work while I went gallivanting off with Fenris.”
“You were working too. He knows that,” Cole comforts, and you do feel relieved to hear it. “You haven’t told Solas yet. Are you going to tell Fenris?”
“What? No! Maker, no!” you exclaim, horrified at the very thought.
“That’s good,” Cole says, a hint of sadness in his voice. “You like him, but he’s not safe. It would be bad.”
“Yeah, I… I know, Cole,” you say with a sigh. Part of you is relived that Cole is capable of noticing that the truths he loves to pester you about can get you killed. “I get the chills just thinking about it.”
“That’s not the way you want him to run you through. But I don’t really understand.”
You can’t help laughing. “That’s fine, Cole. You don’t necessarily need to understand that. So, what have you been up to while I was gone?”
“I was helping.”
“You’re always helping, Cole. Who’d you help?”
“There was a girl who missed her sister…”
Cole regails you with a few stories of how he helped, ones he feels he can share, you suppose. It’s relaxing just to hear him talk, to be alone and comfortable for a few hours. It would have been nice to have him with you in Val Royeaux, but you suppose you and Solas managed well enough on your own. Still, it’s… nice to be back with him. You lay back down on the roof, staring up at the star-filled sky—so cold, but so beautiful. You still have the presence of mind to notice when you feel the Fade pulling at the corners of your mind, however.
“Cole, stop it.”
“But—”
“Stop,” you say, sitting up. “Are you planning on smuggling me out of Skyhold so that I can drain my aura when it gets fat from connecting with the Fade? Are you going to be here if I have nightmares again? You can’t babysit me, and this is dangerous.”
“But you need sleep. Your mind is failing, fraying, fracturing…”
“I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” you admit with a sigh. “But I know how to deal with the effects of insomnia better than I know how to deal with too much mana. The last time, I nearly hurt Bull.”
“You’ll come apart!” Cole insists.
“I’ll make sure to change something before I do, Cole. But I need to figure out what. I’ve had enough of you and Solas traipsing around in my head without asking first.”
Cole is quiet, and then his eyes light up. “Ohhh!” he exclaims, and you know damn well what memory he just saw.
“Yes, yes,” you say grumpily. “Be smug all you want. The fact of the matter is, we’re at no less of a stalemate than we were before.”
“He wants you to think it was a dream because he believes that would hurt less,” Cole says, striking right to the core of your hurt, as always. “You could tell him. He would be embarrassed, but not angry, I think.”
“If I was going to tell him,” you grumble, “It would have been then and there, so I could slap him in the damn face.”
“But you kissed him,” Cole points out.
“I didn’t think it was him!” you hiss. “I never would have… It doesn’t matter. He’s right; it’s better this way,” you say with a sigh. You’re growing accustomed to the idea that your life here is just going to be an existence filled with incredibly attractive people that you’re not allowed to touch.
“Most of them wouldn’t stop you.”
“I would stop me,” you say sourly. “I can’t trust them.”
“You trust me.”
“I trust your nature. Mortals are significantly more fickle, and much harder to predict,” you say with a low chuckle. “And you know me, Cole. If you hadn’t been able to tell by looking at me, would I have told you?”
“…No.”
“Exactly.”
You fall silent for a time, not speaking again until you shift, and the weight of the bag at your hips reminds you of something.
“Oh! Cole, I have a present for you.”
“A… present?” Cole says, looking slightly confused.
“I know you understand the concept,” you say, digging through your bag. “As for why… Because you are precious to me. And because I enjoy presents very much. Ah!” You manage to find it amongst the others and pull it out. It’s wrapped in flimsy paper, more to keep it from breaking than anything. Eagerly, you press it into his hands. You have no idea how a spirit will react to a present; honestly, you should have asked Solas first.
Cole unwraps it, delicate fingers suddenly clumsy. He pulls it out; a tiny little chain with a carved nug at the end. The nug is wearing a silly hat. “What… is it?” he asks.
“It’s a charm! You… attach it to things.”
“What does it do?”
“It doesn’t do anything. It’s just cute. You can put it on your belt… or your hat. I wasn’t sure… I don’t know if spirits… do presents? But… I thought, well…”
“Pleasing, precious. Cute, it catches the eye. The hat reminded you of me,” he says, a hint of awe in his voice.
“Exactly,” you say, a bit relieved. It’s so much easier to communicate with Cole, particularly when your words fail you. “Do… do you like it?” But he’s already hooking it onto his belt. “It suits you,” you say with a wide grin. And you find that Cole’s smile nearly matches yours.
You stay up on the roof with Cole longer than you should. You return to your room only to see what’s been delivered there, and finally drop off your bag.
It seems that your personal effects have been dropped off, if nothing else. Most prominent is the bag that holds the remains of your foods—mostly, things you bought in Val Royeaux, like herbs, jelly, and tea—as well as the one that has your new clothing and various other things you purchased. In all honesty, you’re going to have trouble getting it all to fit in your tiny closet of a room, but you’re used to not having much space.
First things first… You close the door and wedge a shoe under it to keep it from being opened. You need time and privacy. You unload the bag you’ve been carrying all day onto your bed. Its contents consist mostly of the presents that you’ve purchased, but it’s six books you’re after. Three of them are magical tomes from your little stint in the White Spire. Three are books with the dullest, most awful titles you could find. The Noun Phrase in Ancient Tevinter: A Functional Analysis of the Order and Articulation of Noun Phrase Constituents in Herodotus. Enough to make anyone’s eyes glaze right over. Carefully, quietly, you unpack the bookbinding tools you purchased—with the Inquisition’s money, even—such innocent, well-meaning tools. And then you set to work.
It’s a shame to get rid of the covers of the magical tomes. But in the end, they’re genuinely unimportant, if pretty. You carefully remove each one, and then the ones from the three dull, boring books… The three dull, boring books that happen to perfectly fit the magical tomes. Well, nearly perfectly, anyway. It’s an easy but time consuming thing to switch the book covers, but in the end, The Verbal System of the Orlesian of Mother Danielle: An Explanation in the Context of Grammaticalization actually contains the contents of Incantations of the Dread Rebels. Poorly translated, but invaluable, especially considering your repeated failure at getting your hands on an original. The Circle mages knew just enough to dislike the destruction of knowledge, but not enough to understand the value of some of the ancient magic they had hidden in their walls. It’s much better suited with you.
With a great deal of distaste, you burn the remaining book covers as well as the contents of the three dull books. The very act feels disgusting to you, but it really is the best option. You let the smoke drift out of your glassless window.
For good measure, the books go with a few of your others at the bottom of your chest. You don’t have many at the moment, but you can bring some of the ones you got in Val Royeaux over once you figure out where they’ve been sent… the library, probably. For right now, it’s these three books, two titleless leather tomes, and a handful of similarly dry books. Were it you, you’d go straight for the titleless books. You hope anyone rummaging around in your stuff feels the same. The contents of those two—one Solas’s gifted tome on spirits, one a elven journal—are enough to make anyone think they’d found what was meant to be kept secret.
On top of the books you carefully pile your clothing. The chest isn’t really that big. You can’t fit all of your clothes in it anymore, now that you own more than three outfits again. But you cram as much in around and over the books as you can, and then fold up the rest and put it under your bedstand.
Foodstuffs go under the bed… blankets on the bed, candles on the bedstand. It takes you less time than you would have thought to unpack and organize everything. You still have several hours before your pre-dawn appointment with Argent. You kill it by beginning your examination of Incantations of the Dread Rebels. A shame you can’t try out any of the techniques within… but they’re doubtlessly beyond your skills in any case.
A few hours before dawn, you put the tome back in its spot in your chest, and seal it firmly with your new lock. It’s not unpickable. It would be odd if it was. And you can’t place your usual ward on it—one of the few you know—out of fear that a Templar or mage would take note of it. Irritating. But you’ve done the best you can. With a sigh, you throw your cloak over your shoulders and brave the autumn air.
To your surprise–and relief–the place Argent leads you is indoors. The idea of an indoor practice area seems ludicrous to you, considering how frequently indoor space is needed to house refugees. But you suppose spies need privacy with which to practice their craft.
“I am to assess you,” Argent informs you. You really dislike the way she says it.
“There’s little to assess,” you lie, and she eyes you.
“Your skill with knives is already known. It’s pointless to attempt to withhold it. This will work better if you are honest.”
“I’ll have you know I’m an incredibly honest person.”
“Honest people do not wear hidden knives.”
“And you’ll note I’m sorely without, today,” you say dryly, removing your cloak and spinning in a circle. “I assumed you’d have something less sharp.”
“You assumed incorrectly. We will be practicing with real knives.”
You stare at her an abject horror. “What? ”
“You cannot hurt me, and I will not hurt you,” she says, as if that were an explanation. You scowl.
“I’ll try not to slip, then,” you say darkly.
Before the two of you take up knives against each other—real knives, apparently—she starts you sparring. She doesn’t have a warm up stretch the way Bull does, but you had stretched a bit before coming over.
She would start you out with sparring… the hardest part. You have to make mistakes. You’re careful not to move as fast as you can, let more hits collide than you have to, and make mistakes that can be attributed to having “learned” from fighting someone significantly larger and stronger than you or Argent. And unlike Bull, Argent isn’t pulling any punches. Solas will be furious when he sees your split lip and new rainbow of bruises. And this time, you’ve no intention of hiding them from him.
After she’s satisfied with your somewhat underwhelming performance, she switches you to knives. You’re seriously unhappy about the situation. Even at your best, there’s no way you could take her in a knife fight, of that you are certain. And with sharp blades? She’s likely testing your willingness to strike to injure or kill, as well as your nerves in a fight. Well, you’ll give her an appropriate showing in both. She’s seen you kill several men already, one in a rather spectacularly gruesome way… but she’d also heard you screaming in apparent night terrors shortly thereafter.
Fortunately, Argent sticks to her word not to hurt you with the knife. You’ll have a few new holes in your clothing to mend, but she doesn’t once break your skin with the blade. As for you, you hesitate appropriately for someone not used to sparring with real blades, but move more comfortably with the knife than you had with your fists, and show a bit more skill with it. Nothing compared to what you have, but enough.
Then comes the real fun… throwing daggers. She sets up any number of targets. You strike each dead center. She had seen you sever a man’s spine from twenty meters away, while he and you were both moving. There is absolutely no use hiding your skill here. Doing so would only cast doubt on your other performances. Instead, you make a show of cockiness. She throws apples into the air. You plant a knife in each at the peak of its flight.
Overall, you’ve had less pleasant mornings, despite your beating.
“Very well,” she says suddenly, after you land a knife square into a moving target. “We are out of time for today. Tomorrow, we will focus on other, less combat-oriented skills you might possess.”
“Joy,” you grumble, stretching your shoulders uncomfortably. “I’ll try to dress for the occasion.”
Celia will take care of Solas’ breakfast, but it feels a little silly, in a way. You’d eaten breakfast in the inn room with him. You’d gotten a bit used to seeing him shirtless, even. And Bull isn’t here to share breakfast with, so why exactly aren’t you enjoying it with Solas?Oh well…
You’re tempted to just skip breakfast and get straight to work in the rotunda, but… You’re curious to see who might be there. It would be nice to bump into Varric or Thea. You’ve got a bag full of presents to hand out over the next few days, after all. You had already utterly forgotten to give Leliana and Lady Montiliyet theirs. The mood hadn’t quite seemed right for it, in the end. In fact, you were considering just delivering Leliana’s through a messenger, or tied around the next missive she has you do. You would hardly need to explain the significance of a ribbon from Val Royeaux to her after all, and that would spare you from the immediate aftermath of her reaction.
As soon as you grab your food, you scan the crowd and, to your delight, spot Thea. You head over a sit down across from her cheerfully. She looks surprised to see you, but instead of joy, she regards you with a rather guarded look. Hmm.
“I wasn’t sure I’d be seeing you,” she says, and you tilt your head.
“I’m not that bad about skipping meals,” you say with a smile. “And whatever I may think about their gruel, it’s better than the soldier’s rations I ate on the road. Besides, I picked a few things up in Val Royeaux to help us manage.”
She perks up at this, curiosity overtaking whatever’s bothering her. “You had time to go shopping, then?”
“I made time,” you say lightly. “Like I was going to be in Val Royeaux and not spend every coin I’d made here.”
“I’ve never been,” she confesses. “Is it grand like they say? You used t’ live there, didn’t you?”
“For years,” you say with a nod as you rummage through your bag. “And it is. Full of pompous assholes, but absolutely grand.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then says, “You didn’t come see me ‘fore you left.”
You pause in your searching, looking up. Had you not? No, thinking about it, everyone you said goodbye to had come to you. “I’m sorry, Thea,” you say, frowning. “They dropped it on me the afternoon before I was to leave. In all the rush, I barely had time to pack. But I did think of you while I was there.”
You pull out two jars and set them on the table. “This is for our breakfast,” you say, laying a finger onto a jar of honey. “If we’re careful, I bet we can make it last through most of Kingsway. And this…” You lay a finger on the other jar, which has a beautiful, bright green silk ribbon tied around it. “Is for you. Apple jam, Val Royeaux’s… well, probably not their finest, but it’s up there. The ribbon is yours too; it’s something of a tradition to bring women ribbons from Val Royeaux.”
Thea’s hand is on her mouth, her eyes wide and glittering. Then she picks up the jar of jam and grins broadly at you, and you’re quite certain you’ve been forgiven.
The two of you catch up over breakfast–made infinitely sweeter with a spoonful of honey into each of your bowls of gruel. You have less than you’d like; as it turns out, Sataareth has a sweet tooth. He’d eaten an entire jar of honey by himself on the trip back to Skyhold. You wonder where he is. With Katari? You should take some time to look for him, or perhaps simply inquire with the Commander…
After eating, you tie Thea’s hair back with the bright green ribbon. It’s quite attractive on her; you’re certain she’ll turn a few heads in the library. In any case, she’s happy with it. That’s what matters. The two of you walk back towards the Great Hall together, chatting cheerfully.
“We’ll be sorting through the books for days. Still not enough to completely fill the library, mind, but at least it won’t be so… hollow. Maybe we’ll start getting more visitors. The magical tomes you acquired alone should have some of the Templars visiting in their off time. Mages too. Maybe we’ll have to break up more fights than just the ones between Dorian and Solas,” she says with a chuckle.
“Maker knows I want to visit more,” you reply. “No idea when I’ll get the chance… Leliana wants me to crack down and finish that tome as quickly as possible because of the delay caused by my trip.”
“Well, don’t skip breakfast, then,” she says with a playful pout. “You’re gettin’ hard to get ahold of! Don’t forget the little ones when you get famous.”
You snort. “You just want to make sure I’m there so you can have some honey.”
“That too,” she agrees with a grin.
You’ve reached the rotunda door. Varric is nowhere to be seen… Probably still babysitting Hawke. You don’t envy him that task. You run over the various things you need to apologize for in your head, as Thea waves farewell and heads for the other set of stairs. Still superstitious, after all this time… You really need to work on Solas’ reputation.
You take a few deep breaths before entering the rotunda. Apologize for being a brat. Apologize for leaving him to take care of the ex-slaves. Apologize for abandoning him with an injured hart and a sick cat. Apologize for–
Your plans fly out of your head when you walk into the rotunda and see the state of it. There are literal towers of books on the ground, each several feet high. Solas is standing by one, looking disgruntled and reading the cover of a tome. The giggle that bursts out of you before you can cover your mouth betrays your presence, and he looks up sharply.
“Ir abelas, Solas,” you say, struggling not to laugh more. “It’s just… how many books did you get in Val Royeaux? I hadn’t realized.”
“Many of these are yours,” he says pointedly as he sets the tome he was looking at down on the corner of his desk. “Are you done with your newest adoptees?”
“For now,” you say with a nod. “I… wanted to apologize, for running off like that.”
“I heard the Commander,” Solas says with a fluid shrug. “I will not pretend to be pleased with being saddled with your pets, but I understand the necessity of it.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” you promise. “I’m not sure how, but I will.”
“You can start by helping me sort through all of this,” he says, gesturing around the room. “I believe the requisition people simply dropped off anything that was labeled for either of us, in no particular order.”
“I can’t believe they dropped off mine here,” you admit. “I thought they’d take them to my room, or the library.”
“It seems that this has become known as your work space, for better or worse,” he says dryly. “I should have anticipated this the first day you crawled under my scaffolding.”
“If you had, you would have seen much further into the future than I,” you reply with a snort. “I thought you’d chase me out at once. But… before we get to work, what happened with Revas, Asaraanda, and Sataareth?”
“Revas and your cat are both with Belassan. He was less than pleased at Revas’s new scar… I suggest you go to see him soon. As for the Qunari, he was with Katari when I last saw him.”
You make a mental note to see Belassan this afternoon. It won’t do you any good to put off facing the music, and you really do want to check on those two. Plus, you have a present for Belassan.
“Thank you, Solas.” You chuckle softly to yourself. “I feel like I’ll always be thanking you.”
“Perhaps not so much as you think,” he replies. You’re not sure what he means. “I believe this one is yours.” He catches you off guard by tossing a book gently at you. You catch it with a clumsy fumble, but manage not to drop it.
“Anatomy of the Dragonling,” you read with a chuckle. “Yep, that’s mine. I guess I’ll just put them on my desk for now. Honestly, I was expecting these to go to the library. It’s not as though I have anyplace to put them, and I think other people might find them useful… or at least interesting.”
You flip through the first few pages… you hadn’t really had any opportunity to actually read any of this books in Val Royeaux. Unlike Solas, who had spent plenty of time reading, you had been too busy. You’re not even sure how useful these books will be… You’d just grabbed anything that seemed like it might help. You’ll be spending many a long night digging through these for useful information if you want to finish that tome in a timely manner.
“We will be at this a long time if you stop to read every book,” Solas quips, and you snap the tome shut self-consciously.
“Ah, good point,” you say, setting it down on your desk. It’s not fifteen minutes later that Solas picks up a tome and gets distracted thumbing through it. The two of you take turns like that all morning, getting repeatedly distracted and reminding each other you’re supposed to be working. It would be humorous if it weren’t so pathetic.
“It’s like watching a mating ritual,” you hear a voice call out a few hours into the process, after Solas has once again pulled a tome out from in front of your curious eyes. You glance up. Dorian, of course, but you’re more happy to see him than you are annoyed. “Is this what you two were like in Val Royeaux? It’s amazing you got anything done.”
“And yet we did,” you point out. “Or has your second edition of In Articulo Mortis not reached you yet?”
Dorian holds up the very tome of which you speak. “It has. In original Tevene, I note. Must have been fun to find in Orlais.”
“Easier to find than to translate myself,” you say cheerfully. “And so much is lost in translation. Mostly thanks to purposeful meddling by the Chantry. I can’t tell you how many times I got a polite little missive from a Revered Mother telling me I was committing heresy just by not lying about what some historical tome said.”
“You can’t?”
“…Three. Three times. But you could have let me have my figure of speech.”
“If you’re quite finished, Emma, we still have work,” Solas says pointedly.
“Make time for me, Dorian, I have something for you,” you tell him. “I’ll likely be up later to drop some of these tomes off, in any case.”
“For you? I always have time,” he says, bowing over the railing with an elaborate flourish. You roll your eyes. Vints.
“Your hard work will make you popular,” Solas comments as you go back to organizing the books.
“For perhaps a week, if I’m lucky,” you say with a snort. “It will wear off quickly enough, and I’ll be able to get back to proper work. Leliana wants me to finish the tome as swiftly as I can due to the delay my trip caused…”
“The trip she sent you on?” Solas asks, and to your surprise, he sounds slightly irritated.
“I think it was more the Inquisitor than her. In fact, I got the distinct sensation no one was particularly pleased with the Inquisition’s choice in ‘researchers.’ I still have no idea why he sent the two of us, even if it did work out fine.”
“It’s my understanding that we were annoying him.”
You pause midway through flipping through a book on dragon mating habits. “…Pardon?”
“Why he sent us. I’ll confess, I was making no small amount of noise about the necessity of some of the tomes I had requested. He sent me, I’m certain, because he was tired of hearing about it. As for why he sent you, I can only assume you were making a similar fuss.” He glances up from the book he was looking at, and something on your face makes him do a slight double take.
“That’s… very interesting,” you say, mind racing. Had you been? No, not really. You’d only just put in the requests; you hadn’t even really spoken to anyone about it. Did he honestly send Solas to be rid of him? Then, why send you as well? Had you really antagonized him enough for him to want you out of Skyhold? “I wasn’t aware that was the way the Inquisitor made his decisions,” you add with a forced chuckle.
“Perhaps it’s divine inspiration,” Solas says, with more sarcasm than you believe you’ve heard out of him before.
You snort. “It must be. After all, it worked. Clearly it’s the hand of divine Andraste and not dumb luck. That would be ridiculous.”