Partons en courant
By the time you quit riding for the day, you’re dead on your feet. Or, well, dead on your ass, anyway. You quite literally fall off of Vhas, slumping off of him and collapsing directly onto the ground to just sort of. Lay. For a while. Without having to move. He bends his head down to you, snuffing directly into your face, then snorting, getting you nice and disgustingly covered in saliva. You shove his face away and sit up with a groan.
You have fourteen mounts to care for.
Uuuuuuugh.
You creak to your feet and stumble through their care, getting shoulder checked a few times and nearly losing your foot to a well-placed stomp from Stormcloak. Rubbing them all down takes longer than it probably would if you could focus clearly, and you have to squint at each hoof to make sure you don’t miss any rocks. It’ll just be more work for you later if you do.
Much later, after they’ve all been seen to, you stumble over to the fire for some very belated stew. Everyone else has already finished, but at least they left you a bowl. Nice of them. You collapse down onto the ground, entirely missing the log someone dragged over to serve as a chair. You lack the force of will to get up, so you just sort of slump on the ground and lean against it.
“Hey you, look dead to the world, don’cha?”
You don’t even have the energy to be startled as Sera plops down onto the log, right next to your head. You look up at her through half-lidded eyes, trying not to pass out into your stew.
“M’tired,” you mumble, then yawn, not bothering to even try covering it. “And I’ve been doin’ the splits on that fat hart for like twelve hours.” You hear a snort from over by the mounts and raise your voice. “You heard me, tubby.”
“Not sleepin’ well?”
“Not any more or less than usual. Which is a miracle, honestly, since this is less than ideal sleeping conditions,” you grumble.
“You’re the one who wanted to sleep with the creepy,” she points out sourly.
“S’not what I meant,” you say, poorly stifling another yawn. Right, she’s probably kind of mad about that. You can’t really hold that against her; you’d dodged sleeping with her like it was an arrow aimed at your heart. Which it was, kind of. “I’m not used to sleeping on the ground. Or in a tent. Or anywhere but a bed, these days.”
“More comfortable than the beds back in Denerim, right?”
You snort. “Yeah, I guess so! Except for—” You cut yourself off, remembering that she remembers you, or sort of does. Remembers Dirth’len, but hasn’t connected the dots. Too much dissonance between who you were then and who you are for her now. Details would out you, when you’d just as rather she believe the kid she knew to be one more casualty. It’s just… easier.
“Except for?”
“Remember sleeping on the roof during the summer?”
“Maker, barely!” she says with a laugh. “Yer older than me; I could barely climb up by myself.”
You grin, remembering carrying toddlers up the building, tied to your back, so they could get out of the stifling heat inside the windowless orphanage. “Guess I am, yeah.”
“Too cold out here for that bullshit now,” she says with a snort, and you laugh, still staring up at the endless expanse of stars.
“Sure fuckin’ is. What’re the nights like out in the desert?”
“This time of year? Pro’ly pretty cool. Depends on the weather, I guess.”
“Bet there’s nice stargazing out there, though.” You reach up towards the sky, idly. “Remember on clear nights, what it was like to be that high up? We used to dream about climbing up onto the top of Fort Drakon, so that there would be nothing to block our view. Just stars from horizon to horizon.”
“Yeah… An’ look at us, we still keep climbin’ shit. Old habits die really hard.”
“I think it’s normal,” you say, still staring up. “Everyone who starts low is going to try to climb high. We started with the roof of an orphanage and just never stopped climbing.”
“Yer stupid poetic sometimes, you know that?”
“Professional liability.”
”Elgara vallas, da’len
Melava somniar
Mala taren aravas
Ara ma’desen melar.”
It echoes in the cave, until it sounds like a choir must be singing to you. You curl up tighter, eyes heavy. The flickering of the fire burns in the back of your eyes even with your lids closed, fighting to keep the winter winds away. It’s cold here, snow thick on the ground outside. But your mother’s lap is warm and safe. Nothing can get you here.
”Iras ma ghilas, da’len
Ara ma’nedan ashir
Dirthara lothlenan’as
Bal emma mala dir.”
Tomorrow will be another long day of walking. It’s difficult for your short legs to keep up, but your mother had traded the mule away at the border. You haven’t been on roads in a long time. An animal would attract attention, bandits. People who might remember a single elven woman and child. So you walk, and your mother carries you when you can’t keep up, or trip and stumble over too many roots.
”Tel’enfenim, da’len
Irassal ma ghilas
Ma garas mir renan
Ara ma’athlan vhenas
Ara ma’athlan vhenas.”
It’s tiring, but every day brings something new, and this is the only life you’ve ever known. Sometimes on the road, sometimes with caravans, sometimes alone in the woods, but always moving. You once asked your mother if you were going anywhere in particular.
”Tel’enara bellana bana’vhenadahl,
Sethen’a ir san’shiral, mala tel’halani”
You’re always excited when you pass through villages. You want to see everything, taste everything, touch everything. Your mother warns you never to be caught stealing, or you will surely be killed. She wants you to leave everything to her, but you are a willful child. So instead of stealing, you learn how to swindle. And you tell your mother of your daring exploits around the campfire at night. You never stay in town; you have never known a shemlen bed.
”Ir sa’vir te’suledin var bana’vallaslin,
Vora’nadas san banal’him emma abel revas.”
“Why do we walk, Mamae?”
“It’s our nature, dirth’len.”
“Other people stay in one place. They have houses and things!”
“Do you want a house and things?”
You consider. “A little, sometimes, but I think I would get bored.”
Her laughter is the rain on a canopy of leaves. “You take after me.”
“Who else would I take after?”
”Ir tela’ena glandival, vir amin tel’hanin.
Ir tela las ir Fen halam, vir am’tela’elvahen.”
“Wake up.”
“Athen da’mel, mamae1,” you mutter sleepily, shoving vaguely at your mother.
“Solas is going to bed.”
“Quenathra solas…2” You blink sleepily, eyes finally opening to take in your surroundings. Canvas overhead. The echoes of lullabies are just in your head. Right. Yes. You’d gone to bed. “Oh…” You sit up, then yawn. “How long has it been?”
“Not very.”
You’d fallen asleep with Cole’s aid, with your aura still hidden. You hadn’t slept very well, and you feel even more well-tenderized than when you’d laid down. No choice, really; Seeker Pentaghast had first watch.
“Mmm… Cole, do you have watch this evening?”
“Much later.”
“Could you do me a favor? Another one, I mean.” You yawn again, as he nods. “North of here is d’Argent. There should be some elven refugees that have settled into the Keep, in service of the Comtesse. I’d go myself, but…” You gesture around at your surroundings. There’s not time for you to sneak off, but Cole can sneak very far, very fast. “Would you mind seeing if they’re there, if they’ve settled in and are being treated well?”
“Okay,” Cole agrees, and in an instant, he’s gone.
You’re quite certain that everyone is taking that fellow for granted.
You spend the night puttering around in your tent, not really feeling like working on the tome but not wanting to dedicate yourself to getting up and dealing with people. You’re a bit worried about what all this time in the Fade will be doing to your aura. It’s still plenty thin, but eventually, that will change, and you’ll need to do something about it. The opportunity will probably present itself eventually, however. It’s only a matter of time before you can slip away unnoticed, or are given time by yourself. It’s easier on the road than it would be in Skyhold, with guards posted to every damned corner, that much is sure. You just have to be very careful of your company, because if the Seeker suspects anything at all, you are dead where you stand. Templars are one thing, but a Seeker?
Cole comes back in the wee hours before dawn with good news. The elven refugees you’d sent out to d’Argent, what feels like ages ago now, have indeed settled in well. Most work in the Keep. Cole even suspects several have been hired as spies. They have, actually, by uh, you. Or Banal’ras, rather, since that was the name you’d used in the first place. You have to actually tell him when you call in favors, and the opportunity had presented itself while you were in Val Royeaux. You’ll be able to get the Comtesse right back in your pocket in short order, no doubt. Particularly once she inevitably starts sleeping with more of the damn elves you’d shipped right to her front door.
You finally rise from lounging listlessly around your tent when you hear Blackwall outside. You see no reason not to help with breakfast again. It’s something to do, and he helped you yesterday. Plus you will need to tend to the mounts eventually, as well.
To your surprise, however, the two of you aren’t the only ones already up. Sera’s by the fire with Blackwall. She’s not fully dressed yet, just wearing breeches and a well-worn shirt that is very much not covering her stomach while she stretches arms up, yawning. You’re not staring. You’re looking away, quickly, to stare at a tree instead. Unfortunately, standing frozen in one spot, staring at a tree, is not super subtle, and Sera sees you right away.
“Em! You’re up early!” she says cheerfully.
“I told you she’s been up every—ow,” Blackwall hisses as she drives her heel into one of his feet.
“Yes,” you say, unable to keep a bit of a smirk off your lips. “I was going to help Blackwall with breakfast, but I see you two already have it covered.”
“N-no, I’m useless with a knife, remember?” Sera protests. “We could use help.”
“Are you going to be throwing the knives at the vegetables? Because otherwise, I’m sure there’s nothing I can do that you can’t. Maybe Cole needs my help with some spooky spirit stuff—”
“Oh, get over here, you ass.”
“Am I going to be a third wheel?” Blackwall says, sounding deeply amused, as you plop down onto the log next to Sera.
“Nah. She’s been trying to get the three of us hanging out since before we left Skyhold,” you say with a snort.
“And I was right, weren’t I?” she points out. “You two been gettin’ on fine over oatmeal.”
“Anyone could get on fine over oatmeal, Sera,” you inform her. “It’s the ultimate peacemaker.”
“Yes,” Blackwall says, nodding along. “Everyone knows that oatmeal caused the Llomerryn Accords.”
“If only the Tevinter Imperium and the Qunari could sit down over oatmeal—”
“Oh, you can both shut up.”
Sera gets the last laugh, really, because the three of you do get along quite well. All of you finish cooking breakfast and eat it together while the rest of the camp begins springing to life around you. It’s easy to match their casual energy. Blackwall is more relaxed around Sera than he has been around you, or just about anywhere else you’d seen him. He’s quite deferential to Seeker Pentaghast and the Inquisitor, which you suppose is to be expected.
But his hostility towards Dorian is a bit bewildering to you. What had happened between the two of them? Surely it had to be something; the Inquisitor is a noble and way more of a dick than Dorian could ever dream. Maybe because Dorian is a mage? But he seems fine towards Solas, and Grey Wardens are normally pretty calm about mages. Because he prefers the company of other men? Blackwall seems fine around Sera, but some men are insecure or threatened in the presence of attractive gay men.
But then you’d think he’d be goddamn terrified of the Iron Bull, who is very interested in men and significantly more threatening in every way, including sexually. Maybe because Dorian is Tevinter? Could it be that?
You must have been staring at Dorian while musing it over, because Blackwall follows your gaze.
“Wouldn’t catch him helping cook,” Blackwall says dryly. “His royal highness probably couldn’t find a wooden spoon with both hands. Well, most noblemen can’t even find their ass with both hands, but he seems to have that covered.”
You frown, eyes snapping off Dorian to settle on Blackwall. His good humor quails somewhat, at the sight of what must be quite the glare from you. Wordlessly, you stand up, leaving your empty bowl by the fire, and stalk over towards the horses. Might as well get them saddled up and taken care of. Honestly, they’d probably be fine without you, but you’re annoyed and the horses have significantly less interpersonal drama.
You won’t have to deal with Blackwall for the rest of the day, at least. He’s in the advance team with Solas and Cole. Unfortunately, that leaves you with the Inquisitor, the Seeker, Sera… and Dorian, whom you gravitate towards immediately. You’re still a little cross with Sera, not because she’d done anything, but because she‘s associated with your irritation at Blackwall. It’s not fair of you, but it’s there anyway. Perhaps if you were in a better mood, it wouldn’t be an issue, but…
Seeker Pentaghast is on Derreck. The hart. While his name is an endless source of amusement to you, the actual sight of her on him is brutally offensive to your eyes, infinitely fouling your mood. You know elves are slim pickings, and you can’t really blame the hart for working with what he’s got. You don’t blame the elves who settle in with humans, either, any more than you blame a woman who stays with her abusive husband. You settle. You live. You hope for more. You fall, over and over, because a human is always a human, and when they need that power over you, all your years of love and all their words of humility will mean nothing.
It’s just a hart, you tell yourself. It doesn’t inherently connect to any other shitty thing humans have ever done and continue to do. A hart choosing a human out of need is not an elf choosing a human out of need is not that human inevitably abusing them. But you can’t help it. Your eyes hang on the Seeker, despite how you’re trying not to draw her attention.
They just take everything.
The Seeker and the Inquisitor wind up conversing between themselves and riding a bit ahead, so Sera ends up closer to you and Dorian. You’re between them, both literally and metaphorically, as they both attempt to make conversation with you whenever you stop galloping to rest the mounts and walk for a bit. It is. Exhausting.
Dorian is an idiot, Sera is a bitch, and you’re just trying to make sure neither of them idiot or bitch it up enough to start a fight. It’s a very thankless task.
You’re hugely relieved when you finally stop for lunch. It feels like you’ve been sandwiched between Clueless and Cretin for five years, not five hours. You are sick of being Buffer Elf. You’re looking forward to a little bit of time to yourself. Well, to yourself and a bunch of horses, but it is what it is. If nothing else, at least the horses give you an excuse.
Not that it actually works. Oh, sure, you tend to the mounts instead of, you know, eating like everyone else, but it doesn’t work to keep you from being bothered. Sera pops up when you’re on horse four of seven. Not to help, mind. Just to pester you, apparently.
“Ssssoooo, why ya avoidin’ everyone?” she asks, because she is nothing if not direct. It’s actually the trait she has that you probably like best. It makes her difficult sometimes, but generally, it makes her significantly easier. You tend to always know where you stand with her, because she’d be terrible at keeping that secret even if she wanted to. “Thought it was jus’ me at first!” she continues on, lounging idly on the back of a horse that should probably be given time to rest rather than being used as a mattress. “But nah, s’everyone, innit?”
“I’m not avoiding people,” you lie. “I’m just trying to figure out how to do the job I have literally no experience with, that was assigned to me regardless.” You gesture, irritated, at the horse you’re brushing. Because the Inquisitor brought you instead of, oh this is just an idea, a stablehand.
“You don’t really hafta work as hard at it as you are,” Sera points out. “Normally we all kinda take turns an’ take care of our own mounts mostly.”
“Oh, well, that’s fine then,” you say, voice dripping sarcasm. “I’ll just slack off on the job the Inquisitor gave me, and assume there will be no consequences.”
“There proly wouldn’t be.”
“There would be for the horses, if no one bothered to take care of them for a few days,” you say with a scowl. “What if one of them got a stone lodged or threw a shoe? We could get delayed, or the other horse could get exhausted trying to carry someone for a full day. We’re kind of on an important mission to save the Grey Wardens or possibly the world or something. I can’t just not do a shitty job I was given for inexplicable reasons because I don’t feel like it.”
Sera blinked, then laughed. “Yer work ethic is somethin’ else. You could jus’ tell us you can’t do it alone, we’d help!”
“No way,” you say, frowning. You’re not going to just say you can’t. You can! You can take care of these stupid fucking horses; you can deal with any bullshit they throw at you. You’re not going to admit defeat just because you keep getting stepped on, or bitten, or shoved around in general.
“We would!” Sera protests.
“No, I mean, I’m not going to say I can’t do it.” You point irritatedly at Snowblind, who snorts derisively. “He is not beating me. He is a horse. I am not going to be beaten by an animal.”
Sera bursts out laughing again, and you just scowl and keep working.
“Yer still avoidin’ people. Y’could hang out in the evenin’s!”
“I have an entire book to finish writing. On the road.”
“How much can ya possibly do in a tent? Y’should just do it once we get there.”
“I sincerely hope that if this was something that could wait that long, I would not have been brought along in the first place,” you say dryly, even though you very much suspect that’s not even slightly why you were brought. That’s still a nerve-wracking mystery to you, however. There are many possibilities, none of them good.
“Yer gonna burn out if all ya do is work! Ridin’ this much is tough, and yer not used to it. Y’need to relax and lay around.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
“C’mon! Just tonight, why don’t y’relax with me instead o’ goin’ right in to work on that dumb book?” She holds up her hands at the glare you level her with. “Sorry, ‘very important piece o’ history.’”
You sigh. “If I agree, will you roll off of Zephyr so I can brush her?”
“Her name’s Lady Knickers!”
“I’m not going to call her that.”
“I’m jus’ sayin’, he looks like he rolled through a fabric store ‘n’ it stuck to him!” Sera protests, gesturing vaguely at Solas as he takes off with the rest of the advance team.
“I think the fur adds a nice dimension of texture,” you argue. “Also, it’s easy to steal because he’s just sort of tied it on.”
“Are you sayin’ we should steal Solas’s fur?”
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t.”
“Do either of you have a lot of room to throw stones?” Dorian asks dryly. “Far be it from me to defend our resident apostate hobo, but both of you look like you selected your wardrobes from a collection of other people’s. None of your armor is even the same color, Emma.”
“I literally did exactly that, which renders your entire argument null and void,” you snipe back.
“I don’t think that’s how that works.”
“Yes, it absolutely is. Isn’t it, Sera?”
“Yep!”
“See?” you say, turning back towards Dorian. “Two against one.”
“I also don’t think that’s how that works.”
“But see, we do, so you’re outnumbered on that, too.”
Dorian lets out a very beleaguered sigh.
“S’not like anyone here’s a snappy dresser,” Sera points out, and you nod in agreement.
“Excuse me,” Dorian says, sounding mortally offended.
“Alright, aside from the three of us,” you allow.
“I don’t feel much better about that…”
The afternoon goes much more smoothly. Sera seems to have calmed down now that she’s figured out why you’ve been ‘avoiding’ her, and that means that she’s less snippish with Dorian. The conversation stays on fashion, more or less, for several hours. When you can talk at all, anyway, since you’ve not gained the capability to do that easily while cantering.
You pass through the territories of Lydes in mid-afternoon, though not through the city itself. The whole group stops briefly at a stables and inn to resupply, but you’re not stopping properly, which is a shame. You have things you could do in Lydes. You haven’t been this way in a while, and you have some contacts you could stand to touch bases with. Your retirement has rather spectacularly failed to stick, at this point. You’re probably going to need your old network just to survive this bullshit alive and unmaimed. You can retire again afterwords, if you survive.
But you’re not going in. You rest, instead, catnapping against the side of a barn while someone else takes care of resupplying the mounts. Everything was ready for you when you arrived, but it still takes time to pack these things. There were apparently also replacement mounts waiting here, if any had been tired out by the first four days of travel, but your mounts are all still in good condition.
No one says it’s thanks to you, but you decide it is anyway.
Being this close to Lydes makes you itch to be further into the city. Lydes had been very important in the days before civil war erupted in Orlais, and you have frankly no idea which of your contacts are still alive, let alone in position. Duke Remache’s death had left a power vacuum, and you hadn’t been around to take advantage of it, something that still leaves you twitchy. Banal’ras might have, but you haven’t had the chance to ask him about it. Or even the desire, because this is not supposed to be your life anymore.
You’d heard news of the Inquisition’s involvement in placing Duchess Monette in power. They’d moved fast and been one of the few organizations with the supplies to actually manipulate the outcome. It had been a good move and given them a solid seat of power in Orlais.
It could have been you.
How nice it would be to have the Duchy of Lydes under your thumb. It would have been such a victory. You had shit on Caralina. But no, now you have Monette, and who even is she? A child, one you knew barely anything about.
Not that this should matter, because you’re retired and this is someone else’s job now. Contacts to survive does not mean actively trying to gain leverage and power. That sort of nonsense will just get you sucked right back in for the long term, because once you have ropes around the neck of a politician, you have to hold tight.
You yawn, idle plans you have no desire to complete flicking through your mind as you lounge in the sun. It’s almost relaxing, this constant background hum. It’s not actually, but… almost. It’s familiar, at least, but it leaves you feeling jittery, like you should be doing something.
The mid-afternoon rest leaves you… if not refreshed, at the very least ‘less exhausted’. You’re less dead to the world by the time you stop for the evening, and you don’t have to flop listlessly off of Revas. You even take a bit of time with him before getting to the rest of the mounts, letting him butt his head up against yours, petting his delightfully soft face.
Shame you can’t just spend the evening with him. Shame you can’t ride out a bit, have some privacy. Enjoy the Dales. A poor idea, given your luck in war-torn Orlais lately. But it would be nice, and a better way to relax and unwind than spending an evening with Sera. Privacy is in short supply for you as of late, and you’re coming to miss it exceedingly keenly. You can’t vanish into a crowd in Skyhold like you could in Val Royeaux… or anywhere else, really.
“Lemme help ya out, huh?” Sera’s voice comes cheerfully. “It’ll get done faster.”
“You think I’d say no?” you ask, not looking up from where you are, half-bent underneath Daine, brushing her stomach clean of dirt and burs. “You take Snowblind and Stormcloak.”
“Y’say that like I know which one’s which,” she says with a snort, and you roll your eyes and emerge partially from under the horse. “Big black one and big white one. There and there.”
“Are they the ones that bite?” Sera guesses.
“Yes, but you volunteered to help.”
A helpful hand—even one clearly only slightly more experienced with horses than you—really does help work go a lot more quickly. The two of you still finish well after everyone else has eaten, but at least the food is still warm. You’d normally just wolf it down at record speed and wander off on your own, but you’re pretty well obligated to spend the evening with Sera, at this point. Not like you really wanted to go back to your tent and work on a tome in extremely shitty circumstances.
Sera seems to pick up on your antsiness and desire to be away from everyone else, or maybe she just shares it. Either way, the two of you wind up wandering out of camp. Close enough to still see and be seen—which is still closer than you’d like—but at least you have the illusion of privacy.
“Plus,” as Sera puts it, “It doubles fer watch!”
You don’t know how much watching you’re really accomplishing, and you for one would be a really shitty first line of defense for any attacks. But if it functions as an excuse to be out of camp and away from the Inquisitor and Seeker, you’ll take it in a heartbeat.
“Far cry from Denerim,” you mutter as the two of you wander in vague circles around the Dales.
“S’a good thing though, innit? Fuck that place, right?”
You snort. “Well, I mean, yeah. I didn’t exactly race back after I got out of Seheron, that’s for damned sure. Although one alienage isn’t really much different from another, to be honest.”
“Did ya wind up in a lot of them?”
“Mm, yeah, I guess. Not really anywhere else to go, you know? Well, until I got to Rivain; it’s a lot more… mixed. But even then, we tend to congregate. Safety in numbers and all that, I suppose.”
“Stick mostly to th’ city?” she asks, and you simply nod in response. “Me too. Jus’ used to it I guess?”
“Yeah, I think if you’re raised there you just sort of are accustomed to life there. Although I guess I’ve spend my fair share of time in the Dales. It didn’t used to be dangerous like it is now. You could just wander out to gather herbs or visit your friend in Lydes or whatever.”
“Sometimes it feels like it’s always been a mess,” she says with a snort. “Stupid war.”
“Tell me about it. Sometimes it feels like I just dreamt up all my memories of home, before all this bullshit started… Oh, hey! Look!” You point, and Sera follows your gaze.
“A… rock?”
“Not just any rock! That rock’s got lizards underneath,” you inform her, squatting down next to it.
“How in the…”
“They always gather under this kind of wide, flat rock. I promise you, we flip this over, there’ll be a whole gaggle of them, especially this time of year. Gets cold at night in the Dales if you’re a lizard.”
“Why d’you even know that?”
“Dales lizards are an alchemy reagent. I used to sell them. It was easy enough to gather them when I was out getting herbs and whatnot.” You reach out and run your fingers along the edge of the rock. “Yeah, see, it’s warm to the touch. Means there’s a whole gaggle of squiggly bastards under there.”
“So how d’you catch ‘em?” Sera asks curiously, squatting down next to you to feel along the edge of the rock as well.
“Find me a basket and I’ll show you.”
One wild episode of lizard-flinging later, you and Sera have a basket full of wriggling, distressed lizards. Well you suppose technically it had been more than one. Sera had been so enthused by the concept of scooping and tossing and flipping that she’d demanded the two of you find more, so you’d traipsed around near camp flipping rocks and scooping lizards.
“See, a haul like this would have netted us like five silver, easy,” you say proudly, sticking a hand into the writhing mass of lizardflesh. Several of them bite you, but it’s not like it hurts. “Most people kill ‘em when they catch ‘em, but I figured out the knack for getting them alive without sacrificing quantity, and they go for way more alive.”
“Too bad we can’t ship ‘em back to the Inquisition,” Sera says with a snort. “I bet Adan could have a lot o’ fun with a lizard basket.”
“Yeah, maybe if we’d caught them before Lydes… but we wouldn’t even be able to keep them alive til the next time we stop, probably,” you say with a sigh. “A real shame.”
“What in the Maker’s name is that?!” comes a shocked voice from behind you. You and Sera whirl around in tandem, a few stray lizards sloshing out of the basket. Dorian is staring down at it, a combination of fascination and horror on his face.
“’S’a… basket’a lizards?” Sera replies, holding it up slightly for emphasis.
“…Why do you two have a basket of lizards…?”
“I was showing her how to catch them,” you explain, reaching in casually to pull one out and holding it out towards Dorian. “I used to sell alchemy reagents when I was between writing jobs.”
“Shame we can’t just send them back to the Inquisition…” Dorian muses, and the two of you nod.
“Yeah, we were just saying that,” you say. “It’s really such a good haul. I could never get this many on my own. Sera’s shockingly good at wrangling lizards.” Dorian chokes out a laugh, and you grin. Sera just frowns.
“Why’s it shockin’? Just cause I’m from th’ city…”
“Yeah, I just didn’t think you had that much experience with lizards,” you reply, still grinning.
“Well, I don’t, but s’not like it’s hard to figure out.”
Dorian makes a wheezing noise behind a clenched fist.
“Yeah, you’re right,” you say with a nod. “Doesn’t exactly take a master.”
“So,” Dorian interrupts, probably just to stop you. “What are you going to do with them?”
“Just let them go, I guess,” you say with a shrug. “It’s a waste, but there’s not much we can really do with them.”
“I strongly disagree,” Sera interjects. “There are so many things we can do with an entire basket o’ lizards.”
“How many of those things would result in me getting my ass beat by a furious Seeker who’s covered in lizards?” you ask sourly.
“Proly like four.”
“Sera.”
“We can do one o’ the other things! Like, we could sneak ‘em into someone’s bedroll, they’d never even know it was us!”
“Right, because so many people here would catch a barrel of lizards and then fill someone’s bedroll with them.”
“Well they’d never know it was you anyway.”
“How’re we gonna get a bunch of lizards into someone’s bedroll without them noticing?”
“I believe,” Dorian interrupts with a bit of a flourish. “I may be of assistance.”
“Shh, shh, shh,” you giggle/whisper/hiss to Sera, who will not stop tittering as you overturn a basket full of lizards into Solas’s bedroll. He’s a safe target, because you can’t imagine him getting seriously furious with you for this. You have a good gauge for his anger at this point, since you keep pissing him off. This is nowhere near “and then he wakes up in the middle of the night to a half-naked Qunari climbing in his bedroom window,” and you survived that!
The lizards go right into the bedroll without much difficulty; it’s the warmest thing nearby. Such is their nature. The two of you scurry out of the tent, checking both ways for anyone watching first, then give the signal to Dorian, who’s risking life and limb trying to keep a very bored looking Solas distracted. Hopefully he’s managed not to say anything truly stupid about spirits this time.
It’s just as well Dorian had been distracting him, because nearly the second Dorian winds to a close and wanders off, Solas heads straight for his tent. The two of you stand, frozen to the spot, trying not to stare but absolutely staring. The flap of the tent closes behind him, and the three of you wait in tense silence, not even breathing.
And then the yelling starts.
“Partons en courant3!” you exclaim, already turning to bolt, at the same time Sera yelps “cheese it!” and off the two of you scamper. You tear out of camp as far as you dare, then scurry up a particularly tall oak to watch the chaos finish unfolding from a distance. You can see Solas dragging his bedroll out of his tent, and you can hear the peels of laughter that unfold from everyone who doesn’t have to deal with a roll full of lizards. Dorian winds up getting the brunt of it, since he wasn’t very good at being an inconspicuous distraction, but that’s honestly fine, because double prank.
You and Sera crouch in the tree, giggling wildly and shushing each other, as if there’s any way they could possibly hear your laughter all the way over here.