On-Again
“I thought you hated me,” turns out to be the first intelligent thing you say, which in retrospect should probably have been a conversation you instigated before bringing Sera to an orgasm.
“You really wanna have this conversation now?” she asks, fortunately looking amused rather than annoyed. “Y’ haven’t even had yer turn yet.”
Your ‘turn’ is a very appealing concept, but that’s not a thing that’s going to happen while you’re awkwardly balanced on a river rock.
“It seems vaguely important,” you say, instead.
Sera sighs, and rolls her eyes. “You obviously like me. Y’just stabbed a demon to like, super death. An’ yer just a linguist, it’s not like you go stabbin’ demons every day! Every time someone so much as keeps you from fallin’ off a cliff, you go all swoony-eyed. S’not in your nature to run into danger.”
That is… at least half-true. You’d made a great career out of running away from danger. Strategically. That was why you were even at the Inquisition to begin with.
“Nothing’s really… changed, though…” you say, thinking back to your numerous ‘can’t’s. The self-loathing is already beginning to creep in around the edges, in fact.
Sera shrugs. “Y’got issues. I figure I can either leave you alone to stew in them forever or jus’ make a strong first move and let you figure out the rest.”
“…That seems… Uh…” Ill-advised?
Sera grins. “Worked, dinnit?”
She has a point, you suppose.
“It doesn’t hafta be complicated,” she says, her voice softening slightly. “Y’like me, I like you, that’s enough, innit?”
You look away, biting your lip. It doesn’t seem like it should be, but you also have literally no counter-arguments. None that you can really deliver without saying any of the many things you can’t say. You can’t tell her that you’re hiding something from her, or lying to her, because even that admission is too telling. What secrets could a person like you have, that could reasonably be cause for someone like her to have second thoughts? You could surely make up some kind of lie to keep her away, but for once in your life, you’re having trouble with the idea that lying more could fix your problem.
“I need… time to think,” you say. It’s not a no, because it would be really, really shitty to have sex with her and then reject her outright immediately afterward. And also because she is still very naked and your mind is still circling around thoughts of turns, and what could be accomplished with a bit more time and a lot more privacy.
You’re self-justifying. You know you are. You can feel it. You’re pretty sure, given time to think, time away from Sera and her extremely beautiful, extremely naked body, you’ll remember why you said you couldn’t do this. Or maybe come up with a way to find out if she’d feel used without out-and-out telling her you’re hiding multiple terrible secrets.
Like. You could… tell her a small one. Maybe. Little, tiny secret.
“Can we spend that time doin’ more o’ this?” Sera was asking.
“I… Uh…”
You should probably say no.
It is super late to be saying no. The damage is, quite literally, already done.
“Maybe?”
Getting out of the river turns out to be tricky. You’re pretty clean at this point, and you’d helped Sera clean off. And nearly gotten distracted again. All while half-assedly explaining why you don’t want her to go down on you in a river bed. You just don’t want her to feel bad; getting you off is like solving one of those theoretical five-dimensional puzzles the Tevinter mages are always puttering away at. It’s not going to happen in a river, and you’d rather not bother at all rather than have to get halfway through and then determine a good time to realistically fake it.
Even without any additional exchanges of fluids, there’s a lot of giggling. And, inexplicably, a lot of shushing, even though Sera had been making a fair bit of noise earlier. You have to help her get her pants out of a tree, because she’d been focused more on being seductive than practical when she’d tossed them.
By the time you get back to camp, you’re both more slightly damp than wet, and you’ve managed to put your hair back into a tail, if not a bun, since it needs to dry.
…Is it just you, or is everyone working very hard at not looking directly at the two of you…?
Solas is very focused on the horses. When have you ever seen Solas with the horses? Literally never. The two of you had just been injured, and he’s not hovering even a little bit. Blackwall and the Inquisitor are having a very enthusiastic conversation about maces, which could almost be normal if not for how forced it is. Seeker Pentaghast is… sharpening her sword, which could also almost be normal if not for the fact she is visibly bright red.
You run a hand over your face.
Every single person in this camp just heard you have sex with Sera.
Great.
You peel off from Sera and the rest of the group almost immediately and beeline for the horses. Sera lets you, although whether it’s because she wants to give you space or because Solas is with the mounts, you don’t know. Not that it’s significantly less awkward around him, but taking care of the mounts is objectively your job. Having a place where you’re absolutely justified in being helps the intense awkwardness of realizing that the majority of the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle—as well as the Inquisitor himself—are all intimately aware of the fact you just fucked someone in a river.
Solas is sort of awkwardly hovering. He probably wants to ask how you’re doing but also probably heard some Yells That Were Not In Alarm, and it’s not like he’s an idiot.
“I’m fine,” you just spit out after a few minutes of tense and awkward silence. “I wasn’t actually that badly hurt, I don’t think.”
“…You were badly injured for a civilian, but not for someone who had just fought a terror demon,” he says, finally, with a resigned sigh. “I have healed much worse, but not necessarily on you.”
“What about the time—”
“Please do not remind me of every horrible and inexplicable injury you have ever obtained,” Solas interrupts, and you laugh.
“Alright. Fair.”
“I would scold you for leaping in,” Solas continues. “But I believe the Seeker beat me to that.”
“She did. At length.”
“And you did it to protect Sera, did you not?”
You hesitate, glancing over your shoulder. Sera is talking to Blackwall in a quiet tone that doesn’t reach your ears, and grinning broadly.
“I would have done it for anyone,” you lie. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Solas doesn’t call you on the falsehood, but the doubt is obvious on his face. “We all do ill-advised things for those we care about. The extent of Sera’s injuries leads me to believe that it was not unnecessary, as well. Had she been even more injured, we would surely have had to stop for some time to allow her to recover, or even left her behind at the next town.”
You shudder. You hadn’t really thought about any of that, to be honest. You’d just seen her go down and then the world had gone kind of red and kind of sideways. It was hardly the first time you’d been inspired to grand acts of violence in that sort of situation. Which Solas knows more than anyone else here. He and he alone had seen you decapitate a man with his own damned blade. There is a reason why Seeker Pentaghast had been the one to panic and lecture, not him.
“Thanks for the cover, back there,” you say, instead of any of that.
Solas shrugs. “I understand why it’s important to you that no one knows.” Another long glance back towards the others. “Perhaps even those you may be closely involved with.”
You wince. You feel bad enough about the situation without him reminding you how much you’re lying to her. “It’s not really relevant to the situation,” you lie. “If it was important, I’d tell her.”
Solas gives you a look that you’re having trouble interpreting. Not pity, bordering perhaps on judgment, but some odd combination of both and yet neither.
“It’s about who you are. Of course it’s important.”
You all get back on the road by early afternoon. The ahead party has changed a bit, to the Inquisitor, Cole, and Solas, a trio you can only admit is something of a powerhouse. And it leaves you with both the Seeker and Blackwall to keep Sera from getting clawed halfway to death if you run into anymore demons. You’re right this moment a bit more appreciative of the Inquisitor’s strategic team choices than you perhaps have been in the past. You also suspect the three of them are as much trying to hunt down any rifts as they are trying to keep the five of you from getting ambushed.
The working theory that the Inquisitor, the Seeker, and Solas had come up with was that the rift those demons had been pulled through had already been closed, but without destroying their corporeal forms first, leaving them stranded and wandering. But the Inquisitor, Solas, and Cole apparently all have their own ways to track down rifts, so the three of them working in tandem should be able to detect any in the area.
You repeat the sensibility of the Inquisitor’s plan to yourself over and over to avoid any lingering resentment that he hadn’t taken Sera with him. He shouldn’t have. It would have been dumb as shit if he had. But that means she’s there, with you, and you’re having very painful whiplash between hating yourself and be very fucking pleased with the bad decision you’d just made.
She’s objectively gorgeous, is the thing, and she’s smiling now. Not even hovering like you’d been very worried she might, but chatting cheerfully about a mile a minute, mostly with Blackwall, but even a bit with Dorian. When had you ever seen Sera and Dorian getting along this well, joking and having a good time? Maker knows he deserves that, and Sera… Sera’s practically glowing. It’s such a stark difference between her misery and fury the last few days, and knowing you caused that feels just as good as knowing you’d caused her suffering had felt bad.
The idea that you could make someone happy is a particularly alien concept, and the taste of it on your tongue—as well as the vivid imagery of some other tastes you’d like to have on your tongue—is so sweet that you can’t barely imagine being able to resist it. But lingering in the back of your mind, even now, is the fear, no, the knowledge that you could never make her happy long term. And as sweet as her joy is now, it would only make the pain later all the worse.
…Wouldn’t it?
You are the kind of person who can compartmentalize. You can enjoy the bliss of the moment and not regret tasting that happiness even after it ends in flames. The destruction of your retired life in Orlais was horrible, but it’s not like that means you regret the decision to retire, however short-lived it had been. That happiness, though brief, was still potent. Maybe you’re not giving Sera enough credit. She seems to accept that you have baggage, at this point, even if she doesn’t know what it is… right? She wouldn’t have made moves on you after you’d rejected her if she didn’t understand that. So maybe she doesn’t care if it ends badly? Maybe she just wants to have some fun along the way.
And she’s significantly less likely to up and kill you than Fenris. Plus: fewer issues. Or, well, fewer that you know about; you just know a bit too much about Fenris’s sordid past to feel comfortable risking hurting him in such a way. He deserves better, the way Krem deserved better.
Not that Sera doesn’t deserve much better than you… but if you’re what she wants now, it’s not like you’re preventing her from getting someone better later.
You’re justifying. You can feel yourself doing it, searching for a good reason to let this happen. And you’re finding quite a few, which is a bit worrying. Is that because there actually are good reasons, or just because you’re that good at justifying horrible things to yourself? Your lack of inherent moral compass is making this very, very difficult, you feel. Surely a good person would know automatically what the right thing to do was, but here you are stumbling around in blind circles.
Doing no harm is so difficult and alien to you that you spend the entire fucking afternoon circling the drain of your own thoughts. The day passes, dreary and grey and worrisome, the only sun on display the blinding brilliance of a happy Sera. And try as you might, you just can’t bring yourself to snuff it out.
You stop for dinner, and you’ve just finished caring for the horses in an absentminded daze when you’re brought up short. Quite literally; you turn around towards the fire and are suddenly aware there is a Man There. Not even Blackwall, which would be alarming enough, but the Inquisitor. You look up in alarm, wondering if you’re in for another scolding for your actions that morning.
You pride yourself at being very good at preparing for eventualities. Hard to surprise, quick to adapt when things don’t go your way. Today, however, seems determined to make a halla-in-lamplights fool out of you, because instead of all the myriad things the Inquisitor of the Inquisition could want with you just now, he presses a sword, still in its scabbard, into your arms. You hold it, blankly, staring down at it and then back up at him, completely at a loss for why the fuck he just handed you a sword. Does he think you can use this? You fucking can’t. Even if you weren’t in the habit of hiding damn near one hundred percent of your martial skills, swords would definitely not be included in your list of talents.
“If you’re going to be running headlong into battle,” the Inquisitor announces. “You need to know how to use something better than throwing daggers for stabbing. You need to know how to defend yourself.”
You stare at him just as blankly as before.
“Combat training,” he explains, when it becomes clear you’re just going to stand there, wide-eyed. “Like with Bull, I suppose, but infinitely more useful, since you’ll have a sword and a teacher that isn’t just trying to…” the Inquisitor waves his hand in the air, glancing away. “You know.”
It really says something about his character that he’s more than willing to imply you’re sleeping with the entire Inquisition, to your face, but shies short of actually saying the word ‘fuck’. Not anything good, mind you, but still something.
“Are you truly the only one here I can trust to teach me swordplay without trying to teach me swordplay?” you ask flatly, in straight-up denial and still trying to figure out a good way to refuse this absolute fucking madness. The Inquisitor has the good sense to flush and keep looking pointedly away.
“Surely not the only one,” Solas interjects, approaching from where the two of you had been working with the mounts. “Although I will admit some trepidation to the concept itself, given that Emma has proven able to injure herself on stairs, let alone swords.”
This thing Solas has started doing, where he helps you out while insulting you… You can’t decide whether you appreciate it or want to set him on fire. Can it be both? It can probably be both; you’re a multifaceted person.
“She’ll be in more danger in the long run if she never learns how to handle a blade properly,” the Inquisitor points out, making you deeply regret your earlier innuendo. “Especially as she seems perfectly keen on using them outside their intended purpose. Next time she decides she wants to run a terror demon through, I’d prefer she have a proper sword and some proper training.”
You wouldn’t be in danger in the first place if some idiot hadn’t insisted you leave the castle and wander about the demon-infested countryside with warriors. You and Solas share a look that implies you’re both thinking that, but neither of you are in a rush to say it right to the Inquisitor’s face. Well, actually, wait, Solas looks like he might. Shit. You step subtly in front of him just as he’s opening his mouth, with that pre-lecture look on his face. You might bump into him a little bit. Pointedly. You don’t step on his foot, but only because you’re in boots and he’s barefoot as always.
“I’d prefer I never be in a situation where I need to run a terror demon through, actually,” you say quickly, instead of whatever significantly less diplomatic thing Solas was about to say.
The Inquisitor laughs, which isn’t the ideal reaction there. “Wouldn’t we all. But Thedas is rife with demons at the moment. And if I’m going to be dragging you into the desert, I should at least put some effort into ensuring you don’t die before you have a chance to speak to our scholar.”
You feel like there are a lot of ways for him to do that. Ones that don’t involve you trying to swing around a sword. You’re having a hard time finding polite ways to say any of them, however, and Solas is looking increasingly annoyed.
“A sword might be a bit much for her,” Solas points out. “Perhaps I could train her in staff usage, instead? It would be very difficult for her to stab herself with that.”
This is also a good point, but you do not need to be seen twirling a staff around. And you could never actually carry one with you, because too many people equate staffs with mages. It would be a skill just as useless as swordplay, perhaps moreso, since no one screeches abomination and tries to run a person through because they know how to parry. That being said, more lessons with Solas is preferable to anything with the Inquisitor.
“She’s no mage,” the Inquisitor points out, and you keep your face carefully neutral because bursting into laughter at this stage, while tempting, would be unwise. “Staff training would be less useful to her than simple, basic melee training. And the best way to start there is with a sword.” He eyes you. “Maybe a shield, later, if she takes to it. I feel like that might be an appropriate thing for her to learn.”
…Does one have to learn how to use a shield? It’s a giant piece of wood or metal. You hold it between yourself and the person trying to murder you. It feels like that shouldn’t be hard to master.
It would be easier if he’d simply not taken you into a situation where he deemed sword tricks a necessary life skill. But that ship, you know, has long since sailed. If he didn’t listen to Seeker Pentaghast’s displeasure, he certainly won’t listen to yours. Or Solas’s. And you’d like to prevent another hostile situation between the two. They’ve barely spoken the entire trip and it’s been a blessing.
Keeping Solas from talking to the Inquisitor. Keeping Solas from talking to Sera. Keeping Dorian from saying anything stupid to Solas. No wonder the man is all but in isolation despite your attempts at enamoring him to the common man of the Inquisition. No one here can be trusted not to say something absolutely fucking idiotic, and he doesn’t have an ounce of the patience you’ve learned over your long life of listening to dumbass shems say dumbass things.
“Alright,” you say with a sigh, just to get it over with. “But need I remind you, I am supposed to be spending my spare time working on your tome.”
“It will be easier for you to finish that once we get you to a place with tables,” the Inquisitor says, revealing to you that he’s an idiot, but apparently an idiot who knew you would not be able to work well on the road. If you had been back in Skyhold this entire time, you could have had it finished in another few days and just sent it along with Bull or something.
Actually, yeah, okay, let’s hope this sword training gives you the chance to hit him very hard with something large and heavy.
Large and heavy turns out to be the perfect description of the Inquisitor’s damned sword. You’re on the road; it’s not like he has spare practice swords lying around, so you’re just starting with live steel. Live, very fucking heavy steel. You wouldn’t know it looking at him—the Inquisitor is an aggressively average looking man—but he must be quite strong to heft these things one-handed. You keep wanting to grasp the hilt with two hands; it’s big enough for it thanks to the comparative size of you hands, and it’s certainly heavy enough for it.
Perhaps because it’s a real sword and actually sharp, the Inquisitor just has you practicing basic sword motions. It would feel condescending if not for the fact you should have no idea what you’re doing, and also for the fact that even just the repetitive motions are making your arms ache terribly. Oh good, you’re so glad you can have exhausted arms to match your exhausted legs. By the time this trip is over, you will either be solid muscle or you will have died.
“I suppose linguists don’t do a lot of heavy lifting,” the Inquisitor says about fifteen minutes into you trying your best to swing a sword in the correct manner without dropping it. He sounds amused. “Bull should have had you doing push-ups instead of just having you bouncing around; your arm is like the last leaf in autumn.”
“I think this sword is heavier than I am,” you say breathlessly.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get the swing of it,” he says with the broad grin of a man very pleased with his own awful pun.
Your natural instinct is to shoot back. It’s what you would have done with anyone else… save the Seeker, the Commander, Leliana… A very important and very telling list that the Inquisitor is very much on. You may have completely failed to escape the notice of even one of them, but you can at least remain polite, useful, and most importantly, completely harmless.
The Inquisitor shows you a handful of what you can only presume are deeply basic sword drills. Just the absolute basics of swinging and blocking. Then he tells you to practice on nights when you aren’t too dead tired from travel. You appreciate the addendum. What you don’t appreciate is him saying that he’ll show you more when the both of you have time. You don’t want sword lessons with the fucking Inquisitor. You’re having a hard time of thinking of anything you want less. But here you are.
You’ve been on the road for over a week now. Surely you’re getting close to the fucking desert. Then the Inquisitor will be too busy with important Inquisitory things to bother you, and you can just focus on getting your work done. You’re purposefully not thinking about how long you might be stuck in the desert. Hopefully wherever he sticks you will at least have some fucking walls.
You’re fucking exhausted by the time you finally get to your tent. Today has been a completely insane day. From start to finish, just… completely mad. You can’t wait to curl up with the help of Cole and get something resembling a good night’s sleep. Well. Sleep, anyway, not even close to a full night of it, but at this stage in your life you’ll absolutely take what you can—
That. That is a Sera. There is a Sera in your tent. There is a Sera in just her smallclothes, in your tent. Wh. Is. Did you walk into the wrong tent again. What is happening. Why do you keep winding up in the wrong tent.
“Hey, lover,” she says with a wicked grin. “Wanna pick back up where we left off?”
You tried to say no.
You really did. You fumbled and stammered and hunted for a reason to not repeat all your bad mistakes. But she looked at you and she said “give me one good reason why we can’t,” and you hadn’t been able to come up with any. Not any that you could say. That was the problem. You couldn’t just blurt out “I’m lying to you,” because then she’d want to know about what. And there were no good endings to that. Even if you came up with one small lie to give her, then she’d just think that was all you’d been hiding. And the truth, if she ever found it…
No point in coming clean about one thing if you weren’t going to come clean about it all. Lying about one thing, lying about everything, in the end, isn’t it the same amount of wrong? It feels like a zero-sum game. Even if you told her half a dozen little truths, there were too many she could never know, all of which would upset her if she knew. She’d want to know why you lied about so many small things, too, and those just painted a picture to a greater whole than she could know about.
So instead, you’d occupied your liar’s mouth with other things.