Convincing
Monday morning normally means a return to training with the Iron Bull, but you’re not sure you have the energy for it. You suspect the burst of anxiety and panic the last few days has inspired in you drained away any excess energy you got from sleeping for a whole day. Which is a pity, because you could really use that energy now that you’re about to embark on a brutal cross-country journey through a war-torn Orlais and into a sparsely populated Blight-caused desert.
Ugh.
You had spent the night getting your things in order. You’re now entirely packed, All of your valuables are in one bag that you intend to keep on your back at all times. Your other, less important items, are in another that’s designed more to be tied to a mount rather than carried on your person. You can leave it behind in a pinch. You’ll be seeing how much work you can get on the dragon tome before you pack it and your supplies away, but you left room for it in your primary bag. If you have to run, that damned book is coming with you, as is your translation. The Inquisitor can eat his own ass; perhaps next time he wouldn’t bring a linguist on a dangerous outing like this. Idiot.
Before you leave, however, you poke your head into the chill air outside your tiny window. The bird feeder is still there. You pull it inside quickly, and check the little cache with two fingers. Empty… So your message was sent, but nothing back yet… obviously. It’ll take awhile to get messages in and out of Skyhold. You pen a quick one, in the same code, informing Banal’ras of what’s going on here, and that you’ll be incommunicado for a while. You roll it up small and shove it into place, then hang the bird feeder back up. As you do, you see the old elven man who so delicately balances your cover in his hands.
You wave him over; he ambles amicably. It’s the kind of movement that deserves alliteration. You feel like congratulating him on it; he probably practiced for a long time. You often wish people would compliment your smile or laugh for that very reason. But now really isn’t the time for that.
“Excuse me, sir, but I’ll be leaving for an indeterminate time tomorrow. I see you around here often… Would it be too much for me to ask you to keep my feeder filled?”
“Not at all, miss,” he says with a pleasant grin. It’s much more grin than smile. You wish he’d work on that. Well, at least he probably won’t blow your cover while you’re gone. That would take abysmally bad luck or lack of skill.
You remove yourself from the window; it’s really uncomfortable leaning out like that, especially as you’re beginning to put on weight. You give your room one more once over, just to make sure you’ve packed everything important, and then you head out to face the day.
You wind up heading to the training yard just before dawn, not out of any desire to train, but out of a desire to see Bull before you leave. You have things to catch up on, if he’s not going with you.
He’s not, as it turns out. He’s staying behind with the Chargers. The Inquisitor had another job he wanted them all for; he wasn’t too happy about the state of Krem, and further unhappy with the idea that the Chargers would prefer to stay in Skyhold until it was determined their second-in-command wasn’t going to die. But they’re delaying the job a week, long enough for Krem to be out of the woods, hopefully, and then leaving without him.
Poor Krem. He’s had a shittier couple of days than even you have.
Fortunately for you, Bull also doesn’t feel like pummeling you into the ground that morning. He does look at your eye a bit, and wave his hand around your face to “test your range of vision” or whatever. Your eye feels better than it did yesterday, but it still feels sort of… out of focus.
“I just hope it goes back to normal soon,” you say with a scowl, closing your eyes but resisting the urge to rub at them vigorously. “It’s starting to give me a headache.”
“It should. Just try not to over-strain them by, say, spending all day peering very closely at small writing,” Bull replies. You open your eyes just to roll them.
“Of course. Well, I’m sure they’ll have plenty of time to be rested from that sort of activity when I’m on the road for a bloody month.”
“If anything, you’ll want them sharper then,” Bull advises. “You’re going to be with the Inquisitor’s away team. Shit will go down, it’s just a matter of when.”
You groan. “That’s not what I want to hear, Bull.”
Bull scoffs. “I’m not going to lie to you about it—”
“You’re a hissrad, that literally means ‘liar’—”
“If we’re only our names, I think you, me, and Solas are in trouble.”
You sigh, then rub your eye. Bull pulls your hand away from it. “This is bullshit. I shouldn’t be going on this kind of a trip. I’ll either wind up dead or getting someone else hurt.”
“You’ll be fine once you get there. The Inquisitor will probably drop you off at Griffon Wing Keep and then run about doing the actual dangerous shit with actual dangerous people. You just gotta survive the trip. Keep your exercises up; don’t get lazy like you did on the trip to Val Royeaux.”
“Yes, mom.”
“Keep those daggers Sera gave you close. It’ll be too hot to wear the padded jacket for most of the trip; I’ve got my boys working on something there. Stay with the party; do not wander off to go traipsing through the woods.”
“That happened one time!”
“That happened so much more than one time.”
“How do you even know? Does Solas complain about me at the tavern on Tuesday nights?” you ask with a scowl, crossing your arms.
“Solas wasn’t the only one there,” Bull reminds you. Your scowl only deepens at the thought of the others talking about you… like Katari, who you had very pointedly been trying not to think about since you’d learned that you apparently hold a special place in his heart. Right between impalement and evisceration, probably. “So this time, stay close to him, and—”
“I’m actually going to be getting this lecture from him a few more times,” you say with a sigh. “So I’d prefer to skip it. I’ll be careful, Bull. I know how dangerous the Imperial Highway has gotten by now. Although hopefully, with a party of such obvious warriors, we’ll be left alone. I think we would have been on the way back, if not for the fact we were obviously moving goods.”
“Probably,” Bull agreed. “Those bandits must have been bold or desperate to take on a caravan with a Tal-Vashoth guard.”
“Two,” you add with a sigh. “Two Vashoth guards. At least, as far as they knew; I expected Sataareth to be a less effective guard than me after what he’d been through…”
“Now there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about—”
“Dalish, Skinner! Hi!” you shout, a bit louder than necessary, waving at the two. They’re still really far away, but you’d noticed them and needed a distraction. The Iron Bull gives you a look that says quite plainly that you didn’t fool anyone with that, but Dalish breaks into a jog and Skinner, after a moment, picks up speed as well.
Their arms are both full, which makes them running a big of an amusing thing to watch. When they finally get close enough for you to talk without shouting half of Skyhold awake, you speak up.
“What on earth are you two doing up this early? And what are you carrying?” you ask curiously.
“Been up for a while, getting all this together,” Dalish replies, then unceremoniously drops her entire load on the ground. “Phew! I wish we coulda had more notice than this. S’gonna be a pain to remember what belongs to who.”
You squat down to look at the pile. It appears to be a bunch of loose hunks of leather and metal… on closer examination, you realize it’s pieces of armor… or perhaps shreds of armor, since no two pieces appear to go together, and you wouldn’t begin to understand how to put any of it on. Or even where it was supposed to go on the body.
“You’re going to have to try a lot on,” Skinner informs you.
“I told you my guys were working on something,” Bull says with obvious pride.
“Can’t just send you off to the Approach in yer panties, can we?” Dalish says with a scoff. “We’re piecin’ you together some armor from what we got.”
“There’s bound to be enough to fit all your various parts in here,” Skinner adds. “Even if we didn’t have time to measure you properly and get it fitted.”
You blink in surprise. You’d just been planning on wearing the jacket for as long as you could, and then… Well, honestly, you hadn’t really thought about it. Armor had never figured into your plans before. Even when you’d been… ungainfully employed… in Orlais, armor hadn’t really been a factor.
“Will I be able to move in it?” you ask uncertainly. “Or even put it on by myself?”
“This is all light stuff,” Dalish explains. “We’re not gonna put a first-timer in plate. Besides, it’d be useless in that heat.”
“We picked things that were light and cool… but still might keep you safe. It’s nothing like full leather armor, but…” Skinner trails off.
“Every little bit helps,” suggests Dalish.
“And you won’t be there alone,” Bull reminds you. “If you’re having trouble with it, ask anyone.”
“Ah, yes,” you say dryly. “I’m sure Dorian will be an expert on the clasps of armor.”
“I’m pretty sure he’ll know how to take them off, at least,” Bull quips right back, which leaves you almost as surprised as the sudden arrival of armfuls of leather had. Last thing you’d heard, those two had been at it like cats and dogs… in part because of you purposefully antagonizing them to get both of them off your back. Hm. Had something happened with you noticing? You can probe Dorian for details later.
So that’s how you wind up spending the early morning being “fitted” for armor… which is actually just you holding mostly still while two elves and a Qunari manhandle you repeatedly. You just sort of ragdoll along with it after a while, cooperating as best you can as they bicker over whether or not you’ll even wear a harness if they give you one. What you wind up with is as much a hodgepodge as the Chargers themselves… a set of bracers, greaves, cuisses, and both a full harness—which is, you’re informed, what you call a leather breastplate with a back—and some fiddly bit that just goes over your shoulders. They’re all different colors. They appear to be made from entirely different kinds of leather, in fact.
But you actually pay attention to the rushed instructions on how to put them on. They’re right; the leather isn’t too heavy. You can practically ignore it when you’re wearing just the neck-and-shoulders bit—gorget, apparently—and not the full chest piece. And you like the idea of having something between you and any incoming arrows.
You wind up being dragged to the dining hall for breakfast. You suppose it’s fine now, since you’ve gotten your bandages taken off… You hadn’t really felt like making a spectacle of yourself there while injured. The elves were already angry enough, so you didn’t need to get them more riled up. It was more likely that you’d piss off the soldiers who ate there, or worse, that you’d be fussed over by people. Like you didn’t get enough of that already.
And you have to admit, it’s nice to sit with the Chargers one more time… possibly one last time, though that thought makes you scowl. You’ve been working on so many little pet projects in your spare time here… The Chargers, Solas, Celia… hell, even the elves and the farm. And now you’re being dragged away from all of that before you had a chance to really finalize things with any of them. And if you run, all that effort will be wasted.
Fucking Inquisitor.
You really would love to know the exact reasoning behind this nonsense. Was he onto you? Or had someone tipped him off? Leliana, or the Iron Bull, perhaps? Although Bull doesn’t seem too happy about you being dragged off either. That could easily be an act, however, or just that he didn’t expect the Inquisitor to react in this way. It’s not as though you can trust him; your entire “friendship” was always based on the fact Leliana wanted him to investigate you.
Not that a lack of trust is anything damning. You don’t trust any of the people you’re sitting and grinning with. You appreciate the fact they hobbled together armor for you… In fact, the nature of it makes you feel a bit warm inside, like you’re going to be wearing little pieces of each of the Chargers to keep you safe. But that doesn’t mean you trust them. Trust of that nature is an unattainable absolute.
People talk about levels of trust. For example, you now trust that Solas will not assault you, because he has had the opportunity multiple times in the past, and not done so. That’s a form of trust. But it’s not really trust. That’s a tentative conclusion based on repeated evidence. Real trust would be if you had gone into his bedroom confidently the first time. Real trust is blind. And, generally, can only be given once it kills you.
Dark thoughts to be thinking while smiling and laughing with the Chargers, but it’s where your mind is right now, particularly after your little “spat” with Solas. He wanted you to trust him, and you refused. Now both of you are hurting over it.
Thea approaches about halfway through breakfast. She looks a bit uncertain to sit down with the Chargers, but you wave her over, and no one questions your right to do so.
“It’s nice to see you in the mornings again,” she comments.
“Enjoy the sight,” you say with a sigh. “It’s the last one for a while.”
She tilts her head curiously to the side, as you’d known she would. Curiosity from Thea is one thing you can always count on. “What? Why?”
You wave your hand in an annoyed, careless fashion. “The Inquisitor is dragging me off on his next adventure.”
“What?!” she exclaims. “But he leads warriors! You’re a linguist!”
Finally! Someone reacts properly to this situation! “Yes, I know, and no, I don’t know why he’s bringing me. He said something about the book I’m translating, but I don’t see why he needs me there for that…”
Thea shakes her head slowly. “I can’t comprehend it… but he has to have a reason… right?”
“Well, he has to have a reason,” you admit dryly. “I’m not sure I’d understand if even if he explained, though…” You sigh. “I can’t believe I have to leave Skyhold. I feel like I just got settled in again.”
“And you’ve been so busy!” Thea says with a pout. “I don’t think you’ve stopped moving for two weeks, except maybe the last few days… And that’s just because you got punched in the face a lot.”
You have to laugh at that.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, I like that,” you say with a chuckle. “Punched in the face a lot. But it does bother me… I probably won’t be here to see what happens to Underhill.”
“Are you leaving so soon? We all sort of assumed the Inquisitor would deal with the people in the cells before heading out again. He’s normally here for a few weeks between outings, at least.”
“Has there been any announcement for a trial today?”
“Not that I’ve heard, no.”
“Then he probably won’t be doing it before we leave.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow?!” Thea exclaims. A few eyes in the room turn to her, and both of you sort of duck as if you can dodge underneath the stares.
“I told you this would be my last meal here!” you hiss quietly.
“I thought you meant you’d just be busy!”
“I’m always busy!”
“Tomorrow! The Inquisitor is leaving out so soon? He’s never… He normally stays for at least a week or two, to take care of things here…”
You can’t really blame Thea for being more concerned about the Inquisitor than you. The implications of one’s leader rushing away can be pretty alarming. You’d be curious about his reasons even if he wasn’t dragging you off too.
“Well, the good news is that there’s apparently a fortress out there… So once we get there, I’ll be able to receive and send mail.”
“Oh? That is good! Who do you think will be writing you? Your Solas? Oooh, or is he coming with you again?”
You make a face. That didn’t take her long. “I think it’s more accurate to say we’re both going with the Inquisitor, rather than him going with me…”
“Oooh! Across Orlais with your lover again!” she teases. You just roll your eyes. “With him there, though, who are you hoping to get letters from?”
“Thank you for the implication that I have no other friends,” you say with a chuckle, and she looks minorly aghast.
“Oh, that’s not what I meant! I just… Well, who are you friends with, actually?”
“You. And a few of the kitchen girls I suppose. And these lugs of course,” you add, gesturing to the Chargers, who are all engaged in their own conversations, some of which involve the throwing of bread rolls or the slingshotting of gruel. It’s never boring, eating with the Chargers.
“Oh, me,” Thea says with a chuckle, though she seems a bit flattered. Which had been the point, of course. “Are you hoping I’ll send you letters?”
“It would be nice,” you say with a sigh, listlessly dragging your spoon through your gruel. “A bit of word from home… I’ll miss so much, being gone. No one in the Approach is going to know Skyhold gossip. What are they going to tell me? Which camels are in a love triangle?”
Thea laughs, then reaches out to pat your shoulder. “Oh, alright. I don’t want you forgetting about me out there, anyway. At this rate, you’ll be spending more time away from Skyhold than here. I’ll see about sending you some letters while you’re gone.”
“Thanks, Thea,” you say with a cheerful smile. “That makes me feel much better.”
When you finally get out of the mess and away from the Chargers, you begin to make your way towards the rotunda, almost without thinking about it. But once you do think about it, it makes sense to go there. You need to touch base with Solas, maybe talk to Leliana… And get as much work done on that tome as possible.
As you’re beginning to climb the stairs, however, you hear the smash of armored boots—Templar issue, sounds like—against stone, followed by angry shouting. Instinctively, you glance behind you and then jump off the side of the stairs and into the bushes, pressing yourself against the stone. You run from shouting Templars. That is the most basic survival skill there is in this world.
“Cassandra, I’m sorry, but— Cassandra, will you wait…”
You hear the clang of boots thudding rapidly down the stairs, two sets. You risk a glance over the edge of the stairs and see Seeker Pentaghast’s boots hitting the last step. The Inquisitor’s hand reaches out and catches her arm. She spins and snaps it away from him.
“There is nothing more to talk about. You’ve made your position clear,” she says, the ice in her voice giving Solas’s chilly anger a run for it’s money.
“Yes, but I don’t want you to leave furious with me.”
“If you don’t want me to be cross, let me go! It’s ridiculous—”
“You need to rest Cassandra! I’m leaving Vivienne behind too, my entire team—”
“You’re leaving Vivienne behind because the mages are about to try hexing Cullen out of sheer frustration,” Cassandra snaps. “And you’re taking Blackwall and Cole!”
“Cole isn’t human,” the Inquisitor says with a scoff. “Taking him is like taking a sword. He doesn’t get tired; you know that.”
“Blackwall—”
“Blackwall is a Grey Warden. This is his duty. This involves him intimately; he wouldn’t stay behind even if I told him to.”
“Oh, but I will?” Seeker Pentaghast snaps. “You’re bringing half the Inner Circle, but I’m expected to sit here on my laurels while this madness unfolds?”
Why do you always wind up hiding nervously while Seeker Pentaghast fights with people? The Inquisitor isn’t Varric, however; there’s no power in the world that would make you step in to help him with a timely distraction. Also, there’s no unsuspicious way to emerge from bushes.
“We’ll be on the road for weeks. Wardens are used to that kind of thing, but—”
Man, even you could tell him that was the wrong angle to take here.
“Oh, and I’m not, am I? Is a Seeker too fragile for this dangerous journey?”
You and the Inquisitor flinch in unison, although you’re smiling a bit. It’s kind of funny to watch him getting dressed down by a furious Cassandra Pentaghast.
“That’s not what I meant—I just don’t want you to get hurt!” the Inquisitor protests.
“You speak of a Grey Warden’s duty, but magic is being abused! I can practically smell it! This is as much my duty as anyone’s. And it should be my choice!”
“I’m the Inquisitor,” the Inquisitor protests, which amuses you to no end. He sounds almost petulant about it. “That was your idea. I’m supposed to give orders.”
Seeker Pentaghast makes a little frustrated grunt. She even stomps her foot a little bit. This is hilarious. You want her to say “yes, but not to ME” next.
Unfortunately, what she actually says is, “You’re right, but I think this is the wrong one. I should go. You may need a Seeker’s skill… and you’re even taking a civilian along!”
The Inquisitor shushes her, which you think takes either a lot of bravery or a lot of stupidity. “We don’t need to be shouting that in the middle of the courtyard, Cassandra.”
“And what will you do if she catches a sword in the stomach? If words got out, everything will just get worse,” she hisses, more quietly.
“I’m fairly certain Solas will be keeping an eye on her,” the Inquisitor says with a sigh. “I’m not worried—”
“That’s what worries me!”
“Fine!” he says, throwing his hands in the air. “You’re right. But I want you to spend the rest of the day resting, Cassandra. We’re riding hard starting tomorrow. I can’t be worried about anyone becoming fatigued.”
“I’ll be the least of your worries,” Cassandra says sourly.
You hear the clank of her boots pick up again, then fade. Then you hear a long sigh, combined with a bit of a groan. “You be the leader, Eugene. We trust your judgement, Eugene. Andraste’s tits… I need a drink already, and it’s barely past dawn…” And then the sound of shoes up the stairs. You give it a few minutes before carefully emerging from the bushes.
Well.
That was interesting.
You head into the Great Hall, mind spinning with the implications. The Seeker will be coming, which is a nightmare, but for once it’s not the first thing on your mind. She seems more interested in keeping you safe than suspecting you, which is bizarre. Of course, this means she’ll get a prolonged eyeful of you being friendly with Cole. You’re not going to act distant to him for her benefit… You’ve already basically told her to shove her suspicion of him up her ass, so there would be no point.
And what was all that about Blackwall and a Grey Warden’s duty? Are fucking darkspawn involved in this? You’ve never actually seen one, and you’re pretty happy about that. That’s one of the few things in your life that has gone perfectly. You’ve never been to the Deep Roads, you’ve never seen a darkspawn… You were in Tevinter for the majority of the Fifth Blight, and by the time you got back to Ferelden, some six years later, they had pretty much cleaned up.
You can deal with a lot of things very well, but darkspawn? You’re no more Blight-resistant than the average person. You’ll get sick and die with the best of them, and no amount of trickery could save you from that. If darkspawn are going to be there, you really don’t want anything to do with it.
You chew thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you enter the rotunda. You’ll need time to absorb all of this, but for right now, Solas is in the rotunda, and looks up as you enter.
“Good morning, Emma. Did you sleep?” he inquires.
“A bit,” you lie. “When it became clear I wouldn’t get any more sleep, I packed.”
“That’s good, I—” he pauses, tilts his head slightly. “…What are you wearing?”
You glance down at yourself, then blink. “Oh. This. Yeah, the Chargers gave it to me. I guess I should probably take it off, but I’d have to go back to my room to pack it… Does it look stupid?”
“Not particularly. I’m simply unaccustomed to the sight of you in armor. That was good of them. I am glad Bull and his Chargers are thinking in your best interests.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s probably stupid, but I do feel a bit better wearing it.” You chuckle, shaking your head. “Anyway. Have you had the chance to talk to anyone about my unexpected inclusion?”
“I’ve spoken to the Spymaster—who had remarkably little to say—but not to Seeker Pentaghast. I haven’t been able to pin her down yet… when I asked earlier, she was in the War Room with the Inquisitor.”
“Oh, I just passed her, actually, on the way in.”
“Ah!” Solas stands from his desk quickly. “Perhaps if I hurry, I can catch her before someone else does. Thank you, Emma.”
He breezes past you before you can even voice your question about what he learned from Leliana. Well, not much, from the sounds of it. You tilt your head back, staring up the tower, and listen to the echoing caw of a crow from above.
To the Void with it… You’re talking to her yourself.
You head up the steps quickly, in a half jog, just so that you don’t lose your nerve. You’ve been avoiding Leliana since you came back and she announced—out of nowhere—that you’d enter her employ… and then began not-so-subtly shoving you into “secret agent school.” You’re both Orlesian and neither of you are stupid. You know what it looks like when someone’s trying to nab someone promising to shape them into a little apprentice bard. It was done to you, it was done by you, and you’re doing it to this day. So you don’t really appreciate someone trying to do it to you again. It’s like someone trying to put you through initiation again after you’ve been in the club for four years.
There’s no avoiding it now, though. You need answers.
She’s up there, sitting at the desk where you often see her. There’s an agent speaking to her, but she waves him away when she sees you coming. You appreciate it; you’re not in a waiting mood. It probably shows on your face.
“I expected you’d be up to see me, after the tongue lashing Solas just gave me,” she says with a half-smile on her lips.
You’re a bit surprised. A tongue-lashing? From Solas? He hadn’t even seen that emotional about it with you. She must read the surprise on your face.
“He’s a very calm man. Any emoting at all from him feels like shouting,” she explains, lacing her hands together on the desk. “I’m assuming you’re here for the same reason?”
“Why am I being dragged to the Western Approach?” you demand, the firmness in your voice surprising even you. You seem to be too tired to be properly intimidated. “I’m a linguist, not a soldier. I joined the Inquisition to escape the chaos in Orlais, not to be repeatedly sent through it with four guards and a prayer!”
“It was the Inquisitor’s decision,” she says, as if that were both an explanation and a complete statement. You wait a few moments for her to elucidate. She does not.
“That does not even begin to answer my question,” you say flatly.
“Most people take an evasion as an answer in and of itself,” she replies.
“Well, that’s well and good for most people,” you snap, in no mood for Orlesian shenanigans. “But seeing as how this person has a very real chance of dying, and is a hireling, not a slave, she would appreciate an actual answer. ”
“Our soldiers are hired, not slaves, as well, but they may still be called on to risk their lives in a war.” She sighs. “But you’re not a soldier… and you’re not wrong. Unfortunately, I doubt I can tell you more than what the Inquisitor has. Or at least, what I rather hope he has. He wishes you to come along to speak to the draconologist there directly.”
“Why not just bring the man here?” you demand. “It would be much safer for everyone involved.”
“Because he’s not actually a member of the Inquisition… the Inquisitor can’t just summon him. Besides, he’s glued to his outpost there, chasing after a high dragon in the area. When the Inquisitor first met him, he was all but surrounded by Venatori, with his entire team dead… and still determined to stay there.”
You rub your face. “Where we’re going has… Venatori. And a high dragon.”
“The high dragon hasn’t actually been spotted by any of our men.”
“Oh, well, in that case, it’ll be like a vacation! Why does the Inquisitor need me to talk to a draconologist?!”
“There hasn’t been a high dragon sighted there… and that’s almost an oddity, because so far there have been reports of high dragons at the Storm Coast, near Redcliffe, all across Orlais… and the Inquisitor apparently saw one himself while he was in Crestwood. The Inquisition is in need of an actual dragon expert somewhat desperately, and Professor Frederic is one of the best in a very small field… particularly outside of Tevinter. In fact, even Magisters hold him in high regard.”
“Wait… the draconologist the Inquisitor has his eyes on is Professor Frederic of Serrault?” you exclaim, immediately distracted.
“Yes. You know him?”
“I know of him. I’ve never been overly involved in the field before now, but at least half of the books I bought in Orlais are his, and the rest cite his works at least once. Of course, I got my research material at the University of Orlais, where he studied and taught, but still…” You pause, then shake your head. “Ugh, that doesn’t matter right now. I still don’t understand why I’m needed for this. He’s the draconologist, not me.”
“Because without him in the Inquisition, you’re actually the closest thing to a dragon expert we have,” Leliana says, leaning back with a sigh.
“…I’ve been studying them for a month.”
“Yes,” she says, looking pained.
You close your eyes for a moment and take a deep, strained breath.
“As much as we try not to appear as such, the Inquisition is something of a…”
“Ragtag bunch of would-be heroes and refugees that only formed six months ago?” you suggest.
“…Yes. That.” She sighs again. “You and Dorian are the two here most knowledgeable about dragons, and Dorian is only that because of the basic knowledge he picked up being an altus. You’re the only who has actually studied. You’re being sent along for the same reason the tome is… bribery. Temptation. To make the Inquisition look worthwhile.”
You stiffen immediately. “So I’m one of a few items being sent along to seduce him into joining?” you say icily. Leliana takes your meaning immediately.
“You’re being sent to speak to him. We hope that he’ll find your knowledge and curiosity desirable traits that speak well of the Inquisition. Nothing else,” she says firmly. You nod. It’s good to be clear in these things when words like “bribery” and “temptation” are involved. You haven’t done those sorts of jobs in a very long time, and you’ve absolutely no intention to start back up again.
Leliana smiles wanly. “Fear not, Emma; the Inquisition hasn’t stooped to prostitution just yet. Besides… can you imagine what the Commander would do if he heard we were plotting something like that? He’d probably challenge the Inquisitor to a duel at dawn.” Her brief smile fades, and she sighs. “I can tell you’re not pleased with this, and to be honest, I don’t blame you. While we hardly specified what would be needed of you when you signed on, this can’t be what you expected. But this sort of danger will be reflected in your pay, which will be doubled for the entirety of the journey and your time in the Approach.”
You perk up despite yourself. Doubled? You’re already getting a very considerable chunk of money. Doubling it would push it out of “silvers” and into “sovereigns.” The things you could do with that much money… and you’d barely even be working, just traveling. It would be dangerous, yes, but not difficult.
“And, of course, since you’ll be gone for so long, your first paycheck will be in advance. The rest you can collect in full when you return.”
You leave Leliana’s perch with a small pile of gold coins and a dazed expression. It’s not an impossible amount of money, but it’s certainly more than you’ve made translating… ever. Bribery so that you’ll consent to be used as bribery… ironic. But you can’t say much, since that much gold in your pocket has gone as far towards convincing you as anything Cole said.