Hold Me Here
The coin sits heavy in your pocket, but it’s a comforting reminder. That much coin will make running so much safer… and if nothing goes wrong, you can come back to an even bigger pile at the end.
Thinking about it objectively… You’ve traveled across dangerous terrain alone before. The biggest risk isn’t surviving, it’s surviving undiscovered… as you well know. You’ll have to give a lot of thought to how much of your abilities you can safely show. Will Solas say something, if you suddenly become less competent than he knows you are? Perhaps you should speak to him. If you explain that you don’t wish for your checkered past as a bard to get out, will he understand and keep silent?
Of course, there might come a situation, like the bandits in Orlais, where you have to show some skill in order to survive. But if things get too dicey, you can always use the cover of a chaotic battle to flee. Come to think of it, won’t Revas be with you? He would make it very hard to blend in, but very easy to cover long distances…
You should look at a map. Have a plan for every inch of the journey. Better to have a plan and not need it, right? In fact, you swing by the library on your way back to the rotunda and get a modern atlas. You don’t know exactly what route you’ll be taking, but you’re willing to bet you can hazard a guess. After all, if speed is of the essence, it just makes sense to travel the Imperial Highway.
Solas isn’t in the rotunda when you return, so you drop the large book of maps onto your desk and take a while to peruse it. You’re not quite sure where in the Western Approach you’re going. There’s not… really a lot out there. It’s a giant blighted desert, not a tourist destination. So while you’re confident you’ll be on the Imperial Highway ’til at least Verchiel, after that is anyone’s guess. Perhaps you’ll break west through the Heartlands. Perhaps you’ll stay on the highway. Perhaps you’ll ferry across Lake Celestine for some godforsaken reason; probably because boats are terrible and life hates you.
But still, you make a few vague plans based on where your resources are, for various legs of the journey. You have a few old caches, but you doubt you’ll need them, with as much coin as Leliana just handed you. You tap thoughtfully on your desk, feeling more comfortable with every escape plan you form. By the time Solas returns to the rotunda, you’ve got a dozen of them and are beginning to form a better sense of security surrounding the whole thing.
“How did it go?” you ask Solas as he enters, closing the atlas and crumpling up your vague, scribbled notes. “You were gone for quite a while. Were you speaking to the Seeker the entire time?”
“Ha. Hardly,” he replies. He sinks into his chair with a sigh, and rubs a hand down his face. “I spoke to the Inquisitor as well.”
“Oh. That must have been… …fun.”
Solas gives you a particularly potent glare over his hand. It occurs to you that he’s just talked to someone he truly seems to despise, because of you.
Ah. Guilt. Your old friend.
“It was neither fun nor particularly enlightening, though I did learn there is to be a briefing this evening. Whether or not you will be invited, I do not know, though I certainly hope so. It would be even more dangerous to bring you and leave you in the dark about what we may face.”
“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see. Did Leliana tell you much?”
Solas hums thoughtfully. “Yes and no. I cannot quite decide if she told me less than it seemed or more than she thought.”
“I often feel that way with her,” you say with a sigh, shifting the atlas off of your desk and onto the floor. Might as well get some work done on the tome now. “I went up for information myself, and came out with more coin than I’ve ever been handed at one time. Tell me, do you get increased pay when out on a mission?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Solas replies. “I don’t pay much attention to the ‘wages’ I accrue. I’ve little need for them.”
“Feel free to forward them to me,” you say dryly. “I wouldn’t want the burdens of coin to weigh you down.”
“So thoughtful,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips. “Tell me, have you eaten?”
“Breakfast? Yes. I took it in the dining hall with the Chargers and Thea.”
“It’s nearly lunchtime now.”
“Is it?” you ask, glancing at the long candle you use to tell time… which you never lit this morning.
“Yes. Are you getting hungry?”
You’re not, of course. You rarely get hungry… or perhaps it’s more honest to say you’re always hungry? You know the deep, painful, gnawing sensation of hunger very well, and you feel it rarely since coming to Skyhold. And when you do, it’s your own fault, because you’d just forgotten to eat or been too busy. But you always feel like you could eat something. If that’s hunger, then you’re always hungry.
But that’s over thinking the question, which is, you’re certain, largely rhetorical. Solas isn’t actually asking if you’re hungry; he’s delicately requesting for you to bring him food. Might as well have lunch before hunkering down to get some work done on the tome. And with Solas here, you can even get a wrist enchantment now that your healing is over and done with!
You share a knowing glance with Celia in the kitchens, but neglect to mention your impending departure to the kitchen staff at large. You’re not sure of the secrecy surrounding the mission in general, but more importantly… you don’t want them to fuss. Last time, they’d sent you off with half the pantry, or so it felt.
They fuss anyway, though… but it’s about your face. You’re already getting accustomed to being able to see out of both eyes again, and your vision is all but back to normal… or perhaps you’ve just adapted to it. They fuss and whine, however, swarming about you and asking how you are, can you see out of it, are you still taking medicine. Blah, blah, blah. Exhausting.
You humor them as best you can, but you have a short fuse today. Everything has you on edge. So you make your excuses as quickly as possible and head back up to Solas. Even eating with him at his desk doesn’t put you in much of a better mood… You can’t help but sulk over the situation you’ve found yourself in. You’re like the frog in a pot of water, except you’re totally noticing it getting hot and just deciding not to jump out because there’s a really sexy carrot in the pot and hey, maybe you’ll like the heat…
Ugh.
You and Solas compare notes, so to speak. He hadn’t gotten much more out of Leliana than you had, which makes sense… she had to know the two of you would share with each other. She’d emphasized your competency to him, however, which was interesting. Solas knew your competency far better than she did… hopefully. But she didn’t know that.
Ugh. Orlesians just drag everyone around them into the Game, whether they wanted to or not. It was like a Sloth demon’s aura. Just being nearby was dangerous.
He’d found out some things from Seeker Pentaghast, as well. She hadn’t known about the bathhouse, but would be in little position to do something about it immediately, as she was leaving as well. You’d already known that thanks to your little eavesdropping session, so it’s not difficult to keep your face neutral. She had been against taking you, which you’d also pretty much figured out. She thought it was too dangerous for a linguist and that there were better ways to deal with the situation. That provided a bit more insight into the fight you witnessed between her and the Inquisitor, however, if they even bickered over decisions that didn’t involve her at all.
“So that’s… what? Seeker Pentaghast, Warden Blackwall, Cole, yourself…” you murmur, but apparently not quietly enough.
“And I as well!” Dorian announces cheerfully from upstairs.
“Eavesdropping, Dorian?” you ask sourly.
“It’s only eavesdropping if I was trying. I overheard.”
“Pentaghast, Backwall, Solas, Cole, Dorian, the Inquisitor… is that a bit large for an away team? I don’t know what he normally takes,” you muse.
“It’s a bit large,” Dorian agrees, apparently deciding he’s part of this conversation. “Perhaps he expects something?”
“Or perhaps he intends for the team to be there awhile. Our last venture to the Approach was cut very short by chaos here at Skyhold. Perhaps he intends to stay longer while things are more stable?” Solas suggests. You shudder at the thought.
“Well, there is to be a meeting this evening, I believe. I’m sure he’ll tell us everything then; no need to strain ourselves wondering,” Dorian says.
“I never asked you to strain yourself, your highness,” you say up at him with a scowl. “You just inserted yourself into the conversation.”
Dorian lets out a little fake hurt gasp. “Goodness! Well, very well then. See if I help you apply sunscreen to that pale skin of yours.”
You make a gagging noise. “Don’t even joke about that. I’ll be fine. I don’t burn that easily. In any case, I loathe being kept in the dark about things that concern me. I don’t even know if I’ll be invited to this meeting; it may be Inner Circle only.”
“You loathe to be kept in the dark about anything, whether it involves you or not,” Solas points out mildly.
“Oh, you can shut up too,” you say with a scowl, because he’s certainly not wrong.
You return the dishes to the kitchen, fully intending to head straight back to the rotunda and buckle down to get some real work done. You don’t really want to try bookbinding in a tent, let alone scribing. Ridiculous working conditions, really…
Unfortunately, Sera snags you on the way back from returning dishes. Well, you say unfortunately, but it’s hard to feel unfortunate with her hand in yours, leading your into the courtyard. You should be working, but if anyone can distract you, it’s her.
“I heard you’re going out on the new run!” she says, and the cheerfulness in her voice gives her away.
“And you are too?” you hazard.
“Yep! S’gonna be great! S’bout time it’s my turn, too; Solas got to run around friggin Val Royeaux with you already!”
“You know he’s coming too, right?”
She scoffs. “Don’t matter! S’not like you have to hang out with him! Besides, Cole’s comin’, I’m sure they’ll be busy being all weird and freaky together.”
Ah Sera. Ever endearing. Ever annoying.
“So that makes the away party, what… eight people? Isn’t that a lot?” you ask.
“Hmm… yeah, maybe, but considerin’ how far we’re goin’, no surprise here. Proly he wants to rush there fast as he can, settle into that nice fortress we got set up last time, an’ then send us all of on missions from there. S’not like he’s plannin’ on havin’ you along in a squad meant to deal with darkspawn or whatever.”
“I certainly hope not,” you mutter.
“Ah, don’t worry!” she says cheerfully. “I’ll keep ya safe! S’gonna be a blast! And you’ll like the fortress there alright. Quizzie loves settin’ up fortresses. Heard they just got one started in Crestwood, too!”
“I’ve finally figured it out,” you say dryly. “This is my punishment for complaining about being in a freezing fortress in the middle of the mountains… transport to a burning fortress in the middle of the desert.”
“Could be! Least you’ll get a tan!” Sera says happily.
“Yes, by the end of the trip I’ll be a regular Dorian,” you say dryly. Sera is the other side of the coin from Thea, it seems… all blind optimism and not really thinking about how bizarre the situation is. “What a mixed group. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen Solas and Warden Blackwall talk. How does everyone get along?”
Sera snorts. “Can’t tell you shit ‘bout Solas. I try to pretend he’s not there. He ‘n’ Cole’ll pro’ly stick by themselves talkin’ weird. You, me, ‘n’ Blackwall, though… It’ll be grand, Em, trust me!”
“Warden Blackwall?” You think that you and he have come to an understanding, but he isn’t exactly your biggest fan.
“Yeah! You’ll get along great; he’s a riot.”
You can’t help it. “Warden Blackwall?” you repeat, this time with added incredulity.
“Trust me! Look, there’s the stables, let’s go in and say hi! He’s pro’ly in there.”
It’s never really a struggle for you to be in the stables. The smell has become a bit dear to you, unexpectedly. You’d never really spent any time at all around horses, but in the short time you’ve been at Skyhold, you’ve grown accustomed to the smell, come to associate it with Revas and Belassan.
Sure enough, there’s Blackwall. Also Belassan. Also Sataareth. Also Fenris. Also the Inquisitor.
You stop dead. “Ah… they look busy,” you protest when Sera walks boldly towards them. “I don’t want to interrupt them. It’s probably important.”
Sera rolls her eyes. “You’re gonna be traveling with the Quizzie, Em, so you might as well stop bein’ nervous ‘round him. He’s a weenie, anyway.”
One day. One day, you’re going to explain power differentials in a way that Sera can understand.
“It’s a lot of horses, your holiness,” Belassan is saying. It’s weird, hearing something like ‘your holiness’ said with a Dalish accent. “Between the two groups, it would be over two-thirds of the stables.”
“That’s fine. Once we get where we’re going, we can send half of them back,” the Inquisitor is saying. You try to hang back, but Sera grabs your arm and all but drags you closer. He doesn’t even seem to notice you approaching until Belassan, Fenris, and Sataareth all look towards you at the same time. Then, he spares a glance. “Ah, Sera.”
“I’m gettin’ the lady, right?” she asks.
The Inquisitor shrugs. “I don’t see why not.” He turns back to Belassan; you’re rather pleased he’s ignoring you. “Just have Dennet gather eighteen… no, that’s right, Cole doesn’t ride… sixteen horses.”
“Ah… Well…” Belassan hesitates.
“Is there a problem?”
“I may have… heard incorrectly, your holiness, but I’ve heard tell that Emma will be accompanying your group?”
Suddenly, all eyes are on you, and you want to throw a horse patty at Belassan. Fortunately, the Inquisitor’s eyes only glance over you, while you stand like a steel rod.
“The linguist,” the Inquisitor clarifies, as if you’re not standing just there. “Yes, she is. Why?”
“Unless she’s been taking lessons behind my back, your holiness, she’s incapable of riding horses.”
The Inquisitor blinks, glancing over at you again, a confused look on his face. “What, did you walk to Val Royeaux and back?”
“Er… No, your holiness. I rode Revas… Um, a hart,” you stammer.
“Surely there’s no real difference,” the Inquisitor points out.
“I’m afraid there is. The girth and the gaits are completely different. And… if you’ll pardon me saying so, as I know a seamless group is your holiness’s preference… but including the harts in the group would help cut down the strain on the stables.”
The Inquisitor makes a face. “Even if we use all of them, we can’t all ride harts. And they’re damn picky. What am I supposed to do, stick the elves on them? How would that look?”
“Don’t even think about it, neither,” Sera says icily, glaring at Belassan. “Yer not gettin’ me on one of those stupid things for anything.”
“I’m certain I could find a mixture which satisfies all parties, your holiness,” Belassan replies.
“The harts were a complete hassle the last time we took them out. We’re in a rush; we don’t have time for dealing with uppity mounts,” the Inquisitor says with a scoff.
“Emma and Solas are both fair hands with them, your holiness. Emma in particular.”
“I don’t particularly want to just stick the two of them on harts,” the Inquisitor says with a sigh, glancing back over to you. “But I can’t have you slowing us down, either. How good are you with the harts?”
“Er… Well, I didn’t have any t-trouble with Revas and Ashi’lana on the journey b-before. They’ve never g-given me any grief,” you stammer, cursing your nervous tick to the heavens. Every time you think you’ve gotten a handle on it, something spooks you and back it comes. But you don’t want to try to have to learn to ride a horse while racing across Orlais.
He turns back to Belassan. “Alright. Four harts, twelve horses. Emma can be in charge of the mounts; it’s not as if she’s going to be doing much of anything else.” Wait what. “And get a pony, two draft horses, and… something for Fenris, I don’t really care what. Fenris, you can pick one of the remaining mounts yourself, if you want.”
“Thank you, Inquisitor. I’ll have a look at them,” Fenris replies, eyes flickering back to you after he’s done speaking to the Inquisitor.
“Alright. Am I done? Dennet’s never fucked up the horse selection yet, so I think I’m done,” the Inquisitor says with the sigh of a very put-upon man.
“It will be taken care of from here, thank you, your holiness,” Belassan says politely.
“Good. Fenris, thank you again for helping us with this. If you need to see me before you leave, I’ll be… Well, around. I don’t think I’ll be sitting still any time soon.”
You try not to breath an audible sigh of relief when the Inquisitor leaves. The atmosphere in general becomes a bit more relaxed. Sera beelines for Blackwall, but you take a moment for Sataareth and Fenris, first.
“Good to see you intact,” Fenris says, giving a nod towards your now-unbandaged head. You run a hand over that side of your face automatically. Still a little tender.
“Thank you. I’m glad the two of you are traveling together,” you say. “Please, Fenris, keep him intact.”
“I’m traveling with two Tal-Vashoth, and it’s me you want to be the guardian of the group?” Fenris asks mildly.
“You can put your hands through people’s chests,” you reply blandly.
“I could try,” Saatareth volunteers, and you can’t help but chuckle a bit.
“Are you leaving tomorrow as well, then?” you ask.
“We are, yes,” Fenris says with a nod. “I suspect we’ll be back far sooner than you will, however. The Inquisitor is taking you along?”
You let out a little groan. “Yes. Yes, he is, and no, I’m not entirely sure as to why.”
“I’m glad your—” Sataareth pauses a bit, catching himself. “…friend Solas, is going with you.” You give him a bit of a stink eye… You know damn well he’d been about to say “your saarebas.” You had just been over this! You hear Sera make a gagging noise from behind you.
“You won’t be making that face the first time you get stabbed and he has to fix you up,” Warden Blackwall quips.
“Won’t be a problem if I don’t get stabbed this time!” Sera scoffs. “Sides, Dorian is coming.”
“Dorian can’t heal worth a lick, unless you just want him to wait until after you die and use the corpse for something,” Blackwall says dryly.
Sera shudders. “Don’t even joke about that.”
“Dorian?” Fenris asks. “I’ve heard that name several times, but I don’t believe I’ve met him.”
“Yeah,” Sera says. “He’s a—”
“—Nother mage in the Inner Circle,” you interrupt loudly. “He and Madame de Fer.”
“I haven’t gotten a chance to meet her, either. A shame,” Fenris says. “Ah, well. Sataareth, we should find Katari before it gets any later. Emma… good luck. I hear Varric and Hawke will be meeting you out there.”
“I’m surprised you’re not coming along for a reunion,” you say with a snort.
“No,” Fenris says with a sigh. “Hawke and I do best with a few countries between us. But stick close to them. Hawke’s been known to do some rather stupid things to protect pretty elven women, so at least you’ll be safe.”
You think you’d rather just be stabbed, but you simply nod, and the two of them leave.
At least Saatareth is in good hands. Between Korbin, Katari, and Fenris, you can’t imagine he’ll be in much danger.
Belassan, who had wandered off a bit earlier, comes back now, just as Sera is beginning to try and get you to engage with Blackwall. “Emma, I’ll need to show you the mounts,” he begins.
“Erm, when he said ‘in charge of,’” you say, nervously.
“I hope you’re comfortable with horses,” he replies, offering up a bit of a half-smile.
“I wouldn’t know,” you say, with a long sigh. “I’ve never interacted with one before.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything. And you’re naturally good with every animal I’ve seen you near, even Asaaranda. I’m sure it translates. Come on.”
You hear a frustrated noise from Sera.
“It’s okay, Sera, you’ll have the whole trip with me,” you say, hoping to comfort her. “If I’m going to be in charge of the horses, of all things, I need any tips Belassan can give me.”
“Oh, fine,” she says with a long sigh. “S’not as if I won’t have you the whole time, true.” She flicks her hands the two of you. “Shoo, then.”
“There will be ten horses and four harts,” Belassan explains as he begins to lead you further into the stables. “You will ride at a constant canter throughout the day—effortless for horse or hart to maintain when not carrying anything, but a speed that would exhaust them if they had to do it all day with a rider. Therefore, you will each have two mounts. You will stick strictly to the harts.”
“You’re already familiar with Revas and Ashi’lana. Here is your other mount. He doesn’t have a name, but I selected him for you based on his easy temperament and remarkable ability to put up with Revas.”
The hart in question is one you’ve seen a few times now, but never spent any particular time with, mostly due to your own shyness and Revas’s particular brand of possessiveness. Even now, he’s eyeing you pointedly.
The beastie in question is both taller and broader than Revas, but looks at you with a calm, placid expression. The mane covering his nose and chest is a deep chestnut brown. The fur covering the rest of him is a paler, softer brown without Revas’s deep red undertones, save for his legs, which are stockinged a deep brown that’s almost black. It’s not black, however, and you can tell that quite easily because his gigantic antlers are. It’s as if they’re made of charcoal.
“Vhas’durgen1,” you murmur to yourself. You hear Belassan chuckle, but you’re distracted. You reach out gently towards the hart; he leans towards your hand, gives it a curious sniff, then whuffs out hot air onto your palm before butting his soft nose against your hand.
“He’s a gentle spirit; he’ll treat you well and be able to put up with Revas’s nonsense. He’ll be your second primary mount. Now, this is the final hart that will be accompanying you.”
You part with the hart that will now and forever be Vhas’durgen to you, with reluctance. The next hart is a solid, smokey grey from hoof to horn, save a paler splotch on his back legs, and the customary darker stripes from his rump around his hips.
“This will be Cassandra’s secondary mount.”
You blink in shock. “What? Seeker Pentaghast?”
“Yes, the two are quite fond of each other,” Belassan says with a nod. “Not quite so much as you and Revas mind,” he adds, nodding to the increasingly unhappy hart down the stalls. “But when I floated the idea that perhaps there should be harts coming along, she requested him specifically. She rarely gets a chance to ride him out due to the Inquisitor’s preference for matching mounts.”
You eye the hart curiously, wondering what in the world it sees in Seeker Pentaghast. It eyes you back, looking unimpressed with you as a whole.
“Does he have a name?”
“I believe Cassandra calls him Derreck.”
You snort so hard that it physically hurts, and nearly have to bend over, clutching at your mouth and nose as barely-quelled laughter makes your whole body shake.
Derreck is the name of one of the male love interests in Swords and Shields.
Maker bless.
You manage to compose yourself, with great difficulty. Belassan is looking at you, amused. “I take it the name means something to you?”
“To tell you would be as good as committing suicide,” you reply, then a giggle bursts from you before you can stifle it. “Maker. Alright… D… Derreck.”
Derreck eyes you sourly. It’s not his fault, the poor boy, but you’re going to have trouble taking him seriously.
There are ten horses, which is… a lot. More horses than you’ve ever dealt with in your life, and you’ll apparently be in charge of them. You make mental note of each horse’s name, appearance, and the short description of their temperament that Belassan gives to you. There’s Stormcloak, the almost mind-numbingly gorgeous huge black horse you’d seen Blackwall riding once before. You don’t consider yourself a horse woman, but you could see yourself falling in love with a horse like that; he makes you want to learn how to ride them. He’s apparently spirited, and can be a lot to handle if he decides he dislikes you, just due to his sheer size.
You’re really glad Iron Bull isn’t coming… the massive draft horses that carry Qunari are the only things larger in the stables.
Second place for most attractive horse, in your eyes, goes to Magnus, a dappled grey horse with a mane that seems to shift from dark grey to light depending on how the light hits it. You actually recognize his breed, though it’s only because the other horses look different that you realize it’s a cohesive breed. He’s the sort of horse you saw in Tevinter often, slim yet muscular with long, thin faces. There’s a brown one of the same breed, named Azrael. Both are explained to you as vain, though Magnus is apparently infinitely moreso. They’re picky, but faster and sturdier than they look with their long, thin legs.
Daine stands out to you because she’s similar to Stormcloak in build, though smaller. She’s apparently an Anderfel Courser, favored by Grey Wardens everywhere. She’s got a sweet and even temper so long as she’s unprovoked, and she tends to take charge and bully the other horses into behaving. Belassan suggests she’ll be your greatest horse ally; you’re inclined to believe it. You would never tell Magnus or Azrael, but you think you prefer that sort of stocky horse. She strikes you as more beautiful, in her own way.
Oddly plain, sort of, are “Spirit Dancer”—whose beautiful name you immediately want to translate to Elven—and Cinder. The former is a very average looking horse… that is to say, it’s similar to what comes to mind when you, personally, are called upon imagine a horse. You don’t actually know how average it is. It’s a pale color, which you can identify as “palomino” only due to the obsession a friend of yours—the baker Sonia from Orlais—had with horses of that particular color. She is, unsurprisingly, spirited, but a cheerful and happy-go-lucky sort of horse. You didn’t know horses could be happy-go-lucky, but you’re going to believe anything Belassan tells you at this point.
The latter, Cinder, you’re shocked to learn is Solas’s secondary mount. When you’d heard there would be four harts, you’d just assumed they’d be for you and Solas, but no. It’s such a normal sort of horse, too, a weird brownish color you can’t quite place, speckled all over with mists of white as if she had rolled in the snow outdoors. Unsurprisingly, Solas has picked a mount who’s calm but intelligent and has no patience for inexperienced riders. Hopefully Solas will help the two of you get along, or so Belassan hopes. You’re not sure Solas is a good intermediary for any two people, let alone a person and a horse.
Then there’s the tiniest of them all, a brown and white paint horse that’s too large to be a pony, technically, but still somehow makes you think firmly of ponies. She’s chipper and bright and, according to Belassan, extremely mischievous. You don’t even have to ask who rides her; you can just tell. She’s introduced to you as Zephyr, which is a pretty sort of name.
The last two are saved for last, in your mind, only because they’re arguably the most important… the Inquisitor’s favorite two mounts. A bizarre paint horse that’s palomino and white—if that’s possible, is palomino just that light cream color or does it mean something else?—named Jarek, and a glorious white stallion named Snowblind. You’re not looking forward to keeping that white pelt white.
Fourteen mounts is more giant animal than you’ve ever really considered, let alone been responsible for. Why in the Maker’s name would the Inquisitor put you in charge of them? He’s the one who insisted you come along, and now he’s treating you like a useless tagalong! Ugh! Your frustration is probably palpable in the air around you by this point.
Sera has apparently decided not to just hang around the barn waiting for you to finish… You’re a bit relieved to find her gone, to be honest. It’s almost as difficult to say no to her as it is to say no to Solas, and she makes far more inconvenient demands than he does. Or… at least demands that are more difficult to lie about. Imagine if Solas went around demanding that you hang out together even when you’re busy, or run around getting into trouble with him. … Ah. Now you’re distracted imagining that. Good job.
You do get back to the rotunda, however. You know it’s not unreasonable for you to be too busy to work, with all that’s going on, but you still want to get as much finished as you can. It’s going to be hard to work on that stupid book while careening across Orlais and caring for fourteen-odd mounts. For fuck’s sake! It’s like the Inquisitor doesn’t even care if you finish the damn thing! He could have taken Belassan if he wanted someone who could care for mounts! Ugh!
All obviously suspicious behavior from the Inquisitor aside, you really do have to focus on your work. And you do… You get Solas to enchant your wrist for what feels like the first time in forever, and you immediately bury yourself in scribing. You hope your handwriting isn’t getting too sloppy from the rushing… You rely on the enchantment and on hawk-like focus to keep it from getting too bad. You even shout at Dorian to shut the fuck up… in Tevene… without even really noticing you’re doing it… when he starts bickering with Solas from over the library balcony. You suspect it only worked because you startled him.
Dinner comes far too soon. You’re in a flurry of work. In retrospect, there’s a good chance Solas said something or tried to get your attention, but you don’t actually look up until an interesting smell hits your nose. Only then do you pause in your work and glance around.
At some point, Solas has had food brought in. You really hope he didn’t go and get it himself, though he might have. You don’t really know what’s been going on around you for the last—you glance at your candle—hours or so.
“Please, tell me what finally drew your attention,” Solas quips. “So that I can use it again in the future.”
You flush slightly. “I, uh… smelled something.”
“The food,” Solas says, looking amused. “Perhaps I should keep fresh meat pies around for when I need your attention quickly?”
“I mean, it would probably work,” you say with a sigh. “I grew up in Denerim, remember? You smell a fresh meat pie, you zero in on that pretty fast. I must have stolen dozens off of window sills when I was a kid. I was a damned menace to chefs across the city.”
Solas snorts. “I can imagine that easily. Come be a menace to this tourtière, then. Now that you’ve finally been distracted from your work, you should take a break and eat.”
You give your tome a final, longing look, but there’s really no competition. Your mother used to make a damn delicious tourtière around Satinalia. It seems like such a staple of your childhood that it pains you to think that you only had a handful of Satinalia tourtières with her in your life.
You doubt this one’s for any particular holiday, of course. They probably just killed an elk outside the gates, or something, and had a sudden surplus of meat that needed to be used quickly. It would be time consuming to roast it all, drying or making it into a soup would be a damn waste of delicious meat, so… meat pie. It made sense, even to an Orlesian cook like Gaston.
You hadn’t realized how stiff you were until you stood, or how hungry you were until you smelled that food. You’re a bit displeased with yourself. You used to be able to work a lot longer on a lot less. Are you getting old already? Spoiled, perhaps? Maybe you’ve been living the good life for too long.
You absolutely inhale the food, hands twitching for some actual work to do. Solas doesn’t say anything about your poor table manners, which is nice of him. Even you want to tell yourself to knock it off. But the food is very good, and you’re very much both hungry and in a hurry. Solas simply reminds you that this is your last opportunity to sleep in a real bed for a very long time, as you’re returning to work immediately after dinner.
He’s right, of course, and you do want to get some rest in bed if you can. The hard riding across Orlais is probably going to exhaust you, and without being able to sleep regularly… ugh. Just thinking about it makes you tired. But you’ll have to be always on guard. You’ll be traveling with two mages, a Templar, and a Seeker.
Still, if you can get through this alive, you’ll have, if not a mountain, at least a sizable hill of gold, plus all your contacts within the Inquisition and maybe a few more.
Of course, if you do get caught, you’re super fucking dead. But maybe Cole would help you escape… You’re really glad he’s going too.
You’re just really starting to get back into the whirlwind of work when someone enters the rotunda. You don’t even notice until he speaks up, and even then you finish your sentence as he’s beginning his.
“Excuse me, Messieurs Solas and Emma?”
You’ve been upgraded to Messieur, suddenly.
“You’re presence is required in the War Room.”
Now that gets your attention. Looks like you’re being invited to the little powwow after all. You feel a complicated clashing of emotions. You’re a bit relieved that you’re not being singled out for exclusion. You’re also feeling an excited, hungry little tingle at the prospect of the information and knowledge you’ll be collecting. However, above all else, you’re nervous. You’d much prefer to be a fly on the wall… you’ve never actually participated in anything like this before. Or, well… not for a long time.
You quickly put away your quill. Solas appears to be taking his sweet time getting ready, but the sight of you nervously standing next to the messenger, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, bouncing up and town, and basically just telegraphing your anxiety to the world, gets him to speed up a little.
Despite your eagerness to be on the way, you trail behind Solas the entire way to the War Room itself. Well… trail might not be the right word. You glue yourself to his ass as if he can shield you from the world, walking so close behind him that if he stopped suddenly, you’d probably smash right into him.
The doors to the War Room are large and intimidating. The inside of the War Room is, unsurprisingly, large and intimidating.
There aren’t really chairs, per se, and the majority of the room is dominated by a huge map of Thedas with all sorts of little figurines pinned to it.
“Pay attention, child, you’re not just here for decor.”
You shudder and try to shake off the oppressive summer heat, makes what little clothing you have stick awfully to your skin. Oh, there’s Commander Rutherford, and Blackwall, and so many others, but eyes flicker over you, linger disapprovingly for a moment, then move on. They spend the rest of the meeting refusing to look at you at all.
You can’t tell if you’re breathing too fast or not breathing at all, but you realize Solas has moved closer to the table and you haven’t. Your legs are jerky as you move, and you take up position behind him and a bit to the right… enough that you can see, enough that you couldn’t be called hiding behind him, but…
“Can’t we get the thing a damned chair?” Thank god there aren’t any chairs.
“Now that everyone’s here, let’s get started,” the Inquisitor and also a man from your past say in hazy unity. You try to pull yourself back to reality. You take advantage of the way you’re half shielded behind Solas to reach up your left sleeve and claw at your arm with your nails, trying to ground yourself. Then you see Warden Blackwall, to your right, staring, so you have to stop.
“—to the Western Approach,” the Inquisitor is saying. You try to force yourself to pay attention. This is important! “Once we’re there, we’ll meet up with Hawke, Varric, and Warden Stroud to investigate what the Wardens are up to. We’ll have to play it by ear, after that. We might wind up rushing right back, or we might be stationed out there for weeks, so be prepared for anything.”
“Finding the Wardens is your top priority,” Leliana chimes in. “But given your sudden departure from the Approach before, there will certainly be other things to do. Our agents at Griffon Wing Keep have provided us a detailed map of rifts still open in the area. There’s also the matter of the Draconologist, as well as issues with local wildlife that could use a more… experienced touch.”
“Even if I wind up racing back, it’s likely some of you will remain behind for a time,” the Inquisitor begins again. “Once their second in command is stable, the Bull’s Chargers will be following along to assist with non-Warden related problems in the Approach.”
“Are we all on the same page, with the Wardens?” chimes in Dorian. “I know I’ve heard a little, but…”
“What we know for sure right now, is that the Calling is effecting all of them at once,” Commander Rutherford says, with a glance towards Warden Blackwall, who nods. “And they’re panicking. It may well be caused by Corypheus, somehow, but the Wardens believe they are all about to die.”
The what and the who now? The fuck is the Calling? The Wardens are dying? What, all of them? Augh, shit, you’ll have to just ask Solas about this later. You try to keep your focus on the explanation.
“Warden-Commander Clarel spoke of a blood magic ritual to prevent future Blights before they could happen,” the Inquisitor chimes in, frowning. Around the table, shocked murmurs erupt from the people who weren’t already privy to this specific bit of information. Solas turns stiff as a rod; the sudden lack of movement draws your attention. He looks alarmed… but then, so does everyone else.
“‘Scuse me? A fuckin’ WHAT?!” exclaims Sera.
“We don’t know much more, unfortunately,” Lady Montiliyet says with a sigh. “Warden Stroud protested the plan, and was ousted, before he could learn much. But we know now where they’re gathering. The Western Approach.”
“No wonder the away team is so large. You expect trouble,” Dorian says.
“And lots of it,” the Inquisitor agrees. “Not just from the Wardens. We pulled out of the Approach too soon last time. Knight-Captain Rylen has been doing as best he can, but with unsealed rifts in the area, as well as hostile wildlife, reports of darkspawn, and that blasted high dragon… it’s a miracle we haven’t lost the Keep. The Wardens are our top priority, but we need to strengthen our hold on the Approach. We may need it sooner than later.”
“Are there any questions?” Seeker Pentaghast asks the group at large. You have an imperial fuckton of questions, but you keep your mouth shut.
“What route we takin’?” Sera asks. “Along the Imperial Highway?”
“Yes, and before you ask, yes, Sera, we’re going through Verchiel. We can meet your man there, so send word out ahead of us,” the Inquisitor says.
“Least we’ll have some good news,” she says with a roll of her eyes.
“Ah, to address the question I suspect is on everyone else’s mind as well…” Dorian begins. “We are plus one unusual companion. Far be it from me to complain about the inclusion of someone I actually enjoy talking to, but it seems an… odd situation?”
Oh, good, so that’s what it feels like to have the eyes of the most powerful people in the world on you all at once. So glad you got to experience that.
“You all know Linguist Emma, so there’s no need for introductions,” the Inquisitor says with a sigh. “She’s coming along to finish the tome on high dragons for the Draconologist, as well as speak to him about joining the Inquisition. If you’re worried about her being dead weight, don’t be. I’d like to believe that seven accomplished warriors and mages can keep one elven civilian safe. And she will be assisting with the mounts.”
“I’m sure you’re quite nervous, Emma,” Lady Montiliyet says to you. “But please, think of everyone here as an equal in this, and speak freely.”
Hahaha… Equal…. Hahaha… speak freely…
You swallow, hard. “I…” Your voice cracks, you clear your throat, and try in vain to control your stammer. “I kn-know my in-inclu-inclusion here i-i-is a bit…” Small words, SMALL WORDS. “Odd. B-but I-I will do m-m-my best n-not to b-be a hinder-derence,” you manage with great difficulty. “I-I’m s-sure ev-ev-everyone—” Your throat feels like it’s closing. You wish you were wearing a mask. “W-w-will keep me s-s-s-s-safe.”
“I’m sure we’ll have to,” says Blackwall dryly. “Not to question the Inquisitor, but is it really best to have her along in the lead team? Why not have her come with the Chargers, behind us?”
YES. DEAR MAKER. WHY NOT THAT
“It’s best she reach the Approach as quickly as possible, with us. The Chargers could be trailing behind by weeks, or even waylaid entirely should something else come up,” the Inquisitor replies.
Solas puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and swoops into rescue you like a griffon from legend. “Emma is not a fighter,” he informs the group. “But she is neither helpless nor useless. I accompanied her to, from, and in Val Royeaux last month. Our group was waylaid twice by bandits, and in both cases, Emma was able to avoid harm. And that was with guardians much less skilled than the ones here.”
“Not like she’s a child,” Sera interjects. “She ‘n’ I practice throwin’ daggers for fun, and she’s a better aim than I am with them.”
“That’s certainly interesting,” Seeker Pentaghast chimes in. “But throwing a dagger into wood and into a human being are two very different things.”
“I-I-I’d r-r-rather avoid th-that, y-yes,” you interject quickly, just in case Solas is considering adding anything about the number of men you killed with throwing daggers already. But both he and Leliana remain silent on the matter.
“What do you think, Emma?” Blackwall asks suddenly, surprising you. “Do you have any concerns?”
FUCK YES YOU HAVE SOME CONCERNS. But you clear your throat and think first. “…I-I w-would be l-lying if I said I w-wasn’t scared,” you say finally. “B-but Lel-Leliana has assured me th-that my skills a-are needed. A-a-and I did j-join the I-Inquisi-sition t-to help. Th-this isn’t ex-exactly wh-what I expected, b-but b-b-b-” Damnit! Too many fucking eyes on you, judging you, they know why you’re really here and why—
“She wants to help,” interjects Cole, who you hadn’t even noticed was present. Possibly no one had, since everyone turns and looks in a bit of surprise. “Scared, shaking, too many new sights, but stands strong. ‘I can handle this. I can do this.’ She can trust. You’ll keep her safe.”
There’s a bit of a pause as the room absorbs this and translates it into something their brains can more easily comprehend. You eyeball Cole, well aware of what he’d meant with that little ‘she can trust’ line. Keep dreaming, da’elgar2.
“Well?” the Inquisitor says finally. “Does anyone else have any more protests about her presence, or can we continue?”
No one does, so the meeting continues on. You try your best to pay attention to it, but you’re shaking quite literally now. You hope no one can tell. You tremble silently next to Solas, the War Room here merging with one from the mists of your memories, and you try to anchor yourself with his hand on your shoulder, which remains throughout the rest of the meeting as the Inquisitor lines the expected travel route along the map.
You barely manage to walk out of the room on your own two feet, and collapse onto a bench in the hallway just outside. All of your energy had been going into standing still and not freaking out, so now that you have a bit of relief, your limbs begin shaking like the last autumn leaves clutching desperately to the tree branches.
Solas follows you onto the bench, sitting beside you. It reminds you of Val Royeaux, on the couch. By now you suppose he’s realized what a comfort a bit of physical contact is to you; ever since Val Royeaux—
A hand on each of your shoulders causes you to focus on him a bit more sharply. “Are you alright, Emma?” You nod, shakily.
“F-f-f-f-fine. N-n-not g-g-good at p-p-p-public sp-sp-sp—”
“You were fine in Val Royeaux,” Solas points out.
“M-masks. F-fa-familiar. A-A-A-Alix.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look quite that scared,” Solas says, and you can’t quite decipher the look in his eyes. Pity?
“St-stammer wh-when I’m sc-sc-scared,” you admit. “D-did i-it m-more wh-wh-when—”
“When you first came here. I remember,” Solas finishes for you. “It’s fine now. You’ll be fine. Just breathe. In… Out.” You try to breathe despite the spasms in your chest, making your lungs struggle and your whole body shake.
“Ma eth3. Ma eth, lethallan. Ar tu mala dareth4,” he says, voice low and soothing. The words wash over you and stick, seeping through your skin.
“Ma las eth5. Ma desen melar6.” Your voice shakes, but doesn’t stutter. Elven always feels like it’s leaking from you, rather than that you’re speaking it.
Solas shifts, and then wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in to lean against his side. Your face rests against his shoulder, and for the first time all day, you feel like you can breathe.
Tomorrow, you leave for the Western Approach.
Today, right now, you close your eyes. You let Skyhold drift away. You ignore the fact that you’re sitting in plain sight. Ar tu mala dareth.
If you let yourself believe that, just for a little bit, then just for right now… you can relax. You can exist in just this moment until time steals you away again. And it will. And tomorrow you’ll have to face to cold, scary reality. But right now, your eyes are closed and nothing exists except for what exists to your other senses. The warmth of his body. The thick, mildly herbal scent of his clothes. His arm around your shoulders might as well be one of his magical barriers.
Right now, here.
Right now, this.
Tomorrow can wait.