Connections
Another long night, followed by a short sleep and an early morning. It’s a good thing you’re used to not getting much sleep, or you’d be wearing yourself pretty thin. As it is, you’re just glad to be waking up in an actual bed. Remembering the uncomfortable bedrolls stuffed between cracks in cold caves, you can almost think that the Inquisition is worth the risk for the bed and walls alone.
Your mind floats back to the night before, and you smile. Sera was nice, at least so far. There’s always a chance she’s working for Leliana, a second try after Iron Bull had blown getting closer to you. But that was a risk you were willing to accept for more of the elf girl’s company. If Leliana sent her, then the Orlesian could have credit for sending someone more pleasant than Iron Bull. If you’re going to get spied on, might as well not have it feel like torture…
Sera is, as it turns out, one hell of an archer. She makes you a little jealous, but you’re better at throwing daggers than she is. That’s another nice thing about her… She didn’t care why you knew how to threw daggers, where you’d learned, she just accepted it all as a given and got competitive with you. As far as you were concerned, if she was an information gatherer, she could have that one for free. It’s not like you’d even actually shown off how good you were.
You walk to the mess hall for breakfast with cheerful images of blonde elf girls dancing about in your head. Thea seems to notice your unusually chipper mood… unusual for the few days she’s known you for, in any case.
“Awright, what’s got you so happy, then? You make up with your boyfriend?”
Aaaand, there goes your good mood. You scowl at her. “Actually, I met a very nice lady last night.”
“Oooooh,” Thea says, eyes going wide. “So that’s why you didn’t go for Iron Bull.”
“What? I… no! Maker’s breath, Thea, get your head out of the latrine! She just… she was nice. We talked. Her accent’s Ferelden, and it was kind of like being back home, I guess.” A lie, but as good a lie as any other. You don’t want to get into the details of why you enjoyed Sera’s company. You couldn’t, not really.
“Mmhmm.” Maker, the smirk on her face. She’s lucky you like her so much. You can put up with a bit of teasing, but Iron Bull is a sore topic. Fortunately, he doesn’t show up at breakfast, and you think you’re in the clear… But there he is, when you leave the mess hall for the library. He just stands across the courtyard; he doesn’t walk towards you. But he’s watching you, and he has to want you to know that he is.
You manage to get to the library, mildly shaken, but more than mildly irritated. You try to focus in on your work, and push the encounter with Iron Bull from your mind. Unfortunately, not an hour into translation, Dorian comes to pester you once again.
“So, I hear someone had some bad Qunari experiences.”
The quill you’re holding shudders and creaks as your grip tightens, but you force your face placid. “It was Seheron. I had bad everyone experiences,” you say bluntly.
“Look, Emma…” you glance up, and are surprised to see he looks mildly insecure, slightly guilty. “If I have made you… uncomfortable… I apologize. I hadn’t quite… Well, slavery isn’t really something that one thinks about much, in Tevinter, it just… is. I hadn’t thought of the after-effects, the, er, trauma, an ex-slave might have…”
Oh.
You almost feel bad for what you’re about to do. Not bad enough.
“Oh, Dorian,” you say with a smile. “Don’t worry about that. I don’t think of you that way, no matter what Iron Bull says; you’re too-“
“Wait, what did Iron Bull say?” He snaps onto it immediately. You let your eyes widen slightly, then look down guiltily. You wouldn’t feel so badly about it if he was harder to manipulate. But you want Iron Bull off your back.
“Ah, um… I’ve, uh… I’ve misspoken. What I mean, is, um…”
As if divine providence wants this to work, you spot Thea heading towards the stairs, presumably for lunch, as her three square meals are the only time she’s ever not in the library. “Oh!” you say with a nervous laugh. “Look at that, Thea’s leaving for lunch without me. Bye!” You quickly scramble around the desk and dart to catch up with Thea, ignoring Dorian’s thunderous expression.
“Oh, are you actually having lunch today?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the occasion?”
“Just a desire to be out of the library for a bit,” you murmur, walking a little faster.
To your surprise, you’re joined at lunch by Varric, not Iron Bull. Considering the dwarf had gotten in only half a dozen sentences before you’d made a bolt for it, you hadn’t exactly been expecting to see him again.
“So, I hear you have an interesting history,” he says, out of nowhere.
You choke on your bread slightly, then clear your throat and manage to swallow. “W-what?”
“Your history. Your past. Your ‘dramatic backstory.’”
“I… Well, actually, it’s quite boring.”
“Oh, come on! Slave girl escapes war-torn island? That’s not boring.”
“It’s not as exciting as everyone thinks. I got lucky, made a break for it. Does everyone in Skyhold know this about me now?”
“Not everyone no. Just the Inquisitor and his friends.”
This time you choke in earnest, face flushing as you damn near suffocate on your own tongue. Thea tries to pound on your back, but you wave her off, and eventually catch your breath. Tears sting the corners of your eyes. Surely you misheard.
“E-excuse me? The Inquisitor?”
“Well, maybe not him, personally. I can’t think of any reason Leliana would have to tell him. But we of his little entourage. Although, really, I think it’s just me, Tiny, and Sparkler. Maybe a few others.”
Okay, Tiny was Iron Bull, you remembered that. Sparkler? That had to be Dorian. Plus Solas, and Thea. That… that was a steadily growing number. You clear your throat. “And you’re all… personal friends of the Inquisitor.”
“Guilty as charged.”
You rest your face slowly into your hands, pressing into your eyes. “Maker have mercy.” So much for keeping a low profile. You’ve blown that so completely out of the water that there’s no recovery from it.
“So I guess you won’t be wanting to give me an interview, then?”
You glare up at him. “What?”
“You know, tell me your sordid history, that sort of thing. I know good book material when I see it.”
You stare at him, dumbfounded. Slowly, you turn to Thea, who’s nodding thoughtfully.
“Escape From Seheron: Elf Against The World! Still working on the title, obviously…”
“You’re not writing a book about me!” you snap. “What in the Maker’s name would make you think I’d want that?”
“Well, a little bird told me that you borrowed Hard in Hightown from the library…”
The glare you level at Thea could have razed mountaintops, but she’s looking pointedly away, refusing to meet your eyes.
“And about that you have a copy of Tales of the Champion in your room…”
“Everyone has a copy of that book!” you snap.
“If that were true, I’d be a very wealthy man,” Varric says with a chuckle.
By now, a flush has grown to cover your entire face. You feel like you’re absolutely radiating heat. “I am not giving you an interview, and you are not writing a book about me! That’s the last thing I need!”
“Oh, come on! Don’t you want to be the next Hawke?”
“No! Half his family is dead and all of Thedas knows who he slept with, when, and why!”
“You know, I may have lost contact with Hawke and Anders, but I still know where a few of the others are,” he says slyly.
You try to feign disinterest. “Well, I imagine you would. You knew each other for years.”
“Mmhmm… Merrill’s been babysitting the elves left homeless from all the fighting. Isabela’s back with the Raiders. Fenris is off killing slavers…” He pauses. Damn. Something in your body language must have given you away. Bastard was fishing.
“Speaking of which, you know Fenris was in Seheron, right?”
You did know that, and it was something you found rather interesting. He was someone with a life experience not too different from yours, although he would likely absolutely hate you if the two of you met. You delicately clear your throat. “Yes. Before me. Although not by much. Seems like a lot of slaves get ‘lost’ in Seheron.”
“Maybe he’d be someone you’d be interested in meeting?”
You meet the dwarf’s eyes sharply. He can’t possibly know the little crush you developed, reading about the broody elf in his story. And besides, that was just a silly, childish fantasy you, uh, used to keep you warm on cold nights. “I’m not giving you an interview,” you say flatly. “Not even for that. Besides, he’d have no interest in me, I’m sure.”
“Well, my offer stands, if you change your mind,” Varric says with a smirk. You simply glare.
They say don’t meet your heroes, but meeting Varric has been interesting, and meeting Fenris is tempting. It’s stupid, one of the stupidest things you’ve ever considered, and more importantly, the price is steeper than you can pay. You couldn’t even give Varric a made-up story, because it might contradict with things you needed to lie about in the future. But to actually meet…
“Have you got a thing for elves?” Thea interjects curiously.
“It’s not a thing for elves if I’m an elf, Thea,” you say darkly.
“Oh, I guess not. I kinda forget; you’re not very elfy.”
You try not to scowl too darkly or look as insulted as you feel. There’s really no good way to take that, and you want to be sarcastic at her. Should you bend and scrape more? Whimper around the human men? Or does she want you to mark up your face and run off into the hills? But you bite your tongue. You need friends, and knowingly or not, Thea has actually helped you with some of the stupid rumors she helped spread. You still want her on your side.
“Maybe I can bribe you with some insider knowledge. You have any questions about the book?” Varric says. His prodding would be annoying if it wasn’t for the fact you have a genuine interest in him.
“If you can’t bribe me with meeting Fenris, you can’t bribe me with anything,” you say firmly. “My past is my past. And it wouldn’t make for a very interesting story, anyway.”
“So you are interested in meeting him!” the wicked dwarf says with a grin.
You sigh, a little too exhausted to be properly annoyed. “There’s no way it would live up to the fantasy. What would I even say? ‘Hey, you know the worst part of your life? I went through some of that same shit! Let’s bond over our horrific trauma’? Past that, I’m a fairly boring person.”
“Stutter, no one who goes through all of that comes out ‘boring’ on the other end. Tell you what, tell me a bit about your experiences in Seheron, and I’ll write him a letter about it. See if he expresses any interest.”
You bite your bottom lip, considering. The story of your slavery in Seheron is apparently yesterday’s news. A few tales, real or made up… For a chance to indulge in a bit of shameless fantasizing? Was it a fair trade? “I decide what I tell you?”
“You always decide what you tell me, Stutter.”
You snort. “Nothing about sharing my past has been my choice since I got here. But fine. Meet me in the tavern tomorrow evening. Just the two of us, and you buy all the drinks. And I better not see these stories circulating. This is for a letter.”
Varric seems to think about it for a minute. “Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal, Stutter.”
“He’s good at this,” comments Thea, completely unnecessarily.
Dorian is gone when you return to the library. You can’t help smirking a little bit to yourself… that man is too easy to manipulate for his own good. No doubt you’ll get an earful about it later, but for now, you have some peace and quiet. And if you play your cards right, you might be able to distract Dorian and Iron Bull with each other in a more long term manner, giving you a break from both of their endless prodding.
You cheerfully set back to work on your tome, but before you can get too much further in, you see a rather huffy looking Dorian coming in one of the doors. He doesn’t make a beeline for you, but he looks annoyed. It’s only a matter of time; you’d hoped he and Iron Bull would distract each other for longer. Had he even gone to talk with the Qunari, or just sulked around Skyhold? With an irritated sigh, you consider your options.
You wait until he begins hunting for a book, which by now you know from experience is a long, convoluted process that involves a lot of throwing, much to Thea’s eternal consternation. He chucks a tome over his shoulder. Soon, Thea will swoop in and begin nagging. Taking your chance, you pile up your paper, quills, and ink, balance the tome carefully, and quickly exit down the stairs to the rotunda.
Solas only glances at you as you enter, but does a short double take when he sees you laden down with what is essentially the entire contents of your desk. You begin carefully setting things down on the floor under the wooden platform near the wall, then plop yourself down onto the ground as well. It’s not as ideal as a desk, but the rotunda is well lit and more importantly, it’s quiet.
Solas says nothing, so you’re quick to get to work, laying on your stomach and propping yourself up on your elbows, feet waving slowly back and forth in the air as you continue your translation. After a few minutes, you kick off your shoes, letting your toes stretch freely in the cool air. There are no sudden protests… delightful. People look at your strange if you go barefoot in the library.
You don’t realize how much time is passing until you run out of paper. You frown, stretching stiff joints, and look around. Solas is now sitting at his desk, nose buried in a dusty tome that you rather like the look of. It’s a shame it’s rude to read over someone’s shoulder. You stand, stiffly, not bothering to put your shoes back on. Your back is sore from so long on the floor, but that paper isn’t going to fetch itself. You take the stairs slowly, and are treated to quite a surprise when you reach your desk.
Supplies have indeed been provided for you. Fine, book quality parchment, necessary tools for binding, and a very nice set of calligraphy quills as well as… ooh, is that a set of colored inks? You glance around, then pick up a good armful of supplies and begin to head back downstairs. No one is stopping you! This is somewhat amazing; it never occurred to you that you could just up and move your station.
You bring the quills, ink, and a stack of glorious parchment—as well as cheap paper for translation work—down to the rotunda. Solas doesn’t even look up at you as you enter. That’s all the encouragement you need. You settle back down under the wooden platform, cheerfully outlining for a title page. You still have to finish the complete translation, but you just can’t put off playing with your new toys. You resist the urge to sign your name as translator, but instead work a mark into the design. You’ve been using it as a way to sign your work for years now. Sometimes it’s not safe to sign a name, and you’ve never signed your real name to any of your work, but your pride prevents you from letting anything go unmarked.
By the time you move again, by any great margin, hours have likely passed. The only light in the rotunda now is being provided by candles and lanterns. The only reason you shift is because you feel the brush of magic against you. You glance up despite yourself, and find that Solas is doing… something in the middle of the room with some bizarre looking shard of rock. The brush was likely accidental. You’d like to know more about what he’s doing, but of course, you can’t. You chew on your lip, equal parts curious and frustrated. If you even started to investigate, you’ve no doubt a mage like Solas would spot you in an instant. He’s not someone you want to test, and you’re in no position to be taking more risks.
Feeling something akin to sexual frustration, you turn back to your books sourly. His magic occasionally brushes up against you, and it is very distracting. After a particularly curious wave of magic rubs against your ass, you decide that enough is enough. The man’s hands are lightly glowing, you can probably say something at this point. You can’t focus on your work while you’re being absentmindedly molested.
You shift back up onto your knees, wincing slightly. Soon your body will be hating you for maintaining that position for so long. Solas doesn’t react to your movement, so you stand, walking a few steps closer. You can’t examine what he’s doing, not really, but you can at least look. Eventually, Solas seems to notice that you’re literally on the other side of the desk, and ends his spell, lowering the shard to the table.
“May I help you?” he asks, and you flush lightly, on purpose.
“Oh, sorry, I was just… curious. You were glowing, a little,” you say sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” You’re such a liar.
“Have you not seen much magic in your travels?”
Your travels? When did you mention traveling to him? Maybe he just means your trip here. There was a lot of magic flying around these days, comparatively. “Erm… A bit, but more the, ah, horrific fire, ice and lightning kind of magic,” you say apologetically. “Were you, um… examining this?” You gesture towards the shard.
“Yes. It has some sort of magical property, but I’m having issue figuring out exactly what it is. It is a key, of a sort, but why and how remain a mystery.”
You run a finger along the edge of the shard, wanting very badly to investigate further. “I have to admit, I’m a little jealous,” you confess. “I’ve read stories telling of the magic of the ancient elves, and sometimes I feel a little less elven for my shortcomings in that area.”
He smiles, and your heart soars. Uh-oh. “The magic of the ancient elves was like nothing you might see today. Even were you a mage, you would still find yourself falling short.” OUCH. Oh, ouch! Arrow, right through the heart, and he hadn’t even meant it!
You smile through the pain, trying not to look wounded. “That sounds amazing.” You glance down at the shard, deciding a subject change is in order. “You said it’s a key? A key to what?”
“A temple, far to the west.”
You pucker your lips. There are more interesting things in this world than you will ever get to see.
“I notice you seem to have moved in,” Solas comments, interrupting the short silence and gesturing towards the little nest you’ve set up under the wooden platform. You grin sheepishly.
“I’m not sorry. It’s so much quieter in here. No one really bothers you, do they?”
Solas raises his eyebrows pointedly. True enough, you’re bothering him right now.
“Other than me,” you concede. “But that’s only fair. Everyone else is very concerned with bothering me.”
“They do seem a little preoccupied with you,” Solas says, but it seems more like he’s talking to himself than to you. He’s giving you that look again, like he’s on the edge of figuring something out. It involves a great deal of eye contact, and you get that same conflicted feeling: your brain going “NOPE better get out” and your body telling you the numerous reasons why it would be fantastic to just stay right there. “Iron Bull in particular. Do you two have some history?”
“Only in that we were both in Seheron. Not at the same time, I think.” Or you hope, anyway.
“And the other day, you commented on Leliana’s interest, as well,” he mused.
“She’s investigating me. I think she might want me for some more sensitive translations in the future.” You frown. “I understand her position, but it doesn’t make the situation any less uncomfortable.”
“Oh? Why is it uncomfortable?” Normally, this line of questioning would have you making an excuse and an exit, but in truth, you rather like the attention, compared to the others. You’d been a bit of a clod with Sera, as well. Your stupid little childish crushes will get you in a world of trouble. They have in the past; it seems you still haven’t learned your lesson.
“I’m used to being a background fixture. It’s been my experience that when humans are giving me attention, it’s the direct precursor to something unfortunate. Plus, they have me thinking over memories from a very long time ago, things I don’t like to think about much.”
“I can certainly appreciate that,” Solas agrees, and while you’re not sure what he’s referring to exactly, you are sure that an elven apostate knows all about the negative side effects of too much attention. His life can’t have been that much different from your own… and yet here he is, actively practicing magic essentially in the direct center what might as well be a Templar encampment.
“I still can’t believe the Inquisition… and the Templars, at that, just… leave you alone,” you say, shaking your head. “This whole war was about them wanting to chase down and capture or kill every mage in Thedas, but with one just sitting right under their noses, suddenly they don’t mind?”
“The Inquisition has shown them better ways to fill their time. Although I would be lying if I said I was entirely comfortable with the situation. Are you not fond of Templars, then?” His question is casual, but you know that style of casual. It’s the kind that comes with a barbed hook.
“I was pretty neutral on them, up until the war. I thought I could approve of anything they did to keep the rest of Thedas from looking like Tevinter,” you lie, “But when it came time to actually protect people from magic, suddenly they started mowing down innocent people and anyone who even looked at one of the rebel mages. They murdered one of my neighbors, just for taking in a pair of kids who happened to be mages. So, these days, no, I’m not fond.”
“But surely you had similarly poor run-ins with mages during the war,” Solas points out. “Yet you seem to bear us no ill will.”
“Mmm… where I lived, mages were mostly on the run. There wasn’t a lot of out and out fighting, just a lot of Templars hunting. If mages had been lobbing fireballs in my backyard, I would have gotten out sooner. Other than the Templars being pricks, it was almost calm before… Well.” You sigh, sitting yourself down on his desk again and pulling your feet up off the ground. “But you make a good point. Perhaps a bit of lingering sympathy clouds my judgment.”
“I wouldn’t think an escaped Tevinter slave would be particularly sympathetic to mages.”
“No? Perhaps most wouldn’t be,” you agree, thinking back to the stories of Fenris from Varric’s novel. “But… when I got back, I noticed the propaganda used to justify slavery in Tevinter sounds eerily similar to what’s used here to justify the Circles. A slave is a slave, even if we wrap a bow on it and say it’s for their own good. I’ve seen some very nice circles in Orlais… but I couldn’t help notice they were full of the well-off and advantaged. I doubt the circles full of alienage elves were quite so permissive.”
You glance over at the other elf, and note with a chill that he’s looking at you quite strangely. Thoughtfully, even. You’ve been running at the mouth again. It would have been better to portray yourself as a silly girl who’d never given mages and Templars much thought until they started blowing each other up. But the idea of acting stupid around Solas makes you chafe. You want him to like you. Worse, you think you might want him to like you.
Idiot, you think to yourself. It’s your own damn fault if you get caught at this point. You’ve never had this level of scrutiny aimed at you, and here you are blabbing away about mages. You sound like goddamn Anders! This is always your problem, every time. Dangle a bit of knowledge in front of your face, and suddenly you’re taking stupid risks. It doesn’t matter if he knows every damn word the elves ever spoke; you need to get a grip on yourself.
You clear your throat awkwardly. “I should probably get back to work. Sorry for disturbing your, erm… research.” You climb off the desk and brush yourself off, burningly aware of his eyes on you as you walk stiffly back to where you’ve been working. You try to get back to work, but it’s difficult. You really want to look over at Solas, to see if he’s still looking at you, but… what if he is? You can’t risk it. You try to focus on the paper in front of you, try to continue your translation. Eventually, you feel a flutter of magic against your bared legs and risk a look. He’s working on the shard again. You’re in the clear. For now, anyway.
With that in mind, you get back to work in earnest, throwing yourself at the translation as if to punish yourself for such a dumbfounding lapse in judgment. There are weirder things than an intellectual who sympathizes with mages; it’s practically a stereotype. But you’re becoming increasingly aware that you can’t treat the people of the Inquisition with the same lazy touch you’ve grown accustomed to.
You don’t lose focus from your work again until a shadow falls over your tome. You glare upwards, and are quite surprised to see Solas standing over you.
“It’s quite late,” he says mildly. “Do you sleep?”
You blink, unsurprised to find your eyes tired and a little crusty. How late had it gotten, without you noticing? You stifle a yawn and sit up. “I’m sorry, ser. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”
He surprises you by squatting down and picking up a few of your papers. He shuffles through them, looking mildly interested. “How long have you been working on this?”
“Since I arrived… a few days,” you reply, not quite sure what he’s getting at.
“Leave it here.” He says it so casually that you don’t even think to wonder why. Like the man upstairs, you just assume that if he’s asking, he’s got something to do with it.
“Alright.” You stand up and stretch. “Makes things easier on me. If you’re looking at it, don’t mix up the papers.” Your back pops, and you wince. Thank the Maker you’re about to climb into a bed. You’ll be stiff tomorrow as it is.
You leave him thumbing curiously through your papers and head towards your room. There’s a way to get there without leaving the building, you’re almost certain, but there seems to be a million ways to get anywhere in Skyhold. You brave the cold rather than risk getting lost.
Seems like the only people still up are guards and… whoever is in the tavern, which is as raucous as ever. Although even that is beginning to empty; there are a few people stumbling across the courtyard. You shiver as a fresh wind cuts through your clothing, and quickly bounce down the stairs, eyes focused in the direction of your bedroom.
Maybe because of the scare Sera gave you yesterday, your ears perk up at a sound to your left. On second thought, perhaps a blind elephant would have noticed the two drunken men lurching towards you.
“Heeeeey, knife ear!” one of them slurs. Great. It’s gonna be one of those nights. “Jus’ what I need right now!”
You roll your eyes and keep walking.
“Wha? You think you’re too good for us, knife-eared bitch?” The man throws so clumsily that stepping out of the way of the haphazardly thrown bottle is almost unnecessary. You hear stumbling steps after you, and your hand twitches down towards where your knife is hidden.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?!” This voice is completely sober, and completely pissed off. You turn, surprised, to see a woman storming towards the men. You almost don’t recognize her out of her armor, but you’ve a knack for faces. It’s Belinda, the woman you smacked in the head with a mug, apparently taking exception to people continuing to throw things. “You little shits are in for a world of hurt!”
“Y… you ain’t got no authority over us, Templar!” the braver (or stupider) of the two slurs back at her. The other one is already beginning to back away.
“Oh don’t I? Then I guess I’d better report this to the Knight-Commander! Now do you want to scurry back to your pit, or should we go wake him together?”
They both dart away, nearly tripping over their own feet in the rush. You stare at the woman, mildly dumbfounded.
“Sorry about those louts,” she says, rubbing at her nose and not making eye contact with you. “They don’t represent us… And I’ll make sure the Commander hears of this.”
“Th… That’s not really necessary,” you begin, but she shakes her head.
“Maybe they would have done something, maybe not. But I can’t risk those idiots actually hurting someone. I’ll leave your name out of it.”
You’re a little awed, and more than a little shocked. This has to be the first time a Templar has actually come to your rescue, and there wasn’t even a mage involved. Go figure. “Um… thanks.” You could have handled the situation, no doubt, but she handled it with a lot less stabbing. You had to respect that. “I… really. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Really, don’t.”
You grin. “I’ll take it to the grave.”
You manage to get all the way to your room unmolested, and open the door with a relieved sigh. Another late night, but at least today was more productive. Just as well… tomorrow you have to spend your evening in the tavern. Perfect.