Masks
It’s only when Solas begins to shift in bed that you realize the sun is up. You set down the list you were making, rub exhaustion out of your eyes. You need tea… strong tea. You write yourself a tiny memo to buy a bag of your favorite strong blend while in you’re in Val Royeaux… never know how long it’ll be ‘til your next trip out of Skyhold. The memo goes onto the long list of things you want to buy with the combination of wages and gambling money you brought with you.
Solas sits up; the sheets slide down his bare torso. Maker’s breath, does he have no self awareness whatsoever? You try not to look at him, but his eyes are locked on you. You glance over as soon as you realize he’s staring. His expression is thunderous.
“Have you been there all night?” he demands, and you quail at the sight of his anger.
“N-no, of course not!” you insist quickly. You had gotten up to stretch several times, as a matter of fact, gone to your room to answer several ravens and send out several more. You’d had the foresight, at least, to change clothes an hour or so ago. “I laid down not too long after you fell asleep,” you lie. “I’m simply used to rising early thanks to training with Bull.”
Solas’ tense shoulders relax slightly, but he still looks irritated. “I note that ‘laid down’ does not necessarily imply ‘slept.’”
It would be easy to lie about that, as well, but you just rub your head a bit sheepishly. Admitting you hadn’t slept much would excuse the fact that you doubtlessly look as though you haven’t slept in months. “Maybe a bit? I did try.”
Solas sighs, shifting his legs out from under the covers. They look like they’re silk. It would be wasted on you, with how little you sleep… but if you get the chance, you want to lay down in the luxurious bed just once. Alarmingly quickly, Solas has gone from furious to seemingly hesitant. Perhaps you’re not the only one who needs strong tea in the mornings. “…Emma. I don’t want to… push, but… You need sleep. I can help.”
You stiffen, your sleep-deprived mind racing for the best way to fend him off again. You don’t want to bring up your supposed fear of magic a second time; just thinking about it makes you feel ill with guilt, but…
“Once before, you used a blanket with sleep enchantments,” Solas continues. “I brought it with me.”
You can’t help it; you light up like the White Spire at the mention of the blanket.
“It uses the same sorts of spells that I would use, however. They do touch the mind. Any sleep enchantment would, even if it was placed on a blanket or in a drink.”
…Oh. “…I wish you hadn’t told me that,” you say with a frown.
“You deserve the truth,” Solas says seriously. “I don’t wish to do anything that makes you uncomfortable without your knowledge.”
This from the man who’d stripped you without bothering to explain why first? But your irritation is mostly at yourself. To keep up your stupid lie, will you have to act scared of a blanket? You like that blanket, damnit!
“I… appreciate your candor, Solas,” you begin, but you’re mercifully interrupted by a gentle rap on the door. You quickly rise to answer it, knowing what it is. Breakfast! You let the girl in to set it down on the table, and Solas rises the rest of the way from his bed. You note the way her eyes trace over his bare chest, as well. Seems as though Solas will forever be tormenting the serving girls with his nudity.
“Miss?” Solas says.
“Yes?” you and the serving girl say in unison. She stares over at you, confused, and you begin to flush. It had been automatic.
Solas chuckles. “Would you mind bringing up some hot water for the bath?”
“Of course, monsieur,” she says with a curtsy. “I will bring it when I return to fetch the dishes.”
She turns and leaves the room; you’re still flushing. Solas grins at you, and that only makes it worse. “Old habits die hard?”
“Something like that,” you mutter. You slump down into a chair by the table. “Not even going to put on a shirt?” you ask Solas sourly as he walks over.
“These are yesterday’s clothes. How am I to change into fresh ones with you here?” he points out, and you flush even more. You can’t catch a break this morning.
“O-oh, I can, um, yeah, I’ll just—”
“After breakfast,” he says, sinking into the chair across from you at the small table. It’s making it very difficult not to stare at him. You examine your breakfast and tea very closely, but you see him making a face as you take a long drink from the strong, dark tea.
“I know, I know, but it wakes me up,” you say with a grin.
“I imagine,” Solas says, wrinkling his nose. “The smell alone is potent enough to wake the dead.”
“So… our plans for the day,” you begin. Your notes on the matter are still on the desk, but you remember them. “The library first, of course. However, this afternoon I need to begin making circles to the bookstores, before we put in more requests at the library.” You gesture vaguely to the desk. “I’m prepared enough that I’m confident I can do it alone, if you want to remain at the library.”
“How many people ordered me to keep you safe in Val Royeaux?” Solas asks. “If they find I let you wander around the streets alone, I may return to Skyhold only to face an angry mob.”
You snort into your tea, then cough, wiping off your nose. “Alright, fair enough. I’ve got a list of bookshops if you’re curious. A few of them specialize in magical tomes; you’ll be of the most help there. I’ve drawn up lists to give to each bookstore, here, if you’d like to see…”
You wind up pulling your chair over next to Solas’s so you can read over the lists together while you share breakfast. You can almost forget he’s shirtless, but every now and then his arm brushes against yours and the feel of skin on skin sends electric tingles down your spine. Of all the days not to wear long sleeves.
You talk after breakfast, outlining your plans for the day, until the serving girl comes with Solas’s hot water. You let her clean up and let Solas go to bathe, ducking into your little room to prepare for the day. You straighten yourself as best as you can. A mirror and comb are both on your list of personal purchases; without them, there’s only so much you can do.
You’re careful to knock before you enter the main room… and just as well. Solas’s voice calls back, “Wait a moment.” You wait patiently by the door until you hear, “Come in.” He’s pulling on a shirt as you enter; that is apparently his definition of “decent.” Well, at least you hadn’t walked in on him in a towel or something.
You get a lot of rough looks crossing the University campus and heading into the library.
“I’m torn,” you say sourly to Solas, walking a little closer to him thanks to the potency of the glares you’re receiving. “Part of me thinks we should get hoods. The other part wants to run barefoot across campus and rub my ears in their faces.”
It does strengthen your resolve to pick up masks while you’re out that afternoon, however. At the very least, you can at least look less like obvious tourists. Elven servants are a common sight even in this part of Val Royeaux. You’ll blend in more easily and be less likely to have a run in with a Chevalier looking for trouble.
You do get to the library intact, however, and Solas spends his morning cheerfully digging through tome after tome after tome. He provides you with another stack of requests by mid-morning, which you dig through on your own to decide which ones you might be able to find cheaper from other sources. When you have a list of the hardest to find ones, you drop it off with a librarian, who once again qualms at the quantity and rarity of the books listed.
“These eight, I know you have in circulation,” you say firmly. “Give them to me and have new copies scribed at your own pace. That doesn’t matter to me. If you don’t have existing copies of these, have them magically scribed, now. I don’t want them sent with some haphazard guard, I want them leaving Val Royeaux with me in six days. No, don’t tell me it can’t be done. Did the mages take all the lyrium with them when they left the White Spire? No? I didn’t imagine they did. If your resources are subpar, I have a list of magical scribes who I’m sure would be more than happy for the business. I understand it’s expensive. Fortunate that I’m paying for it, is it not? Make it happen.1”
You finally talk the librarian down, and return to Solas’s workspace with a sigh, rubbing your temple. “Je le jure, ils me donnent du fil à retordre uniquement parce que…2 Why are you looking at me like that, Solas?” you say warily.
“You know quite a bit about the process of magically transcribing tomes,” he comments mildly.
“It’s rather integral to my business,” you say with a pout, not liking the direction of his implications. “I’m in direct competition with them. People dislike dealing with mages, but some like dealing with elves even less.”
Solas looks unconvinced, which irritates you. It’s a good excuse! It’s, like… forty percent true! “Don’t expect me to admit to using their services in public,” you add jokingly. “That would be terrible for my business!”
Solas seems content to let it drop, although you’d be willing to bet he’s still nursing his own private suspicions. You can only imagine what he must think of you by now… You haven’t been doing a very good job at keeping your secrets, but as with Leliana, the important ones still seem to be intact.
You break for lunch at a reasonable hour instead of working through, and it’s a bit easier to drag Solas out of the library this time. Perhaps he’s looking forward to seeing more of Val Royeaux? You suspect he’ll be bored, however. All you’ll be doing is going to bookstores… Then again, you’re talking about a man who came back from a trip to a swamp with books.
“Are we not going to the same bakery for lunch?” Solas asks as you pass aforementioned bakery.
“No need. We’re going to be walking around Val Royeaux anyway; might as well take the opportunity to try something different. Besides, I can only tolerate day-old bread for so long when I have this much coin burning my pockets. But first…”
You head for a mask shop you’re familiar with, one that often outfits elven servants, which they’ll no doubt assume you are. Solas looks slightly bemused as you walk in the door. “Masks, Emma?”
“I’m tired of looking like a tourist. For some Maker-forsaken reason, they didn’t bother to send masks with us, and Baptiste didn’t have anything written about what the Inquisition’s style is. I don’t suppose you know…? No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” You sigh. “Shame.”
“May I help you?” inquires an approaching worker. You eye her rounded ears with some distaste, but smile respectfully. An elf would be somewhat out of the ordinary even in a mid-range shop like this, really.
“Could you point us in the direction of your working section, please?” you say politely, even though you’ve no real intention of shopping from there. The lady directs you to a small stand, and you make a show of looking at the masks until she wanders off slightly. You’ll probably be followed, but at least they’re not making it obvious.
You eye the masks as you slowly make your way through the shop’s displays. The masks are all behind glass, and a cursory brush with your hand lets you feel the magical wards present on the cases for the more expensive pieces. Not that you were planning on stealing anything… particularly not with Solas right there. You simply have a habit of checking.
Just because you don’t know what the Inquisition is wearing doesn’t mean you and Solas can’t match. If you don’t know what the Inquisition’s patterns are yet, chances are no one in Val Royeaux will. No Inquisition agent you’d seen in the city before had even been wearing a mask. As long as you and Solas match, the assumption of some professionalism will be assumed.
You eye the silver longingly, but there’s no need for something expensive when you don’t know how much use you’ll get out of it. So you hover towards the silver-nickel mixes, then wave over the worker subtly keeping an eye on you.
“Could I see these, please?” you ask, pointing at a small selection silver and nickel masks with various inlaid gemstones. The worker opens the case, and you’re pleased at the lack of fussing. Perhaps they assume you work for someone after all, or perhaps the purse—heavy with coin—you have hanging at your hip is enough to convince them your business is legitimate. She even brings a mirror!
You examine a few, and try even fewer on. Then you turn to Solas, mask in hand. “Here,” you say, holding it out to him. He blinks.
“Pardon?”
“Try it on. I’m not going to select without seeing how it looks on you,” you point out. He hesitates, then takes the mask.
“Are you sure this is—”
“Just put it on, Solas,” you interrupt. Rude, yes, but you don’t want him saying too much in front of the worker. With a slight frown, he does so, tying it around his head with obvious discomfort. You have him try on two more before you’re satisfied.
“These two,” you tell the worker. She has the manners not to look too surprised at your selection. They could be for servants, but someone who works in a mask store may be rather aware that no one in particular uses silver and opals for their servant’s masks… and that the style you got isn’t precisely a servant’s style. Still, the clink of your coin purse seems enough to satisfy her.
“You paid from the Inquisition’s purse,” Solas points out as you leave the building.
“I can’t believe they didn’t give us masks in the first place,” you say with a scowl. “Believe me, this is a business expense. I won’t get anywhere in this town looking like some half-cocked tourist.” You pause outside of the shop, unwrapping the mask then and there to put on.
“Is it so necessary that you needed to purchase one for me, as well?” Solas says as you tie the mask’s ribbon firmly into your bun. It wouldn’t do for it to slip.
“Absolutely. And we’ll match; people will assume we work for someone, if they see matching masks and matching ears. I’d rather be taken for a servant than a cocky alienage elf.” You pull out Solas’s mask. Yours is a delicate silver and nickel filigree inlaid with white opals; his is similar, but in a men’s style and with black opals. You admit that the fact they’re rather pretty informed your decision. If people take you for servants, they’ll take you for high-level servants, personal manservants or the handlers of estates. Rare for elves, but the human mind will grasp for any reason for an elf to not be a free man.
“Oh, let me; I don’t want it to slip,” you say as Solas begins to tie the mask’s ribbon behind his head. You slip behind him, stand on your tiptoes to tie a firm knot that won’t slip. It would be easier if he had hair, but you’d given him a style of mask that rested on the nose for that very reason. Still, you’ll probably have to adjust him throughout the day.
You step back out in front of him, admiring your handiwork. “Well, I won’t say you look Orlesian, not in that outfit… But it’s better,” you say with a slight smile. In truth, the mask looks fantastic on him. You hope yours looks nearly as good on you. “Now that I’ve accosted you with culture, let’s grab some lunch.”
You take Solas to a nearby restaurant that tends to serve servants out and about on business for their masters. Elves aren’t an uncommon sight there, so you manage a decent table on the patio. Solas seems mildly uncomfortable in the mask, but he’ll just have to get used to it. This is Val Royeaux. People wear masks. “Don’t fret at it,” you say the third time he adjusts it on his face. “You’re going to be wearing it for a week, so get used to it.” He reaches up again; you reach across the table to swat at his hands. “I’ll let you know if it gets off center. Leave it be.”
“You quickly become insufferable on subjects in which you actually have superior knowledge,” he quips at you, but you just grin.
“Insufferable, I can live with. Particularly if it’s deserved.” In fact, as if to prove your insufferability, when the waitress comes, you order for both yourself and Solas. Really, the menu is in Orlesian, so it isn’t as though he’d know what to order, but still. It’s the principle of the thing, you’re sure.
“I can’t deny it’s deserved, Alix,” Solas says with a smirk that sends butterflies swarming in your stomach. “If I weren’t so certain the Inquisitor sent us simply to be rid of us, I would suspect he knew things about you that I did not.”
A flush lights your cheeks and ears. “He does not, I assure you.”
“So,” Solas says as the waitress brings your drinks over, a sweet, fruity Orlesian wine. “Who is Alix Gagnon?” He waves his hand as you open your mouth. “Besides a linguist.”
“Not so different from Emma,” you say with a tiny pout. Does he think you have two utterly different personas? Well… He’s not wrong, you suppose, but he sees more of you than most.
“More comfortable in her skin,” Solas points out, and something about the way he says ‘skin’ makes your face heat.
“More comfortable in Orlais,” you correct. “In Val Royeaux. This is…” You wave your hand vaguely around you. “The closest I’ve ever felt to belonging. I know who I am here. I know who Alix is.”
“But you fear for your life,” Solas points out. “You were frightened simply of the possibility of seeing a Chevalier.”
“Tell me, Solas, have you ever been to a place where you didn’t fear for your life?” you ask pointedly. “Truly? Even in Rivain, where they care less about pointed ears, there’s always fear of bandits, Tal-Vashoth, the Qunari themselves. In Ferelden they’ll kill you for looking at them wrong, they have mercenaries everywhere, they’ve got all those giant dogs, and the bears, Maker, the bears.” You shake your head. “An elf who’s not concerned for their life at times is simply an elf who’s not paying attention to their surroundings.”
Solas is quiet for a long while after that. He seems to be thinking over what you said. It was perhaps a telling thing to say, but you couldn’t help it. You knew he had to understand; he was an apostate. He had to know what it was like. Even if he’d avoided Templars his whole life, somehow, he would know the fear of them. There couldn’t be an apostate in this world who didn’t.
Solas seems to muse over your words as you wait for your food. You’re relieved when it does; you’re hardly that hungry, but if there’s food in front of you, you’ll eat. Besides, it gives you something to focus on other than Solas.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve learned my tastes,” Solas comments part way through the meal.
“That means you like it, I take,” you say with a broad smile. “Good. I wouldn’t be much of a tour guide if you hated the food.”
Solas snorts. “Tour guide, are you now?”
“Yep! Working day and night to endear grumpy elves to Val Royeaux,” you say with a snort. “And vice versa. A task nearly as challenging as the one the Inquisitor actually gave us.”
“And yet, we seem to be doing fine,” Solas says with a thin smile.
“To my surprise, yes,” you admit. “That was a stroke of luck with Jean… I don’t know if I could have talked our way in or not, otherwise.”
“You seemed to be doing fine.”
You chuckle. “Man, the look on their faces… Priceless.”
After the two of you finish your meal, you lead him towards the market district. You won’t actually be going down the main stretch just yet—just as well, your outfit is beyond subpar—but several of the bookstores are near there.
You navigate through the legitimate ones swiftly, almost all of which were on Baptiste’s list. Having lists of the books you need allows you to play the part of the elven servant again. You drop off a list of books at each, with instructions for them to find which they have available, list them with their prices, and send them to your room at the inn in no more than three days time–although you instruct them to make the list out to Baptiste, which makes you more believable as a rich man’s servant. Some may disregard you because of your ears, but it’s not so difficult to make a list, and they’ll see they have the opportunity to make a pretty penny.
Finally, three hours later, you’ve hit every blasted legitimate bookseller in Val Royeaux, or so it feels. You pause to rest on a bench, and Solas sits beside you.
“You are sweeping through this city like a storm,” he comments, and after a moment, you realize he’s complimenting you, and flush.
“Th-thank you, Solas,” you stammer. “But I simply want to obtain as many books for the Inquisition as possible while we’re here. If I’m going to do a job, I’m going to do it well.”
“A commendable attitude,” Solas praises, only serving to make you flush darker. “I do have a question however.”
“Y…yes?”
“You mentioned the Inquisition’s name at some shops, but not others. Why?”
Oh, he noticed that, had he? You suppose he would have. “The Inquisition is still a subject of some debate in Val Royeaux, although what I’ve heard today leads me to believe popular opinion is swinging slightly positive. I mention the Inquisition only at places where I knew it was regarded favorably.”
“How did you determine whether or not a location held a positive view of the Inquisition?” Solas inquires.
“I pay attention,” you say, a little shortly.
Solas raises an eyebrow, but you decline to elucidate… It would be a long conversation, and you’re tired from walking around and putting on a show for every single bookstore worker. Every single human you’d seen so far was looking at Solas strangely. You knew why; he dressed strangely and carried a staff. “Do you normally dress like that when you come into a town?” you ask, a little sourly.
Solas actually looks a little offended. “Pardon?”
“Solas, you’re wearing a fur. It’s very fetching, but it does make you look a little… rustic?”
“I rarely spent any amount of time in towns, particularly not cities of this size,” Solas informs you. Hmm. Maybe he was just significantly better at surviving in the wild than you, and that was part of how he’d avoided detection for so long. If he was deep in the wilds… there were places even Templars wouldn’t go, at least not without large numbers. He would have had to have been deeper than you’d ever gone; Maker knows you’d never had much luck when you were roughing it across Thedas. You had more issues with Templars in that one year than you did your entire time in Orlais.
“Ah, well,” you say with a sigh. “At least you’ll fit in better where we’re going.”
“Oh? Have we not gone to all the bookstores on your list?”
“On Baptiste’s list,” you correct with a smile. “We’re about to start on mine.”