Elfy
Watching Dennet interact with the cats is more than amusing to you. But the night is only getting colder as it gets later. You have a freezing room to return to, probably as cold as or colder than the barn. You have to pretend to sleep after all, or Solas will get cross with you.
Ugh.
Solas seems to remember this as well as you’re standing by the exit, sullenly eyeing the freezing rain. He comes to stand next to you.
“Heading to bed?” he inquires.
“Yes, yes. No need to nag me,” you say with a sigh. “I’m just dreading walking through all this wet. I’ll be soaked and freezing by the time I get to my room…”
“Perhaps I can be of assistance?” he asks. You turn to him, confused, but then note that the rain in front of you appears to be splattering and rolling over an invisible barrier. You hadn’t even noticed him cast.
“This is… what you used in Val Royeaux?” you ask in wonder, stepping out underneath it and then reaching up. It’s quite wide. “And for the books, on the way back.”
“Yes,” Solas replies, stepping under it with you. “It’s a simple enough spell, though maintaining it that large for that long was… trying.”
You feel a stab of guilt. Just remembering the state of him is enough to cause anxiety to course through your chest. Your fault, your—
“I thought I would make up for leaving you to run through the rain in Val Royeaux,” he says with a chuckle. “Lead the way.”
You run your hands along the bottom of the spell for a while longer, until Solas laughs. “Are you hoping to discover how to do it yourself, using just your hands?”
You snort. “Oh, let me be. You mages don’t get it; this stuff is mind-blowing to anyone else. You can summon a magical umbrella and it’s blasé to you, sure, but some people go their entire lives without ever even seeing a mage.”
“If it interests you so much, I could explain the theory to you sometime,” Solas says.
“Really? That would be—oh,” You realize as you drop your gaze to him; he had been joking. “That’s the sort of thing I’m supposed to laugh off as being boring, isn’t it?”
“Or a waste of your time,” Solas agrees. “I suppose I should have known better. Do you intend to spend the rest of the night examining the spell?”
“No, but only because I know you’d scold me if I said yes,” you reply, then stick your tongue out. “I won’t say no to dry passage, though. I’ve already lost all feeling in my damn toes.”
“A poor time to experiment with footwear,” Solas agrees, glancing down. You cover one foot with the other, as if that will somehow hide your state of dress.
“I didn’t know it was going to rain. Or freeze. Or that I’d have to run through it multiple times,” you grumble.
“Did you dress this way because of your morning riding lesson with Belassan?” Solas asks as you begin to make your way across the courtyard. He follows alongside you, and the magic follows above. You can’t help but stare up at it, watching the water spatter against and pour over the invisible surface.
“It’s his coat,” you say, plucking at one of the sleeves of Belassan’s jacket. “But other than that, it has nothing to do with him. …Other than that I assumed you two would be the only people I’d see all day, and that neither of you would give me shit for dressing the way I wanted.” You sigh. “I got nice clothes in Val Royeaux, you know, but I wind up wearing the same sort of outfit day in and day out for work. I thought I’d wear something a bit nicer for my day off.”
“A reasonable decision,” Solas agrees. “Though you spent much of the day writing anyway.”
You laugh. “That was scribbling. If it’s not a formal script, it barely counts. And besides, thanks to that fancy quill of yours, I didn’t have to worry about dipping my sleeve in the ink.”
“Fancy quill of yours,” Solas reminds you. “If it was so useful in just your lessons, I imagine it will be infinitely moreso in your actual work.”
“It will,” you agree, eyeing him. “It’s much more useful than my gift to you. And more expensive.”
Solas waves away your concerns… literally. He flips his wrist casually. “It was nothing, I assure you. And your gift was…” His eyes flick away, down to the side, as he pauses. “Very generous,” he says finally.
You don’t believe him, not for an instant, but you wish you could get him to understand that if it were true, that would be almost more alarming. Who just throws around that sort of money? No apostate hobo, that’s for damn sure! But you can’t decide this is more evidence that he once lived a comfortable life, or…
Something else.
If Solas notices you’re taking a winding route to avoid puddles, he doesn’t comment on it. He’s as barefoot as you, after all, and while he probably has some ridiculous spell to keep his feet comfortable, dry, and clean, you sure don’t.
You move the conversation off of gifts, if just to spare both of you further embarrassment… and because the thought of what an expensive gift like that might mean is enough to send your heart pounding into your ears. Instead, you switch the subject back to Elven… something you can both talk about for hours with absolutely no complaints, according to the events of the day.
You duck into the hallway containing your room, and are somewhat surprised when Solas enters the doorway as well. You’d assumed he’d just walk you to the building… Does he want to make sure you actually go to bed, or just that you get there in one piece? Ah, no, he’s just continuing the conversation, lecturing on about verb tense. He probably doesn’t even realize where he is. He certainly doesn’t seem to, not until you open your bedroom door and pause in the doorway. He stops behind you when you do, and glances around, seeming to notice his surroundings for the first time.
You take another step into the room and pause. You almost want to invite him in. Is that where this is going? You’ve been in his room and nothing bad happened. But your room is… well…
“They have you in a closet,” Solas says, knocking you out of your thoughts.
You laugh. “It does feel like that, doesn’t it?”
“No, I think this is literally a closet,” Solas replies, leaning in slightly to glance around. “Or was, in any case. It’s certainly a bedroom now.”
“All the rooms adjacent are bigger,” you admit. “But they also have at minimum, two people in them. If anything, I lucked out.”
“I suppose there’s much to be said for privacy,” Solas agrees, and you feel heat rising to your cheeks while he continues on, blissfully unaware of where your mind is. “But it makes me consider all the space the Inquisition has wasted on me, with such a large private room…” Maker someone make him stop.
“I really don’t mind,” you say quickly, before he continues to ruminate on all that space he has, all alone, and such a large bed! or whatever oblivious nonsense he was going to torment you with next. “I don’t need much space. I wouldn’t mind a place for a wardrobe of some kind, or an armoire, even just a set of drawers… But really, this is quite…” You hesitate to say sufficient when there’s cold air seeping in from the tiny, prison-esque window even now. “Adequate.”
“A wardrobe indeed,” he says with a short laugh. “I understand now why you store all of your books in the library. Where are you even hiding all the clothing you purchased in Val Royeaux?”
“Under the bed,” you say with a snort. “Like a dirty secret. It’s not like I ever get to wear it, other than today.”
Solas gets a slightly odd look on his face, and you wonder what he’s thinking about, but it’s gone as quickly as it came on.
“I should let you rest,” he begins, but you cut him off.
“Look, Solas, before you go…” You clear your throat awkwardly. Best to just get it over with. “I wanted to thank you, seriously… For the Elven.”
“It’s noth—”
“It’s not nothing!” you exclaim, interrupting him. “You might think it is, but it’s not! And not just that, I mean, there’s the kittens, and, and even just Asaaranda in the first place, keeping the books dry, saving my life twice in those fights…” You trail off, suddenly a bit overwhelmed by the sheer number of things he’s done for you. Revas. Comforting you after every battle, during every break down in Val Royeaux, large or small. For having your back when it came to Sataareth, even though he was clearly upset you’d gone behind his. “You’ve—” Your voice cracks. You glance up, expecting his normal, neutral face, or even a bit of embarrassment at the situation.
His eyes are a bit wide, but he doesn’t look upset or embarrassed. If anything, he looks a bit…
“You’ve been looking out for me. I don’t know why, but I… appreciate it,” you say finally.
“It is…” he pauses, and seems to reconsider what he was about to say, which was almost certainly going to be ‘it is nothing.’ “You are welcome.”
There’s another moment where you just sort of stare at him. Your breath hitches in your chest, and you take a nervous step forward. The gift, and all the things he’s done for you, and then he walked you to your room… Are you reading this wrong? Surely you are. But he knows you’re interested, in Val Royeaux, he…
You take another half step towards him, tucking your arms behind your back almost in reflex to not reach out and grab him. You can’t do that, you can’t, he—
He clears his throat. “Goodnight, Emma.”
He turns, and he’s gone, down the hallway and back out into the courtyard. That fast.
You’re left standing in your doorway, feeling like a complete and total idiot.
Thank the Maker you didn’t actually make a move. You wouldn’t have, you remind yourself, but in that moment you probably also wouldn’t have stopped him if he had, which was almost just as bad. Fortunately—as you already knew—he’s not interested in you that way. And it’s honestly for the best. You can’t afford any complications like that right now! That’s why you hadn’t involved yourself with Sera, and part of why you had turned down Krem. It’s good that one of the two of you has some self-control and sense.
So why do you feel so shitty about it?
You sulk on your bed in the freezing cold, but you’re kept from being too terribly frozen just by the number of blankets you pile on top of yourself. You sleep, a little, out of sheer exhaustion, and have fretful nightmares throughout the night, seemingly every time you drift off even for a minute. Vague snippets of backs turned and doors closed. Dogs chasing you in the night through a strange, black city. Curtains slipping shut as strange eyes peer out at you and deem you unworthy to hide in their homes.
All in all, it’s not very restful, and when you finally roll out of bed into the frozen pre-dawn air, you’re in a foul mood. After dressing, you take one of your old, ratty undershirts and—with some doing—fashion yourself a make-shift cover for your tiny window. It keeps out the worst of the wind. There’s not much else you can do for the chill, but at least you can try and keep it from seeping in from outside so quickly. It’s only going to get colder from here.
Outside is the picture of winter coming to fight off autumn once and for all. You cringe as you step out into the icy air. As you suspected, the water on the ground froze overnight and the lower sections of ground have a sheen of ice over them. You stick carefully to the raised paths, not wanting to slip on the ice and injure yourself. Bull is already in your little practice area, cracking the ice with a long stick to ensure it’s safe.
“No day off for terrible weather?” you grumble, rubbing your arms despite the fact they’re clad in Belassan’s coat.
“Not unless you can’t take the cold,” Bull informs you. “You’ve got a lot less muscle mass than I do to keep you warm, but you’re wearing a shirt.”
“No one’s stopping you from putting on a shirt,” you say smartly. “In fact, most of Skyhold would thank you. Someone could put their eye out on one of your nipples at this point.”
“You’re right about at eye level there too,” Iron Bull notes, placing the flat of his hand on top of your head and then bringing it to his chest.
“Yeah, it’s a hazard,” you say dryly. “For my personal safety, I feel like I should be allowed to go inside where it’s warm and erect-nipple free.”
“I dunno, I feel like if you and Solas are in the same room, there’s gonna be some erect—” Bull catches your leg about three centimeters away from his side as you swing into a swift kick. “Oh, I didn’t realize we’d started.”
As always, attempting and partially succeeding at causing the Iron Bull some pain and indignation does make you feel a little bit better. It’s nice to have someone you can take out your frustrations on, and you’ll admit you’re thinking of your entourage of Mixed Message Elves when you land a kick directly onto Bull’s stomach like you’re trying to kick down a door.
Bull always manhandles you worse, though, so you’re filthy and half—no strike that, completely—frozen by the time the two of you are done. You make your excuses and head to the human baths to clean and change into your work clothes. The colder it gets, the less willing you are to use the elven baths, since the water is significantly hotter here in the human-woman-zone. You really need to do something about that, but you haven’t quite figured out a plan for it yet.
You skip breakfast again—there’s no one here to stop you—and instead swing by the healing tent and beg your way in to see Krem again. You have to hear his side of things after seeing how pissed off and wet Dorian was.
“Hey, Krem-puff, you not dead yet?” you say by way of a greeting as you come around the separator that keeps him sectioned off from the other injured.
“Ugh, you sound like the boss,” Krem says with a groan and a laugh. “You’re pranking like him, too. Pickled fish, Emma, really?”
You grin. “Yeah, but it wasn’t perfect. I didn’t get to see either of your faces.”
“I was just damn confused until I realized you must have put him up to it. He looked a bit horrified until I asked him if he knew any red-headed elves, then he just looked pissed… and really embarrassed.” Krem snorts.
“Aaah, I wish I could have seen it! He stormed straight into the rotunda and slammed them down on the desk!” you laugh, shifting to sit down next to Krem’s cot. “Totally worth it.”
“Getting out all the pranks you wish you could’ve pulled back when you lived there?”
“Absolutely. And Dorian has just enough guilt to let me get away with it. If I pulled any of this shit on you—”
“I’d kick your ass,” Krem says, and you both laugh.
After catching up with Krem, you finally head into the rotunda to get to work. If Solas noticed you were practically begging for him to come into your room last night, he doesn’t act it. Thank the Maker one of you has some fucking decorum, because you, apparently, are a shameless hussy who doesn’t know how to take no for an answer. You settle in at your desk to start work, but are immediately thrown when you see the magical quill there on your desk. Of course it would be, but… You just stare at it for several minutes, much longer than is reasonable. It makes you happy and it makes you sad, a chaotic churning of emotion in your chest that makes you feel like you’ve got a deepstalker in there, chewing its way out through your sternum.
Well, whatever his reasons for getting the thing, it’s yours now, and you can’t deny it will be useful. You work slowly at first, feeling out the different strokes of the quill, but once you’ve got the hang of it, you’re flying through the pages. You keep pausing and going to dip it in ink before remembering that you don’t have to; years of muscle memory are throwing you off. You actually use up all its ink and have to let it refill several times before lunch, but it only takes about a minute to slowly pull the ink back up into its compartment. The tingling feel of magic in the air as it does so is enchanting, no pun intended. It’s like a combination quill and toy.
You would have kept working through lunch if not for your candle reminding you of the time. Thank the Maker for candles. You knew some people who stick nails in them so that when they got down to a certain point, the nail would fall and make a loud clanking noise. You used to do it yourself, but you think that would probably annoy Solas.
You fetch lunch and share it with Solas. It’s very easy to just pretend like last night never happened, especially since the whole thing was in your head, and then just you beating yourself up about it. Since the two of you got pulled away yesterday, he takes the opportunity to give you some Elven “homework” to do between lessons.
“There isn’t very much to do,” you comment to yourself as he hands you, essentially, a list of words.
“That is because, though you may have forgotten, you have a job,” Solas points out. “You already take on far too much as it is. If I gave you more to do, even if I stressed that it was optional, you would do it at the detriment of time you should be using to rest.”
You make a face, but you can’t say much since… well, he’s right. You’re desperate to learn, and you would absolutely shove everything else to the side to do every little bit of Elven he gave you. And since he’s finally teaching you, you don’t want to push it.
Instead of getting back to work after lunch, or delving straight into the elven, you head for the barn after returning your dishes to the kitchen. It takes a bit of hunting, but you find the kittens—and Belassan—in the back, in one of the empty stalls. He glances up when you approach, and smiles.
“Come to see how the kittens are?”
“I wanted to see if they lived through the night,” you admit. “How are they doing?”
“The smallest is struggling, but the mother is letting him feed, so we’re hopeful.” He gestures for you to come into the stall. You do, and squat down next to him. The crate in the stall is obviously where Asaaranda and her kittens are. It’s covered completely with numerous thick blankets, and he lifts one slightly off the top so that you can peek in. Asaaranda glares up at you and lets out a sullen yowl.
“They’re already so fluffy,” you marvel. “I thought they would be naked for some reason.”
“Thankfully, no,” Belassan says with a chuckle. “Hard to say now, but judging by their mother, I would guess they’ll all have thick coats when they’re older. Good, considering how cold it gets here.”
“How long will their eyes be closed?” you ask, squinting. “They look like furry deepcrawlers, not cats.”
“About a week.”
“And the littlest one, he’ll make it?”
“Hard to tell,” Belassan admits. “I have to move him right to a teet to get him to nurse, and it’s hit or miss. He’s weak and requires near-constant attention. We may need to have Solas come out to take another look at him.”
“Are they all boys?”
“Two boys and a girl.”
You pepper Belassan with questions while you watch the useless, squirming masses that, you’re assured, are in fact kittens. You would volunteer to help take care of them, but that sort of defeats the point of making other people do it in the first place. You did your part when you dragged Asaaranda out of that log and nursed her back to health on the way to Skyhold. Solas is right; you take on a lot as it is. You need to focus on your work and your studies. But when you reach in to touch one of the kittens and Asaaranda doesn’t maul your hand to shreds… you have to admit, it’s a good feeling.
You leave the barn with the intent to head back to the rotunda, but being on this side of Skyhold, you can’t help swinging by your other pet project… the farm. It’s only been a few days since the Goat Incident, but it seems like people are already getting used to the presence of the mini-farm. You recognize several of the ex-slaves tending the area, including several children half caring for, half playing with the goats.
“S’kinda nice, innit?” A familiar voice says, and you turn to see Sera, approaching to lean against the fence the way you are. “Reminds me of the way some of the folks in Denerim used to keep goats in their backyards.”
“We used to sneak into the enclosures and milk them right into cups to drink,” you chuckle.
“They would come out with brooms, screechin’! ‘Get away from my goat you lil brats!’”
“And we’d duck and scurry away…”
“But you bet your ass we’d never spill a drop of that milk!”
“Some things never change,” you say, pointing. One of the kids is lying under one of the goats while another tries to milk the goat directly into his mouth. The sound of their giggles echoes across the courtyard and buoys your mood.
“Kids are kids. Doesn’t matter where you are. I bet they have giant horned kids up in Seheron or wherever, and I bet they still milk goats and run away from brooms.”
You chuckle. “They’re not born with the horns, actually,” you say, tapping your forehead. “They grow in as they age.”
“That makes sense,” Sera admits. “I was feelin’ kinda sorry for the ladies. Though, thinkin’ about it, I bet they look… woof.”
“That’s a word for it, I suppose. I guess a lot of people have never seen a female Qunari, since the soldiers are all men. If you go to Rivain, though, you can find groups of Vashoth living together. There are women there.” You avoided them like the plague, of course, but you had seen one or two women from a distance. They were tall, grey, and horned. That was all you really needed to know.
“Maybe I should visit Rivain when this is all over…”
You can’t help laughing. “You would hate it! They’re a lot more lax about magic there then they are here in the south.”
“They’ve still got Circles, though,” Sera points out.
“They did,” you say darkly. “In Dairsmuid. But the cultural attitudes are different. The mages could travel freely, they kept traditions of magic that weren’t necessarily Chantry-approved alive. They were annulled last year.” You can’t hear the children’s laughter anymore.
“You know a lot of stuff about magic.”
“I used to do work for them,” you say simply. “And I used to live in Rivain.”
“Where didn’t you used t’live?” Sera asks with a snort. “Yer more well-traveled than I am, I think!”
“Nah, I’ve barely been to Ferelden at all,” you say with a laugh. “Just Denerim, when I was little. And I’ve never been to the Anderfels.”
“Who has? Nothing there but dust and Wardens.”
“Good food, though.”
“Yer literally the only person who thinks that.”
“They make a very interesting cactus salsa,” comes yet another familiar voice. “Come to check on the farm, Emma?”
“Hello, Fenris,” you say, straightening up off the fence. “I thought I’d see how it was. Are they settling in okay?”
“The people, or the goats?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Both, I suppose.”
“The goats are taking to it faster, but the sudden frost last night is giving them something to do. Have you spoken to anyone about getting more animals?”
“Lady Montiliyet, briefly. I think we can expect some within the next few weeks.”
“Well, I can see you two have shop t’talk,” Sera says, a bit sarcastically.
“Oh, sorry, Sera. Have you met Fenris?”
“I don’t believe so,” says Fenris. “I’m pleased to meet you. Are you a friend of Emma’s?”
“Sure am. Weird tats. They Dalish?” Her voice is slightly wary, but you feel like rolling your eyes. They don’t look Dalish at all. But he must get that a lot, he answers smoothly.
“No, they’re lyrium.”
“Lyrium?” Sera says, taking a step backwards.
“He’s not going to explode, Sera,” you say dryly.
“Why’d you get lyrium tattoos? You a mage or something?”
“No, they were seared into my flesh by my Tevinter owner, who is now dead,” Fenris says flatly. Sera blinks, then looks to you.
“Ohhh, is that how you know him?”
You can’t help but laugh. “No, Varric introduced us.” This was a bit surreal. But at least they weren’t fighting. It would be nice if some of your elf friends actually got along. Solas and Belassan were polite but cold to each other, Fenris and Solas were a disaster waiting to happen, Sera and Solas were a disaster that happened regularly, Sera wouldn’t even go near Belassan… You felt like strangling each of them in turn, sometimes.
“So, do they hurt, or…” You take a half-step back as Fenris and Sera continue to converse. No explosions, no shouting. A few dumb questions on Sera’s end, but totally understandable. It’s not like she’s seen anything like this, or knows his history from reading Varric’s books. And Fenris is handling it well… he probably has answered these exact questions a hundred times over.
“So you’re from Tevinter, huh? I wonder if Dorian—”
“Hey, Sera!” you interject quickly. “What happened to training, anyway? We haven’t done a single thing that broke any of my limbs since I got back!”
Sera perks up, immediately distracted. “I figured you were too busy now! You haven’t stopped movin’ all week.”
“I’m never too busy for you, Sera,” you begin, but when she fixes you with a withering look, you reconsider. “Well… Except for all the times I, uh… have been.” Fortunately, she laughs.
“Well, I’ll have to put somethin’ together then. Somethin’ that doesn’t involve high up places,” she adds with a shudder.
“But we love high places,” you point out.
“Yeah, and you love fallin’ off of them. We’ll go underground next time!”
“We could go to the Undercroft.”
“There’s a giant cliff!”
“I’m sensing several interesting stories,” Fenris comments.
“Oi, Maker, she falls off of everything. Walls, buildings…”
“Mostly walls,” you interject.
“And always while I’m there!”
“You make me feel like I can fly, Sera.”
“And she always does that!”
“Classic deflection,” Fenris notes. “Varric does it every time you try to ask him a serious question.”
“You know, I came out here to have a good time,” you begin dryly, only to have Sera cut you off.
“Oh, go feed a goat! They like flyin’ through the air too, no wonder you get along.”
“Actually, I should probably get back to the rotunda,” you admit with a sigh. “Leliana is leaning on me a bit to finish the transcript.”
“I was wondering why you work in there,” Fenris admits, and Sera snorts, between derisive and irritated.
“Wouldn’t we all like t’know.”
“It’s quiet,” you say, eyeing her sourly.
“It’s elfy.”
“We are three elves talking near a farm run entirely by elves, Sera.”
“And no one had to point it out!”
“You’re the one who brought up elves!”
“You’re the one expectin’ us to believe you’re in there for the quiet!
Fenris clears his throat awkwardly. “Ah, I heard you were learning elven from the apostate, Solas. Is that why…”
“You’re learnin’ what now?”
Damnit, Fenris. How does he even know that already? How fast does news travel in this place? You sigh. “The elven language.”
Sera frowns. “I thought you already knew that stuff, anyway.”
“Not as well as Solas. And yes, Fenris, that’s partially why. I’ve been after him to teach me for months now,” you admit.
Sera rolls her eyes. “See? Elfy. Why d’you even wanna learn that stuff, anyway?”
“It’s my job!”
“How many old elf manuscripts you come across? They’re all dead!”
You stiffen. A sharp, cruel retort dies on your tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with knowledge for its own sake,” you say, finally. “And speaking of my job, I need to actually do it.” You spin around with only a nod to Fenris, and storm off towards the rotunda.