You Believe Him
You awake in a burst of panic to the sensation of magic. You sit bolt upright, the weight of a wolf pelt falling from your shoulders. You’d known it! You’d known it, that bastard, he must have… must have drugged you and been poking around, that son of a…
The sensation of magic fades, but the air is still thick with the remnants as you try to clear your foggy head. You shift around in the chair, looking for Solas. There he is, on the… opposite side of the room, sitting on the floor. What was he doing from there?
“I apologize for waking you,” he says. The air tastes like ozone… what had he been doing? Your question is answered—somewhat—when he stands and sets down on the desk one of the large, thick shards you’d seen him fiddling with in the past.
That, then? He was just casting magic nearby?
Suspicious, you run your aura through yourself carefully, testing for magic. It lights up like a carnival around your skull, of course, all the residual healing magic… But you don’t detect anything else. Are you wrong? Or can you just not tell?
Solas is looking at you strangely, however, and you remember rather belatedly that the sensation of magic waking you up should be an impossibility.
“You didn’t… I don’t think,” you say slowly, as if confused, despite the fact your mind is racing. You rub your eyes sleepily. “I must have been having a nightmare.”
“Oh? What did you see?”
Bastard. “Fire,” you reply, going with the easy lie. “I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep.” You rub your eyes, both for effect and because you’re still groggy despite the burst of panic. “I’d say you shouldn’t have let me sleep, but…”
“That would be roughly as effective as me telling you to sleep, I think,” Solas replies, effectively finishing your thought. You snort.
“What were you doing?” you ask, gesturing towards the shards.
“Investigating,” he replies simply.
You pout. “You’re allowed to say ‘you probably wouldn’t understand it,’ you know. I won’t be offended.”
Solas chuckles softly. “Very well. You probably wouldn’t understand it.” When your frown deepens, he adds, “You don’t look very unoffended.”
“No, no, you’re right,” you lie with a sigh. “I probably wouldn’t. But I am curious.” The air even looks a little sparkly. Or would a non-mage not be able to see that?
“Normally, I would perform a spell this involved in my work space,” Solas admits. “I do apologize if it disturbed you.”
“Unless a side effect of casting magic is weird dreams… Well. I suppose it might be, honestly,” you say with a laugh. “They both come from the Fade, right?”
“In a sense.”
“So why did you do it here, then?”
Solas hesitates. “I, ah…” Were you right? Was he up to something? You try not to let your suspicion show on your face, but you’d like very much to wring the truth out of him right there. Though you suppose he gets that same urge with you on occasion. “In truth,” he admits with a sigh. “I did not want to leave you unguarded.”
…Oh.
You wonder briefly if he’s lying, but he looks slightly embarrassed, an expression you haven’t really seen on him much. You don’t think he’s faking it. Or, a voice in your head suggests, you just don’t want to think he’s faking it. You’d gotten this way with Aimée, too. Hadn’t wanted to believe what your gut was telling you. It never ends well.
But this time, Solas’s claim adds up. The shard still resonates with mana, practically glowing from the amount of energy he was putting into it. You sense nothing in your own head but the spells he put there earlier, for pain. And you hadn’t actually been dreaming… you were very nearly just as tired now as you had been earlier. You hadn’t slept.
Slowly, subtly, not wanting him to know what had been racing through your mind, you release the tension in your shoulders.
You believe him.
And now, the flattery of what he’d said catches up with you. He hadn’t wanted to leave you unguarded?
“I… Thank you, Solas. I don’t think that’s necessary, however,” you add. “Even if you were absent, surely no one would dare to cause any kind of trouble here. Most people are too skittish to even enter the room.” You gesture upwards. “And we’re literally right underneath the Spymaster’s nose.” You pause. “…I wonder if I should have reported in to her, actually…”
“I’m quite certain she knows,” Solas says. He’s right, of course, and you don’t relish speaking to the sharp Nightingale when your mind is fogged from pain and drugs and magic.
“Ah, of course… but that just proves my point, does it not? No one would try anything here. And besides,” you say with a laugh, gesturing at your face. “Surely the worst is over?”
You’re joking, of course, but Solas’s expression is quite serious. Not angry, at least not now, but serious. “I do not wish to alarm you, but you should be wary of further retribution. The man was arrested and the Commander has every intention of seeing him pay for his crimes. Publicly. You have upset the status quo. It is a dangerous position to be in.”
You blink in surprise. Not at what he’s saying; you know that already. But at how much thought he’s put into this. “Speaking from personal experience, Solas?”
“Some things never change. The weak subvert the strong. The strong fight back, viciously, to maintain their power. I have seen such things happen countless times in memories in the Fade. Your intent will not matter, nor will your innocence, if you are seen as stirring up trouble.”
“I didn’t do anything!” you protest, not because you believe it, but because you’re suddenly very interested in his advice on this subject. “I was the passive subject in this situation, Underhill’s fists were the active ones!”
“You are right, of course. But Underhill’s friends will not care. They will see you as the cause for his arrest. The Commander spoke of coming down harder on his soldiers, a no-tolerance policy. It is not a bad plan, but if you are seen as the catalyst…”
“Oh, Maker,” you sigh. “I see your point. You… really think someone else may do something? Even attack me?”
“That is my fear, yes. But perhaps if we can get you through the next few days intact… It may blow over. If you heal, you will no longer be so visible. In time, as rumor takes hold, they may even forget it was you, specifically, who was attacked.”
You nod. He has a point. Particularly if you want to stir up this little rabble of elves into something with a purpose. You’ll hardly be at the head, but even being seen as a catalyst is dangerous. Being seen at all is dangerous. Humans have proven over and over again their willingness to slaughter anything that even resembles a threat.
“Alright, Solas. If you think it wise, I will avoid being alone for the next few days. Thank you for your concern… hopefully, you’re right, and it will all blow over soon. I’d prefer it if I could just get back to work in peace, after all.”
“Yes,” Solas says dryly. “That much is evident. Should I even attempt to convince you to lie down?”
“No, don’t bother.” You pull the pelt up over your shoulders, then pause. “I… suppose this is yours?”
“Ah… yes. I was lacking in a blanket, but I did not want you to become chilled in your condition.”
You snort. “My ‘condition.’”
“You would do well to take it seriously,” he says, and you hear the edge of irritation in his voice. “Healing magic can only do so much, so quickly. And when you are this weak, it is easy for other illnesses to set in. Neither of us will enjoy it if I need to burn sickness out of your blood later because you failed to care for yourself now.”
You hold up your hands in surrender. “Alright, alright… Very serious over here, extremely serious.” You should return the pelt. But instead, you tug it up around your shoulders and wrap it around you like a shawl. He had said you needed to keep warm, and this… brings back memories. Good ones, for once. You let your hand linger in the fur, briefly, before scooting your chair back up to your desk and looking down to take stock of your unfinished work.
Ugh… Well, considering your condition, you suppose you should be happy you got anything done at all. You pick your quill up, and of course Solas’s voice interrupts you.
“It is quite late. Perhaps you should go to bed?” he suggests.
You let out a long, irritated sigh. “I just slept, Solas. What good would going to bed do me?”
“Allow me to rephrase: I am tired.”
“…Oh.” Right, you had just finished agreeing you wouldn’t wander around Skyhold alone. Walking across the Courtyard around the time the drunks are leaving the tavern, alone, is very much not the sort of thing you should be doing. Still, the thought of sitting in your room doing nothing chafes at you.
“Do you believe your room to be safe?”
“Yes, safe enough, though I would be happier if the door locked.” You grin. “Why? Would you take me to your room if it wasn’t safe enough?”
Solas eyes you, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “To the healing tent, actually.”
Alright, you deserved that. Still, you make a face. “Alright, alright, I’ll go to my room. Like a grounded child.”
“If I thought for a second grounding you would make you rest, I would do it in a heartbeat,” Solas replies.
“Lucky for me I’m so impossible, then,” you reply snidely. He essentially is grounding you anyway, but any one of your friends could serve as an escort, at least. You already spend your mornings with the Iron Bull, so it’s not even that inconvenient.
Although you’re really not looking forward to explaining all this to Bull. At all.
You take a few minutes to tidy up your desk, and then stand. Your head doesn’t spin with dizziness… the herbs have worn off. You should probably take the rest that they gave you before bed… or maybe in the morning? If you wait too long, it’ll hurt to chew them. The idea of sitting on your bed all night, stoned out of your mind, is not a pleasant one, but wandering around all day in a daze isn’t much better. And you really shouldn’t be too out of your mind when you talk to Bull, which will almost certainly happen in the morning at some point.
You let the pelt fall off your shoulders with some regret. You’d like to steal it, but you’re the one with a coat. Solas’s approach to keeping warm really does just appear to be “and then add a pelt.” You can’t imagine he has more than the one. You lay it across the back of your chair as you struggle back into your jacket. It’s a bit cumbersome, but at least it’ll keep you warm against the biting chill you know is waiting for you outside the Great Hall.
Solas picks his pelt back up, and you suspect it will become one of the many things the two of you just silently agree to pretend never happened.
Having Solas walk you back to your room turns out to be a better idea than you could have anticipated. You do get a few sideways looks as you cross the courtyard, but every irritated face falters when they spot Solas beside you. That being said. you’re fairly confident no one would have actually jumped you, not after what just happened. You would have been astounded if you even had a verbal confrontation. Though you might have gotten a smug earful if any of the humans from the bathhouse saw you. Maker, they must be just rolling in it. You make a mental note to go back there just the second you’re out of these bandages. You don’t want them to have the satisfaction of thinking you’d been driven out.
Another glare falters at the sight of Solas, and that’s when something horrifying occurs to you. You’re dragging his name through the mud, again. All your efforts to avoid bringing him up in your various troublemaking schemes… And here he is being seen escorting you back to your room like a freaking guard dog! Damnit! You hadn’t thought this through at all. This stupid fucking injury, the healing, the medicine, your own exhaustion… You’re not thinking clearly! Solas is damn right, you need to rest. Outside of Skyhold, away from him. Someplace safe. But you can’t possibly slip out now, when he’s paranoid something might happen to you. He’ll be watching you extra close. So will Bull, once he learns what happened.
Fucking Underhill. Even in going down, he’s made your life difficult. At least you’ve made his a lot worse. And shorter, hopefully.
In short order, you’re once again faced with the sight of Solas at your bedroom door. As if that weren’t bad enough, he actually follows you in!
“There’s not really room for two in here, Solas,” you say, forcing a frown to cover for your embarrassment.
“You’re right,” he says, glancing around your small room, which feels significantly smaller with him in it. “There are rooms in this castle fit for nobles. Plenty of them. And I would be willing to bet many of them are, at this very moment, empty, waiting for guests of the Inquisition considered worthy of their size.”
“I don’t need a large room, Solas,” you interrupt, seeing quite clearly where his irritated mind is headed.
“Your door,” he says, turning to place his hand on the knob. “Does not even have a lock.”
“My chest does,” you say, pointing at the chest by the foot of your bed. “And that’s where anything valuable is.”
“The most valuable thing in this room is you,” Solas says bluntly, and you feel heat rushing to your cheeks. Wow, really? You understand his meaning… you think. Someone could open the door and attack you. The thought had occurred to you as well, but you had comforted yourself with two things: few knew where you slept, and fewer cared. Who would bother tracking you down to hurt you in your “sleep?”
Well, you have the answer to that now. Underhill. Who is now behind bars, but… You can’t blame Solas for being skittish that there might be more.
“Going to magic my door shut?” you suggest, keeping your voice mild and joking despite the probably-visible flush to your cheeks.
“No, but I am going to find you a lock,” he replies. As you sit down on the edge of your bed—for lack of anything better to do—he wanders to your window. “Wanders.” Pff. It’s like two steps away from the door. He runs his hand along the side.
“Too small for even me to get in and out of,” you quip. “Don’t worry, Solas.”
“It is difficult for you to tell me not to worry when you look like that,” he replies, gesturing at… well, all of you, really, but probably mostly your face. “But you’re right. You should consider shutters, however… to keep the cold out, if nothing else.”
You nod. You’d been thinking that yourself. As it gets colder, you dislike your little prison-style window more and more. If you hadn’t flared out at the hips, you could probably squeeze through there, but you’re not particularly worried that any tiny elves are going to try to break into your room through the window.
“I’ll be fine, Solas. I’ll see you in the morning.” It’s the most polite way you can really think of phrasing ‘please get out of my room this is so uncomfortable.’ He seems to take the hint, though, or at least your room has passed the security inspection, so he nods.
“Try to rest, Emma. You need it more than ever,” he says, and then leaves the room, closing it firmly behind him.
You briefly consider moving your chest out in front of the door again. You’d been trying to comfort Solas, but in truth, you were already a bit paranoid that something might happen. You can’t be sure of what the general attitude in Skyhold is going to be. So far you’ve seen sympathy, but mostly from elves. Maker only knows what the humans are thinking. What the soldiers are thinking. You stand and head towards the door, considering, when you feel the tingle of magic nearby. You freeze automatically, tucking your aura deeper and tighter inside of you, but it’s not moving. It’s… the doorknob.
Solas.
You listen at the door briefly, trying to determine if he’s still outside. You hear the fading sound of footsteps. Then, cautiously, you drop your hand to the doorknob. You should probably just leave it alone entirely. This is Solas’s magic, you don’t really want to risk anything that would alert him. But you’re also sour about him enchanting your fucking doorknob without asking. You’re willing to bet he wouldn’t pull this shit if he knew you were a mage; he’s doing it because he thinks you won’t notice. Little bastard.
You carefully let your aura into your palm, just enough that you can maybe detect what he’s done without touching it directly. It feels like an alarm of some kind. You don’t feel any power twisted in, it’s not going to explode if you open it. You suspect he’d just stuck a silent alarm on there so he’d know when it was opened. You make a face, but remove your hand, unwilling to probe any further. You’re good with alarm spells, but you’ve no real reason to risk blowing your cover over something so menial. You’ll find a damn lock tomorrow, to appease him.
You head to bed, admittedly feeling slightly more secure knowing that Solas will be alerted should someone open your door that night. Of course, now for the hard part… trying to rest.
You bundle up in every blanket you have, but the cold still seeps through, mostly onto your face. It makes your injuries ache agonizingly. You wind up taking some medicine despite having wanted to put it off… You’ll have to go back to the healer’s tent to get more, at this rate, and you wanted a clear mind for dealing with the Iron Bull. The herbs help, but the ache feels like it goes down into the core of your bones. Before the sun has even risen, you’re crawling out of bed, bundling back up in as many layers as you can reasonably put on, and heading for the door.
You have no real intention of going to practice with the Iron Bull. There’s nothing you can do in this condition. Actually, you just sort of want to go to the Great Hall for sheer warmth. You’ll even lay down on Solas’s couch if he wants you to, anything to get out of this cold. You don’t get that far, however.
You feel Solas’s little alarm going off as you open the door. Silently, it buzzes away, off to tattle on you to Solas. You’ll probably have to deal with that later. Hopefully he doesn’t come running. Hopefully it doesn’t even wake him. It’s perhaps an hour, half an hour, before dawn, but it’s still a perfectly reasonable time for you to be getting up.
It’s not Solas who finds you as you pass nervously through the courtyard, however. It’s Bull.
He grimaces when he sees you, but his lack of reaction past that tells you that word has, in fact, gotten around.
“Can I skip practice, boss?” you say with a lopsided grin.
“You look completely fucked, so yeah, think I’ll give you a pass,” he says, scowling slightly. You don’t really like the look on him. He normally kept a pretty cheerful expression on around you, and seeing him upset is reminding you of how skittish you actually are around Qunari. “I heard you got jumped by some soldier?”
“Yeah. Lawrence Underhill,” you reply. You honestly want that name on as many tongues as possible. “I guess word’s already gotten around, if you’ve heard.”
“Like wildfire,” Bull said with a snort. “You didn’t think it would?”
“Well, no one kicked down my door yesterday, so I assumed either no one had heard, or no one was particularly alarmed by the news.” It’s mostly true. You’d been thinking that most of the people you would count as friends if someone asked, at least, would be coming to check the damage.
“Solas was turning people away from his rotunda all evening,” Bull says, and you blink.
“What?”
“He said you were asleep, wouldn’t let anyone in. He had a damn serious look on his face too. I thought Sera was going to shoot him.”
“…Oh. Well, he wasn’t lying,” you admit. “I was asleep pretty much the whole time after dinner.”
“I’d expect some guests today,” Bull informs you. “So… you wanna tell me what happened?”
“I’d hope it’s the same as what’s going around,” you say with a scowl.
“Well, Dalish told me she heard you’d been jumped by some soldier on the battlements, but that story seems to be missing a few key elements. You already told me who, but I was wondering if I could get the why. All my guys are pretty pissed off, and I’m pretty sure Skinner’s already been down to the prisons. Some answers might calm them down.”
You have to work really hard to keep a straight face. Hahaha, oh shit. Skinner. She’d killed a bunch of shems for doing pretty much exactly what Underhill had done to you, or had tried to do, anyway. You hadn’t even thought about that. You rub your face to hide the fact you really want to smile. Underhill, you poor bastard.
“You sure he’s still alive, after Skinner was down there?”
“There are a lot of people in those prisons. I told her to behave but… well, you know Skinner. I’d rather she get answers that satisfy her, though. I think we’d all rather have answers. No one’s even told Krem yet… he’s still in the healing tent, and we’re all a bit worried about how he’ll react.”
You grimace. “Fair enough, but it’s freezing. I’m only up this early because the cold is killing my face. Can we go inside somewhere?”
Bull agrees, and the two of you duck into the tavern. There’s no one in there this early, not even passed out in the corner. It’s weird, to see it empty. There are doubtlessly people in the rooms upstairs, but they’re probably asleep. Either way, it’s warm, and that’s what matters.
So you sit at a table and try to explain to Bull what you’ve explained too many times already. That you were attacked on the battlements. To him, you explain a bit more about the details of what happened… Both because you’d gotten your story hashed out in your head overnight, and because he’d want to know how you got overpowered. You’d mouthed off to the man, and started turning to walk off when the first blow came. It disoriented you. You managed to deflect a lot of the blows, you think, hence the sorry condition of your arms, but it happened so fast. Once you were knocked onto your back, you tell Bull, you didn’t have a chance.
Bull listens, and nods. You briefly go over the Commander’s timely appearance, him arresting Underhill and bringing you to the tent. From there, you explain, you’d just gone straight to the rotunda with the intent to work, but had in reality spent most of the day asleep.
Iron Bull has, as you expected, a few follow up questions. Only one throws you.
“So, this Underhill… he have anything to do with that necklace of bruises you were wearing yesterday morning?”
You hesitate, considering. You hadn’t told this to Solas—or anyone—because it was unnecessary. But Bull had seen the bruises, so he knew something was up. Was there anything here that could trip you, poke holes in your story?
“Yeah,” you say finally. “He and one of his buddies were drunk the night before and started pestering me as I was going across the courtyard to get to my room. It got pretty ugly and one of them grabbed me. I managed to get away, but I did some damage in the process… probably something to do with learning this stuff on a Qunari,” you add dryly. “That’s what Underhill was pissed about on the battlements. I didn’t even really taunt him,” you lie with the tone of an admission. “He was already pissed from that. I still didn’t think he’d punch me in the face in broad daylight, though…”
“Were you gonna tell anyone? About the first attack, or that he threatened you on the battlements?” Bull asks gently. You can see the tension in his shoulders. He’s trying hard not to spook you, but he’s probably beating himself up. He’d been with you not an hour before you were attacked, had noticed something was wrong, and had left because you’d made him.
“I was considering it,” you say with a sigh. “I was worried because I’d injured a soldier, even in self-defense. I figured I might be in more trouble than either of them.” You make a face. “I can tell you’re kicking yourself right now, Bull, but don’t. Even if you’d been there, what? He would have seen I was with you, waited until some other time, and probably done the exact same thing. Maybe worse. Maybe more premeditated. He’s locked up now, that’s all that—” You force your voice to crack slightly. “That’s all I want to think about.”
“You can rest assured he won’t be an issue for you anymore,” Bull says firmly, and you struggle to keep your smile reasonably sad and not as wicked as you feel.
“Thanks, Bull. You should, uh… Probably try and keep Skinner from assassinating him,” you say with a nervous laugh. “I don’t think the Inquisitor would take kindly to the murder of his prisoners.”
“Yeah,” Bull said. “Lucky that the Commander is so punctual with that walk around the battlements.”
Mm. A bit pointed. But you just smile. “Yeah. I’m trying not to think about how that could have gone for me.”
Bull shakes his head. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. Try not to dwell on it. We’ve got your back now.”
“Solas doesn’t want me wandering around alone,” you confess. “I was just going to head into the rotunda early… honestly just to get some place warm.”
“Why don’t you grab breakfast with me and the Chargers?” Bull suggests. You hesitate. “It’ll do them good to see you,” he insists. “Even all banged up like this.”
“If you think it won’t just piss them off more,” you say with a reluctant sigh. “For once, I hope the kitchens made gruel.”
The Chargers are, in fact, extremely happy to see you. There are a lot of outraged expressions, but it seems that word of how bad you looked had proceeded you, so you were spared anyone dramatically dropping things. Dalish and Skinner sandwiched you at the table, one on either side, and despite Dalish’s normally curious nature, she mostly seemed intent on distracting you. Skinner didn’t say anything at all, but, well… That was Skinner. Hopefully she wouldn’t do anything stupid. Angry elven women with a vendetta were a wild card, as everyone in Thedas should have figured out around the time Leah Tabris slit the throat of an arl’s son.
Bull was right, though. He manages to keep conversation light, and off of the subject of the, ah… unique state of your face. A few of the Chargers do have questions, but Bull brushes them off before they can get more than one or two in. You’re grateful; you hate having to go over the same story again and again. And despite the fact it had been your idea, the sensation of being beaten into the stones isn’t going to be on your list of favorite memories.
You’re already tired of talking to people by the time you escape the Chargers. Skinner, Rocky, and a few others quite literally escort you to the Great Hall. No one calls it that, but you’re not stupid. But finally, finally, you’ll be able to just get inside the fucking rotunda and—
“Em’!”
Ah, fuck.
“Friggin’ shitbiscuits, Em’, you look… Fuck!”
“Hey, Sera.”
“Hey? Is that wot you have to say, ‘hey’? I don’t see you for a few days an’ next I hear you’re bein’ scraped off the bloody battlements!”
“That’s hardly my fault.”
“I didn’t say it was! What the frig happened?”
You sigh, glancing around. It’s still early, so there aren’t too many people in the Great Hall… but there are enough. You can hardly take her into the rotunda so… back out into the fucking cold, looks like. You gesture for her to come with you, though she probably would have anyway, and head back out down the front stairs.
“I got attacked, up on the battlements. How much have you heard?” you ask as you carefully make your way down the steps with Sera beside you.
“Heard you got stomped into the ground by some bloody pissbucket arse of a soldier,” she says with a scowl. “An’ I tried to come by last night but fuckin’ Sol-ass wasn’ lettin’ anyone in!”
“I was asleep,” you admit. “He wanted to let me rest.”
“Well…” Sera makes a vague grumbling noise. “Glad he at least had a reason. So what happened?”
“Pretty much what you heard. Remember that asshole you almost shot an arrow through that time we were climbing walls?”
“What? That arse-picker? Cullen told me he’d take care of ‘im!” Sera explodes. “Can’t trust any of these high-up pricks to do their jobs!”
“Well, he’s taken care of now. Cullen arrested him on the spot, had him dragged off to rot in prison,” you say, trying to calm Sera somewhat. Though if she put an arrow through Underhill, you have no doubt she’d get away with it.
“Shoulda shot him when I had the chance. That bastard attacked you?”
“Yeah, there was an… altercation,” you say with a hollow laugh. “He shot his mouth off, I shot mine off back. I thought that’d be it, but he had another point he wanted to make.” You point dully at your face.
“That nug-humping, arse-licking son of a—”
“It’s alright, Sera.”
“It is not!”
“Alright, no, it’s not, but it’s as right as it’s going to get,” you say with a sigh. “I’ll heal, and with any luck, Underhill won’t live to see the end of the month. Just depends on when the Inquisitor gets back, and what he decides to do with him.”
“Oh, the Quizzie had better fling him off the bloody ramparts,” Sera says with a deep scowl.
“I would watch that,” you agree mildly.
“You’re way too calm about this!” Sera protests. “Look at—” her voice cracks a little, then she clears her throat. “Look at your face, Em’!”
“Sorry, Sera,” you say, and you mean it. You don’t like that what you had to do is causing your friends this much distress. You had banked on anger and a desire for justice, but it’s getting harder to enjoy when they’re so obviously scared for you. “I think it’s the medication they have me on. And I’m just trying not to… dwell on it, on how it could have gone under slightly different circumstances,” you lie. As if you hadn’t carefully set up those circumstances. In other circumstances the only difference is that Underhill would be mutilated or dead by your hand, rather than the Inquisition’s. And that would have been a hell of a lot messier.
“That rat bastard,” she says darkly. “Y’know, there’s nothin’ sayin’ he has to make it to trial.”
How many people are going to casually offer you an assassination today?!
“He’s in the Inquisition prisons,” you point out. “Which I’m sure are very safe.”
“Not safe enough,” she counters.
“Safe enough,” you say firmly. “I’d prefer to see justice done.”
“Justice don’t care much for the little people,” Sera points out.
You grin. “In this case, I think justice is going to make an exception. Let’s just wait it out, Sera.”
“Wish Cullen hadn’t stopped me shootin’ him,” she grumbles. You can’t really disagree. Would have solved you some grief, that’s for damn sure. But the repercussions would have probably been worse.
You spend some time wandering around the courtyard with Sera, ignoring the way the wind makes your whole head ache. You’d taken the worst of the blows to your arms, but arms are a lot less delicate than faces in general. Seems like the most damage was still stone there, to your cheekbones, jaw, and nose.
You do eventually calm her somewhat, if only through sheer determination and cheerfulness. Just when you’re starting to head back towards the Great Hall, you see the Commander. You go a bit to the side, not wanting to disturb him or risk another long conversation where he asks after your health or whatever. But he seems thoroughly distracted by the conversation he’s in which you—of course—”just can’t help” overhearing.
“I’ve tried telling the Seeker, but of course nothing changed. And now there’s been an elven woman beaten half to death by one of the men—”
“A soldier, not a Templar,” the Commander interrupts.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” the other man snaps. You glance over, see pointed ears and a robe. Interesting. “Soldiers take their cues from the Templars here, and with tensions what they are, any one of my people could be next. What would have become of that woman had she not been discovered? What could become of a mage in the privacy of the tower? We need the Templars kept out not ushered in to watch us like it’s their birthright—”
“The Templars are practical to have around in case of magical accidents,” the Commander begins, his voice fading out of your hearing range as you and Sera continue to walk.
Oh, now that was very interesting. You head towards the rotunda with a thoughtful smile on your face. Seems it’s not just the elves who are concerned with this little incident. You wonder what you can do with that.