Wait, What?
You fell asleep.
You must have fallen asleep, because now you’re dreaming. It’s the kind of hazy half-dream you tend to have on the rare occasion you actually manage to sleep while your aura is tucked inside of you. You can’t really connect fully with the Fade like this… a benefit and a downside.
You’re dreaming of Aimée, it seems. A wholly unpleasant subject that you dream of often enough for it to irritate you. You let the dream shift messily around you, unable to quite find a foothold in your mind. First she’s holding the dagger, then you are, as if your subconscious can’t quite make up its mind.
The scene shifts further and you find it’s Solas standing before you, not Aimée. He grabs your wrist, a mirror of the motion earlier that evening, but instead of stopping to enchant your arm, he pulls you flush against his body. You know it’s a dream, but your heart still leaps into your throat as he leans down. His lips brush against yours as you fight to remind yourself this is but idle wish-fulfillment, then he chokes, and your face is wet with blood. He pulls back, staring at you with wide, confused eyes, blue stained red.
The dagger is in your hand.
You drop it, forgetting that this is a dream for one horrified moment. You take a step back, shaking your head and holding your hands in front of you. They’re stained with his blood, wet and sticky. Solas clutches the wound in his side, red gushing out between his fingers. His look of betrayal traps your eyes. You can’t look away.
“Quenathra1, lethallin?” his voice chokes as his throat fills with blood.
You sit bolt upright in bed, a cry straining in your locked throat. You finally managed to force yourself awake, but the sheen of sweat you’re drenched with is sticky and reminds you of the feeling of Solas’s blood on your hands. You strip out of your underclothes as fast as possible, using them to wipe the sweat off as best you can. No time for a bath… there’s sunlight coming in your window.
You’re dressed and halfway to the training yard before you remember what day it is. You didn’t miss training with Bull… but you are very late to seeing Revas. The thought of skipping doesn’t even occur to you even though you’ve ridden Revas the last two days. Belassan looks relieved when you walk into the barn.
“I wasn’t sure you were coming,” he says, and you feel a slight pang of guilt. Solas isn’t the only one you’ve been keeping at arm’s length. It’s a shame, but it’s also a necessity.
“And miss riding Revas?” you say, forcing joviality into your voice. “Not a chance.”
It seems Revas will never stop being happy to see you. He huffs and stamps his feet just as much as if he hadn’t seen you for a week. You coo gently to him and rub him down while you get him saddled and bridled. You think enviously of how Solas and Belassan ride without saddles. You’ve finally gotten to the point where you can consistently stay on Revas, even when he gallops. You’re so far away from riding bareback that it’s a little embarrassing. Ah well… Halamshiral wasn’t built in a day and all that.
Your mother had once told you that Halamshiral hadn’t been built in a day, but Arlathan may well have been. She probably meant something inspirational by it, or maybe she was just being her normal, precise self… But mostly it just serves to make you feel inferior. Solas had said it once, too… at your best, you’ll always be a ghost of what once was.
You loosen the reins and let Revas take over almost as soon as you’re in the pasture. You don’t get to enjoy that flying feeling for long, though. As he comes around the corner to head back to where Belassan waits, you see something a little alarming. There’s someone talking to Belassan… a human, from what you can see, and dressed in the uniform of Skyhold’s many messengers.
You know he’s one of Leliana’s before you even see Belassan point out at you. With a long sigh, you tighten the reins and steer Revas towards the two men. This is what you get for sleeping in… Your time with Revas cut short by Leliana’s needs. You pull up next to the messenger, frowning.
“Miss Emma? I have summons from Lady Josephine Montiliyet. She wishes to see you in her office at once.”
What? Montiliyet? The diplomat? You frown further. “Lady Montiliyet wishes to see me? Did she say why?”
“No, miss, but she said ‘at once,’ ‘right away,’ and ‘as soon as possible.’”
Maker. What have you done now? “Belassan, do you mind…?” you ask, gesturing towards Revas.
“Of course not. I’ll take care of Revas,” Belassan says, reaching over the fence to take his reins. Not that he needs them; you’ve seen him guide a hart with little more than a hand and some kind words. You hop off of Revas directly onto the fence, then jump down to land next to the messenger. You smell of hay and harts, no doubt. Hopefully Lady Montiliyet doesn’t take offense. She had said “at once.”
You let the messenger lead you, but find you know where he’s going. Lady Montiliyet holds her office just off of the Great Hall, in front of the War Room. You know you’re in deep shit as soon as you enter… Leliana is there as well, standing in front of Lady Montiliyet’s desk and speaking with her in quiet tones. Lady Montiliyet looks extremely flustered, more so than you’ve seen her before. She’s normally extremely calm and polished.
Her fluster lessens somewhat when she sees you enter, although it’s obvious she’s forcing it down. “Miss Emma, wonderful. Thank you, Albert.”
“Not at all, my lady,” the messenger—Albert, apparently—says with a bow before quickly exiting. You approach the desk cautiously, eyes flicking between Lady Montiliyet—who’s working too hard at not looking frantic—and Leliana—whose face looks mischievous, the absolute last expression you want to see on her.
“May I help you with something, Lady Montiliyet?” you say with the appropriate Orlesian style bow. No need pretending here; Leliana knows your history as Alix Gagnon—well, some of it anyway—and you want to leave a good impression on Josephine Montiliyet.
Lady Montiliyet takes a deep breath. “Yes, actually. Due to your… expertise… the Inquisitor has selected you as part of a team to go to the University of Orlais to retrieve resources for the Inquisition.”
You could hear a pin drop in the room as you stare blankly at Lady Montiliyet. You take a long moment to compose yourself. Had you misheard? Inquisitor? University of Orlais? Expertise? “W…what expertise is that, exactly, Lady Montiliyet?” you ask, your voice coming out strained.
“I believe the Inquisitor’s exact words were—” Leliana begins, but Lady Montiliyet cuts her off.
“She doesn’t need to know the Inquisitor’s exact words, Leliana.” She clears her throat delicately. “You worked in Val Royeaux for some time, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes,” you admit. “But not at the University.” Because, you know, elves weren’t allowed there at the time. You want to say that. You don’t.
Lady Montiliyet sighs. “I will admit, Miss Emma, you may not have been my, ah… first choice, but the Inquisitor seems confident that you are the woman for the job.”
The Inquisitor, clearly, is tired of your bullshit and is trying to get you killed. Some of this must read on your face, because Lady Montiliyet rushes on. “Of course, you won’t be going alone. I’ll be sending a diplomat, and there will be a team of guards,” Josephine begins. Leliana cuts her off, this time.
“The Inquisitor was somewhat hungover when he made this decision, Emma, but he’s standing by it,” she says bluntly. “Elves have been allowed inside the University for several years now. The Inquisitor is sending the two people who have the made the most difficult-to-obtain requests. He believes that the two of you can save the Inquisition time and money by simply obtaining the tomes yourself.”
“The… two of us…?” you manage. Your mind is rushing with the sudden onslaught of new information. Trip to Val Royeaux? University? This is utter madness. Is the Inquisitor trying to make a political statement, or was he really just that hungover?
“Yes. Technically, you’re going as an assistant. Solas’s assistant,” Lady Montiliyet says promptly, and you feel the bottom of the world drop out beneath you.
Montiliyet is still talking, but you can’t hear over the loud buzzing in your ears.
You. And Solas. On a trip to Val Royeaux.
You find you honestly can’t handle the sudden explosion of emotions. It’s a miracle you don’t faint on the spot. You just stand rooted there, staring wide-eyed at nothingness while your brain attempts to restart. Happiness. Frustration. Excitement. Horror. You don’t even know where to start.
“W….what?” your voice comes out as a squeak. Lady Montiliyet stops mid-sentence, looking at you in some alarm. You see that Leliana is having some difficulty not smiling; your face must be quite the sight. “The… The Inquisition is sending two elves… one of whom is Solas… to Val Royeaux… to the University in Val Royeaux. Two elves. Solas. The University.” Your mind finally broken, you throw your hands into the air. “Does no one see the problem with this plan?!”
Lady Montiliyet winces. “Believe me, we see it,” Leliana says seriously. “But Josie will be sending a diplomat along to smooth things over.”
“Why isn’t the Inquisitor sending Madame de Fer?” you demand, by now beyond caring about how rude you’re being. “She’s perfect for this task!”
“The Inquisitor was of the opinion that sending Vivienne and Solas to Val Royeaux together would result in the city being leveled,” Leliana says dryly.
“Why send Solas at all? Am I missing something?” you ask, running a hand across your head and inadvertently knocking some of your thin hair loose from its bun.
“He’s made the most—and the strangest—requests,” Lady Montiliyet explains. “It could take my men a very long time to locate them. The Inquisitor is of the opinion that he could find them the fastest, and that you would be the most help.”
You open your mouth to declare the Inquisitor a damned idiot, but quickly close it.
“I believe you can do this, Emma,” Leliana says soberly. “Solas can find anything, but he needs someone to smooth over the process. Someone who knows Orlais, who knows Val Royeaux. Were it my choice, I would send one of my own men. But it is not my choice, it is the Inquisitor’s. And he has chosen to send you.”
“If we believed this hopeless, or even dangerous, we would not send you,” Lady Montiliyet assures you, although it does little for your mood. “The University has already agreed to let us use their resources for this. There will be guards to protect you on the way there and the way back. It will only be a two week journey.”
You let out a long, pained sigh. There’s clearly no getting out of this. You’ll have time to process your complicated emotions later, when you’re not in front of two of the most powerful women in Thedas. “I will do my best, of course, my Lady. I only hope that’s enough.”
“I have faith in you, Emma,” Leliana says firmly. “You leave at dawn tomorrow, so take the rest of the day to—”
“Tomorrow?!” you exclaim. “Er… Je suis désolée2… So soon?”
“Yes. I suggest you speak with Solas and begin making preparations. Good luck, Emma.”
You leave the office looking dazed, barely listening as they return to bickering behind you.
“The Inquisitor’s exact words, Leliana? Really?”
“I’m certain she already knows, Josie.”
You gently close the door behind you. Yes, you suspect you do. The Inquisitor did not pick you and Solas for this task out of faith in your respective abilities. The question is, was it to get you out of his hair, or something more sinister?
The Inquisitor couldn’t possibly know what a Maker damned hassle he’s just dropped on your lap, not entirely. Under nearly any other circumstances, a trip to Val Royeaux—with an armed guard, at that—would be a dream. You could get the supplies you need, check in with contacts you’ve been neglecting, and most importantly, let your aura out for a solid two weeks. Two weeks of real, blissful sleep. Instead, you’re looking at two weeks of tense nerves as you spend all day, every day, in close proximity to the exact person most likely to find you out.
By now, it’s getting on towards lunch, so you head to the kitchens rather than Solas’s rotunda. Celia will be pleased to know she’ll be getting two weeks off of delivering breakfast to the Shirtless Wonder, but she’ll probably miss the extra income. You’ll have to see if there’s anything you can pick her up while you’re in Val Royeaux. Thea will just be pleased by the sheer number of books you intend to bring back. You’ll have to get the requisitions from someone. You can look over them on the ride there… You mull over the details as you absentmindedly put two meals together. Picking Solas’s favorites is beginning to come more naturally to you; your fingers automatically snag the turnips out of the salad the chefs made for him and toss them into your own salad.
Your distraction does you a disfavor on the way to Solas’ rotunda, however. Crassius Servis sneaks up on you without you even noticing him. Not until he steps out in front of you, at least. You manage to come to a sudden halt without spilling the soup, thank the Maker. You keep from glaring at him, as well, keeping your face a polite mask. What now?
“I’ve heard you and your elven master are heading to Val Royeaux,” the man says with a smile. You eye him warily.
“Word travels fast. Can I help you with something, ser?”
“As a matter of fact, yes!” Servis says cheerfully, tucking a strip of paper under one of the plates on your tray. “Since you’ll be in the area. I think the Requisition men have been burning my requests.”
You can’t really look at it with your hands full, which may have been his intent. “A book?” you say dryly.
“I suspect I won’t be the last one to make this kind of a request before you leave,” the Tevinter says with a grin. “Books have been low on the Inquisition’s priority list.” With that, he turns back towards his Templar watchman, and walks towards that little hidden library. You’d meant to dig through that place, eventually, but Servis’s presence there keeps stopping you. It’s not that the man intimidates or even unnerves you… It’s that blasted Templar of his. He’s one of the glarey ones. Every time a Templar glares at you, you irrationally think back to your time in the Circle Tower. It had been one of the nicer Circles, and yet you’d still sooner slit your own wrist and summon demons through the Veil than ever be doomed to live there, under constant watch.
Of course, that’s the problem. Not all mages feel that way, but enough do that it creates a cycle of paranoia. A mage may never feel the need to resort to blood magic until they feel they have no other choice… Say, when they’re about to be slain or captured by Templars. But when they summon those demons, the Templars have justification for the continued hunting of mages. And on and on and on, until… well, until war, apparently. You don’t agree with Anders about much, but the inevitability? He might have been on the nose about that one.
Your thoughts are grim when you enter Solas’s rotunda, lunch in hand (or on tray, as the case may be). It must show on your face, because Solas immediately inquires.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” you say with a sigh as you begin to lay out Solas’s lunch. You take care to slip Servis’s paper up your sleeve as you do so. “I had another run-in with that Tevinter mage.”
“I gather you don’t mean Dorian,” Solas says, running a fork through his salad… looking for turnips, no doubt, since they’re obviously present in your salad. You feel a tiny rush of pride… It’s the little things that give you satisfaction with your work, really.
“No, the creepy one. Servis, I think,” you say sourly. “I delivered a missive to him once. I made the mistake of bowing in the Tevinter style. I did it without thinking, really, but he picked right up on it. I don’t know what it is with Vints… Dorian had me pegged for an ex-slave immediately, too.” You shudder.
“Is that all, to have you so strained?” Solas says mildly. “I’m sure that Templar watchman of his will prevent him from being more than a nuisance.”
You sigh. He’s observant enough for it to be seriously concerning. Sometimes you wonder if the only reason you’ve kept your secret for as long as you have is the fact he was gone for two weeks. And now you’re about to traipse off through the countryside with him. Well, at least if he discovers you in the Orlesian wilderness, it will be easier for you to make a break for it.
“Have you heard about this… venture to Val Royeaux?” you ask sourly.
“Ah, yes. Josephine told me this morning,” Solas says, and he seems rather more upbeat about the whole situation than you. Not that he’s particularly cheerful, but his bored neutrality is vastly more chipper than your irritation-bordering-on-hysteria.
“And it’s not the worst idea you’ve ever heard?” you say dryly, sinking dejectedly onto your stool. “You must not know much about Orlais.”
“I know enough,” Solas says sharply, eyeing you from across the desk. “But Josephine is sending a diplomat. I’ve no doubt that he’ll do all the talking necessary to get us into the University library. I thought you might be a little more excited about what we might find within.”
You open your mouth to respond angrily that you already know damn well what you’ll find within, then realize that it’s probably best not to be honest about that, even with Solas. Instead, you say, “Are you that confident in Lady Montiliyet’s diplomat? The University has only been open to elves for a few years.”
“But it is open. The University already agreed to allow the Inquisition access… If they turn us away now, they have an ugly incident, both with the Inquisition and with the Empress,” Solas points out.
You shake your head. “I can understand sending you. I just have no idea why I’m going.”
“Surely Josephine told you?”
“Yes, but I’d like to know the truth,” you say sourly.
Solas chuckles. “I’m sure the Inquisitor has… something resembling a reason.”
“I suppose gods are noted for their eccentricities,” you say, sarcasm dripping from your voice. Irritation at being put in this position is making you bold. You can see that Solas is trying not to laugh from the trembling in his lips, though, which makes you bolder. “Clearly, his holiness sees a divine plan for me that my mortal eyes simply cannot comprehend. Praise the Herald!” Solas covers his mouth with the back of his hand, and you smile. Amusing him has made you feel better, at least for now. “At least the company will be good,” you add, although in reality, the fact that you’re going with Solas is possibly the worst part.
It’s like the world is taunting you. Hadn’t you been daydreaming about traveling with him just the other day? Of course, in that fantasy, he already knew your secrets. In reality, you’ll have to guard them twice as jealously for the duration of the trip. It will be far from relaxing.
“I’ve certainly traveled with worse,” Solas agrees. “And didn’t you live in Val Royeaux for a time? I’ve only been once, and we were barely there for an hour.”
“You went all the way to Val Royeaux and only stayed for an hour?” you demand, horrified. “Wait… was this when the Inquisitor was there? When the Lord Seeker punched a revered Mother?”
“It wasn’t the Lord Seeker, but one of his Templars,” Solas corrects. “But yes.”
“No wonder you left in such a hurry!” you say with a snort. “Well, Lady Montiliyet said the trip would be two weeks all told, so I imagine we’ll have a week or so in the city proper.” You tap your chin thoughtfully with your spoon. “I wonder where we’ll be staying?”
“I’m sure Josephine’s diplomat is taking care of the particulars,” Solas says.
“Well, then I hope her diplomat is caring more about the shape of our ears than the Inquisitor appears to be,” you say with a frown. There are plenty of inns in Val Royeaux, but most of them won’t take elven guests. You stayed outside of the city for a reason, and it wasn’t just to be blinded by the Sun Gate every morning.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Solas says mildly. His lack of concern is almost irritating. This is Orlais, damnit. You can’t just leave these things to sort themselves out! Perhaps it’s because he’s not been to Val Royeaux, not really. Maybe you can get a name from Lady Montiliyet and speak with this diplomat of hers, make sure he’s not as bumbling an idiot as the Inquisitor. “Calm down,” Solas says, his firm voice jolting you out of your thoughts. “I can actually see you working yourself into a frenzy.”
“This isn’t the sort of thing I thought I’d be doing with the Inquisition,” you say, trying to keep your voice from sounding as strained as you feel. “I ran out of Orlais a month ago. Now I’m going back in, to demand entrance to the University?”
“We won’t be demanding anything,” Solas says mildly. “Leave that to the diplomat. Josephine’s people are more than capable in dealing with the peculiars of Orlesian politics. You and I will simply be there to do the research.”
You snort. “Nothing’s simple in Val Royeaux. But I will strain to obtain your optimistic outlook.” You turn your eyes towards your desk. “I suppose I’ll spend the rest of the day getting to a good stopping place in my work.” Trust the Inquisitor to only give you half a day’s notice. As if you didn’t have things to do! Well, at least you won’t have to worry about telling your friends, with the way news travels in Skyhold. They likely knew before you did.
You start to stand, ready to begin working, but Solas’s voice cuts you short. “You’ve barely touched your food.”
You can’t help rolling your eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “Emma ir abelas, mamae!3” you exclaim sarcastically.
“Lahmir, din’samahlen,4” Solas replies. His voice is low, his Elven as smooth and beautiful as ever. Your ass is back on the stool before you realize you’d begun to sit. “Eat,” he says, in Common. You mourn the loss of his Elven words. “We won’t have this sort of food on the road.”
“Don’t tell me that,” you grumble under your breath. “Food’s the second best thing about this place.”
“Second best?” Solas says, sounding amused.
“Best thing’s the company,” you say with a grin. “But I’m taking that with me.”
Solas enchants your wrist before letting you go to your own desk to work. Once you do settle in to work, however, you find yourself flying through the process of lettering. You finish up the page you had been working on, and then focus on organizing your work. You’ll be gone for two weeks… There are limits to even your memory. You tend to be a little disorganized while working, counting on your good memory to fill in the gaps. However, if you’ll be gone for a while, each page needs to be in order and carefully numbered. Making sure everything will be ideal for picking right back up where you left off takes you the rest of the afternoon. You don’t stop until it’s time for Solas’ dinner.
Trusting Solas’ words about road provisions being less generous, you decide to load both of your plates up high. By now, however, it seems that word has reached the kitchens. The second you walk in, you’re swept up by a wave of kitchen workers.
“We heard all about it! You’re accompanying your master all the way to Val Royeaux, you lucky thing!” one woman says cheerfully as she shoves a rather large bag into your arms.
“We’ll miss you more than your master,” another adds. “So damn peculiar about his tea.” She’s stuffing bread into the bag.
You get passed around the kitchen, with people thrusting all sorts of foodstuffs into your bag, from bread to dried meat to pickled vegetables and even fruit. To your surprise, Gaston seems fully aware of what they’re doing… in fact, he hands one of the ladies a jar of what looks to be jam to shove into your rapidly-filling sack.
Celia puts in a pair of candied apples with a very telling wink. “Good luck camping out with Ser Shirtless Solas, miss,” she says with a grin you wouldn’t have believed her capable of. When she next checks her apron pocket, she’ll find that you slipped two silvers in. A down payment for her continued loyalty, you tell yourself. She’s smarter than she lets on; you want her for your own.
You do eventually, get handed two rather enormous dinners on a large, heavy tray. Between it and the bag, you can barely walk. Somehow, you manage to get up the stairs, but your arms and legs are trembling by the time you stumble back into the rotunda. You must be quite the sight… Solas lets out a short bark of laughter when you trip through the door, barely managing to keep it open with a foot long enough to get through. Miracle of miracles, he actually stands to help you.
“What in the world is this?” he says, sounding amused, as he helps you unload the plates onto the desk.
“A feast, courtesy of my worried friends in the kitchen,” you say. “Maker, please grab the bag, it’s cutting into my neck.”
Solas grasps the strap of the bag and lifts it off, over your head. “And this?”
“Apparently the thought of you going even a day without fine dining was too much for them to bear,” you say, pausing to rub at your neck. “Maker, it felt like they put half the kitchen in!”
“Do you have this effect on everyone you meet?” Solas asks, eyeing the ludicrous amount of food you somehow walked out of the kitchen with.
“Just cooks and maids,” you say dryly. “I’m working on mages, but it doesn’t seem to be taking.”
Finally, all of the food is unloaded and you and Solas sit down to eat. You try to take Solas’s words to heart and eat as much as you can… which admittedly, is a lot. Dinner conversation inevitably turns to travel. Solas wants to know about yours, because he always wants to know things. Still, you’re damned curious about his own travels, so you’re willing to indulge his curiosity on the off chance that he’ll indulge yours.
“I’ve only really traveled with merchant’s caravans,” you lie. Such a damn lie, too; you’d spent a good year hiking across Thedas. “So I always stayed on the main roads.” Liiiiieessss. But you can’t exactly tell him that you once spent an evening in a tree, waiting for the hungry bear beneath you to fall asleep.
“I’ve barely traveled in groups at all,” Solas comments. “I kept to myself before joining the Inquisition.”
“You must have, if you avoided Templar detection entirely,” you prompt him. You’re desperate to know how he did it. If it’s something you can do. Solas doesn’t really take the hint, however. Instead, he begins waxing poetic about some ruins he visited in the Dales… You want to try and turn his focus back to Templars and the hiding therefrom, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. You get caught up in the story of an overly-friendly Purpose spirit, and before you realize what’s happened, you’ve both finished your meals.
You try to figure out a way to turn the conversation back to Templars when the door to the rotunda slams open, startling you both. “‘Oy! I hear you’re stealin’ my Em’, baldy!”
Oh, right. Sera.
“We’ve been sent on the same task, Sera. I’m hardly stealing her,” Solas says mildly.
“Ugh, piss,” Sera says in her typical, eloquent manner. You can’t help smiling.
“I’ll only be gone two weeks, Sera,” you assure her.
“Don’t you dare come back pissin’ and moanin’ about elven glory,” she says sourly. “Don’t let ‘im rub off on you! Might be contagious.”
“I’ll keep my head firmly in the present,” you promise, too amused to be irritated at her.
“You better!” she sends a glare off towards Solas. “I know y’gotta pack and shite, but I wanted you to have these. Fer the road. Just, y’know… in case.” She pushes something into your hands, and you look down to see a rather nice leather holster containing five throwing knives.
“Sera!” you exclaim. “These look expensive!”
She shrugs, a fluid motion that sends a warm tingle up your spine. You’re sitting; she’s standing. Certain things are right at eye level. “I got ‘em from a job, but I’m shite at throwin’ ‘em, you know that. Figure they’ll be better off with you. They can keep ya outta any trouble baldy here gets you into.”
Solas, for his part, has been tolerating Sera’s presence admirably. She sticks her tongue out at him once more before bending down to give you a little peck on the cheek. “You be careful out there, Em’. Don’t go adopting any alienage orphans or fallin’ down any stairs.” She skips out before you can fully process how soft and warm her lips had been, pressed against your cheek.
“Well, that was—” Solas begins, but before he can even get a full sentence out, someone else is peeking their head in through the open door.
It’s Belassan, to your shock. You don’t believe you’ve ever seen him this far from the barns. Seeing him indoors, surrounded by the rough stone walls, seems wrong, somehow.
“Emma. Ser,” he says politely. “The stables have heard that the two of you will be in the group riding out tomorrow morning. I wanted to… inquire as to which mounts—”
“Revas!” you exclaim, rudely interrupting him. “Er, ir abelas. Can I take Revas? All the way to Orlais?”
Belassan smiles at your eagerness. “I was hoping you would. And perhaps one of the others, for Ser…? They don’t get much chance to ride out together, and this would be a wonderful opportunity for them.”
“Do you want to take Ashi’lana, Solas?” you say, still excited. Oh, the thought of you riding two harts across the Dales… Maker. Plus, if something happens and you need to make a break for it, you like the thought of stealing Revas away with you.
“That should be fine,” Solas says, his face unreadable. “Full saddles and bags on them both,” he instructs Belassan. The darker elf bows slightly.
“Of course, Ser. I’ll see you off in the morning, Emma,” he adds with a smile in your direction. You wave as he leaves, unable to remove the broad grin from your mouth. This trip is starting to look like more fun than mortal terror.
You turn towards Solas. “I should get the dishes back to the kitchen before—”
“Emma, darling!”
You sigh. “Hello, Dorian.”
“Weren’t you going to come see me before traipsing off to Orlais? I’m hurt,” he says, feigning an injured look. “I had to come all the way down here!”
“How can you ever forgive me?” you say dryly.
“I’m sure I’ll find a way. I’m very magnanimous. But you’ll make it much easier on me if you happen across any of these.” He slides a piece of parchment onto the desk. You eye it… a list of tomes. Some of them you recognize. Servis, apparently, was correct that you would be a celebrity for mages and researchers until the morning.
“I didn’t think those should necessarily go through the Requisition officers,” Dorian says with a wink towards Solas. “But you two will surely be discreet and efficient.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Dorian,” you say with a smile. It’s impossible to be cross with the man. “Was that all?”
“Of course not. Solas, keep her safe. She’s a precious little thing.”
“Certainly,” Solas says solemnly, and you glare between the two of them.
“Alright, enough of that. Back upstairs with you, mage!” you say sourly. You don’t say anything as silly as ‘I can take care of myself.’ As far as they know, you can’t. You don’t particularly want Solas watching you any more closely than he already will be, however.
After Dorian leaves, you wait in silence for a few moments. Surely enough…
“Stutter, Chuckles! You two busy?”
“Hey, Varric. Got a list of books for me to get?” you ask dryly.
“Quite the opposite! Thought you might get bored out there, so I decided to give you this.” Varric slides bound parchment into your hand. A manuscript? Curious, you flip to the first page. A strangled noise escapes you. Hard in Hightown is written across the top, bold as brass.
“Is this the next chapter?” you squeak. “I thought it wasn’t out yet!”
“It’s not. What you have there is the unpublished manuscript… so don’t go losing it in Val Royeaux,” Varric says with a roguish grin.
You give the dwarf a one armed hug, still grasping the manuscript with your other hand. “Ooh, thank you!”
“No problem, Stutter. Chuckles, you take care of her, alright? She’s not like you; she’s fragile.”
“I am not!”
“She’ll be fine, Varric,” Solas says, clearly fighting to keep from smiling. When Varric leaves, the hidden smile emerges. “You are very popular.”
“Oh, shush,” you say, still excitedly clutching the manuscript. “Don’t let me read this yet. Yell if you see me start. I’ve still got work to do… Starting with these dishes.”
You actually do manage to get out the door this time, although Vivienne stops you in the Great Hall. She has a letter for you to deliver… ‘since you’re going that way.’ Your hands are full so simply tucks it into your front pocket with a little pat and a simpering smile. You’re totally going to read it. You expect that’s the point, of course, but you’re still going to do it.
By the time you get back to the rotunda, Krem and Iron Bull are there, and Solas is looking extremely bemused.
Krem is scowling at Bull, but brightens up when he sees you enter. “Emma! I heard the news. I wanted to send some of the Chargers with you, as guards, but apparently we’ve got a job,” he says, glaring back at the Iron Bull.
“Don’t forget to keep practicing in the mornings,” Bull advises you. “I don’t want you going soft.” It seems that he mostly came to talk to Solas… the two of them are sharing a meaningful look that you don’t particularly like. But your attention is quickly stolen away by Krem again.
“I got you… I mean, this is for… Here,” he says finally, thrusting a long, thick brown coat out towards you. You take it curiously. It’s quite heavy… you soon find out why. This is an armored coat, a nice one, at that.
“The fur inside is removable,” Krem informs you as you slip it on. “You can wear it anywhere chilly, but it’ll keep you warm even in the mountains, with that.”
“It fits!” you exclaim, astounded. “It fits an elf. Where did you get this?”
“It used to be Skinner’s,” Krem admits. “She sent me up here with it. I told her she should come, but… well, you know her.”
You run a finger along the fine leather, admiring. You’ve never owned anything this nice before. “Thank you, Krem. And thank Skinner for me,” you add. “Still trying to butter me up to join the Chargers?”
“We just want you to come back intact,” he says, flushing slightly.
“Don’t worry. Solas has been sworn to protect me about six times already,” you say somberly, then grin. “I’ll be fine, Krem. Thank you.”
He and the Iron Bull eventually shuffle back out, and you give a Solas a somewhat overwhelmed smile. “You’re right. I am popular.”