Progress
You leave the rotunda before Solas does this time, more to appease him than anything. You simply curl up in bed with Solas’s Veilfire book, however. You can sneak some supplies into your room sometime when Solas isn’t breathing down your neck, and begin copying down some of the more interesting parts of the tome. You won’t always be stuck in Skyhold, after all, and you’ve never been one to let knowledge slip through your fingers.
You do, eventually, try to sleep. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion, but you manage to slip into unconsciousness. You wake in the morning with the profoundly uneasy feeling that you’d had nightmares, but no ability to remember them. Well… you’re still off to a better start than yesterday. The vague, unsettling feeling of being watched is preferable to waking up half-drowned and terrified.
The rainstorm from yesterday has finally passed, thank the Maker. But the shining puddles on the ground give you something to look at that you haven’t seen in a while… your reflection. It’s too dark for any accuracy, but you… you look rough. You’ve probably gained a few pounds since you’ve been in Skyhold, but you’ve got dark bags around your eyes dramatic enough that you can see them in a puddle reflection.
You kick the puddle to disrupt the reflection and sigh. There’s simply no helping it. You’re getting enough sleep to stay alive; you can still function and do your job. Sulking over it will do you no good. Sleep is, quite bluntly, a luxury you cannot afford.
You’re not surprised when morning practice with the Iron Bull turns into muddy wrestling. Frankly, the advantage turns to you once you’re slippery. You repeatedly wriggle and slide out of Bull’s holds, but the rough texture of his horns gives you a place to grab where your hand doesn’t simply slip off. You spend more of the morning than not with a hand around at least one of his horns. It’s a little amazing to you that he tolerates it. Surely this is demeaning for a Qunari?
Your suspicions that what you’re doing is a bit on the degrading side is confirmed when Iron Bull reaches up yet again to try and dislodge you from his back, only to grasp one of your long, pointed ears, and yank.
The cry you let out could pass for one of pain, and nothing else–if no one was paying particularly close attention. You release Bull’s horns to slap your hands over your mouth, as if you can pull the groan back in and prevent anyone from hearing it.
Elf ears are sensitive. Bull has to know that; he’s fucked dozens of elves and, unless the Ben-Hassrath got nicer when you weren’t looking, probably tortured dozens more (now there’s an unpleasant thought). Not everyone responds positively to them being touched, in any situation. It takes a very specific kind of elf to make a sound like that when one was roughly yanked. You flush a deep red under the mud, humiliation and indignation both.
Bull’s turned to face you, but you find you can’t just take this one as a lesson learned. He’ll smirk that stupid grin at you to let you know he’s come out on top again. This time, you want to end on top. As he turns, you jump, latching on to the place where one of his broad horns turns upwards. You use it to wrench yourself upwards, yanking Bull’s head down and sideways in the process.
Iron Bull is sturdy enough not to fall down into the mud, but you have him off balance. Your other hand grabs his other horn, pulling yourself further up and continuing to wrench his head. He acts fast; his hands wrap around your waist, but with a twist and a wiggle, your muddy hips slip from his grasp. Your leg goes around his neck and you jerk, using his horns to twist his head down again.
You feel his balance fail, the muddy, slippery mess of the ground allowing to do what you never could on an ordinary day. Of course, now there’s a Qunari three times your size falling… towards you. You twist out of the way as best as you can, but your legs will certainly be caught underneath him. You pray for soft ground.
You needn’t have wasted the prayer; Bull catches himself on his arms a few inches above the ground, preventing the entirety of his weight from crushing you. You release his horns and move to wriggle out from underneath him, but he shifts his weight, capturing your arms and pinning both your legs into the mud with one knee.
“Nice try,” he says with a grin.
“Knocked you down, didn’t I?” you say with a scowl.
“Yeah, with you underneath. You still don’t have the ‘hurt them worse than yourself’ part down.”
“It’s a work in progress,” you admit.
Bull keeps you pinned for a moment longer, then releases your arms, allowing you to slide out from under him. He rolls to sit down in the mud with a grunt; you don’t bother getting up either. It’s only after he releases you that you realize the full implications of what just happened. You’d been pinned… underneath a Qunari, arms and legs both held down, and you hadn’t panicked. If anything, your reaction had been a bit in the opposite direction. You’re more than willing to blame that on his ill-advised earplay, however. Your ear is still smarting, and the last time someone had touched you there… Well, it’s been a long time. None of your past lovers particularly utilized your sensitive ears; there’s a reason it features so heavily in your more… questionable dreams.
Either way… not panicking is progress. Progress towards what, you’re not entirely sure. You’re not sure what Bull’s endgame is here. You’re not even sure what yours is. You want the Chargers in your pocket, and they’re not going to get in there without Bull. And there are worse things than practicing your fighting skills. This is a war, and you’re locked in a fortress with Templars and soldiers alike. It’s going to be necessary, sooner than later. Past that, however, you have no idea where either of you are going with this.
“You been sleeping?” Bull asks. When you look at him questioningly, he gestures towards one of your eyes. “Those get any darker and it’ll look like you’ve got two black eyes to match the rest of you.”
You shrug. “More of the same. Nothing unusual.”
“You slept like a rock outside the walls. You want to ride out again, get some rest?”
The thought is… tempting. But with the Inquisitor and Solas back in residence, the risk is just too high. When Solas was gone, there was no one to particularly miss your presence in the rotunda. Now, if you vanish for a day, it will certainly be noticed, and you don’t want to have to explain. Not to mention the risk of being found out, whether by one of Leliana’s ever-present spies, or simply by someone (like the ever-curious Solas) happening across you.
“No, but thanks, Bull. If I don’t make myself get used to sleeping in Skyhold, I’ll be perpetually exhausted.”
“You’re already perpetually exhausted,” Bull points out. You shoot him a tired glare. “But, I take your point. Breakfast, then? Or do you have another emergency?”
“Not an emergency, but something that’ll have me skipping breakfast nonetheless,” you say with a sigh. Iron Bull looks curious, but you decline to elucidate any further. You’ve got a breakfast to make. Of course, now you’re completely freaking covered in mud. Fortunately, you have enough time for a (very) fast bath to rinse yourself off.
Solas looks slightly relieved when you walk in, likely because you actually wore a shirt this time. Your hair is still wet, but it’s pulled back properly. You are, at the very least, presentable.
“The ‘other girl’ is still sick?” Solas asks pointedly. He’s putting a shirt on, Maker bless. Although that does make you wonder if you’re perhaps a bit late with his breakfast. You try to focus on setting his food on his table and not on watching him dress. Somehow, it makes you as embarrassed as if he was stripping.
“She is, yes,” you answer, a little belatedly.
“And without her, there’s no one willing to bring my meals?” he sounds a little amused.
“Oh, I’m sure they would if I made a fuss or insisted… It’s their job,” you say with a sigh. “But it’s much easier to simply do it myself. Celia won’t be sick forever.”
“You seem to enjoy keeping busy,” he says mildly. You step away from the desk quickly as he steps towards it. He hasn’t put on that woolen tunic he tends to wear… somehow, seeing him in his undershirt feels almost as intimate as seeing him shirtless. Turnabout is fair play, however; you’d subjected him to the sight of your underclothes the morning prior. “As if Leliana weren’t giving you enough to do, you make time for kitchen work and… training with Iron Bull.”
There’s a slight hitch in his voice when he says “training.” You dearly hope none of the rumors have gotten back to him. He hasn’t said anything outright, but… “When did the two of you begin that?”
Oh, Maker, he totally has heard some of the rumors, hasn’t he? You fight not to flush, since that would only seem to confirm them. “Shortly after you left, ser. I believe it started as more of a joke than anything, but… Well, there is a war on. I was helpless when the red Templars destroyed my home. If I run into them again, I’d like to be on better footing.”
“That seems wise. Do you have similar motivations for your training with Sera?” He’s already sat down at his desk and begun to eat, but he doesn’t seem ready to let you leave. You withhold a sigh and fold the heavy tray under one arm; you don’t feel comfortable setting it on his floor.
“That was more to humor her, although I think I’ve used the tricks she taught me more than the ones Bull has,” you admit. Indeed, you picked his lock not a day after Sera had given you the lockpicks.
“And you’ve several books you wish to read…”
“I’m a fast reader.”
“Not to mention the harts…”
“Bull’s idea.”
“At this point I’m surprised you haven’t taken to cultivating a garden in the courtyard.”
“Oh, is there a place for that?” you say, surprised. “I haven’t seen—”
Solas stops eating to give you a very pointed look.
“Ah… yes, well. I take your meaning,” you say with a sheepish grin. “I suppose I do prefer to keep occupied.”
“When do you find time to eat or sleep?” Solas asks, and you realize that the question isn’t rhetorical.
“Well, I eat with you,” you point out.
“You certainly don’t sleep with me.”
Solas seems to realize the implications of what he just said at the same time as you do. To his credit, he just seems momentarily embarrassed, whereas you can feel a crimson blush race across your cheeks.
“I, uh… No, I don’t. I, um…” You fumble for a way to make the conversation change to another topic, any other topic. “I make do,” you say lamely. “I, um… I should… go get my own breakfast. If that’s alright with you?”
“Of course,” Solas says with a nod. You manage to leave politely and close the door gently behind you before sinking down against the stone wall and letting out a quiet whimper. Maker’s breath. Between Iron Bull’s rough handling and Solas’ unfortunate implications, it’s seems you’re destined to spend today as wet as you were yesterday… if in a different way altogether.
You don’t actually go to get breakfast… You couldn’t make eye contact with Iron Bull in this condition, let alone Thea. You also resist the urge to make a beeline for your room to relieve yourself. At this point, you’re frightened of what fantasies might pop into your mind. And you’ve just had a bath, so that’s out of the question. In the end, you find yourself sitting at your desk in the rotunda, idly lettering the next page of the tome. If nothing else, it serves to drag your mind out of the bedroom.
After perhaps half an hour, Solas still hasn’t entered the rotunda. You had been hoping to get a wrist enchantment today, although in retrospect, that might not be the best idea. In the end, you decide to just take a walk. Perhaps Solas will be here by the time you get back. He’d mentioned a garden here in Skyhold… might as well explore and try to find it.
In the end, it doesn’t actually take you long to find it; Solas was speaking of the area his balcony overlooked. You hadn’t really been paying particularly close attention despite how many times you walked by that area. That’s a little out of character for you, but in your defense, Solas and his bedroom are both very distracting to you. Plus, you’re normally on guard for sightings of Madame de Fer, whose room is also nearby.
The grass is surprisingly green here… and somehow it feels warmer, more humid, when compared to the rest of Skyhold. That could be because it’s completely surrounded by walls, but you suspect there might be a magical component to it as well. It wouldn’t surprise you… This place is old, and has old magic. The mysterious bathtubs are evidence enough of that.
You slip out of your shoes, if only to feel your bare feet in the grass. It’s soothing, although you can almost hear Sera’s derision of your elfiness in the back of your head. Still, there are few enough people out here, so early in the morning, that you feel comfortable enough to walk barefoot through the garden. You idly identify plants as you pass them, pausing only when you see a particularly unusual specimen. And there are several of them. How, pray tell, had they gotten vandal aria to grow this high up in the mountains? It should be impossible. Magic, then, almost certainly.
Your relaxing stroll through the garden is interrupted when you hear familiar voices echoing out of what appears to be a gazebo of some kind. Intrigued, you sneak a bit closer. Sure enough, the Commander of the Inquisition is talking to the Spymaster. Oh, Maker, this could be interesting. You ease a little closer, largely out of sight. You squat down, pretending to admire a flower in bloom, as you strain your ears to pick up the details of their conversation.
“That piece wasn’t there a moment ago.”
“Such accusations, Commander!”
You pause. Not exactly a conversation on foreign diplomats, then. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised; no spymaster would have that sort of conversation in a public garden.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll win any—Emma?”
You jump straight up, from squatting to bolt upright in half a second. He’d seen you that fast—and recognized you. Now that’s alarming.
“Y-yes, ser?” you stammer quickly.
“It is you,” he says, sounding surprised. “I’m amazed you take enough time off to enjoy the gardens.”
“So am I,” adds Leliana, turning in her chair to eye you.
“S-sorry, I’ll get back to work immediately,” you assure them both with a cringe. “I had just heard about the gardens and wanted to see—”
“That wasn’t a chastisement,” Leliana assures you. “After all, the Commander and I are doing the same.”
“Speaking of which,” the Commander says, “I believe that’s checkmate.” You hear the familiar clink of stone hitting marble.
Leliana turns to face Commander Rutherford again. “…Well played. I expect a rematch.” She stands to leave, and you risk taking a small step closer. Sure enough, as Leliana steps out of the way, you see the familiar sight of a chess table. You can’t help but smile… the leaders of one of the new world powers, playing chess together.
“Do you play, Emma?”
It takes you a moment to register what you’re hearing. You stare blankly at the Commander, and he gestures towards the board. Is he…?
“I… I’m familiar with the game,” you admit, if only because your fingers are twitching to grasp the pieces. It’s been years since you last played. “I didn’t realize Skyhold was so well-equipped.”
“It was a pleasant surprise for me, as well… I believe the Inquisitor had it installed.” You watch as the Commander runs a gloved hand fondly across the edge of the stone table. This is the first time you’ve seen him without gauntlets, although he’s still wearing some light armor. “Would you like a game?”
Okay, yes, he was doing exactly what you’d suspected and feared. Time to cut and run; you can sneak back to play with the board yourself, later. “Oh, I couldn’t—” you begin, but he cuts you off.
“Humor me,” he insists. “It would give me an excuse to put off work a bit longer.”
That’s dangerously close to an order, although you doubt he realizes it. Either way, you’re not going to be refusing. You’ve spent most of your life learning exactly when you can get away with saying ‘no,’ and when you shouldn’t push it. With a man as powerful as the Commander, you prefer to “push” as little as possible. As good as it can be to find boundaries, a Knight-Templar’s edges are razor sharp and, in your limited experience, shift. Wordlessly, you yank your shoes on and then climb into the gazebo.
Without the entirety of his armor, or perhaps due to the fact he’s sitting down, the Commander seems a bit smaller than usual. At the very least, he’s not looming the way you’re accustomed to. He’s still rather broad… Solas is broad at the shoulders as well, particularly for an elf. Perhaps it’s just your lot in life to be surrounded by men with nice shoulders. What’s attractive in Solas, however, is intimidating in the Commander.
You sit across from him and move to set the board, but you only get as far as picking up a pawn. It feels so natural in your hand… you can’t help but smiling down at it. “A marble set. I learned to play on one like this,” you confess, feeling more than a little nostalgic. Positive nostalgia is an unusual sensation for you.
“When did you learn?” Cullen asks, and you realize that this is a conversation fraught with potential pitfalls. That makes your smile fade quickly.
“When I was a child,” you say, as shortly as you can without being rude. “What about you, Commander?”
“I also learned as a child. My sister was fond of it; she enjoyed repeatedly trouncing my brother and I. The look on her face when I finally got good enough to beat her, though…”
So the Commander has siblings. No surprise there… If he’s from a noble family, the only reason he’d be a Templar would be because he had a handful of siblings between him and the holdings. And if he’s not a noble, well… you don’t meet a lot of human commoners who only ever had one child.
“Did you play with your siblings, as well?” the Commander is asking as you finish setting the board. You’re almost amazed to find that there’s someone in Skyhold who doesn’t know the details of your history.
“Oh, no, I was an orphan,” you say, almost without thinking. The Commander makes a face like he’s just walked in on someone completely nude.
“Oh, I, um… At the… orphanage, then?”
A nice attempt to regain his footing, but he’d caught himself from tripping only to fall off a cliff.
“No, in Seheron,” you say with a thin smile as you begin the game by moving a pawn forward.
“Oh… Oh.”
You have to keep yourself from laughing… Perhaps it’s because you’re seeing him out of uniform, but he looks less like the Commander of the Inquisition and more like the sort of awkward person you’d imagine being named “Cullen.”
“Did you play with the other… um, the others?” he asks nervously.
“No,” you say with a sigh. “With my master.”
The awkwardness was almost palpable, and the game continues in silence for a while. The clink of the pieces on the marble board brings you right back to Seheron, not in the horrific way you’re used to.
“It’s one of my few fond memories from there,” you admit quietly. “I suspect he played with me simply because I had to do as he told me. Who else would have time for chess in an active war zone?”
“Were you, um… fond of your master, then?” Cullen says with increasing awkwardness. You almost feel sorry for him.
“Oh, no, I hated him,” you say matter-of-factly. “Maker, how I hated him.” You move your knight into a more aggressive position and then take a moment to stare off into the gardens, momentarily lost in memories. “But he was clever. Brilliant, to a child.” You drum your fingers gently on the table. The clink of stone on marble informs you that the game is still going. “He found some entertainment in teaching me… I think he was a little charmed by my sharp mind, or perhaps I was simply the only thing there amusing to him at all,” you continue as your move to block Cullen’s bishop. Despite his embarrassment, he’s playing well. That’s good; it will make losing easier. “He often complained of being surrounded by dullards. He’d tell me I was special, clever.”
Cullen seems to have given up on changing the subject. “I’m surprised there was time for chess.”
You chuckle. “We made time for whatever the master wanted to do, really. But my primary duty was translation, and that could never have taken up all of my time. I was used for miscellaneous duties, yes, but my master wasn’t above simply using me for… companionship. I think he favored me, but I hated it. He had a painful way of showing his ‘favor,’ sometimes, and the other slaves resented me. …But I did enjoy the chess.”
You look up, and Cullen is staring at you an abject horror. This time, you can’t help it, and burst out laughing.
“Are… are you having me on?” he demands as you attempt to cover your laughs with one arm.
“No, no, it’s all true!” you assure him, still laughing. “Just… the look on your face. Are you regretting asking me for a game, Commander?”
“You’re picking on me,” he complains, and you laugh even harder. He’s grinning, thank the Maker. He has a sense of humor… Good, or else you’d likely be in a world of hurt.
“I am sorry if I’ve brought up unpleasant memories, however,” he says, a little more seriously.
“Oh, no… If anything, chess is one of my few pleasant memories from Seheron,” you say as the giggles finally subside. “I missed playing.”
“As did I… I’ve not seen my sister in many years. I wonder if she still plays…?”
You let the conversation stay on his family as the game progresses. You suspect the Commander is attempting to allow you to win, or at the very least, going easy on you. He plays averagely, but will occasionally make a brilliant move. It’s an interesting game, with both of you attempting to lose. In the end, however, you win at losing… Perhaps you were simply more dedicated to it.
“I believe I have this one,” the Commander says as he moves into checkmate.
“I suspect you could have had it ten moves ago,” you say with a chuckle. “But thanks for humoring me.”
“Not at all,” Cullen says with a smile. “You gave me an excellent excuse to be a bit lazy.”
“This is what passes for lazy with you? And they say I work too much.” You begin to set the board again, although you’ve no intent to play another game. It just seems rude to leave it a mess.
“You do have an… admirable work ethic,” the Commander says. Something in his tone makes you look up. He’s rubbing the back of his neck; he looks a bit awkward. Again, you’re sure it’s just because you’re seeing him about of full armor. Easy to forget Templars are Templars once they’re out of armor, but that’s not wise. You can never forget, not if you want to stay alive.
“I’ll have to actually get to work if I want to keep that reputation,” you say, sitting up from the chess table.
“Oh, yes, of course,” the Commander says, standing as well. “I, um—”
“Thanks for the game, Commander,” you say with a smile, cutting him off before he can do something stupid like ask you to play again sometime. You exit quickly, making a beeline for the Great Hall rather than stopping to admire more of the garden. Today, you’ve been reminded of the dangers lurking outside the safe haven Solas has provided you.
It’s a relief to get back to the rotunda. Sitting at your desk working is as simple as your life gets these days, even with a mysterious elven mage futzing about in the background. Speaking of whom, Solas has indeed come to the rotunda while you were absent. You’ve had time to forget his morning faux paus, hopefully he has too… Although the sight of him, bent over one of those odd shards, hands glowing slightly, is enough to put you right back in that moment.
No, you certainly aren’t sleeping with him. And your life is complicated enough without that.
He looks so busy that you don’t want to interrupt him, but he looks up when you enter, in any case. If he’s wondering where you’ve been, he doesn’t ask… a nice change from the interrogation of the morning. He simply goes back to whatever it is he’s doing with the shard.
You had been wanting that wrist enchantment, but you can’t bring yourself to disturb him any further. Instead, you simply head to your desk. You can do without, for now… you can always ask him after he’s done with whatever magic he’s working.
Magic with no protective wards turns out to mean that you’ll be spending your morning being lightly molested by stray bits of magic, however. The sensation isn’t unpleasant, per se, but it is distracting. Every time you taste a bit of magic whisping by you, you practically salivate at it. Your aura stays locked obediently inside of you, however. It’s still small enough to be controlled easily, thanks to your expenditure at the pond. You’ll be fine unless you actually need magic to defend yourself any time in the near future.
You grit your teeth as a slip of mana brushes against your back. What in the Maker’s name is he even doing back there? Something with one of those shards, again… You’d love to get a good look at one yourself, as well as seeing that temple in the desert that they’re apparently for. You try to redouble your focus on your writing, and you do manage to get some work done.
You manage to stay on top of things, today, and get up at a reasonable hour to fetch Solas’s lunch… in part, this is just because you skipped breakfast and you’re kind of hungry. You’ve spent your entire life ignoring the cramping sensations of hunger. It’s hard for you to really associate the sensation with needing to go and get something to eat… But you’re not an old dog just yet. You can still learn new tricks.
Celia is still absent from the kitchens. You resolve to check on her again that evening, make sure her illness is getting better, not worse. You’ve no desire to force someone to the healer against their will—it would be massively hypocritical of you. But you’re certain you could guilt her into it if you needed to… Or even just threaten to have Solas take a look at her. That would almost certainly frighten her to the healing tent.
You fetch a normal meal for Solas and another light meal for yourself… You’re feeling better than yesterday, certainly, but the flushed feeling won’t leave your face and your stomach is still a bit queasy. You privately suspect the heat in your face might be thanks to Iron Bull and Solas, but you’d almost rather be ill.
You’re pleased to see your stool by Solas’s desk when you re-enter with his food. It’s the little things that make you content here at Skyhold. You can sit at the desk of an elven mage and have stimulating conversation over a delicious meal. It’s enough to almost make you forget you’d played chess with a Templar Knight-Commander that morning. Almost. Not quite.
“So,” you begin, deciding to steer the conversation yourself rather than waiting for another interrogation. “I was reading the book you gave me, the one on veilfire. I have a few questions…”
The conversation is exactly as delightful as you’d hoped. Solas seems happy to answer your questions about veilfire, although you have to stick more to practical questions and stay away from instructions on how to summon it. There’s only so much you can explain away with idle curiosity, after all. It’s only a shuffling sound at the door to the rotunda combined with Solas glancing at something behind you that distracts you away from the conversation at hand.
You turn around to look as well, and see a familiar dwarven face poking around the corner of the door. Rocky quickly darts back out of sight, and then you hear a bit of muttering from behind the door. There’s a pause, and then the door opens, with Krem more or less being shoved through.
“Hi, um, Emma! And Solas,” he says awkwardly, leaning backwards against the hands pushing against him. “I, that is, we were wondering if you’d like to have lunch, but, uh, you seem… busy…”
You cover your smile with a hand, trying hard not to laugh. That’s Dalish behind him, shoving, and you think you can see Skinner standing off behind them, looking rather put-upon. You turn back to Solas, a voiceless question in your eyes. He holds up his hands, looking as bemused as you feel. “I hardly have a claim on her.”
You grin your thanks before gathering the rest of your food up and heading towards Krem. He looks surprised, and very relieved. Sure enough, a few of the Chargers are there with him: Rocky, Dalish, and Skinner.
“Look at that, you won her over, Krem!” Dalish says with a wicked grin. “You don’t have to worry about the extra competition.”
“Oh, shut up,” Krem grumbles. You can’t help grinning as you follow them outside. The five of you settle under a tree in the courtyard to eat, chatting idly. They’re as playfully cheerful as ever—except Skinner, of course. But the day she starts cracking jokes is the day you run for the hills. You can’t even imagine it.
“I can’t believe you four were scared to go into the rotunda,” you laugh around a piece of bread. “Why on earth would you be superstitious? I mean, Dalish is a m… elf,” you correct yourself at the look she gives you. Dalish is the worst kept secret in all of Skyhold, honestly. Her joking nature about her magic makes you almost wish you could sign up with the Chargers. They’ve certainly got her back.
“It’s not that,” Skinner points out. “It’s the way the two of you were talking.”
Dalish nods in agreement. “Yeah, like there was a wall between you ‘n’ the rest of the world.” She elbows Krem teasingly. “But we knew you’d make time for Krem here. Who wouldn’t? He’s such a charmer.”
You’re glad for their joking; it helps to cover your embarrassment. Is that how you and Solas look to an outside eye? No wonder there are rumors. Still, the thought pleases you somewhat.
“Oi, look at your face!” Dalish says, grinning widely. “You got a crush of your own, don’tcha?”
You try to keep your face neutral, but your cheeks flush against your will.
“She does!” chimes in Rocky. “Better watch out, Krem! You can’t lose out to an old man like that; what would the boss say?”
You and Krem share a pained look as their teasing continues. Unrequited crushes might be painful, but they have nothing on the Chargers’ brutal jokes, it would seem.