Top Secret
Passing out from alcohol doesn’t actually help you get real sleep. It just lets you be unconscious for a while. It’s just as well, you suppose… if it did let you sleep in your condition, you’d probably be a proper alcoholic by now, instead of someone who consistently makes bad decisions around large quantities of hops. Fortunately, though you were drinking to numb the pain of old memories—the escape from Seheron is rather high on the list of things you might consider asking Cole to make you forget—you didn’t actually overdo it too much. You feel a little dried out and dizzy upon waking, but not significantly hung over.
It’s just as well, since you have to go get knocked over by a Qunari now. Maker, your daily rituals are absurd. When you get there, however, you’re pleased to note that the Chargers must have taken it light on the alcohol as well, since Iron Bull is standing next to a much smaller figure… Krem.
You’re pleased to see him, although admittedly that’s mostly because if he’s here, that means you probably won’t be sparring with Iron Bull. Thank the Maker… You’ve come a long way from the days where you would simply practice punching him. Admittedly, this is better; you’re actually learning new things now, but… Your sore body is hating you for it lately.
“Hey, Krem!” you say with a grin as you jump the fence into the ring. “Iron Bull finally get so tired of brutalizing me that he had to call in help?”
“Wow, so many innuendos to make… I can’t pick,” Bull muses to himself, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. You and Krem roll your eyes, nearly in unison.
“The boss wanted to see your progress on someone closer to your own size, so…” he gestures vaguely to himself. “Here I am.”
He’s dressed similarly to you, trousers and a casual shirt, although his pants actually fit. You note that he has leather greaves and bracers, however, likely because he’s expecting to have to take blows repeatedly. He’ll try to redirect you onto his forearms, then, to avoid the kind of painful bruises you’re covered in. You size him up while the three of you stretch. Bull has been sticking to grapples and trips, but with Krem here, he might take this opportunity to teach you how to block or avoid actual blows. Krem doesn’t run the risk of rupturing your insides with a misplaced punch, after all. And if Bull does decide that? That means you have to take a bunch of punches to demonstrate that you don’t already know how to do this. Ugh.
Krem isn’t even half a foot taller than you. You’re average for an elf, making Krem a good bit shorter than the average human man. You know from your grappling session (and a few drunken sit-upons) that he’s solid, however. You resolve not to underestimate his strength, and to expect him to be faster than Bull due to his smaller size.
Bull doesn’t give you any instructions, just tells you to go for it, so you assume he briefed Krem ahead of time. Well… No point in dragging this out. After a few seconds of shifting your weight from one foot to another, watching Krem to see if he plans on taking a swing at you, you dart forward. He blocks your basic one-two punch with ease, and you bounce backwards onto the heels of your feet as he makes a grab for your collar. He almost gets you; damn this loose clothing. The outstretched arm gives you an idea, however.
You dart in for another punch, not giving him anything new yet. When he goes for another grapple, you swerve to the side, reaching up and twisting your right arm around his as he lunges forward with it. You see the beginnings of surprise on his face as you hook your arm around his, but you allow his own momentum to carry him a bit further past you. Then you place your arm on his shoulder and jump, carrying his grappled arm up with you as you hook one leg under his right armpit and throw the other up over his left shoulder. You’re effectively riding him the way you had Bull, although it’s a bit less dramatic since he’s close to your own size. You’re using his arm–now twisted back and up uncomfortably–for leverage, since Krem is inconveniently lacking in the “giant handlebar horns” department. Despite that, however, the general concept is the same, as well as the effectiveness.
Unfortunately, Krem is stronger than you. You have him off guard and in a compromised position, but he reaches up blindly with his left arm and grabs a handful of your shirt, yanking you forward. You cling as tight as you can; your shirt tears slightly, but more importantly, the sudden jerk forward sends him off balance as well. The two of you topple forwards; he goes to roll on his left shoulder and you follow the momentum, ducking your head to avoid smashing it against the ground. Both of you roll over, eventually coming to a stop on your backs, your legs still around his chest.
The two of you just sort of lay there for a moment… Krem, likely because you’re clinging to him like a desperate flea. You, because you just slammed your bruised back into the ground with 150 pounds of solid muscle on top of you, and you… you just need a minute. You’re not crying; your eyes are just watering from the shock, that’s all. Ow.
After a few seconds you have the common sense to stop clinging, and Krem, mercifully, rolls off of you. You stay on the ground for a little longer.
“Geez, she really took that squirrel thing and ran with it, huh?” Krem says, wincing as he rubs his shoulder.
“Seems so. I don’t think she’s quite mastered the art of hurting her opponent more than herself, though,” Bull says, walking over and nudging you in the side with a booted foot. You make a vague, whining noise.
“Oh, shit,” Krem says, kneeling down next to you. “I landed on top of you! Are you alright?”
“Totally fine,” you wheeze. “Absolutely. Just enjoying the dirt.”
“Don’t look guilty Krem, for fuck’s sake,” Bull says, sounding exasperated. “She just spun you like a top!”
Krem offers you his arm and you latch onto it, letting him help pull you up. Your torn shirt is gaping open somewhat, and you catch both men looking down it. Krem at least has the courtesy to look away quickly, staring upwards as if suddenly fascinated by the pre-dawn sky. You tug at the shirt and sigh. “Barely fit me anyway… I have to get some better clothes.”
“You can always put in a request with the—” Krem begins.
“The requisition agents, yeah, I know. I’m going to have to drop a stack of requests on their desk at this point. I’d prefer to just buy my own, since I doubt they’ll get anything that even begins to fit me properly. But I can’t exactly run into town from here.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of the downside to the whole ‘isolated fortress in the mountains’ thing. But hey, less Venatori knocking down our front door, right?” Bull says with a chuckle. “You wanna get another shirt or something?”
“Nah,” you say with a shrug. “No point. It’s not like any of the others fit me any better.” In truth, if the way Krem’s eyes flitting about are any measure, this will give you a bit of an advantage. You doubt he’ll underestimate you twice after getting climbed on like that.
And indeed he does not. Even with the advantage of him trying not to stare down your shirt, Krem is just plain stronger than you. You might be a little faster, maybe, if you felt comfortable moving as fast as you know you can… But there’s no way you can do that and get away with it, so you have to content yourself with moving more slowly and getting your ass kicked.
Fortunately, the Iron Bull doesn’t decide to introduce being punched into your daily routine, thank the Maker. You manage to get the drop on Krem a few more times, once by saying something rather off-color about “grappling” in Tevene to startle him, quiet and close enough to his ear that Bull can’t hear it. The morning practice ends when Krem manages to not only lock both your arms behind your back, but hooks both arms with one of his, leaving his other free to get you in a headlock.
You’re never good with the sensation of someone pinning you from behind, and the second that arm goes up against your neck… Strong arms grip you, wooden bar of a spear tight against your neck. Blood and fog flash before your eyes, and you give one violent thrash, but Bull quickly intervenes before you have the chance to completely flip or start screaming. He gives some kind of hand gesture to Krem, something you don’t even begin to recognize, and Krem immediately releases you. You collapse into the dirt, hand desperately clasping your neck despite the fact Krem didn’t put any pressure against it. The tears in your eyes are most certainly not from exertion this time, but both Iron Bull and Krem give you a moment to compose yourself. You can hear the Vint panting behind you, nearly as out of breath as you are.
You don’t give yourself time to fully recover, not wanting to lose face in front of Krem or have an awkward explanation on your hands. You make a show of wiping off your face to hide removing the tears; you get up while your limbs are still shaking. Fortunately, Bull declares it time for breakfast. It’s just as well… you and Krem are looking a bit worse for the wear. Both of you are sweaty, covered in dirt, and just generally disgusting. That doesn’t stop all three of you from heading straight to the breakfast hall, however.
The walk over gives you a little bit of time to clear your head, but when the Iron Bull rests a friendly hand on your shoulder at the end of one of his jokes, you flinch. To his credit, Bull doesn’t make a fuss or jerk away, just removes his hand normally and walks a little bit further away to give you your space. If he weren’t a Qunari, you could kiss him for his skill at handling you when you’re panicked. Of course, that would be a terrible idea for any number of reasons.
Krem seems concerned, but he’s doing a decent job of hiding it. The normal teasing back and forth between him and Iron Bull soothes you. By the time you’ve all gotten your breakfast and grabbed a seat, you’re feeling a bit less shell-shocked. You sit directly next to Krem—across from Bull—and the solidity of Krem’s hip against yours helps keep you in the present. Technically, he should freak you out more than Bull, being Tevinter, but humans just don’t have the same dramatic physical differences as Qunari. You can’t tell a Vint from a Fereldan until they open their mouths. Plus, if Krem was a soldier there’s a very good chance he was only a few rings above you on the Tevinter social ladder.
“I’m surprised how good she’s gotten in a few weeks,” Krem is saying to Iron Bull. “I bet she’s black and blue under those clothes, though.”
“Oh? You wanting to see under her clothes, Krem?” Iron Bull asks with a smirk.
“I… what? No! I mean… That’s not what I said!” Krem protests, and his uncomfortable squirming makes you laugh, nearly the first sound you’ve made since your near-miss in the ring.
“Right, like you weren’t both looking down my shirt. Bull still is,” you say with a grin. “I’m not blind. What you were looking at, I’ll never know,” you add, patting yourself on your rather flat chest.
Krem’s ears start turning bright pink, and you laugh again, joined by Iron Bull’s jovial chortle.
“I just… I just meant that Iron Bull’s pretty rough—”
“Yes. Yes I am,” Bull supplements, and you collapse into laughter again.
It feels good to be able to joke about this sort of thing. The Chargers understand there’s no relationship between you and Bull (at least, you’re pretty sure they do), which really takes the pressure off. The teasing makes everything seem a lot less serious, less dire. You can forget that there might be serious side effects to the rumors of your promiscuity, at least for a little while.
“I’m pretty banged up,” you admit to Krem. “I think I scared the ladies in the bathhouse yesterday.”
“If it gets too painful, you can stop by the healer’s tent—” Krem begins, but stops, confused, when you and Bull start laughing again.
“Oh, Maker, can you imagine?” you say through your giggles. “I can just tell them I fell down the stairs again, they’ll definitely believe that three times, right?”
“Three times?” Krem says, sounding dumbfounded.
“I actually did fall down the stairs, that’s the worst part,” you say, managing to catch your breath. “Well, I fell, and there were stairs involved, anyway.”
“Is this about the time you dislocated your hip? Bull said you fell down the stairs, but we all thought he was just being an ass.”
“I really did! No one believes me,” you say, still giggling slightly. “Anyway, not only do the healer’s have more important things to do than repeatedly fix me up, I’m terrified of what they think of me at this point.”
“You know, you should come to training with the Chargers,” Krem says. At the look on your face, he rushes onward. “No, really! You could train with more people your size there, and it’s not uncommon for us to have to drop by the healer’s tent afterwards now and then… especially if Skinner gets too excited.”
“Thank you, Krem, but I’m no mercenary,” you say with a laugh. “Despite Bull’s best attempts at recruitment, of course.”
You have a million excuses, but in reality, it’s quite tempting. It would provide you face time with more of the Chargers, and practice with more people means more ways to make excuses for things you know. Plus, you might actually learn something. In the end, however, you can’t justify it. You really shouldn’t show that much interest in violence, and you do actually still have a job to do here.
And so, after breakfast, you bathe and change your clothes quickly, then head immediately to the rotunda. You’re determined to get some actual work done, perhaps find out how to fill out those requisitions you need. Perhaps Solas can help you? If not, surely Dorian or someone in the library will know—
You never get the chance, unfortunately. When you enter the rotunda, you’re shocked to see that Solas isn’t alone. Oh, he’s there, yes, working at his desk and politely ignoring the other person in the room, whom, you note, is standing by your desk. A messenger from Leliana? But Maker, why is he just loitering in Solas’s rotunda?!
Horrified, you walk over quickly. “What are you doing?” you hiss to the messenger. “You can’t just–”
“Leliana requests your assistance with a matter of extreme importance,” the messenger interrupts. “I was told to wait here until you arrived.” You let out a groan of frustration.
“She could have just left a note… I’ve always given her work the utmost…” You turn to Solas. “I apologize for the intrusion, Solas. I’ll get this taken care of.” You glare back at the messenger. “Well? Let’s go. Clearly, this is very important.”
You’re quite irritated as the messenger leads you up the stairs. You’ve always done Leliana’s work promptly, even when she used you as a glorified sending pigeon. Whether Solas was bothered by the intrusion or not, you were. You’ve tried very hard to make yourself as convenient and unobtrusive as possible, especially since he returned and learned of your little stint with breaking, entering, and stealing. Now he has messengers lingering in his workspace because of you.
Therefore, you’re not at your most compliant when you crest the stairs to Leliana’s little bird nest. The spymaster’s nest is even more busy with activity than usual, but to your surprise, she shoos everyone she was talking to away when she sees you, and stands from her desk. The messenger even leaves as soon as Leliana walks up.
“Good, I was afraid I’d have to send someone after you,” she says, and her tone is serious enough that you decide your irritation can wait. “I won’t lie to you; this is very important. I need this translated as quickly as possible, and then immediately delivered—orally, do not write any additional copies—to myself and a few others.” She hands you a small, folded up piece of paper. “It’s not the same code as before. I’m hoping you’re familiar with it and can save us valuable time.”
Your eyes must be wide as saucers by now. “I… This seems rather important for someone of my… station, serah,” you manage to say.
“It is,” Leliana confirms. “However, it may be time sensitive, and you are the one who can get it done. Emma,” she says firmly, locking her eyes onto yours. You’d rather be staring down a bear. “Translate it privately. Tell no one its contents. Not even Solas.”
You swallow, hard. “Yes, serah. W… would Iron Bull not be a better person for this task?” you ask, wincing deliberately as you say it, but keeping your voice quiet enough that no one else can hear. After all, you and Bull only have one thing in common: Qunlat. “He speaks the language; he’s more likely to be familiar with the—”
“I know the two of you have become… close,” Leliana says pointedly. “But the Iron Bull is first and foremost a Qunari. He gives me his reports before he sends them off to the Ben-Hassrath, yes, but I’m under no delusion that he gives me all of them. For this, I need you.”
Back in Orlais, you would have positively jumped at a chance like this. Trust, practically handed to you on a silver platter. It’s important or it’s a test. Either way, if you complete it quickly and quietly, you win. But there’s a reason you retired to the Orlesian countryside. This sets your hackles to rising. There’s trouble here, trouble you’d rather avoid. But duty summons, it would seem.
“I will begin work at once, serah. Who will I be delivering it to?”
“Myself first. If it is as significant as I expect, then you will deliver an oral report to Commander Cullen, Lady Josephine Montiliyet, and the Inquisitor.”
Ah. There’s the trouble.
“Yes, serah,” you say with a bow, quickly tucking the paper into your breast band and heading down the stairs. You can feel her eyes on your back as you go.
You pause at the base of the stairs to Solas’ rotunda, lining up your lies in your mind. How much are you allowed to tell him? She merely said not to tell anyone what you were working on. Solas had been gone for long enough that he likely would not know you’d been working for Leliana regularly. You take a deep breath, then imagine some less-than-pleasant scenarios with Iron Bull until your limbs have a convincing tremble. One last imaginary flash of Bull holding you down, hand around your neck, sets terror into your eyes enough for you to convince anyone.
Shaking limbs carry you to your desk, your breathing coming in the quick, sharp inhalations of someone mid-panic. You’ve no doubt Solas notices.
“What did Leliana want?” he asks mildly, as you knew he would.
You’re silent for a time. “The Inquisitor’s spymaster is very good at digging up information,” you say finally. “She… Forgive me, Solas, I… I would like to simply work.”
“Of course,” Solas says, the picture of politeness. He’s likely curious—when isn’t he—but he won’t pry. Not now, anyway. You’ve seen him press you quite rudely when he knows you’re withholding something he wants to know, but it seems he’s grown fond enough of you lately to not actively intimidate you when you’re already frightened. You’d been counting on it, since it seems very little stops Solas when he’s curious enough. He’ll pry later, when you’ve calmed down, and you can have a nice heart-to-heart if you’d like, or simply lie out your ass.
More interestingly, whatever source Leliana has for getting these Ben-Hassrath reports, it has nothing to do with the Iron Bull. And, as you suspected, she does not trust him. Not fully. Of course, she doubtlessly doesn’t trust you, either; you’re just her only option.
You slip the message quietly out of your breast band as you shuffle papers on your desk, unfolding it quickly. This is Ben-Hassrath, to be sure. A similar code to last time, but different. To your glee, however, you recognize it after only a few minutes of examination. While you’ve not seen this precise cipher, you’ve seen ones like it, used for compressing information. It’s informal, used between Ben-Hassrath agents in the field, not a formal report back to superiors.
You can translate this.
You write with the careful brushstrokes of a scribe, just in case Solas is observant enough to be suspicious of frantic scribbling when you had previously been doing nothing but lettering. You dislike deceiving him, but should you need to come clean, you can lay the blame squarely on Leliana’s feet while still being able to justify your apparent fear. He doesn’t need to know how skilled a liar you are.
You work as quickly as you are able, but it still takes you most of the morning to work out the details of the cipher, translate it into plain Qunlat, and then translate the Qunlat into Common. The whole thing is made slightly more tricky because you’re attempting to write as little as possible due to Leliana’s emphasis on secrecy.
The end result is… interesting. The Qunari are, for reasons not made clear in this missive, investigating five individuals connected to a Nevarran Duke. This one has information on a supposed dragon hunter. It seems rather inconsequential to you, but you weren’t told to judge the information, only to translate and deliver it.
You tuck the parchment you’d been working on into a stack of pages from your translation, then grab the lot. To Leliana, then. With any luck, this will turn out to be a dud, and you won’t need to face the Inquisitor. Solas doesn’t challenge you as you exit the rotunda, your entire translation tucked into your arms. You take the long way up to the library and then head up the steps to Leliana’s lair.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t appear to be there. You pause, uncertain of what exactly to do. You were told to report to her first… Should you simply wait here? You’re significantly uncomfortable with that.
“Emma?” you turn to see an unfamiliar woman.
“…Yes?”
“The Nightingale asks for you to bring your report to the war room,” the woman says.
“The… the what?” you say, a bit stupidly.
She gives you directions, so rapidly that all you can do is commit them to memory. “You can deliver the report there.” Then the woman simply… turns and walks away.
Trouble. You knew this was going to be trouble. You head down the stairs, once more avoiding Solas’ rotunda, and head in the direction you were told. Whatever the “war room” is, you’re quite certain you won’t like it. But hopefully, she’ll be there and you can deliver the report quickly and be done with it. The report is obviously a fragment of a much larger whole. You doubt it will be significant enough to deliver directly to the Inquisitor, of all people.
“The war room” is through a rather impressive office, down a hallway (a hallway containing several guards, all of whom ignore you) that’s missing part of a wall and then, presumably, through the intimidating doors in front of you. You hesitate in front of them, then nervously rap your knuckles against the wood.
You stand there, feeling a fool, for a few moments, before a smaller door within the giant oak ones swings open. You recognize the woman who opens it only because you never forget a face; she was the one with Commander Cullen when the refugees arrived. The one with the jealousy-inducing portable-desk device.
“Leliana?” the woman calls out behind her.
Leliana’s head pokes into view. “Ah, yes. Emma, come in.”
You do so with extreme reluctance now that you know Leliana isn’t alone. Sure enough, you appear to be interrupting something important. The room itself is as large as the doors would imply, and the centerpiece appears to be a large, thick table dominated by a large, detailed map. It is, in fact, a war room. Around the table stand Commander Cullen, Leliana, and the Inquisitor. Maker damn you straight to the Void. She intends for you to simply give the report to them all at once. Here, where they doubtlessly make all the important decisions that resonate throughout Thedas.
You stare desperately at Leliana as the woman who opened the door for you walks back towards the table, but the spymistress merely says, “What do you have for me?”
You clear your throat to soothe your nerves, shuffle to the page you’d written on to ensure you don’t forget anything due to nervousness, and then begin. “Ah… y-yes… It read: ‘Information on the hunter, brothers. Although dragons were rare until quite recently, she has slain four. Those who have seen her fight say that seldom does one see anyone so tall as she move so quickly.’ I’m uncertain of the context. However, the language used to refer to the woman makes me believe they’re speaking of a Tal-Vashoth. They imply she’s female, but they refer to her the way one might refer to an object or an animal. Qunari usually have more respect for a dragon slayer.” You clear your throat nervously. There are too many important eyes on you right now. “Th-the next p-part is writ-written in a diff-d-different hand. ‘When I asked why the apostate had not joined the circle, I was told she declared the Chant was for humans and meant nothing to her.’ I d-doubt this one is a Vashoth, as they’re more c-concerned with bucking ag-against the Q-Qun than the Chant. I sus-suspect an elf.”
You take a deep breath; you’d gotten through that with relatively little agony. Trying to steel yourself, you risk another glance around. All four look as if they’re deep in thought. Whatever that report was about, it clearly has some impact, despite its relative pointlessness to you.
“I think she’s right about the apostate,” the Commander says, breaking the silence. “No one would ask a Qunari why they weren’t in the Circle. I believe we can safely assume the Tal-Vashoth is the dragon hunter.”
“Does that do us much good?” asks the Inquisitor, rather grumpily. “We still don’t know who the spy is. Leliana, why is this information coming from the linguist?”
“It needed to be translated,” Leliana says smoothly.
The Inquisitor eyes you, and you try not to look petrified while also trying not to look disdainful, as you’re a bit of both. You give him a bow for good measure.
“She certainly does a great many tasks,” the Inquisitor says. Sounds like you’re not the only one feeling a bit disdainful. Commander Cullen looks somewhat confused, perhaps because he knows well that you’ve been translating stolen Qunari messages for a while now. He likely wonders, as you do, why Leliana isn’t being a bit more forthcoming about your duties. Well, Orlesians will never cease to be tricky, and you’re just as happy with the Inquisitor thinking you’re less important than you are.
“Could I have your papers, Emma?” Leliana requests. You immediately hand the one you’d written on over to her. She eyes it for a moment, likely taking in the fact you’d clearly done most of the translation in your head, then tucks it away. “Thank you for your assistance, Emma. Please, return to your regular work,” Leliana says, and you bow again and immediately scurry out of the war room. You’re in such a hurry to get out of there and back to the Great Hall that you nearly slam straight into the person standing only a few feet from the door. You skid to a stop and look up from your papers to apologize.
Ah fuck.
It’s Solas.