It takes you a while to get your head back on straight after that very interesting conversation with Solas. You’re still half-dazed as you wander back towards the rotunda after dropping off your dinner dishes to be cleaned. Fortunately, perhaps, Varric offers you a bit of a distraction, catching your arm just outside of the rotunda.
“There you are. I have something I think you’ll be interested in, Stutter,” he says, and his shit-eating grin has you suspecting it’s trouble.
“Oh?” you say warily. “Well, as long as it doesn’t dislocate my hip.”
“What…?”
“Never mind. What is it, Varric?”
“I got a letter in the mail,” Varric says, holding up a piece of parchment with a flourish. When you don’t immediately react, he continues. “From a certain broody elf.”
Your heart leaps into your throat. “N… no way…”
“Aww, so little faith in me? Fenris loves getting letters. A little less fond about writing them, admittedly, but he’s working on it.”
You lunge forward, grabbing at the letter, but Varric skips backwards out of your reach. He’s spry for a dwarf.
“Uh-uh, this isn’t all for you. He does reply to you, however. I take it you want to hear it?”
“Maker’s balls, Varric, either read it or hand it to me!” you exclaim, reaching for it again.
“Alright, alright, settle down. I can’t read it with you jumping at me.” He clears his throat and you back off slightly, wringing your hands together nervously. Short. It’ll be short. Maybe a sentence acknowledging you. Still, it’s incredible that he even knows you exist.
“As for the woman, Emma, tell her that it’s pleasant to find someone else who escaped from Tevinter’s clutches. She sounds quite charming. I’d like to know more about how she escaped and what she did afterwards. Perhaps you can introduce us while I’m at Skyhold?”
You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. All your blood has rushed to your face; you must be bright crimson. You let out a strangled noise, perhaps a squeak or a whimper, then open your mouth to speak. No words come out.
You must catch Varric off-guard, because he doesn’t dodge out of the way when you drop down onto your knees and yank him into a tight hug. “W-whoa, there, Stutter,” he says, sounding shocked, before relaxing slightly and giving you a somewhat awkward pat on the back. While he does, you steal a quick glance at the letter in his other hand. The lettering is large and perfectly spaced and the paper is marked repeatedly with crossed out words—it reminds you sharply of secret lessons in Seheron. One word in particular catches your eye… Hawke. But you don’t see much else before Varric gently pries you off of him.
“Maker, I’m sorry, Varric, but… Thank you. Thank you. I can’t believe… I mean, he’s kind of a hero of mine, and I just, I… Thank you,” you blather.
“It’s alright, Stutter. The look on your face alone is worth it. Not to mention his.” He gestures to his right, towards the doorway, and you turn to see a rather nonplussed looking Solas. If it was possible for you to blush any brighter… You scramble to your feet.
“I, um… He… That is… How long have you been standing there?” you ask nervously.
“Long enough for it to be hilarious,” Varric quips. “So, Stutter, do you want to write him back?”
“Write him back? I… Erm…” You glance nervously at Solas. “I’d like to, yes. Some… other time?”
“Meet me in the tavern after you finish working tomorrow,” he says with a grin. “We’ll get your letter written.” Varric gives you a last pat on the arm before absolutely sauntering off, leaving you deal with Solas.
“I, um… He… Well, that is…”
“It seems you weren’t exaggerating when you stated you were becoming more popular,” Solas interjects with a faint smile.
You clear your throat and will your face to cool down. “Yes, well. I should… I should get back to work.”
Solas steps to the side and gestures for you walk by him. You quickly scurry past him into the room and sit down at your desk. You check the door to ensure he hasn’t followed you in, then lay your face down flat on the desk, covering your head with your arms. You’re just going… just going to sit like this, for a minute.
You spend most of the evening wiggling, rather than working. As Solas is now just sitting at his desk reading, you’re probably distracting him as much as he was distracting you earlier. Unfortunately, you simply can’t sit still. You sold your history for a fan letter. And you are seriously happy that you made that stupid, stupid decision.
Never in a hundred years did you suspect you’d actually ever meet any of the “characters” from The Tale of the Champion. You knew they were real… Honestly, you picked up the book specifically because you wanted to know what in the Void had happened in Kirkwall. But it was really easy to forget those people actually existed in the world, and were still wandering around Thedas… even though “casually running into Fenris” was one of your most repeated late night fantasies.
But now that fantasy was actually coming true, albeit slowly. Fenris is coming here… here. Why? What business does he have with the Inquisition? And you saw Hawke’s name in that letter… You chew on your lip as you think, leaning yourself against the back of the chair and resting your head back to stare up the tower. There’s something going on here, certainly. But you’re having trouble thinking it through, because every five seconds your brain floods with SWEET ANDRASTE I’M MEETING FENRIS and you lose your train of thought.
“Are you a fan of his, then?” Solas says finally, interrupting the flood of hormones that’s passing for your thoughts.
You start, nearly tilting the chair over backwards, but you manage to lean forwards in time. Thank the Maker for small blessings. “Huh?” you say distractedly, trying to get your mind back in the present.
“This Fenris. I take it the two of you haven’t actually met, but you seem… exuberant,” Solas says pointedly. You likely had been distracting him, then. You flush slightly.
“Something like that. I read about him in Varric’s book, and… the two of us have similar histories. He was a Tevinter slave who escaped in Seheron. Although his prior owner bothered to chase him down. I had no such difficulties after I escaped. In any case, he’s… Someone I admire. I know that’s foolish, as I’ve never met him.”
“And now he’s coming here.” Solas sounds like his mind is going down similar paths to yours… minus the vibrating excitement, anyway. Varric was kind enough to let you know Fenris was coming, but not kind enough to tell you when or why. Both were nagging at you.
“I assume he has some business with the Inquisition, and this is all a happy coincidence,” you say, giving some voice to your thoughts.
“Maybe he’s coming just to see you?” Solas says, and you stare at him for a long moment.
“Are… are you teasing me?”
“Would I do that?” Solas says, but the corner of his mouth quirks upwards in a slight smile.
“Apparently,” you say with an exaggerated pout, crossing your arms. The sight of you seems to amuse Solas even further, as he covers his mouth lightly with his hand. He can’t hide the way his eyes wrinkle at the corners, however. “Yes, yes, have a good laugh at the da’len,” you scoff, although it’s getting difficult not to smile, yourself. “Maker knows Varric’s having a good chortle at my expense about now, as well.”
Solas manages to compose himself. You suppose that’s what passes for him losing control… a smile and a joke. Still, it’s… satisfying, somehow. “Perhaps you should go wrestle a Qunari until you’ve burned off the excess energy?” he suggests.
You throw your hands into the air. “If I wanted to be sassed, I’d still be working next to Dorian!” you exclaim.
“I heard that!” Dorian’s voice echoes down from the library. “Don’t drag me into your lover’s quarrels, elf.”
You groan, dragging a hand down over your face. “This is bullying, Dorian,” you call up to him. “You’re bullying me.”
“I’m Tevinter; it’s what we do. If I start pretending to be nice, that’s when you get worried.”
Not much you can say to that… It’s true. Instead, you glare vaguely upwards and turn back to your work.
You do manage to get some work done, after Solas incidentally clears your head with his light teasing. There’s a deeper meaning hidden behind Fenris’s trip to Skyhold, you’re certain of it. But you’re also certain you’re missing pieces of the puzzle. Hawke is part of it, to be sure, but you just don’t have enough information or knowledge about the people involved, or even the Inquisition itself and its goals. And you’re sure as hell not going to go compare notes with Leliana.
Instead, you do your damn job until Solas leaves for the night, only pausing to remind you to blow out the candles before you leave. You stay for perhaps another hour, working on the dull but soothing task of writing word after word in a neat, even hand. It lets your mind wander.
Eventually, however, you can’t fight off exhaustion any more, and you head for bed for another sleepless night. You don’t actually make it all the way there, however… a few steps into the courtyard has a familiar face at your side.
“I didn’t talk to Solas about you, but I talked to him about not talking to him about you,” Cole says, the words coming out all in one rush.
You rub your tired eyes as you attempt to parse his meaning. In the meantime, he looks mildly panicked. “Calm down, Cole. It’s alright.”
“You’re not upset?”
“No, no, of course not. It was kind of you to agree not to talk to him about me in the first place. But I should probably… I should explain. I was scared, but that doesn’t justify just giving you that kind of a blanket order. Do… Do you have time? I can try to… Try to clarify.” Of course, you’re exhausted and kind of want to just… lay down for a few hours. But it isn’t as though you’d actually sleep even if you did, and this is important. Especially if Cole actually told Solas he wasn’t supposed to talk about you. Might as well hand him a glowing, lyrium-runed sign that reads “SHE HAS A SECRET.”
You take Cole up on the roof of the inn. You’re not sure why, exactly, but it’s a good place to have some privacy and it relaxes you… likely due to your fond memories of Sera and that roof. You kick your shoes off before you climb. Cole doesn’t so much climb as he appears by the time you reach the top.
“Wish I could do that,” you say with a smile.
“You probably could. Solas can do it. He could show you. If you told him,” Cole says, a little pointedly.
You sigh. “Right. About that. Could you just maybe not tell anyone anything about my magic?”
“You don’t glow,” Cole says, frustrated. “Not all the time. But you can. Can they all turn it off? Why don’t they?”
“They could probably learn, if I showed them,” you say with a shrug. “Or maybe it’s just something I can do. I don’t know. Most mages are already caught by the Circle before they can learn control of their magic. The Circle wouldn’t teach them how to hide. And Tevinter mages, like Dorian, why would they ever want to? I bet witches can do it, and I’d be willing to bet Solas can too. How else could he have stayed hidden from the Templars his whole life?”
“Solas always glows,” Cole says firmly.
“Well, his secret’s out now. If I could, I’d walk around free as a bird, too.” Cole opens his mouth to interject. “But I’d rather have my personal freedom. You’ve heard the Inquisitor, haven’t you? He’s said, publicly, that he thinks the Circles should be reformed. And he’s rebuilding the Templars. I’m not going to be locked up in a Circle, Cole. I’m not. You… you can see what I’ve done to avoid it… can’t you?”
Cole is silent for a moment, then nods. “Stench of charred flesh, blood boils when burned, who knew? They can’t hurt me anymore.”
“Yes. That’s… probably another thing you shouldn’t tell anyone.”
“They’re not all like that, you know,” Cole adds softly.
“I know, Cole, don’t worry,” you say with a forced smile. “I’m just more careful now, that’s all. I trust you.”
“You should trust Solas,” Cole insists. “He would understand.”
“Cole, no offense, but I don’t even like that you know. The more who know, the more likely it is that something goes wrong. And we’ve both seen the only way I know how to get out of a situation like that.”
“If you tried that here, they’d kill you,” Cole says solemnly. You wince.
“Yeah… Trying to avoid that, tesoro.”
“Tesoro, tesorina, because if I say her name, that makes her real.”
You sigh. “That’s the sort of thing you can say. Just nothing about my magic, or anything tangentially related to it.”
“You are your magic. You gather the glow, gilded with glamour. Pluck the power like you’re playing, but a scheme or a song?”
“And we’re back into things you shouldn’t talk about territory,” you say dryly.
“I understand what you want; I think I understand why. I don’t like it.”
“Will you do it anyway?”
“…Yes.”
You must have been up there for hours, making sure Cole understood what not to say. You’re exhausted by the time you sink into bed, but you know sleep won’t come. At least Cole is taken care of. You’re confident he won’t say anything to accidentally expose you, although Maker knows he’ll probably say plenty of other interesting things you’d rather keep private. But, as you well know, if you let people know a few grudging secrets, they get so distracted with the sense of accomplishment that they don’t keep prying. Like Leliana. She thinks she has you pegged well enough because she discovered a few paltry secrets you’d rather no one knew. A technique an Orlesian will always fall for; they hoard secrets the way a magpie hoards shiny baubles.
You stare blankly up at the ceiling for a long while before giving up on sleep entirely. With a sigh, you open the tiny chest by the foot of your bed and pull out the unmarked book on spirits that Solas gave to you. If you can’t sleep, at least you can learn a little something about your new friend.
Just because the effects of your lack of sleep are purely physical now doesn’t mean they aren’t still a fucking pain. Sometime before dawn, you stumble into leggings and a loose shirt before staggering outside and towards the fighting ring. Iron Bull is there and waiting for you, more than willing to knock you into the ground until you wake up.
His training doesn’t help you sleep better, which was arguably his original intention, but the little adrenaline burst it gives you every morning can normally keep you going until lunch, at the very least. You are getting awfully tired of hitting the ground, however. Thanks to your pale skin, you tend to bruise easily and dramatically. Your back is probably just one giant blue and black splotch at this point, and it’ll be trouble if anyone sees it.
Your opportunity for revenge comes so quickly that you almost miss it; the chance to move fast enough (but not too fast) to get a drop on Iron Bull. He lunges just a little too hard, likely because your normal means of escape is jumping backwards. If you did that, he’d still have you. Instead, you dive to under one of his extended arms, rolling over your shoulder and coming quickly back onto your feet. You slide a little as your feet hit the ground and you reach your hand out to catch the training area’s fence, to prevent yourself from crashing into it. That’s when you see your chance.
Without pause, you grasp both hands onto the fence behind you, letting your momentum swing you into the air. Then, with every ounce of strength you have, you throw yourself back towards Bull, legs straight out. Two boot-clad feet connect firmly with Iron Bull’s spine and he topples, still slightly off balance from lunging forward. Down he goes with you on top of him, and you try desperately to maintain some balance. You manage to keep your legs underneath you as he falls, but stumble when he hits the ground. You windmill your arms dramatically but are unable to keep your balance, and fall forwards as well. An ankle tangles on one his large horns and you trip, smashing your face into the ground.
Well. You still made him fall over.
“Oof,” you hear him say as he reaches up to unhook your foot from his horn. “What did you hit me with?”
“One hundred pounds of pure flying elf,” you groan into the dirt. “Using myself as a projectile… not my most inspired moment.” You roll over onto your back, but you decide against getting up for the moment. Your legs feel like rubber.
“You know, I think the point of fighting is to incapacitate the other person more than yourself,” Iron Bull says as he stands. You note with no small amount of satisfaction that he’s wincing slightly.
“Oh please, Bull. If I ever got in a real fight with you I’d be dead in under ten seconds,” you say with a snort. “This is just me seeing how much I can kick a tame dog before it bites me.”
“…Did you just call me a dog? A tame dog?” He actually looks offended.
You sit up with a groan. “You’ve got teeth, but I’ve yet to see you use them,” you say with a cheeky grin.
“You asking for a demonstration?” Bull asks, crossing his arms.
“On me? Fuck no. I like having an unbroken spine.”
“You sure? It’s been days since you were last in the healing tent. They’re probably worried about you.”
You laugh, and find that laughing hurts a little. You run a hand over your rib cage and wince. Some new bruises for your growing collection, no doubt.
That’s when your eyes latch onto something out of place. Behind Bull, up on the walkway between the rotunda and outer walls of Skyhold. Seeing someone up there at all is something of an oddity… No one goes between the rotunda and Cullen’s office except for you and, on rare occasion, one of Leliana’s messengers. Everyone else avoids Solas’s rotunda like it’s got the Blight. That’s one of the reasons you like this practice area; it’s only visible from that walkway and, possibly, Cullen’s bedroom. Two very unpopulated areas.
How odd, then, that there should be someone up there. Someone watching the two of you spar, perhaps? A tiny little elf girl fighting a Qunari in the pre-dawn hours is something that would make anyone stop and look. But you have sharp eyes, and you recognize the man on the walkway. He’s dressed like a messenger, carrying papers; no doubt you’re intended to assume him one of Leliana’s men. And he is, yes. But you’ve never seen him delivering messages. Only up in Leliana’s little bird cage, taking orders and, possibly, delivering reports.
One of Leliana’s spies is watching you when you’re with the Iron Bull, possibly other times as well. The thought isn’t surprising, but it sours your stomach. Bull follows your glare upward and sees the man walking towards the rotunda with the fumbling urgency of Skyhold’s many messengers. If he mirrors any of your suspicions, he doesn’t voice them.
You stand and brush yourself off, unable to summon back your joviality from a moment earlier. No one enjoys being spied on, even if you would be concerned if Leliana didn’t have someone keeping an eye on Bull. Or yourself, you admit grudgingly. Especially both of you together, considering the nature of the documents she has you translating. But just because you can respect it from a professional standpoint doesn’t mean that you have to like it.
“Come on,” you say with a sigh. “Let’s get breakfast before I manage to break myself in half trying to knock you down again.”
Any thoughts you might have had about mentioning your suspicions about the man on the bridge are washed away by the time you sit down for breakfast. Both Thea and Varric are there, to your pleasant surprise.
“Thought you might need a reminder about our date this evening,” Varric says with a laugh when you express your surprise at seeing him up so early. “So. What’s up with this?” He gestures between you and Iron Bull with his fork. “I leave for two weeks, come back and everyone in the Herald’s Rest thinks you two are playing hide the happy. Then you show up for breakfast together?”
You choke into your oatmeal. “Maker’s breath, Varric! Hide the… He’s just teaching me how to throw a punch! We practice before breakfast!” You wipe your mouth off and cough a few times to get out the last of the inhaled oatmeal, trying to ignore the way Bull is chortling and Thea is grinning. You glare around the table.
“I’m just saying, you seem to have made quite the impact all of a sudden,” Varric says with a shit-eating grin. You regret that Bull is the only one you’re allowed to punch. “Even the kid was talking about you in the tavern last night. Mind you, when he does it’s more like mumbling creepily to himself and less like actual talking, and I’m only mostly sure that he was talking about you.”
“The kid?” you say with a frown. You don’t really want to know how much your so-called sex life is discussed by drunken humans in a bar… That’s a whirlwind of trouble whipping up right there.
“Cole,” Iron Bull supplements.
Cole was talking about you in the tavern? Of course he was.
“I didn’t even know the two of you were acquainted before he decided to give you a hug,” Varric says. “Most people don’t remember him.”
“I have a very good memory for faces,” you say into your oatmeal, although you’re quite certain that Cole could make you forget him if he really wanted to.
“You on the run from anything in particular? He was talking about hiding and secrets.”
“I doubt he was talking about me, Varric,” you say with a sigh. “It could have been anyone.” He opens his mouth to speak again, but you interrupt. “Why do you call him a kid?”
“Well, he is, y’know. He hasn’t been here for very long. He gets confused easily.”
You want to snap that he’s not a child, he’s a spirit. That Cole sees and understands things that would have a dwarf’s head exploding. That you don’t want to hear about Cole “confusing easily” from someone who’s never even seen how different the Fade is from the world of mortals. But that’s a rant better saved for Solas, who at the very least won’t look at you like you’re a lunatic. Or, better yet, no one, because there’s no better way to out yourself than rambling about spirits and the Fade.
Instead, all you say is, “You certainly like your nicknames, Varric.”
“I have a natural talent! Like with you, Stutter. Had you pegged from day one, didn’t I?”
“I don’t actually stutter that much,” you say with a scowl.
“Just when you’re nervous,” Varric says with a chuckle.
“No, just when she’s scared,” Iron Bull chips in. You glare at him. “What? C’mon, Ben-Hassrath, remember?”
“I try regularly to forget,” you say with a scowl.
“See, she didn’t start stuttering when you were talking about the two of us…”
“Hiding the happy?” Varric interjects.
“Yeah, that. But watch.”
You should have been expecting something. You really should have. The topic at hand, combined with your little barbed insult and you knocking him down during training… Of course he’d try something. Still, you’re caught off guard when he reaches across the table and snatches your jaw into his hand, angling your head upwards and, you can’t help but notice, exposing your neck. Blood rushes to your face as your eyes latch on to face and horns, you see yourself reflected in dark eyes. Let me go.
You react automatically, jabbing your fork into his arm, hard. He snaps his hand back with a laugh, rubbing where you stabbed him.
“Wh-wh-what th-the fuck, Bull!” you exclaim, hand rushing to your neck. You’re fine, of course… he hadn’t even grabbed hard enough to hurt. Still, your heart is pounding heart enough that you think it might break your bruised ribcage. Having your eyes dragged onto his like that…
“See?” Bull says to Varric with a grin.
Varric puts his hands up. “Don’t drag me into this! I didn’t ask for a demonstration, and I’m definitely not asking to be part of whatever she subjects you to in revenge.”
“You didn’t ask for a demonstration, but she did,” Bull says with something of a smirk.
“I believe that I specified not on me,” you say with a scowl. “For a Qunari, you’re shit at following instructions.”
“I’ll visit you when she puts you in the healing tent,” Varric interjects.
“That’s like foreplay for them, though,” Thea comments through a spoonful of oatmeal. With a sigh, you stand, your own food not even half finished.
“I think that’s my cue to go start my workday. I’ll see you at the bar tonight, Varric.” You begin to walk away, forcing yourself to ignore Thea’s “aw, now you scared her away” and Bull’s indignant “me?” Your heart is still pounding and you can still feel Bull’s hand firm on your chin. Right now, what you need is peace and quiet.
Knowing that subjecting yourself to Solas will do the absolute opposite of calming you down, you instead opt for soaking in the bathhouse. Too tired for judging glares, you sink into the cool waters of the elven baths rather than soaking your sore muscles in the hotter human bathhouse. Unfortunately, today, that doesn’t spare you from stares. It takes you a moment to realize why, but once you give yourself a once-over, you figure it out. Your arms, torso, and from the feel of it, your back, are all a mess of black and blue bruising. Looks like you’ll be wearing long sleeves to the rotunda today.
You cut your bath short and dress quickly. Between the knowledge that both Cole and, apparently, half the tavern were gossiping about you, and the memory of the spy on the walkway, you’re feeling hyper-exposed as you walk to the rotunda. Iron Bull’s little show of teeth isn’t helping things either… You can’t shake the feeling of being followed. Ghosts of the many people you’ve run from in your life glint at the edges of your vision.
You almost slam the rotunda door closed behind you. Only the sight of Solas at his desk keeps you from sinking onto the ground. Here, at least, you can feel a little more safe. No one comes in here. Not when Solas is here. Yes, the library and the spymaster are right up the stairs, but here, at least, you can have the illusion of privacy.
“You look fraught,” Solas comments as you slide into your desk chair.
“It’s been a fraught morning,” you say, and find your voice is shaking slightly.
“I admit, I’m pleasantly surprised to see you before lunch.”
In ordinary circumstances, you know you’d latch onto that ‘pleasantly’ and get a nice little rush of warmth, but you’re too jarred to focus on it. “Sundays are my day off,” you say distractedly, glancing at your papers and trying to remember what you’d been doing the night before.
“Off? You spent the majority of the day here, working,” Solas points out.
“No one’s stolen my Sunday afternoons yet. Might as well get some work done.”
“You have quite the work ethic,” Solas says, and you hear a “but” coming. You sigh.
“Perhaps, but in all honesty, it stems from my line of work. I’m accustomed to a few weeks of twelve to eighteen hour workdays as I rush to finish a project for a client, then months of a lot of nothing while I wait for someone else to hire me.” You shuffle a few more papers idly as you try to figure out what work you can do. More lettering, no doubt. Mm… You should try to figure out how requisition requests actually work.
“What did you do when you weren’t working, then?”
You glance over at Solas. He isn’t looking at you… He’s flipping idly through the first volume of The Botanical Compendium. Light conversation? That strikes you as odd; he was more than content to sit in silence in the past. Still, you could use a bit of a distraction.
“Any number of things. That much spare time let me indulge in several hobbies… once I was making enough to support myself, anyway. I even had an herb garden.” You sigh. “I miss my mule the most, but that garden is a close second.” You glance back towards Solas again. “What about you? What do you do for fun?”
“I enjoy exploring ancient ruins and battlefields. Places where the Veil is thin. In some places, spirits press so closely against the Veil that I can slip through with but a thought.”
Maker help you, his voice is like melted butter. Perhaps that’s why, somehow, you spend most of the morning talking with him, about everything and nothing. Idle conversation. Background noise, almost. But… Talking to Solas is actually a pleasant distraction in a way. Even an hour after Bull grabbed your face, you can still feel the imprint on your skin. His skin is rough, thick. Not like a human’s. You thought you had gotten used to it, but… Your hands are still shaking, only slightly, but still too much to get much accomplished when the number one skill required for your job is “really steady penmanship.”
It’s easy to relax around Solas, to forget that he’s prying more and more information out of you. He’d make an excellent spy… Which inclines you to believe he’s something similar. Aimée was like that, easy to talk to… And look how that ended.
Still, you find yourself continuing the conversation even as you begin lettering. It’s a dull, repetitive task, and as long as you’re careful, you can talk and listen while you write.
“And honestly, I appreciate the pay, but being unable to just make a trip into town to pick up the supplies I need is a bit of a chore,” you say with a sigh as you finish a sentence with a flourish. “Of course, I could hardly do that back home right now,” you add darkly. “It was quite on fire when I left.”
“You mentioned the conflict was what caused you to seek out Skyhold,” Solas comments. He’s reading while the two of you talk, something you’ve never quite mastered. “And that you saw more of the Templars than you did rogue mages. Was it they who set fire to your home?”
“Their crimson counterparts,” you say with a sigh. “Even Templars wouldn’t burn down a whole village of innocents… a house here and there, absolutely, if they thought there were mages hiding inside.”
“Speaking from experience?”
You make a face. “I lost a few neighbors that way, yes. I just kept my head down and gave the Templars any supplies they asked me for.” Including no small amount of poisoned goods. They can’t go around robbing people and not expect a few deathroot-laced loaves of bread, honestly.
“Did no mages go to you for help?”
“I…” You’re quiet for a few beats too long. “No. Lucky, I suppose…” Luckier still that you had endeared yourself to the villagers so well that none of them had taken the opportunity to share the rumors that you were a “witch” with the Templars. Your hand had been on your dagger the whole time those Templars had been in your house. “Perhaps I’m just not very approachable,” you say with a forced chuckle.
“Says the woman who’s made friends with half of Skyhold in two weeks?”
“Three weeks, and hardly all of Skyhold, but I acknowledge your point.” A low grumble in your stomach reminds you that you barely ate any breakfast. It must be getting on towards lunch. “I miss my water clock,” you say with a sigh. “I hate having to guess the time based on how much candle I’ve burned through.”
“Wondering if it’s time for lunch?” Solas asks, still not looking up from his book. “I was wondering that myself.”
That’s your cue. You finish the line you’re working on and stand up, stretching stiff muscles. Your back and ass are absolutely killing you from the combination of bruises and sitting. It’ll do you good to walk around some.
The Great Hall is bustling when you make your way through it… no doubt in response to the return of the Inquisitor. You’re content to ignore it, although you do walk a bit more slowly than usual, ears pricked for any interesting gossip. Skyhold is never without gossiping nobles of one kind or another.
“I’m surprised the Inquisition has such a right.”
“It’s not the first time he’s passed judgment.”
“I was here for the first… he recruited some Tevinter thug. Hardly justice.”
Oh ho, what’s this now?
“All of these people are gathering just to watch? That seems… morbid.”
“Wait until you see the crowd if he actually decides on public execution.”
“But the Inquisitor isn’t even here yet!”
Oh, now this is something. You dart down the stairs and gather Solas’s food leisurely while you gather more gossip in the kitchens. Sure enough, they’re abuzz with the news as well.
“It’s about time. He’s been rotting down there long enough, taking up good food that could be going to our soldiers.”
“Oh please, nothing about what we send to the prisons could be called ‘good.’”
“Still food, innit? We haven’t so much to spare.”
“I heard the Inquisitor’s going to execute him.”
“How could you possibly know that? The trial hasn’t even started.”
Maker, how did you miss hearing about this in the baths? Well, you suppose you might have been the more interesting gossip there, considering how bruised up you’d been. Since you’re taking your time anyway, you make extra sure to tailor Solas’s meal to what you know of his preferences and grab some extra fruit tarts for good measure. If anyone will know what the Inquisitor is up to, it’s Solas. Perhaps you can lure some gossip out of him, for once, since you spent the whole morning idly gabbing about yourself.
Coming up through the busy Great Hall with a tray loaded to the tipping point with food makes you begin considering mapping alternative routes to the rotunda, but you manage to get there without dropping anything. The tray is pushing painfully into a bruised part of your arm, however. You quickly unload the food onto Solas’s desk, your left arm trembling as weight pushes into your bruise. Ouch. That you manage to unload it all without dropping anything is a testament to your Orlesian trainers. Although if they had seen the tremor in your arm, you would have gotten a lash across the knuckles to be sure.
“Solas, there’s something going on in the Great Hall,” you say, pulling up a stool to dine with him at his desk. The fact that he doesn’t seem to mind you doing so gives you a slight flush of pride. You may not have gotten his knowledge out of him yet, but you’ve done a fine job endearing yourself to the prickly elf. “Do you know anything about it?”
“Mm, the Inquisitor will be publicly sentencing Knight-Captain Denam this afternoon,” Solas says, sounding patently disinterested. “Have you had much opportunity to read the book I gave you?”
“A Knight-Captain?” you exclaim. A little rudely, in retrospect. Solas raises an eyebrow, and you clear your throat. “Erm, I mean… Yes, Solas, I was reading it just last night. But, um… He’s judging a Templar? I thought they were the Inquisition’s allies.”
“This particular Templar is somewhat responsible for the state of the Templar Order,” Solas says with a sigh. “Knight-Captain Denam helped indoctrinate the Templars with red lyrium. He was captured some time ago… I believe the Inquisitor’s intent was to let him stew.”
You shudder. You saw a little bit of that red lyrium, in your travels, and got too many close looks at what it did to the Templars. You may not feel pity for them, but you do feel fear. Regular lyrium has a delicious glow to it that you can barely ever resist, but the red stuff… Now that’s scary. What it did to the Templars was scarier.
“Are you planning on watching the proceedings?” you inquire after taking moment to get over your sudden-onset heebie-jeebies.
“Not particularly, no. But I judge from your curiosity that you are?”
“Maybe from the balcony… It’s getting awfully crowded in there, and the Inquisitor isn’t even present yet. It would be something to see that throne in use… it’s awfully gaudy. Or perhaps I shouldn’t say that about the Herald of Andraste’s throne?” you add with a chuckle.
“You seem Andrastian. Do you believe him to be the Herald?” Solas asks. You have to refrain from glaring at him; the man is always turning the conversation back onto you.
“I believe that’s the sort of question that could get me into trouble, Solas. Didn’t you once tell me to keep my clever tongue out of mischief?”
“You didn’t take my advice then. Why start now?” Solas says with the smallest of smirks, half-hidden behind his cup.
“Perhaps I’ve only now begun to appreciate your wisdom, hahren,” you snort. “After all the trouble I’ve dragged myself into, it seems wise to try and avoid the obvious traps.”
“Now you accuse me of attempting to trap you?” Solas asks, fake hurt dripping from his voice, so over the top that your snort turns into full-fledged laughter, echoing up the tower and back down again.
“Yes, clearly your motives in asking all these questions are completely pure,” you say after you regain the ability to talk. “You’re as transparent as swamp water, Solas. But… No, I don’t believe the Inquisitor is divine. Not in the way some people think. I don’t know what that mark on his hand is, or how he can seal rifts, but I don’t think he’s a god. Besides,” you cast your eyes towards the door to ensure you don’t have one of Leliana’s spies watching you again. “Men with power affect the world far more than gods do, these days.”