Perseverance
You know, on some level, that the lack of sleep will get to you after a while. The immediate concern is passed thanks to your lucky little escape into the woods, but the physical effects of being unable to properly rest will weigh you down over time. A few hours of blessed rest in the woods, stolen glimpses of the Fade thanks to Solas’s enchanted blanket… It’s not enough to compensate for over a month of self-inflicted insomnia.
You try to remember the longest you’ve gone with your aura wrapped up inside of you all day and all night. Surely you’ve gone for months before… Yes, when you had to stay at the Circle in Montsimmard to finish translating that Tevinter tome on obscure magical techniques. That was what… two months… ten weeks… Something like that? Admittedly, the last half of that book was kind of a blur.
Either way, it was longer than now, and you hadn’t gotten any relief for the entire time. And you had been surrounded by mages and Templars all day and all night. That was a hellish situation. You never would have put yourself in it if you hadn’t needed to get your hands on that damn book. Compared to that, life in Skyhold is a vacation. At least that’s what you tell yourself while you get repeatedly knocked around by a Qunari.
“Distracted fantasizing about your long-lost lover, returned from the war?” Iron Bull says with a smirk around the sixteenth time you fall over.
“Oh, shut up,” you groan into the dirt, allowing yourself to lie still for a moment longer before pushing yourself off of the ground. “You’ll start another rumor. I can’t even keep track with all the people I’m supposed to be sleeping with, at this point.”
“Well, I heard one of the kitchen girls refer to Solas as your ‘Master’; that was pretty interesting.”
“They think I’m his servant… A handmaiden of sorts,” you explain as you dust yourself off a bit before quickly darting forward to strike at Bull, hoping to catch him off guard. You fail, of course, but you feel like it was a good effort.
“I think if I asked four people what you actually do for the Inquisition, I’d get four different answers,” Bull says as he blocks your strikes; you barely manage to get your hand out fast enough to avoid being grabbed.
“And none of them would have ever asked me,” you reply as you try to circle around him. “It’s not my fault people have a tendency to make erroneous assumptions about me. They see an elf carrying food; they think maid. They see an elf delivering messages; they think messenger. Doesn’t matter if I’m eating the food or if I wrote the message.”
“See, that kind of attitude is exactly why you’d make a good spy.” You jump backwards to avoid a lunge, then resist the temptation to scramble up his over-extended arm like… what was it? A rabid squirrel. Instead, you duck under it to deliver a jab to Bull’s armpit; one of your few successful hits of the morning.
“Being unremarkable I get, but surely it takes more than that to be a spy,” you say with a snort, skipping back away from him. “Otherwise everyone would be signing up.”
“Well, you’re not a bad liar,” Iron Bull muses, hooking a foot out in an attempt to trip you. You jump over it.
“If I said ‘I’m a terrible liar,’ convincingly, that wouldn’t do much good, would it?” You shake your head. “I’m not a good liar, though. I’m good at keeping my mouth shut. There’s a difference.”
“You’re right. Both are important for a spy, though.”
“Are you trying to recruit me, Bull?” you ask sardonically. “I’ve had quite enough of that for one lifetime, thanks.”
“To the Qun? Nah. Although if you’re interested in joining the Chargers, I bet Krem would be overjoyed.”
That makes you laugh, right in the middle of a punch. He takes advantage of your momentary distraction to grab your arm. “Ugh… Cheating,” you grunt as you try to twist your arm away. “Krem would disapprove.”
You’re split between trying to get your arm free and keeping him from grappling you any further. “It works on him, too,” Bull comments. “Yesterday, Dalish brought you up in training and he got so flustered she managed to trip him.”
You stomp on Bull’s foot, hard. It’s more of a full-bodied jump, but it does the trick. His grip loosens just enough for you to wrench your arm out of his grip. “Good job with those orphans, by the way,” he adds.
He hadn’t mentioned your missed practices, which you appreciate. Some things just take priority. “Someone had to do it,” is all you really have to say on the matter.
After a few more minutes of sparring punctuated with only grunts and the brutal thud of fists striking flesh, Iron Bull strikes up conversation yet again. If he’s trying to distract you, it’s working.
“Now that Solas is back, looks like I’ll have some competition.”
You don’t even try to read the meaning of that one; that’s what he wants you to do. Instead, you aim a blow just below his sternum. He knocks your arm to the side at the last moment. Damn, so close.
“I mean, he’s got his own magical bath tub and everything. Now you can just go to his room when you want a hot bath.”
There’s a delayed reaction caused by your train of thought skipping to Solas’s room, then to Solas’s bath, then to Solas in the bath. Your mind stutters and then stops functioning entirely for a moment, and you trip, nearly falling straight into Bull. He steps out of the way and you wind up flat on the ground instead. You’re almost grateful; a face smashed into the ground is preferable to a face smashed into a person, particularly a shirtless person.
“I’d say you’ve fallen down enough for one day,” he says with a laugh as you push yourself out of the dirt. “Breakfast?”
“You go on ahead,” you say, wiping off your face. “I’ve got something I need to take care of first.”
You aren’t bringing Solas his breakfast every day. That is just… just not a thing you’re going to do. So rather than putting a dish together in the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, you pull Celia to the side.
“Oh, here to get your master’s breakfast?” she asks. “We haven’t put it together quite yet…”
“Say, Celia… How much do they pay you for a month’s work here? A few silver? I can’t imagine it’s much… after all, you live here, eat here.” You ignore the confusion on her face and slip two silvers into her hand. Her eyes widen; she opens her mouth to protest, but you cut her off. “Two silver for every week you deliver Solas’ breakfast to him.”
“How can y-“
“One is for delivering it, the other one is for not asking why and not telling anyone,” you say pointedly.
“This is kind of—“
“How much could you do with an extra eight silver every month, Celia?”
You can almost see the calculations behind her eyes. “Well… But… How can you afford…?”
“I’m really good at Wicked Grace.”
“I… I suppose…”
“Consider it a favor, Celia,” you say, giving her a pat on the shoulder. “I like to have my mornings free.”
A bit of understanding dawns on her face, her mouth forms into an “o” shape. Whatever she thinks she’s figured out, you’re more than willing to let her assume it’s correct. She already thinks you’re in love with your boss; it’s not as if her opinion of you can get much lower.
“I’ll still be getting his lunches and dinners,” you assure her. “This is just for breakfast. Thanks, Celia.”
With one of the things you’d been most worried about off your chest, you head towards the mess. It will be good to have at least one meal a day with your friends; they’d no doubt gotten used to your presence at meals over the past few weeks.
Friends… You were acquiring quite a few of those. You don’t trust most of them as far as you can throw them, of course, but that’s hardly a requirement for friendship. Sera, Solas, Cole, Varric, even Iron Bull… if any one of them died, you’d be devastated. It’s not something you like to think about, given that this is war and every last one of them is something akin to a soldier. Even Sera, apparently. Even Cole. Although, admittedly, Cole should be very difficult to kill. Can he be killed? What would happen if he got stabbed? Would he just… go back to the Fade?
You make a mental note to ask Solas as you sit down to breakfast. Despite your attempts to put Solas and Cole out of your mind, Thea brings one of them up almost immediately.
“So, your ‘special friend’ is back from the Mire, eh?”
“Who, Cole?” you ask, startled.
“What? I meant that Solas! Jus’ how many men d’you consider special? Who’s this Cole, then?” Thea asks, looking joyfully scandalized.
“Well, he’s certainly special,” Iron Bull says with a snort. “But if she’s doing anything like that with him, I’d be amazed. Although if anyone could manage it…”
“Oh, shut up, Bull,” you say through gritted teeth. “My reputation doesn’t need any help. Cole is just an… agent, Thea. Solas introduced us; he’s a very unique person; certainly deserving of the descriptor ‘special.’”
“Mmhmm,” she hums, with a world of meaning behind that little sound. She turns to Iron Bull and pats him rather sympathetically on the hand. “I’m still rootin’ for ya, Iron Bull.”
You find that you can’t roll your eyes with the force required for such a ridiculous sentiment. “Don’t let Krem hear you say that, poor guy might cry,” Bull says with a smirk. You decide it’s time to just focus on your oatmeal and ignore your two “friends.”
Nothing can dampen your mood on Sunday mornings, not even Thea and Bull teaming up to tease you. You feel light as air as soon as you step into the stables, free as a bird when you climb up onto Revas, despite the fact you’re still riding in a fairly small area.
You’re even starting to learn to tolerate Belassan better… The idea of learning from a Dalish will never stop chafing you, but Belassan himself is friendly to a level that’s almost frightening in its determination. Thinking about it, being an ex-Dalish elf has to have some serious drawbacks. Those vallaslin don’t exactly wash off, after all, and humans hate the Dalish more than they hate regular elves.
You’re curious about what caused him to leave the Dalish, but you don’t pry; it would be hypocritical if you did, really. You certainly aren’t jumping to fill him in on your history, with the Dalish or otherwise. Instead, both of you focus on your riding.
“Harts don’t run like horses,” Belassan is informing you as Revas trots around the corral. You’ve gotten comfortable enough with his gait that you aren’t in danger of falling off, at least. “See how high he’s lifting his front legs? Harts will walk, trot, and gallop, but it doesn’t feel like a horse.”
“I wouldn’t know,” you say, voice shaking from how Revas’ trot is bouncing you. “I’ve never ridden a horse.”
“Really? You’re a bit of a natural at this, then,” Belassan says, sounding pleased.
“I’ve been on a mule,” you mutter to yourself. You suppose there’s not honestly much overlap between a mule and a hart, though.
“Now, we’re going to try getting him to gallop for you, but watch out. Once Revas gets going, he has a tendency to want to bound.”
“Bound?” you repeat nervously.
“It’s exactly what it sounds like. It’s a fourth gait that harts have that you’ll definitely never see a horse doing.”
“Oh, Maker…”
“Alright, just give him a bit of a smack on the rump, there you go.”
You really don’t have anything with which to compare Revas’s energetic gallop, but every time your ass leaves the saddle, the whipping wind leaves a taste like freedom in your mouth. Belassan must see something familiar sparkling in your eyes when you finally slow Revas down, because when you meet his gaze, he grins.
“You’ve got a taste for it now,” he says with a cheeky grin. “The library’ll never see hide nor hair of you again.”
You laugh, an excited, genuine sound that almost surprises you. “I’ve still got a job to do, Belassan. Even if I am tempted to start taking more mornings off. You know… We really should go for a ride sometime, you and me. Whenever I ride with others, they take horses.” You’re surprised to find that you honestly mean it. Belassan seems a little surprised, too.
“Yeah, I… I’d like that. I mean, it would be good. For the harts. They never get to go out together.”
You grin as you slide off of Revas—another thing you’re getting better at. “Two elves riding through the forest on harts? Let’s not invite Sera… she might explode.” You both laugh, and although you suspect you should feel bad for having a laugh at Sera’s expense, you really don’t. You’re sure she’s had a few at yours.
“By the way,” Belassan comments while you’re dragging off Revas’s saddle and hanging it up where it belongs. “I wanted to thank you for all your help here, with the horses for the refugees. It was pretty chaotic; we needed all the help we could get.”
“Those horses needed all the help they could get,” you say with a snort. “It’s funny to think of the Inquisition riding around on some of those farm horses, now that you’ve got Horsemaster Dennet’s finest.”
“And… for helping out the orphans,” he adds, quietly.
You pause. “That’s really gotten around, huh…” You grab a brush and begin to rub Revas down, Belassan is nice enough to give you some quiet to think in. You knew your antics with the elven children would make its rounds, but you’re surprised it’s gotten you more gratitude than trouble, so far. But honestly, between the feathers you ruffled there and your repeated trips to the “human” baths, there has to be some resentment brewing, somewhere.
When was it, exactly, that you’d gone from “keeping your head down” to “purposefully starting trouble?” Well, you’re known now; there’s no taking that back. All you can really do is keep building up your connections… But perhaps you should focus more on the little people… More names and faces amongst the maids and kitchen staff, maybe. If you’re becoming known for helping elven orphans, perhaps you can leverage that with the elves amongst Skyhold’s workers, and…
Your train of thought is interrupted by Revas licking at your ear. It tickles, and you shake your head away from him with a grin. “I’ll stop by sometime for that ride, Belassan,” you say as you give Revas a final pat. It’s getting to be time to leave. “Don’t forget.”
You change tunics before swinging by the kitchen to pick up Solas’s (and your) lunch. It seems the polite thing to do; the tunic you had been wearing was covered in dirt, fur, and hart slobber. Celia avoids eye contact with you when you come to pick up lunch. You wonder if it’s lingering awkwardness from the bribe you gave her, or guilt. She had delivered Solas’s breakfast, hadn’t she? You were in for a world of scorn if he’d gone unfed.
“Ah, there you are,” Solas says when you enter the rotunda with a heavy tray of food. “Getting into trouble again?”
“Something like that,” you say with some effort as you balance the tray on one hand while unloading it. “On Sunday mornings, Belassan… you might know him, he’s the Dalish—or ex-Dalish, I suppose—who handles the harts in the stables… He’s teaching me how to ride.”
“You’re certainly picking up teachers quickly,” Solas quips as you finish unloading the tray and sit down on a conveniently placed stool—had he left it there for you?
“I really am,” you agree. But not the one you really want, unfortunately. It’s a shame he’s not more vulnerable to peer pressure; you’re the hot new thing, apparently.
“So you were off riding harts all morning? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised… You certainly smell like you’ve been rolling in hay.”
You flush bright red, judging from the sensation of heat radiating from your face. It seems as though simply changing your tunic was insufficient. You scoot a little bit further away from Solas, not wanting to spoil his appetite. “Ah… Y-yes.” You clear your throat. “In all honesty, I’m curious as to where and how the Inquisition picked up a Dalish, or even ex-Dalish elf.”
“He took note of a hart while some of Leliana’s men were bringing it in,” Solas says, glancing up as if to help him remember. “As I recall, he more or less followed it back to Skyhold, then offered his services. The Inquisition isn’t in the practice of turning away help, no matter what the form it takes.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” you say between bites of biscuit.
“Is there a particular reason you’ve taken to riding harts?” Solas asks, looking genuinely curious. You swallow with some difficulty. You’ll be thinking about that face, eyes slightly narrowed, head tilted minutely to the side, for quite a while, you suspect. Curiosity is a very good look on Solas.
You clear your throat and attempt to regulate your thudding heartbeat. “It was Bull’s idea, honestly… Well, sort of. He took me to the stables, and, well… Revas and I hit it off. That’s the hart,” you add, unnecessarily. After all, Solas was the one who named Revas, according to Belassan. “One thing just sort of led to another.”
Solas lets out a short chuckle. You’re suddenly aware of how dry your throat is; you down some wine to try and moisten it… and distract yourself. “That seems to happen to you quite a lot.”
“Blame Iron Bull and Sera,” you say with a sigh. “It always comes back to one of those two, eventually.”
“Oh? Which one of them persuaded you to adopt two dozen orphans?” Solas asks, eyeing you over the rim of his cup as he sips his own wine.
“Fair enough,” you say with a wince. “I suppose I make enough trouble for myself without any assistance.”
“I’ve noticed,” Solas begins, pausing as he sets down his glass, “that you seem to think your charity is something to be punished.”
“I’ve noticed that you have a tendency to ask questions without actually asking any questions,” you quip back smartly. Solas just raises an eyebrow. You sigh. “I stepped on no small amount of toes in a very short period of time. I bullied, I begged, I lied, I stole. I housed nearly thirty strangers directly underneath the Spymaster, in a space that’s not even mine to use. To say I over-reached would be a ridiculous understatement. And the longer I go without any backlash, the more convinced I am it’s going to be ugly when it happens.”
“Is that experience talking?”
“Yes,” you say bluntly. “Taking care of the lowest dregs of society is only something people consider admirable for as long as it doesn’t actually affect them.”
Solas quiets after you say that, and you hope that the discussion is over. You hardly want to get into “charity” you’ve given in the past. If the orphans get to where they’re going and your blackmail works without backfiring, this will doubtless be your most successful endeavor in the name of others.
After the two of you finish lunch, you gather up the dishes and bring them back to the kitchen. Before returning to the rotunda, however, you swing by the baths—the human baths. If you’re going to be making a nuisance of yourself, might as well do it in a way that benefits you, as well. Despite Bull’s opinion on the matter, you have no desire to use anyone’s private bath. That doesn’t mean you enjoy a cold bath either, however. The “human” bathhouse is a good compromise. Plus, you love the smell of indignant shemlen in the morning.
You return the rotunda, hair still damp and in fresh clothes, but if Solas notices that you took a bath, he doesn’t comment on it. You just hope you’re a little less offensive to the nose now. You’ll have to make a point of bathing after your morning excursions with Bull. It didn’t matter as much when you were working alone, but you certainly don’t want to fill Solas’s rotunda with the smell of your sweat while he’s trying to work.
You get right to work on your tome, but, ridiculously, after two weeks missing his presence in the rotunda, now that he’s here you find you’re having trouble focusing on your work. Part of that is because he’s not just holding still at his desk; he’s walking around the room. A quick glance behind you has you thinking that he’s probably laying down wards or runes of some kind, but you can’t tell any more without going up and examining it, which is possibly the single stupidest thing you could do. So you try to focus on your work. And you fail.
Every time he walks by you, you can practically taste his aura, likely because he’s actively casting. You’re reminded sharply of your repeated fantasies about how nice his magic felt on your sore back, or strengthening your wrist. You can’t help thinking about how much you spent yourself… Drained yourself nearly dry, as a matter of fact, and you’re reacting to the tingle of Solas’s magic in the air like a hungry Mabari. You do manage to refrain from literally drooling, at least. And you keep your aura firmly in its place. It’s not easy; every time Solas’s energy brushes up against your skin, your aura surges in that direction, and you have to wrestle it back down into your core.
All in all, it’s not a very conducive work environment.
Eventually he gets whatever wards or runes he was working on completed and starts doing something in the middle of the room. You can’t tell from here, and you do your best to ignore it… At least, possibly thanks to the wards, his aura is no longer poking you in the back. You manage to get some work done, but you quickly become frustrated again, and this has nothing to do with Solas. You need more resources. With a sigh, you set down your book and head up to the library.
You wave a greeting to Dorian, but you make a beeline for Thea. She looks a little surprised.
“Thea, does the library have any resources on dragons?” you ask with a distracted frown.
“For your work, huh? Well, sorry to say we haven’t got much… I think I’ve got a bestiary where dragonlings are mentioned. That’s about it,” she says apologetically.
You sigh. “I suppose that’s why the Inquisitor is trying to obtain a Draconologist. Damn.”
“Problems?”
“Minor frustrations, really. I’m not the best person for this job; I’d like to supplement my translation with other works, just to make sure I’ve got the details right. I know I’ve seen some Nevarran and Orlesian tomes that would be of use, but I’ve no way of getting them, out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“You could always put in a requisition order?” Thea suggests. “It can take them a while to actually fill, since books are pretty low on the priority list, but…”
“I suppose,” you say with a sigh. “It’s better than doing nothing. Thank you, Thea.”
Of course, that does nothing to help you now. With no small amount of frustration, you head back downstairs and try to work on the pages you’re most confident in. You can organize them later.
Dinner time comes too soon, but in a way, you’re almost relieved for the break. Solas has been working on whatever spell he’s doing for hours. He looks like he’s asleep in his chair, although you suspect he’s actually meditating… Who could fall asleep sitting up like that? You’re not sure if you should disturb him by fetching dinner, but surely that would happen when the kitchen workers brought his meals? In any case, if you bring him an evening meal and he starts letting it get cold, you’ll be more than happy to eat it for him.
Solas stirs from his… meditation, or sleep, or whatever, when you return with dinner. Almost a pity; seems you won’t be getting to eat two meals after all. It would be worth it for the look on his face upon realizing what you’d done. Ah well. You stop short of the wards he placed; you have an excuse for noticing them this time. They glow. Solas does… something… with his hands and the floor ceases its runic glowing. You step forward, cautiously, your aura just beneath the skin of your feet. You don’t feel anything… whatever magic he was using is gone, or at least suppressed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was taunting your curiosity.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” you say as you step up next to his desk. “But you seem to appreciate timely meals.”
“I wasn’t getting anywhere,” Solas says, and he sounds mildly frustrated. Whatever he was doing, then, didn’t go as planned.
“I’d ask what you were doing, but I doubt I’d understand,” you say with forced modesty. Although it might be as much honesty as modesty… It’s not as though you’ve had a formal education. Or any kind of education, really.
“Oh? You know more about magic than the average person, certainly.”
You snort as you walk away from his desk. This time you place your own plates on the table near the couch. Let him think it superstition at being so near recently cast magic, if he wishes. In reality, you just want a bit of space. “How difficult is that, really? What the average person knows about magic could fill a thimble. Less if you strained out the blatant falsehoods.”
“Admittedly, this is true,” Solas agrees. “But you do seem to have a thirst for learning.”
“I always have,” you say with a nod. “Since I was a child. That’s why I wound up translating Qunlat instead of… Maker, whatever they normally use child slaves for in Tevinter. I don’t really like thinking about it.” Not that your intelligence spared you from all of the unpleasantries of being a young girl who happens to be a slave in a war zone. Just… enough of them.
“Even now,” Solas continues, and you realize he’s going somewhere specific with this. “You learn lockpicking from Sera, riding from Belassan… and likely more. You and Iron Bull, for instance, seem rather more friendly than when I left.”
When had he seen…? This morning? It had to be, during practice or breakfast. But, no, surely he was still abed at that hour? You realize, belatedly, that you’ve been quiet for too long. “Um…” Oh… Maker, no, surely he hadn’t heard any of the rumors?! Your dignity can’t take it if he thinks you’ve been… That you and Iron Bull are… You clear your throat. “The Iron Bull has been teaching me as well,” you say, a little stiffly. “How to defend myself should the need arise. This is a war… it seems it will come up sooner than later.”
“It seems,” Solas says with a thin smile. “That there is nothing you’re uninterested in learning. Where do you find time for it all?”
“The Iron Bull and I practice in the mornings, before breakfast. I ride Revas on Sunday mornings. Sera… Sera kidnaps me on an irregular basis.” You pause. “…Solas, if you’re concerned that this is interfering with my work, I believe you’ll find I’m still moving forward at a—“
“I’m not concerned. Merely impressed.”
He’s probably lying, but you still feel a rush of heat and a twinge of pride.
“I believe the Inquisition will be good for you, Emma. There are many people here who can teach you many things.”
“Mmm… It can be difficult to convince people to part with their hard-earned knowledge,” you say pointedly.
“True. Fortunately, you don’t give up easily.”