Fitting In
You awaken to Thea’s face looming over you, and you can’t even summon up the energy to be surprised.
“Mornin’, sunshine!” she says cheerfully. You glance out the narrow window. Sunshine is one thing particularly lacking; it’s drearily overcast and it looks horribly cold. You suppose that’s simply what living in the Frostback Mountains gets you. “Here, supplies for the new recruits are making their rounds. I guessed your size.” She plops down a small stack of clothing onto your bed. You smile, perhaps the first genuine one since you arrived at Skyhold.
“Thank you, Thea… I’ve been wearing these clothes for far too long. I appreciate it, truly.”
She waves her hand at you, dismissively. “It weren’t nothin’. C’mon, get dressed, we’ll head to the mess together.” She exits to give you a bit of privacy, and you shed your dirty clothes gleefully. The new outfits are nothing special, simple cotton and lambswool, but they are clean, and that in and of itself is a blessing. You’re elated to find even smalls and breastbands, as you’ve been without both for quite some time.
You dress yourself and exit the room, then head to the mess with Thea, letting her steady stream of prattling wash over you. It’s strangely soothing. Breakfast goes without interruption, despite your fears that Iron Bull will appear around every corner. You even manage to get quite a bit of work done on the manuscript before your first stupid interruption of the day.
“Hello, Emma darling! How are you this fine morning?”
You chew on your bottom lip, finish the sentence you were working on, and then look up at the painfully cheerful face of the human who had introduced himself as Dorian.
“I am fine, ser, thank you for asking. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“I told you, call me Dorian.” He swipes a paper of your desk, examining it. “You have very neat handwriting.”
“I am a scribe, ser. That is, very literally, my job.”
“You’re fast at this, too,” he adds, ignoring you. “Leliana thought we were going to have to send this off.”
“Leliana?”
“Red hair, Orlesian accent, terrifying stare?”
“Oh, yes. We spoke only briefly. Well, I’m pleased to be of use. I was half convinced I’d be digging latrines and doing laundry.”
“If so, why did you come?” Dorian asks, and something in his voice makes you believe he’s genuinely curious. You smile thinly.
“I could ask you the same question, ser. But I suspect I’m here for the same reason as everyone else… to help, and to be safe.”
“Things are quite bad out there, aren’t they?” His voice is quiet.
You nod. “Things were already chaotic, with the Templars and mages going at it. Then the sky tore open. I avoided the worst of the fighting, thought I could bunker down somewhere and stay out of trouble’s way. Then Templars started growing crystals out of my neighbors, and I decided it was time to leave.”
“How did you escape?”
Irritation creeps back into you. What a stupid question. How does anyone escape? You ran away. “Ask your Qunari friend,” you say, cold but polite. “I believe he’s making a study on the subject.”
Dorian winces, then holds up his hand in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll let you get back to work, then. Try not to take all the questions the wrong way, though. Leliana investigates everyone who walks through the gates, and Iron Bull has a thing for redheads.”
You don’t take it as an insult, not really, but it is a danger. They’re probably not looking to keep people like you, specifically, out, but you don’t like being looked into on principle. If that “Leliana” is interested in you for translating more sensitive material, which you suspect she is, she’ll be going through your past with a fine-toothed comb. Not that there’s a great deal of past for her to dig through. Most of the people who could have told her about you were dead now. You try to think of anything she might come across that could give you away as you continue your work with the dragon manuscript.
“Alright, Emma, let’s—Wait, have you been there all day?” Ah, it’s Thea again. You glance up from your growing stack of papers.
“Hmm? More or less. Why?”
“Didn’t you eat lunch?”
There are no windows in the tower for you to glance out of. You stretch your fingers, stiff with writing and cold. “If you’re asking me, it must be suppertime, so I suppose the answer is no, I did not.”
Thea shakes her head, slowly. “I swear, Emma. You’re not on the road anymore; you can eat three square meals a day! It’s the best part about being here.”
“I think the walls are the best part,” you say dryly. “Are you heading to the mess?”
“Yes, and so are you! You’re certainly not skipping two meals!”
“Alright, alright… Let me just…”
“And put that book away for the night. Some of the other girls and me are going to the bar. You should come.”
You pause, considering. You would much prefer to stay in the library until late again, especially since there was at least one person waiting eagerly for the translation. But people trust you after you get drunk with them. You’d already decided to make friends. Fitting in is more important than the manuscript, at least for now. You nod. “Alright, let me just put it away upstairs.”
Dinner passes, glorious and without interruption, and you’re beginning to think that you’re in the clear with regards to Iron Bull, at least for now. You and Thea meet up with a few other women, who are introduced to you and whose names you make a passing effort to remember, and head over to the pub. You still have no idea why Skyhold has a pub, but it seems like it does quite a lot for morale. It’s full of song and drink, drunken soldiers and cheerful handymen mingling together. You suppose there’s not anything else to do up here. There’s hardly a town nearby to visit.
The girls pick out a table, and you all settle into your ale. In such a group, it’s easy to remain quiet without it being noticed, and you listen as the women around you trade stories with no small amount of enjoyment. It’s nice to be able to just sit back, relax with a mug of ale, and—
“Well, hello, ladies!” You had been leaning your chair back slightly, and you nearly lose your balance out of shock. You manage to tilt forward instead of backwards, the legs of the chair banging down onto tavern floor.
What is he doing here? You don’t care much for the cheerful tittering of the women at the table, particularly Thea. You try to allow them to draw Iron Bull’s attention and simply nurse your mug, but when you risk a glance, you find he’s looking at you. To your growing dread, he pulls up a chair and joins in chattering with the women. The women are delighted, because deviancy is in vogue right now, apparently. You run a hand over your forehead. This is what being social gets you! You could be in the library with an ancient dragon tome right now, damnit!
“So, Emma,” his voice inevitably comes. You manage to avoid wincing. “How’s life in Skyhold treating you?”
“She skipped lunch today, she was so engrossed in that book they’ve got her working on,” comments Thea, her voice scolding like a nagging mother.
“I’m doing quite well, s… Iron Bull.” It seems more awkward, calling him by name in mixed company. “Thea was nice enough to bring me new clothing this morning.” You grace her with a smile, and she gently pushes against your arm, bashfully.
The conversation continues naturally, for which you’re grateful. If Iron Bull is here for any reasons involving you, he’s at the very least not interrogating you. You’re almost startled when Thea asks you a question, rather than him.
“So, your accent. You’re Ferelden?” she says, red-faced and waist-deep into her fifth ale. With the company of Iron Bull and few of the other “Chargers”—turns out he is a mercenary—it seems the ladies are staying later than they had intended.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, I am.” There’s an awkward pause as Thea and a few of the others look at you expectantly. You roll your eyes, knowing where this is going. “I was from an alienage in Denerim.” That was safe enough, and the almost the truth.
“Oh! Were you in Denerim for the Blight?” Thea said, a hand ghosting over her mouth.
“Not technically. Not for any of the fighting, or anything.”
“Wait, wasn’t the Hero from the Denerim alienage? Did you know her?”
There’s no reason to lie about this, and you’re too drunk to want to deny it. “Yeah. Sort of. I was pretty young, but I remember her ‘wedding day.’”
“The Hero was married?”
“No,” you say bluntly. “She was to be married. Her and her cousin. The Bann’s son broke up the wedding and kidnapped them both. Then she was back, cousin in tow, covered in blood. Some Grey Warden recruited her before she could get killed by the Bann’s men, but there was…” You sigh. “There was no way the crime would go unpunished. So we all paid.”
“How did you get out alive?” By this point, the entire table is watching you with wide eyes. This is hardly a drinking story. You should have just given boring answers.
“I’d really rather not…” You begin, only to be interrupted unexpectedly.
“Yeah, let’s not make the little lady relive something like that! We’re supposed to be having a good night!” Iron Bull, of all people, swooping to your rescue? Well, swooping, at the very least. He places a mug of something foul smelling in front of you, to replace your empty mug of ale. You eye it suspiciously, then knock it back.
You’ll later remember that as the very moment the night went to hell.