Jemima Trevelyan slowly opened her eyes to the daylight creeping through her Qunari drapes as she stirred in her Orlais III bed. She had no particular affinity with the Qunari, or Orlais for that matter; she merely thought they were the nicest ones in the shop. After being informed this was not the most politic method for fashioning Skyhold's interior design, a compromise was reached whereby she could keep the preferred furnishings for her room but the neutral Inquisition design was used throughout the remainder of the stronghold.
As always, there was the temptation to roll over and attempt to drift back into sleep, but ever since her life took a drastically different course, culminating in her appointment as Inquisitor a few weeks previously, she had a purpose. Breaking the habit of a lifetime, Jemima found that she actually wanted to get out of bed immediately. A far cry from a long history of over-sleeping, missing briefings, and being late for duty. Not even being a Trevelyan could save her from being court-marshalled for her atrocious time keeping. By her brother.
Somehow the idea of waking to stand sentry from dawn 'til dusk often without even seeing, let alone talking, to anyone was not enough to make Jemima bound enthusiastically out of bed. As the youngest of her House (an "accident" according to most; a "surprise" her mother reassured) all the good posts had already been taken. Still, she would rather that than being sent to the Chantry, her parents' preferred option. *shudder* It wasn't that she felt her role was beneath her. Far from it. It just didn't hold her attention due to the monotony. She had begged to be sent to The Conclave as the Trevelyan envoy just for a change of scenery. Well, that certainly happened.
Today, even though there were no definite plans, that didn't mean for a second that Jemima would be stuck for things to do. Whether it was discussing plans with the War Council, sparring or heading out to her next expedition, Jemima had thrown herself wholeheartedly into her newly appointed duties. She often felt somewhat guilty that such devastating events had led to her finding her way in life. And then she remembered the near-crippling responsibility that comes with it and rationalised that this was excusable in the grand scheme of things.
Jemima stumbled out of bed with the grace of a druffalo, and upon completion of her morning rituals headed down the stairs from her quarters. She popped in to see Josephine as her first port of call. The Ambassador informed Jemima that there was no urgent business to attend to and the War Council meeting was not scheduled until the afternoon.
"Oh, before you leave, Inquisitor, we have a rather delicate situation. Comte Bastereau is visiting from Orlais and a personal item he holds in high regard has gone missing from his assigned quarters. Have you heard anything?"
"No," Jemima replied, "what it is?"
"It's a, um," Josephine's olive complexion took on a slightly darker hue, "studded leather codpiece."
"Oh!" Jemima's eyebrows shot up and eyes widened. "Those Orlesians, eh?" she chuckled. Josephine shared a delicate titter underneath her hand. "It's the first I've heard but I'll make inquiries, don't worry."
"If I may be so bold as to say it, Sera is the most obvious culprit. If you have the time to question her on this matter, you would have my gratitude."
"Of course, although I've got a feeling she's not behind this particular prank. I'll get to the bottom of this. Tell the Compte not to get his knickers in a twist." Jemima added with a grin.
"Thank you, Lady Trevelyan. I shall see you at noon."
She was very fond of Josephine, thinking her charming, incredibly proficient in her role but just downright lovely as well. One of those people to whom "nice" is somehow the first word that springs to mind but hardly seems sufficient to do them justice, regardless of how many superlatives prefix it. She was also incredibly sweet in her bumblings when being complimented, which won her points in Jemima's eyes as this proved she did not think herself as superior to others, in spite of all evidence to the contrary.
After their pleasantries, Jemima left to seek out Dagna in the Undercroft to enquire which materials were still required to upgrade the healing potions their travelling parties were becoming more and more reliant on over the course of their expeditions. Although they had scoured every region they had visited, righting all sorts of wrongs no matter how mundane ("special" goats? Seriously?!) she still had yet to come across this Amrita Vein that Dagna kept banging on about needing before the next beneficial effect could be added.
With a sigh, Jemima exited the Undercroft and headed upstairs to drop off a book to Vivienne. She had stumbled across it on an expedition recently and recognised the title as one the former First Enchanter had mentioned in a previous conversation about the Circle. The book was accepted with a "thank you, my dear" but nothing else was forthcoming so Jemima quickly make to take her leave.
"Be sure to suitably admonish that putrid little thief, Sera, when you see her. The poor Comte is devastated. The halla leather, obsidian studded piece is a work of art and was a gift from The Dowager herself. Honestly, I don't know why you allow her to stay."
Jemima bit her tongue and calmly replied "I'm not jumping to any conclusions, Madame de Fer. In fact, I don't believe she is the one behind this particular 'crime' as you're suggesting. Leave it with me."
The mage was powerful alright but her demeanour rubbed Jemima entirely the wrong way. Even though the youngest Trevelyan was somewhat sheltered, naive and eager to please, she could still see that Vivienne was a master manipulator who viewed the bigger picture as a selfish game of power and constantly sought the means to better her own position. Jemima had never been particularly comfortable with her noble heritage, more so when surrounded by those with the same sort of condescending arrogance Vivienne exemplified. She did not believe herself 'better' than anyone else, which was at complete odds with the majority of people she had been forced to socialise amongst in her former life. Vivienne's politics were conservative to the point of being backwards, whereas Jemima was a keen progressionist, a fact demonstrated by her unpopular decision to offer an alliance with the rebel mages in Redcliffe. The two women were polar opposites- one born into nobility and despised all that it entailed; the other made it her life's ambition to ascend to that status. It was fair to say there was no love lost on either side.
That being said, the former Enchanter of the Imperial Court had foregone her cushy role to join the Inquisition's cause and had proven to be an exceptional ally on the battlefield. Whereas most of the mages available to Jemima would be pretty much stuffed if a combatant was able to get close to them, Vivienne's skill as a Knight Enchanter always left her room for manoeuvre when dealing with melee attacks. Jemima found her the most useful magical companion when in combat, however, that did not mean she was selected for expeditions as frequently as would be thought. Dorian's company was just so much more engaging on the road.
Speaking of the man himself, Jemima cut through to the library to check in with her best friend. It appeared that he was currently engaging the librarian in a heated debate about the lack of "proper" books available. With a shake of her head, Jemima decided to leave them to it and instead diverted to the rookery.
Leliana was replying to messages from her network when she noticed Jemima climbing the final stairs towards her.
"Ah, Inquisitor, I have nothing to report at the moment but there are a couple of matters I will bring to your attention at the War Council. It's not urgent though" she said in her lilting Orlesian accent.
"I will take that as 'no news is good news' for once. Splendid!" The Inquisitor was about to leave but thought she'd chance her luck, seeing as Leliana's omniscience was rivalled only by that of the Maker. "Say, I don't suppose any of your little birdies have heard anything about the Comte's missing undercrackers, have you?"
The Spymaster let out a light laugh. "I had heard about that, yes, but I cannot help you as to their current location. If you do find them, I would strongly advise you retrieve them with a pair of gloves you do not care for. They will be tarnished beyond redemption based on the information I have gathered on Bastereau."
"I'll bear that in mind! See you later" Jemima smiled as she walked to descend the stairs.
The Spymaster was a massive asset to the Inquisition, of that there was no doubt. Smooth, unflappable and utterly engaging yet could order- and no doubt execute if she was in the field herself- assassinations and manipulations that could bring an empire to its knees without blinking. The Inquisitor had already been forced to step in personally to stop her from killing a suspected double agent without proof.
Leliana truly terrified Jemima in many ways, which made her even more grateful that they were on the same side. Of course, this had not been the case upon their first meeting in the immediate aftermath of the Conclave explosion. At that time, though, she had appeared to take on the role of Good Guard to Cassandra's Bad Guard. With hindsight, the Spymaster may have been in too much shock at the scarcely believable death of her beloved Divine Justinia to fully unleash her powers, which Jemima was grateful for. She did not learn the full extent of the bard's dangerous side until the birth of the Inquisition proper. Plus, no one in their right mind would mess with the Hero of Fereldan's missus, even if she had been missing for months.
When the Inquisitor returned to the library, Dorian and the elven book keeper were STILL in the midst of their discussion, which had now increased in volume. With a sigh, Jemima ventured that she really should step in this time as they were starting to draw a crowd as well as several angry shooshes from mages who had been disrupted from their studies. She thought Hellisma's sounded particularly venomous. How did that work?
"Ah, dear friend!" Dorian exclaimed in his rich voice as he flung an arm around Jemima's furthest shoulder to stop her from slinking away before taking his side, both figuratively and literally. "Would you kindly explain to our esteemed archivist that a proper library should contain more points of references than either Andrastian propaganda or Varric's entire back catalogue?"
"I've already explained countless times..." the librarian started.
Jemima raised her hand for him to stop. "I know, I know. And I think everyone in the vicinity knows as well. Can only stock what we requisition, yes? I'll add it to the to-do list. Don't worry, no one's blaming you personally," she turned her head "are they, Dorian?"
Dorian huffed indignantly and returned to his plush armchair, that was more reminiscent of a throne, in his self-designated nook.
"I'm afraid that's the closest you're going to get to an apology, sorry." Jemima cringed as she took her leave to follow the Altus whilst everybody else resumed their readings.
"You do know I can ask Josephine to arrange to borrow writings or have transcripts sent? We have become affiliated with several Universities and Colleges recently so if there's anything in particular you're looking for, you just need to ask" Jemima offered as a conciliatory opening.
"I am aware of the resources you have at your disposal. It would be dreadfully unbecoming to request that of you though. Oh how people would talk!" In a hammy voice, he sardonically continued "The evil, but undeniably handsome, Tevinter has got his claws into the holier-than-thou Herald of Andraste and is now garnering special treatment. First books, then delicacies from Minrathous, and, before you know it, human sacrifices to slake his unquenchable thirst for blood magic. That sounds about right, yes?"
Jemima chuckled as she couldn't deny some of Skyhold's more narrow-minded inhabitants would not react exactly upon those lines. "Still, the offer stands. I'll say it's for me if you prefer? And then I'll stash them in secret hiding places for you to retrieve in the dead of night, how about that?"
"Oooo yes, I do quite fancy the sound of that. Very mysterious" Dorian mused. "Oh! I have it!" he excitedly exclaimed. "We'll place them in chests of a certain colour, like Sera's ragtag bunch do. But it'll be much classier, naturally. Let's think. 'Magenta Tarohne's Cache'?"
"Hmmm, I dunno. How about 'Veridian Valora'?"
"Cerulean Callista?'"
"Fuchsia Flora?'"
"You're just acting like a barbarian now. Nevertheless, I shall ponder this further and will provide you with a list of readings that would be most gratefully appreciated, old bean" Dorian finished with a smirk.
"Hey you" she playfully wagged a finger, "less of the 'old!'" Jemima laughed and squeezed his forearm in goodbye.
The Inquisitor had felt an affinity with Dorian immediately upon their meeting. Whereas most of her companions had automatically judged him solely on the basis of his country of origin, Jemima saw the wit that the others dismissed as pompous postulating. Their camaraderie developed further as a direct result of escaping from the nightmarish future universe that foretold the end of the world at Corypheus' hand. But it was cemented when Jemima accompanied Dorian to meet his father.
Although he had indicated that he wasn't welcome in Tevinter and did not get along with his family, it wasn't apparent to Jemima until she was privy to their discussions that the main reason for their falling out was due to his father's intention of using blood magic to change Dorian's preference for men. Dorian felt it necessary to have a witness at the time, which Jemima could understand completely, but they managed to eventually have a clear-the-air conversation after his father apologised for his actions. Following this event, the two friends bonded over both their families' negative reactions to being informed of their child's exclusive attraction to the same gender. Jemima's mother had refused to even be in the same wing as her youngest for nigh on a year after being informed, except on Satinalia- appearances did have to be kept, after all. Many very fine Antivan brandies were raised to their collective toast- "to booze and bad relatives," although a lot of the time, it had to be said, it was just an excuse to break open the good stuff.
Moreover, they shared a similar outlook on life. Whilst both took their responsibilities and major decisions very seriously, that did not mean the lighter side of life had to disappear. Albeit, with the events they faced and as the scale of their task became apparent, it meant the humour at times was blacker than the Tevinter Divine's socks. Nevertheless, laughing in the face of adversity was very much their way, to the disdain of certain colleagues.
Jemima descended the stairs into Solas' art studio, it seemed. Since arriving, he had taken it upon himself to paint murals depicting the Inquisition's actions. He had also saved Jemima from being killed when she initially acquired the Anchor and gave the so-called Herald of Andraste directions to Skyhold. Apart from these things, Jemima did not really have anything positive to say about the strange elven apostate. It appeared that no matter what she said, he disapproved. Jemima particularly disliked the way he looked down on others and was often quick to judge based entirely on race. Dalish? They've got it all wrong. City elves? Too far gone to be redeemed. Qunari? Ooft, don't get him started. Actually, about anything. He did go on a bit.
Disliking the idea of discord within her inner circle, Jemima felt she should at least make an effort to try to get along with Solas in a more positive way. She strode over and greeted him warmly.
"Good day to you too, Inquisitor. What brings you here?"
"Oh, just catching up with everyone. Rare quiet day, you know?"
"Fair enough. I am well. I hope you are too. Is there anything you were looking to discuss in particular?"
"Ummmm..." Jemima racked her brain for something convivial, so as to not offend further. Their colleagues? No, if he bad mouthed anyone she actually liked, she would feel compelled to defend them and earn further scorn. Their next planned mission? No, she wasn't sure how much could be discussed outside the War Council. Urgh, going to have to resort to this one again.
"Can you tell me more of your journeys to the fade?"
"Ah, yes, of course. It really is fascinating. I remember a time when I..."
Unfortunately, Jemima did not hear any of Solas' 'fascinating' story as her mind tuned out his voice and, for some reason, an internal minstrel started playing Andraste's Mabari. This only stopped when Jemima realised that Solas had ceased talking and was looking to her for a response. Internally cringing, she hazarded an educated guess that the tale was not over.
"That truly is remarkable. Please continue?"
"Of course. It was only when the spirit..."
'Oh that dog he guards Andraste,
Without arrogance or fear'
The song cut off. Solas was looking at her for a response.
"Please continue?"
"Have you been listening, Inquisitor? It really is a simple yes or no answer."
"OF COURSE I've been listening!" Jemima bluffed. "Yes?" She tentatively answered. Noticing the scowl starting to form on Solas' face, she quickly added "you are right- it is a simple yes or no. I would have to say my answer would be no."
An agonising amount of time passed and Jemima could feel beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Finally, Solas broke the silence and stated "You show a much deeper understanding than I would have given you credit for. We are lucky to have you as our leader."
Visibly relieved and blushing, Jemima hoped Solas would think this from the compliment- although this only added to her blushing- rather than the near disastrous faux pas that had narrowly been avoided. Thanking Solas for his kind words, she decided not to push her luck and took her leave, claiming she had to speak to Cullen about troop movements.
The Commander was a decent chap. Bit miserable but certainly dedicated. She didn't get why everyone kept going on about his hair though? They'd shared a nice game of chess together previously and it was refreshing to not talk shop for the entirety of the battle of wits. Normally, their encounters involved Jemima keeping him and Leliana from either coming to blows over the war table or talking each other in circles forevermore. When Jemima walked into his office he was intently poring over various reports from the scouting network. The Inquisitor apologised for disturbing him and decided to leave him to it.
Crossing the battlements back towards the main hall, Jemima paused and looked over the edge towards the makeshift infirmary on the lower level. She planned to visit Blackwall and was half tempted to take a near suicidal leap over the edge to save some time. She had done it before, after some egging on from the Chargers during a particularly heavy session, and, somehow, had managed to shrug it off with a loud grunt and no damage whatsoever; however, the Inquisitor was wearing her semi-sensible head today and instead walked via the main hall.
Nodding a quick acknowledgment to Solas on her way, Varric was scribbling at the table immediately beyond the door Jemima had used to enter the hall.
"Ah, her Inquisitorialness! What brings you here?"
"Just having a wander and catching up with everyone before I get dragged away to another War Council meeting or a meet and greet with some noble prat wanting to make more demands of us. What you up to?"
"Catching up as well, although, via written correspondence, not a leisurely stroll like some of us. Still on for Wicked Grace tonight?"
"Unless Corypheus himself appears in the courtyard, I'll be there! It's the highlight of my week, you know that."
"Just remember to bring more coin this time. The minimum 'in' is going up this week at Cullen's request. Poor deluded fool still thinks he can win back what Josephine has taken off him since we started"
"Pfft, I think I'll just stay for the banter and the beer after a couple of hands then. Everyone can read me with their eyes closed."
"No no, you did well to start with."
"That was because I didn't know what I was doing. I managed to throw everyone off by being so bad!"
"Well, you should try to go back to your ignorant past then. My tip- get shitfaced before we begin."
"Oooooo! I will take that as all the permission I need then!"
Jemima left with a grin. Varric was a good guy. Fiercely loyal to his friends and always had an epic yarn up his sleeve. Trevelyan had read his Tale of the Champion book dozens of times at home in Ostwick and was, rather embarrassingly, starstruck upon realising he was THE Varric Tethras after she awoke in Haven, following the initial dealings with the breach. She may have giggled like a schoolgirl. She may have asked him to sign her copy. She may have tested his patience on several occasions by obsessively asking about the various characters he depicted in the tale. But it was to Varric's credit that he took it all in good grace. Cassandra chastised her for inflating his already massive ego and Jemima made a conscious effort to reign in her exuberance for his work. The irony.
Jemima walked out the Great Hall, descended both staircases and took the safe path towards the stables to see Blackwall. It was rather odd- he had some great chat on the road but was dull as ditchwater one on one. Hopeful that today might be the day to change it, Jemima enthusiastically swung around the stable door and said hello.
"Inquisitor" he gruffly mumbled.
"How's things with you?" she asked.
"Same old."
...
"Ok then, good talking."
"Inquisitor."
Scratching her head as she left, Jemima surmised that he needed someone else to bounce off, like Sera, for the magic to happen, although she would no doubt laugh like a demented hyena if it were worded in that manner.
Jemima climbed back up the stairs and decided to pop into the Herald's Rest (oh, she hated that name!) for a cheeky wee eye opener. Varric's earlier comment had put her in the mood. She ordered a wheat beer from Cabot and saw that Bull was in his usual corner. With a wave to the other Chargers, she pulled over a chair and sat next to their indomitable leader.
"Hey Boss." the qunari spoke in his booming bass voice. "Early start for you. Nice!"
"Ach, why not? Got War Council in a bit and I find it easier to make decisions after a few of these. Plus it makes it marginally more fun" Jemima replied, as she took a gulp from her tankard. "Just the one today, though, so I won't doing anything like making No Pants Friday compulsory throughout Skyhold before you ask!"
"You've missed a trick there. Helps boost morale. It would also allow us to find out if Cassandra was telling Sera the truth that time you were in the Emerald Graves." He added with a wink. Or so Jemima surmised, seeing as he had an eyepatch over his other eye.
"Oh yeeeeeaah. I'd forgotten about that." She hadn't. She'd thought about it plenty.
"Uh huh" he chuckled. "Before I forget, thanks for the tip-off you gave me about that chantry sister. The one you overheard talking about me in Haven. That was good to know."
"Didn't think you needed your ego stroked any more in that department, Bull?"
"True, but she stroked something other than my 'ego' last night so you have my gratitude."
Jemima groaned and shook her head. "I have no idea how you do it!"
"You know that everybody wants to ride the Bull" he proclaimed with justifiable arrogance.
Jemima listened and continued her drink as The Iron Bull described his evening in rather vivid detail. She was glad her tankard had emptied just as the qunari started physically demonstrating certain positions.
"Oh, is that the time?!" Jemima looked at her wrist, for some unbeknown reason. "I really better be heading off. Still want to catch up with some folk before I get dragged off to move little flags on a large map. See you later, Bull."
"Nice talking with you, Boss."
On the surface, Bull was only interested in fighting, drinking and fucking. His over-powering appearance and personality merely added to this perception so it was very easy to underestimate the man's superior spy skills. He was sharp as a silverite sword and incredibly eloquent, particularly for someone who deliberately added a definite article before his name to sound more like a mindless weapon than a person. The fact he admitted to being a spy before even joining the Inquisition, weirdly, made Jemima trust him from the start. She wasn't comfortable with his links to the Qun but liked him very much and hoped it would not cause conflict down the road.
The Inquisitor climbed the staircase behind her and made her way over to Sera's room. She appeared to be in the middle of counting something on her shelves of randomness.
"Hey Sera."
"Uuuuurgh! You made me lose count, Inky!" the tempestuous elf screamed.
"Sorry" Jemima said sheepishly. "What are you counting anyway?"
"Don't matter now. Whatcha doing 'ere anyhow? Shouldn't you be doing, I don't know, big hat stuff?"
"In a bit. Thought I'd say hello as I was passing. Oh, actually, I've been asking around- don't suppose you've heard anything about Comte Bastereau's missing codpiece?"
"No way?!" Sera wrapped her arms around her ribs and guffawed. Realisation slowly dawned on her and her laughing fit stopped. "Wait, hold on, d'ya think I took it?! Ewwwwwww! I wouldn't touch THAT with a shitty stick!"
"No, I didn't think it was your style. Sorry again for making you lose count."
"Don't worry about it, HERALD! Go on."
Jemima groaned as she left. She despised that title but no matter how many times she denied it, it still stuck. So much they named the bloody pub after it.
Sera was spontaneous, mischievous, immature and mad as a bag of cats. Jemima found she could be both great fun and massively irritating within a very short space of time. The Inquisitor tended to alternate between Varric and Sera as her chosen range fighter on expeditions and found the Fereldan rogue to be good company on the road. As well as being a naturally gifted archer, since arriving at Skyhold, Sera had developed an eye catching new technique that involved her smashing jars of elements to coat herself in battle. This had moved her up the pecking order somewhat and she was quickly becoming a mainstay of Jemima's travelling party.
The damnit-I'm-not-the-sodding Herald was about to leave the tavern but remembered that Cole was on the top floor. Feeling a bit guilty that she'd nearly forgotten him, again, Jemima found him in the loft on his own.
"Hello Cole."
"It wasn't blood in the bath. Fingers on the scalp, intimate, and then the moment is gone."
"Um, ok then..? Listen, Cole, do you have any idea where Comte Bastereau's leather codpiece has disappeared to?"
"Yes."
Taking a deep breath to calm the quick frustration that had crept in, Jemima asked "Where is it?"
"Where the squirrels can find it."
Befuddled, she pondered "is it in a tree?"
"Yes."
"Why in Thedas is it in a tree, Cole?!"
"It holds nuts."
The Inquisitor couldn't help herself and burst out laughing, much to Cole's confusion.
"You could say that! Oh my goodness, Cole, you really do crack me up at times! A kind thought and ingenious idea but I should really let Josephine know or we'll never hear the end of it from our Orlesian dignitary. And I'd better save the squirrels. Maker knows what sort of nasty things they could pick up from it! We'll talk later."
"How do you know?"
Solas described Cole as "unique" and Jemima could not agree more. The confusing, softly spoken young man had the innocence of a newborn lamb but the deadly skills of an assassin. His ability to read minds and verbalise others' thoughts had not earned him many friends in the Inquisition. As well as accusations of being a demon, poor Cole had also put both feet in it on several occasions by letting companions' secrets slip in the worst possible company and created much awkwardness as a result. Jemima found it hilarious. She probably wouldn't have had this opinion if Cole could read her mind. Due to the other members of the inner circle's dislike of the human spirit hybrid, coupled with the fact the Inquisitor also favoured a dual weapon fighting style, Cole was nearly always left in Skyhold, which gave him a lot of time to "help" others.
Jemima descended the stairs of the inn and exited into the courtyard. She looked along the trees and spotted a rather garish item of underwear hanging from a branch near the training dummies. The Inquisitor also saw the woman she had fallen for big time.
Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Fucking Pentaghast.
Jemima didn't stand a chance.
A/N- Thanks for taking the time to read this. Please bear with me- this is the first creative writing I have done in more or less half my lifetime (and even back then it was my weakest genre in English) so it'll probably be riddled with errors.