The Foreigner
An endless blanket of pure white snow surrounded her, unbroken by footprints. The scouts claimed she hadn't been there ten minutes before. She spoke a strange language and wore things not even an Orlesian would dare. Unwilling to take chances, the commander ordered her shackled and escorted to the Skyhold dungeon.
Seeker Pentaghast pondered if the girl was a demon. Leliana defended that the poor thing was a mage, after consulting with the resident Fade expert. The commander—almost use to dealing with crazy things—opined they should wait for the Inquisitor.
Only Josephine thought to teach the girl Common.
§
The Herald's Rest was the perfect way to keep tabs on the girl, and so that was where they assigned her. The barkeep thanked them for the extra help; the minstrel praised her pretty singing voice; and all Sera said was, "Have you seen what her tongue can do with a cherry?"
Despite their drunken revelry, the Chargers also kept a watchful eye between missions. "Not a fighter," Krem reported. "Too clumsy, lousy stamina. No callouses on her hands either. She hasn't worked a day in her life."
Bull, however, had a speculative gleam in his eye. "She knows Qunlat."
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"Your Common is progressing nicely," Josephine said one day over tea. The Girl from Nowhere had become a pet project of sorts. "Your mother tongue, what was it called again?"
"Ing-glish," enunciated the girl.
"I never thought to ask. Do you speak any other languages?"
She hesitated for only a second, but it was a second too long. Her warm brown eyes, so expressive, glanced down into her teacup. "No." A blush colored her cheeks. "I know… bad words? How you say…?"
The ambassador made a note to speak again with The Iron Bull. "Curses? Swears?"
"Yes! 'Curses' and 'swears'."
§
As usual, The Iron Bull did all his spying out in the open. He peppered Common with Qunlat around the girl whenever the chance presented itself. A smile tugged on her lips at certain things, like his requests for more maraas-lok. She frowned when he referred to anyone as bas. When he explained the term aqun-athlok to some simpleton giving Krem a hard time, there wasn't even a hint of surprise on her face.
Her reactions were small, but they did exist. The more Bull spoke, the more he was sure she understood more than cusses.
So, a fellow hissrad.
2016.22.09: This story simply wouldn't leave me alone until I put pen to paper, so to speak. It has been outlined and drafted; all that remains is to write each 100-word snippet and bundle them into chapters. Anticipate new chapters every three days unless stated otherwise.