Sera walks into the kitchen and is nearly flattened by the smell of baking bread. She automatically notes where the loaves are and starts planning a distraction to nick the nearest one before she remembers that this is Skyhold, and all she has to do is ask.
Donatienne is in the back doing inventory, which means no sour glares from the kitchen mistress today. Two of Sera's friends, Bernie, a human, and Alriss, an elf, are pounding dough, along with some staff she hasn't met yet. She waves; Alriss pretends he doesn't see her and Bernie pauses, like she's trying to figure out her reaction, before offering a small smile. Far too small a smile for someone Sera's gone drinking with, who has the dirtiest stories about past conquests.
"Something wrong?" Sera asks.
Bernie and Alriss share a look. Alriss shakes his head slightly. Bernie inhales before stepping toward Sera.
"Can we talk a moment?" she asks.
"Sure." Something I said when we went out last, maybe?
Bernie pulls Sera aside, near the warm fire. Sera appreciates it—elfy magic means Skyhold is safe from the worst of a mountain winter, but the wind is getting colder and colder.
"Do you know how to make custard?" Bernie asks.
"Uh, no?"
Frowning, Bernie says, "Enough custard to feed Skyhold is around a thousand eggs, easy. Not only is it hours cracking 'em all, the mixture's gotta be watched real careful when cooking, with the fire at just the right heat. That's much easier here than anywhere else—Diva," their nickname for Donatienne, "just asks for an apprentice and the mages send one over. They say it's good practice. You'll not hear me complain of that.
"But no matter how long it takes, it's still crap of you to steal two pots of custard and spread them down the stairs."
Oh yeah. What did I need the custard for again? "But...but it was really funny! This inbred Lord Pimple-Arse was talking shite about our food. He had to eat the custard when he slipped and fell in it!"
"No one but you saw it, Sera," Bernie says, exasperated. "We didn't see anything else. Diva made everyone stay late and re-make the custard to serve with lunch. She wouldn't let anyone go. Alriss's boy has colic, but Diva wouldn't let him leave to help Piyami out."
"Bitch." The guilt nibbling at her insides steals the fire from her swearing. "And so am I, seems like. Sorry, Bernie. Wasn't thinking. I'll stick to skittery things in people's underpants, all right?"
"Well…good." It stings that Bernie doesn't look convinced—but once the hurt fades, Sera figures she's got reason to be. She's never seen how good Sera can keep her promises.
A nice ale might smooth things over. But what about Alriss? She turns to Alriss, shouting, "Oy! Al!"
Alriss freezes. One of his fellow workers coughs, and there's suddenly a noticeable space between him and everyone else.
"Just tell me when I'm being a bitch, yeah? You got a baby-sitter whenever you need me!"
Alriss unfreezes, though his brain still seems a bit slow; he stares at her blankly. "Er...you're sure about that?"
"Oh, yeah. Nevermind—shite idea. I'll see if Inky wants to."
"The—the Inquisitor?" Alriss sputters.
"Corinimus is dead. She's got time."
"I'm, ah, sure Andraste's Herald has much better things to fill that time with."
"She's great with kids." Sera isn't actually sure about that part. Apart from a joke here and there, kids haven't come up. But Adder is probably great with them. She killed a darkspawn magister and his pet Archdemon. How hard can watching one sprog be?
Bernie snickers. "Let's hope she can handle the disappearing nappies. Your boy's a—"
"Bernadette, you lazy sow!" Donatienne bursts out from the back, a clipboard and quill in hand. She's a massive woman. There's a lot of muscle buried under the flab—back when Skyhold was first starting up, Sera got hit with a thrown pan or two hard enough to bruise. "Back to work!"
Then Donatienne sees Sera and falls silent. The whole kitchen does.
"Right, shut it." Sera strides up to Donatienne and gets right in her face. "No calling people lazy sows, no making my friends stay late when they got kids crying at home, and no...all the other shite my friends've bitched about!" She can't quite remember them all right now, but complaints about Diva are a favourite topic. "You wanna snap at me? Snap at me, not anyone else."
She braces herself for the furious swearing Donatienne lets loose with whenever she catches Sera running from the kitchens. Instead, Donatienne inhales slowly, swallows, then curtsies.
"So noted, Lady Sera. Do you have any further orders?"
Lady Sera? "You havin' a laugh?" Blood rushes to her cheeks and the tips of her ears.
Donatienne recoils, startled. "No, my lady!"
"'Cuz you're not the only Head Kitchen Mucky-Muck. We got a hundred of you just waiting on an invite from Lady Josie. Probably some of 'em don't have to be told not to be a twat! It just comes natural."
"The staff occasionally require...discipline, Lady Sera—"
Lady Sera. It's like there's a bell ringing in her ears and she can barely hear past it. "Get out."
Donatienne sucks in a breath, like she's just been slapped. "I...I beg your—"
"You heard. You're done."
Sera expects screaming or being smacked with the clipboard. She gets downcast eyes, another swallow, and a slightly shaky curtsy. "By your leave, my lady."
"Friggin' got it," Sera snaps, but only because that's just a thing you say. She really wants to say Why aren't you trying to box my ears, you cow?
Spine straight and shoulders back, Donatienne leaves the kitchen. As she opens the door, Sera hears what might be a sniffle before the door falls shut. Or might be her about to hock and spit.
Bernie starts clapping. Alriss seconds her, and soon those near her are clapping and whistling. Those that don't clap are glancing at each other, trying to pass information along with their eyes. Once the applause dies down, the stories spill out: Diva was quick to beat, to criticize, to order the lowest jobs after the most minor mistakes.
"You're coming with us to the stables once we're done, Sera," Bernie says.
That's the stables in the village called Skyhold's Shadow, in the valley below. For a while, the stables were the Shadow's only wooden building, which made them the only place for little people to get proper drunk in winter. The Herald's Rest soon became for the soldiers, the Chargers, the Herald and her inner circle; who wants to run into their boss and their boss's friends when they're drunk? Since Coryphallus bit it, Skyhold's Shadow has more wooden structures than army tents—seems like there's a new inn or store every day. But for those who've been at Skyhold since the beginning, the Shadow's stables are their place for a do.
"Yeah, the stables. Sounds grand." She feels kinda dizzy. And nauseous. "Grab me from the Herald's Rest when you're ready."
"Or from the resting Herald, hmm?" Bernie nudges her in the ribs.
Sera makes herself grin at that old joke. It takes more effort than any smile should. "Wow. Never heard that one before."
Her clothes feel pinchy. She heads up to her room and strips naked, but the pinchy feeling doesn't leave. It's not her clothes. It's her skin.
She sees Alriss shaking his head, trying to stop Bernie from accusing Sera of being an arse. Bernie inhaling, like she was bracing herself for a talk with Sera. Like they were worried she'd get pissed at them—like there are consequences to pissing Sera off bigger than a rude gesture and a revenge prank.
She knits, only to toss her needles aside, and she draws, only to start stabbing the paper with her quill until she snaps it, and she plucks a tune on her lute, only to drop it on the ground, snapping off a string-tuney-thing.
I need Adder. She puts her clothes back on and goes to find her.
People nod at Sera as she passes—not just friends saying hello when they can't stop to chat, but people she's never met before. Nodding. That's practically bowing. Like Sera is someone important.
As she enters Skyhold's main hall, Josephine sees her and makes toward her, frowning slightly. "Since you have such a great interest in the affairs of our staff, Sera, I take it you can nominate an interim kitchen master or mistress while I hire for Madame Donatienne's position?"
"A what?"
"Who do you think should run the kitchen until I appoint a new kitchen head?"
Sera recoils. Diva didn't fight? She's just...gone? "I don't—how should I know? Ask them." Sera stands on her toes trying to catch sight of Adder. "I just know food goes in my mouth." Poncy git, poncy git, Varric, Three-Eyes, poncy git... "Or on the stairs, sometimes, but not anymore." A flash of grey skin, but it's Katari, not Adder. Not my Qunari. "Okay, maybe I'll stuff jelly in a dress—but only old jelly that no one's gonna eat, swear on Andraste's knickers." Where is she?
"I'll start making inquiries, then," Josephine grumbles. Solving problems is to Josephine what relaxing in a warm bath is to a normal person, so Sera doesn't feel too guilty.
There. Adder's leaving Josephine's office, talking to Cullen and Leliana. Sera doesn't run, but she walks quickly, thinking of what she's going to say. She'd love to just demand Adder fuck her, but even Adder would frown at her saying that in front of the commander of her forces and the woman who's going to be Divine.
Seeing Sera's approach, Adder smiles. "Good afternoon, love."
"Yeah. Afternoon. You had enough time to be boring, Inky. Time for some fun, yeah?" She wets her lips.
Adder's smile doesn't deepen. Instead, she glances at her two advisors. "Give me a few minutes, love? There's this report from the Frostback Basin that I need—"
"Is Corifish back?" She hopes she doesn't sound too whiny. "Is an Archdemon flying over Skyhold? A rift open up in the cellars, sending demons to drink all our ale?" See. I'm chatting, playing your way. Coulda just grabbed your tits—or other things.
"Not to our knowledge," Leliana says, amused. Sera shoots her a grateful look. She'll be the best Divine ever.
Adder chuckles, kissing Sera on the top of her head. "Okay. Fun it is." She takes Sera's hand as Sera leads her away from her advisors and up to Adder's chambers.
Adder makes her skin feel tingly, then flushed and prickly with heat, then wet with sweat and spit and down-there drool. Adder-smell in her nose, Adder-taste on her tongue, Adder-tits in her hands, Adder-groans in her ears.
When she can make words, she finds herself thinking, All I need. All I'll ever need.
Lying on her side, Adder pulls Sera close and kisses her on the nose. When Sera sets her head down, half of Adder's face disappears as she sinks into the too-soft feather pillows the Inquisitor loves so much. The half of her face Sera can see, dark grey and weathered, reminds her of those stone ruins they're always finding whenever they go someplace sandy or soggy. Her ear is a massive triangle protruding from her head—like a sail, like a shield. Sera strokes it with her damp fingers as Adder holds her and starts playing with the hair at the back of her head. They're nestled together, every part of their fronts touching, Sera resting her toes on the middle of Adder's calves.
In a deep, dopey voice, Adder says, "'I've really got to read this report on the Frostback Basin.'" She snorts. "Thanks for saving me from myself, love. So, is this a victory celebration for you?"
"Eh?"
"Heard about the kitchen mistress. Red Jenny, fighting for the little people."
"Didn't know I was doing it. I just got mad." Nobody asked for a Jenny. And I didn't have to fight—everyone's just letting me.
"Ah, an accidental hero. The best kind of hero." Glancing at her anchor hand, Adder grimaces. "Er, usually." She shifts slightly, there's a rush of air, and a sheet of fine cotton descends over her and Sera.
It's soft as flower petals against Sera's suddenly pinchy skin. The bed's not fancy—she's seen nicer in some taverns—but it's fancy enough for normal people. The cotton sheet is dazzling white except where they've stained it; the duvet is stuffed with eider duck down, its colour a rich black interrupted by grey flowers, so many that making the fabric must've took ages. Only the best for the Inquisitor. Is this how power-mad stupid starts? Get used to one fine thing then start wanting more?
"You okay, love?" Adder asks. She's staring right into Sera's face—she can see every twitch, every flicker.
"Yeah." Then she shrugs. "Dunno." She wants to tear off her skin, crawl into Adder's and stay there. Her skin always fits. She even laughs about her huge jug ears.
"Ah, I know what this is about." Adder kisses her on the temple. "It's all right—this happens to every couple. Things get...accustomed. Expected. We'll try something different next time." A kiss to her cheek. "A new room." One on the corner of her mouth. "A new position." The tip of her ear. "Maybe I could ask Bull for some tips." The top of her head.
"That's not it," Sera says firmly. "Shite, Inky. You think I'm good at fakin'? Just...I dunno. Weird day, I guess."
"Want to talk about it?"
Sera shrugs.
"Want to hear my fantasy about a sexy game of Wicked Grace?"
"Mmm!"
Adder looks so pleased that Sera's stomach goes gooey and fluttery at the same time. "It's another evening of Wicked Grace. You're already under the table, drunk off your ass...so everyone thinks. Josephine starts piling up the silver. And just as I pull out the card I have hidden up my sleeve, I feel your breath on my parts, wet and warm and making," her voice deepens, "promises."
Her skin is goose-pimply now. Not pinchy. "Woof." Sera slings her top leg over Adder's thigh and twitches her hips, grinding her ladybits against Adder's stomach. "Keep talking."
The stable in Skyhold's Shadow smells like shit, of course. But at least it's shit from proper, useful animals, not from dragon-horses and giant nugs or whatever. Someone's fiddling away and most of the kitchen staff are dancing. Sera's sitting on one of the benches made of old, empty crates, drinking ale like it's water and she's just come back from the Hissing Wastes. Bernie and Alriss are keeping her company.
Bernie gets snuggly when she drinks; she's currently clinging to Sera, head on Sera's shoulder. She's wonderful plump—arms and tits and belly like jiggly pillows. Sera can't quite push her away. They flirted, once upon a time. Might've gone further if Adder had been less brilliant.
Sera swishes her drink around in her mouth before swallowing. She thinks she's starting to know the difference between good ale and shit ale, and wishes she wasn't.
"Not everyone clapped when I sent Diva packing," Sera says. Was she just like some noble, coming in waving her sausage around and mucking things up?
"Her favourites didn't," Bernie shrugs, "but piss on them."
"I coulda done this years ago...if someone'd told me...didn't know Diva was so bad..."
"For some of us," Alriss gestures to himself, "anybody who don't whip us is a good boss."
"But you an' your...'quisitor, you want more than that for us," Bernie says, lifting her head from Sera's shoulder, leaning in until they're touching noses. "For everyone. For all people. That's...you're 'mazing, Sera. No matter how big you get, still just people."
Sera cranes her neck so her mouth is as far away from Bernie's mouth as possible. Didn't know I was big. Didn't even friggin' figure it out. "I'm taken, drunky."
"Aw," Bernie drawls, wiping pretend tears from her cheeks, so dramatic that Sera can't help but snicker.
After a loud belch, Alriss stands. "Should get back to the fam. 'Night."
"Al..." Sera leans forward. It's very important he understand this. "If I'm a bitch...say it, yeah." One of her pranks was a bucket over Josephine's door. Is there someone at Skyhold who still curses Sera for setting that up? Fine for nobles and nasty shits to hate me, but not real people.
"Um. Okay? Sure, Sera. Sure." But then again, what else is he going to tell her except what she wants to hear?
Alriss staggers to the door then opens it, letting in a gust heavy with snowflakes. It snows, down here in the valley. It's winter everywhere else except at Skyhold, where stupid elfy magic keeps them from the inconvenience of actual snow.
Sera takes another swig.
She dreams that she's walking through Skyhold in Vivienne's clothes, holding Vivienne's staff. Everybody bows or curtsies—even her friends. Everybody smiles. She's the Inquisitor's lover. They have to smile.
Sera wakes up with a jolt. There's no Breach anymore. Dreams are just dreams... Stop being stupid.
She spends the day with Varric, Iron Bull, Blackwall, Dorian, the Chargers, Leliana's people—with anybody doing anything fun.
But she can't shake the feeling.
That evening, she figures out a cure.
She puts on her armour and flasks, grabs her bow and quiver, throws a few changes of clothes in her pack, finds some hardtack hiding under a pillow on her window seat, and leaves her room. She'll write Adder a note once she can figure out what to say.
Andraste has other ideas: Adder, most of the inner circle, and Cullen and Josephine are sitting at a large table in the Herald's Rest, and they all look pleased as hogs in shit to see her.
"Sera!" Adder says, gesturing her over with a foaming mug. "Bull wants to drink with the Chargers, the ass, but I finally ordered these two," a glance at her advisors, "to join a game of Wicked Grace." Her voice is normal as you please, but she quirks her eyebrow slightly, for just a heartbeat. Oh. Right. Adder and her Wicked Grace thing. Sera hates to admit it, but she's grateful the inner circle plays cards in one of the tavern's back rooms. "Can the Jenny thing wait until morning?"
"Jenny...?" Why else would I be in full armour, idiot! It makes her sound like she's leaving to do good things, not for the mad reason she's actually leaving.
Sera knows how this'll go. She'll join the group and Adder will look at her with those hot orange eyes that set her aching and Varric will joke and she'll laugh and they'll all drink and have fun and she'll forget what she wants to do for another day and maybe she'll order one of the stable-boys around tomorrow without even thinking about it just expecting shite to be done for her because that's just the bitch she is now.
"Sorry, Inky. It can't. I'm off."
"All right...what kind of team do you need?" Not everyone's pleased to be volunteered: Cassandra frowns, imagining the unrighteous crimes Jennies get up to, no doubt; Dorian glances mournfully at his glass of wine. But everyone else in the inner circle looks at her expectantly—even Cole, though she'd never bring him and they both know it.
Sera opens her mouth, about to say who she wants, when a thought stops her: Can't take a break from the Inquisition if I bring the Inquisition. Shit.
"Said I." It's the pain of not being able to travel with everyone that makes her snap, but there's no way to explain that. "There some other meaning of 'I' I'm too stupid to understand?"
Adder blinks, setting her mug down. As Maryden starts singing 'Empress of Fire' very loudly, Adder stands. "Can we go upstairs and talk?"
"What's to say? I'm leaving for the Hinterlands and I'll be back when I'm back." She just pulled the Hinterlands out of her arse, but it feels right.
Adder closes in, blocking her from the view of the the inner circle and most of the tavern. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No! Not everything's about you!"
Sera's surprised to see Adder's jaw clench—for once, there's no joke. "Well, you're shouting at me," frustration strains her whisper, begins to make her loud before she clamps down and gets softer, "so I apologize for drawing the obvious conclusion."
"Drawing the obvious conclusion." Oh, la, look at all my silver words. Always throwing that in my face. "Not shouting at you! I'm—I'm just shouting! Leave it, Inky!"
Of course, the great Inquisitor can't do as she's asked: her lips part, a syllable forming in her throat. If Adder won't leave it, Sera will make her. She spins around and leaves the Herald's Rest, raising her hood against the cold wind.
She's on the steps to the stables when "Sera!" makes her look back. Adder stands some lengths away. Giving me space. Good. Sera braces for the swift tongue, the joke, the bedroom purr.
"You're," Adder swallows, "coming back, right? To me?"
It's a blow sharp as any of Adder's daggers. Sera recoils, blinking. She knows by Adder's voice that it's a real question. There's only one answer. "'Course, Inky. Skyhold's—you're—my home."
Adder exhales in a huff. She inhales slowly, pauses and says, "You know I want to help you do anything you need or want to." Soft words, spoken slowly in her rich, deep voice that Sera just wants to sink into.
Oh no. The clever words. Still clutching my belly from 'Are you coming back?' and now this. Shite. Shite shite shite.
"Not even help if you don't want me to—just be with. Big, small. It doesn't matter. I'm yours, Sera, my love."
My love... Just kiss her, play cards, have fun. Sometimes things get weird, but then they get unweird and everything works out—so long as you aren't a daft tit about things.
"If I've done anything to make you feel differently, I'm sorry." Adder takes a step toward her, reaching out.
Vivienne's. Friggin'. Hat. On. My. Head.
Sera scrambles a few steps back, grabbing a flask from her waist and smashing it on her clothes. Fire roars to life. "Enough fucking talking!"
Adder stops, eyes wide. A laugh bursts from her throat; she claps her hand over her mouth like she's trying to catch it. More laughs shake her shoulders and bring tears to her eyes. Or maybe a bit of that is sadness. It's definitely the reason Sera's eyes are watery.
Sera runs down the stairs to the stables. She stops at the bottom, but Adder doesn't follow.
The Inquisitor's pain is a current, hot and strong, catching everyone's smaller aches and carrying them along. Cole swims in it, trying to keep his head above water, humming tunelessly to keep himself from speaking.
"I cannot believe her!" Josephine's cheeks are flushed. "Shrieking at the Inquisitor like a fishwife in front of the entire tavern! Rumours running rampant, how rein them in before they reach our enemies? Bad enough the bucket over the door when Lady Maugeri walked through, now this!"
"I could have told Adder—should have—a better friend would have," Dorian says. "You juggle a lit torch, of course you'll drop it and burn yourself one day. That caterwauling cretin. That wailing waif. She hurt my best friend—damn her!"
"Sera, Sera, what's wrong?" Blackwall says. "Do you even know?"
"She lit herself on fire!" Varric crows. "Shitty for Adder, but Andraste's ass, I need to use this! It'd be a good fit for my Broken Circle trilogy. I'd have to change Opal's specialization to fire magic—that means no big blizzard in book two..."
"That poor fool would drive away the one person who could put up with her," Cassandra says, sighing.
"Maker, I'm glad I'm single," Cullen mutters. "Although Cassandra's hair in the firelight is...a thing I shouldn't notice. We're two swords, meant for clash and clamour, not meant to rest safe in a scabbard."
And beyond them is Adder, who enters the tavern and walks to their table, her expression pensive. "Weightless, wind in your face, fast and frantic—falling is fun until you open your eyes and see the ground. Have we finally crashed? Will I be walking when we're done? Oh, my love..."
Cole closes his eyes. Breathing, blood pumping, beating heart. A human hears what's here, not what's behind the head.
"You're sure?" Varric is asking Adder.
"Look," Adder looks around at her friends, apologetic, "I know this is awkward, but I'd really appreciate it. Save me from a night of sitting and brooding, please?"
"That we can do," says Varric. "Still not as awkward as that game after Aveline's wedding. Hawke, heartbroken, feathers drooping; the captain, green-eyed and firing shots across the bow whenever she could; Daisy, sunny and stupid. 'How do you think Aveline and Donnic are enjoying Orlais, Hawke?'"
No. His mouth isn't moving. He isn't saying this.
They file into the back room where they can play cards. Varric sits in Sera's usual chair, and Josephine removes the extra chair from the table. Varric deals. Cole likes these cards. The old woman who painted them was worried; she had four grandchildren to care for, a daughter and son-in-law to grieve, and her eyesight was failing. Her eyesight is gone now, her grief dimmed, her grandchildren grown. Cole wants to find her. He'll tell her that her work brought togetherness, respite, joy, even if he never won a game. That will make her happy. She always wondered if anyone ever noticed her cards.
Varric plays the first hand. Usually, Adder goes next, but her gaze is far away. She doesn't come back to the present until Cullen clears his throat.
"My turn?" Adder examines the table. Frowning—she doesn't have anything good, and this time she doesn't try to hide it—she tosses some cards face up on the table then takes a long drink from her mug.
"'Inky,'" she mimics Sera's accent, "'I know I got my own room and my own friends and my own job and sometimes I don't even see you all day—just stop smotherin' me, will ya?'"
Cole blinks. Her pain's lessening a bit. Burn the wound so it seals over.
Varric chuckles. "Adder, I'm surprised at this failure of voice. You know she'd swear more."
That makes some people chuckle.
"Don't forget throwing things," Dorian says.
Suddenly, Cole is where Adder was years ago, in Sera's room, ducking something Sera threw. Cold spread beneath Adder's skin even as she laughed it off. She's scared of the Fade, Adder thought. Perfectly understandable.
Cole finds himself humming loudly, biting down hard on his tongue. Since he starting trying to keep people's thoughts to himself, his tongue always hurts.
Adder is watching him, intent as a diving hawk. "Of course, you know exactly why she's so upset, don't you, Cole?"
"I do. But...you said I shouldn't—"
"Inquisitor," Cassandra says, disapproving and disappointed.
"Oh, fine." Adder grimaces in embarrassment. "Forget I said anything."
Cole touches his fingers to his forehead. "Forget." He pauses. "It didn't work."
Everyone at the table glances at each other. Then Varric ventures, "Kid...was that a...joke?"
"It was. I can't make myself forget. Not even things that hurt a lot, like Solas leaving or the mages I killed."
Another pause—he's said something people don't want to hear, again—before Varric grins. "That's a damn good start, kid."
Everyone starts congratulating him. Cassandra hopes Cole won't adopt Varric's sense of humour. Josephine wonders if she can get him to stop lurking and scaring the guests. Cullen hopes this will put an end to notes about Uldred and lyrium. Blackwall buys him a drink, forgetting that he doesn't need to eat. Even Adder, who hurts so much, smiles and squeezes his arm.
Being human is good. Stay here. Stay human.