I've decided I'm most productive when I can switch back and forth between writing two things at once. So, while I work on Spitfire I'm also going to be working on this! It's just been an idea that's been kicking around in my head since Inquisition dropped, and now I finally have time to actually turn it into something, which is really very exciting for me.
Rhea Lavellan is tall, for an elf. Lithe, like Leliana, but not as full-figured; powerful, like Cullen and Cassandra, but not as compactly muscled. She seems to temper the passions of the Inquisition's leaders simply by existing.
Josephine is incredibly grateful for it.
Presently, they debate whether to reach out to either the mages or the Templars for an alliance in sealing the Breach. The argument is so circular that Josephine fears she may actually grow nauseous from it, should it continue to spiral.
She sighs, examining the rough transcript of the dispute she had been maintaining for the past hour or so. Every time she thinks she catches someone make a novel point, she begins to write it down, only to notice that it is already on the page, ink dried for some time. They'd been at it for hours, and it surprises Josephine to see the normally synchronized group so at odds with one another.
What also surprises her is the Herald's relative silence throughout their meeting. The elven mage sits in her usual plain wooden chair, eyes searching the map spread across the war table as if the answer was somewhere to be found among the figurines strategically placed along the battered parchment.
Josephine finds her gaze wandering toward the Herald more frequently than is considered professional. She tells herself it's because she anticipates the elf to interject at some point, to break her expansive silence. It is not because her auburn hair, normally tied into a messy bun atop her head, now tumbles in loose waves over her shoulders and down her back in a most distracting way.
It has been becoming customary for the Herald to spend time during the afternoon with Josephine, sipping tea with the Inquisition's ambassador and making light conversation between lectures about the intricacies of human politics. It is time spent together that Josephine has recently realized she looks forward to, almost unconsciously, every day. The Dalish mage came from a clan that apparently held enough interest in human affairs to send one of their only mages to spy on a summit organized by the Divine. This intrigued Josephine when she first received a report from Leliana about the sole survivor of the Conclave explosion; the Dalish aren't known for having any interest in humans whatsoever. Even so, the Herald's understanding of human culture remains tenuous at best. Josephine hopes she helps.
She glances once again at the elf. Her almond-shaped brown eyes have turned from the war map to the assembled advisers, observing. Josephine notes that she vaguely resembles a barn owl, though not in an unappealing way at all.
Josephine abandons her attempts to keep any record of the debate. Cullen slams his fist on the table for the umpteenth time. Cassandra makes a disgusted noise. Leliana paces back and forth as she continues to champion for the Redcliffe mages. The Herald remains quiet, adjusting the bearskin cloak draped over her shoulders. They lapse into silence.
Finally, she clears her throat.
"I agree with Leliana." The Herald says, her tone low and even. Cullen and Cassandra open their mouths, ready to begin the argument anew, but pointed glares from both Leliana and Josephine effectively silence them.
"Go on then, Rhea." Cullen murmurs reluctantly. Josephine is surprised that they are on a first-name basis. The Herald nods, and then stands.
"Perhaps I'm biased, but I think mages are the best equipped to deal with the Fade. I know nothing of your Templars." She says, her Dalish accent thick around her every word. "I'm closing the Breach. I would have familiar power behind me, rather than something foreign. I cannot trust anything but what I know."
Cullen draws a gloved hand over his face. Cassandra's jaw is tight. Leliana looks pleased.
The Herald sits back down, rubbing her marked hand. The strange glowing mark is concealed by a black leather glove, but the Herald does not complain of it often. The elf's doe-brown eyes are then trained on Josephine. The ambassador feels her pulse quicken just barely.
"What do you think?" The Herald asks. Josephine clears her throat.
"I think the cost of importing lyrium, at least by my tally, is slightly lessened by allying with the mages." She says, tapping the calculation with her quill. It is something she thinks worth considering, though nobody had brought it up prior. "You are the only one who can close the Breach, my lady. I think the priority lies in selecting the group you are most comfortable relying upon."
The Herald gives Josephine an appreciative, but fleeting, smile. Cassandra lets out a pinched sigh.
"I do agree with Josephine on that count." The Seeker says. "I will support whatever you decide is best."
"I will as well." Cullen adds after a long pause.
And just like that, hours of vicious debate are concluded. Peacefully. Josephine wonders why the Herald did not speak up sooner.
Cullen and Cassandra leave to conduct drills with the Inquisition recruits. The Herald stands to leave as well, but is stopped by Leliana. The spymaster is organizing several scrolls with which to brief the elf about their mission to Redcliffe. Josephine smiles wryly. Leliana must have suspected which way the Herald would lean, to have prepared so thoroughly.
At the end of the day, personal bias ultimately wins out, and the Dalish mage did not disprove that theory. Nevertheless, Josephine agrees that it is the right decision. The Templars have proven themselves too heavy-handed to make compliant allies, while the mages would likely be grateful for any substantial support. The Inquisition still holds enough Templars in their ranks as it is; the threat of abominations cropping up could be dealt with easily enough. Especially with Cullen in command.
Josephine moves her messy transcript to the bottom of the sheaf of paper she carries on her writing board.
"I will compose a missive to Redcliffe at your command." She says to Leliana. The former bard nods, then returns to briefing the Herald, pointing to something on the document laid out before them.
Josephine decides she's spent enough time in the war room for one day. Though it is mercifully warm, it is also rather stuffy. She returns to her own office just a door down, pleased to note that the fire burning in the hearth had not gone out. Sharing the space with a former mage of the Circle is rapidly proving itself to be a definite perk, although Minaeve insists daily that she is "really no good at magic".
She sits, her knees groaning in relief. Josephine is young, barely past her twenty sixth year, but lately her joints had been behaving as if she'd aged fifty years. She chalks it up to the altitude and weather in Haven and begins rifling through the stacks of letters amassed on her desk.
None of them strike her as being of particular importance, so she settles on the first one. Some inconsequential Comte has been sending raven after raven insisting that Haven is, rightfully, his land. She asked for a contract at several points during their correspondence and has yet to receive so much as an acknowledgment that there even is one. Still, the Comte is insistent, and Josephine fears a "diplomatic intervention" is in her horizon if he makes good on his promises to pay Haven a visit in the near future.
There is a hole in the sky, and still nobles squabble like they always have. Josephine reviles it, but it truly is a testament to the stubborn arrogance of the human spirit.
She is nearly done with her reply to the Comte's latest vitriolic dispatch when there is a tentative knock on the study door. It is a knock she's come to recognize, and a smile lights her lips, briefly.
"Come in, Herald." She intones quietly, laying away her quill beside the now half-empty ink pot. The elf treads in silently, exchanging a nod with Minaeve as she passes the researcher's desk.
Josephine wonders what it must be like for both of them to see someone from such a similar background end up such a radically different position. She supposes the only real difference between Minaeve and the Herald was the number of mages in their clan when they were born. Josephine wonders who is the luckier of the two.
The Herald clears her throat, and Josephine notices the scrolls she carries in her arms. The fair-skinned elf smiles crookedly.
"Apparently, this was too much for Leliana to carry over." She says, setting each scroll neatly upon the polished oak of Josephine's desk. "Our spymaster certainly loves to delegate."
Josephine chuckles, gathering up the documents and giving a few of them a quick once-over.
"Creating busy-work is a secret hobby of hers these days." She says, sorting out the most immediately important papers and rolling them back up. "It's mundane enough to be comforting, I suppose."
The Herald smiles, and Josephine notices for the first time that it makes her eyes crease in a most adorable way.
"In a Dalish camp, I suppose everything is busy work. Trying to stay alive on the road and whatnot. So I'm used to it." She says, her tone suddenly wistful. Everyone is homesick, but it must be very trying indeed to be both homesick and surrounded by an entirely unfamiliar race and culture. Josephine feels a pang of sympathy for the Herald.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Josephine offers lightly. The Herald brightens a bit.
"Do you have any of the royal elfroot left?" She asks, pulling up a rickety chair to the desk. Josephine nods, standing to gather up the tea kettle and mugs from the mantle.
She sets everything before the Herald and begins to sort through the drawer of her desk that only the Herald, Minaeve, and Leliana know of. Leliana calls it her "comfort drawer". It is filled with pouches of loose-leaf tea, small candies, scented candles from Orlais, colorful pots of ink imported from Par Vollen, and dried, pressed flowers native to Antiva. She smiles when she finds a tea bag for the Herald, (royal elfroot; bitterer than anything Josephine has ever tasted in her life, but it's the Herald's favorite), then searches around for anything that strikes her own mood. She settles with mint.
The Herald already has the kettle steaming by the time Josephine hands her the tea bags. The elf's mastery of the elements surprised Josephine in its practical uses. The Herald explained that most of her practice, when training to be the Keeper's First, was directed toward domestic necessities. Lighting fires, melting snow, drying clothes, and the like; all essentially chores.
The Herald smiles as she pours the steaming water into each mug.
"You know, I really used to resent having to do this for my clan every night." She says easily. "But it's actually very useful."
Josephine hums her agreement as she dips her tea bag into her mug.
"I don't think I will ever be content to wait for the hearth to warm the kettle again, Herald." She says, smiling conspiratorially at the elf.
"Call me Rhea."
Josephine lifts her spoon, pressing the tea bag against the lip of her mug and draining any remaining water from the leaves. She prefers her tea weak.
"Rhea…" Josephine repeats, exploring the way the name feels on her tongue. It rolls cleanly, in Josephine's Antivan lilt. The elf clears her throat.
"I know you have to call me Herald in front of everyone else. Keeping up appearances and all that." She says, stirring her own tea. "But I'd like to think we're familiar enough for you to use my real name."
Josephine hides the flush of warmth gracing her cheeks by taking a sip of her tea.
"It's strange, being called one thing all my life. Then that changed in one day." Rhea says, tracing her finger around the rim of her mug. "I still don't always respond to 'Herald'."
Josephine rests her tea on a knitted coaster she made in finishing school. It's an atrocious blend of orange and forest-green.
"I can relate." She says softly, her eyes settling on the Dalish elf across from her. "Once, I was just Josie. Now I'm Ambassador Montilyet, diplomatic liaison of the Inquisition to the rest of Thedas."
Rhea smiles gently. Josephine, despite herself, feels her heart continue to patter in her breast. The other woman is disconcertingly beautiful, at times. The firelight plays across her tawny hair, giving it an almost ethereal gleam. Her eyes are large, a trademark of her race. The olive-green blood markings splayed across her rosy cheeks and forehead are subtle, branching out like tree limbs. Josephine thinks she must have had suitors lining up for her across clan divisions. But there is a certain feral edge to the woman. Her smile is just crooked enough, and her cheekbones are high and proud. There is something quick and sharp in those large doe-eyes as well. They are soft, but at times gleam like chipped amber under the sun. Her appearance is… intoxicating in a way Josephine has not been able to fully figure out since her arrival in Haven weeks ago. She supposes it's only a matter of time before half the camp is smitten with their Herald, if they aren't already.
Rhea takes a long sip of her tea, eyes dancing as she gazes at the fire.
"Well, in here, you're Josie to me." She says finally. Josephine nods, thinking that she likes the way her name sounds wrapped in the elf's thick Dalish drawl.
"It's nice to have a reminder that we haven't sacrificed our identities for the sake of the Inquisition." Josephine says, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the desk.
"Not entirely, at least." Rhea says, winking slyly. Josephine chuckles.
"Such is the nature of duty, I suppose." She sighs. "One day, I was destined to become Lady of whatever house I was married into, and you were destined to become Keeper Lavellan."
"I suppose our current titles are more interesting, to say the least." The elf says, lifting her mug.
Josephine lifts hers with a smirk and clinks them together. As she sips her tea, Josephine notices that Minaeve is no longer at her desk. She wonders when she left.
Any and all feedback is appreciated, and as always, thank you so much for reading!