I had a very productive night, for once. Anyway, sorry for the delay but here it is, finally!
Rhea winces as she feels the now-familiar sting of the flat of a practice blade. This time, it glances across her arm. Her muscles spasm in response.
"No good, Inky." Sera chides as they reset back to a traditional sparring stance. "You want to end up with a Grey Warden sword wedged up your arse?"
Rhea wipes sweat from her forehead. It glistens on the back of her hand in the deceptively warm sun.
"Again, then." She says. The decidedly more tempestuous elf giggles, shaking her head.
"You need a break." Sera says, lips parted in a wide grin. "Go on, meet me back here when the sun is…" She trails off, shading her eyes. She points at an indistinguishable point in the sky. "There! Sky should be all pink at that point. Pinky for Inky!"
Rhea snorts, but bobs her head in affirmation nonetheless. Sera traipses off to do Creators-know-what. Rhea plonks her training blade in the bin at the edge of the drill field and sits beside it, enjoying the shade afforded to her by a tall, gnarled pine. Cullen is training a pack of new recruits on the far side of the field. Rhea appreciates his efforts; it's not often a top commander takes the time to personally work with novice enlisters. He is a good man. If only there were more of his type wielding such authority.
She sighs, plucking at her sweat-drenched tunic. Sera is a ruthless coach, but she's truly grateful for the help.
Two weeks prior, on a trip to Crestwood, Rhea and her retinue had stumbled upon a large fort. Perfect for the Inquisition, despite being run over with bandits. Still, they'd managed to take the fortress, but while they fought through the driving rain, Rhea realized that growing up Dalish had not prepared her for using her magic in such close quarters. After about a dozen bandits had gotten too close for comfort, Rhea decided that she ought to learn how to properly handle a blade. With the siege of Adamant looming in the immediate future, she thought it pertinent that she at least have some rudimentary grasp of swordplay. Sera was the dark horse candidate, but ultimately she was really the only suitable choice. Cullen is too disciplined to hierarchy to raise a blade against his commander, Cassandra and Blackwall both rely too heavily on their shields to teach her how to fight without, and Bull could easily rend her in half without so much as a sneeze. Sera matches her in size, is quick with a short blade, and does not hold back.
Rhea rubs her arm gingerly, urging healing magic to pour forth from her fingers.
Perhaps she ought to hold back a little more. The Dalish elf's muscles are starting to wear from the torment.
She leans back against the soft grass. It tickles her skin in a pleasant way that congeals into a thick, homesick knot in her stomach. Rhea sighs, gaze trained on the sparse clouds that blow overhead. The overwhelming bizarreness of her situation has yet to cease affecting her. Even when the Keeper sent her half a world away to spy on the Conclave, she hadn't even given the slightest thought to the notion that she might not return. She wouldn't ever be able to return, she thinks. Not as long as the Anchor is fixed to her hand. Her fist clenches, and there is a brief pulse of ethereal green light in the corner of her eye. It no longer pains her as much as it did when Cassandra and the others found her at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but perhaps it's possible she's just grown accustomed to it. She closes her eyes, relishing the slight breeze that caresses her flushed skin.
After several minutes, she begins to feel the exhaustion wracking her limbs begin to tug at her consciousness. Sleep does sound appealing. Forty winks before dinner would leave her much more refreshed for the impending beating Sera would surely dole out on her. Perhaps enough to return the favor for once.
"That hardly seems a comfortable spot to nap, Rhea." A harsh voice, cloaked in a thick Nevarran accent, interjects. The Inquisitor cracks an eyelid. Cassandra stands tall above her, arms crossed.
"It isn't so bad." She replies, stretching her arms above her head lazily. "Have you ever tried it?"
Cassandra makes a small noise in the back of her throat. The crunch of grass indicates she's taken a seat beside the elf.
"No, but perhaps I've been too fortunate. I've always had a bed to rest in when I needed it." The warrior says. Rhea smiles.
"You say fortunate; I say you're missing out." She says. "There's nothing quite like waking up with sticks in your hair and bugs in your nose."
Cassandra snorts derisively, but when Rhea opens her eyes, the Seeker is smirking.
"I suppose there isn't anything quite like that."
Rhea shrugs. "It's got its own sort of charm. Beds aren't really a staple of Dalish camps- it's mostly just cots and sleeping rolls."
"How do you find sleeping in the Inquisitor's chambers, then?"
Rhea grins. "Decidedly more charming than sleeping on the ground."
"I thought so." Cassandra says, her tone playfully smug.
"Charm is for the birds when you've got a goose-down mattress, I suppose." Rhea says. "Everyone back home would give me an earful for sleeping indoors."
"Where is home?" Cassandra asks. Normally, Rhea would give some kind of flippant, noncommittal response. But the Seeker sounds genuinely curious. She sighs.
"I don't know any more." She says wistfully. "The plan was to dip down through the Free Marches for a spell, around Ostwick. But I haven't heard word from my clan for a few weeks."
"Does that make you nervous?" Cassandra probes. Rhea shakes her head, eyes trained on the wispy clouds above.
"If anything had happened, another clan would have sent word." She explains. "Clan Lavellan keeps close ties with a lot of other clans that frequent the Free Marches. My guess is that they're trying to keep their heads down. The Lavellan name is more recognizable than it's ever been before. Notoriety and Dalish clans don't tend to mix well."
"But you've had some contact with them, yes? Since you became Inquisitor?" Cassandra continues. Rhea wonders where the sudden curiosity stems from. Not that it isn't appreciated.
"I have."
"How do they feel about you being styled as the 'Herald of Andraste'?"
Rhea snorts, glancing at Cassandra. "Ah, that old chestnut." She mumbles. Cassandra's eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly. She doesn't say anything, though, so Rhea continues. "I don't think it really matters to them what shemlen want to call me. It certainly doesn't to me."
"You don't believe in Andraste?"
Rhea's brow furrows. This certainly wasn't the type of conversation she wanted to get into with Cassandra, of all people. She's certain the woman shits verses from the Chant of Light. Still, Rhea doesn't much believe in dodging questions.
"I don't see how believing in elven gods and believing in Andraste have to be mutually exclusive." She says mildly. "But I keep the faith of my people, if that's what you're asking."
Cassandra is quiet. Rhea takes that as a cue to keep talking.
"I suppose I don't disbelieve in anything. But I don't know if it really was Andraste that saved me, or a spirit, or what have you. That's why I always figured you'd be much better suited for this job than I. You have convictions. I have a glowing scar."
"A glowing scar that just so happens to be exactly what we need." Cassandra adds. Rhea shrugs, conceding the point.
"Do you ever wish you were the Inquisitor, Cassandra?" She asks, plucking shoots of grass idly. The Seeker scoffs.
"Maker, no." She says, a smile lighting her tone. "I have never desired the spotlight, nor do I think I would fare well beneath it."
"You'd be crazy to think that Thedas isn't watching you just as closely as they are me." Rhea says, shooting a glance at the other woman. The scar on her cheek stands out starkly against her pale olive skin.
"And you know that isn't true." Cassandra retorts. Rhea laughs, pulling a dandelion from the soil and leaning back. She twirls the stem between her fingers.
"I know, I just thought maybe you'd believe it. This job's a lot of pressure to handle alone."
Cassandra exhales, and Rhea cranes her neck to find the Seeker staring at her intensely. Her eyes are almost black.
"You are not alone, Rhea." She says seriously. The elf worries her lip and drops the dandelion. She leans back to watch the clouds once more.
"I know, Cass." She says, closing her eyes. "I know."
By the end of her second practice bout with Sera, Rhea is all but dragging herself through the halls of Skyhold to her meeting with the advisors. She had done better, but Sera had still landed some particularly stinging blows that were already congealing into thick bruises. She'll heal them during Cassandra and Cullen's obligatory argument, she reasons. As she passes Varric, the dwarf hands her a goblet filled to the brim with red wine. He doesn't even bother to look from his writing, but she mumbles an earnest thank-you nonetheless. Taking a swig, she continues to shuffle to her destination. As she nears the side door to the War Room, (and more importantly, Josie's office), she catches a glimpse of the Skyhold throne. Her stomach churns uncomfortably at the sight, so she pours more wine on it. That helps.
She gives a cursory knock on Josephine's door, though she's certain the ambassador has been in their meeting chambers for well over an hour at this point. Rhea smiles at the thought before pushing the door open. There is someone there, but it definitely isn't Josephine.
"Hello, Blackwall." She greets, trying to seem less baffled than she truly is. The man starts and whirls.
"Oh, Inquisitor!" He booms, then blushes. "I didn't think… Well, I…" He stammers, then clears his throat. "I thought the meeting had started already."
Rhea waves her hand dismissively, taking a sip of wine.
"I told them to start without me today. I've been training with Sera, and you know how that can drag."
"Ah, yes." Blackwall mumbles, scuffing his boot on the floor. There is an awkward silence as Rhea notices what the man is holding for the first time.
"A violet, huh?" She asks, gesturing at the flower that looks hilariously dainty in the Grey Warden's massive hands. He looks down at it, as if suddenly remembering it is there, and flushes a shade of purple. Gives the violet a run for its coin, Rhea muses.
"Well, erm… Yes, it would seem so." He hems, dropping it on the desk lightly as if it might burn him. Rhea raises an eyebrow. An ugly feeling is spreading through her gut, but she quells that with another liberal splash of wine. Now is not the time.
"I'm sure she'll quite like it." She says lightly. "I think I'm really late, now."
"Of course, Inquisitor. Don't mind me, I'm just… ah. Leaving." He says, edging around her while leaving several paces of space between them. She does not watch him leave, but takes a slow drink of wine and examines the dust motes that twirl in the fading orange sunlight.
"Inquisitor?" Blackwall says, his voice at the edge of the room. Rhea looks over her shoulder.
"If you could not mention this to Ambassador Montilyet, I would be much obliged."
Rhea nods and raises her cup. The Warden gives a grateful half-bow before ducking out of the room. The elf sighs, regarding the violet with raised eyebrows. At least that mystery is solved, she supposes. With a bracing stretch, she ambles to the War Room. Upon entering, the advisors all look up from whatever documents they're studying. They utter various greetings before returning to their silent planning. Save for Josephine. The Antivan woman smiles warmly as Rhea takes a seat across the table from her, golden eyes dancing in the dying sunlight. There is warmth spreading through Rhea's stomach and it certainly isn't from the wine.
"How was training?" Josephine practically purrs. Rhea's mouth goes dry, but she smiles anyway.
"Productive and horrible." She replies, setting her cup down on the worn oak table. Leliana slides a coaster beneath it almost instantly, tutting.
"Sorry, Leliana." Rhea says, her tone apologetic through constant practice. Josephine giggles and the Inquisitor shoots her a conspiratorial smile. She swears the diplomat blushes as she stands, smoothing her ruffled pants.
"Now, Cullen, would you care to bring the Inquisitor up to speed on what we've covered thus far?" She asks. The blonde man nods, beckoning for Josephine to give him her notes. As the Antivan woman bends to fetch the parchment from her clipboard, Rhea notices something white perched upon it.
The halla carving has been fixed to the wood, standing proud above the countless sheaves of paper pinned to it. She cannot keep the smile from her lips as Josephine pulls the meeting transcript off the clipboard. The ugly feeling vanishes instantly. Rhea takes a sip of wine, triumphant and ready to save the world for another day.
As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read. Feedback is always appreciated, I live for your critiques. Hopefully the next update comes sooner rather than later. Until then, have a great time out there everyone!