Chapter Eight: Friends

Denerim isn't actually all that far south of Val Royeaux, as far as the map goes, but the climates are worlds apart. The air blowing in from the western deserts breaks up the fog that drifts up from the sea a few hours before noon each day, leaving a sparkling jewel of a city in its place. It's not Antiva City, to be sure, but if I were going to set up an imperial capital that would last a thousand years or so, Val Royeaux would be as good a place as any to put it. I was enjoying a lovely walk around the market with a few of the elven scout recruits we had brought along. They were recent recruits, girls from the Redcliffe alienage, who'd signed up together once they heard the stories of our trip through the Hinterlands. Being the Herald of Andraste and all, I tried to play it off cool seeing some of the finery on display, but we arrived at a shop selling masks, and the peacock feathers and tiny pearls and rubies and gold inlay were just too much for our minds to handle. So, we got a little silly, putting on the masks, speaking in exaggerated Orlesian accents about "Jambon de désespoir," and "Fromage d'ennui," such that we'd certainly have been annoying some customers, if there had been any. Thankfully the girls I was with hadn't picked up as much Orlesian as I had working in a larger Chantry, so when the shopkeeper muttered something about "lapins putains" under her breath, I was the only one who understood what she was implying. I made sure she saw the green mark on my hand as I shepherded the girls out of the shop, and was gratified to catch her face fall as she realized she'd never sell a single mask to the Inquisition.

The sea change that made that a big deal happened nearly overnight. Once the torches and pitchforks were safely stowed, the people of Val Royeaux needed something to entertain themselves with, and tales of the Herald of Andraste and her mysterious Inquisition fit the bill nicely. Two days later, Inquisition soldiers were being bought drinks and asked for stories, and I was eating free meals in restaurants that a month prior wouldn't have hired me on as a waiter. In fact, had that shopkeeper not been such a racist bitch, I may have had a personalized Orlesian mask to take back to Haven with me, so she could tell patrons far and wide how she "hand-crafted this mask with the wild fervor that Our Lady's herald demands." Yeah, the whole "Mysterious Elven Herald" thing was certainly going to get old, quickly, but the free stuff was nice.

So, I shuffled the girls out of the shop and back out into the market square, looking for a stand that sold some of that fizzy apple drink that was all the rage, when I heard

"Nessa! Watch out!"

And was pulled to the ground by Fiona, one of the girls I was walking with, and immediately surrounded by a half-dozen Inquisition soldiers, who saw to my safety, got me back on my feet, and went looking for whoever had shot an arrow at me. I thanked everyone for their concern, took a look at the arrow, and called everyone back.

"It's alright. We're not under attack. It was just the Jennies trying to get our attention. Call off the mabari."

The Friends of Red Jenny were, depending on the day, harmless distractions, free entertainment, or pains in the ass. That day they were somewhere between the first and third. The note attached to the arrow said there was a "baddie" near Val Royeaux somewhere who wanted to hurt me, and there was a short scavenger hunt laid out for me to find this "baddie," and I was supposed to bring swords. I sighed, and brought the note back to the inn, leaving the girls to explore the market without me.

"It's a group called 'The Friends of Red Jenny,'" I said to Cassandra and Scout Harding, who I'd pulled into an impromptu meeting when I got back to the inn. "They're harmless, honestly, but they're the kind of harmless you really want on your side. The basic concept is that they network servants together who will pass on information about the people they work for. Most of the time they don't need anything from the servant himself besides that bit of information: 'Is this guy you work for a real prick?' Once they get that, they do their thing, get a bit of coin to the servant, everyone's happy. So, besides the local coordinators, no one who does any work for the Jennies would know that they did."

Cassandra looked like her head was about to fall off from confusion. Harding seemed to get it, though.

"So, that this guy's a 'Baddie,' that report came from one of his servants? Is that also how we know he's looking to harm the Inquisition?" she asked.

"That would be my guess," I replied.

"So, we're taking the word of some dishwasher that this 'Baddie' is worth our time?"

"And asking a Chantry chambermaid whether or not that's a wise course of action, all in one meeting."

"I'm- I'm so sorry, Your Worship. You're absolutely right," Harding stammered, and she just looked so ashamed of herself than I grabbed her hand across the table and squeezed it, giving her a fond smile.

"It's okay, Harding, really. I mean, weren't you a shepherd or a cattle hand or something two months ago? That's not the first thing that comes to my mind when I read your reports, either. But they are the first reports Leliana looks at, because she knows the information she's getting there is solid. So, take this chambermaid's word for it – the Jennies know what they're doing."

There was a nearly tangible silence as both Harding and Cassandra looked at each other to see who was going to ask the obvious question first. I gave them a moment or two before sparing them the embarrassment.

"Fine, since you won't ask, I'll tell you. There was once a lay brother who travelled around the Ferelden chantries doing some accounting work. Apparently, word had been getting that he was up to no good, so the Jennies asked me if I knew anything about it. I asked around, and it seemed he had an eye for teenaged elven girls, and was always asking if he could get the really young ones taking care of his room when he visited. I relayed this to the Jennies, and the following month we got a different accountant. I don't know what happened to the creep, but I do know that little Nyla had quite the grin on her face when she received a package tied off with a red bow that held a human finger, and a note saying that nine other girls were receiving similar gifts."

This seemed to calm Cassandra and Harding, and we decided to take the bait and go see exactly what kind of 'baddie' had a problem with the Inquisition. Harding still had some work to do for Leliana, so we decided to take our other sure-shot dwarf, plus Solas along for the trip.

The clues were easy enough to track, at least with Cassandra's knowledge of the city. When we got to the last one, it led us to a villa a few kilometers northeast of town. We got there shortly after sundown, and were immediately accosted by a half-dozen guards, who truly had no business being guards for someone with aspirations of provoking the Inquisition into a fight. From there we walked through a gate into a courtyard, only to find some mage throwing fire spells and Orlesian swear words at us. Solas had just put a barrier up on the four of us when an arrow seemingly came out of nowhere, slamming into the mage's eye socket, killing him instantly.

We rushed into the courtyard, looking for the sharpshooter, when I heard an all-too familiar voice call out to us.

"Oi, Inquisition. That was him. I'm coming down now, all friendly-like, yeah?"

I chuckled, and motioned to the others to stand down.

"Right," she said. "Well, you follow the notes well enough. Glad to see you're…"

"Hi, Sera," I said.

If you ever see a Wicked Grace game and Sera's at the table, jump in. I don't think she's ever had a thought in her life that hasn't broadcast itself to the Maker and everyone five times before she got it out of her mouth. When she saw me, she was confused. Then, after screwing up her face a bit, she seemed to understand what was going on.

"Nessa? You join this thing, too, then? Where's the Herald?"

I showed her the mark on my hand, and her face fell immediately.

"Oh, no. No no no no no. This isn't how it's supposed to be at all. The Inquisition's supposed to save the world, right, and you've got Nessa bloody Ghilani as your Herald? Just-no."

"Is there something wrong with the Herald?" Cassandra asked. Sera shot her a dumbfounded look.

"No, there's nothing wrong with her, really," she said. "But this hole in the sky, that's – big. And she's just, you know, Nessa. I mean, she's the tits with a shiv, and she's bloody fantastic in the sack and all, but – ugh."

Did I mention she has no filter?

"Would you mind, er, giving us a moment?" I asked the others. They backed away slowly through the gate, Cassandra giving her best disapproving grunt, and Varric muttering something about "I'm sure there's no story there or anything." Once they were out of earshot, I rounded on Sera.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked. "Weren't you supposed to be in Highever?"

"I was," she said, "but the Jenny in Verchiel got up the duff and didn't want to play no more, so I wound up in Orlais. Then the whole world goes to shite, I hear the Inquisition's going to fix everything and they're in Val Royeaux, so I run right over to meet them and it's just, you know, you."

"Yeah, it's me. I didn't ask for it, but here I am. Plus, the shems all call me "Your Worship" and shit, so it has its perks," I replied

"Still bitter about the humans, then?"

"Still trying to get the shems to see you as Not That Kind of Elf?"

She glared at me for a moment or two, and, honestly, I glared back. We never really had anything together, she and I, the sex was more out of convenience than anything else. So, our tension was more professional than romantic. Finally, I smiled and opened my arms for a hug, which she happily accepted.

"It is good to see you, though," she said. "You're looking good – all that demon-fighting has you in shape. All muscly and herald-y. That's a word, innit? Herald-y?"

Then there was a sound in the distance, and she got a worried look on her face.

"Shite! That'd be the reinforcements, then," she stage-whispered.

"How many?"

"'bout a dozen or so. But I nicked their breeches."

"Not their swords?"

"Wait'll you see 'em. No breeches!"

I sighed, and ran to get the others. We dispatched this round of goons in about three minutes with Sera's help, and, to be fair, watching these hapless shems run around bare-arsed trying to fight was pretty funny. We looted the bodies (not much on them, which I guess speaks to how much Ser Dead Guy was paying his security), I gave Sera a few sovereigns for the breeches, because stout fabric like that was still hard to come by, and we were just about to go our separate ways when she turned around, ran back towards us and grabbed me by the arm.

"Hey, wait up a sec. I wouldn't have to call you 'Your Worship' or anything if I joined up, right?" she asked.

"Not unless my mum tells you to."

"Phwoar, your mum's there, is she? She still make that thing with the apples?"

"Can you get the other Jennies on board?" I asked. "We're going to need people with access to nobles."

"Can I get that thing with the apples?"

"You get me the whole Red Jenny network, and you can have all the apple crumble you can eat. I'll have mum get the recipe to Flissa as soon as we're back at Haven," I replied, keeping my best 'Serious Negotiations' voice.

"Yes! You're the best, Nessa. Don't go getting all high-and-mighty on me, though – I think I could like this Inquisition when it's got little people at the top.

I sent her to Harding, who was handling our sudden influx of assets back at the inn. In addition to the Red Jennies, we had also been able to substantially bolster our supply sources, which meant we'd be able to eat something other than nug and turnip stew – a huge win. Put all of that together, plus the cart-load of fabric I was bringing back to mum, and my first trip out of Ferelden was looking just about as successful as that first trip out of Denerim all those years ago.

"lapins putains" – Literally: "Rabbit-whores." "Knife-ear" doesn't translate well into Orlesian, so elves are called "Rabbit," instead.