After about a week and a half in Val Royeaux, I was ready to get back home. And, surprisingly enough, by 'home' I meant 'Haven.' I don't know if it was knowing that Mum was there, or just the thought of not having my ears assaulted by Orlesian all day, every day, but by the time we were loading up the carts to head back to Haven, I was so ready to go. It was tiring, always having to be the 'Herald of Andraste.' I felt like a circus attraction; everyone wanted to see the knife-ear touched by the Prophet. I was starting to attract crowds in the market square. For this city girl, suddenly that backwoods collection of shacks and snow was starting to sound like the most wonderful place in Thedas.
So, it was absolutely no surprise that less than a day before we were scheduled to ride out through the city gates, Harding got a bird in from Leliana that changed everything. She called Cassandra, Varric, Rylen and I to a meeting in the scouts' room.
"It was in a black-ribbon message from Nightingale – her highest priority messages. Josephine received an overture from the Court-Enchanter of the Empress, who's also known as Vivienne, Madame de Fer. She's inviting the Inquisition to a soirée at the chateau of her lover, Duke Bastien de Ghislain."
"That has got to be the most Orlesian thing anyone has ever said," I laughed. "Why is it so important that we need to hear about some party Josephine is going to? Does she need us to scope the place out first? Are they expecting trouble?"
"The soirée is in a week," Harding replied, "So, no one from Haven would be able to get there in time. And Cassandra can't go because of who's on the guest list – there's some Nevarran politics involved that I don't quite understand. No, they want you to go, Your Worship."
I got up out of my seat and headed for the door reflexively, before composing myself enough to speak. "Are they insane? They shouldn't even let me serve the cheese platters at things like this – I have no idea what I'm doing."
"Oh, look what Josephine added in the message: 'Tell the Herald to take a deep breath' – it says so right here. So, take a deep breath. Then it says, 'tell her she'll be just fine.' You'll be just fine, Your Worship," Harding said with a light chuckle, and the smile she gave seemed to stop time for a moment.
"We will make this work," Cassandra said. "It is imperative that you go, Herald, given the circumstances, but I share your concern. The Game is not to be trifled with. We shall simply send someone with you. Perhaps Ser Rylen would be willing to go."
"I would be honored, my Lady," Rylen said, "but there would be no one to escort the troops back to Haven. With a retinue so green, they need an experienced presence. Perhaps Master Tethras would be a better choice."
Varric let go a loud guffaw, and Cassandra almost shrieked at the thought.
"Absolutely not. We will not have Varric Tethras representing the Inquisition on any level as long as I draw breath."
"Seeker, I'm wounded," Varric replied. "You mean you're actually not going to let me attend a boring party where I'll be accosted by people asking me about the Tale of the Champion all night?"
Cassandra grunted, looking away from Varric, and shaking her head.
"I could go," Harding said. "I mean, nothing short of blood magic is going to get the Herald up to speed on The Game in a week – no offense, Your Worship,"
"None taken," I chuckled.
"And, honestly, I don't think they'll care. They really just want someone there, so the Herald just needs to be herself, and to do that, she needs someone to stand with her, so she remembers she's the Herald of Andraste, and doesn't let a bunch of rich humans intimidate her. And I'm not like Charter or Rector; I can be seen in public. Plus, I'm also handy with a knife, and it might be good to have someone watching her back."
"And you don't feel intimidated by rich humans, Lieutenant?" Cassandra asked.
"Only sometimes," Harding replied. "But there are some funds set aside for important missions like this, and a new dress would do wonders for my confidence. Besides, I'd be accompanied by the Herald of Andraste."
"It's settled, then," I interjected, trying to keep this from being a decision Cassandra had to make. "Cassandra, you, Varric, and Solas can head back to Haven with the supplies as scheduled. Harding and I will attend this soirée, and return as soon as we're able."
Cassandra, Rylen, and Varric went back to their preparations for departure the following day, but I hung back a bit.
"Hey, I wanted to thank you for offering to do this, Harding. The whole idea makes me kind of nervous, to be honest, and it'll be good to have someone on my side, you know?"
"That's me," Harding replied, smiling. "I'm always going to be on your side, Herald."
We made plans the following day to upgrade our wardrobes for the event, but were advised by nearly everyone in Val Royeaux to go with something more functional than fancy. Or, as Cassandra so kindly put it: "Keeping you alive until we seal the breach is the single most important mission the Inquisition has, and I will not see that mission fail because you wore a frilly dress to some noble's party." So, we saw an armorer rather than a dressmaker, and we both opted for a tunic-and-breeches look, rather than a coat or that weird skirt-thing that was all the rage in the early 9:30s. The armorer was very happy to create two pieces specifically for the Inquisition, especially when we told her we'd pay for rush service. Both leather tunics were sleeved, and covered in a stout, dark grey fabric with white pinstriping, to match the Inquisition's colors. My breeches were a dark burgundy, and Harding's were gold.
The armorer had an elven servant, and her eyes went wide when she saw us walk in, focusing immediately on the mark on my left hand. After the armorer left her alone with us to take our measurements, she whispered to me in heavily-accented Trade.
"I want to thank you for what you are doing. The elves, we see you. Herald or no Herald, shems listen to you. I do something special for you, yes? In case these shems don't like you, you will be safe. Old Sylvie knows tricks, non? You are busy women, and can only come back after closing to pick these up? Such a shame. I will let Madame know."
I smiled at her, and told her that she'd be welcome to work with Harritt and Dad in our armory, but she said that her husband was in poor health, and the cold air in the mountains would be bad for his rheumatism. "I will pray for you, Herald," she said. "But first, I take care of you. Two hours past sundown, yes, da'len?"
We showed up as scheduled, and Sylvie was waiting for us in an alley next to the shop with a cowl draped over her head, which at that time of night was making my hands twitchy for my daggers, and I could see Harding reaching for hers already. I put my hand up to signal her 'not yet' on the knives, and we followed Sylvie into the shop. She lit two lamps on the counter, giving the shop just enough light to be less menacing, but not enough to attract customers, or other unwanted attention. She handed us each a package and shooed us toward a small room with a curtain in front, telling us "you try these on now, yes? I will make adjustments."
Harding and I walked behind the curtain and began to undress. And it turned out that her sun-kissed cheeks and blindingly radiant smile were, in fact, matched by a delightfully curvy dwarven figure, and it occurred to me that it was my duty as the Herald of Andraste to ensure that she never wore that shape-erasing breastplate ever again.
"Oh, Your Worship, you should really look at this," Harding said, as she began to put the breeches on. "It looks like – um, Herald? My eyes are up here. Anyway, it looks like Sylvie really came through for us. Check out what she did with the breeches. And for the Maker's sake, stop staring!"
At least she was laughing while she said that. She wasn't kidding about the breeches. Along the sides there was a hidden slot with a stiletto on one leg and a small knife on the other, just in case of trouble. The weapons were hidden in such a way that a bit of filigree on the tops of each grip looked like decorations on the breeches. A pat-down would find the weapons, but barring that, we could be armed at the gathering without drawing too much attention to ourselves. The armor was stout, but not stiff – I'm almost certain it was bear hide. This stuff cost a fortune, but Cassandra certainly wouldn't have to hear that we didn't make it back because we weren't well enough armored.
"Let me look at you," Sylvie said as Harding and I emerged from the fitting room. "Yes, this looks nice," she muttered. "Cette vache a bien fait, yes?"
She winked at me when she heard me snort-laugh at her insulting her employer. "All is in order. Just as was promised, non?"
"Ma serannas, hahren," I said. "This is perfect. And I love what was done with the breeches."
"Old Sylvie has tricks," she replied. "Now, you wear this well. Be safe, lethallan. We are so proud of you."
We changed back into our street clothes and took the new armor back to the inn after promising Sylvie half a dozen times that we would, in fact, stay safe. She didn't believe us anymore than we did.
Two days later, we were on our way to Ghislain, via the road to Andoral's Reach. Duke Bastien had arranged a plush upholstered carriage, drawn by two Orlesian Coursers, with the Duke's own guard accompanying for safety. I felt like nobility. I looked like nobility. I could probably snap my fingers twice and have the shems guarding us polish my boots. Hey – there were four shems and between Harding and I, four boots, so…
"You have an absolutely feral grin, Your Worship. What's going on in that head of yours?"
"Oh, nothing," I replied. "Just thinking about how we should probably get a shine on these boots before we walk into the soirée. You think those shems could take care of that for us?"
Harding laughed and shook her head. "Probably, but what do you say we not intentionally provoke the much bigger people with the pointy swords who are charged with our safety? Sound good to you?"
"Fine…," I huffed, and went back to looking out the window as northern Orlais rolled by.
"You know, Your Worship," Harding said after a little while, "I'm glad I'm here with you."
I thought my face would break from smiling. "I'm glad you're with me, too, Scout Harding."
"If you don't mind my saying so, you were a bit of a pain in the ass when we first met, so I'm glad you've mellowed a bit."
I almost fell over laughing. "This is the way you talk to Our Lady's own herald, is it? I see the kind of respect you so-called Andrastrians have."
"No, really. When we first met that day in the Hinterlands, you looked like you wanted to be anywhere else. But now, I don't know, it's like you've accepted that you're with us."
"Well, the perks aren't bad," I replied, running my fingers over the velvet upholstery.
"They really aren't, are they?
"And the company is just lovely," I continued, flirting nearly unconsciously at that point. Harding, however, began to squirm in her seat, and we fell into a strangely uncomfortable silence.
Five minutes of that was about all I could take.
"Well, shit. I've made you uncomfortable. Look, I'm really sorry about that, Scout Harding, it's just –"
"No, it's okay, Your Worship," Harding interrupted. "In fact, it's a little flattering, if I'm honest. And if things were different, well …"
"Different how?"
Harding took a moment and exhaled. "Look – you're my boss. I mean, Sister Nightingale's my real boss, and I get that, but I still work for the Inquisition, and you're still the Herald of Andraste. I need this job. Threnn sends ten sovereigns a week out of my pay to my parents, and without that, they wouldn't be able to support themselves. And you don't seem like the kind of person who would get vindictive, but if things went south, or if we weren't on the same page, well, you're the one with the green glowy hand, and I'm not, y'know?"
"Hey – I mean, I know I'm not the most refined girl out there, but you can't think I'd really be like that, right?" I pleaded.
"No," she replied, "but you're not the only one with a stake in this. Literally all of Thedas is relying on us. I'm sorry, Your Worship, but I just can't right now."
"Right now?" I asked, cringing almost as soon as the words came out of my mouth.
"Please, Your Worship," Harding replied. "This isn't fun for me, either."
"You're right," I said, putting my hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry."
Harding mumbled her thanks, and we went back to that deafening silence for a few minutes before she started chuckling to herself.
"What's so funny?" I asked.
"Oh, nothing," she replied. "It's just – my mother's been on my case to 'find someone nice to settle down with' for years, and here I am turning down the Herald of Andraste."
I half-heartedly chuckled along with her as she continued.
"I can see the letter now: 'Lace Harding, I thought we raised you better than that!'"
"Lace? That's a pretty name."
"Thanks," she replied with a soft grin and a slight blush.
"Hey, I completely respect what you said earlier – I want you to know that. But, would you mind if I called you that? Lace, I mean. It's just, I really don't have any friends here. I mean, the only elf who doesn't treat me like I'm –"
"The Herald of Andraste?" she asked.
"Yeah, that. The only elf who doesn't treat me like that is Sera, and, well…"
"There's a history there, right?"
"I'll tell you 'The Ballad of Nessa and Sera' someday, promise. But, yeah. There's a bit of a history. Anyway –"
"Nessa, it's fine," Lace said, sitting forward and taking my hands in her own. "I could use a friend, too."
