Enchanting was not a simple trade.

Beautiful, rewarding, fascinating, exciting — but never simple. And not the sort of thing just anyone could pick up.

It took years of work, specialised training and hands-on experience, just to gain enough basic proficiency to not to burn your workshop down every time you touched a raw fire rune. To truly adopt the profession you'd also need to bring an uncompromising work ethic, a bottomless well of passion, unmatched natural talent, and of course absolutely no fear of magic. Add to that the blessing of a perfect work opportunity that'll promise you a few years of commitment… and maybe — it was a big maybe — you could get away with calling yourself a novice.

Only a handful of people in all Thedas had what it took to even attempt to enter the field, let alone climb to the rank of master craftsman. Of those rarest and most highly-sought-after individuals, Dagna knew beyond a shadow of a doubt: she was the best.

And since everyone knew the Inquisition only took the best, she had several letters already posted before word of their discovery of Skyhold had even begun to spread out of Ferelden. Getting the acceptance letter was one of the greatest moments of her life, but even that paled next to actually, physically, standing at the gate.

She spent her first few days wandering around the fortress in a daze. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, she was getting herself lost on purpose. Ducking down dark hallways just for the chance to run her fingers along the old bricks. No story could possibly do her justice — Skyhold was magical.

It wasn't just the enormity of the keep that impressed, but the diversity of her keepers too. People from all over had braved the wintry mountain roads to rally behind the illustrious Herald. As the only dwarven arcanist in the world she wasn't even that out of place. Among her peers were ex-Templars, rebel mages, Qunari spies, Red Jennies, Grand Enchanters and Chantry Mothers... Even Varric Tethras, famed author of the internationally best-selling novels 'The Tale Of The Champion' and 'Hard In Hightown', was part of the Herald's inner circle.

She walked by him every day. They were friends now.

That extended state of shock was — maybe, probably — complemented by a bit of hero worship: the Inquisitor had turned out to be even more charming in person. She was more than that, of course: humble, smart, pretty… It wasn't hard to see why people followed her. And, maybe it was just the Anchor, but it really seemed like the room lit up when she walked in the door. She was genuinely good and surrounded herself with good people — it was nice to be around that. Dagna was so starstruck she had to tell herself to look at the floor every time they passed in the hall lest she do something embarrassing like get caught staring at her hand.

But that stopped being a problem after a few weeks when she started staring at other people and thinking about their hands. Then the nervous butterflies she got every time Sera smiled at her from across the room made having a conversation with the Herald of Andraste seem like no big deal.

Somehow, barely a year later, the prettiest girl in all Thedas was kissing her lips and calling her, 'Widdle'.

This really was the posting of a lifetime.

Not a day went by she wasn't thankful to whatever force was out there granting the impossible wishes of dwarven girls. Whoever they were — Gods, Ancestors, the Maker — she owed them for the chance they'd given to prove her talent to the Herald herself. Every new day was a gift; she promised herself she'd never lose sight of how amazing this opportunity was.

She'd never, ever, squander it.

And yet here she was doing just that.

Another glorious morning of boundless potential wasted standing around staring at the order she should've had done two weeks ago. Not just unfinished, but untouched. Still lying in the same place as it was when she first found it waiting on her enchanting table.

For the first time since she'd been awarded the position of master arcanist she had failed to uphold one of the core tenets of the job: always deliver on time. Never had she even come close to falling behind before.

The problem wasn't that the work was challenging. All told, the requests were fairly mundane: a setting here, a replacement there… no rare material or lost technique required. Nor was the order too large: just three staves. They'd been arranged quite nicely on her workstation, all laid out in ascending order by size, and to each affixed a tag with the upgrade request, deadline, and name of staff's wielder.

Clear, concise, orders that on any other occasion would inspire her to mount and display as an example to others. Typically requests arrived in a big pile on the floor with a hastily-scribbled note that said something like, 'bees?'.

The problem wasn't the job at all.

It was the requester.

More specifically, all the conflicting feelings she had swimming around her head about them.

Every time she worked up the gumption to get started on the project she'd get as far as lifting her arm before her eyes would fall on that name and then her stomach would start tying itself in knots and suddenly all her focus was on trying not to throw up. And rather than try to deal with any of that she'd inevitably just give up and scurry off to the other side of the room with the alchemy table. There, she could spend all day looking busy making up dye compounds.

It'd been days since she'd done any real work.

Harritt had yet to comment on her predicament, but that luck wouldn't hold. His standards weren't so low that he'd fail to notice a project gathering dust on her table for a month. Soon enough he'd start digging, and inevitably she'd be asked why she was having all this trouble doing her job.

She'd thought about whether and how to answer that question every day for the last month. It plagued her through her mornings. It haunted her at night. She was so consumed by it that she'd been practically wandering around in a fugue state — not unlike her first few weeks here. But it wasn't awe that gripped her this time.

Before her wasn't just a task, it was a choice. Either to stay mum, keep her head down, do her work, and somehow live with the knowledge that any blood spilled by a secret she kept would be on her hands. Or come forward, tell someone what she thought she heard — what she knew she heard — and risk being fired if she was wrong (or worse if she was right). She could lose the best thing that ever came into her life.

And her job, too.

There was a clatter and bang as the door to the undercroft burst open, and with her nerves so raw it launched her six inches off the ground. In stumbled Harritt carrying a crate packed so full of scrap metal that he couldn't see over it. He got two steps into the room before tripping over a loose stone, sliding into the wall, catching himself on his elbow, then yelling something that sounded like, "Blast it all!", but was too muffled by the crate to be sure.

One pointed toe stretched out and began poking around for the shoe he'd accidentally knocked off during entry, but he kicked it instead, and it ended up at the bottom of the stairs.

"Dagna, damnit, you here? Help me with this, will you!"

It was a perfect opportunity to put this off.

She perked up. "Yes! Hang on, I'm coming!"

"Big load of scrap came in from the soldiers' last run to Fallow Mire," Harritt was saying. She met him at the top of the stairs and took hold of the other side of the crate. "Swear they pull enough out of those bogs to fund the whole Inquisition for a quarter."

Together they manoeuvred the load through the undercroft toward the corner of the room where all the scrap tended to accumulate.

"Anything good?"

"Nah, all junk. Good for plenty of reforging though."

They set it down on the floor and Harritt immediately went to work sorting through the mess. Pulling out old swords and daggers and separating them into piles based on the amount of damage they'd accumulated over the years spent lying at the bottom of a lake.

Normally this was not a task that required her assistance. And, even if he'd wanted it, Harritt would never insult her by asking unless her unique skill set actually lent something to this task specifically. She had her own job, and more than enough work to keep her busy at it.

But these were extenuating circumstances.

"Do you need any help?" she asked him.

He paused. Then turned, slowly, and gave her a calculating sort of look that pulled his brow down into a single, furry, line. Dagna tried her very best to put on a convincingly neutral expression even with the sweat already beading on her temples. She'd chalk it up to the lit forge if not for the tremble in her fingers.

Harritt was silent for an agonisingly long four seconds before he shook his head, and laughed. His expression falling into something rather fond. "Miss her, do you?"

Dagna flushed. "No! Well, I mean, yes. Yes. So much. But I also just want to help."

"Right." He smirked. And then his eyes slid from her face to point somewhere behind her. The blush deepened and she looked at the floor. "Appreciate the offer but I think you've got enough to keep your hands busy. Besides, I expect you'll end up taking the day."

She frowned. "What? Why?"

He was still looking over her shoulder, still smirking, and eventually curiosity outweighed her embarrassment enough that she turned to follow his gaze. It was not her workstation he was staring so pointedly at, but the open undercroft door, through which she could see a figure rapidly approaching.

Of course, she recognized them well before their face came into view.

"Sera?!"

Upon making it to the threshold, "Widdle!" she shouted in return.

In a blur of plaid Sera leapt from the stone landing and tucked into a roll along the ground, closing the distance in seconds. Dagna was caught with arms wide and pulled into an embrace so tight it left her gasping for breath. She could crush her to death with her hugs — and she loved it.

Overjoyed, but a little confused, "Are you back?!" she asked, as if the answer wasn't currently kissing all over her face. "Nobody would tell me where you were and I had no idea how long you'd be gone! I started to think maybe you'd been sent out to the desert... Are those my pants you're wearing?" The line of questioning stopped as Sera took a step back. She bent at the waist, the ragged edges of her ruined shirt swaying in the breeze as she took Dagna's face in the cup of her hands. This close, she could see that Sera had yet to wash off the journey home. Smell it, too. Clearly it had been a rough one.

She didn't care, though. She was just happy to see her.

With all the gravitas she could muster, "Talking after," Sera told her. "I've been on the worst mission ever for what felt like a year and I haven't seen your face in twice as long. I didn't even get to say goodbye to you — you know, proper like — before I left because it was all 'oh no' and 'right now'! Spent the whole time packed in like too many books. A problem I would've loved to have, by the way — so boring. Everybody was good and stupid by the end of it. And I couldn't even work off the steam by myself because I was sharing a bed every night!"

That got an awkward, flustered, giggle from her. Dagna's eyes found Harritt's as the rest of her turned a shade of red rarely found in nature. "Um. I-I'm… working… with someone who can hear you so maybe we could talk about this la—?"

"Nah," Harritt cut in, raising his voice above their conversation. He waved a hand. "By all means. Normally I ain't one to encourage fraternising on work time but I think I'll give you the pass this once. Maybe it'll finally get you moving." One brow raised meaningfully. "That order you keep ignoring is at least a week late and you know you can't keep riding on his abundance of patience."

It wasn't anything more than a gentle, friendly, chastisement, but somehow still felt like having disappointed family.

"I-it's not that late," she stammered. Unconvincingly and over one shoulder. Sera had her by the wrists and was dragging her toward the stair. "It's just that he wants all three done at once and I don't usually—"

She was interrupted as they passed by the enchanting table, where Sera paused to lean over and get a good look at what was sitting on it. Grinning, pleased, when she saw the tag.

"Don't worry," she said, and already they'd resumed course toward the door. "Deadline's just been extended — he won't be back for a while. So let's see if we can beat the record, yeah?"

Later, when they were lying together in a tangle of sheets, when she should have been enjoying the glow of a happy reunion… she was distracted. Her eyes pointed up at the ceiling, unseeing; distant and unfocused while her mind ran in circles. Even while Sera chatted happily away beside her, she couldn't stop thinking.

About weapons.

Choices.

How devastating the betrayal felt; to lose faith in someone she'd once so deeply admired.

"Hey," said Sera softly, and it startled her out of the daze. When she glanced over she found her lover looking at her curiously, and realised — somewhat sheepishly — that she'd contributed nothing meaningful to the conversation for some time.

But Sera didn't look upset with her — just concerned. She squeezed her hand and gave her a sideways smile. "Are you still there?"

She was so lovely laying there. Stretched sideways across the bed, on her stomach, happily taking up most of it. The sheet had been pushed to her feet in the throes, and she'd managed to pick it up with her toes so she could wave it about like a flag as she kicked her legs back and forth.

She was so lovely, and it was so wonderful to have her back… she felt a twist of guilt for the selfishness of being so caught up in something else. And for considering ruining it all.

Dagna bit her lip.

And when she didn't answer the question, Sera changed tracks and flashed her a wicked grin beneath a veil of messy blonde hair. "Do I need to peel you off the ceiling before we go again?"

She laughed and glanced away. Trying to smile, but it came off pained. She'd never been very good at keeping secrets. No matter if she wanted to, and especially when she needed to. And Sera was a master of rooting them out, anyway: she'd already seen this one in her, even if she didn't realise it yet.

Dagna hesitated. Chewed on the inside of her lip, then laughed again, somehow even more awkwardly than before. "No," she managed. Then on second thought, "I mean, yes. I'm really really glad you're back. Really. I'm sorry, it's work. It's—" The excuse was automatic, and she had to consciously stop herself from making it.

She took a deep breath to steel herself.

And then made a choice.

"Actually, it's not work. I mean it is, but it's also something else. Something I overheard. A while ago. And I shouldn't have. And I think maybe those people might be really upset if they knew I heard it. And maybe I'm wrong about it, and I let my imagination run away with me, but if I'm not It's… well… It's a lot." Nervousness got the better of her there and she let out a little peal of involuntary, terrified, laughter.

But Sera mistook the nerves for embarrassment and it only piqued her interest. Her legs froze mid-wave, one toe pointed skyward, curling that wicked grin into something positively ghoulish. "Did you hear somebody getting tumbled?" Mischief sparkled in her eyes. "Who was it? And where? Was it that weird book room in the cellar? Always thought that would be a great place for it..."

Dagna made a face. "No, nothing like that. Although, I guess some of it was technically related…"

The grin held for another few seconds before something changed, and Sera's pleased expression shifted into another. This one very carefully, very deliberately, neutral.

Her voice became very calm. "Is this about the Inquisitor?"

Dagna nodded.

Her brow twitched but the expression didn't change.

That seemed worse. Still, "Okay," she began, drawing the word out with a shaky sigh. "You know how sometimes I get really into a project, or somebody brings in a new rune, and I don't want to stop working on it, so I end up spending the night sleeping in the undercroft so I can get right back to it as soon as I wake up?"

Sera raised a single brow, but stayed silent.

She continued, "Well, I was doing that the night of the Wintersend banquet — you know, when the Inquisitor's tower collapsed? Maybe you even remember it — I mean, of course you remember that part — but specifically the other part where I'd told you I was gonna work through dinner and then meet you in your room after? But then I didn't show up because I got too into what I was doing? I ended up falling asleep behind the big crate by the potion station. I-I think maybe that's why nobody knew I was there…" She winced. "Sorry, by the way. I was gonna apologise to you in the morning, but you were gone, and then nobody would tell me where you went or when you were coming back and I—"

"Dagna?"

"Hm?"

It was gentle; firm, but not commanding. "Tell me what you know."

Dagna took another deep breath and held it. Turning her eyes to the ceiling so she wouldn't have to look in Sera's for this part. "I… I know that the Inquisitor I saw in the hall this morning isn't the Inquisitor, she's a double, because the real one is in a safe house. Maybe having a baby. And I know that Solas is probably with her."

There was a sudden whump as both of Sera's feet hit the bed with such force that Dagna actually bounced a little. When she looked again she saw she'd laid herself flat now, with her face pushed into the mattress so she could shout into it. It would be worrying if not for the fact that she didn't sound at all upset. If anything… relieved?

Then she raised her head, and grinning, "Thank Gods, I can finally talk to you about this!" she rejoiced. "There's a gag order but if you figured it out already then fuck it! It's been killing me keeping this all to myself when all I want to do is tell you how surprised I was when I found out in the first place!" She wriggled a little further up the bed and pitched her voice low, for emphasis. "Would you believe that none of us knew until just a few months ago? She actually kept it from everyone! And it's fucking bonkers, right? She did that! With him! And like, enough times for it to work! Can you believe it? Who'd have thought he could even get it up. I wonder what that's even like." She recoiled. "Eugh. No I don't — disgusting. Anyway—" Sera flipped onto her back and folded her arms behind her head, resting an ankle on the opposite knee. "—I have just loads of things to tell you now, and you're gonna need to hear them all because some of them are really funny."

She was positively vibrating with excitement, but when she turned to Dagna to weigh her interest in the coming deluge of dirty jokes and observational comedy, she found she did not share in it. Dagna still sat rigid, biting her lip and nervously twisting her fingers around the sheets beneath her.

"And…" she continued, and swallowed hard. "And I know Solas is a spy."

Absurdly, Sera laughed. Loudly and confidently, like she was in on a joke. Barely managing to squeak out, "He's a what?"

And then all of a sudden she was sitting up and everything got very, very serious.

"Where did you hear this? Who said it?"

"He did," Dagna replied shakily. Then, on further consideration, "Well, not exactly. The Inquisitor said it, like she already knew, and accused him of knowing something about the attack. I guess right after the tower went down someone brought her into the undercroft… Nobody saw me, and by the time I woke up there were people arguing about whether or not she should go somewhere and I'd already heard a bunch of things I shouldn't have. About pregnancy and a double. I should've said something but I was so surprised and it happened so fast. Then the Inquisitor asked everyone but him to leave. And she was really angry." Sera's eyes were hard, and the scrutiny too sharp — she couldn't keep looking at her. "Then they said a lot of things. Not all of it made sense."

She was given the space of a single, steeling, breath. Then Sera took her hand to draw her attention back to her. This was a side Dagna had never seen before. Even when they fought she was never so serious.

"I need you to tell me everything you heard. Right now."

And so she did.

She told her all about working through the banquet; being so caught up in tinkering with a truly incredible spirit rune that she didn't even notice she'd neglected to eat since breakfast. Only realising how hungry she'd become once Harritt came in and set a plate down next to her.

"Don't forget to look up every once in a while," he'd chided, gently. And gave her an affectionate shove before taking his leave.

She told her how her eyes started drifting sometime after midnight, and rather than go back to her room (or recall her date in another's) she simply grabbed some furs from the leatherwork stock and curled up on the floor. Behind the crates of ore, near the edge of the room by the waterfall, so the roar would help her sleep through the noise from the hall. She'd done it dozens of times before and nobody ever knew she was there.

She told her how she slept through the fire, the collapse, and the frightened crowd that'd gathered. How she only woke when the conversation between Leliana, Cullen, Cassandra, Solas, and the Inquisitor had turned into an argument. She wanted to call out — to let them know someone was there — but by that point had already heard some very sensitive things, and was worried she'd lose her job for that.

She'd wanted to cover her ears, to stop herself from hearing more — she had nothing but respect for the Inquisitor, and Solas was her friend — clearly these were secrets they wanted to keep… but she was just so curious.

She'd been curious her whole life. It's what got her into books and magic, what got her exiled; it's why her father didn't talk to her anymore, and why she couldn't ever go home again. Curiosity was the driving force behind her whole life and she just couldn't manage to keep her hands over her ears when she heard the Inquisitor ask everyone to leave…

It's what made her keep listening even after Solas cast a spell on the door to ensure their privacy.

Her father always said that curiosity might get her killed some day, and by the time she was left alone in the room once more she was sure fate had finally caught up with her. She spent the hours until dawn hugging her knees and staring at the floor. Trying to reconcile this new knowledge with all those happy memories of spending hours in the rotunda asking Solas about the Fade until he had to find some excuse to politely extricate himself from the conversation. He'd shared so much with her. She'd so admired the breadth of his knowledge, his generosity…

Now every time she'd walked by the rotunda the thought gave her a cold, heavy, feeling in her stomach.

She'd almost managed to convince herself it was all a dream. She'd made it up. Her imagination got away from her. It couldn't possibly be true…

And then a request to upgrade his weapons landed on her desk, and she was forced to contend with the reality of either knowingly arming him, or telling the Inquisition he was an enemy in their midst.

When she'd finished telling it all she didn't feel any better. Just sick.

For her part, Sera didn't ask any questions. Nor did she react at all to the telling. She just lay on her back with her eyes on the ceiling and her brow deeply knit.

When she finally did speak, "The Inquisitor knew about all this before?" she asked.

Dagna nodded. "I think so."

"And you're sure what was said here wasn't that he's a spy for the Inquisition?"

It would've been a perfect way to explain it all away. But, "She said nobody else knows," she replied.

Sera went quiet again.

When Dagna could no longer stand the silence, "What should I do?" she asked.

And Sera turned to her now with eyes hard. The order, even harder.

"You need to go to Leliana."