Tales of Tel'Din'Dia
Summery: Varric tries to distract himself by doing something stupid, Solas learns about the crown, Cassandra deals with an unknown variable and Dune gets laid.
There is sex in this chapter, it is relatively descriptive, this is your one and only warning.
Cassandra had received Leliana's letter at dawn, but due to a bandit ambush and a bear in their supplies, there was no time to read it. Now, with her and Blackwall treating their gear and Dune and Varric off gathering elf root, she had the chance. Breaking the seal she glanced at the small missive, Leliana's hand was slightly off the note must have been hastily written:
Dearest Cassandra,
A trade caravan heading East from Haven will be skirting past the Hinterlands tomorrow evening, offer to join as a small mercenary band. Do not reveal who you are and, I cannot stress this enough, keep the Herald's hand hidden. I am sure that those who require fake names will be able to come up with them, as for you, most know you only as Seeker Pentaghast so Cassandra should be fine.
Keep an eye out for a fox in the chicken coop.
Read this letter twice and then burn it.
N.
The Seeker sighed as she tossed the missive into the flames and went about adjusting her supplied armour, banded iron and chain-mail were not what she was used to and the lighter material made her feel exposed. She tugged at the straps as Blackwall chuckled the man, having newly joined the Inquisition, did not require a disguise unlike everyone else and was allowed to sport his grey warden arms and armour. Cassandra had given up her sword and shield which were replaced with a clunky battle axe that better suited a rather quick-footed elven warrior. Who was forced to wield a bow while her sword of choice was smuggled to where ever they were going via Leliana's network. The Herald had not been pleased with the news, nor with the stiff standard issue light leather coat, she had been forced into and even threatened to kill Scout Harding when the dwarf made for her blade. The Seeker frowned, she wondered what the Sword meant to Dune and contemplated the name Baxter on many occasions. The title did not sound even vaguely Dalish and it came off almost Ferelden, but not quite. The more Cassandra found out about the Herald the more questions she had. As for Varric, the dwarf would be sporting Carta armour and pretending to be an ex-lyrium smuggler, surprisingly he had not taken up a bow but instead chose to hide more knives on his person than the Seeker could count. Solas was supplied torn circle robes and an apprentice staff. He, much like the others, did not appear to be pleased with the arrangement.
They had been prepared for the past few days and started establishing a presence in the more wild side of the Hinterlands as The Message Men, a name that Cassandra found incredibly ridiculousness but unfortunately won the vote. They spent most days killing bandits, the occasional bear and helping people who passed through that had the coin. A fact that almost bothered the Seeker as much as the false group's name. Though she was unable to argue against it, mercenaries were only in it for the money and working for free would draw too much attention. There was a reason why they were in a mostly unoccupied region after all and at least they had been able to help the people of the Cross Roads prior to their disguises arriving, which Dune seemed surprisingly alright with even though she had previously ignored their pleas. The woman was truly a mystery.
"If you keep staring into the fire like that, Lady Seeker," Blackwall stated as he glided a dark wet stone over his blade. "You'll go blind."
"That is nothing but a wives tale," she rolled her eyes.
"There is usually some reason for those tales."
"Maybe," she grunted. "But not that one. Or else I would have lost my sight many times over."
"Do you have a tendency to stare at flames?"
"Stare at flames no, start them," she shrugged. "Yes."
"Should I be keeping an eye out for stray fireballs in the future?" He chuckled.
"Not from me, the Herald on the other hand..."
"The Herald's a Mage?"
"I wouldn't be surprised."
"What makes you say that?"
"I don't know," the Seeker narrowed her eyes and lent forward with her hands clasped in front of her face. "She seems to know more... to be aware of more than most."
"You might just be seeing things, Lady Seeker," Blackwall smirked. "It must be all those fires you start, it looks like the flames are ruining your eyes." Before she could reply Solas came barrelling out of a nearby tent, ears perked and frown etched into his features, the Seeker had forgotten that he was there.
"Something's wrong," he stated while unsheathing his staff. Cassandra was already on her feet, large axe in hand, Blackwall only seconds behind her, the man must not have been used to working with elves. It took a few seconds before the humans were able to pick up on what the elf had heard.
"Is that... screaming?" Asked Blackwall, the Seeker merely grunted as she charged up the steep hill shielding their makeshift camp. She was two thirds away from the crest when the Herald and dwarf came sprinting over it. Well, Dune came sprinting with Varric tucked under her left arm, not unlike a small child. As soon as the elf spotted the Seeker she tossed the rogue who immediately began to roll down the hill towards camp, before running straight at Cassandra dropping to her knees and sliding between the taller warrior's legs. She turned just in time to fire an arrow past the Seeker's cheek and it logged into one of three incredibly large and angry bears. Cassandra sighed, next time the Herald wanted to wander off and pick flowers she would have to go with her.
Varric,
How's the chest hair?
We've found Sweetness and got her home. Big Girl's keeping an eye on the pair, the Wardens are fucky and she's afraid you know who might do something reckless.
Town's still paint free,
R.
P.S Tell Bianca that I'm always here if she ever craves a woman's touch.
Varric sighed as he re-read the Admiral's letter, damn thing was vague on purpose they both knew that Nightingale would be checking all of his messages. There might be a hole in the sky, but the Inquisition still seemed to think that Hawke had the ability to solve the world's problems. The woman had been through enough already, they'd have to go through him and a bunch of loyal idiots before they would get their hands on her. She may have been the Champion, but she was also a sister, a friend, a caretaker and a wife seemingly to the shag-grin of everyone else. He glanced up from the tiny strip of paper and spotted the Seeker in the process of being accosted by one of Caravan Tel'Din'Dia's official guards or the Cock Boys as Jay-Bird had dubbed them. According to the elf, it was their fault for sticking a bunch of Roosters all over their gear. He couldn't help but smirk, it was nice seeing the woman who founded the Hawke manhunt having to put up with some ass-hole and his superiority complex. The greasy man in ill-fitting armour jabbed the Dragon Slayer in the chest and the woman's relatively irritated expression moved to that of borderline murderous. Maybe he should step in, after all, it'd be just priceless if the Seeker owed him one. Though at this point that tally was probably closer to twenty.
He stood and made his way towards the two. The man reached up and brushed tangled brown hair from his face only to once again jab the Seeker. Varric drew a dagger and caught the glint of something metal from his left. He spotted Chuckles leaning against his staff, a jingle to his right told him all he needed to know about Hero's location and a slight shift in the shadows atop of a wagon made him aware that Jay was nearby as well. The Storyteller smirked, it didn't matter if these people liked each other they were sure as shit not about to let some poor excuse for a warrior get away with man-handling one of their own.
"Scruffy," he called as he approached Cock Boy arms outstretched and blades spinning. "Is there a problem?"
"Problem! 'Isht there a problem' he says... course there'sht a problem," the man exclaimed, air whistling past gaps in his teeth. "Your people shigned on to protect thisht train and yet I shee yeah doing absholutely nothing. An' don't call me Shtcruffy!"
"Really? Because last I checked my people were constantly keeping an eye out for potential threats."
"Lishten here," Scruffy stepped towards Varric only for the Dragon Slayer's hand to clamp down on his shoulder. He turned to shoot her a glare but wasn't able to keep himself from flinching. Varric totally understood, the tall warrior had quite the grip. "Your people were hired to ward off banditsh and shcout for pathsht not to shit on their asses and get fat off of othersht hard-earned food!"
"You see Scruffy," the greasy man glared. "I'm inclined to disagree with you, as those were not the orders given to us by Lady Lelen." Varric twirled his knives as a vein pulsed in Cock Boy's neck. "She said that she wanted us to keep an eye out on the people, as in those within this little operation. As for food," Varric shrugged. "Jay hunts what rations we don't pay for."
"That ain't true," Scruffy stamped his foot. "I shaw your people eatin' shtweet cakesh!"
"What food the merchants give us as thanks for fending off your goons is theirs to give."
"What are you talkin'-"
"Don't play dumb," Varric tossed a dagger into the air and caught it before he placed the blade against Cock Boy's throat. The burly warden grabbed onto greasy man's other shoulder, as an arrow whizzed by the guard's cheek, cutting a shallow gash across his face, before embedding itself into the ground at Varric's feet. Electricity danced in the air and Scruffy's hair stood on end as Chuckle's joined in. "Your buddies have been charging the merchants a protection fee. Threatening to break their shit and their children if they don't pay. Now personally, I don't care much for merchants, but threatening kids crosses a line that the Message Men won't allow." It took everything for him to swallow back the laugh that built in his throat at the Seeker's glare. "So how about this, you go and tell your boss that we're either gonna be provided incentive to keep quiet or we'll head straight to the Lady of the house and report exactly what's going on, deal?" The greasy man nodded as he swallowed, the Storyteller waved his hand and the two warriors backed off. "Good," Varric slapped Cock Boy on the back. "Run along now." He did chuckle when the frightened dirty man scrambled off, tripping on his own feet and knocking over a barrel spilling pickles everywhere. When he turned back to their little group the Seeker had already wandered off, probably to find Jay-Bird as the elf had been running free since they joined up with the Caravan Train.
"That," the remaining warrior said. "Is going to be a problem later."
"Maker I hope so, I'm bored out of my mind."
"You're not bored, you're worried."
"What makes you say that, Hero?"
"That little strip of paper you keep in your glove, I've seen you pull it out about six times today alone."
"How about instead of getting personal we discuss something else?"
"Like how we're going to have to fight an entire Train's worth of mercenaries?"
"Exactly."
"Missing that bow of yours?"
"Like a Templar misses his lyrium," the burly warden let out a barking laugh. The two of them walked in easy silence as they navigated around tents and wagons. He looked over at Hero and followed the other man's gaze. Off to the right was Jay-Bird and the Seeker, Dune had climbed up onto a stack of crates and was in the process of re-stringing her bow while waving her hands around with ears perked up. If he had to guess the elf was looking forward to the coming fight just as much as he was. The Dragon Slayer was leaning against a tree next to her, occasionally nodding her head or making a slight comment, though the taller warrior's eyes never drifted far from the people walking by.
"So what do thinks the story with them?"
"Honestly, I don't know."
"You 'don't know'? You're the Storyteller."
"Doesn't mean I know the ending to every story, just the beginning."
"So what's the start?"
"From what Jay-Bird's said, two broken noses and a basket full of threats."
"Ahh," the man nodded sagely. "Must be love." Now it was Varric's turn to laugh.
Paws kicked up leaves and dirt as they glided across the ground through the Southron Hills, the Lone Wolf could feel the wind slip through his fur as he made quick turns around oncoming brush and the occasional tree. The hills were vast and provided the perfect cover for his mortal indulgence. He never felt freer than when flesh shifted to fur. This form suited him more than his current one, large grey and intimidating he doubted anyone would have the audacity to back talk him while he bared his teeth. It would be much more simple if he could throw his authority around, but he needed to keep it hidden. No use in giving more information, to those he travelled with, then needed.
The wind shifted and the Lone Wolf caught the scent of something familiar, one of his pack was nearby, odd as he had given them the direct order to clear out of such lands. He changed his course and made to approach the creature in question. Bolting across hills so quickly that even the sharpest-eyed hunter might mistake him for a shadow. It did not take long for him to find his messenger, as the young wolf had been lazily sunning itself not far from where he prowled. Upon approaching the beast raised it's head and wagged it's tail when it stood and made it's way to him the Lone Wolf allowed it to lick his muzzle before releasing a warning growl. Either the young one was here for a reason or directly disobeying orders and he needed to know which it was immediately.
The wolf sheepishly ducked it's head before sitting down, with a chuff and some concentration the Lone Wolf sought out what the other wished to show him. It did not take long for him to enter his companion's mind. Most memories were of the journey there, the game hunted and others of the pack encountered. The Lone Wolf shoved such thoughts to the side and dug deeper, he found himself standing in a large bustling city dirt brown in colour, with mud, grease and garbage plastering the fur to his body. He slunk through alleyways as he continued to do his job trying to keep hidden while gathering information.
"Hey you," an authoritative voice called from behind the wolf. The creature whipped his head around and was meant with the imposing form of a relatively built human, hair kept in blond spikes, ears slightly pointed and two large mabari war hounds standing at his feet. Though that was not what caused the wolf to crouch low, pin his ears to his head and tuck in his tail. The Doglord who stood before him looked almost no different from any other half-breed, but the wolf just caught slight abnormalities. The man's blue eye's held slitted pupils, his canines were longer and more curved than they should have been and his sent. He smelt like the wolf's own kind though slightly off, bitter, acidic, cursed. "Shew get going leave." The man began waving his hands at the wolf who took the invitation and scattered. He glanced back only once before exiting the city proper, the wolf-man had left the alleyway and was being swarmed by others of his kind in metal and fancy over furs. The wolf did not know much, but he was able to understand that his Master needed to be informed.
The Lone Wolf pulled himself from the other's mind as soon as he had the information needed. He looked down at the tired creature before him and licked it back. Acknowledging that it did well, the wolf barked once before walking off in the direction of The Bannorn, a good place to hide with very few human's travelling through. He watched as the beast took it's leave before turning to head back towards those who he had been travelling with. Learning that the King carried a wolf's song in his soul was an unforeseen and interesting development, but one that he would most definitely be able to work around.
The Seeker had spent the last few days on edge, the dwarf's overstep with the Red Roosters was sure to come back on them eventually and the Herald past her time running around without anyone to watch her. Then there was the fact that Cassandra had yet to figure out what Leliana meant by 'fox in the chicken coop' and how the group spent their days on the road cramped into the back of some iron importer's cart. She smelt of old metal, was coated in a layer of soot and worst of all had nothing to read. Sure she carried her old copy of Tales of the Broken Hearted, but one could only read the same book so many times, no matter how beloved. She had attempted to go through The Chant of Light, but having memorized the text word for word lead to her mind skipping ahead quicker than her hands could flip the damn pages. She had tried searching Tel'Din'Dia for tomes or anyone selling the like but turned up nothing.
The Seeker was about to begin her third lap of the Train when something drew her attention. The taste of relatively old and powerful magic permeated the air, it was fading where she stood, but with an activated third eye still traceable. She glanced around, hunting down a potentially dangerous apostate was not exactly the best way to lie low, though she did not want to leave the Mage wondering. Cassandra ducked and weaved between people and carts alike, not sparing anyone a glance as she neared her target. Pretty soon she was entering the hills a little way off from where the Caravan had decided to set up for the night, she reached for her shield only to curse out the oversized axe strapped to her back. This would have been far easier if she was not undercover. Though before the Seeker could retreat and reassess the situation there was some sort of explosion, she dove to the ground banded mail biting into her flesh uncomfortably as she entered a roll and spun herself around. She landed on a knee and was in the process of drawing her borrowed weapon when she was able to take stock of the situation.
Standing before her was an elderly apostate wearing a dirty yellow tunic and leaning heavily on what appeared to be a burnt tree branch, he was waving one fist at her as if intending to strike. Cassandra knew that underestimating an opponent, especially a Mage, was a mistake so she kept her guard up as she stood but did not draw the axe.
"You are with travellers but do not carry yourself like other's who dredge among forgotten graves." Cassandra narrowed her eyes.
"What-"
"You may have been sent from Them, but how am I to know? Though I'm getting ahead of myself, ask a question and you'll get a question but give an answer and you'll receive the same. Oh, I do so love to trade." Something about the man's odd manner of speech felt familiar to the Seeker.
"You've gone mad."
"That is neither a question nor an answer, are you here to trade or merrily chatter like an incessant boogaloo." The Seeker rolled her eyes before removing her hand from her weapon's hilt and making to walk past, "wait!" She paused and glanced at the man, "You search for something yes? Something to quell your boredom. I might have such a thing."
"How do you know that?" The dragon narrowed her eyes, blood Mages were tricky and she could not simply set the man a flame and blow her cover. If the others had known where she was she might have been able to fend him off until reinforcements arrived, but that was no longer an option.
"That is a question, but I have yet to ask my own. Do you wish to trade or simply steal my secrets for your own?"
"Fine," the Seeker did not wish to remain in this man's company, but if he was truly Maleficarum she needed to know. "Go on ask your question."
"A question for a question... Let's see now, what is your name?"
"You wish to know my name?"
"If I did not I would not have asked the question."
"Cassandra," she grunted.
"Ah I see, it appears that we are in the realm of truths, but a trades a trade. Go on ask your question."
"How do you know that I'm telling the truth?"
"Simple, I've been watching. None pay mind to the eyes of a sparrow when perched on a barrel of brine."
"You can turn into a sparrow?"
"The dragon asked the bird as if such an idea was somehow preposterous. But that is all I will say to one who chooses not to see what sits before them."
"Would you like to ask another question?" She did not know why she was indulging him, maybe for something to do or perhaps it was the vague promise of gaining an escape from the dull travel days.
"May I? Oh yes, I think I might! Hmm... where were you born?"
"Nevarra."
"I suppose that is an answer all be it short, I'll have to be more specific with my next question. Though for now, it is your turn."
"You mentioned that you might have something to 'quell my boredom'-"
"That is not a question-"
"Do you?"
"Aha," the Hermit clapped and hopped from one foot to the other. "The dragon finally asks the right question! Come! Come this way and see what tales lost to time I have hidden from the Divine." The man gestured for her to follow, Cassandra paused glancing back the way she came, she could not just leave the Hermit here without fully knowing what danger he posed. The Seeker sighed before taking off after the oddly limber elderly man. They rounded a few bends before arriving at a plane wagon sat in front of a small dirty tent, mossy stump and fire pit. Cassandra could taste magic leaking from both the stump and the carriage as the apostate lead her to the cart's door. Cautiously she trailed after him, as he hopped up the steps and entered the shack. The door slammed shut behind her and before she could reach for her weapon veil fire lit the cart's interior. From wall to ceiling stood massive shelves lined with well-maintained books and tomes. The spines were pristine and the lettering gold, she took a second and marvelled at what stood before her. "Some are tomes of knowledge, other tales of adventure and a few even sonnets of love, but that is for later this is for now. A question for a question yes?" The Seeker nodded her head dazed. "Good now, what to ask, what to ask? Ah yes, do you have a knowledge of the arcane arts."
"In theory," she began. "But not in practice."
"Hmm, you sound like Them. But if you were Them you would have attacked by now, you are something else something more. Yes, I do believe that you are one of More Than Them. I have never encountered your kind before, but know this if you move I will act and it will end poorly for all in this room. Go on then, it is your turn. Ask away!"
"Are you willing to trade?"
"That depends on what you have."
"I do not know, give me a moment." Cassandra crouched down and removed her pack instantly spotting her coin purse, "Do you have an interest in gold?"
"What use would I have for such things?"
"Fair enough," the Seeker continued to rummage, her fingers brushing against a tome, her old copy of the Chant of Light. She pulled the scripture from her bag and presented it to the Hermit. "What about this?"
"Hmm..." he plucked the book from her grasp and flitted through the pages. "I do not care for the Chantry nor it's teachings, but this one is quite old. How long I wonder?"
"Since I joined the See... More Than Them."
"Aha, so you admit! Though a tale this old holds memories dear, yes a good trade for one from my collection. What do you wish?"
"What do you have?"
"More books than time in the year, is your head filled with fluff? I think not! What do you desire?"
"I uh," Cassandra glanced down, she had already come this far. "romance..." she mumbled.
"What? Speak up girl I am old and my hearing is waning!"
"Romance."
"Why not just say so? Now let's see," The man walked over to a random shelf. "Tales of love lost, of it gained, what is worth age... ah here we are," he pulled out a random tome, it appeared rather thin in comparison to the text that she had offered him. "Normal, bland and predictable," he tossed the book at her and she caught it, the text was bound in green and, other than that, was not in the slightest way distinct. When she browsed through the pages nothing stood out to her, "you want something unique or passionate, then offer me something even in trade." She scowled before diving back into her sack and pulling out a hunting knife, the blade itself was simple in design yet sturdy a thoughtful welcome gift from the Ambassador, but she had no use for such a tool.
"What about a knife?"
"A knife? Oh yes, I could use a new knife," he snatched the small thing from her hands. "Aha never before used and clean too, a good blade for good use!" He grabbed a thicker tome from the case, this time with a red cover, "here sturdy and reliable."
"Not passionate or unique?"
"You have yet to give me anything that would warrant passion. What do the More Than Them teach? Clearly not the value of trade." She huffed and set the book aside with the other before continuing to rummage, she was about to grab her copy of Tales of the Broken Hearted, but when she made to pull the thing from the bottom of her satchel, feathers flew everywhere. She sighed, sharing a tent with the Herald often meant that she found feathers or strips of leather mixed in with her things. The very brief conversation she had with Varric about the topic told her that Merrill had often done something similar. Apparently, everyone who followed the Champion would tend to find odd trinkets from the woman's lover tangled among their own belongings. Before the Seeker could scoop the feathers back up the Hermit dived forward and grabbed them with crooked fingers. "Elf feathers! It has been so long! Not since the wolves and trees have I seen such things! Perfect for charms and traps!"
"No those are not-"
"They would very much gift you with a collection so old and full of romance that you would never be able to find anything like it!" Cassandra paused, they were Dune's feathers though the elf had so many tangled in her hair and spread across her companion's pack that she probably would not notice a few hand fulls missing.
"Give me the book." The Hermit smiled a toothless grin before leaping to his feet and dancing back to the shelf. He retrieved a large tome with a velvety blue cover and elegant Silver lettering crawling up the spine. "Here one of the most passionate books in my collection." She read the title, Love, A Sapphic Exploration.
"But not unique?"
"Someone is greedy aren't they?" The Seeker quickly packed her bag before standing.
"What would it take for you to trade something one of a kind?"
"Hmm... how about a question?"
"Just a question?"
"Yes for a book, a bit different, but a trade none the less."
"Fine."
"You seem to enjoy romance, so I wonder, have you ever been in love?" That was not the question that she had expected. Cassandra crossed her arms and glared down at the man, who looked unbothered by her revived hostility.
"That is personal-"
"And my tome unique, so which is it?"
"I," she sighed. "Have, it was long ago and short-lived, but-"
"Something you aspire to achieve once again?"
"Perhaps..." Why was she telling him this, these feelings and confessions were personal. Meant for only her, the Maker and that one time Leliana barged into her room back at Val Royeaux with wine.
"Hmm... very well..." he made his way over to a shelf at the other side of the wagon and plucked a deep purple tome from its depths. The book was not particularly thin nor thick and had no markings on its surface. He returned to Cassandra but snatched the text away before she could claim it as her own. "There are three lives hidden within this tale, three that I have encountered and three that you either have met or eventually will." she raised her eyebrow, but grabbed the book none the less. "Now if that is all, off with you." he batted his hands at her and she quickly found her way out the door, she made it halfway through the clearing when she heard something whisper in her ear, "be careful what you wish for, Seeker." She jumped and spun around, but by the time she turned everything was gone. The carriage, the tent, the stump and the fire pit. It was like they had not even been there in the first place. She clutched the violet book to her chest and frowned, a whistle sounded from above and when she glanced up she was just able to make out a sparrow hidden among the leaves. She was almost back camp when her head began to spin and her nose started to bleed. Cassandra swore to never chase arcane trails again as she road out the side effects of blood magic-induced empathetic manipulation.
Dune found Tel'Din'Dia absolutely fantastic, there were so many different people with unheard stories and interesting wares. New games like Dead Man's Tricks or Chanson d'Argent, and fascinating foods like sweet cakes and pickled plumbs. Though her favourite thing about the Caravan was how easy it was to lose Cassandra in the crowd. Duck past a large Qunari Merc here, slip past a couple of rather restless Broncos there and scramble up the side of a wagon or three whenever the Seeker got too close. At first, she was avoiding the other woman, simply for a chance to be without a chaperone, though she quickly turned her high-jinks into a game and started placing small bets with Varric as to what she could accomplish before being caught. Currently, she was purchasing a large jar of pickled plumbs with her earnings from the last bet, the rogue had put five gold against her being able to silently smuggle three large stones into Cassandra's pack without being spotted. Varric had been mighty smug the previous night constantly asking Dune where his money was only for the Seeker to arrive and dump out her bag to reveal the rocks buried within. The rogue had slipped her the coin when she went over to aide Cassandra in investigating how exactly they ended up in her satchel.
Dune paid the man for his goods and was debating on opening the jar where she stood or making her way back to the others first when something caught her ear. She could just pick up a pleasant tune being carried by the breeze, she hadn't seen any Bards around the train, but her love for a good song lead to her seeking out the hidden performer. She swerved through the crowd and slipped down temporary alleyways as she tracked the captivating tune, it was not long before Dune arrived at a wagon resting just on the outskirts of the tent city. The carriage was well made when compared to those nearby, with fresh white paint covering smooth wood and two dappled steads standing off to the side grazing on brush. Dune could tell that the sound was coming from behind the cart and after setting her jar on the ground and checking that the wrap over her left hand was secured, she quickly climbed up the side. Once on top she slid across the roof on her belly and peeked over the edge. A woman stood with her back to Dune, silver hair tied up in a messy bun as she scrubbed clothes in a wash bin. Her clothing was fine but lacked the gold or silver lining that what few Ferelden nobles Dune had seen seemed to prefer. She swayed when she stood twirling slightly as she continued to hum an enchanting tune beneath her breath. Dune's eyes were glued to the siren's form as she lightly stepped across flattened grass to a clothesline hanging from a nearby tree. Once the shirt the woman had been handling was hanging to dry she danced back to the basin and continued the task at hand. The siren was beautiful, flowing hair, soft curves and bright green eyes would make most onlookers swoon. But for the elf the most interesting thing about the merchant was her voice, the small warrior was entranced.
"You know," the woman said as she paused in her humming. "As much as I enjoy l'audience, help would be appreciated." Her voice was heavily accented, similar to Sister Nightingale's, though thicker and less sharp. The warrior blushed, she debated slipping away and avoiding the orlesian for the rest of the journey. "Oh come now, do not be shy petit chou, I will not bite." Dune swallowed hard before bringing her legs around and hopping off the cart's roof, "there now, c'était très pas difficile?" Dune cocked her head to the side and her ears perked up.
"Sorry ma'am," she started almost flinching at how harsh and guttural her own voice sounded. "I don't speak orlesian."
"Mes excuses," the woman replied as she stood and dried her hands. "My common is not the best."
"No problem ma'am," Dune tugged at her hair. "Learning new languages can be hard."
"Oui," the woman slung the rag over her shoulder. "Where are my manners, I am Solange Moreau and you are...?"
"Jay."
"Jay," Solange giggled before flicking one of the feathers in Dune's hair, when had she gotten so close? "Named after the trinkets?"
"What?"
"Oh," she frowned. "Je suis désolé, I had thought that Jay was a bird of some sort. I must have been mistaken..."
"Shit no," Dune waved her hands and blushed. "A jay's a bird, well sort of, it's slang I think..."
"Charmant," Solange giggled once again before plucking a feather from Dune's hair. "No need to fret mon lapin." Dune scratched the back of her neck, she really needed to ask the Sister for some lessons. "What pray tell drew you to me?"
"Your voice."
"My voice, merde, I had hoped that mon chant was quiet."
"It was," Dune flicked her ears upward out of her mane. "Large ears, I pick up a lot of things that most don't."
"Par le Fabricant," the woman gasped and reached for one of Dune's ears. "They are so very large."
"Yeah," Dune chuckled as she flicked the ear away from Solange's touch. "I get that a lot." The orlesian continued to reach for Dune, but instead of grasping the elf's ear she gently ran a finger along her cheek, tracing blue branches segmenting skin.
"I have not spoken with many Dalish," Dune forced herself not to flinch, most conversations that went down this road tended to verge towards blood magic and cannibalistic practices. "Tell me, how far do your tattoos go?" The elf let out a breath that she didn't know she had been holding, talking to Solange was proving to be a nice change of pace.
"It'd be easier to explain where they ain't."
"Truly?"
"Yeah," Dune smirked. "I could show yeah if you're interested." She wasn't one to usually bed strangers, she preferred to know a woman before undressing, but something about the thought of being in control, of making a decision without consulting the other Inquisition members was almost as intoxicating as the siren's song.
"I think," Solange began, a light dusting of red spreading across her face. "J'aimerais beaucoup ça."
"Really-" Dune's ears twitched, she could just make out Cassandra calling her alias over the general background noise of the Train. The elf glanced over the hills to the setting sun. It was getting rather late, The Seeker was probably worried, she sighed. "I've gotta go, Duty calls and all that..."
"Oh," Solange frowned. "Maybe you could return tomorrow?"
"Sure," Dune shot the orlisian a grin before taking her leave, only to dart back and lightly brush her lips against the other woman's cheek. Solange blushed a deep shade of red as the elf bid her good night prior to ducking into the shadows.
The trek to the Seeker and eventual chewing out was well worth meeting Solange, Dune took the lecture with a smile, her thoughts filled with the idea of being able to spend time with someone who didn't know her as the Herald of Andraste. Her grin didn't falter when she tossed Varric his coin. The rest of the evening flew past and before she knew it, the next day had arrived. She spent the majority of the journey trying to plan out her upcoming date with the orlesian, she didn't want to come off as desperate nor appear uninterested. Lucky for Dune, most of the others were too absorbed in their own goings on to notice the warrior's silence. The Seeker had her face buried in a thin green book, the newest addition to the party was either sharpening his blades or discussing jousting with Varric, the rogue occasionally shot Dune a glance, hinting that he was aware something was going on but spent most of his time writing in his journal; and Baldy never really paid her much attention unless she was threatening to kill him.
Come time to set up camp, the elf had leapt out of the blacksmith's cart before it fully pulled to a stop, and raced off through the crowd in search of a familiar tune. She eventually caught the melody on the wind and was able to track the pleasant sound to Solange's small refuge. The two made light conversation as Dune aided with tending the horses, Cassandra having taught her enough to be of some use. Though during the chores the siren's song enraptured Dune once again and the elf found herself standing still, watching the orlesian dance.
"Do you sing?"
"'Scuse me?" The question caught her off guard.
"Sing? Is that not correct?"
"No, right sorry," Dune scratched the back of her neck before shrugging. "Can't with this voice."
"Oh, je suis désolé."
"It's alright, everyone has their strengths. Like, for example, I can play the lute."
"Vraiment?"
"Yeah, It's been a bit though, I'm probably rusty-" Solange had run off before she could finish, returning moments later with a well-worn instrument that was then shoved into the elf's hands. The orlesian began reciting a melody while urging Dune to play. Her fingers were clumsy at best and she plucked more than one bad note, but eventually, they found a tune that they both could carry. It went on like that for the rest of the night, or at least until Dune caught the Seeker's call and had to once more bid her new friend goodbye. She managed to steal a gentle press of lips with her promise to return the next day, but before she could leave Solange grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and smashed their mouths back together. Dune's ears sprung up in surprise as a formally forgotten jar of plums was shoved into her arms. The orlesian pulled back before whispering good night and entering her carriage, leaving a dumbfounded elf standing at her doorstep.
The next few days passed at a similar pace, with Dune keeping herself busy during travel only to vanish from sight the second Tel'Din'Dia pulled off West Road. She would search for Solange's wagon, help the orlesian with whatever chores she had before the two settled down and tried to trip up the other with unknown songs and unique melodies. Though the music would eventually fade as the pair divulged into flirtatious remarks and locking lips before Dune left with dishevelled hair and the pledge to return. She loved her new routine as, for the first time since the Conclave, she felt normal.
Day four rolled around and the elf jumped from the cart laughing all the way down before darting into the quickly growing crowd. Cassandra's warning shout going ignored as Dune focused on a light hum. When she arrived at Solange's camp the horses had already been cared for and the orlesian no ware in sight. A lamp burned from within the wagon and steam was slowly pouring out the windows as she made her way to the door. A call to enter greeted her before she could knock. What questions she had died on her lips as she took in the cart's interior. It was homey, a few small piles of books, a tiny cooking stove and a bundle of pillows, quilts and bedrolls piled in one corner, but none of that caught her eye quite like what sat in the middle of the room. Solange was in a large metal tub of water, smelling of scented oils, leg held in the air as the siren ran a cloth across hairless and blemish free skin, smirk glued to full lips as she batted her eyes at Dune.
"You took your time," the orlesian teased before slipping her leg back into the water and leaning forward, arms resting on the tub's rim. "Could you get my back?" Dune swallowed hard before nodding, shutting the carriage door behind her as she made her way over to the merchant. She rolled up the sleeves of her coat before grabbing the offered cloth and settling in behind the orlesian. She dipped the rag into hot water before ringing it out and running it over Solange's back. "I am leaving tomorrow."
"Oh?" Dune had overheard some others mentioning that they'd be branching off from the Caravan, heading towards smaller towns rather than continuing with the rest past Denirim.
"Oui, I did not wish to leave you on such short notice but-"
"C'est la vie."
"I... Oui, how did you-"
"A..." Dune paused cloth hovering above the Siren's shoulder, what was Cassandra? Her keeper? Her bodyguard? "... a friend of a friend of mine is orlesian."
"Vraiment?"
"Oui," the elf flinched as Solange giggled, her accent must have been atrocious.
"You are precious, mon lapin." Dune hummed as she continued scrubbing the orlesian's back.
"It's cold tonight, you might freeze all by yourself," the elf dragged her free hand down a pale arm, a shiver and gasp followed the action.
"Oh?" The other asked, voice little more than a whisper.
"It'd be quite the loss," She dragged her fingers back up the arm, digits just ghosting the skin. "I should stay. Help stave off the frost."
"Would you?" Solange whispered, "truly?"
"I enjoy spending time with yeah," Dune's hand lingered on the orlesian's shoulder before gently trailing along her collar bone, the other woman sucked in air. "And would like to leave yeah with a night that you won't soon forget." The elf's breath brushed against the siren's neck, Solange's own hitched as Dune pressed her lips into a pale shoulder.
"I think..." The woman whispered as Dune nipped at her jaw. "That would be..." she sighed as a hand trailed across down her spine. "Merveilleux," Dune smirked against creamy skin before dragging her lips down a thin neck. She grazed her teeth across flesh before sucking, coaxing a moan from the siren. The cloth sunk into the water forgotten as calloused hands gently slid across silky smooth skin, gliding past soft breasts and instead, needing into barely visible ribs as teeth nibbled along a sloped shoulder. Solange gasped and arched as hands slunk lower, massaging the flesh of her hips, thumbs rubbing in circles, but skilled fingers refused to slip towards an aching centre. "Jay-" The orlesian's voice was breathy as her hips bucked dangerously close to the water's surface.
"Patience," Dune dug her thumbs into Solange's thighs as her tongue slid against the other woman's throat. The siren hissed her hands shooting from the tub's rim to messy locks. "I like to take my time." Fingers glided back, over a slight stomach and across delicate ribs, tips brushing just below full breasts. Solange whimpered as the elf sucked at her earlobe before grabbing her tits and messaging gently, continuing to ignore the pink peaks that stood erect in the heated air. "Yeah like that hmm?" Dune whispered as the orlesian groaned. "I wonder what else you'd like?"
"Mon dieux," the siren pulled hard at the elf's hair tugging her forward. The taller woman turned her head and bit down on Dune's bottom lip, she hissed as teeth broke skin. Dune barley grassed Solange's nipples, but the other woman still gasped in response. Quick fingers then pinched each peak and twisted. Dune took her chance and deepened the kiss, sliding her tongue past white teeth, Solange moaned into her mouth. Hands went from pulling to gently scratching along her scalp as Dune continued to glide calloused fingers across the other woman's breasts. The siren's hips bucked once again and she dug into the elf's head, just behind large ears. The warrior gasped and shuddered titling forward slightly, hands losing their rhythm.
"Hmm, I heard that elven ears were sensitive but this," Solange ran teeth along the edge of Dune's ear and a moaned slipped past her lips. "Is more than expected." The siren nipped at dark skin Dune gasped once before growling and pulling her head free. The elf pinched and twisted aching nipples. The orlesian's pleased cry echoed slightly off of the wagon's walls, the sound sending heat pooling between Dune's legs. The elf sunk her teeth into the siren's neck before lapping at the abused flesh, the other woman shuddered. "Please, mon dieux please," she whimpered.
"Please what?"
"Baise moi, Jay Please!" Dune smirked before sliding a hand back down to silky thighs, she continued to massage one breast while trailing threw soft petals, the orlesian groaned. Dune quickly found a stiff bud hidden within the folds, she pressed down gently at first and when Solange's hands flew to grip her shoulder and the rim she began to roll the clit between her fingers. The orlesian whimpered and moaned with each stroke, curses slipping between panted breaths as Dune continued to stroke a smooth breast while pinching at a hidden bud. When Solange gasped and her body tensed Dune pulled away, standing before the orlesian could register what happened.
"I... what-"
"Get out."
"Pardon-."
"I said," Dune grabbed a fist full of silver hair and yanked the other woman's head back Solange moaned as her eyes fell shut. "Get out. I wanna taste you." The elf tugged once more before releasing and scooped up a towel that was hanging by the stove as Solange left the tub on shaky legs. "Turn around," she commanded, the siren obeyed. Dune dragged the dry heated cloth over damp shoulders and down a curved spine when she reached the other woman's rear she grabbed. Solange stumbled forward with a gasp as the elf stood on the balls of her feet and pressed a kiss just below her shoulder. "Turn around," Dune released Solange as the orlesian spun. She ran the towel over a bruised collar bone and past full breasts, her hands idled at the other woman's stomach as the elf captured a nipple between her teeth, the orlesian gasped before threading fingers back into short locks as the cloth travelled to her hips and Dune backed her against the wall. She dragged her tongue across a pink peak, barely making contact as Solange panted and squirmed beneath her. She trailed opened mouth kisses from one tit to the other before sucking on a nipple and coaxing another moan from her muse. Her fingers dug into the space between hips and thighs as she teased flesh before biting down and moving on. Dune dried the siren's legs before kneeling and tossing the now damp towel aside, she reached forward and slid her fingers through slick folds, the other woman's breath caught. The elf lapped at pink flesh with her tongue, exploring grooves and savouring the taste. The orlesian moaned and pulled Dune's hair, legs shaking as she struggled to stay on her feet. Dune grinned before parting the other's lips and revealing a needy bud, she ran the flat of her tongue against it as her companion shuddered above her, with fingers still trailing through slick. Dune flicked the clit twice more before sucking it into her mouth and grassing it with her teeth coaxing another whimper from Solange. The elf gently stroked the other woman's petals with one hand while gripping her ass with the other. The orlesian shook above her, panting and gasping every few moments. Dune found her entrance and, without much warning, thrust in. The siren threw her head back and sung a tune full of pleasure and need. The elf picked up her pace, thrusting into the taller woman as fast and hard as she could while dragging her tongue across the sensitive bud. Solange tightened her grip on Dune's hair as she tugged her impossibly close and ground down onto her face with desperate cries and pleading whimpers. The elf could feel walls gripping at her digits as the other woman neared climax, she flicked the clit once more before finding the patch of skin between hip and thigh. She drew the skin into her mouth before sucking hard. A thud sounded from above her as the orlesian's back slammed against the wall, head tilted as she screamed into the rapidly cooling air, walls clamping down on Dune's fingers, as a rush of liquid coated her hand. She continued to pump, dragging out the woman's orgasm as long as she could. With one final cry Solange slumped forwards and, unable to keep herself upright, slid down the wall. Dune smirked as the pleased orlesian dropped to her level, she popped her fingers in her mouth and licked them clean.
It wasn't long before Dune was tugged to her feet by her belt and guided towards the wagon's pile of blankets and other soft trinkets, she was repaid for her efforts in kind that night. Solange's muttered affections drowning out the Seeker's worried call.
Dune managed to extract herself from Solange a few hours before dawn. She was able to get dressed and slip out into the dark morning easily as she had not allowed her companion to remove her shirt or scarf during their tryst. The cool air felt good against her hot face and clammy skin, she let out a pleased sigh before beginning the search for her parties camp. She was about half a candle's mark into her hunt when she caught wind of whispered mutterings and sharpening blades. The Cock Boy's were making their move, Dune picked up her pace and darted between wagons desperately peaking into tents and glimpsing at camps before moving on. A shout of surprise drew her attention and she sprinted towards the direction, hopefully, she wasn't too late.
Varric was rudely awoken by rough hands covering his mouth and pulling him from his bedroll, he was tossed to the ground next to a bound, gagged and dazed Chuckles. A shout of surprise sounded from the tent he was just dragged from and a man was thrown through the canvas as Hero chucked him. The burly warden came bowling threw after his attempted attacker blade in hand and bare chest glistening with sweat in the moonlight if the Storyteller wasn't in the process of being captured he'd have pulled out his notes and wrote that down. A grunt and thud came from the other side of their small camp as the Seeker kicked a merc out of her and Jay-bird's space before severing the downed man's head from his body with her borrowed axe. She raised the weapon again, looking fully prepared to charge.
"Hold it," a booming voice with a thick ferelden accent commanded from behind Varric as a sickly looking man in custom armour came into view. "Make one more move, we kill the Mage and the dwarf." The leader declared as someone grabbed a fist full of Varric's undone hair and yanked his head back, he felt a blade press against his throat. The Seeker halted though no one dared approach her, Hero stopped trying to fling the mercs who were attempting to grapple him. Varric cursed, if something could draw their attention for a moment he'd be able to get free. His eyes darted to and fro trying to come up with a plan only to catch sight of Dune crouched in a tree about twenty feet off bow drawn and eyes staring directly at him. A quick glance told him that there were no dwarfs or Qunari among the guard and the few elves they had were busy keeping an eye on Chuckles. Good, the only people who'd be able to catch wind of their little assassin were focused on a half-conscious Mage. He smirked, Hero raised a questioning brow and the Dragon Slayer's scowl deepened.
"Hey Mac," the Storyteller began. "I was wondering when you'd show up." Varric's head was whipped to the side, he tasted blood as his lip split from the force of a steal gloved blow.
"Shut up midget," he hissed and Varric chuckled only to be struck again. "I said silence!"
"Oh, I heard you," he shot the man a bloody grin. "I just don't usually pay attention when mad dogs bark." The next strike came in the form of a swift quick to the gut, steal booted toes definitely braking something as he teetered over backwards and rolled to the side with a groan. Varric coughed twice before dragging himself to his knees.
"No!" "Why'd you have to taunt them like that?" The Seeker and Hero cried hopefully their concern would help lay the groundwork.
"Damned, Stone-blooded," the leader muttered as he stalked forward. "You're lucky I don't kill you." He grabbed Varric by the collar and lifted him into the air, the Storyteller's feet dangled above the ground. "But you have more use yet, yeah? You and your people got two choices, you can either work for me and spend the rest of your days shaking down the people in Tel'Din'Dia or I can gut you here and now like the fat little nug you are." The man shook him once, "what's it gonna be."
"Well," Varric coughed. "I've never been a fan of dying." The leader smirked, "So I'm gonna have to choose option three."
"Three?" The man frowned. "Yeah," Before the guard could react Varric slipped a dagger free from his sleeve and embedded it into his captor's eye. "Hit 'em high, Jay!" Chaos exploded across the campsite before he even hit the ground. The thug stumbled backhands clawing at his eye and screams probably waking up everyone in the nearby vicinity. Three of the elven rogues were dropped by well-placed arrows before the remaining two dashed in the direction of where Dune was hidden. The Seeker sprang forward with a battle cry ploughing through mercs with every inch she gained. Hero belted out a laugh before grabbing a small rogue by the neck and tossing him into another. Before lazily slicing open a man's throat with a back-swing. The Mage was left forgotten among the grass, swaying where he sat. Varric quickly headed towards Chuckles, drawing more blades and embedding daggers into knees and hips along his way. He arrived at the man's side and was able to catch sight of a nasty head wound, "Hero, potion!" The burly man glanced his way before un-clipping a flask full of chunky red liquid from his belt and tossing it to the Storyteller. Varric let a blade fly, embedding it into a rogue at the bearded man's back, before catching the vial and forcing the iquor down the elf's throat. Chuckles coughed and moaned as his head quickly snapped back and forth at unnerving angels, a choking gag slipped past the Mage's lips as the wound on his skull quickly stitched closed. Fresh spider-webbing flesh shooting across the gash, soon it was nothing more than a slightly lighter patch of skin on the man's hairless scalp.
Varric was unable to check to see how Chuckles was doing as two warriors with rusted weapons rushed them. He twirled his daggers before chucking one into the leftmost attacker's chest. He ducked under the injured warrior's swing, severing his hamstring as he darted past, the man dropped to the ground with a grunt before he and his companion burst into flame. Varric looked over at the Mage and shot the man a smirk. He checked the battlefield, Hero was holding up well as for the Seeker. The woman was cutting through enemies left and right but didn't seem to notice the newfound cyclopes sneaking up on her duel axes in hand. Though before the man could back-stab, there was a crack his eye rolled back and he fell face first into the dirt. Standing behind him was an incredibly bloody Jay, baring her teeth and eyes darting every which way.
The other warriors and Mage finished downing the remaining mercs before sheathing their weapons, well Hero and Chuckles did the Seeker just tossed her's to the ground before running over to Dune, it looked like the Dragon Slayer was gonna chew the other woman out, but seemed to think better of it before gently prying the bow from the elf's white-knuckled grip.
"Well," Varric said as four pairs of eyes locked on him. "That was fun."
The Herald was beyond injured. Two large knives had been logged into her back, luckily appearing to miss anything vital though the wounds bled profusely. Solas was in no condition to heal, they were out of potions and Varric, being surprisingly fine, had taken Blackwall with the survivors to Lady Lelen. Which meant that Cassandra had to stitch up the other warrior's wounds. They could not remove Dune's tunic do to the blades, so here they were the Seeker painstakingly cutting through leather with Blackwall's dulled hunting knife, trying not to further damage the Herald as she removed the tunic's entire back. Cassandra cursed under her breath and Dune chuckled before flinching and letting out a hiss as the Seeker jostled the blades while trying to shred the leather trapping them in place.
"Sorry-"
"No, it's... fine just..." Dune groaned and buried her head into her arms as Cassandra tugged a little too hard at the ruined leather armour.
"If you had not run off earlier we would not be in this position," the Herald mumbled something into the bedroll. "Are you sassing me?" There was another grumble, "I could make this hurt more than it should." Dune's body shook with a laugh and Cassandra was able to just catch the muffled 'I thought you were already doing that.' The Seeker rolled her eyes before finally prying the leather free, the elf's stiffened shoulders relaxed slightly. Cassandra held back a gasp upon fully baring the other warrior's back, incredibly elaborate blue swirls coated the entirety of Dune's dark skin, sitting between her shoulder blades was a large tree-like shape with an eye at its centre. Every thin branch came from there and wound into detailed thorns and small leaves. The Seeker just managed to catch herself before tracing the tattoos along her wounded comrade's spine. "Be on guard, the worst is yet to come."
It took them two candle marks full of cursing and vicious insults to finish patching up the Herald's wounds, she tried to be as careful as she could but felt she had ruined some of the ink with her clumsy hand. She finished by rubbing some elf root slave into the small warrior's back before being shewed off so the other woman could change and bind her wounds. Cassandra was debating hunting down Varric and tearing him apart when something caught her eye. One of the dead men laying on their hastily constructed pier, he looked like any other member of the guard, but his patch was different. A white fox was messily sown where a red rooster should have been. She knelt down and cut the fabric free before flipping it over, there was a single word embroidered into the cloth, Denerim.
The past two days nearing the end of the journey had been a lot harder on the party than the other seven. Lady Lelen had exiled the remaining Red Roosters after finding out about their illicit activities. Leaving very few people within the Train that knew how to defend themselves. They were lucky that some of the merchants had separated from the rest to head towards Crestwood. Varric had been enjoying his immunity from her wrath, as he was playing the part of her employer, making snide comments and shooting winks her way. Unfortunately for him. Dune wasn't exactly happy after being run through twice, the elf's insults holding far more venom than usual. Currently, the three of them were trotting ahead of the Caravan on borrowed steads while Blackwall and Solas guarded the rear. Their mounts were old and not exactly high quality, the Herald's the healthiest of them all and the mare kept jerking to the right or jumping slightly at a shift in the underbrush.
"Skinless pig fucker," the elf spat as she tried to regain control of her horse, ears pinned back against her skull.
"You alright there Jay-"
"No Varric I ain't fucking alright my back hurts and-" the horse let out a loud snort and Dune clamped her mouth shut while eyeing the beast wearily. "Are yeah sure this thing's safe Cass'?"
"We have only a handful of candle mark's left before our journey ends. The horse will hold."
"That's not what I-" a loud metal clang sounded behind them as a steal tub was jostled free from one of the carts. The sound spooked Dune's horse, who reared up on her back legs, the motion surprising the Herald and causing the reins to slip from her grasp. The stead entered a dead sprint upon landing, the elf just barely managing to wrap her arms around the beast's neck as it took off into the trees.
"Jay!" "Baszni."
Cassandra spurred her own mount into a gallop after the runaway horse, the trail the beast had chosen was overgrown and treacherous slowing them both down though the mare maintained the lead. Branches whipped past the Seeker's head, she ducked under most, but smaller ones reached her face leaving stinging cuts in their wake. She spurred her stead once more, trying to gain even the slightest bit of ground and was able to push the beast behind the mare.
"Dune, you must ride it."
"I am riding it!"
"No, Az istenit, you are being led. You must be the one to lead."
"What?"
"Steer it!"
"I can't reach the reins!"
"Use your hips!" She watched as the small elf tried to get into a sitting position only for the horse to leap over a log and the woman to fall forward once again. The Seeker would have to be the one to take control of the situation. She forced her own stead into the brush, risking killing a horse was better than losing the Herald. She managed to pull just slightly ahead of the mare, leaning out of her saddle she made for the reins only for the leather to slip past her fingers. Just as the tip of her thumb brushed the thing both horses jerked to a sudden halt, sending their unaware riders flying forward and into a shallow pond. The Seeker sat up spluttering, Dune splashed to the surface next to her before grabbing her side with a groan.
"I think... my stitches tore..."
"You're lucky you-" she let out a shrike as something moved in her tunic, small black eyes peered up at her from her neckline before a frog leapt back into the pond. The Herald chuckled and she scowled. "Never speak of this."