No translations. You think Sera would put up with anyone speaking Elven to her? Pbbbbb.
Sera Was Never
I woke abruptly and not of my own volition, light touching my face. Something heavy settled on my legs, and my hand was immediately beneath my pillow, pulling free the dagger I kept there. I sat up with it already in hand, ready for whatever battle lay ahead - and then stopped short.
Sera.
Her arms were crossed and her eyes narrowed. "You're in deep shit," she told me.
"And you almost got a dagger in your throat," I replied, my voice rough from sleep, and then fell back against my pillows with a sigh.
She made a disgusted sound, leaned over to grab another pillow, and then hit me with it. "Stop being so morning-sexy, with your hair and your voice. Did you get possessed by a desire demon, or what?"
"If I had, I think I would have opened with a kiss and not a dagger," I told Sera, fending off the pillow she was wielding with my forearm and trying not to stab it with my dagger. I raised my voice a little, frustrated as she kept hitting me. "I also wouldn't be telling you to get the hell off me!" I managed to catch the pillow with my arm and pin it against the bed, robbing her of her weapon. "Also - if you make me cut open any of this bedding and get feathers everywhere, you're going to have to help me clean up, because I won't make the servants do it."
Her eyes widened and she froze - and then let out a breath. "Right - good - that's you, yeah? Demon wouldn't think of that, probably."
"So. I take it you got in early, and talked to Harding." I carefully placed the dagger beneath my pillow again.
Suddenly Sera's hands were on my shoulders and she gave me a shake. "What were you thinking? You frigging arse-sucking idiot! The Fade! The Fade! Again!"
I should likely have been grateful her hands weren't on my throat, given Sera's reflexive fear of the Fade, but mostly I was just annoyed. This time, though, with my hand free and her - admittedly dubious - weapon taken from her, I was able to flip her off me. She landed beside me on the bed. "I know," I told her quietly, turning to look at her as she blinked up at the canopy covering us. "But it's where Solas is, and so it's where I needed to go to speak with him. And not only did I need that, we needed it. I'm only one person, Sera, and I don't control the Anchor any longer. My life isn't nearly as valuable as it was - and I took plenty of risks even when I was the world's best hope for salvation."
Her lip curled in a silent snarl, and she made a frustrated sound. "I don't want to think about this," she declared. "It's stupid - you're being stupid - and I don't want to think about it!"
"Then don't," I advised her with a small laugh. "I got out just fine, with things we needed to know - and I know not to go back. Physically, in any case. I also gained considerable control over my dreams while I was there."
She mirrored my posture so she could look at me more easily, and stabbed her finger at my chest. "Don't say that like it's a good thing!"
"Why not?" I asked with another laugh. "It's the best of both worlds: I'm not a mage, so demons have little power over me, but I'm learning to manipulate the Fade as though I were one. You really can't picture ways that might be useful?"
"I can picture ways it's creepy," she retorted.
"Fine," I rolled my eyes. "But, Sera, you understand the Veil is unnatural, don't you? Even without Solas, there's reason to think it's failing. At some point, you may need to reconcile yourself to the reality of the Fade."
She blew a raspberry. "Can't make me."
"Fair enough," I allowed. "You can't make me fear it as you do, though."
"Ugh. Arse-biscuit!" She flopped onto her back again.
"You know, regardless of whether the Veil falls or not, there always have been and likely always will be people who use other people as ladders to whatever it is they want," I told her, thinking of the impossible task Solas had laid on my shoulders. "The things you and the rest of the Jennys do will always be needed."
"Friggin' right," she muttered. "How was the droopy-eared piss-bucket, anyway?" she asked, but went on without waiting for an answer: "I don't get it - how you deal with all his shit."
"Honestly? It involves a lot of arguing," I said, answering the implied question rather than the explicit one - I doubted she cared how Solas was faring. "And some kissing. And...other things." She snorted a laugh. "I understand why he does what he does, even when I don't agree. I can see how he comes to his conclusions, and it makes them easier to respect. Or at least - to disagree with without losing all respect for him." I glanced over at her. "It's much the same way I deal with you when we disagree - only without the kissing."
"Pff, your loss," she scoffed.
I smiled, thinking of Solas's mouth and the varied reasons I loved it. "You know he's been around for several thousand years. He's had...practice. A lot of practice."
"Should I be curious about this, or really disgusted?" she wondered.
"Up to you, I suppose. I'm just saying - other than the part where I never get to see him, I don't feel like I'm losing out on anything with anyone," I told her.
"Well...fine, good for you, I guess. Still think he's a right arse, though." She scowled. "That makes you too good for him, and he's too much of an arse even to realize it."
"That's not true," I sighed. "He views it just as you do. Why do you think he's always trying to leave me for my own good?"
She paused, and then shrugged. "Huh, hadn't thought of it like that. Kind of an arse-y way to show he cares, innit? He could try, you know, not being an arse."
"We are in complete agreement on that score," I assured her, and then decided to change the subject. "Did Harding feed you, or were you too outraged to think of it?"
"Ate a bit," she shrugged. "Could probably eat again, if that's what you're doing."
"Well, I do need to have breakfast, and there's no reason we can't catch up while I do - but after that I'm afraid I have a ball to prepare for, and doing so will be an all-day affair," I explained.
"I know," she sighed. "Got warned. I did think about giving you shit for it, but I'm going to get into the Duke's palace as one of your servants and find out what's really going on 'round here."
"That would be an immense help," I told her earnestly. "Duke Sandral seems decent enough from the little I've seen of him, but with red lyrium already infecting the city, there are going to need to be changes. I doubt anyone, no matter how forward-thinking, would embrace what will need to be done. We will almost certainly need information on where to direct bribes, and blackmail material to help us lean on officials and nobles."
"Already on it," she assured me.
"Unasked-for wake-up calls notwithstanding, I am glad you're here," I said.
We breakfasted together, Sera attempting to scandalize me with tales of the mischief she had been creating. When that didn't work as well as she had hoped, she switched to even more hair-raising tales regarding Dagna's activities. I asked questions, listened, laughed a great deal, and didn't talk about my time in the Fade.
After, I gave myself over to preparations for the ball.
There were certainly aspects of the required grooming regimen that I appreciated - I was unlikely to complain about a long soak in a tub scented with oils and sprinkled with flower petals. Letting someone else wash my hair and smooth more oil through it left me ready to fall asleep again. Afterward, Elze, my maid, massaged lotions into my skin - also scented. This near Orlais, everything was scented, even though I would also apply an actual fragrance at some point in the process. The ball would likely be such a competing cacophony of scent that I wouldn't be able to taste the food and would begin to long for Ferelden's unsophisticated revels, the smell of dogs and horses becoming preferable to perfume at that point.
Well - many of the nobles would be from Starkhaven. Perhaps restraint was more fashionable in the Free Marches.
My own scent palette was mainly citrus and herbs - refreshing and modest in Orlais, refined without being overpowering in Ferelden. It traveled well and reminded the nobility wherever I went that I was an outsider. Used correctly, there was power in such a position - power similar to positioning oneself at the heart of the ruling framework. I had learned a great deal about manipulating either set of circumstances by watching Vivienne.
After my skin had been tended to, the less pleasant work began. Wigs were becoming fashionable in Val Royeaux, but last season's style was apparently still popular in Cumberland. This involved elaborate braids threaded with ribbons, chains, strings of pearls, or all three, interwoven with graceful curls. That meant pieces of my hair had to be put immediately into curlers. Then, while my hair dried, Elze helped me into my undergarments. My dress, which I had asked to be altered slightly for the ball, was brought in for a final fitting. The seamstress hadn't been able to do much about the neckline, other than replacing the lace with a less modest silk cord, but the hem had been raised slightly and the train pinned up to allow for dancing. My previously plain slippers had also been decorated with flowers made of ribbon - pretty without being ostentatious.
A few more slight alterations were needed in my gown - it seemed I had lost weight since I had been measured for it, and proper fit was an imperative in my position. That meant it had to be pinned, stripped off, and quickly taken in along a few seams before I could put it back on. I took a moment to eat a few bites while that was being done - by this time it was after midday, and I likely wouldn't have another chance to eat before the ball. Whether I would want to eat at the ball was another question - I would force myself to swallow enough to stay on my feet, at least, but probably little more. Sera would certainly be able to talk someone in the kitchen into giving us some bread with jam or honey, and perhaps some milk, when we got back. If I tried to do it, I would likely get an entire meal in spite of wanting considerably less than that, and that would mean several someones would have to get up hours before dawn to cook something especially for me.
Another small reason to be glad Sera had arrived - I wouldn't have made the attempt without her to reassure everyone that when I said bread and jam, that was what I meant.
Once I was attired, it was time to begin on my hair. I was very much looking forward to the fashion for wigs. My maid could spend as long as she pleased dressing mine without me having to be physically present for anything but the final placing and arrangement. It also meant I could cut my hair without Josephine huffing about it. Though knowing Solas liked my hair as it was did give me a pang, I wasn't keeping something that required so much upkeep for a man who was - or soon would be - trying to forget me, no matter how good his reasons for doing it might be.
I sat down before the mirror, but Elze didn't begin immediately. "Your Worship," she said instead, "I asked Louise - the seamstress - to leave the rest of the silk cord she used on your neckline. I...thought perhaps I might use it to recreate some Qunari knotwork in your hair."
My eyebrows went up. "Why?" I asked, refraining from pointing out all the reasons that immediately struck me as a terrible idea.
She dropped her gaze, hands tangling themselves nervously in her skirt. "Though they speak only in whispers, everyone in Cumberland - in Nevarra - fears the Qunari. The beasts may vent their ire on Tevinter for now, but at the rate they are conquering it…" She trailed off and shrugged visibly tense shoulders. "The nation does not forget that our border with Tevinter is very fine, and very near. Everyone knows you have faced them - faced them, and interrupted their plot to invade the south. If you want - or need - to emphasize your power, remind them you have already bested the thing they fear most."
"Elze," I said carefully, waiting to continue until she again raised her eyes to meet my gaze in the mirror, "how much would I have to pay you to convince you to come work for me instead of Fiona?"
She blushed. "I cannot claim to know the politics of lands outside of Cumberland and Nevarra, Your Worship."
"And I cannot claim to know the politics of Cumberland and Nevarra - not well, at any rate," I retorted. "I will always have a use for someone who can gauge the mood of a place, and then can find ways to turn it to my advantage. Think it over. I understand if you have family here, or are loyal to Fiona - it's an offer, not an order." She might be one of Solas's agents - any elf might be - but that might make her even more valuable to me, if she would consent to be hired. If I controlled an avenue by which Solas - or his people, anyway - acquired information...there was a great deal that could be done with that.
I did need a maid to travel with me. If I showed up already having hired one, Leliana would likely come around to my way of viewing things. She might even intercede with Josephine on my behalf.
Elze dropped a small curtsy. "I thank you for the compliment, Your Worship. Does this mean you would like the cord in your hair? I have studied illustrations of their knotwork, and I believe I can duplicate it with reasonable accuracy."
"I not only want the cord in my hair," I told her, "I have had the opportunity to study an antaam-saar up close, and I believe I can direct you in recreating the knotwork they use around the hips. My waist is quite small. Madame de Fer is always telling me I should do more to accent it."
My maid beamed at me in the mirror. "Yes, Your Worship! It is precisely the accent your gown lacks."
Our efforts quite likely added an extra hour to my preparations, though the knotwork in my hair did eliminate the need for ribbons or pearls in the braids, which saved a little bit of time, but it was all very worth it in the end. The knotted cord was both delicate and brutal in its implications - the way it wound around and constrained the hair piled atop my head looked like a deliberate metaphor for Qunari rule. It was, in short, shocking, and I never would have gotten away with it in Orlais.
Someone else might have - Orlesians loved shocking fashions - but I wouldn't have.
I darkened my lashes and brushed a bit of carmine on my lips - I was still young enough that much more in the way of cosmetics would be tasteless - just in time to meet Fiona before she escorted me to her own carriage. Officially, I was a guest of the College, which put them in a precarious position should I be assassinated between there and the Duke's palace. My safety wasn't his problem until I entered his gates. Neither Fiona nor Sandral wanted any ambiguity involved in who would have to make excuses to the Divine should my blood be shed.
Fiona's response to my appearance was gratifying. Her eyes widened. "Oh," she said. "Oh dear. Oh my."
"Is it too much?" I asked.
"No," she replied decisively and with only the barest hesitation. "After finding red lyrium growing beneath the city? No. You will need all the authority you can command. I would not advise this method if it were mere bravado - but we both know it is not. Anyone who calls your bluff will be sorry for doing so." She paused. "But just in case - you do have a weapon on your person?"
"Five," I assured her. "One useful thing about a formal occasion: no lack of places to hide a weapon."
Her lips thinned. "Perhaps, but the same is true for your enemies."
"Then I will endeavor to be faster than my enemies," I sighed.
"I suppose that strategy has worked admirably thus far," she returned, her voice sympathetic.
Sera was to join us in the carriage as my personal servant. It appeared as though she had borrowed someone's best gown, and she had been induced to sit still long enough for her hair to be done in a few complicated braids with bits of ribbon as accents, somewhat disguising her usual uneven cut. Her hair had, at least, grown out a little since the last time she took a knife to it.
She took one look at me as I stepped into the courtyard and began laughing.
"Can I assume you approve?" I asked her.
"This, yeah?" She looped one arm around my neck. Carefully. "Rich tits - one look at you, they shit their fancy breeches, I bet."
"Metaphorically, I hope, and not literally," I replied as I preceded her into the carriage. "The ballroom is going to stink enough as it is."
"Ugh, use words that mean things," she complained, following.
Behind us, Fiona chuckled.