Guess who has another cold!

Me. It's me. It's always me this winter.

La Celle

Sera met us at the house of her contact in La Celle, a hamlet two hours' walk from the gates of Halamshiral. It wasn't safe for elves to go to the tavern, and that was more particularly true for Dalish elves. Though my entire plan hinged on no one recognizing me, there was undeniable irony in the fact that I was less safe as a faceless Dalish woman than I was as Inquisitor.

The month leading up to the ball at the Winter Palace had flown by in a flurry of duties, lessons, worries for my clan, and small changes to the running of Skyhold that I hoped would make it more efficient. I had answered mountains of correspondence, including exchanging many letters with Deshanna as I continued to monitor the situation in Wycome, which had, for the moment, stabilized, with Duke Antoine killed and the red lyrium removed from the water supply. Cullen's soldiers and my clan had both moved into the city to help protect it, as fleeing nobles - some of whom were no doubt Venatori agents - had run to nearby cities with tales of an elven uprising. So far no army had arrived to "retake" the city, but we were all certain it was only a matter of time.

I had learned the etiquette I would need for the ball, including how to lift a glass gracefully from a tray and hold the stem between my fingers to avoid warming the chilled champagne with the heat of my skin, and how to bring it to my lips, touching only the very edge to my skin, for tiny sips that would avoid smudging the clarity of the crystal or force me to swallow visibly. Similarly, I had learned how to eat with bites so small that they almost didn't require any chewing, and the motion of my jaw could be easily masked with conversation. I had learned to dance, which still seemed a particularly miraculous feat, though I couldn't possibly be better than adequate.

I had passed judgment on Alexius and the mages who had killed Wisdom, taking Vivienne's advice regarding the latter and assigning them to help the household in whatever capacity was deemed necessary. Alexius, meanwhile, was mostly working with the Inquisition's researchers - his understanding of magic was far too valuable to waste - but I had assigned him one day each week of working specifically under Helisma's direction. As she had several other Tranquil researchers assisting her, it meant he spent the full day with them. I hoped it would prove instructive for him.

Inspired by my plans for the blood mages and my discussion with the chatelaine, I had asked Fiona to find someone to coordinate with her so that the mages could be called on to help with labor-intensive household tasks in the future. I hoped the mages would find satisfaction in helping solve real-world problems that made the lives of many people tangibly better, but regardless of whether they did or not, it would make the lives of the servants easier and keep Skyhold running smoothly.

I had also, of course, continued to study healing under Port, with Amund Sky Watcher becoming another instructor when he unexpectedly visited Skyhold. It was his first time at the fortress and we spent several hours on the battlements together discussing what little I knew of its history and what he had gleaned from the spirits drawn there. Sky Watcher was impressed by the purity of the spirits, and asked my permission to bring a young apprentice he had only recently acquired to the keep to find a teacher. That led to a fascinating discussion of how Avvar trained their mages, through the benign possession Solas had spoken of to me once or twice.

I found myself pouring out my own history as a spirit to Sky Watcher, finding relief in being able to talk about it to someone besides Solas, with whom I had been, I realized, hesitant to approach the subject in any case. It was already bound up in his grief for Wisdom, considering she had held his memories, and I sensed there might have been some tragedy associated with Modesty, as well. While I might have demanded details because of his promise not to keep secrets from me that were about me, the degree to which Modesty was "me" was admittedly debatable.

Sky Watcher had been surprised by my story, and fascinated, and a little wary on behalf of the spirit that had given itself to shape me, but he didn't disapprove in principle - any more than he disapproved of Cole, who had naturally come up in the course of the discussion. "It may be in your world that the gods must take bodies to make themselves heard," he told me. "Your precursor should be given every honor for its sacrifice, giving up its nature to share its wisdom. I'm glad to see it's not been done in vain."

I had nodded for a moment before realizing there was a compliment for me within his words. Then my ears and cheeks had heated, and Sky Watcher had laughed.

My retinue had left Skyhold five days before, and it would take them another two to reach the estate Vivienne had put at our disposal, though some of us would, of course, be staying within the palace itself. Solas, Loranil, and I had left a day prior to everyone else, riding nondescript horses down from the mountains before leaving them with one of Leliana's scouts when we neared the road. Three elves on horseback, especially when two of them were Dalish, would be suspicious.

Not that we had used the road much. Though there were steep hills between us and Halamshiral - steep hills the road wound its way among, keeping to the valleys - Loranil knew the area reasonably well, his clan having sometimes come this far north. We had to rope up for my safety, but he led us successfully on a much straighter path, he and Solas helping me scale the steep slopes we traversed.

I had enjoyed the trip immensely. Though we rose early and stopped only just long enough before full dark to set up the tents, singing Dalish songs at the fire with Loranil, or telling stories and then bickering amicably over whose clan told them better, filled a void inside me that I hadn't even been aware of. Solas, on the whole, watched our antics with tolerant amusement, though he was quick to offer up stories of his own when we asked for them. There was also no need to pretend that Solas and I weren't having sex, even if we were too tired to indulge most nights. Solas required considerable reassurance to believe that Loranil really wouldn't care, and insisted on putting up his sound-confusing barrier each time, but Loranil treated Solas no differently after our trysts. His only acknowledgment came after the first, when Solas left us to fetch water. Then he glanced at me slyly and used a hand sign that, when used on the hunt, meant your kill , and which had come to mean your victory when used in camp. Then he had bent his head to hide his grin while I stifled my laughter against his shoulder…and signed back yes .

We reached La Celle in the afternoon of our sixth day after leaving Skyhold, and followed the directions we had been given to the tiny elven quarter of the town. The "house" - second from the right with bindweed growing up one doorpost - was really more of a hovel. Even I could see that once we had been ushered inside. The floor under my bare toes was dirt, the brownish light spoke of oiled paper in the windows rather than glass, and the two tiny "rooms" were divided only by a curtain, which I recognized as such when it billowed toward us with the wind from the door. Dalish aravels were, of course, often a single room and only had shutters over the windows - when they had windows at all - but they were also weather-tight, as the hovel was not, and boasted wooden floors. They were also painted and beautifully carved, meant to last multiple generations. I wasn't certain, when the cool spring wind blew through the walls, making them creak alarmingly, that the hovel would last one generation. The poverty wasn't shocking, but I did find it concerning. At least my own people could pick and move to better hunting grounds when needed.

Even so, the hospitality within the hovel wasn't lacking. Sera's contact, who introduced herself as Sophia, made us sit at a large, rough table that dominated the room to such a degree that it was difficult to move around. She asked if we were hungry, which we were, though we all tried to deny it, none of us wanting to take food from someone who no doubt needed it far more. She didn't listen to our protestations, though, and soon each of us had a slice of freshly baked brown bread topped with soft white cheese and some sort of fruit preserve.

It was delicious. Even Solas ate with relish rather than toying with most of his food as I often caught him doing.

The tea, on the other hand, was terrible - weak and bitter, the leaves both of poor quality and no doubt having been washed at least once before already. Still, we all sipped at it, even Solas, not wishing to insult our hostess. Sophia brought her own cup of tea to the table and joined us, and though the table was too wide for me to see her expression clearly, I could feel her gaze resting on me as she studied me.

"So you're the Inquisitor," she said abruptly. "When our mutual friend told me I was to meet you, I admit that I laid out one of my own dresses, certain I would need to chivvy you into something less…"

"Indiscreet?" I offered, amused, when she trailed off, searching for an appropriate word.

"Indeed," she allowed, and I heard the smile in her voice. "But here you sit with only your Dalish markings to set you apart from any of us. Even your staves might reasonably be walking sticks, with none of that glitter and foolishness mages usually want."

"Mine is reasonably a walking stick," Loranil told her, "and I cut all three myself before the Inquisitor and her artificer cored two of them to make proper staves."

"Usable staves, anyway," I said, unwilling to call the clunky cudgel I carried a proper staff. There were reasons that mages usually carried staves with "glitter and foolishness." They were enchanted and runed to aid in pulling Fade energy across the Veil. "We elves are almost universally a practical people," I told Sophia. "Circumstance has seen to that."

"That is very true," she allowed. "I didn't entirely believe our friend when she told me a Dalish elf claimed kinship with those of us your lot scorn for choosing to abandon the old legends and the endless war against the humans. But it seems she told the truth."

"Choice is a funny thing," I replied a bit hesitantly, and then decided to continue. "For various reasons, I was denied the status of an adult within my clan. It was…an excruciating experience. I was unable to remain apprenticed to our Keeper, though of course my magic continued to be trained. I wasn't allowed to court or to be courted. Most chances at self-determination were stripped from me, and it was intolerable - yet I tolerated it for nearly a decade."

"Why?" Sophia asked, leaning toward me across the table.

"Because the only other option was to renounce my clan and leave, and I knew almost nothing of the outside world, except that it was hostile to my people," I answered. "I didn't know how to live in an alienage - or if I would even be allowed to given that I was a mage. I didn't know what sorts of manners I would need, or how to - to find work, and money, and food. The only reason I left was because of a dream, and because I have learned to be guided by my dreams. But guidance of that sort is rare even among mages, and so I was…less restricted by circumstances than many. The point is," I took a breath, "did you truly choose to abandon the old legends and the fight?"

"The legends are largely unfamiliar to me," she answered, "and I fight in my own way."

"And so do I," I agreed. "And so do my people - but the way in which they fight is as different from the way I now fight as it is from the way you fight. They are all facets of the same act of resistance."

I had hardly stopped speaking when the badly hung door slammed open and a figure bounced in, clad in a brightly patterned array of threadbare articles of clothing, and covered by a dark cloak lined with eye-watering yellow plaid. The hovel was small enough for me to make out some of the details of her clothing, and also the uneven cut of her golden hair. "Ugh, you've been spending too much time with Droopy," Sera accused me with what was either a smirk or a grimace. "All faces of the same act of resistance," she repeated in a high-pitched, mocking accent that sounded nothing like me.

I jumped up and pulled her into a hug, squeezing her tight before releasing her and poking her in the ribs. "The word was facets, not faces, and you're late."

"Oh, I'm Gracious Lady Inquisi-tits, and you're late," she mocked me.

"Shut it, you," I mocked her right back, butchering her accent as badly as she was butchering mine.

She laughed, delighted, and shoved me back towards my chair. "Yeah, I'm late, right? But ," she went on and pulled a bottle from under her cloak, "I brought wine."

"Timeliness is overrated," Loranil declared. "I'd rather have wine."

"A sentiment worthy of an Orlesian," Sophia said approvingly, rising to find a cup for Sera.