I can tell that Lady Evie's more concerned than she lets on. It's not in her posture, it's not in her stride, and it's not in the way she grips the armrest of her throne. It's in the way she glared at her unsweetened Dragon's Brew coffee this morning in the kitchen, just before holding court. She ignored the small jar of sugar on the table, she ignored her pastries, she ignored Ser Cullen's hand on hers. And she drank her entire mug in one go. Whew. That coffee, when unsweetened, has quite the bitter aftertaste.
It's hard to be in Lady Evie's shoes, with all those decisions and courses of actions, but that's not very obvious right now to an onlooker. There she is, radiant on her throne, as if Blessed Andraste Herself is behind her and bathing her in a golden glow. Well, it's the morning sun's rays diffused by the window behind the throne that bathes Lady Evie in light. Skyhold's interior designer really should be given credit.
I stand quite far apart from the crowd of noble and merchant onlookers. And, I'm a little surprised, Ser Cullen is here, too. Then again, he's never really had the hang of nobles.
"It's a marvelous sight, isn't it, Ellie?" Ser Cullen whispers in an adoring voice. "So majestic and proud in making decisions that will shape Thedas forever."
"Yes, ser, she's truly glorious," I reply. I don't want to break his reverie by asking him mundane political questions on what he thinks she'll decide.
"But today will test her resolve more than any other judgment," he says astutely. Hmm. For all his puppy eyes at Lady Evie, and his tacit woes written all over his face, he still has that sharp mind that has earned him his place as Commander.
"How did you get him out?" I dare ask, knowing that Ser Cullen trusts my discretion anyway.
"Underworld dealings," the Commander answers, as the guards drag Blackwall-not-Blackwall near the throne. "The details of it are classified, but people are already talking about it—"
Thom Rainier's voice booms through the hall. "I know you put another man in my place. Hasn't enough died for me?"
Wow. Talk about airing dirty laundry in public.
"So much for secrecy then," Ser Cullen sighs.
"I wish there was another way," Lady Evie says calmly, ignoring the man's angry outburst. "Blackwall intended you to be a Warden. I will let them decide your fate—but only if Corypheus is defeated. For now, Thom Rainier, the Inquisition needs you."
"As you command," Rainier answers. And is that the teensiest bit of sarcasm I note in his voice?
I can hear the hall breathe a sigh of relief. Ach, that could have gone worse. I mean, really. Any other person wielding the power and influence of the Inquisitor could have easily made Rainier their personal slave, as an example of the might and possible corruption of the Inquisition. Or they could have Blackwall serve the Inquisition solely, a defiance to the other powers that be in Thedas, like the Empire of Orlais and the Grey Warden Order. Or they could have left Rainier at the hands of the Orlesians, and what a terrible waste that would be, for a perfectly capable man wanting to atone. But having Blackwall turn himself over to the Wardens after this Corypheus business is just a stroke of genius on Lady Evie's part—she's guaranteed goodwill from all corners of Thedas now. This definitely has a better aftertaste.
"Ellie," Ser Cullen says, "Lady Trevelyan would most probably appreciate some tea or other sort. You know better than me what she'd appreciate at a time like this."
"Do you want to join her, Ser?" I ask.
"That would be splendid," he answers, losing his big Commander voice. He smiles that lopsided smile of his that makes Lady Evie swoon.
It's a good thing that I have some Tevinter velvet cake ready at the kitchen, a new shipment of assorted teas, and fresh fruit from all over. Heh. The thought of the not-sweet-tooth Commander eating cake with our sugary Inquisitor always makes me giggle.
The Wardens are a real weird lot. When I first reported to the Nightingale that they keep to themselves, I meant it, they really do. The Blackwall-not-Blackwall affair would have set anybody else talking, but not them. Even over breakfast, lunch, dinner, beer, or whatever. Bah. They just eat a lot in solitude, train in solitude, sharpen their weapons in solitude. It almost makes me nervous that I'm missing something. Maker, I hope not. I'd hate to screw this up.
One day, as I'm taking first pick from the new shipment of fruits from Orlais, the Commander summons me to his office. Hmm. I take the usual tea tray for him and Lady Evie before heading to his office.
"Chef Ellie," he greets me warmly in his big Commander voice. I place the tea tray in a smaller table. "In between baking for Lady Trevelyan, spying for Sister Leliana, and learning about possession from Dorian Pavus, may I know if your skills include teaching others how to cook?"
"Don't worry, Ellie, the Commander's not going to ask you to give up your secret recipes," Lady Evie greets as she arrives in the tower. "Or cook for all our troops in the Hissing Wastes. No, you just have to teach some field personnel basic cooking techniques and quick recipes. For morale boosting, you see."
Ser Cullen takes Lady Evie's hand, presses it to his lips quickly, and resumes his professional mien.
"The Inquisitor does want her personal chef attending to all her troops' gastronomic needs," Ser Cullen explains, "but we'll be remiss if we do not care for our troops' welfare. Can you do it, Ellie? Teach about stews and soups mainly. Something to warm bellies and without the aftertaste of common grub."
"Certainly, ser," I say, quickly thinking about which stews and soups can be cooked quickly with what resources field personnel may have. Hmm. We have meats, definitely. But we have to have potatoes. And salt. Maybe some sugar, too? And we can't go wrong with rosemary.
"Very well, then Ellie," he says, and hands me a list of field cooks who are to stay in Skyhold for a week.
"You can procure from them the list of available ingredients in the field, if you don't know it yet," he continues. "Do you have any questions?"
I shake my head and bow to the Inquisitor and the Commander before I go out. But because Ser Cullen talks really loudly, or maybe I just have really good ears, I hear him—"We found Samson's lair…"
Oh, Maker. The man who barely eats and sleeps, and whom I suspect has more than a wee bit of withdrawal problems, has decided he's going to storm into enemy territory. Even with Lady Evie and her companions around, I don't see that as a particularly brilliant plan.
Reviews and other feedback make plot bunnies breed!
