Lavellan was in a good mood. She and a small band of Inquisition members were leaving for the Hinterlands the next morning, which meant she was soon going to be swinging her sword and battling demons (and shemlen!) again. Her blood quickened just at the thought, and she had to suppress a feral grin. Fighting, protecting and defending her clan – that was her place, what she was best at, what she enjoyed.
Even the tedious words of the Inquisition's advising shems didn't completely dampen her mood. She had found Cassandra near the Chantry, and the warrior shem had immediately started discussing plans for the trip. It was refreshing to talk about something concrete (and exciting) to do, so Lavellan had followed her inside the Chantry and into the ambassador's undersized office, standing before her desk.
Josephine had greeted Lavellan with a courteous "Andaran Atish'an" and Cassandra with a nod and shy smile. From her station in the corner, Mineave, the flat-ear artifacts researcher, barely glanced up at them. Cassandra explained shortly, somewhat haltingly, what they'd been discussing, and asked for the Antivan's insight.
"The more ways you can think of to spread the Inquisition's influence, the better," the ambassador said. It was about the seventh iteration of the phrase Lavellan had heard uttered by one of the Inquisition's advising shems. They either thought she was incredibly stupid and couldn't remember the task on her own, or that she would not go out of her way to help unless continuously poked and prodded to do so.
"I will kill all the fighting shemlen and close the fade rifts in the area," Lavellan announced, feeling it a charitable course of action and rather benevolent on her part. They were only truly going to speak with the Chantry shem and a retired horsemaster, after all.
Beside her, Cassandra grunted, and Lavellan thought she could detect a note of approval in the rough sound. The warrior's expression was as stony as usual (perhaps slightly pinker, for whatever shemlen reason), however, so perhaps she was mistaken.
"Ah…" Josephine looked as if she'd swallowed a particularly sour piece of fruit, a worried wrinkle appearing between her brows. She folded her hands atop her desk. "T-that would address…part of the problem, yes."
Lavellan frowned, regarding the gold-ruffled shem with a disbelieving stare. "There's more?"
Josephine spoke slowly, carefully. "The Hinterlands has been torn apart by warring mages and Templars, demons, bandits. Even if you were to hunt down every last one of them and…put them to the sword," the ambassador paused, pursing her lips, the words unsavory on her tongue. "The situation there would still be volatile. The area needs to be stabilized, rebuilt. And that is where the Inquisition's influence will most strongly be felt."
Lavellan scoffed. "You want me hold the shems' hands, to clean up the aftermath that other shemlen made?" Annoyance smoldered under her skin, eating away at her buoyed mood. "I am not some flat-ear servant –"
The door to the small office opened, cutting her off mid-sentence. The spymaster strolled in, followed by Trevelyan. Lavellan tensed – how many more shemlen could they pack in the cramped place?
Trevelyan was holding a pouch in her hands, examining its contents with a lopsided grin, eyes alight. "Mineave, one of Sister Leliana's scouts scavenged some scales that – ah," the shem held her tongue when she finally looked up and noticed the others' presence. "Lady Montilyet, Lady Cassandra, Lady Herald," she addressed Lavellan with the slightest of hesitance, but her expression showed no other signs of ill-will from their previous altercation (not that Lavellan cared in the least how the shem felt about her). "I apologize for interrupting."
Lavellan watched as Trevelyan made her was over to Mineave, placing the pouch on a barrel serving as the elf's makeshift research table. The two shared hushed whispers, heads bowed together as they poured over the find. Lavellan rolled her eyes, feeling irritated by the sight although she wasn't entirely sure why. Idiot shem.
Leliana came over, her gaze flicking between Cassandra and Josephine, the faintest of frowns on her lips. "What are we interrupting, Josie? The room seems…tense." Her blue eyes landed on Lavellan, and seemed to cut right through her. The spymaster moved to lean against the edge of Josephine's desk, crossing her arms, exuding the same quiet lethality that a blade behind one's back might. Lavellan suppressed a shiver. This shem – this shem intimidated her, much as she loathed to admit such a thing.
Josephine straightened, smoothing out her expression. "We were merely discussing the Herald's trip to the Hinterlands, and what the Inquisition hopes to accomplish there." An excessively diplomatic, high-road characterization to what Lavellan knew had been about to escalate to an argument. Lavellan gritted her teeth. She did not need to be coddled.
"Our ambassador suggested the Inquisition aid in rebuilding the area after the immediate threat is addressed. The Herald seems skeptical." Cassandra spoke up, shooting Lavellan a pointed look. Lavellan would've retorted with just how "skeptical" she was, but she was a tad impressed, and grateful, with the straightforward comment. At least the Seeker had some sort of backbone.
Leliana raised a brow. "The Inquisition needs leverage, to develop a reputation. We can do this by winning the favor of the people."
"And killing everything that's a threat won't do this?" Lavellan challenged, surly.
For her part, the spymaster was patient, and Lavellan thought she saw a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. "Not necessarily. No matter our intentions, another group of armed and violent travelers may sow suspicion – which we can alleviate by helping to fortify the Hinterlands. We need the people to believe we are a force for good, not another opportunistic invader looking to establish control."
Aren't we? Lavellan wondered, though grudgingly she admitted she could see the red-haired shemlen's point. Still, she didn't see how it was her problem. "I still don't see why shemlen can't take care of shemlen problems."
Cassandra made a noise of frustration. "We are arguing in circles," she said, the scar on her cheek rippling as she clenched her jaw. Josephine watched the Seeker out of the corner of her eye, looking like she agreed but didn't want to say as much.
Leliana waved a hand. "Maybe not," she said, gaze becoming thoughtful. "Herald. I understand your reservations." Lavellan blinked in surprise at the unlikely words. "I have scouts stationed in the area. Call upon them if there are tasks you'd rather delegate. Is that an agreeable compromise?"
Lavellan felt three sets of eyes weigh on her, and she tried not to look as taken aback as she felt. "Yes," she replied gruffly. "I will fight, and your people can do what remains." Her sword would probably win the Inquisition more hearts than her words, anyway. "And I will speak with this Mother Giselle," she added, remembering their primary motive with a sinking feeling. Words would be required after all.
"It would be a boon to have her blessing," Leliana stressed, and Lavellan could almost see her thoughts and strategies churning in her mind.
"Mother Giselle will be tending to the wounded," Josephine chimed in, an unnecessary reminder. The ambassador's eyes wandered to the edge of the room. "Perhaps you should bring Lady Trevelyan with you. A skilled healer would undoubtedly be sorely needed, and would demonstrate the Inquisition's good will." On the chance the Herald cannot persuade her of that fact went unsaid, but Lavellan could feel the implication hang in the air.
Trevelyan looked up at the sound of her name, glancing from face to face, clearly not having heard what all was said.
"That is not a bad idea," Cassandra said, and Josephine smiled slightly at the praise. Cassandra put her hands on her hips, addressing the mage. "If you would not mind accompanying us, Trevelyan?"
"Oh." Trevelyan blinked, her eyes wide. She seemed taken aback, but recovered quickly, nodding to the Seeker. "Of…course. I would be glad to." Her light brown eyes met Lavellan's, and she gave a small smile. "It sounds like fun."
Lavellan exhaled sharply, glowering. 'Fun' was the last descriptor she'd use to describe the idea of traveling with the shem.
"We leave tomorrow morning, if that is enough time for you to prepare?" Though she phrased it as a question, by her tone it was obvious Cassandra meant it more as a directive: Pack quickly.
Trevelyan bit her lip, nodding again. "I'll craft some additional potions." She put a hand on Mineave's shoulder, bidding her goodbye with a last glance at the pouch of scales they'd been examining. "How long will we be away?" she inquired uncertainly.
Cassandra gestured toward the door. "Come," she said. "I will walk with you, and we can discuss it." The Seeker turned back to Lavellan and the advisors, bowing her head in farewell, eyes lingering a moment on the ambassador before she departed, Trevelyan in tow.
Lavellan watched the pair go with a petulant frown. Though she knew it was too late to protest, she couldn't resist. "The shem mage will slow us down."
Josephine shook her head, ready to disagree, but Leliana merely smirked lightly. "I think you'll find Trevelyan to be pleasant company, Herald. She has a certain charm, no?"
Lavellan scoffed. "She is a relentless annoyance." An image of Trevelyan's grin, her idiotic wink, popped into Lavellan's mind, and she felt her ears heat up (in anger – definitely anger). Far, far from charming, Lavellan thought.
Leliana chuckled, a surprisingly melodious sound for such a dangerous person. There was something in that chuckle that grated on Lavellan's ears, on her nerves. She huffed, aggravation crawling like ants just beneath her skin, and left the shems to their stupid shem talk. Charming. Mythal's mercy, shemlen set a low bar.
As the office door closed behind her, Lavellan could hear the ambassador let out a tired sigh.
"Mahariel was the same way, at first," the spymaster said, and Lavellan hesitated at the Hero of Fereldan's name. "Can you truly blame her?"
"Of course not," Josephine replied quickly. "Only…"
"Don't fret, Josie," Leliana reassured with a note of finality. She started to say something else, but Lavellan lost interest. She had better things to do, after all. Like… sharpen her sword, or polish her armor.
Creators, Lavellan couldn't wait to leave this cursed village and see battle.
Morning came none too swiftly, the night lengthened by the fact that Lavellan barely slept. By the first light of dawn, she was waiting for the others by Haven's gate, feeling more like herself than she had in days in her armor, sword at her side, a travelling pack slung over her shoulder. She'd even braided her hair, which she usually found tiresome (and had since Ellera, the elder warrior who had taken her under her wing and supervised her training, had first suggested it), but she hadn't felt ready until she'd done so.
Waiting, Lavellan watched the horizon, the sun rosy in its rise. Back home, her clan would be waking by now, and the hunters would've already left. Halla would be let to graze, a warrior or two following them for protection from greedy shems. The Keeper would be wondering through the camp, taking stock and deciding whether the clan should stay and for how long. Lavellan felt a pang of homesickness, and her gaze drifted to the Breach, her marked hand curling into a fist. If not for the Conclave, if not for the explosion and whatever magic had triggered it –
"It holds a kind of devastating beauty, in the sunrise," Solas' quiet voice interrupted her thoughts, the elven mage walking up to her with arms folded behind his back.
A heavy set of footsteps drew near, and an accented voice replied, "You have an odd sense of beauty, Solas, to find it in something so destructive."
Lavellan turned to see Cassandra striding purposefully towards them, Varric in tow a few steps behind. Both their facial expressions were stiff and drawn – so they'd already been fighting, Lavellan gathered.
They were only missing Trevelyan, Lavellan noted as the two approached. The mage was already a burden and they hadn't even stepped outside Haven.
Solas' lips twisted into a faint smile as he tilted his head in greeting. "You'd not be the first of that opinion, Seeker."
Cassandra, realizing Lavellan's attention was elsewhere, addressed her next. "Trevelyan was not far behind us," she said, gesturing over her shoulder, and Lavellan narrowed her eyes at the warrior's astuteness. "Here she comes now."
On cue, Trevelyan rounded the corner and descended the last of Haven's stairs. Her auburn hair was mussed, rather haphazardly gathered into a loose ponytail. As she neared, Lavellan spied the beginnings of dark circles under her eyes, though she seemed chipper, and was humming under her breath.
"Good morning, Inquisition," she said cheerily. Lavellan groaned as the others returned the greeting, and Trevelyan grinned at her. "Lady Herald, radiant as ever, I see."
Varric snorted at that, and Lavellan shot them both a dark look.
"Now that we're all here," she said, an accusation edging her voice as her eyes swept past Trevelyan to the others. "We can leave." At long last.
Cassandra arched a brow, exchanging a glance with Solas, but simply inclined her head. "As you wish, Herald."
Cassandra moved to the front, pushing open the gate, and the party traipsed out. Lavellan's natural instinct was to lead, but with a sinking feeling realized she'd have to let the Seeker take point, as she didn't know the way (and refused to bury her nose in some shem map). Cassandra assumed the role of trailblazer without question, setting a moderate pace and walking ahead in silence. Lavellan followed several strides behind.
Varric fell in step to her left, Trevelyan to her right. Lavellan gritted her teeth, knowing she was in for a headache. Maybe the early hour would be in her favor, and they would stay silent for a time, she thought with a spark of hope. And for a while, this appeared to be true. But it turned out it didn't take words for the shem to grate on her patience.
Lavellan could feel Trevelyan's eyes on her. She tried to ignore it, but it was like an itch, the longer she held off the more her attention warped around it. Sure enough, from the corner of her eye she could see the mage was staring, and more specifically, staring at her lips. Lavellan felt a flush creep up her neck, stomach flipping. (For a fleeting, strange moment she had the urge to lick her lips, though she didn't know why.)
"What are you looking at?" she ground out, turning her head to glare reproachfully.
"Sorry," Trevelyan said, actually looking sheepish, rubbing a hand along the nape of her neck. "It's – You're pouting."
What? "I am not… pouting," Lavellan snarled indignantly. Pouting was childish. How dare the shem accuse her of such a thing.
Trevelyan's lips quirked into a smile. "You were," she insisted, eyes shining. "It was cute."
Next to them, Varric chuckled. Lavellan's cheeks warmed in a blush. She could feel the situation spiraling out of her control. "I was not pouting. And I am a warrior, a killer; the last thing I am is…cute." Lavellan's nose wrinkled at the word.
"Not from where I'm standing," Trevelyan said with a teasing lilt.
"Then stand somewhere else!" Lavellan exclaimed, her embarrassment and other emotions taking their toll on her. Trevelyan backed off a step, brows raised. Lavellan took a deep, steadying breath. "Just – stay in the back, shem." Away from me.
After a moment, Trevelyan shrugged. "With pleasure. The back has the best view." Trevelyan looked ahead pointedly.
Lavellan was uncertain what exactly the shem meant by that until Varric spoke up.
"I think the Seeker might punch you, if she knew you were ogling her," Varric remarked, though by the twinkle in his eye he seemed somewhat taken by the idea.
A strangled sound escaped Lavellan's throat.
Dutifully (thankfully) slowing her pace to fall behind them, Trevelyan called, "Who says I was talking about her?"
Varric grinned, glancing over his shoulder to wink at Trevelyan. "Aw, Red, you flatter me!" He drawled, causing Trevelyan to laugh, the sound growing quieter as she drifted farther behind.
Lavellan growled, clenching and unclenching her fists. "Dread Wolf take her, I'll kill that shem," she muttered, knowing they were hollow words but taking comfort in the threat all the same. Maybe she would punch the shem – the day was still young.
"Oh, Smiles," Varric said pityingly, shaking his head. "That is not how you make friends."
Lavellan scowled. "I don't want to make friends, dwarf." She sped her step to leave him behind.
Behind her, she could hear Varric puff out a long-suffering sigh. "I have the sinking feeling this is going to be a loooong trip…"