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σρнєℓια тяєνєℓуαη
A metal-lined boot stomped on her stomach, allowing the pirate captain to slither through her grasp. With a very unladylike groan, Ophelia spit blood on the creaky floorboards, struggling to regain her beatings. She clutched at her aching stomach as her companions fought with a frenzy, striking down mercenary after mercenary. The barfight ended in blood and sweat.
She hardly registered Alba’s comment as the bard’s body collapsed to the ground in a heap. Her voice died in her throat and all went silent around her. Whatever strange riddles Alba was spewing from next to her, Ophelia hardly had the capacity to solve them in that moment. After spending months deciphering Sera’s odd way of speaking, and then Cole as well, she found that she had no patience for yet another riddler.
“Very well,” Ophelia sighed and examined her bow, checking for any damage after the brief stampede that broke out and died just as quickly. “Alba Selvaggio, you and your … company will be coming with us.” She whistled to Blackwall, who was graciously carrying her velveteen knapsack, almost splitting at the seams from how much she had stuffed in the cramped bag.
“I should have rope bonds somewhere under the elfroot vials. Or in the pocket with the paralytic poison. Tie up the captain and round the others up,” she ordered her team. She turned back to the woman, unnerved by her wolf-like characteristics.
This was no place for upholding the frivolities of court behavior. Ophelia often struggled balancing the hardness associated with being the Inquisitor, and the gracefulness of a bred noblewoman. But even she could sniff out the trouble that this silver-haired woman could cause. “We occupy a fortress ahead — I’m sure you’ve seen it as you were docking.” She attempted an assuring smile. “We will, of course, send men to guard your ships while we determine your … future, as it were.”
With Alba’s hands bound and the rest of her crew grumbling at being poked and prodded by Sera, they were set for the short trek to Skyhold. Ophelia couldn’t be too careful; for all she knew, these were raiders from Antiva, judging by the lilted accents, and Josephine would likely have more knowledge on what to do with said bandits.
“You will be relocated to the cells, for the time being, until we have gathered sufficient evidence to determine your innocence. And I should apologize in advance for our dear Cassandra; she means well, believe me.”
нуα¢ιηтн уєννιη
Hyacinth eyed the man with a sense of shrewdness that would’ve made a lesser man quiver. Yet this one did not buckle, even as she held his gaze like a hawk hunting their next meal. The commander was smarter than he looked; how he managed to glean her true nature of work was beyond her. She supposed mentioning Leliana had been a slip-up on her part, though anyone else wouldn’t have batted an eye at the admission. Not many were fully aware of the true extent of Leliana’s duties, nor were they allowed in on the true identities of her agents.
Hyacinth was no exception to this. Although she was rightfully tight-lipped about her past, she did allow Leliana in on her birth name, the one that she dared not even think about. It had been 5 years since she last used it. With a new life came a new identity and she needed the past to stay right where it belonged — far behind her.
“I was not there to see it … Commander,” she drawled. Already her patience had worn thin with the blond, scruffy shem. Tossing her cinnamon-brown hair over her shoulder, fully revealing her pointed ears and completely bare face, she pulled away from the corner of his bureau.
His questions were neverending and she struggled to hone in on his words rather than drone them out. “The soldiers are the least of our concerns, ser. There have been whispers among the mages, many of them frustrated by their dwindling supply of lyrium, and we have yet to secure a satisfactory deal with the Carta for more resources.”
Drifting over to the door opposite his desk, she jutted her thumb out and gestured to the space behind her. “There have been gatherings in the gardens, near the shrine of Andraste. You might find me in prayer later this evening.” The barest hint of a smirk twitched her lips.
She was not religious. Even the elven pantheon, an assortment of gods that all Dalish clans revered, were not exactly in her good graces. But for the last three nights, she had cloaked herself and blended in with the newly-conscripted mages, roughly half a dozen or so that were clearly on edge with their new treaty terms.
The majority of the mages, nearly 120 of them, were wise enough to keep any complaints to themselves. Hyacinth wondered if the commander, the ex-templar that he was, had any clue what grudges the mages held. “You are a pious man, are you not, ser? I believe you should join me tonight, should you have the time. And if I were you, I would bundle up in a thick hooded cloak.”
She inclined her head, almost petulantly. “Am I dismissed, Commander?”