Chapter Text
It wasn’t the throne room; in fact, it was a rather cozy sitting room, with a lovely fireplace to ward off the chill and comfortable furniture, enough for everyone. It was not as richly appointed as the royal palace in Ferelden, nor the Amell estate in Kirkwall, but despite the construction going on to repair what looked like centuries of being forgotten, the structure felt… right in a way she’d felt in few places before.
She would reflect on that later, however. For now, everyone was standing in the sitting room she’d entered – a human woman who had the look of an Antivan about her, lovely and bedecked in an on-trend ensemble, a Dalish woman in a quite smart white leather vest and matching pants, with a vivid red scarf at her throat.
Raina was struck by the resemblance; the woman’s skin and hair were the same as hers, and her eyes the same aquamarine as her mother’s. The vallaslin was different, but her breath was caught in her throat for a moment, and when their eyes met, it seemed that both of them were struck dumb.
It was noticed, and later, it would make sense to her that it was. By all reports, the Inquisitor was of a warm, friendly nature generally, particularly to friends of friends. It made sense that mutual friends and acquaintances would not quite know what to make of both she and the notoriously social Warden-Commander falling completely silent and looking at each other as though they’d each grown another two heads.
It was Cullen, of all people, who broke the silence.
He was there, in his armor and his mantle looking as fierce as he ever had. He was different, here – in his element, and he was graceful and elegant and when did any of this happen? He’d nodded at her when she’d entered, and deftly prevented the quiet from becoming uncomfortable. With all the decorum of a noble, he spoke:
“Warden-Commander Raina Surana, allow me to introduce Zeneida Lavellan, the Inquisitor.”
“Andaran atish’an , Warden-Commander Surana,” the Inquisitor greeted her in elvish, bowing.
“Ma serannas , Inquisitor Lavellan. Aneth ara,” she replied, returning the greeting with a less formal one used among the Dalish. Her accent was good, she knew – better than most City Elves would manage. But she had never quite shaken the strange sense of awe and shame that tingled in the back of her mind when she spoke to the Dalish – the true people, the ones who had done everything they could to keep the old ways.
The Inquisitor smiled at her.
“Your accent is quite good,” she said. “Leliana told me that you were in an alienage before being taken to the Circle in Ferelden.”
A smile curved Raina’s lips, though it didn’t reach her eyes as heat rose to her cheeks. She canted her head to one side.
“Quite good for a city elf, then,” she said pleasantly. The Inquisitor’s eyes widened. So did Leliana’s and the Antivan-looking woman. Cullen looked like he might sputter. Morrigan was smirking at the Inquisitor.
“No – I –“ she shook her head. “Forgive me, Warden-Commander. It’s only that it’s rare to meet city elves whose elvish is –”
“Competent?” she supplied, her tone still pleasant, her expression fixed, like a doll’s.
A sigh gusted from the Inquisitor.
“I meant no offense,” she began again. “It is unusual for city elves to speak much elvish, and when they do, the accent usually reflects the human language spoken where they hail from. Your accent –”
Raina shook her head. This woman was a friend of her friends. She was a good woman who fought for the people. She took a breath.
“My apologies, Inquisitor,” she forced a laugh. “Touchy topic, that. My mother is Dalish, but yes, we lived in the alienage in Denerim before I was taken. I’m afraid I’ve lost quite a lot.”
The Inquisitor moved forward and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Ir abelas ,” she murmured the elvhen apology quietly. “We have all lost so much.”
To Raina’s mortification, she felt tears prickle behind her eyes. She nodded, unable to speak for the moment.
Lavellan smiled then though. “It made my clan so proud to know that the Hero of Ferelden was one of the People.”
Raina lifted her gaze to the Inquisitor’s, smiling despite the suspicious wetness of her eyes.
“Well, we’re even, then, because I was quite proud to hear the Inquisitor was Dalish.”
“And who knew, your long-lost secret twin,” a low voice with a familiar, rough charm to it spoke.
“Varric!” she laughed, wiping discreetly at her eyes, turning to the dwarf. “That’s racist!”
“Oh, save it for the humans, Bright Eyes,” he said with a grin before she reached out to give him a hug. “This conversation was about five minutes away from swapping family trees.”
“How dare you sir,” she laughed, squeezing him before she released him.
“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but,” Carver said with a shrug.
“Really, Ser Hawke, do we all look alike to you?” Lavellan said, a grin teasing the corners of her lips.
“Not even a little,” he said. “But the two of you do look more alike than Hawke and I do!”
The shrug the Inquisitor and the Warden-Commander gave in unison was uncannily in sync.
More introductions were made (well, really just one more, to Josephine Montilyet, the Inquisition’s lead diplomat), and the conversation was really quite enjoyable, particularly as far as politics went. Certainly the unexpected number of friends she had in the Inquisition helped, and that as it happened, Lavellan and Surana shared a bloodline a few generations back. Their grandmothers had been sisters, and both mages, too. Since there couldn’t be more than one magic user in a clan, Surana’s grandmother had joined another to the south. Once the pleasantries had been exchanged and family trees sorted as promised, they’d settled in.
“So then, good Wardens,” Lavellan said. “What brings you to Skyhold?”
“Well, we’d heard you were preparing to confront ancient malign forces bent on destroying the world, so we figured we’d stop by for a drink on our way to our own certain doom.”
She smiled brightly.
“Certain doom is highly overrated,” Lavellan said. “I can’t say I recommend it.”
“Well, it’s hardly ever as certain as they make it sound,” Varric qualified.
“Well, there is that,” Surana admitted.
“True, more just likely doom,” Carver added.
“Not even that much more likely than your usual Warden business,” Surana said.
“There are rumors,” Leliana said, perched on an escritoire. “There is a call coming from Weisshaupt. Wardens are going there in droves… and not returning.”
Surana’s next smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Never fear, we won’t be going to Weisshaupt,” she said. “More exploration, more research, less creepy demands of consolidating and conformity.”
Leliana arched a brow.
“Do tell, Surana,” she prompted.
Carver shook his head.
“Don’t listen to her, it’s unlikely we know any more than the Inquisition’s spymaster,” he said.
“You are the most disrespectful subordinate,” she told him, her face scrunching slightly.
“I have to keep you out of trouble. They’ll think you’re holding out when really you’re just running with the most dramatic scenario you can imagine.”
Her eyes widened. “Carver, if you continue to discredit me in front of these fine people –”
“Nonsense! We know exactly how much credit to give – or not give – you,” Morrigan said.
“All right, isn’t it Lavellan’s turn for you all to gang up on her?” Surana asked indignantly.
Lavellan held up her hands.
“I haven’t done anything!” she protested.
“Nah, we’re just not as comfortable with her yet,” Varric said with a grin.
“I find that highly unlikely, knowing you lot,” Surana said, trying to suppress a grin of her own.
“It’s true, it’s just that it’s been so long since most of them have had the chance to gang up on you,” Carver pointed out. She turned to him, squinting and poking him in the chest.
“You are not helping,” she told him.
He blinked innocently at her.
“Sorry, was I supposed to be helping?”
“Eugh,” she groaned. “Why did I come here?”
“Because you love us, of course!” said Leliana with a bright smile.
It occurred to Surana that Cullen had left at some point, and having noticed that, she rose.
“Well, I think I’d like a bath, if that’s all right,” she said. “After I make myself presentable, should we meet at the tavern? I’d say Carver will make himself presentable, too, but he’s a bit beyond help.”
He rolled his eyes at her.
“You’re reaching,” he said.
She laughed. “It’s true; I’ll do better next time.”
“Come, Surana, Ser Hawke; I shall show you to your rooms,” Leliana offered, taking her arm.
“Now Leliana, don’t try to get fresh while we’re in a vulnerable state,” Surana warned.
Leliana laughed.
“My dear Wardens, if I’d decided to get fresh, you would already be under my spell,” she told them.
Surana grinned, pointedly not looking at Carver.
“Indeed,” she said.
Carver was noticeably silent.