Enchanted Blacksmithing, Unbridled Chaos, and Learning to Love: A Handbook

by aelfricofeynsham

Summary:

Dagna is in Denerim to visit Wade’s Emporium for research and study into arcane blacksmithing. Sera is in town, fulfilling some Red Jenny duties. A misunderstanding causes sparks to fly, with the two entirely at odds- but perhaps an unexpected attraction could develop? Also, Bodahn and Sandal are there!
Dagna has a lot on her plate; her first major project into arcane blacksmithing, courtesy of First Enchanter Irving; a particularly difficult commission from a wealthy Fereldan nobleman; and a mysterious figure that thwarts just about every step she takes to her goal!
Sera is busy too: she’s been sent some information about a certain Nathaniel Howe’s use of torture against servants, and has taken it upon herself to deal with it. Unable to find him personally, she’s having to resort to more indirect methods of thwarting his activities. Not to mention, there's been a lot of disruption in Denerim since the Blight ended. There’s never a dull moment for Red Jenny!

TW for attempted sexual assault in Chapter 2 (brief).

Notes:

Hello! This is my first attempt at a fanfic, let alone my first Dragon Age one. I've been reading a ton of other people's and I'm currently visiting family with my wife and ya girl's real bored. So here's a (hopefully) fun bit of slow-burn enemies-to-friends-to-lovers about Sera and Dagna. I've got about four chapters finished that just need to be uploaded, etc, and then I'm going to try and keep it going.

Chapter 1: Dagna in Denerim

The road to Denerim had been long, and Dagna was tired. Her pack was heavy on her back, crammed with every book the Circle’s librarian could bear to part with. Her travels through the Coastlands hadn’t been dangerous- well, mostly- but much of what she had seen had left her unsettled.

There had been accounts from other travellers that set her on edge. Even now the Archdemon had been slain, packs of darkspawn still roamed the lands, aimless and angry. Refugees, left homeless by the Blight, struggled to get by. Some turned to theft, highway robbery, burglary; she had even heard cases of cannibalism amongst the most desperate and starving. The Chantry, encouraged by the new King, had put efforts in place to feed and care for the masses, but these efforts were taking time to reach the less densely populated areas of Ferelden.

The dark times were still very much present, but there was something in the air- something resembling hope for the nation. King Alistair, though a little under confident in his abilities, was coming into his own as a leader. The Hero of Ferelden, as she was named, had removed herself from the spotlight after the Archdemon’s defeat, alongside her lover, an Orlesian bard. No-one was sure where she was, and- in Dagna’s mind, at least- that was probably for the best. Dagna had met her, twice, back in Orzammar. She had taken Dagna’s message to Kinloch Hold- and back again- requesting a research position there. Without her, Dagna wouldn’t have left Orzammar, let alone be on the way to Denerim- the nation’s capital!- on her very first research project.

The sun was beginning to set as she arrived at the city gates. Herren’s letter was in her pocket, a little crumpled. She was to make straight for Wade’s Emporium on arrival, and they would take her to the Gnawed Noble. Her room was paid for- courtesy of her patron, a word she still struggled to come to grips with- for the duration of her stay. It reminded her vividly of the practise of ‘sponsors’ back in Orzammar, though she hoped the relationship would remain strictly professional. Ser Nathaniel Howe, son of the (recently deceased) Arl of Amaranthine, had offered an obscene amount of money for a full suit of enchanted drakeskin armour. Dagna had no idea how he had heard of her, or why he sought such an unusual suit of armour, but money was money. This was money she could use to further her education- and a project that would facilitate it!

Irving had been sceptical, but by the fifth time she offered to hand-scrub every latrine in the Circle, he relented. He sent some letters, and eventually heard a rumour of a dragonscale specialist working out of Denerim. A few more letters, and an apprenticeship- of sorts- was organised. A month later, Dagna was on her way, with every book about dragons, enchantments, and blacksmithing she could find in the library packed into her heavy rucksack. And two weeks after that, she was here!

Denerim was disappointing.

She understood that it had only just begun to recover from a major battle, and that humans weren’t really as interested in architecture as dwarves, but still. It was a little bland. She checked the map Herren had scrawled on the back of the letter, and made her way towards the Emporium. The ground was dusty and uneven. Humans marched about, taller than her by far. Despite spending the last two weeks travelling by herself, it wasn’t until now that Dagna realised quite how alone she was.

A busy-looking noblewoman, striding past and not looking down, slammed into her, and Dagna tumbled to the floor. The noblewoman swore at her, retrieved her now-dusty purse and shopping bags, and strode off, scowling.

This is no place for a dwarf, Dagna. What were you thinking?

A merchant on the other side of the square caught her eye.

Is that another dwarf?

Dagna raced over, the weight of her backpack briefly forgotten. The dwarf was standing, looking a little bored, repeating the same call to the bustling crowds: “Dwarven Crafts, Fine Dwarven Crafts, direct from Orzammar! You won't find better!”

Dagna smiled in relief. Perhaps she wasn’t as alone as she first thought.

“Hello,” she said, walking over to the merchant. He looked back at her, seemingly unsurprised at the sight of another dwarf.

“You here to buy or sell?” He asked.

“Neither,” she responded, “I’m looking for Wade’s Emporium- is it near here?”

He eyed her suspiciously. “What do you want with that oddball? What’s wrong with fine Dwarven craftsmanship?”

“Nothing!” She worried that she’d come across rude, asking how to find a different merchant- and a human one, at that. “He’s a specialist I need to see about a project. Do you know where he is?”

The dwarf jerked his head to the right, indicating a nearby building. Smoke curled up from a chimney- the distinctive smoke of a hot blacksmith’s forge. “He’s there. Good luck getting anything useful out of him, though. I once asked him to take a look at an old dagger I found.”

“And?” Dagna asked, curious.

“That was three years ago. He’s still not finishing looking at it, let alone fixing the damn handle! He’s the worst kind of perfectionist- rather throw away perfectly decent armour than ever accept that his work might not be perfect.”

Irving hadn’t mentioned that before. That might prove to be a problem. Dagna struggled with harsh criticism- once, a novice mage had criticised her pronunciation of a certain artefact, and she’d pretended to lose her voice for a week, until she’d read up everything she could find in the library in the area in question. That being said, a perfectionist might be the perfect kind of teacher for her- someone that could sharpen her skills like a blade, leaving her razor-sharp. And shiny.

“Thanks for the warning,” Dagna said, quickly. “I’ll keep you posted on how things go. I’m Dagna, by the way! I’m from the Smith caste.”

“Gorim,” the merchant responded. No surname or caste offered.

“Goodbye!” Dagna said, her voice a mite too positive for the seemingly disgruntled Gorim. “I’ll chase up that dagger for you!” She called over her shoulder, heading to the Emporium.

===

The Emporium was more to Dagna’s liking than the rest of Denerim’s market square. It was hot, smoky, and didn’t have too many windows. Just like home, she thought. She dropped her backpack next to the counter and rang the bell on the desk, once, loudly. A loud voice called from the forge.

“Her-ren! Desk!”

“Can’t you take it just this once, Wade?”

“I’m busy!”

“Fine!”

A man poked his head round a door and peered at Dagna. “Are you here about an order? I’m afraid we’re running a little behind schedule at this time.”

“No, I’m- I’m here to study with W- the blacksmith?” Dagna said, suddenly a little nervous.

The man frowned, then his eyebrows raised in recognition. “Oh! You must be that darling young thing I’ve been hearing about from Irving! Come on, come over here. I’ll introduce you to Wade. But be careful,” he said, leaning in, “he’s a little eccentric.”

Dagna nodded, bubbling with nervous energy. She followed as the man- Herren- led her towards the forge. There stood a disgruntled-looking man, bald, with an impressive pointed moustache, using a small hammer to work the blade of an intricate knife. He looked up briefly as they approached, let out a frustrated sigh, and flung the blade into the wooden door behind him.

“You distracted me!” He snapped, “Now it’s ruined! Six months I’ve been working on that, and now we’ll have to just tell the Arl it’s useless!”

Herren gave Dagna a world-weary look, retrieved the offending knife, and strode back to the blacksmith, who was eyeing Dagna with a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

“It’s not ruined, darling,” Herren attempted to soothe Wade, “And will the Arl even notice? We’ll certainly notice if we can’t get his money, you know. That’ll be the forge closed down, and then you’ll never finish this thing.”

Wade maintained his stony look, despite Herren’s best efforts. Even a gentle kiss on his forehead did nothing to abate his frustrations. Herren rolled his eyes at Dagna, with a kind of disgruntled affection, as if to say ‘he’s an idiot, but he’s my idiot’. She extended a hand, taking the knife and examining it. It was gorgeous. The blade was free of imperfections, with a gentle curve upwards towards two tapers: it was a cheese-knife of some kind. But the real artistry was in the handle. An intricate series of metal threads clambering towards the blade, like vines, with a series of gems- rubies, they looked like- set in bunches, like grapes. The craftsmanship was astounding. Dagna could see the flaw- a single hammer stroke had been misplaced, slightly affecting the blade’s curvature. To the untrained eye, there was nothing wrong. But to her eyes, honed in the dwarven smithing forges, the flaw was there, albeit minute. Correcting it wouldn’t be difficult, though. She knew just the method- a technique her father had taught her- which would only take a minute.

“May I?” She asked, indicating the anvil.

“Be my guest,” Wade said, “It’s already ruined, we might as well let strange children start bashing it. Maybe a stray hammer-blow will crush my skull and end it all!”

Herren gave him a gentle smack about the head, and Dagna took up the hammer. With only a few strokes, she had worked out the flaw, leaving the blade’s curve, once again, perfect. She handed the knife to Wade, who examined it closely, possessively, for mistakes. He frowned.

“What did you do?”

“I just- an old dwarven technique. You sort of hit with the flat of the hammer while moving it forwards, it helps to repair issues with curvature like that. Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Wade looked gobsmacked. “Young lady, this is excellent! You’ve fixed that horrible, horrible mistake! Herren can still give this to that pesky Arl! I can get back to my own projects- I’ve got a stack of dragonbone to work on that’s been calling my name.”

“Well,” said Herren, swooping back to put Wade back on course. “You could, or you could finish some other commissions that have been waiting for some time. You still have that axe to repair for those Orlesians- they’ve been waiting almost a year now. And they promised a lot of money.”

Wade considered for a moment. “Fine,” he said. “But only if she-” he indicated Dagna “-can look over it with me.”

Herren looked delighted. “I have good news, Wade. She is that Circle apprentice I told you about! She’s here to work with you- once you’ve repaired that blasted axe.”

Wade’s hitherto permanent frown vanished. In its place, a wide smile appeared, with a twinkle in his eye that made him look ten years younger. “Well, we’d better get started!” He said. “Come here, tell me what you think of this!”

Despite her weariness, despite her nerves, Dagna couldn’t help but find herself sucked into Wade’s passion. Even Herren seemed delighted at the turn of events. It was several hours later- and once she and Wade had almost finished repairing the axe in question- that she considered the prospect of sleep. Wade, too, seemed weary. Herren, ever the pragmatist, stepped in, firmly insisting that it was time for them both to rest. Wade pouted, but relented.

Herren walked Dagna to the Gnawed Noble, lugging her backpack on his back. Her room was modest, but comfortable. Wishing Herren a good night’s sleep, she locked the door, and collapsed on the bed, exhausted.

Chapter 2: Sera's Task

Summary:

After a run-in with a noble, Sera is asked to deal with a pressing issue.

TW for attempted sexual assault about halfway through the chapter. Summary at end.

Sera adjusted her fringe as she lay flat on the roof. It was getting long again- time for a quick trim. She pulled a dagger from her pocket, taking the worst-offending strand of hair and quickly snipping it shorter. Maker’s arse, that’s better, she thought. Her legs were going numb. She’d been waiting on this roof for most of the afternoon, watching. It was a warm day.

Where the shit is this Howe prick?

She was back in Denerim on Red Jenny business- some nobleman with some vendetta against some other nobleman was torturing servants for information. Sera didn’t care what the vendetta was about- she didn’t even know who the other noble was- but someone needed to stand up for the little guys of the world.

She’d been following Howe for a couple of weeks- or at least, she thought she had been. He seemed to have vanished. She’d seen him in Denerim a couple of times; he’d popped into the Gnawed Noble to deliver a package at one point; he’d even been to seek an audience with the former Queen Anora- that didn’t seem to have panned out, though. Something about ‘life imprisonment’.

But over the last few days, he seemed to have given her the slip. Maybe he’d left town again? Sera wasn’t sure. The only real lead she had left was the parcel he’d left at the Gnawed Noble. It must still be there, somewhere. Whatever it was, it was her best shot at finding him,

===

The Gnawed Noble was busy, as ever, with any number of banns and arls bunched together, discussing politics- yawn, thought Sera. The bartender. That was who she was here to see. He wasn’t a Friend of Red Jenny- at least, as far as she knew- but he was well-connected. She’d never caught his name in all the time she’d been in Denerim, but even when she was a youngling in the Alienage, he’d been here. That sounded like hell to Sera. Day in, day out, the same people, the same ale, the same routine. Where was the fun? The excitement? It seemed pointless.

Anyway.

“You there, elf,” a voice said from one of the tables. “Bring another round of ales, and make it quick.”

Sera turned around to see a balding human, eyeing here with a stern eyebrow raised. She sighed. “I don’t work here, you know.”

The noble, whoever he was- probably some lesser bann-, looked affronted. “Well, fetch me the ales anyway, and there's a coin in it for you. I’m far too busy with my associates to possibly be interrupted.”

Sera frowned. “What’s the magic word, serrah?”

His mouth became stern, the interaction clearly more trouble than it was worth. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, elf. The magic word is ‘now’, unless you’d like to make trouble. Now, take the coin, and bring the ale. And make it quick!” He snapped the last word, tossing a handful of change at Sera. They don’t trust you enough for a tab? She thought. Interesting.

Without a word, she made a beeline for the bar. Beeline, she thought, that’s a funny word. Bees don’t fly straight. A crow-line would make more sense, but doesn’t have the same ring to it. Maybe I should set some crows on him.

The bar was busy, so she sat on a stool and waited. The bartender noticed her, flashed her a knowing look, and finished serving a customer.

“I’ve got news for you,” he said, “just let me serve these customers first.”

Sera quickly found herself becoming bored. The coin was weighing down her pockets. She was struggling to sit still, swivelling the chair around and around. She turned to a waitress, passing by.

“Hey,” she said, “that wet end over there-” she indicated the man who’d spoken to her “- who is he?”

“Oh, he’s-” the waitress snapped her fingers “the Bann of somewhere or other. Name’s Ceorlic, I think.” She learned in, conspiratorially. “He’s a creep. Felt me up more times than my own sweetheart has, at this point.”

Sera nodded, thoughtful. Maybe an elixir of vomiting would do the trick? Or there’s that root that cures constipation. “Sounds like someone ought to teach him a lesson.” She said, half to herself, half to the waitress.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the bartender, finished with his duties. The waitress left to serve a table.

“What’s the news?” She asked.

“Mercenary crew have set up shop a couple miles along the Pilgrim’s Path, north of here, towards Amaranthine. Apparently they’re hitting up every group of refugees they see for ‘protection’. Whole thing’s staged, of course. I’m sure you might have some ideas of how to deal with them?”

Sera nodded. “The old ‘vanishing breeches’. I understand. Now,” she said, swivelling on her chair again, “I have a favour to ask you. Man came in here a few days ago- Nathaniel Howe- and left a package.”

The bartender stroked his chin. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Arse,” Sera spat under her breath. It was going to be one of those. She retrieved the coin she had been given by Ceorlic, and placed it on the bar. “Any idea now?”

The bartender nodded. “I remember the man. What of it?”

“I need that package.” Sera said. “Can I have it?”

“It’s upstairs.” The bartender said. “It was left for someone who’s due in town this afternoon. It’ll cost you, though.”

“How much?” Sera hated bartering like this. When she was the one in power, though, it was wonderful.

“Promise you’ll sort that mercenary problem for me? Let’s say I have a vested interest in smooth travelling to and from Amaranthine.”

Sera extended a hand, and the bartender shook it. “It’s a deal.” Maybe the bartender’s job wasn’t so dull after all. He clearly had some kind of side-hustle.

That might prove to be useful.

===

The room was empty, save for the basics. A bed, a chair, a small table, and a closet. The package sat on the bed. It was unremarkable, wrapped in brown paper, a note fixed to the top with a wax seal. Sera took the note, unwrapped the parcel.

It was a wooden box, full of magical supplies. She noticed processed lyrium, some runes, a few things she wasn’t too familiar with. This was some expensive stuff- why had Howe left it here? Who was it for? Sera was full of questions.

A sudden noise from the hallway broke her concentration, and she rolled underneath the bed. She poked her head out from under the bed frame, listening closely. No-one came into the room. The bartender said that they were expecting the guest this afternoon; Sera didn’t have much time if they did arrive soon. What should she do?

The simplest solution sprang to mind. Howe clearly had a plan for these supplies. It’d be a shame if they were… misplaced.

Sera put the box in her shoulder bag, along with the unopened note. The torn brown paper went in the bin. No-one would notice a bit of old paper in a bin, least of all some tired traveller. Sera opened the door, and made her way down the stairs, towards the main door.

She quickly stopped, remembering that Ceorlic would be expecting his ale, or his money. Arses. Best to slip out the back door instead. Nothing she hadn’t done before. She turned down the corridor leading to the kitchens, only to see- Maker’s bollocks!- Ceorlic emerging from the toilet. She quickly turned around, making for the front again, when his hand clamped down on her shoulder.

“Funny, you know,” he said, in a low voice, “funny that I ask you to buy me more drinks, and then you disappear upstairs. And now I find you trying to sneak out the back door! That’s odd behaviour, you know, when you should be carrying over a round of drinks for my friends and I.”

“I- I-” Sera was uncharacteristically unsettled. She could hardly kill this man, or even attack him, even though he was an arse. Their little disagreement had already been seen; his friends could take her description straight to the city guard. And worse, he wasn’t in the wrong to have grabbed her. She had stolen his money, and now she was in possession of a number of valuable magical items. This was going to be a particularly difficult one to get out of.

“So,” he continued. “How are we going to resolve this little issue?”

Sera didn’t know what to say. He was significantly bigger and stronger than she was, and she had no chance of getting the jump on him. His grip on her shoulder was vice-like. From a distance, her archery skills were becoming impressive, but she was no expert. Just some alienage elf, only recently having turned nineteen years old. Normally, she might try to cut her losses, but that wasn’t really an option here. Oh no, officer, she imagined saying, this is just a misunderstanding. I have no idea how I came to be in possession of these stolen magical items. I must’ve accidentally picked them up after that nasty nasty Bann decided to attack me for no reason. Yes, that’s the one, the mean old man who insists I stole from him. Yes, I know I’ve been caught stealing before, but this is different!

“I- I don’t know,” Sera said, uncertain.

“Do you still have my money?” He asked.

“I- no.” I’m in trouble. Deep trouble.

“How are you going to make it up to me, then?” He asked.

“I- I’m not sure.”

“You could work it off, I’m sure. I’m sure you can scrub a floor, can’t you, knife-ear?”

“Y-yes. I could.”

“But how could I leave you unsupervised? Perhaps you’d steal something else, something even more valuable. I can’t have that, you know. Perhaps another kind of work would be appropriate.” He said, his words becoming harsher and crueller as he opened a nearby door, revealing a bedroom. “How about this?”

As he leant over to open the door, the pressure on her shoulder relaxed a little. This was her chance!

Sera brought a boot-clad foot up between Ceorlic’s legs. He grunted, falling to his knees.

“You bitch!” He growled, wincing. Not turning to look back, Sera began to run for the front door. Ceorlic clambered to his feet, lumbering behind her slowly, like a giant. She was through the door and halfway to the exit when he managed to make it in.

“Grab her!” He bellowed, leaning in the doorway. One of his friends stood, striding across the room to grab Sera’s arm. Another made a beeline- crow-line, Sera thought absurdly- to block the door. He was almost there, and in time to grab her, too, when he suddenly stumbled, falling flat on his face. Sera looked in surprise, to see the waitress quickly removing her leg from where the man had fallen. Sera continued for the door, the waitress stepping over the fallen man to feign an attempt to capture her. As she brushed past, the waitress spoke to her in a low voice.

“Alienage. Tonight. Keep safe!”

Sera made it through the door and ran, dust flying at her heels. She made it to the alienage, sweat dripping from her brow. She took shelter in the dark underneath a set of stairs and caught her breath. Maker’s tits!

What did the waitress want to talk about tonight?

Notes:

Sera's been searching for Nathaniel Howe, and the trail's gone dry. She looks for a package he left in the Gnawed Noble, and has a disagreement with Bann Ceorlic. She steals some money from him before trying to leave. But he catches her, suggesting she 'pay off' her debt with sexual favours. She kicks him in the crotch and makes a break for it. As she escapes, she is given a message from a waitress at the inn to meet that evening.

Chapter 3: Dagna's Day Off

Summary:

Wade can't bear to work, so Dagna looks around Denerim for a day.

Also Bodahn and Sandal are there!!!

Dagna slept deeply. The evening’s work with Wade had been a joy. She had heard stories of dwarves going topside and losing their stone-sense, but spending an evening hunched over an anvil, surrounded by the hot smoke of the forge with none of this pesky sunlight had put her right. The sun did leave her a little unsettled, mind you. She understood, in theory, that you couldn’t fall into the sky. But every time she looked up, it gave her the willies. Like a huge forge, floating in the air. What if it fell to earth?

Dagna shuddered.

The inn wasn’t too bad, so far. She hadn’t spent much time doing anything there but sleeping, but it seemed a fairly nice place. The room was neat, the noise had settled down around midnight, and she hadn’t seen any rats yet. It seemed as good a time as any to start unpacking.

Books on the desk- alphabetised, of course-, clothes in the closet, and her axe hanging up on a coat hook. Lovely. Next order of the day: breakfast.

She strolled downstairs to the dining room- well, bar- and sat alone at a table. She couldn’t help but overhear the hushed conversation between another patron and the young waitress.

“- pathetic attempt to stop that foul knife-ear. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

“I’m sorry, Ser Ceorlic, I really am. Can I bring you more tea?”

“Bring me ale. And quickly!”

The waitress rushed to the bar for a pitcher of ale. From the corner of her eye, Dagna noticed her appear to spit in the pitcher as she filled it. Clearly not someone to get on the bad side of, she thought. A few minutes later, the waitress was standing over her table, a plate in either hand.

“Here you are, dear,” she said. “Breakfast!”

Dagna looked up, surprised. “But I hadn’t-”

“Pre-ordered, dear. Bacon and eggs, rack of toast, porridge, half a dozen sausages-”

The waitress continued to speak as a small trolley arrived, pushed by another waitress. There were four full plates of food, plus a large rack of toast and pot of tea. Dagna stared. She had a dwarven appetite, of course, but this was a little much. The waitresses bustled away as quickly as they’d arrived. Dagna went to tuck in, only to realise they’d forgotten her cutlery.

The first waitress- ‘Dear’, as Dagna thought of her- returned a minute later with knife and fork in hand. As she went to leave again, Dagna stopped her.

“Sorry to be nosy,” she said, “I just couldn’t help overhearing the conversation you had with that man earlier.” She indicated Ceorlic. “What was it about?”

A touch of worry flashed over Dear’s face. “Oh, just an incident yesterday. He had a bit of a- ahem- disagreement with another customer. He’s quite an important man around here.”

Dagna didn’t quite understand the connection between the two statements.

“Is everything alright with your food?” Dear asked, a polite smile on her face. Dagna did understand the connection here: end of conversation.

“Lovely, thank you.” She said. “Could you put this in a container or anything? I’d like to take some for lunch- I’ll be at the forge all day.”

As Dagna sat and finished her tea, the food was returned in a wicker basket, carefully separated into separate compartments. She took it upstairs and packed for her day at the Emporium. It seemed that starting with some simple research into enchanted blacksmithing would be the best place to start, so she ran through her books for a couple of particular texts on the development and usage of runes, plus an old favourite- Brother Genitivi’s writings on lyrium and its uses. Though she knew plenty about the mining, refining, and uses of lyrium from a dwarven perspective- she’d hardly be a good smith if she didn’t!- Genitivi’s perspective was distinctly refreshing. Having limited contact with the surface, Dagna had never quite appreciated how sensitive humans really were to lyrium and its side-effects.

She glanced out of the window. The sun was further up than she thought- she was going to be late! She packed her things away, knocking the bin over on her way to the door. She locked up and made her way downstairs.

===

“We’re not- we’re not working today?” Dagna asked, confused.

“Wade’s having a bit of a-” Herren sighed, “an episode. He gets this way sometimes. He’ll actually do some work, realise all the things he could have done, and lock himself in the cellar instead. Once he stayed there for a week!”

“Right,” Dagna said, slowly. “What should I do, then? Should I catch up on some of his commissions?”

“Absolutely not! If he so much as hears a pin drop in the forge, he’ll entirely lose his rag. Artists, you know,” Herren sighed a long-suffering sigh, “they’re temperamental. Why don’t you take in the sights of Denerim? It’s a-” he paused, “delightful city. When you get past the bits that were destroyed in the Blight. And the civil war. And the alienage has never been much to look at. Might as well skip that bit too.”

Dagna was a little unconvinced, but unwilling to argue. “Alright, I can take a day to- acclimatise, I suppose- but will we be able to work again tomorrow?”

Herren shrugged. “We’ll see. I’m sure I can pull him out of this. I’ve done it plenty of times before! Have a nice time sightseeing.”

He shut the door, and Dagna heard the bolt slide across. That was odd, she thought. Still, there might be something to this place I’ve missed.

She decided to visit Gorim.

===

She heard him before she saw him. His familiar cry of “Dwarven Crafts, Fine Dwarven Crafts, direct from Orzammar! You won't find better!” helped her to find his stall. Having no stone-sense was really starting to get to her. How do people know where to go above ground? It made no sense to her.

“Good morning, Gorim!” She said, brightly.

“Oh, it’s you. Need something?” He replied, disinterested.

“I’ve got a bit of free time. What’s there to do for a dwarf in town?” She asked, trying to inject some energy into her conversation.

“I don’t know,” Gorim said, “leave?”

“You want me to go?” She asked, a little hurt.

“No, I just- topside is no place for a dwarf. I’m not even here by choice,” he said, seeming to immediately regret opening his mouth.

Dagna frowned. “Do you mind if I ask you why? Are you not able to go home?”

“In a- manner of speaking, aye. I’d rather not say more.” Gorim turned away, picking up a dagger and wiping it with a rag. It was already clean.

“I’m- sorry.” Dagna said, unsure what to say.

“Not your fault, and not your business.” Gorim replied. “Have a nice day sightseeing, now.”

Dagna left, unsure what else to do. Soon, though, her eyes caught sight of something unexpected. Another dwarf? Here, of all places?

It was another merchant, a cheery, red-haired man with a plaited beard. She began to walk over, a little on edge. Are all topside dwarves as grumpy as Gorim? What if I offend this one, too? She was so on edge, in fact, she didn’t notice another dwarf, and promptly bumped into them.

“Hello,” the dwarf said, as she stumbled into the dirt.

“Hello there,” Dagna said, brushing dust off her clothes. She was surprised to see two things; first, that this was a young dwarf, only a child, really. Second, this child was holding a rune. It looked like a rune for a sword, if she remembered correctly.

“What’s that rune for?” She asked, peering down.

“Enchantment!” The young dwarf said, a sudden spark in his eyes.

“Oh-ho-ho, Sandal, making friends, are we?” A cheery voice called from nearby. Dagna looked over to see the merchant dwarf heading their way. “Nice to meet you, miss. Bodahn Feddic’s the name, and this here’s my boy, Sandal. What brings a young lady like yourself to Denerim, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Nice to meet you,” Dagna replied. “I’m Dagna, I’m doing a- well, a project, I suppose. I’m researching enchanted blacksmithing for the Circle. I'm kind of an apprentice there!”

“Enchantment?” Sandal said, gazing at Dagna with awe.

“That’s right, I’ve just arrived to start my work. I’m working at Wade’s Emporium- do you know it at all?”

“Know it?” Bodahn replied, cheerily. “We’re there all the time! Herren and I have worked together for years now. Before this whole Blight business started, before we travelled with the Hero. Must be going on five or six years at this point I’ve known him and Wade.”

Dagna looked at him, confused. “The Hero? Did you say you travelled with the Hero of Ferelden? The Grey Warden?”

“Aye, that’s the right of it, we travelled with her and her friends. Good folk, you know. Plenty of good supplies to trade when you’re travelling with adventurers!”

“I met the Hero, once,” Dagna said, “‘good folk’ is right. She helped me.”

“Aye, she is.” Bodahn paused, thoughtful. “So, this project of yours. You need help with enchanting at all? My boy here’s quite the natural when it comes to anything enchanted. The Circle called him a ‘savant’, you know. Though I didn’t think much of them, bunch of oddballs. Wanted to keep him there to study! Awful, just awful of them.”

Dagna was surprised by this news. “I’m from the Circle,” she said. “I’m new there. I didn’t know anything like this had happened. Was it long ago?”

“Aye, a few years back. They might’ve calmed down by now, but I’d not risk it, unless there’s something they can do for him.”

“What sort of thing?” Dagna asked. “I can send a letter, if you’d like.”

“Don’t know, rightly, but if I ever think of something he’d need, I’ll let you know. Thank you, my dear. It’s a kind offer.”

There was a pause in the conversation. Dagna looked at Sandal. His eyes were wide, yet vacant. He must be fiercely intelligent- the Circle didn’t call just anyone a ‘savant’, after all- and yet she’d only heard three words from him so far. Well, two, really. She wanted to ask Bodahn about him- was he always like this? Did something happen?- but decided against it. It seemed unkind to gawk at Sandal. He was odd, yes, but Dagna could feel that he was kind. He’s good folk. The same for Bodahn. He was the cheeriest person Dagna had met in her few months on the surface.

“Bodahn,” she started, “what’s there to do for a dwarf not long on the surface?”

Bodahn raised his eyebrows and puffed out his cheeks as he thought. “Well, most surface dwarves I know are up here to work, or they got themselves banished. So, I suppose the best thing to do is find some work. But from the sounds of things, you’ve got that handled?”

Dagna nodded.

“Well then, I reckon you’ll be looking for something to do, eh?” Bodahn chuckled. “You could always try some adventuring. There’s plenty to do for a strong young dwarf unafraid to get her hands a little dirty. Especially now the Blight’s ended. Plenty of people around looking for odd jobs to be doing, bandits to be scaring off, that sort of thing.” He pondered for a moment. “But then again, that’s all just more work, isn’t it?” He scratched his beard. “Tell you truthfully, I don’t really know what surface dwarves do. I mainly spend my evenings with Sandal here, and he’s not really one for a drink and a game of cards. He just plays with things and thinks about enchantments, y’see.”

Dagna nodded, unsure what to say.

“Tell you what. Maybe a boring old dwarf like me’s not the one to put your social calendar together. You go about town, see if you spot anyone your own age. See what them young folk are up to! That’d be the way to do things.” Bodahn nodded to himself, proud to have a plan. “And then you come right back and tell me. I’m still young enough to get down and party with the youths!” He chuckled, and slapped his knee. Dagna liked him. Good folk, she thought.

===

His plan wasn’t the most helpful, though. She eventually resigned herself to study back in her room. After an afternoon of people-watching, she’d discovered a few things. First: there were more surface dwarves than she’d anticipated. Second: not many of them were as friendly as Bodahn and Sandal. Third: being a surface dwarf in Denerim seemed to be a bit on the lonely side. She hadn’t even figured out where they went to drink.

There was a scrap of brown paper on the floor. She frowned. Then she remembered the knocked-over bin from that morning. She went to throw it away again, balling it up. There was something in it- something firm and roughly spherical.

It was a wax seal, still attached to the paper. Dagna looked closely. It was the Howe seal. She knew it well: every letter she’d received from her patron had borne it on the front.

Interesting.

Notes:

I wonder a lot about surface dwarves. What do they do? There's lots of them- the DA wiki says that there might be more surfacers than underground dwarves in the not-too-distant future- but what's surface life like for them? Do they have lil expats clubs? I am obsessed. Prepare for me to bring in like... every minor dwarven character ever.

Also I don't know how to put italics into HTML so uhhh for now it's all like this, I might edit it in future though

Edit: I did! I lov my lil <> boys

Chapter 4: Sera's Meeting

Summary:

Sera has her meeting with the waitress. She breaks into Ceorlic's house and torments him.

TW for threats of violence, actual violence, sexual content.

Sera laid low for the rest of the day. She’d grown up in this alienage; she knew where to hide out. Granted, it’d been a few years. And the Blight had clearly damaged the alienage. Many of the old buildings she’d known were damaged or just… gone. There were fewer familiar faces, too. She’d heard about Howe’s efforts to sell elves to Tevinter, and naturally during war, there were going to be deaths, but it was strange to see it so empty.

It made hiding easier, at least.

Sera saw a few humans- guards, mainly- strolling through the alienage during the day. She only noticed one incident, at least; a guard got a little aggressive whilst breaking up an argument. Sera had thrown a rock at the back of his head, denting his helmet and distracting him long enough that the two elves had managed to escape down an alley. The guard had marched round for a few minutes, trying to find the perpetrator to no avail. Eventually, he gave up and returned to the barracks. Probably to knock the dent back out of his helmet, Sera thought. Why do they have those ridiculous nose-guards? They look like penises.

Night fell. Took its pissing time, though.

Sera kept an eye out. Eventually, she saw a familiar figure. The waitress was alone, looking around herself constantly, with a cloak over her shoulders. Her hand was clasped around something. A dagger, Sera suspected. She’d be a fool to come unarmed.

Sera stepped out from her hiding spot. She kept quiet, waiting until she was upright and looking a touch more dignified before deliberately coughing, catching the waitress’ attention.

“You came.” The waitress said, relieved.

“You asked.” Sera replied.

“Thank you.”

“What’s all this about? I don’t hang around in alienages for just anyone, you know.” Sera took a step forward. The waitress swallowed, a little nervous. “What is it? I haven’t got all night, you know.”

“You’re a Friend of Red Jenny, right?”

“Who told you that? If that piss-for-brains bartender’s been talking, I swear I’ll-”

“Can you help me?”

Sera paused, mid-tirade. “Of course I can. What do you need?”

“I knew I could trust you. It takes a special kind of person to kick a pervert like Ceorlic in the crotch.”

Sera laughed a little. “He had it coming. Arseing sleazeball like that? Surprised no-one had done worse already. Pervs like him don’t get nearly enough things thrown at them. What’s going on?”

“Well, it’s him, actually.” She swallowed. “Ceorlic. My sister works for him, at his estate. He treats his people badly.”

“What does he do?” Sera asked, her voice tender. “You don’t have to- if you’re not comfortable.”

“No, it’s- fine. He hits the servants, when they make mistakes. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway. And recently-” she took a deep breath “- when my sister came home, I saw her changing. She had wounds. Healed, but deep. That’s why- at the inn- I couldn’t let him get you. But maybe you could help?” Her eyes pleaded with Sera.

“I’ll help.” Sera said, decisive. “Where is the bastard?”

===

Sera clambered up the wall, a little clumsily. Ceorlic’s estate wasn’t as rigorously guarded as she’d feared; only a pair of guards on the main gate, playing cards. It wasn’t hard to scale the walls of the garden, and then begin to make her way up to the nearest open window she could find.

Admittedly, she wasn’t quite as elegant as she would’ve liked. Her climbing skills left something to be desired. I’m still new at this, she thought. Any tit who pretends they’re good at something right away is a liar. Still, it’d be nice to stumble a little less.

All part of learning to be a rogue, she thought. One day, she’d be doing this, silently, in heels.

Nearly there.

She slipped in the window. She was in a spare bedroom, neatly decorated and completely un-lived in. Excellent. A clear escape route. She stepped, slowly, quietly, to the door. Time to find Ceorlic’s room. He was in some serious trouble.

The door slowly opened. The hinges creaked. Unwittingly, Sera shushed them. You pissing idiot, don’t make more noise!

She made her way along the dimly lit hallway, looking for any indication of where his room was. At the far end of a corridor, she spotted a servant, carrying a tray of empty dishes. She paused, waiting for the young elven girl to get out of view, before making her way down the corridor the servant had come from. Now we’re getting somewhere.

The lights were still on in one room down here. Holding her breath, Sera poked her head around the door. It looked like the Bann’s office; papers and correspondence littered the desk. An ornate sword hung above a leather chair. A selection of expensive, unopened books decorated one wall. It seemed logical that the Bann must have retired after an evening of paperwork. Sera thought for a second. It might be worth coming back here, digging through his papers. See if there was anything useful- anything that might give the Friends information on other nobility.

A creaking floorboard jolted Sera into action. She slipped, cautiously, into the office. Which would have been an excellent move, if it weren’t for the fact there was already someone in there.

Sera and the young servant girl stared at each other, astonished, for a moment. Sera wasn’t entirely sure how to act. As a Friend of Red Jenny, she shouldn’t really be hurting or scaring anyone who didn’t deserve it. On the other hand, she’d been caught breaking and entering, and there was only one witness.

Sera’s hand slipped to her knife. The girl- she couldn’t be more than fourteen- let out a squeak of fear. Sera moved her hand away from the knife. She didn’t know what to say. The girl didn’t, either. The two of them were frozen, unblinking, not even breathing.

A long, painful moment passed. Sera moved her hand to her mouth, pressing a single finger over her lips. A tear began to fall from the girl’s eye. Sera’s eyes widened, understanding the poor girl’s perspective. That hadn’t quite been her at that age, but she could see the similarities. She was thin- underfed, most likely- and looked tired. The fact she was still at work this late into the night said a good deal about the way she was treated here.

The girl took a shaky breath. Another tear fell, and with a mixture of disgust and pity, Sera realised the girl had wet herself. It was running down her legs, forming a puddle on the carpet. A moment later, the girl looked down, and was no longer able to hold her tears back. She let out a feeble whine, a precursor of an inevitable sobbing fit- messy, embarrassing, and worst of all, loud. Her legs buckled, and she fell into her own puddle, hunching into a ball as the tears began to really flow. Sera was unsure what to do. On one hand, what kind of burglar hugs the pissy, sobbing servant? On the other, what kind of person can walk away from someone so utterly, overwhelmingly, pathetically upset?

Sera knelt down, putting her arms around the girl. She jolted back, initially, before leaning in, alternating quiet sobs with hiccups. Piss soaked into Sera’s leggings, and she withstood the urge to shudder.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m- I’m sorry I reached for my knife. I just- panicked- that’s all. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You might not, but what’s the Bann going to do to me?” The girl choked out, between sobs. “I’ve ruined his rug.”

Sera’s blood boiled. Clearly, the waitress had been telling the truth. “Absolutely fucking nothing, that’s what. I’m here to make sure of it.”

The girl looked up at her, eyes wet, skin blotchy. “What are you going to do?”

Sera looked at her, with hardened eyes. “I’m going to kill him.”

It would’ve been much more convincing if she wasn’t sitting in a puddle of piss.

===

The serving girl- Bri, she said her name was- had pointed her in the right direction for the Bann’s room. Bri was now hidden in a closet in the office, waiting for Sera to return. Sera pursed her lips. That poor girl.

Sera’s childhood hadn’t been easy, but it had probably been a little less difficult than Bri’s. She’d been given an education, for one thing. Taraline- her foster mother- had seen to that. She knew all about the pissing Chantry, right up to the dates of the Exalted pissing Marches. She could read and write, and knew enough about finance that when Taraline died, she’d left the estate to her. It made some sense, she supposed. She was the closest thing Taraline had to a daughter, and it would’ve been a nice life, living in a house like that. Taraline even let her express herself, something she never could have living alone in the alienage. Sera had known she was a girl for a long time, but it was a lot easier to live as one when you have someone rich prepared to foot the bill for tailored clothes.

Not to mention the medical side of things. Most of the treatment had been experimental, to say the least, but Sera was glad to have breasts, even if there was no real option for her to change much more.

Of course, no-one really thought of her as Taraline’s daughter. If they weren’t referring to her as ‘boy’, the sodding nobles thought she was a serving girl Tara was just too soft on, or her secret bedfellow, or some kind of novelty. In that sense, at least, Sera was a bit more familiar with Bri’s struggles. Even with a wealthy human there to look out for her- and, for all her flaws, Tara did try to look out for her- those wankers thought of every elf the same way. She’d lost count of how many times they’d snapped their fingers for her attention.

That was ultimately why she’d rejected the estate. Stability? Sure. Money? Always nice. But putting up with that shite all the time? The constant comments? That was more than she could bear. And sure, it seems foolish to throw away an estate to avoid some annoying comments, but frankly, Sera knew that some smarmy, bug-eyed noble would contest it somehow. That was always the way with these big-cheese shitheads. Whenever someone small gets a chance to make it, they’re kicked right back down.

She did miss Tara, sometimes. They’d fought a lot, especially when Sera was a little older- what teenage girl doesn’t fight with her mother, though?- but Sera wouldn’t have anything like the life she currently had without her.

Anyway. She was nearly at Ceorlic’s room. She’d slip in, stick a knife through his neck, maybe leave a nice little note, then make her way back to the office to help Bri clear up.

When she’d started this whole Red Jenny business, she hadn’t expected to be cleaning piss out of a carpet.

The door was locked. Sera stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth as she began to pick the lock. She only had a few lockpicks on her.

The lockpick snapped. Arse. One less.

She pulled another out of her pocket and started again. She was making more progress, when a sudden noise further along the corridor startled her.

“Hey!” A voice called, and Sera looked up. Shit. It was a guard! “What’s going on?”

Sera froze. What should I do? If I run, they’ll know something’s up. I’m going to have to talk my way out. Tits. I don’t know what to say!

The guard came nearer. He was young, with the beginnings of a beard on his chin, and bags under his eyes. He spoke quietly upon realising who’s room they stood outside. “What are you doing, elf?” He hissed.

“Ceorlic-” she started, “-requested a, um, bedfellow for the night.”

The guard’s eyebrows raised. Maker’s tits, Sera thought, what the hell am I saying?

“I’ve been told he prefers the young elven servants,” she continued, “tonight’s my… first time. But no-one gave me a key, so I’m- um- having to make my own way in. You know how annoyed he can get when things don’t come when he asks for them. And I-” a nervous tone slipped into her voice. He’s eating this shite up! “-I don’t want to upset him… not on my first- my first time.”

The guard looked conflicted. She certainly appeared convincing, but he was clearly trying to put a name to her face. “I’ve not seen you here before.” He said, frowning. “Are you new?”

Sera nodded, trying to make herself appear as innocent and nervous as possible.

“I’ve got a key,” he said. “I’ll sort the door for you. Best of- ahem- best of luck, I suppose.” He coughed, awkwardly, as he unlocked the door. He walked away, keeping an eye on Sera as she slowly opened the door and slipped into the darkened room.

She sighed in relief as she closed the door behind her. She could hear Ceorlic breathing gently. The moonlight, streaming from the open window, threw fragments of dim light across the bedsheets. He was naked. There was no reason why he shouldn’t be naked in his own bed, but the sight of his crotch gave Sera pause. She inched closer, slipping the knife from its sheath. She’d never killed a man in cold blood before. This was no dirty street-fight, a frantic lunge with the blade freeing her from the hands of an enemy. This was cold. Clinical, even. She took another step closer, breath catching in her throat. Ceorlic, still asleep, let out a snort, stretched a little. Sera couldn’t help but watch as his penis flopped to one side. This would be funny if I wasn’t so pissing scared, she thought. Watching a man’s cock flopping about before I knife him. She stepped forwards once more.

The floor creaked.

Her eyes widened in fear. Ceorlic snorted again, moved his head. She took another cautious step forwards, putting her in range. She placed the point of her dagger within an inch of his neck. She took a deep breath.

Ceorlic’s eyes opened. Shit. He looked up at her. Instinctively, she withdrew the blade, slipped it into its sheath.

Ceorlic jolted, suddenly aware of her presence. “What’s going on? Who are you?” He demanded. Sera froze, unsure what to say. The best course of action would be to knife him, silence him before he could call for assistance. The guard. The guard had seen her face. He would know.

“I’m just here to-” Sera couldn’t think quickly enough.

“Just here to rob me, eh?” Ceorlic said, grabbing her wrist with sudden speed and shocking strength. Sera was in trouble. “Steal my family heirlooms, maybe stick a knife in my throat to stop me raising the alarm? You filthy knife-ear!” His voice was rising. Sera only had a few moments to act.

She panicked. Using the arm he was holding, she forced him onto his front, pushing his face into the pillow, stifling his voice. He began to shout, but she pushed his face down hard, smothering him. She heard the footsteps of the guard nearing the door. What the fuck am I supposed to do? She thought.

“Have I-” she started, “Have I been bad for you?”

She had an idea. A terrible, mischievous idea.

“Yes, I have, haven’t I? I’ve been very, very bad indeed.” She slapped him, hard, on the backside. He let out a startled cry. “You ought to spank me, spank your naughty, naughty little servant.”

The footsteps stopped. Was the guard listening in? Sera snorted at the thought, spanking the Bann again. He lost his grip on her arm and she lost no time, placing her whole bodyweight on top of his torso, pinning him down.

“Yes! Yes! Harder, please, I’m begging you!” She cried out, struggling to hold back her laughter as Ceorlic writhed underneath her. He tried to kick her, unable to reach with his arms. “Oh, thank you, Bann, thank you!” She spanked him again, leaving a red handprint on his rear.

She could feel him pushing his body weight to one side, trying to tip her off. “We can’t have that, my dear Bann,” she whispered, reaching forward to grab his crotch. She gripped his testicles, trying not to grimace from the texture- like kidneys in a sheep’s stomach, almost- and squeezed. He let out a high pitched whine and stopped moving. “Good boy,” she purred, twisting them ever so slightly. His toes curled upwards. “Now, stay still,” she said, “Or I’ll pop them!”

He remained motionless, breathing heavily. With her free hand, she pulled the nearest pillow over to her. She stripped the cotton pillowcase with her teeth, and in one fluid motion, wrapped it around his face, pulling it tightly across his mouth to silence him. He tried to wriggle free once again, but she quickly placed the heel of her foot on his genitals, before slowly placing her weight onto them. He squealed, smothered by the pillowcase. “Yes,” she called, “yes! That’s it, right there! Thank you, oh!”

The guard hadn’t moved. Is he still listening? Sera thought, a sudden image of his face springing to mind. Is he enjoying himself?

She thought about him, in his armour, awkwardly standing outside. It must be warm in that plate, listening to her moaning. Was his cock getting hard? Did he even have space for it to grow in there? She’d never considered the ergonomics of armoured erections before.

To her shock- and disgust- she realised that Bann Ceorlic was, well, erect. “Dirty boy!” She cried, unable to hold back her giggles. “You’re a dirty, dirty boy!” Quick as a flash, she pulled her knife back out of its sheath, holding it to Ceorlic’s throat. “Stay still, shitbag,” she hissed, “or it’s going in your balls.”

He squeaked.

She untied the length of ribbon holding her hair in place, and wrapped it around his wrists. She tied it tightly, with no wriggle room. She took another pillowcase and tied his ankles to the bedpost.

“Good boy,” she moaned, thinking of the guard again. She hadn’t heard him move. She imagined a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. “Just like that. Just like that.”

Ceorlic had stopped trying to escape. Finally! She thought. I thought he’d never stop wriggling, the shit.

“Now, my good, good little boy,” she said, quietly. “I bring a message. If you ever, ever, lay a finger on another of your servants again, I will kill you. And it won’t be fun. I’ll rip your face off. Understand?”

Ceorlic nodded, whimpering.

“I don’t think I’ve made my message clear enough.” She took out her knife, stroking it up and down his back. “I mean ever. Will you hit a servant if they break a dish?”

He shook his head, pathetically.

“And if one burns the food?”

Another shake.

“What if someone doesn’t want you touching their arse?”

Ceorlic paused, momentarily, before shaking his head again.

“Good boy.” She whispered in his ear. “That’s what we like to hear. Now, where are those family heirlooms you mentioned?”

He jerked his head towards a cabinet. She stepped off him, peering in. Some gold plates, some good-looking jewellery. “Beautiful,” she whispered. “I think I’ll just help myself, then. You certainly can’t!” She giggled, looking at the absurd little man, tied up on the bed. She opened the cabinet and pushed everything into her shoulder-bag, clipping it shut again.

“You’ve been very, very generous.” She said, watching him attempting to roll onto his side. “I’d hate to make another visit, though. You treat your servants better, now. Understand?”

He glared at her, then nodded. She bent down, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. “You be a good boy, now. Toodles!”

She strode towards the door, smiling. She closed the door behind herself, only to find the guard staring, looking hot under the collar, staring at her.

“He-” she started, before breaking off in giggles. “He’d like the door locked, if you don’t mind.”

Struggling to maintain his composure, the guard nodded, and locked the door.

“For an older gentleman,” she couldn’t resist saying, “he’s quite, um, sprightly. Have a good night!”

===

Bri had cleaned the worst of the puddle up in the office. Sera slipped in, closing the door after her. Bri, startled, raised the mop almost instinctively to protect herself. She kept it raised, despite Sera’s calm expression.

“Hey,” Sera said, “easy. He’s not dead, but he won’t be hurting any more servants. I was-” she giggled “- quite persuasive, I think.”

Bri nodded, the fear still present in her eyes from earlier. Maker’s balls, Sera thought, that’s why they call us rabbit. She looks like I’m about to stab her in the tits.

“If he doesn’t,” she continued, “you go down to the Gnawed Noble. Tell the bartender- he’ll let me know and I can finish the job, as such.”

Bri nodded again, the mop still raised.

“I’m going, now.” Sera said, stepping back slowly. Bri nodded.

Sera slipped back out the door, closing it behind her. Bri seemed like a good kid. She hoped things worked out for her.

Climbing back down through the window and over the garden wall felt distinctly easier this time. She glanced back, as she walked away, and could have sworn she saw Bri looking out of the window at her.

Notes:

Summary: the waitress asks Sera to do something about Ceorlic. He's been physically abusing his servants, including her sister. Sera agrees and breaks in that night. She unwittingly terrifies a servant, Bri, who wets herself. Sera comforts her, before trying to break into Ceorlic's room. She is caught but convinces the guard she's there to sleep with Ceorlic. She goes to stab him, but he wakes up and, panicking, she ties him up whilst pretending to have kinky sex with him for the benefit of the guard, who is still outside. She threatens to kill him if he hurts another servant, and leaves.

I really enjoyed this chapter. It's so much longer than the others but honestly? It was so much fun to write!

I'm headcanoning Sera as transfemme, I just really like the idea of her being trans. I'm not super interested in going into a lot of detail about her transition within the actual story, but I'm essentially working on the basis that she had male puberty stopped before it really kicked off, and the medical 'experimental' stuff let her go through female puberty instead.

Anyway, I'm probably not going to write a ton about it- unless I have a sudden brainwave and it HAS to be a major plot point- because I've got other things I want to make more central. But yeah! Trans!Sera. I lov her.

Chapter 5: Dagna thinks about the Fade

Summary:

Dagna thinks about the Fade, and follows up on a lead that she can't stop thinking about.

Casting aside thoughts of wax seals, Dagna set her sights on a drink. Whilst she’d barely been able to finish all the food from breakfast, several hours of intensive study had left her with a need to think a little less. A drink sounded like the right idea. She might even find someone her age worth talking to. The waitress, Dear (as she thought of her), would probably be good for gossiping, at least.

She walked downstairs, the hum of conversation becoming louder with every step. She recognised the familiar, unpleasant voice of Ceorlic. By the sounds of things, he’d been there since that morning. He was telling a story- drunkenly- of how he’d fought off some kind of home invader. The details seemed a little inconsistent, so Dagna didn’t bother to listen any further. She took a seat by the bar, nursing a tankard of ale. It was a busy evening; the waitresses were rushed off their feet, but it seemed Ceorlic was leaving them alone, at the very least.

Her research had been interesting. Granted, it wasn’t as interesting as yesterday evening, working with Wade, but it had scratched that little itch in her head that needed to know everything about magic.

As far as she knew, she’d always been this way. Like most dwarves in the Smith caste, she’d been raised around forges, practically had a hammer as her first toy. But smithing had never quite clicked, in her brain. She was technically gifted, a natural when it came to working metal- especially intricate or delicate pieces- but it didn’t scratch that itch.

But when she learned about magic, everything changed. Suddenly smithing- when it related to lyrium, at least- became engaging. She had heard stories about humans and elves who could move things with their minds, or shoot fire from their hands, and thought them nothing more than stories intended to scare dwarven children into staying underground. But one day, when she was only a few years old, a group of mages from the Circle visited. They wanted to negotiate a trade deal of some sort, trading something for a regular supply of lyrium. One of them had performed a spell- Dagna recalled it being a chain-lightning spell- on some carta thugs who tried to attack them. The sudden, fierce flash of light had left Dagna in a trance. She spent every minute she could following them around, and every minute she couldn’t pestering anyone who’d listen to tell her about what magic was, how it worked, and what it was like.

The fascination had stayed with her ever since. Nothing had compared to the excitement she felt arriving at the Circle for the first time. She almost fainted crossing Lake Calenhad. Even though she couldn’t experience magic in the same way as her fellow students, just knowing it was there was enough. The Fade fascinated and confused her more than anything. Lyrium she could understand: it was a rock full of energy, when you got down to the nitty-gritty. You could use it to make things, like enchantments, or replacing lost energy when a mage was tired. But the Fade was something else entirely.

She knew dwarves couldn’t dream, but it was impossible for her to even imagine. It wasn’t like being ill and losing your strength. How do you understand what you’ve never had? It was like trying to imagine flying, or breathing underwater. Dagna often imagined what dreaming would feel like. Was it soft? Warm?

And the Fade was a step beyond that. She understood the idea that dreams were hard to control. But the Fade was a dream that mages could control- not just that, but a kind of shared dream. Like a conversation without speaking. It made her head hurt to think about it so much. She felt like a fish, imagining what it was to be a bird.

Was it dreaming to think like this?

Dagna finished her ale. Maybe she should go to bed. There wasn’t really anything for her down here. She smiled at the bartender, and made her way back upstairs.

===

She lay down, gazing across the room. The noise from downstairs made it hard to drift off. But it wasn’t just that- there was something on her mind. What was it? She couldn’t pull her mind together enough to remember. The thing, whatever it was, floated in front of her brain, gloating at her from a world where she could dream. Where did that come from? She thought. I don’t mind not dreaming. Hard to miss what you don’t have. But she did have something on her mind.

The wax seal. Why? It was a tiny, inconsequential bit of rubbish. Why was that bouncing around on a floaty little cloud of magic in her mind?

Well, it was, and she wasn’t going to sleep until she’d figured out why it was bugging her. She rose, dressed, lit a lantern, and walked downstairs for a pot of tea. She might be up for a while. Several minutes later, she was at her desk, poring over the correspondence from Howe, comparing the seals. Steam curled up from the sides of her teacup. The seals were identical in every way she could find. The same design from an identical stamp- the same stamp, most likely. The same wax. Not just the same colour, but exactly the same. Probably the same candle. And when she looked at the back of the seal, she could see it was ripped from paper the same shade as the envelopes her letters had arrived in.

It was probably inconsequential, but her brain wouldn’t leave it alone. She looked in the bin, fished out the brown paper the seal had come from. She sat back down, spread it out flat. Next to where the seal had been pulled off, clear as day, was her name, and the address of the inn. It even had a return address.

On one hand, she felt a little vindicated that it had been worth looking into. On the other, what the fuck? Someone had been in her room, before she arrived, and stolen whatever Howe had sent her. Why? Was it valuable? Had she done something wrong?

Had Howe?

She pulled a roll of paper and a quill from her bag. She should tell Howe. But what if he was angry? What if he blamed her? Dagna was beginning to overwhelm herself with the questions.

“Stop,” she said, quietly. “Think, Dagna, think. What do we know? Something’s gone missing. That’s one thing we know. We know Howe sent it, and the only thing left here was the paper and the seal. Now,” she continued, thinking out loud, “I think there was an envelope. The seal has a funny bit on the back. But I can’t find that.”

She paused, dropped to her knees, and looked under the furniture.

“I definitely can’t find that. So where is it? Did someone steal it? Why would someone steal a boring letter from Howe about his armour?”

Dagna sat on the floor, hugging her knees. “What if they come back for more stuff? What if they take my books?” Am I in danger?

This was too much for her. Was the surface really this dangerous? Was it normal to be burgled? How did people deal with this? Was it a good idea to have left Orzammar in the first place? She blew out her lantern, locked the door, pushed her chair in front of it, and crawled under the bedsheets.

She stayed there for a very long time, motionless.

===

She slept fitfully. But as the sun slowly rose, she felt a little better. By the time her stomach began to rumble, the idea of someone breaking in seemed unreal to her. Heading back to the emporium and spending the day working on enchanting armour seemed far more important. Maybe she’d ask Herren about the parcel. He might know something about it.

Dear was sweeping as Dagna arrived downstairs. It was otherwise empty.

“Morning, dear,” Dear said, brightly. “Breakfast?”

“Please,” she said, “maybe a little less than yesterday?”

Dear hustled together some toast and eggs, and a pot of tea. She continued sweeping as Dagna ate, before taking a seat by the bar.

“Excuse me,” Dagna said, “could I ask your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘dear’ in my head.”

“It’s Adrienne, dear.” she replied, smiling. “You got a busy day planned?”

“I hope so!” Dagna said, “I’m supposed to be working on my research project, but I don’t know if Wade will want to work today or if he’s still locked in the cellar.”

Adrienne looked confused.

“Do you want to know about my research project?” Dagna asked.

“Please, dear, I’d love to!” Adrienne said, sitting down at the table with Dagna.

Thirty minutes later, Dagna had explained the research project, her commission from Howe, the main arguments that the Chantry had put forward for the regulation of lyrium, and the role of nugs in lyrium-mining back in Orzammar. Adrienne, smiling politely, had sat through the entire lecture, periodically looking to the kitchen doors for some kind of support. Dagna’s eggs, ignored, went cold.

“-and that’s why there’s never been a surface paragon!” Dagna concluded, happily oblivious to Adrienne’s repeated glances to the kitchen. They were still the only two people in the bar. “But of course, there’s some contention about whether surface dwarves- like me, I guess- even count as dwarves anymore, or if they’ve given up their dwarven citizenship when they leave. I guess I’m casteless now, you know,” she said, refilling her teacup, “but I really hope that if this project works out, I might be reinstated. I’m sure that my father would be willing to plead my case if my research will actually help dwarves to understand more about enchanting and how to apply it more effectively. If that happens, I might even be able to help trade improve with the surface!” She paused, briefly, to drink her now-cold tea. “Now,” she started up once again, “I touched on the whole idea of the origins of lyrium. Did you understand that at all? I didn’t want to go into too much detail since it’s more of a myth than a proper proven theory, but I still quite like it. Do you know much about the titans?”

A customer walked in. Adrienne all but leapt to her feet. “Morning, dear! What can I do for you today?” She said, a strained smile on her face.

Dagna looked back down at her plate. Her hand was twitching in that funny way it sometimes did when she got excited. The eggs were cold and the toast bordering on leathery at this point, but she didn’t mind. Adrienne seemed to have enjoyed their conversation. Maybe I should copy out some of the reading for her, Dagna thought. I’m sure she’d like that.

===

Soon after, she was standing outside the door to Wade’s Emporium, hand raised to knock. She paused, thinking about what she’d discovered the night before. It was still unnerving to think that there was someone out there with things that ought to belong to her, but she had no idea what to do about it.

There was only really one thing she could do at a time like this. She knocked on the door, ready to begin her work.

To her surprise, Wade answered the door today.

“You’re late!” He cried, waving her in and slamming the door closed behind her. “And we have so much to do! Come and look at this axe. I’ve decided I love it. I know I hated it yesterday, but I just needed to look at it upside-down for a bit and now I think it’s just delightful. Now, what would you do with this foul, disgusting handle? It’s just dreadful. I’d like to set it on fire and grow a new tree to turn into a new one, but Herren says I don’t have enough time. What do you think?”

This was exactly what Dagna needed. Some nice, focused work, keeping her mind from wandering. She turned the axe around in her hands, considering her options. She placed it on the anvil, scratched her chin, and picked up a large hammer.

“You’re not going to- change the head, are you?” Wade looked horrified.

“Not quite,” Dagna said.

She swung the hammer down, splintering the handle. Wade beamed. “I knew you’d agree! Wasn’t it just awful?”

===

A day in the forge proved to be just the trick for Dagna. Her worries seemed smaller, somehow, after flattening red-hot metal and endlessly smoothing and polishing pieces. Wade had shown her an interesting technique for preparing armour to have enchantments applied to it, which she’d tried to replicate- with varying degrees of success. He’d also told her about his experience working with dragonscale and drakescale, and the differences between the materials. Dragonscale was harder, but more rewarding, whereas drakescale had a certain malleability when at temperature that he found just thrilling, darling.

She’d seen Herren just once all day, when he poked his head up to check if Wade had eaten. He had not. Dagna wanted to ask him about the parcel, but Wade distracted her with an anecdote about the Hero of Ferelden coming in, and Herren made a quick exit before he could be caught up in Wade’s storytelling. Wade had a certain unfocused quality to his anecdotes that forced a listener to prompt him with suggestions- even when the listener was more focused on other things.

Dagna couldn’t help but like him, though. He was good folk, as Bodahn would say. Grouchy and easily distracted, but even the few hours they’d spent together showed that he had a good heart, buried somewhere beneath his formidable blacksmithing knowledge.

Herren returned in the evening, with a bowl of roasted vegetables and a crust of bread. “Eat.” He said to Wade. “That’s not a request.”

Wade sighed, putting down his hammer and taking the bowl. Dagna reckoned this was a good time to ask.

“Herren,” she said, attempting to be casual, “do you know if Howe was going to send me a parcel at all?”

Herren raised an eyebrow as he thought. “No, darling, I don’t. Were you expecting one? I’m afraid we don’t get much post here, just the regular supply deliveries. And the bills. Oh! The bills- I need to pay the coal merchant. Wade, dear, could you remind me?”

Wade looked up from his dinner. “No, dear. I can’t remind you. You’re supposed to remind me of things. That’s why you do the paperwork and I do the forging.” He tossed a potato into his mouth, bit into it, gasped at the temperature, and dropped the potato back into the bowl. Then he did it again.

Herren sighed. “Thank you, dear. No, darling, I’m afraid I don’t know anything about a parcel. Was it important?”

“I don’t know,” Dagna said. “I have the wrapping paper, just not whatever was in it. It’s just a bit- I don’t know- odd.”

“Hm.” Herren pursed his lips. “I’ll be honest, the Gnawed Noble might have the best reputation in Denerim, but it’s still not- great. It wouldn’t shock me if someone working there just popped in and scooped up your parcel. It wouldn’t be the first time!”

Dagna frowned, thinking of Adrienne. “I don’t know,” she said. “They seem nice.”

“Well, you know what they say about nice people. ‘One can smile and smile, and still skin nugs alive in their attic’. Who said that, Wade? Was it Tethras?”

“It’s Tethras,” Wade said. He tried to eat his potato again. It didn’t burn his mouth this time. He picked up a carrot.

“The point is, darling,” Herren continued, “you don’t know them. It might not have been someone at the inn, but if you’ve got a missing parcel, then someone’s taken it. And they’re more likely to know than I am.”

Dagna nodded, reluctantly. Herren had a point. “I’ll ask one of the waitresses later.”

“That’s the spirit!” Herren wrapped an arm around her, giving her an affectionate shake. “I’m sure she’ll help you out.”

“Herren,” Wade asked, “can I get back to my smithing now?”

Herren nodded. “I think that’s your cue too, sweetheart. Let me know if you need any more help.”

Dagna stood up. She felt calmer. The tension in her chest had eased, tension she was only aware of now it was gone. Maybe talking things through was a good idea. She didn’t have a solution- yet- but she had something to do.

===

The Gnawed Noble was busy that evening. Dagna kept trying to flag down Adrienne, but she never quite managed to catch her eye. Eventually, she gave up, planning to raise it the next morning at breakfast.

That is, until she spotted the bartender. Dagna was never one for subtle social cues, but he seemed to be acting strangely. A number of people had been into the bar, spoken briefly but pointedly to him, and left again. This had happened at least three or four times, and Dagna had only really begun paying attention in the last few minutes.

If anyone’s involved, it’s him.

She walked to the bar, attempting to look casual, just in time to catch the last few sentences of his latest conversation.

“-that’s probably not the person you should be wasting your time with. I can give you an in with the person you need, but it’ll cost you.”

“Dirk, you do this every time. How long have you been my go-to guy? Can’t you give me some kind of loyalty card?”

“You think I do this out of the kindness of my own heart? No! Pay, or get lost. Hold that thought,” said the bartender- Dirk- catching sight of Dagna. His tone abruptly shifted, his voice brightening. “What can I do for you, miss? Another drink?”

“You recognise this?” Dagna asked. She pulled the paper from her pocket.

Dirk looked at her strangely. “It’s a piece of paper. What about it?”

“I found it in the bin after I arrived,” Dagna began, “I want-”

“You want to complain I didn’t empty the bins before you arrived? No problem, miss. Here,” Dirk said, reaching for the paper, “I’ll put it in the bin down here. Happy?”

Dagna pulled it back, out of his reach. “Not quite. It’s not about the bins, it’s what it says on the paper that I’m worried about.”

Dirk looked at her, blankly.

“This was wrapped around a parcel for me. A parcel that I didn’t receive, that should’ve been here. Do you know where it is?”

Dirk looked from her, to the man standing next to him. “I don’t quite follow, miss. Was this parcel here?”

“Yes,” she said, pointing to the address by her name. “It was supposed to be waiting for me. But I didn’t find it, just this and the wax seal. Even the envelope that was meant to be with it isn’t here.”

Dirk frowned, in thought. “Tell you what,” he said, “we got a new cleaner last week. This elf, I forget her name. Not shown up for work the last couple of days. Wouldn’t surprise me if your parcel is sitting pretty in her house in the alienage. It’s a shame, you know. The elves round here- they’ve been worse for things like this since the Blight. Probably since the king’s not got round to rebuilding the alienage yet.” He shrugged. “What can you do? I’ll try and pull an address for you, if you want. Can’t really do much else.”

Dagna nodded. “That would be nice, thank you.”

“I’m a touch busy now, but I’ll drop it with you tomorrow. You want me to toss that paper for you now?” He offered a hand.

“No, thank you.” Dagna said. She wasn’t sure what it was about him, but something didn’t quite add up. She didn’t want to lose her only piece of evidence- even if it was just some paper.

“You have a good evening, miss. See you soon.” Dirk waved her off, returning to his conversation. A moment later, he and the other man laughed loudly at something. Dagna hoped it wasn’t her.

Notes:

I think I'm getting into Dagna's character a bit better. It's just fully undiagnosed adhd lmao. I've been massively hyperfixated on this fic for the last four days or so but we're coming back from my wife's nana's house tomorrow so i might lose my absolutely god-like focus on this thing. We shall see!

Chapter 6: Sera reads the note

Summary:

Sera reads the note and checks in with some mercenaries. She also thinks about being trans a lot. TW for some mentions of sexual assault, some implied violence.

Sera slept in late. She was sore from climbing, and tired from staying up late.

She was staying in the attic of the Emmald estate- her estate, by rights. When she rejected it, the Crown took hold of the estate. As expected, some arseling noble and his family had purchased the estate, but only seemed to be there a couple months of the year. They were from Antiva, Sera reckoned. Or the wife was, at least. Must be spending the colder months up there, where it was warmer.

Sera stayed in the attic. She was quiet, and had perfected the technique for sneaking in at night. She had a stash of clothes and bedding up here, plus a few spare arrows. She packed light, as a rule. And she had stashes all across Denerim. She had a few things in a box in the abandoned orphanage in the alienage, a spare bow in the Pearl- she’d probably hidden supplies in the palace, for all she could remember. Tara called her a ‘squirrel’, a term of endearment she’d initially hated, but grown to accept.

She was pleased with her work last night. She wanted to check in with that waitress, maybe track down Bri as well, just to make sure things had gone as planned. But there was no sense doing that now. Ceorlic was probably licking his wounds and trying to convince the guard he was still just as tough as he was a day earlier.

She should check up on those mercenaries the bartender told her about. She had something else to do, she was sure.

The note. The best link she had to finding Howe.

She patted down her pockets, looking for it. She turned her shoulder bag upside-down, spilling out magical supplies, a spare bowstring, some biscuits, and her notebook. She rifled through the pockets, eventually finding the small, white envelope. It was a little bent- something had squished it in there. She slid the note out from the envelope and read.

Dagna,
Hope your trip was pleasant. I know the roads are a little dangerous at the moment. I include a number of magical supplies that may help with your commission. Please get in touch if there is anything you are unable to source.
Best wishes,
Nathaniel Howe
P.S. Please find my return address on the package.

Sera scrunched the note up. “Are you shitting me?” She whispered, fuming. “What kind of arse-for-brains doesn’t put the return address on the pissing note?”

She threw an arrow at the wall. It connected at a bad angle and dropped to the floor.

“Don’t you start, wanker.” She snapped at it. “That’s a right pain in the tits. Now I’ve got to break in there all over again. What a waste of time!”

She did concede, though, that stealing the magic supplies would- at very least- delay this ‘Dagna’ from making Howe’s commission. Giving Sera more time to steal the paper, find Howe, and stick an arrow up his arse. Or something.

Plan of action. Try and find that arseing piece of paper, then blow off steam by killing mercenaries for the bartender. Maybe also steal some new pencils.

It was a very small note, she thought, glaring at it.

===

“What are you doing, elf?” The city guard snapped.

Sera pulled herself out of the bins and tried to look innocent. “A customer threw out a letter by accident. I’m trying to find it for them.”

The guard frowned. “Very well. But you’d better tidy up this mess when you’re finished. We’ve had complaints of litter being thrown at passers-by.”

“Yes, ser, of course, ser.” Sera said, plastering her face with her sweetest smile. The guard nodded, turning away. She stuck her tongue out at him, and continued digging through the bins. No luck so far. There were several more bins to search, but Sera’s mind was beginning to wander. She decided to focus on Howe- maybe thinking about why she was doing this would help sharpen her focus.

She’d received a letter from another Jenny, at one of her secret drop-points (a knot-hole in that stupid vhenadahl tree), warning her about Howe. On his return to Denerim, a number of the servants from the old Howe estate- Vigil’s Keep- had gone missing, turning up days later, hurt and scared. One, better connected than the others, had turned to the Friends for help. Rendon Howe’s cruelty was well-known, and whilst the younger Howe hadn’t hurt them much, they were worried that other servants might suffer a worse fate- especially if they weren’t able to help. The note from Sera’s contact suggested looking into Howe, seeing what truth there was to these accusations, and going from there.

Sera wasn’t inclined to give Nathaniel the benefit of the doubt. Like father, like son, she thought. The shithead never falls far from the tree. Might as well make his life more difficult while she’s running her investigation. She was pretty sure Howe was hiding out somewhere in or near Denerim, waiting for this commission- whatever it was- to be finished before continuing with his stupid vendetta. She didn’t really have a plan for when she found him, but that was something she figured she’d decide on when she was there. Like Ceorlic. Killing was too good for a creep like him. And it didn’t let the message get out. Nobles hide that kind of shit- Red Jenny notes on corpses usually just find their way into the bin. Or at least, that’s what her contacts had said. And yesterday had been so much more fun than knifing a sleeping prick. She got to embarrass him instead, and she knew that was going to worm its way out. Murder is whispered, but gossip spreads like wildfire.

Taraline had always hated gossip. She was very proper, at least in Sera’s eyes. Neat, polite, always trying to mind her business. She never quite understood why her ‘friends’- ‘arseholes’ was a better word, Sera reckoned- would spend so much of their time discussing the misfortune of others, or trying to pull down those experiencing success. Maybe it was a human thing, not having to understand why people talk. Sera had always had to keep on top of whatever news she could find. Lady Big-Nose hit her servants? Give her a wide berth when she comes round for tea. Ser Patchy-Beard likes to run a hand up the legs of any girl in a fifty-foot radius? Put some shorts on under her dress and make an excuse to leave.

The only thing worse than being groped, in Sera’s book at least, was being groped and then people knowing. Knowing she wasn’t a ‘real’ girl, at least in their eyes. She remembered the first incident, when she was no more than twelve, of Ser Patchy-Beard or some other creep- they tended to blend together- placing a curious hand in her lap, and pointedly referring to her as ‘young man’ for the rest of the evening. Sera never sat down without crossing her legs after that. At least, not in ‘polite’ society. Tara, for all her best efforts, was hopeless at defending Sera to her friends. She was happy to foot the bill to make her happy, talk to her in private later, but she was weak around others. It was one of the biggest issues Sera had with her, growing up. She loved Tara, in a funny sort of way, but there were too many times where a ‘friend’ asked for money, or to stay, or asked where Tara got such an ‘unusual’ serving girl from, and Tara had no idea how to politely push back.

‘Unusual’, of course, referred to her penis. Or the boyish habits she hadn’t quite grown out of yet. Or any number of minuscule tells that nobles picked up on in order to dirty her in their eyes. Sometimes they even reflected it back on Tara, assuming that she had some strange fetish, and Sera was a live-in whore, or something. The thought made Sera cringe, even now. There was never anything like that between her and Taraline. The relationship was never quite the same as a ‘normal’ mother-daughter relationship- whatever that might look like- but Tara ultimately just wanted a friend. She was lonely, and Sera was alone, needing someone to look after her. Maybe she should’ve got a cat, Sera’s mind sometimes suggested, uncharitably. Save the trouble of people thinking she diddles me in private.

Tara had died four years ago, when Sera was fifteen. She was finally old enough to really seek out independence, but not quite old enough to use it responsibly. They fought. Often about Tara’s friends- the ‘arseholes’. Sera would take out her frustrations on Tara, and Tara would usually cry, knowing she couldn’t please everyone all the time. Then they’d cool off- Sera would practise archery in the garden, or hide in the attic and swear to herself that she’d leave one day- and then they’d reconcile over dinner, Tara frequently cried again, lamenting that she didn’t know how to be a mother, that she was sorry, that she’d always defend Sera in future. Then nothing would really change. It was a big step for her when Lady Big-Nose commented on Sera’s ‘boyish bone structure’ and Tara simply changed the topic of conversation. So any real, active steps against her judgemental friends was unlikely to really change.

And it never did, either. Tara had died unable to defend Sera the way she wanted to be defended. She left her the estate, which was a nice gesture, but certainly did nothing to defend her from ‘polite’ society. It just meant she was expected to hire some servants and start hosting the same creeps, letting them squeeze someone else’s arse for a change.

How could she do that? Sera didn’t want anyone to deal with the kind of shit those arseholes had made her deal with. And seeing Bri last night had only cemented that as the right decision. She couldn’t tear it all down right away, sure, but she could- at very least- not do that shit to anyone else herself.

She’d lucked out, in a way, when she rejected the estate. She still got to live there- even if it was just in the attic- without dealing with any of the shite from owning the place.

Sera suddenly felt very alone. She didn’t really have anyone, now she thought about it. She knew people, of course she did, but since Tara had died, she was left with no-one she was close to. She lived alone, worked alone for the most part, and only really kept in touch with the other Friends when she needed more information. They were Friends of Red Jenny, not Sera. She didn’t have anyone from the alienage, either. She left when she was young, after she was orphaned, and if she did have any family, they hadn’t bothered to keep in touch. Besides, she thought, elves are all wankers anyway. Stupid tree-huggers.

Snipping at them did little to help.

She didn’t know anyone like her, either. Tara had told her once about a Qunari idea, something called ‘Aqun-Athlok’. She was pretty sure it was spelt like that, anyway. So there might be someone like her up in Par Vollen, but here in Denerim? Not so much. Sera was happier as a woman, but by Andaste’s fat cock, it was lonely.

She didn’t want to dig through the bins anymore.

===

The bartender had given her a map doodled on the back of a napkin to direct her to the mercenaries. They were a little north of Denerim, from the looks of things, hiding out near some trees. Or were they tents?

Probably trees.

It was probably about noon, and the day was heating up. She was dressed lightly; short leathers that covered from her torso to just above the knees, but left her arms and legs mainly exposed- and blessedly cool. She was only carrying her bow and quiver, plus her usual shoulder-bag and a dagger, but walking in the bright sunlight was making them heavier than normal. Her hair was tied up, a length of red ribbon liberated from Tara’s crafting supplies, keeping the back of her neck cool.

She was the only traveller on the road in either direction. She kept her eyes open, looking across to the nearing wooded area. It was easily large enough to conceal a mercenary crew- a small one, mind you- and a few tents. There was something hanging from one of the trees. She looked closer, focusing hard. It looked like a halla, strung up by its legs. She could see the antlers. Someone was staying in the woods, that was for certain.

Sera stepped off the road, towards the woods.

She crouched down as she approached, trying to keep herself hidden behind the long grass. She saw movement ahead. She stopped, and focused. It was a man, alone, walking out from the trees, a bow in his hand. He was looking in the direction she’d just come from. She stayed still, waiting to see what he did. A moment passed. He leant against a tree, put the arrow he’d notched back into his quiver. The bow went back over his shoulder, and he looked away.

Sera moved quickly through the grass, keeping low to the ground and her eyes trained on him. He glanced back in her direction, and she stopped. He stepped forwards, not having spotted her, but having spotted that something had moved. Out came the bow, an arrow quickly notched.

She hesitated. Is it worth killing him? What if I talk to him instead? It worked on that guard, there’s no reason it won’t work now.

An arrow flew in her direction. She threw herself to the floor, and looked through the grasses towards the trees. He hadn’t taken a shot yet. There’s another somewhere. Where?

Another arrow flew towards her. She tried to follow it back- it looked to have come from the top of a tree. She wasn’t going to be able to beat them with a hidden archer. She couldn’t hide. Time for a strategic surrender.

“Stop!” She cried. “Don’t shoot!”

“Hands in the air!” Came the reply. She lifted her arms, and slowly stood up.

“Harp, bring her in.” The voice commanded. Harp- the one she could see- strode over, grabbing her firmly by the scruff of her neck, and strode back as though she weighed nothing. “Take her weapons.”

Harp confiscated her bow, quiver, bag, and dagger. “I’ll want those back,” Sera said, “take good care of them, yeah?”

He laughed, wrapping rope around her wrists. “What kind of a name is Harp, anyway?” She asked. “Do you play the harp?”

“You’re not really acting like someone in trouble,” a voice said from behind her. “Most people start pleading by this point.”

Harp wrapped the length of rope around a tree, pulling Sera against the bark. It rubbed, abrasive, against her skin.

“Most people aren’t me,” Sera started, trying to maintain an air of confidence. “And most people don’t rob refugees on the road. Today’s special, sweetie. A meeting of minds.”

“Who sent you?” the voice asked. “Keep in mind, we can make things very unpleasant for you if you don’t tell us what we want to hear.”

“Well,” Sera smiled, “that depends on what you want to hear. Do you want me to tell you how handsome you are?”

“No,” the voice said. “I want to hear who you work for. You don’t look like a guard, so you’re not here on official business. And most people don’t send one person into a viper’s nest, so either you’re here to talk or you’re very stupid.”

“Very clever! Is that what you want to hear?” Sera giggled.

“Hit her.”

Harp obliged, a firm punch to the small of the back. Sera gasped in pain.

“Oh, my back feels so much better now. Have you ever considered a career as a masseuse?”

“Who?”

Sera relented. No sense in holding on. She wasn’t here to take a beating.

“I bring a message from a number of concerned parties.” She said, “They cordially invite you to move on from this corner of the world, and to consider alternative career options.”

Harp stifled a laugh.

“They suggest that work may be available bringing some semblance of order in other areas of Ferelden, or perhaps bringing aid to the relief effort in rebuilding the damage wrought by the recent Blight.”

Sometimes, she was good.

“Who are these, what did you say? Concerned parties?”

“The concerned parties are simply concerned parties, sweetie. Worry less about who, and more about the ‘concerned’ part. I’m simply here to bring the message.”

“Is that a threat?”

“How prepared are you to find out?”

This is going well, Sera thought. Harp hit her again. Maybe not. “What was that for, you prick?”

“Don’t get smart with me. Are you threatening my men? Do you know who we are?”

“I’m not threatening anyone. I simply came to bring a message. Ever heard of not shooting the messenger?”

“Say we do leave,” the voice said, suddenly less hostile, “say we do leave. What’s in it for us? Is there pay for these jobs? Where would we be going?”

Sera paused, unsure what to say.

“So no pay? We should just do it, why? Because you say so? Some pesky little thing comes and tells us to go and we just should?”

“There’s pay,” Sera started. “There’s plenty of work in the Hinterlands, I think. Lothering certainly got hit badly, you could head in that direction.”

“You think? Or you know? I’m not traipsing halfway across the country because you think there’s coin. I’ll stay right here, where I know there is.”

“But you know what else is definitely here?” Sera asked. “Guards. Templars. Plenty of tough guys who’ve just heard about a gang of mercenaries hitting every traveller from Amaranthine. You’re hardly keeping out of sight, and soon enough someone tougher than me’s going to come along. Are you prepared to do a lot more fighting for your coin?”

Sometimes I even impress myself. I should run for office!

“Untie her.” The voice commanded.

I should absolutely run for office.

“We’re letting you go. Try anything, and Harp’ll put an arrow through that tiny head of yours. You go back to your people and tell them we'll consider moving on. For a price. You understand?”

“Understood.”

“Don’t turn around. Walk straight back out of here. Harp will return your weapons on the road. We’ll accept no less than a hundred gold per man to move on. Understand?”

“Understood.” Not quite as successful, then.

She was untied and marched back to the road. Harp threw her weapons to the ground and walked back, keeping his bow trained on her. She slowly bent down, picked them up, and began the walk back to Denerim.

That was embarrassing.

She was going to be raiding the wine cellar this evening.

===

She did. She spent a wonderful evening laying back in an old armchair in her underwear and getting completely blasted on vintage Antivan wine. The new owners of the estate had excellent taste, and no idea how easy it was to slip downstairs and steal their last case of White Seleney. It paired excellently with an entire jar of sweet pickled apples and a block of hard goat’s cheese. There was a box of cookies, too, but she threw them out. She didn’t want to think about that right now.

Sera began to feel a little more optimistic. Her back still hurt from being punched, but the bruise wasn’t too bad. She was rereading a book she regularly revisited, a collection of stories about werewolves. She liked reading about them killing people who annoyed them. Some of her best ideas came from here. Once, she tricked a noble into thinking he was turning into a werewolf by leaving dead rabbits in his quarters once a month. He ended up going to a doctor’s and drinking wolfsbane potions. It did at least work, though. He was so worried about becoming a werewolf he stopped docking his servants’ pay. She chuckled at the memory. It was one of her first Red Jenny projects, from a few years back when she was still green and underconfident.

She’d had friends, back then. Other members of the organisation, like Pierre. He was so damn dedicated to the Red Jenny movement, Sera couldn’t help but love him. He helped train her up, nurturing her raw talent for archery into her greatest strength. She admired him. Much of what she did was to try and emulate how he operated, his ability to execute the most elaborate plots unparalleled. He was in stitches when she told him about the werewolf thing. He was from Val Royeaux, a servant of some lesser Chantry elite-type person. All Sera really knew was that he was an arsehole, and that Pierre landed him in prison somehow.

That was the difference between their styles, Sera noticed. Pierre was a very politically motivated Jenny. Imprison this noble and his friends will lose standing at this committee or in this circle. He was trying to be a puppet master, almost. Sera wasn’t so confident. She preferred to embarrass (and frequently maim) the most egregious offenders. Even if one arse drops off a committee, the other arses will still make the same stupid decision, yeah? So you might as well just go for the arses you know have been treating the little guys like shit.

Maybe that’s why she was alive, and Pierre was dead.

He’d met a rough end about two years ago. He was working a job in Denerim, laying low from some Orlesian mercenaries some arse had sent after him, and things went badly south for him. They didn’t find his head right away. No-one really thought to check the bin, until they saw the flies swarming to it.

Sera shuddered. She’d had some close calls in her time. You do, when you’re up against the rich and powerful. The strength in the Red Jenny movement was from the ability to go to ground, hide from whoever they sent after you. And soon enough, they’d be following the next Red Jenny case, two towns over. It was just a shame that didn’t work out so well for Pierre. Sera had mostly taken over his jobs in Denerim, kept an eye on his hiding places.

She cracked another bottle of the White Seleney. It was a shame there was nothing Orlesian down in the cellar, but the new family- hardly new anymore, they’ve been here three years- seemed to have some issues with Orlesian wine. She raised the bottle in a slightly lacking tribute to Pierre. He was a blonde, and this was white wine. That seemed a good enough connection, at least, since her wine collection refused to stretch anywhere east of the Frostback Mountains.

He had lovely hair. Shoulder length, easy to tie up or keep down, and quick to change his appearance with. He smoked a pipe he’d stolen from some fancy Orlesian shop, smoking elfroot that he grew himself. He had a room near the city gates, and he grew the elfroot in a window box. When he died, Sera had harvested all of it, drying it up here in the attic, and smoked it occasionally. It made her feel funny. She didn’t like it much, honestly. She stuck to wine as a rule.

Speaking of wine, she took a substantial swig, and continued with her reading. She couldn’t focus, though. She wondered what Pierre would have done about those mercenaries. Probably something clever. He did a lot of thinking. And a lot of reading. She’d smuggled him plenty of old history books out of Tara’s collection; he always tried to find new ideas in there. Especially the old law codex shite. There was plenty worth pulling out if you knew where to look, he would say. Especially things that weren’t technically illegal. Even squatters have rights, you know?

Sera didn’t have anything like his attention to detail. Or his attention span as a whole, really. But she wanted to impress him, even though he was dead.

“Did you see what I did to Ceorlic, Pierre?” She asked, out loud, in a quiet, tender voice. “I fucked him up, yeah? Bet he won’t be doing anything stupid anytime soon.”

She could hear the birds- she didn’t know which- outside the window. She could hear people talking. But no matter how hard she listened, she couldn’t hear Pierre’s response.

“Whatever,” she muttered, the moment ruined somehow. “You’re just wormfood, anyway. Cock.”

She rolled into her bed, pulled the covers over her head, and held a pillow tightly to her chest.

Notes:

My wife and I have gotten really into this show about glassblowing on netflix and so fanfic's taken a bit of a backseat but hey here's a big chapter where Sera gets real introspective... enjoy!

Chapter 7: Dagna goes to the Alienage

Summary:

A chance meeting, and Dagna bites off more than she can chew. A huge argument leads to an unexpected danger.

I'm enjoying writing these in a really ominous way it's really fun.

The alienage really was dreadful. Dagna had spent a diverting but uneventful morning at the Emporium, trying to apply some of her reading to the application of armour runes. Her first attempts weren’t particularly successful, but she got the grip of it soon enough. She left Wade in a frenzied burst of focus, detailing the axe handle with tools almost impractically thin. She had something else to do today.

The alienage was in disrepair. She thought the rest of the city was bad, but this was genuinely sad to see. There were buildings with serious structural damage, patched up with all manner of supplies. Some buildings, having been destroyed in the Blight, had just been left to rot. Even the vhenadahl was sickly. Dagna didn’t know much about elven culture- only what she’d found whilst researching- but she knew that was supposed to be important. She looked at the address Dirk had given her again. She’d been to four houses so far, with no luck. She was starting to worry that he’d been lying. Herren’s words were running through her head again.

If you’ve got a missing parcel, then someone’s taken it.

She paused by the vhenadahl, looking around in case anyone had put up a nice big sign for her. One that mentioned her by name and came with a nice big arrow pointing in the right direction would be nice. I’ll ask someone, she decided. And if they don’t know where this house is, then Dirk was probably lying.

An elf with a funny, ragged haircut was heading in her direction. She strode past Dagna with barely a second glance, pausing by the tree. She laid her hands on it gently, as though in prayer. As she began to walk away, Dagna called out to her.

“Hey, can you help me?”

The elf’s head snapped round, her short ponytail swaying from side to side. She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“I’m looking for an address, I just don’t really know where it is, that’s all. Do you know it?”

The elf took the note in her hand, peering at it closely.

“You got this from the Gnawed Noble, yeah?” She said, “the bartender?”

“Dirk, yes,” Dagna said, “do you know the address?”

“His name’s Dirk? Shit, what a stupid name.” The elf shook her head. “This isn’t a real address, by the way. You have to pay- god, it’s such a frigging stupid name- Dirk if you want any useful information out of him. He’s a right arse sometimes.” She leant against the tree as she spoke. Dagna was surprised. That’s a bit un-devout of her. I thought elves all liked their trees. That’s what I read, anyway.

“How do you know all this?” Dagna asked, astonished.

“I know him- duh. Question is, why are you trusting some random like him and digging around the alienage in the first place? Why are you here?”

“I had a parcel go missing,” Dagna explained, “Dirk said to look here. I’m new round here, I don’t really get the layout of Denerim, really. It’s all a bit messy. If this were Orzammar, let me tell you, there’d be plenty of changes, right away.”

The elf nodded. “You ever thought that advertising how new and easily pick-pocketable you are might not be the best idea? Like, if you don’t mind losing your purse, be my guest, yeah, but round here? It’s not exactly fancy. You mention you’ve got a bit of cash, you’ll be mysteriously drowning in the harbour before you can piss yourself.”

Dagna nodded, unsure what to do. This is weird. She’s weird.

“Look, shortcake, the address is useless. The alienage doesn’t even have street names, yeah? I’d just go back and threaten Dirk until he gives you something legit. I know for a fact he hates spiders,” the elf continued. “Especially big ones.”

Dagna nodded again. I am very out of my depth here.

“Trust me- just keep out of the alienage, yeah? It’s not a great place to be. Especially since half the place got trashed by darkspawn. There’s been some bad stuff happening here, too, especially after dark. Put it this way- you stick around here, it’s not my fault your purse goes missing.”

Dagna put a cautious hand over the pocket holding her purse. The elf laughed.

“Well, now I know which pocket to hit! Even easier.” Her face grew serious. “But really. Watch out round here after dark. Some not very nice people, yeah? You understand? Toodles!”

She strode away quickly, and soon Dagna lost sight of her. But she could still hear that laugh from a distance.

Shortcake?

===

“I couldn’t find this address,” Dagna said. “I’m not sure it exists.”

Dirk frowned. “You think I’m lying?”

Dagna paused, unsure. I don’t know. Maybe? Either he is, or that elf was.

She swallowed. Here goes nothing. “Yes, actually, I do. Why would you just give me that information? What’s in it for you, right?”

Dirk raised an eyebrow. “You might be onto something there.”

“Well, what do you need?”

“I got a project that needs sorting,” he started. “Asked someone else to deal with it, but they’ve been useless so far. Says I’ll need to put coin into it if I want the result I want.”

“What’s the job?” Dagna asked.

He paused. “Forget it. You wouldn’t be able to hack it. Not without more help than I’m willing to cough up for.”

“No, really.” She pushed. “I can do it, I’m sure. What do you need me to do?”

“Can you fight?”

Dagna chortled. “Can I fight?” Can I fight? “Of course I can!” Can I?

“Really?”

“I know my way around a weapon, don’t you worry.” When it’s on the anvil, that is.

“Think you could handle some mercenary types for me? They’re making a trade route a little difficult for my… investors.”

Mercenaries? Aren’t they supposed to be tough? Maybe I shouldn’t do this. “Consider it done. And then I want my information.” Why did I say that?

Dirk nodded, “I was going to give you the information now, but if you’re volunteering, I’m happy.”

“Wait, I-” Dagna backpedalled, “I can hear it now.”

“No, this makes more sense. You pop up to the Pilgrim’s Path, deal with them, and I’ll tell you what you need to know.” Dirk nodded, satisfied, and served a customer. The conversation was evidently over.

Shit. Me and my big mouth.

Dagna was going to need some help.

===

“Can either of you fight?” She asked, the next day, as Wade dipped an axe-head into a bucket of water.

“Fight? Me? Not a bit. I only swing a weapon if I’m testing the weight balance of it.” Wade barely looked up from his work. “Herren, on the other hand, has quite the left hook.”

“What are you asking about fighting for, Dagna?” Herren asked, curious.

“Um-” she started. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, we’ve got no customers, Wade’s going to be hours with that axe-head, and I’ve got cash to count up. I’d say we have time.” Herren pointed to a chair next to his desk. “Let’s hear it. Are you in trouble?”

“Well, not yet.”

“Well, that’s a relief! Wade would be furious if you went and got yourself killed. What’s going on?”

“I needed information from a guy, and he needs me to do something for it.”

“Honey, you should be careful before you promise anything like that!” Herren looked horrified. “I’ll find you some protection. Is it a human or another dwarf? I don’t like the way that Gorim looks at you- is it him? Do dwarves use contraceptives? Is it easy to get pregnant?”

Dagna’s jaw dropped. “Not like that! No!”

Herren looked confused. “Not like that? What does Gorim want you to do then? Is he into something weird? Wade, I think that Gorim’s a pervert!”

“It’s not Gorim!” Dagna said, indignantly. “And for your information, I don’t really like- men like that.”

Herren cocked his head to one side as he observed her body language. Dagna looked smaller as she said that, as though she’d shrunk. “Honey, there’s nothing wrong with that. You know that Wade and I are-”

“Yes, yes, I know- I can’t imagine anyone doesn’t know that,” Dagna said. “It’s just not really the done thing where I’m from. Dwarves- especially when you get a bit higher up the food chain- they only really get together to have children. There’s not much space for romance or anything like that.”

Herren smiled, a little sadly. “Oh darling, I’m sorry. I’m sure there’s a beautiful lady out there waiting for you somewhere-”

“Yes, okay, Dagna likes girls- can we get back to the fighting bit please?” Dagna was feeling a little uncomfortable with sharing so much about herself. Normally people only really cared as much as she could smith or enchant. This whole ‘relationships’ subject was out of her comfort zone.

“Yes, of course! You’d better not be steeling up so you can stab Gorim if he makes a move or something,” Herren said, coming back to the question at hand. “I just don’t trust him, I don’t know why. Something about his eyes.”

“It’s not Gorim!” Dagna tried to avoid snapping. “It’s a guy who knows what happened to my parcel, and I need to fight some guys for him to find out.”

“What kind of guys?” Wade interjected. “Are you looking for lethal, non-lethal? Sharp, blunt, long, short, ranged, melee? Give me something to work with here, I’ll sort you out.” He had set the axe aside and was fingering the handle of a sword in a nearby weapon rack. “I can back you up if needs be.”

“You will not!” Herren cried, outraged. “You will stay right here and work on that axe some more. If anyone’s fighting, it’s me.”

“No, no!” Dagna said. “Neither of you have to fight! I just want to learn some moves to use on them, that’s all. No-one needs to get hurt.”

“Except the guys we’ll be hurting!” Wade added.

“Yes, except for them. You don’t happen to know anyone who could help, do you?” Dagna was beginning to regret asking them, but she didn’t really know anyone else.

“We-” Herren thought for a moment, “We might know some people. We’ve got plenty of customers, after all. Do you want to hire someone to back you up? Or just get some practice done?”

Dagna paused. Back-up would be useful. “Both?”

Wade and Herren looked at one another. “Both is good. We’ll ask around and see.”

Dagna smiled, a little relieved. “Thank you, guys. I really appreciate it.”

“Now,” Wade said, “you mentioned liking girls. Do you want us to set you up with anyone? My youngest cousin is about your age, she has a bit of a thing for tough girls who can throw her around a bit.”

Herren looked at him, astonished. “Rita’s gay? And she’s into butch girls? You have to be kidding me. Could she be any more of a stereotype?”

“I’m not really looking,” Dagna admitted, rubbing her arm.

“And when did you get into gossiping? I thought you didn’t care! You said it distracted you from smithing” Herren said, indignantly, to Wade.

“A man can like two things, dear.” Wade said, picking up the axe. “So, Dagna, what kind of girl are you looking for?”

Dagna looked around, confused. “I said I-”

“Let’s see,” said Wade, thoughtful, “Rita’s a maybe, Bella could be a yes, oh! And Francia’s a definite yes. You’ll love her.”

===

Several hours later, a note arrived for Dagna. It was handed to them by a silent, relatively young elf. He had walked in, deposited the note on the desk, and smartly departed, all in the course of a matter of seconds. Herren hadn’t even finished greeting him when the door was closed.

“Dagna, darling, it’s for you!” Herren called.

Dagna looked up, confused. “Is that a note? Who’s it from?”

“Doesn’t say. Want to open it and look?”

Dagna obliged, taking the sealed envelope in her gloved hands and turning it over. Like her previous correspondence from Howe, it bore his seal. She stripped off her gloves and slit the envelope open with a fingernail. Inside, a short note bore the legend:

Dagna,
I trust you have settled in well. I hope my package has served you in your work. I anticipate the armour being completed soon and have made my plans accordingly- please deposit it at the enclosed location in five days’ time and I shall have your compensation sent over with my assistant.
The plans are a matter of urgency, so do not delay.
Best,
Howe.

“Five days?” Dagna was horrified. “I haven’t even started! We’ve not even got onto dragonscale working! And I don’t even have the package to get it made with! He’s going to be so mad.” She slumped into a nearby chair, the bubbling energy normally inside her draining away as she reread the note. “How am I supposed to make a full suit of armour in five days?”

“You mean we,” Wade said from behind her. “I’m supposed to be teaching you, and all I’ve been working on are these worthless axes! I’m sorry, Dagna.” He threw the axe in question to a far corner of the workshop. Herren gasped in horror.

“Wade! That was finished!”

“Darling, it was nowhere near. And we have far more pressing issues at hand than some silly little axe!” Wade strode to a different corner of the emporium and began throwing things out of a large box. “Where are they?” He asked himself, quietly. “They must be here somewhere- a-ha!”

He pulled out a large set of dragon scales.

“Here we are, Dagna. Are you ready to learn to make dragonscale armour?”

Dagna nodded, gladly.

“Wade,” Herren said, firmly. “I want to help too, but you need to finish that axe. You can’t just half-finish another project. We can’t afford to lose that money!”

“Herren, darling, we’re talking smithing here. Can’t you handle the money problem?” Wade said, dismissively.

A sudden sharpness cut through the air. Herren took a sharp intake of breath.

“No, Wade, I can’t. Not without you helping me. You need to finish projects if you want me to make any money, understand?”

“Darling, she has five days to build a full suit. Even if she weren’t a complete novice to dragonscale, that’s a tall order. She needs me.”

“And I need you too, Wade. I need you to finish that axe or we won’t be able to afford keeping the furnace running for another five days! Do you understand?” Herren was becoming visibly frustrated. Dagna felt very uncomfortable.

“What do you mean? Are you saying we’re broke? What in the name of Andraste’s tits have you been doing with our money?”

Wade was angry now. Dagna began to feel her chest tighten.

“Our money?” Herren scoffed. “What money? You never finish enough fucking projects for us to have any money! Why do you think I’ve stopped buying anything nice? We’re broke, Wade, because you won’t finish anything!”

“Oh, so the money is my fault, is it?”

Dagna’s knees began to buckle. Too loud, too loud. She sat down heavily. Herren looked at her, and turned back.

“Why do you think she’s here? It’s not just for fun, Wade. The Circle is paying for her to be here, that’s why! And that’s cut some of the debts, sure, but we’re still not going to stay open if we don’t get some commissions out soon.”

“If they’re paying, can’t you get more money from them? Why do I have to slave away on this- this stupid axe! Why are you smothering my passion? I’m an artist, Herren!”

“Oh, here we go,” Herren laughed, bitterly. “You’re an artist, but art doesn’t pay, Wade. It’s not free, nothing is! You have to do the boring bits to pay for the good bits- that’s how we’ve stayed afloat this long!”

Dagna began to curl into a ball, her hands over her ears. Please stop shouting please stop shouting.

“Why don’t I just put this fucking thing through my head, eh Herren? What’s the point of me being an artist if I’m just-”

A strained scream, like an animal in pain, cut through their argument. Wade stopped, mid-tirade, and looked to where Dagna was sitting. Herren took a step towards her.

Dagna was curled up, hugging her knees, sideways on the floor. Her face was red, and she was breathing heavily. Her eyes were screwed shut, a vein bulging in her forehead. Herren rushed over, put a hand on her shoulder, and took it back as she winced.

“She must’ve fallen off her chair,” Wade said, his voice tender, “Dagna, honey, are you alright?”

“I’m sorry, Dagna,” Herren said, stroking her hair, “we didn’t mean to upset you.”

Dagna exhaled heavily, pushed herself upright. She leant against the front of Herren’s desk. Her eyes opened, gently, and flashed a weak smile. “It’s- I just don’t do too well with shouting. Some bad memories, that’s all.”

“Maybe you should go home, honey.” Wade said, “I can start the armour for you if you’d like, and I’ll- I’ll finish that axe for you, darling.” He put a gentle hand on Herren’s shoulder.

Dagna nodded. “That might be a good idea. I’ll get some- rest.” She winced as she tried to pull herself upright, and Herren wrapped an arm around her waist to support her.

===

Lying down did a little good, but soon she found herself restless. No-one she knew was downstairs, except Dirk, who she didn’t really want to talk to, and she felt too embarrassed to go back to the Emporium and do any more work. Maybe a walk?

A walk would be nice.

She pulled her long coat on and made her way out of the inn, unsure of where to go. She’d explored Denerim a little on her day off, but this felt different. That had been during the day, for one thing. It was early evening, and it was starting to get cold. Dagna buttoned the coat up, and strode on. I could see if Bodahn and Sandal are about, she thought, idly remembering the pair from the other day. She found that she was wandering towards the Alienage again, not by any particular design, but simply that it was one of the few places she knew around Denerim. She shrugged to herself, and crossed the bridge that led to the main gates.

It was a little more peaceful at this time of night. The streets were quiet, and Dagna walked, undisturbed, through the main street. She whistled to herself, a sense of calm finally spreading across her body as she walked. This was a very good idea. Night was beginning to fall, and Dagna caught a beautiful view of the sun as it began to set over Fort Drakon. It boggled her to think of the Hero of Ferelden, facing down that monster, only weeks earlier. She walked on, aimlessly pointing in the direction of the hill. There might be a nice view at the end.

Dagna liked the night. It was familiar, not unlike being back in Orzammar. The sun wasn’t there to blind her, and it was peaceful. A nice place to be with her thoughts.

What was that noise?

Dagna stopped, looking around herself. Silence.

Didn’t someone say to avoid the alienage at night?

Maybe it was time to go home. Dagna turned back to face the way she came, only to come face-to-face with a human.

A very large human. With a knife.

Notes:

They're finally meeting! This chapter took me ages to write bc I hated how the ending turned out initially and had to rewrite it. Also I'm loving being able to flesh out Dagna a bit more on the basis of her being 1000% undiagnosed ADHD, I think it really works with her character.

Anyway Corin I hope you enjoy it since you're currently my only reader

Chapter 8: Sera checks in

Summary:

Sera mopes for a bit, then bumps into Dagna in less-than-ideal circumstances. TW for violence.

Sera did nothing for a day. Well, not nothing. She told Dirk- god, what a stupid name- what the mercenaries had said. She also nursed her hangover, and tried to tidy up a bit.

She did even less the next day. She just drank again, and thought about Pierre. There had been a point where she’d thought she was in love with him- yuck! Talk about bad taste. Sera liked girls, thank you very much. And even if Pierre looked a little like one at times, with his hair down and his face clean-shaven, that wasn’t nearly enough. He was tall, at least, but that was about all he had going for him- besides, she couldn’t stand the Orlesian accent. They’d kissed- once- not long after starting to work together. Then he looked into her eyes and told her she was ‘ze only one for heem’ and she laughed in his face. Whoops.

Dating wasn’t exactly easy for her. Either she met the ‘right’ type- daughters of Tara’s friends, humans, and usually way too proper for her- or she met the ‘wrong’ type. They were a lot more fun, but got her into a lot more trouble. There was a memorable incident of meeting a very tall Qunari woman in a bar, blacking out after spending some time together in a bathroom, and waking up on a ship about to leave for Par Vollen. A troubling memory anyway, but especially bad considering how young she’d been. Tara had pulled a lot of strings to get her out of that one, and Sera had been grateful. Until she’d figured out the whole ‘cookies’ conspiracy, the next week. Then they had a colossal argument, with Tara offering to send her to Par Vollen if she was so ungrateful for her support.

Sera winced. Maybe drinking this frequently was a bad idea. Certainly when she was alone. She just spent the time wallowing.

Right. What’s the order for the day?

Sera picked up a notebook from the bed. It was an old favourite, with plenty of doodles and crude jokes drafted in it. She found a quill and some ink, and made a list.

1 get more wine
2 get friends
2 fix hole in skirt
3 check in with bri
4 would bri want to hang out? is that weird?
5

Solid list. Sera pulled on some clothes- a favourite blouse with embroidered flowers, some tight shorts to tuck it into- and slipped through the window, notebook in her back pocket. It was already the evening. That’s embarrassing. She’d done nothing for two days.

Thread, wine, check in, thread, wine, check in. She recited it like a mantra. Thread was easy days. She stopped in at Wonders of Thedas. They had a nice mix of colours, so she could match it nicely.

She’d just raid the wine cellar at home. That was easy too.

Well, that just left checking in on Ceorlic and Bri. How?

She couldn’t exactly pop into the Gnawed Noble- not only might she risk being recognised by Ceorlic, Dirk might make fun of her again. He was kind of an asshole, sometimes.

That being said, that waitress might know how to get in touch with Bri.

Fuck’s sake.

===

Sera arrived as dusk was just beginning to fall. The Noble was fairly busy, which suited her fine. She heard a quick snatch of Ceorlic’s voice and winced a little. Even at a distance, even though she was safe, he was never going to be someone she felt comfortable in the same building as.

“Dirk,” she said, slightly sheepishly approaching the bar. “Where’s the waitress?”

“I can fetch her for you, if you want,” he said, “let’s say maybe somewhere around 100 gold per footstep?”

Sera gave him a fake laugh, imagining throwing a jar of pickled eggs at him.

“About that,” she started, but he cut her off.

“No need to worry,” he said, “I’ve got someone else to sort it. With no cash input from me. No ‘vanishing breeches’ needed.”

“Are you serious?” Sera was annoyed. “You’re doubling up on it? You’d better be willing to pay both of us.”

Dirk laughed. “Why would I do that? I’ll just pay whoever gets it sorted. What do you want the job for anyway? You not busy enough?”

“Look,” Sera said, trying to keep her voice level. “Don’t worry about it. Just let me talk to the waitress, yeah?”

Dirk rolled his eyes, poked his head into the cellar. “Adrienne!”

Adrienne emerged a moment later.

Sera brightened. “Hey,” she said. “Things doing better?”

Adrienne’s face darkened. “Depends who you ask.”

“What do you mean?” Sera was concerned. Had he hurt someone?

“He’s figured out that one of the servants snitched, been trying to figure out who it was. Some are getting better treatment, some- not so much. My sister seems to be okay, though.”

“Who’s been getting treated worse? Who’s he been looking at?”

Adrienne opened her mouth to speak, then paused. “It’s the elves. He’s been drilling the lot of them.” She suddenly looked up and her eyes widened. “He’s coming this way. You need to go.”

Sera needed no encouragement. She slipped into the corridor behind the bar, leading to the back door. She was about to slip out when a familiar face stepped out of the bathroom.

Shit. The guard. He’ll recognise my face. He’ll sell me out for sure.

His eyes caught hers. His mouth opened into a perfect ‘O’. Sera placed a single finger to her lips, her eyes pleading, before diving up the nearby stairs, clambering up like an animal on all fours. She slipped around the corner of the staircase into a suitable vantage point, and stayed still. The door opened.

“Bann Ceorlic, ser.” She heard the guard speak. “Is all well?”

“Yes, yes. All well, guard. Yourself?”

Sera held her breath. Do I need to run?

The guard hesitated.

“What is it, guard? What’s going on? Spit it out, fool! I haven’t got all day!”

“N-nothing, ser. I thought I saw something, but I think it was just a- a nug.” Sera breathed a sigh of relief.

“A nug? Are you soft in the head, guard?” Ceorlic’s voice was harsh. “Nugs are filthy underground rats. Why would one be here in an inn?”

“I’m not sure, ser.” The guard’s voice relaxed, and Sera could breathe again. “My apologies, ser.”

Sera slipped further up the stairs as the Bann continued to chastise the guard. Hang on, she thought, I’ve got an idea.

The room she’d stolen the parcel from was down this corridor. She stole a quick, furtive glance either way along the corridor, and picked the lock. The room was dark, and more habited than last time she’d been in.

She stole her way to the bin, hoping to spot the paper. It wasn’t there, but a quick search on the desk was more successful. She slipped the paper into her pocket, but not before checking to ensure it had an address on it. Fucking finally. Howe’s in for some shit now.

She glanced around the rest of the room, looking for clues to connect to Howe. A minute or two of intense searching yielded success in the form of an entire stack of correspondence. Sera glanced up to the window, noticing the darkness that stretched across the sky. Time to find Bri, she thought. I need to talk to Adrienne again.

===

She walked down the stairs slowly, keeping an ear out for familiar voices. She slipped in the back door to the cellar, where the staff took their breaks. Adrienne was sat on a barrel, talking to another waitress.

“Hey,” Sera whispered, poking her head round the corner.

Adrienne all but jumped out of her skin before turning around. “You’re still here? What are you doing?”

“I need to get in touch with someone.”

“Listen, you need to leave, he might spot you- I can’t risk my sister getting linked to you. It’s one thing him taking it out on the elves, but it’s-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sera asked. “Is it better than taking it out on a human?”

Adrienne’s mouth opened and closed several times.

“You look like a fish, by the way,” Sera added, feeling her blood grow hot. “He’s fucking all of you over, humans and elves. Don’t pretend it’s not the same thing. It’s always the same thing- big people hurting little people to keep themselves big, and you little. Doesn’t matter what shape your ears are, yeah?”

Adrienne finally managed to get words out. “Who do you want to find?”

“Elf called Bri. That’s all I know. She’s pretty young.”

“Alienage, one of the apartments near where the Tevinter lot tried to trade for them. Is there anything else? You should leave.” Adrienne looked anxious. There was a knock at the door, and Dirk’s voice called.

“Adrienne! We’re getting busy, you mind finishing your break?”

“Alright, I’m going, yeah? I’ll get out of your hair, Lady Adrienne. Want me to beat your serving girls on the way out? Or will you be thrashing the knife-ears yourself this evening?” Sera stepped out of the cellar without waiting for Adrienne’s indignant response, and closed the door as she began to reply.

She walked along the corridor to the back door, feeling deflated. Humans were stupid. The rich ones were evil, and even the poor ones were too proud to recognise they had more in common with elves than they did nobles. Nobles were the real outsiders, completely separate from the workers. And yet they stick the elves in the alienage! It made no sense.

“You!”

Shit.

“You there! Come here at once!”

Sera considered running. The door wasn’t far, but Ceorlic could have his guard with him. He could be armed. Shit! This was bad.

Sera slowly turned around.

“So, you’re back, eh?” Ceorlic said, peering down his nose at her.

Sera nodded, trying to keep an eye out for any escape route.

“What happened to that money, eh? You never did pay it off. You change your mind?” Ceorlic sneered.

Sera’s heart felt like it was going to burst with relief. He doesn’t recognise me! Well, he does, sort of, but not for that, just for… that. Shit. He’s mad at me for that too. The nerves returned.

“Well?” Ceorlic asked. “Or will I need to introduce you to one of my guards?”

There was only one thing for it. Sera’s boot shot up between Ceorlic’s legs, and he… didn’t move.

“I was expecting that, you know.” He laughed, tapping his crotch to make a hollow ‘thud’ sound. Fucking cock armour, Sera thought. Wanker.

She kicked him in the head instead. Ceorlic hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, and she sprinted out of the back door, not looking back. She didn’t stop running until she’d crossed the bridge into the alienage and ran an extra half-mile, finally catching her breath hidden amongst some barrels.

That might’ve been a bad idea.

On a more positive note, she wasn’t far from the address Adrienne had given her. Though it was anyone’s guess if it was legit. Sera paused for a few minutes to clear her head. She didn’t get as long as she would’ve liked, however.

A scream burst out across the alienage, shattering the silence. Sera sprang into action, pulling out her knife and scanning the nearby area, until she saw the origin of the scream. It was that silly bloody dwarf from earlier.

And Ceorlic.

Silently, she approached, weapons drawn and heart beating in her throat. When she was within five paces, she stood fully upright.

“What did I tell you,” she started, “about the alienage at night?”

Ceorlic started upright, but Sera wasted no time, sliding her knife into his throat like so much butter. A strangled cry emerged, along with a spray of blood, and he stumbled, falling to one side. The dwarf looked up at Sera in shock, her eyes wide at the sight of blood soaking into the dust of the alienage.

“I- I-” the dwarf couldn’t speak.

“Shh, hey, you’re okay, yeah?” Sera said, kneeling down to wipe her knife-blade off on Ceorlic’s trousers. “He had it coming, trust me. Not a nice guy. What was he trying to do?”

The dwarf shook her head, unable to speak. Sera felt for her. This might be the first dead human the poor thing had seen. And besides, she was probably scared witless from whatever their interaction had been.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” Sera said, reaching a hand out.

“What about the-?” The dwarf couldn’t bear to utter the word ‘body’.

“I’ll handle that, don’t you worry. Come on, shortcake, let’s get you home.”

The dwarf ignored Sera’s proffered hand, pushing herself upright and leaning against a nearby wall. Sera shrugged, and instead leant down to pull the warm corpse of Ceorlic out of the main road. A fresh gush of blood spilt from his neck and his eyes lolled open, briefly.

The dwarf fainted.

Sera sighed, and continued to pull the corpse. A window, high above the road, opened. A head peered out. “Hey!” It called. Sera looked up, squinting in the light. “Hey!”

“Bri?”

“I’m coming down,” the figure said, closing the door. A moment later, the same figure emerged from a downstairs door, wrapping a cloak around itself. It is Bri! Sera thought, with some unexpected joy.

Bri looked a little less shell-shocked than their last interaction. She also, Sera noticed, had a long cut down the side of her face and neck. It looked painful. Upon closer inspection, Sera also noticed several large bruises covering Bri’s arms. Her jaw clenched, and unthinkingly, she kicked Ceorlic’s corpse in the head. Bri rubbed her forearms, conscious of Sera having seen the bruises.

“They’re pretty bad, but they’ll heal,” she started. “I was hoping I’d see you, see if there was something more you could do.”

Sera indicated the corpse. “What do you think? Is he dead enough?”

Bri was hard to read. Part of her seemed relieved, but there was something about her body language that seemed on edge.

Right, probably because I’ve just killed her boss right outside her house, thought Sera.

“What should we do with him?” Bri asked, tentative. “Do we- I don’t know- hide him? Have you done this before?”

Sera nodded, determined to appear relaxed. Pierre had always been so cool and collected, even when he was hiding bodies. It put everyone at ease, made the process that much easier. Remain calm; refer to it as a body, not a person; clear up the blood; clean and hide the weapon. You’ve got this, Sera.

“I’ll sort the body, yeah? You keep an eye on that dwarf. I don’t know if she’s going to freak or not. Have you got a sheet or anything I can wrap him in?”

Bri nodded, stepped inside again, and returned with an old, torn bedsheet of some sort. She’s taking this a lot better than I expected. She sat down next to the dwarf, wrapped a gentle arm around her. The dwarf stirred, curled in.

“Where are you going to take him?” Bri asked, as Sera began to roll Ceorlic- the body- into the sheet.

“Ditch him in the river.” She said, nonchalantly. “Quickest and easiest way to sort it. He’ll be most of the way to the sea by dawn, and it’ll be days before any traces show up. He’ll never be linked back here. Unless someone decides to open their mouth.” She dropped the last sentence as a kind of warning to Bri and the dwarf alike, even though the latter was still mostly unconscious.

“What about the blood?” Bri asked.

Sera thought for a moment. “Not sure right now. We’ll come back to that bit. You’re dealing with this well, you know.”

Bri shrugged.

“No, really. Most people are like her-” she indicated the dwarf, “-and either fainting or freaking out. You’re just… helpful. That’s not normal, yeah? That’s putting me on edge. Have you done this before or something?”

“You see a lot of stuff in the alienage,” Bri said, “he’s hardly the first human to be offed round here. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because of these-” she pointed to her bruises, “but this just feels… right.”

“Yeah,” Sera said, “feels good to hit big people where it hurts, right?”

Bri nodded, looking at her with a kind of admiration. “Yeah, it does. It’s like- I don’t know,” she tailed off.

“Like you’re making things better?” Sera suggested. “That’s how I look at it. Making things better for little people.”

“Do you do this a lot?” Bri asked. “Like, is this your job?”

Sera laughed. She’d asked Pierre much the same thing when she’d first come across the Friends of Red Jenny. She had no idea how the entire thing worked. It made no sense to her.

“In a way,” she said. “It’s kind of a network, I guess. There’s a bunch of us, all over the place. We tell each other when some noble shite is acting out, try to help the little guys out. It’s not always killing,” she said, “there’s a bunch of other stuff too, yeah? Stealing, embarrassing them, that kind of stuff. Just any way to try and stop them treating us like dirt.”

“Is it dangerous?” Bri asked, tentatively.

“Well, yeah. It’s like… being a spy, I guess. Big people might want to hurt you, but we keep an eye out for each other, yeah? Someone tries to fuck with the Friends of Red Jenny, they fuck with all the Friends.”

“And that’s you? Red Jenny?”

“Nah, I’m just one of the friends. Red Jenny’s just a name, you know? Something to sign the note with, make sure everyone knows why that person got killed.”

“Like an idea!” Bri’s eyes had an almost far-away quality to them, a gentle smile on her face. “That’s amazing.”

Sera smiled a little. “It’s pretty cool, yeah. Be careful though. You’re pretty young, and it’s dangerous stuff. Learn to use a weapon before you start getting too caught up in things. You understand?”

Bri’s eyes kept that far-away look. “Yeah, I get that. Can I-” she hesitated, “can I have that knife?”

Sera was still holding the murder weapon. She instinctively held it closer to her chest. “Why?”

“I think that would be the right weapon for me, you know? I think I’d be really good with a knife.” Bri’s eyes were shining, and she held a hand out to take the blade.

Sera hesitated.

Is it a good idea to get a kid involved? Images of Tara’s parlour flashed through her mind. She pictured the nobles speaking down to her, Tara just… letting them. Letting them touch her. Fuck it, she thought, her jaw clenching at the memory of a hand lifting up the back of her skirt. They got the kids involved in the first place. The fucking creeps. Bri should be able to protect herself.

She handed the knife over. It quickly vanished into the folds of Bri’s cloak.

“You be careful with that, yeah? Keep it hidden. Use it when you’re alone. Never tell anyone you have it. It sharpens like any other kitchen knife, only on both sides. If you have to use it, clean the blood off right away and don’t say a word. You got that?” Sera was stern with her voice, trying to ensure the lessons stuck in Bri’s head.

“Yeah,” Bri said, “got it. Keep it hidden, don’t tell anyone. What are you going to do with the blood?”

“This blood?” Sera asked, indicating the large patch of blood in the dust. “Cover it up. We just kick as much dust over it as possible.”

The dwarf began to stir.

“But we deal with her first,” Sera said. “You take her wherever she needs to go. I’ll sort the body, yeah?”

Bri nodded, reaching down to the dwarf, offering an arm.

Sera began to drag the body to the river. It was a long walk, and Ceorlic- the body- was heavy.

===

Dragging the body, as she constantly reminded herself, was slow work. Bri and the dwarf vanished into the distance, and the street was mercifully still quiet. Only a couple of elves, and they were walking quickly, hoods pulled down on their cloaks; probably on their way to do something illegal, too. The bridge to the main marketplace, and the riverbank underneath, finally came into view, and Sera paused, momentarily, to breathe.

Then she heard someone approaching. Not like the elves from earlier. Heavy footsteps, from feet clad in steel boots, on the dusty stone road. The clanking sounds of steel plate, and weapons held on someone’s back. Shit, a fucking city guard.

Sera ran. She ran and hid under the bridge, peering out from between the slats, breath tight in her throat.

The guard continued on his rounds- it sounded like he was heading towards the bridge. The guards don’t give a shit about the alienage. The only thing they’d stop for is a-

“Hello? Are you awake? Are you hurt?”

-dead body. Shit.

“Bann Ceorlic?”

Sera held her breath, hoping the guard would leave, run to report the body, and let her ditch it in the water. She clasped her hands together to avoid fidgeting, pressed her body against the underside of the bridge. The guard was walking around, weapon drawn, hunting for the killer. Me.

She heard another set of footsteps, quiet, approaching from the market gate. Shit. It’s turning into a bloody mother’s meeting here.

“You there!” The guard’s voice called.

“M- me?” The voice came. Sera’s heart sank. It was Bri.

“Come here, elf. What do you know of this?”

“What is it? Is that a- a body?” Bri sounded convincing to Sera, at least. Play dumb, please! Just play dumb. Don’t give him a reason to suspect you.

“Where have you been? Where are you coming from?”

“I was just,” Bri hesitated, “walking a friend home to the tavern. I don’t know anything about this, I promise. Who- who is it?”

“Bann Ceorlic, a good man, a speaker in the Landsmeet. He must’ve been attacked, perhaps dragged here in this sheet.” The guard paused, as if to examine Bri. “What happened to your arms? They’re bruised?”

“Oh, these?” Bri asked. “Nothing, I just tripped at work, bumped into a doorhandle. Nothing to worry about!”

“Who do you work for? Open your cloak, let me see your arms properly.”

“I need to be going, ser, I’m sorry. It’s not safe for me to be here at night,” Bri said, before a startled gasp. “Let go of me!”

“Remove your cloak,” the guard said, firmly, “and I will let you go. Now.”

There was a slight rustle as Bri dropped the cloak to the ground. Her bruises were now clearly visible, Sera imagined, even in the darkness. Please let her have hidden that fucking knife, she prayed, paralysed with anxiety.

“Who do you work for? Tell me.” The guard’s voice was fierce. “Tell me!”

“I- I work for,” Bri began, before choking up a little. She’s blanking, shit! “- I work for Bann Ceorlic.” Sera could feel the realisation creeping across her face.

“And what,” came the guard’s reply, “is that in your belt? Is that a knife?”

Sera crammed a fist in her mouth to silence herself. Bri, no, no!

“Why is there blood on it?”

Shit.

Notes:

I thought I'd uploaded this one and no! I hadn't! So that's extremely funky. I really enjoyed writing this one, I hope you like it too <3

Another Dagna chapter coming soon- about 3k words written of it, and a decent idea of how to finish it off!

Chapter 9: Dagna meets Sten

Summary:

dagna deals with the aftermath and prepares for her upcoming conflict with someone unexpected

“You’ll be okay in the morning,” the girl had said, and Dagna, semi-lucid, afraid, with spatterings of blood down her clothes, had believed it. And it was true, a little bit. She didn’t feel like her legs were going to fall out from underneath her, her eyes weren’t swimming anymore, and she was no longer face-to-face with the corpse of one Bann Ceorlic, who had, until recently, been living, breathing, and threatening her with a knife. Then he was dead, blood gushing everywhere, and everything went a bit wobbly for a bit. And that elf was there again. She’d called her ‘shortcake’ again. Then someone else had walked her home.

What was going on? Dagna was beyond confused. The girl who’d walked her home was just that- a girl, barely more than a child. Why was she involved in murdering a member of the nobility? Was that whole thing planned?

Am I in danger?

That question was popping up more than she expected. Having things stolen from her room was one thing, and probably just part and parcel of staying in a city that was recovering from being mostly destroyed. And being threatened in the street by a man with a knife was another thing, scarier, certainly, but it happens. And seeing someone get murdered, well, that was less normal. But it was something that happened, especially, Dagna reminded herself again, in a city recently severely affected by a Blight. These were strange times, and dangerous to boot. As a dwarf, Dagna was more familiar with darkspawn than most surfacers, so it stood to reason that they were probably going to be worse affected by the monsters than her. Maybe that was it? Maybe it was just surfacers being… weak?

No, that didn’t seem fair. The surface wasn’t an easy place to live, no easier than Orzammar. The elves had it rough. It didn’t take a genius to notice the way they were treated was bad. Even the humans have it rough, most likely. Ceorlic certainly wasn’t having an easy time, having been stabbed in the neck. And there were plenty of humans in the Circle who were suffering.

It was probably a lot more complicated than it seemed. But either way, Dagna’s clothes were now covered in the blood of a dead man, and she didn’t have anyone to really tell about it. What was she going to say? ‘Hey Wade, hey Herren, this cute elf killed a guy in front of me and I could be in trouble but I don’t really know?’

Dagna sat up. Good start. Her back was more painful than she expected. She forced herself to stand, pull some clean clothes from her closet, and change. Several minutes later, she took herself downstairs, one step at a time, her back stiff the whole way. She slumped into a chair and ordered breakfast in a sullen silence, attempting to massage her sore back with a knot in the chair. It began to feel better, and Dagna’s mind wandered as she drank her tea.

Who the hell is that elf? Why did she kill Ceorlic? Why did she help me? Who was the girl?

The questions bubbled up so thick and fast she could barely cope. It felt like her whole brain was full of squirrels, hunting around for invisible acorns that she couldn’t find. She shook her head, yawned, took a bite of breakfast, and considered the day. She needed to work on the armour with Wade. She needed to find help for facing Dirk’s mercenaries, fight them, and, ideally before part two of that plan, learn to fight.

And making sure she wasn’t in trouble for last night. That would probably be a good idea, too. This was looking to be a long day.

Dagna wrapped a couple of slices of toast in a napkin, pocketed them, and made her way to the Emporium. Things seemed to be back to normal; Wade working in the forge, Herren dealing with some paperwork of some sort, and a much calmer air between the two. That was a comfort. After the events of last night, Dagna was desperate for some normality. Ceorlic would probably like some normality right now, too. But he’s dead. Wade was too preoccupied to look up when she entered, but Herren rose from his desk with a smile.

“Dagna, darling, I have good news!” Herren beamed as he extended a hand to her. “I’ve a solution for your problem.”

Dagna eyed him suspiciously. “Is the solution Wade’s niece?”

“It can be,” Herren smiled, “but it’s actually a man with a big sword. For your fight with Gorim, remember?”

“It’s not Gorim!” Dagna insisted. “But thank you. Who is he?”

“A customer who came in yesterday after you left, Wade’s worked on things for him before. We trust him. He’s coming back later today for you to talk to him if you’re interested.”

Dagna nodded. “That would be good. How’s the armour coming along?”

“It’s dreadful! Just dreadful! I loathe it, loathe and despise it!” Wade’s voice floated in from the forge. “It’ll be done by the end of the weekend.”

“That soon?” Dagna was surprised.

“Once you start working dragonscales, you have to keep at it until it’s done. Otherwise they sort of… set? They don’t like their shape changing too much. Oh, scale is a cruel, but effervescent mistress!”

“Effervescent?” Dagna mouthed at Herren.

“Oh, Wade just gets poetical when he’s working on something interesting. Once I heard him call a helmet a… what was it? A ‘florid, sinful little leech of desire’, or something like that.” Herren gazed lovingly as Wade threw a torrent of expletives at a stubborn scale-edge, scratching his bald head with a hammer.

“So… we stand a chance of being done in time?” Dagna asked.

“Sssh! Don’t jinx it! Or it’ll never be finished!”

Dagna fell silent, and the sounds of the forge continued as Wade worked the scale. The scale needed ferocious heat to mould, and sweat was pouring from Wade’s brow. He sipped from a cup as he worked the bellows, the fire billowing up with every gust of air they forced in. He took the scale from the forge and raised his sledgehammer, hitting the scale with a steady pulse. It was hypnotic. Dagna’s head tilted gently to one side as she watched the regular rise and fall of Wade’s arm, the air rippling from the heat of the forge.

Suddenly, Wade’s face changed. A cruel sneer appeared- or had it always been there?- and his sledgehammer hovered in the air, pointing towards Dagna. She looked back to his face, which had been replaced with that of Ceorlic, looming down over her. She covered her eyes- it’s not real it’s not- but the image of Ceorlic over her was burned into her eyelids. The knife appeared, emerging from his voicebox like a monster was pushing its way through his throat. Blood spattered Dagna’s clothes and face. Ceorlic fell to the ground, blood soaking the sand. And that elf, whoever she was, stood above, with that detached smile, staring down at Dagna with disappointed eyes.

Dagna felt herself curling up on the chair- again, so embarrassing- and Herren looking down at her- Maker’s balls, we’re going to have to talk about this, aren’t we- but the elf’s intense eyes bored down into hers, and she moved her hands to cover her eyes, forcing down on them to bring that familiar speckled darkness to blur out the elf’s face. Finally, she managed to force her eyes open.

Herren’s worried face floated to one side of her. He hadn’t come round this time, at least, simply leaning over the desk to extend a hand to her. She hesitated, and reached hers out to hold his. It was big and warm. Dagna’s breathing returned to normal. She hadn’t even noticed the constriction on her throat until it had left. The hot, smoky air filled her lungs, and she felt entirely more calm, forcing herself to think back to Orzammar, where people didn’t murder human nobles right in front of you.

There was a moment’s silence, as Wade placed the scale back into the forge. Dagna managed to look up into Herren’s eyes.

“What’s going on, Dagna?” He asked, voice gentle.

“I’m fine,” she lied, trying to steady her breathing.

“You’re not,” he replied, simply.

“I-” she started, before pausing. “No, I’m not.”

“What’s going on?”

Dagna took a deep breath. “I think I’m in danger?”

Herren’s face turned grave. “Let’s talk upstairs.”

-

Dagna told him everything. Except that the elf’s hair looked so soft she had to restrain herself from stroking it. And that she’d fainted. Dagna didn’t want him thinking she was some kind of wuss.

Herren listened, mostly in silence, as she explained everything. He nodded, frowning on occasion, and asking some smaller, pointed questions.

“Do you think she’s a risk to you?” He asked, once Dagna had finished.

Dagna thought, briefly. “Maybe? I don’t think Ceor- yesterday- was related to whoever stole my stuff. It’s just that everything’s happening all the time, you know? It’s just… weird.”

“Do you think it’s safe for you to go after these bandits on Pilgrim’s Path?”

Dagna shrugged. “At least with them I know it’ll be dangerous, you know?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. What can I do? It’s only a couple of days until the commission's sorted- it’s not like something’s going to happen between then and now. And- I don’t know- it seems like she’s looking out for me, if that makes sense? Just by… well, killing people, I guess.”

Herren was unconvinced. There was a knock at the door.

“Herren, there’s someone here to see you!” Wade called up.

“That’ll be your man with a big sword,” Herren said. “Are you up for meeting him?”

Dagna nodded.

“Send him up!” Herren called.

A moment later, the door opened. A large man with a sword stood in the doorway.

Dagna corrected herself mentally. A large Qunari man with white hair and a serious face stood in the doorway, an enormous, two-handed sword strapped to his back. Dagna could tell from here that Wade had tempered the sword- it had his distinctive finish. He had no horns, which Dagna found curious. She’d only met one other Qunari before- at the mage’s tower, once- but that one had horns.

He stood in the doorway, unsmiling, and silent.

“Hello Sten,” Herren said, warmly.

He gave a barely perceptible nod in return.

“This is Dagna,” Herren continued, “she’s looking for some back-up dealing with some bandits. Think you can help?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful!” Herren said, catching Dagna’s eye and attempting to enthuse her. Dagna gave him a weak smile. “Dagna’s not too experienced with fighting, mind you. Are you able to help her with some practice? Perhaps today?”

“Why is she fighting if she cannot?”

Dagna felt an obligation to explain her circumstances. “I promised I’d do someone a favour, and they’re… taking advantage of it a little, I guess.”

“That was foolish.”

Dagna laughed a little, uncomfortably. Sten put her on edge. But Herren seemed to trust him, which was a comfort.

“I- yes, it was. But what about you? How do I know you’ll be able to back me up?”

“I am capable.”

“Yes, but- do you have any…” Dagna tailed off, realising the word she wanted was ‘references’. That seemed an embarrassing thing to ask.

“I was not under the impression that you required a list of my employment history.”

Herren leant over. “He’s good, trust me. He fought with the Hero of Ferelden.”

Dagna’s jaw dropped. “I’m- I’m sorry, Sten. I didn’t mean to be rude, I just haven’t really done-”

“You are inexperienced. Yes. I can provide training.”

“Excellent!” Herren beamed, “Would the two of you like to get started?”

“Yes.” Sten spoke again. Dagna, caught off guard, nodded nervously.

Sten removed his sword from his back. “Where to?”

“Outside, please!” Herren said. “And don’t swing that around in here, if you don’t mind. That chair is an antique- if it gets scuffed I’ll bludgeon you with it.”

“Understood.” Sten said, turning to walk downstairs. Dagna followed, nervous. She entered the forge to find Wade giving two long daggers to Sten. Sten turned to her and held them out in one enormous hand. She took them gingerly.

Outside, she adjusted her grip on them. The sun was bright and hot, reflecting on the bright steel blades and making her squint. The blades were well-balanced in her hands, with textured handles that encouraged her to hold them correctly. She was beginning to examine the layers in the steel when a sword embedded itself in the barrel next to her. She let out a shriek of fright, dropping the daggers.

“What are you doing?” She asked, shocked.

“We are fighting.” Sten said, mildly. He raised his sword again and Dagna barely managed to dive out of the way in time. The sword cut through the air with a hiss as she landed, face-down, in the dry dust. She stumbled to her feet to find Sten’s blade at her throat.

“You are dead.” He said. “Shall we continue?”

Dagna gently moved the tip of the blade away from her, and brushed the dust from her clothes. “Can I get my knives first? You’re not exactly giving me a chance here?”

“Why should I?” Sten asked, a touch of curiosity in his voice. “This is no duel. This is a fight.”

Dagna shrugged. “I guess. Shall we-”

Sten was already swinging his sword. Dagna ducked, remaining on her feet this time, and attempted to lunge for his leg with a blade. He sidestepped with surprising agility, kicking her to the floor with ease. Again, she found herself face-down in the dust, rolling over to find a sword at her throat.

“Dead. Again?” He began to raise his sword, preparing for another round.

Dagna didn’t make the same mistake. She leapt up, clinging onto Sten’s sword arm like a branch. The sudden weight caught him off-balance, but he managed to stay upright. He shook his arm inelegantly, attempting to dislodge the dwarf wrapped around it like a vine, before attempting to pull her off with his free arm. Dagna acted before he had a chance, however, sinking her teeth into his wrist like a mabari on a darkspawn’s throat. The sudden shock of pain caused him to drop his sword, and Dagna jumped from his arm, landing in front of him. She reached for her dagger, only to find herself unarmed. She reached for Sten’s sword as he did the same. Her hands gripped the hilt first, and she attempted to swing it towards him, but to no avail. Sten had one hefty foot on the blade, restraining it. She tugged again with no success, before feeling a tug herself. Sten had a hand on the scruff of her shirt, and lifted her the way she might lift a nug, until she was hanging in the air, slowly being choked by her suddenly tight collar. Sten picked up his sword, held it to her throat, and slowly lowered her.

“Better. Still dead.” He said. Dagna coughed heavily, her throat sore. “Do you know what you did wrong?”

“I didn’t have a dagger?”

“You lost.”

Dagna let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, how am I supposed to win?”

“Don’t give your opponent a chance.”

Dagna clenched her teeth. “I wasn’t trying to give you a chance, you know. I was trying to-”

“I know what you were trying to do.”

“Next time I’ll kick the sword away.”

“No fight happens twice.”

Dagna felt a sudden rush of rage. Insufferable prick, she thought, he’s not a fighter, he’s just big.

A thought popped into her head. She ducked down, stepped between his legs. Big is slow, she thought. He was prepared, though, launching a foot out to try and kick her to the floor. She dodged, and threw a fist at the back of his knee. Suddenly with no legs to support his weight, Sten fell clumsily to the floor, sword crashing to his side. Dagna lept on his back, throwing her hands forward to grab his neck.

Another mistake. Sten rolled over, his body weight suddenly crushing Dagna to the floor. He lifted himself up, before forcing himself down to wind her. He reached a muscular arm up to pull her from his neck, but this time, Dagna was prepared. Sten’s sword lay within reach. She extended a hand, grabbed the hilt, and pulled it over to her. Sten’s arm reached ever closer, but Dagna was in luck, sliding the great sword across his body, the cold steel leaving a thin line along his neck.

“Dead.” She whispered in his ear, panting.

Sten stopped moving, returning his arm to his side. She released the sword from his throat and he slowly sat upright, before turning to her. A sudden fear blew through her- what if he’s angry?- but the corners of his mouth turned upwards. He extended a hand, helping her up.

“Good.” He said. “Again.”

Dagna breathed slowly. “No, I need to catch my breath.”

“Will your enemies let you breathe?” He asked. “No. Again.”

Dagna held up a hand, walking over to collect her knives. She heard Sten approaching, heavy footsteps in the dust.

“Again.” He repeated, terse and stern.

She didn’t move.

“Again.”

Nothing.

“Very well.”

Dagna sensed him moving, and ducked. The sword whistled past, inches above where her head was. He’s not going to actually hurt me. She could work with that. She scrambled towards his legs, brandishing her knives. He began to step backwards, but Dagna had an idea. She held a knife to each thigh, pushing them hard enough that a bead of blood emerged from the tip of each knife.

“Yield.” She said.

Sten paused, frowning, repositioning his sword towards her. “Why? That’s a flesh wound.”

“But this one isn’t,” Dagna said with a wicked smile, moving one dagger vertical and upwards, “this is a little more than that, I think.”

Sten stopped moving. “Very well.”

His sword fell to the ground. Dagna released her prisoner, stepped out from under his legs, and stood up.

“We’re done for today,” she said, “seriously. I can’t take a beating like that any longer.”

“As you wish.” Sten said. “When do we fight?”

Dagna let out an awkward laugh. “I don’t know, honestly.”

“Do not waste time. Time is a chance for them.”

Dagna thought for a moment. “But I’m not ready.”

“Who is?”

“I’ll let you know when we can go. It’ll probably need to be in a couple of days, I’ll need to practise with the knives.”

“Very well. Herren knows where to find me.”

Sten left, fixing his sword to his back, and was soon out of sight. Dagna stood for a moment, her mind tense. I’m not going to win this fight. I didn’t beat Sten, not really. I just got lucky. By the Stone, I’m in trouble.

A long moment passed. She went back inside.

-

The bar of the Gnawed Noble was full of tense whispers that evening. News of Ceorlic’s murder had spread; apparently a young girl had been found near the scene of the crime and taken to one of the few dungeons that hadn’t been destroyed in the darkspawn invasion: Fort Drakon.

“Nasty business, that,” Dagna overheard someone saying. “Never can trust a knife-ear.”

“Aye,” another muttered, “one of his own servants, too. Poor Ceorlic, she’d tried to drag him to the river. Throw her in a cell and keep her there, that’s what I say.”

At the mention of his name, a brief flash of his startled face appeared in Dagna’s mind, the dagger protruding from his throat. She blinked once, hard, and it was replaced with the mental image of the elf, her uneven fringe falling back into place as she pulled the knife from Ceorlic’s throat. Am I in danger? It was certainly dangerous to be wrapped up in a murder, not least the murder of a noble.

Just a few more days, she thought. Get the armour finished, and get out of town. Back to the Circle. Safety in the towering walls, the extensive library, the endless conversations with the inhabitants about magic and its applications. I can do a few more days, can’t I?

Except it wasn’t just the armour. It was this fucking business with the bandits, the missing supplies, everything. Maybe I’m just not cut out for city life.

She had a sudden urge to reread her letters. Dagna kept every letter she’d been sent, in a tightly-packed wooden box that she was currently storing under the bed. There were some old favourites in there- some old letters from family, the first correspondence she’d had with First Enchanter Irving, some letters from friends back in Orzammar, even a letter from a Tevinter magister by the name of Maevaris Tilani. She was well-connected to House Tethras- whilst expelled from Orzammar, they still had some connections under the surface. She’d written a particularly touching letter to Dagna, one she’d reread often. Maybe it was time to revisit it once again. It seemed a good time for a familiar comfort.

Back in her room, Dagna lit a lamp and pulled the covers up, sliding the box out.

It felt lighter than normal.

She opened the lid, and her whole world fell apart.

“Where are they?”

Dagna couldn’t breathe.

“Where are my letters? What- I-”

She collapsed, heavily, to the floor. This was more than a missing parcel. More than anything. Why would anyone steal her letters?

Who would even know they were there? She barely knew anyone. She wracked her brain, thinking of anyone who she could have upset. Her family? They were fairly apathetic to her at this point. Leaving for the Circle had alienated her, certainly, but at least she didn’t stay and embarrass them further. She was fairly sure they’d been telling people she was joining the Legion of the Dead.

Someone at the Circle? There were a few people she’d had disagreements with, yes, but no-one who’d go so far as to follow her all the way to Denerim, hide out for the best part of a week, break into her room- all to just steal her letters. Besides, the mages weren’t allowed to leave and the templars only had so much leave available.

Someone in Denerim? Well, she didn’t know many people here. And of them, other than Ceorlic, no-one really had any reason to dislike her… right? But maybe that was to do with it- what if someone had seen her there that night? Could the blonde elf have done it? That made no sense. Why would she kill Ceorlic- putting herself in danger- to turn around and steal from her? What about that girl? The one who walked me home? She could have stolen them!

But why? None of it made any sense. Why would she help her home after the- incident- just to steal her letters? And was it her who stole the parcel as well?

Dagna’s vision was starting to swirl. Visions of Ceorlic’s gaping throat, of the girl reaching for the bedcovers- tucking her in, she thought at the time, but perhaps not- and the Howe family crest, adorning every envelope Howe had sent her, raced through her mind. And above all of those, stronger and more consistent than the other images, was the elf with the unkempt blonde hair, her face downturned with contempt.

A sudden, powerful wave of fear overcame her. She wrapped the scratchy woollen blanket about her body, and stole over to the door. She pulled the deadbolt across, and pushed the heaviest piece of furniture she could move- the desk- across to barricade the door. She collected the lantern from its hook, placing it nearby, and sat on the bed, wrapped in the blanket, with one of Wade’s daggers clutched tightly in her hands.

She stayed like that for a long time.

-

The next morning, Dagna awoke to a knock at the door. She opened her eyes to find the lantern burnt out, her dagger on the floor, and a large drool patch on her pillow. She surveyed the room, less intimidating now it was bathed in morning sunlight, rather than the sinister, flickering shadows cast across the room the previous night. The sight of her makeshift barricade made her cringe internally, and she struggled to replace it to actually use her door.

“Hello?” She called to the door.

“Dagna, are you alright?” Came Herren’s voice, a tinge of worry to it. “It’s almost noon, we were starting to get worried.”

“I’m- I’m all good,” she said, trying to sound convincing. “Just needed to rest after training with Sten.”

“Alright,” Herren responded, not entirely convinced, “I just thought you ought to check on the armour. Wade’s pretty happy with it, which is more concerning than anything.”

-

Wade had clearly stayed up all night. The cuirass was complete and polished to a perfect sheen, the reflection subtly emphasising the intricacy of the dragonscale pattern. Almost complete was the rest of the set- helmet, gloves, and boots. The smaller parts made for a more complicated finish, something Dagna knew well from her own time in smithing. Perhaps a day or two’s work was left, but Wade was clearly lagging. His eyes were bloodshot, his head nodding down as he rested briefly.

“Wade, dear,” Herren said, prodding his shoulder, “Dagna’s here.”

Wade lifted his head up, sleepily. “Dagna, darling, I hate it. If I weren’t so tired, I’d smash it up and start again. So it’s probably about ready for enchanting.”

That was what Dagna was worried about. Sure, she knew what to do, she’d done a decent amount of enchanting, but it was intimidating placing enchantments on a piece as valuable and beautiful as this.

Surely Howe must’ve contacted the wrong person, she thought, is there another Dagna at the Circle? There must be, and that’s who he wanted, not me.

She’d spent a long time considering the runes she wanted to apply to the armour. Standard elements- fire resistance, rust protection- these were well and good, but she’d recently read about a Glyph of Comfort- ideal for long-term use, saving the user from blisters and aches. She’d copied the instructions from a book too rare to remove from the library, and planned to craft one. She’d need some better lyrium for it, most likely.

Better lyrium like what Howe sent, she thought, gloomily. If it weren’t for Wade, this whole project would’ve been doomed. She’d spent far too much of her time running around Denerim like a headless nug.

“I’ll get started on some of the enchantments,” she said, “there’s a few I can get done easily.”

-

Enchanting could be slow work, but Dagna loved it. For a few short hours, she was able to put everything out of her mind and direct every bit of focus towards the task at hand. The runes shimmered as she fixed them to the armour, their luminescence slowly sinking into the dragonscale pattern, flickering with newfound strength. The contrast always reminded Dagna of the time she’d seen someone varnishing the surface of a newly made table; the grain was lifted up from obscurity into a vivid, eye-catching contrast that left her stunned. Lyrium’s impact was less obvious visually, merely providing a subtle change in colouring, but to her keen eyes, that faint shimmer stood out like a beacon.

After applying fire-resistance, a Featherweight enchantment, some improved strength, and an old rogue favourite, nicknamed ‘silent steps’, Dagna was happy with her progress. Like Wade, her perfectionism warped her perspective- a part of her wanted to smash it with hammers- but considering the tight turnaround, she was forced to admit there was no way to improve it.

Eventually calmer, Dagna was able to think things through with a little more pragmatism. Maybe I should take Sten to deal with those bandits tomorrow. He’s tough. Maybe we can just scare them into leaving instead of having to kill them.

Sounds like a plan.

Notes:

I fucking forgot this chapter was just kicking it on my docs... i hope you enjoy! I've got the next sera chapter like 90% done but i'm just not super happy with it? idk

i've not really written anything on it in a while, been busy- we got burgled (but we're all good) and i'm planning on coming out as trans to my family at christmas so i've been pretty distracted. also i used to write this at work when it was quiet but now i'm watching a shit ton of youtube instead and it's kind of stopped me having the same drive to write as much

new year's resolution- i want to write this more.