Chapter Text
A/N: This is a verrrryyyy long story that ended up becoming much longer than initially anticipated. While Josephine and Trevelyan feature heavily and exclusively for 20 chapters or so, their relationship does come to a close. That was not the original intention of this story, but it is how the story has played out. So save your time if that is not your cup of tea! However, there is plenty of lady love to be had and more on the way, regardless of Josephine and Trevelyan's relationship. Happy (or unhappy, or not at all) reading! Moved over from ff.net
*
Haven is chilly. Fat snowflakes fall in spirals from the skies but all Evelyn sees is the giant rift, bright and splitting, making her hand ache. She's so focused on it that she nearly slams into Josephine.
"Ambassador Montilyet. I didn't think you ever left the chantry walls." Evelyn greets her only because their proximity would make it rude not to.
The Ambassador wears a tattered brown cloak that's much too shabby to be out of her personal collection. Evelyn finds a rip along the hood. The ground is hard but not muddy. She can't imagine the frilly ambassador with muddy shoes. They share nothing in common. Lady Josephine Montilyet is outgoing and oozes grace. Evelyn has been called reclusive and blunt.
Some would say Evelyn is drab in comparison. Ambassador Montilyet's deep olive skin is a contrast to Evelyn's, ivory and freckled, her hair is such a pale blonde it's cream. Her silver eyes have always been sensitive to light. As long as she's lived, others have not become accustomed to her peculiar looks for she always finds people staring. Although now, perhaps, for a different reason.
"I am bound by duty. It's difficult to get away, as you might imagine." Josephine looks up to the sky. "Although… I must admit I am not yet accustomed to this cold weather. A little detail Leliana neglected to mention. Does it ever stop?"
Josephine watches her, awaiting response. They've barely spoken since Evelyn joined the Inquisition. Evelyn doesn't know what to say to the woman, who's only ever been exceedingly polite. Not that that means anything in noble circles. For all she knows, Ambassador Montilyet detests her, though it's difficult to imagine the ambassador disliking anyone. Evelyn is no fan of politics and their diplomats. She hates the petty, underhanded games they play.
She has a great deal more in common with Seeker Pentaghast. She flushes warm thinking of the woman. She's late for their sparring date. "I don't think the snow ever stops in this shit hole." Josephine smiles carefully. She probably shouldn't have said that. She is likely not what they would have chosen for the Herald of Andraste. She fumbles for something to say. "You're from Antiva." She thinks. "It's—hot there."
"Oh, yes. Some days you can fry an egg on the cobblestone, but despite the heat and the fainting spells, Antiva is quite beautiful. We have the loveliest beaches. Have you ever been, Lady Trevelyan?"
Lady Trevelyan. She's seldom called that. Most don't regard women who wield greatswords as ladies. Her father surely doesn't. No doubt, he would have preferred a daughter like the ambassador. Ambassador Montilyet is cultured and charming. Try as her father did, she had no interest in going to Antiva or Orlais, and involving herself in their games. She was beckoned by Rivain and Nevarra, by their rebellion of how things are meant to be. Nor did her father see fit to take her on many family trips after a time. "Beaches and I don't get along." It's an excuse. What's there to like Antiva? There is the wine. That might be reason enough to visit. "The water reflects the sun. I burn easily."
"How unfortunate."
They make excuses and move on their way, Evelyn feeling lighter already. She's glad that's over with.
*
Haven is a curious place filled with hope, despair and the clanging of swords. Refugees trickle in by the day. The Inquisition is in its infancy and yet her list of work is endless. Already there are many in opposition of this Inquisition and the Herald. The tragedy at the Conclave has shaken everyone but the Maker (perhaps) blessed them with a pious, Andrastian noble: Evelyn Trevelyan. Or… a noble from a family that is known to be pious and Andrastian. What would have happened if the Herald was a Dalish, dwarf or qunari? She shudders to think of how much more rumor she'd have to combat, especially if they'd been a mage.
Josephine is still unsure of what to make of the Herald. She is a curious woman who keeps to herself and says little. She is tall, with eyes that glisten like the ocean on the most blinding of days. Her lips are the faintest shade of pink, a rose in its infancy. Her smiles are reserved. Her nature is most peculiar, especially given the violence with which she swings that greatsword of hers.
She must be very strong. Josephine cannot think of any Antivan woman who so proudly proclaims herself a warrior. Ah yes, Antivan women are allowed their duels, but they are duels of power, much like the Game. They rule behind the scenes, never so brazenly and rarely without a mercantile business of their own. No matter how soft the Herald's features, she would never be considered feminine in Antiva. No matter her noble blood, she would be questioned.
Presently, she spars with Cassandra. The Seeker has relaxed considerably since getting to know the Herald. She is not a mage, she is Andrastian and has proven eager to aid their cause. Their swords clash before Cassandra pushes Evelyn back. Cassandra lifts the shield, barely blocking the Herald's brutal blow. They continue their back and forth. Josephine can't recall the last time she saw either of them smile so much.
The Herald pushes the hair back from her face, talking somewhat animatedly to Cassandra before spotting Josephine in the distance. She lifts a reluctant hand, much like a petulant child might wave to a disliked relative at the insistence of a parent. Evelyn's smile is faint, brief, before returning to her sparring. Josephine doesn't notice Leliana step beside her. Leliana has transformed herself into shadows in the time since they last truly saw one another.
"Checking on our Herald?" Leliana asks.
"You are the one who suggested I take in this brisk air." It's too brisk. She shivers.
"What do you make of her?" Leliana isn't one to be misdirected.
"Ah, she seems pleasant enough." Even if she gets the distinct feeling that Lady Trevelyan does not care for her. "I cannot imagine her at court." Gaining the loyalty and support of the nobles, access to their coin will be imperative if the Inquisition is to succeed.
"Not all nobles have your grace and charm, Josie. Some have none at all."
She wonders if Leliana counts Evelyn amongst them. "I'm certain you have an opinion."
"She can seal the rifts in the sky and the people of Thedas are already calling her the Herald of Andraste. That is all we need. As long as they believe in her, it doesn't matter what she is. The Inquisition will succeed."
"You make her sound like a means to an end."
"She is. And a capable warrior. It will do." Leliana keeps her arms gingerly crossed, her face has an aloofness that is unrecognizable to Josephine. "Are you worried?"
Demons are spilling out of the sky, Thedas is at war and the Chantry has declared them the enemy. Of course she's worried. "There is a lot of work to be done."
Leliana smiles. It changes her entirely and Josephine recognizes the woman she met years ago. How she looked up to her then! She wanted so much to be like her. Now she can't imagine living that kind of life. "You've always fretted. Do not worry. It is nothing you're not up to. When we were looking for an ambassador for this inquisition, there was no other choice. You're the best and you have a talent for spinning hay into gold."
Josephine laughs softly. "Then I suggest you start gathering hay. We are going to need a lot of gold."
*
Evelyn dumps a pile of demon guts onto Minaeve's research table, checking the rucksack to make sure she's gotten everything before fishing out a few bony fingers with green skin stretched over them. They rattle as they land on the table. Hearing a small sound she turns to see Ambassador Montilyet dipping her quill in ink, her nose wrinkling delicately. "I've brought a few things for Minaeve's research."
"Very good. I'm sure she will be able to…" she blinks, clearing her throat.
Evelyn looks from the guts to Josephine, back to the bony fingers and again to the ambassador. "Oh. Is this a problem?" Minaeve isn't here. She grasps the squirmy, slippery guts and stuffs them back into the rucksack, leaving a trail of brown liquid on the table.
"No problem at all," though she can hardly speak the words in her effort to hold her breath. "Oh, my. It is certainly… pungent, isn't it?"
Evelyn looks at Josephine. Her eyes are watering. Evelyn smiles, cinching the bag tightly. "I suppose I've gotten used to it." She lifts an arm, sniffing but doesn't detect anything out of the ordinary. Does she smell like demon guts? What if she smells like demon guts? This cannot possibly be something she's accustomed to. "I apologize. I could leave them here…" She wonders if Josephine's Wicked Grace face is always so poor. The suggestion leaves the ambassador looking horrified. "Or not… I suggest the table be moved elsewhere. You greet all sorts of dignitaries here."
Josephine gets to her feet. "No, that is not necessary. We are so cramped for room, everyone must share. If the worst the nobles have to endure is a little smell then they are fortunate. You are the one doing all the hard work. Please forgive me if I have seemed ungrateful."
"Not ungrateful. Just… squeamish." She lifts the bag. "Please tell Minaeve I'll bring this by later. If it's more convenient I'll come when you're not around. I'd hate to offend your delicate nose." The ambassador's nose, however, is lovely as far as noses go, long and refined. Her profile would do well as a bust.
"It will take a lot more than a satchel of demon guts to offend me or my nose. I grew up in Antiva and Orlais." Evelyn supposes that means something. Josephine bows her head momentarily. "And I will not hear of you inconveniencing yourself for my sake." She confidently takes the 'research', wincing as her fingers touch the sticky bag. "Oh. That is warm and…" Josephine pales, words lodging in her throat, "quite disgusting."
Evelyn laughs. That was almost endearing. "I'll take that. I couldn't possibly have you sully your noble hands." She takes the bag back, their fingers brushing. She may be used to hacking things in battle but Josephine is more delicate. "I'll return when Minaeve is here." She leaves promptly returning minutes later with a bucket and a washcloth. She imagines Josephine is likely losing her mind at having touched such filth. "The water is warm," she sets it down in front of Josephine, "if you want to wash up. I don't suppose you'll require assistance?"
Josephine moves to the water graciously. "I am perfectly capable. But thank you, Lady Trevelyan," she meets her eyes, her smile sincere and unassuming, "you are most kind."
*
The lantern sways in the darkness, casting shifting shadows in the chantry cellar. The door was open, a peculiar thing in itself as there is nothing, insofar as she knows, that is stored beneath.
Josephine carries the candle in the saucer, moving cautiously into the black. "Hello? Is anyone there?"
She feels needlessly nervous and a trill of excitement. Haven has been so dull, despite the upheaval the world is currently in. Cold, uncomfortable, with none of her luxuries at hand. She did not even think of them as luxuries, they were simply how one lived. She misses long, bubble baths in four clawed bath tubs, a glass of wine or champagne on hand as she read one of Varric's novels.
She was busy in Antiva and Orlais to be sure, but when she had a moment to breathe she was able to enjoy herself. Haven is forcing her into work, lest she become overwhelmed by the frigid temperatures and lack of civilization.
There's a metal clanging and Josephine's heart stops. Perhaps she should turn back. There's swearing and a larger shadow before Josephine creeps closer. Oh, for the love of… "Lady Trevelyan?"
Evelyn turns, the the hilt of her sword smacking the lantern above her and knocking it out entirely. Glass spills, clinking softly as it hits the ground. Josephine rushes forward. "My goodness, are you all right?" In the candlelight, Evelyn's face is warm, sunkissed. Evelyn carefully runs her fingers through her hair. "I apologize, it was not my intention to startle you." Why is she down here?
"I think there's glass in my hair."
Wonderful. Now she's indirectly caused harm to the Herald of Andraste. She should attend to her but her curiosity bubbles to the surface. "I did not expect you to be down here. I thought… perhaps a burglar."
"Nicking all the chantry sister's belongings? I seem to be better at hitting things than breaking and entering."
"You have the breaking part down at least."
"Were you planning on smiting me with that candle?" She touches the pool of wax that's collected, hissing softly. Why would she do such a thing? Why would she not expect it to burn?
"You scared me half to death. Is this what you do in the middle of the night?"
"It's hard to sleep."
Ah, yes. Admittedly, she has not given much thought to the burden the Herald must withstand day to day. The fate of the world seems to ride on her shoulders and yet, she has not heard her complain. "Is there any way I might be of assistance?" Perhaps she needs to talk. That, Josephine can do.
"I don't know. It's hard to talk about." Josephine nods with understanding. "Everything's falling apart but that bloody mattress—" Mattress? "It's just… so lumpy and hard and thin. Can the Herald say 'bloody'?" She winces. "Don't tell Cassandra."
"You want a better mattress?" Get in line. Ah, how she spends sleepless nights dreaming of her old downy mattress and pillows.
"Of course. How's yours?"
"Oh. Ah. Terrible, I'm afraid. I wake up aching." They walk towards the exit, Josephine smiling. "And here I have been lamenting the loss of mine. It was imported from Orlais. You know, perhaps, of the attention they pay to comfort. Still, if the Herald is passing sleepless nights, there is no hope for its poor ambassador."
"A poor Montilyet? I don't believe anyone's ever uttered those words before." She glances back when Josephine stops. "Have I said the wrong thing again?"
Josephine's face heats in the darkness. Is it possible Lady Trevelyan and the rest of the world knows about the financial state of her family? No. That's unlikely. She's taken great care , she's brokered the appropriate deals to make sure they maintain their image. "No, nothing. It's late and I am tired."
"You're sure?"
"Positive." It's a lie but a kind one. It is not the Herald's fault for believing something she has fought hard for to be believed. Her sensitivity is her own issue.
"Then let's daydream of finding ourselves a promising bed. Something we can bear to spend the entire night in."
"Indeed. Large, comfortable, accommodating. With silk sheets, of course. How I miss my silk sheets." She glances at Evelyn who smiles and looks away. Is her face rosy? Why ever for? "If I may ask, what were you hoping to find down here?"
"A little excitement. I've read a few books on lock picking. I was sure I had it, down. I'm piss poor, as it turns out."
"Why not ask Sera or Varric?"
"Why, when I can do it myself?"
"But you can't." They reach the stairwell and Josephine sees light glittering in the Herald's hair. She lifts a hand. "A moment, if you please," and pulls out a thin shard of glass and then another. "And there you are. The others would never forgive me if I let any harm come to you under my watch."
"I'm sure you're quite capable of sweet talking your way into anyone's good graces."
She laughs. "Tell that to Madame Broucheau, who once threatened to peel me like a peach, should I ever think to negotiate on behalf of her son, Mason, again. Ah, we were young and to her great delight, we did not last. Orlesians take their contracts very seriously. I was not the skilled negotiator I am today, then. Truth be told, I was a little bold for my age and my parents were sure to give me a proper talking to."
"I can't imagine anyone scolding you."
"Then you have not met many Antivan parents," she waves it away with a smile. "Do not think it stops once you are grown. Still, Antivan families are very close—despite our constant bickering." She must proceed delicately. "I wanted to speak to you about your family." A small line touches Evelyn's brow, despite how neutral the rest of her face is. "If that is all right?" Evelyn purses her lips to speak and then nods her head. Truthfully, she should not continue but an opening has been given and it would be neglectful to not take it. "Well… as you may know, the Inquisition is relying heavily on the support of nobles. I wondered, if perhaps, the Trevelyan family might be interested in lending the Inquisition its support… in … a declaration? If you reached out to them…"
Evelyn crosses her arms gently and leans against the wall. The space is enclosed in darkness, save for the candle Josephine holds. They are breaths apart. "My father and I…" her eyes dart to the side. She's searching for something. A lie, perhaps, or a memory, a story. "All right, yes. I'll speak to him."
"You… do not seem comfortable. I would not wish to press you." They have already asked so much of her.
"No, it's fine," she says airily before issuing a chagrined smile, "you see, my father loves all this political bullshit." All the political bullshit. "It'll be a bragging point, to think that the Inquisition would want anything from him."
"I see." But she doesn't and she can't help but think that she's transgressed somehow.