Chapter Text
Sera strolled in very late into the evening. She would never miss a game of Wicked Grace - she must've gotten held up with another prank or two.
"I make it a point never to beg... but Ruffles, please, stop taking my money!" Varric exlaimed, sounding absolutely exhausted.
"As I've told you before, never bet against an Antivan." The diplomat said with a smug grin tilting up the corners of her mouth, looking every bit as regal as she probably felt. She earned that. Creators, could she play.
Varric chuckled and folded. He wasn't planning on losing any more money on a lost cause. Sera thudded into his chair and made every worried face on the table look up at her. Kerlan glanced at Dorian - did he look especially excited at the sight of Sera, or was that his imagination?
"Are ya losing bad, dwarf?" She pouted from behind him, making a show of pity. She rested her head in her hands as her elbows leaned on the back of his chair.
"Buttercup, I never lose. I just have minor setbacks." He patted her hand and looked determined, staring at Josephine across the table. She challenged him right back and laughed, making Blackwall fidget with his cards.
Kerlan smiled at his companions having a good time after all this political business. He did, however, still have a lot of work to do before he could leave for Denerim, so he paid for one more round of drinks, then bid his goodbyes.
Sera should not look as giddy as she was looking right then.
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He had been absolutely right. He should have seen this coming.
But he hadn't.
The moment he entered his quarters and walked up the stairs, he knew there was something missing. Everything was absolutely immaculate - and that was what alerted him in the first place. His half-made bag with supplies and clothes that had been sitting on the trunk at the back of his bed was gone, and so were his sheets. The clothes that he was planning to put into the bag before he got called away were no longer strewn around the floor, they were simply... gone.
Sighing, wondering what she had done now, he walked further into the room, passing by his couch and stopping as his gaze rested on a little torn-off piece of paper that sat on his desk. Of course she would have.
He picked up the paper and deciphered the crude writing on it.
"Told the elfy girl that cleans yer rooms that you were gonna sleep with our new cully-wully t'night, go find yer stuff!"
Alongside it was a crude drawing of a bed and... well.
It's not like he wasn't imagining it, because he was. Sera always had a flair for the dramatics, though.
He didn't appreciate that particular trait tonight, however. He really did not want to get his clothes at that moment.
But he couldn't do otherwise, because a) he could either go now at midnight or b) he could go get them at first light.
Either of those choices involved probably waking the new commander, and he deemed it better to happen sooner rather than later. That way, he had more time to get over the trauma. He didn't even know her that well, what if she kept working like Cullen, and she saw him?
But what if she didn't, and she was as fervent as Bull to fend off unwelcome visitors? He didn't want to run into the pointy end of that blade again. What if he woke her?
He took a deep, deep breath, and braced himself. Don't look like a fool, please don't look like a fool,...
——————-
She ordered the new requisitions on her desk, noticing that it wobbled a little as she turned to sit. She wouldn't be all that surprised if Cullen had made... inappropriate use of the desk. The thing really wobbled. Not that she'd fault him. Lea was quite attractive, and the way she would stand innocently to the side at previous meetings with the commander with her present even made her gulp.
She went to examine the desk by getting down on all fours and crawling underneath it. There must be something broken, or just something... and then she saw a little block of wood wedged under a foot. Nothing broken, then. She had no idea who would want to prank her, but she chuckled. The idea of Cullen actually getting steamy on his desk was too much to assume after all from the buttoned-up commander. Even with the steamy looks he was getting. She rolled to her side on the floor to pull at the little wedge underneath the table foot, but she pulled too hard, because when it shot free, she almost hit herself in the face with it and had missed her nose by a hair. Huffing at her own stupidity, she lay under the desk, running a hand over her face.
That's when the door to the office creaked open, naturally. Helena shot upright, momentarily forgetting that she was actually under a table and hit her nose on the side.
Judging by the warm liquid that slipped between her fingers when she held them to her nose, she figured she hadn't come out unscathed. Maker, she needed a drink. She hadn't met everyone yet, but she was sure some of the regulars would have something strong stashed in their closets. If she ever got her nose to stop bleeding all over her newly fitted armour, she'd make her way to the tavern straight away. Commanders needed to socialize, too.
A masculine, soft voice got her out of her reverie to stare up from down under her desk, crawling away from the edge as she held her nose running with blood. Now that's a conversation starter.
"Is there anyone..." he caught sight of her on the floor, "...here." His face fell comically. She almost snorted. Almost.
Only that would've meant she'd probably snort her blood at her visitor, so no. Way to impress everyone.
A few strands slipped free from the messy bundle of hair on top of her head, obviously making her look even more incompetent. If only she hadn't owed Cullen that favour, she would have been home now, drilling a few templars on their awful footing, and not here, being stared down by a very shocked elf.
She grunted, taking her hand away bloodied and standing up to reach for anything to dab away at all the blood. When she found nothing, she tried sniffing and turned back to the...
Realization dawned as she took in his Dalish markings and the sharp eyes. Slightly tilted up and a very bright green, as she remembered them. She could scarcely remember him from their first meeting the day before, but she did, nonetheless.
Oh maker.
"Ah, I-I'm sorry, inquisitor, I was just..." she mentioned at the table with her hands, trying to convey her meaning without having to speak too much.
She would love to sink into the ground right about now.
Maker's tits, she would dig a little grave just for herself and lay down, asking someone to bury her fast.
"That, ah... that would have been courtesy of Sera." He spoke, then walked forwards to pick up the little block that had been wedged under the desk. He resolutely avoided her gaze, she noticed. She must have made quite the fool of herself for the inquisitor himself to not want to look at her. Maker.
"Sera?"
He looked up, narrowly avoiding looking straight into her eyes. "Our resident blonde elf, you know, the one that you saw, uh... fight with Vivienne this morning? She... ah. She plays pranks. A lot." His voice trailed off into a near-whisper.
She really hadn't expected the inquisitor to be so timid. He wasn't timid at all at the war table meetings, so why would he be now? Was he the one to get hit in the head not five minutes ago instead of her?
"It's, ah, it's quite alright. You probably didn't expect to see, well, this when you entered the office." She pointed at her nose, the last of the blood dripping down her lips to her chin. She must have looked very professional right then.
Shit, you're such a twat, Helena. He's your employer and you're bleeding all over.
"Um. Don't worry, I suppose you weren't expecting to see anyone else this late, either."
"Work never ceases here, so I don't mind. I just hope I won't end up as Cullen." She touched her nose gingerly, trying to figure out if it was broken or just bruised.
When the inquisitor just stared, looking very interested in the little block in his hands and determined to not give her a glance, she sunk a little further.
"I... was there something you wanted, specifically, inquisitor? Not to be rude, but I really need to get this blood cleaned up." She smiled apologetically, her smile probably marred by the blood.
He stood up straight, much like one of her recruits would. "It's quite embarassing, but yes." He fiddled with his fingers as she waited patiently for his explanation. "You see, Sera sort of... stashed my supplies for tomorrow with you. Your office, I-I mean..."
She placed a hand on her hip and looked a him questioningly. "Why on Thedas would she do that?"
At that, the inquisitor - she really had to ask for his name, she had never been good at linking people to their titles. People were more than that. - sported a very, very red pair of ears.
"She-she said I should get to know you better. You know, uh. By stashing my clothes in your bedroom."
That was the worst strung sentence she had ever heard meaning-wise.
Not that she cared.
"Interesting way to get to know each other. I do recommend just asking me for drinks in the tavern, though." She chuckled. She decided she didn't really mind the prank. Why would she, anyway?
"I would like that." The first time he hadn't stuttered, and he sounded enthousiastic, of all things. His eyes flicked to hers for a moment, then rested on a place halfway to the ground.
Helena smiled in response, letting her shoulders sag from the tension leaving her. She remembered an overly stuffed bag that had been very out of place in her now decent looking room. It had sat near the ladder, probably within reach if she climbed it.
"Were your supplies in a very big bag? If so, I'll go get them for you."
He smiled softly, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly more on one side.
"Thank you. I won't bother you further, ah - after this."
"No harm done!" She called behind her as she climbed the ladder and reached for the bag to pull it towards her, still standing on the ladder. Hefty bag for a trip to Denerim. She took it down with her and instead of plopping it at his feet, offered it to him.
"Here you go. I might be being rude again, but, are you taking all that to Denerim?"
"No, no. I'm sure she just stuffed it with every piece of clothing or supply she could find just to make it harder to retrieve."
An image flashed in her head of a blonde elf with short hair and a inebriated smile on her face as she sang with the chargers in the tavern a few nights back. She vaguely recalled the Iron Bull calling her Sera, indeed.
"This troublemaker wouldn't be a woman with a very small stomach for alcohol, would it? With the tendency to sing off-key raunchy songs?"
He looked like a deer in the headlights. His eyes the size of saucers. What, couldn't people wind off in a tavern?
Cullen really had the commander thing down to an art, hadn't he.
The inquisitor paused for a moment, taking over the bag and slightly turning away.
"I - I'll put this thing away, then." He waved the little block in his hand. "And - Get a good night's rest. Don't be like Cullen. Or, well, you should be. He's a good commander. Not that you're not, I mean, you should be, oh that didn't come out right, uh..."
She frowned.
He looked as if she'd kicked him in the guts.
And then he ran out the door with a whispered, silent goodbye.
"You're so good at impressing your employer, Lena." she muttered to herself as she turned back around to her desk.
She'd even forgotten to ask for his name.