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Much of the Inquisition’s forces regarded Skyhold as an answered prayer, a sign of the Maker’s favor. To Dagna’s busy mind, it was a cascade of unanswered questions. Who had built it, and to what purpose? Why had it been constructed on a remote mountaintop, so far from civilization? Why had it been abandoned, and how long had it sat empty? Everyone said that surface dwarves lost their feel for the Stone, but Skyhold sang with it. Dagna could feel it humming through the castle’s walls, reverberating up through the soles of her boots to rattle her teeth in her jaw.
It was a strange sensation, after ten years on the surface. The Stone was alive in Skyhold, and the entire mountain hummed with it. None of the other dwarves noticed its song, not even god-touched Cadash—a Paragon, dressed up in different words.
Dagna spent her working hours in the Undercroft, the belly of the beast, working lyrium and elemental essences into belt buckles and bowstrings. After hours, she took to wandering Skyhold in pursuit of answers. Her rambling walks took her into airy towers and dank cellars, down into the deepest dungeons and up into the highest rookery. But no matter how far she wandered, she always found her way back to the garden.
The garden thrived while everything else in Skyhold floundered. Dagna thought that the castle’s builders—whoever they had been—had loved plants. It was the only explanation for the garden and the runes scratched into its walls: wards against frost and slugs, bolstering runes, subtle enchantments to encourage growth. The garden was alive with color in every season: green tendrils and stalks, flowers of every hue, night-blooming roses, tidy rows of mint and vervain. Every morning, the Stone sang a benediction to rising sun. At dawn, the yellow light illuminated flecks of mica and quartz in the courtyard’s granite walls and planters, filling the courtyard with a thousand tiny stars.
Dagna knew nothing about horticulture, but she had a special love for the garden and its plants and enchantments (enplantments! she thought, and she laughed at her own cleverness). There were no gardens in Orzammar, only dismal fungal growths and the wet blue light of lyrium veins. The Circle tower had gardens and courtyards, but they’d fallen by the wayside after the near-annulment during the Fifth Blight. Skyhold’s harden was a place of wonder, and the passage of time did nothing to diminish its hold on Dagna’s mind.
Of course, it wasn’t enough simply to admire the plants in their tidy rows. Dagna wanted to know the hows and whys of cultivation and propagation. The gardeners and herbalists were too busy to take Dagna on as a pupil. After a spate of rejections and polite brush-offs, she turned, as she always had, to books.
She was thwarted in this regard, as well. Skyhold’s libraries were piecemeal, cobbled together from the private collections of a dozen mages and nobles. There were uncountable genealogical texts and hundreds of dense tomes on magical theory, but very few books on plant life or horticulture. Those that existed had already been claimed by the herbalists and their apprentices. Hours of searching turned up only one book: a dusty manuscript entitled The Commone Plants of Ferelden, Being an Indispensable Guyde to the Herbes of Calenhad’s Lande and Their Use in Elixirs and Remedyes.
Commone Plantes was undated, but Dagna thought it had been written by a Chantry sister in the early Steel age, before the advent of the printing press. The manuscript was written in a cramped, spidery hand and accompanied by illustrations of plants and herbs. The drawings were obsessively detailed, highlighting each plant’s anatomy, from seed to root to stem to bud. There was an entire chapter of root diagrams, with every branch and fork carefully labeled.
The book was beautiful, but only that. The language was archaic, littered with strange spellings and unfamiliar characters, and the suggested uses of each plant were bizarre. Vervain was effective in warding off demons and curing “pain in the secret parts,” elfroot was for headaches and tumors and snakebites, spindleweed was only effective when “gathered by lite of moon, in the fashione of the Nevarrans.” Crystal Grace could cure warts and keep a lover from straying, but only if grown in soil blessed by an ordained cleric. There were at least two dozen remedies that called for animal dung, and another thirty that used urine. Sour milk made an appearance in four different recipes, and there was at least one cryptic reference to “the emissions of a newborn bæbe,” which Dagna didn’t care to investigate.
In short: Commone Plantes was a fascinating book, but not a particularly useful one. It didn’t satisfy Dagna’s curiosity the way a proper horticultural text would have, but it would serve until she could request more books from the libraries in Val Royeux.
On warm evenings, she took Commone Plantes out to the garden to study. Her favorite bench was in a sunny nook tucked in a seldom-visited with a good view of the doorway to the main hall. She could sit with her back to the wall, listen to the Stone, and watch the comings and goings of the castle’s inhabitants. It was a quiet, comfortable spot, perfect for snoops and scholars alike.
Dagna was both.
Lady Montilyet’s latest guest was a marchioness with a financial stake in an Orlesian mining company. There was a dispute over a mine in the Western Approach—it had once belonged to the marchioness’ family, but they had abandoned it to bandits. The Inquisition had reclaimed it, and the marchioness had come to Skyhold to petition for the restoration of her family’s mining rights. However, it was plain that the marchioness was much more interested in mashing on the ambassador.
She thrust her bosom into Lady Montilyet’s face and held her arm like a clinging vine. More than once, she attempted to draw Josephine into one of the secluded ‘kissing nooks’ that lined the garden’s walls. The ambassador was skillful in redirecting the marchioness’ clumsy attempts at seduction, but her smile had taken on a brittle quality.
Dagna watched, fascinated and horrorstruck, her gut twisting in anxiety. The ambassador’s tight-lipped frown made her feelings plain, but the marchioness didn’t seem to care. And dear Josephine wasn’t the sort to scream or make a fuss or whatever it was that noble ladies were meant to do in the face of unwanted advances. She would endure the other woman’s advances with a stiff nod and a polite smile, even if it made her miserable.
Dagna made up her mind to do something about it, and looked around the garden, seeking an ally. It was a pleasant evening, balmy and warm, and the garden was crowded with servants and sentries and visiting dignitaries alike. They were absorbed in their own conversations, too busy enjoying the sunshine to notice the ambassador’s plight.
As if by magnet, Dagna’s eyes were drawn to a blonde head weaving its way through the crowd, ducking under elbows and shoving their way through clusters of chattering servants. Her heart beat a little faster and she swallowed nervously, her mission temporarily forgotten.
The head belonged to Sera, an elven archer, a close friend of the Inquisitor’s. Dagna had spoken to her only twice, but she had been impressed by the other woman’s wit and charm. Sera was from Denerim, originally, and she had short blonde hair and a turned-up nose. Not beautiful, but pretty in her own way. Dagna liked her hazel eyes and her snorting laugh. She was too busy with work to think about romance, but Sera was a pleasant subject for daydreams and idle fancies.
Today, she had a pitcher of smoke in her hands and an earthen jar tucked under her arm. Dagna watched as Sera moved through the garden, fanning smoke over the herb beds.
Fascinated, Dagna set her book aside and cleared her throat. “What’re you doing?” she asked, marking her place in Commone Plantes.
The other woman started, fumbling her pitcher. She caught it before it hit the ground and fixed Dagna with a glare. “I’m gentling the bees,” she said, as if this should’ve been obvious. “What’re you doing, nosy?”
“Reading.” Danga glanced—without staring, she hoped—at the other woman’s chest and back up at her face. Sera was wearing her usual tunic and trousers, although she’d rolled them to the knee to take fuller advantage of the warm weather. Her legs were unshaven, covered in prickly yellow hairs which shone gold in the sunlight.
Sera grinned. “Really?” she said, drawing the word out. “Because it looks more to me like you’re spying.” She pointed, indicating the ambassador and the marchioness.
“I’m not!” Dagna insisted, heat rising in her cheeks. “And anyway, I was here before they were!” Her tone was defensive, cringing. She expected a reprimand, but Sera just laughed and dropped down on the bench beside Dagna.
“You’re a terrible liar,” she said, peering through the bushes. “Go on then, fill me in. What’s got Lady Ruffle-Muff’s knickers in a twist this time?”
“It’s the marchioness,” said Dagna, a little breathlessly. “See how she’s hanging onto Lady Montilyet’s arm? She keeps trying for a kiss, but the ambassador is too polite to slap her!”
Sera’s expression went from sunny to thunderous in an instant. “Is that right?” she said, in an it-had-better-not-be sort of way.
Dagna frowned. “Well, the marchioness says she’s here about a mining claim, but she keeps changing the subject whenever Josephine brings it up.” She looked at Sera sidelong, trying to watch the other woman without seeming to.
The other woman was glowering at the marchioness, nostrils flared, mouth turned down in an exaggerated frown. Her scowl could’ve curdled milk.
“What are you going to do?” said Dagna. Her heart was beating a lively rhythm against her ribs, the rapid tempo of a jig.
“Dunno,” said Sera. “But you’re going to help me.”
She got to her feet, and Dagna followed, two steps behind. They emerged from the bushes and Sera strode confidently toward Josephine and the marchioness, her hands balled up into fists. The ambassador looked up at their approach, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward in recognition and relief.
Sera stopped abruptly at the marchioness’ side. The noblewoman turned, frowning at the interruption. She opened her mouth to dismiss them, but before she could get a single word out, Sera said, “there’s a bee on you!” and slapped her, full across the face.
The impact rang out across the courtyard. For a moment, the garden was perfectly still and silent. Everyone—the servants and the visiting nobles and the gardeners and the scribes—turned to stare, their mouths open in shock. They held their breath, waiting to see what would come next.
Sera broke the silence. “Got it!” she said cheerily, a devious grin on her full lips.
After that, everything happened all at once. Everyone in the garden began to shout simultaneously and the marchioness let out a shriek fit to shatter glass.. Dagna clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle laughter, and the affronted noblewoman turned on her heel and stormed out of the courtyard, red-faced and sputtering with rage.
Her shoulders shaking in silent laughter, Josephine lingered for only a moment. She flashed a brief smile and mouthed the words ‘thank you!’ then went after the fleeing marchioness, kicking up little clouds of dust as she ran.
Sera turned to Dagna, a grin plastered across her face. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
A little awed and a lot in love, Dagna returned her smile. “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s!”
--
Ten minutes later, they were in Sera’s room over the Herald’s Rest, red-cheeked and breathless. They had run all the way without stopping to catch their breath.
“I can’t believe you did that!” said Dagna as she pushed her damp hair off her sweaty forehead. “That was incredible!”
Sera grinned, cat-like. “It’s just goes-around-comes-around,” she said smugly, flopping down onto the window seat. The sun had just begun to set, and the light streaming through the lead-paned window brought out the honey-gold highlights in Sera’s yellow hair.
Heart fluttering in her chest, Dagna sat down beside her and set Commone Plantes down on the bench. “Still,” she insisted, “Not everybody would do what you just did. It was really brave of you.”
“Brave is archdemons and shite,” said Sera, flapping her hands dismissively. “Slapping some noble twit is just good times.” She rolled onto her belly and swept an armload of miscellaneous detritus onto the floor to make more room for Dagna. “And anyway, now Princess Goldy-Lace owes me a favor, yeah?”
Dagna wrinkled her nose. “Her favor might be hiding you from the marchioness’ guards.”
“She said ‘thanks,’” said Sera. “And for all the big people, ‘thanks’ means a favor. Everyone knows that.”
“I guess I wouldn’t know.” Dagna leaned back against the wall, trying to make herself comfortable on the sagging cushion. “I’m just an arcanist. I’m a nobody.”
Sera propped herself up on her elbows and blew a loud, wet raspberry. “You’re a person, and that’s better than being some rich tosser,” she said, rolling her eyes. She leaned forward on her elbows and reached for Commone Plants, running her finger across the leather cover. “Anyway, what’s this?”
“It’s a plant guide,” said Dagna. She sat up straighter and squared her round shoulders.
“It’s old,” said Sera, nose wrinkling in distaste as she flipped through the book. She paused on an illustration of a wild iris. Laughing, she flipped the book around and passed it to Dagna. “Look!” she said. “It’s a purple minge!”
Dagna choked, hand flying up to her mouth to stifle her laughter. She hadn’t thought of it before, but there was something suggestive about the illustration. The frilled petals sat around a dark center, curling up like lips. The artist had chosen to draw the flower in ‘the morning dew,’ beads of moisture clinging to its petals. She passed the book back to Sera. “You’ve got a dirty mind.”
Sera flipped to another chapter, mercifully skipping over the pages on eggplant and wild carrots. “You’ve got a dirty book,” she said. “Why are you reading this dusty old thing, anyway?”
“It’s not a dirty book! I’m just trying to learn about plants,” said Dagna, picking at a hole in her leggings. “The herbalists don’t have time to teach me, and they’ve taken out all the good books from the library.”
Sera laughed. “You can’t learn plants from books.” Grinning, she dropped Commone Plantes into Dagna’s lap. “Gardening’s like sex; you’ve got to get your hands dirty.”
“I hadn’t had the chance,” Dagna said, fumble-tongued. “Growing up in Orzammar, and then the Circle, I just never—“
“Are you talking plants or sex?” said Sera, waggling her eyebrows.
Dagna flushed scarlet, head rising in her cheeks. “Plants!” she blurted, “I wouldn’t— I’m not—”
“The look on your face!” said Sera, gleefully. “Your nose is like a widdle cherry, all red and pink.” She grinned, dimpling attractively. She pushed her hair back off her forehead and leaned in, close enough that Dagna could see the soft, downy hairs on her cheeks. She smelled like honey and sun-kissed earth; the rich, warm scent undercut with a coarse, alchemical tang. Dagna thought of reagents and bottled lightning, of ceramic crucibles and magnesium flares.
She swallowed and dropped her gaze to the book in her lap. She paged through the book, running her thumb over the ornate knots and scrolls that framed the text. “The book hasn’t been much help, anyway,” she said, flushing. “There’s more in here about giving people warts than growing plants.”
Sera leaned, forward to peek over Dagna’s shoulder. “Warts?” she said. “How’s that?”
“I mean, it doesn’t work.” Dagna shivered as Sera’s breath tickled her cheek. Her causal proximity raised gooseflesh on Dagna’s arms and she redoubled her focus on the book, flipping to the section on deathroot. “But it says that Deathroot can cause warts if you rub it on a toad and bury it outside someone’s window.”
“Have you tried it?” said Sera, plainly interested.
Dagna looked askance at the other woman. “Of course not,” she said. “It’s just a superstition. An old wives’ tale.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know that, do you?” said Sera. “That’s how experimenting works, innit? ‘Try everything once?’”
“I don’t think that’s how it works—“
Before Dagna could finish her sentence, Sera interrupted her with a sudden bark of laughter. “Hold up,” she said, eyes alight with mischief. “I’ve got it! Let’s give Lady Rude some warts, yeah?”
Her grin was infectious; Dagna found herself smiling. “It’d serve her right,” she said. “I like it.”
Sera’s smile widened. “That’s my widdle,” she said. “I knew you had a bit of bite!” She glanced out the window, eyeing the setting sun with distaste. “It’s too late now, but we can get started tomorrow, yeah? Go hunting for plants and toads.”
--
Deathroot was easy enough to come by. Aside from the garden, the Inquisition had a vast store of dried and powdered herbs. It was a three-month supply, according to Morris, the grass-green quartermaster. “Just in case our contacts with the trade guilds dry up,” he said glumly, pushing a quill and a blank requisition form across the table. “You can never be too prepared.”
“Exactly!” said Dagna, her voice bright with false cheer. “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, that’s what my ma always said.” She took up the quill and began to write, nib scraping over the rough parchment. Deathroot, dried and powdered, 1 oz. Deathroot, fresh, 1 oz. Deathroot extract, 3 oz. bottle. She wrote her name underneath and passed the form back to Morris.
He gave it a cursory once-over, and then faltered, brown eyes wide. “What do you want all of this deathroot for?” he said, his wide mouth twisted into a frown.
“Experiments!” said Dagna.
Morris blinked rapidly, and she pounced. Smiling sweetly, Dagna put on the saccharine tone that had always produced results at Kinloch Hold. “It’s for a new project I’m working on,” she chirped, “as you know, deathroot contains a natural chemical irritant. I’m conducting a cross-species experiment to better understand its effects!”
“Oh.” Morris nodded, his eyes glazing over. “Of course. That sounds, uh, interesting.” He took up the quill, signed off, and handed the form back to Dagna. “Very good.”
Her smile broadened, and she found herself suppressing laughter. “Thank you!” she said, pressing the form to her chest. “I’ll be sure to share my results with you, once they’re ready.”
Morris made a pained expression, panic rising in his eyes. “That won’t be necessary,” he said quickly. “I’m just doing my part, same as everyone else.” He returned Dagna’s broad grin with a watery smile of his own. She thanked him again, took her leave, and went directly to the apothecary from his office. After that, it was on to Sera’s room, their chosen headquarters.
The other woman was already there, sitting cross-legged on the window seat, head bent low over a carton which emitted a series of surly croaks. She looked up at Dagna’s knock, eyes shining with glee. “Didja get it?” she asked, practically bouncing in her seat.
Grinning, Dagna held up the box that the apothecary had provided. “I got different kinds,” she said, pulling back the lid to reveal two packets and a slim vial. “Since the book didn’t say.”
“Brilliant!” Sera grinned widely, dimples standing out on her cheeks and chin.
Dagna found herself reddening at Sera’s warm tone. Face burning, she handed the deathroot to Sera, and crossed to the window seat to peer into the carton. Six angry toads were sitting in the bottom of the box in a nest of straw, glaring up at her. Their beady black eyes were narrowed in apparent rage, and their tiny, amphibious mouths were turned down in toady scowls. Utterly charmed, Dagna reached into the box to pat one of the toads on its bumpy head. It let out a an indignant peep!, like an angry baby duck.
“They’re cute!” Dagna squealed, turning to Sera with a smile on her face. “Where’d they come from? I didn’t think they’d be so cute!”
Sera frowned, plainly skeptical. “I gave the cook’s kid a copper for every toad,” she said with a shrug. “And I think your eyes need checking, because your cute is clearly broken.”
Dagna made a face, and Sera corrected herself. “I didn’t mean that, Widdle,” she blurted. “You’re cute, you just don’t know what cute is.”
Dagna’s flush intensified by several orders of magnitude. Tongue-tied and blushing, stared at the other woman for an awkward moment, searching clumsily for words. Neither woman knew how to proceed, and after an agonizing silence, Dagna cleared her throat and said, “the experiment,” in a weak voice.
“Oh.” Sera dropped her gaze to the box of toads. “Right. That.”
“Yeah,” said Dagna, stumbling over her words. “So we just rub the deathroot on the toads, right? And then bury it outside the marchioness’ rooms?”
Sera hesitated, scratching her chin and staring down into the box. “It’s your dirty book, not mine.”
“It’s not a dirty book,” said Dagna automatically. “And technically, it’s the Inquisitor’s.” She reached into the box and pulled one of the toads out; it chirruped grouchily and blinked up at her. “Do you think the deathroot is going to hurt it?” she asked, gently stroking the toad’s head.
“What, the toad?”
Dagna nodded and Sera shrugged.
“Dunno. Deathroot’s poison, but maybe only for people?” Sera reached into the box and withdrew a second toad; it fixed her with a sour look but made no noise. “If it seems like it’s hurting, we call it off.”
“Alright,” said Dagna, mollified. Careful not to drop the toad, she reached for the packet of deathroot and shook its contents into her free hand. She touched the root gingerly to the toad’s back and then pulled it away, examining the toad’s skin for signs of rash or irritation. It made an unhappy noise, but showed no signs of adverse effects.
“It’s fine,” she said, relief coloring her voice.
Sera’s smile widened. “Time to experiment,” she said waggling her eyebrows. Dagna giggled, and reached into the box for another toad.
It didn’t take long to finish with the rest of the deathroot. It was a messy task, and after, they returned the toads to their carton and rewarded them with crickets. The toads ate contentedly and then fell silent, nestled snug in the straw.
“Well alright,” said Sera. “That’s it then, right?” She wiped her sticky hands on her leggings while Dagna stuffed the toad-touched deathroot back into its wax envelopes.
Dagna nodded. “We just have to bury it outside the marchioness’ window. And then wait, I suppose.”
“Does your dirty book say for how long?”
“It’s not a dirty book,” said Dagna. “And no. Probably a couple days, if it works at all.”
Sera heaved a dramatic sigh and flopped down on the bench, jostling the box of toads. Stretched out, she occupied the bench entirely, limbs dangling over the edge and trailing onto the floor. Her fingers brushed the warped wooden boards, tracing patterns in the dust. “Experiments are boring,” she said. “You should have warned me.”
“It’s just how it is.” Dagna’s voice was strange to her own ears, husky and tinged with cedar. Sera was lovely, sprawled out as she was, her tunic slipping down to expose her pronounced collarbones.
Mouth dry, she blinked and looked away. Eyes on the floor, she moved the toads off the bench and sat down in the vacated space, mindful to leave a few careful inches between herself and the other woman. She wasn’t certain where the boundaries lay; she did not want to transgress them, even by accident.
But Sera wasn’t one for politeness or staying within bounds. As always, she overflowed, tipping into Dagna’s space and practically settling herself in her lap. She stared up at Dagna, a lazy smile on her full lips. She lifted her hand from the floor and set it on Dagna’s chin, the pad of her thumb brushing over Dagna’s parted lips.
“When are you going to kiss me?” she said, crossly.
Dagna reddened, heat rising in her cheeks. “Do you want me to?” she said, still speaking in that lower register.
“Obviously!” Sera’s hand dropped from Dagna’s chin to her shoulder, tugging her down. “I’ve been signaling for days, and you haven’t noticed!”
“I noticed!” Dagna protested. “But I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to—”
Sera interrupted her with a kiss. It was an imperfect kiss: messy and unpracticed, eager and fumbling. Sera’s lips were not soft, and she kissed as though it were a contest she intended to win. Dagna returned her passion with equal fervor. When they finally broke apart for air, they were both pink-cheeked and breathless, hair mussed, eyes shining.
“Oh,” said Dagna. “Oh.”
Sera laughed, grinning broadly. “How’s that for experimenting?” she teased.
“The results were inconclusive,” said Dagna, and she bent her head to steal another kiss. “Further trials are necessary.”
They kissed a while longer, the two of them pressed together on the too-small bench. They lay on their sides, chest-to-chest, arms wrapped around one another. Sera was lanky as Dagna was stout, and their bodies fit together as though made to do so. Dagna wound a hand through Sera’s short hair, and Sera slid a hand between Dagna’s blouse and breast. They kissed until Dagna was flushed and flustered, her lips chapped from overuse. They kissed until Sera called a halt.
“Hold up,” she said, inching backward until she’d nearly toppled off the bench. “We can’t forget about Lady Arse-Face.”
Dagna sat up, smoothing her hair back into place. “I guess,” she said ruefully. “As long as we can pick up where we left off.”
Sera grinned. “We’ll need something to do while we’re waiting to see if she sprouts warts.”
Dagna returned her smile, stomach flipping in eager anticipation. “Sounds like a plan,” she said. “I’ll hold you to it.”
“I’d rather if you held it against me,” said Sera, and she dissolved into self-satisfied laughter. Dagna rolled her eyes and hit her with a pillow, but she was laughing, too. They straightened their hair and clothing in an unhurried fashion, and collected the things they needed for the next phase of their experiment: deathroot, a trowel, the carton of toads.
They buried the deathroot in the shimmering garden, as near to the marchioness’ room as they could. Sera let the toads loose in the courtyard, tipping their box over into a sun-warmed patch beneath a statue of some long-dead saint. “They eat bugs,” she said, ignoring the gardeners’ protests. “And they’re cute, just look at their little faces!”
Dagna elbowed the other woman in the ribs and mouthed ‘your cute is broke,’ and they both burst into laughter. The toads dispersed across the garden, merrily calling out to one another as they explored rose bushes and planting beds. They sang in time with the stone, radiating contentment as they explored their new home. It was a happy ending, at least for the toads.
Later, during dinner, she said as much to Sera as the other woman piled potatoes and roast greens onto their plates. “We did a good thing,” she said, helping herself to second portion of roast duck. “The toads have a new home, the book’s hypotheses are being tested—”
“We kissed,” Sera interrupted, ladling gravy onto her potatoes and meat. “Don’t forget that bit.”
“I was just getting there.” Dagna ate with relish; surface foods hadn’t lost their wonder, even after ten years. Duck was an especial favorite of hers because it tasted absolutely nothing like boiled nug.
“It’s the most important part,” said Sera. “Besides chasing off Lady Fancy Frill’s suitors, I mean.”
Dagna shrugged and glanced at the high table. Josephine had surrounded herself with tradesmen and merchants. Low-ranking, but genteel, speaking in hushed tones and bending their heads to listen to the ambassador. Meanwhile, the marchioness sat alone at a small table in an inconspicuous corner, plainly fuming. The snub was obvious, even to Dagna, who had no mind for politics. “I think she’s doing alright on her own,” she said.
Josephine caught their eyes and raised her cup in salute, smiling sweetly behind the rim of her goblet.
Sera and Dagna waved back, grinning and taking immense satisfaction in the shared joke. They dismissed themselves shortly thereafter, returning to Dagna’s room in the Undercroft. It was a small, drafty space, but the view of the mountains was magnificent. On lonely nights, Dagna liked to press her face up against the window, listening to the Stone and imagining that she could see Orzammar through a gap in the distant peaks.
She wasn’t lonely that night. Laying in bed with Sera, she realized that she wouldn’t be ever again, as long as she had the other woman by her side. Together, they could take on Thedas.
It was a comforting thought, and she drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.
--
The marchioness left Skyhold two days later. It wasn’t clear whether she had developed warts, but on the morning of her departure, she chose a mask that covered her full face, rather than just her eyes and brows, as was the current fashion.
Sera and Dagna sat on the roof of the tavern and watched her carriage pull away, sharing a plate of overbaked cookies and laughing openly. “Serves her right,” said Sera, pitching crumbs over the edge of the roof. “Slimy nob.”
“It’s just goes-around-comes-around,” Dagna agreed. The sun was shining, and there was a pleasant breeze blowing across their backs. If Dagna tipped her head one way, she could see a corner of the gardens, but if she tipped it the other, she could rest her head on Sera’s shoulder. Smiling, she took hold of the other woman’s hand. It was a fine dilemma, and a fine day to sit on the roof. She couldn’t recall ever having been so happy.