Chapter Text
Saibra was worn out. Like every time she returned from Orlais; those people truly only knew how to complain about each other and plot in that Game everyone seemed to enjoy playing save her. And she had just been a couple of days out. But she couldn’t go to her quarters yet. The required meeting at the War Room with her advisors was about to begin, and she really wished it would end soon so she could slip under her blankets and sleep at least for a whole day.
And… there was something she wanted to check by herself. Cullen, Josephine and her were waiting for the rest to arrive, using the time to check how many rifts were left in the map. Or at least she tried, because the Antivan was was so distressed it was impossible not to wonder what had gotten into her. She had been shifting from one foot to the other, fidgeting even, and she would have paced if she had been accompanied by people less observant. Suddenly, something seemed to change her mind, as she approached Saibra and leaned very close to her ear, very careful her words wouldn’t reach the Commander.
“Inquisitor…” She gaped a couple of times, but she couldn’t find the words with which she so naturally got on. Saibra would have worried hadn’t been for the intense red colour that darkened even more her skin. “You should know that your Spymaster is an incorrigible prankster.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leliana said behind them. Both women turned to her startled since they hadn’t heard her enter. Josie’s blush became more intense when she saw the Nightingale’s angelic smile.
“No?” the Ambassador was starting to lose her temper. “My… my things! In the courtyard!”
Saibra stifled a snort. So it was true. Everyone in Skyhold had seen the new flag in the courtyard had been replaced by someone’s frilly undergarments, who no doubt belonged to Lady Montilyet. They had only hung there, graciously waving with the cool mountain breeze, until lunchtime, when the Ambassador had taken a break from her usual pile of paperwork in her office. The deed itself and her loud shriek had been the object of the rumors that were heard through the valley in the last few days, something her Commander had told her as soon as Saibra had gotten down from Solace.
“The ruffles were very festive.” Her grin widened, and her lips showed the tip of her fangs, like a predator that was having fun with her prey.
“Leliana!” she protested.
“What’s the matter?” asked Cassandra in her thick Nevarran accent.
“Our Lady Ambassador was victim of a serious attack against her intimacy at the beginning of the week, soon after your departure to Orlais,” Cullen answered. “And Leliana seems to be the one at fault.”
“Certainly I’m not.” Leliana huffed and crossed her arms before her chest. “If you must blame someone, it should be Sera. I’ve told her many times not to involve my agents in her businesses.”
And then, the Nightingale frowned. Everyone in the room exchanged a concerned look between them; it wasn’t usual for the redhead to reveal her train of thought that openly. Her unyielding mask began to crack bit by bit as she seemed to realise something the others didn’t.
“Sera could have arranged the banner incident, but she left with you, so it’s impossible she’s been able to organise the rest.” Her voice had become a low and dangerous growl that made their hair stand on end.
“Which ‘rest’?” Cassandra was the only one with enough courage to try to interact with her. Josie gasped at Saibra’s side, and her face turned pale when only five minutes ago had been of the same colour of the brightest pepper in the kitchen. Leliana answered with a nod.
“I’m afraid we have a joker in the hold, Inquisitor,” she announced.
“Meaning?”
“There have been some incidents since your leaving, now that Leliana mentions it.” This time it was Cullen speaking. “We all thought it had been Sera’s doing but-”
Little by little, the three advisors tried to summarise what had been going on during these days, taking Josie’s undergarments as the starting point. A lot had happened: from changing the tea sugar for salt lumps or emptying wine bottles -the cheap ones though- for coloured water to having placed food leftovers inside of each mattress that existed in the entire fortress. Or dusting stinging powder inside socks, disassembling chairs and benches so they would break by just sitting on them… Even putting bells on Baron Plucky.
That had personally infuriated the Spymaster, who had sworn she would take care of the rogue elf’s punishment. Not even Bull, whom they had hidden the patch and painted an eye on his scar, had any idea of who the culprit could be, nor the reasons that were driving them to commit those… pranks.
And it was true. Sera liked to play, but she had never dared with such scale. As they kept telling the facts, a feeling of restlessness began to fill Saibra from head to toe. Whoever was doing all that clearly didn’t have to intention to harm them, but it could be an strategy to distract them while some tragedy happened somewhere? Corypheus couldn’t be that smart, could he?
“They seem to have been merciless with everyone, without a clear target,” finished Josephine.
“But whoever they are, they must have spent a lot of time among us to get to know our weaknesses,” Cullen pointed out.
Not everyone. Although the whole of Skyhold had been flown off the handle, Saibra and her family had gotten out of it. It could be said that Vastra had had her share; a couple of nights ago, her sister found her children eating a box full of chocolates right before bedtime. The dawn had come and the little girls still hadn’t gone to bed, no matter how many tricks Vastra used with them. When she accepted it was impossible to calm them down, she ordered Jim to take care of them while she went to take a long and well-deserved nap. And nothing had happened to Cullen as well, at least not yet.
“I will personally see this matter dealt with if you allow me, Inquisitor.” Leliana offered.
Saibra was too tired, especially after that long series of unfortunate events, so she simply nodded in agreement and concluded the council.
***
Saibra dragged her feet through the hallways of her fortress, nodding or slightly bowing her head to answer the greetings of the people she run into. She needed a warm mug of tea and a calming bath with some special salts Josie had received. The pouch gave off a pleasant smell of camomile, lavender and orange, and with only a small sniff she was feeling a bit more revitalised.
The walk from the War Room to her bedroom had never felt so long, and on her way she couldn’t help but think about the recent events. The prankster had been clever to put Sera on the spot from the beginning, and lucky that everyone thought she was guilty when she probably didn’t even hang Josie’s famous underthings in the courtyard. And yet the prankster had raised the spirits of her people; she heard them tell stories of what had happened to one’s partner or the kitchen help. Her favourite so far was the explosion in Dagna’s lab that had covered the cave with a permanent glitter impossible to wash away.
But Saibra didn’t felt observed nor threatened; maybe those days in Orlais had immunised her against dirty tricks and back-stabbing for some time. Surely the joker was already gone and far from there, though never outside Leliana’s reach. She decided to pray for their souls and hope Leliana’s punishment were to be somewhat merciful.
She left the room half closed for when Cullen returned from his office, and climbed each step as she couldn’t climbed the next one. When she finally reached the top, she was disappointed to see the bathtub wasn’t ready. The hearth wasn’t even lit to heat the water. Odd. Despite her arrivals always caused a big fuss, the staff made sure her relaxing ritual was prepared for when she dropped the Inquisitor’s armour on her bed. Maybe there had been a mishap. Maybe the prankster had striked in the servants quarters today…! But if that would have occurred, they would have been informed during the council. So, she shrugged and began undressing to a more comfortable outfit.
After a brief moment, someone knocked downstairs. Neither Cullen, Vastra or her nieces ever asked for permission to come in, so it was probably Dorian. She allowed him to come up the stairs while she casted a tiny fireball to lit the hearth. Saibra giggled under her breath; she knew how much her Commander hated it when she used her magic unnecessarily, but Maker she needed that bath.
A head poked out from the stair’s railing, at first cautiously and then more freely. It was an elf, Dalish judging by the tattoo that covered her face, and her dark brown hair tied in a high ponytail that showed a pair of moving ears. Her eyes were of a deep bright green, wrinkled at the corners because of the mirthful smile she was offering to her.
“I’m terribly sorry, your Worship. I was required somewhere else, so I couldn’t prepare the bathtub on time.”
“It’s okay. If you’re still busy I can do it myself.”
“Please no! I’d never let the Inquisitor carry these heavy buckets by herself.” The elf hurried and gently pushed her away from the heated water. Saibra examined her from top to bottom, curious if she was talking seriously; she was so short and thin she would break if she lifted the buckets. But contrary to her expectations, the elf did her job without a single sign of pain or trouble.
When the bath was ready, Saibra shrugged off her silken robe and tested the temperature with the tip of her toes before finally dropping in. The water was exquisite, warm with a subtle colder current that gave her goosebumps all over her legs. She could still hear the elf moving around and doing this and that, never fully pausing for longer than a couple of seconds. She unpacked her travel bag, shook her cloak to dust the dirt of the road and filled a brazier to warm her bed. Somehow everything reminded her of when she was a child, and her mama would prepare them to go to bed after a long day playing in the Trevelyan manor courtyard.
She was almost dozing off when the elf stopped behind her and poured Josie’s bath salts. The crystals tickled her skin before adapting to the water’s temperature, causing them to dissolve into that marvelous smell of citrus. A pair of hands unexpectedly run along her shoulders in a slow massage. Her fingers were cold, and knew exactly how much pressure she had to put to undo the contractures in her shoulders. Saibra began humming out of pleasure, without minding if that stranger could see her in an almost vulnerable state.
“Is it comforting, your Worship? I might not have healing magic, but they say my hands can do wonders.” she whispered. Saibra sighed in response. “Is it alright if I move to the head?”
“Please…” she finished with a soft groan as soon as the elf began rubbing along her scalp with a chuckle. There was a moment in which she touched certain point, and the mage unintentionally poured some of her own magic into the water.
“Wow! So it’s true you’re a mage, huh?” She didn’t know? Saibra would have sworn that her class was the order of the day. “Must’ve felt strange living outside the Circle for this long.”
“It certainly has sometimes. But even though the Ostwick circle was a pacific one, the freedom is still enjoyable.” She felt the elf nod in agreement. “And you? When did you leave your clan?”
Somehow, the cheerfulness she so easily gave off darkened just an instant before she recovered. Her fingers resumed massaging her head as if that question hadn’t reopened an old wound in her heart. Be as it may, her voice didn’t show any of that uneasiness.
“A very long time ago. I ignore where they might be now, with the hallas taking them around Thedas. I wonder if they’ve planted a tree in my memory or something of the sorts.”
She knew, after the time she had spent in the Graves, that the Dalish honoured their dead planting a tree as a natural gravestone. It saddened her when she realised that the elf had accepted that her people had given her up for dead, either because she left back then or because she had joined the humans at present day. Although if Saibra asked her, she would probably be intruding too much, and she didn’t want to seem a nosy boss that only seeked to satisfy her curiosity.
It ended too soon, unfortunately. The elf indicated her with a couple of light taps that she should come out of the water before she would catch a cold, so Saibra got up and let herself be embraced by the soft towel she wrapped her with. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I should be thanking you for taking me in! Life hasn’t been easy since the Blight-” she stopped abruptly, as she had made a terrible mistake by mentioning that.
“The Blight? Are you from Ferelden?” she leaned forward when the servant used a second towel for her head.
“I lived there, yes. But anyway,” she changed the subject, “A lone, wandering Dalish is always suspicious, it doesn’t matter what difficulty we’re going through.”
She seemed so lonely and tired of that prejudice that her words sounded older than what she really was. Saibra couldn’t help but pity her, as much as it wasn’t very polite to do. There was a small silence between them, staring at each other and drinking from their eyes stories they weren’t told. Saibra felt the unstoppable urge to hug her, to help her sooth away those unspoken problems.
One of her ears lifted at the sudden sound of a closing door. The spell that had bonded them broke as the elf helped her step down from the bathtub, her endless energy bursting again, and bowed as a farewell after handing her her nightgown. Saibra still wanted to embrace her, but before she could consider if that went beyond her limits as leader of the Inquisition, the elf was already gone.
But Saibra didn’t hear the snort the cheerful elf barely managed to suppress while she headed to the stairs, or the casual “Hey Cullen” she spoke to the Commander.
When Saibra emerged from behind the screen, Cullen was still looking at the stairwell with a very confused look twirled in his scarred lip. “Is something wrong, beloved?” she said while hugging him from behind. Cullen shook his head as if he wanted to get a horrible idea out of his mind and twisted in her arms ready to land a soft kiss on her forehead. But instead, he observed her bewildered, eyes open with concern and distant laugh. Now it was her turn to be confused. “What?”
“Sweetling, you should check yourself in the mirror.”
She stepped back almost frightened, and without ever letting go of his hand, Saibra approached the full-length mirror hanging next to her dresser. She checked out her body expecting to find anything unusual, but there was nothing that could justify the warning of her lover…
A strand of hair swung before her eyes. She would have sworn that lock couldn’t belong to her, that it was the tip of the towel that was still drying her scalp. And at the same time it had the same texture as one of her curls, only that the colour… The colour…
“AAAAAAH!”