Chapter Text
Sera could feel eyes on the back of her neck. She weaved herself around alleyways and storefronts until she could catch her breath at the center of the marketplace. People were openly staring at her now and she was itching to say something astoundingly rude. Instead, she lifted her skirts and kept moving. The few nobles that she recognized by name offered her brittle smiles as she passed but most of them looked like they had swallowed something slimy. These same nobles never would have deigned to acknowledge her presence three months ago, and now Sera was the bane of their existence. She was loving every moment of it.
She crossed the main street and stopped to get her bearings. The Denerim Marketplace always dissolved into chaos at the end of the Summer. Merchants hawking their wares crowded the plaza, trying to sell as much merchandise as possible before they began the long journey home to Antiva, Orlais, or even Orzammar. Preparations for the Summer Festival were well underway. Colorful lanterns and banners fluttered from the rooftops and streamers twirled through the streets of Central Denerim in arches leading to the Chantry. You would think that with the festival tomorrow the nobles of Denerim would have better things to do than stare at the elven child draped in silk and finery, but no. The rich always had time for mockery. Sera picked up the pace. She had an hour max before her governess realized she had left the estate, and there was nothing Beatrix would love more than to tattle on her.
Gerard Cormier; seller of books, scrolls, and exotic tomes, had his ramrod-straight back turned on a customer who was gesturing angrily at him when he saw Sera approaching. He blinked furiously and glanced around him, hoping another store had materialized out of thin air and was the object of her attention. When it was clear that Sera intended to speak with him he smoothed his mustache and cleared his throat. “Mademoiselle Seraphina. How…auspicious that you would visit me on the eve of the festival. I trust the gracious Lady Emmald is feeling better?”
The enraged customer stood maybe five paces behind Gerard, completely forgotten by the store’s proprietor. She was an elf, maybe a few winters older than Sera, with lean muscles and hungry, vulpine eyes that blazed with cold fury. She swore at Gerard and pocketed the bag of coins she was holding.
Sera shrugged. “Mother suffered a minor cold. Coughing up buckets of blood, vomiting her guts onto the carpets. You know, the usual.” Gerard’s perfectly manicured eyebrows shot all the way up to his toupee and the color drained from his face. Sera’s mouth twitched once. Twice.
“I’m joking. She had a fever and now she doesn’t, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m looking for books on Orlesian food, specifically recipes, and I was told you were the man to talk to.”
It took visible effort for Gerard to fix his face and smile at the young girl in front of him. “Of course. Did you have a specific author or dish in mind? Or perhaps a time period?”
The forgotten elf paced back and forth in a circle, mumbling briefly to herself. She glared disdainfully at the two of them then scanned the shelves of books in front of her, quickly grabbing two books and stuffing them in her bag.
“I need dessert recipes. As long as they’re Orlesian I don’t care what time period they’re from,” Sera said. Gerard muttered under his breath and began to turn around just as the thief dropped one of her books with a soft thud.
“Wait!” Sera shouted. Gerard turned back to her expectantly. She wracked her brain. “Mother asked about you. She wanted you to know how much she appreciates your services. We’re throwing a ball tomorrow for the Summer Festival and I remember her saying how…earnestly she wished Monsieur Cormier would attend. She said you told the finest stories and had the most majestic accent she’d ever heard since her days at court!”
Gerard snorted derisively, but not before his cheeks turned a brilliant scarlet. “Surely, you jest girl?”
“On all the pie in Thedas, it’s true! She was going on about your sparkling green eyes, and then she asked me to personally invite you to our ball. It might just be me, but I think she was hoping to squeeze in a dance with you.” Sera peered over his shoulder. The thief had snatched the book off of the cobblestones and pushed it into her bag. She glanced around wildly, shoved her shaking hands into her pockets, and stumbled out of the bookstore…right into a patrolling guardsman.
“Hey!” The Guard grabbed the thief by the shoulder to steady her, and the girl almost jumped out of her skin. Gerard turned at the sound. One look at the shaking elf with a death grip on her satchel and he knew what had happened. Andraste’s hairy ass. The situation before her wasn’t Sera’s problem, and she was running out of time. But Sera knew what happened to the poor in this city when they stepped out of line. She was in this exact situation three months ago, wishing someone would do something, but no one did. In the end, helping the girl was hardly a choice at all. Sera locked eyes with the thief, who was looking more frantic by the moment and winked.
Gerard drew in a deep breath. The word thief hung like a headman’s axe on his lips, but Sera was quicker. She placed the back of her hand on her forehead, threw herself to the ground, and screamed like a banshee. She pounded her fists on the cobblestones until she could feel her bones rattle and her eyes sting. Around her was chaos. Bystanders fled the scene, knowing all too well what happens when a noble loses their temper. Gerard stood frozen in abject horror before calling for help, fearing Sera might be suffering some sort of episode. Three separate guards came over to investigate the commotion.
“What in Andraste’s name-?”
“Oi! What the hell did you do to her?”
Gerard made windmill gestures with his arms. “Nothing! We were having a civil discussion and now she's having some sort of fit!”
“Are you alright miss?”
“Give her some air!”
“Whose brat is this? I don’t recognize her?”
“I think it’s an elf?”
“Not no way it’s an elf.”
When Sera finally fell silent her throat was raw. She stood, wiping the tears off her face and smoothing out her dress. She was happy to see that the thief was long gone. “I’m sorry. I recently lost my parents, torn to bits by bears in the woods. I just get so overcome with emotions sometimes you know? I miss them so much.”
One of the larger guards grabbed her arm and twisted it, forcing the long hair away from her face. He snatched at the lace headband that kept her ears down and tore it off. Sera’s hand automatically went for the dagger she kept strapped to her thigh before she remembered there was nothing there now but silk.
Maker’s fucking piss balls!
The guard sneered down at Sera, his breath boozy and rancid. “You’re a long way from the alienage little girl,” he grinned at her. Sera punched him square in the jaw.
The guard stumbled backward, mostly from shock. His companions immediately drew their swords and closed in on Sera, but Gerard shoved her behind him. “She’s just a child! She can’t be more than twelve winters old” he shouted.
One of the guards had an ugly scar running across the length of his forehead. He stepped forward, his sword still raised. “I’m gonna give you to the count of three to give her up, old man.”
Gerard’s voice cracked but he did not move an inch. “She is the lawful daughter of Lady Emmald of House Fitrand. If you harm her, I assure you there will be consequences.”
A beat of silence passed between them before two of the guards burst out laughing. The one with the scar stopped his advance but kept his sword upright. His thick eyebrows drew together. “I heard something about that. A street rat was caught thieving and some widow looking to get right with the Maker took pity on him.” He pointed the tip of his sword at Sera’s left eye. “That was you?”
Sera backed up into a shelf and fumbled for something sharp. A letter opener? A quill? Anything. “What do you care?” she growled at him.
Gerard shot her an exasperated look and loudly cleared his throat before turning back to the three guards in front of them. Not a single one was laughing anymore. “Gentleman, I sincerely apologize on behalf of Mademoiselle Seraphina. I will recount the day’s events to her mother personally and see that she is fittingly punished. I think we can all agree that more violence is not in anyone’s best interest at this point?” He straightened his back and shifted to the right so that Sera’s face was in full view of the guards.
He coughed politely. “Seraphina?”
Sera ground her teeth. Her hands closed around a short measuring stick that she pulled into the folds of her skirt. It was better than nothing. “Sorry,” she muttered, barely audible.
The guardsman with the scar held her gaze for what felt like a lifetime before sheathing his sword. He spat at her feet then turned to Gerard, blue eyes flashing. “Tell Emmald to keep her mongrel on a shorter leash. The streets are dangerous this time of year. Anything could happen to her.”
Gerard nodded vigorously and bowed. “Of course, Serah. Thank you for your understanding.”
“Whatever.” He motioned to his companions and began walking away. The one Sera had socked in the jaw stood frozen. He gawked at the retreating guardsman in disbelief. “Ronald! You can’t be serious?”
Ronald made an irritated sound but didn’t stop moving. The last guardsman gave Sera a once over, committing her features to memory. “Don’t think this is over girl,” he growled, then caught up with his friends.
Sera let out a loud whoop and felt the tension leave her body. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath. Heavy thunderstorm clouds cast shadows across the square as the sun moved further across the sky. It was definitely time to go. She scanned the cobblestones for her headband and sighed. The Guardsman had tossed it into a puddle of sewage. Beatrix would be furious if Sera returned to the estate with her ears out, but she hated that ugly thing. What good did it do her anyway?
Gerard had wordlessly turned into the gloom of his store without a backward glance. He seemed to hunch in on himself, for once too tired to maintain his perfect posture. Sera followed him, the adrenaline making her feel giddy and invincible. “That was amazing Gerard! Standing up to the city guard? I didn’t know you had it in you!” She bounced in front of him, a brilliant smile on her face.
The bookseller exhaled heavily, pulled off his glasses, and rubbed at his eyes. When he opened them, it occurred to him that maybe for the first time, he was seeing how young the girl in front of him truly was. “Mademoiselle Seraphina, haven’t you caused enough trouble for one day? Go home, and please send your mother my regards.”
He lumbered past her into the backroom of the shop and locked the door behind him. Sera stood there in the darkness, unsure of what to do. The tinny sound of errant raindrops hitting the metal roof snapped her out of her daze. She quickly snooped around the bookstore’s food section, searching for the first book that looked decently Orlesian. A thin scarlet tome caught her eye. Looping gold letters spelled “Madame Franciscka’s Culinary Delights” on the spine, with the Orlesian trade seal on the back cover. Sera left fifteen silvers on the front counter, which should more than cover the cost of the book, and whispered an inaudible thank you to no one in particular. She quickly entered the square, where a steady drizzle was coming down and took a direct path through the stalls and caravans. She crossed the bridge over the Drakon River as fast as her little legs could take her. When she got to the other side, a quiet voice overhead stopped her dead in her tracks.
“Did you really just lose your parents?”
Sera whipped the measuring stick she was still holding in front of her and braced herself. She scanned the rooftops. Nothing. Behind her came the sound of a body hitting the pavement. She spun around, book shielding her chest and weapon held high.
The thief from the bookstore stood there, hands up, a careful expression on her face. She was short, even by elf standards, and unarmed. Underneath the layer of dirt, the girl shone the same dark brown as the Vhenadahl tree, with long braids clinging to her shoulders like vines. If it wasn’t for the unnerving yellow eyes that peaked through the cascade of her hair, she would look harmless. Sera sized her up before slowly lowering the measuring stick.
“I’ve never even met my parents,” Sera said flatly. The thief wrinkled her nose as if she couldn’t quite tell if Sera was joking. “Did you really put your life on the line to steal a couple of books?” Sera asked. “People around here usually steal food and clothes. Or jewelry.”
The girl smiled sheepishly and lowered her arms. “The books aren’t for me. I wasn’t planning on stealing them either, but Gerard said elves could only make purchases after sunset when he’s closing shop. He had no problem helping you though.” She hesitated, like what she was about to ask was a particularly stupid question. “Are you really a noble?”
“It depends on who you ask,” Sera shrugged then her face lit up. “So, you watched the whole shitshow between me and the guards and weren’t going to lift a finger to help?”
Sera had only meant to tease the girl but the thief immediately deflated. She took a couple of steps closer, guilt and shame plainly written on her face. “I never dreamed they’d hurt you! I thought you were a shem, and a noble at that! Honestly, I was too surprised you didn’t rat on me to do anything at first. If I had known you were an elf I never would have left you there. I swear it.”
The girl already looked close to tears, but Sera felt a hot flash of anger bubbling up inside her. “I can handle myself, most people around here can. Knife ears don’t get in the way of that.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.” The girl tilted her head. “I’m sorry.”
Sera’s eyes narrowed. The thief had an accent she couldn’t quite place, it was light and airy when Fereldens usually spoke from their bellies. She held herself wrong too, no one who’s been slumming around an alienage their whole lives kept their body so open. Her face was too sincere, too trusting.
And that word shem, what did it mean? “You’re not from around here are you?”
The thief looked away. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.” Sera sniffed. “If your going to be in the marketplace go at the crack of dawn and wear something decent.” She pointed at the patchwork, oversized blue shirt hanging off of the girl’s shoulders, and shook her head. “Everyone will assume you’re on an errand for some noble. If someone asks, you throw out a name, Lady Whatever of House Druffaloshit, as long as it sounds legit they’ll leave you alone. If you go midday the Guards will assume you’re there to steal something. Actually stealing something in plain view of three guardsmen is a Bad Idea.”
What was she doing? She was already late and soaked through, and now she was standing in the rain giving people life advice like a nitwit. Beatrix was going to skin her alive. She turned to go.
“Wait!” The girl called out, but Sera paid her no mind.
The girl began to walk after Sera, then seemed to think better of it. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Were you really going to fight three guardsmen with a ruler?”
Sera didn’t stop moving but shot the thief an amused look over her shoulder.