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The clouds wrapped the sun in a half-shrouded glow. Leaves searched for nourishing rays of light, but found only shade from the tallest trees. Under the arch of two willows, Sera twirled a daisy between her fingertips and mangled the stem with her nails until they were stained green. The man beside her, more baggy sweater than dwarf, rolled over with an open palm full of rose petals.
“They’re like velvet, Sera!”
His smile grew as he flipped his hand, the red petals falling in a tiny pile atop Sera’s plaideweave tunic. The shirt desperately needed washing, and though the grass stains provided a nice pop of unexpected color, the smudged mustard didn’t have quite the same effect. An odor tainted the air any time Treasure got too close to the elf, sour like beer and thick like moldy books. Not just fetid from never bathing, she looked ridiculous as well. Every uncovered bit of Sera’s skin was bright red and flecked with sun blisters about to burst. Her burned skin peeked out from under layers of bunchy, pale yellow yarn.
“You’re playing!” Sera snickered. She flopped on her side and the petals scattered around her like ashes cascading into the sea.
“If that was real velvet, I’d ask you to pay for damages inflicted, you know.”
“Pish, Tresh. The day you wear stinkin’ velvet instead of a filthy old potato sack’s the day I’m empress of Orlais.” Sera lay flat on her back again, scraping her ragged fingernails through grass and damp dirt. A shriek of a laugh escaped from the back of her throat. “Hah!” For good measure, or maybe a dramatic segue, she chucked a dirt clod as close to the stables as she could. “It’s funny, cause… no. So…”
“So?” Treasure prodded her along with a voice lilting like some legitimate nobleman desperate for meaty gossip.
“Hear about Thom and Josie? Sweeper elf told me there’s flowers and everything.” Sera feigned an uncharacteristic, dreamy sigh, sucking back the splutter of a hard, guttural laugh. “Courting’s fancy stuff. Didn’t think Thom had a drop of court in him.”
“Sera,” the dwarf chided. “Did you--”
“Nooo.”
“You did, didn’t you?”
“Did what?”
“Put Rainier up to it.”
“Haven’t done a thing. On my word!”
“Your word’s worth, well… not a lot.”
Sera broke into an immediate, mad giggle. “I know! Innit right?”
Her laughter died down and they went back to distracting themselves with flowers. The flap of too many wings from the rookery filled the silence from afar, but nearby, the stables were silent. More importantly, they were empty.
“Do you think Ambassador Montilyet likes the beard?” Treasure asked.
“I dunno.” Sera had already sprung to her feet and drew closer to the open barn door. She peeked around its frame with impish curiosity. “He’s not ‘round.” Treasure sidled up and leaned on Sera, eager to investigate.
“Aha!” he gasped after only a few moments of scanning for something bright, amazing, or abnormal.
Sera had a sense of where he was looking already and her gaze shot across the room like an arrow. Tucked beneath the serrated blade of the saw on Thom Rainier’s carving table was a folded piece of pale pink paper.
“She didn’t!”
“I believe, Sera my dear, that she did.”
They both scrambled to reach it first. Sera left Treasure in a cloud of kicked up dust, and the dwarf wondered how in the world Sera could run so fucking fast with so many holes in her boots.
“Got it! I got it!” She dangled the note by a corner, beaming. Treasure finally drew closer.
“Open it!”
“Wait,” Sera’s voice fell to a whisper.
“Wait?”
“Private stuff. I don’t wanna, now.”
“I… think I see your point.” Treasure frowned anyway.
On tiptoe, Sera returned the note where it once was and skittered out the way they came in and dragged Treasure along under her arm.
They plopped down on a stout tree stump, out of breath and halfway across the grounds of Skyhold by now.
“That was fun, Tresh.”
“Yes it was, Sera.”
“Never again though, right? I mean, on my word. Real word. The good kind. Five letters, not four. I mean it.”
“I believe you, Sera. I really do this time.”
“So, Treshy-Treasure, you got any birds from… Min… Minora?”
“Minrathous,” the dwarf corrected.
“Uh huh. He send you dirty letters? ‘Cause keep them to yourself, yeah?”
“Sera, you’re my best friend. If I could trust anyone with raunchy notes, it would be you.”
“Nah, it’s not that. Just-- they’re yours. Shite’s special, you know? Keep it that way. Rusty love’s not right.”
“Sera, you’re--” Treasure grinned and fell silent between words.
“Ha! He likes your arse best, he said. And he misses, well--”
“Sex on the balcony,” they chimed in unison, and erupted into wild laughter straight from the gut.