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“Sera? Oh Seeeraaaa!” the Lady Emmald called out. She wandered the courtyard peering behind every manicured shrub and perfectly placed rock, calling Sera’s name. “Sera,” she enunciated, “this is not ladylike behavior! Come out at once!”
Sera wiped a tear from her face with a pudgy toddler hand, stifling her hiccuping sobs. She watched as Lady Emmald searched every shaded alcove and toddler-sized cranny, expecting to find Sera smug with unapologetic mischievousness. She wouldn’t find her there, though. Sera wasn’t in the courtyard — she was sitting on the rooftop that overlooked it, arms wrapped around her knees in the shade under the flowerbox that hung from one of the estate’s windows. She was safe here; when looking for a small child, no-one ever thinks to look up.
They had done this often enough; Sera was familiar with the routine by now. It wouldn’t be long before Lady Emmald lost interest in this game of cat-and-mouse they so often found themselves in. She would scoff in frustration and mumble to herself about misbehaving elves, and then she’d have one of her servants carry on the search while she went to get ready for the party she’d wanted to bring Sera to. Then later, when the party was over and Sera left her safe place on the roof, Lady Emmald would fuss over her and pretend to have been worried about her — and Sera was too young to realize it now, but really, the Lady Emmald was just bitter about missing the opportunity to show off her pet elf to all her noble friends.
Isn’t she well-behaved? Sera remembered from last time. Isn’t she a cute little thing, for an elf? I took her in from the alienage — she’s an orphan, the poor creature! Don't worry about the accent, we’ll train that out of her in no time. Hmm? Oh, well I suppose most folks wouldn't waste their time raising an elf to be civilized, but… well, I pity them, don't you? Such difficult lives they lead! It only seemed right to save little Sera from that. And you know, of course, that I can't have children of my own…
She was so kind, the Lady Emmald — she never shouted or said a mean word against Sera; she fed her and clothed her and treated her like a daughter. She even made Sera cookies, just like a real mother would. By all accounts, Sera was lucky to have her patronage. She should be grateful, but even then it felt wrong, somehow. It would be years and years until she understood why.
But here on the rooftops, she was safe from it all. Here, no-one would tell her how lucky and special she was, how she was different from other elves. Here, no-one would scold her for the way she spoke or for ripping her dress. Here on the rooftop, it was only her and her tears, separate from the world below.
***
Some fifteen years later, Sera still felt safest settled high up on a rooftop, all alone. Every rooftop, she’d found, was just a little bit different — a different view, a different angle, a different pattern of ups and downs pressed into her back when she lay down to watch the stars. She picked her spot in the Herald’s Rest because the window opened out onto the roof, an easy escape when things became too much. From there, she could watch the Inquisitor bustle back and forth across the grounds, talking to companions and running errands hither and thither, buzzing around like a bee in a jar.
Heh, there’s an idea.
***
Sera didn’t share rooftops. She used to, when she was young and in love, but Felynne ran off to join the Dalish, and Sera hadn't shared her rooftops with anyone else since then. Her roof was her safe place; she couldn’t trust it with just anyone, and if she didn’t let anyone get close, she couldn’t be abandoned like that again.
She didn’t expect the Inquisitor to care, about her as a person. Sera was a Jenny, she had friends friggin everywhere, but the Inquisitor became a friend friend. She found herself wanting to share her roof with another person, for the first time in a long time. She even told the Inquisitor about the cookies. She never told anyone about the cookies.
Sera hoped that this time, she’d trusted her roof to the right person.