Chapter Text
To the Esteemed Lady Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador of the Inquisition, From the hand of Comte Gustave of House Beaumont. Penned in the Year 9:41 Dragon.
Tidings of the Conclave descended upon my estate as a shroud of bitter ash. The void left in the wake of Most Holy’s passing has awakened within me a fervent need for penance—a righteous devotion my late lady mother would have championed unto her dying breath. Therefore, my resolve is unyielding.
By my own decree, I shall see your encampments provisioned, ensuring your people's hearths burn ever bright against the coming winter’s biting frost. To further this holy cause, I send my daughter to stand in my stead. She has spoken most highly of your grace. Her spirit is forged of iron, and her intimate mastery of the Great Game—alongside her knowledge of Orlais's most treacherous players—shall serve your council most fruitfully.
I entrust my dearest Karina into your care. In requital, I beseech only this: that the Breach in the heavens be mended, so she may be safely restored to her ancestral home.
I remain, My Lady, yours in profound grief and steadfast alliance,
Comte Gustave of House Beaumont
Karina had been soaking in a hot bubble bath, serenading two of her cats while nursing a glass of red—a bottle, really—when the Divine Conclave exploded and the sky tore asunder. Squinting at the ominous light through the stained glass window, she had swirled her wine, grateful that whatever it was, it was far away and not her problem.
Now, that memory from a couple weeks ago felt like nothing more than a tantalizing dream playing on repeat as she and a dozen others slogged on horseback halfway across the continent, bound for a freezing village in the asscrack of the Frostback Mountains.
She stared in awe at the venomous wound splitting through the clouds above their procession, its oscillating glow more daunting than she’d ever seen it. The Breach, they said; a rupture in the Veil that was pouring out demons and threatened the already precarious balance of the world, though its growth had been halted by their supposed Herald of Andraste. A Levallan. This newly reestablished Inquisition could seal it in time, they said, and a helping hand from one of the most influential families in Orlais would only further expedite the process.
Sure. Fine. Karina could do that.
But no one said jackshit about the Frostback’s tendency to whip up a snowstorm in mid autumn.
A thick layer of snow coated the caravans ahead of her, their wheels rattling over the lip of a stone bridge that led toward torchlight in the distance. Haven, as this village was called, was to be her home for the next unforeseen amount of months, and she could only hope it had a decent enough toilet and a private place for her to journal in their downtime.
At the moment, however, she’d settle for a roof over her head. Anything was better than spending another night shivering in a thin tent.
The front of the procession curved along the dirt path, slowing before an approaching group of scouts. Torchlight shone over House Beaumont’s crest, which branded the lead wagon's canvas, as Darevas—their guide—held out the official ledger of Inquisition goods. Upon a brief inspection, they were set in motion again. Karina hadn’t even needed to slow her horse.
Monitoring from the rear was no longer necessary; the threat of being ambushed dwindled hours ago when they left the Imperial Highway. A merchant contingent this large rarely went unscathed by bandits or desperate Dalish clans. Yet, Karina kept a watchful eye on the perimeter, peering into a darkness that looked as clear as day to her, keeping track of anything that so much as moved.
A lone figure standing on the dock turned his back on the frozen lake to tread toward them, hands clasped behind him. Moonlight gleamed off the top of his head, his pointed ears visible even from a distance, yet he had no vallaslin as far as she could see. His clothes were thin, feet bare despite the weather. Unarmed. A mage, perhaps.
Her shoulders relaxed.
Careful not to scratch his precious lute strapped to his back, Darevas dismounted. He hobbled up behind a burly man barking orders to soldiers in front of the village gates. When the final carriage rumbled to a halt, Karina sauntered past them toward what looked to be the stables up ahead.
One of the soldiers stepped into her path, a hand resting over the pommel of his sword.
“Oi! Fancy horse, this is. Who’re you and what's yer business here?”
Karina blinked down at him. Human. Stubbled jaw. Cracked nose. Perpetual scowl. He leaned heavily on his left leg, suggesting a recent injury—likely the reason for his displeasure at being placed on guard duty. His voice was amicable enough, but words caught in her throat.
Wait, what did he say again?
“You mute?” he asked.
“No,” Karina said. She defaulted to the most immediate fact. “You’re in my way.”
“Was that a threat?” Another soldier stepped beside his buddy, who was scowling up at her.
“Yer a female? Only one reason you’d be coverin’ yer face like that.”
Because the mountain gale nearly froze her ears before she’d pulled up her hood, and her nose was dripping salty waterfalls under the mask shielding half her face.
“Precautions,” she said.
“Well, you can shove off yer precautions and answer my damn question. Who are you?”
“With the caravan.”
“Oh, are you now?” He turned, giving his buddy a mocking look. “Hear that, Bodie? The lass thinks she’s a clever one.”
“We’re not accepting any more refugees at present, or whatever it is you're trying to pull with that getup,” Bodie said, crossing his arms in an attempt to appear intimidating. “Best if you leave before we get our Commander over here to sort you out.”
Excuse me, getup? What was wrong with her cloak? It was practical, thick, and complimented her horse's midnight coat. They were the ones coiled tightly in chainmail that made them look like rusted cheese graters rather than battle-ready warriors.
Snow crunched off to her left as the mage from the docks rounded a side path, slowing his pace to observe the standoff. She caught his eye briefly before turning her gaze back to the men.
“I’m not leaving,” Karina said firmly.
“Look, we aren’t blind.” Bodie jerked his chin her way. “We see your eyes. The only way an elf’s got a horse like this is if you stole it. Gonna tell us who you are, or no?”
“No.”
“Right, keep an eye on her. I'll be back.” He pivoted and marched off toward the gate, shaking his head.
The other soldier smirked. “Why don’t you hop off like a good wee rabbit and tell us yer name? If you’s so important.”
She tilted her head. It’d been some time since she’d last been called a rabbit, and the implications didn’t sit well with her. If this was how Inquisition soldiers treated strangers seeking refuge—or worse, the elves already in their service—then their lack of discipline was a liability. A disjointed front would only draw out this whole fucking endeavor.
With one fluid movement, she swung from the saddle and dismounted, shaking loose the drifts of snow that had piled across her cloak. She stalked toward the man and didn't stop until she could sufficiently execute her glower. He blanched and took a hesitant step back, his hand snapping back to his pommel.
“Who are you?” Karina asked, her voice dangerously calm.
“Cedric.”
Oh. That was easier than she thought. Perhaps his loss of bravado was because she towered over him by several inches and could see just how greasy his hair was from above. And his bald spot. In her experience, men didn't treat her as much of a woman when one of their most fragile insecurities was dismantled by a simple difference in altitude.
“Look at the horse, Cedric.”
His eyes flitted behind her, then darted back to hers. His throat bobbed against his chest plate when he swallowed.
“Can you see the Beaumont crest on her saddle?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then why have you wasted my time?”
“You can’t speak to me like that,” he stammered. “And I know yer kind, ain’t no way it’s yers. I’d bet—”
She whistled—a sharp, trilling sound that sliced right through his bigotry—and spared him a lingering look of disapproval as she brushed past.
Cedric's retort died in his throat when the massive mare dutifully followed, the heavy click-clack of hooves drawing up to Karina’s side. She gripped the reins and patted her horse's neck, not paying the soldier trailing behind her any mind. She'd long since discovered the way to deal with prejudice in a world that wreaked of it was to either ignore the slurs thrown at her, or pick them up and throw them right back where it hurt most. The latter usually got her in trouble more often than not, and she wasn't trying to pick fights with bastards that didn't deserve the breath.
The carriages she passed were being unloaded by the crew and village folk, crates of produce and supplies stacked atop one another to be hauled toward the gates and distributed. Darevas had already removed the canvas on his carriage in preparation for the journey home, showcasing its empty bed to stave off highwaymen. This route was now the merchant crew's biweekly assignment, and given she wouldn’t be traveling with them from here on out, they were being paid handsomely to offset the potential risks.
Coming to a halt in front of the stables tucked against the palisade, where four horses breathed clouds of steam into the air from within a rickety enclosure, Karina cleared her throat.
“Are you the Stable Master?” she asked. The human perched on a bench under the wooden overhang didn't look up from the bridle he was oiling.
“Horsemaster,” he corrected. “But I suppose the title fits well enough. Started today. Name’s Dennet.”
“Do you have room for one more?”
Dennet lifted his head, his gaze immediately bypassing Karina to lock onto her mount. He sprung up from his seat with a gasp.
“Maker’s breath... an Anderfel Courser. In these frozen wastes?” He leapt over the stone fence and held out a hand for the mare to sniff. “Aye. I’ll make room. I’d sleep in the dirt myself before I let a beast like this freeze.”
She gave him an appreciative nod he didn't see. “Thank you.”
“Bred for the Grey Wardens, these ones,” Dennet said, taking the reins from her. “Built to ride through the worst terrain in Thedas and stare down darkspawn without flinching. Majestic creatures. I have a few of them back in the Hinterlands, but I've never seen a solid black before.” He looked up at Karina. “She got a name?”
“Waffles.”
The man grimaced.
“I will return with her food.” She walked off, her cloak billowing out behind her.
In front of the gates, the Commander—a burly man stuffed in armor—nodded along as Darevas spoke, his brows pulled tight. The two of them gestured around the staging area in some sort of disagreement. When Darevas saw her emerging from the shadows, the Dalish elf retrieved a folded parchment from his coat pocket without pausing his spiel.
“Each of them boxes is labeled with instructions from your ambassador lady,” Darevas said, scowling at the man nearly twice his size, “you don’t need me to tell you what’s in them or where they go. Unless you poor lot can’t read Trade.”
Squinting at the soldiers waiting behind the Commander—whose names she had already forgotten—Karina plucked the paper from Darevas's outstretched hand.
Blankets, candles, cutlery, dried meats, fruits, grain, herbs, honey, nuts, potatoes, tinctures, tools… One-hundred and thirty-six crates, all to be taken apart later for additional firewood.
If Lady Montilyet’s quotes were correct, and there was no doubt they were, this should be more than enough to last two weeks when used sparingly. Now, they just had to move it all inside so Karina could lay the fuck down. Maintaining an invisibility glamour over the entire procession since sun-up had done a serious number on her—more than she'd like to admit.
The Commander sighed. “I understand—”
“Alright. More power to ya. Think this old coot knows, anyway? I ride and I drop shit off, simple as that. Sometimes I even pick shit up if I’m feelin’ a little crazy. Might yell at a fucker or two for tryin’a jack my load along the way, but that’s my crew’s job to shoot them in the nutsack, not mine.”
A dwarf propped up against a stack of crates cackled.
“I’ve been in this business four long decades, and unfortunately I’m still breathin’, so I must be doing somethin’ right,” Darevas continued, screaming to the heavens because he couldn't hear for shit. “My point is, we all got our part to play in this shithole, and mine isn’t coddlin’ youngins like yourself. You need somethin’, ask ‘er.”
Every eye in the vicinity followed his pointed finger toward Karina.
Bloody void. Why’d he have to put me on the spot like that?
Her mind blanked on the proper etiquette for this situation. She just stared, pin straight, cold sweat dripping down her ribs as she white-knuckled the paper in her hands. Attention was something she had been used to once upon a time, something she used to thrive in long ago when the thrill of deceiving people with her magic was still fresh and exhilarating.
But without a mask, stares felt like daggers, peeling off her skin to scour her secrets beneath.
“If you would simply wait for our ambassador to finish her meeting,” the Commander said slowly, eyeing her back with newfound caution, “she could verify the manifest’s accuracy and delegate the distribution.”
On second thought…
“With all due respect, Commander,” Karina reached into her cloak as she approached, “No.”
“Excuse me?”
Metal clanked as soldiers grasped their swords.
She withdrew a coin purse from her satchel and gave it to Darevas. This crew knew protocol better than any other, and had already been briefed on their accommodations for the night, but it was up to them to figure out where this Singing Maiden was in the village. She had a job to do, and sitting around waiting was not a part of it.
Though the coin was for hot meals and a round of drinks, per tradition, Darevas weighed the pouch in his palm with a smirk. He always knew when she added a little extra.
“I ever tell you you’re my favorite, da’len?”
“If you get drunk,” she said flatly, “I’m not dragging you to your horse again.”
He pretended he heard her and smiled, displaying the few teeth he had left, then patted her elbow all fondly. It was as high as he could reach.
“Lose the mask, will ya? And that glare,” he chuckled, hobbling off toward the gates. “You’re scarin’ the youngins.”
Karina blinked.
What? No, that wasn’t right.
She thought she was doing rather well as far as first impressions went. They were the ones who had made immediate assumptions out of racial prejudice, whereas she had been cordial, respectful, and hadn't even stuttered once. The bald man could vouch for her in that regard, surely, if she asked. He was standing near the laughing dwarf, having arrived in the middle of Darevas's shouting match to spectate the scene with an air of curious detachment.
“Do you mind telling me who you think you are?”
The Commander’s voice snagged her attention. He had his arms crossed in the perfect picture of arrogant authority, his eyes narrowed to slits as he took in her ‘getup’. He was quite handsome in a traditional sense, with the sort of face chiseled by years of stress and hard work, though the dark circles bruising the skin under his brown eyes suggested he was just as exhausted as she was, if not more.
“You may call me Karina.”
Her newest name fell into the silence like a shackle, sealing her false identity with the weight of a curse.
Covertly, subtly, she wiped the snot from under her nose as she pulled off her mask. The cold air slapped her flushed cheeks, easily ranking as the most unpleasant experience of the day.
“Well, Karina, we were expecting you. But that does not mean…you can…” His face slackened.
“My apologies, Commander,” she said when he trailed off, and gave him a slight bow before lowering her hood. “But the manifest is accurate. I penned it myself.”
“I… see.”
“Is there a problem that needs to be addressed before we proceed?”
The soldiers behind him glanced at each other with equal looks of bafflement then stared at her, bug-eyed. She gave them a once over. What were their names again? Hendrick? Bolin? The fuck were they looking at her like that for? Perhaps they thought her a city elf who would kneel and beg at the first sign of authority, but Karina wouldn’t get on her knees even if they held her at knife point.
The Commander cleared his throat, his expression taking on a professional cast. “Protocol dictates our Ambassador must confirm incoming supplies from newly established alliances.” He sounded like he was reciting from a textbook.
“Lady Montilyet can confirm the number of crates outside each door once they are moved,” Karina countered, planting a hand on her hip.
“That is not how this works.”
“Why not?”
“Because… it is a safety risk to permit unverified cargo past the gates.”
“Then check each one before it is carried inside.”
“It is not a matter of simply looking at them,” he said, his tone growing frustrated, “it is a matter of official Inquisition procedure.”
“Only the ambassador has such authority?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know we have arrived?”
“As I said, she is in a meeting.”
Karina stared at him, unblinking. Long enough that a flush crept up his neck beneath his fur collar and his gaze shifted out to their audience helplessly. She’d had more stimulating debates with her horse about which way to chew an apple. If the Commander’s dedication to official procedure kept him warm enough to stand out here in the snow, good for him.
She was freezing her tits off.
“I understand. Well met, Commander.”
For an army of rigid soldiers so deadset on protecting their people from poisoned potatoes, no one stopped her as she glided up the steps and through the gates.
Haven was quieter than she expected. For the most part, its people had escaped the chill to warm up inside by the hearths leaking clouds of smoke into the night sky. Some servants hurried about, carrying chamber pots or baskets of laundry on dirt paths driven through the snow. Buildings lining the palisade looked just enough to house perhaps a hundred or so, if she were being generous, but the number of tents was alarming. They were squished into every nook and cranny, worse for wear and lacking any insulation beyond the thin canvas walls. The inhabitants—mostly refugees in haggard clothing—resorted to huddling around campfires outside for warmth.
Better than nothing. Yet this village, though quaint and beautiful, was decidedly no place for a growing army.
Karina quickened her step, red banners snapping in the wind above. She figured important discussions would take place in the grandest structure looming over the people like a gaudy centerpiece on a rotting table, and it wasn’t surprising that whoever owned this village spent most of its efforts maintaining the Chantry as opposed to its dilapidated shacks and actual defense systems.
She pulled the heavy door open, the sound of her boots hitting the stone echoing with each step through the cavernous hall. Sisters littered the pews, murmuring amongst themselves under the dim torchlight, either watching her curiously or their heads bent over tomes. A child's soft giggle rang out from one of their arms. After a quick word with the nearest Sister, Karina proceeded toward the large doors at the far end, knocked against the wood, and waited.
Eventually, it opened just wide enough for a head to peek out.
“Yes?” the human said, not unkindly. Her dark hair was cropped to her ears, displaying high cheekbones and a pair of almond-shaped hazel eyes that were narrowed on Karina.
“Lady Jospehine Montilyet has been requested at the gates.”
“By whom?”
“The Commander,” Karina said, the half-truth falling easily from her lips.
The woman grunted. She was just about to close the door in her face when Josephine’s voice fluttered from within.
“Karina?”
Finally. She breathed a sigh.
The door was pulled wider, revealing an exhausted Josephine whose face lightened into a small smile at the sight of Karina.
Karina, however, immediately locked eyes with someone sitting on a chair deeper in the room, and a sense of dread glued her feet in place. The girl's shoulders were bunched, knees pulled to her chest with tears streaming down the lines of intricate vallaslin. Dirthamen’s? Mythal’s? It was too brief a glance to distinguish.
“Oh, I knew I heard your voice! Excuse me, Herald, there is something I must attend to.” Josephine closed the door behind her.
Not before she caught the green light shining from one of the girl’s clenched fists. Her breath caught in her throat.
For fuck’s sake.
Her new boss was a Dalish child.