[Val pauses briefly in the writing of his letter. Thoughtfully, he sucks at the feather end of his quill as he considers, then he turns to Jeannot.
Presumably they are in the sad library of Skyhold, and they are sitting at the same table. This is perfect for discussing philosophical questions, such as:]
Jeannot, is it very blasphemous to fear Freddie's wrath more than Andraste's, or only a little blasphemous?
Only a little, [ Jeannot answers offhand, without thought or upward glance: of course not. Freddie is terrifying when wrathful.
But then his eyes still on his book and he hums thoughtfully before he goes on with arch and only mildly guilty thoroughness: ]
Andraste is with the Maker, and until the Herald emerged from the Fade she had not truly interfered with us for a thousand years. However great her disappointment, she will leave you alone. And you need not face the Maker's wrath until you have died or He has returned, whichever is first to occur—or you need not face His wrath at all, if you die penitent and obedient. That is more likely to occur if you reach old age, and you are more likely to reach old age if you do not anger Freddie. In this way, fearing Freddie most of all is nearly an act of faith.
[Yes, that checks out. Val nods, and--thoughtfully--scratches his fingernails against his tongue to clean it of quill.]
Have I told you lately that I am so very glad you are here with me? Where would I be without you? Locked in a moral quandary, at the very least, to say nothing of the miserable company I would suffer.
[He begins to write again. After a few seconds (while still writing), he adds:]
Though I cannot imagine I will be a very penitent old man.
I have received a request from Commander Norrington, concerning those convalescing in the healing tents.
A number of Sisters currently make the rounds to offer conversation and compassion where they are needed. Yet I suspect that some would rest at greater ease among clergy of a similar background.
[ Like, a noble background. Or a dude background. Or an Orlesian one, or whatever the mysterious heritage that enables people to make jokes. Maybe she’s talking about limping gingers, who knows! This probably has nothing to do with time spent publicly mourning ham. ]
Though I would not presume to disrupt your studies, I would be heartened for any assistance you might render.
Thank you very much for the list, the admission, and your prompt payment of your debts. In addition to the presents, I think I might commission a shadow box in just the right size to display a silver coin, with with a little plaque. I have not decided what the plaque might say. "Valentine's Shame," perhaps.
I recognize that you've asked not to be comforted, but I feel I must inform you that your timing in acquiring an elven friend is precipitous, given the developments in Orlais. Now that our very own Empress has an Elven Friend you might find your reception, as a man with an Elven Friend, equal parts fascinated and scandalized—rather than scornful lack of interest, as it has been in the past—among those who you would have any interest in being received by. (Of course there are still those who would be scornful, for example our old friend with the nose, you know the one, who has been publicly asking whether he might adhere to the letter of the Empress' decree by removing his alienage altogether rather than only its walls, putting the elves out in the woods to see how they like it without his protection, perhaps their Dalish will come for them, etc.; and likewise those who would be delighted, who have variously acquired elven lovers or taken elven protégés or some uncertain combination of the two, whose names I will likewise not put to paper now, but know that among them is my own family. It is horrible. I will tell you when I return. But among those who are less socially clumsy:) People are now very curious about the Dalish, in a hushed and disapproving way I think you'll enjoy. This may be your opportunity to learn things no one else at the dinner table may know, without a single arrow in your head for your troubles, probably. Not an arrow from the Dalish in any case. I cannot say whether you might receive an arrow from your countrymen.
In the interest of no arrows in your head, among many other things, I do beg you not to sleep with her. Not even for science.
Aside from all of this nonsense about elves, Orlais fares well. The countryside is no longer quite so littered with corpses. I made my way without incident, despite seeing several bands of men who looked like they might like to cause an incident at some point, only not with a man with Chantry robes and a cane.
When I join you in Kirkwall it will be by sea, so I should not have to pass them a second time. Instead I am holding out hope for pirates—new pirates, not the pirates from before. Pirates with no ill memory of me. If I do not return at all, you may look for me on the islands, but only after waiting a sufficient length of time for me to acquire a peg leg and a fancy hat.
Yours,
Jeannot
Edited (im so sorry that i typed "pleaseforgi" in the password box before i realized) 2017-05-09 15:22 (UTC)
You must promise me at the outset to hold this letter in the closest secrecy--indeed, I am afraid I must ask for that most solemn of oaths. Swear to me on the statue of Andraste you kept in treasured place upon your bedside table before the Creature broke it that you will say nothing of this letter to Val without my most express permission. I cannot see your swearing, but I know you would not deny your oldest and dearest friend this rare request and so I shall continue on in faith that you have done as I have asked.
I shan't ask you to swear not to judge harshly what I am about to say, for I know that I deserve it, but I will ask you to try your best for mercy and understanding. Perhaps you might even share my feelings for a moment, though I know you are too good and pure a soul for it to last any longer than that.
Here is the news: our own Valentine has been named head of the Research division. He now commands all who do research for the Inquisition in Kirkwall, and several projects as well. It is happy news! We celebrated with a great deal of wine when it was announced, and sang triumphant songs, and even--you will be pleased to hear--said a brief prayer of thanks for the wise choice the Inquisition has made in choosing one of us. And yet.
And yet, I am ashamed to even put the word to paper, but I find myself envious. That is the truth, Jehan, and you have always counseled us to be more virtuous so I feel I must confess it honestly. At night after our celebrations, listening to V's terrible drunken and yet victorious snoring through the wall, I found myself cast into an abyss of ill-feeling and confusion. Why was he chosen, plucked alone from among us to be raised above us? Why not I? Why not all of us together?
And when I say 'raised above us', dear Jeannot, I mean it quite literally: in the hierarchy of the Inquisition, V is now above me. I have been given charge of a project, which I shall come to shortly, and that project falls beneath his supervision. I am to report to him. It is, again, a strange feeling. I am relieved to know that the man in whose hands the fate of my endeavors rests is one I trust most implicitly and respect most highly, who I can be sure shall never deny me anything I strongly believe needed. But on the other hand, I fear that this power may go to his head and we shall find ourselves at odds as we have never before been. You know how proud he becomes.
And already, Jeannot, he is befriending more elves (or perhaps merely strengthening his friendship with the same elf, I confess I have no idea, nor am I sure which is the more alarming possibility) and going about cultivating connections with Rifters, and encouraging Wardens to co-opt portions of my project without a word to me! I do not think he does it intentionally but he has never had good instincts when it comes to these sorts of alliances. He is too easily beguiled by the chance to thwart convention and court scandal. Not that the Inquisition seems to believe such things as scandalous as any would at home: they have made one of the Dalish elves the head of a division as well! Jeannot, a spy with a face tattoo. Tell me you have heard anything more ridiculous this week and I will owe you an entire magnum of the 9:31. I'm sure she's a perfectly nice girl, but hardly inconspicuous. I nearly choked on a grape in my laughter on first hearing.
And this brings me to my project. I have been placed in charge of research into the history of our adversary. A fascinating topic indeed, but not one in which I have any expertise. Which shall not stop me! And you know that too well to have feared that it might, so I shall continue onward to the part more alarming: the group so far is made up near-entirely of Wardens. I've no idea what to make of it, Jeannot. I should not have taken any of them for scholars. Can you picture Warden Alistair, lost prince of Ferelden, poring over tomes? Examining artifacts? I cringe at the very thought of his hambone fingers on scroll or scrap of pottery. They should be as likely thrown to his dog as properly cared for. And he is not even the strangest of the lot!
Among my new charges, Jeannot, is Anders, no not merely a lost denizen of that far-off wasteland happily escaped to places where sheep do not outnumber people and darkspawn do not outnumber books and regular dust-storms do not bury them all beyond counting anyway. No, I mean the Anders, who I had of course heard was about the Inquisition but that he has been brought to Kirkwall and now works with me is quite a surprise. Another surprise: he is a prat. And another is a strange boy named Alan who I think must either be a particularly patient and elaborate joke concocted by you and V--in which case very well done--or perhaps was raised among animals and has only just now discovered human society. I nearly said wolves, but there is nothing aggressive about him that I have seen thus far. Perhaps squirrels. He has apparently begun reorganizing the library by shape and color. I was horrified, but he is only a squirrel-boy and I could not bring myself to chide him too harshly. We shall have to see that the librarians stop him in the future. Perhaps we can set up a small fence and scatter a few acorns elsewhere to distract him.
I have filled page after page such that the envelope shall burst before it ever reaches you and still I have not asked a word after your family or your travels and for that I am most sorry. I hope that all have been well and went well, respectively as is appropriate. Give your family my love and your travels my attention in the sense that you ought to record anything of interest for later perusal and discussion. I await your return most eagerly, and have only not written before now because Val has been terribly jealous of his letters and will not let me add so much as a note, even when I offered to put my post-script on a separate sheet. And this before he was given power over you and I both! You see why I worry. But having shared my worries with you I find them now eased, simply in knowing that I shall have your advice and forgiveness on the matter.
Pray return to us soon, or I shall have to begin making threats to induce you as cajoling has not.
Love always, Freddie
PS: Please bring wine, for we have drunk a frightful percentage of our good stores in our despair over your loss, our joy over Valentine's appointment, and my recent struggles. It takes at least one bottle of wine per Warden I am forced to deal with. You should of course feel free to use my account, I believe the wineseller in Val Royeaux still has a few bottles of the 9:34 saved for me in his cellar. If you forget, inform me immediately so I might write myself and have a few crates delivered in haste. We shall most certainly need them. - F
( As promised, a messenger eventually delivers to elder, more responsible Mercier a copy of one of Gwenaëlle's most recent pieces, signed neatly in the lower right corner 𝒢wenaëlle 𝒱auquelin, nom de guerre ℐlde 𝒮auvageon and then, begrudgingly, 𝒞houpinette below, with the following message; )
It was very important to Jeannot I send you this. You understand I could hardly pass up the opportunity to hold my generosity over him.
Brother Mercier — [ 'jehan' is great for people who haven't spent thirty years mistaking a conspicuous verbal distance for courtesy ] — I hope you will forgive the late hour.
[ because the crystal's sure going to be making noise at him anyway ]
I am saddened to hear it. [ Heartbroken. ] Small sins are the most dangerous, you must know, as they chip away tiny pieces of the Maker's favor without drawing attention to themselves. You are fortunate to have caught this one.
Brother. [Marcher. Maybe remembered at some point because if you've gazed upon the bald shredded wonder that is Brother Deacon do you forget? No. No you do not.] If you've the time, I've questions. About the works the Inquisition is truly doing for the people.
[What strange news they get, even out Markham way after all that with the Tourney y'know.]
No Chantry here, after all. You might help me ease the worries of an old Mother.
[Nerds read books and books are in the library. Which is where Marcoulf tracks down Jehan, a few slips of blank parchment in one hand and a pen and inkpot in the other. He does not quite get as far as laying the papers out on the table, but it's a near thing.
In Orlesian, thank the Maker:] Would you transcribe something for me?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
not a visit, it can't be a visit if they're like always together
Presumably they are in the sad library of Skyhold, and they are sitting at the same table. This is perfect for discussing philosophical questions, such as:]
Jeannot, is it very blasphemous to fear Freddie's wrath more than Andraste's, or only a little blasphemous?
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But then his eyes still on his book and he hums thoughtfully before he goes on with arch and only mildly guilty thoroughness: ]
Andraste is with the Maker, and until the Herald emerged from the Fade she had not truly interfered with us for a thousand years. However great her disappointment, she will leave you alone. And you need not face the Maker's wrath until you have died or He has returned, whichever is first to occur—or you need not face His wrath at all, if you die penitent and obedient. That is more likely to occur if you reach old age, and you are more likely to reach old age if you do not anger Freddie. In this way, fearing Freddie most of all is nearly an act of faith.
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[Yes, that checks out. Val nods, and--thoughtfully--scratches his fingernails against his tongue to clean it of quill.]
Have I told you lately that I am so very glad you are here with me? Where would I be without you? Locked in a moral quandary, at the very least, to say nothing of the miserable company I would suffer.
[He begins to write again. After a few seconds (while still writing), he adds:]
Though I cannot imagine I will be a very penitent old man.
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you made me wizard nostalgic so here's a casual sending crystal message
where are the emoticons
idk how about you invent them o mod
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at some point, at some time, in some vaguely letterly format
I have received a request from Commander Norrington, concerning those convalescing in the healing tents.
A number of Sisters currently make the rounds to offer conversation and compassion where they are needed. Yet I suspect that some would rest at greater ease among clergy of a similar background.
[ Like, a noble background. Or a dude background. Or an Orlesian one, or whatever the mysterious heritage that enables people to make jokes. Maybe she’s talking about limping gingers, who knows! This probably has nothing to do with time spent publicly mourning ham. ]
Though I would not presume to disrupt your studies, I would be heartened for any assistance you might render.
Regards,
— Ser Coupe
a letter
Fʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ᴏᴡɴ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ: I ᴡɪʟʟ sᴀʏ ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀᴏɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ ᴀs ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴ ᴀʀʀᴀɴɢᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ. Sʜᴇ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴍʏ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ I ᴅᴇɴɪᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀ. Nᴏᴛ ᴀ sᴄʀɪʙʙʟᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀ ᴘᴏsᴛsᴄʀɪᴘᴛ ᴅɪᴅ I ᴘᴇʀᴍɪᴛ, ɴᴏʀ ᴡɪʟʟ I, ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴍʏ (ᴅᴜʙɪᴏᴜs) ʜᴏɴᴏʀ ᴀs ᴀ ᴅᴇ Fᴏɴᴄᴇ́, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛs ꜰᴏʀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴀs I ᴀᴍ ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘs ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛʜs ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ, ɪꜰ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ. Aɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏɴᴏʀ ɪs ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴜʙɪᴏᴜs. Dᴏᴇs ɪᴛ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ɪꜰ ɪᴛ ɪs ᴅᴜʙɪᴏᴜs? I ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɴᴏᴛ.
Jᴇᴀɴɴᴏᴛ, I ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ꜰɪɴᴅɪɴɢ Oʀʟᴀɪs ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴ ꜰᴀᴄᴛ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛʀʏ ɪᴛsᴇʟꜰ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏsᴛ ᴏʀ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ. I sᴜᴘᴘᴏsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴇʟʟ sᴜᴘᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏ ʀᴇᴀsᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴏʀʀʏ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ – ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴅᴇᴇᴅ, ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ! Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ, ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴄᴀᴘᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ sᴇᴄᴜʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴘᴀssᴀɢᴇ. Aɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜs ꜰᴏʀᴛʜᴡɪᴛʜ, ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴜsɪɴᴇss ᴀɴᴅ sᴇᴄᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴄᴇssᴀʀʏ ᴘᴀᴄᴋᴀɢᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴛs.
Eɴᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴀ ʟɪsᴛ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛs ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ, Vᴀʟ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ! Pʟᴇᴀsᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ ᴀɴᴅ sɪᴢᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ɪᴛᴇᴍ.
Aɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴏᴡɴ ʜᴏʟʏ ᴍᴀɴ. Jᴇᴀɴɴᴏᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ. Tʜᴇ ᴄʀʏsᴛᴀʟ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ: sʜᴇ ɪs ᴀɴ ᴇʟꜰ. Pᴇʀʜᴀᴘs ᴀ Dᴀʟɪsʜ. I ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇɴǫᴜɪʀᴇ ꜰᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡʜᴇɴ I ʟᴇᴀʀɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs ꜰᴀᴄᴛ. I ᴀᴍ ᴘᴜᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ sᴏ I ɴᴇᴇᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴅᴍɪᴛ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ. I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴇɴᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ sɪʟᴠᴇʀ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ɪɴ sᴀᴛɪsꜰᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ. I ᴀᴍ sᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘʀᴀʏᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴇssᴇᴅ Aɴᴅʀᴀsᴛᴇ RIGHT NOW ᴛʜᴀᴛ Fʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴀʟsᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴀ ᴛʀɪᴘ sᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴄᴀɴ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴀ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ sᴇɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ sᴀᴛɪsꜰᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛ ᴀs ᴡᴇʟʟ.
(I ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴘʀᴀʏɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. I ᴍɪss ʏᴏᴜ TERRIBLY Jᴇᴀɴɴᴏᴛ.)
Aɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsᴛ sᴡᴇᴀʀ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴛʜɪs sɪʟᴠᴇʀ ᴄᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ WILL NOT ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀ WORD ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴏ Fʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ɴᴏʀ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ ᴏꜰ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʀ ᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ꜰᴀsʜɪᴏɴ. Hᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴡᴏʀɴ? Dᴏ ɪᴛ ɴᴏᴡ, Jᴇᴀɴɴᴏᴛ. Sʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ɢᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴄᴏɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇssɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ᴅᴜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ.
I ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ sᴀᴛɪsꜰʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs ʙᴇᴛ.
Pʟᴇᴀsᴇ sᴇɴᴅ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛɪᴅɪɴɢs ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴍᴇ.
I ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ ʏʀ. ᴅᴇᴀʀᴇsᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴅᴇsᴘɪᴛᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇssᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ,
Dᴇᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅʟʏ ʏʀs.,
VAL ᴅᴇ Fᴏɴᴄᴇ́
Hᴇ Wʜᴏ Wʀɪᴛᴇs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ Dᴀʀᴋ
a reply
Thank you very much for the list, the admission, and your prompt payment of your debts. In addition to the presents, I think I might commission a shadow box in just the right size to display a silver coin, with with a little plaque. I have not decided what the plaque might say. "Valentine's Shame," perhaps.
I recognize that you've asked not to be comforted, but I feel I must inform you that your timing in acquiring an elven friend is precipitous, given the developments in Orlais. Now that our very own Empress has an Elven Friend you might find your reception, as a man with an Elven Friend, equal parts fascinated and scandalized—rather than scornful lack of interest, as it has been in the past—among those who you would have any interest in being received by. (Of course there are still those who would be scornful, for example our old friend with the nose, you know the one, who has been publicly asking whether he might adhere to the letter of the Empress' decree by removing his alienage altogether rather than only its walls, putting the elves out in the woods to see how they like it without his protection, perhaps their Dalish will come for them, etc.; and likewise those who would be delighted, who have variously acquired elven lovers or taken elven protégés or some uncertain combination of the two, whose names I will likewise not put to paper now, but know that among them is my own family. It is horrible. I will tell you when I return. But among those who are less socially clumsy:) People are now very curious about the Dalish, in a hushed and disapproving way I think you'll enjoy. This may be your opportunity to learn things no one else at the dinner table may know, without a single arrow in your head for your troubles, probably. Not an arrow from the Dalish in any case. I cannot say whether you might receive an arrow from your countrymen.
In the interest of no arrows in your head, among many other things, I do beg you not to sleep with her. Not even for science.
Aside from all of this nonsense about elves, Orlais fares well. The countryside is no longer quite so littered with corpses. I made my way without incident, despite seeing several bands of men who looked like they might like to cause an incident at some point, only not with a man with Chantry robes and a cane.
When I join you in Kirkwall it will be by sea, so I should not have to pass them a second time. Instead I am holding out hope for pirates—new pirates, not the pirates from before. Pirates with no ill memory of me. If I do not return at all, you may look for me on the islands, but only after waiting a sufficient length of time for me to acquire a peg leg and a fancy hat.
Yours,
Jeannot
a reply to a reply
I ᴡɪʟʟ ꜰɪʀsᴛ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴏᴡ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛʟʏ I ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ꜰᴀɴᴛᴀsᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ʟᴀʀɢᴇ ʜᴀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛʟʏ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏʀᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴘᴇɢ ʟᴇɢ. Wᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇɢ ʟᴇɢ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ? I ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ ɪᴛ ᴄᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ, ɪɴ sᴏᴍᴇ ꜰᴇᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ sᴛʏʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ sʜᴀᴘᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀʀᴛꜰᴜʟʟʏ, ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴏꜰ ᴀ sᴜʀꜰᴀᴄᴇ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀʟᴋ. I ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ, ᴛᴏᴏ: Fʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴀɴᴅ I ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ. O, ʜᴏᴡ ᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛs ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇᴅ. Wᴇ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴀᴠᴏʀ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇsᴄᴜᴇ ʏᴏᴜ. Oᴜʀ ᴛʀᴀɪʟ ʙᴇɢɪɴs ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ (ᴡʜɪᴄʜ I ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ – ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ!), ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ Kɪʀᴋᴡᴀʟʟ ʙʏ sᴇᴀ. Bʏ sᴇᴀ! Fʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴀɴᴅ I sᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴀ sʜɪᴘ ꜰᴏʀᴛʜᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ᴜs ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʀᴏᴜᴛᴇs. Aɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ, ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ, ᴀs ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋꜰᴀsᴛɪɴɢ: ᴀ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏɴ sʜᴏᴛ! A ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ ᴄᴀʟʟ! Tʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ɢᴏᴇs ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sʜɪᴘ: PIRATES. A ꜰᴇᴀʀsᴏᴍᴇ sᴇᴀ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇɴsᴜᴇs, ʙᴜᴛ ᴏᴜʀ sʜɪᴘ ɪs ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴏᴜᴛᴍᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ sʜɪᴘ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪʀᴀᴛᴇs ᴄᴏᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏʀᴛ sɪᴅᴇ - ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴡ ɢɴᴀsʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴛᴇᴇᴛʜ ᴀᴛ ᴜs, sʜᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ sᴄɪᴍɪᴛᴀʀs, ᴛᴡɪʀʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴜɴᴋᴇᴍᴘᴛ ʙᴇᴀʀᴅs, ɢʟɪɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴀss ʙᴜᴛᴛᴏɴs ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴄᴏᴀᴛs ɪɴ ᴏᴜʀ ᴇʏᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ sᴏ ᴏɴ – ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ sʜɪᴘ ᴘᴜʟʟs ᴀʟᴏɴɢ, ᴡᴇ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ sʜɪᴘ sᴛᴏᴏᴅ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴀ ʟᴀʀɢᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴛᴇ. Tʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ, sᴏ ʜᴀɴᴅsᴏᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴ. Hᴇ ʜᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀʀɢᴇsᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇsᴛ ʜᴀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀʟʟ. Hɪs ᴘᴇɢ ʟᴇɢ, ᴏʀɴᴀᴛᴇʟʏ ᴄᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ, ꜰʀᴏᴍ sᴏᴍᴇ ɪᴠᴏʀʏ. Iᴛ ɪs ʏᴏᴜ, Jᴇʜᴀɴ! Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ. Aɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴜs.
A ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪꜰᴜʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ. I ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀss. I ᴀᴍ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪssɪᴏɴɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ɪᴛ.
Tᴏ ʙᴜsɪɴᴇss ɴᴏᴡ: I ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴇᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪssɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡʙᴏx ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ. Nᴏᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴇᴀsᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʜᴀs ʙᴇᴇɴ sᴇᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴇᴀsᴇ ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴇᴡs ꜰʀᴏᴍ Oʀʟᴀɪs. Tʜɪs ɪs ᴀʟʟ sᴏ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀꜰᴜʟ, Jᴇᴀɴɴᴏᴛ! Tᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴ ᴇʟꜰ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪsᴇʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ sᴏʀᴛ ᴏꜰ sʜᴏᴄᴋɪɴɢ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ sᴏʀᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴏ ᴡᴇʟʟ. Tᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴘɪᴄ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴀsᴄɪɴᴀᴛɪɴɢ sᴄᴀɴᴅᴀʟ ɪs ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴀʙʟᴇ. Tᴏ ʙᴇ sᴄᴏʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴄᴏʀɴꜰᴜʟ (sᴜᴄʜ ᴀs ᴏᴜʀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴏsᴇ, ᴡʜᴏ I ᴀᴍ ɢʟᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴs ᴘʀᴇᴄɪsᴇʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ, ᴜɴᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀs, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ sᴏᴜʀ sᴏᴜʟ, I ᴘʀᴇsᴜᴍᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʜɪs ɴᴏsᴇ ɪs sᴏ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʟᴀʀɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴀs ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡs, ᴛʜᴇ sᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴇs ꜰʀᴏᴍ, ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴏsᴛʀɪʟ ᴘᴀssᴀɢᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ) ɪs sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ I ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴇǫᴜᴀʟʟʏ.
Sᴏ I ᴡɪʟʟ sᴇᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴇɴᴅᴇᴀᴠᴏʀ ᴏꜰ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅsʜɪᴘ, ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴄᴀɴᴅᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʀsᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴄᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴜʟᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴜᴍ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪs ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴠᴇʀʏ ɪɴsᴜʟᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴇsᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ Vᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ, ᴡʜᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇs ɴᴏ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴅʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴏᴇs ɴᴏᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴀʏ sᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ. Cᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ, Jᴇᴀɴɴᴏᴛ? Pʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʀʏ. I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴏᴏᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ɪs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʟꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀs ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴇᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀ. Tʜᴇ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴɢʟᴇs! Tʜᴇ ᴇᴀʀs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ sʟɪᴄᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴀꜰ ᴏꜰ ʙʀᴇᴀᴅ! Iᴛ ɪs ᴘᴇᴄᴜʟɪᴀʀ, ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴀsᴛᴇ. I ᴀᴅᴍɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ ᴇxᴏᴛɪᴄ ᴄʜᴀʀᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴜᴄʜ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇs ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪsᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ ʟᴀʀɢᴇʟʏ ᴜɴᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ ɪɴ ᴡᴀʏs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ʜᴇʟᴘᴇᴅ, ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴇxᴏᴛɪᴄ ᴄʜᴀʀᴍ/ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛʏ ᴀs ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ, ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʙᴏᴅʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ.
MOREOVER, I ᴀᴍ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ sᴀꜰᴇʟʏ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ sᴏᴏɴ ʙᴇ ᴊᴏɪɴɪɴɢ ᴜs ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ, ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘs ᴀs ᴀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴅᴀsʜɪɴɢ ᴘɪʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴠᴇʀsɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟꜰ. Iꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴘʟᴀɪɴ ᴄʟᴏᴛʜᴇsᴇᴅ I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ ʙᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀs ɢʟᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪssɪᴏɴᴇᴅ. A ᴄʜᴀɴᴛʀʏ ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴀ sʜɪᴘ, ᴀ ʀᴏʙᴇ ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʙʀᴏᴄᴀᴅᴇᴅ ᴄᴏᴀᴛ. I ᴡɪʟʟ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴛ I ᴛʜɪɴᴋ. Iɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴋᴇᴛᴄʜ ɪᴛ ʜᴀs ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ʙᴇɢᴜɪʟɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ.
Fʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ɪs ᴀs ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴀs ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ WILL SEND HER OWN LETTER, ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɴᴏ ᴍᴀʀᴋ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴍɪɴᴇ. As ᴜsᴜᴀʟ ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ sʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ʙᴇʀᴇꜰᴛ ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ sᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴜʀ ɴɪɢʜᴛs ᴀʀᴇ sᴘᴇɴᴛ ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴏᴜʀ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴏᴜs sᴜᴘᴘʟʏ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴡɪɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ sᴘᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀʟʏ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ. Wᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴀ sʜʀɪɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀs. Tʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴᴅʟᴇs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴡᴀx ᴜᴘᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴇᴅᴄʟᴏᴛʜᴇs ʙᴜᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇꜰᴜʟ ᴛᴏ sᴘᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪʟʟᴏᴡs ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜɪs ꜰᴀᴛᴇ. Wʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴄᴇɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀs ᴀ ᴘɪʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ sᴛɪᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴀ ᴘɪʟʟᴏᴡ? Tʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ, I ᴛʜɪɴᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴛᴀsᴛᴇ. I ᴡɪʟʟ ɢᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ Fʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ɴᴏᴡ.
I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴇᴛ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʟᴠᴇɴ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ. Tʜᴇ ᴀʙsᴏʟᴜᴛɪᴏɴ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ɪɴ ᴏᴜʀ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀs ɪs sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀʀʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡʙᴏx ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴀ ᴄᴏɪɴ, ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ɢᴀᴢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ. Oꜰ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ VALENTINE’S SHAME, ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ. Wʜʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɴ ᴀᴍᴜsɪɴɢ sʜᴀᴍᴇ? Tʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ɪɴsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇs ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ꜰɪᴛ ᴛᴏ sᴛɪᴛᴄʜ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴘɪʟʟᴏᴡs. Wᴇ ᴄᴀɴ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ.
(As ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛᴇʟʟ, I ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ ᴛʀɪꜰʟᴇᴅ. Bᴜᴛ ᴇᴍʙʀᴀᴄɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ sᴄᴀɴᴅᴀʟ! Bᴜᴛ ᴛʀɪꜰʟᴇᴅ. Iᴛ ɪs ᴀ ᴍɪx ᴏꜰ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴛᴜᴍᴜʟᴛᴜᴏᴜs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜʀʙᴜʟᴇɴᴛ. Iᴛ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴀʟsᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇʀʀɪʙʟᴇ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ ᴏꜰ Kɪʀᴋᴡᴀʟʟ.)
Pʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴀᴅᴅ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ 6 ʙᴏᴛᴛʟᴇs ᴏꜰ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴡɪɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀsᴛ ʟɪsᴛ, ᴀs Fʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴀɴᴅ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴀ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴢᴀʙʟᴇ ᴅᴇɴᴛ ɪɴ ᴏᴜʀ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ sᴜᴘᴘʟʏ. Pʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴀʟsᴏ ᴀᴅᴅ ᴀ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟꜰ! Pɪᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴠᴇʀʏ ɴɪᴄᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ, ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴇ,
Yᴏᴜʀ Gᴏᴏᴅ Fʀɪᴇɴᴅ, Vᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇ Pʀᴇᴄɪᴘɪᴛᴏᴜs, Fʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ Sᴄᴀɴᴅᴀʟ
no subject
You must promise me at the outset to hold this letter in the closest secrecy--indeed, I am afraid I must ask for that most solemn of oaths. Swear to me on the statue of Andraste you kept in treasured place upon your bedside table before the Creature broke it that you will say nothing of this letter to Val without my most express permission. I cannot see your swearing, but I know you would not deny your oldest and dearest friend this rare request and so I shall continue on in faith that you have done as I have asked.
I shan't ask you to swear not to judge harshly what I am about to say, for I know that I deserve it, but I will ask you to try your best for mercy and understanding. Perhaps you might even share my feelings for a moment, though I know you are too good and pure a soul for it to last any longer than that.
Here is the news: our own Valentine has been named head of the Research division. He now commands all who do research for the Inquisition in Kirkwall, and several projects as well. It is happy news! We celebrated with a great deal of wine when it was announced, and sang triumphant songs, and even--you will be pleased to hear--said a brief prayer of thanks for the wise choice the Inquisition has made in choosing one of us. And yet.
And yet, I am ashamed to even put the word to paper, but I find myself envious. That is the truth, Jehan, and you have always counseled us to be more virtuous so I feel I must confess it honestly. At night after our celebrations, listening to V's terrible drunken and yet victorious snoring through the wall, I found myself cast into an abyss of ill-feeling and confusion. Why was he chosen, plucked alone from among us to be raised above us? Why not I? Why not all of us together?
And when I say 'raised above us', dear Jeannot, I mean it quite literally: in the hierarchy of the Inquisition, V is now above me. I have been given charge of a project, which I shall come to shortly, and that project falls beneath his supervision. I am to report to him. It is, again, a strange feeling. I am relieved to know that the man in whose hands the fate of my endeavors rests is one I trust most implicitly and respect most highly, who I can be sure shall never deny me anything I strongly believe needed. But on the other hand, I fear that this power may go to his head and we shall find ourselves at odds as we have never before been. You know how proud he becomes.
And already, Jeannot, he is befriending more elves (or perhaps merely strengthening his friendship with the same elf, I confess I have no idea, nor am I sure which is the more alarming possibility) and going about cultivating connections with Rifters, and encouraging Wardens to co-opt portions of my project without a word to me! I do not think he does it intentionally but he has never had good instincts when it comes to these sorts of alliances. He is too easily beguiled by the chance to thwart convention and court scandal. Not that the Inquisition seems to believe such things as scandalous as any would at home: they have made one of the Dalish elves the head of a division as well! Jeannot, a spy with a face tattoo. Tell me you have heard anything more ridiculous this week and I will owe you an entire magnum of the 9:31. I'm sure she's a perfectly nice girl, but hardly inconspicuous. I nearly choked on a grape in my laughter on first hearing.
And this brings me to my project. I have been placed in charge of research into the history of our adversary. A fascinating topic indeed, but not one in which I have any expertise. Which shall not stop me! And you know that too well to have feared that it might, so I shall continue onward to the part more alarming: the group so far is made up near-entirely of Wardens. I've no idea what to make of it, Jeannot. I should not have taken any of them for scholars. Can you picture Warden Alistair, lost prince of Ferelden, poring over tomes? Examining artifacts? I cringe at the very thought of his hambone fingers on scroll or scrap of pottery. They should be as likely thrown to his dog as properly cared for. And he is not even the strangest of the lot!
Among my new charges, Jeannot, is Anders, no not merely a lost denizen of that far-off wasteland happily escaped to places where sheep do not outnumber people and darkspawn do not outnumber books and regular dust-storms do not bury them all beyond counting anyway. No, I mean the Anders, who I had of course heard was about the Inquisition but that he has been brought to Kirkwall and now works with me is quite a surprise. Another surprise: he is a prat. And another is a strange boy named Alan who I think must either be a particularly patient and elaborate joke concocted by you and V--in which case very well done--or perhaps was raised among animals and has only just now discovered human society. I nearly said wolves, but there is nothing aggressive about him that I have seen thus far. Perhaps squirrels. He has apparently begun reorganizing the library by shape and color. I was horrified, but he is only a squirrel-boy and I could not bring myself to chide him too harshly. We shall have to see that the librarians stop him in the future. Perhaps we can set up a small fence and scatter a few acorns elsewhere to distract him.
I have filled page after page such that the envelope shall burst before it ever reaches you and still I have not asked a word after your family or your travels and for that I am most sorry. I hope that all have been well and went well, respectively as is appropriate. Give your family my love and your travels my attention in the sense that you ought to record anything of interest for later perusal and discussion. I await your return most eagerly, and have only not written before now because Val has been terribly jealous of his letters and will not let me add so much as a note, even when I offered to put my post-script on a separate sheet. And this before he was given power over you and I both! You see why I worry. But having shared my worries with you I find them now eased, simply in knowing that I shall have your advice and forgiveness on the matter.
Pray return to us soon, or I shall have to begin making threats to induce you as cajoling has not.
Love always,
Freddie
PS: Please bring wine, for we have drunk a frightful percentage of our good stores in our despair over your loss, our joy over Valentine's appointment, and my recent struggles. It takes at least one bottle of wine per Warden I am forced to deal with. You should of course feel free to use my account, I believe the wineseller in Val Royeaux still has a few bottles of the 9:34 saved for me in his cellar. If you forget, inform me immediately so I might write myself and have a few crates delivered in haste. We shall most certainly need them. - F
meanwhile, in orlais
It was very important to Jeannot I send you this. You understand I could hardly pass up the opportunity to hold my generosity over him.
𝒢𝒾ℊ𝒾
crystals;
[ because the crystal's sure going to be making noise at him anyway ]
You are a cousin of the Lady Vauquelin, no?
[ half of fucking orlais seems to be ]
no subject
[ He sounds perfectly awake and also perfectly cheerful. ]
Has she done something I'll be held responsible for if I say yes?
no subject
[ with gwen's winning personality. a breath. ]
Have you been by her lodgings in Hightown?
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crystal.
no subject
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crystal;
[With a graveness that can only be false.]
I may have committed a small sin.
crystal;
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crystal;
[What strange news they get, even out Markham way after all that with the Tourney y'know.]
No Chantry here, after all. You might help me ease the worries of an old Mother.
[Fat fucking chance.]
no subject
[ time, but he's also catching up, mentally, so that sentence is cut off for, ]
Brother Deacon! Hello. [ With Orlesian enthusiasm. ] I have time, of course, though the ease I can offer depends on the worries.
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the most low key action of all time;
In Orlesian, thank the Maker:] Would you transcribe something for me?
no subject
Obviously he answers in kind. ]
Of course. Let me—
[ Move a few things aside, which he does without narration, to make room for the man's supplies. ]
Have we met?
a surprise crystal message
no subject
Still: ]
I cannot! Perhaps if you shout.