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partystoragechest · 1 month

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A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Trevelyan has news to share.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 1,969. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 41: Ladies First

The wording of Trevelyan’s letter to her parents would have to be precise.

She thought of it en route her room, quite ready to snatch up the nearest leaf of vellum and start writing.

Of course, she wished to be smug. No more was she their problem—she was her own problem, now. But that sort of tone was not the most sensible of ideas. She would have to remain cautious.

The success of Trevelyan’s staying at the Inquisiton relied upon her putting across, in no uncertain terms, that remaining here was a good and honourable opportunity, and that to take it would be of great benefit to House Trevelyan. After all, they had to agree to the idea.

She hoped to have this missive written and sent by sundown. By nature, it would have to be posted urgent—by bird—thus confining her word count. But that was a necessity, if she wished it to arrive home before they began to wonder why she had not. And if she wished to beat her ladies’ maids inevitable attempt to tell her parents themselves.

Eager to start, Trevelyan bounded up the stairs, into the hallway of the guest rooms. Strange to be here, given that she would not remain a guest for long. Yet she’d miss it, all the same. This corridor was as home to her, now, and her room was—

Open. Her door was open. Noise emanated from within. Shuffling, grumbling. Explanations raced through her mind. Missy and Cara couldn’t have caught wind already, could they?

With a newly-acquired sense of self-importance, Trevelyan strode toward the door.

“What’s going on he—?”

Oh. The scene that greeted her was not precisely the one she’d imagined. The intruders were not her ladies’ maids, in actual fact, but the Ladies—full stop. And they were rather busy at work.

All of Trevelyan’s clothes were out of her trunk, strewn over chairs, her bed, and any other available surface, it seemed. They were being examined with all the scrutiny of a sensechal investigating the robbery of his arl’s own treasury.

She repeated, more gently—and all the more confused: “What’s going on here?”

Lady Samient, currently holding a bundle of blue silks that appeared to be Trevelyan’s Orlesian-style ballgown, asked, “Do you have any other dresses than this?”

“For what?”

The Baroness, mournfully pondering over a few shirts, explained: “We are attempting to find you something for the ball.”

This did not clear Trevelyan’s confusion. “Why?”

Lady Erridge sailed past, carrying Trevelyan’s unused plum dress to Samient for, seemingly, approval. “It’ll be good for you to look your best!” she said—with a wink.

Hm. This couldn’t be because—? Were they already informed? It was not inconceivable that Montilyet would have told them. Or that Skyhold’s power for disseminating rumour had evolved into full-blown telepathy.

Intrigued either way, Trevelyan wondered, “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Oh, no,” replied dear Erridge, as Samient waved away the purplish gown, “we simply think, well—if it is your last night to impress, then that is an opportunity not to be missed!”

So they didn’t know.

“Really? Is that all?”

Lady Erridge giggled. “Well, what better reason?”

“Oh, I can think of one,” Trevelyan teased.

She drifted further into the room, the mystery of her words piquing the interest of each woman she passed. The Ladies quit their fussing over fabric, their fascination now focused on her.

Maker, was she glad they didn’t already know—because it gave her such great delight to be able to say what she said next:

“Well, it is quite essential, I believe, for the Inquisition’s new Arcanist to dress appropriately for her—!”

The noise that erupted from the room could well have been heard in the Anderfels. It was louder than an avalanche, louder than an army, louder than a dragon’s roar. The Ladies screamed—delightedly, of course—and raced to surround Trevelyan, each one full of a thousand questions.

“You are not serious?” said Touledy.

“I am!” she replied.

“You are staying with the Inquisition?” asked Samient.

She nodded.

“Oh, how wonderful!” cheered Erridge.

The sentiment was shared.

Each Lady hurried to offer Trevelyan their congratulatory embrace. Though at first civilised, an attempt made to take it one-by-one, their excitement could hardly be contained. The Ladies’ efforts descended into chaos and giggling, and Trevelyan was soon surrounded by a tangled, loving mass of warm and gentle arms.

She could have cried. It was nice to finally know what family felt like.

The Ladies squeezed ever tighter. Trevelyan laughed, and protested her capture. Of course, they parted—though not without some difficulty. Lady Erridge’s escaping arm almost slapped into the Baroness’ face, though the near-miss was found to be quiet the hilarity!

Soon all came free, unharmed—spare Trevelyan’s shirt, of course, now creased beyond the bounds of reason. But as she smoothed it out, she took the time to explain a little more:

“I am to have my own quarters—permanent ones,” she said. “And in the Undercroft, I shall have an assistant, and license to study whatever I wish—so long as Arcanist Dagna approves. She will remain my senior.”

“And are you finally able to tell us what it is you will study?” questioned Touledy.

Trevelyan laughed. “Not at all! Though not for the sake of secrecy—but because, well, should it not work, I would be terribly embarrassed.”

“Then let us hope it succeeds!” Lady Erridge said. “For I am unrelentingly nosy about the entire thing.”

Lady Samient narrowed her eyes at Erridge, and teased: “You’re still not quite certain what an Arcanist is, aren’t you?”

Erridge giggled in response. “Naturally! But so goes my curiosity—I rather hope that some knowledge of the resulting work might shed some light on the occupation from whence it comes.”

“Turn your curiosity elsewhere,” Trevelyan pleaded, “I beg you!”

“Very well,” said Erridge, collapsing onto a chair. She leant forward, and asked, “Then answer me this: does the Commander know of it?”

Trevelyan very quickly regretted her choice of words. Her mouth struggled to form any more, which of course only raised the intrigue of the Ladies ever more.

“I—ah… I have only just been informed myself, Lady Erridge!” said Trevelyan, in protest. Her most truthful answer was one she could only suppose: “I imagine Lady Montilyet would have told him, yes.”

Erridge gave an excited little shake of her shoulders. “Very good! Do you imagine he’ll be pleased?”

“Well… I’m not certain. I think he should hardly be gleeful to have one of his tormentors in permanent residence.”

Lady Samient chuckled deviously, waving an errant ribbon of chiffon in Trevelyan’s direction. “He must have approved. If he hadn’t, soldiers would already be escorting you out of the castle.”

The Baroness sauntered by, adding, “Exactly. I can hardly think of any reasons for his objection.”

Trevelyan shrugged. “I suppose.”

This masterful display of nonchalance was, obviously, not representative of Trevelyan’s mind-state. For secretly, she hoped he was pleased. Truth be told, she thought he seemed pleased enough when they spoke last. She would quite like him to be pleased by her.

“Furthermore”—the Baroness began toying with one of Trevelyan’s dresses again—“I should think that the Commander would indeed be quite pleased to be rid of all us, and have only Lady Trevelyan stay.”

“All to himself!” Lady Erridge sang.

Trevelyan hushed them. “Please! Whether or not he is glad to be rid of you, I shall not be.”

Because all of this silliness and chatter was merely papering over the crack, widening beneath their feet. None of them had yet acknowledged it—possibly because the pain of the idea was too much to bear—but tomorrow was to be their last day together.

Though a great boon, to remain at Skyhold, this was its terrible cost.

Trevelyan looked to each of them, as this notion was brought to bear. Each face sobered. Though she knew the futility of it, she said it aloud: “I wish you could all stay.”

They did not need to give their excuses in reply. Trevelyan knew them well enough. Lady Erridge had a wedding to plan. The Baroness had to rebuild Val Misrenne. Lady Samient had to find her Vichy, and her home.

A farewell was inevitable.

Yet Lady Erridge smiled, and stood. “Do not worry. We shall all see each other again. After all, you are each invited to my wedding!” She looked to Trevelyan in particular. “And now you are closer than Ostwick, you could visit Coldon whenever you wish! Oh, I should love to host you!”

The Baroness joined her. “Closer to Val Misrenne, too. When it is back to its full glory, you must come. I can host a banquet—and I will choose the guests, this time.”

The Ladies laughed.

“It will be a little harder to visit me,” Lady Samient added, “but I am glad you’ll be staying here, Lady Trevelyan. Lady Montilyet says I can send any correspondence through the Inquisition—if I sent letters here, would you pass messages along to the others?”

Trevelyan nodded, enthusiastic. “Of course! I’d be happy to. And I will send their messages in return. And”—she smiled, and shook her head—“I know not what authority I have to offer this, but you are all welcome in Skyhold, as well. If you ever pass between Ferelden and Orlais, perhaps you could stop here?”

The Ladies all assented, and Trevelyan felt all the better for it. She was determined to see this not as an end, but a beginning. This was the prologue; the next chapter was her new life.

“Let us all spend the day in each others’ company, shall we?” said Lady Erridge. “We shall tidy all this, find something to eat, perhaps have a walk—or play in the gardens!”

Though the Ladies were keen to agree, Trevelyan sighed. “I am afraid there is something to which I must attend,” she admitted. “I have a rather important letter to send.”

It was Samient who understood her meaning first. “Your parents do not know?”

Trevelyan shook her head.

The Baroness twisted her cane, contemplatively. “I hope that they approve.”

“So do I,” Trevelyan replied.

Though she was tired of that. Tired of seeking her mother and father’s approval for every little thing. She didn’t really know why she bothered. It wasn’t as if they ever gave it. For anything.

They wouldn’t approve. No matter how well she laid it out to them. She hadn’t done what they asked; that was insult. Even though what she had managed was far greater than simply marrying herself off to the Commander. No offence.

But that was what she’d always done. Taken what pittance they’d given her, and created something grander with it. She looked over the dresses, laid out across her room.

“Well, we shall clear this up for you, then,” said the helpful Lady Erridge, “so that you can get to writing.”

“No, no,” Trevelyan interrupted, shaking her head. Her feet began to carry her toward one dress in particular. “I think I’ve decided what I shall wear.”

She stopped before it: the deep blue ballgown, shimmering and extravagant. The very gown she’d worn upon her first meeting with the Commander. The gown her mother had intended her to ensnare him with.

She ran her fingers over the silk, rubbed the lace between them, felt the quality in its finesse. It was a good dress, always had been. Her hatred of it had never been the dress’ fault. It was simply the intended usage that was the problem.

Trevelyan smiled.

“I want to wear this,” she told the Ladies, “though—if you don’t mind—I could use some assistance in making a few alterations.”

#unwanted #unwanted fic #sorry again that this took so long. i was on such a roll! i've been quite upset about it. glad to get this done so i can try get back on it #here's how i broke writer's block: i went to an actual castle. stood in the castle. and it was like. ah. this is what it's like in a castle #now the holiday days i was going to use to recover are free. i wonder what i'll do instead???#just kidding i already drafted part of next chapter!!! let's gooooo!!!

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