#so are the next two

[partystoragechest]

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, Lady Erridge cooks up trouble for the Commander.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 2,536. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 33: Lady Erridge's Recipe (Reprise)

It happened like this.

Erridge and the other Ladies had spent the morning lounging around the garden. They did so because, at that moment, they did not wish to go anywhere near the parlour of Lady Montilyet.

The Baroness Touledy had chosen to rest beneath the shade of the arcade, with Lady Samient reclining beside her. Both watched, quite contentedly, as Lady Erridge paced the cobbles before them, reading aloud from a romance. One of her favourites!

It had just been getting good—the gallant Lord had placed the humble seamstress’ hands upon his chest, and told her that what beat within was hers and only hers—when the Baroness interrupted.

“Hold, Lady Erridge,” she said, planting her cane firm upon the ground, and pushing herself to stand, “we have company.”

The venom in her voice somewhat spooked Erridge. Though Lady Samient snaked upright, ready to strike, Erridge cowered, daring only to peek over her shoulder at whatever approached.

She needn’t have been so afraid.

Lady Montilyet swanned across the garden. Though she appeared to retain her typical elegance, Lady Erridge noted a telltale little stumble, as her Ladyship’s foot briefly caught upon the stepping-stone path. Still, Montilyet soon righted herself, patted down her skirts, and persisted onward.

“Good morning, Ladies.”

The Ladies braced themselves for a masterful attempt at diplomacy, but were met with quite the opposite. Lady Montilyet spoke in an uncharacteristically meek tone, both to greet them, and to inform them of the purpose of her visit.

It was a request. A peculiar one, at that. Indeed, it was not so difficult to comprehend why the Lady was so stricken by a lack of confidence, when she relayed exactly what this request was:

“The Commander has asked if you would like to meet with h—”

No.

The Baroness said it before Lady Montilyet even had the chance to finish the question, but Lady Erridge thought the rudeness quite appropriate.

Lady Samient, meanwhile, cackled. “His favourite is gone, so now he wishes to play with usinferiors?” She scoffed. “Shall he have all three? Or a particular one?”

Though Montilyet made some feeble attempt at explaining herself—and, by proxy, the Commander—it was not favourably met:

“Commander Rutherford, of course, understands if you wish to decline.”

The Baroness tutted. “One wonders why he even bothered to ask.”

“He is not asking,” Lady Samient pointed out. “Brave man.”

Lady Montilyet, quite able to recognise defeat, conceded the conversation. She apologised again for the intrusion, and expressed her gratitude for their continued presence at Skyhold despite what had happened—

“We do not do it for you,” the Baroness reminded her.

—and concluded her speech with all she had left to offer: a modest curtsy, and a placid farewell. Seeing her depart was quite the relief, for the tension in the air could finally dissipate.

But the Baroness and Lady Samient yet continued their complaints. The audaciousness of the Commander! Insult upon insult! Their disdain for his character and their reluctance to endure him was only empowered by his entitlement and cowardice.

Lady Erridge interrupted: “Perhaps we should see him?”

The notion came as quite the shock to the other Ladies, going by their gasps. How could she suggest such a thing? Lady Samient cited her promise to Lady Trevelyan, and the Baroness questioned her intent.

But this was not some sudden lapse in judgement. Lady Erridge had thought it out very carefully, whilst they had been talking. The cogs of her mind had whirred until at last they clicked into place. Nothing had ever seemed so clear.

She would do as he asked. She would see him.

“And,” she said, “I shall make him regret ever asking!”

***

So it came to be that Lady Erridge marched on the Commander’s office that very afternoon. A shame to spend such a lovely day inside—the sun was quite glorious!—but that was where she had been told he was.

Of course, she hadn’t forewarned him of this visit. No, no! if he was so desperate to see them, then he would do so at whatever time she deigned to turn up! And, like any good guest, she had not come empty-handed. Lady Erridge brought with her an excellent tribute for a man such as he: a jar of only the finest pickled eggs.

As well as, marching behind her, an army of five kitchen staff.

Each of her recruits was laden with a sufficiently generous offering of their own—pies and stews and tarts aplenty! Lady Erridge, quite satisfied by the sight, flashed a devilish grin to her co-conspirators. They shared in it, having had the situation well-explained to them already. A terrible shame for the Commander, that there were more than a handful of cooks and maids who quite liked the Lady Trevelyan. The same could not be said for him.

Lady Erridge raised her jar, to tap it against the door. But she decided against it, lowered the jar, and barged in unannounced.

“Make sure that’s delivered to—”

The Commander within was hard at work (obviously), chittering away some instruction or other to the runner by his desk. Until, that is, Lady Erridge entered. His eyes flicked toward the door. His face fell, his words cut short. His mouth gawped, at the sight of the invading force.

“Good afternoon, Commander,” said its general, troops filing in behind her.

The Commander shut his mouth and cleared his throat. He sent the runner hurrying off—they, too, looking quite bewildered and amazed—and took up a defensive position at his desk.

“Lady Erridge?” he stammered. “What is… how, how are you?”

“Oh, I am very well, Commander!” Quite the understatement, for it made her terribly giddy to see how badly he was taking this. She dropped her jar onto his desk, and shoved it towards him. “Here. As promised.”

“Promised?”

“Why, yes, Commander! I said I should make you pickled eggs to aid your recovery, and indeed—here they are.”

It was, after all, Fereldan tradition. Pickled eggs could cure anything—and the Commander suffered greatly from two afflictions that Lady Erridge knew of. One was his lyrium sickness, of course, and the other was his being a colossal arsehole.

“And… what is all this?” he asked, gesturing to the staff behind her.

“Oh!” Erridge glanced at them, as if she had not even noticed they were in tow. “These are my very good friends, here to deliver you your luncheon. I made it myself. There are four courses, and a dessert! So, five courses, really.”

The Commander stared at the dishes. “They are… all for me?”

Lady Erridge grinned. “Oh, yes.”

Unfortunately, Lady Tam Erridge was keenly aware of the fact that she was not good at much. Not love, not baking, and not even sewing, really. But she was very, terribly good at being an inconvenience. And she had found, throughout her life, that this was a skill of its own, with great usefulness in many a situation.

Including this one.

She stared the Commander down, unrelenting, waiting for his inevitable order to leave, which she would be able to counter with—

“Very well,” he said, taking a seat.

Lady Erridge blinked. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Um—oh, all right.”

She turned to her accomplices, and had them bring forth their plates. The Commander thanked each one as they set them down. The empty-handed looked to Erridge for direction, as confused as she was. Erridge thanked them in turn, and sent them on their way.

Soon, it was just her, the Commander, five plates of food, and one sizeable jar of pickled eggs.

“Thank you,” the Commander said, a final time, to her.

Lady Erridge curtsied—out of habit, more than anything—but quickly composed herself. Though she hadn’t expected him to accept so easily, she did have a contingency plan for it.

“Please, do start,” she told him.

The Commander, with great suspicion, took up a knife and fork. “You’re… going to stay?”

“Oh, yes!” Lady Erridge clapped her hands together. “For I did not wish you to be left without entertainment while you eat! I shall stay, and tell you everything you ought to know.”

“Ah.”

“Oh, there is so much to say! I shall start with, I think, Lady Orroat’s horse—her pet horse, not her riding horse—which has recently foaled.”

The Commander pulled the first plate towards himself (some kind of egg dish, Erridge did not quite remember what), and cut a bite. “Go on.”

Erridge watched, once again surprised, as the Commander raised the fork to his lips. And… he ate it. He actually ate it! Waiting, all the while, for her to speak! What in the name of Andraste had gotten into this man?

“Well,” she began, as she collected herself, “to accurately convey the importance of this foal, I should perhaps delineate the history of both Lady Orroat’s horse, and the family from which the stallion comes. It is all terribly interesting, I assure you!”

The Commander nodded, and continued to eat. There was no resistance; not even any retching. With little else to do but forge ahead, Lady Erridge spoke.

She began with Lady Orroat’s horse’s great-great-grandfather, who had been ridden into battle. Lady Erridge did not quite remember which battle, but she described it in enough detail that the Commander had been able to name it.

Anyway, the horse survived, and went on to sire a foal, which became the great-grandmother of Lady Orroat’s horse. That horse served with the Theirin family whilst Maric was on the throne, supposedly as Queen Rowan’s own horse.

That horse had a foal, which did little of note itself, but by virtue of its parentage, was well sought-after. It was acquired by the former Bann of East Coldon, Lady Orroat’s own grandfather, for whom it was a prized animal.

This horse then sired another horse, which belonged to the current Bann of East Coldon, that then gave birth to Lady Orroat’s horse. So, really, it was a very important horse.

And once Lady Erridge had finished expounding upon its importance, she began on the history of the stallion horse that had been matched with Lady Orroat’s horse to produce this new foal, which was just as detailed and riveting as her previous description.

Yet, somehow, the Commander bore it all. He kept his eyes on her, did not once glance over to some document or other, and ate his first course all the while.

And when Lady Erridge had finished speaking of horses, he moved onto his second. Erridge was almost becoming used to the surprise of it.

This course was a meat pie, badly made (the crust was burnt on one side, and doughy on the other). Its accompanying subject was not the history of horses, but the history of East Coldon itself.

This included a very accurate and detailed recollection of every single Alamarri artefact on display at the family home of the Orroats. They were very well taken care of, Lady Erridge explained, and had been studied by scholars invited from all over Thedas!

And when she had finished speaking of that, the Commander reached for his third plate. The last wisps of steam had long vanished, the tepid vegetable stew looking more like pig feed than person feed.

“You don’t have to eat that,” said Erridge—her devious delight, like the warmth of the food, having long faded away.

“It’s quite all right,” the Commander replied, sticking a chunk of cold potato on the end of his fork. Dutifully, he brought it to his mouth.

Lady Erridge broke. She hurried towards the table, and wrenched the plate away. “Really—you don’t have to eat it.”

“All right.” The Commander set the fork down. “I can still listen to you speak.”

No, truly—what had gotten into him? Was he unwell, again?

“I’ve run out of things to say,” she lied.

“Then may I ask you questions?”

Lady Erridge blinked, quite at a loss of what to do. None of their previous meetings had ever gone like this. She had always talked and talked and talked, and, in hindsight, he had not even listened. He had certainly never asked questions.

“Well—all right, then.”

The Commander began to shuffle his finished plates into a pile. “You spoke about East Coldon, but I thought you were from the West?”

Lady Erridge nodded. “Oh, yes, I am. But given my friendship with Lady Orroat of East Coldon, I am terribly well-studied on their affairs as well as my own.”

“Orroat… that’s the Lady you mentioned before, isn’t it?”

“Once or twice,” Erridge admitted. An incredible underestimate.

“Is she the one you find easy to talk to?”

Perhaps he had been listening during their previous meetings, after all.

“Yes,” Erridge confirmed.

The Commander sat back in his chair and, to her amazement, smiled. “She sounds like a good friend.”

Erridge nodded, terrible at hiding her enthusiasm whenever Lady Orroat was mentioned in such a positive manner. “Oh, yes! A very good friend, indeed! In fact—”

Erridge suddenly recalled her old idea, to have the Lady Trevelyan and her dear Lady Orroat meet. Now the Commander had made himself a non-starter, why, it was the perfect opportunity to put the plan in motion! And who better to tease with it, than him?

“I had hoped to have her meet Lady Trevelyan,” Erridge told him. “I believe they should make a good match. I think I shall arrange for them to be introduced as soon as we are done here.”

The Commander narrowed his eyes, and stood. “Very well,” he said, surprisingly calm. “But why should we wait? I could invite her Ladyship to Skyhold myself. An invitation from the Commander of the Inquisition will seem enticing, I’m sure.”

Lady Erridge clapped her hands, never so delighted in all her life. “Oh, yes! That would be wonderful!”

“You will make your introduction—though I would like to meet her, as well. She could be a good ally, if your word is anything to go by.”

“Of course!”

He smiled. “And, it would be beneficial for you to have her company.”

That thought pleased Lady Erridge most of all. “Yes, it would! Oh, I shall be so happy to see my dear Lady Orroat again. Oh—I must tell the other Ladies, they shall have to meet her too!”

“Naturally.”

Jigging on the spot, Erridge could hardly contain her excitement for any longer. “Oh, you will invite her right away, won’t you? It would be lovely if she were to arrive before Lady Trevelyan returned!”

The Commander bowed. “It will be done.”

Squealing, Lady Erridge ran for the door. “Thank you, Commander!” she called, flinging it open, and racing out.

The sunlight greeted her in happy little rays, shining as brightly as her soul. She danced and skipped her way across the bridge back to the rotunda, glad to think that soon, her dear Lady Orroat would be near her once again! Oh, what happy circumstance! Oh, what joyous day!

And then she stopped. And her face fell.

Wait…

That wasn’t how that was supposed to go.

[slfcare]

ten years ago you were so scared of such different things, but you survived them anyway. the same goes for five years ago and two years ago. everything that has ever felt like a hurdle, you’ve passed through. so be afraid, identify your fears, and then allow yourself to remember that in just a little while, this will be another thing that you have overcome.

[symphonyofsilence]

Let the poor man rest.

[nidbaesenpai]

Happy one year anniversary ISAT! To celebrate I wanted to share the lil strips I made for my friends when they reached the end of the game! They're all meant to be snippets of life post game and a glimpse into the world I'm making for Loop.

[arcanegifs]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x08 - “Killing is a Cycle” ↳ "Some people are really misunderstanding the dialogue before the scene in the cell" | (essay link)

[starcurtain]

Please someone redraw this with Dr. Ratio and Aventurine because this is the exact vibe they have in my head post-Penacony.

[artielu]

Listen up.

The current Supreme Court is a 6-3 conservative majority.

Justice Thomas, that corrupt fascist fucker, is 75.

Justice Alito, that biased fascist fucker, is 74.

Each is married to a fascist ultra right wing woman. Ginny Thomas was actively involved in Trump's efforts to overturn the 2020 election. Martha Ann Alito is the alleged source of the ultra right wing flags on the Alito homes.

If Trump is elected in 2024, Thomas and Alito will retire, just like Kennedy did in 2018. Trump will get to appoint two more justices in their 50s.

Like sexual assaulter and liar Kavanaugh. Or handmaid's tale Coney Barrett. And the conservative majority will be on lock for thirty years. Gorsuch, Kavanaugh, and Coney Barrett are in their 50s.

Add two more ultraconservative justices in their 50s and you have a five seat conservative majority for 30 years if they live natural lifetimes.

If Trump is elected in 2024, we've not only lost the Court for at least a decade (now) but another thirty years.

What other civil rights would you like to lose? Because YOU WILL. We ALL will.

Can we fucking not? CAN WE FUCKING NOT?

Vote for Biden.

Vote for Democrats for the Senate.

[egophiliac]

crossing my fingers and wishing upon every star that chapter 10 finally brings us the tweel cards 🤞🤞

[criticalrolo]

are you guys ready to admit that ofmd, good omens, and what we do in the shadows have Extreme SuperWhoLock energies or do I need to wait another year to post this take

[o0kawaii0o]

Ace Attorney x Hades

[xxlumos]

Holding onto you for dear life.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Jeremiah and Mike’s first conversation in FNAF 2

[cairafea]

my favourite genre of seventeen is when they're straight up lying

ref:

[wasabi-gumdrop]

Kabru has a secret admirer in the castle!

[caemidraws]

---

[lotus-pear]

lore accurate teen soukoku. the worsties ever