#usually I have an eye for spotting AI- unpleasant how good its getting >:/

[moonverc3x]

the fashion designs for palestine post u rbed is ai, just fyi!

aahhh nooo!! cant believe I didn't notice- thank you for pointing it out! omw to delete the reblog

[merryfortune]

Day 5 / Awkward Hugs

Social Interactionism 2021

Event: @hugsaku

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Ship: Wisteriashipping | Spectre/Yusaku

Word Count: 1.8k

Tags: Developing Relationship, Bittersweet, Fluff with a Sad Ending

AN: since today’s Hugsaku prompt overlaps with my birthday, it was only natural for me to write Spectre/Yusaku as a birthday treat to myself (hence why, no spoilers), they can hug twice in this fic as a treat

  Yusaku’s plan, like they usually did, involved three steps. There might be more steps or issues within those three, broad ideas but so be it. That’s also how it usually was.

  One. He would apologise to Spectre.

  Two. He would find the Earth Ignis.

  Three. He would reunite Spectre and the Earth Ignis.

  He wasn’t sure if the steps to his plan were in descending order or difficulty or not, but he would abide by these three steps to the best of his ability. Of course, coaxing Spectre out into the open, one on one, was going to be difficult and it was part of step one. Yusaku could have just sent a letter addressed for Spectre or even an e-mail but he thought that was impersonal. He wanted it to mean something big and something dear because when he wanted to apologise, he wanted to do something more than just create a clean slate between them. He wanted to earn Spectre’s trust and maybe even affection as the third step in Yusaku’s plan would likely hinge on that.

  However, Yusaku thought that Spectre was even more hermetic than him which was saying something. Yet for all that agonising, just sending a summons for Spectre and Spectre alone at the usual spot for his and his team’s encounters with the Knights of Hanoi, though mainly Ryoken, was enough.

  Quite honestly, Yusaku was expecting to be stood up when he waited by the Stardust Road. He stood with his hands laced over the rail and he stared out to sea. All around him, dusk descended with orange skies and indigo clouds; it dyed the sea that lapped at the rocks and cement below a very, very dark colour and just as Yusaku thought that Spectre might not appear, a familiar stranger dejectedly stood beside him, leaning over the rail with him.

  “I didn’t even hear you.” Yusaku murmured.

  Spectre snickered. “Most people usually don’t. If I’m not careful, if I’m not making a fuss, most people won’t notice me at all.”

  “But Ryoken does?” Yusaku guessed.

  “Yes.” Spectre replied with a bitter smile.

  There was a moment of silence between them. It was uneasy but not necessarily uncompanionable. It was just there to acclimatize them between greetings and the actual conversation, of which, Yusaku initiated it and very boldly at that.

  “I’m sorry.” he said.

  Spectre harrumphed. “Whatever for?”

  “For tricking you into destroying your field when we duelled. That was a cruel thing to do.” Yusaku said. “I can tell you have a very genuine affection for your Sunavalon cards. So, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s water under the bridge,” Spectre said, “but thank you. I appreciate the sentiments.”

  “I’m glad. Because, well, I felt bad about that.” Yusaku stated.

  “You shouldn’t though… I goaded you into, remember, I wanted you to do something cruel and I ought to be impressed that you exceeded expectations.” Spectre replied.

  “Well, now I’m trying to do kind things.” Yusaku said.

  Spectre’s pupils dilated at that – and Yusaku noticed even if it was a small quirk of his body language.

  “No, don’t tell me…” Spectre said, realising where this conversation was going, he had thought it was strange that Yusaku would call him out of the blue like this but he figured he would indulge it, he was his master’s servant after all, so he assumed – hoped – it was eventually going to funnel to him.

  “Yeah,” Yusaku murmured, “I am. I want to bring back the Earth Ignis, or just, um, Earth as he’s called.”

  Spectre shook his head. He wanted to chastise Yusaku, but he couldn’t find his words. He just looked stiff instead.

  “I was hoping you would help but I don’t want to force you.” Yusaku added.

  “I’ll allow it to happen,” Spectre elected to reply, “but I won’t help.”

  “Thank you.” Yusaku said.

  Yusaku was expecting the conversation to end there. He was right. It did. But not how he thought it would. Spectre, slovenly, pushed himself off the railing, ready to return to the marina and retire to the yacht for the night because dealing with Yusaku was exhausting but not quite.

  Yusaku was somewhat surprised as Spectre gave him an unexpected hug. He blinked and he felt Spectre’s arms surge around him. His hug was tight and Yusaku wasn’t sure what to do as he felt Spectre’s head beneath the crook of his chin and his arms on his waist. Yusaku swallowed and he half-heartedly tried to push Spectre off him. He didn’t feel in danger, even if Spectre was a peculiar and oftentimes unpleasant person, but he did feel… Awkward being hugged by him.

  “What are you doing…?” Yusaku asked, blushing.

  Spectre got the hint that now was the time to stop and it seemed he didn’t appreciate being rejected like that. He straightened up his coat and looked mildly annoyed. His brows furrowed and his eyes fixated on some weedy flower growing between the pavers on the ground.

  “I thought it was appropriate. It’s a kind thing, isn’t it?” Spectre asked. “You apologised and now you have yet another channel for your sense of justice so. I thought it was the least I could do.”

  “O-oh, well then,” Yusaku murmured, “thank you.”

  “Well, good luck, I might not want to be involved in whatever it is you plan to do to bring back my Other Self but good luck. I will make sure we don’t… intervene on whatever basis we can find to prevent further resurrections of the Ignis.” Spectre said.

  Yusaku hazarded a small smile. He appreciated it but he didn’t know how to say it beyond words. He figured there were other actions that he could take – and he did take them.

  Steadily over the next few weeks, Yusaku with the help of Kusanagi and Ai, he began to piece together the data belonging to Earth. It was getting much, much easier after all the practice that he had gotten with Ai and then applied that to bring Flame back to Takeru and Aqua back to both Miyu and Aoi. Though, that didn’t make the finding of the pieces all that easier, just the putting them back together and Earth was in plenty of pieces but as Playmaker, Yusaku found them all.

  He restored Earth back to form and Earth was overjoyed to see his good friend Ai once more. They had a hug or two with Ai crying and screaming that he was so glad that yet another of his friends was back; just two more to go. Playmaker was fond as he watched Ai jump and down with Earth in his arms, it was quite the sight to behold given the fact that Earth was much bigger and much heavier than Ai.

  But in the midst of that jubilation, Earth looked up with sorrowful eyes at Playmaker. It seemed he knew where this was heading. Even if he and Spectre hadn’t been all that close previously, there was a disappointment to what Earth had in mind for if he came back.

  “I didn’t remember Aqua first,” Earth began to explain as Playmaker, atop his D-Board, made a beeline for where he could hope to find Spectre, either alone or with Revolver, “I remembered him.”

  Ai nodded. It had been the same for him. He had remembered his dear Yusaku before he remembered anything else or any of the others. It was bittersweet.

  “There he is.” Playmaker commented quietly and he saw Spectre on his lonesome.

  He was standing in the shade of a tree. It was wiry with white bark; its beet purple foliage moved slowly on the breeze. That appeared to be the most natural place for him to reside, he was staring out into the distance of the sort of asteroid field-like area on the hinterlands of the Neo Link VRAINS. The roots of the were spilling out the bottom of the rock platform that it and Spectre was planted on.

  Playmaker drew in closer and Spectre looked up at him. He had a morose look on his face. He took a breath.

  “You fulfilled your goal, I presume?” Spectre asked.

  Playmaker nodded and he made a hand gesture. He allowed Earth to follow through on it and Spectre’s eyes widened. For a moment, he looked completely and utterly happy. Childishly happy. But then he flinched.

  Earth lifted his hand and he didn’t know what to say.

  So, Spectre decided to say it for him.

  “It is good to meet you,” he said, “but I don’t believe our continued meeting is advised.”

  Playmaker inhaled sharply. He was surprised – almost offended – to hear that.

  Spectre came closer to the edge, came closer to Earth and he reached up to where Earth floated against gravity. Gingerly, Spectre pet the top of Earth’s head and he liked how the Ignis’s skin felt on his fingertip. There was a muted joy to Spectre’s expression.

  “I did my best,” Spectre said, recalling the Incident, “for my Mother, she would want me happy and proud, so I duelled my best for you. But when I was told, the new goal of the Hanoi was to destroy the Ignis, I accepted that whole-heartedly. So, I did my best. I endeavoured to eliminate the Ignis if it meant I was useful. I – I don’t believe I can go over the past ten years of that goal so easily, to say nothing of the others, Revolver-sama and the Lieutenants, and even if we are neutral, trying to atone. I want to be my best self for you, Earth. Until then, I don’t believe it to be advisable for you to remain with me.”

  Ai made a strange expression, but it was the same that Playmaker was making. A certain defensiveness which had become unguarded as Spectre explained himself.

  Earth nodded. “That makes sense. I can accept that decision, Partner, but when you are ready, I will be too.”

  “Thank you.” Spectre said and he turned to Playmaker. “Can I ask something selfish of you?”

  “I think I know what it is, but it’s not selfish, Spectre.” Playmaker replied.

  “Can you please home him, please? Keep him safe?” Spectre asked.

  Playmaker nodded. “I can do that for you, yes.”

  “Thank you.” Spectre said.

  Playmaker let his D-Board drop a few more levels and once they were at a mismatched but even height, Spectre hugged him again. Playmaker stiffened but this time, he hugged back as he felt one of Spectre’s hands close to his neck and the other round his waist. Gratitude emanated from Spectre’s hug and though Playmaker felt awkward, he wasn’t a hugger, he didn’t think himself good at it, he still tried to return Spectre’s sentiments. He mimicked back and he could hear a repressed sob in Spectre’s breathing as they held each other in this embrace.

[eirabach]

Brother’s Keeper [1/2]

I wanted to write some John and Gordon shenanigans and this happened instead. An episode tag to EOS and SOS Part 2 written over two parts because more than 1k at once is beyond me.

He expects Scott, and apparently so does Alan, skittering away as he does before Three's even cooled down. It had been Scott to insist upon his return, after all, all gritted teeth and clenched jaw and John hadn't wanted to, not in the least, but he knows when he's beaten and he knows when Scott's about to have a stroke. Leaving Eos, whatever she may be, alone had seemed considerably less dangerous, on balance, than refusing a man with Scott's resting blood pressure.

He wishes it was Scott.

The figure behind dad's desk looks oddly out of place. Too bright, maybe. Too small, and yet too much all at once. John remembers, with the awful clarity of all traumatic childhood memories, the moment his mother had tucked his very own baby brother into his arms, how the wires and tubes had curled around his fingers and caught on his sweater. How he'd looked at him with all the sweet minded sincerity of a preschooler and thought What am I supposed to do with you?

Not much has changed. 

"Welcome to the consequences of your own actions," Gordon drawls. There's a half eaten celery crunch bar on the desk, damp hand prints on the french polish. "Scott's been called out."

John raises an eyebrow. "And he asked you to debrief me?"

Gordon smiles, tilts his head to one side, then stuffs the rest of the crunch bar in his mouth. "Nah."

A prickle of sweat erupts at the back of John's neck and settles, clammy and unpleasant, under the collar of the suit he's yet to remove. He'd intended to handle Scott then head straight back up. Gordon wrangling, he knows from experience, is another matter.

"Where's Virgil?" he asks, and despite his best efforts he knows his voice isn't as steady as it should be, could be. Gordon just chews. Stares. John shuffles his weight, gravity messing with his balance. Gravity, and maybe, maybe, guilt.

"I'm sorry about Alan."

Gordon doesn't look like their father, not like Virgil does, doesn't fill his spot like Scott, but when he leans back in the chair, arms folded, and says "Alan?" he's every inch their father's son. "You think we're mad over Alan?"

"I shouldn't have put him in danger I --"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Dad's chair creaks horribly as Gordon slams it forward. "Forget Alan."

A spluttered "Hey!" from the staircase.

Oh good. An audience.

John backs off, already calculating the required rate of reentry for the space elevator.

"If Scott's out I should get back --"

"Why?"

It's the way he says it that has John pause. Sharp. Bitter in a way that Gordon almost never is, and John knows why. He knows why, just as Gordon knows why he's itching to return to Five. It's just that they don't usually have to say any of it. Not with Scott and Virgil around, anyway. They play their roles so well, smoothing over cracks formed from panic, that seeing those cracks written over Gordon’s face is -- perturbing, to say the least.

John wonders, vaguely, if Gordon ever sees the same stress fissures on him.

"Are you worried?" Gordon asks, utterly unnecessary but then that's always Gordon's way.

"About Scott?" That's not necessary either, because Gordon's already shaking his head before John's finished speaking, already on his feet before John can back away.

"No, Scott knows what he’s doing.” This is only partially true, in John’s experience, but anything else would be an admittance. A weakness. A dent in the armour that Gordon has forgotten to wear.

“Right.” And John’s looking for the exit, but Gordon’s already his side of the desk glaring up at him with an expression of determination that has never, in all their lives together, meant anything other than Gordon Getting His Way. “So you don’t need to go back, do you.”

“I should --”

“For fuck’s sake, John! You could have died!”

“It wasn’t that bad.” But Gordon’s way too close now, far too close to lie to, “It worked out okay.”

“And if it hadn’t?”

“But it did.”

Gordon’s face is all screwed up now, pink and angry looking just like that scrawny little baby had been, and it -- it infuriates him, honestly. Because hasn’t he sat and watched? Hasn't he sat and watched hundreds and hundreds of times and Gordon -- Gordon watches once and he thinks he has the right to -- 

The air rushes from his lungs as over five and a half feet of solid muscle collides with his solar plexus, gravity and little brother combining to send him flying several steps backwards until he’s caught by the back of a couch. Gordon clings with a fierceness only equalled by the rather colourful language he growls into John’s shoulder and John, John knows what to do with rogue AIs and panicked rescuees, but when faced with the full fury of a Gordon hug he’s left flapping his hands rather uselessly at his brother’s back and looking about frantically for rescue. Alan shrugs at him from the stairs with an expression that says I don’t know what you expected.

Scott, yelling.

Maybe a punch.

A punch would have been quicker. 

Possibly more pleasant.

Definitely less constricting.

"I feel like this has been an unnecessarily long hug.”

“Yeah, well. Didn’t know if I was gonna get the chance to again did I?”

John sighs, as best he can with Gordon doing his best boa impression around his ribcage. “It’s a risk we take, Gords, you know that.”

“Yeah, of course I just --” Gordon pulls away, doesn’t quite meet his eyes, something in his expression that John doesn’t know quite how to name. “Wasn’t expecting it to be you with the noble sacrifice act.”

“You have a preference?” He’s trying to make light of it, a bit. And normally -- normally Gordon would be the first one to take the hint, would be right there with him turning it into a joke, just a close-call-cum-classic-story. Gordon would roll his eyes at Scott and distract Virgil and comfort Alan. Gordon wouldn’t look at him like this, like he’s stupid.

“Of course I do, idiot,” he says, all affection but still with that odd look about him, and John -- John who watches and listens and knows, John who never misses a trick, a warning, can’t afford to, never will --

John just laughs, ruffles blond hair and, “All right, All right. I won’t tell Scott.”

Gordon doesn’t laugh. Just looks at him. And something John doesn’t quite understand curls behind his sternum. Just a heavy, sick little thing that doesn’t quite deserve the name dread but doesn’t ever really go away. Just sits. And waits. Nameless and illogical.

It’s two years before it rears its head again, exposes itself for what it is, what it always has been, and by then --

Gordon, you’ve activated your emergency code.

Gordon?

Gordon!

It’s too late.

[leothelionsaysgrrrr]

Diversion [Equilibrium, Chapter 4]

Forgot to post this for a few weeks D:

In which Emma has to leave Lux behind for a week, sasses Solas about tea, argues with the Inquisitor, and finds out that the noble she’s been assigned to tail is plotting something other than his family’s alliance with the Inquisition.

AO3 Link

Chapter 1 | AO3

“I’m fairly certain I could fit in here,” Lux mused aloud as he held Emma’s pack up to his body.  It was more than obvious that he would not.  “You could just smuggle me back with you.  You’re more than capable of carrying the extra weight.”

Emma offered a warm smile and shook her head as she took it from him and slid the straps onto her shoulders, her fingers curled around the reason for his odd suggestion; a note that arrived by messenger bird at Caer Bronach keep just that morning, addressed to ‘Inquisition Agent Harper’.  As far as Sister Leliana’s code names were concerned, it could have been worse, but the note’s contents, and the reason Lux was suggesting such ridiculous things in the first place, couldn’t:

Harper,

Return immediately for new assignment.  Inquisitor’s orders.  Piper to follow soon.

Nightingale

This was likely the third in a series of extremely menial tasks designed to not only insult Emma’s skill and intelligence, but to make perfectly clear the fact that Lavellan still did not trust her.  She might have been fine with it had it just been her, but the Inquisitor's petty games were squandering Lux’s potential, and sorely trying her patience.  He had already had Leliana send her and Lux (or, rather, ‘Inquisition Agent Piper’, as he was now known) traipsing across the Hinterlands to recover a peculiarly-colored ram for some deranged fool in Redcliffe who claimed it gave him advice, and also to find what was somehow worthy of being called a ‘prize druffalo’ for a farmer whose own lack of anything resembling sense probably led to its escape in the first place.  It had taken longer to get the damned thing to go back to its pasture than it had to find it.  

The two weeks they had been at Caer Bronach, assisting with readying the keep and the surrounding area for use by their fellow agents, was Leliana’s doing, out of sympathy, more than likely.  Now Lavellan had the gall to order her to return to Skyhold alone?  She and Lux had not spent a full day away from each other since they met, and his facetiousness poorly masked how dreadfully uneasy he was about it.  She knew he was more than capable on his own, and reassured him of that at every opportunity since breaking the news.  Truthfully, it was a futile attempt to reassure herself, and she worried greatly for him.

“Charter still needs you here.  She assured me it wouldn’t be longer than a couple of days.  You’ll be back at Skyhold in a week, at most.”  Lux  pouted overdramatically for a moment, then crossed his arms and leaned in the stone doorway in front of her with his usual smirk.  

“Yes, and you’ll have gone mad from missing me by then,” he countered, obviously projecting.  It was closer to correct than he realized, but she wouldn't let him know that.  She couldn't.  Charter was a good agent and pleasant enough to work with, and she would need him focused.  So, Emma would be a good example, keep a straight face, and do as she was ordered regardless of her growing desire to throw the Inquisitor off of a mountain.  

“I will miss you, a great deal, but we’re agents of the Inquisition now, and we must do our duty.  You are doing excellent work here, Pollux, and I won’t have you leave it unfinished.”  

He set his face into a roguish grin.  “Yes, Mother.”  She smiled at him despite herself, and pushed out the door.  Lux walked with her until they reached the door that led to one of the cave tunnels that would take her away from the keep unnoticed, and his grin faded as he held on to her arm as she started through it.  Sensing his reluctance to release it, she obliged him with a strong hug.

“If you see him, maybe you should try talking to him,” Lux suggested as she moved again to open the door.

Emma sighed and shook her head.  “I doubt that will-”

“Just try, Emmi.  He’s a bit surly - all right, he’s a lot surly, but he’s not unreasonable.”  His eyes pleaded with her more sincerely than his words did, and she silently cursed Lavellan for doing this to him, for making her leave him behind.  

“I think you overestimate my skill with people.”

“I think you underestimate it.  You can be quite persuasive when you choose to.”  He was the persuasive one, she thought begrudgingly.  Speaking to Lavellan sounded entirely unpleasant, but she resolved to at least make a half-hearted attempt, if only to appease this silly boy who, despite her best efforts, had her firmly wrapped around his little finger.  Emma gave him a kind smile, and then stood on her toes to plant a soft kiss on his cheek before they exchanged salutes.

“Be safe, and I'll see you at Skyhold soon.”

Neither Emma nor Lux were aware of the actual dates of their birth, and so they had adopted arbitrary days on which to celebrate their birthdays together, usually with nothing more than an extra hug, a few drinks, and some sort of trinket for a gift.  Emma had always considered the day the man she knew as her father, a Fereldan-born Orlesian noble who settled in Starkhaven after being disowned by his family, found her as an infant tucked away in an inn in Tantervale, to be her birthday.  It was in the height of autumn, when the trees were ablaze with color that matched Emma’s hair and the air was pleasantly cool.  Lux chose the day she saved his life for his; he always said that while he may have been alive before then, that was the day his life truly began.  She arrived at Skyhold on that day, her stoic expression concealing the massive emptiness she felt in her friend’s absence.  Or, rather her absence from him.

Spring was beginning to encroach on the Frostbacks, slowly pulling back the white blankets of snow on the mountaintops.  The trees at Skyhold were budding, as well, but Emma ignored it all equally.  She ignored the greeting from the gate guards, the soldiers training in the courtyard, the horde of nobles in the great hall.  Her fingers moved longingly over the small pendant that hung around her neck, a beautiful thing carved of sylvanwood into the shape of a bird in flight.  The first gift she had received from Lux.  A sparrow, like you, he'd said, that ridiculous grin spread across his face, so pleased with himself for giving it to her.  Damn it.  She missed him, and the more she thought about it, the more she hardened her face to keep the growing melancholy at bay.  

As she entered the great hall, she was relieved to see that Varric was not at his usual spot at the stone table by the door to the rotunda.  She was in no mood for his inevitable questions on Lux's whereabouts and did not wish to be rude, since he and Lux had become somewhat friendly themselves, discussing writing over drinks at the tavern and always making silly bets with each other.  It wasn't surprising; Lux was friendly and personable, and very charming in his way.  He had the makings of an excellent spy, despite Lavellan's refusal to use him to his full capability.  

She used her own capability as a spy to overhear, much to her delight, that the Inquisitor was not presently at Skyhold; he'd gone off to the Western Approach for something having to do with Grey Wardens, and the Champion of Kirkwall.  Varric was probably with him, then.  With any luck, her new assignment would take her away from here and back to Lux before Lavellan’s return.

“Good morning, Helisma,” Emma said quietly as she passed the Tranquil lead researcher in the library.  Mostly, she avoided conversation with anyone at Skyhold, but she liked Helisma.  She was always direct, and made no attempts to patronize or engage in pointless, unnecessary small talk.  Their conversations were short and to the point, just the way Emma preferred.

“Good morning, Agent Harper.  Lady Nightingale said you were returning from Crestwood today.  She is waiting for you.”  Emma flashed a grateful smile and nodded, and continued on her way.

Just then, Leliana emerged from the alcove to the rookery stairs.  “Harper, there you are.”  Emma greeted the spymaster with a salute, then followed her back up the stone steps.  

“I apologize for pulling you away from Crestwood early.”  Away from Lux, she meant.  Emma only nodded; Leliana had taken the time to apologize, at least, and grousing further would win her no favors.  

As they entered the rookery, Emma was greeted by a dark-haired, dark-skinned Antivan woman dressed in fine raiments and carrying a writing board and pen as if they were extensions of each of her hands.

“I believe you've met Josephine Montilyet, the Inquisition’s ambassador.”  Emma replied with only a terse nod.  Lady Montilyet was kind and pleasant enough, but she was in no mood for pleasantries, not with Lux half a country away, and adjusted her tone to make that perfectly clear.  She wanted her assignment, nothing more.  Perhaps getting to work would settle her mind.

“What is it that’s so urgent?”

Leliana took a seat, and leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs as Lady Montilyet handed Emma a neatly stacked bunch of papers.  

“Are you familiar with Osmar Berisford?” the spymaster asked.  

She was: her father had done business with the Berisford family, minor nobles out of Hercinia.  Osmar was the third of five sons, and the one the others preferred to pretend did not exist.  He'd not been disowned outright, but his unpleasant demeanor and behavior led many to think such a thing wasn't far off.  She had been fortunate enough not to have met him herself.

Lady Montilyet continued.  “He is a member of a noble house from Hercinia that has offered its ai-”

“I’m aware of who he is,” Emma interrupted curtly.  The ambassador shot her a perplexed look.

“You know him personally?”

Emma shook her head.  “By reputation.”

“Then you know he isn’t exactly well-known for being generous, or honest,” said Leliana.  “He has insisted on meeting with the Inquisitor personally to discuss giving us his family’s support, and I believe that is not all he means to do.”  

“So refuse the meeting.”  She took a deep breath to stave off how irritated she was becoming.  This was not worth leaving Lux behind.

Lady Montilyet furrowed her brow.  “On what grounds?  The family’s reputation is fine, it is only his that is suspect.”  

“That is why we need you,” clarified Leliana.  “Find out what you can from Skyhold before he arrives, and keep an eye on him once he is here.  Piper will be following him here once he passes Crestwood, and he will have more information for you when he arrives.  Report anything suspicious immediately.” 

Lady Montilyet scribbled something on her papers.  “He arrives in two days’ time and meets with Inquisitor Lavellan in a week.”  Lux was already on his way here, then.  Good.  He was probably ecstatic at the opportunity, and she was glad for it.  

Lady Montilyet took her leave, and Emma was left alone with the spymaster, and a lingering suspicion that something was off about this assignment.  

“The Inquisitor requested that I do this?” she asked once they were alone.  Leliana stood, keeping her arms crossed and adopting a sympathetic smile.  

“The Inquisitor requested that someone do it.  You dutifully completed your...assignments in the Hinterlands, and I've received excellent reports on the work you and Piper have done in Crestwood.  I trust that you will not fail us, even if he does not.”

Emma nodded gratefully, then saluted and made her way to the kitchens with the stack of papers tucked under her arm.  Her head was beginning to throb, and tea would be necessary if she were to focus on her work.  She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead into her palm.  In doing so, she didn't see the bald-headed elven mage exit the kitchens in front of her, and ran smack into him, causing him to spill most of his own mug of tea.  

Perfect.  

He let out an exasperated grunt and cursed in the elven tongue, then glared down his nose at her.  Emma only offered a quick, insincere, “Ir abelas.”  

The elf - she hadn't bothered learning his name, but she was sure Lux knew - seemed surprised at her apology.  “It's all right.  I despise tea, as it were.”  He seemed to be genuinely trying to be pleasant, but she had no interest in returning the sentiment.

“Your water is too hot,” she replied after a cursory glance at his mug’s contents.  Her lips remained set in a straight line as she stared up at him.  “It’s burnt the leaves.  You might like it better if you made it correctly.”  He furrowed his brow at her, and she ducked around him and through the door before he could inhale a retort.  

She filled a mug with water, and retrieved a sachet of leaves Lux had prepared for her before she left Crestwood.  She held it in her hands for a few moments before letting it fall into the water, then made her way out and to her quarters to attempt to put her almost maddening irritation at Lux's absence out of her mind.  

Lavellan returned the next day.  

Emma had not left her quarters much, and thus missed the fanfare surrounding his arrival.  When she arrived in the rookery the day Lux was due back to deliver a preliminary report on the loathsome Hercinian, who was also due that day, she was rather unpleasantly surprised to find the Inquisitor standing by the window near Leliana’s desk, hands clasped behind his back, his long hair loose and swept over his right shoulder.  His outfit of choice while not in the field was a fine doublet of white samite, fitted olive-colored breeches and fine leather boots, a stately ensemble that made it apparent that, while he was indeed very tall and strong for an elf, he retained the lithe, willowy frame characteristic of his kind.  

Without his armor, he stood with a much straighter, more regal posture, and much lighter on his feet.  He seemed to almost float on top of the stone floor as he shifted his weight, but kept his back to her.  Emma often overheard the opinion, from men and women alike, that the Inquisitor was extremely handsome, and she may have even agreed were he not such an insufferable boor.  He'd probably not noticed her, and she was not very keen to speak to him at the moment, so she turned and started back towards the stairs.  She would meet Leliana later.

“Agent.”

Damn it all.

Emma stopped, and turned back towards him.  He'd turned, and was now facing her.  The two of them traded stone-faced glares, and neither spoke for an uncomfortable few moments.

“Inquisitor.”

Lavellan was unfazed, and Emma found herself locked with him in a battle of resolve, one that she was undoubtedly better equipped to win.  At least, under normal conditions, she would have been.  It would take a bit more for her to maintain her calm, stoic demeanor now, but maintain it she would.  If there were ever someone to whom she could never show any sort of weakness, it was Lavellan.  

“Leliana tells me you are the one she has watching that cretin Berisford.”

Emma nodded.  It was surprisingly civil, for him.

“Let's hope he really is just coming here to talk, then.  I'd hate for all that stood between me and anyone who wished me harm to be you.”

Ah.  Of course.  She steeled herself, preparing to respond in kind.  She could play his little game.

“Are you incapable of defending yourself in such conditions, Inquisitor?  I was under the impression your prowess in battle was at least adequate.”  Lavellan’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he took a few steps toward her.  An attempt to be intimidating, she supposed.  It hadn’t worked before, and she certainly wasn't intimidated now.

“My prowess in battle is irrelevant against a surprise attack, agent, as I'm sure you are aware.  Especially one originating from those at my side.”

“You assume I deem such a thing worth the effort.”

Lavellan meandered slowly around her, still standing tall with light and rhythmic footsteps, the way the tales the city elves told of the Dalish said they walked.  He glanced downward momentarily, and the look on his face when his gaze returned to her, the sort of look worn by a brilliant strategist who had just completed meticulously planning his next attack, told her that the next thing to come out of his mouth would be particularly obnoxious.

“You seem to be missing your shadow.”

Sometimes she despised being right.  She had expected him to play that card, but it affected her more than she wanted it to.  He knew precisely where Lux was, and why, and he was toying with her.  She allowed herself a small betrayal of the fact that he was annoying her, and shifted her weight and crossed her arms, but her speech did not falter.  Lavellan needed to see her self-confidence, and her confidence in her friend.

“He is serving well in spite of you.”

One corner of his mouth turned slightly upward in a smug half-smirk.  Although she showed it only minimally, he was gaining ground, and he knew it.  Perhaps he was better at this than she’d thought.  “You've been assigned to tasks for which you've been deemed fit.”

She didn't know exactly what it was about him that let Lavellan get to her so; his accusation of blood magic, while supremely insulting, had a rational explanation, and Emma was not one to hold a grudge when rational explanations for one’s actions were involved.  He was deliberately antagonizing her, yes, but so had a great many others whose behavior she’d met without so much as a sigh.  Yet, with this elf, she found her eyes narrowing and her brow furrowing against her volition.  She countered it before it came to a head, fortunately, and replied again in a dispassionate, but just critical enough manner.  

“Do not insult my intelligence, Inquisitor.  You claimed you cannot spurn our aid, yet you refuse to use it?  Distrust me all you wish, but you will regret wasting the asset my partner and I provide to your Inquisition on your petty games.”

His vallaslin tightened around his features as he leaned downward to reply, his face mere inches from hers.  He almost whispered, like a low growl.  “You are a liability, agent, not an asset.  The boy is an unfortunate casualty of that fact. ”  Emma was confused, and quickly becoming incensed at his flippant dismissal of Lux’s usefulness.  The boy?  What gall.  What was the point of allowing them to join the Inquisition in the first place, then?  He should have just told them to turn back the day they met on that mountain.  

She was a poor substitute for Lux in the area of wit and cunning with words, but the thought of him rejuvenated her will to avoid allowing Lavellan to break her, and she responded with a smug half-smirk of her own.

“I suppose, then, you should continue to hope you are correct.  I would hate for you to become a casualty of the boundless liability surrounding my presence here, as well.”  

Lavellan raised an eyebrow.  “Is that a threat?”

“It is the truth. For the time being, you are, sadly, necessary.”

He seemed to relax, momentarily, his expression giving a hint of what appeared to be approval.  He stood straight again, and glanced over at Leliana’s desk.

“Tell Leliana that I would like a word, if you would,” he said, somewhat politely, strangely enough.  Emma replied with her signature nod as he strode away towards the door behind them.  “Until later, agent.”  

He would likely request she be reassigned, probably to the Hissing Wastes or somewhere else miserable.  It didn’t matter.  Almost the second the door shut, Leliana ascended the stairs, and Emma saluted and slightly bowed her head in greeting, delivering Lavellan’s message almost immediately.

“The Inquisitor would like a word, Nightingale.”

“I’m assuming he was here when you arrived?”  Emma nodded.  “I apologize.  It won’t kill him to wait a bit longer.  Have you found something?”  

Emma relinquished the report, and Leliana skimmed over it quickly.  

“He appears to be attempting to redeem himself.  Sensible investments, legitimate business deals on his family's behalf.  Perhaps his parents are finally holding his feet to the fire.”  She glanced at Emma for confirmation, which Emma did not give.  Leliana picked up on her reservation.

“You don’t look convinced, Harper.”

“I am not.”  Emma pointed to the dates of the apparently repentant young lord’s business deals, and the spymaster squinted incredulously as she noticed the pattern to which Emma referred.

“Most of these were made immediately preceding or since the attack on Haven.  I agree, that is somewhat suspicious.  Have you received word from my contact in Hercinia?”

“Yes.  Nothing solid, but your Antivan friend suggests we search his belongings when he arrives.  He may have other records he keeps closer to him.”  Leliana nodded her approval as she continued looking over the report.  

“My ‘Antivan friend’, is it?” she asked casually after a few moments.  Emma nodded.

“Antivan writing mimics Antivan speech: flamboyant and melodramatic.  It’s difficult to miss.”

The spymaster was impressed, and rewarded her with a proud smile.  “Well done, indeed.”

“Piper may have more when he arrives,” Emma added, hoping that Leliana’s reply would have some news of his arrival.

“Piper has been delayed.”  

Shit.  Exactly the news she hadn’t wanted, and she looked away briefly to mask her increased anxiety.  

“Berisford took an alternate route we were not expecting, and Piper needed extra time to intercept him.  They should both arrive in two more days.”

“I see,” she managed to say amidst heaving a sigh of relief.  This was good; this meant he was alive, and Leliana had likely received word from him.

“He sent a message for you, as well.  I meant to find you to give it to you, but it seems you were also trying to find me.”  Leliana handed her a small rolled-up piece of paper, and Emma nodded her thanks.  She took her leave and returned to her quarters, sinking into the desk chair before reading the message.  

Dearest Emmi,

Small delay, but I am well.  No need to worry, although I know you will anyway.  Find some good wine for my birthday, and I’ll see you soon, silly girl.  

Yours,

Lux

Lux’s handwriting scrawling across the paper was immensely comforting, and she settled into a wide, contented smile.  He was just fine on his own, as she knew he would be.  Hopefully, he did as well.

Osmar Berisford reached Skyhold two days later, as expected, but Lux did not. 

Emma reluctantly took to her duty of watching the Inquisition’s guest, who was a stark contrast to what she’d heard of him prior: he’d been described as a fat, slovenly bastard, but he could hardly be considered thus.  His hair and clothes were well kept, and he was certainly in much better shape.  He seemed to be making every attempt to be on his best behavior, as well.  Although she remained suspicious, Emma followed him around Skyhold dutifully, observing as much of the stronghold as she could to be sure Lux arrived.  

Another day passed, however, and still no sign of Lux, nor any word.  Berisford spent much of the next morning grumbling about missing something, although he was unclear on what it was.  The other agents who had searched Berisford’s guest room came up empty-handed, so whatever he was so irked over losing was likely lost on the road.  Emma was growing restless herself at Lux’s continued absence.  Something clearly wasn’t right.

The time came for him to meet with the Inquisitor, which took place in the office area of sorts Lavellan kept in his private quarters, rather than in the ambassador’s office due to an incident involving another Marcher noble, from Wycome, Emma overheard, who had arrived early and demanded Lady Montilyet’s attention at once.  How she tolerated it, and how money could make people behave so childishly, was beyond Emma.  Her father was not nobility in Starkhaven, but he was wealthy enough, and always warm, fair, and kind.  These people, however, were ridiculous.  

Emma had strongly advised against using the Inquisitor’s personal office, but Lavellan’s distrust of her persisted and he decided to go ahead with it.  She kept her distance, remaining at the bottom of the stairs leading to the main area of the Inquisitor’s apartment, where she could hear well enough, but did not have to remain stealthed.  After a while, she found she actually sympathized with Lavellan, who sounded just as uninterested in the inane conversation as she was.  Just as she was becoming irreparably bored and ready to dismiss this assignment as another attempt of the Inquisitor's to waste her time, she felt an urgent hand on her shoulder pulling her out into the previous room.

It was Lux, out of breath, disheveled and road-weary, but alive and unharmed.  Emma couldn’t resist wrapping him up in a quick, tight hug; she couldn’t have been more relieved to see him.  He was distraught, however, and instead of waiting for her to ask where he’d been, he thrust a folded note at her and tried catching his breath.  Emma helped him to lean against the wall, her arm around him as she read his message.  The note was a shipping agreement between Berisford and a shipping company she had never heard of, but she was more than familiar with the note’s final instruction, originally written in code and deciphered into Lux's hand.  Her eyes widened in shock with the realization:

Eliminate Lavellan with extreme prejudice.  Vitae benefaria, friend.

Berisford was working with the Venatori.

And he was alone with the Inquisitor that very moment.

Lux, still catching his breath, caught Emma’s arm as she started back up the stairs, and he handed her a small flask.

“Just in case,” he said, with a breathless chuckle.  

Emma smiled at him and clutched the flask tightly in her hand as she raced into the Inquisitor’s quarters without bothering to enter stealth, chest pounding and sprinting up the stairs two at a time, and arrived at the top just in time to see Lavellan’s eyes go even wider than hers as Berisford shoved him backwards off of the balcony.