Khari groaned, dropping onto Rom's couch with altogether too dramatic a flop. Her legs were killing her—she immediately propped them up by placing her ankles on the far arm rest. A soft hiss escaped her when the stretch that required pulled against a burgeoning cramp in the left one. No potions today, though: she was going to have to take care of this the old-fashioned way.
Pulling herself up into a seated position, she wrapped her hands around either side of her left thigh, tightening her fingers and working out the ache that way, at least as well as she could. She certainly didn't have Stel's magic hands. Still, that she was hurting at all in this way was a sign of progress; her splints had come off way earlier than anyone thought—right around Firstday. From there, she'd set her own pace, increasing the length of her walks every day, adding in stairs, and then transitioning into running and squats and lunges and the rest of it. She still hadn't gone back to doing any of those things in the armor, but she'd be able to spar again soon, at least.
The date of the Grand Tourney loomed in her head like a massive deadline, and she knew her injury was costing her. The other people that were entering had likely been spending these last winter months training hard, refining their techniques, and everything else. She'd been spending them just trying to get back to where she'd been before Kirkwall, conditioning-wise, and she cringed to think of how rusty she was going to be when she went back to actual sparring and stuff. Next week. She'd be doing that next week, come rifts or dragons or red lyrium giants. She'd already blocked out the time with Ves and Stel.
In the meantime, she'd been spending most of her free time in the Undercroft. Rom had started writing letters for the Inquisition or something, and so whenever he had a stack of work to be doing, Khari read or stretched the way Amalia had shown her or did something else quiet so she wouldn't bother him. But she no longer saw the point in, well... not being around him as much as possible. There were a lot of things unsaid there, but Khari for once wasn't in any hurry about it. She didn't need the words, or any of the rest of it, right now. It was what it was, and it made pretty much everything else tolerable.
“So who's the Inquisition kissing up to today?" She asked the question more to distract herself than anything, something she was certain Rom would have no trouble recognizing.
"Most of Ferelden, actually," was Rom's answer, "Including the king, wrote him one earlier. I've heard he's not too bad, but some of these banns are, uh..." He trailed off, failing to come up with a proper way to describe them. "Well, some of them seem to think we're just renting this castle, and killing Corypheus is how we have to pay them."
He set down the quill, apparently done or at least taking a break from the one he was working on, and instead made his way over to the couch as well, plopping down behind where Khari was sat such that if she tipped back again she'd land across his legs. He threw an arm over the back of the couch. "They didn't even know this place existed, but now that it does, they like to think it's theirs because of the border it's just inside."
Since she could think of literally no reason not to, Khari eased herself backwards, scooting up a little further so that her head was resting on Rom's leg. Tilting her chin back a little to make better eye contact, she scoffed. “I'd like to see them try to deliver the eviction notice up here, when this is all over. It's not like they can fly in on dragons or anything." She waggled her fingers on the word 'dragons,' emphasizing exactly how little she thought of random banns trying to act like the Inquisition was doing them some kind of wrong.
It was kind of like saying it was illegal to steal someone else's garbage, or live in an abandoned building. No one else had been using it for anything important. Or anything at all. And it was the Inquisition that had made Skyhold livable again in the first place. It hadn't been when they got here, as far as Khari heard.
Well, if they did anything besides make a fuss about it, then that was a bridge to cross when it appeared.
Rom let one of his arms fall, laying it across Khari's abdomen, while his other hand toyed absently with a bit of the red hair now across his lap. His eyes stayed up, gazing out ahead of him, distant, thinking about something. Whatever it was, he didn't comment on it. It didn't seem like anything was bothering him, though. He glanced over at where her feet were propped on the arm rest.
"How's the recovery go—"
He was interrupted by the door opening in front of them. Brand slipped inside unannounced, as he usually did during the daytime. Only in the early and late hours of the day did the Tevinter elf ever seem to show any respect for privacy. He shivered now under his cloak, as ill-adapted to the cold here as Rom and the other northern-grown folk were back in Haven. He glanced at the pair of them on the couch, but of course it was nothing he hadn't seen before. The stupid rumors going around were proof of that.
"Got a few more for you," he said, heading over to Rom's desk and leaving a smaller stack of papers there. "Stel kept the lion's share, but I told her you'd be so disappointed if you didn't get any more work, and she parted with these."
Rom seemed to pay the extra work no mind. "You've been outside."
"Unlucky me. Had to go see Ril for a bit. Oh!" He clearly just remembered something. "I saw some guests at the gate. Pair riding in on a halla. Pretty cool. Thought you might want to know."
That certainly caught Khari's attention. Visitors on a halla would probably only be here for one of a very small number of people in the Inquisition, and she was... well, weirdly enough as it still was to think about, she could be among them.
Khari sat up, throwing her legs over the side until her socks hit the floor. “Feel like skipping out on work a bit longer? I kinda wanna see who that is."
"It's really cold out, just so you know," Brand warned. "I'm not sure what I expected it to be like, but... yeah. Cold."
Rom was already up, offering Khari a hand but grinning a little at Brand. "You'll get used to it. Maybe. In a few years."
“Or you freeze for the winter and melt again in spring, like the lake." Khari grinned, pulling herself to her feet with Rom's help. The stretching really helped; she wasn't up to long runs yet, but also in no danger of collapsing if she had to climb all the stairs to Leon's tower.
Going down stairs wasn't nearly as tough as all that, either. By the time they made it to the bailey, their mysterious guests were just disappearing into the stable building. Khari caught a flash of something vaguely familiar—the dark brown coat of a very large halla. It couldn't be, but—
Picking up the pace, she broke into a jog, calling ahead of herself. “Vareth?"
An excited giggle was her answer, and a moment later, a heavily-bundled, very small body shot from the entrance to the stable, the hood up over her head of flaxen hair falling back to her shoulders with her momentum. "It's the dread wolf and the big halla!"
Khari's eyes went wide; she crouched in time to hold her arms out and catch the fur-cloaked hellion streaking towards them. Senna laughed when Khari picked her up and spun her around, setting her back down so she could go attack Rom, too.
Her attack went low, the only place it could go, around one of Rom's legs. He feigned a cry and went down on his back in the few inches of snow on the ground, sending small clouds of it poofing up into the air and dusting them both.
"You've gotten ferocious since I saw you," Rom declared, mussing a small handful of snow against her hair as he sat up. "A little wolf in your own right." They got to their feet, Rom taking a second to brush the snow from his pants and sleeves before he offered a nod in greeting to the other elf. "Vareth."
He'd followed at a much more sedate pace, lugging what appeared to be a large sack behind him. Their antics had brought an easy smile to his face, though, and he returned Rom's gesture with warmth. "Lord Inquisitor. Khari. It's good to see you." He glanced at Senna, now preoccupied gathering snow into her hands, most likely planning some form of revenge on Rom. "She found out where I was going and insisted on coming with. I hope you don't mind; we don't have to stay long."
“Of course not." Khari crossed her arms, more to keep warm than anything else. “And you can stay as long as you want; there's space in the barracks." Hell, there were spare beds in her room; Widget wouldn't mind.
Vareth's response was cut off when a snowball smacked Khari in the back; she whipped around to see Senna already trying to make a break for it. Lunging, Khari scooped the little girl off her feet and threw her over her shoulder. Her right leg twinged, but it held. Senna shrieked and flailed, but Khari's grip was too strong for her to worm out of.
“How about we take this to the tavern for now? You guys must be hungry, huh?"
"That sounds good to me. We've brought more than just ourselves, after all, but I think news is better shared somewhere a bit warmer."
The Heralds' Rest wasn't far, and at this time of day, it didn't take them long at all to find a table and get themselves settled. Senna regarded everything with clear interest, hardly able to keep still in her seat while they waited for the food.
“So, uh... how is everyone?" Khari asked with a bit of apprehension, not quite able to disguise it. She'd been writing letters to Vareth pretty regularly, and she had a feeling he shared them with her parents at least, but... that was sort of a different thing from being in contact with them.
"Well," Vareth replied, pulling his tin tankard of mead closer to himself. "Winter in the Graves has been mild this year, which we really needed." No doubt the hunters they'd lost had a lot to do with that. But if the temperature had stayed relatively warm, then game would have been easier to find, and the foraging resources would have lasted longer.
Khari felt herself relax a little. "Good. That's good." She nodded, though it was obviously not necessary. Talking about her family was still—well. Vareth and Senna were one thing. She didn't think she'd have been able to handle seeing anyone else here. Not yet. "So, uh... did you tell them about the thing in my last letter?"
Vareth smiled slightly before it disappeared into his tankard as he took a sip. "I did." Glancing down to his side, he addressed Senna. "What did I tell the clan about Khari when her last letter came?"
Senna's eyes went wide; the reminder setting her to bouncing in her seat. "You're gonna be famous! You're gonna put on armor and use a sword and ride a horse!"
Technically, that was what the Tourney came down to, Khari figured. "I'm not so sure about the 'famous' part yet, but I'm working on it, I guess."
"Working on it, she says," Rom cut in softly. "She only saved the Orlesian Emperor's life in battle not so long ago. Small-time work, really."
That was a true story, but Khari felt her face heat up anyway. It only got worse when Vareth's expression grew keener.
"You left that part out of the letter."
"Uh... yeah. It was kind of a wash, actually. Banged up my legs real bad—I was in splints until about a week ago. I didn't, uh, want anyone to worry about it though. I'm getting better. Mostly." She stared resolutely into her own cup, clearing her throat.
Really, she should have been crowing about this. She'd certainly been able to poke some fun at Lucien about it, but—she figured that was just because he seemed like... such a real person. Getting some distance from it and thinking about what she'd really done—saved an Emperor—that was harder, somehow. It felt bigger. Maybe too big for her, which was a bad sign, considering.
"He's a nice guy. Lucien. He, uh—he carried me around on his back for a day when I needed to get out of the infirmary at Kirkwall." That was more her speed, honestly. Ridiculous antics, being indulged by people who seemed to like her, odd at that could still be sometimes.
"Vareth does that for me, too." Senna seemed to brighten as the discussion moved into familiar territory for a small child. "It's really fun."
Khari grinned and reached across the table to muss her hair. "Yeah it is. Don't wear him out too much, though. The clan still needs him."
Speaking of—they were actually quite interested to hear of your plans. They asked me to bring a few things along; a couple larger items that couldn't be sent by bird."
She blinked. Gifts from her clan were certainly not things she'd expected, but she accepted the package he handed across the table anyway, wrapped in a layer of oilcloth to protect it, no doubt, and secured with bark-twine.
Setting it down in front of her, she untied the string and pushed the wrapping to the side. "A cloak?" The base fabric was deep green, smooth through her fingers in a way that actually suggested silk more than anything. The embroidery on it was gold, though, metallic and so intricate she couldn't imagine any Dalish wasting so much time on an unnecessary cosmetic detail. The edges were gold, too, and the lining a green so dark it was almost black. It definitely wasn't stealthy, by any means. "Where'd they get this from?"
"Your mother made it." Vareth said the words softly, as though he knew just how hard they were going to hit her.
"Mom... made this? But it—" It wasn't anything a Dalish would ever use. It wouldn't blend with a forest or keep her especially warm in winter, and the materials to make it wouldn't have just been laying around. And the hours it must have taken one person with one needle to get all these details right...
Khari squeezed the corner of the cloak in her hands, feeling hot tears well in her eyes. It wasn't the first time her mother had made her cry, but this—this was completely different from that. "She... it's a parade cloak, Rom, look." Her voice cracked; her attempt to show it to him with casual enthusiasm amounted to nothing more than a vague wave of the material and a loud sniffle.
Rom could see how much it meant to her, that was obvious. He'd witnessed firsthand some of the difficulties she had with her parents, her mother in particular. What this particular gift represented was not lost on him. "It's beautiful," he said, likely lacking any better words for it. He reached to feel it for himself, running his thumb and forefinger along the fabric. He probably hadn't worn anything like it in his life either. "Fitting for a soon-to-be famous chevalier, I think."
Khari sniffed again, managing a smile this time, and a short, half-choked bubble of laughter. "Yeah. It is." Clearing her throat, she used her free hand to wipe at her eyes, trying to recompose herself. It felt like—she didn't even have the words for what it felt like. Something tied in a tight knot in her guts had loosened, and there were so many other things rushing out behind it she didn't really know how to handle it.
When she was more or less coherent again, she glanced up at Vareth, who smiled. "That sword we found—the one the revenant had. The Keeper did some maintenance on the enchantments, and sent it along, too, with a new sidearm. I'll give them to you later."
Even if it was the Inquisition, pulling out magic weapons in a tavern was still pretty bad form, Khari guessed. But still... she could have all the ancient magic swords in the world and it still wouldn't—she expelled an unsteady breath, shaking her head.
"Thank you, Vareth. Tell them—no, never mind. I'll tell them. If you don't mind carrying back another letter?" She leaned sideways, putting her shoulder against Rom's arm, her near hand still wrapped up in the cloak.
Vareth smiled. "Not at all."
Pulling herself up into a seated position, she wrapped her hands around either side of her left thigh, tightening her fingers and working out the ache that way, at least as well as she could. She certainly didn't have Stel's magic hands. Still, that she was hurting at all in this way was a sign of progress; her splints had come off way earlier than anyone thought—right around Firstday. From there, she'd set her own pace, increasing the length of her walks every day, adding in stairs, and then transitioning into running and squats and lunges and the rest of it. She still hadn't gone back to doing any of those things in the armor, but she'd be able to spar again soon, at least.
The date of the Grand Tourney loomed in her head like a massive deadline, and she knew her injury was costing her. The other people that were entering had likely been spending these last winter months training hard, refining their techniques, and everything else. She'd been spending them just trying to get back to where she'd been before Kirkwall, conditioning-wise, and she cringed to think of how rusty she was going to be when she went back to actual sparring and stuff. Next week. She'd be doing that next week, come rifts or dragons or red lyrium giants. She'd already blocked out the time with Ves and Stel.
In the meantime, she'd been spending most of her free time in the Undercroft. Rom had started writing letters for the Inquisition or something, and so whenever he had a stack of work to be doing, Khari read or stretched the way Amalia had shown her or did something else quiet so she wouldn't bother him. But she no longer saw the point in, well... not being around him as much as possible. There were a lot of things unsaid there, but Khari for once wasn't in any hurry about it. She didn't need the words, or any of the rest of it, right now. It was what it was, and it made pretty much everything else tolerable.
“So who's the Inquisition kissing up to today?" She asked the question more to distract herself than anything, something she was certain Rom would have no trouble recognizing.
"Most of Ferelden, actually," was Rom's answer, "Including the king, wrote him one earlier. I've heard he's not too bad, but some of these banns are, uh..." He trailed off, failing to come up with a proper way to describe them. "Well, some of them seem to think we're just renting this castle, and killing Corypheus is how we have to pay them."
He set down the quill, apparently done or at least taking a break from the one he was working on, and instead made his way over to the couch as well, plopping down behind where Khari was sat such that if she tipped back again she'd land across his legs. He threw an arm over the back of the couch. "They didn't even know this place existed, but now that it does, they like to think it's theirs because of the border it's just inside."
Since she could think of literally no reason not to, Khari eased herself backwards, scooting up a little further so that her head was resting on Rom's leg. Tilting her chin back a little to make better eye contact, she scoffed. “I'd like to see them try to deliver the eviction notice up here, when this is all over. It's not like they can fly in on dragons or anything." She waggled her fingers on the word 'dragons,' emphasizing exactly how little she thought of random banns trying to act like the Inquisition was doing them some kind of wrong.
It was kind of like saying it was illegal to steal someone else's garbage, or live in an abandoned building. No one else had been using it for anything important. Or anything at all. And it was the Inquisition that had made Skyhold livable again in the first place. It hadn't been when they got here, as far as Khari heard.
Well, if they did anything besides make a fuss about it, then that was a bridge to cross when it appeared.
Rom let one of his arms fall, laying it across Khari's abdomen, while his other hand toyed absently with a bit of the red hair now across his lap. His eyes stayed up, gazing out ahead of him, distant, thinking about something. Whatever it was, he didn't comment on it. It didn't seem like anything was bothering him, though. He glanced over at where her feet were propped on the arm rest.
"How's the recovery go—"
He was interrupted by the door opening in front of them. Brand slipped inside unannounced, as he usually did during the daytime. Only in the early and late hours of the day did the Tevinter elf ever seem to show any respect for privacy. He shivered now under his cloak, as ill-adapted to the cold here as Rom and the other northern-grown folk were back in Haven. He glanced at the pair of them on the couch, but of course it was nothing he hadn't seen before. The stupid rumors going around were proof of that.
"Got a few more for you," he said, heading over to Rom's desk and leaving a smaller stack of papers there. "Stel kept the lion's share, but I told her you'd be so disappointed if you didn't get any more work, and she parted with these."
Rom seemed to pay the extra work no mind. "You've been outside."
"Unlucky me. Had to go see Ril for a bit. Oh!" He clearly just remembered something. "I saw some guests at the gate. Pair riding in on a halla. Pretty cool. Thought you might want to know."
That certainly caught Khari's attention. Visitors on a halla would probably only be here for one of a very small number of people in the Inquisition, and she was... well, weirdly enough as it still was to think about, she could be among them.
Khari sat up, throwing her legs over the side until her socks hit the floor. “Feel like skipping out on work a bit longer? I kinda wanna see who that is."
"It's really cold out, just so you know," Brand warned. "I'm not sure what I expected it to be like, but... yeah. Cold."
Rom was already up, offering Khari a hand but grinning a little at Brand. "You'll get used to it. Maybe. In a few years."
“Or you freeze for the winter and melt again in spring, like the lake." Khari grinned, pulling herself to her feet with Rom's help. The stretching really helped; she wasn't up to long runs yet, but also in no danger of collapsing if she had to climb all the stairs to Leon's tower.
Going down stairs wasn't nearly as tough as all that, either. By the time they made it to the bailey, their mysterious guests were just disappearing into the stable building. Khari caught a flash of something vaguely familiar—the dark brown coat of a very large halla. It couldn't be, but—
Picking up the pace, she broke into a jog, calling ahead of herself. “Vareth?"
An excited giggle was her answer, and a moment later, a heavily-bundled, very small body shot from the entrance to the stable, the hood up over her head of flaxen hair falling back to her shoulders with her momentum. "It's the dread wolf and the big halla!"
Khari's eyes went wide; she crouched in time to hold her arms out and catch the fur-cloaked hellion streaking towards them. Senna laughed when Khari picked her up and spun her around, setting her back down so she could go attack Rom, too.
Her attack went low, the only place it could go, around one of Rom's legs. He feigned a cry and went down on his back in the few inches of snow on the ground, sending small clouds of it poofing up into the air and dusting them both.
"You've gotten ferocious since I saw you," Rom declared, mussing a small handful of snow against her hair as he sat up. "A little wolf in your own right." They got to their feet, Rom taking a second to brush the snow from his pants and sleeves before he offered a nod in greeting to the other elf. "Vareth."
He'd followed at a much more sedate pace, lugging what appeared to be a large sack behind him. Their antics had brought an easy smile to his face, though, and he returned Rom's gesture with warmth. "Lord Inquisitor. Khari. It's good to see you." He glanced at Senna, now preoccupied gathering snow into her hands, most likely planning some form of revenge on Rom. "She found out where I was going and insisted on coming with. I hope you don't mind; we don't have to stay long."
“Of course not." Khari crossed her arms, more to keep warm than anything else. “And you can stay as long as you want; there's space in the barracks." Hell, there were spare beds in her room; Widget wouldn't mind.
Vareth's response was cut off when a snowball smacked Khari in the back; she whipped around to see Senna already trying to make a break for it. Lunging, Khari scooped the little girl off her feet and threw her over her shoulder. Her right leg twinged, but it held. Senna shrieked and flailed, but Khari's grip was too strong for her to worm out of.
“How about we take this to the tavern for now? You guys must be hungry, huh?"
"That sounds good to me. We've brought more than just ourselves, after all, but I think news is better shared somewhere a bit warmer."
The Heralds' Rest wasn't far, and at this time of day, it didn't take them long at all to find a table and get themselves settled. Senna regarded everything with clear interest, hardly able to keep still in her seat while they waited for the food.
“So, uh... how is everyone?" Khari asked with a bit of apprehension, not quite able to disguise it. She'd been writing letters to Vareth pretty regularly, and she had a feeling he shared them with her parents at least, but... that was sort of a different thing from being in contact with them.
"Well," Vareth replied, pulling his tin tankard of mead closer to himself. "Winter in the Graves has been mild this year, which we really needed." No doubt the hunters they'd lost had a lot to do with that. But if the temperature had stayed relatively warm, then game would have been easier to find, and the foraging resources would have lasted longer.
Khari felt herself relax a little. "Good. That's good." She nodded, though it was obviously not necessary. Talking about her family was still—well. Vareth and Senna were one thing. She didn't think she'd have been able to handle seeing anyone else here. Not yet. "So, uh... did you tell them about the thing in my last letter?"
Vareth smiled slightly before it disappeared into his tankard as he took a sip. "I did." Glancing down to his side, he addressed Senna. "What did I tell the clan about Khari when her last letter came?"
Senna's eyes went wide; the reminder setting her to bouncing in her seat. "You're gonna be famous! You're gonna put on armor and use a sword and ride a horse!"
Technically, that was what the Tourney came down to, Khari figured. "I'm not so sure about the 'famous' part yet, but I'm working on it, I guess."
"Working on it, she says," Rom cut in softly. "She only saved the Orlesian Emperor's life in battle not so long ago. Small-time work, really."
That was a true story, but Khari felt her face heat up anyway. It only got worse when Vareth's expression grew keener.
"You left that part out of the letter."
"Uh... yeah. It was kind of a wash, actually. Banged up my legs real bad—I was in splints until about a week ago. I didn't, uh, want anyone to worry about it though. I'm getting better. Mostly." She stared resolutely into her own cup, clearing her throat.
Really, she should have been crowing about this. She'd certainly been able to poke some fun at Lucien about it, but—she figured that was just because he seemed like... such a real person. Getting some distance from it and thinking about what she'd really done—saved an Emperor—that was harder, somehow. It felt bigger. Maybe too big for her, which was a bad sign, considering.
"He's a nice guy. Lucien. He, uh—he carried me around on his back for a day when I needed to get out of the infirmary at Kirkwall." That was more her speed, honestly. Ridiculous antics, being indulged by people who seemed to like her, odd at that could still be sometimes.
"Vareth does that for me, too." Senna seemed to brighten as the discussion moved into familiar territory for a small child. "It's really fun."
Khari grinned and reached across the table to muss her hair. "Yeah it is. Don't wear him out too much, though. The clan still needs him."
Speaking of—they were actually quite interested to hear of your plans. They asked me to bring a few things along; a couple larger items that couldn't be sent by bird."
She blinked. Gifts from her clan were certainly not things she'd expected, but she accepted the package he handed across the table anyway, wrapped in a layer of oilcloth to protect it, no doubt, and secured with bark-twine.
Setting it down in front of her, she untied the string and pushed the wrapping to the side. "A cloak?" The base fabric was deep green, smooth through her fingers in a way that actually suggested silk more than anything. The embroidery on it was gold, though, metallic and so intricate she couldn't imagine any Dalish wasting so much time on an unnecessary cosmetic detail. The edges were gold, too, and the lining a green so dark it was almost black. It definitely wasn't stealthy, by any means. "Where'd they get this from?"
"Your mother made it." Vareth said the words softly, as though he knew just how hard they were going to hit her.
"Mom... made this? But it—" It wasn't anything a Dalish would ever use. It wouldn't blend with a forest or keep her especially warm in winter, and the materials to make it wouldn't have just been laying around. And the hours it must have taken one person with one needle to get all these details right...
Khari squeezed the corner of the cloak in her hands, feeling hot tears well in her eyes. It wasn't the first time her mother had made her cry, but this—this was completely different from that. "She... it's a parade cloak, Rom, look." Her voice cracked; her attempt to show it to him with casual enthusiasm amounted to nothing more than a vague wave of the material and a loud sniffle.
Rom could see how much it meant to her, that was obvious. He'd witnessed firsthand some of the difficulties she had with her parents, her mother in particular. What this particular gift represented was not lost on him. "It's beautiful," he said, likely lacking any better words for it. He reached to feel it for himself, running his thumb and forefinger along the fabric. He probably hadn't worn anything like it in his life either. "Fitting for a soon-to-be famous chevalier, I think."
Khari sniffed again, managing a smile this time, and a short, half-choked bubble of laughter. "Yeah. It is." Clearing her throat, she used her free hand to wipe at her eyes, trying to recompose herself. It felt like—she didn't even have the words for what it felt like. Something tied in a tight knot in her guts had loosened, and there were so many other things rushing out behind it she didn't really know how to handle it.
When she was more or less coherent again, she glanced up at Vareth, who smiled. "That sword we found—the one the revenant had. The Keeper did some maintenance on the enchantments, and sent it along, too, with a new sidearm. I'll give them to you later."
Even if it was the Inquisition, pulling out magic weapons in a tavern was still pretty bad form, Khari guessed. But still... she could have all the ancient magic swords in the world and it still wouldn't—she expelled an unsteady breath, shaking her head.
"Thank you, Vareth. Tell them—no, never mind. I'll tell them. If you don't mind carrying back another letter?" She leaned sideways, putting her shoulder against Rom's arm, her near hand still wrapped up in the cloak.
Vareth smiled. "Not at all."