[Pel has to read this letter a few times. Then she reads the ones before it and finds she is perplexed. This man uses hyperbole so often it almost sounds sincere. Like she is actually his dear friend and he is actually excited to correspond with her. Like something about her has excited him. And she does not think it is because of her, but because of Val. Val is a veritable fountain of enthusiasm. He is smug, of course, but the cracks appear in the paragraphs where he feels he is snubbed. Is he oversensitive about minor injuries to his pride? Yes. But he also cares what Pel thinks of him, or he would not bother. That alone is a vulnerability--a vulnerability he has put to paper. A vulnerability he has revealed to the one who makes him vulnerable. And she has the feeling that's just how he is. He is a fountain of many sensibilities. He must believe she is very cold indeed. Should she be more emotional in her letters? She is not insincere, but she is prone to understatement. Should she try to match him?
She does not know the answer. But she writes a letter.]
My dear friend Val de Foncé,
I have made up my mind to absolutely trust you to turn out whatever spectacle is appropriate for the occasion, and I will learn by watching. Only tell me what I ought to wear, for I have acquired an array of clothing for occasions formal and informal. Nothing so fine as I saw in the Winter Palace (I was disguised as a servant, though my true function was as an agent of the Nightingale and the story of that night may have reached you already), but one gown is very suitable for daytime in the streets of Val Royeaux, as ensured by the kind Araceli Bonaventura. I would prefer as little likelihood as possible of being mistaken for a servant, although such things inevitably happen.
Speaking of Val Royeaux, I can't sufficiently express what it means to me that you are enjoying my book. I tried to deliver copies to bookshops in Val Royeaux, but I was laughed out of each one. The trouble is not only that it was originally published with my clan name (something not present in current copies), but that the subject of the Dalish, if it is not written disparagingly, is ordinarily a good way to get a book banned. Thus far this has been avoided with my book, as there is no Divine to do so, and the remaining Grand Clerics cannot agree on the color of an orange. My little book has, fortunately, escaped their notice.
My book also contains a whole chapter on the halla and their significance to the Dalish, and are mentioned throughout so that they may be read of in the context of clan life and the wider picture. I hope you find its information useful, and that your Freddie enjoys the book as well. She sounds like a delight, and if she has questions, I am at her disposal.
I am sorry I did not consult you with regards to the bids, but I am confident you will not be disappointed. The Dalish are excellent craftsmen, and I know quality when I see it. However, next time we work together (Commander Cullen has expressed interest in creating more such artifacts for use in other Inquisition keeps), I will be sure to consult you. It is your right, for this is your project as much as it is mine.
'Dareth shiral' is our customary farewell. You will no doubt notice that 'shiral' is also a part of 'Halamshiral,' which means 'end-of-journey.' 'Dareth shiral' means 'safe journey.' It is, upon reflection, indicative of what a goodbye means for an itinerant folk like the Dalish. Perhaps in our current situation it is more appropriate of me to say 'Mythal enansal,' or 'Mythal's blessing." If you would prefer a different god, I can accommodate.
We were at the Winter Palace for the peace talks. All hands were needed, so I went as a guard disguised as a servant. The mask covered my vallaslin, so I looked quite ordinary. As the talks began to crumble, we began to hear shouts from outside. The doors slammed open, and in came a whole battalion of Red Templars. I had little time to think. I cannot recall if I herded the nearest people into a separate room or if I was among the herded, but the next thing I knew, I found myself in a small room with my friend Merrill, as well as Lady Mantillon and her entourage.
Red Templars were trying to break open the door. I began to cast, barricading the door with as much ice as I could summon while Merrill used a bit of Dalish magic to strengthen the vines outside the window. We helped the Dowager out first, as some of our people were on the ground, and we were all able to escape alive. And that is my tale of the Winter Palace.
I have included my measurements, but I request that if you're going to use my money to have clothes made, at least have the dressmaker cut the pieces out only, and deliver them to me to sew together. It saves a great deal of money.
You are very kind to offer to write reviews of my book. I am sure having one good review and one bad, both written by legitimate human scholars, will lend credence to my own legitimacy. I shall strive not to read too much into your friend's criticisms, but she may make herself look quite silly if she believes she knows more about the Dalish than a Dalish. Perhaps her criticisms should focus on tone and organization rather than content, unless it is to criticize the over-inclusion or lack of inclusion of certain topics and anecdotes.
I do agree, regarding the halla kept by the Inquisition. They are not cattle. I was disappointed in the clan that sent them to us. They should have known better. Of course the halla are not forced to go where they do not want to go, but we should in return see to their needs as they see to ours, and give them wide spaces to run and fresh grass to eat.
The Dalish revere Andraste as one who helped to free the elves from Tevinter, but we do not worship her or exalt her to a near-godhood status. It would feel very strange to me to ask Andraste to bless you. So instead of asking the blessings of gods and prophets, I will simply say, Yours.
Yours, Lady-called-Pel
P.S. Regarding the dress, I suggest avoiding pale colors, which make me look washed-out. And do avoid yellow if you can.
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no subject
Aʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇɢᴜɴ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴜʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛ ᴀɴᴅ, ʏᴇs, ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪs ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ʙᴜᴛ ᴀs ᴀ ᴍᴇᴀɴs ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ. I ᴍᴜsᴛ ʀᴇsᴏʀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴅᴇɢʀᴇᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴀɴᴄʏ ɪɴ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴄᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛ. Oɴᴄᴇ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏsᴇʟꜰ, I ᴡɪʟʟ sʜᴀʀᴇ ɪᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍʏ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴇxᴄᴇʟʟᴇɴᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, Fʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ. Iꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴜʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ ᴛʜᴇɴ I ᴀᴍ ᴠᴇʀʏ sᴏʀʀʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ. Sʜᴇ ɪs ᴅᴇᴇᴘʟʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀsᴜɪᴛ ᴏꜰ sᴛᴜᴅʏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ꜰɪᴇʟᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ (ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ Dᴀʟɪsʜ sᴏʀᴛ, ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴠᴇʀʏ ɴᴇᴡ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴ ꜰᴀᴄᴛ ʜᴀᴅ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ sᴜᴄʜ ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴠᴇʀʏ ʏᴇᴀʀ).
Aɴᴅ I ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏɴᴏʀ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ. Hᴏᴡ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴄᴏᴘɪᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ? Yᴏᴜ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀ ᴅᴇsᴛʀᴏʏɪɴɢ ʜᴀʟꜰ ᴏꜰ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴs. Oɴᴇ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴇᴍᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴇʟʟs ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴄᴀʀᴄɪᴛʏ. A ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴅᴠɪᴄᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴏɴᴇ ᴄʟᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ.
I ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏʀ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀɴ ᴇssᴀʏ ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ Uɴɪᴠᴇʀsɪᴛʏ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴᴜsᴄʀɪᴘᴛ ᴏɴ ʜᴀʟʟᴀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I sᴜʙᴍɪᴛᴛᴇᴅ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ sʜᴏʀᴛ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴀɢᴏ. I ᴘʀᴇsᴜᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ʙᴇᴀsᴛs ᴀs I ᴀɴᴅ sᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴇʟʟᴏᴡ ᴇʟᴠᴇs ᴀʀᴇ. Iᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏᴠᴇʀsɪᴀʟ ɪɴ Oʀʟᴀɪs ᴜᴘᴏɴ ɪᴛs ᴡɪᴅᴇʀ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ!
Aɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜsɪɴᴇss: ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏsᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜʀᴏᴡɪɴɢ sᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴅɪsᴘʟᴀʏ ɪs ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ sᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴄʟᴇ. Iꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ sᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴄʟᴇ, I ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴜɴᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀssɪsᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ I ᴀᴍ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ. I ꜰᴇᴀʀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜰᴏʀ sᴛᴏʟᴇɴ ɢᴏᴏᴅs ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ɪɴsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ ꜰᴏʀ sᴜʀᴇʟʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ sᴇᴡɪɴɢ ɪɴ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴍ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄs ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪs ᴀʀᴛɪꜰᴀᴄᴛ. Tʜɪs ɪs ᴏɴᴇ ᴀʀᴇᴀ ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ ᴍᴜsᴛ sᴜʀᴇʟʏ ʙᴇ ᴜsᴇꜰᴜʟ, ʏᴇs? Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪsᴇ. I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴄᴜʀsᴇᴅ ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ I ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇʟʏ ᴛʀᴜᴇ.
Bᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴀᴋᴇ.
I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴀᴠᴏʀ ᴛᴏ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴍʏsᴇʟꜰ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴜsᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴊᴜᴅɢᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ɪɴ ᴄʀᴀꜰᴛsᴍᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ sᴜᴘᴘʀᴇss ᴍʏ ᴡɪsʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴏɴsᴜʟᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴ sᴏ sᴇɴsɪᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ sᴇʀɪᴏᴜs ᴀ ᴅᴇᴄɪsɪᴏɴ. I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ, ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɴᴇꜰɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀʙᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ sᴇʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴄʀᴀꜰᴛsᴍᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏsᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪssɪᴏɴɪɴɢ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡᴇ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴜᴘᴏɴ. I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀʟsᴏ sᴏᴏᴛʜᴇ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪssɪᴏɴɪɴɢ ʜᴀs ɢɪᴠᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏᴍᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ ɪs ᴍʏ ꜰᴏɴᴅᴇsᴛ ᴡɪsʜ, ᴀs ᴀ sᴄʜᴏʟᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ Uɴɪᴠᴇʀsɪᴛʏ.
I ᴀᴍ ʟᴇss ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴘɪɴɪᴏɴs ᴏɴ ɢʀᴀᴄɪᴏᴜsɴᴇss ʙᴜᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴇꜰᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅsʜɪᴘ. I ᴀᴍ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʟᴇss ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʟᴏsɪɴɢ ɢʀᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴜᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀssᴜᴍᴇ ɪᴛ ɪs ᴀɴ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴀʀᴍᴇɴᴛ. Nᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ I ɴᴏʀ ᴍʏ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅs ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴇᴛ Fʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴀɴᴅ I ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ɪᴍᴘʀᴇssᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴀɴᴅᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ. I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴡɪᴛʜʜᴏʟᴅ ᴛʀᴀᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ sɪɢɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇs ᴏꜰ Oʀʟᴀɪs ꜰᴏʀ I ᴀᴍ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴜɴɪᴍᴘʀᴇssᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ꜰʟᴀᴜɴᴛ ᴛʀᴀᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴs ᴡʜᴇɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴘᴏssɪʙʟᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ I ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴀʟsᴏ ʙᴇ ʀᴇǫᴜɪʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sɪɢɴ ᴍʏ ꜰᴜʟʟ ɴᴀᴍᴇ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ I ᴏɴʟʏ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ I ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ sᴏᴍᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇʀ ᴀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴅᴇᴀʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴄʀᴀᴍᴘᴇᴅ ʜᴀɴᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ I sʜᴀʟʟ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪs,
Yᴏᴜʀ Fʀɪᴇɴᴅ Aʟʟ Tʜɪs Wʜɪʟᴇ, Vᴀʟ ᴅᴇ Fᴏɴᴄᴇ́
no subject
She does not know the answer. But she writes a letter.]
My dear friend Val de Foncé,
I have made up my mind to absolutely trust you to turn out whatever spectacle is appropriate for the occasion, and I will learn by watching. Only tell me what I ought to wear, for I have acquired an array of clothing for occasions formal and informal. Nothing so fine as I saw in the Winter Palace (I was disguised as a servant, though my true function was as an agent of the Nightingale and the story of that night may have reached you already), but one gown is very suitable for daytime in the streets of Val Royeaux, as ensured by the kind Araceli Bonaventura. I would prefer as little likelihood as possible of being mistaken for a servant, although such things inevitably happen.
Speaking of Val Royeaux, I can't sufficiently express what it means to me that you are enjoying my book. I tried to deliver copies to bookshops in Val Royeaux, but I was laughed out of each one. The trouble is not only that it was originally published with my clan name (something not present in current copies), but that the subject of the Dalish, if it is not written disparagingly, is ordinarily a good way to get a book banned. Thus far this has been avoided with my book, as there is no Divine to do so, and the remaining Grand Clerics cannot agree on the color of an orange. My little book has, fortunately, escaped their notice.
My book also contains a whole chapter on the halla and their significance to the Dalish, and are mentioned throughout so that they may be read of in the context of clan life and the wider picture. I hope you find its information useful, and that your Freddie enjoys the book as well. She sounds like a delight, and if she has questions, I am at her disposal.
I am sorry I did not consult you with regards to the bids, but I am confident you will not be disappointed. The Dalish are excellent craftsmen, and I know quality when I see it. However, next time we work together (Commander Cullen has expressed interest in creating more such artifacts for use in other Inquisition keeps), I will be sure to consult you. It is your right, for this is your project as much as it is mine.
'Dareth shiral' is our customary farewell. You will no doubt notice that 'shiral' is also a part of 'Halamshiral,' which means 'end-of-journey.' 'Dareth shiral' means 'safe journey.' It is, upon reflection, indicative of what a goodbye means for an itinerant folk like the Dalish. Perhaps in our current situation it is more appropriate of me to say 'Mythal enansal,' or 'Mythal's blessing." If you would prefer a different god, I can accommodate.
Mythal Enansal,
Lady-called-Pel
no subject
Yᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴅᴏ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏɴᴏʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʟʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠɪsɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ Wɪɴᴛᴇʀ Pᴀʟᴀᴄᴇ! I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ʙᴀʟʟs ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴇᴀsᴛs ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴍʏsᴇʟꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴏꜰᴛᴇɴ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴇxᴄᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢʟʏ ʙᴏʀɪɴɢ, ᴇsᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴀs ᴏꜰ ʟᴀᴛᴇ. (Wᴇʟʟ: ɴᴏᴛ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ. I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ Oʀʟᴀɪs ɪɴ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴡ.) Tʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴇxᴘʟᴏɪᴛ ᴏʀ ᴍɪsᴄʜɪᴇꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ʜᴀʟʟs ɪs ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛʜʀɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ I ᴍᴜsᴛ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ɪᴛ sᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟs ꜰᴏʀ ᴍʏ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴏᴡɴ.
Iᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ: ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴇxᴛ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴇᴀsᴜʀᴇᴍᴇɴᴛs, ᴀɴᴅ I sʜᴀʟʟ sᴜᴘᴘʟʏ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴅʀᴇssᴍᴀᴋᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴄɪᴛʏ. Yᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴛʀᴜsᴛ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀsᴛᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀssᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɪs ᴇxᴄᴇʟʟᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴅᴇᴇᴅ. I sᴜᴘᴘᴏsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ sᴛɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ sᴇʀᴠᴀɴᴛ--ᴜɴꜰᴏʀᴛᴜɴᴀᴛᴇ ʜᴇʀɪᴛᴀɢᴇ! ᴜɴꜰᴏʀᴛᴜɴᴀᴛᴇ ʙɪᴀs!--ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀ ᴄᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴜᴛ ᴀ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴇ ᴜɴᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀsᴛ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴜsɪᴏɴ. I ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴛᴏ ᴄᴜᴛ ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴜsɪᴏɴ.
Oɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜʙᴊᴇᴄᴛ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏᴏᴋ, I ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsᴛ sᴜʙᴍɪᴛ ɪᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ. Fᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ sᴇᴇ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ ᴀs ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ ɪɴ Oʀʟᴀɪs ᴀs ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ! Iᴛ ɪs ᴀɴ ᴇxᴄɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ sᴄᴀɴᴅᴀʟᴏᴜs ᴛɪᴍᴇ. Lᴀᴅɪᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇᴍᴇɴ ᴏꜰ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴇsᴛᴇᴇᴍ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴜʀɴɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛ ᴛᴏ sᴜᴄʜ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ʜᴀs ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴏꜰ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ MUST sᴇɪᴢᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴏᴘᴘᴏʀᴛᴜɴɪᴛʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴏᴡɴ. Sᴛʀɪᴋᴇ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɴ ɪs ʏᴇᴛ ʜᴏᴛ, ᴅᴇᴀʀ Lᴀᴅʏ Pᴇʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ sʜᴀʟʟ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟꜰ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ, ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀɪᴄʜʟʏ ʀᴇᴡᴀʀᴅᴇᴅ. Wʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴀsᴋ ꜰᴏʀ!
Oɴᴄᴇ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰɪɴɪsʜᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏᴏᴋ (ᴡʜɪᴄʜ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ɴᴏᴡ) I sʜᴀʟʟ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀꜰᴜʟ ʀᴇᴠɪᴇᴡ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪɴᴄʀᴇᴀsᴇ ɪᴛs ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀɪᴛʏ. Pᴇʀʜᴀᴘs ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ! Fʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ, ᴀs ᴀ sᴄʜᴏʟᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅɪsᴄɪᴘʟɪɴᴇ, ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘs ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ ɪᴛ ᴀs ᴡᴇʟʟ. Sʜᴇ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʜᴀɴ I ꜰᴏʀ ɪᴛ ɪs, ᴀs I ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴀɪᴅ, ʜᴇʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄᴜʟᴀʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪsᴄɪᴘʟɪɴᴇ. Sʜᴇ MUST ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄᴀʟ. Oʀ ᴇʟsᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇ?
I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʟʟᴀ ᴀɴᴅ I ᴀᴍ ᴇɴᴛʀᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ. Oɴᴄᴇ I ᴍᴇᴛ ᴀ ʜᴀʟʟᴀ, ɪɴ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴛʀᴀɴsꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ I ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴇᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴠɪɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴅᴏᴍᴇsᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀsᴛs ʜᴀs ᴅᴏɴᴇ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙᴜᴛ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ʜᴀᴘᴘɪᴇsᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ꜰʀᴇᴇ. Dᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɢʀᴇᴇ?
I ʟᴏᴏᴋ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴏɴsᴜʟᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏɴ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴀʀᴛɪꜰᴀᴄᴛs ᴀɴᴅ ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀʙᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ. I ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ, ᴛᴏᴏ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛɪᴏɴ. I ᴋɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅs ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇꜰɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ I ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɴᴇᴡ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛɪᴀ. I ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs ꜰᴀʀᴇᴡᴇʟʟ ᴛᴏ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʟᴀsᴛɪɴɢ: ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ɪᴛɪɴᴇʀᴀɴᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇʀs, ʙᴜᴛ ʙᴀsᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ, ʙᴇɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴꜰᴜʀʟᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴄʟᴜsɪᴠᴇ ʙᴀɴɴᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ Iɴǫᴜɪsɪᴛɪᴏɴ. Wᴇ ᴍᴜsᴛ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛʜɪs ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs. Iɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀʀᴇᴡᴇʟʟ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ sᴜʙsᴛɪᴛᴜᴛᴇ Aɴᴅʀᴀsᴛᴇ, ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘs ᴛʜᴇ Mᴀᴋᴇʀ Hɪᴍsᴇʟꜰ, ꜰᴏʀ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ ʙᴇɴᴇꜰɪᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ I ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʀɢᴜᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴄᴇssɪᴛʏ ᴀs I ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴀɪᴅ: ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴜɴɪᴛᴇᴅ ʙᴇɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴛʜɪs Iɴǫᴜɪsɪᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴇᴍʙʀᴀᴄᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴏᴘᴘᴏʀᴛᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇs ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴜᴄʜ ᴜɴɪᴏɴ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴛs ᴛᴏ ᴜs.
I sʜᴀʟʟ ʙᴇ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀ ᴏꜰ Kɪʀᴋᴡᴀʟʟ, ᴇᴍʙʀᴀᴄɪɴɢ sᴜᴄʜ ᴜɴɪᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ɪɴ sᴏᴍᴇ ɢᴏᴅ ᴏʀ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ,
Vᴀʟ ᴅᴇ Fᴏɴᴄᴇ́
no subject
We were at the Winter Palace for the peace talks. All hands were needed, so I went as a guard disguised as a servant. The mask covered my vallaslin, so I looked quite ordinary. As the talks began to crumble, we began to hear shouts from outside. The doors slammed open, and in came a whole battalion of Red Templars. I had little time to think. I cannot recall if I herded the nearest people into a separate room or if I was among the herded, but the next thing I knew, I found myself in a small room with my friend Merrill, as well as Lady Mantillon and her entourage.
Red Templars were trying to break open the door. I began to cast, barricading the door with as much ice as I could summon while Merrill used a bit of Dalish magic to strengthen the vines outside the window. We helped the Dowager out first, as some of our people were on the ground, and we were all able to escape alive. And that is my tale of the Winter Palace.
I have included my measurements, but I request that if you're going to use my money to have clothes made, at least have the dressmaker cut the pieces out only, and deliver them to me to sew together. It saves a great deal of money.
You are very kind to offer to write reviews of my book. I am sure having one good review and one bad, both written by legitimate human scholars, will lend credence to my own legitimacy. I shall strive not to read too much into your friend's criticisms, but she may make herself look quite silly if she believes she knows more about the Dalish than a Dalish. Perhaps her criticisms should focus on tone and organization rather than content, unless it is to criticize the over-inclusion or lack of inclusion of certain topics and anecdotes.
I do agree, regarding the halla kept by the Inquisition. They are not cattle. I was disappointed in the clan that sent them to us. They should have known better. Of course the halla are not forced to go where they do not want to go, but we should in return see to their needs as they see to ours, and give them wide spaces to run and fresh grass to eat.
The Dalish revere Andraste as one who helped to free the elves from Tevinter, but we do not worship her or exalt her to a near-godhood status. It would feel very strange to me to ask Andraste to bless you. So instead of asking the blessings of gods and prophets, I will simply say, Yours.
Yours,
Lady-called-Pel
P.S. Regarding the dress, I suggest avoiding pale colors, which make me look washed-out. And do avoid yellow if you can.