( how many weeks ago was it that they had been in a tent at the grand tourney, gwenaëlle awkward and abrupt in the face of alexandrie's lighthearted lark. how exciting she had seemed to find it all, and how swiftly it has proven otherwise.

in orlais, she had imagined herself less sheltered than her peers for her knowledge—the harsh lesson of skyhold had been how relative a thing that was. how soft she was, even knowing. how much further she had yet to go, and how much she still might be capable of. and now, here: this isn't at all where she imagined she would be.

nor where lexie had, she supposes. at least they've company. she is thoroughly shameless in taking the bottle when lexie is done; )

It all seemed so fucking pointless, I just didn't know what to do instead.

( on frivolity. she flexes her left hand, the dull green of the anchor-shard marking it. )

I didn't choose to come with the Inquisition. I mean, hardly anyone with an anchor-shard did. ( sabine, she thinks, who had got hers after. ) But I was particularly—

( a little shrug. )

I was badly injured in getting it, it didn't matter that I was refusing to go. My lord put me in the carriage and I couldn't get out again on my own.