#dickherald

After some consideration, he had decided to be pleasantly optimistic about the prospect. Yes, the keep was about to be overrun with wild elves, and that was a rather questionable set of circumstances. It would be off-putting for diplomatic envoys if they came to Skyhold to find too much elf-y business strewn about, as it were. Not that Richard really objected to that sort of thing. He’d has a painting of Dalish huntsman in his parlor back home. But of course, there is the matter of image to think about.

Fortunately, though, Lavellan makes it clear that only her parents are intending to come.

“Just Nanae and Papae,” she tells him.

“What and what?” he asks.

“Those are elven parental terms,” Solas informs him, though the man himself looks about dicey about the whole subject. And, in point of fact, the next day Lavellan tells him that their resident Fade expert has gone and buggered off to study something to do with the Veil in Crestwood. Has no intention of being back until after Lavellan’s parents are gone.

Which suits Richard fine, whatever the man’s reasons. He has designs on making Lavellan an honest woman, and come to it, he can only think her parents will approve. After all, she’s hardly going to find a better prospect than him out in the wilderness, foraging around in the muck for berries, now is she?

The more he thinks about it, the more he decides that this is absolutely a good thing. Yes. He will wine and dine Lavellan’s parents in the opulence of Skyhold. Show them some proper hospitality, and maybe test the waters a bit to see if they expect any sort of dowry or something. He thinks he recalls some of the servants back home mentioning dowries.

After some consideration, he decides to ask Sera about it.

“Oh, yeah. Yes. Right, absolutely,” Sera says. “You should offer to buy her. That’ll go over really well. Look, we’re not supposed to tell non-elf types this, but the best thing is goats, yeah? Offer them about five goats. They might try and haggle you up to ten, but don’t go any higher than that. Make it really clear that she’s not worth more than ten goats to you.”

Of course, Richard is not a complete idiot, and he has noticed that Sera is a bit of a prankster. He can spare well more than ten goats for Lavellan, he is the Herald of Andraste, after all. Just to play it safe, he decides that will be his starting offer.

And then Lavellan’s parents arrive.

They are... not what Richard had been expecting.

Even if he wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting.

But the first thing he thinks is that Lavellan’s sisters (cousins? Clanmates, perhaps?) are stunning. Not that she is anything to sneeze at, but Richard wouldn’t say no to a tumble or two with the pair of them, even if the shockingly tall one is a bit broad in the shoulder and flat in the chest and square of jaw and...

And...

The more he looks, the more uncertain he becomes that these are Lavellan’s sisters.

At which point the elven woman herself comes racing into the courtyard, more jubilant than anything, and is immediately caught up by the tall one. Though the shorter one is not far behind, unfolding from their rather defensive posture to sweep her up, too.

“Papae! Nanae!” Lavellan enthuses.

Richard halts, dumstruck, and looks between all three family members.

The tall blond pulls Lavellan back up and hugs her tight enough to lift her off of the ground. A flurry of incoherent elvish flies between the bizarre assemblage of elves, as Richard tries to put together what’s what. He knows elves are somewhat romantically attributed slower ageing qualities, but Lavellan’s ‘parents’ look scarcely older than she is. And they are surprisingly well-dressed for a pair of wilderness hunters.

And well-armed, too.

The shorter one catches Richard looking, and raises an eyebrow. Then grins, showing off a mouth full of razor sharp teeth.

Richard... thought that was a myth. About wild elves, and...

And...

...Is that her mother or her father?

He pauses, baffled, and squints a bit more closely. He is fairly certain that the blond, however bizarrely effeminate he might be (what in the Maker’s name is he thinking with that hair?), is a man. The shoulders, and all. And Lavellan had called him ‘papae’, which sounded rather close to ‘papa’. Elves and their butchering of perfectly good terms. So then, the shorter one must be her mother.

He had planned to try and charm her, but... he... well.

Yes.

That might need some rethinking. He is not entirely certain how one is meant to go about charming women with teeth like dragons and more spikes on their person than seems reasonable. Or necessary. Or advisable.

Nonsense, a voice in the back of his mind asserts. They are just elves, after all.

Wild elves, admittedly, and of course Lavellan is a very accomplished fighter, so perhaps it only makes sense that her parents would be, too. And they likely wore their best clothing to come to such a fine place as Skyhold, and almost undoubtedly that would be armour if they spent all their days running about the wilderness, fighting off all manner of beasts. Exerting themselves. Perhaps stripping off pieces of their gear. Washing their sweat off beneath glittering waterfalls.

Not that Richard would ever picture that sort of thing. Well, perhaps of Lavellan’s mother. Certainly not of her father, with his confusing hair and disorienting figure.

Really, quite inconvenient of him. What exactly is he trying to accomplish with all that?

He considers backing out of his plan to greet them at the gate. But then, come to it, he thinks, this is still probably his best chance of winning them over. And no matter how strange they might be, surely Lavellan will have told them all about him in her letters to them? She writes often enough. He can’t imagine she would possibly manage to send so many without mentioning him, especially given he’s probably the most interesting person she knows.

Mustering up his most charming smile, he crosses the courtyard towards the gate.

Lavellan’s mother watches him, folding her arms, and making Richard doubt his assessments of everyone’s gender again.

Lavellan’s likely-father takes on look at him, and immediately the warm smile he had been wearing vanishes into stone. When Lavellan herself turns to look at him, she hesitates a moment. Probably trying to figure out an introduction suitable for him.

He saves her the trouble, and offers a polite nod of his head.

“Welcome to Skyhold! You must be Lavellan’s parents. I am Richard Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, and near-master of this castle,” he greets, cordially. The bouquet of flowers he had meant to offer Lavellan’s mother is still clutched in his hands. He hesitates a moment, glancing between the two elves. But at least her likely-mother is smiling a bit. Her father - and Richard is fairly certain that must be the father - looks positively immovable.

He gives the flowers to the shorter one.

She accepts the bouquet with one hand, curving an eyebrow and glancing at the abundant pink petals. Amused, more than anything, it seems. Richard can deal with that, he supposes. Haughty women are common enough, though he never imagined he’d meet an elven version of that.

“Near master?” Lavellan’s mother asks.

Rather deep voice, for a woman. But lyrical, too.

“A matter of formalities,” Richard says, dismissively. “I am so pleased to meet you both. Lavellan has been greatly excited for your visit.”

“Of course she has been. We should never have left her so long,” Lavellan’s father says, and if Richard didn’t know any better, he would think he was being sneered at. But he cannot imagine why he would be.

“I will see my parents inside,” Lavellan decides.

“Oh, but let me come with you,” Richard offers. “I can give them a tour of the place. Show them what it’s like to live in a proper building, and all that.”

“No, thank you-” Lavellan begins, but her mother sweeps in, then.

“I think I would like the tour,” she asserts, reaching over and threading her arm through Richard’s own. “What a charming thing, to be greeted by the great Herald of Andraste. My daughter has written quite a bit about you.”

“Nanae, no,” Lavellan says, but her father works an arm around her shoulders and halts any move she had been planning to make; securing her by his side instead.

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” the man decides. “I am fatigued from the journey, but Uthvir is still antsy. Da’vhenan, would you show me to where I can rest?”

“Papae,” Lavellan replies, as if there was something irresponsible in all of that.

Richard finds himself hesitating, as something in the back of his mind seems to be telling him that he’s walked himself into a dangerous situation. But he can hardly see how. Lavellan’s mother - Uthvir? - is tugging him along, now, trying to lead him even though he should, by all rights, be guiding this tour. And she may be very well-armed, but Richard is a warrior of near-unparalleled skill, and a good bit taller and broader than her besides.

Perhaps the only danger, he thinks, is Lavellan worrying that her mother will share some embarrassing stories from her childhood.

Lavellan’s father calls something out, and Uthvir raises a hand and waves in acknowledgement. They call back in that same language of theirs, and Richard finds himself a bit irritated by their rudeness.

“What was that?” he wonders.

“Oh, just promising not to steal all the fun for myself,” Uthvir says. “Now, do tell me, what would be the most secluded place in the keep? Where would someone be least likely to hear a person scream?”

“Nanae!” Lavellan snaps after them.

They wave at her, and again call something in elvish.

Richard shifts uneasily.

“I am not quite certain I could say,” he admits. What a strange request.

Lavellan’s mother smiles. Somehow, it is not terribly friendly.