Some Carrie Fisher Tweets To Brighten Your Day

some carrie fisher tweets to brighten your day

BG3 Comic: Thay's Temptation

Be forewarned: mild horror images (such as would be associated with the Creepy Book, Thay's Necromancy: skulls, creepy teeth, that kind of thing), Cazador mention, mild spoilers for the Act 1 Thay's Necromancy Questline

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End

I wondered what kind of images passed through his mind when opening that creepy-ass book with all the spirits trying to drive you mad and telling you to kill the only decent people in your life.

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Lady Erridge has a revelation about Trevelyan and the Commander.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 1,840. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 23: Meddlesome Women

Now that Skyhold had settled down after all that excitement of the earthquake, Lady Tam Erridge decided she would take her afternoon walk.

Lady Erridge believed that no less than three walks a day were absolutely necessary for one to maintain a positive outlook on life. Fresh air and sunlight, she believed, were excellent for the mood.

And there was the added benefit that she could see all the banquet invitees arriving from the battlements, and, if she squinted her eyes, judge their manner of dress with extreme prejudice. She liked the Bann of the Waking Sea’s practical travelling gear. She did not like the Comtesse Bervard’s gown.

But eventually, this well of entertainment ran dry. Lady Erridge made her way back off the castle walls, and towards a place more proper for one such as her to be seen—the lovely gardens.

The gardens were quite in her good opinion. They reminded her of the ones at home—despite being much smaller—and also of the flowers dear Lady Orroat had sent her. Those poor things were dying off now, but Erridge had been sure to press as many as she could. She had plans to include some in her next letter home.

So pleased was she by these thoughts of dear Orroat, that Lady Erridge almost missed the sight of the Commander emerging from the keep. But the glint of his armour caught her eye, and she found herself quite abruptly dragged from her imagination.

“Commander!” she called. “Oh, Commander!”

It was too late for him to disappear back into the keep now. By the time he looked up and saw her, she was already most of the way over. She had even scooped her fluffy pink skirts into her hands, so that she might run faster.

“Oh, Commander, I am so glad to see you up and well,” she said.

And indeed, he did look well. Nothing like what Lady Trevelyan had described seeing, thank goodness—though perhaps his stubble was a little longer than usual. But Lady Erridge believed it perhaps suited him, to look somewhat more rugged. She would have to ask what Lady Trevelyan thought of it, later.

“Thank you, Lady Erridge,” said the Commander, politely. His voice was still stuck in that monotone he always used. “I was just on my way to—”

“Oh, yes, of course, I shan’t delay you long—I merely wished to come up and say how glad I was to see you well, and to tell you—”

The Commander settled in to where he stood.

“—how terribly sorry I was if the apple crumble I sent to you had absolutely any involvement at all in your sickness. Truly, I meant it only as a kindness.”

“It’s all right,” he told her. “It was… a different sort of sickness. The crumble was… good.”

Lady Erridge heaved an enormous sigh. “Oh, I am ever-so-glad to hear it. Lady Trevelyan said as much, and told me you enjoyed it terribly.”

“Ah… yes.” He began to step around her. “Now, I must—”

“Oh, but”—Erridge jumped into his path—“Commander, I simply cannot allow you to go without admitting to you a truth that has been weighing on my mind these past three days. Lady Trevelyan told me she would have none of the credit, but being that you enjoyed it so, I simply must tell you: it was not I alone who made that crumble. Lady Trevelyan gave me all her help.”

The Commander settled again, though this time more comfortably. It was the first time Lady Erridge had seen his stern gaze soften so.

“Oh.”

“I made quite a mess of my first attempt, you see,” said Erridge. “Lady Trevelyan swept in, so brilliantly, and helped me to clean up and try once more. It was she who cut the apples—and baked it, too! Oh, she was simply lovely. Perhaps she will help me make pickled eggs, to speed your recovery!”

The Commander smiled. Lady Erridge could scarcely believe it.

“She is a good woman,” he murmured, “a very good woman.”

“Indeed. She was so excellent at calming me down. Oh, she is ever so wonderful to talk to, isn’t she? Though, not quite as wonderful as my Lady Orroat—but no one’s conversation can compare to hers. It is as if… do you understand, if I say that it is so easy to talk to her, it feels like breathing?”

The Commander paused a moment, his eyes gazing away as if at nothing at all. “...I do.”

Lady Erridge opened her mouth to respond, but stopped herself. In a second that felt as forever, she studied his face. Every wrinkle his smile caused. All the softness in his eyes. That little blush upon his cheeks. Maker, no. It couldn’t possibly be...

The thought ought to have made her heart break. Yet instead, Lady Erridge smiled.

“She talks quite well of you, you know.”

The Commander startled. “I…?”

“Lady Trevelyan, I mean,” Lady Erridge said, her excitement growing by the second. “Says very nice things about you. Very nice.”

“Oh… I see. Well, ah…”

“You know,” interrupted Erridge, practically jigging, “I have just recalled that I have not yet sent my dear friend Lady Orroat the reply she will be waiting upon, and I do wish to do so before the sun sets. Farewell, Commander!”

“Oh—ah!”

Leaving him in confusion, Lady Erridge moved as a blur, running for the keep door. She burst into the Great Hall, giggling and laughing, and ran straight for the Lady Montilyet’s parlour.

“Lady Erridge!” exclaimed the Baroness, as Erridge barged through the door. She sat, sewing as usual, whilst Lady Samient reclined, reading, on the sofa.

Erridge collided into the back of it. “I have most exciting news!”

Lady Samient pushed herself to sit upright. “What is it?”

“The Commander is in love with Lady Trevelyan!”

The Baroness and Lady Samient looked at one another.

“Really!” said the Baroness, placing a hand upon her chest. “My, are you certain? How did you discover this?”

Lady Erridge prepared to respond, but was interrupted by Lady Samient:

“Baroness,” she scolded. “I know you are trying to be kind, but I am afraid it is patronising at best.” She looked to Erridge. “We already knew.”

Lady Erridge deflated like a popped pigskin. She stomped over to and collapsed upon her usual seat, ruffles and bows puffing out on impact. “Why did no one tell me?” she complained.

The Baroness gave her a sympathetic smile, and explained, “We did not wish to break your heart.”

“My heart isn’t broken!” Erridge insisted. “In fact, it’s rather full. Lady Trevelyan quite deserves love, and if the Commander is the one who can give it to her, then I will certainly not stand in their way. I think they could be sweet.”

“The only problem is,” said Lady Samient, “Lady Trevelyan does not want his love.”

Lady Erridge sat bolt upright. “Now it is you who is quite behind, Lady Samient! For I would certainly say that Lady Trevelyan holds the Commander in high regard. Why else would she go to such trouble to make him love one of us, if she did not think him worthy of love?”

The Baroness concurred: “I do believe she projects her affection for him so as not to feel it so keenly.”

Lady Samient tipped her head. “Fair. But if that is so, we should not meddle.”

“What?” gasped Erridge. “After all Lady Trevelyan has done for us? I say, from this day on, we use our time with him to make him hers, lest it be rendered useless!”

“That implies there was any use to it in the first place.”

“Lady Samient,” the Baroness scolded, in much the same tone as Samient had scolded her. “I do agree with Lady Erridge, we ought encourage their blossoming affection. However, I do not believe we should be blatant in our efforts. A simple steer, here and there, rather than a forceful push.”

“Such as?” Samient wondered.

“Something at the banquet tomorrow, perhaps.”

“We could have them sit together!” Erridge suggested, applauding her own idea. The Baroness nodded in agreement, directing her cane at Erridge:

“Exactly that.”

Lady Samient shrugged. “I suppose that is—”

The door opened, and the Ladies silenced themselves at once. With perfect practice, Touledy took up her sewing, Samient returned to her book, and Erridge looked the classic idle noblewoman.

Fortunate they were, for this quick thinking and practiced performance, as the one who walked in was Lady Trevelyan herself. Clearly, she had been through quite the day, if the layer of dust upon her smock was anything to judge.

“Ladies,” she greeted, before noticing their eyes on her dress. She glanced down, and tutted. “Maker! My apologies—I’ll be a moment.”

She stepped out of the room, briefly. The slapping of hands against fabric, like the beating of carpet, could be heard through the door.

In the moment they had, Lady Erridge instructed the others: “Not one word to her, agreed?”

They nodded.

Trevelyan returned, none the wiser. “How do I look now?” she asked.

“Beautiful as ever,” the Baroness told her, to no disagreement. “Though I do hope you have something else to wear to the banquet tomorrow.”

“Ha, naturally,” replied Lady Trevelyan, finding her seat. “I have just seen it to the laundry now, for the creases it sustained during its journey here. Mother had it sent specially from a dressmaker in Denerim.”

“Has the guest list intimidated her so?” Lady Samient teased.

Trevelyan chuckled. “Oh, undoubtedly.”

“Well,” said the Baroness, pulling a stitch taut, “I am eager to hear more of this attire.”

“I do not know what else to say of it,” admitted Trevelyan. “It is a dress. It’s a sort of… plum colour, I suppose. Embroidered, at the edges.”

“Plum? I see.” The Baroness rose, with another set of needles and thread and fabric in her hand. “Lady Erridge,” she said, walking over, “would you sew an elfroot onto this hankerchief, for me? You stitch leaves so beautifully.”

Lady Erridge assented, and raised her hands to accept the task. But the Baroness leant down a little further than she had expected.

“We must find out what the Commander is wearing tomorrow,” Touledy whispered.

“Why?” wondered Erridge.

“Because”—the Baroness winked—“we shall have them match.”

She pulled away and returned to her seat, leaving a starry-eyed Erridge in her wake. It was little wonder how Trevelyan noticed this, given that Lady Erridge, in her reverie, did not even acknowledge the sewing equipment that had just been handed to her, let alone touch it.

“Are you all right, Lady Erridge?” she asked.

“Oh!” Erridge hastily composed herself, snatching up a needle and thread as proof. “I am simply fine, Lady Trevelyan. My excitement stems from thinking of the banquet tomorrow.”

“You think it will be good?”

“No, your Ladyship,” Erridge said with a smile, “I think it shall be perfect!”

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