Chapter Text
Josephine intercepted me immediately after my meeting with Celene finished. She bustled me off to the side, a ceramic smile masking the panic that her grip on my arm belied. I didn’t put up even a token protest, attempting instead to mimic her smile, though mine was likely far less refined.
Her expression did not particularly change even as she turned to question me. “Keeper, why did the Empress speak with you just now?”
“Much the same reason as Briala, I think,” I answered, also maintaining my smile, and gave her the quickest summation of the encounter that I could manage. “I think it is to our benefit, Josephine, I really do.”
“Vir’era…” The mask of her smile, which had slipped slightly as I spoke, fell entirely for a moment, and she looked around the ball in a long, sweeping motion. “I hope you are right, but we can take no chances. You’re not trained in the Grand Game, and there are few better players than Empress Celene.”
“She wasn’t as interested in the Inquisition itself, at least. She offered me employment, actually; I think it’s safe to say she thinks I am important, even if she does not like me.”
Josephine blinked. Then her shoulders sagged for only a moment, and she took a deep breath, her easy smile reappearing. “You might have mentioned as much. It could just be to keep you close, or even to see what you might say, but it’s a good sign. You refused her, I’m sure?”
“Of course. I’d be fairly useless to her, really.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. Still, she seems to want to be in your good graces, and certainly wants to keep you close. We may be able to use this.” I could see her plotting things out, watching as she performed the kind of strange calculus that allowed the right glove on the right table to ruin a man’s entire life. Her eyes refocused on me in short order. “That is, of course, if you don’t mind being our pawn?”
“I don’t imagine you’d ask anything of me that I would object to,” I said. Being a pawn in general sounded unpleasant, but allowing Josephine to use the strange sort of clout I had gathered and knew not what to do with—well, that was only reasonable. Something had to be done with it, and I respected her, knew she had decent morals.
Her smile widened into what I thought must be a genuine one. “Thank you, Keeper. I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”
“You always do. Please let me know what I must do, if there is anything.”
“Of course. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve left my sister alone for five minutes, which is five minutes too many, and I must make certain she hasn’t gotten into any trouble.” The wince that followed the statement was enough to explain how likely it was, and I restrained my laughter as I waved her off. Her work was never done.
My first order of business was clear: I had, after all, promised Leliana that I would find her if I saw Morrigan, and, well, I’d certainly seen Morrigan. Leliana had taken up a post that allowed the best view of the entire ballroom, and even as I walked up to her, I saw Emily and Elizabeth walking away, the smirks on their faces evidence enough that they’d delivered some kind of news.
(A corner of my mind hoped it was something damning against Gaspard.)
Leliana raised an eyebrow at me. “I saw that Morrigan found you,” she said. “I’ll have to whine at her later for not saying hello to me, as well.”
“I think she was told to collect me, actually,” I admitted. “Empress Celene apparently wanted a conversation, and knew that Morrigan is a friend.”
“I didn’t realize she would let herself be used for other people’s errands, no matter how important they fashioned themself.” Though Leliana looked calm and collected, I could hear the mirth peeking through her words, a remnant of the vivacious bard I’d first met. Maybe Morrigan could help pull more of that out.
I grinned. “I don’t think she relished in it, but it happened all the same.”
“So it did.” She leaned in close, voice dropping to a level I could only just hear. “How angry will she be, do you think, if I told someone here stories of how she and Alistair used to bicker?”
“I think it depends on the story. Some she might enjoy retelling herself.” How many people could claim to have bickered with the King of Ferelden as his equal? She probably had more embarrassing stories about him than either of us had of her, too. “If you’re careful enough, she might not be able to complain without admitting her part.”
Leliana laughed—actually laughed—and stood straight again. “Oh, Vir’era, I do so love how you think sometimes. You’re a treasure. I’ll just have to figure out which story would have the most devastating effect, now.”
Delighted, I wished her luck, then left her to her own devices. Whatever stressors this ball brought, it was worth the effort, I thought, for how happy it seemed to make Leliana.
I began to patrol the ballroom, which realistically meant that I started to wander somewhat aimlessly, keeping my eyes and ears out for anything of particular interest. Most of the attendees were too tall for me to garner anything of use in the most crowded spaces, with my line of sight being limited to, when I was lucky, shoulder height.
If they spoke of anything interesting, that, too, was beyond my ability to ascertain. There was a lot of talking in circles, with theatrically loud complaints about only the most banal of details. Did it matter, really, whether a person’s mask was decorated with obsidian instead of ebony? (What was the significance of a minor noble’s choice in furs?)
Perhaps Josephine, Leliana, or Vivienne could decipher these things. I filed the information to deliver later, just in case, and looked instead for Briala’s people. They might at least be able to tell me if I ought to be extra wary of someone specific, rather than the general suspicion my normal anxiety and paranoia brought about.
Finding elves was a simple enough task; finding Briala’s people was less so. Unlike the Inquisition, her entourage wore no uniform. They did not even all wear masks, let alone masks that were all of a style. Of course, given their skill sets, I supposed it made more sense that they were difficult to find.
I was becoming tempted to simply start asking every elf I passed if they worked for her, on the off chance that might work, when someone called to me.
“Keeper Vir’era!” the voice exclaimed. The butchered pronunciation guaranteed the person to be Orlesian, so I brought myself to a pleasant neutral presentation before turning to its source: a young woman with a half-mask and a practiced smile.
I had hoped I might recognize whoever was calling my name, even though I had not known the voice, but I had no idea who this woman was. Still, I smiled and tried to feign my way through it. “How may I help you, my lady?”
She giggled, in the way one does at a pleasant surprise, so I figured those had been the right words. “You are a treasure! I was hoping I could bother you for a dance, if you are not busy?”
Suddenly, I found myself wishing the conversation with Celene had gone on for much longer. This is why we had taken lessons, though, and I certainly did at least know the basic steps, which ought to be enough to satisfy the lords and ladies here. I tried to keep my smile from being too stiff as I replied, “It would be my pleasure, my lady.”
I began to offer my hand, but she beat me to it with a wide grin. “If you do not mind, my lord, I prefer to lead.”
The relief I felt was immediate. It was far easier for me to follow these dances than lead them, especially when I was nearly a head shorter than the partner I was meant to be leading—at least I was not eye-level with her chest, though. That would have become too awkward too quickly. Instead, I smiled. “What serendipity; I prefer to follow.”
She giggled again, and I wondered if there was some euphemistic meaning to the phrase that no one had seen fit to inform me of. Her hand was warm through the glove she wore, though, and she brought me to the dance floor with practiced ease. We were not the only pair in which a woman was leading, but I was the only elf that I could see dancing.
“It is such a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” she said. “I am Lady Amélie d’Alyons. I have never met a Dalish before—and your Inquisition has so many!”
“The pleasure is mine, Lady Amélie,” I replied, following the simple steps of the dance closely, so as to both distract myself from any less savory things she might say, as well as to ensure I did not step on her toes. “We Dalish do tend to be insular, but several clans have acknowledged the importance of the Inquisition’s work.”
“Please, do tell me: is it true what they say? The Herald of Andraste does not even believe in Her?” She was smiling, but this was something Josephine had coached us on.
“It would be difficult not to believe in the existence of a woman in historical record,” I said, carefully. “It is true that few Dalish worship the Maker, though.”
She hummed, and I wondered if that answer was disappointing. It was a non-answer, of course, but I was under the impression that such was standard among Orlesians. Still, I forced myself to wait for her to continue speaking, no matter how nerve-wracking the silence became. “What of yourself, then? Is the Inquisition not a holy endeavor for you?”
“Is it not a holy endeavor to heal a broken world?” ‘Holy’ was such an Andrastian concept, really. What did it mean to be holy, to do holy things? Were my duties as Keeper of my clan holy? Had my gift, or its knowledge, been holy? I was the closest to a priest the Dalish had, but did that equate to being holy?
Amélie giggled, like my words had been funny. “I suppose you are right!” Her hands urged me into a dip, and I hoped she did not intend on anything more complex than that. “Do the Dalish truly…”
Her questions became more general, seemingly harmless even for all their ignorance, and I weathered them to the best of my ability. Josephine’s rigorous coaching had covered even these topics, thankfully, and I made my best efforts at answering in ways of which she would approve. I liked to think I was largely successful.
Lady Amélie, it turned out, was only the first in a long line of Orlesians apparently eager to dance with me. After the fifth dance, I was ready for a break, but I dreaded the thought of anyone turning to Mheganni instead—she had made it clear enough in our practices that she hated Orlesian dances, and I did not want to subject her to that on top of their insensitive questions. It would be a disaster for all involved.
If nothing else, my dancing certainly improved throughout the course of partners. I did manage not to step on anyone’s toes, but it was a very near thing, and I started to move in the wrong direction several times. Most of my partners took it in stride, but a few made disparaging remarks I didn’t care to dwell on.
Curiously, as though the first dance had signified something to everyone around, every partner offered to lead. It was to my benefit, especially when most were too tall for me to see around and guide away from potential crashes, but also made me wonder why. I did not voice my confusion.
The questions ranged from insensitive assumptions about the Dalish to genuine queries about the Inquisition’s work. I tried to probe in turn, as was polite, but knew so little about anyone that it was largely futile. (I admittedly did not try very hard with those who asked if the Dalish truly had moonlit orgies, or who tried to curry favor by complimenting how civilized I was.)
While some of this did bring knowledge I felt Leliana or Josephine might make use of, most of it was, simply, useless. I still did not know what was different between what my journal had predicted and what had actually transpired, nor was I able to speak to any of Briala’s agents, who most certainly were not among those lining up to spin me around the ballroom.
My rescue came in the form of Amir, who swept in to steal me away just as my feet were beginning to ache. “Ir abelas, Keeper,” he said. “I hope I am not taking you from something important.”
“On the contrary, I think I’m quite happy for the interruption,” I told him, following as he brought me to stand safely away from anyone who might ask for a dance. “What do you need, da’len?”
“The shem mage woman you mentioned when we were preparing—Morrigan—you’re certain we can trust her?” he asked.
“She’s strange and cultivates an air of mystery around herself, but yes, I trust her.” I tilted my head, squinting a bit. “Did she come to find you, then?”
He nodded. “She told me about the servants’ quarters and gave me a key. I suspect it’s…” If Amir’s face could get any paler, he might well disappear. He looked down, clenching the key in one hand. “…Is it a greater tragedy when death is accepted and expected, or when it is a surprise?”
I covered his hand with both of mine, pressing with my best attempt at reassurance. “Death and tragedy are always a pair, da’len. There is no objective scope to either.”
“I hope I am wrong about what waits in the servants’ quarters. I doubt I am.”
I could not remember, exactly, what to warn him of that I had not already said. He knew to expect attack around any corner, to be prepared for it; Sera had snuck in among the servants specifically to ensure she could get him proper weaponry and armor. Quietly, I told him, “You are doing more than enough already, da’len. You cannot prevent every tragedy. Focus on what you must do, and use what spare attention you are left with for everything else.”
“It never feels like enough,” he whispered.
“No,” I agreed, “it never does.”
Not wanting to entertain Orlesians, I made my way to Cullen when Amir departed to investigate. He was surrounded by Orlesian nobility, all tittering and cooing over him, and while I certainly felt he was worthy of such admiring, it clearly made him uncomfortable.
I watched him lean visibly away as a noblewoman came to, presumably, ask him for a dance. He wasn’t frowning, but his lips were thin and his eyes tight, his shoulders creeping slowly up. It reminded me of when he’d held his tongue around Meredith, and I wanted nothing more than to take him from the commotion.
A terrible idea took root in my head, and I didn’t have time to think it over. I brought out my sappiest smile and caught Cullen’s eye, watching his brows furrow as I sidled in closer than I might have normally done. He smiled, but it was confused. He didn’t lean away, though—in fact, he leaned in, then further when I beckoned him down so that I could whisper in his ear.
“Amir’s investigating the servants’ quarters,” I told him, “but I’m rather tired of being paraded around by Orlesians, and you look like you need a break.”
“That’s all fine, but why the whispering?” he asked. To hear him, I had to lean in enough that I could feel his warmth.
I stifled a grin. “It looks more romantic.” I could almost feel his confusion, so I said, “They may be less persistent if they know they haven’t a chance.”
“Or they’ll be worse.” But he was smirking when he stood straight again, and he took one of my hands to wrap around his arm. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
As far as ensuring the Orlesians had something to talk about that wasn’t where the Inquisitor had disappeared off to, I wasn’t sure this counted, but I beamed at Cullen and let him lead me away. His gathered admirers erupted into a flurry of murmurs as we departed.
“Have you even had a chance to speak with any of Briala’s people?” Cullen asked as we stepped outside.
I sighed, hiding a groan within it. “Not a one,” I said. “You’d almost think these Orlesians were actively trying to keep me away from anyone.”
“Are you sure they’re not? I wouldn’t put it past them.”
“I suppose it’s a possibility, but it seems highly unlikely. They might have kept me from getting to you, then.”
“I’m glad they didn’t.” We walked to stand at a balcony, and I released Cullen’s arm in favor of leaning on the railing. He did the same beside me, his newly-free arm coming to rest on my back, a reassuring and welcomed weight.
“Gaspard sent someone to speak with me,” he said, the casual tone a complete mismatch for how his hand was gripping the railing. “Apparently, he thought he might sway the Inquisition to see his side.”
It wasn’t a surprise, not really. Cullen knew, that, too; Josephine had mentioned there was every possibility of it, since we were arriving the Briala, and thus appeared largely unaligned. I put my hand over his. “I’m certain Amir has no interest in that.”
“I should hope not.” Cullen sighed. “Even if he doesn’t own up to being racist, his speeches are troubling. Have you read any of them?”
“I’ll admit I haven’t bothered.”
“That’s just as well. He doesn’t go into detail, of course, but his plan after ascending to the throne is to, and I quote, ‘return Orlais to its former glory.’” He sneered, huffing his distaste in a way that I found almost paradoxically comforting. “I may not know exactly what he means by that, but we’ll say that I have a hunch it would involve retaking Ferelden.”
There were people—many people—who still remembered the war that bought Ferelden its freedom. It had barely been more than forty years, and while Gaspard was certainly too young to really remember, he was old enough to resent, and powerful enough to act on it. I did not doubt Cullen’s conclusion. “You know, I think I’ve seen rather enough of war. I’d prefer to avoid another.”
Cullen’s breath caught, and I looked up at him to see a tense-jawed sadness staring back at me. “I’ll make sure of it,” he said, “even if I must duel Gaspard myself.”
I pulled his hand to my lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Ma serannas, ma vhenan, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Even so. The last thing you need—the last thing any of us needs—is another war on the heels of this one.” He kissed my temple, a very brazen display compared to our normal, and I smiled. I didn’t quite know how to interpret his words, as he’d certainly seen enough horrors himself that there was no need to single me out, but it didn’t seem important enough to comment on, especially not when I was much busier trying to decide if I should try a full kiss in this semi-privacy.
“I trust Amir to make the right decision.”
“I only wish enough Orlesians had half the sense he does.”
His words startled me into laughing, and I looked up at him. “Come on, now, we’re taking a break. That’s enough dour talk until we’ve recovered enough to go back in.”
“Alright, you may have a point.” I raised an eyebrow and he just smiled, though he did glance over his shoulder. “Do you think they’ll stop asking us to dance if we make it clear we’re spoken for?”
“I think it depends on what you mean by ‘make it clear,’ vhenan.”
“Words probably won’t be enough, will they?”
“No, I rather think words would only fuel the fire.” I grinned, knowing there would be no better time than the present if I wanted a kiss. “Actions, though—even these Orlesians will surely understand that, don’t you think?”
A sly smile slid up his lips, and I wondered if he hadn’t been hoping for that answer. My grin grew wider in response, and then he was pulling me tight against his body, tugging until I was on my tiptoes even as he leaned down to make it easier to kiss me. I couldn’t help but giggle like a teen at his zeal, but I answered in kind, wrapping my arms around his neck and threading a hand into his hair.
Not too far off, I could hear the telltale gasps and tittering of onlookers with new juicy gossip. I decided that, this time, I didn’t mind; after all, it had been rather intentional.
After that, I made my rounds to check in with whoever I could find. Mheganni stood in an alcove with Solas, and as I approached, I noticed that she actually seemed happy. Solas said something to her, and she snickered, glancing in some direction he’d indicated. To my surprise, he grinned, too, larger and more delighted than I would ever have expected from… Well, from him, either as Solas or Fen’Harel.
It was Solas who noticed my arrival, and though he didn’t stop smiling, it became restrained, eyes narrow in a way that speaks to observation more than mirth. “Keeper,” he greeted.
“Solas, Mheganni.” I nodded to them both, and Mheganni raised an eyebrow at me. “How has your night been, so far?”
“Not as bad as I thought, for a shem ball,” Mheganni said. She picked up a little skewer of meats. “The food’s good, even.”
I noticed a small pile of skewers on the table by her plate, and was glad she’d at least found something to enjoy here. (Something other than complaining about Orlesians, anyway.) Solas added, “Most of the nobility pays us little mind, but the servants have been happy to keep our plates and cups full.”
Did wine even affect a god, or did he simply enjoy the taste? “That’s good to hear. I’ve been fielding them all night, and it’s certainly not what I’d call fun.”
“I noticed,” Mheganni said. She sneered a bit in the direction of the dance floor. “I told you I wouldn’t need to learn those stupid dances, though. No one’s even come close to asking.”
I wondered how much of that had to do with her being one of the Dalish with the fewest shemlen accolades and how much it had to do with her general disposition as soon as any shemlen opened their mouth in her vicinity. It was probably for the best that I kept those thoughts to myself. “I suppose you haven’t noticed anything of interest?”
“Orlesians suck at lying.” She tilted her head back and forth. “Almost as bad as you, even, which is stupid, what with how they’re all… What’s that shem phrase? Smoke and glass?”
“Smoke and mirrors,” Solas murmured.
“That. Really, they just spend the whole time making obtuse statements and then acting like anyone can tell anything from it. Direct questions get their feathers ruffled.”
“I think Josephine would say it’s about what they don’t say,” I said, and Mheganni grumbled.
“They should just speak straight. It’s far less confusing for everyone involved.”
I looked to Solas to gauge his opinion and caught him smiling at Mheganni in a way that made my throat tighten. Did she know his truth now? They stood so close, each angled to the other, mirroring the glances and gestures. I pushed the corners of my lips into a smile, looking away from Solas before he could take my gaze as a prompt to speak.
Mheganni’s green eyes narrowed at me, her own lips tilting down. I forcibly relaxed my shoulders, saying, “Yes, you’re probably right. Nothing else, though? Of interest to the Inquisition specifically, I mean. I’m checking in with everyone.”
She tilted her head, but I just waited, and soon Solas said, “Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—nothing seems amiss, but we will keep a watch here.”
“Perfect.” I nodded again, smile firmly in place. “Let someone know if that changes.”
“Of course,” he said, and I left.
Behind me, I heard Mheganni asking where ‘smoke and mirrors’ had even come from, anyway. I was out of earshot before I could catch Solas’ answer.
I found Driscoll hanging off of the Iron Bull, smirking at every Orlesian in the vicinity, and flirting horrendously with anyone who spoke to him. The Iron Bull, for his part, seemed content to sit back and play the part of… was it eye candy? Did he count as eye candy, or was that intended for conventionally attractive people only?
When I caught his eye, the Iron Bull gave a minute shake of his head, and I let them be. Whatever Driscoll’s plan was, I wanted no part of it. (Some of the nobles, I thought, seemed more than interested, staring plainly enough that even I took notice.)
Dorian was nowhere to be found, of course; I suspected he was helping Amir. Kumbukani was also absent—conspicuously so, given how I found Adegoke standing stiff as a board in a corner, holding a tiny plate of sweets like a shield.
“Did your sister leave you here alone?” I asked him, and he nodded, frowning down at his plate. He poked at one of the confections and wrinkled his nose when a tiny cloud of powdered sugar poofed over everything. “Have you been given much trouble?”
He shrugged. “Not really. No more than usual, anyway. But I feel like I say the wrong thing every time anyone tries to speak to me.”
I knew that feeling all too well. With a reassuring smile, I asked, “Would you like to join me for a while? I’m checking in on everyone, and you’ve got a better vantage point than me.”
His frown melted into a little smile of his own as he chuckled. “That’s one way of saying it. Did you even find anyone else?”
“I found Solas and Mheganni, then Driscoll and the Iron Bull, and now you, so… not really, no.” I took his arm when he offered it. “I don’t suppose you’ve had a more productive evening than me?”
“Unless you count finding out that Orlesians can somehow fuck up a cookie, no, probably not.” I didn’t even have to ask, because he sighed and added, “Somehow made it taste like a pity party. Didn’t even know that was possible.”
Given that the ham had tasted of despair, I supposed I was unsurprised, but it certainly didn’t sound appetizing. (What did a pity party taste like? I wasn’t curious enough to find out, but I supposed that salt and charcoal would be apt and also mostly edible.)
We made our way around, and I found myself left mostly in peace as long as I was on Adegoke’s arm. On the one hand, it was absolutely a relief, as I was almost entirely danced out. On the other, though, it hurt my heart to see just how poorly Orlesians thought of qunari. Adegoke was large, yes, and had an intensity to his face when he concentrated on something, but he had never been anything but kind and respectful that I had seen.
It was, as I had suspected, much easier to spot people with Adegoke doing the looking. He couldn’t find everyone, of course; Sera and Cole were hardly going to be out here in the crowds, and even Adegoke’s height wasn’t enough to reliably spot dwarves among the throngs of schmoozing nobility.
Unfortunately, no one had anything particularly notable to report, let alone something that would help Amir. I supposed it was a good sign, especially since it all seemed to be going in our favor, and in favor of both Celene and Briala. I even managed to avoid so much as seeing Gaspard.
Eventually, we made our way to Cullen, who was once again surrounded—though this time, it seemed to include at least one palace guard, a chevalier, a couple of maskless men in mercenary clothing, and a few elves. His noble admirers hadn’t exactly left, but there was more of a buffer, and his shoulders were not nearly so close to his ears.
“…whole thing was nearly destroyed in the process,” he was saying, his audience listening with rapt attention, “and it’s old enough to be effectively beyond repair. We’ve sent people out to save what they can and demolish the rest.”
He had to be talking about Adamant, then. Avoiding the most terrible parts by explaining the structure itself, too, which seemed rather wise. There were plenty of things that had happened which didn’t need to be public knowledge, no matter how glorious a new ear might think it.
He stopped and smiled as we approached, though, and I let go of Adegoke’s arm to take my place at Cullen’s side. When I was near, he leaned down and asked, quietly, “Have you seen Amir? I saw him dance with Florianne, but he’s been missing since.”
I pulled my lips into what I hoped would seem like a coy smile, so those watching would think he was saying something romantic; I doubted it would stop them listening in, but it was worth the attempt. Cupping a hand around my mouth, I stood on my tiptoes to murmur in his ear, “No, but that means it’s almost over. Watch the Grand Duchess carefully.”
When I pulled back, he was smiling softly, and if he hadn’t looked up to where Celene and her advisors—including Grand Duchess Florianne—were standing, I might have thought he hadn’t heard my words at all.
As if on cue, heralds began calling for attention, and Celene moved up to the balcony railing above the dance floor. Florianne, hands behind her back, smirked from the Empress’ side, and I glanced to the main ballroom doors as though I had any hope of seeing Amir enter from my vantage point.
Cullen grew very still, the hand he’d put on my waist gripping tight. My own breaths felt shallow as Celene began speaking, and I heard nothing she said. If Amir didn’t show in time, what should I do? Could my magic stop Florianne in time—would such action on my part be taken for its intent, or treated as an attack? We didn’t have anyone close enough for physical intervention—
Shocked gasping tore my attention to the ballroom floor, where Amir was striding towards the balcony with his head high and shoulders back. “Grand Duchess Florianne,” I heard him call out, and between my relief and the theatrical gasping of the Orlesian court, the rest became little more than accusatory sounds.
Amir was resplendent, though, and I was so very proud. For all that he carried himself according to Orlesian customs, and was even arguably following them in his cornering of Florianne, he was still so visibly Dalish that it made my heart soar. His white uniform was as pristine as when he had arrived, somehow, and the only color visible on him was the matching Fade green of his sash, his Mark, and his vallaslin.
I melted against Cullen, and he took my weight without complaint, his own grip on my waist loosening as Amir neatly stopped the attempt on Celene’s life before it could even occur. We watched him follow her, Gaspard, and Briala to a terrace, and I knew that all we had come here to do was, effectively, done.
It really didn’t even take long for the rest to sort itself out. Gaspard was taken away to await death for treason; Briala was announced as the new Marquise of the Dales; Empress and Marquise both thanked the Inquisition and Amir, who said a few pretty words about working and being stronger together.
With the civil war now officially over, and the evening’s machinations at their end, the Orlesian nobility began to let loose. Everyone, it seemed, was on their way to being utterly drunk for one reason or another, though most were in celebration. Whether they truly liked Celene as Empress or not, the end of the war was reason enough to party.
I was about to pull Cullen to the dance floor at last when Morrigan intervened. “A word, if you would, Vir’era.”
She took my arm and led me to a nearby alcove, whose previous occupants flounced away as soon as they noticed her approach. “I thought you should know first, though I suspect you already do,” she began, “but Empress Celene has seen fit to lend my services to your Inquisition.”
“Yes, I knew she would,” I said. I tilted my head, peering up at her; she projected a calm and vaguely amused persona, nearly the same caustically sarcastic one from ten years ago, but with the maturity only age can bring. “I’ve been looking forward to working with you again.”
She smirked, raising one eyebrow. “Have you? I suppose I shall take that for a compliment. I will need to spend tomorrow packing my things and arranging for their delivery to Skyhold, but I see no reason I cannot return with your company. Surely you don’t intend to leave in the morn?”
I couldn’t help but pull a face; night had long since fallen, the sky full dark. It would take plenty of travel to get to Skyhold, yes, and we really shouldn’t dally—but I had great doubts that anyone would be prepared to travel any distance the day after such excitement. I certainly would rather not.
Morrigan laughed, not waiting for me to put voice to the expression. “I thought not,” she said. “I shall join you for dinner, then. I think Kieran would be very happy to meet you.”
“It would delight me to finally see him.”
The words were enough to bring out one of her rare, genuine smiles, and it made her look so soft that I almost didn’t believe it was real. It didn’t last long, though; soon that sense that she was laughing at something no one else could see returned, and she shooed me away with one hand. “Off with you, now. I must inform your Inquisitor and Ambassador.”
“Don’t forget to tell Leliana, too,” I reminded. She rolled her eyes; clearly even age hadn’t removed that particular habit.
“I’m certain that bard already knows,” she said, “but fine, I’ll tell her. Now go! Return to your Commander, tell him the good news, be romantic, whatever it is you so clearly want to do to him.”
I didn’t bother protesting. “I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow, Morrigan.”
She shooed me away, already moving in the direction of where Josephine had spent most of the night. Smiling, I did as she bade and returned to Cullen, though I only paused long enough to take hold of his hand. “Come, vhenan. I believe you promised me a dance.”
“Did I?” he asked, but the smile on his face and the way he let me tug him to the dance floor betrayed his intent. “I’m not very good at this, you know.”
“Neither am I.” I smiled, and he put a hand on my waist and pulled up the one already holding mine, arranging us into a basic Orlesian dancing form. “I don’t care if we’re terrible at it. I just want to dance with you.”
He held me closer than the dance typically called for, the lights in the room making him glow softly; he was impossibly handsome. Maybe that was just because he was mine. I looked up at him, certain I had the face of a fool in love, and decided I loved him too much to care.