"Vivienne, we can continue this dance forever, if you wish." Dorian smiled and steepled his fingers, knowing Madame de Fer would not be able to resist his needling. Fine sport to accompany the fine meal they were finishing. Pity the drink was less than stellar.
"Presuming both of us are capable." The delicate flick of her napkin precluded a gentle pat on her lips, and she gestured to one of the Skyhold servants to remove the remains of her meal.
"I mock Orlesian frippery and nonsense," he gestured at her elaborate gown and horned headdress, then swept a hand to himself, "You mock Tevinter decadence and tyranny."
She rolled her eyes at him. Dorian leaned forward raising a brow, "There is, however, something far more important we should remember."
"Just what might that be?" Vivienne arranged her skirts in preparation to retreat to her balcony above the hall.
"At least we're not Antivan." He sat back with a smile, which immediately became a grimace while sipping on the vinegar the Skyhold steward insisted was wine.
"Quite right. Thank the Maker." Vivienne rose with a laugh and turned, then stopped dead. Josephine continued towards her office, face carefully blank with a deep flush of color on her cheeks, and the tap of her heels was decidedly agitated. Fen'lath, who had apparently also heard their exchange, had a stormy expression on her face. Dorian swallowed when she snapped out, "I want to speak with both of you. Right. Now."
A rather uncomfortable pit formed in his stomach as they followed her to her quarters, Dorian was quite unused to Fen'lath being upset with him. Her back was stiff, and her steps clipped. Vivienne seemed unperturbed, gliding up and casting a critical eye over Fen's quarters, nose wrinkling at the preference for Marcher and Ferelden decor. In full Inquisitor mode, though Dorian supposed she would consider it Keeper mode, Fen'lath spun to face them. She clasped her hands behind her back just so. She was spending too much time with Solas and picking up his mannerisms. It was endearing, really. "Do either of you realize how hard Josephine works for the Inquisition?"
"My dear-"
"You do not have my permission to call me 'my dear', Vivienne, nor do you have permission to call me 'darling'. You will address me as Inquisitor Lavellan or Inquisitor from now on." Vivienne stiffened, lips pressing together and eyes glittering dangerously. Dorian noticed the way her hand twitched at her side. Any other elf speaking to her that way probably would have been slapped three ways from Sunday. He became uncomfortably aware that back home when he was younger… and shamefully even more recently and not so young, he would likely have done the same.
"She certainly does not have to work as hard as she does. I fully acknowledge that acting as our ambassador and chief diplomat is much harder because I am not only a Dalish elf, but a mage. I happen to know that many days, she does not leave her desk for meals, nor does she go to sleep until well after the midnight bells, and yet she is up and back at her desk at sunrise. Mocking her homeland is not acceptable. Doing so in full hearing of the Orlesians, Fereldens, and others staying here in Skyhold adds another layer of difficulty to her job, especially coming from you two. Don't ever do that again. We must present a united front in the face of Corypheus and his forces." Fen'lath paced, looking so tense Dorian was sure she was going to pop like an over-tightened lutestring at any moment. "Vivienne, since you enjoy such a prestigious position in Orlesian society, you are going to ensure all things Antivan are fashionable next season in Orlais."
"If I must, Inquisitor." She inclined her head, then turned to leave.
"Oh, and Vivienne." The other mage paused at the top of the stairs leading down to the hall. "You must credit Josephine as your inspiration whenever you're asked about your sudden interest in Antiva. Make things easier for her, and by extension, the Inquisition."
"Yes, Inquisitor." Oh, the resentment in Vivienne's voice.
Dorian knew that Madame de Fer wouldn't leave the Inquisition over this, they were simply too powerful a political force to turn away from at this point . But, by insisting that the attention be directed to Josephine , Fen'lath had masterfully turned the political cache to be had from Vivienne to the Inquisition. Much as she complained about it and expressed her distaste for it, Fen was certainly becoming an excellent player of The Game. It would serve them well when Josephine needed to bargain with Orlais to move their forces from Skyhold through the Western Approach to Adamant Fortress.
Once Vivienne had departed, and slammed the door in her pique no less, Fen turned tired eyes on him, slumping onto the only bit of Orlesian decor in her room, a newly-arrived lounging couch in a rather ghastly shade of green. "I am so disappointed in you, Dorian."
"I… know. It was beneath me, especially with how welcoming you have been to the 'Vint'. I'm hardly in a position to throw stones." He grimaced and sat down across from her. "I expect I have my own penance to do."
"You do, and I think you'll find it's your own personal level of hell."
"Egads, are you going to let the Bull or Solas dress me?"
"Worse." Fen's mouth quirked into a smile. "I'm asking the Skyhold steward to bring in wine from the smaller Antivan vineyards. You're going to help him find the best one to import to serve to guests of the Inquisition. He won't be starting with the good small vineyards."
"So I'm going to be drinking quite a lot of vintages that should be used as vinegar or a solvent for your apostate's painting projects in the rotunda. Hurrah." The tips of her ears went a rather charming shade of rose at calling Solas 'her apostate'. Dorian paused, "We're going to be the sole importer of a specific Antivan wine, and the Iron Lady is set to make Antiva's imports all the rage in Orlais. That's an awful lot of money and political influence in bottle form I'm in charge of finding."
"Then you'd better do your very best, Dorian."
"My darling, I am the best, what else can I do?"