"I can't believe you talked me into this."
Carver tugged in annoyance at the dress uniform Josephine had required them all to wear. The scowl already on his features deepening as he looked at his sister. Hawke stood a few paces away and held a hand over her mouth. The awkward jolts and jumps of her shoulders told him she was trying not to laugh at his expense. And failing.
"It's not so bad, brother," she finally managed. "At least Josephine isn't making us wear those ugly Orlesian masks."
"Oh like that makes it any better." His brow furrowed as he squinted at her. She shrugged for him, clearly lacking in any other good defense for making sure he came on this venture. Carver huffed out a sigh and she shook her head, all but dancing away from him as she went to go mingle in the main ballroom.
From out of the nearby shadows, he caught sight of a small figure approaching. He tensed, squinting in that direction. But as the shadows fell away, his scowl lifted just a touch.
"For what it's worth," she said as she slid an arm about his waist, "I think you look rather dashing." Nathra grinned up at him.
Carver swallowed, counting down from ten before he turned a smile on her. Yet it was no good, he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. That same awkward sensation he disliked so much.
"You must not be seeing the same uniform I am, then."
Nathra snorted, stepping away from him. She grabbed his hand and tugged toward the ballroom. "Come on, I want to try this dancing thing."
His gut twisted. Color spreading out over his cheeks as the small elf tugged at him. Carver was, much to his chagrin, torn.
"We shouldn't. I mean…" his stomach fluttered. "If the Inquisitor…"
She rolled her eyes at him. "She's too busy beating nobles off to care what we do. Come on." She turned back toward him and pouted, doing her best to imitate a puppy. "Please?"
Carver swallowed the lump rising in his throat. In a flash the expression reminded him of his sisters. Of Bethany and Ashley. Back before all this. In Lothering when life was simple and, well, normal. But Maker help him, he couldn't say no to a look like that. He couldn't then, and he surely couldn't now.
"Fine," he huffed through gritted teeth.
The young woman squealed in her joy and tugged him along again. This time Carver allowed Nathra to drag him toward the dance floor. The butterflies returned to his stomach as he pulled her close and they began to glide along with the others in the ballroom.