Title: May I have this dance?
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters/Pairings: Florianne de Chalons, Livius Erimond
Rating: K+
Summary: He's asking her for a dance, and Florianne is so bored she may actually say yes.
Disclaimer: Dragon Age is not mine.
A/N: based on a prompt "May I have this dance?". Creative title, I know.
"May I have this dance?"
Florianne narrows her eyes at the man who's speaking to her, wondering if he's deliberately trying to irritate her. Celene and Gaspard are busy pretending their little war isn't tearing this country apart, meanwhile Florianne has to take care of her other plans. Keeping everything under control isn't easy, and now this.
When she got a letter saying Livius Erimond is coming to Orlais, Florianne couldn't quite decide what she should think. They both serve the Elder One; why exactly magister Erimond is here she still doesn't know. Frankly, she doesn't care that much but she can't help but wonder if he's on some secret mission to check if everything is going according to the plan.
The problem is that magister Ermiond just so… Tevinter. At times, when he talks about his country's lost glory or some other nonsense, he seems like a parody of everything she knows about the Imperium. Always so serious, naively believing his title means something in Orlais.
And now he's asking her to dance with him.
She could refuse. It would be oh so easy. Florianne is tempted to tell him no and watch his face turn red as he's mumbling an awkward apology. Why would she care about this Tevinter magister? She only knows him because he also works for the Elder One.
Even though he acts all confident, she may see something very close to desperation in his eyes. An Orlesian ballroom full of figures in masks is so dreadfully different than his Tevinter mansion. Now that Florianne thinks about it he appears completely out of place.
It becomes painfully clear he doesn't have a hidden agenda. His question is so innocent it's hard to believe that there's a person standing in front of her asking for a dance.
She's intrigued, and thus she decides she will show him just enough kindness to accept.
"Yes, you may," Florianne says in a voice that could suggest she's Andraste herself granting one of her pious followers eternal salvation.
Erimond looks almost too surprised as if he expected the Grand Duchess would rather stab him than grant him the privilege of dancing with her. As he takes her hand she can notice pinkish blush spreading on his face, and she has to resist the urge to laugh.
To be honest, Florianne is not only intrigued but also bored. Everyone always talks about the war or mages and templars, nothing else. It's a pity that some magister arriving to meet her was the one and only slightly exciting thing that happened lately. And the evening so far has been so uneventful, Florianne nearly misses the good old days full of treachery and murder, when a party was a success if at least one body was found by a weeping elven maid.
At this point she simply wants to do something that will make people talk. Well, she could get rid of Erimond but dancing with him, an outsider, a Tevinter magister, seems like a better idea. When she discreetly glances around, she can notice that certain people pretend they aren't looking at her at all. Perfect. Let them talk.
Her eyes move back to Erimond. He appears quite tall but she knows it's only thanks to the boots he's wearing. Hideous, she decides the moment she sees them.
She will have to do something about the boots. And all his clothes, really. What may be popular in Tevinter belongs in the trash in Orlais. He's wearing mostly white clothes. She would rather see him in purple, or deep red, perhaps. But white? What an odd choice.
But what about blood stains?, she muses. You are a blood mage, are you not?
This thought is so ridiculous she nearly laughs. Perhaps she'll ask him that just to see his reaction.
She lets him guide her to the dancefloor. He picks a spot right next to Baron Louis who looks repulsed there's a filthy Tevinter magister standing so close to him and his fat wife. Erimond doesn't talk but he looks pleased, holding her hand while the other he puts on her waist. Florianne can't quite decide what to think of this man.
Then she squeezes his hand a bit too hard and he nearly jumps. He gives her a half shocked, half confused look, like a dog that thought he's getting a treat but instead got smacked in the nose. The party doesn't seem so boring anymore.
She says nothing, but leans in to whisper to his ear, "You want us to dance. Let's dance, Livius."
When the music starts her lips curl into a smile as Florianne idly thinks that perhaps she's found her new favourite plaything.