I kneel at the altar of Bioware's divine ownership. Same as everyone else.
Eve Trevelyan stood before the – what? It wasn't really a war table anymore. The map was full of markers and operations to be considered but none had the dire urgency that had fueled their efforts before. There were petitions for aid, demands for privilege, requests for pest control and at least three calls for her to attend social functions. The war was over but the work never seemed to stop.
"If I have to go to the Thibault's masque then Cullen goes with me. I refuse to be the only one hunted across the dance floor." The Inquisitor announced adamantly. Leliana stifled a laugh as horror crossed the Commander's face. She and Josephine tended to enjoy the elaborate celebrations and found only amusement in their associates' frequent suffering.
"You can't be serious. I barely came away from Lady Richelieu's soiree with my uniform intact!" Cullen protested. The man who had faced Darkspawn, apostates, Red Templars and - on one memorable occasion - an infuriated Morrigan without ever batting an eye was unmistakably worried now.
"You are exaggerating. The Comtesse was perhaps overly enthusiastic in her flirtations but she did not intentionally rip your sash." Josephine chided.
Eve chuckled at her memory of the scene. The ornate noble woman had allowed one hand to drift imprudently close to Cullen's belt line and he'd leapt back like she'd poked him with a dagger. The suddenness of his retreat startled her and it must have been reflex that sank her dangerously long fingernails into the accessory, tearing it loose. The surprising event was talked about for weeks. The last time she'd heard the tale it had progressed to the Comtesse wrestling Cullen's pants off and him fleeing the ballroom half naked. Varric probably had something to do with that.
"This would be different, of course," Leliana smoothly assured, pausing for dramatic effect, "Young Celeste is still unwed and I believe her family are keen on strengthening their ties with us."
"No. Absolutely not. If they want a political marriage they can bloody well throw her at the Inquisitor herself." The former Templar shook his head, one hand slicing the air as though he could sever the very idea.
"Do not think they aren't considering it." Cassandra pointed out, ever the voice of objective reason, "They likely would entertain either option so long as it cements their status."
That thought did much to wipe the smirk from Eve's face. She had been careful to diplomatically receive the attentions of both genders but had hoped to keep her preferences out of the public eye. Particularly since that preference had grown painfully specific of late. Becoming Thedas' most eligible woman didn't figure well with her own intentions.
She stole a glance at Cassandra, trying to gauge the Seeker's own thoughts or feelings on the matter. She could be damnably impossible to read. Eve might convince herself that the note of irritation in the other woman's voice was jealousy but she knew it was more likely a perpetual impatience with politics.
"Perhaps we could just send Blackwall?" The Inquisitor hazarded, hoping for an escape.
"No. Celene has not yet completed his appointment as a Chevalier. Also, if you recall, he punched a Baron last week." Josephine shook her head.
"That was here, not at a party. And he didn't know the man was a baron, he just didn't like the way he was whipping that horse." Cullen jumped to the defense of their friend. The incident had momentarily polarized the council; the Ambassador and Leliana both irritated by the political cost while Cassandra, Cullen and herself all wanted to cheer. Blackwall's defense had been impeccable: anyone that can abuse an animal can do even worse to his fellow man. The reasoning had brought them all into harmony once more.
"Regardless, the Baron will be at the masque. I doubt he cares for any reminders of the incident. Though, I am given to understand that he has since burned all his riding crops." Josephine allowed a hint of approval in her voice. If only all aristocrats learned lessons so easily.
"The Inquisitor must attend. With whomsoever you choose, it does not matter; but offending the Thibaults now would be a costly mistake." Leliana stated firmly. She had a particular tone of voice that she seldom used. An iron finality edged every word no matter how gentle. When that tone swept over the council, no one argued. Like the most powerful magical spell it was all the more revered for its rarity.
"Fine. Send our gratitude and delight at the prospect." Eve surrendered with a sigh, leaning a little more heavily on the table. Losing the first argument of the morning was a bad precedent.
"I'll attend as well." Cullen gently agreed, his voice groaning in empathy. She gave him a wan nod of gratitude. He was a true soldier: duty first and no comrade left behind.
"Perhaps, just on this occasion, you could be permitted to wear your armor." Cassandra's suggestion accompanied a deliberate glance towards the Inquisitor that made her smile.
Her protective streak manifested itself in the most covert of ways and Eve had been delighted to notice more of a pattern lately. The dynamic of their friendship had shifted subtly since defeating Corypheus. Not so much as to create either awkward fear or impulsive courage. The Inquisitor would bet 100 gold that Cassandra didn't even feel the change, let alone recognize what it was. Eve herself only felt the edges, trying to discern the size and shape of this new relationship and where it might go. Consequently she was hyper alert, watching for any cues or hints of what was expected; all the while choking her hopes lest she assume too much.
"That would probably be wise," Josephine agreed, "The next item, your worship?"
Eve nearly missed the question, still caught in Cassandra's gaze. Only the flicker of the Seeker's eyes told her she needed to pay attention. Damn it. Now the other warrior was just smirking at her.
"Right, uhm," she paused, scanning the map, "The letter from Denerim is probably important."
"King Alistair is looking for us to solve yet another of his problems. What is -," Leliana paused and turned to the door. For a few seconds the rest of the council stared in confusion. Then came a cautious knock. The admitted servant rushed to Josephine, avoiding eye contact with all the superiors and mumbling his message.
"Odd. Leliana, a visitor has arrived asking to see you." The Ambassador conveyed the news with obvious curiosity. New arrivals at Skyhold tended to seek their preferred leader directly. Aristocrats and merchants all went to Josephine. Soldiers and fighters found Cullen. The clerics and faithful sought Cassandra, a familiar face of the Chantry. Leliana's visitors were always of a more clandestine nature and came directly to seek her in the secure confines of the rookery.
"Did they give a name?" the spymaster addressed the nervous servant directly, watching the young man squirm.
"She said – she said," his tongue stumbled over the words, a blush already infusing his cheeks, "To quote her, Most Holy, she said 'If the bard still insists on being birdbrained then she can call me Swallow.'"
The statement elicited a variety of reactions; primarily confusion but with dashes of offense (Cassandra) and humor (Eve). Only Leliana kept her mask neutral. Her minute tell was a slight narrowing of the eyes, a worrisome suspicion darkening her gaze.
"I will come see her presently. When we have finished." She nodded to dismiss the embarrassed servant and he all but ran to the door. As he yanked it open there was the familiar rumble of conversation that echoed up from the judgment hall and then one sudden voice burst through all the others.
"Maker's balls! This place is colder than Andraste's marble tit!" the words positively hung in the air over the council after the door slammed shut again. Eve watched her advisors, completely lost and trying to find clues in their expressions.
"I have never known a woman to blaspheme so . . . creatively." Cassandra finally broke the silence, annoyed yet somehow impressed.
"I have only ever known one." Leliana's brow creased now, suspicions turned to certainty. Cullen's worried countenance was in tune with her exact thoughts.
"This will not be anything good." The Commander shook his head, looking to the spymaster for direction. Leliana was already formulating a strategy.
"Cullen, go find Varric. Quickly. Josie, suggest to our guests that they should seek entertainments away from the throne room. I will deal with," her mouth turned with a touch of playfulness at the corner, "this situation."
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