The house party in Orlais fell into a regular rhythm: the attendees would spend the day traversing the countryside, Evelyn studiously applying her energies to the dispersal of the inconvenient Fade Rifts which had sprung up all about the landscape. Afternoons and evenings were spent finding diversion in the company of others at the chalet, and while Evelyn attempted to maintain her solitary focus on arcane tomes, she often found herself drawn into conversation, as was the case in this particular afternoon.
While Mr. Pavus and Mr. Tethras held the talk on one side of the room, it fell to Evelyn's lot to be placed rather apart from the rest with Commander Rutherford, which she took as an opportunity to further her acquaintance with him. While he possessed a stalwart heart on the battlefield, he had a shy countenance and a gentle manner with Evelyn, and the conversation began to flag. This mirrored her previous attempts at discourse with the Commander, and thus she folded her hands in her lap, expecting him at any minute to excuse himself and go; and yet he remained.
She had not quite discerned that what had previously been the case as well: the gentleman's looks indicated that he found hers quite lovely, but was at a loss for words. After a moment, he seemed to rouse himself from a bit of reverie, and he spoke:
"Miss Trevelyan," he began, but was immediately interrupted by the strident tones of Mr. Tethras, who from across the room cried—
"Commander, Dorian and I are quite determined: you and Miss Trevelyan must join us for our game of whist. I quite insist!"
Commander Rutherford rose and made a bow, courteously delivering his regrets owing to the large quantity of work that awaited him in his office.
Evelyn rose and graciously nodded her acquiescence, and Mr. Tethras voiced his pleasure at the offer of her gracious company. "Cullen," cried he, "you must make up our fourth, or Miss Trevelyan will be sorely disappointed."
With a discreet glance at Evelyn, he yielded to their entreaties with the utmost rapidity, although he looked quite red. Servants were called to assemble the table and fetch the cards to the drawing-room of the chalet. Evelyn looked down to conceal the smile that rose unbidden, as she was not, herself, immune to the charms of the Commander, aware as she was of the unsuitability of an alliance between a mage and a Templar.
While the servants were working, a whispering between Madame Vivienne and Lady Cassandra caught her ear. Evelyn could not quite discern the particulars, but she knew enough to comprehend that it suited Madame Vivienne best to think of Lady Cassandra in the position of Divine on the account of Miss Leliana, whose pretensions she wished to see put an end to.
"Outrageous," sniffed Madame Vivienne a moment later, "but what else can you expect from…a foreigner?"
Evelyn looked up to observe that Mr. Iron Bull had entered the room. While she had initially been discomfited by his unconventional and, frankly, inappropriate mode of dress, Evelyn had grown accustomed to his lack of cravat, and now simply attempted to not stare. Madame Vivienne's good opinion, however, had been lost forever, and she sought out sundry opportunities to voice her displeasure in as strident tones as that formidable lady was capable of producing.
While Mr. Tethras and Mr. Pavus bantered across the table with one another, commenting all on the foibles and sensibilities of their esteemed companions, Evelyn bent her attention to the task at hand. Her partner was silent as well, and if Commander Rutherford was observed to regard Miss Trevelyan a bit more intently than usual, it could only be attributed to his concentration on the game of cards.
As is invariably the case, the more vivacious paring of players fell to those who approached the endeavor with more serious mien, and after the first rubber, Mr. Pavus eyed his sparse pile of counters and felt that the game had become very tedious indeed, and announced his intention to take a turn about the garden. Perhaps eager to avoid the malevolent eye of Madame Vivienne, Mr. Bull made known his intention to accompany them.
"Will you join us, Commander Rutherford?" asked Mr. Pavus, all innocence and solicitude. "Mr. Bull and I will bore Miss Trevelyan to death with talk of politics."
Commander Rutherford murmured his assent, took Evelyn's arm, and the small company set off into the garden. It was a matter of a mere five minutes before the two other gentlemen expressed a desire to explore the confines of the hedge maze, but Evelyn respectfully demurred. Their rather precipitous departure left Evelyn and Commander Rutherford standing uncomfortably together by the entrance to the maze. He seemed unsure of what to do, so Evelyn made her way over to a conveniently placed gazebo and ensconced herself on a bench to wait for their return, and the Commander seated himself next to her.
After gaining assurances as to her comfort, he politely remarked on the agreeable nature of the weather, and she murmured a polite assent. In a moment, he spoke again:
"This may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inqusition—or related matters," he intoned. "To be honest, I appreciate the distraction, Miss Trevelyan."
"You are very dedicated to your work, sir," she said with a smile. "I would say that one game of cards and a walk in the garden is a very small distraction, indeed, but I find myself in a not dissimilar predicament. My position as the Inquisitor leaves very little room for…distractions. As much as I might desire otherwise, the circumstances are such that..." she shrugged delicately.
She turned her hand over in her lap, the sickly green glow of the Anchor seeping through the fine satin of her glove.
He regarded her hand very intently. "Might I inquire as to what those circumstances are, Miss Trevelyan?" His scrutiny disconcerted her, but she endeavored to reply with as much calm and poise as possible.
"I am a mage, sir. I am given to understand that any right-thinking individual would acknowledge it as a flaw most terrible."
"And you, Miss Trevelyan? Do you acknowledge this as a flaw?"
"No, sir," she replied sharply. "I am as the Maker made me, no more, no less. Perhaps those who lack the perception to see this should be disregarded entirely, but that is just my solitary opinion."
"I find, then," he declared, "that your opinion is not solitary, for we are in agreement on that matter." He paused for a moment, then: "Miss Trevelyan, I want to…would you consider…?"
He reached across and gathered her small hand up into his large one. The light of the Anchor shone around his fingers, but he seemed unaffected and unconcerned by the presence of something so many chose to consider a blemish.
"Yes?" she colored and asked, all astonishment at his action and manner of speaking.
"Miss Trevelyan—Evelyn—"
Regrettably, whatever intelligences or assurances the esteemed Commander was about to utter were left for Evelyn's imagination to ponder over at a later hour. At that moment, a loyal servant who had been traversing the gardens at length in search of the Commander found himself so relieved to discover the object of his endeavor that he launched into a recitation of an extensive message, without first discerning that the Commander appeared to be engaged in intimate discourse with a lady.
Evelyn reclaimed her hand from the Commander's grasp and he stood, just as the unfortunate servant discerned the intense glare directed at him due to the most regrettable interruption, as well as the imposing physique and angry demeanor of the seemingly perturbed object of his message.
The hated servant stammered an apology and a promise to deliver the message at a later time, and set off with much haste to deliver the news and import of what he had just seen to the eager ears of the servants' quarters, where it most assuredly would make its way to Madame Vivienne, who would declare it a scandal, and then merrily set about making it one in truth. Evelyn knew all of this, and found herself immediately developing a headache.
"I must go," she announced, rather desperate to regain her rationality as far away from the gazebo and the Commander as possible. She made her curtsey, but as she turned to leave, he reached out again and took her hand. He bowed deeply over it, gazing into her eyes, and laid a most inappropriate kiss across her knuckles. It seemed much was felt, and needed to be discussed, but now was no longer the time.
She made her way out of the garden in as dignified a manner as possible for a woman so nearly discomposed in spirit. Reigning in any happiness she might have allowed herself to feel, she promised herself that on the morrow, no matter the weather, she would travel into town to fetch her new bonnet from Miss Dagna at the milliner's, and take a much-needed constitutional around the countryside to vanquish both as many demons as possible, and the distractions by which she felt herself plagued.