Aarien lounged back on her bed, examining the flattering portrait of Varric on the back of the book. Managing to pry the latest copy of 'Swords and Shields' from Cassandra's grasp had been no easy task – the promise to convince Varric to speed up the next instalment had been the winning argument.
Flopping forward on her stomach, bare feet resting on the pillows, she propped her chin on a hand and started to flick through the book. Absent-mindedly, she twirled some of her long chestnut hair through her fingers as she scanned the pages before her.
Hiding in her room was turning out to be a good plan – Josephine had gone mad arranging this bloody ball, and despite what was promised, was trying to get Aarien to make decisions. Why Josie thought she'd be a good person to ask what colour napkins should be, she would never know.
She'd been avoiding her for the past couple of weeks, since the decision on the ball was made, finding any excuse to be elsewhere, mainly returning to her bedroom. Of course, another reason to avoid leaving her chambers was the possibility of bumping into Cullen, but she pushed that to the back of her mind. Ball planning, crazy ambassadors, that was the reason.
Sighing, she flicked further forward through the book. Nothing but juicy smut would cheer her up now. Alighting on the phrase 'pulsating member', she giggled and leaned forward, keen to find out what antics the Knight-Captain was up to.
She paused for a second, a thought crossing her mind as to whether Varric wrote these from experience, or made up what he thought people wanted. A mixture of the both? The tales of his friend, the pirate Isabela, were implausible and ridiculous at best. Shrugging, she resolved to ask him, despite the twisted answer she'd probably get.
Chuckling to herself, she turned back to the glorious erotica before her. So engrossed was she, that when the small bell signalling someone at the door rang, she pitched forward in alarm and smacked her head against the gilt, Orlesian bed frame. The string of expletives that followed would have even made Sera blush. The bell system installed by Josephine saved lugging herself downstairs every time someone was at the door, but sweet Andraste, the thing gave her a heart attack every time. At least she wasn't holding wine in this instance.
Clutching her forehead, she slowly reached across and pulled a rope next to the bed, producing the tinkle of a bell in the distance, down the tower, by the door. She also slid the book under her pillows, saving an awkward conversation with whom ever was calling on her. Watching the black spots in her vision finally start to fade, she caught a muffled call for help float up from the stairs.
Standing, wobbling slightly, she padded over to the staircase and peered down. Josephine was trying to make her way up, but she was having difficulties carrying a large bundle of fabric, and ruffles, and lace...Maker, was that a dress? Aarien went down to her, and picked up the other end of what she really hoped wasn't a dress. Josephine's flustered face peered around the mess.
"Inquisitor, thank you. Help me get this upstairs would you?"
Aarien slowly walked backwards up the stairs, bearing half of the weight. At the top, Josephine signalled for her to drop the end, and she flicked the dress out, grasping what Aarien guessed were the shoulders.
"So, what do you think?"
Aarien held a hand to her mouth as she properly examined the dress. The main expanse was orange silk, adorned with golden ruffles and lace. Around the neck was a large, uncomfortable-looking ruff; the skirts were made up of many, many layers of silk and a mesh-type fabric; and she felt slightly sick just looking at it. She noticed how Josephine was struggling under the weight of it, tilting slightly with a hopeful expression. All she could do was frown. Words weren't safe at this moment in time.
Shaking her head, Josephine man-handled the dress over to the bed, laying it flat, then proceeded to try and smooth it out. With the countless adornments however, it seemed impossible. Aarien noticed then that she also had a box under her arm, that she placed on the bed next to the monstrosity.
"Vivienne picked it out for you, it's the height of fashion in Orlais at the moment."
Crossing the room to stand next to her before the bed, Aarien just stared. The feeling of nausea built – but she wasn't sure if throwing up on it might actually be an improvement. Maybe she hit her head harder than she thought. Dragging her eyes away, she turned to address Josephine's questioning expression.
"It's orange."
"Yes, Inquisitor. But do you like it?"
"Can I wear my Halamshiral tunic instead?"
She hated the heavy velvet thing, but it was still better than this. A potato sack would be better than this. Josephine sighed in annoyance, crossing her arms and tapping her foot as she regarded Aarien. Glaring, she crossed her arms back in defiance.
"You'll be the talk of the evening."
Aarien snorted ungracefully, reaching out to poke at a section of ruffles.
"For entirely the wrong reasons. If it's that brilliant, why don't you wear it?"
Josephine's stern demeanour broke for a second, a flash of mischief appearing, if only briefly.
"I would not want to upstage your...magnificence."
Throwing her hands up in disgust, Aarien stalked over to her armchair and threw herself into it with a huff. Anything to get that dress out of view. She resumed her unimpressed glare as Josephine came to sit opposite her, her own expression one of irritation. Crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap, she was still tapping her foot.
"Here you are, the Inquisitor that killed Corypheus, and you're having a tantrum about a dress."
Is that what it had come to? She should do what she's told because everything else now is meaningless? Sighing, she rubbed her eyes, feeling incredibly tired suddenly. No, I'm being petty. It was just a dress. But she wasn't going to give in that easily. Time to change tactics.
Aarien slid off of her chair to kneel before Josephine, taking her hand and adopting a sorrowful air. Josie narrowed her eyes, knowing her Inquisitor too well to trust this sudden change in attitude. She waited in silence.
"Please, please, Josie. Don't make me wear that. I'll do anything, just...don't make me orange."
Aarien released her hand to start mock bowing at her ambassador's feet, chanting whispered pleas as she did so. A small smile curved the corner of Josephine's mouth, and she shook her head. Despite herself she started giggling, as Aarien's bowing became more fervent.
"Fine, fine! Please stop. I'll find something else for you to wear. But the condition is that you get more involved in the planning of this ball. It is for you, after all."
Dammit, should have seen that coming. Still, it was probably better than wearing that dress. And she had been holed up in her room for far too long now. Have to face the music sooner or later. Or the napkins.
Stopping her worship of Josephine, Aarien sat back on her haunches and grinned broadly.
"It's a deal. If you make me wear it though, I may have to murder you in your sleep."
"Who's murdering who?"
The women turned to see Leliana appear at the top the stairs, the stealthy rogue somehow managing not to make a sound up the creaky wooden steps. Passing across the room, her eyes caught the dress on the bed, making her rush over to examine it.
"This is your dress? Oh, it's beautiful." Leliana ran her hands over the silk and frills, her eyes glistening with unabashed joy. Aarien stood, brushing the dust off of her knees, and looked at Leliana incredulously.
"Your joking, right? And no, it's not my dress."
She smiled sweetly at Josephine, who just looked away, exasperated, but still wearing a small smile. Leliana spied the box next to the dress, and quickly tore the lid off. She gently lifted out a gold court shoe, decorated with orange ruffles, bows, lace, embroidery – so much that shouldn't be on one shoe. Holding it to her chest with her eyes closed, she squeezed it gently, willing it to merge with her into one glorious, golden ruffled being.
A snort brought her back to reality, and she opened her eyes to see the Inquisitor staring at her in wonder, and Josephine holding a hand over her mouth to contain the giggles.
"I knew you liked shoes, but...not that much." Aarien walked over to Leliana, gently prising the shoe out of her hands and holding it up to examine it. "Gold and orange, seriously?"
Leliana snatched the shoe back, and placed it lovingly into the box. "I wouldn't expect you to understand the finer details of Orlesian culture."
"I agree, they are certainly wasted on me. Thank the Maker I don't have to wear them ,or that dress."
The spy master made a disapproving noise, and crossed her arms.
"You can't still be upset over this ball, it's in your honour after all – a celebration of your achievements!"
Why? Aarien wanted to scream it, her mood darkening. I was a tool, a key for a lock, a rock for a hole. Now that's done, what am I? What was there to celebrate, apart from the fact she didn't die doing the only thing she could. She was nothing special, no chosen one by godly edict – now she was just an apostate on borrowed time before people got bored of her. Celebrate the win, of course, just don't drag her into it.
Leliana, noticing the internal conflict warring across Aarien's face, took a step towards her, reaching out. Aarien took a step back, casting her gaze to the floor, gripping her arms as she crossed them, trying to control a growing anger.
"Celebrate all you want, but don't force me to enjoy what wasn't my choice."
Her tone was flat and dead, causing Josephine to twist on the couch to see what was happening.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were that against a ball."
Aarien just shrugged, gaze still plastered to the floor.
Josephine left her chair to cross the room to stand beside them. The concerned looks they were undoubtedly giving her, she knew she was about to be ganged up on. Just leave me be.
"Is...everything...okay with you Inquisitor?"
Aarien waved a hand at them dismissively, stepping away from their mothering, walking to the window to lean against the frame. She never tired of looking out over that view, snow-capped mountains shining in the sun, fluffy spools of cloud skimming across their peaks. Sighing, she fractionally turned her head back to them.
"I'm fine, I'm just worried about your taste in clothes."
Although the play at humour was there, her tone was weary, and quiet. Seeing their frowns deepen, Aarien attempted a weak smile.
"Just tired is all. I'll be all perky and ready to help tomorrow morning."
She turned her gaze back to the scenery, watching a eagle circle in the distance, shivering although there was a fire crackling away in the fireplace next to her. Though she could no longer see them, she could imagine their shared look of worry, and the silent fight to say something more. Eventually, after a stretch of silence, they thought better of it.
"Good day then, Aarien."
She just nodded in reply, hearing the creak of steps as they descended her tower, and the thump of the door closing.
What am I doing?
Aarien felt the onset of a headache, and rubbed her forehead where she'd bashed it. Turning from the window, she ambled over to the bed, where the dress still lay in all its glory.
Why am I pushing them away?
Gathering the dress in her arms, she bundled it into the bottom of her wardrobe, poking bits back as she tried to close the door. Vivienne would have her head if she saw her doing this, but she was beyond the point of caring. Succeeding at concealing it away, Aarien went and sat on the bed.
Because it will be easier when they realise I'm no longer needed.
Catching sight of herself in the full length mirror across the room, she examined what she perceived as a tired and worn out face. Dark circles sat beneath weary blue eyes; attempting a smile just brought attention to worry lines she didn't remember being there. Not that she really recognised herself any more. As much as she felt her time at the Circle was insufferable and akin to imprisonment, she had been carefree and naïve, no worries of the world to trouble her. Then the Circles rebelled, she went to the Conclave...
The whirlwind of the past eighteen months had left her with nothing. A big climax and then...nothing. She felt hollow, empty. Ridiculously, she found herself wishing for the mark to come back, another hole to be torn in the sky. Selfish, but true. She liked who she was when that mark was on her hand, how people treated her. Now...just a scar of what once was, on her hand, and on the inside.
Who am I?
Casting herself backwards, she laid on the bed, staring at the impossibly high stone ceiling. Reaching out, she shot a fork of lighting into the space above her, watching it crackle and claw forward before vanishing. It released some of her tension, her back relaxing down into the comfort of the bed.
Even Cullen, who she had dared to love, was unsure of her now. Though that was probably all her doing too. Wait, not probably, definitely. Blowing out a large breath, she rolled over and searched for the book under her pillow. If she couldn't sort her own life out, she could lose herself in someone else's. Pulling it towards her, she admired the armoured heroine on the front cover.
"All of your problems are solved by a 'pulsating member'."
Well, can't say I would complain. The memory of the desk encounter flashed forward. Chuckling, she opened the book to where she'd left it, forcing her own dalliances to the back of her mind.
Noticing, finally, that the shoes were missing, she started to laugh. Hysterically so. Clutching her stomach and gasping for air, she imagined Leliana cuddling with them on her bed, which set her off again. Wiping her eyes, she just lay there panting, holding the book to her chest.
Maker, I'm a mess.