Invite
What had begun as a quiet affair, quickly dissolved into a riotous mix of debauchery and physical displays of one-upmanship. The predominantly Orlesian revelers took merry making to a level never before seen in Ferelden or, for that matter, the Free Marches.
"Well, shit," Varric remarked as two Orlesian nobles pawed at each other at the foot of the Inquisitor's dragon maw throne. "I gotta write this down."
A rose crown atop his head, Dorian watched the masked men appreciatively.
"Be sure to include an irresistible Tevinter mage when you do."
"Will do, Sparkler," Varric replied, flashing the grin of a natural born snake charmer. "How about you, Inquisitor, you want in on this?"
"No, thanks," came Adaar's distracted reply. She had no idea what the Dwarf was offering her, but she was at least sixty percent certain that she didn't want it. What she wanted, or rather who she wanted was nowhere to be found.
She hoped it was mere coincidence that Lady Montilyet's disappearance coincided with Shokrakar's sudden arrival. Yet, judging from the cold reception Leliana greeted her with when she inquired about her friend's whereabouts, it wasn't simply a matter of chance.
"You've changed," she whispered into Adaar's ear as she pressed against her back and slid an arm about her waist. She had changed, it was true. Fortunately for her, Shokrakar had bedded enough warriors to know that even the most obstinate among them would bend if she applied enough pressure. So she pressed harder. "Pining over a human when my head could easily be between your thighs."
Quickly and roughly extracting herself from Shokrakar's grasp, the Inquisitor turned on the mercenary and fixed her with a look that would have stayed lesser warriors. Shokrakar merely laughed soundlessly.
She was not a lesser warrior.
She was, in fact, the one who'd taken in the skinny young Vashoth when she cold barely fight off a cold, let alone successfully wield a great sword, and trained her in the art of combat.
"Don't," the Inquisitor warned in a tone far less diplomatic than she was becoming known for.
"Oh c'mon, there's no reason to be upset, unless…"
She trailed off, recognition halting her speech. Adaar avoided the look of disgust that was undoubtedly dawning on Shokrakar's wonderfully expressive face.
"Unless you don't simply want to bed her," she continued as though it were the most ridiculous notion she'd ever heard in all her years. To her dismay, the look on Adaar's face told her otherwise.
"Has the sorcery in your hand scrambled your brain?" Shokrakar scoffed, her feathery light voice climbing several more octaves. "What could you possibly have in common with a human, let alone some highborn brat? Even a human peasant would stand a better chance than you."
The Inquisitor stilled her disquiet as an Orlesian guest curtsied in greeting, remembering all the times Josephine warned her that it wouldn't do to conduct herself in a manner ill befitting someone of her ever increasing notoriety and stature. She bowed courteously at the woman in return and waited until she was out of hearing range before she turned to reprove her old friend.
"You don't know her."
"I know enough," Shokrakar dismissed her as if though were still little more than an ungainly adolescent. "I know she's trained you to bow and dance like some clever little pet to impress her ilk."
"I'll have you know, I'm a great dancer," Talvalo protested blithely. She couldn't deny that Josephine had taken an interest in refining her skills, but she wouldn't allow anyone to say that she had none.
"In battle, sure," Shokrakar amended. "In bed, most definitely. Outside of that, you've always had two left feet-Now, there's a thought, did she teach you personally or leave you to trample all over her poor servant girl?"
Adaar hesitated, thinking back upon the good natured ribbing and laughter that sounded throughout the tavern as Josephine took it upon herself to teach her the latest trends in Orlesian dance.
"What do you have against her?"
"Nothing," Shokrakar feigned innocence. "Only, if you've known one human, you've known them all. We're little more than animals to them, fit to fight and fuck for their jollies and nothing more. You're young, but you'll soon learn. Humans value little more than banality and acceptance. And you, my sweet girl, you will never be able to give a lady any of those things.
"I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but a party is generally considered a happy occasion," Adaar quipped with what little was left of her good humor.
Her weak attempt at a joke was still enough to bring a sympathetic smile to the mercenary's vitaar stained lips. She raised her hand, hands Adaar had always found remarkably gentle for someone so hardened and blunt.
"Don't be fooled by these petty trappings, by this…Inquisition," Shokrakar warned, her eyes skimming across the hall with the staid wariness of quarry in repose. "They follow you because they feel they've no other choice. They follow you because they fear their dreaded darkspawn more than they fear us. For the moment, that is. When the current danger becomes a distant memory, they'll remember who and what you are. But not to worry, you'll likely be dead by then."
As harsh as the words were, Adaar saw straight through them. They'd always been alike that way, sardonic beyond reason. It was as blatant a defense mechanism as the armor they wore. It was, they both understood, the main reason why their relationship had failed to develop into something more than sex and drunken fights.
"I have to say, your faith in me warms my heart."
It hadn't been long after meeting Shokrakar that Adaar learned the Tal-Vashoth was as fast at the mouth as she was with her sword, which was also why she immediately regretted her sarcastic remark.
Shokrakar saw the opening and seized upon it.
"I can warm your bed, if you prefer."
"Iron Bull," Adaar croaked, her throat suddenly dry. After months of going without, the offer was like a cool jug of water after a trek through the Hidden Oasis "What are you drinking?"
"Dragon piss."
"Hand it over."
"Sure thing, boss."
Without a moment's hesitation, the Iron Bull slid an enormous flagon along the table where he'd been hoarding a platter of nug skewers.
"Thanks, Bull," the Inquisitor muttered before downing the vile tasting liquid that quickly numbed her taste buds and set her insides on fire.
Everything that took place after that moment was little more than a blur. When she regained her wits, or at least most of them, the celebration was still in full swing. And, to her relief, no one seemed to notice the state she was in.
Well, no one except for Sera.
The ever-perceptive elf managed to make out with Shokrakar, down a platter of druffalo ribs, nearly cause an international incident, and take note as the Inquisitor moped about, pretending to listen to as Thedas's preeminent social climbers attempted to gain her favor.
"Alright, I can't watch this any longer," Sera groused through a mouth full of food. "You can close holes in the friggin' sky, blast demons back to the fade, you kill giant flying murdery monsters as a hobby, and yet you're afraid to chat up lady prissy pants?"
"Sera, I'm not chatting her up."
"That's bloody obvious," Sera jibed, all the while chuckling at the Inquisitor's cluelessness. "Find her and talk to her or I swear I'll spike the punch with dragon's drool or whatever you've been drinking."
"Alright, fine, I'm going."
The Inquisitor's earlier words were easier said than done. It wasn't until Adaar began walking on unsteady legs that she realized just how drunk she was. She managed to reach the stairs leading to Josephine's room without incident, but climbing them presented another challenge.
"Okay, Tal, you can do this," the Inquisitor reassured herself with a quiet pep talk. "One step, two step," she continued until she reached the curiously frigid landing where Madame de Fer had taken up residence.
"Vivienne," she greeted her in as sober a manner as she could muster in her drunken state.
"Inquisitor, my dear," Vivienne began, not bothering to look up from a large anthology on the potency of Rivaini roots in healing magic. "Do take care not to fall off the ramparts."
"Thank you, Vivienne, I will take that under consideration," the Inquisitor spoke in a deeply regal voice, hoping her authoritative tone would hide the fact that she hadn't heard a word the mage had just said.
The cool breeze that greeted Adaar upon stepping outside of the castle was nearly enough to sober her. Nearly. Stumbling about in the dark, she came to the troubling realization that she could no longer recall which door belonged to Josephine's room.
"Here goes nothing," she mumbled before knocking on the first door she came upon. "Josephine" she whispered harshly, listening closely for the sound of muffled talking and shuffling footsteps.
"Inquisitor," a distinctly accented voice sounded as the door opened.
"Mother Giselle!" Adaar breathed, a deep crimson blush threatening to overtake her rich tan complexion. "Good evening, I was just looking for Josephine's room-for, uh, diplomatic purposes, of course. My apologies."
Mother Giselle smiled knowingly, before pointing the Inquisitor in the right direction. "Lady Montilyet's room is over there."
The Inquisitor nodded gratefully.
"You have my thanks."
"I'm certain," Mother Giselle replied coyly, nodding in return as she slowly shut her door.
"Smooth, Inquisitor, smooth," Adaar mocked herself as she continued along the walkway. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her left hand to shine a brilliant green light on the thick wood separating her from the woman who'd captured her imagination like no one else she'd ever met.
"Inquisitor?"
The light instantly went dark as soon as Adaar heard the soft lilt she'd come to adore.
"Josephine," she called out, turning to see the Antivan standing alone in the shadowy Chantry garden below her. "What are you doing there?"
"I might ask the same of you," Josephine retorted smartly.
Adaar grinned in return, reminded once again how fortunate she was to have the quick witted diplomat as her ambassador. She would need to be just as nimble if she was to stand a chance with her. Placing one hand on the cool stone of the castle walls, she launched her imposing frame over the edge to land in the garden below with the sprightliness of a Fennec.
"Goodness!" Josephine exclaimed, clearly not used to the sight of a giant horned woman leaping from great heights. "You could have broken something."
"Oh, I already have," Adaar smirked. "My right leg, my collarbone, my left arm…As a child, I climbed trees that would have made Iron Bull seem tiny in comparison. Of course, that means I fell out of my fair share as well."
"So you've always been reckless," Josephine remarked, disapproval evident in her tone.
"I can be cautious as well," Adaar defended herself, looking thoroughly admonished. "To a fault, in fact."
Josephine's mouth fell ajar slightly, as though she were about to speak, but she held her tongue. The Inquisitor took the awkward silence as a sign to continue.
"Josephine, I have something on my-"
"Horns," Josephine interrupted her, stepping closer.
"My what?" the Adaar asked, both confused and flustered by the Lady's sudden nearness and the smell of her perfume
"You have flowers on your horns," Josephine repeated, pointing out the flowers that had been impaled on the Inquisitor's horns. "Bend," she ordered her, sounding more impatient than she'd likely intended.
Adaar simply obeyed, completely unaware of the inextricable pleasure her ambassador was taking at the swiftness with which she followed her command.
Still, even at her reduced height, Josephine found herself struggling on her tiptoes to pluck off the skewered rose petals. Seeing this, Adaar took the initiative to sit down on the bench before her.
"Where is your crown?" Josephine asked of the adornment Lord Chancer had placed upon his newest Champion to celebrate her glory.
"Dorian took it," Adaar muttered petulantly, avoiding Josephine's eyes as if to hide her shame at the fact.
"And you let him?" Josephine asked, looking doubtful that anyone could take anything from the seven-foot-tall warrior that she wasn't willing to give.
"He's very charming when he needs to be."
"Then you have something in common," Josephine laughed softly.
Adaar didn't dare look up, but her pale hazel eyes glimmered with hope.
"You think I'm charming," She declared quietly as if awestruck by a new revelation.
"I...I think you're a great many things," Josephine admitted, her fingers lingering on the smooth plated Aurum curves of Adaar's horns .
"Mostly good things, I hope."
The words were spoken barely above a whisper, as Adaar was afraid anything louder might break the delicate spell that seemed to surround them.
"You have no idea," Josephine admitted wistfully, taking in the Inquisitor's endearing yet stalwart features. "Forgive me," she stammered, quickly backing away as her grey eyes widened with - what was it - mortification?
"For what?" the Inquisitor asked, rising to her full height in an attempt to halt Josephine's retreat. With every step Adaar took toward her, Josephine took another step back. Perhaps, she considered, Shokrakar was right. "Have I made you uncomfortable?"
"No," Josephine breathed. "You're perfect-I mean, the perfect leader…for the Inquisition. It would be ill mannered of me to keep you from your own soiree."
"Right," Adaar half-heartedly agreed, looking more confused than convinced. "Let's speak later."
"Of course, Your Worship," Josephine said dutifully before turning to head back to the castle. "Another time."