The night of the gala arrived at long last, and the Inquisitor found herself in her provided accommodations with Josephine and an elven servant, both of whom were assisting her in getting ready in different ways. Josephine lounged on a chair in the corner, prattling off the names of the guests she ought to know, those she ought to know but pretend not to know, and those she ought to write off entirely. The elven girl pulled lacing through eyelets, setting the corset on Trevelyan.

"Oh, not too tight, please. I'm not used to wearing these things," she winced at the trappings of the garment constricted, making it difficult to get in a deep breath.

"Inquisitor, the point of a corset is for it to be tight," Josephine chided. "You really should lace it up properly."

"Absolutely not. If anything happens in there tonight, I need to be ready to react, which I can't do if I can't breath. It was different when the Fereldans and Orlesians came to us. We had the bulk of our forces to keep an eye on them. I'm not going to let any of these fancy arses ruin this for me," she huffed.

"Ruin...what? I thought you already hated these gatherings," Josephine's tone softened, becoming rather sweet.

The Inquisitor knew that tone in her voice. The woman was sharp, and she had slipped. She was fairly adept at the Game, after all. It was maddening that she had to play it now with one of her trusted advisors. Well, mostly trusted advisors. She couldn't bring herself to tell Josephine about her affair with the King.

"Oh, I do. They're horrid. But Fereldans and Orlesians are starting to get along. You know how hard we've worked for this," she recovered quickly. She could play well enough when she put her mind to it. "So if one of them, any of them, tries to ruin this, I will tie them up and have them publicly spanked. Perhaps I'll find paddles for everyone, and the guests can all take turns swatting at them. It would be like a party game."

Where Josephine let slip a girlish giggle, the elven girl chortled out a short, snorting belt of laughter. It was a particularly loud and rancorous sound to come from such a small woman. the ladies Montiliyet and Trevelyan both turned to look at her, surprised at the startling break in her silence.

The girl was mortified, face turning scarlet against her pale skin. Before she could stammer out an apology, both agents of the Inquisition began laughing uproariously and in earnest themselves. The Inquisitor slung an arm around the girl, clapping her on the shoulder. "Maker," she wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. "You're alright, erm...what was your name?"

"Lonni, ser," she spoke sheepishly.

"Lonni. Right. You're an alright sort, I can tell." WIth another friendly pat, she slipped away from the girl. "How well can you hold liquor, Lonni?"

The elf furrowed her brows, confused. "Pretty good, ser. Drinkin's a good pasttime."

"Good. We've got some time before the party. Have a glass with us. One glass won't send you back tossed, and you won't get in trouble," the Inquisitor crossed to the table, pouring a third glass of wine.

"I-I...I don't know, ser…" she fidgeted nervously.

"We won't tell if you won't," she replied, handing the girl a glass.

Lonni accepted it, eyeing the thing skeptically as though it might turn into a snake in her grasp.

The Inquisitor set a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Look, I'm not used to treating people like servants, and it makes me really uncomfortable. I don't do it at Skyhold, and I don't want to do it here, either. You'd be doing me an enormous favor to just treat me like a nobody. Isn't that right, Josephine?"

Leaning on the arm of the chair, the ambassador couldn't help but laugh a little. "It isn't befitting of your station, but you do hate being waited upon."

Lonni glanced between them, considering. After a while, she hesitantly raised the cup to her lips with both hands and took a sip. Face softening and eyes wide, she remarked, "That's the good stuff, innit?"

"The King has been pretty generous with his cellars, yeah," Trevelyan giggled, draining her own glass. "Alright. Lonni, let me gear up, and then would you help me get the dress on? I hate asking, but I never wear dresses and the damn things are far too much fabric for me. It's like wrestling with a bed."

"O-of course, my Lady!" Lonni nodded vigorously, clutching her wine glass now like a treasure that might be snatched away at any moment.

The Inquisitor crossed to the table, eyeing the myriad daggers and straps upon it. Plucking out a short and thin blade, she tucked it into its sheath sewn into her boot. Following this, a dagger was strapped to each thigh, one to her forearm, one thin one down her cleavage inside the sewn pocket of the corset, and on particularly thin one sheathed inside an ornate gold and pearl headpiece that enveloped where her hair was gathered in a golden cage.

Josephine studied her checklist, combing for anyone she'd forgotten to mention, indifferent to the display.

The elven girl watched the Inquisitor gear up, impressed and suddenly intimidated. "Them's a lot of sharp bits, Lady Inquisitor. I...should I be nervous about trouble brewin'?" Adding quickly, she stammered, "I-I mean, with them Orlee'juns here, I figgered there'd be some."

The Inquisitor turned to study the girl for a moment, eyeing her critically. "I'm always nervous about trouble brewing." She stalked around the girl, eyes darting to her hips, between her legs, her breasts, slender limbs and thighs. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, the girl shied away slightly.

After a moment she gave an appreciative nod, then plucked a leather cuff from the table. Bringing it over to the girl, she pried the thing open, displaying the outer layer to her. "Right, so see the little latch there?"

The elf, still apprehensive, leaned cautiously forward to examine the thing. "Y-Yeah."

The Inquisitor slid her thumb over it, a short blade popping out. "You slide it back down here, then pop the latch back to lock it down. If you see any trouble, you've got a way to defend yourself now. No one will think to ask you about a plain leather cuff. Give me your wrist."

The elf, wide-eyed, extended her wrist for the Inquisitor to place the cuff on it. "Th-thank you, ser! This is...this is right nice of ye."

"Well it's right nice of you to help me put on this stupid dress," she muttered dismissively, buckling the cuff into place. "There we are. Make sure it's snug. You don't want it twisted the wrong way 'round when you need it in a hurry. When you find a moment alone, practice with it. When someone needs to be stabbed straight away, that isn't the time to be figuring out how it works in practice."

"Yes, my Lady," the elf breathed, doting eyes upon the Inquisitor gleaming with admiration.

"Good girl." Crossing to the table, she poured herself another glass of wine, then drained it immediately. Lips stained and with a flush in her cheeks, she gestured to the dress. "Alright. I'm ready to be smothered in fabric, now."

Alistair hated this party.

At least the Inquisitor had lent him Josephine's skills to ensure he did not completely embarrass himself. She'd helped with some of the decor, and gone over some of the more notable names with him. They all blurred together in his head in a giant, frilly, blurred nightmare.

Not that any of them had much of a chance to stand themselves out in his head. He found himself flocked with Orlesian women, vying desperately for his attention. He might have even enjoyed the attention of so many beautiful, young women if he hadn't suspected they were marveling at the novelty of the bastard Warden who'd ridden to the throne on the back of the Hero of Fereldan.

He scowled as he thought of her. Time had eased much of the pain, but it could never do away with the little pang of ache as she invaded his thoughts. How he had loved her. He could still remember the mischievous gleam in her eyes when she had found a new sort of trouble to get into. For someone who had been so deathly serious and sincere, she had had a go-big-or-go-home approach to letting off steam. And that night on the ship with Isabella...Maker.

Still, that was so long ago now, and she was becoming enshrouded by the mists of time.

"Her hair smells like earth and wind, makes you forget the war. The heart remembers an old song, and it sings it again for a new one. She would be happy for you," a voice murmured beside him.

When he turned to look, there was no one there. Suddenly the entire moment was forgotten, and he felt lighter than he had before.

And he suddenly felt like dancing. He looked to the Inquisitor. There was no need to search her out, for he'd never lost her from his peripherals. He had been entirely stunned the moment she had walked into the room. In the burnt orange, cream lace, and warm pearls, she looked like a brilliant sky at sunset. Everything about her was warm and welcoming, and his arms ached to be around her.

Excusing himself from the gaggle of geese that had beset him, he approached the Inquisitor boldly. A dance couldn't look like much. It would just look like he was playing that stupid Game.

She had been surrounded by her own admirers, though none dare stand in the way of the King. He politely cut in, flashed his most charming smile, and asked, "My Lady Inquisitor, would you dance with me?"

Those forested green eyes went a little wide, before a cup of mirth filled to the brim. Amused and knowing, she inclined her head. "I could not refuse a request of the King."

Pardoning herself, she stepped out onto the dance floor amidst a flock of whirling dresses and fine and regal figures. His hand was warm at her waist, even through the thick material of the corset, his other enveloping her own small hand. As they danced they murmured low to one another, scarcely audible against the chatter and the music.

"Maker, you...you look incredible," he beamed.

"Thank you, your Majesty. I admit, I am not accustomed to such finery. It will be lovely to get out of this later," she couldn't help the smirk tugging at her mouth.

He opened his mouth to say something, then immediately shut it. While they spoke with a touch more familiarity, it was too risky to drop the act entirely. He combed over his thoughts to pull more appropriate ones to surface, letting the heavy, lead-laden lulls of lust sink down into his belly to fuel a later fire. Damn it. This was just like playing the Game, but...perhaps a little more fun. "Merciless," he muttered in complaint. "At any rate, I don't see your Commander. I trust you've...spoken to him about security."

Catching his meaning immediately, she winced. "Yes. He said he needed time to consider the extra security measures."

"Well, that's perfectly understandable. He's been given another method, but there's already a plan in place. It's like someone handing you an apple, but someone else's already licked it first. He'll either realize the apple is still very good and have a bite, or someone else will get all the apple to themselves and feel like a lucky bastard, which is literally true, come to think of it." The metaphors deepened the more he spoke, and he took care not to get lost in them. This was really quite a bit easier when they could speak plainly like normal people.

"I don't think he wants the apple after...someone else has licked it," she whispered so quietly that Alistair couldn't hear her speak.

He leaned in a little to ask after again, but the turn of his head caught a rather familiar fellow approaching from behind the Inquisitor in time for the song to end. Stepping back, he placed a kiss to the back of her hand graciously, then straightened. "Don't look now, but someone's here for an apple."

"What?" she asked utterly confused.

"Turn around, silly," he grinned, bowing politely as another walked up to them. "Commander, so good to see you. I'm afraid I cannot indulge the Lady in another dance. Would you care to step in?"

Trevelyan's eyes went wide as she turned to face the Commander, fingers curling together nervously.

Cullen bowed his head, fingertips in his scalp above his neck. He did not look to her as he said, "I-if it pleases the Lady Inquisitor."

Looking between them, she was stunned. To have them both so close, each an arm's length away, each knowing well what they were stumbling into...she thought she might faint. Swallowing hard, her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. "It would please me greatly," she breathed.

At that, Alistair grinned at them both. "Then enjoy your evening, Commander. Inquisitor."

When the pair were left alone, the music already starting to play, Cullen extended his hand, eyes finally falling upon her. While awkward, he seemed so determined. Inside, she swooned at the sight of him, praying it all meant what she thought it might.

They danced, and she found him to be better at dancing than she had expected for all he had professed his dislike of it. "How is the evening finding you, Commander?" she asked hurriedly, a little too anxious for them to speak. She hadn't seen him since two days prior, and it had begun to worry her. She even wondered if he'd retreated to Skyhold to escape her.

"It was terrible until now," he smiled, eyes gentle, softening in her presence.

"Oh?" She hoped no one would notice the scarlet heat upon her cheeks.

He did not respond to her small, sighed noise. Instead, they danced in silence, she stewing in her anticipation of his answer to their former conversation. The longer he said nothing, the more she fret, until she was certain that worry was creasing her brow. She did her best to smooth it out and set it right. It made the song they danced to seem incredibly long.

Her attention shifted now, painfully aware of how close they were, the hand at her waist gentle, yet firm. His arms and touch felt so tender it seemed as though he were cradling her across the floor. His scent was spiced with the essence of wood and wheat, of earthen clay and heat. It wafted into her head, dizzying her with its potency.

When the song ended, they bowed to one another politely, doing so more as an excuse to separate themselves from one another, each clearly affected by the other.

"I...think I need some fresh air. Would you care to join me, Lady Inquisitor?" he asked, a strain in his voice she was all too familiar with.

"Yes, I would," she offered a weak smile, her heart racing.

They retreated from the dance hall, but not before she glanced at Alistair, who offered her a sideways glance and sly wink.