Author's note: The rating just went up to M with this chapter. And there's so much Orlesian that I'm not going to translate all of it for you. Pretty sure it's intuitive, anyway. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!

Chapter Ten: Great Things are Beginning

Lace and I did manage to enjoy the rest of our journey up to Ghislain. We stopped for the night in Montfort, somehow finding the most raucous inn in all of northern Orlais. There were only three rooms available, so the guards and drivers piled into two of them, and Lace and I shared the third. After we settled the sleeping arrangements, we walked into the tavern to get a meal, and I was treated with the most glorious sight I'd seen in months, if not years. The tables were pushed to the sides of the tavern, and a full band, with pipes, and flutes, and viols, and drums were at the head of the room, working a full dance floor into a frenzy of allemandes and courantes… I think I even heard a bourée in there. Lace grabbed my hand as soon as we saw what was going on, and we jumped right in.

The other dancers were good, if a bit tipsy, but it was just at the point where the Allemande was exuberant, but no one was falling on their asses or getting their arms tangled up. Then when the band leader called out "Tourdion," I let out a very un-Herald-like squeal, matched only by Lace's. Val Royeaux had only had the tourdion for the last year or two. It had only reached Denerim a month before the conclave. I have no idea where Lace heard it, but I wasn't about to ask. We were both bouncing on our heels as the music started, and I thought she was going to dislocate my shoulder when we went into the center for the first time. But watching her twirl from hand to hand like she was floating on air was breathtaking. And when I was being passed around the circle, I watched her smiling face with every turn.

The band took a break about a half-hour after Lace and I got there, and she and I collapsed into a chair in a sweaty, tangled pile of giggles, before she rolled off my lap and onto the chair next to mine.

"Nessa? Have we been drinking? We haven't been drinking, have we?" she asked. I just roared with laughter.

"No, but that changes now. 'Messere?'" I called. "Un bouteille de vin rouge, s'il vous plait! Et deux, um… cups!"

"I'm really more of an ale girl myself, Nessa," Lace said. "Don't get too many fancy wines in Redcliffe."

"Me, too," I replied. "The only wine you get in the Alienage comes from the back of Alarith's shop, and I'm not sure he even knows what a grape looks like. But when's the next time we're going to be in Montfort, right?"

A large bottle of wine and two beautiful cut glasses were placed between us, followed quickly by a bowl of coq au vin for each of us.

"Compliments of the hostess, my Lady Herald," the waiter said. "For you and your lovely companion."

"Oh, I'm not –" Lace began.

"You are, too, lovely," I said, cutting her off with a grin, and she responded by snort-laughing into her bowl.

"You see? Very lovely," I replied, laughing. "Merci bien, messere," I said back to the waiter. "Please pass on the Inquisition's gratitude." The waiter bowed officiously, trying very hard not to smile, and I tucked into the chicken.

"Look at you, Nessa!" Lace said, swatting my arm and getting red wine sauce splatter on my tunic. "Please pass along the Inquisition's gratitude.' You were so official-sounding, I almost thought you were Josephine for a moment."

"Ha. No, if I were her, I'd've rolled those Rs in 'gratitude' so Antivan-ly that the waiter would still be here feeding us the chicken by hand."

"Her voice is something else, isn't it?" Lace agreed.

"Confession time? When I first got to the Inquisition, I would ask her two or three times a week where Seeker Pentaghast is from, just so I could hear her say 'Nevarrrrra.'"

"You did not! Oh, you are so bad."

"I think by the last time she'd caught on, because she was giving a little extra to the r. Completely worth it, though."

"You know who has a really hot voice though?" Lace asked. "Sister Nightingale. I mean, she'll probably have me killed in my sleep for saying this out loud in public, but that Val Royeaux accent is just so… yummy."

"Ooh, you're right," I replied. Lace chuckled.

"Oh, you have a thing for Orlesian accents, too?"

"Nah. You get sick of them working in the Chantry. But you're right that she's going to kill you for calling her voice 'yummy.'" Lace buried her face in her hand.

"She is, isn't she?"

"Probably. So, drink up, I think they're going to start the music again."

We'd held it to the one bottle that night, so our aches and pains the next morning were more from the dancing than from the wine. But we weren't the only ones who'd been in need of a party, so by the time we found in which room and with whom everyone had been sleeping, had some breakfast, packed up the carriage, tripled the horseminder's usual fee, and hit the road for Ghislain, it was mid-morning. We wanted to get there by early evening, but now it looked like it might be after dark before we arrived.

"Okay, so I need to know," I asked Lace as soon as we'd cleared Montfort and hit the open road, "where did you learn to dance like that?"

"Oh, that?" she said with a wink of false modesty, "That wasn't dancing. When we get to Madame de Fer's salon, I'll show you some dancing."

She said that with a smile, and, honestly, I wanted to take it that way. But I knew what she said, even if she hadn't meant it. The dancing in Ghislain was going to be nothing like the party in Montfort. There were expectations of propriety which, especially as un lapin sauvage (and I just adore how Orlesian manages to remove our gender with its favorite elven slur), I would be mandated to, expected not to, and at all times impeded from upholding.

I must have been sitting with an awful brood on my face, because Lace reached across the carriage to grab my hands.

"Okay, what's going on in that head of yours?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Bullshit."

"The insubordination around here, I swear!" I quipped. Lace wasn't having any of that, however.

"Okay, 'Bullshit, your worship.' You're nervous about tonight, aren't you?"

"A little," I replied, and in my defense, it was a bit more than just a party, "but I'll be okay, honestly."

"Why is it that any time someone ends a sentence with 'honestly,' that's how you know not to believe them?"

"I'll be fine, Lace. You'll be there, right?" I wasn't going to be fine, but if this conversation went on any longer, I was going to be even worse.

"Yeah, I will," she said, giving my hands a final squeeze before retreating to her side of the carriage. I think she knew I was brushing her off, but she was either too fed up with my moods to persist, or she recognized I needed a moment. I chose to believe the latter.

As it happens, she was there, just as she promised. And that turned out to be a very good thing. The light small-talk we made for the following few hours had helped to distract me, but once we were shown to the guest quarters and were separated, the nerves returned. And while it was amusing to be assigned a human valet, she wasn't really going to help get my head screwed on straight, so I sent her away.

Lace was waiting for me in the foyer when it was time for introductions. We showed up 20 minutes after the appointed time, which was a power move, but a fully expected, if not required power move from people representing the Inquisition.

"Mistress Nessa Ghilani, The Herald of Our Lady Andraste, representing the Inquisition."

There was an audible gasp when the footman called me the 'Herald,' and I froze in place. 'Shit. That's me,' I thought. Then Lace gave a firm push to my backside, and I started walking in, until I heard,

"Accompanying her, Mistress Lace Harding of Redcliffe, Scout Lieutenant of the Inquisition."

I waited for her to catch up, extending my elbow for her to slip her arm into. It wasn't generally the way things were done, but neither was having an elf and a dwarf walk into a high society salon. Lace took the hint, and we walked in together.

Once we got there, it was all about the small talk. Lace was perfect, setting me up to tell stories, telling people I was being modest, and seeming to hang on my every word when I did speak. With her help, my shyness became mystery, and I soon had a dozen masked shems enraptured by the story of my killing the demon that was possessing a pack of wolves near Redcliffe Farms.

All was going well – phenomenally well – much better than I'd thought possible, in fact. That is, until Marquise Alphonse du Mont-de-Glace showed up with a cocky strut and a patronizing slow-clap.

"Brava," he said, just loud enough to be heard over the low din of the rest of the guests. "Formidable. I am so pleased we have such an expert storyteller with us this evening."

"And you are…?" I asked, feeling a bit more confident than I had when I walked in.

"I am the one who will expose your pig-shit Inquisition for what it really is."

Ah. A bully. I had run into plenty of bullies in my days running lyrium in Denerim. This one was just dressed a bit nicer. Lace put a hand on my shoulder to calm me, and I smiled. I turned to her, whispered in her ear, "Don't worry, I've dealt with plenty of his kind," and stroked her cheek, looking fondly into her eyes, then at her lips. She blushed, then her eyes went wide, and she hit me with a quick, but unmistakable glare, right before she plastered her grin back on.

"Be careful."

I wasn't entirely sure what she was referring to at that moment, but I nodded and smiled and walk towards the marquis.

"What's your point, Marquis?" I asked. "Are you trying to pick a fight? Because calling out the Inquisition really isn't the way to do it."

"Do they let you fight, my lady? I would think that the Inquisition would want to keep their pet Rabbit safer than that."

The crowd – and by this time there was a crowd – became silent when he called me that. He'd lost them, so all I needed to do was not be baited into a fight, and this would be over.

"Or is that what your companion is for?" he continued. "Tell me, do they charge extra for the 'Scout Lieutenant' title at the Pearl?"

In about a second and a half I had crossed the five meters separating us, tossed away his rapier, pinned his right arm against his back, and held the small knife Sylvie had packed into my breeches up to his neck, drawing a trickle of blood as I opened a tiny cut. So much for not getting baited.

"Apologize, asshole, and I might make it quick," I growled. "You have three seconds. Three, t-"

Suddenly the marquis felt like a block of ice, and I jumped back from him. Slinking down the stairs was a woman who I could only imagine was our hostess. I backed up a few more steps and sheathed the knife.

"My dear, that ensemble is far too fetching to be soiled by this man's blood. Please, allow me." She snapped her fingers, and the marquis's lifeless body slumped to the floor. I looked back to the crowd to see that Lace had just made a hasty exit. I moved to follow her, but Madame de Fer placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't worry, dear, your friend will be well attended to. Meanwhile, you and I have business to discuss."

We began walking towards a side office when she turned around to greet the still quiet party.

"My lords and ladies, please forgive this terrible interruption. Apparently, I need to do a better job of managing my guest lists. Maestro? Now would be an excellent time to begin the dance. Perhaps an arabesque? And could someone clean up that mess?"

The apologies came streaming out of my mouth as soon as the door closed behind me.

"Madame de Fer, I am so sorry for that. He just –" She cut me off with a wave of her hand and a slight chuckle.

"First of all, darling, you showed incredible restraint for someone your age. Had that been me twenty years ago, he would have been a smear on the floor before the second word came out of his mouth."

I nodded in reply and smiled, imagining that scene.

"And secondly, while I can't say the title 'Madame de Fer' isn't delightful, it's not generally something people call me to my face. Please feel free to call me Vivienne. 'Lady Vivienne' if you absolutely must, 'Enchanter Vivienne' if the mood strikes, but as we are, for the time being, societal peers, simply calling me Vivienne is most appropriate."

I looked at her with my mouth agape.

"Oh yes, dear. Societal peers. You are, after all, the Herald of Andraste. And as the Inquisition grows in stature, I suspect I shall one day find myself lucky to call you one of my acquaintances. But that's not why I invited you here."

Right. Business. "Why did you invite me here, then, Vivienne?"

"With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause."

"Well, we already have an ambassador, and she keeps us on our toes regarding etiquette and…"

"Oh no, my dear. While I do have a keen knowledge of The Game, it is not simply my mind and my connections I'm offering, but my staff. You may be able to shiv a rogue templar without him knowing you're there, but I can send a bolt of lightning through him from 50 meters away."

"You know that we sleep in tents while we're out in the field, right?"

"Well, perhaps you do, but I shall require a retinue of no fewer than four footmen and a carriage with two horses to carry me and my accoutrements through the countryside."

I began to think of a polite way to let her down. The horses would be spooked by demons, and the footmen would be four more people to guard, and –

"That was a joke."

"Right, of course. Anyway, the Inquisition would love to have you – it would be ridiculous for us not to, if I'm honest. When can you meet us in Haven?"

"Great things are beginning, my dear," she replied. "I can promise you that. It will take me a day or two to make arrangements here, and then I shall meet you in the Frostbacks. Meanwhile, you should see about your friend. Don't worry, I will make your apologies here."

I slipped into the shadows after I got back into the ballroom and made my way toward the exit. It was easier to hide once I found my way to the chateau's guest quarters, and I quickly made it to Lace's chambers.

"Lace? Lace, can I come in, please?"

Lace opened the door for me. She'd changed into her nightgown, taken the pins out of her hair, and this was not at all helping my quest to stay chaste in our relationship. I stammered a bit before she invited me in and had me take a seat at her vanity.

"Lace, I'm – er, I'm really sorry about that down there. I know you said -"

"You know they're all going to be talking about us, right? This is Orlais – this bit of gossip, the elven Herald and her dwarf lover – this is the best thing they've had in ages. Sister Nightingale's probably already heard about it."

"But we didn't –"

"That look you gave me before you faced down the Marquis? Then the way you rushed to defend my honor? And now you're in my chambers? What's real doesn't matter when you have facts like that."

"I just want you to know that I didn't mean to…"

"No one's ever done that for me before," she continued, walking over to me and sitting on my lap. "No one's ever stood up for me like that. And you looked like you wanted to kiss me. That could get a girl to thinking. That could get a girl more than thinking…"

"I did want to kiss you," I replied, still a bit unsure. She smiled, stood up, and pulled her nightgown over her head, then straddled my lap completely naked with her arms around my neck.

"I hope you want to do more than that."

I did, and I didn't need a second invitation. I pulled her face towards mine and kissed her with every bit of passion I'd been saving up since I first met her at that campsite near Redcliffe. She reached around my back and undid the buckles on my tunic, sliding it off and tossing it to the side. She then took the knife out of my breeches and cut my breastband off, tossing the now useless fabric and the knife onto my leather armor.

"I'll buy you a new one," she said, her voice muffled by my breasts. "Now get out of the rest of that and take me to bed."

We stood up and stumbled over to the annoyingly high bed. The buckles and laces which had taken so long to fasten a few hours earlier came apart much more quickly, and my breeches and boots fell to the floor along with my smalls.

I climbed up to join her on top of the bed. It was plush and luxurious, but there was far too much going on with pillows and lace things, all of which I threw to the floor as I fell on top of her.

"You know," she said, struggling to form words as I slowly ran my tongue up the inside of her thigh, "I meant what I said yesterday about… about how we shouldn't do this."

"Mm-hmm," I replied, as her hands began to claw at the bedspread underneath her.

"I'm seri – oh Maker!" she cried out as my mouth found her center, and my tongue danced on the bundle of nerves at the top.

"Nessa, I'm – I'm serious. We can't… we… Oh sweet Andraste right there!" She gave up trying to talk as I slid two fingers inside her while my tongue still worked on her clit. Her climax was loud enough that if anyone in the chateau hadn't thought Lace and I were an item before, they certainly thought so now. As her breathing slowed, I crawled out from between her legs and nestled myself into the crook of her shoulder.

"Nessa, I… we…"

"Ssh," I said, placing a finger on her lips. "I know what this is, and what it isn't. And I know what I want, and I'm willing to wait for it."

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I want you," I replied. "All of you. And I'm pretty sure you feel the same. And I get why you're nervous about that, and I won't make things more difficult than they have to be. Just know that I'm waiting. When you're ready, I'll be here."

Lace looked up at the ceiling and let go a grunt that Cassandra herself would be proud of, before rolling on top of me and kissing me soundly.

"You're not making this whole cool, detached 'it's just sex' thing I was hoping for very easy, you know," she said. I grinned.

"I said I wouldn't make things more difficult, Lace. I didn't say I'd make them easy."