Thank you all for reading! Particular thanks to suilven for her careful and thoughtful betaing!
Lilias had worried all the way to Orlais about her lack of suitable garments for a grand ball. Since she was not part of the Inquisition, it wasn't appropriate for her to wear the uniform, and certainly nothing she had packed when she fled Kirkwall and worn while she and Merrill hid away in forests and small farmholds was anywhere near fine enough for a simple dinner in company, much less for the presence of the Empress.
She had worried aloud about it to both Josephine and Leliana, and had found neither of them particularly receptive to her concerns. Frankly, Lilias thought that was rather strange, given that both of them were adept players of the Game. Then it occurred to her that perhaps the very rusticity of her was part of their plan, that they intended her to be a distraction, a country bumpkin drawing the stares of the Orlesian nobles. She supposed she was all right with that, although she would have preferred if they'd spoken to her before assigning her the role of public embarrassment.
But the morning of the ball a knock came at the door of the room she'd been given, and when she opened it, a slender dark-haired elf in fine livery stood there, holding a pile of parcels. "Lilias Hawke?" the elf said, her accent silky Orlesian at its best.
"Yes?"
"These are for you."
"These what?" Lilias asked suspiciously.
The elf waited, staring at her pointedly, until Lilias stepped back from the doorway and let her in, and then she began laying out the parcels on the bed. "My name is Olette. I am from the shop of Madame Pretain, the finest dressmaker in Orlais."
Lilias had never heard of Madame Pretain, and she thought the claim to being the finest dressmaker in Orlais sounded like typical Orlesian hyperbole, but she kept her thoughts to herself and responded with a noncommittal, "Oh, yes?"
"Yes." Olette looked down her nose at Lilias—quite a feat, considering Lilias had a good five inches on her. "I do not have all day, messere."
"All day?"
With an eloquent, and impatient gesture, Olette indicated that Lilias was to get undressed.
"I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're doing here."
"Ah. I almost forgot. A thousand apologies." Olette produced a card from inside her sleeve and handed it to Lilias with a flourish.
In Varric's familiar flowing script, it said, "Hawke—knock 'em dead. Possibly literally." Lilias smiled. Typical Varric, making an extravagant gesture that she couldn't refuse, looking out for her when she had neglected to look out for herself, and not even being here so she could hug him. She would hug the stuffing out of him when she got back to Skyhold, she promised herself. "All right, Olette, where do we begin?"
"You disrobe, messere. And quickly—we haven't much time."
The dress was utterly beautiful—a rich blue brocade with figures in black velvet, a black velvet overdress, and a high cowl of the brocade that framed Lilias's face. Somehow Varric had managed to find fabric that matched her eyes from a country away. It reminded her of Bethany, and a foolish bet Bethany and Varric had carried on that she would never find fabric that matched her eyes in the marketplace. But instead of making her weep, it made Lilias feel that perhaps her sister was still with her, in some sense, that she hadn't lost her entirely. Bless Varric, she thought.
When Olette was done arranging Lilias's hair so that most of it was up, but part tumbled in barely-tamed curls down the side of her neck, she hardly recognized herself. This was an entirely different woman, tall and graceful and elegant. This woman could appear at the side of a king without embarrassing herself, she could claim the name of Champion of Kirkwall and be believed … and specially made pockets allowed her to still carry her daggers where she could get at them.
Olette even allowed herself a small smile when she surveyed her handiwork. She declined the coins Lilias tried to press into her hands, saying she had already been well paid by Messere Tethras, and she left Lilias standing in the middle of the room feeling for the first time in years as though she knew who she was.
Thule straightened his jacket as they all stood before the grand main gates outside the palace grounds. Once more he wished for Varric. His fellow dwarf's self-possession in every moment, his blithe assurance that he was the equal of any man from his own height up to the Iron Bull's, would have been quite useful right now, because Thule felt miserably conspicuous amongst all these tall humans.
The gates opened, and Josephine presented the collection of their invitations to the guards there, who bowed formally as the Inquisition entered as a body. Vivienne, elegant in her uniform, Leliana, practically humming with excitement, Josephine, looking unaccountably nervous. Alistair in his kingly finery and Lilias looking regal herself in a remarkably grand gown. Nathaniel Howe in his Grey Warden armor, dour and bitter-looking. Sera was nowhere to be seen already, no doubt off with her friends, and Thule rather regretted that. Sera at his side would make him look marginally less ridiculous.
Cullen wore the uniform well, and was covering his considerable nervousness better than Thule would have expected. And Cassandra, so tall and so beautiful and so completely disgusted with everything to do with this ball—and yet looking so much as though she belonged here.
Thule felt a chill of despair. What was he thinking? She had been right to suggest he couldn't woo her. He was a child of the Stone and she was of the stars, soaring so far above his head he had no right to so much as reach in her direction.
As soon as he entered, the whispers started. Stage whispers, meant for him to hear. "A dwarf, the Herald of Andraste? The Inquisition has an odd sense of humor." And more along the same lines, making him feel small and foolish and out of place.
Cassandra glared at all and sundry. "Do not listen to them, the small-minded inbred imbeciles," she told him. "We all know your quality, as does the entirety of the Inquisition. There is no one else I would be so proud to have lead us."
She stalked off into the crowd, nodding coolly at those who greeted her. Thule watched her go, feeling a warm glow. She wouldn't have said it if she didn't think it; Cassandra had many talents, but the ability to tell a polite fiction wasn't among them.
Cullen clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I heartily concur. Ah," he said, lifting his chin in the direction of the main gates. "I see Grand Duke Gaspard. No doubt he wishes to greet you, since he was the one who procured our invitations. Shall we?"
"No time like the present," Thule said stoutly, but inwardly he sighed and tried to count the hours until this nightmare could reasonably be over and he could take his people home to Skyhold.
Cullen approached the Grand Duke, the Inquisitor at his side. To his credit, Gaspard made it seem as though he entertained dwarves every day, neither looking down his nose at Thule nor raising his voice to be heard from the distance between their heights, as Cullen had seen others do. Embarrassing, even when done well-meaningly.
It impressed Cullen every time he left Skyhold with the Inquisitor, rare as those occasions were, what self-possession he carried himself with. No one would have guessed, looking at him now, bowing so formally to Gaspard, that less than a year ago he had been nothing more than a minor operative within the Carta.
That the Grand Duke thought that the Inquisition courting his invitation to the ball meant support for him in the civil war was evident. Cullen admitted he rather preferred Gaspard as the leader of Orlais himself. As a former chevalier, Gaspard was less likely to look to Ferelden to conquer—he would prefer a more challenging foe with an army in better array, someone like Nevarra, for example, which would relieve the pressure on Ferelden immensely.
"Inquisitor Cadash," Gaspard was saying, the smile underneath his mask looking almost genuine. "From the stories I've heard, you were hewn from solid steel and carry a thousand daggers."
Thule nodded, returning the smile with his own open one. Cullen had learned that more lurked behind that genial exterior than one might imagine; let Orlais underestimate the Inquisitor at her own cost. "You wouldn't believe how difficult it is to hide a thousand daggers in this jacket. I don't imagine I'll do much sitting tonight," Thule said.
Gaspard chuckled. "Nor will many of us, I would imagine. An Orlesian ball is many wonderful things, but restful is not one of them."
"No, I don't imagine so," Cullen said. "Commander Cullen Rutherford, at your service."
"Of course! Formerly of the Templars. I may have questions for you, Commander," Gaspard said. "I have always been curious to know more about the Templar order."
Feeling he was being subtly baited, Cullen concentrated on keeping his posture relaxed and the smile fixed on his face. "I would be delighted to answer your questions, of course."
"Or perhaps you could both regale me with the tale of battling an army of demons in the Western Approach. How we would have liked to have joined you in ridding our lands of such a pestilence! And brought on by the Grey Wardens, of all people." Gaspard tutted in disappointment. "So much for heroes of legend."
"Even heroes occasionally have feet of clay," Thule remarked. "The Grey Wardens deserve our compassion."
"Naturally so. Still, such a coup for the Inquisition. Imagine what the Inquisition and Orlais could accomplish together! Orlais under the rule of her rightful Emperor, that is."
"Is that an offer, or the prelude to a negotiation?" Thule was still smiling, but there was an edge to his tone. "I learned early on that nothing worth having comes for free."
Gaspard gave the Inquisitor a slow nod. "An astute observation. Let me say this, for now—I am not a man who forgets his friends. You help me, I will help you."
They were drifting toward the main gates, moving slowly amongst the crowds gathered near the fountains.
"Are you prepared to shock the assembly by appearing as the guest of a hateful usurper, Inquisitor? They will be telling stories of us into the next age," Gaspard remarked.
"My pleasure, Duke Gaspard. I always appreciate the opportunity to be part of a good story … and I look forward to being of assistance in ending the civil war. Orlais has seen enough blood shed."
There would be more yet to come, Cullen knew. Gaspard no doubt knew it, too—that there were Red Templars spread throughout southern Orlais, that rifts were still open in many places. The Inquisition still had a great deal of work left to do in Orlais, and many people still were in danger. It was hard to imagine on this peaceful night, with the faint splashing of the water in the fountain and the air perfumed with magnolia and roses.
Gaspard didn't make mention of any of the pressing matters that still called for the Inquisition's aid, however. He merely nodded in agreement, saying, "I could not agree with you more, my friend. The Empire needs stability, security, and peace. Now more than ever." He hesitated. "If you truly do care about the safety of the Orlesian people, Inquisitor, perhaps … perhaps I could convince you to look into something for me?"
"Such as?"
"This elven woman Briala. I do not trust her. I suspect she intends to disrupt the negotiations, for reasons of her own. Perhaps you could discreetly ask around, find out her plans before she can set them into motion?"
"I intend to discover many things this evening, my lord. Certainly secret plans to disrupt the negotiations should be amongst them."
With an expression unmistakably serious, Gaspard tilted his mask up so he could look Thule full in the face. "Be careful, Inquisitor. I detest the Game, that is no secret, but if we do not play it well … let us just say that making us look like villains is the least of the things our enemies could do. Do not underestimate them—they are expert players." He let the mask fall again, and in a louder voice, said, "We are keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor. Shall we?"
Thule gestured for him to lead the way. "Indeed we shall."
Cullen followed them both, looking around him and wondering which of the many people around them was plotting their deaths. Perhaps it was all.
He would be very happy to find himself back at Skyhold again.