No one knows who invited the dwarf.

He circulates among the other guests with ease, as though he belongs here. Here, at the most exclusive subscription ball in Minrathous. It's so absurd it's actually amusing. Admittedly, he's something of a charmer, this dwarf – in a coarse, thoroughly impertinent sort of way. You'd have to be, Cressia supposes, to get away with that outfit. He bares his chest like a pirate, this one. On purpose. Cressia scans the dancers, as if she might divine on whose robe hem this ridiculous but admittedly entertaining creature has ridden in. A dwarf at the Matriarchs Ball. Honestly.

Still, it's better than an elf.

Cressia nearly choked on her iced champagne when she first spotted him. There's no mistaking him for an ordinary servant, dressed as he is. His clothes are not only fine, they're painfully chic. It's really quite pathetic. His owner is clearly besotted. Cressia would have been able to tell just by looking at the elf, how well kept he is. But the magister in question also hasn't left the rattus's side, and the looks he gives him. It's beyond humiliating. It's disgusting.

"You look like a lady who needs her drink refreshed." It's the dwarf again. Cressia finds herself smiling at him. He really is quite charming.

"You're quite right about that," she says, accepting the fresh glass he's offering. "And thank you."

"Something not to your liking?"

Cressia shoots him a look of faint reproof. This is not how one approaches a lady with whom one is not acquainted. Then again, he's a dwarf; Cressia supposes allowances must be made. "I haven't had the pleasure of your name," she says pointedly.

"Forgive me. Terribly rude." He bows, but there's more than a whiff of irony in it. "Varric Tethras. Rogue and… Viscount of Kirkwall, I guess." He says this last part reluctantly. Cressia, for her part, feels thoroughly vindicated in her low opinion of the Free Marches. "I'm a guest of Magister Maevaris Tilani. And you are?"

Aha. Maevaris. Cressia might have known. She'd warned the other ladies what would happen if they made that one a Matriarch. Maker only knows who she'll allow through our doors, ladies. Is she perhaps responsible for the elf as well?

Cressia holds out her gloved hand daintily. "Lady Cressia Magnolia Marcellus." She waits for the appropriate reaction, but it doesn't come. Well. Foolish of her to expect the dwarf to know anything about Minrathous society.

"Nice to meet you," the dwarf says, and that's all.

"As to your question, something is indeed very much not to my liking." Cressia narrows her eyes as she watches the besotted Magister Pavus slip an arm around the elf's waist. Really, it is too much. He is free to do as he wishes in the privacy of his own estate. To dress up his doll and play house to his heart's content. But this is the Matriarchs Ball. The most prestigious event of the social season. Where is Aquinea? Why hasn't she put a stop to this nonsense?

The dwarf follows her gaze. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess it's the elf that's got that steam coming out of your ears."

"It's preposterous," she says, waving her champagne so violently that she sends a few droplets sailing over her shoulder. "Truly, today's young people have no idea how to participate properly in society."

"Sparkles never has been one for convention," the dwarf remarks idly.

Cressia frowns. "I'm sorry? Whom, pray, is Sparkles?"

"Oh, that's just my nickname for Magister Pavus. It used to be Sparkler, but now… well, it's a long story."

Cressia makes a sound somewhere between surprise and disapproval. "You're acquainted with the young man?"

"You might say that. We served in the Inquisition together."

"Then perhaps you might enlighten me as to who has invited him to this occasion? Was it Maevaris Tilani?" If so, she has a great deal to answer for.

"I'm afraid I can't help you there. Could've been anyone, though. Those two have a lot of friends right now."

Maevaris has always had a lot of friends, but if Pavus does as well, that is news to Cressia. To the extent that she recalls the young man, it's as something of an outcast. "Whatever friends they may have had, I am quite sure they will find the social landscape has shifted by tomorrow. Honestly, bedding one's slaves is one thing, but trotting them out like prized ponies for all to see? It's positively vulgar."

The dwarf actually laughs at that. "Are you talking about Sparkles and Frosty? You realize they're married, right?"

For the first time in this conversation, Cressia gives the dwarf her full attention. "I beg your pardon?"

"Magister Pavus and Inquisitor Lavellan. Don't you read Lady Thistletongue?"

Cressia blinks. "Of course, but I've been upcountry for weeks. I haven't…" She trails off, her glance straying back to the pretty young men on the far side of the ballroom. "Inquisitor Lavellan?" she echoes incredulously. "The man who slew Corypheus?"

"I can introduce you, if you like."

"Certainly not!" Cressia snaps, a little too loudly. Heads turn, and she takes a hasty sip of champagne, ignoring the flash of heat in her cheeks.

"Well, it's been nice chatting with you, Lady… What was your name again? Cassie? Have a nice evening." The dwarf strolls off, whistling.

Cressia, for her part, calls for whiskey.