"Madame Vivienne." Ambassador Montilyet's voice was forever gracious, as if she had been raised since childhood to be a tiny hostess, as if she had never had an ill thought about a body in her life. The way Vivienne worked in ice, Josephine worked in gentility (she had other weapons too, though, and Vivienne quite enjoyed Leliana's tales of those). "It's always a pleasure to see you." Such formalities were hardly in short supply among the nobility, yet in Josephine's warm voice, even Vivienne was tempted to believe it. Lovely Josephine—perhaps she was even genuine. "Although…I sense this is not a visit merely for personal pleasure." She gestured, and Vivienne lowered herself into the seat before Lady Montilyet's desk. A cozy fire crackled in Josephine's hearth, which gave the room a welcoming glow in all but the warmest of Skyhold's summer days, and there was a stack of recently-stamped letters stacked aside on Josephine's wide desk, awaiting delivery to the rookery to be sent out. For all her busyness, Josephine kept a remarkably organized workspace.
"I'm afraid not, dear," Vivienne said. "We must talk about Guinevere."
"Yes…I had hoped things would calm down after Corypheus' defeat, but there are still many who seek her audience, the attention of the Inquisition…" Josephine frowned, the picture of a concerned friend, but it wasn't the inquisitor's friend Vivienne wanted to talk to—it was the ambassador.
"I'm more concerned with other things," Vivienne told her frankly. "You may be young, but you're a woman. You must have noticed that she's…in a delicate condition." Ambassador Montilyet's hand jerked so quickly to the side she overturned her inkwell and had to scramble to tip it upright again, and she snapped her eyes up to Vivienne's.
"What?"
"Oh. I'm sorry my dear, I thought you knew," Vivienne said, mildly surprised. But then, there was so much that drew Ambassador Montilyet's attention, perhaps she could not be faulted for failing to notice Guinevere's state. How sweet—she did seem truly taken aback.
"Wh…are you certain?"
"Positive."
"But she's not married!" This wasn't to inform Vivienne of something she already knew, so much as it was an exclamation of dismay.
"I know." And the way Vivienne said it was enough to tell Ambassador Montilyet she knew what that meant. If it got out, the scandal! Suddenly it wouldn't matter what she had accomplished, what she was still doing—only that the elven inquisitor had conceived a child out of wedlock, with no prospect on the horizon, because neither Josephine nor Vivienne needed to guess twice about who the father might be, and not even the indominable Leliana had been able to track him down since he vanished from their world as cleanly and completely as a rabbit from the hat of a court magician.
"In any case, she told me herself this morning." That would make the conversation slightly easier—they weren't breaking anything to Guinevere she didn't already know. And Vivienne knew that if she had admitted it, she had probably already given considerable thought to what the ripple effect would be. "We need a plan."
"Oh, dear." Josephine bit the inside of her cheek, and Vivienne could see the gears turning in her mind, churning out half-formed plans and casting them away as unsuitable in the same breath. "We need to get her out of Skyhold."
"You mean to confine her somewhere?"
"You disagree?" The ambassador must have picked it up from Vivienne's tone; her eyes refocused on the former Enchanter to the Imperial Court and she waited.
"I think to remove her from her position is to invite even worse speculation," Vivienne said candidly. "You know how these things go. The moment word gets out that she has retired from the public eye, there will be stories from every which way about what terrible thing has caused her retreat."
"But stories only," Josephine countered. "They will have no evidence, and many will dismiss them as rumor."
"But many will not, and given the high-profile nature of dear Guinevere's position, there are many who are eager to see her fall to scandal. She is still an elf, and a mage, and a potential threat. And even if she were not, there is nothing the gossip mill enjoys more than tearing down the high and mighty."
"If we seclude her, we can possibly…" Ambassador Montilyet trailed off, a frown tugging down the corners of her mouth, a slight furrow in her brow. Even she had no taste for whatever she meant to propose, which did not make it hard to speculate.
"Do away with the child?" Vivienne guessed. Secreting away a pregnant woman and putting the child with a different family once it was born to avoid scandal was hardly an untried technique. "Do you really think Guinevere would part with it?"
"No," Josephine sighed. The furrow deepened briefly, and she looked again to Vivienne. "What would you have us do?"
"I think we would do better to keep her here, and conceal it as best we can," Vivienne said. "Avoid the gossip as long as possible, keep her safe from anyone who might wish her harm in such a state, and once it's born, she will simply have to claim it. We cannot both keep the child a secret, and keep Guinevere in touch with it. You know her; you know she would never willingly part with a child of her blood to be raised with another family. Everyone will know it's hers; we will simply have to act as if she has done nothing wrong." Furthermore, by keeping her in her position, if there were any accusations of potential scandal, they could simply shrug off any suggestion they were keeping secrets—after all, the inquisitor was right there! If no one noticed she was with child, that was not the Inquisition's fault. They could hardly be blamed for the myopic view of those who failed to see what was right in front of them!
"But what people will say!" Josephine lamented. "Oh…" She rubbed her forehead, and Vivienne could see her inwardly wailing at the damage to the pristine reputation she had fought so hard to create for the inquisitor.
"It would be easier on all of us if this hadn't happened," Vivienne acknowledged with a sympathetic look. "Guinevere is well aware of that. But it has, so we must manage it as best we can. If there are questions, we must deflect by reminding them of all the good she has done as Inquisitor, and all the work the Inquisition continues to do."
"I know you're right," Ambassador Montilyet replied. "But I had hoped we'd seen our last scandal with Blackwall…Life is rarely so clean cut," she added with chagrin.
"Indeed it is not."
"…so we think the best thing is to keep you here, and keep you about your duties as long as we can," Josephine concluded, clasping her hands in front of her before her desk. Guinevere nodded, steadily avoiding the ambassador's gaze with her arms folded across her chest, hands grasping her elbows, as she had been doing since she entered, like a child called before a guardian to be scolded.
"You're not being punished, my dear," Vivienne told her gently, putting her hands lightly on Guinevere's upper arms from just behind her. "You know there are those who would seek to take advantage of your vulnerable state; by keeping it amongst ourselves, we prevent that. Once the child is born, there is no question that you will claim it."
Guinevere swallowed hard, and gave another terse nod. Vivienne had never approved of Guinevere's relationship with Solas, in large part because she did not consider Solas worthy of it (and she was proven right when he fled in the immediate aftermath of Corypheus' defeat, after breaking Guinevere's heart), but there was still a sharp ache in her breast for the hunch of her friend's shoulders and the closed look of her face. Sentimentality is not an option, she had once told Guinevere. Not for those who value survival. And yet…if not for Guinevere's sentimentality, Vivienne might have missed her last moments with Bastien, chasing that cure on her own. On that, she could not put a value.
"I will have to have new clothes." Guinevere said it so quietly the first time that Josephine had to ask her to repeat herself.
"Yes, of course," Vivienne agreed at once, stepping away and moving to look Guinevere over from the front. "With your frame, we'll need to tailor them carefully, but I think it can be done. It will get harder with time, of course, but one step at a time."
"Who can do it?" Guinevere turned a hopeful gaze on Vivienne, who had to shake her head.
"You need someone with more precision than I can offer you for this. But I have someone in mind, and she can be discreet. And we can give her some extra incentive." Guinevere groaned quietly and covered her face with her good hand.
"This is already spreading," she said. "How will we ever keep it between us? Does Leliana know?"
"I told no one but Ambassador Montilyet," Vivienne assured her.
"Leliana should know," Guinevere murmured.
The months since the culmination of their ultimate battle had been as a storm-tossed sea. Guinevere had not yet finished mourning Dorian's departure back to Tevinter when she came to Vivienne with the news of the baby, and she looked worn out, for which Vivienne could hardly blame her. She bolstered and encouraged her as much as she could, but she was concerned Guinevere was reaching a breaking point. Perhaps, said a thought in the back of her mind, it would not be such a bad thing if she returned home.
"We'll tell her," Josephine said.
"I can tell her," Guinevere said. "This is my problem. I should tell her. I should…" She took in a deep breath. "Well, I suppose I can wait to tell Keeper Deshanna until after…" Yes, that was another thing—she had been away from her clan over two years by then. What feeling that inspired in her, Vivienne could not imagine, but Guinevere had spoken so often and so fondly of them, she knew that her prolonged absence must trouble her (separate and apart from any political crises taking place in which her clan centered).
"You might invite her to come visit Skyhold," Vivienne suggested. To see the baby, she didn't say. "It is, after all, your castle." Almost to Vivienne's surprise, that seemed to work to perk Guinevere up a bit.
"Yes, maybe I could do that," she agreed, though she appeared unconvinced by the characterization of Skyhold. "Vivienne…when can you bring this tailor in?"
"I'll write her today," Vivienne promised.
"And inquisitor—" Guinevere winced at the title, "—please remember, we are on your side," Ambassador Montilyet said. "If there is another way you prefer to do things, we can discuss that. We want to help you." Another dispassionate nod.
"I'm just sorry I got us into this mess, and for…" She heaved a sigh and shook her head.
"These things happen," Josephine said, softening her voice. "Not infrequently. You are not alone in this, inquisitor. Guinevere."
"I can't thank you enough for this," Guinevere said lowly, looking at the two women. "I don't know what I would do without you. Leave the Inquisition, I suppose."
"It's no trouble," Josephine said at the same time Vivienne replied, "We do these things for our friends, dear."
"Still," Guinevere insisted, a touch of hoarseness in her voice. "I…I am grateful. I fear I will never be able to properly thank you for everything you've done since the Inquisition was formed."
"We're a team," Ambassador Montilyet said firmly. "This is no different than any other situation we've faced." A watery smile crossed Guinevere's face.
"Why don't we get you something warm to drink?" Vivienne suggested, gesturing out of the ambassador's office. "We can consider some possible designs to give Aurelie when she arrives." Guinevere nodded with more certainty.
"Yes, we should start planning," she agreed. "We still have work to do."
