Just Breathe. Ok?
Twitters and whispered followed Lavellan as she made her way through the assembled nobles at Halamshiral. Her chest constricted as a wave of panic rushed through her. This was ridiculous. She looked ridiculous. The outfit Josephine had carefully cultivated for her was a damn sight better than some of the frippery the noblewomen had on, but the sensation was wholly new and foreign to her. She had never worn skirts that swished around her like an overexcited dog. The bone and steel cage of the skirt was an unwelcome extension of herself, swishing this way and that, lingering around corners and at one point knocking low lying décor and goblets from end tables.
She had made her apologies to the couple whose drinks her skirt had knocked over with as much grace as she could muster. For the couple's part, they were nonplused and cold. Mihra never wished to be with her clan more. It was a startling thought for apart from her family and the Keeper, clan Lavellan was rather like an over exacting parent who despite her efforts and actions to fully assimilate, was always disapproving of her.
Too much of a flat-ear, no that was way too Dalish-stop overcompensating. The idea of a child who fled from an alienage to live with them was fine enough…until her magic surpassed one of their own and Keeper Deshanna chose her over one born of the clan.
"The Inquisitor a Dalish savage?" an onlooker none to subtly whispered. "Is this Gaspard's idea of a joke?"
Bile rose in Lavellan's throat and it was all she could do to duck into a corridor before she vomited into a large obliging urn. She gripped its lid so tightly her knuckles went white. Creators, she could not do this. Curse the shemlen nobles and their Game.
"I see you're adjusting well to the Winter Palace." Dorian quipped, suddenly at her shoulder. In one motion he offered a handkerchief and tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
"I can't do this." Mihra whispered to her friend between gasping breaths. "We should have just warned the Empress beforehand and kept her away from assassins. Or have us stay in the shadows and have Josephine talk to the Empress on the Inquisition's behalf? Everything is frilly and way too detailed and the cheese has this weird smell and I'm pretty sure those halla statues could feed an entire clan through winter and-"
Her friend chuckled and put two bracing hands on her shoulders. "The cheese naturally smells like that. It would be wise to avoid it all together. That, and the ham. It tastes like despair."
The joke did nothing to ease her nerves, however, and Mihra turned to dry heave as quietly as possible into the urn.
"Just breathe, ok?" He rubbed circles on her back since her hair was pulled up already. "You are fabulous. Nearly as fabulous as me. You make them realize their carefully ordered world has various knickknacks moved ever so slightly to the left."
Lavellan gave a little huff of a laugh.
"If I may hazard a suggestion, my dear Lavellan? You don't have to be them to play the Game. Play it ironically."
She crinkled her nose in confusion but her tone denoted her piqued interest. "I don't follow you, Dorian."
"Nothing riles the grand and high muckety mucks as much as an outsider thoroughly trouncing them in their game." He paused and with a conspiratorial wink whispered, "Unless that outsider hides an amused, degrading laugh while doing it."
This thought did bring a laugh to Mihra. "You're positively evil, Dorian."
"I am rather, aren't I?"
She took a bracing breath and stood tall. When Dorian asked her if she was ready, Mihra nodded and linked her arm through his, allowing him to lead her out into the gardens.