Learning the Dance

Josephine's dance practice was nothing short of deadly serious. "The floor of the ballroom will be smooth," she told me, quickly and ruthlessly dispensing with all my objections, "and I have been reliably informed that you can see human auras. As there will be no dwarves or Qunari - or elves, other than yourself - dancing, you won't have any trouble keeping clear of the other couples."

By the second day, I was sore in places I hadn't previously known existed, and so when Dorian invited me to have dinner in the tavern with him - dinner and, more importantly, drinks - I agreed with such eager haste that it left him laughing. "At least tomorrow I'm scheduled to spend the morning with the healing instructor who arrived this afternoon," I told him as we carried our meals upstairs to find a quiet table.

"I'm pleased you took my advice on that," he told me. "You seemed utterly in your element, so to speak, when you were tending Celene's soldiers."

I groaned at the pun.

The loft in the Herald's Rest was deserted, which wasn't really a surprise on an evening when Maryden was playing downstairs. Or - I supposed it wasn't entirely deserted. "I - I'm sure I can help somehow," an uncertain male voice said. "Do you…need anyone to clean? I can clean!"

"Not in the tavern, I fear…" a soft female voice with a thick Orlesian accent replied. I recognized it as belonging to one of the elven barmaids whom Sera kept a particular watch over, for good reason. Drunk shemlenaan were dangerous shemlenaan. "Inquisitor!" she broke off, and I detected her bobbed curtsey.

"Lena," I greeted her, recalling her name, and then glanced at her companion, offering him a smile. "Are you a new recruit?"

"In-Inquisitor!" he stammered, and although I couldn't quite see his stare, I could certainly feel it. "I - uh, I joined. Sutherland, Your Worship!"

"Inquisitor is fine," I assured him. So was "Inana," but I knew better than to attempt that one by now.

"I saw some bandits, so I came to warn people. I let the soldiers know and now I'm…" he paused and then continued in a mutter, "just trying to stay out of the way."

I stepped a little closer, looking him over. A farm boy, I would wager - he had the muscle, but only a knife strapped to his belt. "I think we can do better than out of the way ," I told him. "Do you know how to use that knife?"

"I…do," he said, surprised. "Better with a sword, though, if you mean…fighting. Got some training from the local - it doesn't matter. I always borrowed a sword. Don't have one of my own."

"Lena, will you have one of the runners take him to whichever of Cullen's lieutenants is on duty at the moment?" I requested. "Tell them to give him a sword, make sure he knows how to use it well enough to avoid getting killed, and have them look into these bandits."

"Right away, Inquisitor," she agreed.

"Ma serannas." I turned my attention to the young man. "Welcome to the Inquisition, Sutherland. You're going to do just fine."

"Inana, you minx," Dorian teased me in a low voice as we took a table. "Are you trying to make the new recruits fall in love with you?"

"By…believing they're capable of accomplishing things?" I asked skeptically. "Don't be ridiculous." I took a long drink of my ale. "Creators, I am so sore. Who knew dancing took so much strength?"

"Anyone who has ever danced?" he suggested. "Have you gone to look at how your costume is coming along?"

"It's…really nice," I said, ducking my head to hide a smirk, and not even because the armor hugged my body beautifully, highlighting every curve while still projecting strength and purpose. The smirk was more because Solas had asked to consult, telling Dagna and Harritt that Shartan's armor looked a great deal like ancient Elvhen armor he had seen "in the Fade." I thought the heat and hunger in his gaze as he watched me being fitted the evening before would have clued me in to his actual origins if I hadn't already been aware.

"From what I heard from Dagna, that is a gross understatement," Dorian informed me. "I believe her exact words were, 'For a second there, I didn't even care how good the armor was. All I cared about was how good she looked in it.'"

"You're not the only one who can listen to people talking," I retorted. "I've heard your costume makes you look sinister and glorious at the same time, with all that black silk, and the gold and silver embroidery, and you're causing fluttering among the servants."

"Yes, but that's no different than usual," he replied, seemingly uninterested, though his eyes were gleaming with pleasure.

"Dorian, other people - especially servants, who have other things to do - don't spend nearly as much time lusting after you as you seem to believe," I told him, rolling my eyes.

"You take that back!" he gasped, affronted.

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you that you're not the center of the world," I said sympathetically, reaching out to pat his arm. "I'm sure it's a terrible shock."

"Are you kidding me?" Bull's voice preceded him up the stairs. "I tell him that practically every day. If he doesn't believe me, I doubt you have much chance of convincing him."

"Because that is patently madness," Dorian retorted, pretending disgust as Bull leaned in to place an obnoxiously wet and loud kiss on his cheek.

"So, what are we talking about? Besides Dorian's oversized ego." Bull asked, seating himself and immediately beginning to shovel food into his mouth.

"The ball," Dorian and I said together. Bull grunted.

"He's just upset that Josephine and Vivienne are making him wear a shirt the whole night," Dorian explained.

"Creators, the whole night?" I repeated dryly. "How terrible for you."

"All right, Boss, I have a question for you: how're you, a mage, going to move around a ballroom in armor?" Bull asked, changing the subject.

I smiled, thinking of the cleverness Harritt had, eventually, been prodded into by Dagna's endless stream-of-consciousness musings on the subject. "We're prioritizing weight and color over protection in terms of the alloy, and using strategically placed plates of armor buckled over a tight-fitting bodysuit of gold satin to give the impression of full plate without having to actually make it. We didn't even have to buy the satin - Josephine already had a bolt of it. In the mural, Shartan is wearing a wrap of some green cloth around his waist. Vivienne insisted it be lengthened into a skirt, which coincidentally hides my body from hip to knee, so I just have padded armor on my thighs, covered in the same gold satin so the color matches if someone catches a glimpse. Dagna worked runes into everything, so…honestly, it's probably the most protective armor I've ever owned."

"I heard Josephine is going to make you practice dancing in it as soon as it's finished," Dorian said.

"I'm sure she will. She's already making me practice in leather shinguards and vambraces, and a weighted vest," I replied.

The other mage laughed, perversely delighted by my pain. "No wonder you're sore."

"Smart," Bull rumbled. "The weight will throw you off if you're not ready for it."

"Not just the weight, but the distribution, according to Josephine," I told him. "She tried with the vest and said it was completely different from doing it in heavy skirts, but I think she might make me learn in heavy skirts after this is over. She says I'm more graceful than Cassandra and can't get out of wearing a proper dress forever."

"Pretty sure the only reason Cass is ever anything other than graceful is impatience with the activity," Bull chuckled. "Have you seen her with her shield? Shields are awkward, but every motion she makes is perfect, brutal economy. Really hot, actually."

"I…haven't actually seen that," I pointed out.

"Boss, you're missing out. Go watch her training some morning while we're here. If Cass wanted to dance, she would make grown men weep with that shit."

"You're probably right," I allowed, smiling. I had few doubts that Cassandra could do anything she really wanted to do. Even when she lacked talent, she was so dedicated that she was no doubt capable of overcoming most challenges through dogged practice.

After dinner, Solas was kind enough to give me a massage when I returned to my chamber, which led inevitably to other enjoyable activities, though he didn't draw any of it out. "I'm aware of the pleasure you take in the opportunity to learn more about healing," he told me as we lay in bed afterward, when I observed that he usually preferred to tease for longer. "I admire your willingness to continue learning, as well as your dedication to so vital an art. I wouldn't do anything that might impede your ability to concentrate tomorrow." He bent and kissed my forehead. "Which means you ought to sleep now."

That was easily done - I was already drifting off. I breathed in the smell of Solas's skin, and wandered off into the Fade.

The next morning I met my trainer for the first time. He was an older human man, though still robust, and he spoke with the accent of Ansburg, which made me feel homesick. "Reinhold Porter," he introduced himself. "A mouthful, I know. I usually make my students use it, but my friends call me Port and I don't see why the Inquisitor can't do the same. You aren't exactly an apprentice."

"I'm not," I agreed, "but if I call you Port, you must call me Inana."

"Very well," he agreed cheerfully.

"Thank you for coming all this way to train me," I said.

He waved it away. "Not everyone can channel spirit, fewer can channel it for healing, and many of those prefer a flashier discipline that might gain them some glory instead of long hours and endless demands on their time and mana. Thank you for wanting to learn, Inana. Now," he went on in a brisk tone, "let me see what you can do."

Port was, in many ways, a great deal like Solas as an instructor: calm and patient, but exacting. The difference lay in his warmth. He was as quick with praise as he was with critiques, and full of encouragement any time I failed to craft a spell correctly. My morning was a delight as I immersed myself in the study of a discipline I had long admired and wished to learn. It helped that all the injuries were routine and none were life-threatening. Most were accidents, though there were a few attacks from trapped or cornered animals.

I took Port to the tavern for the midday meal, and introduced him to several people there. He almost immediately struck up a friendly conversation with several of the Chargers, and they were happily trading stories, trying to one-up each other, by the time I had to leave. Even though Josephine was giving my body a chance to recover from dancing, I was to spend the afternoon learning Orlesian etiquette around eating canapés and drinking champagne. Since there was to be no formal dinner, I thankfully didn't have to tackle the correct use of utensils, but holding a glass of champagne, not to mention drinking from it, apparently had to be done in just the right way. As for eating, it seemed it was uncouth to be seen doing anything so plebeian as chewing , so I needed to learn to eat without allowing anyone to know I was doing so.

I shook my head as I approached the door to Josephine's office, sourly amused. Times like this, I understood Sera's impatience with the aristocracy.

The auras in the room made me pause as I opened the door. I had been expecting Josephine and Vivienne, and was surprised to find Leliana also waiting for me. Something in their auras - Vivienne's in particular - made my stomach clench, but it wasn't until I crossed the room that I was able to see the concerned expressions on their faces. "What's going on?" I asked.

"Word has just arrived from Guinevere Volant," Leliana told me. "The ambassador Josephine sent to Wycome."

I waved the explanation away. I wasn't likely to forget the name of the woman upon whose skill the future of my clan might rest. "What word?"

Leliana held out the letter in her hand. "It's…not good. See for yourself."