I'm having a hell of a winter, and let's leave it at that.

I also published a novella. I write under the penname Lynn Muse in the Kindle store, so go check out what I've got sometime if you like my writing and think you might like it in a less Solas-heavy context. This novella is called Song of the Emperor.

Gaspard

Deep breaths, I reminded myself.

Lord Ghislain's carriage was crowded. Leliana was sitting directly across from me, giving me a reassuring smile that was just as likely to be fake as not. Josephine, next to her, was lost in thought, still coming to terms with the message she had received before we left - one of her sisters would apparently be in attendance. Vivienne, on the other side of the carriage, was nearly lost in shadow, leaning back as she was against the seat's cushions, and she was too far away for me to see her expression anyway. Dorian, beside me, already looked bored. Varric was quickly scribbling notes whenever we passed a lamp.

The carriage had already begun to slow, and now it rolled to a stop, before briefly jerking forward again. I heard a long scratch of Varric's pencil, and then he growled in irritation.

I had been warned about this, and so I didn't attempt to rise. The other carriage - the one we had hired, that didn't bear the arms of House Ghislain - would have been directed to a secondary entrance, and its occupants were probably already entering the gardens while we waited our turn to alight and pass the gauntlet of curious stares waiting to judge our worth and weigh our usefulness. Cullen and Cassandra would represent the Inquisition until my party could make its first entrance, while Sera began exploring the servants' quarters. Once I had met Gaspard, Bull would go find the soldiers, and the rest of the party would form up to make its second, more consequential, entrance into the palace itself, though the formal introduction wouldn't occur until we made our third and final entrance into the ballroom.

Outside, Bull's dissatisfied rumble became audible every time the carriage rolled to a stop. I didn't hear Solas replying, so I guessed he was either complaining to himself or Solas was ignoring him entirely. I didn't blame Bull for being wound up - it was hard for me to remember to breathe slowly and evenly. The wait seemed to pluck at my every nerve, and I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Dorian's voice: "Do you think he's complaining about the wait or the shirt?" he asked with lazy amusement.

I spent a moment blinking at him, resurfacing from my increasingly frantic reflections on all the trials of etiquette that awaited me. "Need it be one or the other?" I asked at last.

His hand covered mine. "In case no one has told you in the last quarter-hour, you look absolutely beautiful."

My cheeks heated, and I was glad the carriage was dark. I finally did know how I looked in Shartan's armor. In the Fade the night before, Solas had met me with an image of myself in costume already crafted, insisting that beauty was as important a weapon as manners or words, and that I should be aware of mine. I thought he was mostly just amused by my embarrassment, though.

I couldn't deny that gold was a good color on me, and the craftsmanship of the armor was impeccable, giving it an undeniably regal air. Then, of course, its cut - as I already knew - was meant to subtly draw attention to the body beneath. My strangely colored eyes added a touch of the otherworldly. I didn't know if the overall effect was beautiful, but it was…interesting. My appearance was attractive, and yet simultaneously unnerving. I was also unmistakably elven. The coronet had been cut to leave my ears free, like in the mural, but it only struck me as I was looking at myself how prominent they were.

Since we had already been there looking at costumes, Solas had crafted models of the others for me, at least as nearly as he could remember. Some of them were, like my own, meant to be regal - Leliana's Drakon, for example, and Dorian's Hessarian. But others should have been, by all rights, strictly utilitarian. Solas's costume was the most obvious example of the latter, but Cathaire had been a general on the front lines of a long war, Havran and Ealisay refugees after the murder of their friend and prophet. Utility, however, seemed a foreign concept to the members of the Imperial Court. I hadn't worried myself with questions about how to balance utility and opulence, or if they should be balanced, but had left it all up to Josephine and Vivienne, who were better equipped to address such questions.

In the Fade, I was finally able to see how well they had performed the balancing act. Utility was represented by simplicity of cut and pattern, but the materials elevated the designs, rendering them worthy of the court. At least, presumably. I was certainly no judge.

Still, I admired the cleverness. Solas's own costume was nothing more than a sleeveless brown tunic, breeches, footwraps, and a wrapped turban, but the tunic was made of silk brocade in a subtle pattern of brown-on-brown thread, only the shine giving away the floral pattern depicted. On the left breast, the insignia of the Chantry had been embroidered in gold. His breeches were moleskin, the footwraps of soft, supple leather. The strips of cloth wound around his head were frayed and messy, but they were also silk. Everything was impeccably tailored, showing off the lean power of his figure.

"Creators," I had sighed, looking him over, "it's a good thing my armor is so shiny. Otherwise I don't think anyone would even glance at me."

It had made him laugh, and then he had kissed me. "Vhenan," he had said quietly, his thumbs stroking my face, "I dread the day you wake to realize you've vastly overestimated both my admirable qualities and powers of attraction. But until that day comes - ma serannas."

I had shaken my head and kissed him back, the ball temporarily forgotten.

"You're smiling, Vanish," Varric observed, calling me back to the present moment. "Why don't you tell us what you're thinking about? For posterity, of course." I saw the flash of a white page as he held his notebook up.

I blushed again.

"I thought Solas looked very handsome this evening," Leliana said innocently.

"Oh come now," Dorian protested before I could find anything to say, "I wouldn't go that far! He's all in shades of brown, and while drabness might suit a formerly-enslaved elf, it renders him, at best, presentable. Which," he added, inclining his head in Vivienne's direction, "I'm sure was a feat in itself."

"I designed Solas's attire," Josephine corrected him, "and it was actually very little trouble - beyond finding time for the tailor to see him to get his measurements and then make a final fitting. He even suggested the brocade, pointing out that the thickness of the fabric would better mimic leather, and that the pattern would add interest."

"What I am hearing," Dorian replied, disgust evident in his tone, "is that he is capable of taste, and merely chooses not to exercise it."

"And what would you say about Iron Bull's taste in clothing?" I asked Dorian sweetly.

"Ah," he said. "Well."

Varric snickered - and then we heard voices and the sound of Solas descending from his seat beside the driver. In a moment, he opened the carriage door, holding out his hand to help me down the single step and onto the ground. I accepted it, trying not to consider the absurdity of my Elvhen bondmate playing the servant to hand me from a carriage at a shemlen ball. He must have caught my brief flare of indignation, though, because he caught my eye as I passed him, the corner of his mouth twisting in the tiniest fraction of a smile as he shook his head minutely.

He was probably reminding me that he had volunteered - asked - for this position, and so I pushed my outrage aside. Again.

I remembered not to sigh audibly and waited for the rest of my party to descend before striding towards where I knew the garden gate must be located - the path had been overlaid with a deep blue carpet that was easy enough to see, so long as it didn't conceal any loose or uneven paving stones. Since I was technically here as Gaspard's guest, it wouldn't do to enter on anyone else's arm, and so I had to navigate this particular stretch of ground on my own.

Thankfully the path was well-tended and smooth, and I managed to traverse it without embarrassing myself or - far more importantly - the Inquisition. Nor was I left to wonder where Gaspard might be. I paused just inside the gates of the garden - heard a soft sound of amusement behind me - and then a man's voice rang out with far more volume than necessary: "Inquisitor! A pleasure, I'm sure."

A figure resolved from the churning mass of color that was all I could see of the garden, immediately claiming my hand and sweeping a bow that looked somewhat exaggerated to my eyes as he pressed his lips to the fingers left bare by my gauntlets. "No one warned me that I would have the honor of escorting the loveliest flower in attendance," he said.

"My Lord Duke, I presume." I bowed in turn, glad of the excuse to hide my face. I had no desire to blush at the grand duke's compliments, but I knew I probably would anyway. He still had a soldier's figure, and a commanding presence with it. It didn't cow me, but I was uncomfortably aware that my choices in fending him off were either subtle resistance or outright violence - a man like him would not take well to a flat rejection of his desires, whatever they might be. That was, after all, why these peace talks were necessary in the first place.

"Gaspard, please, Your Worship," he replied. "After all you have done for me and for my troops, I must insist we not stand on titles and formality." He took possession of my arm, tucking it beneath his own, and began leading me down a garden path, my retinue trailing behind us.

I suspected both that I would have preferred standing on titles and formality with the grand duke, and also that I was not being given a choice in the matter. "Then you must call me Inana, Lord Gaspard. How are your troops in the Dirthavaren? Were they able to retreat once we had finished pacifying the undead?"

I was close enough to see his surprise even through his mask - the slight widening of his eyes - and to feel the brief stiffness in his muscles. I didn't know whether he was more offended by my use of Elvish names and the Dalish accent I had - perhaps - leaned into slightly, or the (correct) implication that his troops had been in such disarray that the Inquisition had been forced to rescue them. "The - yes, of course. Yes - we still keep a small garrison in Fort Revasan as a foothold in the region, but the fighting has, on the whole, ceased."

"I'm pleased," I told him. "The Dirthavaren holds too many memories of war for battle to be waged there safely now, but Revas'an seemed a secure location, unassailable by the Freemen bandits in their current numbers."

"It certainly helps that they appear to have shifted their attention to the south, though now we must deal with them there." His voice changed, becoming solemn and almost gentle. "But my commanders wished me to particularly thank you for the caches of letters your soldiers sought and retrieved. They had far too many notices of death to send, and it helped that they were able to include final words from so many of the fallen. It was a generous act, and a merciful one."

For the first time, I believed in his sincerity. "The Chantry teaches, I believe, that all should strive to live the mercy and generosity that they seek from the Maker," I replied. "Sathem lasa halani - I was pleased to assist in the endeavor."

I caught sight of Cassandra's aura approaching, and then discerned Cullen's, as well. Gaspard's steps slowed and he came to halt, bringing me to a stop, as well. He looked down at me with a faint smile, and I thought he had probably recognized either Cullen or Cassandra as being one of my inner circle. "You are wisdom and beauty united," he told me, releasing my arm. "And now I am certain your advisors have matters of import to discuss. I will await your pleasure near the main doors, that we may scandalize the court by making our entrance together."

"I will join you shortly, my lord," I promised, bowing again.

As soon as the Grand Duke was out of earshot, Leliana laughed softly. "Well, he certainly didn't expect you to use both your Dalish heritage and Chantry teachings against him."

"Was it too much?" I asked as Cassandra and Cullen joined our group.

"Oh no, darling," Vivienne answered, her voice lazily amused. "I dare say he is currently congratulating himself on embedding such an enticing thorn in proceedings which have become more pretense than reality. He was quite taken aback - and then simply taken - with your appearance."

"His costume wasn't as elaborate as ours," I observed. It was true - his mask had been that of a hawk, and his doublet embroidered in a pattern of feathers, but that was all.

"As this isn't a formal masquerade, elaborate costumes aren't a requirement," Josephine told me, "but some Houses will indulge in them for one reason or another. The Lamarcks, for example, have fully committed to an oceanic theme in order to combat rumors of an intra-House feud. The House de l'Aulne, meanwhile, is angling for a trading compact with a branch of the de Beauvoirs, and each member is dressed as a different precious or semi-precious gemstone to affirm their wealth and ability to maintain such a contract."

"A vulgar display," Leliana sniffed.

"Quite," Vivienne agreed. "De l'Aulne, that is - the Lamarcks have been quite clever."

"Oh," I said. "I see. Figuratively speaking, of course." I turned toward Cullen and Cassandra. "Anything I should be aware of?"

"Sera tells us the servants seem jumpy, but they either don't understand yet what the threat is, or they have been frightened into not talking. She…offers her assurances that she will keep us apprised of her findings," Cassandra told me, quite likely glossing over some language she considered too coarse to repeat.

I was impressed that Sera had already managed to check in with someone. "Bull?"

"Ready, Boss." He sounded tense, but I was guessing that was the shirt rather than the nature of his assignment, which was to do what he usually did in his downtime - drink, talk a little, and listen a lot.

"Varric ought to begin circulating," Leliana said.

"I'm on it, Vanish," the dwarf said. "The rest of you keep an eye out, though - rival publishers might have sent assassins. Wouldn't want us to pursue the wrong set or anything." His tone was light, and I assumed he was joking.

"That's not true," Josephine said flatly, and I couldn't tell if she was admonishing him for lying or praying he was wrong.

"You never know, Ruffles," he told her, teasing - I hoped.

I heard two sets of footsteps retreating.

"Everyone else ready?" I asked.

"I think so," Cullen replied.

"Could I ever be?" Cassandra muttered.

"Cheer up, Cassandra," Leliana told her lightly. "You're wearing trousers and no one expects you to dance."

"See?" Dorian put in. "Andraste is merciful." He sighed dramatically. "All your faith has at last been rewarded."

Cassandra scoffed at him, irritated, but I was laughing as we turned to make our way deeper into the vipers' nest.