.3 Down memory lane
"Do we have a tail?" She heard Alistair murmur through pursed lips. Elissa shook her head while she continued her casual stroll, her hand lightly touching the forearm he had presented her earlier. "The green mantle in the square might have been out for your pouch, because when he noticed the weapon under your cloak he disappeared."
"He probably realized he wouldn't stand a chance." Alistair spoke while he made sure his sword remained well hidden under his cloak. "And that mine is bigger than his, of course."
Elissa sighed reproachfully but couldn't hide her smirk from him. "Or that it's odd for a civilian to carry a two-hander around during the carnival."
"Yes, or that." Alistair sounded thoughtful. "Which is exactly why our ways will have to part."
In front of them towered a three story manor, separated from the street by a long-stretched symmetrical garden, lit by numerous spitting torches. The entrance was obscured by two similarly dressed men to check the written invitations, masked to tradition but obviously armed to fend off anyone who they considered unwelcome.
"I'd rather look for another way in."
Elissa nodded in agreement, continuing her pace. "I will see you inside then. Don't take long." She gently squeezed his hand before they were forced to break apart. The slipping of her fingers from his grasp felt disheartening. She couldn't help but yearningly eye his disappearing figure slipping into the darkness of the alley left of her. While his footsteps died away she took a deep gulp of air before she forced a smile around her lips and pulled the invitation from her bodice.
The stolen invitation raised no questions, and from Zevran's preparations she had expected nothing less. Yet when Elissa moved through the torch-lit garden uncourted a feeling of familiarity washed over her, replacing the anxiety to start her mission alone with a deeper feeling of discomfort.
It might have been the first time she was dressed like an Orlesian noblewoman; the rustling of her skirts and the atmosphere of her surroundings reminded her of home. Highever. Where she was born and raised, where she had attended numerous balls in the honor of her father's guests, the citadel where she had always managed to find a hiding place when the formalities of such an event had bored her. The home where she had lost her loved ones because a family friend betrayed them, where she had to leave her parents behind to ceaselessly take a stand against the invaders. Where an old friend had to physically drag her out of the castle to join the Grey Wardens, and not seek revenge but atonement.
What would Duncan say if he knew they were out to slay for personal gain? To make their enemies meet the same destiny as did Rendon Howe?
Elissa focused on the increasing feeling of void building up inside her chest. It rarely felt unbearable, but an inescapable offense of grief wasn't what she was willing to cope with, not now, not then. Again she took a remedial deep breath, pushed her bosom a little higher and decided to use the memories of her noble heritage to her advantage. She corrected her posture and nodded elegantly when two servants opened the double doors for her, leading to the festivities.
Only now Elissa realized exactly how far she was from what she considered home. The warm air that blew into her face was not only scented with what she recognized to be lilies, but was also heavily impregnated with the dark wine that was brewed in the hills of Arlesans. Yet fortunately the party seemed informal despite their expectations. This was proved not only by the frivolous consumption of spirits but also by the cease of the servants to officially announce her appearance, like was customary at similar get togethers.
In fact her belated arrival was an introduction at itself. As soon as the doors were closed every pair of eyes in the room rested on her, and although Elissa knew herself to be unrecognizable due to the mask over her eyes she felt the situation was incredibly precarious. Her sight slid across the ornately decorated room while she heard the voices around her fall silent one by one, dwelling on a lady kneeled on top of a side table, a man staring at her with an opened mouth while the woman next to him accusatively glared at him. Finally her eyes turned to the tips of her shoes, standing at the white marble floor underneath her.
The silence was pressing.
Elissa felt her breathing increase. The bodice that was tightly laced behind her back felt more uncomfortable than ever, and she wished she would have been able to take off her mask to wipe the sweat of her brow. Unable to think of what to do or say, she slowly reached for the hems of her dress and lightly pinched the fabric between two fingers. Then she slowly bent her knees and rested her chin on her chest. Curtsying as for a King, not for the attendants of a masked ball she was visiting for her own benefits in the capitol of Orlais.
The effect of her response was overwhelming; the silence changed into a welcome laughter. Immediately she found herself closed in the arms of a man dressed in rich burgundy velvet, while another pressed a goblet into her hand, spilling half of the contents on the floor. Elissa's smile of relief was easily mistaken for a joyous response and she had no problem rediscovering the empty charms she had made her own during her upbringing.
Soon it seemed a ball like any other. A ball where she too would find the opportunity to escape the formalities for a different purpose.