Author's Note: Big thanks to my beta HuntressoftheLight for her help with this chapter! I do not own DAI, I am merely playing in their sandbox
Orlais, Lavellan decided, was an exhausting place. A pretty one to be sure, but it was filled to the brim with ridiculous power plays by nobles who couldn't relate to anything that existed outside their ornate, close-minded bubble. Nope, Halamshiral was not a place she wanted to revisit anytime soon.
As she leaned against the railing outside the ballroom, all she wanted to do was take off her ridiculous dress and lie down on the bench beside her to sleep. It had been one of the more trying evenings as the Herald, or Inquisitor, or whatever idiotic name she was being called nowadays.
She had felt like an outsider from the moment she was agreed to be a part of the Inquisition in one way or another. With those she worked with on a regular basis, like Varric and Cassandra, the feeling eventually faded as camaraderie and friendship took hold, but there were always others around who stirred up her feelings of being an interloper. Whether it was due to the terrifying mark on her hand, or to her elven heritage and Dalish markings, people had a tendency to stare, while pretending to do otherwise.
She was used to these stares, but ever since she was declared Inquisitor at Skyhold, the snide remarks about her heritage were generally kept out of her range of hearing. She had grown accustomed to silence on that particular matter, so hearing it so loudly discussed and criticized at the palace that night had been... unsettling to say the least. There had been a few times when Dorian and Vivienne had to physically restrain her from jumping on the back of yet another Orlesian racist for making some quip about "elven savages" and questioning why she was let in the palace in the first place. The horrific manner in which the elves were treated rattled her, and the image of the elven servants splayed across the kitchen floors, kept creeping back into her mind. It was so easy to forget how badly elves as a whole were treated. Her clan had never interacted much with humans, and now she was in a position where she wielded enough power that most overlooked her race.
She sighed as she looked out over the terrace, watching the guests milling about the courtyard under the stars. She wished she could call it a night, but Leliana said that they were required to stay for at least another two hours. They had, after all, saved the Empress' life, and as a thank you, she insisted that they stay as guests of honor for the remainder of the evening.
The Queen and her newfound grip on the throne of Orlais was already weighing on Lavellen as well. Had she made the right decision? What if Celene didn't have a strong enough hold on the chevaliers to mobilize them into a force? Would Gaspard have been a better choice? He did have the military expertise, but his grasp of The Game was weak. Though Lavellen personally found the whole "Game" to be absurd, it seemed to be a crucial aspect of Orlesiain politics, and his lack of understanding could have caused a breakdown amongst the nobility. Then there was Briala. Lavellan wanted to put her on the throne so badly. Her policies and ambition could have improved the lives of so many elves, but if she was honest with herself, she knew that Orlais wasn't ready for such radical changes. The nobility would have revolted in protest of both Briala's policies and the woman herself, and then the Inquisitions mission of bringing peace to Orlais would have been for naught. Still, it was so hard to watch that opportunity fall to the wayside.
"I was stopped by no less than three young men, and five ancient ones, all looking for a certain Inquisitor to either dance with or propose marriage to. Quite possibly a combination of the two," came a voice from behind her.
Crossing the threshold onto the balcony came Dorian, the gold on his uniform gleamed even in the twilight. He stepped up to the balcony to stand next to her, mimicking her position.
"I told them all that you left for the evening, but I do not think they believed me. You may thank me now, or later if you prefer, for keeping your hiding spot a secret, but I do believe I shall demand payment." He glanced over at the slump in her shoulders and the far-off look in her eyes.
"You seem to be thinking much too hard for a woman dressed the way you are," he said, gently ribbing her mood. "So why don't you tell me what's wrong?"
"It's just been... a very long night," she replied heavily.
"But you won!" he cried incredulously. "You quite literally saved the day. You should be celebrating!" He stood straight and gestured grandly at their opulent surroundings. She just stared back at him, though her eyebrow that was raised at his actions did not quite mask the tiredness in her eyes.
"I know just what you need- a distraction. Come, I have an idea." With that, he offered his arm out to the elf.
She took it rather reluctantly, "What exactly is your idea of a distraction?" she asked him. She loved her friend, but his idea of a good time had a tendency to...differ rather radically from hers.
"We, my dear," he said sweeping her back inside, and toward the staircase down to the ballroom floor, "are going to dance."
Lavellan's eyes went even wider than usual, as she tried to pull her arm out from his. He however, had thought she may pull something like this, and had her forearm in a vicegrip.
"You know I have no idea how to dance like this!" she hissed in a low voice, trying to stall him in a way that didn't draw attention to them. It wasn't working overly well. Squirming violently and stomping one's feet were not something often seen at the Orlesian court, especially by a young women being led to dance.
"Nonsense!" Dorian proclaimed, in a tone that drew even more attention to the pair. "You can vault over a demon's head, and kill a man before he even knows you were behind him! This is nothing."
As he continued to pull her into the center of the room, she started to panic. Put her against a group of bandits or abominations, and she was fine, but she was starting to sweat under the stares so many people.
"That is completely different, and you know it Dorian. I grew up Dalish, remember? Funny markings on my face? I didn't learn any fucking shem dances!" she whispered, a tinge of hysteria creeping into her voice.
He raised her hand onto his shoulder as he settled his on her waist. He could see her eyes frantically darting around the room, and the beads of sweat that had gathered on her forehead. He shot her a cocky smile and leaned in.
"Just trust me," he whispered into her ear. With a glare and a rather determined nod of her head, she straightened up, and the musicians started to play.
As they started to move, Lavellan felt herself begin to stumble over her own feet. Dorian wasn't wrong when he said that she was graceful on a battlefield, but set her to a piece of music, and any grace just seemed to disappear.
But Dorian seemed to know exactly what he was doing. With a slight push back on her hand and hips, and then a small pull forward, he managed to guide her in long sweeping circles along the marble floor of the ballroom.
She never stumbled once.
About halfway through the piece, when she finally realized that the likelihood of her falling onto her face and embarrassing herself had passed, Lavellan began to smile. She grinned up at her partner, who gave a rather salacious wink back, as they continued to turn.
She looked around the room she was in; beautiful couples in extravagant outfits, a sparkling chandelier, ornate carvings and statues inlaid with gold and silver. She realized, in both horror and glee, that she must have looked exactly like a character from one of those shem stories: a poor girl who ends up in a palace with a beautiful dress, dancing with a handsome man. She gave a small snort. The image was so ridiculous, but fit her in a really twisted, sick sort of way. She was the heroine who grew up poor, spied on a meeting, had magical powers infused in her hand, had to save the world, and along the way, ended up at a ball in a beautiful dress, dancing the night away with her friend who had absolutely no interest in women.
"Whatever are you snorting about?" said Dorian, horror infusing the word "snort", as if it were the worst thing she could have ever done.
"Oh, just thinking about the humor of this particular situation," she said, smirking back at him.
"Well, at least you are finally finding something to smile about," he quipped back. "You did look hopelessly dull before, all alone on your balcony."
"How could I not feel better when dancing with the most handsome man in the room?" she replied.
"I am, aren't I. Though, to be honest it isn't as much a competition as I would like it to be. Too many old men I should say."
Lavellan gave another snort at his ridiculous ego, to which he raised his eyebrow, "You are one of the most self-admiring people I have ever met."
"And you my dear, are one of the most stubborn."
She gave him a brilliant smile, as the dance came to an end. "But I don't think I would change us for anything," she said, her voiced laced with both humor and conviction.
He gave her a soft smile, one that she didn't often get to see.
"Neither would I." With that, he presented her his arm, which she took rather gracefully and they made their way through the crowd of people, up to their companions, watching from the gallery above.
Author's Note: So, I decided to continue this story and write some more about these two, because honestly, I cannot get enough of them! As please, please leave a review or even just like. It is nourishment :)