Early the following morning, small knuckles rapped sharply on Fae's frost-crusted door. There was a rustle and a thump from inside, followed by boots clunking heavily, still unlaced.
"Coming!" A fur blanket still wrapped around her, Fae opened the door to the figure before her. Dressed in a sensibly-layered but plain dress was a masked woman. The enamelled mask featured a cream paint around the eyes and on the lips, with the milliner's symbol of a silver sewing needle and a spool of thread glinting on the right side of the mask's forehead. Although the mask covered its wearer's face entirely, it did not hide the long, thin ears peeking out almost horizontally from either side of its temples, undisguised by pale blonde hair tied up tightly into a bun.
The woman curtsied. "My Lady Seer, Madame Bertin is ready to see you now for your first dress fitting."
"Oh, already? I mean yeah, just…ah…hold on—" Fae disappeared behind the half-open door, and the woman waited patiently. There were more shuffling noises, and a few minutes later, Fae opened the door properly and fully dressed. The shoulders of her tunic were a little wider than they needed to be, and her breeches were so ridiculously unfitting that they showed off her ankles. Margeurite made a mental note to acquire the name of the Seer's maidservant so that these errors may be addressed. Unless she does not have a maidservant, she is an elf after all. Fereldans were known to be gentler with them, and this girl was a special case…hmm…Perhaps the price to pay for making use of her mystical powers was more respect than even Fereldan elves usually receive…but not so much that she would have a maidservant.
"Sorry about that," Fae apologised hurriedly. "I'm ready now."
"Of course, it is no problem." Marguerite turned and walked back down the stairs, hands folded in front of her while Fae attempted to match her quick pace down the stairs and across the courtyard to the Great Hall.
Fae was uncomfortable with the increasingly long silence. There were the same number of early risers around as usual, eating breakfast or already working on their day's tasks, but the mood was subdued and quiet while the majority of Skyhold's residents still slept.
"So, Madame…?"
"Marguerite alone will suffice."
"Marguerite. I'm surprised I'm first in line, I assumed the Inquisitor would be."
"Indeed. The Inquisitor has already attended her first fitting appointment."
"Ah." Fae did not envy Ellethir's even earlier wake-up call. "So…you work for Madame Bertin?"
"I do. I am the Madame's First Assistant. There are four of us who attend to the many tasks the Madame cannot manage with only one pair of hands," Marguerite said, unable to keep the pride out of her voice. Now for the test. "The Madame finds our kind pleasing to the eye," she added casually, slowing her steps down long enough to fall into stride beside Faellathi. "She calls us mes jolis papillons. Her pretty butterflies."
The Seer was looking straight ahead, and she raised her eyebrows in response. That was promising. "I see. Do you like working for the Madame?"
"I am learning a great deal from Madame Bertin. I am grateful," Margeurite replied, pointedly ignoring the real question of whether she liked Madame Bertin. In truth, the Madame was alright, by Marguerite's reckoning- a snob even amongst her own peers, and prone to becoming snappy towards the end of strict deadlines, but Marguerite had known worse employers. Much worse. At least she was able to learn on the job, and occasionally wear samples of the madame's work. But what Margeurite needed to know was how the Seer felt about her fellow elves' place in society, Orlesian or otherwise. And how well she might play the Game. So, she would let the mage believe that Marguerite did not like the Madame, but out of politeness or fear would not openly admit it.
"…Hmm."
Hmm. A safe bet.
"Are you learning so that you can run a dressmaking business too?"
Margeurite giggled as they ascended the stone steps, lifting a hand to cover her masked mouth in the same way that had charmed the Madame. "Me? Of course not, I would never have the backing needed to do so. It is only so that I might become indispensable to Madame Bertin."
Faellathi shrugged. "You never know. If you'd have told me a few months ago I would be leaving a refugee camp of mages to become part of an Andrastian military force headed by one of the Dalish, I would never have believed you."
"That is true, my lady. We live in strange times." Marguerite allowed the conversation to lapse into contemplative silence as she led Faellathi through the Great Hall and into the recently refurbished room next to the smithy.
"My Lady Seer!" A voice sang out from behind an embroidered partition. "You have arrived! Come, come! Marguerite! Be a dear and fetch another pot of tea from the kitchen, will you?"
"Yes, madame."
"Thanks for waking me, Marguerite," Fae said quickly before Marguerite left.
"Of course, my lady."
Passed with flying colours.
The makeshift dressmaker's boutique was the epitome of controlled chaos. One large table in the centre had been mostly cleared to make room for fabric swatches to be laid out on top of delicately-sketched designs. Another table in the corner held a large box that had been folded out to display an impossible number of compartments containing spools of thread, needles, and pins. Another had neat stacks of fabric rolls, while the table next to it was apparently dedicated entirely to ribbons and lace. The walls were covered in sketches, notes, and some kind of schedule.
At the far end of the room, one corner was partially covered by a modesty screen, with a tall gilded mirror leaning against the wall, while the other corner was occupied by a tea table, dressed immaculately with a dainty doily and a tiered stand of finely cut sandwiches and cakes. Three elven women in masks identical to Margeurite's stood lined up on one side of the room, hands clasped in front of them.
Madame Bertin, a pale, middle-aged woman with impossibly tall grey curls sitting atop a mask with a spool-and-needle symbol that was instead inlaid with silver, rather than painted on, rushed out from behind the partition, long skirts bustling. She practically lunged forward to take Faellathi's hand and pull her to the tea table. "My dear girl, you must try this lavender tea, I brought it here especially, and I was right to! I had but one sip of the swill they serve in this place and it utterly ruined my mood for hours!"
A cup and saucer were placed in Fae's hands, and she politely took a sip. It mostly just tasted like hot water with a hint of lavender. "It's…lovely, thank you, madame."
Madame Bertin laughed. "Such wonderful manners! Lady Josephine has taught you well, I see. Now, up, up! Let me look at you."
She guided Fae by the shoulders towards the mirror, and gradually turned her around. "Good shoulders, good hips. Your posture needs work but it is not unsalvageable, I suppose…Well! Let no one say any elven girl is like another! Your stature is somewhat diminutive to Her Worship, but you have a more defined curve à la torso, which is a pleasant surprise. Well then," she patted Fae's hip, and Fae fought the urge to pull away. "Now that I have seen what we have to work with, let us look at our options." Madame Bertin departed with a sweep of her skirt, and Fae followed her to the central table.
"Sister Nightingale did not afford me much time to prepare, but it is no matter at all for Madame Bertin! She gave me her proposal, I contacted several artisans who have already worked on Skyhold's cosmetic alterations, and voilà, my muses have sung to me, so here we are! Louise, fetch a stool for the Lady Seer, my pet—merci—So," the madame produced a coloured sketch of the Inquisition's heraldry. "The colour scheme for the Inquisition's official guests will be inspired by its heraldry. That is, the combination of the two constellations; Visus, the Watchful Eye," she pointed to the red eye in the centre of the symbol, outlined with black and white lines, and, "and Judex, the Blade of Mercy," she pointed to the black sword intersecting the eye, also outlined in white. "We will be using red, white, black, and silver," and she drew a finger around the silver outline of the whole image. "The Inquisitor's gown alone will be red, as the central, most precious jewel of the Inquisition. Her closest advisors; that is, her Right Hand," she nodded graciously to Fae, "Her ambassador, her commander, and her seneschal, will all be primarily wearing silver, as like the setting of this holy jewel. Her remaining representatives will be in black. As for lining, detailing, and other trimmings, we may choose from these colours based on your personal preferences and of course, your personal colouring." Madame Bertin smiled, clearly expecting Fae to say something.
"It…sounds beautiful," Fae offered.
Madame Bertin beamed. Apparently, that was the correct answer.
"I have chosen a delectable selection of fabrics to choose from," she gestured to one of her assistants, who handed her a board of fabric swatches. "They are all luxurious as well as practical, as is my specialty. My services are most often required by the Empress herself, you see," Madame Bertin said over her shoulder, accepting the board and placing it on the table in front of them.
"Usually, en ensemble, I would be paying closer attention to similar cuts and styles, but with such a…diverse, set of models, one must make do," she said apologetically. "But it does give me a touch more room for inspiration to strike. Par exemple, I was considering a pannier skirt for you, given how well it will suit the Inquisitor, but now…" Madame Bertin searches for a fabric, running her fingers over the swatches. "I feel it would make you look like un coffret à bijoux, which is not the effect we are looking for. We want an ethereal beauty, a spirit from the forest, although you are no elf savage, of course. I'm sure you are a good Andrastian elf, an example to them all."
"The Inquisitor is Dalish. And my mother was Dalish," Fae said quietly, keeping her tone even.
"You and the Inquisitor were raised from your station by Andraste Herself," the madame said happily, holding a silk swatch next to Fae's face and shaking her head, putting it back and looking for another. "She would not choose such champions if you two were truly savages. Non, Our Lady works in mysterious ways. I am simply doing my part, however small it may be. Ah! I know. Wait right there." She hurried out of the room, nearly bumping into Marguerite who deftly stepped to the side to avoid collision, and curtsied. "Madame."
Madame Bertin swept straight past and ignored her, eyes sparkling excitedly. Marguerite entered the room with a new pot of tea on a tray. The other three assistants in the room relaxed their stances, stretching their tired arms and wriggling circulation back into their feet.
"What did she say I'd look like?" Fae asked them.
They giggled. "A jewellery box," one answered.
"Oh. I can imagine," Fae agreed, thinking of a velvet-lined silver box one noble Orlesian pilgrim had brought with him for Fae to see.
"Can't stay to chat, I'm afraid," Marguerite said loftily, placing the teapot and cups on the tea table. "I must take this tray back to the kitchen and collect the next client. The ox-man," she sighed, short boot heels clacking straight back out.
The other assistants rolled their eyes. "She thinks she's a cut above the rest of us just because she's the madame's latest favourite," one of them explained, trudging over to the tea table. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked Fae, fingers hovering over one of the little sandwiches.
"Not at all, go ahead."
"You're a darling. I'm starving, Margeurite woke me up early this morning with all the racket she was making getting ready and I ended up falling back asleep and missing breakfast. The madame would have my hide if she knew."
"Hah! The madame would have Marguerite's hide if she knew what she was getting up to behind her esteemed back," another one said, leaning back against the wall. The third left her side to linger by the door, keeping watch.
Fae's interest was piqued. "Why, what's she doing?"
The assistants exchanged looks. "Taking on the clientele the madame is too good for," the one at the tea table said lightly, picking up a second sandwich. "She turns people away all the time, says she's too busy with her work for the empress. Everyone knows she could hire more milliners if she wanted, to take on the extra work. But she keeps her demand up by selling only to those well-connected enough to the empress, and only offering last month's styles to the minor nobility."
"You are airing too much of our laundry in front of the Seer, Annalise," the one by the door said to the girl leaning against the wall.
"I do not care," Annalise sniffed. "It's no skin off my back if Marguerite is found out. It is not like she is any less of a snob, only making extra for the nobles with enough money to bribe her."
"I think she is being smart," the girl at the table said, standing back up and stretching again. "She is taking a risk, no doubt, using the madame's coin to buy the extra materials, talking about 'the increased prices of everything' during wartime,'" she said sarcastically. "But with backing from enough nobles who do not want it known that they are not good enough for Madame Bertin, even if it does get out, the madame will not be able to touch her. I am only annoyed that I did not think of the opportunity myself, and that she did not offer to let us in on it."
"Hush! She is coming back!" The girl by the door whispered, hurrying back to their spot along the wall. The others followed suit. "Which one, Margeurite or the madame?"
"I am returned!" Madame Bertin burst into the room, holding a familiar object.
Fae stared at it, perplexed. "Is that…"
"The stand for your crystal ball, yes! I realised that if you had a crystal ball, it must have a stand, and Sister Nightingale has exquisite taste in metalwork." The madame placed the stand on the table. It, and the crystal ball itself, usually sat on the tea table in Fae's room, an addition made by Josephine not long after they arrived in Skyhold. It was pretty, but mundane. Fae's visitors usually didn't know that. The stand itself was swirls of silver stucco, twisting in on each other and polished to create different shades among the lines.
"We will use this as the basis for the embroidery over the corset, allowing it to flow naturally to the hips where the skirt will appear to seamlessly begin," Madame Bertin explained. "Once we have decided on the final design, I will discuss it with your arcanist who will determine what kind of defensive capabilities it might include. Only what is necessary, of course, for your safety." She sighed. "I will do my best to ensure that the modifications do not take away from the beauty of the design, of that you may be assured. Once we are done here, I will send you next door to her."
An hour or two of taking measurements and note-taking later, Fae was released from Madame Bertin's clutches. By this point in the morning, the Great Hall was significantly livelier, and Fae was grateful for the chance to disappear into the background for a moment before going to meet with the new arcanist.
"Fae!" The Iron Bull rose from an empty pew. "My turn?" He called.
"Yep!" Fae called back. She waited while Bull gracefully side-stepped out from the pew and headed over. "Watch out," she said, quieter. "Madame Bertin already has ideas about us savage races, she might try to dress you up as the kind of Qunari warleader good Andrastian parents warn their children about."
Bull shrugged noncommittally. "She's Orlesian, of course she will. Besides," he dropped his voice lower. "Not that she'd know the difference, but I'm Tal-Vashoth now anyway."
"What?" Fae whispered back. "But I thought you were important to the Qunari? Didn't they just send you and the Chargers with Ellethir to negotiate some kind of official alliance with them?"
"They did. Didn't work out."
"Why not? What happened?"
"Had to make a quick decision; the Qun, or my men. I chose my men." Fae stared up at Bull, trying hard to read his expression, but it was infuriatingly neutral. Was it disguised heartbreak, or was he truly content?
"Maker," Fae said, giving up. "I mean, I'm glad you chose the Chargers, I can't—well I wouldn't want to imagine losing them."
"Neither did I."
"I'm sorry."
"Thanks. I'm surprised, I figured you hated the Qun after Kirkwall."
"Ah, yeah, I did. I do, really. Sorry. But they're still your people. I do have…a little bit of experience with having people that don't want you." Fae thought of the Dalish in the Brecilian Forest, and the Dalish at Sundermount. Even if she wasn't fully Dalish, maybe if she wasn't a mage, she'd have eventually run off to the Dalish and things could have turned out differently. But she was, and it hadn't.
"Sorry to hear it. But you don't need to worry about me. The Chargers have still got the Inquisition's back," Bull said cheerfully, far too cheerfully for someone who'd once cared enough about the Qun to sign himself up for 're-education.' "Hey, you met the arcanist, yet?"
"I'm about to."
Hah!" Bull clapped her lightly on the back. "You'll like her, be hard not to. Wish me luck," he saluted, ducking under the doorframe into Madame Bertin's temporary boutique.
Fae knocked on the door to the smithy, wondering absentmindedly if Harritt would be working on the armoured parts of the outfit too, or if everything was going to be left to this arcanist, whatever that title actually meant.
"Come in!" Harritt's gruff voice called out, and Fae opened the door.
Harritt was inside, working at a grindstone. "She's over there," he nodded with his head.
"Hi!" A happy, distinctively more female voice than Harritt's chirped. It sounded like it had come from the lower section of the smithy, on the opposite side from where Harritt was working. A young auburn-haired dwarf peeked out from behind an anvil. "By the Ancestors, it really is you! Hi!"