Fae regretted referring to Comte Pierre's home as a 'house' as soon as it became visible through flurries of snow. She had seen parts of Halamshiral through visions already, but it was worse to see it firsthand; the smoke and soot of burnt-out slums, air whistling through abandoned houses. It was hard to tell if all of this was the result of the Purge, or if it had also been ravaged by the civil war. There was a good chance it was both. Exhausted locals glared suspiciously at the Inquisition as it passed through the streets. Occasionally someone would force the procession to halt by running in front to beg for alms. The Inquisition gave freely, but it would take more than a handful of silvers to resuscitate this place.
Even in the human merchants' district, buildings were plastered and painted white but they were warped in a way that implied rotting wood underneath, even in this wealthier part of the city where Comte Pierre's estate stood as its crown jewel. With such a solemn atmosphere throughout Halamshiral, Fae expected a large house that had seen better days. Perhaps it had, but she could see no sign of murderous butchery, anarchy, or civil war here. The Château des Fidèles was painted entirely in pale lilac, an expensive but polite nod to the royal House Valmont's colours of violet and gold. Each of its two rows of windows were lined in bronze piping, and the frozen stone fountain behind the gates had to be as big as an alienage house.
Sera scoffed, pulling up beside Fae on her horse. "Andraste's sacred arse, if this is the local snob's house what must the palace be like?"
Comte Pierre's household descended on the Inquisition with military precision. Each mount was walked away to the stables, and Fae, being the only one besides Master Harritt who Hiss allowed to hold her reins, did manage to confirm for herself that there were indeed many, many stalls. The Inquisition's official guests were allocated a room each in which to be bathed, dressed, painted and styled, although, to Comte Pierre's butler's shame, some of these rooms did not have full boudoirs- there were only enough for the ladies.
The bath felt like being soaked in the warmest, softest blanket, although Fae could have done with more privacy, being the centre of attention of no less than three maids; one elven assistant to Madame Bertin, one trusted human servant of the Inquisition, and one elven servant of Comte Pierre's household. The bathwater was scented with silky flower petals and mixed with milk, which did make the water murky enough for Fae to be able to hold onto some measure of cover as her hair was scrubbed and her nails trimmed.
Then, she was wrapped in a towel and led to a dressing table with a mirror covered by a light cloth. While Madame Bertin's assistant fussed with her hair, the Inquisition servant was applying various ointments to her face in a seemingly endless sequence. Applying ointment, cleaning it off, applying another ointment, cleaning it off, until the last one where the servant paid particular attention to placement, and Fae understood that this must be the face-painting stage.
During this final step, there was a knock at the door. "Your dress, my lady," an Orlesian voice rang out. Comte Pierre's servant answered the door, and accepted the gown, which had been carefully wrapped in some lightweight material.
"Ah!" Madame Bertin's assistant clapped her hands, and Fae was guided to the adjoining bedroom.
"Knee-breeches first, and then once we slip this on, hold onto the bedpost for balance so we can fasten your corset."
"Alright…"
Fae expected a corset to be painful, or at least constricting. It looked that way. But it wasn't. Perhaps that was the power of expert tailoring, or Dagna's runes. The dress did feel lighter than it looked. Fae held the hands of a servant on either side of her as Madame Bertin's servant put her court slippers on and fastened them as well, before ordering the other two servants out of the room. Fae followed the servant back into the boudoir, and watched as she whisked the cover off the dressing-table mirror.
Fae stared. "…Is that me?"
A young elven woman with dark green eyes stared back at her. Her hair was drawn back to cascade down her back in soft curls, a few strands artfully let loose over her shoulders. A circlet of silver leaves was perched delicately on her head, masterfully fastened with tiny, almost imperceptible braids. The corset shone with threads of silver and white baroque swirls, and a sliver of pale white skirt was visible beneath the outermost layer of silver silk, which was itself covered in the same swirls as the corset. Matching white chiffon floated into bell-shaped sleeves, which were fastened at the wrists by white lace cuffs. And as the finishing touch, on her neck she wore a silver-leafed necklace, with an onyx symbol of the Eye of Visus at the centre.
"Oui. The leaves were my idea," the servant smiled proudly. "A reminder of who our people once were."
"It's beautiful…" Fae moved around a bit, watching the skirt swish in the mirror as if to try and catch the imposter in it copying her movements.
"And, as discussed during your fittings, in the unfortunate event that you are required to engage in violence, unclasp this here," the servant demonstrated, "and clasp here, to raise the skirt. Your knee-breeches underneath match the white threads in the corset, and you will still appear fully dressed, if a little…masculine."
"Thank you, um…"
"Genevieve, my lady."
"Thank you, Genevieve."
The servant waved her hand. "Of course! Are you ready to proceed to the carriage?"
Fae looked back at the mirror uncertainly. "Already?"
The servant giggled. "We are almost running late. Come, my lady."
A long queue of carriages decorated in gold and green, the colours of House Chalons, awaited them. "Yours is the second from the front, my lady," Geneveive said, marching briskly through the crowd of guests and attendants, with a new servant who had materialised seemingly out of thin air holding up Fae's skirt hems behind her.
"Shortie! Is that really you?"
"Uh…" Too late, Varric was already lost in the crowd. In front of the carriage at the head of the queue, Ellethir was being fussed over. "Fae!" she called, eyes widening. "Look at you, Lady Seer!"
Fae gasped. "Look at you, Inquisitor!"
Ellethir's gown was nothing short of a masterpiece. Her gown was a deep ruby red satin, the sweeping neckline lined with soft, almost feathery fur dyed red to match, and the same fur cinched the gown's slim sleeves at the wrists. The skirt was held aloft by a caged pannier petticoat underneath (which secretly held no less than ten halla statuettes,) and there were several layers of red chiffon petticoats beneath the satin outer layer. The entire gown was dressed in fine red lace, and its crowning glory- a silverite belt, as a nod to the Inquisition's military power, with a rare, pale green peridot sitting snugly on the right-hand side, representing the Anchor. Ellethir's short white hair, which usually stuck out at all ends, had been pressed with a heated flat iron into a gentle curl, and decorated with a thin circlet of rubies.
Comte Pierre's butler approached with a polite smile. "Madame Inquisitor, your carriage awaits."
Ellethir glanced at the carriage, then to Fae, then back to the butler.
"…On my own?"
Fae sailed forward, the servant holding her hem following in stride. "I will ride with the Inquisitor."
The butler chuckled lightly. "Inquisitor, it is a matter of your most dazzling gown. The skirt—"
Fae smiled sweetly back. "It is perfectly alright. Mine does not take up as much room—" A quick glance at the short train behind her. "Well, it's more flexible, at least."
"I will ride with the Seer," Ellethir said firmly in the voice Dorian called the 'I'm the Inquisitor, don't fuck with me' voice. The butler wisely backed down. "As you wish, my lady. We hope you enjoy the ball." A footman opened the carriage door, first helping Ellethir inside, and then Faellathi.
Once the carriage door was closed, Ellethir leaned back in her seat as much as her gown would allow. "Thank you for that. I didn't want to be left alone with my own thoughts on a night like tonight."
"Neither did I. This was a purely selfish decision on my part."
The carriage driver called out his intention to proceed, an order that was echoed back down the queue, and with a light rattle, the carriage roused itself into action.
"You got lucky with yours," Ellethir nudged Fae's shoe with her own. "I look like one of the frilly cakes Vivienne had at her soirée when we met her."
Fae laughed. "You look dazzling. Madame Bertin did end up trying the pannier skirt on me too at one point, and if you think you look like one of Vivienne's frilly cakes, imagine how I looked. Count your blessings, Inquisitor. We're going to need all of them for this."
If for nothing else, the Winter Palace was breathtaking by the sheer size of it. Even from the limited view offered by the carriage window, the tall, midnight blue walls around the Winter Palace were dwarfed by its façade, also painted in blue and decorated with enormous golden swirls. Each window was surrounded by gold filigree, each small balcony guarded by the golden face of a lion overhead, each steeple flying the Orlesian flag. In the same manner as the Château des Fidèles, the Inquisition's coaches joined the queue one at a time, waiting for the nobility ahead to step daintily out of their coaches upon reaching the main gates.
When it was their turn, a footman opened the door to assist the Inquisitor in making as graceful an exit as possible, followed by Fae. Inquisition soldiers had already formed an honour guard in two lines on either side, to escort the Inquisitor through the gates as soon as the other advisors had departed their coaches. The rest of the Inquisitor's inner circle would be expected to remain in their carriages until the Head of the Royal Household informed the empress of the guests' arrival, signalling for the members of the royal family to enter the palace proper to be presented to the empress. Ostensibly this was for the purpose of crowd control, but it was more likely a matter of maintaining an air of exclusivity.
Masked noblemen in flowing lace collars, embroidered doublets and silk breeches stood with perfect poise around proudly manicured garden beds dotted with lantern posts, and marble fountains guarded by gold lions. The masked noblewomen swept from one conversation to another, hiding even their mouths behind intricate fans to whisper in one ear or another. Uniformed guards stood as still as the marble statues they protected, and a veritable legion of footmen sauntered throughout the courtyard with trays of champagne glasses and delicate hors d'oeuvres. No one accepted any food or drink of course; to partake before being presented to the Empress was unthinkable.
Leliana, dressed in a smooth grey velvet gown with silver puffed sleeves, walked beside Fae and positioned herself directly behind the Inquisitor. "Josephine or myself will tell you who is who when we can, otherwise you will need to improvise. Commander, Seer, keep an eye on our companions, particularly those who have room for improvement in their etiquette."
"Of course, Sister."
"Will do."
Josephine, dressed in white ruffles and grey velvet ruching with intricate silver earrings to match, smiled in recognition at a few of the guests as they passed. "We have much to accomplish tonight, but appearances are everything in this place. Always assume there are eyes on you, act accordingly, and everything will be fine."
"Do you see Grand Duke Gaspard?" Ellethir whispered.
"He is already walking toward us," Leliana whispered back, dropping into a curtsy. A man in a gold mask set with emeralds which covered all but his mouth swaggered towards them. He was tall, broad, wearing a fur-lined tunic and tight white breeches, and a flowing lace collar around his neck secured with a velvet ribbon. Aside from the extravagance of the mask, he would be indistinguishable from any of the other nobles, if he was not also protected by golden half-plate armour and the yellow sash of the chevaliers.
A/N: At long last, welcome back to the Winter Palace ^_^