The vestibule was much livelier than it had been an hour ago. Fae weaved her way through the crowd towards the next door, already looking forward to the spacious ballroom and the personal space it would afford. The next door led to an art gallery. Was there an art gallery here before? Perhaps she'd missed it the first time, when they all lined up to meet the empress. The door at the end of this gallery only led to another gallery, however, and Fae began to panic just a little, hurriedly tracing her steps back.
A pair of servants walked by, and Fae moved to the other wall, trying to look convincingly interested in the paintings on this side of wall, as opposed to simply looking for a way out. She waited for them to pass, and then continued. And then…hm. There was…something. Fae stopped in front of a painting. There was ambient magic on it, or maybe in it, like the focus of a mage's staff. Could it have been mixed in with the paint, somehow? How would that even last? And there was something else, too. The familiar magnetic draw of an object with something for her to see.
The painting itself depicted a scene unlike its neighbours. On the other side of the hall, every gilded painting depicted wintry Orlesian landscapes; frozen lakes, wood log hunting cabins, the snowy peaks of the Frostback Mountains. On this side, the other paintings depicted scenes from the Chant of Light; the Golden City turning black, Andraste leading her armies against the Tevinter Imperium, Disciple Havard carrying the Urn of Sacred Ashes up the Frostback mountains.
This painting, however, was not from the Chant of Light. It depicted a group of Circle mages in a small, circular room, poorly lit with magelight and lined with crammed bookshelves. There were several chairs too large for the space stuffed in as well, and the mages were either sitting in them or leaning on their staves, all listening to one mage as he gave some speech, judging by his posturing. One of the mages, a human woman, sat in an armchair with her arms wrapped around the middle of a young elven girl in apprentice's robes. She slouched miserably in the woman's lap, her eyes cast downward in sadness, seemingly uninterested in the mage giving his speech.
Fae recognised the scene with a sharp intake of breath, her hand already hovering over the painting. She'd never had a vision in which her own past self was present before. It certainly felt different, but… she hesitated.
"Ah! You have an eye for beauty, fair rabbit!"
Fae's hand dropped fast.
The masked gentleman chuckled. "Your mistress likes to dress you up, does she?"
I will feed you to my dracolisk, Fae said internally. "Something like that, my lord," she said aloud shyly, sheepishly batting her eyelashes.
"Oh, no, my brother is the lord of our House, I am a simple 'ser,' my dear, he said congenially. "But I would remind you not to touch things that don't belong to you."
"Yes, ser. Forgive me."
"Quite alright. I see it caught your eye, and I cannot blame you. It's one of my favourites too," he said, looking proudly at the painting. "The Child Martyr. There's a fascinating story behind it. My second cousin was a member of the Ferelden Circle of Magi when the mages rebelled during the Fifth Blight. The Circle was re-established somewhere else later, and many of the extant members were relocated to other circles. My dear cousin was transferred to the Ostwick Circle, and then managed to find his way back to us when all that nasty Circle dissolution business happened," he tutted. Fae grew conscious of the second bell that couldn't be too far away- the bell that was past fashionably late.
"And he took up painting, of all things," the gentleman continued. "He had this wonderful trick where he could make the oils separate just so, to make the painting look as if it were moving! The effects wore off after a time, unfortunately. Anyway, he painted this one, and confessed to me, his favourite cousin, that he was in fact one of the rebels, and that this clandestine meeting had taken place not long before the rebellion truly kicked off. He ended up running and hiding when it all happened, admittedly a cowardly thing to do on his part, but then, his conscience was clear of the further horrors his rebel brothers and sisters-in-arms committed. Regrettably, he was awfully tight-lipped about any real details, and then he died at the Conclave, so that was that, I thought. As an avid collector, I, of course, took great care to preserve his works, and when the Winter Palace asked for the loan of my collection, well, one does not say no to the Winter Palace, non?"
The second bell rang. Shit. Hopefully Ellethir had returned to the ballroom without her.
"Anyway, this piece still fascinates me. You'll notice this elven child here- the only apprentice in the room- apparently, this child was the catalyst for the rebellion itself, which is why she was present at this meeting. But! Why then call the painting The Child Martyr? That would imply that either she was unjustly killed and that was the catalyst for the rebellion, or that she was killed in the rebellion that took place after the meeting. And some critics have claimed that she never existed at all, that her presence in this painting is a purely metaphorical one, to symbolise the childlike innocence of mages who have been protected from the world at large all their lives, stored away safely in their Circles."
Fae blinked once, then twice. "She was there, ser. That is, I was there. But I don't believe I was the catalyst for the rebellion. Not the only one, at least. The rebellion was already underway by the time I was involved, I think. When he—" she pointed to Uldred in the painting. "Returned from the Battle of Ostagar."
The gentleman looked at her incredulously. "You are this child martyr? Forgive me, my dear, but you do look very much alive to me."
"Uh, well, I was Harrowed, see, not long after I was taken to the Circle. But my Harrowing wasn't fully authorised. No one expected me to even survive it, at my age, but I got lucky, and I lived. The rebellion was already underway, I think, but my illegal Harrowing made the rebels all the more certain of their cause. I doubt the demon who possessed Uldred only had plans for mage independence, though."
The man's eyes shone wide beneath his mask. "Colour me intrigued, then. How did you survive the ensuing rebellion?"
She was not seriously having this conversation. "My cousin saved me. She's a Grey Warden, and she'd returned to the Circle to ask for help with Arl Eamon's… situation. We found each other, she helped me escape, and I was presumed dead in the crossfire, like a lot of others were. So, your cousin probably thought I was dead," she tried to laugh it off, unconvincingly. "It wasn't until after the Conclave that my survival became, um, more public knowledge."
The man covered his masked mouth with his hand. "You…Oh my… Cousin to the Hero of Ferelden, youngest mage ever Harrowed, Right Hand to the Herald of Andraste…The Seer of Andraste Herself."
Fae nodded awkwardly. "That's me."
The man took one of Fae's hands in both of his. "That explains your choice of dress. What a superb fool I've made of myself. Enchanté, Lady Seer. Monsieur Gabriel Dubois at your service," he bowed.
Fae curtsied. "A pleasure, ser."
"By the Maker, I cannot believe it. I don't suppose I might beg a favour from you, my dear?"
"Of course, ser."
"If I might fetch a quill and ink, would you consider adding your signature to this work?"
Fae's smile froze for just a moment. "I would be honoured, but I'm afraid the Inquisitor is searching for me. My duty must come first, you understand."
Monsieur Dubois looked visibly disappointed. "Of course, you are doing the Bride of the Maker's work. It was lovely to meet you, Lady Seer. I do hope we might speak again soon?"
"Yes, well, now you know where to find me." As Fae walked at a trot back to the vestibule, she made a mental note of Monsieur Dubois' name, so that Leliana could ensure he did not find her. She had enough nobles to deal with as it was.
Ellethir was still pacing back and forth across a now cleared-out vestibule when Fae arrived. "Fae! You're late!"
"I know, I know, I got held up, sorry! Let's go."
"Well, well, what have we here?"
A/N: Happy Veilguard day to all who celebrate! x