Sisters of Tevinter

Finer Things

     Shipments had come from all over Thedas, from the finest seamstresses in Val Royeaux to the most notable tailors in the Free Marches. Jor had woken that morning to a raven cawing outside her window and Leliana rapping softly on the door to lead her, amused, to a wide stone chamber beside the War Room. Racks of glittering finery and crates of jeweled pendants and silks had been stacked haphazardly in every available space. A tall silver mirror had been set against the wall. 

      Jor hesitated, but Leliana had already shut the door, speaking in eager tones with the ambassador. Josephine eventually coerced the Inquisitor into a short black dress that hugged the curves of her hips and stopped above her knees. Jor had insisted on wearing black leggings beneath that, blushing profusely. In addition, the ambassador had presented her with a champagne overcoat with long tails and a high collar that clung to her neck beneath her jaw, fastened by a clasp in the shape of a silver serpent. Moderately functional, but...

      "Glitzy," Jor commented, studying herself doubtfully in the mirror.

      "The Court appreciates boldness. Trust me, you look stunning." Josephine surveyed her work, looking pleased. 

      The Nightingale smiled from where she leaned against the wall. "A vision worthy of the Inquisition. You should be proud. Though we'll have to do something with your hair." 

       Self consciously, Jor touched her fingertips to her loose layers of amber hair, pulled back in a short puff by a scrap of leather cording. "...Are you sure?" 

      "I am." The Nightingale giggled and Josephine comfortingly touched Jor's arm. 

      "You look nervous," the ambassador observed. "Haven't you done this before, Lady Trevelyan?" 

       "It's been... Six years. Six years since my last salon or ball of any kind." Biting her lip, Jor smoothed the front of the silky coat. "I'm a little out of practice. And the clothes were... more skirtlike. Though I think it'll be nice to actually be able to move, not to mention breathe."

     Josephine laughed. "I cannot promise a lack of skirts in the future." 

   Jor smiled slightly. "I trust you both. I thank you for the reintroduction to finer things."

    "Of course." Leliana cast the Inquisitor a nod, her lips quirked upward. "It's what we're here for."

    "I think I'd all fall apart without you both," Jor sighed heavily with a weary smile. 

   Josephine blushed. Leliana smiled. "You would have the commander. As well as the allies you've brought us." 

    "But would I have my spymaster who takes care of all the important scary things while still managing to make me feel important?" Jor grinned. "Would I have my darling ambassador with a talent for cutting words and diverting politics?" 

   Josephine's blush deepened as she fanned her face. "Inquisitor, you flatter me." 

    Leliana laughed. "She's learned well, Josie. Let's hope her pretty speeches are enough to sway a salon full of snakes."

       So now Jor was standing on the bridge lined with lanterns leading to a beautiful, sweeping blue building with towers of gold and marble in Val Royeaux. She'd brought Cassandra with her as an escort, but no one else. She had no wish to appear paranoid or weak, despite knowing knowledge of her arrival in Orlais had spread far and wide. She could only pray Corypheus would refrain from setting a trap here in the capital. At least for now. 

      Cassandra had done little in preparation for this gathering, comfortable in her armor and wearing her signature scowl. Jor smiled as she walked with the Seeker along the bridge. "I don't suppose you'll ever forgive me for dragging you here."

      Cassandra scoffed. "It isn't a matter of forgiveness. This is trivial, and I have no love for the Circle or the court." 

      "...I think it would be rude to refuse an invitation." Jor smiled teasingly. 

      "Which is why I am here." 

     The Inquisitor gently nudged the Seeker's arm. "I thank you for that." 

     Their boots echoed in sync along the bridge."Unnecessary, Inquisitor, though noted. I am simply grateful I did not have to change." 

      "Which reminds me, how do I look?" Jor gave an uncertain smile and spread her arms slightly. 

       Cassandra brushed her gaze over the Inquisitor's combed hair, fastened at the back with a silver clip embossed with golden vines, her glittering silk coat and serpent broach. "Like a noble. So I'd say you are doing well. Though I take it you were not foolish enough to come unarmed?" 

    Jor laid her palms at her thighs as she walked. Cassandra nodded. "Good."

   Two masked Orlesian guards bowed and opened the dark double doors as Jor presented her invitation. 

    Inside the gilded chamber of sweeping blue marble veined in gold and white, masked noblemen danced and toasted bubbling glasses of champagne to low string music from somewhere above them. Sweeping marble stairs lead upward and separated to two landings on either side. The chandeliers were dimly illuminated by candles and crystal, casting the salon and its plush upholstery and persian rugs in glittering shadows. 

    Cassandra hung close to Jor's side, for which she was grateful. The masks disturbed her. She recalled with distaste the first time she'd come to this city, when the templars had abandoned its people. Yet here, the air was heavy with the weight of polite conversation and laughter. The masks assured her the people and the court were just fine. 

    Jor stepped aside quickly as a gowned young woman waltzed by in the arms of another noble. She fought the urge to vanish into the darkness, pressing herself close to Cassandra's side to lead the Seeker carefully to the outskirts of the salon's interior, taking a glass of champagne from the tray of a servant with a sigh as she settled in the shadows against the wall.

    Cassandra gave a wry smile. "You truly are out of practice," she teased. "Do you not wish to mingle? Or would you rather be trampled by a lady's heels?"

    "Oh, you're funny," Jor said, scowling. Cassandra laughed softly, folding her hands behind her back, the picture of an obedient, respectful personal guard. I'm glad she's not. 

    "Lady Trevelyan, isn't it?" A man in puffed red and plaid silks extended a hand as he approached the wallflowers. "Or, pardon me," he smiled beneath his silver bird mask. "Inquisitor?"