Sisters of Tevinter

Small Talk

   Jor looked up from her champagne. "Hello." She took his proffered hand, desperately trying to recall the appropriate expression for ballrooms in Tevinter. 

    Delicately, he lifted the back of her gloved hand to his lips. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. News and intrigue surrounds you in a haze." 

  "So I hear. I confess," Jor began quietly, setting aside her glass. "You have me at a disadvantage." 

    "Lord Albion, junior minister of the court. What brings you here, my lady?" 

    "I was lucky enough to be invited." Jor let a smile flit across her mouth. "I had assumed you were here on similar circumstance." 

    Albion laughed. "Am I such a vision of mischief, Inquisitor? To steal into an event uninvited?"

  "I should hope not."

   Albion drew her gently to the center of the parlor and carefully placed a hand at her waist. "You'll forgive my eagerness, but I loathe standing still. Tell me," he said, waltzing deftly in a slow, casual circle. "How goes the war? I have yet to hear of the front. I hear the Inquisition has made quite promising progress. A new fortress of operations in the mountains, all very impressive."

     Do you take me for a fool? Jor cocked her head to one side, another small smile touching the corners of her mouth. "We are well and whole, thank you, minister."

     He grinned charmingly beneath his mask, his accent lilting and amused. "How optimistic. A rare quality in a soldier, or a scholar. Which are you again?" He spun her slowly beneath his arm. Jor kept pace easily, her voice never rising above a murmur despite her irritation. 

   "I am the Inquisitor." The words were foreign on her tongue. "Can I not be both?"

   "Interesting." Albion took hold of her hand, lacing their fingers as they resumed their easy circle. "I hadn't thought of that."

   "I highly doubt that, my lord." 

   He grinned. "Perception or insult?" 

  "Think about it." Jor found herself smiling too, her heartbeat pulsing in time with the soft music. Eyes were on them now, people were recognizing her for who she was. Lords and ladies murmured amongst themselves, curious. "Ultimately it is your decision." 

   "Indeed. Again, pardon me for prying, but I must know. Is it true you faced the dragon demon in the snows of the Frostbacks?" 

   "It is... one way of looking at the story." Jor wrinkled her nose as Albion spun her slowly. "In truth I only faced its charge."

    "The monster? The Elder One?" Another grin tugged at the lord's mouth. She couldn't see his eyes behind the mask. Suddenly she felt very exposed. 

     "If that's what he still insists on calling himself." Jor stumbled slightly as Albion released her and swept into a low bow.

      "You've been enlightening, Inquisitor. I do wish you a pleasant evening." And then he was gone, turning to melt into the gathering audience, leaving Jor standing alone in the center of the parlor. 

      Her stomach flipped with the sudden abandonment, the turn of phrase morphing into silence but for music and murmuring as the guests in the salon stared. Cassandra watched from the wall, her hand on her sword. Jor swallowed thickly and stood tall, rubbing her throat as she returned to her Seeker's side. 

      The next half hour was full of many other dances and peppered questions laced with dull, boring small talk. Presently, Jor was surrounded by a group of jabbering ladies gossiping about other guest's choice of apparel, showering the Inquisitor with compliments and asking polite questions about her staff. 

       Jor tried to be patient, but the night was wearing on. She had come to speak with the First Enchanter, not socialize with the lower court. It was then a bark of drunken laughter stumbled through the chamber. Jor's audience parted with gasps and scandalized expressions as a lord in yellow entered the parlor, his mask askew. 

       Cassandra lowered the glass of wine she'd been sipping, the boredom on her face quickly dropping away to reveal alertness. 

      "Inquisitor," the man slurred, raising a clumsy, accusing finger. "Your Inquisition is an insult to Orlais, politically-" he hiccuped. "Unsound. Disgraceful. You're nothing but outcasts claiming to be servants to higher power-- lies." He stumbled forward. "Let us step outside to see the cowardice of rogues." He reached suddenly for the sword at his side. 

   Cassandra drew her blade, there were several cries of horror, Jor's pulse leapt to her throat--

    An instantaneous blast of frigid air burst in sapphire fractals at the center of the parlor, encasing the offender in a thin sheen of solid ice. Jor's breath fogged before her. 

     A steady click of elegant heels descended the staircase. "My dear Marquis," the stranger sighed, her gray and white coat falling like the feathers of a mockingbird around her waist, silver clasps at her sleeves and a high, frilled collar complimenting her horned sterling mask. It gave her the icy demeanor of a snowy dragon stalking foolish prey. "I am certain you hadn't meant to insult our most honored guest." 

      Mist escaped the marquis' mouth from where he stood, frozen and shivering on the marble floor. "M- Madame De Fer," he stuttered, his lips turning a steady shadowed blue. His voice was high and slurred with desperation. "Forgive me."

      "It is not I you should ask forgiveness." The enchantress turned her graceful head to peer at Jor, her obsidian skin turning to ebony in the candlelight. "How shall he be punished, my dear? I won't tolerate such brutish, maudlin rudeness in my own house." 

       Kill him. Jor was surprised by the sudden, dark certainty that burned in her throat, full of rage. She swallowed it, lifting her chin. "I'm sure the marquis has learned his lesson. Perhaps he should simply avoid the wine for the remainder of this evening." 

       "Hm." With a flourish of her hand, the ice shattered. The marquis stumbled and collapsed on the marble floor, shivering. "You are no longer welcome here, marquis. Go. Before you disgrace yourself further in front of my guests."