Sisters of Tevinter

When the Party's Over

   His accent was distinctly Ferelden. He wore the tattered woven leathers and jagged metal epaulets of a mercenary. 

   Jor took a heaving breath of clear night air. 

   "Here then." He handed her a stained and dirty handkerchief to press against her wound. "Sliced you up good, didn't he? I think you've saved all our sorry asses, Inquisitor." 

   Jor pressed the cloth to the wound, staining it red. "You're Gaspard's mercenaries." 

 "Yeah." He loosed a low whistle. "But seeing this, I'm not getting paid enough for that shit." 

  "Is it true he was planning a coup?" Jor gasped. 

  "He tossed the idea 'round, yeah. We were supposed to move in if the negotiations didn't go his way." 

   "Don't," Jor coughed, gripping her daggers at her side. "This is over. You should go- before you get arrested." 

   "My thoughts exactly. I ain't sticking around here for long, right, boys?" He lifted his head, his companions chuckled and offered nods and waves. Solas jerked his arm from the gentle coax of one of the mercenaries, scowling. 

   Bull clapped his savior on the back with a wide grin. Varric leaned heavily against his stranger's side. Jor nodded, cupping the kerchief to her throat. "Go. Thanks for the coverage." 

   "We're square." The mercenary jerked his head to the south. "Come on, men. Let's get out of here. Something tells me Gaspard won't be around to pay us much longer." He cast Jor an exaggerated wink and faded out. Bull's companion left his side with a grin and a cheery wave, Solas' stranger passed Jor quietly and Varric's friend offered him a good natured handshake before vanishing into the night.

     Bull dragged a hand over his face. "Sorry I lost him, boss." He eyed the wound at her neck. "You alright?" 

     "It's nothing. Come on, we have to settle things inside." Jor drew herself up, turning back in the direction of the palace. The duchess arranged this. She hired the Harlequin to kill the Empress, probably Briala too, framing her own brother in the process- though in perfect soldier fashion, he'd fallen right into the map of treason, bringing his own military force to back him up if necessary. 

     Varric offered her an arm, taking hold of her elbow gently. "Slow down."

     I'm not getting in that dress again. Jor smiled wryly, leaning against her friend carefully. "I'm alright. We should hurry." 

    They trailed back inside, formal attire miraculously only slightly scuffed with only the smallest indication of blood stains.  Jor was the worst off, but her companions mercifully kept her mostly out of view as she returned to the terrace-- Her advisors were waiting. 

    "Inquisitor," Josephine whispered, her fingers pressed to her lips in alarm. 

    "Thank the Maker you're back," Cullen expressed. "The empress will begin her speech--"

    "Tell me something," Jor rasped, still cupping the bloody fabric to her neck, Varric supporting her carefully. She kept out of sight, just on the edge of the doorjamb on the balcony. "How does one dismiss a coup and then go about stabilizing an empire?" 

    She caught sight of Duchess Florianne moving off to one side, conversing with Gaspard pleasantly, as if nothing had happened, across the ballroom. She hadn't seen Jor yet. Her jaw set in dark amusement. 

    Commander Cullen folded his arms. "There is always the possibility of appointing an Inquisition puppet. Gaspard would be ideal, with his military stratagems and mindset, he would be easy to control."