Spellbound

18. Tevinter-style Festivities

Of course everyone is welcome to imagine their own Lavellan for this fic but just for reference I left my character up there~

Also gore warning

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Dorian hadn't invited his closest family, even though this conference seemed to concern them as much as him. Whenever his guests' questions pried for their absence, Dorian smiled the most charming of smiles and told them his parents were otherwise unavailable.

More than last time, this conference seemed artificial. The scents of various perfumes meant to disguise the stench of blood magic layered on top of each other in the air to create a nauseating mixture. All types of magic users subtly let their energy thrum over their skin to boast with it, and Lavellan dodged them with frozen features as he tried to work along with the other servants.

Since he was new to serving esteemed guests, Dorian had told him to stick to him only. It was a pitiful excuse to have Lavellan nearby, but Lavellan didn't argue about it. Any mishap towards Dorian could be forgiven, while the other guests might have Lavellan's hands for ruining their priceless costumes with wine.

Not that he wasn't tempted to douse them in red. The room was sticky, too loud, and all the fake smiles set off alarm bell after alarm bell in his head. It was difficult to listen in to specific conversations, and about every word he heard was so suspicious he wanted to warn Dorian of a dozen death threats immediately.

With his new understanding of just how charmingly nonchalant Tevinters were with their assassination prompts, Lavellan felt like a fool for ever thinking he could pull one off. Dorian must have had a reason to employ a bodyguard in the first place.

Fenris assured Lavellan that Dorian was aware of the general deadly mood while they fetched new wines from the basement. The easiest way to apply for a seat in the magisterium was to rid another person or their chosen follower of it. Since Dorian's father was a magister and his seat would most likely go to Dorian, he was not only a beloved tool to apply pressure on his father with but also a target.

Lavellan didn't like Dorian, but he despised the idea of him getting murdered in cold blood for something as plain as a seat in the magisterium. His life and death had no purpose like that. His death wouldn't be a heroic thing to free his enslaved servants. He would just be gone, another dead body on a mountain discarded by politics.

In this scenario, Dorian would insist he was too beautiful to die, and Lavellan agreed. His death should not happen like that. Not for a purpose Dorian never claimed for himself.

Once they left the basement, Fenris and Lavellan split again. While Fenris went to show a couple of newcomers their seats, Lavellan crossed the room under the bright golden orb with meticulous steps. He tried for the grace of his kin, but he believed he looked like a sneaking Dalish hunter anyway.

The Bull's horns that shot out left and right of his head to point to the sky only at the tips hovered above the crowd as he sat by Dorian's side. His one eye flicked around the room as it sought dangers and observed those he identified as threats. When he noticed Lavellan creeping around behind them, he inclined his head so the Dalish had a safe spot to dip between him and Dorian. The mage offered his chalice when Lavellan poured his drink.

"Stick with Fenris when you aren't busy. You are garnering more gazes than I wish," Dorian muttered behind his chalice. Lavellan nodded once and retreated. On his way past, Varric grinned at him from Dorian's other side, but it looked strained.

Some of Dorian's friends from his birthday party had come for his support. The elegant dark mage lady was there, and by her side was the woman she called Josephine. A woman with short, orange hair, whose gentle features entranced the nearby men accompanied the warrior with the blond curls. As they toasted with each other, Lavellan found they made for a marvellous couple. He didn't doubt their influence.