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If she were being honest, Enansal had been shocked when Josephine and Vivienne had allowed her to choose her own gown to wear at Halamshiral. She had expected them to insist that she wear something that was at the height of Orlesian fashion.
By attending the peace talks, the Inquisitor was no doubt going to be watched and judged by every single guest in attendance. Being Dalish, she expected that such judgements would increase tenfold. As such, it would be expected of her to meet, if not exceed, the expectations of the Orlesian court. When the women of her inner circle had traveled to Val Royeaux to commission the necessary wardrobes for the event, Enansal would have gladly deferred to judgement of those that had attended such things in the past.
In the end, however, the consensus between Leliana, Josephine, and Vivienne was that the Inquisitor would have a better chance of showing confidence and power if she were wearing something of her own choice. If the garment was tailored to her own specifications, Enansal could also have better luck in partaking in any activities that may take her away from the ballroom.
If nothing else, the three agreed that wearing something that defied the Orlesian standard would be a statement in and of itself.
The Inquisitor could not have been more grateful for their decision.
As she finished tying off the mask she would be wearing for the evening, she turned back to look at a reflection of herself in the nearest looking glass. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the image before her; Enansal could hardly recognize herself.
She swallowed, and let out a slow breath to calm her nerves. Surely her own reaction was a decent indication of how she would be received at the Winter Palace in a few short hours? She let out another breath, and finally dared to set foot outside of her room in the Inquisition’s borrowed château.
Outside in the hall, Cullen straightened quickly as he saw the Inquisitor from his peripheral. He turned towards her, and froze in place as he took in the sight of her.
The gown itself was sleeveless and made of silk, hugging her lithe form in turquoise-colored hues. Wrapped around her waist was a length of silk that matched the rest of the dress, cinched with a silver buckle in the shape of the Watchful Eye symbol of the Inquisition. A stiff silk collar was at her neck, the silver clasp holding it closed also crafted in the likeness of the Watchful Eye, and from this collar hung a cloak of pale blue georgette that bared her shoulders. Silver thread and navy beads adorned both the collar and sweetheart neckline, hinting at a design inspired by thick foliage. Silver earrings hung from her recently pierced earlobes, with matching silver cuffs near each pointed tip. In her usual preference, her cheekbones had been dusted with rogue, and her eyes were thickly lined with kohl. Rather than the usual crimson, her lips had been painted a pale rose color. Her raven hair, which she normally had to tame with hair cream as he did, had been styled to the point where it now lay completed straight, without a single flyaway curl to indicate its true texture. Upon her face rested a delicate mask, silver in color and dotted with small quartz crystals, that formed thin branches climbing up and around her face, accentuating the black ink upon her cheeks that was dedicated to the elven goddess, Mythal.
Cullen swallowed thickly. The Inquisitor looked…well, she looked much like an elven goddess herself.
She turned towards him, finally realizing that he was there. “C-Cullen…” she stammered out. Her cheeks flushed as her mind began racing. He was staring, and that couldn’t bode well. Had she put on too much makeup? Was the color of the gown too much? Had her choices, in fact, been too inappropriate for the evening? Was it too late to try and change? Where was Josephine so that she could—
“It looks good on you,” Cullen murmured, finally finding his voice.
Enansal blinked. “Wh-what?”
He smiled softly, shyly, and gestured to her ensemble. “You look absolutely breathtaking…if you don’t mind my saying so.”
After a few silent moments while she processed what he had said, her shoulders finally slumped a little in relief. “Thank you. I was…I still am…a little afraid of what the Orlesians will think…”
Cullen snorted. “I could care less about their Maker-damned opinions.”
She smiled, her heart swelling at his words. Her Commander had a point. While it was important for her to build a good rapport with Orlais tonight, she was still the Inquisitor. So long as she was able to feign confidence, and would be able to ignore whatever criticisms came her way that evening, that would speak volumes to the nobles that would be watching her all night. And it was no small blessing that she would have her companions at her side…that she would have Cullen at her side.
“Thank you…” she whispered, hoping he would understand that she was not just thanking him for his compliment. She hoped he understood that she was thankful, too, for the fact that he was going deep into the lion’s den beside her, that in her moment of self-doubt, he had given her the strength she needed to face the evening ahead of them.
“Of course,” he replied. He then smiled at her again, and offered his arm. “Shall we?”