Work Text:
Vivienne stopped by Lady Montilyet’s office in Skyhold three weeks before they were expected at the Winter Palace to stop Empress Celene’s assassination. It was their last day in Skyhold before their departure to Orlais. Josephine had been working like a madwoman seeing to details such as outfits, transportation, and instructing the Inquisitor in the basics of the Great Game.
If Vivienne didn’t check in, she knew from experience that Josephine would take on far too much. Delegation was not her strong suit.
“How go the preparations, my dear?” she asked.
“The Inquisitor finally chose our outfit for the ball,” Josephine replied cheerfully.
Adder Adaar could have chosen the design weeks ago and saved Josephine some stress, but she’d had much more important things to do, such as drinking with the Chargers; sitting on the roof with her lover, Sera; and reading the latest work of mindless fiction. The Inquisitor seemed to use Skyhold as an excuse to escape as many of her responsibilities as possible. “Just in time. Which design is it?”
“The red and blue formal wear.” Josephine showed her the sketch. It was ghastly, but what could be done about that? Vivienne had made perfectly good suggestions, but her taste was not the Inquisitor’s taste, clearly.
“It’s very simple and martial. It suits her,” Vivienne said. It wouldn’t suit most everyone else in her inner circle, but Maker forbid the Inquisitor think of that.
Josephine kept writing as she spoke. “I’m working on a letter to our tailor in Val Royeaux. We should all have the outfits by the time we arrive at our lodgings in Halamshiral.”
“Refresh my memory—it’s Madame Perreault, isn’t it?”
Josephine’s quill paused. “Monsieur Calbeau, Madame Vivienne.”
“Oh, of course. Mm. Pity.”
“How so?”
“One of my servants, Etienne, had a cousin that worked for Calbeau. He doesn’t treat those who work for him particularly well—not the elves, certainly.” It was not the message this Inquisition, so concerned with the rights of the oppressed, would want to send.
Josephine blanched. “I hadn’t heard that at all. Nothing of the sort came up in all my research on him!”
“It’s a matter of life and death for me to pay attention to the latest gossip from dressmakers, my dear. I can bring Etienne in to speak further, if you’d like.” And Etienne had better say what she was paying him to say. Sera took great delight in turning her servants against her, so she could never quite be sure of their loyalty. She had to go through them more often than she’d like.
“No, no, I trust you, Madame Vivienne. What was the name of that tailor you mentioned?”
“Madame Perreault. I trust her with my life, and can speak to her good character and fair dealings with servants and nobility.”
“Can she work quickly?”
“Bastien once spilled wine on a garment I was to wear for my first Wintersend party as his mistress. The ball was in three hours. The dress Madame Perreault created for me was written about by no less than Empress Celene herself. I could have a letter of introduction to you in 20 minutes.” And the old bag will owe me.
“Could you? Oh, thank you!”
“Anything to help. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Josephine hesitated. “Well, I suppose there is something I’ve been putting off….”
“Yes?”
“It’s rather demanding.”
“I remain at your disposal, my dear. Simply tell me what needs to be done.”
Josephine sighed. “Lady Adaar joked that we’d never see Sera wearing this.” She nodded to the sketchpad. “Sera is, apparently, committed to wearing what she normally does while at Skyhold.”
Vivienne stared at Josephine, momentarily struck mute with horror. “It was a jest, certainly.” The Inquisitor did love her jokes.
“I thought so, as well. Only, when I sent my staff to take her measurements, she said ‘Absolutely not,’—in more colourful language—and ran off. When they pursued her, she threw a stink bomb at them. I had to get her measurements from Dagna.”
Sera showing up to the Winter Palace dressed as she normally did would be disastrous. Why would the Inquisitor hobble the Inquisition so? There was no question that the Inquisitor would bring her lover to the Winter Palace—she and that brat were inseparable.
“I see,” Vivienne said slowly.
“I know your relationship with Sera is contentious,” Josephine hurried to add. “Perhaps you could ask The Iron Bull or Varric to speak with her?”
Good choices, but the Inquisitor was the best person to influence Sera. Why, Lady Adaar could probably just tell Sera to wear the formal wear until she rips it off her during their lovemaking later that night, Vivienne realized.
Likely, the Inquisitor would figure out the solution Vivienne had just found. Meanwhile, being seen to help Josephine could be valuable. She could make the vain attempt now and gain some more influence with the ambassador.
“Or perhaps she needs to hear from someone who’s lived the Game how important appearances are. I will speak to her, Josephine.”
“Really?” Josephine cleared her throat. “I mean, thank you, Madame Vivienne. I wish you the best of luck.”
“Thank you, darling.” I’ll need it.
*
Vivienne wrote her letter to Madame Perreault, sent it to Josephine, then wrote a much more terse letter to Sera and sent it to her.
Sera burst into Vivienne’s room, waving her letter. “Right, what are you playing at? You shouldn’t’ve found out my latest prank for frigging days.”
“Oh, the fly eggs you had set to hatch in my wardrobe while we were away?”
Sera blinked in surprise, then scowled. “No!”
“The idea was, what, that I’d return to find my room filled with flies? Do you honestly think I’d trouble myself with removing them? That’s just inconveniencing my servant, who’s one of the people you claim you fight for.” She sniffed. “If you want to strike out at me, do aim better.”
“Bitch,” Sera grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why d’you want to talk?”
Vivienne gestured to the plush chair opposite her. She’d had tea and hors d'oeuvres laid out. Sera always seemed to be hungry, so Vivienne thought food might tempt her to stay a few moments longer than she ordinarily would.
“Yeah, not doing that.” But she was eyeing the strawberry tarts, even so.
Vivienne shrugged. “Very well. You must know that your appearance at the Winter Palace could make or break the Inquisition.”
Sera laughed. “I love it! You’re all so frigging serious about the dumbest shite!”
“Because it is a serious matter. I would not go into battle without mana, and I would not see the Inquisition go into battle missing a weapon. You must wear the outfit Josephine asked you to wear, or you will ruin our chances to find the assassin and save Empress Celene.”
“Pfffbbbt. That’s what I say to that. I’ll just walk into Halam-shithole pretending to be Lord Nose-in-the-Air’s servant. Whatever.” Sera snatched up a pastry and started chewing with her mouth open.
“The list of attendants and servants has been set for months. You wouldn’t even get past the gates. Also, ideally, you would close your mouth when you chew.”
Sera swallowed. “Ideally, you’d not be a bitch. And I’m not wearing that red rag. It’s stupid.”
“Your own lover picked it out.”
“Then Addie was being stupid.”
Well, we actually agree on something. How wonderful. “You can move through the crowd much more effectively garbed in the colours of the Inquisition. You could talk to the servants and gather information for your little Red Jenny friends.”
“Gonna do that anyway.”
“As members of the Inquisition led by a Qunari who professes no belief in Andraste, we are in a very precarious position. Every thing we do will be dissected and used against us. As outsiders, we must play the Game or all is lost. We must remain at the ball long enough to save the empress.”
“I just farted. You’re gonna smell it in a minute. Heh.”
Vivienne pursed her lips. “Your cooperation is mandatory, darling. You will wear the ‘red rag,’ or I will find a way to knock you unconscious and dress you appropriately.”
Sera snorted. “Gonna be sticking by Addie the whole time, then. Sure she’d love to hear how you just threatened me, by the way.”
“Running behind the Inquisitor when things get difficult? My, my. And here I thought you could fight your own battles.”
“I frigging can!” The thug jutted her chin out. “Keep talking and I’ll show you. Please, oh please, do keep goin’ on.”
Vivienne had seen Sera on the verge of attacking someone, and this wasn’t it. “Well, I’ve said what I wanted to say. You continue to behave like a child. I’m no longer interested in wasting my time. Move along, now.”
Sera eyed her warily, as if expecting a trap. When none was sprung, she snatched up the tray of hors d'oeuvres before stomping out of Vivienne’s room and down the stairs.
Sera’s gas hit her nose a few moments later. Sighing, Vivienne stepped out onto her balcony, keeping her door open to air out her room.
Sera wore the Inquisition’s colours to the Winter Palace.
“However did you manage that?” Vivienne asked Josephine on the carriage-ride to the Winter Palace.
“It was the Inquisitor, actually. She wouldn’t tell me how she managed it, though I suspect seduction was involved.”
“Ah. Well, we achieved what we hoped for.”
“Thank you for trying, Madame Vivienne.”
When Lady Adaar was presented to the court, Vivienne held her breath. The Inquisitor managed some surprisingly decent rhetorical flourishes given how plainly she usually spoke.
Vivienne circulated among the nobility, greeting old friends and acquaintances.
“To see you without your mask is so bizarre!” Lady Moreau exclaimed. “You must feel naked, don’t you?”
“That is the Lady Adaar’s Inquisition: all are unmasked, representing their true selves to the world.”
“You must tell me about the Inquisition,” said Monsieur LaChapelle. “We hear such rumours. She did not make allies of the rebels, surely?”
“Lady Adaar has made allies of the apostate mages, and they have proven steadfast in aiding us in our efforts against the Breach. Should we defeat Corypheus, the Inquisitor sees mages living among the nonmagical population as equals. A worthy goal, to be sure.”
“She has won many battles, I’ve heard,” said Madame Hubert. “Is that her doing, truly, or the doing of those around her?”
“The Inquisitor commands many of her inner circle in the field of battle, and has done so against demonic and mortal foes.” Vivienne was feeling generous enough toward Lady Adaar to feign surprise and add, “I thought most everyone had heard she was a celebrated mercenary commander before becoming Andraste’s Herald. I do wonder where you’re getting your information, Madame Hubert.”
No one who spoke to her was crude enough to directly reference the Inquisitor’s race, but in their conversations to each other, the nobility were much more blunt.
As Vivienne lounged with a flute of champagne in hand, pretending to admire the dancers, she overheard one young man say to another, “I did not even know their people could talk. I thought they just grunted.”
“No, no, Mathieu, they have their own language. They can even read—they follow the teachings of a book written by a prophet of theirs. It tells them how to run everything. It’s a very regimented society.”
“Andraste would never have chosen one of them as her herald. Our Lady would have had more taste.”
“Oh, of course, this Inquisition is a wretched lie. But it’s a lie we must all pretend to believe, for now. The truth will come to light soon enough. It always does.”
Not every bit of gossip was a secret the Inquisition could use to further their ends. Vivienne moved on.
“It is like seeing an ox stand on its hind legs.”
“She’s so large! How does she move around breaking anything?”
“They’ve dressed her up, but I imagine she’ll be lowing by the end of the night.”
“Vivi!”
Vivienne paused.
“Vivi!” Sera popped out from behind a pillar and gestured to her.
Vivienne joined her. “Have we found out who the assassin is?”
“What? Oh, that.” Her face was flushed, and she was scowling. “No, this is…it’s different.”
“I see.” Vivienne turned around and walked away.
Sera grabbed her arm, likely leaving a stain on the fabric. “Look, I don’t like it either! But I can’t find Josie, so….”
“Then look harder.”
“She wants to dance. Addie. Not Josie. She wants to dance with me. She just said it, like I dance to shite like this.”
“Then she’s clearly delusional.” Vivienne looked over her shoulder at the elf. “Are you asking me for a favour, little Sera?”
Sera screwed her face up like a child having a tantrum, groaned so loudly that a few nearby people turned to stare, then spat out, “Yes.”
“I want servants I can trust without finding mice dung in my shoe. Thanks to you, I’ve had to send away good people. Leave them alone. Your quarrel is with me, not them.”
Sera nodded, with a serious expression that sat oddly on her face. “Yeah. Sure. Done.”
The Inquisitor was working the ballroom, so Vivienne led them to a secluded corner of the gardens. Varric nodded at the two of them, and Dorian glanced their way. Vivienne dancing with an elf would become court gossip, but it would be ameliorated by Sera’s status as a member of the Inquisition. Her reputation would survive.
“Very well.” She turned to Sera. “Now, what dances do you know?”
“’Sally Went to Market’ kinda shite.”
Vivienne sighed. “I haven’t the faintest idea what that means.”
“Oh, it’s this grand song.” Sera began drumming a fast beat on the nearby stone bench. People were staring. “There’s Sally, and she goes to market, but everyone’s scared of her. Turns out it’s ‘cuz she’s a darkspawn. It’s brilliant.”
“Yes, yes. Well, the most common beat is a waltz, in three-quarter time—”
“Argh! I don’t need the theory! I just need the know-how!”
Vivienne could just hear the distant strains of a new song. Vivienne didn’t recognize it—the curse of living so far from the centre of culture—but it resembled one of Duguay’s later pieces. This could be a perfect learning opportunity. Vivienne darted into Sera’s personal space, resting one hand on Sera’s shoulder, the other touching Sera’s opposite hand.
Sera blinked at her. “Uh…”
“I’ll lead,” Vivienne said.
“Oh.” She blinked. “Dancing. Yeah. That’s what I thought this was.”
Vivienne ignored the muttering and steered her through the steps. Sera stumbled gracelessly, stepping on Vivienne’s feet. She went back where she should go forward, or to the left when she should have gone to the right, or managed to take two steps where only one was needed. She stared at her feet the entire time.
“Why do you even want to dance like the nobility you despise, Sera?”
“Addie asked me. And you can’t jig to this music. I asked the band to change it up, Inquisitorial order and all. They looked right through me. Thanks again, frigging pointy ears.”
“A band that played a jig at the Winter Palace would be executed, I assume. I’m not sure what the punishment would be; no one’s been foolish enough to do it.” Vivienne could see a few ways to make that happen: bribery, a careful application of favours, being seen with the empress at just the right time. She wasn’t going to help Sera any more than was required, however.
“Executed for playing fun music? You lot are just the worst.” Sera flashed her a smirk before glowering down her feet again. “Oh, right. They’re not your lot, though you act it.”
“I act like a reasonable adult. That you equate this with nobility says something very interesting about you, darling.”
“Ooo, yeah, you’re getting ready to tear me down. Love this part.”
This song was interminable. She hoped Sera would grow bored and pull away, but the thug was actually working hard. She was even managing to improve slightly. So this wasn’t just an excuse to injure my feet.
“You should look up into the Inquisitor’s eyes,” Vivienne said.
“Eh?”
“The poorest of dancing can be saved by a lover’s gaze. My Bastien is a terrible dancer, but when we take to the dance floor, it never matters.”
Of course, they hadn’t danced together for many years. Vivienne felt a twinge at the thought, which surprised her. The pain of Bastien’s illness usually came when she dipped a quill into an inkwell to write him a letter before remembering he may not be alive to read it, or when she slept in her empty bed.
Sera didn’t reply immediately. After a few moments, she raised her head, staring over Vivienne’s shoulder. “He here, your bloke?”
“Unfortunately, he’s indisposed.”
Sera’s dancing was suffering once again now that she wasn’t able to watch her feet. “Good. ‘Cuz I was planning a brilliant prank on him.”
Vivienne sensed Sera was lying. Naturally—she used the word plan. “You assume I would have pointed him out to you.”
“Figured you’d want to brag about how big his gold vault is or whatever.”
“I would only share information about Bastien with those whose opinions I care about, my dear.”
Sera finally looked at her face, grinning. “Right.” No quip followed, no release of gas, no cursing.
That Sera was actually being pleasant for once meant little. She would be back to her old ways soon enough. But the dance did become easier to bear—even with Sera stepping on her toes now and then.
Finally, the song ended. She dropped Sera’s hand and stepped away. “I hope this helped.”
“It did, yeah. Um, thanks?” Sera winced. “Ugh, felt weird, that. Like seeing Bull without his horns. Some things just shouldn’t be.”
“We need never speak of it again,” Vivienne offered. “Now, shall we seek out information that will lead us to an assassin?”
“Yeah, that.”
They parted ways.
Vivienne continued circulating. To her surprise, she began hearing more and more favourable comments about Inquisitor Adaar as the hour wore on.
“Did you see her with the Grand Duchess? Florianne almost looked as if she were matching wits!”
“She’s almost handsome, in a way. Those orange eyes in that dark grey skin—it’s quite striking.”
“She made a joke! I didn’t think Qunari could be funny, but how I laughed.”
Part of it was the novelty of having a Qunari at court, but part of it seemed to be actual skill on the Inquisitor’s part. Had she been studying the Game this whole time?
Vivienne enjoyed being challenged and intrigued. She hated being surprised.
Sporting her usual easy smile, the Inquisitor approached Vivienne. She seemed so comfortable.
“And here we are,” Vivienne said. “You haven’t embarrassed yourself as much as I feared. Well done, my dear.”
“Any tips on navigating the ballroom?”
“Speak to the Council of Heralds. Six of them are here tonight. The seventh member of the council is…indisposed. His absence will complicate the negotiations.
“The council are the highest ranking players of the Game. They see everything. They might know something we can use.”
They made some small talk about the Game and the Orlesian nobility’s use of masks. Vivienne kept expecting a slight against Orlesians or an immature joke, but the Inquisitor seemed genuinely interested. The Qunari was positively glowing.
“Tell me, Vivienne: where do you want the crown to fall?”
“What I want is irrelevant, darling. Orlais requires stability, and that is best served by Empress Celene.” She did hope the Inquisitor didn’t choose to side with Gaspard or Briala. The Inquisition siding with the latter concerned her most—Adaar had never favoured military might in her dealings throughout Thedas, but she clearly had a fondness for elves.
“Be ready to act when I give the signal,” the Inquisitor said.
“Always, my dear.”
Vivienne watched and waited.
Vivienne was sore and drained of mana from fighting the demons Florianne had summoned. She watched as the Inquisitor conferred with Cullen, hoping she would make the right choice.
Inquisitor Adder Adaar strode out onto the dance floor and listed Grand Duchess Florianne’s crimes in front the assembled nobility.
The nobility listened.
They listened to a leader of an upstart organization who had held power for a few scant months. They listened to a mercenary captain who had never even seen Halamshiral before. They listened to a Qunari.
Vivienne felt a surge of envy while she kept her face smooth as an Orlesian mask. (If Cole said anything, she would find some way to destroy that demon if they survived the conflict with Corypheus.)
The Winter Palace’s guards took the Duchess away. Then the Inquisitor left with Celene, Briala and Gaspard to speak alone.
Voices rose like a swarm of bees as the four left. Varric started taking bets on the outcome.
After a few moments, Gaspard was dragged out by more guards. There hadn’t been many takers that he’d survive the night.
Then the Inquisitor, Celene, and Briala spoke before all. Briala was named Marquise of the Dales. Sera pulled a face and groaned at that, tossing Varric a copper. Had that been the Inquisitor’s influence or Celene’s doing? It wouldn’t change much. The King of Ferelden had created the title of Bann of Denerim’s Alienage, and even with political representation the lot of elves in Ferelden was little better than it had been before the Blight.
Lady Adaar left for the balcony soon after the speech. That vile apostate, Morrigan, followed her out and spoke with her briefly. Sera ducked and wove through the crowd to get to the Inquisitor, spinning aside and leaping in her haste. She was making an utter fool of herself. That she didn’t care, even a little, mystified her.
A new song started, and Sera and the Inquisitor had their dance. The elf truly was awful.
“Using some of the moves you taught her in the garden?” Varric asked, half-jokingly.
Sera was looking into Inquisitor Adaar’s eyes. “You know, I believe she is.”
But she could hardly watch them for long. Nobles were swarming toward Vivienne, eager for some inside information on the Inquisitor from a familiar source. Before they reached her, Vivienne let herself wonder what tonight would have been like if Bastien were here. The only time she’d felt this alone was during her Harrowing, so many years ago.
It was a momentary lapse. She snapped back to attention and smiled at the first person that came into view.