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“How is it that you, out of all of our companions, are so comfortable at an Orlesian ball?”
Viera’vun stepped from the garden and back into the Winter Palace, barely able to hold her surprise to a whisper as she caught sight of Solas’ leisurely form leaned against the base of a statue. Though his ear twitched in response he did not turn towards her, the flashing of the whites of his eyes the only acknowledgement given as he glanced down.
“Shall I take offense, that you think me to be so uncultured?”
She fanned gloved fingers, lifting them by her shoulders in surrender “I’m only shocked—even Cullen seems ready to knock these nobles’ heads together. I guess I assumed our elven hedge mage wouldn’t be the one most at home here; clearly, I was mistaken.”
His brow stiffened, as if the words didn’t sit well. “I am not without experience. Such grand displays of power, brimming with prestige and intrigue, often catch the eyes of spirits within the Fade,” he seemed to recite, the tension seeping into his tone before he pulled in a breath and, noticeably, softened. “But enough of me. This is your first event of any scale, waking or otherwise, let alone one of such gravity.”
Pushing out a heavy sigh, Viera’vun preoccupied herself with smoothing the embroidery on her dress to distract from her annoyance, and the reflexive clenching of her jaw. “Yes, well, it’s exciting if nothing else,” she muttered, searching the corners nearby for any ears to be wary of. “Josie and Vivienne’s attempts at teaching me the rules of The Game were valiant, but ultimately of little effect. Some dances can’t be taught in a bubble, and now that I’ve seen and know the nuance of the steps it’s much too late to slip back in. I’m…not sure I can salvage this.”
Raised within the wilds as she was, there was a foundation that even the lowest servant within Val Royeaux knew innately that she’d spent months learning from scratch. The most basic rules of etiquette and wordless social cues, things those who’d taught her found difficult to describe, were absorbed effortlessly by children raised within the culture she sought to emulate; yet, to her, they were in a language she didn’t yet speak. Even after so many months, she felt a foreigner fumbling with a thick accent, and against the lions of Orlais, no less. It had been difficult enough to mind her manners, let alone build her reputation.
“You’re so certain it has been ruined?”
Scoffing as her brooding was disrupted, Viera’vun folded her arms. “My politeness has been recognized as avoidance, not charm; the nobility believe me to be uneducated at best, and rude at worst. Even my slipping into the shadows has been noted and interpreted as the base actions of an elf, straying far beyond her caste. I can’t see a way to change their minds, now that they’ve seemingly proven them with their own eyes.”
None of them had believed she could perform—she had seen it in Josie’s pursed lips and the prayer beneath her breath before they had entered the palace, and in Vivienne’s usually guarded expression, filled with doubt at their last lesson as she advised her to keep courteous and quiet, and utterly out of The Game. Even Leliana, who often trusted Viera’vun’s keen instinct, was hesitant to let her stray further than the Vestibule where the nudges of her agents could smooth over any missteps the Inquisitor made, and keep her from tripping over into the social afterlife.
She was many things—an observant agent, an inspiring symbol, a deliberate and driven leader—but the mantle of the socialite she’d never worn. In this, she feared she’d fight for adequacy, let alone proficiency.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean there isn’t a way forward, only that you’ve yet to see it”
He shifted his weight and clasped his hands before him, and she studied him carefully. Had it been anybody else she might’ve laughed or thrown up her hands, vexed; as it was she only shook her head, nurturing a healthy dose of skepticism though she didn’t contradict him.
“What would you have me do, then?”
“As you said, you tried dancing to a song whose steps were unfamiliar to you, and inevitably fumbled; that doesn’t mean the music has stopped or that you can’t rejoin, now that you know how to keep pace.”
“Maybe so, but first impressions can only be made once.”
“That is true, but perception is fluid, and easily redirected,” he posited, gesturing with his chin to the pockets of huddled nobility surrounding them. “You’ve taken time to observe and learn their patterns as the hunter that you are—no doubt you’ve seen how they circle one another, seeking already open wounds to exploit. They’ve convinced themselves that they know your weakness, that the Inquisitor is beneath their thumb already. Make them question that supposed fact, and you’ve the opportunity to make that weakness your strength.”
“That—” she began to argue, made defensive by frustration as well as her discomfort, but as thought began to unfold she found it revealed a path forward in her mind: something not so certain, but definitely not beyond reason. If she were shrewd in the battles she chose from then on, and fixed her posture just so—
“Yes, like that,” he praised as she unwittingly straightened, drawing a pleased smile across his face. “How easily avoidance can shift into mystery, timidity into careful contemplation, when challenged by unquestionable confidence. They will not know what to make of you, and that will be your boon; use it wisely, and you will yet be the belle of the ball.”
The words to respond didn’t come quickly, the idea seemingly unbelievable…and yet, somehow, still just within the reach of what was possible. With a hiss through her teeth she blinked, covering her mouth with a balled hand.
“I don’t know if I’d take it that far,” she mumbled through a slight grin, trailing off. “It won’t be easy and I’ll have to get lucky, they've already lost interest in me for the most part. I’ll have to find some way to grab their attention again, without spoiling this secretive air you’d have me build.”
“You are not so certain, then?”
“No, no, I am. It’s risky, but it might be the best chance I have, so long as I can find that moment,” she clarified, breaking from her musings to look back up at him. “I just…I don’t understand why you have so much faith in me, Solas, especially after I performed so poorly. I’ve not proven myself particularly skilled at The Game, and yet you truly believe I can pull off an intricate trick like this?”
He finally turned his head fully to face her, studying her eyes with a serious and unwavering set to his own. “It’s simple, really. You’ve given me no reason to question that faith.”
No pursed lips, no wispy prayers, no doubt. As if startled she pulled in a quick breath through her nose, wondering if he knew just how much those words meant. Holding his gaze just a moment longer before her nerve fled and the urge to break away found her instead, Viera’vun smiled to herself, eyes flicking down to—
They never made it to the ground, catching on the curve of his lips and what glistened there, hidden to her all this time with his right side turned away. She lifted her hand to stifle the snicker that jumped from her throat, turning towards the wall a moment to find composure. For once, she was grateful for the bulky thing she wore on her face.
“Is my confidence truly so absurd?”
“It’s not that! I swear, it isn’t,” she struggled to push through her giggling, turning to look back up at him with a pointed sniff, “Just—hold on.”
Removing her glove she lifted a thumb to his bottom lip, the soft skin there giving way beneath the pad of her finger as she wiped the stark streak of white frosting away. It was somehow fitting, she thought, as if the sugary smudge were a product of his sweet sentiments and not the treat he’d no doubt eaten prior. Her focus shifted from his lips to his gaze as she pulled away, and found them hungry still—it seemed whatever he’d consumed hadn’t sufficed in sating his appetite.
“Is this truly the time or place?” he breathed, voice strained below his breath, and it ignited her. Unabashed and brimming with the confidence he’d instilled in her, Viera’vun dipped her fingers into his breast pocket and pulled his handkerchief from it with exaggerated flourish, wiping her thumb clean before holding the dirtied cloth towards him.
“If you liked the idea of everyone present knowing just how much you enjoyed the frilly little cakes, then I suppose it isn’t. I’m terribly sorry for that, I hadn’t realized they were that good,” she teased, pulling her glove back on with a coy smirk. “Maybe later, I can have a taste myself.”
Solas looked away, clearing his throat. “There are plenty left, if you’ve a mind to partake.”
“I wasn’t talking about the cakes.”
Viera’vun turned to leave, but not before she caught a glimpse of a red tinge, flushing his ears. Until she had disappeared through the doorway, heading back towards the ballroom, she could feel his eyes upon her. Yes, sweet indeed, in his trust and in his stare. No matter how bitter he tried to appear, she was sure of that much.
She looked forward to having another bite.