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The Inquisitor is foreign to her, in all senses of the word. She is Dalish - Vivienne is human. She is nothing more than an apostate - Vivienne is a trained Circle mage, a Knight-Enchanter, respected by all.
Where Vivienne would have used poison, or simply played the Game to win, she is kind, using diplomacy and honesty to reach her goals.
It's a remarkable sight to witness when she finally snaps.
The girl is sitting on her throne, listening to an ignorant and foolish Orlesian lord complain about a Dalish clan who, according to him, are trespassing on his land.
'These Dalish have no morals, no integrity,' he spits. 'Surely even an esteemed elf such as yourself can understand how difficult it is to deal with these knife-ears.'
The slur echoes around the hall, ringing in the sudden silence that has followed his words. All are still, all eyes moving to the Dalish Inquisitor. From her balcony, Vivienne can sense the furious magic building around the elf, and she stands, moving gracefully to better see what is going to happen.
'How much land would you say the Dalish are occupying?'
He bows. 'An…an acre, Lady Inquisitor.'
'And how much land do you otherwise possess?'
He bows again. 'Several hectares, Lady Inquisitor.'
The elf rises then, and moves from the dais, coming to a halt just a few steps from the now pale Orlesian.
'Then it is theirs,' she says simply, standing proud and angry. 'That acre is no longer your land - it belongs to all.'
'What?!' The lord is understandably angry and confused, and as he begins to protest Vivienne notices the demon-boy appear from a side door. He's watching, too, although it is concern that moves him so, rather than bemused curiosity, like her.
The Inquisitor is red with anger, as is her magic, burning like a brilliant flame around her as she begins to lose her temper. .
'It will belong to the wild, and thus to the Dalish. My people have no home than that which we give ourselves. We are persecuted, cut down, killed in cold blood by ignorant shems such as yourself, by shems who complain about trivial, ridiculous matters and call us knife-ears.'
There is deadly silence, and she can tell that the lord realises the enormity of his mistake.
'Fen'Harel ma ghilana banal'ras, shemlen,' she spits. 'The Dread Wolf guide you to the Void.' Her hands ignite with anger, red flames pulsing around her fingertips. The lord squeaks in terror - this is not the fair and wise Inquisitor he was expecting. Instead, she is a Dalish mage, glowing with uncontrollable power.
Both Ambassador Montilyet and the demon-boy move towards them.
'Inquisitor-'
'My friend-'
The demon-boy reaches her first, takes her hands in his and tries to soothe her, unafraid of her fire, as the petrified noble is shepherded out by Josephine.
It's a little amusing to watch, she admits. The girl wears her heart on her sleeve, a move that is both dangerous and impractical. She is a power in Thedas, and that power must be what the people see. Not her display of magic, nor her pointed ears, and certainly not her personal stance on political matters.
It's a tactic that Vivienne has perfected over the years, learning how to hide herself in plain sight, wearing a mask even with bare skin.
It's a tactic that she finds herself offering a few hours later, when Josephine approaches her, fretting over what happened.
It's a tactic that, oddly, she doesn't believe she'll mind teaching to this strange, foreign Inquisitor.
How strange.