So far Rom was managing to stay afloat solely because there wasn't much required by him in the way of conversation-making.
The predictions they'd made in their practice were proving to be right; everyone wanted to meet the Inquisition, more specifically the Inquisitors themselves, which meant that there was barely time for more than introductions before they needed to move on to someone else. The nobles themselves seemed to realize this, most not attempting to take up more than a few seconds of his time. Those that did were more often than not muscled in on by others before they could offer much. Rom was well-practiced in introductions by this point, though Khari's full name became a serious mouthful after the first few times he said it. He hoped she could forgive him for the excessive use of it.
Estella was likewise buried in eager Orlesians hoping to meet her. It was hard to tell, but Rom suspected the Lady Inquisitor was drawing a larger crowd than the Lord, though not by much. She was certainly more approachable, but it could be easily argued that Rom was more intriguing. The stories about him were somewhat wilder and more varied. Not to say rumor about Estella had been anything resembling mundane. He shared a sympathetic look with her when they passed once; it was all he had time for.
He was eager to be moving on, to get all these introductions out of the way so they could get to the real work they were here for. At some point they would be called inside the ballroom to introduce themselves to the Empress, but until then they were supposedly meant to enjoy themselves socializing. Rom had started out focused, taking down names and linking them with the variety of masks he saw, hoping he might be able to remember most, if not all of them. Now, though... he could barely remember most of the names right after they were said. Many of them had such thick Orlesian accents he couldn't even understand them on the first try, and the masks and dresses and doublets all started to blend together after a time.
"Is this the Lord Inquisitor, then?" asked a man in a burgundy doublet, drawing Rom's attention to his left. His mask was gold, or gilded rather, with a supremely pointed nose and eyebrows that gave him the look of being perpetually amused. He leaned against the nearby banister. "I've caught you at last. Lord Jaspar Droz, of Jader." That explained his much less severe accent. Jader was situated right on the border of Ferelden, and saw much wider range in its population.
"A pleasure, Lord Jaspar," Rom greeted with a short bow, the motion almost subconscious by this point. "I am the Lord Inquisitor, yes. My name is Romulus. Allow me to introduce—"
"Ser Leonhardt Albrecht and Serah Kharisanna Istimaethoriel, yes, yes," Jaspar interrupted. "We have limited time, so perhaps we can skip what I've already overheard." He cleared his throat, taking a step away from the banister towards them. "I've been following the Inquisition's work quite closely. A bit hard not to, in Jader. Quite remarkable things you've done."
Next to Rom, Khari shifted a bit; one of her hands found her hip. She'd been struggling a bit as the introductions continued; it was obvious enough that her attention had flagged, but something about the cadence or tone Lord Jaspar used snapped it back into focus on the conversation. “Not that surprising, is it?" She bared her teeth in a smile that didn't quite reach genuine friendliness. Though perhaps one would have to be familiar with her inventory of them to know that. “Tends to be what happens when you put a bunch of remarkable people in an exceptional situation."
"We have done what we can with our lot," Leon added, considerably more modestly. Rom had been able to glean that he had at least some experience with events like this; he'd taught as much as he learned at the etiquette practices, and seemed to have a considerable amount of endurance for repetitive introductions. Though it would clearly be a mistake to say he was enjoying himself, as they'd been urged to do. The natural fact that his height and coloration made him stand out in a crowd bothered him a little more here than it did among soldiers, apparently—he held himself just uncomfortably enough that it was noticeable. "But there is yet much to do."
"Indeed," Jaspar said, nodding, "what the Inquisition intends to do in the future has been a subject of much debate among the nobility." Through the slits in his mask Rom could see his eyes narrow. "You have already demonstrated great audacity, building an army that answers to no nation, occupying a fortress in Fereldan lands, marching your army through southern Orlais when it pleases you..." Though the words were phrased almost as accusation, the tone that accompanied them was entirely pleasant, in the obviously disingenuous way. Somehow it made it seem more acidic than if he were spitting with anger.
"Makes the good people of Orlais wonder what your intentions truly are. You in particular, Lord Inquisitor." Jaspar tilted his head at Rom slightly, examining him. Not for the first time Rom wished he were without his own mask, as he felt foolish behind it. Such a stupid quirk of their culture. "There are many who believe you showed your true colors when you attempted to prop yourself up as a descendant of blessed Andraste herself. As if being declared the Lady's Herald was not enough!"
"I was deceived by a carefully constructed lie," Rom said. "We all were." He was starting to feel uncomfortably warm. The air was not as cool in here as it had been outside, with all the people waiting for the ceremonies to officially begin.
Jaspar scoffed softly. "Of course, of course. A lie the Inquisition seemed all too ready to go along with." His eyes then shifted to Khari, and he hummed in thought momentarily. "Istimaethoriel... no city elf name. I'd not be surprised to see Dalish markings behind that mask of yours. Tell me, elf, did you believe your Herald to be descended from Andraste herself, as apparently all the Inquisition's leadership did?"
“Didn't matter to me when they said he was, didn't matter to me when they said he wasn't." Khari tilted her chin up a little; it wasn't hard to read the stubborn twist to her mouth. Mask or not, she might as well have been barefaced. The honesty practically rolled off her in waves. “He's a leader worth following, with a cause worth fighting for, no matter whose blood he is." She shrugged, but her expression was too hard for the motion to have any of the carelessness it might have otherwise implied. “I don't need any god's authority to tell me that. My eyes'll do just fine."
"Silly of me to expect any kind of piety from an elf, I suppose," Jaspar said, almost laughing as though it were indeed a rather funny joke he'd just told. Of all the possible subjects, this was the one Rom felt the worst about discussing, if only because he still felt he had no decent way of justifying it. His motives had been selfish above all. It hadn't been about the Inquisition or Andraste or the Maker for him, but about the rush of finding out who his family had been, and trying to do something, anything to feel like he belonged to that.
"You are still a High Seeker, are you not Ser Leonhardt?" Rom started looking about as Jaspar continued, wondering if anyone else would come to muscle in here, but he seemed to have chosen his moment well. "As of when the Inquisition came through Jader on this mad quest, the Herald had not yet been named Inquisitor. This leads me to believe you granted him the title after he was proven a fraud. Does this Inquisition make a habit of rewarding heresy? Idiocy? Both?"
"The heretics are dead," Leon replied mildly, blinking at Jaspar with an unperturbed expression. "The Lord Inquisitor killed them both himself, actually." He tilted his head a few degrees to the side. "It was due to him the deception was discovered, and due to him it was ended. The sacrifice of what could have been great personal gain for the sake of the truth over deception and right over wrong is best rewarded wherever it occurs, I have found."
He glanced for a moment at Rom, and then his eyes moved briefly to Khari. "I have been most pleased to discover that ours is, above all else, an organization of faith. Faith that what is best in us and the world will triumph. I have learned a great many lessons in it myself, some of them from impious elves. I find that this fact does not sit so poorly with my own faith in the Maker."
Rom was immensely grateful that he had his friends at his back for this. They'd worded his defense far better than he could have hoped to do himself. Even Lord Jaspar, who seemed so intent on despising him, obviously had to reconsider his next move. In the end, he smiled pleasantly. "Well spoken, Ser. It's plain to see the Inquisition did not come to Halamshiral unprepared. As for your Lord Inquisitor, I will have to reserve judge—"
A bell sounded clearly, cutting through the din of conversation permeating the room. It seemed it was time, then, for the formal introductions to the Empress and the court to take place. Rom bowed his head rather than wait for Jaspar to finish his thought. "It's been a pleasure, Lord Jaspar. I hope you have a pleasant evening." Accepting the nod of the man's head as enough of a farewell, Rom led the way towards the great double doors separating them from the ballroom. He walked closed enough to nearly bump shoulders with Khari. "Thanks for that, both of you."
Leon actually smiled a bit at that. "Not at all. I didn't even have to say anything untrue."
“What Leon said." Khari leaned slightly sideways to knock her bare shoulder into his arm for just a moment. “We've got your back." She pushed a sigh through her nose; observing the flow of the crowd in front of them. “Marcy says I don't get to meet the really important people, though, so I'm gonna have to watch it from a bit further away this time." From the way her mask shifted, she'd wrinkled her nose in a familiar fashion.
“You'll do fine anyhow. If it's really an emergency, give the signal and I'll sneak behind her and make funny faces or something. I'll bring Zee with me." She patted his back once, firmly, before breaking off to walk next to Vesryn and the aforementioned pirate who, along with Asala, weren't really noble enough to merit a direct introduction to the Empress. Zahra’s demeanor belied a remarkably indifferent proclivity. She had been watching. Intently. However, she didn’t seem to like Jaspar’s attitude. Nobles be damned. She did appear to be relieved that she hadn’t needed to say anything at all though. As soon as Khari joined them at their sides, she shifted and made a comment. Barely audible. Her smile was indicative of a joke.
Rom couldn't help but grin, the upward turn of his lips just visible below the bottom of his mask. Unlike dealing with random lords that took issue with the Inquisition's actions, Rom had done a great deal of practicing for meeting the Empress. Likely he wouldn't have to say much, as the formal introductions would be very brief, after which point the Empress would undoubtedly have more pressing matters to attend to. Still, there would be words exchanged, and Rom wanted to make sure the ones that came out of his mouth did nothing to damage the Inquisition.
A small group of guards permitted the Inquisition's party of nobles to enter the grand ballroom, with the others soon following behind, though they were directed to the sides rather than the staircase leading down and through the center of the room. Rom's eyes had just about absorbed all the gold, marble, and glittering surfaces they could handle for one night, but the ceiling in here was vaulted much higher than the entryway had been, the walls draped in banners of royal blue.
A crier noted their entrance, withdrawing the scroll at his back and unfurling it as Lucien led the party down the steps. There they waited for the announcement, which was only a few seconds in the coming. "And now, presenting: His Imperial Highness Lucien Thibault Drakon, Prince of the Empire, Duke of Lydes, and Commander of the Argent Lions. And accompanying him..." A pause, as the crier took in the first few names on the list.
"The Heralds of Andraste: Lady Inquisitor Estella Severa Calligenia Avenarius, and Lord Inquisitor Romulus." He almost wished he had a few more names, so as to not seem as a footnote compared to the others he stood with, but Rom did his best not to seem that way, and stood with straight-backed posture as he had been instructed.
The woman on the other side of the ballroom floor from them, behind a marble railing atop the mirrored staircase, needed no introduction. Empress Celene Valmont I looked radiant as expected, at least from this distance. Her hair was a very light blonde, done up in an elaborate bun to keep it out of the way of the glittering ornament of what appeared to be a large sun affixed to the back of her dress. Her color for the night was unsurprisingly blue, and her mask, unlike many of the others, exposed her nose and much of her cheeks, doing little to hide her somewhat gaunt features. She curtsied to the three that were presented to her.
They returned it, bows from Romulus and Lucien, and a graceful curtsy from Estella. The ballroom floor had been left empty and clear for them to cross, and Lucien started them forward, keeping only a pace in front of the Inquisitors. Estella shot a brief glance at Rom, wearing a small smile. "Shall we?" The question was soft, just a little offering of solidarity.
He was glad for it, and glad that they had been introduced side by side. Nodding, they walked that way, remaining just a pace behind the Crown Prince, who proved to be an easy man to follow. He had a presence that neither of them could hope to match, and Rom had a feeling there were just as many eyes on Lucien as the two newcomer Inquisitors.
"Accompanying the Inquisitors," the crier continued, as they made their way slowly across the ballroom floor, "High Seeker Leonhardt Engelram Albrecht, Commander of the Inquisition."
"Lady Marceline Élise Benoît, Comtesse of the West Banks and Ambassador for the Inquisition, and her husband Lord Michaël Durant Benoît, Comte of the West Banks."
The pair had entered as one, Lady Marceline's arm wound around Michaël's. She curtsied, while her husband slipped into a deep bow. From the smile apparent on her face, she seemed rather proud of the moment, having been formally introduced, while Michaël at the very least seemed happy for his wife, as his eyes were on her as much as they were on the royalty.
"Lord Cyrus Tullius Aquila Avenarius, Praefectus of Vantania." At this point it seemed the flurry of Tevinter names were starting to wear thin on the Orlesians, and unlike the other two Cyrus was not an Inquisitor or Herald of Andraste. The welcome was not openly impolite, but still of a perceptibly different mood.
Since Cyrus was behind them, it was impossible to know exactly how he reacted to that fact, but it was hard to imagine him letting it bother him much. His initial reception within the Inquisition had been openly chilly—there were still some members of staff who never got within ten feet of him. It seemed unlikely this would perturb him if that didn't.
"And Serah Rilien Falavel, Seneschal of the Inquisition."
Surprisingly, Rilien seemed rather more popular than most; or at least people were interested to note his appearance, from the slight hum of murmuring that passed through the crowd at that announcement.
Though it seemed much longer than it probably actually was, the distance they had to cross did not last forever, and the bows and curtsies were repeated when they reached speaking distance, standing on the other raised side of the ballroom floor. Celene occupied the balcony in front of and above them, alone for the moment, though no doubt her closest attendants were not far.
As befitted her status, the Empress was the first to speak. "Lucien. It has been quite some time since you graced our court with your presence. You even managed to nudge our Lord-General into an appearance, we've seen." The cadence of her words was light, practiced, diplomatic; even the humor seemed pre-planned, lacking the spontaneity of genuine amusement. Were it not for the familiar form of address, it would have been impossible to tell they were related at all.
"Your Majesty," Lucien rose with apparent ease from his bow, but he didn't refer so casually to the Empress as she did to him. "It has been some time; it is my hope that no more such prolonged absences will be necessary." Despite his relative formality, he still managed to sound quite genuine, almost warm.
Celene inclined her head, just faintly. "And such interesting guests you've brought with you. Lady Inquisitor, Lord Inquisitor. We've heard much of the both of you. We daresay you're the talk of Orlais these days. Perhaps the talk of Thedas, in time." An inscrutable smile curled her lips, painted petal-pink. "Tell us, how do you find Halamshiral?"
"I've never seen a city like it, Your Majesty," Rom replied truthfully. This was indeed one of the questions that had been expected. The proper responses, as he'd learned, involved not piling on false compliments and kissing feet. The Orlesians preferred things to be more interesting than that. "It feels like a place where the unexpected might occur around every corner."
The Empress's expression did not falter. "So it is," she agreed. "And we do believe you have brought quite a bit of the unexpected with you, as well." Behind her mask, her eyes narrowed just a fraction. "The unexpected comes in many flavors, Inquisition. Which, we wonder, are you?"
Estella straightened, giving a visual cue that she would field that one. Reading it easily, Celene turned her attention to the other Inquisitor.
"The moment we said, I doubt it would any longer be so unexpected," she replied. "So I'm sure Your Majesty will understand if we can't say."
The sharp look in Celene's face only grew more acute, but it seemed to be in some sense the correct answer, for she did not press, instead moving the topic onwards. "In that case, perhaps we will observe it in action. Welcome to the Winter Palace, Inquisition. Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom. We look forward to the night's events." A graceful decline of her chin dismissed them, and Celene herself turned from the group to depart, leaving them to climb the stairs to the left and ascend back to the upper level.
That went well enough, Rom thought. The others were arriving behind him by now, and the attention of the ballroom was steadily dispersing as the guests turned their eyes on each other. Rom tugged a bit at the hem of his tunic, wishing his clothes would start to feel more comfortable. If nothing else, he supposed it kept him on edge. He exhaled a breath now that he was certain the entire ballroom wouldn't hear it and take note.
"I suppose we should be getting to work, then."
The predictions they'd made in their practice were proving to be right; everyone wanted to meet the Inquisition, more specifically the Inquisitors themselves, which meant that there was barely time for more than introductions before they needed to move on to someone else. The nobles themselves seemed to realize this, most not attempting to take up more than a few seconds of his time. Those that did were more often than not muscled in on by others before they could offer much. Rom was well-practiced in introductions by this point, though Khari's full name became a serious mouthful after the first few times he said it. He hoped she could forgive him for the excessive use of it.
Estella was likewise buried in eager Orlesians hoping to meet her. It was hard to tell, but Rom suspected the Lady Inquisitor was drawing a larger crowd than the Lord, though not by much. She was certainly more approachable, but it could be easily argued that Rom was more intriguing. The stories about him were somewhat wilder and more varied. Not to say rumor about Estella had been anything resembling mundane. He shared a sympathetic look with her when they passed once; it was all he had time for.
He was eager to be moving on, to get all these introductions out of the way so they could get to the real work they were here for. At some point they would be called inside the ballroom to introduce themselves to the Empress, but until then they were supposedly meant to enjoy themselves socializing. Rom had started out focused, taking down names and linking them with the variety of masks he saw, hoping he might be able to remember most, if not all of them. Now, though... he could barely remember most of the names right after they were said. Many of them had such thick Orlesian accents he couldn't even understand them on the first try, and the masks and dresses and doublets all started to blend together after a time.
"Is this the Lord Inquisitor, then?" asked a man in a burgundy doublet, drawing Rom's attention to his left. His mask was gold, or gilded rather, with a supremely pointed nose and eyebrows that gave him the look of being perpetually amused. He leaned against the nearby banister. "I've caught you at last. Lord Jaspar Droz, of Jader." That explained his much less severe accent. Jader was situated right on the border of Ferelden, and saw much wider range in its population.
"A pleasure, Lord Jaspar," Rom greeted with a short bow, the motion almost subconscious by this point. "I am the Lord Inquisitor, yes. My name is Romulus. Allow me to introduce—"
"Ser Leonhardt Albrecht and Serah Kharisanna Istimaethoriel, yes, yes," Jaspar interrupted. "We have limited time, so perhaps we can skip what I've already overheard." He cleared his throat, taking a step away from the banister towards them. "I've been following the Inquisition's work quite closely. A bit hard not to, in Jader. Quite remarkable things you've done."
Next to Rom, Khari shifted a bit; one of her hands found her hip. She'd been struggling a bit as the introductions continued; it was obvious enough that her attention had flagged, but something about the cadence or tone Lord Jaspar used snapped it back into focus on the conversation. “Not that surprising, is it?" She bared her teeth in a smile that didn't quite reach genuine friendliness. Though perhaps one would have to be familiar with her inventory of them to know that. “Tends to be what happens when you put a bunch of remarkable people in an exceptional situation."
"We have done what we can with our lot," Leon added, considerably more modestly. Rom had been able to glean that he had at least some experience with events like this; he'd taught as much as he learned at the etiquette practices, and seemed to have a considerable amount of endurance for repetitive introductions. Though it would clearly be a mistake to say he was enjoying himself, as they'd been urged to do. The natural fact that his height and coloration made him stand out in a crowd bothered him a little more here than it did among soldiers, apparently—he held himself just uncomfortably enough that it was noticeable. "But there is yet much to do."
"Indeed," Jaspar said, nodding, "what the Inquisition intends to do in the future has been a subject of much debate among the nobility." Through the slits in his mask Rom could see his eyes narrow. "You have already demonstrated great audacity, building an army that answers to no nation, occupying a fortress in Fereldan lands, marching your army through southern Orlais when it pleases you..." Though the words were phrased almost as accusation, the tone that accompanied them was entirely pleasant, in the obviously disingenuous way. Somehow it made it seem more acidic than if he were spitting with anger.
"Makes the good people of Orlais wonder what your intentions truly are. You in particular, Lord Inquisitor." Jaspar tilted his head at Rom slightly, examining him. Not for the first time Rom wished he were without his own mask, as he felt foolish behind it. Such a stupid quirk of their culture. "There are many who believe you showed your true colors when you attempted to prop yourself up as a descendant of blessed Andraste herself. As if being declared the Lady's Herald was not enough!"
"I was deceived by a carefully constructed lie," Rom said. "We all were." He was starting to feel uncomfortably warm. The air was not as cool in here as it had been outside, with all the people waiting for the ceremonies to officially begin.
Jaspar scoffed softly. "Of course, of course. A lie the Inquisition seemed all too ready to go along with." His eyes then shifted to Khari, and he hummed in thought momentarily. "Istimaethoriel... no city elf name. I'd not be surprised to see Dalish markings behind that mask of yours. Tell me, elf, did you believe your Herald to be descended from Andraste herself, as apparently all the Inquisition's leadership did?"
“Didn't matter to me when they said he was, didn't matter to me when they said he wasn't." Khari tilted her chin up a little; it wasn't hard to read the stubborn twist to her mouth. Mask or not, she might as well have been barefaced. The honesty practically rolled off her in waves. “He's a leader worth following, with a cause worth fighting for, no matter whose blood he is." She shrugged, but her expression was too hard for the motion to have any of the carelessness it might have otherwise implied. “I don't need any god's authority to tell me that. My eyes'll do just fine."
"Silly of me to expect any kind of piety from an elf, I suppose," Jaspar said, almost laughing as though it were indeed a rather funny joke he'd just told. Of all the possible subjects, this was the one Rom felt the worst about discussing, if only because he still felt he had no decent way of justifying it. His motives had been selfish above all. It hadn't been about the Inquisition or Andraste or the Maker for him, but about the rush of finding out who his family had been, and trying to do something, anything to feel like he belonged to that.
"You are still a High Seeker, are you not Ser Leonhardt?" Rom started looking about as Jaspar continued, wondering if anyone else would come to muscle in here, but he seemed to have chosen his moment well. "As of when the Inquisition came through Jader on this mad quest, the Herald had not yet been named Inquisitor. This leads me to believe you granted him the title after he was proven a fraud. Does this Inquisition make a habit of rewarding heresy? Idiocy? Both?"
"The heretics are dead," Leon replied mildly, blinking at Jaspar with an unperturbed expression. "The Lord Inquisitor killed them both himself, actually." He tilted his head a few degrees to the side. "It was due to him the deception was discovered, and due to him it was ended. The sacrifice of what could have been great personal gain for the sake of the truth over deception and right over wrong is best rewarded wherever it occurs, I have found."
He glanced for a moment at Rom, and then his eyes moved briefly to Khari. "I have been most pleased to discover that ours is, above all else, an organization of faith. Faith that what is best in us and the world will triumph. I have learned a great many lessons in it myself, some of them from impious elves. I find that this fact does not sit so poorly with my own faith in the Maker."
Rom was immensely grateful that he had his friends at his back for this. They'd worded his defense far better than he could have hoped to do himself. Even Lord Jaspar, who seemed so intent on despising him, obviously had to reconsider his next move. In the end, he smiled pleasantly. "Well spoken, Ser. It's plain to see the Inquisition did not come to Halamshiral unprepared. As for your Lord Inquisitor, I will have to reserve judge—"
A bell sounded clearly, cutting through the din of conversation permeating the room. It seemed it was time, then, for the formal introductions to the Empress and the court to take place. Rom bowed his head rather than wait for Jaspar to finish his thought. "It's been a pleasure, Lord Jaspar. I hope you have a pleasant evening." Accepting the nod of the man's head as enough of a farewell, Rom led the way towards the great double doors separating them from the ballroom. He walked closed enough to nearly bump shoulders with Khari. "Thanks for that, both of you."
Leon actually smiled a bit at that. "Not at all. I didn't even have to say anything untrue."
“What Leon said." Khari leaned slightly sideways to knock her bare shoulder into his arm for just a moment. “We've got your back." She pushed a sigh through her nose; observing the flow of the crowd in front of them. “Marcy says I don't get to meet the really important people, though, so I'm gonna have to watch it from a bit further away this time." From the way her mask shifted, she'd wrinkled her nose in a familiar fashion.
“You'll do fine anyhow. If it's really an emergency, give the signal and I'll sneak behind her and make funny faces or something. I'll bring Zee with me." She patted his back once, firmly, before breaking off to walk next to Vesryn and the aforementioned pirate who, along with Asala, weren't really noble enough to merit a direct introduction to the Empress. Zahra’s demeanor belied a remarkably indifferent proclivity. She had been watching. Intently. However, she didn’t seem to like Jaspar’s attitude. Nobles be damned. She did appear to be relieved that she hadn’t needed to say anything at all though. As soon as Khari joined them at their sides, she shifted and made a comment. Barely audible. Her smile was indicative of a joke.
Rom couldn't help but grin, the upward turn of his lips just visible below the bottom of his mask. Unlike dealing with random lords that took issue with the Inquisition's actions, Rom had done a great deal of practicing for meeting the Empress. Likely he wouldn't have to say much, as the formal introductions would be very brief, after which point the Empress would undoubtedly have more pressing matters to attend to. Still, there would be words exchanged, and Rom wanted to make sure the ones that came out of his mouth did nothing to damage the Inquisition.
A small group of guards permitted the Inquisition's party of nobles to enter the grand ballroom, with the others soon following behind, though they were directed to the sides rather than the staircase leading down and through the center of the room. Rom's eyes had just about absorbed all the gold, marble, and glittering surfaces they could handle for one night, but the ceiling in here was vaulted much higher than the entryway had been, the walls draped in banners of royal blue.
A crier noted their entrance, withdrawing the scroll at his back and unfurling it as Lucien led the party down the steps. There they waited for the announcement, which was only a few seconds in the coming. "And now, presenting: His Imperial Highness Lucien Thibault Drakon, Prince of the Empire, Duke of Lydes, and Commander of the Argent Lions. And accompanying him..." A pause, as the crier took in the first few names on the list.
"The Heralds of Andraste: Lady Inquisitor Estella Severa Calligenia Avenarius, and Lord Inquisitor Romulus." He almost wished he had a few more names, so as to not seem as a footnote compared to the others he stood with, but Rom did his best not to seem that way, and stood with straight-backed posture as he had been instructed.
The woman on the other side of the ballroom floor from them, behind a marble railing atop the mirrored staircase, needed no introduction. Empress Celene Valmont I looked radiant as expected, at least from this distance. Her hair was a very light blonde, done up in an elaborate bun to keep it out of the way of the glittering ornament of what appeared to be a large sun affixed to the back of her dress. Her color for the night was unsurprisingly blue, and her mask, unlike many of the others, exposed her nose and much of her cheeks, doing little to hide her somewhat gaunt features. She curtsied to the three that were presented to her.
They returned it, bows from Romulus and Lucien, and a graceful curtsy from Estella. The ballroom floor had been left empty and clear for them to cross, and Lucien started them forward, keeping only a pace in front of the Inquisitors. Estella shot a brief glance at Rom, wearing a small smile. "Shall we?" The question was soft, just a little offering of solidarity.
He was glad for it, and glad that they had been introduced side by side. Nodding, they walked that way, remaining just a pace behind the Crown Prince, who proved to be an easy man to follow. He had a presence that neither of them could hope to match, and Rom had a feeling there were just as many eyes on Lucien as the two newcomer Inquisitors.
"Accompanying the Inquisitors," the crier continued, as they made their way slowly across the ballroom floor, "High Seeker Leonhardt Engelram Albrecht, Commander of the Inquisition."
"Lady Marceline Élise Benoît, Comtesse of the West Banks and Ambassador for the Inquisition, and her husband Lord Michaël Durant Benoît, Comte of the West Banks."
The pair had entered as one, Lady Marceline's arm wound around Michaël's. She curtsied, while her husband slipped into a deep bow. From the smile apparent on her face, she seemed rather proud of the moment, having been formally introduced, while Michaël at the very least seemed happy for his wife, as his eyes were on her as much as they were on the royalty.
"Lord Cyrus Tullius Aquila Avenarius, Praefectus of Vantania." At this point it seemed the flurry of Tevinter names were starting to wear thin on the Orlesians, and unlike the other two Cyrus was not an Inquisitor or Herald of Andraste. The welcome was not openly impolite, but still of a perceptibly different mood.
Since Cyrus was behind them, it was impossible to know exactly how he reacted to that fact, but it was hard to imagine him letting it bother him much. His initial reception within the Inquisition had been openly chilly—there were still some members of staff who never got within ten feet of him. It seemed unlikely this would perturb him if that didn't.
"And Serah Rilien Falavel, Seneschal of the Inquisition."
Surprisingly, Rilien seemed rather more popular than most; or at least people were interested to note his appearance, from the slight hum of murmuring that passed through the crowd at that announcement.
Though it seemed much longer than it probably actually was, the distance they had to cross did not last forever, and the bows and curtsies were repeated when they reached speaking distance, standing on the other raised side of the ballroom floor. Celene occupied the balcony in front of and above them, alone for the moment, though no doubt her closest attendants were not far.
As befitted her status, the Empress was the first to speak. "Lucien. It has been quite some time since you graced our court with your presence. You even managed to nudge our Lord-General into an appearance, we've seen." The cadence of her words was light, practiced, diplomatic; even the humor seemed pre-planned, lacking the spontaneity of genuine amusement. Were it not for the familiar form of address, it would have been impossible to tell they were related at all.
"Your Majesty," Lucien rose with apparent ease from his bow, but he didn't refer so casually to the Empress as she did to him. "It has been some time; it is my hope that no more such prolonged absences will be necessary." Despite his relative formality, he still managed to sound quite genuine, almost warm.
Celene inclined her head, just faintly. "And such interesting guests you've brought with you. Lady Inquisitor, Lord Inquisitor. We've heard much of the both of you. We daresay you're the talk of Orlais these days. Perhaps the talk of Thedas, in time." An inscrutable smile curled her lips, painted petal-pink. "Tell us, how do you find Halamshiral?"
"I've never seen a city like it, Your Majesty," Rom replied truthfully. This was indeed one of the questions that had been expected. The proper responses, as he'd learned, involved not piling on false compliments and kissing feet. The Orlesians preferred things to be more interesting than that. "It feels like a place where the unexpected might occur around every corner."
The Empress's expression did not falter. "So it is," she agreed. "And we do believe you have brought quite a bit of the unexpected with you, as well." Behind her mask, her eyes narrowed just a fraction. "The unexpected comes in many flavors, Inquisition. Which, we wonder, are you?"
Estella straightened, giving a visual cue that she would field that one. Reading it easily, Celene turned her attention to the other Inquisitor.
"The moment we said, I doubt it would any longer be so unexpected," she replied. "So I'm sure Your Majesty will understand if we can't say."
The sharp look in Celene's face only grew more acute, but it seemed to be in some sense the correct answer, for she did not press, instead moving the topic onwards. "In that case, perhaps we will observe it in action. Welcome to the Winter Palace, Inquisition. Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom. We look forward to the night's events." A graceful decline of her chin dismissed them, and Celene herself turned from the group to depart, leaving them to climb the stairs to the left and ascend back to the upper level.
That went well enough, Rom thought. The others were arriving behind him by now, and the attention of the ballroom was steadily dispersing as the guests turned their eyes on each other. Rom tugged a bit at the hem of his tunic, wishing his clothes would start to feel more comfortable. If nothing else, he supposed it kept him on edge. He exhaled a breath now that he was certain the entire ballroom wouldn't hear it and take note.
"I suppose we should be getting to work, then."