The night had been very long, and Saraya was more than a little tired of looking at all these false faces.
The masks came off, but somehow most of them didn't seem any more real. They were layered in cosmetics, the men as well as the women in many cases, and the vast majority of them weren't here to truly benefit their country or their people or anything approaching a good motive. Those that had taken sides were either happy to see the others fall or hiding their irritation that their own had collapsed, and those that hadn't were just here looking for a good show. Well, they'd certainly gotten that and more. Orlais would be speaking of this night for many, many years to come. The night the Drakon family regained the throne.
Long may they reign. Vesryn didn't know Lucien like Stel did, but it was the easiest thing to see that he was an excellent person, someone she looked up to in every way. There was simply no way his rule wouldn't be an improvement over paranoid, genocidal Celene, or the warmongering, brutish Gaspard. The night likely hadn't improved the Inquisition's public image, given how the man who invited them here now was called Emperor, but as ever Vesryn didn't particularly care what the majority of people thought.
He pushed through them, with force when he needed to, though he kept it as sparing as he could. The waters didn't part for him as they did for Leon, despite his own impressive size for an elf. Elves were not stepped aside for here, they were the ones who stepped aside. He was resolved not to be bothered by it. If only these people knew that their nation's future had been decided by elves and elf-blooded humans and Tevinter natives and everyone they were resolved to hate.
Finally he made it to Stel, coming to a stop beside her and already feeling a bit of the tension wash away. His right hand found the small of her back. "Shall we go wish the new Emperor of Orlais well?"
She looked up at him, smiling in a way that read as relief and happiness both. "Absolutely. I think I'll even throw my title around a little, and get us closer to the front of the line." That part was clearly in jest, but as it turned out, there was a line. Fortunately, it was one that was moving relatively quickly, perhaps because of the lateness of the hour, or the fact that any of those who'd want to use the opportunity to strategize rather than offer sincere congratulations simply hadn't had long enough to decide how best to do that.
They reached the front of it, and therefore Lucien, about ten minutes later. He smiled warmly at the both of them; Stel dipped into a deliberately-fanciful curtsy. "Your Majesty."
"My Lady Inquisitor." He bowed just as formally, but neither kept the straight faces for long. Stel laughed softly, and willingly stepped into Lucien's arms when he opened them. "Much better," he declared, giving her an affectionate squeeze before he stepped back and offered an arm to Vesryn. No few courtiers stared openly at the exchange, but the scrutiny didn't seem to bother Lucien a whit, and Stel was apparently all right with it as well, in this case. Or at least, she was quite successfully keeping any trace of discomfort from her face and posture.
"My thanks, for everything. I doubt I could have come close to untangling all of this by myself. I and my country owe you all a great debt." Lightheartedness aside, he was obviously quite serious about that.
"Halamshiral feels a little more welcoming already," Vesryn said, stepping back a pace to Stel's side again after clasping arms with the Emperor. Certainly the first time he could say he'd done something like that. "I'm afraid we left a bit of a mess in one of those hallways back there, though. The Venatori apparently thought excessive force was necessary, and we were forced to respond in kind. Some vases and picture frames didn't quite make it through the fight."
"I'll be sure to send them an invoice," Lucien replied dryly, clearly more amused than anything by the news. "In the meantime... farewell, to the both of you. I'm sure I'll be here for the rest of the night and later still, but I understand you have things you need to get back to."
"I'll miss you," Stel told him, a slightly melancholy half-smile confirming her words.
Lucien reached out and gave her shoulder a soft squeeze. "I'm a lucky fellow, to have such friends," he replied quietly. "I'll miss you, too, but I look forward to your letters." He let his hand drop, and Stel nodded. There was still a line behind them, after all; they shouldn't linger too long.
As they moved away, Stel's hand found Vesryn's; she pressed her palm to his and laced their fingers instead of letting it rest more formally on his forearm as she had for most of the night. Hers was still a bit cold, no doubt from her recent walk outside.
As they left, it seemed that both Marceline and Michaël had been in line behind them. As they walked past, Michaël shot them a wink before they stepped to meet with Lucien. As expected Marceline dipped into a low curtsy and properly greeted the new Emperor. "I believe congratulations are in order, Your Imperial Majesty," she said with a warm smile.
Meanwhile, Michaël hesitated a moment before bowing himself, though the sly grin he always wore when some teasing was in order never faded. When he rose, he shrugged. "So... Is it Commander Imperial Majesty now, Ser Majesty, or... what? I'm at a loss," he said, chuckling all the while. At least until a gentle nudge from Marceline calmed him down somewhat.
Lucien snorted. "I'm not answering that. If I did, Lady Marceline would feel obligated to call me by whatever I decided all the time, and I'd never forgive either of us for putting me through that." He smiled to soften the sarcasm, but any further reply happened out of earshot as they continued away.
Vesryn made his way towards one of the balconies off to the side of the main ballroom. The crowds weren't as hard to cut through anymore, with the people remaining either clustering up around the food, lining up to see Emperor Lucien, or getting out of the Winter Palace entirely. That, and he wasn't walking alone anymore; the title of Inquisitor carried a lot more weight than his not-so-official title of Inquisition's Champion.
"So, now that the festivities are concluded and our work here is done, I'd hoped I could have you all to myself for a moment." Her hand was still cool to the touch, but it was warming steadily now. "Someplace where we don't have the eyes of the entire Imperial Court on us." The place in question became apparent when he led them out onto a balcony overlooking the palace grounds, and Halamshiral below farther still. It was dark and cool outside, but the moon was out and nearly full, offering more than enough light to illuminate the all the land they could see.
"It's quite greedy and selfish of me to request a second dance, but I do still hear music, and the last one had far too much partner switching for my preferences." A few years ago he might've laughed at himself for saying such a thing, but now it was the only thing that came to mind.
Stel didn't laugh either, but it was apparently a near thing, from the soft huff that escaped her instead. She tilted her head at him, leaning her hip into the balcony's railing, a little smile turning her mouth. She did not, however, let go of his hand. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Did it, now?" With a half-step in towards him, Stel rested her free hand on his shoulder. "I guess that means I can be forgiven for thinking the same thing." Even such a simple agreement was considerably more forward than she usually was, and she obviously knew it, from the hint of sheepishness in her expression, but she also didn't stutter over it or take back the thought. Rather, she tilted her chin up a little to meet his eyes expectantly.
"What do you think? Sounds like a waltz, to me."
A few years ago Vesryn had also forgotten how it felt to be nervous, but only in this way, this best kind of ways, where he felt so much lighter than usual, and he felt the need to carefully examine every move he thought about making, in the hopes of doing whatever would bring him the most happiness. And her. He didn't care in the slightest what anyone in the Winter Palace thought of him, but her thoughts and feelings were of the greatest concern, his desire only to influence them in the most positive way possible, something he felt he was already doing.
"Agreed." He wrapped his arm around her, stepping away from the railing a bit so they would have a little room. The dance itself was slow and not requiring much in the way of thought or focus, but the steps of course were a secondary concern at best. He simply wanted to be close, and to be able to speak freely.
"Were you able to speak to Lucien, before everything that just happened in there?" he asked. "I can't imagine stepping into that position would be easy, no matter how much time he had to prepare."
"I was." Stel's answer was quiet and slow, a sharp contrast to the admittedly-frantic pace of much of the night's events. She pulled in a soft breath, audible given their proximity. "I didn't want to suddenly spring things on him, considering just what it is he's being asked to do. I know a bit about how that feels." She shook her head, enough that some of her hair brushed against his hand, where it rested at her back. "I... don't think he was his own first choice for this, but he was willing." Her exhale was almost a sigh. "I know what that feels like, too."
Somehow it managed to make complete sense and also be entirely baffling to Vesryn. That Lucien Drakon could possibly think someone else was better suited to the job of being Emperor. Perhaps it was for that very reason that he was the right choice. The only choice. The alternatives approached the point of being unthinkable. "Well, perhaps he can just follow your lead on how best to handle having an impossible task set at his feet." He did think that, all things considered, Stel had done a remarkable job from the very beginning at handling the position she was forced into. He hadn't been there at the very beginning, but from the moment he'd met her she was already on the right path. Already approaching every obstacle with the right frame of mind.
"I don't envy him, though. All this politicking is enough to drive an honest man mad. Clearly it drove Gaspard to madness, though I suppose his honesty has been thrown into doubt by now. Just one night of it was enough to give me a headache. Though, that could well have been the masks." He wondered what Saraya's experience with such things had been, if the elves of old had any sort of social gatherings of the kind that she would have attended. If certain unreliable sources were to be believed, she was a general, and there had been a number of similarly placed figures here tonight. He allowed the line of thought to go right up to what kind of dress he thought she might wear, and then he forced it to stop.
As if on cue, he felt her withdraw, leaving him as much privacy with his dancing partner as she was able to. "For what it's worth," he said, "I think we did the right thing here. I think there's a chance history will remember tonight as a bit of a turning point for the Empire of Orlais."
"I think so, too," she said, a smile finding its way back to her face. "I believe in him. In how good he is. And there will be others who are willing to help." A thoughtful expression crossed her face, but if something else had occurred to her, she chose to keep it to herself. "How did that go, with Gaspard? I noticed Khari was wearing quite a bit of blood. No one seemed to be in bad shape, but..." She was the sort of person to be concerned about it anyway, obviously.
Inside, the music changed tempo, swinging into something considerably more energetic, but Stel made no attempt to adjust accordingly. If anything, her steps slowed slightly, perhaps a symptom of fatigue beginning to catch up with her. It had been a long night.
"Oh, he was a handful, as you might expect." If any of them were in foul moods from all of this tonight, it was nothing compared to Gaspard. He was clearly not meant to be an Orlesian, given his temperament, and yet he'd had to put up with their stupid Game his entire life. And tonight was the night it finally beat him. "He brandished a knife at us at first, thinking we were the ones that framed him. Then he got shot, and changed his tune. I took off after the Bard, the one that loosed the arrow, while the rest took on the troupe of Venatori that came from behind."
Honestly, he was a bit sad he'd missed it. A brawl with Venatori was much more his style than the task he'd ended up with. "The Bard was quick, but not so quick with a knife in her side. Still... glad I didn't need to chase her down in a dress." Though the women had managed quite well, corsets and skirts and all. Nothing slowed them down. "She almost slashed me with my own knife, but only tore a little of the sleeve here." He gestured slightly towards his left arm with his head, where the knife had indeed cut thinly across the fabric of his sleeve. "No doubt I have Saraya to thank for the reflex that spared my shoulder. And as I hear it you walked into an ambush of your own." Shame he hadn't been there, either. He would've been very interested to see what exactly it looked like for Stel to fight in that dress.
"Dragging my former employer to the dirt to avoid an arrow is not my proudest moment," she admitted, taking a half step back and plucking at one of the folds of her skirt. As it happened, there was a rather obvious grass stain there, and a bit of the lacework had ripped. "I think I managed to get all the detritus out of my hair, but if you happen to spot any from up there, let me know." She shrugged, then raised the same hand so the mark was visible. "Fortunately, I eventually remembered that I could move around without actually running too much. Got a bit easier after that—I think Florianne must have sent all her Venatori after the rest of you."
She paused, almost as if repeating that statement to herself internally, then set her hand back on his shoulder. "I sometimes forget how strange our lives must sound, to other people. Chasing down assassins in fancy dress clothes tonight, probably out who knows where in the countryside tomorrow, knitting together little holes in the world."
"And just think, when they write tales about all of us, they'll make it even wilder than it was. The night the Lady Inquisitor rescued the future Emperor of Orlais from an army of assassins and their pet dragon..." He actually frowned a bit after that. "Now that I think about it, we're probably lucky that didn't happen." It didn't sound too far off from the things they had a habit of getting up to.
Stel laughed. "Just one dragon? How pedestrian."
It was strange to think that his life of exploring ruins, learning of places and history that so few living beings in Thedas were aware of, could be considered bland by comparison. Dull. "It all doesn't seem real yet, does it? Maybe it never will. I know I still wake up some mornings and wonder how it is I exist at all." He smiled for her, a gleam in his eyes. "How it is I got so lucky."
The song was winding down, as more of the people inside took their leave. Vesryn slowed the sway of their bodies, until the dance came to an end. Freeing his hand from hers, he settled both of his at her sides, keeping them together. "May I ask you for one more favor, Lady Inquisitor?"
The hand he'd released settled on the opposite shoulder from the other; Stel visibly swallowed. She seemed to have an idea of what this favor might be, from the way she slid her arms back to drape loosely around his neck. She tilted her chin up a little; the touch of color to her face probably wasn't just the cold anymore. "Yes," she replied, almost too softly to be heard. "You may."
As it turned out, this was perhaps the one case in which Vesryn was more capable of maintaining his graceface than Stel was. He'd been in these situations quite a few times before, wrapped up in another person, but tonight may as well have been the first time for him again, the way it felt. "I would very much like to kiss you," he admitted, as though indeed it were a simple favor to him. "If that's something you would like as well."
Her face morphed into a momentary grin, of all things. "Well that works out pretty nicely," she replied, shifting her weight onto her toes and rising the few extra inches that granted her. "Since I would very much like to kiss you, too."
And she was as good as her word, leaning slightly into him and closing the remaining distance. As in all matters of this sort, his practice no doubt outstripped hers by far, but she wasn't hesitant about it. It took her a second to get the tilt right, and she gave a soft laugh when her nose brushed his by accident, but it was short-lived, a mistake easily corrected.
Vesryn found it to be a rush unlike any other, an unreal sensation, one that made so many previous pleasures he'd experienced seem entirely hollow by comparison. His eyes closed, he thought only of the feel of her in his hands, bodies pressed together, his lips against hers, the night air cool against their skin. It was enough to completely drive away the headache he'd built over the course of the night.
He knew it would return, probably sooner rather than later, but he refused to think of that now. He refused to let this night end in anything other than what was, in his opinion, perfection.
The masks came off, but somehow most of them didn't seem any more real. They were layered in cosmetics, the men as well as the women in many cases, and the vast majority of them weren't here to truly benefit their country or their people or anything approaching a good motive. Those that had taken sides were either happy to see the others fall or hiding their irritation that their own had collapsed, and those that hadn't were just here looking for a good show. Well, they'd certainly gotten that and more. Orlais would be speaking of this night for many, many years to come. The night the Drakon family regained the throne.
Long may they reign. Vesryn didn't know Lucien like Stel did, but it was the easiest thing to see that he was an excellent person, someone she looked up to in every way. There was simply no way his rule wouldn't be an improvement over paranoid, genocidal Celene, or the warmongering, brutish Gaspard. The night likely hadn't improved the Inquisition's public image, given how the man who invited them here now was called Emperor, but as ever Vesryn didn't particularly care what the majority of people thought.
He pushed through them, with force when he needed to, though he kept it as sparing as he could. The waters didn't part for him as they did for Leon, despite his own impressive size for an elf. Elves were not stepped aside for here, they were the ones who stepped aside. He was resolved not to be bothered by it. If only these people knew that their nation's future had been decided by elves and elf-blooded humans and Tevinter natives and everyone they were resolved to hate.
Finally he made it to Stel, coming to a stop beside her and already feeling a bit of the tension wash away. His right hand found the small of her back. "Shall we go wish the new Emperor of Orlais well?"
She looked up at him, smiling in a way that read as relief and happiness both. "Absolutely. I think I'll even throw my title around a little, and get us closer to the front of the line." That part was clearly in jest, but as it turned out, there was a line. Fortunately, it was one that was moving relatively quickly, perhaps because of the lateness of the hour, or the fact that any of those who'd want to use the opportunity to strategize rather than offer sincere congratulations simply hadn't had long enough to decide how best to do that.
They reached the front of it, and therefore Lucien, about ten minutes later. He smiled warmly at the both of them; Stel dipped into a deliberately-fanciful curtsy. "Your Majesty."
"My Lady Inquisitor." He bowed just as formally, but neither kept the straight faces for long. Stel laughed softly, and willingly stepped into Lucien's arms when he opened them. "Much better," he declared, giving her an affectionate squeeze before he stepped back and offered an arm to Vesryn. No few courtiers stared openly at the exchange, but the scrutiny didn't seem to bother Lucien a whit, and Stel was apparently all right with it as well, in this case. Or at least, she was quite successfully keeping any trace of discomfort from her face and posture.
"My thanks, for everything. I doubt I could have come close to untangling all of this by myself. I and my country owe you all a great debt." Lightheartedness aside, he was obviously quite serious about that.
"Halamshiral feels a little more welcoming already," Vesryn said, stepping back a pace to Stel's side again after clasping arms with the Emperor. Certainly the first time he could say he'd done something like that. "I'm afraid we left a bit of a mess in one of those hallways back there, though. The Venatori apparently thought excessive force was necessary, and we were forced to respond in kind. Some vases and picture frames didn't quite make it through the fight."
"I'll be sure to send them an invoice," Lucien replied dryly, clearly more amused than anything by the news. "In the meantime... farewell, to the both of you. I'm sure I'll be here for the rest of the night and later still, but I understand you have things you need to get back to."
"I'll miss you," Stel told him, a slightly melancholy half-smile confirming her words.
Lucien reached out and gave her shoulder a soft squeeze. "I'm a lucky fellow, to have such friends," he replied quietly. "I'll miss you, too, but I look forward to your letters." He let his hand drop, and Stel nodded. There was still a line behind them, after all; they shouldn't linger too long.
As they moved away, Stel's hand found Vesryn's; she pressed her palm to his and laced their fingers instead of letting it rest more formally on his forearm as she had for most of the night. Hers was still a bit cold, no doubt from her recent walk outside.
As they left, it seemed that both Marceline and Michaël had been in line behind them. As they walked past, Michaël shot them a wink before they stepped to meet with Lucien. As expected Marceline dipped into a low curtsy and properly greeted the new Emperor. "I believe congratulations are in order, Your Imperial Majesty," she said with a warm smile.
Meanwhile, Michaël hesitated a moment before bowing himself, though the sly grin he always wore when some teasing was in order never faded. When he rose, he shrugged. "So... Is it Commander Imperial Majesty now, Ser Majesty, or... what? I'm at a loss," he said, chuckling all the while. At least until a gentle nudge from Marceline calmed him down somewhat.
Lucien snorted. "I'm not answering that. If I did, Lady Marceline would feel obligated to call me by whatever I decided all the time, and I'd never forgive either of us for putting me through that." He smiled to soften the sarcasm, but any further reply happened out of earshot as they continued away.
Vesryn made his way towards one of the balconies off to the side of the main ballroom. The crowds weren't as hard to cut through anymore, with the people remaining either clustering up around the food, lining up to see Emperor Lucien, or getting out of the Winter Palace entirely. That, and he wasn't walking alone anymore; the title of Inquisitor carried a lot more weight than his not-so-official title of Inquisition's Champion.
"So, now that the festivities are concluded and our work here is done, I'd hoped I could have you all to myself for a moment." Her hand was still cool to the touch, but it was warming steadily now. "Someplace where we don't have the eyes of the entire Imperial Court on us." The place in question became apparent when he led them out onto a balcony overlooking the palace grounds, and Halamshiral below farther still. It was dark and cool outside, but the moon was out and nearly full, offering more than enough light to illuminate the all the land they could see.
"It's quite greedy and selfish of me to request a second dance, but I do still hear music, and the last one had far too much partner switching for my preferences." A few years ago he might've laughed at himself for saying such a thing, but now it was the only thing that came to mind.
Stel didn't laugh either, but it was apparently a near thing, from the soft huff that escaped her instead. She tilted her head at him, leaning her hip into the balcony's railing, a little smile turning her mouth. She did not, however, let go of his hand. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Did it, now?" With a half-step in towards him, Stel rested her free hand on his shoulder. "I guess that means I can be forgiven for thinking the same thing." Even such a simple agreement was considerably more forward than she usually was, and she obviously knew it, from the hint of sheepishness in her expression, but she also didn't stutter over it or take back the thought. Rather, she tilted her chin up a little to meet his eyes expectantly.
"What do you think? Sounds like a waltz, to me."
A few years ago Vesryn had also forgotten how it felt to be nervous, but only in this way, this best kind of ways, where he felt so much lighter than usual, and he felt the need to carefully examine every move he thought about making, in the hopes of doing whatever would bring him the most happiness. And her. He didn't care in the slightest what anyone in the Winter Palace thought of him, but her thoughts and feelings were of the greatest concern, his desire only to influence them in the most positive way possible, something he felt he was already doing.
"Agreed." He wrapped his arm around her, stepping away from the railing a bit so they would have a little room. The dance itself was slow and not requiring much in the way of thought or focus, but the steps of course were a secondary concern at best. He simply wanted to be close, and to be able to speak freely.
"Were you able to speak to Lucien, before everything that just happened in there?" he asked. "I can't imagine stepping into that position would be easy, no matter how much time he had to prepare."
"I was." Stel's answer was quiet and slow, a sharp contrast to the admittedly-frantic pace of much of the night's events. She pulled in a soft breath, audible given their proximity. "I didn't want to suddenly spring things on him, considering just what it is he's being asked to do. I know a bit about how that feels." She shook her head, enough that some of her hair brushed against his hand, where it rested at her back. "I... don't think he was his own first choice for this, but he was willing." Her exhale was almost a sigh. "I know what that feels like, too."
Somehow it managed to make complete sense and also be entirely baffling to Vesryn. That Lucien Drakon could possibly think someone else was better suited to the job of being Emperor. Perhaps it was for that very reason that he was the right choice. The only choice. The alternatives approached the point of being unthinkable. "Well, perhaps he can just follow your lead on how best to handle having an impossible task set at his feet." He did think that, all things considered, Stel had done a remarkable job from the very beginning at handling the position she was forced into. He hadn't been there at the very beginning, but from the moment he'd met her she was already on the right path. Already approaching every obstacle with the right frame of mind.
"I don't envy him, though. All this politicking is enough to drive an honest man mad. Clearly it drove Gaspard to madness, though I suppose his honesty has been thrown into doubt by now. Just one night of it was enough to give me a headache. Though, that could well have been the masks." He wondered what Saraya's experience with such things had been, if the elves of old had any sort of social gatherings of the kind that she would have attended. If certain unreliable sources were to be believed, she was a general, and there had been a number of similarly placed figures here tonight. He allowed the line of thought to go right up to what kind of dress he thought she might wear, and then he forced it to stop.
As if on cue, he felt her withdraw, leaving him as much privacy with his dancing partner as she was able to. "For what it's worth," he said, "I think we did the right thing here. I think there's a chance history will remember tonight as a bit of a turning point for the Empire of Orlais."
"I think so, too," she said, a smile finding its way back to her face. "I believe in him. In how good he is. And there will be others who are willing to help." A thoughtful expression crossed her face, but if something else had occurred to her, she chose to keep it to herself. "How did that go, with Gaspard? I noticed Khari was wearing quite a bit of blood. No one seemed to be in bad shape, but..." She was the sort of person to be concerned about it anyway, obviously.
Inside, the music changed tempo, swinging into something considerably more energetic, but Stel made no attempt to adjust accordingly. If anything, her steps slowed slightly, perhaps a symptom of fatigue beginning to catch up with her. It had been a long night.
"Oh, he was a handful, as you might expect." If any of them were in foul moods from all of this tonight, it was nothing compared to Gaspard. He was clearly not meant to be an Orlesian, given his temperament, and yet he'd had to put up with their stupid Game his entire life. And tonight was the night it finally beat him. "He brandished a knife at us at first, thinking we were the ones that framed him. Then he got shot, and changed his tune. I took off after the Bard, the one that loosed the arrow, while the rest took on the troupe of Venatori that came from behind."
Honestly, he was a bit sad he'd missed it. A brawl with Venatori was much more his style than the task he'd ended up with. "The Bard was quick, but not so quick with a knife in her side. Still... glad I didn't need to chase her down in a dress." Though the women had managed quite well, corsets and skirts and all. Nothing slowed them down. "She almost slashed me with my own knife, but only tore a little of the sleeve here." He gestured slightly towards his left arm with his head, where the knife had indeed cut thinly across the fabric of his sleeve. "No doubt I have Saraya to thank for the reflex that spared my shoulder. And as I hear it you walked into an ambush of your own." Shame he hadn't been there, either. He would've been very interested to see what exactly it looked like for Stel to fight in that dress.
"Dragging my former employer to the dirt to avoid an arrow is not my proudest moment," she admitted, taking a half step back and plucking at one of the folds of her skirt. As it happened, there was a rather obvious grass stain there, and a bit of the lacework had ripped. "I think I managed to get all the detritus out of my hair, but if you happen to spot any from up there, let me know." She shrugged, then raised the same hand so the mark was visible. "Fortunately, I eventually remembered that I could move around without actually running too much. Got a bit easier after that—I think Florianne must have sent all her Venatori after the rest of you."
She paused, almost as if repeating that statement to herself internally, then set her hand back on his shoulder. "I sometimes forget how strange our lives must sound, to other people. Chasing down assassins in fancy dress clothes tonight, probably out who knows where in the countryside tomorrow, knitting together little holes in the world."
"And just think, when they write tales about all of us, they'll make it even wilder than it was. The night the Lady Inquisitor rescued the future Emperor of Orlais from an army of assassins and their pet dragon..." He actually frowned a bit after that. "Now that I think about it, we're probably lucky that didn't happen." It didn't sound too far off from the things they had a habit of getting up to.
Stel laughed. "Just one dragon? How pedestrian."
It was strange to think that his life of exploring ruins, learning of places and history that so few living beings in Thedas were aware of, could be considered bland by comparison. Dull. "It all doesn't seem real yet, does it? Maybe it never will. I know I still wake up some mornings and wonder how it is I exist at all." He smiled for her, a gleam in his eyes. "How it is I got so lucky."
The song was winding down, as more of the people inside took their leave. Vesryn slowed the sway of their bodies, until the dance came to an end. Freeing his hand from hers, he settled both of his at her sides, keeping them together. "May I ask you for one more favor, Lady Inquisitor?"
The hand he'd released settled on the opposite shoulder from the other; Stel visibly swallowed. She seemed to have an idea of what this favor might be, from the way she slid her arms back to drape loosely around his neck. She tilted her chin up a little; the touch of color to her face probably wasn't just the cold anymore. "Yes," she replied, almost too softly to be heard. "You may."
As it turned out, this was perhaps the one case in which Vesryn was more capable of maintaining his graceface than Stel was. He'd been in these situations quite a few times before, wrapped up in another person, but tonight may as well have been the first time for him again, the way it felt. "I would very much like to kiss you," he admitted, as though indeed it were a simple favor to him. "If that's something you would like as well."
Her face morphed into a momentary grin, of all things. "Well that works out pretty nicely," she replied, shifting her weight onto her toes and rising the few extra inches that granted her. "Since I would very much like to kiss you, too."
And she was as good as her word, leaning slightly into him and closing the remaining distance. As in all matters of this sort, his practice no doubt outstripped hers by far, but she wasn't hesitant about it. It took her a second to get the tilt right, and she gave a soft laugh when her nose brushed his by accident, but it was short-lived, a mistake easily corrected.
Vesryn found it to be a rush unlike any other, an unreal sensation, one that made so many previous pleasures he'd experienced seem entirely hollow by comparison. His eyes closed, he thought only of the feel of her in his hands, bodies pressed together, his lips against hers, the night air cool against their skin. It was enough to completely drive away the headache he'd built over the course of the night.
He knew it would return, probably sooner rather than later, but he refused to think of that now. He refused to let this night end in anything other than what was, in his opinion, perfection.