Chuckling under her breath, Lana left Cullen to his own problems.
Chapter Ten
The Dance
Whitley refused to leave her side. He'd managed to scrounge up three drinks from the servants, then tried to get her to consume them all at once. Either the man was truly mad or Cullen's glare withered a section of his brain. Lana paused in thought, the latter seemed likely. No matter how many times she sighed, growled, or elbowed Whitley in the stomach, he would not take a hint and leave her be while they stood in line to greet the Empress. It hadn't moved in over a half hour, but Lana was low on ideas and no one of importance wanted anything to do with her while the toad clung to her metaphorical sleeve.
"Why don't we try a dance or two, my lady?" Whitley moaned for the fifth time.
Lana shook her head, then tried to summon her own glare through his skull. She must not have the same powers as the commander because Whitley shrugged it off and snatched up another canapé off a passing tray. At least it wasn't an orange. Somehow they all mysteriously vanished from the floor. Lana kept a tight watch upon the servants not wishing to repeat her blunder, but sections of the color named fruit were nowhere in sight. Leliana's work?
The floor below them overflowed with the first round of dancers. Skirts frilled out in a defensive posture smashed into each other during turns. Men almost came to blows as a promenade turned into repeated knocks to the back of the head. One couple, so caught up in the twirling, kicked a shoe up into the air where it landed upon the chandelier and remained precariously perched. She'd almost enjoy the spectacle of nobility out playing itself if it weren't for the man clinging to her own skirt like a child the mother never cut off.
A rich voice caught Lana's attention and she turned away from the backs of the line in front of her to spy a woman reclining against the wall. No, not reclining, she leaned as if she owned the entire corner and was only allowing others to share in it. Lana slipped out of line, then turned to Whitley and ordered him to stay put. He pouted, of course, but she didn't have time for him. Rolling her piles of silk up, Lana stepped towards the most noble unnoble in the palace.
"Madam de Fer," she greeted, tipping her head in a modest bow.
"Why, Lady Amell," Vivienne smiled with that viper grin that was never honest and never a lie. "I am surprised to see you attending such a gala. I thought you wardens were more into digging in the ground and things of that nature." Her little posse chuckled from the joke, far more terrified of the First Enchanter turned apostate than some backwater slayer of an archdemon.
Lana smiled at the barb, aware how little it meant. She gestured to the same red frock that she spotted Cullen and later Dorian wearing. "I did not realize that you were working with the Inquisition."
"We all must do our part for...how did you put it? Peace. Such a delightfully quaint speech," Vivienne punctuated each sentence with a jab of a little silver fork rolled between her fingers. No one else in her group seemed to be holding one.
"I'm afraid we don't have elocution lessons in the deep roads. Darkspawn aren't known for their eloquence." A few of Vivienne's entourage chuckled at Lana's joke, but it drifted away as the First Enchanter rose from the wall to knot a hand around the interloper.
"May I ask you a personal question, Lady Amell?" Vivienne said. Her sweet mask slipped away and only the calculating general glittered on her face. Lana bobbed her head despite wanting to keep her personal secrets as far from Vivienne as possible. "Are you aware that your escort, Lord Whitley, has an almost pathetic interest in Duchess Malian?"
Lana's head twisted and she glanced back at the man she'd been trying to rid herself of for the past hour. "You do not say..."
"Oh yes, it's a terribly guarded secret. He lavishes her in flowers, sweets, formal declarations of attention. Practically drowned the poor woman in poetry once. But alas, his station is not so strong as hers." Vivienne's crafty eyes drifted to the side to meet Lana's, "If you hope to keep your most dashing escort away from her, I believe she is camped out in the humidor off the gardens."
She'd never met Madam de Fer before officially, but she'd heard of her. Hard to be a mage in southern thedas and not hear of Vivienne. Lana'd read a few of her books on knight-enchanters and communicated through very formal letters before the circles fell. There was no reason for Vivienne to be offering assistance beyond either despising the man the same as Lana or hating this Duchess Malian even more. "I thank you for your information, Madam de Fer. I will use it to the best of my ability."
Vivienne grinned, slapping back on her invisible mask, "See that you do, dear. Incidentally, given what occurred with the poor fool-hearted rebel mages, it seems you made the right choice in abandoning them all together."
So that was it. Lana heard rumblings of the feud between Vivienne and Fiona which began after the Grand Enchanter elections and simmered over until the rebellion, but she'd never felt love for either of them. As far as she was concerned, her blighted blood kept her out of the circle's business even when it was no longer the circle. Nodding at Madam de Fer, she returned to Whitley. The man was gesticulating at the shoe upon the chandelier and trying to knock it off with his glass.
Lana grabbed his wrist, pinning his arm back behind his head. He tried to throw her off, but she held him fast, her biceps straining against the leather cuffs. After a time, he put his weapon down. She could take the smooth approach to getting rid of the man, slip into conversation about the location of this poor woman, or... "Duchess Malian is located in the humidor off the gardens. Go and annoy her for the rest of the night."
"Malian?" Whitley squeaked, his eyes glazing over like a dog getting his belly scratched. "She's here. At this party. Alone?"
"I don't know if she's...yes, she's alone. In the humidor. Off the gardens. You should go find her. Now," Lana hissed.
Either enough of Cullen's warning remained in that word, or the man's lust broke through the addled part of his brain. Cupping his empty glass to his chest like a baby, he skittered out of line and dashed straight through to the vestibule. Lana about told him it was the other way, but honestly the man lost and wandering the grounds was just as good.
Now to wait alone in a line that seemed to never move. She'd been a great contribution so far to this operation. Lana pinched her nose, wishing she knew anything about Orlesian balls. Her job was to find anything out of the ordinary, but to her it was all odd. The servants kept speaking of food that tasted of emotions. That seemed as if it should be a Venatori thing, but the other Orlesians didn't even bat an eye at the cheese ball of contentment. The fade made more sense than this dance where table were often on the ceiling. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, trying to stretch the muscles in her neck.
A cold chuckle with no mirth rumbled near her ear. Memories of the kokari wilds, crumbling parchment, and a witch's hut pounded against her temples. Lana twisted her head to the side and the blood rushed from her face.
"You always were the type to take the long way around to a problem," Morrigan chuckled. Despite being surrounded by finery, Lana was surprised to find the mage in something other than her rags. Morrigan wasn't the type to do what people expected of her unless she wished it. The dress at least was imposing. Pulling on her glove, she then smoothed down her dress before beaming a yellow glare through Lana.
"I..." Lana started.
"Come," Morrigan waved her hand, "I can get you to Celene, assuming that is what you still wish." Lana stepped out of line with the witch, but Morrigan didn't lead her to the balcony in the far distance where a sapphire dress spun about not intending to speak with anyone. Instead, the witch rounded back through the landing above the dance floor. Whispers followed in their wake, but she was uncertain who drew them.
"What are you doing here?" Lana asked, falling into step beside Morrigan.
"I could ask you the same question. I did not think the Hero of Ferelden ever left those lands."
"It's been a complicated couple of months," Lana said, "but I am glad
you are here."
Morrigan's porcelain face cracked and a whisper of a smile broke through, "And I am heartened to see you as well, if only it were under better circumstances."
Lana snorted, "There's no such thing in my life."
"Indeed," the witch slipped beside the banister overlooking the dance floor and gazed down. Normally, this spot was crammed with people watching the dancers waiting for their turn but the section seemed to clear as if by magic, or magical reputation.
"How are you?" Lana asked. She gripped onto the cold marble with her fingers and leaned over. To the world it appeared as if she was enraptured with the dancing, but she kept glancing over at the woman beside her.
Morrigan cast her usual disapproving look over the proceedings. "Curious you show an interest in me given the workings of the world at the moment. But, to answer your question, I am well."
"And your...the boy?" Lana's voice didn't jump; she showed no signs of pain or regret in the question, only honest curiosity.
"He is good, despite his mother's reputation among the members of the court." A few of those members glared daggers at the witch from across the room and Morrigan only stared through them.
"They know then? The court, Celene?"
"That I have a son, the rest...is none of their concern."
Lana nodded, "Smart."
Morrigan's cruel smirk twisted away and she broke from challenging those that dared question her. Those haunting eyes drifted across Lana studying her profile as if she was a curious butterfly about to be pinned to a board. "I admit, you still surprise me."
"Oh? The dress wasn't my idea," Lana said.
"I assumed. Regarding my son, when I proposed my plan to you, I partially expected you to refuse."
Lana broke from her half assed stare across the ballroom to turn and face Morrigan. She was still as beautiful as an ice storm, but a warmness burned behind the pupils of her yellow eyes. Was that her son's doing or time itself? "Why would I refuse?"
"Jealousy, given the circumstances of it. I've found most people become woefully attached to such trivial matters and strike out at any perceived threat to their claim."
"Ah, well, if you remember I no longer had any claim to make at that point," Lana spat out.
"He always was an idiot, that merely cinched the deal," Morrigan said. Lana had to agree with that. She understood at the time, was more heartbroken than she'd thought possible, but she could convince herself he was trying to be kind. But to do it before he even took the damn crown, before they'd defeated the archdemon. It was as if he wanted to enrage her, hoped for her to push him off the tower and end his misery for him.
Morrigan seemed to sense the same thought, "I also feared you would refuse out of a need to strike back against him."
Lana snorted. Even now, when he'd broken her heart anew and into more grisly pieces, she still couldn't hurt him. Not even the way he hurt her. "Do you want to know why I took you up on your request? There were three grey wardens in all of Ferelden. One of us had to survive, had to make sure to reach the archdemon or all of Ferelden maybe even thedas could fall." Lana turned back to gazing over the ballroom. She caught the flash of a red frock coat as the Inquisitor spun about that important woman in white. "It was a simple case of maths."
Morrigan chuckled, "I knew you were practical."
"I try at least," Lana said.
"Well," she leaned closer, "you should know that there are rumblings of an unexplained occurrence in the western wing. Something that would interest the Inquisition greatly."
"Except I'm not with the Inquisition," Lana said.
Morrigan beamed her viper smile at Lana and jerked her chin, "Right, of course not. Just as I am not with the Orlesian court. Still, it would be wise for a person without any associations to look into it." The witch began to slide away from Lana, her gloves running along the banister as if checking it for dirt.
"Morrigan," Lana rose up to face her, "thanks."
She bowed her head, and the yellow eyes flared alive again, "I am only doing my small part." And without any fanfare, the Empress' arcane adviser drifted back into the crowd. Lana could spot her moving through it by the gap in people scrambling to not run into her. Maker only knew what small part Morrigan was playing in all this, but Lana felt more at ease knowing at least she was here. She never had a clue what Morrigan was thinking or even if she was on anyone's side than her own, but as strange as it sounded, she knew she could trust her.
Lana glanced around the crowds, taking new stock on who moved through it. She'd spotted Josephine earlier, who had managed to wall herself off behind five other diplomats all of them comparing notes on how to destroy all of thedas with a single pen stroke. Leliana haunted back and forth around the ballroom, the nightingale singing her own song to charm nobles to the Inquisition's cause. It would probably take her most of the night to flag down her friend, and judging by the urgency in Morrigan's voice there may not be much time. What she needed was...Ah.
She heard the voice sighing above the lull in the ever encroaching din. "No, thank you." Tittering ladies traded elbows as they crowded around the poor man in red backed against the wall. Cullen frowned, massaging his temples, but he couldn't see Lana hidden behind a sea of feathered caplets and complicated wigs.
"Oh, Commander," one of the women giggled her words so terribly she sounded like a mule about to knee a farmer. "You cannot prop up that wall all night."
"I intend to try," he sighed again.
"Come now, one dance will not kill you," another lady spoke up. This one wore one of the filagree masks, but had powder so thick upon her face she may as well have covered it in full. Lana haunted the edges of the group surrounding the commander, unable to find a break in their defenses. Whenever she moved to slip her head through a gap, the women crushed together to block her off. Cullen was too enraptured with staring at the ceiling to notice.
"I'd prefer to not risk it," Cullen snickered. The ladies giggled as if he told the greatest joke in all of thedas which only earned them a slow blink.
Right, so much for politeness. Lana cracked into the fade, drawing forth a spattering of energy, nowhere near enough to cause any real damage. She placed her hands next to the women and spread them wide. The women parted like a river meeting a rock and she slipped through them. Both women blinked in shock, struggling to figure out how this insubordinate newcomer snuck into their ranks. Even if they had any sense of magic breaking into the world, her interference was already fading away back to where it came. Lana folded her hands and caught the surprised eye of the commander who must have tasted her magic in the air.
"La...lady, my lady?" he stuttered.
She reached out a hand and he instinctively took it, "Dance with me, Commander."
"Ha!" the women she shoved aside snickered behind her.
"As if he dare waste his time with some turnip farmer."
Cullen glared at the women, then snapped back at Lana. He twisted his head in a question. "You will find it...most beneficial," she said.
"I, of course, certainly." He placed his barely touched drink down on a side table and gave in to her. Gripping tighter to his hand, Lana led him through the woman now tossing their heads as if about to charge at the indignity. Cullen lagged behind her like an obstinate child down the stairs until they slipped onto the dance floor. Couples twirled in terrifying step past them, the music reaching a tempo somewhere in a panicked heartbeat range. Her plan suddenly seemed a lot less wiser than before. She had only managed to learn three, maybe four steps in her time as an Arlessa. The speed with which the others were flying past, it looked as if one could break a leg or shatter a kneecap if you slipped in formation for even a moment.
Then, as dramatically as the song began it ended and a mercifully slow one sang mournfully from the strings. Thank the Maker. Lana tugged her partner out into the sea of people hugging the edge. His body, normally under tight control to a fantasy inducing degree, hung awkwardly off his tight shoulders.
> "I'm not much of dancer," Cullen admitted, a blush ruddying up his cheeks.
She chuckled, picked up his hand, placed it upon the small of her back, then grabbed onto his shoulder. "Don't worry, neither am I."
"Then why..." he began, but the mournful ballad picked up and together the uncertain pair moved into the churning sea of other dancers. For claiming to have no skills, Cullen kept his eyes upon Lana and his feet from treading on her toes. After a few beats, he fell into the rhythm pulsing through the floor. She felt it radiating up her bones, the bass line dragging her body back to the thrill of directing a vial of lyrium into raw magical energy. This was its own kind of power, the formation of armies, the lock step twist of the nobility fluffing itself out to see who was strongest. And she got to intercede into the display while clinging to Cullen. His arm drew tighter across her back, pulling her body closer to his.
"I suspect your little cheering crowd is planning my demise at this very moment," Lana snickered.
"They will never leave me alone now," Cullen grumbled, then he blinked in guilt, "But, this is nice. I always enjoy holding you and then the dancing. Not so much the dancing part, but..."
Sweet Andraste, she wanted to kiss away his stammer, but that'd put her on a death list for certain. Instead she cut him off, "I didn't drag you out here for my own selfish needs."
"Oh?" a hint of regret threaded through his words.
"Where is the Inquisitor?"
"Investigating a lead from Florienne," Cullen twisted her around in a half circle, but was unwilling to risk anything more complicated. "Why?"
"Morrigan found me. She said there's a disturbance in the west wing of the palace. Something that would interest the Inquisition."
Cullen's eyes snapped down to hers, the blush evaporated away, "The west wing? That's where we're sneaking in our people. No wonder so few are moving in already. We have to get them..." he began to slide away from her, but Lana clung tighter.
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