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Michel partook in some refreshments at one of the many sumptuously laid out tables, pleasantly surprised to find that they tasted almost indistinguishable from those in the Imperial court. Chefs and ingredients must have been especially procured for this occasion, a fine touch, he thought. The Ambassador was certainly an Orlesian at heart.
Eating was an excellent cover for eavesdropping. Michel had found that if one was engaged in the act of consuming food, it was often assumed they couldn’t hear and chew at the same time. He noticed a group of older Orlesian nobles to the left of the table, and he adjusted his position to be within earshot. These types were often unexpectedly well informed. It was likely they were filling each other in on the latest gossip.
“Have you seen the Commander tonight? Maker, isn’t he striking,” remarked a well-dressed older woman to an extravagantly dressed lady beside her. “I wonder, is he married?” Michel smiled to himself, he hadn’t lost his touch for picking out busybodies.
“He is unattached, but don’t get your hopes up,” a man in the party scoffed, probably one of the women’s husbands. “I hear he only has eyes for the Inquisitor herself, and it’s considered quite scandalous by Ferelden standards.”
The well-dressed lady covered her masked mouth with her fan in a show of disbelief. “She is the leader, but such a fine man wanting an elf! That is a scandal indeed.” Michel’s grip tightened on the delicate hor d'oeuvres plate he held.
The extravagantly dressed woman joined in. “You’ve only got part of the story, Valentin. Le Commandeur only has eyes for the Inquisitor, but she desires only the Tevinter. I heard they were found together doing unspeakable acts in the arcanum of this very hold.” She paused for dramatic effect. “You know the Tevinter was instrumental in securing the entreatment with the mages. He must have used more than simple persuasion,”
“That wouldn’t be surprising,” smirked the husband. “You know what they say about elvish women and their appetites.”
Michel had heard enough. He discarded the plate on the table and left. As idle as this conversation was to his ears, Michel knew that there was some truth in it. He had heard similar rumors himself in the barracks; it was said the Inquisitor was frequently seen in close conversation with the Tevinter, and that the other mage, the polite but aloof elvish one, would visit her in her private quarters, often at night. The soldiers didn’t put it as delicately, but that was the meaning Michel surmised. He had also heard that the Tevinter had an eye for young officers, and Michel knew these rumors were not mutually exclusive. In fact, for all of them to be true would be positively tame by Orlesian court standards.
He was in the throes of the Game now, he could feel its pull. What did he want to achieve? What could he possibly hope for? To be a respected high-ranking officer in the Inquisition? To be a champion again, this time for an elvish leader? He had devoted his entire life to being a chevalier, he hesitated to give up all hope of reclaiming that honor. To do so would feel like losing a part of himself. But he was already denying another part of himself, hiding it away out of fear. Maybe here he wouldn’t have to be afraid. Regardless of his choice, there was only one way he knew to move forward.
Michel determined he had to speak with the Tevinter. Dorian? He hoped that was his proper name. Commander Cullen kept Michel quite busy. A dedicated officer, he spent little time outside of the training grounds and barracks. Finding the Commander to be an honorable man, Michel trusted Cullen to reward his hard work and skill, but he knew he had to do more to ensure his upward trajectory. If Dorian did have a liking for officers, and if he was literally or proverbially in bed with the inquisitor, a connection with him would be invaluable. He found himself wondering if the Inquisitor engaged with more than one lover at a time. He usually preferred the company of women over men, but to expedite securing a favored position in the Inquisition’s court, and to be with her… he interrupted himself before he got carried away.
He had to take advantage of tonight, it would be difficult to arrange a way to encounter Dorian otherwise. Looking to the main dais, he scanned the crowd. No sign of him there. For that matter, where was the Inquisitor? If there was but a grain of truth in these rumors, perhaps if he found her, Dorian would be nearby. She would be far easier to spot, a larger and more brightly colored target as she was bedecked in Orlesian finery. And there she was. She had moved to the right side of the hall near a large fireplace. She was conversing with a vaguely familiar, fashionable looking dwarf who was… signing books at a table? To the side of the table with his arms crossed was the Tevinter himself.
Michel hesitated. He could not possibly approach the Inquisitor without a summons or invitation. Even directly approaching Dorian, a senior officer, could be seen as an affront. However, no one would object if he got in line for what appeared to be an impromptu book signing. Unconventional for an Orlesian gathering, but this was the Inquisition after all. Some differences were to be expected. Perhaps he could catch Dorian’s eye that way. He discreetly hurried toward the back of the line.
As he took his place in line, he noticed the Inquisitor departing. The Ambassador had appeared and whispered something in her ear, gently escorting her away, probably to fulfill one of the evening’s many obligations. Would Dorian soon follow? So far he wasn’t budging, it appeared he was having a rather heated conversation with the dwarf. Michel strained to listen.
“...I told you, Dorian, I couldn’t just give these away early, my publisher would kill me.”
“Oh, is that right? It doesn’t seem as though you have much regard for your publisher right now.”
“That was before I found out how popular I was in Orlais!” the dwarf paused to smile and sign a book for the next fan in line. “That lying bastard told me I didn’t sell there, to hell with what he thinks. Thank goodness I found out here in Skyhold, where I conveniently had all these advance copies.”
“You told me you couldn’t give me the next in the series because you didn’t have any!” Dorian was indignant. “I demand you give me a signed copy at once.”
“Like I said, Dorian, if you want a copy, you can get in line with everyone else.”
“Outrageous,” Dorian huffed, and left the side of the table. Michel read his posture and wondered if he would now depart altogether. Instead, he began to walk toward the back of the line, and in a moment he would be right next to Michel. Maker, what luck!
Dorian stood behind Michel, arms tightly crossed, still aggrieved. Michel looked over his shoulder, pretending he was looking for someone in the distance. He hoped to ensnare Dorian with fleeting eye contact and his handsome face.
***
Feeling his anger subside at the sight of the angelic blue eyes in front of him, Dorian composed himself. Who was this magnificent creature? He had to find out.
“Lord Dorian Pavus of Asariel, Senior Advisor in Magicks to the Inquisitor. May I have the pleasure of making your acquaintance?”
“Michel de Chevin, Lieutenant to Commander Cullen, 2nd Inquisitorial regiment. The pleasure is all mine.” Michel bowed deferentially, lowering to one knee. Dorian felt his heart flutter, he loved being adulated.
“That’s right, I knew you looked familiar,” Dorian took the opportunity to look the young kight up and down. “I’ve often seen you around the training grounds. The Commander is quite a taskmaster, isn’t he.”
“It is an honor to serve under such an accomplished and valiant leader,” Michel gave a hint of a smile. “But yes, I must admit he drives us all quite hard. Himself not the least of all.”
Was Dorian imagining it, or did Michel put something of an emphasis on a certain word?
How he adored these strapping, chivalrous types. It was all the better when Dorian could entice them to let down their guard.
The Commander was actually quite to his liking, but Dorian knew him to be painfully straight. How dull. Somehow he managed to enjoy spending time with Cullen regardless. He was quite a clever and fascinating man when he could manage to not be uptight for multiple consecutive minutes.
“Truer words were never spoken. But enough about our esteemed Commander. I’d like to learn more about you.”
***
“One of these rumors is proving true, at least,” Michel thought to himself. Before he could answer Dorian, an announcement rang through the hall. He had been so preoccupied with charming the Tevinter, he hadn’t realized the music had stopped playing.
“And now Her Worship, Lady Inquisitor Lavellan, First of Clan Lavellan, Herald of Andraste, will begin the first dance, accompanied by her most esteemed and honored officer, Madame Vivienne, First Enchanter of the Circle of Magi, Enchanter of the Imperial Court, Mistress of the Duke of Ghislain, First Advisor of Magicks to the Inquisition. May the inaugural Inquisitorial Grand Fete commence!”
“First Advisor of Magicks?” Dorian sniffed. “I thought we were all in equal standing. Typical Orlesian antics. In Tevinter you’d be stabbed for pulling a trick like that.” Michel hoped he was joking. He had heard of the brutalities of Tevinter court, but had always assumed it was slanderous gossip. Now he wasn’t so sure. He supposed he would find out.
“Where are my manners? Lieutenant de Chevin, would you do me the honor of joining me in this dance?”
“The honor is mine, Lord Pavus.” They made their way to the dance floor, each holding the other’s hand upright on one side, and placing the other hand on their partner’s shoulder. This was considered polite and customary in most of Thedas, especially for two men who were not in a close relationship.
“Please, call me Dorian. All my friends do,”
“Does this mean we’re friends, Dorian?”
“I’d certainly like to be,” Dorian smiled.
Michel reflected on how he wanted to play this. What would hook Dorian tonight, yet continue to hold his attention for as long as Michel needed? First, Michel would need to identify if the Tevinter could develop real feelings for him. Not only did he try to avoid causing true heartbreak whenever he could help it, but igniting genuine passions was risky. While they were a powerful tool to wield, they were unpredictable and could result in disaster.
“You dance quite well, Dorian. I take it fetes such as this are common in Tevinter?”
“Yes, but with more murder.”
Michel deemed it best to laugh politely. “Surely, Dorain, you exaggerate? Tevinter’s reputation cannot be as fearsome as it seems.”
“I do exaggerate, but only slightly. Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Not unless I’m asked nicely first.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Michel ventured a half smile, just enough to inspire hope but not confidence. He suspected that while Dorian was susceptible to flattery, he also enjoyed the thrill of pursuit.
“Enough about me and ghastly old Tevinter. Tell me about yourself, Michel. May I call you Michel?”
“Yes, by all means. What is it you want to know? I do not wish to bore you with unnecessary details.”
“I doubt anything about you could bore me,” Dorian replied.
“In that case, I’ll start with the formalities. I am Orlesian, from Montfort. I trained at the Academie des Chevaliers. Afterwards I was fortunate enough to serve Empress Celine as her champion for over 10 years,”
“Most impressive, Michel! Whatever brings you to serve the Inquisition?”
“I displeased the Empress, and fell from my station. After your Inquisitor assisted me in Sahrnia, I accepted her offer to join the Inquisition.” Michel made the bet that Dorian would sympathize with a story of leaving one’s homeland under less than ideal circumstances.
“Oh, Michel, I’m so sorry…”
“It is alright, I have accepted it. I cannot deny I miss my homeland, though serving it has caused me great pain. But each day I serve the Inquisition, I find something that gives me a new purpose.” He gazed at Dorian, hoping the Tevinter found his blue eyes as entrancing as most of his former lovers had.
Dorian looked back at him, unwavering. “Do you want to go somewhere and talk? The dance floor is ill-suited for conversations of substance.”
“Yes, I quite agree.” Michel had almost forgotten how quickly men made up their minds. They stopped dancing, and Dorian took him by the arm, leading him off of the dance floor.
***
As he departed with Michel, Dorian passed Cullen and Josephine. “Did someone say my name? It is one of my favorite sounds.” Naturally he took the opportunity to eavesdrop. “Save room on your dance card for me, Commander.” He gave Cullen a wink; he loved to torment the Commander at any opportunity. He also was hoping to impress Michel with a dazzling display of witty rapport with his boss.
Where could he and Michel go to be alone? Unfortunately it was too early in the evening to stray far from the main event, he’d never hear the end of it from Josephine. Though even she couldn’t object if he stepped out for a moment to get some air. The courtyard gardens would be ideal for that. He knew a secluded spot near the chapel. With any luck, it would be unoccupied.
He led Michel through one of the many side doors lining the main hall, and soon they entered the lush courtyard. It was not quite as crowded as Dorian anticipated.
“Over here,” Dorian gestured. “I know a place we can sit.” He led Michel to a secluded bench off to one side of the chapel. It was almost completely obstructed from view on all sides. Dorian hoped that no one felt the need to pray at the feet of Andraste anytime soon.
“This is beautiful, I did not know this place existed,” Michel remarked.
Dorian looked at him incredulously. “You’re never been here? How long have you been with us? Maker, your Commander is ruthless.”
Michel laughed. “He demands much from his soldiers, and officers are no exception. Remaining true to the Academie, the ways of the chevalier, I myself settle for no less.”
Dorian reflected for a moment. “I know how you feel, Michel. About leaving Orlais.” He adjusted his posture, venturing to move himself closer. “Things in Tevinter were not easy for me. But I miss it more than almost anything. I still care for my people and my culture a great deal. Though I wouldn’t mind if some parts of it changed. Particularly the bigoted and murderous ones.”
“Do you think it’s possible for it to change?” Michel said quietly, eyes following an errant bee that was still gathering pollen at this late hour.
“I’m not sure. But a part of me wonders if I could have… if I can do more. If someday I could contribute to making those changes happen, instead of complaining about them. That is, if we survive all this.”
Michel looked at Dorian. Maker, those eyes. Michel’s lips met his. Dorian kissed him deeply, falling into the warmth, the strength that he felt each time their mouths touched. Had he kissed Michel, or had the chevalier made the first move? He quickly decided it didn’t matter.
Continuing their passionate kisses, Dorian’s hands moved to search Michel’s body, to pull him closer, but he was thwarted by the cold rigidity of plate armor. He resolved to be held and felt instead, even if he could not reach Michel at this moment. Michel obliged, pulling Dorian to him, right hand moving to caress Dorian’s upper thigh. Dorian instinctively moved his hand to reciprocate.
“Ow!” Dorian quickly removed his hand, shaking it to relieve the sharp pain he felt when his fingers collided with hard steel. After realizing what had happened, Michel could not help but laugh.
“You haven’t been with many soldiers, I see.”
“Not as many as I would like, and certainly not in full dress regalia.” Dorian nursed his hand. Michel took it in his, kissing it tenderly, and then dared to suck the end of his bruised index finger. Dorian felt chills throughout his entire body. “Would you meet me after this is over? The party, of course. I can’t stay here long, I’m in high demand tonight.”
“I can see why,” Michel replied lasciviously.
“Sadly my other obligations tonight are far less enticing. Meet me outside, under the archway to the lower yard. We can discreetly make it to my quarters from there.”
Michel kissed Dorian’s hand again, and looked deeply into his eyes. “Only the Maker himself could stop me.”