faderift | OPEN ↠ THE WINTER PALACE, PART I

OPEN ↠ THE WINTER PALACE, PART I

WHO: Open to all
WHAT: The War of the Lions comes to a head with tense peace negotiations scheduled for a grand Winter Palace ball
WHEN: This is forward dated to ~~Firstfall 30~~ Wintermarch 15. This post covers only the first few hours of the event, Part II will be posted in the coming days with the next stage.
WHERE: the Winter Palace, Halamshiral, Orlais
NOTES: Please make sure to read the OOC Post for more info!

The Inquisition's encampment at Halamshiral has grown to be a second home for some, having remained on the estate grounds outside the city for several months now. The field full of tents and campfires is quiet tonight, a large contingent having made their way to the famed Winter Palace to attend the evening's ball. It's not just a party, of course: it's also a venue for much-needed negotiations between Empress Celene and her challenger cousin, Grand Duke Gaspard. All of Orlais' highest and mightiest have gathered to see if tonight the War of the Lions will finally come to an end.

The Inquisition's role is not entirely clear. Some consider them mediators and peacekeepers, and it's true they've done their best thus far to safeguard the citizens of Orlais without overtly choosing a side in the conflict. But others see them as a foreign force marched into the heart of the nation en masse and fear some sort of coup may be in the offing. The Empress and the Grand Duke remain politely wary, but have agreed to allow Inquisition agents to assist with event security. Patrols rove the grounds (and, more discreetly, inside the palace), made up of small teams of Imperial guardsmen, chevaliers, and Inquisition members. It's a risky decision, pairing up people who have been on opposite sides of a war for the last year, with only the agents of a controversial religious(??) order as a buffer. The atmosphere is tense, everyone on edge waiting to see where the first blow will be struck--and by whom.

The Ballroom

The ballroom glitters, lit with hundreds of candles in sconces on the walls, bundled on stands, dangling from elaborate chandeliers. There are even servants assigned to circulate about the dancefloor carrying trees of slowly-dripping candles, the better to allow guests to appreciate their partners' finery or critique their neighbors' steps.

There's plenty of critiquing going around, whether from the couples daintily spinning and mincing about the sunken dance floor or the crowds milling about the mezzanine above them. Fashion and flirtation are the hot topics of the day, as ever, but there is an undercurrent of tension not usually present at such events. Many of the hushed conversations are about troop movements or Tevinter plots, destroyed lands and dead chevaliers. Nothing can quite make an Orlesian extravaganza somber, but no amount of wine and music can completely erase awareness of the war that has brought them here tonight, or the uncertainty about what will come of it. As a precaution the guards have confiscated all weapons at the door, but there is less rowdy behavior than one might expect, a combination of many young men having gone off to battle, and most of the people who remain preferring to remain on their best behavior in this trying time. Guests who do not do the same will be quickly and fiercely shunned.

But not all choose to spend their time worrying, and if it is not as carefree an affair as usual it is still most definitely a party atmosphere. Much of the laughter and chatter and fan-fluttering is as genuine as ever, flowery compliments and veiled insults abound, the food is plentiful and delicious, carried about in great piles by servants dressed entirely in gold. The wine is even better, flowing freely from the mouths of a multitude of sculpted lions (which grace the arms of both Celene and Gaspard). The music is brisk and upbeat, provided by a large contingent near the dance floor and several smaller clusters tucked about the venue.

The vestibule is quieter, aside from the constant cries of the heralds announcing each arrival. Conversation continues out here at a steady hum, but the music is more distant, the air less thick with perfume and intrigue. Beyond that are the Inner Gardens, where pairs and small parties circulate between elaborate hedges and topiaries on paths paved with delicate pieces of seashell that glow faintly in the moonlight. Many come and go as the night continues, taking the air as a respite from the crowd and candles inside or using that as an excuse to sneak off for torch-lit liaisons.

The Outer Gardens

The Outer Gardens are still ornamental but less intricately landscaped than the Inner: hedges are lower, topiary larger but less detailed. The torches are more numerous here, the better to highlight arrivals. Carriages of all sorts draw up one by one to the gilded iron gate, footmen in powdered wigs rolling out steps and assisting the passengers as they disembark. Other servants clad in simple lion masks scurry about, taking charge of coats and capes, delivering drinks for those who cannot wait even for the time it takes to walk inside, delivering news to the heralds and consoling those who arrive just behind a larger party and are forced to wait their turn in line to be announced.

The Imperial Guard are present inside, too, but subtly; here they are present in obvious numbers, breastplates shining, resplendent in purple and yellow surcoats, with matching plumes jutting from their helms. They watch each entering personage carefully, collecting weapons from all, no matter how exalted their position. Inquisition agents pass through the area as well, pairs accompanying guardsmen on their rounds through the gardens or up on the palace walls.

Some noble guests even linger here, the shy or the unpopular (or the too-popular), or those for whom even the Inner Garden has grown too crowded, spilling out to catch the cool evening breeze on a wine-flushed face or to continue a conversation too serious to have interrupted by tittering. It is still noble territory, that is clear, but it isn't entirely unusual to see a lady engage a guard in banter as he passes, or a lord stop a servant to inquire after inside information on her mistress.

The Servant's Quarters

Earlier the servants' quarters was a roil of activity, stoves loaded with pots boiling and pans sizzling, trays laden with food, casks rolled out full and back in empty with alarming frequency. But now the fountains are filled and the food all cooked and plated, delivered to tables and staging areas, leaving the vast majority of the staff at their leisure. And while the nobles are occupied across the gardens with their ball, that means it's time for a party here, too.

The rooms are packed, from kitchens and sculleries to dining halls and normal halls, store rooms, boot rooms, everywhere. The servants at Halamshiral have nearly all gathered except for the unfortunate number tasked with serving at the ball itself, and their numbers are nearly doubled by the presence of numerous Inquisition agents and outside retainers whose noble bosses are busy spending their visit dancing and gossiping. That's most of what's happening here, too, with a band playing loud and fast in the servants' hall, tables and chairs pushed back against the walls and piled up to make room for a dance floor. In other rooms, wine flows and food is piled high, leftovers from the ball and anything not quite perfect enough to serve to the upper crust.

The place is full to bursting, hot and noisy and raucous, the floors sticky with spilled ale. A dice game spills out from the cheese room, couples neck and giggle among the tall shelves of bottles in the wine cellar, a group of laughing young men dart among the crowd stealing masks off faces and replacing them with different ones, a cluster steps out in the courtyard to share a pipe beside ladies maids having a whispered argument about whose employer wore it better.

Please note: This post covers only the first few hours of the party, not the entire night. There will be a second post going up in the next week that will cover the conclusion of the event, so please make sure not to assume too far into the future in your threads here. Please make sure to also read the OOC Post for more info on who can attend which party and how we're using comment counts here to determine the outcome of the civil war.

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He's not the least disappointment to find himself being steered away from the marshal. Socializing is hard and tedious under the best of circumstances, and these can hardly be considered such. Though Aleron's impressed with how talented Bethany seems to be at it, without being over the top as his twin is. Another of her qualities to admire.

Mention of her being parched makes him feel guilty immediately, taking it as a commentary that he's somehow neglecting her well-being. He makes a mental note to be more attentive and considerate the rest of the evening. There's a small shake of his head when he sees her scanning for someone to report to.

"No, nothing, not yet. I do not mean to worry you." Rather, he guides her towards the tables to acquire a drink, for her rather than himself. En route, he shares the true source of his dread. "Mother will be attending tonight."

Which prompts him to steal another glance of dread at the doors. Names paired with long lists of titles are still being read, and none of them are the ones he's expecting. That buys them a little more time.

Bethany learned a long time ago that being diplomatic was the best way to survive anywhere - from the desolation of Lothering, to the streets of Kirkwall, to the halls of Orzammar. Manners and a smile could take you a long way, along with an earnest and open face.

She exhales with silent relief, her shoulders releasing their tension -- and then momentarily tensing again as she now looks to the door with dread. "Oh ... will she now?"

A swallow, before she lifts her chin, and gives him a determined smile, "Well won't she be pleased that my letter was not at all misleading, and she'll find you happy before long?"

See, take that away from his mother and she lost her only weapon in her arsenal to nag at him. Bethany added to that firmly, "You're already handsome, a good and honest man, and a Seeker in the Inquisition's purview. I can't see how she could not be prouder. I know I am full to bursting, myself."

That vote of confidence makes Aleron relax, at least a little. The tension obvious in his shoulders unwinds enough to be visible and Bethany gets one of his half-quirked smiles. "She will adore you. I'm certain of it."

There are no doubts on that score. His mother has been hounding him for years to get on with his life and remarry and give him more grandchildren to dote on. Nevermind that the family shipped him off as a child, unwanted, and shoved him into a life which seldom allows for happy family lives. If anything, it's irritated him that he's been pushed about by his mother's ambitions for decades but not once has she bothered to inquire what her son (that she claims to favor) wanted.

"I am more concerned by just how proud of me she seems to be. It's created... issues in the past." He was just a child at the time and still doesn't know the full scope of how her vocal and pushy favoritism managed to have her beloved boy shoved out the door to thwart her scheming. Aleron's got a pretty good idea now as an adult, but not the full-breadth of the familial scheming. "I feel I should warn you, my darling, she's got plans in the works and they involve me. Us. Mother's made no secret that she intends to put herself forward as the inheritor of my late Uncle Edouard's titles, with me as her heir."

The implication being if her son is married with children, it will assuredly bolster her claim. It's why she's been so pushy.

Almost embarrassed at being unwillingly featured in his mother's scheming, he colors at the neck then presses a light kiss to the top of Bethany's head. "It's not too late to change your mind." Please don't.

She squeezes his arm again, smiling once more, "Do you really think so? I hope so. I want to make sure everything is the way it should be, after all."

In other words, she wanted to make sure they did everything right, so not a single person would treat Aleron like they had treated her mother after she had married Bethany's father. Above board, with letters and proper courting from - well, both of them.

Although as he explained his fears about his mother, and her mother then using him to get an inheritance, her lips pressed together into a frown, "Oh, well, that's not ... really very nice at all, is it? Well, perhaps we'll get lucky and your Uncle won't like mages."

She dimpled, dimples that deepened as he kissed the top of her head. A little teasing tilt, as she gently poked him in the shoulder, "Hah, you won't be rid of me that easily, Aleron Darton. You promised me a proper courtship with a wedding, flowers, and babies. You're not backing out now."

"Never. I am committed to you and our life."

He hasn't considered that his mother or her schemes might have an objection to Bethany's magic, and he has no intention to allow it to have any bearing whatsoever in their own plans. There are legal obstacles to inheritances in the Free Marches, but he's not made a study of Orlesian law on the matter. Regardless, he intends to marry this beautiful woman who has enriched his life and if it means they settle in Nevarra where Mortalitasi are respected, then so be it. It might mean defying expectations laid on him for the first time in his life, but he's determined.

He's got no desire to end up a pampered Orlesian nobleman anyway.

Before Aleron has an opportunity to shower Bethany with more reassurances that his mother will indeed adore her, another arrival is being formally announced and it stops him short.

"The Lady Marlie Darton, Dowager Baroness of Endridge, Countess of Rieumont."

And there she is, standing at the entry. Marlie is a handsome woman for her age and has arrived in blue and silver, with a falcon mask. Even at a distance and with the mask, it's easy to tell that Aleron inherited his pale eyes and hair from her. There's a whisper nearby that it's bold to arrive claiming titles that aren't settled yet.

Feeling the dread settling in his chest, Aleron looks to his beloved, "Are you ready for this?"

"Then neither one of us has anything to fear, mother or no." She leaned up to kiss his cheek, squeezing his arm as she reached over to give him a goblet of wine, and pick up one up for herself. She has a feeling they might need them.

So when Aleron's mother floats into the room, Bethany has to wonder if she has developed the ability to read the future. It could be no one else, she realizes, even if they had not announced her name for the entire ballroom to hear. That hair, those eyes - they were mirrored in her beloved's. Yet there was a softness to Aleron's pale eyes that Bethany couldn't see.

The whisper pulls her attention, but just for a moment, as she sets her chin. Brown eyes flash, before she looks up at him, "With you at my side? I'm ready for anything."

She smiled, and planted another kiss on his cheek. "Shall we?"

Aleron bestows an adoring look at Bethany, loathe to draw his gaze away. She is too good and he's still not rightly sure what he's done in his life to deserve her. He does take a swallow of wine to fortify himself before they dive into the fray, but having his beloved close at hand makes the doing feel more manageable.

Lady Marlie has no intention of dawdling when it comes to seeing her long errant son. She's still bitter that her husband had her darling son sent off at such a young age and away from her. That he was given to the Seekers made the separation worse as he was taken off to who-knew-where not to be heard from in years. It was cruel to her. She'd been obedient and married a stranger, bore that stranger a number of children, but then was not allowed to keep all her chicks in her nest to make the long exile from her homeland tolerable.

She all but runs to her son, taking his shoulders in both hands and kissing his cheeks. It's not at all decorous but who is going to argue with a doting mother? "My handsome son, look at you!" she coos in her heavily accented Orlesian. Rocking back to her heels, she peers to his side, eyeing Bethany, though perhaps not rudely. Just examining the woman who has dragged her precious boy out from the abyss. Pretty and not at all a sickly thing like his first wife had proven. "Is this her? This must be her."

Poor Aleron barely has a moment to take a breath, much less steal a glance at Bethany. "Ah yes, Mother. Allow me to present Lady Bethany Hawke. Bethany, my mother, Lady Marlie Darton."

"Augh, Aleron, you are too formal with your mama! And with your soon-to-be bride." She's not giving her son even a fraction of an opportunity to back out of remarrying. The dowager does, however, give her son the stink-eye for his formality, before kissing both of Bethany's cheeks as well. "You will forgive my darling boy for his lapse of manners, I am sure. And you shall call me Mama. I insist. You are to be my new daughter."

Just to make matters slightly more awkward all the way around, more than one head has turned when they realize the Champion's sister is in the room.

That adoring look is met with one of her own - and honestly they should be making people vomit - if the looks weren't so sincere and dare they say? Appropriate courtly love. She sips from her cup, puts it down, and then slides her arm through Aleron. She only releases it when Lady Marlie moves forward to embrace her son, kissing on both cheeks.

Ah yes, she is quite Orlesian. When she is examined, she puts on her best, brightest smile as she folds her hands in front of her. Remembering the manners her own mother had carefully put into her, she drops into a curtsey. "My Lady - I - oh!"

All right, now there is cheek kissing! Bethany's smile turns a little quizzical, "Oh ... I, well, thank you." A pause, and she adds, "Mama Darton."

Eyes shift towards her, and she feels herself flush a little. Resisting the urge to wave, she carries on, "It's such a pleasure to finally meet you. I hope you've received all my letters?" Since she was already Aleron's fiancee -- without him even asking the question - she assumed her suit was ... well. Suitable.

Which, oh yes, means that now the entire Winter's Palace now knows that the Champion's sister is going to marry a Dalton. She dimly hopes she won't have to invite all these people to come.

There she goes. Aleron almost never shows any sign of emotion, but there is strain of being overwhelmed already in his eyes. It's rather like watching a runaway cart and he has no clue whatsoever what he can do to bring it to a screeching halt. Or just a halt. Screeching or otherwise. Realizing he's no real chance of sneaking in a word of his own edgewise, he lapses into a broody silence, even while his mother presses something small into his hand.

...it's her old betrothal ring. Maker, can't she even leave him to do for himself?

Meanwhile, Mama has already claimed Bethany's arm for a companionable stroll around the room while she chatters their ears off. "Ah yes! Your letters! They brought me such joy! And you have such lovely penmanship. My son, he is a good boy but I never hear from him. I wonder if my letters go amiss. I write and write and sometimes he writes back but he never speaks of what he does or where he goes or answers the questions I ask him." At this point she shoots Aleron another one of her withering stares because she just knows he's not reading her mail. Or if he is, he's not replying to vex her which is just as naughty. "I love him so much! But he is like his father. Very smart, very clever, but he does not know how to engage people and be charming like his sisters. You will help him with that, yes?"

Because Mama has plans that involve wresting her boy away from the Seekers once and for all and installing him and his new wife at the family estates in Rieumont. It's the perfect revenge against her father and brothers and husband. They thwarted her in their lives and she has outlived them and plans to thwart them in their graves. But she's not blind to her beloved son's deficits. He'll excel at managing the estates but is just wretched at playing nice with society and politics. That he had the good fortune to pick a celebrity of an intended? Well the Maker surely smiles on all her plans. Such a pretty girl too!

Said pretty girl is rapidly becoming the interest of more people in the room as the word passes along who she is. No surprise, at least two people have sent their servants on an errand to fetch their copy of Tale of the Champion hoping for an audience and an autograph. If there is anything in Thedas to convince Aleron that he does not want to move to Orlais in the future, it's the reaction he's already seeing in the ballroom. Bethany deserves a quiet life if she wishes one, not hounded for who her family is.

Bethany found herself ... literally claimed by the arm and then walking the length of the room. She was starting to understand how Aleron felt overwhelmed by this woman - had she let either one of them speak at all? She looked over her shoulder at Aleron, giving him a helpless look of amusement, as she turned back to Lady Darton to answer her question as nicely as possible.

"You are assuredly mistaken, Mama Darton. He's quite charming." She gave her beloved a warm smile, before she continued, "I believe he is merely serious - a man who does not look to take anything for granted. Which makes his friendship ever dearer, and his affections even more poignant to me, because he means them so sincerely. Aleron will never be one for fake smiles, and I'm glad for it."

There, let's just put it very nicely that her son is just fine the way he is and there's no need to go about changing things about him. He had his faults - so did she - but he was such a man of good and honest character that his silences just meant you should pay ever the more attention to what he was not saying.

She would have added more, if one of the servants hadn't run up to her with her master's copy of the Tale of the Champion to sign, and she could see a score of little old ladies bearing down on them, the question already on their lips, 'What is the Champion like?' and 'Oh do you know Varric Tethras?' True to her nickname though, she just smiled, graciously taking the book and ansering, "She's a wonderful person - strong, steady, a real inspiration to me growing up. And yes, Varric and I are old friends. He should be around here somewhere, actually .."

Edited 2016-12-02 04:06 (UTC)

Lady Marlie might be talkative, but she's not blind and she's watching the looks being exchanged by her son and this young woman, assessing everything. She could have been a player in the Game if her Father hadn't scuttled her off to the Free Marches for the coin to save his estates. Clearly her son had not learned the lesson the first time: that marriage is a business transaction. She approves of his choice but not at all of his level of investment. For a man who had proven a sound tactician, he had no iota how to conduct his personal affairs.

When poor Bethany gets mobbed by fans, Aleron finally manages to at least get in one quiet plea, "Mother, please don't heckle her for an autograph." But he barely spares Mama a look because he's watching his beloved with a growing sense of pride. Not only had she stood up to his mother, and quite successfully too, but she did it with grace and charm. Even the way she handles being bothered for signatures from strangers impresses him. There's a growing sense of just how blessed he is to have her in his life, more than he already had. His mother is right in one small thing and he realizes it. His beloved will make up and fill in for his own shortcomings.

True to form, Mama seizes the opportunity to talk to Aleron while his lady is distracted, bearing down on him in rapid-fire Orlesian. Just quiet enough that she won't be easily overheard by anyone. "Ne pense pas que je ne peux pas voir comment tu la regardes. Quand je t'ai dit de me remarier, je ne t'ai pas dit de tomber amoureux. Encore." His expression darkens in reply, as he considers this a censure against Bethany and he won't have that.

She sees that look and recognizes the brooding stormcloud of his childhood, and moves to disperse it. "Je l'approuve. Vous avez bien choisi; Je n'aurais pas pu faire mieux. Oh, j'ai essayé. Je crois qu'elle vous rendra heureuse et fera une belle comtesse quand je serai mort. Mais vous êtes stupide d'investir votre cœur dans un mariage une deuxième fois." Mama has not said her full piece, but looks up into the face of her son with a quivering lip. She puts a gloved hand on his cheeks and sniffles. "Je vous ai perdu une fois à la Chantry et une deuxième fois à votre douleur. Je ne peux pas supporter de vous voir languir de douleur encore. S'il vous plaît, mon fils bien-aimé, pensez à vous-même avant de donner votre cœur à nouveau."

Aleron doesn't quite know what to make of that, nor what seems to be sincere affection from his Mother, laced as it is with scolding. His suspicious nature does cause him to doubt how much of that lecture is genuine and how much is a play in whatever scheme she's at this time. It does, however, deserve a reply, even if it's not one she'll like. Very gently, he moves her hand at kisses her on the cheek to soften the blow. "It's too late for that, Mother."

The matter is then soundly dropped on his part and he steps over to Bethany who is adeptly dispersing the curious to go look for the famous author instead. It's fairly clever, he feels, and it shows in the smallest of smiles. "Any chance I can steal you away for a dance, my darling?" He holds out an arm for the taking, providing a handy escape route for them both.

Bethany, alas, doesn't understand a word of Orlesian. Well, bits and pieces, but nothing to follow the stream of conversation that is happening behind her. Truth be told though, her attention is on the three Ladies before her, as she touches them each in kind, her brown eyes warm as she responds sincerely, "Thank you so much ... I am sure that Carver will be pleased to hear about so many wonderful options for a future bride. Yes, I'll be sure to make sure he knows he's invited to the next soiree."

Where she would put him front and center to preen and get his lion's share of the attention. Maker preserve her, but she never wanted anything like this.

The smile on her face is a touch relieved when Aleron takes his place at her side, as the ladies have gone off to find poor Varric, and her hand slides confidently around his. "With great and abiding pleasure, my love."

A glance sideways, and she lowers her voice to a whisper, "So, just how much trouble are you in for sticking with me? Will I have to do something heroic to be worthy of your hand in marriage?"

To be fair, Aleron's receptive Orlesian is far better than his expressive and it's because he almost stubbornly refuses to give in and make use of his mother's native language. Just like he's attempted to distance himself from most matters related to Orlais. He might have lived and trained there as a youth and young man, but he'll forever be a Marcher in his heart and Mama will just have to deal.

Or will she? It seems she's quite made up her mind and he cannot see a way out of the predicament of her plans and plots.

"Not a bit, I assure you." It's not a lie, as that's not precisely what he's in trouble for. He doesn't even dare glance Mama's direction after that scolding. Aleron does, however, smile slightly as reassurance that Bethany is quite in the clear. "She approves of you and says you'll make a fine countess after her."

Once they're safely on the open dance floor where they can talk relatively privately, he broaches the subject quite carefully. If Bethany has objections, he cannot truly blame her and it's best she know upfront what she's getting herself in for with him. "She's determined to have me as her heir. I cannot see any way out of it. Once the titles are settled on her legally, she will want me in Orlais to assist with restoring the holdings."

He pauses, watching for her reaction, any signs that she's ready to bolt for the door. "I can put her off for a time, but the Inquisition will eventually complete its work." And with the Seekers no more, he will have no real choice than to go fulfill familial duty. The real question is if she's willing to suffer the ridiculousness of Orlesian aristocracy alongside him.

Well, at least Bethany will have someone there to tell her if someone is calling her horrible names. That way she can smile even more charmingly at them, as if she knows something about them that they do not. She found smiling at Orlesians made them ever so nervous, because no one was as sincere as Bethany Hawke.

"Oh, marvelous." She dimpled again, shifting so she can take her position in the dance, "I'm so happy, Aleron. I really was afraid she would try to make you jilt me."

She takes his hands, and then allows him to lead the way through the dance as they twirl to the music. When he speaks though, the happy smile on her face fades a touch, before it is followed with rueful humor. "Darling, I'll be pleased and honored to stand at your side as your countess ... and if I am going to be trapped with Orlesians for the rest of my days, there is no one else I would rather be trapped with. I should warn you though, I'm about as adept at the game as I am with a sword."

Now he can breathe. If she's managed to go toe to toe with his Mother, take in their prospects he's just informed her of, and still hasn't run screaming for the hills? Aleron's now quite convinced that she means to stay. Having a partner in this madness his mother wishes to inflict on him makes the idea of it at least more tolerable. He'd still prefer a quiet life somewhere in the Free Marches with Bethany at his side, but perhaps rural Orlais rebuilding an impoverished title and estate won't be so bad.

There's a rueful smile in response to her lack of swordsman ship. "I'm not all that grand with a sword myself, dear one." It's true. He was never especially athletic as a boy, save for equestrian matters, and all progress he's made in a combatant role is from dogged study of technique then applied to exhaustion in training. And still he's mediocre at best. Strategy is his true gift. He'd have made a far better scholar than a soldier. "Not all that keen on the Game either. Mother lives for it, but I've no head for diplomacy."

Little does he realize that his method of thinking and analyzing all possible outcomes would make him a skilled player of the Game if politics did not grate on him so.

"I worry you'll find the life terribly dull, Bethany. Uncle Edouard's estates are in a remote area not far from the mountains, and I'm given to understand he managed to bankrupt the properties before his passing." Okay so most of Orlais is underwater on their holdings because this war keeps draining them all. The question remains, which ones will be salvageable. "Though... I think you underestimate yourself. You quite held your own just now. I am in awe of you, more than I already was."

Bethany's lips twitched up at the corners once more at Aleron's rueful smile - her poor darling. He really did want nothing more than to live quietly in the country with her and their future children. Some sort of mage-warrior and Seeker they turned out to be. Perhaps they were both better off as quiet country scholars...

"Oh, Aleron, how could I ever find it dull if you're there?" She dimpled at him, before her own smile became rueful, "And honestly? It sounds ... peaceful. A nice quiet place to raise our children. Out of the way enough that I might consider my mage school there, if you do not object. I don't know about you, love, but I could stand some peace and quiet after all this."

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OPEN ↠ THE WINTER PALACE, PART I

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translation in hover

Oooooooooo.

omg so late :(

Re: omg so late :(

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