MOD PLOT: SHOULD GLORY COME AT SUCH A PRICE, Part I

[faderifting]

WHO: The Inquisition's Minrathous delegation
WHAT: A diplomatic visit to Tevinter's capital
WHEN: Mid Solace
WHERE: Minrathous, Tevinter
NOTES: Slavery cw. OOC post here.

I. SWEET DIGS

The Archon's palace is a vast complex at the northeast of the island, buildings of stark black and white stone drawn straight up out of the ground and shaped by magic alone. Ringed by a wall of the same, it is made up of the palace proper and dozens of outbuildings, stables, barracks, baths, gardens, and the like. The Inquisition delegation is housed in the guest quarters, a single long hall in one wing of the palace. They are not its only occupants: special emissaries from the Anderfels occupy several rooms at one end of the hall, and other visitors are scattered throughout—trade envoys, out-of-town courtiers, relatives and guests of the Archon. There is also a veritable army of staff, constantly fetching, carrying, cleaning. Skyhold will have sent stern reminders for the Division Heads to pass down to the rest of the party: assume you are being watched at all times and mind your tongue accordingly.

The areas of the palace open to foreign visitors are somewhat limited: aside from the Archon's personal apartments, several wings apparently house massive bureaucracy behind the throne, and guests are not permitted without an appointment and an escort. The library and hall of treasures are free to be wandered, though they are carefully guarded against theft or vandalism, and the gardens are lovely and imposing testaments to the wonders magic can wring from nature.

II. GUIDED TOUR

The delegation's first day in Minrathous is fully booked, beginning with a guided tour after breakfast. The tour focuses on the nicer parts of the city and is led by a friendly elven mage, Caeso, who works for the Archon—someone is trying to make a point, perhaps, about how high elves can rise, as long as they're the right sort.

Minrathous is ancient, and it shows, with not even the care and pride Tevinter has in its heritage able to stave off signs of wear. The buildings are enormous and dark, made largely out of black stone and metals, but they indicate a majestic history more than a majestic present. There are also signs of magic, everywhere. The foundations of many buildings seem to have been pulled up straight from the earth, rather than built on top of it, and towers and bridges that should have collapsed ages ago are permanently enchanted to defy gravity. While he doesn't take them inside any of the buildings, Caeso points out the Argent Spire, the headquarters of the Imperial Chantry and Divine; the Minrathous Circle, the oldest in Thedas; and the Ambassadoria, where dwarven ambassadors work underground to preserve their castes. Then he guides them through a colorful central market where they're able to have lunch around a fountain and enjoy open displays of magic and enchanted objects by street performers and merchants. He's happy to answer basic questions about the city and Tevinter in general, and after lunch provides everyone with maps that are, possibly, designed for tourists who aren't particularly trusted (or aren't believed to be particularly bright). They only show significant landmarks and the streets required to reach them from the palace.

III. FANCY PARTY

That afternoon, everyone is due back in time to dress up, fix their hair, fix other people's hair as needed, and sit down for dinner with the Archon—distant, at the end of the table, and quiet—as well as a number of members of the Magisterium and other notable figures, with an over-the-top sixteen course meal served by a quiet, respectful staff that may be slaves or may be servants. Afterwards, and after a break to allow a little bit of digestion, the entire group migrates to join even more guests for an evening of music, dancing, and mingling in a ballroom adorned with floating lights.

The locals will shy away from discussing anything too sensitive, like Corypheus' origins or Tevinter religion and politics, but they'll be happy to discuss history and to ask questions of the delegation. A southerner is as rare a sight for them here are a Tevinter is in the south.

IV. FREE TIME

Under the Archon's protection as long as they remain his guests, and despite what the maps they're given might suggest, the delegation has been given more or less free rein in the capital, with only sensitive areas of the palace, naval yards, and the Circle and Spire off-limits for casual visits. Minrathous is a city like any other: tightly-packed buildings, bustling streets, opulent theaters and rundown shops, markets selling vegetables and flowers and fabrics, cafés packed with students arguing politics or beleaguered bureaucrats taking tea, pristine gardens filled with elaborate topiary, or small squares of green tucked between buildings, flowering vines draped down their walls. Of course it's also like nothing they've ever seen further south: street performers here make common use of magic, not just breathing fire but shaping it into a flock of birds or a dragon in flight. Slave markets are kept to the outskirts of the city but those near the docklands are vast and busy. In the harbor, among the forest of masts of trading vessels from every corner of Thedas, sits the Imperial Navy, four ships always on guard at the broad mouth of the harbor, a reminder that this is a nation at war.

Outside of specific missions, everyone is free to wander the city and explore, though they are given strict instructions to stay out of trouble—no matter what. They are also asked to keep their eyes and ears open as they do, to mingle and talk with anyone who seems willing, and to keep watch for anything unique on sale in the markets. Rare books, unknown potions, unusual enchanted objects should all be purchased if spotted: this may be the Inquisition's only opportunity to get its hands on the wealth of magical and historical knowledge hoarded by Tevinter (and reimbursements will be offered, within reason).

Potential agents are another invaluable commodity, and the delegation is charged with taking note of anyone who seems sympathetic to the Inquisition's cause and bringing their names and information to the attention of the Scoutmaster and her aides. Those capable of carefully sussing out the depth of that interest are to do so, but given the delicacy of the situation everyone should proceed with the utmost caution, and under no circumstances is any non-member of the Inquisition—no matter how friendly—to be trusted.

Comments

Alexandrie De La Fontaine

[coquettish_trees]

I. Such Good Company [closed to whoever is unfortunate enough to room with her]

This is not a pleased woman. It is not you personally—yet—so much as the very fact of a shared space under these circumstances. The Lady Alexandrie Lucette Seraphine Arienne De La Fontaine is absolutely not sleeping, or dressing, or having her hair or makeup done, or appearing in any other way to even exist as a woman who is not completely poised and perfect at every single moment where someone else can see her.

“Emile,” she says, turning her head slightly to address her lady's maid, “do make arrangements for some manner of screen that shall afford some bare modicum of privacy. I am sure the palace has some available.”


II. Get In, Losers

Lunch by the fountain is very agreeable, as is the entertainment. She will of course be 'ooh'ing and 'aah'ing and applauding with polite enthusiasm as is appropriate for an impressible Orlesian noble interested in such things—the which she very obviously is, dressed closely to her usual (albeit with an inverted color palette that includes even the pearls in her hair and a silhouette that lands somewhere in between Orlais and Tevinter), half-masked to match and with parasol in gloved hand.

Given the time after lunch she will be perusing the markets with a keen eye for both whatever it is the Inquisition is looking for and some suitable souvenirs for those friends who were obliged to stay in Kirkwall.

Shopping buddies?


III a. Maybe She's Born With It

Time to dress is not what Alexandrie would consider this. She'd been given more time to prepare for her jaunt to the opera in Kirkwall—and had used each minute of it—than to attend dinner and dancing with the Archon and the rest of the upper echelons of Tevinter. Being cross for too long gives you wrinkles, however, so she is quietly and serenely resolved to make the best of it.

The banquet sees her in an elaborate gown that clings, and floats, and sparkles with both beading and the subtle shine of the enchanted threads currently in style—she'd been to a Tevene tailor of some repute, the natural consequence of being engaged in an affair with a terribly stylish Altus—with her bright copper hair an elaborate coif of weaving loops from which a few curling tendrils 'escape'. Her mask of earlier has been replaced by a half-veil, the cosmetics beneath it both immaculate and particularly expensive, if you are one of those who know what such things cost.

Really, when you're the only Orlesian noblewoman in attendance with the Inquisition, you have to show up.

Whoever her dining partner is, prepare to be engaged with sparkling wit and an effortless adherence to the required protocol of such a banquet. (And aided both magnanimously and surreptitiously in the latter if they are unfamiliar).


III b. Pam Shortt's Broken Both Her Legs, and I Wanna Dance With You

The back of her gown is cunningly constructed to be able to be let out to allow for proper dancing, and once it is, Alexandrie shall be on the floor for dance after dance, partner after partner, only ceasing to press her hand to her chest and affect breathlessness, laugh her musical laugh—carefully designed to both be lovely and have its sound carry—and beg both mercy and a drink so as to be able to engage in conversation.

For those who would like to dance, she is an effortless and graceful partner who is going to make you look good regardless of your skill level. Of course, if you have that skill, the both of you are going to look very good. For those who would not, she will eventually circulate around with a brilliant smile and a drink in her hand for you.


IV. Sunday in the Park With Alexandrie

The city's gardens are sweeping and lovely, of course, and Alexandrie will certainly find herself obliged to walk their paths for a time, but it is the afternoon shadows in the small patches between the buildings with their twining vines, the curling green of them and the bright of their newly born flowers in full summer bloom against the ancient darkness of the masonry they climb, that ultimately draw her eye.

Thus, it is there she can be found for a few hours each free afternoon, sitting behind an easel on a cloth-draped stool with her skirts arranged perfectly around it, Emile holding her parasol to shade her as she paints. There is a second seat nearby, open for curious viewers both native and southern or any of the previous who wish to make conversation as she works.

IIIb

[altusimperius]

Say what one will about Benedict, he knows how to look at a party, especially one in Tevinter. He's in his own finery, recently commissioned and very much in the latest vogue, lace spilling from his cuffs and beneath his chin as he sidles toward Lexie and offers a graceful bow.

"My lady," he greets her with his ever-smarmy grin, "have you a dance for me?"

[coquettish_trees]

Oh good, Lexie was hoping this might happen.

"Lord Benedict!" she exclaims delightedly, giving him a rather lingering and not at all surreptitious once-over as she sweeps him an elegant full court curtsy in proper Tevene style to the precise depth required for a man of his particular position, the smile beneath the edge of her veil one of pleased approval, "But of course I have!"

[altusimperius]

Visibly pleased by the demonstration, Benedict offers his hand to her in a precise gesture of invitation. "I'm glad to see you took my advice," he says, looking over her gown, "you're a sight for the Archon's court."
It's reasonable to assume he's already had at least one glass of wine, based on the fact he seems cheerful enough to avoid layered insults and sober enough to avoid casual ones. She's got him in a good buzz and a plateau of courtesy.

[coquettish_trees]

His hand is taken with equal precision, Alexandrie briefly retrieving her fan to flutter it in lieu of her eyelashes, obscured as they are.

“You flatter me with both your words and your attention, my lord. As to taking your advice,” she says, the fan disappearing as they reach the dance floor and she glides to take her position opposite him, “I would have been a fool to do otherwise.” Her now empty hand moves to take its proper place, the contact beginning perhaps a bit too soon, her fingers starting at his elbow and running up his arm to settle delicately just below his shoulder rather than simply being placed there to begin with.

“Now, shall we make everyone envious?” she asks, her smile widening just a touch.

[altusimperius]

She's right, of course. She would've been a fool, but she wasn't, and Benedict grins, sweeping her into the dance with a well-practiced flourish.

"If they're not already, we're not doing our job," he says, amiably enough, glancing around over the room to see who's watching.

[coquettish_trees]

"Quite true!" she agrees. "We shall simply have to endeavor to make such feelings sharper still."

Alexandrie is purposefully not glancing about the room. She does, however, laugh delightedly as she is swept into the dance at a pitch which she knows tends to carry in ballrooms.

She is a beautiful partner, and even more so in the arms of someone who is themselves very skilled, her steps gliding and feather-light, responding to the slightest of his prompts with smooth nearly predictive alacrity. They are, on the whole, quite impressive.

"Tell me, my lord," she says, upon one return from being spun, "how would you like to engage in a bit of light fun? I find myself desirous of needling a... shared acquaintance of ours."

Desperate times, and all that.

[altusimperius]

If Magister Artemaeus were here, she might breathe a quiet sigh of relief at seeing her son dancing so enthusiastically with a young woman-- at least if said young woman wasn't Orlesian, but they're reaching a point where they can't be picky.
Fortunately, she isn't here.

Keeping Lexie facing him, Benedict raises an eyebrow and smiles, intrigued. "Go on."

[coquettish_trees]

“How should you like to begin the middle of an affair?” Alexandrie asks, her affect one of light amusement.

This is something she has often done, when she is about ready to move on, whether it be with whomever it is she is engaged in the play with or someone else entirely. If it induces any jealous response, then she may pick a fight over it or be entirely unconcerned and dismissive, and in both cases prove her reputation for utter infidelity still stands. If it does not, then she needn’t worry herself any longer about the entanglement she is escaping.

The difficulty is that Alexandrie is not about ready to move on. In the slightest. Which sours the entirety of it. Firstly, she does not actually want to. She wants to be in bed making the second son of House Asgard chuckle quietly under her cheek. Secondly, she is all too vividly aware that she shall perhaps be honestly hurt if such carrying on doesn’t seem to bother him, but really, what is the alternative? Admit defeat? Hardly.

Perhaps she simply should have begun to avoid Loki entirely. She’s brought the idea up with Benedict now, however, which means this particular die is cast.

*record scratch* Rewind! Replacement for I

[coquettish_trees]

The knowledge that they were to have roommates (roommates) for the duration of their stay in the Archon's palace meant that Alexandrie was as fast as politely possible in making it to the room she had been directed to so as to be able to choose the bed farthest from the door for herself, and had already sent her lady's maid off to find a screen—or two—to create some semblance of privacy for the area.

Turning when the door opens, expecting to see Emile, her eyes widen when she sees the Duke de Coucy instead, of all people, and she drops reflexively into a precise court curtsy.

"Your Grace!" she exclaims with both surprise and delight, "I had not thought—" to be sharing the room with anyone from Orlais, let alone anyone of such standing, "—to be so fortunate as to be assigned to share this space with you. Please excuse my haste in claiming a place for myself; you may, of course, have your choice."

[toujoursdroit]

He is mildly surprised and pleased to find that he has not been tossed together with a Fereldan peasant or an apostate from Maker-only-knows where. Had he shown any of that surprise -- he hadn't -- the mask would have hidden it anyway, but he he allows a bit of approval to show in his voice all the same.

"Mlle. De La Fontaine, is it not? How are your parents these days, or have you had the same wretched experience with the pace of messages to and from Kirkwall as I have?"

He is fairly certain he's never had a conversation with Gérald and Victoire's ...fifth or sixth, he does not recall offhand which twin is older, but of course they have been at some of the same parties; they have inhabited the same world too long to avoid it, even separated by more than one generation.

Romain glances between the beds and gives the slightest of shrugs (what can one do, it implies) and makes a small gesture to his valet, who nods and withdraws for the present.

[coquettish_trees]

"I am honored by your asking! I have of course written them faithfully," Alexandrie replies, her rather mournful tone confirming that indeed she had been experiencing the same troubles with the post, "but have only received one reply in the time that I have been residing in Kirkwall. As it was a message sent along with some packages to mark dear Geneviève and my natal day, I have no way of knowing when it was sent, although it did make mention of the results of the Tourney that I wrote them of. At that time they were quite well, although a slight worried to have the both of us off in the Marches."

And well they should be, Kirkwall is no Val Royeaux.

"May I inquire as to how long Your Grace has been involved with the Inquisition's efforts?"

[toujoursdroit]

"I paid a visit when operations were still centralized in Skyhold, but I recently thought my granddaughter could use more direct support."

Neatly said, without especial emphasis; no mention of the scandal, nor of the empress directly, but a strong assertion of his intention to honor the bond with Gwenaëlle regardless of the very public revelation that her blood relation to him was a lie.

He comes into the room more properly, considering the furnishings with mild skepticism but without open condemnation.

"And you? I confess, I can sympathize with your parents' concerns, though of course it is admirable in you and your sister to contribute to the efforts to contain this threat." Not the usual occupation one would expect for an eligible young woman, but it was an unusual time. The observation held no undertone of censure.

[coquettish_trees]

"Would it be unforgivable to say it was something so girlish as missing Evie terribly?" Alexandrie asks, looking properly abashed. "It has been a number of years since we were together in any proper way, and as there was little chance she would be returning to the city whilst remaining assigned to the Inquisition, and the Inquisition always in need of personnel of even small ability," she gestures: here I am.

"I have of course not forgotten my duties to the family as well. After all the Inquisition draws many men to its banner that would make favourable matches. And there are of course other benefits; after all, it has allowed me to renew my acquaintance with your granddaughter." Bond acknowledged, there is only delight in her voice, and no other indication that she might fall on the disapproving side of the very public scandal regarding Gwenaëlle's true parentage and Celene's following actions.

[toujoursdroit]

"Are you and Gwenaëlle close? I confess she is not always forthcoming about that sort of thing." With him. He wonders how frank she is with anyone, sometimes, but it's not as if he has the standing to blame her for tending to be self-contained.

"I suspect those of us with a close knowledge of Orlais may become more directly useful, in the face of the invasion. But I suppose wiser heads must decide where best to deploy assets and personnel alike." So carefully neutral that she can't fail to miss mild criticism where someone less used to the Game might hear only a platitude.

[coquettish_trees]

"Quite so!" Alexandrie replies, enthusiastically enough to convey her agreement of his criticism. "As far as Gwenaëlle, regrettably I cannot say that we are bosom companions," inasmuch as either Alexandrie or Gwenaëlle (or, honestly, any young noblewoman in Orlais) had those, "but we have been enjoyably conversant since enabled by the Inquisition's crystals, and I have fond hopes of continuing our correspondence." This, an assurance that she shall make no attempt to exaggerate the nature of their acquaintance to gain whatever favor could be gained by such.

[toujoursdroit]

She is good enough to follow his steps, which means she is at a minimum what she appears to be. She may be even better at the Game; it pays not to underestimate an acquaintance, and she certainly wouldn't be the first young woman to take advantage of appearing to be interested in little beyond her marriage prospects. (He imagines, even as a widower, he is safe enough from that danger these days, with an adult son and two grandsons whose claims to his title and wealth that a second marriage wouldn't erase.)

"I hope you have the chance to better make her acquaintance, then. My granddaughter is in an unusual position, and one in which reliable friends will be especially valuable, I think. The war with Corypheus won't last forever, after all."

One way or another.

Ballroom Blitz Postscript

[coquettish_trees]

Much later on in the evening (the time in between having being used for a successful... endeavor...), and having let him know where she would be by crystal (preceded by an irate message in case anyone had been around when it was answered), Alexandrie will be waiting on a bench in one of the tucked away corners in the palace gardens with her gloves removed and folded neatly in her lap, examining the precisely grown and tended tendrils of the flowering vines that arc across the space without a trellis to support them. Or at least, not a physical one.

“Fond of me, were you?” she inquires at Loki's appearance, her eyes dancing mischievously over a smile that is a touch more genuine than the bright one she'd cultivated as painstakingly as the gardens had been, “How cruel of me to treat you so. However shall I prevail upon you to forgive my terrible transgressions and take me back?”

Perhaps in answer to her own question, she lifts the top glove and tosses it to him in a graceful arc, her smile shifting to one of self-satisfied pride. While not particularly visible on the black of the cloth, there are patches of something soaked in and dried on the palm and the inside surface of the fingers of it.

[hwaaaitsme]

Loki arrives, as expected, in a secluded area of the garden. It is late enough and he is proficient enough in spell-craft, that he doesn't expect they must maintain their charade here. Anybody listening in will assume this is an illusion, regardless of the contents of their conversation.

Her expression is equal parts mischievous and exhilarated, he can read it in the gleam of her eyes, and it twangs something in his chest. She is dramatic as she speaks, as she reprimands herself, and as she tosses him the bloodied ladies glove. He snatches it out of the air and rubs the fine cloth between his fingers before tucking it into the pocket of his jerkin. It is not as ideal as a vial, but it will suffice.

"That is a very good start," Loki commends her, his own smile positively smug and delighted.

"Tell me, which one was this?"

[coquettish_trees]

"Renatus. The elder, amusingly," Alexandrie had, indeed, bagged a Magister with their ploy. "Rather ideal for a first catch, in that it illustrates what lengths I am willing to go to in order to get at you. And," the pride of her smile becomes nearly predatory, "I think there is a very good chance that he shall not be able to stop himself from displaying enough self-satisfaction to be noticed by others."

Looking terribly entertained, Alexandrie leans forward to rest her elbow on her knee, her chin on her hand. "He is quite spry for his age, you know," she says, cheekily, and then, leaning back again with a silvered laugh: "Mon dieu, you would not believe what will be granted you if you are seen as merely a useful pawn, more ambitious than clever and so very powerless in and of oneself. Easily discarded or dispatched." It is said lightly, but she seems well aware that it is still a dangerous game she has invited herself to. Nevertheless, the playing of it has made her nearly sparkle with life.

[hwaaaitsme]

"It is truly astonishing what they will give up with the very slightest provocation," Loki agrees and moves to stand by the bench. "Assuming they find you harmless, which I expect they do."

His grin splits a bit then as he recalls Bene's face and his tantrum.

"Which, by the way, our friend Artemaeus does not. Oh the things he called you once you were out of earshot--truly impressive. I think you wounded his feelings."

[coquettish_trees]

"Ah, I am desolate," Alexandrie mourns exaggeratedly, casting her eyes downward with a pretty frown before looking up at Loki through her eyelashes, allowing the hint of a smile to pull at the corner of her mouth.

Granted, she does actually feel poorly about how things had ended up. It had to have been Benedict, of course, both for the initial and then the adjusted plan, but she could have been far softer on him had he not had the temerity to include her in his disparaging repartee. Allowing such a thing to stand would have depreciated her value far too much.

"Shall I send him a terribly apologetic note?"

[hwaaaitsme]

"If you like," Loki agrees almost off-handedly as he peers down at her. There is an honest fondness in his expression that he doesn't bother to hide.

"Though I think he could stand to stew in his own incompetence a bit longer."

He pauses then and takes in the Archon's gardens. They are appropriately lavish, borderline ostentatious, and the evening air is finally, old gods be blessed, appropriately warm. He takes a deep breath.

"Tell me, how are you enjoying the trip to the homeland, thusfar?"

[coquettish_trees]

Somehow that fondness is... difficult to see. Despite the part of her that reaches for it. Perhaps because of the part of her that reaches for it. It is a release, then, when he looks away.

"It is beautiful," Alexandrie replies, honestly. (He was, in it. The turn of his head, the line of his neck, the way his shoulders relax minutely as he breathes in the air he knows.

No.

Stop.)

"Enough so that it was difficult to find what I should paint here."

[hwaaaitsme]

"I imagine it would be," Loki says.

"I do recommend choosing something that isn't the Archon's palace...though I suppose that would sell well in Orlais." He looks back at her, his expression more conversational. "Very...mysterious, no?"

At that he seems to recall something and reaches into his pocket to withdraw a small satchel. It is black and green with a gold snake embossed into the exterior. From it he withdraws a coin. He looks it over and then flips it into her lap.

"A diversion, should you become bored with the standard fare or our project. Come find me and we can go somewhere more lively."