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

[hwaaaitsme]

"Play with you?" Loki asks, aghast in a way that holds more than a solitary note of offense. "I am not the one being intentionally vague."

He shifts his grip on her arm to her elbow, a more respectable hold and a gentler one, but still enough to keep her near. He stares her down, his expression hard and assessing, as he runs through what she has been saying. He can find no common thread--if this was not about his invitation, not about crossing a line, he is at a loss.

"If you wish to terminate our alliance then so be it, but do not accuse me of toying with you in the process."

He has been remarkably restrained about that. Usually he's quite terrible but he actually likes Lexie.

[coquettish_trees]

"Intentionally—!" Oh, she'll give him intentionally vague.

(There is a moment, behind her suddenly blossoming temper, in which she registers this hard stare, his words, as evidence of a possibility that Loki had genuinely not taken her meaning. This moment is lost in the general flood of simple anger that has kept her from freezing like a rabbit in her continued captivity.)

"I adore you! Unreasonably!" This, exclaimed in a tone that could really not be called adoring at all; more of an accusatory 'how could you do this to me'. "And your knowing so feels much like I have offered you the hilt of a dagger already ever so conveniently embedded within an inch of my heart so that you need not even trouble yourself to aim." She presses her lips together obstinately and exhales strongly through her nose. "Now unhand me!"

[hwaaaitsme]

Loki's first instinct is to laugh and, given that he has no idea where this has come from, he does not have the wherewithal to rein it in. He laughs, sharp and startled as she pouts at him, huffing and livid, and laughs again as he tries to run through what she's saying. She adores him? He would take it for a lie but it is absolutely clumsy and ham-fisted. After a moment, cackling like a man about to come unhinged, he reels back just a bit and shoots her the most incredulous look that has ever graced his face, bar none.

"What? Why?" Loki asks, his utter disbelief so plain that it has humor wound through every word. It is absurdity, this. "Certainly I am skilled at sex, and I am not hideous to be seen with, but you can't possibly adore me--I mean, you've met me."

There is, to his knowledge, only one person who loves him despite his temperament, his tendency for lying, and his nature in general. It is not Alexandrie de la Fontaine, he is certain.

"You will grow tired of me, just like the last woman who likened love to a blade in my presence, and then you will leave me in a flurry of skirts and cruel accusation.

"No, you are mistaken or you are lying and, for the first time, not well. If you wish me to avoid earnest gifts, so be it, I shall keep from intertwining us further but I thought--"

Here he comes up short and his cackling and manic energy tapers off. He looks down at his hand on her elbow and recalls her demand. He releases her quickly, then, like a man burned.

"I thought we might..." he has already begun the thought and it taxes him to finish it. It is honest and he hates it already. "We might remain friends, even once you have departed. Kindness is what friends do...or so I am told."

[coquettish_trees]

At the first, Loki's response is startling. Then, as he continues—

Ah, no.

Alexandrie had truly reveled in their complimentary ways, but being like her in this is not something she would ever have wished on anyone.

It is, however, perhaps, a single chance for remedy; or the beginning of one. And a risk, on her part, if it is not desired of her, but... well. Alexandrie will happily be called a liar at all times save one: she cannot abide it on that rare occasion when she speaks truth.

When Loki is finished, there is a brief space of quiet. That, and the hesitance of his previous speaking, are the only things between him releasing her and her taking hold of him with an indrawn breath, both hands rising to fist in the fabric near his collar and pull. Whether it is to aid her upwards or him downwards or something of both, Alexandrie is as intent now on getting her mouth to his as she had been on her escape.

[hwaaaitsme]

At once he is hauled forward, downward, and his lips come crashing down against hers. He does not resist in the slightest, though he utilizes no finesse in their sudden embrace. She slants her mouth against his, her fingers all but ruin his collar, and he is no less confused for it.

Still, this he knows well, and has no small amount of confidence in. His hand finds the back of her head and the other settles against her side. He presses forward and kisses her harder, falling into old rhythms for something less startled and less off guard. He is uncertain when he began to move, but somehow he advances far enough to press her back against the trellis and frame her red hair in the green vines and foliage.

He kisses her for a long time and, at some point, realizes that he will have to stop--it is a moment he dreads, in truth, because it will demand he confront what has just been said. He would have to deal with the idea that she actually cares for him and he is uncertain where to even begin processing that.

[coquettish_trees]

Loki is not alone in his uncertainty, nor in this clinging to what had become quite familiar. Even so, Alexandrie cannot find escape or avoidance of what has changed in the well known--yet somehow simultaneous unknown--of her press against him. It is, writ large, full of the feeling that had begun to cause her so much consternation: that her head, her side, any place on her he touched thrilled at it not because his hands were skilled but because they were his hands.

So, perhaps it is not to be avoided at all. Perhaps the tremble she can barely still in her fingers any time they move between places they are able to find purchase where she can tense them is not meant to be stilled. Perhaps she is meant to do as she does now; recklessly abandon the application of her own skill in favor of the simple force of raw ardor.

Backed into the trellis of a sudden, the leaves of its twining vines tickling her cheek, she pushes at it with her back, testing. Satisfied, she reaches to settle her arms behind his neck, raises a knee to his waist: an ask to be lifted.

If she has her way it will be a bit longer before anyone has to think about anything.

Do not be alarmed, this will ftb. We're sfw here, people.

[hwaaaitsme]

This is easier, so much easier than talking--she presses against him, curls her fingers around whatever bit of him they can reach, and sighs against his lips as he kisses her. He obliges her silent request, her arms around his neck and her leg at his hip, and shifts an arm beneath her thighs to lift her up and brace her against his pelvis.

This is an excruciatingly compromising position and is not easily done in her heavy gown against a garden trellis. It is, however, far less risky than talking about feelings so here we are.

He occupies himself with her lips, then with the slide of her hands into his hair, and hardly notices when he breaks off kissing to move down her neck. He is too busy to speak and it does not occur to him that she can do so at her leisure, now.

[coquettish_trees]

Even though the fashion here is far less bulky than that of Orlais— there are, for instance, no hoops here to make this shift in position absolutely preposterous— the rustle and bunch of the numerous layers of her skirts between them as Loki so obligingly lifts and braces her against the latticework makes things rather more complicated. For one, it separates them rather more than they had been previously. For the second, the skirts are caught about her knees, and even if they were not, an exploratory tug on the fabric beside her thigh reveals there's really no way to move the mass of fabric out of the way without both some awkward contortion on her part and his having to somehow support her without the aid of his hips.

"Ah, non," Alexandrie laughs helplessly with a near-giddy breathlessness even as she lets her head fall back into the curling twine of the vines and interrupts her mirth with a shallow gasp, the hand she'd slid to the back of Loki's head attempting to pull him closer still as he runs his lips down the line of her throat. "I have made an error."

[hwaaaitsme]

"So I pointed out, but then you kissed me," Loki says as he draws back from her neck. This position is awkward but also, fortunately, very disarming. Neither of them look their best and, as such, it is easier to avoid adopting his usual facade.

"A very poor decision on your part, really."

[coquettish_trees]

Alexandrie is torn, here, between returning to the well-worn track of their easy banter and continuing to be so terribly uncomfortably sincere. But the way they are now, with her looking down at him, Loki having drawn back to lightly quip not simply because it is amusing but perhaps because he truly thinks so, and it is always easier to hurt oneself before another does it?

She looks at him intently, moving her hands to frame his face, the pads of her fingers a near whisper against his skin.

"Not in that," she says quietly, "Never in that." Then, having said so, she bends to slowly kiss him again with the sort of deliberate surpassing gentleness with which one might touch something precious.

[hwaaaitsme]

It is immediately apparent in how he freezes, how still he goes, that he does not know how to reciprocate this sort of kiss. He holds her up without effort but he cannot make himself move toward or away from her as she brushes her lips so softly across his. He is, again, stunned and several seconds of silence follow after she draws back.

He starts to speak and halts as he begins. This repeats once and again before he finally moves to let her down. He does not draw away once she is standing.

"I will do poorly at this, you realize?" Loki prompts with a shade of his old bravado reinforcing his admission. "You do not mind?"

[coquettish_trees]

Her feet on the ground again, Alexandrie is of a perfect height to fit directly beneath Loki's chin, the which she moves to do, turning her head to rest it flat against his chest. "In this," she replies with some confidence, "I trust doing poorly far better than skill." She has not said why yet. She imagines she will, eventually.

Instead, she emits a quiet chuckle as she tucks her chin, lifts her arms to circle his waist, one hand rising to rest higher on his back. "Setting all that aside, you cannot truly think I shall do so well."

[hwaaaitsme]

Loki is nearly as unaccustomed to embraces as he is to gentle words and declarations of adoration. This is a strange evening and he folds his arms, almost awkwardly, around her back. For a man who has no problem putting his hands where he likes, he is remarkably uncertain of where to place them now.

"I have not seen you do poorly at anything, thusfar, I've no reason to expect you'd suddenly start."

He drums his fingers on reflex, a gentle tap across her spine, and peers back at the palace. This is the sort of position that will compromise their plan and result in attempted assassinations. They really should not linger like this.

"Come let us...depart. It is too cool out here for my liking."

[coquettish_trees]

This merits another laugh, quiet enough that it will be mostly registered in the shake of her shoulders. It is downright balmy, as far as Alexandrie is concerned. She would be tempted to believe it dissembling on his part, had she not previously been tumbled in the frankly tremendous amount of bedding Loki favored. "You shall be entirely miserable in Kirkwall come winter."

She does, however, release him. "We ought not leave together, mm? After all," she says, her tone as bright as her smile, "we are terribly angry with each other."

[hwaaaitsme]

He releases her in kind and steps away, tugging his jacket back into place with a few crisp motions. His expression is mild but pleased.

"Oh yes, livid." He gestures at the edge of the garden and bows his head slightly. "After you, my dear."

[coquettish_trees]

A smile tugs at the corner of Alexandrie's mouth as she sweeps him a rather extravagant curtsy in return. "Fais de beaux rêves, lune de mon coeur," she responds with light affection before she straightens again... to whirl in a sudden and impressively full blown bristling huff to storm back through the gardens to her room.



...Because really, how dare he follow her out here after everything he'd said!