faderift | Truth or Dare: The Imperial Court

Truth or Dare: The Imperial Court

WHO: Select Orlesian and Fereldan Nobility and the Inquisition
WHAT: Josephine and Vivienne have orchestrated a good-will soiree in response to this dastardly rumor.
WHEN: Drakonis 15, Evening
WHERE: Skyhold Great Hall
NOTES:
- A list of nobles in attendance can be found here. The list was provided by the mods but there will be no npc support for them. Play away.
- A secondary outside party is being held in the valley in the tent town for anyone who couldn't/wouldn't attend and/or behave in the fancy pansty party.
- The goal of the evening is to clear up a spurious rumor about Cassandra and Leliana, with secondary goals of establishing the Inquisition as a respectable presence in Thedas (and fish for more money). Any major disruptions that would Game Over the court approval should probably be brought to the advisors and/or mods.

To say that Josphine has far outdone herself with this little soiree would be the understatement of the year. The Lady Ambassador has pulled out all the stops in providing a festive and yet elegant stage for this political intervention. Because sometimes gossip can be more deadly than a sword.

The Great Hall of Skyhold has been converted into a grand receiving hall, glittering with hundreds of lights around the room, in addition to the repairs accomplished to the original chandeliers. Of course, there has been artful placement arranged so there are a few shadowy corners for rendezvous of the more suggestive nature. Just in case. The majority of the floor has been cleared for dancing, and a fine troupe of musicians have been installed for the bulk of the evening's entertainments. Some members of the Inquisition have plans to entice attendees with their own artistic performances in addition to the group of mages performing illusory tricks to oohs and aahs.

For those who feel their energy flagging, there are chairs set against the walls, with a few tables interspersed between. Servers hired for the evening circulate the crowds with wine, fine Orlesian and Nevarran reds as well as crisp whites from Antiva. Refreshments are set out on buffet tables, tasteful and extravagant nibbles, including imported cheeses, spicy saucisson, dried fruits and nuts, and the highly sought after deep mushroom and anise petits fours that are all the rage in Orlais.

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"Of course not," he repeats, flatly, "yeah. Good for you. But your friend used one. Was it in defense? Not that it'd make a difference. So what do you think of him, now that he's done it? You tell him you think it's left a mark on him, or do you keep that to yourself?"

It's unfair, maybe, to turn these questions on her. Dark magic shades too close to blood magic for Bellamy to feel good about it. He's never been one to refrain from personal bias. Why start now?

Jaw tight, he meets Hermione's eyes. Hardly a cheerful party conversation anymore. Maybe he's had a little too much wine, too; that doesn't help things. "People get forced into it. You know that, you said it. If it's defense, what's it matter, holding some standard of morality over them?"

She's taken aback by the sudden barrage of questions, feeling her face heat up a bit in a way that the wine can't explain away. "Wh-... it was war," she replies lamely. "I didn't let him torture or kill anyone. We just... we needed an artifact, and the only way to get past the guards was with the Imperius Curse."

Huffing a bit, she looks away from his gaze, feeling something all too similar to tears stinging at her eyes, regardless of how determined she is not to let them fall. "I'm not condoning it or condemning it. They were extraordinary circumstances, and I felt awful the entire time he was doing it, but he understood the risks and considered what we had to gain to be important enough to bend the rules. I'm no fan of rule-breaking if I can help it, but... my hands were tied. All our hands had been tied. It wasn't about moral standards by then. It was about doing what we had to do to accomplish what needed to be done."

That almost makes Bellamy feel bad. Not the near-tears thing, exactly. He's not that much of a sucker--or at least he tries not to be. But whatever else he might say to her, the last bit of that protest resonates a little too clearly for comfort.

You do what you have to do to survive. He said that, to Clarke. After everything in Montemps. Good guys and bad guys. It's not like they used to say. Hopping over that line is easy, so easy you don't even know you're doing it.

So, fine. He looks pointedly away from Hermione, out across the crowd. Glittering finery, the smell of food and drink, closed-in air. Laughter and music and conversation, light and airy, and Bellamy feels sick about it, sick that he's here, which makes him angry. He folds his arms over his chest, his jaw tight.

"Yeah," he says, tautly, "well, you're right about that. It's survival. I'm just saying, maybe be careful with your judgements. You never know who else is just surviving at the end of their rope." But even as he's saying it, he knows: you can't think that way. You have to vilify, demonize; someone's got to be the bad guy. Frustrated with himself, with this stupid argument, with morality and everything else, Bellamy rubs a hand over his face.

"Look, I'm sorry," he says, abruptly and brusquely. He doesn't sound very sorry, but he's said it. "There's a reason I don't get invited to parties. Just-- forget it, okay."

Edited (quickly gives hermione more credit she didnt ACTUALLY cry sorry) 2016-04-21 21:41 (UTC)

The only reason she doesn't cry is because she's too angry to do so. Defending choices that had been beyond her control to a total stranger? How did they even get to this point, and why had Hermione allowed it? Is that what people had meant when they'd told her that many Templars had a proclivity towards cruelty?

If nothing else, she's just glad he doesn't seem to be actively trying to make her question what she'd done - or, more aptly, what she'd allowed Harry to do - even if getting a flat-out apology surprises her. It doesn't sound like a sincere one, but at the same time, he doesn't sound wholly insincere, either.

"I'm not making any judgments," she tells him levelly. "I only said that there were some laws that are considered unforgivable in my world, and why the law deems them as such. There are exceptions to everything, especially during wartime. I know that as well as the next person." Perhaps better.

Finally bringing herself to look at him again, she wonders if he's trying to disengage or if this entire conversation had simply spiraled out of control. "Can we start over? From the beginning, I mean? Though you won't have to crash into me again, if it's all the same to you." At that last bit, she offers a small smile, though she's ready to wipe it off her face with an apology and a farewell, if that's what he really wants.

Bellamy's mouth tightens a little, but he keeps it shut. At best, he might articulate just how much he hopes that she's right, that other people think of it that way. The pressures of war. But that's hoping for too much, isn't it. Judgement is way more absolute than that. And it should be.

What's more, seeking refuge in excuses isn't the right thing to do. Whatever happened, happened. Pretending it was something else doesn't do them any credit: not him, not Clarke, and not Hermione's friend. The price that was paid was paid for a good cause. That should be defense enough. No horrors of war, no shields or hiding places.

But he nods, tightly. Like he gets it. Like he agrees. Because he does, sort of. So much so that he puts on a smile in return--weak, not altogether convincing. Forgivable, though, since he'd just finished snapping at her.

"Not unless you want me to." Rifter, he reminds himself. Someone he should be watching, whatever her opinions on magic and war and whatever else. "Do we start from before the thing about you falling out of a rift, too?"

She can see the tension there in his nod and in his forced smile, and she doesn't believe for a moment that he's appeased, regardless of what he says. She'd made things uncomfortable and she's not even entirely sure how, but that's probably why it's for the best that people watch their wine intake. Things get said and following the thread that will help take those things back is all but impossible.

At that question of his, Hermione hesitates, thinking it over. He hadn't started getting really bristly with her until finding out she was a Rifter, she realizes. She doesn't know if that's the whole story behind how strained this conversation has become, but it's as good of a thing to address as any.

"If you'd like," she concedes carefully. "But it might still come up eventually, and I wouldn't lie about it, so I'm not sure how much good it would actually do." Taking a deep breath as she glances down into her wineglass, she asks, "Would that change the way you feel about me? Whether or not I was a Rifter, I mean?"

"Yeah," he answers, plainly, "it would."

Sorry, but not sorry. Bellamy takes a quick brisk sip of wine. He swallows, and shrugs, like that's going to denote his partial apology.

"Think about it. You know what we usually get coming out of rifts. You saw it yourself, you said. Demons. I've fought off enough demons to learn not to let my guard down. And I think until we figure things out, we're right to be wary of you, and anyone and any thing else that falls out of the rifts. If you weren't a Rifer, this would be easy," he adds, like that's going to make it better. The corner of his mouth twists up into a bitter smirk. "Too bad."

Does it help, getting to know her? Does that soften him? Bellamy likes mages because he's always liked mages, since the day Octavia started doing magic. He's made it a point to help keep the mages of Kaiten safe. Bad things, and good things, in equal and unequal parts. So why stop now, just because this one's got a shard shoved in her hand?

Because he has to. Because you have to remember who's on your side, and who's your enemy. Thinking of Hermione like an enemy isn't exactly easy, but Bellamy's learned not to fall for anything.

"You can prove me wrong if you want."

She isn't sure why she'd expected him to sugarcoat it, but Hermione has to take another long, thoughtful sip of wine to hide her wince. She'd only met one person here who'd been outright wary about her being a Rifter, and she was sure Cassandra had been more concerned about her being a "mage" who'd never undergone a proper "Harrowing". From the sound of Bellamy's explanation, though, it sounds like he's rationalized it to the point that he can get over her being a mage, but any sort of Rifter garners a fair amount of suspicion.

For some reason, that hurts. It hurts a lot. She's going to blame the wine, rather than consider the fact that they'd seemed to be getting along up until this whole Rifter business came up. She's not that sensitive, after all.

"You want me to prove I'm not a demon?" she asks, trying to make light of it as she looks up at him again. "I'm practically half your size, my magic is barely strong enough to cast a Shield Charm, and I've just been utterly frank with you about some painful details in my past. I might not know how to prove I'm not a demon, but if that much doesn't at least prove I'm no danger, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask for suggestions."

Shrugging, she glances away again and comments, "After all, I can't change what I am, and it doesn't change who I am. Witch or human or Rifter, I know I'm a good person, and if you're too leery to give me a chance, you're well within your rights."

"I'm not worried about whether or not you're dangerous." Evenly, he looks back at her. She's pretty sarcastic, and in another situation that might be funny; he might at least smile, despite himself. Not right now. The most she gets is another crook at the corner of his mouth, a little too bitter to be even a piece of an actual smile. "You can sell yourself short all you want, but you just told me about a whole catalog of spells you could work your way up to again, all of them pretty damn dangerous. So I can figure that you're dangerous. I don't underestimate that one."

But he's not worried about it, either, is the part he leaves implied. He's gone up against danger, bad odds, demons, whatever. Luck or skill or help got him through it. No difference here.

"And I know you're not a demon. What I'm saying is, you prove you're worth trusting. You're a good person, that oughta be easy."

"Easy? To gain the trust of someone who instinctively distrusts anything that comes out of a rift?" She actually does laugh at that, though there's no real mirth behind it. "I'd hate to see what you'd consider difficult, then, all things considered. But since you seem to think so...."

Turning a bit, she faces Bellamy a bit more directly than she has since their conversation has started to go sour. "How do I go about proving you can trust me? Or is that the sort of thing that only happens with time?"

The smile he gives her kind of matches that laugh, thin and unamused. At least she sees the humor in "easy".

He drains the rest of his wine when she faces him head on, sets the empty glass aside on a nearby table and turns to face her back, arms folded over his chest again.

"Probably." Time, for sure, will help. "I mean, what does a Rifter mage spend her time doing, besides going to balls, and relearning all the magic she knew before?"

He's not bothering to hide how defensive he's feeling about all of this, and she has to wonder just how many other natives are so squeamish about the rifters throughout Skyhold. She'd thought they'd been more or less integrated into daily life without any sort of issue, save for the normal distrust some might have around the magical ones. But if people really dislike magic so much, and the rifts are magical in nature.... Well, now Hermione's wondering how many of her new friends are really friends and how many are simply keeping an eye on her to make sure she doesn't try and destroy the world.

It's a disheartening thought, and though she's sure her hurt is evident on her face, it has little to do with Bellamy. At least, not directly.

"Trying to find my place in a world that doesn't want me, mostly," she says softly, setting her unfinished glass down at the table. "I should be spending more time trying to figure out a way home. Thank you for being honest enough to help me see that."

Once again, in any other situation, that statement would get symapthy from Bellamy. Unwanted mages, that's a cause he can get behind. Unwonted Rifter mages adds a level of complication difficult for him to think around. He nods, once.

"Congratulations on getting it." It's a little callous, but it isn't cruel. He sets his empty glass down across from hers. "And for what it's worth, I hope you do get home. Less complicated for everyone if you find a way."

Not dead. Dead would be complicated.

"It'll probably be the mages that help you with that one. My record does a lot for me, but it doesn't exactly make me an expert on rifts. I can get rid of what comes out of 'em, but not nicely."

"Less complicated for everyone, or for you?"

The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, and she looks away again, huffing once more in irritation. She doesn't want to be angry, or upset, or sad, since none of those things would really help her with what they both agree should be her primary concern.

So instead, she forces another small smile on her face, though she's fairly certain it likely looks more like a grimace than anything else. "Perhaps it's best to end this conversation before you find something that's come out of a rift that you'd rather get rid of permanently."

Well. He does kind of deserve that one. Bellamy's not very good at putting himself in someone else's shoes, but he can, when he chooses, have the grace to take what he's earned. He doesn't often choose to, that's all.

In this case, he'll give that point to Hermione. He bears that waspy remark with a tight smile. It's a taut grace. He wouldn't claim anything else.

"Watch it," he suggests. "And don't worry. I told you: I don't kill for no reason."

And with that ringing reassurance, Bellamy shoves away from the table and touches his fingertips to his forehead, in something like a salute. "See you around."

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Truth or Dare: The Imperial Court

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