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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He could not help the casual needling. Dancing with nobles. Charming ladies. Holding court off to one side- and ever at least one of the Chevalier seemed to watch him from a distance. Whether they thought much of offering such scrutiny or not, he couldn't say. Work needed to be done, egos needed to be stroked, dances to be had. He wondered how long it might take them to corner him- if it would be one or if it would be several.

Settimo noticed the attention. It was a subtle thing, the presence of his Kestrels- one kept near and another shadowed Michel, trading off depending upon where they are or what they did.

Familiar paranoia itched at the back of his mind and later in the evening Zevran honestly had his fill of it. This was going to happen- better it happened on his terms. Glass of wine in hand he paused with an eye to the nearest Chevalier. Inclined his head to him in blatant invitation- and ducked into the nearest private alcove. Here he would be cornered in close quarters, but he would have a wall to his back and sound might not carry. It would do.

...or it would had there been but the one. Apparently four saw fit to accept the invitation, masks and feathers bobbing through the crowd as they made their way to his hiding place.

Michel wanted to give Zevran the freedom to move as he pleased, danced with who he wanted, talk with who he wanted to talk to without the Chevalier hovering too near adding stigma on top of everything else with his presence. Unfortunately he had no idea his companion intended to court trouble, to invite it, and these were the last people al elf should be courting trouble with if he was being perfectly honest. Michel might be the more honorable of the bunch, but he was certainly in the minority there.

Zevran was easily lost in the crowd, but he'd never been lost to Michel's sight intentionally which implied hat his companion might have been trying to lose him. Or something else entirely...but that was the conclusion he came to, those feathers moving through the crowd, granted there were many feathers, but much like an ostentatious quail, the single yellow feathers Chevalier wore on their mask stood out anywhere.

A group of them migrating away from the main attraction, to some undisclosed location? That was certainly not beneath Michel's notice, though following them wouldn't be as swift a thing as he might like. The quickest method would be to cut through the crowd, but bodies offered resistance and they also came with mouths that liked conversation. The alternate route would be to circle the room and the room was not small by any means and bodies would still offer resistance, though talking would be lessened.

Whatever they were up to, they might just have the time to get started, but Michel intended to be there before the finish.

At his best estimate he would have about one to two minutes before they all arrived- he was armed, he was braced against the stone of the wall, and he had made certain Settimo and Vita saw him duck in. Normally taking them all on by himself would be no issue-

But they were Chevalier, they were angry, more or less sober, and he was down an eye.

Also killing them may or may not turn out well. Having his Kestrels know where he was, what he was planning- that was prudent. Reminding himself of that and what he intended to teach them by way of working as a unit rather than alone, taking this as a lesson and example, it eased the sting somewhat. Tense as his shoulders might have been he lounged against the wall, sipping his wine, brows lifted in calm, curious affection as one by one the Chevalier dipped inside. The usual conversation ensued.

How dare you this, knife ear that, who do you think you are- answers and evasions offer precious little. It was only when one of them spoke out against Michel that his smirk turned sharp, his words pointed.

The first swung fist was no surprise, he doged, tossed his wine to blind one, and thus began the scuffle. Silent and struggling and he could not kill them- much as he might like to. The cape hid his movements, their limbs caught up in each other's as they all swung or grabbed at once-

When the knife came out they gave one another space- or rather one got ahold of him in such a way that he could not twist free quickly and a blade was pressed to his cheek, just under his new eye. He should not have chosen the alcove. Too dark, too cool, blood thundering in his ears and that sharpness to his skin? He froze, reminded fiercely of that cell. Of that hook.

Michel had not been there to hear the insults or to witness the beginning of the struggle. It was no surprise that they would use words to attack Zevran first, reluctant to start a fight here. Though they were not so circumspect as to care about what they were doing and where and that was good, it meant they were young, and foolish, and Michel liked young and foolish. It made for swift tempers and easy mistakes...not that Chevalier's were prone to making many mistakes in battle, but in social situations? They were targets.

That did not stop Michel from goin slightly rigid upon walking in on four Chevalier holding Zevran at knife point. He had to stop himself from seeing red, from going to his sword automatically and cutting them down one by one...or all at once, he wasn't picky. He was older than they were, he had seen more battle, had more experience, perfected his and other techniques over the years, and bested Gaspard while he was being hexed by magic. Four neophytes would be nothing to him despite the fact that they were fellow Chevalier.

"If you desire to keep that hand, you will withdraw the knife and let him go," he never faltered in being as absolutely serene as he could possibly be. The untouched surface of a frozen lake, they took his serenity as a kind of weakness, perhaps even as a lack of certitude instead of the danger that it really was. Michel had always made it a point to appear benign, friendly, most of the time he was genuinely, sometimes it was a form of tolerance. There was none of that now.

Whatever this man was underneath his unaffected expression, it was no longer Michel. There was a hidden dive for blood and there was concentration, but there might have been a touch of madness in there as well.

The cool, familiar ring of Michel's voice pulled Zevran from that half remembered dream. He was not in the cell, he was not on the hook, he was at a party.

Held by Chevaliers.

A blade to his throat.

How quickly might he find his own and relieve them of their lives? Terribly, even if the bruising grip on his wrists and shoulders as they held him down, kneeling as an elf apparently should. Why they had not opened their trousers to get to the next part, he did not know. But no small part of him was grateful for Michel's intervention. He had overestimated his skills and this? Was a lesson he would learn without the new scars to match.

"What? Don't want us marking up your pretty pet?" One spat, knife dipping from under Zevran's eye to his throat.

On his part, Zevran merely rolled his eyes. Honestly, these kids, what was the world coming to?

Michel said nothing for the time being, sizing up the situation, he could easily handle the four of them, but one had a knife to Zevran's throat. He didn't want to risk forcing his hand until he could distract him, just enough to lower his blade or even loosen his hold. He wanted his companion safe, what was the point of being his escort if he could not do this? No more cuts and no more scars, the assassin had been through enough.

For the moment he held his tongue as two of the Chevalier held Zevran in their custody and two more circled him like a pair of wolves, warier of Michel, but still confident enough to try and goad him.

"I heard an entirely different rumor," one of the Chevalier circling Michel offered, "it's more likely that this one is the pet and the knife ear his keeper. Losing favor with the Empress, a traitor, cavorting and bedding known assassins...an elf, how low are you willing to sink, Michel de Chevin? Excuse me Ser Michel de Chevin. Though the only reason your name is still on record is due to Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons."

"But you are attractive enough to be kept," he stopped in front of Michel, daring enough to extend a hand to touch his face, the scars aside his left eye, his cheek, the line of his jaw, his neck where Michel's collar was high and his cravat was tucked in neatly, that was until the younger Chevalier pulled it out of place, revealing some of Zevran's bruises against his skin. Nearly alabaster in contrast, "I suppose this is proof enough?"

Michel still said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on Zevran and that blade, the first opportunity he got he intended to sever the wrist of that hand.

"You know...if you wished me to share? You simply need to ask." Zevran's eyes remained on Michel's face, as warm and drawling as his voice might be he could see the lie for what it was. The taunt. One that offered those about him a moment of amusement- a shifting of their weight. A lapse in concentration and attention. One that would be their undoing. None touch Michel save those that wish to. For them to lay a hand upon Zevran? That was one thing. For them to make such a show of touching Michel?

Perhaps some small part of him understood, now, Taliesin's rage. That bone deep possessive surge that had him leaning back on his heels, twisting sharply to snap a leg out against one of the Chevalier's knees. The crunch of bone was satisfying enough as he wrenched his arms free, catching the wrist that held the blade and twisting himself about to turn it back against the Chevalier's own throat. The others-

Michel was capable enough. Was skilled. Now that he was safe? He ought to be free to act.

Michel was skilled enough to see the lie for what it was, even if it was such a lie to put the other Chevalier off of their balance for a moment. He was equal in his sentiment that he did not wish to share Zevran, not with another Chevalier, part of him took pleasure in being such a rare commodity. Part of him simply knew that these men would not get the same kind of pleasure out of it that he did. It would have been a savage pleasure if nothing else, unworthy.

With the knife bent slightly away from Zevran's throat and the opportunity presenting itself with Zevran's actions, Michel seized upon the moment. He'd kept his sword bound to the scabbard in silk, no doubt borrowed from his companion. It was to show that he meant no violence or threat by carrying the weapon, but as this scenario escalated he slowly undid the binding until it pooled on the floor. Now he meant to do violence.

The first strike came from the scabbard, as he unsheathed the blade he used thrust it into the face of his first offender, no doubt breaking his nose in the process. Good. He meant to do that. He struck out at another Chevalier with his sword, this one he noticed, was more timid than the rest of his companions, quieter, and judging by the way he jumped back from the blade as it nearly caught him in the stomach...he almost seemed afraid. Michel was not teasing, taunting, or threatening, he intended to damage anyone who remained.

Even Chevalier knew fear and this one was smart enough to recognize that this brutal hazing was no longer the entertainment he thought it would be. So he ran, and Michel let him, there was no point in chasing a coward. He returned to the Chevalier with the broken nose, the fountain of blood pouring down his face provided enough distraction for Michel to strike him in the head with the pommel of his sword, It was enough to knock him out cold.

Two down. Two left.

While he'd been dealing with the other's he hadn't been paying attention to one closing in on his back. A mistake perhaps as he caught Michel by the collar of his coat, no doubt intending to stab Michel from behind, this was dishonorable by Chevalier standards and worthy of death, but Michel would not go that far tonight. Instead he released his sword and sheath, both items falling very near to his feet. This freed him up just enough to slip out of his coat, dropping to a crough on the floor and narrowly missing the blade. It pierced his fine coat, certainly, but Michel was unscathed and the Chevalier who'd caught him by the collar? Confused.

Confusion was an advantage that he exploited. Grabbing his scabbard he swiped the young Chevalier's legs out from under him and in quick succession stuck the young man through the shoulder with his sword. It wasn't a fatal wound and he'd barely pierced him through, but it would be a lesson to him that would no doubt leave a scar. That left them with one Chevalier and Michel rose to his feet and spun on his heel quickly to see what was happening with Zevran.

One fled, one unconscious, one pinned by a blade- and the other? Nursing a shattered knee and attempting to gracelessly scramble backward. The mouthy one, the one that spoke vulgar things in Zevran's ear while his compatriot touched and teased Michel. Zevran did little more than put a knee on his chest and kneel, the blade that had been against his throat flipping idly in his hand. Michel had his part of the fight well taken care of- this?

Was for Zevran.

Truly he was no sadist- but there was nothing wrong in providing a little healthy fear. "What was it you said earlier before were were interrupted? Something about putting a proper tool in my mouth?" The tip of the blade rested, with the barest of pressure, on the Chevalier's lips. It would not take much to cut, to scar, to ruin.

Slitting a throat was one thing. Cutting out a tongue? Well...

"What do you think, Soleil? Should I give him what he wished to give me, or shall we let him go?" Were it a crow under his knee he'd demand the man fellate the blade, bloody tongue and all. But this was no crow and the games were different.

Michel climbed to his feet, leaving the Chevalier to tend to his shoulder, plucking his jacket off the floor as he went. He examined it casually, and the hole that had been ripped through it. What a waste, really, but he shrugged it off and draped it over his shoulder before approaching Zevran and the final Chevalier.

True enough he'd been tempted to sever the man's hand from his body, it might be different if it was Michel, Zevran was different in the eyes of the Chevalier. Naturally. He had no wish to see any sort of retribution fall on his companion, but he had no wish to truly stop him either. At least a small part of him thought that this was justice given the dishonorable things they had said to Zevran.

Brushing hair away from Zevran's neck he dropped a light kiss just behind his ear so as to leave the Chevalier with no confusion as to what Zevran meant to him. It was complicated, but clearly the elf was more important to him that the beaten Chevalier, "it is your call...but I doubt his blood on your clothing would be worth the trouble. If he has a shred of honor, he'll throw himself from the walls of Shyhold."

Death before dishonor.

Michel at his back and Zevran? Leaned into the touch, eyes half lidded and lazy. Comfortable with the affection as though they did such things often. And while they might have- often it was not quite so public a thing. But for the show, to wrench his composure back from where it'd been rattled? He leaned. Smiled sweetly as he tucked his knife back into his sleeve.

The Chevalier would have no use for it.

"He had best write a letter beforehand, they will not find his body until the spring thaw at this rate." He stood, tucked an arm around Michel's waist, and guided him back out of the alcove- well. Not to the party proper, but an adjacent one for a moment of privacy. Settimo ducked past along with Vita to make certain the Chevalier that lingered were ushered out quickly and easily.

Once alone- he said nothing. Leaned back against the stone wall and took a deep breath to compose himself. Allowing Michel to see this much was- well it was unwise but the man had saved his life. He could offer no less. "Thank you."

For Michel the display of affection was less for show and more to ascertain Zevran's wellbeing, but to demonstrate the elf's significance to him even if there was no label on it.

After that he could not really care what happened to the Chevalier, more interested in being guided away from the whole, unnecessary business. Though he doubted the Chevalier would throw himself anywhere, he made a small sound of approval all the same.

Allowing himself to be lassoed and guided off Michel wasn't at all certain what came next, though he clearly wanted to look at Zevran closely. Did that knife leave a mark? What else could he do here? What came was not what he expected, and he watched Zevran, curiously for a moment before laying a hand on either of his companion's shoulders. A thanks was no needed, but Michel accepted it all the same, "I would do it again, bel homme."

"I am beginning to realize you actually mean it when you say such things." His arms were crossed over his chest- a defensive posture, keeping his hands close so Michel might not see the subtle trembling. Little by little the tension knotting his shoulders eased. No hands on him save those he wanted, no hands near him save those he allowed. Warm and solid and not the hook, not the cell. With great care he reached up to curl his fingers around Michel's wrist, tugging until he could lift his hand enough and drop a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

More familiar territory, even if this was not the gesture he truly wished. But stepping into Michel's arms, asking to be held without expectation-

That was not what they were. Was not what they did.

"I do," Michel confirmed simply, rarely did he say things he did not mean...though sometimes he did. He was not infallible after all, he had faults, fears, things that brought out the worst in his nature. When it came to this sort of thing, honor, taking care of someone, his complicated feelings for Zevran? This was not something to toss around lightly, he might have failed him once, but it would not happen a second time.

It did not stop him from taking note of how guarded his companion seemed, even now, but even that seemed to melt away mysteriously as warm lips pressed against the inside of his wrist. Better still was an even warmer body seeking the security of his arms that he knew Michel would give without question. He draped his coat around Zevran and tucked his companion against him securely.

Whoever Zevran danced and drank with tonight, this was for Michel de Chevin, "I've no wish to wander far from your side..."

Zevran snorted but did not argue the point. What a man meant and what he believed he meant were different things indeed but getting into that now felt...impolite. Considering what Michel had endured for him, what he'd fought through to find him, that he'd fought for him at all-

No, he'd fought for his own reputation.

Zevran should be able to hold fast to that lie but it sat, sour, on the back of his tongue. It wasn't true even if he could not sort out the reason for Michel's intervention. Easier to lean into him, to take the warmth of his heartbeat and his coat and simply breathe for a little while. Even if he found himself muttering: "You could not slip away fast enough when we arrived."

Unfair and they both knew it. But he could not take the words back.

"I could have spent the entire evening attached to your side, but then how would you be able to enjoy yourself as completely as you wish?" Still, he never gave up his visual on Zevran even if he did wander off so that his companion could engage in whatever caught his fancy. Michel was well aware that this would be difficult if the Chevalier was hanging over him, the other man had friends that did not appreciate his presence. He had no wish to make things awkward, "I apologize if that is not what you wanted. I'm not trying to be selfish, but I would have had all of your time this evening if I am to be honest, I would have you see me alone...I would be asking too much for myself."

"Ah. Well...that is fair." He couldn't hold that against him, truly. It was unfair of him to say such things when Michel was attempting consideration. To be present without owning him. That was-

He did not know what to make of it. He did not know what to make of Michel, this was consideration he would expect of Alistair, of someone that knew him well and knew his reservations- Michel knew of them, to be certain. But he did not understand the depths of them. Zevran had not been quite so open about that. "You'll have me after. As many as I might dance with, as many as I might tease and kiss- tonight? I return with you."

For- for whatever he could think of. At the moment nothing came to mind.

"I would like to think so," not that he particularly wanted to be fair, but Michel's instincts told him something of what Zevran needed and wanted...even if he wasn't always fully willing to give it. He didn't know the things that lingered in Zevran's past that made him so reserved in this, he simply knew what Zevran would and would not appreciate based on impressions. As much as Michel would like to express himself more, he understood that there was a danger in doing that and he'd seen glimmers of it. Pushing for more came with the risk of losing what he had with the elf, complex as it was, but there were days he felt as though he were standing on a cliff's edge and it was hard to be neutral in the way he felt.

"Such an honor," Michel's arms flexed around Zevran's body, pulling the smaller frame up against his own securely, "though I can't help wishing it were over now, I have a fond desire..."

"It really is throwing me, the whole 'being fair and keeping one's word' business." Easier to make light of things, to tease himself and his own past experiences than it is to put weight on the matter. Men were as they were and Zevran ever knew where he stood. The last time the ground had been this uncertain?

It had been a decade ago and half the mire was of his own making. This was...more and less. What was more and what was less- he couldn't say. Which only left him more uncertain.

"Oh? This should be good. What manner of 'fond desire' do you have for the night, mm? I do owe you some manner of thanks for saving my life."

"It is a business that can end with your exile, it seems," at least the keeping his word end of it, Michel couldn't always claim to be fair. He was a Chevalier and by the very nature of his status he wasn't always fair, though he tried to be better. Promises and keeping his word was something he took seriously, however, and though it ended poorly for him he was true to this ideal, true to as many of them as he could be.

"You owe me nothing..." Michel murmured against the top of Zevran's head before tipping his chin up just enough to look directly at him, "...but if you're feeling up for it after the dancing, the teasing, and mingling..." he couldn't quite bring himself to say kissing, "...then perhaps I could treat you tonight, if not, curling up next to you is just as good."

Sleeping beside someone was different, but Zevran was warm and he fit nicely against Michel.

"I owe you thanks and I have thanked you. Anything more is because I wish to give it." Naked honesty, there, better spoken to the hollow of Michel's throat before careful fingers lift his gaze. A terribly handsome man, was Michel. Beautiful in his own way. Calm on the surface with depths of emotion and sentiment Zevran attempted to not become quite so caught up in lest they both become lost.

One lost would be bad enough, but both? They might never recover.

"Ah- how is it you wish to treat me?" No sultry suggestions, no leering- merely quiet, attentive curiosity.

And Zevran could not know how priceless it was to Michel that he would offer up such raw honesty. It was priceless, something to horde away in a lockbox among treasures like a miser just might. It wasn't often the elf trusted him with this kind of openness...and it spoke to the Chevalier...closer...more intimate than the brush of fingers caressing him inside and out.

Did Zevran know that Michel was already lost? He had been for quite some time, perhaps he'd shown it on some level...but it was like The Grand Game...intrigue, seduction, scandal--without larceny and assassination.

"There is still a game we've yet to play," Michel dipped down and nipped the end of his companion's nose, close enough to see all of the perfect angles that made up his face, "I've had a want to explore your body slowly...to see what weakens your knees...reduces you to delectable shivers....burns beneath your skin."

"Oh-" That was playful and startling, not enough to make him tense but enough to twist a faint crackle of laughter from him and with it? The last of the trembling tension fell away. He was safe. As safe as he could possibly be while the Crows yet linger but- safe enough. Michel had come through unexpectedly and this?

Sensual ground? This was familiar enough for him to settle. He tipped his head to the side, nosing along Michel's jawline. Not with intent, not yet, but...considering. "Mmm. That seems a fine way to end the night. You, me, the wall and the coin. I can hold out for quite some time, Soleil. You will be able to explore to your heart's content."

Michel was quite used to dispatching assassins, granted very few Crows extended their services as far as Val Royeaux. Orlais had its own exclusive club of assassins in their Bards, it was unlikely that they would call on the Crows with such accessibility. Bards were, generally his area of expertise and that was part of the reason the Chevalier put in so much effort when watching and learning what he could from Zevran.

Still, aside from a few unruly Chevalier, they did not need to worry about assassination...not tonight anyway. Feeling Zevran's body relax against him, steadily, Michel couldn't be bothered to think about anything outside of spending the rest of his evening with the elf, "I'll look forward to testing your endurance then."

"Promises, promises." He pressed his lips to the side of Michel's throat, not quite a kiss, not quite a tease. Warm and present and waiting for the few moments it took for Zevran to slowly pull his charming mask on for the remainder of the evening. There are worse people to see him somewhat shaken.

This, this was something he could allow. "Perhaps I'll steal a dance with you later, yes?"

Truth or Dare: The Imperial Court

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