Afternoon was beginning to wind down into evening by the time Sophia was able to escape the Viscount's Keep, armored lightly as she had been the previous day. She wasn't expecting to get into any fights today, but for her purposes, being unarmed and armored in a Hightown sewn dress weren't going to cut it.
Her father had taken much of the day off for his own purposes, something to do with the Qunari, though Sophia wasn't fortunate enough to hear what, exactly. She had heard that the Arishok had grown increasingly restless of late, apparently due to the actions of some of Lowtown's denizens, though she knew not how her father planned to appease him. No, she had instead been saddled with the duty of attending to the Viscount's visitors for much of the day, a task rarely performed by Marlowe Dumar himself these days. Bran usually handled much of it, but he too was off with the Viscount. Thus it fell to Saemus and herself to use their judgment in dealing with the requests of those who came to see them.
Which of course meant that Sophia was the effective Viscountess for the day, given that Saemus had no head for politics, and did not care in the slightest to get involved. Sophia doubted that her brother left the Keep entirely, but he was not seen within the throne room after a short while. She had expected as much. It wasn't the first time she'd been forced to effectively assume her father's role for the day, but it was still somewhat new to her. From the reactions of the people, though, she was doing well enough. As she had been instructed, she was generous, merciful, but firm and consistent. She knew when to draw the line, the difference between someone truly plagued by misfortune, and the liar seeking a handout from the crown. She would not allow herself to be taken advantage of, nor would she be seen as harsh. A delicate balance.
When the task was finally over, however, Sophia was glad for the opportunity to leave, slipping into the chain and light plate she had worn the day previous. The dent and scuff marks where the dragon's tail had collided with her ribs had already been mended and cleaned to a shine, her sword removed of any evidence that it had tasted dragon's blood the previous day. The miners they had saved had already gotten to work spreading the word, it seemed, and one had even recognized her for who she was, apparently, as the rumor was already circulating around Lowtown that the Viscount's daughter had slain a dragon in defense of the people. As was perhaps to be expected, the role that the Qunari and the Dalish played was diminished. Sophia didn't care for twisting of the truth, but she had to admit... it felt good. To be spoken of as a protector, someone who sets an example for others to follow, selflessness augmented with strength. It was what she aimed to achieve.
Which was partly the reason she was returning to Lowtown today. The meeting with Hubert had gone well enough, all things considered. The elf had collected his reward and then promptly left, leaving Sophia to explain more fully to Hubert. After convincing him that there had indeed been dragons at his mine, and denying any form of monetary reward, he had offered her half of his mine, wanting to make her something of a business partner, now that she had proved her usefulness. She refused, but promised her services in the event that the miners needed further protection. On a related note, he asked if she would willing to convince the miners to return to work, so that he might pay them for their efforts once more, and so that his business could return. As always for the miners' sake, she accepted, and this task saw her returning to the Hanged Man under the setting sun.
She'd been told to find the miners inside the Lowtown tavern, and not falsely. They had congregated in rather large numbers at a table near the rear, a sizeable group that was very easily picked out. She spotted the crimson armor of Lucien out of the corner of her eye, but figured she could converse with him once this was done. Didn't want to risk them all getting up and leaving, after all. Although, the way their night seemed to be going, them leaving the bar seemed the least likely of options.
The group of miners was a dozen at least, but Sophia was able to pick out a familiar face easily enough, and one of them indeed had been one of the ones they had seen within the mine, with Finn's group. Amalia's student himself was not present, but that was no great surprise to Sophia. She had been just about to try getting the group's attention when one of them shouted in a pleased surprise, pointing her out to everyone. "Hey, it's the one that rescued us from them dragons! The Viscount's daughter, no less!" A second roared his approval, his head wobbling violently, eyes somewhere in the vicinity of her chest, hips, legs, neck, stomach... well, he was all over the place. "Come lass, have a drink with us! We're just getting started."
The first man gave him a rough smack on the shoulder. "Hey! Eyes on her face, you fool! Remember who you're talking to!" Sophia raised her hands slightly to try and slow them at least, but the severely drunken one pressed on. "Bah! Just because she's royalty or some such don't mean she can't have an ale with us, am I right? She's a lady of the people, this one!" At this, a general cheer went up from the group, a few offering their own drinks to her, and Sophia becoming more than a little unsure of how to react. What a change from earlier. She was a natural at making decisions when in the position of power, of royalty, but this... among commoners like this, it was painfully apparent how much of a Hightown noble she was.
A bit of a distance away from the incredibly-intoxicated laborers, Nostariel was well into her own cups, though this evening she wore not a trace of the melancholy, slighty-sullen look she usually had about her. And why should she? The whole Qunari incident, as she was now calling it, had been incredibly strange but mostly successful, and she felt somewhat productive for once, which was nice. She'd met a new face and spent some time with a friend, with a nice walk along the coast for her troubles. The whole "protracted battle and extremely unpleasant encounter at the compound" bit faded as easily as her other unwanted memories under the vague haze of a light buzz, and though she'd never smile, things weren't so bad at the moment.
Her eyebrows ascended her forehead when the Viscount's daughter came strolling in, but the Warden presumed she was there for Lucien. What other possible reason could she have? Of course, theoretically, she could also be there to ask something of Nostariel herself, but that seemed unlikely when the only link between them (tenuous as it was) was the mercenary. The mage watched with curiosity and perhaps the faintest hint of amusement when the armored woman was immediately recognized by the bar's rowdiest patrons. There was a story there, or she was the Queen of Antiva. Nevertheless, it quickly became apparent that the young lady didn't really know how to handle herself in this situation, and some vague sympathy stirred in the Warden. She'd been the same way, nary a few years ago.
Meeting Lucien's eyes (well, eye more properly) across the room, something which still required far more effort than she would have liked to admit, she frowned slightly and jerked her head in Sophia's direction, standing surreptitiously and making her way over to what was slowly amalgamating into a crowd. She was not possessed of the Orlesian's deft tongue and subtly-persuasive presence, but she did know a thing or two about dealing with drunkards. As it was, she moved to stand slightly behind and to the side of Sophia, folding her arms over her chest and raising a speculative eyebrow at the men. It was one of her best scolding looks, and she'd learned it from a Senior Enchanter in the Circle. The fact that she'd been the woman's apprentice probably explained why a lot of her social attitudes were somewhat maternal in nature- one could only learn from what they could know.
She'd leave the actual speaking to the much larger, much more impressive-looking man beside her.
Lucien was, less unusually than most people believed, presently deep in thought. Why he was doing his thinking in the Hanged Man rather than his home was an interesting question, and he supposed it was because he felt less isolated here. In the end, there was little cure for lonliness, but isolation could be fixed with a simple walk to the tavern. His house was filled with too many things that reminded him of what he wasn't, and while he counted it an important lesson that was worth repeating to himself daily, it was not, perhaps, something that required constant fixation. Hence, the bar.
For this reason, he was not immediately aware of Sophia's presence as she entered, occupied as he was with staring somewhere into the middle distance, the downward slant to his mouth slight but present. The hand not presently occupied with wrapping itself around a tankard handle was drumming a staccato march tune on the rough wooden planks of the table, a fact which was irritating the morose-looking sot closest to him. Of course, while he would have noticed and stopped on an ordinary day, he didn't this time, and the much scrawnier individual was not going to risk angering the heavily-armed mercenary for the sake of something so small.
Whatever the reason, he did notice from his peripheral vision Nostariel's movement, and his gaze snapped back into focus in enough time to observe that the Lady Warden was for once looking right at him, rather than at the table in front of her. She tossed her head tersely to the side, and his uncovered eye followed the movement with cuiosity, widening with his surprise as he took in the most peculiar scene. His pensive frown dropped into a full-blown scowl upon the realization that at least one of them was failing in the gentleman's imperative to keep his eyes on a lady's face. Mirroring his Warden friend, Lucien stood, approaching the group from the other side. Apparently, the diminutive elf woman was content to level them her most haughty stare, and he took that as his cue to act as mouthpiece.
"Lady of the people, indeed," he agreed amicably, tone light. That said, his body language was anything but. Lucien was well aware that he could loom, though in this instance he chose not to. They were, after all, just drunken workers with a little too much cheer at the moment. So rather than attempting to intimidate them, he folded his hands neatly behind his back and stood at something resembling parade rest, which was perhaps a certain kind of reminder all its own. "If so, don't you gentlemen think it might be wise for the people to allow the lady to speak without being interrupted so rudely?" He smiled, as though it were just a friendly suggestion.
"Aye, aye!" one agreed, his voice eclipsing the others. "Le's let the lady speak!" As if this had been their idea, another general cheer went up from the crowd. "To what do we owe the honor?" asked one in the front. Sophia wasn't sure if it was the long overdue cooperation of the miners or the support behind her, specifically the massive presence that was Lucien, but whatever it was, it had done the trick, and succeeded in opening the way for her words.
"Gentlemen," she began, "I've come to inform you that the last of the dragons have been killed, and that it's safe for you to return to work tomorrow." This got about the reaction she was expecting, a kind of cautious approval, mixed in with a few fearful grunts. "What if there's more dragons later?" One asked, "Or something worse, like uh... bigger dragons!" A few were having thoughts along these lines, considering their nodding heads, although one blonde-haired one towards the back piped up otherwise. "I go back to missus without this job, she'll rip me apart sure as any dragon!" More had the same problem it seemed. Sophia was once again struggling to get a word in.
"What can we do?" one asked. "That bastard Hubert is the only one willing to hire us." Considering she'd been asked a direct question, Sophia was at last able to respond. "I've promised my services in the event the mine should need further protection. I have no intention of letting any of Kirkwall's citizens come to harm under my watch." That breathed some life into them, pulling a few from their cups. "You hear that boys?" One of them said, a smile spreading across his face. "We've got Sophia Dumar, Viscount's daughter and slayer of dragons, looking out for us! Don't think we'll be getting a better deal than that any time soon!"
Yet another general cheer went up, followed by a toast in her name and a promise to return to work. Sophia found herself smiling, and only a little red in the face. A success, if she'd ever seen one. "Sure you can't have a drink with us, my lady?" one of them asked with a hopeful grin. Sophia had been about to politely decline, but when she thought about it, she didn't really see why not. The thought of her father or brother seeing her now made her smile to herself as she turned to Lucien and Nostariel.
"I think I could spare the time for a drink, if my friends would be willing to join me," she said, her smile growing slightly. "Thank you for the help," she added, sincerely.
For his part, Lucien shrugged, relaxing his shoulders and letting a slow grin creep over his visage. "Think nothing of it. Though, I confess that slayer of dragons is an appellation I've not heard before. I find myself frightfully curious and perhaps more than a little envious. Perhaps you would do us the honor of the tale?" He motioned to a waitress, who, having seen a good chunk of the goings-on, brushed off her apron and hastily supplied the group with a fresh round of ale, including one for Sophia. The young woman curtsied awkwardly in serving that one, and Lucien chuckled quietly to himself. It had taken a fair amount of deft omissions and pleading on his part to convince her not to do that every time she saw him; Sophia would likely be dealing with it from now on.
His success was nothing less than she'd expected, and Nostariel was left to wonder if there was much point to her presence at all. Ah well, perhaps not, but the issue wasn't really there. She'd have been remiss if she didn't try something. She really didn't know what this whole situation was about, but the words exchanged did seem to clarify things somewhat. It was apparently connected to the mines, which she should well have guessed. Apparently that had gone well, then, though she wasn't certain when dragons had become involved. Apparently now-dead ones.
The Warden's muscles slackened perceptibly, and she was quite ready to head back over to her table and resume her rather inactive business, but then Sophia mentioned that she might stay. Nostariel paused in her movement, cocking her head sideways a bit and blinking several times to be sure she'd heard that right. Now there's a suggestion you don't get every day, she mused, and the corner of her mouth quirked upwards just momentarily. Deciding to stay and see what would come of it, the mage easily accepted the drink offered to her by the unusually- enthusiastic Gemma, who usually spent her time complaining about how slovenly, drunken men ogled her and Lucien didn't. Not that she was about to complain about free drinks, mind.
She nodded along to the Chevalier's request, curious despite herself. "That sounds like quite the undertaking, especially alone," she agreed, taking a sip and relishing (as well as she could) the raw burn of cheap alcohol sliding down the throat. She was certainly not envious, as Lucien's tone and words suggested he might be, but it sounded like the kind of thing that would make for good listening. Maybe she'd pass it along to Varric and have him regale all of Kirkwall with it. It could only help Sophia's cause, so she resolved to take it down as factually as possible, then let the dwarf work his magic with it.
"That's because I wasn't alone," Sophia was quick to explain as they took seats. She examined the drink she'd been handed for a brief moment before deciding it was better to just not look at it, and drink. She did so, and imagined that the face she made afterwards was probably very amusing to both Lucien and Nostariel. That out of the way, she began to explain in more detail, and more truth, the story of what had happened in the Bone Pit. If anything she was modest as to her own part, focusing instead on Amalia's bravery in acting the distraction, and the Dalish's archery skill, putting an arrow through the beast's eye.
That said, there was some amount of pride in the deed that she wasn't doing the best job of containing, especially after hearing that Lucien was in fact envious of her. She imagined there were a great many things he had seen and done that would draw out her own envy, pulling on her desires for a life of more adventure, less tied down by the responsibilities of politics, more free to follow her heart.
But being called a Dragonslayer, with truth behind it? Perhaps enjoying the moment a little more was well earned. Sophia took a slightly deeper drink. How anyone could savor the taste of such a concoction, she could not understand.
Her father had taken much of the day off for his own purposes, something to do with the Qunari, though Sophia wasn't fortunate enough to hear what, exactly. She had heard that the Arishok had grown increasingly restless of late, apparently due to the actions of some of Lowtown's denizens, though she knew not how her father planned to appease him. No, she had instead been saddled with the duty of attending to the Viscount's visitors for much of the day, a task rarely performed by Marlowe Dumar himself these days. Bran usually handled much of it, but he too was off with the Viscount. Thus it fell to Saemus and herself to use their judgment in dealing with the requests of those who came to see them.
Which of course meant that Sophia was the effective Viscountess for the day, given that Saemus had no head for politics, and did not care in the slightest to get involved. Sophia doubted that her brother left the Keep entirely, but he was not seen within the throne room after a short while. She had expected as much. It wasn't the first time she'd been forced to effectively assume her father's role for the day, but it was still somewhat new to her. From the reactions of the people, though, she was doing well enough. As she had been instructed, she was generous, merciful, but firm and consistent. She knew when to draw the line, the difference between someone truly plagued by misfortune, and the liar seeking a handout from the crown. She would not allow herself to be taken advantage of, nor would she be seen as harsh. A delicate balance.
When the task was finally over, however, Sophia was glad for the opportunity to leave, slipping into the chain and light plate she had worn the day previous. The dent and scuff marks where the dragon's tail had collided with her ribs had already been mended and cleaned to a shine, her sword removed of any evidence that it had tasted dragon's blood the previous day. The miners they had saved had already gotten to work spreading the word, it seemed, and one had even recognized her for who she was, apparently, as the rumor was already circulating around Lowtown that the Viscount's daughter had slain a dragon in defense of the people. As was perhaps to be expected, the role that the Qunari and the Dalish played was diminished. Sophia didn't care for twisting of the truth, but she had to admit... it felt good. To be spoken of as a protector, someone who sets an example for others to follow, selflessness augmented with strength. It was what she aimed to achieve.
Which was partly the reason she was returning to Lowtown today. The meeting with Hubert had gone well enough, all things considered. The elf had collected his reward and then promptly left, leaving Sophia to explain more fully to Hubert. After convincing him that there had indeed been dragons at his mine, and denying any form of monetary reward, he had offered her half of his mine, wanting to make her something of a business partner, now that she had proved her usefulness. She refused, but promised her services in the event that the miners needed further protection. On a related note, he asked if she would willing to convince the miners to return to work, so that he might pay them for their efforts once more, and so that his business could return. As always for the miners' sake, she accepted, and this task saw her returning to the Hanged Man under the setting sun.
She'd been told to find the miners inside the Lowtown tavern, and not falsely. They had congregated in rather large numbers at a table near the rear, a sizeable group that was very easily picked out. She spotted the crimson armor of Lucien out of the corner of her eye, but figured she could converse with him once this was done. Didn't want to risk them all getting up and leaving, after all. Although, the way their night seemed to be going, them leaving the bar seemed the least likely of options.
The group of miners was a dozen at least, but Sophia was able to pick out a familiar face easily enough, and one of them indeed had been one of the ones they had seen within the mine, with Finn's group. Amalia's student himself was not present, but that was no great surprise to Sophia. She had been just about to try getting the group's attention when one of them shouted in a pleased surprise, pointing her out to everyone. "Hey, it's the one that rescued us from them dragons! The Viscount's daughter, no less!" A second roared his approval, his head wobbling violently, eyes somewhere in the vicinity of her chest, hips, legs, neck, stomach... well, he was all over the place. "Come lass, have a drink with us! We're just getting started."
The first man gave him a rough smack on the shoulder. "Hey! Eyes on her face, you fool! Remember who you're talking to!" Sophia raised her hands slightly to try and slow them at least, but the severely drunken one pressed on. "Bah! Just because she's royalty or some such don't mean she can't have an ale with us, am I right? She's a lady of the people, this one!" At this, a general cheer went up from the group, a few offering their own drinks to her, and Sophia becoming more than a little unsure of how to react. What a change from earlier. She was a natural at making decisions when in the position of power, of royalty, but this... among commoners like this, it was painfully apparent how much of a Hightown noble she was.
A bit of a distance away from the incredibly-intoxicated laborers, Nostariel was well into her own cups, though this evening she wore not a trace of the melancholy, slighty-sullen look she usually had about her. And why should she? The whole Qunari incident, as she was now calling it, had been incredibly strange but mostly successful, and she felt somewhat productive for once, which was nice. She'd met a new face and spent some time with a friend, with a nice walk along the coast for her troubles. The whole "protracted battle and extremely unpleasant encounter at the compound" bit faded as easily as her other unwanted memories under the vague haze of a light buzz, and though she'd never smile, things weren't so bad at the moment.
Her eyebrows ascended her forehead when the Viscount's daughter came strolling in, but the Warden presumed she was there for Lucien. What other possible reason could she have? Of course, theoretically, she could also be there to ask something of Nostariel herself, but that seemed unlikely when the only link between them (tenuous as it was) was the mercenary. The mage watched with curiosity and perhaps the faintest hint of amusement when the armored woman was immediately recognized by the bar's rowdiest patrons. There was a story there, or she was the Queen of Antiva. Nevertheless, it quickly became apparent that the young lady didn't really know how to handle herself in this situation, and some vague sympathy stirred in the Warden. She'd been the same way, nary a few years ago.
Meeting Lucien's eyes (well, eye more properly) across the room, something which still required far more effort than she would have liked to admit, she frowned slightly and jerked her head in Sophia's direction, standing surreptitiously and making her way over to what was slowly amalgamating into a crowd. She was not possessed of the Orlesian's deft tongue and subtly-persuasive presence, but she did know a thing or two about dealing with drunkards. As it was, she moved to stand slightly behind and to the side of Sophia, folding her arms over her chest and raising a speculative eyebrow at the men. It was one of her best scolding looks, and she'd learned it from a Senior Enchanter in the Circle. The fact that she'd been the woman's apprentice probably explained why a lot of her social attitudes were somewhat maternal in nature- one could only learn from what they could know.
She'd leave the actual speaking to the much larger, much more impressive-looking man beside her.
Lucien was, less unusually than most people believed, presently deep in thought. Why he was doing his thinking in the Hanged Man rather than his home was an interesting question, and he supposed it was because he felt less isolated here. In the end, there was little cure for lonliness, but isolation could be fixed with a simple walk to the tavern. His house was filled with too many things that reminded him of what he wasn't, and while he counted it an important lesson that was worth repeating to himself daily, it was not, perhaps, something that required constant fixation. Hence, the bar.
For this reason, he was not immediately aware of Sophia's presence as she entered, occupied as he was with staring somewhere into the middle distance, the downward slant to his mouth slight but present. The hand not presently occupied with wrapping itself around a tankard handle was drumming a staccato march tune on the rough wooden planks of the table, a fact which was irritating the morose-looking sot closest to him. Of course, while he would have noticed and stopped on an ordinary day, he didn't this time, and the much scrawnier individual was not going to risk angering the heavily-armed mercenary for the sake of something so small.
Whatever the reason, he did notice from his peripheral vision Nostariel's movement, and his gaze snapped back into focus in enough time to observe that the Lady Warden was for once looking right at him, rather than at the table in front of her. She tossed her head tersely to the side, and his uncovered eye followed the movement with cuiosity, widening with his surprise as he took in the most peculiar scene. His pensive frown dropped into a full-blown scowl upon the realization that at least one of them was failing in the gentleman's imperative to keep his eyes on a lady's face. Mirroring his Warden friend, Lucien stood, approaching the group from the other side. Apparently, the diminutive elf woman was content to level them her most haughty stare, and he took that as his cue to act as mouthpiece.
"Lady of the people, indeed," he agreed amicably, tone light. That said, his body language was anything but. Lucien was well aware that he could loom, though in this instance he chose not to. They were, after all, just drunken workers with a little too much cheer at the moment. So rather than attempting to intimidate them, he folded his hands neatly behind his back and stood at something resembling parade rest, which was perhaps a certain kind of reminder all its own. "If so, don't you gentlemen think it might be wise for the people to allow the lady to speak without being interrupted so rudely?" He smiled, as though it were just a friendly suggestion.
"Aye, aye!" one agreed, his voice eclipsing the others. "Le's let the lady speak!" As if this had been their idea, another general cheer went up from the crowd. "To what do we owe the honor?" asked one in the front. Sophia wasn't sure if it was the long overdue cooperation of the miners or the support behind her, specifically the massive presence that was Lucien, but whatever it was, it had done the trick, and succeeded in opening the way for her words.
"Gentlemen," she began, "I've come to inform you that the last of the dragons have been killed, and that it's safe for you to return to work tomorrow." This got about the reaction she was expecting, a kind of cautious approval, mixed in with a few fearful grunts. "What if there's more dragons later?" One asked, "Or something worse, like uh... bigger dragons!" A few were having thoughts along these lines, considering their nodding heads, although one blonde-haired one towards the back piped up otherwise. "I go back to missus without this job, she'll rip me apart sure as any dragon!" More had the same problem it seemed. Sophia was once again struggling to get a word in.
"What can we do?" one asked. "That bastard Hubert is the only one willing to hire us." Considering she'd been asked a direct question, Sophia was at last able to respond. "I've promised my services in the event the mine should need further protection. I have no intention of letting any of Kirkwall's citizens come to harm under my watch." That breathed some life into them, pulling a few from their cups. "You hear that boys?" One of them said, a smile spreading across his face. "We've got Sophia Dumar, Viscount's daughter and slayer of dragons, looking out for us! Don't think we'll be getting a better deal than that any time soon!"
Yet another general cheer went up, followed by a toast in her name and a promise to return to work. Sophia found herself smiling, and only a little red in the face. A success, if she'd ever seen one. "Sure you can't have a drink with us, my lady?" one of them asked with a hopeful grin. Sophia had been about to politely decline, but when she thought about it, she didn't really see why not. The thought of her father or brother seeing her now made her smile to herself as she turned to Lucien and Nostariel.
"I think I could spare the time for a drink, if my friends would be willing to join me," she said, her smile growing slightly. "Thank you for the help," she added, sincerely.
For his part, Lucien shrugged, relaxing his shoulders and letting a slow grin creep over his visage. "Think nothing of it. Though, I confess that slayer of dragons is an appellation I've not heard before. I find myself frightfully curious and perhaps more than a little envious. Perhaps you would do us the honor of the tale?" He motioned to a waitress, who, having seen a good chunk of the goings-on, brushed off her apron and hastily supplied the group with a fresh round of ale, including one for Sophia. The young woman curtsied awkwardly in serving that one, and Lucien chuckled quietly to himself. It had taken a fair amount of deft omissions and pleading on his part to convince her not to do that every time she saw him; Sophia would likely be dealing with it from now on.
His success was nothing less than she'd expected, and Nostariel was left to wonder if there was much point to her presence at all. Ah well, perhaps not, but the issue wasn't really there. She'd have been remiss if she didn't try something. She really didn't know what this whole situation was about, but the words exchanged did seem to clarify things somewhat. It was apparently connected to the mines, which she should well have guessed. Apparently that had gone well, then, though she wasn't certain when dragons had become involved. Apparently now-dead ones.
The Warden's muscles slackened perceptibly, and she was quite ready to head back over to her table and resume her rather inactive business, but then Sophia mentioned that she might stay. Nostariel paused in her movement, cocking her head sideways a bit and blinking several times to be sure she'd heard that right. Now there's a suggestion you don't get every day, she mused, and the corner of her mouth quirked upwards just momentarily. Deciding to stay and see what would come of it, the mage easily accepted the drink offered to her by the unusually- enthusiastic Gemma, who usually spent her time complaining about how slovenly, drunken men ogled her and Lucien didn't. Not that she was about to complain about free drinks, mind.
She nodded along to the Chevalier's request, curious despite herself. "That sounds like quite the undertaking, especially alone," she agreed, taking a sip and relishing (as well as she could) the raw burn of cheap alcohol sliding down the throat. She was certainly not envious, as Lucien's tone and words suggested he might be, but it sounded like the kind of thing that would make for good listening. Maybe she'd pass it along to Varric and have him regale all of Kirkwall with it. It could only help Sophia's cause, so she resolved to take it down as factually as possible, then let the dwarf work his magic with it.
"That's because I wasn't alone," Sophia was quick to explain as they took seats. She examined the drink she'd been handed for a brief moment before deciding it was better to just not look at it, and drink. She did so, and imagined that the face she made afterwards was probably very amusing to both Lucien and Nostariel. That out of the way, she began to explain in more detail, and more truth, the story of what had happened in the Bone Pit. If anything she was modest as to her own part, focusing instead on Amalia's bravery in acting the distraction, and the Dalish's archery skill, putting an arrow through the beast's eye.
That said, there was some amount of pride in the deed that she wasn't doing the best job of containing, especially after hearing that Lucien was in fact envious of her. She imagined there were a great many things he had seen and done that would draw out her own envy, pulling on her desires for a life of more adventure, less tied down by the responsibilities of politics, more free to follow her heart.
But being called a Dragonslayer, with truth behind it? Perhaps enjoying the moment a little more was well earned. Sophia took a slightly deeper drink. How anyone could savor the taste of such a concoction, she could not understand.
The Chanter's Board has been updated. The Bone Pit has been completed.