After all of the gift giving, and after the tables were moved by the servants, then came the time for the guests to mingle between themselves. The remaining musicians began to play their instruments, beginning a smooth melody so that the guests could dance if they so choose. So of course Ashton decided to take opportunity to dance. He extended a hand to Nostariel and nodded toward the quickly filling dance area. "If you would be so kind as to honor me with a dance, Miss Turtega," Ashton said, bowing and taking her hand. The last time they had danced had been before the Expedition, in the Hanged Man. Sophia and Lucien had been there as well, come to think of it.
Nostariel was fairly certain something strange had happened when Lucien presented his gift to Sophia, but she didnât know what was going on, and thus she was helpless to do anything about it. She just had to assume that some combination of Lucienâs goodness and Sophiaâs willpower would see matters through, whatever had transpired. There was no mistaking the fact that they were an eye-catching pair, and she honestly rather hoped theyâd be so even when the night was done. Still, there was little denying that she at least wasnât having nearly as bad a time as sheâd expected to have.
They still needed to question the suspects, but⊠she smiled brightly, dipping into a curtsy. âIâd be delighted, Messere Riviera,â she responded with humor, letting him sweep her out onto the dance floor. She was getting better at this bit, she knew she was, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she sometimes practiced by herself in her room just in case. Nothing at all.
Once they were out on the floor and thus safe from most ears, she spoke in low tones. âIf you want to try following up with Miranda, Iâll see what the twins are up to. Once weâre done here, of course.â She honestly wasnât so fond of the idea of spending any time with men who looked like thugs, but sheâd stared worse than they dead in the face before. She could handle it if she had to, and she didnât want the hard bit to fall to Lucien and Sophia just now. Ash had already sort-of made inroads with Miranda, and a charming fellow was just going to do better than a small elf with a woman like that.
"Sounds like a fine plan," Ashton answered. Of course he wished he didn't have to do anything else but dance with Nostariel. However, he was brought here to do a job, and he'd see it done. He never went back on his word, as he'd revealed many times over his tenure in Kirkwall. Still, it didn't hurt to enjoy himself before he began to work. He spun around once and then brought her in close, and whispered something into her ear. "If they give you trouble, you just need to call and I'll tackle one," Pulling back with a grin on his face. And he would too.
It hadn't escaped him how stilted Lucien and Sophia had become, and he too wondered what had happened. All things considered, both of them seemed to fit each other rather well. He had a mind to ask either of them what happened when he wasn't watching when it was all done, but that was for a later time. He had a job to do right now. Another couple of turns and a dip later, the first song had ended and another was beginning. At that he let go of Nostariel and bowed low, kissing her knuckles. "Milady, I fear I must be off," he said with a flourish and turning toward Miranda.
From where they had been dancing in the middle of the clearing to Miranda, Ashton had to dodge all shapes and sizes of nobles. Once a rather homely lady had asked him to dance. In reality, she yanked his arm and dragged him back into the clearing. He didn't have much choice in the matter, and just kept his lips shut and pursed as she danced with him. He was a lot more stilted and stuffy than he had been with Nostariel, and as soon as he was able, he bolted. The thought of blending into the shadows was an appealing one, but perhaps uncalled for in this situation. Nonetheless, he finally managed to reach Miranda after a bit. However, he didn't ask her to dance, nor did he offer the first words.
Threnhold's daughter was lingering near the edge of the space cleared for dancing, almost as if daring someone to try and ask her. Her eyes flickered over Ashton as though he was little more than the puppy he'd so recently received. And perhaps fittingly, Miranda Threnhold was not a woman who enjoyed the sight of puppies. Her voice still carried a tone of disinterest when he arrived before her.
"So how much of that story was true, Messere Riviera?"
Ashton smiled and shrugged, offering a simple, "More than you'd think, less than you'd hope, I'm afraid," as answer. She was the hard to get one. Cold, intelligent, a real harpy of a woman from what Sophia had said. But she was still a woman, and though he'd been out of the game for a while now, still thought himself somewhat of a decent player. This would not be so easy with Ms. Threnhold, but then again, it would be no fun if it was. "There was an Expedition, and there was a dragon that died. Anything in between though... It was fine story, wouldn't you say?" Ashton said.
"Certainly more entertaining than the bees," Miranda admitted, "though I can't seem to shake the feeling that you prevented him from wasting my time, only so you could waste my time yourself. That was the purpose of the story, yes? To get my attention? You even had your Warden friend playing along. Do you intend to do anything with my attention, now that you have it?"
"Milady, your attention is yours to do what you will with. The fact that you're still entertaining me says that you must find something about me intriguing or curious," Ashton said beneath an implacable smile. He then he laughed and shrugged. "Perhaps that was the initial goal. Perhaps I had simply grown tired as you with the man's preaching. I will say that nearing the middle, it was just as much about fluffing my own ego. A rapt audience does strange things to a man, Milady," He said.
"So tell me, Milady. Am I wasting my time wasting yours? For if I am, I shall go scurry back into the hole I came out of," He still didn't move to ask her to dance. He had an idea of what the woman was about. She was the type who liked to feel in control. He'd give her all the control she wanted, and then some.
"For a Lowtown shopkeep, you seem to have learned to speak as the nobles do quite well," she said, eyes floating over the dance floor. "Use as many words as possible to say as little as you possibly can... but, you're one of the few people who isn't a regular guest at these sorts of things, so I'm willing to give you a chance."
Her eyes alone flicked in his direction. "It's not immediately occurring to me what I can gain from you. Enlighten me, or get on with the scurrying."
"Oh, it's in my blood, I suppose." Which it honestly might have been. Funny, he didn't think noble mannerisms were hereditary. He could feel his uncle frown at him from a thousand miles away. It was almost enough to send shivers down his back and shield his buttocks from the switch. His smile then fluttered for a moment before dropping entirely, Ashton finally taking ahold of an elusive serious air. His tone shifted from foppish to businesslike as he spoke, "I offer you an ally," He stated simply, "I believe our interests are aligned," he said, taking a quick glance in Sophia's direction.
That got a tilt of her head towards him, and she followed his gaze to the Viscount's daughter. Her voice lowered quite significantly. "It's possible that you're entirely smarter than you look," she conceded. "It's also possible that I'm not as stupid as my father was. There's a line here that is not to be crossed. Do you know where it lies?"
"I believe I do, but I have no intention of crossing it. Not yet," He replied in the same lowered tone. Now he was getting somewhere, but the game wasn't won yet. At best, she had proved herself worthy of suspicion, but otherwise nothing. "The Templar Order holds too much power and the Qunari are a blight upon our city. I offer you nothing more than my services, should you find yourself in need. I only ask that you remember me," Ashton responded.
"Perhaps we can do business after all," Miranda said, apparently pleased. It was hard to tell if it was possible for her to be pleased, but it was obvious that her disposition towards him could have been much worse. "A reckoning is coming for them, and there's little I need to do but wait. It's entirely possible that someone else will do the dirtier work in the meantime. If not, and things settle once more, then I expect we'll be in touch." Her smile was a wicked thing as she twisted away from him.
"Enjoy the rest of the evening, Messere Riviera."
Well now he felt dirty, but at least he managed to pry some information out of her. So, yeah. He considered that a win.
Nostariel laughed, clearly in good cheer despite her impending encounter with what may turn out to be the two least-pleasant individuals at this gathering. Just walking on over there probably wasnât done, however, and so she watched the nobles for a moment, making rounds as they were, and integrated herself into the pattern. It was kind of like two circles moving in opposite directions, and she tried her best to put herself on a trajectory with the Tarkins, though it was proving difficult when a few people gave her disdainful looks, taking one look at her obviously-displayed ears and assuming she didnât belong there. After the third such rebuff, she felt a hand at her elbow.
âMy Lady Warden,â a voice rasped, and it turned out to be the elderly gentleman from earlier, âIf thereâs someone you need to talk to for some reason, I would be happy to help you.â She looked at him for a moment, startled, but he simply smiled crookedly at her and stood up a little straighter, offering her his arm. Relaxing a little bit, she eased her hand onto his forearm lightly.
âPlease, serah. Itâs just Nostariel. Iâm afraid I do not know what to call you.â He dipped his head and patted her hand in a paternal manner. âA lovely name, for a lovely lass. My name is Geoffrey Morstan, and unfortunately, Iâm part of this rabble.â He waved his free hand in a truncated gesture, and she grinned. âNow, my dear, who are you really here to see? Besides your strapping lad, of course.â
Nostariel blushed slightly, the embarrassment rather conflicted with her surprise. âDonât give me that look, lass. No Warden worth her salt would spend any time here she didnât have to, and I suspect that you are more than worth yours.â The mage smiled, and shook her head. âWith compliments like that, Serah Geoffrey, I expect you must have been everyoneâs favorite nobleman once.â He was definitely her favorite nobleman now, Lucien excepted. Well, and Ash, if he counted. She didnât tend to think of him as such, though.
He laughed, and she used the opportunity to glance over at the twins, hoping heâd follow it. He did, and frowned. âBad news, Nostariel. But then, theyâre no Darkspawn, are they? Come on, then.â It was immensely reassuring to have an ally at her side, and it seemed that nobody was keen to rebuff her with Lord Morstan present. Part of her wondered who he was, to have that kind of respect. Perhaps a former Guard-Captain? He had the right kind of bearingâa soldierâs bearing, like he belonged outside with a sword and shield over his back. The two of them wound a casual circle through the crowd, eventually meandering into the place the twins occupied.
âGentlemen,â Nostariel greeted, dipping into her umpteenth curtsy of the night from her spot on Geoffreyâs arm.
The Tarkin twins immediate reaction was clearly to be confused; they had just been approached by a Hightown lord, and yet it was the elven woman on his arm that was addressing them. It was entirely unclear which one was Damian and which one was Dorian, even to someone who had known them for quite some time.
"Lord Morstan," the one on the left greeted tersely. They spared the occasional glance for Nostariel, but obviously they weren't sure why she was there. It was well known that Geoffrey Morstan was happily married and had been for many years, and it seemed very strange to them indeed for him to arrive at such an event as the birthday of the Viscount's daughter with what could only be an elven mistress on his arm.
"Something we can do for you, Lord?"
So she wouldnât have been able to get anywhere on her own, then. Well, good thing she didnât have to. Lord Morstan, apparently respected enough to at least earn himself a greeting, tucked her arm in a little closer to himself in a subtle gesture of reassurance, and made the necessary introductions. âYou know how it goes, milords.â he gestured with his free hand at the general throng behind him. âMy lady and I were hoping to catch a reprieve by speaking with someone who knew of something that wasnât what colors the Empress favored last month. And ah, forgive me. This is Captain Nostariel Turtega, of the Grey Wardens.â Nostariel smiled and dipped her head, but otherwise rectified her initial mistake by allowing her new ally to smooth the creases where necessary first. Morstan had a reputation as a practical man, and he was using it here. He also had his own business interests in the city, apparently.
âMy contacts are quite sure that the two of you are doing rather well. How do you find the climate for trade, these days? Iâm told there may be a new demand for Rivaini furs before winter sets in.â Nostariel occupied her time trying to watch the Tarkins' body language and faces for anything telltale. She honestly didn't think she was going to find it amidst nobles who wore a thousand faces for as many occasions, but one never knew.
Perhaps the most interesting reaction to be had was when Nostariel was introduced as a Captain of the Grey, and the twins shared a look. It was unclear what it implied, as indeed their faces didn't seem capable of a great deal of expression. It was quite possible that neither of them had even known elves could be Grey Wardens, or perhaps even women. Certainly not elven women, then? Regardless, they seemed to slightly change their disposition towards her, giving nods of greeting to Nostariel and introducing themselves.
"Apologies, Grey Warden," the one on the left said, as terse as before, "I am Damian Tarkin, and this is my brother Dorian. Our lord father could not be in attendance tonight, but he sent us to carry his good wishes to the lady Sophia." They seemed to have done little of that so far, but that was probably true for a majority of the nobles here.
"We've heard that ourselves," Dorian said, to Geoffrey. "Things have been busier than ever on the Docks. Our lord father has been involved in a number of recovery efforts in Ferelden. King Alistair pays handsomely for the much needed resources." And surely the handsome pay was the reason for such endeavors, though the reputation benefits of helping those in need was always a plus.
At least they were willing to talk to her, now. That was probably as much as she was going to get, and so when she saw the faintest glimmer of an opportunity, she took it. She wasnât sure thereâd ever be a better one, given their short answers and taciturn natures. âI confess to little knowledge of trade,â she said modestly, âBut if much of your business is conducted near the Docks, does the presence of the Qunari not trouble you at all? It seems like the kind of thing that would make the workers apprehensive, if nothing else, and they are not mercantile sorts, themselves.â It was the closest she could get to asking for their opinion on the current administration without it coming out of nowhere, and she didnât want to be obvious about it.
"It does," Damian conceded. "I believe everyone in this room knows that the horn heads hurt trade, and hurting trade hurts the city." Of course, it would probably hurt their family more than the city itself, given the Tarkin family reliance on trade. "Our lord father has been one of the many petitioning the Viscount to take firmer action against them," Dorian continued for his brother. "He prefers to ignore the problem, sadly."
It was certainly a potential motive, and one that most would not share to the same degree. But⊠she couldnât fault them simply for having one. Perhaps they were stoic enough to take the blows on the chin and pull through. Some people surely were. They certainly seemed to have the requisite stoniness, though that could also work to their benefit if they did want to hurt someone⊠the whole thing was making her head hurt. Either unfortunately or very, very fortunately, the general flow of the crowd was about to carry them away from the Tarkins. Morstan inclined his head and offered a farewell. Nostariel curtseyed. âA pleasure, messeres.â And then they were both away again.
âDid you get what you needed?â The elderly gentleman asked, and Nostariel bit her lip. âHonestly,â she replied, âIâm not sure.â Sheâd have to ask Amalia to watch them carefully when she passed the musicians, and probably keep an eye one them herself.
Sophia floundered as if she were in the middle of the sea and had suddenly forgotten how to swim. The idea of drowning seemed oddly appropriate as well, as seemingly everywhere she looked there were noblemen and women glancing their direction, wondering what had just transpired, and of course further adding to the mystery of this man Sophia had arrived on the arm of.
She couldn't help but feel as if the man beside her had suddenly grown much colder, and her brow creased in worry, though she attempted to hide it. That silly fluttery feeling had been suffocated by anxiety, and she suddenly found herself wishing she was wearing something else, something heavier and harder to pierce, something that covered her skin, that would let her breathe, for Andraste's sake. They were supposed to be performing a task here, after all, and here she was letting herself feel like a princess for once, hoping to be swept away to a place where everything would just be all right.
Sophia kept herself on Lucien's arm, primarily because that much at least would be expected of them, though at this point she was wary of driving him away further. He already thought he'd overstepped himself. He probably thought the Viscount would soon demand he remove himself from his daughter's company entirely. Sophia herself didn't know exactly what his reaction would be when he returned, but she was certain that she didn't want Lucien to go, in any shape or form. She wanted to go back to how things had felt at the beginning of the night.
"Lucien, this will be alright," she said, though she wondered how much the words were for herself as well. "He'll come back soon, and we'll be fine. I think he was moved, really. You haven't overstepped any--"
"Sophia!" came the pleasant greeting of Joanna Natla from directly in front of them. She was not in fact, in any form of Templar attire, but instead a modest but finely tailored red gown, with the only sign of her religious affiliation being the small Chantry amulet hung around her neck. "You look very beautiful tonight, my lady."
Sophia smiled in return, and though it felt forced she had learned quite some time ago how to make it look natural. "You as well, Joanna. Thank you so much for coming tonight. Were your parents able to make it?" They had spoken on a number of occasions, and while Sophia would not have considered herself particularly good friends with Joanna, she had certainly always been the most pleasant member of the family to speak with. Joanna nodded, turning and pointing to where her parents currently spoke with Seneschal Bran.
"Yes, they're right over there. Oh, forgive me," she said, curtsying to Lucien, "I forget myself. I am Joanna Natla, my parents are Meric and Falda Natla. We've been very excited to meet you."
It would be fine, of course, though he wasnât sure if he could agree with the rest of the statement. It was less the incident itself and more what it had reminded him of that troubled him, now, and that was something to which Sophiaâs well-meant reassurance did not apply. Still, he nodded in acknowledgement of it, still firmly refusing to allow his mood to make him unmannered. He was saved from the necessity of any further response by the appearance of an auburn-haired woman in front of them, and his decorous smile was every bit as practiced and every bit as false as Sophiaâs, though he reminded himself that this guest had done nothing to deserve it.
âThere is nothing to forgive, milady,â Lucien replied to Joanna, bowing in return, âI am Lucien, if it please you, and itâs a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I can only hope to justify the anticipation in some small measure.â He wondered if sheâd been sent to bring them within the orbit of her parents⊠it would be a bit presumptuous, considering it was Sophiaâs party to host, but not something worth comment, really. Perhaps she simply wished to speak to Sophia herself. She seemed rather genuine.
"We'd heard you ran into trouble not too long ago, on the Coast," Joanna said, returning her attention to Sophia. "I'd thought to come check on you, but my duties have kept me busy as of late." At this, Sophia seemed to remember something.
"Oh, that's right, weren't you promoted to Knight-Lieutenant recently?" At this, the woman nodded proudly. "I was. Finally got even with my brother, I'd been waiting so long to shut him up. He thinks he'll make Knight-Captain before year's end, but he's a fool, I'm afraid."
Sophia laughed softly, starting to wonder why she'd questioned their position in the first place. Joanna had never seemed even unfriendly to her, and though her parents were significantly less social, the only ambition they'd ever had had been to rise through the ranks of the Chantry and the Templar Order, not Kirkwall high society. So unless they were extremely good actors, Sophia believed she could remove them from the list.
"I believe we need to continue making the rounds, but it was wonderful to see you again, Joanna," Sophia said, and the auburn-haired woman curtsied in response, allowing them to be on their way. She whispered up into Lucien's ear as best she could. "I don't believe we've anything to fear from them."
He really didnât think so either, and said as much in a low murmur. Heâd spotted Nostariel on the arm of an older gentleman, speaking to what had to be the Tarkin twins, and Ashton appeared to be somewhat engaged with Miranda Threnhold. He wondered if theyâd had any more luck than he hand Sophia had. The conversations with the other two possible suspects had been brief, but he felt that heâd gained nothing of use from them. Jamie hadnât raised any red flags, but he was easily charismatic enough to avoid doing so if he wished. Joanna seemed even less likely to have anything against Sophia, and he had to remind himself that here, climbing in favor with the Chantry was separate from trying to garner rank in nobility. Granted, the Knight-Commanderâs level of influence on the city only grew, and it may not always be so, but for now at least it maintained some semblance of that distinction.
Nostariel was fairly certain something strange had happened when Lucien presented his gift to Sophia, but she didnât know what was going on, and thus she was helpless to do anything about it. She just had to assume that some combination of Lucienâs goodness and Sophiaâs willpower would see matters through, whatever had transpired. There was no mistaking the fact that they were an eye-catching pair, and she honestly rather hoped theyâd be so even when the night was done. Still, there was little denying that she at least wasnât having nearly as bad a time as sheâd expected to have.
They still needed to question the suspects, but⊠she smiled brightly, dipping into a curtsy. âIâd be delighted, Messere Riviera,â she responded with humor, letting him sweep her out onto the dance floor. She was getting better at this bit, she knew she was, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she sometimes practiced by herself in her room just in case. Nothing at all.
Once they were out on the floor and thus safe from most ears, she spoke in low tones. âIf you want to try following up with Miranda, Iâll see what the twins are up to. Once weâre done here, of course.â She honestly wasnât so fond of the idea of spending any time with men who looked like thugs, but sheâd stared worse than they dead in the face before. She could handle it if she had to, and she didnât want the hard bit to fall to Lucien and Sophia just now. Ash had already sort-of made inroads with Miranda, and a charming fellow was just going to do better than a small elf with a woman like that.
"Sounds like a fine plan," Ashton answered. Of course he wished he didn't have to do anything else but dance with Nostariel. However, he was brought here to do a job, and he'd see it done. He never went back on his word, as he'd revealed many times over his tenure in Kirkwall. Still, it didn't hurt to enjoy himself before he began to work. He spun around once and then brought her in close, and whispered something into her ear. "If they give you trouble, you just need to call and I'll tackle one," Pulling back with a grin on his face. And he would too.
It hadn't escaped him how stilted Lucien and Sophia had become, and he too wondered what had happened. All things considered, both of them seemed to fit each other rather well. He had a mind to ask either of them what happened when he wasn't watching when it was all done, but that was for a later time. He had a job to do right now. Another couple of turns and a dip later, the first song had ended and another was beginning. At that he let go of Nostariel and bowed low, kissing her knuckles. "Milady, I fear I must be off," he said with a flourish and turning toward Miranda.
From where they had been dancing in the middle of the clearing to Miranda, Ashton had to dodge all shapes and sizes of nobles. Once a rather homely lady had asked him to dance. In reality, she yanked his arm and dragged him back into the clearing. He didn't have much choice in the matter, and just kept his lips shut and pursed as she danced with him. He was a lot more stilted and stuffy than he had been with Nostariel, and as soon as he was able, he bolted. The thought of blending into the shadows was an appealing one, but perhaps uncalled for in this situation. Nonetheless, he finally managed to reach Miranda after a bit. However, he didn't ask her to dance, nor did he offer the first words.
Threnhold's daughter was lingering near the edge of the space cleared for dancing, almost as if daring someone to try and ask her. Her eyes flickered over Ashton as though he was little more than the puppy he'd so recently received. And perhaps fittingly, Miranda Threnhold was not a woman who enjoyed the sight of puppies. Her voice still carried a tone of disinterest when he arrived before her.
"So how much of that story was true, Messere Riviera?"
Ashton smiled and shrugged, offering a simple, "More than you'd think, less than you'd hope, I'm afraid," as answer. She was the hard to get one. Cold, intelligent, a real harpy of a woman from what Sophia had said. But she was still a woman, and though he'd been out of the game for a while now, still thought himself somewhat of a decent player. This would not be so easy with Ms. Threnhold, but then again, it would be no fun if it was. "There was an Expedition, and there was a dragon that died. Anything in between though... It was fine story, wouldn't you say?" Ashton said.
"Certainly more entertaining than the bees," Miranda admitted, "though I can't seem to shake the feeling that you prevented him from wasting my time, only so you could waste my time yourself. That was the purpose of the story, yes? To get my attention? You even had your Warden friend playing along. Do you intend to do anything with my attention, now that you have it?"
"Milady, your attention is yours to do what you will with. The fact that you're still entertaining me says that you must find something about me intriguing or curious," Ashton said beneath an implacable smile. He then he laughed and shrugged. "Perhaps that was the initial goal. Perhaps I had simply grown tired as you with the man's preaching. I will say that nearing the middle, it was just as much about fluffing my own ego. A rapt audience does strange things to a man, Milady," He said.
"So tell me, Milady. Am I wasting my time wasting yours? For if I am, I shall go scurry back into the hole I came out of," He still didn't move to ask her to dance. He had an idea of what the woman was about. She was the type who liked to feel in control. He'd give her all the control she wanted, and then some.
"For a Lowtown shopkeep, you seem to have learned to speak as the nobles do quite well," she said, eyes floating over the dance floor. "Use as many words as possible to say as little as you possibly can... but, you're one of the few people who isn't a regular guest at these sorts of things, so I'm willing to give you a chance."
Her eyes alone flicked in his direction. "It's not immediately occurring to me what I can gain from you. Enlighten me, or get on with the scurrying."
"Oh, it's in my blood, I suppose." Which it honestly might have been. Funny, he didn't think noble mannerisms were hereditary. He could feel his uncle frown at him from a thousand miles away. It was almost enough to send shivers down his back and shield his buttocks from the switch. His smile then fluttered for a moment before dropping entirely, Ashton finally taking ahold of an elusive serious air. His tone shifted from foppish to businesslike as he spoke, "I offer you an ally," He stated simply, "I believe our interests are aligned," he said, taking a quick glance in Sophia's direction.
That got a tilt of her head towards him, and she followed his gaze to the Viscount's daughter. Her voice lowered quite significantly. "It's possible that you're entirely smarter than you look," she conceded. "It's also possible that I'm not as stupid as my father was. There's a line here that is not to be crossed. Do you know where it lies?"
"I believe I do, but I have no intention of crossing it. Not yet," He replied in the same lowered tone. Now he was getting somewhere, but the game wasn't won yet. At best, she had proved herself worthy of suspicion, but otherwise nothing. "The Templar Order holds too much power and the Qunari are a blight upon our city. I offer you nothing more than my services, should you find yourself in need. I only ask that you remember me," Ashton responded.
"Perhaps we can do business after all," Miranda said, apparently pleased. It was hard to tell if it was possible for her to be pleased, but it was obvious that her disposition towards him could have been much worse. "A reckoning is coming for them, and there's little I need to do but wait. It's entirely possible that someone else will do the dirtier work in the meantime. If not, and things settle once more, then I expect we'll be in touch." Her smile was a wicked thing as she twisted away from him.
"Enjoy the rest of the evening, Messere Riviera."
Well now he felt dirty, but at least he managed to pry some information out of her. So, yeah. He considered that a win.
Nostariel laughed, clearly in good cheer despite her impending encounter with what may turn out to be the two least-pleasant individuals at this gathering. Just walking on over there probably wasnât done, however, and so she watched the nobles for a moment, making rounds as they were, and integrated herself into the pattern. It was kind of like two circles moving in opposite directions, and she tried her best to put herself on a trajectory with the Tarkins, though it was proving difficult when a few people gave her disdainful looks, taking one look at her obviously-displayed ears and assuming she didnât belong there. After the third such rebuff, she felt a hand at her elbow.
âMy Lady Warden,â a voice rasped, and it turned out to be the elderly gentleman from earlier, âIf thereâs someone you need to talk to for some reason, I would be happy to help you.â She looked at him for a moment, startled, but he simply smiled crookedly at her and stood up a little straighter, offering her his arm. Relaxing a little bit, she eased her hand onto his forearm lightly.
âPlease, serah. Itâs just Nostariel. Iâm afraid I do not know what to call you.â He dipped his head and patted her hand in a paternal manner. âA lovely name, for a lovely lass. My name is Geoffrey Morstan, and unfortunately, Iâm part of this rabble.â He waved his free hand in a truncated gesture, and she grinned. âNow, my dear, who are you really here to see? Besides your strapping lad, of course.â
Nostariel blushed slightly, the embarrassment rather conflicted with her surprise. âDonât give me that look, lass. No Warden worth her salt would spend any time here she didnât have to, and I suspect that you are more than worth yours.â The mage smiled, and shook her head. âWith compliments like that, Serah Geoffrey, I expect you must have been everyoneâs favorite nobleman once.â He was definitely her favorite nobleman now, Lucien excepted. Well, and Ash, if he counted. She didnât tend to think of him as such, though.
He laughed, and she used the opportunity to glance over at the twins, hoping heâd follow it. He did, and frowned. âBad news, Nostariel. But then, theyâre no Darkspawn, are they? Come on, then.â It was immensely reassuring to have an ally at her side, and it seemed that nobody was keen to rebuff her with Lord Morstan present. Part of her wondered who he was, to have that kind of respect. Perhaps a former Guard-Captain? He had the right kind of bearingâa soldierâs bearing, like he belonged outside with a sword and shield over his back. The two of them wound a casual circle through the crowd, eventually meandering into the place the twins occupied.
âGentlemen,â Nostariel greeted, dipping into her umpteenth curtsy of the night from her spot on Geoffreyâs arm.
The Tarkin twins immediate reaction was clearly to be confused; they had just been approached by a Hightown lord, and yet it was the elven woman on his arm that was addressing them. It was entirely unclear which one was Damian and which one was Dorian, even to someone who had known them for quite some time.
"Lord Morstan," the one on the left greeted tersely. They spared the occasional glance for Nostariel, but obviously they weren't sure why she was there. It was well known that Geoffrey Morstan was happily married and had been for many years, and it seemed very strange to them indeed for him to arrive at such an event as the birthday of the Viscount's daughter with what could only be an elven mistress on his arm.
"Something we can do for you, Lord?"
So she wouldnât have been able to get anywhere on her own, then. Well, good thing she didnât have to. Lord Morstan, apparently respected enough to at least earn himself a greeting, tucked her arm in a little closer to himself in a subtle gesture of reassurance, and made the necessary introductions. âYou know how it goes, milords.â he gestured with his free hand at the general throng behind him. âMy lady and I were hoping to catch a reprieve by speaking with someone who knew of something that wasnât what colors the Empress favored last month. And ah, forgive me. This is Captain Nostariel Turtega, of the Grey Wardens.â Nostariel smiled and dipped her head, but otherwise rectified her initial mistake by allowing her new ally to smooth the creases where necessary first. Morstan had a reputation as a practical man, and he was using it here. He also had his own business interests in the city, apparently.
âMy contacts are quite sure that the two of you are doing rather well. How do you find the climate for trade, these days? Iâm told there may be a new demand for Rivaini furs before winter sets in.â Nostariel occupied her time trying to watch the Tarkins' body language and faces for anything telltale. She honestly didn't think she was going to find it amidst nobles who wore a thousand faces for as many occasions, but one never knew.
Perhaps the most interesting reaction to be had was when Nostariel was introduced as a Captain of the Grey, and the twins shared a look. It was unclear what it implied, as indeed their faces didn't seem capable of a great deal of expression. It was quite possible that neither of them had even known elves could be Grey Wardens, or perhaps even women. Certainly not elven women, then? Regardless, they seemed to slightly change their disposition towards her, giving nods of greeting to Nostariel and introducing themselves.
"Apologies, Grey Warden," the one on the left said, as terse as before, "I am Damian Tarkin, and this is my brother Dorian. Our lord father could not be in attendance tonight, but he sent us to carry his good wishes to the lady Sophia." They seemed to have done little of that so far, but that was probably true for a majority of the nobles here.
"We've heard that ourselves," Dorian said, to Geoffrey. "Things have been busier than ever on the Docks. Our lord father has been involved in a number of recovery efforts in Ferelden. King Alistair pays handsomely for the much needed resources." And surely the handsome pay was the reason for such endeavors, though the reputation benefits of helping those in need was always a plus.
At least they were willing to talk to her, now. That was probably as much as she was going to get, and so when she saw the faintest glimmer of an opportunity, she took it. She wasnât sure thereâd ever be a better one, given their short answers and taciturn natures. âI confess to little knowledge of trade,â she said modestly, âBut if much of your business is conducted near the Docks, does the presence of the Qunari not trouble you at all? It seems like the kind of thing that would make the workers apprehensive, if nothing else, and they are not mercantile sorts, themselves.â It was the closest she could get to asking for their opinion on the current administration without it coming out of nowhere, and she didnât want to be obvious about it.
"It does," Damian conceded. "I believe everyone in this room knows that the horn heads hurt trade, and hurting trade hurts the city." Of course, it would probably hurt their family more than the city itself, given the Tarkin family reliance on trade. "Our lord father has been one of the many petitioning the Viscount to take firmer action against them," Dorian continued for his brother. "He prefers to ignore the problem, sadly."
It was certainly a potential motive, and one that most would not share to the same degree. But⊠she couldnât fault them simply for having one. Perhaps they were stoic enough to take the blows on the chin and pull through. Some people surely were. They certainly seemed to have the requisite stoniness, though that could also work to their benefit if they did want to hurt someone⊠the whole thing was making her head hurt. Either unfortunately or very, very fortunately, the general flow of the crowd was about to carry them away from the Tarkins. Morstan inclined his head and offered a farewell. Nostariel curtseyed. âA pleasure, messeres.â And then they were both away again.
âDid you get what you needed?â The elderly gentleman asked, and Nostariel bit her lip. âHonestly,â she replied, âIâm not sure.â Sheâd have to ask Amalia to watch them carefully when she passed the musicians, and probably keep an eye one them herself.
Sophia floundered as if she were in the middle of the sea and had suddenly forgotten how to swim. The idea of drowning seemed oddly appropriate as well, as seemingly everywhere she looked there were noblemen and women glancing their direction, wondering what had just transpired, and of course further adding to the mystery of this man Sophia had arrived on the arm of.
She couldn't help but feel as if the man beside her had suddenly grown much colder, and her brow creased in worry, though she attempted to hide it. That silly fluttery feeling had been suffocated by anxiety, and she suddenly found herself wishing she was wearing something else, something heavier and harder to pierce, something that covered her skin, that would let her breathe, for Andraste's sake. They were supposed to be performing a task here, after all, and here she was letting herself feel like a princess for once, hoping to be swept away to a place where everything would just be all right.
Sophia kept herself on Lucien's arm, primarily because that much at least would be expected of them, though at this point she was wary of driving him away further. He already thought he'd overstepped himself. He probably thought the Viscount would soon demand he remove himself from his daughter's company entirely. Sophia herself didn't know exactly what his reaction would be when he returned, but she was certain that she didn't want Lucien to go, in any shape or form. She wanted to go back to how things had felt at the beginning of the night.
"Lucien, this will be alright," she said, though she wondered how much the words were for herself as well. "He'll come back soon, and we'll be fine. I think he was moved, really. You haven't overstepped any--"
"Sophia!" came the pleasant greeting of Joanna Natla from directly in front of them. She was not in fact, in any form of Templar attire, but instead a modest but finely tailored red gown, with the only sign of her religious affiliation being the small Chantry amulet hung around her neck. "You look very beautiful tonight, my lady."
Sophia smiled in return, and though it felt forced she had learned quite some time ago how to make it look natural. "You as well, Joanna. Thank you so much for coming tonight. Were your parents able to make it?" They had spoken on a number of occasions, and while Sophia would not have considered herself particularly good friends with Joanna, she had certainly always been the most pleasant member of the family to speak with. Joanna nodded, turning and pointing to where her parents currently spoke with Seneschal Bran.
"Yes, they're right over there. Oh, forgive me," she said, curtsying to Lucien, "I forget myself. I am Joanna Natla, my parents are Meric and Falda Natla. We've been very excited to meet you."
It would be fine, of course, though he wasnât sure if he could agree with the rest of the statement. It was less the incident itself and more what it had reminded him of that troubled him, now, and that was something to which Sophiaâs well-meant reassurance did not apply. Still, he nodded in acknowledgement of it, still firmly refusing to allow his mood to make him unmannered. He was saved from the necessity of any further response by the appearance of an auburn-haired woman in front of them, and his decorous smile was every bit as practiced and every bit as false as Sophiaâs, though he reminded himself that this guest had done nothing to deserve it.
âThere is nothing to forgive, milady,â Lucien replied to Joanna, bowing in return, âI am Lucien, if it please you, and itâs a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I can only hope to justify the anticipation in some small measure.â He wondered if sheâd been sent to bring them within the orbit of her parents⊠it would be a bit presumptuous, considering it was Sophiaâs party to host, but not something worth comment, really. Perhaps she simply wished to speak to Sophia herself. She seemed rather genuine.
"We'd heard you ran into trouble not too long ago, on the Coast," Joanna said, returning her attention to Sophia. "I'd thought to come check on you, but my duties have kept me busy as of late." At this, Sophia seemed to remember something.
"Oh, that's right, weren't you promoted to Knight-Lieutenant recently?" At this, the woman nodded proudly. "I was. Finally got even with my brother, I'd been waiting so long to shut him up. He thinks he'll make Knight-Captain before year's end, but he's a fool, I'm afraid."
Sophia laughed softly, starting to wonder why she'd questioned their position in the first place. Joanna had never seemed even unfriendly to her, and though her parents were significantly less social, the only ambition they'd ever had had been to rise through the ranks of the Chantry and the Templar Order, not Kirkwall high society. So unless they were extremely good actors, Sophia believed she could remove them from the list.
"I believe we need to continue making the rounds, but it was wonderful to see you again, Joanna," Sophia said, and the auburn-haired woman curtsied in response, allowing them to be on their way. She whispered up into Lucien's ear as best she could. "I don't believe we've anything to fear from them."
He really didnât think so either, and said as much in a low murmur. Heâd spotted Nostariel on the arm of an older gentleman, speaking to what had to be the Tarkin twins, and Ashton appeared to be somewhat engaged with Miranda Threnhold. He wondered if theyâd had any more luck than he hand Sophia had. The conversations with the other two possible suspects had been brief, but he felt that heâd gained nothing of use from them. Jamie hadnât raised any red flags, but he was easily charismatic enough to avoid doing so if he wished. Joanna seemed even less likely to have anything against Sophia, and he had to remind himself that here, climbing in favor with the Chantry was separate from trying to garner rank in nobility. Granted, the Knight-Commanderâs level of influence on the city only grew, and it may not always be so, but for now at least it maintained some semblance of that distinction.