I could pray and trick with a double tongue, but the only fool here's me

[stumbledfromtheashes]

WHO: Iona Lavellan, Loghain Mac Tir
WHERE: Skyhold? Then onto the Winter Palace
WHEN: Before, during, and after Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts?
WARNINGS: TBD
NOTES: TBD


Why does it have to be politics? Give her a dragon, or red templars, or BOTH. Andraste’s tits, give her both. They, at least, would be something familiar. Less difficult to manage. She doesn’t have the temper for politics. Or the mouth. Particularly for Orlais; given the state of human-elvhen affairs there it’s going to be an exercise in biting her tongue the entire time. And probably failing to some degree. This is going to be a disaster, Iona knows it.

But it’s necessary, so she resigns herself to dressing to impress (not that anyone will be; she's 'just an elf', after all), and does her best to ready herself for the trial to come. And it’s going to be a trial. At least she’s not alone. She has her advisors, and she has her companions. She would be lost without Josephine and Leliana and Cullen.

The fact of the matter is that she’s going to be on uneven footing the entire bloody evening. In a palace full of humans who don’t think much of her people. And maybe that’s why a thought occurs to her. A thought that she’s sure Josephine and... everyone, will disapprove of thoroughly, but she doesn’t much care. There's no way to avoid the attention, to avoid the disparaging looks and being looked down upon. She might as well choose it. Make it on her terms. At least some of it.

So she seeks out Loghain.

Comments

[ofriverdane]

There's a certain irony in even just the thought of bringing the Hero of River Dane to the Winter Palace in an effort to save the Empress of Orlais. Everyone will disapprove, even Loghain to some degree. He has no love at all for the Empress or Orlais, not after what he's seen in his life or learned, but even he would not be able to deny that Thedas needs to fight the chaos that Corypheus keeps trying to bring up.

For now, though, the Inquisitor will find him fairly easily. Her contacts are good, after all, and he's not exactly hiding any longer. So she'll find him likely busy working on trying to reunite the wardens and figure out where in the Maker's name the Hero of Ferelden ran off to.

[stumbledfromtheashes]

It will be Loghain’s choice, of course. She would sooner cut off her hand than force anyone to do anything against their will. But if it will make the breathtaking level of discomfort that this whole event will bring something of her choice, if it will maybe aid in taking eyes off of her long enough for her to do what she needs to, she will suggest it.

It’s easy to find him; and it’s easier still to find her way there. She’s waiting for him, leaning against the wall in the room he’s claimed as an office, all but materializing there unseen by servants and Wardens alike. “I brought you a few maps,” she says by way of greeting, as well as announcing her presence. One or two are maps she’s discovered pouring through Skyhold’s library, a handful more are one’s she’s discovered in her travels, and three are maps from clan Lavellan, carefully transcribed and copied for this purpose.

“And an invitation.”

[ofriverdane]

Not for the first time does Loghain imagine that he's too easily plied, too easily won over. Not that winning him over means all anyone has to do is bring him maps, but it never hurts and often strengthens existing friendships. Lavellan has the right idea in bringing him maps now to help ease a particularly difficult question.

Not that Loghain knows what's coming, but even he can smell a trap coming.

"What sort of party is it you're attending this time, Lavellan?" he drawls, as though he really doesn't want to have anything to do with her or her Inquisition. Really, if that were true, he wouldn't even bother asking. He'd just show her the door and ask her to leave. The fact that he's giving her the time of day and even entertaining the idea of going to whatever party this is says a great deal.

[stumbledfromtheashes]

She’ll be pleased to learn that her estimation of him was correct; that she chose correctly in her gifts for him. He’s never said anything outright, after all. But it makes sense, given what she knows of him. And it’s less easing a particularly difficult question and more an apology gift. Well, some of the maps are. The rest are simply gifts for a fellow soldier.

“An Orlesian one.” There’s a wry twist to her lips on the word Orlesian, not quite smirk, not quite smile; it’s mostly just tired, and indicates just how much she’s not looking forward to this endeavour. More than she means it to. “An Orlesian costume party, to be precise.” How many colourful terms will she be called, or hear the phrase ‘for an elf’ she wonders absently.

Perhaps she will keep a tally. In between working to ferret out the assassin hiding among the guests.

“During my... brief sojourn into the future I learned of an assassination attempt on Empress Celene’s life.” That whole affair still haunts her dreams, sometimes. Varric. Solas. Blackwall. All infected with red lyrium. Dying. Leliana. Tortured. Experimented on. And then sacrificing themselves to buy her and Dorian enough time to get back. Dying for them. “We’re preventing it from happening.”

Determination, as though she can prevent it through sheer force of will, laces every word. And maybe she can. Maybe she will. That is a future she refuses to let happen.

[ofriverdane]

As soon as Lavellan mentions that it's an Orlesian party she wants to take him to, Loghain's expression sours considerably. Granted, he's been running around with a bunch of Orlesians in the Wardens, but that hardly means he likes them as a whole. He may have mistaken some of the Wardens and branded them unfairly, but his estimation and experiences are too strong and bitter for him to ever change his opinion of Orlesians as a whole. He'd had enough of them during the Occupation.

The look on her face helps soften the blow somewhat. Silently she tells him that her opinion of the entire endeavor is about equal with his. Still, his frown doesn't much relax. "Is it your aim to insult or amuse?" he wonders with a somewhat gravelly voice, tone echoing the scowl on his face. Whether he means him or the Orlesians is up for debate.

He does, at least, give her enough respect to let her continue. Fortunately, she had not come from Orlais herself, like another unmentionable elf had. No bard stands before him now. Just a simple woman whose way of life had forever been altered. What a familiar refrain that was.

"Why? he asks, bitterness lacing every word. "Do you even know what you're asking?"

She does, he suspects, but he has never been one to hold his tongue, especially when he feels as though someone else is punching unfairly first.

[stumbledfromtheashes]

It's one of the things she likes best about him. He doesn’t hold his tongue, and doesn’t expect it of her, either. Which is good, because it wouldn’t happen. For a moment, despite herself, there’s no hiding just how exhausted she is, how little she’s been sleeping and just how much of a toll has been taken. “I do,” she tells him. “And I hate myself for the asking. But I’ve seen exactly what the future holds if Corypheus succeeds in this. Lived in it, even for a short while.” Her lilac eyes are haunted, as she gazes up at him.

“There’s no way for me to avoid the condescension, the derision, on top of having every bloody eye on me. Of playing a game I don’t have the time for.” She hates this. She hates all of it. Hates the politics and the Game and the fact that she’s even considering using Loghain. Not without his permission, without his agreeing to it. But it’s still using him. No matter how tactically advantageous it might be. She owes him so much more than maps. “So if I can do something to even the footing a little, to irritate and distract the Orlesians a bit so I can do what it is I have to… I will ask.”

She’s not bothering trying to pretend, to pretty up her tone or sugarcoat things. Not with him. She’s exhausted, and angry, and frustrated. She closes her eyes for a moment, exhaling raggedly. “It’s your choice. I would sooner cut off my own hand than force you to parade yourself in front of your enemies.” And she means every bloody word. Although she hadn’t intended to voice her unspoken thoughts aloud to him.

[ofriverdane]

He watches her as she speaks, taking in her reactions and how she says her words with her voice and her body. Loghain might never have been a diplomat as such, but he is good at reading intentions, at figuring people out. He can usually read a threat in a room full of nobles with ease. Lavellan is... similar and yet different to his expectations and understanding, but all the same he can read her sincerity.

Her feelings on the Orlesian Game are shared by him and he silently passes her a look that says how much he hates it to. The expression in his eyes does not last long, but it is strong and powerful all the same. Neither of them has the patience or the time to play it and yet one of them must. That much he can understand. She has also proven to be a valuable ally and even something coming close to a friend. Not quiet, but far more than Surana ever would be. Closer to Hawke.

Loghain tilts his head, eyeing her for a moment longer than her speech before he answers. Drawing it out as though he might draw out something more of her thoughts. "So you need me to gather the attention of every Orlesian who knows more than the tiniest hint of history in order for you to... save the life of the Empress." He actually huffs out something of a laugh at that, derisive to be sure, but a laugh all the same. "The Maker's sense of humor is ruthless."

First he becomes a Grey Warden after devastating their ranks in one of the biggest mistakes of his life, then he gets assigned to the Orlesian wardens, and now he's being asked to save the Orlesian Empress' life. How very ironic indeed for the Hero of River Dane.

"But if it will help stall Corypheus... then you have my aid. Don't expect me to play the Game. I hate Orlesian politics." Meaning he will help her as he can, but he draws the line at playing along with their masks and secrets game. He does not hold his tongue, even now, and that will likely stir the court just as much as the elven Inquisitor.

[stumbledfromtheashes]

Iona bears his contemplation with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and faint flicker of amusement. “Well, when you put it that way it doesn’t sound difficult at all,” she retorts softly, a tired attempt at humour filling her voice. “Don’t look at me, he’s your Maker.

That earns him a laugh. “I would never ask such a thing. It’s bad enough that I’ll be forced to attempt it. And I’m sure they’ll just love an elf parading around daring to be more than a servant. But at least it won’t be the only thing needling and irritating them all evening.”

Thank the Creators. And the Maker. And Andraste herself.

[ofriverdane]

It'll be fine. The palace might end up burning down around them, but it'll be fine.

"As long as you don't expect that, then you have yourself an ally." All she really needs to do is let him know when to start pulling the attention of the masses, though if he goes around in his Warden armor instead of whatever fancy wear Leliana and Josephine will have them in, she might not have a choice in when the court takes note of him.

"Although, if I start hearing certain names flowing around, I will not be held responsible for what happens to the patrons."

In other words, if someone calls her "knife-ear," he reserves the right to punch their face in and make the court even more of a mess about him.