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The human noble folk of Orlais loved to talk. Decorating the grand ballroom of Halamshiral with their colorful suits and gowns, they gossiped and whispered, still playing the elaborate Game after all was said and done. The air hummed with excitement following the Inquisition’s victory, and Aryll was certain that all the chatter was about her. Once considered a loathsome elvish savage, she was now acknowledged as the Inquisition’s capable leader. They asked her inane questions about anything, from Haven, to her Dalish heritage, to how she managed to braid her hair. Everyone needed to know about her. She would simply smile and answer, because she relished in the irony of Orlesians clamoring to speak with an elf.
From the beginning of the evening, Aryll was sure she would despise every moment, silently bitter about having to attend a party in the middle of a war, on the land of her ancestors no less. But there was a certain kind of magic about the night that left her feeling far more cheerful than she had in months. For the first time, she felt beautiful and powerful, thoroughly enjoying the fact that she had played the infamous Game and won. It was intoxicating.
The orchestra had begun playing louder and she noticed more than a few nobles try to retain their composure after imbibing numerous glasses of wine. More and more requests for a dance came her way, so much so that her feet were aching. Inquisitor Lavellan had become the most important person in Halamshiral that night, and no one wanted to be left out. She found herself sneaking around, darting behind corners before anyone else could steal her away.
She managed to escape onto a balcony, praying that no one would follow her. As much as she loved the dancing and the music, it wasn’t difficult to admit that she was exhausted. The cool night air felt wonderful after spending a few hours in the stuffy ballroom. She felt content, leaning against the balcony and smiling at the distant sound of laughter and violins.
Aryll often slipped away from camp to find a quiet spot for herself, where she would meditate to put her mind at ease. Being the Inquisitor was far from easy for a mind that thought in ‘what ifs’ and worst case scenarios. She needed the time to take a step back from the chaos, Orlesian masquerades included. Visitors to her quiet space were not unwanted, however. Sometimes there was great comfort in sharing it with a trusted companion. Especially when one of them was Solas.
If anyone knew where to find her, it was him. He was in good spirits, which was unexpected. She was convinced he wouldn’t enjoy himself at an Orlesian event and was surprised to discover how comfortable he was. Almost as if he felt right at home. There was no denying the atmosphere, as she too felt high on the delicious intrigue of the Game.
Despite the ache in her feet, she had been hoping he would dance with her, and was perhaps the only one she truly wanted to dance with. Her mouth upturned into a smile as she took his hand and let him lead. It was a slow dance, gentle, which she appreciated. She lost herself in the music, humming along to the melody that floated in from the ballroom. There were no words to be said, and frankly she was so tired she wasn’t sure if her mind was capable of creating complete sentences.
At one point she closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest, calmed by the way they slowly danced across the balcony, never noticing when the music stopped.