My Warden (COMPLETED)

The Dance

Whitley refused to leave her side. He'd managed to scrounge up three drinks from the servants, then tried to get her to consume them all at once. Either the man was truly mad or Cullen's glare withered a section of his brain. Lana paused in thought, the latter seemed likely. No matter how many times she sighed, growled, or elbowed Whitley in the stomach, he would not take a hint and leave her be while they stood in line to greet the Empress. It hadn't moved in over a half hour, but Lana was low on ideas and no one of importance wanted anything to do with her while the toad clung to her metaphorical sleeve.

"Why don't we try a dance or two, my lady?" Whitley moaned for the fifth time.

Lana shook her head, then tried to summon her own glare through his skull. She must not have the same powers as the commander because Whitley shrugged it off and snatched up another canapé off a passing tray. At least it wasn't an orange. Somehow they all mysteriously vanished from the floor. Lana kept a tight watch upon the servants not wishing to repeat her blunder, but sections of the color named fruit were nowhere in sight. Leliana's work?

The floor below them overflowed with the first round of dancers. Skirts frilled out in a defensive posture smashed into each other during turns. Men almost came to blows as a promenade turned into repeated knocks to the back of the head. One couple, so caught up in the twirling, kicked a shoe up into the air where it landed upon the chandelier and remained precariously perched. She'd almost enjoy the spectacle of nobility out playing itself if it weren't for the man clinging to her own skirt like a child the mother never cut off.

A rich voice caught Lana's attention and she turned away from the backs of the line in front of her to spy a woman reclining against the wall. No, not reclining, she leaned as if she owned the entire corner and was only allowing others to share in it. Lana slipped out of line, then turned to Whitley and ordered him to stay put. He pouted, of course, but she didn't have time for him. Rolling her piles of silk up, Lana stepped towards the most noble unnoble in the palace.

"Madam de Fer," she greeted, tipping her head in a modest bow.

"Why, Lady Amell," Vivienne smiled with that viper grin that was never honest and never a lie. "I am surprised to see you attending such a gala. I thought you wardens were more into digging in the ground and things of that nature." Her little posse chuckled from the joke, far more terrified of the First Enchanter turned apostate than some backwater slayer of an archdemon.

Lana smiled at the barb, aware how little it meant. She gestured to the same red frock that she spotted Cullen and later Dorian wearing. "I did not realize that you were working with the Inquisition."

"We all must do our part for...how did you put it? Peace. Such a delightfully quaint speech," Vivienne punctuated each sentence with a jab of a little silver fork rolled between her fingers. No one else in her group seemed to be holding one.

"I'm afraid we don't have elocution lessons in the deep roads. Darkspawn aren't known for their eloquence." A few of Vivienne's entourage chuckled at Lana's joke, but it drifted away as the First Enchanter rose from the wall to knot a hand around the interloper.

"May I ask you a personal question, Lady Amell?" Vivienne said. Her sweet mask slipped away and only the calculating general glittered on her face. Lana bobbed her head despite wanting to keep her personal secrets as far from Vivienne as possible. "Are you aware that your escort, Lord Whitley, has an almost pathetic interest in Duchess Malian?"

Lana's head twisted and she glanced back at the man she'd been trying to rid herself of for the past hour. "You do not say..."

"Oh yes, it's a terribly guarded secret. He lavishes her in flowers, sweets, formal declarations of attention. Practically drowned the poor woman in poetry once. But alas, his station is not so strong as hers." Vivienne's crafty eyes drifted to the side to meet Lana's, "If you hope to keep your most dashing escort away from her, I believe she is camped out in the humidor off the gardens."