fringe benefits

attire (in black, sans jewelry) & vitaar design

The Huntress had found herself opposed to this event. It was frivolous, a waste of resources. While she cared not how another nation wasted it's own, she did care that it would be a drain on Arlathan. Such a fledgling place still needed attention and consideration. And waste like this? She despised the notion. It went against everything she knew and believed and despite some of the company trying to explain it on their journey... well, she'd not budged on her thoughts. She'd, of course, not truly swayed anyone to her own side on the matter either - at least not so far as she could tell.

Seeing everything upon their arrival did little to assuage her concerns. There is no point to this, she'd murmured, almost immediately, to anyone that might listen. Someone had muttered back a reminder she didn't have to come. Only to which The Huntress had shot them a sneer from beneath her finely painted Vitaar. Of course she'd needed to come, Vela was present. No more need be said on the matter.

But attending came at a price, as well. The garb she wore was not her typical choice. While the dark fabric was practical enough, it still felt overtly fancy. And that, in and of itself, was something The Huntress detested. It also meant more Vitaar had needed to be made. While she could not share what she wore upon her body with the others, she'd painted her arms, legs, and ensured her exposed chest was painted as well. All blacks and whites, far unlike her typical style. And all were in a tree motif others had aided her with. Her hair remained coated in it's typical blue, however.

The Huntress watched as many dispersed, keen eyes following members of the Arlathan group around the palace, but always returning to Vela. When it was clear, however, she was not to be at the woman's side, The Huntress moved off just a bit. Arms folded as she stood on the outskirts, observing.

Outfit

Vela could understand why Huntress was opposed to such an event, but she also understood why the King might want to throw such a public soirée. It was a chance to publicly make a statement, to show unity and strength, to show his power and influence to anyone that would attend. It wasn’t really about love - of that Vela was sure, and she’d paint herself green and call herself a sylvan if she were wrong. Marriages between royalty and leaders was never about love, only about how powerful it could make either one. She wasn’t entirely sure what it did for the King, or even what it did for Frankie and his family. She could only hope that it helped their situation, and was not some play the Crows had cooked up to sink their talons deeper into the royal family.

What ever the real reason was, it provided Arlathan with an opportunity - to show their face, to get a measure of the challenges they might face with other Kingdoms, to gain knowledge and secrets that could be used to their advantage (bless Leliana and her spy-master ways). She didn’t mind that Huntress didn’t quite get it, Vela was just happy she’d decided to come along. Knowing the other elvhen woman was there to watch her back gave her confidence, especially with her suspicion that something was going to knock this party sideways. The last public party thrown by someone in power was promptly overrun with darkspawn, so Vela wasn’t holding her breath.

Once her companions had settled they eventually broke off, and Vela wandered for a time, making eye contact with nobles in a way she hoped made them uncomfortable. She would offer them a smile, a flash of a pointed tooth, and then brush by unless any of them deigned to approach her and start conversation. She wished to find the King, however after a while of not seeing him she circled back to where she’d last seen her companions, and then wandered over to Tress when she spotted her.

If it’s any consolation, she said with a smile, the skirt of her robe sweeping the floor behind her, the threads of silver woven into the fabric twinkling in the mage-light. you look beautifully terrifying. If we achieve anything tonight it will be to make anyone think twice before toeing Arlathan’s borders. And if that was all they achieved, then Vela would be happy.

attire (in black, sans jewelry) & vitaar design

It hadn't been long before The Huntress found her attention drifting away from Vela. If only briefly, she'd found someone she didn't recognize to track. Something about the way they moved about the gathering unsettled her, but she couldn't place why. At least not without potentially following them. But that would be too far for her to go. Taking her eyes off her company for a brief period was not at all the same as simply walking off. And she didn't have Asala present to request to guard. The Huntress wasn't exactly keen on the current situation change with her beloved companion, after all, and had thought it best to leave the panther at home in Arlathan.

To her credit, she managed to avoid flinching when Vela appeared beside her, speaking. She arched a brow under her painted skin. If that were your goal, kadan, we should not have dressed as such. As if The Huntress would have gone any less drastic in her vitaar choice if they'd shown up in armor over finery. Armor would have given a stronger impression, she added, dropping her arms to her hips.

I do not like the masks, she remarked after a brief silence. They hide too much. And remind me too much of Orlais. A slight sneer at the thought flashed across her lips.

Although Vela was quite used to her friend being blunt, she couldn't quite hide the shift in her features at the use of kadan. It was a word that had been explained to her by Iron Bull when she'd once talked to him about the Qun and the language. She'd been asking about equivalent words and offering him the dalish variation in return for the Qunlat translation. Vhenan had been one of the words she'd asked about, of course, because she'd used it so often with Solas. The memory made her heart constrict a little and so she looked away, back out into the crowd.

The pain of seeing Solas ripped apart by his own magic had dulled somewhat, though she didn't think it would ever truly leave. She'd clung to the hope that she could change his mind for so long that it had felt like falling from a cliff face at the realisation that she had failed, and like being plunged into deep, cold, black water the moment she'd watched it kill him. As it turned out, the world hadn't imploded even if it had changed drastically. She'd like to think he would be proud of what she had achieved with Arlathan, and there would always be a part of her that would mourn the fact she could not share it with him.

She didn't know how to feel about someone feeling such a way about her, especially when her own were muddled. Vela and The Huntress had become close, and the other woman had seen her and helped her through her lowest point. Honestly, sometimes Vela was surprised Huntress had even wanted to stick around as long as she had.

Yes, well, she said, clearing her throat and blinking past the tangled knot of feelings that had unintentionally risen to the surface. perhaps not as intimidating as we could be, but I still think we put on a good show. She brushed her hand against the light chainmail that she'd incorporated into ceremonial robes. I'm not one to trust big gatherings anymore.

A small smile flickered across her lips at The Huntress's sneer, and Vela inclined her head, still slightly distracted by her thoughts. Neither do I, it was why she'd refused to wear one, opting instead for a circlet that framed her angular features. Of all the places I visited as Inquisitor, the Winter Palace Ball was by far my least favourite. And I've been to the Fallow Mire." Give her rain and mud and corpses over Orlesian gurn-shit any day.

The sudden shift in Vela's demeanour did not go unnoticed by The Huntress, but as she did not fully understand it, she did not question it. Merely chalking it up to their present situation. Anything could shift the mood in a place like this. The last thing she'd ever consider, at this point, would that it was something she had said. As much as she'd seen Vela through, as much as Vela had endured as she continued to unlearn the Qun... the last thing she'd do was consider herself the reason.

The Huntress pursed her lips, turning suddenly to her friend. You trusted a large gathering? The question held a little bit of judgment behind it. But her life in the Qun had given her a different perspective on life. One that she often forgot that others did not have. They were not so practical and logical as the Qunari were. The Qun made sense. Humans... elves... dwarves... they did not. But she was trying to make sense of the world she lived in now... it was merely a slow process.

The Fallow Mire? she echoed. I have heard this name. She paused, then added: Tell me about it. Perhaps relaying information about the place - a mundane task in and of itself, as far as The Huntress was concerned - would set Vela back at ease. Or, at least, that was her vain hope. It left her unsettled to see her friend put off by, well, anything. It was not something she felt the woman deserved after all she'd been through and seen.

"You trusted a large gathering?" Vela gave a soft laugh, not at all offended by the tint of judgment in the tone. Honestly, sometimes she couldn't believe how young and naive she had once been. Being a part of the Inquisition had opened her eyes in that respect, she supposed. A long, long time ago, she admitted with an almost wistful tone. before my involvement with the Inquisition. Most of the gatherings I experienced before then were just me and my people; my clan, and other clans. Those never ended in bloodshed. Or political ruin. They were simpler times. Happier times, in a way, though if she really thought about it she wouldn't change what had happened to her no matter how many moments she caught herself missing how her life used to be. The position she held now was too important for the elves, a dawning of a new age for them and she couldn't abandon that. Abandon them.

Blue eyes moved from the crowd to rest back at Huntress, her stance and features relaxing more as their conversation continued. Wet, miserable. About as rainy as the Storm Coast. We found that a plague had once swept the land, driving the people from their homes and killing the rest, but anyone who dies there doesn't seem to stay dead. Something in the water or perhaps it was a place where the veil was thin, but it was entirely too full of animated corpses for my liking. She wrinkled her nose at the memory of the place. The constant feel of wet clothes against one's skin and the stench of mud and rot. Still better than Orlesian politics, she conceded seriously. 

And you? she asked with a curious glance. What places have you seen that have stuck in your memory, good or bad? 

The Huntress listened, nodding slightly. It seemed some elves were not so impractical as humans - shemlen as she'd since learned they were called. Bas to her, and far more to her preference. She let out a curt laugh. Perhaps not all elves are bas after all.

Soon enough, Vela began to answer the question posed about the Fallow Mire. It certainly sounded unpleasant. The initial description, though, jogged distant memories of Seheron. Her  mouth opened and closed a couple times. She'd not had anything pry open her memory in quite some time. And so simple a thing to do it, too.

She suddenly realized she'd gone quiet, not processing that Vela had asked a question. I... She shook her head, pressing one hand to her temple. Shok ebasit hissra. Shok ebasit hissra. Shok ebasit hissra. The Huntress muttered her repeated words. Struggle is an illusion. The opening of a prayer she knew well. One more breath and she turned back to Vela.

Latost, she requested, then paused. Taking a moment to translate in her head, she tried again: Repeat... please. She'd missed what Vela had said... asked?

"Perhaps not all elves are bas after all." Vela huffed a laugh and tilted her head. Kind of you to say so. She was not offended by Huntress. Though not privy to the finer details, she knew where Tress came from and a little of what she had been through. Vela had never pushed to know any more details than what Tress had been willing to give and only guided the woman to information relating to her heritage when it was relevant and wanted. She was just happy that despite the other woman's 're-education' she was willing to listen. And Vela, in turn, accepted their views would not always align. It didn't matter to her. There was a deep respect between them and that was all that mattered.

Half way through describing the Fallow Mire she began to notice the far-away look in Huntress' eyes. She had hoped her question would bring her back but it seemed something had gripped the other woman, and while her brows tilted in concern she waited patiently for Tress to regain herself. It took a moment but there was no need for Vela to rush her friend, and she offered a small smile and a nod, her eyes carefully regarding the other elf to make sure she was okay.

I asked if there was anywhere you have traveled that sticks in your mind? Perhaps somewhere you would visit again? Vela had traveled to many places during her time with the Inquisition, but she was sure Tress had been to many more with her line of work. There had been a time where Vela had dreamed of traveling, seeing the world and collecting lost lore for the elves. Impossible now there was Arlathan to look after, but Arlathan was worth sticking around for, in her opinion. 

Vela did not judge The Huntress for her small lapse, and of that, she felt a small swell of emotion. Pleased, grateful. But also some shame. She should be called out for such a thing. Reminded of her place and where she was. Somewhere like this, one slip like this could leave her missing terrible trouble.

Blessedly, there was none. Rather, Vela had asked her question again, and the world carried on around them as if nothing were wrong.

Par Vollen. Her answer was swift, and without hesitation. I went only once, she added after a pause. And it is impossible to see again. I stripped myself of that right. It stung slightly, but even the one time she went was a rarity. As I was Antaam, I'd no need to be in our greatest city. My purpose lay in Seheron. She'd added, in case the question arose as to why she only visited one time. And that it was not only because she was Tal-Vashoth could she not return.

Seheron or Par Vollen, she did miss them. A part of her would always miss them. The south was not her homeland. Even before her re-education, she'd been born and raised in Seheron. A Fog Warrior, she'd since learned.

Perhaps when we return to Arlathan, I can tell you more. I fear further distraction should I get lost again and I cannot allow that weakness.

In a different situation perhaps Vela would have intervened; placed a hand on her shoulder or called her name. Perhaps it was naïve of her to think they were in relative safety here, but she saw no reason to call attention to it. While she waited, her eyes glanced around them, just in case. To anyone watching it would hopefully just look like a natural break in conversation.

Vela's eyes dipped sadly at Tress' answer. She knew well the feeling of not being able to return home, though her situation was different. While her clan was gone and she had been forced to build herself a new home, a new family, at least she was in familiar territory. Not impossible, she said with some conviction. Huntress had moved on from that life and hopefully, one day, she'd feel able in herself to return.

She wished to say more but the conversation moved on. Vela simply smiled and nodded her head. I would like that. And I can tell you more about the Fallow Mire and how one time Dorian got sucked into a bog. He complained about the smell for days. 

[fin]