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Blood Promise	By : Hikari86 Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 4556 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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The Gala Corollary

Jordan was frustrated. There were many things on her mind. Many things that she could have been doing right at that moment, but unfortunately, she was unable. There was the situation with the Kirkwall killer, the mad blood mage out there abducting women and butchering them. She had wanted to go out and look for the killer, or even DuPuis, not knowing if they were on in the same, yet Aveline had forbid her from pursuing. The guard-captain had taken it upon herself to gather her guard and go searching through Darktown for DuPuis, but they had found no trace of him. He was gone, vanished, and Jordan cursed herself for letting him get away.
There was also the other situation, the one that had to do with the Qunari. Jordan couldn't let what the Arishok said go. She also wanted to understand more what the crazy elf had mentioned. They had supports, ones who helped her to steal the saar-qamek from the Quanri, even though they believed they were actually stealing gaat-lok. If Jordan couldn't investigate DuPuis and the Kirkwall killer, then she would focus on that mess. The only problem was, at the moment, her time was occupied. Apparently—more to her mother than to herself—the viscount's gala was more important.
Jordan stood in her room, staring into the mirror on her dresser. Her mother had instructed her to get ready for the gala tonight, but she wasn't exactly sure what she needed to do. Not to mention she was completely against going.
“Is this your dress?”
Jordan turned to see Isabela holding up her black dress that had been lying on her bed. The pirate held it so its full length flowed from the bed to the floor. She examined it with a keen eye, and ran the fabric across her fingers.
“It's nice.” Isabela smiled over at her.
“I suppose it is,” Jordan sighed. “My mother did spend a lot of time on it.”
“I can tell. The stitching it very well done, and I believe this fabric is from Antiva. Yet the design she chose is very Orlesian. Is this the new style that's in for the Kirkwall elite?”
“I believe, but I'm not sure. You know I don't follow fashion trends. By the way, why are you even here, Isabela?” Jordan then turned herself fully around and went over to the pirate. “Is it because you found out more about that damn relic of yours? We have to go and investigate about it, right? Tonight!”
“No, sorry,” Isabela said as she put Jordan's dress back on the bed. “Unfortunately I haven't heard very much about that relic in quite a long time. I actually came here to see if you wanted to go to another party with me. One at the Hanged Man.”
“There's something going on at the Hanged Man tonight?”
“Mm hm. I believe it has something to do with the owner's birthday, but I'm not exactly sure. Varric told me, but I wasn't paying very much attention. My head was swimming from both ale and gazing at that marvelous chest hair of his.”
“Damn it,” Jordan heaved as she went back to her mirror. “I was hoping you might have had something that would've gotten me out of going to this stupid gala.”
“Then don't go. Come with me and we'll go to the Hanged Man together.”
Jordan looked at Isabela through the mirror. The pirate was smiling sweetly at her. It was true that she would have much rather have gone to the Hanged Man than the Viscount's Keep, and hang out with her friends. Yet she had made a promise to her mother she would go. Not to mention Saemus, who this gala was for. He had wanted her to come so he would have someone to talk to. Jordan felt bad letting him down.
“I can't,” Jordan sighed, hanging her head. “This is something I need to go to, even if I'm loathing it. I would love to go to the Hanged Man, but I'm just not going to be able to.”
“Who says you can't do both?”
“Do both? Ha! For one, I have no idea how long this gala is going to be. And two, my mother isn't going to let me leave so I can attend another party.”
“What if there was an emergency?” Isabela asked innocently.
Jordan had to look at her through the mirror again, raising an eyebrow. “What are you saying?”
“I'm saying, what if I happened to show up at this gala and request you come with me to help with an urgent matter?” Isabela winked at her while she smiled.
Jordan smiled too, seeing what Isabela was getting at. “I think that might work. It would have to be convincing, though.”
“You don't have to worry about that, Jordan. I can play convincing,” Isabela smirked.
Jordan chuckled. “Just make sure it's not too outrageous. Otherwise my mother will see right through you.”
“Right, so since you do have to attend this gala, would you like for me to help you get ready?”
“No thanks,” Jordan said as she went back over to the bed. “I think I can handle it myself.”
Isabela eyed her. “Are you sure? I've never once seen you act girly ever since I met you. I really can help you. Just take off your clothes and we'll start with the dress first, hmm?”
“Yeah, like you really want to help me,” Jordan said, rolling her eyes. “You just want to see me naked.”
“And what's wrong with that?” Isabela said sensual. “It's not like I haven't—”
“Shush.” Jordan went around her and grabbed her dress from the bed. “Thank you, Isabela, but I know I can do this. And if I do need help, then I'll either get my mother or Orana.”
“Fine, have it your way, then,” Isabela pouted. “I really should go anyway. Need to get to the Hanged Man and talk with Varric about our plan for rescuing you from the nasty nobles. I'll see you tonight.” Isabela blew Jordan a kiss before she exited her room, leaving Jordan alone to deal with getting ready herself.
In truth, Jordan really could have used Isabela's help, but she was determined to do this by herself. How hard could it be, really? After all, her mother was able to get herself ready all on her own, or at least before Jordan hired Orana. The elven girl was with her now, Leandra having pretty much stolen her away from Jordan once she got over the fact Orana used to be a slave.
Jordan stared at the dress in her hands, feeling the fabric under her fingertips. It was sort of a rough lace. Soft, but also durable. It was also in one piece, which Jordan wasn't sure if it would be easier to put on or not.
Putting the dress back on her bed, Jordan went about stripping off her clothes, leaving only her smallclothes on when she was done. She then picked back up the dress and slipped it on from her feet. Being strapless, it came right to her bust and settled. Now was the hard part: lacing up the back and tightening it around the waist. As soon as Jordan began, she knew she was going to have a problem. She needed both her hands to lace up the back, yet when she reached behind herself, the dress would fall. Any other woman might have been able to use their breasts to hold the dress up, but Jordan was unable to do something like that with her small ones. Jordan blanched when she realized this, the smallness of her chest causing problems yet again, and knew she had to think of something.
At first she tried bending over, thinking her dress wouldn't fall, but it didn't work as it caused her to be unable to lace properly. Next she went over to her dresser and pressed her stomach on the wood. At first it appeared to be working, as the dress stayed up, but soon she realized another problem. Her arms could only bend so far backwards, which meant she wouldn't be able to lace all the way. She tried to reach, but it wouldn't work. Then there was the fact her dress had become lopsided, falling at an odd angle across her bosom from how it had been held by the dresser. Jordan scolded as she untied what she had just laced. This was getting her no where, and she was beginning to regret sending Isabela away. Maybe the pirate could have kept her hands to herself. Maybe.
There was a knock at her door, and a male voice said her name on the other side. Jordan fumbled, her dress sliding down, revealing her breasts. She caught it and pulled it back up again before speaking. “Yes, come in!”
Jordan had her back to the door. She turned only her head to see Anders entering her room.
“Jordan, I--” He stopped suddenly and gawked at her, his mouth falling open slightly and eyes becoming big.
Jordan quickly turned herself around, her hands holding firm to her chest to keep the dress from falling as she became aware that her entire back was exposed. “Anders! I... I wasn't expecting you.” She tried not to show her embarrassment, and cursed herself inwardly for not recognizing his voice.
“I, um...” Anders cleared his throat. “I came because I needed to speak with you about something. But it looks as if you're... busy. I can come back another time.” He went to turn around, but Jordan put up one of her hands to stop him.
“No, wait, you don't have to leave,” she said. “I'm just trying to get ready for the gala tonight. You can still talk to me.” She smiled, not really wanting him to leave. Besides, maybe he had something that would get her out of going.
“You're trying to get ready by yourself?” he asked, eying her. “Where's someone to help you?”
“Isabela was here, but I sent her away. I thought I could do it myself,” Jordan grinned. “But... maybe I was wrong.”
“Well, you're not wrong about sending Isabela away, but with something like that, you're going to need two sets of hands. Here, turn around and I'll lace you up.”
“Oh? You can do that?” Jordan turned her back to him. She could see through the mirror as he went to her and began pulling on the strings to tighten the dress and fix the ends through the holes. His fingers were very delicate and nimble, and every time one brushed her skin, it sent a little shock of electricity up her spine. “I didn't know you knew how to lace up a woman's dress.”
Anders smiled as he went about his work. “I learned from when I was in the Circle.”
“Really? Was there like a class on it or something?”
“No, it was from living in a co-ed dorm room. That's how it was in Ferelden. All the apprentices lived together, and a lot of the time, many of the girls needed help getting on their robes. I, as the gentleman I was, offered to help. I became very good at it after lacing up so many.”
Jordan chuckled, her hands still keeping their tight hold on her chest, although she was beginning to feel as Anders made his way up, that she didn't have to hold on anymore. “From what I've heard of your reputation back then, I would think you'd be more skilled at taking a girl's clothes off than putting them on.” She turned her head and winked at him.
“Oh, I was good at that too. In fact, I think it was learning how to put them on, did I eventually learn how to take them off without a girl even noticing. I was notorious.”
Jordan felt he was done, which surprised her. It had only taken him mere minutes, while it seemed as if she had been trying to lace up on her own for hours.
Anders backed away and Jordan stayed where she was as she stared at herself in the mirror. She found the dress strange, not because it was rare for her to wear one, but just by its style. If she hadn't been going to a gala, but instead going out for the day in a strapless dress, she would have been shunned and ridiculed by the nobility. Only the peasants in Lowtown wore garments that showed off skin, while everyday outfits in Hightown needed to be proper and concealing. Yet when it came to going to parties and get-togethers, one needed to stay with the latest trends in order to be accepted into high society. Otherwise, you would be shunned and ridiculed for not wearing the latest styles. It was a bothersome thing, and Jordan didn't really care too much for the games nobles played, but her mother did, and that was the whole reason why she was wearing the latest style from Val Royeaux at that very moment.
Yet the dress itself was quite stunning, but did it work on her? Jordan would say no, as she had never seen herself as beautiful or even pretty. She was just average, plain. She didn't deserve a dress like this to drape her body.
The dress was black, the color Jordan had joked about with her mother, but Leandra had gone with it anyway. The fabric was shiny, giving it a glossy shim that reminded her of onyx. But it wasn't all black. There was a white stripe made of the same glossy fabric that started on the right side of her bust and went straight across her bosom before dipping down her side. It then curved around her waist and back, ending in the long skirt, next to her right foot. The dress was tight, hugging her curves and showing her thin waist. The top of the dress was just high enough to cover her breasts, pushing them up higher than Jordan had ever seen them, and squishing them close to her chest. The tops popped out from the fabric, looking to Jordan like two small flesh drums. The back of her dress stopped just under her shoulder blades. The skirt as well reached completely to the floor, flowing from mid-hip and resembling a black waterfall. There was also a slight trail behind her, only about a foot more fabric than the front. Jordan would have to hold it up when she walked.
As she studied herself, Jordan caught a glimpse of Anders in the mirror. His face was lit, eyes roaming her body with an intensity of several emotions: intrigue, confusion, passion, lust. His mouth was slightly ajar, the skin on his face flushed, and his hands gently clinched into fists and relaxed at his sides. He didn't notice she saw him.
Jordan half-smiled at this, enjoying his reaction to seeing her like this. Maybe if he did like the dress on her, then it wasn't so bad. “So?” she said, turning to fully face him. “What do you think?”
Anders had to shake his head and squeeze his eyes shut to come out of his stupor so he could answer her. “It's uh... you look... good.”
“Oh... Just good?” Jordan pouted, but in a mocking fashion.
“I mean, it's uh...” Anders struggled, not catching on to her tone. “Good's insufficient. What's the word...? Pretty? No. Beautiful. Ah, yes! Beautiful! That's what I meant to say.” Anders stared at her, his cheeks becoming a dark red. “I think you're beautiful, Jordan.”
Jordan couldn't help but to smile. “Thanks, Anders. I don't think I've ever had someone stumble over their words before, but I don't know if I would say I'm beautiful just yet.” Jordan looked back in the mirror. “What do you think I should do with my hair? I mean, I guess I could put it up in its normal messy ponytail, but I don't think that would be good enough. What do you think about just leaving it down?”
“I...” Anders still seemed speechless as he stared at her. “I honestly don't know. I've never seen you... like this.”
Jordan played with her hair. She wasn't sure if she liked it down. The brown curtain of hair hung loosely from her head, going past her shoulders and nearly touching the top of her dress. It might work, but she knew none of the other noblewoman were going to have their hair just down plain.
“I don't even know why I'm fussing over something like this,” she said. “Like I care what they think of me.”
“Hang on,” said Anders. “I think I have an idea. Do you have a hairbrush?”
“Yeah, right here.” Jordan picked it up from her dresser and handed it to Anders. He then went behind her and started brushing. “What are you doing?” she asked, confused by his actions.
“I'm going to braid it,” he said as he began to pull her hair together, then separate it into three sections.
“What? You know how to braid too?”
“I can also apply make-up.”
Jordan laughed. “You, my mage, are full of surprises.”
“Did you think I wasn't going to try to do anything to get in the girls' good graces in the tower? I told you I was notorious. Anything I could do to help, and they loved it.”
Jordan rolled her eyes. “I guess if it works...”
When Anders was done, Jordan looked to see he had braided it into one large braid that fell between her shoulder blades. The tip just slightly past her neck. Anders then took a step back to examine her, his eyes glancing over her a few times, studying as he took everything in. She noticed they weren't looking at her the same way as they had the last time. Now Anders was studying her like he did when staring at a patient, trying to figure things out. Jordan waited patiently for him to finish, although she didn't hate having his eyes all over her, no matter how they stared.
“Something's missing,” he said slowly. “Maybe around here...” His hand went back and forth across his upper chest.
Jordan frowned at him. “I know I'm lacking boobs, Anders.”
“No! No, that's... not what I'm talking about.” His eyes widened with fear as he glanced away from her, his cheeks turning red again. Jordan found it cute. “I meant your neckline. It's all... open.” He peered at her, still appearing embarrassed. “Do you have a necklace to wear, maybe?”
“Uh...” When it came to jewelry, that was something Jordan didn't have anything of. No necklaces, no earrings, no bracelets. She didn't really see the need for them, not like with other woman who seemed drape them all over their bodies. No, jewelry was something that could get you killed, especially if it was seen by the right thief who decided by the ring you were wearing you would be his next victim. Not even her mother had any pieces of jewelry. Well, except for two. The necklace she wore everyday that was made for her by Malcolm, and the ring Carver had inherited from their father, which she only wore on special occasions. “No, I don't have anything,” Jordan said as she looked downcast. Yet there was one thing she did have, the Tevinter Chanrty amulet, but that wasn't really something she could wear in public.
“Oh...” Anders didn't act surprised by this. He probably already knew. “Well, no need to worry. I have something that might work.” Jordan cocked an eyebrow at him as he reached into his pouch and pulled out a necklace with a small black pendant hanging from a silver chain. He went again to her back, and placed it around her neck.
Jordan took the pendant between her fingers and examined it. The shape was oblong and small, no bigger than an inch, and a deep black in color. Encasing the black jewel was a curving cage of silver that ended in a dulled point. When she looked closer at the jewel, she noticed something moving inside it. A swirling liquid, hypnotizing almost as it moved even when her hand was perfectly still.
“It's beautiful,” she said, taking her eyes away from the pendant and gazing at Anders. “Where did you get it?”
Anders had moved away from her again so he could see her from afar. “It's my Grey Warden pendant. I received it after my Joining.”
“Really?” Jordan placed the pendant down on her chest and let it fall the length of its chain. The end of the pendant rested just at the top of her bosom. A perfect length. “It's beautiful.” She faced back to him. “Thank you. I'll make sure nothing happened to it, and give it back to you as soon as possible.”
“No, that's okay,” said Anders, shaking his hands slightly. “You can... keep it.”
Jordan wasn't sure she understood what he had said. “Are you sure?” she questioned. “Isn't this important to you? Doesn't it mean something?”
“It does,” he said looking away from her. “But it's something I don't really need anymore. It's not like I'm ever going back to the Wardens. I don't even think they'd take me even if I wanted to.” He looked towards the floor, his eyes sad.
Jordan absently fingered the pendant. This was obviously something special to him, even if he didn't want to say it out loud, and he was giving it to her. She wasn't exactly sure what that meant yet, but she knew she wanted to give something to him in return. “I appreciate the gift,” she said, causing him to stare back up at her and smile. “But I'm afraid I can't accept it without giving you something as well.”
“There's no need—” Anders tried to say, but Jordan wouldn't listen.
She went to walk, but not without tripping over her dress first, nearly falling over. Jordan caught herself then remembered to hold her dress before attempting to walk again. She went to her writing desk and searched through the drawers before finding what she was looking for. When she pulled it out, the amulet spun on its string before stopping in the palm of her hand, the thousand-arm sunburst showing upward.
“Here,” she said giving it to him.
“There's really no need for this,” he said, although he still accepted it from her. “I mean... you deserve what I gave you, but I don't think I've done anything to deserve this.” He opened his palm and looked down at the amulet. “Wait... is that a...? This is a Tevinter Chantry amulet.” He stared at her aghast. “Do you want me to get executed?”
“Of course not!” Jordan blurted.
“Are you sure? It's sacrilege to wear these in any land under the Divine. If I were to get caught by templars with this...”
“I think this amulet would be the least of your worries,” Jordan eyed him. “But I thought you were for mage's rights. And doesn't that represent mage freedom?”
“I... suppose.” Anders studied the amulet a little more. “Where did you get this anyway?”
“Orana gave it to me for helping her. I'm sure she doesn't know what it means here, otherwise she probably would have tried to thank me another way. I've held onto it, but I can't really do anything with it. So I thought, maybe you could.” Jordan smiled at him sweetly.
Anders couldn't help but to smile back at her. “I like it. Maybe not on the outside of my clothes—I'm not that eager to face the hangman's noose—but I appreciate the thought. I've never really thought about what life would be like in the Tevinter Chantry. In the Circle, they made it sound like the Void itself. The Black Divine, stalking Thedas, making it unsafe for kittens and virgins.”
Jordan laughed. “I guess those kittens and virgins will just have to find a nice strong mage to protect them,” she winked.
Anders laughed with her. “From what I hear about the Tevinters, that's the last thing they'd want. The virgins, anyway. I've never heard about any horrific... kitten rituals.” He then looked back at the amulet in his hand. “Thank you, Jordan. I really do appreciate it.” He then placed it in his pouch and smiled at her. His smile then started to fade. “I think, if you're all done, I should get going.”
“Hang on,” Jordan said, not liking how quickly the mood had changed. “Aren't you going to tell me why you came here in the first place?”
“Well... it's not something that needs to be discussed right away. In fact, I'm not even sure why I came here to tell you... It has something to do with what I'm involved in. Just... in the morning, come to my clinic and I'll tell you more. Not here.”
“Okay,” Jordan said confused. He was hiding something from her, but she wasn't exactly sure what, or why he would be hiding anything from her to begin with. “Wait, what about tonight? Why can't you tell me tonight at the Hanged Man?”
Now it was Anders's turn to be confused. “You're not going to the Hanged Man tonight.”
“Oh yes I am. According to Isabela there's a party going on there tonight, and she plans on freeing me somehow from this stupid gala. I have to go for a short time, for my mother's sake, but I do plan on escaping. Will you be there later? At the Hanged Man.”
“I don't know...”
“Please?” Jordan flashed her teeth.
Anders shook his head at her. “I guess.”
“Good, then I'll see you tonight.”
“Right. Now I think I really should be going before you have me do anything else for you.” He went to try and leave again.
“Hey, that was your choice. I never asked. But wait, before you go...!” Jordan raised her arms and spun once for him. “What do you think?”
Anders stopped and stared at her for a moment, that mixture of emotions back in his eyes again. “You look really wonderful, Jordan,” he finally said. “I'd have to say black is your color.”
“You really think so?”
“I really do.”
Jordan smiled and looked away, hiding her own blush. It was a first true complement she had ever received from a man, other than her father or brother. Or at least, it was the first true complement from a man she would take to heart.
***
Leandra smiled while also sighing as she stared at her daughter. She was happy to finally see Jordan looking her best, wearing an elegant gown and shining. She liked the way her hair was braided, and the way her daughter's eyes shone from the enhancement of a small amount of cosmetics she had applied to her face. Jordan really didn't need very much, but Leandra had given her a small dab to help bring out her features.
“You look so beautiful, sweetheart,” Leandra smiled, beaming as she looked her daughter over.
“Thanks, Mother,” Jordan said as she and her mother stood inside the Viscount's Keep. She was already beginning to feel awkward, standing before the stairway that would lead them to the throne room where the gala was being held. She had gotten over the fact she had to wear something like her black dress, but the shoes currently on her feet she wasn't sure if she could stand. They pinched her feet, squishing her toes together to a painful point. Jordan knew she wouldn't be able to make it through the night in them, not without her feet swimming in her own blood and losing all feeling, at least.
“Stop squirming,” Leandra said, seeing her daughter moving around. “You'll do fine.”
“I'm just... not up to this, Mother. Can't we try another night to introduce me to society?”
“Jordan, no, this is something you need to do. Besides...” Leandra stared off at the throne room. “It was at a party similar to this one where I met your father. Course it was a mascaraed instead of a gala...”
“Yes, I know,” Jordan heaved. “You've told me this story before. In fact, you've told it to me at least a hundred times.”
“I know, dear.” Leandra looked back at her daughter. “But did I ever tell you the name of the song your father and I danced together for the very first time to?”
Jordan thought, realizing out of all the details her mother had told her about the first time she had met her father, the name of the song they had danced to never came up. “No.”
“It was called il valzer nero. The Black Waltz. An old song you rarely hear anymore, due to it being out of style, but still a good one.”
Jordan had to roll her eyes at this. Of course, just as with clothes, music had to go out of style as well. “Why are you reminding me about this, Mother?” Jordan asked. “Are you trying to say something?”
“Sweetheart, I'm not saying you're going to meet your true love at this gala, or even at any other party we may go to. And I'm not trying to push you to find one either. All I'm saying is you need to at least try and connect with people. Now I know you already have some good friends, but there's nothing wrong with you befriending some more. Is it?”
“No, I guess not.” Jordan took in a deep breath as she stared straight in front of her. She still didn't feel ready, but there was no more time to prepare.
“Are you ready?” Leandra asked.
“As much as I can be,” Jordan replied.
“Alright, then let's go ahead in. And don't worry, Jordan. You'll do fine. Just... behave yourself.”
“I will, Mother.”
Leandra took the lead, holding up her own dress that was similar to Jordan's in style except the color was a light blue, and she did have straps on her shoulders with short, frilly sleeves. She could have gone with the same strapless style as her daughter, but Leandra's age made her wary about showing off too much skin. The new look from Orlais was really more for the younger crowd.
As they entered the throne room, Jordan had to stop and take a deep breath. Already she was feeling the stress of society beating down on her. She thought herself more confident and more at ease facing down a dragon, a hundred slavers, or even Fenris on one of his bad days than these social piranhas. She was nearly overwhelmed by an ocean of color. Glittery, shinny, stunning. Each gown and garment working to out due the other. Every noble wanting to show they had the most expensive. The most stylish. The most exotic. This was what they cared about the most. Not the plight of mages. Not the starving children in Darktown. Not about the father in Lowtown who had to work seven days a week in order to put food on the table. No, they were more interested in who could look the most self-centered.
Jordan peered around the room, noticing a few nobles she knew. There was the Comte De Launcet's two daughters, Fifi and Babbette. They were chatting and laughing with a few young noblemen who's faces Jordan couldn't see. She also spotted Brett and Ruxton Harimann, no doubt over their 'illness' which was the rumor going around about why the Harimanns had been so secluded of late. She didn't see Flora amongst them, but she knew the new lady of the house was there somewhere. This was the party of the year. Everyone was here. Unless, of course, you were Gascard DuPuis and running for your life in Darktown.
Jordan also noticed as she looked around that the nobles were in groups, no, a better word for it was packs. These were not people, they were wolves, teeth and claws always out, ready to sink them in to each others throats. Each pack formed a circle, mostly consisting of women and a few men. It appeared as if only the men could wonder freely from pack to pack, while if a lone woman wished to join, she would have to be very cautious, otherwise risk utter humiliation. Jordan knew she had to do something. As a lone wolf amongst several hungry packs, she was vulnerable.
She looked around for Saemus, finally spotting him in the middle of a circle of young noblewomen, each vying to grab his attention. He appeared dead within the circle, his eyes lifeless as he took a deep sigh, no doubt already tired from the constant stream of chittering coming from the young ladies. His eyes then lit up and he seemed to come back to life when he spotted Jordan, still standing by the entrance, her mother having already gone off to speak with an old friend. Without a word to the ladies, he pushed passed them, breaking the circle as he made his way over to Jordan. The women stopped their chatter and stared at him, confounded at why he would be treating them this way. When they too, spotted Jordan, their faces became hard and scowled at her. They then went back in the tight circle, facing each other and whispering, no doubt making assumptions about the new intruder. Once against each other when it came to gaining Saemus's attention, now unified due to the present threat that kept them from their goal.
“Serah Hawke,” Saemus bowed as he stood in front of Jordan. “I am so glad to see you have come.”
“Saemus,” Jordan also bowed.
Saemus extended his arm, and Jordan gladly took it as he lead her from the entrance and into the heart of the throne room. She could feel the stares, not just from the first pack of women, but also from a few others, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman who could finally gain the attention of the viscount's son.
“You know, we should be more careful,” Jordan whispered. “People might start talking.”
“Then let them talk!” Saemus laughed. “I don't care for rumors, nor do I follow them. Besides, if there is talk about you and I, then maybe that'll keep them away. And it's not like anything is between us. I mean, no offense, but you're not my type.”
Jordan smiled at him. “None taken. You're not my type, either.”
“Then there is nothing for us to worry about. We are just two friends enjoying ourselves. But please, Hawke, let us find a somewhat secluded corner and talk. If you don't mind?”
“Not at all.” In fact, it was more than Jordan could hope for. Now she didn't have to interact with people she found to be morally repulsive. Who would no doubt laugh and tease about the quality of her gown, which used to be bright and wonderful to Jordan. Now, compared to the rainbow in the room, appeared more as if her mother had picked the fabric up from the sewers, rather than the Hightown market. Even Anders's pendant, still gracing her neck, had almost lost its charm.
Saemus eventually found them a bench to sit on in a tight corner, away from the prying eyes and judging gazes. “So,” Saemus said as he smiled at her. “Can I just say how stunning you look this evening, Hawke?”
“I guess you can,” said Jordan. “I've heard it a few times, but I'm not really sure if I believe it. It's rare for me to hear such a thing.”
“I don't really see why. Even in your usual attire I see you in, you are still a beautiful woman.”
“You say.”
“I think others say similar things to you, you just either don't pick up on it, or don't want to. But I'm not here to argue with you about this. I wanted to ask you a few things, as I'm sure you already know.”
Jordan nodded, knowing exactly what it was Saemus wanted to discuss with her. He was interested in what the Arishok wanted to see her for, and also about the incident in the alley. All of Kirkwall knew about it by now, but what really wasn't known much was the truth. Despite Varric's version of the story—which was mostly true—there was another version going around that had gained popularity. It stated the Qunari had planted the barrels full of poisonous gas in the alley to prove a point. That they were here for more than just waiting for a ship to take them home.
Without Saemus having to ask, Jordan began telling him all she knew, starting with three years ago when she helped Javaris take down an entire antaam of Tal'Vashoth to appease the Arishok. It was so Javaris could trade with the Qunari the recipe for gaat-lok, but the Arishok still denied him. Jordan, however, with killing so many Tal'Vashoth, had impressed him, which was why the Arishok had called on Jordan my name. She then continued to tell Saemus about the thief and the saar-qamek, suspecting Jaravis, but finding him innocent. Then later about the incident in the alley, the true version, or at least what Jordan could remember of it. She then finished with what the Arishok had told her after the incident, that the Qunari weren't leaving until the Arishok could recover what they had lost.
“Do you know what he's talking about?” Jordan asked Saemus.
“No, I don't,” Saemus said as he stared off in the distance, deep in thought. “It does make sense though, for why the Qunari are still here. This is something you should tell my father. He must know about this so he can try and keep the peace.”
Peace was already starting to wan, and Jordan wasn't sure if this would help. “But do you know exactly why the Arishok is deciding to stay here? It's not like the city is feeding his army. They are self sustaining.”
“He is bound by honor and the Qun.” Saemus looked over at Jordan. “I'm sure if he had found a good enough reason, then he would have moved his army by now, but that is not the case. No, I believe whatever it is he is looking for, is somewhere in Kirkwall. It's just hard for him to get his hands on it because of the corruption. He sees that the city needs to be cleansed, but that is not his priority. At the moment, finding what was lost is. But with how he reacted towards you, it's beginning to look as if he may need to cleanse the city in order to find what he needs so they can go back to Par Vollen.”
Jordan sighed, not liking what she was hearing. “Do you think I should try and do something? I did ask the Arishok if he needed my help looking, but he said no.”
“As I thought he would,” Saemus nodded. “He may respect you, but you are still an outsider to the Qun, and he will not seek outside help while he still has the ability to search himself. The Arishok must maintain his honor and not stray from the Qun.”
“How do you know so much, Saemus?”
“Because I have been studying them. When I was with Asaad, he told me much about the Qun and the Qunari beliefs. They are not brutes. They prefer peace to war, but if the Qun demands, then action will be taken without question. Their beliefs, their ideals... they interest me. And are close to my own.” Saemus had started looking away from her again. Jordan could see in his eyes a desire that brewed deep in his heart. A desire that could mean trouble if Saemus should act upon it.
“Would you like something to drink, messeres?”
Saemus and Jordan were both presented a glass of wine, curtsey of a young man holding several on a balanced table. He smiled down at the two, and Jordan could feel that all too familiar tingle radiating from his pores. He was a mage, an apprentice no doubt by his youth. It was no surprise to Jordan that the servants at this gala were mages. It had become a tradition, going back way before Leandra and Malcolm had met. Most of the time it was apprentices and junior enchanters who serviced these events, serving drinks and answering to the nobles' every whim. Jordan wasn't sure if she liked the idea or not. In one way, it allowed the mages to get out of the Gallows for an evening, to see and even interact with society. But in another way, it gave the nobles an excuse to treat the mages just as the servants they were working as. Maybe even worse.
“No thank you, Serah,” Saemus said kindly. “I would prefer to keep my mind for tonight. But, of course, if you would like something, Hawke, then you may.”
The mage fixed his eyes on Jordan, a certain recognition passing through them. It was also no surprise to her that the mage might recognize her name. After all, she was infamous all over Kirkwall, including the Circle. But Jordan was certain that wasn't the reason why he was staring at her the way he was with his blue eyes.
“No thank you,” Jordan rejected with a smile. “Wine really isn't my thing.”
“Could I get you something else?” the mage asked.
“We're good.”
Saemus nodded in agreement.
The mage bowed the best he could with his table full of wine glasses before be departed. Jordan watched him for a few seconds before she stood.
“Where are you going, Hawke?” Saemus asked, standing with her and seeming confused.
“You know, Saemus, this is your party, isn't it?” Jordan smiled. “So if you didn't want to be here, I'm sure you could leave. I don't really think anyone would notice.”
“My father would,” Saemus frowned. “Are you wanting to go someplace else?”
Yes I do, actually, Jordan thought. “No, there's just something I want to check, if you don't mind.”
“Oh. Of course.” Saemus sat back on the bench. Jordan could tell he didn't like her leaving him to face the wolves that would surely pounce once they learned he was alone, but this was something Jordan had to know.
She went back into the crowd, passing the nobles as they continued to stay in their tight circles. On her way, she spotted Fifi and Babbette tormenting a young mage who had spilled some of the wine glasses he was carrying. She recognized him as Emile, the two girls' younger brother. This didn't shock Jordan to see Fifi and Babbette's treatment of their brother, but it made her furious, nevertheless. To think that might have been how she would have treated Bethany if she had gone into the Circle at a young age. It made Jordan shudder, and she had to look away when Fifi purposely made Emile trip, causing all the wine to fly from his table and splash on some unsuspecting nobles.
Jordan then found the young mage who had tried to serve her a drink only moments ago, his short blond hair giving him away. He was standing on the outside of a pack, looking nervous and even a little frightened to interrupt their chit-chat. “Excuse me,” said Jordan, getting his attention.
The mage turned away and looked relieved to see her. “Yes, messere? Did you want me to get you something now?”
“No, I'm still good. I just wanted to ask you if Bethany was here.”
“B-Bethany?”
“Yes. My sister. You do know Bethany Hawke, don't you?” Jordan raised an eyebrow. The mage was acting nervous around her. She didn't really know why, or maybe she did. Nobles were more than likely treating him horribly, but he didn't have anything to fear when it came to her.
“Y-Yes, I know Bethany,” he said, standing straight and blinking fast. He didn't seem to want to look her in the eyes.
Jordan crossed her arms and smirked at him. “You don't need to be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you, um... What's your name?”
“It's, uh, Ash. My name is Ash.” He blinked a few more times.
“Don't worry, Ash, unlike some of these nobles, I'm not going to bite your head off. Or make you trip on purpose.”
“Are you sure? That's not what Bethany told me.”
“What does that mean?” Jordan asked, trying to read him.
“Nothing,” he said quick. “But, yes, Bethany's here. I believe she's other there, next to the throne. Now if you would excuse me, messere, I need to either deliver these wine glasses, or drop them off at the kitchen before my arm falls off.”
“Of course.” Jordan let him pass as he made his way through, eying him as he went. What in Thedas could he have possibly meant by that? she pondered. A realization then hit, and Jordan's jaw dropped as she still stared at where the young mage had disappeared. “Seriously?” she said to herself. “Okay, maybe he does have a reason to fear me, then.” Jordan would let it go for now, as her main objective was finding Bethany at this point.
She went towards the throne, making her way through the throng. Jordan then finally spotted her, Bethany as she slowly made her way around. She wasn't carrying anything, having a different job to do. Her robes were also not that of a Circle mage, but what the mages usually wore when acting as servants. It made Jordan disgusted to see her sister like this. Bethany wasn't suppose to be wearing servant robes. She was suppose to be wearing lavish dresses, maybe even the one Jordan was wearing right now. Bethany wasn't suppose to be walking around, asking nobles if they needed anything. Instead, she should have been walking around and talking with them as equals. Bethany would have been better able to handle this life, better than Jordan, anyway. But instead, she was lowered, made into something Jordan couldn't wrap her mind around. It made her want to hurl.
Jordan was about ready to head to her sister when something caught her attention. She turned to see Ruxton standing in front of one of the mage servants, his face showing mischief. When Jordan saw who the mage was, she gasped. It was Sacha.
“I don't understand this,” Ruxton said to her. “Why in all this damned world would they bring the blind mage to something like this? Honestly.” He laughed, the noblewomen around him laughing as well. Sacha stood before him calm, her eyes fixed ahead of her. The table she carried was empty, her hands holding the bottom while her arms pressed the table next to her abdomen.
“I am quite capable, messere,” she said. “Is there anything you would like for me to get you?”
Ruxton smirked, that mischief glittering in his eyes. Not a good sign. “Actually, there is.” He peered at the wine glass in his hands, still full. “This wine is Maker awful. But I suppose that's because it's white. Did you know that?”
“Yes, messere, I did.”
“Ha!” Ruxton laughed. “Then I suppose if you know it's white wine, then why don't you go and get us some red wine. And make sure it's in green glasses.” He smiled wickedly at this, making the noblewomen listening in giggle.
Sacha stood her ground. “I don't believe we have any green glasses, messere.”
“Oh? And how would you know? You haven't even looked!” This caused everyone to laugh. Everyone except for Sacha and Jordan.
“We also don't have any red wine either, messere,” said Sacha, keeping her composure.
Ruxton was starting to become frustrated, seeing he wasn't getting any reaction from the mage. “Look, you stupid mage,” he said, standing right in front of her. “Look at me when I'm talking to you!”
“You're standing right in front of me, messere,” said Sacha. “I might not be looking directly at you, but I know your general direction.”
“Are you being smart with me?” he demanded.
“No, messere.”
“I think you are. Where's your templar escort? I want to report what a horrible job you're doing. Talking back to me. Not getting me what I ask for. And handing out these filthy glasses. Did you know there was a smudge on this glass?” He held it up before her. Jordan could see the crystal wine glass was pristine.
Sacha sighed, but still kept herself from showing any frustration. “If you would like, I can go get you a clean one.”
“Like you'd know the difference.” Ruxton threw the glass at her feet. Wine splashed all over the floor, staining Sacha's shoes and the bottom of her robes. The glass shattered, spreading shards all over. “Now clean that up!”
Sacha gasped from the suddenness of the event and the sharp sting from the sound of glass hitting marble.
“Did you hear me, mage? Now bend down and clean up this mess before I hurt myself on it!”
Jordan was about ready to head over and give Ruxton a piece of her mind, but she stopped herself when Bethany appeared by Sacha's side.
“Is there a problem, messere?” she asked Ruxton. She then glanced at Sacha, who in turn, glanced at her.
“And who are you?” Ruxton glared. “I didn't ask you to come over here, mage, to rescue your friend. You see what she made me do?” He pointed towards the shattered glass and spilled wine on the floor. “It's her job to clean this up, not yours.”
“Go on, Bethany, I'll be fine,” Sacha said softly to her. “I have this.”
“You shouldn't have to take this from them,” Bethany whispered. “I knew you coming was a bad idea.”
“I've been taking this from people a lot longer than you have. Believe me, I have this. Now go and see if you may be needed anywhere else.”
Bethany shook her head. “No, I can't risk you hurting yourself. At least let me help you with the broken glass.” She began to bend down to start picking up the larger pieces.
“Didn't I tell you this wasn't your job?” Ruxton glared. “Don't you dare start picking that up. Leave it to her!”
“I'm sorry, messere, for what happened. Let me at least help her with--”
“I said no!” Ruxton struck Bethany across the face, sending her cascading to the floor and landing on her side.
Jordan became blinded, the only thing she could see was her rage and Ruxton as she moved quick. She grabbed him by the collar of his red tunic and slammed his back against the wall. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” she yelled in his face.
Any mischief and cruelty in his eyes quickly disappeared when he stared into Jordan's blazing ones. “I... I...” He whimpered, no longer the tough, flamboyant nobleman. His facade melted away under Jordan's scrutiny.
“Do you really think you can strike my sister and get away with it?” Jordan growled. She hardened her eyes, forcing her forearm tight against his throat. Ruxton whimpered again. He was probably stronger than her and might have been able to push her off him, but at the moment he was jelly. His whole body shook with fright.
“That... That was your sister?” he squeaked. “I... I didn't know.”
“Don't bullshit me,” Jordan glowered, although she knew he no doubt didn't know he had just struck Bethany Hawke. But even if he did know who Bethany was, that probably still wouldn't have stopped him. Especially if he thought Jordan wasn't looking. “Is this another way you get off? Treating mages like this?”
Ruxton opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“Jordan?” Bethany had collected herself and made her way to Jordan's side. “Jordan! Let him go!”
“He hit you,” Jordan said, not taking her eyes away from Ruxton. Nor did she loosen her hold. “Don't think I'm going to let this go.” Jordan really wished she had her knife on her. Holding it to his throat would have made her feel a lot better.
“Jordan, don't do anything rash,” Bethany pleaded. “It's not that bad. This isn't the first time I've been struck.” As soon as this left her lips, Bethany regretted it.
“Not the first time, what?” Jordan turned from Ruxton and looked at Bethany horrified. “Who's been hitting you?” she demanded.
Bethany's mouth formed a small, hard line.
“Tell me, Bethany!” Jordan growled.
“This is neither the time nor the place to discuss this.” Bethany matched Jordan's glare, but not as heated.
“Let him go, Jordan,” said Sacha, who had made it to Jordan's other side. “He's not worth it.”
Jordan clenched her teeth. She turned from Bethany to Sacha, then noticed they had a considerable audience around them. Nearly half the gala was watching.
“What's going on here? Bethany? Sacha?” Jordan could see out of the corner of her eye templar armor. Turning to the source of the voice, Jordan spotted Thrask making his way through the crowd.
“Just a misunderstanding, Thrask,” said Bethany.
“Just that?” Thrask peered at Bethany before looking at Jordan and fixing his gaze on the whimpering nobleman still in her clutches. “Some misunderstanding.”
Jordan was slightly relieved to see him. At least he wouldn't punish Sacha and Bethany for what happened. Any other templar—besides maybe Cullen—would have blamed the whole situation on them.
“Thrask, please take them off the floor and listen to what they say,” said Jordan. “This isn't their fault.”
“Of course, Hawke. But, maybe you should let the boy go.”
Jordan didn't want to let Ruxton go. She wanted to keep him pinned, to make him suffer. She then noticed his pants, the crotch wet with a small stream of moister running down his leg. It make Jordan smile.
“Fine,” she said, finally letting him go. Ruxton took a deep sigh of relief as he slumped himself against the wall. “But I still think he deserves this.” Jordan struck him hard against his cheek with her fist. Ruxton's head bounced against the wall, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as he fell to the ground, unconscious. “Damn, that felt good.”
“Jordan!”
Turning, Jordan saw her mother standing amongst the crowd, her face showing utter horror as both her hands covered her mouth.
“How...?” she said softly, tears starting to flow from her eyes.
Jordan began to feel regret, not for hitting Ruxton, but for causing her mother grief. She looked around the room, seeing all eyes on her. Saemus was there now, shocked. Everyone around was gazing at her with either fear, anger or confusion. Only her mother and sister looked on at her with disappointment, while Sacha was the only one trying to hold back a grin.
“Jordan...” Slowly Leandra's hands went down from her face. “How could you?”
Jordan wasn't sure how to react, seeing the disappointment in her mother's eyes, feeling the strange gazes from all the others. She shook her head and briskly walked past Leandra, stopping only briefly next to Saemus. “I'm sorry, Saemus,” she muttered before continuing.
“Jordan, wait.” Leandra went after her, following Jordan all the way through the throne room and out the door. “Jordan, please!”
Jordan stopped, standing in the middle of the steps in front of the main entrance to the keep. She turned and stared at her mother, her anger smoldering, but calming when she saw Leandra's tear-soaked eyes.
“Jordan, sweetheart...” Leandra said soothingly.
“Mother, please,” Jordan spoke. “I can't do this. I can't stand to be around those people anymore!”
“Why did you hit that boy?”
“Because he hit Bethany first!” Jordan turned fully towards her mother and went back up the stairs to join her at the top. She stared at her mother, not understanding why she wasn't as outraged as she was.
“I didn't see that part.” Leandra's face fell, frowning. “Is Bethany all right?”
“I think. I... I don't know. She looked fine. But if you think I was just going to stand their and let that bastard harm my little sister...!” Jordan trailed off, fuming.
Leandra cringed from her daughter's anger. “I'm sorry this happened. I'm sorry Bethany was hurt, but you should have controlled yourself better, sweetheart. I know--”
“What do you know?” Jordan screamed at her. “You're trying to make me into one of them!” She gestured to the throne room.
“I am not trying to make you into anything.” Leandra stood her ground against her own daughter. “I'm trying to fit you in.”
“Well stop trying! I don't want to fit in. Especially not with a crowd like that! They hate me, and I don't care. I'm not being like that. No way, no how!” Jordan crossed her arms in front of her.
Leandra sighed and closed her eyes. “I know it's not ideal, but it's just the way things are.” She then opened her eyes and stared into her daughter's. “I know how you feel. It's the reason why I left this life to be with your father.”
Jordan's arms flopped to her side. “I only brought us to this life because I thought you wanted it back.”
“I told you, I would have been just as happy in Lowtown. As long as I'm with you, I'm happy. Now please, Jordan, let us go back in.”
“No,” Jordan said, backing away from her mother. “I'm not going back in there. I need to get away. I'm sorry, Mother.” She made her way back down the stairs, leaving Leandra standing alone and heartbroken as she watched her daughter exit the keep.

Paraphrasing from Dragon Age 2
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