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WHO: Romain de Coucy and Benevenuta Thevenet
WHAT: Postgame breakdown for a soft power assignment in Hightown
WHEN: Some night in early Guardian
WHERE: Hightown
NOTES: No warnings other than their entire respective personalities.

The evening had gone reasonably well, all things considered. While Romain remains technically unaffiliated, he views his occasional pointed appearance at selected Hightown functions as a reasonable price to pay for the ability to stay apprised of Riftwatch's activities. It is only reasonable that an actual member of the organization accompany him to such evenings. And if Benevenuta Thevenet was not his very first choice, she was easily in the top ten. They have collaborated on enough minor matters that he entered the evening confident she could handle herself.

All of that said, he waits until they'd both been bundled into the carriage and are well away from their host's door before he says, "If you had deigned to warn me ahead of time, we could have coordinated." The note of irritation in his voice is mild; it isn't the future of the rumor that he'd taken a much younger, Nevarran lover that grates, but the barest breath of a pause when he'd noticed what she was doing and adjusted accordingly.

(It's almost certain that no one at the party had noticed that pause. He can name three or four Orlesian nobles who could have, if they'd been present.)

It's too late to put her on a ferry, so they'd already planned for her to overnight in a guest room at his home. He'd wondered, earlier that evening, which part of her plan had come first.

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“Forgive me,” she says—it could be described as demurely, but there's nothing much apologetic about her in the process, looking back to him with a faint smile from where she's been studying the roads outside the window. “I find myself often curious to see a man maneuver swiftly on his feet—and how nimble you have remained, my lord Duke.”

The way her eyes widen with all appearances of flirtatious sincerity is not without its charm, although there's a sly something about it; she doesn't expect him to fall for that alone.

"You needn't patronize me. I am already subsidizing Riftwatch," he observes, dry. They roll on past another house or two before he adds, "Your stage management is very neat, but I don't know who you were playing to impress. No one at that party was in shouting distance of your league. It's like playing a violin sonata for puppies. They aren't annoyed, no, but you could play the simplest folk song and achieve precisely the same effect."

Not a very charitable view of Kirkwall's upper crust, but they're unlikely to be overheard here. He sees no reason to temper his opinion.

Benevenuta feigns astonishment at his assertion he doesn't know, though not nearly as skillfully as he's already established she might; a transparent play-act, as warm as the silver-threaded grey gown she wears is cool. She is, as ever, a monochromatic lit flame.

A violin sonata for puppies. She will remember that, she decides, pleased.

“I may risk patronizing you further,” she suggests, “but I daresay that you might yet think of whose attention I was enjoying, of our evening.”

"Truly, I'd have assumed you were your own audience first. My influence in Kirkwall is limited compared to what I wield at home. Even there I am rebuilding my capital after a large expenditure. And," he adds, arch, "you don't strike me as a woman who requires praise as its own reward." He is fairly confident she knows her value precisely, without waiting on any external appraisal.

(The mask makes it hard to be certain, but she does at least seem to have captured his full attention.)

“Then I must not strike you, either, as a woman so short-sighted as to limit her concerns to how you have or have not charmed Hightown society,” she proposes, and the lack of a mask doesn't make her any easier to read.

But she has not looked away since she looked back to him, and seems as if she could hold his gaze indefinitely if it suited her to.

Magnanimously, “We may coordinate now, if it pleases you to.”

It's unlikely he needs the mask to be comfortable holding her gaze, though he's hardly been without one long enough for anyone in Kirkwall to gather evidence for a guess.

"Ah, so this was an opening gambit, then." It had felt like it, but he was generally disinclined to assume, especially with non-Orlesians. "What is it you want, Lady Thevenet? We could continue to dance, as you do it very prettily. But if we are to coordinate, as you suggest, that strikes me as a reasonable place to begin."

“I'd like to propose an alliance,” she says, warmly, which is slightly more on the side of dancing with him than it is telling him frankly what she wants. But: “I think that we could be very beneficial to one another, your grace. The Gallows does not altogether suit me as a residence in the absence of my dear friend—he is recently departed to further our work—and the coin of my lord father's influence and indeed his estate is, while readily at my disposal, not at the moment readily to hand.”

In the literal and figurative senses. Benevenuta isn't broke, exactly, in the way that nobility is never really broke, exactly,

but it would be very convenient if the coffers she was spending out of didn't lie behind another nation's borders. He has such a beautiful house and all this money and no small amount of experience in Orlais' grand game and the only beautiful young woman he's spending any of it on is his granddaughter. What a waste.

“I believe that you've found me to be an able partner where circumstance has dictated it; I believe you would not be disappointed in the slightest did we make a more personal arrangement between us two.”

She flicks her hair over her shoulder, which has the not unintended side-effect of exposing how far down her dress is cut.

It's certainly a step toward frankness, if not as frank as it could be. "I confess," he says, after a weighted pause, "among the reasons I thought such a rumor might be useful to you, it did not occur to me that it was a serious offer." At least not one addressed to him.

"I have three very healthy grandchildren," he says, after another pause, and he's every faith she will hear an opening of negotiations for what it is. It isn't a yes, but it isn't a no, either.

“Young Mistress Baudin, and of course your boys—Thomas,” the heir, “and Raoul.”

A scandal on a long leash, and two adolescents—old enough to potentially complicate this by having opinions about it, young enough yet that she might be able to influence the sort of men that they grow into being. Naturally she has done her homework before coming to him with this.

She gestures, languid, toward the staff propped in the corner of the carriage. “I, myself, have a mage's staff. It presently disqualifies me from more formal arrangements, and safely guarantees your heirs no competition.” On the off-chance that Romain Charnier can still produce sons, were they Benevenuta's they would have no more claim to his fortunes than Bellerose does now. “A playing field that, perhaps, will allow a greater warmth between us all.”

It's fantastic that he has his current heir's son so close to hand. Benevenuta can think of much worse things than the opportunity to guide a future Orlesian Duke's ascent.

Edited 2021-03-03 09:30 (UTC)

"You are dangerous," he comments, mostly an offhand remark while he thinks, though it isn't as if he doesn't mean it. He would not have chosen to have so much of his family so long out of Orlais. (Aurèle writes dutifully and has competently kept the lands intact, but is socially a nonpresence.) But the war has dragged on, and he can likely do more immediate good in Kirkwall, even if Gwenaëlle doesn't strictly need him so close. Perhaps he, too, should start thinking of resources to hand, when he isn't sure how long it will be until it's suitable to be based principally at home again.

His eyes linger on the staff a moment, but it doesn't draw a comment; if Romain has any thoughts in particular about mages, they are certainly not known to anyone in Kirkwall and he seems disinclined to change that. Instead, they move back to her, assessing. "So. What would your expectations be in such an arrangement? An allowance? A certain number of social engagements per month to suit your ends, in addition to the ones I attend for my own?"

“Oh, that I think must needs be an ongoing negotiation,” she says, of the last suggestion; by no means is she risking finding herself caught out when she needs him for something only to be reminded that he has fulfilled his agreed upon obligation and has decided to throw his lordly weight around about it. “But a—stipend seems appropriate, don't you think, and of course your home is in need of a hostess.”

He is welcome to pretend that it has one in his granddaughter, but Benevenuta has been with the Inquisition since before Gwenaëlle's first arrival in Skyhold and she didn't broach this subject oblivious to the players involved.

“I would expect a certain amount of your support, where appropriate, of course. But I am prepared to argue my case, where our definitions of appropriate diverge.”

"Yes, I expect you are." He doubts he'll often catch her unprepared in any context whatsoever, which is something of a mixed blessing. He's in no hurry to speak before he's ready, but he doesn't give the impression of making her wait for effect; he's considering the offer from a variety of angles, and he has no doubt she can be patient.

Finally, he says, "It is easy, almost to the point of cliche, for a younger woman to make an older man look the fool, in this sort of arrangement. A variety of rumors that he's feeling his mortality, or that he imagines his charms to be greater than they are. I am the force that is keeping my family's power what it is, for now, and not all of that has to do with my physical health." All of which she presumably knows, and so: "The same facility that makes you a potentially able partner makes you a potentially difficult opponent. In my place, would you take such a risk?"

“Let me pose to you the same question another way,” she suggests. “Say that I am dangerous, as you have done,” lightly, “and I have come to you with my hands open to propose this between us, and you are considering it. Am I less dangerous, outside of your home and influence? Or are there benefits beyond the obvious to having me beneath your gaze.”

'Gaze'.

There is something of a challenge in that, and it isn't all flirt. Look at me go. Can you still keep up?

It gets a chuckle out of him. "A very neat threat, and one I'm sure isn't empty. It is a reasonable point. I suppose let me put it another way, then. What does the reality gain you that the appearance does not? If you are to live in my home and we are to appear entwined at social functions, this is one thing. I would prefer to be a respected partner than a flattered provider of resources to be gotten around. Making the affair a reality, rather than an appearance, seems to veer dangerously close to positioning me as the latter, under the circumstances."

If it comes out a bit like a test, it's meant to.

The thoughtful way she regards him doesn't make clear what precisely those thoughts are, but one of them is this: that she rather likes how direct that was. How delightful to find herself treated like a sensible if troublesome equal—

“What do I gain tumbling myself into your bed,” she repeats, quirking an eyebrow. “Well, I shall spare you the obvious answer.”

But presumably it is obvious. Does he really have no idea how many in Riftwatch would answer how old is de Coucy? if asked how old they're prepared to dally with.

“I think it's of benefit to both of us if we have...how shall I put this, skin in the game. The appearance of an affair has uses outside of your home, but the fact of one changes the dynamic within it. Don't you think? However, if you would prefer to only play a part, my lord, I am certainly willing to see how long that resolve holds.”

Impossible to tell with the mask, but he still somehow gives the impression of narrowing his eyes.

"I suppose whatever arrangement we come to, we may inevitably need to adjust once we have a better idea of the ways we may or may not suit one another," he said, finally. "If you wish us both to have a stake in the enterprise's success, there is likely no better way than to try it and see."

He still has the faint sensation he's been played, and doesn't care for it. But refusing her feels a bit too much like cutting off his nose to spite his face for comfort, too.

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