“Then I shall take you up on that offer, to speak of it once we’ve returned safely to Kirkwall. With luck, the inevitable may be averted.”

Then again, perhaps not.

It’s only then that Gabranth spots— just there, at the limits of his peripheral vision before it fades against the edges of his helmet— the sight of a pair of obviously curious (or perhaps more accurately: infatuated) Orlesians lurking about the edges of the fete, their shared stares clearly trained on Erik even in the shadow of those brightly decorated masks.

It pulls a dry, thin, near-chuckle of a noise from Gabranth, his helmet inclining ever so slightly towards Erik’s shoulder.

“I believe you are sought after once more.”