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Dorian and Vivienne spiriting Lavellan, who does not know anything about Orelsian fashion, to Val Royeaux to find a design for her dress.

“Oh! I’m-- I did not--I’m sorry!”

“No!” Lavellan grabbed the front of the servant’s shirt and pulled her in to the side-room before she could retreat and alert anyone of her hiding place. “It’s fine, I just...” she held her breath, pressing against the wall as distant voices carried down the hallway. People were searching for her.

“Is something--is everything alright Se--”the servant choked, “I-Inquisitor,” they finished faintly. Lavellan glanced down at ridiculous piece of fribbery they had been coerced in to wearing. It was some ridiculously gaudy Orlesian thing--or rather it was half of it. Lavellan had made her escape while Dorian and Vivienne argued over different beading patterns. It had been hours of nothing but inane choices--each somehow more overwhelming than the last.

“Ah...” the servant said. Lavellan laughed, scrubbing a hand across weary eyes.

“I just needed a second. They’ve been at it for hours.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve seen much worse,” the servant said sympathetically.

“Really?” Lavellan asked incredulously.

“Wellll...” the servant trailed off with a grimace. Lavellan snorted and shook her head. “You should return, Inquisitor. This is Val Royeaux, people will talk if you are missing.”

“They will talk when they see me in this,” Lavellan remarked with a gesture at her gown. The servant hummed thoughtfully before nodding her head in agreement.