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“So. You’re the Inquisitor, then.”
Iyandrar glanced at Vivienne, before turning his attention back to the blinding snow covering Skyhold’s roofs. “Looks like it,” he said flatly.
She stood by his side and mirrored his posture, letting both forearms rest on the stone balustrade and tangling her fingers together. She made it look far more natural and dainty all at once, obviously.
Iyandrar sighed.
“I’ve waited so long for this,” he declared, half to himself and half to Vivienne.
She hummed an interrogation.
“The duty,” Iyandrar said. “The people looking up to me, waiting for my commands.” He shook his head.
There was a smile in Vivienne’s voice when she spoke. “And how does it feel?” she enquired.
He grimaced, looking for the right words. “I hate it,” he said after a pause.
“Oh?”
“It’s far too much responsibility, I…” he paused. “Look down there.”
Vivienne followed his gesture towards the Courtyard. There were forty, fifty people maybe, carrying chests and leading horses to a crumbling building that might one day become stables.
“There’s the same amount of people here than in my entire clan,” Iyandrar continued. “A year ago, I hadn’t even seen a bigger crowd.” He watched as a dozen warriors in gear emerged from the Great Hall and mingled with the rest.
“I see.”
“And now I am supposed to lead them.” He let his head fall against his forearm with no semblance of gentleness. He could already feel his ears buzzing from the anxiety of it all.
“More will come,” Vivienne professed. “They will flock around you, like moths to a torch.”
Iyandrar groaned.
“Power does not have to be your burden, my dear. You can learn to make it dance for you. You can get anything you want.”
“Except not being the Inquisitor anymore,” he murmured.
“You’ll be just fine,” she said in a tone like a promise. “And should you ever require some high society advice, or a listening ear, you know who to ask for.”
He smiled faintly. “I do. Thank you, Vivienne.”