"I still can't believe I got stuck with you two."

Mahanon glanced up from where he was pinning down a corner of his tent, halfheartedly blowing a strand of deep red hair away from his eyes as he grinned at his older sister, raising an eyebrow. "Stuck with us? Wasn't it you who insisted on coming along in the first place?"

Ellana rolled her eyes. She leaned back against a tree, crossing her arms. "You're still young, and you're a mage. I wasn't about to let you two come down here on your own."

"Obviously, so—"

"But you could at least have the decency to try to be quiet at night."

Cyrnarel, the third elf with them, snickered as they tended to the fish cooking above their camp's fire. Mahanon, on the other hand, let out a chirp as a faint blush and horrified expression spread across his face. "I—ah—we didn't think—" he stammered out. Of course they'd been affectionate over the past couple weeks of traveling, but the two had tried to be as considerate as possible to their third party. Evidently, not considerate enough.

Thankfully, his sister wasn't particularly upset, and probably took some sort of wicked joy in teasing him this way. "So start thinking," she said playfully, walking over to the fire to sit down and enjoy her meal, with her back facing Mahanon.

Mahanon glanced towards Cyrnarel painfully, who gave an apologetic shrug in response before starting on their own fish.

Mahanon, being the clan's First, had been asked by Keeper Istimaethoriel to journey south and spy on the Conclave being held at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. If the mages and templars could make some progress on the awful war they'd been having, Clan Lavellan might be able to safely resume trade with humans again in the Free Marches. Templars in the area had been growing rather snappy and suspicious over the past year, and rogue mages had been threatening the safety of their clan, having been driven to desperate measures to survive. Since he was a mage and a scholar, Mahanon would be able to understand more of the magical discussions than most, and would be able to shield himself if he sensed any magic being cast.

Of course, being a mage around humans wasn't safe, and a single elf traveling was even less safe, so he had brought Cyrnarel along with him. Both were twenty-six years old, but neither of them had been away from the clan for a significant period of time, and their vallaslin—the earthy red vines of Elgar'nan for the mage, and deep green tendrils of Falon'din for his lover—clearly marked them as outsiders. Ellana, who was thirty-three, had decided to accompany them as well, figuring that they would be better off with a third tagging along. Mahanon had groaned at the time, but he couldn't deny that she was one of the best archers in the clan, and it was honestly comforting to have yet another elf with him in such unfamiliar territory.

Keeper Istimaethoriel had personally requested that Ellana go anyway, a secret she kept from the smitten couple. They didn't need to know.

The mage, after finally setting up the second tent, joined them for their small meal of fish. They were a couple of miles away from where the Conclave would take place, and had arrived just in time: The event would be tomorrow afternoon. All of them were anxious to find out what would happen, and desperately hopeful for a positive outcome. Their clan would have a hard time surviving yet another winter like this, and the first snows would be arriving within the month. They needed this to go well.

Smacking her lips and giving Cyrnarel a pat on the back in thanks for the meal, Ellana stood up and stretched. "I'm going to go in town and see if there's any bread left in their market," she said, slinging her bow and arrows over her shoulder. The weapons never left her side, even if it made her a suspicious figure, but she could use her words sweetly enough to escape most hostile situations that arose as a result. "We could do with a better lunch than just fish and rabbit tomorrow."

"Good luck," called Cyrnarel. Once she was gone, they glanced over at Mahanon, who flashed him an impish grin. The rogue scooted towards him, closing the small gap between them and leaning over to give him a chaste kiss, their movements languid and content.

Mahanon deepened the kiss, sneaking his tongue into the other's mouth as he pressed his torso up against theirs, seeking more contact between their bodies. Cyrnarel left one hand on the ground to remain balanced, putting most of their weight on it as they moved their other hand to start feeling the mage's hips, roaming across his stomach and trailing the thin line of hair leading downwards, eliciting a small, expectant gasp from their lover.

The gasp was soon followed by a delightful whimper as they separated from him, and they gave another quick kiss in apology. "You've already set up our tent, vhenan," they said, voice low and heavy with excitement. "We might as well use it."

To the couple's delight, Ellana had had the luck to buy a loaf of bread and a block of cheese without using up all their coin, and shortly after waking they ate it along with the end of the dried meat they had brought from home.

"Thank Sylaise," Mahanon said, chewing on a slice of the cheese. "I would've rather eaten a rock than another fish today."

The two rogues nodded in amused agreement. While none of them often complained about food, especially considering the scarcity at home, a little bit of variety was a welcome relief, however soon it would disappear.

The two tents had already been packed away in preparation of the day ahead, so once the elves had finished eating they took off for the temple, footsteps crunching lightly on the thin layer of snow that had settled over the hard ground last night. It wasn't long until they began to find crowds of people wandering in the same direction as them, as eager to reach the Conclave as they were (and perhaps with as much hope and dread as they had). Most of them were human, wearing all sorts of clothing: Circle robes, shining templar armor, Grey Warden outfits, fancy dyed fur coats… There were few elves and dwarves among the crowds, and no other Dalish, leaving the three Lavellans standing out as awkwardly as the two or three qunari who were in attendance.

Ellana led the way through the crowds, finding a spot for them to stand, not far from a side door to the temple where people were already filtering into the building. She let out a huff of frustration as she tried peeking over the heads of the humans in front of her. "I'm not sure if we can get in there," she admitted. "It's crowded enough that one of us would go unnoticed, but not all of us, and we'd be competing against everyone else."

Frowning, Cyrnarel placed a hand on Mahanon's shoulder for balance and tried standing on his toes to examine the crowd, but it didn't take long before he gave up. "Too many shemlen," he muttered.

The mage was agitated as well, blinking and chirping more than usual as he fidgeted on his feet. "At least we now know we are collectively miserable at spying on shem."

His sister chuckled. "Ever the optimist, lethallin," she said, squeezing his hand with one of her own. But the opportunity to sneak in kept dwindling away as they watched, and as the guards around the temple began to turn away guests, their hearts fell.

Mahanon let out a sigh, watching the grand, engraved doors close shut. "Well, at least we'll find out some of what happened later." The crowd was steadily diminishing, and his tics decreased with them. Once they were mostly gone, he gently pulled on Ellana's wrist, and all three elves walked over to a now-vacant bench where they could sit and watch the temple. The guards eyed them suspiciously, but it wasn't as if they were close enough to cause any trouble.

Instead of joining the other two on the bench, Ellana remained standing. "I'm not going to sit around and wait while all of this goes on," she said, waving a hand dismissively. She dropped her voice before continuing. "I'm going to walk around the area, listen to what other people are saying about all of this. Some of the shemlen probably know more about this than we do, and if it's just me wandering around they won't pay much attention if I get close to them. You two can sit here and be… mushy or something."

Cyrnarel wrapped an arm around Mahanon's shoulders, grinning at the archer. "Be mushy? Got it. Yes ma'am." His grin widened at her scowl, and Mahanon chirped a few times in embarrassment.

Two hours later, they were still on the bench, fidgeting uncomfortably as light snowflakes alighted on their hair, sky starting to turn dark as snow-heavy clouds covered it. They had run out of things to talk about not long ago, partly due to the mind-numbing effect the chill wind had on them. There had been a few loud sounds from within the temple, presumably from heated arguments, and the couple guards at the side door had both disappeared inside when the elves had still been debating with each other about exactly what to buy with their remaining coins.

A scream suddenly broke the silence, startling the two of them out of their doze. Glancing at each other, they rose, rushing towards the temple. They both hesitated before the door. Neither of them were keen on interrupting such a large event, especially one filled with humans, but they were the only ones around and they were certain they had heard something.

A cry for help.

Cyrnarel shoved the door open.

The heavy weight of magic almost overwhelmed Mahanon. "What's going on here?" he yelled, rushing in behind his lover, dread prickling at his skin as sharply as the energy he felt.

The answer was lost as the world exploded.