Splitting her attention between the conversation, the movements of the guests (Duquesne and his squire in particular) and her duty to her master and his pleasure Malvae kept up with each task, slipping adroitly from one to the next. Sometimes she was able to listen to the conversation and moved her hands adeptly under his robes, using the direction of the conversation to inform her about when was best to distract and divert attention. Her master didn't react overtly to everything she did, but he did not need to - she knew his body intimately now. He performed to the room as much as she did but she knew how she was truly making him feel. His hot skin was slick and his body shuddering, her Lord suppressing those shudders sometimes, but allowing them to be seen when it was most beneficial.

When their gaze locked it was dangerous. It was too easy to abandon duty to finish this properly somewhere else. Fornicating in front of these prudes did not serve their cause as much as this particular display, so Malvae had to content herself with having him later. The Tevinter Slave did not look lovingly at her master neither did she fawn over him. She looked at him with slitted lids, lust burning in her blue gaze, dedicating her body to him and fulfilling the needs of that moment, both physical and political. She loved touching him yet Malvae had never been a very tactile person. When she reached out physically to another elf it had always been with purpose and in a tentative way. He had awakened something in her that she thought may have always lurked but was set free by her slavery. There was the opportunity for reckless abandon and Malvae was enjoying every moment of it.

The assassin knew the plan. The pieces were set. It was almost time for her to leave her master and deliver his fourth gift of the night. This one would be a crowning glory - for the Seekers. Malvae grinned at that while he led her to the love seat and pulled her into his lap, the pair waiting for the guests who lingered to come to Reynard for the conversation he had promised. The slave sat across him, her legs draped over his right side, her hip pressed against his arousal, poking her with the promise of pleasure and punishment, both of which Malvae had come to crave from him.

As the guests drifted over along with their host, Malvae sat and watched and listened as the discussion began. She often glared at the Mother and Sister who openly showed their disapproval or her and no doubt her attire (which was giving her master a rather generous view of her breasts, her nipples visible, but only to him). The Templar she ignored completely - almost - and even managed to show a little fear and unease if his gaze lingered too long upon her - which it rarely did. She was her master's guardian but her earlier fainting had proven she was weak as well, so she thought it better to capitalise on that.

Let him think me nothing more than a bed-slave, there will be even more reason for them to accept my absence...

The Borgias bordered on being punished for the way he looked at her, but Malvae thought that gouging out his eyes might tie her too closely to the rotting corpse of the Brother. The wandering gaze of the Borgias could be punished another time - no doubt he would continue to steal pleasure from her form if he were around her again.

The assassin stopped Reynard mid speech with a kiss coupled with indiscreet fondling before rising from his "throne" and pulling away seductively. "I am wearyMy Lord. I shall retire and await your company." She stared intently into his crimson gaze, her blues eyes alight with the anticipation of murder. Malvae was going to hunt, but instead of the woodlands of Nevarra she had the city. There was no stag or bear or wolf to slay. But a Sword. A Dalish murdering Sword.

Elgar'nan would be honoured twice this night.

As the assassin made her way back to their rooms once more she took a detour into the stables, then prepared for the hunt once the Templar's horse had been taken care of...

Malvae shed her second dress of the night and pulled on her tight leather slacks and top, the clothes she had been wearing when first she met her master.

No, I was naked when he truly met me. I was in the bowels of the Arena. He saw me fight and wanted me as his dami...

The line between truth and fiction was blurring less often, an indication to Malvae that it would soon be time for her and her master to part ways. Or at least, for their interactions to change - or so she believed.

On her way to their rooms she had needed to stop by the stables and had almost been thwarted by the Sword's young squire. The boy had been lurking just inside of the stable doors, fulfilling his tedious duty for the Templar no doubt. Though Malvae could not fault his diligence, she needed to do this now. There was no time to lure him away and no time to wait to see if he left so she had to do what she needed to do with him lurking outside.

The assassin hauled herself up onto the roof and found a narrow window the slip in through. Her dress should have been something that hampered her but Malvae was too good for a bit of stray material to catch and tear and make a noise. Silently she dropped onto the stable floor and quickly located the Templars saddle. It was easy to find since it was emblazoned with the symbol of the Swords of the Maker. Staying out of sight of the doors and thus the squire, Malvae tampered with the saddle before moving over to the horse.

This was going to be the tricky bit. This was a warhorse, well trained and aggressive. Malvae was not the best horse whisperer but she had spent enough time with Nim and the halla to know how to speak to and calm animals. She stroked the white stallion, the creature nipping at her angrily and snorting before it started to relax. Fortunately Malvae's elvhen charm soothed the beast and she whispered her secrets to it while she enchanted its elgar. Once she was satisfied that it would heed her call, she slipped back out of the stable the same way she had entered and returned once more to the rooms allocated to her master.

Picking up the Seeker's pin she slipped out of the window and made her way off the estate. At the first juncture outside of Bernal's manse Malvae climbed atop the highest building and hid behind the gargoyles that decorated the rooftop.

Here she waited patiently for the Templar, a plan starting to formulate in her mind. It would not serve to have something too fixed, this was a hunt and the prey was powerful and unpredictable. She needed room to manoeuvre and to be flexible otherwise she would get herself killed.

The lose plan was thus; herd, startle, disable, torture, kill.

The specifics would be settled soon enough and once they were she could return bloodied to her master and receive her reward and punishment.

The assassin knew the route. She had scouted it many times since the moment her master had told her about this kill. From the Sangreal Estate to the Circle, she knew every fork in the road, every gate, every bridge and sewer entry. Malvae had a three kill zones. One was a decrepit and disused courtyard, another a narrow street between the main thoroughfare and the Circle (though this was her least favoured spot as it meant less time to torture and it was very close to the Circle, thus the most dangerous) and finally a tomb. The last seemed apt and she hope she could steer him that way since it was to closest to the Chantry where she wanted to stage him.

Fortune played Her part as well though, so Malvae rode the winds of destiny and glided through the city, leaping between buildings and treading lightly on rooftops. She stayed out of sight, despite her lack of mage status these Swords were eager to "question" anyone out at night and more than one elf had been raped and murdered by these holy men. They would rue the day they attempted such a thing with Malvae but it would never come to that. She needed to be seen and then she needed to be caught. That simply was not going to happen.

The journey was starting to get frustrating. She had not been able to herd him towards the tomb, so that kill site was no longer an option, which left her least favoured of the three and the courtyard. Her next chance to herd him came with a portcullis that led onto the thoroughfare that would take him directly to Circle. If he got through that then she would have only one more chance to steer him off course and that was also the most dangerous kill site. The street. Malvae got to the gate house just as the Templar and his squire rounded the corner. The assassin swiftly stabbed her left blade into the chest of the guard and slit the throat of the other as she spun away from her first kill. These were murders of necessity, she told herself. She did not need to report them to her master. She thought she might though; he would enjoy hearing how she stole the life from Chantry loyal city guards as well.

The bodies were easily hidden, she had prepared for this eventuality, thus when the squire came to investigate he found no one and nothing but a jammed gear. The portcullis would not rise. By the time he returned to the Templar Malvae had tampered with his saddle as well, right behind the back of the blind Templar! She grinned and slipped back into the shadows, melting with the darkness and observing the boys troubles with her icy, blue gaze.

"Milord I.. I cannot seem to mount I.."

"First you tell me we have to go out of our way to find a working gate and then you tell me you cannot ride? Are you my Squire or my Fool?" He said derisively. As predicted he dismissed the boy and started off on his warhorse, heading west towards the city limits - alone.

Where Malvae waited near a disused courtyard.

The stage was set, all she needed was a sacrifice and the Templar was only too happy to oblige. When he passed under the crumbling bridge Malvae was crouched upon the assassin grinned. There was only one way he could go, for she had blocked the path that led deeper into the city with a wagon. This she had done earlier in the day and was happy it had not been moved. With a hiss of annoyance the Templar yanked his reigns (angering his own horse, perfect!) and walked towards the courtyard. The empty, sealed off, silent courtyard. Well, silent if not for the clip-clop of the warhorses hooves. Silent if not for the hawk screech that issued from Malvae's throat. Silent if not for the horse rearing and the Templar shouting for it to calm. Silent if not for the snap of his leg as it caught in the tampered stirrup. Silent if not for the scream of pain and the sound of his armour hitting the dusty stone.

Silent if not for the wheezing of the man's crushed ribs and punctured lungs.

The silent assassin approached.

"You! You there!" He wheezed, struggling to sit up. The horse had run towards Malvae and she was soothing it and whispering to it, telling it all was well. Ignore your former master, his anguish is not ours. Slowly she led the horse back to the fallen Templar, her face bathed with moonlight and revealed to the Templar. His brow furrowed in confusion but he did not make the connection.

Yet.

"You! Slave! Yes, you! Help me!"

Malvae's cold gaze swept across the Templar, the same indifferent stare she had given all the guests of the Sangreal's that night. With a sigh she knelt down beside him, slyly unbuckling his sword from its belt and sliding it out of reach. She then looked over his injuries and then looked him in the eye.

"I need to remove your armour, you will suffocate otherwise." It was true, he would, but this was not how he was to die. He had to pay for the lives of the elves and mages he had taken; then he had to be branded with the symbol of his "murderer". The Templar was only too happy to oblige and even helped Malvae remove each piece of his intricate Sword armour. He groaned in pain and Malvae restrained an wicked grin, relishing in every hurt and moment of anguish, remembering his words about the slaughter of the Dalish Clan who dared to harbour apostates. She did not go into a rage over this, the cold blooded killer knelt before him now, the Templar out of armour and vulnerable.

It seemed to occur to the man, once his chest pain was abating, that the slave looked rather different.

"What are you doing out here? I thought you were preparing to whore for your fellow knife ears." His disdain and hatred for her and her kind was not hidden by propriety here in this empty courtyard. Not even though she had "helped" him. This man was truly deplorable on every level. It justified her next actions even more.

Malvae slid her dami into her left hand and buried it in his gut in a heartbeat. He grunted, the pain exquisite, and his anguished and angry and surprised face a picture of perfection! The assassin was not done yet; 'twas a fatal blow but not her final. He would die because of his addiction to lyrium even if he managed to find "help", for mage healing did not work on seasoned Templars and she doubted there was a healer in the City who would aid him. It would be a long and painful death but not the one he was destined for. The Templar clutched his belly and Malvae tilted her head, watching his blood pool at his side. The warhorse smelt the blood and whinnied, but she held her hand up and soothed the creature. Even in his pain the Templar understood.

He had been hunted and he had been trapped.

"Furia sends his greetings, Ser." She said quietly, stripping the cloth that had prevented his armour from chaffing his skin from his chest, exposing it. Her blade twirled in her fingers but the Templar's slow hands were too late. She stabbed him in his centre, the middle of the bursting sun sigil pooling with blood. His arms dropped weakly to his side but he was still far from dead. She had done as she had always done since she was a child. She had disabled her prey and made it ripe for torture.

"Elgar'nan wants your life, Ser, but I want more than that." She began to carve the symbol of the Seeker's deeply into his chest. Far deeper than the Brother's had been. Malvae had time here, she had patience. Though she could not "stage" the murder she could play with her kill at least. "I want you to know how easily we have played your city. How my master and I have been like Siren's luring you all into our trap. Though you are not my target you will give me access to him." She smiled gently but she would not show him Heaven. Only the Void would claim this man.

"The Knight-Commander is destined for my dami, Ser. Ma serannas for delivering him to me." She bit down hard on her lip as she finished her beautiful carving, digging deeper and deeper with every stroke and eliciting louder screams from him each time. By the time she was done she was covered in his blood, having caught more than one artery, drenching her hair and coating her face in a sheen of crimson. The Templar was almost dead but still very aware and Malvae was glad. She wanted him to feel the end. His agonising, horrible end.

First she sliced his neck, deep and long, giving him a second grin like the Brother. Then she swiftly moved so her knees cradled his head, his ruined neck pouring with blood. She saw his life fleeing his eyes, so she quickly place the tips of both of her blades a hairs breadth from his pupils. Her hands were steady, the knives still and he knew, he knew what kind of creature he had insulted and dismissed and degraded. He gargled and begged for mercy but Malvae was Vengeance, not Mercy. She was Death, not Deliverance. She grinned wickedly, his blood dripping from her face, then in one swift and clean and powerful motion she slammed her dami down into his eyes!

When she yanked her blades out his ruined sockets leaked with a mixture of clear liquid from his burst eyeballs and blood and grey matter. The Templar twitched a few times before his body realised his brain had been pulverised.

Now it was time to set the scene.

The rope she had planted on the warhorse was speedily tied around the dead Templars ankles and secured to the horse. She was about to move away when she caught sight of something familiar. A box that belonged to her master. She opened it up and saw the lyrium and smiled. Another lure, another part of the game. She took it and hooked it to her belt, then removed the Seeker's pin and made her way back to the dead Templar. Using the pin to puncture his lips she sealed them shut using the clasp, leaving the symbol of the Seeker's on both his mouth and chest.

With that she whispered for the horse to lead him home, to the Circle – the assassin slipping back into the shadows and making her way back to her waiting master.

En route she did two things. She opened up the portcullis so the horse could run straight through, then she returned to the Brother and placed him on the altar of Andraste, the Seeker's symbol on his chest for all to see.

No one saw her. She was a Shadow. A fleeting form in the night. No one saw the Dalish scout and no one saw her enter the Sangreal mansion through an open window.

Dripping with blood she entered the rooms of her master, her fourth gift being dragged through Nevarra City behind a white stallion and the third gift placed in the chapel of the home where they were guests. The first and second were on the table he used to write his correspondence and that was where Malvae placed the box containing the lyrium.

She said not a word and just looked at him, her lust for blood sated – but only for the night.

It was time for her reward.