First among the Old Gods was Silence.

His least whisper could end wars or topple Archons.

A single word could turn recrimination into glory.

The sacred fires of his temple burned

Rare incense, and the trees of Arlathan, and lapped at the bones of slaves

While his altars dripped with the blood of sacrifices that never dried.

Silence 1, Canticles of Silence.

'I wish you would not constantly do that,' Dorian said, looking on as his wife of five years put the finishing touches on her hair and make-up.

'What precisely?' the lady Veldrin Pavus, nee Lavellan asked, meeting his glance in the mirror and smiling wryly; the man smiled wryly in his turn. She knew all too well what he was going to say, the man thought, but she was going to make him say it again.

He didn't mind. It was all part of their game.

'I wish you would not hide your ears,' Dorian said, kindly. 'Or the colour of your eyes. You are,' he followed, 'the most beautiful woman in Minrathous.'

'Fit wife to the most handsome man in Minrathous,' she returned, smiling wide – and indeed, she was the most beautiful woman in Minrathous, the magister thought, measuring his old companion with the eye of a dispassionate connoisseur of pure esthetics. Half a decade before, when he'd proposed to her, and first told her he found her beautiful, she'd taken the words in jest, until he had, in all seriousness clarified that one could find horses, dogs and cats, paintings and statues beautiful, and still not have the most minor sexual interest in them – as, he had followed, one could have pointed, unexplained erotic attraction to people who did not meet even minimal esthetic standards.

Beauty, he'd said, is not implicitly erotic.

They had been standing in the now emptied library in Skyhold, with the husks of memories shuffling around them like so many restless despair demons. He remembered that in bitter, inner irony, he'd wished they had at least been rage demons, yet…

After Veldrin had disbanded her Inquisition, rage had stalked Skyhold's corridors too, but its reign had been brief, for stones alone could not sustain it. Only men could, and, as men had scattered to the four winds, the spirit of anger had gone with them, making place for the cool despair of the once more cold, humid walls and dark, once more purposeless corridors. During those harrowing days, as he'd watched tapestries being brought down from windowsills and statues being pulled off their perches, Dorian had wondered whether there was such a thing as a demon of sadness, or whether they were creating one now…If Veldrin herself was.

Someone – Dorian had assumed it had been Cullen, but it might as well have been Leliana – had ordered that Solas' murals be stripped or painted over; the Inquisitor had caught wind of it, and stopped the builders mid-effort. Of all the terrible sights of those weeks of demolition – the sight of the empty dais under the stained glass window, the gaping, toothless shelves where books has once been crammed, empty stables, upturned herbariums…even the deafening silence left behind in Leliana's attic empty of crows…Of all those things that filled the mind with frustration and the heart with defeat, there had been nothing that had touched him more than seeing Veldrin stand in Solas' half vandalised sanctuary, in quiet contemplation of a love that had only been by half.

She'd made him think of Felix, and the thought had hurt. For the first and last time, he'd wished he had rushed home to Tevinter, and to his seat in the Magisterium, and not delayed his departure to witness the Inquisition's dissolution. Still, he'd immediately known, it was not that that he could not bear to witness…No.

The thing he could truly not endure was the sudden reminder that love could turn ugly, deadly and cruel with a single brush stroke of fate; not only romantic love, Dorian had reasoned, but a father's love too…

He'd stood there, watching her grieve, seeing her alone for the very first time, and, for the very first time, truly noticing her beauty.

Veldrin Levellan had high, finely chiseled cheekbones, almond shaped eyes in the colour of gold; her hair was deep black, and her skin was ivory white, her lips were thick and pink as raspberries. She was slight, as all elves, but her ears were close to her skull and had a decisive upward slant; even if only among her own, she must have stood out.

Or perhaps not, Dorian had thought. Maybe elves liked dark skin and light hair; maybe they liked blue eyes or green. Maybe they liked ears that stood out from the skull. Maybe she was, actually, quite ugly.

He knew nothing of what elves considered beautiful.

'Marry me,' he'd said; in the naked library, Veldrin had laughed, and her laughter had echoed through an attic without Leliana, without crows and without nugs.

'What is that you say, Magister Pavus?' She'd asked. 'If you can't marry a man, you'll marry an elf?'

'Gives them all the two fingers I can still give them, as Sera would have it,' Dorian had shrugged. 'Gives you a hand', he'd added, grinning. 'I notice you happen to be missing one, so…'

He'd leaned on the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his most disarming grin splayed on his features, and begun explaining himself, full thoughts forming along with words.

'You need to move out of Thaedas,' he'd said. 'You will need new allies, allies that Solas doesn't know. Unless you plan to join the Qun, your only logical choice is Tevinter – why come to Tevinter as a nameless elf?'

'I do have a name, Dorian,' the elven woman had scolded. 'I happen to like it, and the world happens to know it.'

'The world will forget it in a month's time, Veldrin. Unless you plan to gather resources by making paid appearances at fashionable parties as the ex-Inquisitor…Or,' he had followed, in a chuckle, 'as the woman who threw a hefty book at Arl Teagan's head in Exalted Council…'

'Sorry I missed,' Veldrin had answered, arching both eyebrows.

'I am sorry you missed, too,' Dorian had conceded, 'but that is beyond the point.'

He'd let himself slip to the floor, and she'd sat before him with her legs crossed.

'I will take it as a favour,' he'd spoken, keeping his eyes on the floor. 'I've inherited a seat, not earned one, and they will not let me sit peacefully in the Magisterium without a wife,' Dorian had reasoned, rolling his words with the weight of his own bitterness. 'They can do little to remove a man such as I, but much to belittle me and lessen my influence. I am not…'

'You are not like them,' Veldrin had nodded.

'Well, indeed, I am not; my fashion sense is flawless – someone should inform them that the cowls of Magister robes do have the rather awkward appearance of elven ears,' the man had said, joking without smiling. He'd closed his eyes. 'I want to do some good for Tevinter, I still hope I can,' Dorian had whispered. 'For that, my father's name aside, I need to not outright be known as…a deviant. I will, sooner or later have to bow to the pressure and take a wife. My mother has already bargained me out to three bloodlines, after this…'

'I don't want to make another woman miserable as my mother has been through all these years, Vel. My mother,' he'd whispered, 'doesn't even refer to them as people. She calls them bloodlines, and to them, I am a bloodline in turn…'

'I see. Thus, you decided to make me miserable, as I am not even human,' the elf had giggled, as thoughts swirled in her golden eyes.

He'd frowned a little, and she'd tilted her head to the side, admitting she'd perhaps been a tad unfair.

'You remember what I told you in Halamshiral,' Dorian had followed. 'You are my best friend, perhaps my only friend.'

'I am an elf, Dorian,' Veldrin had said, softly. 'An elf, and a daelish mage.'

'An elf whose name is still remembered,' he'd answered. 'An elf not even the Archon would oppose, for now – you did take his nuts off the fire with the Venatori, after all. The Magisterium actively entrusted you with Alexius' fate as well, thus some grudging recognition exists. As for my family,' Dorian had sighed, 'even if they only think of lines of succession, they know two things as fact – one is that your bloodline, for however murky, must be tremendously powerful, as only you and Corypheus…'

'Survived the Orb at the Temple of Lost Ashes, yes,' she'd agreed.

'The fact that our children can only be human is also a good point,' Dorian had said, in turn. 'Which should present no hindrance to either of us, since we shall not be labouring too much on making any.'

She'd lowered her glance. 'It is generous of you,' the woman had replied, shaking her head. 'Yet, for all your reasoning, I think it unwise.'

'You cannot remain here, Vel,' Dorian had insisted, pursing his lips. 'He will be watching you with a thousand eyes, and listening to you with a thousand ears.'

'I know,' Veldrin had answered. 'I know, but…'

'Unless, of course, that is what you want,' he'd said, sternly, only to immediately regret both his words and his tone, for her glance had clouded with sorrow.

'No,' Veldrin had replied, attempting to frown. 'But it feels…too soon, somehow.'

'It will never feel like long enough has passed,' Dorian had said, taking her right hand in his. 'And while you stay here…Look,' he'd gently followed, 'it is not only him that will be watching you; you will be seeing him through the corner of your eyes as well – where can you hide from the ghost of what was while you remain in the south? In Val Royeaux, where you danced? In the Dales, with the lingering presence of his spirit friend? In…'

'You are being cruel,' the woman had whispered, but she'd not withdrawn her hand.

'And you are,' he'd whispered, 'beautiful.'

She was, he thought, looking at her now. Dorian lazily stood from the bed to undo Veldrin's hair and braid it again, in such a way that the pointy tips of her ears were clearly visible. This too was part of their game, and he greatly enjoyed it, because, he considered, he did not only like the look of her, but he truly liked the way they looked, together.

He'd had a portrait of them commissioned two years before, after the Imperium had repelled the Qun in such a decisive manner that many doubted the horned ones would ever return – they had both been active in the conflict, and though many had frowned upon the fact that Veldrin enjoyed the front lines too much for a ennobled woman, her efforts had consolidated her status. The tongues had not stopped wagging, of course, but the snickers had stopped and receded to whispers; the constant pressure for producing an heir had somewhat eased, too, though that was something that would never disappear and would soon become poignant again.

Indeed, Dorian thought, doing his best to reproduce the braid she had had while posing for their portrait, Veldrin had not aged a single day, while he…Well, the touch of salt in his hair and moustache rendered him even more dashing, yet also pointed to the passage of time – relatives to the fourth degree eagerly watched Veldrin's waist, and some more daring uncles had even asked whether he knew that women had some vague anatomical differences from men.

So good was their act, that none suspected the truth – he'd all but let it all slip once, when he'd been drunk enough to mention that perhaps the Pavus family should resign themselves to the fact that the peace treaty he had engineered with Orlais would be their only legacy. To his great good fortune, his company had been equally in their cups, so the words had passed unnoticed. He'd merely scolded himself, and he'd started watching who he drank with – something that was long overdue anyway.

The woman looked over her shoulder, in mock dismay, all but making him ruin the last of the knots.

'Will you never get tired of offending your mother?' Veldrin asked, twitching the tips of her ears, high, then low, than in a circle through both points. 'She is getting on in years, you know; I feel like every time she sees me, she loses another six months of life.'

'That's what I am aiming for, yes,' Dorian answered, smiling resplendently, then passing his hand over her features to change her eye colour back from dull brown to gold. 'Isn't that better?' he queried, facing her to the mirror.

Veldrin smirked.

'I look like an elf, Dorian.'

'You look like the woman who threw a hefty book at Earl Teagan's head, and will watch him kneel before her tonight, as we bring Ferelden in from the cold as well.'

'I look like an elf,' she repeated.

'You look like the only good elf left in the known world, Vel.' Dorian whispered, kissing the side of her neck, and making her giggle.

'I take it Lexi will be there tonight?' she queried. He straightened and frowned.

'Well, anyone who is anyone from Quarinus to Vol Dorma will be there – it is not every day that the Divine meets the Black Divine, and we accept peace with Ferelden, so yes, he will be attending...What makes it obvious, though?'

'Your moustache is too starched. It tickles,' She laughed. 'You always overdo it when you know he will be around.'

'Meh.' Dorian said. 'Fix it.'

'I hear and obey,' Veldrin said, standing up and forcibly sitting him before the mirror. She picked up a small comb, then, kneeling by his side, arranged his moustache in its fine shape, not noticing that it was salted with grey. 'Are you nervous?'

'Me?' Dorian laughed. 'Never. Perhaps a little,' he admitted, a second later. 'We have not seen Cassandra since the signing with Orlais, and she has announced Leliana as part of her suite, thus, above the great diplomatic tensions that the evening will doubtlessly carry…'

They have news and unwanted gifts. And above all I have secrets, he thought, but did not say out loud; he did not need to. She had already paled.

The effort of locating Solas or identifying any means of stopping him had never dulled, despite the fact that after the Inquisition had been dissolved, it had been relegated to the shadows. Without the knowledge of the impending threat to all, however, it was unlikely that Tevinter and Orlais would have admitted to the fact that they were no longer at war – Cassandra's influence in Val Royeaux had been priceless, as was the fact that Briala held Empress Celine's ear.

Ferelden had not truly paid heed to the warnings; in truth, the fact that Tevinter and Orlais had declared peace had probably been the only reason why they had accepted to sign a treaty, in turn. They'd not been overly generous, though, Dorian thought, admiringly looking at himself in the mirror and rewarding his wife's efforts with a distracted peck on the cheek. The thorny issue of war compensations was still very much on the negotiating table – the papers which would be signed and celebrated this eve were only a principle accord.

It did not much matter; not even three armies could stop a god who could petrify men without even looking their way. He strived to keep the notion from his mind.

'Am I handsome?' Dorian asked, instead, hoping to keep the pallor from her cheeks for just a while longer.

'The most handsome man in Minrathous,' Veldrin laughed. 'Lexi will be glad to see you, and he can stay the night without too many precautions, this time. Just…'

'Please don't get arrested, this time, yes, yes,' he muttered, rolling his eyes. 'You'd think the guards would know how to recognise a Magister…'

'You could not even pronounce the word Magister, Dorian,' she scolded. 'In fact, I don't think you knew your own name. Get drunk at home, like decent folk…'

'I somehow doubt it will be that kind of a night,' he said, softly. 'If Leliana…'

He reached for her left hand, the left hand he'd reconstructed for her with the aid of three Mortalitasi and a ritual that was best left unmentioned in polite company. It was still dead cold, but it had started acquiring the colour of the rest of her skin, and the black veins had finally begun to recede.

'We'll make it that kind of night,' Veldrin reassuringly responded, squeezing his hand with the little strength the graft allowed – that too would change, in time. 'We have a new victory to our name, and old friends coming…and you have Lexi. Be happy, Dorian.'

Be happy.

Live well, for as long as you have left.

He stood from the mirror, but caressed her shoulders and helped her sit down again – he ran his thumbs over her perfect cheekbones, to remove the last piece of the disguise…and there, on the looking glass was beautiful Veldrin, of the Dalish, her face once more decorated by the markings of an ancient elven slave.

'Why did not let him remove these, Vel?' he asked. 'Why…did you not have them removed yourself? You know the truth now; he did not lie to you.'

'You've asked me that before,' the elf softly replied, looking her reflection in the eyes, 'and I've told you what I told him – they are part of me, and hold a different meaning than they did in the dead world he seeks to bring back. If he had meant for the people to remember him, he could have…'

She furiously shook her head, and darted to her feet to face him.

'Why do you ask?' Veldrin bitterly inquired. 'You've heard all this before, and whatever Leliana brings…won't change my…my resolve. I am not one of Solas' ghost elves. I am Veldrin of the clan Lavellan, of the Dalish nation, I am alive, and my culture is not lessened by the fact that Fen'Harel took a three millennia long nap.'

He sensed the tears in her voice, and put his arms around her – she resisted, but only a little, before melting to the embrace and resting her forehead on his shoulder.

'You've heard all this before,' she whispered.

'I know,' Dorian answered, in an equally quiet voice. 'It was you, not I, who needed to hear it again. Are we ready to smile and wave, Lady Pavus?'

'No.' she said, clasping him tight.

'Too bad, because we need to join the banquet, meet old friends, smile and wave at old enemies, and we are more than fashionably late. You know,' Dorian Pavus said, 'I never thought I could love a woman as much as I love you. Amata.'

'I never thought that I could love a human as much as I love you, either. Amatus.'

'The world is full of surprises,' he brightly declared. 'Next thing you know, there will be flying cows over Minrathous.'

It was hard to believe, Leliana thought, dreamily glancing out through the carriage window, that a city could look so dark despite the fact that the full moon was out. The jet black stone seemed to consume not only the moonlight, but the red glow of the many magical torches; the tall buildings looked as if they'd had been claws reaching for the sky and impression not lessened by the fact that many of them were crooked, and in an ill-disguised state of disrepair.

There was nothing of Orlais' arrogantly neat, but light hearted, gilded glow here; there were no swirls to please the eye, no waterways, no life-like statues - only sharp obelisks, dark as dragon's teeth caked in dry blood. None walked the streets along the path along which they had been escorted. Leliana could swear that since they'd passed the Orlesian border, they had not seen any man or woman that had not been thrice approved by the Magisterium, the utter lack of normal life rendered Minrathous, in particular, as grim as she imagined the Nevarran necropoles were. If there was any existence here that was not controlled by magic, the Magisterium wanted no one to see it.

'How could Veldrin live with herself here?' Leliana asked Divine Victoria. 'This place is dead; this place is…'

Maker's breath, this place is exactly what our legends told it would be.

'This place is terrible,' Leliana reiterated, looking at her shoes and finding them suitably ugly for the occasion. 'This is Tevinter.'

It was the first time she would directly encounter Veldrin since she had left Orlais; they had agreed on as little direct communication as possible, and even that had been indirect, and never delivered by the same means or messenger. That, however, had ensured that no personal touches to the communication remained, and, watching the grim world outside the carriage's window, Leliana wondered whether anyone could live in such a place and still retain any part of their true selves.

'Yes, Leliana, this is Tevinter. We are in Tevinter's capital.' Cassandra Pentaghast answered, with a touch of impatience designed to disguise her own unease. 'What amazes you so?'

Maker, Leliana thought, watching a pair of juggernauts screech the heavy gates of the Argent Spire aside to allow their carriage passage to the wide staircase bathed in crimson magic lights. What did not amaze or disgust her might have been a better question.

'Aside for us being here?' Divine Victoria sighed.

The carriage pulled to the side of the steps, and came to a flawless stop. Slaves, elven and human opened the carriage doors. Divine Victoria and Leliana stepped out, to immediately be flanked by armed and armoured guards, who shadowed them so closely one might have mistaken them for prisoners, not guests.

Both women looked up to the peak of the Argent Spire – an iron fist holding up a crown of thorns, yet their feet touched deep velvet, and they came a staircase bathed in crimson light from below and above. The steps beneath the velvet were crumbling.

Cassandra struggled with her robes, as she most often did when she hid a short sword beneath them. As she did not need to hide her own blades, Leliana nimbly helped Divine Victoria up along the staircase towards Dorian Pavus and Veldrin Lavellan, who were serving at the front of the welcome committee.

Veldrin, Leliana thought, looked exactly like herself, yet nothing like Leliana remembered; it was as if she had gone through some effort to look blatantly elven, so much so that her appearance had the air of a disguise. Even from three steps below, there was no colour one could behold in her cheeks other than that applied by make-up, nor a sparkle in her eye other than that gifted by the many diamonds she wore around her throat; the next thought came, unwanted and unbidden.

That is how you could live with yourself in Tevinter, Inquisitor. They found your price.

'Divine Victoria,' Veldrin said, smiling a strained smile. 'Sylaise bless you with the power and endurance to weave all nations together tight enough to hold water.'

What a choice of greeting, Leliana thought, barely disguising a shudder but feeling oddly relieved at the same time. It took some form of otherworldly courage to speak such provocative words to the head of the Andrastian faith, under Minrathous' sky; Veldrin wore her old face as a disguise, maybe, but she certainly sounded like herself. The only way in which she could have proved more militant might have been speaking the phrase in elven.

'That is indeed what we are here to accomplish,' Cassandra said, managing a smile of her own; to Leliana's surprise, the elf winked. The gesture was quick enough for anyone who did not know her to miss, but…The spymaster had caught it, and so had Cassandra.

Veldrin bowed briefly, and moved aside, allowing the Divine passage. The rest of those who had been selected to extend first greetings advanced, and any trace of relaxation vanished from Cassandra's face and posture.

A decent player of the game you will never be, my old friend, Leliana thought, allowing herself the brief amusement of the consideration that Cassandra looked stiff and just about ready to lift her white skirts and draw her sword on the men who were bowing to her.

'My, my,' Dorian said, oddly voicing Leliana's thoughts, 'eight years as Divine, and she is still as graceful as a reanimated suit of heavy armour. While you,' he followed, unpleasantly narrowing his eyes, 'look just about ready to not enjoy the party. Leliana,' he greeted.

'Dorian,' she returned, measuring him from head to toe, and finding he was not ageing well at all.

But then, who does, she scolded herself, trying to forget the last time she'd caught a glimpse of her own wrinkles in the mirror.

'Walk ahead of me, while their attention is still on Cassandra and Vel,' he instructed, in a quick whisper. She did so, ascending each step towards the main hall as if it had been the steep side of a mountain. 'I am sorry I could not give you tacit permission to enter Tevinter in another manner than as part of Cassandra's suite,' the man softly spoke, from behind her. 'I know you might have preferred it that way.'

Leliana nodded, keeping her eyes ahead. 'I might have,' she answered.

'Sadly, we are still a nation addicted to the illusion of control,' Dorian said; she imagined he was smirking, and lowered her chin to disguise a smile of her own.

Her agents had been travelling in and out of the Imperium for years, unseen, unheard and unnoticed, yet she had to be watched.

'It's alright, Dorian,' she said. 'There is nothing more private than a public space – we can see all who can see us. Is the Magisterium happier to see me than Veldrin is?' she asked.

'The Magisterium is also very happy to deliver the guests you brought to my mansion. Vel won't be happy once she finds them there,' Dorian cuttingly replied. 'And, just in case you are wondering why Vel is not greeting you, you might expend a thought to why you did not greet her.'

The woman gritted her teeth, but managed to keep her voice sweet. 'She is your wife and well above me. Nightingales sing that if she produces you a male heir with rounded ears, you might stand for Archon – I would not dare assert a greeting.' Leliana said. 'She needs to award me the honour of being spoken to, before I speak back. At least that is how we play the grand game in Orlais.'

'I thought you might have noticed this is not Orlais, by now,' Dorian replied, hastening his step and passing her by, in sign that the conversation was over.

Cassandra had moved to the main hall, so Leliana assumed Dorian and Veldrin were supposed to do so as well; for a moment, she excused the cold tone in which he'd uttered the last words for the fact that he had dance steps to perform, yet the ill aging man seemed pressed by something else.

After quickly ascending to the top of the stairs, he touched Veldrin's shoulder and both of them paused. He whispered something in her knife shaped ear.

Leliana doesn't trust you, she imagined he'd said; she could not read his lips, but it seemed like an obvious warning to give, for she did not trust Veldrin at all.

The new Veldrin could not be trusted. The new Veldrin wore diamonds extracted by the blood and sweat of her people, but still spoke of Sylaise.

The old Veldrin could not be trusted. The old Veldrin dreamt of wolves.

The only reason we ever trusted her was the fact that she could close fade rifts and did so.

There had been no trust in the person who did not have faith in Andraste. There had only been the need for the functionality of a mark upon an arm this woman no longer had a dead man's arm as replacement, and only blood magic could have rendered it useful, thus Dorian Pavus could not be trusted either.

Forgotten by all but the unseen and the unheard, Leliana lingered in the warm glow of the open doorway, but did not step through, thinking it was as good an occasion as any to make the acquaintance of those who'd been appointed to watch her for the night. She did not have to wait long – there was a cup bearer who lingered on the steps although there was none left to serve, and, beyond the archway, a young nobleman in apprentice robes who did not join the bustle around Cassandra. It was rather disappointing, really, and it made her wonder if these were just the front, and more skilled eavesdroppers were waiting for her up ahead.

Not that she had anything to give them – the Magisterium already knew the part of the purpose of her presence, and Veldrin would find out soon enough.

Leliana graced the cup bearer by picking up one of his drinks, and lazily strode inside, in her turn. Not before extending a professional courtesy, however.

'You're being obvious,' she told the elven man; he looked at her in awe, and blushed to the tips of his ears.

'I…I apologise,' he whispered, as she passed him by. Leliana smiled.

It was a wonder that the Imperium had held on to its elves, while southern Thaedas had lost all of them, the woman considered, dispensing only minimal attention to the scene that consumed the room's interest; the Black Divine was even less at ease than Cassandra was, and almost forgot his own position in bowing to her first.

He was a short and stocky man, and he was sweating profusely, as if the many pairs of eyes upon him had genuinely carried fiery heat – his obvious and genuine state of discomfort earned him Cassandra's sympathy, at least. Leliana could tell. Whenever she forgot that she was supposed to act in a certain manner, Divine Victoria regained grace; she could not produce it by design, but she dispensed it without knowing. She shook the man's hand, and offered him a small bow; he was so flabbergasted that he bowed again, in turn, and the two Divines all but knocked each other's tall hats off.

At Cassandra's side, Veldrin and Dorian exchanged an amused glance; the Magister put his arm around his wife's waist, and pulled her close.

The gesture made Leliana forget herself and frown. If one did not know the truth, it was easy to see how their front was believable. The small gestures of affection were seamless, and did not carry the sensation that they had been rehearsed or were, in any way, contrived. He whispered something, she leaned in and whispered back – he laughed at whatever she'd said.

You won't be laughing for very long, Leliana thought, without malice, wisely taking note of the fact that Dorian had an unanticipated capacity for dissimulation – Veldrin truly did not know what awaited her, after the banquet, and if he carried on as he was, she would not even guess that something was coming.

Not trusting Veldrin did not imply Leliana actually disliked her, or wished heartache upon her. On the contrary, Leliana made it a point of mistrusting the people she did like, for they were the most dangerous ones.

Maker knows all of us liked Solas.

That, Leliana considered, had been a great failure on her part. Veldrin had at least been smitten at first sight – love and attraction were acceptable excuses for those who did not make watching others their trade, though, the spymaster thought, Veldrin could at least not have been so…easy. It hardly mattered, now.

Watching out for people one liked had been Leliana's task, and she'd spectacularly failed at it. She would not fail again, and if that implied keeping things secret from friends until they became inevitable, it was a decent price. Dorian certainly had no qualms in paying it.

She winked at the cup bearer, and bid him closer to exchange her now empty glass for a full one; the man looked grateful that he was allowing him so close. Perhaps he would be punished if his masters realised how bad he was at the business of spying.

'Do you like her?' she distractedly asked, knowing that she had just rendered whatever toils awaited the man worse, regretting it, but not allowing herself to let feelings get in her way.

'Who?' the elf asked, his eyes wide.

He, too, was easy.

'The lady Pavus,' Leliana said. 'She is one of the people, is she not?'

'Is she?' the cup bearer asked back. 'I don't see her carrying drinks, my lady.'

He hastily distanced himself from her, but the damage was already done, for Leliana now knew that Veldrin was no more loved by elves here than Briala was in Orlais.

Must be the diamonds…all the pretty diamonds. Must be the fact that she is introducing Cassandra to the Archon, while he is, indeed, serving drinks.

Like on few occasions in her life thus far, Leliana found herself in need of rising to her toes to catch a glimpse of the scene below.

In a demonstration of who truly was the power in the land, the Archon's appearance had captured all the attention the Black Divine could only hope for if he'd entered the room performing a hand stand, and it was easy to see why.

Archon Radonis was a strikingly handsome man, who, unlike Dorian, was aging very well. Leliana knew he him to be at least sixty, but he looked not a day older than thirty-five, with not a grey hair in sight. The grace of his movements was controlled, but mastered well enough to pass for natural. Unlike Cassandra, this was a man who could play the grand game, and obviously enjoyed it – though Leliana wished the first brush would go differently, her old friend was visibly flustered by the Archon's smile and manner.

Anyone might have been, as one might have expected the leader of the Tevinter Imperium to have lyrium thorns growing out of his skull, or at least have three slaves he was draining of blood in tow. He was nothing of the sort; even from a distance, Leliana could tell his smile was warm, and he casually kept his arm around Veldrin's shoulders as he exchanged greetings with Cassandra.

His relaxed manner did stem from knowing the truth of things, Leliana told herself. He could well be gracious to the Inquisition he'd given political support to, after the events of the Winter Palace, to Veldrin, who'd headed it, and to Cassandra, who'd started it. He also had the certainty that Dorian Pavus would never have a male heir with rounded ears, and that despite his growing influence in the Magisterium, Dorian posed no threat that Radonis would be removed before his time.

Oh, the man could play the grand game – Arl Teagan, envoy of Ferelden, put knee to ground before him as etiquette demanded; Radonis looked rather embarrassed, and offered his arm to help Teagan back up to his feet.

'Ferelden kneels to none, tonight,' Radonis said, causing cheers and claps to erupt all about the room. Leliana too laughed and clapped her hands, not at the words but at the sheer beauty of the performance – this man was not planning to be remembered as the man who'd renounced both Orlais and Ferelden, she thought. This man was planning to bring both Orlais and Ferelden back to the Imperium without shedding a drop of blood.

Not a drop of human blood, in any event.

Elven blood was, and would always be, expendable.

Change that with your pretty diamonds, Veldrin.

'There's no need for the she-wolf to change it,' the cup-bearer whispered in Leliana's ear. 'The Dread Wolf comes for you all. Another drink, my lady?'

'Don't mind if I do,' Leliana answered, but, by the time she'd turned around, the man had vanished as if he had never been.

Perhaps the elf was not such a terrible spy, after all.