Author's Note – New chapter up! Thanks as always to those of you who have read, faved and followed this story, with special shout-outs to: kytkis, The Darklight Angel, Crosswood, Wile E Coyote 01 and the ever anonymous Guest.
Fear sparked in Talia's chest, racing through her veins as she sprinted behind Leliana: a wildfire that wanted to sear away reason, control and everything else but the need to fight, to kill. The impulses behind the berserker's rages had never fully left her, but she had learned to recognize the signs, channel the fury, bend it to her will. As her control had improved, the occurrences had grown rarer, but some triggers remained, none more sure than a threat to her bard.
She was unarmed, unarmored; Starfang and Griffin's Claw had been left behind in her room at the Antivan Embassy. Stupid! With the tensions simmering toward a boil in Orlais, even more than the rest of Thedas: humans against elves, mages against templars, the sodding Archduke against Empress Celene … to be fool enough to think that even the Imperial Palace could be immune to the chaos that threatened to consume the empire. Idiot!
Smoke billowed out of the ballroom from doors flung open, revelers pouring out in a mindless stampede that blocked the guards trying to get in. Some fell down, and were trampled beneath the feet of those behind them, their screams lost in the cacophony. From somewhere beyond the doors came the crash of shattering glass as others broke out the tall windows in their frantic attempts to flee the blaze.
Closer, and Talia could see the flames licking hungrily at those who sought to escape, taking hold in voluminous skirts, velvet surcoats, elaborately coiffed hair. Leliana never paused, shoving her way through, ignoring the ones that she pushed past, and Talia followed her, grunting and shoving until she burst through into an inferno.
"Leli!" Her shout was lost beneath the roar of the flames and the screams. The tapestries on the walls were ablaze, as were the heavy velvet drapes that framed the windows. The bunting that had ornamented the high ceiling had become a sky of flame, raining burning fabric down from above. Talia dodged one, hissed as another hit the side of her neck, beat it away before her own clothes caught as she spun in search of her lover. "Leli!"
She spotted her racing toward the far side of the ballroom. Justinia was backed against the wall, headdress gone, robes miraculously not burning, but cornered by a balding man in black velvet with hands wreathed in flame who advanced with implacable purpose. A mage, intending to kill the Divine with magic … and Leliana, hurling herself between Justinia and death, blades bared. Talia didn't waste time screaming; she ran, knowing that she would never get there in time.
Behind the mage, an armored figure rose from a crouch: a templar, face seared by flame, power evidently exhausted, launched herself at the assassin's back with a defiant shout. Her gauntleted hand snagged the collar of his surcoat and dragged him backward, the flame that would have engulfed Leliana and Justinia shooting heavenward to add to the inferno overhead. He landed on the floor with the templar on top of him; he clawed at her eyes, but she drove her fist into his face again and again, and he stiffened, then went limp.
"Go!" Talia called to Leliana, who caught Justinia's arm and tried to pull her toward the doors.
"No!" The Divine's face was pale, but she remained calm, refusing to be moved. "Evangeline!" She pointed to the templar, who had collapsed atop the mage, dead or unconscious.
"I've got her!" Talia shouted. "Go!" She ran to the fallen templar; the woman was not petite, and wearing full plate. Knowing better than to waste time trying to lift her, she grabbed an arm and pulled, dragging the woman toward the door, but a glance over her shoulder told her that it was too late. The room was fully ablaze, fire swirling all around and overhead, turning the air into a forge that seared the lungs with each breath, blistered the skin. She saw one of the burning scraps of bunting fall on Justinia's robes, saw the flash of Leliana's daggers as the Left Hand cut the Divine free of her ceremonial garb as the flames consumed it, leaving her clad in the lightweight shift worn beneath, and then the two of them were drawing back to the center of the room with Talia, where a lack of anything highly flammable had created a small area of sanctuary that would not last; the polished wooden floor was beginning to take fire in the heat, the crack of the boards audible beneath the roar of the flames and the screaming that, Talia realized, had grown more distant. The burning ballroom was empty save for the dead, the dying – and them.
Leliana's eyes, wide with terror, met hers, her hand reaching out as she mouthed "I'm sorry!". Talia released her grip on the templar's arm with one hand, shaking her head hard as their fingers laced. It was not going to end like this! A flaming chunk of bunting fell squarely on the bard, and Talia let the templar's arm drop as she leaped forward, Justinia's hands beside hers, helping to beat out the fire. The Divine's face was grave but calm, and grimly determined, blue eyes paler than Leliana's seeking out Talia's gaze.
"Take her!" she urged the Warden, nodding toward the shattered windows and the night beyond. "Go! You can make it!"
She was right, but she'd have to drag Leliana away from Justinia, and if she was going to have to drag somebody … "Sorry, Your Eminence!" she shouted, bending and hoisting the Divine over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes before she could protest or draw back. She could carry Justinia, Leliana could follow. The templar … Maker forgive her, but she couldn't save them all. Hopefully, she would never regain consciousness. She felt hands beating at her back, hoped the woman didn't have any concealed daggers within reach as she turned to Leliana, seeing comprehension already washing through her lover's expression.
"Come -" she started, then stopped in startlement as the wind hit her face. Cold and drenched in moisture, it was almost lost beneath the heat of the flames, but it quickly grew stronger, coming not from the windows, but from the doors and the corridor outside. Leliana turned, her lips forming a single word lost beneath the roar of the fire:
Wynne.
The mage strode through the mix of steam and smoke, hands moving in fluid gestures and lips forming the indistinct words of the spell. Any hint of advancing age had vanished as she bent the elements to her will: an archmage commanding magics well above those that had already been unleashed. The wind intensified, and now Talia could smell the snow as it swept around them and upward, the cold air a blessing to her blistered cheeks. Wynne stopped a few feet from them, in the very center of the inferno, her face set in concentration, as she set ice against fire, poured her power into the spell, smothering the flames with the moisture, then cooling the embers so they would not re-ignite.
The Warden cautiously lowered Justinia back to the floor. "Maker be praised," the Divine murmured, watching Wynne briefly before moving to kneel beside the fallen templar, giving Talia a reproachful look that the Warden ignored.
"Another mage!" One of the palace guards charged across the ballroom, sword drawn, ignoring the the Captain's shouted orders to stand down. Wynne was focused completely on the spell, her back to the threat, and Talia moved to intercept him, ignoring Leliana's cry of alarm. Unarmed was not the same as helpless; she had learned much from her lover on how to disarm an opponent, and a large part of the last year of her life had been spent on the deck of the Wicked Grace, sparring with a canny pair of rogues in close confines that had further honed her skills.
Stepping in, she caught the wrist of his upraised sword arm in both hands, letting his momentum carry him forward as she twisted. She was in no mood to be gentle with the fool; as the sword tumbled out of his fingers and clattered to the scorched floor, there was a dull crack in the vicinity of his elbow, and he screamed in pain. Ignoring it, Talia took him down with a leg sweep, pinning him on his belly with her knee in the center of his back.
"She just put out the damn fire, you jackass!" she informed him through gritted teeth.
"She's a fucking mage!" he snarled, the words twisting into a cry of pain as her grip on his arm tightened. The battle rage, denied any other target, was all too eager to seize upon this one, and killing him would be easy, even without weapons -
"Talia."
She looked up into blue eyes that had lost none of their calm authority with the passing of years.
"Let him go," Wynne instructed her gently. Few issued orders to her these days, but Talia obeyed without protest, though she remained poised to intervene if he thought to resume his attack.
"Philippe, you damned fool!" The Captain of the palace guard, Ser Rischard Boucher arrived, glaring at his subordinate with scant sympathy as he struggled to his feet, cradling his broken arm. "A thousand apologies, Madame, for this churl's barbarity." He bowed deeply to Wynne. "We are in your debt." Worried eyes finally identified the Divine as she rose from beside the fallen templar, and he sagged visibly in relief. "And yours also, my - Warden!" His eyes widened as he recognized the face beneath the soot. "I did not know you had returned." She had assisted the city guard on more than one occasion over the years, and Rischard had been promoted from their ranks; their relationship was one of friendly professionalism.
"It was supposed to be a surprise," Talia told him, shaking her head ruefully as she surveyed the destruction, the sobs and screams of the injured and frightened all too clear now that the roar of the flames had stopped.
"If this was your idea of a surprise, I'll thank you to refrain from surprising anyone else within the city." The jest was a grim one, his face bleak as he looked around.
"Your man is injured, Captain." Wynne stepped forward, but Philippe shrank back distrustfully, and the captain shook his head.
"Others need your care, Madame, and a few weeks in a splint will remind this oaf that orders are to be followed."
Wynne shook her head. "I would heal him, if he is willing." She waited for Philippe's head to jerk in a curt nod before stepping forward and laying gentle hands on the broken arm, the words of the spell no clearer with her only a couple of feet away, the power that they channeled more focused. The taut lines of pain on the man's face smoothed, color returning to ashen cheeks, but his regard of the mage was no less fearful, and his muttered thanks was offered only after a cuff to the head from his captain.
"And now that you've both arms, you can start your month of cleaning the middens," the officer growled, giving him a shove toward the doors.
"Wynne!" Justinia's worried voice summoned the mage to the injured templar as Leliana strode over to Talia and the Captain.
"How did that mage gain access to a ball at the Imperial Palace?" she demanded, the singed robes and soot-stained cheeks not diminishing the authority that she projected in the slightest.
"My lady, that is an answer that you will have as soon as I discover it," Rischard promised grimly. "We have sealed off the grounds and summoned other templars; if any mages remain concealed among the guests, we will find them."
Leliana nodded, then her blue eyes went as cold as the Frozen Sea. Following her gaze, Talia saw a trio of women in Chantry robes approaching hesitantly.
"Captain Rischard, have the Divine's coach brought round immediately," Leliana instructed, turning to the women as he passed the order on to a subordinate. "You are to return to the Grand Cathedral by the quickest route and inform them of the attack, and that Her Eminence is alive," she told them flatly. "You will then instruct them to send attendants who will not abandon the Divine to save their own skins."
"She told us to run," one of the three spoke up, then drew back as Leliana stepped closer.
"And I am telling you that if you are ever faced with such a choice again and you run, keep running," she told them in a deadly quiet voice. "Because I will kill you myself, when I catch you. Now go!"
She watched them scurry away, her features set into a steely mask beneath the ash. "Have your men follow the coach at a distance," she ordered Rischard calmly. "If they are ambushed, keep at least one of the attackers alive for questioning." Talia understood: if the mage had been part of a conspiracy, others could be lying in wait on the route between the palace and the Grand Cathedral to intercept a coach rushing the Divine to safety. The disgraced priests were to be used as bait to lure them out.
Rischard grasped her intent, as well. "The templars should be here shortly," he began. "Perhaps we should wait ..." He trailed off as icy blue eyes fixed on him.
"You will not wait," she informed him in a tone that did not invite contradiction. "Any delay will give accomplices time to scatter and devise another plot. We have this chance to catch them unaware, and we will not waste it."
Captain Rischard swallowed once, then nodded. Talia kept her features schooled into a neutral expression as he walked away, waiting until he was out of earshot before speaking.
"If a conspiracy exists, there could well be other mages waiting for that coach."
"I am aware of that." Blue eyes turned to her now, and while their regard was not so cold as what Rischard had received, neither was there any hint of the warmth that had been present so short a time ago. The Left Hand of the Divine faced her now, making no attempt to hide her displeasure at being challenged in this.
Talia pushed ahead. "Without templars to counter their spells, everyone in that coach will likely die before the soldiers can intervene."
"A risk we must take," came the chillingly dismissive reply. "The safety of Divine Justinia is all that matters; all other considerations are of no concern."
"Perhaps I should accompany them, then." The words escaped her before she could censor them. She knew why Leliana was acting like this, but that didn't mean that she liked it.
Hurt rippled briefly in her lover's face before the mask slid back into place. "Do as you wish," Leliana snapped, turning away from her. "You always do."
Ouch. The words were not entirely unfair, but nor were they completely fair, either. She had chosen to leave a year ago ... but Leli had chosen to stay, chosen her duty to Justinia over Talia. The absence of her lover had been a near-physical ache that had gnawed at her through the long months, tugging at her heart the way that true north pulled a compass needle. Again, she knew why her lover was acting this way, but it did not lessen the sting.
Sod it. She'd been bluffing, anyway. If any viable threat still existed, her place was here with Leliana and Justinia. She trailed behind as the Left Hand returned to the Divine, who was watching as Wynne healed the templar.
"I did tell them to run," Justinia said quietly. "There was nothing they could have done against a mage."
"That changes nothing, Your Eminence," Leliana replied, her expression impassive. "For all I know, one of them could have been involved." The Divine accepted this with a nod, a hint of sorrow visible in her eyes, but she made no attempt to contramand the orders that had been given. Protecting her own holy conscience, letting her Left Hand order three women to what could well be their deaths on her behalf. A part of Talia wanted badly to hate her.
And yet ...
She had been willing to risk her own life on behalf of the templar, willing to get Talia and Leliana to safety, even if it meant that she perished in the fire. A very mortal woman, carrying a burden that mortals had surely not been meant to bear. The former Commander of the Grey knew what it was to have the power of life and death over another, and no choice but to use it, to watch an innocent die. It killed a part of you each time.
"Your Eminence, we should get you to a more secure location, until sufficient reinforcements arrive to escort you back to the Grand Cathedral in safety," Leliana said. Left unspoken but clear was that she did not trust the palace guards with such a task. "I suggest that we repair to your suite to wait." The rooms were spacious but secure, with a single door for access and stout latches on the windows.
Justinia hesitated, looking to the prone form of the templar.
"Evangeline is stable, Your Eminence," Wynne reported as she rose from where she had been kneeling at her side. The blistered skin of the young woman's face was healed, fair beneath the grime of soot. "She'll likely remain unconscious for some time yet. I would recommend that she be moved outdoors into the fresh air. There is still smoke in her lungs that she'll need to cough out."
"See to it," Justinia instructed the guards who had drawn closer upon their Captain's departure. "And watch over her until the other templars arrive." As three of them moved to obey her, she turned to Wynne. "Come along; we've much to discuss."
"Many still need healing," the mage protested, looking toward the terrace where the injured were being moved, but the Divine shook her head.
"You've pushed yourself too far as it is," she said firmly. "You're paler than Evangeline. The mages from the Spire will be here soon enough."
Wynne offered no further argument, and she did not refuse when Talia offered her an arm, leaning into the Warden as Leliana led the way out of the smoking ruin of the ballroom. In the corridor, Talia spotted Josephine helping another woman toward the terrace; the Antivan was soot-stained and disheveled, but appeared otherwise unharmed, and Talia sighed in relief.
Wynne followed her gaze. "A friend?"
Talia nodded. "One of Leliana's oldest." And one of the few in this damned city of masks and intrigues that Talia trusted.
"A rare thing in Val Royeaux," the mage observed.
"Extremely rare," she agreed, trying not to sound as jaded as she felt. She'd not be shedding tears for most of the ones who had died tonight; vipers, the lot of them, hiding their fangs behind false smiles and insincere words until they saw an opening to strike. She'd confounded them when she refused to play their Game, alarmed them when they realized that she understood its workings nonetheless, appalled them when she had dragged one spy that she had caught trailing her back to his employer and threatened to thrash them if they sent another. Such things were simply not done. They pretended to ignore her now, watching her all the while like a half-tamed wolf that might either bite or piss on the rug.
"And yet, you are here." The blue eyes were gentle, a hint of amusement beneath the understanding that meant that Wynne had likely heard some of the stories.
She shrugged. "This is where Leli is," she said simply, and that was true as far as it went. Leliana's own reasons for being here were far more complex than gratitude to Dorothea for her aid so many years ago, and Wynne knew nothing about those reasons. Only Leliana, Talia and Alistair knew the whole of it … and Morrigan, wherever she had gone with her son. Alistair's son. Maker willing, that was all that would ever need know.
Once inside the suite with the door secured, Leliana and Talia moved in different directions, no communication needed as they checked every window, searched every potential hiding place, no matter how small. Only after all potential points of access or surveillance had been cleared did they rejoin Wynne and Divine Justinia in the antechamber.
"What happened?" Leliana asked Justinia, who had garbed herself in the simpler robes that she wore from day to day, her voluminous robes of state being ill suited to doing much more than sitting. And burning; they had gone up quickly once they had caught.
"The ball was winding down," the Divine began, her voice steady, features focused as she set herself to recall the minute details that might have escaped her conscious notice at the time. She might no longer answer to her old name, but she had not forgotten the skills that she had learned as Dorothea. "I began to deliver the speech I had planned, and I chose to leave the dais and move among them to do so." The look that she gave her Left Hand said plainly that she knew what the response to that choice would be.
"That was foolish," Leliana told her with a bluntness that she would only use away from the public. "They have no love for you, and more than one would prefer the Sunburst Throne to be vacant again, to have a chance at elevating a Divine more to their preferences."
"They grew accustomed to Beatrix in her dotage," Justinia replied, unperturbed at the rebuke. "They see the Divine as an ornament: a quaint relic, like a family heirloom to be brought out on special occasions and admired, then put away until they wish to look upon it again." A hint of humor touched her voice as she added, "I think that most of them were surprised that I could walk."
"Not the first time you've surprised them," Talia murmured wryly. As was traditional, Beatrix had designated her successor prior to her death. Revered Mother Dorothea's past had caused concern among Chantry traditionalists, but tradition won out in the end, and Orlesian nobility had anticipated the ascent of a Divine who could be induced to play the Game, her edicts and stated ideals influenced by favors or coin. What they had ended up with had been very different, and neither the traditionalists nor the nobility had been pleased when Divine Justinia V had almost immediately begun to display a progressive mindset combined with a piety that could not be swayed by bribe or threat.
"No, it is not," Justinia admitted with a rueful chuckle before growing serious again. "Still, they were at least listening to what I said, and Evangeline accompanied me. I did not get very far though. I had barely begun to speak of changing the way that mages are viewed and treated when he confronted me."
"What did he look like?" Leliana wanted to know.
"No different than any of the other guests," Justinia replied, brow furrowed in recollection. "He was older, balding, with brown eyes. He wore a black velvet surcoat with a white silk shirt beneath and a scarlet cummerbund. He wore a mask, of course."
"Whose?" Talia's question earned her an approving look from Leliana, but Justinia shook her head.
"He removed it almost as soon as he revealed himself, but the colors, the patterns were not those of any of the noble houses. It was simple: white with crimson border and accents, and no ornamentation."
Of course, it could not have been that easy, but even a red herring, meant to frame another house for the act, would have given them someplace to start from. "A man wearing a blank mask shows up at an invitation-only ball and gets admitted?" Talia demanded irritably of no one in particular. That particular custom exemplified to her the nearly imbecilic dichotomy of the Game: the right mask could gain one admittance into nearly any noble house in the Empire with no questions asked. Each house had its own colors and patterns, with the servants wearing simple versions of those displayed by their masters. In theory, an assassin could don such a mask, stroll by the guards and wreak havoc, but that was another of those things that simply was not done in the Game. Maker help them all if Talia ever decided to start thinning out their inbred ranks; she knew just how to go about it.
"If he presented an invitation, the blank mask should have drawn the attention of the guard who admitted him," Leliana said. "They will remember him, and hopefully anyone he arrived with. But it is possible that he snuck in. Or was let in." Her expression did not bode well for whatever guard might be responsible for the latter scenario.
"Do you think he was an apostate?" Wynne asked. "Perhaps a noble himself?"
The Divine shook her head. "The things he spoke of, the way he said them: the disbanding of the College of Enchanters, silencing 'our' leaders … he belonged to a Circle. Most likely the White Spire."
The mage's expression grew even graver. "The templars' vigilance has only increased since the destruction of the chantry in Kirkwall. A lone mage, regardless of skill, could not have escaped the Spire and infiltrated the ball without assistance."
"From templars, you mean?" Talia didn't need Wynne's grim nod to know the answer. This just kept getting better and better.
"And likely others, as well," Leliana finished, her eyes as hard as sapphires. "Who knew that you were coming, that I would be leaving the ball to meet with you?" Talia's eyes widened at the question directed at Wynne, but Leli was already turning to her. "And who knew that you would be there?"
"Josephine," Talia shot back, meeting her lover's stare, all but daring her to accuse the Antivan, "and her," she added with a sardonic quirk of her lips, nodding toward Justinia.
Blue eyes flashed fire. "Do not mock me!" Leliana warned her angrily. "This is no game!"
Talia felt her own temper fraying. "In case you've forgotten, I was nearly roasted alive with the rest of you!" she snapped. "And murder is part of the Game in this shithole of a country, but accusing friends -"
"I accused no one!" Leliana shot back defensively, "But a careless word, spoken where the wrong ears can hear -"
"Peace." Justinia stepped between them with an expression of gentle reproach. "The timing may have simply been coincidence."
"You know better than that," Leliana replied, her expression bleak. "There is no such thing. If I had been there -"
"You would have died," the Divine told her firmly. "This was a mage of no small power, and when Evangeline foiled his initial spells, he used blood magic. He very nearly killed a trained templar; you would have stood no chance. No one save me knew that Wynne would be there, and even I did not know exactly when; her mission is too delicate and too important to risk compromise – and can be discussed after we have all had some rest," she added, plainly seeing the question that Talia wanted to ask.
Talia accepted that with a nod, then tensed at the sound of a knock, stepping between Justinia and the door as Leliana moved to answer it.
It was Ser Rischard. "The coach made it to the Grand Cathedral without incident," the Captain reported. "It has returned with a sizable contingent of guards, and templars and mages have arrived from the Spire, as well. No other mages have been found among the remaining guests, and we are releasing each after obtaining a written statement. Those who are injured are being healed by the mages, and the dead are being identified for notification of next of kin."
"How many?" Justinia asked softly.
"A dozen," Rischard replied. "Bad, but not as severe as it might have been without Madame's intervention." He bowed again to Wynne, who inclined her head graciously, blue eyes sad.
"And the mage?" Leliana asked, seemingly unmoved by the tally of the dead.
"Burned beyond recognition," Rischard told her, "but the templars assure me that if he is of the Circle, his phylactery can be used to identify him."
"If he is of the Circle, he should not have been outside it," Leliana retorted sharply. "Much less inside the Imperial Palace trying to assassinate the Divine." She drew a breath, let it out in a hiss of frustration. "Has Ser Evangeline awakened?"
"I believe she has," Rischard replied.
Leliana nodded. "Have the coach prepared to leave immediately," she instructed him, "and I want the full guest list and guard roster delivered to me as soon as it is ready." After he had gone, she turned to Justinia. "I will speak with Evangeline; it may be that she recognized the mage. After that, I will arrange an escort of guards and templars to accompany us back to the Grand Cathedral."
"You are supposed to be taking the night off," Justinia reminded her gently, but her Left Hand shook her head.
"Now is not the time for such things," she declared, refusing to even look at Talia. "Not until we have discovered who is behind this. I will return with an escort when it is time to depart."
"What do you want me to do?" Talia asked quietly. The anger that had tried to rise earlier had departed, leaving in its wake a weary frustration that intensified when her lover turned away.
"As I told you before, do as you wish," Leliana said tonelessly, her voice as masked as Talia knew that her face would be. Now she didn't understand what was going on, but she did not follow when Leliana left.
"She doesn't mean it," Justinia told her gently. "She needs you."
And for nearly a year, she hadn't been here … but damn it, it wasn't as though she had been on a sodding holiday. It didn't matter; she would do as Leliana had told her and do as she wished … which actually coincided with duty, for a change.
"I'll wait here and see your coach on its way," she told the Divine. "Then I'll go to the embassy, collect my things and come to the Grand Cathedral." And if Leliana locked her out of their rooms, she'd sleep on the floor outside the door.
Justinia nodded. "I am sorry," she said regretfully. "I know this was not the reunion you were hoping for."
Talia managed a wan smile, though her chuckle sounded forced in her own ears. "I doubt this is how you thought the day might end when you got up this morning."
"It is a possibility that I must consider every day," the Divine said. There was no self-pity in her tone, and the sorrow in her eyes was not for herself. "I knew when I accepted this office that the changes I intended would not be made peacefully. Lives have been lost because of my choices; thirteen more tonight. I would change places with any of them, if I could."
"But if you die, your changes will die with you," Wynne spoke up, always the voice of reason, and Justinia nodded.
"And those who have died will have done so for nothing," she finished for the mage, looking even wearier than Talia felt, and older than the Warden could ever remember seeing her. "I will live, and see this through, if the Maker allows it. I only hope that I am truly doing His will."
A.N. - Apologies for the angst; I started writing this chapter intending to end it with Talia and Leli returning to her room at the embassy together, but the deeper I got, the less plausible it felt, and then they both started getting snippy. They'll work it out.
The overall plot is starting to come into clearer focus; as I was re-reading Asunder to get a feel for the timeline, I realized that the assassination attempt is never addressed again as far as finding out who was behind letting the mage out of the White Spire and getting him into the ball. In the book, Wynne observes that it would have been all but impossible without the help of a templar, but that's as far as it goes. Is it dealt with in any other source material? Because I haven't been able to find it, and gaping logic holes like that make me nuts. The leader of the Chantry is nearly killed by a Circle mage practicing blood magic, who had to have had templar aid, and nobody tries to figure out who was behind it? Seriously? Damn it, Gaider, you know better than that.
But it did give me a good reason why Talia & Leli wouldn't be accompanying Wynne and Shayle on the road trip to Adamant. It would have been cool, yes, but I didn't want to do a total rewrite of the book. There will be some overlap at the end of the timeline, at the point where Leliana reappears in the book, but this story will be focused on the search for those behind the assassination attempt.
The fire scene was a bit more lengthy and detailed than in the book, but that seemed acceptable since the POV character in the book at that point was unconscious for most of it. And I had Wynne put out the blaze, because the water bucket brigade just didn't sound like it would cut it. And can I just say that I'm a bit miffed that Evangeline & Rhys don't have even a speaking cameo in DA:I (which I still haven't finished after 100+ hours of play)? I mean, I was glad to see them mentioned as a mission focus, but they really felt like they would have been natural character additions to the Inquisition.
Anyway, back to working on the next chapter of Moments In Time!