-oOo-

After the duel, Alistair remained in his bath far longer than usual. He almost scrubbed himself raw trying to purge the shame of his loss of temper, before he suddenly realised what he was doing and threw the brush across the room. It had all escalated so fast; why had a perfect stranger tried so hard to provoke him, had even been prepared to say that to him? Nothing made any sense.

When he finally emerged, a servant murmured that Prince Philippe awaited him in the steam room if he cared to join him. He slung a linen cloth around his hips and made his way there. There was no-one else in the steam room, which was a mercy at least. Water trickled onto magically heated stones to provide a constant supply of hot steam. Philippe laid full length on one of the marble benches, a similar linen cloth laid across his lap. When he heard Alistair enter the room he turned on his side and watched him carefully, clearly trying to gauge his mood.

Alistair sat down on the bench opposite, rubbing his hands over his face despondently before clasping them in front of him. "Please don't look at me like that Philippe, I already feel like a monster."

His new friend regarded him gravely. "Not at all mon ami, you were perfectly within your rights. I can't deny though that your technique is rather… terrifying. I certainly doubt that anyone else will be rash enough to challenge you after that display."

"Well, that's a blessing anyway. I usually try to avoid duels; in fact my last one was Loghain…" He trailed off, suddenly far away, then shook his head and focussed on the man lounging opposite. "I have a vague memory of you trying to tell me something, but I was definitely not in the mood to listen. I apologise if I was rude; I'm grateful for your support."

"You are very welcome Alistair; but if you will permit it, I would still like to tell you what I was trying to say earlier." He looked an enquiry and received a nod in response. "Then let me begin by saying that I do not think Raoul's rather iniquitous comments were based in any real grievance against you. He knew perfectly well that no genuine blame could be laid at your door. It is my belief he was hoping you would kill him. The Warden King's reputation is fearsome, and well deserved it seems. I wished you to know this before agreeing to fight him but…" Philippe's shrug indicated the impossibility of achieving this aim.

Alistair could feel the frustration he had experienced in his bath rising again, and forced it down. Philippe was not his enemy, but he'd be damned if he'd be kept in the dark any longer. "Two questions: one – who was that madman? And two – blame for what? He mentioned a death; whose death? And why did he want to die? Alright, that's four questions, but I need some answers."

The prince secured his linen loincloth and sat up, gripping the edge of the marble seat and leaning forward slightly. He gazed at Alistair, green eyes compassionate. "That madman was Raoul Malvalen, until recently the favoured toy of the Empress. His ostensible reason for challenging you was the supposed suicide of his not-so-secret lover. Eloise de Val Chevin, who sometime after breakfast fell from her balcony to her death."

Alistair stared at him in open-mouthed disbelief. "What… why?" He gaped like a landed fish, utterly unable to marshal his thoughts. Eloise was dead? No, surely not. A thought bubbled up and he grabbed it. "Supposed suicide?"

Philippe moved across to sit close against Alistair's side and his voice dropped to a murmur, barely audible over the constant hissing of cold water onto hot stones. "Quietly my friend, this is a delicate subject. All that is known is that Mademoiselle Eloise was fine when her maid brought her breakfast in bed. When the maid returned one hour later, the balcony doors were open and Eloise was found to be dead in the courtyard below."

Alistair watched him intently, trying to understand what was behind this. "And why is it seen as a suicide? That tale could just as easily describe a murder, or an accident. What does the Guard Captain say about it?"

Philippe shook his head sadly, dropping his voice a shade further so Alistair had to lean closer to hear. "Tell me, King Alistair - if, at home in your Denerim Palace, you found someone had been enjoying one of your… playthings, wouldn't that person's sudden death inspire an utter lack of curiosity in your guards?"

"WHAT?"

"Ssshhh"

So many things in Philippe's question revolted him, for a moment Alistair didn't even know how to begin refuting them. "Do you really think that I would… that I…" He pulled himself together and tried again. "Firstly, I don't have playthings; Holy Andraste, what kind of a man do you think I am? Secondly, even if I did, I wouldn't… And, I sodding well hope the palace guards would kick up a fuss if one of my house guests was found dead."

This whole thing was so distasteful, so bloody Orlesian. He stared at Philippe, his brain finally kicking into gear. "So, are you saying the Empress ordered her death? That doesn't make sense, why would they…" he stopped and blushed furiously, realising that he could hardly say to Maddy's brother: Why would they put her forward as a candidate to marry me?

Philippe gave him a knowing little smile. "Why would they offer her to you as a potential wife and then slay her?" Alistair nodded reluctantly, blushing even harder. "I hear you spurned her most convincingly last night, did you not? Perhaps the Empress had offered her a final opportunity to… remove herself. She is family after all."

Alistair stared at him aghast. "So that's why Raoul challenged me; he thinks she died because I… because I wouldn't…" Words failed him. And Raoul wanted to die honourably in a duel rather than wait for his own assassin to turn up, he thought, sickened to the core.

A new horror reared its ugly head. "Is anyone else going to be under threat if I reject them?"

Philippe's brow furrowed as he thought about that. "I don't know… Probably not… but I can't be sure." He bit his lip in concern. "If I thought that Maddy was at risk I would take her home now… but no. She is not involved in the court or politics; there is no reason to fear for her that I know of."

He smiled fondly. "My little sister is certainly considered a disgrace to the Imperial Family, as she has always chosen to stay at our estate in Ghislain with her beloved gardens, rather than coming to Court and seeking a splendid match. However, I do not think the Empress seeks to remove her."

"So, why is she here now?" The question blurted out before Alistair could prevent it. He looked down at his hands, feeling like an idiot as another flush rose in his face. He finally looked up, relieved to find Philippe seriously considering the question, and not laughing at him.

"Possibly because it was made clear that the Empress desired it. Even her close family do not lightly spurn her commands. I am reasonably certain though that, when Maddy arrived, she had absolutely no intention whatsoever of marrying you."

"Oh." He really hadn't meant for that to sound so forlorn.

There was a soft laugh from the side of him. "That was when she arrived. I do not know her mind now, mon ami, and I would not tell you, even if I did. My loyalty is to her naturally." The Orlesian prince arose from the bench and stretched like a cat. "Now, I suggest we leave before we wrinkle like prunes. We must appear glowingly gorgeous for the day's festivities, must we not?"

-oOo-

Alistair set off back to his apartments, guards firmly in place behind him.

He wished he could set a similar guard on his emotions. He felt sickened, horrified, appalled by what he had heard. Most of all he was dreadfully homesick. When he took the throne, he had known himself to be a naïve child compared to the nobles constantly jostling for position in Ferelden. He had worked hard to learn about politics in the year or so since then, and had believed he was making good progress.

Here in Orlais, he was a babe in arms. The Imperial court was rotten to its very core, nothing was as it seemed. Sweet smiles shrouded vicious intent, while savage attacks masked desperate fear. Careless words could cause someone's death.

He cut through a portion of the Imperial gardens in order to shorten his journey. This was where the day's entertainments were to take place, and it bustled with servants ensuring that everything was just as the Empress desired it. The gardens, more than any other part of the Palace, reeked of ostentation. Although it was spring, and weather still quite cool, the gardens were mild and warm. The air was heady with the scents of summer; the lush display of flowers and plants took no account whatsoever of the season. This was achieved at stupendous expense by the use of magical devices, spaced at intervals around the perimeter of the garden and recharged morning and night by the Court mages. The entire garden was covered in a dome of magical energy which kept the ambient air at the required temperature.

On the day of his arrival, upon first stepping into the gardens, he had nearly buckled under the weight of all that magic, templar senses screaming. Within a short time it had reduced to a slight headache and pressure behind his ears, but it never went away completely. Today it symbolized everything that was wrong about the Imperial Court. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

He turned a corner and abruptly stopped dead, his guards nearly piling into the back of him.

Maddy appeared to be stealing the Empress' roses.

She was completely unaware of him, and for a moment he was able to observe her. She was wearing a faded green dress, and had pulled her wavy brown hair into a thick plait that hung nearly to her waist. She looked almost childlike, an effect heightened by her small stature. She stood on tiptoes, reaching up to a flawless deep red rose, using a small pair of secateurs to snip its stem. She turned to drop it in the trug slung over her arm, and in that instant she saw him.

She started to smile, to say something and then frowned, looking into his face searchingly. She dropped the flower and the tiny shears in her basket, and walked quickly along the path to where he stood.

"Something's wrong. What is it?" she asked, still seeking the answer in his face.

Alistair blinked, taken aback both by her acuity and the abrupt question. There was no way he could even begin to explain the morning he had endured, the thoughts swirling round his head. Even if he was prepared to confide in her – and that was a question in itself – the subject could not be discussed here, with his guards behind him. He was conscious of how careful Philippe had been to mask their conversation beneath the sound of hissing steam. This subject was not safe to discuss in the open, and he would not betray Philippe's honesty by endangering his beloved sister.

He answered with the only thing he could safely voice. "I'm homesick I think."

She smiled in quick sympathy, still observing him, clearly not at all taken in by the simple answer. Her concern was touching; he barely knew this girl, or her brother, and they had been astoundingly considerate towards him. He felt a sudden rush of gratitude and warm affection for both of them.

She gave a tiny nod, seeming to understand that he could say no more, and responded in kind. "That I can understand; I miss my home too."

He shook off his bad humour and grinned at her, changing the subject. "So, can I expect you to be hauled away to an oubliette for this blatant theft? Will we have to cut holes in our socks to make masks and break you out in the middle of the night?" He indicated the trug full of gorgeous blooms she was carrying.

Accepting the altered mood, she snorted and elevated her freckled little nose in mock hauteur. "I'll have you know that the Head Gardener worships the very ground I walk on, and begrudges me nothing." She abandoned the pose, and added with her usual candour. "This may have something to do with the fact that I brought him some of my own rare cultivars to graft onto rootstock. We gardeners are very susceptible to bribery, you know."

"I'll have to remember that," he responded, his tone warm and flirtatious. For the first time, he saw her look a little self-conscious.

She covered it quickly, directing his attention to the perfumed plunder nestling in her basket. "I wanted to make up a posy for Leliana. She said that she would be wearing white today and these red roses will please her, I hope. I cut a few extras for myself while I was here; I wouldn't usually bother, but it's no additional effort."

"She'll like that. But, if you really want to make her happy, put a few Andraste's Grace in the posy. They are her favourite." A memory floated up; Melissa being hugged by a tearful Leliana holding those tiny white flowers. He shoved it aside, now was definitely not the time.

"Truly? I'll get some then. They are rare in Orlais, but they will be grown here. I'll ask the gardeners where to find them. Aha! I've had another good idea too." Maddy pointed at him with one slim and slightly grubby finger and smiled with sunny warmth. "Wait there just a minute," she ordered. Turning from him, she surveyed the rose bushes with a predatory eye. He obediently waited, watching her with curiosity as she searched out two perfect, deep red rosebuds and cut them expertly.

She exclaimed anxiously, and examined one of the bushes with a troubled expression. "This one has a canker. I must let the gardeners know. It will have to be destroyed to prevent it spreading to the others." She stroked her finger over the stem gently, evidently upset. Alistair's headache throbbed and he glared up at the magical shield. This wretched garden was a templar's nightmare.

Maddy returned to her task, taking one of the buds and deftly twisting it with a fern from her basket to make a buttonhole. She smiled, pleased with her handiwork and turned to face him. "This one is for you, Alistair, the other one is for Philippe; for the party tonight."

She's giving me a flower? Wait, isn't this the wrong way round? What should a man say when a girl gives him a flower? He gazed at the little rose and realisation hit him; it was exactly the same colour as the one he had found in Lothering, so long ago. His throat closed up tight.

She faltered, perhaps at his expression; for the merest moment looking uncertain, then recovered her poise. Moving close, she reached up to fix the little rose to the collar of his jerkin. The top of her head only came to his chin; he could smell her hair, scented with sunshine and flowers.

In his mind the words roiled and surfaced; what a rare and precious thing you are to find amidst all this darkness. Here in Val Royeaux the darkness was perfumed and gilded, but just as repellent. He stared down at her, his thoughts in turmoil, telling himself that he was reading too much into it - it's just a rose of the same colour, it doesn't mean anything. Nevertheless for the first time since the Blight ended, he felt alive. Her hand brushed his throat as she worked; all her attention was on securing the little rosebud. His skin reacted to her touch; he was now all too aware of her proximity, her warmth, her scent. The rosebud safely in place, she finally looked up at him, hand falling away from his collar, sunny smile fading at his intense gaze. He realised he still hadn't spoken a word.

"Thank you." The voice he heard - his voice - was too hoarse, too raw, it exposed him. Her mouth was soft and inviting, green eyes wide and just a little apprehensive. He wanted to stroke her hair, tilt her chin and kiss her. The gentleman in him protested: Stop, this isn't right, it's too soon, too public, unfair to her when you don't know your own mind. He stepped back; the moment passed, the world returned.

Maddy looked up at the sun through the shimmering shield and gasped. "I'm going to be hideously late if I don't run; the stuck-up dresser that Celene inflicted on me will be in a dreadful snit." She darted off down the path, hair escaping from her braid, swinging her trug of flowers with all the abandon of a little girl. At the corner she stopped and turned; he was unmoving, still watching her. She hesitated, waved once and was gone.

-oOo-

Leliana didn't return to the suite of rooms assigned to the Ferelden delegation until late afternoon, which meant that she must bathe and prepare for the party immediately. This was bothersome, as she really needed to catch up with Alistair, but according to her maid the King was already closeted with his valet.

After her visit with Maddy that morning, she had left the palace compound and travelled into the city to buy some necessary supplies, and to stop in at a couple of old haunts where she could meet some contacts and catch up on some news. It was so pleasant to be in Val Royeaux again she had stayed too long, savouring the sights and smells she loved.

She had picked up a great many bits of gossip; most not directly relevant to their mission, but to be tucked away in case of need. She heard a vast amount about Eloise's untimely demise; this was the main topic of conversation, rumour and speculation were rife, most of it scurrilous and some of it wide of the mark.

It troubled her that Alistair's name was being linked to the death. This was a popular rumour among the common folk - that Eloise had committed suicide after being rejected by the Ferelden King - although not many of the nobles were taking it seriously; not those who knew what Eloise was like. Nonetheless Leliana resolved to try to get to Alistair before he heard it from anywhere else. It was bound to upset him and he had enough on his mind right now, the poor lamb.

While the maid prepared her bath, she took a little time to prepare some of the substances she had procured in town. She had shopped with a specific plan in mind and quickly made up the doses she needed.

She was dressed and ready to leave when the maid brought in a beautiful posy; deep red roses, tiny white Andraste's Grace and soft feathery ferns, tied with long white ribbons. "Princesse Madeleina's maid just delivered them, mademoiselle. She said they were sent with Her Highness' compliments." After Leliana had exclaimed over the flowers, and drank her fill of the heavenly scents, it occurred to her to wonder how Maddy had known to give her Andraste's Grace.

Five minutes later, when she joined the others in the sitting room, she saw the red rosebud fastened onto Alistair's modish cream silk doublet and suspected she had her answer.

-oOo-

Alistair had checked the balcony earlier and was reasonably certain they would not be overheard there. Leliana caught on quickly to the hint he dropped, but it took several pointedly enthusiastic suggestions before Eamon agreed that a drink on the balcony would be lovely before going to the garden party.

As quietly as possible he filled them in on at least some of the events of the day. The duel was a definite for sharing, and most of the conversation in the sauna was acceptable too, but beyond that…

No. Not ready for that yet.

"Well, this is troubling," murmured Eamon, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Too many meetings meant that he was the only one who was not hearing any gossip for himself. Alistair had a twinge of guilt over that, even at parties Eamon was busy politicking with the greybeards while he gallivanted around with young ladies. But that was why he was here, right?

Leliana shrugged placidly. "I think things are not as bad as they sound. The nobles will not believe that Eloise killed herself over Alistair. They know what she was like. They will pay lip service to the rumour perhaps, in order to avoid implicating the Empress, but that is all." Her blue eyes were dispassionate, it seemed that every hour she became less the Leliana he knew and more the Orlesian bard she used to be. "After all, how much will it affect us if the common people of Val Royeaux chew over this morsel for their entertainment?"

Ever since they arrived Alistair had been grateful that she was here, that he was not all alone in this viper pit. But really, that was a bit much, wasn't it? He felt obliged to protest, "I think I'd really prefer it if no-one thought she had killed herself because of me, and oh, you know what? I'd also rather not be the scapegoat in all this."

She remained pragmatic. "But Alistair, how can we avoid it? What is done is done. We must not show ourselves to be exposed in this. Demonstrate a proper amount of concern for the death of a fellow guest, but no more. That is how these things are handled."

Eamon nodded slowly. "Leliana has the right of it. We were not involved, and must be seen to behave accordingly."

"Fine, but just so you know; I can't wait to get home. This place, and the people," Alistair gave an exaggerated shudder, "it makes the Deep Roads look hospitable."

She surveyed his floral ornament with a lurking twinkle. "You don't like anyone you have met here? That is a pity."

He felt the heat rising in his face, and the fact that she was watching his blush with almost clinical interest made itworse. "So, are we done here? We don't want to be late, do we? Let's go then." Great, so now she was watching him babble too. And now Eamon was eyeballing him; even better.

-oOo-

Leon, one of the Senior Gardeners at the Imperial Palace, scuttled through the rose garden as quickly as possible.

The party would start soon, and he would be in trouble if he was found working once it did; the garden was expected to be immaculate and to need no further maintenance until the morrow. He couldn't ignore a note from Her Highness Princesse Madeleina though. Not only was she the Empress' sister, more importantly the Head Gardener approved of her and said she Knew about Roses. So, if she said one of the bushes had a canker and needed to be destroyed, then he had to find it and deal with it. Problem was, he had walked up and down the row six times now and every rose bush was in perfect glowing health. She had been very specific, he was sure this was the right path, so where was the canker?

Eventually he gave up and returned to his quarters, muttering imprecations against the nobility under his breath.

-oOo-