Nymeria viewed eating with the Valmonts as she would any other business luncheon. It was just another hoop she had to jump through in order to seal the deal. It was not unlike any other meetings she had to attend on Varric's behalf as his assistant. After this, she would go back home, report to Merrill, and ask Varric for that other job he had lined up for her.

She poked at the half-eaten bowl of salad before her as they spoke.

Nymeria had always been a fast eater, which meant business meals were usually a pain. She always seemed to be waiting for the other party to finish their food, regardless if she tried pacing herself or not.

When was this conference starting anyway? It was almost as though Florian Valmont expected everything and everyone to bend to his ever-changing will.

Scratch that, he probably does expect that. Nymeria rolled her eyes.

"So Florian is your uncle through your father?" She asked Celene, trying to stir up conversation to pass the time.

Clarisse replied before Celene had the chance. "He's Reynaud's brother. Although," She took a sip of her wine. "The two of them are as different as night and day though. Here, let me show you."

Clarisse took out a light pink, silk hankerchief from her purse. there was a delucate, intricate embroidery design on it. Upon closer inspection, Nymeria realized it was actual an embroidery of the Valmont-Harimann family tree, and it look a bit like this:

Reynaud (+Clarisse) = Celene Florian (+Justinia) = Evangeline Melissandre (+Theodore) = Gaspard & Florianne

"Florian is married?" Nymeria asked, surprised anyone would ever want to marry a horrid, temperamental man like that.

"He was, yes." Celene replied. "He was married and had a lovely daughter about Celene's age. Unfortunately, both my niece and sister-in-law perished a few years ago due to the Blight."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry to hear that." Nymeria replied, regretting to have asked at all.

"It's quite alright, my dear." Clarisse replied. "So tell us about yourself, what is it you like doing in your spare time? You know, other than fill in for a friend at a dreadful luncheon?" Clarisse chuckled.

Nymeria laughed. "I'm afraid not much. I pretty boring. I usually read, write, maybe go to the library every now and then - go see a museum or two if I find the time..."

"You go to the library often? Because my father's a book-keeper at the National Library of Orlais." Celene explained proudly.

"It's quite a boring profession when you compare it to a professional artist." Reynaud, sitting the opposite side of the table, replied sheepishly.

It was surprising how timid Reynaud was compared to his overbearing, abrasive brother.

I guess Florian's Head of the Family for a reason, Nymeria thought. Celene has her mother's elegance and her father's naivety.

"Quit being modest, father." Celene shook her head. "Besides, Uncle Florian's such a snob about being an artist."

"Now, now Celene," Clarisse warned her daughter, clearing her throat into her napkin. "Keep your voice down. Don't go speaking ill of the Valmont family in public."

"Yes, mother." Celene blushed, embarrassed.

"Anyway, it seems artists run in the family," Nymeria replied, eager to change the subject for Celene's sake. "Gaspard was just telling me about his upcoming exhibition. I'm actually interested in seeing some of his work too."

"Oh, his work is really unique." Celene beamed. "Uncle Florian says he doesn't like it but I think Gaspard's work has it's merits. Photography can be just as skill-driven as sculpture."

"Unfortunately for our Gaspard, my brother-in-law disagrees wholeheartedly." Theodore shook his head sadly.

"Uncle Florian just doesn't know how to appreciate it. It takes a certain prowess to be out there in the right spot at the right time to capture rare moments! It takes a certain luck, you know? I think uncle Florian just doesn't appreciate the beauty in that."

"Well said, dear cousin." Florianne replied, leaning over to join the conversation. "Perhaps if you were to put in a good word for us, uncle Florian would be more willing to fund our next exhibition?"

"Uncle Florian surely doesn't honor my opinion as strongly as you think, Florianne." Celene laughed. "You give me too much credit."

"Well, you are his favorite niece." There was a hint of bitterness in Florianne's voice.

"It's probably because you look so much like Eva."

"Hush now, Theodore." Clarisse shot her brother-in-law a harsh look. "There will be no talk of Evangeline. Especially in front of Florian. You know how he gets when he hears anyone mention her name."

"Evangeline was his daughter?" Nymeria couldn't help but be curious.

Celene leaned over to whisper to her softly:
"Yeah, she was my late cousin. She and her mother died a few years back. Uncle Florian was absolutely heartbroken when they died."

"That's quite enough, Lady Celene."

The table turned to greet a older Orlesian woman, dressed in a gray suit with peachy cheeks and a stern, scowling face. Her hair was pinned up in a bun and she looked like a businesswoman of some sort.

"Why, Ms. Mantillon!" Clarisse smiled, waving the woman closer to sit next to them. "I hadn't been informed you would be able to make it to lunch with us!"

"Well, Florian's busy gathering his notes for the conference. I'll deliver his share of lunch shortly after this. He works too hard." Ms. Mantillon replied, her voice stern and punctual. She hung her designer purse on her chair and proceeded to order a glass of water.

"Nymeria, this is Ms. Mantillon." Clarisse introduced. "She works with Florian and is the family's personal assistant."

"Nice to meet you," Nymeria tilted her head.

Ms. Mantillon did not greet her, and instead turned to Celene:

"Please be cautious of what you chose to tell outsiders, Celene." Ms. Mantillon reminded her.

"I'm sorry?" Celene looked confused.

"Do not be so quick to divulge family matters to outsiders." Ms. Mantillon told her.

Nymeria rose a brow.
Was this woman seriously pretending Nymeria wasn't at the table? Who was she anyway?

"What? Nymeria's our guest! She's not some - "

"She's a reporter." Ms. Mantillon declared.

"What!?"

Nymeria blinked. All seven pairs of eyes stared back at her.

"Is that true?" Clarisse asked, regaining her voice.

"Uh, yes." Nymeria was unnerved. "I work at the Daily Herald, actually. But I don't think that should matter…?"

"Yes, why is that a problem?" Celene asked defensively on Nymeria's behalf.

"The Valmont family is too well-known to have some hack-writer ruin our reputation by smearing our name in the papers!"

"I'm not here as a reporter," Nymeria spoke up. "I'm just here to close a deal for my friend. She works at the Skyhold National History Museum. There is no ulterior motive, I assure you."

"Is that so?" Ms. Mantillon clearly didn't believe her. "And who's to say if that's true or not?"

"Nymeria wouldn't lie to us. She - "

"Celene, my dear, don't be so naive." Mantillon rolled her eyes. "You can't believe everything everyone tells you, dear girl. We don't know who this girl is. She's a reporter; she could write anything about us. She could sabotage the family name. You can say one thing and she can turn into something entirely different!"

"With all due respect, madam," Nymeria spoke up. "You do not know me."

"Exactly," Mantillon replied. "I do not know you. Which is precisely my point. Who are you to befriend Celene? How do we know you have no ulterior motive?"

Nymeria snorted. "I hadn't even the faintest idea who you were until this morning."

"You could be lying." Theodore muttered.

"Lady Mantillon, perhaps you're being too harsh…" Clarisse cleared her throat to come to Nymeria's defense.

"Nonsense. You know I have a point, Clarisse. This is all for the sake of your daughter, you know." Mantillon frowned. "She's a reporter. You of all people should know how they are. She could write about us. She could slander us in the press," Mantillon argued.

"I don't intend to write anything about today, I assure you." Nymeria replied dully. "If I had any intention of writing anything about the Valmont family, I would say so outright."

"Oh, don't tell me you have a moral code." Ms. Mantillon sneered. "You've nothing but your word to convince us. You could very well write anything about us!"

"Then don't give me anything to write about, and we'll have no problems." Nymeria shot back, glaring at Mantillon warily.

Of course, Nymeria could've told them she was merely an assistant to Varric Tethras, the editor of the Daily Herald Tribune. She rarely even wrote for the papers anymore. In fact, she was about to retire from that profession in hopes of other ventures.

Then again, she had always been hot-headed in the face of the pretentious and presumptuous.

Florian's suite was as extravagant as one would suspect for the head of the Valmont family. The large windows were hidden behind the suede, beige curtains and the bed was decorated with rich oak woodwork and blankets with glittering studs on gold and green fronds.

Briala stepped into his room, her suede black flats dipping into the soft red velvet carpet as if she was walking on clouds.

Too bad present company tended to be rather intense and outright frightful.

Florian Valmont sat down in the leather chair near his desk and didn't say a single word to her.

Unsure of what to do, Briala just stood there for a few seconds, quiet and anxious.
She was about to say something to break the silence when Florian pulled out a large manilla folder.

Slowly, he pulled out some documents that looked hauntingly familiar…

Oh, no.

Her heart skipped a beat.

No, no, no, no, no...

His voice echoed the room:

"I'll have to say, I'm surprised you managed to come this far. You slipped in right under my very nose and almost got away with it."

She swallowed.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"You didn't think I was going to just let you marry my niece without doing any legwork of my own, did you?"

"Sir- "

One corner of Florian's lip curled upright unpleasantly, as if he had just smelled a dead rat in his presence. He stared at her like she was something disgusting - a vermin, or some kind of poisonous rat.

"I hope you don't intend to continue this poorly-constructed ruse, Briala." He snorted. "I surmise Briala isn't even your real name, is it?"

"What?"

"Your pathetic parents would be turning in her grave, you little bitch."

Briala felt her heart beginning to pound. Her ears were turning red.

"I don't -"

"Don't lie to me, wench. I've already figured you out! The entire thing - your identity, your motives, your past! I know it all! I had a private eye look into things for me, and the evidence is piled up!"

"Sir, I know it looks bad, but I'm -"

"You think you can come in here, bright as day, thinking to seduce my niece? Thinking to use my precious Celene? How dare you! You - a worthless knife-ear! You harlot! You halla-humping little slut!"

"..."

Florian continued taunting her:
"Nothing to say, hm? Not even going to defend yourself?"

Briala stood there silently, head down as if ashamed of herself. Her chest felt heavy and her head was pounding. Sweat beaded her forehead as she stared at the carpet beneath her feet.

Then suddenly, she spoke with a odd calmness in her voice:
"I have nothing to say to you. It has been done and I won't speak of it anymore."

"Done? And what exactly has been done? What is it you seek? To avenge your family? To steal my fortune? To ruin my company? To steal my own kin from under me?"

"It is all in the past, Florian."

"Ha! How rich! You don't think I'd just let you sit here and continue poisoning my family! The moment Celene finds out about you, she'll drop you in the blink of an eye!"

"Celene won't find out anything from you." Briala said quietly, her voice hoarse and breath unsteady.

"What was that?"

Briala's hands were shaking. Her eyes were suddenly bloodshot and glazed, scanning the room and looking anywhere but at Florian's smug face.

Her hands curled into tight, white fists.

Her brows furrowed as she slowly approached Florian...

Meanwhile, a pair of ears were pressed closely to the door outside.

"Melissandre, the exhibition Gaspard is having - isn't it in Val Royeaux?"

"Yes, it is."

"But the subject matter is Ferelden, isn't it?" Clarisse asked. "Are you sure it will be well-received?"

"It won the Ferelden Award for Best of Show in Amarantine." Melissandre explained. "And received recommendations from the International Photography Show. I'm sure there will be interested parties in Val Royeaux."

"Besides, the subject matter I've captured this time is sure to startle and amaze the audience." Gaspard smirked. "The scenes of a fire is always a compelling subject matter for viewers."

"It's almost frightful how you managed to see two fires to photograph in a year!" Celene shuddered visibly.

"I consider myself lucky, I suppose." Gaspard shrugged.

"Or unlucky, depending on how you view it," Nymeria noted.

Gaspard laughed. "That is also true, Ms. Lavellan."

"Please, just call me Nymeria."

"Anyway, the exhibition will be up in two days." Theodore told them. "It'll be at the National Museum of Contemporary Art in Val Royeaux."

"Maybe this time we'll have more pieces!" Florianne beamed.

"Yes, and I'll probably win the Orlesian Award for Best Upcoming Photographer too!" Gaspard boasted.

"That's what we're hoping for."

"As long as we tell them of all the awards I've won previously, I'm sure we won't have any problems gathering more interest at the exhibition."

"You seem excited about it," Nymeria noted.

"Gaspard is very confident of his work." Theodore patted his son on the back. "As any young, successful artist should be, of course. Perhaps you can write about his exhibition, Ms. Lavellan?"

"I'll think about it," Nymeria replied, shifting uncomfortably.

At that moment, Celene's eyes widened in pleasant surprise. She was staring past Nymeria's shoulders.

"Hey, what did I miss?"

Celene greeted Briala, who joined them as they lined up to order their coffees at the cafe, with a quick embrace.

"Wait - what's wrong?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing." Briala smiled. "I was just - I was just doing some thinking…"

"Is everything alright?" Celene asked, concerned. "You seem worried."

"It's nothing, Celene."

"What did uncle Florian want with you?"

"It's a long story," Briala bit her lip. "I'll tell you about it later tonight. I promise."

"Well, okay," Celene replied uneasily. "I grabbed you a croissant, by the way."

"Oh, thanks." Briala smiled, squeezing her hand tightly.

"Nymeria, do you want anything?" Celene asked.

"No, I'm okay." Nymeria shook her head. "I'm actually going to excuse myself for a second. I need to go to the ladies' room."

I need a damned break before I go back there to deal with Florian. She rolled her eyes internally. Merrill sure threw me into a trap this time. She owes me for this. Big time.

"Alright, we'll wait for you once we finish up here." Celene told her.

"Great. Thanks."

Nymeria then slipped out of the cafe line and walked down the long hallway until she reached the bathrooms at the end. She was greeted by a large bathroom with brightly-lit chandeliers and marble countertops. There was a red sofa in the 'waiting' area in the front. The stalls were in the back.

Maker. Even the bathrooms look like a damned mansion. She thought.

Nymeria swiftly stepped into a toilet stall and bolted the door.

She pulled the toilet seat down to sit on and fished out her phone:

[1 Missed Call] Varric
[1 Unheard Voicemail] Varric

She double-tapped Varric's name on the 'Calls' list on her phone and brought down the menu to view her voicemails. Her phone immediately started translating the words into text based on the audio recording.

Outside the bathroom, a few footsteps neared her, but Nymeria ignored them to read Varric's message:

Hey, it's me. Call me when you're done with Daisy's stuff. I have some things you can work on if you're still interested. Also let me know if anything noteworthy happens with the Valmonts. I have contacts that would love to have the scoop on them, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I'll talk to you later, kid.

She heard the bathroom door open and hushed voices started bouncing off the walls.

Nymeria couldn't help but listen in.

"What?"

"You heard me correctly, my lady. The fortune is to go only to Celene."

"How dare you!"

It was Melissandre and Mantillon.

Instinctively, Nymeria raised her feet to the seat of the toilet.

She hadn't planned on eavesdropping, but she was curious. Besides, if Mantillon expected her to write a scathing article about the Valmont family, Nymeria might as well give Varric some information on the matter.

Although judging by their conversation thus far, it was probably just family drama. Nothing noteworthy.

Still, eavesdropping on them gave Nymeria some kind of sadistic glee because Lady Mantillon had not been particularly pleasant.

"Silly woman, you think this was my plan?" Mantillon was laughing unsympathetically. "Why, it was all your brother's idea! If you've the gall, go ask him for an explanation!"

"You! You must've had some hand in the matter!" Melissandre snarled. "I know what you are you to him! Don't try to deny it!"

"My lady, I'm not denying anything." Mantillon laughed again.

"This can't - You can't - I mean -" Melissandre was at a loss for words. "I mean, all of it? Surely he left us something of importance?"

"Dear Melissandre, you seem so distraught!" Mantillon sighed. "I'm afraid he's left you nothing. No one except Celene was mentioned in Florian's will. It seems you've gambled and lost, my dear."

"I can't believe he'd do this to us…" Melissandre's voice seemed shaken.

Really? I'm not surprised at all. Nymeria rolled her eyes. He seems like a generic jackass anyway.

"I'll be announcing it to the rest of the family after the conference," Mantillon replied. "So do try to act surprised, Melissandre. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to help Florian prepare for the conference."

With that, the door to the bathroom swung closed and the footsteps faded away.

Nymeria walked out of the stall minutes later, thinking little of it anyway.

After this conference was over, she was going to go home and make a Baked Ziti for dinner.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The blood oozed out onto the red velvet carpet to form tiny little puddles that seeped into the soft fabric, spreading like wildfire.

Florian knew he was dying.

But he still had himself.

Maybe, just maybe…

Maybe he could make it.

He closed to door and locked it.

And then...

His last breath left him.

He dropped to the carpet with a heavy thud, the last remnants of his pained grimace still etched on his face.

Ms. Mantillon knew she was running late.

Melissandre had been exceedingly annoying today, which may've explained why Ms. Mantillon felt the need to rub Florian's will in her face. She'd have to tell Florian, of course. But he'd probably be ecstatic that Melissandre was fuming.

That woman cares for nothing but money anyway, Mantillon shook her head sadly. But this way, Celene will be the sole successor of the family fortune and business. Clarisse and I will be the primary caretakers for the girl.

She felt something soft squish underneath her foot as she stopped in front of Florian's door.

When she lifted her foot, she found a silver barrette decorated with lilies.

Lilies. Briala. She must've dropped it. She thought.

Frowning irritably, she gently nudged the petals to the side and proceeded to knock on Florian's door.

"Sir?" She spoke into the door. "It's me. I'm here to help with the conference material. Can I come in?"

There was no answer.

Mantillon tried knocking again.

"Sir? Are you sleeping?"

No answer again.

Sighing irritably, she proceeded to pull out her own keycard and slid it into the slot near the door handle. In her haste and annoyance, she failed to notice the small splatter of red decorating the gold doorway on the floor.

The door's mechanism clicked, the green light flashing, and she swiftly opened the door, ready to chastise Florian.

Blood.

Ms. Mantillon immediately froze in her steps.

Someone started screaming.

She dropped her purse and folder unconsciously. Her legs turned to jelly and she found herself plummeting to her knees. A peculiar smell pervaded the air as she collapsed. Her stomach churned and bubbled.

Seconds later, she realized she was the one screaming.

By the time Nymeria and the others arrived on the scene, it was already too late.

Still, she immediately called the Skyhold Police Department.

No one was allowed inside the scene of the crime, she told the shocked Valmont family.

Briala was doing her best to comfort a distraught and weeping Celene, who tried to enter the room to see her uncle desperately. Briala and Clarisse had to hold her back from entering the room. Clarisse's face was ash white and her hands were shaking. She could barely take her eyes away from her dead brother-in-law.

Nymeria tried to ask Ms. Mantillon on specifics of the circumstances in which she found Florian, but the Valmont personal assistant woulld barely say a word. Her face was scrunched as if she suspected Nymeria herself of killing Florian. So if Ms. Mantillon was distressed, she certainly hid it well.

In fact, no one said a word.

No one knew what to say. They were all too shocked.

Judging by the dried blood around Florian, it had been too late to save him now.

It was probably even too late when Ms. Mantillon arrived to see him.

No one knew when it had happened.

No one saw anyone.

But there was one thing they knew for certain:

Florian Valmont was dead.

And he had been murdered.