Thick fingers close around her wrist, but Eris doesn't fight them. Instead, she relaxes into the hold. A grin spreads onto her face, and she doesn't bother to conceal it.
"What are you doing here, little bird?" Bull growls softly. His deep, rumbling voice sends a pleasant shiver through her body. He releases her before she has to ask, but there's no avoiding the fact that he's placed his large bulk between her and the rest of the room. Smart man. No one will sneak up on them without his knowing. "They won't notice you're gone," he says aloud, before she can protest. "Not for a while anyway. Drink?" He holds out the flask, still grinning.
She shakes her head, aware of the importance of keeping up appearances. She takes in his outfit with a carefully appraising look, and he knows her well enough to recognize the amusement she's trying not to make obvious.
"The Inquisition?" she asks softly. "You're working for them now?"
"So are you."
Eris shakes her head. "I'm working for Leliana. Same as always."
"Believe that if you want to," Bull snorts. "It's cute the way you draw yourself these lines."
"Leliana runs the Inquisition," Eris guesses, as she crosses her arms over her chest and stares him down. "That's what you mean."
"Leliana has nothing to do with your choices. That's what I mean."
"I'm not -"
"I know. Not one to risk your neck on lost causes. So you've said." He moves aside, nodding toward the narrow hall that will steer her through the Winter Palace's servants' quarters. "Go on. Before you're missed."
Eris nods, but she doesn't move. Bull notices her hesitation – of course he does – and he narrows a critical eye. He rests one of his huge hands on her shoulder, with surprising gentleness. "I miss you too," he says slyly. He runs his thumb in a slow circle over her shoulderblade.
"I never said..." she begins to protest, but he cuts her off with just a look. She never needs to say, not with him, and not with Leliana either.
"I'll find you," he promises, with one last strong touch. Eris nods, and slips carefully away. She can't help but glance back at him, only for a moment, but he's already carefully pretending not to see her. It makes it easier for her to keep her head down and stay invisible.
With one hand, she flicks her thumb over the scrap of parchment carefully concealed in her pocket. She already knows what the message says. She has yet to decide what to do with that information.
She can hear drunken shouting coming from the garden, and she quickens her pace before one of the Empress' guests stumbles inside looking for something more to drink, or a quiet corner to take a date. The servant's quarters at least should offer her a place to think for a minute or two. She pushes open a surprisingly heavy door and walks softly into the quiet. The servants' quarters are always dim, but now, even the flickering oil lamps have gone dark. Their oily smoke still clings heavily in the air, mixing with another too-familiar scent: the iron tang of blood. Eris' stomach twists. Her hands shake slightly when she catches sight of the pools of red, slick across the floor.
The discarded bodies of now-dead elves still lay where they'd fallen. One of the girls has blonde hair, some of it soaking up the still wet blood. Alina. They weren't friends, but the sight of the woman's throat torn open still feels like a violent betrayal. Her sightless eyes stare up at Eris, cold and accusing.
Eris fights the urge to be sick, and instead draws herself up to her full height and peers into the shadows. Voices scream behind her skull. There is a crushing pressure, a physical sensation of darkness, clawing and suffocating. It is a tainted magic she hasn't felt since Tevinter.
She turns away from this corrupted graveyard, and she runs.
She pays no heed to the nobles she passes, done up in finery, masks and jewels. They gasp in shock, and she hears nervous laughter, rapidly punctuated by harsh whispers. She ignores it all.
She pounds her fists against the thick doors of the ballroom, ducking under the arm of the guard that attempts to grab her. "They're here," she babbles senselessly. "Please! You have to listen to me!"
Someone grabs her, slapping her hard across the face. Blood trickles from her lip, and her head spins. She tilts her head back, trying to shake the ringing out of her ears, trying to focus, at least enough to see the man's face. She can't get a read on him, though. His face is covered with a form-fitting helmet that hides any expression. "Someone's going to try to kill the Empress," she pleads. "Please..."
She pushes on the guard's emotions, just a little bit, begging him to listen. His eyes widen briefly, and his hold on her loosens. The pause is just long enough to bring The Iron Bull running forward. He takes one look at Eris on the floor, not bothering to hide her distress, and the Orlesian guard holding her. "What's going on?" he growls, and the floor itself seems to shudder at the sound his voice. The guard's face turns white, and he takes a step back. Eris scrambles to her feet.
Bull nods at her, checking her over with a quick sweep of his single eye. "I'm not hurt," she mutters. "But..."
The Qunari doesn't wait for her to finish whatever she's about to say. He's already storming into the ballroom, where the Empress sits in attendance atop a gilded throne. She sits too still, held in place by magic, and though her eyes are wide with fear, her face is frozen in an expression of something altogether different: anger, bordering on genuine rage. Her skin is flushed red beneath the pearls and diamonds adorning her cream-colored gown.
The room is completely silent and still, a pantomime of an Orlesian ball acted out by living statues. Some of the people are standing on tiptoe, in the middle of a whirling dance. Others stand with lips locked in an illicit kiss. Eris' attention snaps to the single, subtle movement in the room: she can feel the stirrings of magic being woven, dangerous and dark. The man deftly weaving the invisible strings is wearing dark velvets, and a lazy smile. He is surrounded by an honor guard of weaker mages from whom he draws most of his power.
"Fucking Vints," the Bull snarls, his lip curling. He hefts his giant battleaxe and stalks forward, closing the huge amount of distance between himself and the Tevinter entourage almost completely before they are even aware of his presence. He crushes in the skull of one of the fragile mages with one swing. After that, the rest of them react.
"Bull!" Eris yells. She wants to warn him, but how can she? Even she doesn't understand what's happening, how everyone in the room except for her and Bull and a handful of already-dying Tevinters stands motionless, not even breathing. As though time itself is frozen.
"You meddle in things you do not understand," the leader of the magisters taunts. He speaks Tevene, but that is not an obstacle to Eris. And Bull doesn't have to understand what the man is saying to know that he is an enemy.
"You're using blood magic," Eris accuses. Her voice is surprisingly calm. Though this is unlike any form of magic she has ever encountered, she understands that much.
Coils of invisible rope snake around her wrist, tickling her skin. She slaps them away, without thinking. The magister smiles. "I'm using time magic," he corrects. He stares at her, with narrowed eyes, the way a cat does while playing with a mouse.
Eris looks back at Bull, but she can't help him. It has never been more obvious that the Tevinter infiltrators are completely in control of the situation. The magister reaches out with a casual flick of his wrist and traps the Qunari warrior behind an invisible yet unbreakable wall of force. Bull growls helplessly behind the barrier.
"What are you doing?" Eris asks. She can feel the pressure of the spells he casts, hears the whispers of the twisted Fade, but she cannot make sense of it, not without help.
"You talk too much," is the man's annoyed response. He silences her with a spell that is too strong and comes too fast for her to fight.
She struggles to pull in enough air through shallow breaths, and even her incoherent murmurs of protest soon fade away. She stills, frozen by expectations that weigh on her more heavily than any magic. Her gaze flickers toward the Orlesian empress – still alive, for now. She doesn't look at the magister. She sees bloody shadows on the floor and she can't tell if they're real.
There is a loud banging, the slamming of a door. Eris doesn't even flinch. It doesn't seem to matter. "We are not helpless!" someone yells. The sounds seem to come through a thick haze, taking too long to reach her ears. It's an unfamiliar voice, even if it wasn't warped and distorted by the corrupted magic wrapping itself around her, squeezing tight.
She turns her head enough to see a boy in dress armor and the Inquisition's heraldly conspicuiously decorating the majority of the breastplate. He charges into the frozen precipice of a fight not yet occuring. He breathes heavily, as though he's been running, but he does not look afraid. He holds out his left hand, palm out towards the magister, and a flash of blinding green light erupts from the boy's skin.
The magister sputters out an incoherent curse, but as the warped touch of the Fade rips into him, everyone else around him spins into sudden motion.
"Get her out of here!" Eris hears someone else yell, a man's voice, someone speaking the common tongue of Ferelden rather than the Orlesian she'd expect. Regardless, the honor guard around the Empress responds to the order; it is, after all, the only sensible option. Celene does not protest, she seems shaken. Eris reaches for the dagger hidden beneath her servant's clothing, and defends herself with calm confidence against both the Tevinters and the Orlesians who may pose a threat.
Most of the nobles seem utterly helpless, confused by circumstances beyond any understanding. There is screaming. Most of them run.
Bull puts himself between Eris and the bulk of the fight. Between him, the Inquisition's warriors, and the fighting men and women of Orlais scattered through the ballroom, a handful of weakened mages is simple enough to mop up, now that the fight has turned to one that favors physical violence and bloody weapons.
The warped green light of the Fade still hovers in the air above them. It is no longer blinding, but Eris avoids looking at it all the same. Her heartbeat still hammers in her chest.
"Who are they?" Bull asks Eris. His eyes are on the bodies of the dead magisters.
She shrugs. How is she supposed to know? She understands that the eyes of more than just the Qunari spy are on her.
The young man with the glowing hand approaches both of them, and Bull grunts something that may resemble a greeting. "Inquisitor Trevelyan," he announces to Eris.
He holds out a hand to shake hers, and it takes Eris a few long seconds to respond, but does as he bids. "You were trying to warn us," Jacob points out. His hand, clasped around hers, is warm and solid.
She nods. Her throat is dry and her head is spinning, but she does not fear him. "I saw..." a dark shadow crosses over her face as the image of the dead elves in the servant's quarter, throats slit and blood spilled, once more flashes in front of her. She shakes her head slightly, trying to clear her mind. The Inquisitor's hand slips out of hers, and he frowns in confusion. "They're from Tevinter," Eris tells him. She keeps her voice even. She wonders how much he knows. Is he aware that he should fear them? "Attacking in the open like this... they must think..."
"That Orlais has no more strength to fight," Jacob fills in.
"Do you think the Empress is safe?" Leliana asks carefully. Eris takes a step forward, ready to chase after the Empress if the spymaster commands it. Leliana looks shaken. Eris studies her carefully, thinking of everything that's gone wrong lately.
"Not safe enough," Jacob demands. He too sounds angry, almost petulant. "Not for long. She must speak with me. If they can infiltrate the Winter Palace itself..."
"It was no infiltration," Bull reminds the assembled team. "They walked through the front door. They were invited here."
"They came because of the hole."
There is a sword at the throat of the blond boy before he finishes the sentence, but he seems unbothered by either the weapon or the angry glare of the man who wields it.
"Cole!" Eris exclaims.
"Do you know him?" asks the soldier.
Eris shakes her head, indicating the negative, but she keeps talking. "He warned me," she says. "Out in the garden."
"I want to help," the boy repeats, and Eris frowns at the earnest desperation in his continuous assertion.
"You did help," she mutters. "Who are you?"
"Not who," Bull growls. He attempts to reach out for the boy, and this time, Cole flinches away. "What?"
"I am a person," Cole insists. "I can help!"
He hovers around them, feeling drawn toward Eris in particular, and Trevelyan. They'll listen to him. They have to.
"He's a demon," Hawke hisses. Until now, she'd been hovering at the edges of the Inquisition's group, but now, she is ready to fight. Raw mana crackles from her skin, strengthened by the Fade ripped open in the room. She glares at Cole suspiciously, her fingers wrapped tightly around the staff she carries as a weapon. "I can feel him. He does not belong here."
"A demon wouldn't offer to help," Eris pleads.
"You don't know that!"
"I'm not a demon! I'm not! I can help you. Please, let me help you. Let me help." He stiffens suddenly, his eyes flickering back and forth beneath his matted hair. "Pain," he wheezes. "Blood, and fear. She is dying. She saw him but she did not know. 'Why?' she asks him, and it hurts. He is her cousin. She remembers laughing. Running. Even when they fought it was not angry, not really. Why? Why is she cold?"
Before the boy finishes his strange monologue, Cullen has already started running for the Empress' private quarters, where she had been whisked away following the Tevinters' attack.
He is unable to push his way beyond her masked honor guard, but it's already obvious that there is no need to try. "We're too late," he murmurs, as his face drains of color. "Gaspard..."
"He staged a coup!" Cassandra spits. She too runs toward the fight, sword already in hand. Another useless death. Another failure. "Surely that will not be allowed to stand!"
The Inquisition's fighters are left with only the aftermath of a murder that took place on their watch. Eris stands alone just on the outside of the Empress' supposed safe haven. She can hear the arguing voices as clearly as if she were in the room with them.
"The people of Orlais cannot afford any more uncertainty or chaos," Cullen sighs. "Perhaps he will be a strong enough leader." It is a defeat, yes, but they cannot undo it. Now, all they can do is turn it to their advantage.
"What about justice?" Trevelyan asks. His voice is soft but angry.
The diplomat, Josephine, silently steps up to him, squeezing his had in an attempt to comfort him and calm his fears. "The Tevinters may yet try again to destablize the Empire. Let Gaspard lead it, in alliance with the Inquisition."
"You think he'll accept an alliance?"
"He will. Quite eagerly, I imagine."
Cullen nods, accepting her expertise. Honestly, he struggles to see anything positive about the events of the night, but it feels good to have some kind of plan in place. He reaches out for Hawke's hand, and turns to Trevelyan. "You'll have to negotiate it."
"If we can even find him," Cassandra points out angrily.
"We'll find him," Leliana insists.
Bull slips out of the room, sidling up closer to Eris. She lets him shield her. She doesn't want to admit how much it personally hurts, watching all of this fall apart. She's rarely in the middle of all the action, rarely sees how her reports devolve into life-and-death battles. She doesn't like what she sees here.
"The peace talks failed," she murmurs.
The Iron Bull shrugs. "Seems to me like they were never meant to succeed." He studies her, carefully, reaching out to trace her smooth skin under his strong, callused fingers. "I didn't figure you'd be all that disappointed, to be honest."
"I... shouldn't be," Eris agrees.
What does it matter to her, in the long run? Nobles everywhere – in Orlais, Tevinter, Ferelden... they consider themselves untouchable. She's under no illusion that Gaspard will be any kinder to the elves than Celene had been; he may even be worse – a soldier and a warmonger, he's not likely to pay much attention to things like providing food or charity to the poor in his lands. But he owes the Inquisition, and they may be able to put a little bit of pressure on him, when it matters.
For now, he'll at least pledge a significant force of soldiers to accompany the Inquisitor and ally with him against the demonic threat from the torn Veil, as well as the Tevinter armies who would take advantage of a weak and fractured Orlais.
Leliana says the Inquisition's purpose is to restore order and hope to a world gone mad. From what Eris can see, they are operating on little more than hope.
"You're coming back with us, aren't you," Bull asks softly. It takes Eris longer than she should to realize he's asking. She nods, wondering at the speed of her acquiescence. Bull grins. He sees nothing to gain in hiding his relief at the opportunity to keep her close, maybe for a very long time. He catches Leliana watching him, and he waves cheerfully at her, as he wraps his other arm more tightly around Eris' waist. "You did good," he tells her. The rest can be sorted out later.