Dorian's entire character radiated exuberance, wit, and hilarity, and the Dragon-Slayer found himself eager to participate in their conversation. He was drawn to his stories about life under Tevinter rule, and laughed with him about the reasons for his numerous expulsions and how he had come to be a social pariah. He even pitched in with his own stories – most of them about his travels, but he recalled snippets here and there about his own boyhood and shared them with him. He never revealed specific details, and Dorian never pressed. He found he did not want to.

"There's not much you haven't done, is there?" the mage said after his companion shared an amusing anecdote about participating in an Avvar ritual. The Dragon-Slayer laughed, shaking his head with mirth.

"I suppose after the amount of time I've spent as a Vessel, no. The Avvar I have a tenuous arrangement with. The respect I receive from tribe to tribe varies tremendously."

"I'm curious – how does one become a Vessel? Is there a ceremony? Pointy hats?"

"No," he chuckled, "It's rather more…subtle than that. I can't even tell you when it happened, precisely. It seems as if I went to sleep a normal person one day and woke up…divine." The Dragon-Slayer reached over for his chalice on the banister, swirling the wine as he did. "The Vessel is chosen more by the people than the Chantry, in truth. The Chantry has a hand in it, of course, but there's been so few of us that there's no real written code for swearing one in."

"Do you know how many there have been?"

"I'm the seventh one, in all the Chantry's history. My predecessor lived over four hundred years ago."

"That's quite the delay in naming a new Vessel," he observed.

"It's clear that a new Vessel is quite the rare event. People have lived entire centuries without them. I'm not certain of the details of potential Vessels that would have added to our numbers, though I'm aware there were some."

"That seems like a subject you should be certain of," Dorian pointed out.

"Perhaps. Regardless, the knowledge wouldn't help me in the slightest. The Vessels have all walked very different paths." He took a long draw of his drink. "There's not many similarities between us all. The first one came from Orlais – a noble – and the second, a former slave. We've all only one thing in common; we all performed an act so impossible that it seemed divine."

He turned to look down at the platform beneath them. A few nobles had congregated there, and he could hear their barbed conversation drifting up on the cool breeze.

"My predecessor lived in the Exalted Age," he explained, though his voice seemed soft and melancholy, "The child of a slave, I was told. She was being smuggled out of Tevinter as an infant when her boat capsized. She survived only because she had landed in a basket, and it floated downstream to a nearby village, where she was raised by the widow of a marquis and her elf servants. None of the ship's crew made it to the surface."

"That's why she was named a Vessel? She survived a boating accident?"

"No – she later went on to slaughter an invading Qunari battalion with weapons she had crafted from the widow's house. She was about fourteen, I believe."

"Now that's divine intervention," Dorian exclaimed, "Tevinter has been at war with the Qunari for most of recent memory. I know more than a few magisters would have offered her full citizenship with privileges for that sort of skill."

"Perhaps in another time. She died in the Fourth Blight. The Chantry Mothers told me she was killed by the archdemon, trying to protect healers."

"A noble death."

"A noble life." Dorian noticed the slight bitterness of his voice, the way his shoulders tensed and his eyes narrowed. The Dragon-Slayer seemed bothered by the thought of his dead predecessor – but for what reason, he could only guess.

"Do you disagree?"

The man turned his head to peer at him. It felt as if he was staring into Dorian's soul, picking him apart and seeing what he was made of, before he returned his attention to the nobles below.

"Of course not," he replied, "The Vessels have all been honoured to serve the Maker."

Dorian made as though to respond, when he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. The mage turned his head to see Vivienne had returned from the hall, and in her stead she had Josephine, her smile warm and polite. Both were awaiting Dorian to introduce them, and he noticed that other guests around them were preparing to invade the conversation he and his companion were having.

"Ah, just the people to breathe life into this party," he said, and the Dragon-Slayer looked up as he gestured them over, effectively trampling the nobles' plans, "Dragon-Slayer, I'd like you to meet Josephine Montilyet – ambassador to the Inquisition."

"Your Grace, it's an honour to meet you," Josephine said as he kissed her hand. "I've heard much about your exploits."

"It seems everyone has," he replied. She wondered if she had said the wrong thing. Dorian knew she had. "The stories don't do you justice, Lady Montilyet."

"You are too kind, Your Grace."

"Not at all. I passed the Inquisition's Caer Bronach not but a few months ago. An impressive Keep."

"Thank you – it is, rather, the Inquisitor's doing that we secured it at all. If not for his brave efforts, we would have far fewer holds to shelter the faithful."

"He sounds a good man," said the Dragon-Slayer, "not least because I've heard so much about him tonight. I'm sure once Empress Celene arrives, he and I will have the chance to become properly acquainted."

Josephine's face did not waver, though she understood the comment for what it was. Her smile remained and her pose did not deflate, as perfect and poised as the day she had learnt it.

"I'm sure that Empress Celene will put forward an…interesting proposition, if not one that immediately seems it. It would be for the benefit of both of our causes if each party hears her proposal."

"My Lady ambassador…" the Dragon-Slayer turned and took another drink from a nearby serving plate, "What choice do I have?"