The rider had excused himself from his companions soon enough. He found Dorian delightful, and decided that – should he be able to – he would seek him out before the ball's end and talk with him for the remainder of the night.
He did realise, however, that soon he would be with the Inquisition and would be able to speak with him at leisure. It did not change his mind.
Avoiding the nobles as best he could, the rider went to a more secluded spot in the front hall and took a moment to reflect. He would soon pledge himself to the Inquisitor, and he wanted to reminisce on his travels, his adventures, his freedom. He remembered, as he looked out of the large arched windows that overlooked Halamshiral, all of the times he found himself in ancient ruins, searching for answers to lost tales, the months he spent rebuilding and protecting towns that were left defenceless after disaster, the thousands of miles that were between him and the day he came to be the man that had replaced even his own name. Was it not enough of a sacrifice? Were there not people out there who would defend his right to live a solitary life?
"How much more must you take from me?" he whispered to his refection. It had no answers.
He heard the trumpets blare in the main hall, and, though reluctant, he turned and faced the music.
Time to pledge my life away, he thought, as he joined the stream of nobles entering the hall.
The announcements were painful. He suffered through them, even if it went on for an age, and paid attention to his cue; he walked after the Inquisition, under the weight of a hundred noble eyes.
"Presenting: The Dragon-Slayer of Thedas, Vessel of the Maker," said the caller, his voice loud and all-encompassing. The Empress smiled down upon him from her balcony, and he knelt in front of her – an act of respect he could attribute to his 'divinity', but in truth was to avoid his clumsy bow.
"I am honoured to welcome you to the Winter Palace, Dragon-Slayer," she curtsied, her arms bent at the elbows and her back straight, "It is quite the occasion, no, to have you in our midst tonight?"
"I would never have dreamed of refusing your invitation, Empress, even if I wanted to." His tone was polite but his words were barbed. The Empress understood what he meant; but the nobles around them were noticeably unaware, and so she did not rise to the bait. She could not antagonise him more-so than she already had. She was walking a dangerous line.
Dorian watched from the Inquisition's spot near the banisters. He admired the Dragon-Slayer's understanding of the Game, even if he himself had tried to avoid it.
"He holds himself quite well," noted Vivienne, pulling him from his thoughts.
"It's almost suspicious," Leliana said.
"He is the Vessel, Leliana. He may have received lessons."
"Lessons? Who would teach him?"
"The Chantry, perhaps? They were always eager to fashion him as an Orlesian."
"I doubt that, or my people would have informed me. No. There are more factors at play here."
"Perhaps the stories are wrong, and he's of noble birth?" Vivienne ventured. It was true his accent was notably from the Free Marches, but even the independent nations had their lordships. It was Damien who shook his head.
"Impossible," he said, "My family is well-connected and I've never seen him before, not even when we were children."
Dorian, who was trying to listen to both the conversation around him and the one between the Dragon-Slayer and Empress Celene, spoke up. "He's uncomfortable. He might just be imitating the people around him."
"He still knows how to carry himself around nobility, even if he is uncomfortable. I'll follow up with my spies. This might point us to learning more about him."
As the debate went on between them, the rider found himself in a battle of words. It was not so much a battle as it was a quiet establishing of authority on both sides; he wanted to reassert his position as the Vessel, consolidate what little influence he had, and the Empress, a seasoned champion of the Game, was crushing those attempts.
"I was surprised to find you had invited me, Your Grace, considering my aversion to invitations."
"I thought perhaps it would be a refreshing change of pace, to mingle with the nobility who revere you. These are the Children of the Maker as well, Dragon-Slayer – at times we all wish to see the faces of those He has sent to protect us."
"Perhaps," he said, "My dutiful service to the Maker has put me in many strange places. It's not often that I can settle for extended periods of time; I risk denying my divine purpose."
"And we are honoured that you have decided to grace us with that purpose this evening," she responded. It meant the end of the conversation, and he accepted the loss. He knelt once more and left the landing, and soon after the ball resumed – this time with Celene accepting guests and discussing various topics, from politics, fashion, and religion.
The Dragon-Slayer was tempted to leave the main hall and avoid her, but he knew it would be in vain. The Ladies-In-Waiting would find him when she demanded it, and he would have evaded his fate for only a few precious hours.
He watched as the Inquisitor and his advisors ascended the stairs to Celene. The rider chose to drink with his last few minutes of freedom.
Empress Celene was enjoying her victory over the Dragon-Slayer, though she felt a slight guilt in it. She believed in his path – that of protecting the innocent, the lost, the defenceless – but she also had a debt to the Inquisitor for her life. She was Orlesian first, after all, and their contracts, written or unwritten, were binding.
"A beautiful ball, Your Majesty," Damien said once the pair had exchanged formalities.
"Thank you, Lord Inquisitor. It's quite refreshing to have a ball without so much weighing down on our thoughts." She smiled at him, but it quickly faded. "I suppose you've come to ask about your alliance?"
"We have," Leliana replied. "The Dragon-Slayer would make a fine addition to the Inquisition, and we could use his skills to protect the people who still need us."
"I must confess, it is difficult to pull a man with so noble a purpose from his path. But, I do owe you my life, Inquisitor. That is a debt I intend to repay."
"We all regret that it has come to this, Your Grace, but without more support the Inquisition could fall out of the people's sight. We must remain visible if we are to continue our efforts in stabilising Thedas."
Celene looked at Josephine, her eyes and her mask unreadable, and nodded. She understood that the Inquisition's continued existence was necessary – for the moment. If all they asked for was the allegiance of a minor-but-well-loved Chantry symbol to help rebuild after Corypheus' war, she would take that trade.
"This will be a delicate operation," she told them, "I cannot allow my guests to see me command him to join you. The Vessel, at least in theory, outranks me. The people see him as divine, and I must appear respectful of that."
"We understand. We shall defer to your judgement, Your Grace, and follow your lead."
"I thank you. Please, enjoy the ball. Grim business cannot take up our entire evening, can it?"
Cullen, Josephine and Leliana bowed, but before Damien could do the same Celene gestured for him to remain. His advisors left him, passing him glances that meant they expected to be informed of what was discussed.
The Empress waited until they were out of earshot. "Inquisitor, I feel I must warn you; these are dangerous moves we are performing. One misstep, and the people will be in an uproar. You will lose much of their good faith."
"I understand, Your Grace."
"Remember, there is much to the Dragon-Slayer that we do not know, even with our best spies. A man with no past is difficult to predict."
"Do you feel he's a threat?"
"No," she said, and she was honest, "but I feel he is hiding something – from us, from the world. Why else would he tell no one his name? Or explain how he knows so much of the Game? Tread carefully, Inquisitor. He has secrets that may well damn him – and you."