He was summoned too soon.

Empress Celene and the Inquisitor had been on the dancefloor, and the rider knew his time was close. He saw his fate sealed in their whirls and twirls. Their smiles covered hushed whispers. After the pair had left the floor, he saw the Ladies-In-Waiting lingering in the periphery of his vision, and he felt the apathy wash over him as he set his chalice down.

"Monsieur Dragon-Slayer," said the first one as the trio curtsied, "It is an honour to meet you.

"We have heard so much about your exploits across Thedas. We would love to hear more."

"But perhaps we can, later tonight. Her Majesty is asking for your presence on the balcony."

He nodded, and the ladies departed. The rider's face was dark as he stared at the Empress and Inquisitor across the room, absorbed in their quiet conversation, plotting against him. It was never meant to come to this.

But it had.


"Ah, Dragon-Slayer," said the Empress as he approached. The balcony was quiet and warm, the soft glow of the braziers chasing shadows across the walls. "I see my Ladies found you. How are you enjoying the ball? I understand it is your first."

"It's been an experience, to say the least," he replied. He turned his attention to Damien, who smiled at him – a disarming smile, as it was warm and friendly. "Shall we quit with the charade, or must it go on?"

"Charade?" Damien's response sounded almost genuine.

"This…display. The ball, and my invitation to it. To be summoned here so soon after I declined Lady Leliana's invitation, and the surreptitious conversations you and the Empress have been having all night – it leaves little to the imagination."

Empress Celene regarded him for a moment. Her mask hid her upper face, but her eyes, usually so cool and collected, were fraught with conflict. She was considering her moves carefully.

"I assure you, Dragon-Slayer, that whatever we've done has been in the interests of all of Thedas."

He waved his hand, "Please, enough with the subterfuge. Let's speak plainly – the Game has left me with enough of a headache. The Inquisition wants me as an ally."

The Inquisitor did not respond immediately. In truth, he did not know how. He could tell that the rider was not pleased with the situation – his shoulders were tense and he hunched slightly, as if he was preparing to defend himself – but he seemed to have accepted it. Perhaps there was a glimmer of curiosity in him, as well. He eyed Damien, as though examining him, inspecting him for slight flaws and defects; it made him feel uncomfortable.

"There is much work to be done in rebuilding Thedas after Corypheus," the Empress said, her gestures elegant and controlled, "The Inquisition has been a stabilising force, a symbol of hope for the people who now must find a new balance in this unsettled time. It was our thought that perhaps you, a man sent to provide protection to the lost and defenceless, would offer them a little more comfort."

"Is that comfort found in alliances with already-powerful organisations?"

"The Inquisition has the resources that could help spread your influence further," said Damien. "Lady Montilyet could find ways to have your presence bolster our efforts; Commander Cullen would no doubt be interested in some of the techniques you've learnt on the road; Leliana would want the information you've uncovered about the cities you've travelled and the people you've encountered there."

"Enough, Inquisitor." The rider stopped him. He approached, his hand gesturing that he had somehow overstepped. "These skills I've developed are born from two decades of endless wandering. The creatures I've faced, the people I've protected, the towns and villages that still stand because someone cared enough to defend them – your commander can't instil in his recruits that sacrifice. Nor can your spymaster learn from me secrets that will miraculously help to save the thousands of people still displaced from this war. Perhaps Lady Montilyet will have more luck, as nobles are so fascinated by a man who does not want to bend and twist himself unrecognisable to fit their ideal, but that is where my usefulness will end for you. This is not just about helping the people. This is about bolstering the Inquisition in a time when it has lost its purpose. I am not the man for that job. My purpose isn't, and can never be, yours. In time you will come to understand that as a blessing, Herald."

There was a beat of silence. Damien stared the Dragon-Slayer in the eye, calculating his anger, before he spoke.

"I didn't mean to overstep. I apologise."

That response confused the rider. He had not expected it; he expected, perhaps even needed, his anger. He needed to be assured that the Inquisitor was just a jailer with another name. He considered for a brief second his actions – allying himself with the mages in Redcliffe, offering the Wardens another chance by letting them fight for the Inquisition – but that was a time of desperation. He needed their trust, their cooperation. What did he need from him? Another sword? Another legend?

Another name?

"Dragon-Slayer," the Empress cut into his thoughts, "This is obviously not a normal occurrence. But the Inquisitor has proven his worth a thousand times in the war against the Elder One, and I believe in his path now. This alliance is met with the full support of the Orlesian Court."

It was a fairly innocuous comment, but it meant worlds. She had officially told him, in no uncertain terms, that any other action but to acquiesce would be met with hostility, and that she was prepared to employ, however discreetly, the full force of her influence against him if he chose otherwise. Her move had been made. He could not outmatch her.

There was a long pause as he regarded both the Inquisitor and the Empress. He was not a vengeful man, but in that moment, he almost wished he was. He would have lost his life in that palace, but taken both of them into the next world with him.

"I agree to the alliance," he said, and then with a slight sigh knelt with his head bent to Damien. "I am at your service, Lord Inquisitor. Deploy me as you see fit."

He rolled his shoulders with discomfort. "I'll find a way to show you that you're an equal in this alliance, not a servant."

"I am the Vessel, Inquisitor. In the end, it means little more."