"You've been lying to us all along." Cullen narrowed his eyes. "Joining the Inquisition under false premises to -"

"I didn't join the Inquisition." Matril shook his head. "I was shackled and left in a dungeon until Cassandra dragged me up a mountain at swordpoint." He met Cullen's glare with one of his own. "It was made very clear to me that leaving would most likely result in me being lynched by those who thought me responsible for the death of the Divine." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I was going to explain after the Breach had been sealed, but then a dragon showed up and a mountain fell on me, at which point I was led up a flight of stairs, handed a sword, and told the Inquisition was officially my problem. Please Cullen, exactly when in all that was I given a choice in the matter?" He sighed. "I didn't ask for this, Cullen. But I am doing the best I can. I am sorry I was not honest with you from the beginning."

Cullen glared before shaking his head. "So what is your real name?"

"I am not going to tell you." Matril squared his shoulders. "Ever."

"Finding out will not be difficult." Leliana folded her arms and gave him a level look.

"You are, of course, welcome to waste your time with the attempt." He shrugged. "I told you this for two reasons. The first..." He looked at each of them in turn. "I have grown to respect all of you far too much to continue lying to your faces in such a manner. You deserve the truth."

"And the second?" Josephine raised an eyebrow.

"I have additional skills, knowledge, and favors owed me that I can bring to the Inquisition."

"And what skills are these?" Leliana gave him a knowing look.

"They are not so dissimilar from your own." Matril switched masks, shifting his persona. "I'm a thief. Damn good one. That's why I was at the Conclave." He smirked at Leliana. "Don't fret so much. The bits that made it out were safely returned to the Chantry." He saw Cullen's eyes widening slightly, and Josephine looked startled. Leliana and Brehan however, exchanged the barest glance with each other. "Yes, Leliana, I worked for the Carta. Spy and assassin." He shifted his persona yet again, adopting the cultured Orlais accent and mannerisms. "The first time we met, however, you were in the employ of the unlamented Lady Marjolaine, and I in the company of the dear Countess Labelle."

"Maker's Breath." Shock came over Leliana's face. "You're Margot's Mouse."

"Fenedhis." Brehan gave a slow shake of his head.

"And for those of us who aren't Orlesian?" Cullen's hands were resting on his sword hilt.

"Countess Margot Labelle was one of Divine Justinia's early supporters, one who aided her in being named the successor to Beatrix." Brehan folded his arms, mirroring Leliana's pose. "She had a way of ferreting out information Justinia could use."

"And whenever she was asked how she'd come by a secret, she'd say 'why a dear little mouse told me'." Leliana smiled, then shook her head. "Unfortunately, Count Labelle was not as wise, and made a critical misstep. He was executed, and a similar order was made for the countess. She vanished before it could be carried out."

"Within a short span of time, everyone responsible for that particular order was dead or worse." Brehan nodded, then raised an eyebrow at Matril. "Yet the countess never showed herself."

"We were in Val Chevin when the plague hit. I managed to procure herbs for her, but her health had never been robust." Matril resumed the mask of the Inquisitor. "Once I..." His smile was not a kind one. "Concluded our business, I left Orlais for a time."

"I will need to know more about these favors you referenced." Josephine straightened. "We must keep this information hidden, of course, but we -"

"You can't be alright with this." Cullen stared at Josephine.

"Cullen..." Matril turned toward him.

"Those people out there, our soldiers..." Cullen glared as he gestured toward the door. "Are following because you because they think you are Andraste's Herald. Her messenger. And now you tell us you've been lying all along."

"Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever, but the one who repents..." Matril took a deep breath. "I do not know what Our Lady has in store for either of us, Cullen. I can only stand in awe of Her mercy."

Cullen took several deep breaths before slowly taking his hand off the hilt of his sword. "What choice is there? For better or worse, you are the only one that can seal the rifts. We need you." He sighed, and then turned and strode from the room.

Leliana and Brehan exchanged a look before Brehan turned and followed. Josephine started for the door as well, and Leliana held up a hand. "Brehan is better suited to calm him than you or I, Josie." She turned her gaze back to Matril and smiled. "Margot's Mouse."

"And suddenly, Leliana..." Matril smiled back. "You remind me more of a cat than a nightingale."

"Good." She nodded. "Good evening, Inquisitor."

#

"Cullen is very cross with you." Dorian smiled when he saw the Inquisitor jump slightly. "Shall I guess why?"

"I told them." He shook his head. "Why are you lurking at the top of my stairs, Dorian?"

"I..." Dorian straightened. "Do not, lurk. I was merely lying in wait." He folded his arms. "You told them."

"Leliana accepted the information readily enough. Josephine is examining the angles." He walked toward the fire. "Cullen..." He sighed, and stared down at the flames. "Is rather justifiably upset."

Dorian walked up behind him. "You did the right thing."

"I will have to take your word on the matter." He shook his head. "That is not something with which I have any great familiarity."

"I saw you offer your life to get the people of Haven to safety." Dorian put a hand on his shoulder, moving close enough that he could see his breath moving the Inquisitor's hair. "Do not mistake me. I am still..." He moved a little closer. "Quite upset with you. I am not even certain what name I should call you by."

"Matril is..." He shrugged. "It's my name in my head, most days."

Dorian ran his hand along the Inquisitor's shoulder, then went to sit down. He sprawled to take up the majority of the couch, laying back languidly. "Alright. What pray tell, happens on those other days?"

He blinked as the Inquisitor almost seemed to shift before his eyes. The man walked to the chair like a panther on the prowl, and when he turned to face Dorian his eyes were those of an arrogant predator. He sat, crossing one leg over the other in a manner that suggested he was deigning to sit upon an unworthy throne. "There are other names." His accent was dead on for Qarinus, perfectly Tevinter. For a half moment, Dorian would not have been shocked to see the man actually call fire up around his hand. It was like looking at a complete stranger. "Other lives I have worn, when the need arose. Shall I tell you of the time I convinced a woman that her husband had taken a lover, inciting her to poison him? It was a lie, of course. The man was merely an inconvenience to me at the time, and I needed him removed in a manner that would not -"

"Stop." Dorian stood. "Just stop." He turned and took a deep breath. Then he turned around again. The stranger that had been present a moment ago was gone, and it was... Matril... looking back at him now. "Maker, I have seen desire demons that were not half as convincing."

"Vladus Merovan. Margot taught me that the best masks are those that are in part real. Find an aspect of yourself, and build the persona from that piece." He leaned forward. "Sometimes it's almost like I can hear them arguing in my head. Cole said I don't know which of them is me anymore. I'm not sure he's wrong."

"Margot." Dorian walked to the small cabinet, and began pouring them wine. "Who was she?"

"I had a mother. Yet when I think of the word it's often Margot's face that comes." Matril accepted the wine. "She was the Countess Labelle."

"And was there a count as well?" Dorian raised an eyebrow.

"There was. He was a useful tool in the game. Margot did not come from wealth, and the lineage of her family was questionable." Matril swirled the liquid around in his glass. "Margot took what he had, and brought him to the heights. Had he left things to her, he would have sat on the Council of Heralds. Eventually he thought he could make his own move in the game. It backfired upon him spectacularly, and was enough that her enemies would have been able to use it to bring her down as well. Fortunately, that was an eventuality for which she had planned. We fled, assumed new names, and prepared to take them down from the safety of anonymity before she returned to her position stronger than ever." Matril looked down.

"Yet that did not happen." He blinked when he realized Matril's eyes were wet. "Matril?"

"She got sick. One of the many plagues that hit in the aftermath of the Blight. Without her, there was no position to reclaim." Matril shrugged. "So I picked a new name and moved on." He took a drink from the glass before setting it down. "An action I repeated many more times over the years." He held up the marked hand. "As I would have done after stabilizing the Breach, had the choice been wholly mine. It is possible Andraste has a sense of humor."

#

Matril woke to the sound of Dorian's heartbeat. He was a bit surprised to realize he'd fallen asleep in the man's arms as they'd laid together on the couch. A few of the buckles on his clothes were dug into him rather uncomfortably, yet it was with some regret he began looking for the means to extract himself.

Dorian blinked up at him sleepily as he stirred, then sat up. He yawned, then blinked at Matril again. "What are you smiling about?" His words were slightly slurred.

"Your hair is..." He shook his head. "Rather endearing at the moment." Most of it was sticking straight up, in fact, and the man's mustache was somewhat crooked.

Immediately, Dorian began combing his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back into place. He rose, and went to the reflecting glass hanging on the wall. "I would ask to borrow your comb, but I'm convinced you don't actually own one."

He combed his fingers through his hair and rose, grabbing fresh clothes out of the wardrobe.

#

"Got something for you." Varric held up a small wrapped parcel. He glanced at Matril curiously as the amulet was opened. "How is that supposed to help Cole?"

"I am not certain exactly." Matril turned it over in his hand. "Solas seems to know, however."

"I'm still curious how you knew about a cache of stolen goods in Tantervale." Varric shook his head.

"A little mouse hid them away." Cole's voice came from out of nowhere.

Matril laughed before reaching out to adjust Cole's hat. "That he did. Come, let's find Solas."

#

"Could it be the amulet was damaged somehow?" Matril gave Cole a worried look before turning to Solas. "I can try to find another."

"I do not believe the difficulty lies with the amulet, Inquisitor." Solas shook his head.

"There has to be some way to protect Cole." Matril folded his arms.

Solas nodded, then looked Cole over. "Concentrate on the amulet. Tell me what you feel."

#

"This amulet..." Matril shifted his pace to fall into step with Solas. "It won't..." He frowned.

"Inquisitor?"

"Does you charging it with magic mean you control Cole in any way?" It was perhaps better than some alternatives, but the notion made him decidedly uncomfortable.

"No." Solas narrowed his eyes. "It does not."

"Good." Matril nodded.

"Excuse me?" Solas blinked.

"I mean no offense, Solas. I am not saying I do not trust you." He shook his head. "I simply find the notion of binding..." He shrugged. "Distasteful."

"I see." Solas gave him a contemplative look. "May I inquire as to why?"

"I fail to see how binding a spirit is different from enslavement." He looked over at where Dorian was talking animatedly with Cole. "I do not presume to have any understanding of spirits, but it just seems..." He turned back toward Solas. "Wrong."

A small smile came to Solas's face. "Cole said you attempted to explain the concept of fashion to him."

"Yes, and once I have accomplished that task, I shall move on to teaching nugs to play chess."

"He said my tunic looks like pajamas." Solas arched an eyebrow at him.

Matril chuckled. "Well then, I suppose I should start investing in chess boards." He shook his head. "Really, a more dramatic ensemble combined with your unusual height would make for a far more striking image."

#

Dorian saw the Inquisitor flinch when Cole described what had happened to the real Cole. Matril closed his eyes for a moment before nodding to Solas, sending the elven apostate to go assist. Varric looked unhappy at the decision. And Dorian couldn't quite take his eyes off the Inquisitor's face. There was something in his eyes... He shook his head, and turned to look at Varric. "I am sure Solas knows what he is doing."

#

He paced the room for a moment, trying to clear thoughts out of his head. Then Matril sighed, and left, heading across the ramparts to Cullen's room. A runner informed him that Cullen had gone to speak to Cassandra. Matril thanked the man, then somewhat against his better judgment, went to go seek them out. The ire Cullen held for him at the moment was nothing compared to what was going to happen when the Seeker learned.

"You asked for my opinion, and I've given it. Why would you expect it to change?" He heard Cassandra's voice first.

"I expect you to keep your word. It's relentless. I can't -"

"You give yourself too little credit." Cassandra's arms were folded as she glared at Cullen.

"If I'm unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this. Would you rather save face than admit -" Cullen caught sight of him, and abruptly cut off whatever it was he was going to say. For a moment, he just glared at Matril. Then he gave Cassandra a jerky nod. "We will speak of this later." He walked out, and would have knocked into Matril had he not stepped aside to let the man pass.

Cassandra glared at Cullen's back. "And people say I'm stubborn." She turned to look at Matril. "Cullen told you that he's no longer taking lyrium?"

"Yes." Matril nodded. "He trusted your judgment on the matter."

She sighed. "He was not interested in my judgment today." She shook her head. "Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him." She held up a hand to forestall his words. "I refused. It's not necessary." She lowered her hand. "Besides, it would destroy him. He's come so far."

"Perhaps Cullen and I should speak of the matter." Along with other things.

#

A small wooden box missed him by inches as he stepped through the door. Cullen's eyes widened. "Maker's breath, I didn't hear you enter. I -"

Matril closed the door behind him. "No, I imagine if you had heard me your aim would have been better."

A bitter laugh escaped Cullen. He started to step around his desk, then stumbled. He groaned as he caught the edge of the desk to prevent himself from falling. Matril immediately started forward, then thought better of it. "Cullen."

"Forgive me, Inquisitor, but you are the last person I want to be speaking to at the moment." Cullen shook his head.

"Then yell. You've more than earned the right." Matril squared his shoulders. "And if you want to take a swing at me, I'll not stop you."

"You have no idea how tempting I find that offer." Cullen straightened.

"Are you going to be alright?"

"Yes..." Cullen sighed. "I don't know." He slammed his fist down on his desk. "Did you know Ferelden's Circle was taken over by abominations? I was there. The templars - my friends - were slaughtered. I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I - how can you be the same person after that? Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my knight-commander, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall's Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. Can't you see why I want nothing to do with that life?"

"Of course I can, I..." Matril shook his head. He started to walk toward Cullen's desk.

"Don't. You should be questioning what I've done." Cullen gestured angrily. "I thought this would be better - that I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts won't leave me..." He waved a hand. "How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause..." He whirled on Matril. "I was inspired. By you, of all..." He shook his head.

"Would taking the lyrium make stomaching what I really am any easier?" Matril shook his head. "Because if it will, I'll start taking the stuff myself."

"Inquisitor..."

"They didn't break you, Cullen." He took a deep breath. "You have no idea how much I envy the fact you can say those words. Despite everything, you stood. By choice, not because you were more afraid of Cassandra than you were of a hole in the sky. I thought you so much better a man than I."

Cullen turned away. "I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it." He punched the bookshelf, causing the wood to crack. "I should be taking it."

He sought a mask, and found none that fit. So he began crafting another. He shifted his stance to one more martial. "So that's it? Things get difficult, and you back down?"

"That's not -" Cullen turned to glare at him.

"You built an army. Are you capable of leading it?" He shook his head. "Take the lyrium, stop asking questions, and just do what you are told? Or are you going to walk away and pretend it isn't happening? Leave your soldiers to my mercy, my twisted words and honeyed lies? It's so much easier that way, isn't it? Just like in Kirkwall."

"You..." Cullen glared. "Have no right to..."

"Don't I?" Matril raised an eyebrow. "Am I really the only guilty man in this room? Do you really think speaking up after the Champion of Kirkwall had done the hard part can undo everything you let happen in Kirkwall? Shall we compare the roads our hatred led us down, the suffering caused by our actions and inactions? Shall we compare the blood on our hands, Knight-Captain? Tell me, did you just turn your back on the rape of the tranquil, or did you -"

He saw stars, and abruptly realized he was on the floor with Cullen standing over him. "You son of a..." Cullen yanked him back to his feet, his fist balled up to punch Matril again. And then he caught himself. He took a deep breath, and then shoved Matril away from him.

"Well now..." Matril spat out a mouthful of blood. He was pretty sure Cullen had loosened more than one of his teeth. The man had a hell of a punch. "Guess you still have a little nerve left."

"Never." Cullen clenched his fists. "I never..."

"The one who repents, who has faith..." Matril recited the words quietly. "Unshaken by the..."

"Darkness of the world..." Cullen's voice joined his. "Shall know true peace." He met Matril's eyes. "You made your point."

"The Inquisition can be a chance to start over, Cullen. For both of us." He nodded, then wiped blood off his face. "To undo some of the harm we wrought upon this world."

"I don't know if that's possible." Cullen sighed.

"It is. Carry on as you were. Without lyrium." He raised an eyebrow, and lifted the corner of his mouth in a smirk. "Do you need that in writing?"

"That won't be necessary." Cullen glared at him again.

"Good." He shrugged, and wiped away more of the blood streaming from his nose. At least it wasn't broken. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go explain to the healer how I just tripped and landed on a bloody anvil."

#

He examined his reflection in the mirror, and caught movement out of the corner of his eye. "Remind me to explain to you a concept called 'knocking'."

"You wanted him to hit you." Cole frowned. "You think you deserved it."

"It is..." Matril sighed. "More complicated than that. Yes, I wanted him to hit me. And yes, I deserved it."

"Would you really have killed him?" Cole tilted his head.

Matril touched the sleeve where he kept the poisoned dagger, and sighed. "Oh, Cole, you have no idea how pleased I am I didn't have to find out." He shrugged. "Or perhaps you do."

"I don't understand." Cole perched on the edge of Matril's desk.

"There are..." Matril leaned against the wall, folding his arms. He sighed. "I have to believe redemption is possible. However, if one does not care enough to feel guilt, then it is not a path that can be tread. Shame is how one learns to do better, to be better."

"Consequences raging further than the moment. How many innocent lives stolen, shattered, sundered, so much pain and so easy to turn a blind eye. Am I angry at him or me?" Cole's voice took on an accent Matril recognized as the one he'd adopted since taking on the role of Herald.

"Both."

"You aren't a demon." Cole shook his head. "You didn't make them."

"Cole, I..." He swallowed. "Do me a favor."

"Stay me." Cole nodded. "I will try."

"Thank you."