The preparations for our reception at Halamshiral took more than a week, over the course of which Josephine became increasingly harried under the pressure. Politics threatened to dictate our decisions to an inexorable-yet nevertheless infuriating-degree, from the smallest detail of fashion to the very members of the entourage, and it was a burden upon nobody's shoulders so much as Josephine's. The balance to be struck was delicate indeed; too much magic and we risked accidentally uniting the clergy and nobility against us, while too many warriors could garner accusations of our own pretensions to the throne. On the other hand, showing little ostentation would at best be perceived as an insult, and at worst as weakness, neither of which we could afford.
Of course I had to go, being the Inquisitor, as did Suredat-an as the Herald of Andraste. Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen were my closest advisors, and they each had experience in the Capitol, so they would doubtless prove invaluable in navigating the court. Vivienne and Sera were imperial citizens in their own right, and they each had contacts to different strata of Orlesian society, so they came, as well. Varric's presence went without justification, though I could not have imagined facing the vipers of the court without him by my side. In the end, all of the principal companions we had gathered accompanied me to Halamshiral, in a calculated show of strength and diversity. It was risky, but at that point failure would have simply delayed our larger goals, and success might rely upon the presence of any one of our gathered allies.
We brought a respectable guard force composed of some of our most experienced veterans, along with some of the soldiers and scouts unused at Adamant, clandestinely led by Scout Harding. The Iron Bull brought his Chargers, Dorian brought his moustache, and Rhys brought Cole along to see the palace. Even Solas came, though he had thitherto declined to join our excursions to the Dales. We dressed according to our function: Josephine, Leliana, Vivienne, and Dorian were resplendent in finery befitting their social stations, and each wore masks of onyx and gold, which gave them camouflage to mingle with the men and women of rank in the court. Cullen, the Iron Bull, and I myself dressed in ceremonial armour declaring our soldierly occupations for all the world to see; law as well as custom dictated we carry no weapons so close to the empress, but sense guided us to conceal daggers in our boots and vambraces. Varric, Cole, Rhys, and Solas each picked their own outfits-the spirit doubtless had help from the other three, as I rather doubt he would have managed to do so entirely on his own.
Perhaps the most remarkable outfits were those of Sera and Suredat-an. The elf had obviously dressed herself in a hodgepodge of functional armour, even more clearly patched together than her usual self-stitched clothes, and she carried her daggers openly...yet she remained by the Herald's side, and so she met nothing more than grumbled disapproval. For her part, Suredat-an wore an actual coat of leather overtop a more covering harness-laced with proper chainmail-along with actual leggings.
The most notable feature of the Herald's new set of armour was the hilt of gold fixed between her shoulders, which at first glance appeared fit for an enormous blade, but which evidently carried no steel whatsoever. I would later come to learn that the weapon was magical, its template designed by a martial magister lord named Tidarion who brought Tevinter to a bloody civil war in which he perished on the field of battle. Dorian had seen Harritt and Dagna craft the hilt, imbuing it with arcane energy, so that when it was drawn a blade of pure spellcraft would sprout from the golden crossguard. Suredat-an and Sera had performed a personal service for the Tevinter mage, an act to which my duties and my suspicions had kept me from becoming privy.
For perhaps the first time since I had made her acquaintance, the qunari did not look the part of a recently-uncaged animal; the suit had the effect of modesty and even gentility when compared with her previous form of dress. Of course, comparatively few at Halamshiral had actually witnessed the Herald in person, and therefore their impressions were untempered by that experience. To them, the Herald of Andraste appeared at once stunning and terrifying, bedecked in proper armour, her gilded horns and golden weapon's hilt catching in the warm light of the reception hall when we entered to be recognised as guests of the empress and the grand duke. If there were affronted whispers complaining of the faith being defended by a horned heathen, there were also breaths of reverence and even awe that followed us beyond the vestibule.
Of course I would have preferred the whispers to the sound of trumpets and the barking voice of the imperial herald. As everyone at the ball, he spoke in Orlesian, though as has become my custom, I have here transcribed his words in the King's Tongue. "Ladies and gentlemen of the court, it is Her Imperial Majesty's pleasure to receive the most honored guests of the Inquisition," he announced, speaking loudly enough that he caught the attention of the well-dressed mob, and slowly enough that the buzz of conversation petered out before he paused for breath. "We present the Herald of Andraste, Lady Suredat-an Adaar." A smattering of applause followed the pronouncement, muted only by the protocol of politesse that dictated a detached sort of bemusement in the crowd's reaction.
I felt a pit open in my stomach when the Herald began descending the stairs to the recessed floor, knowing as I did that my own name was not long in coming. Indeed, I was next on the list. "We also recognise the Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of the Divine, and Inquisitor, in the person of Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena-"
"Ugh," I moaned aloud, praying for patience to withstand the evening. "Get on with it."
A momentary pause ensued as the herald's eyes scanned down his scroll to the end of my litany of names. "...Pentaghast," he finally said, and I began to descend the stairs myself.
[You notice a line in red ink, drawn in a slash from the word "names" to the margins of the parchment, where Isabela's handwriting finishes what the royal barker could not. The pirate's interjection, in full, reads Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Hypatia Jacynthia Emmanuella Beata Renata Victoria Cornelia Sophia Antonia Bodicea Lucretia Sabina Mattia Tigana Pentaghast.]
The imperial herald also recognised Bethany, whose reputation was well-known at court, and Varric, whose works of literature were something of a guilty pleasure among the upper classes-though later I would learn that his Orlesian publisher had been swindling him tidily, on the assumption that a dwarf in the Merchants' Guild would be full up with intrigue enough without voluntarily setting foot within Orlais to verify the reported numbers. The rest of our company had held back from the reception hall, both because many were too obscure for such formal acclaim and because we wanted to gather intelligence more subtly than would have been possible had each member been officially recognised.
Though the four of us on the floor had been called in sequence, we approached the far end as one, and soon we came beneath the gaze of Empress Celene and her would-be deposer, Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons. This night was the first they had been seen together at court in over a year, and it at taken thousands of bodies to get them to come to some kind of terms. This night they both looked ridiculously regal, both masked outlandishly as though trying to prove their claim to the throne by the weight their necks could support, though neither wore a stitch of red...either out of respect for the blood their causes had shed, or in ignorance of it. A subtle tension threaded the air as we came to rest before and beneath them, and I wondered who would be the first to speak, though I could not have judged the implications either way.
In any case, Celene was the first to part her lips. "Agents of the Inquisition, I hereby welcome you to the Winter Palace."
Not one to long be outdone, the grand duke also gestured his welcome. "May we all rest soundly knowing our bodies as well as our souls are under your protection, and may Andraste herself bless this détente."
My native practicality urged me to warn the both of them of Corypheus and his unknown machinations, but both Josephine and Leliana had drilled me until I had a different instinct to compete with such, at least while I was before the court. Tonight was to be a dance of obliquity and subtlety as much as of graceful movement upon the floor, and therefore I could not speak the simple truth that Corypheus presented a much greater threat to the empire than any familial disagreements ever could. I paused in my reply just long enough for Varric to brush my thigh with his elbow, and the brief contact was enough to loosen my tongue. "It is an honour to be welcomed, Your Majesty and Your Grace," I said, as Josephine and I had spent more than an hour practicing earlier that day. I did not bow, allowing the difference in our elevations to stand as symbol enough. "The Inquisition is here to witness the cessation of hostilities among the nobles and generals of Orlais; we do not proclaim a preference for the outcome, but we will be ready to stand against any and all who threaten the peace-not simply for the sake of Orlais, but for all of Thedas."
My words were perhaps more direct than was strictly advisable for one seeking to move up in the Game, but they were not a fatal faux pas. Both Celene and Gaspard indulged me with vows of fidelity to peace, and showed gratitude for the non-partisan stability the Inquisition had already helped to bring to the Dales. We were thereafter dismissed to the wings with the other guests as the next crop of dignitaries was ushered forward.
My skin crawled with the feeling of half a thousand eyes lighting upon me, evaluating and subtly judging whether or not I and my companions were worthy of advancement in the ephemeral but ever present Game whose rules had never been formally enumerated, and whose victors could not but be drawn in for another round, drunk as they were by the intrigue and power on offer. Yet it was these people who would decide the outcome of the night, perhaps ironically; those whose sole skill in life was currying the favour of their betters would now be able to choose from which fount those favours would thenceforth flow. And among them, though as yet undetected, the minions of Corypheus lay in wait for the opportune moment to strike.
Our varied strengths dictated how we countered this threat; I had no skill for subtlety, and my status both as the Inquisitor and as the Hero of Orlais all but guaranteed that I would be recognised by nearly every person whose path I crossed over the course of the ball, so I did not bother attempting to steal away. Suredat-an and Vivienne were in a similar predicament, the social stature of the latter and the sheer size of the former obviating any subterfuge. Instead the three of us remained in the ballroom along with Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana, tasked with collecting what information we could from the masked dignitaries before and during the grand dance to be held in honour of the ceasefire.
The rest of our agents were tasked with infiltrating the Winter Palace to discover what secrets might be found there, both against Corypheus and either one of the claimants to the throne of Val Royeaux. Bethany and Varric disappeared to this work surprisingly quickly, and I had to remind myself that the two had known one another for many years; this was likely not the first noble soirée they had navigated together, and though I had no reckoning of it at the time, they were not the only participants in Knight-Commander Meredith's downfall to attend this one, either. Unbeknownst to me at the time, the assassin Zevran Arainai and the pirate Isabela were also in attendance, and they worked to assist Bethany and Varric when they were not pilfering valuables from the courtiers.
The Herald proved ample distraction to the barons and duchesses who'd come to court, which was a concern, as her newfound loquacity might pierce the stoicism she could once have been trusted to maintain. Luckily Suredat-an held her tongue, possibly because Sera was nowhere to be seen in the ballroom; that in itself was a worry, but one which might be deferred until the current threat had been disposed of.
After more than an hour of conversation designed to sound perfectly idle, Varric returned to the ballroom, only to beckon me to the vestibule with the promise of someone I would like to meet. In a shadowed alcove lurked a woman with fair skin and dark hair, each lock appearing as though it had been cut and placed meticulously to give an impression of barely-tamed power. Combined with the elegance of her dress, her lack of a mask, and the knowing grin which split Varric's features, there were but a few candidates for the woman's identity. "Morrigan," I pronounced, growing certain of my conclusion by the light that flickered in the depths of her yellow-green eyes, shining with all of the cunning that was attributed in the Tale of the Warden. Yet, after my initial pleasure at discovering the truth, I felt confusion tugging at the edges of my perception. "Why are you not by the empress' side?"
The woman once known to some in Ferelden as the Witch of the Wilds drew up, slightly, and I felt the air shift just so, threaded with gossamer strands of arcane power. When she spoke, it was clear in her tones that she commanded such power with comfort and some ease. "My duties to Celene include defense as well as advice," she informed us, as though explaining a simple truth to a young child who could be trusted to mistake her sarcasm for indulgence. "It so happens that this night sees me better placed in shadow, at least for the moment."
Perhaps it was the practice I had been at pains to undergo, or the trial by fire in the ballroom, but I bit down on the instinct to bristle. "Very well," I allowed. "What news have you? Is there any sign of magical subterfuge afoot?"
"None," she retorted. "If you discount the Tevinter altus and his bodyguards I had to slay in the palace gardens not fifteen minutes past, that is."
I discounted no such thing, and told her so. "Why has no alarm sounded?" I wondered, to be met with a raised brow.
"Because I slew them," she explained, "and saw no point in having their discovery bring the negotiations to a halt. There are doubtless more agents both foreign and domestic afoot, and 'twould only serve their interests to end this night in ruin." She drew up to her full height, only slightly less than my own, and momentarily cast her eyes over my shoulder. "I must return to Celene anon, but I can spare perhaps another handful of moments. What further information do you require, Inquisitor?"
"Have you encountered any you suspect to be templars?"
A grimace marred her graceful features. "You mean the vile abominations with tainted lyrium growing within them?"
Varric grunted thoughtfully. "Who told you about that? About the lyrium?" I knew the request was hardly disinterested, for as shocking as it was to suppose that red lyrium carried the Blight, it was not the first time we had been presented with the idea. Indeed, it was Bianca Davri who had first posed it to the two of us in hushed tones. If the smith had stopped at the imperial court, if she had gotten somehow into Morrigan's or the empress' confidence after the indecorous manner of her departure from our company, then she could perhaps have damaged the cause of the Inquisition.
It turned out that neither Varric nor I need to have worried, for Morrigan's eyes narrowed with concealed affront at the implication. "I am not in the business of whispering secrets, dwarf, nor of passing gossip as fact. I would not have said such if I were not certain."
"We apologise for the implication," I offered, exercising the diplomacy Josephine had taken such pains to coach me on. "But have you encountered any of the red templars here in the Winter Palace?"
"I have not," she replied, after an interval of consideration. "I have observed them from afar, however, and I know their purpose better than I should like to. The venatori have thus far refused to imbibe the poison themselves, but 'tis only a matter of time, in my opinion." Her eyes unfocused and she tilted her head, as though listening to a faint note subsumed by the echoes of music from the ballroom. "And if your desire to save Celene is in earnest, you will return to her side, as must I."
I turned instinctively, afraid to hear some outcry or sign of disruption, and I had reclaimed half of my steps back to the ballroom before my pulse calmed from lack of evidence of any emergency. I slowed so that Varric could keep pace, and I glanced back to the alcove, expecting to see Morrigan a half-step behind...but where the woman had stood only a handful of breaths before, there was nothing but shadow.
"I hate it when mages do that," Varric gruffed, before taking the lead to the ballroom doorway. "Come on. We probably won't even see her in there."
And, indeed, we did not; we did see a sight I had not thought ever to witness, however. In our absence, the jongleurs had struck up the first dancing ballad of the evening, and both Varric and I were audience to Suredat-an caught up in a courtly dance with Duchess Florianne de Chalons, sister to Duke Gaspard. Notwithstanding the political implications of the Herald of Andraste dancing with the sister of one of the contenders for the empire, which were too weighty to analyse in the face of events, there was the simple shock of seeing the qunari move in perfect step to the music. What should have been a comical display given the disparity of the women's relative statures and Suredat-an's self-made reputation was instead arresting in its grace. The pair seemed to command an energy that soon sublimated the other dancers' efforts; when we first reentered the room there were several on the floor, vying for prestige and favour, but before the song had consumed half its chords, all in the room had turned into spectators. I was told later that Florianne and Suredat-an exchanged hushed words as they danced, though none save the Herald could testify to the exchange, and she did not do so; at song's end, though, the crowd's captivation had turned to admiration for the giant, and the duchess appeared to have lost whatever gambit she had been playing at.
I had only ever seen the Herald more pleased with herself when her limbs were freshly coated in blood, though of course to the rest of the world, the slight smile curving at the qunari's lips could have gone entirely unnoticed. I did not get a chance to properly digest what had happened before the Herald disappeared, dragged away from the crowd by Sera, to what purpose I did not inquire, and could hardly speculate. Needless to say, the second dance proved something of a disappointment to those of us in the gallery, and we were able to mingle far more freely. That was fortunate, for it allowed me to receive updates from Leliana and Varric, the former of whom managing our spies while the latter of whom coordinated the activities of the more visible members of our retinue, including Bethany Hawke. I remained close to the empress and the grand duke, equally suspicious of both even as I watched for threats to either of them. Much has been made of what was shortly to come to pass, on mummer's stages and in misspelt broadsheets, but what follows here are the facts as I came to know them.
An elven woman by the name of Briala once counted herself a handmaid and a lover of Empress Celene, but she had abandoned court politics after the civil war began in earnest, owing to Celene's actions in zealously quelling the elven rebellions in Halamshiral. By the night of the ball, she had made herself into a master of whispers among the elves of the empire, both those in open hostilities with the human nobility and those still kept in serfdom. Through the skill she possessed and the threat she posed, she had garnered a private invitation to the festivities, and her presence was generally unknown to the subjects at court. She proved receptive to Leliana's overtures, interested in advancing the interests of peace, as long as that peace brought more security and prosperity to the elves who dwelt within the empire.
Celene and Gaspard's motives were far less selfless, of course, even if their means could not quite match Briala's subtlety. Celene was attempting to sway the Council of Heralds, that body of highly-ranked Orlesians whose voices would be the final word on any resolution of the conflict that did not begin with the death of one of the contenders, and she was doing so by appealing at once to their chauvinism as well as their fear of further dissolution. She had also overseen the murder of a member of this council, with evidence fabricated to implicate Gaspard in the deed; that the crime had gone unannounced was a product of the Game, and that the evidence had not been discovered was the fruit of Briala's cunning. Gaspard, for his part, favoured answering silk with steel; he was smuggling Orlesian and Fereldan mercenaries into the Winter Palace under the guise of couriers and servants, with the aim of murdering Celene and any other nobles who disagreed with his right to assume the throne.
Complicating matters were the venatori, as well as Corypheus' as-yet-unknown allies among the Orlesians. With these four factions at play, along with the not-inconsiderable force of the Inquisition's most famous warriors, it was perhaps a miracle that the palace was not simply rent asunder. As the night drew on, however, my people worked to defuse tensions and settle accounts as bloodlessly as they could; Bethany and Varric worked with Briala to defeat the few remaining venatori, while Sera and the Iron Bull and the Herald of Andraste saved the leaders of the mercenary companies from Corypheus' assassin, both undercutting the fiend's plans and earning the loyalty of a corps of skilled infiltrators.
Near to midnight, with the stalemate drawn out only by the greatest effort to keep the forces balanced, the assassin revealed herself as Florianne, who had been promised corporeal rule over southern Thedas when Corypheus assumed his throne in the Black City. She aimed to kill Celene, of course, but also her brother, and she would likely have succeeded, but for my intervention, along with Morrigan's. The empress' advisor was poised to kill the duchess, but I interceded, too mindful of the woman's value as a source of information. The unintended consequence of my evident mercy was that the entire court heard Florianne ranting about Corypheus as she was taken into our custody, and I found myself in the uncomfortable-but perhaps inevitable-position of being the true broker of power at the ball.
Private negotiations between myself, Celene, Gaspard, and Briala took us into the first hour of morning, but no matter the lateness, not a soul of import in the palace could afford to retire to bed. The issue at contention was the obvious fact that neither Celene nor Gaspard would suffer the other one to live, should they secure the empire for themselves; Briala could not rule outright, but she had ample reason to be confident that she could exercise influence from the shadows regardless of the outcome, though of course the nature of that influence, along with its stability, perforce differed between the two claimants. Therefore the decision for whom to support for the Orlesian throne reduced to deciding which of Celene or Gaspard was worthy of the headsman, and which was worthy of the world. Warrior I had been, responsible for the deaths of hundreds by my own hand and countless more through choices of strategy and the scarcity of time or skill, I still did not take such a decision easily.
There is no suspense in here revealing the outcome, for posterity has surely recorded it in many forms and venues that may well survive after the last copies of this tome have been consumed by moth or by flame, yet I wish to record my reasoning for ultimately offering Empress Celene the support of the Inquisition. Though I had my own private reservations, and a great deal of respect for Gaspard as a man of action and a master of war, I could not support him simply out of my own prejudices; the decision balanced the fates and the hopes of thousands. Not only had Celene proven herself a match for Gaspard's tenacity, she had been the only ruler many of her subjects had ever known, and a more just one than many had ever given her credit for. And while Gaspard might serve the immediate goal of rallying troops against Corypheus' darkspawn and red templars, should we succeed, it would only have been a matter of time before he came to view the Inquisition as a threat to either be absorbed or eliminated. Ultimately, I foresaw further war, greater reprisals against the elves, and the eventual attempt to reconquer Ferelden and perhaps even Nevarra. That was not an outcome I could in good conscience support.
And so I did not do so.
Author's note: Thanks so much to coffee_maker at AO3 for beta-reading this chapter! It was really fun to write, but kind of annoying to upload-it looks like isn't accepting .docx uploads any longer, which is how I save my files. If this problem persists, I'll have to seriously consider abandoning in favour of posting exclusively on AO3. If that happens, I'll post another 'chapter' letting you know, and giving instructions for how to find the story on AO3. In any case, thanks for reading along!