I'm really sorry for the huge break between chapters this time around. I went on a bunch of spontaneous trips this month and was also very perfectionist-y about this chapter. Lotta tweaking. Also huge thanks to Guren for reviewing, cause I hadn't heard anything from anyone since chapter 20, and writing with absolutely no one reviewing is kinda disheartening.

***Minrathous, Senate Meeting Hall***

Andraste only had time for a quick rundown the morning before their meeting. She said two very quiet, very cryptic statements before explaining in her normal voice that they would be joining the First Enchanter for breakfast before heading to the Senate Hall. The first was "Do not contradict me." The second was "Trust that Isabela can take care of herself."

Before they headed out they met up with their slaves at the exit to the Circle. All three of them looked exhausted and Isabela was almost unrecognizable. She'd gotten noticeably thinner and the bright, bronze glow of her complexion had become as dull as her lifeless hair. When Hawke caught her staring at someone, he followed her gaze to where Andraste was going over proper hearing procedure with Raesion. He expected Isabela to be seething with anger, as he would have been in her situation, but instead he found a great deal of trust in her expression, still there even after all the abuse. It had to be, he figured, if Isabela was ever going to feel as if the ordeal had been worth it.

It was a short enough distance that they elected to walk, but even on foot the magisters, Anders included, just seemed so incredibly above everyone. It was how Andraste had instructed them to behave after all, but the illusion was equal parts the narcissism of the magisters and the meek, terrified behavior of those around them. The mages were like living myths, and Hawke couldn't help but wonder how their world had become so polarized. He'd always wanted to be able to walk through a city without having to hide that his sister or father or lover was a mage, but he couldn't fathom how anyone thought that the Tevinter way was the answer.

When they arrived and entered the hall they walked down a set of steps to the speaker's platform, a grey marble area with a large Chantry sun outlined in gold in the center of the floor. Andraste hesitated for a moment, obviously disliking the idea of stepping inside a symbol that the Imperium had no business using.

She hid her disgust, however, and eventually came to stand at the center of it, with Anders to her right and slightly behind her. The mage reached out and took Hawke by the hand, pulling him over to stand with them, and it was then that Hawke noticed how the Senate seats were laid out in two rows of semi-circles high above where he and his companions stood ready to deliver their speech and answer interrogatories. His neck ached from trying to look at them, which was nearly futile anyways considering the room was lit by torches that were placed behind the fourteen men and women who comprised the Imperium's main governing body, obscuring their features and leaving Hawke, Anders and Andraste to suffer the vulnerability of the light.

The only empty seat was presumably Raesion's. According to the rules of the Senate, if he was going to call a meeting on such short notice with such unbelievable claims then he would have to stand by those he was supporting, literally, and vouch for them. "Ladies and gentleman of the Senate," he opened, already speaking with far more self-confidence than any of them had ever heard from the man. It reminded Hawke of the difference between speaking with Carver at Gamlen's house and speaking to him in the Templar barracks. Location was a factor many people tended to overlook, but not Hawke. He'd spent his life in a constant state of masked awareness. "Let me begin by saying that I understand your skepticism, and were I in your place I would doubt this woman as well."

"Have you brought proof then?" asked a gruff voice from one of the many dark figures above them. "You are asking us to go to war, rather stupidly I might add, on the basis of this woman's outrageous claim. Tell me, You Highness, why we are to believe you?"

Andraste looked down at the gold sun under her feet, took a deep breath, and looked up at them with a subtle, knowing smile. "And what proof would satisfy you? Shall I best you all in combat? Shall I call the Maker to... smite you for doubting me? And even then would you ever truly believe that I am who I claim to be? Let us not waste our time with some pointless trial into the authenticity of my identity, for it is not your belief that is important to all this."

"Do you mean to suggest that we shouldn't care whether or not you're the warlord prophetess who almost defeated our entire empire?" another voice asked. Female this time, and if Hawke wasn't mistaken, Orlesian as well. The accent, however, seemed to have faded a bit in her time away from what he guessed was once "home." "You can flaunt your political clout all you want, but your cobbled-together, city-state army of filthy elves and confused Templars does not frighten the Imperium."

"You think I am here to frighten you into compliance?" Andraste asked.

"I think you are here to tell us that we can either join you or become your enemy."

"You misunderstand who the real threat is. The Chantry is primed for war. Both myself and my apprentice have been responsible for large scale attacks against them, and we have done so with the freedom of mages as our battle cry. They will march soon, they will categorize you as one of us, and they will come for you as well. When they do, tell me, what is your plan? Will you believe what Archon Hessarian believed centuries upon centuries ago? That the Imperium is already at its peak of strength and glory? That the best it can become is a stagnated cesspool content to have its leaders hide on an island like cowards?"

Multiple members of the council moved to talk at once, and one man even stood up out of his seat. "You arrive unannounced and have the audacity to-"

"To what?" Andraste asked before he could finish. "To recognize how utterly placated you all have become?"

"That is quite enough," Raesion spoke up as he approached her. As soon as he tried to step inside the outline of the golden sun, however, the floor burst into distinctly non-white flames under his feet.

Andraste didn't even turn to face him, and Hawke couldn't help but laugh. It was one of the only sounds in the room as everyone stared at the princess in disbelief. It appeared that no one had seen the slight twitch of Anders' hand, and Hawke could already picture the look on Varric's face when he told the dwarf that the Tevinter Senate was fooled by a parlor trick. Then again, tricking people into believing something they want to believe had always been easy, so he wasn't all that surprised that it had worked.

"You forget that mages aren't the only people on this council," a Chantry official pointed out. "Magic has coexisted alongside the Imperial Chantry for centuries. Our Circles are not prisons. Every free man and woman in Tevinter has the opportunity to earn a status based on their intellect and work ethic. We are not in need of a cultural revolution."

Hawke winced at the need to say "free" men and women. He couldn't imagine the flawed logic that must have been employed but the Tevinter people in order to justify their abolition of Chantry oppression while in the same breath acknowledging their practice of slavery.

"I am not saying your system is flawed," Andraste corrected, her voice returning a more calm tone, "I am saying that you have the Maker's favor and now is your time to demonstrate that. The rest of Thedas would prefer to wrongfully blame you for the Blights, and they will continue to perpetuate these lies in my name while using them as an excuse to disregard the inherent superiority of magic. I ask if you will let this stand, for I am here as a mage and as a servant of the Maker to invite you to join a long overdue, world-wide cultural revolution; to cleanse Thedas of these lies. I ask you, who would look upon the power to alter reality and brand such an ability a curse? The answer is the weak and the frightened; people we need not act as if we fear. It is time you show them that you need not hide when they come to knock."

"And where do those without magic fit in to this 'revolution' of yours?" a different Chantry official asked. It was odd, for Hawke, to see men speaking for the Chantry as anything higher than a priest. As much as he hated admitting that the Imperium was doing something right, he never really thought the gender hierarchy in the regular Chantry was necessary.

"I only ask that those born without magic recognize its authority and potential. The Champion of Kirkwall stands beside both his mage partner and myself as an ally, and I respect his abilities as a warrior immensely. I will gladly have his blades fighting alongside my staff."

"Speaking of your apprentice," the once-Orlesian woman mentioned, "it is highly unorthodox for you to take on a spirit healer as an up-and-coming magister. We generally value power and sacrifice, not charity and frailty."

There it was, the question they had been warned about; or more importantly, the question Fenris had been warned about. It took everything in Hawke not to turn around to check one last time if his companion was alright with going through with their plan, as it was far too late for that.

"You are overlooking a lucrative opportunity," Andraste said with a grin as she strolled out of her protective golden sun, back toward the door where the slaves stood in the shadows. Fenris stumbled into the center of the floor, looking back angrily at the woman who shoved him there. "Slaves offer us many service, and yet their greatest service is a rare, sometimes once-in-a-lifetime opportunity." The way she put on her hands on Fenris was entirely meant to convey ownerships and something vaguely sexual, but Hawke couldn't help but shift with discomfort at the way in which she pressed her body against Fenris' side and slid her hand up his armored chest, stopping with mock tenderness at his neck. Hawke could only see Fenris' back, but he could read everything he needed to in the tenseness of the elf's shoulders. "Some of them have been given extra special gifts, haven't they?" she asked with her lips barely an inch away from his face. She clamped her fingers down on his neck and Fenris' markings flared to light in response, but while it was obvious that he wanted to fight back he knew that he couldn't.

Just like when they fought in Kirkwall, Fenris lost his strength and fell to his knees while Andraste held strong and drained the life out of him. This time, however, Merrill wasn't there and Anders had no other option but to watch and smile. There was a time long ago when Hawke would have been worried that the smile was genuine, but not after this; not after their time in Tevinter. Unable to watch the rest of the spectacle unfold, Hawke opted to watch the spectators instead. No one protested or got up. The most movement he saw were some quizzical cocks of people's heads, but nothing beyond that. Eventually the sound of Fenris slumping to the ground echoed off the Senate chamber walls, and still no one moved. If anything they didn't seem to understand what was special or different about what Andraste was doing.

"He's unconscious," Anders said, and when Hawke finally looked back he found the mage perched over Fenris' seemingly lifeless body. "And therefore completely useless. He can't fight, can't protect you; if we were in the middle of a fight he'd be as good as dead the moment he hit the ground. It seems you're all obsessed with destruction as a means to ensure victory, but it's completely unnecessary."

There were times in battle when fatigue set in or wounds became too unbearable and someone was left face-down in the sands of the Wounded Coast or the ancient stone floors of the Deep Roads, but for the most part Hawke always commanded that fallen companions be left alone until it was safe to heal them. There had been a few times, however, when that wasn't an option, and Hawke had to call on Anders to do something drastic if they were all going to survive.

Revival spells had always creeped Hawke out, so watching Anders perform one on Fenris while not in battle, as nothing more than a demonstration, was incredibly unsettling. Looking away would probably be seen as suspicious, so he watched and tried to look unfazed as Fenris' body rose from the ground through nothing but the force of magic until he was levitating rigidly in the air. Then there was that moment; the creepy jolt that granted renewed energy and a starling awakening for the target of the spell.

Fenris was weak and weary, but he was awake again and standing on his own. Hawke knew from experience that the elf would be able to wield a sword again in a few moments, or, as they were demonstrating to the Senate, able to be drained for mana again. Fenris lurched forward as if he was going to throw up from the stress on his body, but he'd been fed so little during their time in the Circle that nothing came up.

"Blood magic leaves you unable to heal and unable to be healed by conventional methods," Anders went on to explain, "but the slaves you allow to act as soldiers and bodyguards are not immune to these abilities."

"I have some of the best spirit healers in Thedas under my command," Andraste told them. "As well as hordes of elves outside my city gates. Those who cannot or will not fight for you will be forced into their rightful place, this I can assure you."

"You raise interesting arguments," one of the Senior Enchanters relented, "but we will need time to think this over, and even if we agree you will still need the support of the Divine."

"I will gladly meet with him at His Grace's earliest convenience," Andraste offered. Hawke wasn't sure what was going on, but he could have sworn Andraste had called the Divine a woman every time they spoke before. "Until then I thank you for your consideration, and I will leave you all with drafts of my alliance proposal for you to refer to in your deliberations."

Without any prompting Isabela appeared from the shadows and walked up the first set of stairs, carefully laying out stacks of paper in front of each Senator. They would each wait a while for her to go past, then pick the papers up as if they had suddenly appeared before them. When she was done with the bottom row she climbed the next set of steps and repeated the same motions, though she seemed to be slowing down and stalling as she moved across the top row.

Then she reached someone, a bald man with a thick neck from what little Hawke could make out, and she hurried her way through placing the papers in front of him before trying to move on, but he reached out and grabbed her by the wrist before she could continue. "You," he realized as he leaned out of the light, revealing to Hawke that he was completely bald on the top of his head, with only thin wisps of black hair still remaining around his ears and behind his head.

"Do you take issue with my choice of servant, Senator?" Andraste asked.

"How in the Maker's name did you tame this bitch?" he asked as he looked down to where he was still gripping Isabela's wrist. "Is she really not even going to fight back?" He leaned in and pulled her close in one motion. "Do you remember me, you dirty little thief? Huh? Remember when I paid you to move my merchandise and you sailed off with it? Those slaves cost me more money than you've probably ever seen in your miserable little life."

Isabela looked absolutely dead in her eyes, far away somewhere where this wasn't the reality of what was happening to her. Hawke felt rather surreal as well, unsure of how it was possible that Justice wasn't raging to the forefront of Anders' consciousness and Isabela wasn't stabbing a dagger straight down into the man's hand. The entire situation was so out of character for all of them that it felt impossible, and yet there it was; unfolding right before his eyes.

"Quite the prize, is she not?" Andraste bragged. "Beautiful and once so very obstinate. I had thought to put her fighting skills to use and assign her to be my bodyguard, but there is something more rewarding in remaking her as a quiet little thing that knows a whole new place in society."

"If you are quite finished making a scene," the woman sitting beside the slaver sighed, "some of us would like to seriously consider this alliance."

"Of course," the man agreed, letting go of Isabela finally. "My apologies."

Isabela continued her work and Raesion thanked them all for their cooperation and apologized once again for the urgency with which he had called the meeting. Isabela and Fenris took a short moment to look at each other, the first direct eye contact either of them had been allowed since arriving in Minrathous. They even risked looking at Hawke for a moment, but it was worth it to have even a fraction of a second to grant his companions the assurance they needed to keep going. Or maybe, if he was honest with himself, they were assuring him that they were still there, buried deep under their false identities but not lost in them.

The Senate went out some exit located behind their seats while Raesion ushered the rest of them out the same door they came in. They barely had time to begin walking down the street, however, before the slaver was somehow in front of them, looking substantially larger now that he wasn't sitting down anymore.

"Your Highness," he greeted. "I know you provided us with a write-up of your proposal, but I've never been an ink and parchment sort of man. If your wench over there is acquainted with your arguments, perhaps she could present them to me so I can be sure I'm making the right decision."

Hawke looked to Andraste, desperately hoping she had some clever way of talking herself out of handing Isabela over, but she smiled the wrong kind of smile for that to be true. It wasn't the cocky, knowing smile she usually wore; it was one riddled with the smarmy, fake politeness that everyone of note in the Imperium wore across their true selves. "If that would help you better understand our stance on the matter, certainly."

'Trust that Isabela can handle herself.'

Hawke didn't know what upset him more, the fact that he knew what was about to happen or the fact that Andraste had seen it coming the whole time. He hadn't even wanted to hand Isabela over to Castillon, and he had only done so with the knowledge that he'd be following right behind her; able to save her before anything happened. There was no third option, no last minute heroics that could save her in the nick of time, and Hawke didn't know how long he stared at her hunched, retreating form before Anders took him by the arm and forced him to walk back to the Circle.

No one spoke when they returned. The sun shifted the light across the floor as the hours ticked by, and when dinner was ready they did little more than shift the contents of their plate around before retiring to Andraste's room to continue their vigil.

Everyone jumped when the door finally opened, and Isabela came in carrying a tray of food. "I was informed that my mistress did not eat when dinner was served, so I-"

Before Isabela could finish her rehearsed lines Hawke had the door shut and locked, Andraste took the tray away and Anders began inspecting the cuts and bruises that Isabela had unsuccessfully tried to cover with her dirty, tangled hair.

"Don't touch me," Isabela growled lowly as she held Anders by the wrist and jerked him away from her face. "Now listen to me. I know who's attacking Aveline."

"How?" Hawke asked as he led her further away from the door.

"Men tend to open their mouths when women open their legs. Let them vent one frustration and suddenly they're venting them all, and he slipped up big time. He was going on about how he doesn't lower himself to sticking it in elves like other magisters he knows, and then he starts ranting to himself like I'm not even under him; complaining about some 'dirty knife-ear' everyone's become obsessed with. He was pissed because someone had recruited an elf for some... secret project that no one was telling him about, muttering something I didn't understand until I was walking back. I knew I'd heard that word before. Som-nee-something or other." She turned to Hawke and smiled. "I'd say my stunt tonight more than makes up for my 'I like big boats and I cannot lie' moment, wouldn't you say?"

Hawke didn't understand her weird jump in topic until he began backtracking through what she'd been saying. An elf that would have the attention of magisters. Someone with the power and the ability to attack Aveline from so far away. Isabela's betrayal in the Fade.

He turned to Anders and was met with a mirrored look of realization, before the mage closed his eyes and sighed. "How did we not-" he started to ask himself before he threaded his fingers in his hair and growled in frustration. He calmed himself down for a moment, but his shoulders still seemed weighed down by how obvious the revelation was in hindsight. Knowing that one of them had to say it eventually, Anders took a deep breath and shook his head. "How did we not realize it was Feynriel?"

***Starkhaven, Knight-Commander's Office***

"Tell me about Ferelden," Carver finally said after making Cullen wait in silence for far too long. "About the Circle and the blood mages."

A plethora of things had come to his attention in the week since Merrill had cryptically told him and Donnic that the person who attacked Aveline was more than likely trying to attack her. She had little else to say on the matter, muttering about hunches and research and spells; things Carver didn't understand and frankly didn't want to.

Then he began getting reports of the elves performing their own version of a Harrowing, something Carver didn't mind at all until he learned that those who failed and became abominations were slain by Merrill herself; stabbed through the heart, according to the reports, by a thin, yet sharp, blade carried by the Keeper while in the Dalish camp. When he confronted her about it she explained that Andraste had it crafted in conjunction with their training.

"I tell them the risks," Merrill had told him. "It is not an easy road, but those of us who can resist the temptation of demons have the potential to unlock all sorts of new powerful magic."

"Like the black fire in the forest?" he'd asked her. He was speaking, in that moment, as the Knight-Commander, but there was no denying that a part of him would have been happy to never see the woman he loved attempt that sort of thing again.

"Yes," she had answered with a great deal of pride. "But those who cannot resist will become abominations and I will slay them myself. Blood magic will not become a tool of oppression, not under my leadership. It is about sacrifice. It was always meant to be about sacrifice. Anyone who fails to understand that is no ally of mine."

Things weren't all rainbows and sunshine in the city either. In the beginning Carver had wanted to believe in the infallibility of a system in which mages all passed their Harrowings because they'd been given enough training and positive reinforcement, but even in the idyllic circumstances that he was able to create, mages were still giving in to demons and forcing the Templars to slay them as they morphed into grotesque, inhuman monsters as a result of their own lack of willpower.

In dark moments Carver found himself sympathizing with Meredith. Not completely, but he could see how difficult it was to trust magic and it seemed obvious that the madness caused by the lyrium idol would feed off that fear. He went to bed worried about it and spent his nights dreaming up every worst-case scenario possible.

Cullen had lived one of those scenarios; imprisoned, beaten and tortured for days until he couldn't fathom what reality was anymore. And yet here he was, still acting as Knight-Captain despite Carver's complete overhaul of the Order and everything it stood for. He knew a large part of his authority was earned more by Andraste's name than his own accomplishments, but he wanted to believe that the Knights were still following him for reasons beyond fear of what the Maker's Chosen would do upon her return if her appointed Knight-Commander had been disobeyed in her absence.

"I have told you about my time stationed in Ferelden, Knight-Commander, Ser," Cullen responded professionally. "I have not withheld any information. Anything I would tell you in this iteration will be the same as the last."

"You have, and it sounded awful. You mentioned-" he began before stopping himself. He knew that once he finished his question Cullen would know exactly what was on his mind. "Come, sit down, and please, be straight with me Cullen."

Cullen sat down as he was instructed, and a knowing kind of acknowledgment tugged at the corners of his eyes. "Do you wish to hear more about... your cousin?"

As Carver got older he learned more and more that Thedas was a lot smaller than he thought it was. Genealogy and legacy never interested him much, but he was surprised to find that one of his family members had been a mage in the Ferelden Tower. And, if the tone in Cullen's voice when he spoke about her was any giveaway, someone who had been close to the Knight-Captain.

"Tell me about the whole ordeal," Carver said. "The revolt, the blood magic. I want to know how it is that you still think the Templars' cause just and the mages' rights still worth protecting."

Cullen dropped all pretense of rigid formality and let himself sink into the chair in such a way that his armor clinked as it readjusted itself. "It just takes one, doesn't it?" he almost laughed. "I know you have overseen plenty of Harrowings. You know the look in a mage's eyes when they realize what will happen if they fail; when they create an inventory of every weakness they have and always, inevitably, they don't think they can do it. You've heard them cry and pray to the Maker for the ability to give their power up and live as you and I do. But they don't have that option; and they never will, and thus we must remain vigilant. We must protect people from them, protect them from each other, protect them from us at times. Magic is a reality that isn't going to go away, and we are finally beginning to find a way to make mages take responsibility and submit to the oversight of Templars without us becoming sadists and jailors and tyrants."

"And she made you believe in all that?"

Cullen rested his elbows on his knees and stared at his hands. Carver appreciated the man's honesty and forthrightness, but he also figured that Cullen saw the similarity in their predicaments. It wasn't as if Carver was going to judge him for being unprofessional and getting involved with a mage.

"I always believed in those ideals," Cullen said, "Solana Amell made me realize that I needed to do something about it. And then, as if the Maker himself saw fit to show me both sides of the coin, Uldred and his army of abomination blood mages took her away from me and showed me every horrible thing magic was capable of."

"You think the Maker was testing you?"

"Yes, and I believe that I failed that test. I acted like Meredith, but without the taint of ancient lyrium to blame for my hysterics."

"You'd been tortured, Cullen, no one blames y-"

"No," Cullen argued, "You mustn't go down that path. You cannot force the many to pay for the sins of the few. Solana didn't survive the attack, but I didn't know that when I stormed up to Greagoir and demanded the Circle be annulled. If the Warden had not safely ushered Irving through the chaos I would have killed the only woman I ever cared for. If the blood mages hadn't taken her away from me, then my own blind need for vengeance would have led me to do it myself, and that surely doesn't make me a better man than them, now does it?"

Carver leaned forward and shifted his weight onto his arms as he rested them on his desk. "We've legalized blood magic."

"I understand," Cullen nodded.

"Yes, but do you accept it? I greatly value you as a Knight and as a friend, but this decision is over even my head, and I'd hate to eventually lose your loyalty over it."

A variety of expressions passed over Cullen's face in response, and Carver wondered if the man had even figured out the answer for himself yet. "I wish I could answer that," he offered finally. "It seems odd to swear my sword to the Maker and yet question the word of His Prophetess, but-" Cullen stared at some sort of faraway nothingness behind Carver's shoulder and sighed. "According the Templars I had only been missing for a few days, but there is no 'only' in the context of torture. Five minutes, five days; it all feel like an eternity. Objectively I am fully aware that someone can torture others with tools forged by man, but if the blood mages had given me a choice between letting demons plague me with my deepest fears or dying over the course of days at the mercy of a blade I would have considered the blade a reward by comparison."

It was difficult to decide how or when to respond to what Cullen had said. Carver didn't want to pause too long or speak too quickly, though really he couldn't imagine that there was any sort of proper or perfect response to something like that. He'd never understand what it had been like without living it, and equating it to anything he'd been through would be nothing less than insulting.

"We're doing what we can to ensure that things like that don't happen," Carver said plainly, "but I'm not going to tell you 'it'll never happen again.' That's just not true."

"That is good," Cullen agreed. "I wouldn't trust you if you tried to convince me of such a lie. But tell me, do you trust Merrill?"

Carver wanted to say yes, even had his lower jaw tightened in preparation for beginning the word, but it wouldn't come. He tried to say something like it, but the closest thing he could come up with was, "I love her."

And even though he knew what that meant, Carver still hated to hear the low, cautious tone in Cullen's voice when he said, "That's not what I asked."

***Starkhaven, Throne Room***

Sebastian expected a revolt. He expected the Council to have a plan and soldiers on their side, or at the very least paid mercenaries to protect them, but when Sebastian entered the throne room he found the Royal Guard standing over a row of Councilors on their knees without a single sign of blood or battle in sight.

He still entered the room with his head high and his shoulders strong, letting the heels of his boots fall hard against the marble floor so that his approach could be heard loud and clear. He'd been too willing to believe in the Council's loyalty before, but he finally knew better than to trust that anything came easily when it came to dealing with them.

Most of them were absolute statues, hands tucked neatly behind their heads and gazes fixed on some imaginary point off in the distance. It was as if they were simply being inconvenienced, and that the whole mess would sort itself out in time. At the end of the line, however, was Lady Erskin; trembling as she darted her teary eyes around the room. It wasn't what Sebastian was expecting at all, and while his mind tried desperately to imagine a scenario that would explain the unpredictable turn of events before him, nothing seemed to fit in a way that made sense.

The obvious answer would be to target Erskin, since she appeared easier to break, but Sebastian wasn't going to make the mistake of taking something that was too obviously being set up for him. He reached the end of the line and took a look at her, but when nothing new was revealed upon closer inspection he turned and walked back, trying to find someone who was only subtly different from the rest.

Among the row of stoic faces was one man whose mouth couldn't stop twitching at the corners; who already seemed to wear the calm, relaxed veneer of victory on his face as he tucked his hands behind his bald head. "Lord Borland," Sebastian addressed, "you seem be in good spirits considering you are kneeling before your prince with the Royal Guard pressing swords into your back. Men and women who remember that you would prefer their titles taken."

The women to Borland's left, Lady Ferghus, leaned forward with a look of absolute disgust on her face. "You will not speak your lies before us; we will no longer tolerate it. You, who would kill the Divine and call it the Maker's will. Who would crumble the Grand Cathedral and say it was for the good of Thedas. You and your false Prophetess will not lead us into temptation."

Sebastian couldn't help jumping back at her outburst, even though he knew it probably made him look ill-prepared and weak-willed in the eyes of both the Council and his Guard. "What is the meaning of this ridiculousness?"

"The Maker tests the faithful," Lady Erskin recited as she rocked slightly. "And we will not be fooled. We will let the city burn to save it if we must, and if we die we will ascend to His right hand as reward for our sacrifices."

"You believe you are saving Starkhaven?" Sebastian asked them all. "You have been told by your prince and by prophecy that you are to trust in the word of Andraste. You cannot even fathom the sacrifices her and her disciples are making to ensure that Starkhaven is victorious in the coming war."

"We had hoped that you would come to cure yourself of her poison in time," Lord Keller sighed as he were ashamed for Sebastian. He was the oldest member of the Council, and he had been good friends with Sebastian's parents, so the tone came across as exceptionally insulting. "We hoped you and Romana would see the truth in time, but alas, only one of you did."

Sebastian turned to face the still-terrified Lady Erskin and finally put some of the pieces where they belonged. She didn't start the rebellion, she was the last Councilor to join it. The arguments, the begging, the quite, all-too-easy defeat; it was all because the Council wanted her to turn on him and she was hoping he'd change his mind about the fate of the city.

"You believe," Sebastian began, still entirely confused as to their intentions, "that you are the true servants of the Maker even as Templars and Seekers alike have left their posts to heed Andraste's call to serve?"

"They are lost," Lord Keller mourned. "They are traitors who abandoned the Maker."

"They are good men and women and you know that," Sebastian snapped. "Every person in my army, from the militia to the mages wishes to serve the greater good, and that was not what the former Chantry accomplished; not at all." He took a few steps back and regarded the entire Council at once. "Are you all willing to die for the right to continue implementing a system of prejudice and needless oppression? Does pretending to do the Maker's work truly allow you to be blind to your own pettiness?"

"Oh how far you have fallen," Lord Borland chastised. His voice was strangely even in comparison to everyone else's hysterics.

"You," Sebastian realized. "You planted this seed. Why?"

"I could not allow you to poison the city with your false gospel, not when my fellow Councilors and I felt nothing but dread when your cousin so readily handed you the crown. And then your first act as prince was to declare a massive-scale holy war against the Chantry your own parents served with honor. We knew your actions were not those of a righteous man, and I inspired them to do what they knew was right. Starkhaven will thrive, but not under you. We are the ones who are truly guided by the Maker."

"Does the Maker live in Minrathous now?" Varric asked as he strode in through the double doors behind Sebastian, holding a small stack of notes scribbled onto scraps of parchment. "Cause according to the notes in your room, that's where your orders and your money have been coming from."

The stoic resolve of the entire Council shrunk before Sebastian's eyes in an instant. Even with his secret revealed, however, Lord Borland didn't seem to be anything more than annoyed.

"Oh," Varric added, "and did I forget to mention that the Dalish stopped your rescue squad before they even got near the main gates? That wall of theirs really helped out, too."

"Rescue squad?" Sebastian asked without taking his eyes off the Councilor, who was finally beginning to sweat.

"Yeah, seems Lord Borland here was selling you out to the Imperium. Has been since a little after Andraste left. He agrees to let them come in and kill you, along with all your supporters, the Council keeps their power, and Starkhaven never goes to war."

"You don't mean-" Lady Ferghus tried to ask.

"Don't even start with that," Lord Borland sneered. "You wanted to believe me, and that's what made it easy. You're no victim here. If I'm to face the blade for this then so should you. Not that killing me or any of us will save this blasted city."

Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest. "You truly believe that you have the power to doom this great city with a few words and a failed coup?"

"Seven words to be precise," Lord Borland answered. "Andraste. Is. Trying. To. Destroy. The. Imperium. You really should watch your volume when you speak of highly secret undercover missions, Your Highness. You never know who's on the other side of the door."

The hot shock that jolted through Sebastian when the reality of the situation sunk in left him so paralyzed with rage that he must have appeared eerily calm to anyone who couldn't hear the thrum of his blood in his ears.

"And if you want to know anything beyond that," the Councilman was bold enough to continue, "I suggest you let me live for the ti-"

"Take him to the dungeons," Sebastian cut in, his voice still even despite how loud he'd been. "Execute him at once. Lock the others up. Solitary. I do not want them speaking to each other or anyone else."

"You idiot," Lord Borland hissed, "I'm the only one who can tell you-"

"That's enough out of you," the gold-clad guardsman standing behind him said as he hoisted the man up and dragged him away.

Whatever protests the others made were lost to Sebastian as they too were taken, leaving just the prince, Varric and few more guards standing silently in the throne room.

Sebastian eventually walked over and sat in his throne, back straight as he stared forward and tried to think of what he was supposed to do. Andraste was impossibly far away and in incredible danger; possibly dead already. He needed an equally impossible plan, something no one would dare try, if he ever hoped to see her again.

"What do you want me to do, Your Highness?" Varric asked.

Sebastian blurted out his answer before he had a chance to second guess himself. "Get me Merrill."