How to mess up a Wintersend Party…

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Wintersend part 27

Gingerly, Anders was examining the impromptu Mage Tower, housed in one of the restored turrets on the ramparts. He was surprised at how many books of lore the Inquisition had at its disposal, especially since there were quite a few forbidden ones among them. Ones that not exactly were about blood magic, but came close. He had always considered them useful, if only to find out how blood mages operated and what to expect from a confrontation, this under the motto of "Know Thy Enemy Well Lest They Slay You Deviously". Obviously, the Templars always had been of a totally different opinion, which just underlined their incompetence, as far as Anders was concerned.

Ariane was trailing cautiously in his wake, as if she was afraid he would collapse at any moment. Very nurse-like, Anders thought. Admittedly, he was still feeling weak after what he'd gone through, but there were chairs aplenty, should he have a sudden need for a nice sit down. He observed the other present mages furtively; some were studying impressive looking tomes, others were chatting cheerily and on the whole they all seemed to be comfortable with the environment and their place in it. They didn't give him a second glance, at least not in the nudge-nudge way of, Hey, isn't that the Butcher of Kirkwall-bloke? It hardly put him at ease. He felt like the new kid in the classroom and he didn't like it one bit.

'This is a good place,' said Ariane, who had been aware of his thorough inspection. She sounded somewhat defiantly.

'It's a Mage Tower,' Anders reacted, reproachfully. 'I have not very pleasant experiences with Mage Towers.'

'It's a tower,' Ariane remarked drily, 'and it holds mages. And there all similarities stop.' Anders looked as if he didn't believe her. 'A tower, Anders,' she repeated a little exasperated when she saw his sceptical expression, 'as with a small t. Actually, it's a turret. Also with a small t. Not a Circle with a capital C. There're not even Templars here. They're not allowed in.'

'So, it's some kind of mage heaven,' said Anders, cynically.

'You could call it that,' replied Ariane with an enigmatic smile. 'Of course we're not supposed to throw fireballs at random, there are rules, even here. But you can study and practice magic without repercussions. The Chantry has no sway over this place.'

Anders decided to make use of one of the inviting looking chairs because his legs went wobbly from the amount of energy the little walk over the ramparts had taken him. And finally a mage, senior, according to the robes, noticed him. She nodded friendly at him and said, 'Welcome. You're new here, I presume..?' Anders realised she was prompting for a name and panic struck immediately. To his surprise Ariane came to his rescue.

'His name is Herbert,' she said without batting a lash. 'We found him, badly wounded, in the Hinterlands, where he apparently got stuck in a skirmish between the mages and the Templars. He was near to death due to injuries inflicted by magic, and it took several months to nurse him back to health.' She was astounded by her new found bubbling source of fantasy, and carried on boldly, 'Besides his name, he remembers little to nothing from his life before. You know how awful things were out there. Or rather, you didn't because you were safely tucked away in Redcliffe.' This time her smile contained quite a lot of venom. Inwardly she added, 'Making traitorous pacts with the Venatori.' Out loud she said, 'Herbert, meet Fiona, the former Grand Enchanter of the Circle of Magi.' With the emphasis on "former", which didn't escape said "Former". Thus "Former" frowned alarmed and feverishly tried to find a way out; she was fed up with nasty confrontations and would be for quite a while.

Herbert, né Anders, endeavoured to stifle a cough of nasty surprise. Almost automatically he extended a hand which Fiona, evenly almost automatically, shook, and he managed, 'Pleased to meet you.'

'And you,' said Fiona stiffly. 'But forgive me now, I have to check something with Sister Leliana.' And she hurried out of the building, stared after by a mockingly squinting Ariane (something with the Spymaster, yeah right). She felt satisfied she'd chased her away enjoyably adequately.

'Herbert!' spluttered Anders, sawing sulkily through her jubilant feelings of sweet victory, venting the first annoyance that came to mind. 'Did you really have to call me after a pet guinea-pig?!'

'That,' stated Ariane firmly, 'was not my idea. Blame the Inquisitor. If you dare.'

Indeed Evelyn had chosen the name, for, she'd said, it sounded too dull to belong to someone interesting, let alone dangerous. Herbert, she'd insisted, conjured up images of men who liked to go fishing on their day off and who did the dishes without complaining. It certainly did not remind of blown up Chantries. Ariane had been informed of the plan of simply giving Anders another identity and she had agreed wholeheartedly. It had fallen on her to inform him of his new self because, as the Inquisitor had told her, she had been his personal caretaker for quite a time. The Champion and her spouse had settled easily with her being the one to be his guardian from now on. The elf, Fenris, had just said, 'We'll be there if you need us but mostly his life depends on you now.' Yes, no pressure there. No pressure at all.

Though, honestly, after all the weeks of looking after him, she considered Anders her exclusive patient and she wanted nothing but the best for him. She had got rather fond of him, despite his reputation of a coldblooded killer. A reputation that was totally unfair, she knew by now. As a matter of fact, she had taken quite a shining to him, though she wouldn't confess that even under torture. She had decided to bring the new identity topic gently. But perhaps she should have filled him in about all the details before taking him out on a trip to the Inquisition's interpretation of a mage's university. Right now she felt rather jittery and she all but wanted to let him feel it.

'You can let it sink in while drinking the cup of tea I'm going to make you,' she huffed pointedly and made a beeline for the little stove that the tower (with the small t) sported. She found it quite a challenge not to fling the crockery about.

Anders stared at her busying with the kettle and cups and the tin holding the tealeaves and thought it was for the first time in his life a woman fussed so openly over him. He considered he could get used to it.

Roughly at the same moment Hawke stared with an expression of utter disgust at the gown she was supposed to wear at this night's festivities, delivered not minutes earlier with the compliments of Ambassador Montilyet. 'I'm not quite certain I will fit into this, eh, stylish apparel,' she muttered morosely, examining the, in her eyes, outlandish ruffles and sequins and lace frills and ditto cuffs, and especially the tight waist and the inconvenient little space in the breasts department. In the meantime she had accepted she couldn't button up her shirt any longer, but this very morning she had found out she couldn't close the fastenings of her treasured old trousers either and it had upset her. At that moment she'd sooner felt fat than pregnant.

Fenris hovered around, paying little attention to her complaint because an important question was occupying his brain, finding room now the problem "Anders" was out of the way. 'Hawke,' he started, tentatively. No, this sounded too formally. He cleared his throat and tried anew. 'Marian, love.' Absentmindedly he adjusted something about the dress that was invitingly glittering winking at them from the coat-hanger at the door. 'I think you will look breath-taking in this,' he murmured distantly. He too had been sent a new outfit, some sort of extremely happy costume he hadn't deigned to give a once over.

Hawke acted as if stung by a wasp. She put her hands on her hips and yelled heatedly, 'Have you been listening to anything I said? Look at the damned thing! No way in the world I can squeeze myself in, in that!'

Fenris cringed. 'You're right, of course...' He rubbed his face and took a deep breath. He was afraid of reminding her of Corypheus's vocal assault in case it would distress her, but reasoned at the same time she would hate tiptoeing through the tulips. And thus he put up courage and blurted, 'Has the voice that let you run to this place quietened down? Or is that monster still roaring in your mind? Can I yet expect a new escape?' When she just kept on staring at him, he added, quite miserably, 'I was hoping that after that trip through the Fade, well… You didn't mention anything and so many things happened afterwards, I failed to ask… Forgive me.' He faltered under her pinning scowl, not being able to go on.

Hawke opened her mouth to shout something tactless back, thought the better of it and clicked her jaws shut. She cocked her head, frowned, and took a step towards him and a heartbeat after his quiet "Forgive me" he felt her hand touching his gently. 'I'm sorry,' she croaked remorsefully. 'Sometimes I even don't recognise myself. I didn't mean to give you an earful and you asked a very legitimate question.'

To his dread he saw she was close to tears; acting on impulse he put his arms around her and pulled her flush to his frame. She answered his embrace with one of her own and snuggled close to him.

Feeling safe in his arms, certain that they could fence off all the problems in the world together, Marian giggled suddenly against his chest and said, 'And again I'm sorry. I could at least have been as considerate as to tell you that the terror voice has shut up. In the end it was precisely the reason why I ran away, wasn't it. You don't have to worry. Corypheus won't drive me crazy anymore. This pregnancy will, though. It lets me forget everything's that important.'

Fenris laughed, relieved. He pulled his fingers through her silky hair that had become really glossy of late, and nuzzled the skin of her neck. 'I'll try to assist you wherever I can,' he promised.

'I'm not used to taking this kind of commitments at face value,' Marian grinned gleefully, 'but you I trust blindly.'

'You'd better,' he growled and took her breath away with an impassioned kiss.

Evelyn stood on one of the balconies of her personal rooms high up in the Keep of Skyhold, marvelling at the view. 'It never ceases to amaze me,' she said to Cullen, who stood next to her. A new garment had also been delivered at her apartment and she wondered why in the world Josephine wanted her to dress up like a Satinalia tree. But she had decided that conundrum could wait while she admired the snow-capped peaks of the mountains surrounding Skyhold. Dorian had called it a balm for the soul, and, had she known about it, she would have agreed with all of her heart.

'It is stunning,' Cullen concurred. He stood behind her with his arms around her waist and his chin resting on the top of her head, greedily inhaling her scent. He hadn't felt this relaxed for – since ever before. And he told her so.

She chortled delicately. 'You know, I'm really looking forward to tonight's Wintersend party.'

Aaand the relaxation flew out of the window. 'Are you?' Cold sweat broke out at the idea of hundreds of people thronging together on the dancefloor and Evelyn dragging him in the midst of the crowd and forcing him to dance with her. Because, he knew with icy certainty, that was exactly what she was planning to do. 'I hope you're aware that I'll trip over my own feet every other dance pass.'

She turned her head and beamed impishly at him. 'So you do dance!'

Cullen groaned. 'Templars don't dance.'

If possible, the beam became wider. 'No, of course they don't! How can you dance with all that steel clanking about you! But…' she tapped the tip of his nose teasingly, '…you're not a Templar anymore!'

'Yes,' he murmured with lame resignation, 'you're right.' He smiled crookedly and added, with a little courteous bow of his head, 'Frankly, most of the time you are.'

She twirled out of his arms with a perfect pirouette. 'Wrong, Commander Rutherford, I am always right!'

His heart fluttered at the sight of her radiant face and elegant movements. He caught her hand and for a moment he succumbed to her eager wish and tried a few awkward paces on the carpeted marble tiles. She urged him on with just an encouraging chuckle though he was no match for her agile body. Nevertheless he was astonished to find out he liked it.

'See!' Evelyn tittered cheerfully, 'You'll do great on the dancefloor tonight!'

Cullen still doubted that highly and, even though he didn't know about it, he wasn't the only one with this particular predicament today.

Sternly and energetically, Josephine was supervising the hustle and bustle of the party in the making. She darted from the kitchen via the merchants' booths to the Main Hall, with a detour along the Herald's Rest, and did it all over again in the opposite direction with a deep flush on her cheeks.

'Do you call that a decent dish for the canapés?! Take the big silver ones!' she yelled at the cook who took great offence but wasn't able to tell the Ambassador so because the woman already had set off to yell at Cabot in the Herald's Rest about his choice of drinkware for the sparkling cider ("Glasses, man, we need glasses, not crockery!"), after she had yelled at the merchant Bonny Sims for ordering the wrong amount of oranges and at the major domo about the lack of decoration of the throne. ("Where are the hazel boughs and the narcissuses the gardener has so carefully planted in the pots I ordered from Orlais?!"), leaving the man befuddled and speechless in her whirlwind of exasperation.

This was not the benign and friendly Ambassador they had come to know, always quick with a warm smile. This was Lady Montilyet practicing the high art of proper organizing and pushing it to the limit, pushing their patience to the limit along with it.

Only just now she had taken a little time to spare her voice while she was watching, standing halfway the stairs leading from the Main Hall, the Fereldan folk band taking their places on the makeshift dais and strumming their instruments while tuning them. She stood so still, with her head cocked to one side, absentmindedly looking at the musicians and at the same time silently ticking off the whole list of what still had to be done, that Blackwall accidently bumped into her. He happened to be on his way to the Undercroft to let the blacksmith Harritt adjust something about his armour and had overlooked her totally. He staggered back as if he had collided with a wasps' nest. 'Oh, my lady, I'm so sorry!' he burbled in horror.

'Don't be,' said Josephine who wasn't at all so herself. With a swift motion she gathered his hands in her elegant ones and with her brilliant beam she let his meagre defences crumble like sugar in hot tea. 'In fact, I was hoping to catch you somewhere along the day. I was wondering, and hoping, my dear Warden, if you would do me the honour of a dance tonight.'

Blackwall stared wide-eyed at her, feverishly searching for a way out. 'I, I er, I'm a terrible dancer, my lady,' he stammered, which was a blatant lie. Way back, in another lifetime, he not only had been very fond of dancing, but very good at it as well. But he could impossibly tell her that, since he was trying to avoid her as much as he could to not make things more complicated than they already were.

Josephine squeezed his hands amiably. 'I'm certain you're not,' she cooed. She turned and passed him on her way to the Herald's Rest to see if Cabot had, in the meantime, conjured up an acceptable glassware set. Looking over her shoulder she called, 'I'm counting on it!'

For a long time Blackwall stood as glued to the spot, unable to move, and completely forgotten what he had set out to do in the first place.

'Have you lost the ability to walk, darling?' a lazy voice drawled near his ear, making him jump. 'I've been watching you for some time now and so far you haven't moved a finger. A bird could have been nestling in that bedraggled beard of yours and you wouldn't have noticed it. Have the little sprites of love entranced you?'

Frankly, Vivienne didn't exactly know what to make of Blackwall, he was secretive and always cautious. Of course she was well-informed on the fact that he loathed nobility but, well, most ordinary people did. No need to feel offended or to take it against him. But she had noticed that little intimate scene between him and Josephine and it was simply a joy to tease him.

Blackwall groaned inwardly; this was the last thing he needed, a probing exercise from Madame de Fer. He was absolutely not in the mood and doubted if he'd ever be. Acidly he said, 'I was admiring the scenery. And earlier I complimented our Lady Ambassador with the wonderful outcome of her efforts. That's all.'

'Of course it is, darling,' Vivienne purred, 'I never insinuated otherwise.'

Blackwall turned abruptly with a stiffly murmured 'Excuse me' and took the stairs two steps at a time, all the way up followed by Vivienne's mocking laughter.

Later that day, or, more accurate, at the start of the evening, Evelyn, alone once more, stood admiring her reflexion in the mirror in her apartment. No, she would never have chosen this dress herself, but now she had actually put on the garment, she had to admit it was beautiful and looked good on her. Striking even. She turned this way and that to let the skirts swoosh and twirl and glitter. She smiled. Cullen would be gobsmacked, seeing her like this.

She padded over to the sofa and sat down to pull on her shoes. Those were new as well, so she hoped she wouldn't have blisters before the end of the Wintersend Party. She intended to dance the whole night with her Commander. Well, if need arose, she would dance barefoot.

She was fastening the last clasp, when a servant hurried up the stairs. 'A message for you, my lady,' the girl announced and handed her a folded piece of paper. She thought the girl's name was Violet or Daisy or something equal floral. No, Rose. It was Rose.

'For me? From whom?'

'I don't know, my lady, but it seems to be urgent.' With a curtsy she removed herself again.

'This better not spoil the evening,' Evelyn muttered irritably. Puffing out a sigh of annoyance she unfolded the note and started reading.

About an hour later Cullen was the next who climbed the stairs to the Inquisitor's private rooms. Josephine had forced him to dress up in something colourful in silk with far too many tresses and braids he thought wise on a suit. But it made the Ambassador happy and at least he wouldn't clank while dancing.

'Evelyn, are you ready?' he called out. 'Josephine wants us to make some kind of grand entrance within now and – where are you?' Silence ensued. Cullen walked further into the room. 'Evelyn?' he tried again but still no one answered. He looked on the balconies and even inspected the small storeroom set in the back wall but he didn't find her. He merely noticed a suspicious lack of the presence of any living being. He frowned. He definitely hadn't encountered her on his trip across the courtyard, along the Main Hall and up the stairwell. So, where could she be?

He turned on his heels and descended the stairs to embark on a journey that would cover the whole of the castle. He tried to ignore the feelings of worry and even fear that rose in his gut. Evelyn could be impulsive; for all he knew she suddenly had decided to aid the kitchen by baking bread rolls, to muck out the stables or to harass Dagna about some magical rune she wanted for her new staff. Not at this evening, a little voice, that became louder by the minute, shouted in his head, she was too much looking forward to dancing with you. Of course it would be highly implausible, but he refused to let panic get the better of him.

He soon found out she wasn't in the Undercroft; nobody was, not even Dagna. As a matter of fact, the whole main building seemed deserted. At last, in the eerily empty Main Hall he blundered into Varric.

'Look at you!' the dwarf cried out with a devilish smirk, 'All dressed up and decorated like –'

'Have you seen Evelyn?' Cullen interrupted him impatiently.

Varric deflated somewhat. 'I saw her about an hour ago, striding down the hall, looking not very pleased. To be honest, I thought you two had one of your little lovers' tiffs and –'

Cullen interrupted him for a second time. 'We did not have a lovers' tiff.' He glared daggers at the dwarf. Very sharp ones. 'I came to collect her from her rooms, as we had agreed, and she wasn't there. I thought it strange.'

'Did you by change happen upon a witch named Flemeth loitering on the premises?' informed Varric innocently.

'That's not funny,' Cullen growled.

Varric waved a hand around. 'A similarity with Hawke's disappearance springs to mind, that's all.'

'Evelyn hasn't disappeared,' Cullen snapped, harsher than he intended. Over Varric's shoulder he caught a glimpse of the crowded courtyard and tried to see whether she was among the many merrymakers but it was a hopeless task.

Varric followed his glance and said smoothly, 'Naturally she hasn't, but I don't think she's down there, Curly. If you indeed didn't quarrel…'

'We did not,' Cullen snarled.

'…then I can't imagine why she would go to the ball without her chivalrous companion,' Varric ended his sentence without missing a beat. He took the Commander by an elbow. 'Let's go searching for someone who might know where she's hanging out. Josephine for instance. Let's take the route along your office, I don't want to get tangled up in the masses.' To be honest, he was getting worried as well, but he refused to believe that for the second time a woman had been whisked away.

'The Ambassador is far too busy to have noticed her,' Cullen grumbled but he allowed Varric to push him through the door into the Rotunda.

After yet another hour they were gathered in Cullen's office, their numbers grown with Leliana, Cassandra and Hawke and Fenris who they had picked up along their search that had, in the meantime, got the character of a quest. Josephine had stayed with the Wintersend Party to give the illusion that all was well, and to smother awkward questions in the bud to avoid a panic outbreak.

Cullen forced himself to stand still and listen to the quavering maiden servant, named Rose. Leliana had immediately taken action and had sent her spies about the castle. It didn't take long before one of them had found out about the message and had located the girl. The Commander's hands clasped the edge of his desk so fast that the knuckles went white.

'I, I, I, I don't know what was in the note, Messere,' Rose stuttered, faltering under Cullen's fierce stare, 'I just delivered it!' She burst into tears.

'Who gave it to you?!' Cullen thundered, which only made the girl cry harder.

Leliana rolled her eyes at this way of ineffectual interrogation but, on the other hand, she couldn't deny she didn't know what to do with a servant-girl having hysterics either.

Thankfully Varric stepped in and tapped Rose fatherly on the hand. 'There now,' he tutted soothingly, 'the Commander isn't mad at you. He's just concerned, is all. Won't you try to remember who gave the message to you?' You could have spun sugar with his voice, but at least it calmed the girl down somewhat.

She rubbed her face and smudged the tears all over her cheeks. 'It was someone at the gate,' she sniffed. 'I passed there from my way, my way…' Her voice tailed off.

Varric made an educated guess. 'From your beau at the stables,' he spurred her on. 'Nothing wrong with having a boyfriend who works with horses. Go on.'

'It was a man. He was standing just in front of the gate and he called me over.'

From the corner of his eye Varric saw Cullen taking a breath and, fearing he would resume his fruitless shouting, he asked hastily, 'Was he human? Elven? A dwarf maybe?'

'I don't know,' the girl squeaked. 'Not a dwarf, he was too tall. But he was wearing a hood, I couldn't see his face. I didn't recognise his voice.' For a moment they all stood in frustrated silence, until Rose looked up with wide open eyes, as if she had dug up an important morsel of news out of the wreckage of her memory. 'But I remember something that Samuel said.'

'Who's Samuel?' snarled Cullen, completely het up by now.

'Undoubtedly the illustrious stable hand, Curly,' Varric tried, yet again, to douce Cullen's heated agitation. At the same time he kept patting Rose's hand, afraid she would freeze up once more. Or worse.

The girl took up courage. 'He said that someone had groomed Lightning this afternoon, not just an every-day grooming, mind you, but as if she would be taken out on a ride. And that was odd, for the lady Inquisitor would surely not have the time for a ride today, what with the Wintersend Party and all.' She stared at Cullen like a dog who wants to hear that she's been good.

Cullen stiffened. Lightning was the chestnut mare Evelyn favoured, and vice versa. Why would someone want to prepare her for a ride? This began to look more and more like foul play. His heart clenched and he tried with all his might to control his ragged breathing. 'Who groomed her?' he croaked.

'I'm not sure.'

Cullen turned to Leliana. 'Get the boy over here,' he growled.

'No Messere!' shrilled Rose, as if she was afraid her Samuel would get punished for her lack of information. 'I remember! He said it was that strange elf, Voth.'

'Oh hell,' Varric let slip.

'Voth?' Cassandra said, alarmed. 'Isn't that the elf who belongs with that eager young recruit, What's-his-name?'

'Sutherland,' Cullen rasped, remembering all too well how enthusiastic Evelyn had been about the boy and his little entourage, so excited to serve. Had they, all of them, been really so naïve as to invite the enemy in? They had seemed so innocent… Idiots they had been! 'I want him brought in,' he ordered with a voice forged out of cold steel. 'Leliana, you interrogate him. I can't be liable for myself, I fear.' Before he had finished, Leliana had already left the office to go fetching the boy herself.

'I'm sorry,' Fenris said quietly, 'I know how you feel.'

Yes, Cullen thought desperately, you do. And I know by now how damned powerless you must have felt.

Rose took to opportunity to escape the room; she ran straight to the stables where she knew Samuel would be waiting for her to join the party together. Although she was quite certain there wouldn't be much of a party tonight.

The first thing Evelyn noticed when she regained her consciousness was a splitting headache. The second was that her hands and feet were bound and that she was lying on a damp grassy floor. This must leave stains, she thought, what a shame of the pretty dress. A strange thing to think in a situation like this, but that's brains for you. A cold wind blew in her face and over her bare arms and made her shiver. Cautiously she opened her eyes to see a giant of a man in heavy armour smirking down at her in the frail light of a new day.

'A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Inquisitor,' he rumbled smugly. 'We haven't met before so I will introduce myself; my name is Duhaime and, you'll be delighted to learn, I'm a member of the Venatori.'

Evelyn's heart sank. Nevertheless she spat venomously, 'Don't you think for just one second you'll get away with this!'

The giant laughed contemptuously. 'Oh, but I already have, Inquisitor. You're here, aren't you, at my mercy! And now we're going to make a nice long ride and after that … well, we'll have to see what happens!'

Evelyn realised she must have been out for hours, and the Maker only knew how far away from Skyhold they had brought her. Keep your wits together, she spoke sternly to herself, I forbid you to turn into a cry-baby. She drew courage from the knowledge Cullen would come to her rescue, together with the whole of the Inquisition. Of course he would come for her, undoubtedly as the embodiment of vengeance. This was personal and important.

She could only hope he would come in time.

And there you have it: trouble galore…

Thanks very much for reading and please stay safe in these difficult times!