Author's Note:This one has started nudging me again, so I'll add it back into the lineup. Thanks to all of you who have read, reviewed and followed!

Hugs anew to Genjutsu Dragon for the beta!

Happy New Year!

"I counsel patience, now just as I did at the College of Enchanters a year ago."

Wynne stood before the assembled mages of the White Spire wearing a blue silk robe, white cloak and earnest expression. All eyes were upon her; she had already given several ostentatious displays of magic: thunder and lighting that felt strong enough to bring the roof down, then flames wreathing the staff that she carried. Potent reminders of the power that each of them wielded to a greater or lesser degree, reminders of why they were feared by much of the rest of Thedas. But while they might have been awed by her magic – which was likely greater than any commanded by all but the strongest of the White Spire mages – they seemed far less impressed with her message. Most of their expressions ranged from worried to baffled to openly hostile. Only a handful seemed solidly in agreement with her.

Talia couldn't really fault them their anger, but the previous night's carnage had been caused by one of their number, and Justinia and Leliana had very nearly been among the dead. It seemed highly likely that Jeannot Fournier had confided his intent to one or more of his contemporaries, and she couldn't help wondering which of them had known of the plan and said nothing.

That question was likely also on the minds of the armed and armored templars that ringed the chamber. Several had seemed ready to intervene when Wynne had cast her spells, but had been held back by the others. All of them stood and watched now with the barely restrained energy of hounds waiting for a hare to be loosed. Talia divided her attention between them and the mages as Wynne continued to speak. She knew that mages could be dangerous, but with few exceptions, she had liked most of the mages that she had become acquainted with. The opposite was true where templars were concerned; too many of that order seemed to view their charges at best as beasts to be restrained, at worst as victims to be tormented at will. The catastrophe at Kirkwall had been ignited by a mage, but the kindling had been laid, piece by piece, by abuses that Anders had suffered in Ferelden's circle and by the abuses allowed to continue unchecked in Kirkwall under Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard. Cullen Stanford was one of the few templars that she didn't have to regularly restrain the urge to punch.

Such an action now might well be welcomed by the gathered mages, but she didn't need the light pressure of Leliana's hand on her arm to know that it would not be wise. They were here as agents of Divine Justinia, sent to investigate the quarters of the mage who had attacked at the masked ball. Justinia empathized with the plight of the mages, but she was keenly aware of the potential consequences of being seen as openly picking a side.

But not openly picking a side meant allowing the status quo, which sided with the templars by default, when the mages could not know the subtle maneuverings going on behind the scenes, and Wynne would not betray Justinia's confidence by mentioning her mission here.

"Yes, things must change," Wynne continued now, "but if we do not show ourselves willing to bend, how can we expect those who fear us to do so? We must have patience and give change time to take place."

"Patience!" One in the audience came to his feet: tall and dark haired, with a neatly trimmed beard and a face suffused with anger, fists clenched at his sides. Wynne regarded him, her expression difficult to decipher.

"Have you something to add, Enchanter?" she asked him.

Their eyes locked, and he hesitated for a long moment before saying, "I do. Who are you to counsel patience?" he demanded. "You have more freedoms than any of us. You're not locked into a tower, herded into your chambers at night like a child! Nobody's threatening you with the Rite of Tranquility for stepping out of line! It's easy to be patient when you haven't been through what we have this last year!"

"That is him," Leliana said in a low voice. Talia looked at her in astonishment, then back. Hard at this distance to discern any physical resemblence, but she knew that was not likely what her lover was observing and turned her attention to the currents that flowed almost palpably between the two mages: regret and resolve from Wynne, hot resentment and defiance from the man, far in excess of anything shown by any of the others in the audience. A few of them had applauded his outburst, but others spoke out in disagreement. She had learned a bit about the various factions among the mages, and it looked as though they did what factions everywhere did: argue.

Wynne did not add her voice to the squabbling; she simply lifted her hand and waited until, bit by bit, the talking died down and all eyes returned to her.

"I do have freedoms," she said, calmly and without a hint of apology in her manner. "They were earned through years of service, and as a reward for my part in defeating the darkspawn. I worked to gain the trust of the Chantry; I did not expect it to fall into my lap."

She had done far more than help defeat the darkspawn; they would never have killed the Archdemon without her, and Talia was tempted to speak up to say just that, but another light squeeze on her arm kept her silent as the man – and it was almost certainly Rhys – burst out:

"And what have we done to be denied that trust, those who have spent our entire lives doing everything asked of us? Why are we all held accountable for the mistakes of a few?"

A fair question and a legitimate frustration; Talia knew beyond doubt that she would feel the same in his place, but she had seen firsthand the dangers of unchecked magic. Justinia was moving to curb the abuses that comprised the chief grievances of the mages, but the actions of Anders and Jeannot Fournier were not mistakes: they were premeditated crimes that had cost the lives of people that had nothing to do with mages or templars, feeding even further into the fear that the general population felt for magic.

More of the mages applauded this outburst, and an older, weary-looking man in the robes of a First Enchanter started to approach the podium, but Wynne shook her head, turning back to her audience with a stern expression that Talia remembered quite well.

"What would you have them do?" she inquired tersely over the rumble of voices that had not quite died down this time. "Argue over procedure while the tower falls around them? We are all in the same boat, young man, and it behooves everyone to paddle, lest the current carry us away."

As Rhys looked to be at least a decade older than Talia, he could be described as young only in relative terms, but the slight smile tugging at Talia's lips – it reminded her more than a little of some of the lectures she had received from Wynne – faded to a frown as numerous mages burst from their seats, shouting in protest. Others rose up to argue with them, and the chamber rapidly descended into chaos, with boos and cheers competing in volume as first one, then two, then multiple sets of adversaries began shoving and scuffling, knocking over chairs and ignoring the commands of the onlooking templars to stand down.

Wynne watched the growing pandemonium with an expression caught between frustration and resignation until the First Enchanter whispered urgently in her ear, then turned to leave, unnoticed by most of the mages.

Talia tensed as the doors on either side of the chamber burst open and more templars flooded in with swords drawn, but they ignored Wynne and waded into the fray, shouting orders and physically accosting those who did not immediately obey, dragging them from the seating area to the floor. Most of the mages acquiesced, but a few of the older ones argued fiercely, and for several moments, the tension seemed to be on the verge of igniting into a far more deadly confrontation. A single spell cast would be all that was needed.

Bit by bit, order was restored, and the recalcitrant mages escorted unceremoniously from the hall while the few that had not joined in the fray – including Rhys, Talia noticed – looked on before departing on their own.

"They'd have done well to heed the old lady's advice," Ser Giles, the templar who had been assigned to escort them remarked, looking on with an unpleasant gleam in his eye. Talia gave him a flat stare, opting to hold her tongue, and he frowned. "What? I heard what happened at Kinloch; you were there."

"I was," Talia informed him in a level voice, her temper on a tight rein, "and that old lady fought to save the circle while your kind cowered behind a locked door." Not one had volunteered to accompany them into the tower, even to save their own brethren trapped within.

His face flushed an ugly shade of red, and his fists clenched at his sides. Talia waited calmly; Giles obviously wasn't going to be one of the ones that she didn't want to punch, but surrendering to the impulse – while it might be satisfying – would be counterproductive to their current mission.

If he swung first, however …

"Please take us to Enchanter Jeannot's room," Leliana stepped in as smoothly as if she had interrupted them discussing the weather. Ser Giles glowered at her briefly, then gave a curt nod and spun on a heel, striding off at a smart clip evidently intended to make them hurry to keep up. Leliana strolled behind him at an unhurried pace, and Talia matched her stride. After several moments, he looked back, muttered something that didn't sound like an apology, and slowed his steps for the remainder of the journey.

As they entered the level of the tower that housed the senior enchanters' quarters, they encountered a number of mages returning from the assembly. They regarded Giles with open hostility and Leliana and Talia with wary suspicion. Talia wore her dragon-hide armor, having no intention of being caught out a second time, with Starfang and Gryphon's Claw in their places on her belt, but bore no marks of affiliation. Leliana wore the simple robes of a senior priest and was to all appearances unarmed, though anyone thinking to take advantage of that would quickly find otherwise.

"Why is there no guard posted?" Leliana demanded when they came to a stop outside a closed door.

"Why?" Giles wanted to know. "To keep him from sneaking back in?" He guffawed at his own dubious humor; Leliana gave him a look of disgust.

"Divine Justinia gave orders that this room was to be secured," she informed him coldly, shouldering past him and opening the door.

The room was in disarray, feathers drifting across the floor in the sudden draft. The blankets had been torn from the bed, the mattress overturned, the gash in the pillow providing the explanation for where the feathers had come from. A chest beneath the window sat open, its contents strewn around it, while the clothes in the open wardrobe appeared to have been slashed.

"Guess that order never made it," Giles replied with a careless shrug, making no attempt to mask the insolent smirk. Leliana turned to him, her face impassive, eyes chips of blue ice.

"Indeed, a good many things can get lost before reaching their destination," she agreed coolly. "Your lyrium rations for the foreseeable future being a prime example."

His nostrils flared again, anger flashing in his eyes. "You've no right, you bitch -"

Talia's fist clenched, but Leliana was faster, and Giles' words cut off as cleanly as if the blade that she held to his throat had severed them.

"I am far worse than a bitch, and there is very little that I do not have the right to do, Ser Giles du Monde," she informed him in a tone that had dipped into glacial ranges, "including end your life on the spot if I decide that you were in any way involved in the attempt on the life of Divine Justinia."

The templar swallowed hard, let his hand drift toward the hilt of the sword at his hip, stopped when blood beaded up along the knife's edge and trickled down his neck. "I heard of no orders received, m'lady," he said hoarsely, "nor do I know what happened here. I swear it on Andraste's name."

"Do not sully the name of the Maker's bride by speaking it," she countered, watching him through narrowed eyes for a long moment before stepping back and lowering the dagger. Talia held herself ready, but Giles stood motionless, keeping his hands well away from his blade and his eyes on Leliana. "Go," she ordered him curtly. "Find your commanding officer and tell him to report to me immediately."

He swallowed again and nodded, sidestepping his way past Talia to the door, then shouldering his way roughly through the mages loosely clustered in the corridor with a snarl.

"What do you suppose they were looking for?" Talia wondered, turning back to survey the mess.

"The same thing we are." Leliana's features were still hardened with anger. "I can only hope that they did not find it."

"It was the templars, m'lady." They turned to the mage who stood cautiously in the doorway. He was human of middle years, tall and slender, with angular features and large eyes suggestive of elven blood, the pupils all but invisible in irises so dark brown as to be nearly black. His hair was black, tied into a neat tail at the nape of his neck that just reached his shoulders and touched with irregular patches as white as snow. The olive-tinted skin of his face was likewise marked with patches of pale flesh that trailed down beneath the neck of his robe and flowed from beneath his sleeves onto slender, long-fingered hands that were folded diffidently before him. "I am certain of it. The room had not been touched before they took us to the assembly." He hesitated, then continued in his light tenor, "The Divine, m'lady … is she …?" He trailed off, looking fearful. More than one hiss rose behind him, but he ignored them.

"She is well," Leliana replied, her tone neutral, her expression noncommittal as she regarded him.

He sighed, relief suffusing his features. "Thank the Maker."

"Of course the precious Divine is safe, you Loyalist freak!" a woman snarled, "And Jeannot is dead!"

Leliana's face hardened again, and she stepped past the man to see who had spoken. "He was killed trying to murder Divine Justinia, and killed a dozen more in his attempt."

The mages in the corridor faded back nervously before her, but one stood firm: a human woman with greying blonde hair and patrician features set in an expression of scorn. "The same pampered elites that would be just as happy if we all vanished and saved them the inconvenience of our existence," she snapped defiantly. "I didn't help Jeannot, but don't expect me to shed a tear over the likes of them!"

"I can't say that I blame you there," Talia said as she stepped up beside Leliana, wondering what noble family had abandoned her as an inconvenience, "but killing the Divine would only turn even more people against mages. Justinia is trying -"

"Trying to what?" the woman challenged her bitterly. "To provide us a more comfortable prison?"

"Changing the practices of centuries is not done overnight," Leliana told her. If she empathized with the woman's position, the unyielding expression on her face gave no sign.

"If you are trying to remove a mountain with a teaspoon, maybe," the woman replied, "but if you blow it up ..." she trailed off, a reckless smile teasing at her lips. A few of the mages murmured agreement with her, others voiced outrage, most simply looked uneasy.

"Laurel," a dark-haired elven woman began, plucking at the human's sleeve nervously, "don't speak like that. She's -"

"I know who she is," Laurel jerked her arm away, facing Leliana defiantly. "The Left Hand of the Divine." The words fell from her lips in a mocking lilt, blue eyes shifting to Talia. "And the sodding Hero of Ferelden."

The number of surprised expressions indicated that most of the mages present had not known, and Talia felt guilt twinge in her gut at the hopeful eyes that some of them turned to her.

"You saved Kinloch Hold," one of them began, but Laurel cut her off.

"And gave it right back to the fucking templars," she proclaimed, eyes flashing with antipathy. "And now she's Justinia's trained attack dog!"

"I make my own decisions," Talia corrected her, mildly but firmly, knowing that nothing she said was likely to sway Laurel or those who believed as she did. It was the uncertain faces that she was speaking to. "Divine Justinia is the best ally that mages have had in generations; kill her, and I can guarantee that her successor will not be your ally. It may be centuries more before another Divine sympathetic to mages arises. Just give her a chance. The path that Anders took killed hundreds; if you all follow that path, the dead will number in the thousands, and many of you will be among them."

"And you think a quick death in battle is preferable to being suffocated by degrees?" Laurel asked, but the fire in her eyes had died down to a weary bitterness that cut even deeper than the accusation had. The sound of booted feet rang through the door to the stairs. "You want to find Jeannot's accomplice, you need to be investigating them," she said, jerking her chin toward the door. "No mage here could have gotten him out of the Spire."

Seconds later, four templars burst out of the stairwell to order the mages to their quarters. Laurel and several others glowered at them, but ultimately joined the rest in compliance. With the corridor cleared, one of the quartet, a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a Knight-Lieutenant's insignia turned to Leliana and Talia.

"Knight Lieutenant Arnaud Beauchamp," he introduced himself brusquely. "Ser Giles claims that you threatened him."

"I do not make threats" Leliana replied calmly. " And I have neither the time nor the patience for insolence. Jeannot Fournier could not have made it out of the White Spire and gained access to a ball at the palace without assistance."

"The order is conducting an investigation," he replied to her. "We will inform you of the findings."

"Since one or more of your order were most likely among the accomplices, that will not be sufficient," Leliana countered, "particularly since this -" she stepped aside to display the room, "was permitted under your noses … and expressly against the orders of the Divine."

The Knight-Lieutenant looked inside, and Talia could see his jaw clench beneath his neatly trimmed beard. "You have my word that I will identify the mages responsible," he vowed.

"The mages say that it was the templars that did it," Leliana said, her expression giving no hint of her opinion on the matter.

"And you believe them?" he demanded, a vessel beginning to pulse in his temple.

"I believe no one, including you," she replied, indifferent to his rising ire. "I will continue to conduct my own investigation, including a search of this room, and you will report your findings to me."

"And your findings?" he wanted to know.

"The Lord Seeker will be notified when the guilty parties have been identified." Leliana turned back to Jeannot's room. "Please wait out here and see that we are not disturbed." Without giving him the chance to respond, she motioned Talia into the room ahead of her and closed the door in his face.

Talia watched her closely; Leliana gave her a brief smile, then held a finger to her lips. Talia nodded her understanding, reassured by the brief softening of her lover's stony countenance. Their errand was a serious one, but she didn't want to see Leliana fully retreat behind the icy mask that she had worn less than a day before. Not with her.

Knowing that Arnaud likely had his ear to the door, she followed Leliana's wordless gesture and moved to search the bed while Leliana inspected the strewn contents of the chest. If anything had been in the pillow, it had been removed along with most of the feathers. The mattress had been slit in several places, and likely anything that had been stashed there found, but Talia still slipped her hand into each gap, searching the stuffing for any telltale void that might give a clue as to the size and shape of what it had contained. Nothing. A search beneath the bed was similarly unfruitful, and she returned the mattress to its place, searching the tangle of linen sheets and wool blanket before piling them on top.

She glanced to where Leliana knelt, slowly turning the pages in a book that had been among the strewn contents of the chest. Books held many ways of concealing and transmitting information: scraps of paper could be slipped into the pages, notes written in margins, subtle marks made at key letters and words, ciphers could even be created and deciphered if two people had the same edition of a tome. If there was something to be found in the book, Leliana would find it. Despite the seriousness of their task, it felt good to be working alongside her lover once more, filling the last of the aching void that Talia had been forced to ignore these last months.

She turned her attention back to the bed, studying the wooden frame. It seemed unlikely that hidden compartments in furnishings could go undiscovered under the watchful eyes of the templars, but at least one blood mage had existed under their noses, so they weren't as vigilant as they fancied themselves. The corner posts looked to have the most potential: hollowed out, they could provide a place to conceal small items or messages. Talia stepped toward the headboard, reaching for the near post, then stopped, looking at the board that stretched between it and the far post. The scuff on the top edge was faint – a few years ago, she likely would have missed it entirely – but it was the right width to have been made by a shoe, as if someone balanced on it to reach -

She looked upward at the brass rod that suspended the long drapes that covered the window.

"Leli."

Her lover glanced up at her whisper, following her gaze, then set the book aside and rose, studying the scuff on the headboard, then bracing herself on Talia's shoulder to climb up and reach for the curtain rod, lifting it from the supporting brackets and lowering it to Talia's hands before leaping down.

"It's hollow," she murmured, removing the cap from the end above the bed and looking inside. Her eyes narrowed, and she reached a finger into the tube of thin metal, slipping out a tightly rolled piece of parchment.

"Well done, my love," she congratulated Talia with an approving smile, setting their find aside on the nightstand, then inspecting the curtain rod once more, taking off the other end cap and peering down its length to ensure that nothing else was concealed within. That done, she methodically replaced the end caps and returned the rod to its original position, ensuring that the curtains showed no sign of having been disturbed. No sense in giving the amateurs who had trashed the rest of the room any pointers, after all.

That done, she settled on the edge of the bed, Talia beside her, and unrolled the parchment. The script in the few lines was almost obsessively neat, but so cramped that Talia still had difficulty deciphering what had been written.

Phillip,

By the time you find this – if you find it – it will be done, and I will in all likelihood be dead, as I will not allow myself to be taken alive to be made Tranquil. Know that I am content in dying to strike a blow for the freedom of mages everywhere, and I am grateful for the kindness that you have shown and the aid that you have given me.

Please do not forget the others. They will need your help now more than ever.

Your friend in life and death,

Jeannot

"Phillip." Talia took the parchment from Leliana and studied it with a frown. "A templar? It would almost have to be if he helped Jeannot get out of the Gallows." She turned the parchment over, held it up to the light, not even sure what she was looking for and finding nothing apart from the ink on the page.

"That we shall soon find out," Leliana replied, accepting the parchment back from Talia and scrutinizing it even more closely. "Convenient that this should be overlooked," she murmured thoughtfully, looking around the disarray in the room, "or perhaps not. People seldom turn their attention upward. Nevertheless," she set the parchment on the nightstand once more and stood, "we finish searching the room, see what else they did not find." Her face hardened. "Then we look for answers."

A.N. - This one had stalled as I tried to pull together something that the writers of Asunder left hanging: who had helped Jeannot Fournier get out of the Gallows and into the ball to make the attempt on Justinia's life. Think I've finally got that plot roughed out, so on we go!

This will be the last chapter for a bit that touches on the book's events; Talia and Leliana will be splitting away from Wynne and pursuing their own path for the time being. I'll bring everybody back together for the end, but that'll take a bit. This one won't be epic length; I'm thinking 10 or so more chapters, give or take a couple. There may be a familiar face or two encountered on the way; still musing over the possibilities.

Internal conflicts resolved, so now our heroines can turn their attention to the external conflicts. It does feel a bit lazy, relying on templars as the default antagonists, but given the current entrenched system that is weighted heavily in favor of the Chantry, the templars' role as the enforcers tends to place them pretty naturally in that position. I've always leaned more toward the mages in terms of sympathy, but it is fairly ironic to me that the biggest disasters in Thedas have been precipitated by mages outside the control of the Chantry (though admittedly usually in response to the actions of the Chantry).