I do not own Dragon Age, or any of the characters. Except for the OCs. Those are mine.

Chapter 8

"Hey Cassandra, have you got a mirror?" I called over my shoulder while I picked through my bag of cosmetics. I pulled out my small, battered tin of kohl and a few of my handmade brushes, and set them on the desk. Now, where had I put the rouge?

I heard a small huff behind me. "Surely you can use your own."

"I don't have one. Mirrors are expensive," I said absently as I continued to search, this time through my traveling bag. I knew that I'd brought my rouge. I remembered packing it.

"Truly? You spent your money on cosmetics, and not a mirror?" She sounded unimpressed.

"I didn't buy them. I made them. Makeup is even more expensive than mirrors," I muttered. A small metal tin came into view at the bottom of my bag. "Aha! There you are. How did you get there?"

I fished out the tin and set it with the others. As I stood up, a rectangular mirror was tossed deftly onto the desk, briefly startling me as it clanged against the wooden surface. I turned and saw Cassandra return to sharpening her sword.

"Thanks. I'll be done with it soon," I said mildly.

Cassandra made a noncommittal noise, not bothering to look up at me. I stifled a sigh and turned back to the desk. She had been pointedly ignoring me since the whole debacle with the Oracle the day before. In truth, her silence didn't really bother me.

It was a small mirror, barely the size of my palm, but it would do the job. Normally, I didn't need a mirror, as I typically used my cosmetics more like war paint than actual makeup. I didn't need to see myself to smear black around my eyes. However, this time, I needed to make myself look 'pretty'. I doubted that the Orlesians at Madame de Fer's salon party would appreciate my regular look.

And so, I set to work. I lightly lined my eyes with my kohl, careful not to add too much, and I used more to darken my pale eyelashes. Then, I dabbed my lips with my deep red rouge. I set my brush down, and held the mirror at arm's length so that I could see my face as a whole.

I looked… alright. The bold black vallaslin branches and dots dominated my face, even more so now that my makeup was light. But there was little I could about that. Even when covered up with thick concealer paint and powder, the black lines and dots would always shine through. There was no point in trying to cover them up. Besides, the vallaslin would make the Orlesians uncomfortable, and I could definitely get behind that.

Setting aside my cosmetics and brushes, I began to unravel my hair from the many braided knots that I'd kept them in all afternoon. My scalp felt tingles of relief as I worked. Once done, I tossed my head down, then back up again. The newly formed curls bounced and scattered into multiple curls, making my hair appear fuller and wilder than usual as it fell around my upper arms and shoulder blades.

Perfect. I didn't want to look too 'civilized'.

I got up from the desk and stepped behind the changing screen in the corner of the room. Now, the dress.

I ran my fingers down the silk fabric, admiring the delicate silver thread embroidery. The color was a rich, deep plum, and, depending on how the light hit it, the silk surface shimmered with a burgundy glint. I couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship. When was the last time I'd had a dress this fine? I could hardly remember.

Once I started, the whole process of getting dressed took a little longer than I'd hoped. I blamed the corset. The idea of asking Cassandra for help with lacing me up made me cringe. She was still a bit huffy with me, and I didn't entirely trust her to not lace the stays too tightly out of spite. My suspicion might have been a little unfair to Cassandra, but I wasn't about to take that chance. In the end, I quietly wrestled with the attractive deathtrap on my own.

Finally finished, I stepped around the screen. The voluminous, multilayered skirts swished silently as I walked, and I resisted the urge to twirl. Cassandra, who had been in the process of polishing her plate armor, looked up and eyed me critically.

I struck a pose, fluttering an invisible fan against my face while the other hand daintily touched my cheek. I batted my eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion.

"So, Mademoiselle Pentaghast, am I beautiful?" I asked in a high pitched, purposefully terrible, Orlesian accent.

Cassandra's mouth twitched. She didn't outright smile, but her usual sour expression abated for a moment.

"You will certainly make an impression in that outfit. Although," she cleared her throat uncomfortably and looked pointedly at my chest, "you may wish you hadn't after the tenth letter asking for your hand in marriage."

I dropped the act and shrugged. "No worries. I can handle a few lusty nobles."

It was a beautiful dress, and it fit me like a glove. Yet, I couldn't help but wonder at Fate's motives behind it all. The gown was very Orlesian, with a large puffy skirt, and a corset bodice that sucked in my waist and stopped just short of my breasts. The upper part vaguely resembled the type of blouses that many city elves wore, sleeveless with a high-necked collar, and a tear-shaped cutout that started at my collarbone and ended where the corset began. It was not an immodest dress, but it certainly called a lot of attention to one very specific part of my anatomy.

I suppressed a sigh. Fate knew what she was doing. If wearing a cleavage-heavy dress gained the Inquisition more favor with the nobles, I wasn't going to complain. Much.

The carriage that had been hired for me would arrive soon, and I didn't really want to wait in the room with Cassandra while she continued to ignore me. So, I put away my cosmetics, handed back the mirror, and with a quick farewell I headed out the door.

Cassandra barely acknowledged my departure.

It was not yet dinnertime, so the inn's common room was practically empty. Other than Varric, Solas, and Felros, the only people there were a couple of serving elves who were in the process of sweeping and cleaning tables. Varric appeared to be trying to teach Felros how to play Wicked Grace, while Solas watched in thinly veiled amusement.

"Are you seriously teaching my wolf how to gamble?" I asked as I made my way over to their table.

"He's actually pretty good," said Varric, who hadn't yet looked up from his cards. "Better than Hawke's mabari, Snuffles. The last hand he-" Varric stopped when caught sight of me, and he whistled appreciatively. "Andraste's dimpled ass! You clean up well, Cackles. Wouldn't you say so, Chuckles?" He nudged Solas in the side with his elbow.

Solas' face was impassive again. His jaw muscles jumped in annoyance at being nudged, but that was the only indication of emotion. He gave a nod.

"You look lovely, Mahalia," he said politely, his usual unreadable mask in place.

I smirked, pulling up one of the chairs as I came closer. "Thanks, you two. You're the first to say anything nice to me today. Cassandra's still not talking to me."

Varric grimaced sympathetically. "Give it time, kiddo. She'll come around. And if she doesn't, I'll distract her while you run."

"I'm not afraid of Cassandra," I said, huffing slightly as I sat down. "I'm just tired of all the death glares and disgusted throat clearing."

"Ehh," Varric made a face. "I think that's just how she is normally."

I began to make a comment when the harsh bang of the tavern door cut me off. A young man appeared in the doorway in full Inquisition warrior gear. He gave a short salute, bowing his head as he did so.

"The carriage is here, Your Worship."

I sighed. I thought I would have had more time before I had to leave. Alas.

"Very well." I made a beckoning motion as I stood. "Come along, Felros. The Great Game waits for no one."

"I'd feel a lot better if you didn't have to go alone, Cackles," Varric muttered, concern clear in the faint lines of his face.

My mouth twisted in a small scowl. "Me too, Varric. It's far from ideal, but I haven't much of a choice in the matter. We're not exactly swimming in allies right now."

He sighed deeply. "Yeah, I know. Still don't like it though." He gave a sharp shake of his head, as though clearing out a thought, and he looked up at me. "Stay safe, will you?"

I smirked reflexively. "You ask so much of me," I replied cheekily, patting Varric on the shoulder as I strode by. "I'll see you all later tonight."

With a soft swish of my voluminous skirts, I strode outside into the cool, slightly foul, afternoon air. Briefly, I paused to admire the carriage that stood waiting. It was a conservative and rather simple carriage compared to what the Orlesian nobles would no doubt be arriving in. But it was still very elegant, made from polished dark wood with faint silvery embellishments. I made a mental note to thank Ambassador Montilyet for wrangling up a carriage this refined on such short notice. It must have been difficult, especially from so far away.

Maybe I could make her something nice, I thought to myself as I settled onto the cushioned seat alongside Felros. The Inquisition's ambassador always seemed so tightly wound, so stressed. Commander Cullen and Leliana were the same, and for good reason. But the both of them struck me as distant and private people. I doubted that a gift of appreciation would be appreciated by either of them. At least, not yet.

I stroked Felros gently behind the ears as I watched the city streets pass by from the carriage. Without meaning to, my mind wandered back to Fate. And Solas.

Ever since our meeting, I'd been playing Fate's words over and over in my head. How was I going to make this work?

I knew how to manipulate, how to sway and seduce the affections of others. This had never been particularly difficult for me, even when I was young. It was easy to figure out what the other person wanted, and it was easy to become what they wanted for a while. Short affairs and trysts were easy. Shallow friendships were easy.

I sucked in a breath through my teeth as a familiar pain throbbed in my chest. I was a fool to have offered my friendship to Solas so readily, so quickly. Fate's warnings had been fresh in my mind, and I had leapt to follow them without sufficient thought. Now though, I'd had time to consider, to stew in my own head.

Who was I kidding? I couldn't be friends with Solas, not really. I couldn't have friends. A lifetime of several thousand years had taught me that hard truth. I could make friends easily, but I could never keep them. Given enough time, they always ran from me. Or I ran from them when they clung too tight. It would be no different with Solas.

And yet, I had to try anyway. My fate, and the fate of the world, it seemed, depended on it.

The throbbing spread and became more insistent. Knowing what would come next, I began to take in several long, slow breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In. Out.

I focused on the feel of Felros' soft fur under my hand, the alien pressure of the tight corset on my abdomen, the glide of the satin gown on my skin, and the strange smells of the city. The pain in my chest began to dissipate. I leaned back against the cushions and sighed.

I had to try. I had to.

The steady rocking of the carriage was rhythmic and soothing, and I focused on the rhythm for the duration of the trip. There was no point in letting my mind wander. I had to stay focused and sharp.

The scenery of Val Royeaux eventually melted away, giving way to clean air and large stretches of farmland. Not long after, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting everything in growing darkness. I kept a watchful eye on the road and the surrounding land as the carriage continued on, as my elven eyes saw almost as well in the dark. All was peaceful.

A knock rapped on the front of the carriage.

"We're here, Your Worship," called the agent who sat with the driver.

And so we were. Smooth white walls with golden accents appeared on my right side, with an array of tall cypresses rising above the walls on the other side. The carriage took a sharp turn and passed by an enormously gilded and ornate front gate. It circled around a bubbling fountain before coming to a halt before the manor's steps.

Through the window, I quickly surveyed the building. It was large manor house, like all nobility dwellings. The house itself was surprisingly less gaudy than I was expecting. The obligatory gold accents were still present, but they were far more restrained. For an Orlesian manor, it was almost… tasteful.

I stepped out with Felros when the footman opened the door, and I suppressed the urge to stretch my limbs as I stood. Instead, I took a deep breath and moved forward, taking the steps at a measured pace. The masked guards at the top bowed as I reached them, and they opened the doors for me. Light music and heavy perfumes washed over me.

I continued forward past the doors. Another man, without a mask, bowed to me and took out a scroll, unfurled it, and announced loudly:

"Lady Lavellan, representing the Inquisition!"

Dozens of masked faces suddenly turned my way. My stomach flipped and twisted at the sudden attention of so many. Faint whispers broke out among the guests. Many of them turned away and pretended not to pay me any attention, but I still saw them glance over at me in curiosity.

Felros stayed beside me, practically pressed up against my skirts. Briefly, I envied that he had someone he could hide behind.

A masked nobleman appeared before me, cutting me off as he introduced himself. I kept my face serene and unbothered as the man began to speak. I had no mask. My will would have to suffice.

"A pleasure to meet you, my lady," said the man courteously. His voice had a cultivated pleasantness that I'd long come to expect from Orlesian nobles. "We so rarely have a chance to meet anyone new. It is always the same crowd at these parties."

Remembering all my old experiences with the Orlesian court, I plastered on a smile and batted my eyelashes slightly, adjusting my tone and posture as I slid into my very old but very familiar courtly persona. I hated the game, but I knew it well.

"Well then, I am pleased to be a diversion for you all," I chuckled lightly. "I pray that I prove to be a pleasant one."

"Of that there can be no doubt!" replied a masked woman who came to stand beside the man. What did he say his name was again? Count something or other. Hopefully I could get away with just calling him 'Count'. "We have heard the most curious tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true!"

I couldn't imagine how she could even speak. The half of her face not covered by a mask was completely engulfed by a thick, frilly white collar that stuck out to the sides almost as much as her hat. I lightly bit my tongue to keep from laughing at her.

"Indeed? There are tales about me? I hope they're scandalous," I said, widening my eyes and waggling my brows for effect.

They both laughed, and I heard a few titters around me.

"Oh yes! Some say that when the Veil opened, Andraste herself delivered you from the Fade," the woman replied. She then leaned in and said in a clear stage whisper, "They say Andraste herself delivered you from the Fade to battle the Old Gods for the fate of the world!"

Fate's warnings seemed to echo in my head. I pushed back a grimace and plastered on another smile. I noticed that a small crowd had begun to gather about us. They seemed to hover about, too far away to be part of the conversation. Yet to close to not be listening in. They wanted a show.

"Oh, is that all?" More titters. "Well then, everything you heard? Completely true."

A few excited and delighted gasps escaped the audience around us. Some of them chuckled.

"Better and better!" said the woman. Her eyes glittered in amusement behind her mask. "The Inquisition should attend more of these parties!"

A loud scoff cut through the air, and everyone turned toward its source.

"The Inquisition?" said another masked man in a mocking voice. He then clearly sneered under his mask and cried, "What a load of pig shit!"

Here we go, I thought to myself as I stiffened in anticipation. In all honesty, I was surprised that it had taken this long before one of these puffed up nobles decided to take a shot at me. I noted the very obvious rapier sword that glinted in the light at his side. From what little I had seen, he was the only noble here to be armed.

He descended the staircase to the floor where I and the other nobles had gathered. The crowd parted for him as he advanced towards me. He circled me partially, before coming to a halt to face me.

"Washed up sisters and crazed Seekers. Heh, and wild beasts. No one can take them seriously!" he mocked. "Everyone knows it's just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power."

"The Inquisition is working to restore peace and order to Thedas," I said serenely, ignoring the pointed jab at Felros. "We have already done much to aid those fleeing the chaos of the Breach. If I might be so bold, what have you done to combat this crisis?"

Whispers sprouted up around us, and the man visibly stiffened. The small bits of skin not concealed by his mask had turned a vivid scarlet. He puffed up his chest and stepped forward.

"How dare you! Here comes the outsider, restoring peace with an army!" the man all but snarled. He moved closer until he was practically in my face. I was sorely tempted to shove him backwards. "We know what your 'Inquisition' truly is. If you were a woman of honor, you'd step outside and answer the charges."

He reached for his rapier, and I felt a flicker of amusement. Beating this fool into the polished floor would be fun.

Suddenly, the air around us turned cold. The man began to choke and wheeze as ice and frost coated his body, freezing him stock still with a noise that sounded like a glass shattering. Shocked gasps broke out. I moved back, looking quickly about for whoever had cast the spell.

"My dear Marquis," purred a posh, silky voice from across the room. I looked up. At the top of the staircase stood a masked woman, her body alit with the after-effects of the spell. She began to descend, her posture straight and poised. "How unkind of you to use such language in my home… to my guests. You know such rudeness is… intolerable."

I looked her up and down as she made her way down to stand before the Marquis. Despite her defense of me, every instinct in my body whispered 'snake'. The elegant yet contained way she moved, the bold yet tasteful style of her robes, and the smooth, threatening purr of her voice. All of them put together had me on edge. This woman was dangerous.

"Madame Vivienne," the Marquis wheezed fearfully. "I humbly beg your pardon."

"You should. Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?" she said before turning to me. "My lady, you're the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?"

What to do, indeed. It occurred to me then that I could have anything done to him. Anything at all. The Marquis had openly insulted and threatened me, the Herald of Andraste, for no discernable reason. He had broken the unspoken rules of the Game. By all rights, his life was forfeit.

But still, what to do?

There were many rules of the Game. Some of the details may have changed over the centuries, but condensed down, the soul of it all remained the same. Be untouchable, be enigmatic, you are above them all. You are above them all.

I adopted a visibly disinterested expression as I considered. Lazily, my gaze swept over him. I then made a show of daintily inspecting my fingernails, before I sighed lightly.

"The Marquis does not interest me, or the Inquisition," I replied. "Do whatever you wish with him."

Madame Vivienne turned from me, and she was on the Marquis in an instant. With a snap of her fingers, the man's icy bonds were released. He swayed slightly, coughing and shivering as the magic dissolved completely.

"Poor Marquis," began Madame Vivienne. "Issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Fereldan dog lord. And all dressed up in your Aunt Solange's doublet. Didn't she give you that to wear to the Grand Tourney? To think, all the brave chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning… and you're still here. Were you hoping to sate your damaged pride by defeating the Herald of Andraste in a public duel? Or did you think her sword would end the shame of your failure?"

The Marquis seemed to deflate. His proud shoulders fell, and his head bowed in shame at her words.

"Run along my dear. Do give my regards to your aunt," she said with a dismissive flick of her hand. Head still bowed, the Marquis slunk back, turned, and vanished into the crowd. Madame Vivienne caught my gaze, and the barest hint of a smirk brought the edges of her lips up.

Incredible. The urge to giggle like a little girl bubbled in the back of my throat. That was impressive. It had been a while since I'd seen someone be so effectively eviscerated with words.

"I'm delighted you could attend this little gathering. I've so wanted to meet you," said Madame Vivienne as she approached with a friendly smile. She made a gesture with her hand for me to follow. Felros silently padded along beside me as we walked together off of the dance floor. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne. First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court."

"It is a pleasure, Madame Vivienne," I replied with a courteous smile. "I must say, when I received your invitation I did not expect to find the evening so diverting."

A look that might have been genuine amusement crossed her face. "I'm glad to keep you entertained, my dear."

My gut twisted at the diminutive. I didn't mind nicknames, but something about the way she said 'my dear' made me feel small, like an insignificant and annoying child. If only she knew. I fought the urge to smirk at the thought.

"I wanted to meet face to face. It is important to consider one's connections carefully," she began. "With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. But the faithful flock to your banner, pinning their hopes on your to deliver them from chaos. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause."

A loyalist. Wonderful. The idea of setting a powerful loyalist mage loose in the Inquisition made me nervous. And yet, it would be no worse than the dozens of loyalist mages and Templars that were already there. It's not as if they could be inspired to become more oppressive towards mages.

Actually, scratch that. They absolutely could. Damn it.

"I see," I said carefully. I needed more information before I made a decision. "And how exactly do you intend to lend your assistance? I admit to being uncertain as to what your offer entails."

"I am well versed in the politics of the Orlesian Empire. I know every member of the Imperial Court personally. I have all the resources remaining to the Circle at my disposal. And I am a mage of no small talent. Will that do?"

"Madame, you mistake my meaning," I replied coolly. "It is not your skills or your assets that I question. I deduced all of that before you reached the bottom of the stairs. I have no doubt that you are a powerful ally, and a formidable enemy. That is not in question."

"Then what is in question, my dear?" she asked, a hint of impatience in her voice.

We came to a halt next to a window in a deserted hallway. A cool breeze fluttered past the curtains, ruffling my hair and causing a few curls to fall into my face. I brushed them back casually.

"Your intentions, of course," I said. "I would ask what you intend to do with your very impressive list of skills and credentials. The world is a strange place, and it has only gotten stranger as of late. I wish I could say that such circumstances bring out the best in people, but that would be naïve ignorance. I believe we just witnessed a prime example of this only a few moments ago. So, what is it that you intend?"

Madame Vivienne regarded me for a moment with mild curiosity in her eyes.

"What I intend is to restore order," the courtly, friendly lilt in her tone was gone, replaced by hard steel. "The Veil has been ripped apart, and there is a hole in the sky. I intend to join the Inquisition on the field of battle, to work towards sealing the Breach. This is the duty of every mage in Thedas, and I will not shy away from it."

Interesting. I could not fault that. Whatever my feelings towards her politics were, she had a point. And the Inquisition needed allies, especially ones like her.

"A commendable attitude, Madame," I said with a slight bow of my head.

"It is a necessary one," she replied.

"On that, we are agreed."

"Then?"

This time, I did smirk. Just a little.

"Then, I can say for certain that the Inquisition will be pleased to have you, Madame Vivienne." She seemed pleased, but I did not miss the calculating glint in her dark eyes.

"Great things are beginning, my dear," she smiled. "I can promise you that."

I held back a grimace at 'my dear', and I sighed internally. One thing for certain, I needed to watch this one. Recruiting her was either going to the best decision ever, or the worst. Or perhaps both. Only time would tell.

Solas POV

It was only a few minutes past three when I went down to the common area to relieve Varric. His usual crowd of admirers had long since dissipated, as had the usual late night inhabitants of the common area. Everyone had gone to bed hours ago, even the cleaning elves.

Varric looked up at my approach. "Oh hey, Chuckles. Time to hit the sack then, huh?"

"Any word?" I asked.

He shook his head, features twisting in distress. "Nah, not a one. I know these Orlesian parties can sometimes go all night, but still. I doubt I'll get any sleep until she gets back safe."

I pulled up a chair and sat down opposite Varric.

"It is understandable to worry for her safety," I said, wishing to convey calm to the anxious dwarf. "However, it serves no purpose to be consumed by anxiety. We have done everything we can. Unless the Herald does not appear by sunrise, there is nothing else to be done save wait."

"How practical," Varric grumbled under his breath. He sighed. Then, after a moment, an odd glint appeared in his eyes, and his mouth twitched upwards. "So, you're not at all worried about our dear Herald then? If something happened to her, you would feel nothing?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "I did not say that. I merely stated the impracticality of worrying over things that are out of our control. Anxiety will not ensure the Herald's safe return."

Varric scoffed. "I didn't ask if you think it's practical or not to worry about her. I asked how you feel. If something happened to her, if she got waylaid by bandits or demons or worse, are you saying you wouldn't feel anything?"

"Of course not. Mahalia is the Herald and an essential member of the team," I replied carefully. "If the Inquisition is to succeed, then her safety is a priority. If anything unfortunate happened to the Herald, I would be just as affected as you or Cassandra."

Varric sat back, a look of disappointment on his face. "You're so full of shit sometimes, Chuckles," he sighed, shaking his head. "I'll remember you said that the next time I catch you staring at her ass like it's the Fade."

I stiffened and forced my features to remain neutral, but my face and neck burned.

"I do not-"

"Save it for someone without eyes, Chuckles," he interrupted. "It is a nice ass though. If she were a few feet shorter, then I'd have to worry about Bianca getting jealous. But alas. I'm just surprised that she hasn't noticed you ogling her yet. You're not exactly as subtle as you think."

I cleared my throat. "I am not interested in the Herald in that manner, Master Tethras. And even if I were, it would be-"

"Let me guess," Varric interrupted again. "Impractical?"

I narrowed my eyes and glared. "Among other things, but yes."

"Okay, assuming that I believe that bullshit." Varric paused, then scoffed again. "Actually no, I'm not even going to go there. I don't believe it. But anyway, so what it's 'impractical'? Life is impractical, living is impractical. You might as well continue down the impractical road, Chuckles. You're already on it."

I continued to glare at him. "Why do I have the feeling that you are looking for material for your next book?"

He just shrugged. "Every great adventure tale needs a little romance. Especially the weird ones. And trust me, there's nothing weirder than a giant hole in the sky."

Nothing weirder? I could think of several things that the dwarf would consider positively outlandish. And knowing his sensibilities, probably even horrifying. How sad it was that so many could not begin to fathom what was possible. So much had been forgotten.

"And with that, I'm going to bed," Varric announced suddenly. "Well, I'm going to try anyway. If Halia gets here while you're up, have her give me a knock, will you? I'll sleep better if I know she got back safe."

I nodded. "Of course, Master Tethras."

He gave me a pat on the elbow, before stumbling off in the direction of the stairs. And then, I was left alone in the common area. For several minutes, there was nothing but silence, occasionally interrupted by the crackling of the coals in the fireplace. I reached over to snuff out the candle that sat on the table. Unlike Master Tethras, I did not need it to see.

Silence reigned again. Minutes passed. I did not keep track of how many. I simply sat there waiting, absently watching the embers in the fireplace die down to nothing.

I briefly considered checking the clock in the other room. It felt like it had been at least an hour. Perhaps two. The embers were now cold ashes. It probably wouldn't be long before one of the serving girls got up to start the first fire of the day. It wouldn't be long before dawn.

Soon the Seeker would be up, and then I would have to deal with her worry as well. At least she was silent in her worry. She might pace and frown, but she would leave me alone, unlike Varric.

Then, without warning, the door swung open. I turned in my chair to see, and I felt a weight leave my chest. There she was.

Felros stepped in before her, and, with a dramatic stretch, he flopped down on the ground as though to go to sleep right in the entryway. Mahalia laughed at her wolf's antics, and she reached over to give him a scratch between the ears.

"Silly boy," she murmured affectionately in Elven.

Unwillingly, I found my eyes glued to her form as she bent. The dramatic cut of her dress afforded a near obscene view of her breasts as she leaned over her wolf. They strained against the dark fabric, as though fighting to escape their confines. It took me a moment to realize that I was holding my breath.

You're not as subtle as you think, Chuckles. I tore my eyes away, instead focusing on her face. Her face was only a little less distracting. I felt oddly like a lecher for staring.

Mahalia straightened, still smiling softly. She turned to me.

"You got the early morning watch, huh? Sorry I took so long," she said in a soft voice, likely so as to not wake anyone in the inn. She made her way over to the table, pulled out a chair across from me, and plopped down. "Stupid Orlesians and their parties. I like a party as much as the next person, but even I have my limits."

I looked her over cautiously and quickly. Her dress was slightly rumpled, but that was likely from the carriage ride. Her hair was the only other thing out of place. Where it had been only a little chaotic in its arrangement, it was now completely wild.

"I take it that you did not enjoy the salon?"

Mahalia snorted, her head momentarily tilting back as she grinned. I found my eyes drawn to the long column of her neck as it stretched before me. It was a lovely neck, long and elegant. In the low lighting, I could just make out the slow, steady pulse beside her throat. I felt a mad urge to reach over and lightly trace the line of her pulse, to feel it jump under my fingers.

Fenhedis, Solas! Enough of this! I hissed to myself. I could only be grateful that Varric was not here. It was not difficult to imagine the smug look he would have on his face. The dwarf would have delighted in mocking me for my weakness.

"Oh, it was fine. Better than I expected, really. The food was delicious, the music was… eh, well, it was alright. The dancing was a little fun. I only got my feet stepped on twice. There was also that one fool who tried to challenge me to a duel, and another one who tried to grope me on the dance floor. Those were experiences, let me tell you."

I froze. Her tone was nonchalant, almost amused. There was not a hint of distress or irritation. Either she was truly unaffected by being threatened and manhandled, or she merely masked it well. It was difficult to tell which was which with her.

"I see," I replied carefully. "Are you alright?"

She met my eyes and smiled at me. "Oh yes. The host, Madame Vivienne," she spoke with a mockingly posh air, "dealt with the first idiot. The second… well, I may or may not have accidentally come close to breaking a few of his fingers. He was completely respectful after that."

"I am glad that neither incident came to blows," I said. Mahalia shrugged.

"Me too," she murmured quietly, and fell silent.

It was oddly captivating to watch her in the still, quiet moments. Most times, Mahalia was a flurry of action, a storm that never seemed to fully settle. Even when all around her was quiet, she always seemed to be moving, speaking, laughing. She projected an image that seemed larger than life.

Now, she was completely still. The grin had slid off her face, leaving it almost blank, and her eyes grew faraway as she stared past me in contemplation. She blinked slowly several times, and for a moment she looked sad, almost fragile.

Part of me wanted to speak up, to ask what she was thinking. But deep down, I knew that the moment I opened my mouth, she would retreat behind her bright, colorful mask. She would laugh and give me a look that clearly said 'of course I'm fine, you silly'. I'd witnessed her do the same to Varric whenever he noted her exhaustion.

I don't trust anyone either, she had said not so long ago.

And yet, she continued to sit before me in silence, her mask nowhere in sight. Surely she knew that I could see her, could see that she had left herself open. Even during her panic attack at Dennet's farm, she had been closed off, mask firmly in place. What was going on in that head of hers?

Absentmindedly, Mahalia began to scratch her forefinger along one of the grooves in the wood table. It started off light and slow, barely tracing the wood. Then the scratches grew stronger and more aggressive. Her fingernail began to dig and gouge into the table. All the while, her expression remained faraway, as though she wasn't even present.

I watched in growing alarm as she continued. Beside her, Felros had begun to stand at high alert, and his gaze flickered between Mahalia and myself, as though unsure if he should intervene. Then, a familiar coppery scent reached my nose, and I couldn't take it anymore.

Gently but firmly, I reached out and laid my hand on hers, stopping the motion immediately. Her whole body jumped, startled as she broke out of her reverie. Her violet eyes snapped to mine, wide and unsettled. Her brows knit together, a questioning look on her face.

"You're bleeding, Mahalia," I said softly.

I turned her wrist so that her hand faced up. Scarlet blood pooled and fell from a large splinter embedded under her fingernail. She followed my gaze, and, as though suddenly aware of the pain, she winced and hissed under her breath.

"Fuck," she breathed. She quickly pulled her hand back and reached for the splinter.

Alarmed, I grasped for her hand again, "Wait."

Mahalia froze. "What?!"

"Please, don't just pull it out. Let me help you," I pleaded. "There are healing supplies in my pack."

She opened her mouth to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. Pursing her lips, she nodded briefly. Quickly, I retrieved a clean handkerchief from my vest pocket, and loosely wrapped it around her finger below the nail. As I got up and moved towards the stairs, she followed silently.

When I opened the door to the room, Varric immediately sat up, alert and still in his coat and armor. His crossbow lay beside him on the bed, and he moved to reach for it before he caught sight of Mahalia behind me. I continued forward to retrieve my pack.

"Hey, you're back!" he exclaimed, relaxing immediately. Then, he frowned. "Everything alright? You look a little pale."

"Oh, I'm fine," she said lightly, with a slight cheer in her voice that meant she was smiling as she spoke. "I got a splinter from the table downstairs. Solas is helping me with it."

"A splinter, huh?" said Varric speculatively. "How'd you get that? Those tables down there are smooth."

She laughed. It was almost unnerving how easily the laughter came to her. If I had not witnessed the incident at the table, I would have suspected nothing.

"I know, right? Leave it to me to find the one solitary splinter. It's just my luck," she said with a chuckle.

Gathering the required items, I stood and motioned for Mahalia to follow to the washroom. With the door shut, it was a tight fit. Her voluminous skirt took up a large part of the small washroom, but fortunately it was manageable.

Uncorking a small elfroot potion, I poured a portion of it over the wound, allowing the excess to drip into a basin below. Then the real work began. Reaching out with my magic, I probed the injury, feeling for any additional fragments that might have broken off. Sensing two other fragments, I gently grasped at them, along with the first, with my magic, and I pulled, careful to not allow anymore breakage.

I heard an intake of breath, and I glanced up. Mahalia grimaced slightly, but she nodded in reassurance. I continued.

A moment later, three separate splinter fragments fell to the bottom of the basin, along with more blood. I poured a little more of the elfroot potion on the wound, and I refocused my magic to heal. Slowly, I felt the skin knit itself back together. Then, finally, it was done.

"Thank you, Pride," she said tiredly, speaking in Elven now. "I am sorry you had to deal with that. I should have been paying better attention earlier."

I raised a brow at her. She had not just had a lapse in her attention. She had been gone. I had seen it many times before in slaves I had released, and even in some soldiers I had commanded. Battle fatigue, some scholars had called it. I had seen it manifest in many ways, but I had not expected it in her.

A dozen details came flooding back to me at once. The heavy scarring, her lack of trust, her fearful reaction at Master Dennet's farm, and the incident in the common area. She had battle fatigue. And it was not recent. She did not sound like someone who was unsettled by her symptoms. She sounded… used to it, as though she'd had battle fatigue for months. Possibly even years.

She shifted slightly, and I realized then that I was still holding her hand in mine. It was her left, marked hand. It was a strong hand, with long, powerful fingers that spoke of many hundreds of hours of work. It was not the delicate and smooth hand of a lady. Her skin was rough with callouses. And yet, as her hand lay in mine, it felt delicate and fragile, as though one wrong squeeze could break it.

"I do believe that is what friends are for," I replied softly.

"Friends? Are we friends?" she spoke with a hint of her usual amused lilt, but her wide eyes told a different tale. She was scared. It was difficult to reconcile the confidence of yesterday with the fear of today. What was she suddenly so afraid of?

I had my own reservations towards friendship in this world. I had a mission, a goal that outweighed any relationship, it had to. It was one thing to befriend a spirit. Spirits understood. Even if they did not agree with you, they understood. Or at least, they tried to. Friendships in the physical world were far more complex.

But Mahalia. Everything about her was already complex. Everything I felt about her was complex. I did not want to admit it, but I knew deep down that I desired her. It had been weeks since the first moment, and the feeling had only grown. It would have been a simple matter to avoid her, to distract myself from her if she had been anyone else.

Instead, she was Mahalia. Enigmatic, complicated, powerful, kind, indomitable, vulnerable, beautiful Mahalia. It would never be easy to simply be her friend.

And yet, as I stared into her wide, violet eyes, I found that the words to say no did not come. They did not want to.

"I… am not be opposed to level one friendship," I said, a little wryly.

She chuckled suddenly. It was not her usual laugh, meant to deflect or conceal. It was genuine and soft. The corners of her eyes crinkled slightly as she smiled at the reference.

"Well then," she took a deep breath. "Level one it is."

Friends. We were friends.

She looked down suddenly at our still-joined hands. She blinked in surprise, as though she just realized that neither of us had pulled back. Her cheeks reddened slightly, and her smile turned almost… shy.

"I should get to bed," she whispered. "You should get some more rest too. We have much to do tonight."

I nodded in agreement. I couldn't help but notice that she had not yet retrieved her hand.

"Goodnight then, Mahalia," I replied.

"Goodnight, Solas," she whispered.

She then paused for a moment, as though considering something. Her blush deepened, and her smile grew even shyer. Then, without warning, she stepped closer and pressed her lips against my cheek. Her sweet scent filled my nose, and I fought the mad urge to bury my face in her hair.

"Thank you again, Pride. For everything," she murmured next to my ear. Then, she pulled back, fully this time.

I watched her go in a daze. The kiss was just as chaste and brief as the first one, and yet, it did not feel the same as before. It felt worse, so much worse. This… madness was only growing stronger.

A throat cleared. "So, wanna talk about it?" said Varric with a satisfied smirk. I stiffened, and the haze dissipated.

"No." I shut the door to the washroom, but Varric's laughter still filtered through.

Fenhedis. This would not end well.

A/N: I headcanon that elfroot potions can serve as disinfectants. Supposedly putting the juices from the leaves on an injury came make it heal faster, so I'm guessing that it has some antimicrobial properties. Not that they know about germs. They probably just know that putting it on a wound somehow prevents infection. Anyways.

Poor Halia is struggling. Ever committed to something, and then once you have time to think about it, you freak tf out? Mix in some pretty severe ptsd, anxiety, unhealed emotional trauma from past relationships, and that's pretty much where Halia is right now. Fortunately, Solas is not easily spooked.

Speaking of, poor Solas. Eggman has got it bad. Try as he might, something tells me that he's not going to be able to get rid of his… ahem, feelings any time soon.

Anyway, so now Vivienne is with the Inquisition. I've always enjoyed her recruiting mission, even though I don't like her all that much. Next up is Sera! How will Halia react to a companion so blatantly anti-magic and anti-elf? What new developments might unfold between our two ancient idiots? Tune to find out next chapter!

Special thanks to Judy, LilithiaRW, Pinky-the-elephant-room, and RBurger for your lovely reviews. Reviews are deeply encouraging to me, so thank you. :)

Until next time! Dareth Shiral.