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Ciri headed up the steps to the main hall with Dorian, Solas, and Olgierd, pleased to once again be back within the sturdy walls of Skyhold. Varric had parted ways with them at the lower courtyard. He'd been subdued after Redcliffe, and full of understated worry for Cole's embrace of his spirit nature. Cole himself seemed happier than ever before. He'd left them at the stables in search of a wheel of cheese, saying only that the cook was sad.

"I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to being clean," Ciri said as she pushed open the heavy doors.

"That and going down to the tavern and drinking my weight in terrible ale," Dorian agreed. "It feels like that sort of day."

Ciri didn't know quite what to say to that. After he'd finished his conversation with his father, he'd been introspective, verging on melancholy at times, and frustratingly reticent about everything that had gone on behind that closed door. She wasn't sure how to help, or even if she could.

Solas gave Olgierd a small, sincere smile. "Thank you for all you did for Cole, my friend. It is good to see his purpose returned to him."

"I did naught but let him decide for himself," Olgierd denied.

"Nonetheless, it was invaluable." He added offhandedly, "Perhaps we could continue our conversation about the customs and practices of Rivaini seers before supper?"

"I'll bring the books."

They said their farewells and headed in separate directions, Ciri to her quarters at the far end of the hall and the others to their rooms along the wall overlooking the garden. She climbed the long flight of stairs wearily and set her saddlebags down with a sigh of relief at the sight of the steaming tub at the foot of her bed. Once again, Leliana's scouts had come through. She dropped onto the loveseat and began to tug off her armored boots. The hot water beckoned after riding and camping for so long.

Once she was freshly bathed and dressed in new clothes that didn't stink of weeks on the road, Ciri went in search of Dorian. Given his mood on the trip back to Skyhold, it didn't sit right with Ciri to leave things unresolved.

She found him, as she'd expected, in his armchair between the bookcases in the library. What gave her pause, though, was his company. With Dorian seated between them, Maxwell Trevelyan and Gereon Alexius shared a cautious, wary politeness as they spoke, not to each other, but to the man they had in common.

Alexius spotted her first, and he went stiff before frowning and forcing himself to relax. "Inquisitor," he said in greeting. "Never fear, Fiona knows where I am."

The look Dorian shot her from where he sat slumped in his chair, half-ashamed and half-defiant, had her swallowing her sharp retort before it could reach her lips. "That's fine," she said softly. "I wouldn't want to deprive Dorian of your company."

From what little she'd gleaned of Alexius, he'd been a loving and devoted father. So devoted that his desperation had driven him to do terrible, possibly unforgivable things in search of a cure for his son. Given a choice between Alexius and Magister Pavus, she'd rather have neither. But she'd concede that the one who turned on the world for his son might be marginally better for Dorian than the one who turned on his son for the world.

"Welcome to our little corner, Lady Ciri," Maxwell said with a smile. "What brings you here?"

Maxwell's hand rested on Dorian's shoulder as he leaned against the side of the chair, and Dorian had his fingers threaded through Maxwell's. To Ciri's surprise, Alexius looked entirely unbothered by this very tame show of affection.

"I just wanted to check and make sure you were alright," she said to Dorian. "You were so quiet on the ride back. But I can see you're in good hands now."

Dorian slumped deeper in his armchair. "Yes, well. After all you did for me, the least I can do is tell you what came of our conversation, I suppose."

"You don't have to," Ciri said.

"It's only fair." She watched as he flicked a cautious glance up at Alexius, who only raised an eyebrow in return. "My father covered up my disappearance as his heir taking a tour of Thedas. I was never disowned – he was hoping for my return."

"He and Aquinea can't afford to disown you," Alexius interjected. "She's too old for another child, and you're too visible and too magically powerful to either cut ties with or simply make 'disappear.'"

"Ha." Dorian shook his head at that, a wry smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. "And yet." He sighed. "He says we're too alike. That we both have too much pride."

"You're both prideful, certainly. But you'd never put Halward through a ritual that might leave him a drooling vegetable," Alexius said.

Over Dorian's head, Maxwell shot Alexius a look of reluctant gratitude. "You're a better man than he is, Dorian."

"What exactly did your father try to do?" Ciri asked.

"Ah." Dorian's unhappy smirk slipped, and beneath it, Ciri saw old, deep hurt. "My parents called me home to announce my engagement to a powerful and accomplished alta named Livia Heradanus. The fact that we hated each other was no impediment to a marriage, and neither was our insurmountable incompatibility. I refused outright, as you might expect. Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend the rest of my life screaming on the inside.

"My father…he asked to speak with me in private. One last conversation and we'd put it all behind us." Maxwell silently winced as Dorian's fingers tightened in his. "He'd planned a blood magic ritual, something that would…mold my thoughts and desires, make me more appropriate. The sort of heir a magister of Tevinter could be proud of."

Alexius' lips tightened into a thin, angry line, and Maxwell leaned over to kiss the top of Dorian's neatly coiffed hair.

"I don't remember how I got out of there," Dorian said quietly. "I don't remember much of the next day, either. I just ran."

"But you forgave him?" Ciri asked, appalled.

She could have intervened. She could have stopped it before Magister Pavus apologized.

She wouldn't forgive Emhyr, not with a thousand apologies. How could Dorian forgive his father for something so unbearably cruel?

Dorian made a 'so-so' gesture with his free hand. "I'll sit in the Magisterium one day, after my father dies," he said. "I'll be able to make real change then, so long as no one assassinates me for the views I espouse or the legislation I try to push through. Rebuffing him – it would have felt good, in the short run. But I need that power if the Tevinter I love is ever going to have a chance to exist as more than just an idea in a few idealists' hearts."

"And they're not going to strong-arm you into a marriage again?" Maxwell asked, his voice falsely casual.

"I'm all yours, amatus, provided you're willing to endure the spectacle and the gossip," Dorian said.

Ciri shoved her misgivings aside to summon up a dry remark. "Maxwell is very good with gossip."

"I did apologize for that," Maxwell said, his cheeks filling with red.

He had, and very graciously, so Ciri just smiled and made no mention of Halamshiral. "I wish your parents were more like mine," she said instead as she looked to Dorian. "I feared telling them about a lover I'd had as a teenager, a girl named Mistle. But they never cared who I loved, only that I was happy and safe."

Maxwell blinked at her in surprise, but chimed in, "Or more like mine. Mother and Father adore you from my letters home."

"Max," Dorian said gently, "you're their youngest son. If you were the heir –"

"They still wouldn't risk a spell that might break my mind in order to satisfy society," Maxwell interrupted.

"You don't owe him your forgiveness," Alexius said, smoothly picking up where Maxwell left off. "If all you want from him is his seat in the Magisterium, then he can be satisfied with that. He betrayed you. Forgive him at your own pace."

Dorian looked at him for a long, silent moment. "Just him?" he asked, the two words pregnant with meaning.

Alexius' face held shades of bitterness leavened by old affection. "You always were sharp."

Dorian almost seemed like he might smile, but at a quiet cough, his gaze went past Ciri and his expression turned to stone.

"Monsieur Pavus," Mother Giselle said, her voice stiltedly polite. "You are still with us, I see. And…in the company of Monsieur Alexius, no less."

Alexius clenched his jaw, his eyes going flinty. Ciri supposed that even now, over half a year later, the loss of his title and wealth remained a painful injury to his dignity.

"I commend you on your unparalleled powers of observation, Revered Mother," Dorian replied. "I am indeed still with the Inquisition. There's an ancient darkspawn magister parading around dragging my countrymen into depravity, and I'd like a hand in stopping him."

Ciri half-turned so she could see Mother Giselle as well, and she gave her her grandmother's best glare. The revered mother appeared to rethink whatever she was going to say, and she simply inclined her head at the three men.

"Your efforts on our behalf have been appreciated, Monsieur. If you will forgive me, I must speak with the Inquisitor in private."

"More Chantry business?" Ciri sighed.

"Of a sort," Mother Giselle said carefully. "Sister Leliana and Seeker Cassandra are waiting for us in the chapel with the others."

"Sounds important," Maxwell said. "I don't know about you, Lady Ciri, but I've found it's never wise to leave Sister Leliana waiting long."

Ciri had occasionally had that impression as well. "Then I suppose I'd better see what I'm being summoned for." She sent Dorian a final questioning look. "Will we see you for supper later?"

"Oh, I don't know," Dorian said with a tired smile. "The tavern is where the ale is, after all, but there's better wine in the main hall. Decisions, decisions."

Ciri nodded and pushed back her concern. "I hope I see you there, then. Maxwell, it was good to speak with you. Alexius…"

Alexius gave her the barest inclination of his head. "Oh, likewise, Inquisitor."

She followed Mother Giselle down the spiral staircase to the rotunda, where the latest panel in Solas' mural had been faintly blocked out in preparation for his next fresco. At the very top, a figure rose from the center of a group of seven, the group's arms outstretched to hand the figure a crown. Below the seven, a stylized outline of the palace's arched windows could be seen. An assassin bearing a dagger stood in the left window, with the empress in the center, and a man hanging his head in the window to the right.

Artistic, and quite accurate, she thought. Though she wondered at Briala's lack of inclusion in it.

Solas was nowhere to be seen, and Ciri felt a momentary prickle of worry before she remembered that they were back in Skyhold. Leliana's agents had a discreet eye on him at all times here. And he'd mentioned something earlier about wanting to continue a discussion with Olgierd. There was likely nothing to be concerned about.

Mother Giselle's behavior, on the other hand, sparked a low simmer of alarm as they continued to walk in silence through the main hall and out the side door to the garden. Her face was drawn and grave, and there was a tension to the set of her shoulders that Ciri disliked.

At last, they came to the small chapel at the side of the garden, and Mother Giselle opened the door and bowed her head. "Lady Inquisitor."

Ciri stepped inside, curiosity warring with concern, and Mother Giselle followed her in. At the far end, by the outsized crowned statue of Andraste with her outstretched hands, Leliana and Cassandra stood waiting alongside Chancellor Roderick and Revered Mother Kordula. A stone dropped into her stomach at their somber expressions.

"It's good you arrived so swiftly," Leliana said. "The news is pressing. And it's not good."

Behind her, she heard a heavy bar slide down across the door with a thud.

"What's happened?" Ciri asked as she walked forward to join them. Soft footsteps at her back told her Mother Giselle wasn't far behind.

"We've received reports of the situation in Lydes," Leliana said. She held out two creased letters, the seals on them cracked. "One came from Marquise Briala, writing on behalf of Emperor Cyril. The other is from Grand Cleric Oudine."

They waited in silence as Ciri read through the letters. She turned her attention first to Briala's, and with each successive sentence, she felt her stomach fall further, and her veins turn to ice. Fifty red Templars patrolling the city. Elves taken from the alienage, used to grow red lyrium. She set it aside and began to read Grand Cleric Oudine's letter, her heart in her throat.

Finally, she looked up and asked, "They're sending Agnesot here?"

"There is nowhere else to send her," Mother Kordula said sharply. "The emperor cannot judge a member of the faith who has offended against the Chantry, and there is no one left in our ranks of sufficient authority to judge her crimes. Here in the Inquisition, we have the Left and Right Hands of the late Divine and the Hand of the Maker."

Ciri couldn't help the face she made at that.

Chancellor Roderick looked somewhat sympathetic. "We do understand your hesitance at embracing the title, Lady Ciri. But you have failed to recognize over the past several months that the position of Inquisitor is not simply that of a military leader. It is a religious one as well. Without a Divine, and with the Chantry in the state it's in, members of the faith look to you for guidance."

"Ugh." Ciri sat on the nearest bench and rubbed a weary hand across her brow. "But she committed offenses against Orlais as well, didn't she? There were red lyrium crystals growing inside the cathedral! They were taking people from the alienage and –"

She couldn't finish the thought.

"And that matter has been dealt with thoroughly," Cassandra said. "Now it is our turn. You cannot shirk this responsibility."

"How long had she had red Templars under her command?" Ciri asked hollowly.

"As we understand it, General Samson sent her twenty when she was excommunicated, and a further thirty after she named herself Divine Renata. That must have been when she reached out to him," Leliana said.

"Red lyrium, red Templars, and the Red Divine," Ciri said. She looked around at the others. "Do we know where exactly that nickname started?"

Chancellor Roderick shook his head. "We can assume it began in Lydes, and they were unable to keep it from slipping out."

Ciri clenched her hands on the bench seat, her frustration and guilt brewing. "Damn it!" she cried at last. "How did we miss this? How did an entire cathedral full of red lyrium, and a city occupied by Red Templars, go completely unnoticed?"

"We put it off, completely reasonably," Leliana said, "because Lydes was the seat of a grand duchess and while we had the right to investigate, we were still on shaky ground with the nobility. Until Agnesot set that bounty on your head, all she did was bluster and have her faction preach against you. There would have been consequences to bringing our soldiers into a duchy without Florianne or Agnesot first provoking us, and they were very careful despite appearances."

"And now there are dead elves," Ciri said. It was a bitter thing to hear.

"From what we've gleaned, she had that entire section of the city blocked off to visitors, and anyone who lived inside those bounds was refused exit," Chancellor Roderick told her. "The chance of word reaching us was remote at best."

"And yet," Leliana murmured, "somehow the 'Red Divine' moniker leaked past those walls."

"On purpose, do you think?" Mother Kordula asked.

Ciri sighed in disgust and gave them a vague nod of agreement. They may have removed Florianne from play at Halamshiral and kept the empire stable. But Corypheus had the last laugh in Lydes. If they'd been faster, if they'd had less concern for playing nice with the nobles, perhaps Florianne might never have even been a concern in Halamshiral to begin with, and those elves they'd used to grow red lyrium might have been saved.

An ugly thought crossed her mind, and she stilled. Had she acted faster, Celene would still be alive. She swallowed hard against the revulsion – the empress or the elves – and looked up again.

"Very well. So I'm to judge Agnesot in my capacity as –" She hesitated. "– a religious leader. Will she even recognize the validity of the court?"

"She has no choice," Mother Giselle said. "Where once she might have argued her case before the Divine, that right has been stripped from her with excommunication. And we have no Divine. Only her Hands…and you."

Cassandra and Leliana exchanged a glance at that, and Ciri sat forward. "What is it?"

"There is another matter, though we weren't going to bring it to your attention just yet," Chancellor Roderick said. He held up a hand as Ciri frowned. "Not out of secrecy, Lady Ciri, but the urgency of this matter took precedence."

Ciri leveled a stern look at them. "Please explain."

"The remaining grand clerics feel that one of us would be the worthiest successor to Divine Justinia," Cassandra said, gesturing between herself and Leliana.

"For a time, it seemed it might go to Grand Cleric Oudine, as she has been the one holding the Chantry together," Mother Kordula said. "But a full quarter of our clergy left under her watch, and she headed the effort to excommunicate them. Now, with Lydes revealed for the blasphemy it is, she can hardly be put forth as a serious candidate."

"What about that conservative grand cleric, the one from Cumberland?" Ciri asked.

"Iona?" Chancellor Roderick looked at her in bemusement. "Lady Ciri, perhaps you're unaware of just how influential you are. Political views that contradict those of the Hand of the Maker are quite marginalized within the upper echelons of the Chantry these days. They see the work you do, and the changes you make as you shape the world, and they're reluctant to stand against you."

"No one wants to be the next Agnesot," Leliana said. "Especially now."

Ciri pushed down her unease and nodded her understanding. Cassandra or Leliana as the next Divine? She and Cassandra hadn't often seen eye to eye at the start, but she knew her to be a woman of great integrity, and she'd supported her unflinchingly in her decisions, not only to ally with the mages but to allow both Celene and Gaspard to fall. And though Leliana had been cold and distrustful for quite a while, their views on mages and elves were nearly identical – and Leliana had begun to thaw and become a good friend, as well.

"Am I expected to offer my support for their candidacy?" Ciri asked. "To apply influence in one direction or another?"

"You can, and it would make a difference," Mother Giselle said. "But no one would ask you to do so, Lady Inquisitor."

Cassandra snorted. "Yes, they would."

Ciri appreciated that blunt honesty. She set the matter aside for now and brought things back to Agnesot. "When does she arrive?"

"In four weeks, under guard," Leliana said. "I believe you'll be in the Emerald Graves by then."

"Then she can simply wait in the dungeons, can't she?" Ciri glanced down at the letters, then back up. "Little was said about the other grand clerics and revered mothers who broke away from the Chantry. Were they a part of this?"

Leliana shook her head. "My agents tell me it's still being investigated. Rumor has it that emissaries from the Grand Cathedral travel with the army now, and if no evidence of wrongdoing is found, then they'll be offered a one-time chance to return to the fold."

"And if they don't take it?"

"Then we allow their blasphemous little faction to continue unmolested, so long as they don't follow Agnesot's lead and consort with Corypheus' soldiers, or feed elven peasants red lyrium," Mother Kordula said with a shudder.

A brief expression flickered across Cassandra's face, and Ciri tilted her head in curiosity. "What is it?"

"With our Templars having taken the cure, and the red Templars lost to us, it might be wise to discover where the rest of the Seekers went," Cassandra said. "The Lord Seeker Lucius that the Chargers found at Therinfal was an envy demon. So the real Lord Seeker might still be out there with the order!"

Ciri didn't have the heart to deny her, not at the sight of the hope rising in her usually stern face. "If you need help looking into it, just ask."

"Thank you, Lady Ciri." Cassandra bowed her head.

"You're very welcome." Ciri stood from the bench and looked around once more. "Was there anything else?"

"Just one more thing," Leliana said. She stepped forward and lightly tugged Briala's letter from Ciri's hand. "If you fold it along these lines – yes, like that – she answered your question about Halamshiral."

Ciri narrowed her eyes at the cryptic words. 'Missing: a red stone key to a silver lock.'

"Do you have any idea what she meant?"

"We were hoping you would know."

Ciri stared at the oddly folded letter, the words chasing each other through her mind. Something about them rang an annoyingly familiar bell.

"Each key is different. Some require a passcode. Others need an enchanted gem, or a spell."

She swore under her breath as Morrigan's words came to her.

"Bad news?" Leliana asked.

"Well, it certainly isn't good news," she said. "I'll explain later."

"In the next War Room meeting," Leliana agreed. "Very well. That is the last piece of business."

"In that case, I'm going to find Owain and go see about supper." She gave the revered mothers a strained smile that felt more genuine as she turned to Chancellor Roderick, Cassandra, and Leliana.

She parted from them with a final farewell and went to the door, lifting the heavy wooden bar from across it and setting it aside. Outside the dim, candle-lit chantry, the sun was beginning to set, and she could feel the faint beginnings of hunger pangs starting to nibble at her stomach.

Now, where is Owain?

The Red Divine was a problem she wouldn't need to deal with for weeks, and Solas was still being watched. She deserved a break from all this.

Maryden's voice floated up to the second floor as she sang, hovering over the low din of cheerful diners. Ciri sat shoulder to shoulder with Owain across from Josephine and Olgierd, and she planted her elbows on the table in cheerful disregard for manners, her empty plate shoved aside. Their table was tucked into a fairly private alcove, though she could still hear indistinct conversations at tables nearby.

"And there was Max, dripping from head to toe, pondweeds in his hair, soaking Father's carpet," Owain finished, "insisting to his last breath that he hadn't seen where Lady Kellow's prize lap nug had run off to."

Ciri dropped her face into her hands as she laughed helplessly. Across the table, Josephine's laughter dissolved into giggles, and Olgierd's laugh was loud and free.

"Oh, Maker," Josephine said, her voice thick with amusement. "You know, sometimes I think it's a wonder my family's estate was left standing after everything my younger siblings got up to. Laurien and Yvette particularly."

"Your sister? Trouble?" Olgierd teased gently. "Never. She's a delight."

Owain wrapped an arm around Ciri's waist as Josephine groaned. She lifted her face from her hands to lean into him.

"You encouraged her far too much," Josephine chided Olgierd. Her gaze fell to his shoulders, and inexplicably, she blushed faintly.

Olgierd chuckled and lifted Josephine's hand to his lips, then set it on the table between them, still clasped in his. "I can't claim to be the innocent older sibling. I was just as wild as Vlod, though he was more headstrong. Some of the things we got up to as children…" His face broke into a surprisingly bright smile, taking years off with it. "It's a wonder our parents' poor cook didn't quit a hundred times over."

Ciri tapped a beat on the table and began to hum, the melody a strange counterpoint to Maryden's song down below.

"Ha!" Olgierd shook his head and joined in, then sang softly, "Oh my maiden most fine, do you know of my dreams? That I do so love you, and pierogi with cheese!"

Josephine laughed. "Daring raids on the kitchen for sustenance?"

"Chased out at spoon-point for our temerity," he said in amusement.

Ciri giggled at the image of Olgierd as a child, hair still flame-red and face bare of a beard, running pell-mell from the kitchen with his brother behind him, their cook charging after them with a wooden spoon and shouting in anger.

"No siblings for me, younger or older," she said with a bit of regret. "But I did grow up with a pair of them. I spent my summers and winters with Crach an Craite's family as a child. He was my grandfather's nephew. His children, Hjalmar and Cerys, were great friends of mine." She laughed and rolled her eyes. "One time when it was winter the boys and I went out ice skating, and I set a new record for jumps. Hjalmar tried to break it, and he smashed his face open on the ice instead."

Owain winced. "Poor boy."

"It gets better," she assured him. "The humbling was enough for Hjalmar to declare his love for me, and after the sort of childish courtship that would make any ten-year-old girl's head spin, he went to his father and told him he wished to wed me. Crach sent me straight back home to my grandparents, and I expect he thrashed Hjalmar so thoroughly he couldn't sit for a week."

He snorted with laughter. "Poor boy," he said again. "The first to lose his heart to you, I'd bet."

"There may have been a couple since then," Ciri said playfully. "One or two."

"Maybe three?"

"Three is a good number," she agreed, leaning up to kiss him.

Ciri settled back against his shoulder to see Olgierd smiling fondly at her, Josephine's hand still clasped in his. She shot him a smile back, feeling, for once, entirely content. Dinner had been excellent. The conversation was wonderful. And she was surrounded by people she cared for dearly.

He gave her a quick wink and stood from the table. "I caught wind of a rumor traders delivered a shipment of brandy to Cabot yesterday. Anyone else care for a drop?"

A chorus of yeses greeted him, and Owain stood as well. "I'll help you bring them back."

Ciri tugged him down for another kiss. "You make me happy," she told him quietly.

The corners of his eyes crinkled up in a smile. "My devious plan is working."

"And you have my heart, too."

"Then I'm a very lucky man." He pressed a final kiss to her lips and followed Olgierd away from the table and out of their alcove.

Josephine leaned forward, her face bright. "Things are going well between you two, I see."

'Well' seemed inadequate to describe the warm, glowing feeling of love and happiness she had, how safe she felt and how easily she laughed with him. But she nodded and turned it around with a raised eyebrow. "And Olgierd was very happy on the ride out to Redcliffe. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that."

Josephine's eyes fairly sparkled. "He…yes. I'm waiting on a letter from home confirming that my parents have broken off the engagement they arranged for me, but – oh, Ciri, he told me he loves me!"

"I think that's clear to anyone who's ever seen you two together," Ciri quipped. "I'm happy for you, truly."

Josephine sighed, her smile taking on a dreamy cast. "'All my days and all my nights,'" she murmured. "It was the most romantic thing."

Ciri bit her lip against a growing smile. "He does have a way with words, doesn't he?"

"He's so…" Josephine's cheeks reddened. "He is a gentleman, and I love that about him. But his eyes, and his hands, and his smile...and his shoulders…"

Ciri's smile broke through. "Josephine!" She laughed and admitted, "I had the same thought when I saw him for the first time, but I never had an interest in him that way."

"Attraction has always been so rare for me," Josephine told her. "All my courtships before Olgierd were so short that I never wanted anything more from them than romance."

"And now you do?" Ciri asked.

"Do you –" Josephine cleared her throat delicately and lowered her voice. "Do you have any advice? About…" She made a very vague gesture, her blush deepening.

Ciri glanced around to double-check that no one was listening and lowered her voice as well. "My mother, Lady Yennefer, once told me to choose a potential lover by the neatness and cleanliness of his bed. But you're not looking to narrow the field as she was suggesting."

Josephine shook her head, and she said with a bit of humor, "Though I imagine his bed would be quite tidy."

Ciri laughed quietly and leaned in. Yennefer had given her a much more thorough talk about sex and lovers over wine one night in Corvo Bianco, perhaps in an attempt to help steer her path going forward after all her miserable experiences to that point. And now, having finally experienced what her mother had imparted that night, she could pass on that wisdom to someone else who needed it.

With those words in mind, she said sincerely, "Just talk to him before you do anything. And talk to him during it, too. Tell him what you like, and what you don't like. He'll listen. Listen to him, as well, when it comes to things that he likes and doesn't like. And forget all that nonsense about it being something for a woman to endure. When you're with someone who knows what they're doing, it's wonderful, but it's even better when it's with someone you care for."

"That is…" Josephine smiled and reached across the table to clasp Ciri's hand. "That is exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you. Though you'd think an ambassador wouldn't need to be told to communicate."

Ciri laughed again and looked up at the sound of Owain and Olgierd returning.

"Did we miss anything?" Owain asked as he set her glass down and sat beside her.

Olgierd slid into the bench on the other side and handed Josephine her glass with a soft kiss to her cheek. "Apologies for the delay. The bar was packed."

"You didn't miss much," Ciri teased Owain. "We just gossiped shamelessly about your backside."

He grinned. "I'm sorry I wasn't around to hear it."

Ciri picked up her glass and looked around the table with a smile, the warm, happy glow returning. "To friends," she said, holding it out.

"To new beginnings," Olgierd added as he gently clinked his glass against hers.

A third glass touched theirs, and Josephine said softly, "To love."

"To the future," Owain finished. "May it hold more joy than sorrow."

She took a healthy sip, letting the burn of alcohol turn to softer sweetness on her tongue, and leaned against Owain's shoulder again to settle in for a lengthy stay. The night was young, and her spirits were high. Her problems could wait just a while longer.

Ciri stood in the center of a heavily damaged library. No ceiling protected the books from the elements; instead, a strangely pale, cloudless sky shone down on the room below. Walls crumbled away beside bookcases. Here and there, pieces of the floor were simply missing.

"He searches here, in its more well-formed mirror," Avallac'h told her.

"Was Wisdom not able to help with the tablet?" Ciri asked, edging around a precarious spot on the floor.

"Wisdom is old, but even they are not so old as that," he said. "They told him to look deeper."

He looked a bit smug at that, like he knew something Solas didn't.

"How deep into the Fade will he have to delve to find the answers he's looking for?"

The smile that curved Avallac'h's lips was sharp. "Quite deep. But he never could resist a mystery."

Ciri wondered if that was half the draw to her for Solas. A human who felt like the Elvhen had to be quite the puzzle.

"I keep trying," she told him. "We saved Wisdom. He's friends with flesh and blood people now. My advisors all engage him about his interests to strengthen his ties to the Inquisition. But –" She broke off in frustration.

Avallac'h waited silently, his eyes knowing.

"He left me when I needed him," she said. "And he did it to steal a key to an eluvian from Briala. She needs that to help the elves. I don't… How is any of this even helping if he's still going to try to take down the Veil?"

He gestured to the damaged library around them. "This is what happened when the Veil was erected, Zireael. When the Fade was separated from the physical world, Elvhenan couldn't sustain itself. Buildings collapsed. More sensitive Elvhen died from the shock. And the magic that kept them immortal began to fail with the next generation.

"There is nothing to bring back but shattered ruins and a few hundred Elvhen hidden away across Thedas, passing the centuries in Uthenara. He refuses to see the ruins and the futility. He dreams, as Dreamers do, of grander things than alienages and petty human schemes. He dreams of rectifying the great mistake of He Who Hunts Alone."

Ciri took a cautious step closer, evading another loose brick. "And what will undoing that 'mistake' do to Thedas?"

"Shatter it as surely as raising the Veil shattered Elvhenan," Avallac'h said.

"Then –" Ciri took a slow, measured breath and pushed down her guilt. "Then shouldn't I stop him? If it's him or this world…"

Avallac'h sighed and came toward her. Quite uncharacteristically, he caught her chin in his hand and lifted her eyes to his. His borrowed face was somber and sympathetic for once.

"I warned you about him earlier because you didn't know, not because I wish him dead. I call him harellan for that is the path he chooses to walk, but don't mistake my words for antipathy. He and I have a history that is far more complex than can be summed up in a single conversation. He isn't immune to your friendship, Zireael, and I suspect your demon summoner has grown on him as well after rescuing Wisdom and helping Compassion. All I ask is that you continue to try to put more weight on your side of the scales. Pride sits like a heavy mantle on his shoulders, and he's unaware he carries it most days."

Ciri felt her eyes widen at that. "How long is your history with him, exactly?"

"A question for another night," Avallac'h said with a faint smile as he released her chin. "Until later."

She woke with a soft gasp, blinking in the near-black of her quarters. At her side, Owain stirred, and she stroked his arm gently until he rolled over and began to let out the deep, even breaths of the fast asleep.

The shadowy figure in her dreams had a complicated history with Solas. One tied to Elvhenan. But that was preposterous, wasn't it?

Solas? An immortal elf?

She groaned under her breath and squeezed her eyes shut. There was no chance she'd be getting any more sleep tonight.