The last few days had been almost silent. Snow clung to the boughs of the trees and crunched underfoot, and the chill air was a delicious counterpoint to the weak-tea sun that sent light glinting off the ice. Nicolette had filled the quiet with soft songs and stories she told herself aloud. But now she was joining a wider path than the one she had been walking previously, and the snow had long since turned to slush beneath feet and hooves. She crossed over a small hill and found herself looking out over a valley. Below her was Haven. Smoke climbed up out of the chimneys, disappating against the white backdrop of the mountains, and from where she was Nicolette could just about hear the sounds of people going about their business; talking, shouting out wares, the ring of the hammer from the smithy. She smiled. She loved small towns.

Or rather, she loved cities, but small towns were her lifeblood. Particularly remote ones, where they didn't tend to get much in the way of entertainment except local gossip. Instead of having to fight for room with every other performer who had travelled in to try their luck, she usually had unimpeded stage time and could negotiate a room for a favourable rate. Landlords enjoyed having somebody who drew more people to their inns and tended towards generosity. She rarely had to cover her drinks. And she could pick up a few local stories on the way.

Haven used to be about the right size for one of these smaller settlements, although the inhabitants hadn't been friendly. Now it was expanded, its status as a site of pilgrimage swelling the population. And that was before it housed the Conclave, and acted as seat to debates that would hopefully end the war between mages and templars. Now Nicolette knew she'd be lucky to find a room at all, let alone negotiate a cheaper rate, but she hadn't been drawn there for money. While not fully understanding all the politics behind what was happening, history was going to be made here, and she wanted to get as close a look at it as she could.

As expected, Haven was full to bursting, but thankfully not many minstrels had thought it worth their while to trek through the Frostbacks. The tavern was kept open at all hours so even if she couldn't find a room she could at least rest a few hours in a corner. After a talk with the landlady, she was allowed upstairs to strip-wash the dirt of the road away, and then after a change of clothes she was hustled back into the main room to start playing.

The room was humming with conversation which barely ceased as she took her corner. That was normal. She stamped once, which drew a few glances, and then she rested her vielle against her chin and pointed her bow in the direction of a slightly sour-faced man who raised his eyebrows in grudging surprise at the gesture. Slowly the bow was passed in an arc, taking in the room at large and earning her a little more attention. The arc continued as she brought her arm up and rested the bow against the strings, by which point she had most eyes in the room focused on her.

She flashed a grin, began to stamp in a regular rhythm, and launched into 'The Ballad of King Maric's Prick.' There was an approving roar, she launched into the ribald first verse, and by the chorus she had them.

"Did you find anything?" Cassandra didn't raise her head as Leliana entered the hut. Their prisoner was stretched out on a pallet, wrists chained, and for once wasn't thrashing around, screaming or attempting to die on them.

Not that she looked any better. Whatever the apostate had given her had calmed the pain for now, but the unconscious woman was still tacky with sweat, and skin that would normally be a soft brown hue was ashen grey. Locks of black hair clung to her face. Her eyes moved quickly behind lowered lids and she was muttering something rapidly that Cassandra hadn't been able to pick out.

"Not much. She's a minstrel." Leliana was consulting her notes. "She arrived a few hours before the attack and was performing at the Singing Maiden for a while before going off with a young man. Flissa was holding her pack behind the bar for her until she returned."

No bard would be foolish enough to carry notes with detailed instructions on them, but Cassandra glanced at Leliana in question. Leliana shook her head.

"There wasn't anything that wouldn't be expected. Some changes of clothes, an instrument case, a diary, a few coins. A bed roll and some basic hunting gear. And her instrument."

"So I take it she wasn't heading to the Conclave to try her luck performing for the Divine." Cassandea regretted the caustic comment as soon as she made it. Her Holiness was too recently dead - any reference to her made the grief make a fresh attempt to overwhelm her. "Who was the man she met?"

After three energetic songs, one round of 'Andraste's Mabari' to pull the heartstrings and then back into a final triumphant piece about the Hero of Ferelden, Nicolette took a bow and decided to take her break. Performing was strenuous and even the adrenaline of applause could only sustain her for so long. Stepping down, she waved for a drink as she claimed a seat, perspiring a little.

Most people knew that performers needed a few moments after their show to recuperate. Not everybody, however, and Nicolette could usually count on somebody deciding she needed their company. With a direct eyeline to the bar and to the bouncer, it didn't need to be a problem unless the person decided to make it one, and Nicolette made a point of being gracious to those who did approach her.

To a degree.

There a few side long glances in her direction but the first one to break ranks did so with a distinctly nervous expression. He wore a symbol of Andraste around his neck and was fiddling with it as he headed towards her. Nicolette assessed him.

He was perhaps a couple of inches taller than her, slenderly built and with neatly barbered hair, and the pale complexion of somebody either noble born or who spent too much time poring over old books to think about sunlight much. He bowed to her. "Greetings. I am - my name's Thomas Masswick."

Nicolette set aside her goblet, turning an easy smile on him. With the positive reception to her performance and the wine warming her belly, the cold trek to Haven was dimming in her memory and she was inclined to be friendly. "Salut, Thomas. I'm Nicolette. May I help you?"

"Orlesian?"

"That's what Flissa said, although apparently she came overland from Highever to Haven rather than directly over the mountains."

Cassandra pursued her lips. "She could have had a political motive. Her Holiness…passing on whilst in Ferelden could prompt the more religious factions of Orlais to side with the motion to re-invade."

"Even the most fervent believer in Orlesian expansion would balk at the murder of the Most Holy. Although I don't doubt there are many in Orlais who would have her gone for other reasons." When the news had reached them, Cassandra had suffered the agonies of her failure, but Leliana had been crushed. She had shut down almost completely, speaking only to issue orders and discuss what needed to be done next. Even now, her tone was clipped. "What is curious to me is why Masswick would risk his position in such a way."

She glanced at the prisoner. "Except for the most obvious of reasons."

He was stumbling over his words now. "I am - that is to say, I'm a cleric. I'm honoured to serve Most Holy, albeit in a minor capacity. I never thought to have such an honour. Ah. I said honour twice, didn't I."

His hands were shaking, and he had obviously lost the thread of his thoughts, as he hadn't even answered her question in full. Nicolette set aside her drink, and gestured to the seat beside her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Thomas. Would you join me?"

He hesitated a moment, tripping on words that never made it to a full sentence, and then almost collapsed into the chair. "I - thank you. I just wanted to say how beautifully you sang that song to Andraste's mabari. About it, I mean. Him. It's generally discouraged to make fanciful stories about the life of our Prophet, but it's always been a favourite of mine."

Nicolette gauged him. While his words were a little on the pious side for her taste, his tone was genuine and he had applauded hard at the end of her set. "Andraste's life was full of stories, beyond those recorded in the Chant. I like to collect and share them."

She also liked to do the same of other deities, but she wasn't about to tell him that, or that her belief in Andraste began and ended with the woman's power to inspire. In any case, she had read his interest correctly. His eyes lit up.

"Oh! I've read many such texts in the course of my work - it's fascinating how different countries have interpreted the Chant. A simple choice in the translation can cause ripples far beyond what the author intended. Do you have any with you now?"

"I travel light, so I rarely have books with me." She tapped her temple. "I keep my stories in here. But I can share some with you, if you like."

Thomas wasn't her type at all, but sweetly, he seemed far more interested in her tales than he did in her, and that made a refreshing change. There was no sense of him trying to lead the conversation anywhere flirtatious, and Nicolette was happy to indulge him with more time than she would usually give.

"He was a minor cleric. He shouldn't even have been there, except he recently took on duties conveying missives for Her Holiness. He certainly shouldn't have been present on so critical a day."

Leliana had retrieved what she had on Masswick, and they were combing the documents for any sign of compromise. Cassandra was becoming more frustrated the longer they searched. The sense of impotence she was feeling over the Breach and her failure to protect the Divine was not being helped by this. There must have been some conspiracy, there must have been something planned, and this young woman was at the centre of it and if she didn't wake soon, she would die and all the answers would go with her.

Leliana was irritatingly focused on the absolutes. Masswick had not been a star on the Chantry's stage, nor a tower of intellect. He had simply been hard working and interested enough in the subject of Andraste that he had been regarded as a reliable member of the Chantry and an able bureaucrat. No sign of a shadowy helping hand or a willingness to backstab his way up the ladder. Bitterly, Cassandra thought it might have been better if Roderick had been behind all this and it was Masswick who was left behind.

"Did we find anything of him?"

Leliana shook her head. "Given where we found her , I strongly suspect he would be amongst the dead." There were a lot of people unaccounted for as yet. Between the demons making a census impossible, there was little enough of the charred remains to make even a guess at who they might once have belonged to. "I had his belongings searched, but he had little. Mostly books about Andraste and theories about her life. He had some unorthodox texts, but they don't really explain anything about his association with the prisoner."

"Unorthodox?"

Before Leliana could explain, the prisoner arched up on her pallet, eyes opening wide but unseeing, screaming something out. Solas had briefed them on what to do; Cassandra found the vial he'd left behind and grabbed the woman's jaw, forcing the contents down her throat. Almost immediately she subsided, unconscious once more, but this time her colour was returning. Cassandra made a disgusted noise and turned away.

"We don't have further time to spend on guessing games or wild theories. She should go in the dungeon, under armed guard. If she wakes and tries to escape, they should run her through."

"...so while Andraste is long gone, that village learned a little of her song, and through it carry the Maker in their voice." Nicolette was winding up one of her favourite tales about Andraste; one that dealt not in suffering or victory, but a simple act of kindness. "Thus far it has warded away the worst terrors that life can offer. And of course, they are never hard done by when glib-tongued merchants come their way."

Thomas' eyes were shining with a fervour that was partly religious and partly academic excitement. Nicolette thought he would have had her talk until her throat dried up, but he had paid for a few of her drinks and now he slapped both hands firmly against the table.

"These tales should be recorded. Even if the more strait laced clerics argue against their inclusion in the libraries, there should be more of what Andraste did for the common man."

Nicolette shook her head. "These are stories, not histories. They may inspire but they're not intended to convert."

"Nonetheless. I would have you repeat a few for my records - if only so I may enjoy them," he added, flushing. "It would…please me to remember you, once you have moved to the next adventure."

Nicolette paused to think, and Thomas misread her moment of quiet. "I know time away from the stage costs you - you would need payment, yes?"

Well, Nicolette would not say no to that, but Thomas was engaged in the favourite activity of many men before him, ascribing meanings to her pauses that she had not intended at all. Fortunately, it was not in the fashion to which she was exhaustingly accustomed. "I don't have much money…and I think the Seeker would have my head if I appropriated Chantry funds for this," he explained, as though Nicolette would know who he was talking about. "But I can pay you another way. With access to the front seat of history." He was grinning now. "How about I get you into the Conclave? You could weave what you see there into your stories, give them the element of truth!"

"I think the templars would take issue with my being there. I am not actually involved," Nicolette's mouth said, while her brain asked what in the Fade she was doing turning down such an opportunity. At least, the part that dealt in stories. The part that dealt in self preservation was at this moment much louder. She wasn't adverse to facing risks, just not when the risks carried swords, numbered in the thousands and had a general reputation for being unreasonable.

"They wouldn't have to know." Thomas' eyes were shining. "I could get you in, as an - an assistant, or something. You couldn't get near the main chamber, of course, but you could be nearby."

There was a nervy intensity to Thomas that Nicolette had seen before. It usually indicated trouble. But if he could pull this off, and she missed the opportunity, she would be kicking herself for some time to come. And Nicolette was not adverse to gambling.

"Would you promise I would pass unnoticed? I wouldn't want to get you in trouble." It did occur to her that he could be lying, but they would quickly be found out if he was exaggerating his freedom to come and go on the Conclave.

"I promise. Nobody will even know you're there."

Run!

Nicolette burst gasping from her nightmare, cold stone pressing against her cheek.

…stone?

A thousand shards of glass were splintering through her head, and for a brief moment she thought that she had been drinking. Everything ached as though she had tumbled down a flight of stairs and she remained still for a moment, reluctant to move any part of her shrieking body.

The sound of metal scraping drew her attention upwards, and torchlight gleamed from the drawn blade pointed directly at her.

Cold fear flooding her stomach, Nicolette started upwards, scrabbling away, and yelped as something sharp poked her between the shoulder blades. She turned as quickly as her quaking head would allow. Another swordsman stood at her back. There were two more…no, four more, all staring at her as though she was about to explode and take them all with her, expressions ranging from fear to outright hate.

Something had gone wrong at the Conclave. Had she been caught? Where was Thomas? Before she could voice the thought, a pulse of pain rippled through her hand, and she turned it over to stare nonplussed at the green scar ripped across her palm.

She had to still be dreaming. It was a blissful thought, and it died quickly.

A man with a little sigil etched into his armour that the others didn't have gestured to the one opposite her. "Fetch Seeker Pentaghast." He scowled down at Nicolette. "Tell her that her prisoner has woken up."