Wyvern bait involved dragonling blood, wyvern dung, nug remains, and Tallis' uncomfortably accurate imitation of wyvern and nug mating calls. Carver avoided eye contact with Tallis as the party set up to watch the treeline around them, wondering if a wyvern would truly respond to their amateur methods. The de Montforts' mountainous property was actually breathtakingly beautiful and calming. The occasional pond dotted the hunting grounds where sweet flags and pickerel weeds marked shallow and deep areas of water. Even the small clearing the party had nominated for baiting a wyvern was clothed with wildflowers. It was little wonder that Lord Norbert de la Haine in the Black Age had built a fortress in such a remote place. His numerous failed invasions into the Free Marches pointed to a man distracted by his backyard over advancing the Orlesian empire.

A barking klaxon suddenly descended from higher up the mountainside, bending trees away before pouncing for the party's hastily constructed bait. A deep purple wyvern flecked with venomous orange scattered the bait everywhere, including on the party, before noticing their presence.

Carver wiped his helmet's visor, grateful he had worn Charis' armour to the occasion, then nocked an arrow on his bow.

"First one to draw blood gets to bathe first!"

The party quickly made short work of the wyvern by dodging its venomous spit and temperamental tail while dealing blows. Garrett finally trapped the horse-sized lizard in a cage of heightened gravity, before whipping his staff's blade out and slicing the wyvern's neck open.

Tallis frowned at Carver's distance. "You have a sword; you could've helped up front!"

"I'm content remaining here," Carver transparently replied.

The trees nearby rustled, and the party pointed their weapons at the source. A bright, colourful party of Orlesian chevaliers strode into the clearing, led by the most loudly dressed of them. Where the strangers wore gleaming helmets that imitated real faces, their leader went without such adornments and merely tweaked a perfectly symmetrical moustache in anger.

"The first wyvern kill was supposed to be mine!" the noble whined, flustered. "Mine, mine, mine! Today's honour doesn't belong with a champion of some backwater eastern country. Give me your kill!"

Fenris snorted. "I'm sure an arrangement can be made."

"Mouth from a knife-ear!" the noble nearly fainted, crying out to his soldiers. "I can take no more of this. Kill them all!"

Carver groaned. Wrong thing to say.

The noble's hunting party was flat on the ground — not with a few shattered bones — before they could blink. Red mist faintly flared from Garrett's eyes — a sign that he was ready to fight with or without a staff, even if it meant blood magic. He had apparently done so before when facing the Arishok.

Fenris touched Garrett's elbow. "Save some for the rest of us."

Garrett grudgingly allowed the Orlesian hunting party to pick themselves up, only to be rewarded with shrill complaining.

"The audacity!" The noble drew his polearm.

In that moment, Prosper strolled in followed by his own larger, more organised entourage. Their robes were even tastefully coordinated to resemble the blue and yellow de Montfort crest. "What on earth is happening here?"

"This mutt tried to steal my rightful kill!" The noble jabbed a finger at Garrett.

Prosper remained unruffled. "Now, that's no way to speak to the Champion of Kirkwall, baron."

The baron whipped his finger to Prosper. "This is your fault for inviting a stinking turnip in the first place. Your mother would be ashamed!"

Prosper merely chuckled. "Says the one whose mother has slept with half of Val Chevin. My apologies, Hawke, Arlange has always been a cheat. What would you have me do with him?"

Garrett blinked at the offer to kill a baron for a slight. "I mean...his blood smells worse than the wyvern's. Best keep it inside of him."

Prosper merely looked at Arlange before the baron grudgingly left. A bright smile crossed Prosper's face. "Allow my servants to transport your kill and lead you back to the château, Hawke. I will be a little while. Not all of us share your luck in hunting."

Where the land outside the château's gates possessed untamed beauty, Prosper's courtyard stretched out as a blanket of pea gravel and manicured grass. Purple hydrangea bushes as tall as two men cloaked the château walls and created sound barriers between sections of the courtyard. At the centre of each section rose a ceramic fountain of a de Montford from history wrestling a wyvern whose jaws spouted out crystalline water.

The detail was almost graphic.

Fortunately, the charcuterie and sweets table sat at the end of the courtyard nearly nestled against the main château building, where the outdoor space had been favoured for a tiled rest area instead of another fountain. Minstrels filled the courtyard with music from the main building's shade, and chevaliers in feathered helmets guarded the borders of the courtyard.

After changing into his finery, Carver left one of the few powder rooms open for guests and glanced around. Tallis had slipped into modest wear and was already cozying up to the elven servants walking around with hors d'oeuvres. Charade had taken up to flattering nearby guards. Fenris was quietly greeting Leandra and Gamlen in a maroon doublet and black continental tie that Garrett couldn't tear his eyes away from, wearing a matching coal doublet and red ascot himself.

Carver inwardly sulked. Leandra had dressed the rest of the Hawkes – and Gamlen and Charade – in Kirkwall oranges and whites. Small diamonds ran down Gamlen and Charade's finery like dripping stars, drawing attention to the Gem of Keroshek perfectly fitted around Charade's neck. The young woman wore the item everywhere, considering it wasn't safe out of her sight. Meanwhile, subdued rubies lined Leandra and Carver's clothing. In Hightown, no one had house numbers; metal plaques with family heraldry instead hung over the lintels of estate doors. Garrett had pronounced the Hawke colours to be red and black when he had hung an improvised heraldry over the Hawke estate.

In comparison, orange was less easy to blend in with – or look flattering in.

At least Leandra had chosen to display their identifying crests with subtlety. Embroidery of roosting birds in Gamlen and Charade's collars identified them as Amells, while hawks in flight lined the Hawkes' and Fenris' shoulders.

Mingling with other party attendees were Varric and Sebastian, the former whom defaulted to his usual merchant princely clothing sans the open shirt and leather overcoat. On the other hand, Sebastian was clad in a silk white tunic and black surcoat with a deep red toga wrapped around him, cinched at the waist by a brass girdle inlaid with pearls. Delicate embroidery as faint as spider silk patterned Sebastian's every layer with the long-haired creatures of the Vael heraldry. It was overall a distant departure from the Chantry lay brother who wore the same set of armour every day. According to Sebastian, the outfit had been one of his brothers', before Lady Flora Harimann had returned the clothing to Sebastian…among countless other treasures the Harimanns had stolen after their massacre of the Vaels in Starkhaven. Only Goran's simple-mindedness had saved him from the tragedy that had struck Sebastian's home.

If Sebastian felt uncomfortable wearing his dead brother's garments, he didn't show it. Cordially speaking with the party guests, Sebastian looked every inch the prince of the Free Marches' most powerful and wealthiest city-state. Based on his dialogue with Garrett, it was likely by design. Sebastian was ready to step into a family role as the near-last of his bloodline.

Once the Orlesian nobles realised his identity, they began flocking around him. Carver passed Sebastian naturally deflecting invasive questions with his innocent focus on the Chantry, before Carver paused to bend down and pick up a coin from the ground.

"A caprice coin." Varric's height saved him from Carver's reflexive swing. "Easy there, Shiny. I'm only interested in actual money. What you have in your hand there is a fake lira."

Derived from the antiquated term livre tournois, liras were Orlais' formal currency. In someone else's past life, a similar monetary system had preceded the Italian lira and French franc. In Thedas, the lira was prevalent in most countries due to Orlais' once expansive conquest of the south and interwoven economy with its neighbouring nations. As for caprices, it was an Orlesian high society game to toss the minted coin in a fountain to show others how many such collectibles one had. Leandra had been drawn to the game growing up as the young Amell heir, before her elopement to rural Ferelden had forcibly smothered the desire.

Carver quirked a brow at Varric's presence near his elbow. "So quick to abandon your audience, Tethras?"

"I promised to sign a few books," Varric chuckled, "but after a while, the fame wears on you. I thought I'd grab fresh air near the single person managing to drive other guests away with a scowl."

Carver relaxed his face self-consciously. "I'm not – scowling."

Varric gestured, and they strolled closer to the shade where Tallis was covertly lockpicking a door. Between them and the hydrangeas, no one would easily notice Tallis' interest in a sealed off area of the château. Garrett's party was supposed to mingle and distract guards to help the elf investigate a path to the château's vaults.

"No," Varric agreed, "but you're intimidating. Observe the young guests eyeing you from afar."

"Those would be the de Launcet sisters," Carver dismissed. "Likely seeking a flaw to loudly lament in this crowded venue. Give them three minutes and they'll forget me in favour of a spat with Bann Perrin standing in earshot of them."

Varric hummed. "Hawke has dealt with his fair share of insufferable nobility as a mercenary, then champion, but I can't conjure a similar excuse for you."

"I'm a soldier," Carver pointed out. "When the crown throws a ball, the king's army runs security."

"And you've never noticed your effect on young nobles?" Varric jerked his chin at the de Launcets. "When I said intimidated, I meant in a flattering way. Lady Hawke properly armed you for an Orlesian social function by fitting you with a sleeveless tunic. Poor girls can't approach you."

Carver's cheeks reddened. Upon reflection, Leandra had bemoaned Carver's refusal of further grooming after witnessing Leandra fret over perfectly combing Garrett's hair back for an hour. Carver preferred his simple comma hairstyle.

"This isn't working," Tallis hissed as she stood up. "I've broken all of my lockpicking sets trying to breach blighted Orlesian security. Help me locate a key from a guard."

Carver and Varric split off to spread the word to the rest of their party. Carver caught sight of Garrett and Fenris awkwardly chatting with Seneschal Bran Cavin and Serendipity, an elven drag queen and Bran's significant other. Anyone with eyes could see Garrett and Fenris' magnetism towards each other, though Bran and Serendipity were quickly catching on that the pair weren't officially together. Dulci de Launcet was openly eavesdropping in equal parts curiosity and horror while her daughters started inching towards Bann Perrin. Carver coincidentally made eye contact with Eamon and Isolde Guerrin mingling behind the de Launcets before he quickly averted his gaze and scurried through a crowd of guests. He didn't give the arl and arlessa a chance to determine if they recognised his face.

Given the de Montforts' closeness with Orlais' ruling empress, it was little wonder that a few noteworthy nobles from Kirkwall and Ferelden were attending the party, if not at least out of obligation. Carver could hear the Orlesian bulk of the attendees whispering about how Viscount Marlowe Dumar had sent his seneschal to the social gathering in his stead. Marlowe's unstable grasp of Kirkwall's crown and even of his family fuelled intense gossip.

Suddenly, bright and gentle laughter tickled Carver's ears. Near the tiled resting area where sunlight bounced off the main building's windows, Carver approached the source of the sound.

"Leliana." Carver's heart warmed.

The red-haired bard's eyes lit up as she embraced him. "Carver, it's been years since I've had the pleasure of hearing your voice. What brings you here?"

"Business." They parted, and Carver held her gaze for a pointed second.

The nobles who had been speaking with Leliana sniffed. One in particular eyed Carver's orange clothing. "I don't know where you're from," the noble baldly lied, "but in proper company, one addresses another by their surname, like Sister Nightingale."

Of course. They thought "Carver" was his surname.

"I suppose I must wash away my shame with wine," Carver sighed, stepping away for the courtyard's corner with wine pitchers.

Leliana looped her arm around his. "Allow me to escort you."

The nobles behind the two of them faintly squawked, rooted to their spot by etiquette. High society was favourably contradictory like that. Once Carver and Leliana found a quiet place out of earshot, they shared a quirk of their lips.

"You're here for Rendon Howe," Leliana deduced, absently fixing the folds of her lovely periwinkle gown. "I'm sorry to say I can't help you locate him. Château Haine is famously grand for a remote country house or castle."

"You're merely attending this party to stay in touch with the Game." Carver nodded in understanding. "How was the diplomatic ball that Lady Josephine Montilyet threw for you in Val Royeaux?"

"I won't ask how you knew that," Leliana good-naturedly huffed. "The ball was pleasant; Josie and I eventually left to seek a real party afterwards. Speaking of acquaintances you somehow know I'll connect with, I forwarded your theory about Tranquility, Templars, and Seekers to my fellow Hand, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast."

That had been many months ago. Carver contained his nervousness. "I understand she has stepped away from the Seekers to serve as the Right Hand of Divines for years now."

"The Seekers of Truth still learned of your theory," Leliana assured. "After all, I also forwarded your notes to Divine Justinia. Her Holiness has since commissioned Cassandra and Pharamond, a Tranquil from the White Spire, to coordinate in researching not just how to reverse Tranquility but how to limit a mage's magical ability without neutering their mind."

Carver spluttered. "You told the Divine!?"

Carver's potentially blasphemous notes had essentially reached southern Thedas' Pope. The White Spire was also the largest Circle tower and Templar stronghold in southern Thedas, so massive that it could be seen from anywhere in Val Royeaux. Not a few considered the White Spire as the Chantry's true home for the arcane. Divine Justinia wasn't taking Carver's thoughts lightly by using her influence to commission someone from the White Spire.

Leliana amusedly continued. "Pharamond took to Seeker training like a fish in water. Cassandra says he's the fastest in recorded history to complete the process and become a Seeker." Tranquility afforded a laser focus needed for Seeker training, and having a Spirit of Faith touch a Tranquil's mind would have then restored Pharamond's original personality.

Carver moaned into his hands. "Do the Seekers know where this information originated?"

Leliana chuckled. "Only Her Eminence and Cassandra. I'm aware of your allergy to attention. Frankly, the entire subject is on a need-to-know basis, and even within the Seekers, only a few members are aware of what has been happening."

"Resolutionists would otherwise spark violence with barely a rumour of all this," Carver noted, lifting his gaze. Resolutionists were a terrorist offshoot of Libertarians, a fraternity founded on the belief that the Circle should be an autonomous order independent of the Chantry. "Regarding a method of limiting a mage's ability, is the Divine debating a change to its intended target?"

A deadpan look answered him. "You aren't content with one controversial opinion?"

Carver sighed. "I have a request for Pha–– Seeker Pharamond, if it's possible to reach him." At Leliana's encouraging nod, he continued. "There's a senior enchanter in the White Spire named Rhys. If inexplicable events ever haunt the tower, Rhys might find his curiosity in wandering spirits end up painting him as a prime suspect for the events. If the Templars set a curfew before then, someone should ensure Rhys observes it to avoid such misfortune."

Leliana stared at him. "You deduced as much?"

How could he disguise his knowledge? "Rhys shares his mother's open-mindedness – and inquisitiveness – of spirits, putting him at risk of taking the blame for supernatural events where there are no other suspects. The paper trail is thin, but…Rhys is the product of Wynne and a Templar's forbidden union, taken from Wynne while she was still weak on the birthing bed. The White Spire has also hosted its fair share of arcane tragedies. The Veil is thin there."

Leliana paused. "…Share your request with Seeker Pharamond yourself." She met his gaze meaningfully, then changed the topic. "Did you know he's a friend of Wynne's? …Silly question, forget I asked."

"Hey." Carver bumped her shoulder. "Tell me about Solona. I can't predict anything when it comes to you two."

"She's busy," Leliana sighed. "Ever since the Blight, the Wardens at Soldier's Peak have been reporting Solo's and Avernus' discoveries in blood magic to Weisshaupt, per the First Warden's command. Solo suspects that the First Warden is starting to entertain the idea of summoning them to the Anderfels. Avernus is living proof that it's possible for wardens to delay their Calling, and though we've made our peace, Solo's eventual demise casts a shadow over our heads. Solo recently confessed to me that she's ready to commit to dedicated research into the Calling, even if the study summons her far away."

Due to the Grey Wardens' political isolation, Leliana and Solona communicated through secret channels afforded by Leliana's bardic skills. Carver couldn't otherwise track how his warden friends were doing. His sense of honour for the Order's laws also restrained him from abusing his connections.

"I admire you two," Carver shared. "Few can maintain a long-distance relationship like you and Solona. Your bond is strong."

Leliana smiled sweetly. "Thank you, Carver. My love is always with me."

Garrett approached them at that moment with loose limbs and crinkled eyes. "Carver, there you are."

Garrett wouldn't be looking for Carver unless it was related to Tallis' mission. Carver sighed and gestured. "Leliana, this is my older brother, Garrett Hawke. Garrett, this is Leliana Nightingale, the one who wrote the…Carver songs."

Twin bewildered stares met his introduction.

"You have a brother?" Leliana nudged him.

"You know someone here?" Garrett gaped, turning. "Sister Leliana, I recognise you from the few months you served in Lothering's Chantry before the blight hit. I don't believe you've met my brother…unless you travelled with the Hero of Ferelden. Maker!"

Leliana giggled. "I was also there when Carver threw Elissa under the cart and decreed her the Hero so that he could escape a promotion."

Carver shot her a despairing look.

A smirk briefly ghosted Leliana's face as she placed a mouth over her hand. "How unfortunate that no one seems to believe that my tributes to Carver refer to the same person. Hard work in tragic times deserves recognition, don't you agree Champion?"

Leliana was manipulating Carver, he just knew it. "I did eventually accept the promotion," Carver grumbled.

"To be the captain of Maric's Shield," Leliana tittered. "You're neglecting to sport the Theirin crest in order to lure Rendon Howe out of hiding with the belief that you don't have back-up."

"Garrett has his own responsibilities here," Carver corrected, "which is why I'm hoping you stored away more than extra ruffles in that gown."

"And Summer Sword?" Leliana queried.

"Relieved from me at the château gates," Carver lamented. "Duke de Montfort takes his security seriously."

Leliana fixed a red strand of hair behind her ear. "What would you do without me?"

"Fight with a steak knife," Carver replied with a glance at the charcuterie and sweets table. He watched Leliana weave her way towards the same door Tallis had struggled lockpicking. "How about you, Garrett? Do you plan to sneak your way to the vaults or blast your way through?"

Garrett was gaping. "Captain of––!?"

Carver grabbed the nearest dessert and stuffed it into Garrett's mouth. Based on Garrett's quick swallow and the smear of white icing around his lips, it had been a red velvet cupcake. Lucky.

Garrett furiously wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve, uncaring of Leandra's opinion if she learned of it. "Instead of you, I should just listen to rumours about you, seeing as they're more honest!"

"I said I had been busy," Carver defended. "I wanted to tell you in chunks."

Sunlight bounced into Garrett and Carver's eyes, drawing them to Tallis standing afar with a silver tray she had stolen from a servant. The spy revealed a key behind the tray, then jerked her chin to the closest door to her. Fenris, Varric, Sebastian, and Charade covertly met Garrett's gaze across the courtyard before returning to their conversations with guests, guards, or Leandra and Gamlen, keeping attention off of Garrett. The Hawke brothers began strolling through the courtyard.

Carver lowered his voice. "Which will it be?"

"…Stealth," Garrett groused.

Carver nodded, breaking away for where Leliana had vanished to. "I'll draw the guards' attention away."

"Clear!"

"Room clear, what have you got?"

"Coming to you."

"Stairwell, stairwell."

"Clearing stairwell."

"Enemy down!"

"Clear!"

Carver and Leliana booked their way through a small Orlesian castle with flying arrows and flashing swords. Where Garrett and Tallis would be sneaking their way down to the château's vaults, Carver and Leliana were clearing floors up to where a political figure seeking asylum would stay – and drawing the château's security to them while they were at it. To ascend the château fast enough to evade capture or death, Carver and Leliana had to cut down six chevaliers and the occasional Howe legionnaire at a time.

"This brings me back to Redcliffe Castle," Leliana giggled as they burst down another door.

Carver sliced his mental pie and met Leliana in the middle, where they continued running through the rooms. "The undead army were less equipped than chevaliers. Less skilled, too."

Orlais had access to larger furnaces than Ferelden, allowing the country more industrial armour and weapons.

"The undead were more numerous, though," Leliana reminisced.

The Chantry sister had snuck a bow, quiver, and daggers into a château's storage room expecting that she would only be attending a party. It seemed that Leliana missed a certain level of action.

Rendon Howe himself was visibly shocked that an ostensible Orlesian socialite would slice his guards' necks open with daggers. Carver unleashed a wrath of heaven before Rendon could throw himself out of a window in escape. The pillar of blinding holy light stunned Rendon as it struck him, knocking him into a table as he suffered a sudden loss of balance and a concussion.

Carver threw Rendon to the ground face-down. "Rendon Howe, by order of His Majesty the king, you're to face the Ferelden courts for treason."

Leliana tore a strip from her gown that wasn't already split for easier movement, and handed it to Carver for binding Rendon's wrists together. While Carver stood the former arl up, Leliana noted pieces of parchment on the nearby table.

"He was planning to sell Ferelden out to pro-annexation Orlesian nobles, like Duke Prosper de Montfort."

Carver clicked his tongue and hauled the stunned Rendon over his shoulder. "As if I don't have enough reason to subject the duke and his wyvern to my brother."

Leliana raised a brow. "The duke and…his wyvern?"

"Don't ask." Carver perked up at the sound of chevaliers stomping for their direction. "Window?"

Leliana grinned and tied curtains together for a rope. "Window."

They raced and leapt down rooftops until they finally landed in a cushion of hydrangeas in a separate courtyard from the party. The heavily armoured chevaliers barked down at them in vain protest from upper floor windows and wall-walks. At one point, Carver and Leliana had torn a de Montfort banner to swing themselves to a lower level, and a few chevaliers were now clinging to a bundle of blue and gold cloth, having given chase only to realise how high they were. Carver fixed his sword belt over his finery before sheathing Summer Sword, then rolled a bleary Rendon off of the bushes to return over Carver's shoulder. Leliana tore the lower half of her gown off to reveal pants underneath, and with a bow and quiver slung over her shoulder, the bard could have recently strolled out of the hunting grounds.

They found their way to Leandra and Gamlen's side before Carver cleared his throat. "Mother, I must depart from the party early."

Leandra and a few guests gasped at the sight of them. The Hawke matriarch whispered heatedly. "Carver, what have you done?"

"Work." Carver placed a reassuring hand on her elbow before she could intuitively search for Garrett in the courtyard. "Brother is currently occupied with Duke de Montfort."

"Where?" Leandra reluctantly calmed.

Carver coughed. "…Jail? He'll be free soon." Fenris, Varric, Sebastian, and Charade were inconspicuously absent from the party. "It's politics, Mother, you know how it is. Would you like to follow me back home to Kirkwall, or would you like to return with Garrett and the rest?"

Leandra noticed Leliana's presence and smiled weakly in confusion.

"This is Sister Leliana Nightingale," Carver quickly added. "She's a friend from – work."

Though bewildered, Leandra and Gamlen politely exchanged greetings with the Chantry sister. Leandra peered at her. "Sister Nightingale, you look…familiar."

The remark was merely answered with a smile. "Lady Hawke."

Rendon began regaining his bearings and struggled in Carver's grip. "Blighted…little…bird…!"

Carver dropped his caprice coin in Leandra's hands and stepped away. "I'll see you at home, Mother, Uncle. Toss a coin in the fountain for me."

As Carver briskly moved for the château gates, Isolde opened her mouth in passing. "You…?"

Leliana quickly intercepted the arlessa for polite conversation. Carver gratefully slipped around a corner before bolting for Prosper's stables. Leandra needed the carriage that the Hawkes had rented, after all. Besides, Carver was expecting some guests in Kirkwall soon regarding Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard.

;

A/N:

Sebastian's formalwear is based on siriusdraws' fan art of Sebastian and his brothers. Links are in the AO3 version of this chapter!

The creatures on the Vael heraldry are as interesting to look at as they are mysterious. If anyone would like to take a gander on what they are, leave a comment!