Thank you all so much for reading! You're the best holiday gift a person could ask for. Special thanks to suilven for her support and advice and careful editing! Whatever you celebrate this time of year, I hope you're having/had/will have a good one.

Cullen was increasingly uncomfortable. The group of people following him about was growing larger, their unseemly and grossly personal comments rising in both volume and vividness. He wished he could run from them and hide, or turn and shout at them and have them scatter like so many recruits, but neither was appropriate—or possible—at the ball. He hadn't even been able to take Dagna's headache potion, surrounded by them all, not wanting to give rise to any troublesome rumors, and his temples were pounding.

He had said as much to the Inquisitor when Thule came by. The Inquisitor had taken a certain amount of delight in twitting him on his popularity. Cullen had taken it in stride, knowing Thule meant nothing by it, but since he would far rather have a red-hot poker stuck through his head than have to make small talk with a simpering Orlesian girl, he had a limited sense of humor about his predicament.

Thule had asked him, discreetly, for a military opinion of who would be in the best interests of the Inquisition to rule Orlais. Cullen had given him a brief but considered opinion on behalf of Gaspard, and Thule had suggested Cullen take the time to get to know the Grand Duke, to be certain his opinion would remain the same on further discussion.

That sounded like the kind of command Cullen could carry out in a ballroom. It seemed unlikely that Grand Duke Gaspard would ask him to dance. Instead, perhaps they could enjoy a quiet conversation on tactics.

Cullen excused himself as best he could from his followers and went in search of the Grand Duke, finding him out on the balcony. The clear night air freshened Cullen's spirits, as did the fact that his followers scattered at a single glare from Gaspard.

"Thank you," Cullen said with feeling. "I thought they would never leave me alone."

Gaspard chuckled. "We are the rare pair who would not enjoy such a following. I understand completely, Commander." He proffered a bottle and a glass. "Do have a drink."

Cullen accepted with appreciation, sipping gingerly at the amber-colored liquid, finding it some of the finest port wine he had ever tasted. He said as much to Gaspard.

"If you like it that much, I will have a case sent back to you when you return to your Skyhold."

He started to protest, then thought that Josephine would most certainly want him to accept, for form's sake as well as to improve Skyhold's cellars. "Most generous of you."

"I see your Inquisitor has been busily charming the court."

"He has a gift that way," Cullen agreed.

"One either understands the Game instinctively, or devotes a lifetime to learning its intricacies … or ignores it entirely." He gave a rueful smile. "As I have. To my cost."

"How is it that you remain so aloof from the Game?"

Gaspard sighed. "Ah, it is a story known all too well to all of Orlais. But of course, you, my friend, are too sensible to be Orlesian."

Cullen entirely agreed, but felt it preferable to remain silent. He offered a small nod in acknowledgement of the statement.

"You see," Gaspard went on, "I am the rightful heir to the throne of Orlais. But I am clumsy and poor at the Game, while my cousin Celene excels at it, so she charmed the Council of Heralds and gained the crown. It looks fetching on her, naturally, but I intend to take it back."

"How is it that your claim to the throne supercedes hers?"

"Thanks to the Hundred Days Cough that swept Val Royeaux in 8:77, only three grandchildren of Emperor Judicael the First remain: Celene, myself, and my sister Florianne. I am the eldest of the three, but my line comes through my mother. Celene's is through her father, therefore she claimed the Valmont name and through it, the throne."

"How does your sister feel about this?" Cullen asked. Surely someone with such a close claim to the throne ought to be a player in this situation, but this was the first he had even heard Florianne's name.

"She supports me, naturally, while remaining at Celene's side to be certain I am aware of my cousin's machinations."

It sounded to Cullen's apolitical ears as though Florianne was playing both sides. No doubt Leliana would have something to say about that.

"Do you have a plan to regain the throne for yourself?"

Gaspard shrugged. "At court, twists and turns are in fashion. But I am a straightforward person, as I imagine you are. I had hoped to win through battle, on a field where I am at home. But thus far all we have achieved is a standstill, and the loss of too many of our young men." He sighed, looking sadly off over the balcony. "War is both beautiful and terrible, don't you agree, Commander?"

Cullen nodded. He leaned more toward the terrible, but the excitement that pulsed in the veins during a battle, the sharpness of focus as you tried to outwit your enemy, the feeling of making the perfect strike … he could see a beauty there as well.

After a thoughtful look at Cullen, Gaspard went on, his voice lower, "I attempted to bribe the Council of Heralds, and when that failed, I threatened them, hoping to counteract Celene's charm. It remains to be seen whether my gambit will succeed." He added, "I tell you this because no doubt your Inquisitor, or our charming Lady Nightingale, has already discovered it."

"A reasonable conclusion," Cullen said. In Gaspard's place, he might have resorted to both those attempts himself. "May I ask where the Inquisition comes into your plan? You were most gracious to extend us the invitation to attend."

"Ah, that was the simplest stroke of all—you see, if the nobles believe the Inquisition supports me, it will help me in the negotiations."

"And if the Inquisition supports you, will you support it in return?"

"Naturally so. You are doing good work, and you will need the help and friendship of Orlais to succeed in the task ahead of you."

"Do you have a plan for winning the negotiations?"

Gaspard chuckled. "I intend to drink a great deal. Celene will talk circles around us all, the elf will glower at everyone … and somehow, by the end of it all, a war will be ended. Politics."

"And the giant hole in the sky? Where does that fit in your politics?"

"It doesn't," Gaspard said simply. "The Court may see it as part of the Game, to be enfolded into the everyday intrigues, but this is something new, something frightening. The Inquisition seeks to mend the sky; I support that with all my heart. Give me a battlefield, Commander."

"I certainly hope we can do so."

"As do I."

Alistair had been drawn away by a Fereldan noble, leaving Lilias standing near the dance floor on her own. He had given her a comically distressed look as he moved off, indicating that whatever the man wanted to speak about, Alistair wanted equally fervently to avoid, but there had been no help for it.

Lilias shifted her weight from foot to foot. The gown, while glorious, was also quite heavy, and she wasn't sure what to do with herself. Should she be mingling? The whispers all around her made her want to shrink into the wall and disappear; they didn't give her much confidence in her own ability to be impressive or do the Inquisition any good.

Across the dance floor, she saw three women wearing identical dresses, hats, and masks moving purposefully in her direction, and she strongly considered fleeing. There was nowhere to go, however, and she had been brought here for a reason.

"Remember that you are a Hawke," she muttered to herself. She wasn't sure how that was supposed to help, but it made her smile. Any time she or her siblings were nervous about something, her mother would say "Remember that you are of the blood of the Amells" and her father would smile and say, "Better yet, remember that you're a Hawke."

The three women approached her, calling out, "Champion! Oh, Champion."

When they were near enough to speak to, she said, "Please, I am no longer the Champion of Kirkwall. Ser Hawke will do." In Orlais, it should have been Messere, but by the snowy peaks of the Frostbacks, she was a Fereldan, and proud of it.

"Ser Hawke, then," said one of the three, with a deep curtsey that seemed to Lilias's untrained eye to be free of irony. "May we have a word? It is very important."

"Of course. Have several." Oh, she shouldn't be flippant, she thought. But it seemed impossible to keep an appropriate guard on her tongue.

All three of them curtseyed this time. "The Empress would like to speak with you."

"To me?"

"But of course."

"How can I be certain you really come from the Empress?"

They looked at each other blankly, clearly confused by the question, then back at Lilias. "Why, we wear the masks of House Valmont. We are the public faces of the Empress."

"Oh. How nice for you."

"If you will accompany us?" Without waiting for her assent, they moved off across the dance floor, and Lilias followed them, feeling that she had little other choice. They led her to a grand, secluded balcony and waited by the door while she went through it. The Empress Celene was waiting for her there. With a discreet nod to her ladies, they disappeared, and Lilias was alone with the most powerful woman in Thedas.

"You wished to speak with me?"

"I did." Alone, Celene's voice had lost much of its mannered quality. "You are here with the Inquisition, and with King Alistair. I … have some questions, if you do not mind."

"I may not have answers," Lilias said honestly, inwardly aghast at her own lack of ceremony. Leliana would have her for lunch if she knew Lilias was speaking to Celene this way.

"I will take that risk, then." Celene studied Lilias carefully. "It has not been easy for you since the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry."

"No, it hasn't."

"And yet here you are. It had been my understanding that the dalliance between you and the king was concluded."

"Mine, as well."

"But it is not?"

Lilias shrugged. She didn't have that answer, and what thoughts she did have felt too personal to share with the Empress of Orlais.

"I see. It is not. That is … disappointing."

"Why?" Lilias frowned. "Did you—oh." The light dawned. "You wanted to create a vast empire by joining in matrimony."

"The thought had crossed my mind. Alas, King Alistair has proven most difficult to charm. Surprisingly so."

Lilias wasn't in the least surprised. Leyden again. This time, working to the benefit of Ferelden, at least, and probably all of Thedas. "He's very stubborn," she said.

"Yes, so I gather. But the two of you … this is not political, since you no longer have any power."

"It was never political," Llilas said, surprising herself with her own warmth.

"I see." Celene nodded, rather sadly, Lilias thought. "Despite what you may have heard, I am not all calculations and ulterior motives. I would not want to be the reason another woman's heart was broken. I withdraw my claim on your King Alistair."

Not sure what to say, Lilias at last settled on "Thank you."

Celene inclined her head regally. "You are also here with the Inquisition. Does that mean you support their cause?"

"They're trying to close the Breach. I can't imagine why anyone would refuse to support them."

"Between the two of us … and your Inquisitor, if you wish to tell him so, I agree with you. Should I succeed in tonight's negotiations, the Inquisitor will have my support."

"But only if he helps you?"

"No. Regardless. I am not offering a bargaining chip; I am pledging my support of the Inquisition. But privately, you understand."

"I do understand."

"My lady Hawke, I wish you joy in the years ahead, and success with your king. He has been unhappy for many years—I can see this, because I, too, am not always happy in my position. But I was born to this, and he came to it with little preparation. He needs … support. Someone to stand with him. Perhaps you can be that person."

Lilias wasn't ready to make that commitment, and certainly not to anyone other than Alistair. "I appreciate your well-wishes."

"Yes." Celene dipped in a tiny curtsey. "Thank you for your time."

"My pleasure, Your Majesty." Lilias saw herself off the balcony, leaving the Empress standing there alone in the darkness.

Leliana leaned on a balcony railing and watched Thule as he made his way through the garden below. He was doing quite well—better than she had anticipated he would.

Behind her, she heard the voice she had been expecting, the drawling tones of Ambassador Briala. "Your Inquisitor Cadash is quite the surprise."

"I find that hard to believe, Briala. You have enough people embedded in our organization to be sure of what he's capable of."

"He can charm a noble here and there, but can he keep their favor? I doubt it. The nobility are fickle. I should know."

Leliana raised her eyebrows. "She still loves you, and you know that as well as I do."

"Love is one thing. Patronage, support, trust … those are entirely other things."

"You cannot hold her to a standard she cannot maintain."

"I can do whatever I wish." Briala smiled. "And I can't believe that you, of all people, are counseling me to consider the feelings of the Empress. I'm surprised you haven't thrown your support behind Gaspard. Get your Ambassador Montilyet to bat her eyelashes at him and he will be putty in her hands."

"Yes, and Orlais will lie in chaos. Chaos will not help us."

"So you want me to deliver the victory for the Empress."

"She is the voice of reason, after all."

"But also caution, and compromise. Will the Inquisition compromise?"

Leliana smiled. "I am not the Inquisitor."

"You are the power."

To her own surprise, Leliana knew perfectly well that she was not the power behind the Inquisition. Thule listened to her, yes, as he did to Cullen and to Josephine, but he was his own man, and he made his own decisions. But she was hardly about to admit that to Briala. There was no advantage to it. Instead, she said, "We found the bodies of the ambassadors you killed, you know."

"Did you?" Briala sounded uninterested.

"How would Celene react to that knowledge?"

"Celene has been part of the Game her entire life. She knows how it is played." She tutted. "Compare the elegance of that with Gaspard's foolish and clumsy bullying of the Council of Heralds. If he took the throne, the nobility would eat him."

"Possibly literally," Leliana agreed. She looked at Briala with interest. "I don't remember you being so enthusiastic about the fate of your fellow elves."

"Things have changed since you were an everyday part of our life here, Nightingale." Briala's eyes were frosty and far away. "Things have changed a great deal."

"So I understand." Leliana looked around to be certain that they weren't being overheard, and then, softly, she said, "What has happened to Florianne? I do not remember her being quite so … extreme."

"That is an unfortunate haircut," Briala agreed, her voice just as low. "It marks a change that is more than just outward. She has developed a bitterness that is … new."

"She bears watching."

"Indeed. And for more than just Celene's sake. If something were to happen to the Empress … where would the eyes turn? To the challenger to the throne? Unlikely. Gaspard is too blunt a blade for that. So, then, to the unknown dwarven Inquisitor come up from the Carta, or to the elven ex-lover of the Empress. Either one would be bad for everyone. Celene's continued good health is good for us both."

"You make an excellent point."

"Then we are agreed."

Leliana smiled. "Do we ever truly agree? Let us say, we understand one another."

"Always the cautious one." Briala started to turn away, and then turned back. "Watch out for her. She bears no fond memories of you, and will cause you trouble if she can."

There was no doubt in Leliana's mind that the "her" in question was Morrigan. "I'm aware of it."

"As long as you are. Enjoy the ball, Nightingale."

Leliana nodded, looking out over the gardens with pleasure. The scent of magnolia was in the air, sweet and heavy, and the night was warm and beautiful, and the Game was afoot. There really was nothing quite like it.