Thank you all for reading! Particular thanks to my awesome beta, suilven!
Leliana watched from the edge of the ballroom as the Empress and the Inquisitor stood together to speak to the crowd, as Celene openly promised her assistance to the Inquisition, and she breathed a deep, if unobtrusive, sigh of relief. Everyone around her was clapping, and she joined in, her gloved hands patting together almost silently.
The man standing next to her did not join in the applause. His sardonic expression hadn't changed from the way he had looked when they arrived. "You've done well, but then, you know that."
"Yes." Leliana smiled. "I wasn't certain he could do it."
Nathaniel raised his eyebrows. "Yes, you were. You wouldn't have risked this if you weren't."
She glanced at him sideways. "I think you flatter me by pretending to believe me more diabolically clever than I really am."
"The Left Hand of the Divine? I'm willing to believe I have significantly underestimated you."
"Your assistance was much appreciated."
"Glad I could be of service." He sketched a short, mocking bow. "To what use do you intend to put me next? Do you have anyone you need followed, spied upon, murdered in their sleep?"
"You jest, my friend. I would not trust any but the most tested operatives with any of those tasks."
"As well you should not. What, then? Or am I free to go, free to make my way to Weisshaupt and get down on my knees and grovel for forgiveness?"
She looked at him sharply. "Your glibness does you no favors. You forget, I traveled with Oghren. We were friends. And here you stand, while he is— Perhaps you ought to be asked to grovel."
"I forget nothing," Nathaniel said. His jaw tensed, his eyes burning as he fought to keep himself under control. "And he was my friend as much as yours, as were they all. I have much to atone for … but those bastards at Weisshaupt deserve none of it. Had they helped in the Blight, perhaps things would be different. Had they done more for our branch of the Order than send a human abacus to spy on us and be certain we never spent a copper more than she allowed, perhaps things would be different. Had they answered a single one of the desperate messages we sent them, terrified that we were facing another Blight or that for some unfathomable reason we were all facing an early Calling at the same time … But they did nothing. We heard not a word from them." His voice was softly venomous, so low that had she been standing one more step away from him Leliana would not have heard him. He stopped speaking abruptly, cutting off his words uncompromisingly.
"I didn't know," she said, the words feeling inadequate even as she said them.
"Did he?" His eyes were fixed on Alistair, across the room, standing near Lilias. "Did he know? Or was he too busy playing king and chasing women?"
Leliana shook her head. "Leave him out of this. The Blight cost him much—in a different way than it cost you, but cost him it did. He has yet to find his way out of its dark tunnels."
"He's not the only one." Nathaniel looked down at his hands, fine, long-fingered archer's hands.
"Stay with us," she said impulsively. "At Skyhold. We will find tasks for you."
"Will you?" He glanced at her, then away. "I'm sure you will. I don't need your pity."
"It is not pity. It is efficiency. I do not like to let a resource go to waste."
Nathaniel looked at her again, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I believe you don't. Very well, I will stay on for the moment."
"Good."
Josephine watched with satisfaction as the Inquisitor left the ballroom. He deserved a rest and some solitude—he had done very well. The nobility of Orlais as a whole was highly pleased with him; they had even come around to finding a dwarf as Herald of Andraste charmingly odd, and to congratulate themselves on their open-mindedness.
And she had gone the entire evening without meeting whichever dreadful Antivan lord her mother had seen fit to betroth her to, which had been a relief. That was the last thing she had wanted to have to concern herself with while still keeping an eye on the Empress and making certain that the Inquisition as a whole didn't fail the Game utterly and spectacularly.
Perhaps this Lord Otranto hadn't even managed to attend the ball. That would please her, to be able to put the whole thing out of her mind for some time yet to come. She had more than enough business to attend to without concerning herself with her own matrimonial future.
As the ballroom began to buzz with voices again, she searched for her sister Yvette, who had been making rather a fool of herself this evening, posing as an artist and pretending to sketch people in preparation for painting their portraits. She found her on the edge of the dance floor, giggling with a rather handsome young man. His hair was a trifle short for Josephine's taste, very nearly shorn, but his eyes were a striking blue, especially when they caught hers as they were doing right now.
"Good evening," she said.
"Oh, Josephine," Yvette cried, "I have been having the most charming conversation with Lord Otranto. He spoke to the Inquisitor earlier." She pouted at Josephine. "You wouldn't let me speak with the Inquisitor."
"That's because you threatened to tell him all sorts of stor—" Josephine caught herself in mid-word and turned to the man with the blue eyes. "Lord Otranto, did you say?"
He seemed to catch the displeasure in her tone, because he bowed with an apologetic look on his face. "I thought it best to wait until the end of the evening to introduce myself to you, Lady Josephine. The Inquisition seemed rather … distracted."
"The Inquisition is always so busy," Yvette agreed, giggling merrily. "I keep telling Josephine she should let me come and visit—I know it would give me such scope for my art—and she always says she is too busy."
"Yvette, perhaps you would like to speak with Commander Cullen. I believe he is over there; tell him you're my sister." Cullen would not be pleased, and Josephine would owe him one, but she had to get her sister, and her sister's flapping tongue, away from this man who thought he was going to marry her.
"Oh, yes!" And with a parting nod for Lord Otranto, Yvette disappeared into the crowd.
"My mother's letter came as something of a surprise to me, my lord." Under normal circumstances, Josephine would have been coquettish, but this was business, and she wanted Lord Otranto to know it.
"She suggested that it might. Surely a woman of your fine qualities is the subject of any number of proposals?"
She wished his eyes wouldn't linger on her so. He had a very direct gaze. "Not so many that I cannot make my own refusals, my lord."
"I see. You intend to refuse me without even getting to know me? For that matter, we haven't even been properly introduced. My name is Adorno Ciel Otranto. You may call me Ciel, as we are, at least for the moment, betrothed."
She nodded, pleased that he was being civilized about it. "Josephine Montilyet."
"Does no one call you Josie?"
It was nice to hear her name in a proper Antivan accent again. She had forgotten how it rolled off the tongue. "Not if they wish me to answer," she said, keeping her voice firm. Leliana was one of the few who could get away with the nickname.
"Very well, then, I will forbear. Although you look as though you could be Josie … under the right circumstances." His voice dropped, husky and low.
Josephine found it difficult to glare at him appropriately. He certainly was exerting himself to be charming. "My lord—"
"Ciel," he corrected, smiling gently at her.
"Ciel, then." She hadn't wanted to use his name—it sounded too much as though she was agreeing to this betrothal. "I haven't the time to be betrothed right now. The Inquisition—"
He held up a hand. "I have no intention of dragging you off unwillingly into marriage. What I propose is this—you allow the engagement to stand, which will also have the benefit of keeping other marriage offers at bay. You agree to enter into a correspondence, so that we may get to know each other. And you agree to allow me to come visit you at Skyhold occasionally."
She glanced at him in alarm. "Why at Skyhold?"
"Because that is where you live. Where else would I visit you?"
Josephine flushed. "Of course."
"Will you consider it?"
His blue eyes were looking into hers, and she couldn't quite find the heart to refuse him. "I will … give it some thought."
"Good. Now, perhaps we may begin getting to know one another—while we dance?" He gestured to the dance floor. Josephine felt it would be churlish to refuse, so she accepted his proffered arm and allowed him to lead her onto the floor.
Lilias had sunk onto an empty couch, glad to be off her feet. The shoes Varric had bought for her weren't terrible, but they were still fancy shoes rather than the more comfortable boots she usually wore. She was glad to tuck her feet underneath the couch and surreptitiously shift the shoes so that only her toes were in them.
She was less glad when she felt the couch give as Alistair sank down onto it next to her.
"Whatever it is you're going to say, I wish you'd save your breath," she told him.
"I don't blame you. It's … there's a woman who was with us during the Blight, a witch. She's here. How she's here, I don't know, but she is, and … she infuriates me."
"That's why you took off in the middle of a ball, to chase after someone who infuriates you?"
"She—disappeared before we fought the Archdemon. I wanted to know why."
Lilias turned to look at him, forgetting that she had told herself in no uncertain terms that she did not care what he had to say. "What difference does it make now?"
"What difference—?" Alistair's mouth hung open, the question clearly so flummoxing that he had difficulty believing he had heard it correctly.
"That's what I said. Nothing she has to tell you will change anything, so why do you care why she left?"
He closed his mouth with an audible click, and shook his head. "I just do."
"You think maybe the fact that ten years later you're still grasping at straws to prove that she could have been saved is your problem?"
"The thought has crossed my mind."
"When it settles there and you figure out what to do with it, you let me know." Lilias shoved her feet fully back in her shoes and stood up, leaving him sitting there alone.
Cassandra watched the Empress's occult advisor leave the balcony. What had she and the Inquisitor been talking about out there? Had she—she was very beautiful, in a feminine and frankly quite sexual way. Had Thule grown tired of pursuing someone as stiff and unbending as Cassandra and chosen to turn the attention of his clear blue eyes on this … apostate, instead?
She took herself in hand, shaking her head at herself. You are too quick to jump to conclusions, Cassandra. The inner voice was right, of course, but that did not make it easier to listen to it. But Thule was waiting for her—he had sent her a note, asking her to meet him out here. Not to show up would hurt him. She knew that as well as she knew the hilt of her sword.
So she went out onto the balcony, seeing the short, well-built figure leaning on the railing. "I can't believe you escaped before me," she said, not wanting to mention the other woman. "A fat count insisted on talking to me about soup for fifteen minutes."
"Don't you like soup?"
"Not as much as he did. I don't believe anyone could like soup as much as he did."
Thule smiled, lighting up his face in that way he had that made Cassandra want to smile back. But there was something in him still, a tension. He had been more relaxed earlier, when the Empress was still in danger.
"Who was that woman?" Cassandra asked, forgetting that just moments earlier she had told herself not to mention it.
"Morrigan. Apparently we should ask Alistair about her." Thule's eyes were on the door Morrigan had left through. "Celene's occult advisor … and now ours, or so she informs me. She's a gift from the Empress to the Inquisition."
"Do we not have enough mages?" Cassandra asked, feeling a frisson of alarm down her spine.
"Not of her particular talents. She intimates she has many."
"Oh?"
Thule looked up at her, appearing struck by the chill in her tone. "Well, isn't that the most delightful thing that's happened all night." His deep voice was low and caressing, that familiar laughing tone she refused to admit that she loved.
"What is?"
"You're jealous."
"I am not!"
He grinned widely. "I'm not going to argue with you."
"Good. Because you would lose."
"After things finally went according to plan, I would hate to end the night losing an argument to you, Lady Cassandra Philomela … what were the other names?"
"Not necessary," Cassandra snapped. All her life she had hated to be laughed at, but when this red-headed dwarf with the dancing eyes did it, it made her feel … effervescent, and that sensation was unfamiliar enough that she fought it with all her might.
"If you say so."
Cassandra sighed, looking up at the stars. It was a beautiful night, but she would rather be elsewhere. "I will be glad to go home to Skyhold. Won't you?"
"Well, I'm not in such a hurry I can't remember there's something I haven't done yet." His voice was soft, and Cassandra looked down at him.
"What's that?"
He bowed, holding out his hand, his manners impeccable. Was there nothing this man couldn't do? "May I have this dance, Lady Cassandra?"
To be fully herself, she should tell him it was foolish … but she wasn't feeling as though it was foolish. If she were honest with herself, there was nothing she would rather do than dance with the man before her, even if the top of his head only came up to her collarbones. "After all you've been through tonight, you still want to dance?"
"Oh, yes. More than anything." His eyes were wide open to her, clear and guileless and soft. "Can you think of a better way to celebrate?"
Cassandra smiled, yielding. In truth, she could not. She held out her hand to him and they danced, there on the balcony, just the two of them.