Thank you all for reading! Special thanks to suilven for her amazing beta work!

"Hey, Stones, I've been looking everywhere for you," Varric called, weaving his way through the tables in the Herald's Rest. "You, too, Seeker," he added after a pause in which Cassandra and Thule both stared pointedly at him.

"Is this something I'm going to have to let her kick your ass for, Varric?" Thule asked.

"No, no, perfectly innocent."

"You have never done anything perfectly innocent in your entire life," Cassandra pointed out.

"Now, Seeker, don't be so negative. As if I could stop you," Varric muttered in a completely audible aside that Cassandra chose not to dignify with a response. "You're both quite late. We nearly decided to start without you."

"How can I be late to something I never agreed to in the first place?"

"You are asking for logic from Varric?"

Thule grinned, both at Cassandra's question and at Varric's roll of the eyes in response. "Foolish of me."

"Well, come on, then."

They followed him to a private room in the back of the tavern, where Thule was surprised to see many of his companions and advisors clustered around a table while Josephine … shuffled cards? He frowned at his fellow dwarf. "What are you up to, Varric?"

"Wicked Grace, of course! We've all been working entirely too hard."

Well, that much was true. Certainly it was true of Cullen, who looked rather uncomfortable in his seat, and of Josephine, who was shuffling with an attempt at clumsiness that didn't fool Thule in the least. He'd played with her before. As had the Iron Bull, who was watching her like a hawk. Hawke herself seemed rather intent on the cards, although perhaps that was to avoid Alistair's gaze, trained equally intently on her. Dorian seemed the most relaxed, leaning back and twirling the stem of a wineglass casually between his fingers.

"Varric, are you certain this is a good idea?" Cassandra asked. She looked uncomfortable, and Thule realized with surprise that he had never seen her play cards. Was this a rare thing that she wasn't good at?

"Of course it is. Let's all let down our hair a little. Or, you know, keep it up, if you'd prefer, Seeker. Deal him in, Ruffles." Varric waved them both to seats and took his own.

"I do hope I recall the rules," Josephine said, looking worried. "It's been ages since I've played a game of Wicked Grace."

"It's been three days, you cardsharp," the Iron Bull growled. "I had to borrow money from Krem because you cleaned me out."

"And yet you're still here, ready to play again," mused Dorian. "One might suspect you were a glutton for punishment. At least, where ladies with charming accents are concerned." He winked at the Qunari, who frowned back. Clearly Dorian suspected the same thing about the Iron Bull's relationship with Vivienne that Thule did.

Josephine dealt swiftly and efficiently, and everyone picked up their hands, adjusting the cards or not, depending on how concerned they were about tells. Lilias in particular shifted her cards around a great deal, studiously ignoring Alistair, who didn't seem to have so much as glanced at his cards yet.

Cassandra leaned over and whispered in Thule's ear. "Are three drakes better than a pair of swords? I can never remember."

"What'll you give me if I tell you?" he whispered back, letting his breath caress her ear in a way he knew drove her wild.

She clenched her teeth against a shiver, but underneath the table her calf nudged against his knee, and Thule grinned at her.

"Stick with me, I'll show you the ropes."

"Hey, no helping!" Varric protested.

Thule merely raised his eyebrows, and Varric subsided with a grumble.

Cole frowned at his hand, speaking up for the first time. "There's a crown on his head, but a sword, too. His head didn't want either."

"Don't talk to the face cards, kid. And if they talk to you, keep it to yourself," the Iron Bull told him.

Cullen cleared his throat, pushing his chair back, his cards lying face down before him. "You … seem to have more than enough people, and I have a thousand things to do."

"So do I," Thule told him. "Stay and play cards. The Inquisition won't come crashing down around our ears if we take a few hours off."

"Losing money can be both relaxing and habit forming," Dorian agreed. He shifted a card from the left side of his hand to the right and shook his head. "An axiom I'm about to illustrate all too thoroughly, it appears. Do give it a try, Cullen."

"Seriously, Curly, stay. If any man in history ever needed a hobby, it's you."

"Don't I remember hearing tales about card games in the barracks at the Gallows, back in the good old days?" Hawke smiled.

"There were good old days in the Gallows?" Varric asked.

"Not that I recall," Cullen said dryly, but he sank back into his chair and picked up his cards.

Alistair glanced from Lilias to Cullen with something like envy. "Are we betting now?"

"Yes," Josephine said decisively. "Dealer starts. Ooh … I believe … I'll start with … three coppers! Or do you think that's too daring?" Her eyes twinkled at the Iron Bull, who groaned loudly.

"You are the most infuriating woman. Silver, or go home."

"The bolder, the better. I'm in." Dorian added his bet on top of Josephine's. Varric and Lilias anted up as well, while Alistair and Cole folded.

Cullen considered it carefully, then placed his bet. Thule tossed his on top of the pile. Cassandra reached for her own pile of coin, but Thule frowned at her and shook her head, and she folded instead.

"This would be a lot more fun if you'd let her lose, Stones."

"For you, or for me?" Thule winked at his fellow dwarf. "I know whose fun I'm more concerned with."

"Behave yourself," Cassandra said, swatting him on the arm, but beneath the table her leg had hooked itself over his, dragging her chair just that little bit closer to his so that their hips were practically pressed against each other. If he played his cards right, in more ways than one, he imagined he'd be winning big later.

Alistair glanced at his cards, but they didn't register. He had never enjoyed Wicked Grace—Zevran and Leliana used to clean him out regularly during the Blight. He had only agreed to play tonight because Lilias was going to be there, and he so desperately wanted a chance to make things right with her. Only he was playing badly, and she was quite good, and so he was making a fool of himself again in front of her, and he had no idea how to fix any of it.

A roar of laughter around the table startled him out of his reverie, and he realized that Cullen had been telling a long story, and doing so with apparently a surprising amount of verve, given the response. Everyone seemed to have been hanging on his every word—including Lilias. What had happened between them in Kirkwall after he … left? Alistair wondered. Cullen had seen the resemblance between the cousins just as he had, and he had stared after Lilias with a longing similar to the one Alistair had felt. Alistair felt bad about that now. He should have seen Lilias for who she was from the start, rather than allowing the hopeless puppy love he had hung onto so long to make him see only Leyden.

The Inquisitor was one of the few who weren't intent on what Cullen was saying, distracted by something going on under the table. Alistair could feel his ears pinken at the thought of such intimate touching, hidden just out of sight, that had Cassandra's eyes glittering so brightly and the Inquisitor's face flushed so that his tattoos stood out black against his reddened face. Maker, how he wanted to grab Lilias by the hand and spirit her out of the room.

Varric was beginning a story about breaking into Chateau Haine, in Orlais, and Alistair was genuinely curious—Varric and Hawke had nearly begun an international incident in the process of whatever had happened at Duke Prosper's last hunt—so he tried to focus, but he was soon distracted again by Lilias's silvery laugh and her bright blue eyes and the way she and Varric teased each other in the process of telling the story.

"And then Hawke looks up and says, 'Looks like the Duke … has fallen from grace,'" Varric finished, and Lilias shook her head.

"I never said anything that dreadful, you liar."

"Of course you did. At least, in the official version." Varric grinned at her.

Josephine shook her head. "So that's how Duke Prosper died? You know, that's almost perfect for him."

"Oh, it was," Lilias agreed. "Couldn't have happened to a more deserving person."

"Tallis, you say?" the Iron Bull asked.

"Yeah, you know her?"

"Do you think I know every Ben-Hassrath agent in the south?"

"Actually? Yes," Thule told him.

The Qunari grunted and looked at his cards, but there was a thoughtful look on his face that suggested to Alistair that he did indeed know Tallis … and didn't like her much.

Josephine was collecting the cards, ready to deal again. Alistair really didn't want to play anymore—but he wanted to be near Lilias, and he was afraid that if he asked her to leave with him, she wouldn't, and he was certain that he still didn't know what to say to her. How could he, when he didn't even really know who he was? He knew how he felt about her, but not what he could offer her going forward, and he didn't want to promise her things he couldn't deliver. So he picked up his cards, and he continued to pretend to play while really all he was doing was watching her over the edges of the pasteboard.

Cullen had found the evening far more enjoyable than he'd imagined. With the exception of Cassandra, Cole, and Alistair, everyone was a solid to exceptional player—although the Inquisitor and Hawke both seemed somewhat distracted by their respective paramours—and Cullen had been forced to play at his best all night. He always liked a challenge, and a chance to sharpen his wits and his skills.

Josephine raked in another pot, her eyes shining and her cheeks becomingly flushed with a mixture of wine and winnings. She had a healthy pile in front of her. "And the dealer takes everything! It seems I win again."

"It seems," the Iron Bull echoed sarcastically. "It's almost as though you knew what was in everyone else's hand."

"Why, you wouldn't be accusing our esteemed ambassador of cheating, would you?" Dorian asked. He smiled at Josephine. "Most certainly she wouldn't do any such thing."

"Most certainly not," she agreed, her eyes wide and innocent. "Why cheat when one can rely on superior skill?"

The Iron Bull snorted at that, shuffling with surprising dexterity, given the size of his hands relative to the size of the cards.

"Deal again, Bull," Cullen said suddenly, surprising himself as much as anyone else at the table. He nodded at Josephine, smiling triumphantly. "I believe I have figured out your tells, Lady Ambassador."

She sat up straighter, her smile widening and her eyes twinkling even more brightly than they had been. "Impossible, Commander. Everyone knows a lady has no tells."

"Sure. Just good luck," the Iron Bull jeered, dealing out another hand.

"Of course." Cullen was feeling supremely confident. A voice whispered in the back of his head that perhaps that had as much to do with the ale as his own rediscovered skill at cards, but he ignored it willfully, determined to enjoy himself. "Let us see if your good fortune lasts one more hand."

Josephine picked up her cards. "The stakes will be very high, Commander—for you. As you can see, I have far more coin to bet with than you do."

Solemnly, he unwrapped his fur-lined cape and laid it on the table.

The table went utterly silent. The Inquisitor had been leaning back, cheeks flushed, as Cassandra whispered into his ear—at least, Cullen wanted to believe she was whispering—but now he sat forward, eyes on Cullen. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Absolutely." That same voice was telling Cullen he was making a terrible mistake, but he shushed it with another swallow of ale.

"Commander, what a delightful side to you. Why did I never know this was there before?" Dorian asked.

"No one did," Hawke replied. She frowned at Cullen warningly, but he ignored her, too.

"I don't intend to lose any more coin to Josephine, but this I have to see," Thule said, folding his arms on the table.

"It comes off," Cole said in disbelief, staring at the cape. "I never knew it came off."

The Iron Bull laughed. "Me, neither, kid."

Cullen caught Josephine's eye with a challenging look, which she met with one of her own, and they began to play.

Somewhere along the way, when he was peeling off his shirt to Dorian's wolf whistle and Hawke's appreciative eyes and Alistair's sullen frown, Cullen thought perhaps this had been a poor choice on his part. But it was much too late. His honor depended on him beating Josephine in at least one hand, and he couldn't quit until he did … vanishingly small as the chance of that seemed to be.

It was the ale that talked him into betting his smallclothes and his socks on one last desperate hand, but he believed it was also the impish whisper of the ale that convinced him to play his final trump one trick too soon, as well, and at last he sat, utterly defeated, with nothing left to bet with, while Josephine leaned back behind the pile of his clothes and armor looking supremely pleased with herself.

Varric chuckled, and Cullen glared at him. "Not a word, dwarf."

"Curly, Curly, Curly … What is there to say? If only I had a painter here—that picture would be worth a million words."

"Don't say we didn't warn you," Thule told him. The Inquisitor got to his feet, extending a hand to Cassandra, who took it. She shook her head at Cullen, looking faintly exasperated with him. He supposed he didn't blame her. When the ale wore off, he imagined he'd be rather exasperated with himself.

Josephine got to her feet, raking in her winnings, although she kindly left Cullen's clothes in the neat pile that he had placed them in. "Never bet against an Antivan, Commander," she told him.

"Truer words have rarely been spoken," Alistair agreed with a groan. He stood up, also. "If you don't mind, I'll say good-night. I don't need to watch Cullen's walk of shame back to his office."

Dorian raised his wineglass. "Well, I do!"

The Iron Bull settled back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, and Hawke grinned and leaned forward. Cullen closed his eyes and groaned, wondering what he had been thinking. Oh, that damned ale and the trouble it got a person into. He remembered now, somewhat too late, why he usually avoided it.

He pulled the pile of his clothes toward him, using them to hide his most vulnerable parts, and hastened from the room, glad that he knew the back way up the stairs to the abandoned room at the top of the building, where he could hastily pull on enough of his clothes to avoid being seen by the guards in all his nakedness.

The only consolation was that Dagna had not been there to see his shame … although no doubt she would hear about it. As would the rest of the Inquisition. He groaned aloud. Maybe he could just stay in his office until Corypheus had been defeated …