While Tharin slogged toward the Empress, he tried to shake free the thoughts of the Commander. With Cullen occupying his mind, there was no chance of him sounding half intelligent when discussing the affairs of state.

Tharin managed to compartmentalize with some difficulty. Perhaps the Spymaster was rubbing off on him.

As Celene came into his view, the Inquisitor once again wondered if he had done right. The Empress had everything now – the throne, the loyalty of a significant part of Orlesian military establishment, if not all the chevaliers, and even a jilted paramour back. What more could she possibly want?

Tired and overwrought, Tharin's resentment toward blue bloods heightened to fever pitch, which portended for a less than pleasant audience with the Empress.

"Good evening, Inquisitor. We were hoping to catch you before you retired for the night."

"Your Imperial Majesty, what can I do for you?"

"Let us dance." It was an order, not a suggestion. The woman extended her right hand. The fingernails were long, graceful yet terrifying in their pointedness. The skin was paler up close, almost grotesque with numerous blue veins crisscrossing underneath. Tharin had observed them once or twice before, but the sight was something he could not get used to.

Celene's carefully guarded face broke as she sneered, "Our cousin may have been a buffoon in a tacky crinoline, but she was right about one thing. The dance floor is the safest place to have a conversation in the palace."

As the two ambled to the dance floor, the throng opened up. The orchestra stopped its music, and the dancers retreated to make room for the Empress and the Inquisitor, bowing and curtsying to their direction.

The orchestra struck up a new music. A contredanse. It was wickedly ironic how the Orlesian nobility appropriated a dance from the peasants they turned their noses up at. The Empress and the Inquisitor stood at the head of the lines of dancers and bowed to each other.

When the Inquisitor grasped the Empress's hand, he could not help but notice its utter steadiness: no trace of trembling or worn nerves. The beginning of the contredanse was simple enough. The two joined their hands and circled around to the rhythm. Tharin questioned, "You seem very calm, considering how your very survival was up in the air for the better part of the night."

His inquiry was met with a sly grin. The woman reminded the Inquisitor of Leliana, right down to the airy accent. "Since you saved our life, we will tell you a little secret, my dear Lord Inquisitor. We were always aware of our cousin's treachery. Everything from Florianne's contact with the Venatori, to her plan to murder us and plunge the Empire into chaos. We simply decided it would be more… expedient to involve an outsider to solve our problem."

Now, they held their palms aloft as they pivoted around. Slowly at first, then the music began to speed up gradually.

Unfazed, Celene continued, "And you do not honestly think that we would be totally unaware of all the Inquisition agents slipping into our palace? We let you and your Inquisition in. Do please remember that."

Tharin was aghast. "All right, if you knew about the Grand Duchess's association with Corypheus and her plot to assassinate you, were you not afraid? If the Inquisition failed in our mission, you could have died at the hands of either Gaspard or Florianne."

They turned and began to circle around in the reverse direction.

Now a patronizing sneer floated on Celene. "Of course. But the Grand Game is a high stakes gamble. Because we risked our life, we were able to gain much. You and your lovely people helped gather information against Gaspard, your gorgeous Commander thwarted Gaspard's half-baked plan of a coup, and we were able to implicate that oaf with his idiot sister. Now Florianne is dead, the nobles will tear the Grand Duke into shreds, and Orlais stands united. We could not have asked for a better payoff."

The dance was becoming more elaborate. Another couple joined them and the four began to rotate around with their hands meeting in the middle. Both the Inquisitor and the Empress fell silent. No way to carry on an intimate conversation with other people within the earshot. Celene smiled graciously while Tharin managed something akin to a scowl. The other couple kept nodding like they wanted to bow many times to inform Celene of their loyalty. There was no doubt she knew who they were despite the masks. And she would remember the way they behaved tonight.

A reverse turn for a long while, and finally the group was broken up back to couples. The Inquisitor wondered aloud, "All we've done is exile Gaspard… Now that I think about it, I am not so sure how prudent that was." It would have been cruel, but killing Gaspard would have eliminated any potential for trouble in the future. His faction, so dependent on his pedigree and inexplicable charisma for continued success, could not survive the death of its leader. That much was clear to Tharin.

But Celene laughed as though she found his worry amusing. Or perhaps it was the heartless laughter of a child watching ants running around in blind panic as she poured water into the mound. Silly commoners and moronic nobles all. Tharin got a strong urge to break away from her, to let go of her hands, but he knew he must not.

The Inquisitor felt his shoulders tense as the Empress reassured him in that characteristically saccharine voice, "Oh, don't you worry. Every door from here to Val Royeaux is about to be slammed shut in Gaspard's face as we speak. He will never again enjoy the kind of influence that could threaten the throne. He will spend his last days desperate for little crumbs of influence."

A turnabout.

"How so?"

"Physical evidence, dear Inquisitor. It is the trump card in the Game. In the face of overwhelming evidence against him, Gaspard will have no choice but to accept his banishment. The tide of public opinion – well, the right kind of public – has turned against him."

Apparently, the veracity of the evidence itself didn't matter to anyone, because Celene must have known that Tharin had fabricated some of the evidence to pit Gaspard in a desperate situation.

Feeling even more terrible for contriving evidence against Gaspard, Tharin questioned, "What about the lives lost? Your guards and my soldiers died here tonight, to protect us."

"A small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things. As we Orlesians like to say, c'est la vie." The Empress quickly waved her hand and sighed lightly. Tharin was certain she was leading him, not the other way around, in this dance.

"Pardon me, but that is a very jaded outlook."

"Oh, you. We do enjoy your frankness." Her eyes crinkled in genuine joy, which must have been a rare occurrence indeed. "Then do enlighten us, how are the Trevelyan emissary and his companion faring under your compassionate and just rule?"

The mellifluent words thrust upon Tharin's core like a lance. The Inquisitor glowered, refusing to hide his displeasure. "My compassion does not extend to those who wish the Inquisition harm."

"No, certainly not. Especially when one is under the influence of lyrium, might we add." Celene was brazen in her serenity. "You are no different than any other princes and potentates of the world. We are not so different, are we wrong?"

Before Tharin could properly formulate a clever riposte, there was another turnabout and a partner switch.

While Celene was whisked away by some dandy courtier, Tharin held an old dowager in his arms who tried to give him a wet kiss. Tharin leaned away and barely avoided the assault, though he did miss a few steps in the process.

Eventually, the original partners converged again. Tharin exhaled and cinched his hands with Celene's with mounting trepidation. She was effortless with her jabs poking at his raw wounds. Dancing with the Empress was a battle in and of itself. He could not let his guard down.

Hoping to switch the subject and regain some semblance of composure, the Inquisitor asked, "And you are now going to say you knew I was going to pick you over Gaspard? I gave neither of you any indication of my thoughts on the matter."

Celene paused but for a moment. "Well… We admit, that constituted a rather significant hole in our plan. But we'd heard the details of the events that led to your alliance with the rebel mages. You value what your Spymaster and Ambassador have to say, and it's easy to guess they are on our side, aren't they?"

As the music swelled and the steps became even more complicated with couples coming together and coming apart at an alarmingly fast rate, Tharin tried not to glance down at his feet. He had to remain in control. He had to be worthy of his title. Never mind the growing exasperation at the apparent transparency of the war room dynamics.

He could not lose the battle against Celene.

Meanwhile, the Empress's calm seemed to transform into naked self-satisfaction. "Now, as our thanks, we would like to officially offer you a permanent military alliance, as well as our promise to decree and implement the Land Parcellations Act."

Tharin raised an eyebrow. "Your Radiance will have to forgive my insolence, but I hardly think you are doing the Inquisition any favor. Our mages and soldiers are your best chance at defeating the ancient magister bent on world domination, and my land reform proposal would help you siphon political and financial powers from the nobles. It's a win-win situation for you."

Celene tittered. "You cannot expect to get everything you want and others to get nothing they want. Negotiations are not wars. They are built on reciprocity. Do not forget, you are getting what you want as well." It strangely galled Tharin that the Empress was referring to him interchangeably with the Inquisition.

The woman looked smug as she finished, "Or perhaps you have no need of our soldiers now?" Well, well. Now they were her soldiers. No one could mistake that for humility. "Perhaps you should brush up on modern theories of diplomacy. We suggest you ask Lady Montilyet for a reading list, seeing as she is such a gifted ambassador."

Tharin gritted his teeth. He did not appreciate talked down to, but he still couldn't afford to offend Celene. Just be polite, he told himself. "Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty. I shall certainly take up on your advice."

The speed of the contredanse remained frenzied as the orchestra ascended to the climax. Celene twirled gracefully as Tharin barely kept up with the moves. He silently thanked Josephine for forcing him to trudge through dance lessons once again before embarking on this particular adventure.

Though somewhat out of breath, Tharin considered for a while and spoke, "When all's said and done, I am still glad the Inquisition was able to help you. I approve of the decisions you've made."

Celene's pale face softened. "Well, since we are being quite earnest, we give you our promise. As long as we shall live, Orlais will not engage in an offensive campaign against her neighbors. We believe that energy is better spent on feeding and clothing our subjects. Not to mention art and culture, the two feathers in our Empire's cap."

Having survived the climax, Tharin was pleased to find the music slowing. The contredanse was coming to an end.

Still, there were many more spins left. As their palms touched and they walked to the beats, Celene nodded all of a sudden. "Oh, one last thing: we need to talk about Adelia. Frivolous little creature, that girl. But she is in fact strong-minded and has quite a knack for management. We will soon be announcing her as our heir. She will be declared a Valmont and will be given a seat in my council. We have no doubt in our mind she will make a fine monarch one day."

Making Gaspard's illegitimate daughter her heir. Tharin had to hand it to Celene – she was shrewd. This way, she could win over anyone still loyal to Gaspard and repair the damaged bond within the imperial house. If any dynasty still loyal to Gaspard remained stubbornly opposed, she could use the pretext of the domestic reform to wipe them out.

The Inquisitor breathed a sigh of relief. Orlais was in capable hands.

But the relief was short-lived as he bumped into a gentleman next to him. Being the Inquisitor was helpful in this instance. The gentleman stopped dancing and bowed in apology to Tharin.

After that little distraction, Tharin pondered. It wasn't at all likely he could forget his engagement to Adelia. It was in the back of his mind all the time, like the air that engulfed his body, that he always breathed. And now, it was in the forefront of his consciousness along with Cullen's revelation.

For nearly a half year, he had given the forced engagement enough thoughts to amount to a significant chunk of his time alone. And the more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that he could not push through without at least trying to free himself from the shackle first.

Because as much as Tharin still did not believe himself worthy of good things in life, he had begun to heal from the injuries left by his own reckless behavior. And Cullen only accelerated that process.

Tharin recognized the changes in himself and felt emboldened. He deserved more than a loveless marriage of convenience. And this, with the Empress's attention wholly focused on him, was the moment he had been waiting for. The moment to fight for his life.

The betrothal was for the sake of the Inquisition, for Cullen's life. But things had been steadily improving for the Inquisition. And now, Celene was offering a permanent alliance. Perhaps the Inquisition could go on and succeed without his marrying the princess. Tharin wanted to take a risk.

It was time to resolve it the way he chose, not the way that was chosen for him. Inasmuch as the all-powerful Inquisitor endeavored to get the Inquisition everything it needed, he surely could take something for himself.

As they strolled in circles, Tharin began, "Your Imperial Majesty, I have a request to make in regard to Princess Adelia."

Obviously intrigued, the Empress's feline smile widened. "Oh, how peculiar. Do go on, Inquisitor."

"Since you seem to enjoy my honesty, I will continue to speak frankly. Despite this being completely against the Inquisition's interests, I believe it is in my interest to dissolve my engagement to the Princess. Please accept my apology for this decision."

Instead of answering Tharin, Celene snorted in muted amusement and explained plainly, "Today is indeed an auspicious day for both of us. Once we declare Adelia our heir, the Council of Heralds will review the terms of betrothal. We can tell you right now that it will find the match unsuitable. A dictionary definition of mésalliance. And we don't plan on contesting the decision.

"To be completely honest with you, our political capital is exhausted at the moment. And Inquisitor, as much as we are all fond of you here in Orlais, you cannot deny that your descent is somewhat… unorthodox. Orlesian nobles are like fussy children. They won't accept what they don't understand and you, Andraste's Chosen One, are everything they do not understand."

"You mean a half-elven Free Marcher templar with a magically glowing left hand that's missing two fingers."

Celene once again twirled. This time, the woman spun right into Tharin's arms, which forced the man to take a dramatic turn to catch her before she hit the floor. His heart thumped hard. The noble audience gasped and clapped delicately.

Close to his ear, Celene whispered, "Very astute."

"I would guess it's the half-elven part they have the most trouble with."

"And they say the Inquisitor is all brawn and no brains."

Flatly ignoring the obvious insult, Tharin spoke expectedly, "So that means…"

"You are free. I pity the old fool given the task of breaking the news to Adelia. She is quite smitten with you. She likes her chevaliers strapping, and you fit the description to a tee."

The music slowed to a leisurely pace.

"Believe me when I say this, madam. This is for the best, for everyone involved. She would not have been happy with me." Though it seems to matter so little to anyone these days, noted Tharin bitterly.

"We agree, considering your taste in companions of your trysts tends to match… Adelia's. Now, why don't you go calm down your lovely Commander? He seemed fairly emotional after your talk with him out on the terrace."

"How did you…?"

"Let us just say, Sister Nightingale isn't the only gifted bard in Thedas."

Another flourish just to show off, and Celene concluded, "We shall let you go soon. Your Commander seems to have made quite an impression among the noble ladies of our court. One of them might steal him from under your nose if you aren't too careful."

Celene's advice brought back the memory of the Commander dancing and chatting with the debutante. Tharin had to remind himself that Cullen loved him as he put on a tight smile. "That'd be a shame, wouldn't it?"

"Quite."

And with that, the interminable contredanse was finally over. The dancers applauded as Tharin bowed deeply. Celene approached, gently patted his shoulder, and murmured mischievously, "Good night, Inquisitor. I hope you and your Commander have a… delightful time tonight."

Not very likely, since he was as frightened as a nug being chased by a hunter. But he was finally free, and that was enough for now.

Cullen couldn't sleep.

The Inner Circle did not turn in until a thin blade of sunray shone through the retreating darkness, painting the windows of the palace a lustrous marigold and heralding a new Orlais.

In his unnecessarily opulent Orlesian bed, Cullen lay with his arms folded behind him and stared up at the decorated canopy. There was an arras of a richly dressed woman conferring with what looked like Divine Andraste. The woman's face was small, but it was obvious that it took after Celene. That pale visage would be recognizable anywhere.

The wine-colored silk sheets felt soft and pleasant against his bare torso. Cullen was loath to admit that, despite his partiality for asceticism, he quite enjoyed the luxuries provided by the Winter Palace apartment. Still, these luxuries could not help him fall asleep.

Instead of sleeping, he racked his brain thinking about how Tharin looked last night. Despite the pomp and circumstance of the dress uniform, there was nothing about the young man that suggested power or control. Tharin looked so weak, so desperately exhausted.

That vulnerability freed Cullen from the barriers placed by Leliana and his own cowardice masquerading as a crippling sense of duty. He approached and embraced the man without reserve. As he did so, Dorian's words rang in his ears, Tharin is madly in love with you.

And it led to the kisses. And confessions.

Cullen could not stop himself from breaking out in an idiotic smile. He turned to the side, gathered his arms, hid his face, and inhaled and exhaled.

He had accepted he loved Tharin with all his heart when Haven fell and he almost lost him to Corypheus, but he had not expected it to be requited. He was sure he would carry it silently with him until the end. He would not have complained even if it came to that.

But last night changed everything. Just because he had the audacity to ask why Tharin had been avoiding him.

It was Tharin and he who changed everything, not Leliana or anyone else.

Cullen recognized that, in all likelihood, he represented to Tharin something entirely ambiguous. A person who merited love and hatred at the same time. Back at Haven, he broke the young man's heart wantonly in the worst manner possible. At Skyhold, his presence reminded Tharin of lyrium addiction. That equivocality was probably why Tharin could not readily accept his hand.

But he was ready to fight for Tharin, to let neither the world's manifold demands nor their painful history hinder him anymore. They would find a way to be together. Cullen was not certain of many things, but in this he was now certain.

Not that any of the external factors that pushed them apart had changed. Thedas was still in peril from the threat of Corypheus, and Tharin was still engaged to wed Adelia de Verchiel.

The Inquisitor and the Commander had managed to overcome so many things that seemed impossible at the time. Cullen wanted to believe they would do so again, together.

His heart was beating so fast that Cullen knew he had no hope of getting any more sleep. He got up from his lavish bed, messing up the perfectly pressed sheets. He padded over to the washstand and poured ice cold water from the gilt bronze ewer into the similarly gilt washbasin.

Cullen washed his face rather violently, as he was apt to do, and grabbed the cashmere towel on the side rack to dry off. He peered into the mirror and blushed as he realized what a stupidly wide smile he had on. He looked away as he chuckled despite himself.

The earlier the Commander started his day, the earlier he could see his Inquisitor. And he couldn't wait to begin the day.

The stay at the Winter Palace was never intended to be an extended one. There was no reason to linger once Celene's control was absolute. There were other problems in other parts of Thedas. So, two days after the night of the ball, the Inquisition departed for Skyhold.

With his grip on the reins loose, but not necessarily relaxed in any way, Tharin looked ahead. Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen followed in the back. The retinue was just about to leave the plains of Halamshiral behind and enter a stony, forested area that stretched northward to the coast of the Waking Sea.

Leliana's and Josephine's soft drawls seemed to infuse vapors of mirth into the parched ether of a sunny late morning. They had been talking about the nobles they interacted with at the ball.

The Spymaster made fun of some baronne, whose shoes were trimmed with so many jewels and buckles of precious metal that "if we tossed her into the lake, she would sink right to the bottom!" And then she wondered how the baronne came to be in possession of such extravagant slippers when her family had recently lost most of its wealth.

Josephine chortled loudly before telling her friend about a scandal involving a duc and an elven manservant. Supposedly, the manservant came to the Ambassador spilling the beans and asking to help the Inquisition. Then they conspired quite openly, thinking of ways to curry favors and gain funds by leveraging these data.

It was a strange blend of frivolous gossips and careful strategizing that entertained Tharin as he listened in. Since he wasn't all that eager to break the news of the dissolution of his engagement to the advisors, he was glad to eavesdrop while he pretended to be disinterested and the dialogue flowed uninterrupted.

When there was finally a long lull in the conversation, Tharin seized the chance. He cleared his throat and announced with his booming voice without turning, "Everyone, I must inform you that while our alliance with Orlais stands, my engagement to Princess Adelia is off. Celene let me know of the Council of Heralds' decision after we secured the palace."

He rode ahead, not sure if he could bear the disappointed faces of Leliana and Josephine. This could overturn many of their meticulously curated plans for the future of the Inquisition. But as much as Tharin did not want to let the two advisors down, he also did not feel at all regretful about the broken engagement. As he had expected, there was dead silence among the advisors.

With his heart in a vise, Tharin waited for a response. Really, any kind of response would have been sufficient, since his heart felt like it would implode from apprehension.

Suddenly, Josephine emerged on his left side. He warily turned to check her expression, knowing he would have to deal with her frustration at the new development eventually.

But… Josephine looked relieved more than anything. With her countenance perfectly mellifluous in sympathy and understanding, she spoke, "Tharin, I am so very happy the engagement is off. I know I forced you into an impossible situation, and I've been feeling terrible about it ever since. I told myself it was nothing, but it really did make me sick."

Relieved, Tharin tried his hand at playful levity. "Ah, Josie. What can I say, I'm not as alluring to Orlesian courtiers as you thought I was. I am sorry if this complicates things for you."

The Ambassador shook her head vigorously. "No, no, we got everything we need. That's good enough for me."

"I must admit, I'm grateful the nobles here don't take well to a half-elven Free Marcher upstart."

Josephine raised her right arm and shook her fist, obviously in a fit of righteous outrage. "Well, sod them and sod their big fat stupid titles. You're so much better than any of their priggish little heads."

Tharin could not help but burst out laughing at the display. "Why, Madam Ambassador, you sound exceptionally articulate and intelligent this morning."

The woman replied with an inelegant laugh of her own, rather out of character for her. "Oh, please don't make fun of me. I'm just so happy."

After taking a beat, Tharin added, "And if you would like me to relinquish the title and the powers again, you only have to say so. The last thing I want to do is to create more problems for you."

Back to her composed self, Josephine curved her lips. "Thank you for offering. I think you've proven yourself enough to keep the title, though I do believe we should continue to rely on voting to make decisions."

As though she had been waiting for the opportunity to jump in, Leliana caught up with him, emerging on his right side. When Tharin checked to see the Spymaster's reaction, he was even more startled to see her all smiles. A genuine smile without any kind of agenda or plan going through her ingenious brain.

Leliana spoke in a jocund tone, "Nicely done. You've managed to save Celene, secure the Inquisition's political position, and weasel out of an arranged marriage all in one night. I'd say you've mastered the art of the Grand Game."

"Something I would rather not relive, if I can help it."

"Indeed," replied the Spymaster, and her horse neighed as though in response.

Cullen was riding behind Leliana and Josephine, entirely quiet. Tharin turned all the way around and shared a knowing grin with the Commander. He was unreservedly joyous, but his face bore no expectation or heedless anticipation. Things had not changed; Tharin was still in control.

The young man took a deep breath as he felt his heart flutter.

"Congratulations on your freedom. You deserve nothing less," said the Commander benignly.

Tharin let his whole face break out in a wide smile and replied, "Thank you, Cul."

END NOTES

That's a series wrap on Adelia. You didn't get to speak a lot in the fic, but you still said quite a bit.

Next up, a visit from a friend on Sunday, June 5!

Comments and reviews are never obligatory but give me life! Thank you for reading!