FENRIS

"Have any of you per chance seen the Warden?" Zevran's unmistakable Antivan brogue addresses Varric, the abomination, and I in the far corner of the boisterous ballroom. The approaching former-Crow is carrying two full goblets of wine, seeming quite at ease in his 'reveler' role, despite his brow now furrowing in perplexed confusion.

"No. Last I saw, she was with you." Anders pivots toward him, relaxing his stance.

"Same here," Varric says. "Though, it's not like I can see much over this crowd." He glimpses at the throng of people, clustered together around the center of the room. Some dancing to the hired orchestra's capricious instrumentals. Others watching while no doubt baring their venomous fangs in false, diplomatic exchanges.

"Hm." Zevran scowls at the scheming horde of harpies. "And what of you?" His golden eyes narrow at me. Penetrating now. Calculating. The expectation clear on his harshening expression.

I gulp and tighten my lips together, lamely shaking my head.

Last I saw, they were together as well. But that is not saying much.

In truth, I have been trying to avoid tracking their every move since our brief encounter in the gardens, to focus on our tasks. A fact I have now come to regret.

"Do you think they've taken her?" Anders gaze widens, lighting up with panic.

"That would not be a terrible wager." Zevran sips from one goblet casually, but frowns at the marble floor.

"So? What do we do now?"

"If I may lend some assistance?" The Chantry's left hand, Leliana, saunters up to us, hands folded primly in front of her pink dress.

Her refined posture appears to be the pure pinnacle of grace, femininity, and composure. Not a stray hair or step out of place. A feat that must not be easy in such tight, confining attire. Fit for a spy, trained to hide amongst finery-obsessed nobles. And a direct contrast to the more . . . comfortable garments she wore, during her secret mission back in Kirkwall.

"A little bird has just informed me that there has been an arrest in the Chateau vault, and the Warden was seen being escorted by some guards outside of this room not long ago." She glances around the ballroom, peeking for only a moment at each of us with a small, strained half-smile.

My heart drops. The blood rushing from my head with it, sending me spinning.

No. No, if that is true, then . . .

I imagine Serena forced down onto her knees, head bowed, her exposed neck at the other end of Prosper's readying sword.

Bile churns in my stomach.

"We need to rescue them." Anders huddles closer to the rest of us.

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Varric whispers. "In case you've forgotten, Blondie, we're all under close watch at the moment."

He glimpses at the armed guards over by the doors.

"Allow me to take care of that." Leliana nods. "Your best strategy would be to head down into the dungeons. Here are the directions." She passes a crinkled note to Zevran, who swiftly opens it and skims over the elegant, cursive text. "One wrong turn and you may come face to face with the Duke's army of chevaliers, so prepare yourselves. Try not to get caught."

Zevran smirks up at the watchful red-head. "You wily minx! You are enjoying this, aren't you?"

She shrugs. "I do miss our grand adventures together," she simpers. "But more than that, I merely wish to help a friend. Serena and the Champion do not deserve whatever the Duke may have in store for them, and I would rather not standby, if I can make a difference."

"Let us hope your involvement does not come too late," I hiss, clenching my fists and glaring at her.

For if it does, if something has happened to either of them, none of these vipers will be shown any mercy.


HAWKE

Gossiping guards. Complaining servants, griping about the spoiled nobility. And a potential lethal poisoning.

All are standard affairs I expected to possibly encounter at today's little Orlesian soiree.

Though, in all fairness, I didn't expect I'd be the one doing the poisoning. Or for my target to be a massive Wyvern's dinner, based on a note describing how the Duke got a case of the runs all day. Nor did I expect to have to weave my way around so many guards. Through halls. Across rooftops. Only to figure out, after solving so many puzzles to get into the Chateau vault, that I've been duped—that I've been working for a qunari assassin all along. And there is no 'jewel'.

I suppose I really should have known better. No one approaches me if they're not some level of crazy killer.

And although my companions may not be thrilled with Tallis's background, once they come to find out, I am not necessarily of the same mindset.

There are things I dislike of the qunari's ways, sure. It's hard not to, when they almost burn down your home. But they're not always without logic, and everyone has to have their own job and beliefs. So, what does Tallis's matter to me?

I'm not dead. Yet. No Orlesian is wearing my skin as a bloody cravat. And at least I found some more of those feathers Ander's likes and a piece of a Fog Warrior's amulet. Fenris should like that.

How do I appease Serena, Zevran, and Varric with the news, though? They're a bit trickier . . .

I ponder the answer as Tallis leads us out of our cell, after lockpicking the gate.

"You sure you don't want to wait here and make me a sweater?" Tallis asks cheekily, glancing back at me in jest, continuing our jokes from earlier.

"And risk being tortured by a giant elf named Maria? Or drowning in pickle juice? No, I'd rather not take that risk." I smirk at her.

She laughs, whole-heartedly, but then tenses. Footsteps near from down the hall. We turn to face them, only to recognize our allies.

"There you are . . . You would not believe what I've had to put up with from them until now," Zevran drawls, looking as dead in the eyes as he sounds. His weariness evident. And by the scrunched up scowls on Fenris's and Anders's faces, I imagine their typical bickering may have something to do with it.

Zevran peeks around the two of us, then over at the adjacent cell, where another human's being held prisoner.

"Where is the Warden?" he asks.

"Is she not with you?" I raise an eyebrow at all of them, now noting her absence.

"She was taken away. We assumed she'd be with you," Varric says.

I stare back at Varric. Thoughts stopping. Pulse pounding loud in my ears.

Tallis shifts her balance onto one foot and looks at me. "If she's not with us, and she's not with you, then . . . where is she?"


SERENA

I am not a damsel.

No. Not a damsel in distress.

Never.

That's what I continuously argue, inside my head, as I pace incessantly, back and forth. The sound of my boots, shuffling with my long skirt across the parlor room's marble, becomes an almost calming, constant rhythm in the disarming silence. Prosper's personal guards brought me to this windowless 'cell' on the second floor perhaps an hour ago. Far from the rest of the party, out of ear's reach. Since then, I've been left alone. Secured inside this room, with the one door leading out under heavy guard.

By all rights, most would consider such a scenario to be dire straits. A major kink in our plan.

But no. No, I just need to think.

How do I get out of this? Out of here?

I may be being used as bait. A trap. Leverage. I can't let that happen, if the others are already in trouble. Which all facts seem to suggest.

Should I try to persuade the guards to let me go? No. The likelihood that both would agree would be close to zero, and taking down the opposing one will just lead to a slurry of problems with the other.

No, I need something that can draw them together at once, to solve this the hard but certain way.

And oh, do I have the perfect idea for that.

Time for a bit of dramatic flair, matching a pompous, Orlesian party.

Inhaling a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders and step closer to a small table on the far side of the room. I then eye the beautiful blue vase full of pristine Andraste's Grace flowers at the table's center, knock it over, and pretend to pass out on the floor beside it as it shatters.

"What is going on in here?" one of the guards shouts, slamming the door wide open.

A quiet spell follows.

The pair's clinking footsteps approach.

"Did she pass out?" one asks.

"Happens all the time with these ridiculous fashions." The other kneels beside me. His hand touches my shoulder, and summoning forth a burst of electric mana into my palms, I open my eyes and shoot out a chain lightning spell into both of their armored chests. Their bodies shake with the intense shock, collapsing flat on the ground once it finishes.

Unmoving.

Knocked out cold.

My vision blurs. A light, tingling pull throbs in the back of my head. But I hold. Force myself back to the present, resisting the magical backfire. I must. To give in may mean certain death.

Still disoriented by it, regardless, I stumble to my feet away from the guards, out into the hall, using the door as balance. No matter which way I look, left or right, all I see are empty halls, adorned by only a few potted plants and enormous painted portraits.

The guards were smart and led me around in circles before coming here, so it's unclear which path may actually be faster to get back to the others. I suppose I'll just have to trust my gut and hope I either find my way, quick, or at least reach a point where I can sense Anders. There's not much else I can do, save for breaking open a window and jumping down to the first floor about twelve feet. But that requires finding a window to begin with.

Sprinting down the hall to the left, determined to find such an escape route, I round the nearest corner, only to collide with a group of six armored chevaliers.

I gasp, and I'm about to jump back, away from them, when something cold and sharp pricks at my neck. My blood and body freezes. Locks up on instinct. I peer down at the responsible dagger. A masked harlequin, holding it up to me, cranes their head over my shoulder from behind, wrapping one arm around my chest to tug me close.

"Now, what could cause you to be in such a hurry?" Duke Prosper emerges from the guards' flank, while I struggle to grasp how my attacker snuck up on me, without me noticing. "You're about to miss the main festivities!"

I glare over at Prosper, gritting my teeth.

He steps up to me, arms extended out wide. His beaming smile fading, ebbing into a truthful, disdainful scowl. Revealing his honest nature.

"It is time for you to be of use." He grabs me hard by the chin, tilting my head upwards as he squints those beady, light blue eyes at me.

And with that look and comment of his, I'm unfortunately given no other choice but to acknowledge, even if I'm not a damsel, I'm definitely in distress.