A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Real life is still kicking my ass, so I don't know when I'll get back to regular updates. Thanks for sticking around, though!

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Skyhold felt a bit empty, even though Dorian was absolutely certain that there were more people present than ever before—granted, they were mostly in the ever-growing village by the river, but that was hardly the point.

The illustrious herald and her advisors had headed off to Denerim, taking a sparse few party members with her, and while Dorian understood why she'd left him behind—the King wasn't fond of mages, and he doubted that one from Tevinter would be seen in a better light—he couldn't help but feel a little put out by it.

He hadn't really come south to save the day, but he'd…

Well, he had expected to be at least a little bit useful.

It was bad enough that he'd lost the library to the tranquil. They were so eerie that it made his soul cold just standing near them, staring into their lifeless eyes and listening to them drone on in absolutes, never feelings.

Worse, they couldn't be reasoned with. They knew how to organize their books, and they were not open to more practical methods.

He'd tried going to the rebel mages to see how they generally dealt with the tranquil only to learn that most of them had a tendency to simply pretend they didn't exist.

Truly, the south was a baffling place.

He supposed he understood not wanting to face what could be done to oneself, but still…they were—had been mages. Did they no longer count as brethren?

He'd considered asking time and time again, yet somehow…it didn't seem appropriate.

And while Grand Enchanter Fiona and a handful of other mages were grateful to him for the help that he and Felix had provided them, most of the mages were wary the second they heard his accent.

It was understandable, considering how they'd nearly become slaves to Tevinter mages, he supposed, though it was yet another moment where he was mostly annoyed without being able to explain why.

He knew he would be viewed as a villain down south. He'd been used to it in Orlais.

Yet it still stung when someone new eyed him with caution or stopped mid-sentence and hurried away.

Not that he'd let them see it. No need to give them proper gossip.

And anyway, he heard more interesting things eavesdropping while pretending to read than in any conversation.

For example, Lady Vivienne was searching for Cole along with a few other mages, though they'd been unsuccessful in finding him. Dorian half-suspected that the creature had left with Finley. It would have if it was smart, anyway.

The mages were divided on what to think of Finley, as were the templars. A few were calling for a phylactery to be made, 'if' she came back from Denerim.

As though she wouldn't.

Add to that that Varric had left with his old friends to gather red lyrium or something completely foolish.

Without Finley, Dorian had little reason to associate with Solas or Vivienne or any of the others. Without Varric, he had little reason to lounge about the main hall.

Regardless of whether the dwarf was there or not, it had become an unspoken truth that the hearth was his and no one else's.

Dorian had sat at the table once, without thinking, but the looks people had given him as they'd wandered past had made him most uncomfortable.

It was a damned table. A rickety, miserable one, at that. What did it matter if he sat there?

In the end, he'd left it because of how eerily empty it felt, rather than the annoying stares of those who thought he was trying to usurp the writer's position.

He'd been eavesdropping in the library from his little corner that he'd managed to get the tranquil to leave alone—it was not a victory, considering all he had to do was take a few steps to see that the organization of the books was all wrong—for most of his evening, idly listening as mages debated the usefulness of having the inquisitor be a mage and whether things might actually change—it was the same droll topics as always just in different voices—when he'd decided to go elsewhere.

Big as Skyhold was, he had few places he could truly go. Mother Giselle frequented the gardens, and she was always giving him a critical eye, as though she expected him to abruptly start twirling his moustache and cackling maniacally as he recited prayers to the Old Gods.

He'd been tempted to do so on more than one occasion, just to see what she'd do, but thus far he'd behaved.

It did, however, leave the gardens somewhat off limits if he wanted time to relax. He avoided the undercroft most of the time, as the new arcanist was a bit too talkative, and it could be a mite exhausting trying to keep up with her train of thought.

Really, all that was left was the Herald's Rest, and it wasn't particularly enjoyable, either.

There were a few mages who would beckon him over to sit with them, but for the most part, he was drinking alone, and well, one could do that anywhere.

And yet, despite it all, he'd headed to the Herald's Rest anyway.

Now, he couldn't help but wonder why he was there. Even as he considered going off to his private chambers for the night, the bench creaked beside him, dipping so that he almost slid to his right.

Looking over, incredulous, he found the qunari mercenary Finley seemed to hold in high regard had taken a seat beside him. The hulking man was watching the crowd wax and wane in the main part of the bar, as though he didn't realize he'd caught Dorian's attention.

"Don't you normally stay near the wall?"

"Sorry, this your table?"

With a snort, Dorian looked away from him, nursing his current drink. "Hardly."

A silence settled over them, though Dorian couldn't even remotely call it comfortable. At least not until he glanced over to see that The Iron Bull looked rather relaxed, reclining where he was as he people watched.

The tavern's ambient light did wonders for the qunari's biceps…

A thought that was fleeting at most as Dorian looked back out as well.

Dorian bristled when he heard The Iron Bull let out a low hum. When he glanced over at him, The Bull motioned out toward the far side of the tavern, to a mage who was tentatively talking to one of the soldiers—a templar, if his armor was any indication. "Bit of an odd pairing, wouldn't you say? Want to wager how long it will last?"

It was such a casual thing to say, so…

It made no sense. Of all the people in Skyhold, he'd rather expected the qunari to be the least likely to come to him for idle conversation, considering their people's history.

"What exactly is it you want?"

The Bull appraised him a moment, finally giving Dorian his full attention, and he couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed by that. The Bull was huge and…

"Word is that there's a bet that dwarf writer—Varric—is hosting." Dorian stilled as the words sunk in, eyes widening slowly. "Something to do with whose luck will win out first? A certain templar's or a certain ex-templar's?"

Immediately, Dorian slid closer to The Bull, glaring up at him. "Who told you about that?"

"I have my sources."

Dorian's lips dipped into a pronounced frown as he glared up at the bastard. He should have figured out no one would be sidling up beside him to talk to him…

"Well, as you said, Varric is hosting the bet. So I hardly see why you're talking to me about that."

The Bull's grin said he was enjoying this conversation a little bit too much. "Well, you are in on it, aren't you?"

"I see no reason to answer that."

"My men and I were just wondering how we might get in on that, seeing as it seems like—considering how many people are getting interested—it might be a lucrative win. Half of us guess one way, the others guess the other. We split the profit regardless. We can't lose."

"You can't just guess so generically," Dorian snapped, though he instantly felt like an idiot, as The Bull's grin widened. Sitting up a bit straighter, Dorian let his gaze wander from his current company, glancing around for anything he could feign interest in. "It's a matter of who and when. And Varric is the one keeping track of all that, so again, no point in talking to me."

"Let's say I bet next week for the Lady Seeker and her beau. If nothing happens by then, can I change mine? Or would I have to place another bet?"

"Vishante kaffas," Dorian hissed. "Do you listen?" When he found The Bull staring expectantly regardless, Dorian closed his eyes and took in a slow breath. There was no point in answering the man's questions, considering he was just going to keep prying.

Instead of giving him what he wanted, Dorian shot to his feet, striding out of the tavern without much thought to where to go from there. As soon as he was out in the cool night air, however, he found that he wasn't going to be afforded a moment to himself.

"You should read this."

Dorian turned his head slowly to see that damned…what was he even? Spirit? Demon? Conjured minion?

So much for him being smart enough to leave with Finley.

"I have free will," Cole assured Dorian, though that was hardly a comfort.

The spirit was holding out a folded piece of paper that had dark splotches upon it, which—when Dorian reached for it—he found to be blood.

Fresh blood.

For the second time in minutes, he was cursing in his native tongue. Glancing around for anyone who might be watching to damn the wicked Tevinter for associating with malevolent spirits carrying bloody messages, he gripped Cole by the arm and dragged him around the corner, into the shadows.

"What is this?"

"Important."

Dorian reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, but stopped himself as he realized his thumb was still bloodied. With another quiet curse, he looked around for something to wipe his hand on. Finding nothing, he glared at the spirit. "If it's important—"

"Solas doesn't know all the words, and I just know the intent is…bad." The spirit shuddered as though a cold wind had swept over them, and then held out the note again. "There's no one else I could ask to help."

Despite feeling like dragging the spirit all the way to wherever Solas slept to ask him to keep his pet in line—he was the one declaring Cole safe, after all—Dorian's gaze slid down toward the envelope. "If I read this will you go away?"

The spirit nodded quickly, and even in the dim light, Dorian could see the simple smile on the creature's face.

Mouth a thin line, and brow pinched together, he held his hand out.

No sooner had the paper touched his hand, he was alone.

It was little consolation.

However, he was certain that creature would be back if he didn't keep his end of the bargain, and so he slipped back toward the front of the building until he could see clear enough to read without needing to conjure anything himself.

Whatever he'd expected the letter to read, it hadn't been this.

Dorian's mind blanked, and then he blinked a few times, looking around, suddenly wishing the spirit hadn't left him so quickly. Where had he gone?

"You…Cole?" he whispered the name, a hiss into the night.

When no boyish figure materialized in front of him to clarify things, his gaze snapped back to the letter.

It was written in Tevene.

Of course it was written in Tevene. Who in their right mind would bother to plot in any other tongue? Aside from Orlesian, perhaps.

Hold plans in their fortress. With what we've got in the capital, it may not be necessary.

And that was it.

No signature, no specifics as to what capital or anything. Maker's ass, they could have been talking about Minrathous or Val Royeaux or…

"What's this?"

"That's what I'd bloody well like to—" Dorian cut himself off as he realized who he was talking to and looked over his shoulder to see The Bull standing there, peering down at the letter in his hand.

The bloody letter in Dorian's Tevinter hands, written in Tevene, that implied there was a plot afoot, likely against the Inquisiton.

"How'd you get that?" The Bull demanded, straightening up and crossing his arms. "I've been trying to get Krem to get in with those Tevinter spies for weeks, but he just gripes at me that he's not one for subterfuge. I figured asking you would be pointless, but…" He cocked his head, appraising Dorian with new interest.

Dorian took in a slow breath, glancing from The Bull to the paper and back. "You…know this wasn't me? That I'm not involved?"

"Yep." Even as Dorian's mind scrambled for the word 'how', The Bull grinned at him. "I have my sources."

"They must be good sources; I'll give you that."

The Bull shrugged.

"Then…" Dorian hesitated as he eyed the qunari, wondering if asking questions would really be a good idea. "Do you know what this is about?"

"You don't?"

"Clearly."

Cracking his neck one way and then the other, The Bull motioned toward the paper. "The Venatori are looking for a way to bring down the Inquisition. There's a few around Skyhold. The Spymaster and I are keeping an eye on them."

Dorian let out a huff. "Even I could piece that much together." He hit the paper with the back of his free hand. "This says something's going on in a capital. Does this mean…" Perhaps it was the wine that made his mind register what had to be the most obvious answer a bit slower than he should have. "Finley and everyone are headed to…the Venatori must be planning something in Denerim." His gaze snapped back up to The Bull. "We have to warn them." He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to remember that ridiculous bird spell that Finley had shown him. It was conjugated atrociously, and he had yet to get it to work properly.

He started toward the main building, thinking to go up to the rookery, but stopped, abruptly turning back to The Bull, who still stood where he'd found Dorian. He paced back to the qunari, holding up the note. "Who here is working for the Venatori?"

"We don't know all of them."

"Vishan—" Cursing wasn't going to fix this problem. A proper curse might, but not…

How could he send a message? What if the person he sent it through was Venatori or just working for Corypheus? What if the person who relayed the message or received the message was?

They had to warn Finley.

Maker's balls, but all the important members of the Inquisition were in that group. If something happened to them, there would be no Inquisition.

"Where are you going?"

The Bull's words were in his ear as he matched Dorian's pace. "Someone's got to warn them."

"So you're just going to…what?" The Bull peered ahead as they rushed down the stairs. "Saddle up a horse and ride off in the dead of night? That won't be suspicious."

"To the Void with suspicions!" Dorian snapped, starting to turn on his harasser, but instead continuing toward the stables. "My reputation is already in shambles, what do I care if I have a few more wary looks cast my way when I get back?"

"Assuming you do get back."

"Is there a reason you're trying to talk me out of this?"

"No, no." The Bull reached out and caught Dorian's arm, stopping him in the middle of the lower courtyard. "By all means, go. But we'll come with you. Anyone wanting to keep this quiet will think twice about coming after a mercenary company instead of just a lone man."

"A lone Tevinter mage."

"Altus."

Whatever Dorian was about to say, it was forgotten with that clarification.

The Bull gave him a quick wink. "We'll gather supplies and leave just before morning. It won't tip anyone off if we all go together. We can say we're going to clear some bandits off the roads."

It made sense.

More so than running off alone in the dead of night, anyway.

Dorian glanced up at The Bull, frown in place. "How do I know you're not a spy?"

The grin that immediately lit up The Bull's face was…something.

"The Boss is discrete. I appreciate that." Motioning to himself, The Bull leaned down. "I am a spy. Just not for Tevinter or Corypheus."

Dorian tried to wrap his head around that. "If you're a spy, why would you—"

"Come on, now. Of all the things I need to worry about, a Tevinter mage accusing me of being a Qunari spy is not one of them."

Though Dorian opened his mouth to retort, the truth of it was clear enough. There was no way anyone would believe him if he accused their only qunari of being a spy for the Qun. Not when he was from the only country at war with them.

Grasping for some way to salvage his pride and out-maneuver The Bull, Dorian stood a bit straighter, motioning to him. "And how do I know the Qun doesn't want the Inquisition dead in the water?"

"We like our world with a few less demons, too."

As much as he would have liked to argue with The Bull until he could trip him up, it hardly seemed worth it, considering what needed to be done. Dorian held his head a bit higher as he nodded once. "Fine. We'll do things your way."

"Now, that's something I like to hear."

With that, The Bull clapped a hand down onto Dorian's shoulder and then turned to head back to the inn. However, he'd barely made a few steps when he turned back, motioning for Dorian to come with us. "So then, about that bet…"