And so the First Acolyte spoke to the High Priest

And said: 'We are the masters of secrets,

But our god demands more. Let us to the Builders

Whisper, and they who construct monuments to the glory

of the gods shall build us a road to the Golden City,

Where your promise shall be fulfilled.

Silence 1:7

Magister Cassius sneezed, then, taking advantage of the fact that Archon Radonis was thoughtfully gazing out the window, cast a hate-filled glance to the lavish armchair where Radonis' two favourite cats slept, in a bundle of evil, nostril-invading, skin irritating and robe destroying fluff.

One of the creatures sensed him. It opened one mocking, emerald green eye and yawned, threatening to stand up – under normal circumstances, Cassius did not consider himself Andrastian, but any visit to Radonis' private study made him fervently pray that the blasted things would not get overly friendly. As if further proof of the fact that there was no Maker were needed, the cats were exceptionally fond of him and rarely missed an opportunity of manifesting their overflowing affection.

The two, to whom Cassius hatefully thought of as Dumat and the Bride of Dumat were of a very rare and precious Antivan breed – one that actually liked swimming. Radonis, who'd gone to great lengths to acquire them, took pleasure in explaining that they had a triple layered coat of fur…Which, to the Magister's terrified mind, only translated as even more fur. And they were not even pretty, Cassius considered. They were grey as rats, had sharp faces, and looked permanently famished, despite the fact that the Archon reputedly spent a fortune on feeding them.

Any thought of escaping their company was vain hope, however, even when Radonis was in a good mood. Today, he was manifestly not; Magister Cassius attempted to hold in another sneeze. He failed.

'Do get that sorted,' Radonis said, turning around with a bright smile. 'It is irritating in the extreme.'

'Yes, your grace,' Cassius sighed. 'I have tried the herbal tea your grace recommended, sadly, to no avail…'

'There's always blood magic,' Radonis put in. 'If you can even perform it, of course,' he added.

Anyone who'd not known him for a lifetime might have taken the words for light jest; to Cassius, who'd been Radonis' apprentice since he was sixteen, the phrase sounded exactly like what it had been, however.

A sting.

Perhaps even a threat.

'I have apologised to your grace already,' the Magister said, not bothering to keep his own irritation in check because he knew all too well that Radonis would have sensed it anyway. 'We have attempted to have ears in the House Pavus multiple times, and every time, our attempts have failed, due in no small measure to the unprecedented leeway you grant Magister Pavus and Inqui…Magistra…the lady Pavus.' He corrected, at the last moment, congratulating himself for the fact he'd not outright blurted the words that were on his mind.

The deviant and his pet elf.

Radonis sat, but did not invite the other man to sit, in turn.

'I dealt you an ace, I deal him an ace,' the Archon said, calmly. 'The rest of the cards in your respective hands are your own, and you decide how to play them.'

'Indeed, your grace, but you have dealt him an elf that their house slaves regard as the second coming of Andraste,' Cassius protested. 'How do you expect me to infiltrate…'

'I don't expect any specific course of action, Cassius,' Radonis sighed, sounding deeply aggrieved. 'I expect information. Should you require pointers as to how, exactly, that is to be accomplished, I believe Sister Nightingale is visiting us – perhaps she could aid you? I am hopeless at these details, as they do not present any particular importance to me.'

The man was being nothing but honest, the Magister thought, looking away, and knowing his patron enjoyed the frustration he was causing as much as his cats enjoyed making people sneeze their lungs out.

In great irony, it was precisely Radonis' honesty that made him so unpleasantly unreadable. He was neither a reformer, nor a traditionalist, and had balanced the two currents in the Magisterium by playing them against each other for his entire tenure, not allowing either enough ballast to actually upset the ship. Where others might have mistakenly thought that the favour he showed Pavus was part of the same game, one that was intended to keep Archon candidates that had previously felt secure of their footing on their toes, Cassius understood it was anything but. If the deviant and his elf played a better hand, they'd win – the dark horse of unthinkable reforms was truly in the race, and those who dismissed the notion as folly were doing so at their own peril.

'We shall not spare efforts,' Cassius evenly said. 'In the meanwhile,' he followed, trying to bring the conversation to more auspicious territories, 'if I may direct your grace's attention to the notes regarding the negotiations with Ferelden…'

'I do not know why you bothered,' Radonis said. 'I shall give them everything they request, but for sizeable reparations. I shall give them symbolic ones, though – do we still have embers from Andraste's pyre or are we all out of holy relics?'

'All out,' the Magister muttered.

'Make some more, then. Wrap them nicely. Solid gold urn should do.' The Archon distractedly ordered. 'Don't present them to the Divine, however, she seems like a woman with her wits about her – give them to the gentleman from Ferelden, he will faint in awe…'

'Your grace,' Cassius said, gritting his teeth, 'I advise against such concessions, even if they are only symbolic. The Magisterium…'

'…parts of the Magisterium,' Radonis helpfully corrected, sapping his former apprentice's momentum. 'Go on,' he said, knitting his fingers on the table before him. 'What do parts of the Magisterium want?'

'We,' Cassius said, renouncing all notions of sounding impartial, and speaking with the voices of all he well knew would sustain him in case of need, or protect him in case of danger, 'do not approve of the way in which you are surrendering our legacy. Peace with Orlais, now, peace with Ferelden...Acquiescence of the Sunburst Throne…'

'You, and parts of the Magisterium do realise that the fact that we have not previously acknowledged the Sunburst Throne did not erase it from existence? It is akin to you and my cats – you refuse to look their way, but they still make you retch. If they were invisible, you would still retch. Why not admit they are here?'

'The doctrine of the Southern Chantry is incompatible with ours,' the Magister bravely shot.

'There is only one Maker,' Radonis agreeably contradicted, 'and Andraste, his bride, said magic exists to serve man. As long as we do not descend into the specific semantics of how magic should serve man, there is no cause for disagreement or unpleasantness between our provinces.'

'Your grace is rigging the contest against everything that Tevinter represents,' the Magister said. 'Our concerns are justified.'

'Or,' Radonis said, smiling, 'you are completely deprived of any vision, and lack faith in the human qualities of our southern brothers.'

'Qualities such as?' Cassius tiredly inquired.

'Ambition, Magister, ambition,' the Archon scolded. 'How long have we been at war with the south? It's been centuries…And, during that time, what influence have we had over their Circles? I shall tell you: precisely none, because, in their isolation, they have been taught to fear themselves and magic. The southern way for mages is that either they surrender themselves to prison, or they are, a priori, wanted criminals. Do you, and…parts of the Magisterium imagine that this state of things will continue, once our way is demystified?'

The Magister sighed. 'I doubt exposure will cure centuries of indoctrination, your grace.'

'Not in a year, no,' Radonis replied, resting his chin on his palm and thoughtfully gazing at his former pupil. 'But in a decade, it well might…You see, Cassius, the thing that I and your friends in the Magisterium fundamentally disagree over is what actually defines an empire. You think it all lies in the name, and in the borders, perhaps in the banners. I think it lies in shared prosperity and a common culture; after centuries of war, we are, sadly, in dire need for some prosperity, and we have plenty of cultural advances to deliver…why are you not sitting? You are standing on my nerves.'

Cassius sighed once more, and sat the one free armchair before the Archon's desk, keeping a wary eye on Dumat and his bride. 'Perhaps,' he reasoned, feeling somewhat relieved, 'if your grace explained your intentions in these terms…'

'Oh?' Radonis replied, frowning for the first time. 'Would you like me to make a speech on the matter on the Senate floor? We've not stopped the gears of conquest, merely shifted them - should I include that in a communique to Empress Celene and King Alistair Therein? I dislike the fact that I even had to explain it to you, but I see that it was sadly necessary, and I trust that you will set the minds of your friends in the Magisterium at ease as soon as you depart…And now,' the Archon said, dryly, 'I have dealt you another ace. See how you play it.'

'Does Dorian Pavus know all this?' Cassius asked.

'As does his charming wife,' the Archon replied. 'And neither of them needed to be outright told. You are, in so many ways, a great disappointment,' he followed, shaking his head. 'You've been at my side for two decades, and you still cannot understand my design…'

'Your grace's reasoning leaves me hopelessly confused, that is true,' the Magister said, dryly. 'If you have found such kindred spirits in Magister Pavus and his charming elf, I see no reason why I am toiling to know what they are thinking and doing.'

'I am a thoughtful man,' Radonis responded, smiling. 'I like to know what my friends are thinking and doing, so that in case they have a need for anything, I can pre-empt them having to ask for that need to be filled. Further, I try to understand their needs – for instance, Veldrin Lavellan does not strike me as a woman who overly grooms herself. She is more, shall we say, a wild beauty?'

'She is an elf,' Cassius sneered.

'A wild and fierce beauty,' Radonis sighed, 'and a woman of enough spirit to entice a living god. Why then, do you think, would her friends in the former Inquisition go through the trouble of bringing her a mirror so tall and wide that they needed to have a special, sixteen wheeled cart constructed for the purpose of delivery?'

'Perhaps it was intended as a gift for Magister Pavus,' Cassius said, congratulating himself for not showing surprise, yet inwardly berating himself.

It was no wonder Radonis was in a foul mood, the Magister thought, admitting to himself that on this particular occasion he perhaps deserved Dumat's attentions. He even considered picking up the creature and stroking it, in an offering of sincere self-flagellation. If she'd snuck a sixteen wheeled cart into the country, Sister Nightingale was beating him bloody already.

'I'd not considered that possibility, thank you, Cassius,' the Archon said, his smile frozen on his features. 'It is a perfectly logical explanation, as Magister Pavus is a tad vain; I'd also not considered the possibility that it is an ironic gift for his mother, so she can watch herself age from all angles. Just in case though,' Radonis snarled, baring his canines and finally showing his anger, 'could you do me the kindness of verifying which bedroom of the Pavus mansion that mirror was to be installed in? Before I fully give up on you and ask Magister Pavus?'

Cassius lowered his glance, and beheld his own clenched fists.

'How long will you give me?' he bitterly inquired.

'Take all the time in the world,' Radonis said, reverting to his light and warm tone of voice. 'I'll make the negotiations with Ferelden last the whole of three days, while I figure out how I shall deal with the Mabari puppy they have gifted me with. I am…not very fond of dogs,' he muttered affectionately glancing at his Antivan water rats. 'I shall pass it on to you – what do you think?'

The Magister shuddered. Dogs, he thought, were not only covered in fur. Dogs drooled.

'It is too generous a gift,' he plaintively responded.

'See that you earn it,' Radonis replied.

All things considered, Veldrin thought, gazing upon Morrigan's tired and drawn features, not having children presented so many advantages that it was a wonder people still had them. That, and well…

Compared to what Morrigan was suffering, her own brush with Leliana had been a tender caress – Veldrin had never liked the witch of the wilds, but she did feel a tremendous amount of sympathy; no one, not even Morrigan deserved to have their children used against them. The fact that Leliana had planned and ruthlessly executed such a plan, furthermore, the fact that Cassandra had approved it pointed to the fact that much indeed had changed in both women.

And not for the best.

If I've grown cynical, they've grown brutal, Veldrin thought, feeling a twinge of bitter irony at the realisation that of all those present, the she-wolf and the Tevinter Magister were the only ones who disapproved of the fact that Morrigan's son was being held by Grey Wardens. The method had as much subtlety as an executioner's axe, and it was obvious that one was hanging above the young man's neck. It was true, Morrigan could probably not have been persuaded to involve herself otherwise, yet…

Dorian had not said anything – neither had Veldrin, for that matter – but, to his wife's eye, his entire posture screamed disapprobation; he'd been so stunned by everything that he'd barely arched an eyebrow at the mention of Weisshaupt.

It all made Veldrin wish that she had been the one to drink of the Vir'Abelassan, and that Morrigan would not have been needed…Though, she thought with a little shudder, who knew what suspicions she'd be under, and what method of persuasion Leliana might have picked for her, had things not unfolded as they had.

She looked to Cassandra, and barely refrained from shaking her head in disappointment; the plan had been laid out, and there was no true fault with it, but for…

'Are we actually giving this child a choice?' Dorian blurted, darting to his feet; Morrigan, who'd also kept quiet as Leliana spoke looked at him in surprise and gratitude.

'No,' she whispered. 'No.'

'He is not a child,' Leliana coldly responded, measuring the man from head to toe, and obviously finding him lacking. 'He is…'

'He is seven and ten, hence a child,' Dorian snarled. 'If he was of Tevinter, he'd not be allowed to decide what he wants to wear for dinner.'

'Then, he is not being given a choice because he can't possibly make one,' Sister Nightingale replied. 'Either way, Dorian…'

'Either way,' Veldrin interrupted, 'what you have done here is despicable, Leliana. I can't believe I am saying this, Morrigan,' she followed, turning to the witch, 'but I am desperately sorry that this is happening to you.'

The witch lowered her glance and nodded. 'The irony is, of course,' she softly spoke, 'that Kieran might have helped you of his own accord. 'Tis a good heart that has grown in him.'

'It's not his heart that is of interest to me, but his soul,' Leliana said. She pressed her fingers to her forehead, and finally sat down, behind Dorian's desk; she wistfully glanced at the shimmering, magically warded door, as if seeking to make sure that any manifestation of humanity on her part would truly not leave the chamber and mar her reputation. 'This was not an easy decision,' she sorrowfully said.

'We had no choice,' Cassandra added, looking to the tips of her boots. 'You left us none, Morrigan,' she added, slowly shaking her head. 'You did everything you possibly could to evade us.'

'Yes,' Dorian sneered. 'I wonder why one would do that, your worship. It is not like you are the type of people one would wish to avoid, like say, the kind that holds children to ransom. Why, if I was in her position, I'd surrender to your tender mercy bound and gagged.'

'Judge me as you will,' Leliana sighed. 'The boy is safe, and he is being treated well.'

'For no other reason than that you need him,' Veldrin muttered.

'Well, Veldrin, if you have knowledge of another vessel of an Old God that we do not know of, I am willing to listen to options,' Cassandra sighed.

'He no longer is that,' Morrigan whispered. 'Flemeth…Mythal took that from him almost a decade ago – he is just a boy. He is a good, kind boy.'

Leliana did not raise her glance at the plea, and Veldrin bit her lower lip in anger. It did not matter that the young man might have been a good and cheerful lad; the only thing that did matter was the fact that he could truly contain a divine essence, and in this, he had no more relevance than an empty bottle or an empty coffer.

'Alright, Leliana,' she sighed. 'Let us say you do get the genie out of Solas, and into Kieran. What happens to him, then? Do I need to even mention that he will then become not only the container of Urthemiel but also that of Mythal? Isn't that a bit much for a seventeen year old to handle?'

'You handled your mark well,' Leliana answered, finally lifting her glance to Veldrin's. 'And you were not meant to bear it. Who were you, when you received it? A little elven mage, sent in to spy on the Divine.'

'Maker's balls,' Dorian exploded, 'the wheels of time are rolling backwards! Poor, misguided Alexius, he did not realise he did not need a spell to re-write history, he simply needed to hire you!'

'While the events at the Conclave are now very clear, no one has explained why a non-circle mage was present there in the first place,' Leliana calmly answered.

'For the one hundred thousandth time,' Veldrin sighed, in exasperation, 'I was returning a book to one of the mages…'

'Shut up, Vel,' Dorian shot. 'Everyone knows elves can't read, and like to sneak about finding ways to assassinate religious figures, when they are not sneaking about burning villages, as the events of Red Crossing clearly show; your guise is thin. Better stick to the cover story we spent ten years concocting, and just say you were there to serve soup.'

'This is leading us nowhere,' Cassandra intervened.

'But I do so enjoy a circular argument,' the man said, looking at the Divine in open fury.

'That might well be, Dorian,' she sighed, 'but it is really not useful. What is done is done, and it was not done with a light heart. Truly, think what you will, but do start thinking.'

The Magister sat back down, and breathed in and out, deeply and purposefully – Veldrin felt naught but the need to embrace him, then, but a second later, remembered that she could. She stood from her chair, and sat at his feet, gracefully gathering her dress about herself before leaning her forehead on his knee.

'Can your son even do this?' she tiredly inquired, finding that the fact he'd placed his hand on her shoulder gave her enough courage to meet Morrigan's glance. The witch sighed, and bit her lower lip.

'He cannot,' she said. 'But I can; Flemeth's grimoire would have been sufficient for me to know how to channel an essence from body to body. The voices of Vir'Abelasan tell me how to refine the process, though,' Morrigan whispered, 'they warn me against it…I wish you had drunk of that well, Inquisitor. I do not know why you did not. Your vallaslin is that of a follower of Mythal, you could have…'

…taken this cup from me.

'I was still only First,' Veldrin answered. 'I did not feel worthy; besides, Morrigan, she was thought to be dead. Even my Keeper sought to discourage this particular blood writing, and wished that I would take Sylaise's marking instead, as, according to him, I am a peace maker and I don't have a single vengeful bone in my body. He was wrong.' the elf said. 'He didn't suspect that we still grow bones even after we're of age. In fact, I've grown most of my bones after I left home…Fortunately for him,' Veldrin said, with grim cheer, 'he was killed before he could learn he was wrong. I should have been braver. I am sorry, Morrigan.'

'I am not,' Leliana said. 'It might have made your already questionable attachments even more questionable.'

When the time comes, Veldrin thought, feeling all of her bones grow in the silence that followed, I will hurt you. If you are still capable of love, I will find the one thing that you love and destroy it. I will not even take pleasure in it. It will simply be…justice.

'Does Mythal have no hold over you, Morrigan?' Dorian asked.

'Her entire strength has been taken into Fen'Harel,' the witch carefully answered. 'I can feel her – 'tis a tug, a tickle, a scratch at the door in the dark night, yet it's naught but her will and her consciousness. He now has all of her power, and while she can make her wishes known, she has no means to enforce action.'

'Can we not spare your son the agony?' Veldrin inquired. 'If you can channel the essence, you could channel it into me.'

'No,' Cassandra said.

'It would kill you, Vel,' Dorian unexpectedly agreed. 'The mark was killing you. If Solas had not taken your arm, you'd not be here. And I like you being here more than you know.'

'Kieran can contain both essences,' Leliana dryly said.

'Kieran is seven and ten; I am three and forty,' Veldrin said. 'I've lived, I've hoped. I've loved and dreamed. I've walked the beyond – the beyond is not so bad.'

'That is not the problem, Inquisitor,' Morrigan said. 'I cannot know if even my son can hold both, and for how long…'

'The entire purpose of this exercise is to take away Solas' powers, while containing all three essences,' Leliana added. 'We do not want the…the child to die, and have Mythal's full powers return to the fade. That would be...counterproductive.'

'Aren't we forgetting the obvious, though?' Dorian asked. 'Let us assume that this will function as intended, and we will place all this immense energy in the hands of an innocent who would not use it for harm even if he knew how to; let us further assume that, in the course of his natural life – in a tight box, in Weisshaupt…yes, Leliana? – he does not learn how to use it, and Maker forbid, develop some utterly unexplainable spiteful intentions. The young man is still human. He will, eventually, die.'

'That was my thought as well,' Veldrin nodded. 'Even if Kieran lives another seven decades, his years would be a drop of water in an ocean for a being like Mythal.'

Leliana and Cassandra exchanged a glance. 'We've considered that,' the Divine said, slowly. 'Mythal is not the one who intends to tear down the veil. Fen'Harel is, and he will remain in Solas' form, which, for all we know, is immortal in our meaning of the word.'

Veldrin sighed, thinking that not even small mercies were mercies in the end – she'd not had to explain why Solas should not be killed. The thought of him somehow imprisoned forever was equally painful, however, and she'd not allowed herself to truly contemplate the notion thus far.

She had to, now.

'How do you plan…' the elf began asking, finding that her words would not obey her to the end. 'You will put Kieran in a box in Weisshaupt,' she willed herself to say. 'Where will you place Solas' box?'

'As far away from any elven ruin as possible,' Leliana off-handedly replied.

'And they are sure as hell they will not tell us where,' Dorian muttered.

'Veldrin, I…' Cassandra apologetically began.

'You will agree it is a necessary precaution, I am sure,' Leliana interrupted.

'Very necessary,' Veldrin nodded; for all the fury she felt, her voice had been remarkably bland. 'I understand. The only thing I do not understand is why you are here, and why you have even bothered to inform me of your plans, if…'

'They had no choice with that, either,' Morrigan said, a twinge of cold satisfaction in her voice.

'How so?' Veldrin asked.

'They cannot capture Fen'Harel in Thaedas,' the witch answered, with a little crooked smile. 'Do you remember all those elven artefacts you busily ran around activating, at Solas' behest?'

'Yes,' Veldrin shrugged. 'They were meant to…'

Strengthen the veil.

'Oh crap,' Dorian said, catching on at the same time. 'They work both ways.'

'Exactly,' Morrigan nodded. 'They can weave the veil thick, but also spin it as fine as a spider's web, thus he can physically jump in the fade whenever he so wishes, even without an eluvian. 'Tis my belief that this is how he has gathered his people, as well, for not all elves would willingly follow the Dread Wolf. If he controls the veil, though, he controls their dreams, and…'

'And he is doing to the people exactly what the Evanuris did, before he sealed them away,' Veldrin whispered.

Oh, Vhenan, she thought. This is what you did not wish me to see…That you would enslave the very people you killed to free. That, in the end, you've become the very thing that you hated.

'Had we known about this sooner,' Leliana stingingly said, 'we might have tried to prevent it, but most of the damage was done before we had even learned of Fen'Harel, and we were still focused on the Qun. Once we did realise the truth, it was too late.'

'It also explains why the elves in Tevinter stayed put,' Dorian reasoned, biting his lower lip. He bitterly chuckled. 'And to think the Magisterium spent five years congratulating ourselves on how good a hold we had on our minions, eh.'

'It is also why, if we seek to entrap him, it needs to be in Tevinter,' Cassandra tiredly put in. 'For better or worse, the veil is still solid here, or, at the very least, not under his direct control.'

'While I am needed because every trap needs a bait, right?' Veldrin shot.

'No,' Leliana sighed. 'You are needed because Cassandra insisted we cannot do this to you without at least warning you of it.'

'Thank you, your worship,' the elf sneered; Divine Victoria shook her head in sorrow. 'The fact that you could not possibly hide this from us did not even occur to you, we are sure.'

'Which brings me to another delicate point that we are gracefully dancing around, like so many elves in a dewy meadow,' the Magister said. 'How much does Radonis know? I am sure I do not need to explain to you that allowing him to get his hands on whatever box you plan to put Solas in would be very, very bad.'

Leliana lowered her glance, and allowed herself to smile. 'Well, Dorian, that is sadly out of my domain, and firmly in yours; you'll have to decide precisely how much you trust the good nature of your countrymen.'

'When it regards fade walking?' he muttered. 'Not at all. Our record on the subject is not exactly the best.'

'Then I hope you are a very good liar,' Leliana shrugged, 'as you will have to tell him something.'

'I would strongly advise against it. Strenuously, even,' Dorian said, decisively shaking his head. 'Radonis is a better man than most, but…'

'The temptation is too great, Leliana,' Veldrin softly completed. 'Even if Radonis himself would understand the inherent danger, we would be placing him in an impossible position, politically. At least half the Magisterium would see him allowing something like a living god to slip though his fingers as at least criminal negligence.'

'I am glad we all agree on this, at least,' Leliana said, with a little smirk. 'The option of not informing him at all doesn't exist, though.'

'Why?' Dorian tiredly asked.

'Because he's intercepted our only controllable eluvian,' Sister Nightingale answered.

…and, as all the expletives in the language were insufficient, Dorian invented a few new ones; had he known that outside the warded barrier of his study, servants were busying themselves unhinging the entry doors to make room for the travelling mirror, which had been delivered to its destination with such pomp as one might have expected for the bones of an Imperator, he'd probably have swallowed his words.

Thank you for reading and commenting :)

Up next - Vel and Dorian are about to be masterfully outplayed. I think they have already been outplayed, just...they don't realise it.