Surrounded by glory, they stood,

In the hall of apotheosis, heedless

Of what festered in the shadows the cast there,

Of what stained and corroded footprints they left.

Silence 3:1

'Do not let anyone within ten feet of this door,' Dorian instructed. His elven butler shrugged, then nodded and smiled.

'Not even your mother, master Pavus?' the butler asked, wryly.

'Especially not my mother,' the Magister shuddered. 'Stay by the window. If you see any carriage approaching, come knock. If you see my mother approaching…'

'Scream and flee?' the elf guessed, now outright chuckling.

'As in regular procedure, yes,' Dorian shrugged, in turn. 'Thank you,' he said, smiling, and pressing a coin into the man's hand, though he did not need to. He then turned and knocked on Morrigan's locked door.

'Ladies?' he asked.

There was no reply.

He insisted in knocking, and knocking again.

'I may not speak with you, Magister Pavus,' Morrigan's voice neutrally resounded from the other side of the oak door. 'Please, respect my position…'

'I respect all positions,' he replied, shaking his head to the servant, who'd silently pulled out the master key to all doors in the house and was holding it before his eyes. 'They'll open, no need to worry,' he whispered. 'But I do need to remind Veldrin that Dalish nimbleness is vastly overrated,' he followed, his voice turning louder than it needed be, 'and that we are on the third floor of a very tall mansion. Escape through the window once Leliana returns is truly not an option, and she will be here soon, thus…'

The key turned in the lock and the door silently drifted open.

'By all means, Dorian,' Veldrin muttered, her hand still on the handle. 'Let's make sure they hear us in Vol Dorma…'

'Amata,' he replied, taking a step forward to kiss her forehead; she sighed deeply, but rose on her toes to kiss his cheek, and waved him in with a hasty gesture.

'If you see someone, Nyrral…' she said to the server.

'Same procedure as always,' the male elf answered, warmly chuckling. 'Knock or just scream and flee. Have fun,' he sincerely and complicity wished for both of his odd, kind owners. He turned about and they closed the door before either of their faces could come to show that this would be anything but.

'It took Mae the whole of ten minutes to be in your chambers after I left, didn't it?' Veldrin sighed, once the door was closed and locked behind them.

'Less than three,' Dorian said, looking at her and harshly clenching his jaws. 'She had to wait for me for about half a clock's face, however, as I was in Radonis' chambers, collecting what I found, in bafflement, you asked him for. And good eve to you, Morrigan.'

The witch looked over her shoulder, regaled him with a nod, then returned to staring into the fire; she looked as if she'd aged a decade over the past two days, and Dorian felt as if he'd aged a decade as well. Alone seemingly untouched by time or worry, Veldrin strolled to the fireplace, and leaned her shoulder on one of its pillars – the Magister had to admit to himself that Lexi's minor restorative spells had worked wonders, for now, she truly looked like a radiant little sprite.

He had to remind himself that she was a very practical one, too.

'No one can be trusted, these days,' Vel sighed. 'I was hoping Mae would give me at least five minutes of consideration…Where is Leliana?' she asked.

'She was entering the Argent Spire as I was leaving senate,' Dorian replied. 'Which does not give us time to have the conversation I mean to have. We shall be having it later and in private, I assure you, Veldrin.'

'No need,' Morrigan said. 'Lavellan has already told me what she has done thus far, and what she further intends.'

'And the second eluvian?' the Magister asked, frowning. 'Smokescreen?'

Veldrin shook her head. 'I fully intend to build it,' she answered. 'If Solas' people got close enough to us to drip poison in the Nightingale's ears, then they could not have missed the first one. The list of components was the smokescreen, however, as I really wanted Leliana out of earshot for the odd hour. I will not be doing a repetition of last night anytime soon, I fear…'

'A very justified fear, as I won't even leave a pin in your chambers, lest you prick yourself with it.' Dorian muttered. 'But, to the point,' he sighed. 'Do you think this lunacy workable, Morrigan? I am sure you've already told Veldrin, but I should like to hear the answer for myself. If, of course, you can be trusted to give the same answer twice.'

The witch looked at him in undisguised superiority, which was ill fitting to her drawn features. 'I shall do my best to repeat myself, then. Yes,' she slowly followed, adding precisely what Dorian did not wish to hear, 'it is workable.'

'Kaffas,' Dorian cursed.

'If taken to its perfect finality, it could probably permanently remove intent from both Mythal and Fen'Harel. It will kill the Inquisitor, of course. You too, Magister.'

'Not in discussion,' Veldrin interrupted, briskly. 'Dorian is not…'

It was the witch's turn to interrupt, in chuckles as clear as crystal chimes. 'See, Pavus?' Morrigan sweetly inquired. 'Your impressive arm ornament does love you, after a fashion. It is rather…touching – I wonder how touched your vhenan will be, when he sees it, Inquisitor.'

'Don't go there, please,' Veldrin softly said. 'We don't have time for it, and, honestly, you are the one who benefits most from this.'

''Tis true,' Morrigan admitted, lowering her glance. 'A most unexpected gift, I shall so recognise. If truthful, the intent alone warrants my gratitude – should you…should we succeed, my gratitude will be eternal. As will the gratitude of the unchanging world.'

'If anyone is left alive to be grateful to,' Dorian said, sitting on the coffer that lay at the foot of Morrigan's bed, and shaking his head. Veldrin came and kneeled by his side, looking up.

'Is it a no, then?' the elf whispered, the tips of her ears pointing down. 'A yes?' she asked again, when he caressed her hair. 'Did Mae…'

'Oh, Maker, Vel,' the man said. 'Mae was…'

'Furious,' Veldrin completed, with a nod.

'No, actually,' he replied, with a bitter chuckle, 'she was distraught. Saddened, if anything…she also thinks that this could, in theory, work, though it took her a while before she could think past the mental barrier of Aurelian Titus.'

'Who was this man?' Morrigan queried. 'My ears have never heard his name.'

Dorian shrugged. 'He was a stereotypical cackling Magister, who had wet dreams of dragons, and imagined he was better than he actually was; he used a somniari1's blood to attempt to…what else? Bring back the Ancient Imperium. I swear, if these talentless upstarts used half of the energy they put into restoring the Ancient Imperium into caring for the current one, we might still have an empire, and not the ghost riddled memory of one,' he sneered.

'It did not get him far,' Veldrin picked up, meeting Morrigan's gaze. 'He did manage to influence the dreams of others in the fade, and rose to some prominence in the Magisterium despite being…'

She chuckled.

'A grasping ankle biter, as Dorian would have it. His goals,' the elf said, shifting her golden glance to her husband's, 'are of no interest to us – he never even came close, and that is why you've never heard of him. His method, on the other hand…'

'He transferred a dreamer's magical power to himself, I think,' Veldrin said, visibly willing herself through the words, 'and bound the dreamer's life force to his own, via some magical pebble that was not terribly different from a focus orb.'

'Hm,' Morrigan said. 'We shall briefly need some sort of focus, then, though how you shall go about obtaining one, I would not venture to guess. You are, still powerful enough for the cast, you do not mean to sustain the link for long, and once you have cast it, Fen'Harel's power will come to you…'

'And I will just use it to refuel the focus until it is…done,' Veldrin nodded, biting her lower lip. 'It should be fast,' she whispered. 'Solas is nothing but the ultimate dreamer. Ow,' she exclaimed, as Dorian pinched her shoulder. 'What was that for?'

'If I started enumerating the reasons, we'd be here till dawn,' he responded frowning. 'It was just to call you back from the world where magical possibility is only limited by the inflamed boundaries of our imaginations. Which is not this world; in this world, you might recall Varric drunkenly telling you that to kill the dreamer, you had to destroy the focus – which to me, Vel, translates into: to kill Solas, we'd have to kill you.'

Veldrin did not shrug, as he'd feared she would. She simply looked up at him, and frowned in turn.

'Now who is being melodramatic?' the elf grunted. 'What if to kill him we'd just have to smash my staff's focus gem? Or whatever enchanted pebble we use – seriously, Amatus…'

'That would require a very serious study of Aurelian Titus' initial channeling diagrams, Amata.'

'Which is why I need Mae, and you, if you are so inclined, since she's seen fit to bring you into this,' Veldrin bit back. 'My Tevene is good, but not exceptional, your way of scripting higher magic still feels awkward, to me, and I can't modify the spell on my own…'

'And sadly, I am trapped,' Morrigan said.

'You're not bloody trapped, oh great swamp dwelling repository of all knowledge, Tevene, Elvhen and everything that lies in between and beyond.' the man exploded, briskly standing up. 'Doesn't it occur to you that if Leliana kills your son before any of your mad plans – hers, Vel's – come to pass, it's only Leliana's plot that will be dead in the water? Veldrin's actually does not need him.'

There was a…silence.

'That was the sound of me, just stabbing myself in the leg, yes?' Dorian sighed, melting back down.

Neither woman had a chance to answer, for the door swung aside violently, smashing against the wall; all the mages brought their barriers up, pointlessly.

'Mother,' Dorian said, once more standing, to catch the stumbling dowager lady Pavus. 'Oh dear,' he said, looking over his shoulder to Veldrin, and feeling gripped by a different concern, 'looks like wine o'clock came at noon today…'

'Why ish no one having dinner at the appointed time! No reshpect in this house anymore! Twenty minutes I've been ringing for…tea, and company, and none comesh!' the elderly woman screamed, holding on to her son's shirt for dear life. 'And where are the fucking elves, they're all gone! Eschept for that one,' she slurred, aiming a hate filled glance, a desiccated arm and an accusatory finger at Veldrin. 'Barren, useless piece of kaffas…'

'Something is wrong here,' Dorian said, not apologising for his mother's words. He simply dislodged her from his chest to pass her to Veldrin's arms, and rushed into the corridor.

Vel nearly tumbled under the burden's weight but managed to uplift the old woman, who promptly tried to claw her across the face, and broke her long fingernails on the shimmering shield of the barrier.

'He ish my only son,' the old woman said, her screams reduced to sobs.

Veldrin struggled to hold her but held her nonetheless, or at least so Dorian imagined for he heard his mother's heels scratch on the wood, but did not hear her drop to the floor.

'Why coulsh you not just let him be, why did you have to…' was the last that Dorian heard, after he'd slammed the door.

The elven servant he had trusted for all of his life was gone; Dorian might have thought that the elf had been bribed or killed, that he had fled before screaming, yet…There was no blood. There was, however, a singed mark upon the hardwood floor.

'Vel,' he called. 'Vel!'

'Stop shouting, Gods…Mythal'enaste!' Vel exclaimed, running into the corridor, and seeing the same thing he had. 'Morrigan!'

'I art coming, I gather 'tis all dire…' Morrigan said; through the crack of the door, Dorian saw that his mother had been sat before the fire with her favourite pastime to death in her hands. Both women hurried to his side, and glanced upon the burn mark upon the wood, then at each other. He stretched his arm out, and barred them both from rushing downstairs.

'We take this slowly,' Dorian said. 'Our weapons are below – Morrigan, do you have…'

A flash of magical energy singed his shoulders, and he briefly spun, to glance where the witch had stood and notice that she had seemingly vanished. Furious at himself, he'd lowered his gaze, then all but thrown caution to the wind and jumped over the bannister, for in place of Morrigan, he saw a gigantic black spider, with glittering golden eyes.

'Eh,' he blandly said, trying to remember the last time he'd been at a loss for words. 'I…guess that implies you do not need weapons.'

The spider clicked its pincers together, then quietly skittered three steps lower – it stopped and once more turned to face Dorian and Veldrin. It clicked its pincers together again, this time, in pointed impatience.

'I think it…she wants us to shield her,' Vel said, in an utterly amazed tone, and indeed, after the shimmering contours of the barrier about her had been renewed, the spider resumed its quiet descent, not looking to see if it was followed.

'Spiders,' the Magister muttered, carefully taking the first step. 'It always has to be bloody giant spiders.'

There was none on the second story landing, nor in the corridor; the house itself felt…dead, Dorian thought, cursing at himself, for, no matter how quietly he tried to tread, he was still the only one of the three whose steps made sound. They crept around the corner of the staircase, and, as Morrigan stretched an impressive, sticky web cocoon behind them, ensuring that none could pass the landing from either above or below, Dorian took a wide stride, hoping his footsteps would be muffled by the thick carpet.

He was right on that account, though victory evaded, for the floor underneath creaked – a high, plaintive sound that it had probably been making for years and which none had noticed before. Now, it resounded as loud as thunder rolling though the dead stillness, and all three froze and cringed.

'Sorry,' he quietly mouthed towards Veldrin. The elf scowled horribly, and shook her head.

Nothing else stirred; the renewed silence seemed to slow time, until finally, Vel drifted forward, heading for the door of her study. Still, as she passed a smaller, adjoining door, she abruptly stopped and frowned, then disappeared within, causing her husband's heart to jump.

'Maker's balls, Vel,' he hissed, not daring to dart forward on her trail. Morrigan skittered forth rapidly, and he dared follow at what he felt was an excruciatingly slow pace. He pushed the door further ajar. 'Oh crap,' he breathed.

The little side room, which lied next door to Veldrin's study and across the corridor from his, had been the absolute domain of their scribe – an elderly and somewhat haughty elven woman that had been in the family since Dorian's father was a boy. Halward Pavus had even sought to free her, twice, for it had at some point become obvious that her ability with scribing did not solely stem from her incomparable erudition; she'd refused both times, then brutally shot down further attempts by saying she was not leaving her job, and if freed, not even the mighty House Pavus would afford to pay her for her impeccable service.

Perhaps, Dorian thought, she'd been happy, and had genuinely enjoyed work that she was exceptionally qualified for. She was a great and stern archivist, probably the only person who could keep order amid the thousands of tomes in the Pavus library. She'd never, the Magister dazedly considered, left her room like…this…

An inkpot was spilled over priceless parchments and her quills were scattered on the desk, and on the floor; one, the one she might have been writing with, was broken in half. The entire chamber looked as if a powerful gust of wind had suddenly burst through, but the windows were barred, and, on her chair, there was the same discrete singe mark they had seen on the upper floor.

'This bodes ill,' he whispered to Veldrin. She quietly nodded.

'Let's go get our staves,' she answered, in the same hushed tone. She kneeled, and whispered something to the spider; it spun about and skittered out the door, and Veldrin followed, her steps no longer as careful as they had been, but hurried and heavy. He could actually hear her move in the study next door, even as he, himself, found it impossible to tear his gaze from the ravaged desk.

'Dorian,' he heard Vel whisper from behind.

'She would not have gone,' he answered. 'Not of her own free will.'

'I know, Amatus,' the elf softly spoke. 'Let's…'

'You were correct, Inquisitor,' Morrigan said, returning to her human shape. Her voice was still low, but no longer a whisper. 'The floor is deserted, but for us. How many should have dwelt here?'

'No one but her,' Dorian said, gesturing towards the desk. 'Nyrral and Maeris come if they are called, but this is the only permanent…Downstairs. Kitchen.' he said, tearing himself from the sight, and quickly traversing the corridor – he too no longer felt the need to hide his steps, for the certainty of what had happened was growing about him steadily. He felt as if he had been wading waist high through mud, and Vel, he thought as he returned with his weapon, Vel…

Veldrin no longer looked like a radiant sprite.

Dorian briefly squeezed her hand, and she have him a minute squeeze in return; neither cared for Morrigan's disgusted smirk, and neither acknowledged it with even a word. In silence now imposed by the heaviness of their thoughts rather than precaution, Veldrin dispelled Morrigan's web and headed down.

None stopped to glance at the singe marks in the dining hall downstairs, nor take in the misplaced porcelain and scattered silverware; whatever had happened here, it had been as sudden and as quiet as what had happened above. They might not have heard a broken plate from the third floor, but if any had screamed, Dorian thought, silently recalling the army of servants that normally saw that his mother's table was set perfectly, if only one had screamed…

He willed his thoughts clear.

'There should be at least eight human slaves in the house at this time in the evening,' Dorian coolly said. At his side, her staff already glowing and in focus, Veldrin nodded. 'I know it is an unpleasant thing to say,' he followed, 'but I do find myself desperately wishing they are gone as well; would be refreshing to deal with a madman Magister who viscerally opposes slavery, for once.'

'That'll be the day,' Morrigan hissed from behind, he briefly glared at her, and stopped before the servants' quarters door; quiet, rushed whispers seeped ominously from behind it, almost completely muffled by the wooden panel.

'We didn't invite Blackwall to this party, did we?' Dorian said, his voice returning to a whisper. 'Vishante kaffas!' he cursed under his breath, taking a step back in fright, as the flash of light that had suddenly flared dulled to reveal Morrigan, in the shape of a great bear. He recovered faster, this time. 'Watch the floor with those claws,' he whined. 'It's Steel Age teak wood…'

As if to pointedly spite him, the witch waded forth and pushed between them to take her position to the front, her claws sinking into the wood at each step. She looked over her furry shoulder and gave a low, mocking growl – Dorian shielded her, and gripped his staff.

Morrigan rose on her hind legs and roared, not as much opening the door to the servants' quarters, but tearing it to pieces; a chorus of horrified screams rose from the room beyond, not deterring her advance…no more than the swift arrows aimed at her chest and head were. One after the other, the arrows were deflected by the shield, and the bear charged forward unhindered, making room for the mages behind her.

'What the…' Dorian exclaimed, putting all his energy into swiftly renewing his barrier, upon a different target – to Leliana's great good fortune, as Morrigan had pounced upon her with all of her bulk, and Veldrin's lightning sparks were already darting about the room, searching for blood. The confusion lasted a further second, amplified by the cries of the slaves and the rattling of flying crockery, as Morrigan's bear body was thrown aside by the shield and rolled across the room like a battering ram unhinged in full swing.

The witch rolled to her side, seeking to get up, but slipping on the oil slick caused by an overturned barrel. In turn, Leliana jumped on the kitchen board with feline grace, pushing all the hanging pots and pans out of her way, and rearming her bow.

'Stop!' he shouted, with no hope of making himself heard; he then all but dropped his staff to cover his ears, for, from unbearably close, Veldrin put two fingers in her mouth and whistled with all the lung necessary to make every single halla of the Exalted Plains hear her all the way from Minrathous. 'Maker!' he shouted, this time, hoping to hear himself over the screeching in his skull.

All others had frozen in place – Morrigan ready to pounce, Leliana with her bow stretched, and the human…only human slaves still huddled in a corner; as all glances incredulously turned to her, the elf shirked closer to him and apologetically shrugged.

'Sorry,' she said. 'Erhm, really sorry?' Veldrin added, when the man scowled, and took a step to the side, still rubbing his ear.

'That's what I get for marrying a holy goat herder's daughter,' he muttered. 'Andraste's frilly small clothes, that is some sort of unharvested weapon! It might have even sobered up my mother.'

'What are you doing here?' Leliana asked, lowering her bow but not jumping off the massive, wooden kitchen centerpiece.

'It is my house, if memory serves,' Dorian snarled, in response. 'What are you doing here?'

'I invited myself to stay, if memory serves,' Leliana replied, arching an eyebrow. 'I left for a small hour, then returned to find the front door unlocked and unattended, the dining hall in disarray and clear marks of an intrusion – I came into the kitchens to find these people,' she followed, gesturing towards the huddled slaves, 'terrified, and just as I was trying to calm them…you three burst in, shooting in blind.'

'Unlike you,' Morrigan sourly replied, regaining her human form, and looking at her oil soaked self in disgust.

'I shot at a great bear that came hurtling through the door,' the Nightingale answered, jumping off the counter, and landing as silently as a cat might have. 'I do not know what you were hurtling at.'

'Those we can't catch,' Veldrin said, softly.

She took a glance at the huddled humans, at their tear crossed and petrified features, then leaned her staff against the wall behind her and went to them, speaking her not exceptional Tevene in a soothing voice to tell them that it was all good, and that they were all safe, as those who would protect them were now here, and would protect them.

No wonder that the slaves were terrified – they were all Soporati2 ,Dorian thought. He never manifested magic around the house, and Vel did not do so either. No wonder Leliana had shot in blind to protect them…Still, this also implied that getting them to speak of what had just happened would be difficult, and even when they did describe events, they would not be able to offer too much in the way of an accurate description. Nor, he thought, hearing heavy, belligerent steps in distinct cadence approaching from behind, would they get the time to obtain one.

He spun on his heels and smiled.

'Magister Pavus,' the captain of the Templar contingent that had just marched through his dining hall greeted, in far politer a tone than Dorian might have expected from a man in heavy armour.

'Knight Centurion,' he greeted, still smiling despite the fact that behind their commander, the other ten templars had spread into a half circle which denoted anything but friendly intentions; Dorian felt Veldrin had stepped up to his side, and reached for her hand in blind. Normally, such a gesture provoked ill-hidden, mocking expressions even among those who should have best known how to hide them, yet now…The sight of the elf made the lower ranking knights visibly brace. One even minutely shifted back.

'How may we assist you, on this vexing occasion?' the Magister asked.

'Archon Radonis politely requests your presence. Yours too, Magistra,' the Templar said – in the same disconcertingly courteous tone, and only after offering Veldrin an equally disconcerting and very respectful bow.

'As always, we shall be glad to assist his grace in any way our capacity permits,' Veldrin said, 'yet, as you can probably observe, we are currently…'

'His grace, Archon Radonis equally asked us to impress upon you the urgency of his invitation.' The Knight Centurion replied, firmly; his expression then oddly shifted – not towards threat, Dorian noticed. Towards sincere distress. 'Have either of you glanced out a window in the past half hour, Magisters?' the man queried, sounding utterly tired.

'No,' Dorian answered. 'We have been distracted from Minrathous' glorious skyline by unpleasant household events.'

'His grace, Archon Radonis also instructed that perhaps a glance outside would convey the urgency of his invitation better than I might,' the Templar said, gesturing for his troop to move aside and allow the two mages passage.

It was ridiculous, Dorian thought, how much reassurance he derived from the fact that he still had his weapon; it would serve him little among ten templars, but Veldrin had left hers behind, and…

'Oh Gods,' Veldrin breathed, glancing out the window before he did. Dorian kept his sight firmly down for a second longer, counting heartbeats and building courage; he said nothing when he finally looked outside.

Minrathous' sky was lit up by what appeared like a rain of falling stars, or a masterful, if subdued fireworks display – wave upon wave of small, dull lights appeared and disappeared, sweeping over the crimson glow of the city proper. The lights moved above quarters in a controlled pattern, growing gradually to peak density, then receding before rolling onwards.

It was hypnotising, Dorian thought.

He's taking them all, he thought. Somehow, he's...

It was impossible; it was... It was the beginning of the end.

'Go get your staff, Vel,' he whispered; she nodded, and turned to retrieve her weapon – the templars barred her path, moving all as one.

'Is this an arrest?' Dorian pleasantly inquired. None missed the significance of his weapon's glow, however, and he kept it at his side despite the fact that Vel had been decisively pressing his arm down.

'No,' the Knight Centurion said, 'no,' he repeated, stepping up before his troop, in a futile attempt at calming them down. 'His grace said nothing of the sort, yet we…I,' he corrected, his gaze locked on Veldrin's, 'would it consider it a personal favour if the Magistra were to travel unarmed. Please.'

1 The word in Tevene for Dreamers, the mages ruled the Ancient Imperium. These guys accessed and modified the fade in their dreams. Amusingly enough, the word for a person with such abilities is the same as the Elvhen word for sleep – which makes sense in a sad sort of way.

2 Sleepers. As in no magic.

Well, we did not expect Solas to just stay put, and let these guys plot forever, did we? :) And I doubt we imagine Radonis is going to be pleased...

Thank you for reading :)