And as the black clouds came upon them,

They looked on what pride had wrought,

And despaired.

-Threnodies 7:10

Far south of Seheron, in Orlais, Vivienne de Fer woke up with the unpleasant sensation that she had either overslept, or that her new set of chambermaids was distinctly less competent than the previous one, whom she had fired on such blatant displays of stupidity as serving her tea too hot or too cold, not ironing her robes or ironing them so much that they looked like iron armour, polishing her staff too little or too much, sleeping with her Circle wards, writing to the unsanctioned Circles...and, indeed, sneaking into her room to pull the drapes open long before Madame de Fer finished her beauty sleep.

At a certain age, of course, oversleeping was as dangerous as under sleeping: the former made one's face bloat, the other just caused entirely avoidable wrinkles. She opened one eye, noticed that the drapes were still shut, sighed, then turned on the other side.

For a moment, she was tempted to excuse the maid battalion on the grounds of the fact that she'd had a particularly agitated night, with bad dreams she could not remember, but the echo of which clung unpleasantly to her semi awoken state; she promised herself that on the next eve, she would indulge in a little sleeping draught, closed her eyes and attempted to go back to sleep.

She could not. It was, somehow, too light…Or, to put it more precisely, the light was wrong.

Vivienne sat up, and looked at her clock – for an instant, she did not believe what its face was showing, and was once more ready to blame the maids for not winding it. Still, in the silence of the bedchamber, she could hear the tiny mechanism clicking away, one of its delicate, gilded limbs pointing to the fact that it was just a few moments past sunrise.

She jumped out of bed.

It was impossible.

Despite the heavy drapes, the room felt flooded with light. The colours of the velvet chairs, the glint of her silver nailbrushes, the gilded wood of her bedframe – all were crisp and clear, too crisp, as if all colours and contours had sharpened overnight. It was almost too much detail to absorb, and Vivienne's eyes already felt tired; the air itself felt oddly fragrant. She fancied she could smell the pines and the petunias in the great garden outside her window, as well as the heating oil in the kitchens three floors below.

Her mind drifted from the increasingly clear, ominous reality to more familiar haunts.

'I hope that they won't be frying onions, at least,' she muttered to herself; Vivienne reached for the chord of the bell that summoned her servants, and the gesture she had made thousands of times before required unnatural concentration, and even some physical effort. Vivienne felt as if she'd been moving through water, and even worse, she recognised the sensation.

She felt exactly as she had when she'd travelled through the eluvians.

'Maker,' she whispered, before she could catch herself – it was always improper to have such outbursts, even when one was alone, and, for that matter, it was improper to lose one's cool so very fast; her heart was beating too quickly, she felt her breath shallow. Worst of all, she felt she was starting to sweat.

Keeping her shoulders straighter than they needed to be, and forcing one deep breath after another, the Grand Enchanter walked to the window, and pulled the drapes aside; because she truly felt as if everything was more difficult than it should have been, she used too much force, and pulled the heavily embroidered fabric off one of the golden rings that sustained it. For once, Vivienne did not care – she opened the windows with considerably greater care, yet pulled away from the sight before her in great, shamefully uncontrolled haste, more fitting to discovering that a high dragon had decided to nest on her perfectly manicured pelouse.

No such thing had happened. The gardens were beautiful and vibrant, even more beautiful and vibrant than usual. For a moment, Vivienne felt as if she had been glancing upon a painting whose detail bordered on kitsch; she fancied that even from the highest level of her tower, she could see the delicate veining of the begonias' petals, and the tiny ridges at the ends of each blade of grass. The smell, too, was overwhelming, so sweet it verged on sickly. The sound of the door opening and closing behind her assaulted her hearing, and she turned about, biting her lower lip and frowning furiously at her own lack of control.

The elven maid, one of the very few remaining ones, took the expression on Madame de Fer's features for scorn, and inched back; Vivienne knew what the woman must have been thinking: it was not even her time of the day for service, and everyone knew madame was particularly attentive in the early hours. Why, it was not unheard of that she would check if nails were clean and aprons and bonnets pressed and starched – the elf must have been cursing her luck.

Vivienne's expression softened.

'You are alright,' she kindly said, though the maid clearly was not – she looked as if she'd dressed in a rush, and few strands of faded, blonde hair were escaping the bonnet at the back. Relieved, the elven woman breathed at ease, and curtsied gracefully.

'Bien dormi, Madame1?' she asked.

'Pas du tout, ma petite2,' Vivienne dreamily said, watching the ease and grace with which the elf moved. 'If I am not mistaken, you are my turn down maid?'

'Yes, Madame,' the elf confirmed, with a little bow. 'I shall therefore ask your forgiveness if I am unfamiliar with your morning routine – shall I start on the bed, or help Madame get dressed, first?'

'Hard to do the latter, darling,' Vivienne said, smiling. 'You have not fetched my robes.'

'Oh, how unforgiveable…' the elf apologetically rushed to say. 'I shall haste to bring them presently…'

'It is quite alright, dear.' The Grand Enchanter said. 'You may start on the bed first.'

The elf did, while Vivienne watched; there was a certain initial nervousness to her movements under the attentive eye of her employer, but she was otherwise light, fast and precise. Within a moment, even the nervousness vanished, and the woman lost herself to her work, all but forgetting Vivienne and humming a little tune under her breath.

'Just for curiosity, ma petite, what happened to my regular morning help?' Vivienne queried.

The elf stopped straightening the sheets and turned to face the Grand Enchanter. She was blushing a little, and clearly did not know what to answer; Madame might have been in an odd, forgiving mood this morning, but there was no guarantee a careless reply would not land her fellow maids in hot water by lunch time. Still, an answer would have to be produced.

'They…' the elf began, fidgeting, despite the fact that Vivienne was still smiling, 'they have not slept very well either, Madame.'

The Grand Enchanter felt she was literally becoming Madame de Fer, for all her innards were turning to cold iron. She bit her lower lip – another great impropriety, especially in front of the help, and sighed, forcing herself to turn towards the window.

'Leave the bed, darling, and be so kind as to fetch my secretary.'

'But Madame is not dressed to receive! And the room…' the maid protested – it was obvious that the strangeness of Vivienne's mood was beginning to try her.

Vivienne sighed, and swallowed a cutting remark. 'I am thankful for your attention, darling,' she said instead. 'I shall be even more grateful for your celerity. Wake my secretary if she is not up yet, though I am assured she has not slept well either. Impress upon her to fetch parchment and quills, and that the rules of dress etiquette are temporarily suspended.'

'Shall I, at least, summon mademoiselle Clarienne to Madame's study?' the elf queried; it was now not only a question of Vivienne's state of dress or of mind; by the tone of the maid's voice, which verged on impertinence, it was becoming a question of professional pride, and Vivienne had to concede that the elven woman was right. The room was in a state.

The world was in a state, Vivienne told herself, but it was no reason to suspend all rules.

'Tres bien,' she sighed. 'Tell Clarienne to meet me in my study.'

The maid bowed, and left, walking rather too stiffly – with pride of having corrected Madame, Vivienne was assured; oh, what gossip would arise in the kitchens, if only…

…if only the human maids had slept well.

The Grand Enchanter slipped a delicate dressing gown over her night dress, and allowed herself a moment's pause. She sat before her mirror, and glanced at her reflection, not liking what she was seeing in the cruel, new light. The lines in the corner of her eyes had been there the day before, and the day before that, yet now she saw them – she also saw a trembling halo around her figure, faint but glittering with rainbow reflexes, like the contour of a child's soap bubble. Vivienne was assured that this, too, had been there the day before, and the day before that; what she was unsure of was of the way in which the outline bent and dented. As if invisible hands were touching it, measuring it, tugging it.

Trying to breach it.

She stepped away from the mirror, as hastily as she'd distanced herself from the wide open window.

'I am Madame de Fer,' she reminded herself, out loud; with her enhanced sense of hearing, the pronouncement should have sounded like thunder, but it was small and creaky, because she knew…

She knew that whatever start she had given the blissfully unaware elven maid, she would have to have a small discussion with Clarienne over addressing the first letter she intended to dictate to Enchanter Fiona.

But, Madame! She knew the girl would say. That is au par with recognising the unsanctioned Circles! Your authority, our position…

Vivienne would wave her protests away, and the girl would write what she was told to write, in the end; she'd probably hold her tongue and know better than to protest when the second letter would be addressed to Marquise Briala, which relegated her Imperial Majesty, Empress Celene, the last on the list.

Perhaps, Vivienne thought, making her way through the small, windowless corridor that linked her bedchamber to her study, and finding that it too was flooded by light and painful detail, she would explain to Clarienne that she was, for the first time in eight years addressing Fiona as Enchanter not because she recognised her as a rival, or worse, an equal, but because Fiona was an elf. The relevance of this would evade Clarienne, of course, and she'd make that unpleasant little face she always made when she did not understand something – the thought of how much more unpleasant her little face would be in this new, stingingly revealing light, made Vivienne cringe, and almost think that on this occasion, she might have liked to write her own letters.

Yet, it was not an hour after sunrise, and she felt as if she'd walked twenty miles while carrying all the lumber in Emprise du Lion – in her heart of hearts, she already knew she would be physically unable to write three letters.

She crashed, rather than sat behind her desk, and rubbed her eyes. The gold of her quill holder glowed as a spear made of sun; the white of her parchments was resplendent as freshly laid snow.

Vivienne hesitated, then, true to her name, steeled herself, and reached for her quill, deciding that Clarienne would have one less letter to write – the shortest one of all, of course, but still one less.

Montsimard, on this 8th day of Drakonis,

From Vivienne, Madame de Fer, by sanction of Her Imperial Majesty Empress Celene Valmont the First, and of the Holy Chantries of Orlais and Ferelden, Grand Enchanter of the Circles of Magi,

To Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Celene Valmont the First.

Votre Majesté, celui qu-on connait comme Solas...il est lá3.

She, too, was wrong, but only by half.

1 Have you slept well? (French in original, ofc). It's a nuance, but it is far more convivial and light hearted morning greeting than outright 'Good morning'. Denotes good will, a bit of familiarity and even a hint of affection.

2 Not at all, little one.

3 He's here.

Oh my, could this be us, back again? This time, the long hiatus was due to us not being able to keep up posting pace. We have been working all summer, however, and we have quite a few things to show you :)

So, hum, this is how world begins to end. Not with a whimper, but with another bang :)

(Solas says he is feeling rather ashamed of how proud he feels.)