When I have lost all else, when my eyes fail me
And the taste of blood fills my mouth, then
In the pounding of my heart
I hear the glory of creation.

Trials 7.

And so, the world of Thaedas once more breathed at ease, waiting for the echoes of the battle on Seheron to die out, and for the healing to begin. The light of the Maker's hope still shone in Southern hearts, for most had not yet heard that blackened dragon wings had once more risen to blot it.

Across the land, the Chantry proclaimed that the Herald had performed another miracle in Andraste's name, and few of the smaller amid the Maker's houses even acknowledged the fact that it was not quite true – those Chantries who did, lied out loud and fervently prayed in hushed whispers. In the end of all things, the ordinary folk knew nothing of the tensions that had caused the Inquisition to dissolve, and had no reason to learn that their living hero had bent knee before the Archon of Tevinter, and sworn undying loyalty to the Imperium, all of its Southern Provinces, and its True Eternal Gods.

All that they needed to know was that the threat had been vanquished, and all would be well; the Chantry held the diminishing numbers of demon attacks as proof of their words. The veil, they said, would mend in time, and the lingering ailment suffered by humans would eventually vanish too. The common folk also did not know that the eagerly awaited words of reprieve spread by the kindly sisters had not been written by the Divine, nor that the Chantry in Val Royaux had, in fact, issued no communication whatsoever. Desperate hope stifled the curiosity of the many, and life limped ahead.

Those who knew the truth held their hearts in their teeth.

The fact that nothing had changed in the consistency of the veil had been confirmed and reconfirmed by all Mage Circles. As if further proof of the fact that the cataclysm had not ended, but merely taken a mocking pause had been needed, the correspondence between Vivienne de Fer and Grand Enchanter Fiona continued at a furious pace. Her Radiance, Empress Celene Valmont and Queen Anora Therein of Ferelden met twice, in great secrecy; the city of Kirkwall finally acknowledged correspondence from Starkheaven, and even the beleaguered Qun offered the continent, bar Tevinter, secret terms of peace generous enough to put the Llawellyn accords to shame.

None of it mattered, though, and the few knew it.

The veil was irremediably shattered, and, even worse, under the wide wings of its dragons, unassailable Minrathous fared fine. In fact, the shadow of the Imperium was now looming larger across Theadas than it had done in entire ages - the clay-legged behemoth had regained its footing precisely at a time when none of the nations in the South could mount the most minor war effort without disclosing their comforting public lies, so, faced with the prospect of rioting and rioting and an invasion, the few in the South held their breath, and braced for an attack.

Perhaps, Celene and Anora agreed, the people would naturally rally when the attack came. Perhaps Tevinter's dragons could be dismissed as unholy summons, evidence of a Blight – perhaps…perhaps letters to Archon Clodius Radonis were in order now. Perhaps, despite everything, the Maker was still watching over his children.

Perhaps something else was, too, but…

'Better the enemy you know,' Radonis said, smiling to Divine Victoria with earnest warmth. 'You must not grudge them too much, your worship – fearing Tevinter is a second nature, now they have better reason to fear Tevinter than ever, thus…'

Cassandra shook her head, and let herself fall upon the settee in Radonis' study from such a height that the delicate piece of furniture emitted a plaintive squeak, and the cat that had been previously slumbering upon it arched its back and hissed in exaggerated protest.

'Apologies,' the Divine sighed – more to the animal than to the Archon himself; the cat appeared less than convinced by the sincerity of the sentiment, but half-heartedly accepted it, and scrambled to curl on Cassandra's lap. It was odd, the Divine thought, awkwardly petting the creature, how much kinship she'd come to feel with this man, the last man on the continent she'd ever imagined she would even come to respect, let alone like…Still, the awakening of the dragons, and all that had come to pass since had offered Cassandra insights she truly had not wished to gain; not into Tevinter, its Archon or even its dragons, but sadly, into her own flock.

Even as the Chantries across Theadas sang Veldrin's praises, behind closed doors, the southern monarchs called her a traitor, and Cassandra suspected that much the same was being said about her in the higher echelons of the clergy. Her permanence in Minrathous when the land was in turmoil was simply seen as another indication of the fact that she, too, had deserted to the enemy, and the only reason there was no discussion of a replacement yet was the fact that the Chantry could ill-afford to show inner dissent.

The fact that increasingly strongly worded letters from the southern courts had not convinced the Divine to either miraculously summon Andraste or cause the dragons to vanish – or preferably, both – had caused Cassandra to become as frequentable as a carrier of the bubonic pestilence might have been.

'I am starting to understand how Veldrin felt all those years ago, when none believed her,' Cassandra said, with a deep exhalation.

Radonis smiled, sadly. 'Oh, your worship,' he chuckled, offering her a small goblet of wine, 'they do believe us, it is a question of not being able to process what they do believe. Or,' he added, filling his own cup, and sitting down behind his desk, 'a simple question of political calculation – a poor one, but…'

'I cannot blame them,' he said. 'If I were them, I would not know how to process the situation, either, and believing that this all,' Radonis followed, raising his cup to symbolically indicate the unhinged world around them, 'is some sort of perverted ruse of the Malefica Imperio is far easier than accepting ten ages of unifying religion being proven false.'

'Even if this all is far from over,' Cassandra whispered, staring into her cup. 'Even though the shattered veil will continue doing its work, and…If I may, your grace…' she began to ask, meeting the Archon's glance. The man smiled, and nodded his accord, and still, the Divine hesitated for a second longer. 'How come Tevinter…' she softly said, searching for her courage as well as for her words, 'how come Tevinter is not suffering as the rest of the continent? Why…'

Radonis bit his lower lip. 'I do not outright know, your worship. I can, of course, offer some educated guesses, if you will be so kind as to not repeat them outside this room.'

'Why not?' Cassandra frowned.

'They will bring comfort to our now common friends in the South, which I would not grudge; however, I fear they also will inspire some desperation induced courage, which would amount to little, in the end, but which I, personally, would find…unpleasant.'

It was his turn to hesitate a moment. 'The South sees only its own plight, your worship,' he followed, his voice even and controlled, and yet, undeniably honest. 'I do not think you could understand ours, even if you tried, because of…hm, shall we say, cultural differences?'

Cassandra shook her head in confusion. 'Your dragons?' she queried.

'Far more important than our dragons, Divine Victoria,' the Archon said, his lips thinning to an eerie, unpleasant smile. 'Our slaves.'

'Oh,' the woman said, feeling genuinely taken aback; she'd gotten so accustomed to this man being courteous, and even kind, that the despicable Tevinter habit of depriving people of their freedom had completely slipped her mind.

'Indeed,' Radonis nodded. 'I believe,' he said, leaning back in his chair and spinning the wine in his cup, 'that the reason the effects of the torn veil are not the same in Tevinter as they are in the South is because the presence of Mystery and Contemplation empowers hidden altars and relics, altars and relics not even we have full knowledge of. It is in these lands that our war on Elvhenan started; it is hence here that the Old Gods might have put up defences against Elvhen magic. That is why, dragons aside, your kings in the South are foolish to fear an invasion – in the absence of those protections, even under the wings of our dragons, what affects their soldiers will sooner or later come to affect our human soldiers as well as our human slaves, and we do not count enough to take both Orlais and Ferelden, as weakened as they might be.'

'In addition,' the man followed, 'you Southerners do not understand the Imperium's dire dependency on its elves…I doubt even we understood it, before all this, yet, in thorough honesty, their labour was the basis of our economy, such as it is, and the backbone of our military logistics. The Imperium cannot start a war because we cannot afford one, and because our armies are in total shambles.'

'And you think that if Orlais, Ferelden and Nevarra realised this, they'd chance…' the Divine incredulously chuckled.

'I think that learning that by simply stepping into the Imperium's borders would strengthen their own troop might make the Southern nations unnecessarily bold, yes; we are in no position to invade, but making this statement publicly…'

He sighed.

'They mistrust us at least as much as we mistrust them,' the Archon matter-of-factly said, 'and I do not see that changing anytime soon, your worship…And that is despite the fact that we do have a very serious and undeniable common problem.'

Cassandra smirked. 'Perhaps, your grace, but it is a problem that the Imperium can outlive.'

'Can we?' Radonis bitterly asked; he took a sip of his drink, and stood to gaze thoughtfully out the window. 'I think…' he slowly spoke, 'that all this agitation is causing us all to have a very dangerous blind spot. Do believe that waking the Old Gods was our intention?'

'No, though I am likely the only person in the South who truly believes that,' the Divine said, with no hesitation. 'Nonetheless, they are here.'

'Precisely,' Radonis answered. 'And we did not call to them out of faith; still, through the weakened veil, they heard us.'

He gripped the windowsill with both hands. 'Now imagine what must be happening to the Elvhen in Arlathan, who have just lost their sole protector…I do not know about you, your worship, but I would be praying with quite some fervour.'

'Me too,' Cassandra admitted, drinking her cup to the bottom, then standing to refill it and joining Radonis by the window. She unwillingly looked to the too bright sky, and neither needed to speak their minds out loud, for each knew what the other was thinking – if a simple spell channelled through an artefact had been enough to return Lusacan and Razikale, then the desperate prayers of thousands…

'Our world was not ready for even one of them; now, there are three…two, still…' Cassandra whispered. 'What might happen if…'

'It would certainly put our other territorial disputes into some perspective,' the Archon pensively agreed. 'My concern, your worship, is that it will be a matter of when, and not if; Mystery and Contemplation might frighten the continent, but I am less ascertained they can face seven of their own kind.'

The Divine nodded. 'And to top that off,' she said, 'Mystery and Contemplation do have some form of attachment to humans. The others likely share Solas' view of all of us...The veil needs to be mended. Have you had communication from the Southern Circles?'

'Do you expect I did?' the Archon outright laughed.

'Then should you not…' the Divine stubbornly began – her words were met with a stern glance and a decisive shake of the head.

'Your worship,' Radonis replied, in all seriousness, 'the ruler of the continent's only magical powerhouse does not offer first bow to a menial assembly of mages who imprison themselves of their own volition, and are afraid of their own powers. Nor,' he said, in a very cold tone, 'am I about to accept the ambassadorial accreditation of Celene Valmont's head spy and pillow warmer, when Orlais does not yet accept an honorary Tevinter ambassador, unless it is Dorian Pavus, whom I cannot spare. It is sufficient that I continue to suffer Arl Teagan.'

'I may not be hostile, Divine Victoria,' the Archon said, 'but I am not humble, either. Goodwill cannot be simply extended, when no reciprocation exists.'

'Someone needs to take a first step, your grace.' Cassandra sighed.

'Quite so,' Radonis agreed, 'but the only representation the Southern monarchs, Nevarra included, have chosen to saddle me with are both hostile and far beneath me.'

She bitterly scoffed. 'And yet, here you are, speaking to the head of an institution that has practically become void of meaning. I am even unsure why you still call me by my title…'

The Archon softened his glance. 'Firstly, I am speaking to a woman who continues to be the head of an organisation that spans the length and width of the continent, and is, at least in theory, in possession of a large, independent military force.'

'As if,' Cassandra laughed.

'Even if they lost faith in you, your institution still holds their lyrium leash,' Radonis cynically reminded.

'I oft times do not find your pragmatism overly endearing, you know,' the woman said; he merely shrugged.

'No one has ever accused me of being a wide-eyed idealist, your worship.' He said, grinning. 'It is also that I believe the only way in which we can reinforce some of the rotten bridges with the South is if you were nominated as head of the Tevinter Chantry as well.'

Cassandra gawked, in what she was assured was a terribly disgraceful manner – she had a feeling Radonis did not much care.

'Since the Old Gods have appeared, the Black Divine seems to be slightly, shall we say, catatonic.' Radonis said, as if the proposition had been the most natural thing in the world.

The woman still stared at him as she might have stared at Razikale, when the goddess who sometimes embodied as a dragon made one of her unpredictable appearances out of thin air.

'Is there even going to be a Northern Chantry?' she asked, in awe. 'I mean, I had assumed…'

Radonis gave her another indecisive shrug, and an amazingly innocent smile.

'As an institution of religion, I won't lie, it's in its death throes. Unlike your Southern flock, the Imperium has actually seen the dragons. However, to my great confessed amazement, the Lord Watcher does not seem to mind its presence, and the Augur…'

'…is the Augur,' Cassandra completed, in a sigh. 'I am unsure she minds anything…'

'Point is,' the Archon followed, 'neither seems inclined to burn it down, momentarily, thus I see no reason why it should remain headless. Uniting the Chantries would be a grand political gesture, and it will be a great boon to your reputation.'

The woman rolled her eyes. 'You know, your grace, just as you've never been accused of being innocent, I think this is the first time anyone has even attempted to accuse me of being capable of being a politician.'

He awkwardly touched her shoulder with the back of his folded fingers. 'Life makes politicians of us all, Cassandra. Or at least of those of us who survive thirty,' he conceded, making her chuckle sadly.

'I will not make light of your faith by insisting, your worship.' The Archon said, reverting to polite address. 'Nor shall I try to disguise my pragmatic intent – I need to…we need to keep our lands together, or at least not baring swords at each other until the common danger has passed. Veldrin Pavus is a praiseworthy woman, but after her swearing in as a Magister, her reputation in the South will never be restored, no matter what miracles she performs on their behalf…You are the only person in authority there that I trust to understand that there is no glory in extinction, and the only one I can help.'

'Besides,' Radonis thoughtfully followed, 'even without the impending danger we are in, this is a new state of the world that does not erase the pains of the old one. The poor will still need alms; all will still need comfort, and you are still best placed to lead the Chantry in providing those.'

'Without the Maiden's shield…' Cassandra whispered, shaking her head.

'I do not think you need to do away with it just now,' the man earnestly replied.

She bitterly chuckled. 'And you suggest that I keep preaching the Chant's verse, although I, myself, find it hard to pray to it?'

He seriously gazed at her. 'The Chant itself has served as a political tool for many centuries now, Divine Victoria; you will not be the one to sully it, for it has been sullied already. Both our Chantries have expulsed the Canticle of Shartan and pronounced it heretical – us, because it encouraged slaves to rebel; you, because Orlais coveted the Dales. Let us, then, glance at our true selves in the mirror. The Exalted Marches of the Dales had nothing to do with the Dalish refusing to accept the Maker's truth…'

'Some part of it…' the woman stubbornly began; he chuckled, making her frown.

'Truly,' the Archon said, in undisguised irony. 'Why has the Chantry never marched on the Avvar, then? They tend to put your missionaries' heads on pikes far more often than the elves ever did. Look at yourself in the mirror, Divine Victoria,' he repeated, gently but firmly. 'You know the truth well enough: there have been no Exalted Marches on the Avvar because no one wants the icy hells and watery graves they inhabit. That is all.'

Cassandra looked away, wishing to find words to refute his, but knowing there were none.

'The Southern Chantry has purged the Canticle of Hessarian. We have purged the Canticle of Silence…' Radonis dreamily followed. 'Us mortals have long made decisions on which part of the Holy Writ served us best – as long as the changes and the benefits they bring are clear, alterations of the Chant need not cause seismic shifts…'

'…while a religious earthquake is the last thing the continent needs, right now,' Divine Victoria said, wistfully glancing at the bottom of her empty goblet. 'And, in this case, the benefit of the Augur not deciding to file her talons on Andraste's statue in Denerim, should she not find the smoking herbs to her liking, should be blindingly clear.'

The man apologetically shrugged.

'Maker's breath,' Cassandra sighed. 'Have you anything stronger to drink?'

Radonis laughed. 'Not here, sadly. The temptation is too great; these days feel like perpetual Satinalia…Were you planning to drink yourself into accepting my offer, or refusing it?' he asked, grinning.

'I was planning to drink myself into forgetting I am considering it,' she said, smiling a little. 'And to think…You do realise,' Cassandra said, holding out her cup for a refill, 'that if you name me head of your Chantry, we will accomplish nothing, don't you?'

'I won't do it,' the Archon replied. 'The Black Divine will resign on grounds of ill health, and nominate you as his successor. We will have the necessary debates in Magisterium, it will be a mighty, perhaps even bloody squabble, you will be insulted in more ways than you imagine possible, but your nomination will pass with minimum margin. I might even protest it in writing,' he seriously warned – the words did not erase Cassandra's smile; she turned away from Radonis and pensively stared at the peacefully breathing statues of the two dragons.

'I…' Cassandra softly began, 'I apologise for earlier. You are taking the first step. I only pray to whatever Gods there are…or,' she said, drawing a deep breath, 'to whatever human wisdom exists, that the Southern monarchs will see it. It is all so…veiled.'

'They will see it,' Radonis quietly responded, biting his lower lip, and refilling his own cup. 'It will not blind them to my self interest in the manoeuvre, but it is the best offer they can get, under the circumstances…'

'You see, your worship,' he pensively added, 'I reason that the first truth that the Southern monarchs will have to swallow, perhaps undigested, is the fact that there are no overt villains here, and that none of us truly know what to do. If I dare thus assert myself,' he chuckled, with an ironic undertone, 'I am the most experienced of all the continent's rulers, in dealing with impending chaos – experience in guiding a relatively strong vessel over some rough water will not best serve if that same ship is leaking from all its joints.'

'For better or worse,' Radonis said, 'all three of the major Southern nations have been relatively steady ships…'

'If we discount the Orlesian civil war and the Ferelden dynastic unrest after the last Blight,' Cassandra quipped, with irony she was only now discovering she possessed; the Archon smiled wide, but shook his head.

'Those are blips, your worships. Despite them, both Orlais and Ferelden remain hereditary monarchies with reasonably steady economies, a Valmont and a Therein still on their thrones. True tragedy and turmoil strike a state not when it loses its head; the tragedy of a state is losing its spine – that opaque layer or actual, functioning bureaucracy that keeps it moving along. As long as the Council of Heralds and the Landsmeet are still in place, it does not really matter if a Valmont is replaced by a du Chalons, say.'

'Hm,' the Divine muttered. 'I agree with you, to an extent, but the head does dictate the direction in which a body moves – the Valmont against the du Chalons dispute might have had very real consequences.'

'True, the Orlesians under Grand Duke Gaspard may have started up another hissy fit with Ferelden,' Radonis admitted, with a shrug. 'The point I think you are missing, your worship, is that both countries would have kept moving. This is not true for Tevinter.'

'When an Archon goes, the Magisterium stays in place,' Cassandra reminded; this time, Radonis laughed heartily.

'Perhaps,' he said, 'but with the departure of an Archon, Tevinter always loses its spine. The institutions stay in place in name, of course, but each new Archon has to reward their power base or buy out their enemies out somehow – thus, bureaucratic positions become political appointments, prizes and bribes. Not even the best intentioned of men can escape this, thus even if one recognises that a certain man was diligent and capable in say, administration of the mines along the Hundred Pillars, that man will unfailingly be replaced by the third cousin of some Altus who could not be immediately made Magister. The previous administrator may even have to thank their lucky stars that they did not lose their head with the position...'

'And so,' he sighed, 'from top to bottom, merit becomes less important than whose side one was on, in an election, and of which House they are. If good work is never rewarded, why would one do good work? Assuming one is even capable of it, of course…I know this happens everywhere, yet the extent to which it happens in Tevinter is abominable, each time. We are a nation incapable of moving forth because the very basic sprockets of administration change each time power shifts, and can't decide in which direction to spin.'

'You speak not very kindly of your countrymen,' the Divine said, with a little frown.

'I'm merely being honest with what they are and who I am,' the man shrugged, 'and while all this may sound dismal, I think the fact that I have led this monstrously leaking ship for almost thirty years now, and it has not yet sunk, may make my advice worth heeding.'

'And still, what advice can one truly give?' Cassandra whispered. 'We are, all, now on a leaking ship, surrounded by rough waters, without a compass, and with a crew that might mutiny to boot.'

He winked. 'Well, your worship,' Radonis said, 'the first and most important thing is that the crew does not mutiny, and how we shall prevent that is by reminding all that a seemingly sturdy frame distracts almost everyone from a blank canvass.'

'How so?' the woman frowned.

'All of our peoples expect us to show them a future,' he answered, 'while we don't even have an inkling of what that future will look like; if we admit as much, they will not follow, so, we will not. Thus, we shall build a sturdy enough and ornate enough frame for this blank canvass of a future to convince all that we know what the painting will contain.'

'Some people even like blank canvasses and empty pages, you know,' Radonis softly ended. 'They can imagine whatever they wish upon them…'

'But the frame must be real,' the Divine warned.

'I have no intention of making it otherwise.' He said. 'I promised you that I shall not forget Thaedas on the night of Lusacan's awakening, and I am keeping my word. There is, however, no way around the fact that the reborn Imperium is part of that frame, and that if we survive the present storm, the South of Thaedas will see touches of the canvass that they may not like. May,' he chuckled. 'Changes they certainly will not like.'

The woman nodded, in sad acceptance. 'You intend, then, to…regain your Southern Provinces? Because if it is so, your grace, I cannot, in good conscience…'

To her surprise, Radonis shook his head. 'Ironically,' he said, 'all that has happened since the night we first met has not altered my original plans one iota. Renewed openness between the Imperium and the rest of Thaedas will have led to the same place. I am not a man keen on banners and borders, your worship. I still think that exposure to Tevinter culture would have led to changes in the South, and in the end of all things, whether we call Orlais our province, or the Orlesian Empire, history might have led precisely to where it is now leading.'

'The South will never accept slavery,' the Divine fiercely said; Radonis smiled, thinly.

'Your faith in human nature is truly heartening,' he answered, with no trace of mockery in his voice. 'I could tell you that serfdom is already slavery by another name, but I shall not – I'll merely ask you this: if you were offered an apple for one pierced copper, or an apple for free, which would you take? And could you swear, hand on heart, that all would choose as you might?'

'Humans are not apples, your grace,' the woman said, with a deepening frown. 'Nor…nor are elves apples,' she added, as an afterthought – the delay between the pronouncements made Radonis smile impishly, and Cassandra felt herself blushing.

It was true, she thought, feeling ashamed of herself. Humans came first; for all that had happened, elves were still an afterthought.

'Mutual knowledge inevitably provokes change,' the Archon spoke, not pressing the subject. 'The only difference between the night you arrived in Minrathous and this day is that now, change can come in two ways – peacefully, or by way of blood and fire. By supporting you, I am, indeed, extending a hand in peace.'

'I am truly unsure the South will see it thus,' the Divine said. 'Do not misread me, I think it is a grand gesture, but it would be far, far more obvious as an overture if you actually accepted the South's diplomats…What?' she queried, when the man arched an incredulous eyebrow. 'I see your advice as sound, though I do not like it, so I am offering you some advice of my own. Empress Celene would feel far more reassured if she thought Briala had her fingers on your pulse.'

The man decisively shook his head, but smiled. 'I understand your way of thinking, but I will not accept the Marquise's accreditation. I am not expulsing her, either, though; she will serve me well in other ways. I need not tell you that the Magisterium is not bubbling with joy at having an elf among them, and I shall give them a bone to chew on so they don't turn to bite, by sending the very lovely Marquise Briala Veldrin Pavus' way. So, you know,' he said, with a wide grin, 'the two insufferable jumped-up elves can have an intermission of equals.'

'That is a very bad idea,' Cassandra said, her eyes wide in shock.

'Why?' Radonis inquired, for the first time sounding taken aback in his turn.

'Those two hate each other with burning passion,' the woman clarified.

He relaxed and chuckled once more. 'Give me some credit, your worship,' he said. 'Don't you think I know that? I too had eyes in the Winter Palace. The fact that they belong to very different tribes did not escape me.'

'So why would you…' Cassandra muttered.

'Because carrots do not have much meaning if sticks do not accompany them,' the Archon laughed. 'Veldrin is not inclined to mince words, even less so with people she actively dislikes. She is best placed to remind the South that even though it is not Tevinter's first choice, the way of blood and fire does exist, and that they should carefully weigh their options.'

The woman rolled her eyes. 'Does Vel even know this is your plan?' she asked, in a tone that was half amused, and half irritated.

'I find her natural belligerence far more convincing if she is spontaneous,' Radonis said, grinning wide.

'Oh, Maker…you know, Clodius Radonis,' Cassandra softly said, 'sometimes you give me the feeling that I am unwillingly serving as a mummer in a stage play I cannot leave.'

'We all are, Cassandra,' the man simply replied. 'We all are.'

We do have a continent to fix, don't we? In another world, I can definitely imagine Cassandra and Radonis as dragons. They both deserve it.

Abstract and IvI wish you a good night,

Thank you for reading, wish you would leave us a word.