Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.

In their blood the Maker's will is written.

Benedictions 4:11

'Please, be brave,' Veldrin said. 'Please, Abelas, be brave – the worst is over.' She had whispered, not knowing whether she was being truthful or not. She clearly was not truthful to his ears, but he was too exhausted to fight.

'Could you speak with him, before…'

'No,' Veldrin sorrowfully answered.

'You could not even see him?' Abelas further questioned.

'No,' she once again replied, shaking her head.

'Then I cannot see how you can think the worst is over,' he dryly said.

'She means the worst is over for you, golden boy – Lusacan already pissed on you from a height last night, and I wager that with Solas in attendance, you will not be his focus.' Maevaris intervened, frowning deeply. 'Stop prodding her, she is already raw. Are we ready?' she asked, looking about herself, to the small group that had gathered in the shadows before the main entrance.

Cassandra uneasily adjusted her new, and even taller, hat. 'As ready as I'll ever be,' she sighed. 'Maker,' she said, 'last night I thought I would strangle you with my bare hands when you sent me what were basically…my lines,' the Divine of the United Chantry spoke, frowning at Maevaris – her anger lasted little, though, and she let her shoulders slump. 'I even thought of enlisting Varric to re-write things, just to spite you, but…'

'It was good wording, in the end,' Josephine tiredly added. 'I've changed some of the phrasing…'

'As have I,' Briala said, approaching the small group in hurried steps. 'Forgive my tardiness, ravens are oft not as swift as one might wish them to be. Celene had some objections to some of your writing, not the least of which was that you forgot to call her Her Radiance.'

Maevaris waved their concerns away. 'I don't mind,' she said. 'It would have been suspicious if all of us spoke the same words; as long as we are in agreement over the core content, I care not for how you were advised to change my drafting – that is why I sent it to you in advance in the first place. First gong,' she said, visibly bracing as a call of 'all rise' was heard from the chamber below.

'If you have engineered the vote as well as you have engineered us, Magistra Tilani,' Briala said, 'we should have fine sailing.'

'Ferelden?' Veldrin asked; the Orlesian and Maevaris shook their heads in unison, both proving knowledge that they should probably not have held.

'The man cannot be spoken to,' Cassandra replied, in their steads. 'He likes me less now than ever, and he cannot even be induced to hide it anymore.'

'We'll go above him soon,' Briala smoothly said. 'Her Radiance assures that the Thereins are not that petty...though, strange I find it, and Celene herself does too,' she thoughtfully followed, 'that they should act so. The region presents no interest to Ferelden. It is quite odd to see them do this only to spite…'

'Perhaps they have had correspondence from Starkheaven,' Josephine offered, in a strange, little voice; it was not so much the words, but the fact that Maevaris gave Josie a cutting glance that Veldrin noticed.

'What does Starkheaven…' she began to ask.

'One battle at a time, doll,' Mae hastily interrupted, her reproachful glance still lingering on the Antivan. 'You should be to your seats in the upper gallery,' she said, for the room beyond the door was growing quiet. 'We'll think of Ferelden on another day – it would be strange indeed the continent would be unanimous in its acceptance of a Tevinter Magisterial writ, anyway...'

'But will we win the vote?' Briala pressed – it was only right of her to do so, Veldrin numbly thought, for she had not been in the Archon's chamber, when, in the secret still of night, the terms of the motion had been first introduced, and it was better so. Perhaps not even she, of the trained and well practiced meekness might have stood for such forthright humiliation as she and Abelas had stood.

Indeed, as Veldrin had predicted, they had spent all of past eve on their knees, and indeed, Abelas had been made to beg in such a way that filled the heart with equal amounts of sorrow and rage – so much, in fact, that by the end of the encounter, Radonis himself had seemed uncomfortable with the Gods' conditions and pressure, and with the unrestrained, wicked joy, of six of his seven conciliatus…

Veldrin had kneeled and bowed her head along with Abelas, though the Gods had immediately made it clear that it was not needed. It had been though, not to their eyes, but to those of Cassius and his ilk; the Sentinel's suffering had appeased the dragons, but it had been her suffering to appease them, the humans who truly saw the people as cattle alone.

The map of Arlathan's borders had been redrawn several times, and, during quite a few of those merciless revisions she'd felt that Abelas was shaking from all joints – in pain, or fear or rage or all. More painful to her still was that, not for a moment had he looked to her for some sort of comfort, hence proving Lusacan and Razikale right once more: the fact that she had shouldered all with him, the fact that Dorian and Mae had equally leaned in over the maps, each line of their quills pulling the lands that would be granted in exchange for lives closer to what Abelas himself had wanted had had no echo.

It had all felt as if he had not even seen her kneeling beside him, as if, not now, nor ever, would she truly be one of his; she would be, to his eyes, forever one of them.

'We'll win the vote, Marquise,' Veldrin heard herself say.

Briala narrowed her green, beautiful eyes in doubt, and pulled her Orlesian mask down upon her features. 'Advance payment,' the Marquise said, 'is not a guarantee of delivery, Keeper Lavellan. Remember Halam'shiral.'

Veldrin opened her mouth, but Maevaris cut her off again.

'If any of you,' Mae coldly said, 'could forget Halam'shiral for just one heartbeat, you would fare better. Let's go,' she said, clenching her jaws as a cry of all rise was repeated. 'Radonis will be sitting now, we cannot keep him waiting.'

Josephine, Briala and Cassandra nodded, and were on their way to the upper gallery, the one destined for the public; Abelas was shivering though, and so Mae stopped to look at the two elves.

'Are we ready?' she asked – Veldrin looked to Abelas for an answer, but he did not look her way.

'By all means,' Abelas said, speaking and looking into the void.

'Won't be smooth by any extent of the imagination,' Mae said, in final warning. 'Cassius and the others have had a night's warning too…'

'You think that they might lean the other way?' Veldrin asked, wishing that she would not sound frightened, but knowing that she had.

Maevaris bit her lower lip, but the decisively shook her head. 'No,' she made answer. 'We have Radonis on our side, and the dragons'…blessing, I guess,' she sighed. 'They cannot turn, and I doubt they wish to. It's after all them who are actually winning the day. That does not mean they will not try to hurt us, if they can. Just remember that humiliation and personal insults are the resort of the weak mind, eh?'

'We already know that,' Abelas replied dryly. 'We've all come too far to expect good grace even in victory, hence...'

Maevaris nodded, and breathed in deeply. 'What is it that your people say?'

'Mythal'enaste.' Vel said. 'Mythal protect me...'

'Fen'Harel enasal,' Abelas answered. 'The Dread Wolf protects all.'

'Yes, right, you are all insane, and you speak and unspeakable language,' Maevaris mumbled. 'Let's go.'

Whatever he'd imagined, whatever little he could have prepared himself for, Solas immediately understood that it would be much worse. For a second, he could not even process the sight of Abelas entering the core of the volcano, unfettered and fully armed.

Veldrin was just a step behind him, to his right, and the blonde, female Magister he'd so briefly caught sight of on Seheron to his left; both women looked radiant from a distance, he noted, in fright – Veldrin in her House colours, in a robe that seemed to be the Dalish variant of the one Dorian was wearing, her hair elegantly pulled back and pointed ears on full display. The human female, on the other hand, looked as if she'd dressed for all the eyes in the chamber to be on her, for she was the only one of about six hundred to not wear black, or something that might have technically been thought of as a mage's attire.

The dragons on her blue, velvet gown were embroidered in gold, and, in the weave, there were so many specs of mirror that she shimmered like a giant, gaudy diamond at each step. Not only that, but it was so tight and deeply split along her thigh that one could alternatively wonder how she could walk at all, or sit without revealing her under-garments to all who cared to look.

She is not dressed to cast, and she's unarmed, he thought.

Defiance…Or insane courage, Solas realised, briefly taking his eyes of the procession of three, to glance at Dorian, who looked as displeased and concerned as the elf had ever seen him.

To Abelas he could not look for longer than a second, as if the moment he laid eyes on his lieutenant, his fear had turned into a physical, dark veil and stole his sight. He wished that the desperate beating of his heart would drown his hearing too, but alas, no such good fortune came, so when the three came to stand before the Archon and Tevinter's false idols, he could hear them in full.

The two women bowed; Abelas did not.

'Praised be the Eternal Gods,' said both women, and the chamber echoed their greeting. He did not need to look up to know that Anaris was smiling.

'The blessing of our good-will upon you, Lady Patience, Magisters, all,' Daren'thal said. Heavens, Solas thought, he'd never realised how deeply he hated her voice, just because it was so beautifully melodious and soothing…

'Salve, Radonis,' Veldrin and her companion further greeted, now straightening.

'Salvete, Magistrae,' the Archon answered; he too had a warmth in his voice that Solas did not like, and looked at the two women with superior benevolence. 'You bring us interesting guests,' Radonis said, acknowledging Abelas with a nod…

What have you done, Abelas…Veldrin…What have you…

The question pointlessly writhed in Solas' mind, recoiling from the answer as an eel might have recoiled from the walls of a too tight glass pond which only grew tighter each time it was touched.

They haven't found them. They've surrendered, the last of us, and they…I…

He sought to meet either of their glances, yet neither looked his way, and from up close, it was plain to see that no matter how they'd thought they had mastered themselves, both Veldrin and Abelas carried only dread in their hearts, their pain, his pain, rendering their eyes dull and glassy.

There was nowhere to hide, not from their words and not from the sight, not from his utter and final failure, thus he did listen, taking each word in a strange, voluptuous greed for suffering, as if he thought that the pain would finally become too much and kill him – still, no matter how one prayed, words could not turn to daggers, and could not kill.

The room around him was alive now, a monster that reeked of satisfaction and could barely contain its hunger. Once the tiniest slither of reason returned, it was not hard to guess why: it was a stage, Solas could plainly see, a stage designed for him alone, and with him at its very literal centre.

Abelas needed not speak the words of shame out loud, for the entire chamber probably knew them already. Nonetheless, they'd obviously made him do so, and they drank the dry and laboriously prepared legal document that was presented to them as if it had been the sweetest elixir, not bored by detail nor numbed by the tone of Abelas' voice.

It was a play, Solas thought with a known and greatly anticipated ending – no turn of phrase or ill performance would affect the enjoyment of the spectators, for, in the end there would be blood, not the fake kind used by mummers, but real blood.

And not their own.

Perhaps they were not even fully in the wrong to enjoy the play so, Solas considered, feeling as if he'd been standing outside himself and watching, in his turn; though blood and tears were in the air, he sensed that the drama had yet to reach its height.

Abelas was clearly crushed, and not up for the showmanship, but the rest of them, including Veldrin and her blonde companion were more than up to the task. Radonis even feigned surprise well enough that it might have passed for real when Abelas finally reached what Solas hoped was the end of his scroll. He too, had had to admit it had been not what he'd expected, not fully at least.

What he had thought he had been brought to witness was not a declaration of surrender, but a demand for land and recognition, as dignified as it could possibly have been under the circumstances.

He could almost feel hope by the end, which, Solas assumed, was the cruelty and the art of the stage setter; it was now, at the height of the tension that Veldrin's role became clear to him too – more humble than Abelas, the words of her borrowed language still wooden on her lips, she'd stated she was moved by the Elvhen courage on display, and would, as a serving Magister of the Tevinter Imperium and in true faith, servant of the Eternal Gods, grant the demand at least the acknowledgment of open vote.

'Have you filed, as demanded by Magisterial debate rules?' the woman in the grey robes…

Maryam of House Tullius…

…had politely inquired. There was a fault in her act here, Solas considered, for she'd allowed her boredom at the proceedings to resound in her voice.

'Indeed we have, Magistra Tullius,' the blonde who had been standing by Veldrin and Abelas said, stepping forth and claiming centre stage.

For a heartbeat, as the woman strode past his cage to claim the speaker's podium, Solas felt strangely grateful - no one could possibly hold scrutiny on him, Abelas or Veldrin with this woman in presence; if this had truly been an opera, she was the director as well as the outrageous singer at its lead.

No hesitation and no droning, dead voice here – Solas could speak decent Tevene, but not to the extent to which he understood all words or all contexts. The speaker's meandering in and out of Old Tevene, as well as the names and dates of treaties and covenants called in support for Arlathan's independence act were difficult to grasp, yet understanding everything was not fully needed.

He could clearly hear the passion of his…their? cause in the woman's voice, which did well enough for the words, while the effect she had on the entire chamber provided context: the impatient hatred radiating from the rows filled with fire and blood; Cassius, fidgeting, and so enraged that he was audibly grinding his teeth; Maryam of House Tullius looking as if she'd been about to snicker out loud; the sly, amused glance passing between her and Radonis, when both felt no other was watching…

The sly amusement of those who knew the betting horse race was fixed in their favour, Solas thought, but nonetheless enjoyed the racing for the off chance one of the fine horses would fall and break their legs, and would be put down in full sight of the fine audience.

'I feel that I must speak!' Cassius' voice boomed from behind him; the man stood from behind his elevated circle and trampled on the robes of others in his efforts to gain the pulpit.

'You always feel like you must speak, Magister Cassius,' the woman who still held the speaker's podium replied, arching an eyebrow. 'Magistra Tullius, is Magister Cassius on the official speaker register for today?'

'The radical forces within this sacred land,' Cassius began, undeterred, 'are, as always, seeking to use our orderly and kindly nature against us…'

'Oh, please, not the sacred land speech,' Dorian muttered, briskly standing. 'If you're about to deliver it once more, I shall need a designated person to awaken me from the deep slumber of sacred boredom. House Pavus has deep pockets, one knows where to apply!'

The laughter that sparked on both sides of the chamber did little to curve Cassius' anger, and Solas could not decide whether Dorian had made it all better or worse, as now, it seemed, Cassius lent his words the madness of conviction.

'We shall not set a precedent,' he shouted, roughly pushing Tilani aside, in such a way that disapproving murmurs rose from the stalls, 'where those who steal from us are received as honourable guests! We shall not set a precedent where thieves are as men of good standing treated! This house will not hold talks with a hostile nation – not again, not ever…We all saw,' Cassius followed, finding his stride, 'what talks with those who steal result in. We lost our rightful territory to Orlais. We are being held hostage by Ferelden…and now we speak to these?' he queried, widely gesturing towards all three elves. 'What next? When robbers come into our homes, should we also take a vote on…'

'We gather your meaning, no need to follow on,' Radonis said.

This man's eyes were as dark blue as a midwinter night, Solas thought, painstakingly looking over his shoulder to the Ferryman of Tevinter. Radonis' lower jaw seemed to be set in stone as well, cold and straight angled with a fine chisel. The man was posing for his statue as he spoke.

'Present me a solution, and not a problem, Magister,' the Archon said. 'What do you wish so that your leader may represent all of his people, not just the louder side of them?'

He thinly smiled at his own words, and there were a few loud chuckles, again, echoing from both sides of the chamber.

'It is our understanding,' Radonis followed, 'that the thus far unknown nation of Arlathan does not present itself to solely make demands of righting what it regards as a historical wrong, without offering to set right a historical wrong she has, herself, committed against Tevinter…It is, then, perhaps wise, to allow an argument to be fully made, before a counter-argument is offered.'

What wrong could we have to set right, Solas' mind raced. His very thoughts froze; he'd feared that the declaration of independence was to be followed by a dreaded offer of vassality, but this was headed elsewhere, and…

'Magistrae Tilani and…Pavus,' Cassius replied, spitting Veldrin's name, 'have duly filed, we, as your grace's concilliarum, have duly read their motion.'

This was not part of the play; a frightened flicker of a glance passed between Dorian and Veldrin.

'…not all in the chamber might have,' a lonely voice rose from the grey rows. 'The chamber cannot debate the unknown.'

'Let me, then, make brief the display,' Cassius snarled. 'His grace accuses me of hasty and lengthy speech, yet seems to find the light circus of the Lucerni entertaining – not all of us are easily distracted by all that glitters. Magistra Tilani will propose what the elf here,' he said, whipping his arm in Abelas' direction, 'has not yet done, and you shall all agree to it in all due, unpatriotic and short sided haste – this so-called Elvhen nation is not here to bow to us, as it rightly should. This so-called Elvhen nation is here to trade stolen lands for stolen goods!'

A murmur passed though the rows, and Solas was grateful, for the sound of it drowned the sound of his heart breaking, as if had been a twig.

You've not surrendered, Solas thought, wondering where his capacity for thought still stemmed from. Abelas, Veldrin…You've not merely surrendered. You've sold our people out. You…

'Yes, yes,' Cassius spoke, above the clamour of those who were genuinely surprised and the cackles of those who were not. 'They wish for a piece of our country, in return for our slaves; I am merely sparing you all the juggling of torches…'

'We gather, then, that without elves, my esteemed colleague's estates are prosperous and his coffers overflow.' Tilani said, dryly. 'Mine are not so fortunate, alas,' she sighed. 'Whose are?' she queried, addressing the question to the chamber. 'Show of hands? I guessed so,' she concluded, when no hands were raised. 'Perhaps the right esteemed Magister should enlighten us on how he fares so well…'

She abandoned the pulpit, for it was obvious that she would not regain it and strode lower, into the very centre of the pit. 'I was not my desire to bring this so crudely,' Tilani said, 'but Magister Cassius does seem to believe the Imperium can prosper in the absence of the prosperity of those who stand as its highest protectors, namely, us, Magisters, landowners, creators of wealth, all... That disastrous illusion being as it may,' she said, raising her chin and looking about the chamber, 'I am somewhat grateful for Magister Cassius' summary of our motion. The vote, deprived of legal technicality, is simple: we shall have our slaves and they will have their lands, or we shan't have our slaves, and we shall have a war, for, from these lands, they shall not easily be moved.'

'True, Arlathan does not pledge to become our banner,' she said, smiling to all. 'Nor will it be useful as a nation we may call upon for tribute, for truthfully, what tribute could we, under the protection of our Eternal Gods seek from such paupers? The leaves off their mud-built huts? The straws of their walls?' Tilani rhetorically asked, raising her hands to the ceiling, glitter and light streaming from her robes. 'Nay. We shall be given back what is ours, what we have, at our expense, nurtured, fed, educated and raised, and see to ourselves first and foremost. The power of the Imperium is such that generosity, and not aggression, can be shown to a repentant nation. Voting against myself and Magistra Pavus is a show of mistrust in the Imperium, as it has stood for millennia beyond counting…'

'And…I am now doing a most woeful impersonation of Magister Cassius,' Tilani interrupted herself, smiling. 'But for the foaming at the mouth, I have all delivered the sacred land speech we have all come to loathe and dread, and I apologise. I shall be brief, then - a vote for Arlathan's statehood is a vote for your well-being.' She briefly summarised. 'Vote with your purses, and not with your prejudice, Magisters. Give Arlathan its freedom, and regain your gold.'

Of six hundred and eighty seated, some six hundred and fifty hands rose, Veldrin's among them.

Solas inched forth, only to be pulled back by the biting leash about his throat.

'The call for such a vote is irregular, but the majority is obvious…Arlathan would concede to these terms?' Radonis asked of Abelas.

No, Solas wished to shout – the collar cruelly caught the word in his throat.

'Yes,' Abelas said.

'There can be no greater goal than peace amidst our nations,' Veldrin said, in turn. 'Wisdom prevails.'

She bowed to Radonis, or Anaris and Daren'thal; so rending was the sight that Solas did not hear Cassius trampling up the stairs back to his seat, nor Tilani quietly whispering to him and him alone, as she passed by the bars of his cage.

'You live to fight another day,' Tilani had said, shimmering past.

Thus Mae had centre stage today, and to some effect - she does seem to have taken a lesson or two from Tywin Lannister. Sounds like a good day for savage capitalism, and back-room dealing, hm? But at least Abelas has his city now...Gods help him, poor mite; the trouble is just getting started. I wonder if Solas sees that it was his actions that made this turn of events unavoidable; my guess is, he does not, but we shall find out soon enough, up next, when things are going to go BOOM.

Or at least start to.

Thank you very much for reading and commenting in our absence; we were at the seaside and in the Danube Delta, and it was really great to find comments upon our return from Internet detox :) In passing, and not to brag (just to cheer a bit, hope I don't jinx it) we might be on the solid path to a book deal for Abstract's (I don't normally talk about myself in third person, but!) original novel. I am partly saying that to justify our slow down in posting, but also because has been an amazing and confidence building medium.

So thank you guys for reading and sticking with us, and comments are always greatly appreciated, as always :)