"All this is yours," spoke the World-Maker.

"Join Me in Heaven and sorrow no more."

Andraste 1: 30-32

'…and you are supposed to be….? I fear we have not been introduced, darling.' Vivienne queried of the dark haired, blue eyed man she had never seen before.

To her surprise, the man smiled.

'I am the thing you most fear,' he responded. 'The brutal undoing of all your truths.'

'How charming,' Vivienne replied, smiling in her turn. 'Still, may I have a shorter name to call you by?'

'His name is Lusacan, Watcher of the Night,' Varric hissed. 'He prefers Lord Watcher, and can you please not…'

'Enchanted, Lord Watcher,' Vivienne said, speaking over the dwarf and indifferently offering her fingers for a kiss; the man who called himself the brutal undoing of all truths politely bowed, and pressed his lips to her hand, in a very gentlemanly manner.

Well, this is…unexpected, she thought, offering him her most dazzling smile.

As many things were unexpected, the grand Enchanter corrected herself. The Orlesian Empire had indeed dithered, and Celene's idea of recalling Gaspard du Chalons from exile had given even Ferelden some shocked pause. Not Starkheaven, though – the fact that the first thing Celene Valmont had done was restore her warmongering cousin to land and station had seemed to enrage Sebastian Vael even more. No civilised letter, assuring that Orlais was merely strengthening its armies, had fooled the Enlightened Prince of Starkheaven, who wished for no more than a full declaration of war on Tevinter and Arlathan, and a proclamation of recognition for the re-born Andraste.

When no other nation had immediately followed suit, he'd sent his glorious, divine, news to all nations on the continent, even the Anderfels – though one might easily have imagined that his strongly worded letters had not seen much polite use amid the Avvar tribes.

The man, Celene Valmont had said, was either truly possessed by a divine spirit, or outright mad, but, she had wisely followed up, when speaking to a madman, the best thing to do is keep them talking, thus…

In true military calculation, and given the fact that spies firmly reported that no change had been observed over the condition of the Veil over Starkheaven since Andraste's miraculous apparition, the only nation who Vael could credibly threaten was Kirkwall – he was in no position to be a threat to either Ferelden or Orlais. The two great powerhouses of the south had craftily avoided the Elvhen issue, yet responded that they wished to offer their adoration to Andraste in person, and the Maker's Bride had received cordial invitations to both Val Royaux and Denerim; she'd not deigned to respond.

Even to one whose heart was filled with hope that Andraste's return was true, doubt had been insidiously seeded. Vivienne de Fer could think of no reason why the Maker's Bride would not make herself known to the world by taking her rightful place on the Sunburst throne – and that had been even before she'd first laid eyes on this…this man, she'd forced herself to think, watching Lusacan curiously stare at the Divine's Holy Chamber, with its golden throne and its rich paintings and tapestries.

One might have thought, Vivienne considered, ignoring the rest of the company, and focussing on Lusacan alone, that the Maker would not tolerate such a violation of one of his most sacred houses. If this man was truly one of Tevinter's Old Gods, he should not have been able to stroll leisurely though this hollowed hall, as if he'd been strolling though his own bedchamber.

And yet, he was.

For what was worse, the sensation of perpetual fatigue that had been plaguing her and all other humans of Val Royaux for the past year had immediately eased when Lusacan had merely set foot in the city. The tug of the other world's denizens on her mind had ceased too – she felt at ease.

She felt uncertain.

Eager to rid herself of the sensation, Vivienne forcibly directed her focus away from Lusacan, and measured her old companions with half lidded eyes – Lavellan, not a day older; Pavus, not one ounce fatter…Cassandra, on her throne, looking alone and destitute, as no anointed Divine should have ever seemed. Josephine, drawn and worried. Varric…well, she would have much liked to think Varric was still Varric, but she inwardly had to admit the dwarf looked nothing like the impudent and carefree creature she'd known during the year of the Inquisition.

Still he looked nothing of the sort – for as little as the Grand Enchanter liked to admit it to herself – Varric did look as the Viscount of Kirkwall, though there was nothing in his garb that might have pointed to it; his tunic was still indecently open, his forest of chest hairs on full display, and he was not wearing his chain of state. The burden of rule was still on his shoulders, an invisible shroud weaved of iron rather than fine silk.

He must have known his city was the first pebble in the path of the new Andrastian crusade; whatever the dwarf was, he was not dumb…but he was here.

Vivienne sat, her arms and legs elegantly crossed, on the throne reserved for the Grand Enchanter, and beheld all with fake, but impeccably mimicked benevolence.

'So small a host…' she said, into thin air.

'The Lion Empress made such requests to the Heir of Darinius.' Lusacan answered. Under any different circumstances, Vivienne unwillingly thought, she might have found the man rather attractive; perhaps they had been duped, and this was the one who controlled thoughts. 'As proof of our goodwill, we have chosen to honour her wishes.'

'Or,' Vivienne politely reasoned, 'you do not wish for the truth of Andraste's rebirth to be witnessed by too many.'

Lusacan laughed and turned towards her, taking his fingers off the cup that had, during Ferelden's Blight, carried Andraste's ashes.

'A woman of spirit,' he remarked, towards Veldrin. 'We thought them few and far between, and yet, behold…'

In his turn, he sat upon the throne once reserved for the commanders of the Seekers of Truth. It should have burned his flesh to cinder, but it did not, nor did Cassandra bat an eyelid at what Vivienne herself might have perceived as a lethal insult to the Seeker's order.

'Perhaps it is the contrary, Madame de Fer,' Lusacan added, with a wry smile. 'Perhaps we wished the truth of the fact that she is not reborn to not be spread too far…Such steely demeanour…' he chuckled, when Vivienne angrily clenched her fingers in her lap so tightly that her long nails grew white.

'Of that, I think we warned you,' Veldrin sighed.

'But of her grace and beauty you did not warn, my little sister,' the blue eyed-man seductively said, his unnatural eyes not leaving Vivienne's. 'They are enough for us to forgive the Lion Empress for not greeting us herself. Seat yourselves, all. 'Tis not a wake we are attending. Or well, at least not yet.' He merrily added.

Uneasily, all slowly obeyed, spreading about the room. When graced by crowds come to see her worship, the Divine, even this great hall seemed cluttered; now, with only so few present, it seemed deplorably empty and meaningless.

'If Andraste herself wanted to be seen and heard,' Dorian said, dryly, choosing a random pew, and tapping on the seat next to his, to invite his wife by his side, 'why is she not here? Vivienne?'

Vivienne took a deep breath. 'By such means the Maker's Bride has been entrapped before, Magister Pavus…'

'Why not Denerim, then?' Veldrin asked.

'Ah, that one I have an answer for,' Varric growled. 'Word must have reached her that Ali…'

'You mean, of course, His Grace King Alistair Therein,' Vivienne corrected, with a smirk.

'I mean Ali,' Varric annoyedly returned. 'Ali wrote to King Bhaelean Aeducan in Orzammar, asking him to send a delegation of his most trusted advisors to Denerim…'

'…but Aeducan laughed in his face,' Cassandra tiredly intervened, for the first time.

'…making it clear,' Josephine followed, 'that the name Therein means nought to him, but the shield who stood behind the Hero of Ferelden, and then betrayed her and the elder races by taking a human wife, for a sake of a crown. He owes nothing to the House Therein. He will not sacrifice his advisors to the sunlight – even though he has opened more to the surface, prejudices exist – and that, in fact…'

'And that, in fact, he does not give a jot who rules the surface, as long as the lyrium keeps flowing upwards, and the gold keeps flowing downwards. Ferelden and Orlais, in peace time, are fickle clients.' Varric ended.

Of course, Vivienne thought. A war, any war, serves the dwarves well.

'Does Her Radiance know this?' the Grand Enchanter asked.

'Well,' Varric muttered, 'if we do, and this Andraste figure does, I imagine she does too…And so,' he followed, in false merriment, 'it looks as though the fate of the continent rests firmly in your capable hands, Vivienne.'

She smiled, baring enough of her teeth to make the dwarf sure that the next jibe would cost him his jugular.

'Divine Victoria might wish to have a say in the matter,' Vivienne said, keeping her voice smooth and pleasant. She half bowed to Cassandra, nonetheless thinking that if she had been sitting on the Sunburst throne, things would never have reached such dangerous heights.

'If you still want the hat, Vivienne,' the Divine replied, stingingly, 'I can toss it to you and it'll be a done deal. This,' she said, 'is the last thing I had hoped would fall to me.'

There was deep silence in the wake of her words, and Vivienne once more took in the large room, with its floor to ceiling sunlit windows, its gilded chairs and its floor, covered in perfect mosaics. She beheld the small assembly once more – Dorian and Veldrin Pavus, Cassandra Penthaghast, Josephine Montilyet, Varric Tethras…the man with the sapphire eyes…

Vivienne lowered her head and let her glance run along the mosaics of the floor; one of the small polished stones was minutely out of place, she discovered.

'You all know something I do not,' she neutrally said.

'Indeed, Madame,' the man who had introduced himself as the brutal destroyer of all her truths said – and, right then and there, Vivienne decided that on least this, Tevinter must have cheated, and he was the one who could read and influence thought, for she truly found him pleasant and not objectionable at all.

She rose her gaze to his, instead of Veldrin's.

'So, tell me, old friends,' she said. 'What do I not know?'

The two rats in Tevinter mage garb exchanged a glance that she could not quite read. Dorian put his hand over Veldrin's, to Vivienne's eyes, dispelling one more too oft spoken of lie: that men who preferred men, and women who preferred women were incurable of their inclinations, even if the right woman or man could be found. They clearly were not.

'We can,' Dorian said, 'but we do not wish to. We…all,' he followed, sounding far less certain of himself than usual, 'want you to come to your own conclusions.'

'Conclusions you all share, I gather?' Vivienne de Fer asked, arching an eyebrow.

'Not all,' Josephine softly replied, exchanging a quick glance with Cassandra, 'or at least not yet. Your uninfluenced wisdom would be welcome.'

'Let us say I accept that,' Vivienne responded, examining one of her nails, but not being able to displace the small, crookedly placed piece of the mosaic from her mind. 'What does this distinguished company want to know of me, darling?'

Lusacan chuckled and stood; as on an invisible queue, all the others did too, but there was one difference – the others, all others, Cassandra included, made for the door. The man with the sapphire blue eyes crossed the tile floor, took knee before her, and smiled.

'The Gods know all, but sometimes wish to hear truth from other lips,' he said, before disentangling her hands from each other, and kissing her right fingers. 'If not in the Empire of Lions, nor in the Country of Fierce Dogs we are to meet your Maker's Bride, then, where are to meet her?'

'In Starkheaven,' Vivienne whispered, without herself. 'Where she is safe, surrounded by her faith…No armed Tevinter protection shall be allowed…'

Lusacan pursed his lips in amusement, once more delicately kissed the hand she held out, then stood.

'None will be needed,' he said. 'At Madame's convenience, there we shall travel.'

Whatever it was about this man, the Grand Enchantress thought, some things that she had heard about him were clearly true – he had an…aura about him, one that he seemed to be able to control at will. His presence, that had been so soothing in Val Royaux, and brought unexpected and brief respite to the entire city, had been equally soothing when travelling though the Eluvians.

She'd ridden by his side, as Cassandra, Josephine and Dorian had, with Briala, Veldrin and Varric riding slightly ahead. Still, the human company had been more than able to keep pace with the elves, and none had been riddled with nausea or fatigue, as when they had previously travelled though the mirrors. Perhaps it was magic of a nature Vivienne did not recognise, or his mere proximity…

The mystery was clarified as soon as all emerged though the eluvian that some unknown elves had placed on the northern borders of Starkheaven, when the thin veil's sickness returned with a vengeance. 'Twas true, Vivienne thought, one did not appreciate good health until one lost it, and a mere few hours of feeling normal once more had all but made her forget how truly ill all had felt over the past year.

'Lord Watcher,' the Magister had said, 'do you think you could, possibly…'

'For your sake, and the sake of the other humans in our midst, Dawnbringer,' Lusacan had pleasantly replied, 'I would. Yet I cannot contain my protections to us alone, and thus…'

'…and thus you would prefer for Starkheaven to keep wondering why their revered prophet has not eased their plague,' Dorian had replied, with a little smirk.

'Ever the delicate flower, Dorian, darling?' Vivienne had asked, finding a bit of wicked, and granted, a bit unfitting joy in the Magister's predicament.

'Forgive me for saying this, Vivienne,' Varric had ironically said, 'given the fact that Josephine has mysteriously disappeared into the bushes, thinking we cannot hear her heave, and not even Cassie is looking quite as peachy as usual…'

'I warn you, dwarf!' Cassandra had muttered.

'I was merely paying you a compliment,' Varric had shrugged, 'and pointing out that Sparkler is not the only delicate flower around. None of you is looking peachy.'

'Yet, Lord Watcher,' Vivienne had said, 'you did not have similar reservations in granting Val Royaux some…protections.'

Lusacan smiled. 'Indeed so, Madame,' he'd responded, with a small inclination of his head, 'but the Lion's Empire has not yet threatened my realm, and besides, I doubt that any women of your beauty, grace and wit reside in the city ahead.'

'Oh,' Vivienne had responded, before she could stop herself, 'but there might be some…'

'I very much doubt any is comparable,' the blue-eyed man had replied.

Josephine reappeared, looking yellow and downtrodden, but nonetheless managing to mount once more.

'Josie!' Dorian had snickered. 'Just in time to rescue Vivienne from blushing in public!'

'I was about to do no such thing!' Vivienne had protested, her cheeks in high flames.

''Course not,' Varric had laughed.

'Let's move, before we give the insufferable one any book ideas,' Cassandra had dryly said; she'd decisively prodded her mount forth, but there was a grin in the corner of her lips, too, and for a moment, the Grand Enchanter had hated them all, and barely fought off the urge to tell them they all needed to bathe.

Oddly enough, it was Lusacan, and not Varric that rode ahead of them, showing them the path, as if he had navigated it a thousand times over; they could smell the city that lay before they could actually see its walls from amid the foliage, and Josephine had once more jumped off her horse and disappeared into the bushes.

To the humans' heightened senses, the stench was truly overwhelming.

'Maker's breath,' Vivienne had said, 'this place reeks.'

'I thought you were from the Free Marches,' Veldrin said.

The Grand Enchanter gave her a withering stare.

'I was born here, darling. I left as a child, and never returned – I think I fully understand why, now; I did hear that Kirkwall is not the most pleasant place to be, yet…'

Varric sighed. 'Out with it, Sparkler, you know you're going to say it…'

'Of course I was going to say it,' Dorian chuckled, the sound muffled under the lacey, perfumed handkerchief he was holding over his nose and mouth. 'Kirkwall may be a shit hole, but it is one with proper sewage canals – do we know why?'

'Because the Imperium build it,' the dwarf answered, rolling his eyes. 'Yes, yes…'

'Josie,' Cassandra shouted, 'you haven't eaten anything near as much as you are throwing up, can we move on?'

'In a mome…'

She gurgled heavily before she could finish, so Cassandra let her shoulders slump.

Briala beheld them all with superior annoyance, and closed in on Varric.

'What can we expect in there?' she asked, tilting her head towards the city.

'Stench's the best part of it,' the dwarf helplessly shrugged. 'The…Enlightened Prince Vael has been warned of our arrival; I assume half his armies are waiting for us at the gates. He's already displeased by the make-up of our charming little group – though I think Ruffles tried to soften his mood by writing we were all coming to pay homage to the Maker's Bride…'

'I doubt he was fooled,' Josephine said, weakly; she mounted again, and Dorian lent her his handkerchief with a kindly smile. She gratefully nodded before following: 'I have tried to get someone from Ferelden to join us, yet…they did not even bother being polite,' she added, sounding heartbroken. 'We should have coordinated, Marquise. With the restoration of Grand Duke Gaspard, the Thereins believe Orlais will use any chaos across the realm to invade.'

Briala shrugged, then answered, with an apologetic undertone. 'Her Radiance needed her country united, Ambassador Montilyet. Indeed, whatever chaos sweeps the realm, she needs full command and loyalty of the Chevaliers.'

'Irrelevant now in any event,' Cassandra said, and Veldrin quietly nodded. 'Let's get this over with.'

They all took to the path once more, and soon, the city walls of Starkheaven were in sight; they were impressive in themselves, but the towers of the Chantry surpassed them in height, and shone blindingly in the late afternoon sun. Briefly, Vivienne wondered whether the Starkheaven Chantry surpassed the one that hosted the Sunburst throne – her thoughts were irreverently interrupted by Varric's half admirative, half ironic whistle.

'He sure didn't spare any expenses,' the dwarf said, making Veldrin frown.

'What do you mean?' she asked, pulling to a halt.

'Those towers weren't gilded, last I saw them, but a month past,' the dwarf replied with a shrug. 'I guess the Maker's Bride has expensive tastes.'

'And Vael has deep pockets,' Cassandra said.

'…fool and his money…' Lusacan indifferently said. 'Should we set up camp?'

'So close to the city walls?' Veldrin inquired, arching an eyebrow. 'I'd rather we spent the night at an inn somewhere. Who knows, we might get lucky and have the honour of emptying our chamber pots on the heads of half of Vael's armies…'

'Distasteful,' Vivienne mumbled. 'As expected, of course.'

Dorian shrugged in his wife's stead. 'We were getting the feeling you were missing Sera, thus…'

'This prophet of yours,' Lusacan indifferently said, 'is hidden from both myself and Lady Mystery; Sebastian Vael is not. If we do cross into the city before nightfall, we shall not be spending the night at an inn, but as guests of the Prince. Meeting him will be inevitable, of course, but we can still control the length of time we spend in his company, and your need to sleep under his roof.'

'I'd dare hope that he has not fully forgotten the principles of diplomatic immunity,' Josephine replied, with a frown.

'One can't forget what one never learned, Ruffles,' Varric acidly replied. 'Still, Lord Watcher,' the dwarf followed, 'does the Augur feel that he is a danger to us? Harming any of us would definitely not sit well with any of those he wishes to charm…so to speak.'

The blue eyed man shrugged, and looked to Vivienne with an unreadable expression.

'He has no intent of harming you before you meet your Maker's Bride; that does not mean that another might not wish to thin the numbers of the doubters, in the still of night.' He replied. 'You, Child of the Stone, are in definite danger, and…Madame,' he added, looking to Vivienne with odd and sincere warmth, 'you too should think well whether you prefer the comfort of a bed to the dangers you might be facing.'

'If she is so minded, she will come for us wherever we are; as the delicate flower I am not ashamed to be, I too would prefer a bed.' Dorian said, just before the Grand Enchanter opened her mouth to say that she was hardly a defenceless damsel; Dorian's words left her in an odd limbo of curiosity and annoyance.

'We shall accept Prince Vael's hospitality, if such is offered,' she said, in a sweet, but decisive tone. 'The Maker's Bride is no assassin, nor does she stoop so low as to hire any.'

With that, she nudged her horse on, neither leaving the others time for contradiction, nor allowing herself pause to think too deeply on Lusacan's words. It took what felt like interminable moments for the others to follow – behind her, hasty words were exchanged, in Elvhen, then another unintelligible whisper passed between Veldrin and Josephine.

Still, the small convoy set in motion, with Cassandra and Josephine hastening their mounts to catch up with her and flank her; there was an odd formation to the company now, but it was definitely a wise one: the three believers, to the front; Briala and Varric, just behind them, with the three Tevinters closing ranks at the back.

Indeed, an impressive contingent of guards met them at the gates, not bothering with greetings. In fact, Vivienne thought, they seemed outright hostile, and openly sneered at the two elves – no business of hers, she considered, maintaining her serene front, yet fighting herself not to look over her shoulder to assess the guards' reaction to the blue eyed man.

'What did Veldrin say to you, just now, Josephine, darling?' she politely inquired, as the grand gates of Starkheaven began to part before them.

'To be wary of owls,' Josephine whispered, still sounding sickened and dazed.

The gates of Starkheaven opened to reveal a sea of spears and swords.

There was no other word one could employ to describe the Enlightened Prince of Starkheaven other than sickly. It was known, of course, that he was a severe and austere man, and, in truth, no human on the continent could boast an entirely natural rosy complexion. Still, the man looked ashen, and some twenty years older than his actual age – he looked, Vivienne thought, as one who had been preyed upon by parasitic spirits for a very long time.

Or it was perhaps natural for a man whose entire life was dedicated to the Chantry; Sebastian Vael kept all his vows, and while he showed his guests a modicum of hospitality by serving them with the best the land could provide – as little as that was – he himself dined on what looked like boiled oats, and drank only water.

Who knows, Vivienne thought, chewing patiently on an ill-cooked piece of unrecognisable meat, that had been nonetheless been described as lamb, maybe he knows how sour his wine is, and is only glad to avoid it.

She nonetheless braved a sip; sour as the wine might have been, it was not as sour as the conversation.

'Your pretence fools us not,' had been his greeting to Josephine, as soon as his guests had been led to his dreary and poorly lit dining hall, along equally dreary and poorly lit corridors.

Though he had offered her a mock bow, his tone had been naught but impolite, bordering on aggressive, given their relative difference in size; Vael was an overly thin man, but he was still imposing in height.

To her credit, Josephine had smiled brightly and curtsied. 'With joy in our hearts, we come to witness the miracle…' the Antivan had begun, only to be cut off by a rude and rapid hand gesture.

'So you wrote, Ambassador,' Vael had all but growled. 'Let us say, for a moment, that we are soft in the head, and give you undue credence. What is he here for?' he'd asked, whipping his arm towards Lusacan.

'Perhaps to acknowledge an equal,' Lusacan had smiled, in return – somehow, the reply and the effortlessly polite tone on which it had been uttered had given Sebastian Vael pause…and, Vivienne unpleasantly acknowledged, whatever this creature ultimately was, she truly liked him, his easy manner, his open smile, his level voice…His restraint.

'No such thing you shall find, foulest of foul beasts,' Vael had said. 'The dregs of the Fade may in no way be compared, let alone find an equal, in the purest amid all creation! On mere sight, she will strike you from existence; nothing but ash will remain of your deceitful form…'

'Then we hope you have a rather large broom,' Lusacan had replied. 'Or even a normal one – judging by the cobwebs lining your walls, you may need to have one brought in post haste.'

'Uuh, burn,' Varric had whispered to Veldrin, who'd stifled a chuckle. 'Say, Vael,' he'd spoken up, 'I thought you invited us to dine, not to a mud slinging fest – if you've changed your mind, we can always find another abode, where the mud slinging is at least somewhat fun. Can one still play Wicked Grace in this city, or…'

'Games of chance are forbidden,' the Prince of Starkheaven had dryly replied. 'And don't you think I would let you – any of you – out of my sight before the Maiden of the Alamarr deigns to acknowledge your menial presences, 'pon the morrow.'

He'd spun on his heels, and taken his seat at the head of the table, then, gesturing for his wards to seat wherever they pleased, and hence dashing any hopes that Vivienne might have held that the encounter might be at least polite, if not politely convivial.

The Grand Enchantress took another sip of the sour wine, chasing the thought that she was still chewing on the same piece of meat from her mind. Dorian Pavus, she considered, choosing to focus on the unpleasantly familiar, took to any kind of wine with great ease and was at least convivial, if not polite.

'So,' Dorian said, slurring slightly, 'let me get this…straight. Your princely logic dictates that my wife left your…friend? Lady friend? In any event, Hawke, back in the Fade to save the Grey Wardens, only to render the Grey Wardens useless a few years later by waking the uncorrupted Old Gods?'

'If that's the case, I hope princely logic is not catchy,' Varric had muttered; he'd forsaken all eating implements as useless – which they actually were, not that Vivienne might have admitted to it, upon pain of death – and was using his hands to munch on a bone, probably trying to get to any edible and not charred meat that might have remained on it.

'Impertinent,' Vael said, taking another spoonful of his boiled oats. 'Impertinent, all of you! It is a wonder the Maiden accepts to see you…'

'It is a wonder the Maiden shows herself not,' Veldrin said, in her most soothing tone – she was speaking to this man, this prince, like she might have been speaking to a toddler, and yet Vivienne thought her tone was, for once, appropriate. By the glow of the Enlightened Prince's eyes, he was but one hair away from flying into a rage.

'More wonder still that she does not deliver the lands of her rebirth with the Maker's blessed reprieve from the plague…' Vivienne said, forcing herself to swallow and smile.

'The plague brought upon this blessed realm by the unholy Herald the…the…whore!' Vael shouted, suddenly darting up to his feet. 'Whore of the destroyer, Tevinter's whore!'

'The whore you yourself proclaimed the Herald of Andraste,' Cassandra said – her temper looked like it was being held back by a hair as well. 'The whore you too raised as Herald, when the world was crumbling about you.'

Unexpectedly, Veldrin laughed.

'With my limited knowledge of human language, I do think that a whore gives pleasure in exchange for money. A certain kind of pleasure, at least. I've brought the continent nothing of the kind, nor received compensation. I might, at most, be branded a slut.' The elf said, calmly, but with scathing irony.

'Maybe being a faithful servant of the Chantry makes the Enlightened Prince a bit confused on the actual meaning of the words,' Briala replied – the elves clinked their glasses against each others', and Dorian's, once he belatedly raised it.

'Enough!' Vael bellowed. 'You will all be escorted to your chambers. Now. It is unfitting for non-penitents such as yourself to stand before the Maker's Bride with bellies full and wine blurred eyes, when the city is eating only beets and roots, because of you all!'

Vivienne stood, gracefully folding her grey-ish, too oft washed napkin by the side of her wooden plate.

'It has been a privilege to dine in your court, Prince Vael. We are all, I am sure grateful for your hospitality, and look forward to be in the presence of the Maker's Bride. Eyes wide open, we shall see the Maker's light; humbling in itself is the fact that it is you, and none other, that might open our eyes to the true light.'

She looked to Lusacan, briefly, as she spoke. Lost in thought as he was, he did not even give her a glance.

'I was given a second chance by the Maker's voice,' Vael hissed. 'All are entitled to one. Mind you,' he reiterated, as all others stood, in turn, 'there is only one second chance.'

Well, I think you can tell ol' Sebastian Vael was not Abstract's fave character in DA:2. But I bet none of y'all thought it was Fenris...OK, OK, it was Anders. I am admitting to this under duress.

And stuff is getting on! we'll see how Andruil does an impression Andraste up next (in 2 chaps).

We love your reading and commenting, and we thank you for both,

Cheers, Abstract & IVI