Mahariel had found few interesting things for her investigation when the bell of the ballroom rang. She went quietly to the door when a dark-haired woman wearing a purple dress addressed her.

"Well, well, what have we here? The leader of the new Inquisition, fabled Herald of the Faith" She suppressed some rolling eyes, hoping the irony she heard was true and not a trick of her desperate ears. At least her accent was not Orlesian. "Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of blessed Andraste herself" Okay, definitely mocking her. The woman rested her hands on her waist with nonchalance "What could bring such an exalted creature here to the Imperial Court, I wonder? Do even you know?"

"We may never know. Court intrigues and all that." A discreet smirk of approval appeared on the stranger's face.

The conversation went on a bit. The woman revealed to be Morrigan, the Court Occult advisor Leliana mentioned. She quickly came to the point that made her approach the Inquisitor. Venatori. She gave her a key. Hopefully the one to the servant's quarter. This was becoming all more fun. When Morrigan disappeared, Mahariel heard the second call. Fashionably late.

Before coming out of the Ballroom, she spoke quickly with Leliana, Josephine, Vivienne and Cullen. Poor man was surrounded by Orlesian suitors, she could relate his despair. And, unlike her, he couldn't escape the Ballroom, considering the threat on the Empress. She couldn't do much for him right now, she was busy and…As she listened to Josephine's sister tale, she spotted another known face in a corner. Hum, what do you know? After chuckling, more to Josie's reaction than to the story itself, she excused herself and went to Aelia who was so hidden in the shadows she was almost invisible.

"Warden-Commander?"

"Hum? Ah, er, Mah – No Winter Palace you idiot…Inquisitor?" Mahariel raised an eyebrow and teased.

"Uncomfortable here, lethallan?"

"Just a bit. I honestly don't know what I'm doing here, by the way." She smirked.

"Wonder of wonder, isn't it?"

"Oh Maker, you sound like the Orlesians, stop it. Can I help you?"

"Matter of fact, yep."

"Oh?" She came next to her and pointed discreetly the Commander. Aelia looked at her questioningly. Okay, she might have glanced in this direction once or twice but why would she…

"What do you see?"

"Er, the Commander and a bunch of Orlesians."

"Okay what, as a soldier, do you see?" Aelia narrowed her eyes and she understood. His back was straightened, his hand at the place the pommel of his sword should be, forming a fist.

"He is going to punch someone or is it just me?"

"Nope, exactly my impression. Well, he likely won't because he knows we are to behave. Still, I would be more at ease if someone could give him a chance to breath. The man is having a very long night and, sadly, I cannot do anything about it." The discomfort had left Aelia as she understood her mission. Simple enough but she was yearning for being useful tonight. She nodded.

"I'm on it, Inquisitor. Anything else?"

"Not right now. If you see or hear anything unnerving – or just fun, report to Leliana."

"Duly noted. See you later, your Worship."

Mahariel took her leave, an evil smirk on her lips. A pity Varric and Hawke weren't here to see that…At least she spotted Leliana's glance from the other side of the room. Well, she will explain it later, she was to find the others and act if there were Venatori around…

Aelia hesitated a bit on the best course of actions to fulfill her mission. They were both to stay in the Ballroom in order to watch Celene's back. But there were plenty of balcony in the said ballroom. Probably the only place they would have a chance of privacy in order for Cullen to take some fresh air – figuratively as literally. She walked towards the group, trying to remember Varric's tale of Château Haine. Well, that could work…Not like I have any other idea anyway. Ugh, Andraste, I'm terrible at that…She cleared her voice, trying to find her best Grand-Game-suited voice.

"Commander, you will never believe what I just heard! How outrageous, some noblewoman dared wear the same outfit as the Grand Duchess and REFUSES to change!" His eyes bulged with an eyebrow of deep disbelief raised but she didn't care. All nobles had spun towards her.

"What did you say dear?!"

"Oh, good Andraste, I cannot believe such affront!"

"It can only be the Comtess of Montbeliard! This is typical!"

"Where is the guilty party my dear?!"

"In the gardens of the guest wing, you have to see it for yourselves!"

"Before she run away from shame."

"Oh, I would faint right away if I found myself – "

She stopped listening as the nobles were taking the way of the door. Considering Cullen's jaw remained ajar, she took his elbow to push him to move.

"Come on before others come back." He didn't fight as she led him to an Orlesian-free balcony "Okay, now you take a deep breath and you stop stretching your fist."

"Maker, what was that?" She shrugged.

"I figured this was the Grand-Game-Emergency-type. 'Twas right apparently. I will have to thank Hawke and Varric for the line however, I doubt I would have think of something like that myself." He chuckled as he leaned his elbows on the balcony.

"Neither would I. I've been looking for a way to get rid of them for hours. I owe you one, Warden-Commander."

"I wouldn't be thankful too soon. I doubt it will work twice. Who are they, by the way?" He sighed.

"I don't know, but they won't leave me alone."

"Not enjoying the attention, then?"

"Hardly. I – There, er." He cleared his throat and his hand came nervously to his neck. "There are but few people whose attention is worth having." She tried to hide her smile.

"I hope this is at least worth the troubles, see anything interested?"

"Not yet. It would be easier if people would stop talking to me." He looked up to her and understood by the hurt in her eyes how it came out wrong. Again. He added in a rush "Not you! Er, I mean, other people should stop, er, talking to, hum, me but it does not include you, you should not stop talking to me…Er, except if you want to stop talk – Oh Maker." He looked away, slightly blushing. He had never been good at this, and obviously there are things ten years do not change. She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Let's talk about something which has nothing to do with Orlesians, shall we?"

"Please."

Mahariel was looking for her companions in order to head to the servant's quarter. She found an…oddly merry Solas leaned against a wall in the guest wing. When she came closer, he declared with a light tone – and she was honestly only half-sure he was actually addressing her.

"I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events." She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, suppressing an inappropriate chuckle.

"You seem more comfortable with a grand Orlesian ball than I'd have expected."

"I have seen countless such displays in my journeys in the Fade." Is that so? Not even remotely related to the empty glass? "The powerful have always been the same. Only the costumes change." He emphasized his words by looking at her from head to toes with some pretty unnerving sparkle in his eyes and an appreciative hum. Hopefully her half-mask was preventing any blush of becoming too obvious. She managed to ignore the suggestive look and sound, deciding it was not the time or the place. And a sudden concern had popped on her head.

"Have you encountered any trouble with the nobles?"

"The Orlesians do not quite know what to do with me. I have kept to myself, for fear of giving some purchase to cling to." His tone moved back to merry. "The food and drink are excellent, however, and the servants have been happy to refill my glass." She shook her head with a half-smile. Yes, that, she had guessed.

"Solas?" He answered with a smooth voice quite contradictory with the formal of his word.

"Inquisitor?"

"You are drunk." He looked elsewhere, his chin high.

"I am not." Yeah, this one was to be expected. She let him off the hook but laughed slightly.

"If you say so…" Mischief popped in her eyes and she purred. "Any interest in dancing?"

"A great deal. Although, dancing with an elven apostate would win you few favors with the Court." He paused and smirked. "Perhaps once our business here is done?" She smirked back and leaned slightly closer than she should have.

"Given you can still dance if you keep at it."

She peered at the glass in his hand. He glanced discreetly around before considering eyes were not on them. He caught her wrist with his free hand, mana playing at his fingertips. His fingers darted over her forearm, magic tingling over her skin and through her gloves, its touch gentle yet teasing. His voice was velvet as he whispered.

"Even if I was inebriated – which I am not – there are a lot of things I can perform."

The mask was not enough to cover the crimson of her ears at the suggestive tone. He grinned wolfishly as he released her arm. She could not help but wet her lips. So, he IS drunk…And I should give him alcohol way more often. She stepped back with hardly hidden reluctance after staring for a long time at his lips. She cleared her throat. Being professional was a high burden over her shoulders at this moment.

"I'll take your word on it. Ir abelas, lethallin, I have to get going. I'll be back."

"Hunt well!"

She smiled as she turned back. Hopefully there were enough of them around not to take along a drunk mage. Although, the view of it would be – No, bad idea. Drunk magic was always a bad idea.

Truth be told, the servants refilling gladly his glass had not been the only reason to his over intake of wine. First, his agents had use it as a way to communicate him their own progress in the Palace. And then…Well, the Inquisitor was astonishing and he was not the only one to notice it. The stream of nobles wooing her was driving him crazy. Yes, it was a part of the Game and she was playing it as a master. But seeing her laughing, walking at their arms…He wanted to throw an icicle in their throat. The throat of the nobles, not hers. It wasn't half the evening and everyone was talking about the delight she was and he even eavesdropped some discussing the pros and cons of her as a suitable match. He was almost angry against her perfect bard training. At some point, he had encountered Vivienne and had questioned her – at the surprise of the Grand Enchantress, considering their shared scorn, they were never talking to each other if not to argue. He had addressed her the question through gritted teeth. Could the ELVEN Inquisitor be considered as a suitable match? She thought about it several seconds before giving her answer.

"Actually, yes my dear. Her elven origins prevent obviously the Grand Duke from proposing but except for him…It would be a first but with such esteem of the Court…If enough nobles considered her as their equals, her origins can be ignored, especially with the support of the Empress for such alliance. The proposals would have to be examined carefully by the Lady Ambassador later and myself…But we are getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we? We have to stay focus, we need an alive Empress to obtain her approval of any alliance."

Her tone was patronizing on the end but he didn't point out, reluctantly knowing she was right. His personal feelings and concerns had no place here. Vivienne did make an effort however, preventing herself from explaining that, in any case, the position of mistress could be pretty strong if marriage proved not possible.

A handful of glasses later, Varric had crossed path too with the elf and almost startled at his killer eyes.

"Wow, what is it Chuckles?"

"Leave me be, Son of the Stone."

He replied coldly before bottoming up his glass and making a sign to a servant nearby, his eyes still staring somewhere else. The dwarf followed his glance only to find a noble hand-kissing Mahariel.

"Andraste's tits, are you jealous, Chuckles?"

"I am not. Leave. Me. Be." He ignored his denial.

"C'mon, you know her as well as I if not better, and I can tell she just suppressed some rolling eyes."

"Again, I am not jealous." He paused and his nose wrinkled with irritation. "The noblemen are looking at the Herald as they would at a hunting trophy. This is an affront to the whole Inquisition." Of course, put it some forms to keep the appearances. Varric sighed. It was true and the fact was already irritating him as a friend. But it's not like they could do much about it.

"For that I don't have much, considering we cannot kick their asses even if they deserve it."

"I can. I should not, but I can."

"No, you cannot Chuckles, you know what…Er, just keep it to the wine, okay?"

The servant quarter had been edifying. Mahariel wanted to stop by Solas but the bell rang once more – and he was actually in the Ballroom, but she couldn't know this. Duchess Florianne was waiting for her. She saw a concerned look on Josie's face and smirked. So little faith. She yielded a perfect Orlesian accent.

"M'accorderez-vous cette danse, Votre Grâce ?" Would you grant me this dance, your Grace?

"I'd be delighted."

The women walked on the dancefloor, all eyes laying on them. The music hopefully covered for the most of the audience the sound of shuttered glass in a corner. Varric spun to Solas. Damn, he had crushed it into his fist, likely unintentionally. The only people nearby were Fenris and Hawke who looked at them once they identified the source of the noise. Leliana had left some replacement outfits for them, foresighted as she was, including a formal attire of the Inquisition for Fenris so he could join them in the public areas. Varric waved them discreetly to come closer, watching carefully the elf. Solas wasn't really aware of anything or anyone currently. The dwarf declared quickly in a low voice few steps away from Solas. If he heard him, he was seriously going to be pissed and he didn't need any more reasons.

"You two watch him, Hawke you counter any spell. I'll look for the Seeker, her anti-magic abilities could prove…useful right now." Fenris crossed his arms.

"What is happening to your mage?"

"To make it quick, he is drunk and in love with the woman all nobles are undressing with their eyes." Fenris frowned and turned his sight to the ballroom to witness Varric's statement. He finally nodded.

"I see. Better move quickly then, dwarf." Varric sighed.

"Exactly my thought." Hawke noticed.

"Interesting turn, I wouldn't have thought being on this side of a no-drunk-magic moment."

Mahariel had her hands full with the dance and the not-so-innocent chitchat. Ergo, she had absolutely no idea of what was happening in the corner of the room.

"The security of the Empire is at stake. Neither one of us wishes to see it fall." The Inquisitor smirked, well-decided to keep the lead of the conversation as of the dance.

"Do we both want that Lady Florianne?"

She let her speak, measuring her words, replying only by questions and half-statements. By the end of the dance, she was certain of one thing: The Duchess was hiding something. And she had to walk head first into a trap. Wonderful.

Back in some decent outfit, Mahariel walked through the ballroom, chin high, confident smile. Under the surprise of all, she addressed Florianne.

"We owe the Court one last show, your Grace." Florianne's swallow was hardly perceptible.

"Inquisitor."

"The eyes of every noble in the Empire are upon us your Grace. Remember to smile." She paused a bit, enjoying the features of the Duchess dropping under her sarcasm. She resumed in a fake aside. "This is your party. You wouldn't want them to think you had lost control."

"Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?"

Her voice was slightly staggering. Soon, everything was said and Mahariel was looking at the Duchess being taken away by the guards. One last thing to settle then. She suppressed a sight, thinking of the discussion which was now to happen.

Celene, Briala, Gaspard…None of them was to be called innocent. Still, for Thedas' sake, she had to pretend otherwise. No compromise or blackmail could last. She decided to defend Briala and to abandon Gaspard to his fate. She could not abandon her long-time ally despite the mistakes she made…And if Briala could be elevated to nobility, it would be huge for their people. She was not fully comfortable with letting Gaspard fall, though. The man was worthy of respect and she was making of him a scapegoat. But a civil war was never ended as long as both opponents were alive. And even if a man of War was precisely what they needed right now, she had to think of the future as well and she was sure Gaspard would start a War with Ferelden at some point…

After some speeches which sounded way too unicorn-happy-ending to her, the ball resumed.