Cullen found the evening more and more tedious as time wore on. He knew he had little talent for small talk, and being surrounded by people who seemed to want to do nothing more than deliver pretty little empty compliments to him did little to ease his temper. At one point when a hand settled familiarly on his backside, the thought flashed through his mind that the Inquisitor knew better before he realized that it was not, in fact, Dorian. He barked at the man, who backed away with a stammered apology, then settled into what he hoped was a standoffish silence.
That, unfortunately, did little to help his mood. People still tried to come up to him and ask him questions he felt were far too personal for a private conversation, much less one in the middle of a ball. The night was broken up by an older, heavyset noble who only wanted to talk to him about the events at Therinfal Redoubt, but even that turned into a debate about the necessity of the Templars, a matter that Cullen still couldn't quite reconcile in his head. The encounter, even though it ended on friendly terms, left him feeling restless and achy, with a growing headache. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, hearing Josephine's whimper in his mind even though the woman was on the other side of the room, and sighed.
Damn this politics business.
Politics… There was someone he knew who was comfortable with politics. His eyes automatically worked across the room until they found him, the beacon of everything that explained why he was even here in the first place. Once he located the man, he found he couldn't quite stop staring. He'd known that Dorian was raised to all this, but to see him in the element was, well… to put not too fine a point on it, distracting. That smile, the eloquent gestures, the way his pants hugged tight to his-
"The Inquisitor does cut quite the dashing figure, doesn't he?" someone murmured from behind him.
Cullen jumped and flushed slightly, hoping that his staring hadn't been too obvious as he forced himself to turn and smile at the woman in the mask who had moved in close-or at least as close as her voluminous dress would allow. "Far more graceful of one than I could ever manage, my Lady," he said at an attempt to deflect potentially another flirtatious offer for a private conversation .
The woman chuckled. "He was raised a courtier, if I am a good judge of character-and I am-while you are a soldier born, much like the Grand Duke Gaspard. When life calls for such different results, we should celebrate them, not scorn them. But please, do not tell anyone I said that, would you?" she asked with a little nudge and a wink. "It is so very un-Orlesian . "
Bereft of an adequate reply, Cullen simply nodded. "Of course, my Lady-?" He left the question trailing, uncertain of the etiquette involved in asking for people's names.
The woman tittered. "Oh, my dear Commander. You remind me so very much of my dear Maximilian. He was my fourth husband, you know. It took four Chevalier to kill the bear that took him down." She pressed a hand to her chest and looked upwards. "Ah, I miss him so."
"I am sorry for your loss, my Lady," Cullen said, dimly realizing that he had no idea what was happening, and no real way to know what strategy or tactics to use for this entire encounter.
"Oh, you dear man. No, no, I have found l'amour a few times since then." Reaching out, she took his hand and patted it companionably. "Oh, just as I suspected. Such strong, manly hands. You are a treasure. I do hope the Inquisitor knows that."
Cullen felt his ears turning red. "I, ah, serve the Inquisition with all my heart, my Lady." Sweet Maker, this isn't politics. This is worse.
"As you should, my darling, as you should." The woman patted his arm again, her hand lingering on his upper arm as she sighed happily. "Oh, marvelous. And do go back to watching him, my dear Commander. Your Inquisitor deserves to be admired by someone who does so with affection." Caught by surprise by the remark and the way she said Your Inquisitor , Cullen started to stammer something, but the lady waved her hand dismissively. "Come now, Commander. I've had enough husbands to recognize certain things when I see them. I saw the way he eyed you earlier, you see. I do think I overwhelmed the poor dear. He's been avoiding me ever since I told him about my eighth husband."
Blessed Andraste. Eight husbands? "I, um, perhaps he's simply busy," Cullen managed. "And I am sorry for your-"
"Crushed by handbags," the woman said, shaking her head. "Oh, it was terrible. Such a tragic loss for us all. At any rate, I won't keep you any longer, my dear. It was absolutely charming to meet you." She patted his hand again, then looked him up and down. "A pity you aren't available for anything more stimulating than a conversation. You would make a fine husband, and ten is such a nice round number, don't you think?"
Cullen couldn't quite process that little gem, and in the end only managed to stammer out a rather bumbling attempt at an answer. "N-no. I mean, yes. I mean, good evening, my Lady."
"Good evening, my dear." She gave him a slow wink. "Ah, you do so remind me of my dearest Maximilian. You blush quite charmingly, you know. Don't ever let anyone take that from you."
And with that, the woman sashayed away, the wide skirt of her dress clearing a path as effectively as a guard, leaving Cullen still ignorant of her name.
Flustered, Cullen looked here and there around the room, wondering who had heard what and what gossip was now galloping around the ballroom. Now you're just acting paranoid, he scolded himself as he reached up to loosen the infernally tight collar of the ridiculous getup he'd been forced to wear. When a servant came up to him and offered a drink, he didn't think twice about grabbing the nearest glass and gulping it down in one swallow-in direct, if distracted, defiance of the repeated warnings from Leliana and Josephine to avoid doing just that.
In the instant that he realized his error, the taste of the liquid coursing over his tongue and down his throat hit him with all the power of a mace between the eyes, and he staggered slightly. Even as the tremors began, he raised the glass and stared at the vestiges of the drink with wide eyes, noting the way that the red within clung to the sides of the glass in a way no wine would ever do.
It took an instant after that to realize that what he'd just drunk was not, in fact, wine, and another moment to try to spit as much as he could back into the glass even as his heart started to race and his hands to shake.
Red lyrium.
Wildly he looked around the room, and caught sight of the servant with the tray slipping around a corner. He lurched into motion after the man, trying not to attract attention, but only made it a few steps before an arm hooked around his and tugged him over to the side of the room.
"Cullen," Leliana hissed in a low voice, "what is wrong? Everyone is staring."
Cullen shoved the glass towards her, his hand now shaking violently. "L-lyrium," he gasped. The world shimmered and glowed around him, and he almost felt as if he could see things which simply weren't there-or seeing details he'd never before been able to see. It was hard to tell the difference at this point.
Leliana's eyes widened as she saw the hue of the liquid, and quickly took the glass from him as her eyes darted around the room. "Who gave it to you?"
A quick search verified that the servant who'd held the tray was long gone, and he groaned softly. "Gone. Just a servant." He fought the urge to press his hands to his temples, instead forcing his hands to press flat against his pants. The pounding of his heart roared in his ears, and his body felt hot- particularly under the shirt. He had a vague memory of Dagna saying something about not ingesting red lyrium while wearing the mail shirt, but he couldn't quite recall the words. The world was too bright and too distracting to concentrate.
"What did we tell you about taking drinks from the servants?" Leliana gave a soft sigh, though her expression was more sympathetic than her tone. "Come on. Let's find you a place to recover."
"Milady Leliana?"
Both of them blinked and turned to look at the servant waiting patiently nearby. "Yes? What is it?" asked Leliana, obviously cautious.
The servant held out a small long, narrow package wrapped in linen. "A gift for you, milady. From an admirer."
Leliana hesitated, then forced a smile on her face as she took the delivery. As she did so, the linen opened, revealing a rose and a white flower tied together with a cord which also wrapped around a small stone. Leliana's eyes widened, and she reached out to pull the servant close before he moved too far away. "Who gave this to you?" she demanded urgently.
The servant quickly pointed towards the balcony at the far end of the room, "Him, milady. The Chevalier over there. He said to tell you if you asked."
Leliana pushed the servant away and moved through the crowd, leaving Cullen staring after her in shock for a moment before he shook his head and followed on swaying feet. Every sound jarred against his ears, and he felt he could hear the sounds of the patrol's feet on the balcony as well as the giggles of the ladies as he passed, and he didn't particularly trust himself to move fast enough to catch up with her. Frowning, Cullen focused on the Chevalier the servant had indicated, hoping for some sort of hint about what had made her react this way. His eyes narrowed as his oddly heightened senses shouted at him, insisting there was something familiar about the man, about the set of his shoulders and the way he stood, but Cullen couldn't quite put his finger on why .
As Leliana approached the Chevalier, he ducked through the doorway to the balcony and disappeared from sight. That made Leliana surge forward with almost indecorous haste, with Cullen ignoring the stares around them as he followed suit. Something was definitely wrong.
He burst out onto the balcony at Leliana's side, barely in time to see the glint of a dagger prepared to strike. In the moment it took Cullen to recognize the one holding the dagger as the servant who'd given him the red lyrium, and further realize that the servant stood directly behind a man with clear intent to murder, Leliana had already surged forward. Before Cullen could do more than bellow a warning, Leliana launched herself directly at the would-be assassin, tackling him to the ground and knocking the dagger from his hand.
The intended target turned around with an oath, and Cullen's eyes widened as he recognized Grand Duke Gaspard. Galvanized into action, Cullen surged forward and pulled Gaspard away from the fight. "Stay here, Your Grace," he snapped, then grabbed the dagger dropped by the assassin and charged towards Leliana and the 'servant'.
Their struggles had taken them to the edge of the balcony, and when the servant saw Cullen approaching, he grunted and kicked Leliana off with enough force that she lost balance and fell backwards into her would-be helper. "Maldición," he snarled, then leapt over the balcony's railing and dropped from sight.
"What is happening?" Gaspard snapped. "Who was that?"
"We'll tell you once we find out, Your Grace," Leliana told him, then followed the elf over the balcony just as two Chevalier burst onto the balcony from inside, swords already drawn. Whether either one was the Chevalier who had sent Leliana the gift was impossible to say. Cullen had lost track of that Chevalier in the frenzy to save Gaspard from assassination.
Which, now that he thought about it, was odd. Wasn't Celene the target, and not Gaspard?
Shaking his head, Cullen focused on the matter at hand. "Protect His Grace," Cullen ordered the Chevalier with all the brusque authority he'd gained while Commander of the Inquisition forces, then leapt over the railing himself as he took up the chase.
Somehow they managed to stay in sight of the retreating assassin, weaving and ducking their way through the gardens of Halamshiral with little regard for their own safety. Cullen's mostly healed knee ached right from the start, and he couldn't help but wonder just how dearly he would pay for the chase later. In the heat of the moment and the uncertainty of the time, the pain was worth it. Besides, the red lyrium seemed to be at least acting in his favor in this regard, giving extra strength and more power to every step. His body still burned with heat, but he could at least use it for the good right now.
Time slowed to a blur as they raced through the grounds of the Winter Palace, and it wasn't long before they saw signs of struggle. "Was that a dead body?" he yelled at Leliana as they flew past a crumpled heap on the ground.
"Yes, a Venatori," she shouted back. "It appears Gaspard was not the only target."
Indeed, their mad dash led them past a few more crumpled forms, or sometimes small groups of them, though Cullen had trouble seeing details. One, however, did surprise and even anger him. "That was a servant! Who would do such a thing?"
"Here?" Leliana leapt over another body, this time a Chevalier. "Far too many."
Every time they found a dead body, Cullen's heart contracted just a little bit more. Every time they lost sight of the assassin, anger would push him to run just a little bit faster, the red lyrium would flare in the presence of the strong emotions, and the chase would be on again. Whatever drove Leliana proved to be equally strong as they raced over fences, through bushes, and once through a door blasted to bits with a surge of undirected Templar power which normally would have left Cullen shaken and weak but instead only exhilarated him. The dance carried on, however, until he and Leliana jumped over a ledge and landed to find the assassin waiting for them with his weapons drawn in one of the many enclosed gardens.
And that was when Cullen realized he knew this man.
"You are persistent, aren't you?" Zevran growled. "You should have left well enough alone."
That was all the warning they had before the elf launched his attack, blurring into the shadows and vanishing as he swept to one side. Without thought, Cullen roared and swept his arms in a wide gesture as he purged all magic from the immediate area, suspecting that Arainai had been bolstered by Amell before being dispatched on his lethal assignment. Zevran cursed as he abruptly popped back into visibility, pawing at his neck even as he rolled to the side before one of Leliana's thrown daggers found its mark. Tossing a smoldering amulet to the side, he glared at Cullen as he climbed to his feet. "Damned Templar!" he snarled. "I knew I shouldn't have given you that lyrium until after Gaspard was dead."
Literally seeing red, Cullen drew the dagger he'd stuffed into his belt, the one Zevran had dropped earlier, and charged, using the dagger to guide his next attack as he unleashed a holy smite upon the elven assassin. The elf did stagger under the onslaught, but recovered all too quickly as he dropped into a crouch and launched himself away from Leliana's flanking attack to roll past Cullen. When he regained his feet, he whirled on his heel and stabbed with both daggers. Only one actually found its target, but it dug deep enough into Cullen's thigh that he staggered forward and into Leliana.
Shouting in pain and cursing his own foolishness at being flanked, Cullen somehow managed not to drag down Leliana with him and instead jerked himself to fall flat on the ground, leaving her free to act. She did so with a will, leaping towards Arainai with her dueling blade out and a second throwing knife already flying towards the elf.
"Meddlesome bitch," Arainai snarled as he again dodged out of the way. "I only wish I had violated your corpse when first I had the chance. I will not hold back when the opportunity presents itself again!"
"Then you will be left forever wanting," she told him, surging forward in another attack. The attack itself proved to be a feint as her hand dipped into her tunic and then flung something towards him.
Zevran couldn't quite pull aside this time, and the object hit him full in the chest with the sound of smashed glass. As the sudden sound of angry buzzing filled the small courtyard, Zevran squawked in surprise and fear before running to the nearest wall and clambering to the top in a desperate bid to escape the wrathful bees on his tail. "This isn't over, Nightingale!" he called, then dropped out of sight.
"Go after him," Cullen grated. "I'll be fine."
Leliana sighed and dropped next to Cullen, pulling out a handkerchief as she examined his leg. "That would be foolish," she said softly. "You cannot follow, and I cannot leave you alone. Besides, he's trying to draw us after him."
"What do you mean?" Cullen asked, teeth gritted in pain. He knew from long experience that the wound was painful more than debilitating, and with a little rest he could have continued the chase.
"I mean, there must be something nearby he does not wish us to see. Listen."
Puzzled, Cullen strained his ears, trying to understand where her line of reasoning had led her. His eyes widened as he heard the sound of fighting nearby, particularly a loud bellow of Qunari profanity which could only mean one thing. "Bull! That's Bull."
"And if he is fighting, then the Inquisitor must be near." Rising to her feet, Leliana held out her hand. "That is more important than finding an assassin who missed his mark."
"Definitely," Cullen grated, letting her help him to his feet. "I trust your sense of direction in this maze more than mine. Lead the way."
Leliana's direction was swift and sure, over the wall opposite of the one Zevran had used and towards a small gate hidden within the ivy. As soon as they opened the gate, however, they saw not Bull, but two men, one lying prone and one kneeling over him. Acting on instinct, Cullen shambled into a run towards them, a run that accelerated as the kneeling man stood and moved away from them at speed. A glance down at the man on the ground dragged Cullen to a halt, however, and he dropped to his knees without a thought for the pain of it.
"Dorian!" he gasped, then glanced down to see the dagger sticking out of his torso. Without thinking, he reached for it, but Leliana quickly grabbed his hand and pulled it back.
"Wait," she said in a harsh voice. "We don't want him to bleed out. See if you can rouse him."
Cullen nodded, cursing extensively as he cradled Dorian's head in his hands gently, imploring the man to wake up. A moment later, there was a thud against a larger gate inset on the wall between them and the fighting. "Boss!"
"In here, Bull!" Cullen yelled, still incessantly stroking Dorian's face. "Come on, Dorian," he begged. "Wake up."
After another thud or two, the gate slammed open, and Bull landed with a grunt on the ground. He had several fairly exotic wounds on his arms and a laceration across his face which he ignored as he looked around wildly. "Boss!"
"Solas!" Leliana called urgently. "Vivienne! Here, quickly. The Inquisitor is hurt!"
The next few minutes proved chaotic as the mages pushed Cullen aside and worked on Dorian. Cullen paced, ignoring the pain in his injuries, as the dagger was removed from Dorian's side and tossed aside, and potions and bandages and spells of varying kinds were used and discarded and employed.
At one point, Cullen almost tripped over the dagger drawn from Dorian, and he growled and kicked it aside in frustration. Instead of hitting the ground, though, it hit Varric in the leg, who bent over to pick it up. "Calm down, Curly," Varric warned him. "Sparkler will be fine."
"That doesn't mean I have to treat that dagger with any restraint," Cullen said through gritted teeth.
"Well, no, but-" Varric's voice trailed away as he frowned, turning the offending weapon over and over in his hands. "Wait. Curly. This dagger." He held it up for Cullen to look at. "Imagine it with one more blade on this end."
"What are you talking about, only Hawke had a-" Cullen's eyes widened as he hurried over and snatched the dagger from Varric's hand and turned it over. It was battered and broken and worn, but it was also, unmistakably, Hawke's signature double-bladed weapon. "That's impossible."
"Yeah, that's a good word for it," Varric said grimly. "Last time I saw this weapon was when he was in the Fade, after we fought that Nightmare spider demon thing. Not a pleasant memory."
Cullen's brow furrowed as he looked at Dorian for a moment and forced himself to calm, making himself recall exactly where the blade had been in Dorian's torso. "Hawke wouldn't miss."
"Tell me about it," Varric muttered. "The man's a killing machine."
"That's exactly what I mean, Varric," Cullen said. "I saw the man who did this to the Inquisitor. He was close enough that there was no way he could miss his intended target. Unless-"
"Unless… not killing Sparkler was the intention?" Varric ventured, blinking rapidly. "That… That sounds sneaky enough to be Hawke, if he had something to hide. But why?" Suddenly he hit his palm against his forehead. "Give me the dagger."
"But-"
"Now, Curly." When Cullen reluctantly handed it over, Varric put his hands on both sides of the handle, then twisted it sharply. WIth a little snick, the handle popped into two pieces, and a piece of paper fluttered out. "Well, I'll be damned," Varric breathed, then dropped the blade to retrieve the paper. "I don't know what the Fade is going on, but I have a feeling that things are about to get even more interesting."
"So the man who stabbed the Inquisitor was Hawke?"
Cullen turned sharply to face Leliana, slowly coming out of the helpless fog he'd spiraled into while Dorian was being treated. "That seems to be the best guess now. Either Hawke, or an incredibly skilled imposter."
"It's Hawke," Leliana said decisively. "It must be." Reaching into her tunic, she pulled out the linen wrapped flowers she'd received earlier and presented them to Cullen. "Do you know what these are?"
Cullen's brow furrowed. "A rose. Um… The white flower, that would be-"
"Andraste's Grace. My favorite flower, though few are aware of that." Leliana murmured, then picked up the stone tied to the string holding the flowers together. "And then there's this. Only one person would know the significance of this to me."
"Looks like a runestone," Varric offered. "You can buy 'em ten for a copper in Ferelden."
A sad smile came to Leliana's face. "That's where I gave it to him, yes. A long time ago."
Cullen's eyes widened as he took in her meaning. "Maker. The Chevalier?"
"I am sure of it," she said with a nod as she carefully rolled the linen around the flowers again. "Especially if Hawke was the one to carefully orchestrate a failed assassination of the Inquisitor. Given the timing of this gift with our ability to foil Zevran's attempt to kill Gaspard, I cannot help but wonder at the coincidence."
"Hey, Nightingale, any chance that your boy could have left a message for you in his little gift?" Varric suddenly asked. "Hawke left one in his dagger."
Leliana's eyes widened, and she looked down. "Possibly. I didn't think to look."
As she began to study the linen more closely, Cullen heard Vivienne call his name and hurried over to kneel next to her. "Yes, Lady Vivienne?"
She gave him a strained smile, the closest to losing her composure he'd ever seen. "Enough with the formalities, my dear. I have need of your special skills for a moment."
His eyebrows rose. "My special-"
"As a Templar, dearest." She pointed at a dagger stuck into the ground next to Dorian. "Every time Solas or I touch that blade, our magic is blocked. Do be a dear and get rid of the wretched thing, would you?"
"Not permanently," Solas cautioned. "I have a feeling that we would benefit from further study of it. For the moment, however, it is proving a hindrance to our efforts."
Cullen nodded immediately and reached out to grasp the hilt in his hand. A cold shock ran up his arm, and he gasped as a feeling almost of a smite washed over him. "This is… Templar work, or something… something very similar," he said, eyes widening. Shaking his head, he jerked it from its place deep in the soil and stood, putting space between it and the three mages.
As soon as the blade was more than an arm's length from Dorian, the man's eyelids flew open, and he gasped for air. Vivienne and Solas immediately bent over him, and Solas reached down to touch where the blade had been. "Remarkable," he murmured. "The blade went through his shirt to pin him down, but didn't pierce the skin. That took a great deal of skill, if done on purpose."
"It was," Cullen said grimly, staring down at the blade. Shaking his head, he cast his gaze around, looking for something to wrap around the offending weapon. "I'd best keep this. I have a feeling we were meant to have it."
"Let me, Commander," Cassandra said, holding up a cloth obviously torn from a Venatori mage's robe. "If a Templar can carry it, so can a Seeker."
Cullen nodded and held it out to her hilt first, shivering as the glow flickered up his arm. Once she'd taken it and wrapped it a few times, he rubbed at the ache in his wrist. "I have a feeling that this evening isn't over," he said grimly. "We'd best keep alert."
"Agreed, Commander," Cassandra said, frowning as she studied his face. "Are you all right?"
Thankfully Cullen was saved from an answer by Vivienne calling his name. "The Inquisitor is asking for you," she said smoothly.
Cullen hurried over, all else forgotten as he knelt down to clasp one of Dorian's hands between his own. "You're awake."
"That I am, Commander," Dorian said, blinking slowly a few times. "I understand I was in quite the state when you first found me."
"Thankfully, the Inquisition has many talented people serving it," Cullen said, smiling as he ran his thumb over Dorian's knuckles. Peripherally he was aware of people withdrawing to give them space, and a small part of him felt a little odd at the acknowledgment of the change in his relationship with Dorian… but mostly, he just wanted to see the man smile.
"That it does," Dorian said, a faint smile coming to his lips. In the next moment, though, his brows contracted in worry. "Your eyes, Cullen," he said quietly. "It's faint, but I can see it. What happened?"
Only then did Cullen recall what had occurred only a short time ago. "Someone slipped me red lyrium in a drink," he said grimly. "You weren't the only target tonight, either. Even for Orlais, tonight has been complicated."
Dorian groaned. "I never thought anything could make me yearn for the simplicity of the Magisterium's machinations," he mused, "but apparently here we are. Very well. Help me up."
Blinking, Cullen stared at Dorian for a moment. "Pardon?"
"Help me up," Dorian repeated. "We still haven't figured out exactly who here is aiding Corypheus in his plan, after all. Until Celene is safe and Corypheus and his agent vanquished, the world still isn't safe from that threat, no matter the nature of the new ones which have arisen."
Even though he knew Dorian was right, Cullen still felt reluctant to help the man up-mainly because he would have to release his hand. "Just one more potion, perhaps?" Cullen suggested. "I mean, you did just get almost stabbed to death."
A sad smile came to Dorian's lips. "He knew someone would find me, didn't he?"
Cullen's eyes widened. "You knew who it was?"
"He damned near shoved his tongue down my throat," Dorian groused.
"Of course he did," Cullen said with a roll of his eyes. "So it really was Hawke."
"Oh, yes. And I'm not sure what he meant by it, but he said the rest was up to me. Wherever he is now, he's in a place we cannot follow, I think." He frowned. "And given that Zevran came and spoke with him, I daresay we'd best not contemplate following him for now."
Cullen swore under his breath, knowing exactly what that meant. "But you're right," he said. "Whatever game Amell is playing doesn't matter if we can't stop Corypheus." Taking a red potion from where it lay in a heap near some mostly empty bottles, Cullen flicked the top off and cradled Dorian's head in his hand. "Here. One more potion."
As Dorian opened his lips obediently, he raised his hand to hold the bottle steady. At least, that was true for a moment or two. His fingers inched up until they were touching Cullen's, stroking slowly as he met Cullen's gaze with his own. Cullen couldn't help the smile that rose to his lips as he felt a sense of relief that Dorian was going to be all right, that that horrid moment when Cullen had seen the dagger sticking out of him was just another bad dream instead of a living nightmare.
Once the bottle was empty, Cullen reluctantly drew back and nodded. "Now, let's get you up."
It took a couple of tries, mainly because of a bout of dizziness which marred the first attempt, but once he was up, Dorian looked around him with keen eyes. "Everyone here? Good. What did I miss?"
Bull barked a laugh. "Nice one, boss. Hey, look, don't scare me like that, all right? You're starting to make me feel like I'm a failure as a bodyguard."
"No, no, you're very good at lurking around being large and dangerous looking," Dorian assured him. "Just make sure no one figures out you actually have a brain, too."
"Yeah, well, speaking of that." Bull held up the piece of paper with the map on it which had led them to the ambush in the first place. "The map was a trap, and I fell for it."
"The marks were from one of my agents," Leliana explained, "but they washed off the original message and put their own map on it. If the marks hadn't been outdated, I would have thought it genuine, too."
"Thanks for trying, Red, but we both know I should have known better," Bull said grimly.
Dorian made a little tsking noise. "Now, now, I walked into that ambush just as eagerly as the rest of us. We knew it the potential to be a trap. We just didn't know its nature or its source."
"Wait a minute." They all turned to face Varric, who was still contemplating the slip of paper which had fallen from Hawke's dagger. "The guys we were fighting. Venatori and mercenaries. That definitely isn't who Hawke was allied with, is it?"
Cullen straightened. "No. No, it's not."
"Somehow, some way, he fell into Amell's clutches," Dorian told Varric with a heavy sigh. "I saw him speak with Zevran before I lost consciousness."
"Well, shit," Varric said with a scowl. "Dammit, Hawke, only you could find a rescuer that's worse than being in the Fade. " With a shake of his head, Varric forced himself to continue. "So it sounds like Amell is playing both sides-ours and Corypheus," Varric pointed out. "They knew about the ambush, but they didn't help either side in it. They just took advantage of the distraction to strike at Sparkler. Or am I reading that wrong?"
"No, that's a good point, Varric," Leliana mused, a thoughtful expression on her face as she ran her fingers over the flowers still cradled in one hand. "Hopefully that means our theory that Amell and Corypheus are not working together is accurate."
"Or if they were at one point, that Amell is starting to act independently," Dorian said. "Nothing I have learned about the man indicates he enjoys being under the heel of another."
Varric grunted, then frowned at the paper in his hand. "Well, either way, I can't make heads or tails of this."
"Oh?" Dorian asked, walking over to retrieve the paper. "What is it?"
"Back in the old days in Kirkwall, Hawke got it into his head that someone was reading his private messages. I mean… now I get it," Varric said, looking guilty, "but at the time we just thought it was more of his paranoia. So he got special daggers made with the proceeds of his estate, with a handle you could open if you knew what you were doing. As far as I know, he only ever showed the trick to me and Aveline, 'just in case'. He never did say just in case of what, though."
Dorian grimaced as he took the paper and stared at it. "Well, considering the trouble he took to get it to us, you'd think he'd make the message more obvious. 'Find me in silence' isn't particularly helpful at the moment."
"If he's with Amell, I kinda get where he's coming from, though," Varric noted. "If there's anyone who you should be paranoid around, it's him."
"All right. We'll put it aside for now, then." He offered the paper to Leliana, but she shook her head.
"You keep it for now. For the moment, this message is more important anyway." Leliana held up a paper of her own. "This was inside the bloom of the Andraste's Grace, only big enough for one name."
"Oh?" Dorian held out his hand, and Leliana handed it over obediently. "And where did this message come from?"
Leliana closed her eyes for a moment. "Alistair," she said softly. "He is here tonight dressed as a Chevalier. Like Hawke, he was here for a purpose which he did not see through."
"Amell won't forgive either of them for that," Cullen noted grimly as Dorian glanced at the message. "Whose name is it?"
Dorian frowned slightly. "If everything else we've discovered until this point is also true, the name of the person working for Corypheus." He glanced up at Leliana. "Which wouldn't be a complete surprise, all things considered, hmm?"
Leliana shook her head. "Though we should seek more proof than a ragged piece of paper extracted from a flower sent by someone who is believed to have been lost in the Fade."
"Very true. Rulers need proof before treason can be declared, or at least culpability." Tucking both pieces of paper away into a pouch, Dorian paused for a moment before extracting a small locket from the same pouch. "Leliana, could I use this to request a private audience with the Empress for me?"
Face puzzled, Leliana took the necklace and scrutinized it for a moment before her eyes widened. "Easily, Inquisitor."
"Excellent. Then arrange that for me, if you please. I believe the events of this evening warrant a private little chat, hmm?" Dorian patted his hands over his body, then looked at the rather sizable group around him. "Very well. Now, it won't do to go tromping back to the palace in such large numbers, and there are still parts of the apartments that I wanted to investigate. Let's see… Half of you should go ahead to let Josephine know why the Inquisition suddenly seemed to desert the party. Leliana?"
Straightening, Leliana nodded. "I think I should return with Lady Vivienne and Iron Bull, at the very least," she mused. "Their absences would be noted the most, aside from your own."
"And take Varric with you," Dorian said. "There were some dwarves muttering something about the Carta and supplies that I wanted him to look into."
"Oh, yeah, them," Varric grunted. "Me, too. Thanks for the reminder. I have a hunch it has to do with that little jaunt we took with Bianca."
"Well, then I doubly want you to investigate." Dorian looked around at them thoughtfully. Cullen opened his mouth to suggest he return, since presumably his absence would also be noted, but shut his mouth again when Dorian shook his head subtly. "Cassandra. I want someone there who can stare down even the Lady Mantillon, and I daresay there are few in Orlais who would directly challenge the former Right Hand of the Divine. Quell the rumors and the gossip as much as you can with that iron stare of yours."
Cassandra made a disgusted noise before she reluctantly smiled. "As you say, Inquisitor. I do not have much tolerance for such matters."
"Excellent. The rest of you, stay with me." Cullen blinked as Dorian set into motion, then quickly caught up to reach out and support Dorian by the elbow as his first few steps were marred by a bit of lurching.
"Easy, there," Cullen murmured so the others couldn't hear. "You won't save the world if you end up falling flat on your face because you pushed yourself too hard."
"I know that," Dorian snapped, then halted and bowed his head. "You're right, of course, Commander," he groused. "It would be terribly embarrassing to fall like that. Not to mention letting Corypheus triumph would be a lackluster legacy, wouldn't it?" He glanced behind them, waiting until the others had caught up, then nodded. "Let's go. And be alert. Who knows what-or who-we'll encounter."
"If you think we're going to encounter trouble, let me get some actual equipment," Cullen told Dorian. "Blackwall, if you could help me."
"Certainly, Commander," Blackwall said as he hurried over to help Cullen perform the unsavory task of stealing from the dead.
Once he was more properly suited with light armor-if still in pain-Cullen grunted and shoved the dagger he'd been carrying absently into his belt, just in case. Adrenaline and time seemed to have dimmed the effects of the red lyrium, thankfully, but that also meant he was starting to feel pain in his knee. Still, he preferred that to the sparkly, red haze of the lyrium. "Right. Let's finish this, then."
The what turned out to yet more groups of Venatori, scattered throughout various points of the gardens and some apartments. Dorian shook his head as he zapped one of the muttering mages down with a particularly vicious burst of energy from his mark. "Honestly, where do they come from? It's like Corypheus is pulling them out of thin air."
"Would the person whose name is on that paper be able to pull this off?" Cullen asked speculatively. "Or at least be able to sneak them into the Palace?"
Dorian turned to look at Cullen. "Oh, most assuredly." Suddenly his eyes widened, and he raised his hand. "Look out!"
Cullen whirled just in time to see a Venatori stalker leap from the shadows towards him-a leap interrupted by the dagger which flew from behind to embed itself in the back of the erstwhile attacker's skull. His eyebrows rose as a slim elf woman emerged from the adjoining corridor. "You have my thanks, Lady-"
"Ambassador Briala?" Dorian asked, then laughed. "Fancy meeting you here. I must say I am surprised to see you."
"The feeling is mutual, Inquisitor," Briala said smoothly as she walked around them with a wary eye. "You've cleaned this place out. It will take a month to get all the Tevinter blood off the marble."
"Yes, sadly, our blood is particularly stubborn," Dorian said with a dramatic sigh. "Precisely why I wear white so very often. It just means I get new outfits after every fight. Who wouldn't want that?"
Briala's lips tugged into a reluctant smile before she turned and walked to a nearby balcony. "I came out to avenge or save my missing people, but you beat me to it."
"Not all those from Tevinter are cut from the same cloth, Ambassador," Dorian said as he followed her. Cullen instinctively fell into step behind Dorian, remembering the rumors he'd overheard about Briala and her servants. "This particular Vint recognizes an atrocity when he sees one."
"Would the death of an elf servant be such a thing in the Imperium, Inquisitor?" Briala asked in a tense voice.
"Sadly, only as much as it would be viewed so here," Dorian said softly. "Both lands could use rulers who acknowledge it rather differently, I think."
Briala turned to face him, looking him up and down before doing the same to Cullen. For the latter, her eyes widened. "That dagger on your belt. Where did you get it?"
Cullen blinked, then reached down and pulled it out. "Earlier this evening, Ambassador," he explained, hoping whatever shades of truth he had to use now in his explanation would match whatever Leliana came up with. "An assassin made an attempt on the Grand Duke's life, and dropped this during his escape."
"May I examine it more closely?" Her hand extended, open and expectant.
After glancing at Dorian to see his nod, Cullen flipped the knife and laid the hilt in her hand. "I do owe you a dagger after you sacrificed one to save my life earlier," he said with an attempt at a smile. His gratitude was genuine, at least, even if the circumstances made the smile falter a bit.
Briala frowned as she examined the dagger, oblivious to the attempt at humor. "This is my dagger," she said, looking up at Cullen. "I only saw it was missing this morning, but I know this blade. It's the one I carry with me for defense, but I would never throw it as I did just now because others would recognize it if it were left behind."
"An incriminating weapon, then, I take it?" Dorian asked.
"Without a doubt." She turned it over to study the hilt once more. "And you said an assassin was going to kill Gaspard with it?"
"Yes, Ambassador," Cullen said. "I saw it with my own eyes."
"And it wouldn't have been my work any more than what happened to the Council's Emissary is yours," she murmured. "I suspect Gaspard behind the death of the Emissary, but what would he gain from an attack upon his own person? Was it meant to succeed, or was it a feint, do you think?"
"Gaspard was meant to die," Cullen said firmly. "That I believe."
"Most strange. Someone wanted to make it appear as if I were responsible for his death. I knew Gaspard was smuggling Chevaliers into the Palace, but-"
Cullen's eyebrows rose. "He what?"
"Ah, Orlesians," Dorian said with a chuckle. "Light treason is excellent fodder for supper, it seems. Still, Ambassador, I agree that it appears you were the secondary target in that assassination attempt."
"Someone is desperate," Briala said with a frown. "I had thought it was Gaspard. Thank you for saving his life, Commander," Briala told Cullen. "If this had happened before the talks or before Gaspard had fully committed to the treason he planned, it would not look good. Not for Celene."
"And certainly not for you, hmm?" Dorian asked. "Take the blade with my blessing, Ambassador. I fear you may need it."
Briala straightened. "I misjudged you, Inquisitor. You just might be an ally worth having." She tilted her head. "What could you do with an army of elven spies at your disposal? You should think about it."
Dorian chuckled. "You do know how to make an idea sound attractive, I'll give you that."
"I know which way the wind is blowing," she said with a little shrug. "Before the night is over, you'll be part of the peace talks. I'd bet coin on it."
"Oh? How much?" Dorian asked with a grin. "I owe a certain dwarf some money."
That made Briala laugh, albeit quietly. "You are a dangerous man, Inquisitor. Even better for us if you were to lean a little bit our way." She turned and walked to the edge of the balcony, then glanced back over her shoulder. "Just a thought."
And then she dropped from the ledge.
"Maker, do Orlesians realize that not everything has to be dramatic?" Cullen groused.
"Oh, Commander," Dorian said with a chuckle. "That was merely slightly rambunctious. If you want drama, well… I guarantee you'll see it later. Now, then. I need to go investigate those Chevaliers she mentioned, and talk to a few Council members." Dorian stepped back into the corridor and looked at the dead bodies with a wrinkled nose. "She's right, you know. The blood will take a while to clean out. Pity. This really is a beautiful palace."
With a sigh, Cullen fell back into formation. Hopefully it wouldn't be too much longer before they could return to the relative normalcy of the ball itself.
Once they'd reached the entrance to the servants' quarters and changed back into their fancy outfits, Dorian gestured them close. "All right. Solas, Blackwall, remain ready. I fear there is more fighting to come."
"Hopefully not too much more," Blackwall muttered. "It doesn't feel right, fighting on marble while surrounded by silk."
"Agreed," Cullen said fervently.
"Unfortunately, that is where we find ourselves." Absently rubbing the side which had been pierced, Dorian looked to Solas. "Keep your magical eye peeled for anything out of the ordinary. If ever we are to see them take chances, it would be after the failure of that ambush."
"Agreed, Inquisitor. I will be most alert to any oddities which may take place," Solas said with a nod, then slipped through the door.
"And Blackwall. You're a warrior. I want you to talk to the Imperial Guard. The Commander noticed that there aren't as many here as there should be. See if you can get any hint of why out of them. If Briala knows that the Chevaliers have been brought to the Palace in numbers, Celene may know as well. Perhaps the Guard knows-" Dorian raised an eyebrow as Blackwall swallowed harshly. "Are you quite all right?"
Blackwall straightened. "I'm fine, Inquisitor. I'm just not that good at talking to nobles. It's like dressing a nug in silks when I try."
"Would you prefer talking to the Chevaliers?" Dorian asked.
"No," Blackwall said hastily. "No, Inquisitor, you're right. I'll talk to the Guard and see what I can find out, if they're willing to talk to a rough clod like me." He gave Dorian a bow and clapped Cullen on the shoulder before heading from the room.
"That was odd," Dorian mused. "I thought there was a universal camaraderie among warriors."
"Is there one among mages?" Cullen asked in amusement.
"Well, no. But we're all a bit too convinced in our own superiority to really have good conversations amongst ourselves," Dorian admitted.
Cullen laughed. "It can get that way sometimes with warriors, too." Face sobering, he reached out and cupped Dorian's face with one hand, his concern overriding his shyness. "What do you need of me?"
"Right here, right now?" Dorian asked. "This." Leaning in, he claimed Cullen's mouth for a soft kiss, lingering for a few moments as he explored Cullen's lips with care. Cullen closed his eyes and floated in the warmth of the kiss for a few moments, and suddenly, Orlais seemed very far away indeed.
Inevitably, of course, the kiss had to end. When their lips parted, Cullen pressed their foreheads together. "Be careful," he said in a whisper. "I can't-When I saw you on the ground, I-"
"Shh, I know," Dorian murmured, silencing Cullen with a brief kiss. "And if I could stay here with you and keep showing you how much better I am than that moment, I would. But there's work to do. I need you to go ready the troops. If there are Chevaliers in the palace, and those Venatori keep popping up like fennec in the Hinterlands, then we're going to need them."
With a deep breath, Cullen nodded and pulled reluctantly away from Dorian. "Maker help us."
"We're going to need it, I think," Dorian sighed. "Take care, Cullen. And save me a dance, would you?"
Cullen couldn't help but laugh softly. "No promises on that one," he said. "My poor leg has taken a beating so far today."
"Alas. Then you'll just have to save me something else that's near both your legs, hmm?" As Cullen's cheeks reddened, Dorian laughed. "And now, back into the fray, Commander. Wish me luck," Dorian bowed extravagantly and moved towards the door, where he paused and looked back at Cullen. "Oh, and Commander? I'd recommend a quick bath and new clothes. At least the rest of us were wearing armor."
Glancing down at himself, Cullen had to admit that Dorian was right. If he showed up at the ball looking like this, tongues would wag indeed. "I'll see to it, Inquisitor," he promised.
"Good man," Dorian said with a chuckle. The Inquisitor was already taking over, it seemed. "Maker keep you." And with that, he pressed through the door leading into the Hall of Heroes.
"Maker keep us all," Cullen breathed, then followed shortly after, taking an entirely different route through the palace to return to where the Inquisition's troops waited. There was a lot to do, and not much time to do it.