Spine straight and smile shining, Dorian moved through the Winter Palace with all the brilliance of a shining star. He oozed charm, breathed good humor, and laughed with delight at each and every sally, no matter how insignificant. Eyes followed him as he walked, eyes which he was sure had noticed his absence quite as clearly as they noticed his return. Resisting the urge to touch his magically restored side and make sure there was nothing amiss, he bowed and wheedled and cocksured his way to the main ballroom. He had a feeling that someone very specific had noticed him gone, after all. Someone who likely would wish a dramatic gesture.

Sure enough, as he proceeded into the ballroom, he found someone waiting for him. "Inquisitor Pavus," Florianne said with a warm, if stilted, smile. "We met briefly. I am-"

"Ah, the ebullient hostess of the evening, the Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons," he said with a deep bow, snatching her introduction from her as a subtle tactic of ownership. "This has been a most splendid gathering. Why, I can't remember a party this exciting since my cousin decided to try to tame a dragon to light his promotion ball."

Florianne smiled politely at his riposte and curtsied with equal grace. "You are a most amusing man, Inquisitor. And, I cannot help but notice, a man who also lives up to his title."

His eyes twinkled. "Are you calling me nosy, your Grace?"

"This is Orlais, Inquisitor. Nothing happens by accident." With a gesture, she indicated that he should walk with her. "I believe tonight you and I are both concerned about the actions of... a certain person." After a show of looking around them, she nodded towards the dance floor. "Perhaps it would be best if we spoke where none could overhear, my lord Inquisitor."

Ah, and here we are. Who is she going to dangle in front of me, I wonder? His smile remained in place as he bowed and presented his arm to her. "Shall we dance, Your Grace? It would be a signal honor."

She smiled and laid her hand on his. "I would be delighted, Inquisitor, and the honor entirely mine."

As he led her down onto the dance floor, a lifetime of training rose to the fore and claimed his limbs. Dance was both a matter of courtesy and a matter of pride among the Magisterium, so it went without saying that Dorian's education on the matter had been of the highest calibre. His motions became impossibly fluid and graceful, taken from the realm of thought to that of reaction, which meant that his conscious mind could devote itself entirely to the machinations of the Game which he was sure would consume the bulk of the dance.

Florianne led with the first volley, naturally, as the instigating party to this particular battle. "You are from the Imperium, Inquisitor. How much do you know of our little war?"

Little war. The battle which had consumed most of the Exalted Plains, leaving behind it a wide swath of destruction months in the making and decades for the undoing, was nothing but a little war to the Game. None of that showed on his face, however, as he smiled at her. "The concerns of the Orlesian Empire are the concerns of all Thedas, Your Grace."

"Perhaps they are," Florianne mused. "I should not be surprised to find the Empire is the center of everyone's world." It took a signal effort of will for Dorian not to inform her that every single member of the Magisterium would say exactly the same about the Imperium. Instead he simply gave her an amiable nod as she blithely continued. "It took a great effort to arrange tonight's negotiations. Yet one party would use this occasion for blackest treason. The security of the Empire is at stake. Neither one of us wishes to see it fall."

He had to admire the singular vague truth of her words. Even his mother would have approved of the subtlety. "It is true that anyone of right mind believes in the stability and security of the Empire," he said, agreeing without actually endorsing her statement.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, almost too quick to notice. "I hope we are of one mind on this."

"In times like these, it is important that allies support each other fully, Your Grace," Dorian replied with careless ease.

Finding that path blunted, Floranne rallied and tried a different approach. "I know you are here as a guest of my brother, Gaspard, and have been everywhere in the palace…" she said, trailing off in the hope he would fill in the gap. When Dorian failed to oblige, she added, "You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor… and a matter of concern to some."

Dearie me, I wonder who? Dorian kept his expression and tone neutral as he replied, "I prefer to think of myself as the best of all worlds to everyone."

"That would be a very hard path to follow this evening," she noted. "Not everyone wishes tonight to end the same way. I wonder what role you will play? Do you even know who is friend and who is foe? Who in the court can be trusted?"

"And that is the question of the hour, is it not?" he asked with a little half-smile. "We should all be pondering the matter."

"In the Winter Palace, everyone is alone," Florianne told him. "It cannot have escaped your notice that certain parties are engaged in dangerous machinations tonight."

More certain of her particular angle now, Dorian allowed himself a small chuckle at that observation. "And here I thought the pursuit of dangerous machinations to be the primary past-time in both Orlais and Tevinter. A pleasant passing of an evening, so to speak." So saying, he twirled her in a grand circle and then dipped her down in suitably dramatic fashion, drawing some gasps and cries of delight from their now avid audience. "I prefer dancing, honestly," he told her as he brought her to her feet.

"You have little time for either," she told him as they started the final sweep down the dance floor. "The attack will come soon, and you must stop Gaspard before he strikes. In the Royal Wing Garden, you will find the Captain of my brother's mercenaries. He knows all Gaspard's secrets. I'm sure you can persuade him to be forthcoming."

Dorian smiled as they gave each other the final bow. "We'll see what the night has in store, won't we?" he said with a subtle wink. "You are an impeccable dance partner, Your Grace. Perhaps we could dance again before the evening is over."

She smiled and tilted his head. "You may be sure of that, my Lord Inquisitor," she murmured, then moved away to disappear into the crowd above.

Well, shit. Apparently he hadn't played the Game quite as well as he'd hoped if that was her response. Still, she had dangled the bait of her brother in front of him, and he would be remiss if he ignored such a blatant invitation-even if it was likely to lead to his third ambush of the evening. With a mental shake of his head, he climbed the stairs, where he found a pair of conniving ladies waiting for him.

"You'll be the talk of the court for months," Josephine said with a wide smile. "We should take you dancing more often."

"I do have lovely calves," Dorian noted. "However, I'm not sure they are sufficient to solve all our problems this evening."

"Yes, but dancing with Duchess Florianne," Leliana said. "A bold move, Inquisitor." Hidden under her comment was the subtle question about the veracity of Alistair's note, which Dorian answered with a smile and a wink. With an answering nod, she held out the locket to Dorian. "I have word from the Empress, Inquisitor. She has requested a moment of your time."

Ignoring Josephine's look of surprise, Dorian took the locket and returned it to his pouch. "I will attend to her as quickly as I may. Thank you, Leliana." He held out his hand

"You are not going to try to warn her, are you?" Josephine asked. "Warning Celene is pointless. She needs these talks to succeed, and to flee would admit defeat."

Leliana frowned slightly as she lowered her voice. "Then perhaps we should let her die."

"Her fate-everyone's fate, in fact-has not yet been decided," Dorian replied in similar fashion. "I understand our goals, and I'm not letting myself get sentimental, but I do think we're not quite seeing the whole picture yet." When Leliana opened her mouth to speak, he added, "All options will be considered, I promise you that. We will not leave the Winter Palace until the matter is settled in our favor."

"Then I am content, Inquisitor," she murmured.

"What did Florianne say during the dance?" Josephine asked, clearly not wishing to dwell upon the matter.

"Oh, she pointed me like an arrow towards Gaspard," he said. "She said the Captain of his mercenaries are in the Royal Wing, and that I should speak to the man regarding secrets and whatnot. Given the mix of forces we encountered in the gardens, I am definitely interested in a conversation."

"We cannot be sure those guards belonged to Gaspard," Leliana cautioned.

"Nor can we assume otherwise." Dorian sighed and fought not to rub his eyes in frustration. Such a gesture would be noticed, after all. "I intend to follow her bait."

"Which could be a trap."

They all turned to look at Cullen as he joined them. Dorian's eyes raked over him, noticing the lack of a limp along with a freshness to his outfit, indicating that Cullen had taken his advice before returning to the ballroom. Dorian offered him a half-smile, which Cullen returned with one of his own, before turning to Josephine as she added, "Or a lead."

"Either way, you should search the Royal Wing," Leliana urged Dorian.

"Which is certain to be locked. Get me access," he told her. "I'll be along after my meeting with the Empress."

"At once, Inquisitor," she said, then slipped away into the crowd.

"As for you, Lady Josephine, I need your ears," Dorian said quietly. "It's certainly no secret that I've had wandering feet all evening, but hopefully that means their tongues will wag a bit more while I am out of sight. Stay alert. Who knows what you'll hear at this stage in the Game?"

"Of course, Inquisitor," Josephine said. "If you need me, I will be with my sister." Which was also near the Imperial dais and the balcony to which Gaspard had withdrawn-an excellent place to overhear conversations, as Dorian well knew.

Cullen smiled a bit ruefully as Josephine moved away. "I hope you don't expect the same from me. I'm not quite that skillful."

"I have another task for you," Dorian assured him. "You mentioned that there are fewer Imperial Guards, and you're right. I've noticed quite a few Chevalier about, but rumor puts them on Gaspard's side. Why are there so many more of them? I want you to talk to the Chevalier, get a feel of whose side they're on in this whole affair. You're a warrior and a Fereldan, so they won't suspect the Game, because you won't be playing it. Just conversation."

Rubbing his neck awkwardly, Cullen said, "I'll do my best, Inquisitor, though I can't promise I'll be able to uncover anything useful."

Dorian smiled sympathetically. "Understood, Commander. But given tonight's circumstances, I'll take what I can get."

"Very well." For a moment he stared at Dorian, brow furrowed in concern. Finally he sighed. "And I'd best be going. I'll speak to you later, Inquisitor."

"Likewise, Commander." Maker, but he wanted to do more than exchange stilted words with the man. Still, he at least got to admire the view as Cullen walked away.

Quickly shaking himself from the pleasant reverie, Dorian settled a fairly neutral smile on his face and headed towards the corner which held Celene's personal attendants. An Imperial audience was overdue.

To their credit, the ladies in waiting were all smiles as they greeted him warmly before ushering him into the back room which Celene had chosen for her isolation prior to the peace talks. As his earnest guides curtsied and withdrew, closing the door behind them, he took three steps towards Celene and bowed deeply, per protocol. "Your Imperial Majesty."

"Inquisitor." Celene smiled warmly at him, her facade as strong as a skilled player of the Game could make it. "I regret that we did not make time to speak in private earlier. No doubt you have questions about many things."

"I daresay that's true for both of us this evening," Dorian acknowledged with a nod. "Yet I did not come here to pester you about your cousin or your caterer. Forgive my abruptness, Your Majesty, but time, as we are all aware, is short. The locket I found. We both know who gave it do you, don't we?"

If Celene found his manner or question displeasing, she didn't show it. "She gave it to me for my coronation. I don't know why I kept it. It was a foolish thing to do."

"Some matters bend to logic less easily than others," Dorian murmured. "I do wonder, however, what caused such a rift between you?"

"She wanted change," Celene said. "And she thought I should deliver it."

"Change for the plight of the elves, I imagine," Dorian mused.

"As you say, Inquisitor." Her tone changed ever so slightly as a certain wistful sadness colored it, and Dorian had to imagine she was not seeing him so much as another with whom she'd argued. "My word is law, but laws don't command people's hearts. Culture does not transform itself overnight."

"No," Dorian murmured. "But change requires a catalyst nonetheless. Voices of dissent are all well and good, but eventually the pen must meet the paper, before the torches light the pyre. I've seen the parts of the palace you've cordoned off from your visitors. I daresay that the latter has already happened."

Celene fell silent and looked down at her clasped hands. After a few moments, she admitted, "I failed her. I should have dared more. But the past, like so many things, is beyond my command."

"You make it sound as if the past and the future are separate beasts, and the present but a nebulous maybe which cannot connect the two in a meaningful fashion." Taking a half-step closer, he let his voice drop as he said, "You didn't keep the locket because you were foolish, your Majesty. You kept the locket because it means something to you, something important."

"Perhaps it does." Celene gave an almost imperceptible sigh, and he saw her face harden as she seemed to come to an internal decision. With a tight shrug, she turned from Dorian and moved away, signalling an end to their audience. "But not more important than all the people of my empire. Dispose of the locket however you like. It means nothing to me."

I wonder if even she believes that lie, Dorian mused, but only bowed and quietly left the room. Her words did hold a certain resonance with him, of course. Any leader, whether of an empire like Orlais or an organization like the Inquisition, had to hold the good of all in mind, and a relationship with a subordinate inevitably invited complications. He was well aware that the gossips in Skyhold waited with bated breath for Dorian's clear preference for Cullen to start showing itself in his decisions and policies. He could only imagine the intense pressure and disapproval Celene would face from the court if they perceived that her relationship with an elf in any way shaped her policy, particularly in the elves' favor.

For a moment Dorian felt a burst of irritation on behalf of Mailani, an irritation which arose out of the deeper sympathy for elves she had instilled into him, but he quickly pushed it down. There was an opportunity here that, for Mailani's sake, he would not let it slip through his fingers. Briala's influence on Celene was a chance for Orlais to diverge from their current path of viewing the elves as only good for service, and Dorian suspected there was another who felt the same way as he did.

As his feet took him once more to the balcony outside the ballroom, he wondered if he could persuade her that the pain was worth the chance.

Briala inclined her head in greeting as he approached her, seemingly unsurprised at his approach. "We meet again. Given any thought to what I said?"

Dorian tilted his head. "A great deal, actually, though I am not sure you will approve of the method I believe may prove the most effective for its execution."

The way her stance instantly changed to wariness told Dorian more about her life than almost any set of words she could possibly string together. "Oh?"

Pulling the locket out, he presented it to her. "This is yours, isn't it? I found it while wandering about."

Briala's eyes widened as she took the locket, peering at it closely. "She kept this? What was she thinking? If Gaspard had found this, it would have ruined her."

"She doesn't strike me as absent-minded," Dorian mused aloud. "Which leads me to think it meant something to her."

"Maybe it did." Briala's lips tightened. "Once."

"Or still," Dorian countered. "After all, she did hold on to it."

Briala didn't answer that, but there was a certain softening around her eyes that said that she had heard, and that it mattered.

Reaching out to lightly touch the locket, Dorian said, "It is a lovely evening, Ambassador, with a world of possibilities open to us all. Keep it. Perhaps it will help you remember that it is never too late for Orlais, or any of us, hmm?" He paused for a beat, then stepped back and bowed. "We'll speak more later, Ambassador."

She smiled ever so slightly. "Another time, Inquisitor."

Hoping that it had been enough, and that it wasn't a mistake to have opened the path as one of those possibilities of which he'd spoken, Dorian returned to the ballroom. This time, however, he was only passing through on his way elsewhere. As he conversed his way back to the vestibule and beyond, he made a point to speak with his comrades, letting them know where to meet him, as well as re-visiting those nobles he thought leaned in the direction of supporting the Inquisition. Their support could mean much when the time came, after all.

It did surprise him a little when a familiar wide skirt impeded his progress forward, and he quickly bowed to the woman to whom it belonged. "My Lady Mantillon. It has been far too long since you graced me with your presence."

"Oh, yes. An entire hour," she said with a low chuckle, being a lady of an age far too dignified to giggle. "Walk with me, Inquisitor. I wish to take a turn about the vestibule. It's frightfully hot in here."

That surprised him, given what he knew of the power dynamics of the Orlesian court as drilled into his head by Leliana and Vivienne. For her to make such a request of him showed a significant interest in his activity-and a covert blessing of it, as well. "Your pleasure is mine, my lady," he told her warmly as he offered his arm to her.

She led him to the doors and beyond, chattering and pointing at various personages in a way that looked and sounded harmless, but was anything but. Dorian listened in awe to a master of the Game prattle on about seemingly nothing, yet hand him pieces of knowledge the Inquisition could use to their true benefit. He engaged her at that level, giving her tidbits here and there about Ferelden and Nevarra and even the Imperium. Neither of them gave the other too much of an advantage, but each offered just enough to prove each other's good intent. Finally they came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs in the back of the Vestibule, and she looked up at him with a smile.

"A pity you've eyes on someone else, my lord Inquisitor," she mused. "I have a strong belief that my tenth husband, whoever the Maker sends my way, will be the best one. Ah, well." She held out her hand for him to grace with a kiss, which he did. "Do give the Commander my regards, would you? He has quite the delicious derrière."

Dorian couldn't help but choke a bit at that, but managed to recover quickly enough to return the sally. "A sentiment with which I wholeheartedly agree, my lady."

Her eyes twinkled merrily behind her mask. "Have a pleasant evening, Inquisitor," she told him, then turned and swept back towards the ballroom. Which, given the width of her dress, also swept everyone else with her, leaving Dorian to himself.

Allowing himself a moment for a blink or two of astonishment, Dorian headed up the stairs and ducked to the right where he found his companions ready and waiting. "Now. Where is my proper armor and staff, hmm?" Bull held them out obediently. Once he was appropriately adorned, Dorian took a deep breath as he glanced around at them. "Into the deep we go, my friends. There's no turning back now."

The theme of the evening presented itself fairly quickly once they'd passed through the door and delved into the Royal Quarters: betrayal. From the servant girl betrayed by Briala, to the rather young nicely naked soldier in the comical helmet betrayed by Celene after he'd betrayed Gaspard on her behalf, to the dark hints and double dealings of the notes and hidden messages they found along the way, Dorian was beginning to wonder if anyone in Orlais understood the value of loyalty, or if loyalty itself was but another victim of the Game.

"Orlais is starting to remind me a bit too much of home," he observed as they paused so Sera could rifle through yet another bureau. "All these lies and double-dealings and left hand, right hand trade-offs. Why, it's practically Tevinter of them. I wonder if they did it just for me? A sort of welcome mat in lovely colors marred by the bloody handprints."

"Don't forget the dagger sticking out of it," Varric said with a grin.

"Ah, yes. Only the most gracious of hospitable hosts is kind enough to provide assassination attempts," Dorian said with a shake of his head. "Oh, Orlesians. At least the soldier was a bright spot in an otherwise dull evening. Or at least his choice of adornment was."

"I don't know, I think some thigh high lace up sandals would have really set that helmet off better," Bull mused. "And maybe a nice little bow under his belly button. You know. Just to round things off."

"Can we please talk about something else?" Cassandra exclaimed in a pained tone.

"You never know, Seeker," Varric said with a grin. "That might just end up in one of my books someday."

Cassandra threw up her hands and stalked forward. "The Venatori would be preferable to this," she muttered.

"Which brings us back to our purpose, true," Dorian noted. "That door over there is the last one we haven't opened. Hopefully we'll find our Captain of the mercenaries behind it."

Instead, they found a darkened hallway lined with more construction, mainly scaffolding and crates. Shaking his hand absently, Dorian led the way down the hall, looking for doors between the towers of bound lumber and draped cloth. Just as he found a new one, a burst of foul language came from behind the door that ended with a rather colorful invective of a pox on all you poncy Orlesian bastards! Dorian's eyebrows rose. "Now there's a mercenary if I've ever heard one, that's for certain," he mused, then gestured the others to follow as he burst through the doorway.

And directly into the sights of about a dozen archers, arrows already pulled back and waiting.

Instinctively he froze, and he heard his companions come to a halt behind him. A movement above caught his eye, in time for him to look up and see Florianne appear on the balcony above. Ah. Naturally.

"Inquisitor! What a pleasure! I wasn't certain you'd attend," Florianne said with a smug air. "You're such a challenge to read. I had no idea if you'd taken my bait."

Ignoring Bull's sour grunt, Dorian called up, "One of my little foibles, your Grace. I never met an ambush whose invitation I could refuse, particularly not yours."

Florianne smirked. "Such a pity. You could almost be Orlesian, if you were just a little quicker."

"And you could almost be Tevinter, if you were just a little less of a coward," he shot back. "Archers? Really? How tawdry."

Her hand tightened into a fist before she forced it to relax, but it was enough for him to know his blow, small as it was, had landed. "It was kind of you to walk into my trap so willingly. I was so tired of your meddling. Corypheus insisted that the Empress die tonight, and I would hate to disappoint him."

As she spoke, Dorian let his eyes casually wander, taking in their surroundings: a small courtyard, archers-and likely more than archers-and, glowing fitfully in the midst of it all, a locked rift. A glimmer of an idea formed in his head, suitably desperate to match his situation, but he forced himself to turn his attention back to Florianne. A villain deserved some attention to her soliloquy, after all, no matter their level of competence.

When her words reached their end, he decided to play for time, knowing the archers would tire the longer they had to keep their bows fully drawn, and for knowledge. "You taking out Celene, I can understand. She's the greatest barrier between yourself and the throne. But why does Corypheus want her out of the way?"

"She would never see the truth as I have," Florianne insisted. "Her death is a stepping stone on the path to a better world. Corypheus will enter the Black City and claim the godhood waiting for him. We will cast down the useless Maker and usher in a united world, guided by the hand of an attentive god."

"Didn't he already try to do that once and failed?" Varric muttered, only to be hushed by someone, most likely Cassandra.

Dorian ignored the comment, though he did slowly start moving his left hand behind his back so that he could give the signal to the others to be ready on his signal. "So he will get the heavens, and you will get the world, is that it?"

"But of course. I'll deliver the entire south of Thedas, and Corypheus will save me," Florianne told him. "Then when he ascends to godhood, I will rule all Thedas in his name."

"I think I've heard this play before," Dorian mused, even as he heard the shifting and rustling behind him that let him know his friends had seen his signal. "It's not too dissimilar from a story I would read in one of those copper-a-copy novels they sell outside the privies in Minrathous. Frame Gaspard in the death of a Council of Heralds Emissary. Kill Celene and then point the finger at your brother. After the Council votes to execute him for high treason, they'll have no one else to turn to for rulership than the last living heir to House de Chalons, and look! There you are, ready and willing to rule the Empire during this time of great tragedy and uncertainty." Dimming the flickering green in his left hand, he brought it to the front and began to clap slowly, noticing the tightness of her lips as he did so and reveling in her irritation. "Brava, your Grace. Brava. And all you had to do was sell your soul to a dark god."

It took her a visible moment of deep breathing to calm herself down enough to respond, and when she did speak, her voice could have frozen Lake Calenhad. "Kill him and bring me his marked hand. It will make a fine gift for the master." And with that, she turned on her heel and disappeared from sight.

Dorian was already moving, however, tumbling forward and to the side in a desperate maneuver. His gamble that the long time of holding the bowstrings taut paid off since only one arrow found its mark in his leg. Ignoring the bite of pain, he rolled into a crouching position and unleashed his mark on the rift, forcing it open with a burst of energy.

The archers fell back in surprise as demons poured from the rift, and Dorian's friends immediately surged forward, beginning the three-way battle in earnest.

The world was nothing but chaos for a few moments. Dorian took a moment to break the shaft of the arrow off and discard it before finding a more strategic position from which to continue his attacks. The archers fell before them in about the same amount of time that the initial wave of demons met their end, which meant they could concentrate on the second wave without distraction. This proved to be a blessing in disguise as a bevy of greater demons descended upon them, howling and gibbering.

Dorian, well aware of his vulnerability, kept to the edges of the battle and supported his friends from afar as best as he could. In the midst of blasting a despair demon slowly wearing down the mobile turret that was Blackwall, his world upended in a whirl of pain and rift magic. Blinking slowly, he stared up at the terror demon as it screamed over him, raising his staff only just in time to block its attack. The move cost him, however, as the demon's claw ripped the weapon from his hands. Dorian held up one hand helplessly as the next attack ripped through his barrier, knowing there was no one close enough to aid him and not enough time to stop a demon such as this with his already depleted magic.

Suddenly a heavy body crashed into the terror demon, sword thrusting deep into its stringy torso as his rescuer roared at the top of his lungs. Once he was safe, though, Dorian stared in astonishment at the man-specifically, at the man's gleaming Chevalier armor. There was little artistry to the sword strokes which cut down the demon, but Dorian had to admit that the brutality was effective. In moments, the demon had collapsed and been pulled back into the Fade.

After the demon fell, the Chevalier turned to look at Dorian for a moment, and their eyes met. Again a shock of recognition rang through Dorian, despite the fact he couldn't see the man's face. He just… knew.

"Alistair," he whispered.

"Inquisitor! The rift!" Solas called from behind him, making Dorian turn for a moment. By the time he looked back for the Chevalier again, the man was gone.

Cursing vociferously in Tevene, Dorian pushed himself to his feet. He didn't need his staff to close the rift, thankfully, but it did need his full attention. After the wailing and gnashing of the Fade had dimmed and the rift was gone, Dorian spared a last glance around the courtyard, hoping for a glimpse of the Chevalier anywhere.

Instead, he saw a man tied up in a fetal position nearby. After blinking in surprise, Dorian limped over to him. "You look like you could use some help there, my friend."

The man spat at the ground, then nodded hastily. As Dorian untied the knots around his bound wrists, he exclaimed, "Andraste's tits! What was all that? Were those demons? There aren't any more blasted demons coming, right?"

Dorian's eyebrows rose, and then he laughed as all the tension fled from him in one fell swoop. "I see you are an observant man, my friend. Those were definitely demons, and definitely disastrous."

"Maker bless me. Demons?" He looked around in fear. "How could there be demons in the fucking Winter Palace?"

"Right?" Bull demanded as he walked up to join them. "That's what I said. But noooo, the boss had to jinx us all and make a joke about it earlier." Dorian's glare made him subside, but not before he muttered, "Fucking demons," under his breath one more time.

The freed man, however, just shook his head. "I knew Gaspard was a bastard, but I didn't think he'd feed me to fucking horrors over a damned bill."

For a moment, Dorian felt worried. "Duke Gaspard lured you here?"

His momentary fear was dispelled immediately when the man said, "Well, his sister, but it had to come from him, didn't it?"

Ah. Another pawn, another decoy, another deception, another betrayal. "And her little exchange with me?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Utter nonsense garbage. We both know Gaspard had to be the mastermind. He's the one who brought us into the Palace for the coup, you know." The mercenary grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. "The Duke wanted to move on the Palace tonight, but he didn't have enough fancy Chevaliers."

"Which is where you came in, hmm?" Dorian asked.

"Me and my men, yes. At triple our usual pay." The mercenary turned his head and spat on the ground. "Stinking, poncy cheesemongers."

Bull barked a loud laugh. "I like this guy, boss. Can we keep him?"

The comment gave Dorian pause as he studied the mercenary more closely for a moment. After a moment of consideration, he shrugged. "Why not?"

The mercenary's brow furrowed. "What's that?"

"Come join the Inquisition," Dorian said in a merry tone. "The pay's good, the ale's hearty, and we could always use a good mercenary company. Unlike the one we have now."

"Hey!" Bull protested, putting his hands on his hips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you're hiring, eh?" The mercenary looked Dorian up and down. "I'm game. Anything's better than this bullshit. Oh, and if you want me to talk to the Empress, or the court, or sing a blasted song in the chantry, I'll do it."

"Then it's a deal, my friend," Dorian said with a laugh. "Go find the Commander of the Inquisition forces, a fellow by the name of Cullen Rutherford, and he'll take care of all the details."

The mercenary nodded, then turned and stalked out of the courtyard, muttering to himself. Apparently sinking, poncy cheesemongers was the most complimentary of his descriptions for Orlesians.

The encounter put a smile on Dorian's face, but that was the only respite before his leg buckled beneath him. "Oh, right," he said shakily as he reached up and pressed a hand to the arrowhead still embedded in his thigh. "I forgot."

The next minute or so were a blur of Vivenne's scathing lectures, Solas' dry commentary, and a melange of various potions. Eventually his strength returned, and he forced them away with a stern glare. "We don't have the time. Florianne could kill Celene any moment now."

That shut everyone up, and he let Bull drag him to his feet. After taking a moment to gain his bearings, Dorian took his staff from Varric and pointed. "The ballroom is that way. We'd best hurry."

During the time they spent racing to the ballroom, Dorian managed to revisit and reconsider every step of the path which had brought him there. Had he made his explorations too obvious? Had he misread the Orlesian nobles as he played the Game? Should he have stayed with his father instead of running off after the would-be assassin? These thoughts and others tumbled through his mind, and each one had to be wrestled with before being shoved ruthlessly aside. This was no time for doubt.

Only for action.

By the time they finally found the door to the ballroom, conveniently barred shut from their side rather than the opposite, Dorian had a stitch in his side and had worked up a sweat. As he shrugged off his outer armor and threw it to Bull, he used a handkerchief to repair what damage he could and set his hair straight with a few licks of spit and magic. "There. I don't look like I've been running all over Orlais, do I?"

Vivienne considered him for a moment, then politely handed him another soft cloth. "A bit more work on your forehead, my dear."

Taking the advice to heart, Dorian looked around at the others as he attended to the matter. "Be ready, but don't take any precipitous action. I will decide how to handle it from here." Once his face was dry once more, he tucked the kerchief into a pocket and moved to the door. His magic lifted the heavy bar up and away, and he set his hand on the portal for a moment as he took a deep breath to collect his thoughts, then pushed it open.

Deciding it would be better to make a desultory entrance than a dramatic one, he slipped through the door as quickly as he could and joined the crowd that was obviously gathering to watch Celene's speech which would announce the start of the negotiations. He spotted a familiar mop of blond, wavy hair and moved towards it, keeping to areas of low light as much as possible. Everyone seemed calm, at least, and he could see Gaspard and Florianne speaking to each other in low voices, with Briala close behind them, as the court prepared for Celene's appearance.

He came up to stand next to Cullen, letting the man know he was there by gently nudging his arm. "I do hope I didn't miss anything important," he murmured.

Cullen started, then turned his head towards Dorian. "Thank the Maker you're back," he breathed. "The Empress will begin her speech soon. What should we do?"

"Wait here, Cullen," he said with a subtle wink. "I'm going to try the power of persuasion on our dear Grand Duchess."

"What? But… there's no time!" Cullen glanced towards the stage. "The Empress-"

"Trust me," Dorian said with a wink, then stepped forward with all the boldness he'd acquired in his many years of training to be a Magister of the Imperium. For all their machinations, Orlesians still didn't really hold a candle compared to a Magister. Most of them couldn't summon fire with their fingertips, for one. When he reached the bottom of the stairs going up to Celene's dais, he raised an arm and declared in a genial tone, "We owe the court one more dance, Your Grace."

She paused for a moment before turning to face him, her expression devoid of emotion. "Inquisitor." As she did so, Gaspard and Briala backed away, uncertainty in their demeanor.

Dorian made a soft tsking sound that only Florianne could hear as he ascended the stairs one slow step at a time. "Come now, Your Grace. Our audience is every noble in the Empire. Remember to smile, now. We're friends after all, are we not?"

A stiff smile bravely worked its way onto her face, but her body refused to cooperate as it backed away from him slowly. "Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?"

"Ah, now there's the thing, isn't it?" he said, raising his voice a bit. He slowly began to circle around, forcing Florianne to turn her back to her brother and the court one step at a time. It also forced her to slowly face the dais where Celene was now standing after emerging from the back room. "I do seem to recall you saying something about keeping me from reaching the ballroom. What was it now? Ah, yes. Because you needed time enough to strike."

Florianne's stiff smile turned into a grimace, but he knew she dared not run now. Of course, he also knew she was feeling the claws close in around her slowly, and he did not regret one moment of it.

Just to drive the lesson home, he raised his voice again, pitching it to carry this time. "Your archers in the garden failed, by the way. I'm still quite alive. I'm afraid they were not so fortunate, Your Grace." As the gasps and murmurs swept through the assemblage, he added, "I feared you wouldn't save me this last dance. Your last dance, Your Grace."

He saw Florianne's eyes flick up to look at where Celene stood, watching the little exchange, and knew he saw what everyone saw: Celene would not stop Dorian in his inquiries.

"Startling, isn't it, how easy it is to fall from high grace?" Dorian asked, moving closer with every spiraling step. This, of course, forced Florianne to keep turning to avoid facing him, which suited Dorian perfectly. He wanted her to be facing Gaspard during Dorian's next announcement, so that she could not twist away from the shock on her brother's face as he added, "You even framed your brother for the murder of a Council Emissary."

Once Florianne was facing the court once more, Dorian halted in place, making sure Celene could see him fully. "It was an ambitious plan, I'll grant you that. You arranged to bring all your enemies-Celene, Gaspard, almost all of the Council of Heralds-into one place under the guise of peace, when you had anything but that in mind. Remarkable."

Realizing that no one so far had stepped forward in her defense, Florianne finally tried to come to her own. "This is very entertaining, but surely you do not think anyone believes your wild stories?"

Dorian did not answer, instead turning his gaze to Celene, along with everyone else in the room.

Accepting the scrutiny with grace, Celene replied, "That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin."

In a fit of desperation, Florianne turned to her brother. "Gaspard? You cannot believe this! You know I would never..." Her voice trailed away as Gaspard silently raised his hands and backed away, before turning around completely in a silent spurning. Her eyes widened as two members of the Imperial Guard moved past Gaspard towards her, their intent clear. "Gaspard?" she called again, to no avail.

For a bare moment, Dorian felt sympathy for the Grand Duchess. Then, of course, he remembered the still, silent forms of the servants lying dead in their own quarters, some of them in their own beds, and his face hardened. No. He would not feel sorry for her. Instead, he kept his expression stern as the Imperial Guards simply stood and stared her down until she dropped to her knees with a sob.

"Accept defeat with the dignity you did not display in victory, Your Grace," Dorian told her as the Imperial Guard hauled her to her feet. "At least that, you can rightfully claim as your own."

The court fell silent as Florianne was taken away, then burst into a cacophony of hissing conversations. Dorian knew that alliances were being sundered and reborn with different participants, that lives were being ruined and elevated. The sound simply drove home the fact that this night would have far-reaching consequences for many, and not just in Orlais.

And have the side effect of making Leliana's job that much more difficult.

In the midst of the controlled chaos, Dorian turned to Celene and gave her a bow. "Your Imperial Majesty, I believe we might benefit from a private conversation." He glanced back at the buzzing crowd, then added, "Elsewhere."

Celene inclined her head with a serenity few could match, given the circumstances, but Dorian did his best to match her. "But of course, Inquisitor."

Smile fixed on his face, Dorian braced himself as he led the way onto the veranda. And now the real work begins.

Gaspard and Briala were already bickering and pouring the blame on each other by the time Dorian and Celene emerged onto the balcony, even before the Imperial Guard took their place alongside Inquisition soldiers for protection. Dorian exchanged an amused glance with Celene, then moved over to watch the proceedings, keeping his expression mild and slightly bored until Gaspard and Briala had expended at least some of their frustrations. Inside, however, his mind had returned to polynomials-except this time, it was the final calculation adding up everything he'd learned, and what he would do with it.

He knew he could point his finger and drag any one of the three before him to the gallows. His wanderings had uncovered more than even he'd expected to find, and all the little facts and drips of knowledge slowly coalesced into the course he knew he must follow. As Celene declared, "For the safety of the empire, I will have answers," he straightened and stepped forward, giving them all a florid Orlesian bow.

"Well, since you're asking so nicely," Dorian drawled, "I will give them to you."

All three of them froze for a moment, as if they'd forgotten he was there, so he gave them time to turn their attention to him, waiting with a smile he had to admit was designed to be predatory. Here was where the efforts of his evening would bear fruit, whether or not he would regret his decisions later. "Now, where shall we begin? Perhaps with some good news first." He nodded towards Briala. "For one, I daresay Florianne would have emerged victorious without Briala's timely assistance tonight."

A look of surprise came to Celene's face, noticeable even despite the mask. "You were working together?"

"Of course," Briala said, her tone implying that any other option would have been too absurd to contemplate.

"You see, your Majesty, your cousin here has been quite the naughty boy," Dorian said, choosing language he knew would irritate Gaspard the most. "For one, his own mercenary captain will confirm that Gaspard paid for his services-at an outrageous price, by the way-to be used in the palace for a delightful little coup d'etat."

"Mercenaries?" Celene asked with a sneer. "So much for your Chevalier honor, cousin. I didn't expect you to stoop so low, even for the throne."

"Don't be naive, Celene," Gaspard retorted. "The only difference between a mercenary and a common soldier is a uniform."

"And, apparently, the pay," Dorian put in.

When Gaspard's face darkened, Briala smirked and said, "Keep talking, Gaspard. Eventually you'll convince somebody."

"Ah, but let us not forget another strike against you, your Grace," Dorian put in. "You see, your Majesty, he also ordered his general to bring Chevaliers into the Winter Palace." Of course, thanks to the well-muscled soldier with the comical helmet, Dorian already knew that Celene was well aware of that aspect of the coup. Still, the Game demanded some theatre, and he was happy to feed it-as long as the results came out in his favor. "I don't believe you authorized that particular realignment of troops, did you, your Majesty?"

"It was a defensive choice," Gaspard grated. "I expected betrayal here, though not by my own sister." In those few words, Dorian heard the Duke's resignation to his fate.

"This was all a most tangled web to unweave, as you can imagine, Your Majesty," Dorian told Celene. "Briala's desire to protect you proved to be most valuable."

He saw Celene's gaze turn to Briala, and their eyes met for a moment before Celene faced Gaspard with a renewed look of determination on her face. "In light of overwhelming evidence, we have no choice but to declare you an enemy of the empire. You are hereby sentenced to death."

Harsh, but necessary, Dorian mused. Besides, Gaspard had earned his fate even before Dorian had stuck his flawless nose into everyone's business. Instead, Dorian's thoughts turned towards another matter, one which had been weighing heavily on him ever since he'd learned of the purging of the Alienage. That moment of eye contact between Celene and Briala, however, proved to be just enough to help him finalize his decision. "Since you are doling out justice, your Majesty, might I suggest a suitable reward for Briala? After all, she's been just as busy as I have."

Celene nodded graciously, her demeanor visibly softening as she looked at Briala once more. "I can scarcely believe you did all this for me."

Briala smiled, the expression hesitant but genuine. "Celene…"

As the Imperial Guards came to take Gaspard away, Celene turned back to Dorian, her composure restored. "Thank you, Inquisitor. For all your efforts tonight. I owe you my life, and Orlais owes you its future." With a gesture, she invited Dorian and Briala to follow her back inside. "You have done so much. For my people and…" she glanced at Briala, "for us."

Briala returned the glance. "We won't forget this."

"Ah, but the pleasure was entirely mine," Dorian said with a warm smile. The half-lie tumbled from his lips easily, leaving his expression unmarred by the burst of guilt that briefly took him. After all, the Game had not demanded that the two women be drawn back together, and Dorian could only hope that what they felt towards each other was enough to help Celene atone for the sins of her past. A lesser evil, but still an evil, and one which Dorian prayed fervently would ultimately be to the benefit of all. "Though I am curious what your first steps will be following this joyous reunification?"

The two women exchanged a long glance until Celene deferred the answer to Briala with a little nod of her head. "There will be some… changes to the court," Briala told Dorian.

"Not just the court," Celene interjected with a sly look to Briala.

"I'll pretend I didn't understand what you just implied, your Majesty," Dorian said with a low chuckle.

Celene smiled as she turned towards Dorian again. "Come, stand with us, Inquisitor. We must give the good news to the nobility."

Dorian gave a small sigh of relief as he fell in behind them. And hopefully, there won't be any more damned ambushes.

That urge to remain alert remained present, even as Celene gave a pretty little speech and declared Briala a Marquise while Dorian stood in a very obvious fashion next to them. Celene giving Briala a title was a lovely touch, and a promising one, but his eyes nevertheless scanned the crowd, just in case. He spoke only as necessary, preferring to make his support of the Empress through a smile and the careful placement of Inquisition soldiers around the ballroom than through any outright threats to send the nobles to their rooms without their dinners. When the empire didn't collapse as Celene ordered the festivities to commence, he allowed himself another little sigh of relief, then headed towards the nearest balcony and some fresh air.

Once outside, he leaned onto the railing with a louder sigh, half-listening to the cheers behind him as they settled down into the more normal murmur of excited conversation at a large event. His teeth suddenly tingled ever so slightly, however, and he turned his head to see Morrigan approaching him.

"My lady," he greeted her, though he couldn't quite bow as he had been doing all evening. His leg absolutely refused.

"The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them?" she asked in an idle tone as she joined him at the railing. "Do you tire so quickly of their congratulations, Inquisitor? 'Tis most fickle, after all your efforts on their behalf."

"I tire of their inability to provide a suitable drink after all that effort," Dorian told her with an exaggerated sigh. "I would have thought Orlesians, at least, would have planned for sufficiently strong alcohol on a night of such import. You can be sure I will tell the gossip mongers in Val Royeaux of this scandalous oversight."

She laughed in a short, curtailed fashion that told him he'd caught her by surprise with his humor. "Indeed? Let us see if you take this piece of news as poorly." Lifting her chin, she said, "By Imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid-including mine. Congratulations."

Dorian kept his surprise to a minimum, simply tilting his head a little as he scrutinized her closely. "Something tells me this isn't your idea," he mused.

"The assignment has been given to me, regardless of my personal interest." Morrigan's gaze flicked towards the door leading to the ballroom for a bare moment. "Celene knows you face an opponent who wields great magical power, which is far more important than her own curiosity."

"Not just one opponent, in truth." Dorian presented the statement as much to test as to inform, wondering if Morrigan was aware of the situation. When her shoulders tightened, he knew he need not elaborate. "I see that tidbit comes as no surprise."

"My experience will prove vital to the Inquisition, I assure you," Morrigan told him, "and you will require my knowledge if you are to defeat such magic-no matter the source. The foes you face are a threat to Orlais… and to myself. Thus I am not opposed to the appointment."

Giving her a nod of acknowledgment, Dorian said, "Excellent. We can discuss the particulars of your contributions once we are all ensconced once more in Skyhold, but for now…" He gave her the best bow he could, using the Tevinter style to bow at the waist rather than irritate his leg further. "Welcome to the Inquisition, Morrigan."

She smiled in response. "A most gracious response. I shall meet you at Skyhold."

As she walked away, Dorian leaned against the railing once more. Not moving sounded good right about now, he decided, then gauged the railing to decide if the width was sufficient to support him if he took a quick nap.

The sound of sturdy footsteps approaching didn't really register until he heard Cullen's voice from his right. "There you are! Everyone's looking for you."

It was, thankfully, a voice guaranteed to warm the cockles of his heart. That, and birth a burst of mischief along the way. "I ran into the Lady Mantillon again," he told Cullen. "She said she had twelve daughters, and was wondering if you were still available."

Cullen's eyes widened in evident alarm. "I thought she was looking for a tenth husband."

"Ah, you spoke with her, did you?"

"Yes," Cullen said, glancing back towards the ballroom with an uneasy expression. "She said I looked like her fourth husband."

"That would be Maximilian." Dorian shook his head as he leaned forward to stretch his back using the railing. "A delightful woman, but arguably best appreciated from a few hundred miles away."

"I couldn't agree more," Cullen said fervently. With a shudder, he absently placed his hand on the small of Dorian's back and joined him on the railing. "Things have calmed down for the moment. Are you all right?"

The touch was soothing, enough that Dorian allowed himself a long sigh. "If I get ambushed one more time tonight, I refuse to be held responsible for the consequences," he declared. "And I'm swearing off those disgusting red potions for at least as long as it takes for that horrid aftertaste to go away."

Cullen chuckled as his hand began to move in a circular motion on Dorian's back. "It has been a long night, yes. I'm glad it's over." He leaned in a bit closer. "I can't tell you how relieved I am that you survived the night. That we survived the night."

"There were a couple of nail biting moments here or there," Dorian admitted, deciding not to tell Cullen about the near-miss with the demon and the probable identity of his rescuer. He preferred to keep that in a little box for now and deal with it later. "At least we won. The day was saved, snatched from the jaws of yet another cliché."

"By you," Cullen said with a smile. "That's no small accomplishment."

"By us," Dorian corrected. "Or rather, the Inquisition. There is no single hero here."

"Mhmm. Whatever you say." A smile came to Cullen's face, and he glanced towards the ballroom before looking at Dorian with a twinkle in his eye. "You know," he murmured, "I may never have another chance like this, so I must ask." Stepping back, he offered Dorian a surprisingly proper bow with his hand held out. "May I have this dance?"

Dorian blinked once or twice. "I thought you left a swath of broken hearts behind you because no one could persuade you to dance."

"I suppose it depends on the partner." His hand remained steady, awaiting an answer.

"I… wish I could," Dorian said with a sigh. "But I'm afraid I'd collapse halfway through."

Taking Dorian's hand in his own, Cullen drew him away from the railing. "Just a few steps then. We don't have to go far."

Intrigued, Dorian let Cullen cajole him into his arms. The feel of Cullen's arm around his waist and the heat of his nearness did a great deal towards dimming the slowly building headache he'd been trying to ignore. Then Cullen's words finally sank into his bemused brain. "Go far? What do you mean?"

"I just want to get us out of sight of the doorway," Cullen murmured, even as he gently twirled Dorian away from the light shining through the entryway to the ballroom.

"A bit of privacy would be welcome," Dorian admitted. "I feel like everyone has been watching me all-" Before he could finish the thought, however, Dorian found his back shoved against the wall, and his lips claimed for a heated kiss. The surprise quickly melted into something entirely different, and Dorian's hands sank into the wavy blond hair with as much strength as he had remaining.

It was evident before the first kiss ended that something had snapped within Cullen. Suddenly he couldn't seem to get enough of Dorian as he alternated between deep, fervent kisses and grazing his lips along Dorian's mustache and jaw and neck. His hands settled on Dorian's hips and stayed there, holding Dorian close to him as his lips wandered freely. After the initial wave of pleasure, however, the sudden passion both confused and worried Dorian. This wasn't normal for Cullen, after all. After an intense minute or so of delicious desperation, Cullen finally let his head rest on Dorian's shoulder as he panted in short, quick breaths. Dorian recognized internal turmoil when he saw it, so he simply stroked Cullen's hair with a gentle touch, letting the man know that he was here for him. Something was happening deep down inside Cullen's mind, and Dorian could wait for the man to come up for air on his own.

When Cullen did finally lift his head, he cupped Dorian's face with one hand and claimed a gentle kiss before pulling back. His eyes roamed over Dorian's face as his thumb stroked Dorian's cheek, until finally their eyes met once more. "Promise me," Cullen said in a voice a hair away from trembling, "promise me, that I will not lose you, too."

And suddenly it all made sense: Cullen's sudden passion, his roving touch, and even more his sudden and inexplicable panic attack. When Cullen had seen Dorian lying on the ground, unmoving and unresponsive, it wasn't just Dorian that he'd seen. For all that Dorian had been present at Mailani's death, he'd heard about how Cullen had been there to find her body, and the spiral of grief and despair that sight had sent him into-a spiral which had only ended when he'd shoved Dorian into the wall outside the war room. Dorian's expression softened as he settled his hand on the nape of Cullen's neck, playing idly with the curls he found there. "I'm afraid you can't get rid of me that easily," he murmured.

Cullen took a long, shuddering breath, then pulled Dorian into an embrace that was almost too tight before releasing as quickly as he'd pulled him in. "Thank you."

A smile carried a curl of Dorian's mustache upwards and into the path of Cullen's wandering thumb. "You are welcome." For a moment, all he wanted to do was stare into Cullen's warm eyes and let the world drift gently away around them. Certainly Cullen's fit of frenzy had roused him in ways that a mere dance couldn't have, but there were few places less suited to pursuing those passions than a corner of a balcony outside a crowded ballroom in the Winter Palace at Halamshiral. Besides, Dorian found himself enjoying the presence more than the activity, and that in itself was a glorious mystery he wanted to explore.

A word hovered on his lips, a word which had slowly been working its way to the forefront for quite some time-ever since Adamant, in fact. As Dorian debated yet again whether this was the moment he would utter it, the sound of someone delicately clearing their throat caught his attention, and he tore his gaze away from Cullen to find Leliana and Josephine waiting quietly in the shadows next to the entryway. Leliana's expression hovered between apologetic and amused, whereas Josephine simply looked fascinated.

Cullen quickly pulled back, looking more abashed than embarrassed. "My apologies, ladies. I, ah, forgot."

"What's this, then?" Dorian asked mildly.

"We asked the Commander to let you know we needed to have a quick meeting before leaving the Winter Palace," Leliana noted, amusement finally winning out as she held up a piece of paper. "Charter brought me this just as the Empress declared victory. Apparently it was left in one of our agreed upon drop points here in the Winter Palace, but there are no agent markings upon it."

Dorian frowned. "That's… odd."

"It's more than odd, it's worrying," Leliana corrected. "It means someone knew who to watch to learn the locations of our information drops."

Dorian straightened and pushed away from the wall. "Like the map that marked the ambush," he said.

"And that almost proved disastrous," Cullen pointed out in a too-grim voice.

"It didn't, though," Dorian mused thoughtfully. "What does the note say?"

"This one?" Leliana asked, then shook her head and held it out to Dorian. "Nothing. It has an image on it, but I don't know what it means."

Taking the paper from her, Dorian stared at it thoughtfully. "I've seen this before, and not too long ago. Ah. Of course." Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the paper Varric had found in the hilt of Hawke's dagger. "There. This paper has the same mark on it."

"That would make sense, Leliana," Cullen said slowly. "Hawke would know who our agents were."

"And he didn't look like himself," Dorian added, realizing that no one else would have seen him close enough to notice. "His hair was blond. All the scars were gone from his face and neck. Oh, and he'd shaved. Or been shaved, knowing Amell."

Cullen frowned. "I wonder why the change."

"Anonymity, most likely. Hawke is fairly well known, after all, thanks to Varric's books." Frowning, Dorian took the paper from Leliana and compared it to the one in his hand. "The same mark, but blank otherwise. I think. The lighting isn't very accommodating out here." Balancing the paper between the fingers of one hand, he summoned a small fire to his fingertips and held it a careful distance away from the papers. As he did so, letters suddenly bloomed into view, and Dorian's eyes widened. "Heat activated ink? Is that possible?"

"Possible, yes," Leliana said, "It's generally not used because even body heat can reveal it if kept next to the skin."

"Perhaps that's what he intended," Dorian said, eyes scanning the words as his controlled flame brought them into being. "He says that Amell is obsessed with a place called the Shrine of Dumat, and equally obsessed with making sure we don't go there." Suddenly Dorian's eyes widened as enlightenment dawned. "Dumat. Of course. Hawke wrote, 'Find me in silence.' Dumat was the Old God of Silence. That's what Hawke meant."

Cullen frowned. "Isn't that the place you told us about, Leliana? The one Calpernia mentioned in those crystals?"

"Yes, Commander. According to the messages, only Dumat's faithful can enter it." She frowned as she plucked the first paper from Dorian's hand and read it again. "It must be the ruins of which I spoke, although I'd have to return to Skyhold to verify its location."

"Or perhaps not," Dorian murmured as he turned his fiery finger onto the second paper. "Behold."

Her eyes widened as she saw not words, but lines and curves appear on the second paper. "A map."

"How much would you want to wager it would lead us straight to the Shrine?" Dorian asked with a grin.

"The question is, should we?" Cullen's face darkened at the thought. "It sounds like another ambush to me."

"Except Hawke went out of his way to keep me alive," Dorian mused. "That dagger, the glowing one. What happened to it?"

"I believe Seeker Cassandra still has it," Cullen said.

"I'd like to examine-" He paused as another figure rushed out onto the balcony, his shoulders tensing as all other thoughts fled. "Felix?"

"Felix?" Leliana echoed, eyes widening.

"It's about your father, Dorian," Felix said, trying to catch his breath. "Magister Tilani says you'd best come quickly."

And suddenly it all came rushing back, the part of the night which, more than any other, he'd ruthlessly stamped down into a tiny little box inside his mind to be dealt with later: more than being stabbed, more than seeing innocents killed, more than learning that Hawke and Alistair still lived as Amell's pawns. His eyes widened as he remembered his father lying on the floor in a pool of blood, knowing the arrow had been meant for him and feeling the chill echo of his mother's murder once more seeping over harshly, he took a deep breath as he stepped forward. "Take me to him."

After all, it was finally later.