In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways and saw him as one of their own. —From Fen'Harel: The Dread Wolf

Revas looked up from the book she was reading and shielded her eyes against the sunset spilling orange light into the herb garden.

Leliana had conceded to the popular vote and become Inquisitor three weeks before. She had approached Revas and asked her to stay on, to take over some duties as spymaster. Revas had declined. In six weeks it would be a year since her cousin's death. She was planning to leave.

Leliana, disappointed but sympathetic, had not asked again. Revas was going to travel back to Clan Lavellan, now safely ensconced in Wycome and it's wilder surroundings. Accompanying her would be Cullen, they would set out in three days with The Iron Bull himself and Dorian. The four would travel together to Wycome then Dorian would head for Tevinter.

Bull had not decided where he would go. He still had his Chargers, he could set up anywhere in Thedas. His first loyalty was to the Inquisition, "As long as they keep their shit together." His second to Dorian, but, it didn't take a political savant to understand that the last thing Dorian could be seen doing if he ever hoped to win political allies was to be in love with a male Qunari. Tal-vashoth or not Bull had horns and gray skin, worse he had spent decades battling Tevinters on Seheron. Bull was more than a political liability, he was a political disaster.

She studied the group that had entered the herb garden, the rattle and hiss of their armor and mail had drawn her attention. Four people dressed for battle in heavy armor and thick uncomfortable leather. Their heraldry was unfamiliar, they were all human and well armed.

Revas rose and tucked the book into her bag. The archivist had given it to her after she had spent several hours relaying Clan Lavellan's various myths to him. He was very interested in Dalish myths and the versions that thrived among the various clans.

She approached the four with the bag over her shoulder and her hand casually resting on the long dagger sheathed at her hip. She didn't like the belligerent way they had disturbed the garden. As she drew closer she heard an Orlesian accent. The discomfort of the soldiers made more sense as she realized they were all likely high born Orlesians that had never been without a mask in public. Why the attempt at subterfuge?

She greeted them in their parent tongue then introduced herself.

"Greetings servants of the empire. I am Revas Lavellan soldier of the Inquisition and Advisor to the Inquisitor, how may I assist?"

"Lavellan?"

"The herald was my cousin, ser?"

"Ser none of your damn business you bloody rabbit sympathizer!" He roared.

Quick as a flash Revas drew her blade, knocked the blowhard to his knees place one hand under his chin and lifted it at a painful angle to expose his throat then rested her blade against the taut flesh. His three companions were frozen in awe.

"Orlesian fool, you dare to disparage the Herald? My kin? The savior of Thedas? I am within my rights to end your life. Skyhold is sovereign land owing fealty to none." She asked. She had learned Orlesian from Leliana, well, not learned it so much as been drilled in it until she dreamed in Orlesian and possessed a poised and nuanced understanding and equally impressive accent and pronunciation.

"Please! Lady Revas he is an ignorant bastard but not worth blooding your blade over. We apologize and beg forgiveness." One of the four, by the looks the youngest, pleaded. As Revas hesitated to free her captive the youth knelt and lowered his head, abject surrender. Revas recoiled and placed her blade in its sheath.

The man she had held in check fell forward gasping for breath.

"Gerard, get your useless ass out of the Keep. Wait for us in the camp below and thank the Maker you still draw breath. You are lucky I do not send you back to Orlais for Gaspard to deal with. Miserable cur!" The next youngest snarled with an authority and confidence that didn't seem possible given his age.

The man got to his feet and all but sprinted out of Skyhold.

Revas nodded to the youth.

"I am Duke Luc Arteque, I am here to speak with the Inquisitor, I apologize again Advisor Revas." He said and pulled his kneeling retainer to his feet.

Revas was impressed. While not a Grand Duke he was high enough in the court to warrant more than a token honor guard.

"No harm done Duke Arteque. You seem a little..understaffed for such a journey."

"Ah well, exiled nobility usually has a difficult time recruiting followers."

"Exiled?"

"A long and tedious story." He said and smiled. He was a handsome enough boy, possibly as old as twenty. He had dark curly hair that reminded her of Cullen, though his eyes were green not the warm brown of the Commander's. He seemed strong and very fit though he had an average build. His gear and clothing seemed suspiciously new.

"We have a tavern M'lord, if you've time to kill the ale is passable."

"That would be pleasant." He said then switched to Fereldan.

"You three are excused for the afternoon, you may return to camp or find entertainment here. Do not think to follow in your comrade's ignorant steps or you will face worse, understood?"

"Yes my lord Duke." The three said in unison.

Revas watched them go, they moved well enough and seemed competent.

"The fourth man was new?"

"Yes an unfortunate last minute replacement. His family does not appreciate the new political situation at court."

"You speak Fereldan very well."

"Ah yes and your Orlesian is impeccable, where did you learn it?"

"Here, top floor of the rotunda. The Inquisitor taught me before she accepted the throne."

"Throne?" He asked thoughtfully.

Revas smiled to herself. After more than a year in existence and a full year at the apex of Thedosian political power the Inquisition was now gaining the authority and trust of more people simply by lasting as long as it had.