The magnificently ornate bridge Isabeau currently crossed could only be appreciated so much; its wonder mired by the gaping faces and collective gasps from each citizen the Inquisitor passed by. A few of the finely attired Orlesians went so far as to physically recoil as Isabeau strode past them, crying out in fear-laden whimpers and mutterings before hurrying by. Shaking her head dejectedly, she turned to look at the companion's that had joined her, the small party admittedly quite fierce in appearance for Orlesian standards.

I'm sure the armor and weapons aren't helping much.

She rolled her eyes at herself, masking her sour snort with a cough. Isabeau was painfully aware that, in her current position, she was to be damned either way; having a little added protection was a regrettable necessity. She and a small contingency force had arrived in Orlais' capitol after a solid week of swift travel; the urgency to expedite the negotiations nipping at Isabeau's proverbial heels the entire way. In their bid to find compromise with the few Revered Mothers that remained within the Chantry, the Inquisition had set their force's camp several miles from the city center, Isabeau heeding her advisors shared sentiments that provocation was to be avoided.

"Just a guess, Seeker… but I think they all know who we are."

Cassandra briefly turned to scowl at her dwarf companion, "Your skills of observation never cease to astound me, Varric."

"I… know we didn't exactly prioritize the Chantry when this all began but, surely this is a bit… of an overreaction?" Isabeau asked, stubbornly unwilling to probe much deeper at the growing feeling of disappointment. From the start, the Chantry had made clear they denounced the Inquisition, and Isabeau vehemently along with it. Admitting to the others that a piece of her ached over the perceived abandonment was simply not an option; Isabeau left to wrestle with the unwelcome sting of betrayal by those she had trusted since childhood. While believing herself a Herald of Andraste was just as impossible as acknowledging her hurt, Isabeau did believe in the Maker; the burden of balancing her faith and her duty becoming increasingly tricky.

"The City is in mourning still; I believe the shock has not quite dissipated yet. At any rate, the power vacuum has wreaked its havoc," Solas surmised, he and Varric following closely behind Isabeau and Cassandra's brisk strides. Just as the group approached a golden gate as ornate as the bridge it sat upon, a hooded woman darted towards them, Isabeau instantly recognizing the uniform to be one of the Inquisition's agents.

"Inquisitor!"

Isabeau haltingly held up her hand as the Scout bent her knee, Cassandra stepping forward in concern at the harried look upon the woman's face. "You're one of Leliana's people. What have you found?"

"The Chantry Mothers have assembled and await you in the market… As do a great many Templars though, your Eminence."

"The Templars are here?" Cassandra asked incredulously, she and Isabeau exchanging cautious glances before Isabeau encouraged the agent to rise.

"Assembled in the market, you say?" She released a frustrated huff before she wearily shrugged her shoulders in defeat. "Clearly it was too much to hope we'd convene in relative privacy…"

"And the Mothers miss their chance at a public temper tantrum?" Varric breezed with a chuckle as he shot Isabeau a sympathetic smile. "This is nothing but desperation, Beaux. They're using their last card and they're going to regret it."

Filing Varric's observation away, Isabeau turned back to the agent before her, "What have you heard from the people?" she asked, loosely crossing her arms as she waited for the agent to catch her breath.

"There are a great many Seekers here as well, my ladies. The people seem to think, well… that they're here to protect them from… the Inquisition."

Silence fell over the small gathering before Varric began to quietly tut with each slow shake of his head.

"This is going to go swimmingly."

"Varric… Not necessary."

The dwarf scoffed at Isabeau as he rubbed at the back of his head, "We all knew this was going to be a shitshow, Inks… now's just the fun part."

"You and I have very different definitions of the word 'fun'…" Isabeau bemusedly muttered as she turned to Cassandra. "So… how do we do this?"

"The only way we can: head on," Cassandra's voice was steel as she turned to dismiss the awaiting agent. "Return to camp and alert Skyhold, inform the others lest we be… delayed. Ensure Sister Nightengale sends a bird to Andoral's Reach; we want to be ahead of whatever this is… and its effects."

"Right away, my lady."

At her absence, the group quickened their pace as they made for the market, Cassandra letting out an irate growl as they walked in more privacy. "They wish to protect the people? From us?!"

"I return to my previous point," Varric quipped as he unslung Bianca, tinkering with her as they all made their way past marble walls and arches dotted with Chantry themed statues.

Isabeau shrugged, "He's right in that we expected this, at least."

"We cannot afford a pitched battle in Val Royeaux's market, but this could be a trap," Cassandra sighed as she came to a stop and absently gazed at their surroundings. "This… is very bizarre. I knew my brothers and sisters were not all at the Reach, but they were scattered far across Thedas. To assemble so many? It does not bode well if it is true." Bringing her hands up to her chest, she began to habitually rub her palms together as she continued, "I know the current Lord Seeker; Lucius is a judicious but stern leader, and not one I see returning to the fold so… easily. Too much has happened."

"I have not heard of him before – none of our captors mentioned him during our… stay with the Templar forces at Andoral's Reach," Isabeau noted softly, swallowing the sight of Cassandra's thinly veiled unease.

"He assumed command of the Seekers of Truth over two years ago, following Lord Seeker Lambert's disappearance. He was supposed to be at the Temple of Sacred Ashes; if he survived, it is possible his forces at the Reach were unaware."

"Gregoir and his men were not acting on their own accord; they had orders. Regardless of our Knight Commander's personal opinion of –" Isabeau's words caught in her throat as a phantom pain shot through the side of her head and along what remained of her ruined ear. "– of Ser Kerras, someone directed our capture and torment. Does Lord Seeker Lucius strike you as someone who'd advocate… such extreme measures?"

"No. But, these are… troubling times and I am not entirely sure what to believe anymore," Cassandra wearily admitted, offering Isabeau a small smile in comfort at the mention of the Inquisitor's suffering.

Isabeau slowly nodded her head as she filed away the troubling thoughts and intrusive memories, "I suppose all this means is… I have a larger audience to convince," she offered ruefully as she clapped a hand on the Seeker's shoulder, leading the way as her ears became increasingly burdened with the growing roar coming from the market square. Steeling herself with the precious resolve she had managed to muster back at Skyhold, Isabeau edged her way through the thick crowd, her companions keeping close on her heels as best they could through the throng.

As they approached a stage that elevated the few gathered Mothers, and even less Templars, Isabeau paused amongst the crowd. She briefly wondered where the supposed Templar and Seeker forces were assembled, only noting a handful keeping the crowd at bay below the stage, when the screech of a Revered Mother's distraught voice rang out.

"… Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!" she began, raising her arms up in effect as a hush murmured its way through the mob. "As one, we mourn the loss of our beloved Divine. Her beautiful yet naïve heart silenced… by treachery!" Isabeau scowled as the Mother suddenly singled her out with an accusing finger and condescending sneer, "You cry for justice? Here is the blasphemous 'Hearald of Andraste'… Cry no more for her judgment is at hand!"

Isabeau took a step forward from the crowd around her, "Let us speak of this peacefully, Mo – "

"No! We say you are a false prophet!" The Mother interrupted in shrill rebuke. "The Maker would not allow the tarnishing of his Bride's name, and nor should the Chantry. If allowed to continue… it would be a farce!"

"Listen to me!" Isabeau roared at the snap of her patience, various people around her leaping back in panic as green energy cracked and licked at the Inquisitor's hand. "We have a real enemy! The Veil that kept the demons at bay has been cataclysmically damaged. Our world, as we know it, is being torn apart. We cannot afford to grandstand now; we must unite and confront this!"

Cassandra quickly moved to stand fast at Isabeau's left side, "It is the truth! We have come to you in peace; the Inquisition only seeks to end this madness before it is too late!"

"It is already too late," With an arrogant jut of her head, the Revered Mother turned to point at several formations of quickly approaching Templars; the Knight's stamping boots echoing deafeningly off the spires and walls of the market. The Mother levelled her gaze with Isabeau's as the Knights approached, "See how the Templars have returned in our hour of need? They will face this heretical Inquisition… and the people will once again be safe!"

An older man suited with regal Templar armor, with sallow skin and purple rimmed eyes, breezed up to and past the Revered Mother; the priestess gaping incredulously just before a lieutenant of the Order unceremoniously assaulted her from behind. He viciously knocked her to the ground before stepping over her unconscious form. Outraged at the brutal display, Isabeau made to leap onto the stage, Cassandra's halting grasp upon her arm bringing her to an immediate stop.

"That is Lord Seeker Lucius," Cassandra hissed into her ear as the Inquisitor's eyes again fell upon the leader of the unsavory brigade. The Lord Seeker braced one of the Templar's originally accompanying the Mothers, turning to sneer back at his victim's crumpled form.

"Still yourself, lad. She is beneath us," he venomously persisted, the young Knight only nodding in awkward response while Isabeau gaped at the ludicrous scene unfolding before her.

She gulped in a steadying breath, "I take it by that unnecessary display… you are not here to deal with the Inquisition?"

"As if there were any reason to," Lucius scoffed dismissively before turning and making his way off the stage. Immediately Cassandra darted for the Lord Seeker, a pained confusion twisting her face as she desperately approached the cold man.

"Lord Seeker Lucius, it is imperative that we speak with –"

"You will not address me," he ordered haughtily, his pace unchanged as he utterly scorned Cassandra's pleading. He took several more steps before pausing, finally turning to narrow his eyes at her in unbridled contempt, "Your insolence aside, Seeker Pentaghast… you have created a heretical movement - So bold in your cavalier convictions, you raised a puppet as Andraste's Prophet! You should be ashamed."

"I have never claimed to be Andraste's Prophet! It is precisely the reason I am here; so that we may find compromise and unite in our shared enemy!" Isabeau implored, Lucius hardly blinking in acknowledgement before he turned to the crowd and continued to bellow as if she had never spoken.

"You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when we left to purge the Mage's and put an end to their sorry Rebellion," the Lord Seeker now raised an accusing finger to the shaken people before him. "You are the ones who have failed. You who would leash our righteous swords with chains forged of your collective cowardice. If you came to appeal to the Chantry, it is too late." Puffing out his chest, Lucius straightened his posture as he growled, "The only destiny demanding respect here is mine."

Isabeau crossed her arms as her chagrin at the audacious man surged forward, shaking her head in impatient disbelief at his ridiculous convictions, "Why are you even here, Lord Seeker?"

Scowling in disdain at the Inquisitor, Lucius' words became more biting, "You will hold your tongue, heathen."

"Answer the simple question," she retorted firmly, turning to look at the crowd as many faces twisted with anger in growing numbers before her. "If you just came to make speeches, you have only wasted the good people's time and insulted their way of life in one, quite literal, blow. Your men at Andoral's Reach are now under the Inquisition's banner – my banner, and more than half are riddled with severe Lyrium dependency, if not utterly crippled by it."

Isabeau took several threatening steps towards the Lord Seeker, her eyes narrowing as the mark on her hand licked again with energy, "The other majority of your Order runs amok with Red Lyrium induced madness. Something has gone very wrong, Lord Seeker… and I think the least you can do is explain your actions as I must do for mine."

Lucius' eyes settled on the Fade energy swirling up Isabeau's arm before he casually shrugged, smugly looking back upon the now recovering Mother. "I do not have to explain myself to anyone, abomination… least of all to you. I merely came to see what frightens old women so, and to laugh."

Before Isabeau could dig herself a deeper hole with her irate daring, the young Knight from the stage suddenly moved to stand next to the Lord Seeker. "But Ser… what if she is sent by the Maker? What if she really can –"

The Templar that had assaulted the Revered Mother swiftly moved to interrupt the doubtful Knight, "You are called to a higher purpose, boy. You do not question."

Culled by the order, the Knight nodded his mute consent before casting his gaze away from the Lord Seeker's.

"Don't listen to these maniacs! Please, those of you who can see reason, join us – one of your own is the Commander of my armies," Isabeau beseeched, her desperate eyes meeting with the silenced Knight's before he turned his head away in shame and fell into formation. The anger that had begun as flickering embers was now threatening to volcanically erupt from within, Isabeau's expectation for the worse painfully coming to fruition. To see such confliction and torment on an honest man's face was a pain too close to her heart; Isabeau having always sympathized with Cullen and the various other Templar's that had left the Order.

"Ah yes, Ser Cullen. So loyal to the Order, to the Chantry, he abandoned it for your folly at the first flash of the teat…" With a sneer, Lucius shifted his weight as he bent an elbow and brought his hand to his chin arrogantly. "It was only a matter of time. I do not blame Gregoir for the hard choices he made for the lad; what a pity such efforts will be for naught. It is no loss to the Order, however; now is the time to amputate the weak and so easily tempted from our ranks."

"What manner of prattle are you on about?" Isabeau barked, a ferocious loyalty tightening the center of her chest as Lucius publicly slandered her Commander.

"If you have the Reach, then you have Gregoir. Seek your answers from him, otherwise, I am finished tolerating the yapping of Cullen's bitch."

At the sight of Isabeau's snarl, the Lord Seeker snorted in derision before he turned to rally the numerous Templars around him, pointing at the now panicked crowd of citizens around them. "They have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition? Less than nothing. I will craft the Order into the Force that stands alone against the Void. Recognition and independence will be yours, my brothers. Val Royeaux is no longer worthy of our protection; we march!"

With no further words, the Lord Seeker turned sharply and led his men to the towering gates of the market square, the pockets of remaining citizens nervously dispersing at their departure. People actively moved away from the Inquisitor and her companions, a barely contained hysteria percolating in the market's atmosphere as the weight of the afternoon's events settled over all who had gathered. Taking a deep breath through her nose, Isabeau counted to ten before exhaling, looking to her companions reactions in the aftermath.

"What a jackass. Don't tell me any of that nonsense got under your skin?"

At Varric's incredulity, Isabeau fought the waves of embarrassment that threatened to sabotage her composure, swallowing thickly as she shook her head in feigned assurance. The Lord Seeker's biting words wounded more than she cared to truly acknowledge, a bitter taste growing in the back of her throat as she fought to quell her rising temper. Isabeau turned to gaze around the now sparsely populated market before her face was contorted by a scowl, the Inquisitor feeling a spark of unbridled anger at the insanity of it all.

I am balancing on a tight rope while trying to warn people the world is on fire… and I'm the villain?

A tight rope was still better than a hang man's noose in her opinion, Isabeau running a hand through her hair as she turned and froze, spotting the sight of a Chantry Brother openly weeping nearby. She sucked in a shuddering breath as her temper was quickly reduced to a simmer; uncomfortable as it was, Isabeau knew her duty. Though her own losses added to the growing score of pain she silently carried, she took solace in her humility when faced with the innocents swept up by the increasingly violent turmoil across Thedas. Someone had to do something and there was no room for doubt anymore; that someone had to be Isabeau and the Inquisition.

"Inquisitor, are you alright?"

At Solas' concerned voice, Isabeau was snapped from her swirling thoughts before she rubbed at her temples and offered a strained smile in return, "My apologies, I was lost in a thought there…" With a curt nod, she met the elf's skeptical but concerned scrutiny as evenly as she could, "Thank you, Solas, I am alright."

He dipped his head in cautious acceptance as Cassandra came to pace slightly at Isabeau's side, the Seeker agitatedly grasping at the hilt of the blade at her hip, Isabeau reaching to place a calming hand on the woman's shoulder. With a final grumble, Cassandra nodded determinedly and pointed back the way the party had come.

"I know that everything is wrong right now, but this feels especially so. We need to find where it is the Templars and Seekers can be found; I will return to camp and see we have agents trail the Lord Seeker's march."

"I agree, however, I'd like to speak with the Mother, make sure she is alright before we leave…" At Varric cynically raising an eyebrow, Isabeau crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head back and forth as she considered the magnitude of what lay ahead. "She is frightened, Varric; they all are… and I can't truly blame them. They can bite, scream and kick at me, but I'm the only one who can do this, and I can't abandon them."

"I'm not saying a little empathy is a bad thing, Beaux. You just don't do anyone any favors if it kills you."

"It hasn't and it won't," she retorted firmly. "I would learn her perspective for information's sake as much as empathy's; we don't have anyone in the Chantry, Varric – she could offer us some insight."

"She's not wrong," Solas quietly agreed. "If I may however, I would like to return to camp – provided you would be willing to allow your orders passed through me, Cassandra. It would be best you remain with the Inquisitor, I think."

"Very well," Cassandra acquiesced as Solas bid his farewell and strode towards the grand bridge behind them. As the three companions turned and approached the small stage, the Mother gripped at her side as she dejectedly shook her head at their arrival.

"You must be pleased with your victory here, Seeker."

"This is no victory. We only came here in peace to speak with the Mothers; this is not our doing, but yours," Cassandra tersely replied, her mouth returning to a firm line as she gazed down upon the debilitated woman.

"And you think you had no part in forcing our hand? Do not delude yourself. We have been publicly shunned and abandoned by our own Templars; my fellow clerics are ashes upon the wind, while the convictions of those who remain now join them." With wide and glossy eyes, she looked up at Isabeau in desperation, "Just answer me this: if you do not believe you are the Maker's Chosen, then what are you?"

Isabeau smiled sadly as she felt an odd sense of déjà vu, Cole appearing at the fringes of her mind as she considered her honest answer. She knelt down beside the woman, bolstering her resolve as she held the Mother's stare, "The truth is, I don't know. You're welcome to join me in the confusion because most of the time I feel just as lost." Chewing on her lip, she hesitantly reached to give the Mother's hand a gentle pat, "What I do know… is that I want to help, and so do all who have joined the Inquisition. It's… all I have to offer you, I'm afraid."

Slowly pulling her hand away from under Isabeau's to rub nervously at her thigh, the Mother appeared contrite as she considered the young woman's words. "That is… more comforting than you might realize. I suppose we shall all see what the Maker intends in the days to come."

"Are you able to tell me how many Templar's deserted the Chantry, exactly?"

The Mother's pained chuckle was more akin to a scoff, "They rebelled across Thedas, Inquisitor. Some… remained loyal, but not enough to call themselves an 'Order'. The White Spire was the largest of their garrison's… and it now stands empty – who knows how many will flock to the Lord Seeker's banner now. How far has faith waned, I wonder…?"

Isabeau nodded slowly as she processed and stored the information, "Then what of the Chantry? Will it continue to denounce me?"

"Look at the good it has done us. No, we must wait and select the new Divine… then the burden will fall on her. Whether that selection is even possible remains open for debate; all who could follow Justinia died at the conclave," audibly groaning, the Mother finally rose to her feet with the assistance of a fellow Brother. With eyes still glassy from unshed tears, she looked up and shook her head sadly at Isabeau, "What becomes of us, and your Inquisition… is in the Maker's hands now."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed skeptically, "Do you know where the Lord Seeker is headed?"

"No. The Templars and Seekers have not shared their whereabouts with the Chantry since Lambert annulled the Nevarran Accord… I do not have anything more to offer you."

"It's not too late; we could still work together, face this tragedy head on. The Chantry and Inquisition could come out on top," Isabeau entreated, meeting the Mother's tormented gaze with her own pleading eyes. "It doesn't have to be like this. There must be a way to calm everything down and clean up this mess."

The priestess sniffed derisively as she attempted to stand straighter, "I hope against hope that is true. Now… Leave me, survivor; your presence offers no comfort to me."

"Come on, I think we're done here," Varric gently beckoned as his large hand came to squeeze Isabeau's elbow, the dwarf leading her and their party away from the small stage and through the market. Feeling she was walking away empty handed, Isabeau scowled inwardly with frustration; they had made the long trek back to Orlais and would now return to Skyhold with no actual resolution. While Isabeau no longer held any illusions over the tumultuous currents of her fate, she had hoped taking the direct path with the negotiations would prove more fruitful. Instead, there was little joy in witnessing the last support pillars kicked out from underneath the Chantry, Isabeau unable to shake the feeling the echoes of its consequences would soon catch up with her.

"We should prepare to leave as soon as we return to camp," Cassandra suggested. "The faster our return to Skyhold, the sooner we can determine what to do next. With any luck, our agent trailing the Lord Seeker will update us with a location."

"Agreed, we can stop to rest once the sun sets…" Isabeau trailed off as the group passed under the archway that lead to the vast bridge they'd crossed previously, the Inquisitor stopping when a flash of movement appeared in the corner of her eye. Immediately she turned, hand at the ready to reach for her blade, when the sight of an unarmed, female elf greeted her.

"If I might have a moment of your time?" The unknown woman asked politely as she confidently approached the three companions, Cassandra's face turning to one of disbelieving shock at the sight.

"Grand… Enchanter Fiona?!"

At the delicate bow of Fiona's head in confirmation, Isabeau's mouth went agape, "We… had thought you dead! Your people at Andoral's Reach had no knowledge of your survival."

"Isn't it dangerous for you to be here?" Varric asked pointedly.

The Grand Enchanter didn't falter, "I heard of this gathering… and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste for myself."

Isabeau laughed with open incredulity, "Truly? Because you could have done so much earlier when we allied with your people at the Reach! Why weren't you there, Enchanter?"

If Isabeau's boorish query rankled the mage leader at all, she did not show it; the features of her aged yet delicate face remaining as passive as ever. "This war has spread us across Thedas, Herald. Andoral's Reach was well-fortified and I believed Enchanter Irving more than capable. I had to do what was best for the greater good of my people. There are many in Fereldan who fought without guidance… With King Alistair's offer of sanctuary, I remained to lead."

Something about the Enchanter's explanation did not sit comfortably with Isabeau, the knot her doubts twisted growing thicker with each of the mage's words. "You'll have to forgive my unchecked astonishment, Grand Enchanter. The general impression was you were in attendance at the Conclave."

"Yes, you were supposed to be… and yet you somehow avoided death," Cassandra stepped towards the petite mage, slowly circling around her as she spoke. Fiona met the Seeker's fierce gaze with one of patience, nodding as she then turned back to Isabeau.

"As did the Lord Seeker, you'll note. We both sent negotiators in our stead to the Conclave. We were clearly not foolish in expecting a trap, but I won't pretend I am not glad to have survived; I lost many dear friends that day." When Cassandra returned to Isabeau's side, Fiona's face darkened as she held out her hands, "If it is assistance with the Breach you seek, my people are the wiser option. It disgusts me to think the Templar's could get away with it. I am hoping you won't let them.

Isabeau erupted with a dubious snort, "You… think the Templars did it?"

"Why wouldn't she?" Cassandra countered dryly.

"Regardless, we have accepted a considerable number of your people under our banner already. A banner that does not… support your convictions I'm afraid, Grand Enchanter," Isabeau slowly explained as she took several steps towards Fiona. "It has been tense, but the Inquisition has worked hard to reconcile that old hatred amongst our ranks. Our Templars had no further knowledge of the Conclave's events than your Mages."

Fiona's eyes narrowed, "And what of the Templar's you have not leashed? Have you proof of their innocence then? Lucius hardly seems fazed by his losses, if he is concerned at all. You heard him; you think he would not kill the Divine to rally the mobs against us?" She elegantly crossed her arms as she concluded silkily, "So… yes, I think he did it. More than I believe you did it, at any rate."

"I don't have proof of anything. The Inquisition would welcome your people however, Grand Enchanter… but both Templars and Mages are welcome in our organization. The Rebellion must end in the face of this greater threat," Isabeau's hands rubbed at the pommels of her sheathed swords as she took a slow, careful breath. "I endured a great deal just to gain the Mages at Andoral's Reach. Your people, as a whole, have had little desire to speak with me, however… What has changed?"

The Enchanter did not hesitate, "Because I have now seen what you are. And I have seen what the Chantry has become. Consider this an invitation: meet me in Redcliffe and convene with my fellow Mages. An alliance could help us both after all."

"You're based in Redcliffe?" Isabeau shook her head, turning to see her companions appeared just as confused as she. "That's impossible… We already shut down the rebellion there. Unless your people have returned en masse, we left the Hinterlands in relative peace."

"Yes, and what of Arl Teagan?" Cassandra gasped.

With a shallow bow and demure dip of her head, Fiona quirked a fine eyebrow as she made to leave. "All of these questions will be answered should you choose to have them answered. Find me in Redcliffe, Inquisitor - Au revoir!"

"Wait!" Isabeau cried, jogging to follow the Grand Enchanter, her companions following closely behind as they chased the mage leader into the alleys behind the market's shops and stalls. As they careened around a final corner, to Isabeau's immense disappointment, they found nothing but a vacant lane. The Grand Enchanter had disappeared.

"Andraste's tits," Varric cursed, moving to rest Bianca against his shoulder as he shrugged. "Am I the only one feeling this is all… really weird?"

"No, you're not," Isabeau growled agitatedly as she turned and lead her party back to their camp. They travelled on in silence, Varric and Cassandra clearly chewing on the day's events as much as Isabeau. With the sun now setting, their trek soon found them reaching the outskirts of Orlais' capitol, the small abodes, inns and shops that had dotted the muddy road growing increasingly sparse with each step. Soon the red banners of the Inquisition were visible in the distance, the companions parting ways at their arrival when they each made for their respective tents.

Before heading for her own, however, Isabeau made her way to the perimeter of the encampment. Coming to a stop at one of the last tents situated near the rear guard, Isabeau tapped her fingertips loudly on the leather flap of its door.

"Solas?"

Muffled shuffling could be heard from behind the fabric, Solas' smooth head finally poking out from between the flaps, glinting almost comically from the lit brazier nearby.

"Ah, Inquisitor. I was hoping you would come by before retiring for the eve," he softly welcomed, ushering the Inquisitor into the fair-sized tent before tying the flap shut behind her. There was enough room within for a small cot, folding chair and work table; the latter's surface covered with various pieces of aged parchments and texts.

Isabeau idly approached the various open tomes, picking up one to scan down its pages before turning to quirk an eyebrow at her awaiting companion. "And we are looking up Envy demons because…?"

"The Lord Seeker's behavior was rather… odd, was it not?" Solas patiently asked as he stepped towards Isabeau, gently pulling the tome from her hand to splay his elegant hand across its pages. "I, as a rule, do not travel without my best resources. Cassandra is not wrong in her unease of the Lord Seeker; I, too, felt a great disturbance by his presence. So, I returned here to see what I could find to corroborate my suspicions."

"You think he's possessed?"

"I think it would explain many things, yes. I do not know for certain, however…" Solas clarified as he made for the decanter and pair of goblets sitting on a nearby table, pouring Isabeau some wine as he continued. "Envy demons are… incredibly rare spirits of Kindness that have been twisted to suit someone's purpose this side of the Veil. It is… a terrible corruption to behold, if only due to the scarcity of such Spirits."

Raising her goblet to quickly sip at the bitter wine, Isabeau swallowed before she absently licked at her lips and moved to slowly sink into the small chair next to her. Raising her head to meet Solas' expectant gaze, she knocked back one more gulp of the alcohol before speaking, "I'd like to ask you something, Solas. And I'd… like you to be honest with me."

Slowly sitting himself down upon his cot, he neatly folded his hand atop the other as he nodded his silent assent.

Running her hands through her ashen tresses, Isabeau fidgeted uncomfortably as she fought for the words to come out, "I… would know just what sort of Spirit you think I am."

A heavy silence fell over the tent as Solas seemed to consider Isabeau's question before speaking.

"What were you like, before the Mark?" he countered abruptly instead, raising his hands to tent them at his lips, pressing his fingertips against them as he patiently waited. While Isabeau considered his bizarre response and looked down at her fabled hand, Solas persisted. "Has it affected you in any way? Changed you perhaps – your mind, your morals… your spirit?"

Perking her eyebrows thoughtfully, Isabeau realized there truly had been no change to the core of who she was, despite all that she had endured since waking in Haven's dungeon. She slowly began to shake her head in reply, "I… don't believe so. But none of that answers my question, Solas… Besides, if it had, do you honestly think I'd be able to tell?"

"That is… an excellent observation, but… the truth is you show a wisdom I have not seen since –" Solas seemed to uncharacteristically stumble over his words as he averted his gaze. "– Since my deepest journeys into the most ancient memories within the Fade. You have not turned out to be… what I expected."

Taking another swig of her wine, Isabeau roped her other arm around the back of the chair she sat on, idly swirling the liquid within the goblet as she raised an eyebrow at her Mage companion. "I'm… sorry for the disappointment?"

"It's not disappointing, Isabeau. It's…" Solas rose from his seat upon the cot, sighing as he began to pace slowly before her. "Most people I find are predictable, but there is a subtlety in your actions; a wisdom that has gone entirely against my preconceptions..."

Setting her goblet down upon the small desk beside her, Isabeau rose from her seat to approach the oddly agitated elf, soothingly resting her hand on the side of his arm in an effort to cease his stalking. "I appreciate that you see the merit in my actions, Solas; I have enough self-doubt, it is humbling to know a friend can appreciate my labors. That being said, I merely am doing what I can; I won't lie and say I've come by it easily nor without help."

"You are modest. There are… a great many who would use this Inquisition as little more than a blunt instrument in their rise to power," he dipped his head in respect before quietly adding, "But not you."

"Solas…"

"You came to me for an answer, Isabeau… and it is one I wish I could give you," he replied softly, pulling away from her touch as he retreated back to the cot to sit again. He rubbed his palms together with downcast eyes as he continued, "There are times where I am certain a Spirit of Temperance itself stands with you, so rare and profound to behold. At other times; Charity, Patience... Hope. But do I look on you as I would in the Fade…? Or do I instead see that they are merely who you are, here?"

"I don't understand."

He looked up at her then, holding his hands out almost pleadingly. "Must there be a distinction between the two?"

Isabeau frowned, "Are they not separate places?"

"I speak of the virtues themselves," Solas stressed evenly. "If the Lord Seeker is indeed corrupted by an Envy demon, do I apply the same logic? Is it a demon debasing him or simply what this world has forced him to become?"

"Are you saying he and I are no different?"

"Not in the manner you may assume," Solas clarified hastily, watching as Isabeau moved to lean against his small desk. "I think the current state of the world has, without question, sculpted you into who and what you are now. My curiosity lies in whether that was by some manner of Spirit… or of your own choosing."

Isabeau reached again for her goblet and finished the last remaining dregs, her chest warming at the consumption as she considered Solas' words. Hesitant to acknowledge any similarities between herself and the Lord Seeker, she also could not deny the prudence behind Solas' musings; convoluted as they were, there was a comfort Isabeau could find in them. Because it means there's a chance… a chance that your existence is not just governed by some Spirit's possession.

Closing her eyes tiredly at the thought, her hands absently fiddled with a tome's cover on the desk behind her, Isabeau picking at the fraying sleeve before meeting Solas' awaiting gaze again. While still not the cut and dry answer she had hoped for, Isabeau decided her day had been taxing enough and pushed off from her lean against the desk.

"You've… given me a lot to consider, Solas. For now, it is enough... and I am very tired."

Nodding, Solas rose from the cot and followed her as she pulled back the tent's flap, "We will find the answers together, Inquisitor. Of that, I can promise."

"Then I hope it is one you can keep, Solas. Good night."

"Good night, Inquisitor."

With a nod of her head, Isabeau turned and began weaving her way through the various rows of tents further into the encampment. Finally pushing the flap of her tent open, she paused only to seal the tent behind her before she flopped down onto her cot. As she laid there, stewing over her feelings from the unnerving encounters back at the market and her discussion with Solas, a sigh escaped her lips when thoughts of Cullen burrowed their way to the front of her mind.

It had been a considerable amount of time since the pair had been separated by Inquisition business; Isabeau now, more than ever, yearning for his familiar and comforting presence.

And what of these 'hard choices' Gregoir made for Cullen? Do I pander to the Lord Seeker's lunacy and pursue his claims, or dismiss them for the drivel they are?

Deciding to stubbornly resist the urge to gnaw on the disquieting and nagging thoughts, Isabeau instead pushed her concerns to the back of her mind, embracing fonder thoughts of Cullen instead. She rose from the cot and hastily pulled off her various articles of armor and clothing before flopping back down again, leaning to snuff out the small lamp that sat on a wooden carton beside her cot. Isabeau allowed a clandestine smile to spread her lips as she sunk into the fur and cloth rolls of her bed, a part of her conscience chastising her for the immature prioritizing but she knew, if she were to get any sleep, she needed to find what small peace of mind she had left.

Wolf fur now tickling at her cheeks and nose, the Inquisitor wiggled into a tighter ball as she recalled one of the first councils she and Cullen had engaged in, when Isabeau and Cassandra had met the three advisors shortly after their return from stabilizing the Breach. With the disaster her day had become in Val Royeaux, there was a bitter poignancy to the memory as she distantly remembered the first discussion she and her advisors had shared regarding the Chantry.

Smiling despite how tired she felt, Isabeau allowed herself to sink into the comfort of her recollections, the sounds and sights of her recent past flirting at the edges of her consciousness. Clinging to a particularly warm memory, Isabeau took Cullen's hand… and followed him into the Fade.