Five: Follow the Lady

Author's Note: "Follow the Lady" is another name for the street con known as Three-card Monte, a variant of the shell game.

My thanks to those who have been patiently waiting for the next chapter. This one turned out to be so long that I split it in two. Chapter Six will be up tonight as well.


Kathil:

Maker, save me from the scheming of nobles.

Tonight, it had been one of the southern banns trying to convince her to take his side in an argument over who had to maintain the road that marked the boundary between his bannorn and that of his western neighbor. The man thought he was so smooth, inviting her to the Gnawed Noble and making such a show over the fact that he was unafraid to be seen out in public with a mage. It was as if simple courtesy—or treating her as she a person instead of a mage—was such a very extraordinary accomplishment that he felt the need to show it off to the world.

Which made her very tired, and rather obstreperous.

Cullen and Lorn, unfortunately, had to stay with her during the entire wearisome spectacle. Once they'd gotten back to the palace, it was nearly midnight, and she'd sent Cullen off to bed (and to let Lorn into her room) and gone to find a bath to soak away the grime she always felt accumulating on her skin during these times.

One of the very good things about being a mage was that even a lukewarm bath could be made hot, with a bit of effort. After half an hour of soaking, and washing her hair, she started to feel a bit better, and much less likely to try to start a quarrel with Zevran once she got back to their room. Not that it was easy to bait Zev into a fight, but it was silly to even try when she knew her mood had nothing to do with him.

Now she was padding back to her own room, pleasantly warm from her bath, her hair straggling down her back damply. The summer masque was only two days away, and when she wasn't meeting with obsequious banns, she was being fussed over by Leliana. Lei had even brought her perfume, today. "I think it will suit you," the bard had told her. "It is the oil of a flower common in Orlais but that we see little of this far south."

When Kathil had sniffed the little vial, she smelled moonlight and silver, rounded underneath by something that she could not name. "What's it called?" she asked.

"Lavande," Leliana had told her. "When I smelled it today, it reminded me of you."

And that was enough to warm Kathil's heart (and certain other parts of her, but there was a complicated little tangle and she tried to ignore it as much as she could). Remembering it made her smile.

The palace was slumbering around her as she walked down the long hallway back to her rooms. She didn't expect to see anyone, but there was a movement down in the dim. She assumed it was a guard, walking a midnight round, but the figure moved in an entirely familiar way.

Was that—

"Kathil!" Alistair called from down the hall. "What are you doing up?"

She waited to reply until she was closer, and saw that he held a bundle in his arms. "Just got back from being fawned over by Bann Diarmaid," she told him. "What are you doing up?"

Alistair shifted the bundle in his arms. "Duncan's having a fretful night," he said. "He'll only calm down when someone's walking with him. I decided to take a turn."

The babe was awake, Kathil saw, and this was the closest she'd ever been to him. "He looks like you," she said. "He has Rima's eyes, though."

"And her toes, believe it or not," Alistair said, and there was such a warm smile on his face when he looked down at his son. "Do you want to hold him?"

Kathil blinked. "Ah—I've never really held a baby before—never had a chance, really."

"First time for everything. Here." Then he was holding out the child to her, and she reached for him before she could let herself argue.

Duncan was heavier than she'd expected, and he looked up at her with his tiny brow furrowed like he was trying to decide if she were real. You and half the population of Denerim, I think. "He's beautiful, Alistair. He really is."

It was so strange, to be holding Alistair's son, all the echoes of what had been and what would never be weighing her arms along with the baby. It had once been a bitter, angry thought, that she would never have children of her own; now, it was simply bittersweet, a bit of wistful mourning for an impossibility. Experimentally, she tried rocking her arms a bit, and was rewarded with Duncan's eyes closing as he evidently decided that she was all right. He waved one fist in the air briefly, then settled into her arms as if he belonged there, as if she were not simply borrowing him for a moment.

She glanced up at Alistair, who had a contemplative look on his face. "I thought this would be easier," he said, then shook his head. "Rima really, ah—"

"Hates the fact that I exist?" She saw the rueful look on his face. "Hard to miss, Alistair. Too much bad blood there, I think, and I threaten to upset the balance of what she's building. It doesn't help that some of the banns have decided to fawn over me like I'm some treasure to be won."

"She isn't a bad person, Kathil," he said. "I thought you two would get along."

"Well, we never have. Not at first, not now, probably not ever." Kathil grimaced. "I really was terrible to her when she first got here, Alistair. I hated the fact that she was going to get to marry you and I wasn't. And now…" She shrugged a little, doing her best not to jostle the baby. "I'll be gone soon enough. And I'm not going to ask you to pick sides. She's your wife, I'm your friend. Not difficult to see who wins there."

He nodded shallowly, acknowledging her words. "Speaking of you being gone, Kathil. Eamon mentioned he'd spoken to you about the Warden-General position…"

"I haven't decided yet. I have a bit more time yet." Duncan opened his eyes again and pursed his lips, stating to make little ah ah ah noises like he was thinking about starting to cry. Kathil held him out to Alistair, who took him exactly as if he'd been handling babies all of his life.

He did grow up in Redcliffe. They probably had babies there. Unlike, say, the Tower. Which had only children old enough to cast magic, to shrink silently against the walls with running noses and haunted eyes.

"True enough," Alistair said. "I should go, but before I do, I heard a very interesting rumor the other day. Something to do with you and the Grey Warden Cullen."

She lifted one eyebrow slightly. That had gotten out, had it? They were trying to be discreet, but people did talk. "And what concern does the king of Ferelden have with my personal life?"

"Not as the king, Kathil. As your friend. Who is worried about you."

She gave him a sharp look. "Cullen is a Grey Warden, and an adult, and if he and I choose to keep company and Zevran doesn't object, there is no harm done. And, I might had, it is really none of your business, Alistair."

Alistair was frowning. "Are you in love with him, Kathil?"

"None of your business whatsoever." There was a sharp note in her voice that she tried to rein in. "I mean it. Whatever is between Cullen and I—and Zevran and I, for that matter—isn't something I'm willing to talk about with you."

He was looking at her as if trying to decipher what she wasn't saying. "All right," he said. "But if you ever want to talk about things…"

She blew out an annoyed breath. "Rima would probably try to have me killed if I met in private with you, Alistair. Let's just leave it, shall we?"

Unexpectedly, he chuckled a little. "We can do that," he said. "I should keep walking, or Duncan is going to start fussing again."

Kathil couldn't help a little smile. "Go, then. And—thank you, Alistair."

"For what?"

She looked at the baby in his arms, and then him. "For reminding me that there are some things I cannot change. And some that I can."

Then she was walking past him, to her room, and she did not look back.

When she closed the door behind her, she found the room emptier than she'd expected. That dice game that Zevran had gone to tonight had either gone longer or ended more interestingly than he'd expected when they'd parted that afternoon, it seemed. He'd be back before dawn, she knew, and tomorrow would be a flurry of preparations for the masque.

But Lorn was here, and he stretched and came over to her. He'd been by himself for forever. She had been soaking in water for such a long time. He gave her a hopeful wag.

"Yes, you can sleep on the bed for a bit," she said. "At least until Zevran gets back." Lorn opened his mouth in a grin, and then went to jump up on the bed, curling up at the foot of it.

She shed her robe and stretched out on the bed, pulling the thin blanket over her. No matter how warm it got, she always needed something over her to be able to sleep. She stuck her always-cold toes under Lorn, to warm them.

She drifted off to sleep, only to be woken by a soft whuff from Lorn and Zevran sliding into bed with her. "You're cold," she complained sleepily. "Game went well?"

He curled up behind her, putting one arm over her and pulling her close, quickly warming where their skin touched. "Would you believe I won the clothes off of five of the King's Guard tonight?" he said. "There were most interesting forfeits."

"I'd believe it. Though you don't smell like you've been at an orgy." She opened her eyes a little. "It's almost dawn, isn't it?"

He kissed her hair. "It is, and I would like to get a bit of sleep before we must finish preparations for the masque."

Kathil closed her eyes again. She could tell him about her discussion with Alistair later. After some sleep. And maybe I should hide those dice of Zevran's, the thought. One of these days, the guards are going to figure out that they're loaded.

But she was warm now, and sleepy, and it could wait until morning.

*****

Leliana:

Everything was in place.

Well, almost everything.

"Why do you get to see me, and Cullen and Zevran don't?" Kathil grumbled. "And I don't think that strap goes there."

"Ah, you are right," she said, and pulled the offending piece of material into its proper place at the mage's waist. "And you don't get to see them because I am so looking forward to seeing them when they see you walk into the masque. Allow me this one little thing, dearest. Besides, their costumes are something to see, as well."

"So you keep saying. Are you absolutely sure I don't look foolish?"

"Not in the least." Leliana picked up the mask from its box. It was a fragile-looking thing, seemingly spun out of silver and white silk and air. "Mask now, and I will put my own on. Then we will go. I think Cullen and Zevran are already there."

Kathil fidgeted as Leliana fitted the mask to her face, anchoring it with combs in her elaborately braided hair, studded with sprays of silver. Leliana's own mask was also on the table, hers a three-quarters in deep browns and greens and autumnal reds. She touched the rim of an eye-hole, going over her preparations for this evening in her mind one last time. Had she thought of everything?

If she had not, the jeu de blaireau was unlikely to end as she wished it to.

Kathil's hands, helping her place her mask and secure it to her face, were careful and trembling just slightly. The lavande perfume suited her, complemented her mage's scent of lightning. "I cannot believe I am going out in public dressed like this. But you look amazing, Lei."

"Trust me, dearest, when I say you do as well. I think the mask is quite well fitted, yes?"

Leliana did not have to be able to see her friend's face to know that she had an adorable look of embarrassed recognition on it. Kathil's fingers had been lingering on Leliana's jaw, just a little too long. "It'll stay on, at least. I almost wish I could bring Lorn, but I think he'll be happier spending time with the other Mabari for the night. Shall we? "

She offered her arm to the mage. "We shall."

They made their way through the halls—first deserted, but closer to the great hall far more crowded. As they passed through the last large archway before the hall. Leliana spied a man wearing a costume meant to resemble a chevalier and a mask painted to resemble a face with shut eyes and a meaningful pout. She caught his eye, and with two fingers tapped her thigh three times.

All is in readiness. Let the jeu begin.

The chevalier bowed slightly, and turned away.

They emerged from the darkness of the arch into the light of the great hall, and the game began.

*****

Zevran:

He had worried that he would miss his Grey Warden's entrance into the hall.

No fear of that.

In the archway, where flames danced in glass lanterns, there was a murmur and a commotion of people turning. He turned as well, and what he saw very well made the breath freeze in his chest.

No mask could ever hide his Grey Warden's identity from him, and as she stood in the arch she was a blaze of white and silver, her chin held high. Draped silk lay over her scarred shoulder, hiding it. But the rest—

If he had ever doubted the bard's powers of persuasion, he never would again.

The main part of Kathil's costume was an assortment of white straps, crisscrossing her body. To those straps were attached white and silver scarves of varying levels of translucency, and as she walked forward, those scarves fluttered and showed the most tempting glimpses of her skin. Her legs were almost entirely bare, except for a few decorative straps, and she wore soft shoes of fragile white leather. She shone.

Her mask was an elaborate affair of silver and white, framing her eyes and dipping down to almost cover her mouth. There were chips of cut glass at the edges of it, glittering. Even the mask had been made to complement the curve of her mouth.

She was dressed as Winter, as the season of death and slumber, and the crowd parted around her as she strode towards him and Cullen.

Beside her, Leliana was wearing a dress cut down nearly to her navel, recalling a certain witch and her complete lack of regard for Ferelden decency . The deep neckline was complemented by a long layered skirt, all of it in dark reds and browns. Her mask was overlapping leaves in red and green and brown, and her full lips were curved as she accompanied Kathil towards them. The theme had been her idea, and she had claimed Autumn before she'd even spoken with him and Cullen.

Cullen, next to him, made a low noise. "Maker's Breath."

For once, he agreed with the sentiment.

Cullen was costumed as Spring, the soft greens and blues of his cutwork shirt going well with his close-cropped reddish curls. The shirt and trousers and high-laced boots were all closely cut, showing off the fact that the former Templar was a very well-built man indeed. His mask was a simple affair, a half-mask of dyed silk in the same colors as his clothing. Leliana had elected not to make anything about this costume fussy, knowing that doing so would overwhelm him. Best to let that body speak for itself.

Then, of course, there was his own costume.

Kathil was close, now, and she stopped and smiled at the two of them. "Very nice, both of you. Zev, remind me later that you look good in gold. And Cullen, you have to go back to that seamstress and have her make you more of those shirts." She grinned and spread her arms, twirling around in a way that made her scarves flutter out and show quite a lot of skin. "What do you think?"

He answered that by catching her arm with a hand and pulling her close. "I think you are going to break the hearts of hundreds of people tonight, my Grey Warden," he said, and ran his hand under her chin, tilting her face upward so he could kiss her without their masks getting entangled. "You shine like the moon herself."

"And you're looking altogether sun-like, so we're well-matched," Kathil said. "I think that seamstress deliberately decided to show off most of my favorite parts of you. Those pants are nearly obscene, you know."

"I had her make them that way, yes? Since you have complimented me on my posterior so often." He kissed her again and released her. "Go tell your Templar how very handsome he is tonight, Kathil. That seamstress is surely a witch, is she not? He is looking most tempting."

"He is, isn't he?" Behind the mask, he could see her eyes close halfway. "I think this is going to be a quite pleasant evening." She stepped over to Cullen, and caught his hands in hers. She spoke to him in a low voice, and whatever she said to him made him bite his lower lip. Then she rose to her toes and kissed him, lips lingering on his for a long moment.

They were usually circumspect, but this one night was an exception.

On the dais, the music began, and so did the dancing in the hall.

*****

Cullen:

Costumes swirled around him as if they were in Rima's bower and the sun were shining through the glass.

Behind a mask, we are allowed to be who we truly are, Leliana's voice whispered in his memory.

It was not anonymity, not with Kathil catching what seemed like every bit of light in the room and throwing it back twice magnified, but he was emboldened by it anyway. The King and Princess Consort entered; from the looks of things, the royal couple had decided to avoid costumes that referenced anything specific, instead wearing complementary outfits of gold and blue, and matching masks. Alistair wore elaborate gloves of metal and leather that resembled gauntlets.

Kathil had her hands in his, and she was leading him towards the center of the hall, where people were lining up to begin one of the dances. "Leliana told me she taught you some of the dances," she said, and when he turned to her she was smiling. "Let's test that, shall we?"

Then he was in place, and she was across from him, and they were advancing on each other, matching step for step. At first he thought he had forgotten everything, but the bard was a very good teacher, and after a few moments he found himself relaxing into the dance, his body following patterns now familiar, reading Kathil's own steps, the two of them feeding into each other. She was wearing perfume, something floral, and it was almost enough to make him feel a bit weak-kneed.

The song came to a close, and she squeezed his hands tightly for a moment before she stepped back. There was a warm hand on his shoulder. Cullen turned to see Zevran, his gold mask glittering. "May I?"

He nodded and stepped back, letting the elf take his place.

Zevran and Kathil were a study together, the elf as the blazing heart of Summer, the mage as the depths of Winter. It was a beautiful contrast, he thought, green and gold against silver and white. And the way they moved together—

Kathil spun out and away from Zevran, her scarves flaring and revealing that there really was very little beneath those scarves. Then she came back to have Zevran lift her up with strong hands on her waist, and they were looking into each other's eyes, the masks completely failing to hide what was between them.

He watched them, simply appreciating for the moment what he saw. Zevran's costume was made of shimmering green and gold, his shirt cut to hide the scars on his chest and back that Cullen had seen a few times, when they had camped on the road. And those pants.

He felt himself going a bit red beneath his mask. The pants left little to the imagination, but Cullen found himself imagining anyway. He remembered Kathil asking him, that night in Highever, tell me, have you ever thought about bedding a man?

He'd stammered yes before he could stop himself.

And now, watching Kathil and Zevran dance, he realized that he was thinking about bedding a specific man. Ah, Maker, I could never—

Couldn't he?

Behind a mask, we are allowed to be who we truly are.

It was just about then that he realized the music had ended and Kathil and Zevran were parting, and the elf was turning to the crowd, scanning for something. And a moment later, Zevran was in front of him, and there was that sly smile on his face. "And now, it is our turn to dance, no?"

And it was.

He was self-conscious in a way that he hadn't been before, but if anything, Zevran was a better dancer than Kathil, and he took Cullen's missteps in stride. The dance was one of the faster, more intricate partner dances, and they stepped towards each other and then away, Cullen catching the elf's hand in his as they neared each other and circled once more.

There were possibilities in the way he and Zevran were dancing that Cullen hadn't allowed himself to think of before, and though he couldn't really see Zevran's eyes, he thought that the elf might be thinking the same thing.

When the dance was over, Leliana captured him for a turn, and then she set Cullen loose into the crowd where a bold young woman in a checkered mask took his arm and led him back towards the center. He was passed from hand to hand, from woman to man to someone whose gender he wasn't entirely sure of, and finally managed to wash up at the edge of the hall, quite willing to sit out a few songs.

The giggling young woman in the checkered mask who he'd danced with before came slipping up to him. "Are you sure you won't come dance with me again?" she asked, a little pout in her voice. She raised herself up on her tiptoes and slung an arm around his neck. She smelled of some exotic spice, something that he could almost but not quite name.

"Maybe in a little while," he told her, but he didn't shake her off. Her parti-colored costume was made of a very light material, and he could feel the heat of her body through his clothes. "Have you seen a woman in white and silver anywhere? I seem to have lost track of her."

"Lady Winter?" The girl's tongue came out between her lips just a little. "I thought I saw her going out the side door a few minutes ago, by herself. Why?"

Kathil had left the hall alone? Odd. "I should go see if I can find her," he said.

"Only if you promise to dance with me when you come back." The girl gave him a gap-toothed grin, and her arm tightened on him slightly. "Promise?"

"I promise," he said. The checkered girl gave him a kiss on the cheek and released him, melting away into the crowd where colors swirled around each other feverishly. Cullen waded through the crowd, heading toward that side door. She'd probably just gotten warm and stepped out for a breath of air. And perhaps, if he found himself alone with her, he could take the time to explore that fascinating costume she wore.

But what he found outside the hall stopped his heart, and his breath.