Lord Esmeral's courtyard stretched out in an oblong blanket of limestone lined with lilyturfs and punctuated with a statement fountain in the centre. The Orlesian lord's mansion surrounded the courtyard like a horseshoe, and marble steps descended from different points of the mansion's veranda where limestone paths linked them to the courtyard. Dogwoods and mondo grass filled the gaps between the mansion, paths, and the oblong pavement, and a pea gravel dry creek bed snaked across the open end of the horseshoe where evergreen conifers closed in.

The courtyard was small. The air felt stifled, but the landscape architect had done their job by making sure the noonday sun still directly shone into the mansion's windows. At the very least, Esmeral's property enjoyed plenty of privacy. When Leliana led Carver out of an indoor hallway for a short stack of marble steps towards the courtyard, they crossed paths with a subdued argument in the veranda.

Fiona sharply huffed. "You would pounce on this chance to control all mages. Where I advocate freedom, you seek self-empowerment."

"The two first enchanters clearly doubt your capacity to lead," Vivienne primly replied, allowing Fiona's words to slide off her back. "Their terms are clear: their mages form an alliance with the Inquisition – under First Enchanter Bethany's leadership. As the Inquisitor's closest Circle aid, it is my duty to have an answer and solution for her when she asks about the state of our mages. Yours and First Enchanter Bethany's petty quarrels waste Ellana's time and place me in the difficult position of settling conflicts between your factions for her."

"Maker knows you volunteered," Fiona accused. "You've been eyeing my seat since the conclave exploded."

A flash of amusement captured Vivienne's eyes, as if Fiona's current situation was no one's envy. The grand enchanter obviously saw it.

"You lace-loving ersatz enchanter––!" Fiona built up.

"Name calling?" Dorian tittered aside. "She has no more logic to attack you with."

Cole muttered from Vivienne's shadow. "Fiona isn't like you. Dorian is like you."

Vivienne's composure cracked. "I think not."

Dorian smirked. "Now now, the poor thing is trying to pay you a compliment. How so, Cole?"

"The Veil sings around both of you," Cole delighted. "It whispers through you and makes you both brighter."

"The same could be said of any mage," Vivienne dismissed. "Beyond that, I have little in common with a noble from Tevinter."

Cole disagreed. "No – for most mages like Fiona, it's a tool. A toil. You make it you."

Dorian cast Fiona a look. "Also, we clearly have the best fashion sense of anyone around."

Vivienne sniffed. "True, but I hardly expect the Fade to notice." She quirked a brow Fiona's way as if to say, there you have it. "If that's all, my dear?"

Fiona flushed with mixed emotion before speechlessly stalking away, just as Vivienne, Dorian, and Cole noticed Carver and Leliana. Vivienne watched his face. "You should consider playing the Game, Ser Carver."

Carver shuffled his feet. "I don't enjoy masks."

"No one does," the enchanter stated pointedly, then strode past him.

Usually one with a word for any situation, Dorian merely moved to pat Carver's shoulder only to note his sling. Carver watched the man awkwardly recall his hand and disappear into the courtyard while Cole sidled up to Carver.

"The Nightmare had corrupted the warden mages," Cole murmured, "Trembling, my knife at his throat. Not this, not this, swore I'd do whatever they asked but not this. In death, sacrifice. His hand grips my wrist, pulls the blade across his throat." He blinked in the direction Vivienne had gone. "If the whole world turns on mages, where will they go? Fiona prays it will never happen, but prayer isn't a place. Vivienne cares – that's why she hurts."

Vivienne was someone who physically couldn't break the law but cared deeply about the plight of her fellow mages. The woman's grasp for power and recognition from non-mages was her way of establishing a seat for mages at the big table, so that they might have a voice. If Vivienne could be recognised by non-mages and they gave her influence, she could improve mages' lives. But the world was unkind to mages, and in Orlais, one must enter the Game to gain influence. Vivienne had thus developed a cold yet charming exterior over time, an intimidating woman with whom the bon ton was dying to befriend. She called everyone dear. Like an iceberg, Vivienne's surface appearance and actions belied a deeper meaning.

Where the Hawke mages burned with passion, Vivienne condensed hers into cold, glittering diamonds.

In Emprise du Lion, Cole had said that Carver liked his name; it reminded him of the reason Carver could keep living, the person whose life he especially cherished. Even though they were in the Inquisition, the ever-proper Vivienne had still called Carver by his "surname."

The woman was hard to read. Still, Carver was glad for her presence.

"Thank you, Cole."

The young man nodded as Carver and Leliana continued their stroll for the courtyard. One of the mansion's doors that led to the veranda was open to let the breeze in, and a dogwood cast heavy shade over the room past it. Carver could see Ellana slumped on the floor against a bed, her red eyes staring forlornly at Dog's collar in her hands. Sitting on the bed behind her was Alistair with a hand stroking Elissa's hair. Alistair noticed Carver gazing their way, stood up, and wordlessly closed the door.

Carver swallowed thickly. Dog had been his friend too. Still, he understood that losing Dog must have been like losing a limb for Elissa.

"Ellana now has two factions of mages under her?"

Leliana hummed at Carver's question. "One under Grand Enchanter Fiona, another under First Enchanter Bethany. It's quite the story."

The Fereldan Order of the Grey understood the value of confiding in others to help heal from trauma. The culture was a product of Solona and Leliana's efforts at Soldier's Peak during the Fifth Blight, and when Templars and mages had left their Circles at the start of the Mage-Templar War to join the Fereldan Order, they had been introduced to the Wardens' form of therapy. With recent events, Fereldan wardens had also begun practising this with the Orlesian wardens, whose mages had especially been scarred by Livius' manipulations. Carver knew one of the reasons Garrett had originally left Kirkwall for Skyhold had been to gauge for Bethany if the Inquisition was worth allying with, and the Wardens' activities had evidently improved Bethany's opinion of the Inquisition's work, leading to the Illuminati and Wynne's mages formally joining the Inquisition.

The news had stirred all of southern Thedas. The Inquisition was essentially in charge of a new Circle of Magi, now. To no one's surprise, Gaspard had beaten – sometimes literally – all of Orlais' other nobles to inviting Ellana to the Winter Ball as his guest. Whether or not Ellana wanted it, she held southern Thedas in the palm of her hand.

"As for what First Enchanter Bethany wrote in reaction to the truth of her twin," Leliana continued, "you'll have to ask Viscount Garrett. It's not my place to say."

"I understand."

A gaggle of Orlesian nobles were apparently also enjoying a promenade through Lord Esmeral's courtyard. Near the fountain was Cassandra beating up Bull with a stick, the latter constantly grunting "Harder!" while Sera, Thom, Ellana, and Dorian barely batted an eye, more absorbed with likely pilfered cookies they were consuming between themselves while sitting on the fountain. When they deigned to grant Bull's training attention, they snickered at innuendos.

"This is why the Qun doesn't let women fight!" Bull complained.

SMACK.

Cassandra stepped over Bull's body and held the stick out to Ellana. "Your turn."

The nobles gasped and fled for the indoors, scandalised, while one of the nobles strutted to Josephine standing against the railing of a veranda and proceeded to burst into hushed complaints. Based on his claret mask, the nobleman was their host Lord Esmeral. A hulking stack of muscle and furs tromped out of a door and towered over Esmeral and Josephine in the veranda.

"Chief Movran the Under," Leliana identified. "He bloodied Skyhold's defences with live goats in retaliation for killing his unpopular son, the Hand of Korth. His punishment is serving the Inquisition as an ambassador with Lord Esmeral."

Carver watched the weaselly Esmeral enthusiastically gesture while Movran chortled and, evidently, threatened to show his buttocks to the Orlesian noble. Josephine's brow seemed to be ageing, but behind a sheaf of papers, her lips trembled with the threat of exploding into unladylike laughter.

"Together," Leliana continued, "they are offensive on every level. Lord Esmeral and Chief Movran are a useful pair to inflict on others. 'Do as we say or we will not recall our ambassadors.'"

Ellana's hesitant smacking at Bull with a stick regained Carver's attention as Cassandra joined Sera, Thom, and Dorian on the fountain.

"I noticed one of my books is missing," the Seeker began.

Sera shrugged. "Reet, which one?"

"The one with all the illustrations."

Sera choked on her cookies. "Oh, tha' one was full on. Ah chucked 't unda yer bed."

Cassandra sighed. "You don't know how to ask permission first?"

"Fine," Sera slowly enunciated. "Please can ah not find morra yer mucky lil' books. Drawings. Ew."

Dorian snorted. "I couldn't finish the last one you lent me. I actually feel dumber for having tried."

Cassandra flushed. "No one asked you, Tevinter!"

Ellana paused in her beating with a raised brow. "Maybe I should read one of these books."

Cassandra shot up to her feet. "No, you can't! Y-You're the Inquisitor!" So that was what horror looked like on the Seeker's face. "Whatever you do, don't tell Varric!"

"Don't tell me what?"

Carver's lips twitched as he watched Ellana and her companions descend into juvenile chaos in Lord Esmeral's courtyard. Garrett and Junior had been walking with Varric and joined in the amusement as Varric learned that in the Seeker's taciturn shell beat a romantic heart. They all looked happy. Without Carver.

Before he could dwell on it, Leliana led him on a route back to his room, where they encountered Cullen leaving what was likely his. Past the door he closed behind himself burned thin candles in a heavily-curtained room and a desk swamped with papers.

Carver straightened despite his limp. "Cullen––"

The commander looked like he had stepped into horse dung. "Ser Gavin, I've been meaning to see you."

"…Really?"

"You were barely coherent for a long time after Adamant," Cullen shared. "I've since promoted Ser Clay as a temporary captain while you'll slowly be off-boarded with the intention of returning fully to your role as a captain in the king's army, not the Inquisition." Clay referred to Speechless, another member of Maric's Shield. "While you're with us, you'll serve as a consultant who, despite my reservations, is vitally needed due to your experience and skills."

Cullen shot Leliana a look the redhead evenly met.

Carver winced. "Cullen, I don't mean to create work for you––"

"That'll be 'Commander' to you," Cullen cut off. "Whatever your intentions or true nature, the fact remains that someone who's dying already had their chance at life – they lack the right to try again at the cost of someone else. Even if it was by accident, you should've at least come clean to those who mattered. I pity the Hawke family."

"I'll work it out with them," Carver accepted his candour, "and I appreciate that you're looking out for everyone under you."

Cullen's jaw clenched, a whisper slipping out of him. "This is a mistake. You are a mistake. I'll thank you for staying away from me unless summoned."

The commander didn't wait for a response and merely continued on whatever errand had drawn him out of his room. Carver couldn't drop back into his bed fast enough.

"Cullen's battling lyrium withdrawals."

Leliana's assisting motions paused at Carver's observation. She looked at him.

"Has been for a while now." Carver closed his eyes, willing a bout of dizziness to pass. "He's suffering particularly badly nowadays and is pushing Cassandra to admit that he needs to step down – except I'm also leaving the Inquisition's army. He has too much on his plate."

Leliana's voice lowered. "As you know before they vanished, the Seekers were reforming to respect theirs and the Templars' origins: a host of mages and non-mages cooperating for the betterment of all society. Tranquility was originally a tool for recruitment, not a weapon. When Cassandra shared this secret with Cullen after recruiting him under the Divine, he was emboldened to finally make a commitment he had been considering. He believed that if he could wean himself off of lyrium completely, he could give hope to Templars. When I told him about your Templar abilities and that you're indeed the same Carver from song, he was further inspired."

Carver's eyes slid open to peer at her. "Except I'm effective with these abilities because I did what demons do: possess a living body. I'm sure you've deduced it yourself."

Leliana's lips thinned. "Should Cullen ever step down, he and Cassandra had been considering you as his replacement."

"A cruel honour," Carver sighed with scalding guilt. "He's a good man and a good soldier; I'd hate to see him step down because he's doing the right thing. The last we spoke privately, he was searching for Raleigh Samson, and considering he no longer trusts me, would you…?"

"If Raleigh's serving as Corypheus' right-hand man, we would do well to locate him."

"Thank you, Leliana."

She passed him his medicine. "Even now, you put others before yourself. Rest now, Carver. Regain your strength."

When Carver next awakened, it seemed a new day had passed or the sun hadn't changed position. Solas was sitting on Junior's stool and holding his head in his hands, weariness shaping the line of his shoulders.

"You and Ellana would risk death for others."

Carver blinked slowly. "You state facts, as usual."

"I would advise you against such risks, but that would defy who you are. …Fenedhis." The curse startled Carver. "I can't tell someone to value their life if I don't already find value in it."

"I'm useful."

"You're more than that," Solas suddenly corrected, before quieting, breaking his heated silence with a sigh. "The greatest curse of my people is dirthara-ma. 'May you learn.' Yours and Ellana's existences have been a curse on me since I've opened my eyes and reached a humbling conclusion — one that pervades my thoughts and even my dreams. I cannot escape it. I cannot unsee it. People like you, Ellana, Varric, Cassandra…you're all alive."

Hopes, dreams, relationships — people innately desired to build these things with each other and to live in every moment. To make every day count. The whole world was connected within six degrees of separation, and no life was without meaning.

They weren't a world of Tranquil.

"…The attack on Haven was my failure," Solas murmured. "I nearly lost you and Ellana — for what? Pride? Then to find you both blue in the snow…."

Carver recognised crippling guilt. After the attack on Haven, Solas couldn't look Ellana in the eye but couldn't leave her side either. His hot-cold behaviour with Ellana and distance with Carver now made more sense when coloured by the emotion, but the man was still talking.

"I had you tortured."

"…So you have," Carver carefully replied.

"Carver," Solas spoke heavily, "I have no proof save for my own words, but with all sincerity…." Purple-grey eyes gazed up in melancholy. "I deeply regret my actions. I'm sorry."

Shock lanced Carver in the chest, and for a heartbeat, he forgot how to speak. Eventually, he found his voice.

"…You?" Of all people, Solas had apologised? "Then…your mission…."

Solas' expression crumpled. "The world is imbalanced."

Carver bit his lip. "The times have changed."

"I brought the change," Solas' voice morosely tensed. "The fault is mine. Loneliness with my knowledge does not concern me, but my own pride has marked every creature on this earth. I confront my sins with every elf and dwarf that I pass. I owe it to everyone now, more than ever, to restore a world where one might flourish."

Loneliness didn't concern him? What fallacy. No one who felt loved would be drawn to so great and terrible an ambition.

Carver sighed, switching tactics. "I can't believe I missed it. The signs. You can't stay away from Ellana's side, you couldn't look her way while she was recovering from Haven, and farther back, you stared in shock when you thought she had died. Stock-still shock. Not just at the thought of her dead, but at the sudden and real fact that…."

Some sentences, their meaning could change based on which word was emphasised. Carver made sure to encompass each possible complicated emotion in his next breath.

"…You love her."

The claim startled Solas into a humourless chuckle. "Once again you surprise me with shallow logic."

"I don't have to be your age to recognise denial," Carver dismissed Solas' tone. "You can 'like' Ellana as one would a charming creature. That's what you used to tell yourself: that for all that we might entertain, irritate, or surprise you, we're still fundamentally less. But that can't be true if the idea of losing Ellana pricks your heart. Makes it bleed."

"Carver."

Solas' tone, previously emotional, pressed down with an edge. The change came subtly and in increments while Solas spoke, until Carver wisely recognised a warning.

"I recognise this game you're playing." Solas tensed. "I never thought you would stoop to so low of an angle."

"Game?" Carver echoed, confused.

"Prodding me for a reaction," Solas clinically stated. "Creating weaknesses."

Carver spluttered, but at Solas' tension, reined in his first witty response. "That— This isn't that."

Solas cut in. "Then what is it, Carver?"

"…A shovel talk."

Solas blinked rapidly.

"You're thinking of pulling her to you while you both dream," Carver braved. "You're thinking of having a conversation about her recent past, her future. Her. I'm telling you now, at whatever point later in time you and her talk about feelings, you are to treat Ellana with sincerity." He pointed when Solas opened his mouth. "Sincerity, Solas."

He straightened his drooping shoulders, head tilting. "…Should it happen," Solas spoke slowly, "I agree."

Well, at least Solas had some sense of humanity. In a twisted way, the hidden god genuinely respected feelings. Carver personally preferred that Ellana would end up never returning Solas' blooming feelings, but he also wished companionship and happiness for the woman, especially through such tough, isolating times. A deeper, smaller part of Carver also hoped that Solas would find peace with Ellana and redirect his ambitions away from apocalyptic behaviour to restorative efforts. Though scarred, the world could only benefit from attempts at peace, not even greater scarring. Some actions were just irreversible.

A stack of parchment was carefully pressed into Carver's hands. On top of them sat a wax stick, a quill, and a wooden stamp of the Theirin crest. Carver slowly sat up in his bed, gazing at Solas with touched surprise.

The man uncapped an ink well on one of Carver's bedside tables and, with an elegant gesture, lit a nearby candle. "For melting the wax," Solas said, before rising from his stool. "I don't recommend leaving your bed to write a few letters, but don't forget to walk around your room everyday. If you place your letters by the door, Leliana will pick them up. Your meals will likewise await you at your door."

Carver watched him leave the room, astonished. "Were you one of the healers who worked on me?"

Solas paused, face heavy with an emotion Carver wasn't equipped to comprehend, before a narrow chin jerked at where linen covered Carver's bandaged abdomen. "That one's at least my fault."

After much internal conflict, Carver decided to pass on his cover story to Cailan, Anora, and Nails in his update about Corypheus' manipulation of a fake Calling, whereupon the Crown decided that at this point, the king's army couldn't fault "Gavin Carver" for his identity fraud. He was thus pardoned of a crime that the victim was refusing to press charges for anyway. More than anything, the Crown was enraged at Corypheus' actions considering Cailan's condition, and expressed fierce gratitude that Carver was working with the Inquisition.

In the same exchange, Carver was troubled to hear of a rogue apostate's failed – if clumsy – assassination attempt against the king and queen, and opened an inquiry to Nails for further investigation. Aware of consequently high tensions in Denerim and the possibility of venatori involvement, Carver shed his cowardice and also limped out of his room to search for Bull, who was fortunately rooming just next to him.

With Dorian.

They were clothed, thank the Maker, yet Bull still considerately stepped out and closed the door behind him to listen as Carver explained how he didn't want the Arishok to hear about his true situation from Qunari spies. Carver didn't divulge that his letter for the Arishok also included suspicions of venatori in Denerim, but Bull surprisingly promised that the letter would reach its intended recipient without further persuasion. Apparently, Bull and Dorian were now exclusive, and they could partially credit it to Carver.

That didn't mean the air between them wasn't awkward. According to Bull, he admitted that Carver was only still with the Inquisition because Ellana was allowing it; everyone had to tolerate sharing the same building as Carver, much as they had been with Cole when he had first been recruited. Carver was an alien existence to them. It felt like starting over at square one.

While Bull and Carver agreed to keep it professional and respect Arishok's reaction between them, whatever it might be, one of Carver's first friends turned out to not be overly affected by the news when the qunari's response arrived. Reading between the lines, Carver detected that Arishok was in fact a little upset that Zevran – "the elf" – had known about Carver's secret before Arishok had. The qunari knew better than most that Carver was a proponent of world order, and with Carver's Templar abilities and the Fade's past allergy of Carver, he wasn't a risk to the people around him. Carver was still privately Arishok's kadan.

However, Arishok didn't recommend that Carver travelled to Seheron or Par Vollen.

Ever.

Accepting the logical warning, Carver focused on work. Between the Ben-Hassrath and Postal Service's investigation, Anora was livid to learn that the Venatori would dare use the Crown's near-murder for fool-proofing their plans of burning Denerim down with a venatori fire ship. The king's army and the Ben-Hassrath swiftly managed to sink the fire ship far from Denerim's port, the proven plot triggering the Qunari priesthood to assign Tallis on the Venatori's trail, and Leliana was quickly brought up to speed as Tallis' investigation brought her to Skyhold, then Orlais.

While Carver had been occupied with all this, he had also been agonising over what to write to Bethany and Leandra. He painstakingly drafted numerous letters of which he ended up only sending a few — only to fret over his pose and decidedly send another dozen letters to follow up. Half of Carver's outbound mail, between personal letters to Arishok and formal responses to the Crown, was Carver's unfiltered guilt and concern for the Hawkes. It felt wrong to claim he hadn't been able to read Bethany's response to his true identity because Garrett was evidently avoiding him. The very least Carver could do was reach out. Though, Bethany and Leandra had yet to write back.

As three spy networks – though the Postal Service chose to remain beyond Leliana's awareness – came together to hunt down venatori spies within the Inquisition, Josephine's exhaustive preparations in Lord Esmeral's mansion began to finally reach their completion.

The Winter Ball was upon them.