The Revered Mothers Hevara, Alethea, and Bernette arranged themselves primly around the low stone table. They sat together at one edge of the circle, three red-robed fingers crowning a spherical palm; opposite them sat the golden-ruffled figure of the former Antivan ambassador, Lady Josephine Montilyet, and the fresh-faced heretic known as the Herald of Andraste, whose name they loathed to pronounce.

Mother Hevara was seated in between her fellow sisters, flanked by the stout Mother Bernette on her left and the high-strung Mother Alethea on her right. Both parties sat silent in the spacious council room even as a fragrant tea was served for their refreshment, and after the first few sips had taken place.

"Revered Chantry Mothers, we are honored for this chance to sit before you today," Lady Josephine began, her smooth voice rolling along the flowery nuances of her accent. "Truly, it is a blessing to be in your presence. We are most pleased that you have agreed to our request of an audience." She spoke as though this was a meeting between numerous dignitaries. In truth, there should have been more Mothers present, but as Mother Hevara had said on that cursed day, most of the clerics were scattered in their opinions. It was a miracle that Alethea and Bernette agreed to come at all.

Beside the ambassador, the young heretic smiled, almond eyes glittering deceptively in the sunlight streaming through the windows. As if in mockery of the Mothers, some of that light touched her cheek, setting her sickly colored skin aglow.

It was not natural, that pale golden tone. As far as Mother Hevara knew, it occurred not at all in any of the inhabitants of Thedas, not unless the fairer ones were ill; but even then it wouldn't be that exact shade. That should have been enough to signal to most others that this was no regular resident of Thedas. And when she claimed to be touched by Andraste, it should have made her even more suspicious as an obvious ploy to bewitch those who laid eyes on her, to stir their greed of gold and have them believe it a symbol of Andraste's choice, though she herself was not remarkably beautiful. But Mother Hevara did not blame the ones who accepted or tolerated her; it was not Thedosian custom to discriminate based on skin color. The races themselves were already divided enough; why exacerbate the problem with standards of skin pigmentation? A human was a human, a Qunari a Qunari, an elf an elf, etcetera, etcetera, regardless of their hues.

"We are understanding of your desire to make amends with the Chantry," said Mother Hevara, choosing her words carefully. "I only regret that it was not possible upon our first meeting."

Josephine smiled sympathetically. "Of course, it was not an amenable day for negotiations. Even if we could, we would not have pushed them upon you in good conscience. But those obstacles are no longer present; we hope to reach a satisfactory agreement as a result of today."

Next to Josephine, the heretic stirred. "Are you feeling better, Mother Hevara?" she asked, her tone innocent. "You fell rather hard that day. I was afraid you had injured yourself badly."

Alethea and Bernette sent brief glances at Mother Hevara from the corners of their eyes. The Mother herself resumed her placid expression, although a flash of pain from the memory of the punch flared briefly at the back of her head and her side. "I am well, thank you," she answered formally. That was as much warmth as she was willing to give the heretic; it displeased her not a little that the catastrophic events of their first encounter were brought up at all. So Lady Montilyet has shown her how to polish her tongue, Mother Hevara thought, noticing the new smoothness and timing to the Herald's words; they had been choppy and informal several days ago.

"That is good to hear. I only hope we have not come at an improper time," Josephine then said, looking round at the empty chairs. "I take it that most of the Mothers are occupied by more pressing matters? Should we return at later date?"

"'They will see what can be gained, and though we are few against the wind, we are yours'," intoned Mother Bernette. "Trials five, verse one." The stout little woman cleared her throat and smiled pleasantly at Josephine. "I fear we miss an opportunity if we postpone this meeting further to wait for our fellow sisters. All of us here at the Chantry have been frightfully busy on account of the next Divine Election; you are aware of how suddenly it is being thrust upon us."

"Of course," the ambassador nodded. But crafty little thing she was, she knew the truth. Mother Hevara could feel it.

"We shall, of course, pass this on to our fellow sisters," Alethea chimed in. "Not much is left unknown between us; as servants of the Maker and reciters of the Chant of Light, we seldom keep each other in the dark about such matters."

That, too, was a falsehood one such as Lady Josephine could easily see through. But it was the custom of statescraft to make such statements, was it not? "Well, then, I believe we can move forward without hesitance."

At this, the false Herald straightened in her seat. She held her head up to gaze directly into the Revered Mothers' eyes and said, "I want to make my position clear to the Chantry. I know you believe I killed the Divine and plan to usurp the Chantry, as well as other things. I know why you think that, but I want to tell you today that none of it is true."

"We have only your words to stand for it, whereas we have seen what seems to be clear evidence," Mother Alethea put in. "Divine Justinia's death stands foremost in this pile of debris; how is it that you survived the explosion at the Conclave, while every other attendee perished? And what was our Most Holy being held in sacrifice for, if not so you could cross over into our world?"

"Let us not forget, the youngest Trevelyan fell victim to this sacrifice as well," added Mother Bernette.

The young heretic seemed unsurprised to hear the accusations. Whether it was because Lady Josephine schooled her well, or she was used to them by now, she answered them in an even and practiced manner. "I've heard these things before," she said. "They were the exact same things brought against me when I woke up in Haven. Unfortunately, I can't tell you anything now beyond what I've said then: I did not kill the Divine or Bann Trevelyan's son. In fact, I was in danger in my world right before I crossed into this one, from a rift that opened in my backyard. If I survived the explosion, it's most likely because I was not there in the first place. Chosen or not, no one could survive a blast that huge. Don't you agree?"

Mother Hevara waved the matter away with a dismissive hand. "Indeed, that is a given; but you forget that if it was a ritual aimed to summon you, then of course you would be unharmed."

"If I was summoned, then I didn't know it," the heretic answered frankly. She sighed. "If I could have done something to stop the explosion, to keep all those people from dying, then I would have done it. If there's a chance to do so now, I would trade everything I have to do it. You may not believe me, but I am disturbed by all this just as much as you are. Yes, I have nothing but words to defend me, but I cannot answer you otherwise, because to do so would be to lie."

"Very well. Assuming that is true – why does the Inquisition make a stand as its own entity? Divine Justinia wished to reinstate it only if the Conclave failed. However, the Conclave was destroyed before we could even know what became of it. Explain to me why this must be so." Mother Hevara sat back as she finished, challenging the heretic with a level gaze.

The heretic stared at her awhile, as if considering what to say, before answering, "The Inquisition exists because we want to help."

Mother Alethea and Mother Bernette leaned forward in their seats, as if they hadn't heard her correctly. "To help?" Mother Alethea echoed incredulously.

"The templars have gone rogue, the mages continue to rebel, and the explosion took away all of your higher-ranked clerics; I know it would be the first instinct of the Chantry to try and restore order, but you must agree that you cannot do it on your own." Her brown eyes slanted in sympathy. "To take on so many duties at once, and to be able to open your hearts in such troubling times...that's admirable."

Mother Hevara noticed the confused glances of her sisters, but did not deign to return them. This is new, she thought, considering the Inquisition's hostile stance that Chancellor Roderick initially reported to them. But of course, it is of the sly ambassador's doing, she next thought as she watched the Antivan woman's carefully composed expression. There was no way this bumbling child could have thought of that all on her own.

"Now I know why Mother Giselle made me feel so warm when I spoke to her," the false Herald was saying, and Mother Hevara's attention returned to her. "And why she was doing all she could for the refugees at the Crossroads. Can you blame us for wanting to help as well? Many people in Thedas have charitable hearts, and that includes the Inquisition. I know, it seems presumptuous of us to take the late Divine Justinia's writ into our own hands – but as the Chantry has proved, good work can be done better when in greater numbers. And what the Chantry needs right now is not another child to care for, but an ally to stand at its side."

The Chantry, allied to the Inquisition? Preposterous! Mother Alethea and Mother Bernette were fast losing the battle of holding in their protestations, and Mother Hevara felt the heat rise in her chest as well at the notion of this...this scandalous idea! But she knew they must rein in their emotions. So she said, "Should that be true, we would gladly welcome the chance to let fellow Thedosians do good in the name of The Maker...however, we cannot rightly align ourselves with someone claiming to be, quite literally, touched by Andraste. It would be absolute heresy."

"I don't claim that privilege, as I have told you," the heretic argued. "I could care less about it. The only thing that matters is that I was touched by this" – she held up her left hand – "and it is the only thing so far that can stop the rifts and the Breach. So you can rest assured that I have no ideas about claiming divinity or whatever it is you hear people saying about me." Putting her hand down, a flash of concern rippled through her features. "Speaking of what people say...I was very concerned when I heard that the Chantry was thinking of hiring mercenaries to guard the Cathedral. Isn't that right, Josephine?"

For the first time since the false Herald began speaking, the Inquisition's ambassador made her opinions known. "It is a very worrying prospect, indeed. It reminds us all of how selfish Lord Seeker Lucius was to withdraw his support, leaving you all to not only worry about the state of the world, but of your own safety as well."

So they heard that little piece of news. Wonderful. Mother Hevara sighed, realizing now how prophetic her words had been. It is out of our hands now...We shall all see what the Maker plans in the days to come. "And what is it that you are suggesting?" she asked at last, not knowing whether to be interested or affronted. Meanwhile, their tea sat before them, cold.

"We have brought with us a small troop of soldiers," Lady Josephine replied. "It was not our first intention, but if the Chantry would give us the honor, then we would be more than happy to leave them behind, and they, of course, even happier to serve."

"And once we send word to our Commander, a proper regiment can be sent over," the heretic added, eyes shining optimistically. If one was not careful, one could even say they were filled with goodwill.

"We ask for nothing in return; we only wish to rest assured in the safety of the Chantry."

"Don't you agree, Revered Mothers?" Brown, hopeful eyes assailed the three of them, as inquisitive and guiltless as a young child in spring.

It is out of our hands now; we shall all see what the Maker plans in the days to come–

So Mother Hevara thought.

"Perfect!" Josephine cheered once they were in the privacy of their coach. "You have done well today, Lady Ahnnie!"

Ahnnie blushed, starting a bit when the coach jolted to life, but then relaxed serenly into its comfy upholstery a moment later. "I couldn't have done it without you, Josephine. And wow! The difference that it made, when you thought of all those things to say–" Things that were, refreshingly enough, also aligned with her thoughts.

"What did I tell you?" Josephine asked, a mischeivous twinkle in her eye. "Lady Cassandra is a stalwart protector, but when it comes to the nuances of diplomacy..."

"...you are better suited for giving me advice," Ahnnie finished, smiling widely.

The gold-ruffled ambassador laughed, a pleasant tinkling like a merry bell's.

Her mirth was contagious, and Ahnnie felt her own optimism swell. She did not expect this audience with the Chantry Mothers – not so soon, anyway – but Josephine leaped at the chance when the mercenary rumor started circling about the city. A rumor that reached their ears thanks, perhaps, to a certain Friend of Red Jenny they had made on the first night of their arrival..."But do you think the Chantry will accept our soldiers?" she asked.

"Even if they do not, we have made quite the impression on them," Josephine mused. "But I think that they will. Mercenaries, depending on one's haggling skills, can be notorious purse-bleeders. And what would it signal to everyone else in the world, but that the capital of the Chantry is desperate? No, they will accept...you will see."

The coach took some time to fully ride out of the wide Cathedral courtyard, and even longer after that to find its way onto the main road, but once the course was set the city whizzed past them in a luxurious, colorful blur. In around a quarter to the next hour, they were deposited on the doorstep of the plain but sprightly L'auberge de Licorne. Ahnnie opened the door to her side, slipping out, and Josephine did likewise. The ambassador only stopped to pay the driver before following the girl up to the inn's door.

When they came inside, they found the innkeeper's wife bestowing chirping flattery upon a smartly dressed man, who was enduring her compliments with admirable patience. He wore an intricate mask made of slightly cheaper material, denoting his position as a servant to nobility, and his livery uniform was crisp and handsome. At the sight of the two young women, he stirred in their direction, and when he turned his head to fully reveal his mask's patterns, Josephine's eyes widened a moment in awe.

"What is it?" Ahnnie asked.

But the ambassador was not able to answer her question in time. The man strode forward, cleared his throat, and promptly addressed her: "You are the Herald of Andraste, are you not?"

Ahnnie watched him curiously. "People call me that, yes."

"I have an invitation for you from the First Enchanter of Montsimmard, also Enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais, the Madame Vivienne. She wishes you to attend her salon at the chateau of Duke Bastien de Ghislain, and to consider her humble offer of hospitality. Should you accept, I have orders to pay the remaining balance of your stay at this esteemed inn and arrange the delivery of your belongings, along with that of your retinue, to the chateau."

Ahnnie blinked, overwhelmed by the suddenness of the grand invitations; also, she was not versed enough in the Orlesian court to understand their true significance. But Josephine was.

"If it is not too much trouble, we would be honored to accept," the ambassador replied smoothly, the satisfaction showing in her voice.

Ahnnie looked confusedly at Josephine, but neither ambassador nor well-dressed servant seemed to notice her. "Very well," the man said, his lower face alight with a smile. "I shall get to it straight away."

When he returned to the innkeeper's wife, this time willingly engaging in business arrangements, her portly husband became interested as well and ambled over to take part in the proceedings. Both proprietors of L'auberge de Licorne readily accepted the messenger's offer, faces shining in delight at the amount he proposed to pay. While they were thus occupied, Ahnnie turned to Josephine again, eager for an explanation.

The ambassador beamed at her, clearly on cloud nine. "This day could not have gotten any better, for we have caught the attention of Madame Vivienne – Court Enchanter to the Empress of Orlais!"

The next few moments went by in a dizzying blur. Bags were packed, rooms turned out, scoured, checked, double-checked, and their former inhabitants ushered into the lobby or immediate area around the inn to await carriages to take them to the Chateau de Ghislain. Cassandra was displeased with the unexpected nature of the arrangements, but trusted Josephine's judgement in accepting the invitation nonetheless.

Ahnnie stood by Blackwall and Solas as these developments unfolded around them. They were crammed amongst their bags and soldiers, although Solas was lucky enough to claim a chair for himself.

"How the tides of fortune have turned," Solas remarked as he looked about the room.

Blackwall grunted, seemingly indifferent to the whole affair.

Ahnnie herself confessed a certain excitement upon learning the importance of their new host. "She's a mage, too," she said, looking at Solas. "What do you think about that?"

He gave her a curious look. "Am I supposed to feel pleased?"

She shrugged, saying nothing but returning his look with an equal one of her own.

"We shall see," Solas then chuckled, patting her on the arm.

The carriages arrived a while later, pulling up against the curb in front of the inn. To anyone watching, they were a stark contrast between the building they parked next to, gilded wealth beside homely quaintness. Ahnnie was certainly aware of the attention factor it gained in these parts, and felt embarrassed as she put her foot on the step to embark on the first of its brethren with her companions – but then her back prickled with that familiar sensation, and she whirled around on instinct to see what it was. It frustrated her more than a little that she saw nothing or no one in particular, yet felt as though someone was looking back at her. Drooping, sullen eyes were foremost in her mind, yet she could think of no reason why they should be so prominent.

With a shrug, she pulled herself into the carriage and chose the seat farthest from the door. Why think of fleeting shadows when there was something much more important to look forward to?

The drive to the Chateau de Ghislain took even longer than the one to the Grand Cathedral. If Ahnnie paid attention, she would have noticed that they were heading to the far north of the city. Of the five of them, only she and Josephine seemed the most excited about their new lodgings. Cassandra and Blackwall were nonchalant, while Solas's expression was cryptic, as always. As a result, their conversations were scattered and few, though they were quite interesting at times.

"I've wondered...how did you know to approach us, Solas?" Cassandra asked all of a sudden, drawing curious glances from the others in the carriage, Ahnnie especially. "The Breach opened, we were scrambling and barely had time to think... and there you were."

"I went to see the Breach for myself," Solas explained. "I did not know you would be there."

"You must not have been far away."

"I was not. I'd come to hear of the Conclave, but did not want to get close."

"Hmm." She sank back into her seat, her face thoughtful. "Lucky for us, then." Ahnnie couldn't tell whether that was sarcasm, teasing, or actual thought.

And then, at other times, Ahnnie noticed discreet looks passed between Blackwall and Josephine – fleeting glances and flitting smiles that even they themselves probably weren't aware of. Most of it was initiated by Blackwall, who she caught staring at Josephine several times, particularly when the carriage turned to let sunlight fall upon the ambassador, crowning her dark curls in a soft halo and setting her smooth bronze skin aglow.

It made Ahnnie grin, though of course she assumed nothing...yet.

Once they reached the Chateau, they were cordially welcomed by waiting servants and escorted through the lavish halls to their rooms. Josephine walked with Ahnnie, content to be shown to her room later. The others went their own ways, and Ahnnie wondered what the servants thought about Solas being in their party. Some of them, she had noticed, were elves as well. They would not look her straight in the eye, though she gave them friendly smiles, but perhaps they might feel more comfortable with Solas?

"And here is your room, my lady."

Her attention returned to the servant and the large door they stopped in front of. The servant pushed it open to reveal a spacious bedchamber, elegantly furnished. Each piece of furniture was art, and each piece of art, a fashion statement. If Ahnnie was not careful, she could almost fool herself into believing this was the bedroom of Queen Marie Antoinette. The large canopied bed in the center caught most of her attention, as did the rich, velvety carpet spread across the smooth marble floor. Once they were within the room, Josephine let out a tiny squeal of delight and flopped backwards onto the bed, sinking into its luxurious softness.

"I am not dreaming," the Inquisition ambassador giggled. "It is a bed – a real, feather bed!"

Ahnnie raised an eyebrow in amusement and went up to the bed, depositing her bag at its foot. She had insisted on carrying her luggage with her, since it was not cumbersome. "You sound as though you were forced to sleep on the floor or something."

Josephine sighed in content, and raised herself into a sitting position. "I do not mean to sound ungrateful, but it has been a dreadfully long time since I've seen something so comfortable."

"How do you manage at Haven, then?" Ahnnie laughed, settling herself onto the opposite edge of the bed. She's right – it is comfy.

Josephine shrugged. "One adjusts. I stay busy. It helps me to take my mind from our surroundings. And the cold. And the wildlife. And the lack of civilization for miles around..." She sighed. "Why anyone lived there before we found Andraste's ashes, I cannot imagine."

My only complaint? The lack of indoor plumbing. It was discomfiting at first, learning how to live in a world without modernity, but she soon discovered that the trouble to trump all troubles was the complete lack of flush-able toilets. She could sleep in a cold room, provided there were enough blankets; she could camp out, wear a pair of clothes twice, even go a day or two without some form of bathing (although two days were her limit); but to degrade herself by squatting over the ground or a chamber pot and praying she didn't miss? She could do without that. And then she spotted a little brass pot sitting like a dainty toad in the corner of the room. Ugh...I spoke too soon...

Josephine got up from the bed and went over to the curtained windows. Gripping the elegant fabric carefully in her hands, she pushed them aside and let in a great stream of light. Ahnnie gasped in awe as an intricate set of gardens opened up through the glass, sprawling and green and carefully trimmed to create stimulating geometric shapes, encircling a pretty stone fountain. She was suddenly struck with the urge to walk along its white gravel path and to try out one of the mazes.

"Much better," Josephine remarked. "Now, let us see what clothes you have. You will want to look presentable for the salon."

Ahnnie grabbed her bag and opened it, depositing the garments on the bed beside her. "Are you sure I can go wearing my usual stuff? It might be too informal...Oh, I also have clothes I haven't laundered yet," she remarked, looking at the crumpled clothing at the bottom, separated from the clean ones by a single rag.

"I can take care of that for you, my lady," the servant offered, and Ahnnie then realized she hadn't yet left her spot in the doorway.

"Oh, thank you," she said, and got up to hand over the dirty clothes.

"Would you like a hot bath drawn for you?" the servant then asked.

Josephine perked up at this. "Yes, she would like one straight away," she answered for Ahnnie, so eager it was almost as if the bath was being drawn for her instead.

As much as Ahnnie did not want to seem like a rich lady ordering around a servant, she had to agree that a hot bath would be nice. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when she had a hot bath in Thedas; Haven was too frigid for any bath at all, forcing her to use the wet-and-wipe-down method, and the lakes of the Hinterlands were cold to the touch. A hot bath seemed like a long-forgotten fantasy.

I think I'm going to like it here, she thought.

"Lady Yiemen of America, representing the Inquisition."

Ahnnie paused in the doorway, listening with incredulity to her announced title, before continuing on her way into the gilt vestibule. She did her best to stifle a laugh and pretended to look about her with interest, gazing appreciatively at the fancy marble work and a tinkling fountain running along the sides of the double stairs leading to the second tier.

All around her a loose scattering of nobles gossiped over wine cups and hors d'oeuvres, doll-like in their masks and dress. Orlesian fashion seemed to her a curious mix of French renaissance and revolutionary styles, with their own unique influence such as the elongated bodice on the dresses and the peculiar off-shoulder coats that some men wore. In contrast, she herself was wearing a regular tunic and breeches, but with some added flair that Lady Josephine took the liberty of arranging.

A dark half-cloak was clasped around her neck and swept dramatically over a shoulder. Using the longest tunic in her possession, Josephine flared its sleeves and belted it directly at the waist to emphasize her figure, and then tucked the breeches as far as she could into freshly polished boots to produce the least amount of folds. Last but not least, the ambassador braided the full length of her black hair as soon as it was dried, loosening it a bit near the top before tossing it carelessly over a shoulder.

"The noble adventurer," Josephine had called the look when she stepped back to admire her handiwork. The glaive-guisarme was strapped to her back as a finishing touch, little more than an overly sized trinket to show off at the salon since no fighting would be expected (or allowed, for that matter). Besides, it was Orlesian in concept, which Josephine was sure would please more than a few guests.

Thus it came as no surprise to Ahnnie that she stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the Orlesian nobility. The announcer didn't even need to call out her peculiar epithet. If no one noticed her upon stepping in, they would be sure to notice her after a while of standing in the middle of the vestibule.

A servant glided by, bearing a tray of the little hor d'oeuvres. He stopped inquisitively at her side, confusing her at first, until she finally understood and chanced a small helping, plopping the treat into her mouth. A buttery pastry crust exploded on her tongue, spilling out the deliciously sweet and savoury filling within. Another servant followed suit, offering her a glass of an effervescent drink, but she declined; she did not wish to get drunk in this setting.

When the servant was gone, two nobles approached and greeted her cordially. "What a pleasure to meet you, my lady," the first of them, a nobleman, said. "Seeing the same faces at every event becomes so tiresome."

Ahnnie tried not to let the surprise at their friendliness show on her face. She had been so used to hostile receptions from the Orlesians, that she half-expected them to insult her. "Likewise," she returned with a small bow of her head, as Josephine taught. "May I have the honor of knowing whose esteemed company I am in?"

The nobleman smiled, clearly pleased by her manners. "Comte and Comtesse Antoine and Sabine de Sauvageau. And you must be Yiemen de America? Did I pronounce it correctly?"

His accent on her name and the word 'America' was comical. She held in her breath, not daring to show any mirth, not even a smile. "Yes," she replied a moment later, still keeping some of the breath down in her throat. Much to her misfortune, her nickname would not be appropriate here.

Comte Antoine nodded pleasantly. "So, you must be a guest of Madame de Fer. Or are you here for Duke Bastien?"

"Are you here on business?" Comtesse Sabine added, her airy voice light and curious. "I have heard the most curious tales of you; I cannot imagine half of them are true."

Ahnnie smiled at them. "I can't imagine it either, since most of them are exaggerations. And I gue – ahem – suppose that I'm here on business, of a sort. But, if I may ask...who is Madame de Fer? I only know that I was invited here by a Madame Vivienne."

"'Madame de Fer' is a...fond nickname the court has given Madame Vivienne," Antoine explained.

"I've heard she finds it amusing," Sabine remarked.

Madame de Fer...what does it mean? Ahnnie was tempted to ask, but wasn't sure it would be a Game-savvy move to do so. Instead, she nodded along to what they told her, as though she understood. "What of Duke Bastien? I've heard very little of him, to be honest, and this is his home."

"He hasn't been seen much at court lately," Sabine admitted.

"His business with the Council of Heralds often takes him from home for long periods," Antoine added. "It can't be good for a man of his years."

"And of course, there's the civil war. Bastien probably wishes to distance himself from the actions of his one-time son-in-law."

Ahnnie had heard a little bit about the civil war from Josephine. Something about a conflict between Empress Celene and a Grand Duke Gaspard for power. She only hoped her scant knowledge was enough to converse with the de Sauvageau's, and anyone else who might come.

"Tearing up the Dales in a foolish bid for power? It will end in disgrace for Gaspard. Everyone knows it." Comte Antoine was on the royalist side, then.

Sabine nodded in assent, but was quick to change the subject. "Let us not think of the civil war now. Tell us more about yourself, oh, and your stories – surely you must have several of your own?"

"A few memories made with the glaive, perhaps," Antoine suggested, nodding appreciatively at the weapon.

"You'd be disappointed," Ahnnie demurred with a light chuckle. "They're not as interesting as the ones you've heard. Some of those storytellers might have gotten a little carried away."

"But only for the best effect," Sabine pointed out. "After all, your world and the Inquisition are ripe subjects for wild tales."

Ah...so I'll have to do some world-talk today. She could already foresee a sore jaw awaiting her at the end of the evening. Nobles and their curiosity, she inwardly sighed, but to the Comte and Comtesse she presented an amiable expression. "Well, to start off, I–"

"The Inquisition! What a load of pig shit."

The contemptuous remark emanated from a man in a feathered mask descending the stairs behind them. "Washed-up sisters and crazed Seekers?" he spat as he came off the last step. "No one can take them seriously." He glided arrogantly past Ahnnie to pace about the room, raising the volume of his voice to ensure he was heard by all within earshot. "Everyone knows it's just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power."

Great. Her first public challenge while alone. Stay calm, she told herself. You can do this. Since it was a jab about the Inquisition being power hungry, a familiar one she'd dealt with just that morning, Ahnnie returned as evenly as she could, "The Inquisition is only working to restore peace."

"Here comes the Otherworlder," Feather Mask taunted, "restoring peace with an army!"

"Our aim is defense, not invasion," Ahnnie continued, recalling Blackwall's words to her and adjusting them to fit the occasion.

Feather Mask smirked at her response and walked up to her, coming in so close he was suddenly breaching her personal space. She fought the urge to back up and looked confusedly into his mask, as if to question his intentions. The difference in their height was a palpable disparity. As she craned back her neck to look up at him, she could see faint stubble peppering the length of his jaw, and from behind his head, the gleam of an intricate rapier handle resting at his back.

"We know what your 'Inquisition' truly is," he murmured personally to her. Then, speaking louder, "If you were a woman of honor, you'd step outside and answer the charges."

She was clueless as to what he meant until he made a backward reach for his rapier's hilt. A duel! Godammit, he was challenging her to a duel! Josephine never told her anything about fighting duels!

Just as Feather Mask's rapier was beginning to leave its scabbard, a flash of white light suddenly paralyzed him, trapping his arm in a brace of ice around his neck. He gasped and sputtered in shock, the ice creeping up as far as his bottom lip.

A rich, chocolatey voice admonished him from above. "My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house...to my guests."

Everyone turned at the sound of the voice. A cloth of silver queen appeared, crowned by a bold headdress that twined above her head in two twirling points. She sashayed down the steps, her costume glittering in the light like fresh winter's ice. "You know such rudeness is...intolerable," she purred, her tone displeased. And yet it carried a certain satisfaction, like a predator toying with its catch.

"Ah, Madame Vivienne," the Marquis shuddered, "I humbly beg your pardon!"

"You should," she agreed. She finally came round to him and peered at his face through her silver mask. "Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?" the Madame sighed, and turned to face Ahnnie. "My lady, you're the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?"

Ahnnie regarded the regal figure before her. Surprisingly enough, Madame Vivienne's accent was not Orlesian. It was more Fereldan-like, but on the cultured and delicate side, like Evelyn's. On an unrelated note, her headdress reminded Ahnnie of a silvery Maleficent. Then she looked at the frozen Marquis, and immediately balked at the idea of deciding his fate. "It's all right," she assured the Madame. "It was just a few harsh words. Please, let him go."

Madame Vivienne nodded and turned back to her prisoner. But she did not release him immediately, taking the time instead to cup his frozen cheek. "Poor Marquis, issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Fereldan dog-lord..." Then the ice disappeared with a snap of her fingers. The Marquis' arm dropped back to his side, and he lifted it back up only to cover his mouth as he coughed.

But she was not done with him. Though he no longer was locked in her magic's embrace, Madame Vivienne continued to attack him with the other weapons in her arsenal. "And all dressed up in your aunt Solange's doublet. Didn't she give you that to wear to the Grand Tourney? To think, all the brave chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning...and you're still here. Were you hoping to sate your damaged pride by defeating the Herald of Andraste in a public duel? Or did you think her blade could put an end to the misery of your failure?"

The Marquis looked down, cowed. Sensing that his presence was no longer welcome at the salon, he wordlessly headed for the door, taking his rapier and tattered dignity with him.

"Run along, my dear," Madame Vivienne mocked with a little shooing gesture at his back. "Do give my regards to your aunt."

Ahnnie suddenly found herself feeling sorry for the Marquis. Looking at the nobles around her, though, she could see they didn't feel the same. At first glance, they appeared to have no reaction, but if she listened closely she could hear amused murmurs and a derisive chuckle here and there. An uncomfortable feeling swirled in her belly as she took this all in. The Grand Game is brutal, she thought in distaste.

"I'm delighted you could attend this little gathering," Madame Vivienne said once the Marquis was gone, drawing Ahnnie's attention back on her. "I've so wanted to meet you. Come," she gestured, drawing the girl aside.

They stood by an open window in a lonely corner of the vestibule, illuminated only by the moonlight streaming in from outside. It opened out to the same gardens Ahnnie had seen from the window in her room, just at a different angle. She breathed in the cool night air, letting it fill her lungs with the fresh scent of the gardens. It gave her some courage as she turned back to face Vivienne, wondering for what purpose the Enchanter sought to isolate her from the rest of the salon.

"Allow me to introduce myself," Madame Vivienne began. "I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court."

Ahnnie did her best to muster a sincere smile. She already knew her host's identity and titles, but listened to her as a matter of custom. "Charmed, Madame Vivienne."

"Ah, but I didn't invite you to the Chateau for pleasantries."

Ahnnie didn't think that was the bulk of the salon, either. After watching her shred the Marquis' dignity into pieces, Madame Vivienne turned out to be much too crafty to extend an invitation to a controversial figure just for fun.

"You are already aware of the current state of the Chantry," Vivienne went on. "Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people. As the leader of the last loyal mages in Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause."

"Last loyal mages?" Ahnnie echoed, puzzled by her new claim.

"To the people of Thedas, of course. We have not forgotten the commandment, as some have, that magic exists to serve man. I support any efforts to restore such order."

"As in, the Circles?"

"Of course," Vivienne nodded, her dark eyes purposeful. "Where else can mages safely learn to master their talents? We need an institution to protect and nurture magic. Maker knows, magic will find neither on its own."

She's not going to like Solas, then, Ahnnie thought in dismay. Hopefully, she would understand his presence in the Inquisition. And hopefully, Solas would understand Madame Vivienne's new membership, for the Inquisition would need allies as powerful and influential as she was. Such an alliance was heavily encouraged by Josephine, who briefed her on it while they were still getting ready. "She is well-versed in the politics of the Orlesian Empire," the ambassador had explained. "She knows every member of the Imperial Court personally. She has all the resources remaining to the Circle at her disposal, and she is a mage of no small talent. She will be most beneficial to the Inquisition; do not let the chance to ally with her slip away, should it arise!"

"That is very kind of you," Ahnnie thanked her, Josephine's words still ringing in her mind. "So, you have no problems with the Chantry not sanctioning the Inquisition...?"

"The Chantry is leaderless," Vivienne interjected. "They're in no position to officially sanction anything."

"You're not worried it might negatively affect you?"

She simply smiled at Ahnnie. "My dear, if there is one virtue the Chant of Light teaches us, it is forgiveness. Once the Inquisition has sealed the Breach, I'm sure the new Divine will not care in the slightest about official permission. Even so, I decide my own fate; I won't wait quietly for destruction."

That was a quality Ahnnie had to admit was particularly encouraging in a player of the Grand Game. "In that case, the Inquisition would gladly welcome support from someone in the Imperial Palace," she said, already imagining Josephine's happy reaction.

"Ordinarily, I would be happy to serve as liaison to the court," said Vivienne, "but these are not ordinary times. It is now the duty of every mage to work toward sealing the Breach, and so I would join the Inquisition on the field of battle."

Ahnnie blinked. She had not been expecting that. A moment later, however, her face warmed into a smile that was now truly sincere. "We would be even happier to have you beside us." For all the cold calculation Vivienne seemed to be composed of earlier, Ahnnie found herself liking the Enchanter's directness. God knows she herself would have gone insane in a culture as cunning as the Orlesian's.

Madame Vivienne was greatly pleased with this answer, and it came through in her voice. "Great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that." With a hand of invitation, she beckoned Ahnnie back in the direction of the nobility. "Come, let us return to the salon – my guests would be most happy to hear more about America. I'm afraid the Chantry has only given us unsavory descriptions. You must come set the record straight."

"Of course, Madame Vivienne."