Chapter 7

Vel of house Vestinus was living downright meagerly by Vintish standards. Dorian had arrived to take a later dinner with him before talking business. It was one of his lover's more clever ideas. Vel was new to the Senate, as was Dorian, and if Fitzwilliam's intelligence could be relied upon, as he was sure it could, the young Magister and he had a great many philosophies in common. Still, House Vestinus was an old one and he'd been to the main manor many times in his life. It was a garish show of wealth, gems and precious metals decorating even the most mundane objects. He'd expected the same when he arrived at the north manor where Vel made his home, or would when he married. He'd been surprised the moment he walked in.

Where he had expected silks and gold and glittering stones he had found plain furnishings. Tasteful and well-appointed, to be sure, but plain – fine wood, engraved but not gilded. Wool hangings, beautiful and exotic, but hardly showy. Silver and crystal bowls, tumbler, and plates, but peppered in among many more simple wood and glass. And somehow they were made to look no less lovely for their simplicity. The woods were varied, dark or stripped or even natural purple-heart, but polished until they shone. It made an eclectic display but an effective one.

"I apologize for my home, Master Pavus," Vel said with a small smile as they sat down to tea in the salon. "I imagine you're used to something a bit more lavish." He held the teacup delicately, steam curling from the beverage. A simple piece, glazed ceramic where his father would have presented gold-dipped porcelain.

Dorian smiled back, guardedly, as was always the case during these "business" meals. "I thought it quite lovely, actually," he said sincerely. Not that he expected it to be received that way. Vel had been a bit cautious as they ate. His words were few and well-considered, he had nodded politely and given shallow compliments. He'd practically come off as bored. "You've a fine eye for the minimalist atheistic."

His tea was also quite hot and he lifted it to his lips, blowing gently and sending small ripples across the surface. He waited for a snide remark to show he had taken offense but Vel just smiled a little, almost embarrassed thing and nodded his thanks. Maker, no wonder Fitzwilliam had directed him to this boy. He was far too genuine to make it in the senate. He virtually wore his heart on his sleeve.

And suddenly the entire lens through which he had viewed their dinner conversations focused. He wasn't being dismissive, or acting bored. He'd felt awkward entertaining. Maybe even anxious about having Dorian, whose social standing was legendary if not always favored, in his home. Everything Dorian had thought part of a mask was actually just stroppy Vel being who he was. It would make him easy to work with and trust, but his career in the magisterium would be uneventfully without making the proper friends.

"Well," he said slowly. "Should we to business?"

Dorian nodded in reply, lowing his cup once more. It was still too hot to sip. "I have come to discover you and I have, shall we say, similar interests?" Vel looked a little unnerved by that.

"What's that supposed to mean, exactly," he replied slowly. His cup did not move, but Dorian saw a little tremor across the tea.

"I'm referring, of course, to your clean water bill," he said grinning. "I voted in your favor, naturally, though I'd only had my seat for a short time. I thought it was brilliant." A little flush of red crept up Vel's cheeks at the compliment. "So after that I looked into your career and alliances. I found rather little, but it was enough to make me think we might have a few points of mutual interest."

Vel still looked a bit anxious but now it was mixed with intrigue and pride. "Well," he said slowly, "it would be a great honor to work with you."

Dorian laughed heartily, startling the poor boy. "Do forgive me," he chuckled. "But hearing me associated with honor is just too amusing. I might not be the pariah I once was, having snagged a favorable 'match,' but neither am I Tevinter's golden child, the prodigal son returned. At best I am tolerated."

Vel's brow furrowed. "Well not to me," he said with conviction. "I've been following you too," the boy admitted. "Joining in on your talks at soirees, asking about which causes you favor, I even looked into your time with the Inquisition!" With each word Vel's confidence and admiration grew more and more obvious. "So yes, I am honored to have you in my home."

Dorian blinked, surprised. "Goodness," he said after a moment, "so glowing a review." A smile curled his lips, quirking his mustache up at the corner. "I suppose I have no reason to think an alliance out of the question then?" Vel shook his head, avoiding eye contact. "That makes things easier then. I can speak plainly. Though I am curious," he said slowly, lifting his cup and blowing across the surface once more. "What made you look at me so closely?"

Vel looked down at his lap, fingers fidgeting on the handle of his cup. "I don't really… fit in in my family," he admitted. "My mater and pater are "traditional" to say the least. They aren't the monsters some of the old families are. No blood sacrifices, always from willing participants, the slaves are treated well, they are charitable. But they tend to fall into the patterns of the old guard. Flaunting wealth, buying and selling slaves like they are… tools which become worn and useless with time. I've never held with their mindset. So it was –" he paused for a moment swallowing hard and forcing himself to look up at Dorian. Those eyes were heavy with emotion. "I have had many examples, Master Pavus, of what is expected when one does not fit in. Wear the mask, play the part." Dorian felt his breath hitch at those words. Words so close to his own, words he felt like an old wound. "When I found someone who would not do what was expected, who was brave enough to stand and throw the mask away? Well, I was… inspired."

Dorian's smile was watery at best. "That was very kind, Vel," Dorian said softly. "I thank you." The boy's face flushed but he smiled back. "You might as well call me Dorian," he sighed blowing on his tea once more and testing it with a tiny sip that scalded his lips. "We're friends now after all."

Vel's eyes dropped to his tea once more as he lifted a hand to the rim of the cup. "Well, friends can still do business," he laughed gently. His gaze rose to Dorian's as his fingers flicked idly over the top of his cup.

A gust of wind fluttered Dorian's hair, making him start and blink. Vel's eyes had gone wide with surprise before lowering to look at the hand which had summoned the magic. Dorian watched as his face took in the mess. Only half of the dark sweet tea remained in his cup, some hand been deposited into the saucer, and the rest had been strewn about the room from the carpet at his feet to the silk across Dorian's shins. "I… am so sorry," he whispered. "I-I don't know what happened."

Dorian hadn't even noticed the two slaves in the far corner until he was looking for them. They stood there quietly, dressed well, but just as plainly as the décor in the north manor. Statue still until he waved them over. "The floor," Dorian said to the first even while he waved the second to the tea service. They moved about, performing their tasks and just like that they vanished from notice once more.

"Don't worry yourself, Vel," Dorian chuckled. "You were quite worked up after all that praise. I'm sure it was nothing. And look, now your tea is cool enough to drink." The smile was somewhat forced as were his comforting words. His mind was spinning. He'd heard rumors that other mages had been having trouble with their magic but he hadn't seen it firsthand in anyone but himself. Now the proof was right before him. That Vel's slip was a simple jump in power fluctuation said a great deal for the boy's finesse with magic. Most of the stories he had heard ended with explosive results, or worse. He'd wondered if he was special in some way, or if his magic had been affected differently but now, with more data he was starting to form some theories.

"If you don't mind my asking," Dorian said. He didn't want to embarrass the boy, but more information was vital if he was going to figure this out. And he was going to figure it out. "What does it feel like when you cast?"

Vel furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

He sipped his tea as Dorian tapped his finger to the side of his cup, considering how to phrase the question. "When you draw on your magic, do you feel like you're trying to shove a square peg into a round hole?" He tilted his head. Not the best analogy, perhaps, but it would have to suffice. "Or do you feel like you're… bringing a particularly stubborn horse to rein?"

Vel pursed his lips and looked up to the side, considering. "It depends upon the magic, I suppose," he said at last. "I've always had a way with air and water and when I reach for them they do feel a bit like a coursing river. But not one I have to… change the path of. If that makes sense. More like one I need a boat to navigate." He laughed a little awkwardly and sipped his tea. "Fire and earth magics? Those have always felt like I needed to force them where I want them to go."

Dorian pondered that silently for some time, drinking his tea and looking about the room, eyes neither falling nor resting on any particular thing. Ideas were forming. He'd been instructed in magic from his youth but now that he'd grown, researched ancient mages, learned how other nations and races viewed it, studied philosophies and histories, well now all those youthful teaching seemed to simple. If there was something wrong with magic why wasn't it effecting everyone the same way? He was missing something. Something important. It tingled in the back of his head like and itch he couldn't scratch. After long, long minutes of silence he spoke up.

"Vel," he said and the boy turned his eyes to him. "Now that we're friends I have a favor to ask of you." The boy quirked a brow and looked a bit reserved, but he nodded. "Stick to air and water for a while."

"What?" Vel asked, pulling a bit of a face. Maker, the boy would be so easy to clean out in a game of Wicked Grace. "Why would I do that?"

"I have a fledgling and very poorly formed theory about something. You are, of course, welcome to do as you please. But I would hate to know you were injured when I could have warned you. So, I have." Dorian nodded respectfully and waited for the thanks that would really be a thinly veiled threat to what he was sure sounded like a thinly veiled threat.

"Alright," the boy said, smiling. "I never liked the others much anyway. Let me know if anything changes though. I hate having the slaves do for me what I can do for myself."

Dorian tried not to laugh. "And what would they do with all their free time?" he asked. "Learn to juggle?"

Vel shrugged. "I see no reason to drive them harder than needs be, is all."

Dorian smiled back at him. "That's very considerate of you. They're lucky to be in your employ."

More polite smiles, more drinking of tea, more small talk. That was the way of things. Mention you came for business, politely ignore that in favor of socializing and, when the warm beverages had been consumed, pour a drink and get down to it. So when he set his empty cup and saucer aside he was pleased to find a blue-glass tumbler of whiskey already in his hand. He would give the Vestinus slaves this: they were attentive.

He sipped, feeling the warmth spread down his throat and through his chest. "I see your frugality does not extend to your liquor," Dorian grinned. "This is quite good."

Vel laughed into his own glass, it echoed back at him. "I save the good stuff for company," the boy joked throwing him a wink.

"A point in your favor," Dorian replied. He took another sip, savoring the smoky swish of the amber on his tongue. "Well," he sighed, "let's get down to it." Vel nodded, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. "I am drafting a bill, with the support of my family and several key players in the senate. It's a bit controversial, so you understand I must ask you to keep it absolutely quiet. It—" Vel held up a hand, cutting him off.

He turned to the back of the room and waved, dismissing slaves who bowed and left on quiet feet. Again Dorian was surprised to see them there. The room had felt empty but for the two mages. "Best not to have more ears in the room," Vel said, returning to face forward. He waved for Dorian to continue.

"A good point," Dorian acquiesced. "As I was saying, the bill is with regard to slavery in Tevinter. It is my intent to set into place standards of treatment for them." He watched with some small pleasure as Vel's jaw dropped open and then with more as he lifted the blue tumbler to his lips, threw his head back, and drained its contents. His head hung, eyes fixed on the floor.

"They said you were mad," he said slowly, turning the glass in his hands. "They said centuries of selective breeding had turned the heir of house Pavus witless. I never believed them until right now." He looked up then, grinning like anything. "Dorian Pavus is out of his mind. You'd have to be to think you could pull something like this off," he laughed. Dorian stared. Maker, but… Vel was delighted. He wasn't mocking him at all. He was energized, enthusiastic, enraptured. "Well then," he laughed again. "You'd better tell me your plan. You have a plan don't you? Something properly impossible?"

Dorian couldn't help but grin back, Vel's attitude infecting him completely. "I do have a plan," he said, chuckling a bit under his breath. "And it is a very good plan. Nothing is impossible when you have a planner as good as mine." He tapped his finger to the side of his nose, a gesture which said "trust me" and "I have secrets" all at once.

Vel leaned farther forward, absolutely intrigued by Dorian's words and he couldn't help but smirk. He sipped his whiskey to hide the brunt of it. Feeling rather good about The Plan as it now stood. Fitzwilliam's information had been sound, Vel's accommodations and treatment of his staff spoke of who he was in a way that his social presence could not. There was sympathy from him for that. Dorian well knew how to play a part. But for now, they could be as they were. Allies learning new roles.

This fish was caught. Now it was just a matter of teaching him how to swim.

Neela pulled her shawl about her shoulders tightly, but was sure not to cover her neck. The silver collar she wore there was the only thing keeping her from being considered a run-away. With it on display she was just another slave out on business for her master. Without it she could be struck down without thought. Oh, sure, if they killed her and saw it later they'd have to make reparations for her death, but that didn't do much for her.

Her feet, bare on the cold cobbles padded swiftly. Longing for the chance to run. The great towering walls of Minrathous made poor substitutes for the trees of the forest, but she hadn't been able to run in so long. Not with the joy and speed she craved. Not since she was a child. An elf running down the street must have done something wrong. She could just be in a hurry to complete an errand, but it was still more likely that she would get stopped and questioned than anything. So she walked briskly thankful that she had been put in Master Vestinus' home.

Would she rather be in the forest? With her Mamae and clan? Of course she would. But Master Vestinus never hit any of them, never asked for them to bleed for his magic, never touched any of them with lecherous fingers. The work was hard, but honest. They never wanted for food or sleep. They had their own time, once work was done, to study or craft. Master Vestinus did not ask questions as long as they returned in time to do their duties. The only thing they didn't have was freedom. One thing made such a huge difference.

She sighed softly and turned the corner to wait at the place he would appear. It was not always the same place, but it was the one they used the most often these days. Two previous locales had been, what had he said, "compromised?" Such a big word to say something as simple as "found." She smiled. It was small thing, hardly a quirk of her lips, but it was something. These meetings gave her hope, even if it was only a glimmer, that this would not always be the way of things.

She pulled the shawl more tightly and slipped into a shadow, out of sight, to wait.

He leapt down from the rooftop, careful to make just enough noise to not startle her but silent enough not to give either of them away. He, at least, could run if necessity called for it. She could not. She already took such a risk to meet him out here, despite her master being "one of the better ones" and he knew that. Always taking such care to make certain she could return safely after their meetings. A consideration given freely and it earned her gratitude more than any assurance his words may offer.

"Neela." He smiled, pulling back his hood just enough to allow her more than the shadowed view of his lips offered to everyone else. "Are you well?"

She ducked her head in a small bow. "I am well," she said. That smile crept in once more, pale reflection that it was, as she spotted parts of his Vallaslin peeking out from under that dark hood. It is good to see you again, "Galanadahl."

The flicker of a smile, a flash there and gone but more than most were allowed to see. Always showing such delight in hearing her speak their language, ever if she knew she could no longer speak it without the Tevene inflection colouring her pronunciation. When she first heard him speak, the burr of his voice rolling the Elvhen so smoothly from his tongue all at once she felt a longing for the home she'd been stolen from so potent tears sprang to her eyes. She remembers his smile that day, sad and sweet as he wiped the tears from her eyes. He'd not spoken it since, save for the odd word here and there peppered into their brief conversations. Neela wondered if he knew how grateful she was for those few words and for his understanding in speaking no more than that.

"I'm glad to hear it." He dipped his chin, leaning close enough to keep their voices to a whisper. "You had no troubles slipping away? I've been asking it of you more often that normal, I'm sorry."

"It's a small enough sacrifice," Neela smiled, ducking her head. "I finish my work, I take a walk. As long as I have this," she gestured to the silver band about her neck, "I am as safe as I can be." Her fingers fisted in the shawl, betraying her. It was true enough but in this place "as safe as I can be" wasn't the same as "safe," and she knew he knew that. He was clever. Observant. Not once had she walked away feeling like she had gotten the better of an exchange. "The work is worth the risk," she said confidently, knowing he would call her on her anxiety either way.

Kind Master or no, she still jumped slightly when his hands gently tugged her fingers free from her shawl, gathering them in his own and squeezing gently. That sad smile again, soft on lips she thought were suited much more to playful smirking and even rarer shows of genuine delight. His smiles never made her feel pitied and for that, she was eternally grateful.

"Don't belittle what it means to do what you do for me, Da'lath'in." Another brief squeeze and he released her hands. "I won't keep you. The longer you're here, the greater the danger. What do you bring me?"

He was so considerate. Kind. But there was a darkness behind his eyes. There had to be to do what he did. "Pavus came for dinner. During the meal they didn't say much," she said. They never did, some kind of shemlen etiquette, she supposed. "But in the salon they talked more intimately. Pavus complimented the…" she cleared her throat. "Décor." Emboldened by Galanadahl's presence she rolled her eyes and gestured to herself.

Within the shadows of his gaze a fire lit at her words, that spark of fury she knew drew people to him. Had drawn her. Anger for them, for what they suffered - some more than others, yes but he saw them all. Cared for them all.

Her lips twitched at the stream of vitriolic Elvhen that tumbled from his mouth. Curses she'd not heard in an age spoken with a passionate vehemence she could not help the want to smile at. He caught the flicker of it, a wry smile answering her own as he fell silent. Galanadahl took a deep breath, the rage cooling in his eyes before he spoke again.

"And after proving himself to be a complete arse, what else did Pavus have to say?"

"He wasn't unkind," she said, smirking, unable to chase the amusement from her lips. "Just… dismissive. After that they talked a bit about magic. Master Vestinus had another hiccup with his magic, spilled his tea and Pavus flagged us over to do clean up. Then they talked about that for a while. I don't know much about magic."

"Can you remember any specifics, Neela?" She could tell the mention of another magical hiccup had piqued his interest. "It's okay if you cannot understand what they spoke of but if you can recall the words themselves, I'd be very grateful."

She paused, screwing up her face in concentration as she had since she was young. She'd tried to break the habit many times, but some stains never washed away no matter how hard you scrubbed. It hadn't been that long ago, she should be able to remember most of it. "Pavus asked how magic felt to Master Vestinus when he cast. Something about square pegs and round holes and rivers and horses and boats?" She shook her head. "Nonsense. Pavus asked Master Vestinus to only use his easy magic for a while. Said it was a warning."

The quirk of an eyebrow and the slow, smile curling his lips gave her a brief flash of satisfaction. Her information was well received, it seemed. Even if it made little sense to her own ears. Her hands were lifted and clasped between his own again, Galanadahl even darting in to press his smile against her cheek in the briefest of kisses,. "That was incredibly useful, Neela. Thank you."

She felt a little rush of pride and a bit of longing at so intimate an interaction with one of her own. "Th-they asked us to leave after that. They were about to discuss politics. I was already outside the room when they started, but I thought I heard Pavus say something about a bill about slaving. But I couldn't dawdle near the door and attract attention. So that's all I have for you this night, I'm afraid." She smiled, feeling the warmth of those lips on her cheek. The tingle of embraces that made her think of home. For once, in a way that didn't make her feel alone, but instead connected her.

"You have offered me more than enough information, Neela." Such a warm smile. The kindness it seemed, only the slaves of Minrathos saw. "Let me offer some of my own in return. Athras is well and sends his love. His Mistress has sent him to serve in their summer manor in their absence with little to no supervision. He is safe."

Every time he tells her of her brother her heart leaps and ceases all at once. This time was no different. She felt so grateful to have a means by which to communicate, to know he is well. But a part of her always expects Galanadahl's news to be greifsome. When it is not, when she knew Athras was alive, and unharmed, that he will be away but still knowing when he will be back… she felt warm. It is almost like a letter from him. Something forbidden but desperately needed. "Thank you, Galanadahl," she whispered, smile bright even if her eyes were watery, and pressed her own kiss to his cheek.

"I wish I could offer you more." He murmured and she could hear the bitter sadness in his voice, the bite of anger. A brief touch to his cheek, the warmth of her small hand was all she could offer but she gave it gladly. She felt the muscles in his cheek shift under her palm with his slight smile. "You should go now, Da'lath'in. While you're still invisible to prying eyes."

A reluctant quirk of her lips, followed by a nod and she was pulling away. "You'll let me know when you want to meet again," she said. It was not a question, nor was it a command. She waited for the bob of his head in answer and then she turned, wrapping the shawl tightly once more. The moment he was out of sight she felt the chill creep back in. She stole back to the North Manor with all the fleetness she could muster without drawing attention. Still warmed by his word, with thoughts of her brother, with hope that was all too short-lived, the journey felt almost like a run through the wood. Almost.

Back against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles, Feladara kept a keen eye on Neela's retreating form. Content at least, in the knowledge that Neela left with a smile, word of her brother's continued safety the only way Feladara could show gratitude for all she did for him. For the danger she constantly put herself in by spying on Vestinus and on his guests at Feladara's request. After all, what use to her was coin too readily confiscated, used to give reason for beatings or so much worse. He could not yet see her free but he could give her something to hold hope for. It that was word from her brother, he'd gladly offer it.

Neela turned a corner and slipped away, Feladara flicking his gaze over the street and it's inhabitants. She'd drawn no attention, no curious eyes for the slave going about her Master's business – invisible until some piece of filth decided otherwise. For once, Feladara felt a stirring of gratitude for that invisibility. For the gazes that slid past Neela and deemed her unimportant. If only to provide the safety she needed to return to her Master's Household after Feladara kept asking so much of her to provide him with the information he needed.

Master. The word tasted bitter on his tongue every time he used it. Even with Neela's constant reminders that Magister Vestinus treated his slaves with uncommon kindness, to have decency be considered a kindness rather than a right set his blood to boiling. He'd heard a farmer in Ferelden speak of a man's treatment of his horse the same way most spoke of the 'good' Masters in Tevinter. Fed him the sweetest of hay, even the odd apple. Never expected him to carry more weight than he could handle. Only gave him a firm hand when necessity called for it but never struck out of anger.

Feladara could feel the bite of his nails into the flesh of his palm, fists clenched in anger. He loosened his grip, flexed the ache from his fingers and sighed. Neela's information had proven interesting. Feladara guessed at Pavus' plans to visit the younger Vestinus to seek an alliance, possibly to praise a bill that was more than controversial in the Senate. With Neela shedding more light on the problems with Vestinus' magic occurring more often and now, Pavus' warning, it lent credence to Feladara's suspicions Pavus knew more of what plagued Tevinter's mages than he was letting on. Given his closer proximity to the Inquisitor and the Mark, it wasn't unlikely he did have insight everyone else lacked.

It looked like Feladara needed to attend some more parties. Mages so used to relying on their magic for even the most mundane of tasks could not keep their fears secret entirely. Social events, the kind the elite of Tevinter thrived upon being seen at, brought with them more than just an abundance of wine and wealth. Flashy displays of magic, a flex of power both the physical and the proverbial were the norm. Not to mention whispers of those whose power was lacking or perhaps out of control.

There was more information to gain and Feladara need only to listen in during the right conversations to gather it. Some time spent in proximity to Pavus and his Inquisitor would not go astray either. The Mark, despite constant concealment in Trevelyan's many varieties of expensive gloves, could not disguise its effect on the affluence of magic in Tevinter. Feladara might not know exactly what it was he was looking for, but he'd know it when he saw it. He suspected the days grew short when a glove was all that was needed to hide the sickly, green spider's web branching its way across the Inquisitor's palm.

He pushed away from the wall, leaving the welcoming embrace of the shadows and tugging his hood low over his face once again. Parties, as important as they were, could wait for now. He had word of a slave shipment arriving at the end of the week and had groundwork he needed to lay before the ship arrived.

A flicker of a smile curled his lips. It might be just the kind of mission to bring Ataashi along on for the first time. After all, there were certain observations of the newest Assassin in Minrathous that needed to be made as well. Feladara would extend an invitation and set that particular plan in motion - put Ataashi through his paces, study his reactions, assess his skills. He leapt at the brick facture of the alley wall, deft fingers finding handholds and bare feet sending him up and onto the rooftops with ease.

A trip to the guild was in order. He had a baby dragon to train.

AN:

I did it, I brought Vel back. I couldn't help it:) I just love my side characters.

And we got a glimpse of Feladara's network and headspace, thanks to Eclectify's beautiful writing.

Hope you enjoyed - we certainly enjoyed writing it. Leave a comment if the urge strikes you.

Next chapter: How to Train Your Fitzwill... uh, I mean Dragon!